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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Barclay's day goes from bad to worse when he realizes two things: 1: The F.B.I agent at the Lodge is looking for Bigfoot. 2: The F.B.I agent is one Joseph Stern. AKA the man who broke Barclay's heart seven years ago. Joseph Stern is used to unexpected discoveries while on missions. Finding out he'll be staying under the same roof as the man who broke his heart is one hell of a way to kick things off.
Every time someone draws agent Joseph Stern with a trans flag tie I gain a year onto my life and +2 love
Gilded Cage (Sternclay)
Tied winners of one of the whumpcember prompt polls were "collared" and "wiping tears away" . This fill is NSFW
The view from the consorts rooms in the castle are stunning. The Veridian Hills and the Stranglewood are visible, shocking emerald giving way to dusky pine. Beyond that, the kingdom of Sylvain, teeming with monsters.
Joseph is watching through one eye as he works on his chess problem. When it gets a little darker, he’ll use this telescope to scan the forest, hoping to glimpse some unknown creature stalking between or hovering above them.
For the fiftieth time that day, he wishes he could just go down and investigate.
“Joseph! Come quickly and look!” Elaine, one of the other four consorts, waves him over to where the rest of them are gathering on a balcony. He clusters in beside them as a parade of the king and his knights re-enter the citadel.
Behind them, chains across his body, around his neck, and binding his arm is an-
“Apeman!” Claudia gasps, stepping back as if the monster might break his chains and bound up the walls to carry them away.
“They’re just called Sylphs. Those names are the ones we come up with. We used to call that kind ‘Bigfoot’. Honestly I think that has a better ring to it.” Joseph keeps his gaze on the prisoner, “I wonder why they’ve brought him here. We’re not technically at war with Sylvain.”
“Maybe he did something horrible.” Claudia fidgets with her sleeves before scurrying inside.
“You just had to loan her those true crime books” Elaine gives him a pointed look
“His highness wants us to be as worldly as we can manage. From here.”
“I know” she pats his shoulder, “but there might be a thing as too worldly.”
Joseph nods, then turns his eyes back to the procession as he wonders if that’s true.
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He has his talking points all prepared, but the king doesn’t need to hear them. He simply smiles
“I knew you would want to go down and see, so I’ve given orders that you be allowed to visit when you wish. Just be careful.”
“I will.”
The king sends him off with a kiss on the hand. He should want more. He does. Just not…
He shakes his head. There’s no point in dwelling on that.
The dungeon has a few chambers that are stone towers without bars, the only windows high, high, high above. They put him in mind of oubliettes.
The Sylph is held in one of these. A black collar connects to a chain in the wall, each link thicker than a beer stein. His feet are manacled as well, large hands left free but covered in dried blood, the same color as the marks by gouges in the chains.
There's a circle and glyphs carved in copper into the floor, marking the reach of the creature's chain. Even if he were to break free, the glyphs would activate a stun spell the instant he crossed it.
The guards asked if he was certain he wanted to go down alone. He insisted, knowing the two small knives he keeps hidden on his person will be enough defense until back-up arrives.
When the monster turns to regard him, eyes reflecting in the dim lamplight, he begins re-evaluating that belief.
“What do you want?” The voice is a deep, wary growl, “or are they just gonna let anyone in here to stare at the freakshow?”
“I assure you they won’t.”
“You sound pretty fucking confident, pretty boy.” He shifts almost imperceptibly away, “you the prince or something?”
“The king's consort. Or, well, one of them. The point is, I have some influence. Particularly over any guards who might try to make a sideshow out of you.”
The Sylph shifts farther back, but also turns to face him, “Doesn’t explain why you’re down here.”
“I wanted to see you. To…to meet you.” His confidence falters a moment as the sylph snorts and then rises to his feet.
He didn’t look this big in the courtyard. And not nearly this magnificent.
His short fur, matted as it is, has a noticeable auburn tint to it. His eyes are deep brown, the whole of his face unfairly handsome and painfully human.
“Enough of a look for you?” He grins, showing sharp teeth. His fingers twitch, offering a glimpse of short, black claws.
Joseph keeps his head high, voice calm, “No. To be frank, I’m fascinated by Sylphs. And by your kind in particular. I’ve been reading everything I can on you for years. If you’re open to it I’d like the chance to interview you.”
The bigfoot takes two strides forward, stopping at the edge of the circle while still looming over Joseph, “Fuck. Off.”
He holds his ground, “I didn’t put you here. I’m not sure you should even be here. What I am sure of is that no one gets put in here forever without a trial. And that a consort can have quite an influence on that.”
The Sylph holds up a finger, “One visit.”
Joseph smiles, “Deal.”
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Barclay is going to go crazy well before they do whatever it is they’re planning to do to him. There’s nothing to look at, nothing to read, he’s paced the perimeter of the cell so much his feet ache. Hidden in the little cordoned off bathroom area when anyone comes down. Given up on snapping his chains.
That’s why he agreed to let that cute prince interview him. Look, he’s not going to deny the guy is hotter than a broiled pan. He can know that and still hate his guts.
(That and the way he’d looked at Barclay. Like he was trying to understand him, not just see him).
He picks up the same scent as yesterday; faintly minty over the top of some shampoo whose oils cost more than a small country's treasury. Joseph appears, clothing more formal than before, a coat and suit rather than the soft clothing and robe he wore yesterday, though both had the symbol of the kingdom on the chest.
(Had he been so excited he ran down to see Barclay in his pajamas?)
Best of all, he’s carrying a tray with a teapot and two mugs.
“I’m a bit later than I meant to be, his majesty wanted my opinion on the notes of an advisory movie.”
“Not like I’m going anywhere.” Barclay sits up, watches as the human considers the single chair in the corner of the room only to set the tray down and remove his coat so he can sit across from Barclay. He pours the tea, then sets one cup on the end of the tray and pushes it across the edge of the circle.
“Thanks.” Barclay grunts, determined to not cry in front of some fucking human noble.
“You’re welcome.” The human tips cream into his cup.
“Y’know, doing that ruins the subtler flavors.”
A slight, self-depreciating smile, “I know. I’m the same with coffee, I’m sure I’m missing out on some of the depth but I just like it better.”
“Buddy of mine once dumped half a jar of honey into his star poppy tea.”
Joseph raises an eyebrow, “Isn’t that expensive?”
“Yep, because you gotta enchant and also distill the hell outta it to keep it from being poisonous.”
“I read it’s for ceremonial purposes” Joseph sips his tea, blue eyes watching Barclay over the rim.
He chuckles, “Humans just think that because it makes you stoned outta your minds. Doesn’t do that to us.”
“Fascinating. I mean, it makes sense, there are lots of plants in Sylvain that never made it through the stranglewood. According to one of our knights, the climate is very different here, too…”
“You really dragged your cute ass down here just to ask me about gardening?”
Annoyingly, the human doesn’t react to the flirtation. Barclay had hoped he could at least wrong-foot him. Remind him his title doesn’t mean shit to a Sylph.
“If that’s what you want to talk about. I do have a list of questions” he pulls a small, black notebook from his pants pocket, “but I more wanted to get to know you. Our books are full of many accounts of Sylvain and its residents, but almost none are from Sylphs. The few that are, well, they’re over a century old. Things change.”
“No kidding. Back home you can still see the trade route signs to help humans get around.”
Joseph opens his mouth to ask another question, then clears his throat, “I’m so sorry, I was so excited I forgot my manners. You know my name, but I never asked yours.”
“Barclay.” He could lie, but he wants to hear someone say it, to be called something other than “the beast” or “that thing.”
The human nods, polishing off his tea, “Can I ask about what your home is like?”
Barclay tells him. About the Lodge, the gardens in the back, the way his family elders planted fruit trees that now grow all around town. The human listens, taking notes now and then. At one point he returns up the spiral, stone stairs, to speak to one of the guards. Barclay tenses when he comes back down, wondering if this was some kind of trick.
When a very frightened looking servant appears ten minutes later, he realizes Joseph just sent for a lunch tray.
“You’re not gonna get in trouble for giving fancy food to a prisoner?” He says it more teasingly than he really means.
“No. Consorts tend to be…indulged. Odds are anyone who notices will just think I’m being strange and treating you like a pet.” He goes pale, “good lord, I hope that’s not why they captured you; I want to go to Sylvain sometime, not keep one of its citizens like a lapdog.”
“Can think of worse things. If it gets me out of here, I’ll sleep on a pillow by your bed any day. Even let you brush my hair. Already got the collar.”
A glance at the collar and finally Joseph blushes, “The point is, I wish I knew why they’d brought you here.”
“Your guess is as good as mine. One minute I was in the woods, the next I had two dozen crossbows pointed at me and was being told I was trespassing on the king's land.”
“Trespassing. Yes, that’s what they told me too.”
“Careful, blue eyes, don’t let them catch you mistrusting the kingdom.”
Joseph touches the insignia on his chest, “I’m loyal to my kingdom. But I also believe in verifying the truth. Forming my own theories.”
Barclay studies the human in the dying daylight high above them, and wonders if they made Joseph as a consort because he’d be too much trouble as something else.
—-------------------------------------------------------------
“...mom was laughing too hard to be mad, thought ma was gonna pass out when she saw the jam on the ceiling. Anyway, I wasn’t allowed to try canning for ten more years after that.” Barclay chuckles from the single cushion floor-cot he’s been given, “y’know, blue eyes, you shoulda been a spy. You’re great at getting stories outta people that they wouldn’t normally tell.”
“I almost was.” Joseph is sitting in the chair as close as he can to the glyph circle, “I was just born in the wrong order.”
“Wait really? Humans actually do that?”
“It depends on what class you’re from, but yes. The first born is meant to lead the family name, whatever that means is up to them; be a knight, a priest, a famous scholar, in government, that kind of thing. Third born inherits the family trade if there is one. Second born is put into a political marriage.”
“Seems like you kinda hit it big with that one.”
“But it’s not really a marriage. I can’t take the throne if he dies, I can’t be an advisor, I can’t even travel outside the castle. And once he learned I was a man and, more importantly, did not want to have kids, my one other door into political power was shut.” He manages a charming smile, “maybe it’s for the best. If I’d been allowed more freedom, I might have ended up wandering around Sylvain, too focused on studying everything around me until I fell into a hot spring and drowned or something like that. Or got carried off to be ravished by a sasquatch.”
Were they closer, Barclay would whack him playfully on the arm, “I told you, humans made that up! Sylphs don’t need to carry random humans away to find mates. Most of us find one or more just fine among our own kind. Uh, unless you count back when mothpeople used to randomly carry off sasquatches, but I think that was a territorial thing. Plus it hasn’t happened in, like, fifty years ago.”
“A mothperson can really lift someone your size?”
Joseph still looks a little dejected, and Barclay can’t have that. Joseph is his friend.
(He could be his mate. He’s seen how the human looks at him, at the quickly schooled but very obvious widening of his eyes when he noticed his cock through his wrap. Had they met in Sylvain, in happier times, Barclay would have asked him to dinner)
“Yeah, it’s wild. My friend Indrid did it to me once because we thought the old stories were bullshit. Startled us both so bad he almost dropped me…”
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Joseph can’t sleep. This morning, he tried for the fifth time to find out when Barclay would be released, or at least when his trial would be. The king is mildly charmed by his interest, but it’s clearly annoying the minister of defense and the minister of justice.
Something isn’t right. If Barclay had done something straightforwardly wrong, they’d just tell him.
He gives up trying to sleep around one in the morning and slips out of the rooms and down the various flights of stairs until he’s to Barclay’s cell. The guards don’t even blink when he passes by; the captain of the guard is a friend, and last week he finally just gave him his own key.
Halfway down the stairs, he pauses. There’s an odd sound, strangled and raspy, and for a moment he fears Barclay is sick. Then the pieces click into place, and he feels even worse.
Barclay is crying.
Cautiously, he comes to the final step. The Sylph’s head whips up from where he’s huddled in the corner.
“Joseph?”
“Right here.” He hurries to Barclay’s side, “I’m right here, big guy. It’s okay.”
“It’s not!” It’s almost a wail, “Don’t you get it? They’re never going to let me out. I’m going to be here for the rest of my fucking life, I’m never gonna see my friends again, never see the sky or the woods or anything, I just want to go home.”
Joseph kneels, hovering his hands over Barclay’s shoulders a moment, weighing the choices. Then he settles on petting them lightly down his arms, reassuring without trapping Barclay more. He thinks back on the times he’s come in the early morning, bringing breakfast for them both. How Barclay’s eyes red each time.
“Every night?”
The sylph nods, then looks up slowly, “You…you came into the circle.”
“I know you’re not a fool, Barclay; you know as well as I do that if you hurt me it’ll be bad for both of us. But more than that” he sets his hands on Barclays face, “I trust you.”
Barclay makes a low, soft noise in his throat. It’s affectionate, so Joseph makes it back as best he can, brings his thumbs up to wipe away the remaining tears.
“I’m getting you out of here, come hell or high water. I promise.”
The same noise, and Barclay draws him into his arms, hugging him tight. Joseph holds him close in return, running his fingers through soft, short fur until the Sylph finally falls asleep.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
“You do realize that if the Sylphs find out we’re holding a civilian without cause, they’ll be within their rights to use force to come get him.”
“They have no rights in our borders.” Minister Hayes says flatly.
“You must understand, Joseph” the king smiles at him, “we need a few as collateral for they inevitably take one of our own as a captive.”
Joseph opens his mouth to point out the multiple moral and strategic flaws with that plan, but the king stands and begins guiding him out of the room, “We must move on to other matters. I will see you at our dinner tonight.”
He decides it’s best to save his arguments for now, deploy them near more open-minded ministers. And so he bows, and shows himself out of the meeting hall.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The king never stays the night after their evenings together. Joseph doesn’t take it personally anymore. Just like he tries not to mind that he seldom gets off at all when they’re in bed.
He’s too wound up to sleep, and so he dons his warmest, fur-lined blue robe over his nightshirt, slips on his shoes, and steals his way down into the dungeon.
Barclay is asleep, so Joseph settles into the (now slightly more comfortable) chair he’s stationed just out of reach of the perimeter of the circle. He’s crossed the boundary plenty this last week, but he must maintain his cover as the curious but cautious consort.
He shifts his thighs, trying to ignore the lingering ache in his cock for some kind of true attention. Maybe he should have dealt with that before coming down here-
“Hey, blue eyes.” Barclay turns his head to look at him, voice thick with sleep, “everything okay?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I decided I’d rather be down here than tossing and turning in bed.”
Barclay sniffs the air, sits up and peers more closely at him, “Seems like you got up to more than that in bed.”
A strange pang of guilt resonates up his spine, “All part of the job description.”
A deep, teasing laugh, “That bad, huh?”
“It’s not bad exactly. He’s perfectly nice and very complimentary but…well, I don’t think sleeping mainly with people who aren’t allowed to tell him when he’s doing something wrong has done him any favors.”
Barclay is watching him intently, “Y’know, if I had a husband, I’d make real fucking sure he came until he was exhausted” a sharper grin, “that way he couldn’t get away if I still wanted more.”
Joseph’s breath catches without permission.
Barclay growls, gently, “You like that, pretty boy?”
“Yes.”
“Show me.” He’s sitting back on his heels now, more confident than Joseph’s ever seen him.
He eases out of his sleep pants, lets his robe fall open as he begins rubbing his folds.
A hungry growl, “Oh, babe, look at you. All wet and hard with no one to pay attention to you.”
“From, ahn, from where I’m sitting I’d say I’m getting plenty.”
“Could give you more. Be so good for you” A slight whine on the end of his words this time, and Joseph suddenly understands the game.
“Barclay, my lover is a king, I’m not sure anyone could compare.”
“Yeah? Tell me, pretty boy, he ever bend you over the fucking breakfast table because he can’t take not having you for another second?”
“No.” He presses a finger inside, opens his legs wider, and Barclay growls.
“Ever thrown you down on the bed and sucked your dick until you cried?”
“Holyshit” he speeds up his fingers, “no.”
“Spent a whole night figuring out how to make you scream?”
“No, fuck, Barclay-”
“That’s it babe, lemme see just how much you like the idea of being mine.” Barclay tugs his wrap free and a large hand slips between hairy thighs. His cock, intimidating just as an outline, is downright heartstopping now.
“Could be all yours, you just gotta say the word.” Barclay rumbles, stroking himself lazily.
He shouldn’t. It’s a violation of both his duties and general common sense. But Barclay is looking at him like he sees him. Barclay’s affection for him has never come with conditions, with gilded bars and unanswered questions.
“Fuck it.” He stands, pulling his pants fully off and laying them on the chair before crossing into the circle.
Barclays eyes widen as he does, and by the time he settles in the Sylphs lap they’re big enough for whole worlds to float in them.
“You really-”
“Yes” Joseph kisses him, delighting in the little moan it earns him, “badly.”
“Fuckyes” Strong hands grip his hips, claws digging into his skin, “C’mon, pretty boy, lemme show you what you really deserve.”
“Ohmygod, ohmyfuckinggod” Joseph clings to Barclay’s biceps to avoid falling out of his lap from the force of the thrusts, “Yes, fuckyes, good lord how is it even bigger than it looks.”
“Think it’s more you’re a dainty little human who can only take two thirds of it. In this hole anyway.” He grins when Joseph moans, “bet I can get it all the way into the other two. Could always just force it, think you’d–fuck, move your hips like that again–like that, but it’d be more fun to go slow, build you up to it until you’re begging for the whole fucking thing.”
“Muhuh” Joseph’s face is buried in Barclay’s shoulder in a desperate attempt to muffle himself.
“Make you cum a few times, really get you relaxed” Barclay reaches one hand between them and Joseph gasps as he begins rubbing his dick, “that’s it babe, let go, wanna see you cum, wanna make you feel good.” He growls as Joseph tips his head back, kissing his neck as the most intense orgasm of his life rolls through him.
When he comes back to himself, Barclay is panting and holding perfectly still.
“Cum in me. Please.”
“You sure?” Barclay nuzzles his collarbone, “I know I talk a big game but if you’re sore or sensitive we don’t have to keep going.”
Joseph grabs the collar in shaking fingers and drags Barclay’s face up to his, “If you don’t do as I say, I will take off my contraceptive charm and go find the king.”
“Like hell you will.” Barclay kisses him hard and brings them to the floor, pinning Joseph on his back. He wraps his legs around the sylph and holds tightly to his arms as his body jolts with every thrust.
“Let’s get one thing straight, babe. If anyone gets to breed you, it’s me. Kings kept me locked up here for months, least he can do is let me knock up his consort.”
“God” Joseph bites Barclay’s shoulder to keep from crying out as he fucks him harder and faster than he thought possible.
“I won’t, though.” Barclay coos, snaking one arm beneath Joseph to trap his hips even more fully against him so that the thrusts become short and sharp, “you’re in charge, blue eyes. Do just about anything for you, be so good for you, oh, oh fuck, Joseph, Joseph, baby-” there’s a howlgrowlpurr as Barclay spills inside him. Joseph holds him close, kissing his face as he rocks his hips through the last of it.
“You okay?” Barclay kisses his forehead.
“Better than I’ve ever been.” Joseph reluctantly untangles their legs, “you’re wonderful, Barclay.”
And I think I just had an idea about how to get you free.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Uh, hi, can I help you?”
“I think so. This is Amnesty Lodge, right?”
“Yeeeah?” The dark-haired young woman looks at him like she’s expecting a trick.
“It is quite alright, Aubrey. This is the human I mentioned might come today. My, what an interesting timeline this is shaping up to be. And yes, Joseph Stern, we are very amenable to kidnapping you.”
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Barclay is dumped unceremoniously at the edge of Sylvain. All they told him was that he was part of a prisoner exchange. Given that he hasn’t seen Joseph in five days, he has a bad feeling he knows who it was.
He doesn’t know whether he should be grateful to the human for making himself into even more of a political pawn for Barclay’s sake, or pissed that his solution was one where they’ll never see each other again.
A half days journey brings him to Amnesty, and after a flurry of hugs and tears, he excuses himself up to his room to collapse for a bit.
Joseph is sitting on his bed, reading.
“How did-” Barclay doesn’t finish the question, too busy clambering onto the bed to kiss the human senseless.
“I had a lot of time to read law books when I was consort. And if someone is taken prisoner during peacetime, they have the right to decide they wish to remain in the other country once freed. Very few people even know that option is there, let alone use it. But once the trade was secured, I was happy to.”
“Not bad, pretty boy.” Barclay kisses him again, “not bad at all.”
Joseph Stern is one of the star dancers for the Kepler Metropolitan Ballet. Which means that his life is just a teetering stack of pressures that he's balancing while en pointe. And even if, say, the handsome cook at the coffee shop were to give him his number, Joseph isn't sure he'd have the time to do anything with it.
So, the fact he's about to have three men all hoping to date him will surely pose no problems whatsoever.
Sometimes, a dance doesn't go as planned. And all that you can do is make up new steps as you go.
Back to Me (Sternclay)
A tied yeehawgust prompt winner was "Rocky Mountain High." This fill is NSFW
The Rockies are not impassable. But to get through them requires skill, knowledge, and luck.
When Joseph was seven, he was on a wagon train in which none of those were present. A guide who’d never done the route, a map by someone who’d never even seen the Rockies, and it was one disaster after another. Their wagon and another were caught in a rock slide; Joseph was the only survivor.
He’d crawled into the fading sunlight and waited for the rest of the party to come look for him. When the moon came up and he was still alone, even his young brain understood he’d been left for dead.
That’s where the Bigfoots found him. Curled up and crying in torn clothes, scratched and bumped in a hundred places. He hadn’t been scared when he saw them; he thought he was imagining them. Then he assumed they were just very big, extremely hairy humans. After a short conversation, one of them scooped him into her arms and cooed, “there, there, you’ll come home with us.”
Fourteen years later, he watches the same Bigfoot cross her arms and make a concerned noise in her throat as he sits at her side in the meeting hall.
“It’s okay, mom.”
“No, it isn’t.” His cousin, Clarence, eyes the visiting group from another Bigfoot settlement in the southern part of the range, “How are we supposed to be confident going through with the marriage if it means sending Joseph off with those who cannot keep one of their own from going feral.”
“That was not our doing. Nor is the fact he remains that way.” The leader of the visiting delegates growls, exhausted, “we have tried everything to bring him back to himself.”
“That’s true.” Joseph glances between his family and the visitors, “yesterday I helped them go through all the written records and consulted with every elder we could find between here and the foothills. Nothing helps. I think it just needs time to wear off.”
Nods from both sides of the hall.
“Three days.” His cousin holds up their hand in a movement that’s half promise, half-placation, “You must understand, as head of our settlement, I cannot risk harm coming to one of ours from one of yours, no matter the cause.”
The visitors agree, and the meeting comes to a close. It’s late enough that most of the attendees head for the homes or guest houses scattered through the village, but a few invite willing visitors to join them for drinks in the brewing caves (a much homier and better lit place than it sounds).
Joseph considers following to try and make a good impression on his future kinsfolk, but worry gnaws at him too much. He wouldn’t be any fun, not when he can’t stop wondering if he’ll get Barclay back.
When Bigfoots reach a marriageable age they, their family, and the heads of their settlements decide on which other settlement to extend an invitation. Once invited, that settlement may send any interested residents to woo the bigfoot in question. In Joseph’s case, they’d had to choose not only for which other settlement they wanted to strengthen ties with, but who they thought might be open to one of their own marrying a human in the first place. In theory, Joseph would be an easy sell; Bigfoot and human marriages aren’t unheard of, and those happen with humans who haven’t grown up in Bigfoot families.
Still, he made his case as convincingly as he could. He’s smart, hard working, and while he’s not good-looking by Bigfoot standards, he’s at least tall. Bigfoots don’t have the same concept of men and women that humans do, a fact that had been a relief to him when he realized he was the fore and not the latter. It did mean his aunt has been brewing him a tea that helps put and keep hair on his chest, but it’s not remotely close to what the average Bigfoot has.
The Southern Meadow settlement agreed to bring any interested suitors his way as soon as Joseph decided on his challenge. When choosing a partner, each Bigfoot is allowed to set a competition or trial to test traits they want in a mate.
Joseph chose chess. His father had taught him to play, picking it up from the humans at the trading post where he worked. He’d only marry someone who could beat him at it.
Three Bigfoot from the visiting settlement expressed interest, and he beat two of them easily. Then Barclay had shown up. Auburn fur neatly groomed, clothes suggesting he’d spent some time around humans. Smile sweet and voice deep as the rivers that run at the edge of town.
He holds up a basket; biscuits studded with huckleberries, “Thought I better bring you something to eat in case this goes long.”
“That’s very thoughtful.” Joseph finishes setting the board. God, Barclay even smells good. Like mint soap. He adds a playful edge to his tone, “and optimistic.”
Barclay sits down, “Careful, I’m more competitive than I look.” He smiles, showing his sharp teeth, “Especially with the, uh, right motivation.”
The game lasts close to two hours. When Barclay knocks down Joseph’s king, he does so with a teasing growl.
“Checkmate, blue eyes.”
“Nicely done.”
Barclay catches his hand, pressing it first to his forehead, and then to his lips, “You really okay with that result?”
Joseph feels the tingle that’s been present in his chest since Barclay sat down, enhanced by his laugh, by his conversation, by how at ease Joseph feels near him (a rare state for him).
“Incredibly.”
Barclay had wanted time to go back to his childhood village and retrieve the wedding crowns his mothers wore. When he’d met Joseph at his home to tell him this, he’d promised to be back within a week. That he was excited to start their life together.
He’d been so sweet and earnest that when he lifted Joseph off the floor and kissed him against the wall, Joseph’s legs wrapped around his waist as he yelped in surprise. Barclay purred and growled about how he couldn’t wait to come back to him, and Joseph realized that while he might not be to most Bigfoot’s tastes, Barclay was ready to eat him up.
When the other group didn’t arrive a week later, Joseph tried not to worry. Weather could be unpredictable this high in the mountains. When they came back a week late with a feral Barclay and news of an ambush by a human hunting party, he expended two weeks worth of worry in about ten minutes. The anxiety hasn’t gone down since, and he’s exhausted.
In a last ditch effort to bring him back to himself, they put Barclay in Joseph’s small cabin, in hopes that being surrounded by Joseph’s scent might calm him (and since the bachelor cabins are meant for turnover, they’re easier to repair if he damages them). Even though he hadn’t recognized Joseph when he saw him again. At this point, he isn’t recognizing anyone. The longer this goes on, the greater the risk that he’ll stay feral forever.
Joseph is rooming with another cousin until it’s safe to go home. He lets himself into the cabin and starts prepping his sleeping pallet. Thinks of Barclay, alone across town; every Bigfoot who’s ever been feral and come back describes it as terrifying.
He has an idea. A terrible one. But Barclay is worth it.
Five minutes later, he’s in his own sitting room. The small cabins are made of that, a bedroom, and a small stove for cooking and keeping warm. They’d locked Barclay in the bedroom, just for an added barrier between him and the rest of the settlement.
Joseph lights the lantern, turning in a circle. No sign that Barclay has been able to get out. The hinges of the bedroom door are a little loose, but when he steps close enough to study them he can see they haven’t cracked or torn free. He listens at the door; low, gruff panting comes from the other side, punctuated by a howl that makes him jump a foot backwards. Barclay is upset, but he doesn’t sound injured or in pain, which is all Joseph can really ask for right now.
He should go.
Then again, the house is a mess; he’d left in a hurry when the visitors came back to town with their bad news.
Just a few minutes. Then he’ll lock the door behind him and leave Barclay in the closest he can come to peace.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
He’s angry. He’s banged his hands and torn his claws into the walls enough to know he’s not getting free. He doesn’t want to be here. There are others of his kind nearby, he can hear them, smell them, but they left him, which maybe is good, because maybe they’re not friends, maybe they’re here to hurt him.
Barclay runs his hands over his face with a frustrated grunt. Why did they put him here? It smells like humans. Humans are not good, they shoot at you and hurt you and hurt your friends.
Now one is here. He can hear it through the door. It’s been here a while, walking softly, not speaking. It smells like the house. Familiar. Is this place familiar?
He stands at the door, sniffing the air. Still here. He peers through the crack at the side, but can’t see the intruder. He doesn’t like that. If he can’t see it, it’s hiding, and if it’s hiding, it’s hunting him, and if a human is hunting him he will rip its arms off. He can smell it, not see it, and that’s not good, not safe, no, he can’t be here, he’s trapped, trapped, no.
Barclay puts his full weight on the door and gives it a panicked, violent shove.
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------
The crack brings three things into focus at once.
One: Joseph fell asleep on the padded bench instead of just resting his feet a second.
Two: The corner of the bedroom door is laying in view.
Three: There is a massive shape at the end of the bench, eyes reflecting the dying lamplight, growl steady and menacing.
The Bigfoots are his family, his people. He’s not afraid of them. But he also knows exactly how little strength he has compared to any one of them. How small he is. Barclay could snap his neck with one hand.
Joseph holds up his hands and hoots once, dropping from high to low in tone, to indicate that he’s a friend.
The growl stops, but now Barclay is moving closer, is at the side of the bench peering at him and sniffing the air.
Joseph repeats the hoot, then adds, “Joseph.”
Speaking seems to remind Barclay that he’s human and he snaps his jaws and thumps his chest twice. The sign to leave.
Joseph would, except there’s a feral Bigfoot between him and the door, and even standing too quickly could be misread as a threat.
A Bigfoot who was in their right mind would probably repeat the order, or at least pause to explain exactly what they’ll do if Joseph doesn’t move. But Barclay, impatient, is already reaching for his throat.
“Mate!” Joseph shrinks back against the cushions. Barclay freezes, so he points between them, nodding, “mates.”
Barclay cocks his head this way and that, looks around the sitting room like he’s never been in one before. Then he crouches, huffing through his teeth as he leans in and sniffs at Joseph’s face, neck, and hair. Joseph focuses on breathing, on keeping calm. Slowly, the investigation turns to affection, Barclay nuzzling the hair above his ear, then nosing down his neck and inhaling deeply.
“Mate.” It’s barely a word. It’s also the first time he’s spoken in weeks.
Joseph is equal parts elated and relieved, right up to the point at which Barclay scoops him into his arms and stands, at which point everything gives way to alarm.
“Barclay, wait, what are-”
“Mate.” The answer is both a noun and a command.
“Oh.” Joseph’s whole body goes warm as he’s lowered onto the sleeping mat, “yes, absolutely.”
It's not the reunion he had planned, but seeing Barclay again, seeing some chance he might remember him, makes it hard to care.
Barclay sits back on his heels looking at him like he’s trying to make up his mind about something, and Joseph realizes that the bigfoot is completely naked.
He’s also sporting the biggest cock Joseph’s ever seen.
Bigfoots aren’t shy about nudity, so Joseph has ample points of comparison. Up until now, he was confident he could handle all parts of being Barclay’s husband, but that part in particular might take some practice.
He’s so distracted by the logistics of what’s coming that he barely notices Barclay trying to undo his clothing until there’s a rrrrrrip and it all flies into a corner of the room.
“In the way.” Barclay grunts, pushing Joseph’s knees apart to sit between them.
Joseph risks some flirtation, “I know, but I need them. I don’t have gorgeous fur to keep me warm.”
Barclay crawls over him, places one of Joseph’s hands into the auburn fur of his chest as he blankets him, “warm.”
“Very.” He pets absentmindedly up and down as he watches Barclay bring a hand between them to stroke himself. This is not making his cock any less intimidating, but Joseph is so wet from watching, from the way Barclay is growling and pawing at him, that he no longer cares.
Barclay tracks his attention and for a moment he looks almost shy, “Good?”
“Yes. I just, um, I’ve never done this before so please be gentle.”
“Gentle.” Barclay repeats, leaning down to nuzzle his face. Then he adjusts, grabbing Joseph’s right knee and (gently) pushing it up, forcing his legs wide enough to accommodate him as he presses the head of his cock into him.
“Shit” Joseph whimpers, wills himself to relax as Barclay nudges it deeper. His lover is going slow, is clearly heeding his request, but nothing can make up for the sheer difference in size, how his body has to stretch as he pushes deeper.
When it hits the point where it can’t do deeper, Joseph gasps, digging his fingers into the blanket beneath him. Barclay thrusts again, making him cry out, then frowns at the third of his cock still outside Joseph’s body.
“Th-that’s as much of it as I can take, big guy. I, ooohhhfuck” he grabs at the fur of Barclay’s chest as he leans over him, bracing on his forearms as he starts fucking him in earnest, “I’d take the whole thing if I could, I promise.”
The answer seems to satisfy the bigfoot, a purr rumbling from him as he pets Joseph's hair and nuzzles his face as he slowly, deliberately, fucks him. Joseph imagined his first time often and he never thought it could be this tender, that he could feel so wanted, so safe even as his body ached from the stretch of taking his partner and his legs kicked weakly, as if trying to push him away from the intrusion.
The wet, obscene sounds of Barclay claiming him take on a faster tempo, Barclay now resting his head against the pillow as he grunts and growls rather than trying to nip and kiss as much of Joseph as possible. It makes sense, now that Joseph thinks about it; if being feral returns you to your basic urges, then there’s really only one point of mating. It’s not a point that can currently be met, thanks to his aunts tea, but Barclay doesn’t know that. And so there’s nothing for Joseph to do but hold on and moan as the thrusts grow more and more insistent and Barclay’s growls of “mine” give way to wordless, possessive snarls that make Joseph want to stay here, open and vulnerable, while his mate takes anything and everything he wants from him.
Barclay’s hips jerk as he cums with a howlgrowlpurr. He’s still cumming when he starts raising up and off of Joseph, and from the shaking of his limbs he realizes the Bigfoot was restraining himself, not continuing to thrust or chase the last remnants of orgasm because it might have hurt Joseph to do so.
“Good?” Barclay kisses his forehead, warm palm petting his cheek.
Joseph reaches up, cupping his cheeks and guiding him into a kiss, feels the purr buzzing between them as Barclay slips his tongue between his lips.
“Good.” He murmurs, then lays back and lets his husband-to-be kiss him to sleep.
—-------------------------------------------------------------
He likes having his mate in his arms. Even more than he likes mating with him. There’s no need under his skin, nothing itching at him until it’s satisfied, and so he can just lay here, happy and warm, feeling his mate breathing. Safe. Barclay is keeping him safe, and that is a good feeling.
His mate is human. He can’t remember why. Every now and then the answer circles in his mind, but it’s shrouded in fog. Maybe there is no reason other than what he’s feeling now, that this body belongs in his arms, that the voice and face of this human soothes him and pleases him.
He’d fallen asleep, he thinks, after they’d separated and he’d drawn the human against, back to his chest. He thought his mate had, too, but now he’s shifting, breath coming in bitten-back gasps.
Barclay lets out an apologetic whine and slides his hand over Joseph’s waist, along his forearm to the point where he’s touching himself with frantic, sharp movements.
“Sorry.” Barclay nudges the hand aside and sets his own in its place, rubbing against the wet skin.
“It’s, it’s alright, you had other things on your mind and you’ve been so restless I didn’t want to wake you-”
“Not a hardship, babe.” He murmurs, dimly aware of the fact he didn’t know those last two words a moment ago.
“You called me-AH, ohgod.” Joseph twists in his arms, hips bucking forward as Barclay’s fingers dip lower and press into him. The human valiantly tries to finish his sentence two more times before giving up turning his head to moan into Barclay’s shoulder.
He laughs and kisses at his head, behind his ear, along his neck; it’s fun, making Joseph lose himself like this. He can’t wait to do it more.
His fingers press deeper and he realizes some of the slick coating them isn’t from Joseph, but from him. His dick, already hardening from the way Joseph is grinding back against it, twitches at the proof of how much of him Joseph took. Aches to take him again, so much that it’s starting to hurt, and he growls in the human’s ear as Joseph fucks himself on his fingers, the movement delicious but not enough.
“Fuck it.” He holds Joseph close and flips onto his back, bringing the human on top of him. Joseph is so light, it’s easy to lift and shift him onto his dick, even at this odd angle. He’s facing away from him, so Barclay doesn’t see the moment he registers what’s happening. But it floods his other senses; the human cries out, clawing at his thighs, muscles of his legs noticeably tensing and kicking as Barclay holds him steady and fucks up into him
He moves one hand down, rubbing Joseph’s dick until he cums with a long, helpless moan. The sound is still going when Barclay grabs his hips and begins bouncing him in his lap, enjoying how limp he goes as he fucks his cum back into him. When he floods him this time, it’s with a growled-out “mine” and a refusal to let the human up until his dick has finally stopped pulsing.
“Yours.” Joseph looks over his shoulder with a smile, then promptly collapses against his chest.
Barclay rumbles comfortingly, petting up and down his back and nosing his hair. He should really get up and get a cloth, get Joseph some new clothes. When they’re back in Barclay’s settlement, he wants to buy him something nice and warm to wear in moments exactly like this, when he’s fucked-out and sleepy in Barclays arms. Something blue maybe, to match the color Barclay painted the bedroom last year.
He loves planning their future like this. Why hasn’t he been the last few days? What was he thinking about instead?
“Oh fuck.”
Joseph bolts awake, looking up at him, “What’s wrong?”
“How long was I feral?”
Relief as sweet and simple as sugar fills Joseph’s face, “You’re back. I thought I’d lost you for good.”
“That’s not filling me with hope about only having been out a day or so.”
Joseph strokes his cheek, “It’s been close to two weeks. Apparently your group was attacked, it sounds like in an attempt to kidnap some of you. You went feral during the fight.”
“Fuck. Fuck” he looks down at the human with horror, “I made you have sex while I was feral! I’m so sorry, fuck, did I hurt you?”
“You were, um, insistent, but that was as intense as it got.” Joseph shifts upwards so they’re face to face, “I wanted to be with you. Even that version of you. And…well, some part of me knew you wouldn’t hurt me, no matter what.”
“You still want to marry me?” He tries not to sound as afraid as he feels; if Joseph doesn’t want him after this, he won’t argue. But that won’t save his heart.
“Big guy, I cannot stress how tonight has shown me just how much I looked forward to being your husband.” Joseph kisses him and Barclay sighs happily and melts into the bed, Joseph comforting and warm above him.
They’re both exhausted, but neither of them feels the need for sleep. Instead, they stay up, talking about all the good things to come, until the sun rises over the Rockies.
Perfect Specimen (Sternclay)
I decided I wanted to do something for Monster March, and @bellafarallones and I were riffing on this amazing art from @panthermouthh, as the design on Doctor Frankenstein is not unlike how I personally picture Stern.
A few content notes: This is NSFW, and given the subject matter it touches on death. There's also animal death but everything comes out okay in the end.
It’s the perfect night for mystery and horror. The very air itself is filled with monsters.
And if Joseph’s lab does not have a monster of its own by the time this thunderstorm is done, he’s going to walk out the highest window in the castle.
Four years of research, another year of planning, six months of gathering supplies, days and nights without sleep, the burns on his upper arm, the white in his hair, all of it has been for this moment.
The instruments tell him the voltage from the storm is the highest he can hope for, and a moment later the readings from the nodes attached to the experiment tell him a bolt has connected long enough and strong enough to restart the heart.
He rigged the lift table to be moveable by one person, but it’s still exhausting to strain against the chains, to control the force of the descent, all the while sweat mingles with the rain as it drops from the platform. The instant the table touches the lab floor, he wrenches the handle to close the gap in the roof, shutting out the storm at last. Now all that’s left is the crackle of the equipment, the distant thunder, and his heart beating so loud that for a moment he can’t manage to move.
When his stethoscope can’t find a twin beat in the chest of his specimen, he sags to the floor, pushes himself back until he’s resting against the nearest table and tosses his gloves away in frustration. He digs his hands into his hair, gripping at the root, wanting to scream in frustration but somehow, after all this time, afraid someone might hear.
He did everything right, picked every part as carefully as if the body were his own. No beer-saturated livers, no bad hearts, no black lungs for his specimen. And it still hadn’t worked.
The window calls to him. He tugs his hair again, frees his hands only to dig his nails into his palms. No. He can do this. He’s Dr. Joseph Stern, he has brought life to lower animals and god damn it he will bring life to this one.
He rises, brushing off his lab coat, brain already churning on a new plan.
Then the figure beneath the sheet sits bolt upright and starts to scream.
—-----------------------------------------------------------
The last thing Barclay remembers is his room at the Lodge. He’d been alone, the doctor had told Mama and the others they couldn’t come in, not unless they wanted to risk the flu that was stealing his energy and breath away. He could feel he was dying, and he was so scared, he’d begged the man to at least let him see them in the doorway, but his usual doctor had passed from the flu himself. This one, sent from the city, had talked to Barclay like he had rocks for brains and didn’t even stay with him until the end. He’d cried out, weakly but still a cry, for his friends.
And now he’s crying out again, thrashing at the fabric above him. Fuck, he’s in a shroud and he can’t move, they’ve fucking buried him alive. That thought horrifies him so much he wrenches upward, freeing himself from the confines of his coffin and gasping for air.
Only there’s no wood or dirt anywhere. Just broken, leather straps hanging off his wrists and a white bed sheet tangled around his waist. A laboratory gleams and hisses around him, and to the right of his bed stands a man in white lab coat.
The man's hands are over his mouth in shock, his blue eyes wide with excited surprise. Barclay notices the streak of white in the front of his black hair as lightning flashes across the skylight.
“You’re alive. Alive!” He steps forward and Barclay leans away, body too full of residual panic to do anything else.
The scientist holds out a hand, as if Barclay is a spooked dog hiding under the bed, and says slowly and quietly, “Don’t be afraid. You’re not in danger. My name is Dr. Joseph Stern. This is my lab. And you…” a rapturous smile spreads across his face, “you’re my specimen. My vindication.”
“Specimen?” Barclay’s voice creeps upwards.
“You can talk.” Dr. Stern carefully sets his hands on the metal table Barclay mistook for a bed, “amazing, thank god I didn’t use my first choice of head and neck, it’d been damaged by hanging and might have-.”
“Woah, woah” Barclay holds up his hands, trying to get the doctor to make sense. It’s then that he sees his hands aren’t the ones he remembers, and they’re sewn to arms where the skin is a few shades darker. He tosses the sheet aside and finds the rest of his body the same kind of patchwork, clutches his face and notices a beard that wasn’t there before.
He starts screaming again.
“Please, stay calm-”
“What did you do? What the fuck did you do to me? What am I?”
“You’re a modern golem. A, a testament to science and progress.”
Barclay growls and grabs for him, dragging him close by the front of his coat, “Where the fuck is my body? My real body.”
“This is your real body.” The man pushes him back, cheeks slightly pink, “you’ve never had another one.”
“The hell I haven’t! Where is it, where’s, where’s the body of Barclay Cobb?”
The doctor stills, staring at him with fascinated confusion, “He…he’s in Kepler cemetery. Where he was buried. I needed his brain. And his eyes. But I left the rest of him there. Unless.”
“Unless?”
“Unless he’s here now?”
“Yeah. Yeah he is. He’s here and he’s confused and none of this is making that any better.” Tears sting his vision and spill down his cheeks
“I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t expect this. Everything I read suggested that bringing you to life would potentially give you a soul. Or raise you without one. Not, not just bring back someone who was lost.”
“Feel like we have that saying about not believing everything you read for a reason.” He replies helplessly.
A slight smile, “True. And being cutting edge with my research meant there weren’t a lot of reference points.”
“Look” Barclay wipes his eyes and stands, finds himself actually looking down at the doctor, who himself must be six feet tall. The new height is the first thing about this whole mess that doesn’t feel like a curse, “whatever you did, it didn’t go how you expected. I’m not some new creature, I’m just a normal guy in a fucked-up body. So I’m gonna let you go back to the drawing board and I’m gonna go home and give my friends the biggest fucking hug I can manage.”
“You can’t” Dr. Stern steps between him and the door, “They won’t recognize your new body, and they might be upset if they put together what happened. More to the point, grave robbing and desecration of a corpse are serious charges and I have no plans to be brought up on them.”
“That sounds like a you problem.” He ties the sheet around his waist. That’ll have to work for now.
Blue eyes narrow, “Mr. Cobb. Barclay” the doctor brings his hands to his sides but makes no move to get out of the way, “People fear what they don’t understand. Right now, I barely understand what’s going on with you. How do you think people in Kepler are going to react?”
“Doesn’t seem like I’m much safer here.” Barclay glowers at the pistol sitting on one of the tables.
Stern sighs, “Several of my predecessors died when the animals they brought back with electricity turned on them. I don’t plan on joining them. It would have been an absolute last resort; Barclay, years of my life have led to this moment, and I’m not going to discard them lightly. Or let them walk right into the path of an angry mob.”
Barclay steps around him, and fingers grab his arm.
“If your old self saw this self coming down the dark road toward him, what would he do?”
“....Probably panic and run inside. Lock the doors and windows so he couldn’t get in and hurt my or my friends.”
“Now imagine how one of your less gentle neighbors might react.”
“Fuck.” Barclay wraps his arms around himself. His next step lands wrong, his legs unsteady, and sits heavily down on the floor. When he looks up, the doctor is hurriedly making notes.
“So, what, is the plan to make me sleep down here? Because staying in a dungeon sounds fucking miserable.”
The doctor shakes his head, “No. Lord knows there’s plenty of space in the castle, and I have a room ready for you. Um, just give me a few minutes to get it heated.”
More than a few minutes later Stern returns, dust on his coat, and gingerly extends a hand. Barclay takes it, and allows himself to be led up into his new home.
He only manages a few hours of sleep before pain wakes him. Anywhere he’s been stitched hurts. When it gets to the point where he can no longer comfortably lay in bed, he groans and gets up in search of the guy responsible.
The only light and noise in the house is still from the direction of the lab. Inside he finds Stern diligently filling a notebook with words and diagrams. The doctor doesn’t see him right away, and he wonders if this is even a good idea. The guy brought him back as an experiment, seems shocked that Barclay is a person instead of an empty vessel. Maybe asking for help will just cement the idea that Barclay needs to stay here for his own good.
Then again.
In the lamplight of a less panicked mind, Joseph Stern doesn’t look quite like the confident, business-like doctor ready to order Barclay around like he’s nothing. There are dark circles under his eyes and his black hair is a mess from wind sneaking through the skylight. And when Barclay awoke, monstrous and afraid, Stern didn’t flinch from him.
“Uh, Doctor Stern?”
The man looks up, and Barclay pushes down the urge to haul him up to bed before he passes out at his desk.
“Do you have anything for the pain?”
“That depends on where it is.”
Barclay explains the situation, Stern’s expression tinged with disappointment by the end. It’s only as the doctor unlocks a drawer that Barclay understands the emotion is directed at himself instead of Barclay.
“It didn’t occur to me that your nerves would react that way, though it makes perfect sense. Here” He holds out a tin of bitter-smelling salve, “this should help numb the pain if you rub it around the stitches.”
“What is it?”
“A topical painkiller. I developed it when I was earning my degree. The number of my colleagues who thought it was fine to give patients who needed to work to keep a roof over their heads ingestible pain relief that made them groggy was shocking. I wanted my patients to have another option.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
The other man smiles, subtly steadying his swaying body against the lab table, “You’re my housemate, not my servant. Call me Joseph.”
It’s only the fact that those last three words sound as if they haven’t been spoken in a long, long time that Barclay doesn’t roll his eyes at the idea that a rich boy from the city won’t see him as a servant. Instead, he takes the tin, returns to his bed, and falls into a deep, if somewhat tingly, sleep.
—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Joseph wakes to the smell of coffee and toast and the patter of the rain on the windows. He’s glad he managed to crawl into bed last night instead of passing out at his desk again; it’s cozy here.
He and Barclay spent the last thirty-six hours in opposite states of energy; Joseph was unable to sleep, anxious to write down every observation and note from Barclay being resurrected. When the anxiety started to fade, a wave of pride would come and buoy him along as he imagined everyone who mocked him being forced to admit he was right. The source of his excitement, on the other hand, spent the entire time in such a sound sleep Joseph checked him twice with the stethoscope to make sure he was still alive, and left him some clothes once he was certain he was. His guess is that, among the many effects of being brought back, Barclay’s body registered the life-giving jolt as a massive expenditure of energy. Not to mention that panic can really take it out of a man. Joseph knows that much from experience.
The smell of frying meat mingles with the toast now. He should get up and have breakfast.
He should figure out who in the castle is even making breakfast.
Joseph hurries out of bed, tying his robe as he descends the stairs. In the kitchen, humming as he moves from stove to table and back again, is Barclay.
“What are you doing?”
“Making breakfast. I’m sure you’re the kinda guy who survives on coffee and thoughts or whatever, but some of us need actual food.” The knife he’s using on a potato finds his finger instead, nicking it, and he pulls back with a sigh, “I’m sure the bigger hands will be good for something, but right now they’re a pain to get used to.”
Joseph shakes the thoughts of what those hands could do from his sleep-addled head as Barclay ties a small bandage–he must have found them in the lab– around the cut. There’s also a fresh burn on the back of his left hand; he must have hit it on the oven.
“I’m sorry, I know the new body must be hard to adjust to. In my defense, I didn’t think you’d be cooking.”
The taller man pulls the percolator from the stove, looking at him warily “What did you think I’d be doing?”
“Recovering and gaining control of your body for the first few weeks. Frankly I’m proud of the fact my careful work means you’re up and moving so soon, and the apparent transferring of your muscle memory into a new body is intriguing.”
“Yeah, if you’re not the guy banging his head into things. Or dealing with how itchy a beard can be.”
“I can buy you a razor if you want it gone.”
Barclay studies his reflection in a hanging pot, running his hands over the beard that’s barely past stubble, “Nah. I like how it looks. Mine always came in patchy.” He moves sausages onto a plate, “guess I oughta thank you for picking a handsome face for me, even if you did put stitches on it.”
“You can blame the fox that ate his nose part way off for that.”
Barclay grimaces.
“Sorry. I’ve been rooting around graveyards and charnel houses for so long it’s sort of…skewed how I talk about these things.”
“I mean, it seems like its’ kinda your life’s work so I get it. But no surgery talk at the table.” He sets the sausages and toast on the wood, then a plate down in front of Joseph and one in front of himself. Joseph pours them each coffee and they eat in awkward but not unpleasant silence.
As they’re walking past the fireplace in the dining room, Barclay pauses to look at the chess problem Joseph laid out a month ago.
“Do you play?”
The other man nods, “Learned how when I first started working at the Lodge. We, uh, we could play sometime.”
“I wish, but there’s a reason that’s just been sitting there. My work comes first.”
“I thought that was done. Or are you just going to keep making more guys like me?”
“No” he meets Barclay’s gaze, tries not to feel guilty for the distrust he finds there, “I have so much to learn from you. I’ve re-written some of the core beliefs of science, and I need to put my findings in enough order to present them eventually. Then there’s the fact that the process of constructing you has massive ramifications for the field of surgery.”
“So is my job just to lay in that fucking lab all day?”
That had been his plan. The moment Barclay turned those brown eyes on him and told him his name, it all went up in smoke.
“I’ll need to ask you questions now and then. And if possible have you do a few physical tests; that serves a second purpose of making sure your motor function isn’t deteriorating or you’re not getting ill from some unforeseen side effect of all this. Other than that, well, my home is yours to make your own.”
They leave it at that, Joseph retreating to his lab and Barclay wandering back towards the kitchen.
It’s just after six when Joseph is comparing his notes to those of one Professor Cold. There were rumors he’d succeeded in restoring not one, but two, bodies; his twin sons had been killed in a carriage accident. Joseph sees the groundwork for such a feat in the notes, but the way Cold writes about his potential subjects has always bothered him. They were living, breathing men with hopes and ideas and he sees them as nothing more than projects.
Than specimens.
Joseph closes the book, sets his notes in order for the night, and returns to the main floor of the castle. Barclay is in a chair by the fire, a book of Virgil in his lap and his focus on the window that faces town.
“Barclay?”
“Mm?”
In his old life he knew how to be charming. Maybe it’s time to dust off that skill.
“I’d be honored if you’d join me for a game of chess and a cup of coffee.”
Barclay looks him over, firelight dancing along the line of his jaw.
“Honored, huh?”
He nods and offers his arm. Barclay smiles, amused, and stands to take it.
—-------------------------------------------------------------------
They’d been making progress over the last month, in more ways than one. Barclay’s skill and comfort with his new body improved, he grew more relaxed when Joseph asked him questions for his research, and his glances toward town are not nearly as melancholy. The reason for that last change is obvious.
“Okay, either a carriage splashed you or you decided to take a mudbath in the center of town.” Barclay helps Joseph out of his coat as the doctor pulls off his boots.”
“Not quite. There was a puddle in the cemetery that I swear was up to my knees.”
Barclay looks at him, eyebrows raised and lips quirked in a smile “Looking to replace me?”
“Never. But you were the reason for my visit.” Joseph straightens the black vest stretching across Barclay’s chest, “you were so worried you’d be forgotten. I needed to find your grave. Barclay, it’s so covered in flowers I nearly missed the inscription.”
“Oh.” Barclay looks lost and sad, as if Joseph had found him in the middle of the forest, miles from home.
Joseph takes his hands, “You’ll see your friends again. We’ll figure out a way to re-introduce you without setting off mass panic. I promise.”
Barclays mood had improved massively after that. Which is puzzlement, not panic, is what grips Joseph when he finds his friend crying at the kitchen table. When he asks what happened, Barclay points to a bundled rag. In it is a rabbit kit, eyes open and glassy.
“I, I found it a few others, they got stuck against the outside wall when that tree came down last night” Barclay sniffles, “I moved them so they could find food but that one I, I must have held him too hard, I, I didn’t mean to. I, what if I do it again, what if I can’t be gentle anymore, what if I, I hurt something else, or someone else?”
Joseph steps next to his chair, only for Barclay to hide his face in his waistcoat. He lets him cry–he hasn’t since that first night–and cautiously pets his hair.
“Wh-what if I’m too much of a monster?”
“Barclay, look at me.” Joseph gingerly cups his chin, pushes his shaggy auburn hair from his forehead so he can see his face, “you’re not a monster. You’re a wonder, and more than that you are gentle. And kind. This was just an accident, one we can learn from.”
Barclay sniffs, wiping under his eyes.
“A monster wouldn’t cry for a rabbit. Or be thoughtful enough to give it a shroud.”
That gets him a watery smile.
“Go rest for a bit. I’ll take care of everything.”
Barclay slowly gets to his feet. Joseph waits until he’s in the library, then gathers the sad bundle and slips down to his lab.
It’s fiddly, frustrating work, but it’s worth every second when shakes Barclay from his lap and shows him the rabbit, fur slightly on end but nose wiggling calmly, and asks if he’d like to help him choose the spot to set it free outside.
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------
He’s getting better about not working to and past midnight, but after Barclay made a particularly delicious shepherds pie for lunch today, Joseph had passed out cold on couch the moved to be by the library fire (it’s more comfortable sitting side by side on it than in separate chairs) with his head on Barclay’s shoulder.
He’d awoken, now on top of his companion, to find it was four in the afternoon and he was behind on the monograph he’s writing on how to effectively reconnect eyes to the brain.
Barclay’s footsteps are just audible under the crash of the storm outside. Joseph isn’t surprised to see him in the doorway; electrical storms set him on edge. Neither of them can figure out if that’s some lingering effect of the experiment that brought him back to life or if the dislike of lightning is somehow stored in a particular body part. But when it happens, Barclay prefers to be wherever Joseph is.
“Anything I can help with?” Barclay sets a hand on the back of Joseph’s chair.
“Nothing comes to mind–no, wait, I think we have a few items on my initial checklist to cover.” He pulls out the stack of papers recording the various physical functions of Barclay’s body, “let’s see, the remaining one is, um, is…”
Barclay leans down, then blushes at the underlined words,“Figures you’d be that thorough.”
“We don’t have to test it. Now or ever.”
“What does testing my, uh, sexual functioning involve?”
“Seeing if you can achieve erection and release.”
Barclay’s blush deepens, “Yeah, about that. Kinda confirmed it myself.”
“In that case I’d just need to collect ejaculate. Just to see if you’re, um, able to reproduce like this.” The clinical language is his last hope of not admitting that part of his reason for wanting to know that is personal; his fantasies will be more accurate if he knows whether he could let Barclay come in him without fear.
Curiously, his more detached tone does nothing for Barclay’s reddening cheeks.
“We can do that. If, if you want. Hate to leave you with an unfinished checklist.” He says it so tenderly Joseph wants to cry.
“Okay. Please take off your clothes and go sit on the lab table.”
Barclay obeys, and as he does Joseph sees just how far down the blush goes.
“Should I…” Barclay gestures to his crotch. Joseph picked his cock out himself. He doesn’t remember it being so intimidating. Or so tempting.
“Let me.” He steps between Barclay’s legs, the closeness feeling safe than watching from a chair would be; if they did that, Barclay could see his face, might realize how hopelessly smitten Joseph is. Worse, Joseph might learn that Barclay enjoys being watched and ordered around by a seemingly in control Joseph, and then he’d really be screwed.
His fingers brush Barclay’s cock and the cook sighs and laughs, nervously, “Y’know, usually make a guy buy me dinner before he does that.”
“Does paying for our groceries count?”
“Guess soOH, oh” Barclay’s legs fall wider as Joseph begins stroking him, “yeah, yeah just like that.”
Joseph grips the edge of the table with his free hand. Focus, if he can just focus-
Barclay’s cock is fully hard, heavy in his hand, and when he runs his thumb over the head the other man bucks and moans. His head tips back and Joseph tries to focus on the scars, on what they mean, but all he can think about is dragging his tongue.
Barclay moans again, fucking into his hand, and Joseph’s vocal cords act without permission.
“That’s it, big guy, I want this to feel good. I want my perfect specimen to enjoy himself.”
Brown eyes snap open and the noise from those plush lips is a whimper.
“Do you like when I call you that?” He asks, hopeful at the prospect of something he didn’t know he wanted until a moment ago.
“Uh huh, Joseph, please-”
He squeezes the base of Barclay’s cock, letting his nails graze his balls, “That’s sir to you.”
Barclay grins, “Fuck yes it is. Sir. I, I like when you look at me like a project, like a puzzle, no one ever paid attention to me like that, like you, fuck, sir” his head tips forward and his lips find Joseph’s neck, mouthing and kissing at it and soaking his collar in the process.
“Messy” He scolds. Barclay whines, cock starting to slide more purposefully in his fist, but keeps up his barrage of kisses.
“Don’t care, sir, promise I’ll make it up to you, want you so bad, tired of waiting.”
“Waiting for what, big guy?”
“You” Barclay says weakly, moan spilling out of him as cum spurts between them. Joseph should be hurrying to catch it with something, but he doesn’t want to lose this moment, doesn’t want to stop feeling Barclay’s breath on his neck and arms around his shoulders.
He risks a kiss to his beautiful specimen’s forehead and gets a happy sigh in reply.
“Your turn, sir.”
“Barclay, we don’t need to, you’re probably tired and I should-”
His lower back slams into the table so abruptly he yelps.
“Maybe you didn’t hear me, sir” he growls, “I said it’s your turn to be stuck on this fucking table.”
Between the baritone rattling his bones and his terrified excitement at how easily Barclay turned the tide on him, he forgets the reason he hasn’t done this since his first year of university until Barclay rips away every scrap of clothing covering his crotch.
“I…I can explain”
“Don’t need to” Barclay’s eyes are wide and hungry as he takes in the slick folds, “saw the scars on your chest that time you got acid on your shirt and had to get it off in a hurry.”
“If it’s not to your taste we canFUCK, fuckingchrist” His back and head hit the table as Barclay wrenches his legs over his shoulders and drops to his knees.
“Oh it’s to my taste, sir, because I can do this from how fucking wet you are from just touching my dick” He shoves three fingers inside, fucking Joseph insistently and laughing as the heels of his shoes catch the cooks upper back.
“Lookit you” Barclay sounds like he’s drooling, “this why you made me so big, sir? Because you know just how fucking needy you are and you have to have something nice and thick in you before you can relax.”
“No, I mean yes, maybe, fuck” His hands thwack against the metal, “don’t make me think anymore, I can’t, I don’t want to.”
“Then don’t” Barclay purrs, warm lips ghosting over his dick, “just lay back and lemme give you everything you need. Don’t need to be a genius, just gotta let me use this” he curls his fingers “needy thing whenever I want. And let me do this, too” his lips close around Joseph’s dick and Joseph forgets every word that’s not a curse or a plea for more, his world becoming nothing other than Barclay’s face and fingers against him, his forearm trapping his hips so he can only writhe uselessly as Barclay takes what he wants.
Joseph digs his hands into Barclay’s hair, certain that if he doesn’t hold onto something his whole body will come apart from the force of his impending orgasm. As it is, when it hits his scream is embarrassingly high and broken, though Barclays only reaction to it is a groan.
As Barclay pulls back and stands, Joseph can see the slick on his beard, and moans when the cook licks his fingers with a blissful expression.
He lunges upward at the same second Barclay bends down, kiss reverberating through his entire being as his monster–no, his lover–holds him close. When they finally break, Barclay literally gasping for air, Joseph rests his hand on his beard and smiles as the other man rubs against his palm.
“You okay?” Barclay murmurs, fingers playing comfortingly along Joseph’s cheek.
“That’s an understatement. Even if a think you might have strained my hip flexor throwing my legs up like that.”
“Sorry” shame creeps across his face and Joseph will not stand for that.
“I don’t mind, big guy. Though maybe next time I’ll tie you down until we learn just how your strength plays out in the bedroom.”
“That means you’ll have to do all the work, sir.” The smile is back, honey-sweet and warm.
“I can handle that. I’m not afraid of hard work.”
Barclay chuckles and kisses him again, and Joseph sets aside his planning in favor of staying in his arms a little longer.
Cold Feet (Sternclay)
Runner up in the "humans and mers on land" poll was: Mer disguised as a human shows their true form after being pushed into a pool. This fill is NSFW, and Barclay's design is based on a tiger shark.
There are many benefits to being engaged to a man who resembles Bigfoot in stature. Among them is that, due to his awareness of his intimidating size, his overall demeanor is gentle and friendly.
It also means that when he chooses to use that size to scare someone, it’s effective.
From his spot at the poolside bar, Joseph witnesses the first instance of someone not backing off when Barclay asks them too. A nearby table of men, all in Hawaiian shirts they have neither the bodies nor the confidence to pull off, has spent the last hour being drunk and loud. Joseph’s doesn’t begrudge them that too much; it’s a destination hotel, and people come to have a good time. Besides, it’s the adults-only pool so there are no kids around to overhear their increasingly made-up stories about “scoring.”
The trouble began when the pack turned their attention to the waitress who’d drawn the short straw of serving their table. It had gotten so bad that they’d overheard the young woman ask the manager at the bar if she could be switched or clock out to avoid them. He’d told her they were short and to deal with it.
On her next pass of the table, one of the men grabbed her thigh, reaching up her shorts to do so. Barclay was on his feet instantly, striding over to the group and telling them, calmly, to knock it the hell off. The men ignored him initially, unaware that the fastest way to anger his husband to be is to harass waitstaff in his presence.
Now, however, two of the men are on their feet, not caring that the man they’re drunkenly calling homophobic slurs could throw each of them over the low, stone wall separating the pool from the sea without breaking a sweat. The waitress tries to dart away, only for one of them to grab her wrist. Joseph is on his feet, and the manager is finally growing a pair and calling security, as Barclay calmly but forcefully pries the mans hand off the young woman.
The man yells something about how Barclay is assaulting him and shoves him, sending the taller man into the pool. His fiance’s head appears, shaking water from his eyes. Then there’s a gasp from one of the other tables, and several fingers pointing at Barclay.
Joseph follows the line of the fingers, fearing an injury. What he finds is a brown and grey striped tail where Barclay’s legs should be.
Normally, in a crisis his sense of time slows down. Now, it’s as if there’s not even a second between his seeing the tail and said tail disappearing over the rock wall into the sea.
Questions pile up in his skull, but one burrows it’s way to the front: what the hell is he supposed to tell the wedding guests tomorrow?
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Barclay swims parallel to the shore, wishing he’d decked that asshole before he inadvertently ruined Barclay’s life.
The problem isn’t that Joseph is scared of mermaids, or doesn’t believe in them. It’s the exact opposite.
“Excuse me?” A man with the bluest eyes Barclay’s ever seen smiles across the counter, “Would it be possible to get a little more cream?” He holds out the wicker basket from his table, and Barclay bites his tongue to avoid saying something filthy at work.
Once more cups of half and half are nestled away, the man thanks him and returns to his meal. He then comes back for every single meal the next day, and the one after that. It’s at that third dinner that he’s sitting at the counter and Barclay jokingly asks if he’s always such a big spender on trips. Joseph smirks and says his work is paying for it. When Barclay asks the obvious follow-up, Joseph replies, “You’ll laugh, but I’m here looking for mermaids.”
If he’d had any sense at all, Barclay would have convinced Mama to kick Joseph out of Amnesty Lodge where he was staying–and Barclay was and is the cook–before he found out about the many merpeople living in Kepler Cove. Luckily, his sense was dampened by Joseph’s easy charm and sparkling conversation.
When Joseph told him he’d be staying indefinitely due to a grant from the department of defense, Barclay was so excited he kissed him.
That was three years ago. Two years later, Joseph took him to dinner at The Pearl, Kepler’s only upscale restaurant. Since Barclay’s marriage proposal had been gently turned down two weeks prior–Joseph saying he wasn’t sure he was ready– he was genuinely afraid this was a break-up dinner.
“I quit.”
Barclay drops his fork “You what??”
“I quit. I can find other jobs, ones that don’t mean I need to leave Kepler. Working for them was taking years off my life and it was clear everyone thought I was a crackpot and wouldn’t listen to me no matter what I found. And I…there are things I want from life that work can’t give me and, well, was really fucking up for me.” Joseph reaches across the table, taking his hands, “so if your offer is still open, my answer is yes.”
That should have been the end of the big stressors. But no, now he’s hiding below some tidepools, hoping no sharks are around, while the love of his life is either packing up to leave him or calling his old bosses for vindication.
He stays between the sunken rocks for a half-hour, trying to calm down and work out what to do. If he can get back on land, maybe he can find a phone and call a friend to pick him up.
The shadow of a small boat appears above him. It’s dusk, so maybe this is someone out fishing and they’ll move on.
His heart sinks as a beam hits the water, sweeping over him as it grazes the rocks. It plummets further when a figure drops into the sea. He’s as close to the bottom as he can manage in this relatively shallow spot, but that doesn’t matter; his boyfriend can free-dive.
Joseph comes to a stop in front of him, wearing only his dive mask, flippers, and trunks. He points upward. Barclay freezes, unsure if he has it in him to obey. Then the human swims closer, taking his hand and running a thumb over his cheek. This time, when he tugs them towards the surface, Barclay follows.
When they land in the boat, the humans’ first words to him are, “why didn’t you tell me? Not when I was working, I get why you’d be afraid, but once I quit and we were engaged? You know I don’t think mers are dangerous or subhuman or something equally ridiculous.”
Barclay flips his tail nervously, “I wasn’t sure how. And the longer I didn’t the more it felt like it’d be this massive betrayal that I hadn’t told you sooner.”
“I…I guess that makes sense. And I did feel hurt, but that had more to do with you literally turning tail the night before our wedding. I thought I’d lost you.” Joseph’s mouth twitches, something it only does when he’s trying not to cry.
“Oh, oh baby, no.” Barclay pulls him closer on the wooden seat, “I was fucking panicking, trying to figure out how to get out of the water and get somewhere safe but…but if I’m honest I couldn’t have stayed away long, no matter what it meant for me. I don’t have it in me to leave you, blue eyes.”
He cups Joseph’s cheek and the human allows himself to be guided into a kiss, relaxing against Barclay as it deepens. When they break for air, he looks down at Barclay’s tail.
“Are you stuck like this now?”
“Nope. The charm holding the enchantment is here” He taps the small, woven stud in his left earlobe, “but there’s a failsafe in that if I get submerged in saltwater, I’ll turn back into a mer. I should be back to human once we hit shore.”
Joseph nods and starts them for the dock, “why the failsafe?”
“When mers were first starting to use enchantments to hang out on land, humans thought we were only coming up there to trick humans into being dinner. So they’d knock out a suspected mer and tie their hands, then throw them in the sea. If a mer didn’t wake up or couldn’t get their charm off, they’d drown, and that happened enough that they made a new rule for the enchantments.”
“Fascinating.” Joseph steals a playful glance back at him, “no wonder you’re always so picky about what pools you got into.”
“Didn’t even know this one was saltwater. I, uh, figured we wouldn’t be spending much time out of our room.”
“That happens on the honeymoon, big guy. Not the night before the wedding.”
“Maybe for people who aren’t marrying the hottest guy on earth.” His tail shimmers and then it’s gone, his legs still in the shorts he was wearing when he was pushed. Joseph docks the boat, helps him out, and flags down an older man on the pier, chatting briefly with him in Spanish before passing him several twenties.
They take the back stairway into the hotel and up to their suite. Joseph excuses himself to rinse off, so Barclay takes the opportunity to text the groupchat that Dani named “under the sea” that Joseph knows the truth and is taking it well. He gets back several “hooray” emojis and a sequence of four leaf clover, water spray, and a question mark. He’s not sure what that means, but he gave up on parsing Indrid’s emoji use years ago
He sets the phone aside. Doing so, he sees a printed list on the bedside table, with notes in pen in the margins. It’s an itinerary for their honeymoon, complete with commentary.
Like a cat cafe, but for puppies
Known for best sushi in the state
Roasts B’s favorite coffee blend
He cannot believe his panicking instincts wanted him to leave this meticulous, thoughtful, wonderful man behind.
Joseph pads in from the bathroom, towel around his hips, “Barclay, have you seen my–oh, well hi there, big guy.” His human laughs as Barclay hugs him from behind.
“Hey.” He kisses a slow line up Joseph’s neck, “I really am so fucking sorry for running.”
Joseph takes his right hand and squeezes it once, “Thanks for the apology. Honestly, I don’t know if I’d have reacted any better if I’d had a massive secret revealed in front of a bunch of people.”
Barclay hums in agreement, kissing his shoulder, “On the plus side, I got to see you freedive. Which is just as hot as I always imagined it was.”
His fiance turns, setting his hands on Barclay’s chest, “some time we should find a private place where we can swim together while you’re in your mer form. I’m dying to see what your tail can do.”
Barclay traces a finger up Joseph’s side, “Could show you some things right now, if you want.”
Joseph’s excited expression is an answer in itself, so he tenderly kisses his human and tells him to get in the heart-shaped tub.
Once they’re seated side by side in the warm water, Barclay carefully removes his earring. His tail is long enough that he has to prop the end of it up on the other edge of the tub, but Joseph hasn’t noticed. He’s too busy stroking the tail, fingers wonderfully warm along the scales.
“Incredible. It’s so smooth. I had a theory that mer-tails would be more like sharkskin to help deter other mers from grabbing them but I was way off base there.”
“Not as much as you think; mer tails are super varied. Some are rougher, some have fur, some–oh, oh yeah” the tip of his tail flexes as Joseph pets the patch of scales hiding his dick, “fuck, keep doing that and I’ll really show you something.”
Joseph’s breath catches adorably, “You’re sure? I don’t want to pressure you to share more than you’re ready to-”
“Babe, asking if someone wants to touch your tail is the mer equivalent of, like, asking a date up to your place for coffee.” He leans back, resting his arms on the edge of the tub, “besides, I’ve always, uh” he blushes, “nevermind.”
The human pauses his strokes, “You’ve always what, big guy?”
“Uh, I, once we started dating, I’d jerk off to the thought of you, uh, studying me.” He winces, closing his eyes, “fuck, that sounds so weird out loud. I just mean that it’s really, really hot when you get all focused on something and it’s even hotter when that something is me.”
“If I had my way, you’d be my sole focus most of the time. But since that’s not the case, we’d better make the most of it now.” Joseph straddles him just below where his dick is emerging. Barclay purrs, smiling as Joseph runs his fingers up through his chest hair.
“No, not all mers are as hairy as me, in case you’re wondering.”
“I was, but I was too focused on how gorgeous you are to do more than that.” He sighs happily, curving his hands back down to Barclay’s dick, “my perfect specimen.”
Barclay whimpers and bucks his hips at the words. Joseph flashes an indulgent smile and then his eyes widen.
“All those times you humored me by bringing monster dicks into the bedroom and the best one was hiding right here.” He trails a finger up the shaft, which looks like two tentacles twined together. When the tip curls around his finger, the human laughs, “amazing! I’d never thought it’d be prehensile.”
“Y-yeah, you huge nerd, it is.” Barclay paws his hips, “and if you don’t get on it soon I’m gonna find out how far I can cram it down your throat.”
A chiding, welcome squeeze to the middle of the shaft, “you wanted me to examine you, which means we go at my pace.” Another squeeze makes his dick ache in the best possible way. Then the human turns, dragging a hand along his tail, “there’s just so much to admire. Like this. It’s so strong, so beautiful. The mark of a once-in-a-lifetime catch. And an excellent mate.”
Barclay whines and wiggles his tail, “Never shoulda let on to liking that during that werewolf scene.”
“Don’t worry big guy, I won’t abuse my power.” He leans in, teasing their lips together, “too much.”
Barclay moans as the human sinks down on his cock. Joseph is speechless for a moment, then slowly rocks his hips.
“Ohmygod. Ohmygod”
“Having fun, babe?” He grins.
“You’re not getting out of the tub for the entire honeymoon.”
He laughs, rubbing his cheek against Joseph’s own.
“I’m not kidding.” Joseph grinds down, making Barclay yelp, “I’m going to cuff you to the faucet so I can ride you without any wait.”
Barclay drags his nails along Joseph’s ass, “We can do that. My cute little human wants me to cum in him every hour, I will.”
Joseph flashes a dazzling, devilish grin, “Who said anything about you cumming?” He shifts off Barclay’s cock, still straddling him but only grinding his folds against the tip.
“Bet you think you’re real fucking smart for that, babe.” He grabs Joseph’s hips, tipping them slightly so the tip of his dick can rub and coil around Joseph’s own. The human twists away from the intense sensation, moaning when he realizes he can’t get away.
“Oh my lord you’re strong.”
“Uh huh. It’s great for making sure my mate stays where I need him.” Joseph’s thighs tense under his hands, “that’s it baby, cum for me.”
Joseph gasps, shuddering in his hold, and Barclay’s dick curves back down, slipping inside him just as Barclay cums with a growl. His human collapses in his arms, his fucked-out state still not preventing him from asking questions about how Barclay’s dick knows when to recede.
“Give you some more mer anatomy lessons tomorrow, blue eyes.” He puts on the earring so he can stand and help his fiance from the tub to towel him off. They make the short trip to bed and Joseph sighs happily as Barclay cuddles up to him.
“Are you excited for tomorrow?” Joseph traces a heart in Barclay’s beard.
“So fucking excited. It’s cheesy, but I daydreamed about my wedding so often that I’m not sure I’m gonna be able to calm down enough to sleep.”
“Don’t worry, big guy” Joseph hooks their ankles together, “I can think of plenty of ways for us to spend the night.”
A New Role (Sternclay)
The winner of the "spooky jobs" prompt poll was: Actor known for horror & person fake dating them to help soften their image. Thanks to @bellafarallones2 for playing in the space on discord. This fill is NSFW
“Remind me again why I’m doing this?” Barclay loops the copper tie around his neck as his agent lounges in a living room chair.
“Because if you ever want this career change to work, dear boy, you need to make it so that the first things people associate with you aren’t blood and gore. You said as much yourself.”
“And I’m regretting it more every minute.” He grumbles, slipping on his jacket. Dani helped him pick it out when he first made it big. Paisley lining was lucky, she said.
Ned sighs, professional schmoozer mask dropping, “If it turns out to be miserable or he’s clearly bad for your health, we can cancel the agreement. But remember, you have three dates to decide. If it goes past that, you’re seeing this through for six months.”
“Don’t look so glum.” Boyd steps into the entryway, keys in hand, “Guy’s a looker.”
“Didn’t take you for a cradle robber.” Ned says brusquely as he stands.
“Nothing of the kind, pussycat, so keep your head on. C’mon big shot, let’s get you on the road.”
They drive towards UCLA, stopping well before the student housing but not in an area that’s been sorely neglected by the city. Boyd stops the car and whistles out his window, setting off dogs up and down the block. When the man waiting outside a grey apartment building looks up, Barclay feels like howling too.
“Evening, Joe. Hop in.”
“Joseph. And thank you.” He climbs into the Kia’s backseat with Barclay and Boyd steers them towards the freeway.
Joseph Stern turns his blue eyes on Barclay, who’s too busy wondering if Ned is fucking psychic–because there’s his type and there’s “this guy walked out of a late-night jerk off fantasy and into his car”--to hear the question he asks the first time.
“Sorry, what was that?”
“I said” Joseph replies calmly, “it’s nice to meet you in person, Barclay, and would you like to see the list of conversation starters I wrote for this ‘date’?”
Barclay chuckles.
“I’m serious.” Joseph turns his phone screen so Barclay can see the bullet points.
“You really think we need those?” Is the guy that convinced Barclay will be boring?
The other man tucks his phone back into his pocket, “Look, if this doesn’t pay off for you, all you have to fall back on is a beloved film career and the money that comes with it, and the fact people will hire you for those same kinds of roles again. If this doesn’t work out for me, I get more sessions reading over bad exposition in a Discovery Channel basement. If I’m lucky. So if you’re me, it pays to be prepared.”
Great, he thinks Barclay is boring and stupid.
He takes the phone, glances at it, then hands it back, “Okay, got a few.”
“I can send-”
“Memorized” Barclay taps his temple, “professional, remember?”
A flicker of annoyance, or maybe stress, crosses Joseph’s face, “Right. Of course. Sorry.”
They’re booked at a trendy “New American” place, high ceilings and bright lights showing him just how many immediately recognize his face as he walks in. By the time Joseph pulls his chair out for him, there are no fewer than ten cameras on them.
Some days he really fucking hates cell phones.
Even with the starters, the conversation is stilted through the appetizers and bordering on stale when the main course comes.
Barclay takes a bite and sighs, “I wish places like this wouldn’t take this kind of shortcut.”
Joseph looks from his own risotto to Barclay’s pot pie, “Pre-made filling?”
“Close. Pre-made crust. I mean, I know crust isn’t always easy to do but, like, the filling is fucking amazing and then they’ve got it on wet cardboard. See?” He spears a piece and holds it out.
Joseph leans back like Barclay’s about to stab him, manages to smile, “I’ll take your word for it.”
They make it to the end of dinner, but only just. As the check appears, their server murmurs shyly, “I loved you in Blunt Edges.”
It’s the highlight of Barclay’s night.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------
A Killer Romance?
Horror heavyweight Barclay Cobb was seen out last night on what seemed to be a romantic dinner for two….
Joseph sets his phone on the table, goes back to staring at the ceiling and replaying everything he did wrong last night. Their gambit is working, but Barclay had a miserable time and Joseph felt got to have all the fun of first-date jitters with none of the benefits.
Maybe he should have just told the actor that he’s had a crush on him since college.
If they were dating for real, maybe he could have confessed over a few glasses of wine that he once broke a vibrator from how he was using it during Thin Air, where Barclay’s murderous ski guide picks off a group of rich friends at a chalet.
But if Barclay is trying to leave that image behind him, Joseph doubts he wants to know someone used to jerk off to the sight of him covered in gore.
He has two more chances to make this really work. He’s charmed his way into, and out of, plenty of places. These dates are just another two job interviews to ace. He doesn’t want anything more from them than that.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The second date is going better. Their conversation doesn’t feel stilted. Barclay just feels like a sheep being herded into position by a very cute border collie.
Joseph is far smoother tonight, bordering on flirtatious, and maybe it would work if Barclay didn’t know why he was really agreeing to this. He decides to let Joseph steer the conversation, content be smiled at and complimented while ignoring how it all feels rehearsed. And the fact Joseph didn’t order a cocktail in spite of Barclay knowing they’re killer here. Like he’s afraid Barclay might try something.
Then the T.V above the bar switches from playing some B-list thriller to one of his movies. Someone front of house must have realized he’s here. He doesn’t hide the scowl quick enough, and Joseph turns to look at the screen, then back with a quizzical expression.
“Sorry, know I should be flattered but I feel weird watching myself. Especially in that one; director was a fucking dick.”
“Really? I've heard mixed things about him.”
“Yep” Barclay refills both their water glasses, “he spent the whole shoot antagonizing me. Then at the end he was like ‘surprise, I did that so you’d give a believably angry performance and it’s just like, man, what the fuck? I literally get paid to pretend, you don’t have to goad me into having the feeling for real.”
“Ugh, that’s awful. Any time I read about that happening it just sounds so insulting to the actors and their skill.”
“Right?” Barclay shakes his head, amused at the memory that’s resurfaced, “I got so fucking stressed during that shoot I figured out how to make pizza from scratch in my hotel room.”
“Wait, how?” Joseph is leaning forward, mouth quirked in thought, “you’d need an oven.”
“Place had a grill on the deck, so I used that. Made for some good sauce too, since I could char the tomatoes.”
Joseph makes a little sound of delight, then smiles, “If it had been me I think I would have ended up getting the dough stuck to the ceiling when I tossed it.”
“Uhhhh”
“You didn’t” Blue eyes brighten.
“Technically it was the ceiling fan…”
Barclay’s description of the incident lasts them through to dessert. As they’re eating lemon basil gelato, Joseph casts another glance at the T.V.
“If you’re trying to break into the celebrity chef game, why not go that direction?” He gestures behind him to where a younger Barclay is menacing campers on the beach, “a horror cookbook could be a good enough gimmick to get people invested, especially if it included stories like the one you told me. Then people buy it, use it, realize you’re also a great cook, and then you can sell more books. And I’d certainly watch a horror themed cooking show.”
Joseph is earnestly thinking through the logistics, as if trying to help, so Barclay gives him the earnest answer.
“I thought about it. And I think doing some of that could be fun. But a big part of doing this is that I’m kinda tired of horror. I want people to see what else I can do and I…it’s hit the point where it’s like all people see when they look at me as the guy who’s good at playing killers and monsters. That's had actual consequences for me in places I really, really didn’t expect. So much that I don’t want to go near the horror stuff any time soon.”
Joseph rests his hand near Barclay’s on the table, “I hadn’t realized it was that bad.”
“Yeah.” He thinks about the snotty comments from casting directors and the invasive questions in interviews and the disappointed boyfriends. He pushes his dessert away, half done, “I’m gonna grab the check.”
“Okay.” Joseph’s hand doesn’t move as he adds, “Barclay? If people can’t separate you from your characters, that’s on them, not you.”
In spite of Boyds’ best efforts, they get caught in a traffic snarl on the way back to Joseph’s place. As the driver inches them forward, Barclay catches Joseph staring at a billboard for Ghost Adventures.
“Sizing up the competition?”
A short, flat laugh, “I wish. I can barely get in front of a camera, let alone get a full time hosting spot.”
“Anyone who can’t tell that putting you onscreen would boost ratings needs their eyes checked. Uh, I mean” he blushes in the darkened backseat, “you have Haunted Woods, right?”
“That’s only voice work, which means I don’t get to do any actual investigation. I mean, I like a good bigfoot sighting story as much as the next guy, but I want to go to where it happened. I want to interview people myself, I want to do stake-outs of haunted places or sighting hotspots, I want to actually help people figure out what they saw. What good is paranormal investigation if it’s just grown men scaring themselves in night-vision and misusing the word debunked?” Joseph gestures emphatically out the window, “he has four shows and a museum! For no other reason than he was a little ahead of the curve and men like him fail upwards!”
Barclay blinks, amused, and Joseph sits back in his seat and straightens his tie, “I’m sorry. It just bugs me to see so many programs not actually devoted to solving the mystery. I didn’t mean to, um, to go all angry nerd on you.”
“I didn’t mind” Barclay nudges him with his elbow, “and if it’s any consolation, you look way better in black than he does.”
Joseph returns to his smooth, subdued demeanor for the rest of the ride. Intrigued by the other sides of the man he glimpsed, Barclay decides to go off-script on their third date.
“I thought we were going to that new beach spot?” Joseph peers out the window as they head toward the L.A County Museum of Art.
“Figured we could change things up a bit. Know Ned made a reservation at the other spot, but he’s not actually my dad who gets to tell me where to go. Or anyone else’s, I think.”
“Not a chance.” Boyd adds from the front seat.
They head into the museum holding hands, since several people spot Barclay and pull out their phones as they’re getting out of the car. Because they’d planned to go dining on the beach, Joseph is dressed more casually, in jeans and a button-up short sleeve. It’s only when they pass through a darkened gallery–showing off art made with deadly items, including radium paint– that he sees the dark blue fabric is dotted with glow-in-the-dark flying saucers.
When they round the corner, Joseph actually gasps, putting his hands over his mouth, “I didn’t realize At Home With Monsters was back in town.”
“Yep, they brought it back for the lead-up to Halloween. Y’know, a friend of mine was in one of Del Toro’s movies-”
“Amazing, tell me everything while we look, come one” Joseph pulls him into the exhibit. They emerge two hours later, talking animatedly about Barclay’s experiences wearing monster make-up, and make for the cafe for lunch. They spend the rest of the afternoon wandering the other exhibits, and Barclay quickly texts in a reservation to Pho King, aka the best kept dining secret in the area, when Joseph agrees to dinner.
When they leave the museum, Joseph holds his hand the whole way. Without checking for cameras first.
—---------------------------------------------------
“You wanna give this a try?” Barclay passes Joseph his phone, where he’s been unsuccessfully been trying for an artful shot of his finished, Coffee S’more Cupcakes to post to Instagram. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t bother, but it’ll look good to a prospective publisher. Plus, whenever Dani posts photos of his stuff, it gets a ton of compliments.
“Yes, but only because if I have to go any longer without trying those I might cry.” Joseph looks at the plate, then at the ceiling, then moves the plate across the counter to a pool of sunlight. He tries a few different angles, then hands the phone back to Barclay.
“I warn you that I’m no food photographer.”
“This one’ll work, thanks.” He nudges the cupcakes towards him, “you first.”
Joseph takes a bite, then moans and politely covers his mouth, “Oh. Oh my lord. We have to get you that cookbook deal, the people deserve to know about this.”
Barclay grins and peels the wrapper from another cupcake. Joseph continues eating, more messily than he’s ever seen, and if this were a real date he’d lean over and kiss the stray frosting from his lips.
A knock at the door reminds him why they’re here, and when calls for Ned to come in, his agent looks perturbed.
“Gentlemen, I know this was meant to be a simple check-in, but I’m afraid we have a problem: the press may be catching onto us. Because they have, I am afraid to say rightly, noticed you two are not demonstrative in public.”
“How do they know we’re not just very private people?” Joseph leans on the counter, arms crossed.
“When have internet speculators ever preferred the simple explanation?”
Joseph sighs, “I hate to say it, but you’re right.”
“So, what, we’re just supposed to make-out in public until someone sees us?” Barclay loves kissing, but can’t think of anything he’d like less at the moment.
“Yes. But never fret, my lovebirds; I’ll make sure your next date is somewhere that feels appropriately passion provoking.”
Barclay steals a glance at Joseph, who raises an eyebrow in reply, smile one of conspiratorial sympathy, “Gee, thanks.”
—---------------------------------------------------------------------
This is a terrible idea, but Joseph's options were either be nervous in his apartment or be nervous at Barclay’s house, so he’s choosing the one with a better view.
His knock summons the actor still in his casual clothes, looking worried as he opens the door.
“You’re early. Like, early-early, even for you. What’s up?”
The fact his shirt is more low cut than normal has nothing to do with Joseph replying, “I think we need to practice. For this evening.”
“You…want to practice kissing me?” Barclay shuts the door, leaving them in the darkened entryway.
“Yes. Not that I think you’ll be bad at it. Or that I’m bad at it. But, well, the first kiss with a new person is usually pretty obvious and awkward and I’d hate for us to be caught on camera not, um, not doing our best work.”
This was a terrible idea.
“Sure. Guess it would look pretty awkward if the first time we did it was in public. You wanna sit down on the couch or…”
“Couch is fine.” Joseph hurries to the plaid sofa before he changes his mind. Barclay sits next to him, moving like he’s approaching a scared deer.
“It okay if I put my hand on your hip? Don’t wanna fall over on you.”
“That’s fine.” He sets both his hands stiffly on Barclay’s shoulders, closes his eyes as a big hand cups his cheek. Then full lips peck him once, shyly, on the mouth.
“Come on big guy” he murmurs, “you can do better than that.”
An indulgent laugh, then another kiss, a real one this time, sugar sweet and sunshine gentle. He smiles into it, stopping Barclay from breaking the kiss. The actor leans in, hand gliding from Joseph’s hip to his lower back, and when Joseph teases his lips with his tongue there’s a scuff of feet leaving the floor as Barclay tips them down onto the sofa.
Joseph surrenders any pretense he doesn’t want this to be happening, runs his hands along Barclay’s back, it’s muscles tensing every time Joseph returns for another kiss instead of pulling away.
When he hazards a lovebite to Barclay’s lower lip, the man above him groans and tangles their legs together, expression so blissful when he pulls back for air that Joseph is one second away from telling him to text Ned and cancel their reservations.
Barclay stiffens, suddenly won’t meet his gaze as he fumbles one of the small throw pillows into his lap and sits back up.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just, uh, just needed a change of position. Old back injury from a stunt.”
It’s a lie. So Joseph does the most loving thing he can in that moment and believes it.
“Thanks for telling me.” He smooths down the mussed patches of Barclay’s beard, “I’d say I’m ready to, um, perform in public. Unless you need more practice?”
Barclay shakes his head, “I’m good. Think I know just how to play it now.”
Joseph smiles, heart like a crushed tin can, and lets Barclay rest his head on his shoulder.
—---------------------------------------------------
“You did WHAT???” Indrid’s laugh is one part horror and two parts shock on the other end of the line.
“You heard me. I got hard from kissing, like a fucking teenager-”
“And then ‘freaked out’ like one, as the kids say.”
“Indrid, no one’s said that since we were kids.”
“My point stands, do not try to change the subject.” His friend reappears in the frame–he never holds still on video calls–draped in a sweatshirt that’s clearly the wrong size for him.
“Duck’s visiting again?”
“Yes, since we’re shooting in Richmond I flew him here to spend the weekend with me. Mercifully those aren’t days when I have to get into swamp monster make-up. And” Indrid looks at him over his glasses, “changing it to my favorite subject is still changing the subject.”
“It didn’t mean anything. Joseph’s doing this for his career and mine, he doesn’t want to deal with my dick.”
“Ah yes, the ‘I will arrive early at your house so it is just the two of us and suggest we practice kissing’ gambit. A classic move by those decidedly not interested in seeing your dick.”
“His reasoning made sense! And he’s worked so hard that’s exactly the kind of thing he’s willing to do for his career. You don’t know him, okay?” Barclay sets his mug down with a defeated thunk.
“I know he’s masterfully dodged questions about your endowment from more than one interviewer in a way that suggests he’s spent at least some time thinking about your dick. More to the point, I know you; and you, my friend, have a crush on him that can be seen from space. So for goodness sake, tell him that before I fly myself back to L.A and do it for you.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll tell him. I just have to find the perfect time to do it.”
—------------------------------------------------------------------------
Their plan really is working. Not only has Barclay gotten his book deal, with talks of a show on the horizon, but Joseph has been recognized more at this one party than in his entire career up until now.
Maybe he can use that to convince Barclay they should keep dating for at least another six months.
The event was in San Diego, and rather than try to drive home in the dead of night they booked a hotel downtown. Barclay always springs for ones with beds that can actually fit two, six-foot tall men, and so they’re currently in a corner room with a stunning view and cartoonishly large bed.
Joseph hangs up his jacket and tie, turns to find running his hands over the dress sweater still stretched over his chest.
“Gonna have to take this one out of the rotation. Apparently it looks too much like the one I wore in Camp Blood; got a bunch of comments on it, even a joke about how it must be nice to never need a Halloween costume.”
“Christ.” Joseph crosses the green carpet, “some people really can’t use the power of thinking about things for two seconds. If you do take it out of the rotation, promise you won’t get rid of it?”
“You like it?” Barclay’s brow unfurrows in an instant as he turns to face Joseph.
“It makes you look like a hot teacher on back to school night.” He runs his hands over the blue and grey wool, “the kind that makes all the moms linger for a chat and all the dads jealous enough to consider actually making their wives cum at some point in their lives.”
Barclay laughs, “Okay, babe, it stays.” He sighs happily as Joseph continues petting across his chest, “thanks for coming along tonight. It’s funny, after all these years I still get a little nervous at, at these…” his next breath is shuddery. Joseph has an answer to why when he glances down at the actors fly.
“You don’t seem nervous now.” He teases.
“Fuck” Barclay hisses through his teeth, “fuck, Joseph, I’m so sorry. I’m just, I’ve always been so fucking sensitive, it’s just one more thing that disappoints my partners, it’s fine, I’m fine, it’ll go away eventually. I just didn’t want you to have to deal with how fucking hair-trigger it can be-”
“Barclay” he says it firmly, and brown eyes snap to meet his own, “it doesn’t bother me. And if you sit down, we can, uh, find a way to get rid of it quicker.”
Barclay doesn’t even make it to the bed, falling into the nearest armchair as Joseph lowers to his knees. In three, deliberate movements he has Barclay’s pants and underwear around his ankles and the nicest cock he’s ever seen inches from his face. He’s practically licking his lips and Barclay still looks like he’s about to say “sorry.” Again.
“Barclay” Joseph runs his from the tip to the root, “if I ever catch you apologizing for this gorgeous thing again, I will slap you. Or possibly it.”
Strong fingers twist at the hem of the sweater as a breathy, hopeful voice replies, “Really?”
Joseph looks up, grinning, “Do you like when your partners are mean in the bedroom, big guy?”
“I, I think so. I want it so bad but no one was every fucking interested! They all wanted the guy they saw on-screen. That’s all I was; the monster they wanted to be roughed up by.”
Joseph eases Barclay’s hands from the fabric, brings them to his mouth to kiss his knuckles as he muses, “You know, you’d have made a pretty victim in those movies just as easily.”
The other man looks away, “M’too big.”
“I think the right man could make you seem like a helpless puppy. Don’t you?”
Barclay turns wide, pleading eyes on him, “I wish he would.”
Joseph stands, yanks off his belt, and snaps, “Hands above your head. Now.”
Barclay obeys instantly, chest heaving as Joseph traps his wrists above his head. Joseph rests his hands on either side of the top of the chair, looming into Barclay’s space, “Out of curiosity, big guy, did you ever think about what monster you’d be at the mercy of?”
His boyfriend mumbles something.
Joseph digs a hand into auburn hair, forcing the other man to keep his eyes on him, “Try that again.”
“S-secret agent. Like a rogue one, or an ex-sniper or something. Sorry, I, I know it’s goofy-”
“Barclay, if you apologize again I will play with these” he shoves the sweater up to reveal Barclay’s pecs, “so roughly you’ll cry. Understood?”
“Yes sir.” Barclay glances at him, not hiding his smile, “sorry, sir.”
Without another word, Joseph straddles him, shoves the sweater up into Barclay’s mouth and barks, “hold that” before diving down to bite the left side of his chest as hard as he dares.
Barclay yells but keeps the gag in place. Without looking up Joseph pats his cheek and coos “good boy” before doing the same to the other side. Then he kisses and bites his way back and forth, pausing now and then to suck his nipples, which results in an adorably small noise from such a large man. Even better are the sounds when he grabs and squeezes, Barclay whimpering and moaning as Joseph fondles him like he owns him.
He shifts up onto his knees, denying Barclay the chance to rub off on him, and pinches each nipple in turn. Barclay squeezes his eyes shut, muffled sounds of pain turning Joseph on too much to even worry if enjoying them makes him a bad person.
When brown eyes open again, they’re teary. So Joseph carefully eases out of his lap, kissing his cheek as he goes.
“There. Now that you know what I’m capable of, are you going to be a good boy and let me suck your cock?”
Frantic nodding accompanies his trip to his knees. He kisses the shaft up and down, mouth already watering, “This really is spectacular. Makes me feel almost a little bad at the thought of torturing it.”
Barclay moans, then gasps when Joseph bites his inner thigh. Another bite sets the bigger man squirming.
“What’s wrong, big guy? Afraid I might bite somewhere I shouldn’t?”
Barclay nods and moans.
Joseph smiles wolfishly up at him, “I could. It’s not like there’s anything stopping me. And it’s not like you can get away.” He opens his mouth, allowing his upper row of teeth to just, and only just, touch the head for an instant, and Barclay’s how body goes taught. Then he opens wider, pushing his head down to suck Barclay off. A relieved moan is followed by another one of those endearing squeaks as Joseph cups his balls and squeezes them a tad too tightly.
Then it’s his turn to gasp, cum hitting the roof of his mouth and dripping onto his tongue as Barclay twists and whimpers in his chair.
Joseph swallows what he can, wipes the rest away with the back of his hand as he stands.
“Right. My turn”
He hauls Barclay from the chair, shoving and stumbling them both over to the bed and pushing the other man onto his back. He pulls the spit-soaked sweater free and grips Barclay’s chin hard enough to redden the skin.
“You are going to get me off with your mouth, or there will be consequences.”
“Fuck yes, sir.” Barclay purrs as Joseph yanks and tosses his pants away. When he lowers onto Barclay’s face, it’s a toss-up as to who moans the loudest.
“Jesuschrist, oh, oh I see why you like the rogue agent idea.” Joseph tangles his fingers into Barclay’s hair, grinding against his eager mouth, “you know you’d, you’d be a perfect hostage. Because all it’d take is someone slapping you once and calling you a pretty boy and you’d be on your knees letting anyone who wanted to shove their cock down your throat.”
“Mmhph!” Barclay nods, hands fighting against their bonds.
“I know, you’re just an obedient, sweet boy who needs to be put in his place. Which, which happens to be, oh, oh fuck, Barclay, Barclay.” He cums hard and collapses forward, catching himself on his arms and rolling off to avoid breaking Barclay’s nose. It’s still zinging through him as he undoes the belt and guides Barclay onto his side to study his face.
“Was that okay? Are you okay?”
“Uh huh” the deep voice is dreamy and far off, “so okay. You’re so good. So amazing.”
“I’m going to get us some water okay? I’ll be right back.”
He fills two clean glasses in the bathroom and hurries back. When he gets to the bed, Barclay is curled up, trying to drag the blanket beneath him up around him.
“Oh, oh big guy hey, hey it’s okay. I’m right here. I’ve got you.” He brushes Barclay’s hair from his forehead, “I think you’re dropping. I, I’ve had this happen before, if you want I can-”
“It’s not that.” Barclay wipes his eyes, “I mean maybe a little but it’s…you’re gonna leave in two weeks. This, this is all just for the contract. You, you don’t-”
“Bullshit I don’t.” He hugs Barclay tight, “I want to be your boyfriend, your real boyfriend, so badly it’s like a constant ache in my chest. God, I’m so stupid, I should have started with that, I was just so caught up and a little afraid that this would be my only chance to be with you like this.”
“I was thinking the same thing. And I was gonna ask you this morning if you wanted to keep dating but I chickened out and planned to do it tomorrow instead.” A gentle chuckle, “guess we were both being foolish in the same way.”
“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”
“I was nervous. And I kinda convinced myself that if you wanted me for real you would have said.”
Joseph runs a hand over his hair with an embarrassed laugh, “I did the same thing.”
“Man, we really are two, big fools huh?”
“Maybe” Joseph kisses him, “but we’re fools in love.”
Barclay’s grin is brighter than all of L.A combined, “Yeah. Yeah we are.”
