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“They can’t just arrest you, right? I mean, they don’t have proof or anything.” “If it’s true that I’ve made everyone on the police force feel a certain way, they’d love to see me behind bars. They don’t need proof.” Once they arrive in front of the apartment complex, Sherlock leaves even before the cab pulls over. They reach the elevator with a few people in it. Sherlock pressed the third floor button multiple times, hands resting on the metal bars while his foot taps the ground. John can feel how worried he is, and it becomes more evident once the doors slide open and Sherlock pushes past the people, running down the hallway and slamming his palm against the surface of the door. “Jocelyn!” Sherlock raises his deep voice, slamming his fist against the door repeatedly. “Jocelyn, open the door!” When no one answers the door, Sherlock breathes out. “We have to kick the door down.” “What if she’s still at the Yard?” “No. When we arrived back at the precinct to interview the little girl, she wasn’t there.” “We… didn’t even go to the lab, how would you even know that?” “Because every five in the afternoon, she leaves the lab to get coffee. She never did that today. I must have noticed without… noticing.” “She never leaves early…” “Precisely. She left early for your birthday, not for anything else. Something is wrong.” If this was Moriarty’s idea to burn him, he might be doing much worse to Sherlock. John nods at him as well, looking at the door again. Sherlock raises his foot and braces himself. As if on cue, the elevator doors slide open and a clueless Jocelyn steps out, carrying her sling bag over her shoulder while she pushes her hair out of her line of sight. Once she looks up, her eyes widen. “What are you doing!?” Jocelyn shrieks. At the sound of her voice, both heads snap towards her. John sighs in relief, eyes relaxing as he glances at Sherlock lowering his foot. However, the consulting detective only has his eyes trained on her. Jocelyn jogs towards them with an annoyed expression, arms wide open. “Were you just going to kick—” She was cut off by the impact of Sherlock wrapping his arms around her in a frantic manner, eyes still wide as if he couldn’t believe that she’s fine. “You’re… fine. You’re alright.” Sherlock mumbles in a questioning tone mostly to himself, hands shaking as they brushed through her brown hair to hold her head to his chest. Jocelyn is surprised by his gesture. For the past few months, all he’s been was neutral to her, treating her like he treats everyone else. Now, he was holding her so tight as if she would just disappear all of a sudden. “I’m okay, Sherlock,” she mumbles into his chest, listening to how rapid his heart rate is. Sherlock sighs out and for a moment, he didn’t care that John was watching them. Although, that doesn’t mean he’s been comfortable with himself. Once he realizes what he did, he immediately pulls away and just watches Jocelyn as though he was a deer caught in headlights. He stammers for a second and she just looks a bit worried. “John.” “On it,” he immediately directs her to the elevator after taking her keys and giving them to Sherlock. The detective glances down at her purse, brows knotting. As John walks her, Jocelyn keeps looking back with worry. The detective unlocks the door and pushes it open to disappear inside. “What’s going on?” “We’ll explain at home.” John leads her outside the building. Later, Sherlock steps out, carrying a bag. A few people begin to leave the building with fear in their eyes, and the number increases by the minute. Jocelyn’s mouth opens, realizing it’s the emergency bag she keeps in case she needs to leave immediately. “How did you—” “What’s in your purse?” “…what do you mean?” “I mean, what do you have in your bag?” “Sherlock…” He steps forward and grabs the sling bag, pushing Jocelyn’s carry-on into John’s arms. He has his eyes on Jocelyn the entire time as he slides the zipper of her sling bag, pulling out the handgun she brought with her. She crosses her arms anxiously. “Jesus, bloody hell—” John stares at the gun. She gulps. “I can explain that.” “Please do, before you give John a heart attack.” Jocelyn bites down on her lip. “Moriarty forced me to meet him. I went to tell him to fuck off.” “Sorry, did you just say that you went face to face with that psychopath?” John asks with wide eyes. “Why would you not tell anyone? More importantly, why did you go alone? Do you realize how idiotic your actions were?” “He threatened my aunt, I had no choice!” She snaps at him. “Plus, you and I weren’t exactly on speaking terms.” Sherlock steps forward so their faces are mere inches apart. “Speaking terms or not, you contact me as soon as your life is in danger, do you understand?” His eyes twitch. “Where did he meet you?” Jocelyn stays silent, not wanting to answer him anymore as she gives him a stubborn expression. This only makes Sherlock reach into her bag to pull out the paper and unfold it. He looks at Jocelyn in alarm. “What was he doing in our old flat?” “He… recreated our flat. Everything looked the same as it did before. Everything.” Sherlock stares into space, thinking to himself. “He said that he knows about how we met… but I doubt anyone’s memory is sharp enough to randomly remember us.” “What else did he tell you?” “He offered me a deal, but that doesn’t matter because I didn’t take it. He wants something from me, but he didn’t say what it was. He said that only I could be the one who can do it. I don’t know what he meant.” “Why didn’t you ask? Considering you two are now acquaintances.” Sherlock glowers before walking past her. John clears his throat, giving her a disappointed look before following after Sherlock. She briefly closes her eyes, turning to walk up to them as they wave down a cab. After a tense cab ride, they arrive an hour later and Sherlock proceeds to the flat without another word, as well as John. They seem to be annoyed at Jocelyn for not telling them of Moriarty’s visit, but Jocelyn can’t exactly be sorry, no matter how wrong she felt her actions were. John answers a phone call from Lestrade, saying that they’re on their way to Baker Street. Both men appear to be troubled looking, she can tell by the tone of John’s voice. As Sherlock removes his coat and scarf, Mrs. Hudson enters the flat, holding an envelope that she was planning to give to them earlier. John opens the envelope and pulls out something dusty; an overly baked gingerbread man. Jocelyn’s attention is caught when she hears police sirens nearing the streets. The doorbell rings and Mrs. Hudson fetches it. The rapid knocking on the door fills their ears. “What the hell is going on?” Jocelyn asks in horror. “Are we supposed to give you an explanation after you refuse to give one?” Sherlock barks out. “I told you, you moron. I was protecting my aunt.” “By also putting yourself in danger. It’s Moriarty, he could have killed you and your aunt. Along with the whole building. You weren’t thinking!” “I had no choice!” “You always have another choice,” he snaps. “You could have died tonight. He could have murdered you in that flat. Or held you hostage! How foolish—” Donovan’s loud voice booms through the hallway outside. Mrs. Hudson scolds them. Everything is happening simultaneously and Jocelyn can barely keep up. It causes her uneven breathing. John follows after Mrs. Hudson, mentioning something about a warrant and the word makes Jocelyn freeze. Sherlock calmly puts on his coat and scarf again, preparing himself. Greg crosses his arms once he sees Jocelyn. “I was wondering where you went. Ready to tell me why you were looking through the security footage?” At the mention of security footage, Sherlock glimpsed at her with a slight glare, figuring out that she was looking for the person who put the note in her lab. “Sherlock Holmes, I’m arresting you on suspicion on abduction and kidnapping,” “Greg, what—” Jocelyn gapes. “He’s not resisting, you can’t just cuff him.” “It’s alright, John.” Sherlock mutters, not wanting the situation to worsen. “No! It’s not all right. This is ridiculous!” “Jocelyn, stay in this flat. Do not leave.” Sherlock calmly tells her. “But—” Greg orders his officers to take him and they aggressively push Sherlock outside. “Don’t hurt him!” Jocelyn steps in, but Greg gently grabs her arm to stop her. She glares at him. “Are you serious?! Abduct and kidnap?” “You don’t even have a warrant.” John reminds. “Don’t try to interfere, or I’ll arrest you two.” Greg points out, looking as dismayed as the both of them before he leaves. Donovan walks in with a smug look on her face, and John just shakes his head at her. “I said it, solving crimes won’t be enough. One day he’ll cross the line. Now, ask yourself. What sort of man would kidnap those children just so he can impress us all by finding them?” “Sherlock would never do that,” Jocelyn immediately says. “Of course, you’d say that. What, with being the only woman that Sherlock has ever dated.” Jocelyn freezes in her place. Donovan snorts. “It’s all over the papers, Grant. You and Sherlock shacking up back in the day.” Jocelyn’s jaw drops, looking at John. He just shakes his head, indicating that he had no idea. “What does that have to do with how you are all arresting the wrong man?” “Well, you weren’t there. And since you’re practically his ex, you’re letting your personal feelings cloud your judgment. He found those kids with just a footprint as evidence, no one can do that.” “That’s how he is. He’s intelligent. Too intelligent for your lot, which is why all of you consult him.” She persistently says, stepping forward to near her enraged face to Donovan’s. “You are repulsive.” Donovan has nothing else to say and it was the exact same time their boss walks in. He looks at Jocelyn. “Dr. Grant, what are you doing here in the middle of an arrest?” She walks to him. “You are making a big mistake. Sherlock Holmes is innocent, you have to let him go,” “Dr. Grant, don’t tell me you’ve also been consulting this man and letting him into the lab to view evidence.” She huffs. “He—” “Donovan, that our man?” “Yes, sir.” “Looked a bit of a weirdo, if you ask me. Often are, these vigilante types.” He comments, and it might have pushed John over the edge. Jocelyn gasps when John swings at the Chief Superintendent, successfully giving him a bloodied nose. “John! John, don’t,” she goes to his side and pulls him back as he tries to pull away from her hold to assault their boss even more. Officers came in and grab John, pulling him downstairs. John quietly apologizes to Jocelyn for his display of violence. Jocelyn can only watch, feeling powerless as her two friends are arrested. Jocelyn follows behind. “Greg, you have to believe me. Sherlock didn’t do anything, you know he wouldn’t!” Greg grabs her arm, pulling them away from the officers hearing range. “I know he wouldn’t, but I can’t do anything about it, alright? We have the Chief involved in this!” He sharply tells her. “I told you before that I confide in Mycroft Holmes, but now it’s out of my hands, there’s nothing we can do.” “It’s Moriarty, this was what he was planning, don’t you see?” “He walked free after the trial, which means that I can’t drag his name into this. The media made sure of that.” Lestrade reaches into the nearest police car he could find, pulling out the newspaper and giving it to Jocelyn. “They’re telling Sherlock’s life story, like an exposé. You were mentioned in the preview of it.” The article introduces her as Sherlock’s sole romance before she was introduced as a prestigious scientist. It even mentions how they knew each other during their sophomore years for five months, which is oddly specific. “There is no way that any random civilian just cared about mine and Sherlock’s lives enough to even remember any of this.”  Before Lestrade could reply, groans from other officers can be heard. They look at one another before jogging back to where everything was happening. Jocelyn feels like her heart would stop at the sight of Sherlock pointing a gun at everyone. “Ladies and gentlemen, would you all please get on your knees?” Sherlock backs away with John cuffed to him. Everyone watches in shock. “Sherlock, what are you doing?!” Jocelyn yells. In response, Sherlock points the gun to the sky, firing it and letting it be known that he is armed. “Now would be good!” “Do what he says!” Greg orders, already lowering himself to his knees and everyone copies his actions. Jocelyn kneels down, still watching them with concern. Jocelyn’s hands are shaking, watching the two men back away and begin running. The moment they turned, everyone was on their feet looking exasperated. Jocelyn clenches her fists and hails a cab. *** “No one trusts the voice at the end of a telephone. A man turns up with a Holy Grail in his pocket. What were his credentials?” Kitty doesn’t answer him, which leads him to set rage inside himself, but he tries not to let it show on his face. “You had no permission from her for you to publish your ridiculous articles. Dr. Grant has been in your place, scouring up every opportunity she could find in order to make a name for herself and here you are, slapping the label ex-lover into her entire identity. Now, people who read the papers will begin to view her solely because she was apparently involved with me and not because she gained three PhDs in her lifetime.” Sherlock bottles up his anger. John gapes at the anger on Sherlock’s face. The detective inhales calmly again. “I will ask again. Who is Rich Brook?” The door opens from behind them and Sherlock turns to see who it is, and to Sherlock’s horror, it was none other than Jim Moriarty. However, Moriarty is not acting his usual self as he watches the two men with fear, arms raised in defense while backing away. On the other hand, Jocelyn storms into Mycroft’s office, eyes filled with betrayal and disappointment. “We are in the middle of—” “I don’t care, get out.” Mycroft sighs. “Miss Grant—” “I said, get out.” Jocelyn looks towards the man and woman sitting opposite of Mycroft’s desk with a murderous glint in her eyes. He contemplates, but nods at them wordlessly. Jocelyn doesn’t take her eyes off Mycroft for one second while the two people leave the room, closing the door behind themselves. “What the hell did you do?” “Pardon?” Jocelyn messily throws the newspaper into his desk. “Miss Grant—” She snaps. “Don’t fucking Miss Grant me! What… did you do?” Mycroft is speechless, even avoiding to look her in the eyes. He couldn’t say anything to her about the plan, which leads to Jocelyn scoffing at him with total betrayal. “You told me that I should never doubt you when it comes to Sherlock’s safety and you do this? How could you? He’s your brother and you, what, went on story mode over coffee with Moriarty?” “Miss Grant, you have to understand that it was never my intention to hurt him, and it will never be my intention.” “He can use that to ruin him, do you see what you’ve done?” She couldn’t help but let a tear escape her eye in front of him, the Iceman. “Jocelyn, you don’t understand. I never intended for this to happen,” he lifts up the newspaper. “I don’t care if they smear my name. His whole life story will be revealed and I never thought for a single moment that it could be you who would do such a thing.” He just sighs. “I’m sorry.” She almost dryly laughs at him, but refrains. Jocelyn gives him one last look before leaving his office with a heavy chest. *** “Well, here we are at last. You and me, Sherlock. And our problem, the final problem.” Sherlock is cautious enough to look at his surroundings as he walks towards him. “Did Jocelyn tell you about what I did to your little flat? It was so fun trying to identify objects in photos using a magnifying glass,” he chuckles, circling around him and seeing Sherlock mimicking the tapping. “Good, you got that, too.” “Beats like digits. A keycode that can break into any system.” “Told all my clients. Last one to Sherlock is a sissy.” “Yes, but now, I can use it to alter the records. I can kill Rich Brook and bring back Jim Moriarty.” “No, no, no, this is too easy, this is too easy, there is no code! Doofus!” The insanity flashes across his face as he screams into Sherlock’s smug face, wiping it off at the instant. “I’m disappointed in you, ordinary Sherlock.” “But the rhythm...” “Partita No. 1! Thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach. Your significant other managed to play it really well. I knew you’d fall for it, that’s your weakness. You always want everything to be clever. Now, shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building. Nice way to do it.” “Do what?” It dawns over him, turning to look at the edge of the rooftop. “Yes, of course… my suicide.” “Genius detective proved to be a fraud. I read it in the paper, so it must be true. I love newspapers. Fairy tales, and pretty grim ones, too.” He turns to Moriarty. “I can still prove that you created an entirely false identity.” “Oh, just kill yourself. It’s a lot less effort.” Sherlock breathes out, looking around the rooftop and the view. “Go on, for me. Pleaaaaase?” The detective grabs Moriarty by the collar and balances him over the edge, staring at him with a murderous glare. “You’re insane.” Moriarty appears amused. “Okay, let me give you a little extra incentive. Your friends will die if you don’t.” Sherlock’s face softens. “John?” “Not just John. Everyone.” “Mrs. Hudson?” “Everyone.” “Lestrade?” “Everyone, Sherly.” Once Sherlock quiets down, his eye twitches, thinking of everyone’s lives. Moriarty grins. “Forgetting a name?” “Jocelyn,” Sherlock says under his breath. “Three bullets, three gunmen, three victims. There’s no stopping them now.” Sherlock narrows his eyes. “Three?” “Oh, I’m not going to shoot Jocelyn. No, no. Bullets are reserved for the ordinary people.” Sherlock tightens his grip around him. The mere mention of Jocelyn’s name was enough for Sherlock to want to throw Moriarty of the building. “I have someone who’s going to take her and make her suffer. She will hate herself and you wouldn’t be able to do anything. She will hate her life until she begs them to kill her.” He taunts, and Sherlock’s heavy breathing begins to shake. “I’ll make her do things you can’t even imagine. So many possibilities with the good scientist. I can make her as my right hand, or I can make her feel all the different types of pain, or I can make her the biggest criminal master in the whole world,” he smirks, watching the confusion in Sherlock’s eyes. “You might think I’m reaching, but she really has the potential, believe me. If she doesn’t accept, they’ll throw her into terrorist cells.” He casually says, and Sherlock pulls him off the edge. “You can do whatever you want with me, but nothing’s going to stop them from pulling the trigger, and kidnapping little Josie from your bedroom. Your only four friends in the world will die, unless…” “Unless I kill myself. Complete your story.” Moriarty chuckles. “You’ve got to admit, that’s sexier.” “And… I die in disgrace.” “That’s the whole point? Off you pop, go on. I told you how this ends, your death is the only thing that’s going to call off the killers. I’m certainly not going to do it. And from that, Sherlock figures out that Moriarty can call it off, and now, the two are challenging each other again. “Nah, you talk big. You’re ordinary, you’re on the side of the angels.” “Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don’t think for one second that I am one of them.” Moriarty just stares at him, slowly coming to realization. “No, you’re not.” He slowly smiles at him. “I see. You’re not ordinary, no. You’re me. You’re me! Thank you, Sherlock Holmes.” He offers his right hand for Sherlock to shake. He reluctantly reaches for it, shaking his hand. Moriarty grows emotional, nodding continuously at him as he thanks him. “As long as I’m alive, you can save your friends. You’ve got a way out.” He nods in understanding. “Well, good luck with that!” He chirps, widening his mouth into an ‘O’ before pulling out a gun from his coat. Before Sherlock could react, Moriarty puts the gun into his mouth and pulls the trigger, sending Sherlock to gasp out and take a step back, watching Moriarty’s body fall into the floor. Moriarty’s eyes were wide and lifeless as blood pools around his head, Sherlock’s heart was beating rapidly as he groans at the sight, feeling lightheaded as he tried to think of what to do. He looks over his shoulder, slowly making his way back to the edge. Sherlock starts panting, his hands are shaking. He steps on it and looks down, pulling out his phone to send a specific text to his brother. He had no other choice, he knows what’s coming. Sherlock scrolls through his contact list and searches for a name. He dials them and holds the phone to his ear. A yawn sounds from the phone. “What?”  “Jocelyn.” At the sound of his voice, she sounds more awake. “Sherlock, oh, my God. Where are you? I’ve left you like a thousand messages! Are you okay? Where’s John? Are you hurt?” Her many questions laced with concern only makes one corner of Sherlock’s lips to twitch upwards into a smile. “Hello? Sherlock?” The sound of her voice snaps him out of his daze. “I need you to listen to me very carefully.” “Can’t you just tell me where you are? I can come to you.” “No, I can do this over the phone.” “Alright, what is it?” “I… want you to know that I understand why you did what you did.” She silences, and by the sound of it, she seems surprised. “You wanted to give me my best chance. You thought that you were hurting me by being around me. My past self would disagree, but I understand from your point of view.” “Sherlock, what’s going on?” He shakes his head, looking down at his shoes and observing the way the tips of his pair are hanging from the edge. “Jocelyn, I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused you in the past, and in the coming future. I apologize for being so angry while not knowing the full story. On the bright side of things, if you hadn’t left, I never would have met John or Mrs. Hudson.” “Where are you right now?” Sherlock can hear her begin to walk. “No, no! Don’t leave the flat—do not leave.” He quickly tells her in a slightly aggressive tone that he cannot hold back. “Sherlock...” “Please. Stay where you are. I need to tell you more.” “I swear to God—” “Everything they’ve been saying in the papers, everything you’ve read, everything you will read. It’s all true.” He cuts her off with a calmer tone. “What? That you’re a fraud?” Jocelyn laughs, thinking it’s a joke. “Okay, I’m going to call John and—” “Jocelyn, please. I am not trying to be amusing at the moment.” “Why are you saying this? Did Moriarty put you up to this?” Sherlock can feel Moriarty’s lifeless body just bleeding out behind him. “No, of course not. This is all me.” “You don’t seriously think I’d believe the papers, do you?” “Oh, but you must. It’s all true, Jocelyn. I am a fake.” “This has to be a joke—you and I met during University! You knew who I was the moment I opened the door.” Sherlock swallows, peering over the edge and calculating how high it is. “All of your information was enlisted on the university papers.” “You knew about my mother.” “You kept a photo of her by your bedside table.” “You found her diamond ring in under a few days!” “My brother knew of a pawnshop owner who knew how to assemble jewelry. I was trying to impress you.” “I-I don’t know what you want me to say.” Sherlock briefly closes his eyes. “I lied to you.” A sniffle coming from the phone against his ear only sent a pang through his body, and now he cannot stop picturing Jocelyn with tears running down her face. “Why are you lying to me now?” “I’m not lying now, this is the truth. I’m a good researcher, but I was never a good detective. I created Moriarty’s identity,” he tells her, but she only scoffs in disbelief. “I needed him to stand as an arch nemesis.” “Oh, so you were the one who put me inside that freezer, then? Is that what you’re telling me? You were the cause of one of my worst traumas? None of this makes any sense!” “That is what happened.” “Do you even hear yourself right now? You would never hurt me.” “I took it too far that afternoon, Jocelyn. It was my mistake. You were not supposed to experience mild hypothermia.” “Shut up, stop lying to me.” She pleads him. “Come to Baker Street, Sherlock. I swear to God, if you’re not here in less than half an hour, I’ll hunt you down myself.” His heart feels as though it stopped beating. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that he was going to die. That would only make her come running to St. Barts and plead him to come down. He wouldn’t want her to see him that way. “Jocelyn, don’t—” She hangs up and slips the phone into her pocket, scoffing to herself as she walks downstairs with her wallet, seeing Mrs. Hudson. “What’s going on?” “You’re awake!” Mrs. Hudson smiles at her. “John came by.” “He was here?” “He seemed to be in a hurry.” “Did he say why he came here? Or where he was going?” “No, he was a bit shaken up, I think. He didn’t even stop by for five minutes.” “Did you see which road he was headed?” Meanwhile, once Jocelyn hung up, Sherlock glares at his phone, unable to prevent his eyes getting watery from dejection. Even near death, she still manages to piss him off. He tries to dial her again, but as soon as he sees a cab pulling over in front of the hospital, his face softens. At least he got to hold Jocelyn and talk to her even just for a moment, which was enough for now. Sherlock calls another number and watches as John sprints out of the cab and into the hospital while answering his own phone. He speaks to John and watches the panic in his friend the moment he sees him on the rooftop. Flashes of Jocelyn’s smiles, laughter and words were playing before his eyes. All the times that Jocelyn was most happy, it doesn’t surprise him that most of the images are not from the this year. But he does remember when he paid her a visit, they drank together, and shared memories. His words brought a smile to her face and laughter rumble from her chest that night, and the satisfaction of doing that was unfathomable. John shakes his head, not even believing him for one second. “Stop it, now,” he begins to walk to the entrance, but Sherlock lifts his arm to stop him. “Keep your eyes fixed on me, will you do this for me?” “Do what?” “This phone call, it’s my note,” he sniffles. “It’s what people do, don’t they? Leave a note?” John presses his lips together, not believing what’s happening before him. “Leave a note when?” Sherlock watches his best friend, not wanting to do this to him or to anyone, but he has no other choice. “Goodbye, John.” “No, don’t.” The consulting detective throws his phone to the ground, bracing himself at the edge. Sherlock takes a deep breath, looking at the ground and seeing everyone get to work. “Sherlock!” He stretches his arms to his side, relaxing his body before slowly unbalancing himself, leaning forward to let himself fall. John watches in horror and everything is a blur for him. Something hits him, sends him to the ground, he pushes himself up, pulling himself together as he makes his way to the growing crowd, a body, blood, the smell of blood, his hand reaches for the body’s wrist, no pulse, his vision darkens. John could barely hear the ear-piercing scream from behind him, the hurried steps and the shaky breath coming from one woman. Just a few moments earlier, the young scientist walks casually to the entrance of the hospital. She huffs out in annoyance, thinking back to how the detective was clearly lying to her. She kept thinking about how she’ll help her two friends get out of this mess; but it wasn’t until she catches a crowd from the corner of her eye. She furrows her brows, seeing between the gaps of the crowd that there is someone lying on the ground. Her heart pounds as she makes her way towards the crowd. Everything inside her overflowed the moment she recognizes the familiar coat and scarf… and she screams. She screams until her she can barely feel her throat. The screams were deep and painful, horrific and haunting. Sobs tore her chest open as she runs towards the body to push between the crowd. She wails the man’s name, hands getting covered in blood as she tries to reach out for him. Pairs of arms held her back, but she fights back, watching the paramedics lift the body into a stretcher. Her whole world falls apart, her entire body feels like it’s no longer attached to her as she slowly sinks into the floor, eyes droopy with her energy draining, and everything goes dark.

It was actually kind of nice to sleep on that couch, but it took Finn awhile after Poe nodded off to fall asleep himself. Though his Prince woke up again in about three hours time, it was probably the best night's sleep either of them had in days. Poe seemed to be of a better mind after the short nap. He seemed more collected, more sure of himself, that much more ready to face all of this. But he reminded Finn of his promise to go back to bed, so there was nothing else the guard could do until at least daylight. Once morning broke, he followed Poe around like a puppy as plans and tactics flowed in like water. Every General had something to say about invading the Capital, and his Prince listened to everyone's suggestions, both stupid and wise alike. It was clear – terribly clear – that this attack shouldn't happen for at least another week. The primary factor of the First Order's military support was still horribly unclear which put a massive void in most plans. However, due to the circumstances, they agreed to move forward at dawn the next day. Finn never wanted to speak up more in his life. Tomorrow? And Poe planned to be the first one there? Secretly, he had hoped his Prince would have thought otherwise about going if Finn went, too, but that didn't seem to be the case. It didn't change his mind, but the rapidly approaching moment to strike was putting everything in a stronger perspective. Finn was more than okay with himself going, but Poe? The mere thought went against his every grain. He lived and breathed to protect his Prince, and now the man wanted to run into war. But that's just the thing. It's war. If the invasion failed, nothing for the country would end well. Ben would decimate everything, that much everyone was sure of. It was all or nothing... and Poe was a great pilot, a great leader. And he had to be there. He had to. Finn understood that. That didn't mean he couldn't hate it. So Finn excused himself from Poe's side halfway into the day, feeling certain that his Prince was in no danger while under Lando's roof. His first order of business was to visit with some of the others that planned to lead the ground troops. Finn would be in charge of every unit on the ground, but these people would practically be his rights hands through the whole thing. When he spoke to and shook hands with Karé Kun and Iolo Arana, he tried hard to not think of Muran and Antilles. His second step was to visit with the pilots that would be flying by Poe's side. However, he found out that all of their air squadrons would be following him, and the only two people he trusted to act as right hands were still not within Finn's realm of contact: Jess and Snap. Once he realized who Poe would be flying with, though, he realized that he didn't need to speak to them after all. Those two would never let anything happen to him. So he talked with Karé and Iolo for hours, dividing their military units into sectors, deciding which way to enter the city and take the palace back. The city was the easy part. The contacts they had within the limits, not to mention the news and social media that managed to leak out, every millimeter closer to the palace was more and more guarded and deadly. The First Order was afraid of an assault. Maybe they wouldn't have all of the surprise that Finn had previously hoped for, but they could still work with this. Just as dusk set in, Leia ordered everyone to rest. What wasn't planned already would never get planned by this point, she claimed. They needed the rest for tomorrow. Poe wasn't going to rest. He wasn't going to sleep at all, the moron. But Finn vowed to find him later, to give them both a moment of space, as he went back to the room they had given him, the same medically sterile thing he had woken up in. He just... needed a minute. To think, to collect his thoughts, to make sure he wasn't doing something absolutely stupid. He stared at the blank pad of paper in front of him from his perch on the bed, having already torn away any notes or plans he had made earlier during the endless meetings. So all he could do was just... stare. Writing came easy to him. It was a form of freedom and adventure and creation and expression. Writing was beautiful. Except for right now. Right now, he wanted every written word imaginable to burn as he wracked his brain. The hardest part is starting, he said to himself, so he started. Then promptly tore it out and started again. He wrote more this time, taking up half the page, going back every now and then to scratch out words or entire sentences. When he drew a big 'X' through the entire second paragraph, he tore that sheet out and started again. This one was short, to the point, and not at all good enough, so he tore that out, too. The fourth attempt was more of an homage to the second, making it long winded sans the mistakes he had marked out before. When he was at the end of the page, writing as small as he could to fit everything he needed, he stopped and took a look at it. Too long. He tore it out. On the twelfth draft, he finally knew what actually needed to be written. It took two more times after that to write it. It wasn't perfect – it wasn't going to ever be perfect – but it was good enough. He threw away the mound of rough drafts, then gently tore out the final copy. He folded it and stuffed it in an envelope that he had also lifted from the meetings and stared at it. It wasn't perfect, but it should be; it deserved to be. He was about to take it out and start all over again when there was a knock, the door opened, and Poe walked in. Finn smirked. “And here I thought I'd have to run you to bed tonight.” But it was flattering that he came here. Still, Poe looked dead on his feet, as expected, dressed again in something more casual. He didn't get any rest after their nap on that couch. Miraculously, his Prince smiled back. “Wouldn't have to ask me twice to go to bed with you,” he chuckled, moving forward and pointing to the envelope. “What's that?” Finn looked back to it again, grimacing, and resolved that this was as perfect as it'll ever get. “Just something for Leia. For tomorrow,” he sighed, turning to place it and the paper on the table next to his bed. “Speaking of, I'm thinking we all have about five hours worth of sleep right now?” “Give or take,” Poe answered, climbing into the bed beside him, sitting against the headboard and resting their shoulders together. “You should have been asleep hours ago.” “Me? How much did you sleep last night?” “You're wounded,” the Prince said playfully with a tiny smirk, shoving his shoulder against him. Finn shoved back, delighting in this new mood right before everything turned somber again. Poe frowned down at his feet, serious again, looking years older than he ever should. “I really wish you wouldn't go tomorrow.” Finn didn't answer. He was going. That wasn't up for argument. “I could order you not to go.” Okay, that was up for argument. “I outrank you.” Poe raised an eyebrow. “I'm sorry?” “I'm in charge of your safety,” Finn nodded, “and when I think something isn't safe for you, even if it's an idea of your own, I can do anything and everything that I must to protect you. Therefore... I could order you to not go.” His Prince leaned his head back against the wall. “Then why haven't you?” “I want to,” he answered. “Why haven't you?” “I'm thinking about it.” And for a moment, Poe seemed to do just that, then let out a heavy breath, shaking his head. “I almost lost you at the palace-” “But you didn't,” Finn interrupted, not wanting that train of thought to continue. Instead, he reached over and grabbed Poe's hand, lacing their fingers together. Touches like this were still new, but it didn't really feel like it. So he just watched his Prince, studying the profile of his face like he didn't always have opportunities like this. It seemed like an eternity before Poe gave in and turned to face him. But he wasn't really seeing him... There was turmoil just behind the dark eyes, heavy with thought. It took tim for him to finally come up with, “You're stubborn.” Finn gave him a small smile that wasn't returned. Then, softer, “You don't have to do this. Not like I do.” “I have to.” “Why?” Those lovely eyes darkened more as a frown pierced his handsome face. “For me? Don't go because of me, Finn.” It was for Poe, if he wanted to be completely honest. After all, he was injured and had been in a grand total of two combat situations in the past. But- “I have to go for everything,” he said instead, squeezing his hand, “Everything I know. Everything I care about.” “If I stayed here, would you still go?” Don't do this. Finn frowned, too, but didn't let up on the grip of their hands. “My place is with you.” Poe seemed to mull that over for a moment, glancing at his eyes and lips and forehead and torso, lost in thought but looking him over to take him all in at the same time. Eventually, like it was uncontrollable twitch, a deeper frown came over him, scrunching up his face. “It's not, though,” he finally said, blinking a few times before their eyes met again. “I'm not royalty, you know that. Nothing's going to change if something happens to me. I'm the son of soldiers... You shouldn't even be here. You were working your way up, remember? All of this was a case of being at the right place at the right time. You took it because you were bored and it offered more money. Remember? You're not obligated to do anything. You've done so much already. You have nothing to-” “Poe.” His voice was soft, but the other man shut his mouth all the same when Finn shifted and moved closer. “I told you,” he whispered just low enough to hear, foreheads brushing together, “I'm here to protect you. You are my Prince... by blood or not. Okay?” There was no answer, as Poe's shining eyes moved up from his lips, facing him again. He was shuddering, hand gripping his hard, so full of emotion that he could burst again. So Finn asked once more, just to be sure. “Okay?” The sound of a reply was nothing more than a terrified breath against his neck, “Don't die for me.” No. Those thoughts were supposed to be gone. “I'm going to survive for you. If I die-” Poe's breathing hitched, hand practically flying to the side of Finn's face. But it was gentle and soft and... shaking. He was shaking. “Finn, don't- Just don't. Just- You don't have to. It's okay. I'll be okay. I don't want you to- I don't want you even thinking about-” “I'm going with you.” It was a whisper, a mutter of breath between them, but firm enough to feel the seriousness in the statement. “Poe, I'm going with you.” “No, I- I-” His Prince stared down at his cheek, eyes shining bright. His breathing pattern was all over the place, shaking like a leaf, mouth moving in silence. “Finn...” His name said like that felt like an oath, and all he could think about was kissing him. They had only kissed twice, but- Poe tightened his grip on him, frowning with a furrowed brow, looking like a frustrated child. “I-” Their eyes finally met again, the Prince's full of fear and hope and warmth, his voice so low that it could barely be heard. “Finn, I-... I lo-” He looked terrified... Finn leaned forward, somehow understanding the broken words through a connection he didn't dare second guess, and swallowed the meaning between them, gently pressing his lips against his Prince's. Poe tensed instantly, gripping hard at Finn's jaw and neck, and he didn't move at all for a moment. Until, suddenly, he pressed back hard, pushing against Finn. There was shuffling, a moment where Poe readjusted himself to face him head on, a second where the guard was sure he was about to be straddled but didn't. Instead, he felt Poe leaning over him, gliding his tongue along his lips, and Finn let him in without a thought. He reached higher above him, grabbing the back of his Prince's shirt and tugging him further down, all the more closer. But while Poe's tongue was making him weak, he felt resistance there. He pulled away for a brief moment, one where he continued the kissing between the words. “I won't break.” “Don't wanna-...” Poe paused in the words to kiss him deep again, making Finn lean off of the bed to get closer to him, before they broke apart again. “Don't wanna hurt you...” Didn't want to hurt him... They were walking into a war in a few hours, and Poe was worried about hurting him right now. Finn grabbed him at the ribs, pulling his Prince away and, all at once, picking him up and flipping them both over, putting him on top and pressing down without any thought to dignity. And... well, yeah, okay, it kind of hurt a good bit, but it was worth seeing Poe beneath him, wide eyes dark, breath catching and hands scrambling- Finn attacked the pulse point on his neck, biting down and sucking however way he wanted. Beneath him, Poe tilted his head to give more room, hand gripping up his back, and an amazing moan escaping him. “Finn.” He arched beneath him, and Finn groaned when he realized that Poe was hard. Oh Christ, to continue this, to see where they would end up- But his wounds felt like they were on fire. It wasn't a big deal – he'd feel much worse tomorrow – but he didn't want to pull a stitch just to make Poe think it was his fault. But it felt too good to stop now. The noises Poe was making as he rocked back into him. They couldn't just stop now. “Can I-?” Finn mumbled against his neck, hand gently going beneath Poe's shirt to trace the skin of his hips. “Can I-?” “Yes,” the other nearly sobbed against him, one leg already wrapping around him. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes-” Finn nipped at his adam's apple, effectively hushing him for the moment, hands deftly working to unbutton his pants. Meanwhile, Poe bucked and wiggled beneath him, scrambling to get his shirt off. Finn paused in his mission, leaning off of him for just a second to get rid of the offending piece of clothing – and oh, those days of sparing had paid off – but Poe gripped his bicep before he could go back. “Wait. Wait.” He froze, worried for just a moment, until he realized what was about to be asked of him. His shirt. Oh hell. He didn't think that far. An excuse was on his tongue, literally anything that came to mind first, but Poe was already moving beneath him, leaning up until they carefully flipped over again. This time he was definitely being straddled. Poe was breathing heavy, eyes blown huge, and this was probably the best thing that had happened in a long, long time. Poe's hand carefully moved beneath his own shirt, staying at the waistline like a question... Dammit. Finn bit his lip, but arched gently beneath him to take the shirt off. Hands moved, and Poe was suddenly helping him. It took a second just because they were going so slow with it, but the thing came off and fell on the floor, revealing every one of Finn's bandages that he hadn't wanted Poe to see. For a moment, his Prince just stared and took it in, eyes flicking to every spot covered in gauze and wraps. If Finn could have gotten away with covering himself up, he would have. It wasn't that he was self-conscious about it, but he knew Poe's way of thinking. He didn't want to share these wounds. But, slowly, Poe leaned forward to kiss his collarbone with much more patience than a moment ago, moving down his chest and lightly brushing his lips over the bandage at his heart. But he hardly stopped there. Poe kept moving down, following the line of his hard-earned abs. “Can I?” he repeated. Finn could have melted off of the bed. “Yeah,” he managed to breathe, like that was anywhere near as good as Poe's enthusiasm to the question a moment ago, but it was all that his mind could come up with right now. It didn't deter his Prince any, apparently. Poe's hands moved against him again like he had known this body for years, sucking at a spot beside Finn's navel that made everything in him tense and run hot, quickly managing to get his pants unbuttoned. Finn groaned in relief, hardly aware of the sound until it left him, while Poe's hands swiftly drove him insane by running down his hips like that. Goddammit, was this a dream? Those thoughts silenced when Poe finally released his cock and turned his sharp eyes on him. Oh God, this could not be happening right now. Finn, breathing hard, gave a small nod of approval. He could have sworn that there was a smirk there, before Poe opened his mouth and slid his tongue over the head, keeping his eyes on his. Finn gasped, shuddering, but didn't look away. Not until Poe took him in, eyes fluttering shut before swallowing to the hilt. Then he looked away. There was no other choice. “Fuck, Poe.” His eyes screwed shut, head tilting back, bucking once and managing to stop himself with the hardest bite to his lip he'd ever had to do. He had wanted this to last. He had wanted to think about anything except what was happening right now, but that wasn't about to happen. Poe felt so good, bobbing up and down on him, and Finn's hand automatically found his soft hair. He opened his eyes, entirely against every logical piece left in his mind. “Poe-” Those dark eyes found him again, full of wild lust, the man over him suddenly grinding against the bed, and- “Poe, God-” He was quickly losing the situation. “Poe, I'm- Poe-” The lover above him, his Prince, moaned into him, and that was it. Finn arched with a whine, gripping at the soft curls in his hand, coming hard down his throat. There was a beat that Poe stayed, practically milking him dry, before pulling off with a little pop. If Finn could physically melt into a puddle right now- Poe was kissing his jaw, chin- He moved his head at an angle, taking his lips in his, hardly able to lean up and kiss him as deep as before. Damn if his body hadn't decided to give out. But, no, not yet. Finn pulled back. “Now, you.” “I'm okay.” “Oh, don't start that-” “You're tired-” Finn grabbed his hip, pulling him close. “Just tell me how you want it.” Doubtless, a hundred different scenarios suddenly crossed Poe's mind if the way his eyes flicked down and his tongue licked his lips was any indication. “I just-” he began, then stopped and looked into his eyes again, leaning back in. “So long as you're doing it, I don't care.” Finn smiled, pushing up to meet him halfway and return the kiss. He would never get enough of kissing Poe. Ever. And maybe this wasn't nearly as good as the stellar blowjob that just wiped him out, but Finn pressed the heel of his hand to Poe's cock anyway, pleased when the man bucked above him. He broke the kiss, making quick work of the pants. “So hard,” he muttered, finding that spot again on Poe's neck, his free arm wrapping over his Prince's back to press them together. To make it as good as he could, he pushed his hips up, grinding against Poe while his hand did the harder work. Judging by Poe's, “Oh God,” moan against him, it was working. Before he knew it, Poe was grinding down hard, thrusting into his hand, practically growling against his ear, and Finn bit down, ushering him closer. It didn't take long before Poe gasped over him, body tensing and letting out a long moan, a beautiful heat spilling against the guard's torso. “Finn, oh... Finn...” For a moment, he nearly collapsed on top of him in a heaving mess of pleasure, before managing to roll off and onto his back. Finn watched him try to catch his breath... As far as first times go, that was pretty great. “Was it good?” If it wasn't, he was more than willing (if not exhausted) to try again, even as he wiped away the come to his torso with the edge of a sheet. But Poe huffed a laugh, opening his bright eyes again to look at him. “Well, that was-... That was pretty fucking great, Finn.” It still hurt to laugh, but there was a strong sense of peace now, especially with that light back in his Prince's eyes. God, he'd done that. A pride surged through him, a protectiveness, a love- He turned on his side, moving closer. Poe got the hint quickly, turning to where his back was facing Finn so that the other man could wrap him in his arms and pull him close. All thoughts of tomorrow were for tomorrow, but for now a calm flowed through him, claiming them both. He was already falling asleep in the haze when he heard Poe mutter, “I wish we'd done this sooner.” Finn opened his eyes to the room, with the lights still on and the door unlocked, making sure that he heard right. After a breath, he placed a light kiss on the back of Poe's neck. “Me, too.”

As expected, Eric made it home well before you. He met your car as it pulled in and opened your door. Immediately, he pulled you into his arms and kissed the top of your head. You relaxed into his hold. You’d been separated for several hours and you’d missed him. Finally, you pulled away to stretch your back. You hated long car rides. Eric glanced at the group around you. “Where’s your father?” “He rode separately so he could make a call.” The reminder annoyed you. It wasn’t as if you got to see your father on a daily basis any more. You thought he’d want to spend the car ride without your mate catching up on business and personal things he wasn’t comfortable discussing around Eric yet. Instead, he hadn’t even ridden in the same vehicle. Gods, he could be frustrating at times. Your mate arched a brow. “It appears as if all the cars are here, yet your father is not.” You frowned as you glanced around to find he was correct. You even went so far as to open the door to inspect the interior of the car he rode in. The driver stepped up to you. “He had us drop him off at the hotel, ma’am. He asked me to proceed to your residence to convey his apologies. He will be unable to speak to you until tomorrow.” You clenched your teeth and worked the muscle in your jaw. What the fuck was your father up to? You loved him dearly, but you didn’t trust him for a moment. With your life? Yes. Everything else? Not so much. “Alonso,” you called. The man in question was in the process of getting back into the car. He stopped and glanced at you with an arched brow. “What is he up to?” There was a pause before he said, “I’m sure I don’t know. Perhaps you should ask him.” Oh, you fully intended to do just that. You watched Alonso leave and pulled out your phone. You’d start with a text and escalate from there. You could be pretty damned annoying when you wished to be. *** Eric’s phone rang just after sunset the following night. He was still in bed when he took the call. He listened for a moment while you frowned at him. He kept the volume down on his phone and you were having trouble picking up the other side of the conversation. Eric sat up, swinging his legs off the bed. “Yes, sir,” he said after several minutes. He glanced over his shoulder at you. The look on his face had you shifting uneasily. “I understand, sir.” With that, he ended the call. He licked his lips and shifted his weight on the bed so he could see you more easily. You moved closer but kept some distance between the two of you. You had a feeling you weren’t going to like whatever he had to say. “That was your father,” he informed you. You arched a brow. Why did he call Eric instead of you? You grabbed your phone and checked your notifications. Nothing. Eric took the phone from your hand and laid it beside his on the nightstand. Nerves made you nauseous. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you stared at your mate waiting for him to speak. He licked his lips again, a nervous habit he’d never lost. “I’ve been summoned to appear before the Magister, the Guardian and other representatives of the Authority.” “Why?” You forced the word out through clenched teeth as you willed the tears that suddenly flooded your eyes not to fall. You didn’t even know what was going on yet, so why did you feel like crying? And what the hell was your father up to? “To answer for Sophie-Anne’s death.” Fear and anger shot through you in equal measure. “You mean the execution you carried out at the Guardian’s command?” Eric said nothing. It was then that you realized what Roman had done. He had set your mate up to take the fall for the death of a queen. The only punishment that could possibly fit the crime was the true death. He wanted Eric out of your life and this was how he intended to accomplish it. “If he thinks I’m going to sit here and do nothing he’s sorely mistaken.” “I am to attend the hearing alone. Anyone accompanying me risks being punished for interfering in Authority matters.” His voice was deadpan, emotionless. He was already shutting down. Distancing himself. Preparing for what he felt was inevitable. “Well, that’s a risk I’ll just have to take,” you argued. “I agree,” came a voice from behind you and you turned to find Godric in the doorway. He hadn’t been here when you arrived the night before and this was the first you’d seen of him since your trip. You gestured for him to join the two of you on the bed and let him pull you into his arms when he did. You leaned against his chest, seeking his comfort. “I will not risk either of you. You will remain here.” Eric’s face was hard. It was the look he wore when he’d made up his mind and he was determined no one would change it. You rolled your eyes. “I wasn’t asking for permission, Eric. Frankly, I don’t really give a shit what your thoughts are on the matter. You are entirely too self-sacrificing when it comes to the two of us.” Godric gave you a little squeeze at your words. Apparently, he agreed. Your phone buzzed with a notification before Eric could state his argument. You held out a hand and he passed you the phone. You scanned the text and frowned. “When is your meeting?” “One hour.” “At the hotel? Room 336?” You glanced up to see Eric wearing a frown to match your own. He grabbed the phone from your hand and read the message from your father. Meeting. One hour. Rm 336. You are to attend as a guest of the Authority. Bring your boyfriend if you wish. “Why was he so adamant you not attend with me if he was going to invite you anyway?” Eric tossed the phone on the bed and raked a hand through his hair. He glanced between you and Godric. “I’m sorry, alskling, but I am not overly fond of my in-laws.” You laid your hand on his knee. “At the moment, I’m not overly fond of him either.” *** Despite the uncertainty you held concerning your father’s actions at the moment, you knew he seldom did things without reason. So, while Eric flew to the meeting on his own, Godric ran you there. Your mate was already in the room when you arrived to several familiar faces. Your father was nowhere to be seen. Godric moved to Eric’s side which would only be expected of him as his sire. You, however, kept your distance other than a brief nod of greeting. You made your way around the room saying hello to those you knew. When Roman entered, his gaze immediately found you with a smile. He came to your side and kissed your cheek. “I’m so happy you made it, sweetheart.” Your eyes searched his. The coldness you’d expect if he was planning to betray you was absent. All you saw was that spark he got when he was scheming. “And why exactly was I invited to…whatever this is?” He didn’t miss the warning in your tone and the corner of his mouth curled in a smile. “I thought you might enjoy seeing some faces you hadn’t in awhile. And your boyfriend should be particularly interested in tonight’s proceedings. As you were both near, I thought ‘why not’.” Before you could prod him further, he clapped his hands together and turned to the room in general. “Welcome everyone. Let’s get started shall we?”

There was nothing Ian Gallagher loved more than his boyfriend, Mickey Milkovich. There was so many things Ian could tell you he loved about him, from his bright blue eyes, to his inky black hair, to his cold persona he put on for everyone but once he was with Ian he turned into a ball of mush right before everyone’s eyes. The love the two boys held could not be broken by anything, not homophonic dads, beatings, and especially not by a horny sixteen year old girl currently occupying the seat across from him at the kitchen table.   Ian first noticed Holly’s crush on him the first time he had met her. He was twenty at the time and she was only fifteen. Holly had stared so hard and so long at him, Ian’s surprised her eyes didn’t dry out and her drool didn’t flood the whole house. Ian knew Holly was being very obvious on purpose, as if that would make him fuck her. He knew she tried to get with Lip in the past, way back when Mickey was still in juvie for the Kash-n-Grab shoplifting, and she had fooled around with Carl for a little while when his leg was still busted. Ian usually ignored her advances and focused on his boyfriend, but tonight he couldn’t help but notice Holly was on a mission to get into his pants. He would have laughed if she hadn’t been so persistent.   Ian and Mickey had taken their seats at the kitchen table and Holly was quicker than Carl or Debbie at picking a seat, making sure she got the seat directly across from Ian. Ian was uncomfortable, sure, but he just clung tightly to Mickey’s hand and enjoyed the feel of Mickey pressing their legs together under the table. As Ian shoveled the burnt chicken into his mouth, he felt Mickey tense up beside him. Ian started rubbing circles on the back of Mickey’s hand with his thumb, hoping to calm him down a bit. He saw the look Mickey gave Holly but chose to ignore it, just focusing on relieving the sudden tension in his boyfriend.   Mickey got tense once again before glaring again at Holly. “Do you fuckin’ mind not molesting my leg under the table?” Mickey huffed angrily. Holly looked confused and Ian tried so hard to control his laughter. He knew she didn’t know he and Mickey were together and figured he could have some fun with it and see just how far she’d go with it before realizing. He figured she’d give up before the movie even started. When Holly “dropped” her fork and went to investigate, Ian almost lost it. Too fucking funny. Ian turned to an aggravated Mickey and started whispering lowly to him.   “Thank you for coming tonight, baby. I know you would much rather be in our bed while I abuse that perfect ass. Maybe before the movie starts I can take you upstairs so I can fuck your amazing ass real quick. I would love to get on you tonight, baby. Definitely.” Ian whispered hotly in Mickey’s ear, making the dark haired boy blush a deep crimson. Ian knew Mickey didn’t want to be here tonight and he wanted to make up for the too horny sixteen-year-old unknowingly making a fool of herself.   Ian kept his eyes on Mickey even after Holly resurfaced. He watched as Mickey’s facial expression turned from irritation to majorly possessive, and Ian would be lying if he said it didn’t majorly turn him on. Fuck. He had the hottest boyfriend ever. And he was all his.   If you’d have asked Ian a few years ago if he ever thought Mickey would be like he is today, you’d get a big fat hell no. Ian didn’t think Mickey was ever going to come around and be the amazing boyfriend he was today. The Mickey back then wouldn’t let him kiss him, hold him, or really be affectionate at all. Now, Mickey would cling to him any chance he got and he was honestly surprised that the Mickey he used to know is the same one that is holding his hand where everybody can see.   Except Holly, apparently.   When Ian sat on the couch after dinner, he wasn’t surprised to see Mickey scrambling to get the seat next to him before Holly had a chance to. It was cute, and Ian was grateful that not only did he not have to sit next to Holly, but he got to be close to his boyfriend which was always nice. Ian leaned in close to Mickey and put his arm behind Mickey on the couch, enjoying the way Mickey blushed at the closeness. Goddamn, his boyfriend was adorable.   “So, I need to go up to my room to get blankets and shit for the movie.” Ian said, with a mischievous glint in his eyes and before Mickey could even respond, Holly was booking it up the stairs. Mickey was staring after her and Ian couldn’t help but roll his eyes. This girl is sixteen years old. Mickey has absolutely nothing to worry about! Ian just goes along with it when Mickey takes his hand and drags him up the stairs, sending Debs a look over his shoulder that he hoped said control your friend before my boyfriend kills her.   When the boys walk by the upstairs bathroom, Ian sees Mickey peak in and then immediately covers his eyes. “Ah! Fucking Christ! Close the fuckin’ door next time!” Mickey yelled. In the split second between that and Mickey closing the door, he caught a glimpse of a very naked teenaged ass and he immediately busted out laughing. This girl was extremely desperate, wasn’t she? Mickey just continued to drag him to his bedroom, clearly trying to distance himself from Holly and get closer to Ian as fast as possible.   When Ian finally was in his room, he was still laughing as he shut the door. Pretty soon after they were both laughing and Ian kept it going to hear the beautiful sound that was his boyfriend’s laughter.     “Fucking dick. I’m a gay man for Christ’s sakes. I don’t need an eyeful of teenage girl ass. I need an eyeful of Ian ass.” Mickey laughed, and Ian couldn’t help but remember a time where Mickey would never admit to being gay, even with a nine inch dick up his ass. Ian was still lost in thought when he sat on the bed, but smiled when Mickey’s immediate reaction was to straddle him.   When Mickey slotted their lips together, Ian just leaned back on the bed, ready to do every dirty thing he could think of in the little time they had.   **   When Ian and Mickey finally finished doing the do, the movie was already fifteen minutes in. Ian didn’t care if it was obvious they just had sex, they were sweaty, breathing kind of heavy, and Mickey even had a bit of a limp. Ian couldn’t help but smirk at that one, just because he was a cocky son-of-a-bitch. Ian plopped down on the middle of the couch beside Holly and smiled a bit when he felt Mickey wedge himself between Ian and the arm of the couch, not minding the closeness one bit.   When Holly draped the blanket over the three of them, Mickey immediately grabbed onto his hand and rested his head on his shoulder. Ian smiled at this, to himself since he was out of view from both people currently occupying the couch and Debbie, who had taken refuge on the recliner. Ian briefly wondered where Carl had fucked off to, but he shrugged it off to him going to kill a cat or something else Carl does.   Ian smiled whenever a cheesy line came on the rom-com they were watching. Ian leaned over and gave Mickey a kiss whenever they said one, and by the tenth time Mickey expected it and just smiled sleepily and blushed like a tomato when Ian did it. Ian couldn’t help but love when his boyfriend was sleepy, he got even clingier and more often than not would wrap himself around Ian like a koala because he apparently can’t sleep without Ian holding him. Who knew Mickey Milkovich was so fucking cute?   Ian felt Holly place her head on his shoulder and under any normal circumstance he would have gently pushed her off and probably excused himself from the couch.  But tonight, Mickey was just barely awake and there was no way he was going to disturb his boyfriend. Five minutes later, he felt a small hand grab his dick through his sweatpants. He barely noted the domino effect as he sprung out of his seat, anger burning in his eyes.   Mickey and Holly had both tumbled off the couch when Ian got up and Mickey was glancing up at him slightly annoyed at being jolted awake and shoved to the ground. Ian would have thought his confused expression was cute if he wasn’t so pissed at Holly. Ian turned to Holly, the anger in his eyes still blazing.   “What the fuck were you doing just then?” Ian yelled angrily. Mickey just looked between the two, confused for a moment before Ian continued on. “Why the fuck were you grabbing at my dick?” Ian didn’t know how she hadn’t caught on to Ian and Mickey yet. They were very obvious. Ian knew she liked him but he didn’t think she would go this far!   “She did what?” Mickey asked angrily. Ian looked at his boyfriend and he looked as though he was reconsidering all his morals on hitting a girl. Ian watched along as Mickey and Holly had some weird little staring contest before Holly’s face grew smug and Ian knew whatever she was saying was going to be stupid.   “Don’t get mad just because I’m not interested in you, Mickey. Don’t ruin this for your friend, I mean, if I were you I wouldn’t hold him back from getting the best piece of ass around.” Holly was spewing bullshit at this point, and Ian would have laughed if he wasn’t so pissed she’d grabbed his dick in front of Mickey. That was real fucking uncalled for.   Turns out Ian can’t control his laughter after all and does end up laughing. He walked over to Mickey and slung an arm over his clearly worked up boyfriend. Ian leaned down and left a soft kiss against Mickey’s cheek as his anger disappears and he begins to feel bad for the girl. Ian turns to Holly and looks at her with an apologetic look and she just looks like she’s ready to piss herself.   “Actually, Holly, the best piece of ass I’ve ever gotten is Mickey.” Ian had never said something so true in his life. Mickey was the best and Mickey was his. Mickey took Ian by surprise by grabbing his face suddenly and crushing their lips together. Mickey always poured so much emotion in his kisses and Ian wasn’t surprised when this kiss was full of love while still being passionate. Exactly like Mickey. By the time he turned back, Holly’s jaw was on the floor and Ian would have laughed if it was the right moment.   Mickey wrapped an arm around Ian’s waist and Ian felt the warmth radiating off of the arm. Ian smiled as Mickey pulled out his big boy threats for Holly. “If you ever touch my man’s dick in my presence again I will personally break all of your knuckles.” Mickey threatened with barely any emotion. Holly noticeably paled and Ian briefly wondered if they’d gone too far. But Ian knew Mickey wasn’t going to do anything to her so he let it go.   “I- I’m sorry.” Holly mumbled as she plopped back down on the couch, dejectedly. Ian saw her get lost in thought, probably about something that happened tonight, not that he could blame her. The girl was probably humiliated. Ian honestly hadn’t meant to humiliate her but who the fuck thinks it’s a good idea to grab someone’s dick in a room full of people? Not to mention that he was five years older than her and didn’t want to deal with that mess.   Ian just threw himself down in Mickey’s previous position near the arm of the couch, clearly trying to put space between him and Holly. Ian knew Mickey wasn’t going to want to sit next to Holly and very much knew what Mickey’s favorite seat was, and that it was available.   So, when Ian felt Mickey plop down onto his lap sideways, barely able to keep his eyes open as he kept his head buried in the crook of Ian’s neck, he just smiled. He felt the kisses there and his heart fluttered with love for this amazing boy. The amazing boy that was all his and nobody could come between them.   And if Ian just held Mickey as he slept through the rest of the movie? Well that’s nobody’s business.

Hermione joined Ron for lunch in the atrium of the Ministry. The Australian contingent had requested a meeting with her after they finished with the Minister. Since she’d be at the Ministry anyway, Hermione decided to catch up with Ron, who was now working there. After the fall of Carding, Ron and quit his job as an auror to start afresh. Ron had followed his brother’s path into Curse-breaking and had finally achieved the enviable combination of working hard at something he loved. He still, Hermione decided with affectionate exasperation, ate like a pig. The atrium’s roof soared high above them, Hermione used to love looking up at the fractal scattered pattern of the roof panels reaching up to the glazing above. She wasn’t exactly sure whether the light that streamed in was natural or magical but it was beautiful all the same. It was probably the only part of the Ministry she had missed. Working on Draco’s project had re-energised Hermione after the devastation of discovering her years of pushing for equality for all magical beings had been a complete write-off. This time she was starting smaller, and focusing all her energy on breaking down stereotypes in the younger generations. But she hadn’t given up on her other dreams. She’d just shelved them temporarily until an opportunity presented itself. “Bloody Merlin’s beard ‘Mione, that all sounds completely horrible,” was Ron’s first comment after she blurted out a watered down version of what she’d seen in Severus’ memories. She had desperately wanted to talk to someone about it, but obviously couldn’t burden Severus, and Harry still had a lot of his own demons from that time yet to be exorcised. “I actually can’t believe some of the things he did,” Hermione said. “Or some of things he didn’t do, more to the point,” Ron added, ripping apart a bread roll. “Yes, that too,” she sighed. “I’ll tell you something I’ve never told anyone outside the family,” Ron said hesitantly. Hermione put down her own sandwich, as if holding the bread would interfere with her ability to listen. “What?” She asked. “The Ministry called Ginny in a few years ago for questioning,” “Questioning? What about?” “About what Snape did while he was Headmaster,” Ron answered quietly. “What, besides saving everyone’s bloody life?” Hermione said angrily and Ron made a shushing motion. She clamped down on her annoyance. “Obviously they weren’t the biggest fans of him, you know, because of the whole double-agent business remember?” Ron reminded her. Hermione blushed. She’d lately been noticing her lack of rationality on topics involving Severus. She felt such an overwhelming desire for him to be happy that somehow got mixed up into feelings of overprotectiveness. She worried constantly that she would scare him off. She wasn’t under any false impressions of her charms, and definitely thought she was hexing above her weight with him. She felt every day could potentially be the day he found out he could actually have any witch he wanted, and didn’t have to settle for her. His reaction in Minerva’s office had frightened her. Was it really that easy for him to decide they shouldn’t be together? “Sorry,” she said. “They got Dad to head up an investigation to bring a prosecution case against him; for charges relating to administration of the Cruciatus on underage wizards and witches,” “Oh,” Hermione breathed. She couldn’t believe it. Or actually, she could believe it. She’d seen it in the Pensieve after all. She could still see the drawn, desperate face he’d worn that horrible year when she closed her eyes at night. It never ended, never, never. “Dad wasn’t entirely sure on why it was necessary to prosecute a dead man, and even why they transferred him to the section to do it, but he decided that if he ran it, then he could at least make sure it was done properly,” “Go Mr Weasley!” Hermione whispered. “Well obviously he needed witnesses right? Luna, Cho, Neville.....” “Ginny,” Hermione guessed. Ron nodded. “Except what did Dad find out? Every single memory was fabricated. The Ministry was fuming, they couldn’t prosecute him for a a crime he didn’t commit. However there was one he did commit—“ “The Memory Charms,” said Hermione sadly. “Yes. It took a long time for Ministry experts to unpick the false implants and remove them without damaging their minds,” Ron explained as Hermione listened, transfixed. “There is residue in there, Ginny’s told me. She said they removed almost everything, except she says it’s like a whispery dream. But with the removal they took the false and left the real. So they all have Snape’s real memory of being tortured,” Ron finished. “Oh shit,” Hermione said. Ron shrugged.“Yep. Ginny said it’s weird, like being in a Pensieve almost. They all signed a secrecy agreement, but Ginny said the Ministry was a bunch of misogynistic twats and she couldn’t give a shit what she signed,” he smiled at the fist-pump of solidarity Hermione had given upon hearing Ginny’s opinion on the previous Ministry. “Is that why Ginny left?” Hermione asked. “Mostly,” Ron said. “It was her dream to play Quidditch, but she also wanted to get away. I mean, Riddle’s diary forced Voldemort into her head, then Snape got in there as well.” “Understandable,” Hermione said. “She loved Harry, but she said she was too mixed up to be with anyone....needed to sort herself out,” Ron said. “I adore Ginny,” said Hermione. “That’s so sensible.” Ron nodded, then looked nervous. “Have you, um, maybe, um thought Snape is perhaps too mixed up?” He asked, the blush that overtook his face seemed to signal even his body couldn’t believe what he’d had the courage to say. “Too mixed up to be with me?” Hermione asked, hurt. “No, you’re amazing. Terrifying, sure, but amazing,” Ron said seriously. “I mean.... with anyone. I mean, no one can live through what he did and be, you know, normal,” “You lived with him!” Hermione protested. “Yeah, but...well...he’s obviously perfected putting on a fake front right? Look,” he said hurriedly obviously worried Hermione was going to cry or explode or crysplode, “I’m your best mate aren’t I?” She nodded. “Well that means I get to be all protective and threatening,” he said. “Although don’t actually tell Snape that as I’m fairly sure he could completely destroy me with minimal effort.” Hermione smiled. “I love you, you stupid idiot,” she said. He grinned. “But—and don’t vomit—I love Severus too. I really do,” Hermione said. “If he’s a bit broken well, then, it’s not as if he doesn’t know it. And I’m certainly not in a position to throw rocks,” she added, placing a hand over her shirt-buttons that covered the raised scar on her sternum. “No one is,” agreed Ron. He grinned. “Well I’ve done my brotherly duty for this week, can you please pass me that bread roll?” Hermione laughed. She understood his concern, she really did. After all, she worried a little about Ron sometimes. Harry had told Hermione that Ron had been somewhat introspective after she’d moved out. They’d both jokingly agreed that such a condition was probably a novel experience for Ron, and he would certainly need their support to work through it. Hermione had thought, in a way, it had signalled the end of something. After all, they’d been together, in their little trio, since they were eleven. They’d moved in together straight after school and spent the years afterwards thicker than proverbial thieves. She’d been the one to break this when she moved into Spinner’s End. Harry had let it slip that Ron had fretted for days and at one point even resorted to asked Kreacher if Hermione was happy where she was. Ron, Harry had decided with the hubris of someone who didn’t spend a great deal of time concerned with the feelings of others, missed Hermione. Family was a particular trigger point for him after Nagini’s attack on his father; Ginny’s possession, Fred’s death and the latest unsuccessful Death Eaters versus Molly Weasley dramatic showdown. Ron didn’t want to lose anyone else. Hermione understood, and she had made an effort to go back to Grimmauld Place more regularly since the boys were too terrified to visit Spinner’s End. Hermione had thought....hoped?...Severus might have got a bit jealous when she started being away more. But he didn’t. While she decided that was definitely a good thing, a very silly, immature part of her wished he’d perhaps show a tiny but of interest in who she met with. But that, Hermione had decided, was insecurity talking. And she was not insecure, at all, being the strong, independent witch that she was. That she definitely was. Right? But there was perhaps a slight, small, or maybe even insignificant issue she hadn’t quite dealt with. Hermione imagined Severus’ mind would be like a well-organised gallery or showroom, with everything neatly laid out, labelled and alphabetical. Perhaps in there would be a ‘One True Love’ plaque underneath a too-beautiful for words Lily Potter statue, Hermione thought glumly. And in some dimly lit corridor she’d find a ‘She’ll do’ statue of her, complete with unmanageable hair and problematic teeth. If there even was a statue. Maybe she’d be relegated only to a bust, or perhaps a card, filed away with an appropriate Dewey reference. Hermione sighed to herself. Maybe she was overthinking things. After all, he travelled to Australia, fixed her parents with no concern to the implications for himself....sorted out Skeeter. He wasn’t a man of romantic words, she decided, he was more a ‘demonstrate through actions’ type of wizard. “Hello,” said a voice and Hermione both looked up. It was one of the Australian men, Chris. “Oh hello!” Said Hermione. “Gough is working out something with the Minister and Severus,” he said. “I’ve been left to my own devices. Which is always a dangerous idea.” “Would you like to join us?” Hermione asked. “Oh, and this is my friend Ron. Ron, this is Chris.” “Yes, I recognised him,” Chris said shaking a bemused Ron’s hand and sitting down. “Nice to meet you,” Ron said. “And good timing as I’ve got to go which means you can keep Hermione company. I’m meeting up with the Antiquities Section on a particularly tricky little amulet that’s giving spikes to everyone within a two feet radius.” “Sounds useful but potentially unsightly,” commented Chris. “Exactly,” laughed Ron, pushing back his chair to stand up. He gave Hermione a peck on the cheek and walked off towards the lifts. “I wanted to talk to you without Gough anyway,” said Chris. “So this is serendipitous.” “Intriguing,” smiled Hermione, “go on.” “Basila had a lot of friends in the military, and we did quite a bit of fund raising. So, we think what we could use it for is an exchange,” Chris explained. “Exchange?” Asked Hermione. “Yeah,” Chris said, “between Hogwarts and our school. A semester.” “That sounds great!” Hermione exclaimed. “We also had an idea about your group,” After the Pensieve viewing spectacular where Severus had.....er......needed a bit of space, Hermione had spent some time talking with Chris. She’d been really interested in the differences between the two countries, as had he, and she’d ended up giving him a potted history of her and Draco’s pet project. Until Severus, Hermione was used to males who half-listened to her, smiled vacantly and who were obviously thinking about Quidditch...or themselves...or themselves playing Quidditch...about two minutes into anything she tried to tell them. Chris, however, was cut from Severus cloth. He listened, asked questions and contributed meaningfully. Hermione had been in windbag heaven. “We were also thinking of something involving your group as well. We have a lot of areas where we’ve combined muggle and magical. It would fit in well with your excursions. Plus, I mean, we could hold it in your winter so extra bonus for the kids right?” He grinned at her. Hermione grinned back. “Yes! That would be fantastic.” “Gough also has another surprise for you,” Chris continued with the air of a man on a Good News binge. “Yes?” “He got Severus’ entry ban overturned. We’ve decided to let him come back. Provided of course he keeps out of people’s minds.” Hermione crowed ecstatically. “Brilliant! Brilliant!” She could hardly restrain herself and pummeled the table in excitement. Severus, walking to the left of Gough, could see a very excited Hermione talking to Chris. She was waving her hands around erratically, which generally meant she was thoroughly engaged in a conversation. Typically, he tended to be the other participant in the aforementioned conversation. She never seem to get as animated talking to Potter and Weasley, but who could blame her really. Severus decided it was odd to see her in full flight talking to someone else. He felt funny about it, although he wasn’t quite sure what was wrong, beyond an uneasy feeling that he wanted to be the one that made her laugh and knock cups over with her flailing arms. Not a handsome, blonde Australian with disturbingly thick biceps. As he neared their table, Chris obviously said something amusing as Hermione roared with laughter and immediately spilt her drink. He frowned. At that moment Hermione looked around and saw him. Her smile broadened and she pushed out her chair and practically bounced over to him. Severus felt himself relax slightly. That was his smile, the one she saved for him. “Hello!” Hermione said looking up at him. “All done?” “Yes,” he said. “Are you going to Hogwarts now?” “Yes,” he said a little uncomfortably. Hermione reached out and grasped his right hand, squeezing it gently. “I hope everything goes all right, and going back there isn’t too, you know, awful,” “I anticipate it being very awful,” Severus answered. “But I do have to go back there.” “I’ve just owled Draco to meet me here to discuss a great idea that Chris has just outlined to me. It’s really exciting, I’ll tell you about it later,” Hermione told him cheerily and he attempted an encouraging smile. Severus decided he must not have passed the correct message to his facial messages as she looked a bit crestfallen at his expression. “Oh, um, if you are coming back home that is. I mean, if it is going to be really bad, do you need some space? I can go visit the boys if you’d like,” Hermione babbled at him. You are an idiot, Severus admonished himself. He obviously couldn’t trust his face to do anything helpful in the current situation. His hands, however. He lifted them and drew her towards him. “I’ll be fine,” he lied. “I’ll see you at home later.” In direct contradiction to his years of wrathfully stripping House points from miscreants indulging in public displays of affection, and right in the middle of the busy atrium he bent down and kissed her. She wriggled delightfully closer to him, and sighed a small, soft sigh as she responded very agreeably to his lips. He lifted his head from hers, noting she’d turned quite a fetching shade across her cheeks. Severus allowed himself a smug smile. “Yes. Later,” Hermione repeated, and she was smiling again. Severus held that smile in his mind as he arrived at the gates of the familiar castle. A dark oppressive malaise threatened to creep up on him but he pushed it away. He watched the figure of Filius approaching down the path. Severus could feel the wards wouldn’t deny him entry, but instead he waited for the escort. Hogwarts wasn’t going anywhere.

Chapter 51July 1st, 1993France Harry slowly woke up and found a warm weight on his chest belonging to his naked girlfriend. Fleur was curled around him, her arms around him with her legs locked around one of his legs. He had to laugh at the position she put herself in because he knew that they didn’t go to sleep like that.He placed small kisses on the side of her neck and stroked up and down her back to rouse her from her sleep, making the sleeping girl squirm.“Wake up, dear,” Harry whispered to his girlfriend. Said girlfriend half opened her eyes and looked up at him which made her look very cute.She smiled back before snuggling more into his chest.“I don’t wanna wake up,” Fleur mumbled, gripping Harry tighter.Harry laughed before unhooking her arms that were around him“But you have to,” Harry said to which Fleur let out a little grunt of frustration. She pouted at him with her arms under her chest, causing certain features to stand out. Harry stared at her body, marveling at her beauty. Fleur saw him looking at her and gave him a sexy smile.“Coming?” she said as she got up and walked towards the bathroom, swaying her hips. Harry smirked as he got up and followed her.He smiled as he remembered how great it was to be in a relationship with Fleur and how their first time had been---------------------------------------------Lemon SceneNo one underage may viewYou have been warnedHarry sleepily woke up as he felt something press into his erection. He opened his eyes to see Fleur rubbing her bum back against him as they were spooned up together. They had apparently switched positions in the night, and Harry was hugging her back to his chest as they lay in bed.Raising his head up a bit to look at her face, he could tell that she was still asleep, but probably having a very nice dream if her actions were anything to go by.The young man started to kiss the back of her neck, making her moan in her sleep. Harry saw her eyes flutter open and stiffen from the contact. She relaxed though when she saw that it was Harry.“Morning Fleur,” Harry whispered into her ear. He let one of his hands drift down until it came into contact with the band of her knickers.“You can go ahead,” Fleur whispered. Harry moved his hand down the rest of the way and cupped her sex. He gently slipped one finger around the elastic on the band and slowly rubbed down her bald slit, making her moan. His finger found her tight hole and slowly slipped its way in.“Mmmmm,” Fleur moaned out, as Harry continued to kiss her neck, ears, and turned her head so that he could nibble on her lips. Slowly and tenderly, he loosened her up enough to add another finger. After a few minutes, he felt her inner muscles clench on his fingers as she went through an orgasm. As her orgasm ended, Fleur rolled them over so that she was on top of Harry.She shimmied her body down his and under the covers until Harry could feel her pull down the band of his sleeping pants; her hot moist breath on his manhood.“So big Harry,” Fleur said before licking up the side of his manhood. He couldn’t help the moan that escaped his mouth as he then felt Fleur engulf him.“Bloody Hell! That feels so good Fleur,” Harry gasped out. Due to his relative newness at this he couldn’t very well take the warmth and suction of Fleur’s actions, so after a few minutes, he came into Fleur’s mouth with a grunt. She swallowed his cum as it spurted out of his cock. Fleur took the time to remove his boxers completely. She stood up with her back to Harry. The girl bent over and slipped her knickers fully down her legs. Harry groaned at the sight as she turned around and bit her lip.“I don’t want to wait, Harry,” Fleur purred huskily. Harry nodded his head and she climbed into his lap. She used her wand to cast the Contraceptive Charm on herself before throwing her wand to the side. Fleur grasped his cock and lined it up with her wet opening. She slowly sank onto him until he bumped into her hymen which made her wince. After taking a deep breath, she plunged down until all of Harry’s cock was in her.“Please don’t move,” Fleur whispered. She knew it was supposed to hurt but this was still a surprise for her first time. “I think we should have loosened me up more before doing this.” A few tears leaked out of her eyes. Harry wiped them away before kissing her tenderly.“Relax love,” Harry whispered. “I won’t move until you tell me to.” Fleur hesitantly moved her hips slightly. After she discerned the pain was lessening, she started to slowly rock her hips back and forth.Fleur purred her approval while squeezing at his organ with the muscles in her rectum. They both felt the intimacy of this moment. Fleur surrendered herself fully to her man and Harry gladly took the offer plunging into her with unstopping rhythm and focus. It was all about his beautiful girl pressed on top of him for Harry. For Fleur, her mind was focused solely on the pleasure of the moment, her body on fire with need and arousal. Her juices leaked from her slit along her thighs in ever increasing amounts. Fleur’s butt muscles continually squeezed and released his organ as it pushed and pulled through her sphincter. Fleur’s mind came back to awareness of the outside world as she felt her pussy feeling that it was going to explode. She rubbed her flower as she began to feel the Harrys prick picking up speed. Her belly muscles tightened while her thigh muscles flexed to rock her hips back and forth. She was actively driving her rear up into the thrusts of her man. “I’m going to cum,” Fleur gasped out as she plunged herself down onto Harry’s cock as far as it would go. Harry’s eyes almost popped out of his head when he felt the pleasure of Fleur’s inner muscles gripping and fluttering around him. With a grunt, he forcibly came into her and a primal scream of ecstasy escaped Fleurs throat as she threw her hips back one last time and began to orgasm... Both pulled each other tightly to their chests, lips locked in ecstasy.After a few minutes where their actions and lip lock slowed, they both breathed heavily as they tried to catch their breath from the intensity of the experience.“That was amazing,” Fleur said. Harry nodded in agreement. They relaxed until Harry felt himself harden inside of her again.Here we go again.Lemon EndYou may read again if underage“That was amazing,” Harry whispered to her“Oui,” Fleur whispered back.---------------------------------------------------------The Next MorningFleur sat down at the breakfast table carefully as she was still sore from last night.“I knew you two wouldn’t be able to wait,” Fleur heard Appoline say in her ear as she laid food on the table. Fleur blushed as her mama sat down at the table muttering something about horny teens.“So, how was it?” Apolline asked.“It was painful at first but after about thirty seconds, the pain started to go away and it started to feel better,” Fleur said truthfully.“And just how long did you two go at it?” Apolline asked with a small smile.“I’m not sure,” Fleur answered as she tried to focus her sleep-deprived brain.“Morning Flower,” Harry said coming up and kissing her.“Harry” Fleur squeaked before hugging her boyfriend.“I missed you too Fleur,” Harry chuckled amused. He whispered the next part, “But can you get off me? Your body is making certain areas grow.”Fleur shot up off of him blushing as she remembered that they had other people watching. Harry chuckled as he stood up and wrapped her in a tight hug.He massaged her neck making her almost purr.“Harry, you’ve gone sappy on me,” a voice was heard, making Harry and Fleur break apart. The voice belonged to his mentor Isaac Patterson.“Okay, maybe I'm a little sappy,” Harry admitted. “But Fleur is worth being a little sappy.”“Way to make a girl feel loved,” Fleur muttered with a huge blush on her face.They all laughed.Author Note I know this chapter was mostly a lemon scene and I don't intend to have this be every chapter but at least a bit.

  It was now nearing 9 months since the chaos of the Civil War, and Tony actually felt comfortable with his team. Carol and Rhodey worked flawlessly together, which always caused Peter and Tony teasing him. During one of the team exercises Peter and Tony watched as Carol went against Hope, and how both were holding out rather well. “Major Danvers is so cool.” Peter sighed as Carol threw Hope out of the ring. “Tell me something I don’t know.” Tony chuckled. “Colonel Rhodes is gonna ask Major Danvers out after this.” Peter said, smiling up at his mentor. It was a running joke between the two of them, saying something new when the other said ‘tell me something I don’t know’ or ‘what else is new’. It was nice, having that type of relationship again. Tony didn’t think he’d ever have that again, not after the Civil War. “You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking.” Tony gaped at him. Peter laughed. “Nope! Heard him muttering to himself this morning. He wanted to wait till after the training so ‘Tones isn’t there to mess with me’.” Peter deepened his voice to mimic Tony’s best friend. Tony started cracking up. “That is precious! Oh I so want to mess with my honey bear now.” Peter looked alarmed, before putting a hand on his arm. “Oh please don’t Tony, or we’ll have to watch them flirt for even longer!” He whined. Tony just chuckled, smiling warmly at the boy. He finally got Peter to start calling him ‘Tony’ instead of ‘Mr. Stark’ which he considered a win. “Fine fine, I won’t bother him.” He looked to Carol helping Hope up. “Hey Major! We done here? Spidey’s gotta get home soon!” He called. Even though no one outside of the compound knew his identity, Peter had gotten comfortable enough to let other’s see him without his mask, and some to even know his name. Carol laughed, heading over to them. “Of course. We’ll see you this weekend right Peter?” Since coming out to his aunt, Peter started spending every other weekend at the compound, in the east wing with Tony. Peter nodded, bouncing a bit. “Yup! After Tony and I have dinner with May.” “That’s right it’s Thai night this Friday right? Wouldn’t miss it.” Tony ruffled his hair before heading to the door, knowing Peter would follow. “Oh and Honey Bear!” He called to Rhodey who was standing on the opposite side with a tablet. Once he looked up to the genius Tony grinned madly. “Good luck!” At hearing his friend sputter he cracked up as he put his arm around his mentee. “Tony you’re so mean!” Peter exclaimed, but laughed still. Tony chuckled, following the kid out to the front of the compound. “I’ll text you when I get home ok?” He was already wearing his spider suit from training, and he had his bag slung over his shoulder. “You better. Also try not to find too much trouble on the way home. It is a school night and May will kill me if you’re too late!” Tony smirked at him, knowing full well Peter would usually stop a few muggings or what not before getting into his Queens apartment. “I know I know! She yelled at me for twenty minutes last time!” Peter laughed, pulling his mask over his face. “Night Tony!” Tony waved, watching Peter leave. Once he knew the kid was gone he headed down to his lab. He had work to do, both for the Avengers and SI. First he’d work on finding more for his team. He had already reached out to a team in Hell’s Kitchen that called themselves the Defenders, and he was hoping to hear back from either a Luke Cage or a Jessica Jones. He was looking into a ‘Xavier Institute’ when Friday interrupted. “Boss, something’s wrong with Peter. I lost contact with Karen while he was stopping an assault and I cannot reconnect with her.” Friday spoke, sounding alarmed and concerned. Tony froze for half a second before bolting out of his lab. “Give me last coordinates Fri, and let Carol and Rhodey know what’s up. Do we still have the training wheels protocol installed?” He said as soon as his armor was around him. He was still working on his nano tech to create the ‘Bleeding Edge’ armor he wanted, but for now his Mark XLVII would do. “We have limited training wheels protocol, at least enough we can see what Peter saw before disconnection. I’ve already alerted Colonel Rhodes and Major Danvers.” Friday flew the suit while Tony watched on one of the HUD screens a visual come up. Looked like Peter hadn’t listened and was stopping three thugs from trying to hurt…a homeless girl? And things were ok, until one of the thugs stomped their foot and Tony could only watch in strange fascination as the street suddenly broke apart and shot up, trying to hurt Peter. “What the…Friday what am I seeing here?!” He watched then as Peter jumped away, only to be shocked suddenly electrocuted by another thug, causing the feed to cut. “I’m…not sure boss. I’ve been trying to go through it to see what they’re using to cause such damage but I’m not finding anything visual.” They were nearing where Peter last was. “Hopefully we’ll get some answers, and the kid’s ok.” Tony was trying not to panic, but he could feel it slowly bubble up. They made it to the street, and Tony landed, seeing Peter in full Spider-Man gear unconscious. The street looked like something had ripped out of it, and when he landed all eyes turned to him. “Scuse me, you have a permit to tear up the street like this?” He called out, seeing that the thugs were two guys and a girl. The one from the video who had torn up the street before stepped up, but before he could stomp again Tony raised his repulsors at him, causing him to pause. “Now now, let’s not do anymore damage.” Tony was concerned because Peter hadn’t moved yet. “We’re just here to get one of ours back.” The other guy yelled, grabbing at the homeless looking girl who had been trying to stay between Peter and the three. “Seems like she doesn’t want to go with you.” “She doesn’t have a choice.” The woman growled. “Come now Ana, you’ve cause enough trouble. Just come back and Father will forgive you.” She spoke to the girl, who had to be no older then 15-16. The girl looked to Tony, blue grey eyes focusing on him, before back to the woman. “He’s right Rebecca. I don’t want to go back and I am not going back.” Her voice quivered only a bit at the end, but she still stared them down. “Really?” The woman sneered. “You’d abandon your family?!” “The only family I have there is Michael and Mia, and I will get them back. But I’m not going with you, I will not go back to your precious Father, and I’m not letting you near Spiderman!” Ana yelled back at her. “You heard the little lady.” Tony said as he stepped forward. “Back off.” He could see exactly when the stomping man decided to act and shot up before the concrete that he was standing on exploded. “How are you doing that?” He questioned, Friday already running through what was seen. He shot at the stomper, knocking him out with a sonic blast. “Sorry, tricks of the trade” The other man growled, watching as Tony landed next to Peter. Tony then let his helmet retract as he kneeled and checked Peter’s pulse. It was going strong, letting the tension Tony had easily fall off before glaring at the woman who seemed to be itching to get closer to the three of them. “Back off. Now.” He straightened, letting his helmet fold over him and lifted one of his repulsors on her. Ana seemed to move closer to him, and he glanced over to notice she was removing her torn up clothes. “You heard Iron Man. Back off. Go sniveling back to Johnathan.” Apparently having Iron Man next to her gave her more confidence. “Keep talking shit Ana but you know damn well if we keep coming up empty handed Father will just take it out on Michelle. Little freak deserves—” The woman was cut off by what looked to be a white ribbon shooting out and wrapping around her neck, choking her. For a moment Tony thought Peter had woken up, and that maybe whatever caused him to collapse make his web shooters act up, but no. It wasn’t Peter at all. He turned to see that it was coming…from Ana? She had her hand out towards the woman, ribbon coming out of her palm. It looked like it had ripped straight out of her flesh and continued to pull itself out as the woman continued to be choked and then raised from the ground. “Shut up Rebecca. Shut up shut up shut up!” Ana snarled, and Tony could see Rebecca was starting to turn purple. “Kid…” He gently touched her shoulder. “You’re gonna kill her. And I don’t think your siblings would appreciate you doing that…so just…unribbon her?” She had flinched when he touched her, but seemed to listen and dropped Rebecca. The ribbon then shuttered and dissolved into thin air. “Good, that’s good. You alright?” He kept an eye at the now coughing woman and her last companion, but wanted to make sure the teen wasn’t hurt. “As alright as possible in this situation.” She said, looking up to him. She was now holding her hand that had the ribbon come out, as if in pain. “That’s ok, let’s get these two apprehended and you can tell me what’s going on.” Tony spoke softly, and turned when he heard a groan from behind him. “You alright Spider-Man?” He asked, keeping a repulsor on the two while helping Peter up. “Mr. Stark? Er..Tony…Iron Man yeah I’m just…what happened?” Seems that Peter was a little confused but took his hand, shaking his head. “Last thing I remember is—” He looked at Ana, then the two other people, and pulled Ana away to be shielded by himself and Tony. “These guys have been assaulting homeless people! And they were trying to take her!” He got into an offensive position. “Yeah caught that. Let’s get them taken care of yeah?” Tony let his repulsor hum to life, watching as the woman Rebecca put her hands close together to create a spark of electricity. That must’ve been what shocked Peter. The other man stepped back and began to chant Before Rebecca could do anything Peter webbed her hands, and then tried to web the other. It hit something invisible, like a wall of some sort so it didn’t hit him. He continued to chant, not noticing a strange orange portal opening up behind him. “Whoa, what is that?!” Peter asked, stepping back. Tony felt the icy prick of panic in his chest. He never got over portals after New York, and wasn’t sure what going to happen. To his surprise golden sparking chains suddenly shot out and wrapped up the chanting man, cutting him off. “The fuck?!” He yelled, struggling. From the portal stepped out a man that looked familiar to Tony. He wore strange blue robes, and had a god awful red cape that seemed to move with no wind around. “One of yours?” He asked the girl behind him. “No…none of them can do portals like that.” She said, stepping up to stand by Peter. “Apologies for interrupting this…scuffle.” The man called to them, looking at the mess of the street. “But I figured you may need help when it came to magic.Tony and Peter looked at each other confused, before Tony lowered his repulsor slightly. “So you’re…here to help?” The portal behind the man shut, and he chuckled at Peters question. “Yes. We sensed abnormal magic and so I came to find out what was going on.” “And you are what? The king of magicians?” Tony asked, seeing the cape behind him move almost as if it had a mind of its own. The man chuckled but shook his head. “No. My name is Doctor Stephen Strange. I’m the sorcerer supreme.”

Sex has never this big, life-changing thing for me. I've had a couple long-ish relationship, drunken one night stands I don't care to remember, and the occasional hook up that should've never happened in the first place. With the exception of a few close relationships, sex has always been a means to an end. Whether I was horny or in need of some companionship—sometimes both—someone just as desperate would always be there to scratch that itch. Sometimes even multiple people if I was in the right mood. Then I would go about my daily routine, taking care of my needs with the help of a trusty rabbit, until I craved that all too familiar touch; seeking it out in some hyped up club or an obnoxiously loud and packed frat party. I've had some really great sex and some...not so great, but never has it been this mind-blowing thing for me. That is until I met him. The thing is, I wasn't even supposed to go to that party. At first I turned down the invitation from my friend, making up some lame excuse about studying and still recovering from the bar the previous night. I only accepted my friend's nagging requests to go with her when I found out the party was hosted by the infamous wealthy kid; my piqued curiosity getting the best of me. Hey, she wasn't any better. I found out weeks later she just wanted to go to potentially hook up with a guy she'd been chasing after for most of the year. We all had our reasons to go to that party; some shallow and some not so shallow, but mine was never to find someone who would completely change my ideas of love and relationships forever. We're not a perfect couple by any stretch of the imagination, but our relationship works for us. We love each other, we communicate, and are open and honest with each other. Plus he's fucking hot, the conversations are great, and the sex is pretty damn awesome, so...you know...add those to the pro side of the list. All in all, if it came down to it, I would be incredibly happy just being with him in what society deems to be a "normal relationship". However, normal...never really been our thing. ~~~~~~~~~~ As open as most of the floor plan was for Rush, through secret doors and down long, darker corridors of the upper floor hid smaller rooms for the members to seek out and explore; some comparatively tamer than others. Each room varied in size and decor; from old world elegance to sleek and modern to a futuristic playground and everything in between. The masquerade of it all was beginning to wind down, but the majority of the upper floor was still packed with members enjoying all the main areas and all of the secluded rooms. The majority of the members still had their masks on, wanting to prolong the fantasy, but some did opt to take them off while they had the freedom to do so. Down on the first floor, Rush strictly prohibited any patron or member from taking off their masks, but allowed members to take them off on the upper floors. This was to ensure the anonymity and privacy of everyone while still giving members an option if they do choose to. The low lights from various antique fixtures casted a reddish golden glow around the room, beautifully decorated to look like a vintage french parlor. Smoke, sex and that uniquely Rush scent engulfed the room, encapsulating the gathering group of members watching one of the current shows of four women slowly eating each other out. Their bodies looked rather uncomfortable tangled amongst each other, looking as if they fell into their current positions on the cozy makeshift bed. However, from the loud pitch of their muffled moans, I doubt any of them really cared about the weird positions they were in. Fuck, he looked hot with his cock in her mouth. His eyes were closed, head tilted back, and his soft breaths passed through his parted lips. Her soft pink lips were wrapped tightly around his cock; well paced bobs of her head caused him to grab onto a large chunk of her honeyed curls. She seemed to really enjoy this from her muffled moans and her French tipped nails scraping down his bare thighs. An open bottle of Moet in a silver ice pail sat idle on the low antique wood table between us; condensation forming on the thick green glass. Two empty champagne glasses also sat on the table next to a half eaten cheese board with Lorde's brooding voice flowing through speakers situated around the open area. I would never in a million years mind a quiet Saturday night at home, watching Netflix and chilling under the covers with him. However, watching him get a blowjob from a gorgeous model while I sipped on expensive champagne as her equally gorgeous significant other fingered my already wet pussy, wasn't a bad situation to be in either. I smirked from behind the champagne glass as I caught the attention of those dark and hooded eyes. They were an even better site to see them gazing at me from across the seating area; the passionate stare warming my body more than any champagne flowing throughout my body could ever do. His raspy groan carried across the room when her tongue slowly dragged along the underside of his cock, just before moving down to suck his swollen balls. She then wrapped her small hand around the base and leisurely jacked him off; small beads of precum spurting slowly from the reddened tip. "Who do you want to be?" "Either," I said, moaning as the dark eyes slowly averted down to watch her tongue lick the dripping pearls. "Both." Michael chuckled, his fingers slowly teasing my clit. "You know, she's talked about the two of you before?" "She has?" "I wasn't at the agency at the time she met you. But, when we really got to know each other, she told me about the two of you." "Did you know at the time you knew one of us?" I asked, setting my empty glass on the end table next to me. "Kind of," Michael said, turning into me when my hand splayed over the bulge in his pants. "You didn't sounds familiar at all, obviously since I hadn't met you yet. But when she described him, something about it sounded a little familiar. Never thought it actually would be someone I knew." I let out a shuddered breath and watched his eyes again meet mine from across the room, biting my lip at the sexy grin that appeared when I opened my legs a little more. His eyes moved down and watched Michael's fingers continue their slow torture on my wet pussy. "It's a small world I guess." Another moan left my lips when I felt the little nip of Michael's teeth on the outer shell of my ear. "Yeah it is," he said and placed tender kisses across my neck. The groans underneath my ear and soft bites sent a shiver down my spine, prolonging it with a graze of his rough thumb over my hardened nipple. My hand slowly massaged the growing bulge in his pants, feeling the soft leather of his belt against my forearm; fleeting thoughts of another belt passing through my mind. I wanted to watch him completely come undone, relish in the groans and sharp breaths caused by her, but my eyes finally slid shut when Michael slipped two of his fingers inside me. Fuck, he was good at this. My foot kicked the leg of the table as I slipped my heels off, catching the attention of him. Loud drunken laughter, low chatter, and a variety of sexual clamor was heard all around the room, including some distant moaning yells from outside the doors. It was not uncommon for members to continue their playful trysts right out in the halls. The sound of a loud bang against the stark white walls, a soft thud to the white marbled floors. Sex was everywhere in Rush, you couldn't escape it. Not that anyone was really trying to. We all craved it, embraced it here. We all found relief here from the monotonous daily grind, found solace here from the pressures of social expectations, and found support here to go about our lives the way we truly wanted to live them. At this very moment, I was getting finger-fucked by the friend of the only person I could pretty much see spending the rest of my life with while he was intently watching the whole debauched scene from across room, getting an amazing blowjob from said friend's significant other. None of us were jealous or cheating or embarrassed. Instead, we were enjoying each other, indulging and losing ourselves to the sexually charged moment. Michael's eyes widened when I pushed him back onto the couch, but his face instantly changed when I climbed into his lap and kissed him. It was different than his, though, not in a bad way. It just wasn't him. But, in some weird way, it made me want him even more. I craved his lips, his touch, his scent all around me. Those delicious groans in my ear, hands dragging over me, lips and tongue teasing me down to my very soul. I needed him, but I also wanted them. His hands hesitated slightly on the loose tie around my waist. "Don't think," I moaned into his mouth, my teeth nibbling his bottom lip. "Just feel. Look at them. Look around you." We both turned to see her sliding a condom down his cock, aimlessly chatting about something we couldn't hear due to all of the noise. Soft laughter could be seen between the two as he spread out onto the vintage cream tapestry French sofa, helping her to straddle his hard cock. One of the staff members walked behind the couch to one of the large fireplaces throughout the room, tending to the fire as she slid down onto him; moans loudly coming from both of them. I turned my head and leaned down, my tongue slowly tracing the shell of his ear. "Doesn't it make you want her even more?" I said in a whisper so quiet, I'd be surprised if he even heard me. The tie was gone in an instant, along with my robe, his shirt and the leather belt. All of it thrown haphazardly onto the hardwood floor as he pulled me into his rough kiss. The crescendo of moans and murmurs swelled to a deafening pitch as the women came in writhing succession. Onlookers watched from various vantage points while others participated with the women, reaching their high along with them. Long legs tangled together, hands petting over sensitive areas, and lips fully consumed in one another; the waves of their orgasms dissipating amongst gawking eyes. When the show was complete, they climbed gracefully off the rumpled bed, seamlessly making way for the next act. A low, sensual jazzy intro played as a large male climbed onto the bed, face down and spread out, waiting for what was to come. White stilettos clicked on the wooden floor, signaling the entrance of a very tall woman, clad in low hung white leather pants that looked almost painted on, and a matching sleeveless crop top that barely held in her perfect breasts. A fiery reddish orange messy bun sat gracefully on top of her head and full lips painted the perfect shade of red grinned with every gasp and moan floating her way. The condom easily slid down Michael's hard cock; his fingers gliding through my hair as his eyes were glued to them. Head thrown back, teeth firmly attached to her bottom lip, and curls wrapped tight around his hand, her breast bounced as she rolled her hips into him. His other hand slid over her hip, gripping harder with every thrust into her. I could almost hear the low groan from him, and it caused me to shiver with thoughts of other times I've heard that sexy groan. I was so in my own little world that I barely heard Michael say, "Turn around." I sheepishly mouthed a sorry, but the small smile on his face told me he wasn't too upset. Face them, no sense in only one of us watching them." A loud male moan came from the other side of the room as the redhead slowly slid a large dildo into his prepped hole. The black straps surrounding her legs and hips contrasted with the tight white leather. Her red lips left a stained mark in the center of his back as she began her slow, torturous thrusts. Strong fists grabbed onto the silver chains connected from his wrists to the black iron bed frame, clanging with each pull upon the dildo's hard impact against his prostate. "Shit you feel good," I said, moaning with each inch down his cock. "Don't hold back either, I don't mind it rough." Michael's hands gripped my hips, lips dragged over my shoulder, and my eyes closed when I felt the sting of his teeth biting into the crook of my shoulder. "I've heard," Michael said, feeling him grin against my skin as he ran his tongue along the bite. Other members wandered all around the four of us; some stopping to watch for a bit, but most of them just gazed on as they passed around to the various performances. His skin glistened from the sultry heat permeating the room. Fingers slid slow up her side and kneaded her breast, his thumb brushing over her taut nipple. Worn pink lips were opened wide as breathy moans flowed from them. With everything going on around me, I couldn't take my eyes off of them; hips thrusted faster into every roll of her bucking hips. "They look hot together," I said, my pace increasing when I felt one of his hands moved between my spread legs. "They are, though, I wouldn't mind seeing you and her together again." I let out a small laugh that quickly changed to a moan when his fingers circled over my clit. "Did we put on a good show for you two?" "That you did," Michael said, groaning into my neck and sucking just underneath my ear. "I'm curious to see you and him together." It was now his turn to laugh, except his felt a little loaded. We both fell into a steady fuck; my mind picturing the two of them together, wondering what sort of past the two of them had. Our eyes darted between watching them and the large male trying to arch his back as far as he could while still being chained to the bed. Animalistic groans accompanied by low whimpers, sharp squeaking and a rhythmic metallic tone were now heard all around the room. The woman had one hand gripped tight against his hip, while the other was switching between gentle strokes over his ass and painting his back a deep red with her gold-foiled pointed nails. "I want him to tell you. I wouldn't feel right telling you his side. But, I will say college was...an interesting time for all of us." I nodded my head, barely registering what he mumbled against my ear. My eyes continued to focus on the two of them as they both neared their orgasms. My moans grew louder from the combination of them, Michael's cock inside me and his fingers dancing over my clit nearly pushed me over the edge. I willed myself to continue watching the intimately public scene, but they kept slipping shut every single time his cock drove deeper inside me. "Keep watching them, don't close your eyes. They're almost there." We watched as both of them came, heads thrown back in pulsating pleasure. My brain officially fried with watching his face as he completely came undone. Swollen lips parted, groaning and heavy panting as her hands ran all along the ridges of his abdomen. His head slightly turned, his dark eyes finding mine and I couldn't hold it anymore. My orgasm rushed through me, body convulsing as I desperately tried to keep my eyes on him. I kept on rocking my hips and Michael came shortly after; strained groans lightly tickled my neck. He grinned when he saw me grab Michael's hand and slowly suck on the fingers he used to play with me. I heard Michael's chuckle before he said, "When you speak to him again, tell him he has a keeper." ~~~~~~~~~~ Stark white with accents of aqua blue, the room was a complete polar opposite to the comforting warmth of the last room. Even though the last room was open, it still had more intimate seating areas and quieter alcoves away from the main area. This room, however, was completely open; save for ten thick and glossy white columns lining the sunken middle of the room. Furniture of various sizes, carved from what looked to be large blocks of clear and aqua glass, were on display as if they were pieces of art instead of seating for the packed crowd. A large bar area in the same clear and aqua block of glass lined the back wall. Members chatted away while they all waited for their drinks to be served by the efficient bar staff. Intermittent flashes of white and aqua came up from the frosted glass floor around dancers perched on large glass cubes. Their naked bodies were adorned with clear heels as they twirled gracefully around glass poles filled with a flowing aqua liquid. It felt as if we walked through the door and were transported to another world. The only thing that remotely reminded me of where we were was the unique Rush scent being pumped throughout the room, driving me insane with each teasing caress of his hand over the small of my back. After we discussed that we would meet up with them after she gave Michael a tour around, we continued into the futuristic room and went to order something from the bar. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me into him as we both watched the raised main stage of a woman hung face up and horizontally by intricately tied white ropes all around her body. Thin streaks of neon green highlights contrasted nicely through her ink black hair; the long strands swinging back and forth with each violent slap of the flogger against her dripping and swollen red pussy. Her strangled cries of pleasure barely rang over the pulsating beat, blinded only by the tight black scarf covering her eyes to the intent group seated around the stage. His hand wrapped tight around my slightly moving hips, guiding rather than stopping my teasing ministrations. "And you call me a tease," He said into my ear when I laid my head back against his shoulder. "Can't help it, I missed you." "You did?" he kissed my temple; a shiver running through my body when he moved to finger the tie around my waist. "Lots." His moan lingered in my ear as I turned around in his arms; a slow and gentle kiss placed on his lips. "Missed you too. Are you having fun?" "Yeah, but I'm glad to be back with you." "Are you alright?" My eyebrows furrowed. "Why wouldn't I be?" "We've done a bit before, but this is your first time like this." "You prepared me for it, you comforted me after. What more could I ask for? Don't worry, I'm doing fine. I was a little shook afterwards, but it's gone now." As I looked up at him, my mind drifted into his hungry kiss. 'the only person I could pretty much see spending the rest of my life with...'. Was my sleep-deprived mind playing tricks on me? Time seemed to pass so slowly without it. Phones were strictly prohibited, neither one of us had a watch on, and from the looks of it there were no clocks displayed anywhere in Rush. When we first entered, it was a refreshing feeling to disconnect from the outside world and enjoy the sinful night ahead. But now, the low rhythmic beat from the sound system felt as if it was blaring in my head. It felt stifling and a little unnerving to be in the midst of this ever growing crowd, and I felt my body tense the more I kept thinking of it. His lips left mine and my heart swelled; barely hearing the soft words uttered against my ear. No words were needed between us after that. No matter who we were with, no matter who was around us, it always felt like we were in our own little world; enjoying each other and basking in the love and trust we had for each other. He moved his hand to my cheek and looked down at me with slight concern in his eyes. "Trust me, I'm fine." "Excuse me?" We both looked and saw the next bartender ready for us. "Are you ready to order?" "Sorry, yes thank you." Unlike the other rooms, the bar in this room only displayed a six drink menu typed out in beautiful hexagonal font, against a glossy black cardstock, and surrounded in a frame of clear and aqua glass. Each ridiculously neon drink was mixed to each members specific need, poured into crystal glasses, and topped with different things depending on the drink. Once we got our drinks, we took a seat at one of the long sofas along the wall. Curled up against him, we continued watching the performance, hands comfortably locked together. With each second that passed by, my body physically ached for him to be inside me. Even the sweet but slightly bitter neon pink drink couldn't cool me down and quench the thirst I was suffering from. Only one thing was on my mind at the moment, and no amount of distraction was going to alleviate the throbbing throughout my body. I sat my drink down the table in front of me and straddled his lap, giggling with the surprise look on his face. Taking his drink, I set it on the table next to him and kissed him hard. Groans muffled behind my kiss turned to low growls as my hips rolled into the growing bulge beneath his black pants. Desperate hands were now kneading my ass, and a lone 'fuck' was all I heard when I pulled back, biting his bottom lip before sliding off his lap and onto my knees. "I want that blowjob now," I said, smiling as my teasing fingers dragged down the obvious bulge. He spread his legs wider and his fingers slipped through my hair, watching my shaking hands slip the black leather belt off. I undid his pants, sliding my hand inside and pulled out his hard cock; my hungry eyes staring into his half closed ones. "Fuck, I'm not stopping you." Drinks forgotten and members ignored, I ran my tongue along the underside of his cock, swirling my tongue around the head; precum already coating my swollen lips. One last swipe over his head and I slid my lips down his cock, feeling the long groan reverberate through my body and the pain of his hand gripping my hair. My hand grabbed the base of his cock, slowly stroking while my other hand played with his balls; the weight of them made my mental tongue water. Whatever words came from him were lost to the next rhythmic beat and the next participant's strangled moans and screams. I could've cared less of what or who was around us; passersby, gawkers, avid watchers. My mouth was filled with his cock, hair pulled tight into his fist, and my pussy throbbed with the prospect of his cock buried deep inside me. Head bobbing to the rhythm, I felt his other hand move to play with my breast, and a muffled yelp came from me when his fingers pinched my hard nipple. All of a sudden, I was violently pulled from his cock and he kissed me, both of us moaning at our mingling tastes. He pulled me into his lap and I ran the head of his cock over my wet lips, moaning into his neck as I slowly slid down. I unbuttoned his shirt and traced my nails down his chest and stomach, sighing when he untied my robe and sucked lightly on a hard nipple. His rough tongue slowly circled the tip before sucking again, then repeating the process to the other one, lavishing them until a sharp shiver raced through my body. "I need you," I said, crying out when his fingers moved to circle over my hard clit. "You have me, sweetheart." He didn't know how much those words meant to me. Once I was ready, I moved my hips up and down, bouncing into his upwards thrusts. His hands grabbed my hips and pumped into me, drifting down to grab my ass. I went to kiss him and almost bit his tongue at the loud smack vibrating through me. "Oh fuck yes, sweetheart. You feel so good wrapped around me." "Again," I begged, my hips moving faster. "Please." Equal smacks on both cheeks had my head falling backwards, blindly seeking out that pleasure I was looking for. He grabbed my head and pulled me back into him, slowly kissing me; a muffled growl falling between our lips. "That's it, sweetheart. Right there, you're so fucking tight." My hands dragged up and down his chest, rolling my hips faster with every upwards thrust. He moved a hand up and teased over my nipple before moving up to caress his fingertips over the column of my neck. Pleasure shot through my body at what I hoped he was planning to do. "Yes, please. Do it." I almost came when his hand squeezed tight around my throat, hips thrusting at that perfect angle. My body trembled under his darken gaze, skin on fire from his touch, but my heart completely melted for him. A random guy I met at a house party has completely and thoroughly ruined me for everyone...and I couldn't have been any happier. A few more thrusts and we both found our release; bruised lips crashing together, shivering bodies connected as gasping breaths and heated words flew freely from our lips. "Bite me," I moaned. His teeth teased over my shoulder, softly biting down at the same time he thrusted upwards, causing my eyes to roll back into my head and my body to shiver. A low, breathy moan came from my mouth when his hand played with my clit, prolonging the orgasm rippling through my body. "I know..." I said, struggling to get my words out. "I know this is gonna sound really out of place right now, but when we're back home and settled, let's discuss moving in...together." His dark eyes widened, shining due to the fluorescent aqua recessed lights above us. "It doesn't have to be right now or even in the coming weeks, but I want to at least have a discussion about it. Cheesy and cliche, but I want to wake up with you next to me and have meals together. I want to come home knowing you'll be there, not on the other end of the phone or a webcam. I..." "It's not at all. Let's discuss it over dinner...well...today I guess," he said, chuckling at the thing I was nervous about moments before. "Alright," I said in a giggle, biting my lip. "You know that thing you whispered to me before? Words can't express how much I do for you." My heart pounded when his smile slowly appeared. I leaned in and kissed him again, using the frenzied chaos of a group of exuberant girls laughing as they walked by to hide the tears that threatened to spill over. If my mind was playing tricks on me, then it wasn't doing a very good job of it. ~~~~~~~~~ I groaned when my eyes opened to the peeks of sun through the curtains, stretching out my body out along the bed. Carefully moving so as to not wake up the other three, I climbed out of the large bed and quickly went out into the common area to grab the red leather bound book sitting next to the phone. The cool air had me shivering as I walked back into the room and curled under the covers, leisurely flipping through the well made book. An extensive menu with food and drinks from all over the world, a variety of sexual goodies that could rival any shop or site, and services for pretty much anything you could think of were shown throughout the beautifully photographed pages. Startled, I felt her chin lay against my bare shoulder. "What are you doing?" She asked, her fingers tracing where the sheet had fallen and met my hip bone. "Was in the mood for something," I said, scanning over a particular page of various dildos; meticulously organized by type, material, size and color. Seriously, someone needed a raise for this. "Not really sure what though." "Come here. I want to show you something." She grabbed my wrist just as I set the book on the side table and we quietly walked out into the long hallway, barely having time to throw on the completely open white silk robe. Hair wild from a night of amazing sex and lips a mix of both our lipsticks, we'd looked completely crazy in any other situation. But for some reason, here at Rush, it seemed to be a normal occurrence as we passed by other people. From singles to large groups of people, everyone was wearing the same robes and nothing else as they walked to and from their private rooms. After a short while of searching, we came to a quiet hallway and stood in front of a large silver framed black and white photo. The picture contained a woman who was completely naked with an ivy plant concealing her face, in the throes of an amazing self-induced orgasm. Her quivering body was arched on an oversized oriental rug; perfect breast pushed up, teased nipples hard, and fingers glistening under most likely numerous studio lights. She tapped her fingernails on the glass protecting the photo and looked at me with a smug smile on her face. "That's you?" I questioned, my eyes widened to what felt like saucers. She nodded. "It was hours after my first scene. Afterwards, we went back up to our room, ordered a ridiculous amount of alcohol and spent the rest of the night getting completely high and wasted, fucking in pretty much every room of our suite. The perks of being a celebrity; the best alcohol and drugs money can buy. Around six in the morning and coming down from my high, I had this realization I desperately wanted my picture up on one of their walls." I listened in awe as she recounted her story and of the photographer, who has been a professional photographer for well over thirty years. "But of course, being the stubborn brat I am, I had a different idea. I told him I didn't care about my face being seen, but he refused to take the photo any other way; most likely for legal reasons, but I would like to think it was just him looking out for me. After agreeing on what I'd be doing and signed a bunch of forms, I was finally spread out naked on the rug with one of the ivy plants covering my face, masturbating while the photographer got his camera ready for when I was ready to cum." I stood there trying my hardest not to act too surprised as she tried in vain to cover her laughter and continue on. "My ass hurt so bad from being spanked earlier that night. My moans echoed so loud in the room, and I remember hearing all the wet noises. I didn't care, I was getting off on how many people would see the photo and think about it as they got off themselves or fucked someone else. How narcissistic, right?" Taking a deep breath to clear my mind and to process everything she was saying, I said, "Maybe not this extreme. But, I think most people have had those thoughts at least once in their lives, whether they would like to admit it or not." She laughed at my decent attempt to make her feel like less of a "stereotypical, self-centered model". "The plant was to conceal my face, but it was low enough to help tease my skin and nipples," she sighed, somewhat drifting off as her fingers dragged over her neck and collarbone. "It felt so good on my sensitive skin." My mouth wouldn't shut as I heard a group of people walk down the hall, talking about how beautiful it was outside. "Looking back, I feel bad for the guy. He was only doing was his job, and there was me, high out of my mind and playing with myself on the floor of his studio. But...I finally came and the photo also came out perfect. I got dressed and washed up, thanked him for the opportunity, and left the studio. After a few hours of sleep and a clear mind, we all went to leave the club and I was stopped by both the manager and photographer. They said they would be happy to discard the photo and all forms since I wasn't in the right mindset at the time, but I happily shook my head and told them to go ahead and use the photo." "But you didn't have to. They would've..." "I know. But Rush is the only place I've ever felt free. Free to be myself, to be who I want to be. I never have to conform to standards or ideals here. I'm just me and this picture reminds me of that. It doesn't matter if my fans, my management team, or even the outside world do not understand. They don't have to. As long as I'm happy, that's all that matters." She looked at the photo and smiled. "Don't you think?" I smiled and nodded my head in agreement, knowing this time, her smile was genuinely out of happiness. "Right." ~~~~~~~~~~ The sun shined bright as we all passed through the iron door, cars perfectly parked in front by the valet. We all said our goodbyes, exchanging numbers and promising to get in touch, then watched as her and Michael pulled away. As he opened the door and helped me inside; kissing me as he closed the car door, I was even more confident now than ever that we were stronger than we've ever been before, even with everything that happened behind those closed iron doors. I knew I wasn't ready to take that huge plunge just yet, but when I did, I knew I could only trust him to take it with me.

(Hiccup) “I said I’m fine!” Hiccup gestured to himself, then jumped on the spot. The soft grass in the glade outside their cave was still slick from the fallen rain under his boots, but a morning sun was finally gracing their nameless island. “See?” Toothless did not look convinced. He eyed him suspiciously, pacing around him like a predator does its prey. He produced tiny concerned growls, then louder, angrier ones, puffing small clouds of smoke from his nostrils. “Why are you pouting?” Hiccup complained. “I told you I’d be fine! The fever is gone like I promised. Look!” He spun around in a spectacle of healthy Viking-ness. Toothless did not seem amused by the performance. Had he really been so worried? In the past, Hiccup had suffered plenty of fevers. His mother had always taken care of him when he’d been very little, and, after her death, whenever those days came, it was Gobber or Helga who would occasionally come to check on him at Stoick’s behest. His father, being the chief of the village, did not have the time to care for him when he became ill. Besides, Stoick had never seemed to enjoy spending time at home. Hiccup had hence gotten used to looking after himself during fevers or colds, for they had been quite common occurrences, and, since concern for someone’s affliction was rarely dispensed among real Vikings (for, like pity, it was sure to offend), Hiccup had never demanded or expected much attention during those times. He had certainly not expected the dragon to fret much over it. Besides, I told him not to worry about me. He thought, trying to fend off an uncomfortable feeling; it was almost like guilt, but why would he feel guilty? “Alright, alright, but I’m really fine now. Here, look…” In a playful, yet awkward attempt to lighten the mood, Hiccup punched the dragon’s jaw to show off his recovered strength. “Aha! Take that Snotlout!” He said, pretending to fight the imaginary opponent, or, more accurately, pretending to pretend to fight, since he had no actual experience with hand-to-hand combat, besides being occasionally shoved around. Toothless barely budged behind his weak jabs. It did not look like the dragon was enjoying his antics in the least. The playful activity was put to an abrupt end when Toothless, teeth fully unsheathed, let out an ear-shattering roar. Hiccup fell on his back, covering his ears with his hands and instinctively raising his elbows in defense. He had not expected that reaction, and, for a terrifying moment, he thought his friend had transformed into the kind of beast that all Vikings believed dragons to be. “I’m sorry,” Hiccup blurted out hastily, cowering on the ground. For the first time since the day they had first met, Hiccup felt small before the dragon’s angry form, defenseless. I probably deserved that, Hiccup thought, finally recognizing the source of that unpleasant feeling of guilt. Toothless could not have known about his rather frequent fevers, or how dangerous they were. The crippled dragon had most likely been fearing for his own life too, unable to fly without a rider. I definitely deserved that. “I’m sorry for worrying you,” Hiccup lowered his hands warily. “I just get sick sometimes. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He did not move from his spot on the ground, still unsure whether his words had actually reached his friend, or whether the dragon before him had become as feral as a pack of wild, angry boars.  “Bud?” He murmured, his legs shaky with a mixture of fear and lack of strength, which he hadn’t fully regained yet. Toothless’ eyes softened after a few blinks. He then voiced a soft, apologetic croon, which Hiccup had been breathlessly waiting for. The dragon approached him as he lay on the soft grass, and finally nuzzled his chest. Hiccup felt relief spread across his limbs at the warm touch. Why he had been so reluctant to apologize in the first place, however, he could not recall. “I didn’t think you cared so much, you know?” He said, caressing the dragon’s head. “I mean… you stood by my side for two days, you brought me food, you kept cooling my head... Thank you, bud.” Toothless purred and pressed his muzzle into Hiccup’s chest again. Then, in a fit of glee, the dragon began licking him. First, he lapped his chin, then his entire face. Hiccup could only try to fight his way out of the dragon’s overly-affectionate grasp. “Toothless! S-stop! Aaah!” Hiccup wailed uselessly, though he couldn’t help laughing too as the dragon’s large tongue coated him with thick layers of drool. “No- Stop- Please, Tooth-!” He suddenly coughed, which made Toothless interrupt his display of affection, allowing Hiccup to stand up. “Eeew! It’s in my mouth!” Hiccup cried and coughed again, trying to spit out all the dragon saliva that he had managed not to swallow by mistake. He then produced a revolted grunt, and scraped off the excess slime from his face with his hands, which he wiped on dragon’s own snout, catching Toothless by surprise. “There. Serves you right.” He said smugly, failing to hide the smirk on his lips. Toothless frowned, but seemed otherwise unfazed by having his own muzzle covered with spit. With a sigh, Hiccup sat again on the grass, trying to recover from the exhaustion of fighting his much larger friend. He was going to need a few more days before he could consider himself strong enough to leave this island. As he sat, contentedly observing some small clouds above being herded by the warm southern winds, and for once not thinking about Berk, Hiccup caught a whiff of what he could only describe as a rather unpleasant, though familiar smell. “Oh, man! I stink like Gobber after a full day at the forge,” He exclaimed, sniffing under his own armpits, realizing he had not washed for… how long? During his last couple of weeks on Berk, the troubling thoughts of abandoning the island had made him forget and skip the customary activity of Laugardagr, the weekly Day of Washing. This meant he had not washed properly for no less than fourteen days, perhaps even more. “Toothless, I seriously need a bath, bud. I reek like a yak!”  Despite the saying that outcasts were supposed to never bathe, Hiccup was not willing to abide by such rule. He did not want to stink, even as an outcast. Toothless approached him with an eager, gummy smile, his forked tongue readily lolling out. “No, no, no…! Enough dragon spit! I mean it. Stay. Put. There.” Hiccup commanded in his most authoritative tone, pointing a single prohibitive finger towards his friend, and trying his best not to smile as he did so. “Humans wash with fresh water, not spit.” He explained. Toothless retracted his tongue with an unhappy warble. Then, sniffing the air, the dragon began to look around with a thoughtful frown. “What is it?” Hiccup asked, then groaned: “Oh, please don’t tell me there’s someone else on this island!” He was too tired to pull off another hurried escape like the one on Meathead island. The dragon shook his head, but he gestured with his shoulders for Hiccup to get on him. “Want to fly? Now? But I just removed your fin, I thought it was starting to chafe.” Toothless shook his head again. “I don’t get it,” Hiccup said, grimacing. A low warbling noise and a soft bark were the only responses he received. “You know, sometimes I really wish you could speak, bud. It would make everything so much easier.” The dragon rolled his eyes. He then approached a lingering puddle of muddy rainwater, and splashed his paws in it, casting a meaningful look towards Hiccup. He did it again and again until Hiccup thought he understood. “Oh, you mean water! You think there’s a river or something?” Toothless nodded twice. Hiccup gladly accepted the suggestion, and, after grabbing some of his effects, he allowed his friend to carry him on his shoulders. Toothless wasn’t wearing his saddle or tailfin, so he just trotted into the unburnt patches of forest, towards what Hiccup believed was the sea’s direction. Hiccup could not recall the island’s layout, as they had landed during the night, in the company of an early summer storm. They soon emerged from the treeline to the sight of a small valley, which descended gradually towards the sea-shore. It was not just the usual valley, though. Where Hiccup expected to see grass or moss or mud, the strange patch of land was dressed all in waves of white. Hiccup slid off the dragon’s back, eyes wide, then leaned to feel the surprisingly solid floor. At first glance, it looked almost like snow, but it was actually a very light-grey kind of rock, smooth and dusty to the touch, like pumice stone or chalk, only denser, harder. The whole valley was uneven, molded by rain and wind to form gentle hills and bumps, pits and craters, some small as basins, others big as the lake in the cove near Raven Point. They were all made from this kind of pale rock, connected smoothly like dunes of sand on a beach, but rigid, and apparently impermeable too, for rainwater appeared to have filled all the smooth craters to the brim, creating dozens of small interconnected lakes. As Hiccup looked around, he noticed a very narrow stream emerging from the forest to their far left, pouring even more water into those lakes, which in turn spilled over into the lower ones, and so on, until they reached the sea. “Whoa… Look at this place,” Hiccup murmured to himself. “Do you think it’s because of the volcano? Is this like… white lava?” Toothless shrugged absently. “Aren’t you supposed to know about volcanoes? In the Book of Dragons, Bork says that dragons like to stay near live volcanoes. Don’t they?” After a small pensive silence, the Night Fury gave another noncommittal shrug. “You don’t know? How could you not know? Aren’t you at all like the other dragons?” Toothless scowled and huffed, offended. He then straightened his pose to a more dignified one, his expression smug, head held high, eyelids lowered lazily. In that stance, the dragon looked like an elegant statue carved in black stone. No matter what anyone could say, Night Furies were truly beautiful creatures, and this one clearly knew it. “Yeah, of course not,” Hiccup said with a scornful look. “You are the bestest of the best. The greatest dragon that ever was or will be.”  Toothless ignored the heavy sarcasm behind those words, nodding solemnly, accepting even that derisive form of flattery. Hiccup could not tell whether Toothless was being ironic himself, but he already knew that the Night Fury before him was by no means a humble one. At least on the outside, for as Hiccup would sometimes notice, the dragon’s eyes seemed to hide a rather different story. Hiccup approached one of the largest pools, and probed the water with his fingers. The pumice-like floor sloped gradually to a substantial depth, but Hiccup could still see the clear bottom at the center of the pool, filtered through pale-blue colors, rippling as his hand disturbed the surface. The water wasn’t freezing, but it was still quite cold to the touch. Hiccup laid down his clean clothes. He began undressing, before remembering that Toothless was still there. He turned around.  “Hey, bud, listen, can you… could you…” He trailed off. How was he going to explain? He didn’t even know whether he should. After all, wasn’t Toothless only a dragon? He was that, of course, yet Hiccup had enough proof that Night Furies, and perhaps many more dragons, were just as intelligent, and just as sentient as humans. So, try as he might, Hiccup felt he could not subdue his pathological shyness, even before his best and only friend. He sometimes cursed himself for that stupid affliction, but he had yet to learn to fight it, not to mention overcome it. Besides, Hiccup had never been forced to. He had never had to wash in Berk’s common bathhouse before, and he had always dreaded the idea, partly because he didn’t want anyone to have definitive proof that, behind those oversized clothes and voluminous fur coat, he was undoubtedly the scrawniest, most pitiful creature in the Barbaric Archipelago. Much to Hiccup’s relief, the chief’s house was furnished with a rather luxurious round wooden bathtub, as well as a private outhouse. Behind a large drape, at the back of his noble abode, Hiccup had gotten used to an uncommon amount of privacy for Viking standards. In fact, he could almost consider that tub as his very own, since his father preferred going to the bathhouse, for he wouldn’t have to waste time with heating the water, and he could instead use the occasion to further discuss matters of great import with the other men and women of the village. (Stoick the Vast never stopped working, even on Laugardagr.) Still, the man had tried to bring Hiccup along a few times, but Hiccup had always come up with some excuse not to go. This way, Hiccup had also been able to afford to warm the water as he pleased, for he had the time and freedom to heat as many rocks over the hearth as he wanted, to then drop into the tub. He did not even need to get the water himself. On every day of Laugardagr, the tub was filled anew from the nearby well by the occasional boys, who had the honour to perform small daily tasks for the chief, like delivering messages, or bringing whatever the chief required. There were no slaves on Berk, but the chief did have plenty of hands at his disposal. At the back of his mind, not without a pang of melancholy, Hiccup wondered if he would ever be able to enjoy that kind of luxury again, or if he was destined to wash in cold ponds and rivers for the rest of his life. The possibility of heating the water with scalding rocks was definitely not an option now, and, come winter, even the ponds would be too cold for washing. “Can you go back to our camp while I wash myself?” Hiccup finally asked, scratching the back of his neck. Toothless tilted his head, perplexed. “Please? I’ll come back when I’m done. I promise. I know the way.” The dragon’s expression changed. He crooned questioningly, edging closer, instead of going away as he’d been asked. “No… I- I’d really rather wash alone. I’ll be fine by myself. Please?” Toothless was clearly unhappy with the prospect of leaving him on his own, and he probably couldn’t begin to understand the ridiculous reasons behind such an unusual request, but he still slid back into the forest, producing petulant little whimpers. While the apprehensive dragon had always had the tact and consideration not to follow Hiccup whenever he had to relieve himself (something Hiccup was incredibly grateful for), undressing and bathing in water were not activities with which the Night Fury was familiar, so it was likely that Toothless was also curious. Hiccup felt bad for the dragon, but he was going to find a way to make it up to him later. “I won’t be long!” He shouted as his friend left. Once he was sure he was alone, Hiccup stripped completely, and trod with hesitant steps into the water, resisting the urge to shiver. When he was waist-deep into the lake, he decided to plunge with the rest of his body, so as not to extend his suffering. He yelped from the cold before diving in completely, holding what air was left inside his lungs. With his hands, he vigorously scrubbed his hair underwater, hoping to wash away most of the dirt and grime. Once out of breath, Hiccup emerged. He had almost gotten used to the chill, and he was beginning to enjoy his bath, when, as he reopened his eyes, he found himself face to face with a black, reptilian muzzle. A shriek escaped his mouth. He launched himself backwards, into slightly deeper waters, trying to hide what he could with both hands. “Toothless! What-?! Go away!” Hiccup shouted, praying the water provided at least his lower half with enough cover. He quickly realized his cold-induced yelp had reached the Night Fury’s sensitive ears, and the dragon had rushed back, thinking it a call for help. “I’m fine. Go away.” Toothless warbled, scanning Hiccup’s naked figure with obvious concern. “Oh come on.” Hiccup lifted only one arm to wave his friend away as he yelled: “Shoo! Shoo!” When Toothless felt reassured about his rider’s health, he slouched his way back into the forest, without even trying to hide the expression of inexplicable rejection from his face. Worrying about the amount of pampering this was going to cost him, Hiccup resumed his activity, using a piece of rough cloth to rub his skin with some of the soap he had incidentally found in his belongings. Inside a hidden pocket within Gobber’s leather mustache-care kit, Hiccup had discovered a few shards of strong soap, of the kind Vikings used both to clean, but also to lighten their hair, for that soap, if used often enough, had a valuable bleaching effect. It was by no means a secret that Gobber, like many other villagers, enjoyed his mustache braids brightly blonde. As Hiccup scrubbed himself, he could not avoid noticing a few, timid, yet encouraging changes; truth was, Hiccup would regularly examine his body during Laugardagr, praying for those very changes. He felt an unnecessary amount of surprise, and perhaps pride, when he thought he could see a few new, incredibly faint, but still somewhat noticeable strands of pale-auburn armpit hair. Perhaps he could have one day become a Hairy Hooligan worthy of the name, he thought, if only he had managed to stay on Berk a little longer. A few more hairs here and there, however, were no great consolation before his much too evident gauntness. In fact, he looked thinner and bonier than ever. Is this why Toothless keeps barfing freshly caught fish on me as often as he can? He also wanted me to eat three whole rabbits the other day; he knows I can’t eat that much. Hiccup sighed. He needed to take better care of himself. If Toothless’ behavior that morning had taught Hiccup anything, it was that he could no longer afford to neglect his own health. The dragon needed him to be strong. Saving the Night Fury from Berk’s bloodthirsty villagers had not put an end to Hiccup’s commitment towards his friend. In fact, it had only given this responsibility an even more central place in his life. He lived for Toothless’ sake now, a notion that he found to be a much nobler source of pride than any, though pleasing, still timid achievement in his slow physical growth. Hiccup finished bathing, and dried his shivering limbs quickly with another piece of cloth. He then decided to cut his messy hair with Gobber’s scissors. He cut it slightly shorter than usual, so it would be more comfortable to fly, without hair getting in his eyes. Yet, Hiccup felt there was also another reason behind that decision, the heart of which eluded him. He still went through with the slightly different look, almost on a whim. Once he was done, and not one moment later, Hiccup caught a faint ruffling noise coming from behind the treeline. He sighed. At least he was wearing his clean smallclothes. Asking for further privacy would have likely been pointless now that he and the dragon were living together. “Come out, Toothless. I know you are there.” The Night Fury’s black head sprung from behind a bush, shooting small leaves in every direction. Then, the dragon happily trotted to where Hiccup was sitting, gathering his belongings. Toothless began sniffling Hiccup curiously, from his wet hair to his bare toes. “Yeah, I smell better now, don’t I- ah! Tickles!” Hiccup giggled, feeling the dragon’s warm breath on his skin. Toothless produced an unexpected growl at some unwelcome sight. “What? Oh... that.” Hiccup found the scar that trailed his left side, just below the lowest rib bone. It was no more than the length of a finger, but it had been deep. “That’s from… when… I fell. In the stream,” he half-lied. He had actually been thrown by Snotlout and Tuffnut on the day of his tenth birthday. The two boys had said it was meant to celebrate him, and they had added that they didn’t know the water would be so shallow. They had most likely been honest about the last part, and perhaps even the first, much to Hiccup’s bafflement. He could never understand what the other boys were actually thinking, and Hiccup was still somehow convinced that, for that single day, the two boys had truly decided to regard him as one of their own. It still hadn’t made the sharp rock in his side any less painful, nor the fact that the event had gone relatively unnoticed within the village any easier to swallow. Stoick had been furious of course, but with whom, Hiccup was not sure. Hidden underneath a facade of proper worry, Hiccup could often perceive Stoick’s silent disapproval. Part of Hiccup had always suspected his father to resent him whenever he got hurt, even when it wasn’t his fault, or perhaps especially on those occasions. A man could get hurt by himself, but when another man was the offender, retaliation was a Viking’s prerogative and obligation, possibly of the kind involving fists. At least, that’s what Stoick seemed to want his son to learn: to be more like a Viking. Hiccup had tried, of course, but his fists had never yielded the desired effect. And yet, as a contradiction to that very lesson, Stoick had preferred not to make a fuss about the accident that day. Maybe he had preferred to avoid upsetting his rather uncertain relationship with Snotlout’s father, Spitelout. Despite his strength and might, and with only few exceptions, diplomacy was always a priority in Stoick’s mind, which was one of the reasons Berk had almost entirely forgotten what a blood-feud was. This was actually one of the things Hiccup admired about his father, so he hadn’t complained, but he had yet to understand why he was expected to act more like a Viking himself, when ‘un-Vikingness’ was clearly one of his father’s most effective tools as a chief. Hiccup was sure he was alone in seeing that contradiction. So Hiccup felt no bitterness at the two boys’ lack of punishment. He still suspected that, somewhere deep inside, both Snotlout and Tuffnut had actually felt some remorse for hurting him so gravely, although, like proper Vikings, they had never shown even a glimpse of it. They had still come to visit him afterwards, as he was recovering in his bed after being sewn closed by Gothi, and Snotlout had even asked whether he was going to need to take over as chief one day, because, as the burly boy had put it: ‘it would be a bit of a hassle’. He’d said it most likely in jest, Hiccup was sure, but that was still the closest thing to an apology he had ever gotten from his second cousin. Funny how the worst scar I have is from their attempt to be friendly. Maybe that’s what being friendly means to real Vikings, Hiccup thought, as he often would, and once again found that notion tough to accept. Of course, not a few weeks after the accident, his relationship with both boys had reverted to what it had always been. He was the ‘village hiccup’, after all. Hiccup had still decided to forgive them, wanting to believe that, for once, their intent had been a well-meaning one. It may not have mattered now that he was an outcast, but Hiccup didn’t want Toothless to feel otherwise about them, at least in regards to that scar. “Don’t worry about it.” He said, before getting fully dressed, and heading back to the cave with Toothless, all the while thinking about their next destination. A safe place for him and Toothless. A place to call their own. Their departure was going to wait a while, however. For now, Hiccup had to recover completely. Hence, he decided to spend that afternoon, and the next couple of afternoons too, snugly resting by his best friend’s side, occasionally taking to the skies, and thoroughly enjoying the precious sun of the first balmy days of May. They broke their fast with fresh salmon, which Toothless had graciously caught (without swallowing it, as instructed), and which Hiccup was now cooking over a small fire. The dragon had already eaten his fill, and was now observing Hiccup’s activity with interest, his head laying on his crossed paws. “You know, I’m going to have to learn how to hunt for myself at some point,” Hiccup said, before rotating the skewered slice of fish he was holding. “I can’t keep making you always provide for me.”  Toothless groaned in protest. He sounded offended. “Why not? I’m really glad for your help, but I shouldn’t always rely on you for everything, at least not for food. You just need me to fly, but I’m using you for almost everything else. Food, travel, protection… even warmth. It’s not fair to you.” Hiccup was determined to learn, sooner or later, how to take care of himself, partly for the dragon’s sake, but mostly because, as Astrid had painfully pointed out, he had actually been coddled all his life, at least in regards to the basics of survival. Toothless was still unconvinced. He produced a series of high to low-pitched warbling noises, which Hiccup was slowly beginning to decipher as some form of disagreement. Hiccup had spent enough time with the dragon to be able to successfully discern (often aided by his friend’s vivid facial expressions) most of the sounds for affirmation and denial, direction, calls for attention or alarm, and more. However, he sometimes could not believe that this was all there was to dragon communication, at least as far as Night Furies were concerned. After all, Toothless had clearly learnt to understand him word for word, so the potential for comprehension of complex languages was obviously there. “At least, I need to learn how to hunt. I won’t change my mind about this,” Hiccup stated in his best tone of confidence, “even though I don’t think I completely understood what you just said,” he added. “Actually… about that. Remember when you woke me up the other day... during my fever?” Toothless raised his head. “Well, my fever was so high, that I actually thought I could hear you talk!” Hiccup chuckled. The dragon raised his head further. “It was kind of weird; must have been quite a high fever I had. It’s been a while since I had any visions during fevers. When I was little, I used to get quite a lot of those, you know? I would see weird things happen. This time I could almost hear a voice, asking me something, and I remember thinking it was you!” Hiccup smiled at the thought. “Then, I think I also saw…” his smile faded “...someone else.” He paused, and stared at the palm of his free hand with hopeless contemplation. “Still, wouldn’t that be something... if you could talk.”  Hiccup’s mind drifted off to recall more of that night’s hallucinations, and, as if on cue, his head started to ache again, though this time there was no good reason for it. He tried to ignore the ache, and looked back at Toothless, who was now gaping disturbingly at him, his eyes wide, and the narrow reptilian pupils sharp as knives. “Something wrong?” Hiccup grimaced, unsettled by the intense glare. “Tooth’? You are scaring me. Are you alright?”  Slowly, a faint, yet uncomfortable noise began buzzing all around him. Hiccup turned to look for the source of the disturbance. The strange sound stopped immediately, and the headache ebbed away too, as if it had never been there. Hiccup looked back at his friend, who had settled his chin on his paws again, and was now gazing at their fire with a dissatisfied air. “What was that?” Toothless looked at him sideways, then back to the fire, shrugging casually. Am I still imagining things? Hiccup wondered, when the smell of burnt fish filled his nostrils. “Thor’s flaming breeches!” Hiccup yelped, yanking away his slice of salmon from the fire. He studied the result. “Well... At least it’s not all burned. We’ll just say it’s well done,” he said, then began to take bites of his slightly charred fish right from the skewer. Fortunately, his meal was not entirely ruined. Yet, while he was able to satisfy his stomach, Hiccup still felt like something was missing from his palate. “Man... It’s barely been a week, and I already miss bread.” Hiccup confessed, his mouth watering again at the memory of Helga’s warm loaves. He felt surprise at the fondness with which he recalled the huge woman, since, back on Berk, Hiccup had never particularly enjoyed her. Though kind in her actions, Helga had always been rough and unpleasant in her ways. Even her voice could sometimes boom louder than the chief’s. Hiccup had often woken up to the sound of her barging in their home, shrieking: ‘HICCUP, ya little muttonhead, COME GET YER DAMN BREAD!’ Stoick was usually already out at that hour, and Hiccup, if he hadn’t left for the forge himself, would end up having to climb down the stairs to sleepily thank the woman, who would otherwise keep on screaming. ‘Suffering scallops... Can’t you leave it on the table?!’ Hiccup would yell in response when he was too tired to get up. This had often been his morning throat-clearing exercise. ‘Get yer ass outta bed and do something useful FOR FREYA’S SAKE!’ She’d yell back, as per routine. Why she’d always demand that he receive the bread personally, Hiccup could never understand, and sometimes he suspected his father of always leaving early just to avoid her insufferable presence. Nevertheless, Helga’s bread was by far the best on the island, so she was the one who had the honor to bake for the chief’s house. “Maybe I can make some bread myself,” Hiccup said. “I need barley flour, and a pan... and maybe butter, and…” He bit his lower lip. Those were all goods he could exclusively find in a village. Toothless stared at him, eyes widening with worry. “I’ve got it!” Hiccup exclaimed, triumphant, raising the wooden skewer excitedly, like a warrior would a sword. “We find a deserted island close to a southern village where nobody knows about me. Then, we can fly there before sunrise, so we are sure we can’t be seen, and in the morning we can get the stuff we need. Well… I can get the stuff I need. You’ll have to stay hidden in the forest. And no making fires. We both remember what happened the last time.” He looked at the dragon for approval. “Oh, come on. Don’t give me that look. If nobody knows about me, there’s no reason to worry. We are south enough, the Northern Alliance doesn’t reach where we are going, so we won’t be meeting any Hairy Hooligans, or Meatheads, or Berserkers. And who’s going to notice a little hiccup occasionally visiting a shop or two? This could work! We just need to look for a good place.” Hiccup’s thoughts began to drift towards the southern seas, about which he knew either very little, or nothing at all. He felt his heart skip a beat, and a grin form on his face. “Actually, the weather is great, and we’ve just eaten.” Hiccup jumped to his feet. “You know what? We are leaving right now!”

They're not the first back to base, probably because they were near the opposite end of the island, so when Wei Ying peeks into the Winners' Room, he sees Huaisang first, tired and dishevelled in the Solo Omega box. It's a transparent box so that they can still see and hear everything going on, air conditioned and air filtered, but it is nevertheless a box because all the Solo Omega winners are still in heat. Wei Ying grins, and raises a fist bump at him. Past him are the Couple Winners, and he takes a moment to parse what he's seeing: Nie Mingjue with Mo Xuanyu. Huh. Well, that's unexpected. Xuanyu doesn't look particularly terrified or traumatised though, and even raises a hand to wave at him. Wei Ying's grin grows wider. Good for him. He limps into the room – the endorphins of the second knotting are starting to wear off now, and Wei Ying's body really is starting to protest the amount of abuse he's put it through in the last week – and he sees it, the moment Huaisang's eyes widen as Wei Ying walks past the Box. It's like a domino effect, the surprise jumping from Huaisang to Xuanyu. It takes Xuanyu a moment longer, but he can smell Wei Ying from where he is – he can smell that Wei Ying's heat has broken. "Hey," he says, dazed, as Wei Ying walks past to join him on the next little marked podium in the Couple Winners section. Even Nie Mingue's eyebrows are raised. Lan Zhan has a sense of dramatic timing that Wei Ying wouldn't have expected from him, as he chooses that moment to sweep in behind Wei Ying, following him up to stand on the step behind his. His hand is light, but he rests the breadth of his palm across the back of Wei Ying's neck, his fingers curled around the side in the most possessive gesture Wei Ying has seen from him yet. His stomach swoops: it feels right. "Mingjue-ge," says Lan Zhan, inclining his head. "Xuanyu. Congratulations." "You too, I gather." Crow's feet of laughter gather at Mingjue's eyes. Yeah, Xuanyu's going to be okay. "Thank you. Do you happen to know what happened to my brother?" A grimace passes over Mingjue's face, long enough that Wei Ying starts to feel a stab of alarm, before he speaks. "He won, I think. Unless something happened in the last few hours." Lan Zhan waits, but whatever it is that has Mingjue unhappy, he's obviously not going to say anything about. That's fair, they're still being filmed. Wei Ying has learnt that while he's not one to mince his words, he's not tactless. Well, he's sure he'll find out later, when he watches the highlights of everyone else's stream. The time for the next winners to arrive stretches, the long wait time presumably meaning that whoever has arrived has been unceremoniously dumped in the Losers Lounge. (Despite the terrible name, it actually looks way more comfortable than the Winners Room because they get to just collapse in a heap on a giant sofa and cry their commiserations and get actual medical attention.) Lan Xichen is the next to arrive, which immediately answers Lan Zhan's question. The omega he has in tow is Meng Yao, and when Wei Ying slides his eyes over to Mingjue, he has a badly concealed scowl. Huh, so something definitely happened there then. It doesn't stop Lan Xichen from clapping him on the arm as he walks past, or Nie Mingjue clasping his hand in return. He gets to see Lan Xichen walk past Mingjue and Xuanyu to see Wei Ying. There's a little 'oh?' of mild surprise to see Wei Ying there, and then a wider 'oh!' moment when he realises it's Lan Zhan stood behind him. "Congratulations," says Wei Ying as neutrally pleasant as he can because he should probably start off on the right foot for a potential in-law, and leans just a little into Lan Zhan's side. Lan Zhan sways back towards him, like they're a set of matching magnets. "Thank you," says Lan Xichen, still visibly surprised. It's like Lan Zhan inherited all of the family's poker face capabilities and Lan Xichen not at all. "And you. If, that is, congratulations are the right sentiment?" "Thanks," says Wei Ying, with a grin. He's enjoying the prolonged sensation of seeing everyone's reactions at him pairing up at long last. At the same time, Lan Zhan says, "Sales of the Qiankun Bag™ are up by 42% since the beginning of the finale." There's a moment of silence, and then Lan Xichen says, with poorly concealed amusement, "That's great. Well done, Wangji." And then he carries on so that he and Meng Yao are standing on their own little podium. Wei Ying turns to Lan Zhan and stares at the side of his face. It's a pretty great profile to stare at. "Lan Zhan," he says eventually, as quietly as he can manage. There are only regular cameras here and no drones, and they're not micced up yet. "Do you actually have a killer sense of humour? I thought – maybe last time had been a fluke." "My brother thinks I'm very funny," says Lan Zhan, which delightfully tells Wei Ying nothing at all.   Ω   It's distressing how little time they get to spend together after they're all coupled up. After the Winners segment has been filmed of them all trooping off the helicopter and into the room, the producer says, "Cut!" and the room dissolves back into a seamless production of a TV show again. It's jarring, after essentially live streaming for a couple of weeks, to go back to staged shots and camera angles and "Can you do that again, with more emotion?" requests. They get ushered off the set by a veritable army of crew members – checked over by medical staff, given a whole bunch of antibiotics and jabs for any nasty infections they might have all picked up having outdoor sex and being bled on by other people for two weeks, and then bundled a set of clothes and shown into the shower. After the shower, Wei Ying looks around for Lan Zhan, who is presumably nearby doing much of the same thing, but another crew member directs him into a small interview room instead. He'd done this as a solo winner and hadn't minded at all, but hadn't considered how terribly annoying it would be to be immediately separated and herded along as part of a couple. "Wei Wuxian! Congratulations, a winner for the fourth season in a row!" The interviewer is new – they tend to be new for this segment, some actual celebrity host with presumably a busy schedule who can only fly in to do the glamorous bits. Wei Wuxian recognises her from daytime TV. "Fourth and probably last," says Wei Ying demurely. Or, a vague attempt at demureness anyway. The point is that people can tell it's fake. He bats his eyelashes at the camera. "Such a plot twist!" says Sisi, playing into it. "I can see that's a real bite as well, so not just a knot, eh?" "Well I think if you're going to do it, you might as well go all the way! And there's no one I would have done it with apart from Lan Wangji." "I think you've moved past the point of calling him by his stage name, haven't you?" She's good. Pointed questions that get to the topics that people are likely discussing on the internet, getting material to fuel the conversation. "Yes, but that's just for his ears only." Wei Ying winks, like 3 million or however many people watching live haven't already seen him calling him Lan Zhan. In retrospect, it's good that they got separated this early. It's always a bit of a whiplash for Wei Ying to slide into his media personality. He's good at it, charming and effusive and a little bit flirty, but it's not really what he's like with Lan Zhan, he realises. They go for a bit longer, long enough that sitting on the high stool is starting to get painful for someone whose ass got blown out earlier that day. He hides it well, he thinks, but he's still grateful when she leans in and says, "Now, the final question. You know what it's going to be. You've never been in this position before, so think carefully." Wei Ying nods. He does know what it's going to be. As a solo winner, he takes home the full prize money for each of the winners. As part of a couple, they get a choice. "The prize money. Are you going to Steal It or Share It? If both of you choose to share it, all's good in love and war, you each get half of the amount. If only one of you chooses to steal it, that person gets the full amount and the other person gets nothing. If, however, both of you choose to steal it, then neither of you get anything at all. Nilch. Nada. A big fat zero. What's your choice going to be?" In the entire history of the show, none of the couple winners have stolen the money. The bad press alone would have tanked whatever sponsorships, engagements, et cetera, et cetera, the extra half of the money would have cancelled out. Everyone has, at least on camera, pretended to actually like the person they knotted with, even if it didn't last afterwards. Wei Ying tries to look like he's thinking. (When he's actually thinking, he mostly looks like he's sleeping, so he tries not to do that on camera.) He waits. The show doesn't even have to build in a suspenseful pause, he's doing it himself. And then he says, enunciating very clearly, "I'm stealing." She clutches her chest like she's been shot and gasps, a long drawn-out affair that lasts a full three seconds longer than it should. Wei Ying appreciates her sense of drama; it really matches his own. "No!" "Yep," he confirms, popping the 'p'. "I'm taking it all." Sisi leans forward and looks at him over her little horn-rimmed glasses. "That's a lot of confidence, Wei Wuxian. What if your dear Lan Wangji also chose to steal it?" Wei Ying shakes his head. "He wouldn't. He's way too nice for that." "And you don't feel bad about taking his half then?" "He is rich. He doesn't need it. I, on the other hand, just became forcibly disengaged from my Career Omega career path. I'm gonna need all the funds I can get," he tosses his head with a sniff. "All right then. For the first time in Hot or Knot history! We! Have! A! Steal!" She flings her hands into the air and a bunch of poppers go off, spraying them in glittery bits of confetti. Wei Ying jumps, laughing as he's caught off guard. "Have the production crew had these lying around for ten years, waiting for someone to finally steal?" He asks, fishing confetti out of his hair; he hadn't even noticed the little fuckers. "Almost definitely," she informs him, and pops one last one into his face. "Now, let's see what happened with your partner." They cut there, which feels almost anti-climactic. "I have to go do this interview with Lan Wangji now. I am so excited," she informs him as she hops off her stool. The crew indicates that Wei Ying needs to wait in here while that happens, since she'll be coming back to film his reaction afterwards. "Don't forget to act surprised," she says. "I won't," promises Wei Ying. She laughs off camera as she wiggles her fingers in a farewell. "You're very good at this, Wei Wuxian. I hope we get to work together again." At least Wei Ying doesn't have to sit on the stool if he's just waiting for Sisi to come back. Hopefully, Lan Zhan's interview will be quick, since he's the concise type. He slides down the wall to sit down opposite the cameraman, and stretches his legs out with a sigh. "You really stealing, man?" The guy – Ouyang Zizhen, if Wei Ying remembers correctly; he'd been an intern last year and it looks like he impressed enough to land it as a full-time gig – asks curiously, unwrapping a cereal bar of some sort. Wei Ying is forcibly reminded that he hasn't eaten in a hot while. "Yeah, I mean, the real answer is that it doesn't matter, right? Not if you plan on staying together. If one of you steals and you're a real couple, the money is kind of both of yours anyway." Wei Ying drops the media persona. "You don't happen to have another cereal bar, do you?" Zizhen fishes one out from his pocket. "Yeah, it's been in my jeans for like ten hours though, if you don't mind?" "That's what he said," murmurs Wei Ying absently, peeling it apart and devouring it in two bites. Zizhen snickers. "Thanks. Come hit me up when your contract for this season's up if you don't have another gig lined up. I feel bad for stealing your food when I'm literally about to win a huge amount of money." "You got a job going?" asks Zizhen sceptically. "Didn't you just say that you're now unemployed?" "I'm marrying rich, I'm sure there's something," says Wei Ying with a shrug. "Again, also why the prize money doesn't really matter. Plus, I'm an influencer, I always need video staff." "Must be nice," says Zizhen wistfully. "But yeah, thanks." The interviewer arrives back at that point – which, wow, was brief even by Lan Zhan's standards – and Wei Ying pushes himself back up the wall. His ass is throbbing even looking too hard at the barstool thing. "Not to like, TMI," says Wei Ying, which is a ridiculous thing to say given he has all of his clothes on right now, "but can I get a cushion or something? My ass is battered." Someone on crew bustles around to find him something – eventually one of the sofa throws folded up into a little square pad that Wei Ying can perch on – as Zizhen busies himself doing nothing with the camera to hide his laughter. There's a screen set up just under the camera that they swivel to look at, with the footage just captured from Lan Zhan's interview. They run through much of the same line of questioning that Wei Ying did, and Wei Ying watches him with interest. He'd seen Lan Zhan's opening interview before the show started – he'd watched all of them for research purposes – and he remembers Lan Zhan being professional and articulate, but largely devoid of personality. It's always interesting to go back and see how his opinions of people change once he's met them in person, how he can spot little tics or habits they do in front of the camera and be able to interpret them differently with context. But Lan Zhan is much the same as his opening interview; like how Wei Ying has a media personality that's him, but a little more of him, it appears Lan Zhan's media personality is him but a little less of him: professional, eloquent, thoughtful. And concise. Terribly, terribly concise. Wei Ying sees the company CEO in that persona; he hadn't, quite, been able to imagine Lan Zhan running a company before. He's been distracted, he thinks, by the musing over Lan Zhan's media persona – he lost the answer to a number of questions. But the important bit is coming up. Zizhen moves his body camera for a better angle of Wei Ying's face. On screen: "…If, however, both of you choose to steal it, then neither of you get anything at all. Nilch. Nada. A big fat zero. What's your choice going to be?" "Share." Lan Zhan answers immediately, no sense of suspense at all. "...Okay. Share it is. Are you worried that Wei Wuxian will steal it from you? I spoke to him just now." "Then whether I worry about it or not matters little," says Lan Zhan. Infuriatingly true. "But no, I am not worried." "Let's take a look at what he did." And then it fades away to a complicated looping Russian doll situation where Lan Zhan is watching a recording of Wei Ying's interview while Wei Ying's watching a recording of Lan Zhan watching a recording of Wei Ying's interview. They get to the moment where Wei Ying can hear his own voice, tinny and faint over the speakers. "Steal!" Wei Ying watches Lan Zhan for a reaction, and grins to himself when there isn't one. They pause the video. "You just said that you weren't worried," says the interviewer, fake concern heavy in her voice. "But it looks like you had cause to be." "I am not worried," repeats Lan Zhan. "Wei Ying deserves the money." "He – deserves it?" "Yes. There should be a third option. Share, steal, and... surrender, perhaps, if you would like to continue the alliteration." Wei Ying sits back smugly. "Surrender!" squeals Sisi delightedly at this turn of events, before remembering that she's in front of the wrong half of the couple to give her an appropriate response to that. "How chivalrous of you. I'll feed that back to the producers, although I have to admit that it's not likely to be a popular choice!" They pause the video there. "Now, you don't look surprised at all," says Sisi, wagging her finger at Wei Ying. He spreads his hands in a modest shrug. "We didn't discuss this segment specifically, but I already knew that Lan Wangji was never here for the money." (He was never here for the heat mating either, but Wei Ying glosses over that part.) "Besides, I'd say he's won the best prize of all, right?" Wei Ying loves this interviewer, because she sets him right up for it, with her eyes wide and hand ready to fly to her mouth. "Oh? And what's that?" "Me, of course." They cut the interview there.   Ω   WEEK 0.5, THE NEXT YEAR   "Hello everyone, and welcome to Hot or Knot: Behind the Sheets. I'm your host, Wei Wuxian, thanks for joining me tonight. I've got with me a winner from last year's season of Hot or Knot, Nie Huaisang, who's going to give us a bit of a preview as to what to expect in the upcoming few weeks. Huaisang, nice to see you again." Wei Ying moves the mic from his face to Huaisang's, and grins at his friend. Wei Wuxian has done a few sponsored events, started his own streaming projects since last year, but it's his first time acting as a celebrity host of anything. He's wearing a replica of his robes from last year, the red and the black ones he was wearing when he got knotted by Lan Zhan, just to visually remind viewers who he is if they've forgotten. Huaisang looks good as well, his hair grown out a little longer this year and wearing a tracksuit that somehow looks terribly luxurious as well as comfortable. They're items from his own clothing line, launched this past year off the back of his Hot or Knot win with the tagline: 'Fashion you could die in'. Well, Wei Wuxian found it funny, anyway. They've kept in touch, he and Huaisang, and Mo Xuanyu as well, so it's a little odd greeting Huaisang like he's a long-lost friend rather than someone he sees every other week or so when he's not travelling, but the director asked them to reveal snippets of their familiarity slowly, to get the audience hooked. "You too, Wei-ge. It's odd to see you on that side of the table."  It is odd, being on this side of the chair, and they both know it. Everything feels a little bit different from this angle, and it's taking him a moment to adjust to the idea that the cameras are behind him and he's not meant to turn to face them. The whole interviewer gig is weird, actually. He's been given prompts and questions that he has to get through, but he's also been told to feel free to ad-lib and try and get interesting reactions out of the contestants (which is probably what Wei Ying is better at than reading off cue cards). "Isn't it just! But I'm glad the show asked me to come back to host some of the interview segments, it's always nice to catch up with old friends. How are you feeling about this upcoming season?" "It's good. I'm ready to see what challenges the show comes up with this time. It feels like the staff always come up with something new." "Yeah, the fake pregnancy sure was an escalation from the fake baby. Which of the new contestants do you think would be a good partner for that challenge this year?" "I'm not going to give it away. I've done my research though, and I've got two or three people in mind. But it would be a coupling for the challenge only, I think." They've already talked about this, outside of the interview room; one of the first things they discussed when Huaisang mentioned joining the show again. "Oh? You're not looking for a long-term partner." Huaisang looks from Wei Wuxian, into the camera. "Oh, not at all. I hear this show needs a new Career Omega, after all."   Ω   "Wei Ying!" The call from the living room is faint, which actually means that it was really loud. "Coming!" Wei Ying darts from the third floor down the stairs, skidding across the polished hardwood floors hard enough that his slippers make the most atrocious squealing sound, and half rolls and half falls over the arm of the sofa, into Lan Zhan's lap. He grins up at Lan Zhan. "Hello." "Hello," says Lan Zhan bemusedly, looking down at him. Wei Ying rights himself, just as the opening shot finishes and the voiceover begins. "Tonight, on Hot or Knot. We meet our omega contestants for the first time, and get to know their dreams and desires. Some, returning faces. Some, fresh faced and unaware of the challenges that lie ahead." "What's this, Lan Zhan? Reality TV? I didn't think you were the type," says Wei Ying as he turns the volume up. "I rarely indulge," says Lan Zhan in that ever-dry tone of his that Wei Ying has grown to love and appreciate. "But I found out that my favourite celebrity was making a guest appearance." "Pah," says Wei Ying, arranging Lan Zhan's arm around his back the way he likes it. "Who cares about some celebrity when you've got a nice omega at home?" "There is also an important business matter," adds Lan Zhan. Wei Ying frowns. He hasn't heard about this bit. He doesn't get involved in the everyday of Lan Zhan's job, but generally Lan Zhan tells him things that are classified under 'important business matters'. "I would like Huaisang to get through to the finale, and send him a prototype of the Qiankun Bag™ 2.0 to use, so we will need to vote for him. You are allowed to vote for one contestant every 24 hours." "Ah, Lan Zhan. I didn't think you were one for audience participation," Wei Ying laughs. Even after a year, he's often caught out by Lan Zhan's knack for understatement.  Lan Zhan presses a smattering of kisses to Wei Ying's temple, and Wei Ying settles down as the narration begins. Even though it's been a year since he was last on the show, seeing it move on without him feels like a new chapter in his life. A new, exciting chapter. "Tonight, on Hot or Knot..."