#like i thought that was the consensus. i hope shows get stalled and held back because of this

[apollos-boyfriend]

“the writer’s strike will impact your favorite tv show!!!1!1!”

[kyberconfessions]

No Matter Where You Go, I Will Find You. part 3

Hi everyone! We have made it to Part 3! Thank you for coming on this wonderful journey with me. I have at least 6 chapters already written and the story will be longer than that. I appreciate all of your love and reblogs and everything you say about it. Seriously, I love you all. Also, I am toying with the idea of a Bad Batch x reader story AU. Let me know if there is any want for that. Thanks!!!

As always:

This will eventually be a 18+ older fic and will deal with anxiety, death, sex,  PTSD, murder, loss, found family, Order 66, and coming to terms. This is not just a fluff fic. It will very much be dealing with very dark and hard themes, so please, if that is something that can be too hard for you, don’t read.

Pairings: Rex x Reader x Cody (polyamory) I should say this is NOT a Rex x Cody fic. There will be ZERO Clonecest on this blog or story. Reader is a consensual relationship with Rex and with Cody. Yes they share, yes they will eventually have sex together, but Cody and Rex are NOT in a relationship nor will they be intimate.

Rating: 18+

TW: Death, Murder, infanticide, death of the Jedi, PTSD, Loss, Anxiety, eating disorders, sleep disorders, Order 66. I will add other things as I think about them

Part 3: Again

It had taken you longer to get to Hondo than you would have liked. But, of course he had to be by some out of the way planet, forgotten by most. You pride yourself on your extensive knowledge of the planetary systems, knowing obscure things that even had Master Yoda chuckling with delight. But this place? You had no idea where it was. It never showed up on any star chart and quite frankly you were fairly certain he gave you incorrect coordinates. But, still, you went there to meet him. You had to laugh to yourself when you saw his ship waiting for you, floating in the dead of space. Hondo was telling the truth. 

"Kriffing pirates," you mumbled to no one, chuckling as you started preparing your ship to dock with his. No matter how many star charts you studied, how many space lanes you memorized, he would always know more obscure things than you.

As you finished the docking sequence and began to enter his ship, you mulled over what he would want to show you. Something he was either desperate to have or knew you would want immediately. Something he wouldn’t risk saying over a commed link, even if it was secure.   Honestly if this was another wild goose chase he put you on for something he could find at any market stall on any of the core planets...well you wouldn’t do anything except grumble while you went and got it. You should hate the power Hondo had over you, but you didn’t. He never did anything to you out of ill will or because he could. Hondo was just eccentric. 

‘But…,’you couldn’t help think. But what if? What if? What if he finally found something you truly needed? 

     Could it finally be Cody’s helm? Or could it be a piece of Rex? You knew in your heart it wasn’t either of those, it never was, but still you hoped. Still you held on and asked the Force to give you just this one win. Just this once, let you have something of Rex. Anything would do. A pauldron, his Kama, a piece off of his belt, something, anything. You just wanted some piece of him to hold onto. You missed him so much. You missed them both, but where Cody could be hard and demanding and strict, Rex was soft and loving. He would hold your fingers in secret where Cody would just stand. Rex would let his hand linger on your shoulder a few seconds longer than need be, while Cody would just grunt in acknowledgement. Rex would praise you after training; Cody would demand perfection, pushing you harder than Obi-Wan ever would.  But when he would show you his love, Cody would love with the brilliance of a burning sun.

Hondo waved at you from the otherside of his door, giving you a flourished bow before opening the airlock. But as you walked in, your mind wandered, thinking to your lovers. 

You missed them both so much and you could use a few of their pep-talks, especially now.

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

Obi-Wan and Anakin stood on the Training Observation Deck of the Negotiator, watching their Padawans work through a strenuous series of obstacles and training droids.

Cody and Rex stood on the sides of their respective Generals, watching as well.

Ashoka did well, flipping, moving, and swinging her saber with ease. Each of her targets went down with raw power, showing how strong she was getting. You, on the other hand, were tired and sore and not moving as quickly as you usually do. But, that was because Ashoka just came back off a week's leave from Coruscant and you had recently gotten shipside from a long and drawn out campaign with Foxtrot Group. You were exhausted when she was refreshed. But that didn't mean you could slack off in your training. You had to be stronger, you had to be better. You were Jedi, you would not fail.

Ashoka finished the trial a few seconds before you did, landing at the finish line on one foot. Just as you were about to execute your final flip, the training block shifted underneath you, causing your foot to slip. Before you could right yourself, a stun bolt hit you square in the back, knocking you down. You landed on the ground with a hard and loud thud, ending the exercise.

Obi-Wan watched as Ashoka went to help you up, feeling guilty for having you train. He knew you were tired and drained, but you had insisted on working with the other Padawan. He should have put his foot down and told you to get some sleep. But he didn't and here you all were. 

Anakin walked forward to the console and stopped the exercise, reseting it.

"Good job Snips, finally getting that barrel flip down.” He called over the comm. “Thank you, Master.” 

You were standing behind Ashoka as she spoke to her Master, dusting off your robes and massaging your neck, disappointed in yourself. You should have sensed that bolt coming, you should have been able to right yourself and finish the test. You stood there, mentally berating yourself so much that you didn't realize Obi-Wan had started to address you.

"It's alright Young One, you did excellent, but I fear your exhaustion has hindered your training for today. Why don't you go and eat and get some much needed rest and we can revisit this at a later time."

Obi-Wan, ever the loving caretaker, cursed himself for even allowing you to work in your state. You could have gotten seriously injured and where would that have put you? He knew in all honesty you should be in the medbay getting checked out and possibly doing a little time in a bacta tank.

But, Marshal Commander Cody thought differently. Ever the perfectionist, he would not accept this as the end of your session. With his bucket under his left arm, he walked up to the console and pressed the comm, calling you.

"No Jed'ika. Start over."

You looked up into the window of the viewing deck and saw him staring at you, eyes hard. The others looked on in mild concern and irritation. Obi-Wan was about to chastise his second, when he noticed you move to the beginning and prepare for another assault. You knew he was right, he always was. You could do better, you should be doing better, but you let your exhaustion lie to you. You weren’t so tired that you couldn’t finish this level. You’ve done this countless times, late in the evening, with Cody at your side. There was absolutely no reason you couldn’t finish it now.

Cody looked back to his General for a split second, as if looking for permission, before restarting the training exercise. This time, as you went though the course, you only made it halfway before failing again. There was a trick shot the training droids took that you weren’t prepared for and you took another bolt to your upper thigh. You were going to have an ugly bruise in a few hours.

Gingerly you stood, favoring your leg for a few seconds before shaking it off. Just another color added to your already mottled and scarred skin. 

As you went to stand, you saw the course reset once more and heard Cody’s voice over the comms, “Again.”

Rex didn’t like this, but he knew what Cody was doing. He knew if you were just pushed harder, if you were taken to your limit, you would not fail. He also knew that if you left the course without succeeding you would beat yourself up for days, feeling weak and useless. Rex didn’t like it, but he agreed. Obi-Wan watched on, focusing on your resilience and strength in the Force, humbled by his young Padawan. Anakin, on the other hand, didn’t like what was happening and felt that the Commander of the 212th was being too careless with your safety. This went on for some time, Cody would call for you to restart, you would fail, you would get up, and he would call again. Over and over and over. 

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Anakin had enough. “This is absurd! She’s clearly tired and needs rest. Hells, she needs time in the Medbay!” He walked up to the console and used his shoulder to push Cody out of the way, calling to you, “Padawan, you’re done now. Go straight to the Medbay. I want Kix to look you over.” He turned to Rex, “See she gets there, I don’t trust the Commander at the moment.”

Ashoka looked visibly uncomfortable from where she stood on the viewing deck and gazed up at Obi-Wan for any kind of reaction. He said nothing, just watching his Padawan try to get up off of the mat while pulling at the hairs in his beard. Before he could give the order for Cody to help take you to the medbay, Cody unceremoniously stomped over to the lift door and went down into the training room. They watched as he approached you and pulled you up, speaking harshly in a hushed tone to you.

You watched as Cody barreled towards you and crouched down at your eyelevel to look at you sternly. “Get up, Jed’ika. Get up. You don’t have time to wallow in your self pity. You don’t have time to lay here. You don’t have time to fail! Get up!” You listened to his words and tried to stand, but your knee where you had just taken a bolt gave out and you fell. Cody wrapped his hand around your bicep firmly and pulled you up.

“Each time you fail, another one of your men dies! You get up and you do it again! Each failure is another soldiers life gone! The men you swore to protect! Get up!” You nodded and stood on your own feet, albeit wearily. He was right. “You are a Jedi. You are not some clanker who falls over with the slightest push. You are better than this! You are better than your failure. You are Jedi. Do better. What is it that you’re always quoting from General Yoda? There is no try. You either do it, or you fail. And I do not accept failure! AGAIN.” Once he knew you were on stable legs, he stalked off to the sideline and prepared to yell at you more as you went through the program.

“Master, this is ridiculous! Cody has lost his mind! She’s too tired and needs medical attention.” Anakin was almost shaking; he was so upset. Who did Cody think he was? You were going to get seriously injured if you continued on. You needed rest and bacta, not constant berating and training. This wasn’t the way one taught a Padawan. This wasn’t the way Obi-Wan taught him.

 Obi-Wan quirked an eyebrow at Anakin and breathed loudly out his nose, removing his hand from his beard. “Yes, I do believe you are right, Anakin. It seems I have let this get out of hand.” He stood closer to the control panel, hand hovering over the comms, but instead of turning off the program, he restarted it and turned it to a higher level of intensity. Anakin balked.

 “Master! She’s going to get killed!” Ashoka cried out, looked to her Master and back to Obi-Wan, a strange feeling of anxiety sitting in her throat. It seemed through all the arguing and annoyances the Jedi were currently engaged in, they forgot about the Captain standing there, bucket under his arm, watching his brother and his Jed’ika. In his mind he kept a chant of ‘Come on, come on, you can do this.’ Over and over he thought, urging you to finish it. He wanted nothing more than in that moment to run down there and do as Cody was doing. He wanted to push you further, to push you to where he knew you could go. But he couldn’t, he was made to stand at ease and watch everything from the viewing deck. But, everything in him was down there on the mat with you, his most beloved, urging you to be better. The only thing on his mind was watching you finish this training exercise, going to your quarters to help you bathe, wrap your wounds, and finally making sure you ate a good meal. If he knew his brother, which he did, Cody was thinking the same thing.

You stood at the beginning once more and took a deep breath, hearing the mechanical beep signaling the beginning of the exercise. ‘Do better,’ you thought, before starting. You moved quickly through, dodging each blast, flipping and jumping higher and higher onto different ledges, using your saber to volley away bolts you could not dodge on your own, until you got to the point where you kept failing. Through the course, you could hear Cody yelling at you to keep going, keep moving, to not stop. You could hear him demanding excellence from you, he wanted more than what you thought you could give. He wanted perfection. It pushed you to go further, to work harder, to be better. You wouldn't fail your men and you wouldn't fail Cody. You dug deep into yourself and thought back to the training your former Master gave you, to that harsh and dangerous form. You could do it, you just had to concentrate. If you could find your center, you could toe that line made of shadows while still holding onto the light. You breathed deep, ‘allow your emotions to guide your strikes...feel that bubbling of anger and frustration, grab onto it to push you further. But do not give in. Just use it to fuel your power.’ Your old Master’s voice rang in your head, their training at the forefront of your mind. Multiple bolts fired at once, but instead of one landing a hit, you switched into Form VII, into Juyo. The most difficult saber form, Juyo was dark and dangerous, only used by those skillful Masters equipped with the knowledge of what it means to touch the Darkside and still stand in the Light. Used by your old Master.. taught to you by them in the shadows of Malachor… You shook your muscles out before jumping up against a wall structure, running its length with ease as more bolts were blocked. As you reached its end, you bounced over to the other wall and repeated the pattern, running and blocking, before twisting up onto its ledge. You stood, saber drawn across your body, balancing on the balls of your left foot as your right sat crossed on your thigh. You waited, breathing in and feeling the pulse of the machines across the Force. 

THERE. 

You flipped up, saber swinging around you in a figure eight, blocking each bolt back, volleying them towards the mechanical guns that sprang from the walls.

You landed once more in your previous spot before swan diving to the ground, landing with practiced grace and ease at the end, having finally completed the exercise. “Kark yeah!” Cody grunted, quickly walking to you. You had a tired smile on your face when he reached you.  He reached out to grab your shoulder, squeezing it gently, before letting his hand fall away just as quickly. You looked up at him with adoration. 

“I knew you could do it, Cyare,” he whispered, praising you, before taking a respectful stance, remembering that you were a superior and that you both were not alone. You nodded your thanks and tried to give him a look that said, "I love you". Hopefully he understood. He did.

Cody went to get you a towel to wipe your face as the others joined you on the mat. There were praises and excitement from the other Padawan, but both Obi-Wan and Anakin shared a look; they knew those moves. Knew that stance. A dangerous form like Juyo left unchecked could cause irreparable damage. It might be time for you to study a little under Master Windu if you are to continue in that form. Either way, Obi-Wan could feel the relief and happiness rolling off you, it could wait for another day. He also noticed a few feelings not very Jedi-like, aimed at the Marshall Commander and the Jaig-eyed Captain of the 501st. He quirked an eyebrow, but still he smiled his dazzling smile at you.

Obi-Wan was so proud of you, you felt giddy.  It was all you ever wanted, and you knew you had it. He was proud of you.You proved to yourself and your Master that you weren’t some weak kid playing at being a Jedi. You truly were one and no matter how tired or weary you were, you could finish what you started. 

Later that evening, after getting off duty, Rex made his way to your quarters, a tray of food in hand and a few bandages in the other. He hadn't even stopped at his bunk to change out of his armor. He went straight to the mess hall and then to you, wanting to check in.

When he approached your door, he knocked once before punching in your code, knowing he'd always be welcomed in. When the door slid open, he couldn't help but smile under his helmet at the sight. 

You were sitting on the edge of your desk, freshly showered, robes put away, wearing loose, grey, linen pants and a black smallshirt. Cody was also freshly showered and in clean blacks, his armor stacked neatly by your bed. He sat in your chair, positioned between your legs, wrapping scrapes and cuts from the campaign and the training from earlier in fresh bandages, rubbing bacta on your bruises, and whispering words of praise and love to you.

Beside you both were 3 trays of untouched food, waiting to be consumed; one for you, one for Cody, and one for Rex. 

Rex entered, letting the door slide closed behind him, a soft smile on his lips. He placed the extra tray of food next to the others, took off his bucket, and dropped a kiss to the top of your head before heading to your small refresher. When he exited, loose towel around his waist, Cody’s head was already buried between your naked thighs.

That night you all had the best sleep in ages, you sandwiched between the two men, tangled in sheets and their limbs, finally able to be together after so long apart. None of you would trade it for the world. 

[chazz-anova]

Fandom: Far Cry 5 Word Count: 1k Pairing: OC / OC Prompt: “ow! that fucking hurt!” & “I’ll make you bleed” from my dear @scungilliwoman 💜 I hope you like this! Summary: Veronica wakes up in Antoinette’s lair, and looks for any way out. Warnings: Light knifeplay/bloodplay (kinda), forced drugs (someone gets knocked out w/ some bliss)... I think that’s it!

A steady trickle of water was the first sound that seeped into Veronica’s dreamless slumber, rousing her where she was bound. The deputy winced as her eyes opened slowly, her battered body aching all over. The coppery scent of dried blood soaked into rotting wood tickled her senses, turning her stomach as she gained consciousness.

Ronnie jerked against her restraints, finding herself locked into a pair of rusted shackles. Her chains clattered against each other where they were suspended as she struggled in vain. With a grunt of frustration, she resigned to taking in her surroundings.

The room she occupied was oak wood from floor to ceiling and white curtains hung from the rafters. The only visible furnishings were two workshop tables adorned with a wide variety of knives, and this observation was not comforting.

There was a small noise at the far end of the room, the squeak of rusty hinges as a door opened beyond the curtains. Wooden boards creaked under someone’s weight; and Veronica caught the glimpse of a shadow behind the gauzy fabric.  There one moment and gone another, the figure shifted and V’s eyes narrowed. “I know you’re there.” She called into the room, annoyance settling on her features. She really didn’t have time to get kidnapped right now.

“Oh deputy… you ruin all my fun.” A woman said with a chuckle before parting the curtains to stroll through. Before Veronica stood a tall woman in garb not befitting Hope County. She wore a blue satin dress with a long slit up the side, showing plenty of thigh; her lips were painted red and her icy stare sent the slightest of shivers down Veronica’s spine.

It took only a moment for the deputy to recognize her as Faith’s right-hand woman, the second herald of the Henbane. Ronnie had only heard talk of the Banshee, but the general consensus was that she took a much more hands on approach than Faith. “It’s kind of in the job description.” Veronica replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘Just gotta stall… find a way out of this..’ She thought as the woman stepped closer.

The herald got very close, her face only inches away from V’s as she stared into her eyes. Ronnie recoiled immediately, her chains rattling as she jerked away from the ginger. Antoinette’s expression soured, and she gripped the blonde’s chin and forced her to meet her gaze. “What in the world is so special about you, deputy?” Anne growled as her prey tried to squirm from her manicured grip.

Veronica matched her glare- her nose scrunching up in distaste at the woman’s touch. Suddenly, she spat in Antoinette’s face, causing her to yelp in surprise.  “You insolent snake!” Annie shrieked, wiping the saliva from her face before striking her captive.

Taking the brunt of the impact with no noise, V shook her head and took a deep breath before asking, “That all you got?”

Antoinette stared at her, fuming quietly; after only a moment- she turned abruptly to one of the workshop tables, running a hand over what Veronica had no doubt were her tools. An eerie calm had settled over the room, and Ronnie could hear her tinkering with something to her left.

Struggling in her bonds, she tried not to rattle the chain holding to the wooden rafters above. ‘If I can just slip out of these things then I’ll be golden..’ The deputy thought, hoping for the best as she writhed like an animal caught in a trap.

The shackles held fast and her wrists ached as the metal chafed against her skin. Unable to free herself, Antoinette turned and V froze. The redhead was holding her hands behind her back and had a pleasant smile on her face. The sudden change in attitude made Veronica’s skin crawl.

“Now dear, we’re going to play a game. I’ve got two treats here for you, and you can choose which you want first! I won’t spoil what they are- so just choose right or left. Got it?” Annie spoke in a sickly sweet tone, not befitting the cruel glint in her eyes. She took measured strides forward as she explained her game, and Ronnie glared daggers at her.

Always the rebel, V asked “And what if I don’t choose?”

Eyes narrowing, Antoinette’s smile turned wolfish, “Well… I suppose I’d have to choose for you then.” The eagerness in her expression sent a chill through the blonde.

‘Not liking the sound of that.’ Veronica considered her choices, sighing before saying “Fine, left.”

Her left hand came from behind her back, revealing a long hunting knife. With a chuckle, Annie said “Well deputy, great minds think alike I suppose.”

Ronnie’s mind raced through her options as Antoinette turned back and concealed the right hand option on her person. ‘I guess when she gets close enough, I’ll kick the shit out of her? No, I need out of the shackles… I gotta get her talking. Fuck.’ With this final thought, the woman took a deep breath and watched the herald close in on her with the blade in hand.

“Nice knife, what do you sharpen it with?” V tried and failed to play nice to her captor.

“Hush! I don’t want your talking to spoil the fun.” Anne hissed, coming to a stop in front of her. She held the hilt of her weapon and laid the blade against her palm, admiring the cool metal against her skin, coveting it. With a small smile, the ginger lifted it and nestled the tip of the knife in the hollow of Veronica’s neck just below her chin.

Freezing against the sharpness of the blade, Veronica paused and hoped her next words wouldn’t get her killed. “Funny, Faith normally likes it when we have a little conversation.” The words came out strained, her vocal cords humming against the metal.

Annie’s eyes widened, her rage welling beneath her skin in the form of a deep red blush. “You…” She took a deep breath and closed the short distance between them, her sweet Georgia accent suddenly in Veronica’s ear, “You wondered about the sharpness of my knives?” Anne’s tone changed, became deep and threatening as she whispered harshly “Let me show you… I’ll make you bleed!” And brandished the knife expertly, letting loose a steady trickle of scarlet ambrosia as V grunted from the pain.

Blood flowed down to stain Ronnie’s clothes and she was breathing a little heavily. “Bitch!” She exclaimed, gritting her teeth against the throbbing in her neck.

“Aww… that wasn’t very nice!” Antoinette came close once more, despite the blonde’s efforts to struggle away. V’s captor grabbed a fistful of her dyed tresses and yanked her hair; exposing the wound she’d just made.

The heat of Anne’s breath against Veronica’s skin made her squirm, and she gasped as the ginger’s tongue slid across the hollow of her neck. Antoinette pulled back, still controlling Ronnie by her hair. Their eyes met, and there was heat there; the herald’s eyes were clouded over in pleasure.

Licking her lips, Veronica started to stutter out, “Uhm.. maybe-” Before she could finish with, ‘We could come to a solution here.’, she was interrupted by a needle being stabbed into her suspended upper arm. “Ow, that fucking hurt! What was that?” V asked as her head started to feel woozy. She could only assume it was her second treat.

Green smoke was beginning to swarm Ronnie’s vision as Antoinette replied in that melodic voice, “A simple propofol/Bliss 1:1 mixture… I don’t want to rush anything, deputy. We’ll have plenty of time together…”

The Banshee’s voice was the last thing Veronica heard before she fell into the coma of Bliss.

[asphalt-cocktail]

For the Sake of Content- Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Curiosity Killed the Cat 

Summary: After walking in on your long-term boyfriend, Harrison, cheating on you and then losing your job the following day; your find yourself broke, jobless, and single for the first time in a long while. In order to make ends meet, your best friend since college, Freddie, suggests you start soliciting explicit photos of yourself, not only to help boost your confidence but to help pay the rent for his band mate’s apartment you just moved into.

A/N: Hi everyone! Sorry this took me ages to write, I was having a bit of writers block with the chapter, but I finally got it out! I also finally got the plot moving and am hoping to make this around 15 chapters or so, maybe 20 if I can figure out some more discourse that could happen or something. But I’m open to suggestions for what the readers want to see! 

Pairing: Roger Taylor x F!Reader

Warnings: Language, mentions of sex work, smut, fluff, some friendly banter between roger and reader, Dom!Roger, Angst, public kink, consensual filming, alcohol, smoking, mentions of cheating, idk its really just sex, not proof read

Word Count: 3.7k

The bar the boys played at tonight was dingy and small, per usual, but you found yourself not minding because you found that the dirtier the bar the better the beer and the better the crowd. You also had the company of Veronica while the two of you waited for the boys to go onstage, she told you about her night with John, apparently it went without a hitch and he loved the lingerie, as you suspected.

Roger pulled up to your side, slipping his hands around your waist and placing an open-mouthed kiss to your neck, “Do you want to do it before or after the show?” He murmured against your skin.

You felt your stomach clench and let out a soft nearly missed gasp before you shrugged him off “After, I wouldn’t want to ware you out too much.” You couldn’t help but drag your tongue along your lower lip in a tantalizing manor causing Roger to break out into a smug grin. You didn’t know why you wanted to make him wait, knowing what was coming made your nerves stand on end and caused you to clench your thighs together, maybe it was because you knew the build up would be worth it.

Roger’s face maintained his smirk and he slipped a hand under the skirt Freddie had helped you pick out and grabbed your ass in a less than graceful manor. You jumped and playfully shoved his chest, “Go set up your kit, rock star.” You joked as his hand lingered in place before he padded off.

The lights flickered on and off, catching the attention of everyone in the bar while your four favorite boys filed onstage and fiddled with their equipment and set it up. A murmuring hum of voices died down when the sound of the guitars tuning and tinkering on the drum set filled the room. It was loud, just how Fred liked it and you could feel the vibrations of Brian’s Red Special practically vibrating your teeth together and the beat of Roger’s bass drum thumping against your chest. You could already tell this concert would be good.

Roger twirled his sticks between his fingers and made faces at the girls in the crowd to rile them up, he wore his shawl with no shirt underneath and a pair of too tight jeans that he probably stole from the thrift store while his hair looked as though it was strategically messy. You couldn’t wait until he took you in the bathroom and fucked you against the bathroom stall.

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by the sound of Brian’s fancy guitar and Roger’s symbols crashed together and Freddie’s voice sang out. The lights flashed to the beat of Roger’s symbols and Freddie’s stylishly garish outfit flowed as he riled up the crowd with his movements. When the lights turned on, revealing their stage illuminated in red you couldn’t help but gape at them.

They truly all had magnificent stage presence. Brian and Freddie in their nearly matching outfits, John with his subtle head bobs that you knew would soon lean to him hopping about stage, and Roger’s brows furrowed with focus as he banged on his set for dear life.

The lights dramatically shifted to blue and Freddie stood confidently in the middle of the stage as he introduced the next song “It’s time for the” He took in a deep breath “Ogre Battle.”

Somewhere between the beginning of the concert and the small little drum solo break you saw beer, bouncing rhythmically on Roger’s drums as he threw his head back and spat. You could tell from the red lighting shined off his chest and the way his hair clumped together that he was covered in sweat. You quickly gulped down your beer before moving onto the next one you luckily had in your hand as your stomach clenched. His face was so determined, and his eyes looked wild, yet his movements seemed so effortless and the way he snarled into the microphone while he sang made you clench your beer a little tighter.

As they closed their show, Freddie has barely been able to say goodbye to the crowd before Roger was up, throwing his sticks off stage to some random audience member. He was now shirtless, except for the necklaces that layered his neck, and his hair was clinging to his face, shoulders, and back from the sticky layer of sweat that covered his body. He walked with long strides off stage, cleaning up his kit was the last thing on his mind right now.

It didn’t take him very long to find you in the crowd. Roger wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you against his sweaty and sticky chest, “Bathroom, now.” He hissed into your ear before he pulled away and gripped your hand and pulled you through the crowd of people.

As soon as you entered the dingey two stall woman’s restroom Roger pulled you into the closest stall and gripped your wrists, slamming you against the cool metallic stall. The cold metal bit into your skin and you let out a breathy gasp which was quickly swallowed as Roger crashed his lips against yours in a messy heated kiss. Your teeth clanked together, and you laced your fingers in Roger’s tangled and sweaty hair.

Roger’s hand slipped under your skirt and you could feel him smirking against your skin, “This pretty pussy of yours is all wet for me, innit?” He asked, nipping at your neck.

You hummed feeling the stubble on his chin scrape against your neck, “Only for you,” you responded with a coy smile.

Roger pulled away and peered at you through his lashes, “So how do you want to do this?” He asked, his expression suddenly going serious.

You swallowed thickly and handed him your phone, the video camera already out and ready for filming before you pulled him into another hot open-mouthed kiss, “Just fuck me already.” You mumbled against his soft lips.

A soft laugh rumbled through his chest as he turned you over and pushed you down at an angle. Instinctively your legs opened up for him to nestle between them. He held the camera up and lifted your skirt up with his free hand, smoothing it over the round swell of your ass and lightly slapping it. You jumped and sharply inhaled as you felt him grind against your clothed and wet core, “Fuck me, please.” You pushed back against him desperately.

You could imagine the stupid cheeky grin on Roger’s face as the words left your lips, but your mind quickly went blank as soon as he pushed your panties to the side and the cool bathroom air brushed against you. You tensed ever so slightly, and your stomach filled with nerves; you could hear the sound of the crowd outside and the thrill of getting caught went straight to your core and made you throb. Roger’s hand dove between your legs and harshly rubbed your clit, not bothering to build up to the aggressive and almost overstimulating sensation. You cooed and your back arched at the sensation, “Quiet, love.” Roger mumbled as he slipped two fingers into you, “Don’t want anyone hearing how much of a slut you are.” He mocked as he pumped his fingers in and out of your wet core.

It felt as though the sounds of your wetness were echoing off the walls and slamming against your eardrums. You couldn’t help but whimper out as his rough fingers curled expertly inside you. Roger immediately pulled the out, “Turn around,” He commanded, a shiver crept down your spine and you turned around to face him. He’d taken off the silky little sash he had tied to his pants, “Open.” He demanded and cupped your face, squeezing your cheeks together to force your mouth open.

You winced slightly feeling your teeth biting into your cheek and, “What?” You asked now confused.

“I told you not to make any fucking noise, didn’t I?” He chastised before letting out a disappointed sigh, “Apologize.” He ordered still roughly holding your cheeks.

Your heart hammered against your chest and you followed his orders, “I’m sorry,” You whimpered and closed your mouth.

Roger shook his head, “I said open,” He lightly shook your jaw and forced your mouth open, “Since you can’t be quiet, I’ll help you.” He flashed you a cheeky smirk as you mumbled a soft thank you and opened your mouth. Roger slipped the silky and slightly musky smelling fabric into your mouth and you couldn’t help but pout a little bit.

You were quickly turned and pressed against the bathroom stall at an angle once again. Roger didn’t bother taking your panties off, instead he just pushed them aside and pushed in after he slipped his condom on. The pace Roger set was ruthless and unforgiving, his hips slapped against yours in quick succession while your hands curled against the metal you were using for support. The metal bit into your hot skin and made your nerves stand on end while muffled noises spilled from your lips and into the silk barrier Roger had shoved into it only moments prior.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you rested the side of your face against the door, not caring how filthy it was in the moment. The door rattled with the force of your body slamming into it over and over again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Roger cursed through gritted teeth.

All of a sudden, he stopped and hushed the sounds of protest you whimpered out. The door creaked open and you could hear chatter among two women as they walked in. You turned to look at Roger, your face red on one side from the door and eyes hazy; his brows were tightly knit together but the expression of concentration was soon traded for something slightly more devilish.

Slowly he moved his hips back and forth at an agonizing pace. Your brain felt as though it was boiling in your head and soon your thoughts were filled with TV static.

“Oh my gosh did you see the band before?” One of the women asked.

“Yeah, what was their name again? Queen? God that one with the hair? What a snack.” Their conversation was practically flowing from one ear and out the other.

“The one with black hair? Oh my god, those curls were to DIE for.”

Roger rolled his eyes and lightly scoffed at the comments the women made regarding Brian while keeping his leisurely pace.  Your brows furrowed and eyes clenched tightly shut as you tried to maintain your composure with the two women in the room. For some reason the prospect of getting caught aroused you more and caused your walls to twitch around Roger’s length.  You could feel tears pricking at the corner of your eyes and desperately tried to hold back the whimper that was caught in the back of your throat.

The two women left the room and you let out a choked sob as your walls spasmed and clenched around Roger’s length. Your back arched and your breasts pressed against the stall door, lightly nipping through the fabric of your shirt. The overwhelming sensation and contrast of temperature caused your brain to go muddy and soon blank.

Roger gripped the meat of your ass tightly “Fuck, oh shit.” He hissed out as you continued to throb around him. He pumped in and out at a quicker pace, “You were such a good girl,” He said in a haggard tone. His hips slapped against yours, his climax still far off in the distance, “Not making any sound as I fucked you when they came in.” His breathing was heavy and labored as his orgasm came into view. “Fucking Christ.” He clenched his jaw and hissed out as he finally came, shooting into the condom and riding out his high.

After the two of you cleaned yourselves up in the restroom, Roger grinned up at you, still drunk with pleasure, “You were fucking brilliant.” He said, you couldn’t help but look at the sash that was once stuffed in your mouth and was now tied around his waist, a dark damp spot gathered on the fabric.

You shook your head, trying to clear it of the lewd thoughts, “If I was that great, buy me a drink.” You teased.

Roger’s face maintained his grin, “I can manage that.” He said and straightened himself up before moving to exit the stall.

You stopped and stood in the mirror and fixed your hair, Roger came behind you and wrapped his hands around your waist “You look great.” He said and kissed your shoulder softly.

You felt your heart clench at his words, “Thanks,” You mumbled under your breath.

Roger left the bathroom and a cool rush of air hit your back that he once covered. You couldn’t help but find yourself longing for the familiar warmth he brought to you.

Exiting the bathroom wasn’t any trouble, what you found trouble in was the questions you were battered with from Freddie as soon as you got back to the table, “Where did you go?” Freddie asked, leaning both his elbows onto the table while leaning forward.

You pursed your lips, “Smoke break.” You said smiling softly.

Freddie hummed and clicked his tongue against his teeth, “That must have been a long cigarette for you to be gone for thirty minutes.” He said and tapped his chin, looking over to Roger, “And what about you?” He pressed.

Roger shrugged his shoulders, “Fucked some girl I saw in the crowd in the bathroom.” He said as honestly as he could. You tried to shoot him a look, but he didn’t even give you a second glance.

Fred grinned “You dog, Rog.” He said, slapping his friend on the shoulder. Roger surged forward and coughed up what he inhaled of his drink as it splattered all on the exposed skin of his chest.

You let out a soft huff before slamming the rest of your drink down and getting up, “Anyone need another drink? I’m going up to get one.” You said pausing for a moment.

Veronica raised her hand, quickly finishing her drink, “I’ll get a refill.” She said scooting out past the boys.

The two of you walked up to the bar and patiently waited for the bartender to wait on you, “So where did you really go?” Veronica said with a sly smirk playing on her face.

You shifted, nervously tapping your fist of money on the bar, “I don’t you, to the bar.” You couldn’t hide the smile that gave way the fact that you were lying.

“Come on, I won’t tell anyone.” She leaned closer in, hoping you’d spill.

You let out a deep sigh, “I was with Roger.” You rushed out.

Veronica gaped at you, her mouth hanging ajar and eyes wide “You where what!?!” She shouted, “You and Roger!?! Shagging!?!” her voice continued to raise in pitch as her disbelief increased

You quickly pulled her close and shushed her, “Please don’t tell anyone!” You pleaded, “It’s nothing, really, just casual.”

Veronica grinned manically at you, “How is he? Does he live up to the hype?” She pried, “I mean he must be in order to shag in the bathroom…”

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, “I mean, yeah, he’s fine.” You bashfully averted your gaze. Veronica’s smile suddenly fell, and her eyes narrowed as she looked over your shoulder; you turned and followed her gaze, “What?” you pressed struggling to pick out what had soured her mood so suddenly.

She nudged her direction, helping to give you a general direction of where to look and then you saw it, Roger was talking to a pretty girl. You could spot her dark hair and olive skin tone even in the dimly lit bar. You pursed your lips, “Who’s that?” You asked, seeing Roger break away from their hug and keep his hand on the small of her back.

“Roger’s ex-girlfriend. Dominique.” The words dripped from her mouth like sludge.

“I’ve never heard of her before.” It was the truth, neither Roger nor Fred had mentioned her at all.

Veronica sighed and turned towards the bar, finally ordering drinks for the both of you, “They were together for three years, broke up shortly after John and I started dating.” She turned towards you, “Didn’t you ask Fred, why Roger had been looking for a new roommate?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “I didn’t think of it,”

She pursed her lips, “I don’t know a lot about their breakup, but I do know Roger was heartbroken, didn’t see the poor lad for weeks.” She hummed and sipped her drink, “He broke it off with her though, I know that much.” She paused for a moment, glancing back over at Roger, “Fred didn’t like her very much.” She added before she began walking back towards the table.

Veronica slipped back into her seat next to John and you searched the table but found that there were no more open seats, Dominque had taken your spot and was happily chatting away with Roger. He was grinning from ear to ear and for some reason, it made your stomach churn.  You turned towards Fred, his brows were tightly knit and his lips were pursed together before he finally caught your gaze and flashed you an award winning smile.

“Dom!” He said catching her attention, “This is [Y/N], Roger’s new roommate.”

Dominique looked you up and down slowly, as though she were inspecting every inch, “[Y/N]!” She grinned at you, “Dominique.” She reached her hand out for you to shake which you graciously took and grasped firmly, “How is it living with Rog?” She smiled and scrunched her nose.

You couldn’t help but let out an awkward laugh, “Oh, well, you know,” You shrugged, “He eats my food and struggled to do dishes, but he isn’t too bad.”

Roger scoffed loudly and rolled his eyes, “I told you if you don’t want it to be eaten, mark it!” He teased you.

Everyone conversed through out the night, but you continued to stand awkwardly to the side. You felt as though you were now looking at a group with established dynamics and history, they were catching up like old friends and here you were intruding. You weren’t even friends with anyone else in the group beside for Freddie, sure you and Veronica were now close acquaintances, but you still felt as though you were cast out.

You didn’t know what to say or how to interact, so you did the first thing that came to mind. You slammed your drink and raised your glass, “I’m going to get refills, anyone want to tag along?” You asked, looking around the table, to your surprise Brian stood up.

“I’ll join.” He said finishing the last little bit of his beverage.

Going to the bar with Brian didn’t make you feel more comfortable, if anything it made you feel more uncomfortable than you had before. His tall lanky frame dwarfed you and his hair and eloquent speech intimidated you. Not to mention you had maybe said five words to the guy in the entire time you’d known him. Brian flagged down the bartender, “Scotch and coke,” He ordered before turning towards you, “Do you want anything? I’ll buy as a thank you for getting me away from that insufferable woman.” He grinned at you with a surprising amount of playfulness.

You couldn’t help but grin back, “Surprise me, but no dark liquor.” You said and within the minute Brian had handed you what you could assume was something mixed with vodka. “No fond of Dom?” You pressed, hoping for some answers to your curiosity.

Brian scoffed, “Not in the slightest.” He said, leaning against the bar and stalling on going back to the table, “Roger was a right bitch when he broke up with her.” He sighed, “He’s already a bit of a pain but that made it worse.”

You smiled, knowing Roger and Brian bickered like brothers, “Why’d they break up?” Curiosity killed the cat and frankly, you were begging for it.

Brian pursed his thin lips, “I think she cheated on him or something,” He let out a deep sigh, “It wasn’t like a one off, it was like she had a whole different long term relationship going on at the same time.” He shook his head.

You frowned probably knowing how Roger felt in the moment. “It’s a shame,” You said and cleared your throat, “Roger’s an idiot but he doesn’t deserve that.”

Brian raised his glass in agreement, “We should head back.”

By the time you returned with your drinks, Roger and Dominique were whispering and giggling quietly to each other. Your frown got deeper every time you heard one of them giggling, so once again you downed your drink, allowing it to fuel your sudden need to go home, “I’m catching a ride back.” You said suddenly and grabbing your jacket off the back of the chair.

You didn’t know if it your brain was muddied from the sex or what, but you needed to leave before something happened. Fred perked up and glanced at you, “Do you want anyone to ride back with you?” he asked.

You shrugged, but then quickly followed it with a head shake, “No, Roger’s a little preoccupied and I don’t want to trouble any of you.” Your words sounded bitter and you couldn’t hide it anymore.

It didn’t surprise you when Roger didn’t bother to look over at you as you said your name or as you left.

Your ride home was quiet, and you made polite conversation with your driver, but still the bitter emotions seeped out of you like sweat. Even as you readied yourself for bed you couldn’t help but stair at the ceiling, silently hoping you’d hear the familiar sound of Roger stumble through the door and drop his keys like he usually did on nights out, but you didn’t. Instead you just heard the unfamiliar creaks of the apartment building as it settled.

NOTE: Hi again! I just wanted to add that this chapter doesn’t mean any slander towards Dominique, it's literally just for the sake of advancing the plot and causing some spicy drama  

[number-one-micoverse-fan]

Songbird

Content warnings: graphic depictions of violence, body mutilation, non-consensual drug use, non-consensual touching in a s*xual manner (nothing excessive, it’s only one paragraph is bracketed by [*] so you can skip it if you want), torture

-----------------------------------

“Quit struggling!”

Dominic ignores the barked order, twisting and thrashing against the shackles holding his arms above his head. The giant birdcage he’s in rattles angrily against the cement floor, his toes just barely brushing the cold metal of the bottom of the cage. He heaves his legs against the chains around his ankles, barely managing to bend his knees before their short length stalls his progress.

“Just leave ‘im,” Another voice grunts, “He’ll tire himself out eventually.”

“Fuckin’ annoying…” The first grumbles. There’s a scrape of a chair, a clatter, footsteps, and then a figure steps into the circle of light made by the bright lamps around the cage. Their face is covered in dark goggles and a prop gas mask, a hood pulled over their head to hide the rest of their features. In one gloved hand, they clutch a humming metal stick.

“I said quit it!” The man jabs the stick between the bars of the cage and into Dom’s abdomen. Pain rockets through Dom’s body, his muscles seizing, breath catching as his body arches in shocked agony. When the cattle prod is pulled away, Dom sags in his restraints, gasping weakly, his head spinning, aftershocks shivering through him.

“Theeeere’s a good little parakeet,” The masked captor purrs, reaching a hand through the bars and cupping Dom’s face, raising his head so Dom can see his own blurry reflection in the man’s goggles, “You just keep on your best behavior, do as you’re told, and this’ll be muuuuccchhh easier for everyone. Things are going to get a whole lot more fun in bit…”

**********

Dom whines as he feels the pinch of the needle in his upper arm.

His vision is swimming, a smear of colors and twisting shapes and bright lights that dazzle the backs of his eyes. His captors have been keeping him dosed on a supply of drugs; not enough to knock him out but certainly enough to alter his mind and his perception. It makes his body feel distant and numb, his tongue heavy and his limbs unresponsive.

He’s still strung up in the birdcage artfully structured from rebar and piping and it still held sturdy despite all of Dom’s prior thrashing. The chains are taught, the bite of the shackles a dull and distant throbbing brushing vaguely against his sense, almost an afterthought that barely registered as pain. Dom tired to focus on what was going on around him, but his attempts slipped through his fingers, reality oozing out of his grip like water through cracks. It pools into a collective puddle of notions, of ideas, of what he could almost understand. People and voices and shapes and sensations all muddied by ripples of drugs across his mind.

“Show time~” A voice purrs in his ear and Dom shivers. He can feel the syllables trickling through his ear canal and down the side of his neck like ice water, “You still with us, lill’ parakeet?” Fingers tap the side of Dom’s face, the sound bouncing inside his skull and rattling his eyes in their sockets, “Come on, say something for us. Sing for the camera, birdie.”

A hand grabs Dom’s face and jerks his head up, a different voice growling at him, “What’s yer name, bird? Say it.”

Dom tries to remember how to work his tongue, tries to answer to get the unfamiliar fingers away from his face. They feel weird, rubbery, maybe a a latex glove instead of skin and skin. Dom blinks rapidly, drags himself out of the swamp his mind wants to sink into,

“Dh…Dom’nic…B-Bridg…ges….”

A chittering laugh tickles his skin and Dom shudders as the hand lets him go, his head drooping too his chest, “Can’t handle his medicine, can he?”

“Yeah, let ‘im stew for a while,” Says the second voice, bemused but patient, “Couple of minutes and he’ll be back with us. Just gotta work the drugs out of his system. Thought a fat man like him woulda been able to handle more.”

A collection of laughter, bouncing against Dom’s senses, making his puddle of reality fog with ripples. He closes his eyes, dizzy and unfocused, listens to his own breathing and the sensation of air against his throat, of his ribs expanding in his chest, the feeling of his own blood pumping through his veins. He’s not sure if he falls asleep or if he’s awake the whole time and it’s just the drugs wearing off, but at some point he realizes his mind has settled and he’s more aware than he used to be. He’s still pleasantly numb, but not blitzed out of his mind.

He lifts his head, lids still heavy on his eyes, and casts his gaze around the room. There are figures around the outside of his cage, leaning on the bars or standing in the shadows of the massive lights lighting him from every angle. He can’t make them out very well, and even if he could, it seems like most of them are wearing masks or other things that cover their faces, distorting them, hiding them. Strangers in black with hidden faces, their hands covered in medical gloves, their voices dark sneers and mocking chuckles.

“Looks like the parakeet’s back with us,” One of them purrs and the rest of them murmur and chatter in excitement, “What’s your name, birdie? Say it for the camera…”

Dom blinks in an almost lazy manner and then slowly shakes his head. There are scoffs and tsk’s and mean little laughter from around the room.

“Name or we go find your kid and he can join you in the cage.”

Cold fear jolts Dominic into a more coherent state and he struggles to push mud-thick words out of his mouth,

“D-Dominic Bridges.”

“Good boy. Now, Mr. Bridges, we’re going to have some fun. Don’t worry, you won’t die. But you are going to be in a lot of pain. We’d apologize but,” More laughter, louder, darker, nastier,

“We just wouldn’t mean it.”

————

They start with little cuts.

Thin scalpels and razor wires slid against his exposed arms and legs and chest, leaving thin and shallow slices across his skin. They hardly bleed but they sting something awful against the cold air and Dom winces every time they hurt him.

From the tiny cuts, they move onto big knives and burns. They dig knives into his belly, just enough to make blood ooze from the deeper cuts, streaking red lines down to the waistline of his boxers. They stub out cigarettes and cigars anywhere they want, grinding the burning tips into his flesh and drawing out a cry of pain almost every time. Sweat and tears are tangling on his face, dripping into the stinging cuts on his back .

One of them grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head back, exposing his neck and making him arch his back with a grunt. Another slides fingers into Dom’s mouth, pries his teeth apart, and wedges a gag in, keeping Dom’s jaw open, drool sliding down his chin around the metal bars. They laugh at him as he shakes his head and someone snags his tongue, yanking on it and making Dom cough.

They put a cigarette out on Dom’s tongue and that makes him scream.

The agony builds, piling itself one injury on top of another, until his entire body is one, big, pulse point of suffering. He hurts, he hurts everywhere, hurts so much it’s impossible to get a breath. He hurts so much his mind is trying to black out, he can’t tell who’s doing what to him anymore, he only knows he’s in pain. He only knows that every time someone comes near him he is hurt. His voice is lost. Any existence outside of this state of pain is lost. Dominic Bridges is lost.

A knife goes through his cheek, clinks against his teeth, and his mouth is filled with iron and red. He chokes on it, heaving as it stings across the fresh burn on his tongue, jolts forward to let it spill out of his mouth with a burn of stomach acid and drool.

Something heavy smashes into his left knee and he feels something shatter. A garbled screech tears from his throat as he momentarily whites out at sheer, incomprehensible level of pain he experiences. His left leg is unresponsive and shrieks in pain with every jostle or movement, twisting horribly in the shackle at his ankle.

Whips lash across his back, leaving weeping lines of blood—and all Dom can think is that he hopes it makes the lines on Cody’s back disappear.

A few of his fingers are snapped but those brief instances of sharp pain fade into easily forgettable throbs of pain that only barely register as individuals across the grand scope of what he’s suffering.

There are more knives. There are matches and blow torches. There is hot water and cold water and something that goes off next to his ear and makes something pop and suddenly there is silence in his right ear. There are thrown fists and hot pokers and always, always the jeers and laughter and taunts of the people doing this to him.

And then there is a long stretch where nothing happens.

No one hurts him, no one touches him, and Dom realizes that they must be done with him. They must have finally gotten bored and have gone looking for a new toy to play with.

Footsteps make him tense and he squints against the bright lights through the one eye that isn’t swollen shut. There’s only two of them, not wearing masks, but rather baseball caps pulled low over their faces and hooded sweaters, casting them in deeper shadows. One of them notices him looking and Dominc sees a glint of teeth as the person smiles wickedly,

[*] “Hey little bird, glad to see you’re still alive. You had us worried for a bit there,” The pair draw closer and, with oddly gently hands, remove the gag, “It was fun to play with you but you have to go home now.” They start undoing the shackles, jostling Dom’s shattered knee, and he whines in protest, “I know, parakeet, I don’t want you to leave either. But if you stayed any longer, you’d probably be dead. And then we wouldn’t get paid.” One captor grabs Dom’s face in one hand, gleefully sliding their thumb into the cut on his cheek so Dom can feel their latex glove in his mouth, “Just one more thing for you before you go…” Their other hand slides down Dom’s mangled chest and Dom whines in horrified distress as it dips past the waistline of his boxers, squeezing gently between Dom’s legs and making him buck despite his injuries, trying to pull away, [*]

“Don’t struggle, parakeet,” His captor tightens his grip on Dom’s face, putting pressure on the cut in his cheek, “Think of this like a parting gift. And a warning…”

There’s a mouth against his, lips pressed against his dry ones, and it takes Dom longer than he’d like to admit to realize that this stranger who just spent countless hours on torture, is now kissing him. He jerks weakly and is rewarded with a tongue is mouth, pressing against the burn on his own tongue, making him whimper and try to pull away. There’s one last lick against the inside of his mouth and then the stranger pulls away, with a sneer and string of pink-ish drool connecting them for a moment. They lean in close again and Dom leans away, clenching his jaw shut, but there’s only a playful whisper in his ear,

“Stay away from Miranda Kearney and we won’t have another playdate, Dominic Bridges~”

A pinch of a needle in his neck.

Time slowly blurring away into darkness.

Nothing.

————

Dom wakes up to something over his face and instantly panic. His hands fly up and he pushes at it, trying to get it off, gasping and struggling weakly.

There are voices and shouting, loud beeps and hurried footsteps.

Hands grab him, holding him down, and Dom screams at them.

Cold in his veins.

Sleep in his mind.

Nothing once again.

————

His next waking is a slow one, a gentle rise like waves lapping at the shore of an empty beach in the dawn.

He knows that he is laying down, that around him is softness, that the pain is distant and throbbing in the back of his mind. Only one eye will open and he squints against the bright lights overhead. The air smells like cleaning solutions and chemicals. There’s a white softness to everything, something gentle and consoling that makes Dominic breathe a little easier, even with the pressure-pain in his ribs.

A hospital…

“Dominic?”

He turns his head just enough to see Miranda leaning forward in her chair at his bedside. Her voice is soft and distressed, she looks tired and pale and like she hasn’t slept in weeks. Dom tries to offer her a reassuring smile and opens his mouth to say that he’s okay, but Miranda places a couple of cool fingertips on his lips with a shake of her head,

“Don’t try to talk, honey, you’ve already pulled your stitches once. Just relax, you’re okay now, you’re safe. We can deal with a police report and everything later.”

She brushes his hair back, leans down to kiss his forehead, and tells him to go back to sleep. Dom makes a soft noise in the back of his throat; he doesn’t want to sleep, he wants to see Cody, he wants to make sure his son is okay. He wants to tell Miranda that she’s in danger and she needs to stay away from him. He wants to go home and keep his family safe.

But Miranda’s hand on his forehead is familiar and soft, it’s chilled against his fevered skin. Comforting. And his body is exhausted, his mind drained, and he only means to close his eye for a second…

It’s dark when his eye open again, quiet except for a soft beeping from a machine monitoring his heart.

Miranda is gone, her chair empty, and for a second Dom thinks he’s alone. Then he hears someone breathing, feels a warm weight against his side, and glances down to see Cody tucked onto the bed beside him. Someone’s laid another hospital blanket over the both of them and it’s slid down to bunch around Cody’s waist, one of Cody’s hands is curled lightly into the front of Dom’s hospital gown, resting on Dom’s hip (one of the few places without stitches or injuries). Dom feels his heart swelling in his chest, warmth bleeding into every cavity of his body as he looks at his sleeping son. Laboriously, with a slowness that would do a tortoise proud, Dom reaches out and tugs the blanket back up over Cody’s shoulder.

Only then, with one hand resting in Cody’s hair, does Dominic let himself sleep.

————

Healing enough to speak takes a while.

But that process isn’t nearly as bad as having to make an actual police report.

The officers and detective want Dom to be alone but Miranda refuses to leave. She sits in a chair beside Dom’s bed, her hand wrapped gently around his bandaged and splinted fingers, and frowns at the officers until they relent. Cody is, thankfully, at Milo’s, and while Dom would rather Miranda not hear any of it, he can at least be grateful that Cody isn’t around to accidentally overhear anything.

Speaking is hard. His tongue is swollen and sore and his words are stiff and slurred together. He speaks slowly, each breath a labor, and struggles to remember everything he can. He feels humiliated and weak and tries to swallow the notion that he deserves what happened to him. When he mentions the unwanted kiss, he stumbles, falters and his breath hitches and his eyes burn and he feels so disgusted with himself for letting it happen. But he pushes it out anyway, closes his eyes because he can’t look at Miranda when he tells the officers that his captors had told him to stay away from her.

But he does pull his hand out of her’s.

“Dom…” She breathes his name, broken butterfly wings and falling flower petals and it destroys him because he’s the reason she sounds so hurt. It’s his fault and she should just stay away from him before it gets worse.

Dominic Bridges breaks his own heart because at least that will mean no one else will have to get hurt.

————

Miranda doesn’t leave.

She ignores Dom’s requests to stay away, shushes him when he tries to protest, reassures him that she is safe, that Cody is safe, that everyone is safe.

“I’m dangerous…” He murmurs to her. Dom’s recovered enough to be propped up in bed, leaning against a lot of pillows and spending time he isn’t sleeping watching hospital television.

“No, you’re not. Stop saying that.” Miranda chides him gently, offering a spoonful of porridge for him to eat, something soft and easy for his still healing body to process, “There’s nothing anyone can do. Cody and Milo and his family are under police protection, and so am I. No one is going to get hurt, I promise.”

Dom doesn’t believe her.

————

The police finally made an arrest when Dom was moved from the ICU.

But it’s Miranda who tells him the truth.

“His name is Carter,” Her voice is gentle, hesitant, her hand in his and her thumb massaging his knuckles in slow circles, “We…we dated in college. There was some talk about—it was pretty serious. But…” She pauses, won’t look directly at Dom, “Things didn’t work out. He couldn’t let me—wouldn’t let me—go. There were…restraining orders involved. It wasn’t pretty. He must have found out about us somehow. The police said he paid some people from the—the dark web or something. They had you in a Red Room, recording video for Carter of your…stay.” Tears well in her eyes and she lifts Dom’s hand to her face, pressing her cheek against the back of his hand, the pads of her fingers light against his palm,

“I’m so sorry, Dominic, this is my fault. I had no idea Carter was still watching me! If I had known—if I had any idea he would do something like this—! I’m so, so sorry! This is all my fault! It’s my fault you got hurt! I’m sorry, Dom, I’m so sorry!”

Dom stares at her as her tears drip onto his hand, sliding down his wrist to fall onto the bedspread. Miranda’s words are bright against his heart, something familiar about them making his spine ache and his eyes burn.

They are his words.

The same words he has said to himself about every situation, about everything that has gone wrong. They are a burden he places on his own shoulders, a weight he forces himself to carry. And he can see that same weight bearing down on Miranda, pressing heavy on her heart and weighing on her mind. He can see the ache of it chewing her to pieces, tearing her apart.

Dom reaches out his other hand, cupping her hands in his own, and presses a kiss to her fingers. Miranda looks up at him with wide eyes rimmed in red and tears still clinging to her lashes. Dom smiles at her, feeling the scar on his cheek stretch.

“Miranda,” He says, his voice low, as soft and as gentle as she has spoken to him,

“It wasn’t your fault. You can’t predict how people will act. And…and if you keep wanting to blame yourself anyway…” He squeezes her hands, his heart pounding in his chest,

“I forgive you. And I love you.”

[imnotinclinedtomaturity]

Love Yourself (Chapter 32)

title: Love Yourself summary: A lot of things about Dan’s life are pretty great. He gets to make the music he wants, he’s got a great fanbase, and his manager is his best friend. A few things about his life suck a bit more. He’s currently lacking inspiration, he’s rather lonely, and he’s stuck in a rut. Dan’s been going to the same coffee shop for years. It’s quiet, it’s quaint, it’s near his home. Most importantly: none of the employees give a shit that’s he a world-famous singer. Things change when he meets the new barista. chapter words: 17k story words: 267k (so far) chapter: 32/? rating: m warnings: language, alcohol, sex mentions, some bi/homophobia, eventual explicit smut, some depression, consensual d/s undertones genre: singer!dan, coffee shop au, barista!phil, slow burn [[ao3]] [[first chapter]] [[previous chapter]]

a/n: um so this is like a month overdue... but it's long af. and i've cut down what was going to go in this chapter. i hope it is worth the wait <3 massive thanks as always to @auroraphilealis for being my biffle, beta, and cheerleader. she's been by my side as a beat this chapter to death and listened to a million rambles of why it was important to me to keep it all together (which i only mostly ended up doing) and other pretentious shit. she's wonderful xx

note: this chapter contains more explicit themes than past ones. unlike past chapters, outside of the marked smut, there is risque material. skim at your own discretion if you are uncomfortable, but it wasn't set up in a way i could mark

By the time filming had finally ended, Dan felt emotionally fucking exhausted. Being so open and honest on national television, and having to be so careful with his words, had drained him of just about everything. There wasn’t an ounce of propriety left in him, and at this point, all he wanted was to be taken care of and not have to fucking think for a little bit.

Letting go — whatever that meant — was impossible on set. From the second he’d finished performing his song and had ducked backstage, he’d been craving a hug from Phil — a proper hug, not the one-armed bro-hug Phil had given him. But stagehands were running everywhere, and there didn’t seem to be a bloody centimeter of privacy, so Dan resisted. The minute he got in the uber, he could collapse against Phil.

But for now, resting his foot against Phil’s as he stood behind the stage wall would have to suffice. Dan closed his eyes, replaying his interview in his head as he listened to the loud hum of the audience laughing and applauding and — holy fuck. He’d actually just done that. He’d actually talked about his most personal matters, something he’d taken great lengths to keep secret, in front of all of those people. The studio held what? Two hundred people?

Two hundred people who were now privy to Dan’s rambling thoughts about sexuality and boxes, who now had a whole fountain of knowledge about Dan’s sexual and romantic preferences. Two hundred people who had seen Dan be open and vulnerable and honest.

The gravity of the interview smacked Dan in the face, and that’s when he realized, really truly realized, that those two hundred people were just the beginning. In a few short hours, that interview would play on national American tv, would stream on youtube worldwide. And sure, he had known that while he was filming, but he hadn’t known. Not in the way it was all hitting him now.

Dan swallowed thickly and let his hand brush against Phil’s. He wanted out of here. He wanted a hug. He wanted to think about anything other than this interview, his fate, his audience, just for a little bit anyway.

The twenty minutes it took to get an all clear lasted about five years. Dan was so on edge and ready to leave that he was already ordering a car before a stagehand had even finished dismissing them. Without waiting for proper goodbyes, Dan seized Phil’s wrist and dragged him out of the studio, down the lift, out the back door — and not the back door that fans often waited for celebrities at, either.

Dan felt a wave of relief rush through him when he burst out of the exit and found a black car already stalled next to the curb. Rushing over to the car, Dan wrenched open the back door and ushered Phil inside.

The relief coursing through Dan’s veins ran cold when the driver greeted him though. The way he confirmed Dan’s name, the breathlessness in his voice and the distinct spark in his eye — they were the unmistakable signs that someone recognized him.

Perhaps the ride back to the hotel wouldn’t be as relaxing as Dan had hoped.

Still, Dan shuffled in after Phil, leaving the full space of the middle seat between them. And less than a block later, Dan’s hunch was proven right when the driver asked which show he had been recording for at Rockefeller Center.

Not wanting to actually engage with this stranger, Dan grunted a reply and made a show of putting in his headphones, even though he didn’t actually play any music. It may have been rude, but it worked. The driver didn’t ask any follow up questions.

Of course, that didn’t stop his gaze from flickering into the rear view mirror every other bloody second. Dan felt like an animal in a glass box, on display and on edge. Phil was right there, but Dan didn’t feel like he could reach out, not under such intense observation.

Like Dan had told himself and Phil and Louise a million times, tonight was about talking about bisexuality, about giving that topic all the attention it deserved, not about him and Phil. The last thing Dan wanted was to have their relationship inadvertently outed by a random crew member or uber driver.

So Dan held back. Instead of sinking into his boyfriend’s side and letting himself get lost in Phil, Dan stayed on his side of the backseat and fell prey to one of the most volatile coping strategies he had — the internet.

Dan googled the average number of viewers of The Tonight Show and discovered it was over two million a night — and that wasn’t including the extra views that youtube brought in. And that, naturally, brought Dan to his next google search, where he discovered that The Tonight Show’s youtube channel had a whopping nineteen million subscribers. Subscribers who would undoubtedly have access to Dan’s rants about bisexuality, and his recently failed relationship, in just a few hours time.

Overwhelmed by the sheer significance of everything, Dan spread his legs obnoxiously far apart so that one knee pressed into Phil’s. Phil nudged back deliberately, a silent reassurance of his presence, a subtle demonstration of his support.

It wasn’t the bear hug Dan craved, but it was enough for now. The slight pressure of Phil’s leg against his own helped Dan stay grounded as he switched gears and fell down a wikipedia black hole about most viewed celebrity interviews. Unsurprisingly, videos about famous entertainers coming out were high on the list.

Right. No pressure there.

By the time the car pulled up to the hotel, Dan’s desire for real physical contact had developed into flat out desperation. He just needed this goddamn weight to ease back for a fucking minute.

Without waiting for Phil, Dan hiked his backpack over his shoulder and bolted into the hotel, through the lobby, and straight to the lifts.

It seemed to take bloody forever for a lift to actually arrive, but it took even longer for Phil to catch up. Dan had to pass on two elevators before he finally saw Phil entering the hotel, lumbering awkwardly across the lobby, weighed down with Dan’s guitar.

Oops.

In Dan’s haste to make it to their room, he’d forgotten that his guitar — his favorite guitar — was in the trunk. Eyeing Phil’s lopsided stance, Dan grimaced and took a small step towards him.

“Sorry,” Dan said apologetically as he pressed the up button for the third time. “Lemme take that,” he offered, reaching out for the worn handle of his guitar case.

With absolutely none of the coordination that Dan had developed over the years, Phil switched the guitar to his opposite hand, suddenly making it much harder for Dan to easily swipe it out of his grip.

“Phillll,” Dan whined, reaching across Phil’s body for the handle.

“Dannnnnn,” Phil retaliated as he stuck his tongue out and held the guitar even further out of Dan’s reach. His bicep was quaking, and his body definitely wasn’t used to the extra awkwardly large weight, but Dan couldn’t help appreciating how fucking sexy it was that, for the first time in ages, he had someone that was willing — determined, even — to carry Dan’s shit.

The bell on another lift finally dinged, and the doors opened. Dan’s attention snapped from Phil’s playful face to the empty lift. Relief rushing in just by the sheer presence of the lift, Dan gestured for Phil to take the lead. Luckily, it was that in-between time of night when most people were at dinner or something of the sort, and they had the lift to themselves. Dan took advantage of the brief moment of privacy and stepped in close to Phil, his knuckles gently brushing against Phil’s hand, the loving fingers that were inexpertly wrapped around the handle of Dan’s heavy guitar.

“Thanks,” Dan murmured, the teasingly childish tone suddenly vanishing, and a disgustingly sweet one taking over. In what he hoped wasn’t too cheesy of a move, Dan closed the small distance between them and pressed a chaste kiss to Phil’s cheek.

Brows furrowed, Phil cocked his head at Dan. “Dan, it’s just a guitar, I don’t mind.”

“Mmm,” Dan hummed, stepping back to his place. He watched the numbers climb as they passed floor after floor, observing Phil out of the corner of his eye. Phil was quiet, but shot Dan an odd look, his expression a mix of pointed and sad. It utterly baffled Dan for a second — until he remembered their conversation from yesterday morning, that was.

Phil didn’t have to say a word, Dan could practically hear him pointing out that his reaction was a bit unhealthy. Appreciation was fine, sure, but the amount of surprise he felt at a partner doing something so simplistically nice probably didn’t speak highly of his past relationships.

Wanting out of that moment before Phil could force Dan to properly think about his reaction, Dan darted out of the lift as soon as the doors opened and hurried down the hallway. Behind him, Phil’s footsteps echoed down the hallway, pausing just out of reach when Dan came to a halt outside of their door and fumbled to find his room key.

Maybe nerves or exhilaration or exhaustion was still gripping Dan, or maybe it was the knowledge that he had Phil and a hotel room and a foreign city all to himself tonight, but it took him three tries of swiping their card before the light finally flickered green.

The click of the latch was a wave of relief, and Dan found himself shoving their door open with far more force and enthusiasm than was necessary. Without waiting for Phil, Dan barrelled into their room and crossed the space in three quick strides, coming to a stop in front of their bed and spinning around to stare impatiently at Phil.

Fucking finally, they were alone.

Phil was a few steps behind him, and didn’t seem to have any of the urgency that Dan had. Dan watched anxiously as Phil walked towards him at the pace of an impregnated, fat sloth. Carefully, and ungodly slowly, Phil sat the guitar down in front of the bed and finally, finally his hands were free.

Dan didn’t wait for Phil to straighten up before launching himself into Phil’s arms, physically demanding to be held. The sudden weight of Dan threw Phil off balance, causing him to stumble backwards towards the bed.

“Oi,” Phil gasped as he tumbled to the bed, just barely managing to not fall all the way onto his back under Dan’s momentum. Even as he fell, his hands landed on Dan’s hips and pulled him down to the bed too. Just for a moment, Dan found himself awkwardly leaning into Phil, not quite sitting, not quite standing.

With a flustered giggle, Dan shifted his body so he was straddling Phil’s lap instead. Dan’s hands slid up from Phil’s waist, and looped around his neck, finally pulling him into the private and intimate embrace Dan had been dying for.

“Well hello there,” Phil greeted, his hands dipping under the hem of Dan’s jumper, his fingers thumbing over the jut of Dan’s hipbone. Phil’s voice was low, and his touch was sultry, and Dan couldn’t hold back a shaky sigh. He felt so damn needy, and the soft drag of Phil’s fingers on his bare skin was already quieting his screaming mind some.

Dan shifted back up, just enough so that he could look Phil in the eye. The cheeky and smug look on Phil’s face wasn’t surprising — maybe someday Phil would stop looking so satisfied about the reactions he pulled from Dan, but they clearly weren’t there yet.

“Hi,” Dan responded with a smile, not even bothering to hide the effect Phil was having on him. Dan tipped his head forward, closing the small distance between them, and pressed his lips to Phil’s.

Despite Phil’s teasing tone, he let Dan take what he wanted, matching Dan kiss for kiss and touch for touch. Dan wasn’t sure who licked whose lips first, who opened their mouth for who first. He did, however, realize that it only took a short minute for them to escalate from sweet kisses to proper snogging.

Before they could get too carried away, Dan pulled back, panting slightly. Even though he needed a decent lung capacity for singing, it seemed that kissing Phil for two minutes stole his breath in a way that a long high note never could.

“Where’s — the room service — menu?” Dan asked, his words coming in pants as his gaze drifted to the bedside table and then the desk, searching for a helpful booklet.

Phil fingers slipped down from the middle of Dan’s waist to the low hem of his pants. His brows furrowed and he cocked his head to the side. “Why?” he asked.

Huffing an exaggerated sigh, Dan shot Phil an incredulous look. “Because I’ve had a crazy fucking day and would like to let loose a little…?” After knowing Phil for nearly three full months, Dan was rather surprised to have to point out the obvious to him.

“Well yeah,” Phil huffed and cleared his throat. His pupils were blown wide, and now it was Dan’s turn to feel pleased with himself; he might be a mess from two minutes of kissing Phil, but Phil was just as flustered after two minutes of kissing Dan. “I know that much.” Phil rolled his eyes and slid his hands out of Dan’s trousers to a less scandalous spot, tracing his thumbs lightly Dan’s prominent hip bones. “I just meant, I’m surprised that you don’t want to go out since we only have a few nights here.”

Dan shrugged, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth as he contemplated Phil’s comment. He’d definitely had some great nights in the bars of New York, but they’d all come with the unfortunate price tag of at least half a dozen paparazzi photos. That wasn’t what Dan wanted tonight — tonight he just wanted Phil.

Tentatively, Dan let his hands drift from Phil’s shoulders up to his bare neck, his thumbs softly rubbing along Phi’s pulse points. “I mean… It’s not that I don’t want to enjoy New York, I just…” Dan couldn’t help the way his gaze drifted down from Phil’s, landing instead on his lips. Coyly — or at least he hoped it was coy and sexy — Dan slipped his hands down Phil’s neck and under the collar of his button-up shirt. “I’d rather not be bothered by a fan or the media tonight, ya know?” Just in case the meaning behind his words wasn’t clear enough, Dan dipped his thumb further down Phil’s shirt and grazed his collarbone suggestively.

“Mmm, that’s fair,” Phil murmured. Taking Dan’s lead, Phil’s hands nudged up higher on Dan’s hips, pushing his leather jacket and tight jumper up even higher so Phil’s fingers could brush over the bare skin near the top of Dan’s ribs. “But what if I told you I knew a place where we’d be left alone?”

Cocking an eyebrow, Dan straightened up. He’d been in New York. He’d been to elite clubs, he’d been to dive bars, he’d been to locals only restaurants — and on every occasion, he’d been photographed. In his experience, this was a city of famous people, and in turn, that meant it was a city of photographs and tabloids, a city of journalists searching for their next break.

“What kind of place is this?” Dan asked skeptically.

“Well,” Phil bit his lip, suddenly looking a little hesitant. “Technically it’s a gay club. But the standard cover is high enough to keep out most fans, and they’ve got an absurd amount of security, just in case.”

“How do you know about a place like that?” Dan pried; he’d been to New York half a dozen times and he’d never heard of any exclusive gay clubs. But even as Dan questioned Phil’s knowledge, he could feel the excitement growing in his stomach. He hadn’t been to a proper gay bar since he was seventeen, and never with a partner — at least not someone who wasn’t just a fling. He couldn’t deny that the idea was hotter than hell.

“Oh. Uh, well,” Phil shrugged awkwardly, sounding shifty. His eyes darted away from Dan’s, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Another gay youtuber has a friend who is a bouncer there?” he explained, but he sounded so unsure that it came out as a question.

Dan eyed Phil suspiciously. “How jealous should I be of this guy right now?”

“Of Tyler? Not at all. No way. Never.” Phil shook his head vehemently, his gaze flicking back to Dan.

“And Tyler is…?” Dan prompted slowly, raising his eyebrows and shaking his head.

“He’s just a casual friend who lives in LA. We collaborate when we’re in the same city,” Phil shrugged.

Dan narrowed his eyes skeptically. “And the bouncer?” he pushed, sensing that there was something that Phil wasn’t admitting.

Phil’s gaze shifted to the side again, his cheeks growing red. The grip on Dan’s chest slipped, Phil’s hands dropping down to the base of Dan’s hips.

Dan’s heart followed Phil’s hands, plummeting down into his stomach and then somehow sinking even further. Just from Phil’s reaction, Dan knew he’d figured it out.

“It was one time and really didn’t matter,” Phil admitted, sounding defeated, embarrassed. “But he’ll let us both in for free and there won’t be cameras there.”

Dan was surprised to find that he wasn’t just jealous, he was almost repulsed. His stomach churned as his brain supplied images of Phil and some gorgeous boy tangled in bed together, making him feel nauseous.

“I’m not sure I want to meet a guy you’ve fucked,” Dan said, aiming for teasing and joking, but as soon as he said it, he was sure the insecurity shined through. “I mean, what if he’s cuter than me?” Dan chuckled half-heartedly, doing his best to salvage his dignity. He really didn’t want Phil to think he was a jealous dick or clingy or something else completely annoying. Even if it was kind of true.

Phil laughed — genuinely laughed, not an awkward chuckle like before. “First off,” he started, his voice actually light and humorous, not forced casual like Dan’s. “There’s no way anyone has ever, or could ever, be cuter than you. Not that I'm aiming to find someone else.” As if to prove his point, Phil’s fingers dipped into Dan’s jeans and pointedly hooked under his pants. It wasn’t just a little this time; now Phil’s hands were properly inside of Dan’s pants, his fingers inching towards more intimate parts of Dan’s body. “And second off,” Phil continued, “I suffered through two months of knowing you were sleeping with someone else. I think five seconds of interaction with a random guy I slept with a year ago doesn’t compare.”

“Uh!!” Dan gasped in protest, his voice high pitched and offended. “I didn’t sleep with her for the last month and you know it!”

“Yeah, now I know,” Phil agreed begrudgingly. “But I didn’t then and I was so damn envious.” Phil licked his lips slowly. “Plus,” he added, his voice lower and gruff. “You were sleeping with her in the beginning, and I had to watch you come in with marks all up and down your neck that proved it.” As if to make his point, Phil dragged his fingers along Dan’s sensitive neck possessively, thumbing over the spot where coverup was hiding a hickey on Dan’s pulse point.

Dan’s stomach twisted in reaction, and a shiver ran down his back — whether it was the clear jealous attitude or the cursing that was turning him on, he wasn’t sure. There was a part of him that was willing to forfeit embracing any amount of New York tonight, that wanted to rock his hips forward and show Phil just how little reason he had to be jealous now, to take full advantage of the nice hotel room they had.

“Come on, let me take you out, buy you a few drinks. Maybe a nice dinner first, if you’re hungry,” Phil pleaded.

There was another part of Dan — an unexpectedly bigger part of him — that was itching to go out with Phil, to find a different way to show Phil that Dan was all his, even if it wasn’t the approach he was used to. And besides, after so many months of being dragged out by his ex, something in Dan couldn’t help finding the fact that Phil wanted to take him out, just for the sake of being together, incredibly sexy.

“Alright,” Dan agreed, conceding even as he let his hips suggestively rock against Phil’s just once — he couldn’t resist, not if he wasn’t going to have the chance to do so for a while. “We should definitely have something to eat first, though. I haven’t eaten nearly enough today and I reckon I’ll be drunk after half a cocktail if we don’t get food.”

“Fair enough,” Phil agreed as his hands slipped out of Dan’s pants, lightly gripping Dan’s hips and guiding him backwards. Tilting slightly to the side, Phil fished his phone out of his back pocket. “What kind of food do you want, then?”

“Doesn’t matter. Something with a view of the city might be nice,” Dan suggested with a small shrug. Sliding all the way off Phil’s lap, Dan made his way to the mirror, fluffing at his hair. The makeup from earlier still looked nice; the eyeliner wasn’t smudgy and the color on his cheeks still seemed to accentuate his features. Eyes meeting Phil in the mirror, Dan added, “Nowhere so fancy we can’t wear the clothes we’re wearing to the club, though.”

He knew if they had to come back to the hotel to change there was no way Phil was convincing him to leave again.

“I know just the place,” Phil said decisively, his gaze turning back to his phone.

*******

Less than an hour later, an uber was dropping Dan and Phil just outside of Times Square with an apology that they couldn’t get them any closer to their destination. During what felt like an infinitely-long car ride for Dan’s curious nerves, Phil had refused to tell Dan where he was taking him, and for a split second, Dan had been worried Phil was going to usher him to one of the hot dog or pizza carts littered around the square before leading him to a bench to people watch.

Not that Dan was strictly opposed to street food — he certainly didn’t want Phil to splurge on another fancy meal so soon after their last date. But also, he’d learned from experience what some vendors’ food will do to stomachs, and if they were planning to head to a club later that night, they should at least try to spare themselves diarrhea and food poisoning.

Phil took a hard right before they made it to the throngs of people though, his hand on Dan’s lower back to guide him in the right direction. The sudden turn led them… into the valet entrance to the Marriott?

Dan turned to look at Phil, but his face was perfectly neutral. “Phil, did you bring us halfway across Manhattan to eat at a different hotel’s restaurant?” Dan asked dubiously, letting Phil lead him through the revolving doors and into the hotel lobby.

“Yeah, we’re going to eat at the touristy hotel bar of a place we aren’t even staying,” Phil responded sarcastically. His hand dropped from Dan’s back, something that disappointed Dan until he followed Phil’s gaze to a gaggle of teenagers across the lobby. “Just trust me, Howell,” Phil teased, flashing Dan a coy smile as he pressed the call button for the lift, the doors immediately opening.

“If you insist,” Dan smirked, stepping into the lift after Phil. “You’re on thin ice though, Lester.” Despite the mock-warning in his voice, Dan quickly closed the gap between them when the doors closed and pressed a quick kiss to Phil’s cheek.

The doors parted again just seconds later, letting them out at the third floor. Confidently, Phil led them down the hallway, only to stop in front of another set of lifts. Dan cocked an eyebrow but wordlessly followed Phil as the doors to the next lift opened.

“Those only go to hotel rooms past this floor,” Phil cryptically explained as he pressed the button for the forty-eighth floor. This ride was longer, giving Phil enough time to lean in and kiss Dan on the lips. “I can’t promise this place will be free of photographers, so get it out of your system.”

Despite his giggles, Dan leaned forward and captured Phil’s lips with his own, this time lingering long enough to capture Phil’s lower lip between his teeth, long enough to nip at the soft and sensitive flesh inside Phil’s mouth. Long enough to reach for Phil’s hips and slip his fingers beneath Phil’s clothes, suggestively thumbing across the bare skin of Phil’s waist.

“Mmff!” Phil let out a throaty noise halfway between a moan and a reprimand, as he pulled back from Dan’s kiss.

“What?” Dan asked innocently, even as he let his fingers drift towards Phil’s arse. “You said to get it out of my system.”

“Well I didn’t think you’d feel me up in a lift,” Phil shot back snarkily.

“Mmmm,” Dan hummed. “Maybe I could resist feeling my boyfriend up in a lift if he didn’t look so damn gorgeous.” Dan eyed the denim jacket Phil was wearing, his gaze lingering on the fitted shirt covered with tiny pale flowers that was buttoned up all the way to his Adam’s apple, drawing Dan’s attention to Phil’s neck. The deep, pinot-noir purple stood out starkly against Phil’s pale skin, bringing out his eyes and making him look unfairly quirky and sexy at the same time.

The bell dinged and the doors parted, cutting off Phil’s reply. Dan snapped his mouth shut, but let himself continue eying Phil as he exited the lift — he could only do so much to tamp down his blatant arousal tonight, when Phil looked like that.

Phil didn’t hesitate to stride up to the host stand and give his name — that was something Dan was still getting used to, a partner being willing to take the lead in moments like this. It was proving to be far hotter than Dan had ever expected it to be.

Dan was still processing everything when the hostess started leading them towards a table. The restaurant seemed to form a circle around the lifts, and all of the exterior walls were replaced with grand windows overlooking the New York skyline.

Dan had only gotten one foot on the raised platform before Phil’s hands were softly gripping his shoulders. It was a good thing, too; Dan was fairly certain he would have fallen if Phil hadn’t steadied him. Beneath their feet, the platform was moving.

“What the…?” Dan breathed, baffled by the way the top step was moving but the bottom wasn’t.

“Look outside,” Phil murmured, his voice just centimeters from Dan’s ear. Following Phil’s suggestion, Dan glanced out the nearest window. Now that Dan was looking closer, the city around them seemed to be shifting slightly, and it took him a moment to realize that it was the restaurant that was rotating ever so slowly, not the skyscrapers outside.

“Holy shit,” Dan mumbled quietly, coming to a halt when the hostess gestured to a small table along one of the massive windows.

Dan sat, too captivated by the view of this foreign city to pay attention to the muted conversation Phil was having with the woman. Outside, Dan could see building after building, could see the moon rising over the water. It was a spectacular view, and judging by the slow rotation, it was only a portion of what he was going to see tonight.

It wasn’t until Phil’s knee gently bumped against his that Dan tore his gaze away from the window and turned back to face his boyfriend instead.

“When did you have time to make a reservation?” Dan asked stupidly, his brain still struggling to wrap itself around the amazingly gorgeous restaurant Phil had brought him to.

“While you were primping for tonight,” Phil teased. His hand slid across the table just enough to brush his knuckles across the back of Dan’s hand.

Dan’s hand, the one that wasn’t just barely touching Phil, flew up to self-consciously pat his curly hair.

“Stop,” Phil gently ordered. “You look good. Really good. Primping time was well used.”

Dan’s hand fell back to the table, his thumb immediately tapping out a mindless rhythm. He couldn’t believe Phil had taken the twenty minutes of downtime to book them a window-side table. “You’re amazing,” Dan sighed, awe dripping from his voice. “Seriously amazing.”

Phil tilted his head to the side, shrugging his shoulder as he flashed Dan a cheeky grin. “That is what they call me,” he said playfully.

“Oh fuck off,” Dan huffed, unable to stop the wide smile that spread across his face and the way his hand pressed against Phil’s. Teenage Phil really had picked out the perfect username for himself — amazing was by far the best word to describe him.

Dan’s gaze drifted back to the window. The view was slowly twisting so that they could see more and more of the river. The water was twinkling, reflecting both the moon and the bright lights of the city.

“Wait,” Dan exclaimed suddenly, his head whipping from the window to Phil. “Don’t you get motion sickness?”

Phil shrugged, a soft smile on his face. “Usually. But the restaurant moves so slowly that it won’t bother me as long as I don’t look outside for too long.”

Huffing a small sigh, Dan frowned slightly. “We could have gone to a restaurant where the view wouldn’t make you sick,” Dan pointed out.

“We could have,” Phil agreed easily. “But I knew you’d like this one.”

“Oh,” Dan mumbled quietly, a smile pulling at his lips. He turned his attention to the menu, if for no other reason than an easy excuse for hiding the blush that was flushing his cheeks. Phil ignored his dinner menu in favor of the black, leather-bound drink book on the table.

“Does your hatred for white wine extend to champagne, as well?” Phil asked idly, not looking up from the menu he was studying.

“Definitely not,” Dan denied vehemently, smiling stupidly at the thought of Phil ordering them champagne. “Champagne is its own branch of alcohol and it’s wonderful.”

“Good,” Phil folded the alcohol menu primly, and looked back up at Dan. “Because you were truly exceptional tonight, and deserve to be spoiled.”

“Phi-illlll,” Dan whined, bringing his menu up to hide the redness of his face with such force that it accidentally smacked him in the nose. His stomach tightened at the compliment, a shiver ran down his spine.

“Oh I forgot,” Phil said innocuously, his voice far too knowing to actually be innocent. “Does someone have a bit of a praise kink?” Phil continued with fake-casualness, his voice low and quiet. Husky. Sexy.

Dan dropped his forehead to the table with a resounding thunk, the menu shifting to cover the back of his head as his hands shielded his face from Phil’s view. “You aren’t supposed to take advantage of that in public.”

“Oops!” Phil laughed, actually laughed, as he kicked a foot out to nudge Dan’s. “Sit up and pick out what you want for an appetizer, babe.”

Slightly mortified, and more than a little flustered, Dan rose up again, his gaze steadfastly fixed on his menu. It was a fruitless effort, though — he could feel Phil’s eyes boring into him, which did nothing to calm his pounding heart and swooping stomach.

He realized they’d been handed a prix-fixe menu, meaning they would each get three courses for the flat rate of… holy shit. Eighty nine dollars.

At this rate, it was getting hard to tell if Phil’s tastes in restaurants was just as fancy as Dan’s, or if he was trying far too hard to impress him. In the months that Dan had gotten to know Phil, he’d learned that Phil was generally somewhat frugal — though never to a fault. In his business and personal life, Phil was always conscious about how he earned and spent his money. That hardly seemed in line with the extravagant dinners he was taking Dan to.

“Phil,” Dan started carefully, planning to test the waters and see if Phil would want to switch to the normal menu, one where they could share an appetizer and skip dessert (and shave a few dollars off the bill).

“Hush up and choose your appetizer, Howell,” Phil said without looking up from his own menu.

“Fine, I will, but…” Dan trailed off, his eyes darting out the window to avoid looking at Phil for a second before drifting back.

Phil folded his menu in front of him and looked at Dan with an unreadable stare. “But what?”

“But… you know not every date has to be expensive food and fancy restaurants, right? I’d be fine with Dominos and your sofa.”

“And I’m sure we’ll have our fair share of nights in with too much pizza. But I also like quality food and nice restaurants, and I know you do, too. So order whatever you want and enjoy tonight.”

Dan’s face must have betrayed the small bit of wariness that was still gnawing at his stomach, because Phil continued, “Look, if it makes you feel better, I promise you can pay next time we go somewhere expensive, okay?”

Dan smiled, his heart melting. “I adore you, Phil Lester.”

“And I you, Daniel Howell.”

****

The food was heavenly. Dan opted for lighter, mostly vegan dishes — a salad and a lovely squash roast — because he didn’t want to feel bloated and lethargic if they were going out after dinner. Phil had seafood instead and offered Dan small tastes of it, holding his fork across the table and letting Dan bite off it.

Dinner was lovely, but the company was even better. By the time their waiter was bringing them dessert menus, they were both well on their way to properly tipsy.

Sometime during the main course, Phil had ordered a second bottle of Dom Perignon. The bubbles — and ever growing feelings of infatuation — were going straight to Dan’s head, making him feel giddy in a way he couldn’t ever remember feeling before.

Around them, the restaurant was quietly buzzing with the Friday night crowd, the bar growing slightly more crowded as the night went on. Sometime in the past hour, the overhead lamps had dimmed, the lights of the city outside casting a soft glow over their table. They’d made a full circle, rotating around to see the empire state building and central park, and now they were back to the river.

Still though, Dan only had eyes for Phil.

Under the table, their feet were entwined together, mostly shrouded by the long white table cloth — although the more champagne Dan drank, the less he cared. A few times, when Phil gave him a particularly sweet compliment or an especially sexy look, Dan couldn’t resist brushing his fingertips over Phil’s or letting his toe drag up the inside of Phil’s leg.

In typical Phil fashion, he turned his full attention away from Dan for the first time all night when the dessert menus came, reading over the options with impressively deep intense concentration. Dan didn’t mind — he knew he couldn’t compete with sweet food, but he also knew dessert would come and go, and Phil would be his again.

“Dan!” Phil exclaimed, pointing to the very first item on the menu. “Look, they’ve made cake out of cheese! That shouldn’t get to count as a dessert!”

Dan giggled, his eyes still trained on Phil. “You know, not everyone has the same weird aversion to cheese as you, Philly.”

Phil didn’t respond, too engrossed in the list. “Oooo, look, they have profiteroles and — ew!” Head shooting back up, Phil gave Dan a genuinely horrified expression. His voice was just a hair too loud for inside, especially for the posh and intimate restaurant, but it was fine. “Who orders a cheese plate for dessert!?”

Fuck, Dan was so soft for this boy, this boy who had such bullheaded opinions over what counted as dessert, but was entirely open-minded about anything bigger. “What can I say, the world is full of zanies and fools.”

“Who don’t believe in sensible rules?” Phil quipped back with his brows raised knowingly, not quite singing, but also not exactly just talking either.

“Exactly,” Dan agreed with a nod, letting his eyes linger for just a second before finally flitting down to read his own dessert menu. There was an undefined sappy thought beating at the edge of Dan’s mind, something about how Phil felt like the fairytale impossible thing that happened to him, but he shoved it aside — that was too much even for his champagne-addled heart.

Scanning his menu, Dan’s gaze caught on one of the desserts — not because of the ingredients, but because of the suggestive name.

“I reckon I’ll order the Cherry Explosion,” Dan said, voice low as he looked up at Phil through his darker-than-usual eyelashes. “Hopefully it’ll be a preview of what’s to come later tonight.”

Phil held his gaze for a long second, a slow smirk spreading across his face and a playful twinkle in his eye. “You know,” he started slowly, leaning forward. Beneath the table, a warm hand suddenly landed on Dan’s thigh, fingertips dipping between his legs to rub along the inseam of Dan’s trousers. “I’m not normally a big fan of cherries, but if that’s what gets you there, I can get used to it.”

Dan’s jaw dropped open — both at Phil’s words and at the way his hand was slowly creeping higher and higher up Dan’s leg.

“I don’t — I’m not —” Dan stuttered, trying to defend why he had cherry lube at home, but there wasn’t a restaurant appropriate way to say that he got used to keeping it on hand in hopes that it would entice his ex-boyfriend to eat him out. “I don’t love the taste that much!” Dan finally managed.

Phil’s hand froze on Dan’s leg, his brows shooting up and a knowing smile growing on his lips. “So the flavor isn’t for your benefit, hmm?”

Shrugging, Dan did his best to keep his face neutral and voice steady — but the heat on his cheeks and his quickened breath told him he wasn’t doing a great job of either. “A lad can hope…” Dan muttered weakly.

The knowing smile on Phil’s lips turned positively lewd, his tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip, his eyes darkening with lust. “Hope for what, Daniel?” Phil challenged.

Dan swallowed thickly, squirming beneath Phil’s intense gaze. He fiddled with the edge of his menu, resisting the simultaneous urges to knock Phil’s hand off his leg so he could think straight and pull Phil’s hand a few centimeters higher to where Dan really wanted it. “You know… something besides just… fingers,” Dan murmured, dropping his eyes to the table.

“I think most people don’t need flavors for a simple blowjob,” Phil pointed out, a smug edge to his voice.

“Philllll,” Dan whined, his face growing impossibly redder. “That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he grumbled into his flute of champagne, refusing to look Phil in the eye.

“Look at me, babe,” Phil demanded softly. Head still bowed, Dan shifted his eyes to look up at Phil, whose fingers resumed their teasing caress along Dan’s inner thigh. “And tell me what you meant.”

“I didn’t mean there,” Dan whined, praying Phil wouldn’t actually make him confess that he liked being eaten out in the middle of a fancy New York restaurant. That’d he’d settle for the blatant implication.

Phil looked like he might push it, but Dan was saved by the timely appearance of their waiter, back to take their dessert order.

Without taking his eyes off Dan, Phil ordered, his voice returning to its normal volume, a hint of huskiness still laced in. “I’ll have the profiterole, please, and he’ll have the cherry explosion.”

Pointedly, Phil squeezed Dan’s thigh, and Dan felt like he was on the verge of cracking, on the verge of begging Phil to dine and dash, to skip the club, to go back to their hotel — or fuck it, get a room in this one — and fuck him already. The subtle way Phil took charge, the way he challenged Dan in ways none of his past partners ever had, the way he made Dan feel so bloody taken care of — fuck, it was driving Dan insane.

“Bloody hell, Phil. You’re gonna kill me.”

*****************

“We’re here, babe, you have to get out of the car,” Phil insisted with a giggle. He was standing on the curb, holding the car door open and offering Dan his hand.

“I caaaan’t,” Dan whined, his words slurring together thanks to the full bottle of champagne he’d drank at dinner. He petulantly crossed his arms and stayed firmly planted in his seat.

“This nice man has’ta go pick up his next people, though,” Phil pointed out, flashing an apologetic glance towards the front of the car.

“But Phil, if I get out, then e’ryone’ll see,” Dan grumbled. Phil’s eyes followed Dan’s gesture towards his lap, a saucy smirk quickly pulling at his lips.

Dan’d been half-hard since they’d ordered dessert, and his trousers were still pulling tightly across his crotch, a telling tent forming in the center. Phil had been entirely unhelpful during the ride to the club, alternating between teasing Dan about how easily excitable he was and letting his hand wander up and down Dan’s thigh, not giving him the chance to calm down. They’d both had too much champagne to be discreet about it, and Dan hoped the driver wasn’t too scarred — he hadn’t said anything to reprimand them, at least.

“It’s dark out, no one’ll notice,” Phil argued, threading his hand through Dan’s and tugging gently. The awkward reach across the backseat was enough to unsteady Phil, and he braced himself on the doorframe, wobbling just a bit. “C’mon, as soon as we’re inside, you can get us a seat on the sofas and I’ll get us drinks, okay?”

Dan peered around Phil and saw that there wasn’t a line for the club. Maybe they were early — this was New York after all — or maybe this place really was as fancy as Phil had insinuated. Regardless of the reason, that meant Dan would have to interact with minimal people before he could sit down again. Plus, maybe a few minutes away from Phil would help Dan cool down. Lord knew he needed it.

“Here,” Phil let go of Dan’s hand and shrugged out of his denim jacket, offering it to Dan. “You can hold this in front of you in you want.”

“You’ll be cold, though,” Dan said guiltily.

“Not for long if you hurry up and c’mon!” Phil smiled widely, his tongue peeking out more than usual, and shook the jacket at Dan.

Giving in with a disgruntled grumble, Dan gratefully took Phil’s jacket as he climbed out of the uber, only stumbling a little, which he thought was probably a win given that he was definitely both tipsy and turned on. Dan tried to casually sling the jacket over his arm, aiming for a good boyfriend carrying his partner’s coat vibe, and not horny twenty-something hard because of some light pawing.

Phil’s hand landed on Dan’s lower back, guiding Dan towards the entrance. He dropped his hand as they got close, and reached into his back pocket for his wallet.

He started rifling through, for what Dan wasn’t sure, but the brown-haired bouncer suddenly smiled widely, seeming to recognize Phil, and told him not to worry about it.

Shit — the bouncer! Dan’s drunken and infatuated mind had forgotten that the only reason Phil knew about this place was because he’d fucked the bouncer. Or maybe the bouncer had fucked him. At this point, Dan honestly didn’t know which was worse to think about.

“Well, hey there Phil,” the bouncer greeted, his gaze blatantly raking up and down Phil’s form. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

“Hi, Oliver,” Phil greeted politely, smiling but keeping his eyes fixed on the other boy’s face. Dan couldn’t help but size up this lad who had slept with Phil; he had chocolate brown hair, curls, and deep eyes — just like Dan. In many ways, looking at this guy was like looking in a warped mirror.

Except for in one very important way.

This guy was built in a way Dan never had been, nor would ever be. His biceps were literally bulging against his sleeves, and Dan could see the sharp outline of defined pectoral muscles under the thin material covering his shirt. Jesus, it was March! Shouldn’t this guy be wearing a jacket or something? Not showing his muscles off to the world?

And rubbing them in Phil’s new boyfriend’s face?

Well aware that he was probably glowering, Dan tuned back into the conversation just in time to hear Oliver telling Phil he looked good tonight.

“I’ll be off at one if you’re free tonight,” the bouncer said as he brushed his hand over Phil’s forearm and offered him a saucy wink. Goddamn, Dan was well familiar with that move, and he wasn’t particularly enjoying watching some random bloke pull it on his boyfriend.

The bouncer’s gaze finally drifted away from Phil, landing on Dan for the first time. Understanding seemed to register in his eyes and his hand dropped. “Although, I’m now realizing that might not be an option anymore…” he added, trailing off.

“Oh, uh,” Phil stuttered, sounding strangled and surprised. His hand reached out and wrapped around Dan’s waist. “Yeah. I mean, no! Not’n option, sorry. This is my boyfriend, Dan.”

“Ah, that’s too bad,” Oliver frowned, disappointed, before offering Dan a cheeky smirk. "You’re lucky. From what I remember your boyfriend sure can ride. He's quite the power bottom, in’it he?"

Dan could feel all the color draining out of his face, could feel how tense his entire body was, could feel his nails digging into the palms of his hands. He was practically shaking — with what, he wasn’t sure. Phil said he’d slept with this guy a year ago. It wasn’t like Dan really had the right to be mad or jealous — they hadn’t even met yet.

But still.

Riding was Dan’s favorite position — he wasn’t keen on imagining Phil doing that with some other guy.

“We’re going in now,” Phil said tersely. “You sure you don’t need a cover?” he added with minimal politeness, cutting in before Dan could say anything. Not that Dan had any idea what he’d say in a moment like this. He reckoned it’d probably start with a choice four letter word, though.

“Nah of course not, it’s always free for you gorgeous,” Oliver replied flirtily, and had the nerve to fucking wink at Phil, even after it became clear Phil was taken. “Feel free to call if you’re ever around again!” His gaze shifted to Dan, dragging over his comparatively lanky body. Dan couldn’t help self consciously adjusting the jacket in front of him, squirming under the lewd scrutiny of this built bouncer. “Or are looking for a third,” Oliver added, this time winking at Dan and deliberately licking his lips.

“He won’t be,” Dan snapped, grabbing Phil’s hand tightly and pulling him into the club as soon as they had permission.

Phil followed willingly, not even attempting to pause and apologize to the guy about Dan’s rude behavior. Not that Dan thought his reaction was unjustified — the asshole had ignored Dan, hit on his boyfriend, and asked for a threesome, all within a five minute window.

Inside, Dan paused for a fraction of a second to appraise his surroundings. The club was dim in a seductive, anonymous way. There were guys everywhere, far more than the lineless entrance had suggested. A long bar lined the back wall, and sofas and low tables created narrow aisles, leaving no room for a dance floor — something that was both surprising and disappointing. Dancing would have been an easy way for Dan to release some of his pent up emotions.

Scanning the room for alternate options, Dan’s eyes caught on a deserted hallway. He pulled Phil down it, not stopping until they were passed the glowing coat check window and as far from the crowd as they could be. Dan’s grip was probably still a little too tight on Phil’s hand, but Phil didn’t complain and didn’t question.

As soon as Dan thought they were alone enough, he spun around on his heel, grabbing Phil by the waist and crowding him up against the wall in one smooth motion. Phil’s jacket fell carelessly from Dan’s grip to the floor as Dan planted his feet on either side of Phil’s, his chest and hips pressed in close.

The position left Phil pinned to the wall, and given the unspoken dynamic that they were both exploring, Dan half expected Phil to flip their positions, to switch places so that Phil was the one pinning Dan to the wall.

Much to Dan’s satisfaction, however, Phil’s only movement was to loop his arms around Dan and pull him closer, hands splayed on Dan’s lower back. That prick outside had gotten under Dan’s skin, and he needed to remind himself that Phil wasn’t with that arse. Dan needed to remember that after months of pining and lusting and yearning, Phil was finally with him and no one else.

“Mine,” Dan growled as he surged forward and captured Phil’s lips with his own. Phil chuckled softly into the kiss, his chest rumbling against Dan’s. Dan could feel Phil’s fingers tracing across his back, could feel Phil’s lips quirking up into a smile. The whole thing reeked of fond and cute, but Dan didn’t want fond and cute right now.

He wanted passionate and possessive.

So Dan didn’t pause, didn’t pull back to let Phil laugh. If anything, he kissed harder; his lips moved urgently against Phil’s and his hands slipped up from Phil’s hips, desperately running over any part of Phil’s chest he could reach without having to step back.

Phil’s lips parted, and Dan didn’t hesitate to slip his tongue in, roughly licking the roof of Phil’s mouth. Not quite battling for dominance, but definitely not letting Dan take complete charge of the kiss either, Phil massaged Dan’s tongue with his own, his hands sliding down to firmly grab Dan’s arse.

The dark hallway, the anonymous club, the foreign city — they all felt like a shelter from the real world, and Dan let himself get lost in kissing and touching and groping. Maybe it was the champagne, or maybe it was the red-hot jealousy coursing through his veins, but Dan didn’t even really care if someone noticed them. Hell, he almost hoped that asshat of a bouncer decided to go on a loo break and saw the way Dan had Phil pushed up against the wall, the way Dan had his tongue down Phil’s throat.

Saw that Phil was Dan’s.

When kissing Phil became too much for Dan’s poor lungs to handle, he pulled back roughly only to immediately latch his lips onto Phil’s neck. Needing to feel Phil in every way he could, Dan rocked his hips forward, grinding their crotches together with a force that made them both groan.

“Mine,” Dan grumbled again, the word vibrating against Phil’s pulse point and pulling a deep moan out of him. He nipped at Phil’s neck, just hard enough for Phil to hiss and tighten his grip on Dan’s arse, his fingers deliciously digging into Dan’s cheeks. “Mine, mine, mine,” Dan repeated before licking over the red spot on Phil’s neck and sucking harshly.

“Of course,” Phil replied, his voice surprisingly full of conviction given how ragged his breath was growing. “All yours, baby.”

Dan slid his hands down Phil’s side, rucking his shirt up and grabbing at the soft, bare skin of Phil’s hips. “I don’t wanna share you with anyone,” Dan mumbled into Phil’s neck as his lips kissed and bit and sucked their way up to the sensitive spot beneath Phil’s ear.

“Good,” Phil huffed, this time his voice lower and more affected. One hand left Dan’s arse to tangle in his curls, pulling back forcefully until their gazes met. “Don’t wanna share you, either.”

Dan moaned, probably far too loudly for the coat check hallway of some club, but he couldn’t help it. He’d always preferred monogamy — for a lot of reasons. Something about monogamy with Phil, though. Fuck, it was so damn hot that Dan found himself getting even more riled up. And, sure, maybe it wasn’t an idea that would make many people horny, but it was turning Dan on — he literally didn’t think Phil could say anything sexier.

Hands groping higher up under Phil’s shirt, Dan crashed their lips together again, unable to resist the urge to grind their hips together again. His involuntary moan was drowned out by a loud wolf-whistle.

“Get some, sexy!” A deep, male voice called out, making Dan’s wandering hands come to an abrupt halt on Phil’s ribs and his breath catch in his throat.

“Fuck,” Dan muttered, tearing away from Phil’s lips and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Dan could feel his cheeks growing hot with embarrassment, could feel Phil’s husky laughter as his head tipped back and thunked against the wall.

Dan wasn’t concerned about the whistling stranger recognizing them, not in the dark shadows of a dim hallway in a fancy club. He was, however, mortified — and unexpectedly a little turned on — at being caught feverishly making out with someone in public, even if it was his boyfriend.

Phil tugged lightly on Dan’s hair, this time lacking the command from earlier, and guided Dan to look at him.

“Drinks?” Phil proposed, his voice ragged in a way that made Dan radiate with satisfaction.

“Yeah,” Dan panted in agreement. “That didn’t help my problem at all, though,” he added quietly. Rocking his hips against Phil’s, Dan let Phil feel the full hardness of his cock. Through their trousers, Dan could tell that Phil’s cock was swollen too, at least halfway, and the friction was absolutely heavenly. Dan had to bite back another moan at the relief that Phil’s hips gave.

“Grab my coat and go find us a sofa. I’ll get us drinks.” Phil’s thumb dragged back and forth, back and forth across Dan’s hip, rendering him speechless and incapable of countering with any other plan, even if a part of him did still want to at least try to pay for something tonight.

“Alright,” Dan mumbled, leaning forward to press his lips to Phil’s one more time before pulling back entirely. Bending down, Dan scooped Phil’s jacket up off the floor and slung it over his arm and in front of his crotch in what he hoped was a casual manner.

Dan let Phil lead the way down the hallway, hovering behind him and taking advantage of the extra coverage while he could. When they reached the main room, Phil gave Dan’s free hand a quick squeeze before they parted ways, Phil bee-lining for the back bar and Dan veering right to find some open seats near the edge of the room.

After a minute of winding, Dan found an empty sofa in a corner of the club. The music was quieter over here, no longer so loud that talking would be impossible. He collapsed onto the cushions and spread Phil’s jacket across his lap. The back of the sofa was low, only coming up to his mid-back — probably to stop people from getting too relaxed and not partaking in the whole club thing. Slouching down so his shoulders were supported, Dan pulled his phone out of his pocket to tell Phil where he was.

The first thing he noticed was the time — almost exactly half past eleven. His interview with Jimmy Fallon would be airing any minute now.

The second thing he noticed was about half a dozen text messages from Louise.

Before he opened her messages, Dan shot Phil a quick text, trying to describe the dark corner he was sat in. Switching over to his conversation with Louise, Dan skimmed over her messages. She’d asked how the recording had gone, what his plans were for the evening, cheekily teased that she hoped Dan wasn’t responding because he was getting laid, and promised to tweet about the show for him — bless her, she really was the best friend and manager he could hope for.

Quickly, Dan typed a quick message back, ignoring most of what she’d said and just updating her on things more generally.

Dan [11:28PM]: taping was good i’m happy with it. i’m sure you’ll see soon. phil and i are out. i’ll ring tomorrow xx

Dan was just hitting send when Phil appeared above him. He shuffled back up into a proper sitting position, tucking his phone back into his pocket. Cocking an eyebrow at Dan’s movement, Phil passed Dan a lowball of something dark and on ice.

“Just Louise,” Dan said as an answer to Phil’s silent question and took a sip of his drink. It was some kind of whiskey, something much more bitter than whatever the blue concoction Phil was holding probably was. Dan was grateful that Phil seemed to remember his drink preferences, even though they’d only ordered cocktails together a small handful of times. He didn’t think he could stomach drinking something as colorful and sugary as Phil’s. “Thanks,” Dan said with a smile and a tip of his glass in Phil’s direction.

“You’re welcome,” Phil replied, twisting slightly to face Dan as his free arm came to rest on the back of the sofa behind him. “Sorry about that, by the way.” Phil pointedly nodded his head back towards the door. “I didn’t think he’d hit on me, especially not with you there. Hell, I didn’t even know if he’d be working.”

Dan shrugged, twisting slightly so that he was facing more towards Phil than the rest of the room. “It’s’not your fault,” Dan said genuinely. “Although, you promised me he wasn’t cuter than me.” Petulantly, Dan huffed and sent a glare in the direction of the entrance.

“And?” Phil chuckled, his hand slipping from the sofa, his fingers grazing along Dan’s ribcage. Something about the way Phil was so casually sprawling across the sofa, the sheer manliness of the position, combined with the gentle drag of his fingers on Dan’s side was fucking attractive. “Tha’bloke is nowhere near as stunning as you,” Phil continued, his voice low and sincere.

Dan stuck his bottom lip out, pouting up at Phil. “Are y’kidding?” Dan whined. “He looked like me, but with actual muscles an’ not limp noodle arms.”

Phil’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. His eyes dragged over Dan, lingering on his arms, his chest. Dan squirmed under Phil’s intense gaze, and he was certain his cheeks were growing red. He slouched down again; Phil was taller than him now, and Dan had to tip his head up to look at him. From this angle, Dan had a perfect view of the red marks blossoming on Phil’s neck, and he felt pride swell deep in his stomach.

“I’ll admit I have a bit of a thing for dark hair an’ pretty eyes,” Phil conceded, a small smirk on his face and humor lacing his voice. Elbow still resting on the back of the sofa, Phil bent his arm so he could run his hand through Dan’s hair, petting sweetly. Dan couldn’t resist just slightly leaning his head back into the touch, silently encouraging Phil to continue his ministrations. Jesus christ, he loved his hair being played with, both in and out of the bedroom. “But the muscles don’t really do anything for me.” Phil shrugged casually, his eyes dropping from Dan’s again to salaciously rake over his body.

“In fact,” Phil continued, his voice suddenly lower, huskier. Sexier. “I prefer that you’re a li’le more narrow ‘n me.” The hand in Dan’s hair slid down. Phil’s fingers lightly traced down the side of Dan’s neck, making Dan’s skin feel on fire and his breath catch in his throat. Phil scooched a little more towards Dan, and the close proximity made Dan have to look up even more. “I like being able’ta wrap you up in my arms.”

Arm wrapped around Dan’s shoulder, Phil pulled him in so that Dan’s shoulder was leaning against Phil’s chest, making Dan feel tiny — and not in the bad way he had a minute ago, when he’d been comparing himself to the fit bouncer out front.

This time, Dan was less subtle about the way he settled into Phil’s embrace. He brought the leg closest to Phil up, and let his knee fall into Phil’s lap. Phil seemed to welcome the new position, his other hand shifting to rest his drink on Dan’s thigh.

In sync, they both took a sip of their cocktails, and Dan found himself completely distracted from the bitter taste as he stared heatedly into Phil’s eyes. Pointedly, Dan flicked his gaze down to Phil’s glass with a challenging spark in his eye, and tipped his own drink back further. It wasn’t until the liquid was half gone that Dan stopped. With a small smirk, Phil followed Dan’s lead, lifting his glass higher and chugging.

Dan couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way Phil’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and god, he wanted to drag his teeth against it, nip and lick Phil’s neck, add to the marks already there. He wanted to make Phil feel good, wanted to chase the sharpness of the whiskey away with the taste of Phil’s skin.

Overcome with the need to kiss Phil right now, Dan nestled his glass by his hip and tugged on Phil’s wrist. Phil clearly got the hint, his eyes twinkling with mirth and his drink lowering to Dan’s leg.

Pulled together like unstoppable magnets, they both leaned in, their lips meeting with heady passion that was likely too much for a nightclub. Phil tasted fruity and sweet, a perfect contrast to the heavy, bitter flavor of whiskey lingering in Dan’s mouth. Their lips moved against each other, Phil’s tongue almost immediately dragging along Dan’s lower lip, practically demanding entrance. Pliant and desperate for anything Phil would give him, Dan parted his lips and let Phil in. Hot desire rushed through Dan’s veins, his arousal only growing when Phil licked behind his teeth.

Dan let himself be kissed, pushing up, up, up into Phil, chasing the overwhelming feeling of Phil. It was so much, and yet not enough.

A sharp tug of Dan’s hair forced him to tip his head back further — and jesus fuck, that was hot. The new angle gave Phil access to Dan’s neck, and his lips worked their way down from Dan’s mouth to his pulse point. Beneath Phil’s mouth, Dan could feel his blood rushing, his heart pounding, and he never wanted this moment to end. The soft scrape of Phil’s teeth on his skin drew a loud moan out of Dan and caused his muscles to go slack.

Wet, cold liquid splashed onto Dan’s thigh, and he tore himself away from Phil’s lips. He looked down, finding his glass tipped precariously to the side. Oops.

Now that their drinks were emptier and the music was louder, any hope of carrying on a proper conversation had slipped away. That was fine — they’d talked plenty at dinner, and there’d be plenty of time for talking later.

Sitting upright, Dan drained the last sips of his whiskey, motioning for Phil to do the same. There were only a few gulps left in Phil’s, and he obediently knocked it back. As soon as the drink was empty, Dan snatched the glass out of Phil’s hand and hurriedly put them both on the table. His movements were careless and clumsy, resulting in one of the glasses almost immediately tipping over and ice spilling out.

Dan ignored the mess — he didn’t particularly care about anything other than Phil right now. Dan swooped back in and pressed his lips to Phil’s, his leg shifting so that he was nearly straddling Phil. Warm, firm hands gripped Dan’s hips, lifting and pulling until Dan was fully in Phil’s lap.

“Fuck,” Dan moaned against Phil’s lips, painfully turned on by the way Phil was fucking manhandling him. Dan wanted more, needed to be closer, so he tangled his hands in Phil’s quiff, bracing his elbows against Phil’s shoulders so that he could lean up and kiss Phil harder. Phil’s hands crept under Dan’s tight jumper, and his nails dug into Dan’s waist, making Dan hyper aware of every single one of Phil’s fingers.

Phil’s touch on Dan’s bare sides was electrifying, and a surge of pleasure shot up Dan’s spine. Needing to do something with the heat that was radiating from every inch of his body, Dan found himself grinding his hips down into Phil’s.

“Yeah, baby,” Phil slurred, pulling roughly and guiding Dan to rock his hips forward again. Phil felt so fucking good beneath Dan, solid, warm, and — jesus — growing hard.

Dan’s cock had calmed down some while Phil had fetched their drinks, but the friction of Phil’s hips, the tease of Phil’s hard on, made it swell in interest again.

Tearing his lips away from Phil’s, Dan latched onto Phil’s neck and sucked hard, hard enough to surely leave another mark. Those could be tomorrow’s problem to worry about. Dan worked his way higher, leaving a trail of wet, open mouthed kisses up Phil’s neck. Phil’s fingers were digging into Dan’s hips, and it was fucking intoxicating — more so than the champagne and whiskey and whatever else they were going to drink could ever be.

“You —” Phil started, his words cut off by a loud gasp as Dan sucked on what must have been a particularly sensitive spot — Dan made a mental note, because he definitely wanted to make Phil do that again. “You look s’good like this,” Phil mumbled.

“Phhhh—” Dan moaned, unable to even get Phil’s name out. The compliment felt like a physical wave of pleasure rushing through Dan’s body, making him feel hot all over. Phil was so fucking right about that whole praise thing.

Dan caught the lobe of Phil’s ear in his mouth, letting his teeth graze over it and his tongue dart out to flick it. Pushing up just a hair, Dan slid his hands from Phil’s hair, down his neck, over his shoulders, and down to his chest. Dan couldn't resist bunching Phil’s shirt in his fists, massaging over Phil’s nipples with his thumbs.

“Good, because when we get back to the hotel room,” Dan whispered into Phil’s ear, “I wanna ride you.”

“Fuck,” Phil cursed, his hand rucking Dan’s jumper up high enough that his fingers stroked the bottom of Dan’s ribcage. “Yeah, okay.”

Surprised at how easily Phil had agreed, Dan pulled back to look him in the eyes. “Wait, really? You’re cool with that being how we fuck tonight?”

“Dan, Dan, Dan, Dan, Dan,” Phil mumbled, his hands tracing rough lines up and down the naked skin of Dan’s waist. “You have no idea how sexy you look above me. Trust me, I definitely want to see you like this, filled up with my cock.”

Dan’s cock twitched, and he had to restrain himself from rocking forward again. “Jesus, Phil,” Dan panted, his hands gripping Phil’s shoulders tightly as he tried to hold onto some grain of composure. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

“And why’s that?” Phil teased, his thumbs dragging back and forth across Dan’s ribs, the feeling absolutely heavenly. It was somehow hot and tender at the same time, and Dan wanted more more more.

“You know why, you fucking asshole,” Dan grumbled, leaning back down to kiss along Phil’s neck. Dan was beginning to accept that Phil was right, but that didn’t mean he wanted to actually admit it out loud.

“You ‘n your praise kink make this too fucking easy,” Phil murmured, half panting, half chuckling.

“Don’t take ‘vantage of me,” Dan mumbled jokingly into Phil’s neck, lightly nipping at Phil’s shoulder.

Properly laughing this time, Phil slid his hands down to Dan’s hips and used his leverage to push him back. The momentum forced Dan all the way back to Phil’s knees — something Dan was thoroughly disgruntled about. But then one of Phil’s hands left Dan’s waist and thumbed over his cheek, a soft and fond look on his face, and Dan couldn’t help but melt. He might have been horny and hot, but he was so damn enamoured that the tender gesture affected him just as much as the grinding and wandering hands had.

“If we keep down this path, I’m gonna have a hard time keeping m’hands to myself,” Phil teased, a playful smirk toying at his lips. His other hand dipped into Dan’s jeans and stroked the long, prominent bone of his hip, as if to prove his point. Fuck, just Phi’s fingers on his hip was enough to drive Dan fucking mad, he didn’t know how he was going to manage to get through the night and back to their hotel without losing control.

“How ‘bout we dance for a bit?” Phil proposed suddenly. Shocked and unable to process Phil’s suggestion, Dan snapped his head back and stared down at Phil with bleary eyes, blinking slowly. The fuck?

Dancing? Right, okay. Dan could be up for dancing. But...

Dan glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the club, confused. Just like he remembered, there wasn’t exactly room for dancing anywhere. However, Dan noticed that there were several couples that were making out, feeling each other up, grinding hips desperately together.

“Uh, where?” Dan questioned skeptically. From his quick glance around, it seemed like dancing would actually draw more attention to them than snogging in a dark corner.

“Dance floor. Downstairs,” Phil explained, his head nodding toward the opposite corner. Dan followed the direction of Phil’s nod, noticing a dimly lit staircase for the first time. Of course — a lot of clubs separated sitting areas from dancing areas, Dan’s tipsy brain had just been too out of it to process.

“Sounds good,” Dan mumbled in agreement, dipping down to kiss at Phil’s neck one more time before he had to climb out of Phil’s lap. “We should have somethin’ else t’drink first, though. I’m a rubbish dancer,” he chuckled. It wasn’t entirely true, but Phil didn’t have to know that just yet.

The excuse sounded better than I wanna be drunk and free with you. Plus, maybe Dan’s decent dancing would be a pleasant surprise later.

Phil’s hand slipped out from Dan’s shirt, and ran up his chest. “How ‘bout you take our jackets to the coat check an’ I’ll order us something else t’drink, baby?” Phil suggested, his tone not really leaving room for Dan to argue as his hands dipped under Dan’s leather jacket, carefully shrugging it off his shoulders.

Dan’s jacket caught around his biceps, hanging from his arms in the gayest of fashions and he loved it. He wiggled his knees backwards until he was hovering above Phil’s hips and could easily rest his feet on the floor.

“Alright, let’s go then,” Dan agreed, backing off Phil entirely and holding one hand out to help him off the sofa. Dan was excited to dance, it would give him something a little less slutty to do with all his energy. Grabbing Phil’s jacket, Dan nodded once at Phil before heading back down the deserted hallway from earlier — only now it wasn’t as deserted. Dan passed three couples heatedly kissing before he even got to the coat check booth. But then again, surely snogging in public wasn’t that slutty if this many people were doing it.

Smiling at the employee, Dan dropped Phil’s denim jacket onto the small ledge and shrugged out of his own leather one, not bothering to tuck his phone into his pants pocket before he handed it to the guy across the bar. Tonight was about letting go, and the only person who could really need him had Phil’s number now.

Dan took the coat-check number from the worker, tucking it into his back pocket, and made his way back to the bar. Phil was standing at the far end, twisted around and watching for Dan.

And fuck, he looked good. Sometime while Dan had been gone, Phil had loosened up a little bit. The top four buttons of his shirt were undone, and his sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, and god help Dan because he was pretty sure he was about to come in his fucking pants. Phil looked so goddamn seductive leaning back against the bar like that, his shirt dipping down, his chest peeking out, his forearms taut.

Phil was gorgeous and sexy and so entirely manly — Dan couldn’t get enough.

It wasn’t until he was standing directly in front of Phil that Dan realized that there were no cocktails — no, instead there were two double shots in front of Phil, plus a small plate of lime wedges and a salt shaker. Tequila, then.

“Get ov’r here, mister,��� Phil demanded, a smile on his face as he made grabby hands for Dan. Fucking hell, it should be illegal for someone to be so sexy and so cute at the same time. Dan could only handle so much, and his cock and his heart were competing for blood at this point. “I ordered us shots.”

“Shots, huh?” Dan teased, one hand coming to rest on the bar on the outside of Phil’s hip. “A simple drink wasn’t good enough for you, then?”

“I figured neither of us could manage a drink an’ dancing a’the same time.” Phil shrugged with a smile, turning back toward the bar and letting his arse grind into Dan’s hips as he pulled their shots closer to them.

Fuck. Phil really knew how to play Dan.

“Come here,” Phil murmured as he twisted back around, his hands landing on Dan’s hips. In one smooth movement, Phil spun them around and switched their positions. Before Dan could fully process the change, his waist was pressing into the bar and Phil’s crotch was digging into his arse. “Take a shot with me.”

Phil’s voice was deep and gruff, and the scratchiness of it made Dan’s stomach flip over and over in desire. He bloody adored how Phil was taking care of him tonight, somehow perfectly in charge of all of Dan’s needs, intuitively aware of what Dan would find the sexiest and most fun at any given moment.

Dan reached for a tequila shot with one hand, his other grabbing a lime. Realizing his mistake — it was salt, tequila, lime, after all — Dan dropped his lime in favor of reaching for the salt shaker. Phil beat him to it, though, licking a long stripe up his own hand and shaking two small mounds of salt along the line.

“Here,” Phil murmured into Dan’s ear, bringing his hand level with Dan’s mouth.

Not hesitating to check their surroundings or respond, Dan surged forward and sucked the salt off Phil’s hand. Phil moved quickly, his head dipping forward and licking his hand at the same time as Dan, their cheeks pressing together. Simultaneously, they both lifted their shots to their mouths, tipping the tequila down their throat. Behind him, Dan could feel Phil gulp, could feel his neck and his chest and his stomach move as he swallowed the alcohol.

Phil got to the lime first, holding it in front of Dan’s lips. Leaning forward, Dan sucked the lime into his mouth, taking care to drag his lips along Phil’s fingers as well. Soft vibrations rumbled against Dan’s back, and it took his drunken brain a second to realize that they were from Phil moaning.

Phil dropped the lime to the bar and reached for the other wedge, but Dan knocked his hand out of the way. It was his turn.

Grabbing the second wedge, Dan spun around to face Phil. Dan tried his intoxicated best to arrange his face into a seductive look as he held the wedge up to Phil’s mouth and nudged it against his lips. Maybe it was successful, because Dan glanced up at Phil’s eyes and saw that his pupils were wide and dark. He looked hungry, Dan thought, but it wasn’t for the lime.

Regardless, Phil parted his lips and sucked on it, pulling the tips of Dan’s fingers into the wet heat of his mouth, too.

Fucking hell, no wonder Phil had moaned when Dan had done that. Now that Dan’s fingers were in Phil’s mouth, now that Phil’s tongue was licking along his skin, Dan couldn’t help but imagine something else in Phil’s mouth, and — fuck.

Pulling back off the wedge with a loud pop, Phil smirked at Dan, linking their hands together under the bar. “Let’s go dance.”

“Yeah,” Dan agreed, breathless, carelessly dropping the lime back to the plate and letting Phil tug him along. Together, they weaved through the aisles of sofas to the steep staircase leading to the mystery basement.

When they reached the stairs, Phil dropped Dan’s hand, opting to grab the handrail instead. Rightfully so, too. The steps were steep and winding, and Dan was sure that even Sober Him would struggle. Dan followed, holding tight to the railing and sticking close to Phil.

Less than halfway down, the twisting was already fucking with Dan’s drunken head, nearly making him stumble and fall. Luckily, the staircase was narrow and Phil was directly in front of him, so Dan was able to catch himself before he tumbled out of control.

After what seemed like forever, they rounded the last twist and the stairs opened up to a packed dance floor. The music was a million times louder down here, the lights flashing and moving, subtle fog machines trying to make the whole place scream sexy. Everywhere Dan looked, there were men dancing, grinding, kissing. It was the kind of place he hadn’t gotten to indulge in since his late teens, and he was suddenly incredibly eager to embrace the atmosphere.

Stepping around Phil, Dan grabbed Phil by the hand and drug him out to the dance floor. They weaved passed couple after couple until they were packed into the middle of the crowd, disappearing into plain sight thanks to the drunk dancers surrounding them.

Dan spun around to face Phil, alcohol causing the world to blur around the edges. It took a second for Dan’s eyes to focus again, and when they did, he realized that Phil was blatantly checking him out. The way Phil was looking at him, with wide pupils and parted lips, made Dan feel like the sexiest guy in the room — maybe even in all of New York.

“C’mere,” Phil demanded, nearly shouting to be heard over the music. His message was clear though; there was no mistaking what Phil wanted when he grabbed Dan’s hips and pulled him in close. Dan stumbled forward willingly, and he had a feeling he’d walk straight across the threshold to hell if Phil guided him. On instinct, Dan wrapped his arms around Phil’s neck; they were close — so, so close. Their chests were just centimeters apart, their hands spread wide like they were trying to touch as much of each other as they could. Together, they started to move in time to the thumping bass of the music.

Dan giggled, drunk and horny and maybe just a little bit slap-happy.

What? Phil mouthed with furrowed brows and an amused smile.

Dan smiled and stepped closer so he could try to explain; their chests were touching now and Dan could feel Phil dancing. Dan leaned in so that he could yell directly into Phil’s ear. “I feel like I’m back at my year eight dance.” Dan tugged on the hair at the nape of Phil’s neck and pointedly wiggled his hips, hoping Phil would telepathically understand Dan’s logic.

Phil laughed, loud and shameless, with his tongue poking out and his eyes nearly closed. He looked happy and gorgeous and Dan’s heart was beating in a way that he was pretty sure had nothing to do with the minute amount of physical exercise.

Smile still plastered on his face, Phil pulled Dan impossibly closer, causing their hips to crash together, and god Dan loved how their hips felt when they were pressed together. He could have sworn he could feel the outline of Phil’s cock, and it only made him more excited for later.

“Only if you got kicked out,” Phil teased, his hands dropping down to Dan’s arse and squeezing, as if to prove his point. And yeah, that move was definitely forbidden back in year eight. Maybe it was a good thing too, because thirteen-year-old Dan might’ve fucking cum in his pants if someone did that to him then. Fucking hell, twenty-three-year-old Dan was on the verge of doing so, maybe the club should be a little more regulated.

Maybe a touch too late, Dan vehemently shook his head — grinding at dances wasn’t even remotely his life at thirteen. At thirteen, Dan was sexually confused and his only quality friendship was Louise. (Although, four years later, Dan was much less confused and was actively looking for just about anyone who would pop his cherry.)

Now, though, Dan was entirely comfortable with his sexual preferences, even if he did waiver between labels from time to time. At the very least, Dan could say with complete confidence that he was fucking attracted to the man in front of him, and he was fucking hot for the fact that they were surrounded by other gay couples.

And now that Phil’s hands were on his arse, pulling him closer so that their hips, their cocks, rubbed together, Dan couldn’t think about anything else.

So Dan let go. He let the champagne and the whiskey and the tequila take over, let his inhibitions fade away. The music was so loud that Dan could feel it in his soul, the remixed-nineties music just familiar enough to make Dan feel like he knew what he was doing, the added beats just fast enough to make him feel sexy. Hands still tangled around Phil’s neck, Dan pushed his hips forward and rocked them against Phi’s.

His hips moved on their own accord, swaying and grinding and moving in time with the music. Phil moved with him, their crotches rubbing together over and over as remixed versions of TLC, Christina Aguilera, and Destiny’s Child pulsed around them. It was hot, god it was hot. The dance floor was so packed, so anonymous, and Dan couldn’t hold back from closing the fucking microscopic amount of distance between them, kissing Phil over and over again as the night grew later and later.

At some point, Phil twisted Dan around. It came almost out of nowhere — one minute they were grinding together, and the next, Phil was manhandling Dan, shifting their positions so that Phil’s semi-hard cock was rubbing against Dan’s arse, and fucking hell that was hot. Some bassed-up version of Baby Got Back was playing, so loud that the song was almost all-consuming. The sober recesses of Dan’s mind tried to remind him of that scene from Friends, the one where Ross and Rachel sang this to their infant and offended each other, but the drunk and horny parts of Dan were far too focused on the way Phil was grinding into his arse, the way Phil’s hands were sliding further and further down his hips, to properly process anything about the music. Phil rubbed his hands over and over the front of Dan’s hips, pulling him closer and grazing his cock with every pass. Moaning, Dan let his head fall back onto Phil’s shoulder, and Phil’s neck was right there, so of course Dan mouthed along it. The music was too loud to hear much of anything over it, but Dan could feel Phil’s throat vibrate with a moan, could feel Phil’s fingers dig into his hips the slightest bit harder. They were touching everywhere, flushed together from head to toe and Phil felt like Dan’s whole world tonight.

Dan rocked his hips back, soaking up the heady sensation of Phil’s cock rubbing against him, feeling more and more intoxicated off lust than alcohol by the second. Trying not to overthink it, Dan reached behind himself and wrapped his arm around Phil’s neck, his fingers tangling in the short hair at the back of Phil’s head.

The breath was nearly knocked out of Dan when Phil pushed up Dan’s short shirtsleeve with his mouth, and kissed along his inner bicep as he drug his lips up Dan’s arm. Fucking hell, Dan was definitely about to combust and cum on the spot if Phil kept doing that. Phil’s lips latched onto Dan’s arm, sucking and surely leaving a mark and fuck Dan had never been so glad to have worn a short sleeve shirt as he was right now.

Once again, the music shifted, and the iconic first notes of Britney rung out. Within seconds, Dan recognized the song, and given how Phil’s fingers tightened on his hips, he reckoned Phil did, too. And god, he wanted to look at Phil while they danced to this.

Dan tried to twist around, and Phil’s grip loosened just enough to let him move, his fingers dragging deliciously over Dan’s skin as he turned. They readjusted quickly, Dan’s arms wrapping around Phil’s neck and Phil’s hands lowering to grope Dan’s arse.

“Baby, can’t you see,” Dan murmured huskily into Phil’s ear, his tongue darting out to lick Phil’s earlobe. Slowly, sensually, Dan slipped his arms from Phil’s neck and dragged his hands across Phil’s chest. He moved slowly, his fingernails raking across Phil’s shirt, pausing to rub at Phil’s nipples.

“Jesus, babe,” Phil mumbled, the words barely more than a strangled groan. The fingers on Dan’s arse tightened, forcefully pulling until Dan’s hips were grinding against Phil’s. Their cocks rubbed together, and Dan rocked his hips again, desperate to feel and feel and feel.

Phil was half hard, and so was Dan, and the friction was amazing. Pleasure shot through Dan, his cock twitching and a quiet moan tumbling from his lips. Dan couldn’t resist tangling his fingers in Phil’s hair, dragging him just the slightest bit closer, not that there was really much distance left between them.

The music continued to pound around them, and Dan continued to rock his hips forward in time with the beat. He wanted so much, and the grinding was just a small tease. Through the fabric, Dan could feel Phil growing harder and harder, making Dan want more. Heat and desire and lust were building in the pit of Dan’s stomach, and he just fucking wanted.

He wanted to taste Phil’s cock in his mouth. He wanted to feel Phil’s bare cock throbbing against his own. He wanted to be stretched around Phil, full and satisfied.

This song — this song out of all the late-nineties and early-two-thousands songs — fucking got to Dan. And he didn’t think it was fully his fault, it wasn’t like he had a thing for it three months ago. But then, one of the earliest videos he’d watched on AmazingPhil was Phil dancing half naked to this song — there was really no coming back from that.

Dan kissed up Phil’s neck, coming to a stop just a short centimeter from Phil’s ear. “Ya know,” he started huskily. He could feel Phil’s fingers dig into his arse, could see how Phil’s breath hitched. Mischievously, Dan continued, “I jacked off to this video.”

The effect was immediate — Phil froze and inhaled so sharply that Dan could actually hear the gasp over the music. For a second, the world was frozen; it was just Dan staring at Phil, a smug smirk on his face, and Phil staring back, shocked and wide-eyed.

And then Phil’s lips crashed onto Dan’s, moving insistently, hotly, and the world was moving again.

The kiss was merciless, Phil’s tongue immediately licking at Dan’s lips and demanding entrance — not that Dan was complaining. He opened his mouth and let Phil in, let Phil ravage him. Phil’s hands disappeared from Dan’s arse, only to land on his cheeks, firmly holding his head in place so Phil could kiss him harder.

There was no air in Dan’s lungs, and he didn’t give a single fuck. The shortness of breath only made everything hotter, and jesus that was a kink Dan didn’t think he had, but then again, he might find any kink hot if it was with Phil. Phil was so in control, so hungry, so domineering, and Dan couldn’t get enough of it.

Phil pulled back without warning, leaving Dan a panting mess. They were so, so close, and Phil’s eyes were nothing but black pupils. He looked ready to fucking devour Dan, and Dan really hadn’t expected this strong of a response but he was living for it. It was making him feel wanted and sexy.

“We’re going,” Phil snapped, his hands roughly unwinding Dan’s arms from his neck. “Right. Fucking. Now.”

Phil’s words were sharp, making it clear that this wasn’t a request. He sounded like he was on the verge of losing control, looked like he might shove Dan against the nearest wall, and take him right then and there.

Their fingers tangled together and Phil spun around, dragging Dan behind him as he pushed his way through the dancing crowd. It was a good thing Phil was holding Dan so tightly, because he was moving so fast that Dan might have gotten lost if their hands got separated.

Phil didn’t stop moving until they’d made it up the stairs, all the way past the sofas and down the hallway. They came to an abrupt halt in front of the coat check window and — shit, right. Their jackets.

Dan dug through his pockets, searching for the tiny ticket that he’d shoved somewhere. Phil’s heavy stare wasn’t helping, only making him feel more flustered and rushed and desperate to get the fuck out of there already.

“Dan,” Phil said, a hint of reprimand and urgency in his voice that spurred Dan to move faster. His fingers finally closed around the small slip, and he wrangled it out, holding it up triumphantly. Phil ripped the ticket out of Dan’s hand, his only response a single approving nod. Phil slammed it down on the counter, his eyes never once drifting from Dan’s.

The coat check worker chuckled — it was probably perfectly clear what was going on. But even that wasn’t enough to drag Phil’s eyes away from Dan. Dan swallowed thickly, his mouth dry, as he held Phil’s gaze. He couldn’t fucking think with Phil looking at him like that. Struck dumb, Dan licked his lips as he waited to see what would happen next.

Phil’s grip was still tight, and he tugged on Dan’s hand. Drunk and caught off guard, Dan stumbled forward, colliding with Phil.

“You’re so sexy,” Phil whispered, just barely loud enough to be heard. “I can’t wait t’fuck you.”

Dan whimpered, fucking whimpered. Phil was so much filthier than his new videos made him seem, he was dirty in all the right ways. Although, looking back, Dan could see some of this Phil in the much younger Phil that had filmed the Toxic video.

The rustling of their jackets hitting the counter jolted Dan and Phil out of their bubble. Both of their heads snapped to face the window, and Dan could tell his cheeks were probably flushed red. He’d forgotten that there was someone else nearby, that someone else was probably paying proper attention to them.

Phil reached out to pull the bundle of clothes closer, clearly avoiding looking at the coat check person. “Put this on s’we can leave,” Phil ordered, shoving Dan’s leather jacket into his chest.

Dan didn’t need telling twice; he sprung into action and clumsily shrugged into his jacket, his hands getting caught several times. At this point, he wasn’t sure if it was thanks to the alcohol or lust, but he didn’t care.

Phil slapped a few bills on the counter and grabbed his own coat.

“Thanks boys,” the clerk said cheerfully. “Have a good night! Don’t forget protection!”

Oh god. Dan felt his cheeks grow hot. He didn’t mind people noticing him and Phil were itching to fuck, but christ, he really didn’t expect a random stranger to actually say it.

Phil grumbled something in response, something Dan didn’t quite hear or process, and guided Dan back down the hallway, one hand firmly pressed against Dan’s lower back.

Hot breath washed over Dan’s ear, and he belatedly realized that Phil was close. “I really don’t wanna use a condom,” Phil muttered into his ear. Dan’s breath hitched, and Phil’s fingers curled around to his sides, not giving him a chance to recover before continuing. “Wanna feel you ‘n fill you up.”

“Fuck,” Dan huffed, his mind not able to think about anything other than Phil’s bare cock pressed into him, pumping cum deep into his arse. “Yeah, please. ‘M clean.”

“Good,” Phil said with a note of finality. He opened the club door and ushered Dan through it. Dan stopped just outside the entrance, hovering and waiting for direction from Phil. Phil stood close, head bowed as he tapped on his phone. Dan looked around them, realizing that there was a line now, and the asshole bouncer from earlier was gone. Must have been after one, then.

“Ugh,” Phil groaned. “There’s a twen’y minute wait for’n uber.”

God that was so much longer than Dan wanted to wait. Brows furrowed, Dan glanced up at the street sign.

“We’re only like seven blocks from the hotel, w’can walk faster,” Dan pointed out.

“How’dya know that?” Phil asked, head snapping up, looking surprised.

Dan pointed to the numbered street sign. “Grid system. Let’s go,” Dan suggested, nodding his head in the right direction.

“Perfect,” Phil mumbled. He grabbed Dan’s hand and started walking. His pace wasn’t quite as fast as earlier, something Dan was rather grateful for. He didn’t think he could walk that quickly for seven blocks and not be too out of breath for sex.

The first block, Phil was still walking faster than normal, though. It wasn’t until they reached the first crosswalk and were forced to stop that they both breathed. The break calmed some of the out-of-control desire coursing through Dan’s veins, dulling it down to a pulsing lust. Dan turned to look at Phil, his eyes surely full of fond desire, a smile definitely pulling at his lips.

Phil bounced on his toes for a second, his movements slowing down when the light didn’t immediately change. Phil glanced at Dan, his heady expression melting slightly into something a bit softer, a bit more gentle. The passion and want were still there, but now there was something else, something sweeter, there too.

Now that they were out of the club, free from the throbbing bass of the music and away from the grinding couples, Dan’s mind felt a little clearer. It was chilly out, not quite cold but definitely cool enough that Dan felt justified leaning into Phil a bit, resting his head on Phil’s shoulder and sticking close. Phil smiled down at him fondly as Dan looked up at him through his lashes. The world around seemed to fade away, and there were butterflies fluttering in Dan’s stomach and god how was Phil so sexy and dominate and sweet all in the span of five minutes, this had to be illegal.

Dan’s eyes snapped away when the crosswalk chimed, and suddenly they were walking again. They weren’t the only ones out — if anything, there seemed to be more people on the streets now. As they made their way back to their hotel, they passed club after club, bar after bar, all with lines of drunk twenty-somethings.

Some sober, less reckless part of Dan warned him that all the people meant a higher chance of getting recognized, but he just didn’t care. He wasn’t about to stop and talk to a fan right now. It was Friday night, and the whole city seemed to be intoxicated, and Dan would just have to hope that everyone else was too drunk to notice him.

They came to stop at another intersection, just barely missing the chance to cross. Dan glanced around, taking in the city surrounding them. There was a group of girls nearby, smoking and drinking something out of brown paper bags. There were a few people outside a pizza place, drunkenly eating slices of pizza off white paper plates as they sat on the curb. There was a couple across the way, fighting loudly about something Dan couldn’t make out.

It was late and crowded and everyone was too focused on themselves to take note of anyone else. It was the kind of crowd that made everyone anonymous. The neon city lights were blurry, and made it hard to see the details of anything — although maybe that part was just Dan.

Regardless, he didn't care.

Phil was so close, so warm by Dan’s side and Dan just wanted more.

“Kiss me,” Dan asked, nearly begged, as he looked back at Phil. His voice was high and nearly breathless, so affected that he probably would have been embarrassed by how fucking needy he sounded if the situation had been different. But as it was, this was Phil, Phil who seemed to instinctively understand every single desire Dan had.

Phil smiled at Dan softly, turning so they were face to face. Without hesitation, Phil closed the distance between them, doing as Dan asked. Phil kissed him slowly but thoroughly, his lips moving languidly, his tongue slipping between Dan’s teeth and licking along the roof of his mouth.

“Mmm,” Dan hummed into Phil’s mouth as he wrapped his arms around Phil’s neck, his elbows resting on Phil’s shoulders, wrists crossed behind his head.

Phil’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, but he kept kissing, his arms wrapping around Dan’s waist and pulling him closer.

It was hot — kissing Phil would always be hot — but it was also sweet and maybe even a little romantic. Dan had never kissed someone on the street until Isabella, and in hindsight, everything about those kisses had been for the wrong reasons. This kiss, right now with Phil, wasn’t for pizza eaters or smokers or fighters. This kiss had nothing to do with the audience, and everything to do with the fact that Dan was so fucking head over heels for Phil that Dan couldn’t couldn’t resist kissing him for the two minutes it took for the crosswalk light to change.

At some point, Louise had told him that all of this was so much better when you loved someone, and Dan was realizing how right she was because just kissing had never been this good.

Love.

The word crashed over Dan, suddenly the only thing he could think as he drunkenly kissed his boyfriend in the middle of New York City at two in the morning.

Dan loved Phil.

Dan was one hundred percent, completely and totally in love with the boy kissing him.

Gasping, Dan pulled back from the kiss, his eyes flying open.

“What?” Phil asked breathlessly, a note of urgency in his voice.

“I — nothing.” Dan swallowed thickly, there was no way he could say what he was thinking. Not now, not already. His gaze drifted over Phil’s shoulder and caught on the signal, which was now showing a white walking man. “We can cross now.”

Dan hoped his voice was steady, hoped it wasn’t obvious that his mind was somewhere, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t very subtle. If Phil noticed, though, he didn’t say anything. He just followed Dan into the street, one arm still wrapped around his waist, holding Dan close as they continued walking. Dan leaned into Phil’s side, stumbling slightly and focusing entirely too much on the way Phil’s fingers had dipped under his shirt and were thumbing over his side, and not nearly enough of the sidewalk.

Yeah, Dan was definitely in love with him.

[gazeintotheiris]

Kinktober 2018 Day 7 - Sweeten The Deal.

Kinktober: Day 7 -  (mentioned)Praise-kink | Body Swap | Aphrodisiacs | Incest

Pairings/ Warnings: Monzen/Zendatta,  Aphrodisiacs, drink spiking, slight consensual dubcon themes, mentions of solo. Human!Zenyatta, Human!Mondatta, Oni!Genji.

Read this on AO3

“No, absolutely not.”

The young monk’s voice permeated the air like a hot knife through butter, his distaste for the proposal steely and adamant. The oni, one that Zenyatta had learned went by the name of Genji, sniffed derisively.

“I have seen the way you look at him, Zenyatta. I can taste the lust that seeps from every single pore.”  Stretching, languidly, the demon leaned back in the simple chair, draping himself in an alluring posture, horizontal to the seat’s frontward facing portion and issued an all too tantalized-sounding sigh. “Delicious.”

Zenyatta scowled, unimpressed, the heat of his blush creeping slowly up his neck to tease at his cheeks. Seven weeks and he had been unable to rid himself of this lascivious creature; a creature that had become unusually attached to he, a mere mortal who would better serve the oni as an appetizer than a source of entertainment.

“You only see what you want to.” He retorted, resuming what was supposed to be his quiet contemplation.

And for seven weeks Genji had hounded him, stalking his person through the shadows, waiting for the most opportune moments to break cover and fill Zenyatta’s head with the most unholy of imaginings. Whispers that carried with them an overwhelming power that was not of this world, that picked at the hems of his self control to leave him burning with a need he had never thought possible. Yet rather than allow Zenyatta to act upon that need, at the crucial moment, the oni would vanish, only to begin this demented game of false promises at the next possible interval.

All that had come to a head most recently after an awkward little incident - in the monastery sanctum of all places! - There, where the warmth of the Iris was its most extrusive Genji had been able to roam freely, where Zenyatta had foolishly believed himself to be safest. Upon soft mediation mats he and his mentor, Mondatta, had been seated full lotus, emptying their minds of all thoughts, feelings and sensations, a truly freeing act of mindfulness that would strengthen and invigorate once they returned to the fore. Yet as the younger monk let his thoughts begin to slip away, opened himself to the welcoming embrace of the Iris, it began.

A trickle of thought, the flash of an image, the loving way in which Mondatta spared his student a glance, that look of adoration and pride that always made Zenyatta’s heart skip a beat. It was that exact sight that he liked to recall, often, in the privacy of his own room. And with it the praise, a good word here and there, the warmth of the other’s hand squeezing his shoulder. He loved Mondatta, Zenyatta had realized a long time ago, and not just in the ways one might love a friend or sibling. His wants, no, his needs, ran far deeper than that.

Just like that, a deluge widened that trickle, transforming the stream into a surging river, his empty mind a vessel to be filled with things so luridly intoxicating, the young monk was overcome.

Warm, gentle, touches became harsher, more demanding and urgent. The words Mondatta uttered to him, far filthier than the likes of what he could have imagined the man to say in his entire lifetime, fed to him one by one like the sweetest and most addictive of fruits. This wasn’t natural, the heat that filled then spread from Zenyatta’s core to lance through his limbs, searing his body until he felt as though he might explode if he did not act.

Meditation, it appeared, had eluded him, and sprung from the trap of his innermost musings, he snapped to attention right there on the sanctum floor, to come face to face with the smug expression of the oni’s features grinning back at him.

The experience, while jarring, had brought to light some interesting notions. Zenyatta had been all too ready to write the thoughts off as little more than whisperings his personal ‘curse’ had been contendedly feeding him as a method to further prolong his torture. Because that was what this was, wasn’t it: A means to an end. An oni playing with its food.

Ready, though he might have been, Zenyatta knew that behind those thoughts there was a kernel of truth, a seed so deeply buried he would not have suspected it’s presence before it had begun to germinate, fuelled by the salacious images and fantasies planted there to fertilize and cultivate. There was no smoke without fire.

And now here Genji sat once again, brazen and filled with hubris, the amber vial he held between clawed thumb and forefinger tilting it from side to side. Inside the iridescent liquid sloshed lazily, it’s viscosity slightly more dense than water, mesmerizing to the untrained eye and perhaps that was with intent.

Just a drop, Genji had told him, voice crooning towards Zenyatta, and the recipient would find themselves awash with need so acrid, that all inhibitions would seem like mere specs on the horizon in comparison.

“Unfortunately that is rather untrue. What I wish to see is for you to cease your stalling.” A little wave of the amber vial, a poignant reminder of what Genji was offering. “A little courage never hurt anyone.”

“I don’t need your ‘help’.” Zenyatta bit back, perhaps a little too sharply, because he could see the corner’s of the oni’s mouth twitch once, twice.

“Then you mean to tell Mondatta about those long nights spent moaning his name into the pillows?”

Genji watched as Zenyatta’s shoulders bunched delightfully, tension betraying his irritance and embarrassment both. Oh yes, he had been watching that tempting little show. No inhibitions blocked the young monk’s thoughts then, nor the lazy cant of his hips, rolling in a steady rhythm into the cool, white, sheets. Moonlight from the window had illuminated the scene, it’s cold pale light lighting up the faintest glint of moisture upon the very tip of Zenyatta’s achingly hard cock. But Genji had kept to the shadows and, for once, silenced the whispers he could have used to perpetuate the scene. That had been all Zenyatta, an image he would take back to the spirit realm with him when he’d drunk his fill. But there was one far more attractive prospect he believed he could bring to fruition, if Zenyatta, here, would only accept his ‘selfless’ help.

“How do you - ?” As if the monk had to ask, how did Genji manage to haunt his every step as it was? It stood to reason he would have witnessed this and more, unbidden. “I will tell him how I feel. It’s only fair.” He said. “I will tell him later, after the evening call to meditation.”

The oni sat bolt upright, kicking off the armrest of the simple chair like he’d just received the greatest news. Dexterously twirling the vial between his long fingers, he pocketed it again, decision made. Splendid. And as quickly as the monk could blink, Genji was gone.

*****

The oni was under no illusions. Just as before, Zenyatta would abandon his intentions and remain mute to the edging desires that plagued the small hours of his evening. He would, also as usual, sit with his mentor and have their evening tea, a chance to unwind and contemplate the following day’s work or lessons. Mondatta would wax lyrical about the world at large, how best to bring their message of peace to others, and Zenyatta would sit by, dutiful and obedient, offering his opinions thusly.

How utterly boring.

Upon the table sat the piping hot tea. It’s handleless cup, contents left to cool and vent steam while Mondatta waited for Zenyatta to finish fetching a spare from the adjacent room. The former had made Zenyatta his cup in his stead, knowing it’s recipient would be back in a moment, long enough for him to fetch that itinerary of his next trip - he did hope that Zenyatta would like to come along, he’d been unusually stressed these last few weeks and a change might do him good. Genji watched, keen eyes invisible, from the shadows as Mondatta padded around the room, picking up various items and scripts he meant to deposit on the table for inspection later, leaving Zenyatta’s tea unguarded. He needed only a moment with which to strike, and could remain unseen for just long enough to do what he’d planned all along. He’d get his way, Genji always did and no small-minded monk was going to stand in his way. He’d get his way, and Zenyatta would get his.

Poignantly fingering the vial, still held tightly in one hand, the oni had become tired of waiting for his opportunity.

A flick of the wrist sent something in the far corner of the room clattering to the ground, loud and brash enough that the older monk whirled on one foot, the hems of his Kasaya swirling about his ankles, to see the antique singing bowl hit the floor from the shelf above. Naturally puzzled, he walked towards it to recover it. The perfect opportunity.

From the shadows he sprung, soundlessly gliding across the floor, thumb already working at wriggling the vial’s cork plug free. Succeeding, and in a single, gracefully-fluid movement, he poured the entire contents of the glass tube into the tea vessel below. There was no time to stir or disguise, but he would not need to, it’s slightly heavier formula would make it sink fast, diffusing it’s contents sip by sip and by that time, it would be far too late for Zenyatta.

Slipping back into the shadows, he heard the footfalls of the returning monk, that deceitful little wretch who sought to short change him, knowing not what awaited him when he returned. All eyes were on that door, waiting, with baited breath, the pulse of anticipation thudding in his point-tipped ears.

But, as Zenyatta appeared, something was awry.

Between his hands he carried another small, bowl-like, cup, steam drifting up from its interior, which he sipped at prior to affording his master a slight dip of the head in greeting. Mondatta turned back to face his student, having replaced the singing bowl back in its rightful place. “Ah, I see you found some tea. You won’t mind if I drink this one?” A casual nod to the cup still resting upon the table.

Zenyatta shook his head, no.

“Master Fon made me some, I thought it would save time.”

The older Monk nodded, sagely, slipping a hand around the remaining cup and picking it up to take a long, soothing sip of his own. With the other, he gestured to the itinerary he’d placed down before. “I have something I would like to ask you, Zenyatta. And I do hope you will accept.” Mondatta began, watching as the puzzlement in his student’s eyes turned to something akin to hopeful excitement. This was promising.

He took another sip, noting how Zenyatta preferred the sweeter tasting tea compared to how he liked his own. Different, but certainly not unpleasant and with an aftertaste that reminded him, faintly, of oranges. It was certainly moreish. He would have to ask his student where he had acquired it, but that could wait for now.

“I am all ears, Master.”

Zenyatta leaned forward in the seat he had since settled in, and Mondatta felt a flush of warmth pool inside his belly. Oh he liked it when Zenyatta called him that...

Perhaps a little more than he should.

[laur-rants]

Fic Update – Wolfbann

Chapter 9 - With Golden Cats and Fevered Dogs

Fandom: Dishonored Ship: Corvo/Daud, Past Jessamine/Corvo Rated: Mature Chapter Synopsis: Emily, Emily, wherefore art thou Emily?

AO3 Link

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The Golden Cat has the worst kind of smell clinging to it. It looked clean and proper, but the truth of it hung heavy in the day’s humidity like a poisonous cloud waiting to fall. It smelled of sickness and disinfectant, it smelled of the poor and the corrupted rich, of festering wounds and broken minds and heavy hearts. Corvo was glad for the mask he wore as he quickly scaled the outer wall; it kept the overpowering scent of the brothel’s perfumed air out, and kept the curl of his lip hidden in.

Despite the plague, the Golden Cat defied all business logic by staying open. The property remained heavily protected by the dangerous Walls of Light and was filled with guards ready to usher out anyone showing even the faintest sign of a cough. The decadence of the nobles kept numbers in the green, and meant the place was busy enough that no eyes spared a glance for Corvo; he slipped in easily, a whisper on the wind that the courtesans and their clients paid little attention to. Corvo didn't ignore them, however; every conversation was vital information in a place where nobles gathered and gossiped. He hid himself around corners and above doorways, cataloging the stories revealed to him.

“Are you sure you only have Claire available tomorrow? Then I'm not sure if I can. There's been rumor she has a cough and I just can't afford to take that chance…”

“How much longer on this shift do we have? I was hoping to grab some whiskey and cigars before the downpour started, but…”

“Did you hear about what happened last night at Holger Square? If you didn't, the Courier is sure to run a piece on it soon. Either way, I don't think Campbell will be visiting any time this month…”

“Has the Madame given you today's schedule? Can you switch with me? This man, I just- he always hits too hard and I just- I can't, not this time…”

“Don’t lie to me, Officer! My brothers have been missing for over a week! Yet you're telling me you saw them just yesterday? The Pendleton twins are unmistakable, and none of the girls here have seen them recently, so once I find out who paid you to keep quiet, you'll have my lawyer to answer to!”

Corvo shifted in the shadows as the stiff and irritated form of the youngest Pendleton heir interrogated an equally agitated City Guard. He fidgeted, feeling his own annoyances grow. This brothel held many secrets and stories, sure, but did any of them matter to him? The increasing consensus so far was no, and that did nothing but bother him even further. His skin itched and his teeth gnashed and he pulled at the Void just to give his mind something to do.

He moved from room to room, trying to refocus on why he was here in the first place: finding Emily and bringing her back home.

Martin didn't say it so directly, but there was a chance that Emily was here, dropped off by Burrows in a plea to be rid of a loose end. Corvo could see the logic behind such a decision; killing Emily causes more issues than it solves, and conveniently “losing” her means she can be heroically “found" by Burrows later, cementing his spot in power. And if she isn't found, she can be forgotten, another lost daughter amongst all the others.

At least, that was the prevailing theory. It was sound enough that Corvo wasted no time in getting here and commencing his feverish search. But the more he looked, the less he found and the more he feared he was on a wild goose chase.

That fear was slowly morphing anxiety and anger. He crawled and smoked through the rafters, trying to quiet the growl threatening to bubble up and out of his throat. As much as he ached to change, it would do no good to make a scene in a place like this.

Though, if Corvo was honest with himself, a man turning into a giant wolf might actually be the kind of distraction a place like this would enjoy and undoubtedly look forward to.

He curled a lip down at the vivacious and inebriated guests and decided it best to simply move on and leave them to their strange sexual fantasies. Instead, he spied a pair of women making their way back to the powder rooms, and decided the back rooms would be quieter and less fervent than the main areas. He swept his eyes over the before smoking in after them, just as the door shut and locked behind him.

“All these folks are comin’ in like the rain; hard, fast, and far too wet,” the one complained to her friend once they were out of earshot of the patrons. Corvo flattened himself into a stall, holding his breath as he listened to the conversation. Through the Void pulled over his eyes he watched as the other scoffed out an agreement, moving to adjust her revealing outfit.

“At least we'll get paid double for our time,” the girl commented, “what with the plague and the weather, we'll all need it.”

“What? Madame Prudence said nothing to me about this!” The first complained, pulling out a bag from a locker down the ways. She brandished it at her co-worker, “She still owes me for having to deal with that noble who thought it right to smack my face. Sure, he was kicked out, but…”

“You should take it up with her then,” the friend huffed out, changing her top. “But she told me I'd get double pay, at least. And she should have the money, most of it comes from those Pendleton's, after all.”

“And did you hear the twins went missin’?”

The other girl paused.

“No? I mean, I coulda sworn I saw them just yesterday, but maybe it was their brother…”

They moved on to a different room; Corvo let them go, brain turning. It was the second time he had heard of the missing Pendletons, and of the Madame, who seemed to manage the girls. He didn't much care about the twins -- he ’s sure he threw one of them out of the Tower for insulting Jessamine -- but the Madame could be of some help. If anyone would know if Emily was here or not, it’d be her.

One stretch of the senses and stairwell climb later, Corvo found himself hovering outside the office door to the owner of the Golden Cat. His senses told him the Madame was on the other side, deep in a heated intercom conversation.

As he stood and weighed his options in the hallway, a soft, rhythmic thump from his inner coat pocket whispered it's own opinions to him.

The Golden Cat was here long before Madame Prudence found it, the Heart privately told him, but the curtains were her idea.

“An eclectic sense of taste,” he murmured back, head tilting as he watched the glowing body of the Madame end the conversation, tutting back to her duties. He waited a beat before smoothly raising a fist and rapping his knuckles against the door.

The Madame was halfway around her desk when she paused. Corvo watched through the Void as she wiped down her coat and vest, straightened her furred shawl, and stalked over. Corvo stepped out of her field of vision as she opened the door, waiting until she cleared the threshold before pulling a clawed hand down, bringing reality to a stop along with it.

The magic smoked from his burning hand as the world greyed around him, leaving all but himself suspended in time. Casually, he pocketed his hands and strode into the room past the annoyed form of Madame Prudence, noting her heavy makeup and beehive hair. His nose curled in anticipation of the heavy perfume her office undoubtedly reeked of.

He leaned against her desk and with a sigh, let his glowing mark fade to black as time resumed again.

It wasn't but another moment before a mumbling Madame turned back to her room, closed the door, and winced at the sight of Corvo, with his deep hood and gnarly mask. However, if she was afraid she didn't show it, but she did place a hand to her chest, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

“If you're here for my theatrics play, there are easier ways to get my attention, you know!”

Corvo's head cocked. His nose twitched; the office was not only perfumed but also heavy with drugged hookah smoke. His lip curled in disdain; not even a dunk in the sewers was going to get this stench out of his jacket.

“Apologies for the intrusion, Madame,” he rasped out, throat burning against the laced atmosphere. “But I'm not here to be part of the cabaret.”

He remained casual: she remained irritated.

“Then what are you here for?” She sniffed out, straightening her back. “If you aren't here by appointment, then excuse me, for the safety of my courtesans I must alert the guards to have you escorted-”

She moved to the knob. Before she could turn the door open he was there, one hand over hers and another gripping her throat to the wood of the door.

And there it was, the faintest sliver of fear. His grin slipped into place. Perhaps now he could finally get her to take him seriously.

“I don't think you want to do that, Madame,” he growled out, low and soft. “We can do this the easy way, but bringing in the guards will make this exponentially harder for both of us. Besides, causing that sort of scene is…” he adjusted his grip and tilted his head. “Bad for business.”

Even so threateningly close, Prudence managed to scowl up at Corvo, sniffing at his mangled metal mask.

“Is the best you can do? You come into my property, sneak past my guards, and can't even threaten me properly?”

Corvo stilled. Prudence scoffed.

“You haven't even told me what you want, boy. And do you have to be so close? You smell like a wet dog.”

Corvo removed the Madame's hand from the handle, putting his body between her and her only method of escape. He watched her carefully, undeterred by this old woman's lack of self-preservation.

“I'm looking for a girl. I was tipped off that she is here, in hiding.”

Prudence fixed her shawl and looked him over.

“There are a lot of girls here, if you hadn't noticed. Be more specific.”

Corvo rumbled out a growl, one clearly inhuman and tired of this business. Prudence stilled, eyeing him critically.

“Don't play dumb. The girl would be young, near ten. Royal blood. Probably asking for her mother… or the Royal Protector. I'm sure someone with two coins to rub would gladly pay out the nose to hide her here and keep her quiet.”

The Madame narrowed her eyes.

“You think I'm holding the late Empress’s daughter here? Do you think I have a death wish?” She scoffed out a laugh and paced, casual. “Well, truth be told, I didn't even get the offer. Not with those Pendleton's conveniently going missing.”

Corvo shifted, crossing his arms.

“What do they have to do with anything?”

“Outsider’s ass, you were the Royal Protector, weren't you? You can't hide from me, boy,” she laughed, before adding, “the Pendleton's own silver mines. Their wealth comes from them, they paid half the nobles here in Dunwall and perhaps even Gristol. They were among my best customers, even if they are rough with some of the girls…”

“Whom you should treat better,” Corvo muttered out. Prudence's eyes flashed dangerously.

“Those girls are mine, and I will handle them as I please!” She snarled back, but Corvo just rumbled out another warning himself, and they went back to their standoff. “I won't have some dog telling me how to care for my own property…”

“Get to the point,” Corvo stated threateningly, “so that I can leave you to find the Empress's daughter.”

“The point is that the rumor from the girls is that the Pendleton's were supposed to have her, but they never got their hands in her.”

“What?”

“It was quite the point of contention, one they complained about constantly. And then, they up and vanished.” Madame shrugged. “Must've been too loud, those idiots. And now I'm out my wealthiest customers and instead have to deal with their nagging brother.”

“Where were they last seen?”

“Outside the Distillery District,” the Madame said. She went over to her desk, pulled out a long cigarette and readied to light it. “But the Bottle Street Gang rules those alleyways. My girls aren't allowed there, so you'll have to go there yourself to look for any more clues.”

Corvo straightened up off the door.

“Thank you for the information. However, I need assurance you won't speak of this.”

Prudence lifted a drawn-on eyebrow, pulling a drag from the cigarette.

“Didn't we already discuss the fact that you being here and making a scene is bad for my business? The back door is to the right and down the stairs. Now get out of here before I change my-”

Prudence blinked, and looked around. The masked man was gone, and she was standing alone in her office. Huffing out a ring of smoke, she carefully checked under the desk, in the closet, around the hookah. All the most likely (and unlikely) places for a killer to hide. Nothing.

Five minutes passed. She sat down, contemplating as she smoked her cigarette. Finally, assured privacy, she reached out once again for the intercom switch.

A black, clawed, hand grabbed her wrist, holding it tight. She gasped, throat catching as the hand smoked and burned, and a low rumble emanated out from the mask glowering down at her.

“I mean it, Madame,” the destroyed voice told her, as the light caught on the glass lenses of the mask’s eyes. “Not a word.”

Her blood ran cold as she nodded. He nodded back and as fast as he had reappeared the figure fled again, leaving no trace behind.

For once, Madame Prudence decided to live up to her own name and chose to not speak of her meeting with Corvo Attano to anyone, ever.

------

There were worse jobs to be assigned to than scouting. There were more boring jobs to be assigned to than scouting. Like laundry. Or patrolling. Patrol duty was always assured to be a long shift filled with nothing but the smells of rats and whale oil and not much else to look forward to.

But if Connor was being honest with himself as he flitted from rooftop to rooftop over the Distillery District, scouting was still at the bottom of the 'exciting jobs’ list. Common folk probably saw assassin work as mysterious and interesting when in truth it was a lot of waiting and watching and doing next to bloody nothing in-between.

Connor also knows, in the back of his mind, that Daud only sent him out to give him something to do. Not that much needed to be done; the area simply had to be routinely watched. Devon and Kieron already dealt with Slackjaw and the Pendleton twins a while back, so his presence was more for quality assurance. His job was to listen and make sure nobody was asking the wrong questions or following up investigative leads.

And of course, Connor just needed to get out of the base one more time before the rain hit. After the seasonal deluge started, nobody would want to go out or do anything, himself included. Best to get the stir-crazy out of his bones now-- but with the rain threatening already, not even being dry was a guarantee on this particular mission.

“It's not that bad,” a soft voice offered in his ear, but he shrugged the contact away. As much as Connor enjoyed having the mental connection to his brother, he also didn't need to hear his twins’ soft admonishments from where Thomas waited back at base. Why Daud hadn't sent them both out was beyond him, but Connor supposed this was an easy enough job for one. It didn't require both of them just to make sure there weren't any more leads looking into the Pendleton's disappearance.

With a flurry of ash, Connor landed and hunkered down on a low rooftop across from the Distillery where Slackjaw kept his offices. He rested his head back against the nearest chimney and let his senses extend. Even through the muffled sound and reduced visibility of his heavy whaler mask, he could hear and see every passerby with the help of the Void. Daud had gifted him and his brother with plenty of abilities, including ones that made an endlessly boring job slightly more bearable. Connor turned his head, his eyes silently following the route of a guard, the sad lurching of a plague victim, the gamblings of the Bottle Street Gang.

It was shaping up to be a quiet shift.

All the better to eavesdrop with.

A flash from the sky caught in his peripheral for just an instant. Connor instinctively inhaled, tilted his head and counted the seconds.

Three beats later, the rumble came. Connor shifted and cursed to himself; the rain closer than calculated. The clouds didn't look any friendlier, either. Perhaps he'd be getting water-logged after all.

“As if we need another wet dog here,” Thomas mused, his presence brushing against Connor's mind once again. Connor frowned; as much as the Bond kept them connected no matter how theoretically far apart they were, sometimes he could do without his brother’s casual observations of his missions. Sure, their stronger mental link meant better recon back to Daud but still, privacy and silence would be nice sometimes.

“This is just payback for when you wouldn't leave me alone when I was stationed at the Boyles Estate,” his brother told him, the smirk coloring every thought that washed softly over Connor's mind. “You wouldn't stop asking me for better angles on Lady Boyle, if I remember correctly. I swear your voyeurism knows no bounds.”

“Alright, alright fair,” Connor eventually relented, and Thomas's smug triumph filled his mind, mixing with Connor's own irritations. “Just let me do this in peace, I'd like to try and make it back before nightfall.”

“Well before I go; Emily sends her regards.”

Connor swallowed. Thomas withdrew from his mind, the silence left behind a tangible thing. He clenched his fist, doubling his interest in the Dunwall citizens below to occupy the space left behind. He tried but failed to stop the mental image of Emily Kaldwin, back at the base and sending her love, probably hopping around Thomas as he relayed what Connor was doing and-

He ground his teeth down, biting at his tongue. They really shouldn't be so attached. It was all too dangerous. She was the Empress’s daughter. She was slated to rule one day. They didn't need to sleep cuddled up with her, or let her borrow their masks, or let her pet them or-

He took a deep breath. It was dangerous. He knew it; The Whalers all knew it. Daud probably knew it too, with how fidgety he’d become as of late. And yet, there was something about her, something that drew the wolves to her like flies to --

“Did you see that? Up there.”

Connor stiffened, the confused growl rumbling out of him unbidden. Instinctively, he clenched his fist; in a rush of ash he leapt 20 meters away, safely out of the sightlines below. He took a steadying breath; no way they had seen him, but something had made his hackles rise, had made him second guess himself.

And then it hit him.

The wind shifted and the scent of another filled his nostrils. Connor stilled and forced his body low. There was another wolf here, and it wasn't Daud, or another Whaler. He knew all of their scents by heart, like knowing a relative's face.

So who…

Movement by the distillery had Connor freezing in place, his limbs rooting him to the spot. By the door he witnessed the flash of light and smoke beforr a tall hooded figure appeared out of nowhere, spooking the nearby guard.

The figure looked around. A metal mask glinted in the remaining light.

Before their gazes could meet Connor was moving, already transversing to a new rooftop, one closer to the old brewery. His heart hammered in his chest as he crouched low, doing his best to hug the wall.

His distress didn't go unnoticed.

“Connor?” Thomas tentatively offered, mind brushing against his. He took a shaky breath but didn't respond. First, he needed to see what in the Void was going on. Conversation floated up to his position and he strained his ears, listening.

“Hmph. One of you dogs, again, huh? What you want?”

“I'm not one of those…” there was a pause, like the broken voice behind that mask had to take time to collect itself. “You were expecting me?”

“Slackjaw ain’t dumb. He always knows you lot come back for check-ups. Come on.”

A door unlocked, opened, then closed. Connor peeked over his hiding spot, breath heavy on the exhale. He looked down: the party had moved indoors. His attentions immediately turned the roof of the distillery, looking for cracked windows, bad ventilation shafts, or shoddy roof tiles.

“Connor , ” Thomas tried again, as Connor clenched a fist and let his body slip inside through a loose window. “Connor, who was that? What's going on?”

“I may have stumbled on someone, or someone stumbled on me,” he fed back to Thomas as quickly as possible. “Don't tell Daud, not yet.”

“Don't tell-- Connor are you insane?!”

But Connor didn't give his twin the benefit of a response. He ignored the surge of phantom anger and annoyance and instead hugged the rafters, squeezing through pipes and over wood to follow that hooded figure inside.

The interior of the distillery was hot, even in the large, open air space housing the huge fermentation vats. He transversed from shadow to shadow, keeping his body as high up as possible, doing his best to follow the voices leading him further into the brewery building.

“You look a little lost. Surprised that ol’ Slackjaw knew you were coming?”

Connor slipped around, claws growing from smoking gloves to grip at wood barrels. He caught the scent of the other -- the Turned wolf he was sure was Corvo Attano -- and he stilled in instinctive apprehension. With a tilt of his head and a wave of his hand, Connor watched their conversation through the Void.

“I don't care about that,” that raspy, broken voice said. “I just want to find Emily. To that end, I was pointed in your direction.”

Connor swallowed; there was a snap of teeth on the edge of those words that not even the Royal Protector’s mask could hide. How much control did he even have? Connor shifted uneasily at the possibility that it was less than expected. Fighting a feral, newly turned whale-wolf wasn't his idea of a good time.

But at least it wasn't boring.

“You were sent to me? ” Slackjaw asked, feigning surprise. “Why? I don't have the girl, and if I did I probably would have sold her for a pretty penny.”

The hooded silhouette of Corvo Attano shifted, fist clenching. The growl rolling off him was palpable.

“I went to the Golden Cat looking for Jessamine's daughter-”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And heard the Pendleton's had mentioned her-”

“Oh?”

“And now they are missing, and they were last seen in the Distillery District.”

“That so.”

Slackjaw didn't seem perturbed by Corvo in the slightest, but that didn't surprise Connor. Slackjaw dealt with worse than an agitated Royal Protector on a daily basis. Connor had seen his previous business negotiations with Daud -- that was truly terrifying.

Slackjaw coolly paced the office, picking a knife up and spinning it on the tip of a finger before sheathing it at his side.

“You best be careful where you're sticking your nose, Lord Protector, or you're gonna get yourself burned.”

“I'm not a Protector without someone to protect,” he snarled, hands flexing. “And I need to find her first. Either you help me, or you get out of my way.”

“That what you told the High Overseer, before he shat himself?”

Corvo shifted. Slackjaw laughed.

“Listen here, Corvo, this area is my business. And I have good friends in this business . You can be one of my good friends! I just need something in return.”

Not a beat passed before a heavy purse hit the wood table between them. Even Slackjaw appeared surprised; he looked from the purse to Corvo before slowly reaching down and grabbing the coin.

“Courtesy of the Golden Cat.”

“My my, I didn't know our fancy Royal Protector was a thief at heart.” Slackjaw rubbed a hand over his moustache before reaching in the purse and checking the coin. “So. My Lord. What would you like to know?”

“Where is Emily?”

Connor shifted as the cold dread of guilt flooded his system. Slackjaw, however, held no such feelings as he openly shrugged in front of Corvo.

“No idea, and that's the damned truth. But I do know the Pendleton's were talking about the Empress's daughter, and I know what happened to 'em as a result.”

“And?”

“Had a guy come through a few weeks back,” Slackjaw concluded, counting a few of the coins in the purse. “Was paying to have anyone talking about the Empress taken care of, and I knew some powerful people who were flapping their jaws.” He grinned, pocketing the money. “It benefited us both to have those mouthy twins removed from the picture.”

“Do you know who he was? The man who paid you?”

“Oh that assassin, who has all his little masked followers.” Slackjaw eyed Corvo carefully. ”You're not with him? That Daud fella?”

“He is not working with me,” Corvo snarled out, and the rage was so intense, Connor felt himself slink back. Even Slackjaw brought his palms up, looking for peace.

“Don't shoot the messenger, friend. I just know what you are, and what he is. I've seen his rooftop dogs, he can't fool ol’ Slackjaw.”

Heart thudding in his ears, Connor worked out of his hiding spot as discreetly as possible. He'd overstayed his welcome already, but if he didn't get back to Daud with this soon...

Connor's foot kicked. The pressure valve burst. Slackjaw yelled. Corvo's head jerked.

Connor clenched his fist, using the cover of the steam to transverse up and away through the rafters. He prayed that Corvo didn't notice him, hoped he could use this as a clean get-away.

The window he crawled in through was still open. He scrabbled through it, claws scratching on the glass, feeling the wind catch angrily against his mask and jacket as soon as he was free of the building. Connor looked skyward; the clouds were dark and angry and ready to drop.

“Thomas,” Connor sputtered out loud. Instantly his brother brushed against his consciousness, questioning. “Thomas, there's been a complication.”

“What's going on?”

“It's Corvo,” he told his twin. His gloved hand closed, the Void propelling him to a different rooftop. “He knows Slackjaw was paid off, he knows Daud paid him off-”

A crack of lightning. Connor turned his head from the too-bright flash. When he looked back, a figure stood in front of him, blocking his path.

Connor froze.

“Don't tell Daud yet,” Connor frantically relayed as the thunder crashed and reverberated in his chest. “I'm going to handle this.”

“Damnit, Connor!” Thomas shot back, worry lacing his anger, but Connor didn't respond, couldn't respond, not with that mask keyed on him, watching his every move.

Connor tensed. Neither of them moved. He knew he'd been spotted, but now it was a battle to see who would break first, who would give chase. They were both predators, in their own ways. They didn't flee or fear easily.

But this… this was different.

Connor knew he would have to run. He shared Daud's powers, yes -- he could transform, manipulate space, see through walls. But he was still just a bonded wolf, using borrowed magic. Corvo was… he was something much greater and far more dangerous than that.

Another flash. Corvo vanished.

Connor jumped through the Void as fast as the magic in his veins allowed. He felt more than heard the arcane power crackle in the air behind him, hanging amongst the ozone and electricity of the coming storm. His hair raised; his head ducked.

Those long black claws sliced right where his scalp had been.

Connor spun, twisting around to bring his blade up to parry the next swipe. Corvo's claws clashed loudly against the steel and Connor caught the glint of the mask, that laughing metal face, and felt the anger hiding just behind it.

Spirits, Corvo was going to kill him.

He pushed the blade up and side-stepped the next attack, but Corvo was faster than anticipated. He clipped Connor-- just for Connor to dissolve into ash. The Royal Protector's claws slashed through air and he snarled, taking no time to temper the growing ferocity of his voice and body.

“Coward,” he rasped out, looking for Connor even as the assassin reappeared silently behind Corvo. He bent low and kicked out his legs and then immediately blinked away again before Corvo fell on him. He then leapt off, trying to gain distance before Corvo gathered himself up and gave chase.

“I don't know how much control he has,” Connor shot across to Thomas, reigniting their connection. “I don't know-”

“How bad is it?” Thomas asked, sharp and clinical. “Can you transform and get away?”

Connor heard an angry roar from somewhere on the other side of the rooftop and cursed. Against his better judgement, he looked back; Corvo was blinking in and out, a blur of smoke and fur, that was quickly gaining on him.

“I can't. If I lead him back to the Flooded District-”

“Isn't that what Daud wants?”

“He'll kill everyone, Thomas! Not an option!”

“Okay, if he's that much of a danger then I'll tell Daud and-”

“No! No, I’ll deal with this. I'll send him on a wild goose chase then report back when the coast is clear.”

“Connor…”

It was stupid. Well, not stupid, but it was reckless. And it definitely wasn't boring. Might even be fun.

A terrifying, semi-feral bit of fun.

Outsider's ass, he needed to get out more often.

Connor breathed, then blinked right into Corvo's line of sight. The man -- if he could even be called that -- turned, zeroing in on his movement. Corvo's body was wavering at the edges; limbs too long, back too hunched, focus too tight.

Connor readied himself. He'd have to move faster than he ever had before. Under his own mask, he felt himself smirk.

“Please, don't get yourself killed,” Thomas pleaded.

“No promises.”

Connor's fist clenched and he was off, speeding over the rooftops. Corvo fell for it; like a carrot on a stick he leapt after Connor, chasing him across the skyline as another flash of lightning lanced by. Corvo was fast, but Connor knew the area better. He jumped diagonally, making his movements erratic. And while it worked for a time, it wasn't enough. Like a spear Corvo’s aim was straight and true. He crashed into a rooftop next to Connor, launching himself straight at him, claws raised, snarling-

Leaving Connor to blink away just in time.

The howl Corvo let out was screeching, like a dying whale. Connor's body stumbled against the power of it, instinct overruling his self-preservation. His knee hit the rooftop, hard: less than a beat later he's thrown, the wind knocked out of him, his mask smashing the tiles with a painful crack. He can smell Corvo, can hear the deep rumbles, can feel his claws sink into the lapels of Connor's coat jacket as he’s dragged up just to be smashed down again.

“Where is he?”

Connor didn't need to ask who Corvo meant, not when those angry daggers were digging into his coat, threatening permanent damage. Despite imminent death, Connor didn't respond, keeping his mouth closed, thanking the Void that his mask hid any and all emotion. Corvo waited, but as no answer came his patience waned. He threw Connor into the roofside again, snarling, the heat of his power coming off in waves.

Then a mind slammed into Connor's, angry and vicious and wild.

“WHERE IS HE?”

Connor gasped, his breath catching and his body shrinking away. Corvo threatened to mentally suffocate him, throwing all of the weight of his turmoil straight at Connor. Instinctively Connor’s mind retaliated, shoving against the pain and the emotion, frantically doing whatever he could to get Corvo out, out!

Corvo stilled and his mind retreated so fast it left Connor light-headed. The grip on his jacket lessened, the magic smoking off of Corvo's arms. Connor eyed him carefully; the hooded, masked man before him shuddered, his body cracking.

“What was that?” Corvo gasped out, as if his teeth were remembering how to talk. Connor said nothing, too stunned to move.

Oh Void, Connor realized, he's never-

Corvo himself was no longer paying Connor any attention. The man himself was falling apart; every now and then Connor would feel the distress of his mind brush against his, but even the softest push against Corvo's thoughts sent him wincing back, the foreign sensation too much for his mind.

And yet, Corvo couldn't control it. The contact felt terrified, angry, tentative , as if Corvo was realizing he yearned for the mental contact but didn't know what it was, or how it was happening. Which was possible, right? Connor didn't really know, his mind had been linked to Thomas -- to Daud -- for so long that-

Corvo vanished.

Connor gaped.

His head was clear; the distress of the Royal Protector completely gone. He sat up, looking around furiously. A quick inhale told him Corvo really was gone, as if he teleported -- or, more likely, stopped time--

“Connor.” The new voice boomed across the Bond, it's clarity and familiarity overwhelming. “Get back here. Now.”

“But sir, Corvo-”

“Left,” Daud told him, the irritation and acidity of his thoughts laced with relief. “And you're relieved of duty for tonight.”

“Yes, sir.” Connor replied, head bowing even without Daud there to see it. He stood up and called to the Void; fur flowed out, bones popped and senses sharpened as he leapt from the rooftop, four legs propelling him fast than two. His wolf body moving on residual adrenaline, beelining for the Flooded District.

“I told you not to tell Daud,” he shot angrily to Thomas, though he added the cool tones of reassurance as their thoughts touched.

“And I told you not to get yourself killed,” Thomas retorted back.

"And I didn't,” he stated, matter-of-factly. Around his paws, fat drops of water began to appear, signalling the coming rain. They were both quiet; Connor was tired, Thomas was upset. It wasn't until he had made it halfway back to the Flooded District that he finally asked what neither of them wanted to bring up.

“Perhaps we don't tell Emily?”

“Yes,” Thomas resigned, sounding defeated. “I agree. Let's not tell Emily.”

[barpurplewrites]

The Second Great Pokemon Go

(First in series here)

Pokemon have appeared in Storybrooke again, but this time it was planned.

-x-x-x-

“Welcome to Storybrooke’s second Great Pokemon Go Event! Also known as the first one we’ve planned!”

The gathered crowd cheered at Regina’s little jest. Many of them knew of the effort that had gone into safely replicating the events surrounding Rumple’s bout of magical Flu. Months of spellwork and something that Henry insisted on called technomancy had finally borne fruit and now the town was ready to enjoy a day of catching pocket monsters. Unlike last time, there was an air of a carnival to this event, instead of the weary, low key panic that came with clearing the town of the latest magical disaster. Stalls were set up next to Pokestops offering drinks and snacks, bunting festooned the streets, the fairies had offered to act as marshals and were dressed as Nurse Joy or Officer Jenny to make them easy to find should anyone need help.

In the week leading up to the event everyone who wanted to take part had signed up to one of the three teams; Valour, Instinct or Mystic. For those who played the mobile game Team Instinct was considered a bit of a joke, so the numbers were initially very low, that changed when word got out about which team the dwarves had signed up for. During the Flu induced Pokemon event Bashful had proven himself to be a natural at catching flying types, once people heard that he would be playing in yellow sign-ups had increase. Instinct would still be the underdog, but they were confident they would give Valour and Mystic a run for their money.

Regina waved her hand in the air sending a shimmer of magic over the town.

“The Pokestops are active and the Pokemon are free! You have until three o’clock to catch as many as you can! The best Pokemon from each team will then battle the Gym Leaders. Ready? Steady? Go!”

The crowd roared in joy and became a confused mass of colour as everyone raced off to find Pokemon. After a moment a sort of order became apparent; the blues of Mystic were heading towards the docks and the beach; the reds of Valour were making a beeline for the forest and the yellows of Instinct were heading out into town. Regina stepped down from the podium and grinned at Rumple and Belle.

“Looks like every team has a plan.”

Belle shifted Gideon from her hip to his stroller and began buckling him in; “Oh yes, there have been loads of sneaky strategy meetings all over town.”

“So, what’s the inside info?”

Rumple raised an eyebrow at her, but his features quickly softened into a smile; “Valour are after bug and rock types, Mystic had opted for water types, and Instinct have chosen flying as their main power. Every team’s got people working on the medals to make sure that there is plenty of dust and candy on hand for evolving the best they can.”

Unlike the actual game where candy was specific to each Pokemon, they had decided to make it generic, so every team had plenty to evolve their best Pokemon and boost them up to strong stats in the hopes of topping the leader board. They had made a few other changes to the gameplay; the Pokestops would only drop berries and Pokeballs. It had simplified planning for Rumple, Regina and Emma, as had having only one Gym, no raids and limiting the Pokemon to the Kanto set.

Emma joined them just as Gold finished speaking; “I know for a fact that Lily and Mal are aiming for the most dragon types caught. Personally, I’m after a Squirtle.”

Gold pulled three Pokeballs from his pockets and juggled them, much to Gideon’s delight; “Shall we see what we can do for our little team’s score?”

The three of them would be acting as Gym Leaders for the battle portion of the day. They could have just magicked up their Pokemon, but had decided to collect them, so they could be part of the fun.

Belle gave Rumple a kiss and pulled a blue cap from the bag at the back of Gid’s stroller; “You guys have fun, Gid and I are off to help Team Mystic.”

“I suppose it was a given that Belle wold go out to bat for the blue team.”

“Of course, Emma, she looks best in blue.”

Regina and Emma shared a smile at the fond look on Rumple’s face as he watched Belle and Gid wave before they moved out of view.

“Come on, lets catch something.”

 -x-x-x-

 Archie adjusted his red cap and blew out a breath. Hansel dropped the now full Pokeball into their bag, as Gretel added another tally mark to their sheet; “That’s another Venonat for us, and it was a tough one.”

“Six balls to catch it! We’re going to need to circle back to the Pokestop.”

Archie nodded and followed as the kids led the way; “I hope the rest of the team are finding more rock type than we are.”

“Proves our idea was right.”

Gretel didn’t miss a step as she thumped her brother’s arm, and turned to walk backwards so she could look at Archie as she spoke; “We had this wild idea that because you were a cricket that Bug types would be attracted to you, it was just a daft idea, we didn’t be any offence…”

“No, none taken at all. And considering our haul so far, I’d say there is something to your idea. Is that why you suggested we should go for bug types?”

“Everyone underestimates them ‘cause they aren’t the best known, and they creep some people out.”

Archie considered this as he held the backpack while the kids climbed over a fallen tree. Once he was over the obstacle himself he asked; “Do you think anyone else in town has worked out that some of us have an affinity for certain Pokemon?”

The kids gave him matched looks of surprised; “Of course, why do you think Mal and Lily are aiming for the dragon type trophy?”

 -x-x-x-

 Snow shivered as another Kabuto appeared.

“Charming! Creepy one here.”

He two balls from his pockets and squeezed Neal’s hand; “We’re on it. There’s a Geodude over here.”

Snow tousled Neal’s hair as she switched sides with Charming. Most of the rock types she was fine with but the horseshoe crab-like Pokemon freaked her out. She was trying not to show it too much, she didn’t want Neal picking up on her hebbie-jebbies. From the sound of the conversation going on behind her she didn’t need to worry.

“Krabie is cute. Can we keep him as a pet, Daddy?”

“Erm, no we can’t son. We’ll look at the puppies at the shelter again tomorrow hey?”

Snow was glad they couldn’t see her face as she rolled her eyes. She’d already picked out a puppy at the shelter and was just having to wait until the little darling had his shots before she could surprise David and Neal with him. She’d have to come up with some reason why they couldn’t go and look at puppies tomorrow.

 -x-x-x-

 Grace hissed in sympathy as the Vulpix her Papa had been trying to catch headbutted the ball away. She was just about to throw him another ball when he tumbled forward and managed to get his hand under the ball and bat it back towards the Vupix. It looked a little put out as the ball connected and captured it.

Jefferson rolled and plucked the ball from the ground before bouncing to his feet and twirling to give his daughter a toothy grin. A tiny glimmer of doubt crept onto his face at the sight of Grace’s wide-eyed staring.

“Was that alright?”

Grace launched herself at him howling with laughter; “Papa that was awesome!”

He caught her and swung her around in a circle, laughing happily with her.

“Okay, I mean you are covered in leaves,” – Grace brushed at her jumper – “and now so am I, but we are going to save loads of balls if you can do that a few more times.”

“And that means less trips to the Pokestops, so maybe we can head further out than most people, might be able to grab some of the rarer ones, hey?”

She gave a thoughtful nod; “That would give us a better chance of getting the Catch ‘Em All Medal.”

Jefferson bowed with a flourish, that was only slightly spoiled by the scattering of leaves that fell from his clothes, and offered Grace his hand; “Shall we then?”

“We shall. Let’s see where Mom and Dad have got to, that Oddish shouldn’t have been too hard to catch.”

Aiden and Elsie were Grace’s parents under the Curse, for them waking up had been heart-breaking, because they lost the daughter they had always dreamed of. It had taken Jefferson time to accept that they weren’t going to try and steal Grace away from him, and slowly they had become their own sort of family. Jefferson still had his moments of panic, but Aiden, Elise and Grace got him through them.  Now he twisted around on the spot trying to find which way his co-parents had gone. A shout from his left gave him a direction and Aiden’s head appearing from around a tree pinpointed them.

“Have you two got any balls left? We’ve got an Ekans here.”

It was a good thing that Pokemon were not as skittish as regular woodland creatures, because the racket that Grace and Jefferson raced across the dry leaves would have scared it away.

 -x-x-x-

 Granny eased the tray of snacks onto the table and braced for the stab of pain that normally shot through her hands as she uncurled them; it didn’t come as badly as she was expecting. Whale had been right about these new pills, oh well she had a bottle of bourbon with his name on in the diner.

Astrid skipped over to the snack stand, and almost tripped over her own feet. Granny raised an eyebrow at her choice of costume for today.

“So Nurse Joy, hey? Would have thought you would have gone for Officer Jenny.”

Astrid shook her head as she carefully poured herself a cup of soda; “Oh no, I only dress up as a police officer for Leroy.”

Soda slopped over the table as Astrid’s brain caught up with what her mouth had revealed. Granny calmly handed her some paper towels and said; “Got a thing for firemen myself, but as long as it’s safe, sane and consensual it’s nobody’s business what you two get up in private.”

Astrid was still looking flustered, but at least she was smiling now. Granny took the chance to change the subject to spare the poor girl anymore embarrassment; “Have you seen my wayward granddaughters?”

There had been some people in town who had speculated that Granny wouldn’t be happy about Ruby’s True Love; after all they had whispered it wasn’t a natural sort of relationship was it? Granny had welcomed Dotty with open arms and sternly told the whispers to stop projecting their prejudices onto other people. Several people had been barred from the diner, which basically ostracised them from the town since Granny’s was the social hub. Some had educated themselves and apologized to Ruby and Dotty, and then been allowed back. Others had continued spouting their bile around town but were met with a cold-shoulder by the majority of folks.

“They’d just caught a Growlithe last time I saw them.”

Granny wasn’t great on the names of these little critters, but she knew that one; “They evolve into Arcanine, first time I heard the girls talking about that one I thought they were saying ‘our canine’, thought they were talking about Toto.”

Granny fondly rolled her eyes as Astrid spluttered on her soda and handed her some more paper towels.

 -x-x-x-

 In the park as shadow swept over Tink. Lily was circling in dragon form. She’d been doing this all day to pop back to the Pokestop, up until now it had been fine, but this time Bashful was taking aim at a Ghastly. Tink bit her knuckle as the ball bounced off the Pokemon and whacked into the dragon’s snout.

In an impressive feat of aerobatics Lily snapped forward and caught the falling ball. She landed lightly within yards of Bashful and spat the ball at his feet. Tink set her Officer Jenny cap firmly on her head and rushed across to the two of them, praying that Lily was in a good mood. She was still a little way away when Lily transformed and snagged the ball from the ground.

“Here you go Bash. You ain’t gonna get any points for catching me.”

The dwarf caught the ball and shyly pointed to his nose with a questioning look at Lily.

“Oh, barely felt it, go catch your spooky.”

Bashful tipped his yellow baseball cap and ran off towards where the Ghastly had drifted to float around the sleeping form of Walter.

“Problem, Officer Tink?”

Lily turned around slowly with a small sad smile on her face; “You thought I was going to toast him, hey six months ago you might have been right, but I’m doing a lot better these days.”

“I admit it crossed my mind and I’m really sorry Lily. It was crappy of me to think that.”

Lily’s eyebrows rose in surprise; “Think you can teach Snow and Charming to apologise that easy? They didn’t want me to take part today until Emma and Regina went to bat for me, still haven’t said sorry for calling me an ‘unstable flamethrower’.”

Tink didn’t even try to contain her eyeroll. Since Blue’s ‘retirement’ she and Tiger Lily had become the leaders of the fairies and both of them had their hands full trying to undo the hypocrisy that Blue had fostered in the royal couple.

“I’ll have a stern few words with them Lily.”

“Thank you, Tink,” – she nodded her head towards the Pokestop, - “I need to reload, I left Mom playing with a couple of Dratini.”

Tink nodded with a smile; “Sure thing, see you at the party later? First drinks on me?”

Lily gave her a thumbs-up, “You’re on.”

 -x-x-x-

 Down by the docks Henry handed his Uncle Gid a rusk as Belle took aim at a Lapras.

“Fingers crossed Uncle Gid we really want this one.”

Gideon chewed on his rusk, apparently indifferent to Team Mystic’s need for a good strong Lapras. He did giggle and shout ‘Whoosh!” when it vanished into the Pokeball, but he did the same when it escaped, so he probably wasn’t cheering his Mom on.

“Can you throw me another ball, please Henry?”

He opened his backpack, but before he could reach inside a Pokeball flew out circled around his head and then sped towards the Lapras. Belle and Henry watched as the flying ball made a perfect capture. Gid clapped his hands together and laughed.

“Okay. So, I guess Uncle Gid’s magic is coming out.”

Belle scooped the ball from the ground; “Looks that way. Well done Gid. That was a very good catch.”

Gid made grabby hands towards the Pokeball and only grumbled a little when Belle insisted on wiping the mushed rusk from his fingers first. When he finally got hold of his Pokeball he cuddled it to his chest and babbled gently at it as he snuggled back into his stroller. Belle snapped a photo to send to Rumple.

“Looks like someone is ready for a nap.”

Henry bounced a Pokeball against his palm; “Do you think he’ll let us use that Lapras for the Gym Battle?”

Uncle Gid was teething at the moment and could be a bit grumpy about letting go of his favourite comfort toys, which now included the best Pokemon they had caught so far.

Belle shrugged; “Erm, might be best if we can find another one, just to be on the safe side.”

Gid pointed a sleepy finger along the dock where another Lapras had just popped into existence. Henry whistled under his breath; “Thanks Uncle Gid.”

Belle chuckled as they started towards the new Pokemon; “I’m sure Gid didn’t make that appear Henry.”

Henry raised an eyebrow at her in a manner that was a pretty good imitation of his grandfather. Belle rolled her eyes; “Okay, he probably didn’t.”

Perhaps a quick phone call to Rumple would be a good idea just to make sure that Gid’s magic wouldn’t interfere with the spells already running today.

[thestoryweneededtowrite]

javid "confess" would be hella cute just sayin 😏

I don’t really know what happened here but this was the result??? But I don’t completely hate it, so here:

Davey was hovering awkwardly. It was his ‘Ihave something to say and I don’t want to say it but I definitely should’ hoverand Jack could recognise it from a mile away.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, part concerned andpart exasperated that, after two years, Davey still couldn’t just out with itand tell him what it was that was bothering him. The awkward hover could beanything from I finished the last ofcereal to I’m breaking up with you- not that the latter had ever been said.“I don’t want to…” He began, but he really did want to talk about it. “I didsomething bad.”

Jack frowned. Davey didn’t do anything bad,but then again it could be something perfectly innocuous that Davey justthought was bad anyway. Either way, Jack wanted to hear it if it would takesome weight off his boyfriend’s shoulders.

“Confess to me,” he suggested, pouting whenDavey just scoffed. “You don’t confess in Judaism?”

Shrugging, Davey sat down beside Jack on thecouch. Usually he didn’t risk trying to explain his religion to Jack unlessthere was alcohol involved, but this didn’t technically count since he wasn’tplanning on detailing how confessing did work in Judaism. And also, Jack didhave wine.

“Kind of, but not exactly in the same way,”he admitted. He definitely wasn’t meant to confess to Jack – not that Catholicsshould be confessing to Jack either.

“Well give it a try. Tell me what’s up,” Jacksaid. He sat up straight, staring straight ahead and pretending there was ascreen between them on the sofa.“This is weird,” Davey laughed. When Jack gave him a try to play along glare, he pressed his lips together and tried tobe serious. It lasted all of four seconds until he was giggling again. “No, Ican’t,” he protested.

Jack tried not to grin. His plan was working:he wanted to know what was bothering Davey but he also wanted to cheer him upand clearly that was working.

“Sure you can. Whatever you’ve done, I’vedone worse. I guarantee it,” he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Davey nodded solemnly. That was almostdefinitely true, except this time he was almost certain Jack hadn’t done whathe wanted to talk about. At least, he hoped he hadn’t. But he wasn’t quiteready to put it into words, so instead he tried a diversion.

“Well, if I’m confessing my sins I shouldprobably start with dozens of accounts of extra-marital sex with another guy,because that’s definitely the worst one I’ve committed,” he admitted, hiding asmile.  He didn’t feel bad. Maybe once,months and months ago, he’d have felt a little guilty about it, but now? Therewasn’t a single moment he regretted. Except possibly that time Les had walkedin on them making out, shirtless, on Davey’s bed – they were all scarred forlife after that day.“I can completely absolve you of that one,” Jack promised, an air of pomp andceremony to his voice.

Smiles turned to surprised laughter. Thisdefinitely wasn’t the script confessions were meant to take, Davey was prettysure. He wasn’t Catholic but he knew enough to figure that, if the homosexualitydidn’t get him penance, sleeping with Jack before marriage definitely would.

“On what grounds?” he asked, mostly amusedbut a little confused. “On the grounds of loving you,” Jack explained, breaking character to turn andpress a kiss to Davey’s cheek. Then he took his hands and looked into his eyes,trying to find the answers he wanted there. “Seriously, what’s bothering you?”

Davey’s first instinct was to fidgetnervously, but he didn’t want to let go of Jack’s hands so he tapped his footagainst the floor instead.“Last night… When we were out…” he tried, not sure where to begin.

Jack pressed a kiss to the back of both ofDavey’s hands to encourage him to talk. “Yeah, I remember.”

They’d gone out on a rare occasion to a clubin the city. The fact that they didn’t get out enough was something they’d bothagreed on, but they had differing opinions on what to do instead. Davey votedfor a museum, Jack voted for a club, so the previous day they’d tried both oneafter the other and come to the conclusion that nights in on the sofa, watchingeighties movies, were far more enjoyable.

Nodding, Davey winced and continued. It wasn’ta particularly nice story and he didn’t really want to talk about it, but hefigured Jack had a right to hear it.

“Well… When you went to the bathroom, thisguy… He came to ask me to dance and when I said no he put his hands… places,”he blushed, not wanting to get specific. It wasn’t awful, only his thighs andhis hips, but he didn’t like being feltup against his will. It was only nice when it was consensual and private andJack.

Jack was stunned, grinding his teeth andfighting the urge to curl his hands into fists. He hated the idea of someonehurting Davey, and emotional pain definitely counted. There was a terrible painin his stomach that stemmed from the worry that he was about to get told it gotway worse than just touching.

“That’s it?” he checked, when nothing elsewas tacked on the end.

“Still love me?” Davey asked, trying to befunny but clearly anxious.

There was a beat of silence before Jack reachedto pull Davey into a hug before pausing, not sure whether he was allowed totouch him. But then Davey moved towards him and that seemed like consent enoughso he opened his arms and let his boyfriend wriggle closer and curl up againsthis chest.

“Of course, you muppet,” Jack sighed. Hekissed Davey’s hair and held him tighter. “Some heathen sexually harassing youisn’t your fault. It’s so incredibly not okay, but that’s all on him, not you.Are you alright?” he checked, realising he should have asked that first.

“Yeah, I elbowed him in the ribs and he leftme alone,” Davey said, smiling a little. He was mostly proud of how he’dhandled it, even if afterwards he had to take a series of deep breathes to stopfrom breaking down.

“Good,” Jack laughed. He rubbed the palm ofhis hand up and down Davey’s arm, trying to relax him a little. “You can tellme about things like that, you know.”

Davey stalled. He was happy that Jack wasreacting like this, but he wasn’t completely free from concern that things weregoing to go very downhill when he realised what it meant.

“It felt like I was being unfaithful…” headmitted, taking his hands back and knotting his fingers together.

“What?!” Jack spluttered, recoiling likeDavey had hit him.“He touched me,” Davey said. He was pretty sure that the only one touching himlike that should be his boyfriend, and anyone else doing it seemed far tooclose to infidelity. “Against your will!” Jack protested, kissing his boyfriend quickly to show himthere was nothing wrong between them. “Dave, that’s not your fault. If youdidn’t want it to happen then how could you be being unfaithful?” When he justgot a shrug in response he stroked a thumb across Davey’s cheek and smiled. “You’retoo sweet for your own good.”

“Sorry,” Davey mumbled, his cheeks reddening.“Don’t apologise. It’s one of the reasons I love you,” Jack reassured him. Henever wanted Davey to change, he just wanted to world to change a little soDavey wasn’t hurt by it. Although if he was going to elbow the wankers in theribs then maybe everything would be okay.

[jamieclawhorn]

Is this the last great buying opportunity for Lloyds Banking Group plc?

The Bank of England this week cut its forecast for UK economic growth to 1.9%, from 2%, and warned of reined-in consumer spending as inflation starts to bite while wages stall.

Our banks are also still on uncertain ground as we head towards our exit from the European Union in a couple of years, so we should expect to see Lloyds Banking Group (LSE: LLOY) shares remaining under pressure until we’re out, shouldn’t we?

Well no, I don’t think so, and on top of continuing to rate the shares as undervalued, I see a couple of events that could well give them the kick they need to give them a boost. With a slow but steady rise of 13% over the past six months, to today’s 69p, I reckon there’s some held-back momentum there just waiting for a shackle or two to be thrown off.

Government stake nearly gone

One of those shackles is the government’s remaining stake in Lloyds, and while it’s slowly been sold off it provides an artificial balance between supply and demand and keeps the price down. When it’s all gone, investors wanting to buy Lloyds will have to get their shares from others who are less keen to dump them.

But now, all that’s left of the taxpayers’ ownership is a tiny stake of around 0.25%, which chief executive Antonio Horta-Osorio suggested at the firm’s AGM on Friday could be totally disposed of within the next few days.

Political uncertainty has also surely been holding our banks back, with a risk that the government’s small majority in parliament could be held hostage by extreme eurosceptics on the back benches and by those still clinging to their last hopes that Brexit might actually be avoided.

A big Conservative win in the upcoming general election would put paid to that risk, and allow the moderate mainstream of the party to try to get the best exit deal we can. Now, I never thought I’d be cheering for a Tory victory, but the UK’s economic position is by far the most important issue facing us right now — and an economy- and business-focused government is surely what we need.

Irresistible dividends

What I think should make Lloyds more attractive than most banks is its recovering dividend and its strongly progressive dividend policy. Pre-tax profit is expected to exceed £7bn this year, and that should happily support a forecast dividend yield of 5.3% — and with the bank’s payout ratio expected to rise, analysts think we’ll be seeing better than 6% by 2018.

Another thing that makes me feel bullish stems directly from Lloyds’ disaster and its bailout. It forced the bank to fundamentally rethink itself, from the roots upwards, in a way that rivals that avoided going cap-in-hand to the taxpayer did not have to do.

The result of that shows, with Lloyds now boasting the lowest cost-to-income ratio of the big high street banks, and it’s expected to be lowered further in the next couple of years. And Lloyds’ CET1 ratio of 14.3% is up with the very best too.

The City’s analysts are getting behind Lloyds too, with a pretty strong buy consensus out there now and the bulls targeting 75-8p in the short term. With Lloyds shares on a forward P/E of only around 10, I’m firmly in the buy camp too.

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Alan Oscroft owns shares of Lloyds Banking Group. The Motley Fool UK has recommended Lloyds Banking Group. Views expressed on the companies mentioned in this article are those of the writer and therefore may differ from the official recommendations we make in our subscription services such as Share Advisor, Hidden Winners and Pro. Here at The Motley Fool we believe that considering a diverse range of insights makes us better investors.