imagine: It’s 1993 and Kíli and his kid brother, Tíli, have recently moved to Salem. Now, on Halloween, the legend of the Sanderson Sisters is being recited in every classroom, for its history as well as its lessons. Kíli rolls his eyes and shakes his head; it’s ridiculous to believe in fairytales at sixteen, come on.
The boy who sits one row behind and one seat over from him disagrees.
Fíli is smart, witty and, not to sound like a girl, dreamy and Kíli manages to convince Fíli to, “Make a believer outta me, then.” when Fíli reveals that his mother used to work for the local museum, housed in the old Sanderson cottage.
Together, with Kíli’s tagalong brother, they discover the very real truth behind the legend when they accidentally summon the Sisters from beyond.
Will they be able to send the witches back to whence they came before it’s too late?
They rumbled and tumbled and rolled, chunks of snow sticking to their fur like burs. Kíli chitter-chirped, scrambling slippery feet beneath him as he tried to regain his balance but Fíli was too quick, butting Kíli’s squirmy little body onto its side with his snout.
Kíli shrieked, arms and legs flailing, and then fell on his face in a powdery pocket of snow. Fíli couldn’t help himself, lifted his head and cackled to the sun as his brother fumbled his way back onto his bottom.
Vengeance narrowed Kíli’s eyes and pulled his brows into a severely grumpy looking frown. He scooped up a handful of snow, packed it tight between his webbed fingers and launched it at Fíli’s furry face.
Fíli’s cackling cut off instantly though it still took a blink or two for him to register what just happened. Kíli sat, smug and grinning his gummy grin at Fíli who felt the snow drag down his cheek and plop to the ground at his paw.
One breath, two breaths, three—
Fíli’s tail flickered behind him like a flame in a breeze, his eyes leveled Kíli with a predator's stare. Kíli swallowed nervously, his confidence fading rapidly at the sight Fíli made, crouched low on his belly as if about to pounce ...
And pounce Fíli did, knocking Kíli down and pressing him into the snow until he was almost entirely buried, his legs and arms kicking and clawing to no avail.
Kíli loves this time of year. Crisp, clean air, warm smells; there’s a coziness to autumn that goes deeper than sweaters and scarves and fancy lattes. Everything feels closer. Kíli can’t quite put a finger on it but it doesn’t matter. He beams up at the sky, the early sunset casting the woods around him into a wash of golden reds and oranges and browns, a child’s fingerprint painting of erratic, wild color that makes Kíli’s soul swell.
There’s nothing else in nature as spectacular as fall, in Kíli opinion.
Plus, best of all, that’s when Fíli bakes.
The scent of pumpkin pie and cinnamon cookies wafts down to Kíli from the house, through the open back door that Kíli knows Fíli left open on purpose. It’s not so cold today, thankfully, that his brother’s mischief comes at the cost of a nipped nose as it would if it were a few degrees less.
The Christmas spree of ‘05 comes to the fore of Kíli’s memory, when Fíli was feeling particularly petulant after Kíli told him that he wasn’t interested in gingerbread men anymore because they were childish. While Kíli was down the hill, gathering wood from the stockpile, Fíli had brazenly left the back door open to make a point. Though Fíli had been absolutely correct - Kíli still enjoyed gingerbread men - he’d caught himself quite the messy cold as a result.
Kíli chuckles, remembering Fíli’s miserable face beneath the warm wash cloth and flushed cheeks.
None of that today. Kíli leans his ax against the stump and finishes piling the wood nicely before maneuvering his way up the crooked path toward the back door. He takes a long, satisfying breath as he steps over the threshold, smile widening across his lips as a combination of spices drag into his nose.
Fíli is bustling about, chopping ingredients, expertly quick and efficient, at the counter. Kíli can see that he’s keeping an eye on the pot on the stove which Kíli steps toward, bending over it to suck the aroma in greedily.
“What’s this?” Kíli asks, picking up the wooden spoon and stirring the simmering concoction.
“It’s a surprise.” Is all Fíli says, scooping up the ingredients he just chopped and dumping them the bowl at his elbow. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”
“I hate surprises, Fee, just tell me!” Kíli whines but shushes himself at Fíli’s raised eyebrow and smirk of disbelief. “Well, okay, I like some surprises.” Kíli emends, “C’mon, what is it?”
“A surprise.” Fíli repeats slowly as if speaking to a child. “Now go get changed. Uncle will be back soon and I promised we’d have supper ready for ‘im.”
Kíli huffs a breathy laugh and leans back against the island, looking down at his boots when he says, “I can’t believe it’s take three years for him to get his boyfriend down here.” He lifts his head, a cheeky glint in his eye, and moves to stand behind Fíli, wrapping his arm around Fíli’s middle. “How long do we have before he gets back?”
Fíli pauses what he’s doing and turns in Kíli’s embrace, chewing his lip in that way that hits Kíli in the cock. He cocks his head in consideration and answers, “Long enough, I think.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Fuck the potatoes, we’ll have salad.”
“That’s not every autumn, is it?”
“Well. In that case,” Fíli throws his hands up and shifts back around, tossing the ingredients in the bowl, “I’ll just finish all this instead of sucking you off, shall I?”
The bowl clatters to the stone floor with a loud, echoey clang, spinning on its rim and sending the mix of herbs and spices all over the place. Footsteps stampede up the stairs beyond the kitchen and a door slams with purpose, the kitchen empty when a strong breeze blows the seasoning every-which-way and the bowl finally settles on its top with a metallic scrape.
“Oh, Thing,” Kíli woed where he lounged across the rotted sill of the open window, the wind ruffling him theatrically, “I believe mother and father mean to replace me.”
He slouched until his chin was tucked into his chest. Dark hair and darker clothes were damp from the rain, his face struck in aggrieved lines and his lips – the color of blood in water – were parted on a sigh of Shakespearean tragedy.
Kíli was the most pitiful thing Fíli had ever laid eyes on.
He could never hope to want anything more.
“Thing is with the baby.” Fíli said from his place at the door, voice void of inflection and dim as night. “The one mother and father will love more than you, I suspect.”
Fíli enjoyed the bite of cruelty. Kíli was at his most beautiful when he was hurting.
“So, it is true?”
“Absolutely. Everyone knows, my dearest, that when you have a new baby, one of the other children has to die.”
Kíli swung his legs over and planted his feet on the floor so he was sat upright, hands curled into the wood on either side of his thighs. Fíli admired how his lashes curtained his downcast gaze, how his loose hair hung limp around his shoulders, how his skin was iridescent where it glowed like the moon between the drapes of his black satin shirt.
Kíli swallowed, tipped his head up and asked, “Really?”
“I’m afraid so. It’s tradition.”
Fíli crossed the room and stepped into the space that always welcomed him between his brother’s legs. They watched each other for a moment, silent and dreary. Fíli found himself forcing his control in the despair of Kíli’s absolute trust in him.
Against his will, Fíli’s hands lifted to cradle Kíli’s jaw, an act of condolence that, with anyone else, Fíli wouldn’t be damned to initiate. Kíli blinked, wide and glassy, and tipped his head into the touch.
“We’ll be cursed with good fortune if we don’t follow tradition.”
Kíli gasped, horrified.
Fíli reveled.
And his body continued to bestow his touch upon Kíli. Disappointed in himself, Fíli heaved a rough sigh and resigned to the sensations his body so wantonly craved whenever he was that close to his brother. It was futile to try to amputate himself once he’d started touching Kíli.
The pad of one thumb rubbed over Kíli’s lower lip – soft and sweet as arsenic – and used the pressure to reveal the bottom row of Kíli’s bone-white teeth. Fíli forced his thumb into Kíli’s mouth, all the way to the webbing, and was immediately gratified when Kíli hollowed his cheeks and sucked; lapped over it with his wet tongue before pulling away for Fíli to smear his spit across his chin.
“Why me?” He asked miserably, succumbing easily to Fíli’s brand of comfort.
Fíli leaned down and inhaled the scent of loam and decay that clung to Kíli after another day spent wallowing in the cemetery with their grandfather.
“Mmm,” Fíli ran his hands down the fragile column of Kíli’s throat, along the sharp edges of his collarbones and down the flat expanse of his chest, stopping once his fingertips reached the dusting of gunpowder dark hair that disappeared beneath Kíli’s waistband. Kíli’s breath hitched but he made no noise, waiting for Fíli’s answer. “Because I’m the heir.”
Unable to deny himself, Fíli lurched forward, nipped sharply at his brother’s mouth, licked into it with the ferocity of a starving man. Kíli’s spidery legs banded around his hips, arms around Fíli’s shoulders, leveraging himself into Fíli’s arms. With ease, Fíli pulled him up, fingers digging like talons into the flesh of Kíli’s arse.
“You’ll keep me anyway, won’t you Fee?”
Solemnly, voice hard and unwavering, Fíli said, “Forever.”
a scene from the Ocean’s Eleven AU sandbox i like to play in
Fíli could practically hear the upbeat jazz streaming from a scene of some comedic heist movie when he spied the man in the jewelry store window. The man was lingering a little too long over the display cases, looking around the space over the frames of his sunglasses instead of at the pieces themselves. His back was to the manager, mouth moving, the manager responding in turn – somewhat stiff and on-guard – as he kept an easy pace around the floor.
Fíli watched with mild curiosity, crumpling up his napkin and tossing it on his empty plate. The café was deserted apart from himself and the waitress and she was busy aggressively typing on her phone behind the counter. His coffee was full – two cream, two sugar – and his appointment was delayed so he indulged himself in the show transpiring across the street.
Leaning back in his chair, Fíli made himself comfortable as he waited for the inevitable; legs stretched under the table and crossed at the ankles, arms folded over his middle. Crescent-moon smirk spreading like a water stain as the scene unfolded.
The manager removed a piece the man had asked to see, placing it with absurd gentleness on the surface of the display case between them. The man nodded at whatever the manager was explaining, maintaining an air of sharp interest as the manager gestured at the piece’s various elements.
Even from where he sat, Fíli could see the million-dollar sparkle when the light struck it just right.
It was over exactly two minutes later; a handshake, a tilt of the head and a smile that promised a future transaction. The manager looked immensely pleased.
Fíli felt the smallest twinge of pity for him.
A glance at his watch told Fíli it was three-fifty-two. The bell above the door chimed when a new patron entered, and the waitress sprung into action as if she’d been caught by a parent watching porn. Maybe she had been, Fíli didn’t know. But she was altogether ignored as her new client made a beeline for the chair opposite Fíli, pulling it out with a scrape and a quick, offhand order for an espresso – short – flung into the air with expectation.
“Twenty-two minutes.” Fíli said, eyebrow raised in bemusement.
Hands flew up in submission, “I know, I know, I’m sorry—”
“You’re not sorry, you’re late.”
“I was looking for investors.”
Fíli snorted and turned his gaze to the jewelry store. “You were doing recon.”
“I.” There was a pause and then a reluctant, “I may have been.”
Fíli’s mouth twisted into the faintest shadow of a grin. He didn’t want to encourage his uncle’s behavior, but he could hardly help it when Thorin was being amusing.
“Is that why you chose this place?” Fíli waved to encompass the whole of the café.
“It’s a nice place.”
“It isn’t bad. Good coffee.”
Thorin melted into his chair, a casual arm thrown over the backrest, ankle over his knee. “Ah, you haven’t tried the pie.”
“You didn’t bring me here for pie.” Fíli said flatly.
Thorin didn’t falter, simply kept smiling as if they’d been chatting about wives they didn’t have driving them crazy with dinner plans or curtains or whatever wives drove their husbands crazy with (Fíli wasn’t familiar). “I didn’t bring you here for pie.” He acquiesced with a flourish of his hand.
“I doubt you brought me here to rob a jewelry store either,” Fíli heaved a breath, sat up straight and clapped and then settled forward with his hands folded on the table in front of him. “So. Why am I here?”
They both leaned away from the table when the waitress delivered Thorin’s espresso, dismissing her with a charming wink (Fíli) and a provocative smile (Thorin). She blushed and excused herself to return behind the counter.
Thorin leaned back in, elbow on the table, encouraging Fíli to follow suit with a subtle nod. “I have a job.”
“Right.” Fíli said because it was obvious from the subtext of the collect call he’d received at four in the morning that Thorin had a job.
“A big one.”
“Okay.”
“And I need you with me on this.”
Fíli uncurled himself and sunk back into his chair, taking a moment to sip his coffee while he considered Thorin’s request. Or, what would be considered a request by Thorin-standards. It sounded more like a demand, but Fíli knew he wasn’t obligated to do anything he didn’t feel completely certain was a good idea. The problem? Thorin’s ideas were never good but they always, somehow, someway, worked out for the richer.
He took a slow breath and then another before he decided to ask, “What did you have in mind?”
The expression that seeped over Thorin’s face was enough to make Fíli think about calling his mother because he may never see her again.
Jesus, he didn’t have the complexion to pull off orange.
