#switching men faster then she switch toothbrushes

[peelingitwithpeels]

Devi was in her maneater era this season and I loved that for her

[qslovebot]

KISS FOR YOUR LIFE: SPENCER REID

Summary: A BAU case leads the reader to take on an undercover role to flush out a ten-person mafia. Before the work can begin, things go awry and the reader has to improvise and pretend to seduce Spencer to keep her cover and arrest the real unsub.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings/includes: talk of murder, mentions of sex, suggested past experiences with misogyny, suggestive jokes, unsub is a radical feminist, swearing, arrests, guns, making out, sort of fluffy end.

Word Count: 4159

A/N: Written like an episode. I removed Rossi so... AU? First actual fanfic on here, tell me what you think?

Today was your first official day at the BAU, switching from two floors down as an underestimated agent to upstairs, with the Big League. Agent Hotchner decided he needed new, young-minded blood. He was notorious for picking the best of the best and after an intimidating interview with him and his brooding questions, he decided he wanted you on his team.

You had been here before, of course. You frequently visited the ever-chatting Penelope Garcia for lunch, sometimes in her office, sometimes heading downstairs for a slice of pizza or a salad. She vented about her issues, while you talked about the constant misogyny that ran through the men on your floor. She was five years older than you and decided that as your 'elder' she would put on the angry soccer mom look and kick their asses. But, lucky for you, two floors upward, the men didn't act like children on the job, so Garcia could keep her regular look.

Here it was, glass entrance, high ceilings. The air smelled like paper and was filled with a fresh sort of low mumbling and the small clicks of the keyboards. A semi-fresh start. Today you would organize your new desk, sort files, meet the others...

"Agent (Y/L/N), we have a case in Boston, we will be briefed on the jet. Get your things ready, we leave in twenty-five minutes," Agent Hotchner said as he walked by. He didn't stop for a single second, those dark dress shoes clomping heavily to the desks of your new fellow agents to inform them as well. So much for your plans.

Not wanting to appear unready, you rushed to set your things down and grab the few things you needed for the case. Hotchner had said always bring three spare outfits rolled to the smallest packing size possible, toiletries (toothpaste, toothbrush, hairbrush, and feminine hygiene products) as well as one extra pair of shoes. Those were already packed into a small bag, so in with those went your notebook, pens, and highlighter. You came prepared, so in no time, you were on the jet for the first time, exhilarated.

A hand was extended to you when you took your seat. It belonged to a man with caramel skin and a dazzling smile, "You must be (Y/L/N). The name is Derek Morgan." Anyone who used 'the name is' seemed like they felt superior in some way. It was used in the media to introduce someone of importance. 'The name is Bond, James Bond', ran through your head as you gratefully shook his hand.

"My name is Emily Prentiss and I... didn't quite catch your first name," a woman with a v-neck sweater also reached to shake your hand. "I think I may have heard it, but I must have forgotten."

"(Y/N)," you replied with a small smile. It felt nice to be greeted with kind eyes, rather than greedy ones. "It's not a very memorable name, don't worry."

Emily looked apologetic, but soon reverted to her previous smile. I was greeted by the blonde woman across the aisle, too far to shake my hand. "My name is Jennifer Jareau, I'm the media liaison, but you can call me JJ, everyone does. It's really great to meet you- for a moment I thought Penelope had made up a friend as a result of too many hours in front of a screen."

You laughed a little, ruffling your hair. She seemed outgoing, but I had already started profiling Derek Morgan and I wanted to stop there. Agent Hotchner sat down with someone I had never noticed on my visits to Penelope. I had noticed everyone else here on this jet at least once before, but... not him. How had you missed him?

He stood at about six-one, maybe six-two? He was thin, much the opposite to Morgan's greatly muscular arms. This man was calm-looking, quiet. His clothes said that maybe he was meticulous and orderly- he looked like the kind of person who didn't own a single pair of sweatpants. His face was chiselled, with a sharp jawline and cheekbones that carved the shadows on his face. His eyes, however, were much softer. Long eyelashes and dark eyes made them bigger, but they were slightly blocked by bronze-toned brown curls that at the end of his combed and gelled hair, wrapped around his jaw, neck, and face.

He was beautiful, if you were entirely frank with yourself.

And he didn't even notice you were there until Hotchner nudged his arm in a way that said 'say hello' the same way one would introduce two toddlers. You were sure you weren't a toddler and nor was this man, but it appeared you both may have been the youngest there.

When he looked your way, you wanted to look away, but couldn't. He seemed surprised to see you there and you were trying to play off the staring by introducing yourself. "Hi, I'm SSA (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I don't think we've met, it's nice to meet you." You extended your hand and he just shook his head no, his lips pressing into a tight line.

He didn't shake hands, you realized. Probably a slight germophobe. You cleared your throat, "I'm sorry if that was an uncomfortable gesture, I didn't know." Humiliating.

The tall man opened his mouth to say something, shut his mouth, opened it again but then turned a little pink and sat down immediately next to Hotchner and stared at his hands that were folded in his lap. You had thought you nailed pretty much every introduction, but this one? Fuck.

You reverted back to your business with a sigh, patting your knees. It felt like you had somehow lost something. JJ whispered to you, silently pointing to the tall man, "Dr. Spencer Reid, human encyclopedia, dictionary, and knows pretty much everything." You nodded a thank you and she nodded back.

Derek Morgan, however, tapped Emily Prentiss on the shoulder and mumbled, "Reid did his 'pretty-girl-freakout'."

Emily gasped, "Oh, he did!

The two seemed to have forgotten you were in front of them and they noticed your confusion in unison, both of them freezing up and chuckling nervously. You smiled an extremely awkward smile and left thinking about Dr. Spencer Reid for later as you got to the case.

This was about a female mafia boss who seemed to take on the personality, style, and characteristics of the taste of rich men and kill them after having sex with them. The woman was reported and seen by one witness to see her and that was the only person outside of this mafia who had seen her face, so they were working with the sketch artist and would have the picture ready and accurate upon our arrival.

Victimology was simple, she was after men who had too much power. She probably identified with being a radical feminist. She was after their money and had sex with them to dethrone them on the way. Possibly bordered on a personality disorder considering she seemed to be entirely all-in to her 'disguises'.

The funniest thing was the way they all looked at you when you announced those lines. Perhaps you would work yourself out of the 'child' stage faster than you thought.

The BAU hit the precinct in much less time than I had expected and on the ground, running. You were immediately given things to do and you were on top of it all, every order. That was until the drawing of the Mafia leader AKA 'The Seductress' was pulled up and the whole BAU gasped at how she looked EXACTLY like you.

"Do I need my cuffs?" Morgan joked. You had covered your mouth in disbelief and the rest of the room was doing double-takes.

You laughed nervously, "I swear... that isn't me, but oh my god..." Morgan was laughing and Emily and JJ whispering and had confused smiles. Spencer Reid stood in the corner, his hand on his cheek, seemingly studying the photo. He looked statue-like, borderline godly.

"Can this be used to our advantage?" Hotch launched back into technical thinking, brow furrowed. You looked at him, mouth open, but immediately shut it out of professionalism. What was going on in his head?

Reid spoke up, "If we position her just right and at the right time in one of the hotspots for that group, we can possibly get her to somehow trick the other members into some sort of turn-in."

Her. Indirect. Did you do something wrong?

"Or a simple appearance could start gossip and a possible flock to where she was spotted. As long as people aren't seeing double or reaching to do so, she can play as The Seductress." Emily said, looking at you. "Are you up to try, (Y/L/N)?"

All eyes on you. Your first day turned to chaos. But this was your job and you would prove your place here. So you agreed and in a whisk of an afternoon, you were transformed into the mirror image of The Seductress while you were talked through the plan through a radio. Turned out, so prove a professional place, you needed to make yourself look ridiculously unprofessional.

Pinned up hair, dark cat eye makeup, a dress similar to hers that happened to be on hand. Long, deep red, with a long slit up the side and your tits were practically falling out of it, but the dress fit and they were secure, so you dealt with it. There was no other space for a gun other than the side of your thigh where The Seductress kept hers knife. Now, you had to get going, meaning you had to face the BAU in the getup.

When you walked out, Derek Morgan hooted and whistled and Emily gave him a look that said 'oh lord' like an annoyed sibling. You smiled a little and essentially just kept walking, figuring if you moved, it would give them less time to stare at your tits.

Turning the corner, you noticed that Dr.Spencer Reid was much redder than he had been earlier on the jet. So maybe he really did think you were pretty. You caught yourself smiling at the thought, but shook your head free of any ideas. Professional! No crushes on Spencer Reid!

You arrived near the scene, dropped off by Hotchner. "You know what to do. Reid will be going with you to the crateyard, he will also be nearby when you head in. If you see The Seductress, do not make the arrest. If you can, lure her."

You nodded. Wow, first time in the field with the BAU and you had the leading role. No pressure, no pressure, just... everyone depending on you. But the pressure came back when you realized you had heard right and Reid was going with you, alone. You had done really well with the job so far today, minus finding the tall doctor extremely attractive. He came to stand beside you and since he was much taller than you were, you were sure he could look right down your dress without even trying. Not like anyone had to try, but he had the upper hand.

You ached to cover yourself, but that was a major risk. The Seductress was confident, she wouldn't cover-up. You got into the tinted car with Reid, him in the driver's seat and you in the passenger's seat. Silence crept up, but he turned the engine over and headed east to where the mafia was to meet up.

"Some first day," you mumbled nervously.

Reid seemed to think you had said something to him and he talked to you directly for what seemed like the first time. "P-pardon?" He had a stutter when talking to you and to be honest it was cute but there was no time to crush!

"Oh, I was just remarking to myself on how this is my first day and I'm already... so... out there." You sighed and pat your knees. The jitters crept up, but so did butterflies. "Nervous, I'm nervous."

He looked over and swallowed hard, so hard it was audible. Was he fighting the same urge to be friendlier or was he just fighting the urge to look at your tits like a twelve-year-old boy would? Either way, you were glad he was with you. He smelled like books, leather, and cologne and it was oddly calming.

You reached the other side of the crateyard in a few more minutes and he handed you your gun, which you shoved into the holster on your thigh. "You're going without a vest so... k-keep focused," Spencer said- and it seemed like he had so many words jumbled on the tip of his tongue, but refused to say them. You thought he was afraid to annoy you, as you knew he liked to give lengthy explanations. "I'll be behind, uh- the crates."

You smiled at him and watched him look away, his curls falling in his face. God, he was so gorgeous. If this went wrong, you were glad you would go with that shy look of his in the front of your mind. He pulled on his vest and you put out a hand and stopped him. "If they see you with the vest at all, in any way, they'll know what's happening."

He nodded, keeping his eyes from yours as he pulled on a plain black jacket over the vest. For a genius, he seemed to have his mind a little fuzzy tonight. In the dark of the night, the only lights were flickering lamps on high-beamed poles. Your heart was beating hard as you waited for the signal to begin to move.

"G-good luck," Spencer's words fumbled out of his mouth and I looked at him for a moment where he looked right back at you. He chewed on his bottom lip, eyelids fluttering as you tried to look anywhere else and there it was- the radio signal. The tension that was there in that brief moment defused. You gave him a small smile before opening the car door and standing tall, in the aura of The Seductress.

Spencer waited until you were out between the crates to leave the car. You heard the door shut gently behind you, but his footsteps were silent. Much quicker than you thought, there was a gruff voice that didn't belong to Spencer. "My lady, may I say what an honour it is to have you join us this evening." You spun to face a man in a dark suit. You didn't have The Seductress's voice, so you nodded in the most gracious way you could.

"Bernard and Lolita are waiting inside the abandoned building for the small exchange as well as the rest of us, but Mamacita... you're being tailed by the FBI." He said, pointing to the crate that hid Dr. Spencer Reid. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "I'll go kill him for you!"

So flat out, he wanted to kill Spencer Reid, a rotting smile on his face as if it was an act of kindness. He knew Spencer was there, he saw... but you weren't busted? God, this man was stupid.

"No," you said, in a quiet, yet strong voice, grabbing the gruff man by the shoulder pad. "He is my kill."

The man grinned an evil grin and you did your best to smile evilly in return. You showed him your gun and he rubbed his palms together. "The gluck and Glock," he chuckled. "Can I watch?"

He thought you were going to fuck and kill Spencer. Your heart skipped a beat and you tried hard not to show it. Oh no... how to work your way out of this... Spencer couldn't help you. Or... could he?

You glared at the man, "No, but I know that his team is on the way. Get Bernard, Lolita, and anyone else in on the next killings from that abandoned building and run straight west. Do not stop. I will catch up to you once I'm finished with the agent here." You improvised the best you could and this stupid man bought it. Little did he know that the team was stationed Westbound.

"Got it," his face was dazed and malevolent. "But I'm not leaving until I know you've got this handled, my lady."

"You question my skill?" You shot back, still acting.

He looked scared for a moment, "No, not at all, I just... You're a lot shorter than I was expecting."

You stared daggers, "And you insult me?"

"Just wanted to know you had it covered... in case something is fishy here..." was he really catching on or was he confused and just running through the precautions?

Fuck, you had been so focused on the cover you forgot you were a profiler. This man was small-minded, probably brought into this ordeal through family ties. Since he was so stupid, he was trusted with less... hence why he was outside the building as the lookout, rather than in on the meeting.

Why he wouldn't leave- he was so incapable of proper interaction he had never had the chance to be with a woman. Watching was the only way he would ever see. He was stupid and he was stubborn. He was not going to leave until he saw the beginning.

The best thing would be to let him stay for proof. "Fine. But when I give you my look, you run and get everyone running straight West." You narrowed your eyebrows at him and he looked like he was going to sweat out of his skin. But... this meant...

You had a few seconds, you rushed over to behind the crate to where Spencer stood, his gun in hand. "W-what are you-" he questioned in a whisper-yell.

"He's onto me, I need you to go along with this- can I kiss you, Dr.Reid?" You whispered back. His eyes went wide and his cheeks flushed pink. Once again, being professional called for being unprofessional. You really didn't want to kiss him- at least not now, not like this. He wouldn't speak and the mafia man was coming. "Reid, if I don't do this, he won't flush the group West and we'll both be shot and if not shot, targeted by a mafia!"

"Y-yes!" he practically squeaked, his back to the crate he was hiding behind. This really was the only way- this other man would not be talked down, because he was taught to just shoot, rather than listen and understand. "I'm sorry if I-"

You cut him off by reaching up, grabbing the collar of his shirt and kissing him. It took him a moment, but he kissed back. You could feel the heat off of his cheeks. The first day on the job, you had embarrassed yourself, gotten dressed like a Mafia killer, played the part, and now you were kissing Dr.Spencer Reid in a crateyard... and he was surprisingly not a bad kisser. He was a little sloppy the first few seconds but moments later, he figured it out. His one hand went on your jaw, the other on your waist, both of them shaking. You could tell that the shaking wasn't because the man watching you both right now had a gun, it was you.

You were making out with him, hard. Your body was pressed to his tightly against the crate and Spencer was holding you there. Your hands were still gripping his shirt. Messy altogether but your lips met in every perfect way. It was good, but for work. This was when you knew to stop- you had convinced the other man. You pulled away, turned your head and mouthed to the mafia man, 'GO' and he ran.

Now things would be extremely awkward. You pushed yourself away from Spencer whose hands stayed on your waist and face until you were entirely out of his reach. You laughed anxiously and he stood there, hands behind his back. That was... that was wow, but... it was for the case. For the case.

It was time to get moving. Spencer knew it, you knew it. The real Seductress was on her way. You turned your head over your shoulder and he was moving slowly, head down. You fought off a small smile. He was entirely red, gun still held loosely in his hand.

You turned your head and were met by a sharp blow to the face. Both of you had let your guard down. Stupid.

"I don't like impostors," said the female voice that was the source of the blow. Hell, it was her. Spencer clocked his gun into place and you turned, elbowing The Seductress in the chest. She returned with another hard blow that you ducked, spinning around her and kicking the back of her leg. She recovered quickly and shot up, punching you in the stomach. You lost your breath for a second and she took the opportunity to punch you in the jaw and pull a knife.

"Put the knife down!" Spencer called. His voice was stronger facing a woman with a sharp knife than it was when talking to you alone. "I know who you are, you want what's right for women, correct?"

The Seductress narrowed her eyes at him like her next meal, leaving you on the ground. Would Spencer shoot if she threw that knife? Odd she didn't have a gun on her. She must have been relying on the others for more protection. You stood up quietly, watching her slowly advance on Spencer. He had your lipstick smeared over his lips, he looked rough, but he held his gun out in front of him and had the other hand up to reason with her. "Men like you think yourselves above women. You, FBI, you think yourself better than men and women alike because you're the authority. Tell me, how do you like your women, Agent?"

He gulped, eyes flickering to you. You pulled out your gun. "I think... I think I'm a weak man and I'm no better than anyone. I don't deserve women." Spencer said, looking at the evil lady. In person, she looked a lot less like you.

"Lies. It's the instinct of men to feel superior to women. You'll have a lot less instinct when you're dead!" She snarled, lunging at him with her blade out. You pulled the trigger, she fell to the ground. Not dead, but wounded to pass out. Spencer narrowly jumped out of her way, watching her knife clatter to the ground.

You looked up at Spencer, bewildered. You had done it. You saved the case, took down a murderous mafia boss. It was only when Spencer pointed at your face and said, "Y-you're bleeding, (Y/N), are you okay?"- that you noticed your cut lip and the blood pouring from your forehead. But you also noticed he called you by your first name.

He reached a hand forward but retracted it when you winced from the sudden pain. Adrenaline took the pain away temporarily, you supposed. There were still things to be done. Spencer called for backup and a medic and watched as you cuffed the woman. She wasn't going to die, but she did need help.

Once medics arrived, Spencer drove you both back to the Westward situation, where ten arrests had been made. You were in a state of haze, so how Spencer's jacket got around your shoulders was a mystery. When you stepped out of the car, you were greeted by the rest of the agents.

"Are you okay?!" Prentiss was the first to greet you both. She grabbed you by the shoulders and looked at the nearly-dried blood on your skin. "We got worried when you didn't follow soon after, you got her?"

"Yeah," you smiled tiredly.

She grinned back. "Fill us in on the details on the way back, okay? Let's get you two cleaned up."

But Derek Morgan found Spencer, "Hey pretty-boy, is that royal rouge you've got on your lips there?" he teased. Spencer panicked and looked into the mirror of the nearest car, seeing that he did in fact have your lipstick on his mouth. He tried to wipe it off with his wrist, but it still stained. You wiped your own lip with your thumb and Derek caught you. "Okay, Miss Newbie, I see you."

Your eyes widened and Emily raised her eyebrows at you, a teasing smile on her lips. "It was to keep my cover. It's what sent those guys your way, one of them has serious sexual issues." You made sure they knew it- to save yourself and to save Spencer. Derek Morgan spun away with a huge knowing grin, back to Hotchner who was conversing with the Chief of Police. Emily pulled you away to the other medics and you shot Spencer a smile as you went.

He smiled back, still wiping off his mouth.

-tags

@ellyhotchner @softhairedhotch <3

[florbexter]

Blume, I think Thara is a chaotic king, but apart from that he's a bit too "perfect". I want Frong to see his vulnerable side or his dark side so they can be on more equal terms.

I think it’s true that, for now, we haven’t really seen a vulnerable or dark side of Thara beside him opening up about his father but it was, again, in the context of him comforting Frong. I thought long about what his dark side could be and I hope you like this little story ^.^

Darkness is just an illusion || [AO3 Link]

Thara felt the pulse of the man under his fingers, the nervous flutter, spiking, the rate faster and faster the more pressure Thara put on his neck. He was bigger than Thara, almost a head taller, but there was sweat on his temple and his eyes showed fear.

It was a paradox, Thara thought, or maybe not. Someone who put drugs in other people’s drinks was a coward, the scum under the scum, not someone who would stand his ground. He had tried to argue against Thara’s accusations but the little bottle they had found in his jacket and Bohn who had seen him putting the stuff into Boss’ drink wasn’t something he could go against.

Bohn was ready to go for blood and the way he had his hands around the man’s collar was threatening, the way he yelled into his face and it seemed weird, Thara thought, that he didn’t seem to realize that Thara had his hand around the man’s throat. A little more pressure there Thara thought and stared at his own fingers. A little more pressure and there would be unconsciousness. Easy as that. He knew exactly where to—

“P’?”  

Frong stood in the door that led to the corridor they were all assembled in, next to him a short woman with dyed red hair, it shone like a halo with the light behind her coming from the main room of the bar. She looked petit, but her eyes were fixated on the man against the wall and it was a mixture of murderous intent and tightly contained rage.

“P’?”, Frong said again and his eyes laid on Thara’s hand. Thara wasn’t sure why he didn’t immediately snatch his hand away. Maybe it was the voice in his head that wasn’t satisfied with the outcome of this. That this was his to deal with.

“Did they call the police?”, he asked, and the bar owner looked over to him briefly. Two men, giants, tall as well as broad appeared behind her.

“We are going to take care of him,” she said, and as Bohn wanted to argue Frong seemed to have enough of the situation and took both of them by their arms and dragged them with him.

“I wasn’t done with him!”, Bohn yelled and Frong let go of his arm to push him softly away.

“Boss is throwing up,” he said and nodded towards the gathering of their friends around Boss. His complexion was damp and ashy, he visibly shook and was bent over a bucket. It didn’t take more for Bohn to switch from angry to concerned and he quickly walked away.

Frong’s other hand was still around Thara’s wrist and it was the same hand he had had around the man’s throat and he stretched his fingers, startling Frong into looking down.

There was a frown between his eyebrows, but no disgust just concern, and Thara felt the need to say something. He didn’t even know what he would say. An apology, an explanation? But before he could open his mouth Frong looked up again and tugged him along.

“You should look after Boss. Duen has already called an ambulance.”

And just like that, a switch flipped inside Thara and he took over Boss’ care until the paramedics arrived.

At the hospital, he handed the little bottle over, so they would know what they were dealing with, and during all of it— During reassuring a distressed Mek that everything was going to be okay. During explaining to the ER doctors what happened. During the hours of waiting for the drugs to flush out of Boss’ system, during all of it Frong made sure to stay as close to Thara as possible. Whenever they stood or sat next to each other he touched him. He entwined their fingers, put his hand on Thara’s shoulder, pressed their thighs together or even just laid a warm hand on the small of Thara’s back.

Frong didn’t avoid touch. They had held hands or had greeted each other with a peck on the lips in public often enough that Thara knew he wasn’t against public display of affection, but this level of tactile contact was new. Not that Thara was complaining.

He just was confused.

Frong had seen him choking that guy, right?

They waited until they were told Boss was okay and that he would stay overnight. Bohn and Duen went first to pick up some clothes for Mek and Boss, followed by Ram and King, and when they climbed into a taxi Frong asked him softly: “Are you okay?”

And maybe he should have waited until they weren’t in a car together with a stranger but Frong’s calmness irked him.

“Not really,” he murmured and looked down when Frong intertwined their fingers on the middle seat. He didn’t retreat his hand.

It was grounding.

“Yeah… that was frightening what happened to Boss. It was luck that Bohn saw what happened.”

“Yes,” Thara confirmed slowly, “and…”

Was Frong being oblivious on purpose?

“You saw what I did, right? It wasn’t that dark in the hallway.”

Frong threw him a look and nodded. He started to caress Thara’s hand with his thumb and looked ahead again.

Thara felt his heart in his throat because he knew Frong wanted to say something. Had he just concealed his concerns?

“It’s nice,” Frong said and the little movements of his thumb on Thara’s hand was almost hypnotic. He tilted his head, and the street lamps of Bangkok illuminated his face in an uneven rhythm. “Maybe not nice… but reassuring.”

Thara raised an eyebrow. “Reassuring that I,” he quickly glanced towards the taxi driver and bent to get closer to Frong and murmured, “reassuring that I almost choked someone?”

“Do you mean that instead of almost you definitely defended someone? That you put a stop to someone being hurt?”

“I wasn’t…” But he couldn’t end his sentence as they stopped at the curb of Frong’s dormitory and the driver turned towards them to collect his fee. Thara hadn’t even realized that Frong had told him the address of his residence.

+++

“You make it sound nicer than it was.” Like he had been some hero. Frong looked at him through his reflection in the mirror, toothbrush in his mouth, and just raised an eyebrow. Yeah. Maybe continuing their conversation while Frong was unable to answer wasn’t the best idea, but he needed to say some stuff without Frong trying to dismantle them.

“I was ready to hurt that man! Ready and willing.” He heavily sat down on the toilet seat. It was a very small bathroom so he essentially blocked Frong’s way who could either step over Thara’s legs or sit down on his lap. He did neither. He turned and leaned against the tiny sink.

“I’m a med student,” Thara said and willed Frong to understand, “I’m not supposed to want to hurt someone.”

Frong continued to brush his teeth and seemed to wait for Thara to say something else but everything that had been in his mind was gone. Because in the end, it boiled down to him not being allowed to have those urges. It doesn’t matter how he voiced it. It was wrong.

“Let me ask you this,” Frong said finally and put his toothbrush back in the holder next to Thara’s. “If they brought the man in now, and you would work in the emergency room, and he was injured… would you help him?”

“Of course,” Thara said because that wasn’t the point and—

“You would treat him because you want to be a doctor because you want to help people regardless of what you already know about them… I think it’s allowed for you to be a human being and feel human emotion especially when your friends are involved. No one wants you to be a robot. You will have to make tough decisions soon enough, don’t beat yourself up about this.”

Thara sighed and stared down at his hands.

“Do you think they ‘took care of him’?”

Frong shrugged and pushed against Thara’s legs with his own until Thara made space for him to stand between them.

“It’s a gay bar. In the end, even if they called the police, we always have to look out for us ourselves, right?”

Thara mhmmed and put his forehead on Frong’s stomach, which was surprisingly comfortable for the sixpack-situation going on under his shirt.

“What did you mean with reassuring when we were in the taxi?”, he asked, because that had sat in the back of his mind since Frong had said it. Itching and irritating.

He felt how Thara bent a bit over him and put his hands on his shoulder, massaging the tension in Thara’s back with gentle strokes.

“It’s reassuring that you have vulnerable moments too.”

“I’m plenty vulnerable,” Thara murmured. What was Frong talking about?

“You like to solve my problems, yes, but that doesn’t mean that you are as vulnerable with me as I’m with you.”

“It’s my j—”

“If you were going to say it’s your job, I will kick you out. I’m not your job.”

Thara pressed his lips together. He wanted to say that. He felt responsible for Frong, for his wellbeing, for his happiness.

“I’m part of this relationship, too,” Frong murmured and the tone of his voice told Thara that he had wanted to say this for a long time now. “You can be vulnerable with me.”

Thara knew that. But it was hard.

He breathed in, smelled the bar on Frong, the aftershave he used, a bit of the minty toothpaste. Took another deep breath and tried to breathe the tension out.

“I wanted to hurt him so badly,” he finally whispered, a broken sound, the words more slurred than pronounced and Frong was still bent over him, like a warm cage of reassurance, his hands on Thara’s back and the warmth seeped through his shirt.

“I know,” he murmured. “Me too.”

 end

[cagedbirdsong]

pearls, chapter three

hey guys! so i’m not even going to try to make up an excuse for why my beloved pearls hasn’t been updated in approximately seventeen centuries, but here ya go! lord knows it’s been long enough. 

catch up on chapter two here!

really hope you enjoy this one! as always, feedback is welcome, encouraged, and appreciated! 

III. This is the Army, Mr. Jones

Four and a half weeks and Jamie Fraser had not so much as seen an airplane. The excitement (and impatience) seemed to build with each day, working him up to the point where a knot sat just below his ribcage. It dissipated overnight, his childish wonder replaced by steadily increasing disappointment.

Ian groaned across the table, rubbing at his shoulder. “At this rate, Jamie, I wonder if we should pack our bags and join up wi’ the army boys,” he grumbled around a mouthful of powdery eggs (“Get you boys used to real food!” the cook had said, laughing at their horror. “No time to scramble decent eggs when shit’s running down your leg and you’re crouched in the mud in some unnamed fucking ditch!”). Jamie gave a small grunt of agreement, eyed his own fork with distaste, and swallowed with a grimace.

“Ye think they make everyone wait this long, or are we just beyond helping?” Jamie put down his fork, one eyebrow quizzically raised, and leaned forward to rest his head on his forearms on the table. “A month and then some and I couldna even tell ye how ta open the damned cockpit.”

Ian raised a mug of stale juice in mock toast, muttering something under his breath along the lines of “at least we still have clean toothbrushes.”

But neither of them really knew how long that would last, either. First their shower privileges, then powdered eggs… next they’d be prohibited from brushing their teeth with anything other than the brush they used to polish their shoes.

Jamie began to wonder if perhaps the glorious life of a pilot was a fairytale after all.

All of his wonderings were proven false the first time they dropped him behind the wheel in the cockpit of a beat up, but still shiny Mosquito NF. He fit in the seat like he was made to be there, despite the clammy palms and nervous sweat on his brow.

“Now,” Weinstock’s voice boomed from Jamie’s left, “I trust that ye’ve all been using your time wisely and becoming accommodated with our birds.” Two months into this hellish endeavor and the first taste of what actual piloting must be like. They had first been shown a plane three weeks ago, and spent hours every day after PT and mealtime to become familiar with the layout and the way everything worked. Jamie and Ian had spent quite a fair deal of their free time on the tarmac as well, and it wasn’t something that Weinstock hadn’t noticed. Hence why Jamie was currently the first student perched inside the Mosquito’s belly, in a puddle of his own sweat and his heart hammering incessantly in his chest. He could practically feel Ian’s nervous excitement from the crew seat behind him. “-Fraser and Murray here will demonstrate that. I trust you all to pay close attention, and maybe learn a thing or two.” Jamie hadn’t even realized Weinstock was still speaking, and swallowed quickly, swiping his palms discreetly on his pants as the older man’s face appeared at the side of the cockpit.

“Captain,” Jamie greeted with a dry tongue.

The man almost smiled. “Fraser.” He turned his head to peer back at Ian. “Murray.” A moment of silence. “You boys are up for this, ain’t ya?” Jamie’s grin and Ian’s enthusiastic nod spoke for themselves. Weinstock sucked his teeth. “Mm. Thought so. Right, you’re all well and good out here, our strip boys have made sure the old girl’s not quite too old. There’s a full tank and everything out here’s all sealed up. How’s she look inside, boy?”

Jamie cleared his throat and turned to inspect the plane. All gauges set to zero. All rudder pedals and trim switches in the proper positions. Receiver unit turned on and set to the air captain’s frequency. He didn’t look back up at Weinstock when he replied. “All good, sir.”

“Good. Murray, you make sure this hothead here doesn’t do anything stupid. Keep an eye on those gauges boys, take her up too fast and you’ll be coming back down even faster. Your guns will shoot blanks, but go ahead and give her a few test shots while you’re up there, get a feel for how she flies, alright?” He didn’t wait for an affirmative before closing the hatch and banging a hand on the glass. “Start her up, Fraser.” His voice was muffled and his breath momentarily fogged the window, but Jamie couldn’t miss the hint of a smile on his face.

He took a deep breath, glanced over his right shoulder at Ian, and started the engine.

It sputtered for a moment, not quite roaring or purring to life like he had expected, and then started with a clank, the plane suddenly coming to life. The needles on the gauges jumped, the lights flashed on in unison, and the propellor kickstarted with a whir.

“Alright, Jamie,” Ian’s voice came through his headset, slightly garbled and out of time with his mouth, but steady and reassuring. “Maybe try not to bring us down prematurely?”

Jamie wanted to laugh, but just swallowed thickly and nodded instead, hands taking the yoke and guiding the nose of the plane forward and right towards the strip of asphalt they would be taking off from. In his mind, all of the formulated steps he had studied for how to take off melted away. On instinct, he pushed the yoke forward and the engine hummed in agreement, the aircraft steadily picking up speed as it bounced down along the pavement.

Towards the end of the strip, Jamie’s heart whispered a prayer - Hail Mary, full of grace - and he pulled the yoke. The plane jumped, skittered forward a few feet, and then the nose lifted and he felt the wheels lift off the ground.

And they were flying.

Ian let out a small whoop of excitement and Jamie grinned, releasing out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as he looked at the dials, slowly bringing the plane up to altitude. When he leveled it off and gave the bird back its nose, she flew straight and steady, the contented rumble of the engine seeping into his bones.

The radio crackled in their headsets, and then the smiling voice of Captain Weinstock trickled through. “Well done boys, well done. Give us a loop around to the right and give those guns a fire.”

Ian answered for him, and Jamie rolled right, the wing of the plane easily dipping to carry them in a graceful arc. He moved his thumbs to the triggers on the yoke, and fired as they came out of the turn.

Ian clapped his shoulder in excitement, and Jamie’s hands momentarily trembled with nervous thrill. He gave off another few shots, and then let Ian have a go with the secondary weapons. As they turned in another wide loop, Jamie was able to look down and see the crowd of men gathered on the tarmac, many with their hands pressed to their ears, and many with their hats in their hands, waving in excitement.

Jamie grinned, and turned to meet the beaming face of his best friend.

The next few months flew by. Literally. The boys were up in the air twice a week at first, rotating flying shifts with the other recruits. When they weren’t flying, they were sitting in hot, close quartered lecture halls, listening to one of the corporals yammer on about the plane, the war, the whole bloody ordeal. The further into the training they progressed, the less Jamie seemed able to believe it. It was like sitting in a locked room, watching the chaos happen outside the window. Germans invaded Poland. France declares war…

On a cool morning in September they received the news.

“Boys, we are now at war with the Germans.” Major Hammond was pacing back and forth in front of the room, hands clasped behind his back. It was quiet enough that Jamie could have heard a pin drop. A few murmurs sounded from the back of the room, but everyone fell silent as Hammond turned to face them all. “We expect it won’t be long before the Americans follow suit. Looks like we’ll be having another world war.” A hush fell over the room, broken only by the harsh sound of someone breathing. “You best see your assigned officers, find out where you’ll all be headed.”

Hammond wrung his hat between his hands, and looked at each and every one of them as his eyes passed over the crowd. “Good luck to you, men. And may God have mercy on your souls.”

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