Only participating bc I was literally working on it when tagged. I’ll also tag @opal-apparition because I know she’s got 8000 wips. Maybe even involving cats.
Gwynneth carves herself a hand stamp for her medical logs so she doesn’t keep having to draw hands to document her anchor shenanigans/healing progress. Also she doesn’t trust that fuckin shem doctor the inquisitions got.
Chapters: 1/?
Fandom: The Owl House (Cartoon)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Amity Blight/Luz Noceda
Characters: Amity Blight, Luz Noceda, Gus Porter, Willow Park, Vee (The Owl House), Camila Noceda, Philip Wittebane | Emperor Belos, The Collector (The Owl House)
Additional Tags: Diary/Journal, Trapped in the Human Realm, Post-Episode: s02e21 King's Tide (The Owl House), POV First Person, POV Second Person
Series: Part 3 of Of Blood and Circumstance
Summary:
After ending up trapped in the human realm, Amity Blight starts a journal to catalogue the weird and wonderful oddities of her girlfriend's home.
A collection of musings, missing scenes, worldbuilding, and character moments which take place between King's Tide and Thanks to Them.
Title comes from a song by the band Elbow.
Hi there. I wrote a new fic. First chapter of who knows how many. Hope you all enjoy!
We finally have enough to support the kids and for us to live on while we travel.
I can't believe it! It's really gonna happen!
If I start crying now I don't know if it's because I'm tired or happy but it's not like it matters.
Just a few more days. A few more days, and they'll be home.
I want them here NOW, but we need to wait.
I still want to strangle Valdimar for being right, but…
He's right. It's really annoying, but he's right, and we need to do this properly.
Speaking of doing things properly, I should start with this morning.
We got up, had breakfast, then went to the market to sell off our loot from Japhet's Folly. We made a hefty sack of septims, and while I didn't do any counting, I know Lydia was.
After we sold the goods, we headed to the East Empire Company office. We saw Sophie in her usual spot by the big brazier next to the gate to the docks, across from the big statue of Talos.
By the Nine, it was… Well, I'd say it was heartbreaking, but it wasn't any different than usual, really. She was standing by the fire, shivering in the icy wind. I almost told her to come with us right then and there, but I think Lydia sensed it. She put her hand on my shoulder and just… Gave me a Look.
It wasn't a stern one. Anyone else would think that, but I've gotten pretty good at reading her face, even when it's covered by her helm.
So, I gave Sophie double the coins for her "especially pretty flowers" that will "make fine potions" and we went through the door to the docks.
As soon as we were down the first flight of steps, Lydia turned, grabbed my shoulders, and said we had more than enough!
Erandur put his hand over his heart and asked if she was sure, and she said yes, she was!
I was too stunned to move or even speak, but Erandur was so excited he actually hugged Lydia and said, "Mara be praised!"
I don't think I've ever seen Lydia look so surprised. I couldn't help but laugh, and that got my feet moving again. Erandur and I both turned to go back up the steps but Valdimar cut in front of us and blocked our way.
He said we can't! Not yet.
I asked why not, and he looked grim as he said, "Mzulft."
We asked what that had to do with it, and Valdimar told us he'd been doing more research about the place. He said it's one of the most dangerous ruins out there. Lots of people go in, but most of them never come out.
If we adopted them now, they could end up back on the street in a month!
I pointed out that we could die any time. We've fought dragons, power-mad necromancers, and entire Daedric cults! It's sheer luck that we're alive!
Erandur sounded hurt (I couldn't see his face in his hood) and asked him if he was so afraid of us orphaning the kids again, then what was the point? Why work so hard for them if we were just going to leave them in the cold?
I admit, we were almost shouting at him, but he just held his hands up and waited for us to calm down before he kept going.
Valdimar said he knew that dying was always a possibility. That wasn't what he was afraid of. What he was afraid of was what would happen to them after we did. He said he didn't feel comfortable adopting them until we had the details worked out. Not just a plan, but papers drawn up and everything, first.
Erandur said no, we could adopt them NOW. We could march up those stairs, get Sofie, get on the ferry to Dawnstar, get Alesan, then go to Solitude! There was nothing stopping us from taking care of everything once we got back.
Valdimar said he wanted nothing more than to do exactly that, but he couldn't ignore the feeling in his gut that we needed to be ready, first.
Lydia was quiet, but piped up to say that we were. We had the money; it would be fine.
Erandur was getting more worked up, and said she was right. We had the money, so we can just go and get things settled after we get them. He said everything would work out, we just had to do it.
Erandur tried to go past Valdimar, up the stairs, but he blocked him. Erandur started to ask him, very firmly, to move out of the way, and Valdimar refused. They went back and forth a few times, but the more frustrated Erandur got, the more I started to see Valdimar's point.
They started to argue, Lydia was trying to get them to shut up and Septim started to bark. It was getting to be too much for me, so I had to use my Voice to get everyone quiet.
"Valdimar's right!" I said.
As much as I hated to admit it, and I said as much, he was right.
Erandur looked like I'd just slapped him, but he didn't understand. Not then. He does now.
I said what those kids need, more than anything, is stability. It's a long ferry ride. They're going to have questions, and we'll need to have answers for them. They need to KNOW they'll be okay. Not just "I'll be fine because I've got a place to sleep" but "I'll ALWAYS have a place to sleep."
Erandur said that they will, we'll make sure of it once we get there, but I said no, we had to wait.
He asked me why it made a difference, and I just… I started crying, and I told them what it was like for me.
Divines, I might start again, but I need to get this down. I felt lighter after I told them. Maybe putting it in here means I can finally set it down for good.
I told them how I NEVER had that. I never knew if my friends would be there when I got back from wandering around the city. Maybe I'd be the one to get adopted. Hells, sometimes kids would go out to play and just never come back.
I said that every time people came into the orphanage, we'd hold our breath, just as nervous as we were hopeful. Who would they pick? Would they just come in, look, and leave? Children would be pulled aside for interviews. I was, many times. No one ever picked me because I knew magic. Sometimes we'd be lined up and looked over like livestock. They'd check our teeth and our feet, and want to know what skills we had. They were looking for servants or apprentices to train; not a child to love.
I lived every day not knowing if I'd ever see my friends again.
I saw what happened to a boy who was adopted, then came back. There was a terrible fire in that part of the city not a week after he left us. He was never the same after that.
I said I didn't want that to happen to them. Valdimar was right. They deserve to know they'll be safe.
Erandur had got down on one knee in front of me and put his hands on my shoulders so he could see my face in my hood. He tried to tell me that they would be safe. That we'll get it all worked out.
I said no. I said I'd have no problem lying to a god, but I couldn't look those kids in the eye and tell them "Don't worry about it," because I know they will, and if we go off and die, they'll think it was their fault. That they did something wrong to deserve it, or that they're not worthy of happiness, or because there's something wrong with them.
That no one would ever want to love them.
Erandur said he understood. He was an orphan, too.
What I said next was a low blow, but I was right, and I don't regret saying it.
I said we might both be orphans, but he had what I never did, even in a Daedric cult! He had a bed to sleep in and adults that really looked after him. Yeah, they used him, they brainwashed him, but they taught him and kept him safe; they cared about him.
Even if it was twisted, he was wanted. He was loved.
Divines, I never want to see that much hurt on his face ever again. He just stared at me and I know he knew I was right. He started to tear up and I couldn't stand it any more and pulled him in for a hug. I apologized, but he said no, I was right. He was being selfish; the children deserve better than what we had.
He apologized to Valdimar, too, and said, "It seems I still have a lot to learn about love."
Well, after that talk, getting shortchanged by the East Empire Company was the least of our concerns.
1,500 septims.
We went to a cursed island, fought a battlemage they literally couldn't pay anyone else enough to go up against, almost got blown up, then healed their mercenaries on the return trip, and for what?
1,500 septims.
I need to start getting numbers before we agree to things. We made more selling off JUST Haldyn's armor, not to mention all the other stuff we grabbed.
I'm glad we negotiated for that, at least.
Anyway, we got on the ferry, and set off for Solitude.
We made plans about what we'd say to Falk on the way, and Gort, the ferryman, was naturally curious about it. He was glad to hear we were adopting Sofie; he said she was a sweet kid, and if he didn't have four of his own, he and his wife would've taken her in already.
The sea was like glass once we got away from Windhelm, so once we were done talking, we were able to rest.
I'm glad we did. The first thing we saw when we got into the city was a fight between the guards and four vampires, five thralls, and two death hounds!
I know! Right as we got to the top of the staircase! We jumped right in to help, but it was a bit of a fight. There was a lot of running around and chasing them down, but we eventually got them all.
Erandur's paranoid about Vampirism, as usual. I know I didn't get near any of them, and as far as he can tell, all of us and the guards involved are fine.
We'll go to the Temple for a blessing tomorrow, just to be on the safe side.
After that, we'll visit the Blue Palace, and speak with Falk.
I should get to bed. It's past midnight, but I'm almost too excited to sleep!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Epilogue
Elio’s joints protest a long night of broken sleep as he leans his bike against the gnarled trunk of a stunted palm. The gold-spill of dawn kisses the hills to the east - its low, blanketing mist shrouding the dew-covered wildflowers - and dragging a hand from nape to crown he spares an ear to the dulcet birdsong twittering in the foliage above.
He’d just completed his third read-through of the journal when he’d decided to get some rest - a concept easier said than done when switching off his bedside lampada proved a damn sight more successful than switching off his brain, and staring up at the shadows crossing his ceiling, Elio’d listened to the familiar creaks of the villa settling around him.
Polpetta’s whistley snores.
The wind rattling the right hand shutter he’s been meaning to fix since the April gales.
Eventually, he’d reached for the iPod he’d treated himself to last Christmas, but even his more soporific playlists failed to curb the words bouncing around his head.
My name is Logan Brentford, my therapist gifted me with this journal as a "coping mechanism." Though I do not believe her I have learned it's easier to comply with the adults. I have recently been relocated to a new foster home. My last one found my lacking emotional development as "too challenging." Though I do not prefer sudden change of scenery, I would gladly take any chance to spend an extended period of time without addressing emotions.
As I understand it there are presently 4 other children in the home. We are governed by three adults, they insist on us using their first names. But the most underdeveloped of us, I believe he was refered to as "Payton," insists upon referring to them as parental figures.
I currently am staying in a room with Roman, he seems nice enough, but I know his type. I do not intend negativity but I've learned my lesson.
Something odd has occurred, it sounds like someone is walking around in the attic. It must be the old ventilation system, it seemed to have occured simultaneously with the start up of it. Anyway It's lights off now and I'm not going to be disobedient on the first night.
A big thank you to @askcarlyle for letting me steal— er, borrow a little journal entry! The journal entry is entirely their doing, but the rest is written by yours truly.
Phillip may want to do a better job of locking his stories up next time. Pretty sure I saw some clone pining in there. Smh.
...Have fun.
——
Phineas didn’t mean to snoop. He had meant to clean — a rarity that usually only occurred after Phillip nagged his ear off. Phillip would sigh and, with a roll of his eyes, claim that Phineas’s two little daughters, neither of them yet of double digit age, tidied up better than he did. And complained less about it, too.
But Phillip was away, dragged off to some gala by his parents in an attempt to “return him to the upper class.” He probably wouldn’t be back until the next day — he usually came back early from such events after bickering with his parents, but this particular gathering was hosted by a family across the state, and if Phillip wanted to leave early he would have to find a hotel to stay overnight. He wouldn’t be back until evening tomorrow, or late afternoon if he set off early enough.
So, because Phillip was away and no doubt having a miserable time, Phineas decided he would surprise him by cleaning the whole house — or, most of it. He could probably stand to skip a few rooms that Phillip didn’t go into. He knew that his “cleanliness standards” weren’t quite as on par with Phillip’s, but he hoped that Phillip would be so surprised and overjoyed by the simple fact that Phineas had cleaned that he would be willing to overlook a few forgotten specks of dust.
But when Phineas decided to clean the whole
(most of the)
(half of the)
house, he did not expect to find himself wrist-deep in some secret compartment in Phillip’s room.
All right, so the bedroom wasn’t exactly Phillip’s. Technically, it was a guest bedroom and the two slept together in Phineas’s master suite. But Phillip would duck into this second bedroom whenever Phineas’s girls spent the night and Phillip thought it best to sleep in separate beds. And, despite only being used on occasional weekends and holidays, the room had little traces of Phillip all over it — one of his combs on the dresser, a jacket and tie slung over the bed frame, and a pair of his socks in the corner, left forgotten as he packed for his overnight visit.
These little traces of untidiness made Phineas’s lip twitch into a smirk. He chuckled as he picked up the bundled pair of socks and tossed them in the hallway to join his own pile of dirty clothing. He would take them downstairs to be washed upon making his way to the ground floor.
He was on his hands and knees, attempting to sweep dust out from underneath the bed (how did Phillip do this?) when his thumb caught on something and he cursed, yanking his hand back. A small drop of blood was already rising against his skin, and he cursed again under his breath as he stuck his thumb in his mouth. Once satisfied that the bleeding had stopped, he carefully poked his head under the bed once more to see what had nicked him.
A nail stuck up from an uneven floorboard and, curiosity getting the best of him, Phineas quickly realized the floorboard was loose. Lifting the wooden plank took no effort at all, and Phineas found himself wrist deep in a secret compartment he was unaware of in his own home.
The hole was small, but surprisingly deep, and Phineas’s fingers brushed against... something.
The man’s heart leapt in his throat until he realized that the questionable object was not furry. Not a rat, then. He let out a silent sigh of relief as he curled his fingers around the object and lifted it out from underneath the bed.
A journal.
The book was bound in brown leather, not yet dulled by the elements of time. The pages looked crisp and white, though many appeared creased and dog-eared, as if somebody had gone back and visited certain pages a number of times before.
Curiosity getting the better of him, Phineas flipped to a random page — one, he noted, that was dog-eared. It was dated three weeks ago and he immediately recognized the familiar cursive lettering, written by only Phillip’s neat hand.
Phineas began to read.
"I had the dream again last night. It's been months since the last time, but I hesitate to mention it to Phineas since he always looks vaguely unsettled whenever he hears the word "pirate.” The start is always the same -- I am in a ship's cabin, curled up on the bunk. Some interminable time later, hinges creak as an imposing figure fills the doorway, face hidden in dark shadows, the crimson late afternoon sunlight against his back. With the sort of expository omniscience that only works in dreams, I know that he is my captain and that what is to follow has played out many times before. That does not in way diminish the anticipation, however.
He sheds his claret velvet coat first, then the ornately embroidered black waistcoat is shrugged off broad shoulders to reveal the ivory silk shirt underneath. The fabric is thin and clings to his strongly muscled arms and chest, drawstrings already pulled loose so that the deep v reveals just a glimpse of rippling abdomen. His skin glints golden in the light of the setting sun, his head is crowned wih chestnut waves limned in halcyon glory.
Time speeds up again and he has reached the bed, his movements lithe and the glint in his amber eyes almost predatory. It's a gaze that leaves me unable to resist, rendered immobile by its warm, beckoning depths. He is on me in another moment and his lips taste of sea spray and rum. He reaches down...."
When he stopped reading, Phineas realized his face was red and hot. He swallowed, throat dry, Phillip’s face flashing in his mind.
Though the incident with the pirates had been a long while ago, the memory was still fresh in Phineas’s mind. He never would have guessed that the ship, the men that had beaten and shot at them, would have had this effect on Phillip. He tried to think back, try to recall any night that Phillip had acted out of sorts after waking or going to bed.
Phineas still sat on the ground and he shifted, realizing that his trousers had gotten uncomfortably tight. The journal still laid open in his lap and his gaze trailed down, scanning the lettering once more.
He is on me in another moment.
Slowly, his shock faded and a smirk curled at Phineas’s lip. He grunted, shifting his weight, hand falling into his lap. Circling a thumb over his rising erection, Phineas thought of Phillip once more and snickered.
Well, he thought, standing to go and properly relieve himself, if it was a show Phillip wanted, it was a show Phillip would get.
***
The sun was just beginning to set, painting the sky a sea of oranges and reds, when the sound of hoofbeats along the dirt road announced Phillip’s return the next evening. He was positively exhausted, physically and emotionally, after another unsuccessful attempt to get along with his parents, and he’d barely slept the night before, in an unfamiliar hotel room with no Phineas to curl into.
Vaguely, he registered that Phineas hadn’t come out to greet him, but his mind was too tired and foggy to care. He briefly debated leaving his luggage outside and dealing with it in the morning, but he shook his head, feeling ridiculous — it was only one bag.
Inside the mansion, the rooms were dark and empty. It looked like Phineas wasn’t home at all and at this Phillip became more attentive. Of course, he had no way of letting Phineas know the exact minute he’d be home, but... where was he?
Slightly dejected at having nobody to greet him coming home, Phillip sighed and took his singular suitcase upstairs. He threw it in the spare bedroom, deciding to unpack later, and went down the hall to the bedroom he shared with Phineas. Even without the ringmaster here, at least he’d be able to fall asleep in the comfort of their own sheets.
Time passed in a blur as Phillip stripped, removing his jacket and his belt and his shoes, the rest of his clothing following suit, and slipped into one of Phineas’s nightshirts. He relaxed at once with the familiarity of Phineas’s scent wrapping around him like an embrace, and sank into the large bed, pulling the sheets up to his chin.
He thought he was dreaming when the door creaked open, a figure stood at the doorway. Inwardly, Phillip’s heart leapt in his throat.
The dream. It was happening again.
But this time Phillip was... aware.
The light from a setting sun set his hair aglow with orangey-red. Phillip’s breath caught in his throat as the man — the captain — stepped closer. The outfit he wore was familiar, Phillip having seen it in his dreams a number of times before. Neither of them spoke as Phineas shed his velvet coat first, and then the waistcoat, revealing the fine ivory shirt that was as familiar as any of Phillip’s own clothing. Phillip had this dream more than enough times before and could recite each scene as it unfolded, like a bedtime prayer.
But, a voice whispered at the back of Phillip’s mind. Despite the near-perfect recreation of the dream from nights past, something was... off.
Beyond the sound of Phillip’s own heart thudding in his ears, he vaguely registered that he could feel no sway of the ship from the waves underneath his bed. He could not smell the saltiness of ocean water in air, and the timing was off. It was early or mid-evening, not late afternoon as before.
And then—
“Phillip,” the man before him whispered.
Alarm bells exploded in Phillip’s head.
The captain never spoke upon first entering his room. During or afterward, sure — but never before.
Phillip’s eyes rose to meet Phineas’s. He saw the playful gleam behind the seduction, saw the way the man’s lip curled into a smirk as Phillip looked at him just a little too long.
“Phineas!” he gasped, incredulous.
This was no dream.
Phillip crawled out from underneath the covers. Phineas’s nightshirt bunching up around his thighs as he sat on his knees and stared up at the... captain. Phineas didn’t bother to hide his pleasure as his eyes roamed over Phillip’s body, and he hummed in delight.
“Is that my nightshirt?” he chuckled.
“Phineas, how did you—“
The words died in Phillip’s throat as his eyes widened and his face drained of color. Horrified, his gaze flicked up to Phineas’s face.
“You didn’t!” he exclaimed.
“Hmmm?” Phineas tried to play innocent, but that damned smirk gave him away.
“Oh, no,” Phillip moaned.
Phineas chuckled again. “In my defense, I truly did not mean to stumble across your little... stories. I was cleaning, and—“
“You were cleaning?” Phillip gasped.
Phineas scowled. “Couldn’t you tell?”
Phillip was silent. His face still flamed red hot and he covered his eyes.
God. He couldn’t believe Phineas found his journal. That Phineas read it. He wondered just how much the man had seen...
A hand on his chest pushed him back on the bed and Phineas was on him, kissing his lips, kissing his neck. It took a moment for Phillip, stunned, to respond, but then he whimpered, overtaken by Phineas’s scent and hands and lips. Distantly, he smelt rum and sea foam — he wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him or if Phineas had gone those extra steps to be “in character.”
Another gasp escaped Phillip’s lips as Phineas reached down, and suddenly the younger man became aware of just how vulnerable he was. He laid in their bed — though, at the moment it felt very much like a ship’s bunk — in nothing but one of Phineas’s own nightshirts that left much of his hot, gleaming skin exposed. Phineas was still mostly clothed, save for the velvet coat and waistcoat that laid discarded somewhere on the floor. Muscles rippled underneath the thin, ivory shirt Phineas still wore, and Phillip ached to trace every inch of the captain’s skin like a map of stars.
Phineas’s hand crept up the inside of Phillip’s bare thigh, toying along the soft skin. He snickered. “Look at you. Legs spread open like a whore.”
As Phineas’s hand closed around his hardening cock, Phillip moaned. “O-Only for you, Captain.”
The name slipped out on impulse as Phillip lost himself in the familiar fantasy. He froze and his gaze flickered to Phineas, who knelt over him, one hand still slipped underneath the nightshirt. His eyes widened for a moment, almost as surprised as Phillip, and then darkened. The hand on Phillip’s cock withdrew, slipping out from underneath the nightshirt. Phillip whimpered as Phineas stood and pulled him up. Now, Phineas stood looking down at Phillip, who sat on the edge of the bed, breathing deep, cock hard, head bowed.
Through his lowered eyelashes, Phillip watched as Phineas’s hands toyed with his belt. Excitement thrummed through Phillip’s body as the captain watched him with a smirk, no doubt knowing exactly the kind of thoughts running through Phillip’s head. Phillip watched, licking his lower lip as Phineas pulled the belt loose. Their eyes met as the belt came off and Phineas unbuttoned his trousers.
Lifting an eyebrow, the captain commanded, “On your knees, cabin boy.”
Phillip’s mouth fell open in a moan and a low, “Fuck.”
“Damned mouth of a sailor,” the captain muttered.
Phillip came close to protesting, but the captain’s sharp look, amber eyes dark with intent, had him scrambling to the floor
(like a harlot)
instead. He looked up at Phineas from his knees, expecting to see a trace of familiar warmth in whiskey-colored eyes, and found the very sea captain from his dreams staring down at him in his place.
Phineas radiated possession and power as his trousers lowered, his cock demanding attention. Phillip whimpered again, softly, nearly dizzy with desire and disbelief that his fantasy was real and actually being played out. He almost forgot that it was a result of Phineas’s snooping.
“Get to work,” the captain snapped.
Phillip had been in this position a countless amount of times before, but now, with sea captain instead of ringmaster waiting for him, he felt closed in and very, very warm. He was hyper aware of the heat radiating from himself and from the captain, and his mouth felt suddenly dry.
But one more look up at Phineas took Phillip’s breath away and, slowly, his body relaxed. He leaned forward, kissing his lips to the smooth head of the captain’s cock.
Above him, Phineas sighed and shifted. Captain persona momentarily forgotten.
Using one hand to grip the man’s hip, Phillip slowly took more in. The familiar thickness and musky scents were comforting and Phillip relaxed further, falling into the familiar routine. He sucked eagerly, but slowly, savoring Phineas’s taste.
“Faster,” came the captain’s sharp order.
Phillip hummed, the best he could do with Phineas’s cock in his mouth, and closed his eyes as he applied more suction, sucking faster and harder and deeper. He gripped the captain’s hips, fingernails leaving little crescent-shaped marks in their wake, and took Phineas for all he was worth, until the tickling of his gag reflex forced him to slowly back off.
“Fuck,” the man above him hissed.
Then he felt the hand in his hair, then both hands, and he made a strangled noise as they tugged at his hair, abusing the strands. Phillip’s eyes snapped open as the captain gave a particularly hard yank, and the resulting moan ripped from his throat with such force that he had to pull away from the captain’s cock, leaving it wet and red and gleaming.
“Phin—“ he coughed.
A rough yank of his hair and a light, sharp slap across his face had Phillip correcting himself as he gasped.
“C-Captain!”
The captain smirked. His eyes flicked over to the bed, and then to Phillip. The younger man’s nightshirt was rumpled, much too big for him, and drenched in sweat.
“Undress, sailor.”
Phillip’s limbs trembled as he got to his feet and pulled Phineas’s nightshirt up over his head. The captain’s eyes darkened as they roamed over him, and he squirmed under the intense gaze.
“Mmm. Wait here.”
Phillip watched with wide eyes as the captain pulled up his trousers, acting as if his cock didn’t literally ache to be released, and swiftly left the room. Phillip was left alone, undressed and aching and with a thudding heart. He sat on the edge of the bed and attempted to breathe evenly.
At first, when the captain came back with red ribbons in hand, Phillip didn’t gauge the meaning. He looked up into Phineas’s eyes.
The familiar smirk returned. “You mentioned ropes in your writing, but I thought ribbons might be smoother on that delicate skin of yours.”
Phillip gaped at him. His mind raced, realizing what the words meant.
The captain approached with slow, sturdy steps. He pushed Phillip back down — Phillip made no attempt to fight back — and made quick work of tying him up, bringing his wrists up over his head. Phillip moaned and whined and whimpered. He didn’t even have exposed skin to press up against. Phineas knew this, the entire reason why he’d stayed dressed, and it drove Phillip wild.
The captain knotted the ribbons as tightly as they could be tied without causing Phillip pain. Phillip, mortified and nude and horribly aroused, watched as the captain stood back and observed him, fully clothed once more.
“Cap— Cap’n, please—“
The captain snickered, and, once satisfied that Phillip could not reach him, finally began to undress. The belt came undone for a second time, and he shrugged out of the thin white shirt, finally baring a beautifully sculpted chest. He stepped out of his trousers and undergarments, tossing them carelessly to the floor.
Phillip’s lips formed verbal pleas before he could stop himself. The captain was pure power and muscle and solid art and Phillip craved every inch of him. He whimpered and pulled at his restraints.
“Please,” he whispered. “Please.”
Along with the ribbons, the captain brought in a small jar of oil which he now twisted open and dipped his fingers into. Phillip whimpered again and pulled at his restraints again, spreading his legs as far as they would go. His cock stood to attention and his body yearned to be touched, knowing the pleasure that just fingers alone would bring him.
“Such a little whore.” The captain shook his head. He bit his lip in an attempt to hide his smirk. “How many travels have you been on, boy? How many seamen have you spread open for?”
Phillip’s cock twitched and, having nothing to grab or hold onto, he balled his hands into fists. “Only you, my c-captain. Only you.”
He could not tear his eyes from the captain’s hand, glistening wet with oil. His body sang for it.
Seeming satisfied with Phillip’s answer, the captain’s lip finally curled into that familiar smirk. He came to the bed and knelt in front of Phillip’s spread legs, the younger’s hips rising in eager anticipation.
“Please,” he begged again, over and over, “Please.”
The first brush of the captain’s fingers, wet with oil, had Phillip whimpering and straining to press closer. The captain’s amber eyes bore into his as he took his time pressing his finger to Phillip’s hole, then pressing in. One, then two. Phillip gasped, begged for more.
“So needy,” the captain patronized, even he pushed in a third finger. But, Phillip didn’t miss the catch in his voice, the excitement. Phineas wanted this as much as Phillip did and the thought made Phillip feel smug, even as he greedily moaned.
Phineas’s long fingers were rough and calloused from years of hard labor on the railroad, and it didn’t take much to imagine the scarred hands of a rugged sea captain were the ones that fucked into him. Phillip clenched tight around those fingers as he closed his eyes, pleased to hear the resulting low moan from the captain.
Suddenly daring, Phillip opened his eyes and opened his mouth to gloat. But rough, soft lips pressed against his instead, and he sighed deep into the kiss. Lips warm and slightly chapped, the captain worked his tongue into Phillip’s eager mouth as his fingers worked Phillip’s equally eager body.
As they pulled back for air, Phillip sighed, “Phineas.”
“Captain,” Phineas growled. He thrust his fingers in particularly hard and Phillip gasped again, jerking upward.
“Captain,” Phillip obediently repeated, pressing his head into the pillow as he arched his neck. The captain groaned low in approval as he dipped his head, teeth grazing along Phillip’s neck. His teeth nicked as he bit down and Phillip moaned, loudly. He could feel the captain’s smirk against his skin.
Lips pressed to Phillip’s pulse point as the captain curled his fingers. Phillip cried out as fingertips lightly brushed against something inside him, heart rate jumping, and Phineas grinned against his pulse. In an action much too gentle for a pirate, Phineas kissed Phillip’s neck as he slowly pulled out his fingers.
Phillip whimpered and instinctively clenched around nothing. He looked up at Phineas with wide eyes, bright and nearly brimming with tears.
“Don’t give me that face,” the captain chided. He stood and, using the same hand that had been inside Phillip moments earlier, coated his own cock with oil. He jerked himself lazily, slowly, smirking as Phillip watched.
Phillip’s body reacted from both ends, saliva filling his mouth and hole twitching in anticipation. He licked his lips and pulled at his restraints, frustrated, a tear rolling down his cheek. His face flamed with color, though he wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment, arousal, or both.
He couldn’t remember ever crying in his dreams. Somehow, Phineas — his Phineas, his captain — drove him more wild than the man in his dreams ever could.
If he could reach out to the man, he would. He no longer cared how he looked, he no longer cared how much he begged. Squirming on the bed, he pleaded, “Please, Captain. Have me. Take me.”
He watched as the captain’s eyes widened, then darkened. Hand falling from his cock, the captain climbed onto the bed and crawled over him. Wrapping Phillip’s legs around his waist, he claimed Phillip’s lips in another kiss, rougher than the last, tugging at Phillip’s lower lip. He relished in the sounds Phillip made as he moaned into his mouth.
“Please, sir,” Phillip whispered in between a breath for air. He couldn’t wait anymore.
Phillip whimpered when the captain’s cock brushed against his ass, the tip teasing his hole. The captain pulled away from the kiss, breaking it for good, to grip his cock and slowly guide it into Phillip.
Phillip moaned, loud, louder, his heels digging into the captain’s backside, as the man entered him. Finally, finally. His fingers twitched, arms aching to wrap around Phineas, and his legs clung as tight as they could, guiding the captain as he drove into him.
In his captain persona, Phineas wasn’t as liberal with the oil as he would have been otherwise, and, though he hadn’t noticed before, Phillip could feel it. He moaned at the new burn, the new pull, the new stretch, just enough to recognize the difference in a lot of lube versus a little without physically hurting him. The feel of Phineas’s cock, smooth and curved and so deliciously his, had Phillip attempting to bear down on it and ride Phineas for all he was worth.
The captain’s pace was fast and wicked, each new caress of his cock hitting Phillip almost before he had a chance to react to the one previous. Phillip moaned, whined, called out to the man above him — every time his tongue slipped and called out Phineas instead of Captain, the captain delivered a light, but stinging slap to his cheek. It brought tears to Phillip’s eyes more than once — not from pain, but sheer arousal — and he moaned out his correction.
The bed rocked underneath the captain’s force, and the captain groaned, pressing his forehead to Phillip’s. Their kiss was sloppy and bruising, the captain biting Phillip’s lip again and swallowing his moan. All Phillip could do was moan, legs wound tight around the captain, eyes brimming with fresh tears that threatened to spill over.
The captain’s voice was rough in Phillip’s ear, telling Phillip how tight he was, how hot, how good. Every last nerve in Phillip’s body felt like it was on fire, and when the captain stopped the bruising pace, Phillip had to swallow a broken scream.
Phillip’s mouth was ready with protests as the captain, panting, moved up to untie Phillip’s ribbons. Phillip gasped, and then moaned as his wrists were finally freed, his hands immediately moving to dig into the captain’s back.
Grunting, the captain resumed his ministrations, maneuvering Phillip’s hips to fuck deeper into him, faster. Phillip had to concentrate on remembering to breathe, fingers more like claws as they scratched down the man’s back. His hands were everywhere at once, as if making up for lost time, painting Phineas’s back like a canvas.
When the captain’s hand lowered, taking hold of Phillip’s cock, Phillip screamed out. “Ph-Ph-Phineas!”
The captain did not correct him as he spilled all over their chests.
Gasping, almost struggling to force air into his lungs, Phillip’s head fell back against the bed frame. The captain paused for the briefest moment, allowing Phillip to properly come and suck in a mouthful of air, but quickly picked up his pace just as before. He was grunting now, head bowed low, eyes squeezed shut. Phillip knew he was close.
Moaning still as the captain fucked inside him, Phillip grabbed the captain’s hands and loosely twined their fingers together. He panted and moaned as the captain squeezed his hands in an almost perfect rhythm.
The captain’s hips beginning to stutter, a high moan broke from Phillip’s lips. He clenched tight around Phineas’s cock, held him tight with his legs, and watched in utter rapture as the man’s face contorted.
The captain’s moan was broken by a string of curses as he slammed into his orgasm. Panting, he squeezed Phillip’s hands and buried his face in Phillip’s neck, inhaling sweat and sex.
“Fuck,” he groaned.
As his hips stilled and he laid limp inside Phillip, Phillip kissed his sweaty brow. He looked up, hardened face of the captain immediately melting away into Phineas’s familiar loving gaze.
“Are you all right?” Phineas asked, voice husky. Shifting, he slowly pulled out of Phillip and rolled away, their chests a mess of Phillip’s come. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”
“No,” Phillip breathed. It took a moment to collect himself, but then he swore, “That was incredible, Phineas... you are incredible.”
Phineas smiled — though it looked suspiciously like a smirk. “Welcome home.”
“God.” Somehow, Phillip found enough energy to press his hands over his eyes. “I can’t believe you—“
Phineas’s deep chuckle interrupted him, and he sighed as Phineas kissed his flushed cheek.
“You know,” Phineas mused, running a hand through Phillip’s terribly messy hair, “I still have quite a lot of material to go through...”
Phillip’s eyes widened and he shot up, meeting Phineas’s stupidly amused gaze. “You wouldn’t.”
“Are you complaining?” Phineas smirked.
Phillip groaned and flopped back against the pillows. He lifted his eyes as Phineas loomed over him.
“I didn’t hear a ‘yes,’” Phineas mumbled, before catching Phillip’s lips in a soft, languid kiss.
Phillip sighed as they broke apart. Eyelids suddenly heavy, he smiled up at Phineas.
“Whatever you want,” he promised, sleep coating his voice. “I just have one question...”
“Hmmm?”
Their eyes met.
“What, exactly, did you clean?”
——
Completely unbetaed, so if you made it this far you get a gold star
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Title: Scribere Jussit Amor
Artist: dmsilvisart
Author: nickelkeep
Rating: Teen and up
Pairings: Dean/Cas
Wordcount: 11368
Warnings: No Major Archive Warnings - Past mentions of Canon Violence and Past MCD.
Summary: When a case involving angels pops up, Sam needs a book from Cas’ room and asks Dean to get it. After a quick phone call with Cas, and making sure he has the red book, written purely in Enochian, Dean’s sure the brothers are ready to go.
Except, Sam has now translated Cas’ journal, leaving Dean to face some very harsh truths when it comes to a particular Angel of the Lord.
