The chill air heralding fall, waited in stillness between the headstones as twilight faded. The bats chirped, cavalier in their flight and spotted moths racing between the guardian trees. A late robin sang her lullaby to the setting sun. Indigo night painted with clouds in ghostly streaks.
The moon, her silver waxing half, watched with patience and silent reverence.
He picked one the other day and brought it to me, just the unbloomed, golden head, and said it was too cold outside for it. He wanted to bring it in so it would have a chance to live.
How do you tell your son that as soon as you pick a flower, it dies?
Just saw someone on tiktok say “The ships that we need to be talking about are the ships where there’s one person who wears crocs and the another person who hates the fact that they’re in love with someone who wears crocs”.
Anyway, Laxus wears crocs (with white socks) and Gajeel hates that he’s in love with someone who wears crocs. In this essay I will…
“Protect the Friar!” Laxus bellowed as chaos erupted.
Gajeel ground his teeth, but didn’t have the luxury to be chagrined at the moment. They had been passing through a copse of trees when the bandits had attacked. The mercenaries sprang into action, drawing swords without hesitation. Gajeel, decidedly weaponless, cast his gaze about him wildly.
The beast stirred, intrigued by the violence as a man screamed.
Now?
Shh, no.
Gajeel’s eyes landed on a sledge hammer. He rushed for it and hefted it in his hands, immediately taking a liking the weight, and gave an experimental swing just as a shadow rounded the wagon. A man with a short sword stood before him, raising his blade with intent.
Gajeel was not a trained fighter, but it would be a lie to say he didn’t have some skill in this area. He rolled his shoulder back, dodged to the side of a wild thrust, and landed heavily on his back leg. He swung the hammer with his full strength. There was a sickening crunch, a cutoff yell, and the man slumped against the wagon.
Now?
No. Not now. Go back to sleep.
Gajeel heard a sound like a scream but not. It sounded feral, and on impulse he snapped his head towards it. The beast was wide awake now, intrigued by the noise. He knew inherently it wasn’t a good noise, and the beast didn’t like it one bit either.
Bickslow stood in the middle of three bodies. Blood ran down his sword as he turned faster than Gajeel would have thought the man could move and hacked away at a new foe. Gajeel shivered, but movement in his periphery drew his attention. Another bandit rounded the corner and raced for him. Again, Gajeel hefted his improvised weapon.
Laxus buried his blade into another man. The black tide was rising, whispering to him as he turned and swept his gaze about him.
There, it said, the crossbowman. Use the cover from the low branches to dodge the bolt. Get close while he reloads. Cut him down.
He crossed the distance, sweeping up to the side of the man before he had a chance to flee. The sharp of his blade cut through his gut, filling the air with the smell of blood as his insides spilled over the ground. Next he turned his attention to the group that were falling on the wagon.
Bickslow was cutting his way through men, his eyes bright and enraged. Taken by the tide, he determined. His own was lapping at his ankles, urging him to fall into it. He didn’t.
As he cut his way back towards his brother-in-arms, he realized he couldn’t see the friar. He sent a quiet prayer to whatever god would listen that the man was safe. He stepped over a body, daring for just a moment to look at the face and verify it wasn’t someone he knew. It wasn’t, and so he lifted his blade and prepared for the next bandit fool enough to rush him. The tide whispered insistently, creeping up to lap at his shins. He set his jaw and continued to push it down.
Gajeel swung his hammer at the next man’s head. He crumpled and fell to the ground in a lifeless heap. He curled his lip in a growl as blood sprayed against his face. He wiped it from his eyes with the back of his hand and marched around the wagon.
There was a slick flash of silver as Laxus parried the blow of a knife, golden eyes calculating as he circled his opponent and lunged. His movements didn’t just contain strength, but finesse. His steps were measured, confident. There was blood on his blade and splattered across his tabard. Unlike Bickslow, he appeared calm and calculating as he fought, picking apart each move of the man in front of him before landing precise strikes and killing him. It was over in seconds, and then his perceptive eyes swept to the next man to fight.
God’s teeth… you think he’s pretty, don’t you?
This wasn’t the beast’s voice, of course. The beast had no interest in men, or even women for that matter. Its only concerns were in survival. No, this was his own internal voice. And he growled at it to shove it because there was something infinitely more important going on right now than some blonde mercenary captain and his strong arms swinging a sword.
But you did notice his strong arms, didn’t you?
I said, shut up.
Someone was running past the mules, headed straight for him. He readied his sledge and watched the puzzlement color the man’s face, clearly not expecting a man of the cloth (ha!) to resort to violence. Thankfully, Gajeel had taken no vows of pacifism, and so didn’t hesitate to respond when a knife was aimed for his gut. A few more swings and far too many wet crunching noises later, and yet another man was dead at his feet.
It was quieter now, but through the adrenaline he couldn’t determine if this was because the fight was over or if it was because of the blood rushing behind his ears. He glanced around. Bickslow was breathing heavily, surrounded by bodies. A couple of the other mercenaries were huddled around a man on the ground. He saw the shock of green hair that belonged to Freed. Where was Laxus?
He felt a presence loom up behind him. He turned just as hands clutched at his robes and slammed him into the wagon, practically bending him over it. For half a second, his mind blurred with panic and the beast rose up eagerly to meet it.
Scared? Now? Scared?
Lips crashed into his. He clutched at arms that held him fast, the hardened twitch of muscles engaged. A tattered breath filled his mouth and he tasted the scent of iron, of warm ginger and cinnamon, of lemon balm. His eyes went from wide in startled surprise, to bowed. He recognized immediately the jagged scar that crossed a pale face.
Oh.
Laxus pressed his body against him, his heavy cloak falling over them both. Gajeel, finding himself quite pleased with this turn of events, opened his mouth and kissed him back. A trill of excitement flashed down his spine when Laxus sighed. He kissed Gajeel like a man on the edge of something, staring down into it, terrified of falling. The captain groaned into his mouth and dammit, it was a good kiss. His tongue swept his lips open, delved into his mouth hungrily. The length of his belly was pressed against his own, the feel of it hidden beneath chainmail armor, and Gajeel wished for the life of him he’d been able to feel the curve of him. He slated his hips forward and his mind fuzzied at the captain rocking against him in avid reply.
By the god’s teeth! By the god’s broken and bloodied teeth! Gajeel’s heart was in his throat. His stomach swooped. Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods! He was extremely aroused. And if the feel of what was pressed against his thigh was any indicator, he wasn’t the only one.
The kiss ended abruptly when the captain stiffened and practically tore himself away from him, “I-I… Father… I’m-…”
“Not a priest,” Gajeel reminded him gruffly, trying to catch his breath. His stomach knotted and he rested his elbows against the wagon, allowing his robe to fall open just slightly. It wasn’t exactly an attempt to be enticing but, well, if that’s how the captain took it… “Not a friar, either.”
Laxus swallowed, his gaze following the hollow of his throat downward before he tore it away. Scarlet was creeping up his cheeks, “Of course, I… please forgive me, I… I didn’t mean-…”
Gajeel’s heart sank a bit. His stomach coiled tighter. He hummed expectantly, waiting patiently for the explanation that was sure to piss him off.
“The rush of battle, you see, I just…” Laxus explained clumsily, refusing to meet his eyes.
“Of course,” he tried not to sound angry, but his tone was clipped, “It is so common to be accosted by lustful men while standing over a dead body.”
Laxus blanched, his gaze cutting downward to the dead man just a foot away.
“You must think me a dog,” he said, his tone deceptively even. He reached out slowly, shakily, taking Gajeel’s sleeve and dipping his head in sober apology, “Please forgive me, father. Truly I’m sorry.”
“You’ve been absolved, my child,” Gajeel replied sarcastically.
Inside, he kicked himself. He forced himself to step back from the situation. What did he have to be upset about anyway? The man was chivalrous, and kind enough to escort him through the mountains, but Gajeel had far more pressing concerns than getting in this man’s bed. If he wasn’t careful, he too would be thinking with nothing but his dick.
Laxus was still staring at the ground, clearly mortified. His face was carefully stoic, but those expressive eyes of his were roiling. The blush certainly didn’t help, either.
Right. Yes. Get your mind out of the gutter, Gajeel.
He took in a breath and sighed it back out again.
“It’s quite alright, captain. Truly. I hold no offense.”
“Y-yes… of course.” Laxus said, running his fingers through his hair in his distress, “Yes. I’ll go assess the damages, shall I?”
“Do let me know if you need any assistance,” Gajeel purred, not quite able to squash the suggestive tone that slipped into the words. He watched the blonde flush again, and bow awkwardly. He turned and marched off towards Bickslow in the same fashion one might run from a particularly large spider.
