Aug 21, 2017
did someone say super natural au??? anyway local witch meets up w neighborhood vampire for some spell ingredients
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from Spain
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from T1
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
did someone say super natural au??? anyway local witch meets up w neighborhood vampire for some spell ingredients
It’s One of Those Days
Dream Daddy, VegaMarch fic. Rated T for sexual suggestion (there is nothing explicitly sexual or intended). WC: 2532
AO3 Link
“Nah, nothing’s wrong. I just… wanted to make sure. Nothing big happened today?” Lucien cautioned. “Not a thing, son.” Oh. Lucien thinks he understands now. It’s one of those days.
He heard the jingling of keys, the muted crack of the door, and then the dragging of feet. Lucien was on the couch, scrolling through his phone as his dad returned from work.
“Hello, Lucien. How was school?” came the rehearsed question.
“Fine, dad,” came the automatic response. But something about the way his father merely hummed, dropping his work bag soundly by the foot of the stairs, pulled Lucien’s attention just the slightest. “How was work today?” he cautioned, “Everything go alright?”
“Yes, of course. Nothing particularly eventful transpired today,” Damien replied as almost a question. Lucien was still wary about that answer. His father sounded sincere in saying nothing upsetting had happened, yet held himself with a stature that suggested everything but.
“You sure? Kevin is giving you space? Leonard didn’t try to fix something out of his pay grade again, did he?” Lucien sat up on the couch, looking over the back of it to see Damien standing listlessly at the kitchen island.
“No, not at all. In fact, most of the troublemakers were quite docile. Sharnelle from work even brought donuts in today. She saved the dairy-free one for me. Why? Is something wrong, son? It’s rare to see you so invested in my boring world of computers.” Damien cracked a wry smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Nah, nothing’s wrong. I just… wanted to make sure. Nothing big happened today?” he cautioned.
“Not a thing, son.”
Oh. Lucien thinks he understands now.
It’s one of those days.
Quickly, Lucien tapped out a text. Locking his phone screen, he hopped off the couch to go to his dad. He righted the slumped-over work bag, slipping out Damien’s water bottle to place in the fridge. Keys went swiped off the dining table and placed in the bowl by the door.
“Did you eat yet, dad?” Lucien already knew the answer, walking over to the pantry to search for a few ingredients for some classic comfort food. “I was gonna make pasta for tonight.”
“Thank you, dear.”
Lucien frowned just the slightest, away from Damien’s line of sight. His father was wearing out fast. These noodles would need to cook accordingly. Damn, why can’t water boil right away? He broke the pasta into the water, covering it loosely before turning around to see Damien sitting at the island, gaze a million miles away. It didn’t seem that his dad was going to snap out of it any time soon, not on his own.
Remembering how his father occupied his free-time in the past few days, Lucien silently slipped upstairs to the library in Damien’s home office, shuffling through the books that were strewn across his desk. Lucien scanned the titles, finding a crinkled paperback, pages soft with use and bent just the slightest from every read. Oscar Wilde’s A Life in Letters. It was safe and something his father could read on even the worst of days.Especially on his worst days. Damien could probably recite every entry by now.
Lucien jogged down the stairs and slipped the book near his father, barely sparing Damien a glance as he went back to watching the pasta.
“It’ll take about half an hour,” he said in lieu of explaining himself.
The only sounds in the kitchen were of the bubbling water and scuffs of wooden spoon against a metal pot. Lucien wouldn’t have been worried on a regular day, but this wasn't one. Lucky enough, he heard their sliding door click about, signaling that someone was coming in.
“Hey Lucien, hey Damien,” Ernest greeted, toeing his muddy shoes off and tucking his bag underneath the island.
“Oh! Ernest, I didn’t realize you were coming over, dear boy. Let me get you a snack, do you want something to drink?” Damien shot upright and went for the fridge but a pale hand stopped him.
“Don’t sweat it, dad. Ernest is my guest. I’ll handle it.” He turned to the smaller boy. “You want anything, bro? I’m cooking pasta, it’ll be done in a bit.”
“Nah, I’m fine man. I can wait.” Ernest sat at the island adjacent to Damien, pulling his laptop out of his bag. “Hey Damien, do you wanna listen to this track me, Sita, and Pablo have been working on? I was gonna show Lucien but, uh, you can listen if you wanna. Or whatever.”
“I would love to, darling. You said you collaborated with Carmensita and Pablo? What project is this?” Damien certainly sounded interested, but Ernest could tell that behind his eyes, the man was using up what little energy he had left to be invested. Damn him.
“Sita’s dad was talking about getting some new ambiance music for his store, he asked if we wanted to help out. I’m more of a lyric guy, but Sita and Pab looked really excited so I agreed to collab.” Ernest tugged at the edges of his hood, looking away from Damien’s inquisitive eyes.
Lucien had asked him to come over and help cheer up his dad. Ernest liked Damien enough, and he’s been over often, even a healthy handful of times where Lucien wasn’t in the house. Damien was as much Ernest’s friend as Lucien was, and if there was anything Ernest prided himself over, it would be how much he cared about his friends.
“Anyway, here’s Wonderwall.” It wasn’t Wonderwall.
What came out of the laptop was low synth, some expert guitar picking, and what sounded like a record crackling. Eventually, a steady, jazz drum beat kicked in, adding a bit of pop to the mix. There weren’t many lyrics, but what was there sounded like a sound clip from some classic Hollywood film. Casablanca, Damien thinks.
“This is beautiful, Ernest. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything quite like it,” he hummed.
“Thanks,” came the mumbled reply.
Overall the music was incredibly calming, washing over the still, late Thursday afternoon. The three of them were a regular Edward Hopper, locked in a moment of time. Lucien was watching the pot, Ernest was working on some homework, and Damien was glossing over his book.
Ernest shared a couple looks with Lucien, glancing quickly over at Damien to assess the situation. He wasn’t completely sure what to do in times like this and Lucien was being no help.
“Are you in a talking mood, Damien?” he asked.
“If there’s something on your mind, son, you needn’t hesitate with me.”
“No, it’s not that. I’ll talk if you wanna talk. I don’t have a ton to say, but I’m, like, being considerate and shi—uh, stuff.” Ernest threw a glance to Damien before darting back to his paper. Damn, he hated math.
“I’d like to hear about your day. Unfortunately, I can’t guarantee I’ll be a very good conversation partner.” At least Damien was being honest with himself.
“Yeah, I can do that. Uh, lemme see. So dad dropped me and Lucien off at school. Lucien went to his early class, and I hung out with some people at breakfast in the cafeteria. Sita came in later when breakfast was about to end, OH, but it’s okay! ‘Cuz she had her pill speaker with her! And…”
Lucien stopped listening for a second to pull out his phone, scrolling through his contacts to find the last piece to their puzzle.
Wrestle Dad
L: hey are you out of the school yet
H: ? Yes, I just came home. H: It’s quiet, is Ernest with you?
L: ye he is. im making pasta for dinner, you should come over too
H: Is something wrong? Are you all okay?
L: we’re fine. nothing bad, don’t freak out, hugo. it’s just dinner
H: Alright then, I’ll be there shortly. Thanks for cooking, do you want me to bring anything over?
L: np. bring garlic bread if you guys still have some. dad doesn’t eat it, but regular humans do
Read 5:36pm
“... so the bell’s about to ring but I can’t stop dancing now or I would lose! But Sita just picked up her speaker and started walking down the hall to her class, so obviously I had to follow her, but I couldn’t stop dancing. I ended up walking all the way to her class, but I finished the song just before the bell rang. Then I had to run out and get to my class before the teacher got angry. It was pretty funny, and I got five bucks out of it.” Ernest continued.
Lucien started draining the noodles, half listening to Ernest, half trying not to burn himself as the steam came up and fogged his entire face. He placed the noodles into the sauce and stirred the carbonara thoroughly, complete with his favorite greens and a healthy serving of vegan meatballs.
“Food’s done,” he called, nodding at Ernest to get him to help set up the table. They moved over to the dining table to set it all as the sliding door clicked again, signalling Hugo’s entrance.
“Hello everyone. It smells great in here, Lucien,” he greeted, slipping off his shoes and heading straight to Damien. “Good afternoon, love. How was work today?” he asked into Damien’s temple, leaving whisper soft kisses there.
“Uneventful, dear. I received a donut, although.” Damien turned his head slightly to plant a welcome kiss onto Hugo’s lips, wrapping his arms as best he could around the teacher from their position.
“Sounds eventful to me, cariño,” he returned somewhere in the region between Damien’s mouth and his chin.
“Disgusting!” Ernest fake gagged and Lucien placed his hand over Ernest’s eyes.
“Fathers, in front of our salad?”
“There’s no salad on the—”
“Think of the children! Of the pasta.”
“Alright, you two, knock that off. Overdramatic children don’t get garlic bread.” Hugo waved the tupperware of reheated bread menacingly at the kids, unwrapping himself from Damien but leading him to his seat, all the same.
He could tell immediately why Lucien had given him the impromptu invitation. Damien was wilting when he came in. Hugo held his hand as he took his seat next to Damien, squeezing it gently but making sure not to have a hint of pity in his eyes. He wasn’t sad for Damien, he just wanted his boyfriend to be happy again.
They ate at their normal volume level, minus one voice. Damien chimed in the best he could, but as it was, he was running on reserves. Not even his portion of the meal was as big as it usually is.
Days were discussed, teasing remarks thrown back and forth. It was normal, comfortable, almost routine. Most importantly, it was safe, it made Damien feel safe, having his family all in one room, the grounding presence of Hugo’s hand on his. His energy might have left him, but so were the clouds fogging his mind.
After dishes were cleared, the Vega boys offered to clean up, Lucien retreating off to his room and Damien still sitting where they had left him. Hugo caught that thousand-yard stare and turned to snap Damien out of it.
“Go upstairs, hon. I’ll meet you when we’re finished down here,” he punctuated with a soft peck under Damien’s jaw. He received a nod in reply, watching with sad eyes as Damien slowly made his way up the stairs.
“Is he gonna be okay?” Ernest asked quietly, focused on the dish at hand.
“Of course, mijo. It’s not the first time this has happened, and it won’t be the last. The important part is that we are there for each other. Damien has always helped us, even from the day we first moved here. I can only hope that one day we can repay him.” Hugo sighed as he continued scrubbing a bit of dried pasta stuck to the pot.
“Damien likes us, doesn’t he? Then I think we’ve repaid him plenty. But I still like doing nice things for him and Lucien. They’re, like, our best friends.”
“They really are, kiddo.”
After the dishes were complete, Hugo dried off his hands and climbed the stairs to get to Damien’s room. He entered, seeing Damien sitting at the head of his bed, knees pulled up and gazing straight ahead. The only reason Hugo knew Damien acknowledged him was because of the slow turn of his stare and the faintest uptick of his lips.
“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you changed into something more comfortable.” Hugo approached Damien, gingerly picking up his hand to lead him onto his feet, slipping the glasses off his face. He started by shuffling through the drawers and finding some loungewear for Damien.
First, Hugo slowly began unbuttoning Damien’s polo, untucking it from his jeans and lifting it over Damien’s head. Immediately, Hugo leant up to kiss at the crook of Damien’s neck, trailing onto the strap of his binder and ending at the edge of his shoulder.
The binder itself was the next to go, Hugo gingerly peeling it off, trying not to move too roughly. Hugo trailed his hands down Damien’s ribcage and rubbed gently, helping the muscles acclimate to the lack of confines. He turned Damien around and massaged at his neck and back.
“Does this feel okay, love?” he whispered onto a pale shoulder.
“Perfect, my dearest,” Damien hummed back, lolling his head to one side. Hugo definitely took that opportunity to cover his mouth onto that spot.
He grabbed the shirt he picked—one of Hugo’s own, actually—and threaded it onto Damien. The messy ponytail on Damien’s head was carefully plucked off, Hugo regathering hair to put it into a loose bun.
From his position behind Damien, he slipped his arms around Damien’s waist and went to pop the button of his jeans as he rest his chin on the taller man’s shoulder. Once unbuttoned and unzipped, Hugo placed a finger on the waistband of Damien’s boxer-briefs as a way of asking permission.
“Would you like me to take it out?” he whispered gently, stroking across the waist band. He felt Damien nod his head, and that was all Hugo needed to quietly take out his packer, setting it aside and then helping him step out of his jeans. Hugo bent down to help loop Damien’s feet through his lounge pants, stopping to kiss at the tops of Damien’s thighs as the pants were pulled up, cinched around the waist.
“Do you need anything, cariño?” Hugo let his lips ghost over Damien’s lips, chin, jaw, and throat, waiting patiently for an answer. His hands were at Damien’s hips, tracing soft, warm circles with his thumbs. He was almost worried at how long it was taking Damien to answer, but at the feeling of two arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders, Hugo relaxed.
“Hold me, my love. I just want to hear you breathe.”
Hugo led them back to the bed, still on top of the covers but snuggled close together. He had Damien’s head on his chest, the both of them curling into each other. Hugo’s free hand came to rest on Damien’s back, swirling around in meaningless shapes. His lips were firmly planted on the crown of Damien’s head, and he listened until their breaths were in sync.
“For you, mi amor, anything.”
what else had i to do but love you (though i am no wilde and you are no poe)
A wander through time, from the start to the present.
(Mafia AU.)
Campfire
Dream Daddy, VegaMarch fic. Rated T for language. WC: 1246
AO3 Link
“Hugo, you have to come out eventually,” Damien huffed.
“I am out, Damien. In fact—”
“I meant out of the cabin, dearest.”
“Hugo, you have to come out eventually,” Damien huffed, hanging at the threshold of their shared cabin. He had his hair up to combat the sweat that came with preparing freshly caught fish and setting up the campsite to cook them.
“I am out, Damien. In fact—”
“I meant out of the cabin, dearest. The fish is done cooking. If you’re not out by now, you’ll end up missing dessert as well.”
Hugo settled further into his seat, gripping tighter at the book in his hands. It wasn’t so much that he hated spending time with all his friends. In fact, he had a hand in helping plan the weekend trip. He’d even convinced his ex-husband to let Ernest tag along. The only thing stopping him from joining the others were—
“Bugs,” he grumbled. And other small creatures. And the general… messiness that camping entailed.
With a fond sigh, Damien walked into the cabin, taking the split second of lowered guards to pop the book away from Hugo. He cupped Hugo’s cheek as a sort of apology, trying to relax the pout that had formed.
“Now, now. I could almost mistake you for Lucien what with this holing up and away. Except I’d find him on his phone, not reading… To Kill a Mockingbird? Seriously?” An incredulous look, “I’ve seen you finish this at least twice. And that’s not even counting however long you’ve had this book in your lesson plans.”
“It’s a nice story, Damien.” If Hugo grumbled any more, he’d achieve his best Ernest impression yet. The feeling of fingers tugging his hair free of its bun snapped him out of his petulance. He found himself humming as those same fingers ran itself through his scalp.
“You know what else is a nice story? The one you’ll have if you come out and spend some time with your friends and family. Brian taught the kids how to descale a fish, and Robert started whittling a couple animals for them.” Damien circled behind Hugo and gently braided his hair back, replacing his hair tie. “Ernest won’t say anything, but I’ve seen him poking his head around looking for you.”
Hugo had to admit, the prospect of having an actual emotion shared with his son was pretty tempting. No number of mosquito bites could truly hold him back from an opportunity like that. But just to be safe… Hugo let out one last protesting huff, to see if the deal could be anymore sweetened.
“Come on, my dear heart, mon coeur, mon chou, lapin.”
Ah, there it was, saccharine terms of endearment. Damien was laying it all on the line.
“The food is prepared, the fire is already going. And I think my math was off when I was packing earlier. Seems there’s only one blanket left, but I hope you don’t mind sharing.” Hugo’s suppressed smile was enough of a tell that Damien knew he was leaving that cabin with a teacher in tow. He still couldn’t help but gently butt his head to Hugo’s temple, leaving a small kiss on his cheek when he finally received consent.
“Fine, fine, you’ve got me, cariño,” Hugo breathed, turning his head to leave chaste kisses at the apples of Damien’s cheeks. “Mi cielito,” kiss, “Mi corazón,” kiss, “Amorcito,” kiss—
“Alright! I get it! Enough!” Damien laughed, pushing Hugo and his invasive mustache away. “I’m not sneaky, lesson learned.” He took Hugo’s hand and led him outside, trying to hide his blush from both the man behind him and his friends in front of him. “But it got you out here with the rest of us, didn’t it?”
Almost on cue, the congregation let out a cheer, finally seeing Hugo from almost a full day of him hiding away. There were a couple of pats on the back, Joseph handed him a beer, Craig tossed him a bottle of bug spray, all of which he accepted gratefully. He caught a fleeting moment of Lucien and Ernest’s conversation.
“Dad was in there for a while. I wonder what he did to convince Hugo to join us,” Lucien murmured in a way that only Lucien seemed capable of doing.
“No, ew, no, shut up, you’re done talking.” Ernest bodily shuddered. “That’s your dad, too, you weirdo.”
“You’re the one who can’t comprehend basic social interactions and I’m the weirdo?”
“You’re a fuckin’ dingus.”
“Damn, someone picked up a thesaurus. Who wrote it, a keyboard you threw down the stairs?”
“Shut the hell up, fucko!”
“...”
“...”
“Dude, you want a weenie?”
“Hell yeah.”
“The kids seem to be getting along,” Damien whispered in Hugo’s ear, catching him slightly off guard because he slipped right out of Hugo’s line of sight almost directly after dragging him past the door.
“This has been the most amicable I’ve seen them all week,” he joked, taking Damien’s plate from him so Damien could open up the blanket in his hands. True to his word, Damien only had the one, draping it over his lap as he sat close to the fire. He grabbed his plate back and Hugo’s drink as Hugo liberally doused himself in bug spray, tucking himself right next to Damien, under the blanket afterward.
“I still don’t understand the appeal of camping. Why would you spend more than one day away from a perfectly working bathroom, food assuredly cooked through, and non-bug-filled air?” Hugo quietly complained, accepting the forkful of fish Damien handed to him. He wasn’t entirely sure what kind of fish it was but it looked cooked… probably. Damien wouldn’t poison him… willingly.
“Darling, wasn’t it you who convinced Robert and Mat to join us? Half the cabin registrations are under your name!” Damien, for the life of him, hadn’t been able to figure out why exactly Hugo had been as on board as he was. It was Craig who had the original idea, they were talking about it during open mic night at the Coffee Spoon. Damien was all in at first mention, but even then he resigned himself to the fact that not everyone would have wanted to come. Hugo least of all. Nature wasn’t really the teacher’s forte.
“That’s true, but to be honest, I thought I would just be planning most of it. Then when I brought it up with you, and I saw how bright your eyes lit, well… Can you blame a man for wanting to see more of that?”
“Ugh, you two were better in the cabin,” Lucien helpfully provided, handing them a marshmallow stick. Damien merely laughed him off, thanking him for fetching the sticks.
“I can tell you what I like about camping,” Damien started, almost conspiringly. “I like the animals.” He would, Damien volunteers at the shelter after all. “I like the plants and flowers.” Of course, his garden was tremendous. “I like these marshmallows.” Damien’s sweet tooth was insatiable, but warm marshmallows could be found in a microwave easier than over some burning logs. “And I like the company, wouldn’t you say so?”
Hugo looked around them, watching his loved ones talk and laugh amongst themselves. The younger kids were playing some pretend game while the older kids were seconds from starting a marshmallow war. He turned his head to Damien, words caught in his mouth as the purpling sky colored his affection’s face, mixing with the orange glow of the campfire. He was radiant, this moment etched deep into his memory.
“I think I’m starting to get it.”
you: vegamarch me, an intellectual: wrestleboo get it?? cuz hugos a wrestle boy and damiens a cryptid?? anyway theyre watching a scary movie and hugo should probably stop teaching damien how to wrestle
Commission Info | Buy me a coffee?
Rare
Dream Daddy, VegaMarch fic. Mafia AU. Rated M for sexual undertones and themes of violence. WC: 2033
AO3 Link
“You will call on me, for I will always be at your side. You tell me to attack and I shall. I will ask, ‘How would you like your steak, mon roi?’ And you tell me, ‘Rare.’ And you will never see their faces again. You have me at your every beck and call, bent to each whim. I would stop at nothing for you, my love.”
Hugo was breathing hard, muscles buzzing and sore. His vision was finally starting to clear up as the adrenaline slowly left his body. All around him were dropped bodies, at least ten of them he took down on his own, the rest were with help from his brothers. No thanks to his eldest brother, Matteo, although. No, his brother was the one who called the shots, standing at the open door with a look of disgust on his face.
“Hugo, stand straight,” Matteo barked in clipped Italian. He was not happy.
The deal went wayside. They were only supposed to be selling the weapon shipment over to the branch of dealers they had only started business with a month prior. Figures once the Vega boys showed up in person, the rogue dealers would try to lash out. It did not look good on their family. The Vegas looked like they could not handle simple grunt workers. They looked like they could be overthrown by the most menial of gangs.
“We looked incapable,” Matteo growled, for his three brothers to hear. “Papa and Mama will not be happy. And you, Hugo, do you know who you let down today? ”
“Hasn’t anyone told you it is rude to speak a language not shared by all parties in the room?” came a cold, clinical, and just barely teasing voice. Hugo suddenly remembered himself, wiping the blood trickling under his nose and smoothing what’s left of his dress shirt. Of course this was going to get back to the Bloodmarch family, everything always did. A glance to his sides and he caught that his roughed-up brothers were doing much the same.
“Scusami, Mr. Bloodmarch. I did not know we had your presence to grace us,” Matteo said, humbled.
“Please, Signore Vega. You may refer to me as Damien, we are soon to be family, after all.” Damien, in a suit sharp enough to slice, elongating his already imposing stature, turned to the third brother, Hugo. Gingerly, he picked up a bloodied hand, placing a gentle kiss on the untouched portion of his skin. “Dearest, how is it you have found yourself in such a state?”
“A few birds thought it was time to fly today, caro. We merely clipped their wings,” Hugo answered back in an equally sweet tone. As the third son of the family, he wasn’t at all expecting to have been promised in marriage, much less to a family as important as the Bloodmarch Syndicate. Considering the current situation, his eldest brother already being married, his second brother being straight, and Hugo being the closest in age, it made more sense that he would be chosen. It’s not as if as he hated the setup, per se.
With a warm smile directed toward Hugo, Damien snapped his fingers to get the attention of the lackeys that followed him in.
“Robinson, escort the Vegas to their car. Get them cleaned, prepare them for dinner at the estate. Davids, send in the crew. Make these bodies disappear. You know the deal, white flowers, red blood, deliver our condolences. We may discuss the events of today after a shower and dinner, Signore Vega. Hugo, my dear heart, if you’d accompany me?” Hugo stood planted by Damien’s side, watching as his brothers filed into an indiscreet town car, the rest of Bloodmarch’s grunts entering the room and getting to work.
“You needed me, cariño?” Hugo asked quietly once they started moving to Damien’s personal town car.
“Oh, you know how much I love when you speak Spanish just for me,” he cooed.
“I use Italian for business, amorcito. I do not want to mix that with pleasure.”
“You incorrigible flirt. I simply wanted your presence,” he sighed, opening the car door for Hugo and then following him in. “You made a right mess of yourself in that warehouse. My mother will not be impressed.” Damien grabbed a cloth and a bottle of water and did his best to gently clear up Hugo’s face.
“Your mother has had years to be disappointed by me, and yet, guess who is still marrying you.” Hugo interrupted Damien’s hands by catching a wrist and gingerly kissing down his veins. “It’s been almost a year since my mother proposed to you for me. It’s been three since I did it myself. And it’s been ten years since I fell in love with you. If your family hasn’t gotten rid of us at any of those points, they surely will not now.”
Hugo stopped Damien’s fussing hands once more, relaxing the cloth out of his grip and tucking himself against Damien’s chest. He felt the Bloodmarch sigh and accept the new position, pale arms coming to gently wrap around his torso, and a chin coming to a rest on the top of Hugo’s head.
“And we’ve known each other longer still. But we are still young, not even thirty. Your mother almost made Matteo remarry at the age of 40. I doubt my father is any less different in his political views.”
“Matteo? What happened to ‘Signore Vega?’” Hugo teased.
“I use Italian for business, mon loup.”
“Well that’s an idea.”
They settled in for the drive to the estate, Damien ceaselessly fiddling with the tears and crumpled lines of Hugo’s ruined dress shirt, placing a few kisses into his hair and temples every now and then. Hugo was ready to fall asleep, too, about fifteen minutes into the silent ride. He roused at the sound of Damien’s seething mumbles.
“I hate seeing you like this, beaten and bloodied, at the hands of a couple of good-for-nothing lowlives. You shouldn’t be doing the dirty work,mon prince.” Damien snaked a hand under Hugo’s chin, lifting so he could give the man a solid kiss. Pulling apart, lips still touching, he breathed. “When you’re with me, I want to lavish you, my darling. I want to spoil you until all the callouses on your body run smooth. I want to feed you every delicacy until you stop trying to remember the names of them all. I want to clothe you in only the finest silks and customized, designer jewelry. I want you to never lift a finger or have a want in your life, mon lapin. Mon lapin doux.”
Damien closed the gap between them once more, hands going down to massage tense, burly muscles. He licked at the seam of Hugo’s lips, asking politely for permission before he slipped a tongue in, stroking what he could as quietly as he could manage. One of Hugo’s hands found its way under Damien’s suit jacket and a breathy moan found its way out past Damien’s lips. It was then he thought to spare a glance at the partition, open. Damien found he couldn’t be bothered to care.
Hugo’s brothers had arrived at the estate first. They were found lounging in the parlor, already cleaned and changed. His second and fourth brothers were chatting quietly about who they thought would win in a fight between the two of them when they stopped, spared a glance toward Damien and his linked hands, and spread a pair of shit-eating grins on their face. It probably didn’t help that Damien’s own shirt was stained with the blood previously on Hugo, or that his lips were kiss-swollen, but that didn’t stop Hugo from releasing Damien’s hand and slinking it around his waist instead, returning said shit-eating grin.
Damien led Hugo up to his room, ushering his man right into the en suite bathroom, and filling up the grandiose tub with water just barely on the side of too hot. He then silently turned to Hugo, gingerly undressing his affection, his lips following his fingers closely.
“What happened to a shower and then dinner?” Hugo laughed, feeling his body preemptively meet Damien’s attentive kisses.
“Let them wait,” he said dismissively, “or better yet, let them start without us. Mother knows you took the brunt of the beating, allow them to think I am simply tending to your wounds. But we are not discreet, lapin, they know exactly what we’re doing.”
Hugo allowed the tender touches, breath only hitching minutely as Damien got to his knees and unbuckled his pants, staying resolute in kissing every place his hands touched. It didn’t go any farther, much to Hugo’s disappointment and relief, he was very worn out from the fight. Damien rose back up with all of Hugo’s clothes in hand and went to toss them into the hamper.
“Hop into the shower, darling. I’ll be in with you momentarily.” Hugo followed suit, turning on the water and using the pressure to passively let the dirt scrub itself away. The sound of tub water coming to a stop followed by a gentle breeze as the glass to the shower slid past him made Hugo finally open his eyes and look up to meet his beloved’s. Damien was fully nude with his hair pulled up, a bar of floral soap in his hand. Instinctively, Hugo’s hands latched gently onto Damien’s hips to anchor himself.
Damien began lathering the soap onto Hugo’s chest, working methodically to clean the man while also avoiding large bruises and tender muscle. He occupied himself by ducking his head down to nip at Hugo’s neck, careful not to get his own hair wet. The bar of soap reached down, cleaning what Damien could reach at this height. It travelled around behind Hugo, meeting his bottom with a playful squeeze before Damien turned him around so he could scrub his back.
After leaning down to wash inner thighs and calves, the soap bar was put away and Damien instructed Hugo to tilt his head back into the spray. Nimble fingers scrubbed at his scalp, followed soon by a shampoo that Hugo explicitly associated with Damien. It was rubbed gently through his hair, Damien taking the extra time to go slow and massage the temples, behind the ears, at his neck. He gave a soapy peck Hugo’s shoulder, kneading the tense muscles of his upper back.
Carefully, Damien tilted Hugo’s head forward into the spray, softly washing away the suds from his hair and then the rest of his body. When Hugo turned around, Damien saw that soft face, eyes weary from a long day. He planted his lips onto heavy eye bags, sealing it all with a gentle kiss on the lips. Shutting the water off, Damien then ushered Hugo into the steaming bath, the warm scent of lavender and perhaps a hint of sandalwood wafted from the tub. Damien entered first, extending a hand to help Hugo step in. They relaxed, Hugo’s back on Damien’s chest.
“What’s with all the special treatment today, amor? I’m almost scared to ask, but did I miss something?” Hugo spoke into the crook of Damien’s neck. Granted, it wasn’t the first time Damien was like this, but Hugo never really knew what set it off.
“I just like pampering you, dear heart. Every time I see a bruise on your perfect skin, a part of me grows livid. No love of mine should ever have to experience even the slightest bit of discomfort, and yet here we are. I do what I can, mon roi.”
“At this rate, you really will spoil me. What will I do if I’m faced with an attacker?” Hugo linked his fingers with Damien’s as they lied on his chest.
“You will call on me, for I will always be at your side. You tell me to attack and I shall. I will ask, ‘How would you like your steak, mon roi?’ And you tell me, ‘Rare.’ And you will never see their faces again. You have me at your every beck and call, bent to each whim. I would stop at nothing for you, my love.”
The sound of Damien’s poetry flitting through his ears was enough to lull Hugo’s eyes shut. His breathing evened out and elongated, perfectly content on feeling the oils pamper his skin, watching the heat turn Damien’s to a beautiful blush.
“You should know, without an ounce of hesitation, I would do the same thing.”
“I know, lapin, I do. But today, I’m loving you.”