Um I wrote a fic featuring Fenrir (Rins's chara) and Firian (my chara)
When he sees him for the first time, Firian is really not sure what to think. He's the strangest man he's ever laid eyes on in his whole twenty-eight years of existence.
'This guy is crazy,' he decides, but laughs all the while, and accepts him home.
He hasn't laughed quite this hard in a long time. Not since his wife died nearly a decade ago.
"R-Rabbit? Really?!" He stutters out through another wave of uncontrollable chuckles, and it's probably contagious because his 9 year old son starting to smile through his tears.
"Father, it’s completely gross! Put him back where you found him; I don’t want him! He’s an awful nanny!" Echo protests passionately, hiccupping through his sobs and wavering half-smile. The man who's holding his son is the man he'd picked up just a week ago. He goes by the name Fenrir and claims to be a teenager, but looks nothing like one.
"…It is quite gross," Firian decides in morbid amusement, once he's caught his breath enough to speak coherently. There's blood everywhere and a mangled rabbit carcass on the floor, because Fenrir apparently “went out hunting” and brought back dinner in the form of a very live wild rabbit.
His laughter that he’d thought subsided starts up again at the very thought, and his odd amusement with the whole situation is rewarded with the sound of Fenrir’s rich, deep chuckles in chorus with his own.
It's becoming increasingly difficult not to be taken in by this man.
He's consciously trying not to, too, with the constant way that Fenrir would try to slip into bed with him, set a “sexy” mood, or flash him bedroom eyes that the taller man was way too good at.
Actually, the fact that his wife had passed away wasn’t the biggest reason that he was reluctant to sleep with Fenrir, though it was one of them. Actually, he didn’t really have a huge reason not to, but there were in fact several reasons he wanted to keep his relationship with the taller man chaste.
Firstly, upon their first meeting, Fenrir said he was sixteen. Now, Firian was many things, but he was not a pedophile.
Secondly, Fenrir was kind-of-not-really-maybe similar to a second son to him. After all, he’d taken the other man in, clothed him, fed him, and gave him shelter. In other words, he practically adopted him. Even if Fenrir didn’t behave much like a son.
Thirdly, his aforementioned late wife. He loved her like a sister, a best friend, and a lover, and had been devastated by the loss, but after almost a decade, he decided that it was all right to perhaps love someone again. She would’ve wanted it, just like he would’ve wanted her to be happy if he had been the one lost to accident and fate. Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t hesitant about opening his heart again. This was tough business!
In any case, he’s trying his best, but his best may not be enough.
He's looking at himself in the mirror and thinking, ‘What the hell am I doing, screwing a juvenile?’
Except Fenrir looks, talks, and acts nothing like the sixteen year old he claims to be.Nothing.
He's 28 and 5'6'', a height he's honestly pretty proud to be. Fenrir is well over 6'4'', easy, and has the body of a Greek god.
He puts a hand to his face and sighs deeply, unable to look at the dark hickeys marring his own neck. What the hell was wrong with him?
…What is he, fifteen with his first crush? He's acting kind of ridiculous now. He's the younger of the two, despite how he thinks of himself as an old man. Twenty-eight is only a paltry blip in the timeline of Fenrir's immortal life. He is the baby when it comes down to the both of them.
But when it comes to his new family of Echo and Fenrir, his little son who is reallysupposed to be a baby, is the most responsible of them all. It makes him want to laugh and cry at the same time, because the little white-blonde had never known and will never know his mother. After all, his wife had given her life to bring Echo into this world.
Ironically, in terms of mannerism, Echo is the spitting image of her.
It's kind of wrong, he muses, but kind of right.
Their relationship, that is.
It's really ridiculous the way Fenrir can be so cute sometimes, and devilishly handsome the other. It keeps his detective's mind spinning, and he doesn't want to admit that he likes it. A lot.
It's also really nice, the way he smiles. It's cute, even when the childish smile melds into a seductive smirk and the chaste kisses turn hungry and passionate, and then he knows for sure he'll bruise in the morning.
He finds that it doesn't really matter, because he craves the contact too.
"Take me to Asgard one day." He demands for the fifth time that week, and as usual Fenrir replies with that cheeky grin he's so drawn to and says, again, "Only when ya fall in love with me."
Firian makes a face. “You’re not saying ‘if’? ‘When’?” He repeats, unable to help the blossoming smile on his lips. “Since when are you so confident, Fenny?”
Fenrir just smirks, blinking those apple red eyes and looking like he owns the world.
“When ya fall in love with me, Inspector. So hurry it up.”
Firian immediately starts laughing. This cocky rascal!
'Well, too late.' He wants to say, but only laughs some more and punches Fenrir in the arm. 'You've got me.'
He looks supremely uncomfortable, and for Fenrir to look like that was actually quite rare. Firian stifled a laugh in his collar and smiled blithely.
"What's up, Fenny?" He asks casually, trying not to let on how curious he actually is. Anything that can ruffle Fenrir's figurative feathers is something big, because the taller man is usually so confident and boisterous that seeing him almost shy is almost impossible in itself.
"I'll take ya to Asgard if ya live with me." He says finally, and is that a pink tint to his cheeks? Firian resists the urge to start laughing outright, and instead allows his smile to become a little wider. He can’t help but tease the silver-haired man a little more.
"We're already living together, silly." He chuckles, and watches with growing delight how Fenrir's cheeks tint a darker shade of pink. A rare sight indeed.
"I meant forever." The taller man says gruffly, averting his gaze and stuffing his hands into his pockets. Firian feels something melt inside him at the sight.
"Is this a proposal?" He teases again, unable to help it. At Fenrir's hesitant nod, he grins broadly and closes the distance between them with a tight hug.
He’s delighted when Fenrir automatically embraces him back, and he feels like it wouldn’t be so bad to always be in these arms.
"Forever is debatable." He smiles, pecks him chastely on the cheek, and leaves it at that.
Even after five years, he still doesn't really know how to say it. Sounds easy to confess, doesn't it? But whenever he opened his mouth with every intention to spill his emotional guts, Echo rushes in and the moment is broken, something equally drastic requires his immediate attention, or he just finds his tongue tied in figurative knots.
More often than not, it seems that fate always has a hand in screwing things up. But he laughs anyway, because he has a lot of chances to say it, right? Those three, special words that every lover wants to hear.
But the fact remains that he doesn't know how to say it at all, so he just folds at the waist and plants a wet one on Fenrir's forehead, laughing at the taller man's expression.
One day, he'll tell him properly.
"See you later," He says cheerily, pinching the silver-haired man's cheek once before winking and sticking his tongue out childishly. "Echo and I will be waiting for you, so don't take too long. I can't eat all this food!" He joked, shooing the taller man away with his hands. He doesn’t want Fenrir to go, and he knows Fenrir doesn’t want to leave, but the taller man has responsibilities as a god and really, who is he to hold him back?
But he actually doesn't really know if he'll get to see him again. Despite his cheerful words, his smile is sad and doesn’t reach his eyes.
He's away for long periods of time, and Echo's starting to revert back to his shell now that Fenrir is gone. It worries him a lot, because Echo is still young and all alone, all the time. He doesn’t have free time any more; work is eating all his free time. He’s got the most important assignment of the decade and he couldn’t screw it up.
On the few days he’s allowed to sleep, he turns over in his own bed and curls into himself. He’s all too conscious of the fact that his bed is too big for one person, and finds himself missing Fenrir terribly.
He rolls over and presses his face into Fenrir’s pillow. There’s a faint vestige of that familiar scent and an equally familiar twinge in his heart, before he parts his lips and mouths two words into the pillow.
But it’s a little late to say that now.
It’s been a year now, and he’s so ridiculously close to solving this case. He’s out of the house at the break of dawn and back after midnight. He sees Echo rarely, if at all, and constantly makes promises he tries to but can’t keep.
It’s hard on him, but he can’t think of Fenrir anymore. There’s just no time.
He’d been tricked. All that physically and mentally grueling assignment had been was an elaborate ruse to get him captured and subsequently tortured.
He's lying on the cold stone floor, battered and bloody. The lacerations all over his body are deep and he knows he won't be able to survive this time around, no matter how desperately he tries to keep himself from slipping away. What about Echo? He thinks to himself, willing inspiration into his exhausted body. What about Fenrir? His two boys…They're hopeless without him.
His son is too responsible, too lonely, and won't admit it. The small white-blonde doesn't know how to have fun. Will someone teach him when he's gone? Fenrir's strong, Fenrir's fun. Fenrir always puts a smile on his face, so he'll do the same for Echo, right? He closes his now useless eyes and smiles bitterly. Fenrir’s gone, didn’t he know that?
He wants to be a family again. With Echo and Fenrir, he wants to be a family again.
He presses a hand to the gaping wound on his midsection and struggles to inhale, struggles for life. He doesn't really have the energy to breathe anymore.
Fenny, what do I do? I'm dying.
He suddenly wishes his parting words hadn't been a mere "see you later." There is a lot more he’d wanted to say, like "Hey, I kind of love you, maybe," or perhaps even a juvenile, "Fenny, I'd like to be more than friends," but the chance slips through his fingers like the last breath he exhales through cold lips.
He's lying there, exhausted but not quite sleepy, and counting the seconds until his life drains away.
