#drawing during yet another heatwave... man...

[spectre-does-fanarts]

Cain, I'll buy you proper food if you tell me how you stay cool in summer with all those layers.

[psalm22-6]

Behind the Scenes in L’Image, January 1935

[1] “The Courtyard of the Toulon Prison” & “Inn of the Honest People of Toulon” [2] “Monseigneur Myriel’s gardens in Digne” [3] “The Montreuil Infirmary (Death of Fantine)” [4] “The Sewers of Paris”

Concept art for the set design of 1934 les miserables? I guess? The last one of the sewers is especially memorable. The article that accompanies the drawings is about set design but not about les miserables. I’ll put it below the cut because it is pretty interesting but long.

As my tour guide, a young filmmaker freshly out of the Academy des Beaux-Arts, was telling me, people don’t talk enough about “the décor of films.” The public doesn’t know enough about what it is, doesn’t worry much about it. Frankly, one would almost dare say that they don’t see it at all….

“Well,” I responded with difficulty, because the heat was drying out my mouth, “we will do our best to try and bridge that gap.” 

We were crossing a courtyard filled with scorching heat. A few unkempt infantrymen, extras in the Little Dragon’s Inn, were laying about in a little bit of shade. They addressed me, in order to distract themselves, with taunts that I qualified as flattery but which I did not pretend to hear. 

We came to a deserted set, resounding with the blows of hammers, where a few workers were coming and going with all the enthusiasm that one can muster during a heatwave. It smelled of fresh plaster, humid dust, and new paint. It wouldn’t have taken much to convince me to sit down among the rubble and I would have gladly spent long hours lazing about in that shady and clam spot. But already my guide was leading me away, laying out before my eyes a map of the studio:

“Here, on the map, is the cafeteria which you will see there in the left corner.”

Instead I discover, in the distance, a little house with thick low coarse walls, one of those houses of another time, with powerful and modest walls and a cozy roof. I approach it. Oh! Surprise! The big walls are build with thin sheets of plywood, covered with grainy paper, which are now being finished with spray paint. And there is no ceiling. No ma’am, there are never ceilings in films because of the lighting that must fall from high above. “Oh oh oh!” you’ll say, “She is very good and yet I am sure…”

“No ma’am, you are sure of nothing. It is an idea that you created yourself in your head. You have never and will never see a ceiling in a film.” 

At least, that is what my young guide tells me. 

“Isn’t that true Milo?” he says, amiably hitting a passing worker in the stomach. 

“It’s true,” he exclaims, stopping with the hope of resting a minute. 

But already, without thinking of offending the brave man, we turn our backs to him because we are not here to chit-chat. 

“We compensate for the absence of ceilings in different ways,” my guide continues. “For example, by an alignment of beams that create perspective or like here, with a ‘soffit.’ But you can’t use a soffit too often, because it always crushes the décor a little bit,” my guide says.

One thing that concerns documentary film makers is to sometimes have to film beneath a real ceiling. For this reason in the beautiful film directed by Alexandre with the nuns, certain scenes, filmed under ceilings that were too low, are fairly poorly lit. 

A soffit is a sort of low pediment placed, of course, above the doors.

“That is at least proof that in films there isn’t any affectation!” 

“Clearly…for the lighting, look here.” 

My companion uses his finger to tell me to look at the ceiling…that of the studio, and it is so high that you have to crane your neck to see it! There I can see a system of rails, winches, and aerial switches from which hang ripe grapes in September, which are clusters of reflectors. The lights move on winches which on turn move on the rails. They are accessible to the workers by numbered gangways.

“What is the purpose of all those little strings [ficelles]?” I ask innocently, pointing to the cables which decent in packets from the ceiling.

My companion becomes troubled: “Shut up, unlucky lady! What have you said! Don’t you know that there’s an ancient theater tradition, passed on to film, that you must never, under penalty of a fine, say the word “string” while on set? We say cord [fil]. One day Maurice Tourneur, having said the fatal word, gave one hundred francs to his workers!”. . .

Now it is my turn to be troubled. I look around worriedly. Thank heavens no one heard me! I exhale. But let’s get back to the walls. It is necessary, of course, to give the impression that they are thick. To do that, they build what is called a “form work.” Two sheets of plywood are brought together by a light latticework and by this method you can achieve  a wall with  a respectable appearance. However, to avoid the “form work” becoming a box for resonance, since you must always think of the sound, the empty space is stuffed with soundproofing materials, “dead” materials such as mineral wool, glass foam, vellum paper, a sort of jute that is fairly thick, or fiberboard and either sand or sawdust. Everything in the studio is stuffed from head to toe that way. 

“The ideal studio,” says my tour guide, “would be a box, suspended by cords, that would rest on nothing. The walls of the studio would be doubled. The floor of the studio would be separated on all sides from the exterior floor by a trench filled with concrete  and covered in fiberboard. Not a single foreign vibration should trouble the sacred silence of these places!”

The same problem is posed as soon as you want to  build even the smallest “practicable” (A practicable is anything that raises the décor: stairs, stages, platforms or thrones). You must stuff it and stuff it again and upholster it with all your might! 

In addition, again because of sound, you must avoid the walls of the set being parallel to those of the studio. 

“Oh! What a pretty chicken coup!” I exclaimed before a charming box with a wire fence that a carpenter was lovingly polishing. 

“That’s not a chicken coup,” my interlocutor corrects seriously. “It is a pantry for the Little Dragon’s Inn.”

We arrive on the set where the always charming Henry Garat, powerfully assisted by Pauley, is filming the Midnight Prince. For the moment, these gentlemen and a few lords of lesser importance, are sitting in a circle in the middle of a three-sided room, rehearsing. Henry Garat, in shirt sleeves, is devouring little pears and drinking tea (cold tea I hope!). Pauley, intergraded into an armchair that is too narrow, is neither eating nor drinking. 

My guide makes me admire the perfect play of doors and windows. Further along, workers are putting the final touches on the set for A Kidnapped Woman. It’s a charming rotunda surrounded by large bay windows and encircled by a balustrade admirably cut by several of the house artists. Thanks to the natural tint of the wood it has an innocent air that is freshly laid but have patience!  When the spray paint will have passed over it, the fragile plywood will become stone or marble and you, dear spectator, will be completely oblivious! 

[moonlights-inkwell]

Demand an Encore

Jaskier x Reader

Word Count: 6,958

Summary: anon said: hello! i see your requests are open...! could i maybe get a Jaskier x reader where the reader very shyly explains (maybe after an embarrassing moment?) that they are into spanking? and Jaskier indulges them and it is fluffy/smutty? if not, that's okay!! i figured I'd ask. thank you! 💜

A/N: Anon. I literally owe you my life, because Dom! Jaskier now literally lives rent free in my head. A fic from Jaskier's perspective? It shocked me too. Oops. Also. Clapping joke title on a spanking fic? I think I’m way funnier than I am  

Warnings: Smut. Spanking. Oral (female receiving). Clothed sex? Sorta. Discussions of Sadomasochism. Canon complicit violence. A very bad take on Jaskier's perspective.

Title from Wild Blue Yonder

“Oh wank!”  

The expletive draws his eyes from his lute and upwards, to you.  

You’re busy, always busy, swinging that blade about and clashing it noisily into Geralt's. Parry, swipe, dodge, sword fighting is as boring a sport as Jaskier can even imagine, only marginally better than fencing because at least there’s some danger to sword fighting. Paint drying is a more interesting thing to watch, lectures less painful to listen to. Jaskier hates it. Sparring holds no interest to Jaskier, beyond when he tries to describe how sword fighting looks for a new song, but there are no new songs. The monsters have seemingly realised that Geralt is about, and have kept themselves to themselves, and so the well of songs about danger and adventure has dried up- like a brook during a heatwave. There’s no song about battles to be won, and if he plays Toss A Coin once more then he’s quite sure that Geralt will shove his lute up his arse sideways. All he wants is to work on a new melody and the clanging is quite possibly the worst thing he can imagine. The clanging, clanking, crashing of steel on steel is enough to drive him to distraction. All he needs is a new song, but no. He simply must be tormented by the sound of metal hitting metal. Needs must apparently, at least when it comes to sparring. 

He’s sure Geralt is doing this to spite him specifically. Revenge for years upon years of songs and mindless chatter and taunting, wrapped up with the knowledge that the bard would never complain about your training- that your safety is paramount to him, even if it is noisy as all hell and infuriatingly distracting.  

Cornflower blue eyes scan up and take you in, on hands and knees and holding your sword at such an angle to block Geralt’s swipe; face crumpled with effort and concentration while the Witcher above is as stoic looking as ever, bringing his blade down closer and closer until you slide to the ground and roll away from the sword. The buckles of your over-bust drags against the ground and knocks loose two of the buttons of your blouse, revealing an expanse of skin below the clavicle and to the dip in skin between breasts.

He wonders, not for the first time, how you manage to fight in a corset. When he was a lad, a little longer ago now than he’s quite happy to acknowledge, how a girl at a ball had collapsed because her corset was laced too tight and even after fetching a healer, the girl walked awkwardly until he left for Oxenfurt, probably long afterwards too. Yet, you can fight in one, swing that blade around with a relative ease that Jaskier can’t even manage if his trousers are tailored too high in the crotch. It’s strange. Watching you duck and twist, bend and thrust that blade around all while being held in place by tightly laced bones, it’s impressive- like watching someone dance. You aren’t a master swords-man but you’re skilled and it’s nice to watch. The exhilarated grin across your face, panting with heaving chest: it’s beauty. Pure, unadulterated beauty, even with a smear of dirt across your cheek, sweat beading about your forehead and a nick on your arm that’s letting out a small but steady stream of blood trickling down from your upper arm.

“Better.” Geralt says firmly, Jaskier watches as your face breaks into a grin and you just glow. A relaxed, genuine smile that makes you look younger than you are. You've mocked him before for how he just soaks up any validation, but even the slightest praise has your skin all but shining, cheeks flushed and mouth upturned. He understands entirely. Praise, acclaim, acknowledgement, it’s addictive; more so than any ale, any drug. Praise leaves you desperate for more, shaking and craving a next hit, almost insecurely hoping against hope that any second will bring that much needed praise. Bard's are like faeries, they require attention to survive while thriving on the energy people give, And Jaskier has been desperate for attention long before he became a bard.  

Praise from the Witcher is a seldom given gift- one that Jaskier doesn’t think he’s ever been given- but he praises you. Training is important, and Geralt seems to have realised that he’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar, so sparring is when he speaks most, even then it’s minimal though; but he compliments. Your form, your grip, the strength of blows. Praise from the Witcher is a seldom given thing.

Jaskier isn’t jealous.  

He isn’t.  

Jealousy implies that there’s something to be envied, like a possession that he wants. You aren’t a possession, he knows that, and even if you were, you wouldn’t be Geralt’s. His fingers fall from the frets of the lute, sending a sour note that makes him cringe out through the clearing.  

“Gods, Dandy- if that’s a sign of what your new song sounds like then I don’t think I want to hear it!” You call over to him, head tilted as the sword twirls between your fingers. “I thought you were supposed to be a good bard.”

“You wound me, Love. Wound me.”  

“No good bard would write Toss A Coin.” Geralt says, but there’s humour in his voice- well, humour enough for it to be noticeable against Geralt’s signature style of stoicism. Must be a good sort of day, for Geralt to be joking about and complimentary. These sorts of things don’t happen every day.  

“Leave him be, Bully!” You swat at Geralt's side, grinning at Jaskier. “Don't you worry, Dear Heart, I love you- even with this brute insulting you.” It’s as if you don’t even remember that you started the insults, but that smile is enough to keep him quiet. That must be a sign of love, that Jaskier could be quiet for you: he’s never been silent for anyone before, even when he had himself half-convinced that he was in love with every person he's spent more than a night with, he’s never been able to keep quiet for more than a few minutes or so, he’s felt an overwhelming need to fill the silence. It’s pleasant to just bask in atmosphere that comes from being about you.  

The swat at Geralt had not gone unnoticed, even if it took a moment or so for him to strike you. Geralt, facing Jaskier, lifted a hand to thump you on the back, too absorbed by the simple pleasure of retaliation to have perceived two very simple things with those enhanced Witcher senses: that the laces of your boots have come undone, and that you had bent down to tie it.  

Time slows sickeningly, as Jaskier realises what’s about to happen only a second before the SLAP comes through the air at a volume none of you anticipated. Not to the lower back, a spot that while painful is little more than inconvenient when hit, but instead to your arse- angled upwards as you bent to fiddle with the ribbons of your shoes. The white-haired man had wanted something vaguely friendly but still running with undercurrents of the same energy that comes from sparring, but instead he had brought one enormous hand down onto your arse with some force. Unexpected, and completely out of nowhere as it is, it somehow is not the most surprising part.  

The moan is.  

A loud, broken moan- somewhere between pain and pleasure- which Jaskier knows all too well. That sound haunts his dreams. Jaskier would know it blind, dumb and senseless. Your moan, normally reserved for during the nights when his fingers slide inside of you, when his tongue breeches you. It’s weak, beautiful, and oh so very unexpected. Its a noise more beautiful than music, more beautiful than the sound of children’s laughter- always his , finally heard by another. Geralt looks horrified, cat-like eyes wide and filled with something akin to fear, but nothing like the unadulterated horror written across your face; sun-coloured skin turning red with embarrassment, lips parted wide but slowly contorting into a grimace, eyes wide but watering.  

Jaskier forces himself up and towards you, while Geralt steps back, saying your name softly and apologetically,

“I am so sorry-"

“Little Miss-"  

“I'm going to the stream to wash!” You say loudly, side-stepping around Jaskier to make a beeline into the thicket of trees, where a stream was hidden. Without any thought, Jaskier groans and looks up at the Witcher, eyes narrowed into accusatory slits.  

“So much for those Witcher senses of yours.” It’s a ridiculous thing to be annoyed about. Geralt does not have any feelings for you beyond the platonic, and Jaskier knows that, knows full well that Geralt wouldn’t do something like that to you, least of all in front of your lover and a man far too willing to write humiliating songs about Geralt.  

“It was an accident.” All stoicism has returned to Geralt’s voice, despite the still apologetic look written across his features. “She’s going to hate me. She sounded so pained.”  

That almost made the Bard splutter with laughter. Moans like that are many things but not pained, at least not in a way that isn’t seen as pleasurable. Somehow, he manages to keep the laughter down and instead claps a hand to the taller man's shoulder.  

“I doubt she hates you. Missy is a resilient little thing.” He tries to sound comforting, but some humour seeps through, making Geralt turn and squint at him.  

“This isnt funny, Bard.”  

“I’m well aware.” Jaskier nods. “I'm going to check on her though. To make sure she hasn’t drowned herself.”  

“Don’t joke.”  

“I’m not.” He trills as he walks along the step-worn path to the trees.  

The stream is a pathetic little thing really, barely a foot in width and surrounded on all sides by the thickest section of trees which almost blocked out all light. It was easy to believe it was around dusk, but it couldn’t be much later than midday, the shade made it appear so much later than it was. And there was you, hunched over by the reeds and moss, scooping up water and splashing it in your face and onto the gash still trickling blood to try to clean it. Even in spite of the shadows, your flushed cheeks are still clear to him and he stops to take you in.  

He’s had many lovers. Too many to list really, but not one of them holds a candle to you. Every girl before you was perfectly primped and polished, in fine clothes with perfect hair and made up faces, and they were beautiful but artificially so. Made that way by clothes and corsets and cosmetics. You though, you’re something else. Beautiful with the sun in your eyes, unkempt hair and rumpled clothes. Indescribably perfect cast half in fire-light, with bags beneath your eyes and blood across your cheek. Sonnet worthy while drunk and stumbling, singing out of tune to his ever songs. Godly in the dark, mouth open and back arching towards him as you stumble headfirst into climax. He loves you. He loves you, and it’s the first time he thinks he has ever really loved anyone: more than infatuation, more than lust, but actual love. Love that makes his head muddled and heart sore. He doesn’t deserve you. Wants you, needs you, but will never deserve you. Reckless, wild and brilliant you, willing to leave a life behind to fight monsters. A fool. Beautiful little fool, selfless and-

“I can feel you staring at me.”

“Hard not to stare at a goddess. Careful, I hear some gods will drown pretty things like you out of jealousy.”  

“Fool.” You say softly, but there’s a chuckle in your voice so he comes closer to you, stepping behind you to twist your hair away from your throat to press a kiss to the crook of your neck.  

“Your fool.” He breathes out shallowly, letting his chin rest on your shoulder while his arms wind about your waist. “Are you alright, Dear Heart?”  

“Embarrassed, I suppose. My pride will recover though, Dandy.” The lightness of your words combined with your stiff posture makes sure Jaskier knows you’re lying.  

“Little Miss-"

“Geralt must be embarrassed as well. I should have apologised to him before-"

“You moaned.” He cuts you off, making you shut up, stiffening even more. “And you may try to deny it, but I know that noise. I might just be the only person who knows that noise.”

“Jaskier.” It sounds like a warning, but he doesn’t care.  

“If it’s because it was Geralt, I understand.” He says softly, feelings coming out unbidden. “I understand, of course, and I love you but I understand if I’m in the way.”  

“I liked it. Be... being hit. Not Geralt.” You whisper.  

It truly is a day of surprises. Jaskier can feel the grin slip onto his face and his hands move from your stomach to your hips to begin tickling.  

“Is that so?” He asks softly, revelling in your choked-out laughter and how you lean back against him. “My Little Miss wants to be spanked. Well, darling, you should have told me earlier.”  

“I didn’t know it was a thing!” You argue between laughs. Jaskier so often forgets that you were a virgin before he got his hands on you, so of course you hadn’t known. His tickling doesn’t stop as he pulls you backward, rolling you onto the ground and climbing on top of you to continue his assault.  

“Would you like a lesson in masochism, Dear Heart?” He teases, head tilting to the side as he looks down at you.  

“Maso-what?”  

“The pleasures of pain.” He explains, and watches how your face turns pink once more. “Oh, she does!”  

“Stop taunting me!” You argue, thrashing beneath him but not with any intensity.  

“Taunting? Never. I’m just trying to work out if I need to rent two rooms when we next go into town.” He too easily grabs at your arm when you reach up to swat at Jaskier. “For your lessons, I mean.”  

“You... weren't joking?” You ask lightly and he shakes his head.

“I never joke about teaching My Muse about what brings her pleasure.” He says lightly, climbing off of you to sit by your side. “If you want me to.”  

“You Wouldn’t mind?” You ask incredulously, drawing out a chuckle from the bard.  

“Darling-heart, don’t be a fool, of course I wouldn’t. You know how I like pleasing you, and having you know what pleases you pleases me. Besides, it’s hardly my first dalliance into sadomasochism; there was a countess I used to know who couldn’t achieve orgasm unless tied up, with wax melted on her and at least three people watching her-"  

“Jaskier.” You say softly, and he stops.  

“Sorry. What I mean is, liking someone slapping your perfect bottom isn’t something to be embarrassed by, darling. Alright?”  

“Alright. Thank you, Jaskier.”  

“No need to thank me, Dear Heart.”  

It takes weeks for Jaskier's plan to come to fruition. Weeks of traveling and camping in the woods until the three of you are able to find a town in need of a Witcher and his services. It’s a simple job, just a few drowners, but the pay is good and there is a very decent inn more than willing to accommodate all of you, and with two rooms none the less- which is far easier to negotiate while the two of you are off to do what you do. The inn-keep is a pleasant, portly man in his middle forties who seems to appreciate Jaskier's way with words, and is more than willing to forgo payment on the rooms in return for a show- and who is Jaskier to disagree with a deal such as that?  

His friendly demeanour is welcome too, means the Bard actually has someone to talk to while he awaits your return- but that plan dies a death when the job takes significantly longer than he expects. Normally, it only takes a few hours for something like this, but the sun is set and his songs just coming to an end when you finally return.  

The crowds, cider-drunk and rowdy had sang along to every song they knew, and sang over these they didn't- but that was fine. Drinking songs were always nice to hear, but their song dies when the door to the inn-cum-tavern opens and you pad in, followed closely by Geralt. Both drenched from tip to toe and scowling, hair stringy and clothes dark with saturation. That explains a fair bit and even with how upset you look, Jaskier grins, grip on the lute loosening and stage persona rolling off of him. Wet and angry as the two of you are, the sight of you is enough to make the crowd let out a loud, drunken cheer before beginning an enthusiastic if out of tune rendition of Toss a Coin. For once, the Bard is uninterested in joining in and instead opens his arms wide for you, it takes less than a minute for you to run to him and wind your arms around his middle while the people mill around Geralt to interrogate him about monsters and the like. Jaskier sighs and presses a kiss to your forehead.  

“You had me worried.”  

“Almost drowned. But I’m fine.” You say apologetically against his jerkin. “Tired though.”  

“I’ve booked our room. And I think my performance is over.” He says soothing, fingers carding through your wet hair. “Come on, Darling-heart.” He offers a hand, though it takes you a moment or so to reluctantly pull back from him you take it and follow him up to your rented room.  

The room is tiny, little more than a box room with just a bed and small table but it’s clean and that is more than enough for you. Before even a minute can pass, you release Jaskier's hand to flop down onto the bed, moaning when you sink down into the mattress.  

“Comfortable?” He asks playfully and you hum in agreement.  

“I got you wet.” You reply after a minute and Jaskier chuckles.  

“I don’t mind, now wait here. I’ve something to sort out for you.” The door clicks as he slips out of the room and you’re alone in the room, just you and the tingling sensation running through your body and making your brain feel as if a mist has descended over it, yet you don’t even realise it until the door opens once more and you lift your head up to look at the noise. It’s a girl, looking about fourteen or so, carrying two large buckets to the archway across from the bed which you had not even noticed, and in your drunken haze you consider why she would be taking buckets to another room through yours. Jaskier follows after her, buckets hanging from each hand and you notice how steam is billowing from the buckets until he disappears beyond the doorway. Confusion comforts your mouth into a frown, so instead of giving it much thought you let yourself sink back into the mattress, deciding it not worthy of a second thought. Water crashing against water echoes from the other room as your eyelids grow heavy and slip shut. Someone had told you once that the sound of water is enough to drive even an insomniac to sleep, you believe them in this moment, the sound of water is so relaxing to your dazed mind that you don’t question why you can hear it at all, so you simply shut your eyes and listen. You have no idea how long you lay there, listening and breathing, it could be seconds or millennia.

“Are you awake, Dear Heart?”  

“hmm?”  

“Come on, I ordered you a bath, you need it.” A bath. You smile and he grins at you. “Now, darling. Come along. You'll soak the sheets through.”  

“I'll soak you through.” You retort tiredly, rolling off of the bed and toeing off your boots before following him into the bath's room. He watches as you walk through and is upon you within seconds, unlacing your corset and unlacing your chemise before you can move your fingers to do it for yourself. “Julian, I know you find me attractive but stripping me?”

“I don’t want you dying of cold.” He chides playfully, kissing the exposed akin of your shoulder as he pulls off the blouse. “Forgive me for loving you.”  

“I love you.” You say softly and untie your trousers, pulling them and your underwear off in a single movement. He smiles at the sight and presses a hand to your lower back once you step out of the sopping fabric.  

“I know, muse. Now in.” He says encouraging you into the bath, turning to fiddle with a few vials of scented oils. “Rose, Lavender or honeysuckle?”  

“Lavender. It smells like you.” You say softly and sink into the water, letting out a loud moan when the heat overtakes you. He turns back to you with a smile and pours a little of the oil into the water.  

“Oh, you like the smell of me?” He teases and moves around towards you.  

“Of course, I do.”  

He smiles at that and sinks down to his knees behind the tub at your back and picks up a rag, soaking it in the water and then moving it up to rub at your shoulders and the knobbles of your spine. The sweet floral smell is carried on the steam coming from the water, sweet and familiar and made all the better by the contented noises that come from you. He likes you like this, all pliant and sleepy and willing to let him help without complaint, it makes him feel useful in ways he never can on hunts. You shoulder so much, act so brave and mature and it’s so nice to see you just let him take control and look after you. He hums a little tune as he washes your back and feels your back move as you chuckle.  

“Tickles.” You say, giggly and more awake than before. “What song is that?”  

“It’s something my mother used to sing.” He says gently, scooping up some water with his hands and pouring it over your head before working out some of the tangles in your hair. “I don’t think it has a name.”  

“It’s pretty.” You hum, head tilting into his hands like a kitten. “Why aren’t you in here with me?”  

“I got the bath to warm you up, Silly Little Miss. I’m warm.” He says with a sigh and pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck.  

“I want to touch you." You whine, twisting around to face him.  

“There's time for that later, Dear Heart. “ He shakes his head affectionately and kisses the tip of your nose. “I have plans for you tonight.”  

“Oh?” You ask, leaning up on your knees and allowing your breasts to lean against the lip of the tub. It’s a trick, trying to lure him in, and he knows it, but gods above it’s tempting. Far too much willpower is exerted to not reach out and take them into his hands. A siren, sent to toy with his heart and mind. He sighs and leans in to kiss you gently.  

“You remember a few weeks ago? When Geralt slap-"  

“Yes!” You interrupt quickly and he rolls his eyes, reaching up to smooth your hair down.  

“And you said you liked the feeling?”  

“I remember, Jaskier.”  

He smiles and rubs his thumb across your cupid’s bow.  

“Well. We have the room to ourselves, so I thought that we could experiment with that."

You blink at him owlishly before squinting at him. It would almost be enough to worry him, but he knows you too well to think you’re angry- you’re confused, but still very relaxed.  

“Experiment.”  

“Yes.”

“With you... hitting me.”  

“With you letting me dominate you, spank you, and make you feel good.” He clarifies. It sounds foolish, and far too perverse when laid out so candidly to someone not well versed with this. You nod sagely.

“...And if I ask you to stop them you will.”  

“Of course I will.” He says seriously and rests his hands on your shoulders, leaning in so you are eye to eye. “This is for your enjoyment, if you say stop, this stops. Just like always.” You smile and close the gap between his lips and your own. It’s soft and lazy, with no indication of proceeding any further than just chastely kissing, his hands still on your shoulders and your hands creeping up into his hair. It’s perfect, always is, and not for the first time, Jaskier considers that he could spend the rest of forever just kissing you and never be bored. Still, all too soon he pulls away, fetching a towel while you heave yourself out of the tub waiting for the bard and the towel. Even though you reach for it, Jaskier ignores your outstretched arms and instead swaddles you in it himself, drying you.  

“I can do it myself!”

“You can, but you won't.” He says firmly, rubbing your skin. Beneath the soft fabric, he can feel you start to struggle which makes him hum and swat at your arse. It’s not enough to hurt, especially through the towel, but it serves as a good warning for who is in charge tonight. Dominance is nothing new for him, but he isn’t dominant with you. You were a virgin when he met you, all sex had to be approached with kid-gloved hands, even now that you are confident with it Jaskier has never felt any need to try and guide you towards that sort of thing. Submission, he had assumed, would be a difficult thing for you; you spend so much time fighting and fending for yourself during fights, asking you to hand over control never seemed to be a good idea. Control keeps you safe but you trust him. Trust him enough to give him control. It’s enough to rush to his head, that level of trust. Of course, it’s flattering when anyone allows him control, but it means so much more when someone who loves him, someone who is so dangerous would allow themselves to be vulnerable. He loves you, has since the second he clapped eyes on you, but this is more than love now, this is adoration. “Now, be a good girl and don’t argue.” Seldom does Jaskier have a need to be stern, so you doing as he says is to be expected. You go limp, eyes wide as he towels you dry. “There’s my good Little Miss.” He says once he finishes, folding the cloth while you stand stock still, pupils blown wide.  

“Good.” You repeat back to him, starry-eyed and blushing, so he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before nodding.  

“Well, you are my Good Little Miss, aren’t you?” He asks gently, watching the enthusiastic nod he gets in response with a smile. “I know.” He says with an air of finality, turning away from you and heading back into the bedchambers to sit on the bed. It takes a few seconds of silent sitting for you to finally walk to the doorway. You’re naked as the day you were born, wet hair hanging in snakelike tendrils around your face, skin glowing gold from the warm light of the fire reflecting off of the still damp flesh. You’re beautiful. Too beautiful, comfortable in your skin and his looking at you, pale criss-crossing of scars running across the planes of your body like gold holding formerly broken ceramics together. How Jaskier has ever gotten a chance to lay his hands on you is beyond him, why a bard such as himself can even look at you, never mind touch or kiss you. A goddess, battle-hardened and wise, intoxicating and intense but oh so soft and kind.

“You’re staring.” You laugh, leaning against the door frame and smiling at him.  

“Yes. Yes I am.” Jaskier says simply and beckons you closer, which you do with a slight swing of your hips that he is entirely sure isn’t purposeful. You settle beside him, looking at him with a look somewhere between reverence and fear- like he's simultaneously the most beautiful and awful thing you’ve ever seen. He hates how much he likes it, the power it feels like he possesses in this moment. You look so small and defenceless, and he is too aware of how large he is by comparison. Usually, Jaskier feels slight- especially in comparison to Geralt and his hulking mass of muscle and manliness- but he’s suddenly far more aware of how big his hands are compared to your own, how he almost dwarfs you in height. You aren’t dainty, and he knows how much damage you can do with little to no effort, but you look so now.  

You lean in to him slowly and tilt your head, taking him in before smiling with a raised eyebrow. Well? Your face seems to scream. I'm waiting. It’s all the encouragement he needs to put his hand between your shoulder blades and push your torso over his lap unceremoniously. Every jutting bone, every knobble of spine, outline of rib exposed when you let out a noise of mild confusion, but rest there with your stomach over his thighs. His fingertips, calloused from lute strings but still soft from the warm water, trail down your back slowly; his skin is colder than yours, leaving goose pimples in his wake as he moves towards the rounded flesh of your arse.  

Pink and pert, the flesh juts out from the dip at the base of your spine, like a peach. Jaskier loves it. Loves all arses really. There is something so strangely enticing about them, likely the fact they’re so often covered that seeing them seems taboo in a way that seeing tits isn’t. Every inch of your skin that he gets to see is a luxury not afforded to others, and while his hands finally reach the plump skin, he had been moving towards he kisses your back, gripping one cheek firmly while rubbing soft circles into the other. A moan, airy and musical comes from you spurring Jaskier in his ministrations: shifting the cheek to the side, revealing a hole he had never paid much mind to at all, only to release his hold and watch as it bounces back into place. The jiggle is hypnotic, he thinks to himself wordlessly as he repeats the act on the opposite cheek, earning another moan from you in response.  

“Jask.” You whine out and he hums in confirmation, feeling you push yourself back against his hand. “Don't tease.” He chuckles. Teasing is hardly what he'd call it. No, this is isn’t teasing, teasing is something gentler than this. This is preparation. He can hardly just start spanking you, especially when you've never done it before, but the whining makes him smirk. “Jask, if you don’t hurry, I’ll go to bed.” You insist and try to push yourself off of him, so he presses down on the middle of your back and brings his hand down on your arse harshly.  

The sharp sound of skin-on-skin rings through the air, followed by a gasp. A tingle ran across his palm, and he snicks at the sensation.  

“I thought you were my good girl, not a brat, Missy.” He says, voice low and on the verge of a growl. “I told you, I am in control tonight. Not you.”  

Brat. You shiver at that, going still, and he smirks, grabbing the cheek he had just struck before tugging at it. He releases it before sliding his hand up your thigh.  

“I. I can be good.” You whisper meekly. That isn’t enough though and he swats at the cheek once more, lighter this time.  

“You will be good.” He corrects you, leaning in close to your ear and catching sight of your red cheeks and misty eyes. “I know you will be, won’t you Darling?” You nod quickly and he smirks. “That's my Princess.”  

At that, your posture loosens and you relax against him. Praise. That’s good to know. Lazily, he rubs a circle against the curve of skin before striking it once more.  

“I'm going to hit you ten times, and I want you to count them out loud for me. Can you do that for me?” He asks gently and you nod instantly. “I need you to use your words, Darling.”  

“I. I can do that.” You say, tilting your head to look at him with a sweet smile. Jaskier smiles back at you, then brings his hand back down with a hard slap.  

“One!” You say loudly, jolting forward and dragging your stomach across his crotch. He’s been so invested in planning and preparing that he hasn’t even noticed the hardness developing between his legs until it’s rubbed against. The moans from the bath had been enough to make him half hard, but seeing you like this, lips parted and the skin of your bottom turning an inviting shade of pink, it’s enough to have him fully hard.  

“Two!” You shout out after his hand lands hard against your rear before two more swats come in quick succession.  

“Three! Four!” The numbers are more moans than words, loud and needy. In the back of his mind, Jaskier wonders if the drunks downstairs are still singing and making noise, shouting and swearing, or if they too can hear the moans of pleasure. It’s sick, but he wants them to hear. Wants them to hear the pretty song that you’re moaning out, to look at you in the morning as you shift uncomfortably in your seat and know how you loved every second of it, see him smirk and know exactly who drew every noise from you.  

He’s a bard. He knows how to make noises, but these might just be the prettiest ones yet. A hand rubs at the pinking skin and then, quickly as it comes it's gone and brought down, this time to the space where arse meets thigh.

“Five!”  

He could listen to you moan all day. Sex, or at least sex while travelling, is normally a quiet affair. Quiet murmurs of affirmation, whispered begs and pleas, it’s not enough. Jaskier loves sex, loves the intimacy that comes from being as close to someone as humanly possible, but more so than the enjoyment of sex, Jaskier loves the theatrics of sex. Sex is like performing. Doing all possible to please an enthusiastic audience, listening to the sounds of enjoyment as it builds and crescendos, fingers moving faster, doing his best to not make a fool of himself.  

“Six!”  

Slap!

“Seven!”  

He can’t help himself from hoping that this won't be a one-time occurrence. For a few stolen moments you can hand over control to him and give the both of you what you need.  

“Eight!” Your stomach rubs against his cock once more and he chokes back a moan. You'll be the death of him. Ruin him entirely. It isn’t enough that he loves you, isn’t enough that you are the most beautiful person he could dream up, no you have to do things like this. Unintentionally ideal. Perfection given human form.  

“Nine!”  

His hand comes down one final time and you scream out a broken, “Ten!”, and Jaskier heaves out a sigh, rubbing the red skin as gently as he can to soothe you when you begin to tremble. Calloused fingertips slide softly across the abused flesh.  

“Oh Darling. My good girl. My good, brave little miss.” He coos sweetly, gently guiding you up to sit on his lap, one hand still running the skin while the other threads itself in the hair at the nape of your neck. “You did so well.” Gently, he presses his forehead against your own, staring into tear filled eyes. “Oh, Dear Heart, did you not like it?” Worry washes over him suddenly. He should have reminded you that you could say no once more, that he wouldn’t be disappointed.  

“Kiss me.” You breathe back against his lips and he sighs softly, hand shifting to your jaw to tug you into a chaste kiss. You tremble against his lap, but kiss back far more forcefully than he had kissed you. Gentle but seeking, tongue pushing between his lips to make its way into his mouth. He smirks slightly, but doesn’t open his mouth, feeling you rock against his lap- sweet nectar between your legs dripping through the fabric of his trousers while shaking fingers toy with the lacing of his doublet.  

“Darling-"  

“You're wearing far too much.” You whine pulling back to stare at him. “Take it off.”  

“Take what off?”  

“Everything.” One word has never held so much weight. He could look at you like this for always, so soft and desperate and wanting- it makes his heart beat faster and his cock jumps against the heat of your core. He wants to strip himself, rid himself of the offensive articles and just let you take from him all that he has, but he holds your jaw gently instead, using the warm skin as a means to ground himself once more.  

“Ask nicely.”  

“Jaskier.” You say with a slight scowl, but he narrows his eyes and tilts his head, trying not to laugh at your intent look. “Please. Please strip.”  

“I think you can ask nicer than that, Dear Heart.”  

“Julian, please take off your clothes. Please.” You ask softly and trail your hands along the chemise beneath his half-unlaced jerkin. “Please, Dandy? I want to touch you- can I?”  

The pet name brings a soft smile to his face, hands moving to your hips to shift you onto the bed before undoing the rest of his jacket and shucking it off, to toss it to the side. Ducking down, he peppers a few feverish kisses to your thighs, toying with the ties of his chemise while you tug it over his head. Needy and half frenzied is unlike you, but he can’t say that it isn’t perfection. Shy, unsure sex has been too common, the occasional rushed shag when you two can spare a few seconds less frequent, but this magically manic need is sweet. Jaskier is a performer; performers preen under the watchful eye of attentive audience, need the knowledge of a job well done, which he normally gets from you in the form of moans and frantic rutting. This enthusiasm is perfection, especially while his face is so close to your cunt that he can smell the arousal dripping from it.

Nudity can wait, The Bard smirks, grips your thighs in a vice-like grip and widens the distance between them so he can get his mouth on your sex, tongue gathering slick and relishing that sweet, musky taste. Sweeter than any fruit, more addictive than any wine. Jaskier’s lips find your clit, that bud of nerves that might as well contain every breathless moan that you can fit in your body, and sucks, tongue flicking across it with the moans and curses that such an act wrings from you. Nose buried in the curls that cover your mount, cornflower eyes look up to take you in, writhing in ecstasy, breasts quivering with every stuttered breath. He knew that he had missed something while spanking you’d but it falls into place now. Your face.

Every emotion flit across it, as clear to read as sheet music to him. You have an expressive face at the best of times, but it only seems heightened by sex. He knows many men prefer not to face their lovers and, hell, in his more adventurous days had preferred it himself, but seeing how you feel written across your features is part of the joy of sex. It had taken a while to convince you to stop silencing yourself during intimacy, that those moans are his and hard earned, but those expressions mean even more. Miniscule twitches of the brows and lips that let him know that you enjoy what he is doing, he loves them. Loves you. Those noises are meaningless without that face, pink and contorted with pleasure. That face. He could stare at it all day.

He doesn’t miss Lettenhove, not for a minute, but he does miss paintings. Portraits, moments trapped in time, forever perfect. He wants a painting of moments like this; nothing pornographic, just your face, with not a care for anything but pleasure. To see him through those nights when hunting takes too long and he's long asleep by the time you return. A little painting to have with him always.  

“Jaskier-" You whimper, fingers curled into his hair and tugging. “Please. Please.”  

He hums softly and slaps your thigh, revelling in the sweet little gasp that comes from you before a gush of fluid hits his lips. The Bard pulls back and blinks in shock. You’re shaking, twisting in the blankets as he just breathes you in. Squirted. You just squirted on him. He was half convinced that such a thing was just A rumour but... you did it.  

Blinking rapidly, Jaskier stares up at you awestruck and starry-eyed, trying desperately not to spill into his trousers.  

Oh yes. This is going to be a regular occurrence.  

[hungline]

pairing: vmonkook genre: fluff, smut, travel au, bookstore au, vampire au, rated xxx  warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex, anal sex, multiple smut scenes, mild swearing, mentions of blood, referenced nightmare  a/n: as part of the #BSCproject held by @btssmutclub in collaboration with group4some. a HUGE thank you to @lovewyself for the beautiful banner and to group4some as a whole for hyping the hell out of this! please check the replies for the link to our collab masterlist and read my group members’ wonderful stories as well 💕💗 you’ll also be able to find the fic playlist linked in the replies as well! 🎶🎵  words: 5002 

summary: When Namjoon and Jeongguk decide to travel to Transylvania, they end up staying long past the summer for one supernatural being with an obsession for strawberries. 

+ tag list: @dimplemono @kirtikagarg @disrespectfulkookies @honeymoonjin @reeneryu ✨ 

When they step off the bus with their one piece of luggage and backpacks strapped to them, Jeongguk almost stumbles.

He wasn't expecting the wave of sinister heat that was lurking just outside the air-conditioned windows of the bus to strike him against the face so soon. He knows that in the summer, most places are high in regards to heat, but Namjoon had assured him that it would be tolerable here.

Either Namjoon was wrong, which Jeongguk very much doubts, or an unexpected heatwave struck this town.

Probably a heatwave since Namjoon looks confused about the heat as well. Oh, well. At least the town is pretty and their Airbnb has air conditioning.

Namjoon has an interview lined up at a nearby bookstore, so they pull their luggage between them and walk into town. Brașov has an old-time feel to it, from its swooping architecture and cobbled streets to its cheery air and lacking signs of technology around. Jeongguk doesn't understand much of the language spoken around them, but he's used to that by now.

They have spent the entire summer backpacking around the world. They stopped first in Japan and stayed there for two weeks before they moved on to China. Namjoon cut their stay there short, so they ended up in Europe only a week after that. London was pretty if you could get over the pollution and Paris was even better. But now they are on their last leg of their mini-tour around the world. Transylvania.

Namjoon is a Dracula fanatic and pouts whenever Jeongguk doesn't use Dracula's proper name, but Jeongguk isn't bothered enough to remember it, so. Dracula. Everyone knows who that is anyway.

They stop by the bookstore first. Namjoon follows one of the managers into the back of the shop while Jeongguk waits in the poetry section. The shop is filled to the brim with books; old, new, current, and historical. It isn't your typical Barnes & Nobles, but Jeongguk likes it. Namjoon would thrive here anyway.

Namjoon tends to thrive just about anywhere though.

Jeongguk kicks his feet against the plush red rug underneath his armchair and turns his gaze back towards the surrounding shelves. He can't read most of the titles, but a few are in English and he knows enough of that to understand them at least. In the five countries they visited, Jeongguk's limited knowledge of English came quite handy. Especially, in London.

They saved up as much money as they could which was actually quite plenty thanks to Namjoon's books selling off the shelves as soon as they were published, but Jeongguk insisted they take on jobs during their trip anyway. After all, he doesn't want to coast off Namjoon's money forever and he definitely doesn't want someone to mistake him as Namjoon's sugar baby instead of his long-term boyfriend.

He hums as he reaches out and picks up a tiny collection of poems, browsing through it quickly. Most of the pages have very short poems on them, sometimes with illustrations, but generally without. Jeongguk wonders why this kind of book is on the best-selling shelf and puts it back, staring down at his feet and keeping a steady hand on their suitcase.

There are a few customers walking around in the other shelves, but they don't stray towards the section he finds himself in and wonders if it's because they've read these books already or they find them as interesting as Jeongguk does, which is not at all.

Just as he's contemplating picking another random book off the shelf, Namjoon returns. A bright grin that shows off his dimples has Jeongguk smiling in return before his boyfriend has even uttered a word. He already knows it's good news.

Namjoon keeps a hold on their suitcase as they leave the shop, a skip in his step that wasn't there before. He starts humming a song that Jeongguk vaguely recognizes as Hoody's Sunshine and takes his boyfriend's hand as they continue to walk.

Soon enough, Namjoon is leading them into an apartment building where he spends a few moments talking to the owner before he comes back with a set of keys in hand. Namjoon hadn't blinked an eye at the cost of the apartment they would be staying in for the last month and a half of their vacation, but Jeongguk had later calculated the cost and almost had a heart attack. It was less than half a month's worth of the rent they pay back in Seoul and that was with the utilities they had to pay for on top of that as well.

The apartment is bigger than their own back at home with a washing machine in the kitchen that Jeongguk wants to get his hands on immediately. Namjoon pulls him away though and shows him the two bedrooms, repeating the fact that the manager wouldn't let them get a one-bedroom apartment if he revealed they were a couple. Jeongguk only shrugs, not caring too much since they are bound to end up in different rooms a few nights during their stay anyway.

Namjoon presses a kiss to his forehead then hefts their suitcase onto the bed and Jeongguk loses himself into dividing and organizing their clothes.

Bran Castle broods high up over its surrounding peaks and forests. Jeongguk has to tip his head back impossibly far before he's able to see the very top of the castle.

The bus ride to the castle had lasted far longer than it actually was and Jeongguk almost fell asleep plenty of times aboard. Namjoon had nudged and prodded him each time he began to nod off and Jeongguk world startle awake, leaning heavily onto Namjoon’s side so as to not disturb the other passengers. The dense forest they had driven past made Jeongguk itch to draw, but he had left his sketchbook back at their apartment so he left his head on Namjoon’s shoulder and watched the scenery pass by.

Now, they’re here and facing a mob of a crowd. Namjoon is vibrating with excitement beside him, a travel-sized dictionary held in one hand and one of his smaller backpacks clenched tight in the other. Jeongguk can admit that the castle is gorgeous, but that's mostly thanks to the scenery that he already had his fill of.

Either way, it'll be good to listen to his mother tongue for the next few hours. Namjoon signed them up for a Korean tour of the castle, which Jeongguk was surprised they had, but Namjoon's excited so he will behave.

Near the entrance is a booth. A crowd of people mingles about there, a mix of tour guides, janitors, and tourists. The clash of languages is harsh on Jeongguk's ears as they approach, but he heeds it no mind. Namjoon keeps shooting glances at him, a wide smile spread across his face as he tries to figure out if Jeongguk is actually enjoying himself or merely pretending for Namjoon's sake. But nothing much has happened as of yet, so he's pretending for now.

They get in line and once they reach the front, Namjoon pulls their tickets out of his special folder in his backpack and hands them to the woman behind the booth so she can scan them and wave them inside. Namjoon had printed their tickets out back when they were still in Seoul, vibrating with his excitement much the same way he was doing now. Jeongguk had agreed to the tour because it was the least he could do after Namjoon had insisted on paying for all of their plane tickets.

Once they have finished checking-in and sport new colorful bracelets, Jeongguk leans on Namjoon's shoulder and goes on tiptoe to look over the heads of the gathered crowd. He spots a handsome looking man holding up a sign in Korean that reads: BRAN CASTLE TOUR.

"Found it," Jeongguk says into Namjoon's ear as he drops back down to his regular height. "Follow me."

Namjoon grips onto the back of Jeongguk's shirt and trails after him as they push their way through the crowd. Jeongguk occasionally goes back on the tips of his toes to make sure they are going the right way then maneuvers them through the bodies pressed so closely together around them. It's not as hot today as it was yesterday when they arrived, but here in the thick of things, Jeongguk feels almost suffocated by the body heat.

He's relieved once they emerge from the crowd and find their tour guide. Until their tour guide smiles at them and Jeongguk's breath catches in his throat.

Holy shit.

The man's smile is rectangular in shape, but bright enough that Jeongguk's sure it could very well light up this entire castle at night. Namjoon freezes beside him in a similar fashion at the sight that greets them but he recovers much more quickly than Jeongguk.

"Hi! Are you the tour guide?" Namjoon asks while a hesitant smile of his own spreads across his lips.

"Yep! Hello. My name is Kim Taehyung and welcome to the Korean tour of Bran Castle," Taehyung greets them.

Jeongguk blinks, unsurprised by their tour guide's fluency. "Hello, Taehyung-ssi. Are we expecting anyone else?"

Taehyung shakes his head. "Not today! But yesterday, the tour was jam-packed full of people. I almost wish I wasn't the only one who speaks Korean here. It was difficult leading the tours by myself."

"How often does that usually happen?" Namjoon asks, instantly intrigued.

"Very often this summer actually! But it was rare to have a day like that the last couple of summers. Management is thinking of hiring someone else to help me out," Taehyung smiles at them. "But enough about that, let's start the tour!"

Jeongguk takes Namjoon's hand and follows after Taehyung, finding it hard not to stare at the tour guide's ass. It’s plump and round, which is only complimented by his jeans that are practically hugging his legs. Jeongguk laughs under his breath when he catches Namjoon blatantly staring though. The pervert. At least Jeongguk is making an effort not to look.

Namjoon frowns at him but doesn't stop staring at Taehyung's ass. Probably to spite him.

Once they've passed a few other tour groups and made their way into the courtyard, Taehyung stops and turns to face them. His smile is still as bright as ever and Jeongguk feels a strange stirring in his chest as Taehyung reveals a box of strawberries that he hadn't noticed before.

He feels hypnotized as he watches Taehyung raise a strawberry to his mouth and take a bite. A bit of the fruit's juice dribbles down his chin but is quickly wiped away by Taehyung's pink tongue. Namjoon shuffles beside him, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose in what Jeongguk knows is a nervous tic.

Seems like it isn't just Jeongguk who is very interested after all.

Taehyung finishes his strawberry in record time and smiles at them when he looks up to meet their gazes. Jeongguk can't fight the feeling that their tour guide did that on purpose, but he pushes it down and tries to give his most polite smile in return. Namjoon leans into his side and hides his face in Jeongguk's shoulder instead, the coward.

Jeongguk knows it isn't in his imagination when Taehyung smirks at that.

Namjoon looks up once Taehyung has resumed the tour, speaking of the queen whose artifacts are being showcased in the castle. How the castle is popular amongst Dracula fans, but that it is only ever spooky on Halloween when tourists are allowed to spend the night in the castle. Jeongguk does his best to nod along even though he doesn't actually care.

He lets Namjoon grip onto his arm and pinch him from time to time when something excites him, but Jeongguk can't help but think that they definitely could have been doing something a lot better than this.

Of course, that doesn't mean that watching the excitement and happiness on Namjoon's face (or watching Taehyung’s ass in those jeans) isn't worth his boredom though. Jeongguk would do just about anything for Namjoon and that includes walking through an old as shit castle listening to a hot as fuck tour guide talk about its history and architecture while torturing them with his strawberries and eating habits.

By the time the tour is over, Jeongguk is half hard in his pants. They thank Taehyung for the tour and Namjoon shoves a scrap of paper that has their numbers on it in Taehyung's hand before he forcibly drags them away to the bus stop.

Namjoon jumps him as soon as they have kicked off their shoes back at the apartment and Jeongguk responds happily. Namjoon is always so gentle with him, always keeping them face-to-face as he fucks into him. Sometimes his hands will frame Jeongguk's face as he murmurs praise into his skin, but this time Namjoon grips his hair and kisses him hard as he rides him. Jeongguk comes in Namjoon unexpectedly and feels utterly boneless after Namjoon has jerked himself off on Jeongguk’s stomach.

Namjoon is cleaning him up when he leans over and kisses Jeongguk tenderly, garnering his attention.

"Again?" Jeongguk asks, already beginning to turn over so Namjoon can have him this time.

"No, maybe later," Namjoon murmurs as he grabs his hips and turns Jeongguk on his back. "But we should talk about something before we get dressed though."

Jeongguk nods, tendrils of his hair sticking to his sweaty face. "Taehyung?"

Namjoon nods in return, an amused smile on his face. "You were hard by the time we got on the bus."

"You were too."

"We should sleep with him."

"Yeah, we should," Jeongguk sighs, closing his eyes as he relaxes into the pillows. "He has our numbers thanks to you."

Namjoon kisses him again, slower this time. "We just have to wait."

Jeongguk doesn't bother with a verbal reply. He's pretty sure that the kiss is enough of an answer for the both of them.

Jeongguk is visiting Namjoon in the bookstore when Taehyung texts them.

 unknown: is this namjoon and jeongguk?

jeongguk: yep! namjoon is working right now so he can't answer messages for another hour this is taehyung, right?

unknown: yes. i thought a group chat would be a better idea than individual texts

jeongguk: well you were right

taehyung: i'm glad (:

 Jeongguk looks up from his phone to shoot a cheeky grin at Namjoon. "Seduce Strawberry Man is a go."

Namjoon rolls his eyes. "I didn't agree to that name."

"Well, it's not like Wine-and-Dine Tae was any better!"

"So you say," Namjoon says with another roll of his eyes.

"Because I'm right!"

"Sure."

Jeongguk grabs the application Namjoon had been trying to convince him to take since he arrived and angrily starts to fill it out. "Just watch. I'm stealing your job to get back at you. This is Seokjin-level of petty right here, Joon."

Namjoon laughs and excuses himself as a customer comes up to him. Jeongguk doesn't understand most of what they're saying since the customer is most definitely a local, but Namjoon has always said that practice helps more than studying when it comes to languages.

And, well, Namjoon is always right.

Jeongguk continues to fill out the application, cringing at his mediocre writing in English. By the time he's done, Namjoon has returned and spares a quick glance at the paper before he goes behind the register and starts to rifle through things. Soon enough, he's holding up a few papers stapled together and hands it to Jeongguk with a triumphant look on his face.

It's his resume. Seems like Namjoon is always one step ahead of him after all. It's even been updated since they both worked in that coffee shop back in Paris. Jeongguk shakes his head fondly and staples his resume to the application. Namjoon takes it and drops it in a small in-and-out stand Jeongguk recognizes from countless office scenes in movies. Next to that is a box of new books Namjoon immediately starts to sort.

"I'll see you for dinner then?" Jeongguk asks.

Namjoon hums in response and Jeongguk smiles at him before he turns and leaves.

He has dinner to cook after all.

A few days after Jeongguk has gotten the job at the bookstore, Taehyung convinces Namjoon to apply for the new tour guide position up at the castle.

Jeongguk isn't surprised in the least when Namjoon does so immediately and hands in his twenty days at the bookshop right after. Once it's confirmed that Namjoon has gotten the tour guide job, Jeongguk and Taehyung take him out to celebrate. Jeongguk gets drunker than he can imagine and almost climbs onto Namjoon’s lap right there in the restaurant before a smirking Taehyung pulls him firmly back into his seat. He has to forcibly stop himself from leaning in and kissing Taehyung just to get rid of that irritating smirk on his face, but all in all, the night turns out to be pretty great.

Taehyung shows them his favorite haunts slowly after their first night out. His Romanian is perfect, much better than Namjoon's and leaves Jeongguk wondering just how long Taehyung has been living here. Namjoon quirks his eyebrows every time Taehyung easily switches between a variety of languages, all with the ease of someone who is fluent in them, but never verbally asks about it.

Well, not to Taehyung anyway. Jeongguk falls victim to his musings instead each time they return home after going out someplace new with the pretty tour guide.

"You know what's really weird though?" Namjoon asks when he comes to visit Jeongguk at the bookshop one morning.

Jeongguk looks up from the books he was registering on their system, a brow raised in silent question before he returns to the ancient computer.

"He never eats anything except those strawberries he carries around," Namjoon hums, fingers tapping against his chin as he leans on the counter. "I've never seen him eat anything else. He'll order food and stuff when we go out, but have you ever seen him actually chewing any of it?"

Jeongguk pauses then, shock overcoming his senses as he realizes that what Namjoon is saying is true. "Holy shit. You're right."

"Of course, I am," Namjoon replies with a frown, fingers moving through his hair now. "It's just really strange. Honestly, if I hadn't seen Taehyung in the sunlight multiple times, I would have thought he was some kind of vampire. You know, since they only feed on fruit and stuff."

"Maybe he's just following a new fad diet or something," Jeongguk theorizes. "You never know."

Namjoon's frown deepens. "I don't think that's it. Taehyung is very comfortable in his outward appearance. I can tell just by observing him at work. It's something else, I just don't know what."

Jeongguk turns back to the computer screen in front of him again. "Well, maybe we should leave it alone. It's not like it's any of our business."

"No," Namjoon agrees, before sighing, "but it could be. He's coming to our place for dinner again tomorrow. We should make our move soon, we only have two weeks before we go back to Seoul."

"Yeah, sure," Jeongguk says.

He ignores the yawning pit in his stomach that declares he doesn't want to leave Brașov just yet and leans in for the kiss Namjoon places on his cheek before leaving. Jeongguk watches him go, not knowing what he's going to do.

Jeongguk wakes up with his heart in shambles, breaths fighting to get past his lungs.

Namjoon lies beside him, curled into himself right on the edge of the bed. Jeongguk watches him, pressing a hand to his chest to calm himself. It works slowly, but Jeongguk is just glad that it works at all. He hopes it isn't one of those nights where it doesn't because those are the worst and they have a guest spending the night too. The relief he feels is tremendous once he has managed to calm himself down.

The clock on their bedside proclaims it as seven past three in the morning. Jeongguk sighs and gets out of bed, leaning down to kiss the back of Namjoon's head before he puts his slippers on and leaves the room.

Jeongguk slows down as he passes by the second bedroom, cocking an ear out in the hopes of hearing deep breaths. When silence is the only thing that greets him, however, Jeongguk frowns and makes his way down the hallway towards the kitchen.

There he finds what he was looking for.

"Oh, you're awake," Taehyung says in greeting.

Jeongguk nods as he gets a glass of water. "Yeah. I had a bad dream, so I decided to get some water and then try to get back to sleep."

Taehyung hums thoughtfully. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really," Jeongguk murmurs. "Thank you though."

Once the glass is full, Jeongguk turns and leans on the counter. He takes a sip from his glass before he finds himself chugging the whole thing down, surprised by his own thirst.

"Thirsty?" Taehyung asks.

Jeongguk meets his eyes over the glass, setting it down once it is empty. Taehyung's eyes are dark with want and amusement, something Jeongguk has found himself getting used to after spending two weeks in his company. A box of strawberries stands on the island, open and nearly empty, but Jeongguk isn't worried. He knows that Taehyung has another one in his bag, completely filled to the brim with bright, blood-red strawberries.

"Yeah," Jeongguk manages to rasp after a while.

Taehyung smiles, the want in his gaze slowly ebbing away until amusement is the only thing left. "Think you can sleep now?"

Jeongguk shrugs. Taehyung takes it as a yes.

"Come on," Taehyung urges as he stands, flipping the lid on his strawberries closed before he holds his hand out in Jeongguk's direction. "I'll sit in the rocking chair until you fall back asleep."

Jeongguk takes his hand, surprised by the heat he can feel coming off the older man in waves. He remembers Namjoon's words in the bookshop yesterday as they echo in his head, but he follows Taehyung back down the hallway and lays down in bed beside his boyfriend.

The rocking chair creaks quietly as Taehyung settles down in it. Jeongguk can see him over Namjoon’s messy hair, but he closes his eyes anyway and throws an arm over his boyfriend's chest. He can feel Taehyung's gaze on them, branding them as his somehow and Jeongguk swallows.

Of course, they want Taehyung. Jeongguk knows that the what he and Namjoon feel isn't just sexual, but something more too. It's just hard to convince Namjoon of that when he's focusing on how long they have left here instead.

Jeongguk settles himself into his boyfriend's side and falls asleep quickly, the rocking chair's creaking sounding like a lullaby.

Jeongguk wants to get his shirt off already, but Namjoon gives him a look to slow him down. He pouts, but obeys it, and continues to kiss Namjoon languidly.

Taehyung watches from the rocking chair, one hand on his thigh as the other digs around in his box of strawberries. Jeongguk wants to watch him watch them, but Namjoon's mere presence demands most of his attention. Kissing Namjoon requires tact and all of his focus, something he learned easily and quickly after they first started dating.

Namjoon hums in the back of his throat and Jeongguk groans against his mouth, handing over the reins to his boyfriend as he closes his eyes. Hands grip his waist and clamber up underneath his shirt, barely-there fingertips grazing the bumps of his spine. Jeongguk shivers, leaning into Namjoon's embrace as his boyfriend takes his time picking him apart.

"Are you sure you want me to be here?" Taehyung asks quietly, his voice not more than a murmur.

Jeongguk glares at him. "Yes. Get over here."

Taehyung laughs, standing up from the rocking chair and approaching them. Jeongguk shivers in anticipation as he closes in, his eyes fluttering shut when Namjoon grabs the ends of his shirt and swiftly pulls it over his head. A new set of hands take claim to his torso then, pressing down on his stomach before moving upwards and rolling one of his nipples between nimble fingers.

A moan makes its way past his lips and Jeongguk loses himself in the motions. He's the first one to get naked, but then Namjoon and Taehyung follow quickly after. Namjoon ends up being laid out like a feast on the bed and Jeongguk takes him in his mouth as Taehyung works him open.

Namjoon groans underneath them, throwing an arm over his eyes as Jeongguk takes him all the way down to the base at the same time Taehyung manages to get three fingers into him. Watching his boyfriend of many years writhe under their mercy is more intoxicating than Jeongguk ever imagined actually. He almost doesn't know what to do next.

Taehyung taps his shoulder and asks him for a condom, drawing his attention away and forcing him back on planet Earth. Jeongguk grabs one of the condoms they set aside on the bedside and opens it, rolling it down Taehyung's already leaking cock before he moves back to observe what comes next.

He has to stop a moan of his own from mingling with the ones Namjoon and Taehyung let loose when Taehyung buries himself in Namjoon slowly. Namjoon is tense at first then relaxes soon after, focusing on his breathing as Taehyung and Jeongguk watch him. Jeongguk kisses him once Taehyung has started moving, the sounds of skin slapping against skin almost too loud to bear.

Jeongguk looks up when Taehyung taps his cheek though, immediately caught off guard at his closeness. Taehyung grins, gripping Jeongguk's chin as he tilts his face up towards his and kisses him.

His lips are softer than flower petals, but he tastes weirdly of strawberries and blood. Jeongguk feels his insides melt and turns towards Namjoon, starry-eyed after Taehyung has pulled away. "You were right."

"About what?" Namjoon gasps, raising the arm over his eyes so he can chance a glance at Jeongguk.

"He is a vampire," Jeongguk breathes, smiling when Taehyung pauses behind him.

Namjoon only smiles. "I told you."

Taehyung interrupts then, a frown marring his beautiful features. "Wait, you knew?"

"Of course. You're not really subtle," Namjoon tells him, gasping again as Taehyung leans over him while hitching his legs up over his waist. "You only eat strawberries."

Jeongguk watches the two older men stare at one another, not knowing if he should say something or stay quiet. Taehyung makes the decision for him though.

"Ah, so then you also know that I'm Dracula then?"

Namjoon sputters. "What?"

"Nevermind. We can talk about it later."

"You almost came just now, didn't you?" Jeongguk asks with a sly smile on his face.

Namjoon flushes. "Shut up."

Jeongguk smiles over his shoulder at Taehyung. "You don't know how many times I've dressed up as a vampire just to make him squirm during sex."

"Well, no need now. A real vampire is fucking your boyfriend. How does that make you feel?" Taehyung says, his eyes flashing before he starts to build up a rhythm again.

"Turned on," Jeongguk answers honestly.

Taehyung smirks, leaning down so he can press his nose into the hollow of Namjoon's throat, inhaling deeply. "Good. Because after I make our little vampire fucker here come, I'm fucking you, Jeongguk-ah."

Jeongguk shivers, not knowing at all what to do with himself. "Please."

His only answer is another smile before Taehyung lifts himself up and fucks Namjoon with vigor, looking from Jeongguk to Namjoon's cock. Jeongguk understands almost immediately and lays down sideways on the bed, taking Namjoon into his mouth again. Namjoon hisses loudly somewhere above him, but Jeongguk ignores it, focusing instead on getting his boyfriend to come.

It doesn't actually take a lot to get Namjoon to reach his orgasm after that. Namjoon is, of course, fulfilling his biggest fantasy after all.

Fucking Dracula himself.

Namjoon is never allowed to make fun of Jeongguk for his fantasies after this now, the vampire fucker.

It is embarrassing just how quickly Taehyung makes him come afterward. Jeongguk refuses to believe his endurance has really fallen that low to come apart after just a few minutes of getting fucked by the best cock he has ever had in his life.

Nope. Just not believable. At all.

After it is all said and done, Jeongguk lays himself on top of Namjoon and throws an arm over Taehyung beside them.

Namjoon is tapping away at his phone, a look of the most utmost concentration morphing his features. Jeongguk lazily glances at the screen before blinking himself into awareness.

"Are you canceling our plane back to Seoul?"

"Yep," Namjoon says without missing a beat. "You don't sound surprised though."

Jeongguk laughs in delight at the news and kisses Namjoon firmly on the mouth. He turns to Taehyung right after and kisses him hard, relishing in the taste of strawberries on his tongue. There's no trace of the blood he tasted earlier but Jeongguk decides to ask about that another time.

Because now they have time.

“You know as well as I do that we were gonna stay the second we laid eyes on Taehyung,” Jeongguk murmurs into Namjoon’s skin as he leans back into him once he remembers to answer the question Namjoon asked just moments before.

Namjoon rolls his eyes and runs a hand through Taehyung’s mussed hair. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

Jeongguk hums happily, leaning down to kiss his kiss lovers again. He lets the warm feeling in his heart tingle in his fingertips as he traces lines down their naked bodies and enjoys the blissfulness of this moment.

He’ll never have anything greater than these two, that Jeongguk is more than sure of.

[kiruuuuu]

Kapkan/Glaz sequel in which the Spetsnaz go swimming and some... get wetter than others. (Rating E, explicit, ~4.2k words) - The sequel to this oneshot!

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Glaz’ pencil travels over the thick paper, leaving behind graphite traces which form a whole not yet, but soon. His mind’s eye is closed as he draws exclusively with his physical ones, captures shadows as he sees them and dips and valleys the way they appear before him. Over the soothing practice, he forgets all about the oppressing heat reigning unchecked once more – a few weeks, they were graced with respite from this British record summer, but now it’s returned full force and with a vengeance. Still, it’s easy to leave it behind when he can focus on his favourite hobby. Even if his teammates make it mighty difficult to concentrate.

“Make sure to get me from my best side”, Tachanka rumbles, self-satisfied with the attention he’s receiving.

“Bird’s eye view?”, Fuze guesses from the pool, shit-eating grin immediately extinguished by getting dunked underwater by Kapkan.

“One more unqualified comment like that and I’ll demonstrate why my nickname during training was freight train.”

Their bickering has been going on all day, fuelled by frustration over the heatwave – not even the trip to the SAS-owned pool has managed to lift their spirits significantly. They’re more prickly than usual instead of just lethargic and Glaz knows exactly why. “In German, they’d call your best side your ‘chocolate side’. Marius told me when I sketched his Magpie”, he informs the other three, hoping to defuse the situation somewhat and maybe even switch topics.

“Any side of his is his chocolate side”, states Kapkan, deadpan, and finally allows Fuze to breathe again. “If you didn’t get it – I’m talking about your lovehandles.”

“Shut up or I’ll shove that pool noodle where the sun doesn’t shine.”

Glaz sighs inwardly. He’d been looking forward to lounging by the pool in peace, dip in and out to cool off and get some exercise without ending up panting like he’d just run a marathon, and maybe catch a few glimpses. Just a few. He asked about sketching and stormy eyes locked with his for a split second which felt like forever, and Glaz’ mind already provided ample inspiration, excuses for a specific pose, daydreams and a whole lot more unbidden imagery… but then those grey irises slid away again in disinterest. Whether feigned or not, Glaz couldn’t tell.

Tachanka was the one who volunteered eventually, and instead of relaxing around the people he knows best in this passionless country, Glaz is now stretched out on a chair by the side of the pool, studying the old man’s physique and listening to the other three bicker.

“You can try. I’ve seen you in the water once, and you swim the way you fight – like a tank.”

Kapkan probably thinks his derision comes across as good-natured mockery instead of biting venom. He’s lucky they all have thick skin or one of them would’ve retaliated much more harshly than they tend to do, and a pissed-off Spetsnaz is nothing to scoff at. He has these days when he sharpens his claws on them, like an animal: honing his fangs on his kin, and though he recoils upon a pained sound, he’s planning his next attack nonetheless. Glaz has noticed this since day one – Kapkan carries himself like a predator, watching, assessing, waiting.

He takes himself much too seriously, but a personal jab with no harm intended only would serve to rile him up further instead of prompting a relieved smile.

“I was carrying all my gear. I’d like to see you try to continue your water ballet with Glaz on your shoulders.”

“Hey, you don’t get to watch the show and complain about it!”, Fuze protests. He’s been vainly attempting to gain the upper hand for half an hour now and really should’ve known better than to ask Kapkan of all people to help him improve his hand to hand in water. They all know Kapkan is merciless and not above humiliating his opponent, as showcased by the fact that Kapkan’s hair isn’t even wet and Fuze must’ve swallowed a litre of chlorinated water by now.

“No one would pay money to watch you drown for an hour, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Don’t move so much”, Glaz mutters and instantly regrets drawing attention to himself, because even Fuze and Kapkan cease their wet struggling to regard him curiously.

Tachanka is the one who seems to say what everyone’s thinking: “You’re suspiciously quiet today, lad.”

That’s just my seething fury coupled with the frustration of being disappointed every day, no worries, Glaz thinks and unconsciously glances over at Kapkan, who returns his gaze calmly. “I’m concentrating. Besides, shouldn’t we go back? Our hide-and-seek excuse won’t buy us another hour.”

It’s become an inside joke at Rainbow at this point – an unspoken yet silently agreed upon rule states that once a month, each team is allowed the claim to wanting to improve their navigational skills and sense of perception by utilising the natural terrain of the English countryside. In short: they tell Six they’re basically playing hide and seek so they can go out and do whatever for a few hours. The GIGN have used it to bake a surprise cake for Harry (whose vegan lifestyle makes it difficult to buy cakes for him), the Americans snuck off to Skype with their families on Thanksgiving, and the Germans prepared a barbecue plus an improvised bouncy castle for the 15th of October, when Rainbow celebrates six birthdays all falling into the same week. And today, the Spetsnaz used it to splash around in the SAS-owned pool on base.

Time well spent.

“You’re right. Don’t forget to clean up or it’ll draw suspicion”, Tachanka reminds them and rises from his sunbed like a corpse from a stretcher, complete with groans of the dead and joints popping. “I’ll even help, that’s how refreshed I feel.”

“And the fighting was my idea”, Fuze chimes in between coughs, cheeks reddened and looking wholly miserable, “so I’ll do it.”

Next to him, Kapkan is unfazed by their tussle and surfaces from the pool not even out of breath, rivulets of water running down his torso and making his skin glisten in the indirect sun beams falling in from the skylights. He’s… distracting, and therefore Glaz reacts entirely too late to his teammate joining him and pointing at the sketchbook in his lap. “Can I see?”

Unfortunately, he’s dripping all over it or else Glaz might’ve considered his question, but he’s had one too many books with him out in the rain or the snow and knows how ugly the damage looks on the pages afterwards, so he nearly flings it off into the distance with how vehemently he yanks it aside, and merely hisses a curse in preparation of telling Kapkan off for being this careless.

It’s just -

The only thing that leaves Glaz’ lips is an English: “Fuck me.”

And, well. He overheard someone else use it, probably Twitch or IQ when they burnt their hands, and then he noticed others saying it and though it’s been dancing on his tongue for days, apparently now his brain decided it was time to finally birth it.

Kapkan looks like he slapped him.

“Watch the fucking language”, Tachanka admonishes him with a wide grin. “Someone might think you’re an actual adult, Glazkov.”

His cheeks are killing him, they’re hotter than the air outside and getting flustered now will certainly look suspicious. “Just be more careful. Okay?”, he mumbles into his beard, directed at a thunderstruck Kapkan whose expression is inscrutable.

“You two can go ahead, we got this”, Fuze informs them and this seems to tear the very wet and almost-naked man in front of Glaz out of his stupor.

“Oh, I – I can take over for you. I’ll clean. You go.”

And now Glaz really wishes he had slapped him. What a perfectly obvious excuse to not end up alone with him. Before he gets a chance to drop a cutting remark of his own, Tachanka voices what everyone’s thinking: “You shit in somebody’s cereal, or why don’t you want to go back to base? You need to be forced to tidy usually.”

Fishing for justifications, Kapkan lamely defends himself by claiming he still has something to make up to Fuze – which is likely, yet no reason for him to choose cleaning over lazing about some more – and Glaz has to fight the urge to strangle him. That is, until he realises two can play this game.

“I’ll stay, too”, he announces and suppresses a laugh at how quickly Kapkan’s head snaps in his direction. “I can let my pages dry out in the sun. We’ll see you in half an hour.”

“And this why you’ve always been my favourite. Show me your masterpiece in a bit, alright?” Tachanka slaps him on the back approvingly and then heads off in Fuze’s company, the two of them discussing actual strategies about fighting underwater instead of beating the Uzbek up unhelpfully.

A stony silence settles in, making Glaz’ stomach cramp. The other Russian towels himself dry while he puts the chairs away and gathers the supplies they’ll need – there’s not much to do, the pool is being used daily and as long as they mop up all the splashed water, they should be good. Everything is done wordlessly, fuelling the awkwardness causing Glaz to drop whatever he’s holding twice, and it keeps getting worse.

Why have you been avoiding me, he doesn’t say, though he really wants to. We can pretend nothing happened. We can go back.

He could. With difficulty, but he could. If only he knew what was up. But working up the courage is impossible, he’s failed for weeks already and with a friendship on the line, with possibly more -

Kapkan chuckles. The low sound manages to pierce the spiral Glaz is sending himself down and interrupts his thoughts. “They really do have fucking pool noodles here. What on earth do they do with these?”

The supply closet indeed provides a variety of colourful foam noodles, even a deflated alligator and a beach ball. It seems they aren’t the only ones to use this facility for purely recreational purposes. “All I’m picturing now is Seamus wearing floaties.”

His comment earns him an amused snort and the ice is finally broken. They share a grin and Glaz’ relief must show on his face. “I almost want to go back in and ride this crocodile.”

“Or go dive for some of these rings.” Suddenly, Glaz gets an idea when he spots a hoop, reminding him of a dolphin show he once saw. “Hey, you think I could jump through this one?”

“No way. You’re too fat.”

Hilarious. He rolls his eyes. “You wanna bet?”

“Easy. Take a running start and jump through without touching the edges, you win. Otherwise, I win. I’ll even hold it up for you.”

“What are the stakes?”

This is where he wanted to land and Kapkan gladly followed him, possibly knowing full well where this was headed. They eye each other up. “A favour”, Kapkan suggests and couldn’t have been more vague.

Even so. Glaz likes where this is going. “Sounds good. Let’s do it.” He rids himself of his shirt and places all valuable belongings safely out of reach, encouraging Kapkan to do the same, and then walks a good distance away from the pool where Kapkan is standing, holding up the hoop expectantly. And it’d be so easy to win the bet and be owed a favour – so many possibilities. He’d be hard pressed to choose and already, his imagination is providing idea after idea, one more tempting than the next…

Then a whole other prospect enters his mind. It’d be even easier to lose. And end up at Kapkan’s mercy.

He starts jogging, building up speed, gaze fixed on the hoop until Kapkan’s is as well, the other man waiting to see whether the object will wobble from impact, no matter how small, ready to pass judgement on whether he won or lost -

- and then Glaz collides with him and shoves him into the pool.

The splash is extremely satisfying, almost as good as Kapkan’s brief grimace of surprise, shock, and betrayal as he sails through the air, flailing. Glaz almost laughs, gets out a bird-like noise of entertainment before it devolves into a shriek as Kapkan shoots back out of the pool like a crocodile himself, having spotted his prey by the shore, and the next thing Glaz knows are hands around his calves – no, one hand, the other somehow manages to land on his ass but the result is the same, they yank him in together with his previous victim.

Compared to the suffocating humidity outside, the water is refreshingly cool and punches through his consciousness like a shot of caffeine injected directly into his bloodstream, yet what makes the experience all the more powerful are the strong arms enveloping him in a tight embrace. Too tight, he was half on an exhale when going under and wants to swim up but Kapkan doesn’t let him, cradles him close and makes no move to swim to the surface, so Glaz starts struggling. Panic sets in and when he reaches down to pinch Kapkan’s inner thigh as hard as he can, large air bubbles escape the other man’s mouth. At least it’s successful: they rise.

“Fuck”, he spits out when he can breathe can, coughs and coughs into Kapkan’s face because suddenly, he’s too close and did he just try to kiss Glaz while he’s still recovering from nearly drowning? “What are you -”

It was a mistake putting his hand anywhere between Kapkan’s legs. The iron grip around his wrist hurts, even underwater, and his hand is uncomfortably pressed against the other Russian’s swimming trunks. Glaz moves his fingers to not cramp up and oh, hello. At least this time Kapkan’s dick isn’t being shoved into his face. The next attempt is successful and cold lips move against his, hurried, forceful, and then Glaz’ back hits the side of the pool with Kapkan’s body caging him in.

He should’ve known it would be unceremonious like this, the byproduct of a struggle, a line crossed stumbling instead of deliberately stepping over it. “Ask me”, he gasps and gives in, obliges: his fingers wrap around the flesh swelling despite the coolness of the water and he deepens the kiss. But not for long. He won’t be the passive party in this, and he demonstrates it by biting down on a lower lip.

“Like that”, Kapkan purrs against his chest and begins moving his hips against Glaz’ hand, the motion slow and almost sensual. He’s in a world of his own, thinking he’s won a prize of, well, something, thinking he’ll finally get… what? An awkward handjob by someone he was too cowardly to ask outright?

“Ask me”, Glaz repeats with more emphasis and feels his own body react. And how could it not, with a body mirroring his own in strength and build, with Kapkan panting in his ear and forcing his fist to remain where it is so he can fuck it. His fury has evaporated, was probably fed by the underlying anxiousness of quietly getting rejected, but now that it’s quite obvious Kapkan wants the same thing he does, all that’s left is stubbornness. That, and the desire to make Kapkan admit it.

He’s a match, though. Just as pig-headed.

And so, when he still hasn’t said anything else after more aborted kisses, Glaz tightens his grip, tightens it until Kapkan goes very, very still. His eyes are gorgeous up close. Glaz wants to feel him inside so badly, he momentarily forgets what he was doing and revels in the fantasy until a tongue dragging over his mouth catapults him back into the present.

“Suck me”, Kapkan whispers amid the soft gurgling of the waves they’re producing

Jesus fucking Christ. Glaz twirls them around with an annoyed sigh and, while wrestling the other man out of his shorts, hisses: “Why’d it take so fucking long?” All that Kapkan offers is an uncertain look as if he had mild doubts about what he just demanded, but they seem to dissipate as soon as Glaz lifts him out of the water. “Lie back.”

Wordlessly, Kapkan obeys, sits down on the edge, lower legs still dangling in the water, and leans backwards, propping himself up on his elbows so he can watch. His cock is proudly jutting straight up into the air, wet and dark and delicious, and in one fell swoop, Glaz captures its head between his lips.

They don’t have much time. He’ll have to make this quick.

Under the taste of chlorine, there’s skin and Kapkan, and he savours the taste on his tongue as he swirls it around the tip generously. Having draped himself over his friend’s thighs, his weight holds Kapkan down which turns out to be necessary as he’s pushy. His hips twitch and tilt, try to thrust upwards further into Glaz’ mouth and as if that wasn’t bad enough, there’s a hand on his head pushing down.

Somehow, he manages to free himself and glare at his dishevelled friend, flushed and beautiful and flustered – and if it was any other situation, one where time wasn’t of the essence, he’d let Kapkan do whatever he wants. But not now. “I’ll bite”, he warns him seriously, “stop that shit. Behave.”

A curse is his response, but Kapkan obliges and withdraws his arm, and then throws his head back with another swear as Glaz swallows him whole. The flesh is piping hot and rock hard, just like Glaz’ own, and he sucks it down like it’s made of sugar, opens his throat, lets the tip hit the back of it. It pains him that he can’t relish in finally doing this, but hearing all these surprised grunts and sharp breaths has its own merit – not even the cool water can calm the vicious pulsing between Glaz’ legs and he idly tongues the ridge of Kapkan’s glans, wondering what it’d feel like inside him.

When he gets down to business, he can feel Kapkan’s muscles twitching and drinks in every hiss whenever he sucks hard. He’s not teasing anymore, instead bobbing his head in a relatively fast rhythm, using his tongue to exploit that sensitive spot on the underside and massaging the balls with one hand, squeezing out moan after moan. Kapkan is loud, much louder than he expected, and very appreciative. He seems to melt under Glaz’ ministrations and actually relaxes into the stimulation which is, well, lovely, but not goal-oriented. They need to be back in twenty, maybe fifteen minutes. And thanks to Glaz’ stunt earlier, they’ll need to clean up a second time.

He pulls off the cock in his mouth with a wet noise and once again addresses his friend: “Come on. I want to feel you pulsing in my throat.”

It’s more forthright than he’d normally be, but circumstances necessitate it. Not like Kapkan seems to mind, if the scandalised yet intrigued expression is anything to go by – he also tenses up noticeably as Glaz takes him back in to the hilt, stomach muscles fluttering and contracting when Glaz reaches up to gently rub over an erect nipple. “Filthy mouth”, Kapkan rumbles and lets out an echoing moan when his nipple is twisted between two fingers. He’s so hot. Glaz wishes he could blow him for hours, but alas. “Never would’ve guessed you’re that perverted. Go deeper. Yes.”

Glaz nearly chokes himself on Kapkan’s dick with no regrets and increases the tempo, sucks even harder and deprives himself of oxygen, and the pay-off is worth it. With another loud groan, Kapkan shudders, his entire body going taut, and his cock throbs in Glaz’ mouth, shooting out bitter liquid in spurts, in time with soft rolls of his hips. He finally made him come, finally blew him to completion and it was everything he hoped for. Watching Kapkan’s expression slip from need to utter bliss is as satisfying as he’d hoped, and he gladly swallows around the erection clogging his throat.

When he pulls free again, his friend is lying flat on the tiles, breathing hard and contemplating existence. He looks shattered, more spent than after a training session and Glaz would really like to hug him. Instead, he instinctively reaches down and grabs his neglected cock, harder than it’s been for weeks (since the day he made an implicit bet with Kapkan and went to bed early, dreaming up scenarios similar to this one). Right in front of him, a naked Kapkan is recovering from what looks like to have been a mind-blowing orgasm, and as Glaz takes him all in, marvels at his form, the softening dick gives a last feeble twitch.

Shit.

Okay, he’ll be quick.

He discards his own swimwear, just leaves it floating away, and lifts himself out of the water. Kapkan has barely time to react before Glaz is straddling him, trying not to cream himself from the skin contact alone, and as revenge for all the shoving previously, Glaz guides one of his friend’s hands between their naked bodies. “Do it”, he prompts quietly, desperation colouring his voice and Kapkan must’ve noticed or else he might not have complied so fast. Calloused fingers close around Glaz’ shaft and dear god, this will be an embarrassingly quick affair.

Kapkan wastes no time and jerks him fast from the get-go, almost brutal (probably how he himself likes it and the thought causes Glaz’ knees to go weak), and it’s not only water droplets hitting Kapkan’s flat belly now. The sudden intense stimulation has Glaz whimpering and fighting it, wanting more or maybe less, who’s to say – certainly not his short-circuited mind. He barely has the brain capacity left to suck Kapkan’s other middle finger into his mouth but he does notice his friend’s eyes darkening upon the realisation.

When the finger enters him, he buries his face in the crook of Kapkan’s neck and moans. He imagines it’s Kapkan himself, pictures them rolling around on a mattress with all the time in the world, harsh thrusts and nails raking over his back and Kapkan stares into his soul as he pumps load after load into him, and Glaz is moving his hips now, grinding down against Kapkan’s hand and he doesn’t care how fucking needy he must seem because he wants this. The hand on his cock is merciless, the speed unwavering and it’s flirting with being too much – there’s vague pain there but isn’t that normal, where Kapkan is concerned?

The digit inside buries itself even deeper and brushes over his sweet spot which he rewards with a whine, so Kapkan does it again and again, and with several weeks’ worth of anticipation, with the memory of a hard dick poking his cheek, with Kapkan’s taste still on his tongue, Glaz is shoved over the edge. He shivers violently, isn’t even sure what kind of noise escapes his lips as his climax shakes him to the core, traps him in ecstasy for half an eternity during which he’s hardly aware of anything around him – and when he realises he’s coming all over Kapkan’s chest while his friend is milking him expertly enough to prolong his orgasm, it’s another half. Kapkan lets him ride it out and brings him down gently, doesn’t overdo it and withdraws when Glaz puts a hand on his wrist.

Glaz’ relief is overwhelming and lasts throughout his afterglow: a minute or two during which he sits up, calms his racing heartbeat and inspects the mess he made on pale skin before him. They finally did it. And Kapkan doesn’t even look like he regrets it. He… looks like nothing, really, expression empty as he doesn’t even move to wipe the semen off him, and doubts slowly begin to overtake the pleasant exhaustion in Glaz’ bones.

“Can I kiss you?”, he asks meekly and feels silly, perched on top of another man who had his finger inside him mere minutes ago, and yet he’s not confident enough to just lean down and do it.

Kapkan examines him attentively. “Don’t make this weird.”

“You made it weird a long time ago.”

Visibly uncomfortable with the topic, Kapkan drags him down with enough force to make their teeth click, and though the angle is odd and their noses are in the way, the gesture counts. Glaz feels his muscles relax during the brief kiss and smiles as he comes back for air. When Kapkan smiles back, the fact that they still have to clean everything, including themselves, and that they’ll be really late with no excuse at all loses its threat.

They shower together, joking some more about the SAS operators’ pool habits, and then quickly sweep the floor once again. Stepping out into the blinding sunshine is like running into a wall, the heat is unbearable and tiring. Glaz almost wants to fall asleep standing up.

“Just so we’re clear, you lost that bet”, Kapkan tells him, blinking into the brightness instead of looking him in the eyes. “So you owe me a favour.”

Glaz’ lips curl into a grin. “Of course. You only need to ask.”

And while Kapkan doesn’t respond, there’s a certain glint in his eye which is full of promises and reassurance.

[gorogues]

Johns and Kolins interviews, part 3

Cut for length.

Part One and Part Two are available at the links.  This was supposed to be posted more three years ago, and it’s been sitting in my Drafts folder all this time.  Oops.

I occasionally clarify things or add my comments in [ ] brackets and italics.

Geoff Johns

CBG: Here's a fanboy question: One of the familiar aspects of the Silver Age Flash was silly plots and transformations taken with utmost seriousness. Is this light-hearted element toast in today's grim-and-gritty environment? Or will you sometimes turn someone into a puppet just for fun?

Johns: You know, it all depends on the story. For Flash: Rebirth, there's going to be a lot of heart in that series, but we're not going to go back to 1960s-style stories where we have stand-alone stories where Barry Allen turns into a puppet. That stuff's fun and if you have Abra Kadabra, you can have a story incorporating those elements. But it's certainly not the main thrust of where I'm taking the book.

CBG: So you're saying there's no editorial edict, you're just following your story.

Johns: Yeah, there's no editorial edict saying “you have to do this or that.” I'm just kinda exploring what I want to explore with The Flash. For me [Flash] being turned into a puppet or being turned fat, those are `60s stories that are the same thing like with Superman, where they did a lot of great Superman stories back in the day involving red kryptonite, and since then they've done kinda modern-day versions of that.

<<snip>>

CBG: Another topic: I guess the Rogues are no longer guilty of murder with the return of Bart? Maybe just attempted murder?

Johns: They're all each guilty of murders multiple times over.

CBG: And they're still going to be a major element of the title?

Johns: Absolutely. For my money, I can't do a Flash book without the Rogues.

CBG: And Flash: Rebirth #1 brought back Mr. Element. Haven't seen him for a while.

Johns: I used him in my Flash run.

CBG: Which name was he using?

Johns: Dr. Alchemy. But I never really got into him and he's a character that might be coming soon.

CBG: Well, with the Philosopher's Stone, he's not exactly a lightweight.

Johns: No. To me, he's always the character that the Rogues were kinda like "We don't want to be anywhere near him".

CBG: Because he's crazy? Or dangerous?

Johns: Yeah, he's psychotic. The Rogues each have their issues, and they're all psychotic in their own way. But they're also sane enough, and lucid enough, to understand camaraderie and loyalty and stuff like that. They have their own code, and that's something Dr. Alchemy....he's just too far gone. The Rogues think they have honorable motivation at times, especially Captain Cold -- he knows he's a criminal, but he has standards. Alchemy doesn't have standards.  He's scary.

CBG: I guess they regard Professor Zoom the same way?

Johns: Professor Zoom -- when's this [interview] come out?

CBG: June.

Johns: I can't really talk about Professor Zoom yet.

CBG: OK. But just in regard to how the Rogues think of him, though, do the Rogues kinda exclude him from the ‘clubhouse’ because he's kinda wacky?

Johns: Absolutely. But he also doesn't want to have anything to do with the Rogues.

CBG: Because he considers himself a hero, he helps heroes grow-- 

Johns: He has his own motivations.

*****************

Geoff Johns

Geoff Johns: I got a Facebook message today from someone who had never read a Superman comic book, even though they work at a comic store, until Superman: Secret Origin #1. And now, for the first time, she is reading a Superman comic and enjoying it. There are so many discussions about accessibility to today's monthly comics and my purpose with both Green Lantern: Secret Origin and Superman: Secret Origin is to introduce them, and in the case of current readers re-introduce them, to these characters. My hope is to continue these, most likely with The Flash: Secret Origin, which would include the beginning of the Rogues as well.

[Something we've never gotten, at least yet.. --Lia]

******************

Scott Kolins

Q: You've done a bit of work with The Flash of late with "Rogues' Revenge" and the upcoming "Blackest Night: The Flash," but are you excited to be back with The Flash on an ongoing basis?

Scott Kolins: Yes, very much. Working with Geoff is always a dream job, but it feels really nice right now to be back in the Flash universe for a while. It's very exciting. I love drawing Flash and the supporting cast. And he's got some of the best villains.

Q: Of The Flash's rogues do you have any favorites to draw and will we be seeing him during your run on the book?

SK: Grodd's always been my favorite and Geoff has planned a special Grodd story for me somewhere along the line. But really, I like them all. I'd love to do another Weather Wizard story. And of course Cold and Zoom are incredible so anytime to draw them is special. Geoff even mentioned another Cicada story he'd like to get to sometime. And there are others I haven't really gotten to, like Computron, or even bring in other aliens, like the Dominators.

*****************

Geoff Johns

CBR: The other project you announced this weekend was "Blackest Night: Flash." When you were developing "Blackest Night" as a maxiseries, was a Flash tie-in series always in the plans?

Geoff Johns: Yes. It's always been part of the project. There's so much you can do with 'Blackest Night' and the Black Lanterns. If we were going to explore other characters, it was going to be Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Flash, JSA and Titans. And so I always knew Flash was going to be a part of it. And I knew Scott was going to do it. We have a lot of dead Rogues and a lot of live Rogues, and Flash has to fight them, so it should be fun.

CBR: You and Scott obviously have a special bond. I mean, you always have a great relationship with the artists you work with, Ethan [Van Sciver] and Ivan [Reis] and Dale [Eaglesham] and Gary [Frank] and all the others, but you and Scott, appear to anyway, to feed off one another. Is it the character of Flash that you both love? Or just similar takes on storytelling? What is it that makes Scott such a perfect fit for you?

Geoff Johns: I think for me and Scott, it goes deeper than that. Scott and I started off together. We started off working on "Stars and S.T.R.I.P.E." So we did issues of "Stars and S.T.R.I.P.E " and then we did "Flash" when nobody else wanted to do it. They said, "You and Scott are following Mark Waid." And it was going to be a disaster. But we did our own take and our own spin and took Flash in a different direction, especially with the Rogues and Keystone and everything else.

With me and Scott, it's almost like a childhood friend. It's a different kind of bond, and I think with the Rogues, and Flash in particular, we're just extremely comfortable together in that universe. We're really happy to be working with those characters and we feel like we helped usher in those characters and again, especially with the Rogues.  We actually first worked together when I first got into comics. So there's just something special about working with Scott.

In "Blackest Night: Flash," it's the Rogues versus the Black Lantern Rogues and Flash is caught in the middle. And Captain Cold will be facing off against Black Lantern Golden Glider. And Scott can do that. Scott can excel at that. There's just something about working with Scott that's just really a lot of fun and kind of magical for me. I love working with Scott Kolins.

CBR: When you were plotting "Blackest Night," were the dead Rogues characters that immediately came top of mind as possible Black Lanterns?

Geoff Johns: Absolutely, because there are so many dead ones. You've got Mirror Master, you've got Trickster, you've got Captain Boomerang, you've got a lot of dead Rogues and a lot of speedsters too.

***************

Geoff Johns and Ethan Van Sciver

Geoff Johns: For a lot of the work, both on the Flash and his villains and surroundings, what we're harkening back to and looking at are the original comics by Carmine Infantino.

Ethan Van Sciver: Oh, and he was a genius! Geoff, I wasn't a big fan of that stuff until you turned me on to it.

GJ: He's a genius.

EVS: Really, you go back and you read those first 25 issues of Barry Allen, and that guy created some of the most original, interesting, compelling-looking characters, and not just The Flash, but all those Rogues were so...

GJ: They're so varied. I love that you've got, like, Abra Kadabra from the 64th Century, you've got Gorilla Grodd and the Gorilla City.

EVS: As good as Spider-Man villains, at least.

Newsarama: Will the Flash Rogues be in The Flash: Rebirth?

EVS: A few of them.

GJ: It can't be a Flash book without his Rogues, in my opinion.

****************

Geoff Johns

Q: Mark Bailie is a long-time fan and was wondering about a plot thread from your previous run on "The Flash."   "At the end of your run on "The Flash" Vol. 2, we see Captain Boomerang dropped into the future during The Flash/Reverse Flash battle, and we also have the re-animated Captain Boomerang telling Ashley Zolomon that Owen's mother is Meloni Thawne; thus making Bart Allen the half-brother of Owen Mercer/Harkness. Has this been touched upon at all, and if not, will this be an eventual topic in your new run on "The Flash?"

GJ: It has not been touched on at all. But yes, that happened.  

Q: Frank W. wanted you to know that he recognized Paul Gambi from "The Flash" #239 on the last page of "The Flash: Rebirth" #5.

GJ: Thanks, I'm glad somebody recognized him. Gambi will be in "The Flash" in 2010. For those of you who don't know Gambi, he's a tailor in Central City. He was the guy who created the Rogues' uniforms, and one thing that I am really proud of that Scott Kolins and I did in "Rogues' Revenge" is the subplot where he gets the hell beat out of him by these fake Rogues and Heatwave confronts one of them and says, "Did Gambi make your uniform? Because he made mine and it can withstand insane temperatures."  

And he burns the other guy's costume right off because Gambi is the guy who makes their uniforms. And though his tastes are a little wacky, you can tell by their uniforms, he builds them to last and to take the kind of beating the Rogues usually take on a daily basis.  The Rogues will be a major force in the new "Flash" book.  

***************

Geoff Johns

Alex Segura: Geoff, first off -- thanks for doing this. The Flash is a special character and it's only fitting that we make his return to monthly comics special here on The Source. Now, being a huge fan of The Flash myself, and Barry Allen in particular, I have a very vivid memory of my first encounter with the character -- what about you? What's your earliest Barry/Flash memory? What made him a cool character for you even then?

Geoff Johns: My first encounter with Barry Allen, outside of comics, was in animation in the Challenge of the Super-Friends cartoon. I guess that's where I also met Captain Cold. Those two characters, the Flash and Captain Cold, became my favorites. (Oh, and does anyone remember how Hal Jordan had that weird tan? I guess because he was from California? :) ) Anyway, those are my very memories, along with the Flash Super Powers figure, but when I finally got into comic books one of my very first comics was CRISIS ON INFINITE EARTHS #8, which featured the death of the Flash. I don't remember the details well, but I do remember I was blown away by the issue. From there, I started buying back issues of the Flash. It was before everything was collected, before eBay, so I really had to hunt those comics down to read the stories. The powers, the Rogues and the uniform were what always drew me in.  

AS: It's often said that you can judge a hero by his villains, and one of the things I remember most about your initial Flash run — and was very thankful for, being a fan of Barry -- was how you not only brought back and polished some of the classic Flash villains -- Captain Cold is a great example -- but also reinvigorated the Rogues with some great, creepy new additions like Murmur and most notably Hunter Zolomon/Zoom. What makes a great villain? What do you look for when you sit down and create one? And, in addition to reuniting Barry with some of his deadliest foes, are we going to see new ones appear in your first year?

GJ: The Flash has arguably the best villains in comics. Batman's are amazing and psychological, but the Flash's are from the far future and super scientific Gorilla Cities. Not to mention the core group of Flash's foes, the Rogues. They were always a massive part of what made the Flash cool to me. He fought all these guys, sometimes at once because he could. When I first worked on the Flash the Rogues hadn't been touched really more than an odd appearance here and there. I knew that they were going to be a huge focus for me and I continued using them in Rogues' Revenge and Blackest Night: The Flash, but now with the new monthly book they'll be playing a bigger and ongoing role in Barry's life. There are some pretty big changes for the Rogues coming up that tie in to the very center of the DC Universe. Barry will be meeting some new villains, one in particular that is going to be the strangest killer he's ever faced. And I think with 64th Century magicians and talking gorillas that's saying a lot.

*****************

Scott Kolins

Q: What can you tell us about the Blackest Night: Flash mini you’re working on with Geoff Johns?

Scott Kolins: That’s it’s gonna be great! Geoff has really moved into high gear with this Blackest Night stuff and he’s got some amazing stuff planned. Both and Wally and Barry will be in the story – and the Rogues! Dead or Alive! How awesome is that?! I’ve been waiting years to draw a book like this! This will be even better than Blitz or Rogue’s Revenge!

Q: Who are some of your favorite characters to draw?

Scott Kolins: I have very few I don’t like to draw. I love super-heroes and monsters and fun stuff and serious stuff. Monsters like Grundy, Bizarro and Grodd are pure delight. Villains Zoom and Cold are great too. I’d love to get to Sinestro or Brainiac. But I’m dying to do a big Wonder Woman story or Shazam! Hawkman or Aquaman! I LOVE Kirby stuff, so Omac, New Gods, or I’d love to do a Mister Miracle & Big Barda book! Or even the Legion of Super-heroes! I love it all. Plus I’d really love a chance to add to some of the mythologies. I wanna create incredible villains for Hawkman or Aquaman!

****************

Scott Kolins

GL SPOTLIGHT: Well first let’s dive into Blackest Night: Flash, the miniseries that reunites the highly praised Flash team of you and writer Geoff Johns. How different were these three issues than your time on Flash previously? Have Geoff's scripts become any more visually demanding than before?

SCOTT KOLINS: Rogues Revenge was only loosely connected to Final Crisis. The Blackest Night Flash series story is tied more to the central plot of Blackest Night. Barry is a pivotal figure on Blackest Night and he's 1/2 the story in Blackest Night Flash. The Rogues 1/2 of this story is a little looser but still connected as they fight some Black Lantern Rogues. Geoff's scripts are about the same - which means great and very much based on the core story being told. In Rogues Revenge was about revenge (Duh!), and here it was more about survival - against undead friends and villains! The only new thing - which is actually very old school is that Geoff was so busy working on all aspects of Blackest Night that he would sometimes call me on the phone and we'd discuss the next page or scene and break it down over the phone. Then I'd rough out the page or pages and email that back to him for his approval. It was actually kinda fun this way and we got the book done on time!

GL Spotlight: It was definitely a fun read. We know that Flash: Rebirth artist Ethan Van Sciver designed many of the Black Lanterns for this event. Were you able to design the Black Lantern outfits for the Rogues, Reverse-Flash, and even Solomon Grundy, yourself?

SCOTT: Yes I did. Design may be a bit too big a credit because they’re all working off the basic Black Lantern design already set up – but I did sketch out Solomon Grundy and Black Lantern Reverse Flash. Grundy’s was a natural as he is already a walking dead creation - just add the triangle and some pants stripes. I played more with Black Lantern Reverse Flash. The five “fingers” on top of the inverted triangle were squared off at first but I showed a pointy version to Geoff which he preferred. Then balance out how much lightning would work with the extra pant Black Lantern lines and he was done. The Black Lanterns are an awesome concept and were tons of fun to draw.

******************

Geoff Johns 

Q: Will Barry face any new villains in his series?

Geoff Johns: You will see new characters in "The Flash" #1.

Q: But he asked about new villains?

Geoff Johns: I will not say anything other than you will see new characters in "The Flash" #1. But they're kinda villains. Kinda.

[He's talking about the Renegades. --Lia]

********************

Geoff Johns

Q: Let’s start with “The Flash.” The first story arc is a lot of fun and Francis [Manapul] is really bringing his ‘A’ game.

Geoff Johns: Francis is a genius. And that’s the tone I wanted to do, very accessible and a lot of fun. That’s what The Flash is all about. I wanted the book to have a lot of heart, a bit like our run with Superboy in “Adventure Comics.” I love writing that book. Coming up, we’ll see a new supporting cast member, a new villain, the return of the Pied Piper, more on Captain Boomerang and, of course, the Flash Family as we race towards “Flashpoint.”

[I'm including this because we did not in fact see Piper in the book. --Lia]

Q: William Schwartz had a question about continuity. He asked that you explain the continuity of Professor Zoom, a.k.a. Reverse Flash, between “Blackest Night,” “Blackest Night: Flash,” “Flash: Rebirth” and “Brightest Day.” He's alive and then imprisoned in “Flash: Rebirth,” which also hints at his soon-to-come resurrection. He's a Black Lantern in “Blackest Night: Flash” but also alive and imprisoned before being frozen by Captain Cold. He's then resurrected at the end of “Blackest Night” and escapes, yet he is still in prison. Is that right?

GJ: You’ll see more with Reverse Flash in “Brightest Day” and then “The Flash.” But he definitely has the timeline right. I mean, if you look at it from our point of view, in a linear timeline, he was resurrected by the Black Ring, brought back to life by the White Lantern, he then time traveled, brings Barry Allen back, gets stopped by Barry Allen and he’s get imprisoned in Iron Heights. I know. [laughs] Does anyone have an aspirin?

********************

Geoff Johns

WILSON: Do you still draw and do you include thumbnails with your scripts for artists?

JOHNS: I do thumbnails when I write my scripts, but I never send them off. It’s just for me really to get a visual sense of how the pages are going to lay out. I make these grids that are divided into six sections that essentially represent six pages and I take a stack of them and staple them together, and it then represents one comic book. From there, I draw it out, very bare bones, just to see what it’ll look like visually flipping through it because you want it to vary anyway. You know, where is it going to open up because there’s a big moment? So I illustrate that way.

I do some design work. I designed Pied Piper’s current costume. I’ve done some other design work here and there. I leave the illustration to the professionals. I just like doing it for fun.

WILSON: With such an avid love of comics and putting so much of yourself and your time into producing them, what is the most important thing you would like readers to take away from your body of work?

JOHNS: Well, I hope a positive message. I think superheroes are positive and have positive messages. I’ve never thought about it in that way, but people are going to take what they’re going to take; I hope it’s something they can apply to their life. You meet a lot of people who are inspired by heroes to be better people or to live a certain way. I hope they love the heroes. I do it because I loved Captain Cold. Great character, but crazy, so why do I love him? He’s this blue-collar, down-and-out super-thug, but he has a weird moral code and he has a heart deep down in there despite the cold exterior. He has a heart that is beating and I explored that in an issue with Scott Kolins in The Flash #182, which is one of my favorite issues I’ve ever written. Scott did a great job on it and I got to explore Captain Cold.  People are always asking Scott at conventions for sketches of Captain Cold, and I still get to work with the character and I think he resonates for people. I hope they take away a growing love and appreciation for these characters and what they represent, but what they take away is going to be up to the audience.

******************

Scott Kolins

Q: Well the big thing to talk about is Citizen Cold. That’s a three issue mini-series?

Scott Kolins: Three issues that are self-contained but are part of the whole Flashpoint hoopla this summer.

Q: I know it has already been hinted in the books that are out that Cold may not be the hero that everyone thinks he is. Can you hint a little more about what to expect?

SK: You’ll find out in the first issue (out this week!!) that even Iron Heights that was the prison for the Flash villains before had an area called the Pipeline. It was a special place for all Flash’s super villains. Now it’s the special place for all of Citizen Cold’s villains and they call it the Freezer. And you’ll see a bunch of the Rogues are in there and you’ll see they’ve all suffered for the fact that Citizen Cold is now the hero.

He’s not a nice guy who puts them in prison. They’re all hurt pretty bad for tangling with him and being villains in his city. One of the fun bits is that you’ll actually see that the Rogues form because of Citizen Cold. That’s part of the plot of the story is that they really aren’t happy with him at all.

Q: Since this is an alternate reality story or a kind of reboot did you think about tweaking Captain Cold’s costume or did you know you wanted to keep it the same?

SK: No, that was definitely part of the process. Should I tweak stuff, how much should I tweak stuff? I did do some changes to Trickster; his pants and even his color scheme. I added some red to it, where before it was mostly yellow and blue. I got to do something that Geoff Johns laughed about; I gave Weather Wizard that goatee. It’s a reference to when we had originally changed his costume in the Flash books years ago and made his pattern green with yellow stripes on it. At that time when I did sketches for him to show DC what we wanted to do I had given him facial hair; at that point it was a handle bar mustache. Geoff was like, “This looks great...lose the handlebar mustache.” So this time when he saw the goatee he was like, “All right, fine. You finally get to put it on him.” I also think he looks more like a wizard this way. Stuff like this is mostly just fun for me, but they can either use it later if they think it’s cool or we can just use it for this one time thing.

Q: You mentioned the Trickster, is it going to be Jesse or Axel?

SK: No, it’s still Axel the kid. I know everyone likes James Jesse and I do too. That was one of the fun, personal things I got to add to the Flash universe. When we were working on the Rogues, James Jesse was already set up as an FBI agent. So he was definitely in the good guy camp, so we couldn’t use him as a Rogue. So I suggested what if we made Trickster like an evil Robin. Wouldn’t it be cool to have a kid with all those tricks, toys, and everything? Geoff thought it was an awesome idea, so we went with it from there. So when ever we can use him, I push him because he was my idea.

Q: The surprise to me when the new Trickster came out was you had a full grown Flash socking a teenager and no one objected, “Hey you’re hitting a kid!” Obviously he was a villain, but you never saw a reaction to that.

SK: That is an issue that we’ve kind of side-stepped. It is something I wanted to get into with Citizen Cold, but I don’t think I’m going to get into that one since I have so much going on with Cold himself. In my mind even though he looks young, but he might be on the cusp of 18. At least 16, so in some areas he’d be tried as an adult.

[More details on Axel’s age. --Lia]

Q: You probably can’t say what it is, but do you have your next book lined up?

SK: Yeah, I do have my next assignmnt lined up. It’s nothing I can talk about at this time. But I will be doing more writing and drawing. They’re very happy with that, Geoff was extremely happy with how Citizen Cold has come about and fit into the whole Flashpoint package. DC has been too. They’re like, you’ve really come a long with Grundy and everything else you’ve been doing and they are really cool with it.

Q: Any new Rogues popping up in Citizen Cold or just the established ones?

SK: Mostly just the established. There are some changes for them. Not even just Weather Wizard’s goatee. I don’t want to spoil the real cool one. But one of the favorites of the bunch that I changed, it’s just the context of the story they are stuck in. There are hints on the cover as to how it is different for one of the Rogues. It’s big time different, but no new Rogues.

*****************

From Geoff Johns’ AMA on Reddit

Q: Why do you love Captain Cold so much?

Geoff Johns: I love Captain Cold because he doesn't want to rule the world or kill people. He's just some dude who stole a cold-gun and is trying to get by in this crazy, insane super-powered world.

*******************

Geoff Johns introduces some of the Rogues for new readers

Leonard Snart was a career criminal who would pull heists and often work with a crew, until one day this blur, this speedster, shows up and suddenly he has to contend with this brand new thing called a super hero who’s stopping criminals like him from doing what they do. In order to continue, Snart has to up his game. He’s not a scientist. He’s not a doctor. He’s a career criminal. So he steals a cold gun that’s capable of slowing things down to absolute zero.

The thing that makes Snart so interesting to me is that cold is actually the opposite of speed. We talk about this a bit in the [Captain Cold] episode. Speed is defined by how fast things are moving. Temperature is also defined by the same thing—how fast things are moving at the atomic level. The faster they’re moving, the warmer something is. When things stop moving at the atomic level, the lower temperature it has. It’s called absolute zero when there’s absolutely no movement at all.

That I found very fascinating. Temperature and speed—it was all connected. Cold was essentially the opposite of Barry Allen in every way. He was a normal person who had to equip himself to become more than he was.

The character doesn’t want to rule the world. He doesn’t necessarily want to kill the Flash because, at the end of the day, the Flash is celebrated by everybody, and killing him would bring a lot of heat. Also, he’s not a killer. He just wants to pull his jobs and continue doing what he’s doing, and in order to work in a city that’s protected by a super hero, he has to become something more than he is. Until finally, working alone isn’t enough and he has to gather with others that are in the same situation. Like Heat Wave, a pyromaniac who Snart’s worked with before.

Everyone knows that Mick Rory, AKA Heat Wave, has a problem. His love for fire and the arsonist that he is will often divert him away from the mission at hand. But Cold is able to wrangle that pyromaniac. He gives him a heat gun and basically gives him a gimmick. He tells him that if he holds on to the gimmick, he’s not going to be sick anymore. He’ll fit in and belong.

He does that with each one of the Rogues. When he brings in Axel Walker, the Trickster, he’s a kid who’s out of control. He doesn’t have any focus, and Cold brings him focus. Same with someone like Mark Mardon, the Weather Wizard, who’s obsessed by guilt because of the way he got the weather wand. His brother’s death is really a big part of who he is.

It goes on and on with all the Rogues and we’ve talked about a lot of these characters and bringing them onto the show. They work for The Flash because only someone like the Flash could take on five guys at once.  What Greg Berlanti, Andrew Kreisberg and I are trying to do is slowly bring in these wonderful villains, and really they become characters all their own. They have their own stories. They’re more than just villains-of-the-week characters. They’re a part of this world. They live in this world, and we’ll be seeing them again and again.