Tags: sfw, fluff, banter, T for making out and suggestive situations
Available on AO3 here!
Lovely and Vincent get ready for the Solaire holiday party and get sidetracked.
“Lovely!” Vincent says from somewhere in the house, not needing to raise his voice for the benefit of his lover’s vampiric senses. “Have you seen-”
“Your platinum chains? They’re up here with me, on the vanity, where you left them,” they say with an indulgent smile as they put on their own jewelry, a pair of dangling ruby earrings William gifted to them last Christmas. They knew he’d be so pleased to wear them, wouldn’t be surprised if he got them a matching bauble this year.
“How do I look?” Vincent asks, instantaneously appearing at their side and putting the chains around the turtleneck of his sweater. The vampire prince admires himself in the mirror– an action that always makes Lovely giggle at its irony– and poses for them, leaning back against the desk with his hands coolly tucked into his pockets.
“Like you’re trying too hard.” Vincent squawks in displeasure, an inelegant and childish sound that makes Lovely giggle, and Vincent has trouble repressing his smile as he crosses his arms over his chest with a pout. “You look like the pinterest board of someone’s Edward/Bella Christmas fic.”
“That was so specific and so cutting. How could you?” Lovely laughs harder, shaking with mirth, speechless with it, and Vincent grabs them, placing a firm kiss on their forehead with a smile, before knocking his head against theirs. “That’s not very seasonal of you, Lovely. You’re not keeping the Christ in Christmas.”
“Neither is trying to show up Porter at his own Christmas party… the bling, the cashmere, the homemade tang yuan when he told us we didn’t have to bring anything?”
“All necessary! What kind of guest would I be if I showed up empty handed? And what would you rather I bring- a twenty dollar bottle of wine?” Lovely rolls their eyes with an affectionate, incredulous shake of the head, opening their mouth to respond when Vincent’s phone goes off with a vibration and the familiar tune of Nelly Furtado’s “Maneater”.
“Lex, help me settle an argument!” Vincent says, putting in an airpod and giving the other to Lovely.
“Sure- you’re losing it, and you suck.” Alexis’s bored alto settles in their ears without pause and with Christian’s drawling tenor greeting them from the background.
“What are you bringing to Porter’s? Are you actually not bringing a host gift like he said?” Vincent asks after Lovely says hello and Alexis returns the sentiment.
“Of course not, what do you take me for? A simpleton?” Lovely’s boyfriend silently flips them off, mouthing a smug, animated “‘I told you so’. “I made Bánh Bò Nướng. You know Porter doesn’t know how to make a quarter-decent dessert.”
“What is it about Solaire blood that makes people ridiculous? When someone says you only need to bring yourself, you only need to bring yourself! This isn’t a pissing contest!” Lovely asks, giving Vincent the middle finger right back before shoving him away from the vanity with a shooing motion.
“Maybe if that someone weren’t Porter, sure,” Alexis says coolly. “And every social function is a pissing contest, baby fangs. You’ll find that out soon enough.”
“This isn’t a “social function”; this is family. I’ll show you.” Lovely picks up the phone where Vincent left it on the counter and patches Sam in, who picks up with a distracted grunt.
“What do you want?”
“Hello to you too, Samuel.”
“No, none of that yet!” Lovely interjects, interrupting their hilariously tempestuous banter. “Sam, are you bringing a host gift to Porter’s tonight?”
“You bet, a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue label.”
“I told you, Lovely,” Vincent gloats from the en suite bathroom. Alexis un-subtlely tsks in judgement.
“What?” Sam asks with a scorn too familiar to be hurtful.
“Nothing. It’s just interesting that Vincent and I made our gifts, put our time and metaphorical sweat into them, while you bought yours. Very telling.”
“No one wants your shitty food, Alexis!” Sam’s mate hollers faintly.
“Then I better not see you packing any to take home, dog . I haven’t forgotten last year,” Alexis bites out with venom before mildly speaking aside. “No, not you, cher .”
“We’ll all be outdone by William, so there’s not any point in fighting about it,” Vincent reminds them, the fight coming to a halt as the Solaire royalty grimly accept their losing fate. He comes out the bathroom, light makeup applied and long, smooth black hair casually tied back in a low ponytail so reminiscent of a danmei hero, Lovely can’t help but beckon him over to kiss him and run their fingers through his down-soft locks.
“Disgusting. Have the decency to hang up before you make us voyeurs.” Alexis hangs up with a click, and Sam chuckles warmly once she can’t hear.
“See you two and the princess in a bit. Don’t be late. We won’t hear the end of it from William until everyone’s together.” He hangs up too, and the line goes silent as Vincent and Lovely kiss, the older vampire looming lovingly over his sitting partner, covering their body with his, the fringe of his hair gently tickling their skin and making them grin against his lips.
“He’s right,” Lovely murmurs, protesting weakly as Vincent’s hands curl themselves in their hair, fingertips gently stroking the sensitive skin of their neck. “There’ll be no peace until we get there.”
“Peace is overrated,” Vincent says with a hum, his lips trailing across their cheek to press a tantalizing whisper of a kiss against their ear. They shiver at the sensation, and one of his hands goes to their collarbone, pressing against the bare flesh of their sternum to feel them tremble for him. They return the touch, nudging his sweater up to feel his stomach, his warmth, before digging their nails into the soft, vulnerable flesh.
“Ow!” Vincent says, jumping back more in surprise and mock offense than pain, and Lovely kicks him in the shin before standing up and straightening their clothes.
“We are not going to be late because of our libidos, Vincent Solaire!” Lovely emphasizes the point with a stern finger to their boyfriend’s adams apple. “Not on Christmas!”
“It’s January sixth,” he says with a plaintive whine, silver eyes wide with childish pleading that will not work on them.
“I don’t care. Everyone was busy or travelling, so today is ipso facto Christmas, and we will not be late for it. Get a move on!” Lovely shoves Vincent out the bedroom and down the stairs despite his protests, but the prince gives up the act by the door, carefully choosing the right shoes to go with his outfit while Lovely grabs the bags of presents and food. “Which car are we taking?”
“The red Lambo, of course,” Vincent says with a grin, taking one of the bags out of their hands and twirling the car keys around the fingers of his free hand. “Tis the season.”
“Tis the season for us to move our butts– I’m hungry!” Lovely says with a laugh and a shove, bouncing on the balls of their feet.
“You know as well as I do that you’re not hungry. One, you ate several tang yuan, and those are filling as hell. Two, our bodies don’t even crave human food anym…”
“Why’d you stop, Vin? And what’s that smell?” Lovely steps around Vincent who’s stopped in the open doorway, and they are gobsmacked by the scent of fresh air and chilled nature, the ephemeral aroma of frost with notes of clean ozone and grass. Newly fallen snow does not smell of peppermint or roasted chestnuts; it smells of dew and life, and it is the most amazing, wintry scent Lovely has ever had the pleasure of experiencing with their vampiric senses.
“Well, would you look at that?” Vincent marvels quietly, the cold and happiness bringing a flush to his cheeks. “You got your white Christmas.” The two smile at each other, the moonlight reflecting off the snow and glittering beautifully in the shining silver of Lovely’s awestruck eyes. “I don’t suppose we could say we were snowed in and enjoy this privately .” Vincent raises an eyebrow, attempting a smolder and sultry affectation and failing. Lovely goes further from the house, further into the winter wonderland, calling over their shoulder at him without even a glance.
“Not a chance, pretty boy! I want to have one of those snowball fights with everyone like they have in the sitcoms!” they say, marveling at the imprints their shoes leave in the plush snow. “You better get snow chains on the lambo!”
“The- the snow chains? But Lovely, I’m wearing cashmere- !”
Pairings: all the good ones- Angel/David, Milo/Sweetheart, Asher/Bäbe, Lasko/Huxley/Damien, Gavin/Freelancer, Darlin/Sam, Lovely/Vincent, Alexis/Christian, Mentions of Porter/Treasure
cw: none no magic no angst just the love of the game and food
Available on AO3 here!
[Overhead, panning shots of a quaint California town. There’s lines of charming suburban houses with well-kept lawns, a bustling downtown full to bursting with small locally-owned businesses… a classic, picturesque college town.
The camera speeds away, outside the city, towards the woods, until we close in on a beautiful, shimmering Lake Arrowhead and the campgrounds surrounding it. Beside the lake, in a verdant clearing, we zoom in on a large, white tent and the two presenters standing at its opening.]
Angel: So we’ve got thirteen bakers-
Babe: -three challenges
Angel: -two days of stunning desserts
Babe: -and one future winner hiding in our midst! Is there a certain kind of dessert you’re hoping to see and try this weekend?
Angel: I’m so glad you asked, because have you seen the cake on our judge, David Shaw-
Asher (Off-camera): Babe, they’re off-script!
Babe: Oh lord- Welcome to the Great Dahlia Bake Off!
[The camera zooms out, away from the hosts, and cuts to establishing shots of the field surrounding the tent. Charming, quaint clips of woodpeckers, dragonflies, hummingbirds, and an inexplicable lamb are layered with jaunty string music and are followed by an inside view of the tent and the procession of bakers as they file in and absorb their surroundings.
A no-nonsense woman with black hair tied into a severe ponytail and eyes straight ahead walks with confidence to her station. A tall, wide-shouldered man saunters in with an even wider smile, offering a warm handshake to both his neighbors. The skittish man behind him reciprocates it gingerly before fiddling with the ties of his apron.
The contestants settle in at their respective, colorful kitchen islands and face the front of the tent with varying degrees of apprehension. Angel and Babe stand before them with visible excitement and bright smiles. Beside the hosts, David and William stand tall and intimidating, despite the latter’s friendly smile and small wave.]
Angel: Welcome to the tent, bakers! I had a whole spiel about first seasons and new adventures and bright beginnings- but then I remembered that the longer I talk, the longer it’ll be until I get to try your food, so let’s get this party started. Take it away, Babe; what are our new best friends making for us this morning?
Babe: Today, for the first challenge of Cake Week, our esteemed judges would like you to make a signature crepe cake! The cake must consist of alternating layers of French crepes and some sort of filling, though the flavor of crepe and filling are up to your creative minds. Judges, do you have any advice for our lovely bakers?
David: Crepes are beautiful in their simplicity but also difficult. They must be perfect.
William: We’d love to see a good combination of technique and personality today. There’s so much room for different flavors, textures, and combinations with your dessert today, so we can’t wait to see what you make for us.
[William, a kind-faced man with neatly braided, long, black hair, offers the contestants a warm smile, a stunning contrast to the stony, stoic stare from David beside him.]
David: You’ve got two hours; get started.
[Angel slaps David on the shoulder before wagging a finger in his direction. The man’s eyes widen comically which the hose dismisses with a wave of their hand.]
Angel: You don’t tell them to start; we do! Babe?
Babe: Get ready~
Angel: Get set~
Babe: Bake!
[The hosts clap in unison, and the contestants start in a flurry like horses at a gunshot. A tall, freckled blond man puts a moka pot on the stove, starting a pot of coffee. A young contestant with striking Lichtenberg scars up their neck starts sifting a sandy gray flour, drawing glances from the opponents around them. Another young contestant in a DAMN sweatshirt starts dicing what looks to be a small mountain of strawberries.]
Angel: Can I steal one of these? They’re gorgeous!
Freelancer: Um, sure, please.
Asher (off-screen): Grab one for me too, Angel!
Angel: Get it yourself!
Asher (off-screen): You know I can’t! Have mercy!
Babe: I’ve got you- open up.
[Babe takes a strawberry and holds it up to the person holding the camera. Chewing can be heard off-screen, and Babe stares lovingly at their boyfriend while Freelancer watches in confusion, their hands still and awkward. David rolls his eyes at the nauseating scene before turning to the contestant.]
David: Ignore them. Tell us what you’re making today.
Freelancer: I’m making a strawberries and cream crepe cake today with strawberries picked from my garden.
David: Simple.
William: Quaint! All these strawberries will be cut and mixed into the filling?
Freelancer: Not really- it’ll be made into a puree which will be incorporated in the crepe batter plus a jam that’ll be layered with a vanilla diplomat filling. There will also be whole strawberries on top for texture.
William: A veritable strawberry cornucopia and homegrown to boot. I’m sure it will be delicious.
Freelancer: God, I hope so.
Angel (narrating): Freelancer is a nursing student at Dahlia Academy of Medical Nursing. Between their pharmacology classes and organic chemistry labs, they like to unwind by hanging out with their brother who often volunteers as a live-in taste tester.
[B-roll footage of a comfy, sunlit townhouse kitchen. Freelancer is standing at the counter kneading dough and chatting with a young, pink haired man as he sits at the dining table and does homework. The window lets in bright sunlight, illuminating the flour dusting their hair and the air, and reveals a vibrant, ruby-studded garden right outside.]
[In the tent, Freelancer continues to cut more strawberries while some come to a low boil on the stove.]
Freelancer: They’ve been his safe food since… since he was old enough to eat food, probably. Milk, pudding, popsicles, anything strawberry he’d eat. We could get him to eat anything if we put chopped up strawberries or strawberry dressing on it.
[The contestant laughs joyfully, fondly- a hilarious contrast to the dripping, red knife in their grasp.]
I’m a strawberry expert at this point so obviously that’s what I’ve got to make today. Gotta lead with my strengths, you know?
Babe (narrating): Freelancer’s not the only one bringing fruit to the tent today.
[The tall, smiley man from earlier pits cherries and tosses them into a bowl of kirsch. A quiet, focused contestant with hair tied back into a loose bun cuts mangoes, peeling them with a glass cup. A cool, collected contestant with glasses perched precariously atop their nose peels and juices lemons with efficiency.]
William: Enlighten us as to what you’re making for us this morning, Sweetheart.
Sweetheart: I’ll be making lemon crème crepe cake today; I’m working on the lemon curd now that’ll be one of my two fillings.
David: Two?
Sweetheart: Lemon curd and a vanilla diplomat.
David: So you’ll be making three components for us today: a curd, a custard, and a whipped cream in addition to your crepes? Do you think you can keep all those plates in the air?
Sweetheart: What- like it’s hard?
[A snort, poorly stifled, can be heard from behind camera B. Sweetheart looks in its direction and winks with a smirk, causing a laugh from behind camera A. Even David looks amused, half-smiling and tapping a knuckle against the wood of the tabletop as they move on.]
William: And what have we got going on here with all this color, Porter? What are you making for us today?
[Atop the workstation is a Warholian disarray of green powder and white splatter. The mess has made it onto the baker, verdant smears stark on the brown skin of his neck and a light grassy dusting in his black hair. Despite this, Porter greets the camera with a rakish grin and the judges with a confident handshake.]
Porter: I’m glad you asked, William. I’m making a matcha crepe cake with a vanilla whipped cream and some white chocolate ganache.
David: …interesting. Is this a flavor combination you have a lot of experience with?
Porter: No.
[Porter grins at the camera, a mischievous glint in his eyes. While he’s looking away, the matcha in his crepe batter clumps unattractively, dark green specks spattered in the bowl. David looks in disapproval at that and the messy counter before walking away.]
Vincent: Yeah, he’s sort of always like that. I’d like to say he grows on you, but I feel like I shouldn’t lie on national TV.
William; That’s right; you would know, wouldn’t you?
Babe (narrating): Vincent, when he’s not baking and having a good time, is an up and coming presence in Dahlia’s real estate game. His opponents, both in the tent and outside of it, are Porter and Alexis, his family who work for the same estate agency.
[B-roll footage of Vincent standing in the doorway of a lovely, three-story modern Spanish home, his casual pose of him leaning against the door matching the sign of him posted in the front yard. Porter and Alexis come through the same door, shouldering him out the way with matching sneers and affectionate disdain.]
Babe: Tell us about that. Did you ever think when you applied, all three of you would end up on the show? Did a shared, familial love of baking bring the three of you together?
Vincent: Sort of…? We were watching season two and started giving each other shit about who would last longer on the show. An hour and some bottles of wine, and here we all are.
Angel: Aww, that’s… fun. Now that you’re here, are you at all nervous about going against your sister and cousin? We hope you won’t go easy on each other just because you’re family.
[Vincent raises an eyebrow before turning to look behind him. The camera pans out, and Alexis and Porter have looked up from their respective bakes, having heard their names, and are presumably giving Vincent the middle finger. Porter, whose island sits between his cousins, has put his sifter down to do it to Alexis as well. Thankfully, the way Milo has angled the camera, all offending gestures are obscured behind mixers and jars of flour.]
Vincent: I don’t think you have to worry about that.
William: What fun! And what are you making for us? Hopefully not matcha and white chocolate.
Vincent: God, no, I can’t stand matcha. I’m making chocolate crepes with coffee cream inbetween.
Porter (off-screen): Matcha’s delicious; you have the taste buds of a child.
Alexis (off-screen): and no ideas of your own. I hope your chocolate crepes burn, you cheat.
Vincent: Porter, you’re not special because you don’t like sugar; it just makes you a grouchy jackass. And Lex, patent putting cocoa in your crepe batter if you’re so pressed. You’re just mad yours are going to suck.
Angel: This is going to be a great season.
David: This is going to be… a season. I hope we won’t have to separate you three… though we could move you much in the tent.
Vincent: We’ll be separated when they lose, don’t you worry.
[Off-screen, Asher and Milo can be heard poorly hiding their laughter. David tries to silence them with a glare, fails, and moves on to Alexis’s island. Her workspace is spotless but crowded, the mixer practically crawling across the table, a dark, sugary mixture bubbling on the stove, and Alexis vigorously beating cream into stiff peaks.]
William: You certainly have a lot of plates spinning. What are you making for us today?
Angel: And, more importantly, how is it going to be better than Vincent and Porter’s?
David: Don’t encourage them, Angel.
Asher (off-screen): No, I want to know too.
David: You’re both children.
Alexis: My chocolate crepe cake will be filled with a caramel diplomat and topped with a caramel creme anglaise.
William: You’re hoping to outshine them with techniques.
Alexis: No, I know I will.
Angel: Damn.
[David pushes Angel out of frame before moving on. William lingers for a second, smiling at Alexis, before pointing at her stovetop.]
William: Mind your caramel, dear. The color can turn quick.
[William walks away, and Alexis scowls down at her mixing bowl, waiting a moment before adjusting the heat of the burner. Focus on William behind her, watching in approval. Cut to Christian and his station, the blonde surfer casually stirring his custard while looking about the room.]
David: You look relaxed.
William: That iconic California, Australian, laidback attitude- what a combination! What are you presenting today that’s got you so confident?
Christian: Something classic, a vanilla crepe cake with a diplomat cream and strawberries.
David: Classic and simple. Why did you choose to not make something more unique or signature to you?
Christian: It’s important to know when to be flashy and when to rely on the basics. There’s a time and place for risks.
Babe (narrating): Christian, a professional surfer and influencer, would certainly know. Having lost part of his leg two years ago in a shark attack, Christian chronicled online his recovery journey of relearning the surfing basics, and more then a hundred thousand people have seen the video of him winning a competition just eight months after his accident.
[Footage of Christian surfing from the shore, moving too fast for the camera to catch anything but his golden hair in the breeze and the sun reflecting off the aluminum of his prosthetic.]
David: Let’s hope your risk or lack there of pays off.
Angel: We’ll find out soon. Bakers! You’ve got forty-five minutes left, you’ve got less than half of your time left to go!
[The camera pans out, and the whole tent is in frame, the thirteen bakers a chaotic tableau of flour and eggs. The handsome man in front of Freelancer is leaning on their countertop while his mixer goes, chatting and bending provocatively so the other baker can see down his apron and tank top. Freelancer looks pointedly behind him at the basket of strawberries on his station, and the man laughs abashedly, presumably caught.
The nervous, fidgeting man from earlier yelps, having gotten key lime juice in his eye. This would be the second of his injuries this morning if the blue cover on his finger is any indication. The two bakers stationed in front of him spun to check on him, the frontmost one yelling and pointing in his direction with the other blots at his eyes with a clean tea towel.]
Huxley: Are you alright, Lasko?
Lasko: Ye- yeah, I’m okay. Don’t worry, stuff like this happens all the time.
Damien: That somehow does not surprise me.
[Across the aisle, the quiet contestant with the mangos barks out a laugh, covering their mouth with a start. The freckled man stationed in front of them turns at the sound, catching their eye, and the two share a conspiratorial smile. Cut to Angel and Babe hovering on either side of Lasko.]
Angel: Are you alright?
Babe: Is Damien giving you a tough time? I’ll rough him up for you.
Lasko: N-no, he’s got a point. I can be really clumsy in the kitchen… or everywhere, if I’m being honest. And then he showed me a better way to handle my limes, so I wouldn’t hurt myself again!
Angel: Oh? And is there anything else he and this tall drink of water over here helped you handle?
[Angel waggles their eyebrows suggestively at Lasko and then the camera, making Babe reach across the contestant to slap the other host’s arm. Asher can be heard laughing behind the camera which is minutely shaking despite the steadying mechanisms. Lasko, after looking between the three show staff, catches on and flushes, a lime practically jumping out of his hands in nervousness. Milo’s camera catches Huxley quietly laughing at the indiscreet conversation, wide shoulders shaking in mirth until he has to stop whipping cream.]
Huxley: You guys are a riot.
Damien: I’ll riot if you distract Lasko. Forget about being sent home; he’ll end up in the hospital if he’s not careful.
Angel: So cute, so protective~
[Damien glares at the host, looking around his workspace presumably for something light to throw at them as they strut off with a laugh to another station.]
Babe: So why’s your flour different than everyone else’s and not white?
Angel: Oh my god, Babe, you can’t just ask people why their things aren’t white.
[Angel and Babe grin at the camera. Nearby, Vincent and Sam laugh, getting the reference. Even Alexis cracks a smile, but Lovely stares blankly at the hosts, giving the camera a confused look and waiting to be let in on the joke.]
Angel: Hell, I think we’re old. Are we old? How old are you, Lovely? What do you do?
Lovely: I’m twenty-two…? And I’m a college student at Dahlia Academy.
Angel: Shit, we’re old.
Babe: Freelancer goes there too!
[Babe points off screen, and the camera pans over to Freelancer whose head pops up at the mention of their name. Lovely gives them a friendly wave and smile from across the tent, and the nursing student tentatively waves back with the hand holding the knife, earning them a quick but loud admonishment from David at the front. They bashfully put it down, their island neighbor patting their shoulder consolingly and Damien tsking loudly.]
Babe: What are you studying there? Culinary sciences maybe?
Lovely: Aha, no, this is just a hobby. I’m pursuing a degree in electrical engineering. I come from a long line of electricians.
Vincent: Is that so? I wouldn’t complain about routine inspections ever again if the electrician that came to my door was as young and pretty as you.
[Behind them, the camera focuses on the other Solaires who share a look before Alexis coughs into her hand a muffled but unmistakable “creep”.]
Vincent: Ignore my sister; she forgets her manners and that I know as much about her as she does me. When we get out of here, I’d love to get yours or your family’s business card.
Lovely: You mean you want my number.
Vincent: Sorry, was that not clear? Let me reiterate; I’d love to show you a good time with the prize money from here.
[The camera pans slightly to the side, and Angel and Babe are riveted in rapt attention, clutching each other’s hands in nosy glee. Behind them, Alexis and Porter are pantomiming gagging.]
Lovely: You mean the prize money that doesn’t exist, the only prize being a cake stand and a bouquet of flowers? What a date.
[Vincent flushes in response to Lovely’s grin and laugh which leads to him overpouring his batter in the pan and making a chocolatey mess of himself. Behind his back, even as he scrambles to save his crepe, Lovely smiles at him in pointed interest. Angel mimes the two sitting and kissing in a tree, and the college student shoots the host a wink.]
Angel: God, I love our job. What about you, Sammy? Can I call you Sammy? Who might you be looking to sweet-talk and canoodle in the tent today?
[In the back of the tent, Alexis actually coughs this time, drowned out by Vincent and Porter’s snide laughter. Sam grimaces as he folds whipped cream into his custard, his ears reddening at the tips. Camera B catches Babe pinching Angel’s thigh, the other host yowling in pain and staring at them in indignation, before they point at a jar of brown syrup on his workstation.]
Babe: That looks alarmingly like Chemical X. Is your crepe cake gonna turn me into a powerpuff girl? Because I call dibs on Blossom.
Sam: I mean, that’s a syrup I made outta cold brew concentrate, so you’re not far off. Chug that, and somethin’s bound to happen.
Babe: Don’t you tempt me, cowboy; we’ve got a long weekend ahead of us, and I could use the caffeine.
Asher (off-screen): Can I be Bubbles? I’d make a cute Bubbles.
Babe: Cute as you may be, Angel’s definitely Bubbles. If you get my good side, you can be the Brick to my Blossom though.
Asher: That’s easy when they’re all your good side, eyyy~
David: In case you’ve forgotten, you’re here to do jobs. Focus, Angel.
Angel: Boo, Boomer. Ten minutes, bakers! Ten minutes before you gotta present before Mister Party Pooper here… and William.
William: I don’t get a fun nickname, Angel?
Angel: No, see, you are your first name, and we put respect on it like Beyoncé, like Shaq.
William: Hmm… I like that, thank you.
Angel: Anytime, Willy.
William: I like that a lot less.
Angel: Fair, heard.
William: While we’ve got you, William, let’s talk about who you’re liking today… baking-wise.
Angel: Or romantically- I’d love to talk about that too.
Babe: You’re going to get us fired.
Angel: I’ll sleep my way back to the top if I must.
[David stomps out the tent with his arms thrown above his head and a loud groan. Some of the bakers jump st the disruption, but Babe gives them a smile and a placating wave.]
Babe: Big man’s throwing a hissy fit; believe me, you want him to get it all out before he judges your food.
William: Damien and Huxley who’ve kept their cool throughout the first challenge are impressing me.
[Pan over, and Huxley is humming as he pipes swirls of whipped cream atop his dark, chocolate crepe cake. In contrast, Damien has a deep, stormy scowl on his face as he daintily dusts his crepe cake with a spice and powdered sugar blend.]
Babe: Is that what you’d call “keeping his cool”?
William: Yes, see, his body is restless, but his hands are steady. That’s a good trait to have in a baker.
Babe: Fair, and who are we not liking today?
David: I’m concerned about Christian.
Angel: Did you get it all out, bubs?
David: I’m ignoring you. Anyway, he’s doing something so simple, with flavor combinations two other people are doing, that I’m afraid he won’t be able to measure up. The first challenge of the first week, that could set a bad precedent.
William: There is such a thing as too much confidence. He’ll need to step outside his comfort zone in flavor and technique if he wants to go far.
David: I’m also concerned about Lasko.
William: In more ways than one, I agree. His demeanor does make me wonder how well he’ll withstand the time constraints and challenges of the tent should he move on after this week.
Babe: Well, let’s find out, shall we?
Angel: Bakers, your first challenge in the tent is almost over! When I reach One, I wanna see all those sexy, flour-y hands in the air, off your work! Five! Four! Three!
[Lasko mutters furiously under his breath, shaky hands frantically trying to pipe whipped cream onto his dessert. Huxley is cleaning his station, his crepe cake ready and perched beautifully at the end of his countertop. Damien is also done and wiping down his counters but less happily, alternately glaring at his cheery competitor and his own neatly decorated bake.
Christian, in contrast, lounges, sipping lazily from a bottle that’s been unbranded for TV but is obviously the sports drink he’s sponsored by. Freelancer and Gavin have finished and are chatting conspiratorially, sharing their leftover strawberries as they goose-neck about the tent.]
Angel: Two!
[Alexis stands with her chin held high, shoulders back, eyes steely and determinedly focused at the judges. Porter sits on his counter, a health and safety violation where this a professional kitchen, waving a hand in front of his cousin’s phase, trying to break her out of her concentration. Lovely is frowning, rearranging the raspberries on top of their crepe cake for the fifth time, while Vincent flanks with a grin, holding the fruit in his hands for them to pick and place.
Darlin stands at their station, eyes downcast and hands tightly clutching a steaming cup as they await the end of the countdown. Sam, leaning his back against the island behind him, has an identical cup. Sweetheart, in the back of the tent, the thirteenth of the baker’s dozen, looks about the tent with a curious gaze and smile.
Angel: One! Put your hands up and desserts down; prepare yourselves for the judgment of the lord!
Snapshots of a day in DAMNily apartment, inspired by @angelnoodlesoup's Timestamp series.
Tags: Freelancer/Gavin/Lasko/Damien/Huxley aka the Polycule, mild cursing and suggestive language, spoilers for Squid Game: The Challenge and Saltburn
Thank you to @bratty-telepath for letting me borrow Professor Banerjee~ ❣️
Also available on AO3
12:00 AM
Fitting five people in a bed, even a California King, is just as difficult and sweaty as one could expect.
Huxley is hanging half off the damn thing- poor dude needs a third of the bed himself, not a fifth- but he loves being on the outside closest to the door.
Damien, surprisingly and much to Gavin’s delight, curls into Huxley’s side with his hands folded and tucked between them like a cuddly, loafing house cat. This would be much cuter if this didn’t tangle his legs and feet with Lasko’s.
The air elemental, unsurprisingly, tosses and turns like the troubled heroine of a Victorian romance novel. Never able to stop fidgeting, Lasko’s place in the middle of the sleeping lineup was a conscious decision so the men on either side of him could throw a limb over him and hold on if need be.
Gavin, on his other side, never seems to mind the task of wrapping himself around Lasko. The incubus tends to sleep on his stomach, the toned skin of his back and legs tantalizingly, shamelessly uncovered, and is always curling an arm and tail around the air elemental to keep him in place.
Freelancer, first to wake and last to rest, sleeps like the dead with a haphazard foot hanging off the bed and a hand loosely but sweetly held in Gavin’s.
The arrangement is sweaty and cramped and not super comfortable. Freelancer has fallen off the bed more than once, often taking Gavin down with them in the process. Huxley upsets the balance of the slumber ecosystem every time his hydrated self gets up to pee. Lasko sometimes has to army crawl backwards off the bed out of fear of waking up the couples on either side of him, and Damien fights Gavin for blankets at least once a week.
They’ve never slept better.
2:08 AM
“Are you awake, Deviant?” Gavin whispers, cuddling his Freelancer and molding himself to the curve of their back. With his nose nestled in the crook of their neck, he can smell their sweet, coconut body wash and taste the rich, dulce de leche flavor of their arousal.
“Nope,” they whine, burying their face in the pillow while reaching back to sleepily tug at his hair. “Deviant can’t come to the phone right now; leave a message.” Gavin hums at the gorgeous sensation of their nails against his scalp and presses open-mouthed kisses to the soft skin below their ear.
“I wanted to see-” the incubus murmurs, grazing his teeth against their earlobe and grinning at the shiver that runs down his love’s back. “-if our resident voyeur might like to wake up and watch the show.” This makes the sleep-bedraggled Freelancer perk to attention, finally hearing the barely-there sighs and gasps from Gavin’s other side. Lasko, who’d woken the incubus with his stirring after a very good dream, bites back another hushed sound as Gavin’s mischievous tail makes his dream a reality.
“Looks like you’re intent on playing truant. Don’t worry, I’ll take notes of what you missed,” he muses, lowering his voice just enough so Freelancer may note the quiet sound of Lasko’s thin sleep shirt sliding up against his skin.
“Anything you’d like to add, Professor?” The air elemental whines soft and sweet as more pesky clothing gets pushed to the side, and Freelancer starts to turn toward their boys when Damien groans into his pillow.
“I have something to add,” the fire elemental says with a muffled growl, causing Lasko to shrink back from the heat with a startled yelp. “Go the fuck back to sleep, or take it to the couch.” The trio chime in with assorted apologies, and Damien huffs indignantly before turning his back on them.
Blissfully, ignorantly, Huxley snores away.
6:22 AM
“Mornin, Lasko. Breakfast and coffee are ready when you are,” Huxley says to the air elemental’s reflection when he turns off his powers with a snap and meets his eyes in the mirror. “You’re looking cute today.”
“You scared the sh- crap out of me!” Lasko replies with a start. “I didn’t know anyone else was awake- you were still in bed when I got up. Did- did I wake you?” Huxley smiles, beguiled, and kisses the top of dripping wet hair.
“I wanted to wake up early anyway, squeeze in a morning run while the weather is nice.” The taller man rests his chin atop the shorter’s head, and Lasko laughs from the ticklish sensation. “Figured I’d handle two birds with one stone and make sure you actually remember to eat before you head out today,” he admonishes gently with a wide grin and a warm hand on Lasko’s ribs pulling him closer to his chest.
“You didn’t- you didn’t have to do that; I can take care of myself!” Lasko protests, tilting his head up and back to properly look him in the eyes with a plaintive, apologetic expression. The teacher- flustered, unkempt, fresh out the morning shower, and plagued with morning breath- is too cute to resist, and Huxley is helpless but to lean down and give him a proper good morning kiss.
“Yeah, but it’s more fun when I do it.” A smile, a kiss on the temple, a gentle hand correcting the air elemental’s glasses, and Huxley leaves the bathroom so Lasko can continue his routine undisturbed. “Get dressed, finish drying your hair, and the coffee will be ready by the time you’re done. I’m putting a double shot in your tumbler since you have office hours today.”
“I love you, Hux,” Lasko calls out softly, adoringly, with weak knees, and Huxley hits him with a wink and another megawatt grin over the shoulder as he makes his way to the kitchen.
“Love you too, dude!”
8:02 AM
“Have you seen my Triage Healing book? I just saw it on Sunday, and it’s got my notes in it.”
“It’s under the- Sunday, Freelancer? You haven’t touched your book and homework in four days?”
“He means that it’s under the bed where Gav hid it,” Huxley hollers, watching in amusement from the dining room as his loves scramble about the apartment.
“Why would you do that?!” Freelancer yells, sprinting to dive amongst the dust bunnies under their bed, eventually letting out a muffled ‘aha!’
“You were ignoring me,” Gavin yells back from the kitchen, comfortably seated on the counter and drinking his latte with a lazy grin. Freelancer comes out the hallway with an accusatory scowl and their fire elemental boyfriend hot on their heels, nitpicking lint and dust out of their hair. “I wanted attention.”
“We wanted you to rest,” Damien says, patting down Freelancer’s back with brisk, aggressive affection. “You were about to start drooling onto the Coding graph, and then you wouldn’t have learned shit.”
“You’re one to talk! You were talking about warding supports in your sleep! Again!” Freelancer snarks, batting away Damien’s busybody hands with sharp elbows and playful smacks.
“They’re right,” Huxley chimes in with an affectionate, indulgent grin. “You were mumbling about ward geometry again.”
“Whose side are you on, Hux!” Damien says with a huff, shoving an apple into Freelancer’s hands and another into his jacket pocket. Gavin passes them prepped, color coded travel mugs: red with sugar-loaded black coffee for Damien and silver with coconut milk caramel latte for Freelancer. The earth elemental watches this familiar exchange for the millionth time before pointing at the wall clock hanging behind him.
“Whatever side gets you guys to class on time.” Freelancer and Damien’s eyes widen into matching, comical expressions of alarm, and they fling themselves out the door in a flurry of kisses, papers, and tangled shoelaces. Huxley laughs with the steady calm of a working adult with a hybrid schedule before turning to Gavin. “Don’t you have to leave too? You’re in the same class as Freelancer.” The incubus smiles with the smugness of a creature built of pure magic and rifts with a blown kiss and a snap of his manicured fingers.
11:24 AM
“-and then this infant of a water elemental tries to put out the fire- xi barely manages a puddle- and the earth elemental next to xim is freaking out. He’s pacing back and forth, trying to suffocate the fire with dirt- everyone is scared and dirty-“ Damien whirls sharply, knife pointed safely but threateningly at the floor, and Lasko nods placidly, carefully grating cheese with a stern focus. “Everyone is scared and dirty and hot, and Professor Banerjee is laughing. Meanwhile, I’m trying to coral the students away from the fire like they’re rabid toddlers, and do you know where the other TA was, the contra-fire elemental we were scheduled to have today?”
“Not where he was supposed to be?” Lasko responds sheepishly, passing the cutting board to Damien who grabs it with a brisk but not unkind manner and nary a glance.
“A fucking no show,” the fire elemental rages with a growl, brusquely shoving cheese on top of the bread and laying hands on it until the cheese bubbles and browns, a cookbook-perfect picture of French onion soup. He grabs the bowls with swift, bare hands and storms towards the couch, and Lasko follows right behind with spoons and napkins. The air elemental puts them down on the table next to the soup and is about to ask if he should get them water when a strong, warm arm pulls him down onto the couch.
“Tell me about your morning,” Damien mumbles, head on Lasko’s lap and face pressed petulantly against his stomach.
“I, I can do that, sure, Damien, but don’t, don’t you think you might want to sit up? Our food might- um, might get cold?” A single eye squints up at him in narrowed, judging contemplation, watching as Lasko giggles at the flash of warm palms slipping under his shirt against his back. “You’re right, silly question. Umm, want to hear about the Advanced Telepathy TA that’s having a worse day than you?” Damien hums his assent, a soft vibration he can feel through his shirt, and Lasko barely resists the urge to audibly compare it to the purring of a grumpy cat. The fire elemental imperceptibly leans into the hands carding through his hair, and the air elemental snaps a quick picture to show their partners later before starting to ramble.
1:36 PM
“Wait, what do you mean they’re taking the pandas back?” Caelum asks with wide eyes and abject horror.
“So all the pandas in the world are on loan from the Chinese government…” Freelancer trails off, carefully and slowly pouring hot soup into ramekins while their empathy daemon friend sits on the counter and whines. “…and they are going to be taking them back next year.”
“They can do that?” he asks, aghast with jaw dropped, and Gavin gives him a conciliatory pat on the shoulder. “How are we going to get to see the pandas? I’m not going to be able to visit my friends?”
“That’s why I was saying we should go to the zoo together next month, make a day out of it, before they go.” Freelancer pops the garnished soup under the broiler and joins Gavin, patting their friend on the head and ruffling his hair.
“Don’t forget that you and I can just riff to China to see them. Like, whenever we want.” The young empathy daemon’s face brightens with joy at the reminder, literal magic sparkling in his eyes, and he’s listing off all the amazing things he wants to see in Asia and relay to his charge when Huxley stops at home.
“Hey, dudes, fancy seeing you here,” the earth elemental says with a smile, pressing quick kisses to both of their cheeks. Behind him, Caelum is still ticking sights off his fingers: the Great Wall, the terracotta soldiers, the Forbidden City, which Freelancer is honestly surprised the childish daemon had heard of. “Who’s the third bowl for?” he asks, nodding at the trio’s lunch on the counter. Caelum’s eyes widen comically, finding Gavin’s over Huxley’s shoulders, and Freelancer scrambles mentally to cover.
“The stray dog outside,” Freelancer blurts out with their best poker face on. “That sweet, friendly one that just had pups? She came up to us when we came home and looked hungry, so we thought we’d share our lunch with her.”
“Awww, that’s so nice of you guys,” Huxley gushes with a warm, loving expression that only slightly digs at Gavin and Freelancer’s hearts over their fib. “Can you pour some out for me too? I’ll be right back.”
“Of course, Hux,” Gavin says, repressing a devilish grin that he only reveals when Huxley turns and heads towards the bathroom. “A sweet, stray dog with puppies, Deviant? You’re going to hell.”
“There’s a seat down there with my name on it, and it’s right next to yours.”
4:02 PM
“Do you think the pandas get lonely?” Gavin hums thoughtfully, papers magically shuffling and righting themselves midair before being placed in neat stacks on the bookshelf.
“I don’t think so. That’s partially why they always come in twos, not to mention pandas have all those hundreds of people who come to see and visit them every day,” the older demon says with a smile, assuaging the younger daemon’s worries. He must succeed when Caelum hums a cheerier tune, floating about the room and pausing every so often to drink water despite not needing to- a habit he picked up from watching Freelancer.
“Do you think the pandas would like it if I went into their enclosure?” he asks brightly. Gavin mentally blue-screens as he tries to formulate the best answer. Animals could historically react to the presence of daemons on a spectrum from cuddles to attempted murder. Though Caelum would escape from that physically unscathed, Gavin struggles to consider the emotional ramifications of his younger brother trying to hug a panda and the bear trying to eat his face. He’s still stuck on remembering the average temperament of a panda when Freelancer and Damien come home in a flurry of affectionately raised voices.
“He loved him,” the freelancer insists with a cheesy grin that the fire elemental responds to with a scoff and an eye roll.
“Oliver loved him as much as a leech loves its host, as the tapeworm loves the person whose stomach they inhabit. He basically says so at the end!” Freelancer dumps their backpack on the couch with a shake of their head as they kiss Gavin’s cheek and make their way to the kitchen, and Damien instinctively picks it up and follows, putting their bags at the dining table.
“I know what he said, Damien. I’m talking about what he didn’t say, his actions, his subtext,” Freelancer says, gesturing emphatically with their water bottle, spilling the contents, and magicking the puddle down the sink drain.
“His actions were murder, Freelancer!” Damien yells with a laugh, throwing his hands in the air in familiar, practiced exasperation. “His actions were spree murder.”
“He only killed two people in a short period of time; that’s not spree killing. Do your research.” Still laughing, Damien rushes forward to shut their Freelancer up with a kiss. Caelum giggles fondly, bashfully at the scene, before rifting away with a grin, nod, and a bubbly thumbs up. Gavin considers worrying for a second whether the young daemon would find out how aggressive pandas are tonight before deciding that the protostar would be fine and relish the adventure.
“What are you two lunatics arguing about today?” he asks, sidling up behind the pair and angling for a “hello” kiss.
6:25 PM
“I’m home!” Huxley calls, juggling the pizza boxes and gym bag as he struggles to toe off his shoes. “Babes?” No footsteps stomp in response, no upturned kisses or enthusiastic greetings await him, only muffled chatter from the kitchen. With only a slight pout, the earth elemental follows the voices of his loves.
“This scene exists, and people are busy talking about the bathtub?” Gavin’s familiar, smooth timbre says with a laugh, and Freelancer can be heard joining in with the mirth along with Damien’s more restrained chuckle. “Barry Keoghan, you little freak,” the incubus says, impressed and fascinated.
“Who’s a freak?” Huxley asks curiously, popping in and putting the boxes in the kitchen table behind an open laptop Damien and Freelancer suspiciously move to close and angle away from him.
“It’s a horror movie,” Damien says quickly at the look of concern and confusion that flashes through his face.
“I legitimately don’t think you’d have the stomach for it,” Freelancer agrees, wincing sympathetically at the memory of their The Thing movie night. None of them would ever be able to forget the sickly, impossible shade of green he had turned at the combination of tension and gore.
“Now hold on a minute,” Gavin interjects giddily with a shit-eating grin. “I think the big guy, out of all of us, would benefit from a watch. After all, you’re the hole-digging expert, right, Hux?” Damien is giving Gavin’s shoulder a scolding swat and Huxley is watching them with a quizzical smile when Lasko scrambles in, a flurry of mussed hair and apologies.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m late,” the air elemental says, flustered and ironically out of breath. “Am I late? Is dinner super cold? I meant to text, I swear
I did, but my phone died, and my crappy, generic Amazon wire stopped working. What did I miss?”
“No clue,” Huxley offers cheerfully, giving Lasko a sweet kiss on the temple.
“Grave fucking!” Gavin says gleefully, without abandon. Lasko’s face predictably flushes, confused and abashed, and Huxley’s twists into an expression of such utter, pure bewilderment that their partners cannot help but laugh.
8:43 PM
“I feel like I’m a Capitol citizen watching The Hunger Games,” Damien says with a grumble.
“It is weirdly dystopian,” Freelancer agrees, their head on his lap. “The ink packs exploding mimicking them being shot is cool but also sort of fucking insane.”
“Everyone falling over and pretending to die when they’re eliminated is so funny, but I kind of feel weird for laughing,” Huxley mumbles, nails tapping a distracted rhythm against Gavin’s horns.
“Sooooo weird,” the incubus agrees, lying across their huge sectional so his calves intertwine with Freelancer’s as they lay across their boyfriend’s laps. “Why are so many of them stopping with their hands in their pockets like that? It looks like that’d be bad for their balance.” Lasko, who had been knitting absentmindedly between Damien and Huxley, has trailed off, clicks away at the familiar pattern as he frowns at the tv.
“I actually read somewhere that they’re doing that because it was, like, forty degrees on set, and they’re trying to keep their hands warm.” Damien starts to heat up, his face curling in outrage and disgust, and Lasko and Freelancer reach out to pat him with placating hands.
“We really have to find another show to watch now that we finished Cutthroat Kitchen. I’m pretty sure our couch won’t survive otherwise,” Huxley says with a grin, leaning into Damien’s eyeline to flash those dimples he knows the fire elemental loves so much. Predictably, his face softens like butter, chilling from inferno to simmering displeasure as he crosses his arms over his chest.
“The Great British Bake Off will be back soon, don’t you worry, Wildfire.” Gavin playfully nudges Dames’s pouting cheeks with his foot until he gives in, laughing and batting the offending appendage away.
“That’ll be its own whole can of worms,” Lasko says, arms raised high, trying to knit over the incubus’s leg. “Remember BinGate?”
“Don’t remind him of BinGate. We only mention that when we don’t want to rack up the heating bill,” Freelancer jokes, cut off when Damien drops a pillow on their face.
10:21 PM
“Hux, I love you, big guy, I really do, but if you don’t move those burly, scratchable shoulders aside, I will spit on your ass. Not in the sexy way, I might add.” Huxley chokes out a laugh, a silly guffaw muffled by toothpaste foam, and he scooches left to give Gavin room at the sink. The earth elemental bumps in Damien who protests as testily as he can with a mouth full of mouthwash, and Huxley hums a sweet, nonverbal hum for an apology. The incubus bends over, spitting into the sink, and the look of him in the mirror when he rights himself is so domestic, his hair wet and rumpled, his body sheathed in Huxley’s too big t-shirt. Gavin, as loathe as Damien can be to admit, downright adorable, and he cannot resist reaching out and thumbing away a speck of white away from his boyfriend’s lips. That mouth grins rakishly in response, his tongue playfully flicking to lick the foam off Damien’s finger, and the fire elemental grunts in fury before spitting out the mouthwash.
“That’s not good for you, Gav! Spit it out!”
“I’m more fond of swallowing, I’m afraid,” Gavin says with a chuckle, wiping at his mouth with the hem of his shirt and coincidentally revealing the soft, touchable flesh of his tanned stomach.
“Yeah, we know!” Freelancer calls from the shower, their voice and Lasko’s ensuing laughter bouncing off the tiles.
“We sort of gathered that-” the air elemental adds. “-not that we’re not fond of it, of course.”
“Yeah, don’t let Damien get you down. He’s just jealous of your swallowing skills.”
“Come say that to my face, Freelancer!” the fire elemental shouts, and Huxley laughs again, the task of teeth brushing forgotten.
“Damn, Dames, if you wanted to see them naked, you could just ask,” he teases, laughing louder and clutching his stomach as Damien looks up at him with shocked betrayal.
“Et tu, brute?” he asks in an accusing whisper, his scowl breaking into a smile as he pushes the earth elemental towards the sink. “You assholes forget I know where you all sleep.”
11:02 PM
“One more paper.”
“You said that four papers ago. Hand ‘em over, Moore.”
“What if I really mean it this time?”
“What if I smother you with a pillow to get you to sleep?” Lasko gasps, looking up at Damien with a wounded look in his eye even as he obediently passes his papers and pens to the testy fire elemental. “That’s what I thought.”
“Don’t worry, baby,” Huxley coos, leaning over Damien to press a kiss to Lasko’s temple. “I wouldn’t let him kill you.”
“My hero,” the air elemental jokes weakly, sleepily, taking off his glasses to rub at drooping eyes. Gavin takes them with his tail and puts them in their designated place on the nightstand before climbing into bed on Lasko’s other side. Freelancer neglects to follow, sitting at the foot of the bed and pouring over their own assignments.
“Why don’t you threaten them? Freelancer’s doing work too!” With a snap of the fingers, Damien sets the edge of their textbook alight, the paper just catching when Freelancer douses it with a pout.
“You’re a bastard,” they say accusingly, passing their things to Gavin who tucks the contraband safely beneath the bed.
“A bastard who loves you and wants you to fucking rest,” Damien agrees, throwing their designated pillow at their face and smiling approvingly when they catch it with Psychokinetic ease.
12:00 AM
“Are you okay, Gavin?” Without his glasses, he can see hardly anything in the shadows of the moonlit room but Lasko Moore could pick Gavin’s profile out of hundreds in a second. The silhouette turns to look down at him, and Lasko reaches up to clumsily pet the incubus’s cheek. He hums softly, fingers smoothing along soft skin and cheekbones, and Gavin leans into the touch, his cheek nestling affectionately into Lasko’s palm.
“I’m okay, baby,” he whispers, stroking the air elemental’s hair until he settles back into the pillows. “Go back to sleep. I won’t be far behind you.” He mumbles something vaguely in the affirmative, more unconscious than not, and Gavin gazes down at the face of the sleeping man next to him. Not quite under the heavy influence of deep sleep, Lasko’s face is blissfully unburdened and slack with slumber. His freshly washed and dried hair acts like a fluffy halo, framing his face in a way Lasko will hate come morning but Gavin adores now. Behind him, Damien and Huxley are similarly relaxed and beautiful in their vulnerability. The earth elemental’s mouth is curled into a half-smile even as he sleeps, and Damien’s mouth is slack and wide open, drool trailing down his cheek as he snores. The incubus is biting back a laugh and wishing he could take a picture when a warm, soft hand wraps around his.
“Who’s the voyeur now?” his Freelancer whispers playfully. Gavin smiles at them without a word, and his human gently tugs until he lays back down beside them. Then they wrap their arm around his torso, their leg tossed over his and their head nestled beneath his chin. “Go to sleep. You can be a Peeping Tom tomorrow.”
“Promise?” he asks, mumbling into their hair and breathing deeply in that irreplaceable scent of humanity and love and home. Gavin’s arms tighten around their shoulders as if trying to intertwine their auras with sheer force, and Freelancer presses a kiss to his chest, right over his full, thudding heart.
“Promise. Now sleep; if we wake Damien up two nights in a row, he’ll burn our coffee.”
Rarepairs are fun, I’m bored and/or procrastinating other projects, and the world could always use a little more chaos let’s gooo
Pairing: Lovely/Vincent/Blake's Listener (Bestie)
tw: mild horniness
Also available on AO3!
“I’ve gotta ask- what did the bartender put into your drink to make you look so sad? I’ll fight them for you, if you like. They’re a friend of mine, but that wouldn’t stop me.” A sweet, smooth voice surprises Bestie, making them turn to their left to look into the shining grey eyes and flawless, smiling face next to theirs.
“And we do think it must be the bartender’s fault,” another charming voice croons from their other side, the barstools bracketing them now occupied. “Since no one would be dumb enough to disappoint you or stand you up.” The two lean into Bestie’s space, their scents mingling and surrounding them in a cloud of leather, cinnamon, and cherries. It’s more intoxicating than the daiquiri weeping on the bartop could ever hope to be.
“The bartender is fine?” Bestie hedges, not knowing whose cherry-painted lips and sharp teeth to look at. They dare not look at the eerily, compellingly matching eyes lest the liquor-induced flush on their cheeks grow more noticeable. They decide to look at their hands, wrapped nervously around their neglected drink. “And I’m not sad. Just waiting.”
“And how long have you been waiting?” the man to their left asks, crossing his legs so his knee brushes against theirs. Bestie considers whether they should feel afraid in this moment, wary of starting a lover’s quarrel or fighting off a jealous partner. They stop considering when said partner crosses their arms and rests immaculately manicured fingernails on their arm.
“A… Um, a while?” The couple tsk in unison, leaning forward to lock eyes and shake their head in exaggerated commiseration.
“Can you believe that, Lovely? Some schmuck has kept them waiting a while,” the man says, the black fringe of his hair almost tickling their skin as he conspires.
“Can’t believe it for a second, Vincent. Thank god we showed up when we did.” The other stranger- Lovely- winks in their direction, their fingertips a tingling, tantalizing warmth against Bestie’s skin. They’re practically buzzing under their attention– No, that’s actual buzzing. In their pocket, they can feel their phone vibrating, a specific pattern set to a catchy pop earworm from their highschool days. Blake, who they’ve been waiting for for at least an hour, who probably got caught up at those damn meetings he’s been raving about, is finally calling, and Bestie can’t find it in themselves at the moment to give a damn.
“What do you say we get out of here, yeah?”
“Get you a new drink, get the night really started?” Two hands offer to help them off the barstool, and Bestie is too busy taking them to answer their phone.
(Seemingly) random things hidden around Gavin and Freelancer’s home.
Sand dollars in the spare change dish.
It took an hour to find one as intact as possible with a clear pattern and few chips, but, in the end, they brought back all the pretty ones. Caelum loves the sound they make when shaken, loves to marvel at all the places the little sea urchins have been.
A black child’s apron hidden in the back of the linen closet.
It cost Freelancer several hours, twenty dollars in supplies, and a not insignificant amount of blood to embroider a specific constellation on the front. It’s untidy, one of the stars has been permanently stained purple, and there’s a hole in one of the pockets. It’s Caelum’s favorite thing to wear.
A SpongeBob SquarePants toothbrush and bubblegum toothpaste in the bathroom drawer.
Caelum has not, does not, and will never need to brush his teeth as an ethereal creature of pure magic. He likes to do it anyway just for the way he and Freelancer grin in the mirror after with clean teeth.
A neon blue stuffed dragon the size of a toddler in the corner of the guest room.
Gavin could have magicked the toy out of thin air, but he didn’t go to the country fair to cheat. He went to the county fair to play fifty dollars worth of skeeball and win his little brother a prize.
Sticky note drawings hidden in textbooks.
A small, glittered handprint on the fridge.
Kid-sized bunny slippers under the bed.
It hasn’t been just Gavin and Freelancer’s home for a long time.
The D.A.M.N polycule loves to slip things into Lasko's briefcase when he's not looking, little things for him to find later when he needs them.
Huxley leaves water bottles and little heating patches because he knows Lasko isn’t used to being on his feet all day.
Gavin leaves handwritten notes signed with kisses. (and a condom one time, that was a hilarious class for Gavin.) (He tries to leave them all the time, but Freelancer usually takes them out.)
Freelancer leaves new stationery that they know Lasko would like but won’t spend the money on: post-it notes shaped like stars, the good washi tape for his planners, the brand of pen he likes but won’t buy because he’s worried he’ll lose them.
Damien leaves little packets of ibuprofen, cough drops, and granola bars, things he knows Lasko wouldn’t think of but that’s why he has Damien.
Lasko has no idea why his bags are so heavy at the beginning of the work week, but it’s so worth it everytime he finds another token of affection from his family.
Summary: Lasko’s a little nervous about the group costume, and his partners hype him up.
Available on AO3 here!
<- Previous Day | Next Day ->
“I’m- I’m not sure about this, guys!” Lasko bellows from behind the shut bathroom door.
“Are you not sure because you’re uncomfortable-“ Freelancer asks from the foot of the bed.
“-or because you’re worried you look silly?” Damien finishes, splayed spread eagle and tired on the rug.
“…the latter,” Lasko’s disembodied voice reluctantly responds, and Damien throws a pillow at the door with a soft whump.
“Come on out, Professor, let’s see it!” Gavin yells, stretched lazily across his deviant’s lap. Huxley’s rich basso comes through the door in hushed, encouraging murmurs, and his body soon follows gently tugging a bashful Lasko behind him. The incubus sits up straight with a wolf whistle and a wicked grin. “Call me teacher’s pet, because I’m coming to every office hours.”
“I hate it here,” the air elemental whines, burying his face in his hands and trying to hide behind his earth elemental boyfriend. Freelancer had the fantastic idea that they should all dress as sexy versions of each other for Halloween, and Lasko- barely dressed in the daisy dukes of gym shorts and tiniest, most see through of white singlets- makes a stunning Sexy Huxley.
“I love it here,” Freelancer says eagerly, leaning their elbows on their knees and arching their eyebrows suggestively behind Damien’s spare glasses. Gavin, dressed in a cropped DAMN hoodie and jeans, nods while eyeing him up and down.
“Shut the fuck up, Moore, you look good,” Damien concurs with a pinched frown and flushed cheeks. Behind him, Huxley presses a kiss to Lasko’s temple and soothingly strokes his sides with large, warm hands.
“Better than good,” he says with a sweet, gigawatt smile before putting his trademark 69 sweater over Lasko’s shoulders. “You look fucking hot, dude.”
“If you say s-so,” the air elemental hedges, hands fidgeting with his bangs now that he’s put on contacts and his glasses aren’t there to keep them out of his eyes. Huxley gingerly brushes them aside and smiles down at the shorter man with a wide grin and shining, perfect teeth.
“Would you feel better if I went and got changed into my Gavin costume?”
“God, yes.”
note: if you’ve seen today’s EA post, you’ve seen witness to my seer powers manifesting /j
