#neither of them realizes how sugary their situation is getting. they sure aren’t fucking. they haven’t even been on a date.

[stizzysupremacy]

ahhh I have such a good idea for a secret reverse sugar baby modern AU. it's sprizzy in my head but I think you could substitute other ships with only minor changes to details.

So basically the premise is that Ed left and took with him half the income that was propping up Izzy's tight budget. now that Izzy has to cover rent and bills in full instead of just half, he is struggling financially. He really can’t afford to live, honestly. But he's a proud man so he tries to hide it. Tries to tough it out and make it work.

But Lucius (or whoever you fancy) notices and tries to help without making it obvious he is helping because Izzy probably won’t accept help, especially from Lucius, off all people.

Lucius, trying to be subtle, starts:

-timing his smoke breaks so he can run into Izzy and annoy Izzy into ‘stealing’ the cigarette right out of Lucius’s mouth. because Izzy won’t ask to bum one, and helping izzy hands avoid nicotine withdrawal is basically a public service. Lucius is a hero for that.

-“ugh, I told them no pickles! Here, eat this stupid sandwich, I don’t want it anymore, I loathe pickles!” (Lucius likes pickles just fine) or getting ‘just sooooo full’ from drinking elaborate iced coffees that he can’t possibly finish more than half of his lunch and he doesn’t want to waste food but he’s going out straight after work and won’t be able to bring it home to put in the fridge for tomorrow and really you may as well eat it, Izzy, or it’s just going to sit in the trash bin stinking up the whole place.

-asking Izzy to walk him to the tube station after work ‘for safety’ but it’s really so Lucius can swipe an extra ride for Izzy on his transit card. sometimes when it’s cold and miserable enough to make Izzy ache Lucius will opt for cab or rideshare instead as soon as they hit the street, insisting it will be cheaper to split the ride. always drops Izzy off first, conveniently forgetting to split the fare

-buying izzy a cozy cashmere scarf and claiming that it was Buy One Get One Free when Lucius was shopping for himself but he didn’t see any other colors/patterns he liked and this one just screamed Izzy Hands. (And maybe a knit cap that Lucius claims he stole from the lost and found because it coordinates with the scarf so well)

-begging Izzy to come over and ‘fix’ something ‘broken’ at his place, conveniently near dinner time, just so Izzy can spend a few hours somewhere where the heat and lights aren’t turned way down low to save on utilities. Somewhere warm and bright, where the WiFi service hasn’t been turned off because of all the past due bills.

-constantly starting bets that Izzy can win. This backfires when Izzy starts to feel bad about taking Lucius’ money because he thinks Lucius is a typical starving artist type. Not knowing that Lucius makes $$$$ on furry art commissions and just doesn’t tell anyone about it because his friends, much as he loves them, have zero moderation and would cajole Lucius into partying all his savings away.

And all the while he is being sneakily generous, Lucius is trying to figure out how to trick Izzy into letting Lucius buy him a new winter wardrobe, treat him to lunch every day, and buy back the motorcycle Izzy had to pawn to pay off some debts Ed left when he blew town.

[ggukcangetit]

Dreamcatchers 4

Pairing: jungkook x oc

Synopsis: DI Jeon didn’t need a new partner. Unfortunately, his superiors felt otherwise; especially considering the extremely high-profile murder that had just taken place in the port city. Recent transfer, DI Choi Yuri finds herself confronted with a new cityscape, unfamiliar people, a hostile partner, and a homicide that is certain to bring back unpleasant memories.

Genre/AU: fluff/action/mystery | detective! au | police!jungkook, police!oc

Word Count: 4.4k

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: mentions of violence, alcohol, blood, drugs, death. Basically stuff you’d associate with a murder mystery/crime drama

Previous: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Acknowledgement: shoutout to @stutterfly​ for designing this beautiful banner which i am completely in love with and stare at for no particular reason throughout the day. also a big thank you to @kinktae​ for helping get through a really tricky bit in this chapter :*

A/N:  reminding everyone that this story features a named oc because i’m still very unfamiliar with writing second person reader inserts. i’m not aiming for strict accuracy in this story, and all criminal investigation/forensics knowledge i have has been gathered by watching crime drama/procedural dramas! my knowledge of geography is also not totally accurate so apologies for that. once again, one thing right by @hobios​ prompted me to write a police inspector! jungkook story. would highly recommend reading that because it’s probably one of my most favorite pieces of writing!

Time: 4.37 am

Yuri had spent the entire night researching Park Jimin. Right from where he went to school up to all the scandalous newspaper articles recounting every aspect of his personal life. Priding herself on being able to maintain a professional outlook in her investigations, Yuri couldn’t help but feel appalled by what she had found. Park Jimin appeared to be arrogant, sleazy, manipulative, privileged, and everything that she despised in a person. Yoongi’s words rang in her head as she contemplated dropping the idea of acquiring a blood sample from the prodigal son of Park. No, this wasn’t because of her last case in Seoul. That was not why she was backing off. This was simply because she had no patience to deal with the self-absorbed antics of a privileged 20-something man.

Closing one of the last tabs, she caught sight of a familiar face. Not familiar in the way that you recognise an old friend, but familiar like a phrase you hear and cannot for the life of you remember where it was from. Park Jimin was seen exiting a famous restaurant in downtown Busan and beside him was another young man, so extraordinarily eye-catching in his loose trousers and green cardigan in a way that only an exquisite piece of art is.

An exquisite piece of art…

That was it. That was the phrase that made it click in her head.

“He’s literally a piece of art!”

“I mean, yes, he’s definitely conventionally attractive,” conceded Ahreum, a little annoyed that her photography was almost completely being ignored. “But what do you think of the pictures?”

“‘Conventionally attractive’? Is that the best you can do with your Literature & Creative Writing degree?”

Of course! This was Ahreum’s friend and Instagram muse.

Yuri snatched her phone from it’s charging spot and quickly scrolled through her friend’s Instagram. Sure enough, Park Jimin’s friend in loose trousers and green cardigan stared back at her from various parts of Busan, his expressions varying only slightly but creating completely different moods throughout Ahreum’s profile.

Kim Taehyung…

xxx

Yuri checked her phone for the fifth time in the last 3 minutes. Ahreum was supposed to pick her up at 8 am. It was currently 8.02 am. Not that it really made much of a difference, but she was raring to go ahead with her plan. A plan she had no doubt could easily blow up in her face, but weeks of fitful sleep coupled with shots of sugary coffee had given her a weird adrenaline rush which she didn’t want to lose.

A couple of minutes later, Ahreum pulled up outside her apartment, her large bike contrasting heavily with her petite person.

“Still don’t see why I couldn’t drive to the place,” muttered Yuri, putting on the large helmet with artistic paint splatters all over.

“The plan was to corner Jimin, and you can’t do that in your car which has a fucking police sticker right at the back.”

Yuri frowned. “Your plan was to corner Jimin. I just wanted to talk to him. And -” she fixed her bag across her body and put both hands on Ahreum’s shoulders - “I kept the sticker for parking privileges. I can take it off whenever.”

“Whatever. Just hold on tight,” said Ahreum, revving up the bike.

4.5 minutes later, they had reached their destination. Yuri knew that it had been 4.5 minutes because she had been fervently counting the seconds to distract herself from falling off the vehicle

“WHO drives like that? Are you totally insane?” she managed to get out, her hands fumbling on the straps of the helmet.

Ahreum gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry, timing is essential in this case. Tae had texted me that they had reached just before I left from my place. We don’t have a lot of time. So I ugh-”

“Whatever. Let’s just get on with it.” Yuri tucked the loose strands of hair behind her ear, and mentally rehearsed everything she was going to tell Jimin.

Unfortunately, fate had other things in mind, because as soon as they opened the door to the diner, a familiar face (which most definitely should not have been there) spotted them and came over.

“Fuck.” Ahreum pulled out her phone and frantically sent Taehyung a text before the entire plan went down the drain.

“Yuri? Ahreum? What are you two doing here?” asked Seulgi, her long brown hair looked freshly washed and smelt of flowers.

A: why didnt u warn me that s was here fuck fuck fuck

T: i didnt see her… look it wont be that big a problem will it

A: pls tae the last time she saw ur boy they almost set fire to the library

T: shit ur right… umm maybe she-

Ahreum paused her frantic texting as soon as Seulgi came over to them. She gave Yuri a quick nod and decided to wing the situation as best as she could.

“Seulgi! This is incredible! I can’t believe we ran into you like this!” Ahreum hugged the taller girl. “I wanted Yuri to try the breakfast here so we decided to drop by before she had to get to the station. This is really incredible, I was planning to call you today actually. It’s almost time for me to choose my specialization and I wanted to-”

Yuri took this chance to slip off, as Ahreum steered Seulgi outside the diner. She didn’t really know why Ahreum was so intent on Seulgi and Jimin not meeting, but she trusted her best friend’s reasons.

Looking around, she saw that the large table near the window was occupied by the people she had been looking for. Kim Taehyung and his best friend Park Jimin. The latter had his back towards her, and as she approached she saw Taehyung’s eyes fall on her. She gave him a small wave, gesturing towards her phone’s lockscreen - a picture of her and Ahreum.

His face lit up in recognition as he stood up to greet her. “Hello! I’m Kim Taehyung. I thought Ahreum would be with you.”

“She’s umm…” Yuri glanced towards the doors of the diner through which Ahreum had led Seulgi out. “She’ll be here in a bit.”

“DI Choi, that’s not really true,” Jimin turned towards her, his eyes cold and alert. “Taehyung, your friend is diverting dear Dr. Ahn before she could see us and sabotage their poorly constructed ambush of me.”

Taehyung’s mouth hung open slightly, not really sure what was going on. “DI Choi? As in Choi Yuri? As in Ahreum’s best friend from school?”

“Yes,” said Yuri, feeling extremely awkward. She had expected to get two words in before Jimin caught on, but it seemed like she had severely underestimated him. “I’m sorry Ahreum didn’t tell you what this meeting was about. These aren’t the most favorable circumstances for us to meet. Nonetheless, I’ve heard a lot about you and it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Taehyung bowed in response, but his expression was still uncertain.

“What brings you here, DI Choi?” asked Jimin. “I doubt it was because you were dying to see me again. But -” he stood up and leaned towards her ever so slightly - “I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea if that were really the case.”

Not for the first time, Yuri realized how powerful Park Jimin’s presence was. She could see him becoming a very successful CEO with how he commanded people’s attention. However, she couldn’t shake off the uncomfortable feeling his gaze elicited. It was like she couldn’t predict what he was going to do next, much less fathom what was going on inside his head.

“Mr. Park,” she said, sitting down on one of the sofas in the booth. Taehyung and Jimin followed suit, but this time, they were both seated on the same side. “I’m afraid this isn’t a social call. I’ve come to talk to you about the ongoing investigation regarding the death of Kang Eunwoo.”

“I believe I answered all of your questions last time,” said Jimin, narrowing his eyes. “In fact, I believe I answered all of DI Jeon’s questions. You didn’t have much to say, as I recall.”

Taehyung’s head snapped towards his friend. "Jeongguk? You were at the station? Why didn’t you tell me, Jimin? What’s going on?”

“You and I both know that you didn’t provide much information. But that’s not what-”

"I don't think I was really required to answer any of your questions, DI Choi. Linking me to a rival company heir's death without a shred of evidence - " he leaned forward once again, his silver bangs falling over his forehead - "Some would consider that harassment. That would mean my lawyer would have to become involved. And neither of us want that, now do we?"

This is harassment. You really don't want to know how I deal with any kind of harassment, DI Choi.

Yuri took a deep breath, trying to ignore the words that kept her up almost every night.

"Your cooperation is highly appreciated, Mr Park," she continued, placing her hands on the table. "However, in order to save you from any further harassment, there is something you could help us out with."

Jimin did not respond immediately, giving Yuri the time to continue her, frankly, insane idea.

"We would require you to provide a blood sample. Which would help us eliminate you from the investigation. It shouldn't take up too much of your time - just a short visit to the station, and you'd be free of us."

Yuri waited for a response - anger, disbelief, frustration - anything really. What she didn't expect was laughter. Full on hysterical laughter. In fact, Taehyung was probably not expecting it either because he kept glancing at his friend worriedly.

"You are truly remarkable, DI Choi," said Jimin, once he had calmed down. He wiped a lone tear from his left eye, the many rings on his fingers glinting in the sunlight. "After everything that you've witnessed, you really thought you could somehow convince me to provide a blood sample? Sweetheart, I have 10 years worth of DNA that the police have been trying to get a hold off. Do you really think you'd be able to convince me when you weren't even able to get an alibi out of me?"

Yuri's face fell slightly, her mind grappling with ways in which the situation could be salvaged. It was at this point that Ahreum came over, looking distinctly more worn out than when they had arrived at the diner.

"Ahreum." Jimin turned his attention to the other girl. "You have such an interesting friend. Are you sure she's from Seoul? I didn't think such naivety could survive in the capital. Much less in law enforcement."

Ahreum frowned, snatching up the glass of water in front of Taehyung and gulping down the entire contents. "Stop being a dick for once in your life, Jimin."

"I love when you talk dirty to me." Jimin winked at her.

"Cool it, Jimin," said Taehyung, his expression no longer confused and worried. "Ahreum, what the fuck is going on?"

Ahreum looked at Yuri, not sure how she could help with the situation. Apparently, things hadn't gone well while she had been diverting Seulgi. "I'm sorry, Tae. I don't know anything other than Yuri wanting to meet Jimin."

"But you knew it had something to do with an investigation," said Taehyung, his handsome features creasing. "Why didn't you tell me that your best friend Yuri was a detective? That doesn't seem like information to just leave out."

Ahreum looked at him guiltily. In Taehyung's eyes, he was the only one who had no idea what was going on, and he felt both hurt and betrayed by her. This entire plan had been a train-wreck and to make matters worse, Seulgi had returned to the diner because she had dropped her keys inside.

"What the hell?" Seulgi stood at their table, her eyes narrowing disapprovingly. "What're you doing here, Park?"

"Hello to you too, darling," said Jimin, leaning back into the sofa lazily. "It's been so long since I've seen that beautiful face of yours."

"So." Seulgi turned towards Ahreum. "Are you really interested in going into forensics? Or was it just a way to distract me so that I wouldn't run into him?"

"Seulgi, I-"

"Darling, they were just trying to convince me to provide a blood sample," interrupted Jimin, his face curling into a smirk. "Was that your idea? You know I would've said yes in a heartbeat if you had asked nicely."

"Fuck you, Park!" spat Seulgi. She turned to Yuri and shook her head. "This isn't how I thought you'd get things done. I can't believe you're bargaining with a murder suspect!"

"Now that's a bit harsh, isn't it darling?" Jimin was enjoying the situation immensely.

"Jimin, don't." Taehyung warned his friend.

"Seulgi, please, this isn't what you think-" Ahreum ran out after the taller girl, the diner eerily quiet after the blowout.

"Jimin, you can find your way home yourself, right?" asked Taehyung, getting up to swipe his credit card at the counter. "I have to go."

Jimin nodded, his fingers lazily running through his silver hair. It was a wonder all the rings didn’t get caught in his hair.

"And Yuri - " Taehyung paused, his long fingers clenching around the plastic of the card - "It was nice meeting you, I guess."

"I think that went rather well, DI Choi" said Jimin, once they were the only two left at the table. "I was thoroughly entertained."

Yuri pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on. "My apologies for wasting your time, Mr. Park. Have a good rest of the day."

Once outside, she realised that Ahreum had left. Her mode of transportation had left. Without letting her know. She sighed and unlocked her phone, trying to figure out if it would be easier to walk back home or to the station.

"Were you abandoned as well?"

Yuri took a deep breath, preparing herself before facing Jimin once again.

"Friends these days aren't what they used to be."

"I don't know you, Mr. Park." Yuri crossed her arms and tilted her head to one side. "I have no preconceived notions, and I have no affiliations in this place. I am merely doing my job - trying to find out how Kang Eunwoo died. I don't really understand why you're trying your damned best to make things difficult for us. But let me tell you one thing- I'm not going to stop until I get to the truth."

Jimin seemed at a loss for words for the first time since she had met him.

"If you didn't have anything to do with Eunwoo's death, providing the blood sample should be nothing more than a formality for you. But by declining to assist us, you're pushing us into thinking you do have something to hide. I don't know about you, Mr. Park, but if I were involved in a murder investigation, I'd like my name cleared as soon as possible. All personal conflicts aside."

xxx

Back at the station, Yuri felt her head was going to explode. She hadn't eaten anything the entire day, her morning coffee forgotten in the chaos of the diner mission. On top of that, her desk had a large pile of papers waiting to be read.

"Goh dropped these off when he came in," said Jeon, noticing how she was staring at the pile. "Just procedural stuff - it's pretty much the same everywhere in the country. But each station requires anyone who joins to read through them and sign."

"Oh, I see -" Yuri stopped abruptly, her head spinning towards her partner. He had never managed to go two words without snapping at her, much less initiate a civil conversation. Why was he suddenly behaving like this? Was this some kind of trap? Was he baiting her?

Jeon seemed completely unaware of Yuri's internal dilemma, and continued typing on his work laptop until his phone pinged with a message. He quickly closed the laptop and walked towards the exit, already speaking to someone on the phone.

Yuri glared at his desk, trying to figure out what he was playing at. Gradually, her eyes landed on that wretched file. The 2nd Nov case file. The file that seemed to be Jeon's purpose of existence.

The 2nd November case that Jeongguk’s been overseeing - I want you to go over it. You might be able to help

Yoongi's words rang in her head. She began reaching over the partition that divided her desk from Jeon's, her hand was just a few centimeters from the file-

"Need some help?"

Yuri jumped in astonishment, Jeon's voice startling her into knocking her knee into the desk. She ignored the throbbing sensation, and focused on trying to explain herself.

"Need a pen to sign the papers. Mine's out of ink."

Jeon seemed to buy this reason, and picked up a pen from the large stack sitting inside a pale red mug on his desk.

"Anything else?" he asked, when her eyes kept flitting back to his desk.

"N-no." Yuri sat down hurriedly, sifting through the papers she hadn't looked over even once.

The next hour went by without much incident. Yuri had managed to grab a dodgy looking sandwich from the break room, and somehow finished it off in between large gulps of water. Never again was she leaving the house without eating.

Her texts to Ahreum had gone unanswered so far, which was hardly surprising. Yuri was pretty sure she was trying to explain things to Taehyung. It was best to give her some space at this point - she'd call and check on her later at night.

Jeon's phone rang again causing him to rush out once more, and from the fragments that Yuri managed to catch, it was Chief Inspector Goh on the other line.

"DI Choi?"

Yuri was stunned to see Park Jimin standing by her desk.

"How can I help you, Mr. Park?" she asked, after a moment's pause.

"I'm here to... cooperate."

"You're agreeing to the blood sample?" she asked, incredulously.

"Yes."

Yuri cursed under her breath. It was lunchtime, which meant that Seulgi and most of her team would be off.

Suho happened to be passing by at just that moment. "DI Choi, can I speak to you for a moment?"

"S-sure. Mr. Park, please wait here for a moment."

"You managed to convince Jimin to provide a blood sample?" asked Suho, lowering his voice.

"I guess so..."

"The labs are closed for lunch right now."

"I know." Yuri bit her lip in frustration. "I don't know how long he'll be willing to wait. It's already a miracle that he's showed up."

"I think I saw one of the junior lab technicians come back early," Suho wondered out loud. "Let me call him and ask."

Yuri waited as Suho dialed the number on his phone. In the meantime, Jeon had returned, his eyes catching sight of Jimin and temporarily halting him in his tracks.

What followed next was one of the most stressful 3 minutes of Yuri's life. Jeon was speaking to Jimin, when Suho informed her that the junior technician was available to draw a blood sample but would not be able to stay long enough for the sample to be handed over to either his senior or Seulgi herself. This was a definite issue because according to the station's protocol, junior lab technicians were not allowed to officially check in anything related to an ongoing investigation. It seemed like Yuri would have to wait at the lab until Seulgi or a senior technician came back, so that the sample would not be left alone until it had been properly entered into the system. The only problem was, Jeon appeared to be packing his stuff and Yuri's window to grab the 2nd Nov file was closing. This would've been the perfect moment, given that he was slightly distracted due to his conversation with Jimin. Suho seemed to sense the conflict raging within her, and offered to wait at the lab instead.

"Are you sure?" asked Yuri, her attention fixed on the file still on Jeon's desk.

"Yes," said Suho. "But I think you should tell Jimin that I'll be taking him to the lab instead of you. He'll probably take it better if it’s coming from you."

Yuri nodded and walked over to where the two men were having a conversation.

"- a bit annoyed that he didn't know I had been down here." Jimin chuckled and ran a hand through his hair.

"Why didn't you tell him, then?" asked Jeon, frowning. Yuri took this opportunity to swipe the file from his desk.

"Ah! DI Choi, I was beginning to think you had forgotten about me," said Jimin, his eyes falling on Yuri.

"Sorry for making you wait. Unfortunately, I have some urgent matters to attend to. DS Lim will take you to the lab and make sure everything is alright." She hid the file under her coat, and beckoned for Suho to come over. "Thank you once again for your cooperation, Mr. Park."

Jeon raised his eyebrow questioningly, but Yuri was out of the station before he could get a word in. She didn't have much time before he realised his precious file was missing.

Once inside her car, Yuri opened the file and read through every single inch of it. It was a grim case no doubt - a single mother had been stabbed to death by a homeless drunk, who was assumed to be the father of her three year old daughter. The girl had been missing since then, while the man awaited his trial in jail.

The pictures were quite awful. The small nook where she had been living told a rather tragic, almost pathetic, story. A young woman without many choices. Her pale, lifeless body only added to the sense of despair. Yuri wondered why Jeon was so obsessed with this case. Sure, it was terribly sad, but not unlike many other drunken brawls resulting in an unfortunate death. She wondered who was in charge of looking for the girl at this point. According to the file, no body had turned up in over a month. Which meant that she was either alive or her body would probably never be found. If the former was true, there was a high probability that this was a kidnapping. It didn't make much sense. Maybe there was something she was missing...

Staring at the picture of the woman's corpse, her eyes caught sight of a small detail - a ring. A ring which looked very familiar.

Sifting through the pictures, she found a close up of the ring in question. It had been lying near the body and it was assumed that the ring had fallen from her person at some point during the struggle.

Only...

Yuri took out her phone and quickly snapped a shot of the picture of the ring. This was absolutely against protocol, but she was desperate at this point.

It had been 20 minutes since she had run out of the station, and after making sure that Jeon had left, she made her way back in and dropped the file at his desk.

xxx

"Did you clear things up with Taehyung?" asked Yuri, sitting down at the table.

Ahreum picked up some pasta with her tongs and placed it on Yuri's plate. Tonight's dinner was in honor of Namjoon making it home before the clock struck midnight.

"Yeah, he's not one to hold grudges. He was just a little upset that I had lied to him."

"He looked quite betrayed when he realised that we had set them up like that."

"Don't worry about it." Ahreum shrugged while pouring wine into the glasses. "He's fine now."

"Tae can't stay mad at Ahreum for too long." The deep voice sounded familiar yet strange to Yuri, who had barely interacted with Ahreum's older brother when they had all been living in the same city.

"Namjoon!" she stood up, giving him a hug. He was still awkward with any kind of physical affection, though he had grown into his limbs and no longer resembled a gangly teenager. "Took me 4 days but I finally managed to get a glimpse of you."

"Ah," he said, pushing his black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Sorry about that, Yuri. I had a major project due last night so I was basically living at the library doing research."

"Well, I hope it's not going to be as difficult to meet you from now on. You and Ahreum are the only people I know here."

"No new friends yet?" asked Namjoon, digging into the pasta. "Ahreum, this is delicious! We should've called Seokjin over. He always appreciates good food."

"Seokjin? As in the guy who runs The Moon's Post Office?" asked Yuri.

"The one and the same. How do you know him?" asked Namjoon.

"Happened to visit the bakery on my first day here. He's got quite a way with shortcrust pastry."

Namjoon laughed at this. "I'm sure he'll be happy to hear that. That place is Seokjin's pride."

"But back to the friends question," he continued, grabbing another helping of pasta. "Detective work not leaving you much time to socialize?"

"Sort of..."

"She's been having trouble with her new partner," piped up Ahreum, her eyes glinting mischievously. "Maybe you can help her out on that front."

"Oh? Who's your partner?"

"Jeon Jeongguk."

"You're not getting along with Jeongguk?!" Namjoon nearly spilled the wine on himself.

"Namjoon, please calm down. It's not that serious," said Ahreum, rolling her eyes.

"Sorry," her brother murmured, placing the glass back on the table. "It's just... I know you both. There's no reason for you to not get along."

"He's being a dick," supplied Ahreum, helpfully. "Not sure why. Doesn't sound like the guy you're always gushing about."

"I don't think 'gushing' is the right word... but I get your point. Has he said anything to you, Yuri?" asked Namjoon.

Yuri didn't hear what Namjoon had said. Her attention was fixed on her phone, specifically on an email from Seulgi. The blood on Eunwoo's sleeve was a match for the sample taken from Park Jimin earlier that day.

xxx

another chapter done!

[purplesurveys]

789

Is it raining where you are? We’re starting to get more of them these days thank fuck, but the weather is still mostly humid and has none of the cold air that the rain comes with. But I’m happy with it anyway because it’s my favorite weather, and it feels nice and refreshing to finally have cloudy days. Would you ever get a white phone? When I was in high school I wanted a white iPhone so bad since that was the really popular color for phones back then hahaha (teenagers will turn everything into a trend, I now realize. Urgh). But because my parents always bought me new phones as a surprise, it meant that I didn’t really get a say about what color I wanted. It’s okay though, I wasn’t at all desperate for a white phone and definitely not spoiled rotten that I’d lash out at them. What was the last board game you played? It’s got to be whatever Elis brought to Skywalk before he graduated, as he liked bringing new board games for us almost everyday. One of the last ones I tried to join was Secret Hitler, but I backed out halfway through the session because I could never follow the instructions for most board games lol. What color is the floor in the room you're in? White. What color do you see the most of right now? White because our walls and floor are white, but with a strong tinge of yellow since we have yellow lights in the dining area and living room.

Are you more hungry or thirsty right now? I’m neither. Dinner tonight was so good so I had a big serving for myself and I also just finished a cup of coffee, so I’m feeling full at the moment. Have you wasted any money lately? I don’t even have any to spend these days hahahaha so nope How about lost any money? Also nope. As disorganized as I can be sometimes, I fortunately haven’t lost money. The one time I did was because someone stole my wallet altogether. What's your favorite kind of tea? I was never a tea person. Artificial sugary iced tea is enough for me. Would you rather go back to the 80's and 90's for a week? Probably the 80s so that it’s vastly different. I was able to live through some remnants of the 90s, so I prefer an entirely new experience. If you could only wear one color of socks ever, what would you choose? Just a plain color, no design? I’d go with mustard yellow I guess. It’s a cute color. What color hairties do you normally use? Black. Brown is an absolute last resort and only for situations where there aren’t any black ones anywhere. I’m super picky with my hair ties lol Do you prefer mints or gum? Gum. Sometimes it can be comforting to chew on something; it makes me feel preoccupied. Have you been sleeping well lately? Yes. My body clock is absolutely fucked, but I sleep very well and uninterrupted, thankfully. I used to wake up at the smallest noise, so I’m glad this quarantine taught me otherwise. Popsicles or fudgeicles? I had no idea what the latter is so I looked it up and...aren’t those popsicles too, just chocolate? :/ Anyway, I do like chocolate popsicles more than any other flavor. When was the last time you made a sandwich? Yesterday. What's your favorite thing for a person to do while you're kissing them? Smiling. Or biting my lip. HAHAHA I can go either way of the spectrum. Blush or bronzer? In the handful of times that my friends served as make-up artists for my face, I loved how bronzer looked on me. I’d always ask for it whenever they work on me.

Is it more important to you to have your fingernails or toenails painted? Neither is important to me. Would you rather your sheets be red or green? Eugh neither, but if I had to pick I’d go with red. Green is my least favorite color, and the only time I like it is when it’s an eye color lmao. Have you bought any bracelets recently? I have not bought anything lately, period. Including bracelets. What was the last reason you bought or recieved a card? A week before the lockdown, a guest speaker in my community press class gave me his business card. He wanted to take a photo with our class after his talk and I volunteered my phone, so he gave me his card so I could send the photos to him. How do you normally wear your hair? These days, ponytail for sure. Do you use a belt normally? It’s never a part of my outfits, no. What do you put on your hot dogs? Not really a common meal to snack on here so I haven’t had the chance to experiment and figure out what toppings I’d like on mine. How about on your tacos? I don’t really like tacos. Do you like watermelon? Nope. What is your favorite flavor of hot pockets? I don’t think we have Hot Pockets here. Maybe the fancier groceries do? but I really don’t know for sure. They look really good though and I’m often thinking about wanting to try them. The Totino’s(???) pizza rolls are also something I’ve heard about and I’m super envious cause they sound like heaven??? What color is your favorite blanket? Pink. What day of the week is it? It isssssss Thursday. I’m not even aware of the days anymore; I had to check my laptop’s clock to answer this. What's the most adventurous thing you've done this week? Stayed up till 4 AM? Lol ughhhhhhh give me my life back plz Would you prefer a brick house or a log cabin? Brick house. Patio or porch? Oooooh I would love a patio. Pool or trampoline? Pool. Trampolines are fun for like, five minutes lol. When was the last time you had orange juice? I don’t know if it counts as juice but my dad recently started buying those fizzy Berocca tablets that turn water into some type of vitamin drink when you dump it in. I hated it from the first sip, and thankfully my parents never forced me to take it after that. Do you like apple juice? Meh, it’s fine. I don’t like juices in general but apple is still one of the flavors I’d drink if it was available or offered to me. Do you have any bright colored shorts? Yes, a couple. Leggings or yoga pants? Leggings but only because I’ve never owned a pair of yoga pants. Do you like b.l.t.s? I don’t hate them, but I don’t get them a lot either. They’re just there to me lol. What was the last drink you ordered at a restaurant? I only ever go for water; it’s never been my habit to order a drink because they make me feel full quicker. Have you went to a Burger King or McDonald's more recently? Wow, neither. But my parents love Burger King more, so it was likely that that was one of the last places they bought takeout from before the lockdown. Do you remember your last dream? I don’t think so, nope. Do you like going for car rides? I do and I definitely miss them more now. Do you have a tree in your yard? No we don’t. When was the last time you lit a candle? Never. I hate using lighters and I always ask someone else to light up something meant to be lit up for me.

[lovelylogans]

my true love gave to me

ships: platonic lamp, prinxiety, logicality

warnings: drinking, swearing, food mentions, jokes of the “it’s so cute i’m going to die” variety

words: 14,210

read on ao3

Twelve broken cookies, eleven homemade ornaments, ten crumpled solo cups, nine choreographed dance numbers, eight pissed-off mall elves, seven kept promises, six kinds of wrapping paper, five mismatched shoes, four doofus roommates, three different drinking games, two mugs of coffee, and the smell of smoke at 4 AM.

The original song might be catchier, but honestly, Virgil prefers his version. Even with all the hilarity and hysteria.

Something is burning. The smell's what wakes him, and it takes him about three seconds to identify the scent of smoke.

Fantastic. Virgil loves starting the day with a surge of adrenaline straight out of the gate.

Virgil stumbles out of bed, managing to avoid bouncing off the wall, and careens his way to the kitchen, feeling a little bit like his body is a bumper car being piloted by a sugar-high toddler. Distantly, he thinks he probably should have put a shirt on, in case he has to flee the building at the tail-end of December, but he can't really bring himself to care about that just now.

He comes to a stop in the doorway of the kitchen, and makes a sound that could only be compared to a particularly inquisitive squeaky hinge.

Two heads snap around from where they are focused on something on the kitchen table. Virgil leans a little to see what it is and nearly overbalances. He thinks he can hear his adrenal glands screeching to a halt in sheer confusion. Logan, wild-eyed, throws himself casually atop the kitchen table, and Roman is beaming at him at full wattage.

"Hello, friend-o!"

If the rest of Virgil's brain cells were awake, that would be the point where the Kill Bill sirens would start going off. Firstly, because Roman only calls people friend when he wants something from them. Secondly, the last time Roman and Logan teamed up in the shroud of darkness it resulted in what Patton politely terms as "a science experiment mishap" and Virgil terms "sweet fucking fuck, you idiots, we're going to lose our deposit, and my mind, and then our lives, in that order." Thirdly, there is still the scent of something burning.

As it is, he's too distracted by the brightness and eagerness of Roman's smile. His currently awake brain cells have folded up the list currently titled "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" and is beating him about the head with it. God, why does he have to live with his crush, it's the worst thing ever.

His brain finally seizes on a talking point, and he says, "Fire?" in a voice still gruff from sleep. Belatedly, he crosses his arms over his bare chest.

"No, no, nonononono, what?" Roman says, laughing the fakest laugh Virgil has ever heard while exchanging a frantic look with Logan, who is posing on the table in a way that wouldn't be out of character for Roman, but for Logan looks like the least natural pose possible. Logan is also currently gesturing to Roman to get Virgil to leave the room, as if Virgil can't see him.

"You look sleepy, Virgil," Roman says, voice sugary-sweet, arm wrapping tight around his shoulders and steering him away from the kitchen table of mystery. Roman's arm is very warm, and his body is a tense warm line against Virgil's side. The material of his sweater is very soft along his bare skin. Virgil is quietly dying, just a little. "Aren't you just so sleepy?"

Virgil's body traitorously leans into Roman, and he mumbles, "What are you two doing?"

"Shh, nothing, nothing, don't you worry your pretty little head about it," Roman says, and Virgil is aware he's being steered out of the kitchen and thereby away from whatever apocalypse-worthy thing Roman and Logan have deemed fit to create in the dead of night, but he's also very very tired. And also, Roman just called him pretty.

"But I smelled smoke," Virgil says, sleepy and confused and a little punch drunk off human contact, and before he knows it, Roman has shoved him unceremoniously onto his own bed. 

"Did you?" Roman asks, attempting to wrap Virgil in all the blankets like the world's most emo burrito. 

Virgil tries in vain to wriggle his arms loose, which results in a five minute detour of the conversation while Roman attempts to bundle him up and Virgil attempts to keep the ability to breathe without being smothered to death.

This ends with Roman laying mostly on behind and slightly on top of Virgil, pinning him to the bed, and Virgil making a few token wriggles of malcontent but really mostly kind of enjoying the weight and heat of Roman's chest to really try anything. He is very warm. He should probably be trying to get back up again but all his brain is capable of is a half-asleep stupor, stunned and lazy with it.

"I know what you're doing," Virgil mumbles from where his face is mostly squashed into the pillows. He now knows what it's like to be the little spoon with Roman, this is going to ruin his life, but also this is the best thing that has happened to him this week.

"That's nice, Virgil," Roman says distractedly, and Virgil feels the sensation of Roman's arm leaving his body. He supposes this might mean that Logan and Roman are having some kind of gesticular conversation behind his back, but as Virgil is pinned, he can't exactly eavesdrop. Eyes-drop? Since he'd be looking at it.

Virgil wants to laugh. Patton would like that one.

Patton. If Roman's snuggle-warfare is going to work—and it probably will, at this point of exhaustion Virgil's only requirements for sleep are "vaguely horizontal" and "warm" and Roman knows that—then Patton will be the only one making sure the apartment doesn't explode, and Patton sleeps with the kind of force that would make hibernating bears weep with envy.

He is the last line of defense. If it were just Roman or just Logan awake, Virgil would leave them to it. But Roman and Logan are a duo to be reckoned with. Logan and Roman are the type of people who are convinced whatever they'd create would be used to ascend to the astral plane with Africa by Toto blaring in the background. Roman and Logan are the type of people who think they could create something that would be used to unlock the final secrets of alchemy. Roman and Logan would merrily burn down the whole apartment complex if it furthered one of their brain children.

Virgil has a sudden and terrifying mental image of being tackled by dozens of tiny Roman-and-Logan look-a-likes, whilst they both cackle proudly in the background.

Right. Okay. Either he needs to caffeinate or sleep, and he can do neither of those could happen while they're in danger of Roman and Logan realizing An Idea.

Virgil pushes himself up onto an elbow, intent on going to see what Logan was blocking from sight, and very suddenly, Virgil is on his back, Roman laying on top of him with a wild light in his eyes.

"Um," Virgil says, because now he knows how Roman feels on top of him this is the best and worst EVER, "you, uh, realize this is just making me more curious. Right?"

Roman's weight on top of him is—nice, to say the least. There's an odd sense of comfort from being boxed in like this, which is saying something, because if it were anyone else Virgil would probably be halfway to freaking out. As it is—

Roman blinks down at him, elbows on either side of Virgil's head, close enough that Virgil can pick out all the little golden flecks in his eyes. "There's nothing to be curious about," he says, high-pitched. "I, um. What if I just really wanted to tuck you in?"

Virgil rolls his eyes. "Sure. And Logan wanted me to draw him like a French girl, and the smoke was just a scented candle, right?"

"I'm so glad you've understood the situation," Roman says brightly. The fact that he is currently on top of Virgil hasn't fazed him at all. "Now, don't you feel better? Relaxed enough to sleep? Preferably until noon?"

Virgil's eyes narrow. "I'll accept your terms," he says warningly, "if you promise me that whatever you and Logan are doing won't affect our security deposit."

"No, no, of course not," Roman says soothingly, and adds, more seriously, "Really, Virgil. I promise. You know how protective Logan gets over the deposit. The most danger we're in is a couple of burnt fingers, maybe." He pauses, and then leans in close enough that his lips are brushing Virgil's ear FUCK, "It's a matter of Logan's pride, really. I'm doing him a favor."

Virgil really hopes that Roman cannot feel his pulse from where their chests are pressed together. "Logan's pride?" He whispers, half to the air and half into Roman's shoulder, eyes squeezed shut.

"Mmm," Roman hums into his ear. "He required a bit of creative flair for a certain someone's present."

It clicks then. Patton. Of course. In the cover of night, when Patton would only be roused by the sound of sirens, and even that was a stretch. He supposes they just hadn't counted on Virgil's panic response. Logan and Patton's mutual crushes were the worst kept secret within the apartment, except, it seems, to Logan and Patton themselves, who were both equally convinced they would be resigned to pining away in misery forever.

"Ah," Virgil says. "I'll, uh. I'll just stay here, then. Where you've tucked me in so nicely."

He waits patiently, trying not to spontaneously combust, and adds, "You, um. You can get off of me now, Roman, you've got me convinced."

"Oh!" Roman says, and he draws back, clearing his throat as he awkwardly clambers off of Virgil. "Of course. Ah. Sleep well."

A little cold, very conscious of his bare chest, Virgil draws the blankets around himself tighter and turns back onto his side. Distantly, he sees Roman going to where Logan is standing in the doorway, and he can hear the low murmur of Logan's voice, too soft for him to catch, but he can definitely see the way Roman's shoving his shoulder as they walk away.

When he's certain that they're out of sight, Virgil turns his face into the pillow and screams a little.

2 DAYS TO CHRISTMAS

In the morning—actually the morning, it's a Christmas miracle—Virgil rolls out of bed and tugs on a shirt, this time, before slouching to the kitchen.

"Mornin', kiddo!"

A warm mug is pressed into his hands. Virgil doesn't even look to see what it is before immediately working on transferring the contents of the mug into his body, right now. Bless Patton, it's coffee, because Patton knows that Virgil would chug an entire pitcher of coffee if given the chance.

When he breaks to breathe, he makes a grunting noise of greeting at Patton, who smiles and asks if he wants eggs or cereal. 

"Whatever you're having," Virgil mumbles, and starts drinking more of his coffee. He glances around the kitchen surreptitiously—there are no obvious signs of damage, which means Roman kept his promise.

Patton goes about pouring them two bowls of artificially bright cereal, and Virgil pours himself another mug of coffee.

"Good morning!" Roman trills, swooping into the kitchen with all of his usual obnoxious morning-person-ness. Virgil, huddling over his cereal bowl, is suddenly very conscious of his unbrushed rat's nest of hair. He makes another sound of greeting that could be perceived as friendly.

Roman angles his smile at Virgil, and Virgil tries his best not to choke on his cereal. Roman probably knows exactly disarming he is, and he certainly isn't above flirting to get out of trouble, as shown by the last science experiment mishap/sweet fucking fuck, you idiots, we're going to lose our deposit, and my mind, and then our lives, in that order/time the landlord marched in to have a talk with Roman and staggered out looking like he'd seen the face of God. How does he not even look slightly disastrous in the mornings, life is unfair.

"What's the plan for today, Padre?" Roman's asking, making himself a mug of tea, or whatever, because Roman's a functional adult who's severed his ties to caffeine, whereas Virgil is stuck in a dark and captivating affair with it. 

But Patton's frowning at the doorway, fiddling with the sleeves of his cat hoodie, the one Logan had gotten him after a hard week that turned into a hard couple of months, and he has subsequently worn religiously. "That's odd," he says, in an undertone. "Usually Logan's up by now, I wonder if he's sick?" He turns his big, doe eyes onto Virgil. "Did he look sick yesterday?"

Virgil opens his mouth to suggest that maybe Logan's tired because he was up at 4 AM trying to clandestinely make something for Patton with Roman, but Roman's already winding his arm around Patton's shoulder, shooting Virgil a look as he does so. 

"Maybe our resident Einstein's just taking a bit more rest, hm? It is break, after all. I'm sure he'll love whatever idea you've got planned for us." Roman squeezes Patton's shoulder, shaking him a little bit, comfortingly. 

"You think so?" Patton says, a little breathless, looking like his eyes will start glimmering like some kind of anime protagonist any second now.

At that moment, Virgil manages to look out into the hallway, and leans hard enough to see Logan, who is straightening his necktie and staring at himself in the mirror. Virgil presses his lips together to keep from laughing. Primping? Roman's style, definitely. But not Logan's. Unless—

"Hey, Patton, he's coming down the hallway," Virgil says loudly.

Logan jumps in the hallway, glowers at Virgil as he weakly smooths his hair back, and then clears his throat, striding into the kitchen. He goes straight to the fridge, pulling out that niche organic jam that Patton bought once and is now a permanent staple on their shopping list because it was a jam that both Roman and Logan actually liked. He places two slices of bread into the toaster, and pours himself a mug of dark, bitter coffee.

"What were you saying, Patton?" Logan says, attention on the toaster so he can't see the aggressive heart eyes Patton is sending at his back. Virgil's phone buzzes, and he glances down at it.

sir sing-a-lot: can we shove them under some mistletoe today?

Virgil's lips twitch, and he smirks at Roman in agreement, rolling his eyes. 

dark and stormy knight: honestly if i have to endure another logan monologue about "feeLINGS????" i might actually go full rom-com and lock them in a closet together

Roman snorts, inelegantly. Virgil might die, it's one of the cutest sounds he's ever heard. The "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" has that sound on it like fifty times, but Virgil doesn't care, it's going on there again.

"Well," Patton says, straightening himself up, "There's this thing me and my friends used to do as kids, and I thought it could be fun, you know, to make sure we all get into the Christmas spirit!"

There might be someone who would deny Patton something when he's looking so excited, but that person absolutely did not live in this apartment building.

"Sounds fantastic!"

"Fine by me."

"Adequate."

Patton laughs, looking delighted and a little confused. "I haven't even told you all what it is yet!"

"Doesn't matter," Roman declares. "Logan decided what we did yesterday, Virgil decided the day before, and I've got dibs on tomorrow. Today is your day, Pat."

They did. Logan decided on going to see a rendition of A Christmas Carol, an option Roman had joyously agreed with, and then they'd had a group dinner after that. Virgil's day had been marathoning Christmas movies, munching on popcorn and candy canes and Patton's cookies. 

Logan nods from where he's smearing copious amounts of jam over his toast. Virgil is busy slurping the last of his coffee, but he manages to give a thumbs-up of agreement.

"Okay," Patton says, after everyone's finished their breakfasts, and holds out a Santa's hat. "Everyone, take a name! If you get your own, put it back."

The other three shuffle around, and Logan sticks his hand in first, then Roman, then Virgil, then Patton. Of course, Patton draws his own name, so they have to do it all again, and Virgil glances at the name scrawled in Patton's sloppy print. Logan.

"Everyone got it?" Patton says, and the other three nod. "Okay, who's got who?"

They all blink.

"I thought this was secret Santa," Virgil says.

"No, it's Not-So-Secret Santa, there's a twist," Patton says happily. "See, look, I got you, Virgil."

"I got Patton," Roman says.

"Logan," Virgil says.

"Roman," Logan says, holding up the scrap of paper as evidence.

"Ooh, that works out so well!" Patton squeaks happily. "Okay, so the rules of Not-So-Secret Santa are pretty easy to follow. Since you've got me, Roman, and Virgil's got Logan, you two are on a team!" 

A team. On a team with Roman. Virgil doesn't care if Patton tells them the rules to Not-So-Secret-Santa are to immediately punch your person in the face, he will break Logan's nose if it means he spends extended alone time with Roman. Logan's a bro, he'd understand, he'd probably do the same to Virgil to ensure alone time with Patton.

"So that means you and me are together, Logan," Patton says, and they take a moment to exchange Totally Platonic Longing Eye Contact Between Best Buddies, before Patton clears his throat and looks back down at his scrap of paper, then at Virgil and Roman. 

"Anyways," he says, "there's a dollar limit—five or ten, ideally—and a time limit, too, but we'll decide on that when we get to the mall and see how busy it is. We just get a gift—something small, or cheap, or funny, or something you think the person would like, that's all."

Oh God, the mall. Two days before Christmas. A Sunday. It's going to be a zoo.

"So get thinking, and get dressed!" Patton says happily. "We'll head out once everyone's ready."

Right. A cheap gift for Logan. What would Logan even want? Logan's one of the least materialistic person he's met. 

A vision blooms in his mind, rapidly, and Virgil feels himself grinning as he reaches for his usual hoodie. It's perfect. It's wonderful.

"Dear God, you look absolutely unholy," Roman comments as they both step into the living room, carefully fastening a bright red scarf around his neck. Virgil narrowly avoids stepping into the Christmas tree, as he has been since Patton put it up. The things is mostly decorated with a sparse collection of ornaments Patton and Roman made in their spare time, the chain of colored paper Virgil and Logan had spent a long, dull day making that loops around the tree three times, and truly obnoxious amounts of tinsel and fake snow. It's horrific. Virgil loves it. 

"I've just thought of the perfect gift for Logan," Virgil says brightly. "It's just a matter of making sure they've actually got it."

Roman grins at him, a little confused but happy nonetheless, but Logan and Patton are stepping into the living room, and they all bundle into Patton's car. Patton puts on some CD of instrumental Christmas music that Logan loves, because he's super gone and has probably listened to it sappily whilst drawing hearts and doodling Logan into all his notebooks. Logan smiles when he hears it, and Patton looks as if he is about to ascend through the roof of the car.

Virgil looks down at his phone when it buzzes.

sir sing-a-lot: ffs please don't tell me that he put this on because of logan sir sing-a-lot: wait, of course he did sir sing-a-lot: because they're in LOOOOOOOOOOOVE 

dark and stormy knight: how much you wanna bet that they're late meeting us because of all the breaks they have to take to stare into each other's eyes

He glances over as Roman's phone buzzes, and watches him grin at the screen. Virgil directs his own little smile towards his phone screen.

sir sing-a-lot: i think we have a Holiday Mission, Brendon Urie

If he wasn't in the same car as Roman, he would absolutely be pressing a hand to his chest in shocked awe and flattery. As it is, this is going on the "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" list.

dark and stormy knight: first of all i am not worthy second of all ???

sir sing-a-lot: Operation Mistletoe sir sing-a-lot: i promise you that by the time school resumes the nerds will be making lovey-dovey eyes at each other with full knowledge that the other likes them back, and so hopefully they will contain their sap to their own rooms

dark and stormy knight: you have to do literally nothing to convince me

sir sing-a-lot: so clearly the first step is this shopping trip, but how much can we coordinate if we're shopping? 

Virgil angles a look at Roman, who's staring at him, eyebrows lifted.

dark and stormy knight: so what do you propose?

 If he's judging by the state of the parking lot, Virgil would say they're completely and totally fucked. He takes a couple seconds to draw some deep breaths before they all exit the car, because crowds aren't exactly his favorite thing, much less driven-mad-by-holidays crowds, but he isn't going to be the person to strike down all the fun. He can handle this.

Suddenly, someone's hand is around his wrist, and he hears Roman shout, "COME ON, VIRGIL!"

He angles a look back at Patton and Logan, but all they do is send him equally coordinated winks, because Virgil had freaked out in front of Logan about the "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" list and Logan had called in Patton in a panic about emotions and also Virgil's anxiety, so there's no help at all there.

He doesn't have time to reflect on that before Roman's pulling him, half-running through the parking lot, and into the door, where Roman adjusts so he's holding Virgil's hand, everything is FINE—

"Okay," Roman says brightly, "if I recall correctly, your gift for Logan's over this way, come on, hurry, we have to lose them—"

"We don't have to lose them, they're walking across the parking lot like normal people," Virgil complains, but he follows along to where Roman's pulling him.

Down ten dollars and hiding his purchase in a shopping bag, Virgil trails after Roman as he trawls the various stands for the perfect gift for Patton. It doesn't take him very long to find one, and the various things needed to dress it up to Roman's standards, and Roman's leading him to a relatively quiet alcove. Passing suburban mothers give them the stink-eye, because clearly two college-aged boys in a small space could mean nothing good.

"Okay," Roman says, hands on his hips. "So, first things first, we need to find out where Patton and Logan are, and then sneak up on them."

"So how do we find Patton," Virgil muses.

Roman pauses, tilting his hip, and then snaps his fingers. "I've got a plan."

Five minutes later, Virgil is being glowered at by a woman who is juggling two babies, but he cannot bring himself to care, as Roman is pressed into his side.

"If this doesn't work we're going back to my plan," Virgil grumbles, which is going back to the car, locking themselves inside it, and leaving Logan and Patton to wander the mall for them for however long Roman and Virgil can stick it out.

"It'll work, trust me," Roman says confidently, glancing down at his phone and then scanning the food court, and then immediately whacking Virgil's shoulder in excitement. "See, what did I tell you!"

There, at the edges of a line for the cookie booth Roman Snapchatted to Patton, are Patton and Logan.

"Princey, I take back all my words of doubt," Virgil breathes. God, he really shouldn't have doubted it—cookies were Patton's ultimate vice.

"As you should," Roman preens, and then, "What do you think they're talking about?"

Virgil flattens his voice into his best Logan impression. "Cookies? Anything you desire, Patton."

"Oh, Logan," Roman catches on, sending the bounce factor in his voice to over nine thousand, "The only thing I could possibly love more in this world than these cookies is yo-ouu!" His voice goes into a ridiculously high-pitched Mariah Carey impression, and Virgil has to muffle his laughter against his hoodie sleeves. 

They cycle through a variety of topics that Logan and Patton may or may not have been discussing, including: how dashing, suave, and debonair Roman is, how cool and edgy Virgil is, the possibilities of eloping to Vegas, how they were going to give Virgil and Roman all of their winnings from Vegas, and the dog they were all going to adopt right after this.

Logan and Patton eventually get close enough that they can hear them, though, and Roman and Virgil duck down even lower, shushing each other, still giggling a little.

"—think Roman and Virgil are doing, anyways?"

Like that, the laughter's gone. Please don't say anything about my crush on Roman, please don't say anything about my crush on Roman, Virgil thinks, his latest attempts at telepathy. God, that would be the worst reveal ever, and already Virgil is starting to hold his breath.

"Well, it's not last year," Patton says, "They've come a long way, haven't they?"

They share a laugh. Virgil doesn't think Roman's breathing, either.

"They have," Logan agrees. "I thought that living in the same apartment would've aggregated their relationship, not softened it."

"It did at first, though," Patton says. "Remember that time they were yelling at each other, and I was kind of upset and you took me out for milkshakes?"

Roman and Virgil exchange a look of surprise. The fact that neither of them had heard about this—

"At one AM," Logan says, voice a little softer, the way it only ever softens around Patton. "And we got cookies from that late-night bakery and parked on the roof of one of the parking garages."

Roman's hand grips his upper arm, and Virgil looks at him. THAT SOUNDS LIKE A DATE, Roman mouths exaggeratedly, and Virgil nods in agreement.

"And we sat on the hood of your car, and you told me all about—"

"—the planet's rotation slowing down because of tidal forces. I remember."

They're staring into each other's eyes, and seriously, how the hell do they not understand that they're in love with each other, Virgil's going to knock their heads together if Operation Mistletoe doesn't work. But Roman's never broken a promise to him, and then the vendor's calling them forwards, and Logan's already digging out his wallet.

"Logan, you don't have to—"

"I want to," Logan says, stubborn, and that—hits Virgil in a way he didn't expect. Because Logan runs budgets five times over, goes down to argue with the admission's office on a monthly basis about his various scholarships and tuition costs, pinches pennies like his life depends on it. And Patton knows it. They all do.  

"Well," Patton says, soft. "Only if you let me buy you coffee later."

Logan doesn't respond, only hands Patton his cookie. Patton's smiling, happy and a little sad, and Logan clears his throat.

"So, do you have any ideas on what to get Virgil? I'm pretty sure I know what I'll get Roman."

Roman tugs at Virgil's arm, and they hustle as discreetly as they can after Logan and Patton. It takes a little while to shake off the sense of seriousness that settled over them before, but it only takes Patton innocently lifting up an electrically pink hoodie and asking Logan, "For Virgil?" to send Roman into hysteric laughter.

Virgil shoves him, and apparently it sends him into a grandma, and the grandma goes flying into the mall Santa display, bumping her against the sleigh and sending the presents in the sack on the sleigh flying. A swarm of mall elves descend upon them and immediately threaten escorting them from the premises if they insist on causing trouble. Being rounded up by eight people in curved shoes and belled hats just makes Roman laugh harder as Virgil desperately apologizes and hopes that neither Logan or Patton look to see what the disturbance is.

Virgil gets his revenge, though, when Logan dryly suggests to Patton that he could buy Roman some music that isn't Broadway or Disney in addition to his other gift, to expand his horizons, and Roman looks so offended that Virgil chokes on his own spit laughing at him, which makes Roman thump on the back, then rub his hand up and down his shoulders.

"You—your face," Virgil wheezes into his hoodie sleeves, and at last manages to compose himself, straightening to stand, Roman's hand still gentle between his shoulder blades, which stretches to his arm wrapped around his shoulder, tugging him in for a friendly little hug. 

Or at least, that's how he's sure Roman thinks of it. Virgil's heart is doing a happy little tap dance in his chest, complete with overenthusiastic jazz hands, and Virgil lets himself soak in it, just for a few seconds. 

Then he pulls away, looking around. "Did we lose them?"

Roman curses, stepping back and turning in a circle, before both of their phones buzz.

sunshine personified: hey there!! logan and i noticed that you're just behind us! want to stop and exchange gifts in starbucks?? we can walk around some more after if you both want!

"Caught in the act," Roman sighs, and sends a suitably cheery response back. He takes Virgil's hand, and says, "So, we'll walk around more, and maybe conveniently lose them?"

"Sounds good to me," Virgil says, mouth dry. Roman's hand is warm, and his fingers lace neatly between Virgil's. Right on the "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" list, then.

Roman looks around, squinting around the crowd. "Starbucks can't be that far from here, can it? Which way is it again?"

They end up doubling back towards the food court, where Patton has somehow snagged them a table and is waving at them enthusiastically as Logan sips on a coffee Virgil's sure Patton bought for him, like he's not entirely sure Patton is real. 

Virgil picks up his order—peppermint mocha, because now his coffee is festive—as Roman beguiles Patton and Logan with the story of how Virgil knocked him into a little old lady, and ended with them being threatened by the elf cops. Virgil flushes and groans in all the right places, even going as far to hide his face in his hands again, and Patton reaches over to rub his shoulders bracingly, and—

It's nice. It's really, really nice. The day's been really nice. The tiny gremlin that lives inside Virgil's brain is just waiting to see what will go wrong, but he ignores it the best he can. The day has been good. He's having fun. He just has to, you know, ignore and repress all of his feelings to ensure that keeps happening. He shouldn't be feeling anxious or nervous or depressed or anything, it's—fine. He should be fine. He is surrounded by people he loves and who love him back and they are having a nice day out.

"Gifts time!" Patton sings, wriggling excitedly in his seat, and he claps his hands. "Should we exchange and open them all at once, or one at a time?"

"One at a time," Roman says, smiling brilliantly, and he holds out his shopping bag to Patton. "For the one who came up with the idea today, hm?"

"Aw, Roman," Patton says, blushingly, and accepts the bag as Roman doffs an imaginary cap. Virgil smiles, trying to make himself really feel it, and decides to narrow his focus on Patton.

Patton squeaks happily over the adorable stuffed kitten Roman bought him, with a sky-blue ribbon-collar ("for accessorizing," Roman declares) and Patton happily squeezes Roman into a little side-hug. 

"So, Virgil, here's yours," Patton says, passing across the plastic bag, and Virgil draws out... a thing? It looks like a tiny stuffed monster.

"It's a worry doll," Patton says, picking it up and opening its mouth. "See, you can write down whatever's stressing you out and put it in its mouth! So, um. So even if you aren't in a place where you can talk about it with us, there's still someone to hear about it, in a way."

Virgil is fully aware that his face is doing something, but he doesn't bother to hide it. God, Virgil doesn't deserve to even be on the same continent as this man. Because Patton knew all of it—the way he was raised by parents who seemed, at best, mostly confused by him, and stepped back from disciplinary action at a young age, because they thought he was a good kid, when in actuality Virgil was just scared to break the rules, overridden by irrational thoughts of getting kicked out and punished. Because Patton knows how Virgil's words get all tangled and and choked up, caught in his throat and in his chest, and how Virgil could barely manage to fumble out a request for help even on his worst days. And Virgil is working on it, he really is, but—

Virgil reaches blindly and grabs onto Patton's wrist, squeezing tight. He doesn't quite want to leap over the table to hug him, so this is going to have to do for now. A corner of his mouth is quirked up in a smile, and he's staring at the hideous little burlap monster that's landed between them—and then he looks up at Patton.

"Thank you," he says, and he's proud that his voice comes out sounding only a little croakier than normal. 

Patton's hand grabs his wrist back, and he squeezes tight, voice warm and gentle. "You are so very welcome, Virgil."

They both squeeze one more time, and Virgil draws back first, clearing his throat and gathering the little worry monster to his chest, avoiding everyone's eyes as he downs about half of his coffee. When he feels slightly more normal, and also like he's about to pass out from air shortage, he resurfaces, clears his throat, and shoves the shopping bag at Logan. He could really use a laugh just now, to break the tension.

Logan's brow creases as he looks into the bag, and creases further as he draws out his gift.

"What is this," he says flatly, staring at it.

"It's an emoji pillow," Virgil says, inordinately pleased with himself. 

Logan turns it around, as if to compare the done-ness of his face to the crying-laughing hysteria of the pillow.

"Thanks," Logan says. "I hate it."

And that's it, the deadpan needed to snap the tension—Virgil starts laughing first, shortly followed by Patton, and Roman's booming laughter does Logan in—his straight face cracks, and he starts to laugh, too, looking resignedly at the pillow and then back at Virgil and at the pillow again, but Virgil's gone on the certain type of laughter that only comes after someone has come very close to crying. 

As their laughter is dying down, Logan, smirking, hands over his bag to Roman, who unwraps it with glee, and blinks, confused, pulling out a gold-backed mirror, glancing into it and back at Logan.

"A mirror?" Roman says.

"Truly, you'd like nothing more than to receive yourself," Logan says, and Roman's free hand flies to his chest and there's a reappearance of his offended face, and Virgil's cackling at him again, arm wrapped tight around his stomach, cheeks hurting from smiling so wide.

"Look," Patton says, holding the emoji pillow next to Virgil's face, "it's you!"

That sets everyone off, then, and Virgil can't even bring himself to care that there are hordes of people turning to stare at the four college boys guffawing stupidly at an emoji pillow.

Yeah. It's a nice day out.

CHRISTMAS EVE

"Oh, what a beautiful mooooooorr-ning! Oh what a beautiful day! I got a beautiful feeeeeeeeeeeeeling! Everything's going my way!"

Virgil jerks awake, and it takes him a few moments to comprehend what is going on just then.

Roman, who is currently holding a travel cup of coffee directly under his nose, must have serenaded him awake, which, his voice, god fucking dammit, and also he must have been out already, because he looks all dashingly windswept and handsome, cheeks a little flushed from the cold, fuck Virgil's life.

Virgil accepts the coffee and goes about putting the majority of it into his body as fast as he can, and emerges, blinking at him and making a hand gesture that he hopes conveys explain.

"I've decided what I'm doing today, and it will graciously go towards Operation Mistletoe," Roman declares grandly. "Of course, if you're uncomfortable with it, we can always brainstorm, but I really think—"

Virgil grunts at him, gestures a go on, and starts drinking the rest of his coffee. Roman waits patiently until he surfaces again.

"A Christmas party," Roman blurts out, and Virgil blinks at him.

"A what," he says, voice a growl, roughened from sleep. 

"It won't be anything too crazy," Roman adds soothingly. "Just some theater people, maybe some of Logan's nerd friends, and some people Patton knows. Some mistletoe, a bit of a tipsy confession, and we've got a classic rom-com on our hands."

Virgil blinks. He's pretty sure there's dried drool on his face, and he's shirtless again. Why does Roman always see him at this time of day.

Roman leans in closer, and adds, soft and beseeching, "Virgil, I promise, if you aren't comfortable, I won't do it, we can make it something else—"

Promise. Roman has never, ever broken a promise for as long as Virgil has known him. Roman takes his word very seriously. It's on the "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" list. It's one of the things Virgil really admires about him, crush aside.

Virgil takes a second, and says, "Promise me I won't be stuck with clean-up?"

"Promise!" He practically sings. "I'll handle all of it, Virgil, you're just in charge of making sure that they're in the same room as each other. They'll gravitate to each other anyways. Oh, this will be wonderful," he declares, and whirls his way out of Virgil's room, leaving Virgil to blink at his coffee and belatedly scrub a hand up and down his face.

When Virgil finally emerges from his room, Patton and Logan are sitting at the table as Roman pitches his party proposal, in full Dads mode.

"Virgil said he was okay with it, too, so it's just you two to agree," Roman adds, nodding to Virgil, and Patton and Logan both swivel to look at him.

"Are you?" Patton says.

"Yeah," Virgil says, pouring himself another mug. "Sounds fun. Roman said it wouldn't be too big."

He can practically hear their exchanged glances—the "Virgil Agreed to Socialization!" one—and Patton says slowly, "Well, as long as you know that since it's your party—"

"My cleanup, yes, I know, Virgil's already told me," Roman says brightly. "Invite anyone you want, it'll be just a lowkey little thing—"

Roman picks up his phone, looking like the world's busiest little social butterfly, and Virgil slurps down more coffee. They're in for an interesting day, and an interesting night. If Roman's plan goes as he thinks it will, then Operation Mistletoe will be done. Another promise kept.

For most of the day, Virgil barricades himself in his room. It's nothing personal against any of his roommates, and they all knew it. If there's going to be a big social event, then Virgil needs to charge for it. So he spends most of his day watching A Nightmare Before Christmas, scrolling through social media, and listening to his favorite albums. He gets a text from Roman to start expecting people at 9, which really meant 9:30, but regardless, he drags himself out of bed at 8 to start getting ready.

Eyeliner, eyeshadow, and because Virgil's leaning into the Jack Skellington today, he goes with a dark lip stain. The theater people Roman's invited will love it. He tugs on an outfit—dark ripped jeans, black t-shirt, Christmas sweater shockingly similar in design to his favorite hoodie, gutterstomping black boots—and slouches out of his room, into the living room.

He takes a couple seconds to stare, his brain currently blaring "YOU SHIT, YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH ROMAN AND NOW YOU'RE RESIGNED TO SUFFERING IN SILENCE HERE ARE ALL THE REASONS" as his eyes sweep up and down what he can see of Roman's outfit, from behind—he's wearing a tight red button-up with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a well-tailored pair of black slacks, the only ridiculous, incongruous thing with his outfit is his own pair of boots—more suited for adventuring than gutterstomping. 

Virgil clears his throat, tearing his eyes towards where Roman's eyes would be, and says, "Anything I can do to help?"

Roman spins, and his eyes do an up-down-up-down-up-down-up over Virgil's outfit, coming to rest on his makeup. Virgil shifts—he's second-guessing it already, maybe he just looks like an idiot, he can wipe it off, and change his whole outfit too, actually.

"Is it too—?" Virgil starts, and Roman practically shouts, "NO!" so loudly Virgil startles a little.

"I mean, ah, no," Roman says. "It's perfect. You look perfect."

Virgil scuffs the toe of his boot along the floor, clears his throat, and swallows, before he repeats to his feet, "Anything I can do to help?"

"Patton might need help," Roman says, "you should check."

Virgil nods, and heads to the kitchen, where Patton is surrounded by plates of cookies, and he's setting a tray of cookies onto the stove, presumably to cool.

"Anything I can do to help?" Virgil repeats, and Patton whirls around.

He's wearing a sweater that declares Bah Humpug, with a picture of a pug wearing a santa hat on it. It's bedazzled. Very adorable. 

"Look at you, kiddo, that makeup's so neat!" Patton exclaims. "We're just waiting on this last tray to cool, really, but maybe you could open up that pack of cups over there and set them on the table—?"

Virgil nods, and tears open the plastic surrounding the red solo cups. He places them carefully on the table that holds a modest selection of alcohol, including a bowl full of punch and supplies to make eggnog. Virgil straightens the bottles, cursory, and starts a conversation with Patton about dogs and Christmas. Patton's plating the cookies when Logan's voice comes floating down the halls.

"I look ridiculous," he complains.

"You look hot as hell, shut up, I wish I had your arms," Roman responds.

Virgil and Patton exchange looks, and Patton's toting the plate out into the living room, Virgil hot on his heels. 

Roman's saying, "Logan, really, cut loose, you deserve it," and suddenly they veer into sight from Logan's room. "Tell Logan he looks hot," Roman complains.

Logan's wearing...something that definitely came out of Roman's closet. It's a white shirt, short-sleeved, almost like the usual style of polo shirt that he usually wore, but then Virgil noticed the mesh. It's almost a classy amount of mesh, if such a thing exists, in a sort of floral pattern. Belatedly, he realizes that Logan's wearing makeup, too, something that makes him look even sharper and more angular, and a bit of glitter? It works for him. It works for him really, really well.

There's a clatter, and Virgil turns a little to see Patton, slack-jawed, the plate of cookies on the ground, the cookies hopelessly crushed. Patton is not even slightly moving to pick them up.

Logan's arms go to awkwardly cross over his chest, before he seems to remember something, and instead shoves his fists into his pockets, shoulders hunched.

"Uh," Patton says, "You, uh. You look. Uhm. Good!" He says, proud of himself for seizing on a word. "Really. Really good. Uh."

Logan straightens his posture, a little. "Really," he says, uncharacteristically timid.

Virgil says, "That style... really works on you."

"What, yeah, that," Patton agrees, and actually shakes himself, and looks down at the plate. "Oh no, the cookies!"

He crouches to pick them up, and Roman shoves Logan forwards.

"Logan, help Patton, I've just remembered I want Virgil's advice on the sound system," Roman says cheerfully, and suddenly Roman's grabbing Virgil's sleeve and yanking him into the living room.

"That's the closest I've ever seen Patton to giving bedroom eyes," Roman hisses into his ear.

"How did you convince Logan do a makeover sequence?" Virgil says.

Roman looks very innocent, and says, "Logan might be a couple shots ahead of us, and also I may have told him that Patton likes his arms. So."

"You're evil," Virgil snickers.

"I'm going to make Operation Mistletoe happen," Roman says. "It'll be a goddamn Christmas miracle."

"You didn't actually want my opinion on the sound system, did you?"

"Nope, sorry. We're leaving them alone together as much as we possibly can this evening, Gerard, that was the plan."

"What is it with you and these flattering nicknames lately," Virgil says.

Roman grins like a shark, all teeth, and doesn't say a word. 

It doesn't take all that long for people to show up—they make a beeline for the booze, which is unsurprising, and Roman presses a drink into his hands.

"I know you're not for mingling, so do what you want," he says. "But Mistletoe will happen. Discourage anyone flirting with either of them."

Virgil nods, mission received, and goes to give his scariest snarling face to anyone who tries to approach Logan.

He really only has to snarl at two people, considering Logan's locked up in a corner with Patton most of the time anyways, and so Virgil ends up drifting around the edges of the room, eyes narrowed.

The party's still filling up, people arriving every couple of minutes, and Roman's the life of the party, greeting people, directing them towards the drinks and snacks, laughing and cracking jokes. Virgil feels at peace, at least, as at peace as he ever does at parties—people are giving him space, he can see the people he came with, this is his home turf. 

The music is mostly in the background, no one dancing yet, people collected in clusters and filling themselves up on alcohol and Patton's snacks. Virgil figures he may as well follow their example. He goes to grab a cookie.

At some point between Virgil going to the kitchen and coming back out with a half-eaten snowman in his hands, the theater horde has taken over the sound system, and some song from La-La Land is playing as they're all sitting in a loose circle. Someone has brought some of the alcohol out from the kitchen, so it's more easily accessible. It's easy to see why.

"Who is most likely," muses a girl Virgil recognizes from a few of Roman's shows, "To shoplift?" 

Everyone points to someone, with a few people more common than others. The ones with more people curse a little before they start to drink. Roman's eyes catch on his and they brighten, and he waves Virgil over to sit next to him.

"What's this?" Virgil asks, tucking his legs in to criss-cross.

"Who's most likely," Roman says. "Basically, ask a question, and if two people point at you, you have to take two drinks. Or however many people, you have to take that many drinks."

Virgil nods. Self-explanatory enough.

"You good to play?" Roman asks.

"Yeah, sounds fun," Virgil says.

There are several things that he miscalculates, which he realizes as people are complaining about this game and demanding a new one.

One, it's hot in here, with the increasing amount of human body heat and the fact that he wore a sweater. Two, he's a lightweight regardless, but three, considering how rarely he drinks, his tolerance is pretty shit anyways.

Basically, he's one and a half mixed drinks in, and he's reached a point of tipsy where he's much more... smiley. His thoughts are a little looser, slipping away from him so much easier than they usually did, and things were just a bit funnier. Not drunk, not even close, but it's enough of a reality check that he decides to add more mixer and less alcohol to his next drink.

Patton and Logan sit next to them for the next game, and Virgil grins, bumping shoulders with Patton in camaraderie. 

The people have settled on sip sip shot, which is really just making Virgil realize how little he knows about drinking games. But Patton doesn't know either, so that makes him feel less alone. God, he loves Patton. Patton's the best human being on this earth.

"It's like duck duck goose," Roman explains. "Except the duck is sip, which means you sip at your drink. And goose is shot, so you have to chase the person around the circle. If you win, they take the shot. If you lose, you take the shot."

Virgil and Patton both nod in comprehension, and everyone squirms into a tighter circle configuration so there would be optimal running space. Virgil's smiling still. This reminds him of being a kid at recess, except he never had friends when he was that little, so this is just. Even better. 

Someone's hand taps his head. He takes a sip of his drink.

It's a pretty even routine, occasionally broken by yelling and clapping and heckling, but Virgil never gets chosen to be goose, which is just fine by him. However, Roman is, which is much less fine by him, because that means Roman's not sitting next to him anymore. Virgil tries his best not to pout. He's not entirely sure if he succeeds.

The game dissolves a lot like the one before it; people start getting distracted, and branch off on their own, which just causes the whole big group to concave on itself. Just as well; Virgil's finished his drink.

"Virgil!"

He turns, and grins as he sees Roman, who looks very suddenly knocked off-kilter—most people expect Virgil to be a sullen drunk, or maybe even a handsy one, not a giggly drunk. Roman knows he's a giggly drunk, though, so maybe he just—forgot? Or something.

"Roman!" Virgil says, matching his tone as best as he can, and Roman shakes himself, squeezing between a couple of people.

"I've had an idea, and Valerie's volunteered to help us along," Roman says, gesturing grandly to the girl next to him. "We need to beat Logan and Patton in beer pong."

Virgil blinks. "Um, why?" He's down to destroy Logan, at any time, but this seems like a random idea. But he will win. That much is guaranteed. Virgil is not above cheating to ensure it.

"Because," Valerie says, "the losers have to do body shots off each other."

Virgil is suddenly not so dedicated to winning.

"I'm in," Virgil says, wondering how many throws he can fumble without Roman noticing he's doing it on purpose. Probably a lot. Virgil isn't very athletic. Plus he's tipsy.

Roman turns to Valerie, squeezing her shoulder. "Find Patton and Logan for me? Virgil and I are going to set up the table."

His fingers lace with Virgil's again, and Virgil doesn't bother hiding his smile as Roman tugs them towards the kitchen, as they shuffle around plates to counters and Virgil grabs a stack of red solo cups.

"How many?" He asks.

"Ten each side," Roman says, carefully stacking plates and bowls of snacks on the counter, and Virgil obliges, placing them in careful pyramids. Roman's just filling the cups with punch as Logan and Patton both step through the door, Patton a little wild-eyed, Logan cool with focus.

"Prepare to lose," Patton declares joyously, nudging Virgil in a friendly way as he skips over to his side of the table. Virgil sticks his tongue out at him.

He stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Roman as Roman chivalrously accepts Valerie's offer of a ping-pong ball, before he turns to Virgil, holding it up in front of him.

"Blow on it?" Roman asks, voice low, lashes fluttering, just a little. Virgil notices he has something sparkly and golden on his eyes that he didn't have at the start of the party. "For luck."

Virgil smiles, and obligingly huffs out a warm breath over the ping-pong ball, over Roman's fingers.

"Suck it, losers," Roman declares, pompous, and then immediately sinks the shot. Virgil whoops in encouragement.

Logan rolls his shoulders, angles a glower at them, and then tosses; he misses, and Roman and Virgil both boo him.

The game continues, and as each cup vanishes, people gather round to watch them. There's more heckling and more cheering for each side, but oddly, Virgil doesn't mind the attention, even when he misses more shots than he makes. Logan is horrible enough that it evens out. But it turns out that Patton is actually a secret master at beer pong, so it's mostly Patton and Roman keeping pace with each other. 

They get down to three cups on each side. Roman arches his brows at Logan, before turning and bending over, wiggling his hips enticingly at Logan.

Logan scoffs, shoving his glasses up his nose. "That's not going to work," he says, and then immediately whiffs his shot. "Okay, that worked," he admitted, quiet, as Roman straightens up with a whoop.

"My secret weapon—my ass!" Roman declares proudly, and elbows Virgil, conspiratorial. "Do you know how many games of beer pong I've turned around because I decided to show off my ass?"

Virgil snorts, accepting the ping-pong ball. It is a fantastic ass, and it has its own little carefully detailed section on the "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" list, but he's not about to inflate Roman's ego right now.

Patton's version of a distraction is screaming a curse word, which shocks Virgil so terribly he ends up accidentally throwing the ping-pong ball into a bystander's face.

"Patton, I am surprised at you!" Roman teases, and Patton, flushing, just shrugs, tossing him the ping-pong ball.

"We do what we need to do," Patton says. 

Logan starts rapping Blackalicious' Alphabet Aerobics, and although it is a fantastic sight, it doesn't faze Roman, who sinks his shot, and smacks his hand against Virgil in a celebratory high-five. It does, however, derail the game for a solid three minutes, as some theater kids start beatboxing for Logan, and cheer him on, dancing along as Logan finishes the rap with a smug little smirk, people clapping him on the back and whooping at him.

Which means it's time for Virgil to distract Patton. 

"WHEN I WAS, A YOUNG BOY," Virgil screams at the top of his lungs, at a pitch that makes him sound at best like a wailing cat, and Roman bends double, cackling, even as Virgil continues shouting the lyrics to "Welcome to the Black Parade," miming the instruments and headbanging as hard as he possibly can. A few of the gothier-looking theater kids join in, unable to resist the call of their people, and Virgil is lost in the truly unique sound of a horde of drunk college emos trying their best to imitate guitars with truly horrible screeches.

"Shake it off, Pat, shake it off!" Logan declares, clapping his hands on Patton's shoulders and shaking him a little, but it was shitty timing for them, because it was right at the apex of Virgil's killer air guitar solo.

"WE'LL CARRY ON! WE'LL CAAAARRYYY OOOON! AND THOUGH YOU'RE DEAD AND GONE, BELIEVE ME—"

Patton throws. Bounce. It hits the edge of a cup and clatters off, and the people roar. Two to three.

"That's okay, we'll get 'em next!" Logan declares, arm soundly around Patton's shoulders. Patton looks too delighted by this development to really be upset about missing his shot.

Roman sways a little on his feet, and Virgil reaches out, touching his hip to steady him, and leans in close.

"You got this," Virgil breathes into his ear.

Roman nods, looking the most serious he has ever looked, takes aim, and tosses the ball.

It sails in a beautiful rainbow arch, landing in the left cup.

The crowd around them screams. Three-one. Roman's pumping his fist in the air in victory as the crowd heckles Logan, telling him to drink, but Virgil doesn't care, because Roman's grinning at Virgil, who grins back and wraps a happy arm around his shoulders, pressing his nose into Roman's cheek in a moment of perfectly happy drunken camaraderie.

"It's on!" Logan declares, squashing the cup and dropping it at his feet, as he and Patton had for the previous eight. "It's on!" He bumps hips with Patton, and leans forwards exaggeratedly, squinting at the cups as people yell "send it back!" at him.

"Who even WAS Rosalind Franklin," Roman yells, but it doesn't deter Logan—he sinks it, and Virgil groans, taking the cup and shaking out the ping-pong ball before he starts to drink, Logan screaming, "She was a VISIONARY, that's who!" in the background.

Virgil has seen a drunk Logan get emotional over Rosalind Franklin, so maybe this wasn't the best path to start him down on, but Virgil crushes the cup and drops it, shaking out his hands and rolling his shoulders. Last cup. Two to one.

Roman's hands are bracing on his shoulders, squeezing, before he leans into Virgil's space, hand drifting down to his waist to squeeze, just a little, wow, this is not good for his focus.

"Shut your eyes," Roman says, and Virgil lets his eyes slide shut, blocking out the sight of the crowd, of Logan and Patton, of Roman in his space. All he can feel is the artificial warmth from the alcohol pooled in his belly, and Roman's hands on him, steadying and warm.

"Take a deep breath," Roman intones, and Virgil does as he says, taking a deep, even breath in and letting it out, squaring his shoulders. 

"Let it all fall away," Roman says into his ear. "The crowd's not even there. Logan and Patton aren't even there. It's just you, and the ball."

And you, Virgil wants to say. No matter what Virgil tries, he can't block out Roman. 

"Now," Roman says, "open your eyes, focus on that cup, and crush it. If you sink it, I promise I'll let you blast any emo song you want."

Virgil opens his eyes. He spins the ball in his fingers, and hesitates, before holding it up to Roman.

"For luck," Virgil says, looking at him through his lashes. Roman smiles, brings Virgil's hand to his mouth and kisses his fingers, before meeting eyes with Virgil as he blows out a cool breath, mouth a perfect o shape.

Virgil tries his best to smile like that hasn't affected him at all, and turns to face the table, narrowing his eyes.

"Just you, and the ball, and the cup," Roman says, hand drifting to the small of Virgil's back.

And you, and you, and you, Virgil thinks, and tosses the ball.

The resulting scream is deafening.

"VIRGIL!" Roman screams, and Virgil turns to face him, mouth open a little in astonishment. "VIRGIL, YOU BEAUTIFUL MAN, YOU DID IT!"

Virgil lets out an odd, aborted half-laugh of astonishment. "I did it?"

Rather than answer, Roman's arms close around him, and suddenly, the room is flying, Roman's arms tight around him as he's spun in the air, and Virgil's laughing, the world a technicolor bleed of colors and Roman's arms keeping him secure and safe and happy, and it's over too soon, but Virgil wraps his arms around Roman's shoulders, hugging him back, tight, trying to communicate all of his complicated feelings through this one hug.

"You're the best teammate ever, you know?" Virgil says into his ear, and draws back, but not enough to unwind his arms from Roman's neck.

Roman's about to say something, opening his mouth, one of his hands curling around Virgil's wrists as if to keep him there, when Valerie yells "BODY SHOTS!" and Roman and Virgil both turn away from each other with a start, looking over to where Patton's fidgeting a little and Logan's trying not to squirm as Valerie applies the salt to his neck.

"Your lime," Valerie says, and Logan sticks it in his mouth, trying his best not to move too much, as there's a shot glass tucked into his waistband.

"PAT-TON, PAT-TON, PAT-TON," people start to chant as Valerie steps back with an elaborate twirl of her wrist, as if to say the floor is yours, and Patton steps forwards, adjusting his glasses. Logan says something to him, too low for Virgil to hear over the chanting, and Patton shakes his head, before Patton leans forwards, licking a broad stripe up Logan's neck. He drops to his knees, knocking his face into Logan's thigh before managing to close his lips over the shot glass and tipping it back, surging to his feet and sucking the lime from Logan's mouth into his mouth.

"I feel like I just watched my innocence die," Virgil comments, at a loss for other words. Patton winces from the acidity of the lime, and Logan looks—well, he looks like Patton's just hit him with a train, a hand coming up to his neck where Patton licked it.

"What innocence," Roman snorts, and Virgil whacks him a little.

Patton's lying on the kitchen table, though, doing as Valerie directs, grimacing but placing the lime into his mouth, propped up on one elbow, the other hand tugging his sweater away from his neck. Virgil can see why, because now Valerie's pouring the tequila into the hollow of Patton's neck, and Logan still hasn't moved his hand from where Patton licked him, staring at where he's laid out on the table.

Logan screws his face up in determination, though, and licks the salt line on Patton's chest, bending his head to suck the tequila out of the hollow of his throat, and Patton seems like he's about to faint, head tilting back as Logan presses his mouth against his skin. Logan bites the lime from Patton's mouth, snatching it away.

"No, I see what you mean," Roman muses, and Virgil snorts back. Roman tugs on his hand, and says, "C'mon, let's blast your victory song."

Virgil grins, letting himself be led away, and says, "In for some danger tonight, then?"

"Oh, always with you, Virgil," Roman says, looking at him over his shoulder, before leading him to the sound system and grandly presenting Virgil with his phone.

Virgil's tongue pokes through his teeth as he scrolls through Roman's extensive music library, and then he says "Ah!" as he sees the song he wants, pressing play, and his body starts rocking to the beat, an absent-minded bobbing.

The same goths from before come flooding into the living room, and Virgil grins, tilting his head back as he joins their voices in song.

"AM I MOOORE THAN YOU BARGAINED FOR YET?!"

Suddenly, Virgil is twirling, and Roman grins when he stops, their hands twined together again, and Virgil laughs, head tilting forwards, before he tries his best to keep up.

Roman dances like it's a language that Virgil doesn't know, effortless and graceful and—okay, yes, sexy, he looks incredibly sexy when he dances—but Roman always looks like he's having the time of his life whenever he dances, sings, performs, and Virgil finds himself unable to focus on his feet when Roman's beaming like that. Besides, he and Roman are too busy singing along to Fall Out Boy to really pay attention to technique.

Roman's hands are getting sweaty in his, and Virgil's sure his are doing the same, but he can't bring himself to care all that much—watching the way Roman moved, hearing him sing, that was what was taking up his attention at the moment, and all too soon, it ends.

There's the plucking of notes, something Virgil thinks he's heard maybe once or twice before, but Roman's ears practically perk up, spine going straight, and he can see a similar response in all the theater kids.

"Roman!" Valerie's yelling, waving an arm, "I need my dancers for this one!"

Roman turns to look at Virgil, and Virgil waves him off, grinning.

"Go on," Virgil says, "be a big Broadway nerd. I'll be okay."

"Well," Roman says, and squeezes his hands. "If you insist."

"I do," Virgil says, and at last their hands drop, and Virgil wanders off in search of a drink.

When he comes back, canned margarita in hand, Valerie's finishing off "All That Jazz" with all the verve of performing it live in front of a crowd, and Roman is currently helping hoist her into a split, a hand bracing her thigh, the other clinging to her hand, like it's no trouble at all.He hopes no one tramples over their horrible-wonderful tree, or the presents underneath—Patton had tried to get them to wrap all the presents with one wrapping paper per person, to make it more organized, but somehow two other kinds had gotten in there, so it's just a mess of colors and tags. Virgil takes a moment to be thankful for their high ceilings, and settles into an armchair that's been shoved out of the way to enjoy the show. 

Virgil applauds enthusiastically when they finish out the song, along with the theater nerds who didn't know the choreography, the science nerds Logan invited along, and the nerds Patton knew were on campus over break. 

He really should have expected this when Roman said a ton of his theater friends were coming over, because it seems they've landed in Roman's Broadway playlist, people singing and dancing and pretending with imaginary props. They shout for who sings what, swap in and out depending on who knows choreography, and every time, Roman's in the thick of the scrum, belting his heart out, twisting along to choreography and improvising to some degrees of success.

West Side Story's prologue, Roman dancing along to the Jets', snapping and twirling and leaping to his heart's content. 

Pippin, Roman doing his best Fosse as someone Virgil doesn't recognize belts out Glory, his movements, Roman twirling an imaginary cane and doffing an imaginary cap, hips cycling and crooning along in the background.

Sound of Music, Roman charming and serenading Valerie, Valerie hopping along the couches as they duet Sixteen Going on Seventeen, theater people doing a variety of ballroom dances as a form of background dancing.

Grease, Greased Lighting, Roman smoothing his hair back and popping the top few buttons of his shirt, thrusting hips and funny faces and precise gesticulation, and he even sends a wink at Virgil, where he's sipping his drink. Virgil flushes, and smiles a little, hiding it behind the can.

This is the point where Patton and Logan stand on either side of his armchair, and Patton says teasingly, "Having fun, Virgil?"

Virgil tucks his knees up to his chest, and says, "Well, Roman is."

Patton grins, ruffles his hair, and passes him another unopened can of margarita, before grabbing Logan's hand and tugging him off to the kitchen.

Virgil meets eyes with Roman, and Roman's eyes are lit up excitedly as he takes a second to gesture in their direction, before he resumes his number at full enthusiasm.

Footloose, the titular number, and Roman's sweaty and bright and so full of life, glowing with it, and they mostly let the preprogrammed voice handle it, theater kids dancing, goofy and bright, Roman spinning and twirling between partners, trying to dance with everyone, laughing and chattering and bright.

Grease again, Born to Hand Jive, Roman on the periphery as two more people Virgil doesn't know take center stage, swinging and lifting their partners and throwing them, and Virgil would be much more worried if it wasn't for the alcohol. 

Heathers, Freeze Your Brain, and Virgil knows this one, so he stands and sings as everyone does their best dramatic JD, Roman surging over to Virgil as they sing together, trying their best to dance to such depressing lyrics. The song ends, and it leads into one Virgil doesn't know, blinking owlishly at the speakers, dropping his empty can belatedly.

"Rooo-MANNN," Virgil hears at least three people yell, and Roman laughs, messing his hair before he takes center stage, stomping and clapping along to the beat. 

"You guys are never going to let me live this down, are you?" Roman asks the crowd ruefully, and there's a loud cheer of NO, and Roman laughs, ducking his head, before he starts to sing along, poppish and exaggeratedly eager, hips shaking as he claps along.

"LOOK—AT—MY—ASS, LOOK AT MY THIGHS—"

Oh no. Virgil knows what song this is now. And Roman is going all out on the choreography.

"I'M CATNIP TO THE GUYS! THEY CHASE MY TAIL, THEY DROOL AND PANT—WANNA TOUCH THIS BUT THEY CAN'T!"

Virgil is going to have a stroke. 

"ALL THE BOYS WANNA COME AND PLAY," Roman belts, snaps and winks at Virgil, "SNAP MY FINGERS AND THEY OBEY, WHY DO THEY FOLLOW ME ROUND ALL DAY? WATCH ME WHILE I WALK AWAY—"

This is it. This is the day Virgil's soul vacates his body. It's been a good run.

"I BEEEEEEND AND SNAP! FEEL HOW HOT IT'S GETTING!"

Virgil does not need Roman to tell him how hot it's getting, thank you.

"BEEEEEEND AND SNAP! AND WHEN YOU'VE GOT 'EM SWEATING, SPRIIIING THE TRAP! THEY CHEER AND CLAP!"

Clap, clap. Roman's having a great time. Virgil distantly wonders why the theater kids associate the Bend and Snap with Roman, and if he survives this, he will certainly ask him later.

"NO TIGHT MEN, CAN DEFEND, 'GAINST THE BEEEEEEND AND SNAP!"

Distantly, Virgil recalls how Roman said his ass was his secret weapon. He cannot help but agree. He is watching Roman tackle some ass-centric choreography, and it is honestly a wonder as to how Virgil hasn't fainted yet from where he's standing on the fringe of the circle of theater kids surrounding Roman.

But more people are jumping in to fill in parts, but Virgil cannot stop staring at Roman. What the fuck is his life. 

The song both takes forever and is over too soon, and for the first time, Roman steps out from performing as the girls get ready for a rendition of the Cell Block Tango.

He's still grinning, fanning himself. His shirt is soaked with sweat, and he never rebuttoned his shirt, so Virgil can see the top of the expanse of his chest, his hair sweaty. Roman pushes it out of his face.

"Phew!" He declares, and Virgil is trying his hardest to untangle his tongue from the knot it's formed, so instead mutely gestures to the kitchen.

"Drinks, great idea, Virgil," he says, clapping him on the shoulder, and they both go out to the hallway, where Virgil stops dead and whacks Roman on the shoulder, shoving his hand over Roman's mouth when it looks like he's about to start screaming. 

Because Patton has Logan pressed back against the wall, kissing him hard. One of Logan's hands gripping Patton's shoulder to keep him from leaving, the other where Virgil can't see. And Patton's cupping Logan's face with one hand, the other tight on his hip. And they are not stopping.

Virgil yanks Roman into the kitchen before they get caught.

"Holy fucking shit," Roman scream-whispers as soon as they're safely out of sight. "Logan did it!"

"Operation Mistletoe!" Virgil cheers, and Roman cheers back, "Operation Mistletoe!" And they smack a high-five, then Virgil, laughing, surges forwards, hugging him tight.

Roman smells like sweat and cologne. Virgil can feel his still-quick pulse from where he's pushed his face into Roman's neck, and Roman laughs as he hugs Virgil back, a hand bracing the back of his head, an arm strong around his waist.

"You always get so giggly when you're drunk," Roman says, sounding fond. "It's like the natural order's been swapped."

Virgil hesitates, tangling his fingers into Roman's shirt. T hen they shift, so they're still in each other's arms, but staring at each other.

"Well," Virgil says, mouth dry as he fiddles with Roman's collar. "Lowered inhibitions, you know?"

"I know," Roman says.

"Is it weird?" Virgil says.

"You're always weird."

"I—I mean, do you... like it?"

"I always like you, Virgil." Roman says, voice soft, and his eyes are soft too, and this is it, Virgil can feel it, the air heavy with potential. 

Roman's so stupidly beautiful. His eyelids are coated in that glimmering gold that Virgil noticed before, and it brings out all the gold in his eyes, the gold that magnetizes Virgil, like some kind of magic. The sweat on his face glints in the low light, accentuating his cheekbones. He's still smiling. He looks like some kind of beautiful statue come to life.

It's Roman—a year ago, Virgil would have laughed at himself for this, thought someone would have been joking. But he knows Roman so much better now—Roman, who hides his insecurities so well it looks to so many outsiders that he doesn't have any. Roman, who works so hard to make sure that all of his work is perfect and up to his standards. Roman, who's trying to improve himself every day. Roman, with his ridiculous nicknames, and his fancy posing, and constant singing. Roman, who lights up so much whenever there is music, or dancing, or laughter. 

Just. Roman. The "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" list is so long and so varied it could be turned into a book, and Virgil finds something new every single day to admire and love about him.

So why can't he say any of this to him? The old, constant frustration, trying to reach inside of himself only to choke on whatever he wants, needs, to say, like he's on the verge of tears the whole time. Like the words trip and stumble on the way to his tongue, and fall into a sixteen car pile-up complete with flames and screaming. And he doesn't want to mess this up.

He really, really doesn't want to mess this up.

"What?" Roman asks, edged in a laugh. "You're staring at me."

Virgil makes a frustrated noise, says, "Words," and then grabs Roman's collar, pulling him forwards, and pressing his lips against Roman's. 

Roman makes a noise of surprise, and Virgil presses closer, lips moving against his.

In all honestly, Virgil thinks tongues are kind of weird, but when his tongue first meets Roman's, that belief goes straight out of the window. The kiss is consuming, and slow; Virgil's in the lead, his tongue pressing against Roman's first, and he could feel Roman's body against his, muscles relaxing, and Virgil tangles his fingers into Roman's sweaty hair because he does not want him to leave. He knows he's inexperienced, but he hopes it's still good for him anyways, because this is amazing. Roman's arms are still around his waist, and he kisses him harder, Roman's mouth hot and insistent, and oh wow, okay, wow—

"Wait," Roman breathes, and then he pulls back. "Wait, wait."

Virgil freezes, and Roman pulls back, staring at him, mouth open. The sight of Virgil's lip stain smeared around his lips, his mouth, gives Virgil a surge of something to his stomach that he wasn't expecting, at all.

"What?" Virgil breathes, and Roman's eyes squeeze shut.

"You're drunk," he groans.

"I don't care," Virgil says, and Roman's hands land on Virgil's wrists, gently tugging his hands from his hair, and his eyes are still closed as he brings Virgil's hands to his shoulders, thumbs rubbing gently at his wrists. He looks—blissful.

"I do," Roman says, and he opens his eyes, meeting Virgil's. "It's—it's important, Virgil, you're—important." He presses a hard kiss against Virgil's left palm, then presses his cheek into Virgil's hand, holding Virgil's hand against his cheek.

You're important. Virgil swallows, slides his thumb along Roman's cheekbone. He loves this stupid noble idiot.

"I—I know how much you hate anyone saying this, but we'll talk later, all right? When you're sobered up. I promise."

Virgil's eyes squeeze shut. I promise. And Roman never breaks a promise.

"But you—I mean—" Virgil huffs out a breath, and says in a rush, "We're, like. On the same page. Right? This isn't—?"

Virgil doesn't get to say what this isn't, because Roman's cupping his face.

"Look at me, please, Virgil," Roman says, and Virgil opens his eyes reluctantly. 

"You're one of the most important people in my life," Roman says, eyes half-lidded. "I didn't—I didn't say anything, because I didn't know if you—and I wanted—I want—"

"What?" Virgil says, his voice hushed.

"You," Roman says, strangled. "I want you."

It doesn't sound sexual, not at all, despite the fact that Virgil had his tongue in Roman's mouth a minute ago. It sounds like Virgil is the beautiful princess that Roman's been questing for, like in some ridiculous Disney movie.

The door to the kitchen opens, and Virgil and Roman leap apart, as if it isn't obvious by looking at Roman's mouth what they've been doing, and someone shouts, "Roman, it's Rent time!"

Roman sighs, looking out at the party, and back at Virgil, eyes full of conflict.

"Go on," Virgil says, soft. "You're the life of the party."

Roman's fingers card through Virgil's hair, and Virgil leans into his touch. "Later," he says. "Later. I—I promise you're not alone in feeling this. It's just—" he smiles, sudden, huge and bright. "You just have the worst timing, Virgil."

Virgil laughs, and steps back. Roman runs a hand through his hair, and heads back out to the living room. 

Virgil's alone in the kitchen. Suddenly, he doesn't want to watch Roman singing. He doesn't really want to talk to anyone just now, actually.

He steps into the hallway—empty now, Logan and Patton must have relocated—head full of confusion, and stops in the bathroom to scrub off his makeup. He slouches quietly into his room, toeing off his boots, wiggling out of his jeans, tossing aside the sweater, and pulls on the ridiculous Peanuts-themed Christmas pajamas Patton got him.

He curls up in his too-big bed, and hugs a spare pillow close.

You're important, you're important, you're important.

CHRISTMAS DAY

Virgil wakes up to a distant headache, a dry mouth, and sweating like a fiend.

He opens his eyes, and the events of the night come rushing back.

Apparently, when Roman said sobered up, he meant first thing in the morning, and by that he meant as soon as you wake up, because Roman, shirtless, has replaced the pillow—a little spoon, and Virgil tries his best to keep his breathing even and calm.

Cool, so Roman decided to come cuddle last night? Awesome, tight, love it. Virgil's not quietly flipping his shit to himself at all.

But—wait—somehow, miracle of miracles, Virgil is awake before Roman. 

Virgil carefully props himself up on his elbow, and resigns himself to waiting to watch Roman wake up. 

He doesn't have to wait very long.

Roman stirs, face scrunching up, and he makes a groaning noise to himself, turning his face into the pillow, only to make another distant noise of complaint. A stretch works its way through his body, like a cat, and Roman blinks his eyes open at last.

"I knew it," Virgil says, sleep having ground down his voice. "There was no way a person was so inhumanely peppy in the mornings."

"Virgil!" Roman says, voice similarly scratchy, and he flips so that they're face to face. "How are you?"

"A little hungover, a lot nervous," Virgil admits, and Roman says, "Oh, I brought in some water, it's just—"

Virgil turns, and there's a little hangover pack on his table—a glass of water, advil, a couple mints. Virgil takes the medicine, downs the water, and sticks the mint into his mouth, offering the other one to Roman, who takes it, smiling, sitting up, too. Virgil notices belatedly that he's still in the slacks he was wearing last night. And also, Virgil is wearing Peanuts-themed pajamas.

"The apartment's all clean," Roman says. "I have no idea who, but five separate people have left behind a single shoe, I've no idea how or why. And Patton's got all the presents under the tree."

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Roman says, and clacks his mint against his teeth, shifting, and blurts out, "I lied."

Virgil stiffens, like ice is flowing into his veins.

Roman doesn't seem to notice. "Logan and I weren't making Patton a Christmas gift."

Virgil blinks. "I—what?"

"We weren't working on making Patton a Christmas gift," Roman repeats, leaning forwards. "Operation Mistletoe was, in fact, a two-pronged plan. Logan wanted to get together with Patton, and I—I wanted to get together with you—so we tried to make a plan."

Virgil blinks, and says again, "What?"

"Patton told Logan and I about Not-So-Secret Santa after you went to bed, so Logan and I decided to throw the selection."

Virgil blinks. "You cheated?"

"I know, Patton would be very disappointed in me," Roman says. "Logan didn't know that I was going to follow him, though, that was just a you and me thing. And Logan and I decided to make a plan for the party—the body shots were Valerie's idea, but I did come up with the Bend and Snap bit."

"It was a very good bit," Virgil says faintly.

"And if the party didn't work, then, well, there were a lot of plans, there would have been some actual mistletoe involved—"

Virgil snickers, and then he pauses. "Wait, then what was the smoke?"

Roman looks sheepish. "We, ah. We burned the lists of bad ideas."

Virgil snorts, and Roman smiles.

"So, ah," he says, and looks nervous. "I've, um, kind of been in love with you for a while now, so—"

"Oh," Virgil says, breathless, then, "Cool, same."

"Same," Roman snorts, and suddenly, he's slithering forwards, hands cupping Virgil's face. 

Warm. He's so warm, and his lips are so soft, and the way they move with Virgil's speaks of experience that Virgil doesn't have, but that's okay, that's more than okay, and he tastes like mint, and Roman's kissing him long and soft, and Virgil feels warm, too, lit up from inside, like some kind of magic that only Roman was privy to, like Roman's trying to give him something, and Virgil tries his best to receive it, give it back.

"Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown," Roman whispers, and Virgil groans, throwing an arm over his eyes before he starts to laugh.

"What, like yours aren't just as bad? It's the bunny suit from A Christmas Story."

"I obviously have the panache to pull it off," Roman sniffs, and grins at Virgil. "Look at you, Eeyore-rable."

Virgil boos even as Roman's situating himself on Virgil's lap, and Roman says, "Like adorable? Adorable Eeyore?"

"Crossing references, doesn't count," Virgil says, grinning even as he arches up to meet Roman's lips again.

"Which plan was it?" Logan's voice comes from the doorway, and Roman yelps, throwing himself over Virgil like Virgil was the one whose virtue needed protecting, as if Roman was the one wearing a shirt.

"Logan!"

"I mean, I'm assuming it was either Plan A or Plan C, but—"

"Shut up, it was Plan B!" Roman groans into Virgil's shoulder. "Would it kill you to knock?"

Logan angles a severely disapproving look at Virgil. "Plan B? Really?"

"I have no idea what that means," Virgil says.

"My hips are very seductive and my ass is entrancing, Logan, they made you miss that shot last night," Roman huffs, and it clicks.

"Oh, my God. B for Bend and Snap?" Virgil says, over Logan's spluttering.

"Are we having a party in here, or something?" Patton asks, materializing in the doorway, and Roman groans into Virgil's shoulder again, Virgil grinning and cupping the back of his head.

"It's Christmas!" Patton declares. "Get up, get up, there are presents! And cocoa! And mistletoe! Put on a shirt, Roman! I'm so happy for you two! Virgil, I love the jammies! Come on!"

Virgil, laughing still, gets pulled from bed.

It really is the most wonderful time of the year.

[we-live-in-a--society]

Jirafa en Llamas

The first thing that can be said about her is that she lives in a motel room. Maybe not quite literally, at least in terms of law, but at the same time quite literally. It is like the never-ending paradox that is our lives, it being the inherent part of it. She is not, by any terms, registered there as a permanent dweller, she only lives there, partly legally, partly illegally, leaning more to the second one, which even seems to fit in there a bit more.

For some reasons the dusty motel was named “The Burning Giraffe” – the name almost as absurd as the owner himself and the matching hideous neon sign standing by the road as if inviting the guests to join its grotesque parade of sorrow and filth.

(Or is filth and sorrow a better order?)

Cutting to the chase here, she lives in a motel room for her own reasons. Anytime someone asks her, why she lives in a motel room, she never answers, avoiding the question, pretending as if it was never asked, as if it never existed at all.

The aforementioned motel room has an incredibly simple design in the face of its meaningful function. One double bed surrounded by a few other pieces of furniture and the windows always covered by the curtains, each stain on their surface creating a picture that has been marked inside her head. Sometimes she gets the impression that this particular image is going to stay with her forever, even if she loses her memory, this one will remain on its spot, hunting her in that possible clueless state.

Because we never forget what is truly important.

Aside from the motel room, there is also another place where she keeps coming back for her own reasons. Except this place is nonexistent. Maybe not quite literally, but at the same time quite literally since the building probably still stands there on its own, but its previous inhabitant is missing and that is for sure.

Maybe that is also for the better.

* * *

The first thing that can be said about him is that he was, and probably still is, but talking about him in present tense will not do any good, trouble.

He is trouble.

Or more specifically, he is the personification of every wanting, every craving that hunts women during their sleepless nights, the thirst that keeps coming back and forth no matter how far away we push it. It seems like she has been trying to push it away for the past four years, but she cannot as long as she will not satisfy her own cravings.

And she will not, for obvious reasons.

Their first meeting was rather awkward, and yet it was all it took for him to make her his. It all started when he moved to the adjacent house, soon after she had turned seventeen, and her father pushed her into visiting him to offer some help. Oh, how silly his decision was, but he came to realization when the damage was already done, per usual.

She still remembers the first few words he greeted her with, and she is most likely to remember them for the rest of her life.

“You know what?” He asked with a smug smirk crossing his face, when she faced him in the doorway. “I knew you would come.”

Tammy always fancied this man too, but she fancied everyone who was above average, so she was not the best source of objective advice, and yet she was the one that pushed her into making a move on him.

As if it was that complicated.

Truth to be told, he is that kind of man that flirts with almost every woman he meets, knowing exactly how to approach them to get what he wants, or simply in search of fun. What he wanted back then was to fuck her, and he always gets what he wants.

Obviously, she did not tell him that she was inexperienced, not a virgin, but still inexperienced, partly because she was embarrassed to admit it and partly because he never asked her. Instead she let him play the cards as he wished – she let him dance around her for almost a year, until she could not take it anymore, and asked him directly.

She still remembers those few words he purred into her ear, and she is most likely to remember them for the rest of her life.

“Good you’re legal now, Peaches. I certainly don’t need more trouble,” was what he had said to her that evening before he showed her panties aside and slid home.

This is what kind of man he is, that kind of man who always gets what he wants despite the circumstances.

And screwing her was one of many things he wanted back then.

* * *

The speaker’s voice is deep, which makes it sound soothing in her ears, rocking her gently into consciousness like her grandmother’s glider back in her childhood years. At her current sleepy state she cannot distinguish any of the spoken words, but the tone sounds disturbingly familiar, which forces her eyes open.

At first everything appears to be normal, the dimly lighted room greeting her with its sight just like every morning, but when her eyes dart to the right, she notices a figure sitting on an armchair. She freezes, unable to move, unable to say anything, and simply stares at the intruder, chest heaving heavily.

“Your hiding spot is kinda lame, Peaches,” he teases, smirk audible in his voice, and this is when the realization hits her.

Leslie has paid her an unexpected visit.

At first she wants to jump into his lap, she wants to wrap her arms around his neck, she wants to kiss him, show him how much she missed him. Then she thinks she should slap him, wipe the smugness away from his handsome face, and throw him away, not even bothering about the cause of his sudden presence. Who does he think he is? Someone who can appear in her room out of thin air after being told specifically not to contact her ever again?

“What the fuck are you doing here?” She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “I told you that I don’t want to see you, like ever again.”

“The rules are meant to be broken,” he answers her, smug as ever. “Isn’t it what they say?”

“Don’t fuck with me.”

“Oh, I wish,” he jokes, his pearly teeth coming to view. “But you were the one who left me, which was something new to me. At least comparing to all the previous relationships I had with women. You know, it really took an unusual shitload of effort to find you, since you had the nerve to stay in a motel room a mile away from the house.”

“Leslie, I-”

If she was being honest with herself, she would admit she missed him, but she prefers lying to herself – easier for the better, right? In fact he has not changed much, if even at all, since their last meeting, which is not necessary found to be helpful in her situation.

“No, no, don’t bother yourself, it’s fine. I did like the challenge,” he huffs, his pupils blown with rage almost swallowing the steel color.

“I’m sorry, Leslie, I-” She practically whispers, her voice surprisingly small even in her own notion, trying not to think about how many steps would it take for him to reach her,

(and how much she wants him to reach her).

“Go on, Peaches, I want to hear every dirty detail,” he encourages her, his tone surprisingly sedate considering their current situation, but underneath the calm attire, he is like the boiling contents of a pot – all you have to do is to lift up a lid. “You run away from me because…?”

He lifts his left eyebrow in a well-known, nearly signature gesture, waiting for her to finish the statement.

“Because I was dealing with some personal issues and I needed to cool down, alone.”

“What issues were you dealing with? Talk to me, Peaches.” His gaze brushes over the other armchair, clearly a sign for her to sit there instead of lurking in the shadows.

“Fine,” she agrees, pretty much aware of the fact that Rejection and Leslie cannot be in the same boat for too long, so she gets up, half consciously, to take a seat on the opposite armchair. “I’ll talk to you.”

“Seems like we’ve come to our senses, huh?” He grins, pleased with her agreement.

“But it’ll be a long talk, so how about we dive into it tomorrow?” She offers, shifting uneasily in her seat. In one hand she wants him, or maybe just needs him, to go, but in other hand her body craves for his touch, nipples already poking the thin material of her oversized T-shirt.

“Fucking fine, Peaches,” He agrees, carelessly and unexpectedly so, as his eyes flick to her figure, now sitting beside him.

“You haven’t changed for the slightest bit, Hazel,” he states, the use of her name makes her gasp in shock. He rarely calls her by the actual name, usually stands by ‘Peaches’ or some other pet name, but at the same time he seems perfectly aware of how to use it to get her attention. “You’re still the same sugary-sweet treat just waiting for me to be devoured, aren’t you?”

“You tell me,” she teases, smiling at him in a way she knows will get him going. Maybe if she distracts him and then cuts the topic short, he will leave it aside, at least for now,

(since temporary things seems to work better for her.)

Truth to be told Leslie has ruined all the other men for her. He is neither her first one, nor the last, but surely the only one who really made her feel something, whatever that something was. Either way she cannot deny she has missed that something every single lonely day, every single lonely night, and all the places in between.

“Sure I will, Peaches,” he smirks smugly, patting his knee afterwards, clearly motioning her to take a seat there. “C’mon, sit down.”

“What if I won’t?” She asks, leaning on the table with her weight braced on her elbows, giving him a perfect look at her cleavage. It has been quite obvious, since the beginning, that he has a thing for her breasts.

“Obviously, I don’t take it as an option.”

“You should,” she replies, somehow managing to get herself together without jumping to his bones this time. “Because this is exactly what’s happening.”

Before he gets a chance to respond, she already makes her way to the bed, getting under the warm covers again, turning her back to him.

“You know, in fact the armchair is pretty comfortable,” she yawns, snuggling further into the warm covers.

“Yeah, whatever,” he huffs, clearly annoyed because of her not-so-gently turning him down.

“Sleep well, Leslie,” she replies sweetly, such a rough contrast to the unpleasant tone he uses on her, and to the fact he decides to ignore the given answer.

* * *

Something woke her up. She has no idea what it was, but it was definitely something, something sinister, the chilly blow proves it well enough. Cautiously she looks around, noticing Leslie still sitting on the armchair, his head dangling loosely to the side. The blinding neon light illuminates his face, giving her the odd impression as if he was coming from other dimension, napping on the motel armchair as he is stopping by. While sleeping, he appears as younger for her, his features relaxed, mouth slightly agape, loose hair strands falling down his face, clearly not a fit for a man in his early thirties.

She gets up from the bed, wincing as her foot comes to contact with a small, sharpie piece lying there. She picks up the item, moving it around her fingers a couple of times, examining its surface, noticing a small chain attached to it.

(The Burning Giraffe comes out of bushes and watches the tall man succumb.)

Despite the dim light the giraffe engraving on the bullet-like shape pokes her eyes – the revelation that makes her sick. What is it doing here? It is supposed to be gone a long time ago.

(The drawer is empty but he keeps the offering in his hand.)

She sits, glued to the spot, her limp hand releasing the metallic object, the soft clank barely heard by her. Her senses are suppressed as if she was swimming underwater, with her vision blurry, with her hearing dull, she feels helpless.

(“Peaches?”)

The water is slowly pouring over the floor, splashing her bare feet, the level rising unstoppably. She lets out a shuddering exhale as the liquid tickles her bare calves, gradually making its way up, wetting the coarse sheets.

(“HAZEL?!”)

The scream tears her delusion apart, water splashing its way back to a thin gap between the cheap door and dry floor, all remains of it soon soaking into the ground.

As soon as her eyes open, she sees him, seated beside her, his face marked with the frown of confusion, hand firmly grasping her shoulder. She looks into his eyes for a few seconds, before she desperately throws herself at him, her body trembling as her nails dig into his arms hard enough to bruise the flesh.

Despite the slight stink it causes, he shushes her, pulling her up to climb upon his lap. “Everything’s fine. We’re fine. You’re fine.”

She sobs softly, her cheek resting in the crook of his neck, voice muffled as she speaks. “No Leslie, we’re not. It- it’s there and I don’t know how. I-”

“Just try to relax and tell me what happened,” he murmurs into her hair, his hand cradling the side of her neck.

“I buried it, I buried the necklace. You know, I dug it in the garden, and it wasn’t supposed to come back, it was never supposed to come back, but it did anyway,” she explains, shuddering in his grip, as he strokes her hair mindlessly, the pinkish strands slipping past his fingers. He thinks the best solution will be to simply let her talk it through.

“What necklace?” He asks gently, trying not to scare her away again. Truth to be told, he played the cards wrong before and he is not going to make the same mistake again.

“The giraffe one, it’s on the floor,” she answers, taking another shuddering exhale, before she resumes. “I never really told you this, but it belonged to my mother, and my mother-”

“There’s no necklace on the floor,” he interrupts her mindlessly and as soon as the words come out of his mouth, she relaxes in his grip. Whatever it is that is bothering her, he is pretty sure, considering her current on-the-edge-of-the-cliff state, that she is not ready to go through it all right now.

“Can we talk about it later?” She asks quietly, and he simply nods in agreement, much to her own, long-awaited relief.

“Try not to think about it,” he adds after a brief moment, scratching the back his neck with his free hand, before it settles on her waist again. “There’s a long way ahead of us, metaphorically not literally, and I think you should get some sleep.”

“Okay,” she nods barely so, looking up at him with her pouty eyes in a silent plead.

“Stop looking at me like this,” he flashes her one of his brief smirks. “I was going to lie down with you anyway.”

She smiles back at him, glad because of how things have played out, as she watches him strip from the corner of her eye, not intending to stare much, or at least not intending to get caught staring. Meanwhile he gets rid of the unnecessary pieces of clothing, although the underwear stays on as if it was supposed to resemble his poor attempts to maintain at least the last bits of decency.

As soon as his gaze lands at her, she turns on her side, facing the wall, clearly avoiding the eye contact. He smirks to himself as he lies down beside her, slipping underneath the shared covers, his left arm wrapping loosely around her waist, her body instinctively snuggling closer to his. She would be lying, if she said it does not feel nice after such a long time apart from him.

“Night, Peaches,” he murmurs into her hair, the warmth of his breath makes her shiver as it tickles her neck. She only manages to give him a muffled response, before her eyelids finally fall shut.

Although she is fast asleep beside him, clearly exhausted after the hysterics, he cannot help but wonder – what the fuck was she even talking about?

* * *

He wakes up first, his hard-on painfully reminding of its existence, the pressure applied by Hazel’s bottom not necessary helpful in this case. He groans in frustration, his hips shifting uneasily as he tries to scoot away from her, but this only causes her to snuggle further into him, searching for the missing warmth.

(decency)

Considering it for a few more seconds, in the end he lets his cravings get the best of him as his hand slips underneath the soft cotton of her t-shirt, barely grazing her flat stomach. The ticklish stroke makes her shiver slightly, then moan softly as his hand covers the warm flesh, squeezing gently.

Truth to be told, he has always fancied her breasts. Despite her flawless hourglass figure and chaste whiskey colored eyes, which he has also considered much attractive ever since, her breasts were the feature that drew his attention in the first place. Even though they seem a little bit disproportionate comparing to her relatively short stature, he has always found their gentle sway appealing.

She twitches in his grip as he squeezes again, this time rougher, his blunt nail scrapping over the hardening bud in a teasing manner. Her hips buck in search for some friction as her eyes finally open, gaze landing on the dirty, whitish wall by the bed.

“Good morning,” he rasps into her ear, the gravelly voice sends a delicious shiver down her spine. “Slept well?”

She hums softly in response, more focused on the gentle caress of his hand than the words coming out of his mouth, the feeling of his hardness poking her lower back only adding up to the distraction.

She should have expected something like this from Leslie.

“I want you to roll over for me,” he purrs again, hand grasping her full hip, encouraging her to accomplish the task. “I ain’t gonna repeat myself.”

Without a word, as per his request, she scoots over, letting him pull her up, until she lies back comfortably, pressed against his chest. In one fluid motion, he pushes the sheets aside, exposing their bodies to the chilly air, her skin rising with goosebumps immediately.

Before he gets a chance to ask, she takes off her t-shirt, exposing her back to him. She shivers when his fingers glide down the bare skin, stopping once they settle on her hips, pulling her back to his chest. Her scent hits his nostrils, the sweet fruity smell licking over the nerves, oh so innocently, as if the innocence itself was speaking to the kinkiest part of his brain.

Maybe it is.

“You missed this, didn’t you?” He asks, squeezing her now bare breast, the pressure unfamiliar after those few months without him. “Me touching you like this?”

She nods in response, her eyes closing as she relishes in the sensation, but her answer obviously does not turn out to be enough for him. He shakes his head in disapproval, tongue clicking over the roof of his mouth a couple of times to show her how deeply disappointed he is.

“Speak when you are spoken to.”

“Yes,” she gasps breathlessly, her back arching, as she unconsciously bucks her hips a couple of times. “I missed you touching me like this.”

This time he gives her a hum of approval, rewarding her with a gentle brush on her clothed folds along with a quick press on her swollen clit that leaves her trembling for a few following seconds.

“Now be a good girl and tell me,” he continues, teeth nibbling at her earlobe in a teasing manner. “Were you thinking about me? Were you picturing me on top of you instead of them? Were you getting off on this, on fantasizing I was the one doing all those things, huh?”

“I was,” she moans breathlessly, her head lulling to the side – an opportunity for him to nip at the tender skin there, rather harshly, tongue soon following the trace of his teeth. His thumb hooks in the elastic of her panties, tugging at the band teasingly – a sign for her to lift her hips and get rid of the unwanted undergarment.

“Very well,” he praises, hot breath fanning over the skin of her neck. “Now how about I give you a little reward for being such a good girl for me, huh?”

“Yes please,” she agrees instantly, and Leslie – being the man of his word – is quick to return the caress. He parts her swollen folds, the lewd, wet sound makes her blush for the slightest and him hum contently as he rubs the tingling nub, putting enough pressure to have her wriggling on the bed. He is well aware of how easily he could make her orgasm from this alone, and maybe, just maybe, this is exactly how she is going to have it.

She coos softly as his fingers slide south, gently massaging her as he goes, the tip of it slipping past her entrance far enough for her to feel it but not enough to relieve the blossoming ache. He smirks as her hips push up, eager to swallow the whole digit, but instead of letting Hazel have it her way, he removes the hand from in between her legs, the pads of his fingers quick to brush over her erect nipples. She whines in response, fighting the urge to rub her thighs together, knowing very well that Leslie will not approve it.

“How about you fuck your fingers nice and hard for me, and then maybe I’ll let you suck me off, huh?” He asks and this is all it takes for her to snap. No, masturbation is the last thing she is going to perform when she has him by her side.

“No,” she refuses, pretty much aware of the fact that her denial is not the smartest way to achieve her goal, but all she wants is to test his limits and see how hard she can push him. “I think you need to cum just as much as I do. Don’t even try to deny it, I can feel your hard-on pocking my back. You want to end up with blue balls? Then be my guest, but I ain’t playing your game.”

“Cute,” he murmurs into her hair, smug as ever as if her speech was nothing to him, but truth to be told, he is just trying to rail her up, and the fact that she has decided to play it stubborn only makes the whole situation even more exciting.

In his whole thirty one years of life Leslie has had many women. Some were younger, practically out of high school, some at the age of his mother, mainly the ones stuck in their boring marriages, wanting, willing to make a change, hungry for something they had been deprived of for such a long time. And who was he to deny them that?

However, he has always preferred the younger ones. They are more giving, willing to experience more and more as if their hunger was never meant to be satisfied. He loves how responsive they can be, how they are willing to lean into anything he says just to please him, begging him to return the favor.

Hazel is by now his personal favorite, partly because of the aforementioned looks, but also due to how much he affects her. He has never experienced this kind of connection with anyone, how little it takes for him to make her surrender each time, and yet there is a challenge behind all of these – the dignity she struggles to maintain – the perfect combination of effortless and elaborate.

But he is not going to give in that easily.

He pushes her from the space between his legs, and gets up, leaving her cold and frustrated on the bed. With an angry huff, she follows his trace, her breasts jiggling slightly due to the rapid movement.

There are no words that are accurate enough to describe how much she hates her breasts right now.

“You’re just an asshole, Leslie,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

“That,” he takes a single step towards her, “is,” another one, “right.”

He stands so close to her that she can feel the heat radiating from his body, yet not enough for any physical contact. He looks down at her as if he was judging her, the smug smirk never leaving his face.

“Get on your fucking knees and maybe I’ll play it nice for you,” he orders, his voice dangerously low, leaving her no choice but to obey.

With a heavy sigh, she kneels in front of him, the rough carpet digging into her skin painfully, as she sits on her heals. She feels the wetness smearing over the exposed skin, her pussy throbbing unpleasantly as her whole body aches for release.

He is acting out, obviously, still irritated because of her leaving him alone a couple of months back. He wants to push her towards the edge, let her look down on the crushing waves, holding her by the hair all through, until she literally begs him to stop, until she admits it is all her fault.

And yet she kind of wants to do this, because she still feels like she owes him something.

Without drawing this any further, she tugs his underwear down, the hard length almost hitting her face in process, as she backs away slightly. However, he is quick to pull her back, clearly not in a mood for any teasing, his dick twitching as her lips wrap around the tip, sucking softly. He hums pleasantly as she gradually takes more of him into her mouth, tongue stroking the underside of his length, just how he likes it.

His breath hitches when she envelops the rest with her hand, squeezing at the base hard enough to actually make him whine – a little payback for his earlier malicious acts. He is just about to say something, but all the mocking comments fly out of the window as soon as she starts bobbing her head, the rhythm matching the one set by her hand.

He groans when the tip hits the back of her throat, the wet warmth enveloping him nicely, the rhythmical pulsing of her flesh almost driving him towards the edge. Obviously he is not intending to cum until he is buried balls deep inside her since it would be inept and embarrassing to say the least.

“Okay, that’s enough,” he taps her chin lightly, and she reluctantly lets him go, his pupils blown with lust as he grazes down at her kneeling form.

(She has never looked better.)

“Get up,” he orders, hands coming up to grasp her hips and push her towards the bed, until she falls onto the mattress with her weight braced on her hands. “On your knees.”

Truth to be told, he is so done with all of the teasing, delaying the main event just to rail her up, and all he wants in this specific moment is to simply feel how she milks him dry.

Before she gets a chance to question any of his actions, he kneels behind her, pushing her thighs apart for a little bit, just enough for him to fit in there. He groans softly as the wetness coats his length, and he instinctively bucks against her, hard enough to make the girl whine, the need to have him inside her dulling any other cravings.

Concurrently with him, she takes a jerky inhale as he slides in with one rough thrust that is enough to take her breath away, even if for a brief moment. She mewls softly – a contrast to his throaty groan – due to the dull pain the stretch causes, the pain she has almost forgotten during her alone time.

It is not long enough, probably just a couple more seconds, before his hands take a steady grip on her flesh and his hips snap swiftly, the unexpected force of it causing her to lose the poor balance she struggled to maintain. She falls on her forearms with the side of her face smashed against the mattress, although the new angle appears to be more fulfilling, which actually means her face is willing to make the sacrifice.

Suddenly, he grips her by the shoulder, pulling her dainty body straight up again, forcing Hazel to support the weight on her hands. As soon as she manages to do so, he latches at her neck, biting hard enough to make her squeal quietly, hard enough to leave a small, tender bruise that is meant to remind her how little it took him to have her in this particular position.

“Look up,” he practically groans into her ear, the simple command turns out to be the only sensible thing he manages to come up with. As per his request, she tears her gaze from the spot on the sheets only to face the sight of both of them in the standing mirror.

She gasps in shock, her cheeks staining red as she becomes aware of the sight in front of her. He only smirks in response, almost making her genuinely want to wipe the smugness away from his face.

Oh hello, he thinks, smug as ever, there is that kind of reaction he has been trying to gain from her. It has always surprised him that despite the fact they had sex multiple times before, he still manages to make her blush, even in the most mundane, vanilla moments, not that this one can be classified as such.

Although he loves to talk in general, he does not say anything this time. He only stares at her through the mirror and so does she, her gaze surprisingly intense considering the fact that she is fighting the urge to look away. Without tearing his gaze apart, he reaches between her legs, nimble fingers quick to circle the swollen nub, wanting, willing to push her over the edge. She moans his name, throwing her head back as the orgasm finally consumes her, tingling, licking over the nerves oh so pleasantly, even if only for those few blissful seconds, those few blissful seconds she has been anticipating for such a long time.

While her body is still quivering, recovering from its state, still floating on the dreamy cloud called fulfilment, to the point where she barely hears his louder-than-usual groan, but not far enough to not notice him following right after. It takes a few, rather breathless seconds, before he pulls out, still tingling with aftershocks, and drops on the mattress beside her.

“Still on the pill?” He asks teasingly, glancing at her lying form, however his eyes mostly focus on the heaving breasts, not that it surprises her.

“Still clean?” She mocks, rolling on her side to face him.

He only sighs in response, giving her a short, artificial laugh, before answering. “Very fucking funny, Peaches.”

* * *

So in the end, it turned out the necklace was not even there.

Kind of funny.

And ‘kind of’ is a keyword here.

“I think you deserve to know the truth.”

Does he?

He only hums in agreement, the wordless response not necessary soothing her nerves if not fueling the disquiet even further.

“My mother had problems,” she states, the chosen combination of words seemingly absurd in her own notion, but it reflects reality well enough to encourage her to continue. “So as I mentioned before, my mother had problems. Neither me or my dad knew what it was, but it was… it was just weird, I guess, or sinister in its own way. Hardly ever she had a nerve to leave the house and wander around the neighborhood, but when she did, she always drew the attention of all those nosy people.”

“By doing what?” He asks, the sudden question that she prefers to slide aside, making her lose the context for a brief moment. Why has she even started the topic in the first place? Ah yes, because he deserves to know the truth.

(He doesn’t, Hazel. None of them does. The Giraffe knew and look what happened to her.)

“She was just… just acting weird, I don’t really need to get into details,” she refuses, shaking her head slightly.

“Fine, just tell me all you feel like telling me,” okay, now he is getting curious.

“Since I reached the age of six, maybe eight, I had no idea why my dad was with her the whole time, but maybe he… maybe he felt like he owed her something, maybe he even loved her. But I didn’t, I didn’t love her. Instead I was just afraid of her the whole time.”

“Afraid, why?” He interferes, maybe not in the best moment, but she seems to ignore the question as she goes on with her story.

“On daily bases, she didn’t pay attention to me, but I always felt like the sword of Damocles was hanging right above me, which sound pretty fucking stupid when you put it this way if I were honest,” she chuckles nervously, her voice breaking at the end.

“Maybe a tiny bit dramatic with the use of the idiom, but don’t go too hard on yourself,” he shrugs, encouraging her to continue.

“I think it would be accurate to say that she had her moments, moments when something snapped inside her, and all of sudden she wasn’t just sitting and staring. Don’t get me wrong, she never hurt me, like physically, but she had that moments of disconnection from the outside world, when she was… hallucinating, I guess.”

“You mean like she claimed she was seeing things, hearing things, experiencing all those unreal situations-”

“Yes! And as a small kid I was terrified. Throughout those years, all I ever wanted for her was to disappear, and one day my dreams, my prayers, sort of came true. She… she… well, she,” Hazel clears her throat uneasily, trying to find the right words, “hung herself in the bedroom, but it didn’t entirely ease me…” while she is meaning to continue, he interrupts her once more.

“Instead it made you feel guilty for what happened, but at the same time it… it set you free.”

“Yeah,” she nods hesitantly. “You’re right, it did.”

“Yeah, no wonder I’m right,” he smirks, the same smug smirk as always back on his lips. “Don’t you get the impression that I’m always right?”

“Always,” she agrees ironically, topping it with the well-mastered, discreet eye-roll.

As silence settles over them, she cannot help but wonder. What if the solution to get rid of the Giraffe is that simple that all it takes to solve it is to get back to its source?

To get back to the Giraffe.

And yet the question always remains there, the one that is supposed to hunt you until you cannot sleep, until you are restlessly tossing and turning in your bed, until you lose your mind. In her case the question is disturbingly simple - will Hazel be able to love herself when the Giraffe is gone?

“Leslie?”

“Huh?”

“I was wondering,” she starts, more confident this time. “Could you do me a favor?”

* * *

The lines of conifers by the road give her the odd impression of being trapped. All she has ever wanted is to be free, to express yourself freely and without worrying how someone may view your behavior – a vision that others may label as one of those ‘beyond utopic’. She has always sought harmony, peace, and patience – not necessary what Leslie provides for her, but he replaces it with something else, something she had hardly experienced before they met, if ever.

She is thinking safeness.

However, the images of her mother hunt her, even after her death, even after her dad’s second wedding, even after moving out, she still cannot get it out of her head. She doubts she will ever forget how she was swaying from side to side, dangling from that stupid rope, the giraffe neckless ever present around her neck as if it was supposed to act as some sort of a grotesque match for the cord.

How selfish does a woman have to be to hang herself in the house where her child lives, where she can walk right in time to be the first person who gets a chance to see her like this? Even after those six years it still hurts to know that she did it on purpose so that either her dad or Hazel would find her.

She was one of a twisted bitch, this is for sure.

The lines of conifers by the road give him the odd impression of being trapped. All he has ever wanted is to be free, to express yourself freely and without worrying how society attempts to put an end to anything you are trying to create as if your lifestyle was even bothering anyone. He has always sought independence, deliverance, and vitality - not necessary what Hazel provides for him, but she replaces it with something else, something he had hardly experienced before they met, if ever.

He is thinking calmness.

However, he did not mention that Hazel’s decision to share the story about her past sort of amazed him, because he has never collected enough courage to repay her in kind. There is something about exposing this particular part of his image that leaves him unsettled.

Hazel knows him as a guy with slicked back hair, leather-jean jacket, and the barn red Coupe DeVille, a guy whose behavior is beyond reckless and who, amongst other things, enjoys fucking women in the backseat of the aforementioned car.

But it had not always been this way.

After their talk, he suspects that what drew him to her in the first place was the fact that both of them, deep down, are cut from the same cloth, marked by their parents behavior, the behavior that cannot be labelled as pathological, rather morbid – subtle but ever present difference that seems to define their whole lives.

If it ever came to sharing a few words about his father… how to put this correctly and as clearly as possible? If it ever came to sharing a few words about his father, he would not define him as a loony or anyone of that sort but a wimp.

Yes, his father was a wimp and he hates him for that.

He always felt like it should not concern him this much, but it did anyway, it did concern him every single day that despite the fact he was his father, and so he was supposed to be role model for him, he never was. All he ever wanted as a teenager was to not become that tedious man his father was, or at least that tedious man he was in Leslie’s eyes.

It was infuriating how he let other people do everything for him, how he let them lead his life – first his mother, then his wife. He still cannot get over the fact that his father’s wife, who also happened to be Leslie’s mother, was with him all the time, that every day she made him breakfast, lunch, then dinner as if he was some sort of a cripple – unable to do this on his own.

It constantly seemed like he had no ambitions, no goals that were beyond going to work and coming home just to watch television and read some newspaper, and because of that they never had anything to talk about. Leslie’s idea of life is to live it to the fullest – to experience as much as he can and to simply do feels appropriate in his own judgment, not other’s. His father’s… well, it appeared as if he did not have one, as if he sort of floated in the sea that is our lives, and let the waves push him towards some random destination instead of trying to swim on his own, to put a little effort.

So he left him, he left his house as soon as he was done with high school, and since then he has been living on his own, maybe not alone, but on his own. As the well-known saying goes – all starts are rocky, but after some opportunities dropped, everything has been just peachy.

Since then he has been just a guy with slicked back hair, leather-jean jacket, and the barn red Coupe DeVille.

While Leslie is drowning in his own memories, the road seems like it does not approve the concept of an inevitable end, each turn only reveals another asphalt ribbon halved with the classic yellow stripe. The lack of his usual talk leaves Hazel alone to deal with any insecurities that have already dropped and the ones that are yet to drop.

“Sometimes I feel like there’s some beauty in sadness,” her voice rings in the empty car, the Talking Heads song fades in the distance, words blurring into one fuzzy phrase – the ultimate essence of life.

“Why?” He asks, eyes never leaving the road.

“I feel like the melancholy is some sort of an incentive to ponder,” she continues, suddenly more preoccupied with the passing trees, eyes fixated on their dull forms. “Isn’t it?”

“Is it?” He dwells further – one of many ways to keep up with her train of thoughts and not to get lost in his own. “Maybe you’re right, maybe it is. Maybe we try to avoid it, but in the meantime we need it to maintain the balance. How would we experience felicity, if we didn’t know what dolor is?”

She does not give him a verbal response, instead she keeps staring at the conifers, although her wordless answer is already floating in the air, legible enough for him.

“Let me tell you a story,” he starts while the recent turn reveals more of the merciless road. “A few years back, I used to work as a used cars salesman. One day, I met a guy – middle thirties, blonde hair, lovely girlfriend.”

“Lovely?” She asks suspiciously, glancing at his profile.

“Jealous much?” He laughs at her annoyed huff. “You know, she had that red curly hair, and I’d never seen anything like this. I mean red hair are rare in general, but this particular combination… like a white raven. Anyway, after he claimed he was perfectly capable of searching the offers by himself, we talked for a bit. I think her name was Brittany or Bethany, maybe Beverly, it doesn’t matter, since I’m getting a little off the subject here.”

“Yeah, a little,” she rolls her eyes, although still eager for him to continue.

“Anyway, a couple of days later, he came back once more, this time alone, and after finally purchasing the car, he asked me a question that truly made me wonder. ‘Why do we crave for things we can’t have and why can’t we thoughtfully enjoy them when they finally come?’ ”

She does not answer this time. Instead she bestows him with yet another question that is meant to hunt him during all those forthcoming sleepless nights.

“Why, Leslie?”

* * *

The neighborhood looks familiar. The road is still cracked in the same few places, the painted lines still faded, the crows still chanting their never ending song – the omen of death. She used to hate the crows, but as the time passed, the hectoliters of water flowed thought the river, and her graduation came, she understood that they were, and always will be right, that the crows were, and always will be continuing their chant – the ultimate essence of life.

The house looks older, abandoned. A few years have passed since her last visit, since anyone’s visit to be clear, and it feels kind of weird to be back –

(that bizarre notion that keeps coming back and forth. The Giraffe knows it, so she steps aside, avoiding the tall man’s offering.)

The growing ivy gives the concrete walls this particular deserted-house-from-horror vibe, the vibe not necessary helpful, considering they are about to get in through the garden wicket.

Or rather she is.

Because this is one of those roads she has to walk alone.

Her whole body cringes when the hinges cry, maybe for mercy, a single, awful creak that cuts through the air, seemingly waking up the old house, alerting her mother that she is here. If she was being honest with herself, she would admit that she wants her to know, she wants her to anxiously anticipate her return like she did as a child. But she will not avow, since it does not cooperate with her concept of being a good person.

(“What does?” The Giraffe inquires, her meddlesome habits sometimes become a stimulus for another massive headache.)

The lawn is uneven, untrimmed, since the grass has been growing freely for quite a while now, covering almost the entire ground except for a few bald patches of soil that stand out like a bunch of children in a world created by adults. Sometimes she wishes that she could join the former ones, that she could escape from all the responsibilities that come in a package called adulthood.

Hesitantly, she approaches the swing, the yellow paint peeling off its surface as if it was also attempting an escape from the dark place. She crouches down by the bracket, where ground remains grassless, and brushes the dirt with her fingertips, savoring the moment as if it was her last time touching its structure.

When she is done with dragging the inevitable, she fishes for a shovel, only to bury it in the soil a split second after. It does not take long to dug out the whole thing, since she buried the box just a few inches deep.

Despite a rather short amount of time that the case spent underground, some of the dirt has already dug into the wood’s gouges, marking it black. She does not seem to mind, in fact this is the last thing that is bothering her at the moment, as she opens it with a single flick of her wrist.

And there it is – the giraffe necklace, grazing at her from its resting spot, mocking her, judging her as the cause of her mother’s death. She picks it up, moving it around her fingertips for a little while, waiting for the woman to finally notice her.

“Were you bored with him? With yourself?” She asks, her voice still as infantile as it used to be while she was alive.

“Only boring people get bored with themselves,” she huffs, surprisingly bitterly, even in her own notion.

“So you’re saying I’m a boring person?” she asks again, the stupidity of her question makes Hazel’s blood boil hot.

“So this is all you have to say? Already out of ideas?” She mocks her, knowing she will regret it later, but keeping the unpleasant attire anyway.

“You were always the smart one, finding such a lovely boyfriend.”

What?

No words can express the level of exasperation caused by her statement. What is wrong with her, like who says something like this? How come finding a boyfriend defines your smartness?

“What does it have to do with anything?” She spits, already regretting even coming here in the first place. She has already forgotten how immature her mother used to be, how little it took her to get under Hazel’s skin.

“But also the weak one, just like me,” she sighs heavily. “Tell me, does he look after you? Keeps you safe?”

“I don’t need him to keep myself safe,” Hazel rolls her eyes theatrically. “And I’m not even close to becoming a person that you once used to be.”

“You’re that person already,” she smiles pitifully. “And you’ve always been.”

Her statement causes something odd to blossom inside Hazel’s mind, something that she never thought would find its place there, something that she never thought would decide to settle and build its home underneath her skull. But it manages to accomplish the aforementioned task anyway as soon as the young woman admits that for once this dull, childish woman is right, instead of giving in to the habit of denying whatever she says.

“If you say so,” she shrugs, smiling softly, as she laces the necklace around her neck. “Either way, I’m taking the Giraffe. And I don’t care how you feel about it.”

“You never did,” she sighs, ready to walk away at any given moment.

“That is right,” Hazel smirks, the same smirk that Leslie flashed her not so long ago. Her mother is right indeed, she needs Leslie, she always did, even before they met, she has always been the weak one.

But is it really a drawback?

Or is it just another inherent part of the paradox that is our lives?

“Is it, mother?” She speaks for the last time, before she turns around and walks away, skipping the last few steps just like she used to as a child.

And has it ever felt better, to skip the last few steps?

* * *

Why do we crave for things we can’t have and why can’t we thoughtfully enjoy them when they finally come – the question that really seems impossible to get out of his mind.

“It’s about the whole forbidden fruit concept, isn’t it?” He finally speaks, since spelling things out always helps him to sort them. “Anything beyond our reach is what we find more attractive than anything within it. But when it becomes affordable, it also stops being the forbidden fruit that it once used to be.”

She only hums in response, staring at the passing conifers as if lost in some sort of a trance. It still hurts deep down, but it is the good kind of ‘hurt’, it is that kind of hurt that makes us feel alive – the pain that keeps us anchored to the reality’s shore.

“Sure everything’s fine?” He asks, truly hoping that the whole situation will not be the cause of yet another heavy mood swing.

“It has never been finer, ” she replies calmly, the softness of her voice surprisingly soothing, even for him. “Now has it?”

 Created: 12/24/19

Completed: 03/11/20

Edited: 03/14/20

[loveyboyslovin]

Sweet Surrender

NSFW ~ HundarNovaHD ~ Candy, Light Bondage, Dom/sub Undertones, Sub Brett, Oral Sex, Blindfolds

AO3

“We want to tie you up, cover you with candy and fuck you” 

Brett just looks up at them, staring for a long moment, his brows raised slightly as he tries to process the request. He wishes he could say that it’s the weirdest thing James and Aleks have ever said to him, he really does, but it doesn’t even come close, and maybe that’s saying something about their relationship.

But he keeps watching them, taking in the excited light in their eyes, the way Aleks shuffles from one foot to the other and James is practically bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. They look jittery and nervous, enthusiastic and lively, almost like they aren’t sure whether he’ll agree to it or not. As if he’s ever said no to anything they’ve suggested.

They’re just kids, really, and sometimes he wonders how they’ve ended up with him wrapped around their little fingers, how they can be the ones that always have him begging for more. He supposes that he should take it as an insult, but he just can’t bring himself to be offended when he sees the way they look at him; like he lights up their entire world, like he’s something special, like he’s beautiful.

“Fine by me, hunny”, he replies, the corner of his mouth quirking up a bit, and their answering smiles are so radiant that he wonders why he ever feels the need to question this.

As Aleks secures the rope around his wrists, fastening it to the headboard so that Brett’s arms have no choice but to remain above his head, Brett can’t help but look up at him. His hair is growing out a bit more, looking a little scruffier as the blond tips fade to brown, and Brett has the sudden urge to tangle his fingers in it. Aleks is getting a little chubbier these days, and Brett knows that he gets so self-conscious about it, but the little bit of roundness around his waist and belly is honestly so endearing, and after extensive hands-on research, James and Brett both agree he’s more fun to cuddle with now.

When Aleks finishes his task, his eyes flit to meet Brett’s, and he must see exactly what Brett is thinking, because he grins brightly and his cheeks flush a soft pink. As Aleks leans down slowly to kiss him, Brett lifts his head a little – more eagerly than he’d like to admit – to meet Aleks’ lips. It’s soft and sweet, a barely-there brush of Aleks’ lips against his own, but there’s so much love behind it that it almost hurts when Aleks finally pulls away, and Brett can’t help the soft whine that escapes his lips as he tries to chase the contact.

Aleks just giggles, a joyful little noise that may as well be the chiming of bells for how pretty it sounds, as he cups Brett’s chin and lightly thumbs at his bottom lip, “Don’t worry, baby, we’ve got all the time in the world.”

Brett just huffs impatiently, eyelids fluttering closed as he leans into Aleks’ touch, and Aleks makes an appreciative little humming noise as he scratches at Brett’s beard.

When Brett feels a shift in the mattress, he opens his eyes to see that James has joined them, and he looks just as giddy as Aleks. His hair is in the usual bun and his shirt is missing, and the view of James’ chest – the tan skin and underlying muscle, the smattering of dark hair that peeks out from the top of his waistband – it honestly makes Brett’s mouth water.

“Jesus, Brett”, Aleks breathes, and Brett’s eyes snap to meet his, “Your pupils legit just dilated like crazy.”

James chuckles, a warm rumble low in his throat, as he hovers over Brett, his fingers ruffling up Brett’s hair as he leans down to kiss him as well, whispering against his lips, “Like what you see, baby?”

Brett feels his cock stir and he makes a low noise as he shuffles around a bit, testing the strength of the rope binding his wrists, aching to touch both of them. James tuts him gently, not able to help the smirk that’s plastered on his face, “Hey now, no squirming or the candy is gonna go everywhere.”

Up until this point, Brett had pretty much forgotten about the pile of assorted candies stacked up on his chest. There are all sorts of varieties there: gummy worms, M&M’s, caramels, gummy bears, little chocolates and sour straps. Brett’s not the biggest sugar nut, and he doesn’t eat candy that often for the sake of his health, but for whatever reason, this lot looks especially tantalising.

“Well lookie what I found,” James chortles as he holds up the new bottle of lube he bought yesterday, waving it teasingly in the air above Brett, “Chocolate flavoured. Yummy!”

Aleks laughs as well when he sees Brett’s expression; a perfect mix of disbelief and mortification, and pats Brett’s thigh soothingly, “There’s always a first time for everything.”

Brett just rolls his eyes at the absurdity of the situation, frowning slightly when he realizes that neither of them are naked as well. James must pick up on his pointed look, because he smiles down at Brett with so much gloating affection that it makes him blush, “Right now is about us making you feel good.”

Aleks holds up the beautiful silk blindfold that Brett had previously agreed to wear, and Brett nods at him to let him know he’s still fine with it. He takes a deep breath as Aleks ties it neatly over his eyes and his world is enveloped in darkness. Any other person might find the sensory deprivation uncomfortable, but Brett has had plenty of experience with it over the years, and he’s grown to love how each of his other senses are heightened when the one is cut off. 

They leave him hanging for a few minutes, with only their soft breathing to keep him company, and he finds himself melting into the bed. Even with his arms bound above his head, he’s so comfortable that he thinks he could probably even go to sleep like this. They must be watching him closely, because the moment he really starts to relax, that’s when they get right into it.

They start slowly, coming in from both sides as they trail their fingers over his skin, and Brett whimpers as goosebumps appear in their wake. The fact that he can’t anticipate where they’re coming from makes it all the more intense, and he finds himself automatically arching into the touches. They’re sneaky bastards, lifting their fingers at one place and bringing them down at another so he never knows what to expect. Funnily enough, though, he realizes that he can tell who is who by their hands.

Aleks’ hands are slightly larger, his fingers long but a bit stockier, and Brett can obviously feel the ring on his finger, the cool band of metal a stark contrast to his hot skin. James’ hands are smaller, but not by much, and his fingers are slender and soft, and even thinking about them makes Brett’s breathing speed.

He feels Aleks’ fingertips ghosting up his thigh and his breath catches in his throat, but just before they get to where he desperately wants to be touched, they’re gone, reappearing up near his pecs. James is brushing across his stomach, scratching in the hair of his happy trail, and it makes the muscles in his belly flutter as he draws in a shaky breath. Shit. They’re gonna give him a fucking heart attack.

As if they’ve heard his exact thoughts, they get even worse. Brett can feel the shifting of weight as someone leans down, and suddenly he feels warm puffs of air against his stomach and a pair of soft lips pressing against his skin. Aleks. That’s definitely Aleks. He’d know those lips any day of the week, and even if he didn’t, the lack of beard burn would have been a dead giveaway. Aleks nips at him gently to earn a quiet groan, and suddenly, one of the gummy worms is slowly being dragged up the length of Brett’s chest. With a start, he realises that Aleks must have grabbed the tail between his teeth, and the mere visual of that inside his head has him moaning.

Aleks feeds the gummy worm to him, dropping it into his waiting mouth, and Brett can’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed by the action because the sweetness of lemon flavouring on his tongue is promptly met by another kiss from Aleks, who whispers against his lips, “Mmm, you taste so good, sweetie.” 

Never to be outdone, James does the same, instead choosing one of the sour straps, hovering over Brett as he feeds it to him slowly. Brett’s the first to admit that he’s a messy eater, so it’s no surprise that his lips are absolutely covered with the sugary coating by the time he’s finished. He can hear James chuckling at the sight of him, and suddenly James’ tongue is licking at Brett’s lips, wet and warm, as he cleans him up. When he’s done, he kisses Brett, gently pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, and it coaxes a soft little whine from him.

Then they’re both moving, James laying a feather-light trail of kisses down Brett’s body until he’s nestled against his inner thigh, while Aleks kisses Brett at the junction between his neck and shoulder, gently thumbing at his nipples until his back is arching off the bed with need. Brett’s mind is hazy with lust, and the lack of visual stimuli is making it even harder for his sex-addled brain to catch up with him.

“F-fuck, guys. Please. Just–”, Brett groans when he feels James mouthing at the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, so close to his aching cock, hard and leaking, but still not providing him with any relief. 

“Say it”, James growls, nipping at that delicate skin and causing Brett to twitch. Aleks’ voice is there as well, quiet but insistent, feeling like it echoes around in his head, “Come on, baby, say it. Say you want it.”

Fuck. They really are gonna kill him.

“Make me come. Please…”, Brett begs, not even giving a damn that they’ve got him under their spell yet again. 

The noises they make in return for that are low and hungry, and he’s at least relieved that he’s not the only one who’s affected by this. He can’t see them, but he knows that they’re looking at each other again, in that way where they can somehow read each other’s thoughts.

Compared to the silence of the room, the crack of the lube bottle cap opening sounds almost deafening, and a second later the liquid is being squirted onto his cock. It’s comfortably warm but the contact still makes his hips involuntarily buck upwards as he gasps at the sensation.

James laughs again as he licks a long stripe up Brett’s cock, humming appreciatively at the sweetness. Then his hand closes around the base and he takes Brett into his mouth where it’s hot and tight, and Brett really moans now, a desperate noise full of need that spills from his lips as his toes curl and his legs shake under James’ steady grip.

With James’ lips sealed around the head of his cock, and his tongue lapping at the slit, Brett feels like he could be in heaven or hell, maybe even both. He’s so lost to the intoxicating sensations that he barely even registers the pop of a can of soda being opened, the fizzing of bubbles as the carbonation reacts with the outside air. 

“Open up, honey”, Aleks croons, as if Brett’s mouth isn’t already open while he’s gasping for breath. 

Now that he’s focusing on it again, Brett can hear Aleks take a small sip of the soda, leaning down to meet Brett’s parted lips as he softly caresses his cheek. Aleks lets the liquid dribble into Brett’s mouth, and it’s sweet and cool and burns just right in his throat as he swallows it down.

Aleks can obviously see that he enjoys it, so he does it again. This time, though, James takes his cock deeper into his mouth before he has a chance to swallow, and Brett whimpers as some of the drink spills from the corner of his lips, the droplets trailing lazily down his cheek and jaw. Aleks dives down to meet them, his tongue laving over Brett’s skin to catch the sweet liquid, and Brett almost keens, arching into the touch.

Aleks kisses him, their lips clashing once more, and Brett notes that there’s almost a sense of desperation in the way that Aleks’ teeth click against his and his tongue invades Brett’s mouth, hungrily claiming him. He can only imagine what he looks like to them right now, but if it’s enough to affect them this much, it must be a damn good sight.

As if he wasn’t already overwhelmed enough, he suddenly feels the hot pad of James’ thumb press against his hole, massaging him gently, and it would have made him jolt if James’ other arm wasn’t slung over him to push him into the mattress. He knows that James is teasing him, knows that he just wants to put him even more on edge, but the promise of more is enough to have his heart beating out of his chest as he makes a choked noise against Aleks’ lips.

James is practically deep throating Brett now, pressing forward until his nose is buried in the dark nest of curls at Brett’s groin, and Brett is a trembling mess under him. A fitful moan escapes his lips when Aleks moves to continue his favourite pastime of marking Brett where it’ll be seen later, sucking and biting marks into his neck.

“Oh fuck…”, Brett gasps, tears threatening to overflow as he squeezes his eyes shut, as if it’ll make any difference behind the blindfold, “fuck–”

“Gonna come?”, Aleks murmurs, and Brett can feel his lips stretch into a wide, predatory grin against his neck. When he bites down again, it’s rougher, right on the border between pain and pleasure, and Brett’s toes curl in the sheets as another frantic noise echoes into the room.

And that’s when he falls apart. That’s all Brett has left in him. He arches and his legs spasm under James’ body as he comes with a feeble whine, feeling his cock pulse as James swallows around him. His orgasm feels like it lasts for years, an intense warmth radiating throughout his body that slowly fades into pleasant aftershocks.

When Brett finally slumps against the mattress, completely exhausted, James pulls off of him with an obscene, wet noise and moves up to kiss him, their lips connecting as James lazily explores his mouth. Brett can taste himself mixed with the sweet flavours of chocolate and gummy, and he knows that it’s sort of fucked up, but it still makes him twitch through another aftershock. When they pull apart, Aleks is nuzzling into the right side of his neck, sucking new marks here and there, while James leans down to trace the shell of his left ear with his lips. 

“Just as sweet as the candy…”