A meeting between the Wizards of the West, South and North was all it should have been. The three had agreed to meet secretly in the throne room after hours to discuss the sudden reappearance of the fourth wizard, Earnest. According to Solomon, Earnest had been deadā¦ and shouldāve stayed that way, considering the loss of his silver shoes. However, to everyoneās disbelief, he has become the only wizard capable of resurrecting himself.
āEarnestā¦he died?ā asked Wesley, sitting on the floor and looking heartbroken.
āHe did, yes. But somehow, he managed to return to Oz without anyone elseās help,ā Solomon answered, floating above his throne.
Norton, standing by his side as always, looked shocked. āBut Lord Solomonā¦how does Earnest disappear and reappear, how does he perform spells for the price of memories, and why did heā¦-ā
āI havenāt the knowledge to explain it, Norton, and Iām dearly sorry about it. He will return to us eventuallyā¦and once he decides to stay for good, he will stop erasing our memories of him over and over again,ā sighed Solomon.
A feeling of uneasiness and confusion crept over the three wizards as they processed what was happening.
āā¦Iā¦donāt understandā¦ā Norton confessed. He was unused to being out of the know, being one of three- or now four- rulers of Oz. He almost always had answers, and on the rare occasion he didnāt, Solomon did. Confusion was an unpleasant feeling he had long forgotten, and he swallowed silently to suppress it.
āNeither do I. We will only know when Earnest himself offers his explanation in due time. Until then,ā Solomon floated away, āwe can only guess.ā The Wizard of the South shut the door to the throne room behind him, leaving Wesley cold and Norton with tears dripping gently from his cheeks.
The two hadnāt been alone together in ages. The silence in the room was heavy with sadness and unspoken history. Norton had, in a sense, killed Wesley before. His plan to keep Dorothy and the Land of Oz safe by locking Wesley away and wiping Dorothyās memories backfired severely when he underestimated Wesleyās dedication to Dorothy. The āWickedā Wizard had sacrificed himself, died a second time around, to save Dorothy from drowningā¦and it was on Norton. After reviving Wesley yet again, he had said that made them even, but even still there was an uncomfortable mood between them.
Wesley was the one to speak first, with a simple question.
āAre you crying?ā
Norton looked at Wesley and slipped off his black headband, letting his brushed-back pastel purple bangs fall and frame his face.
āI do not cryā¦ā
āYou look like you are.ā
āEnough, it is none of your concern. Youā¦s-should return to your room at once,ā Norton sobbed, the sadness he felt consuming him. The Northern wizard had to bite his lip gently to keep from making a fool of himself.
āI donāt remember you having much authority over me, Norton. Itās alright to cry, this is aā¦difficult situationā¦ā Wesley finished weakly, his own emotions getting to him.
āNo,ā Norton scolded himself, āit is immature of me. I-ā
āHey,ā Wesley interrupted Norton with a voice much more gentle than the Wizard of the North had heard before. Wesley stood and walked to Norton, standing in front of him and brushing his purple bangs out of his eyes. Norton flinched at the touch, expecting reprimanding, unused to Wesley beingā¦ kind.
āCome on, itās alright. Itās just me, Iām not going to hurt you or mock you. Chin up,ā Wesley asked, moving his hand to Nortonās face and guiding his gaze to himself. Wesley drew in a breath, his good eye widening. This was an expression he hadnāt seen on Norton before.
Norton lookedā¦ vulnerable. His eyes were a bit red and his cheeks were pink and wet, but seeing emotion from Norton was not often. It drew Wesley to him. Norton was usually so cold, so analytical, this was a side Wesleyā or anyoneā never saw. Wesley ran his thumb across Nortonās cheek to wipe a tear, and Norton shut his eyes in humiliation.
āYou should go. It is improper for you to see me this way.ā
āI donāt care about proper.ā
āI do, Wesley. Itās late.ā
āItās late, and you need someone.ā
āIāExcuse meāā
Nortonās protest was cut short by Wesleyās lips on his, Wesleyās arms around his body, Wesleyās affection given to him. Norton tensed, the relaxed, giving into the moment and letting Wesley kiss him, even putting his arms around the Wizard of the Westās neck.
But noā thisā this was wrong. This was very, very wrong, for several reasons. Wesley wasnāt his to embrace, and he wasnāt Wesleyās to kissā¦ just the two of them alone this late would be scandal, just Nortonās tears are unprofessional, but this was much larger, and much more wrongā¦
Yet Norton didnāt find himself stopping. In fact, he did more than let it happen; he pushed his hands through Wesleyās long, jet-black hair, loving the feeling of a deep kiss in the dark. Deep and darkā¦ Wesley wasnāt like Solomon. Solomon was a sunrise, warm oranges and bright reds, platinum yellows for Nortonās pale violets. Solomon was happy, he was kindhearted and, well, dignified. Wesley was black cloaks and harsh words, anger and solitude. Everything about this moment was backwards. Even so, Norton felt just a little neediness when Wesley drew away.
Realizing what he had done, Wesley suddenly became embarrassed.
āWait.. aw, fuckā¦ Norton, Jesus, Iām so sorry, I didnāt mean for thatā¦ā
āIt is.. alright. You succeeded in stopping my crying, as was your goal, correct?ā
āWell yeah, justā¦ not like that.ā
āI do not mind, Wesley, if youād preferā¦ā
Wesleyās expression turned serious. āI thought you were so concerned about being proper.ā
āI will admit, Wesleyā¦ this is much more exciting than being proper.ā
a crowheart college au where crowlie is the literature nerd thatās in the library more than his dorm and has notebooks full of secret poetry (about darkness. and heartmann) and heartmannās the traditional all-american-steve-rogers-football-player-good-grades dream boy but they meet auditioning for the schoolās production of the wizard of oz and crowlieās helpleeeeeeeeess
featuring the accidental swap of notebooks where heartmann ends up with some interesting poetry >:3c
(in which crowlieās name is Edgar āCrowlieā Phillips and heartmann is Gabriel Heartmann)
Well friends, I think weāve just had what you might call a hiatus. Iām terribly sorry about it. Hopefully this chapter will earn your forgiveness. If you havenāt read the previous two parts or you just need a refresher, I recommend doing that before reading this one. This fic follows Crowlie and Heartmannās relationship as Heartmann dates Dorothy, so expect a lot of jealousy, pettiness, infidelity, etc.
Excerpt:Ā āRight,ā Crowlie said, his expression closing up again, putting that wall of coldness back between the two of them. But for all that ice in the lines of his face, the sunlight slanting in from the high overhead windows hit his golden-orange eyes and turned them the warmest, most beautiful shade. āDorothy. She chose you.ā
Read the rest under the cut.
Crowlie surprised him with the breakfast served that morning. It was a fantastic spread of twenty varieties of fruit, sweet rolls, and other freshly baked pastries. All of it smelled mouthwateringly good. Heartmann knew Crowlie didnāt normally go all-out with meals in his palace and instead reserved big banquets like this for when honored guests came to visit, but he had to have the best chefs in all the land.
Sometimes Heartmann forgot Crowlie was a king -- maybe because it was strange to think that heād had the ruler of the Emerald City moaning his name before. Thinking about having someone like that beneath you, all yours for a night, well, that kind of power was intoxicating. Heartmann didnāt need or want more power than he already had. He was a king, too. It was better to use his status for good and not lord it over Crowlie for something so trivial.
It did make him smile when he glanced at Crowlie from the outskirts of the dining hall, though it made him a little flustered and he had to look away. Right at Dorothy.
āGood morning,ā Heartmann said, and hesitated for a moment before adding, āmy love.ā
āOh, you.ā Dorothyās laugh was like a windchime, a soft and pretty bell. āShall we find a place to sit?ā
After a moment of blank staring, Heartmann shook himself out of his thoughts. He offered his arm and a smile to Dorothy. Together, they walked into the dining room to find their seats. It occurred to him that she probably didnāt know or remember the custom of the land, but as honored guests, they had places reserved for them somewhere close to the king.
The thought made Heartmann nervous. He wasnāt quite sure whether it was because he probably couldnāt look Crowlie in the eye after all the dirty, whispered words theyād shared the previous night, or because being with Dorothy in this moment felt...wrong. It felt wrong, calling her āmy loveā, it felt wrong, escorting her to the breakfast table not as her friend or companion from their journey, but as her date. Heartmann truly hated himself for thinking, just for an instant, that it wouldnāt feel wrong if it were Crowlie at his side right now. More than that, he hated to call it wishful thinking.
It didnāt make a difference. Crowlie wasnāt at his side, he was sitting at the head of the table, watching the two of them expressionlessly. His plate of food was untouched. On the left side of the table from him were Oz and Wesley, separated by Leonardo, with Wesley seated farthest away from Crowlie. Probably a wise decision. There were two open seats on Crowlieās right hand side.
Farther down, some other nobles who had attended the ball last night were staying for a good meal before they set off on the road, back to their castles. Heartmann would be doing the same in a few daysā time, and taking Dorothy with him, he realized. Maybe that was for the best. If he stayed away from Crowlie for a while, it would be easier to get him out of his head and be good to Dorothy. Maybe even love her, like she deserved.
When they had been standing awkwardly out of the way for too long, Crowlie gestured for them to sit down. Dorothy took the seat closest to him. The quickest furrow of his eyebrows was the only thing that gave away his displeasure. Heartmannās chest tightened horribly when he realized he was probably the only person who had been around Crowlie enough to pay attention to the hidden meanings in his expressions.
Heartmann decided to sit down before he could make a fool out of himself by blurting anything that was on his mind. Crowlie didnāt greet him immediately, but he did raise a hand to beckon the servants so they could fix plates for Dorothy and Heartmann.
āIām not used to all this special treatment,ā Dorothy admitted to Heartmann, after the servants had gone.
Crowlie smiled at her. Again, Heartmann couldnāt help but think he was probably the only one who could tell that smile wasnāt an entirely genuine one. Heād searched for Crowlieās ticklish spots enough to know what a real smile was like on his face.
āSleep well, Dorothy?ā
It was a perfectly innocent question, and maybe even one that Crowlie asked with actual concern. Dorothy was his friend, too. Heartmann wasnāt really sure why, then, Crowlie hadnāt given her an actual smile.
āVery well, thank you. Your guest rooms are so nice here! Oh, and the food. I mean, it certainly looks good, and I canāt wait to taste it.ā
Crowlie acknowledged this with another tight-lipped smile. As if on cue, the servants returned with two plates. Heartmann barely remembered ordering, heād sort of been glancing at Crowlie from the corner of his eye the whole time. Eagerly, Dorothy began to try everything on her plate, nibbling at it a little at a time.
āAnd you, Heartmann?ā
Heartmann jerked to attention, straightening up so quickly that he nearly knocked his chair back. āSorry, what?ā
āDid you sleep well?ā The question didnāt sound so innocent anymore. Probably because Crowlie had leaned forward, elbows on the table and chin propped up on his hands, his hooded eyes saying he knew very well that Heartmann hadnāt spent much of his night sleeping.
Heartmann looked away and busied himself with the sausage on his plate. āI did,ā he answered quietly, but truthfully. He always did go out like a light after...spending time with Crowlie.
Which reminded him, he had to find a moment to talk with Crowlie about that. Alone. He also had to stop thinking about other things they could be doing alone together.
For the remainder of breakfast, Dorothy tried to make idle chitchat, but Leonardo ended up talking to her from across the table more than either Heartmann or Crowlie. The two of them spent the whole time glancing at each other. Well, Heartmann glanced, and Crowlieās eyes just kept burning into him.
Finally, he took a deep breath and stood up, which might have just drawn more attention to the scene. He couldnāt take this any longer. āYour Majesty, may I have a word?ā
Crowlieās lips quirked up in another not-quite-real smile. āThereās no need to be so formal, Your Majesty,ā he mocked back at him as he stood up and walked out of the dining hall.
Heartmann tried to ignore that. To Dorothy, he said, putting a hand on her back, āThis wonāt take long.ā
He had to jog to catch up with Crowlie, who had already slipped behind one of the pillars halfway down the hall. With everyone at breakfast, it was unlikely they would be disturbed. Taking that into consideration, there was probably no reason to hide. It wasnāt like they were here to make out or anything. They were here to talk about not making out.
Or, at least, Heartmann was here to talk about not making out in the future. He wasnāt sure about Crowlie, who had taken a step forward, then another, closing the distance between them. He only had time to think about how warm Crowlieās breath was against his lips before Crowlie was kissing him, hands pressed flat against his chest, knocking him back a pace. Heartmann wanted to give in to this, he wanted to spin Crowlie around and pin him and kiss him until he couldnāt breathe. But that wasnāt an option.
Heartmann pushed Crowlie away and held him back, firmly. Crowlie looked betrayed, and confused, and maybe even hurt. Those werenāt emotions Heartmann had ever seen on his face.
āCrowlie,ā he said hoarsely, āI canāt. Dorothy -- Iā¦I still, feel so strongly about you butā¦ Dorothy chose me and I canāt let her down.ā
āRight,ā Crowlie said, his expression closing up again, putting that wall of coldness back between the two of them. But for all that ice in the lines of his face, the sunlight slanting in from the high overhead windows hit his golden-orange eyes and turned them the warmest, most beautiful shade. āDorothy. She chose you.ā
Heartmann felt too nervous to keep looking at Crowlie, and too awed not to. He managed a nod.
āAnd who do you choose, Gabriel?ā
Heartmann did a double take. He was surprised Crowlie even knew his first name, let alone remembered it. He looked down at his shoes and scuffed one on the carpet, trying to find the right words. Talking was never his strong suit. He settled things with actions, with his sword, not with his tongue. Unless it involved Crowlie. Then he sometimes used his tongue in a variety of ways.
āI choose,ā he said carefully, āsomeone who might return my feelings someday, because...ever since Oz gave me this heart, Iāve felt so much, and...I canāt stand to have it broken. So, we canāt keep doingā¦ā He waved vaguely at the air between them. āThis.ā
āWhy canāt we?ā Crowlie came closer again, stepping out of the sunās path, and suddenly his eyes were darker again, glinting, even blazing, with a light of their own. āWhy do you think sheās the only one who can return those feelings? Why canāt we keep doing this?ā
All too intentionally, he brushed his hand up against Heartmannās crotch. Heartmann bit his lip, but then Crowlieās teeth took the place of his own, a clever tongue worked its way into his mouth, and he found himself kissing back without meaning to. His hands automatically found Crowlieās waist and pulled him closer, fitting their bodies together in the most familiar way.
When at last he broke away, he was fumbling for words again. āBecause...because I have to...Dorothy. Crowlie, Dorothy wantsā¦ā
āI want things too,ā Crowlie growled, shifting from Heartmannās lips to mouth at the spot just beneath his jaw, near his ear. He nipped a small trail of faintly reddish butterflies into the skin, blossoming down to Heartmannās collarbones. āI want you. Am I not enough? Do you really want a woman that badly?ā
āYou have to stop,ā Heartmann whispered, even as he tilted his head back to expose his neck for more. Crowlieās words barely even registered in his ears. Some part of him knew he could make Crowlie stop if he said it more firmly, if he actually meant it. Some part of him knew he didnāt.
āWhy should I?ā The question didnāt sound innocent or even sinful. It sounded desperate. Crowlie paused, his face pressed against the juncture of Heartmannās neck and shoulder. His next words were so quiet and muffled that he was sure Heartmann wouldnāt hear. āWhy should I give up something I love so much?ā
Predictably, Heartmann murmured, āWhat?ā
āYou were mine,ā Crowlie hissed against his skin. āI had you first and I donāt want to give you up, youāre mine, Gabriel, pleaseā¦ā
He gritted every word out like he was in pain, like somebody had stabbed him in the chest, like he actually cared. Heartmann didnāt know what to think anymore. His head was hazy at best, clouded with uncertainty and arousal and who knows what else. Besides the distant clattering of plates and laughter in the dining hall, the only sound he heard was his own harsh breathing.
Vindictively, Crowlie bit down just to the left of Heartmannās Adamās apple, harder than before, worrying at it with his teeth again and again until it began to bruise angry red turning into dark purple. Heartmann covered his mouth with one hand, trying to hold back the low groan in his throat. Crowlie drew back slightly, just enough to look at something. When Heartmann realized that the something was the spot where Crowlieās teeth had dug in, his other hand, which had wound through Crowlieās hair at some point, flew to his own neck.
āCrowlie, no, youā¦!ā
āLike you havenāt left hickeys on my neck every night for months now,ā Crowlie sneered. There was still something in his eyes, that hurt, still lingering all this time.
Heartmann carded his hands through his own hair and leaned his head back against the pillar, trying desperately to figure out how he was supposed to deal with this. Heād come here to end it, hadnāt he? He couldnāt just date Dorothy and see Crowlie on the side, it wouldnāt be right, it wouldnāt be fair to anybody involved. What was he supposed to do?
Crowlie, to his credit, didnāt try anything else. He leaned on the side of the pillar, watching Heartmann coolly. The wall was up again. Heartmann thought for a second there had been some honesty there, some weakness, but who was he kidding? Crowlie was never vulnerable, never, until those times Heartmann kissed him and got him into bed and took him apart with nothing but his mouth, his hands, sought out every little reaction he could get, anything that would remind both of them that Crowlie was human, too. Maybe now needed to be one of those times.
Crowlie watched him carefully, then nodded down the hall. As if he could read Heartmannās mind. āI know a place.ā
Heartmann wanted to say something like, of course you know a place, this is your castle, or maybe, I told you, we canāt keep doing this, but nothing made it past the knot in his throat. He couldnāt believe he was willing to stoop to this, to sneak around with this man behind Dorothyās back, and for what? Was this still about sex, in Crowlieās mind? Was it ever about love?
Maybe, he thought as Crowlie dragged him into the supply closet and locked the door behind them. Crowlie had the key to everything around here. Heartmann didnāt know how heād ever expected his own heart to be exempt from that.
Ta-da. Next part will be up whenever I get a chance to write it. To be continued.
If you havenāt read part 1, obviously I suggest you do that first, and you can find it right here. Once again, though, in summary: This fic follows Crowlie and Heartmannās relationship as Heartmann dates Dorothy at the same time. Infidelity, jealousy, men wearing lingerie, all that good stuff. Iāve tagged this one as nsfw, just to be safe, but thereās nothing too explicit.
Excerpt:Ā āHeartmann couldnāt get to him fast enough. He almost forgot to kick off his boots, but at last he made it to the bed, to Crowlie, and for a minute he couldnāt quite think straight or remember what to do with this beautiful person he only wished he could call his own.ā
Read the rest under the cut.
When Heartmann returned from walking Dorothy to her room, it took him a while to find his own guest room in the palace. He was so lost in thought that he actually walked past it at first. Dorothy had seemed a little expectant when she turned around to smile at him after unlocking her door -- probably wanting a goodnight kiss. Heartmann felt he should have, or that he at least should have wanted to, but he didnāt. Instead, he kissed her hand before he left. Even that felt like a little bit of a betrayal.
The evening had been fun, but now that it was over, Crowlie was on his mind again. Heartmann couldnāt help but feel something was off with him. Heād have to pay him a visit in the morning and check on him. This thing with Dorothy coming back, choosing to date him, had been really sudden. Heād meant to talk about it with Crowlie, to at least ask his advice, not to mention clear up this thing that had been going on between them for a few months now.
He was sure that was all it was to Crowlie: just a thing. Heartmann, for one, knew the way that he felt about Crowlie ran deeper than the ways they touched each other in the dark, but Crowlieā¦ Crowlie was hard to read.
Heartmann shook his head, circled back, and finally found the right door. He had a feeling his feet had been taking him towards Crowlieās room, but he knew that was the last thing he should do tonight. It wouldnāt be right. He didnāt want to keep holding so much feeling and affection inside when inevitably heād have to lose it all. He had to give it up before he couldnāt, and he had to find a way to feel the same as Dorothy did for him, and as he did for Crowlie, but for her instead. It hurt, but that was because he had a heart now. Maybe Crowlie did too, but Crowlie also had brains. He would get over this much faster than Heartmann would.
They would talk about it in the morning. If he at least confessed these feelings, if he said āI love youā for the first time, would it make it better or worse. On one hand, at least it would be off his chest. On the other, he could end up digging himself deeper into the hole.
For now, maybe sleep would clear his head. Heartmann turned the key in the lock and pushed open his bedroom door, but he hesitated upon finding that there was light inside. Somebody had to be in the room. Immediately, he tensed, ready to go for his sword. Then he realized he didnāt have his sword. Heād just been at a ball, and while that hadnāt required him to take off his armor, he remembered he did put his blade aside, out of courtesy.
Heartmann decided force would be the best way to go. He was stronger than most men. If this was some assassin lying in wait for him, Heartmann was sure he could overpower them. He threw the door the rest of the way open and barged in, only to find --
āCrowlie?ā
Not just Crowlie, but Crowlie, sitting against the pillows on Heartmannās bed with some kind of socks all the way up his long legs, which were drawn up to his chest, Crowlie, wearing a white dress shirt that was massive on him, hanging off one bare shoulder, a shirt that could only have come from Heartmannās closet.
Heartmann gaped at him, mouth opening and closing silently. Crowlie just smiled and rubbed at his eyes tiredly, like he might have fallen asleep sitting there and waiting for Heartmann, wearing that shirt and socks and apparently not much else. The candle on the nightstand was halfway melted, but the remaining flame cast a soft golden-orange light on Crowlie and threw the rest of the room into shadow. Finally, not knowing what else to do, Heartmann took a step forward, then another.
āTake off the damn armor.ā Crowlie said it softly enough that it didnāt even sound like he was swearing at Heartmann.
Hastily, Heartmann complied. He removed the heavy breastplate, the braces on his arms, the gauntlets on his hands, and the leg pieces, and let them all clatter to the floor carelessly. With Crowlie watching him, his orange eyes hooded but no less piercing than ever, Heartmann felt like he was losing all the protection his armor provided him, not just in a physical sense. Every time Crowlie looked at him like that, it was like he was sizing Heartmann up, always calculating behind those eyes, and it was simultaneously fascinating and terrifying.
But sometimes Crowlie still caught him off guard, and he wasnāt even sure if Crowlie knew he was doing it when he did. Those times when he flashed the most genuine smiles, when he laughed to himself over something in a book he was reading, when he fell asleep in Heartmannās bed that one time and Heartmann learned that he snored little kitten snores and also drooled. There were so many things about him that Heartmann knew so well, and so many he had yet to figure out -- so many that he couldnāt stick around to learn. If he could, he had to end this now, but thenā¦
Then Crowlie did it again, yawning and stretching his legs out, and even though it was the most adorable thing Heartmann had ever seen, it also revealed something new.. Closer to the bed, he could tell Crowlie wasnāt wearing ordinary socks, but sheer, see-through thigh-highs hooked to a garter belt, worn over a set of lacy blue panties that left little to the imagination.
Heartmann couldnāt imagine where heād gotten them, or what happened to his idea of masculinity, or why anybody even cared about that because honestly, fuck masculinity, Crowlie looked better than Heartmann had ever imagined anybody could, male or female. Heartmann couldnāt get to him fast enough. He almost forgot to kick off his boots, but at last he made it to the bed, to Crowlie, and for a minute he couldnāt quite think straight or remember what to do with this beautiful person he only wished he could call his own.
Crowlie reached up and laced his hands together behind Heartmannās warm neck, his skin cool against it. He was smiling, a little smugly. āIāve never seen you blush like that before.ā
āI...Iām, I donāt know what youāre talking about,ā Heartmann mumbled, and crashed his lips against Crowlieās before either of them could say anything more.
Sometimes this was the only way they knew how to communicate, with Heartmann marking up Crowlieās collarbones and kissing down his chest and abdomen, with Crowlie sifting his fingers through Heartmannās blond hair and squirming needily beneath him. When Heartmann reached the hem of the lingerie, it took all his willpower not to take it off. Crowlie looked too good in it. Instead, Heartmann slid farther down the bed, settling comfortably between Crowlieās thighs. He kissed the milky-pale skin all the way down from Crowlieās knee, and hooked his hands under Crowlieās legs to spread them farther apart.
āGod, Crowlie,ā he whispered hoarsely, looking up at his lover.
Crowlieās face was flushed, one hand carding through his own hair and the other buried in Heartmannās. He shivered when he met Heartmannās eyes, and this time there was nothing at all guarding his own, no calculation or careful thinking, just clouded desire, and Heartmann had barely done anything.
Heartmann shivered, too. He nudged aside the delicate fabric and lowered his head between Crowlieās thighs again.
__
Heartmann woke up alone the next morning, but a familiar scent still clung to his sheets, even to his own body. He had been so exhausted that he hadnāt even bathed. Now, even though his body felt gross and sweaty, he didnāt even want to, for fear that washing off the reminder of Crowlieās skin against his would also take away the memory. It was kind of absurd. It still seemed almost like a dream. Heartmann was certain he had never done anything in his life that would make him deserving of those long, slender legs wrapped around his waist or the way his name fell from Crowlieās lips like he was praising a god.
He really hoped it was all real. He wasnāt sure what heād do if it wasnāt. But with the way Crowlie acted with him in front of everybody else, it was like there was nothing at all going on between them behind the scenes, and today would probably be no different. There shouldnāt have been anything in the first place, Heartmann thought, kicking himself for it. He was dating Dorothy now, wasnāt he? He needed to focus on her. It didnāt matter that doing things with her would never be the same as they were with Crowlie. There was a very distinct difference in their bodies, no matter what kind of lingerie Crowlie picked out.
Heartmannās face flushed, and he went to the sink to splash cold water on his face. He shouldnāt even have compared Crowlie and Dorothy like that.
Whatever was going on with Crowlie, it had to end today. Heartmann had to put aside his own feelings and dedicate himself to Dorothy. He was sure it wouldnāt make a difference to Crowlie either way -- there was only one thing Crowlie wanted out of this relationship. At least, Heartmann thought so. Crowlie was tricky and difficult to read, and he hid his emotions so well it was a little hard to believe he had any. Heartmann had always wanted to ask Crowlie if he felt anything from this, anything that wasnāt physical.
It was a little too late to ask now. What he did have to ask was if this was officially over now, if the previous night was just the last hurrah.
To be continued. This was originally much longer, but I broke it up into two parts, making a total of six, now. The next part will be up tomorrow.
This is something we imagined might take place during Heartmannās route. Letās just say Crowlie wouldnāt take well to seeing him with Dorothy -- and itās Dorothy heās jealous of. This story does involve a bit of period-typical heteronormativity. Thereās also a lot of jealousy and infidelity.
Excerpt:Ā āCrowlie only wanted to dance with Heartmann. But Heartmann was preoccupied with his hand on Dorothyās back (his hands were always so warm, Crowlie remembered) and his green eyes fixed on her in a way that was supposed to belong to Crowlie and only Crowlie.ā
Read the rest under the cut.
Crowlie knew he shouldnāt have come to the ball. He knew they would be here. Of course they would, it was in honor of their new relationship, after all.
Yet he came anyways. Was he just a glutton for pain? Was he really so unable to stay away from that person he loved?
Holding an untouched glass of champagne, Crowlie leaned on the second-floor railing that overlooked the ballroom. As was the tradition, the honored couple began the first dance, and others would fill in around them. On a small stage off to the left, a chamber orchestra had begun to play a waltz.
Heartmann and Dorothy came spinning by underneath the railing, their faces too bright and happy and close together. His hand on her waist, hers on his shoulder, their free hands held out and clasped together. Crowlie considered pouring the champagne on her head of wavy brown locks, but that would be petty even for him. Her hair did look nice tonight. So did her dress, pastel blue and strapless with a big, looped bow in the back.
He couldnāt deny any longer that he was jealous. Of Heartmann? Ha, no. That seemed to be what everyone else believed, though, and it suited him just fine. He could play along with the āeverybody loves Dorothyā shtick Solomon had set up. It made it seem all the more unlikely that Crowlie had already been in love with someone before she arrived.
Maybe he should have dumped his drink on Heartmannās stupid blond head instead.
But the happy couple had already rotated elsewhere. With a sigh, Crowlie downed his champagne in one gulp, set his flute glass on the railing, and crossed his arms. In the throng of couples, he spotted Oz with some nobleās daughter, undoubtedly sweeping her off her feet and charming her into his bed for the night. Even Leonardo had found someone to dance with, though he stepped on her toes more than he danced. Everybody down there seemed so carefree, so light, handsome and beautiful and perfect.
It wasnāt like nobody wanted to dance with him. He was the king in the Emerald City, after all. At the start of the night, there had been several ladies crowding around him, talking to him, fawning over him, all too conscious of a womanās place to ask for a dance but hoping Crowlie would ask them instead. He didnāt. He didnāt want to dance with any women. Or with any men, for that matter, though the thought alone was out of the question.
Crowlie only wanted to dance with Heartmann. But Heartmann was preoccupied with his hand on Dorothyās back (his hands were always so warm, Crowlie remembered) and his green eyes fixed on her in a way that was supposed to belong to Crowlie and only Crowlie.
He clenched his hands on the railing, took a deep breath, and tried to rationalize. He knew this was useless, that he would only hurt himself more by holding onto Heartmann like this, but he wasnāt willing to let go. He wasnāt surrendering to Dorothy.
Donāt get the wrong idea. Crowlie didnāt hate her. Dorothy was special to him in her own way. If anything, he was angrier with Heartmann at the moment. Heartmann, who had once held Crowlie the same way he held her, who hadnāt even discussed this whole thing with him yet, who had won Dorothyās heart without letting go of Crowlieās. The worst thing was that Crowlie knew it wasnāt intentional. He knew Heartmann didnāt have the scheming mind to string both of them along for his own benefit.
But one way or another, he was going to have to choose. He had to at least tell Crowlie they were done, if he loved Dorothy so much. Until then, Crowlie supposed he was going to be the illicit lover on the side. What he hated more than anything was that he was willing to take that, he was willing to be anything as long as it meant he could be with Heartmann, if only for a few nights.
And he was willing to do anything to make it more than a few nights. To make Heartmann choose him, to stay with him, always, like heād promised. Deep down, Crowlie just didnāt understand where this had come from in the first place. Solomon wanted them to fight over Dorothy, sure, but Crowlie hadnāt expected to be...tossed aside, even if she did pick Heartmann.
He didnāt realize heād zoned out until he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to find the Wizard of the West standing there. Crowlie jerked away and put a good five-foot distance between them before he spoke.
āWhat do you want?ā
āYou looked lonely up here.ā
āBullshit. You donāt care whether Iām lonely or not. And Iām not.ā
āWell I didnāt say it was because I care, did I? I just happened to notice you up here and figured it would be a good opportunity to bother you.ā Wesley sidled closer, his one good eye gleaming from beneath that gross mess he called hair. āCome on, spill. You look miserable. I want to know why so I can make it happen again sometime.ā
Crowlie rolled his eyes. āOf course. What makes you think Iād confide in you? Weāre not friends. You set me on fire.ā
āHey, itās not my fault straw is so flammable, Scarecrow. I thought youād have gotten over that by now. Dorothy melted me, but I still like her, donāt I?ā Wesley didnāt fail to note that Crowlie flinched at the mention of her. āAhh. Itās her and your Tin Man, isnāt it?ā
āHeartmann,ā Crowlie corrected sharply. āAnd Iām Crowlie, not the Scarecrow. We have names now. If you canāt even bother to remember them, then donāt talk to me at all.ā
Wesley grinned. āYou dodged the question.ā
āThat doesnāt mean anything.ā Crowlie tried not to let it show, but Wesley irritated him to no end. The wizard was drumming on the railing now, dangerously close to where Crowlie had left his glass. āThis has nothing to do with Heartm-- Watch out!ā
The champagne glass hurtled end over end towards the pair of dancers below. Heartmann pulled Dorothy out of the way just in time, and the glass shattered harmlessly on the floor. Immediately, some servants were sent out to clean it up. The music had stopped, leaving only the low murmur of couples whispering to each other and looking up at him. Heartmann was looking up at him, too.
āAh, sorry!ā he called out weakly. āThat was an accident. Our good friend the Wizard of the West --ā
Crowlie reached out, looking to grab Wesley and drag him into the spotlight to take the blame for what heād done, but the wizard was out of reach, halfway across the wide second-floor balcony that wrapped all the way around the ballroom. There was hardly anybody else up here, nobody to testify that he hadnāt just tried to drop a glass on Dorothyās head. He might not have been guilty of that, but he could see himself becoming guilty of murder once he caught Wesley.
In his most professional and composed voice, Crowlie took the fall. āMy apologies. Carry on.ā
He avoided Heartmannās eyes, waited for the music to start up again, and slipped away from the railing. Wesley didnāt even try to run from him, but he was fairly safe where he was, because Crowlie wasnāt even sure what to do when he got there. He wanted to punch Wesley, but he wasnāt physically strong enough to win a fight against him, and he knew it. Words were his strength.
Before Crowlie could even think of something to say, Wesley smirked and asked him, āDo you really think everybody in this palace doesnāt know about you and your Tin Man? I guess heās not yours anymore, but still.ā
Crowlieās eyes went wide. Teeth gritted, he grabbed Wesley by the front of his horribly designed coat. (Seriously, why did it fasten just high enough up to expose his bellybutton? What was the purpose?) āLike you have any room to talk. Everybody knows about you and Oz, too. The difference is everybody knows he doesnāt really care about you. He sleeps around behind your back all the time, heās even dancing with some girl right now. Doesnāt that bother you?ā
āNo,ā Wesley said coldly, āit doesnāt. I donāt care about him either. The real difference is that you love your precious Tin Man too much, and you thought he loved you, too. You could learn a thing or two from Oz and me. We donāt love anybody but ourselves.ā
Something behind his dark eyes told a different story. Crowlie shoved him away and turned back to go to the railing again. Somehow, Dorothy and Heartmann kept ending up near him at the worst time. Crowlie almost wished he had another champagne glass to drop on her (or to throw in Wesleyās face). She was laughing about something Heartmann said, and him and his stupid, sweet face kept paying attention to nothing but her, adoring her. How could he? It didnāt make sense, none of it did. Had Solomon put him under some kind of spell? Dorothy was their friend. Even if Heartmann liked women, even if he really liked her, why would he just abandon Crowlie like this, without a single word?
If Heartmann liked womenā¦ Crowlie smiled tightly, looking down at all the ladies twirling around with their partners, their long, colorful dresses billowing, their faces made pretty by their makeup. Crowlie had no interest in them, but if Heartmann did, thenā¦
The ball was far from over, but Crowlie slipped out early. The city wasnāt completely empty, but there was a noticeable absence of carriages on the road. He went on foot to a shop that men never frequented -- but he was the king, so who was going to tell him no? He was sure the shopkeeper assumed he was there to buy gifts for a female lover.
In a way, Crowlie supposed, this was for his lover. It just had nothing to do with a female.
*Inspired by āOz the Great and Powerfulā. A small story I wrote for Shall We Date? Oz+, itās not very good. I blame @crowheart-oz for getting me into this pairing.*
āIt could help you, you know?ā
He was trying hard not to show weakness to his brother, Evan. He hated the pitying look his brother was giving him; he hated the fact that his heart was splitting painfully.
The crystal ball hadnāt changed images, it still showcased a smiling Oz walking alongside Solomon. By now it was obvious Oz had abandoned the mission to slay the Wicked Wizard of the South.
It hurt Wesley to see them strolling along without a care in the world.
In truth, it should have been obvious Oz was never serious. The male had been a womanizer back in Kansas, he probably had charmed a lot of people the way he had charmed Wesley.
Upon their first meeting, Oz had been charming and flirtatious. Wesley had gotten entangled in Ozās spider web and had not been able to find a way out. He still remembered the joy he had felt when Oz had promised heād slay Solomon and make Wesley his partner in ruling the land. He had even given him a music box-
The same music box that he had given Evan and probably all the others that had been stupid enough to fall prey to him.
He stared at the crystal ball, his heart painfully constricting again. Oz was now talking to Solomon about something, there was a smile on his lips that Wesley had never seen before. He clenched his fists.
Why had he been so stupid? Why hadnāt he listened to reason?
Like a fool he had fallen for every lie that Oz had said and now he was paying the price. His heart was breaking and his head was whirling. He wanted it to stop.
āMake it stop.ā
His voice sounded pained and foreign. He could barely recognize it.
Evan only extended the green apple in his direction again and gave him a hard stare.
The apple would cure him, he had promised him that.
Wesley stared at it with conviction. He had never relied much on magic to fix a personās emotions but he was hurting too bad to care.
āOne bite and itāll stop hurting.ā
The apple in Evanās hands seemed ominous somehow. Wesley bit his lip and stared at it for a few more seconds wondering if he should just take it.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Oz place a hand on Solomonās shoulder to better speak to him.
That was all the motivation he needed.
Without anymore hesitation, he cut his brother off as he rambled about how his heart would be healed. He grabbed the apple from his grasp and took a bite.
With that one bite, his fate was sealed.
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