“Huh?” the redhead tilted his head curiously, approaching Stein, who sat at his desk. “For what?”
For how long Spirit had known the mad doctor, and for how many experiments the man had inflicted on him, his self preservation skills were nonexistent in the presence of his former meister.
“Here,” Stein spun around in his chair, patting his leg, signaling for Spirit to sit, “I think you need a check up on those teeth of yours.”
“Ehh…” despite the dread forming in his gut, his legs disobeyed that feeling, carrying him closer to his old friend, “Says who?”
“Says your doctor,” the corner of his lips curled into a familiar smirk as Spirit obediently sat himself in his lap, the desk chair squeaking under their combined weight. “You’re overdue, in my opinion.”
“Y’know, I have to question if you’re even a real doctor,” Spirit sat rigidly, face growing red as Stein’s arms encircled his waist, holding him close, his chin resting on Spirit’s chest, looking up at him. A mouse caught in a trap. “I’ve never even seen any credentials… And if it’s my teeth you’re worried about, I’d rather see a dentist…”
“Don’t worry about that,” Stein droned, his hand cupping the other’s jaw, making Spirit flinch. “Be good and open up. Let me see.”
Spirit stared him down, squinting, but saying nothing, only wearing a flustered look on his face as Stein kept a grip on him, sweat forming at his temples.
No way he’d open his mouth for Stein to do… god knows what, and to such a sensitive area, too. What was he going to do? Pull out a few teeth? Cut out his tongue? Make a few incisions in his gums? Take a sample of his blood? Nope. Spirit would not give in, he would not allow Stein access to his body again, no matter how hard Stein tried to intimidate him.
Stein met his stare, expression blank besides a slight raise of his brows. He held Spirit's nervous gaze, eyes unblinking and void of any light, patiently waiting for his weapon to obey him.
Spirit swallowed, squirming slightly under those cold, calculating eyes. Deep, dark green, beautiful in the light, but terrifying when they were hunting you down.
Don’t give in. Don’t give in. He doesn’t control you, not anymore. You’re not asleep this time, you have a choice, he can’t do whatever he wants to your body anymore. Get out of his lap, refuse his sick desires. You’re a death scythe now, he doesn’t own you. He doesn’t control you. He doesn’t control you.
Spirit whined in defeat before slowly parting his lips.
“That’s a good boy,” Stein smirked again, those same terrifying eyes lighting up with desire, thumb tracing over Spirit’s bottom lip, then the top one, stretching the skin to reveal his front teeth. Spirit’s lips were so soft, so pink; he was nice and healthy and hydrated. “That’s very good, Spirit.”
“Don’t talk like that– mmn–”
He sputtered, cut off by Stein’s pointer and middle fingers suddenly invading his mouth, digits enveloped by the sweet heat of his opening, but Spirit kept his lips wrapped around them, refusing to open any wider.
“Come now, Spirit,” the doctor cooed, tightening his grip on Spirit’s chin, pulling down on it, forcing it open, eliciting a whine of protest from the man. That was alright, Stein enjoyed when Spirit was a bit feisty. Where was the fun if your prey didn’t fight back a little? “Don’t be shy.”
“Thith ith thtupid,” Spirit attempted to speak around the fingers in his mouth, though he had little success. His hand gripped Stein’s wrist, digging in his nails to keep him from fingering the back of his throat. “Yhou’re a fhreak.”
“It’s rude to talk with your mouth full,” Stein’s fingers pet his tongue, causing a red flush to bloom across Spirit’s cheeks, unable to make eye contact with the hungry gaze of his meister, “Now, be quiet.”
The command was spoken gently, but with intention, so Spirit obeyed, begrudgingly silencing himself, taking the probing of his mouth obediently, even as Stein’s free hand painfully dug into his jaw, keeping him still.
Starting with Spirit’s back molars, he traced the grooves they naturally formed, feeling each and every one with a concentrated attention, his eyes dark, fixated on nothing but the the feeling of the teeth under his touch. His teeth. Spirit’s teeth.
Skilled fingers smoothed over the death scythe’s front teeth now, becoming enamoured with a canine for a moment, before moving on. Stein hummed absentmindedly, smiling slowly, lost in the fantasy of whatever was cooking up in that sick little mind of his.
Spirit shuddered under the other’s hold, under that deep concentration, fearing whatever it was Stein was thinking, his tongue following those fingers as they traced each and every little node that made a home in his mouth. Maybe a reflex, maybe want for something more.
“You have beautiful teeth, Spirit,” the doctor purred, voice taking on a lower, almost loving tone, definitely a tone of endearment that made Spirit’s stomach turn. He swallowed, knowing Stein was growing excited, his past experiences teaching him that that was never a good sign. “Gorgeous. Perfect. Just like the rest of your body. I should’ve known.”
Spirit grew hot, body starting to tremble, a groan leaking from his throat at the praise. He started to drool with his mouth being held open for so long, a stream of spit running down his chin.
“I like this one especially,” Stein ran a finger along Spirit’s canine, on the right side. “It has a pleasant curve to it.”
God, he’s weird, Spirit thought, Who gets off on teeth, anyways? He could feel his pants becoming uncomfortably tight, his hips shifting in Stein's lap.
“I wonder how much you would bleed if I pulled this one out?” Stein mused, tugging slightly on one of Spirit’s molars, gaining another groan from the other man. “How much resistance would it put up? Would it be easier to remove with my hand or a tool? I think I have a pair of pliers lying around somewhere.”
The tug on his tooth, combined with Stein’s haunting statement, made Spirit perk up in alarm, his lips closing again, teeth biting down on the digits invading his mouth, his head shaking and trying to pull away, but Stein’s hard grip on him kept him held in place. Stein only chuckled at the man wiggling in his lap. He was so cute when he was scared.
“Now, now, Spirit,” the grin splitting open his face was full of affectionate malice, alarm bells ringing in Spirit’s head at the expression, his shirt clinging to his back with sweat, “Don’t get so upset. I’d numb you, of course, like I always do.”
Spirit attempted to say something around those fingers again, but they muffled his words too much to make sense of anything. Stein assumed he was being cursed out. Or called a freak. Or something along those lines. He’d heard it all before, and yet Spirit wound up at his doorstep night after night. He always had been all bark and no bite, just a dog who needed a firm hand.
“Be quiet,” that same command from earlier, his smile dropping, stone faced again. “I didn’t mean tonight. I was only thinking aloud.”
Stein finally let go of that bruising grip on his jaw, his hand moving to cradle the back of Spirit’s head, fingers getting lost in that pretty cherry-red hair of his, his hold gentler, soothing. Spirit grumbled, but settled down despite his hands shaking, heart threatening to beat out of his chest.
He was getting too old to keep dealing with so much adrenaline pumping through his veins all the time. Surely he’d have a heart attack one of these days if he kept crawling back; an overdose of Stein. It was either that or the alcohol that would do him in, and he couldn’t decide which death would be worse.
Not tonight? Spirit's anxiety made him dizzy. So he's still going to tug out my teeth some time in the future?
“Open up a little,” Stein wiggled his fingers in between Spirit’s lips to make his point, the other hesitating only slightly before parting his lips again, an annoyed look on his face. “Suck these. Be good.”
Spirit’s face grew completely red, almost matching his hair. His eyes twitched, darting away from Stein, then back to him, then away once more before squeezing shut for a moment, a grumble of embarrassment in the back of his throat.
He did as he was told, he always did in the end, his hand keeping a grip on Stein’s wrist as he began working his tongue, slipping it into the little ‘V’ between the doctor’s fingers, then swirling the muscle around the digits, hot saliva coating Stein’s calloused skin.
“That’s a good boy,” Stein praised, hand in Spirit’s hair tightening a little, keeping him in place, his fingers moving slowly in and out of the other’s pretty lips. Spirit couldn’t help but moan at the loss of control. “Keep still.”
Another moan from Spirit, more desperate this time, hot breath filling the air between them. Stein only stared, expressionless, observing, but his eyes grew dark once more with desire.
Spirit was such a pretty little thing, desperate for his touch, desperate to be torn apart, the only push he needed being a little praise. He always loved how pliable Spirit was under his hands, how easy he was to break in. His obedience was delicious and addictive, always drawing Stein back in, craving to completely destroy whatever resistance Spirit had left in him. Once his weapon, always his weapon.
Violate me, violate me, violate me, Spirit thought, eyes glazed over with need as he gave in completely. His sweet, moaning mouth took the fingers of his greatest fear over and over again, willing to surrender his body, as long as his aching need for attention was filled. Use me, use me, please use me like you love me.
The drool puddling on Spirit’s chin dribbled down his neck. Stein chuckled, finally removing his fingers from that eager mouth, a line of spit still connecting the two of them, his thumb wiping Spirit’s chin clean. The redhead whined at the loss of his mouth being invaded, panting, eyes big and needy, void of any of that pesky resistance from before. Stein thought they were the most beautiful shade of blue; the ocean on a cloudless day.
“I think that’s enough for this exam,” Stein didn’t hide a pleased smirk, wiping his dirtied fingers on Spirit’s shirt. He noticed the bulge in the other’s pants, straining against the material, but he paid no mind to it, even as it pressed needy against his own groin. Poor, deprived thing. “Now, run along.”
“What?” Spirit sputtered, finally noticing how messy he’d gotten, wiping his mouth on his sleeve in shame. “Oh, come on, you’re just going to leave me like… like this?”
He wiggled in Stein’s lap to make his point, but Stein only shrugged halfheartedly, leaning back in the chair casually.
“It was only a checkup, Spirit. It’s not my fault you got so excited.”
“Bastard…” Spirit glared down at him, pouting, “I know you must be soaked after that– that freakshow.”
“Maybe,” he adjusted his glasses. True, he was rather aroused himself, as his pants felt uncomfortably wet, but Spirit was endlessly fun to tease, and he really did have work to do. Tests wouldn’t grade themselves. “But I’m busy.”
“Busy!” Spirit pointed an accusatory finger in Stein’s face. “You weren’t too busy to rummage around in my mouth!”
“I just wanted to see,” his clean hand returned to the other’s jaw, gentle this time, thumb stroking along his burning cheek. Spirit grumbled and leaned into it, softening slightly. “If you’re a patient little dog, I’ll give you a treat later.”
Spirit squinted, staring down at the other man, frustration written all over his pretty, flushed face. Stein only blinked at him, and after a moment, Spirit sighed in defeat, looking away from him again and crossing his arms close to his chest.
“Mmh. Fine.”
“That’s a good boy,” Stein mocked, leaning forward to press a peck to the other’s lips, to which Spirit whined and pressed into, his own lips desperate for Stein’s touch to return to him. The doctor only chuckled, tapping his palm against Spirit’s cheek twice, his voice low. “Run along. I’ll make a mess of you later, Spirit Albarn.”
Thatcher just wants to drink his sorrows at the bar in peace, but the reappearance of a familiar face forces him to grapple with some complicated feelings...
this is technically a part three to this post, but you can also read it as a standalone because I don't really see it as canon, just a fun little side project!
Noise. So much noise. Thatcher hated clubs. The flashing lights and crowded space and booming bass made his head pound. Yet, here he was again, alone at the bar, while the person who dragged him here was out on the dance floor laughing, dancing, and flirting with god knows who this time. He silently seethed with jealousy at the thought, throwing back another shot that burned all the way down his throat.
He didn’t want to care so much. He didn’t want to let it bother him, to make him angry. He shouldn’t. After all, he may rightly be Abaddon’s, but they were never his. They made that abundantly clear every time they dragged him out to one of these seedy places, leaving him behind the second they found a new target to play with for the night.
He wasn’t a stupid man, perhaps hopelessly devoted, but never stupid, never oblivious. He knew he was being toyed with, month after month, but he was nothing if not loyal, always coming back to the angel like the obedient dog he was. He could get mad, enraged even, angrier than he’s ever been with anyone, until he felt like he would burst if he put up with it any longer, but he always came back, always sat at Abaddon’s heels, like he was expected to. Like he was supposed to.
Thatcher was a human, weak and fragile, full of emotion, but he was Abaddon’s favorite, that fact alone fueling his desire, keeping his anger at bay. At least that’s what they always told him, whispered against his ear, muttered into the sheets, sent in late night drunk messages that they rarely remembered in the morning. Degrading himself felt worth it if Abaddon kept fueling his laughable fantasy of being important to someone.
Another shot, and his head buzzed.
Someone took up in the seat next to him, but he paid no mind to it, continuing to stare into the woodgrain of the bar counter as he drank his sorrows. He finally perked up at the sound of a familiar voice, his blood running cold.
“Hi sweetie!”
Thatcher straightened up, afraid to glance over, but he did. Sitting in the seat next to him was a face he’d seen before, but not one he was eager to be reunited with. They sat there staring at him, their eyes too big, their smile too white, every tooth in their mouth perfectly aligned. Their canines weren’t even sharp. They flipped a strand of long, auburn hair across their shoulder as they sipped on a martini. It was pink in color, with two cherries floating within it. Somehow, it seemed fitting.
“L-Luvrina?” Thatcher swallowed, trying to stay calm, but dread clenched in his gut, “You…what are you doing here?”
“Just keeping an eye on things,” Luvrina laughed easily, but the sound set off alarm bells in Thatcher’s head, “Oh, don’t look so scared, silly! I’m only here for Abby, I would never hurt you, Thatcher! Unless you want me to.”
“Um…” he ignored the crude comment, tapping his nails nervously against the counter, “So...you’re still around? Watching us. Does Abaddon know?”
“Oh, goodness, I hope not! That wouldn’t be any fun at all,” they laughed again, taking another sip of their drink, “And it would especially ruin the fun if a certain someone were to tell them! Don’t you think so?”
Thatcher didn’t answer, only offering them a nervous laugh. The threat was heard loud and clear.
“Good, good…but enough about me. Why are you over here all alone, baby?”
“I, uh…” his face grew red at the pet name, or maybe it was the alcohol, maybe both, “Abaddon, they wanted to come. I don’t like to dance, so I just…I’m here.”
“Fascinating,” Luvrina propped their elbow up on the counter, cheek pressed into their palm as they gave him all of their attention, their tone feigning interest, “You’re so sweet, and they just leave you all alone like that?”
“I…” Thatcher swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling tight. Glancing to the dance floor, he hoped to catch Abaddon’s eye, to warn them, but they were nowhere to be found. Jealousy coiled in his belly again, knowing they were probably off banging someone in a bathroom stall. “Yeah, but they always do this. It’s…I don’t care. Really! I, uh, I just drink a little. Until they want to leave.”
“Hmm,” Luvrina hummed quietly, their deep brown eyes flickering over his features as he spoke, their smile suddenly morphing into something almost sweet. They set their drink down, creeping their fingers along the counter to ghost over Thatcher’s own. He twitched, but didn’t pull away. “I know, sweetheart, Abby always throws away the people that love them the most. It’s such a burden, loving them, isn’t it?”
“N-No, I don’t love them– They’re not a–” he blinked several times, stumbling over his words before falling silent for a moment, mulling over his thoughts, “...What do you mean, they always throw people away?”
“Oh…” Luvrina sighed dramatically, placing a hand to their chest and looking sad for a moment. Their large eyes turned downcast, their long lashes brushing their cheeks. “They were willing to throw away everything, Thatcher, just to be here on Earth. Away from our god, away from me, away from all the other angels, just to play pretend with you humans. Isn’t that cruel? To throw away their family, just like that?”
Luvrina sniffled, hiccuping a soft cry, but no tears fell. Thatcher took their hand in his own, squeezing it with reassurance. They looked back up at him with their doe eyes, blinking once.
“I’m…so sorry, Luvrina. I had no idea they treated you that way,” his gaze softened as he looked at them, his thumb soothing over their knuckle, “They’ve never…said anything about that. About you.”
“Of course not,” they spoke sadly, pouting, but still no tears, “I suppose they hate me, for coming down here, for spoiling their fun, even after everything I’ve done for them...”
“I’m sorry, I can’t imagine how you’re feeling,” Thatcher repeated his apology, not knowing what to say. What could he say? These celestial feuds were far, far above his head. At least, that’s what Abaddon always told him. Their words echoed in his mind: You’re a human, you wouldn’t understand.
“But…if I can ask, why are you telling me all this?” he worried his bottom lip between his teeth, growing nervous, “They’re my guardian angel, I can trust them, can’t I?”
“I’d just hate for you to get hurt by Abby, sweetie!” they suddenly perked up, their expression staring again, the flashing, multicolored lights of the surrounding club reflecting in the whites of their eyes, “They’re horrible, aren’t they? Haven’t they already hurt you? Just like they hurt everyone else?”
“No, no, Abaddon’s never…” he trailed off, trying to defend them, trying to rack his brain for any excuse, any acknowledgment that they cared about him. He realized he couldn’t come up with anything. “They’re just…intense. It’s not their fault, it’s mine, I shouldn’t be so sensitive. It must be hard for them, not being from Earth. Well, you know that…”
Thatcher rambled on nervously, Luvrina holding a soft smile as they listened to him. His words suddenly came to a stop, though, when the angel cradled his jaw, their thumb soothing over his cheek as they gazed at him. They cooed their next words, their tone sickly sweet.
“You’re so special, Thatcher. It’s a shame that Abby is so awful to someone as special as you…”
Thatcher’s heart beat quicker at the praise, at the sudden touch, his throat tight, feeling at a loss for words. Special? Him? He was nothing, just dust in the wind, blown away without a second thought. Still, their words ignited something in him, something eager and pathetic, the part of him that grasped at straws for any attention, always insatiable, always yearning for more.
Luvrina sounded so genuine, as if they actually cared about him. Did they? Were they looking out for him in the presence of their sibling? Or were they exactly like Abaddon? Lying to him, manipulating him, wrapping him around their finger to get exactly what they wanted? What did they want? He didn’t know. Part of him didn’t even care, just grateful to be acknowledged at all.
“Huh? Me?” he chuckled nervously, an awkward smile plastered on his flushed face. Luvrina’s hand felt cold against his cheek. “No, no, I’m nothing special, just…another human, you know? Uh…Thank you, though. For saying that.”
“Oh, you’re such a pretty human, though. You’re so darling, Thatcher,” they giggled, taking back their hand and moving their attention to their neglected martini, “Such a waste that you were assigned Abby, and not someone else…”
Thatcher blinked, staring at them as they sipped their drink, the adamant flirting not completely lost on him. He’d never been called pretty before.
He remembered when he had met them only a few weeks ago, their beauty standing out to him even then, despite the fear their presence brought him. Even now, in the dim lighting, he could make out soft freckles that dusted along their skin, across the bridge of their nose, their cheeks, even sprinkled along their collar and their shoulders. Plump lips were painted red, the same red as the long nails that tapped against their martini glass. Their skin seemed impossibly soft, perfect, unblemished, as if they truly were something other than human. An ethereal, alluring being, untouchable by human hands.
Glancing at him from behind their pink beverage, their eyes squinted in a seemingly genuine, playful smile. Thatcher’s eyes wandered down lower, his head buzzing with alcohol, then arousal as he finally noticed the low cut of their dress. They were practically spilling out of it, the tight material squeezing the curves of their body in all the right ways. His eyes darted back up when Luvrina offered him a knowing, flirty laugh.
“I am so sorry, I– I’ve been drinking and–” Thatcher stuttered, averting his eyes from the other and squeezing them shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. His face heated up to a dangerous degree, sweat beading along his skin.
“I know, isn’t this human form just gorgeous?” Luvrina ignored his apology, suddenly leaning forward to balance their weight with both hands on his thighs. Thatcher gasped at the contact, opening his eyes to find Luvrina’s toothy grin much too close to him now. Their eyes would be pretty if they just blinked. “I know you think so, too, ever since we met… You’ve been eyeing me, haven’t you? Tell me you have, Thatcher.”
“I-I, uh…” he choked on his words, his heart beating too fast in his chest with the angel so close. Could they hear it, too? The sound of his heart pounding in his ears? Surely they could, with how easily it drowned out the heavy rhythm of the bass surrounding the both of them. He swallowed, trying to speak.
“You're…very beautiful,” he finally admitted, his palms starting to sweat. He felt suffocated by Luvrina’s proximity.
“You wanna kiss me, baby,” Luvrina’s voice spoke low, hazy with want, hypnotizing the man trapped under their gaze.
It was a statement, not a question, perhaps even a demand from them. Thatcher hesitated at the proposition, but his feeble mind felt powerless to push down his desires. Not when Luvrina was so close, close enough that their breath ghosted across his face, not when his head felt dizzy with their praise, not with their hands squeezing his thighs like that, not when he glanced down and their chest was right there–
“Yes.”
Eager hands cupped his jaw as Luvrina leaned in further, pressing their lips together in a hungry kiss. Thatcher didn’t pull away, didn’t fight it, only allowed it to happen, even pressing eagerly into it, taking the bait. His eyes slipped closed behind his glasses, a small, pathetic noise leaving his throat as the angel easily overtook him.
They tasted exactly like Abaddon, sweet and addictive, devouring and greedy; Thatcher desired every second of it. The remnants of their sugary drink invaded his senses as they forced their tongue into his keening mouth.
It was too sloppy, too fast, but the adrenaline only made Thatcher crave more. He felt them smile against his mouth before sucking his bottom lip between their teeth, eeking out another quiet noise from him before their lips separated with a wet sound, unheard in the loud surroundings of the club. Luvrina’s hand slipped into the back of his thick hair, making him shudder, their lips moving to mouth along his jaw, then his neck, their tongue licking long stripes along Thatcher’s burning skin. Perfect teeth teased at a vein in his neck, a hand slipped too close up his thigh, causing Thatcher to gasp and twitch away from their overwhelming touch.
“We shouldn’t…What if Abaddon–”
“Don’t think about them, baby,” Luvrina ran their tongue along their top lip, gazing at him like a lion would its prey. Their lipstick was slightly smeared. “They abandoned you, didn’t they? Left you all alone for someone to snatch you up? I’ll take such good care of you, Thatcher…”
Their hand wandered even further up his thigh, groping at his groin, making him suck in a breath and squeeze his eyes shut.
He thought about Abaddon. He thought about their shared kisses, their intimate moments late at night, tangled in his sheets. He thought about the long drives, just the two of them, laughing and comfortable in each other’s presence. He thought about how they cuddled up to him when it was cold out, about the snacks they liked, their favorite blanket, how they laughed too loud at movies, how they got clingy when they were drunk, how they played their music too loud, but he let them anyway because it made them happy. He just wanted to make them happy.
What was he doing? He was cheating, betraying what he and the angel shared between them. Wasn’t he? But…they weren’t in a relationship, were they? How angry would Abaddon be if they found out? Would they direct their anger onto him, onto Luvrina? Would they even be angry at all? Would they be jealous? Would they even care?
He thought about Abaddon again. About the humiliation, the secrets, the willingness to string him along, then throw him away. Never a priority, never a first choice, never Abaddon’s, only ever a toy to push and poke and prod at until they were satisfied. Something to have fun with, never something to take seriously.
They were his guardian angel, but he was just a job to them. Why should he feel bad? Why should he care? For once, shouldn’t he make his own choice, prod at Abaddon for a change? Push their buttons, make them angry? Why did he always have to be the bigger person, for his entire life?
Jealousy, anger, and self hatred made a familiar home in his stomach again, bubbling in his veins and pushing away any regret he may have had.
“My car– It’s out in the parking lot.”
……….
Luvrina had practically dragged Thatcher the whole way to his car, barely giving him any time to throw money onto the counter for his drinks.
It was quieter out here in the parking lot, no loud music, no sounds of people laughing and cheering and screaming drunkenly along to songs. Only the sound of footsteps on pavement and the occasional thrum of cars going down the road. Thatcher struggled to wrangle his keys from his pocket, jangling them around a bit as Luvrina forcefully pressed him into the side of the car, capturing his lips again, a hand up his thigh again. His hands shook, but he finally managed to unlock the doors with a press of a button.
It was a tight squeeze, but the two of them managed to fit in his back seat. Part of him briefly wished he owned something bigger than a sedan, but his thoughts quickly dissipated as Luvrina pushed him onto his back and straddled him, grinding down against his quickly growing arousal. Thatcher couldn’t suppress a groan, his hands pawing at their hips.
“Oh my, you look so cute below me, even cuter than I imagined!” Luvrina purred, kissing gently at his neck before digging in their teeth. Thatcher yelped, grasping at their dress and jolting underneath them. They only laughed. “Hush now, I won’t hurt you too bad…”
Thatcher didn’t know what that entailed, but his thoughts were interrupted when two fingers suddenly hooked into his mouth, swiveling his head to the side. Thatcher took them in obediently, feeling Luvrina’s hot breath on his neck, then the slight sting as they sucked and bit several dark bruises into his skin. He whimpered at the roughness, the two of them working up a rhythm as they rutted against each other. Luvrina gasped soft murmurs of pleasure against his saliva soaked neck, making Thatcher feel as though he might go crazier than he already was.
Thatcher wanted to touch them, so he did, sliding a hand up their tan thigh, sneaking it under their short dress. He couldn’t help a quiet curse as he realized they weren’t wearing any underwear. Christ, had they planned this?
His stray thumb quickly found their clit nestled in the soft curls of hair between their thighs, where he rubbed in gentle, unhurried circles. They were wet, they were enjoying this, only accentuated by the low noise pulled from their throat, purred and grateful as they leaned into his touch.
“Good boy, Thatcher,” Luvrina murmured, apparently satisfied with the marks they left, now pressing soft kisses to his jaw, right below his ear where they whispered their praises. Their fingers were still in his mouth. He ran his tongue along them greedily. “You’re such a good boy… Are you this good for Abby, too? Or am I special~?”
The question made Thatcher’s stomach turn. Why was Abaddon being brought up now? Here? He ignored it, not wanting to think about them, only working his fingers against the other’s heat in the hopes it would distract them. It worked for a moment, dragging a pleasured sigh from them as they fluttered their eyes shut, their hips rolling into his hand, but it didn’t last. The fingers in Thatcher’s mouth suddenly gripped his jaw instead, leaving his skin sticky as they forced him to look them directly in the eye.
“Tell me,” the command was a quiet threat, panted out through their perfect smile. They stared down at him, seeming to take pleasure in his fearful expression. “Say it, Thatcher.”
“I’m–” Thatcher’s face burned, forced to stare into their unblinking eyes. Their fingers dug into his jaw, almost painful as he tried to gather his courage. Fear and arousal curdled in his blood. “I’m g-good for them, too. I do whatever they want…”
“I bet you do…” Luvrina finally let go of his face, instead busying their hands with unbuckling his belt, pulling down both his jeans and briefs in a quick motion, making him gasp as his cock was revealed to the cool air. He felt vulnerable, exposed, ashamed. Still, he shivered, groaning quietly when they gazed down at him, a hungry look on their face.
“Being obedient suits you, love. You’re so cute, I could just eat you up.”
Thatcher wanted to say something, he didn’t know what, but something, until Luvrina’s surprisingly gentle hand had him losing any train of thought he may have had. They stroked him softly, making him whimper, pure want and pleasure overtaking him. Threading his dirtied fingers through their long hair, he pulled them down to capture their lips again.
He didn’t want their tongue in his mouth again, but he accepted it, anything to taste them again, anything to keep their sweet fingers wrapped around his cock, squeezing in just the right places as he sighed into their mouth, begging for more without words.
Wandering fingers hooked into the front of Luvrina’s dress, Thatcher not being able to resist pulling it down and being rewarded with their chest spilling out into his waiting hands. He squeezed gently, brushing his thumbs over sensitive nubs and making the angel moan into his mouth with a renewed heat.
Luvrina was soft, softer than what Thatcher was used to. With Abaddon, there was lean muscle and hard angles, soft in their own way but so very different from what he was experiencing now. Luvrina felt good, their smooth curves pressing against his body, into his hands, warm and supple, pliable under his fingers.
He squeezed their chest again, thumbs rougher this time, causing Luvrina to bite at his bottom lip with an uninhibited groan. Thatcher felt it through his entire body.
“Please…” Thatcher breathed against them, not resisting as his hips thrusted up into their loose grip. They giggled at that.
“Oh? What are you begging for, baby?” Luvrina teased, suddenly tightening their grip on his cock, making him whine. He chased their lips as they pulled away. “Beg more, you sound absolutely perfect…”
“Please–” humiliation washed over him as he obeyed, yet he chased it with vigor. It was a familiar feeling, after all. “Please, please fuck me, please fuck me.”
“My goodness, you really are so good! I should just keep you for myself, shouldn’t I?” they laughed meanly at his desperation, staring down at him and watching his reaction, “Would you like that, if I kept you? My little pet…”
Thatcher didn’t answer, but the idea wasn’t unpleasant to him. God, what was wrong with him? Luvrina squeezed his cock again when he didn’t respond, ripping him away from his thoughts as pain raced up his spine, making him twitch uncomfortably.
“You should answer when you’re spoken to, love,” they decided to cease their teasing, growing quite impatient themself, finally shifting their hips forward and covering Thatcher’s lap as they began to ease him inside. The motion made both of them gasp quietly. “It’s only– nng– polite, dear...”
Thatcher’s thoughts turned to static as soon as he felt their heat surround him. His hands grabbed desperately at their ass, attempting to pull them in closer, to feel them take him in. Burying his face into the crook of their neck, he whined, still muttering soft pleas into their perfect skin. They smelled so sweet, like citrus and florals; he couldn’t help a long, appreciative lick against their neck, wanting to taste them, feel their supple flesh under his needy mouth.
Luvrina slid all the way down him with a grunt, the motion making a vulgar, wet sound, causing Thatcher’s head to spin. He didn’t mean to, not wanting to hurt them, but his hips seemed to have a mind of their own as he jolted them upward. Once, twice, feeling Luvrina squeeze slick and hot around him as he groaned again, pathetic and unashamed in his need.
“Oh, sweetie, now I see why Abby plays with you. You’re so eager…” Luvrina squeaked out a few moans at the sudden motion, taking pleasure in being bounced around for a moment.
“But you need to keep being good…” they cooed, sitting their weight on him, stilling his hips as they started to roll their own against him at an even pace. They placed a hand on his neck, keeping him down, thumb stroking gently at his throat. Thatcher whined. “Be still. Be sweet, my love, and I’ll make you feel better than they ever could…”
They kissed him again, Thatcher barely able to reciprocate as they rocked into him perfectly. He felt suffocated, the space too tight, their bodies squeezed too close together, their thumb pressed into his throat, the air shared between them too hot, heavy and oppressive. His lips were sore, sweat prickled and dripped down his burning face, his hands dug into Luvrina’s hips, desperately trying to hold on as he accepted the pleasure they allowed him. A heat pooled deep within his belly and he thought ‘too soon, too soon, too soon’, but he was already shuddering within them, helpless to stop it.
“Fuck, I’m sorry–” his orgasm shook his body, his voice strangled in his throat as he writhed beneath the other, desperate hands clinging to them as he rode out his high. Luvrina breathed something against his ear, then laughed, but he didn’t catch it, his head filled with too much fog, too much pleasure, drowning out anything else around him.
He felt exhausted when he finally came down, his breathing feeling like an effort he didn’t have the energy for. He shifted uncomfortably as he felt Luvrina still moving slightly atop him.
Fingers grabbed roughly at his face again, shaking him slightly and causing him to wearily blink his eyes open. When had he closed them? Luvrina was still there, not a dream, staring at him too closely. At least their large eyes were half lidded now.
“Don’t fall asleep, darling, I’m not done with you…” they were slightly out of breath as they spoke, their cheeks tinged with red, but they still smiled at him. Their words ghosted against his lips, Thatcher watching as a bead of sweat rolled down the side of their face. “Show me how sweet that mouth of yours is…”
“O-Okay, yeah…” he grimaced as he felt the other lift their hips slightly, freeing him from their embrace with a quiet, slick noise. He hurriedly stuffed himself back in his pants, trying to ignore the stickiness.
Switching positions wasn’t graceful, but they managed. Luvrina pressed their back up against the car door, their legs spread beneath their dress as Thatcher crawled between them. It wasn’t comfortable, having to contort himself in the confined space, and he dreaded the back pain that awaited him in the morning. Those thoughts were quickly pushed away though as fingers grabbed at his hair and pulled him close.
“Just be good a little longer, cutie…” Luvrina sighed, their head falling back against the glass of the window as Thatcher obediently buried his face between their thighs. The feeling of his lips made their eyes flutter shut, their mouth slightly open as their breath picked up. “I wish I could play with you all night, baby… I’d love to make a mess of you…”
Thatcher only whined in response, it’s all he could do with his mouth full. They tasted good, warm and salty, their fluids and his own mixing together with his saliva as he drooled. He tasted himself as he lapped at them, the realization making him moan, feeling dirty. Humiliation, shame, and pleasure washed over him all at once, the intoxicating concoction of emotions only driving his desperation, giving him the motivation to work his tongue quicker, pulling those sweet noises from Luvrina’s throat, over and over.
He wished they’d say his name, breathless and praising, squeaked out in a cry for more. He was greedy, he knew this, but he was only a man.
He liked being a good boy. He liked being obedient, being told what to do, being used. He wanted Luvrina to use his mouth, use him until they were satisfied. He liked being put in his place, needed to be put in his place, whether it be under them or between their thighs. In this moment, he wanted this, he needed it. It’s all he was good for, anyway, bringing someone else pleasure, filling someone else’s needs, making someone else feel good.
For the first time that night, Luvrina couldn’t seem to form words, their degrading praise melting into little whines and moans and keens as Thatcher continued to mouth at them. Thighs trembled under his grasp as he moved his tongue in gentle, eager circles, slipping their clit into his yearning mouth and earning a choked gasp from them. Luvrina squirmed under his touch, breath hot, but Thatcher’s fingers dug into their hips, holding them in place even when they began to fight against him in their pleasure. He breathed out his own noises against their sticky, flushed skin, even when the heel from their stiletto nudged into his back, even when sharp nails dug painfully into his scalp, he kept his pace, the pain only spurring him on.
Luvrina came with a sharp cry, dirtying Thatcher’s face as they rode it out against his mouth. He let them, his jaw sore, but more than willing to please the other until they were thoroughly finished with him. They breathed hard through cherry-stained lips, their hips rolling against Thatcher’s tongue until they were satisfied, then slowly stilling as they let the warmth of their high wash over them. Thatcher gave them a few last, little licks before kissing gently in the same spot. Luvrina practically purred at that, stroking a hand through Thatcher’s hair lovingly, possessively.
There was silence between them for a few moments, the only sounds being their labored breathing as they both attempted to catch their breath. Thatcher laid his head against the other’s fuzzy thigh, looking up at them with a tired, starstruck expression, his mouth painted with their fluids, marking him as their own. They returned his gaze, their wide grin beginning to creep back onto their exhausted face, but it seemed less malicious this time.
God, they looked gorgeous, he thought. Their makeup was smeared, their long hair disheveled, their dress barely containing them, their cheeks tinted red as they breathed hard, sitting there still spread and slick and open for him. A small pang of renewed arousal traveled down his spine at the sight. He wanted to taste them more, feel them more, but he knew the two could be caught any second. Despite his growing desire, there was no time for him to indulge in seconds.
“Goodness,” Luvrina finally spoke, still stroking Thatcher’s hair, to which he made a small noise and nuzzled into their touch. “You’re so lovely, baby…Such a good little dog, aren’t you?”
He blinked up at them, not knowing what to say to the insult, shame twisting in his belly for another round that night. Luvrina only laughed. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, finally sitting himself up with some difficulty, his limbs feeling like jelly. Luvrina joined him, stuffing themself back into their dress and smoothing it out, then brushing their fingers through their messy, ruby locks in an attempt to comb the strands back into place.
“That was just wonderful, darling. You really are such a nice distraction. If you were mine, I would get absolutely no work done!” they laughed out a quiet, amused giggle.
“...A distraction?” Thatcher mused quietly, the realization dawning on him. He stared holes into the back of the seat in front of him, avoiding looking at the other.
“Of course,” Luvrina said cheerfully, but matter of factly, as if it was an obvious statement. Their nails ran along the back of Thatcher’s neck. It made his skin crawl. “What else would you be, sweetheart?”
Thatcher didn’t respond, still looking away from them. His stomach turned. Luvrina grabbed impatiently for his face when he didn’t answer, forcing him to look into their eyes again.
“Well, this was a lot of fun, but I have such a busy schedule, my love, I’ve got to get going,” they smiled at him for the last time that night, wearing that same sweet expression from earlier, when they told him he was special. They blinked once as they spoke. “Just remember who really loves you, Thatcher. Remember who’s really looking out for you, and remember who would never hurt you.”
Luvrina pressed a soft, lingering peck to his lips before opening the car door and taking off, leaving Thatcher alone in his car to ruminate on the events of that night.
The door slammed, then silence. With the angel gone, Thatcher finally let out a heavy sigh as he leaned back into the seat, running a hand along his face and brushing back a few strands of hair that had stuck to his sweaty forehead. He squeezed his eyes shut, realizing how uncomfortably sticky he felt, wishing he had something else to change into, knowing he probably looked like a hot mess.
“Shit…” he muttered into his palm, anxiety nestling in his chest as he realized he needed to clean himself up before Abaddon came looking for him. He wondered if they even noticed he left. He searched for anything in the floorboards: a towel, a blanket, anything to clean himself of the evidence of his sins.
He found an old towel that he didn’t remember owning. That happened a lot, he would find things strewn about in places he didn’t remember, but he always chalked it up to Abaddon. They never seemed to care if they made a mess, or left things behind for him to find. It was fine, he was fine with it, at least this time it came in handy.
Thatcher hurried himself with leaving the backseat, instead sitting himself in the driver’s seat, studying himself in the rearview mirror. He felt almost revolted at what looked back at him.
It was just him, of course, but red lipstick was smeared across his lips, down his neck, along his collar. Bite marks, bruises tinged dark and purple littered the side of his neck, evidence of what he had done. What he allowed himself to do. At least the makeup came off easily with the towel, but there was nothing he could do about the bruises. He combed his shaky fingers through his graying hair, buttoned up his shirt, straightened his glasses, all a futile attempt to make himself appear somewhat presentable. He thought that he’d never looked worse in his life.
Sighing out a shaky breath, he laid his head back against the seat, laying his hands atop the steering wheel in front of him, just to have something familiar to ground him, something to tether him to reality, to remind him where he was, to calm his racing mind.
He squeezed his eyes shut again, attempting to breathe, but he felt tears sting in the corners of his eyes, felt his throat clench as those same tears threatened to spill. He wanted to fight it, to hold it all in, to act like everything was normal and fine and just as it always was, like he hadn’t just made one huge, colossal mistake.
But…things were normal, weren’t they? Things were always like this. Thatcher always allowed himself to get used, over and over again, just to feel some semblance of love, of companionship. It was easy to keep the cycle going, no matter who’s hand held his leash, he’d still pretend that someone could actually care about him, that someone would actually want to call him their own. If he just kept trying, kept pushing all of himself down for the sake of others, then someone was bound to love him, right? Wasn’t he worth that? Why wasn’t he worth it? Why? Why?
“Fuck!” the shout ripped itself from Thatcher’s throat as tears finally spilled. Hot and thick and angry globs blurred his vision, staining his skin as they rolled down his cheeks. He clenched his teeth, his fists slamming against the steering wheel as pent up rage burned deep within his aching chest.
Why did he keep doing this to himself? Why did he keep allowing himself to get hurt, taken advantage of, over and over again? Why was he such a coward? Why was he so broken? So pathetic?
Did Luvrina really care about him? Was he just a toy to them, too? Something to toss back and forth between their teeth until they got bored and threw him aside? Did either of these angels give even half a damn about him at all? Were they even capable? Was all his effort for nothing, all his desperation, all his longing? Was he grasping at a rope that had already been cut, sending him to a painful death when he hit the ground?
Part of him didn’t want to fight it, and that sickened him, but why fight the inevitable? It was so much easier to allow someone else to guide him, someone else to take control of his life, someone else to show him what to do, how to behave. After all, that’s how he’d allowed himself to be treated for his entire life. It was comfortable and familiar, even despite the pain.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” his voice cracked on the last note, each exclamation accompanied by another slam of his fists on top of the steering wheel, every repetition coming out hoarser, more enraged than the last, until he was screaming into the still, darkness of the night.
He couldn’t stop crying, all the pain and anger and regret too much for him. Loud sobs racked his spent body, even after his outburst, after his throat grew raw, still the tears fell, rolling down the curve of his jaw until they spilled into his lap below him. His hands shook so terribly, his chest ached so deeply; he couldn’t remember ever feeling so disgusted with himself.
Perhaps he should be angry with Luvrina, with Abaddon, with the universe itself, but all he could feel was anger turned inward, a self hatred so strong that he felt he might burst, the desire to crawl out of his own skin overwhelming him. After all, no one had forced him, no one held a gun to his head and made him do anything, his decisions were always his own, so why couldn’t he make the right one? Why did he make the same stupid decisions over and over and over again? Were a few sugary sweet words whispered in his ear enough to convince him? Enough to lure him into a false sense of security, enough to bend to another’s will, despite how wrong it might feel?
He hated that the answer was yes, and that it would always be yes.
Whimpers slipped from his throat, his forehead pressing into the steering wheel now as he leaned forward, the cool material feeling pleasant against his flushed skin. His sobs were quieter now, his body rising and falling with the hiccup of soft cries as he weeped openly into the night. He felt so tired, feeling as though he could sleep for days, but even then it wouldn’t be enough. No amount of rest ever felt enough.
Even in his despair, his rage, his regret, even through all of the self hatred boiling within him, his exhaustion took over and all he desired was for Abaddon to be by his side. They wouldn’t comfort him, he knew this, they were cold and haughty, but even being in their presence was enough for him. Just hearing their voice would bring him comfort, even if they insulted him, even if they hated him for what he’d done, at least it was them. At least they’d be near him, giving him any attention at all.
He hated himself the most for that.
……….
A rap against his car window startled him awake.
When had he dozed off? For how long? He blinked open his burning eyes with difficulty, glancing at the digital clock built into his dashboard, the neon lettering telling him it was two in the morning.
Another rap, and Thatcher finally looked over to his passenger side window, being greeted by a rather disheveled looking Abaddon. Their strappy heels dangled loosely from their hand as they mouthed something. The barrier of the glass window muffled their voice, but it was probably something along the lines of ‘let me in, you asshole’.
With hesitance, Thatcher unlocked the doors. He hurriedly wiped at his face, suddenly remembering he had been crying before he fell asleep. He didn’t look at Abaddon as they threw their weight into the passenger’s seat beside him. They practically melted into it, exhaling a sigh and throwing their shoes mindlessly into the backseat.
“Uuuuughh,” they stretched, yawning and sinking further into the seat before turning to look at Thatcher, “Fuuuuck, where’d you go? Couldn’t find you…”
They were drunk, he realized, their words slurring together as they wriggled around in their seat, trying to get comfortable. Good, maybe they’d be too inebriated to notice the marks on his neck. Somehow Thatcher didn’t think he’d get that lucky, though.
“Um, yeah. Sorry. Got too loud, so I came out here for a while,” he lied, sweat beginning to form at his temples as he continued to stare away from them. He laughed nervously, trying to act casual. “Guess I fell asleep…”
“Mhmmm,” Abaddon mumbled in half acknowledgement, reaching out to lazily grab Thatcher's arm. He stiffened at the touch, but it went unnoticed to Abaddon’s drunk mind. They leaned closer, attempting to kiss him. Thatcher flinched away, and they noticed that time. “Whaa~aat? Don’t like me tonight?”
“You smell like alcohol,” Thatcher said quickly. It wasn’t entirely a lie, they reeked of the stuff.
They didn’t answer him right away, so Thatcher finally glanced at them. They were staring intensely at him, their eyes squinted up, causing his heart to lodge in his throat. Fuck, did they know? How could they know? Had they seen him and Luvrina sneak off? Thatcher’s palms grew sweaty, his hands shaking.
“Hooooly shit,” Abaddon said slowly, smiling with their teeth, clasping a hand hard onto Thatcher’s bicep as they barked out a laugh, causing him to flinch again. “Thatcher!”
“What,” he managed through clenched teeth, his face burning. Abaddon grabbed for his face, attempting to swivel it so they could get a good look at him. He slapped their hand away, sick of his face being grabbed for the night. “Stop it. Please.”
“Damn, good for you,” they laughed again, drunkenly, meanly, as if it was out of the realm of possibility that anyone would find Thatcher desirable, “Who was it? I mighta seen them around tonight…”
“No one.”
“Better lay than me?”
Thatcher didn’t answer, staring straight ahead and feeling like his chest was going to burst. He wished it would.
“Come ooooon, tell me who,” Abaddon teased, their hand gripping his arm, all their attention on him as they invaded his personal space, “They must’ve loved you, I mean, shit, they marked you up good, baby.”
Silence still. Abaddon always found immense pleasure in his discomfort, so they continued to egg him on.
“I’m not gonna be jealous, Thatch. Just tell me–”
“Drop it!” Thatcher finally looked at them, anger bubbling in his chest, written all over his face as he raised his voice. He regretted it immediately, his eyes widening in fear at his outburst, his gaze returning to staring straight ahead, his hands grasping at the steering wheel. “I’m sorry, I’m just– I’m tired. Let’s just go home. Please.”
“Pff, asshole. Must've been a shit lay if you're that grumpy,” Abaddon scoffed at him, waving a dismissive hand before backing off and snuggling back into their own seat, “What, did they blueball you or somethin’?”
“Whatever, let’s stop and get food on the way. I’m starving,” they curled up slightly, closing their eyes and mumbling, “You know what I like, just wake me up when we’re home…”
“Sure, Abaddon,” Thatcher said dully, just wanting to be home already. He needed to take a hot shower, down a sleeping pill, collapse into his bed, and pray that the night’s events didn’t haunt his dreams. “Whatever you want.”
Errol shows Kassidy that he cares for them in his own way, leading them to a realization that Hector helps them navigate.
----
this is very self indulgent, I just wanted to put my two fav guys in a fic together lol. for context: my homeowner, Kassidy, is dating many dateables at once, though their relationship with Errol is still in limbo, but there's some flirting going on hehe...
(this fic can also be found on ao3!)
----
Kassidy had been sitting at the kitchen table for some time now, tapping away passionately at their laptop keyboard, a glass of iced coffee being their sole companion.
When they’d entered the kitchen that morning and situated themself, they had told Errol they were busy writing “fanfiction”, and although he hadn’t the slightest idea what that was, he tried his best to leave them to it, undisturbed.
Unfortunately, he was not always a patient man, and certainly not a man who stayed out of other people’s business.
“You're hovering,” Kassidy suddenly stopped typing, turning around in their chair to look up at the man standing behind them. They tucked a few loose strands of hair behind their ear, giving him a look of expectancy to back off. “It makes me nervous when people watch me write.”
“Apologies,” Errol started, only sounding a little sorry. He definitely had not been reading over their shoulder. “I was hoping you had a free moment, as we skipped right over the morning sermon today.”
“Oh, shit,” Kassidy grimaced slightly. Damn, they were hoping he'd forget about that, at least just for today. This was Errol, though, and nothing got past him, especially not something like this.
“Yeah, I know, I know. Look, I'm kinda in the zone right now? If I lose my focus I'll lose all my ideas. This is really important,” Errol didn't know what was so important that they would skip out on the word of His convection, but he allowed them to continue. “But…when I'm done, how about we, uh, discuss things over dinner? I could do a little taste test, if you wanted…”
Kassidy batted their long eyelashes up at him, watching Errol raise an eyebrow at them, his cheeks slightly flushed, but his gaze as steely as ever. The flirtation was not completely lost on him, but he chose to ignore it for now; temptation would not lead him astray. Besides, a taste test was a perfect idea. What better way to truly understand the way of the air fryer than to experience it first hand?
“...I suppose,” he began, clicking his tongue and exhaling through his nose, “But do not be late, my lamb, we have much to discuss.”
“Thanks, Friar. I promise I'll make it up to you,” they smiled innocently at him, but their expression quickly grew to one of annoyance as stray strands of hair fell into their face again. “Dammit! Sorry, my hair is driving me crazy today.”
Kassidy started to fish around in their pockets for something to contain their locks (they should really get a haircut soon…), but their search was cut short by the Friar suddenly holding out a black hair tie in front of their face. It was one of their own. Where had he gotten it? Had they left it sitting around the kitchen?
“Oh,” they blinked, taking it tentatively, then looked up at him and offered a grateful smile. “Thanks, man. You’re a lifesaver.”
“It’s…not a problem,” he spoke slowly, watching them run their fingers through their long, dark hair, quickly gathering the soft waves into a messy ponytail. He quite liked the front streaks of gray flowing into their natural brown. They looked pretty. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must prepare for tonight.”
“See ya.”
“And…Kassidy?”
“Yeah?”
He paused, looking at them. He wanted to ask if they’d read him some of their writing over dinner, but after a moment he thought better of it. His jaw clenched, lips twitching as he fought back what he really wanted to say. Swallowing, he avoided their eyes.
“I…wish you luck with your writing. May His currents bless you.”
“Aw, thanks, Friar.”
----
Kassidy sat bolt upright in bed with a gasp, turning to the, now startled, man beside them.
“He's bald.”
Hector scrunched his brow, blinking several times at them, reaching a hand out to stroke soothingly at their arm.
“Are you alright, my love? Were you dreaming?”
“He's bald. The Friar.”
“...Yes? An astute observation, beloved.”
“No, listen,” they started, catching their breath. Hector looked at them incredulously, assuming they'd finally cracked. “Earlier today, I was fussing with my hair, didn't have a hair tie on me, and then he— he just handed me one, like it was no big deal.”
“Well, my love, it isn't a big deal. That was nice of him, no?”
“No, babe. Think,” they jabbed a finger at their own head for emphasis, staring at him wide eyed, “He's bald. Why would he have hair ties on him?”
Hector tilted his head, making a face like he really was thinking about it, attempting to give his partner an answer. Then it dawned on him.
“Oh. I see, my love,” he relaxed, beginning to laugh, realizing Kassidy was manic over nothing. He took one of their hands and kissed their knuckles. “He’s thinking of you.”
“Yes!” they exclaimed, flopping back down onto the bed, hiding their quickly reddening face in their hands with a groan. “He likes me, doesn't he?”
“Perhaps,” Hector settled in next to them, wrapping an arm around their midsection, kissing their shoulder. “Is that so bad, cariño?”
“No, I guess not…” they groaned again, sighing through their nose, “I just…he's fun. He's a lot of fun to tease, but he's so…”
They crossed their arms over their chest.
“I don't know. Severe, I guess?” they bit their bottom lip, staring up at the ceiling. “I don't know if I want a– a relationship with him. I dunno if he’s even capable of that, with his…religion and everything. Oh, god, am I gonna have to convert to be with him? I already use the air fryer, what else does he want?”
They finally glanced over at Hector, who was giving them a knowing smile.
“What?”
“Nothing, my love,” he chuckled, leaning in to give them a soft peck to their cheek, talking quietly against their ear. “You do not sound completely against being with him.”
“Oh. My god. Shut up. Now!”
“You know you have my blessings, darling. Even if your choices are…questionable, at times. I will only encourage your endeavors, my love.”
“Hector I’m gonna kill you.”
“Then I will die by your hand, mi vida,” he jested, kissing their knuckles again. “Does he make you happy?”
“...Yeah, I guess,” they mulled it over in their head, “He’s kind of insane, but…when he’s not preaching ‘the good word’, he can be sweet. I think he really likes talking to me every morning. I like it too.”
“...And he always listens to me,” they continued, “He lets me talk and talk and talk, even when he doesn’t really understand what I’m talking about, y’know?”
“And oh my god, babe, the tension some days. Christ. You could cut it with a knife. Sometimes I can’t even focus when he’s preaching at me, I just stare at him–”
They flushed red suddenly, the reality dawning on them.
“Fuck. I like him.”
“Mhm,” Hector hummed against their skin, “Do what makes you happy, beloved. I believe you should see where things lead. Your body language is quite…enthusiastic when you’re around him, after all.”
“Oh, you creep,” they laughed, playfully hitting his arm, “Have you been watching us? In the vents?”
“Only in passing,” he admitted, no shame at all in his voice, “Is it so wrong to keep an eye on my partner’s suitors? Especially one as…eccentric as the Friar?”
“Eccentric…You’re one to talk,” giggling, they kissed him softly, “You’re a pervert.”
“Maybe so, lover, but I am not afraid to admit such things, unlike your Friar.”
“Whatever– Wait, my Friar? Oh, don’t start…” they laughed again, shaking their head, “I just…why him? He’s so boring, and weird, and–and passionate, and attentive, and smart, and– Ugh, he is really hot, Hector.”
Kassidy groaned once more in defeated acceptance, burying their face in the man’s shoulder. Hector made a face, like he didn’t agree, but he said nothing about it, only pet their hair.
“See where it leads, my love. Talking is a wonderful tool at your disposal.”
“Oh, hell no, I’m not giving in first. I wanna see how long it takes for him to beg.”
Hector only rolled his eyes, chuckling.
“Of course, whatever you say, my love. Now, go back to sleep.”
The first time Abner has a nightmare is when they're laying on top of Thatcher.
The two had been snuggling on the couch, mindlessly watching television, when Abner dozed off. Thatcher was more than okay with that, finding the weight of them on top of him comforting, their body rising and falling with the breaths that ghosted against his neck. If the angel falling asleep in his arms meant he was trapped on his couch for a few hours, then so be it, as long as Abner could relax for a while. They felt safe with him, and he was happy for it.
It was cute at first, when Abner started to twitch and mumble in their sleep. Usually, they were a sound sleeper, rarely moving or making much noise. After only a few moments, though, the twitching became an obvious sign of distress, the mumbles turning into soft whines of "no" and "stop", their breath growing heavy, their hands grabbing Thatcher’s shirt, reaching out for something unseen.
Thatcher gently shook their shoulders, whispering, "Hey, Abner, wake up, sweetheart..." but his attempt to wake them without alarm was in vain. They shot up with a gasp, eyes wide, face coated in sweat.
They immediately scrambled away from Thatcher, muttering something under their breath (maybe a string of curses?), isolating themself into the corner of the couch, making themself small. Frightened eyes darted around the room, confused as to where they found themself.
What had they dreamt about? What could possibly scare an immortal?
"Hey..." Thatcher spoke quietly, moving slowly, his hands tentatively reaching out to them. They flinch away, shielding their face, the movement breaking Thatcher’s heart. He was their friend, why were they scared of him? "It's okay, what's wrong, honey? Was it a bad dream?"
"Where am I?" their voice comes out small, raspy with the lasting traces of sleep. They reach for the top of their head, wincing, as if they’re in pain. Thatcher has never seen them this way, so scared and unsure. This isn’t the Abner he knew; abrasive and cocky, now reduced to a cowering, trembling mess, like a wild animal being cornered.
“What happened?” they ask breathlessly.
It clicks in Thatcher's mind: they must have dreamt about the incident from their past; it’s the only thing he could think of that could possibly put them in this state.
He only recently found out about it himself, about what was done to them, the hurt they went through, and how they were treated because of it, though he still didn't know all the details. After all, Abner was an oyster you had to pry open with a knife, but still… his heart ached at the realization. What a horrible thing to relive, not even free in their dreams. He knew that all too well.
"You're right here, Abner, with me, in my apartment, okay? Um… on Earth? You're on Earth, okay? It's okay..."
Abner didn't answer, only stared at him, unblinking, those bright, blue eyes of theirs suddenly alien to Thatcher. Still holding their head, they peered around the room again, reeling mind desperately trying to grasp the situation.
Thatcher moved closer as they were distracted, hand reaching out to touch the other’s leg, attempting to comfort them, but his movement was too sudden, too soon.
"Don't fucking touch me!" raising their voice, they flinched away from him again, physically slapping his hand away, their back pressing hard into the end of the couch. They glared at him, anger mixing with their fear.
"I'm sorry!" he quickly held up his hands defensively, backing up from them and allowing them space. His skin stung where they struck him. "I’m sorry, I won't, it's okay. Are you okay?"
"I..." they shook their head, not in an answer, but to clear their thoughts. Their bangs stuck to their sweaty forehead.
Turning their head, the bright, flashing images of the television drew their attention, seeming to bring them back down to reality. They were exactly where they’d been when they fell asleep: a bustling city in Texas. Earth. No danger. No pain. No wrathful God bearing down on them. Safe.
"Fuuuck,” they groaned. The pain in their head, mixed with the drowsiness of sleep and the lasting adrenaline, made their vision blur. “What the fuck? I'm in your shitty apartment?"
"Yeah, you fell asleep on me. I... think you had a nightmare?" Thatcher treaded carefully. Abner slowly turned to the sound of his voice, squinting, blinking once at him. "Um, that happens sometimes, when you sleep, but I promise it's okay."
"Liar," they hissed, frowning, their eyes narrow. "That’s stupid. That's— That's never happened before. I sleep all the time and that's never happened."
"Maybe you're stressed? It can happen, it happens to me too."
“It doesn’t happen to me,” they denied, voice raised defensively, their face flushed. They felt cold, yet they were covered in sweat. “I’m not like you.”
"Alright,” Thatcher didn’t argue with them, only wishing to mitigate the situation, not make it worse. He sounded far away when he spoke. “Can I do anything for you? Do you want me to make you something to eat? Sometimes a hot shower helps, too, I can start the water for you."
Abner wasn’t listening, their mind drifting somewhere else.
They had dreamt before, though seldom, and in all the many years they’d been on Earth, they never remembered anything upon waking, only the vague memory of something happening; images and voices and sounds, too obscure to place. Sleep, for them, was more like losing a few hours; everything went black, then they were awake again.
Although they didn't need to sleep, it had always been relaxing for them, a way to turn their brain off for a while when things felt too much. Tonight made them never want to sleep again.
This dream, this nightmare, like Thatcher said, had felt so clear in their mind, more vivid than any dream they had experienced before. Visceral. Painful. Real, because it was; it had been their memories, the worst moment of their life, forcing Abner to relive their trauma over again, splitting open the wounds that had never truly healed, bleeding fresh blood.
These days, they did everything in their power to forget what happened to them; they drank, they did all assortments of drugs, they filled their time with parties and sex and the meaningless lives of humans that would all eventually die and leave them behind, and yet… yet, this one event never left them. Always in the back of their mind, even after all this time, weaving itself into their very being; they feared they would never shed themself of this bitter ache.
They could still feel the pain, the snap of their halo, the intensity vibrating their teeth. They could still hear the sound of their own screams, the laughing, the jeering, even the gasps of fear and awe as the crowd surrounded them. They could still feel how they struggled against their ruler’s grip, not knowing whether they’d be crushed under that pressure. They remembered the blood, their own blood staining their hands, splattering as they were thrown carelessly to the ground, forever a broken plaything.
That voice still echoed in their mind.
You should be grateful your God cares so much for you, Abaddon. They are the only reason I am granting you this grace.
Abner shuddered, shutting their eyes, their head throbbing. They hated feeling scared. It was a weak emotion, so small. It wasn't like them at all. Nothing scared them, nothing except–
“Abner?”
Thatcher’s voice broke them out of their thoughts. He sat on his knees, large eyes staring at them, empathetic, voice full of pity. Abner's stomach turned; they were not someone to pity.
"Fuck off," they spat, struggling, but managing to stand on their wobbly legs. They didn't know where to go, though, so they just stood there, crossing their arms, pretending it wasn’t still a chore to keep their head straight. They couldn’t stop their hands from shaking. "I’m fine. It was just a dream."
"Still, it's okay if you're scared, it's normal—"
"I'm not scared, I said I’m fucking fine."
They started walking, still not knowing where to go, just letting their legs carry them. They wanted to get away from this whole situation, especially from him. He was so annoying when he tried to help. They didn't need help, what they needed was to get so drunk they couldn't think long enough to care.
Running away was always easier, anyways.
“Abner–”
“Leave me alone.”
“Abner!”
Thatcher knew what was coming. The cycle was always the same: Abner would get worked up over something, refuse to talk about it, and then just leave. Sometimes they'd only be gone a few hours, sometimes days, sometimes weeks. They always came back, in the end, acting like nothing happened, but Thatcher's nerves couldn't take it.
He follows them to the balcony, finding them standing, barefoot and balanced atop the railing, looking down at the city, their beautiful, gleaming white wings sprouting from their back, practically sparkling in the moonlight. Despite the situation, Thatcher can’t help but take a moment to admire them, looking upon them in awe. He rarely saw this part of them; the stark reminder they were an angel made it hard to breathe.
“Abner,” he begins again, pleading, “You don’t have to leave. We can talk– Okay, we don’t even have to talk about it, just, please don’t–”
He’s interrupted by the angel finally taking off from their perch, their great, large wings whipping up a whirlwind of movement. Thatcher shields himself from the force of the gusts, the motion toppling over his plants and scattering debris across the small balcony.
Once he recovers, they’re already gone into the night, the only trace of them a few stray, glimmering feathers littering the ground.
I Only Exist In The Warmth Of Your Gaze - Hector x OC
Hector and Kassidy finally meet face to face...
(this fic can also be found on ao3)
----
Beautiful.
That's what Kassidy had called him when they laid eyes upon him for the first time. The real him, not just some face cast in shadow within the vents, whispering words of praise and gazing with admiration from afar. He couldn’t believe it, they had said it so easily, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Beautiful.
But how could that be? Him? Anything other than subpar? Grotesque, in his own words. What could possibly be beautiful about him? His crooked nose? His yellow teeth, his nervous smile? The purple bags under his eyes? His messy mop of dark, curly hair? His double chin, jaw soft and unlike the chiseled marble he so desired?
Maybe his hands. His hands could be beautiful. Sturdy, soft, reliable. They were just about the only thing he liked about himself. Maybe his eyes, too, deep and dark and sincere, shining almost gold when caught in the right lighting.
He cleared his throat, finding it incredibly hard to breathe or make any sound at all in the very presence of them, his object of desire that he had been admiring from afar, only hoping that one day they could meet face to face. Finally, here they were, in the flesh, right in front of him, looking at him so sweetly, calling him beautiful. The universe must have been playing a joke on him, a cruel joke. The rug would pull out from under him any second now, revealing that the person in front of him was lying. They’d laugh at his desires, his one sided crush. They’d call him obsessive, ugly, a creep. Surely, they’d look at him with disgust, wouldn’t they? He looked at himself the same way, so why wouldn’t they?
“M-Me?”
“Yes, you,” they said, lips parting in a smile as they stepped a bit closer. They seemed nervous, possibly just as anxious as him. He noticed they didn’t like to hold eye contact. In a way, that comforted him, the idea that they were just as intimidated by him as he was them. Though he couldn’t imagine why they’d be nervous around someone like him.
“What other hvac unit would I be talking to?”
“I don’t– I just never–” he forced himself to exhale a deep breath, attempting to steady his nerves. He smiled shyly at them, his cheeks burning. “I didn’t expect you to say– I thought ‘cute’, maybe, in my wildest fantasies, but never… beautiful. Me.”
“You’re cute, too,” they laughed, covering their mouth as they did. He wished they wouldn’t. “Really cute, actually. If I knew how cute my ac unit was I would’ve acted faster…”
Hector made a strange, surprised noise in his throat, lips pouting as he looked away from them, not expecting the sudden onslaught of praise. He wrung his hands, attempting to speak again, despite the rising temperature throughout his whole body.
“My love… I never thought I would stand in the divine light that is you. Never thought I would be brave enough to face you, that you would even desire to see me at all…”
He reached out his hands, beckoning the other to slot their own into his waiting palms. They did, warm skin against skin, a light squeeze to reassure him. Surely they could feel how his hands shook, but they said nothing, only looked at him patiently with those big, hazel eyes, allowing him to continue.
“Thank you. I cannot even begin to tell you how much I appreciate you, my dear. I cannot ever repay your patience, your guidance, your graciousness, but, please know, I care for you so deeply, as I have cared for no one else. I–”
He bit his tongue, stopping suddenly. He was usually so good with words, so eloquent, so thoughtful, but being in their presence now, breathing the same air as them… it was intoxicating, suffocating, but in the best way possible. Words, this time around, could not possibly express his gratitude, his love for them. How could you form coherent thoughts when in the same room as an angel?
“It’s okay,” they began, voice soft, their presence bringing light to the dim, dusty surroundings of the attic. They squeezed his hands again. He ran his thumbs along their knuckles, their skin smooth and warm and grounding. “You don’t have to thank me, Hector. I understand, I do, but you don’t need to be scared. I love you.”
His heart skipped in his chest, jumping into his throat, making it completely impossible to breathe now, but he didn’t hesitate. He couldn’t, not when the opportunity was directly in front of him, his for the taking.
“I love you, too,” he gasped quietly, whispered as if it was a secret kept between them, meant for no one else’s ears. He pulled them closer by their hands, barely any space between the two of them now, a beaming smile straining his cheeks, as if he had never smiled before in his life. “I love you completely, my darling, with all of myself, all of my being, and even more than that if such things are possible.”
“Oh my god,” they laughed nervously, an embarrassed look on their reddening face, their eyes darting away from his for a moment, suddenly shy and overwhelmed. It seemed they weren’t used to such praise, either. “Hector, god… Can I kiss you?”
“Absolutely, yes,” he made his need known with no hesitation, his confidence growing the more they basked in each other’s presence. He had nothing to be afraid of. They were them, and he was him, and they were in love, and he was happy. “Please.”
Their hands slipped from his own, cupping his face instead, thumbs brushing against the light stubble of his cheeks, fingers cradling his soft jaw. He was beautiful, and so handsome; those deep, dark eyes looked at them with want and longing and love and, perhaps, even a little impatience. They didn’t miss how his eyes darted between their own eyes and their lips, like he was barely restraining himself from diving right in.
“Close your eyes,” they smiled sheepishly, stroking their thumbs lovingly across his cheeks, “I’m a little embarrassed…”
He didn’t say anything, only did as he was told, his eyebrows knitting together in anticipation.
Finally, after what felt like eons of waiting, a century of wanting and needing and yearning, of passionate desire, of sleepless nights just fantasizing about this very moment… their lips pressed against his own.
It was featherlight at first, but nothing short of intense. It was not a shock of electricity, as one might expect, but something deeper, something tender, setting them ablaze, keeping them warm all the way down to their bones, comforting and all encompassing.
The feeling strengthened as the kiss deepened, the two of them focused only on the other, nothing else in the whole world mattering to them in this moment.
Hector bravely nestled a hand against the small of their back, pulling them close to him, their bodies pressed against each other, as close as they could possibly be, and yet it didn’t feel like enough. Even if they could somehow fuse together, their very souls intertwining, he thinks it still wouldn’t be enough. He needed to devour them whole, every inch of them his, and him theirs. It still wouldn’t be enough, but he craved it all the same, felt it ache deep within his chest.
He kept them pinned to him as they embraced, kisses slow and loving but anything but chaste. His free hand brushed through the back of their long hair, fingers slipping under the dark locks to trace the back of their neck, squeezing, keeping them in place. Possessive. Mine. All mine.
Kassidy shivered, whimpering quietly, finally breaking apart from him, both of them gasping, the air hot between them. Hector kept his hands right where they were, not moving an inch, unwilling to release them, to break away from this. He wanted to trap both of them, and this moment, in amber forever. Even if this tiny snapshot was all he ever got, feeling their body and their mouth against his own was worth it all, and he could die happy with that. Musings of a lovesick fool, as it were.
Despite their need for air, Kassidy only nuzzled in closer to him, arms wrapping around his shoulders, burying their heated face in the crook of his neck and taking in his scent. He smelled good. Warm, pleasant, if not a little sweaty. They placed a soft, lingering kiss to the side of his neck, a sweet noise vibrating in his throat at the touch.
His own grip tightened on them, his arms around their body feeling secure, safe, like nothing could hurt them as long as he held them just like this. Just like this, forever.
“My love…” he sighed against their ear, sounding breathless and happy, a smile evident despite his face not being visible to them. His fingers found themselves in the thick waves of their hair, stroking through them with care. They had such soft hair, such a soft body… “Oh, my love…my love…”
He repeated his words in hushed tones, peppering their ear, their jaw, with soft pecks of affection until he reached their lips again, capturing their mouth against his in that same heat, that same deep warmth that bloomed throughout both of their bodies.
The fingers in Kassidy’s hair tugged slightly, the hand on their back beginning to wander, his tongue prodding at their open lips, making them squirm and shudder under his grip. He was all too much, yet not enough, their body aching with want, an ache they hadn’t felt in a long time.
They broke from him again, and this time a twinge of anxiety shot through Hector’s chest. Was something wrong? Was he being too much? Too forward, too fast? Were they regretting their decision to meet him?
“I am sorry, darling,” he began, his voice a gentle murmur as if to not scare them away, “Is this too much? I did not mean to– I got carried away with you being so close to me, now… Forgive my greed, with how long I’ve wanted this, my sweetness…”
“No, no, I’m okay…” they were out of breath, a starstruck look in their eyes as they gathered their thoughts. Hector couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride at their flustered face. He wondered what other expressions he could contort it into. “Fuck, I want you, Hector. I want you. I don't want to wait anymore.”
“Goodness…” he sighed, taking in the sight of them, taking in their words of desperation. They were just as eager as he was, if not more so, if that was even possible. It was nice, feeling wanted, feeling needed, feeling loved, and hearing it spoken so boldly out in the open. “Yes, yes, of course, my love… Ask anything of me and I will graciously give it to you. I will give you everything you desire…”
He kissed their neck again, feeling one of their hands bury itself into the back of his dark curls, keeping him there, making him shudder out a breath. He needed so desperately to dig his fingers, his teeth, into their warm and succulent skin, their plush body… but he held himself back for the time being. This was about them, not him, and he wanted them comfortable, despite the degrading thoughts and images bouncing around in his head.
“Do you wanna…” they giggled with nerves. He noticed they were shaking a little, so he stroked along their back gently, reassuringly. “We can– uh. Sorry, now I’m nervous. I’m excited.”
“It’s alright, my dearest,” Hector shared in their anxious laughter. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind their ear, then cupped their jaw, not being able to help himself as he stole another quick kiss. “I want what you want…”
“I want you,” they repeated, suddenly looking intense, “Not here, though, um… we can go to my bedroom.”
“Yes,” he answered too quickly, making a noise in his throat, something of excitement, still laced with anxiety, but he nodded along to their suggestion. Thank god, because he didn't know how much longer he could hold himself back. “Yes, my love. Please. Lead the way.”
hi its wip wednesday does anyone want some thabner vampire au
well I DO.
I scrambled to type this many nights ago because I had a vision but I haven't touched it since. would love to come back to it eventually but here's what I've got for now! (side note I wasn't picturing this modern day. don't know the definitive time period tho)
----
The sun had set, night now bestowing itself upon the old church, only the light from the full moon shining in through the brilliant stained glass windows.
Even in the darkness of the night, the moonlight was enough for the Priest, still present in the great, big, empty building, to look upon his holy words, comfortable in the fact that he was alone.
At least, that’s what he thought.
Something stirred in the stillness of the grand room. Someone. He had sworn he’d locked the doors, as soon as the last of his pupils had exited the building for the day, he’d locked it up tight, as he always did. He swore he had.
“Who’s there?” the Priest’s voice echoed along lonely walls.
No answer, not even the noise that alerted him in the first place, but something still felt off. The room felt tilted. An uneasy dread made a home along the Priest’s spine.
He held fast for a moment, staring into the darkness, eyes searching for anything that may have set him off. Perhaps a member he had forgotten in his haste, trapping them in. Or a child, innocent but stupid, finding themself lost after hours. Maybe even a drifter, only hoping for a warm place to stay for the night.
Nothing.
He exhaled the breath he’d been holding, allowing his eyes to close for a moment as he collected himself. It’s only your mind, he told himself, fighting his terrible disease of overthinking. You’re exhausted from the day’s work. It’s late. You must rest.
But then that feeling of dread snuck up on him again, despite his reassurances.
Something overtook him, a feeling he’d never felt before, and may seldom feel again: genuine fear, a fight for one’s survival, a complete and utter helplessness. A feeling of being watched, as if he was prey and his predator was just out of his line of sight.
His palms began to sweat, his heart quickening, goosebumps bubbling up along his arms, making him shiver as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The room felt cold.
Then he felt it.
A breath at the back of his neck.
Soft, barely noticeable if his senses hadn’t been gripped by fear. A faint noise, but it wasn’t just his mind. He had heard it, felt it.
Something was in the room with him.
He didn’t scream, only gasped into the empty, echoing house of God, turning to the noise, quicker than he had ever managed in his life, finally met with the source of his panic.
They were a slender being, well built, their skin paler than any person he’d seen in past times, their blonde hair trailing in loose waves along their shoulders and in their face, shimmering an ethereal gold in the generous moonlight. Icy blue eyes met his own, their gaze anything but warm, instead seeming to observe him, as if he were a specimen. He noticed they wore a gold necklace, hanging low against their chest, bearing a cross.
They were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.
Their presence terrified him to his core.
“Goodness,” the Priest breathed, but relief refused to wash over him, unconsciously clutching the holy word to his chest, fingers rigid, “You frightened me.”
The person smiled, as if they found his easy confession delightful. Their canines seemed much too sharp, poking out against their lips. The Priest couldn’t help but stare.
“Yes…” they finally spoke, their voice low, almost seductive, “A frightened little creature, aren’t you, Father?”
The Priest swallowed. The stranger’s eyes darted to watch his throat.
“Who are you?” he finally said, hands threatening to tremble. Why did this person unease him so? “What do you want?”
“I’m a creature of God, just as you are.” They stepped towards him. He attempted to step back from them, but his back hit the pulpit. “Only, I suppose, I’ve forsaken Him.”
“What do you want?” the Priest repeated, voice rising in octave, a poor attempt at intimidation.
His quickened heartbeat sounded in their heightened ears, conjuring up images of a wild rabbit, attempting to escape its demise, even as fangs bore down on the simple creature.
Thump-thump-thump-thump!
They licked their lips. He sounded delicious. They knew he would.
“Nothing, Father, only what anyone would want,” they boxed him in against the pulpit. Little rabbit with nowhere to go, stricken with fear, unable to move, only able to look into the eyes of danger. “Someone to share the evening with. A friend.”
something I wrote forever ago featuring Enok and Alchym that I'm finally gonna post. Enok dares to ask about experiencing something beyond their home, but it only leaves Alchym agitated.
(tw for an emotionally abusive relationship if youre not into that)
----
Birds chirped idly outside the manor windows, Alchym busied himself away in the kitchen, humming absentmindedly to a tune only heard inside his head, and Enok sat at the dining table, nose buried deep within a book about entomology. A long stretch of comfortable silence filled the space between the two, words unnecessary in the peaceful moment.
“Alchym?” Enok piped up, deep voice breaking that silence, tearing his attention away from his readings, as his mind was somewhere else.
“Yes, dear?” the doctor didn't look up from his task, which currently consisted of the intricate art of chopping up apples he'd picked from the tree in the garden.
There was a pause as Enok gathered his courage, speaking meekly.
“Would you ever allow me to venture outside, as you do?”
Silence again. Alchym ceased his humming, movements stalling for a moment, his fingers twitching, but he quickly carried on, still not looking at the other.
“What are you talking about, my darling?” his tone was amused, but tinged with something less pleasant around the edges. “I allow you outside every day. Was it not just yesterday that I caught you digging in my flowerbeds, making a mess of my beautiful roses? ‘Looking for worms’, you said. Worms! How silly.”
“I apologize, again, maker, but… that is not what I meant,” he stared down at his open book, not reading the words, brows scrunched, trying to articulate his thoughts, “I am grateful, as you allow me to wander in the garden, but… You— You venture out, beyond our walls, even beyond the garden, you behold others, as I have never before—”
“That's enough,” Alchym interjected, tone firm, finally turning his attention to the creature. His eyes, usually enveloped with such fondness for the other, now narrowed in disdain. “I'll have no more talk of such drivel. You are not an imbecile, my boy, I made quite sure of that, so you are well aware of the reasons.”
“But, maker, I only request that you take me along with you on your outings to the shops,” he continued, eager, pleading in his voice, “I observe many people through the windows, and I wish to see them– truly see them, be a part of them, understand them, perceive the reality of humanity, of the world, not just through my readings, but–”
“Enough!” Alchym turned suddenly, brandishing the knife in his hand towards the other, no longer a tool, but a threat. Enok’s eyes grew wide, darting between the sharp instrument and the man holding it, his creator’s former beauty replaced with someone much more terrifying. “That is enough nonsense out of that foul mouth of yours.”
“I created you, I provide for you, I care for you, I love you with everything that I possess, yet that is not enough for you? I have told you time and time again as to why you cannot walk the same earth as the everyday man; you are a creature of death and rot, an abomination, ugly to the world, but beautiful to me.”
Enok grew silent, staring at his master, taking his beratement with obedience. Alchym sighed with frustration, the sunbeams from the great windows reflecting off the metal of the knife.
“You haven't the slightest idea what I am protecting you from, my pet,” his voice softened, but that anger still held on, “Out there, they will berate you, lay hands on you, question your very existence! Do you truly believe anyone but your dutiful creator could look upon you with affection as I do? Only I understand you, and yet you care so little for my efforts to keep you safe. You care nothing for me.”
“Never! Alchym, my maker, I care immensely for you—”
“Be quiet! I've heard enough of your prattling this afternoon to last me a lifetime.”
Enok grew silent at Alchym's command, his large eyes watching the man intensely, awaiting his next move. Alchym finally relented on the knife in his hand, placing it on the counter, but Enok’s posture did not relax.
“I taught you how to speak, how to read, how to use the inner workings of your mind, even allowed you access to my extensive library, so that you were not a bumbling, drooling idiot as you so easily could be! Now, you use that knowledge against me…” Alchym sneered, “Your ‘readings’. Ridiculous. Shall I strip you even of the simple pleasure of literature, as you cannot be trusted to think for yourself?”
“No, my maker, please…” Enok clenched his jaw, holding back tears. The idea of being withheld the wondrous escape of his books was too much to bear. “I will not question you further, I promise.”
The doctor grabbed the bowl he had previously been slicing apples into, throwing it in front of the creature, the dish colliding with the wood of the dining table with a thud, scattering several pieces of apple across the surface of not only the table, but the floor as well, in the process. Enok flinched at the suddenness.
“Eat,” Alchym said curtly, glaring down at him, “Devour each and every morsel, or would you reject this act of kindness, as well?”
“No, master, of course not,” Enok didn’t look up at the other man, but quickly did as he was told, shoving a slice into his mouth, crushing it between borrowed teeth, “Thank you.”
Alchym stormed off, then, up the stairs to retire to his bedroom, dramatically slamming the door behind him, shaking the walls of the prison that he called a home. Enok was left alone, silent tears streaming down his cheeks, forcing every bite, his stomach turning.
………
He could hear Alchym loudly crying for the past hour, locked away in their shared bedroom. How horrid it felt, to know he had made his love feel such despair, and how terribly he wished to mend things between them.
Alchym’s venomous words stung, spat at Enok and scorched him, but he was sure that it all rang true. If he were to step out into the real world, could he truly be met with admiration and acceptance, as he hoped and dreamed about, or would his hideous, unnatural form inspire hatred, just as his creator had said? Alchym was protecting him, in his own way.
The decision to disturb Alchym in his time of distress juggled back and forth in Enok’s mind, the fear of further scolding very real, but he could bear his lover’s cries of anguish no longer, so he approached the door, hesitating but a moment before knocking gently.
There was no response at first, only silence as the sound of Alchym’s sobs quieted down, then a pause, until a voice sounded out, quiet and hoarse.
“You may enter.”
Enok found his maker laid out across their bed, weeping openly, sheets mussed under his graceful form. His long, graying hair, usually in a messy updo, was now splayed out around him, spilling over his shoulders and the satin pillows that supported him. He was lovely to behold, even in his despair.
“Have you come to insult me further?” he hiccupped a sob, sitting up to face the lumbering man, long hair plastered to his tear stained face, eyes red and burning, his clothes disheveled, “To question my undeniable love for you, foul wretch?”
Although his words harsh, the sting was not painful as before, as his throat had grown ragged in his fit of anger.
“No, my Alchym,” Enok said softly, approaching the edge of the bed, kneeling before the man of his desires so that they were eye level, taking Alchym’s hands in his own and kissing his knuckles with the utmost care. “I’ve come to apologize.”
“I should hope so,” he sniffled, voice wavering with emotion, “Do you see what a mess you’ve made of me?”
“I do see, and I am ever regretful of my actions,” Enok reached out a large hand to brush away the strands of hair sticking to Alchym’s face, instead brushing them behind his ear, then cupping his cheek, thumb smoothing his tears away. Despite his tantrum, Alchym couldn’t resist leaning into the familiar feeling, cheek pressed into Enok’s warm palm, letting out a content sigh as he closed his weary eyes.
“I am deeply sorry for questioning you, my lover, I do not wish for you to think of me as ungrateful. You gave me life, and for that, I will always be thankful. You love me, care for me, monstrosity as I am, and I realize that is no small task. I will bare no excuses, only ask for your forgiveness, and pray that you will grant me that kindness.”
This pleading apology seemed to ease Alchym of his fury, a pleased smile slowly spreading across his face, that warmth for the other returning to his eyes, as if it had never left. He held the monster’s wrist, fingers loving in their grasp, turning his head to place a lingering kiss to the scarred palm that cradled him.
“All is forgiven, my beautiful one, if only because I cannot stay cross with you for very long. Come here.”
He reached his arms out, signalling for the creature to slot between them, to which Enok obeyed. He nuzzled into the man’s welcoming bosom, muscled arms wrapped around his waist, holding him close, the doctor’s heartbeat sounding in Enok’s ears. He relaxed in Alchym’s embrace; he felt at home.
“I beg of you, dear Enok, do not ever talk of leaving me again, I fear my heart cannot bear the thought of being alone, away from my most special one…” he kissed the top of Enok’s head, muttering against his hair, emotion in his voice again, “And I especially cannot bear the idea of my beloved being ridiculed by such ignorant heathens. They will never understand you as I do, my love! What they would do to you… I may yet faint at just the thought.”
“I understand. Thank you, lover, for forgiving me, and further yet, for protecting me,” Enok lifted his head, pressing a soft kiss to Alchym's neck, in which he was rewarded with lithe fingers combing through his long hair. He shivered, melting into the touch. “It truly guts me to see your tears, and to know I am the cause. I will trust you in the future, this I promise.”
“Good boy,” Alchym cooed, cradling the creature’s face up, gazing at him with warmth. He smiled, thumbs tracing the deep scars etched into the patchwork of the other’s cheeks, like the stained glass of a cathedral window. The mark of his own handiwork, scarred forever, but healing quite nicely. “Listen to your maker, allow me to care for you, and you, my greatest love, will never want for happiness. Now, kiss me, and let us be well again, my darling.”
Enok leaned forward, still on his knees, connecting his lips to Alchym's own, pressing into him, breathing in the divine scent of him, hands cradling his back with a learned tenderness and keeping him close as two became one. His creator was right, as he always was; Enok could be happy here, embraced in the warm glow of his beloved, safe in his arms, protected from the outside world that would only bring him pain.
Kassidy grows tired of Errol's preaching and quickly finds other ways to entertain themself, flustering the Friar in the process.
i want that air fryer and im going to get him
(this fic can also be found on ao3!)
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A glass of iced coffee was suddenly being shoved into Kassidy’s hands as they walked into the kitchen, their brain barely awake enough to even process what was happening.
“What's this for?” they asked drowsily, taking a curious sip. It was exactly how they liked it: heavy ice, lots of creamer (their favorite flavor, too), and a fun straw to top it off.
“So that you may be… alert during our conversation,” Errol had that haughty energy as always, but something about him seemed off today. He looked slightly nervous, seeming to avoid looking Kassidy in the eyes. “I wouldn't want any of my words to fall upon deaf– or tired ears.”
“Ohhh. Well– yawn– thanks, man,” they took a seat up on the kitchen counter, rubbing at their weary eyes, taking another sip of coffee. If anything in this kitchen was divine, it was this drink. “Did you… make it in the air fryer?”
“No,” he fought down an amused smile at the dumb question, but Kassidy caught the tailend of the corners of his lips twitching. He flipped through his book of prayer, still not looking at them. “As wondrous as His convection is… no. I… asked Kopi for her assistance.”
He cleared his throat a tad awkwardly, not giving Kassidy time to reply before he spoke again.
“Now, enough about that–”
Kassidy was then treated to an hour’s long rant about the way of the air fryer, as was the usual with Errol.
The two of them had gotten into a little routine these days. Kassidy would wake up and head down to the kitchen to hear the man’s preachings, even though it bored them to death at times, but Errol was passionate about something, and despite his rough exterior, Kassidy liked the man and enjoyed talking to him. Besides, no one else tended to give him the time of day, so the least they could do was offer him a listening ear. They weren’t totally against using an air fryer, after all, and actually found it to be quite useful at times.
Despite being open to his teachings, even the coffee couldn’t keep their eyes from drooping, but they tried not to offend him by yawning in his face.
They always ended up zoning out about fifteen minutes in, instead taking the opportunity to take in the man’s handsome features as he spoke. He was nice to look at, they had to admit; he had a strong nose, pretty lips, a sharp jawline, and those hands… Mm, those hands– firm, uncalloused, fluid and animated as he talked, just as dedicated and passionate as his words. Kassidy wondered what else he could do with those hands, and if he had ever done anything with them at all. He was a religious man, after all. Did the ‘way of the air fryer’ prevent him from everyday pleasures, as well?
“Kassidy.”
The sound of their name in that stern voice of his quickly snapped them out of their sinful thoughts. They blinked a few times, shaking their head a bit, looking at him and sitting up straighter on the counter.
“Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”
“Uh, yep!” they lied, putting on an innocent smile. His eye contact with them was intense, his eyes narrowing and his lips pursed in annoyance. The expression was oddly cute. “Actually, it’s kinda hard to hear you, Friar, can you get closer?”
Errol gave them a quizzical look, but did as he was told, taking a single step forward.
“Is this better?”
“Mm. Closer.”
Another tentative step, then two, until he was practically right up on the other, body towering over Kassidy’s own, trapping them between him and the cabinets.
“Well, this is rather close, but…how is this?”
“Better, but…”
Suddenly Kassidy reached out, grasping the handle at the front of the Friar’s robes, then yanking on it to pull him even closer. Errol let out a gasp, the book in his arms clattering to the floor in his surprise.
“What are you doing?” he managed to choke out, his hands grabbing for Kassidy’s wrist, but not pulling them away.
Their faces were uncomfortably close now, all the freckles dotted across Kassidy's nose and cheeks visible to him. At this angle, he could see past the collar of their baggy shirt a little, noticing a few soft bruises on their collarbone. Were the marks from one of the other objects? Maybe even multiple? Disgusting.
“Nothing,” they smiled, voice low. Errol’s face grew red, his breath picking up, dark eyes obviously darting between Kassidy’s own and their lips. “I can hear you a lot better like this, Father.”
“F-Friar.”
“Right…” they tightened their grip on his handle, somehow bringing the two closer, until their lips almost met. They saw him struggle to swallow, his breath ghosting along their skin, his own grip tightening on their wrist. Something in them wanted those hands in so many other places, maybe even wrapped around their own neck, holy fingers blessing the skin of a sinner. “I knew that, didn’t I?”
They finally released their hold on him, letting him go free, watching as he backed away immediately, hands to his throat as if it were sore, adjusting the neckline of his habits. He said nothing, only clenched his jaw, his face completely flushed now, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple.
“Did you wanna tell me anything else, Friar?” Kassidy asked, playing with a strand of their hair and looking at him innocently, as if they hadn’t just wildly invaded his personal space.
“I– No, t-that will be all. For today,” he stumbled over his words, usually confident hands struggling to pick up the fallen book from the floor. He absolutely refused to look at them now, body turned away from them.
“Cool,” they jumped down from the counter, half finished coffee still in their hand, “See you tomorrow~?”
He only answered them with a quiet grumble, disgruntled face buried once again in his book, though he didn’t seem to be reading, only staring at the words on the page, just hoping the human would finally leave.
Kassidy only laughed as they exited the kitchen. At least they finally found a way to shut him up.
