#t;loftylockjaw

[zombiebabysitter]

LOCATION: Wicked's Rest Trail TIMING: Current PARTIES: Charlie & Wyatt (@loftylockjaw) SUMMARY: While on a hike through the woods to catch up, Charlie and Wyatt run into a Sianach. They have to run for their lives. CONTENT WARNINGS: Talk of grief

“This is fucking terrifying!” Charlie exclaimed from the inside of the lamia’s mouth, though at the same time? This was fucking metal as fuck. “Run, Barlow! Run!”

Time had passed between when Charlie had been stabbed and now. He’d healed enough to be allowed to adventure on his own, but not enough to go back to the crazy activities he had been doing before all of this happened. It was enough to drive him crazy, to make him feel itchy all over because he couldn’t occupy his mind with something other than the grief and loss of his friends. He spent so much time out and about because he didn’t want to have Finn stuck dealing with the emotions that were radiating off of Charlie. He hated it. And so, that’s how he found himself messaging Wyatt to go on a hike with him. If he couldn’t go alone, at least he’d have his muscle wall of a gator friend to have his back in case something happened… again. 

They’d met up at one of the many trailheads to do nothing more than shoot the shit and hike. “See? I didn’t go alone this time.” Charlie had said as soon as they’d gotten out of their respective cars. “I can be responsible. But I’m going crazy being stuck indoors and if I have to stay and rest one more fucking day, I’ll lose my fucking shit, I swear to god.” Charlie rolled his eyes at himself before walking off toward the start of the trail. “It’s good to see you again,” he quickly added, turning around and smiling at his friend. Despite everything, Wyatt was still a good friend to Charlie. Despite everything, they still were. 

Walking was easy, talking about this, that, and the other or falling into a comfortable silence. There were occasional rustles in the trees and underbrush, but nothing to make Charlie stand at attention because, of course, there was wildlife out here. It was nature, after all. Still, he found himself looking over at every little noise, afraid that it would be that guy who came after him, or something worse. 

—

“So proud of you,” Wyatt responded with a hint of sass, wanting desperately to get back to where they’d been before that fucking hospital room. It still hurt, sure, but he was willing to look past that for a sense of normalcy. Following closely behind as they approached the trail, Wyatt lifted his head to meet Charlie’s gaze when he realized he was being spoken to. “Yeah. You too.” The response was delivered with a smile that, while lacking its usual carefree nature, was genuine. Wyatt had kind of been in hiding since the whole ordeal with Samir, finding that his nightmares were taking on new forms. As much as he tried to pretend he was fine, the guilt weighed heavy on his mind, always returning full force the moment he was left alone with his thoughts. It’s why he tried so hard not to be left alone lately, but Charlie had been there. He’d seen it happen. He’d found Wyatt after and tried to console him. Seeing Charlie on the path in front of him now felt no different from seeing him crouched on the other side of those bars. 

Wyatt’s hands were trembling and he shook them out as he cleared his throat and tried to pay attention to the small talk. The silences in between were harder, but not foreign to him. He was trying to just appreciate where they were. Nature, and shit. And also the fact that Charlie hadn’t abandoned him completely, even if that would’ve been the wiser thing to do. 

“So… how’s the new house?”

—

Watching as Wyatt seemed to have the weight of the world on his shoulders, Charlie paused and fought the urge to put out a hand and rest it on his friend’s shoulder. Instead, he nudged his friend gently in the side with a searching gaze in his eyes. He’d noticed his shaking hands, noticed the way that Wyatt wasn’t entirely all-too present with him. But could he blame him? Not at all. “I get if you need a distraction,” Charlie said gently, raising his brows at the other, “but I’m also here if you want to talk, okay? Always.” And after that, Charlie kept walking, back to his chipper self, leading the way on the trail. 

“The house is… sans furniture.” The rockstar finally admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. “Turns out, it’s hard to get furniture and find a style that makes sense. Starting from scratch sucks.” Charlie rolled his eyes as he thought about all the furniture he and Finn were going to have to build together. He wondered if they’d have a good time or end up yelling at the furniture. He wasn’t above yelling at inanimate objects and never had been. “But there’s a bed and a dining table and chairs, so…” he trailed off, then shrugged again. “Better than nothing?” 

Charlie found himself at a fork in the trail, then decided to go right, scuffing his boots against the dirt path before he kept walking, turning around to look at Wyatt for a moment, a bright smile on his face. “Oh yeah! You’ll have to come over and check out the recording studio that was put in the basement! I’ve got a soundproof booth, all my guitars, my keyboards, and a bunch of sound editing equipment. I’ve got a whole fucking setup, it’s amazing.” There was an excitement that entered Charlie’s voice as he began to talk about his music, it was clear that it was more to him than just fame. That being able to play and write music was its own reward.

—

The offer was kind, and of course Charlie felt the need to extend it. But Wyatt was reluctant to accept, knowing that it all came with more baggage than he felt like unpacking. Not on Charlie’s part, not really… most of that luggage belonged to the misguided shifter. So he just nodded in thanks, acknowledging it without committing to anything as he followed behind Charlie on the trail, stepping over a large root that'd grown across the path. 

It was very like Charlie to rush into moving before he'd even managed to furnish the place, and it drew an amused chuckle from Wyatt. “Better than nothing,” he agreed, “but I hope you've at least got a fridge. Actually, scratch that, I bet you're just ordering takeout for every meal, huh?” He grinned impishly, having taken great pleasure in hounding his roommate for always eating out and constantly insisting on cooking them meals to keep in the fridge. 

Brows rose when Charlie started getting excited about his studio, followed quickly by a grin. “That's awesome, man. You're really set on stickin’ ‘round here, huh?” He was… glad, mostly. He didn't love how dangerous it'd been for his friend so far, but he was selfishly happy that Charlie hadn't decided to fuck off to someplace he couldn't follow. “Yeah, I'll for sure come check it out.” He'd never been in a proper recording studio, having fully stuck to the live performance side of things his whole life. It would… probably be intimidating, if he was honest with himself. Ah well. 

—

Raising his hands in surrender to Wyatt’s correct theory of ordering takeout, he shrugged his shoulders with a sheepish smile across his lips. “Listen, man. I can’t cook for shit, you know that.” He was quick to say as they walked. “Like, please teach me the basics, I’m begging. Finn and I can’t eat takeout for the rest of our lives.” Charlie pinched the bridge of his nose with a laugh that was clearly at his own expense. “I’ll pay you, I’ll do whatever the fuck you want, just take me on as your student, I’m begging.” He clasped his hands together and shook it back and forth in a pleading motion at Wyatt. 

“Yeah, I really am.” Charlie then spoke in response to him putting down roots. “Despite it’s weirdness, I like it here. And with my affliction, it’s probably good to stick to an area where I can fit in rather than stick out, you know?” His hand went to his arm, where the bite was, covered with bandaging. His gaze went far away as if stuck somewhere else. Every time he was reminded of the reality of things, he remembered everything he was running from. Running from the death of his friends, the reality that they were well and truly gone. 

“Damn right, you will! If you want to record anything, just let me know, I know people.” He shot the other a playful wink, knowing that he was people. “I feel like things are looking up after everything that happened.” He spoke, referring to the attack of his friends. “Sure, some setbacks with a literal demon stabbing me, but… I’m nothing if not resilient.” Charlie shrugged his shoulders, ignoring the nagging feeling that he was pushing something away, something that threatened to bubble to the surface every night when he was by himself. 

As they walked, the forest took on an eerie silence that not even Charlie could yap through to ignore. “Weird,” he murmured to Wyatt as his gaze looked through the treeline, seeing a few small animals running through the brush, but thought nothing of it. “Huh,” he spoke before continuing forward.

—

“I tried teaching you the basics, and you scorched my fuckin’ pans,” Wyatt laughed, shaking his head. “They got classes for that, man. Burn their shit.” It wasn’t that he really minded teaching Charlie, it was just that that probably meant that Finn would be around, and Wyatt didn’t really want any part of that. He nodded in agreement when Charlie went on to say that this was a place he’d fit in better once he was… undead. Food would probably be easier to come by at least, since Charlie didn’t strike Wyatt as the type to suddenly be okay with killing people for food. His loss.

The conversation turned to Caleb, and Wyatt frowned. He was not making the connection between the word ‘demon’ and the literal, actual thing that existed, figuring it was just a turn of phrase. It felt harsh, but then so was stabbing someone who Wyatt couldn’t imagine had given Caleb any reason to be stabbed. His messages had gone unanswered thus far, but the next time Wyatt saw Caleb around town, they were going to have words. “That’s good, at least. That things are lookin’ up. Hope it stays that way.” 

“Hm?” Lost in thought, Wyatt hadn’t noticed how deathly-quiet the woods had become. He did now, though, and slowed to a stop. “Wait.” He glanced around them, feeling his proverbial hackles raise. There was something out there. Blinking away his blue eyes, yellow ones taking their place, Wyatt used his thermal vision to try and spot anything hiding in the underbrush. There was a vibration behind him, a pretty sizable one, even though it wasn’t paired with a sound that matched. Confused, Wyatt turned and saw the heat signature of something pretty big lurking in the distance, and he stepped toward Charlie. “We should go,” he urged the other in the direction that moved away from the thing he could see, opposite of the trail itself. 

—

Charlie huffed and puffed as Wyatt spoke of his ruined pans. “I replaced them with top-of-the-line shit!” He retaliated with a groan. “And I bought you those premium fuckin’ steaks you had been talking about.” He pouted and stomped his feet in protest as they kept walking. “But fine, I get it. You don’t want me around, it’s fine.” He raised his hands in clear submission, ready to turn to the next subject. 

He watched as Wyatt went somewhere else, but knew it wasn’t his place to comment, not anymore. Instead, he kept looking in the tree line, then watched as Wyatt stopped and his eyes flickered to their reptilian yellow ones. Charlie watched him, then followed his gaze. He didn’t see what the other saw, which wasn’t too surprising. “Uh, what is it?” He found himself asking, unsure what was out there. He wasn’t sure he wanted to stick around to find out. 

He then nodded his head, deciding to follow Wyatt’s instincts on this, and followed his friend from the trail, but that’s when the large beast moved closer. One moment they were alone, and the next, there was a large deer-like monstrosity with a bright red head. “What the fuck…” Charlie whispered, eyes going wide as he watched it charge another deer, butted it with its head, and the deer fell down, dead. 

Charlie reared back, gripping Wyatt’s arm, frozen in place. They were in serious danger now, but how the fuck were they supposed to get out of here? That thing was fast. “Wyatt… what the fuck?” He whispered, unable to tear his gaze from the mutant deer, lest it charge at them next.

—

It didn't look like either of them were going to be able to outrun this thing, and it was facing them down now. “Don't know,” Wyatt growled, heart beating quickly in his chest as he tried to figure out the best course of action here. Seemed like getting them both the fuck out of dodge ASAP was the move, and that meant he was going to have to shift. He prayed that it'd function as intended this time, none of this half-assed crap that'd been happening in the ring. But the jeans had to go, those were a bitch and a half to rip through. Also he liked them, damn it. “Start runnin',” he instructed Charlie, gaze fixed on the creature. “I'll catch up.” He was already kicking off his shoes, motioning for Charlie to head in the direction of the ocean with a jerk of his head, disrobing in record time and starting the shift.

The red headed deer (why did redheaded things hate him so much?) lowered its head and started to charge. Wyatt closed his eyes and focused, pissed that it took so much concentration lately when it was supposed to be like second nature. No, first nature. This was his natural state of being. Still, his body complied (much to his relief) and the monster barreling toward them started to look smaller as he towered into the air. Without waiting for the whole thing to be done, Wyatt turned tail and ran after Charlie, catching up with him easily. “Hold on!” he shouted as he scooped the musician up in his mouth, careful not to bite down and cause harm. The monster was close behind, thrashing those red antlers around and making a sound that made elk calls sound like soothing lullabies. Wyatt picked up the pace, loping along the forest floor, dodging trees and leaping over fallen logs, all while keeping his jaw locked in place half-open to keep Charlie safe. 

The trees began to thin, and with a sinking feeling in his stomach, Wyatt realized he could see the ocean. But it was… very far below them. The cliff's edge came up suddenly and the lamia skidded to a stop, sending dirt, grass, and pebbles flying over the edge. He swung his head around to look at their pursuer, who had lost some ground but was not slowing down. 

At a loss, the shifter peered carefully over the edge. Fuck. He let Charlie climb out of his mouth, then held out his arms like he wanted to pull him in for a hug. “... I think we gotta jump.”

—

As soon as Wyatt instructed him to start running, Charlie didn’t need to be told twice. He remembered all of his skipped gym classes back in high school and cursed himself as he sprinted as fast as he could away from the creature with the bright red head. Then, he was being scooped up, holding back a yelp as he realized it was Wyatt helping him out. 

He allowed himself to be carried, though the whole experience felt surreal and made everything feel like an out of body experience. “This is fucking terrifying!” Charlie exclaimed from the inside of the lamia’s mouth, though at the same time? This was fucking metal as fuck. “Run, Barlow! Run!” He shouted, having no other way to help out than shout words of encouragement. 

When Wyatt opened his mouth, Charlie scurried out with a wild look in his eyes, staring over the cliff’s edge, then back at his friend. “I think we have to jump, too.” Charlie replied with a deep breath before wrapping his arms around Wyatt and closing his eyes tightly. “Jump, man!” Charlie shouted, noticing the devil deer running straight for them. “JUMP!” He shouted again before using all his weight with Wyatt’s to jump over the edge of the cliff. 

For a moment, they were falling through the air, and Charlie felt his heart drop through his stomach. Charlie took a deep breath and held it before they hit the water, going under, under, under. They began to float back up, and Charlie gasped for breath as soon as they resurfaced. He opened his eyes, still clinging to the lamia for dear life as he looked back up at where they had jumped to see an angry evil deer staring down at them, but not following. “Holy fucking shit, we lived!” Charlie shouted, letting out a laugh of astonishment. He let go of Wyatt, splashing him with a huge grin on his face. “We fucking lived!”

—

As they plummeted toward the water, Wyatt curled his body around Charlie, twisting in the air to make sure he was going to hit it first. He tried to angle himself to take the blow on his neck and shoulders, finding that to be the sturdiest part of him—no teeth had ever gotten through the natural armor there, after all. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs, but he held Charlie firmly against him until he felt their velocity slowing. Then, the lamia released his friend, eyes snapping open and nosing him toward the surface. They broke through the waves, Wyatt sucking in a deep breath and relishing the ache—they'd lived. Charlie was goddamn right. Laughing as the man let go of his head to splash him, Wyatt blew saltwater out of his nose in a misty spray, then swam close again and nudged Charlie with his shoulder. “Climb on, Evel Knievel, I'll get us back to shore.” And then came the long trek back up to the car. Well, it looked like they were still getting their hike after all.

—

Charlie grinned brightly as he was misted by Wyatt, shaking his head as he climbed onto his friend’s back. “I can’t believe we did that.” He muttered as Wyatt swam them to shore. “I mean, for real. That was kinda fucking freeing, wasn’t it?” He found himself rambling on, the thrill of the jump still coursing through his veins. “We’ve gotta get back to our fucking roots, you and me. Scuba diving, ridiculous shit that bonds us together because if we think about the shit that’s going on in our lives, we’ll fall apart.” Charlie blinked, realizing that was the most honest he’d been with himself in a while.

After they got to shore, Charlie climbed off of his friend’s back and patted his arm. “Thanks for the lift, man.” He spoke with a grin. “Guess we’re walking all the way back to our cars, huh?” Charlie pulled out his soaked phone and frowned, hoping it would turn on. It didn’t. “Welp, I have no sense of direction and my phone is ruined.” He announced, looking toward the other for a hopefully better sense of direction.

—

“Hey, you’re the only one fallin’ apart in this equation,” Wyatt argued, even though they both knew it wasn’t true. “Anyway, yeah. We should.” He laughed again as he watched Charlie pull out his phone. “Yeah, and mine’s… wherever the fuck in the woods my clothes are. I’ll get you to your car and go back on my own, in case that big bitch is still around.” Not having his clothes meant he wasn’t shifting back—he’d rather risk someone seeing him like this than he would someone seeing him human and nude. The last thing he needed was another trip to jail, this time for public indecency. Fuck’s sake. 

The pair struck off up the easiest path they could find back to the top of the ridge, Wyatt making sure to give the area where they’d seen that pissed off mega-deer a wide berth. The lamia had to slow down his usual gait, walking on all fours to better match Charlie’s speed as they tramped through the woods. He had a pretty good sense of where they’d come from, and didn’t think the trail head would be all that far off from where they’d come topside, it wasn’t like they’d been hiking for hours when they had to book it. Maybe an hour, tops. “If you’re wiped… I will let you ride me,” the lamia snorted. “Or if your feet are screamin’ for bein’ wet n’ shoved into shoes. Can’t imagine.” 

—

Unable to suppress the smirk that was growing on his features, Charlie turned to Wyatt and looked him over. “You sound like you’re just looking for an excuse to hold me, man.” Charlie shot at his friend with a soft laugh. “I can handle myself, I’m a big boy.” Charlie looked down at his soaked clothes, glad he didn’t wear his favorite boots today. “Can put one foot in front of the other just like you can.” 

As they walked, Charlie let out a tired sigh. It was easier to run away from the grief he’d been suppressing for so long. It was so much easier to outrun instead of face it head-on. Moments of adrenaline with Wyatt led to philosophical thinking that he didn’t need to go through. He’d already been through so much with his friend. God forbid he made it worse. But still, the more he ran away, the more the threat of the grief threatened to swallow him whole. Charlie scuffed his feet against the ground as the pair walked, gaze downward and sullen instead of the usual cheer that Charlie could so easily wear. 

“I’m… struggling.” He finally spoke, only having voiced such feelings to Finn. “Like the grief, it’s catching up with me and I don’t know what the fuck to do.” Charlie let his posture deflate to that of defeat, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I told you that.” He muttered, shaking his head and rubbing a hand over his face. “Forget I said it, back to cheery Charles.” 

—

Maybe he was. Maybe he wished more people would hold him when he looked like this, when he looked the way he was supposed to, the way he’d been born. Maybe Wyatt was so desperate for affection when he felt he was at his most monstrous that he’d lowered the bar all the way to the ground, cracking jokes and hoping people would take pity.

So far, the only taker had been Maggie, and that was almost certainly only because she didn’t know what he really was.

Failing that, the lamia just lapsed into silence. He wasn’t surprised when Charlie broke that silence first, but the chosen topic of conversation did strike him as uncharacteristic. Or perhaps that was just because he didn’t know Charlie as well as he thought, just like he hadn’t known Caleb as well as he’d thought. He probably didn’t know anyone he had ever called a friend down to a very deep level, because he wouldn’t let himself. He almost never let them get that close, for one reason or another. It was his own fault he was alone. 

Charlie was backpedaling, but the gator just shook his head, keeping his gaze on the path (or lack thereof) ahead when he replied. “Let it catch up,” Wyatt advised. “You can’t outrun it. Let it catch up, let it drown you for a while… then come out the other side. Better. Stronger.” He’d gone through it when he’d left his family behind. The moment he ran, he felt he couldn’t stop or else the hurt would find him. But it had anyway, in spite of everything he did to keep it at bay. His anger, his fear, and the sharp, painful ache of longing in his heart when he thought of his mother… “It tore me to shreds. I thought I’d die, I hurt so bad. But I didn’t. I cried and I raged against everythin’ I could find, until one day it just… it just felt like less. And the next day, it was less than that. I put myself back together, piece by piece, and I ain’t ever been that low since.” That was probably a lie—he thought perhaps his time in jail had come close, but that wasn’t part of this conversation. “Let it come. Weather the storm. I know you got it in you.”

—

As Wyatt began to dispense advice Charlie truly didn’t know he had, the rockstar stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the lamia with a face of awe. It wasn’t just good advice, it was the best advice, and Charlie was well and truly shocked. “I…” Charlie blinked, then bit his lip. “Yeah, I know know you’re right. It just…” he trailed off again, shaking his head. “People expect a lot from me. I can’t afford to fall apart.” 

It wasn’t just about him and what he wanted, it was about the people that relied on him to keep a steady paycheck going. He couldn’t take a break because he had a manager, a producer, an agent, a publicist, and so on and so forth. Most of all, there was Finn. Finn didn’t seem to take it well when Charlie wasn’t okay. But couldn’t he feel it? Couldn’t he feel that Charlie was burying it all down, couldn’t he feel that it was there beneath the surface? 

“I’m afraid that the storm will knock me to pieces,” Charlie admitted, slowly beginning to walk again, knowing that if he stopped now, he’d well and truly fall apart. “I think I made… a mistake. A big one.” Charlie wasn’t sure what he was referring to. Was it allowing his friends to go to the cemetery that night? Was it that day in the hospital? Or when he let Finn in that close? Was it letting Wyatt get away? He wasn’t sure. Every day his thoughts swirled into a nasty concoction of guilt and self-hatred that he couldn’t avoid. 

His feet trudged on as he forced himself to walk, that cocktail of self-loathing threatening to overflow. “I’m sorry for everything,” he said softly. “I seem to have a habit of flying too close to the sun and then burning up and falling back down to earth, don’t I? Just a modern-day Icarian nightmare.”

—

“Fuck those people. You gotta stop puttin’ everyone else before yourself,” Wyatt said with a huff. “It's gonna catch up with you one way or another. You might as well be prepared to face it head on, don't let it blindside you if you got the chance.” Wyatt hadn't had that chance, but he wished he had. Maybe he would have gone back home, were that the case. Maybe he'd be playing music in New Orleans and helping his mama come up with new recipes for the restaurant if he'd had this foresight back then, instead of trapped in a town that was too cold, fighting to make money for people who saw him as little more than means to an end. All the people he'd met here would be better for never having crossed his path. Charlie wouldn't have been put in such a hard position, and he'd probably be happier, at least when it came to his love life. 

But there was no going back, so all Wyatt could do was try to convince Charlie to take control of his reality. 

“Don't be sorry. You're gonna make mistakes, but I know you're doin’ the best you can.” He still hadn't looked over at Charlie, finding it much easier to speak openly like this if he didn't make eye contact. “Just… try to learn from it. Like you know I fuckin’ don't.” He laughed bitterly. “Don't be like me.”

—

Charlie stared at Wyatt for a long moment, listening to what his friend was saying and taking it in. Wyatt was right, but Charlie wasn’t sure he was ready to face that pain that was on the other end of things. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be. But he supposed he had to at least try, right? And if it became too much, he could always retreat and go back to the way things have been. Doing crazy shit had given him a rush that rivaled performing. But here was Wyatt, telling him to do what needed to happen, when he couldn’t even do it himself. 

“Well.” Charlie started, pausing as he fought for words he couldn’t quite formulate. “I’ll stop running when you do.” Charlie looked over to Wyatt, a serious expression on his face. “Because I don’t think I can. It’ll tear me apart, everything I lost.” Charlie pressed a hand onto his chest, right where the ring that Gareth never gave him was. “I don’t think I can.” His voice was barely there, and suddenly walking made his legs feel like they were weighted down. “I think I’ll take you up on the piggyback ride,” he decided with a half-hearted smirk. 

As Charlie climbed onto his friend’s back, he couldn’t help but think how surreal all of this was. One of his best friends was a fucking giant alligator. He was going to become a zombie. Finn read people’s emotions when he sucked at it himself, all of it was so surreal. “For what it’s worth,” Charlie found himself speaking after getting situated, “I’m glad that you’re here.”

—

He wasn’t going to argue with a brick wall, and if Charlie felt so certain that he wasn’t ready to face the shadow looming over his head and the storm nipping at his heels, who was Wyatt to push him harder? As Charlie had pointed out, Wyatt wasn’t following his own fuckin’ advice, so it was no wonder that he’d go ignored. Maybe Charlie would feel more ready later, and maybe then he’d think about what Wyatt had said and take it to heart. Or maybe he wouldn’t, and maybe he’d end up as sick and twisted as Wyatt had become. It was out of the lamia’s hands. 

“Sure,” he responded with a breathy chuckle, stopping and lowering himself to the ground so Charlie could climb up on his back. He hadn’t gotten far before Charlie spoke again, and his words made Wyatt’s stomach feel funny. 

“Thanks,” was all he could think to say. “I’m glad you’re here, too.”

[welcometoparis]

Timing: Current Location: A lake Parties: Paris & Wyatt (@loftylockjaw) Summary: Paris is basking on a nice rock in the middle of a lake. Turns out it's Wyatt's rock. The Lamias vibe.

“This can be our rock.”

The lake in the middle of the woods was as good a place as any to finally allow himself to relax, to be his true self without the fear of being caught. He hadn’t seen anyone out here, no houses or signs of human life. It was perfect. It was a nice, sunny day out, so Paris had taken himself out in his monitor form to bask on the large rock in the middle of the lake, where the sun beat down on his scales. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he was at peace. In moments like this, he thought of his sister Sydney, of all the times she’d taken him out to her favorite basking rock in the mangrove he grew up in. 

With his eyes closed, he could almost pretend he was there, back in his home country, back in his mangrove. But he wasn’t. He was in Maine, in the United States of all places. He didn’t belong here, he didn’t belong amongst humans and their strange customs. He wanted his mangrove that the sun hit just right, kept him well heated and – footsteps. The vibrations were felt from his rock, and the lamia cracked an eye open to see… another lamia. Paris shot up to a sitting position, watching the other with wide eyes.

There wasn’t just one other lamia in this town, but two at least. “I am not taking your basking spot, am I?” He called out, scooching over to give room to the other lamia who was approaching him. “I am Paris.” He introduced, tail swishing about as the other sized him up. “I am new here, so I did not know that this was your basking rock. Hopefully, we can share instead.”

—

The tiny island in the middle of the lake was perfect for uninterrupted sunning. It was small enough that humans hadn’t settled on it, and lacked any features that the lakeside didn’t already have that would have drawn them out here for an afternoon, the isolation aside. And in the middle of the island was a massive boulder, one that created a sizable gap in the trees to allow for shadeless basking, especially midday. It was Wyatt’s favorite place to fuck off to when he wanted to be alone, which was why he was extra surprised to see someone already on top of it. He stopped dead in his tracks, breath catching in his throat. 

The other… some kind of lizard, if he had to guess, was quickly speaking. Introducing himself. Offering to… share. Wyatt remained still for a moment, then resumed his approach to the rock, a little shocked by the other’s politeness. 

New in town. Yeah, that was obvious. 

They gator hauled all eighteen feet of himself up onto the boulder, though his long tail dangled off the edge. He gave the other lamia a once-over, unsure how to proceed. He might’ve been more excited a couple of months ago, but right now, he was aching and just in need of a nice laze about in the sun. Still, he supposed there wasn’t a need to be dickish. “Paris, huh? I’m Wyatt. Live just over yonder…” He gestured vaguely in the direction from which he’d come. He could hear his mother scolding him in his head for the lackluster welcome, and he blinked and shook his head. “But… yeah. We can share.” Lowering himself onto the warm rock, Wyatt let out a low sigh. “... where’d you come from?”

—

Paris watched lazily as the other lamia climbed up onto the boulder that he’d been sunning on, having half a mind to fall back asleep, which is what he’d been doing before he’d heard the other’s approach. “Ah, I see.” He murmured as he peered in the direction that Wyatt pointed in. “I will find a new rock,” he spoke in their accented voice. 

When Wyatt asked where he came from, Paris felt something in him hesitate. Wyatt was another lamia. He was like Anita. “I don’t know anymore,” he finally said, being honest about his situation for the first time in a while. “Originally, China. But then? Japan, France, England, several parts of America…” The lamia closed his eyes and let out a deep, frustrated sigh that he’d been holding in since he first found himself in this entire mess. Years of pent-up frustration rolled off of him in waves.

“But that’s not something you want to hear about, you seem to be in your own slump,” Paris noted, eyeing the other. It was in his shoulders, the way he slumped forward a bit. It was in his tone, the way he didn’t seem to be able to be all that polite or excited. “If you want to talk about it, I can listen.” Paris decided, not wanting to make everything about him. After all, Wyatt seemed to have come out here for a reason.

—

“Quite the globetrotter,” Wyatt remarked, of course not understanding the truth of the situation. Still, it seemed to him that Paris wasn't exactly happy about those travels. That was a nugget of info that he stored for later, peeking at the other with one eye when he made a comment on Wyatt’s own… everything.

The gator sucked in a deep, rattling breath, wondering how honest he ought to be. It didn't really matter what this lamia thought in the grand scheme of things, though Wyatt found himself hoping that their kinship might soften the other’s opinion of him. It wasn't good to alienate yourself from those that stood to understand you best, and he'd already done plenty of that by running away from his family. 

“I work at a…” How did you even describe the Pit? “... place that hosts supernatural fights. As a fighter.” That might’ve been obvious by the old wounds that marred his hide. “Got matched against a friend of mine recently.” There was a long pause, the gator’s gaze wandering. “... he didn't make it.” It was far from the only thing plaguing him at present, but it was certainly the most prominent source of guilt and disquiet. “Guess I'm a little… fucked up about it.”

—

“Not by my own choice,” Paris answered in earnest, huffing as he laid his head back down onto the rock, closing his eyes. “I was something of a scientific spectacle.” It was hard to talk about, even harder to put into words the horrors he’d seen. “Our kind speaks of hunters killing us being the worst they could do. It turns out there is worse, I’ve seen it.” 

Cracking open an eye as Wyatt began to explain what had happened to him, Paris thought to his own violent tendencies, things he wasn’t sure he knew what to do with. “You have every right to feel that way.” He found himself saying after a moment of silence as he forced himself to sit up again. “But if you were in this place to fight, can you really be surprised that something of this magnitude could happen?” Paris found himself asking, looking over to the lamia who was much bulkier than he was. 

The monitor stared out at the water for a long moment, then frowned. “I escaped my situation by tearing people apart,” Paris explained. “One moment I was in control of myself, then next? I was standing in a room full of corpses. I did that.” He pointed a clawed finger to his chest, frowning. “Sometimes I fear what we are capable of when we aren’t in charge of our faculties.” His gaze found the other with a look of deep understanding. “You are not alone in your feelings of guilt.”

—

So much for not sharing, Wyatt thought as he listened to Paris describe a small bit of his past. He didn’t have words for something like that, so he just blinked slowly and shook his large head. Humans really did have the capacity to be the fucking worst, didn’t they? You didn’t see lamias experimenting on them… just… eating them. Huh. Well, who was he to comment on moral responsibility? He was as immoral as they came. 

“Sure, but I can usually reel it in,” Wyatt complained, feeling the frustration start to bubble up again. Paris was right about them not being in control—bad things happened, and apparently the source of the lack of control didn’t matter. Paris had done something similar in order to escape. Was that what Wyatt had been trying to do? He couldn’t even remember anymore. Maybe their kind was violently opposed to being controlled or held captive—it made sense in a lot of ways. But why did they have to black out for it? He cursed under his breath, lowering his head onto the rock. 

“Well, if you just killed a bunch of people that were experimenting on you, you shouldn’t feel bad,” he countered. “I killed a handler. Don’t feel bad about that. Just about my friend. He was a shifter, too. Deserved better. He was a good person.” Wyatt’s jaw scraped on the rock as he slid his head slightly to the side, away from Paris. He was very good at ruining shit for good people, wasn’t he? Maybe he shouldn’t be out on this rock with this lamia, after all. Odds were that he’d only complicate things.

—

Struggling to grasp the concept of killing a friend, Paris truly felt bad for the other. “I am sorry it happened. Losing control is a terrifying feeling.” He spoke, not knowing what else to say other than to hone in on the only aspect he could relate to. “In moments of true terror, instinct seems to overcome us and keep us alive no matter the consequence.” Paris stared down at his hands, then reached out and placed a hand on Wyatt’s shoulder. “You are not alone in your struggles, never forget that. And you don’t have to leave just because you feel like a burden.” Paris stared at the other lamia before letting their hand slip from the other’s shoulder. 

“In truth, I feel like nothing but a burden to those around me,” Paris admitted with a sigh, head hanging low. “I am a lamia who has always been a lamia, not a human.” He pulled a face, thinking of the fleshy pink form he had to wear just to fit in around town. “It’s easy to put on a facade that shows that we have everything together when the reality is that we’re falling to pieces.” Paris shook his head, then rolled his eyes. “You’re allowed to be upset. You deserve to be able to talk about it.” Paris had a faraway look in his eyes as he stared out at the water, then finally looked back to Wyatt. “Even if we are strangers, we share a kinship. I will help shoulder your burden if you help shoulder mine.”

It was a risk, of course. Allowing himself to be vulnerable with someone just because they were both lamia. But Paris spent so much of his time being truly terrified of the world around him, of the people that could do him harm. To have both Anita and Wyatt, it would feel as if he wasn’t so alone. “I can never go back home,” he found himself saying. “I don’t know where home is. It wasn’t as if I could point it out on a map.” A sigh escaped him, and he looked over to Wyatt. “I need companionship, and it seems that so do you. Even if we only ever meet on this rock, let yourself be allowed to have an escape.”

—

Wyatt wasn’t really sure what Paris was asking for, other than… a friend? He must have been lonely to assume that Wyatt, just because he was a lamia, could ever be a good friend. Hadn’t he listened to the story about how Wyatt killed his friend? Everyone seemed so happy to just glance right over that when they didn’t want to face the reality of who Wyatt was. Which he probably should’ve been happy for, but at the moment, he just felt like shit. He was alone. There wasn't anyone he'd been fully honest with that had ever stayed. The sentiment Paris was expressing was nice, but Wyatt had never found it to be true. 

“If you were never a human to begin with, then why not just always be lamia?” Wyatt asked. It was something he had considered himself now and then, but there were too many things about being human that he enjoyed to leave them behind. Loneliness, he supposed, could drive Paris to try and assimilate. But some part of him was starting to wonder if that wasn't the right thing to do. Maybe they were better off lonely, since they seemed to present such a danger to those around him. Ah… that was all too philosophical for Wyatt. He just liked human music, human food, and human fucking. “But yeah, we can…” He lifted his head, looking at the water monitor. “This can be our rock.” It was half metaphor, half literal. He'd be glad to have someone in his life that understood him better, he thought. 

—

As Wyatt asked that question, Paris’s expression darkened. “Because I was taken, as I explained.” The water monitor responded, tapping a taloned finger against the rock as he stared out into space, his gaze a million miles away. “A hunter is trailing me, making sure I don’t slip up, told me I had to play human.” A hand drifted up to his neck, rubbing over the scar that lay there for all to see. “I value my life, so I play the part.” He shrugged his shoulders, then let out a frustrated sigh. 

Paris smirked at the idea of it being their rock. It was a strange thing, having not one but two other lamia in his life that could help him learn the reigns. This was important to him, having people that he could rely on, even when it seemed impossible to do so. “So when you killed this friend, what… happened? Do you remember?” Paris watched the other curiously, knowing that he didn’t remember when he’d killed all those people. “It wasn’t… just the scientists that I killed. It was also those who were locked up with me. I…” Paris blinked, voice suddenly lost for a brief moment. “I killed everyone.” 

Paris looked away for a moment, shame bubbling to the surface as he remembered how hard he had fought to keep control, the memories of the scientists egging him on to stop being such a coward. Was he a coward? Paris scratched his talons at the surface of the rock underneath him, then let out a low snarl. “I know what it feels like to feel out of control, to hurt people you did not mean.” Paris’s gaze flickered over to Wyatt, a flash of anger in his eyes disappearing as soon as he looked at the other. “You are not alone in your shame.”

—

“A hunter?” Wyatt gave a scoff, letting out a low, angry rumble. “What the hell it doin’ worryin’ ‘bout one lil’ lamia, anyway? Don't it got other shit to kill? Really got you on surveillance twenty-four-seven?” He glanced around them, knowing there was no way a human was here with them now without them knowing, but still. “Sounds like a load of crap to me, cher. Or a shit hunter, either way… someone deserves to be lunch.”

The question about Samir left a bad taste in his mouth, one of warm pennies and regret. “Got freaked out by somethin’. Sent me into a panic, I guess, and I just… blacked out. Wasn't there when it happened, couldn't stop it. Woke up in a cage.” It wasn't the first time he'd lost control of himself during a fight, though that reaction was usually brought on by the sensation that he was about to fall asleep in the ring. This had been different, he'd seen those crows and just… he didn't even know if they were real… Sucking in a sharp breath, Wyatt squeezed his eyes shut. “Startin’ to think I just ain't safe to be around, you know?”

—

Over the years, Ryan had tried so many different tactics to keep Paris in check. And in every scenario, it was clear that Paris would do whatever it took to keep his family safe. So that was Ryan’s biggest threat. “He has his ways,” was all the smaller lamia could say, eyes going far away before coming back to the present and looking over at Wyatt, expression distant. “It’s not as easy as having someone eat him, he has fail-safes, things that keep me in check. Like threatening my family.” Paris shrugged a shoulder as if trying to not let the idea of such bother him. Though, of course, it bothered him. It drove him mad.

As Wyatt told him what happened, Paris’s distant expression refocused, finding something that he could put his attention to instead of his disastrous existence. “Perhaps you’re not,” Paris replied in earnest, turning his attention to Wyatt with another simple shrug. “Perhaps you should surround yourself with people that are equally as dangerous, spare the ones that are at risk.” Paris rolled his eyes, the very idea was preposterous, but it seemed like that’s what the bigger lamia wanted to hear. “You can either learn to control yourself, or you can let the fear win.” Paris patted Wyatt’s shoulder. “I don’t think you want the fear to win.”

—

Ah. Well, that was the cost of family, he supposed. Maybe it was better that he’d cut off contact with them… he hated the idea of them being used as leverage against him. It wasn’t a good spot to be in, and Wyatt did not envy Paris’ problems, not even against his own. “Oh. That’s… I’m sorry,” he muttered, not knowing what else to say. He lowered his head again, just listening as Paris responded to his story about Samir, telling him what he damn well knew, but couldn’t find the strength to adhere to. He shouldn’t be around people he could kill, which… really, who did that leave? This was what he was bred for. Not literally, his mother had wanted him to pursue his love of music, but his cousin had seen to it that his life’s trajectory took a sharp turn for the violent. So perhaps it was what he was raised for. “Maybe not. Guess I’ll find out.” The fear might not be winning this battle, but he had a feeling it would win the war. A moment of silence passed between them, and Wyatt sighed. “Tell me about your family, Paris. Somethin’ nice. This is far too good a day for sunnin’ to be lettin’ ourselves get so down.”

[loftylockjaw]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Some underground rave PARTIES: Wyatt (@loftylockjaw) & Kieran (@debauchfairy) SUMMARY: Just two dudes having a fun night out~ CONTENT WARNINGS: Drug use, wrspice (not explicit)

—

By the time headlights illuminated the house at the provided address, it was dark out. Kieran couldn’t very well be expected to keep the man entertained from sundown, could he? Especially not with the very, very limited information he currently had on him - what if he turned out to be a complete bore? Sure, maybe not the worst case scenario, since technically this was something people might describe as ‘rash’ or ‘bad idea’. People also said no risk, no reward and Kieran liked that sentiment much better. 

Gravel crunched under his boots as he stepped out of the cab, driver waiting patiently in the front seat. A silhouette appeared in the doorway, vanishing as the front door closed before his company for the evening came into focus. Kieran was all smiles as he cocked his head, appreciating the view and the impeccable decision making that had led him here. “Good evening,” he greeted, the promise of mischief already glistening in his eyes as he opened the door to the backseat. “You requested to kill time with a sexy stranger?”

—

How many ways are there to say that a dude is tired? Because this dude was very, very tired. But determined to fight through it and have a good time and not think about any of the things that haunted him in those moments of quiet, of isolation… no. That’s why he was giving out his address to strangers, hoping they’d either fuck him or kill him—either way, it was a distraction. Distractions were good. They were necessary. 

Ah, here came one now. Wyatt stepped outside, pleased to see that his company for the night checked plenty of his boxes, though he probably wouldn’t have complained no matter who had gotten out of that cab, as long as they kept him occupied. “That I did,” Wyatt concurred with a smirk, giving a nod of his head before ducking into the backseat and scooting over so that Kieran could follow. “Very excited to see what you cooked up,” he hummed as his company settled in beside him and the cab was moving off down the drive again. “But I’m not very needy, so… lucky you.” 

—

Kieran hadn’t been provided with much to base tonight off, really only a name and a desperation to stay awake. Not too big of a worry, some of his best nights had been spent with nameless people. It couldn’t really be said he had too big of an interest in knowing more, either - any reason this Wyatt had for avoiding sleep could only be synonymous with some deep seated trauma and shit - no thanks. So he’d decided to not even divert from tonight’s original plan, simply allowing this sleep-deprived stranger to tag along. 

“Oh, don’t speak ill of the needy. They’re very good at showing gratitude,” Kieran purred, body twisted in the seat to continue enjoying the view. Even slightly disheveled and sporting the signs of the lack of sleep, Wyatt was a sight to revel in. “And we already established that you’re desperate, not needy.” He winked, tearing his gaze away to dig into the inner pocket of his jacket, procuring a small bag. Slender fingers reached for one of the two brightly yellow tablets inside, eyes finding Wyatt again as Kieran placed it on his tongue, giving a brief glimpse of the question mark etched into the pill before it vanished down his throat. 

“Or do you want to revise that statement?” Kieran held up the second tablet in front of Wyatt’s face, eyebrows raised and a dangerous glint in his eyes. 

—

A perfunctory gaze was thrown in the cab driver’s direction, but he seemed wholly uninterested in whatever was happening in the backseat of his car. As long as no one threw up or started fucking, he probably didn’t care. Had probably seen it all. So Wyatt quickly refocused his attention on Kieran, who was holding the pill in front of him. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responded before opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue, curling it upward as Kieran brought the pill down, meeting him in the middle. As soon as he felt it on his tongue, his blue eyes danced back to meet Kieran’s gaze. “So generous,” he hummed after he had swallowed it, deciding that this was exactly the sort of company he’d been after. 

The car ride was made longer thanks to the seclusion of his home, but that was fine. It just meant that by the time they arrived at their destination, as Wyatt opened the car door and stood, he felt his head swim. It wasn’t dizzying though, it felt… different. Like a warm embrace, making his chest swell with a sort of contentedness he hadn’t felt in a while. He stood still for a moment, waiting for Kieran to join him, just enjoying the feeling of the cool night air on his skin. He was smiling with less effort than it usually took, unaware of it until Kieran stepped up beside him and he turned to look at him. “Wow, that’s somethin’,” he remarked casually, his attention jumping from his company to the venue at which they’d arrived. “Ah… lead the way?” 

—

This man was already malleable as hell, well and truly on Kieran’s wavelength it seemed. No questions, definitely not because he trusted the faun and had no reason to, really - just a visceral desire to throw himself in head first and see where it took him. So while their interests aligned as wonderfully as they currently did, Wyatt could in a way trust Kieran. Well, as much trust as you could put in a faun who had just popped a cheeky bit of ecstasy. “Oh, you are very welcome,” Kieran murmured back, fingers tracing the other’s jaw line as he withdrew his hand. 

There was no need for chatting on the way - they weren’t here to get to know each other, at least not in that way - and Kieran simply enjoyed watching the shift happen in Wyatt’s eyes, settling in for the night ahead. Paying the driver, he joined Wyatt in the brisk spring air, inhaling deeply. He was definitely buzzing as well, not as unused to it as his new friend but floating in the feeling all the same. His mouth quirked at the way his companion’s little drawl seemed more noticeable now, hand slipping into Wyatt’s, reveling in the touch. The first tendrils of enjoyment were already making themselves known - Wyatt’s did indeed feel a little desperate, a cold drink of water in the scorching heat. Throwing yourself into the water to cool down, even. Kieran refrained from any further tasting - the night was still young. 

Leading the other through the door, they entered a hallway just barely lit with red hints of brightness, the faint sound of music filtering in as a hallway turned to stairs. Through another door and the music got louder, a tone and tempo that reverberated inside your chest. It was still dark in the space they had reached, a few people milling about, but now with the addition of fluorescent lights, the whites of Wyatt’s eyes seeming otherworldly mixed with the blown pupils. Kieran let go of his hand to lean in, mouth against his ear. “Even if you think this isn’t your scene, don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it.”

Abandoning him for a moment, Kieran returned with the palms of his hands illuminated by a bright pink, a grin on his face. “To fit in,” he explained simply, one hand gently grasping Wyatt’s throat, the other cupping his face and a thumb running over his mouth - leaving behind the hand imprints and smudges of glowing neon paint. “Perfect.”

—

The hand in his felt impossibly soft to the touch, and Wyatt squeezed it in response as he was led inside. He drew a long, quiet breath as they walked down a hallway, his head tilted slightly back while his eyes followed the dim light from source to source, the low thrum of music feeling like it was coming from inside of him. Walking down the stairs felt almost like floating, and entering the second room with blacklights and louder music keyed up his senses. He barely noticed Kieran let go of his hand until he felt the other’s breath in his ear, sucking in a sharp, involuntary gasp at the sensation. He immediately reached out for him, the need to touch overwhelming him all at once, but the other was already gone. Leaving him with only words of guidance, to which he whispered a soft “okay” to himself as he stood in the room, back to the wall, eyes falling closed. 

When he heard Kieran’s voice again, his eyes snapped open. The bright pink palms flashed in his field of view, reaching for him from what almost seemed like a pitch black ichor for a moment. One found his throat while the other came to his face, and he smiled after the man’s thumb finished swiping paint across his lips. He muttered something in French, breathy and hard to parse, losing himself in the feeling of… it was difficult to describe. He felt both relaxed and energized, content to stand here the rest of the night with Kieran pulled against him while also wanting to find the source of that music and drown in it. “Show me your scene,” he added in English again, fingertips running over the soft, quality fabric of the man’s shirt. God, everything felt so good to touch, what the hell was in that pill? He’d never really dabbled before, sticking to adrenaline and booze himself. Now he was beginning to think he might’ve been missing out on something incredible all this time.

—

Kieran didn’t need to know a lick of French for the quiet words to take the form of a gentle caress, making his skin prickle delightfully. It didn’t hold a candle to actual touch, Wyatt’s wandering hands electric against his chest - the man was experiencing just how good simply sensing could be and Kieran was more than happy to comply. It was tempting to go no further, simply find a quiet corner and show Wyatt just how good touch could feel but… there was more to be unleashed. He wanted the man completely unraveled by euphoria at the end of the night. 

Sucking in a patient breath - a truly impressive feat for a faun - and tearing his eyes away from the lips he had already claimed as his for the night, Kieran grabbed Wyatt’s hand once again and led him deeper. Music and bodies and smoke greeted them, flashing lights only further implementing the surreal sensations. If Wyatt had been having a more intense trip than him before, Kieran now joined him on the other side of the edge surrounded by all of this pure, unfiltered bliss. 

Hands found more of Wyatt, running along smooth lines of toned muscle, pushing and pulling and leading him into Kieran’s rhythm. He fit snugly against Wyatt’s back, chin resting on his shoulder and grip making sure the other stayed flush against him as they moved to the music. The contact, touch and warmth and friction, sustained him. Not literally, no - that would be the sinful taste of Wyatt’s euphoria, cranked up as Kieran’s hand once again found its marked spot on his throat, lips brushing against his neck as the faun finally let himself have a taste in more ways than one. 

—

It felt good to be held, good to be wanted, even if it was just carnally… because even that was more euphoric than it had ever been before. Wyatt let himself be guided, relinquishing all control of the situation to Kieran without making a fuss, which would have been more his typical response in any other circumstance. The drug had made him especially malleable, headstrong tendencies forfeited, body desperate to cling to the incredible feeling that had enveloped him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so deeply blissful, so unaware of the state of his addled mind, so awake despite not having slept in nearly two days. 

And then there was something else as they danced among the throng of people, something that threatened to send him to his knees, if Kieran’s body against his hadn’t been able to convince him to stay on his feet. Wyatt’s head rolled back against the other’s shoulder when his hand found the lamia’s throat, lips following quickly behind. Words would not come, and really, what was there to say? All he could do was bask, soft moans the only thing that made it past his lips for… who knew how long? The songs all blended together, the brightly colored lights that strobed on all sides of them stalled the sensation of any kind of passage of time. All that was left was nirvana. 

Some indeterminate amount of time later, Wyatt glanced down at his own hands after dragging one across his midriff and finding it sharper than usual, unbothered by the sight of claws where his short fingernails had been before. He laughed, sharp and barking and carefree, wondering if he’d shift right here in front of god and everyone. Whatever. Didn’t care. Couldn’t care. He gave them a shake, thinking they ought to go back to being a bit more human, if they could manage it. 

It was usually dangerous for him to be in an altered mental state. But this one was so rapturous… maybe he wouldn’t have his usual problems. You know, the ones that ended with screaming and blood on his tongue and tattered clothing sticking to his scales. One could hope. 

—

It was pure indulgence, only the faintest thought of careful quietly whispering amongst the intoxicating noise of everything else. Feeding like this was a slippery slope, one that could and had ended in less than desirable outcomes for whoever Kieran had picked for the night but lucky for Wyatt, there were still plans for later which made it easier to hang onto the infinitesimal shred of self control. Easier, but by no means easy because Wyatt tasted of recklessness and urges, of the bitter taste of blood in your mouth but in a good way. And he sounded so lovely. 

Pain cut through the fog, thrilling in this current state but curious. Those hadn’t just been nails digging into the skin of his forearm. With the same amount of ease that he’d been manhandling Wyatt so far, Kieran turned him around and immediately caught the bright yellow of his eyes. A trick of the light, possibly but there was no blaming the rest on odd lighting. His hands had found Wyatt’s and pulled them, palms flush, against his chest. Sharp claws threatened to break through the material of his shirt, through skin and the faun shivered with delight. He had some sort of shifter under his spell, something strong and dangerous and deadly and it made his head feel even lighter. 

“Look at that,” Kieran murmured against his ear, grin audible in his voice. It was enough of a distraction to stop his feeding but there was no diminishing his effect of pure bliss, most likely affecting the people surrounding them as well. He only had eyes for Wyatt at the moment, though. “Someone’s a bit more dangerous than he looks.” Applicable to Kieran as well but those were just semantics. “Probably best if you put those away for now, though.” A command laced within the suggestion - Kieran didn’t mind the sharp poke of the claws, quite the opposite, but he was fond of having his skin in one piece, blood inside his body. The thought that he could have asked for the opposite, that he could have incited complete chaos if he so pleased was a rush. 

Leaning back for another glimpse at those eyes, Kieran caressed the strong jaw before his thumb gently pulled at Wyatt’s lip, checking that there was nothing sharp which might threaten his tongue. Pleased with what he found, Kieran finally claimed the pink tinted lips properly, fully fed and then some, leaving room for a different kind of need to govern his actions. “Don’t think I’ve had someone like you before,” he breathed against Wyatt’s ear, a double meaning behind the words that the shifter probably wouldn’t care about.

—

His meager self-correction had done nothing, but when Kieran asked it of him, Wyatt immediately obeyed, finding it to be effortless. Odd. Not odd enough to make him concerned, though. And frankly, he liked it. He liked being told what to do and not feeling like he had to fight it, like he had to assert his dominance when he knew it would only bring him pain. His handler came to mind, but instead of getting angry about it, he just fell deeper into Kieran’s web. Soft, human hands clutched at him desperately as he was kissed, beside himself over the sensation. 

“Have more,” he groaned, snaking his hand up through Kieran’s hair. God, it was weird to hear himself practically begging for it, and he couldn't be sure what exactly was inspiring such a dramatic shift of his personality, but fuck, he didn't give a shit. He just wanted more. The people around them were forgotten to him, his focus laying solely on the person in front of him, his other hand grabbing roughly at Kieran’s hip and pulling him close, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of his pants. His breaths came rapidly, heart pounding in his chest as frantic energy buzzed through his body like an electric shock—but a pleasant one, not like the kind he'd get from his handler when she lost her patience. Her fighter was belligerent, but she'd never had too much trouble getting him to fall in line. Praise usually did it, even when it was delivered alongside violence. Wyatt was a strange creature, she thought. Had some mommy issues. She'd told him as much, and his reaction hadn't been favorable. Funny, but not favorable. 

Feeling like he did, he probably would have done anything Kieran asked of him, even without the fae magic weaving around his throat and wrists like ethereal bonds. It clouded his mind, made it hard to finish a thought, much less turn it into spoken word, so he just kept saying the same thing over and over, voice barely above a whisper. “Have more,” he whimpered. “More.”

—

There were too many people around for what Kieran wanted to do, to unravel the man (creature?) and just see what would be left behind to piece back together. The begging was all Wyatt, his need a delicious treat on top of everything else, hands getting rough and desperate. Kieran’s skin burned at every point of contact. He didn’t need to be told twice to have more, moderation a foreign concept to him, but being asked to take, to own… 

“Fuck.” It was a huff of breath, drawn out when he finally found the composure to push against Wyatt’s chest and fully realized the strength of the grip on his waist. Maybe he wanted Wyatt to destroy him just a little bit, too. “Wait,” he mouthed, a coy grin on his face - if he himself was feeling impatient then there weren’t words to fully describe the state of Wyatt. 

Kieran didn’t reach for his hand this time around, instead grabbing at the front of Wyatt’s shirt to pull him along, body thrumming with anticipation. With every sense so heightened, veins pulsing with Wyatt’s decadent euphoria, Kieran was filled to the brim and ready to spill over. A door, a coat room maybe, didn’t matter as Wyatt got all but shoved inside. He could resist, each choice fully and completely his own from this point on but Kieran knew that wouldn’t happen. Knew that he could ask for anything and Wyatt would agree without so much as a smidge of influence from the fae. “Desperate was right,” Kieran hummed but there was no sense of dissatisfaction at the fact as he sought out the physical contact from before. 

There hadn’t been much time to read into Wyatt, to fully realize him before they’d both fully submerged to urges but Kieran didn’t need to know which persona got reflected to everyone else. He only had to work with what he’d seen tonight which told him enough to make damn sure that Wyatt would come fully undone. So as he pressed the man that could so easily overpower him against the wall, guiding his malleable hands to places that drew out a content sigh, Kieran whispered against the needy lips. “Good boy.”

—

It bit like a viper, normally. The false terms of endearment, the venomous words of encouragement that were meant to berate and belittle. From the mouth of his handler, they wounded. They ripped into him, they made him feel lesser, but he had to act like they didn't. He had to be thankful, or risk his position as one of the less troublesome fighters. It earned him some perks, and he was loath to let go of those. But from Kieran’s lips, whispered to him with a hunger that dug its candied claws into him and took root, the good boy unfurled a sickly sweet blossom in his chest and he fluttered with it like a dandelion in a strong breeze.

Fabric sliding over skin sent shivers down his spine. I can't help it. Tongues met in the dark, greedily tasting every inch that they could reach. I’m losing my sense of what’s real. The wall was cold against his chest, but only for the first few moments. It was like poetry the way Kieran’s hand clamped over his mouth, muzzling him to spare them from being interrupted. The other hand… ah, where was it? Where was it? He couldn’t tell, every nerve ending was flooding his brain with input and his processors were fried. He arched in the other’s grasp, praying that it would not end. Praying that he could feel this way forever, ignoring the reality that lurked behind the shadow of the sunrise. Devour me, he begged. He wanted to be suspended in time, or not ever face the fall that would come. And god would it be a fall. 

—

It was a delicate balance, an art, the mix of soft and rough making each other wax and wane in perfect harmony. Kieran considered himself quite skilled in working with that equilibrium, cues of noises or gaps, of a reactive body underneath his own, guiding the way. Wyatt was indeed reactive, a perfect mess for Kieran to just barely hold together with words of encouragement and wandering hands until he decided it was suitable to fall apart. And fall apart he did in the best of ways, dragging Kieran down with him for a moment of just being. 

The moment passed as they were prone to do, replaced by a calm so stark in comparison, by heavy breaths intermingled with soft words and even softer touches. An almost silent exchange, filled instead with the passing of clothing and lingering looks. Kieran led Wyatt by the hand for the last time of the evening, back out into the cold air and the back of a cab, keeping physical contact for as long as possible. Fingers danced across skin where sweat had dried, where paint had smeared and smudged, savoring the moment for as long as possible. Enamored, as much as he could be, for an evening. 

The car stilled and Kieran could have thanked him for the evening, for more than pleasant company, maybe even made a knowing jab about the man’s identity. Instead he left Wyatt with a lazy smile, fingers finally breaking the tether made between them earlier this evening. “Don’t be a stranger,” he said knowingly once the other had clambered from the car, aware that he was in for one hell of a come down. Maybe enough so to bring him back for seconds. One could hope. 

—

He’d bared too much. It wasn’t something he was thinking about as they left the venue a few hours after arriving, nor as they rode in a new cab back to his corner of the woods. He wasn’t thinking about it as Kieran left the door open for a second round, an offer he already knew he was going to accept. Wyatt stood there outside the car, giving Kieran an affirmative nod, his mind still reeling. He wouldn’t sink into that cold, unapologetic lack thereof for another half hour, so he didn’t much mind hovering there in the chilled air, bathed in red as the cab moved back down the dirt drive. Don’t be a stranger. How could he? 

It wasn’t until he wandered back inside that he realized just how much he’d given to that near-stranger. It wasn’t until he felt himself start to shake, his exhaustion catching up with him and bringing him to the floor of the kitchen that he realized he’d exposed himself. Ah. Fuck. Bright blue eyes squinted shut, face and forearms welcoming the jarring cold of the tiles. 

He was golden like a dandelion, but beneath the honeyed bloom he was still a weed. He would still grow where no one else could, securing his roots to things that would eventually destroy him if he did not destroy them first. He would invade a quiet garden and spread himself to every corner, slowly killing everything that had been there before him. This was his way, it had always been his way. But for a night, jesus, he’d felt like a fucking sunflower. 

[zombiebabysitter]

LOCATION: Outside Wicked's Rest TIMING: Current PARTIES: Charlie & Wyatt (@loftylockjaw) SUMMARY: Charlie and Wyatt go skydiving!

_

Of all the ideas that Charlie had managed to think of, this one was a good one. At least, to him it was. He knew if he were to tell Finn that he was willingly hurtling himself out of a plane, he’d have some kind of conniption fit. So he’d opted not to tell him at all. What little he knew, the better off he’d be. He opted out of telling Mack, too. Most of the people he knew from before the incident that weren’t zombie food seemed to congregate in this weird town. Wyatt was no exception, it seemed. Charlie looked at the rules on the wall of the room they were in, making sure he was checking all the boxes. No loose or baggy clothes, check. Eat something? Check. Sleep well before jumping? Well… he was sure it’d be fine.

There were a few other people there with them, a young looking couple and another girl with a high ponytail who kept shooting looks in Charlie’s direction. Fuck, she probably recognized him or something. He gave an awkward smile in her direction before looking over to the instructor who introduced himself as Vince. Vince. What kind of fuckass name was Vince? Anyway, he should probably pay attention. Vince had a backpack in his hands and was talking about the equipment. “You have a main canopy in here and a reserve canopy up here, just in case the main canopy fails to work.” Vince was touching all sorts of areas of the backpack, and Charlie decided it was a good idea to pay close attention. “This is how you deploy the canopy.” Vince spoke, pointing to the device and pulling on it lightly. “This is the reserve handle in case you need it.” He pointed to another handle on the backpack. “This is a cutaway in case your main gets tangled up.” He pointed to a red handle. There were a lot of fucking handles, holy shit. 

Vince held up a contraption, called it an altimeter, and told the group that it would deploy when it reached 4500 feet. “Once you’re in the plane, you’re going to put on your seatbelt.” The instructor said. “It sounds counter-intuitive, I know. Once we’re at 1500 feet, you’re going to take it off. “As we’re reaching the altitude, we’re going to put our gear on, our helmets, all that. We’ll do one final gear check, then it’s go time. We’re here to have a good time and come back alive, got it?” The instructor looked at everyone, and Charlie nodded his head, realizing that this was actually fucking happening. “Ready to do this?” He asked Wyatt, looking at the ridiculous suits they were going to have to put on.

—

“Fuck yeah I’m ready to do this,” Wyatt responded confidently as they followed the small group out onto the tarmac and up the steps to the small propeller plane. Or at least it was a mask of confidence. In his day to day, the lamia feared very little… save for the birds, which reminded him of the evil dreams that haunted him. Cardinals, pigeons, seagulls and blue jays… it mattered little to him the size, coloration, or even the temperament of these animals; the only thing he cared about was that they stoked a fear in his heart so deep and so foreign that he could not bear to meet it with the even gaze and fearless heart that was normally his own. Crows, though… they were the worst. The squawk of a crow in the night would send the lamia into a spiraling panic, for he could never be certain if he was dreaming; if another nightmare was close at hand. 

As for the rest of it, he hadn't much to fear. His natural form, the massively large, scaled beast with claws like daggers and teeth like razors, was not one to be made a victim. Few things could truly threaten him, but he had a feeling, as he peered out the window of the plane while it quickly climbed into the air, that a fall from such a height with a broken parachute would smear him into the ground just like any other Joe Schmoe. So he felt a twinge of hesitation, but wouldn't let it stop him. After all, as first-timers, they wouldn't be set off on their own. This was a tandem jump, and each adrenaline seeker would be tethered to his own guide, one who was well seasoned in the art of skydiving.

Thank god. 

As they neared the altitude where donning that gear would become required, Wyatt took the helmet in his hands and turned it from side to side, giving it a hard stare. “What kinda good do you think this thing is actually doin’?” He commented, glancing sideways at Charlie, who sat beside him. “Like… if the chute doesn't work, it doesn't work. I feel like a little bike helmet isn't gonna help a lot in makin’ sure my precious, beautiful brain stays put in my even more precious n’ beautiful head.”

—

Sat beside Wyatt in the plane, Charlie snorted in response to the other’s comment. “It’s for the wind, dude.” Charlie replied, smacking his biceps with a grin. “You want to be falling at a terminal velocity with the wind smacking you in the face? Or a bug hitting you at that speed? No thanks, I’ll wear the helmet.” Charlie patted his helmet with a goofy grin. Charlie either noticed the man’s hesitation about something and chose to ignore it, or didn’t see it at all. 

“Rest assured that your beautiful, majestic head will stay attached to your body. And if something goes wrong with both chutes, then rest in fuckin’ pieces, I’ll miss ya.” Charlie clapped Wyatt on the back with a chuckle. Charlie should be more nervous than he was, knowing he was about to jump out of a fucking airplane with a stranger attached to him. Well, at least if the stranger fucked up, he’d go down knowing it wasn’t him responsible. The other guy knew what he was doing, Charlie didn’t. Charlie was in it for the thrills, nothing else. And nothing else said thrilling quite like skydiving. It felt like the cliched and right thing to do.

The plane continued to climb in altitude, leaving Charlie sitting in the plane with his hair tied back, looking at everyone else that was eagerly awaiting to meet the correct altitude. “Thanks for coming with me,” he told Wyatt, nudging him in the side. “I mean, you haven’t seen me in how long and you decided to tag along on my need for speed? I appreciate it.” It was nice to have run into so many people that he knew once upon a time, from Mack to Wyatt to Finn. It was good to know that he wasn’t the only one in this town with something wacky going on. 

Charlie thought briefly about what if this killed him. What if he didn’t come back? Well, he would hope he wouldn’t come back if the parachute failed and he splatted onto the earth below. That would be heinous. He shuddered and shook his head. He still knew nothing about what it felt like to be a zombie outside of someone who knew someone. What if it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be? What if this thrill-seeking was going to amount to nothing but trouble? Charlie blinked his eyes and took a deep breath. No, he wasn’t going to think about that. Not now, not fucking ever. Right now, he was here for the time of his life, nothing else.

—

“Oh.” That made sense. Wyatt felt a little stupid for not having thought of that, but it was short lived. “Don’t worry. If I eat shit on this thing, I’ll make sure to haunt your ass.” The thanks wasn’t needed, but it did make him smirk. Charlie, just like Xó and Owen and pretty much everyone else he’d befriended while in Boston, knew nothing of his nighttime extracurriculars. The fights had always been a private affair for him for as long as he could keep it that way. He had a feeling that most of the people in his life, past and present, probably wouldn’t approve of his deadly methods. “‘Course, cher. We all need a yes man, n’ I’m happy to be yours,” he answered with a chuckle. 

It wasn’t long before they were all suited up and at altitude. One worker opened up the door of the plane they’d be leaping out of, and their tandem divers were busy hooking up all the clips and straps and whatnot that would keep them attached. Some more instructions were shouted over the roar of the wind and the propellers, and the first set of divers counted to three and leaped out the open door. 

“Hey,” Wyatt hollered over the noise as he elbowed Charlie in his side, “race you to the ground!” His own tandem diver guided him to the edge (it was not easy trying to walk while attached to someone, he realized), gave him a rough pat on the shoulder and a thumbs up, which Wyatt returned enthusiastically. Then they were off, and the earthbound lamia envied, only for a moment, the freedom of birds. 

—

“Promise?” Charlie shot back at Wyatt's threat of haunting him after death. He already had people haunting him, what’s one more going to do? At least the people haunting him could have a good time together, all crazy as fuck and in it for a good time. When Wyatt said he was happy to be his yes man, Charlie felt oddly touched, like he had a friend that was alright to do the stupid shit with him like he was for his bandmates. He swallowed the feeling down to worry about at a later time (it was always going to be a later time). 

People were starting to hook up to their tandem divers, and suddenly, that fear that Charlie tried so hard to keep at bay was rising to the surface. For a moment, he thought he wasn’t going to be able to do it. The tandem diver clapped him on the back before hooking themselves in, and Charlie took a deep breath before putting his helmet on. People were jumping out, and it was happening. 

Charlie took another breath and moved to the exit, staring down, then staring over to Wyatt who was tempting him to a race to the ground. Charlie grinned wickedly before nodding his head and closed his eyes for a moment before letting the tandem diver encourage his weight forward before jumping out of the plane completely. 

For the first time, he was flying. And he felt so alive, he felt like he was made of electricity. The world below was so far away, and all Charlie could do was let out a holler of excitement as he was freefalling. He finally understood why people did this, that he had let fear rule him for so long when he could have been doing shit like this. 

Vik would have loved this, would have been the first to volunteer and do this with him. Lindz would have, too. He missed his friends, missed that they’d never have this opportunity (Gareth would have eaten his own socks before skydiving). Before he knew it, the tandem diver was pulling their shute, and they were flung backward and making a slower descent to the ground that had been rapidly approaching them. 

For the first time in a long time, Charlie felt truly alive, and knew this was only the beginning of a very serious adrenaline seeking period in his life. Charlie touched the ground and ran along it to lose momentum with his tandem diver, heart racing and breathing ragged as he looked around for Wyatt, wondering if he’d beat him to the ground.

—

“Sir? Hey, sir!” A hand gripped his shoulder from behind, shaking him. Wyatt blinked, putting his arms out to try and stop the fall before realizing they were still quite high in the air. Had he passed out? Fallen asleep? He couldn’t remember any dreams, which was bizarre. “Good! I’m good!” he called over the howl of the wind rushing past them, reorienting himself. Jesus, he couldn’t even stay awake during freefall? It was like the moment his feet left the ground, he was out. At least he hadn’t had any more terrifying visions. 

Shaking off the drowsiness and trying to focus on the present, he found it easy enough to slip back into the mask of being fine, genuinely thrilled by the dive and able to push away his problems for now. (If only he knew how similar he and Charlie were in that regard!) They deployed their chute and soared the rest of the way to the landing site without issue. Once back on solid ground, the diving instructor unclipped them and was quick to make sure Wyatt was actually okay, who waved him off with some annoyance in his voice. “I’m fine, I’m fine, like I said,” he insisted, spotting Charlie in the distance and raising a hand to him. “Seriously. No mention of this to the glamrocker over there. He’d never let me live it down.” The diver eyed him suspiciously but then caved, content that he was at least okay right now, and not wanting to get involved with his personal life. 

“That was fuckin’ nuts,” Wyatt laughed as his friend neared, already having shrugged off all the gear and helped his tandem diver gather it. There was a waiting bus to take them back to the air strip they’d taken off from, and once all was ready, they started their walk over to it. “Still think I prefer bein’ down here, though. How ‘bout you?”

—

Charlie had shrugged off the gear as soon as he was on the ground, happy to be unclipped from the total stranger, but grinned and gave a thumbs up to them as they clapped him on the back and congratulated him on his first successful jump. First and probably only, he suspected. As he reached Wyatt, he looked the man over and then gave Wyatt a thumbs up. “And we lived to tell the tale, didn’t we?” He added with a smirk as he watched Wyatt remove his gear. 

There was a look in his instructor’s eyes that made him suspect that something went awry, but either didn’t read too much into it to notice, or thought the dude was just having an off day. “Everything go okay up there?” He asked with a raised brow. “Your chute worked? Didn’t contemplate death?” He smirked at Wyatt before they began walking over to the bus. 

“Thanks for joining, by the way.” He spoke as they shuffled into one of the bus rows. “I mean, a lot of people would have said no, but not your ass.” Charlie couldn’t help but laugh and roll his eyes. “I mean, you seem to always have something you’re up to, I felt like you were the best possible choice for this.” Charlie kicked a leg over the other, feeling strange to be in more athletic wear than his normal grunge rock style. 

He spent a few minutes taking down his ponytail and taming his unruly mess of curls. “I think it’s a lost cause,” he complained before throwing his hair back into a ponytail. “There’s no fixing that level of windswept wonder.” He muttered with the pony holder between his teeth as he scooped all the hair up into place, then tied it back. “Maybe next time we’ll do a grounded activity, huh?” 

—

“Oh yeah, it was peachy,” Wyatt deflected again, wearing a grin and falling in step with his friend. As they boarded the bus and sat in a row of seats together, Wyatt scoffed. “Oh, c’mon, there you go accusin’ me of havin’ this crazy secret life again,” he laughed, draping his arm over the back of Charlie’s seat and crossing one ankle over his knee. He did have a secret life, and he’d had one back when they first met, too. Maybe he wasn’t as good at hiding the injuries as he thought, or coming up for excuses some nights on why he couldn’t go out. He was a good liar, he thought, but maybe the people that knew him best started to see through that in their own way. 

Maybe that’s why he tried not to let anyone get to know him like that anymore.

“But yeah, man, of course. It was fun! I’m always down to do reckless shit with you. The spice of life, n’ all that.” Watching Charlie struggle with his hair for a couple minutes, the shifter wore an amused smirk. “Yeah. Hey, you ever been scuba diving?”

—

“I didn’t accuse!” Charlie spoke, putting up his hands in mock surrender. “I mean, if you did, that’d be kind of badass, but I’d be offended that you didn’t tell me. You have to have someone in your corner, right? I’ll always be in your corner.” He nudged Wyatt with a smirk. “It seems like everyone in this town has a secret,” he then muttered mostly as an aside to himself, looking out the window as the scenery changed from an open field to a forest of trees. “Again, no knock against a secret life or anything, you’re just out living your life a lot. I’m jealous, I think.” Charlie then admitted, wishing he always had somewhere to be, people to see. Something to run away from. 

“Glad to hear that, because you’re never going to get rid of me at this rate. Especially now that we’re roommates.” Charlie broke out into a huge, genuine grin. “Scuba diving? Nah, I haven’t.” Charlie admitted after giving up on his hair. “But that could be fucking sick, come to think of it. That next on the list of adventures?” He wiggled his brows at the idea. 

It felt nice to have someone that wanted to do things with him, someone that was willing to be stupid instead of holding him back. Charlie had to do this. He couldn’t sit idle with his thoughts as he waited for people to do a job they were never going to solve. He needed to start looking for answers, needed to find out who killed his friends. He tapped his foot restlessly as he got lost in the thoughts, unaware of his furrowing brow as he began to stare out the window again, a million miles away. Somewhere where his friends were still alive instead of living a life with a friend he’d lost contact with once upon a time. 

Charlie shook his head, breaking himself out of the spiraling thought process. “I’ve been thinking of getting into rock climbing again,” he spoke, more to fill the silence that was plaguing his thoughts than anything else. “Used to do it once upon a time, thought what the fuck, you know?” 

—

“Hey, so are you! This was your idea, after all! You’re out there livin’ it too, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Wyatt chuckled. “Anyway, yeah, I think we should try scuba next! You can do it to certain depths with some quick lessons, I think. Water’s gonna be cold as fuck out here, but whatever, I’ll deal.” He didn’t love the cold, which Charlie could probably now surmise was on account of his being cold-blooded. But that’s what dry suits were for! 

Wyatt leaned back against the cushion behind them, and seeing as he was terribly bisexual, he couldn’t sit like a normal person for more than a minute, so he hiked one knee up to his chest and hooked the heel of his shoe on the edge of the seat. His arms draped across the top of the little bus bench, one dangling in the aisle, the other finding a home across Charlie’s shoulders. 

“Yeah? You should. Plenty of rocks ‘round here to climb! Never done that myself, since… honestly, heights ain’t my favorite,” he admitted with a laugh. “But as I’ve proven today, I’m capable of suckin’ it up! You’ll have to teach me the ways of the reverse spelunker.”

—

Charlie nodded his head slowly, unsure how he could deal with underwater exploration. Still, he’d try anything once, right? It was about the rush, the experience. “Sure, I’d be down to try it.” He decided with a grin. It was easy to push the fear away when it came to his situation. He just had to remind himself why he was doing it. He was doing it for all the experiences his friends would never have, he was doing it because he cared about living his life to the absolute maximum. “Well we won’t know until we give it a try,” he spoke, thinking of the cold water. He wasn’t big on the cold, but that’s what the wetsuits were for, right?

He watched as Wyatt relaxed in his seat, not paying much mind as he got lost in his thoughts about his friends and what they’d never be able to experience again. He blinked, forcing the thoughts to the backburner. “You sit like an idiot,” Charlie mentioned with a smirk as Wyatt’s arm wrapped around his shoulders. It was easy to tease his friend, it felt like being with his bandmates. He missed the closeness of it all. 

“Yeah, that’s how you get yourself hurt, idiot.” Charlie remarked with a roll of his eyes and nudging himself into Wyatt playfully. “So scuba diving next.” He spoke thoughtfully, settling into his seat a little more. “I’m not taking you on more height adventures, you’ll hate it again.” He decided, wagging a finger at him. “Or we can set shit on fire again, that was fun.” He wiggled his brows playfully at the other. 

“World’s our fuckin’ oyster, isn’t it?” He decided aloud, deciding that he was glad he’d found someone that was willing to live life a little crazy like he did. Maybe even crazier, considering Wyatt was a contracted fighter. Charlie tried not to think about Wyatt hurt beyond repair, hurt and killed like his friends… He couldn’t suppress the shudder that went through him. “Just as long as you’re more careful than I am with these things.” He decided, giving Wyatt a serious look for a moment, holding his gaze. “I have a second shot at things, you don’t.” 

—

“Excuse you, I sit like a perfectly reasonable person,” Wyatt argued with a laugh. “And I didn’t hate this! It just, you know, freaked me out for a sec. Just a second.” A lie, but a white one, right? Didn’t matter. “Do love settin’ shit on fire, though, that’s true… always game for that.” A thought struck him and he chuckled to himself, leaning his head back over the seat and staring at the roof of the bus as they bounced along the dirt road. “Bet I’d be a faster climber than you, though. Especially if I was…” He dared not say it aloud here with strangers about, even if the rumble of the bus engine would likely drown it out. So instead he just rolled his head to the side, looking at Charlie and giving him a playful wink. “You know.”

The mood sombered slightly at Charlie’s warning, and Wyatt was compelled to straighten his back a bit, lifting his head from the seatback and giving his friend an amused but tired smile. “I’ll be fine, Charlie. I always am. Like I said… been at it since I was knee-high to a cricket. Never lost a fight. Never.” That wasn’t a lie, though he had come close a few times. “Not about to start now!” His attention shifted to his friend’s messy ponytail as his fingers rose to idly play with his hair, that smirk remaining on his lips. “You’re cute when you worry ‘bout me, y’know that?”

—

“Perfectly reasonable, uh-huh.” Charlie shot back with an amused expression as he rolled his eyes as hard as he could. It was easy being around Wyatt. Falling back into another friendship like he had with Finn. “I know you like setting shit on fire,” Charlie replied with a smile spreading across his face. “It’s almost like I’m good at paying attention.” He wiggled his fingers as if it were some mystical secret instead of just being very attentive to his friends. 

Wyatt’s come-on was met with a mirthless snort and a roll of Charlie’s eyes. “Insatiable and reasonable,” Charlie remarked, turning to Wyatt and nudging him with his elbow. It wasn’t unwelcomed, of course. Charlie was currently riding the high of the adrenaline coursing through his system. “Yeah, I think I’ve got a pretty good idea,” Charlie responded with a smirk, leaning forward to bonk his forehead against Wyatt’s and pulling away to sit back in his seat. 

Charlie frowned as Wyatt spoke of never losing. There was always a first time for everything, and even the mighty must fall, as Charlie had recently learned the hard way. His eyes followed Wyatt’s fingers as they moved to play with his hair. “I’m not cute.” Charlie protested, wanting desperately to make himself appear bigger and less, well, Charlie. “And I worry about you because I know you don’t.” Charlie flicked Wyatt’s nose with an unamused gaze cast in the other’s direction. “You’re important to me, y’know? That’s all.” He spoke, trying to dismiss the wholesomeness of it all with a wave of his hand.

—

“Mmm… if you say so,” Wyatt teased the other gently, but his expression softened (in spite of the flick to his nose, which, rude) as Charlie expressed honest, earnest concern for his well being. He put his foot back on the floor of the bus, not minding the other passengers that were scattered among the open seats as he leaned closer to Charlie and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Hey,” he spoke gently against his friend’s hair, “I know. I’ll be careful.” The arm that was still draped about his roommate’s shoulders pulled him close to Wyatt’s side, and the gentle expression he wore returned to something more familiar to him: a knowing smirk. “You keep touchin’ my face like that… you might as well smooch it. Don’t be coy, boy.” His grin widened. “I think I got an idea for how you can help my nerves from the jump when we get home, eh?” 

Insatiable, indeed.

[zombiebabysitter]

LOCATION: The Woods TIMING: Current (Right after Cruelty-Rich Lunch) PARTIES: Charlie & Wyatt (@loftylockjaw) SUMMARY: Wyatt texts Charlie to get him out of a hole in the ground. Charlie to the rescue! CONTENT WARNINGS: WRspice (Heavily implied)

He waited for a few minutes for the footsteps to recede, and when Wyatt felt certain that his escaped lunch had gone for good, he shifted out of his reptilian form and grabbed his phone. All his things were covered in dirt now, including his ass as he sat there, butt naked for the moment, more worried about reaching his friend to come get him. 

Charles, I’m in need of a rescue. I hope you can manage to googlemaps some coordinates in the forest. Bring a rope ladder, if you have one… or even just a rope. Now hurry your ass up xoxo

He followed the text with the longitude and latitude of the pit he was trapped in (thanks again, google), then put on his change of clothes and gathered his other things into his knapsack, setting it aside while he waited. 

It was a couple hours later when he heard the approach of feet, and thankfully the stride was different from that of the man who had left him in here. He raised a hand to block the sun from his eyes as he looked up, seeing at first only a silhouette, but one he knew to be Charlie’s. Wyatt broke into a grin, getting to his feet and brushing the dirt from his pants. “About damn time,” he said, as if this was the most normal position to find your friend in. His other arm raised as well, hand reaching out to shake at Charlie. “Well? You did bring rope or something, right?”

—

Not expecting his old friend-turned-roommate to ask him to come to the middle of the forest on a random Friday night wasn’t on Charlie’s list of things that would happen to him, and he wasn’t too sure if this was for a rescue mission or a ‘tie someone up for interrogation purposes’ kind of situation, but he was down for it either way. If Wyatt needed him, he’d be there. That’s what Charlie did, loyal to a fault.

Mr. Barlow, I don’t have a fucking rope ladder handy, but I can find some rope. Hurrying to the middle of the woods I guess. -xoxo, Charlie your savior

Charlie took the location and drove out as far as he could, then frowned as he had to walk the rest of the way. What the hell was Wyatt doing all the way out in the middle of the woods right now? Did he not have a fucking day job? What the fuck? He continued to hike through the thick foliage, muttering to himself about how much Wyatt owed him one when he made it to the location, and figured out why he needed the rope. 

Wyatt was in a comically large hole in the ground. “Dude…” Charlie spoke, eyes narrowing with a confused look on his face as he assessed the situation. “You know I’d do a lot for you, but you didn’t need to go getting in a hole to test my love and affection, I’d just kiss you if you asked.” Charlie snarked before throwing one end of the rope down. “Don’t ask why I fucking have the rope.” He warned his friend, threatening to pull the rope up as he spoke the words. “What the fuck happened?” He asked, dangling the rope just out of Wyatt’s reach so he could get some answers out of him.

—

Brows raised, the shifter laughed. “Oh, that so? Well then, I’ll make sure to ask just as soon as I’m up there with you.” Wyatt grabbed his knapsack with the oversized arm loops and threw it up over the top of the ledge near Charlie’s feet, then reached greedily for the rope, scowling at his friend when it was held away from him. He dropped his arms back to his sides with a huff, and then gestured wildly at the hole he was in. “I fell in,” he stated, belligerent. “Isn’t that obvious?” He knew that wouldn’t be enough, of course, so he then pointed to all the sticks and leaves and woven foliage that littered the dirt floor as well. “It was a trap, you know? Someone hid it here to catch something. They caught me. Now get me out of here before they come lookin’. I ain’t in the mood to be some hillbilly cannibal’s dinner,” said the hillbilly pseudo-cannibal. 

—

Unable to resist rolling his eyes, Charlie muttered something under his breath to the effect of “me and my stupid mouth.” Of course, Wyatt was attractive, but… Charlie never went around being so bold as he was now. He was learning a lot about himself, alright?

“I know you fell in, dude. What I don’t get is the appeal of going so far off into the woods for fun.” Charlie lowered the rope enough for Wyatt to grab onto. “You’re lucky I’m the kind of guy to drop everything for his friends.” He spoke with a scowl, bracing himself for Wyatt to start climbing up the rope. 

Charlie smirked to himself, peering over the edge of the hole to look at Wyatt. “Looks like I got the catch instead, lucky me.” He wiggled his brows. “The catch of the day? Long pork with a pretty smile.” He let out a whistle before getting serious. “Alright, let’s do this.”

_____

Wyatt didn't really want to answer the question of why he'd been all the way out here. That answer begged a lot more questions, ones that he wasn't sure that Charlie was ready to hear. People so rarely were.

“I'm so lucky,” he agreed, skipping over it entirely as he snatched up the rope. The man's next comment drew his gaze upward again and he flashed a smirk in response, moving himself closer to the wall of earth. “You ain't careful with those compliments and you're gonna get yourself in deeper than you want,” he warned with a laugh. 

Watching Charlie stand there like he was just gonna haul the shifter to the surface without any leverage had Wyatt snorting, and he gestured off to his left. “Cher, there's a tree about five paces over yonder… go loop that rope around the back of it before you get yourself dragged in here with me, and then we're both fucked. If I had any faith in your knot-tyin’ abilities, I'd tell you to just secure it there, but… city boys…” As if he hadn't been living in cities since he was eight. 

_____

Charlie thought for a long moment, and that was dangerous of him to do. So often he was used to clinging to the last of who he once was, and he was realizing that he didn’t want to. So instead of shrugging of Wyatt’s words, he simply stared at him for a moment then said “Maybe I know exactly what I want, you think about that?” He raised his brows with a look that seemed to say ‘try me.’ 

Blanching at Wyatt’s little faith in his rope tying abilities, Charlie grumbled to himself as he walked back to the tree, tying a perfect bowline knot around the tree to secure it to place. “Fuck you, I was a boy scout.” Charlie said to Wyatt, flipping him off as he got near the hole again, ready to help hoist him up once he got close to the top of the trap. 

“I mean seriously, ye have little faith in my survival skills.” Charlie complained as Wyatt began to climb, rolling his eyes as he huffed dramatically. “Tying knots and how to start a fire is all I took away from being a boy scout, by the way.” He added, watching Wyatt for a moment. Charlie thought of the incident in high school where he set fire to a trash can, getting him suspended for a little bit. Worth it. Thanks, Boy Scouts of America.

_____

The challenging stare was met with one of Wyatt’s own. That's how it was going to be then, eh? Well, it was very much unlike Wyatt to back down from a challenge. Even when he ought to have. There was no plan as he climbed; he figured he'd just let it happen as it would. The future was out of his hands, because that meant he didn't have to claim any responsibility.

“Okay, boy scout, impress me then.” He tugged on the rope once Charlie showed up at the ledge of the pit, testing the knot's strength. Hm. Didn't seem terrible. Grasping the rope with both hands and planting one foot against the wall, Wyatt huffed out a breath. Okay. Showtime. 

The going wasn't especially quick, but steady. Once he was close enough to the ledge to do so, he let go of the rope with one hand and held it out for Charlie to grab. Together, they hauled the shifter up and out of the pit for good. Wyatt heaved a sigh of relief and flopped to the leafy ground, laying on his back and staring up at the dappled light that filtered through the treetops. “Remind me to never fall into another hole in the ground.”

_____

Once Wyatt was close to the top, he threw his hand out for Charlie, who grabbed it with both hands and used all his might to tug him back up onto solid ground. Charlie flopped onto his back from the loss of momentum, and he couldn’t help but let a laugh escape him. “Remind me to work out more in my regiment of pure and unbridled chaos.” He spoke in response to Wyatt’s words before forcing himself up onto his feet and walking over to Wyatt, offering his hand out so he could help pull the man to his feet. 

“You know, I’d… really like to know what the fuck you were up to in the woods in the middle of the day. Off the marked path. In a fucking hunter looney tunes trap.” Charlie spoke, voice soft and imploring. He wasn’t going to let this go, and he knew that Wyatt was holding back certain truths. “I mean, I get if it’s hard to explain, I’ve got some of that myself.” Charlie instinctively looked down to his right forearm where the bite was. It was still in the process of scarring over, still looked gnarly. “What I mean to say is I’ve probably heard worse.”

Once Wyatt was up onto his feet, Charlie stared at him curiously for a few moments before tearing his gaze away and pulling up his shirt sleeve to reveal the zombie bite that marred his flesh. “There’s a reason I keep doing stupid shit, Wyatt.” He told the other, feeling as though if Wyatt wasn’t going to share his story, he would at least share his. Trust went a long way, and Charlie wanted Wyatt to know that he trusted him. “Bandmates were killed by zombies. One bit me but I got away.” Charlie watched Wyatt’s face for any emotion at all, before letting out a sigh and dropping his arm. “I’ve seen some shit, Barlow. I keep seeing shit. So if you think I can’t handle it, you’re fucking wrong.”

_____

He was about to take Charlie’s offered hand to pull himself back onto his feet when the other man spoke softly, prodding him again on the question of the day. His light, easy smile seemed to fall somewhat, palm defaulting to his own face instead, scrubbing over the beard that had started to grow in. “Yeah… somehow doubt that,” he argued, eyeing his friend again before taking his hand. 

Wyatt’s gaze followed Charlie's when it ducked down to his arm, curiosity piqued and leaving him leaning in a little more. It was a wound, and an angry looking one at that. But how was that an explanation for the—oh. Charlie continued, and Wyatt was made to understand. Damn. Damn. 

“I don't think the shit you do is stupid,” he countered in a tone more thoughtful than was typical of him. Then he stooped, circling his arms around Charlie's middle and pressing an ear to his chest, lifting him fairly easily off the ground. “Hmm…” the shifter hummed loudly. “Still alive. For now, I take it? Man… what is it with me and zombies… or… zombies-to-be, in your case.” He pulled his head back, smirking up at Charlie for a moment before plopping him back down on his feet. “Fine. You wanna know so bad, I'll tell you.” He held the other's gaze, still very much in his personal space as his blue eyes searched his friend's face. “I'm not human. Never have been. I'm what's called a lamia. You know those conspiracy theories about lizard people? Kind of like that, but cooler. And me, I'm more… alligator flavored. Like if the Hulk was a bipedal alligator. It's pretty dope. I was out here hunting. I have to eat big game to really satisfy. I was chasing… my meal when I ran over this trap.” 

That part was the easy part. The other part, the fighting and killing for sport, for the entertainment of others, the shit that had hurt one of his closest friends very badly… that wasn't as easy to admit. That was why he was looking scruffier than usual, and maybe why he felt so desperate for connection. He wanted someone that he liked and who liked him back to know. He and Zane weren't exactly friends, especially not now, he figured. And Felix? He couldn't even look Felix in the eye anymore. But how did he even bring something like that up?

_____

Charlie frowned, looking up from his arm to meet Wyatt’s gaze. Wyatt wasn’t known for his seriousness, so for him to tell him he isn’t stupid? It was a bit weird. Charlie decided not to read too much into that, he didn’t want to. Then, Wyatt was holding him close and sticking an ear to his chest. While he wanted to yank himself away, he didn’t. Whatever he was up to would be explained, surely. “For now.” He spoke, voice far away and somewhere else. “I, uh. Figured if I don’t die for real, why not live my life more hardcore, y’know? Hence the… hence the skydiving.” He bit at his lip piercing idly.  

“What, you like zombies, do ya?” Charlie pulled an unimpressed face, eyes half-lidded. “Sucks for you, because I plan on staying alive a little longer than two weeks after the bite, so.” He shrugged his shoulders, then paid attention to what the other was saying as he was deposited back onto his feet. “So if you’re into me for the zombieism, look elsewhere.” 

“Jeez, you’re, like… freaky strong, you know that?” He muttered, glad to have his personal space back. Then, Wyatt was staring into his soul, it felt like. A lamia. Alligator hulk. Huh. “That’s kinda dope.” He decided with a smirk, crossing his arms over his chest as he assessed Wyatt’s form.

“What do you uh, what do you do with it? Just hunt things and eat them?” He supposed, continuing to rake his eyes over Wyatt’s body, expecting him to turn into an alligator without warning. “What’s it, uh… look like?” He wondered aloud before snapping his mouth shut. “You don’t have to show me.” He quickly said, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. “Thanks for telling me.” He spoke, punching Wyatt’s shoulder with a soft smile. “I won’t tell anyone.” He then murmured, a lopsided smile appearing on his face before he took a step back, pulling his shirt sleeve down to cover up the bite. 

“Listen, we were friends once upon a time. I’ve always liked you, y’know? Just because you’re not all you appear doesn’t mean that I think any differently of you. You’re still the Wyatt I know and love.” His smile became more genuine as he spoke. “Just because you’re a lamia, or whatever, that doesn’t change anything for me.” He rubbed at his nose, unsure what else to say.

_____

Clicking his tongue, Wyatt made a sound like a light scoff. “I’m not into zombies, and that’s not why I’m into you, you just happen to not be the first person with that particular condition hangin’ over their head that I’ve… encountered.” He did leave much time to think deeply on his words, plowing right through to the next compliment that’d was offered. “And yes, I do know that. Find it comes in handy now and then.” 

With Charlie’s approval of his true nature, Wyatt moved to untie the rope from the nearby tree and start coiling it back up in his hand, wandering back over to his friend in time to catch the looks he was getting. He didn’t answer right away, letting all the questions spill out first, winding the rope and wearing a knowing smirk. His friend hit him in the shoulder and he raised a brow. “I’ll show you some time, under less harrowing circumstances.”

Picking up his knapsack, Wyatt started to shove the rope into it while Charlie kept waxing poetic about their friendship. It was cute, really. And appreciated, if he was being more honest. He paused, looking over at his friend and then shaking his head. “And the fact that you’re officially going to outlive me doesn’t change what I think of you. Except maybe that I’m a little jealous. Life seems so short, doesn’t it?” He thought of the Pit, of all the lives he’d taken there, and his stomach sank. “But… do keep it to yourself. The more people know, the more likely my ass is to get killed.”

_____

Charlie couldn’t help but smirk as Wyatt spoke of zombies. So he wasn’t alone. Charlie got a thoughtful look on his face as he thought of the fact that this zombie that Wyatt knew may be responsible. No zombie was safe from the shit Charlie would do to them. His face darkened at the thought of facing the people who did this to his friends. No, they weren’t people. They were monsters, plain and simple. “Zombies killed Gareth, Lindz, and Vik.” He told Wyatt, a faraway look in his eyes that turned to pure hatred. “I don’t know who you know, but I won’t stop fucking looking until I’ve confronted every last goddamn zombie in town. They’re out there, I know it.” His hand balled into a fist, nails digging into the palms of his hand. 

His anger was interrupted by the promise of seeing the lamia’s true form. He nodded his head, taking a few breaths to let his own rage subside. “Yeah, maybe around less holes in the ground.” Charlie replied with a roll of his eyes, mood soured. It didn’t help that Wyatt said he’d outlive him. That hit hard. He’d never thought about being undead, about the fact that he’d continue living when everyone around him grew old and died. Charlie’s gaze went far away again, the idea of outliving everyone, not just his friends were killed, it haunted him. “I…” He couldn’t get words to come out, frozen in place at the idea of Wyatt dying, of Finn dying. Growing old while Charlie stayed the exact same. 

He blinked a few times as he tried to force himself out of his stupor. “I don’t want you being cut down before your prime. I’m not saying shit.” He finally said, forcing himself to meet Wyatt’s eyes. “We should… get out of here before said hillbilly cannibal shows up. Like you said.” He gave a half-hearted smirk before it drifted away, leaving that same haunted look on his face as he turned to start walking back the way he’d came.

_____

Oh. Fuck, that wasn’t the mood he’d meant to inspire. “Ah, well... yeah. The guy I know, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Probably. Was that still true? “Only snacks on cadavers.” He walked quietly beside Charlie for another minute before stepping in front of him, turning around at the same time to walk backwards. 

“Hey, I’m sorry. I’m really good at… saying the wrong thing. I didn’t mean to dredge all that up.” He frowned, putting his hands on Charlie’s shoulders, forcing them both to stop. There was a pause while Wyatt tried to think of the right thing to say, what he wanted to say that also wasn’t traumatizing. “I’m kind of desensitized to a lot of it. But… I’m sorry about what happened. It’s fucked up and it’s not fair. And… for what it’s worth, if you want help finding these people, I’m down to be your muscle.” He let a small grin appear on his lips then, hoping to bring some levity to the conversation. “I’m really good at—” Killing people. “—teaching lessons to losers.”

_____

Charlie smiled at the idea of someone on his side that could pack a punch. “When the time comes, I may just hold you to that.” He told Wyatt with a half-smile, the haunted look in his eyes dissipating the more that Wyatt spoke. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to go somewhere else on you, man.” He apologized, rubbing his face as he snapped back into reality. “I don’t know where to start, honestly. But all I know is that zombies are involved, police are either not going to find shit or pretend they didn’t. So I feel like I have to seek my own justice.” He wiggled his brows. “Good to know I’ve got someone like you in my corner.” He spoke in earnest, a genuine smile on his lips before he turned to traverse through the wilderness. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here before it gets too dark to see.” He complained, putting his arm over Wyatt’s shoulder to force him forward. “What do I get for saving your ass? Free food for a week?” He asked with a curious gaze, deciding he was owed something for having to navigate all the way out to the middle of nowhere. “Ooh, you know what we should do? We should definitely have a jam session sometime. We can burn more shit and jam out. That sounds like a good time to me.” He decided to keep himself occupied by offering up things to do, anything other than the thoughts that plagued his mind, the thoughts of his friends, their faces as they were – nope! More ideas! 

____

Nodding in agreement, he turned to put himself beside his friend again, huffing out a breath as the musician’s arm draped itself over his shoulders. “Hey, no sweat! I can see in the dark,” Wyatt said with a laugh. “If it comes to it, I’ll carry you bridal style all the way back to your car.” At the question about rewards, something jumped into his head that involved less food and more tongue, but uh—he lost his train of thought, blinking himself back to the present when he realized Charlie was making suggestions. 

“Oh, yeah! We can for sure do that, I love settin’ things on fire and jammin’ out. Feels real apocalyptic, but in a cool way, not a depressin’ way. And… I don’t think free food is a very good reward, because you know I was gonna be doin’ that anyway.” Charlie was living with him, after all—he wasn’t going to be cooking for just one person for a while, he imagined. “Somethin’ else does come to mind…” He glanced sideways at Charlie, wearing a smug expression. With no further warning, he invaded Charlie’s personal space once again to press a kiss to his cheek, and then another to his lips when his friend turned his head (to laugh at him or tell him off, it didn’t matter). After a few seconds (that felt much longer than that), Wyatt pulled back again to give him a well-earned grin. “I ain’t much in the habit of askin’, as it turns out. But you did challenge me.”

_____

Throwing his head back and letting out a groan, Charlie stomped his feet along as they walked. “Of fucking course you can see in the goddamn dark.” He grumped, shaking his head. “Meanwhile when I turn into a zombie, I apparently lose senses.” He threw his hands up in the air. “The universe is cruel and unjust!” He declared, as if someone would take his feedback and change it (Hey, it was worth a shot).

“I can play the guitar riff to Enter Sandman like a boss, thanks very much.” He told Wyatt with a wicked grin, a look in his eye that begged Wyatt to challenge him to play it. Anything to show off on a guitar, honestly. Then, Wyatt was up in his personal bubble. Sure, he talked the talk, but he absolutely could not walk the walk. Gareth was a two year long stint that he was still processing. Wyatt was supposed to be his friend. But this was crossing into a territory he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with. Then again, Wyatt didn’t seem like the type to let it mean anything, and he would know better than to– Charlie was being kissed. And for a brief moment, he didn’t respond, just a blank screen.

Wyatt was his roommate, so like, was this weird? Fuck, he had to do something. He was going to make it weird. You’re a fucking rockstar, Hart. Act like it. A voice that sounded a lot like Vik said in his head. She was fucking right, he was a fucking rockstar. Ego that blocked out the sun! Right before Wyatt pulled away, Charlie kissed him back. So he was a bit lonely, sue him. Wyatt was a good looking dude. Charlie blinked, trying to register Wyatt’s words as he spoke them. System processing… message received. “Damn, I sure did, didn’t I?” He tilted his head to the side and gave a thoughtful look for a moment before breaking out into laughter. “I so wasn’t expecting it, sorry to go dead fish on you there. Won’t happen again.” He held his hands up in the air, realizing he was so down for an again. “That is, if you’re offering.” He added quickly, quirking a brow. 

_____

“Fuck yeah, I’m offerin’,” Wyatt laughed. He obviously wasn’t above sleeping with his friends, if Owen and Xóchitl were anything to go by. That wasn’t even naming the handfuls of them he’d messed around with while he lived in Boston. And just like with them, he didn’t expect this little dip into physicality to really change the dynamic of his and Charlie’s friendship. Living together would just make it that much more convenient! “No pressure, or whatever. You oughtta know that. But uh, yeah… door’s always open.” He gave Charlie a wink, and then just to make sure he was good on his promise, yanked him close to steal another kiss. This one lasted a bit longer, but when he pulled back this time, he was letting go of Charlie’s waist to shake out his hands. “All right, but I’m actually gettin’ kinda fuckin’ cold, so let’s get this show on the road. There’s way more comfortable places to be doin’ this.” He let out another breathy laugh, shoving the musician gently forward and hurrying after him.