A less restrictive version of OC Kiss Week! Characters who are related to canonical characters (fankids, etc) are permitted and considered OCs, and kisses between OCs and canon characters are allowed.
Who's running this blog?
Our blog moderators are @sith-shenanigans and @moonlight-and-mantles.
How do I participate?
Just use the #ockissfreedom2026 tag to post your fics or art! Any kiss involving at least one original character (including customizable game protagonists) is allowed, as long as it's within Tumblr's ToS. Anything requiring a content warning should be tagged as "#cw [tag]" so that followers can block it as necessary.
Do I have to follow the prompts?
Our prompts are just suggestions. You can use other prompt lists (for example, if your fandom is running its own OC Kiss Week event, you can post with both tags) or none at all. Please only crosspost if your work fits both events’ rules, though!
Are platonic kisses allowed?
Absolutely!
Is sexual content allowed?
Kisses don't have to be chaste (a bit of groping, etc. is fine), but this blog won't reblog explicit fics or art with genitalia showing. It’s beyond the scope of this event and may potentially violate Tumblr’s user guidelines.
What about “problematic” content?
Content must comply with Tumblr’s user guidelines. Anything that depicts minors in overly sexual situations or implies grooming on the part of an adult is disallowed as part of the event. Other content should be tagged appropriately.
Are you affiliated with other OC Kiss events, like OC Kiss Week and OC x Canon Week?
No, but since OC x Canon Week is no longer running after 2026, we’ve made the decision to allow canon characters in the event. If the volume of kisses with canon characters overwhelms OC-OC content, we may move to showcasing them on different weeks.
Pairing: My own OC, Chiara De Riva and @nessa-fang's Bea De Riva
This one does get a liiiittle bit spicy but it’s non graphic and ends before it would get into the truly NSFW territory
You can also read it on AO3 along with the rest of my OCKiss Freedom pieces here
"You already perceive me
committed the atrocity of knowing me"
Chiara kept her focus on their surroundings, following in lock step with Bea behind Viago as they entered the King’s study. She counted the number of servants and guards as they moved, clocked each exit, mapping the quickest route from the building, anything that would keep her eyes trained somewhere other than at the desk in front of them. Her fingers ran anxiously over the small vials on her belt, the handles of her blades, mentally taking stock of the arsenal she already knew by heart.Viago always made a point to bring her with him on visits to the palace. Whether it was to make a point to her or to their family she wasn’t sure. Likely both. Over the years she had tried to block out the whispers that followed her through the halls. Her father had never acknowledged their relation publicly but it was hard to not see the resemblance. And the gossiping nobles of the court certainly took notice each time she arrived. It took all her training to keep herself from biting back at their callous remarks, to show them what she was capable of with steel in her hands.
“What do you think, Rodolfo?”
Chiara was broken out of her musings when she heard her father’s name, unable to stop her gaze from falling to the men behind the opulent desk.
Prince Rodolfo stood to the side of his father, leaning over to read the contracts Viago had presented. His temples have started to grey. Chiara found herself noting. As if sensing the change in her focus, Rodolfo looked up, their matching violet hazel eyes locked. Chiara felt her gut twist, taking in the complete lack of emotion in her father’s face as he looked at her. Like he was looking right through her. Chiara stared back just as expressionless.
After a beat his lip twitched. A curl of anger.
Or disgust.
Then his focus shifted back to his father, answering his question. Chiara didn’t hear what he said, her pulse hammering too loudly in her head. A corrosive mix of rage and shame threatened to eat away her control. A feeling only her family could drag out of her. She could see Viago's hand tighten on his cane, could practically hear him berating her for being too emotional, too reactive. She felt the brush of a hand against hers, Bea’s pinky curling around her own behind Viago’s back briefly before letting go.
Chiara didn’t acknowledge the other Crow but felt her racing heartbeat calm for a moment at the reminder she wasn’t alone amongst the wolves. Neither the King or Prince acknowledged Chiara further, Chiara's grip on the hilt of her blades tightening further each time their eyes purposefully looked past her, right through her, until her knuckles were stiff and aching.
Chiara was silent for the entire rest of their time at the palace, on the carriage ride back to their lodgings, and through the evening meal they took in the small parlor attached to Viago’s room. Chiara's plate went cold, untouched. The Fifth Talon hardly paid attention to her or Bea as he frowned down at the papers he had neatly laid out on the table he had claimed as a desk during their stay .
She felt Bea’s gaze on her periodically, but she knew her well enough not to prod. Eventually they were relieved of their duties, and her and Bea headed back to the room they were sharing on this trip. Both of them moving on muscle memory as they unclipped armor, checked that the exits and windows were secure, stored their gear. Chiara checked the spots she had hidden blades within easy reach of both their beds, making sure they were all accounted for. Finally Chiara sat down wearily on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at a painting of the port on the wall in front of her.
After a few moments the bed dipped behind her and the warmth of muscular thighs bracketed her own, Bea’s arm wrapping around her waist as she pulled the copper haired rogue back against her chest. Warm lips pressed to Chiara’s pulse point, the tension in her body starting to unwind as she sighed, leaning back into Bea’s embrace. Bea left a slow trail of heat up her neck, a quiet noise leaving Chiara’s throat as she pressed a final kiss to the spot behind her ear. Bea’s nose bumping the edge of it, running along the slightly elongated shape to the soft point at its peak.
Chiara isn’t sure which one of them shifts first as they both fell to the side onto the bed together. The rogue turned in Bea’s arms, her hands lifting to tangle in her dark waves. Chiara tugged on the strands between her fingers, pulling the other Crow down for a heated kiss, tugging the meat of Bea's lower lip between her teeth harshly. Bea was unfazed by the sudden shift in energy, matching her intensity as she took control of the kiss with a slick press of her tongue past Chiara’s full lips, a hand sliding under her shirt, pressed to her lower back to pull her impossibly closer.
Chiara hooked a leg over Bea’s hip, leaning her weight against her, the mage letting her roll them over until Chiara straddled her thighs. Chiara ground her hips down, Bea instinctively pressing up against her, swallowing the groan Chiara let out from the pulse of pleasure with a smile on her lips. One of Bea's hand's sliding over Chiara's hip to grip her ass, encouraging Chiara to slide forward, the rogue adjusting so she was straddling one thigh, so her own could slide between Bea's and up against the heat of her center. She rocked against Bea lazy, her hands sliding under Bea's shirt to drag her nails up the muscles of her stomach, feeling them shudder under her touch with a groan from Bea against her lips. When the need for air became too much Chiara pulled back, both of them panting against the others lips. Once her breathing had settled a bit Chiara sat back, Bea’s hands resting on her thighs as they looked at each other.
“You alright?” Bea’s question settled in Chiara’s stomach like lead. Her face was stoic, a curious juxtaposition to her kiss bruised lips and mused hair, but her eyes scanned over Bea's face almost frantically, trying to memorize it instead of the cold stares of her relatives still looking back at her in her mind. Chiara shook her head no, Bea’s hands squeezing lightly in response.
“Can I help?” Bea whispered.
Chiara tilted her head, reaching up to run calloused fingers over the edge of Bea's jaw, then down her neck to fiddle with her collar, trailing over her handsome features silently. Bea's wide pupils never strayed from Chiara's face. Her hands lifted from Bea's shirt, rising to start plucking at the fastenings of her own, the smooth material sliding off her shoulders as she finally spoke.
“Don’t look away.”
Fingers dug further into the muscle of her thighs as sea green eyes glinted up at her.
Prompts: I didn't really follow them all that much today as this peice had a mind of it's own, I did manage to get a forehead kiss in there so we'll go with that one lol
This one is a bit early for me but it's already the 12th for my friend @nonagesimus who's Rook, Ayden De Riva, along with my own Rook, Ziva 'Mercar' Fontaine are the main pairing of this piece so I figured I'd put it out there a bit early. This is a piece set in a Alpha/Beta/Omega AU and they are polyamorous, with multiple partners briefly mentioned in the fic (Hex and Daphne, two of the ones mentioned, both belong to @lucaniseyebrowlicker
Ziva's pre-heats usually left her feeling like a live wire was running through her; she didn't sleep much, spending days obsessing over the build of her nest, a buzz and tightness under her skin that only the touch of her partners could relieve. This pre-heat had hit her different though, and she was miserable. The buzz and ache were still there but all the energy had been zap from her with sleep still eluding her, muscles spasms and cramps reeking havoc on her pelvis and back, leaving her unable to do much but lay in the pile of blankets on her bed. Her partners had been amazing in trying to comfort her and take care of her, bringing her food, electric blankets and extra nesting material, and at least one of them usually with her whenever was possible to provide the physical comfort and heat her body demanded to be able to sleep. But because they all already had time off coming up for her heat the following week, this afternoon all of them had ended up with appointments and work commitments they had to attend to, leaving Ziva home alone for half the day.
Hex and Lucanis had both brought up trying to get out of their commitments but Ziva had insisted she'd be fine. And Daphne had lingered in bed with her for as long as she could that morning, rushing out of the house at the last minute when they had spent too long exchanging sleepy kisses. And she would be fine but fuuuuuck. She'd managed to sleep a bit off and on but had been awoken by her back protesting the position she had managed to talk herself up in. Ziva shifted uncomfortably on her bed, her back and hips protesting the moment so harshly she let out a loud whine involuntarily. It was only when she heard hurried footsteps down the hall and a sharp knock on the door that she realized anyone had come home yet.
"Ziva?" Ayden asked as they pushed open the door, their brow furrowed as they scanned the pile of blankets in front of them trying to find signs of life. Ziva groaned, burning herself deeper in the the fabrics with a muffled
"'m fine, just cramps. Anyone else home yet?"
"Nope, you're stuck with just me for now."
Ziva rolled her eyes even though Ayden couldn't see. The blankets shifted and lifted in front of her, Ayden having correctly guess the location of her face to peer in at her.
"Have you eaten yet today?"
Ziva stuck a hand out of the blankets at a small cluster of granola and fruit snack wrappers on her bedside table. Ayden followed the hand's movement then turned back to give her a deadpan "that's not real food and you know it" stare. They stood with a sigh, eyes raking over the bed once more before moving back towards the door.
"Wait here."
"No." Ziva mumbled into her pillow but she made no effort to move, hearing Ayden give a quiet snort of laughter as they exited. Ziva wasn't sure how long they were gone, maybe a half hour, before the door swung open once more, Ayden dragging in a hamper of clothes and blankets behind them and balancing a bowl and bottle of water in the other hand.
"I warmed up some of the gumbo Lucanis made the other night, come on" Ayden insisted at Ziva's groaning protest, reaching in to help pull her into a seated position. Despite their insistence their touch was gentle; being the only other Omega in the house Ayden understood Ziva's complaining, even if they never passed up a change to give her a hard time about it. Once up Ayden helped her scoot back to sit against the headboard, placing the bowl and water into her hands. Ayden stood back with their hands on their hips, once again looking around Ziva's bed.
"Was this their attempt at helping you set up your nest?"
Ziva nodding before taking a long sip of water wearily.
"They get an A for effort and being cute when they tried but I fear nothing beats years of experience in nest building to account of things like the fact that I've been known to mimick an alligator death roll in my sleep." She responded dryly, Both of them laughed for a moment before an emotion flashed across Ayden's face. They knelt down next to the bed, reaching out towards one of the blankets but pausing before they touched it.
"You mind if I give it a try?"
Ziva felt her chest tighten at the offer, pressing her lips together to fight back the sting of tears as she nodded her consent. Ayden promptly went to work pulling the new material they had brought out, recently worn clothing from all their pack with some of the extra blankets they kept around just for their heats. They diligently started to arrange it all, their brow furrowed in a serious face that felt almost odd to see on them. They paused to ask Ziva for her preferences here and there, and managed to quickly catch on to when to make adjustments based on Ziva's facial expressions. By the time Ziva has managed to slowly eat the food they had brought her, there was a legitimate nest built up around her. Ayden put the finishing touches up; pinning a few darker sheets around the bed to darken the space, leaving just the fairy lights Ziva had wrapped around her bedposts and a small lamp inside to give light.
Once they had finished Ayden ducked inside, a grin spreading across their face when they caught the sound of a faint purr from where Ziva had curled up, the now empty bowl and water bottle set on the side table. Ayden went to reach for them when Ziva's hand came up and curled around their wrist.
"Can you-Would you mind-" Ziva cut herself off, worrying her lower lip between her teeth as she gave a soft tug on Ayden's wrist towards her, into the nest proper with her. Ayden looked down at her hand with an impossible to read expression for a moment before turning towards her.
"Scoot over." Ziva grinned, moving to give Ayden space. They ended up tangled in a mess of limbs, Ziva's face pressed into the juncture of Ayden's neck, their hand buried in her curls.
"Thank you." Ziva whispered into their collarbone, her fingers gripping the back of their shirt tightly as she felt the buzzy ache in her body start to quiet. She felt the light press of Ayden's lips to her temple, a fluttering erupting in her stomach at the move.
"Someone's gotta take proper care of you, right?" They responded teasingly, but with no real bite to it. Both of them knew the rest of their pack were all likely extremely anxious to get back home to check and dote on her as soon as they could. Ziva giggled and scooted up, her nose bumping against Ayden's, both of their mismatch colored eyes half lidded as they took each other in in the dimly lit space.
"If you're offering to take 'proper' care of me, I have a few other ideas for that." Ziva whispered cheekily, watching the corner of Ayden's eyes crinkled as they smiled in response, their hand on the back of her head sliding down to cup the base of her skull, pulling her in to press their lips together, a promise of more to come.
Day 3 of @ockissfreedom. Features my Rook, Daphne Ingellvar, once again, along with a fellow Mourn Watcher: my OC Alix Preisinger.
domestic - wild - neck
read on ao3 here, or below the cut
Usually, it was cold that greeted Daphne when she woke: an empty bed at her back, the small dormitory she’d been assigned three years ago chill and quiet around her. The Necropolis was difficult to heat, with its shifting halls and lofty ceilings, and she lacked the attention to keep the little hearth in her room tended. There was an arm slung over her waist now, though. A leg draped over the backs of her knees, pinning her in place with its weight, and a soft snoring against her ear. Barely more than a breath, low and warm and close.
“Alix,” she whispered, turning under their limbs to face them, the movement shaking them awake.
Their face was less than an inch from hers, their honey-brown eyes blinking heavily at her. Humming, they pressed the palm of their hand flat against her skin, between her shoulders. Firm, solid. A smile stretched her lips. She reached out to smooth her fingers over their brow, brush their hair back from their face and tuck it behind their ear.
“I was dreaming,” they said, voice still loose and distant with sleep. Their jaw ticked under her eye as she fitted her hand against the back of their neck, under the thick sheet of their hair.
“About?” she prompted, and a mischievous little grin wavered across their lips.
“Where’s the fun in telling you?” they hummed, shifting closer. “I’d rather keep you frustrated. Bothered.”
Daphne snorted, threaded her fingers into their hair. Alix angled themself over her, slotted a knee between her legs and pressed it up between her thighs until she was gasping under them. “Bothered?” she breathed, quirking a brow at them suggestively.
They tucked their face against the line of her neck, peppered her with a series of quick kisses.
“Do we have time?” she asked. Ground down against their thigh even as she questioned the logistics of starting up another tryst when they had a lecture to attend in — an hour? Hour and a half? It was hard to recall, when Alix was grinning down at her like time was nothing at all to them. When her heart was beating joyous and wild in her chest, threatening to swell too big for her ribs to contain.
She was content, here, with them. They were warm, easy.
“Do you really care?” they asked, tilting their face closer, rubbing the tip of their nose against hers.
Daphne shook her head, bit her lip to try to contain a face-splitting grin that came anyway. They kissed her then, slow and deep. Unhurried, now that she’d agreed to stay in bed with them a little longer.
She’d stay forever, if they asked.
When it grew time for Torimori to marry, he knew he would do his duty by his family and his wife, not much more than that.
He couldn't have imagined what shape that would take.
For the ockissfreedom challenge on tumblr: 11th of February - Domestic | (Wild) | Neck
“So remind me why Lydee isn’t here?” Jora Mei was elbow deep in suds in the sink, and cleaning plates was not her responsibility.
Rido, gambler extraordinaire, lounged in the kitchen doorway. “Her idea of wages would have put us out of this beautiful flat.”
“So how are your savings going, for the next step?” Innocently, “What is the next step, sweetheart?”
“You know. I make it big enough, and with your special ability that’ll be soon, we leave this place. We go somewhere with beaches and even more vice than we get here.”
“You sweet talker.”
Rido came up behind her, braced his hands on her shoulders, and leaned in to kiss the side of her neck. “It’s all coming,” he murmured.
Not with the way he spent credits. She could help him cheat, nobody but a trained Jedi could do better, but he lost credits as fast as he earned them.
But he kept her in jewels and he was domesticated. She had no intention of leaving, not while she had that.
She tilted her head to stroke against his cheek. He was good, he was very good. “Always one more day,” she murmured. “I know you’re close.”
And he ran his hands to her hips. “Very close, pet. Very close.”
The actual directionality of the ‘pet’ was arguable, but she didn’t quibble. She had enough.
this has turned into a much larger fic but it's not done and is also going to be spicier than the event allows, so. promts Goodbye | Courtly | Fingers
feathering my rafe and ayden and @nessa-fang’s bea
—
Ayden was walking away, towards the front door, and Rafe lurched off the bar stool he was sat out to stumble towards the fire-exit at the side. Burst into the alleyway like something was chasing him—Maybe someone was chasing him, Bea had been saying something as he’d started moving, his ears were just ringing too hard to hear what. That didn’t abate; there was traffic on the main road, a helicopter somewhere in the sky, air was scraping ragged through Rafe’s throat, but the ringing was the louder than any of it.
Fingers brushed his forearm and he flinched violently away; Bea was standing there with one hand out-stretched and a wide-eyed look on his face.
“Rafe,” he said, clearly trying to be soothing, “What’s going on?”
—
Rafe was nineteen when he’d come home for the few days between training camp and preseason and found a fifteen year old living in the spare bedroom.
Ayden wasn’t the first kid that Viago had taken an interest in mentoring, but he was the first that he’d brought home. Rafe had thought he’d made his peace with the idea that he was never going to be the player that his brother wanted him to be—part of it wasn’t even personal, Viago neglected the defensive pairs on his teams even when Rafe wasn’t there—but something about it still rubbed him up the wrong way. Maybe the way Viago explained it, like it was no big deal to pick a cousin out of some branch of the family tree like a new pet. Phrase it like it was temporary. Ignore the way every time Rafe said something, the kid looked at Viago before he reacted.
And it clearly wasn’t temporary. Rafe spent most of his rookie season on the bench as a seventh defensemen, subbing in to bridge gaps and cover injuries, and came back home to Ayden about to graduate to juniors.
He was a forward, which showed why Viago liked him. Strong on the centre, sly on the wing. Probably the only drawback was how often he ran his mouth, but Viago’d deal with a rat as long as the skill was there to back it up.
Apparently in this instance it meant Rafe was dealing with a rat in his house.
The kid would pepper him with questions about how training camp worked, and what being on a team was like. At least, up until Viago was in the room, then he’d fall silent.
Or, worse; he’d start chirping.
The fact that Rafe had been drafted out West, or specifically to LA. That he played defence. That he’d only made into a couple of games and hadn’t scored in any of them. That he was slow on ice, apparently—That was the one that really felt like Viago was behind it. Rafe, for his part, treated the chirps they way he’d treat them on ice, which was mostly ignoring them. The whiplash made him mostly ignore when the kid was nicer, too. It was maybe an asshole move, but Rafe had barely any time at home. Not long enough to really figure out how he felt about the kid aside from weirded out he was there.
His last day, packing for pre-season, Viago was out and Ayden was posted up at his doorframe watching. Rafe was trying to ignore the feeling of eyes on the back of his neck.
Maybe if he was nicer he would’ve asked why he was being stared at. But it’d been enough being in the suddenly crowded-feeling apartment for his whole visit. His head was already all filled up, that his coach had been hinting about pairing him up properly, wondering if how hard he’d worked during training had come off right. It certainly felt like he’d spent a lot of time partnering up with the guys who’d gotten a lot more game-time than him last season, which felt like a good sign.
Part of him had been looking forward to coming home, had thought that maybe he was finally scraping his play to a level where Viago wouldn’t be looking down on him for it.
But the drive to the airport was as stiff and uncomfortable as ever. The flight west felt like being able to breath again, stepping off the plane in LA. The year before pre-season had him on the edge of an anxiety attack the whole time, constantly feeling on a knife edge of making or ruining his career. This year he felt settled. He was never going to be the flashiest player on the ice. But, as long as he didn’t do anything stupid, he was still going to be on it. For as long as he could.
He’d re-signed the lease for the same apartment he’d been living in, but for the first time he started properly thinking about long term. If he was going to put down roots.
If, next time he had a break, he’d bother going back to New York at all.
—
A home game against Philly was an objectively stupid thing for Rafe to get worked up about.
It was just the first time he’d faced them since they’d started putting their shiny, new, hotshot rookie into play regularly. Ayden de Riva was not shying away from the publicity either, which had more eyes on Rafe by virtue of the tenuous family connection. Rafe had only gone back to Viago’s house a few times after Ayden had moved in; it wasn’t like he had a lot to say about the kid when anyone asked. And it wasn’t like Viago was going to be there, no way he’d come all the way out to LA for a game. Rafe doubted he even made it to home games for the Flyers, no matter how close that was to home. But it was the first time that he was going to come face to face on the ice with his brother’s protégé.
Stupid to worry about. He just had to play like he always did. He’d been a mainstay in the King’s defence pairs since his second season. He knew how shit worked.
Still, the night before the game he was full of restless energy and without many options about what to do with it. But starting at walls felt like it was going to drive him absolutely crazy, so he found himself grabbing his car keys without quite giving himself permission. When he’d bought the apartment in Culver City, he’d played it pretty cool about his reasoning. It was about the same amount of annoying to get to both practice and games from, but that wasn’t the point.
West Hollywood had enough nightlife that he probably could have called a car without it coming across as too suspicious, but he felt more in control of it when he had to fight with the parking himself. He never went often. The idea of someone spotting him sometimes felt like acid eating through his stomach. But. He wasn’t the most recognisable player on the team, and LA was the kind of city that ran on secrets. It was often he’d make a move, but being out in the nightlife felt good. Got him out of his head, when he needed it.
At least, once he actually got to the nightlife. Before then he’d get just as much in his head about what bars he’d walked into, and how regularly he could go, and if anyone would know him from the last time.
Eventually he found somewhere to park he was pretty sure was legal, found a bar that he’d never been to before. Let himself ease into the night, just one more person in a bar staying out of the lights and letting everything else wash over him.
—
It didn’t get easier.
Rafe thought he’d worked hard; turned out when he liked his team and his coach he could push even harder. He earnt his time on the ice, earnt respect from his teammates, somehow earnt himself some notoriety along with it. None of seemed to make a difference. He got named captain and then the next season Ayden got a C on their jersey too, three seasons earlier in his career than Rafe had. Rafe clawed the Kings back up the rankings, got them into the playoffs three out of five years, and then Ayden got the cup. Maybe if they hadn’t had the same surname it’d feel less like direct comparison, but the press didn’t care about how many branches of family tree came between them. It just got played up more over time. Everyone waiting for Rafe to hit his stride, for Ayden to burn out.
Another season. Another home game against the Flyers. Another trip to West Hollywood, and another bar Rafe was pretty sure he’d never been to before.
It was a little divey, maybe a little more aimed at the kind of clientele who might recognise him, but Rafe didn’t want to deal with the pounding music and he wasn’t going to drive all the way there to just go home.
Easy enough to slip through the door, find a stool at the bar, sit like he belonged there. Breathe a little easier, somehow.
“What’re you drinking?”
He was lucky, “Club soda and lime, thanks,” was already falling out of his mouth before he properly turned his head to look at the bartender who’d asked it, because every thought left his brain when he did.
Dark hair, hanging into very blue eyes above a smile with a wicked edge. His shirt was mostly unbuttoned, dark lines of tattoos and the edges of top surgery scars poking out from the fabric.
He said, “That’s a very sensible choice,” while shovelling ice into a glass and it took Rafe a moment to remember what he was even referring to.
Managed to drag, “I work tomorrow,” out of the back of his mind as an answer.
“Hey, no judgement,” the bartender said, “You want a tab or to pay as you go?”
“As I go,” Rafe said, pulling his wallet out of his pocket, “I can’t stay out too late.”
Even if he was pretty sure there was nothing that could make him want to move from that stool right then.
Normally he wouldn’t even get a second drink, but he found himself lingering over a third, and then there was a break in the night where the bartender posted up at his stool, apparently studying him.
“I’m Bea, by the way,” he said, holding a hand out.
“Rafe,” he said. He’d never been so aware of a handshake in his life. The rest of the bar might as well not have existed.
“I haven’t seen you around,” he said, folding his arms comfortably on the bar.
He didn’t sound judgemental about it. And it wasn’t an unusual question, LA was a city of transplants. Rafe just had to formulate an answer without getting distracted by his biceps.
“I haven’t been to this bar before,” he said, “But I’ve been in the city for a bit.”
“And you’ve never come here,” Bea said, a slow grin spreading over his face, “I should be offended.”
Then he winked.
The most obvious trick to Rafe’s trips out was to not go to the same bar twice. At least not without more than a year in between. He knew that every time he stepped through a door it made the chances of being recognised higher, every time he made it to the playoffs, the fact that he was the captain these days.
But he said, “Maybe I can make up for it,” and knew he’d be coming back.
Hit the ice the next night and when Ayden pulled up beside him in a stoppage and said, “Hey, I’m surprised you made it, thought you’d still be blowing out candles from your last birthday,” he hardly heard it.
—
Rafe knew there was a line he was stepping over.
Bea smiled every time he saw him approaching. Would almost always come over to talk if it was quiet, even when there were other people sitting at the bar. Definitely flirted, sometimes, and seemed pleased when Rafe tried to flirt back. But all of that was on opposite sides of the bar, when Rafe was a customer, when there were set expectations. Looking down the alley and spotting Bea taking a smoke break beside the dumpster was one thing. Changing directions away from the entrance to the bar, walking towards Bea instead, that was another.
But when Bea looked up and saw him, he smiled just the same.
“Sorry,” he said, “I’ll head in if you don’t want to be bothered I just—” he stopped himself before he could finish that sentence.
There was no way to really end it without admitting that he was not, in fact, coming to the bar so often for club soda with lime.
“No, you’re good,” Bea said. “Wasn’t sure we’d see you this weekend, you’re not playing right?”
Rafe froze up. Couldn’t help something choking up his throat, the word, “I—“ falling out of his mouth with nothing to back it up while Bea winced.
He did usually only show up before games. Had gotten used to the way it settled his brain, hadn’t really wanted to confront why. But Bea knowing that meant Bea knew exactly who he was.
“Fuck, I thought this was a, ‘we know, we’re just not talking about it in the bar,’ thing. Sorry, I would’ve been smoother about it if I’d realised.”
Rafe managed to get out, “How long?” and Bea shrugged.
“A while. I’m not, like, a huge fan, but I catch the occasional game.” He took a drag from his cigarette, eyeing Rafe with a concerned look hanging around his eyes. “You ok?”
“Does anyone else know?”
“No one’s said anything,” he said, “So, I think if anyone else does they’re not the type to spill the beans.”
It still had ice running down Rafe’s spine, which was probably the only excuse he had for saying, “And you haven’t—“ next.
“Of course not,” Bea said, sounding a little offended. But when all Rafe did in response was nod, a little numbly, the look on his face softened. “Hey, the good thing about a cute customer having a wikipedia page is it’s usually pretty easy to tell if they’re out or not.”
A harsh breath that wasn’t quite a laugh broke through Rafe’s panic, “You looked up my wikipedia page?”
“Yeah, well,” Bea said. “The photos people put on there are always terrible, and you didn’t look like you could take a bad one. I wanted to see if it was possible.”
“Sure.” Rafe had no idea what photo was on his wikipedia page. “How was it.”
Bea waggled his hand, “So-so. Not the best or worst I’ve ever seen.”
“I’ll ask my agent to look into it,” he said.
“More than anything else, that makes it sound like you’ve lived here a while,” Bea laughed.
Rafe felt his shoulders drop, finally. Bea’s cigarette was smoked down to the butt, he ground it out on the brick wall of the bar and tossed it into the skip. Rafe was already taking a step back, opening his mouth to say something about how he figured Bea had to get back, was reconsidering even going inside at all when he could walk back to his car and leave the meter running for someone else’s night out.
But when Bea turned back he held a hand out and said, “Hey, c’mere.”
There wasn’t a world where Rafe would’ve turned him down.
Bea caught his arm as soon as he was close enough to touch, tugged him even closer, studying his face. Rafe held still, kept eye contact up. Tried not to breathe too obviously.
“You’re freaking out a little bit, huh,” Bea said, ruefully.
“I’m not,” Rafe protested, then sighed. “I’ll be fine.”
“Come inside, you can sit for bit, I’ll make you a drink. Let things settle.”
There wasn’t room to argue. And Rafe didn’t really want to, anyway.
Besides, Bea was right. It didn’t feel like anything had changed. Nothing had changed, not if Bea had known almost the whole time anyway. All it meant was he didn’t actually have to hide as much as he thought he did. And when Bea went for another break he waited for Rafe to meet his eyes before tipping his head towards the alley. Rafe slid off his stool to meet him outside.
“You never said what made you come when you’re not playing tomorrow,” he said, around the cigarette he was lighting.
Rafe, after an evening of unusual honestly, didn’t have it in him to lie, “I wanted to see you.”
Bea smiled. The hand not holding a cigarette lifted up, knuckles brushing Rafe’s cheek. He caught it, turned his face into it. Pressed his lips to Bea’s fingers, something swelling in his chest that he couldn’t get out any other way.
“I was kinda hoping,” Bea said, stepping closer.
When his lips hit Rafe’s, it was like the rest of the world stopped mattering. It should have been terrifying, hidden only by the shadows of the alleyway, people out on the street, easy to be spotted. But for a few moments the only things Rafe could care about were Bea’s hands framing his face, the gentle slide of his tongue in his mouth.
They broke apart, but lingered close.
“I was kind of wondering what it would take to get you to ask me out to dinner,” Bea said.
Rafe said, “Do you want to come home with me tonight?”
Pairing: My own OC, Jesse Thorne (they/them), and my wonderful friend @orangeandclover 's Phaedra Ingellvar (they/she)
You can also read it on AO3 along with all my other OCKissFreedom pieces here
Jesse rolled their shoulders, shifting uncomfortably in their most formal warden armor. It fit perfectly but was stiff from lack of use. They'd rather be in their usual gear, but it was far too stained and weather worn to wear to a formal event. The Mourn Watch had sent a group of their members to the King's Hunt Ball and after saving the world, Phaedra had been called out specifically in the invitation hoping they would appear, and wherever Phae went, Jesse went. They both had been immediately flocked by party goers trying to rub elbows with "Rook", attempting to gain favor with the world's savior.
Jesse hadn't had the luxury of avoiding the attention either, the world well aware that they had been one of Phaedra's warden companions and played their part in stopping the Evanuris. They also received more than one glare or scowl throughout the night, in particular when they would put a hand on Phaedra's back or took their hand, giving a gentle squeeze of support. Taking Rook off the market hadn't made them any friends amongst the nobility, but Jesse couldn't care less what any of them thought. They'd already had their fill of trying to please the noble class as a kid, and had quickly learned they would always find something to be disappointed in.
Eventually the two of them had managed to slip away from crowds for a moment of quiet, their fingers tangled together as they slowly meandered through the cold night air of the vast gardens, nothing but the crunch of snow under their shoes and the distant sound of music floating out from the ballroom to accompany them.
Phaedra looked like a dream in their green gown, the purple highlights in the outfit perfectly matching their make up for the night. Jesse thought back to the pleased laugh she had let out when she'd walked out of their room to show them the outfit earlier in the evening, the dwarf awestruck by her beauty, though that was a typical occurrence these days. Out here in the cold most of the outfit was covered by their thick cloak, the fur lining the hood almost blending in with their curls, the pale grey halo around her warm tan skin a perfect contrast. Jesse watched as snowflakes gently floated through the air around their face, a few of them clinging to the hood.
"You're staring again"
Phaedra's golden eyes twinkled in the magical fire light floating in gently bobbing orbs in the air as they spoke, matching the playful smile gracing their full lips. Jesse laughed, squeezing her hand as they responded.
"You say that like it's anything new."
Jesse watched as the dusting of pink already on Phaedra's cheeks darken, lifting her hand to their lips to brush a kiss against the back of it. A sudden whoop in the distance accompanied by a chorus of scraping noises made Jesse's head whip the other way, their free hand flying to their sword sheathed at their side. Phaedra had the opposite reaction, their eyes lighting up excitedly as they tugged Jesse towards the noise.
"It's fine, Jesse, just someone using the pond for skating."
Jesse gave Phaedra a confused look as they walked towards the sound, the scraping sound along with laughter and shouts growing louder as they did.
"Have you never seen ice skating before, Jess?"
"We didn't exactly have a lot of ice in Orzammar, so can't say that I have. And I spent most of my time with the Wardens in warmer climates when I could."
Phaedra's grin grew, nodding towards the noise eagerly.
"It's a common winter pastime here and so much fun, come let me show you!"
Jesse shook their head but followed her willingly, smiling softly at their enthusiasm. They eventually came across the frozen pond, a group of teens all circling around each other on the ice. Their laughter died down as the pair approaches, looking at each other timidly. Jesse guessed they were likely not supposed to be out here by their shared looks, but Phaedra gave them a wave and spoke to them in Nevarran, a few of them nodded, the group going back to their chatter and laughter as they glided around on bladed boots.
Jesse and Phaedra stood watching them for a time, Phaedra sharing some of her own memories of skating as a kid with Daphne and some of the other members of the Mourn Watch, and the history of it in Nevarra. Jesse listened while watching the teens skate, a few of them pairing off, holding hands as they move around the ice, sharing soft shy smiles and kisses of young love. Jesse thought back to a young woman they had met around the same age, their kisses hurried and secret in dark corners of the Diamond Quarter. They pulled Phaedra hand back up to their mouth, lips press to the back of her knuckles in more of a caress than a kiss. Their silver gaze held Phae's honey gold one as they mentally thanked the ancestors for those memories, and that that time had opened the door for them to find their way to Phaedra.
Day 2 of @ockissfreedom, featuring my Rook, Daphne Ingellvar, and @nessa-fang's Donella.
courtly - goodbye - hands
mild warning for adultery
read on ao3 here, or below the cut.
Daphne Ingellvar had not yet resided in Treviso long enough to make sense of the intricacies of Crow politics and courtesies. Most times, there seemed to be very few steadfast rules; a symptom, she guessed, of the fact that First Talons seemed to change as quickly as the weather in the Free Marches. Above all, she knew, you remained loyal to the Crows and to your Talon. Except when you didn’t. Even that central tenant of their workings appeared rather flexible, so long as your argument was sound — or, profitable — enough, and you were successful. Anything could be swept under the rug.
If pressed, she’d admit it was fascinating, thrilling. Something that had her dreading her trip back to Nevarra, when her assignment was done here. The only flexibility tolerated among the Watch seemed to be in regards to the layout of the Necropolis halls. A return to the Mourn Watch meant a return to haunting Professor Volkarin’s libraries, wasting away bent over his tomes and scrolls, transcribing them into every language imaginable to preserve their contents for any who may seek it.
She blew out a breath, rolled out her shoulders and cursed. Today, freedom in Treviso was unlikely to look very different from her days in the Necropolis anyway. Thanks for that were due to the very Crow politics she’d wasted the morning contemplating. The First Talon and his spirit companion were well-booked today; too busy for their usual appointment with her. And the inscrutable, temporary nature of her position among the Crows meant she had absolutely no idea what to do with her day off. She wasn’t even sure if the terms of her contract allowed for her leaving the Villa. Emmrich had made it exceptionally clear, when he’d sent her to help his former colleague, that the assignment was to remain discreet. The Crows did not need to know their First Talon needed the assistance of a low-ranking necromancer of little renown.
And so, it seemed, she’d be once again confining herself to the Dellamorte libraries, scouring spines for the hint of any information on spirit work or demonology. Daphne scoffed at that, even as she gathered her book bag and swept through the door to her chambers. Trying to find useful resources on necromancy in an Antivan library was about as difficult as finding a grain of rice in the sands of the Hissing Wastes.
She kept her head down as she moved. The First Talon’s manor was lovely, was the thing. All gleaming woods and plush fabrics and sunlight. There were more windows here than she’d expected of a high-ranking Crow’s home, but she supposed that was likely the point. Less an architectural choice and more a point to be made, a challenge. A show of strength. But the stories had made their way to her ear by now, whispers of the House’s history. And where Thedas was thick with Crows, the Veil was thin. She could feel the darkness of the manor, the spirits that were drawn here, both of them lurking together beneath the sunshine pouring through the uncovered windows. The buttery sunshine, the rich mahoganies and crimson velvets, felt as far away from the thin, watery-green light of Veilfire and the dry, powdery scent of grave dust as anything she could think of. And yet that ever-present thread of Death pulled at her fingertips, lurked over her shoulder. The villa was lovely and bright and new; deadly and haunted and familiar.
So she kept her head down, shoulders back, watched each step she took towards the library and tried to swallow down the feeling that prickled along her spine, settled between her shoulder blades at the thought of leaving. Same as she did at the Necropolis. Except there, the worst thing she risked bumping into when she was more concentrated on stifling her own frustration was an ill-contented spirit. She knew well enough how to handle those, even if the Watch seemed to disapprove of her methods.
Today, when Daphne rounded a corner too quickly — head still swirling with sour disappointment, still only half-aware of her surroundings — she came up face-to-face with Donella Dellamorte. The First Talon’s wife was the picture of composure, even now, stopping short and gracefully side-stepping around Daphne as they suddenly found themselves occupying the same space. Gleaming auburn curls, every thread of her attire, all perfectly arranged. Not even a blink was out of place, and it all made Daphne feel discombobulated and disarrayed. The muscles in her shoulders tensed, jaw ticking as she tried to clamp down on the feeling.
They’d spoken only a little in the weeks Daphne had been assisting the First Talon, and for her part at least, that was by design. Donella — Rook, the world still called her sometimes — occupied a space in the world that seemed always just beyond Daphne’s grasp. Accomplished, polished, admired. Daphne didn’t much like facing the bitter, acrid way her stomach churned at that.
A beat passed. Donella’s eyes found her own, held them. Daphne fought the impulse to look away, opened her mouth to apologize.
“You’re leaving soon,” Donella said smoothly, stopping Daphne. It was not a question.
“Yes,” Daphne confirmed. Her mouth felt dry, tongue thick. A queer little hunger jumped up like a flame low in her gut. “We’ve made sufficient progress,” she managed. “I imagine the Watch will recall me soon.”
Donella nodded, blinked slow enough that Daphne could not help but notice the dark length of her lashes as they lay against her cheek. She pulled back on a sneer, the contempt directed inward more than anywhere else. Daphne did not want to think about Donella, or the husband of hers that walked these same halls somewhere else in the villa. Daphne did not want to think about the cramped, dim chambers and the single, empty bed in the Watch dormitory she’d return to. She’d refused to allow any ties to fellow Watchers for fear of getting stuck among their ranks; she’d ended up stuck there anyway.
Daphne did not want to think of any of these things, but Daphne had never been any good at stymieing her desires. All she’d ever managed was to keep up appearances while they gnawed at her, rotted her from the inside out like forgotten fruit.
She nodded back, turned to continue on her way. Like a snake, Donella’s hand whipped out, struck its target quick and true as her long fingers wrapped tight around Daphne’s wrist. The contact stung as surely as any bite.
“Thank you,” she said, softly, but not meekly. There was a warmth in her eyes that was threatening to burn, embers ready to jump back to life with the slightest encouragement.
And Daphne knew she should not encourage them. Donella was married, to perhaps the most dangerous man in Thedas. Was even more dangerous herself; she’d taken down gods for the Maker’s sake. But Daphne had not considered that perhaps she’d done the other woman as much a service as she had the First Talon. That she had helped them, not him alone. That maybe the peace she’d helped him and his spirit achieve had facilitated the sort of closeness it seemed Daphne herself was not fated for.
It was a near delirious thought that had her moving next: that somehow, if she could just drink down some part of Donella for herself and carry it home with her, Daphne could stand the journey back to the Necropolis halls and the loneliness she’d face there a little better. She stepped in close, hooked her fingers through Donella’s, begged “Stop me.”
But Donella did not, stepped back herself until her back was pushed against the wall and Daphne was crowding up against her, pressing her lips hard against Donella’s. Donella opened for her with a shallow breath, and it was not a kind or gentle kiss. Their teeth clacked together, pain ringing through Daphne’s bones as she licked into Donella’s mouth, a quick shock of contact before they were parting again. Panting short and desperate and crashing back together. Donella’s fingernails dug into the back of Daphne’s hand. She bit down on Daphne’s lower lip, drew it between her teeth hard enough that copper sang on Daphne’s tongue. Snaked her free hand between them until it was braced tight around Daphne’s neck, just below her jaw, pushing her backwards until they were wrenched apart. Donella released her entirely, one hand dropping to her side even as her other lifted to Daphne’s mouth, fingers wiping at the blood on her lip. That hand dropped to her side as well, pausing to wipe herself clean on the fabric at her hip.
Daphne’s head swam, the world tilted around her. Donella was rich, deep. Kissing her was like biting into red fruit, drinking too much good wine. Consuming, dizzying. It had done little to sate Daphne; wildly, she thought perhaps she’d crave more for the rest of her life. It had done little to assuage the jealousy, the need that Donella ignited in her.
This belongs to One Lie and One Truth, a Dragon Age 2/Inquisition canon divergence.
There in the palace of Halamshiral, Sonia and Blackwall separated and rejoined a dozen times, gathering clues, gathering hope for a denouement better than a dead empress and a broken empire.
They stopped under an arch to a fragrant garden, and Sonia felt his aura of warmth and stability. She resisted leaning into it.
“Is it you?” he said quietly.
Right. She had three masked doppelgangers throwing people off her trail. It was part of the Butcher of Kirkwall’s program of having a chance in hell at blending at a major event.
“It’s me,” she said, trusting the sound of her voice to identify her behind the mask.
“They’ll miss us,” he said. “We should return, not together. Just separately enough to convince everyone of what we’ve been doing all this time.”
Sonia’s heart leapt to her throat. “Blackwall!”
Yet he had the nerve to smile. “Act this nervous, and everyone will be convinced. They will also assume…” he hesitated. “They will assume you are one of your copies, because no man would sneak off with the Butcher. For the rest of the night, you will be an anonymous copy. You can do what you want, with whom you want.”
She could do nothing but repeat her pique. “Blackwall!”
“My lady.” He snatched her hand and pressed a warm kiss to the backs of her fingers. “I’ll go first. Give me half a minute. If you’d take any pleasure in the dance, you might save me one.”
Her impulse was getting repetitive. She very nearly tried to trade up in the way of kisses, but he was already walking away.
another for @ockissfreedom, for the prompt "fingers" and maybe a little "courtly"? have a sleepy Xillagne and a smitten Thavi.
Xillagne rubbed at her eyes. They felt heavy and crusty, and the dark wasn't helping.
"Why did you get me out here this early?" she asked Thavi plaintively. Odessen's ubiquitous shadows at least were giving them a wide berth. That was new. It could have been something Thavi learned from her master, or it could be that they also thought being up this early was ridiculous.
"This is not the first sunrise I've shown you," Thavi said without taking her eyes off the deep blue sky.
"Sunrise is better when it's late in the day. This is a wintertime activity." Xillagne's complaints were interrupted by a yawn. Her jaw popped, and she rubbed at it with a pout. "And we've never seen a sunrise after... such a late night."
Thavi turned her head to smile at Xillagne. The deep, muted purple of her skin made her blend in with the darkness around them. Xillagne reached up on sleepy impulse, pressing her thumb to Thavi's spiked cheek.
"That is why," Thavi said. "I will not wait for our first sunrise together."
Xillagne managed only a quiet "oh." Thavi leaned into her hand, smiling at her.
"You'll forgive me?"
Xillagne had forgiven Thavi for a thousand things, and she'd do it every day if she had to, but before she could force any of those words through her tired lips a ray of light distracted her. She dropped her hand from Thavi's cheek, batting at her new lover's shoulder.
"Look! There!" It was still early; the sky was not pink yet, but a muted purple. Like Thavi herself. Xillagne glanced up at her and smiled. With another yawn, she snuggled against Thavi's side, picking up Thavi's hand and playing idly with her fingers as they watched the colours change slowly overhead.
The sky was almost blue, and Xillagne was almost asleep, when Thavi lifted their joined hands. Xillagne hummed sleepily, forcing an eye open to see what she was doing. Carefully, her eyes as soft and focused on Xillagne's hand as they were when Thavi stared out at the sunrise, Thavi placed a kiss on each fingertip. She lingered on the tip of Xillagne's pinky, then shifted once more to kiss the back of Xillagne's hand.
"Lord Thavi," Xillagne said, exhaustion making her giggly. "Anyone would think you like me."
Thavi carded her free hand through Xillagne's hair.
"Good," she said, and she leaned in for one more kiss as the last memory of night disappeared from the sky.
for @ockissfreedom day one I present! a first kiss. eventually. there's a lot of talking first, including some sexually suggestive conversation. nothing gets genuinely steamy, they just are very honest about having sex. and a little sweary.
Featuring a first kiss between agent!Nalyan and Eventri, with greatly amused commentary by @rakghoulified's Cyresk
There was a bottle of lube and a silk shirt lying on the floor outside Cipher Nine’s door. He stared at it for a long, pained moment. There was one man who could possibly have done this. There was another, different man he could safely blame for it.
“Cyresk!” he roared. No response. With a groan, Nine snatched up the bottle and kicked the shirt down the hall, stomping out to find one or the other.
He found them both, Cyresk sitting in the ship’s central room with a datapad propped up on his pet Sith, who lay across his lap like a particularly large and glittery tooka. Cyresk smiled, unsurprisingly. To Nine’s discomfort, Eventri smiled, too.
“For me? You shouldn’t have,” Cyresk said, eyeing the bottle in Nine’s hand. He scowled and threw it at Cyresk, who caught it easily as Eventri yelped. Nine flinched a little at the answering burst of pain in his mind. No throwing things at Sith. Of course.
“Did you like the shirt?” Eventri asked eagerly. He sat up, but only barely; now he was leaning half across Cyresk, holding himself up with an arm draped over Cyresk’s shoulders. Nine glared at him.
“Stop leaving me things,” he hissed, ignoring the headache that came with issuing anything close to a command to a Sith. “You’re not going to magically find a gift that makes me fuck you.”
Eventri squeaked faintly, eyes wide. Cyresk cleared his throat and held the lube out to Nine.
“I think Ev got this as a gift,” he said, smirking. “It could be useful.”
“I don’t want your sith involved in our – my – our sex life.” He grimaced at the way he’d stumbled. Cyresk was grinning, and there was no way Nine would hear the end of this from him. And Eventri…
The problem with arguing with Cyresk was that Nine was too used to letting it draw him close. Especially now, when half their fights ended in ferocious kissing just so Nine wouldn’t have to see that smug expression. Nine was leaning over him now, which meant he was leaning over Lord Eventri, who stared up at him with wide red eyes.
“What?” he snapped at Eventri. He took a few hasty steps back, eager to get out of the Sith’s space. “You heard me. You’re not part of this.”
“Well,” Cyresk said with satisfaction.
“Not with me!” he snapped. Eventri’s eyes were watering. He pulled himself free of Cyresk, whose smile dimmed for a moment so short Nine couldn’t be sure Cyresk had noticed. Did he ever do that when Nine pulled away?
Not that it mattered, because all they had between them was sex.
“I wanted to do something nice for you,” Eventri said. Nine backed up another step instinctually. In the moments he’d been distracted by Cyresk and his stupid smile, the Sith lord had closed the gap between them, red eyes watering and a pout trembling on his glossy lips. He didn’t seem to notice Nine’s frantic retreat as he kept talking. “I thought we could be friends. I thought – I wanted –“
Nine stared in horror as Eventri started to cry.
“Cyresk,” he said. “Make him stop!”
“Well, you started it,” Cyresk said, though he didn’t seem to be enjoying this either. “Ev, it’s only Nine. Truly, he’s a terrible friend, I don’t know why I keep him around –“
“You’re best friends!” Eventri wailed. Cyresk’s answering smile looked more like a grimace. “You love each other. I just want him to like me so he won’t be mad every time we kiss or cuddle –“
“Would you shut up?” Nine snapped. His head was hurting bad enough already without the damn noise. “You’re Sith. I’ll do what you tell me, and we all know it. You don’t need to worry about if I like you or not.”
Eventri did not stop crying, but the sobbing slowed as he blinked at Nine. He sniffled and ran his wrist across his nose.
“I don’t want to tell you what to do,” he said. “That’s not real friendship, if I force you to do things. I want to be someone you like.”
Nine stared at him. He looked pathetic, was the thing – tears and mascara streaking down his vivid purple cheeks, his nose ring askew from when he’d wiped at his snot, and the water in his eyes shining more than his ever-present body glitter. Nine’s mind was screaming at him to obey. He needed to kneel, beg for forgiveness, swear his loyalty to Eventri. It was the only thing that would diminish the headache and quiet his thoughts.
“My lord Eventri,” he said carefully. “I don’t think you need my approval so much as you seem to think you do. You don’t have to win me over. I won’t get in the way.”
Eventri hiccupped. “Am I that hard to care about? Nobody – nobody but Cyresk ever –“ The sobs began to pick up. Nine grabbed for his arm instinctively, then flinched, waiting for the punishment. If Eventri did not punish him, Nine’s own mind would do it for him. The programming Jadus had left in him always seemed to know when a Sith was displeased.
But Eventri was not displeased. No pain came. No new pain, anyway.
“No,” Nine said. He didn’t mean to. He just… hadn’t wanted to lie. It had to be Cyresk’s fault. He cared about this mess of a Sith, even if he would hate to say it like that. The whole thing was starting to get to Nine, stuck here on this ship with the two of them.
“What?” Eventri said faintly.
Fuck. Eventri would make him say it. He cast a glance sideways at Cyresk, though he knew better than to expect help. His fellow Cipher was sitting up, eyes and smile bright, visibly delighted by yet another slip of Nine’s tongue. These two were going to kill him.
“You’re not hard to care about,” Nine said stiffly. His head was still so quiet, and the pain lessened as he spoke. “I just…”
He couldn’t talk about it. He would never let a Sith know just how deep his obedience ran. That would be a sure path to never getting a second of freedom again.
And what if he did obey? What if he did what Eventri so obviously wanted, a small sacrifice so Nine would not be forced to make a big one? Eventri was still so close to him, chin lifted to meet Nine’s eyes. There was more glitter in his hair, leaving little sparkling contours of purple and gold along the arc of his gelled hairstyle. He looked scared. As though it mattered what Cipher Nine, of all people, thought of him. Nine wondered what Eventri would think if he knew Nine was only an experiment.
He wanted to think Eventri wouldn’t care.
“Cipher?” Eventri said quietly.
“Will you order me to love you?” Nine said. “To be your friend? To kiss you, even? Will you tell me that lube is meant for me and you?”
“No!” Eventri exclaimed, throwing his hands up between them and moving back a pace. “No, I wouldn’t. Cyresk told me that spies can’t say no to Sith usually, and I don’t want that, I want you to like me for real –“
Good enough. Nine seized Eventri’s face, ignoring the way the ridges on his cheeks cut into Nine’s palms, and pulled him in close. Eventri made a soft, whimpering noise before they were even face-to-face, eyes wide and hands coming up to Nine’s waist automatically.
“Fine,” Nine said. “Good. Don’t ever give me an order, and we’ll be fine.”
Eventri shook his head as best he could, still held in Nine’s hands. There was peace in Nine’s head, and he gave in to what it wanted and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Eventri’s. The Sith whimpered again, melting into Nine’s grasp. Nine almost laughed. Eventri was a gentle, tentative kisser. Was Cyresk the only person he’d kissed before now? Poor kid. Nine slipped a hand around behind his head, pressing Eventri closer to him. He’d have glitter on his hand. He was surprised to find he didn’t really care.
“No orders,” Eventri said breathlessly when Nine pulled back. “Are – are we friends?”
Nine couldn’t help but laugh.
“I’ll let you know,” he said. A noise drew his attention past Eventri, to the seat Cyresk still occupied.
“If you two want to do that again, I’d like to get a better angle first,” Cyresk said.
“You wish,” Nine said. He pulled free of Eventri’s grip and stepped back. “You two enjoy whatever… sappy cuddling shit you were getting up to. I’ve got real work to do.”
“Real work, he says,” Cyresk scoffed. “We both know who the better agent is.”
