The house is quiet. Todd nervously hovers around the front door, wringing his hands. Amanda said she'd be back soon, but -- well, no, she didn't say that, she threw a look over her shoulder and said, "Relax, Todd, I just wanna check it out," and then the door shut behind her. And Todd, coward, didn't follow her. Stupid.
It's been more than a little while.
A few hours back Todd had pulled up a chair, situating himself right in the foyer, but as the minutes ticked by he had gotten too anxious to sit and began pacing again.
"Stupid," he berates himself, "first you get yourself killed and take Amanda with you, then you, what, lose her?"
Because, yeah. He lost his sister. Through the front door.
Jesus Christ.
Suddenly Amanda shoots through the door with a scream and slams it shut behind her. She has sand in her hair and Todd rushes to her, gripping her shoulders.
"Amanda!"
"Todd!" Amanda grips him right back. "Todd, there's like, a huge fucking snake out there. Huge."
"A snake?"
"It had three- four? mouths. That's too many mouths, Todd!"
Todd shakes his head. "Wait, you went out the door, and there was a snake, and..."
"It almost ate me!"
"It almost ate you? Oh my god, Amanda, are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine! I'm fine."
Amanda drops her hold on Todd and begins shaking sand out of her hair. Todd lets go of her too, and she finally seems to notice the chair. She laughs. "Todd, did you seriously get a whole chair just to wait a few minutes for me?" She prods him in the arm. "Come on, man, that's so dumb."
"Minutes? It's-- Amanda, it's been almost the whole day. I've been waiting for you for hours."
Amanda looks around, and realizes, oh, yeah, it's dark out now.
"...That doesn't make sense. I was only out there a few minutes, I swear."
Todd sighs. "I believe you, okay? Let's just not go out there again for a while." Or ever, he adds silently. Amanda seems to pick up on that, because she grimaces and nods.
"Yeah. Yeah, totally. Another meeting with the big giant snake who wants to eat me? Totally not on my to-do list."
Having his little sister who he got killed alongside himself get double-killed by a big giant snake? Totally not on Todd's to-do list either.
“When I say run,” Milligan says, low and grave, “you run. Okay?”
They’re cornered; the men have surrounded them, cutting off the hallway -- their only exit. Nicholas and Milligan are, quite literally, backed into a wall.
Milligan has a cut on his cheek, slowly seeping blood. It’s shallow but the sight of it makes Nicholas feel sick.
He wants to argue. He can’t run, can’t possibly leave Milligan behind -- but he knows if he doesn’t go he’ll just get in the way. Milligan is the fighter, out of the two of them. Nicholas has a disk with potentially-vital information burning a hole in his pocket. If Milligan has to split his attention between fighting off the men, and protecting Nicholas -- they’re both done for.
He nods.
Milligan gives him a glance from the corner of his eye. Nicholas can’t read the meaning. Maybe it’s just a glance.
Milligan braces his stance. He scans the impenetrable wall of adversaries, eyes darting from face to face, figure to figure. Analysing and calculating. He leans forward, just barely, angling himself to the men. Nicholas clenches his fists at his sides. He can feel his heartbeat pound, blood thundering in his ears -- boom, boom, boom.
“Run,” Milligan says, and throws himself at the figure closest to them. His fist connects with the man’s head with a loud crack.
Nicholas runs.
They chase after him. Behind him, Nicholas can hear pained groans, people collapsing, feet pounding on the floor, catching up to him. He runs, closer and closer to the end of the hallway. Someone grabs at his sleeve and he yanks away; a split second stumble, and he rights himself again. He hears Milligan let out a strangled grunt of pain. There’s a series of hits and Nicholas’ blood runs cold.
Nicholas turns his head just for a second, to make sure that Milligan is okay, and that -- that’s what gets him. A man crashes into him, tackles him to the ground; Nicholas gasps when the air is knocked out of his lungs.
Hands on his neck. Nicholas screams and kicks at the attacker, trying to throw him off -- he thrashes and lands a couple hits. The man grins wildly and squeezes his hands tighter around Nicholas’ throat.
It hurts so much.
He lets out a frantic sound. The man is so heavy on top of him, his hands pressing harder and harder on his throat, Nicholas struggles but he can’t do anything. He claws at the hands on his neck. He thinks he feels blood under his fingers but the hands don’t let go.
“Mr. Benedict!” he hears somewhere far, far away from him. Then a choked noise and a body falling to the floor. Nicholas’ head swims. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe.
Help me, he tries to say, but he can’t even exhale. His head throbs, his hands are growing limp, he can’t breathe.
“Nicholas!”
No one has called him Nicholas in a long while. His vision blurs. He can feel tears roll down his cheeks, and his mouth is open, gasping, gasping for air that won’t come. He starts to fade.
Suddenly the heavy weight is thrown off him, the hands are gone from his neck, Nicholas gasps. He lets out a hacking cough and struggles for air and the tears are still falling down his face, pieces of hair are stuck to the wet tracks. He squeezes his eyes shut and rubs at his chest, trying to relearn how to inhale.
“Nicholas,” Milligan says, kneeling next to him. He pulls him up, props him against his side and holds him up by the shoulders. Nicholas coughs and wheezes, feeling like his lungs are too big for his chest. “Sir, you have to breathe. Nicholas.”
Finally, he manages. It hurts. His throat is on fire inside-out.
“Mil-- Milligan,” he rasps, a hundred small eternities later, when the fire has died down. “Thank you. That-- I’m sor--”
“Don’t say anything,” Milligan says. His voice sounded desperate before; afraid. He sounds calmer now. Steadier. “Just breathe, sir. Can you stand?”
Shakily, with Milligan’s help, Nicholas gets to his feet. He leans heavily against Milligan’s side. Suddenly he is so, so tired. The floor is littered with unconscious bodies. Milligan has a second, fresh smear of blood on his face.
“I think,” Nicholas whispers, almost silently, “I think I’m going to--”
---
When he wakes up he’s laid down in the back seat of the car. Milligan must have carried him. Slowly, painfully, Nicholas sits up. Everything hurts.
“How long--” he starts, but can’t continue. His throat burns.
“Don’t try to speak.” Milligan glances at him from the rear-view mirror. The smear of blood across his cheek is dried and flaking. “There was no permanent damage, as far as I can tell. But speaking will only make the injury worse. You’ll be alright, sir. We’re almost home now.”
Home. Nicholas likes it when Milligan calls the house home. He knows, that it’s too early to really consider, but -- it’s nice. The idea that it’s Milligan’s home as well as his own. It makes him feel less alone.
He nods and slumps back into the seat. Carefully, he brushes his fingers over his neck. It feels swollen and bruised, tender like a crushed peach. He lets out a shaky breath.
His hand finds his pocket. He can feel that the disk inside is cracked in half -- another mission failed, then.
Nicholas leans his head against the window and shuts his eyes.
“Is that my sweater,” repeats Ben, firmer this time. “Are you wearing my sweater, Five, it isn’t a hard question.”
“Oh.” Five looks back down to his coffee, staring into the mug like it contains the answers to reality in between sips. “Yeah.”
Ben rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet. Gently. Just a little bit. When Five doesn’t elaborate, he sighs, “Care to tell me… why?”
“Hm?”
“Why are you wearing my sweater, Five?”
“D’you want it back? You have a ton, I don’t see why you’d be missing this one.”
“It’s not—” Ben sighs again and resists the urge to pinch his forehead. “It’s not about the sweater. I don’t care. You can keep it.”
“Sweet.” Ben gets the impression that he is definitely not getting that sweater back. And it’s a nice one—soft charcoal grey with a string in the hood that bunches nicely around his face so just his nose peeks out. He wouldn’t go as far as to say that this is his favorite hoodie, but, it’s his goddamn favorite hoodie.
“Why are you wearing it?”
“Why not?”
“Five.”
“It’s… comfortable.”
“Just comfortable? I take offense to that. That is the best goddamn hoodie in this house.”
“Cool,” says Five, and his face is obscured as he tips back the remaining half of his drink.
“You look like a child,” says Ben to Five but also to the general kitchen, “you look like a kid, I swear to god, that sweater is at least four sizes too big on you. You look eleven, Five. A child.”
“I do not.”
Ben throws up his hands. Then throws them down to point at Five’s.
“You have sweater paws!”
And then it hits him.
“Wait,” he says. “Wait, wait, wait… Five!”
“What?”
“You’re so cute, what the fuck.” Ben ignores Five’s hisses of ‘I am not cute—’ in favor of letting a wide grin take over his face. “Is this because you miss me? Aww, Fi-i-ive—”
“No,” hisses Five. When he stands the sweater almost reaches past his fucking knees. “Shut up. It’s just comfortable. That’s it.”
With his leftover annoyance dissipating, Ben has something very important to tell a certain someone. Namely: Allison. She’ll love this. And will definitely replace Ben’s hoodie.
it might have something to do with the acid. god, he -- todd really hates acid. it got old fast. fucking acid.
todd can’t text like this, and, he never really can, but right now his hands are melting and he has -- things. to worry about.
so, todd just kind of... shouts.
“DIRK,” he yells into the apartment, voice strained, “MY MEDS!”
he hears a loud thud, like someone falling off a chair, and then scrambling, and then he hisses as his hands throb. dirk rushes into the room, reading glasses askew on his nose, and if he wasn’t in so much fucking pain, todd would have laughed.
“open,” says dirk, red pill already shaken out into his palm. todd opens his mouth. dirk hands tremble slightly as he places the pill on his tongue. they do every time. todd closes and swallows it dry.
now there’s nothing to do as they wait for the meds to kick in. they, because dirk sits down next to him on the kitchen floor, close but not touching at all. not yet.
just as he’s making to knock the back of his head into the counter, dirk says, “don’t knock your head into the counter.”
todd resists the very tempting urge to knock his head against the counter. dirk plays with the loose threads at the hem of his shirt. it’s a t-shirt, for once -- a bit stretched, and bland, and falling apart: it’s todd’s shirt. obviously. dirk rubs the fabric between his fingers like it’s made of gold.
some time later, which todd knows is about twenty minutes, but feels more along the lines of a lifetime, the burn in his hands settles into a dull ache. todd knocks his head back into the counter. gently.
“better?” says dirk.
“yeah,” says todd, and falls bodily into dirk. his partner’s arm winds around his shoulders, pulling him closer, then letting go.
“what was it?”
“acid,” todd tells him. “my hands. wrists. i’ll be fine.”
“bullshit,” dirk says. “give me your hands.” todd obediently hands them over. they shake slightly in dirk’s settled grip.
he closes his eyes and sighs, sinking further into dirk, when he feels him start rubbing little circles into his wrists.
“that feels nice,” he mumbles.
“does it?” dirk says, more rhetorical than anything, but todd nods tiredly against his shoulder anyway. “good. i’m glad.”
todd tucks his face into dirk’s neck and allows himself to be taken care of.
malec rivals-to-lovers dramatic rain kiss scene, brought to u by me and @rainyhuman's brilliant mind 😘
_
“Goodbye, Alec.”
The way Magnus says his name, short and clipped; it stings. Alec reaches out to catch his arm, but it doesn’t connect -- he doesn’t reach him. Magnus turns away and steps deeper into the rain, further away from Alec, further away from -- whatever they are.
He's walking away and the rain is pouring down around them. Magnus manages to look graceful even while soaked, dignity permeating his every movement, as he begins to disappear into the foggy curtain of rain. Alec needs him so bad he aches.
“MAGNUS,” he shouts. Magnus doesn’t turn around, doesn’t even slow his steps. Speeds them up, if anything. “DON’T JUST WALK AWAY FROM ME. LIKE A COWARD! MAGNUS!”
He’s almost gone now. Magnus is almost gone.
Desperately, Alec screams, trying to out-shout the rain, “MAGNUS -- I LOVE YOU.”
Magnus stops. The rain pours.
“WHAT?”
“I SAID, I LOVE--”
“I HEARD THAT PART. WHAT THE HELL, ALEC?”
It's over. He's ruined it. Magnus will walk away into the rain and Alec will never see him again; not his Magnus, just -- the Bane heir.
Slowly, Magnus turns. His hair is plastered to his forehead and he has never looked more beautiful.
“ALEXANDER--” he starts shouting, before muttering something to himself, and the shape of his lips looks like “oh, fuck it, i can’t do this.”
He starts walking back. Alec doesn't move. He watches Magnus gain speed, until he’s sprinting across the wet pavement, closer and closer to--
Magnus crashes into him like a cat into glass and Alec almost falls over from the force of it -- but he doesn’t, he doesn’t, he catches Magnus in his arms and he holds him tight and he feels soaked twice over, Magnus’ wet shirt sticking against his.
“I love you too,” Magnus says, “I love you too, you, insufferable, pretentious--”
“You love me?” Alec says.
Maybe it’s the rain or maybe Magnus is starting to cry. Alec’s eyes sting. He doesn’t mind.
"Of course I love you. God, Alexander--"
It’s hard to tell who kisses who. So Alec doesn’t. The rain pours, and they're both soaked to the bone, and Magnus’ lips are soft and warm against his and Alec thinks he could die here, just like this, kissing Magnus Bane until the world ends.
When they pull apart Magnus’ eyes flutter open, another raindrop landing on his lip, and Alec can’t help but say it again.
dirk's hands are always cold. in the summer todd likes to hold them against his face, pushing his cheeks into his partner's palms. every time, dirk laughs -- youre like a cat, todd, a very sweaty man-sized cat -- and rubs his cold fingers behind todd's ear. todd rolls his eyes, and dramatically, reluctantly, leans into his touch.
in the winter, when dirk complains of pain in his joints and tremors in his hands (he stays silent about the latter, but todd always notices anyway), todd takes his ice-cold hands in his own. dirk sighs and smiles and says, your hands are warm, and todd says, i know. todd does his best to massage the shakiness away, and dirk chatters away about one thing or other, pretending like it doesn't mean much to him, even though it means a great deal. under the covers dirk sneaks his cold hands into the bend of todd's elbows, or into the dip where his waist meets the mattress, or under his arms, or onto his back under his shirt. todd shivers, every time, and rolls his eyes, fondly, and says nothing. dirk worms his way even closer until they can pretend they have molded into one, sharing body heat.
Their curtains are sheer, orange on the top and green on the bottom. Dirk picked them out because they remind him of places he’s never been to and sunsets over the sea. Todd agreed to buy them because he likes them too, no matter how much he denies it.
Todd’s warm breath puffs on Dirk’s bare chest as he sighs, slow and languid, patches of sunlight dappling his skin. “Humans?”
“No, I meant--” Dirk tries to find the right words. “What are we?”
“...Dirk and Todd?”
“I meant, as a...” He gestures vaguely with his hand. “You know.”
“Oh,” Todd catches on. “You mean, like, as a couple?”
“Yes. Yes, exactly.
Todd frowns, thoughtfully -- Dirk reaches over and smooths out the wrinkle in the middle of his forehead. It makes Todd roll his eyes and let out a breathy laugh. Dirk counts it as a win.
“I don’t know,” Todd admits, after a warm moment. “Boyfriends?”
Dirk wrinkles his nose.
“See,” he says, “I considered that -- but, Todd, we’re in our thirties. Doesn’t boyfriends seem a bit -- I don’t know, juvenile?”
“Not boyfriends, then. Spouses?”
“We aren’t married, Todd.”
Todd smiles and presses a quick kiss to Dirk’s pec. “Yet.”
“Yet,” agrees Dirk. It’s a nice feeling -- talking about their relationship like this. They aren’t married -- yet. He quite likes it.
“Date-mates?”
“...No.”
“Amors?”
“Neither of us speak French. And I’m at least seventy percent sure you used that word wrong.”
Todd pokes him in the side. “Oh, fuck you. Lovers.”
Dirk thinks it over. Rolling the word around in his mind, it does have a certain appeal -- it sounds pleasant, leaves a nice taste in his mouth. Except...
“Isn’t that usually reserved for sexual partners?”
“We have sex,” Todd says.
Dirk pinches his arse. Todd bats at his hand half-heartedly. “I’m well aware. Still, though -- I don’t think we have nearly enough to warrant being labeled as a sexual relationship.”
Todd concedes. “True that.”
“It’s also a Taylor Swift album.”
Todd’s cold toes meet Dirk’s shin.
“Ow.”
“You deserved that.”
Dirk chooses to be the bigger person and roll his eyes silently. Todd has a patch of sunlight on his cheek, and because he can, Dirk pokes it. Todd retaliated by nudging his sternum -- also sunlit.
“What about... partners.”
Partners.
“That sounds nice,” Dirk says. “I like that. Partners.”
“My partner, Dirk,” tries out Todd.
“My partner, Todd.”
The curtains sway a bit. They smile.
Todd reaches up and pats Dirk’s cheek. His fingers are bare, but Dirk can’t help but imagine--
todd says, “so you’ve said,” and smooths out a wrinkle on dirk’s shirt. the wrinkle was formed not five minutes ago, when todd’s hand was fisted in said shirt. “you’re gay. can you... explain? i don’t understand.”
“well, i’m gay,” dirk elaborates.
“i understand that part,” todd interrupts. dirk disregards his interruption.
“--and, i haven’t said it out loud before.”
todd stills. quietly, he says, “oh.” dirk’s shirt is very smooth. todd keeps smoothing it. dirk moves todd’s hand to his shoulder instead of his chest, because while todd’s warm hand groping him is not unappreciated, it is getting a bit too... much. todd smooths his hand over dirk’s shoulder, and everyone is happy. “not ever?”
“this was the first time. i’m gay. or, well, fifth, now. i’m gay -- sixth.”
“why haven’t you?” todd asks. “said it out loud before, i mean. you don’t have to answer.”
“i suppose there was never a reason to. and... oh, i don’t know. it just felt right to say just now.”
“i’m glad you told me,” says todd, seriously, his hand giving dirk’s shoulder a brief squeeze. his voice is warm and dirk isn’t looking at his eyes, but he’s sure they are too.
“i’m glad you listened.” dirk raises his eyebrows, faux-haughtily but teasingly. “now kiss me again, you disaster bisexual.”
“i’m not a disaster,” mumbles todd, and kisses dirk.
