Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Full Prompt: it’s almost 3am so I go down to the lake to skinny dip and you decide to join me but you don’t realize I’m naked

Barclay has some things he misses from the Pacific Northwest. Good craft beer, lots of bakeries, lots of ocean. Right now, he’s missing the fact that the air doesn’t feel like goddamn soup in the summertime.

It’s almost two in the morning. His room won’t cool down now matter what he does, and the humidity makes the effort needed to fall asleep feel insurmountable.

Time for drastic measures.

He slips on his shoes and heads off into the woods. About a quarter of a mile later he finds himself at the shore of a small lake, one that’s usually deserted during the day. Late at night, it’s as peaceful as the grave.

Had he just been looking to soak, he could’ve used the springs. But he has other ideas, pulls off all his clothes and folds them on a rock before slipping into the water. Sinking under the water he swims a few yards back before coming up to float on his back, sighing as his body finally feels cool and not sticky.

For awhile all he does is float. It’s not that he doesn’t love the lodge, love his friends. But he’s always had a solitary streak, and things have been so chaotic and terrible lately that he hasn’t had two minutes of alone time to rub together.

Just as he finishes this thought, there’s the sound of footfalls coming down the trail towards the small dock.

His mind flashes through possibilities as he shifts to stand on the lake bed, water up to his mid-chest: tourists? Other lodge residents? Hornets? An abomination?

“Oh, good evening Barclay. I thought I heard someone down here.”

It’s the worst possible option, then.

He turns towards the dock and waves awkwardly at Agent Stern, the man who’s literally hunting him. And the man who has morphed into a crush that Barclay is never going to admit to.

Stern is in shorts and a “Roswell, NM” T-Shirt, with a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Yeah, uh, couldn’t sleep so I came down here for a swim.”

“A wise idea. I’ve been on a stakeout in the woods since 10 PM and I feel like I may never be unsweaty again.”

“No luck on the stakeout?”

“No, as always.” He sits down on the dock, begins undoing his shoe laces, “don’t know why I thought I’d find Bigfoot out in the woods in the dead of night, but at this point I can’t afford to dismiss an idea. I think I’ll soak my feet for a minute before heading back.”

He dips his feet into the water and lets out a happy sigh and Barclay can’t help but smile; the man is a threat to him on a variety of levels, but it’s moment like this, where he’s vulnerable and relaxed and dressed like the paranormal-seeking nerd he is that have made Barclay grow attached to him. No reason he can’t chat with him for a few minutes, as long as he keeps his lower body safely under the waterline.

“Did I miss any excitement in the lodge this evening?”

“Nah, except Jake doing a very ill-fated cannonball into the springs.”

(And Aubrey accidentally setting a couch on fire, but Stern doesn’t need to know that).

Stern swings his legs in the water, clearly lost in thought.

“Any exciting plans this weekend?”

“Work, mostly.” Barclay shrugs.

“Would you be interested in-ow!” Stern slaps his arm, “Damn bugs. How are you not being eaten alive?”

“Water keeps most of me out of range.” He indicates how much of him is still covered by the lake.

(And mosquitoes don’t seem to like Sylph blood, but he keeps that to himself).

“Right, then, I’m joining you because this is unpleasant and I’m still. so. Sticky.” He strips his shirt off and folds it, rests his shorts on top of it and Barclay is screwed, he’s so screwed, because Stern is in his boxers and is now in the water. Mercifully he doesn’t swim towards Barclay, choosing instead to sink under the water and then pop up near some boulders to Barclays right.

“Good god that feels nice. You’re a genius, Barclay.”

“Pretty sure it doesn’t take a genius to know cold water takes the edge of a West Virginia summer.”

“I suppose, but allow me the pleasure of complimenting you alright?” Stern shoots back teasingly and Barclay’s about to stammer out a retort when he disappears under the water.

Goddammit, where did he go? He can’t get too close or he’s going to realize Barclay is skinny dipping and, no, no, body, he is not going to get turned on at the idea of his crush finding him naked by surprise.

Stern rises from the water to his side, now a little more than an arms length away.

“Hello.” He smiles, and he looks so boyish, so unlike his collected, intimidating self.

“Hi.” Barclay whispers.

“I will gladly leave you to you peaceful swim in a moment, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“No, uh, no need to rush off on my account. Don’t mind sharing the lake.”

Oh come on, is he turning into Duck? Why didn’t he just lie and say he wanted Stern to leave?

It’s then he notices Stern has gotten closer, and seems to be examining his scars. He rubs his arm, trying to hide the nerves arising at the idea of the man asking about some of the ones that came from Pine Guard work.

“What happened to your wrist?”

“Oven” he lets himself relax, “it’s common for cooks to get a sort of permanent burn scar there from bumping their arm on the roof of the oven.”

“Sounds painful.”

“Nah, not the worst injury I’ve gotten in a kitchen.” He flips over his hand, shows his palm, “got that trying to break down a chicken.”

Stern winces, then reaches out and glides a thumb across the jagged mark on Barclays upper bicep.

“What about this?”

“Dog attack.”

(A dog shaped abomination).

“This one?”

“Rock climbing incident.”

(He had to get away from that camera crew somehow).

“You’ve lived quite a life.” Stern murmurs, hand still moving up and down his arm and giving him goosebumps, his body screaming at him to to reach out and reciprocate the gesture.

“What about you, any battle scars?” He nudges Stern playfully.

“Other than these,” he indicates the two semi-circles on his chest, “hmmmm. Oh!” He tugs the edge of his boxers down to show his hip, “I got this falling off a roof.”

“Ouch, were you sneaking out to meet a guy or something?”

“No….I was trying to look for UFOs and lost my balance.”

Barclay covers his mouth as he laughs, tries to speak as he does, “that’s-”

“Silly, I know.”

“I was gonna say adorable.” He grins, then realizes what he just said.

Stern laughs softly, clears his throat trying to dispel the strange feeling building in the air.

“You have the twin of it, look.” He places his index finger on Barclays hip and moves it down. Then keeps moving it down, eyes widening in realization.

“That’s why you were staying so far from shore.”

“Yep.” Barclay is frozen in place, voice tight, in part because Stern hasn’t stopped gliding his finger along his skin.

“In retrospect, I should have noticed your underwear folded on top of your pants on the shore.”

“In my defense, I wasn’t expecting company.”

“In my defense, I wasn’t expecting to find the best looking man in the state swimming in the moonlight.”

“I, uh, wait, what?”

“I’m very attracted to you, Barclay, I thought I’d made that obvious.” His hand comes up, rubs lightly across Barclays chest.

“Kind of, maybe, I, uh, goddamn it I can’t focus when you’re doing that.”

“Should I stop?”

“Please don’t.” He tips his head back with a groan as Stern closes the remaining distance between them, wraps one arm around him while the other continues tracing along his body. He brings his hands to rest on Sterns hips, feels the front of his boxers rubbing against his cock.

“Mmmm, and how long have you been dealing with that situation” Stern rolls his hips and Barclay shudders.

“Since you took your shirt off.”

“Holy shit, Barclay.”

“Not my fault you’ve got a body that makes me drool and a face I can’t stop picturing between my thighs.” He mumbles against the top of Sterns head as the smaller man begins frantically kissing his neck. On a whim, he lowers his hands down and squeezes Sterns ass, earning him a rather surprised moan. Does it again, starts grinding against him and Stern meets his eyes, panting.

“I was, I was going to ask you to dinner tomorrow night but I don’t think I can wait that long.”

“For whatAHhhhn, yes, babe.” Fingers close around his cock, stroking it lovingly and he buries his face against Sterns neck to muffle a growl.

“Good god, this is just as impressive as it looks in your jeans.”

“Rude to ogle a guy when he’s working.”

“Not as rude as staring at a guest in the hot springs WHoahoh.” Stern loses his balance slightly, letting go of Barclays cock to as he does so and the larger man steadies him.

“We oughta move this somewhere we aren’t gonna fall on our asses.”

“Anywhere, name it, hey!” Stern yelps out a laugh as Barclay lifts him by his ass and hooks his legs around his hips, that position and the buoyancy offered by the water allowing him to carry him over to the nearest patch of shore. Barclay sets him down carefully, waits for him to toss his boxers aside before pouncing on him. Stern whimpers and bites at his lips as they kiss, hips moving up and down in the air between them.

“Don’t worry babe, I’ll take care of you.” He presses his fingers against Sterns dick, rolling his thumb along it in a way that makes Stern dig his nails into his shoulder. When he slips two fingers in Stern gasps, sits up on his elbow so he can resume stroking Barclays cock.

“Good?”

“Yes, Barclay, so good, oh god.” His grip on him tightens and he adds twists to his upstrokes.

“Fuck, that’s it. Goddamn, you look so good getting fucked open like this”

Stern moans, licks his lips as he opens his legs further so Barclay can add another finger.

“Oh, you like that don’t you, dirty boy? That why you’re trying to get my cum all over that gorgeous stomach?”

“Uh huh, so much, god, love it when you talk like that.”

A growling laugh leaves Barclays chest at that.

“Then make me cum on you, babe, c’mon, ohhhhshit!” His hand tenses inside Stern as he cums across his stomach and chest, and for a moment all he can do is marvel at the absolute mess of a man beneath him and how much he wants him.

And then he drops down to kiss him, hand fucking him relentlessly and mouth swallowing up his cries and then fingers dig into his hair and shoulder and the movements of Sterns hips die down to small pulses. He slips his hand out, presses soft kisses against Sterns cheek and neck as he comes down from his orgasm.

“Barclay?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m getting mosquito bites in places I don’t want them.”

“Can’t have that.” He slowly sits up, Stern mirroring the motion, “and I got you sticky again. Sorry.”

“I have no regrets, that was completely worth it. Although…” he gazes at the water, then back at Barclay somewhat flirtatiously, “I wouldn’t mind another dip in the lake.”

Barclay smiles, stands, offers his hand and begins guiding Stern back into the water as the stars wink happily above them.

Chapter Text

It’s a busy Friday night at the bar; spring has come and folks are ready to be out and about. From his position as bartender (and owner), Duck sees many new faces mixed in with the old ones and smiles. The Beacon is his pride and joy, and he likes to see people enjoying themselves.

When he steps into the hallway leading to the bathrooms he hears a familiar voice under the music and crowd, one that tells him a certain regular is also enjoying himself.

“Oh yes, yes, more, please.” A lilting, begging voice comes from behind the wall. Yep, it’s Indrid alright.

Business as usual then.

The skinny, white-haired man started coming in two months ago. At first he just sat at the bar, ordered the sweetest thing on the menu, and chatted with Duck. After a few weeks, he started bringing in a new date every night, usually two or three times a week. These dates (a term Duck uses loosely) follow the same pattern: Indrid and the guy arrive, make small talk at the bar while they have a drink (also a term Duck uses loosely, since Indrid’s drinks have almost no booze), then disappear into the bathroom for a little while, returning a little disheveled. Sometimes the guy stays, keeps chatting with Indrid, sometimes they leave together. Most times the guy doesn’t stick around long.

Because of the proximity of the bathroom to the supply closets Duck needs to visit during work, he often ends up hearing just what goes on between Indrid and his date of the day. Some nights, from the noises he’s making, it’s clear Indrid is getting fucked, likely against the door. Other nights, he can’t hear him, only his date, meaning Indrid is on his knees with a dick in his mouth.

Duck tries not to worry or judge. Indrid’s a grown-ass man, and can fuck as many guys as he wants. Hell, Duck’s had plenty of bathroom and backseat one-nighters in his time.

But.

Whenever he overhears him, or sees him at the bar after the trysts, all he can think is that Indrid somehow deserves better than a bathroom hook-up who half the time won’t stick around for a second drink. A dinner date, maybe, or a spin through Golden Gate park. Flowers, he bets Indrid would like those. At the very least, he deserves someone who will offer him their jacket when he starts shivering no matter how warm the bar is. Only three guys have, and Duck decide those three are the ones he most approves of.

Then again, maybe the guy he’s with now is a good one.

“Ah! Harder, please, oh goodness yes I-”

“Jesus, do you ever shut up?”

That’s a no then.

When they get back to the bar, Duck glares at the guy as he pays the tab and leaves with only a few words to Indrid, who keeps his eyes downcast.

“Bit of dud?” He leans over the bar, wishing for way to make Indrid look less…muted.

“I suppose. Oh well, they can’t all be charmers.” He flashes Duck a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“That they can’t. Speakin’ of which-hey! Boyd I saw that!”

By the time he’s done calming one of his regulars down from trying to pick a fight with an out-of-towner, Indrid is gone.

———————————

A week later, when Duck sees Indrid take his latest date by the hand and lead him towards the bathrooms, he beats them to the door. He’s put this off longer than he should have.

“Uh uh, Indrid, not tonight.”

Indrid starts blushing with embarrassment as the man he’s with glowers at Duck. He remains undeterred.

“I been getting complaints from other patrons about your, uh, activities back here. It’s makin’ an awful lot of folks uncomfortable that they can hear someone gettin’ their dick sucked when they’re just tryin’ to use the john.”

“Hey, pal, how about you just ignore those complaints?” The date flashes a twenty at him.

“Nope.”

“Look, asshole, just because you serve the drinks at this shitty place-”

“Do not speak to him that way.” Indrid snaps, crosses his arms. The man looks at Duck, still blocking the door, then back at Indrid.

“Whatever, you’re not worth this much hassle.” He disappears.

Indrid glances at Duck, cheeks still pink.

“I’m sorry, Duck, I didn’t mean to cause trouble for you, or make people uncomfortable. I’ll just pay and go.”

“Hey, Indrid, it’s okay, you can stay I just needed you to know what was off-limits, I ain’t mad at you or nothin.” He touches his shoulder reassuringly and Indrid takes a sharp, shaky inhale.

“I, I’m sorry, I s-should”

Duck’s worked in a bar for years, he can tell when someone’s about to cry. Gently, he leads Indrid back to a staff break area, eases him down into a chair.

“You must think I’m reckless and awful.” It’s a sniffle and Duck, having no tissues, grabs a stray handful of napkins.

“Don’t think anythin’ of the kind. Sometimes wonder how you fell into the habits you have, but I also know that’s none of my damn business.”

Indrid blows his nose, tosses the napkin towards the trash.

“I m-moved here a few months ago to be with someone, after he got hired at a tech start-up. Two weeks after I got here, he dumped me. He, he said I was a walking disaster, that I talk too much, that, that I was a starter boyfriend at best and not really even good enough for that and didn’t deserve someone like him.”

“Asshole.” Duck mutters, rubbing a circle on Indrids back, a motion that seems to calm the skinnier man.

“I barely knew anyone, still don’t, and I liked hooking up at first because it was fun but it, it’s also because he was right, I shouldn’t ask for anything more than a few hours with someone. This feels like what I deserve.”

Duck lowers onto his knees in front of Indrid. Cups his chin with one hand, strokes his tangled strands of white hair with the other.

“Indrid, that’s the biggest load of bullshit I ever heard. I’ve gotten to know you plenty well and I can gauran-goddamn-tee you deserve better than givin’ a blowjob on a bathroom floor. You deserve the best this city and the guys in it have to offer.”

Indrid meets his gaze, eyes still watery behind his red glasses. But he smiles, soft and sweet and genuine.

“Thank you, Duck. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said since I got here.”

Duck tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, takes a moment to admire the strange angles of Indrids face.

A crash from out front, followed by Leo, the other bartender, yelling “Boyd!”

“I better go help out. You stay here as long as you need.”

He glances back just as gets to the door. Indrid is looking at him. And he’s still smiling.

———————————

Duck’s resigned himself to the possibility of not seeing Indrid again. After all, the guy was clearly embarrassed and maybe that means he won’t come back to The Beacon.

But Tuesday night, Indrid is in like usual. This time, he’s alone.

“Hey stranger, what’ll you have?” Duck flashes him a teasing smile.

“The sweetest thing you can make me.”

Duck pours a few ingredients into a glass, tosses a maraschino cherry in and slides it to Indrid. The taller man takes a sip. Grins, takes another, and then chugs half the drink before popping the cherry into his mouth.

“What is this?”

“Shirley Temple.”

“Wait, that’s-”

“Nonalcoholic? Yeah. Look, Indrid, I got a confession: your drinks have had little to no booze in ‘em since week two you of you comin’ here, because I watched you wince and then not drink ‘em when they did. Don’t worry, I charged you less for ‘em. Even made you a few experimental ones that I figured would be to your tastes”

“You…made special drinks for me?”

“Yep.” Duck serves two more regulars as Indrid contemplatively sips from his glass.

“That’s sweet.”

“Oughta be, mostly grenadine.”

“No, I meant what you did. With the drinks” He smiles shyly at him and Duck feels his cheeks heat up.

“I think I’d only like nonalcoholic ones from now on.”

“Roger that.” Duck winks at him just as another regular, one he needs to have a word with, steps up to the bar.

“Ned, for chrissake, will you tell Boyd that he doesn’t need to take on every straight dude-bro who wanders in here.”

“I take it my beau has become overeager in his quest to ensure a safe space?”

“He broke a chair, Ned. And while I appreciate the time he literally carried the guy who took issue with me bein’ trans out the door, if I wanted a bouncer I’d hire one.”

“Very well friend Duck, very well.” Ned notices Indrid, nods at him, “I see you’re flying solo this evening.”

“Yes, I’ve decided a change of pace was in order.” He smiles at Duck again and this time his heart flutters more than it usually does when Indrid’s around.

The pattern changes over the next few weeks. Indrid will come in multiple days a week, though now he favors late afternoon or early evening on weekends, and shows up on weeknights that are usually slow. Duck makes him something sweet, with as many maraschino cherries as ice cubes. Indrid will talk with Duck, or draw on the sketchpad he brings, and as the days go by he starts to open up more to Ned, Boyd, and a few other regulars.

Through their talks, Duck learns that Indrid works as psychic/palm reader/tarot reader as well as taking commissions for his art. That he loves the fog, even though it’s cold, and that he really likes Dim Sum, boba tea, and kool-aid. They swap stories about their tattoos, and whenever Duck recommends a sight to see in the city or in the east bay, Indrid jots it down. Duck finds him easy to talk to, full of ideas and anecdotes, hands moving animatedly as he speaks and it’s so endearing Duck doesn’t mind the few times he knocks a glass over.

Yeah, his ex was full of shit.

———————————

It’s a busy Friday night and Duck is feeling good. He woke up feeling himself (as his friend Aubrey likes to say) and as result is dressed extra sharp, with pants he knows make his ass look amazing. Indrid is in his usual spot, the stool on the farthest end of the bar, and although Duck doesn’t have much time to chat, he still sends the odd smile and wink his way. Towards the end of the night, right before closing, Indrid disappears and Duck assumes he went home.

After everyone is out, he shuts and locks the door and begins cleaning up. He steps into the bathroom to make sure it’s not so wrecked that he can’t leave it until tomorrow when he hears a familiar noise.

It’s Indrid, in the stall behind him, letting out breathy, high moans and clearly trying to keep quiet.

He sighs.

“Okay fellas, I already closed up, so how’s about continuin’ this somewhere else.”

There’s a muffled curse and then Indrid steps out. Alone. He washes his hands hurriedly.

“Sorry, I lost track of time.”

“Someone out there got you all worked up?”

Indrid turns, his eyes slowly taking in Duck from top to toe.

“You could say that.”

“Really now? What else could you say?”

“I’d say-” As Indrid speaks Duck takes a step towards him, accidentally knocking his keys from the counter onto the floor. Indrid kneels down to grab them, ends up eye-level with his belt, freezes as he looks up at Duck. They’re so close, so very close.

Indrid leans forward an inch, kisses Ducks stomach quickly, stands up just as fast and hands Duck his keys.

“I should go.” He doesn’t move an inch.

“First you should finish answerin’ my question.”

“I would say” Indrid whispers, picking his words carefully, “that if the person I was thinking of was in this room, I would very much not object to him kissing me.”

Duck doesn’t hesitate, takes Indrid by the shoulders and pulls him into a kiss. Indrid threads his fingers into Ducks hair, let’s the shorter man press him against the counter. Duck laughs into the kiss as Indrid starts taking the phrase “climb him like a tree” literally, trying to wrap his legs around Duck and bring them closer.

“Somethin else you want, darlin’?” Duck pants when they finally break apart.

“Yes, but I have it on good authority it’s not permitted in this bathroom.”

Duck slides his hands into Indrids back pockets.

“Ain’t no one here to make uncomfortable. And a perk of ownin’ the places is that I can make exceptions to the rules. Like, say, when a cute fella makes me so hard I can’t see straight.”

Indrid kisses him again at that, small eager sounds bubbling up in his throat.

“How d’you wanna do this?” Duck runs a finger along Indrids collarbone.

“Oh. Uh….” Indrid fiddles with the crystal he always wears around his neck, “I hadn’t given, that is, everyone just assumes I’ll bottom.”

“Well, I ain’t assumin’ nothin’, darlin’. Want you to tell me what you want.”

Indrid bites his lip, nervous, as he looks at Duck.

“May I fuck you?”

“Hell yeah.” Duck kisses him again before letting him step around him. Never has he been more grateful for the fact he keeps a basket of condoms in the bathroom for folks to take if they need. He undoes his belt, gets his pants and boxers down in a hurry and rests his elbows on the counter. When he looks at Indrid the man is frozen, condom in hand, staring at him.

“You doin’ alright there?”

“Yes.” Indrid licks his lips and Duck smirks, begins rubbing lazily at his clit.

“Enjoyin’ the view?” He purrs, gasps a little as he slips two fingers inside.

“Ohgodyes.” Indrid scrambles into motion, stepping behind Duck and wiggling his pants down. There’s a sound of tearing foil and then Duck slips his fingers back out so Indrids cock can take their place.

Indrid pushes in with a soft moan that Duck echoes, then pauses, trails kisses along Ducks neck and back. His hands come to rest atop Ducks, their fingers intertwining as he begins steadily thrusting.

“Goodness this is even better than I imagined.”

“Yeah?” Duck grins over his shoulder at Indrid, “that what you been doin’ while you’re here? Thinkin’ about what’d feel like, ohfuck, to get that nice dick of yours inside me?”

“Well, yes. But, oh god, not only that. I daydreamed about every part of you, touching each inch.” His hands begin roving across Ducks body, shoulders and stomach, chest and arms, even his thighs receive reverent, hungry touches. Duck groans in pleasure, and Indrid presses a kiss to the back of his head, breath growing shakier as his touches turn to grabs.

“C-can I go harder?” He whispers, nuzzling Ducks ear.

“Hard as you want, handsomeOHshit.” His nails scratch at the tile as Indrid straightens, grips his hips and pounds into him. He tosses his head back, a stream of praise and thanks leaving him underscored by the sound of skin hitting skin and that settles it, this is the hottest goddamn thing Duck’s ever seen. He locks eyes with Indrid in the mirror, grinning at how utterly ruined he looks. Indrid suddenly stops making noise, looks a little sheepish.

“Ain’t gotta be quiet on my account, darlin’, like hearin’ that sweet voice moanin’ my name.”

Indrid smiles at him before picking up his pace, hips snapping more erratically.

“Yes, gracious, Duck you feel so good, I’m so close.”

Duck growls, pushes his hips back.

“Sweetheart, Duck, ohmy yes yesyesyes.” He drops his forehead to rest against Duck as he comes, fingers pressing into his skin as he moans more high, broken sounds.

When he pulls out, Duck turns around, contemplating how he wants to come but by the time he’s finished the motion Indrid is on his knees. He thumbs at the join between Ducks hips and thighs, panting, gaze flicking between Ducks clit and his eyes.

“Please?” His eyes are puppy-dog wide. Duck smiles indulgently at him, nods and then Indrids head dives between his legs.

So this is why the guys were always so damn loud on nights when Indrid sucked them off. His tongue is fucking magic. Duck moans, tangles his hands into Indrids hair and grinds his hips.

“Holy fuck, shit, Indrid you’re fuckin’ amazing.”

Indrid meets his eyes, noticeably smiling even as he closes his lips around Ducks clit, making the man yelp and then growl.

“That’s it darlin’, suck my dick, yeah, oh fuck yeah, you’re doin’ so good, that’s it honeyohhhh.” He cums against Indrids tongue, which doesn’t stop moving until his hips stop pulsing.

There’s a minute where the only sound in the room is their joint, ragged breathing. Duck pulls his pants back on as Indrid shimmies his back up. When the taller man looks at him, Duck opens his arms in invitation.

Indrid is in them immediately. Duck holds him tight, feels a little hum of pleasure and happiness buzz against him out of Indrids chest.

From the bar, his closing time playlist switches to a new, slow song, and he begins to sway them gently to the melody.

Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help

Falling in love with you

Jumping the gun a bit there, King, he thinks, but then Indrid grins down at him and he tilts his head, kissing him slowly and softly, Indrid caressing his cheek with his cold fingers and he knows exactly what the singer means.

They kiss and dance until the song ends. At which point Indrid goes pale.

“Oh no! Shoot! What time is it?” He digs his phone out of his pocket, “Oh damn it, BART will’ve stopped running by the time I get to the station.”

“Hey, no worries, I can call you a cab or one of those ubery things. Or…” Duck takes his hand, “if you don’t got anywhere you have to be in the mornin’, you could crash with me. I live upstairs, so it ain’t far.”

Indrid arches an eyebrow.

“An offer that comes, I’m sure, from purely the goodness of your heart?” He teases.

“Gotta be honest: yes. Fuckin around with you plus workin’ all night wore me out, so I ain’t gonna try anythin.”

Indrid cocks his head, unconvinced.

“Honest” Duck says,”besides, don’t expect anythin’ in exchange for offerin’ a friend a place to sleep.”

“And if the friend offers it tomorrow morning?” Indrid flutters his eyelashes.

“Then I ain’t gonna complain.” He smiles, offers Indrid his hand and the other man takes it.

Once they’re upstairs, he gives Indrid the chance to take the bed for himself and have Duck sleep on the couch but Indrid simply shakes his head, pulls Duck onto the bed with him. They change out of their street clothes, Duck into his boxers and Indrid into one of Ducks sweatshirts. Indrid makes himself into the big spoon, kissing Duck on the neck as they settle in for the night.

“Indrid?”

“Yes Duck?”

“Will you let me take you out? Like on a real date or two, or more if things are goin’ well?”

“Gladly.” Indrid sighs, snuggles up closer, and Duck squeezes the hand resting on his chest.

In the morning Duck wakes up first, slips out of the apartment for a quick errand. By the time he gets back Indrid is stirring, and the skinnier man smiles when Duck holds aloft the breakfast he brought. The smile grows neon-bright when Duck reveals his other purchase from behind his back:

Flowers.

Chapter Text

Indrid studies himself in the mirror for about the fiftieth time. He wants to look his best, because Duck will be here soon. It’s not their first time together, far from it. But tonight is different.

Tonight is special.

——————–

He’d hired companions before. He’d been on earth a long time and never quite gotten the hang of dating. But he had wanted companionship and sex from time to time, and money (the money that comes with being able to know the outcome of a sports game, a roll of dice, or the stock market before anyone else does) was the simplest way to secure that for a strange looking man who smiled a bit too wide and was always a bit ahead of the person he was talking to. He didn’t do it often, but every now and then it was worth it to have someone charming and nice to look at in his bed for an hour or so. Technology made it all the easier to arrange.

Duck had been one such arrangement, arrived at Indrids door with a crooked smile and the most wonderful drawl he’d ever heard. Soft and solid all at once and it made Indrids mouth water to look at him.

“How d’you want me?” He surveyed Indrids living room as he asked this, smile easy on his face but set with determination and a matter-of-factness that Indrid enjoyed.

“No way, quite just yet. We have things to discuss first.” He’d gestured to the table and Duck hesitated before taking a seat.

“Discuss?”

“Boundaries, likes and dislikes. I want this to be pleasant for both of us, and painful for neither.”

“I’m up for what-”

“-ever I want.” Indrid finished the phrase on top of him, bit his inner lip at the habit he couldn’t shake, “Look at the list in front of you. There’s nothing on it that’s off limits?”

Duck studied the paper Indrid had set out ahead of time, mis-matched eyes going wide when he hit certain lines.

“I uh, nope, all still good to go, uh, fuck, I mean uh. Fuck.”

“That was a terrible attempt at a lie.”

“Yeah, I know.” He sighed, looked at Indrid and for the first time he saw nerves cross his face. Indrid reached across the table, took his hand gently and squeezed it. Caught himself before his smile got too wide to be reassuring.

“Just pick a few from the list you enjoy and we can go from there.”

He’d chosen something straightforward, and soon he was flushed and panting, flat on his back on the bed as Indrid fucked him. He was warm and sturdy and Indrid reveled in it, took his time drawing out new sounds of delight from the younger man. After he’d departed, Indrid made a note to hire him again.

And again.

And again.

And then it was habit for Indrid to contact Duck each weekend, then during the week as well and he found himself looking forward to the few hours (if that) they spent together.

He’s never been quite sure what moment it began to change. When Duck had begun to linger afterwards, when he started asking him to dinner before bringing him home. This was the first shift, when Indrid went from an hourly client to something more akin to a sugar daddy.

Perhaps it was when, as Indrid lay happy and exhausted against Ducks chest, he’d said something funny and the shorter man had laughed so hard, so undignified that it made Indrid laugh too and then Ducks face was pressed against his shoulder as he tried unsuccessfully to stifle the giggles.

Perhaps it was the day when Duck arrived for an appointment visibly sore from whatever he’d been doing with other clients and Indrid had coaxed him into laying on the bed so he could rub the ache from his limbs. The man had fallen asleep with his head in Indrids lap as he worked at the knots in his shoulders. Aside from a brief respite to take care of the hard-on he’d developed just from touching him, Indrid had stayed on the bed, drawing as Duck slept curled up against him.

Perhaps it was the day he’d asked Duck if there was somewhere in the city he best liked to go and the man had asked to visit the nearest state park. They’d walked a lovely flat trail for hours, Duck eagerly identifying and talking about the different plants and creatures they saw. This was how Indrid learned Duck had gone to school for wildlife biology, had taken up escorting to cover a mounting debt that he was still digging himself out of. They’d eaten dinner at a picnic table, Indrid warmed by the late afternoon sun and the happiness radiating from his companion.

Perhaps it was the time he’d set aside a whole day for him and Duck to try something new, something they were both interested in. He’d kept the man tied to the bed, edged him for an hour, whispered filthy praise to him the whole time, taken him twice before finally letting him come. And then he’d spent the rest of the evening on aftercare, cooing and fussing over Duck. He’d never tried anything of that kind with partners on earth before.

The second shift, the shift Indrid is currently angling for the conclusion of, was that his feelings for Duck were growing stronger. There were two incidents that Indrid saw, in retrospect, were the catalysts.

First had been a night, several months ago, where he’d woken up in a fit of terror from what he knew was a bad future making itself known. He didn’t know where he was, when he was, what had happened and what still could. It was a miracle his glasses didn’t come off in the flurry.

“Darlin, it’s alright, I got you.” Warm hands clasped one of his own and as he came down from the terror, reoriented himself in time he found his head resting on Ducks chest, heartbeat steady and reassuring. Woke up to find Duck had made breakfast (which in this case meant toast and coffee for him and poptarts for Indrid), and the man spent the better part of the day with him, simply keeping him company.

Then there had been another night, where Duck had called him, panicked and afraid for reasons that came out garbled but it didn’t matter because he was in distress and that was reason enough for Indrid to drive across town. He’d found Duck in his room on the top floor of a house he shared with a few friends. He’d been curled up and shaking on the floor and Indrid had carefully guided him to bed, soothed and petted and listened until Duck was exhausted enough to sleep. Indrid was tempted to slip his glasses off and cuddle Duck to him in his Sylph form, shield him from the world with his wings. But it didn’t take foresight to know that wouldn’t have gone well.

The next morning Duck had rolled over in the small bed, nuzzling Indrids cheek as he asked if he wanted to go to breakfast. Duck took him to a diner around the corner, insisted on paying, before quietly asking if Indrid had anywhere he needed to be that day. Indrid shook his head. Which is how they ended up cuddled on the floor of Ducks room watching movies on his computer, and at some point kisses on the cheek became kisses on the lips and then Indrid was in Ducks lap, grinding and purring as Duck fucked him.

It was Ducks willingness to spend whole days, sometimes multiple days in a row, with him that had made Indrid first consider the offer he was going to make. It worried him that if Duck spent too much time with him he’d have little left for other clients and not be able to make ends meet, and Indrid would hate to be the cause of that. But when he thought about going back to only seeing Duck for an hour or two each week his heart clenched so tightly in his chest he had to sit down.

And so, he decided to force the moment to its crisis.

——————————–

He sees from the futures that Duck lets himself in to the house, so he’s not surprised when there’s a low whistle from behind him as he adjusts his tie in the mirror.

“Damn, you clean up pretty nice, sugar. Didn’t think you even owned a tie.”

“I own exactly one. And believe me, if they ever invent pajama pants that can be worn as formal wear, I shall burn my remaining slacks.” He turns with a smile, finds Duck leaning against the door of the bedroom, openly admiring him. His shirt is dark green and well fitting, his pants accentuating his assets, and Indrid has to remind himself that they have a reservation to keep and that he can’t bend him over the nearest flat surface without making them late.

“Stay with me, darlin, you’re gettin that far off look.” Duck grins, crossing to him and wrapping his arms around his waist.

“Sorry, merely thinking about how good you look.”

Duck blushes, a sight Indrid will never tire of.

“So we’re goin out to the fanciest place in town just because, huh?”

“I don’t need an occasion to take you somewhere nice, do I?”

“Nah,” Duck rests his head on Indrids shoulder, “but do you want one?”

Indrid sees what’s coming , but nods anyway because he wants to see Ducks face light up as he says-

“I got the job, Indrid. I’m gonna be a park ranger.”

“Oh my sweet, that’s wonderful!” He kisses Duck, bumps their noses together as he says, “I hope they know how lucky they are to have hired you.”

“Just hope they like me enough to bump me from part-time to full eventually.”

“I haven’t a doubt they will. I’m so happy for you, sweetheart.”

Duck hugs him tighter, smiling into his shoulder before he breaks away.

“C’mon, darlin, let’s go celebrate.”

———————————-

One of the reasons Indrid chose this restaurant is that it has private dining booths, with a light to signal to the staff when the occupants do (or do not) need to be disturbed. He’d wanted somewhere safe from prying ears to ask Duck what he plans to.

Duck seems to have some ideas for how to exploit that privacy as well, if the look he gives Indrid as he scoots next to him is anything to go by.

“Dessert?”

“Of course, I can smell caramelized sugar from the kitchen and it’s driving me wild.”

“Would,’t want to deprive you of sugar, sugar.” Duck trails a finger along Indrids thigh, “but I had somethin else in mind before that.”

Indrid bites back a moan as a new future makes itself known.

“What did you ha-OH, ohhhhmph.” Indrid shoves his napkin against his mouth as Duck drops to his knees under the table, unzips his pants, and palms at him.

“Want me to suck your dick?”

“What ahHahh kind of question is that?” Indrid wiggles his hips and Duck snickers, reaches into his jacket pocket and produces a condom.

“Just checkin.” He frees Indrids cock and rolls the condom down before licking a stripe up it. He takes the head in his mouth and sucks. Indrid shoves the napkin against his mouth, but he’s not fast enough to stifle a chirp.

“You make such fuckin cute sounds sometimes.” Duck says with a smirk before returning to his previous activity and Indrid manages to keep it together until Duck moans, the sensation of that on his cock making him bang his knee against the table.

“You doin okay up there?” Duck licks his lips.

“Yes, very okay, please, please sweetheart.” He whispers, one hand in Ducks hair as he hungrily runs his tongue across the tip as his hand works the shaft, “I’m so, oh goodness, Duck, yes yes.” He cums with a muffled moan that dies out into a soft chirp. Duck tidies him up, joins him back in the circular booth and cuddles up next to him.

“Always wanted to try that.”

“Glad to be of assistance.” Indrid kisses his cheek, flips the light so the waiter knows they’re ready to order.

It’s only after they’ve finished dessert that Indrid takes Ducks hand (and a deep breath).

“Duck there’s something I want to ask you.”

“Yeah?” Ducks eyes shine expectantly. Indrid draws his mind away from any futures, focuses only on the present.

“I sense that I am your favorite, well, client. I want to know how much it would cost to become your only client.”

Duck blinks at him for a moment. And then his face falls, and he drops his gaze into his lap, unlacing their fingers as he does.

“I uh, I’ll. I’ll need to uh, to think. About that.”

His comments stay that stilted while they pay and leave, and as they drive back he focuses his eyes out the window. This tells Indrid two things: whatever Duck is feeling, he’s terrified of saying and so he’s avoiding saying anything at all. And, more importantly, Indrid has royally screwed up.

Once they’re inside Duck heads into the kitchen, grabs a glass for water but can’t hold it steady enough given how his hands are shaking.

“Duck, please tell me what’s wrong.”

“N-nope. I ain’t gonna say anythin because what I want to say is awful foolish in hindsight.”

“I don’t care. Please say it anyway?”

Duck rests his hands on the counter.

“I, I thought, when you said you wanted to ask me somethin that you were gonna ask…” He looks up and Indrid can see the tears, “I thought you were gonna ask me to be your boyfriend, tell me you didn’t want to bother with the client stuff anymore.”

Oh. Oh dear.

“I didn’t realize that was an option.”

“What?”

“I assumed your affection towards me was still, on some level, part of a professional exchange. I didn’t dare assume you actually-”

“Liked you? Jesus, Indrid, do you think I’m that good at fakin shit? I’ve been fallin for you for the better part of three months and that’s like rookie fuck-up number one in this line of work but I couldn’t stand the idea of not seein you again and I thought maybe you felt the same way and, and, fuck, Indrid, half the stuff we’ve done when we fucked is stuff I don’t do with other clients because I trust you in a way I don’t trust them and I, I, fuck.” He sinks down behind the counter and Indrid hurries to the other side of it to find him sitting, defeated, on the floor with his head in his hands.

Indrid carefully sits down in front of him.

“Duck, look at me. Please.”

Duck meets his eyes.

“We want the same thing, my sweet. I was simply too afraid to consider that option, and I didn’t mean for that to hurt you and for that I am sorry.”

That glimmer of hope returns to Ducks eyes.

“I would like to be your boyfriend, Duck Newton, if you would like to be mine.”

“I would, darlin, so fuckin much.”

Indrid surges forward and kisses him, Duck laughing against his lips. By the time they make it off the floor and into the bedroom they’re each half-dressed. Duck’s still laughing intermittently, glee radiating from his body as Indrid pushes him backwards and crawls on top of him.

“Mine” Indrid growls, pinning his shoulders down. Something flashes across the younger mans face and he worries that was too far.

“Yeah, darlin, all yours.” Duck drags a kiss up Indrids neck, voice thick with desire.

“Do you like that, my sweet? The idea that you are mine and mine alone?”

“Uh huh, god, sugar, so much.”

Indrid begins methodically kissing his way down Ducks chest and stomach, yanks down his boxers so he can kiss and lick at his thighs.

“And what shall I do with you, since you’re all mine?”

“Bite me.” Duck pleads and Indrid raises his head to look at him in surprise. They usually have to avoid that activity even though they both enjoy it, as some of Ducks clients won’t tolerate any sign that he’s been with someone else.

“Pleeease” Duck whimpers and Indrid growls again, sinks his teeth into Ducks thigh. Does it again and again until his left thigh is coated in hickeys and bite marks. Switches to the right thigh, occasionally gliding up to nip at his soft belly. By the time he’s finished Duck is tugging at his hair, moaning and pleading with hips thrusting in the air

“Kisses, want, Indrid.”

Indrid clambers back up him and kisses him ferociously, pulls back to run his tongue along Ducks swollen, perfect lips.

“Shall I tie you up, my sweet, so you can be utterly at my mercy?”

Duck nods frantically and Indrid rolls off the bed, grabbing his preferred pair of handcuffs. Ducks hands are already above his head, next to the headboard, by the time Indrid returns.

“So good for me, my sweet Duck.” He cuffs him to the headboard, tilts his chin up with his finger so their eyes meet.

“Indrid…” There’s no direction of the sigh, it’s simply a sound of pleasure.

“I’m going to coat your skin in marks now, and when you’re a screaming, begging mess, I’m going to ride you until I come on that lovely skin because you are mine.” He drops his head down to Ducks neck and sucks a bruise there, threading his fingers into that dark hair so he can pull his head back for better access.

“Darlin, yesOHFUCK, fuckAHnnnn.”

“I do so love the sound of your voice.”

Duck makes a noise that may have been a word at some point. Indrid sets about placing hickeys across his collar bone, his chest, his neck and after about ten minutes the man beneath him is a mess. When Indrid finally rolls down the condom he groans in thanks, cants his hips up and nudges at Indrids entrance with the head of his cock.

“Patience.”

“I’m bein patient” Another nudge, accompanied by a teasing smile. Indrid toys with making him wait longer for that, but he’s so wound up himself that he decides against it, begins carefully working the cock into him (he’s still somewhat prepared from the solo session he had before Duck arrived). When its fully seat he takes a moment to breath, runs his hands across the expanse of Ducks chest.

“So handsome. And all mine.”

“Damn right. You gonna do anythin about it or OHShiiit, oh fucknevermind.” Duck gasps as Indrid shifts up and down, moans spilling from his throat at the feeling of Duck inside him. Duck can only move his hips so much and so Indrid controls the pace, slow at first and then gaining speed and roughness.

“That’s it my sweet, that’s it, let me use this perfect cock until I can’t. Fucking.see.” He moves sharply on those last three words and Duck cries out. Indrid drops forward, swallowing the noises and letting his cock rut between their stomachs and then he comes, teeth biting at Ducks lip.

“‘M so close, darlin, pleaseplease.”

“Shhh, don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” He grinds down, works his hips with no small amount of effort even as he body goes oversensitive but Duck’s been so good and he wants to see him come, wants to tear every delicious sound from that throat as he rides him.

“Fuckohfuck, Indrid, Indrid yes.” He cums with a choked sound and Indrid waits until the last tremors pass through him to climb off. He undoes the cuffs, settles in the crook of Ducks arm.

“Jesus, that was, uh, y’know.” Duck pants, arm wrapping around Indrids shoulder.

“Not quite, but I can guess.”

“Smartass.” Duck kisses him, fondly, before looking at the state of his legs, “damn, did a number on me.”

“You did ask.”

“That I did. I’m probably gonna stop doin the escortin thing once I start at the park. Mostly scared word’d get out and I’d get fired. Might pick up some shifts at the co-op that buddy of yours owns, since he said I oughta apply if I needed to.”

“Barclay’s excellent to work for, I’m told.”

“Yeah. Hopefully it’ll be enough to manage the debt and shit.”

Indrid hums, thoughtfully. He’d offer to pay it off for Duck, but he’s done that once before and Duck had seemed deeply uncomfortable with the idea. But there are other ways. Such as the two men who had been hired to steal and destroy a few filing cabinets worth of debt records along with their digital copies, enough on either side of Ducks name for him not to become the target of suspicion.

But Indrid doesn’t dwell on that thought now, instead nestles close to his boyfriend as he animatedly talks about his new job and eventually falls asleep, dreaming of all the tomorrows stretched out before them.

Chapter Text

It had all been going so well.

Kepler High, the latest and hopefully last in the long line of high schools he’s been at, hadn’t seemed like much. It was school number eight for Indrid. Two he’d had to leave for the same reasons he’d had to become an emancipated minor. Five he’d been forced out of because he was always in the wrong place at the wrong time. And because he was strange, and gay, and already had a reputation as a troublemaker, it was all too easy to expel him. Kepler High had been a last resort. But oh, it contained the best person in the world.

Duck Newton. With his blue hair and crooked smile, a bit scruffy, very burnt out. Black jeans that make his ass look amazing, a beat-up jacket that looks like it was, once upon a time, a rangers.

Indrid had been warned away from him by a well meaning student in his English class. Turns out Duck, like Indrid, was a "bad kid" and worse influence. Indrid, while smitten by his looks from day one, didn’t really feel like getting expelled again. So he’d given him a wide berth until the day they were assigned as lab partners.

“Do you want to measure, or take the notes?”

“Was gonna say didn’t give a shit, but lookin' at your handwritin…” He holds out his hand and Indrid gives him a pen.

“You didn’t bring your own?”

“You ever see me takin' notes?”

“Fair point.”

Indrid reads the instructions, prepares their equipment.

“You’re new in town. Your folks move here for work or somethin'?”

“I moved myself here, and before you ask, no they’re not dead I was just safer free of them. I was in Point Pleasant last.”

He braces himself for the quip about Mothman that usually follows that detail.

“That must’ve been real tough. Havin’ to strike out on your own, I mean.”

“It has it’s pluses and minuses.” He glances up from the instructions to see Duck looking at him softly. Almost like he’s worried about him.

“You, uh, you settlin' into town okay? No one givin' you any trouble?”

“No. Why?”

“Just checkin'. Us, uh ‘troublemakers’” here he taps the rainbow flag sticker on the inside of Indrids' notebook, “gotta look out for each other.”

Indrid smiles, “Thank you.”

The next day he expects to be on his own for the lab, as Ducks school attendance habits are spotty at best. Instead, he’s already seated at their station, smiling as Indrid approaches. They set up quietly and then Duck touches his shoulder.

“Hey, uh, if you want you could come have lunch with me and a couple friends of mine. Saw you by yourself yesterday and, uh, didn’t wanna bother you in case you’re the kinda fella who likes his space.”

“I’d be happy to.”

Duck gives him a full-on grin, and when class ends carefully ushers out behind the school . And then into the nearby woods.

“You realize we’re not supposed to leave campus.”

“We can still see it, hear all the bells and shit. Border of it’s just arbitrary.”

“I’ll have you know, Duck Newton, that you are the only person I would break such rules for.”

Duck looks at him oddly, then thumps him playfully on the shoulder, “whatever you say, ‘Drid.”

In the weeks that follow, Indrid integrates easily into Ducks social circle; sure, they’re dirtbags, burnouts, what have you, but they’re nice, they don’t tease Indrid for his quirks or his identity. Really, most of them cut school so often because it’s not a pleasant place for them. For instance, Indrid quickly learns that if students have to be shushed for crudely discussing the top surgery Duck got over the summer, this is treated as Ducks fault by the teachers and administrators rather than the fault of the gossipers.

Indrid also develops a sense that Duck has tasked himself with looking out for him. He did, after all, tell Indrid that Tarkesians' General Store needed a third stock boy (himself and Leo, the owners son, being the other two), meaning Indrid no longer had to work the graveyard shift at a local 24 hour coffee stand. If Indrid’s lunches are meager for too many days in a row, Duck will coincidentally end up with more than he can eat at lunch the next day (“mom’s tryin' to offload leftovers on me again. Here, ‘Drid, you take ‘em.”

This does nothing to ease Indrids' crush on him in the least.

“Hey, you need a space heater for the ‘Bago?”

“Why?”

“Found this when I was helpin my sister get out the Hallowe-no, the uh, fuck, the”

“Duck.”

“I went lookin' for it because you said the heat in your trailer wasn’t workin' too well.”

Indrid takes the small appliance, and Duck overlaps their hands for a moment before he says, “tide you over until I can sneak away and keep you warm.”

He’s late to his next class because the images that comment brings to mind necessitate some moments alone in a bathroom.

And then there was the day with the note.

“Duck, is my smile unpleasant?”

“No. Why?”

Indrid slides the note across the lab table: A crudely drawn picture of him, with the words “beware the smiling man” written on it. Duck takes one look at it, then turns on the bunsen burner. Indrid watches with a strange kind of pleasure as Duck lights the paper on fire. He’s transfixed until,

“Mr. Newton, would you kindly not burn the lab down?” Mr. Stern looks more amused than angry.

Even with the paper gone, Indrid feels like shit all throughout class. He and Duck are on their way to lunch when Duck pauses, grabs Indrid by the shoulder so he stops and looks at him.

“You really wanna know what I think about your smile?”

Indrid nods and then Duck closes the distance between them and kisses him. It’s chaste, hesitant, but more than enough to make Indrid grin wide as they pull apart.

“Just like I thought” Duck strokes his cheek, eyes fixed on his face, “it’s the most amazin' fuckin' thing I’ve ever seen.

Indrid spent the rest of the day planning ways to reciprocate and build upon that kiss, ways to work up the courage to ask Duck if this meant they were dating.

It’d all been going so well.

Then he’d been called into the office, reprimanded for inappropriate PDA (how had anyone even seen them? They’d though they were alone). Told that they knew his history and that if he wasn’t careful there could be consequences. And that Duck Newton was already on thin ice as it was.

It was that last threat that truly weighed on him. So, instead of meeting Duck after school, he stood him up. He’s stood him up every day since, which has been the longest two weeks of his life. They see each other at work, and in class, but after Ducks first few attempts to ask what was wrong were met with Indrid's apparently-convincing lies, he simply backed off and gave him his space.

He’s miserable. Which is why he’s sitting in the empty boys locker room during last period, sketching. He’s technically in study hall, but the teacher never pays much attention to how long people are gone on "bathroom breaks." It’s quiet here, which means he can sniffle in peace.

“Please just tell me how I fucked up?” Ducks voice echoes in spite of how soft it is.

Indrid sighs, puts the sketchbook down as Duck steps down the row of lockers to stand in front of him.

“You don’t gotta say if you really don’t wanna, but I thought, well, you kissed me back and seemed like you liked me and now you won’t say two words to me.”

“I got called into the office that afternoon.”

“Are you about to fuckin' tell me you let them scare you off bein' with me by sayin' some shit about how I’m no good.”

“No!” Indrid leaps up, “I don’t care about that but they said you’d already gotten in trouble many times and that it’d only take a few more for them to expel you and Duck I am a disaster magnet. I get blamed for things I don’t cause and if we’re together you might be there for one of them and-”

Duck pulls him gently into a hug and Indrids head drops to his shoulder as he wraps his arms around his waist.

“‘Drid, I get what you’re tryin' to do, but I’d rather you not break my heart out of some weird notion about protectin' me. If somethin' happens, it happens, and we’ll deal with it when it does. I wanna be with you, no matter what kind of weird shit that brings.”

“You mean that?” He whispers.

“Darlin', you know I can’t lie for shit.”

Indrid straightens with a smile and a small laugh.

“What’s so funny?” He kisses Indrids' collar bone through his shirt.

“You called me darling.

“Don’t like it?”

“On the contrary. It displays quite a bit of southern charm.” The kisses are on his neck now, firmer, more insistent and he shivers.

“And here I thought you went for bad boys.” Duck teases, inching them backwards

“Duck, I have seen you rescue cats from trees on two separate occasions. You are the opposite of bad ohmy!” His back connects with the lockers at the same instant Duck growls against his skin. Duck looks at him, curious, then gently but forcefully presses him back against the cool metal. Indrid inhales sharply, tightens his grip on Duck.

“You like that, darlin'? Like getting roughed up in the locker room by a bad boy.”

“I literally just said you’re not baAAhhhhd, oh, oh I see.” Indrid pants as Duck sucks a hickey onto his neck, one hand pinning him in place, the other snaking down between them, “yes, I, I do like it.”

“In that case,” he palms Indrid roughly through his sweatpants, “lemme show you how bad I can be.” He drops to his knees, curls his fingers into the waistband of Indrids' pants.

“Duck, wait, do you have, that is-”

“I got tested last time we all went to the city. Ain’t been with anyone since. You?”

“More or less the same.”

Duck flashes him a grin and then his pants and boxers are around his ankles, an eager tongue licking a determined stripe up his shaft and he claps a hand over his mouth.

“I been thinkin' about that for months.”

“L-likewise, please, please do it again.”

Duck does one better, takes the first few inches of his cock in his mouth and Indrid moans as wet, warm sensations overwhelm his system. He brings a hand down to stroke Ducks hair, lets the other one twine into Ducks own where it braces on his thigh.

“So good, that’s so good, oh sweetheart if feels so ni-ouch!” He yelpmoans, looks down to find Ducks teeth and lips making bruise on his hip. Without fully understanding why, he pulls Ducks hair once, quickly, and he gives a startled groan against his skin.

“That, however, was not very nice. Not nice at all.” His voice comes out in low, serious tone and he just catches the challenge in Ducks gaze before his teeth find his skin again. He allows himself a moment to enjoy the mixture of pain and pleasure before yanking on his hair once more.

“Now you are being bad. I wonder what we’re going to do about that. I could pull my pants up and leave, perhaps.” It’s a bluff, they both know it, but arousal surges through Indrids body when Duck whimpers at the threat and presses careful kisses to the bruise, seemingly in apology.

“You know, Duck, I’m starting to think it’s not me who gets off on the idea of you being bad, but you.”

Duck freezes, looks up at Indrid with something like surprise.

“I think you like the idea of being exactly as bad and difficult as people say you are until someone reigns you in. Makes you behave. Gives you permission to be the good boy you are deep down.”

Slowly, eyes wide, Duck nods, “Only if it’s you.”

Indrids heart does a series of acrobatics at the idea that Duck trusts him as much as he wants him.

“It can be. In fact I like the sound of that very much.”

Suddenly Duck is on his feet, desperately kissing along Indrids face as his fingers wrap around his cock. Indrid tangles both hands in his hair, nips and sucks at Ducks lips before slipping his tongue between them. Ducks hips wiggle ineffectively in the air, searching for friction, finally find it against Indrids leg and oh, oh yes, he likes that, the feeling of Duck warm and needy against him.

He doesn’t mean to come so quickly, swallowing up the string of encouragement as it leaves Ducks lips. But it hits him without warning and he coats Ducks hand.

“Jesus, ‘Drid.” Duck is smiling at him, as if he’d done him a favor.

“Let me, I want to” he tugs at Ducks belt, “want to reciprocate.”

“How?”

Indrid cocks his head, thinking.

“Lay on that bench for me. Wait, let me put this down first.” He pulls off his sweatshirt and spreads it on the bench. Duck sits on it, works his pants and underwear down to his ankles.

Indrid kneels before him, his own pants still tangled around his calves, kisses his knee because it’s there and he can, before turning his attention elsewhere.

“I thought I told you to lay down.” He murmurs, teeth grazing Ducks thigh.

“I wanna watch you, if that’s alright. Like beein' able to see you.”

“Well, since you’re put it so sweetly.” A drag of his tongue across Ducks clit results in a hand in his hair and Duck hissing with pleasure.

“Shit, oh ‘Drid please do that again.”

Indrid’s more than happy to oblige, the small jerks of Ducks hips, the feeling of him wet and wanting dispelling the last of the worry that comes with having no clue how to do this right. He’d read once that you were supposed to try drawing the letters of the alphabet. Seems a good enough starting place, though he repeats (and makes a mental note of) the ones that make Duck whimper loudest or grip his head tighter.

“More” Ducks hand scrapes against the bench as he braces himself, “I want you inside me, fuck, darlin', want it so bad.”

“Tongue’s not that long, sweetheart.”

“Use somethin' else then” Duck half growl, half pleads.

“Ask politely.”

“Why, ‘M a bad boy remember? Ohhhhhhhhfuck.” His head drops backwards as Indrid sucks a bruise into his belly. He only relents when Ducks toes curl intensely enough that his feet leave the floor. He kisses his hips, runs one finger just below his clit, pulls it back as soon as Duck tries to press down.

“I’ll only fuck you like that if you promise to be good.”

“Okay, okay, I promise.” Duck whines, pulls at Indrids hair but merely gets a kiss on the wrist in response.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I’ll be good.” Even at a whisper, the words drip with want.

“Yes, you will.” One finger slips in, moves easily from how turned on he already is, “Because you are good, Duck, so very” another finger, “very” a third, “good.” He dips his head down to suck greedily at Ducks clit as he works him hard with his hand.

“FUCK.”

Indrid hums smugly as Duck gives up on being any type of upright and flops all the way back onto the bench, hands holding Indrids head like might die if he lets go.

“Right there, oh shit ‘Drid like that, I’m so close darlin please.” The words die out into gasps and he feels Duck tense, pulls his hands out but keeps sucking him off until his orgasm has died down.

Indrid sits back on his heels, pleased with himself as Duck sits up looking a bit dazed. He leans forward and Indrid meets him halfway, kissing him fondly and running his hands along his legs.

“It’s only cause I’m fuckin' exhausted that I’m not beggin' you for round two.” Duck says between kisses.

“Indeed. While the idea of fucking you senseless has it’s appeal, right now I really want to um” he blushes, “cuddle.”

“Think I can manage that.”

BRRRRRRIIIIIIIING

“You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me” Both their heads whip to look at the clock; 2:55, AKA the shower bell for last period. Duck continues cursing as he pulls his pants back on. Cuddling will have to wait.

“The trailer, tonight, nine, please say you’ll come.”

“Course I will darlin'.” Duck gives him the quickest of kisses before hauling ass out of the locker room.

Indrid sighs, watches him go. And just barely remembers to tug his pants back up before anyone else arrives in the room.

Chapter Text

Joseph Stern, alias Agent M, has accomplished what no other member of the National Hero Control Task Force has been able to: he has captured a member of the elusive Pine Guard.

The guard has been causing chaos for the better part of two years, bringing important projects such as oil pipeline development, ICE facilities, and start-up construction to catastrophic halts.

Stern isn’t invested in those projects, but he believes in the greater good, in law and order.

One member of the guard in particular has caught and held his attention since he first laid eyes on him. Bigfoot, or so he’s called, has eluded most of their security tapes in a way his compatriots haven’t, and has been reported as more than once saving civilians and bystanders from danger.

He also once stayed behind to ensure Stern stayed conscious after sustaining a head injury. Stern has never been able to get an explanation as to why. But after that day, puzzling out Bigfoot’s motives, his past, his personality has become Sterns true goal.

Convenient, then, that the man is currently strapped, standing up, to a holding table in his base.

“I knew word of those files would get your attention.” He stands toe to toe with Bigfoot, who growls but says nothing.

“There’s no call for that. Besides, even if you’d managed to infiltrate here without alerting me, there wouldn’t have been anything to steal. All the information on the identity of the pine guard members is up here. I haven’t shared it with my superiors yet.” He taps his head.

“So, you’re bluffing.”

“Not at all. Barclay.”

Dark brown eyes go wide with concern.

“Okay, so you got me. That doesn’t mean you got the rest of us.”

Stern sighs, counts off on his fingers, “Mothman is Indrid Cold, Jackalope is Aubrey Little, Cactus Cat is Dani Coolice, Champ is Duck Newton, Hodag is Ned Chicane, Jersey Devil is Arlo Thacker, and Echidna is Madeline Cobb.”

Barclay sags in his restraints.

“What do I have to do to keep them safe?”

“Nothing. You’re eco-terrorists, Barclay. Even if I wanted to I can’t keep the information I gained secret from my superiors.”

“You could. Like, literally. Just don’t tell them.”

“I can’t do that. I’m sorry.” The apology doesn’t come out as hollow as he needs it to, and Barclay arches an eyebrow.

“Ahem, anyway, you won’t be needing this anymore.” He lifts off Barclays blue mask (one that compliments his coppery beard), not surprised at all by the face underneath yet delighted at seeing it. He’s thought it handsome since the first time he laid eyes on it

The spell is broken by Barclay biting his hand. He yelps, dropping the mask on the floor.

“That wasn’t necessary.”

“Neither was unmasking me. Jesus, you never struck me as some gloaty douche but obviously I was wrong.”

That stings, and so Stern turns on his heel with a flourish.

“Careful, or I won’t share dinner with you.”

“Oh no, no gruel or power bars or whatever you joyless fucks eat for me–do you smell saffron?”

“Yes.” Stern wheels out the small cart, covered platter glistening atop it and a vase that’s too small for the bouquet sitting in it trying valiantly not to tip over. “I made us saffron rice with lamb, and red wine dark chocolate cupcakes.” He removes the cover, feeling rather smug.

“Shit that looks good.” Barclay whispers, licking his lips. Then he looks up, “Wait, made us?”

Oh lord, the confusion on Barclay’s face sends pangs through his chest. What he wouldn’t give to kiss it away.

“I, well, it has been exactly a year since we met. And I was trying to think of ways to mark the date, and I know you like cooking and food and so this seemed like a good gift.”

“…Did you make us a fucking anniversary dinner?”

“Technically? Yes.”

“Alright, Mister special agent, how am I supposed to eat it when I’m strapped to a fucking table?”

“I could, um, feed it to you? I shut off the cameras in this room so that I could do so without embarrassing either of us.”

“This what you do every Friday, strap random guys down and feed them? Sounds pretty kinky.” Barclay smirks.

“I enjoy being helpful, something a so-called ‘hero’ should understand. And I didn’t choose a random guy; I strapped you, specifically, down.”

Barclay fixes him with an amused look before shrugging as much as his bonds allow, “Fine, you clearly worked hard on dinner. May as well make the most of it.”

Stern slices a chunk of lamb, offers it to Barclay who parts his lips without hesitation.

“Holy shit, that’s good.” The blissed out look on his face is one of Sterns favorite views in the world. He hates having to pretend like he hasn’t seen it before.

As he cuts another piece Barclay asks, “You make the bouquet too?”

“Yes. I took some classes on flower language and arranging a few years back, and I like doing it.”

Another bite, and this Barclay sighs happily before cocking his head, “You just not gonna eat?”

“Guests eat first.”

“I’m a hostage, agent, not a guest.”

“My point stands.”

“Y’know, if you just undid my hands, we could eat at the same time. Make it a real anniversary dinner instead of some repressed man in black feeding me my last meal as a free man.”

“I’m not just any man in black, I’m your main rival. You said so yourself, once. And the answer is no to the unlocking.”

“Well, there goes that option.”

Stern sees him tug the strings of his woven bracelet a moment too late. He braces for an explosion or a weapon flying at him.

Instead, reality warps for a nanosecond, and then Barclay isn’t in front of him anymore. Staring down at him is what he can only describe as a Bigfoot. And honest to god, fur-covered, claw-handed Bigfoot.

A Bigfoot that is no longer restrained.

“You’re, you’re really-”

“Yep.” Barclay lunges, but instead of grabbing Stern he reaches for the cutlery, tossing it up and over the rooms computer center and far out of range.

Then he grabs Stern by the back of his neck, slamming him against the restraint table. Stern retaliates, jumping up and landing his feet against Barclay’s chest. There’s an “oof” but nothing else. Stern tries to catch him with his stunner, but Barclay avoids him easily, twisting his hands behind his back and letting go as he launches Stern into the window. Mercifully it’s made of bullet-proof, triple strength glass, so he doesn’t plummet fifty stories to his death.

He’s simply pinned by his nemesis, the city lights thousands of eyes watching his defeat.

“Are you, ow, all monsters?”

“Nope, just some of us. And you’ve put me in a real bad situation, agent.” Barclay growls in his ear, “first by blabbing that you, and only you really did know our secret identities, and then leaving me no choice but to take off my disguise.”

“I, I’m sorry your poor problem solving skills caused you to reveal that Bigfoot is not merely a codenameOW.” Barclays claws pierce his suit, “Go ahead and kill me. I won’t give up any information to the Pine Guard. I’m prepared to die in the service of my agency.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.” He lies

“Nothing you’d miss?”

“No.”

A rumbling purr in his ear this time, “Not even me?”

“N-no, what, where on earth would you get that idea?”

“Flowers gave you away. Red carnations are admiration, daffodils mean unrequited love, and orange roses are fascination.”

“That’s a coincidence.” He grits his teeth to prevent the truth spilling out.

“Not for a guy who admitted he knew their meanings. And you know what else?” He clips Stern’s hands behind his back in cuffs designed to hold the super-strength of Duck Newton, making escape impossible for Sterns normal-human abilities “you put some wild grasses in their to fill the whole thing out.”

“So?”

“Grass means submission. You put all your feelings for me in a vase and gave me plenty of time to take them in, probably thinking it a clever in-joke to yourself. But that one? I’m betting that one was accidental, subconscious. You want to submit. Whether that’s in general or to me I have no clue.”

“Just you.” He may as well confess it. One less secret to carry to his grave.

A low, dangerous chuckle fills the room as he’s spun away from the window and shoved to his knees.

“That what you want, agent?” Barclay replaces the bracelet, becoming human before his eyes, “Want to be a good boy for me?”

He nods, cheeks hot and gaze locked on the floor until Barclay yanks it up by his hair, tearing strands loose from their carefully gelled hold.

“Aw now, no need for that.” Barclay traces the path of the blush with his thumb, voice mockingly sweet, “know your overlords like everyone to be emotionless, but there’s nothing wrong with wanting a good fuck, even if half the city can probably see it from here.”

“Oh lord.” He moans, the image sending his thoughts, his dignity, his blood, south.

Another laugh, his head yanked sideways to take in the view, “Damn, you like that too, huh? Like the idea of everyone watching while one of America’s finest begs me to fuck his face. Your superiors finding out their best agent is so needy he’d do anything for me to touch him?”

The tears pricking his eyes are from want, not shame, when he chokes out, “yes.”

Barclay turns his head forward, then up.

“Please, Barclay, please.”

“Please fuck you?”

“Yes.” He whimpers.

“Nope. Sorry, agent, I don’t sleep with the enemy, even if he gives me the worlds bluest puppy dog eyes. Not to mention, threatening the people I love is the opposite of being a good boy. But since it’s our anniversary, I think you do owe me a gift.” His fingers touch the edge of Sterns mask, “let’s see who’s been tracking me for a year.”

“Wait, don’t-” The mask tears off. The two men stare at each other, frozen, one in surprise and the other in fear.

“Joseph?”

“Hello.” He wants to look away, to see literally anything other than the betrayal on Barclay’s face.

“I, uh, I imagine this will lose me the title of ‘favorite customer’ at the Coffee Lodge.”

“You, you’ve been spying on us. You’ve been at the Lodge almost every fucking day since June, and you’re Agent fucking M, I, I can’t-” Barclay paces, fingers running through his hair, “Did you start coming just to stake us out?”

“Yes. I tracked your movements, Barclay. I’m ashamed to say I accessed the medical records of anyone in the target area who had top surgery to narrow down my suspects, and eventually identified you as Bigfoot. Once I started getting coffee at the lodge everyday it was easy to piece together who else was on the team.”

“Yeah, and flirting with me probably helped a lot.”

“Uhhhhhhhhm.”

“Oh, come on, don’t try to pretend that wasn’t part of your investigation.”

“It isn’t. Wasn’t.” He lowers his head meekly.

Barclay stops moving, sighs heavily, “Is there anywhere in this damn place that’s smaller and doesn’t have cameras?”

“My bedroom only has one. Just take down the smoke detector on the right hand side as soon as we go in.”

Barclay easily lifts him over his shoulder and trudges down the hall and into the bedroom. Rips the “smoke detector” from the wall, sparks crackling when he does. Then he deposits Stern on the bed and turns his desk chair to face it.

“We’ve got about forty-five minutes before my ride gets here. Talk.” Barclay sits down, crosses his arms while Stern attempts to sit up straight.

“Wait, how can you know that?”

A mild smile, “You really think I’d walk into such an obvious trap without an escape plan?”

“No.” He mutters, dejected, “what do you want me to say, Barclay?”

“The truth, genius.”

“You seem to know most of it already.”

“Yeah, but one big piece is missing; why the hell didn’t you write down our identities somewhere the higher ups could find them if something happened to you? Shit, why not just sic a bunch of agents on us when we were all at the lodge making, or drinking, coffee?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

“Because the lodge was my haven too, alright?” Stern snaps, “I felt understood there, safer than I did in any secret base. And every time Dani laughed at something Aubrey did, or Duck told some corny joke, or you smiled at me, I understood more and more why you all do what you do. I felt my commitment to my work waning. I had to do something to reiterate my belief in it. This was that something.”

Barclay is silent for a moment, taking Stern in bit by bit.

“You want to leave the NHCTF, don’t you?” He leans forward in quiet shock.

Stern nods, defeated, “I’ve been questioning our methods for some time, but always thought that what we did was in the service of keeping people safe. I’m still not fully convinced the Pine Guard is going about it the best way, but from what I’ve seen, you do a far better job of it than we do.”

“So join us. Help us figure out how to be even better.” Barclay reaches for him, takes his hand.

“You’d ask me to just like that?”

“Most of us like you, Joseph. We’re not super into Agent M, but it’s not like we haven’t noticed you’re not chasing us down as much as you used to. Also, I’d be a really crappy superhero if I didn’t at least try to recruit the smartest man I know to our side.”

Stern blushes more than necessary at the compliment.

“Okay. I’m in. I’m ready to try being a different kind of good guy.”

“Welcome to the Pine Guard.” Barclay presses the secret hinges on the cuffs, and they drop to the floor.

A fit of giggles in Sterns throat pours out into the space between them, “Jesus, I didn’t think betraying the government would feel so liberating.”

“Always knew you were a good guy, deep down.”

Another blush has him cursing his capillaries.

“Heh, you do like it when I call you good.”

“Yes. Though as you observed, I have a weakness for humiliation as well.”

“Y’know, we’ve got a little bit of time still.” Barclay leans back, and Stern perks up when his hands hit his belt.

“And it is our anniversary.” Stern sinks to the floor, covers a few inches on his knees to rests his head on Barclays thigh.

“Shit, you really are a needy little thing.” Barclay shifts and wiggles awkwardly in order to get his close low enough to give Stern the access he needs. Stern nuzzles his inner thigh, skates his hands along muscular legs, making a mental note to discover what they feel like naked and tensing in time with their owners moans.

“You’re rather, uhm, slick already. Is this where you tell me you got into heroics because you get off on fighting?”

“Nope, just on manhandling you. And you’re in no position to comment, agent.” The growl he puts into that last word has Stern melting forward. Which is helpful, in that Barclay shoves him down the rest of the way. He licks and sucks eagerly at him, moaning messily when Barclay tilts his hips up, pressing and rutting against him.

“Like I, fuck, said babe, you’ve got no room to feel smuggAH–shit that felt good–amazed I didn’t walk in on you in the lodge bathroom with some dudes dick down your throat while another one fucked that tight ass.”

Stern would like to point out that a) he would never do such a thing in a business he respected and b) there’s only been one dick he’s wanted anywhere near him in months. But he doesn’t dare pull away. Instead he whimpers, shakes his head and takes all of Barclay’s cock into his mouth.

“Hnnnshit, maybe I got it wrong, maybe you, fuck, were one smile away from falling to you knees and begging me to fuck you over the counter.”

Stern nods emphatically, pawing at any exposed skin he can find on Barclay stomach and hips, and the larger man laughs.

“Fuck, much as I wanna hold you down and come all over that handsome face, got something else I wanna do even more.” He lets go of Sterns head, nudges him back so he can join him on the floor.

“Wha-ohshit’ He gasps when Barclay rips the front of his pants off, wrapping one large hand around his cock. But when Stern tries to thrust up into the warm, tight fist, Barclay pins his hips down with one hand. There’s such easy strength in the movements that Stern tilts his head back to rest on the spotless bedspread, because baring his throat feels like the only suitable response.

Teeth just sharper than they ought to be sink into the base of his neck, but even as he arches and thrashes in response, he can’t get any stimulation on his cock. Coarse coppery hair tickles his skin as Barclay laughs, “Cute how you think that’s enough begging to get what you want.”

“Barclay, please, I, I’ve wanted this for months, it’s all I want, I will do anything.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Poor special agent, so desperate.” Barclay’s tone is cruel as he drags his hand up in one long, slow stroke. Stern eagerly awaits a downstroke that doesn’t come.

“Well? Gimme one good reason to indulge my pathetic new plaything.”

“I, I, I’ll be good, so good for you, let you do whatever you want, fuck.” The barest movement of Barclays hand and he sobs, “please, I just want to be good, I just want you to use me, god, please just tell me what you want.”

“Admit you’re a needy fucker who likes the fact the other cameras in this building can probably hear him begging me to-”

“I am, I need you so badly, I need this, I want you so much, I need youOHyes, yes.” He groans happily as Barclay switches to rapid strokes and drags one of Sterns hands between his legs. He keeps his fingers outside for the time being, focuses on circling his thumb and dragging the other digits in tight patterns.

“C’mon handsome, jack me off, show me how much you like your reward oh fuck, fuck, Joseph, that’s it babe, fuck that’s good.” His head drops to mouth at Stern’s neck with a moan as he grinds against Sterns palm, “shit, shoulda asked you out last week like I was planning to, coulda been doing this every night, yeah, ohyeah.” As he comes his grip on Sterns cock tightens, and even as he rides out his orgasm he’s growling, “come on agent, lemme see you ruin those fancy clothes.”

Stern comes with what sounds, to his ears, like a pathetic cry. Yet as soon as he spills onto his stomach and Barclays hand, the larger man kisses his chest, whispering sweetly, “You’re so good, did so good for me baby, you’re amazing.”

With unsure fingers, he brushes a strand of loose hair from Barclays cheek. Barclay looks up, smiling so tenderly Stern worries he’s dreaming. Then Barclay sits up, cupping his chin and drawing him into a gentle kiss, sighing happily when their lips meet.

“Is it selfish to be happy that you joining the team means I get to see you everyday?”

“Not in the least. Though you see me most days at the coffee shop anyway.”

“Yeah, but now I get to do this” another kiss, somehow twice as tender as the first, “when I do.”

Stern curls into his arms as he continues, “guess we oughta get you a codename now.”

“You know, I’ve actually given that some thought. Given that only some of you drew your names from cryptids or, um, I suppose your true forms, I think there’s room for a codename that reflects my history with secretive government agencies while staying on theme?”

“I think so too.” Barclay smiles expectantly.

“In that case,” Stern grins back, future brightening ahead of him for the first time in years, “just call me Roswell.”

Chapter Text

“Still can’t believe you talked me into this.”

“I didn’t talk you into anything, Duck. I asked if you wanted to see what I’d been talking about. And if you want to head back to apartment and risk missing potentially undiscovered species, you’re free to do so.” Joe descends the last of the craggy rocks on the shore, stopping on a large, flat expanse of stone dotted with tide pools.

Duck slides down, stopping beside his…boyfriend? He and Joe have been hovering somewhere between boyfriends and friends with benefits for months now. Joe is droll and smart and so handsome it doesn’t seem fair, has a nice dick and always asks Duck genuine questions about work, has a pathological fear of failure and yet can still be coaxed away from his studies to play FFVII.

Duck kissed him impulsively at a party last fall, ended up on top of him in his cramped apartment, and woke up to him cuddled in his arms, dark hair messy and smile soft when he noticed who was holding him.

They’d been friends since Freshman year, Joe a reserved forensics major and Duck a Wildlife Biology major who was a little jolted thanks to his move from a tiny town in West Virginia to Santa Cruz. Somehow, this seemed like the natural progression. And honestly, what more could Duck want than someone to talk to about trees or video games or to listen to babble about cryptids who would also eagerly take a break to go down on him (Joe’s love of his body borders on worship)?

The interest in cryptids is why they’re currently on this deserted stretch of coast. Joe insists that ever since he found the spot (he wanted a quiet place to eat by the waves) pieces of his lunch go missing.

“Usually candy or dessert or what have you. Whatever it was did take half an order of bao once.”

Tonight, Joe is hell bent on proving to Duck that something really is there. It’s not that Duck disbelieves him; Joe may be obsessed with the unexplained, but he’s skeptical enough to not fall for just anything that seems weird. But he can think of several other explanations for what’s happening.

Joe pulls a caramel apple from the paper bag he carried down, and sets it on a rock, one just out of reach of most waves.

“Right, now we turn around.” He steps next to Duck, turning him away from the waves.

“Joe, you’re not supposed to turn your back on the ocean. Real dangerous.”

“I know. I’m not a complete city slicker, Duck. But whatever it is only pops up when my back is turned.”

“We get swept away by a wave, I’m gonna say I told you-”

Splash

They whirl, find the apple gone.

“See?”

“I see it’s gone. And I’ll admit I didn’t hear no birds dive down for it, which was gonna be my main guess.”

“I know, and I also eliminated seals as a cause. I never see any heads popping up while I’m here.”

“Huh.” Duck scans the waves, wishing their spot wasn’t enclosed on both sides by high rocks. Something could be hiding just out of sight.

“Right?”

“Okay, maybe there is somethin’ weird. But we gotta find a way to figure it out that don’t involve unintentionally feedin the wildlife.”

Joe chuckles, “And you say I’m a goody-two shoes.”

“You are.”

“Which one of us stayed up all night two days ago studying?”

“I wanted to pass! Which, I did, we got the scores today.”

“We should celebrate.” Joe shoots him a playful smirk.

“Oh yeah?” He drawls, looping an arm around the taller man’s waist (the invitation Joe needs to cuddle closer, something he still shy to do in spite of how often they fuck), “how about we start right now?’

“Here?” Joe looks around, and he can see his blue eyes calculating just how messy and hazardous it could be. Then he glances at Duck, smile tugging at his mouth.

“Alright, country boy, how do you want me?”

—————————————

Barclay floats just around the corner from the rock, savoring each bite of the new gift. It’s sticky and sweet and crunchy all at once at he loves it.

“What did he leave you this time?”

“Gah! Indrid how are you so quiet all the time?”

Red eyes framed by silvery hair regard him, amused, “We are not all built for strength and power, Barclay. Some of us must rely on speed and stealth to survive.”

“…Yeah, fair. Here, try this.” He holds out the apple, Indrid taking a large chunk of it with his sharp teeth.

“Ooooh! What is it?”

“Not sure.”

“You could ask him.”

“Indrid, I’m not gonna just swim up to a human and-”

“I told you, I foresee introducing yourself to this human going well.”

“You know Mama’s saying; better safe than sorry.”

(Mama is one of the only humans in this patch of coast that the mers trust).

“Besides, he brought another one with him.”

“Really?” Indrid swims past him, peering around the rock. Barclay looks carefully over his shoulder.

The humans are on the ground, the new one on his back, legs bare and spread wide, mouth open with curse words that can be lipread even from where they’re swimming.

“My, no wonder you’ve become so interested.” Indrid purrs.

“Uh, that’s, that’s the other one. That one is Joe.” He points to the handsome face that’s looking up as it nips playfully at the other man’s thigh before returning to…whatever he’s doing between his legs.

“He’s quite charming as well.” Indrid licks his lips, gaze drifting back to the other human, “I always assumed humans preferred to do such things in houses.”

“Me too. Uh, we should probably give them space. Right?”

“Indeed.” A long, green tail circles his own, “in fact, they’re giving me some ideas on how we could spend our time while we do.”

Barclay swallows, heat coursing in his stomach, “we, uh, we shouldn’t let this go to waste though.” He holds out the remainder of the apple.

Indrid opens his mouth a little too wide for comfort and bites it down.

“Always so hospitable to visitors.” He grins.

“Indrid, we live in the same cove.”

“I know. I am attempting to flirt.” A tilt of the head, “Is it working?”

“Uh huh.”

“Good. Come along, my dear, I know a spot that will suit us well as we, ah, do as the humans do.”

——————————————-

Joe really is rubbing off on him. That has to be the reason he’s here, near dusk, with a pack of skittles, two kinds of M&Ms, and BlowPop, laying candy on several rocks in hopes of coaxing their mystery creature out.

The sun hits the water just right, giving him a rare glimpse down into the clear portions, the stray kelp and darting fish.

The very long, horizontal kelp. That seems to be moving in a circle, just out of view. No, wait, it’s definitely swimming, which means it’s either the largest fucking eel ever recorded or…

A face comes into view.

He sits up, startled. Looks down to find the face peering up at him, expectantly.

Cautiously, he holds out the packet of skittles. The mermaid? Merman? Merperson? Takes them, sniffing the package inquisitively. Then it rips the pack open, dumps the entire contents into it’s mouth in one go, and chews while Duck watches with a mixture of revulsion and interest.

“Thank you.” The mer hands the empty package back, “those are delicious. Do you have more?”

“Uh, yeah? Guessin you’re who’s been takin’ Joe’s lunch?”

“No. A friend of mine has. But I share his curiosity for human food, and it’s purveyors. I knew you would be coming down tonight on your own, and wished to meet you. I am Indrid” He gives what must be a bow, head dipping towards the water.

“I’m, uh, Duck. Why, uh, why did you want to meet me?”

“You seem potentially interesting and you are very attractive.”

Duck tries not to blush, “Thanks. Um. Would you be okay if I asked Joe to come down here? I mean, I’m havin a minor existential crisis over your existence. But he’ll be so fuckin stoked to see you. Guy just loves bein’ right.”

Approximately fifteen minutes later, Joe stands next to him, staring at Indrid, who is lazily floating on his back, deep green tail just visible in the nearby lights from town.

“I was right! HA!”

“See?”

“Yes, and this is more or less the reaction I foresaw you having. Joseph, would you like me to introduce you to the mer who has been joining you during your meals?”

“Absolutely.” Joe is still grinning with excitement as Indrid disappears into the darkening waves. When he reemerges, one hand is still under water, still trying to pull something up.

“Barclay is a bit shy. He got photographed a few too many times.”

“We can set our phones somewhere if that would help.”

“No need.” Indrid grins reassuringly as another head pokes out of the water. Barclay has dark hair and a beard, and regards them both warily.

“Uh. Thanks for letting me have some of your food.”

“You’re welcome.” Joe kneels down, holds out his hand, “it’s nice to actually meet you.”

“You too.” A large, wet hand reaches out and takes Joe’s, shaking it a bit awkwardly. Duck sits down next to hi,

“Would, um, would it be alright if I asked you some questions? I promise I won’t tell anyone about you two, but I am dying to talk to a real cryptid.”

“Sure.” Barclay shrugs, smiling shyly.

“I can go-GAH!” Duck jumps when he turns to find Indrid mostly out of the water, laying on his belly as he looks through the candy.

“We can be out of water for short periods of time.” He says mildly, ripping open a bag of M&Ms and downing half before holding the bag out to Duck.

“That’s, uh, okay. I like the peanut ones better. Good hiking snack.”

“Hiking?” Indrid asks through a mouthful of chocolate.

“It’s where you go out and walk in the woods.”

“Is that pleasant?”

“I like it.”

“That’s putting it mildly; he hikes almost every day.” Joe says with a smile, looking up from where Barclay has been letting him see his gills.

“May I hear more about it?” Indrid rests his chin on his hands, watching Duck with excited fascination. It’s…kind of flattering actually.

He smiles back, “Sure thing.”

————————————————————–

“So, you just float there and watch movies through her back door?”

“Yep.” Barclay mumbles into the rock. He and Joseph are in their usual spot, the merman sunning himself on the rock as they chat. Joseph remains fascinated by the apparently variety in merfolk phenotypes; while Indrid’s lower half is distinctly eel-like, Barclay’s is much closer to that of a harbor seal in texture and color.

The texture feels wonderful under Joseph’s hands. The first time had been an accident; he’d been reaching for a bag of cotton candy, wobbled, and balanced on the merman, causing his hand to glide along his tail. Barclay gave a rumbly sigh, and asked if he would do it again.

So he does, petting along his tail and up to his chest. He actually has body hair, dark brown like his beard, under which two half-moon scars are just visible. Joseph doesn’t ask about them; he knows what they are from Duck, and he knows that it is Barclay’s choice to share, and only if he wants to.

“Alright, my turn.” Barclay rolls over, rests his hands behind his head, “why do humans go to the trouble of cooking fish when you can eat it raw?”

Joseph thinks, petting the upper part of the tail and enjoying the little sigh as he does, “Cultural and personal preference, I think. Some people love sushi, others think it’s gross, things like that. Um” he stops petting, “Barclay? Is something wrong?”

The merman blinks happily up at him, then registers the question and is off the rock and into the water in a matter of seconds.

“Uh, I, I gotta go, sorry, see you tomorrow bye!”

Joseph sits for a moment, hoping he’ll resurface. A seagull lands nearby and as he looks at all he can say is, “what the hell was that?”

————————————————

“What the hell is that!”

“The largest hermit crab in the cove” Indrid beams, “I told you I would show you impressive wildlife.”

“I didn’t know they could get that big.”

“He is very determined. Off you go now.”

Duck snickers as he watches Indrid shoo the crab away as if it were a cat on keyboard. They’ve been meeting regularly, sometimes just the two of them, sometimes all four, sometimes a mixture of three. When he and Indrid meet, they often end up swapping stories of their exploration; Duck of his beloved forest and Indrid of his various expeditions out to warn other mer-communities of danger (his future vision explains why he tends to a laugh a little sooner than makes sense.”

“Duck, may I ask you an odd question?”

“Shoot.”

“Are you and Joseph, ah, ‘together?’”

“Kinda.” He tosses a pebble into the water, “we’re basically boyfriend’s in all but name at this point.”

“Which means you only see each other?” Indrid sounds apprehensive.

“Not automatically. He and I ain’t talked about bein’ exclusive. Guess we should. I know it wouldn’t bother me if he wanted to see other guys. Got a sense he feels the same way. I dunno, I figure just cause he might like someone else and me at the same time don’t mean he don’t care about me any less, you know?”

“Indeed I do.” Indrid’s smile turns wistful.

“Ain’t you and Barclay datin’?”

“Not formally. But we’ve been friends for years, lovers when we were younger and occasionally lovers now, with a period in between where we did not have an interest in such a thing. Well” he claps his hands together, “this has been enlightening. I shall see you soon.”

He’s gone before Duck even has a chance to ask how you ask a merman out.

———————————————

It’s excruciatingly hot, and Duck is just grateful Indrid and Barclay’s secret hiding spot has shade. It’s a small patch of beach, half inside a cave in the rocks, with enough sea trickling in for the merman to move in and out of water as needed, but not so much that he and Joe will drown if they’re there during high tide. It’s the perfect summer hideaway.

Right now, it’s the perfect spot for Duck to feed a half-melted pint of ice-cream to a very appreciative merman. They’re both on their stomachs, Indrid’s tail dragging lazily in the water, and Duck is loving every minute of watching Indrid lick rocky-road off a spoon.

Joe sits next to Duck, Barclays head in his lap (and Barclay’s tail regularly brushing along Indrid’s). He’s feeding Barclay candy from the gourmet sweet shop in town. They’d stopped there right before they hit up the Seaside SweetShack so Duck could buy two pounds of candy for about the same price Joe got the one small box.

“What can I say, Barclay has an amazing, sophisticated palate.”

He sneaks a glance at Joe; he looks so happy, sending a pang of affection through Duck’s chest. And distracting him from the tongue that glides out over his fingers.

“How about a swim?” Indrid nips his thumb before gliding back into the water, Duck following him until he’s up to his chest, the merman swimming gracefully around him. The end of his tail slides up Duck’s thigh and he shudders. The tail repeats the motion, then presses up and drags back and forth.

Duck moans, legs threatening to give as the tail continues teasing. But Indrid is there, cradling him close, even as his tail builds up to a relentless pace.

“Is this alright, my sweet?”

“Y-yeah, fuck, ‘Drid, it feels so good.”

“I have confirmed with Barclay that he is alright with a more, ah, expanded relationship.”

“J-joe and I did too. Decided we were, fuck, boyfriends at the same time, oh fuck ‘Drid please don’t stop.’

“I am afraid I must, or you will cum too quickly and be too tired for what I have planned.”

“N-no, no please ‘Drid, I got great stamina.” He grinds faster, hints of ridges rubbing along his trunks, desperate to cum from Indrid’s creative approach.

“I do not doubt it.” Indrid kisses him, laughing when the gesture makes him work his hips all the harder, “but it is not merely stamina that is the concern.” He withdraws his tail and Duck whines. Indrid gently guides his face so that he’s looking down.

“Holy shit. You got two dicks?”

“Yes. I am aware this is not something humans have. Is, ah, is that an issue?” For the first time, he looks nervous, and Duck reaches out to brush a strand of silvery hair behind his ear.

“Not at all, sugar.”

“Oh good. Because while I can think of some delicious uses for them that involve all four of us, right now I dearly wish to shove both inside you and make you feel exquisite.”

Duck drags his finger up one side of the ‘V’ and down the other, “Bring it on.”

Back on the shore, Josephs cock is trying it’s best to rip through his trunks at the sight of his boyfriend moaning in the embrace of one of two mermen (god his life has gotten weird) he himself would gladly submit to.

“We can join them if you want.” Barclay rumbles, turning over in his lap to nuzzle his cock as he narrowly avoids being hit by Duck’s flying swimtrunks.

“Yes, yes I want. But, um, first” he cups Barclay’s face in both hands, encouraging him to sit up, “kiss me?”

Saltwater and sugar coat his lips as Barclay lunges forward, pulling him into his arms as he practically feasts on his mouth.

“Oh good lord, again, pleaseMMohhh” a full on growl this time, teeth dragging down his neck before sucking a hickey into it, “seems you’ve got a rough side, huh big guy?”

Barclay moans at the pet name, nodding, “I, I love being sweet to you babe, but goddamn does being around you make me wanna do some real wild things. Is, does, I won’t if it you don’t want me to.” His face goes from wolfish to puppy dog in the blink of an eye.

“I very much want you to. I trust you, Barclay. If I’m honest, I feel safer with you than almost anyone else in the world.”

A gentler kiss this time, though no less eager, then, “There’s one other thing. My, uh, my set-up is a little different than Indrid’s” He adjusts so Joseph can see. It’s the same spot he saw starting to open that day on the rocks, where Barclay left in a hurry. Two tendrils appear towards the top, and when Joseph touches one it curls around his finger, stroking it.

“God your body is amazing.”

“Because it’s different?” Barclay asks hesitantly.

“Because it’s yours and you are one of the most incredible men in or out of the water.” Joseph clambers on top of him, slipping two fingers into the slit, Barclay moaning and writhing as he works them in and out rapidly. The tendrils harden the more he plays with them between his fingers, Barclay tightening around him as they do.

“Yeah, fuck yeah babe, like that” Barclay pulls him close, sharp nails stinging his back, “like that, play with ‘em like that, good, so fucking good, holy sh-“ He cums, arching off the ground.

“That’s it big guy, good lord you OW, ow, jesus.” Joseph pulls his hand back, fingers red from where the tendrils squeezed them.

“Sorry, technically it’s a mating thing.” Barclay pants.

“Fascinatin—Hey, come back.” He laughs as Barclay darts into the water, leading him to where Indrid is curled behind Duck, the human letting out a series of slow, soft moans.

“That was quite a show” Indrid purrs, beckoning each of them over for a kiss.

“I’ll say, fuck, oh fuck ‘Drid is that all of it?”

“That is half of them.”

Duck groans in delight, head flopping onto Josephs shoulder. He kisses his forehead, then tilts his chin up to kiss along his jawline, adoring every angle and curve of it as much as he did the first time.

“Joseph, if you turn around and Duck braces on you, it may help.”

“Sure, oh” he chuckles as Barclay surfaces before him once he turns, “fancy seeing you here.”

“Forgot, fuck, forgot to warn y’all, his sense of humor stays even when fucking.”

“Perfect.” Barclay kisses him, works his trunks down and off as Duck’s fingers grip his shoulders.

“Can, uh, can I jack you off, babe?”

“I don’t know, can youOOoh” He moans when Duck bites his upper arm.

“You weren’t kidding.” This Barclay directs at Duck. Then he wraps one strong hand around Joseph’s cock, and all his nerves light up in tandem. He let’s himself let go, enjoy the feeling of Barclay’s strokes, his kisses up and down his neck, the needy, strained noises Duck makes in his ear as Indrid works his way in.

“At last.” Indrid’s words are all the warning he gets before Duck jerks violently behind him.

“FUCK!”

“Oh dear, should I-“

“No, no don’t you dare fuckin stop, god I ain’t ever felt anything like that, want you to fuck me until you’re good and done.”

“Good boy.”

Both he and Duck moan.

“Oh I see, you both like that. I shall keep that in mind. Now, be a good boy for me and take this.”

“Fuckfuck, oh fuck me.” Duck is clinging to him now, sending up waves around them both as Indrid fucks him.

“God, babe, you look so fucking good like this. Like you were fucking made for me.”

“Ohhhhlord, yes.”

“Heh, you’re always so put together, even on the beach, but a little dirty talk and you AH, ahshit, Indrid.” Barclay crowds him even as his strokes pick up, and Joseph feels why; Indrid’s tail has snuck between them.

“My dear, what is the point of me having this odd, long form if not to pleasure you with my tail until you scream?”

“That does, does seem worth exploring.” Joseph pants.

“Kinky fucker.” Duck bites his ear, then clings around his waist, “fuck, oh fuck, ‘Drid, Joe, darlin’ oh fuckin’ Christ.” There’s a groan he recognizes as Duck cumming, followed by a growling howl as Barclay kicks up more water, strokes growing erratic and fumbly.

“C’mon babe, come for me” He sounds so eager to please and so in command that Joseph is undone, spurting into the water with a cry. Barclay kisses him, soft praise interspersed with pecks on the cheek and lips.

Duck is still moaning, jolting against Joseph as Indrid fucks him hungrily.

“That’s it my sweet, just a little more, you are so good, so very good taking all of me and my cum too, such a good little human, oh, oh Duck.” There’s a trill and then the splashing behind him ceases, Duck whispering Indrid’s name. In place of the jealousy he feared, Joseph just feels happy; Duck has found someone else who seems to adore him as much as Joseph does.

They make it back to shore in a graceless swim/wade/flop combination, Joseph pulling out the towels they brought so he and Duck won’t get sand in horrible places. Soon he’s resting with his head on Duck’s chest, Barclay nestled behind him and Indrid behind Duck, tail making passes to pet them each now and then (both mermen are just enough in the water to avoid issues).

“Uh, when, when are you gonna visit again?” Barclay murmurs, a little sleepy.

Joseph looks at Duck, who returns his conspiratorial grin, “Tomorrow, of course. After all, we’ve got way more sweet things for you to try.”

Chapter Text

The kelp forest is a welcome respite from the halls of the palace.

Pity Indrid isn’t in much of a headspace to enjoy it.

He’s in heat. It hit him when he woke up this morning, and he left the palace as soon as he noticed. Which means he’s horny, hungry, and in desperate need of privacy. Privacy he knows he will not get if people in the castle pick up on his state.

A decently thick patch of kelp comes into view, and he shoos away stray sea stars and snappers to have the space to himself. It doesn’t take much coaxing for the slit in his upper tail to reveal itself and open. His cock will need a bit more stimulus to fully emerge, and so he focuses on rubbing the tip of it and frantically working his fingers into the sensitive opening beneath it. If he can just cum a few times, he might be able to clear his head.

His future vision, a bit cloudy from the haze of desire, alerts him that someone is coming.

“C’mon now, I know you’re back there. This area’s off limits.”

He hisses in discomfort as he tries to will his body to calm down and return to an unaroused state. He knows that voice, and it belongs to both the absolutely first and last person he wants to see him like this. Duck Newton, steward of this portion of the forest, whose tentacles he can just spy trawling along the ground.

Duck is one of a chosen few mers whose adolescent tail transformed into a set of eight tentacles, like those of an octopus when he turned eighteen. Only four are suckered, but all are dexterous, making the mers who have them capable warriors (both due to how many weapons they can wield and the fact the limbs can regrow if bitten off). Duck has chosen to use his to more efficiently tend to his beloved forest. This is just one of the many reasons Indrid is fond of him.

“Come on, you ain’t in trouble, but you cant’–oh, hey ‘Drid.” Duck’s face appears through the foliage.

“H-hello Duck. Ah, apologies” he keeps several clumps of kelp in front of his lower half, “I, ah, got turned around.”

Duck shrugs with an easy smile, “It happens. If you come with me, sure I can help you find what you need. Oh!” He begins peeling the kelp back, seeming to think Indrid is tangled, “I found a nest of emerald sea dragons the other day. You wanna see ‘em?”

“Perhaps some, some other time. I, I should maybe just see myself home.”

“You okay? You’re lookin kinda ill.” Duck reaches out with his hand, touching Indrid’s cheek.

“I’m fine.” He squeaks.

“‘Drid, you feel real hot. We oughta check your gills, see if they’re green.”

Indrid looks down, tail going limp in surrender, “Look at your tentacles, Duck. They know, even if you do not.”

Duck glances at the limbs, now pulsing red to purple. A signal that he’s sensed the heat pheromones in the water.

“Huh.” Duck’s tongue presses the inside of his cheek, “no wonder you look so stressed. Heats can be a real pain in the ass.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Indrid relaxes when Duck’s tentacles stop trying to clear the foliage he’s using to preserve his modesty.

“You wanna come back to my place? I can make you some breakfast, make sure you don’t get too uncomfortable. My heats always make sleepin’ hard, so I even got some real nice pillows that can help you if you have trouble sleepin durin yours.”

Indrid cocks his head, “Breakfast? That’s…really why you want me to come back with you?” He lets his eyes roam across Duck’s chest, his strong arms and ample belly, the pleasing colors of his tentacles.

“Well, sure. Like I said, I know how rough the next couple of days can be. Happy to help a friend out.”

Indrid licks his lips, “I believe there is another way you can assist me.” He reaches out, drawing a finger along Ducks chest. But the mer rolls backwards, out of reach.

“Hold up, I’m, uh, I’m flattered, but I ain’t sure what you’re anglin’ for is a good idea.”

“Oh, ah, I apologize, I, that was far too forward of me.” He wishes he had the ability to camouflage so he could slink away in shame.

“No, I, uh, it’s just, I don’t want you offerin that to me when it’s your heat makin you do it.”

“It is not. I am quite capable of freely choosing my partners.” Indrid says, more petulant than he means to be.

Duck’s tentacles go an odd, bashful shade of red, “Don’t you have folks back in the palace who you’re interested in? Kinda assumed you could have your pick.”

Indrid sighs, “I could, in a way. But, well, I do not need yet another reminder that my appeal to people in the palace is only in my powers or my status; I learned the hard way the last time that there are many who would court my favor during my heat, but only because they found the pheromones appealing when combined with the possibility I might tell them beneficial futures.“

“Oh, ‘Drid.” Duck says softly, “that ain’t decent.”

“I mean, I always consented to it. I just felt naive in retrospect; I should have known the fact that people give me a wide berth unless they want something would not go away so easily.”

“You ain’t had even one person court you for you?”

“No.”

Duck teases him gently, “That why you were in my forest, hidin out and jerkin it like some fresh-faced young mer afraid his folks are about to walk in?”

“Yes. I, I just did not want anyone to know. Being lonely and needy feels better than being approached by suitors who care for my position but not me.”

Duck scratches the back of his neck, “And, uh, if there was someone who was wild about you and thinks those other mers are dipshits for not seein’ how incredible you are?”

Indrid snorts softly, “You already said no.”

“I said I didn’t wanna do anythin unless I was sure you really wanted to be with me.” Duck comes back to him, “but if you do…fuck, ‘Drid, I been dreamin about this for awhile now.”

“Please?” Indrid bites his lip, hopeful nerves rising.

Duck cups his cheeks, resting their foreheads together, “Hell yeah, darlin. Now, let’s see what we’re dealin with.” The front two tentacles gingerly moves Indrid’s cover aside, and Duck takes in his cock, now swollen, and the open slit with small tendrils trying to draw Duck in “oh, my poor sugar, you been like this since you got here?”

“Mhmmm.” Indrid whines.

“Let’s see if we can take the edge off. Put my hands where you need ‘em.”

Indrid pulls one hand down, sliding it into the slit, and Duck drops the other down around his waist to steady him.

“There we go, fuck, can practically fit my whole hand in, you sure it just started this morning?”

“Yes, though, though I think being near you has perhaps accelerated it.”

“That so? Wonder what happens if I-”

“OH! Ohyes, yesyes.” Indrid trills as Duck works his hand steadily back and forth, thumb catching the tendrils and tugging them just right.

“That’s it, I got you, gonna make you feel so good–uh, what are you doin’?””

“I want more of you, all of you, please” Indrid continues gathering the tentacles he can reach in one hand and pawing at the space where Duck’s cock is hiding, “need it, need you, want you to use me.”

“Nope” Duck tenderly guides his hands to rest around his shoulders, “we’re gonna go steady and sweet this time. You wanna go buckwild later, we can, but right now all I wanna do is watch the fuckin captivatin face while you cum.”

“But, but you are clearly-” Indrid nods at where he can see Duck’s cock trying to emerge.

“I know, but that don’t matter right now. All that matters is makin’ you feel good.” The drawl curls around him and he feels safer than and snugger than a sleeping otter, and he whines in gratitude.

‘You want a kiss?”

“Please”

Duck leans in, planting kisses up and down his cheeks before settling on his lips. Indrid hums, threads his fingers into Duck’s hair in hopes of making the kiss last forever. Then he gasps, moaning gratefully as a (non-suckered, thank goodness) tentacle wraps around his cock. Duck simply chuckles, tightens and twists the tentacle until Indrid is babbling praise into his mouth, hips twitching as pleasure overwhelms his system.

When he cums it’s with a thoroughly undignified groan, Duck kissing him through it.

“Better?” He murmurs, nuzzling Indrid’s cheek.

“Y-yes, at least I can actually get everything, ah, concealed again.”

Duck holds out his hand, “In that case, wanna come back to my place?”

Indrid holds his hand all the way back to the sunken fishing boat Duck calls home (he’d actually dragged the boats occupants to shore to save them, meaning his wreck is pleasantly corpse-free). He admires the new, tiny ships in bottles Duck has floating in a corner as the other mer shuts the door and draws a seaweed curtain over the windows.

“Now….” In the darkened hull, Duck’s tentacles begin rippling a deep purple, “what were you sayin’ earlier? Somethin’ about ‘wantin’ all of me?’” His voice has gone a shade huskier, and Indrid shivers excitedly when he realizes he’s in a remote place with a mer whose body is specifically built for power.

Then Duck smiles, so earnest and affectionate, the way he did the first time Indrid laughed at one of his jokes, and he remembers exactly why he followed him here.

“Yes, I believe I did.” He swims to him, circles him, tail and fingers brushing him teasingly.

“You gonna make me play chase? Kinda thought those days were behind us, given I ain’t a young mer, and neither are you.” Duck crosses his arms, grinning and spinning slowly to track Indrid’s progress.

“I never got to do such things, even with previous mates. It does hold a certain appeal.” He swims higher, brushes his tail along Ducks chest and throat.

Duck considers him for a moment, seems almost detached.

“Nah, don’t feel like chasin you down.”

Two tentacles shoot up, grabbing him and yanking him face to face with Duck and he laughs with delighted surprise.

“Oh dear, it seems you have won the chase.”

Duck snickers, gathers Indrid into his arms, tentacles releasing him, “Seems I have. But my prey don’t seem to mind one bit. Maybe because it knows I got what it needs.” He rolls his hips against Indird, and in a few short moments his cock presses against Indrid’s scales, his own body responding and opening readily.

“You want me to fuck you, or the other way around?”

In answer, Indrid guides Ducks’ cock inside him, and the other mer groans, hugging him tight.

“Fuck you feel good.”

“L-likewise. No, kindly stop holding backAHHhhhhhnnnnyesgoodthankyou.” Indrid scratches along Ducks muscled back as he pounds into him. His cock is made up of overlapping, twisting whirls, and their ridges rub deliciously inside him, catching the underside of his cock on each thrust.

“Yeah? That what you needed your highness?” Duck puts some bite into those last two words and Indrid moans. Duck raises an eyebrow in question, then understands, “You needed some rough-tailed mer to fuck you until you can’t swim, someone who doesn’t give a shit about–oh fuck yeah that feels good–your royal blood, just knows a nice piece of tail when he sees it, just wants to show you exactly how you oughta be treated.”

“Yes! Or, no? Wait, ah, oh goodness” Indrid blushes, “I apologize, ahnnn, I got lost somewhere in the rhetorical questions.”

Duck giggles against his neck, kisses his nose “Don’t worry about answerin’ them, then.”

“But, but I am enjoying you talking like that.”

“Oh yeah?”

Indrid nods, whimpering as the thrusts quicken and Duck tugs him into a bruising, teeth and tongue filled kiss.

“Then I oughta tell you I been thinkin’ about you since I had to prep, fuck, prep the royal garden for that party a few weeks after we met. Thought about layin’ you out in the seagrass, long tail under my fingers, workin you up with my mouth until you begged me to fuck you.”

“That long?”

“Yep” a softer kiss, “kept dreamin about sneakin in through the window and, uh, sullyin' the royal bed oh damn, careful, gonna float away from me if you keep thrashin your tail like that.”

“I cannot help it, I, you feel so good, no one’s ever spoken to me like that before and I love it.”

“Here” Duck curls one tentacle around Indrid’s tail, keeping him in place.

“Oh” Indrid breaths out, eyes widening.

“That’s uh, that’s really okay? It don’t scare you or nothin?” Duck searches his eyes, gaze so loving that Indrid strokes his hair.

“Not at all. In fact, would, ah, would you do it more?”

The grin again, the wolf-eel one, and suddenly his wrists are pinned by his sides, the grip on his tail strengthens, and another tentacle snakes around his middle, trapping him against Duck. The mers hands stay on his shoulders and face, caressing him even as he snaps his hips harshly.

“Ohhhhhhit’slikeyouareeverywhere” Indrid can barely get the words out, hurries them for fear he’ll shortly lose the ability to form coherent thoughts.

“I am. Cause you’re all mine.” He drags out the “all,” running his hands and tentacles forcefully across Indrid’s skin as he does.

Indrid keens, something deep in his heat-brain responding to those words.

“Careful, or they’ll hear you all the way at the palace. Might come and take you away from me.”

“They, they wouldn’t dare, I’d tear them apart AH” He bites down on Duck’s shoulder when another tentacle teases his cock.

“All the same, and as much as I’d like to see their faces when they realized you chose me…” Another tentacle taps his lips politely, and Indrid parts them, lets the appendage slide into his mouth. It feels unlike anything else when it skates along his tongue, Duck watching him diligently for signs of discomfort. His heat makes his body more pliant and receptive than usual, so when it touches the back of his throat he nods. Duck presses past the hint of resistance, and Indrid moans, frantically working his hips in the small thrusts the restraints allow him.

Duck watches him with awe, “Fuck, fuck lookit you, takin’ me every which way, god ‘Drid, your throat feels good sugar, might have to shove half of these down there and half alongside my cock just to see if you can take it, fuck, shit, you wanna be full, you’re gonna be fuckin’ full.” He cums hard, and to Indrid’s shock he feels some spill out even as it pumps into him. The tentacle on his cock strokes mercilessly at the head and as he thrashes in Duck’s hold he spurts into the water between them.

He comes down in a haze, having barely enough energy to whine when Duck pulls out.

“Don’t worry, we can go again soon.” Duck carries him to bed, makes a face when he notices Indrid’s back, “Uh, you, uh, you, well, it’s gonna be real obvious what kinda mer you were with.”

Indrid turns his head, finds many sucker-shaped marks on his back, “I do not mind. It is nice to have some souvenirs.”

“Happy to give you more. But first, we gotta keep your strength up. ” Duck kisses him once before swimming off towards the pantry.

He spends the remainder of the day in the ship, heat waxing and then waning with each bout of sex. He fucks Duck twice, the other mer cooing encouraging words in his ear and flattering his every feature as he does.

Duck fucks him, by his very accurate count, about a hundred million thousand times. Sometimes his tentacles fuck him into a writhing, pleading mess while the mer himself sits and reads with a knowing smirk on his face. Sometimes he uses his mouth, or lets Indrid lavish his cock and slit with his tongue in-between cuddles.On one particular instance, Duck wraps him so tightly in so many of his tentacles that Indrid can’t move save for the odd flutter of the end of his tail. All he can do is moan as Duck fucks him twice in a row, growling in his ear for him to be a good little mate and take it.

Indrid has also never been more cared for during a heat; Duck brings him food, cuddles and kisses him, makes him a nest of books and pillows and tells bad jokes and brainteasers to distract Indrid from the waves of heat that come when he’d really rather just be held than fuck. Tells him over and over how much he cares about him, how handsome he finds him, and Indrid tells him the same.

When Duck asks, still a but bashful, if Indrid would like to stay with him until his heat ends, Indrid agrees immediately. And when Indrid asks if Duck will come back to the palace with him, at least for a few days, after it’s over, Duck says yes in an instant.

And when two royal guards coming looking for the erstwhile prince, given that no one has seen or heard from him in almost a day, they find sound asleep in Duck’s arms. Exactly where he belongs.

Chapter Text

“EeEEH, I’m so excited for you to finally meet him.” Aubrey tugs her uncle down the hall, “he’s practically like another uncle to me, and he’s really such a fucking amazing cook–he made all the stuff tonight–so he’ll go with your whole foodie thing-”

“Critic, firebug, food critic” Stern smiles at her.

“Right, right, and he’s got the hunky lumberjack thing going that you know you love.”

“Geez, you buy one calendar-” he elbows her, chuckling. Then the world screeches to a halt.

“Mr. Cobb.” He nods, polite as he can manage with rage-horns blaring in his head.

“Stern.” The bearded man nods back, pushing off of the counter where he’s leaning, glass in hand, talking to Dani.

“Why do I have the bad feeling you two know each other.” Dani looks at her uncle nervously.

“You remember when Amnesty was first getting off the ground and we were struggling to get anyone to take us seriously? This” he points to Stern, no anger or ice in his voice but plenty in his eyes, “is the fucker who gave us the bad review that set us back months.”

“I was doing my job, I’ve told you that a dozen times since then, it was nothing personal. Unlike what you did afterwards.” He replies coolly.

“Oh for fucks sake, I apologized for that.”

“Yes, two years after the fact, which hardly makes up for arguing with every review I wrote so forcefully that Hayes pulled me from the review circuit for months and made me do cookbook reviews instead.”

“Poor Stern, had to do a slightly different desk job while I was terrified the restaurant would go under.”

“You ended up fine, and if the food at Hornet is any indication, you improved.”

“Lucky me, getting such kind words from the illustrious Joseph Stern.”

“I was trying to-”

“Nevermind. I gotta go check the stuff on the grill.” He reaches the screen door to the back yard, then turns, “and I appreciate the thought, kid, but he’s just not my type.”

—————————————————————

The problem is, of course, that Stern is exactly Barclay’s type. Or maybe he’s everyone’s type, all nice suits and handsome face and perfectly slicked down black hair. They’ve run across each other at plenty of food functions in the city over the last six years, and Barclay always feels like a scraggy mountain man standing near him. It doesn’t help that Stern talks about food the way other people talk about fine art, and Barclay could listen to him do it all day.

He also tells really, really corny jokes when he thinks no one is listening, and Barclay hates his mouth for how many times it’s laughed at them.

Making amends is the right thing to do, but every time he considered it his whole being–piloted by his ego– recoils.

But they’re going to be family soon. And his niece doesn’t deserve to deal with their feud. He picks up his phone, Stern’s number on his desk thanks to Dani’s wedding planning list.

Me: This is Barclay. If you’re still reading, I think we should meet and talk things over. For real, not in the way we keep fucking up.

Stern: Why?

Me: Because your niece and my niece are getting married and I don’t want us bickering like jerks at the wedding.

Stern:Good point.

Me: Meet me at the Arch? Bar there is good.

Stern: Ok. 8 tomorrow work?

Me: See you then.

———————————————

Stern fights the urge to shred his napkin as he waits at the bar. Maybe this is a set up, or a trap, or-

“Hey.” Barclay announces himself with a tap on the shoulder. His auburn hair is hanging loose, and the blue shirt he’s chosen brings out the brown of his eyes and the copper in his beard.

Stern should stop staring.

He picks up the drink menu as Barclay sits down next to him, “Um, the, um, I can buy. Consider it another apology. What do you get?”

Barclay gives him a mild smile, “How about you pick for both of us?”

It’s an olive branch wrapped in a challenge, and so Stern studies the menu carefully. Chooses the Bigfoot, a mixture of bourbon, chocolate bitters, with a splash of cherry soda, for Barclay and and the Roswell (smoked prickly pear juice and tequila) for himself.

“Good choice.” Barclay smiles at him over the rim of his glass, the first genuine smile he’s ever sent his way, and he straightens proudly at the praise.

“I remember the drink menu at Hornet was bourbon heavy.”

“Goes with the food, but yeah, it’s my booze of choice.”

“So…” Stern swirls the toothpick in his drink, “how do you suggest we go forward?”

Barclay sighs, “Was kinda hoping you had some ideas.”

“Look, how about we agree that when we’re together for wedding planning stuff, we don’t talk about our history, restaurants or food that isn’t specifically related to the wedding menu?”

“Deal.” Barclay finishes his drink, “what do we talk about instead?”

“Books?” Stern signals the bartender, orders them both another round.

“Works for me. Hmm, lemme guess, you read those big-ass historical ones.”

Stern snickers, “I prefer mysteries, or well done travelogue.”

“You’ve read Bourdain, I’m guessing?”

“Of course. He put me on to a cooking memoir by, by, oh damn it all, he wrote that Madeline series.”

“Bemelmans! Shit, I love his memoirs. They’re my comfort reads along with My Life in France.”

“Classic.”

Before Stern even knows it, an hour has gone by, they’re three drinks in, and he has a new reading list. He also sees now why Aubrey thought to set him up with the cook; Barclay is easy-going and friendly, even stopping their conversation to exchange hellos with several staff that recognize him, a needed counterpoint to his own professional demeanor. That soft, deep voice slips under his skin, sets his nerves humming, and Stern wants to move closer, let those capable hands do whatever they wished to him if it meant Barclay would keep stealing appreciative glances at him.

Then he puts his foot in it.

“….food was just a little heavy, like how it is at Amnesty.”

Barclay frowns, “have you even been back there lately?”

“No, I assumed I’d be forcibly shown the door.”

“I would’ve been tempted, but I’m a fucking professional, thank you very much.”

“Besides, it wouldn’t prove your point; I know you’re the exec, but you don’t cook there anymore.”

“Hold the fuck up, it’s my cooking you think was the issue?”

“I didn’t mean that, just that…no, actually, I did mean it. That menu never played to your strengths.”

“That so.” Barclay slams his glass down, the dram undercut when he flashes an apologetic look at the waitstaff before standing in Stern’s space and looming over him, “my house, Tuesday at seven. I’ll show you exactly how good that menu can be in my hands.”

“I look forward to it.”

Barclay leans closer and whispers “bring an appetite” in his ear, voice just shy of a growl.

Somehow, Stern doesn’t think he’ll have trouble doing so.

——————————————————

Stern knocks on the door of the modest house. He knows Barclay is now worth quite a bit of money, so the fact he’s chosen an A-frame that looks like it belongs in Tahoe is charming. As was the afternoon they spent with their (clearly relieved) nieces testing out wedding cake ideas. Barclay even laughed at his corny puns and complimented his flavor choice (and how the suit he’s having fitted for the ceremony fit him).

“Come in.”

He steps into the house, finds the kitchen off to the right, just beyond the dining room. There’s only one place set at the table, and when Barclay comes into view he sees why. The taller man is in his chefs whites, hair tied back, making Stern relieved he’s wearing a suit.

“Should I…”

“Take a seat, first course is gonna be out shortly.”

“Right, of course–what’s that sound?” Something is whining behind a door down the hall.

“Hmm? Oh, just Sass, he heard someone come in and wants to be the welcoming committee. He’ll chill out in a sec, he has a dog puzzle there to keep him occupied.” Barclay turns back into the kitchen as Stern sits down. Thanks to the pass through, he can watch as he pulls down a plate and sets three parcels of dough on it.

“You’re getting tasting portions” he sets the plate down, “I’m not blowing through a bunch of ingredients just to prove a point. Smoked salmon pierogies to start.”

Stern takes one bite and knows he’s beaten. The filling is perfectly seasoned, feels like butter in his mouth, and the dough is impeccably made. Maybe it’s a fluke, but all three are gone before Barclay sets the next plate in front of him.

“Bacon, arugula, goat cheese, and blueberry jam on sourdough.” The aroma from the sandwich is intoxicating.

The first course was not a fluke, and he moans after taking a bite. Barclay chuckles, turning back to the kitchen.

“So, Aubrey told me something interesting.” Barclay says casually as he slices what looks like lamb, “she said you don’t only write about food.”

“Oh lord.” Embarrassment creeps up his back, so he focus on his meal.

“Weekly World News is almost as good a byline as the Times.”

“Please don’t say more.”

“Bigfoot is my boyfriend’ was especially good.”

“Oh lord, you looked them up?”

“Yep, Aubrey gave me your pen name. I had a blast reading them, you should, uh, let that funny side out more.” The oven shuts and he returns to the table leaning against the counter of the pass through, “gonna be a minute more on the third course. How is it so far?”

“Incredible.”

“Glad to hear it.” Barclay wipes his hands on his apron and Stern has a moment of clarity; the cook is nervous.

“Can I tell you something nobody else knows? I, um, I’m working on a pitch that combines the two. I want to travel to famous paranormal locations and write about local food at the same time.”

“That sounds amazing.” Barclay pulls out a chair, “do you know if anyone’ll take it?”

“I’m trying some magazines and websites first, to see if they’ll pick it up as a series, which’d make it easier to jump to a book later on.”

A timer dings and Barclay stands, returning with a lamb pot pie for one that Stern eats without concern for how conspicuous his sounds of delight are getting.

Dessert arrives on a small, round plate. Stern tucks into the airy chocolate strawberry cake with raspberry sauce on the side, notice Barclay already washing up. Pity, he was hoping he could stay and talk awhile. There’s only a bite or two left when he decides to admit defeat.

“This is one of the best meals I’ve ever had, Barclay. Whatever you were trying to prove, you proved.”

“Good.” Is all he gets in reply.

“Barclay, I have to know: I wasn’t the only critic to give a less than stellar review of Amnesty when it opened. We both know that. So…why me? Why act as if I was the one who wronged you.”

Barclay turns, wiping his hands on his apron before hanging it up as he sighs, “yeah, you weren’t the only bad one, but the Times held more weight than any other food section in the city. When you reviewed us we were floundering, and when I saw it I just, I almost gave up; I’d put everything, my heart, my soul, my last dime, into Amnesty. And here was some critic basically dooming us. But once I was done being upset, I got pissed, threw myself into proving the bad reviews wrong and you, uh, you became the avatar for every critic who wrote us off as not being fancy enough to compete in the food scene here.”

“Are, did you make me your fucking mental punching bag?” Stern stands just as Barclay leaves the kitchen.

“Yeah, and I’m not fucking sorry. That spite was the kick I needed.”

“And it nearly cost me my job, and my reputation!”

“Maybe you should have lost both, given that you helped Hayes shoot down anyone who threatened the old guard.”

“No I fucking didn’t! I fought him time and again to let me review new chefs, feature them, praise them. Lord almighty Barclay, I’m not some soulless fucking machine who just does as I’m told. In fact-” they’re toe to toe, his lower back to the table, as he pulls out his phone and searches, “even in my review, the one you hated, I was defending you, telling people to give you a chance.”

“Like hell you were.” Barclay snorts.

“I’ll prove it, here” he clears his throat, reads off an excerpt, “Chef Cobb is clearly talented, with a sense of flavor that’s at once exciting and comforting. It is my hope that as Amnesty leaves it’s growing pains behind, we will see incredible offerings from him. There.” He tosses his phone on the table, “see?”

Barclay stutters once, twice, then mutters, “finish your meal, Stern.”

“No, not until you apologize.”

“Jesus christ, just eat the fucking cake!”

“Make me!”

Barclay inhales, long and measured, as he reaches around Stern and picks up the bite of cake. When he holds it to Stern’s lips, he keeps them in a firm line.

“Open. your fucking. Mouth.”

“Fuck youOghm” he flails backwards, hand landing on his plate as Barclay shoves the cake into his mouth. He’s never had sweetness applied so forcefully, and the part of him that isn’t annoyed is screaming with arousal.

He swallows, feels something sticky on his fingertips.

Barclay leers, rumbles, “that’s bet-”

Stern smears his hand across his face, streaking raspberry sauce on his cheeks and mouth.

Barclay licks his lips, growls, and lunges forward at the same moment Stern grabs his shoulders and pulls. Teeth connect first with his neck, then his lower lip before Barclay shoves their mouths together, moaning when Stern tugs their hips flush. Grinds against him so hard the table digs into his back as they yank ineffectively at each other’s clothes.

“Tell me, Stern, four courses enough for you?”

“I’m satisfied. Barely.” He bites Barclay’s ear, making him grunt.

“Barely? Barely? Fine, think I got one more you. On your fucking knees.” Strong hands shove him down by his shoulders, or they try to; he’s already dropping, panting in anticipation as he fumbles with Barclay’s pants. When he finally gets a look at his cock he groans hungrily at the size, lips staying parted as Barclay guides it between them with one hand and yanks his hair with another.

He’s craving, praying for, and expecting roughness. Even so, he gags when Barclay thrusts as far as he can, toes curling and eyes watering as he bumps the top of his throat again and again.

“Fuck, fuck, there we go” he tugs his hair, wonderful pain prickling his neck and making him moan, “oh fuck yeah, every time I do that you tighten, so good, so fucking good.” He tightens his hold, fucking his mouth harder as Stern brings a hand up to stroke the base of his cock, “nmm, yeah, that’s it, show me what those hands are good for, god, fuck, Joe.”

Stern whimpers, delighted at how his name sounds in that rough, demanding baritone.

“Shit, fuck, you want something else to swallow tonight?”

He nods, paws at Barclays thigh.

“Then you, fuck, you got it, fuckfuck Joe, baby, that’s it ohfuck.” Cum spurts down his throat and he swallows like he’s starving, licks and sucks when Barclay orders him to finish it all.

As soon as the cook releases him, he drops to his knees on the hardwood next to Stern. Stern, for his part, is wondering if Barclay will at least let him hide in his bathroom a few minutes so he doesn’t have to drive home hard and soaking wet.

Then his back hits the floor, one calloused hand cupping his face and the other yanking his pants open so messily a button goes flying.

“I, you, you don’t have to-”

“Do you want me to?” Barclay pauses, meeting his eyes with such genuine, tender concern that he melts like butter in a pan.

“Lord yes.”

Barclay’s hand slips beneath his boxer-briefs, three fingers sliding into him when he spreads his legs.

“Fuck, fuck, ohlord, Barclay, just a little shallowerAHfuck, yesright, right there.” He cranes his neck and Barclay gets the hint,dipping down to kiss him to the slick sound of his fingers fucking into him.

Jerking his hips, he can’t find the friction he needs, so he reaches between them and tilts Barclay’s hand so his dick can drag across his palm. His vocabulary has diminished to affirmation laced profanity (or profanity laced affirmatives) and Barclay is faring the same, growling praise in his ear as he gives him more pressure to rut against.

“Lookit you, god, shoulda known you’d look as good fucking as you do eating. Take me so well, gonna find every way to fill you.”

“Please.” He whispers, eyes squeezing shut in concentration.

“Gonna spread you out on a table and eat you like a fucking gourmet meal, gonna fuck that perfect mouth til your so full of cum you can’t swallow any more.”

“Lord, Bar, Barclay, please don’t stop, don’t tease.”

“Who said anything about teasing?” A tender kiss to the corner of his mouth even as the hand fucks him hard enough to make him cry out, “you’re my new favorite taste, babe, and I got so many fucking plans for you.”

Stern cums so abruptly his leg kicks out and bangs his heel on a table leg, but he doesn’t feel it. His would is the pleasure speeding through him, the repetition of Barclay’s name, the affection that overwhelms him and the fear nipping at it’s heels.

He comes back to himself on his side, face nestled against Barclay’s chest.

“Christ, think we both needed that.” The cook sighs, content, and pets his hair.

“I, um, I certainly no longer feel the need to argue with you over things from six years ago.”

“Me neither. And, uh, I’m sorry for being a dick for so long.”

“And I’m sorry for the spot my review put you in.”

Barclay laughs, shaking his head, “only took six years and some killer sex to get us there, huh?”

“It is pretty silly, in retrospect.”

“Your foot okay?”

“Uh huh. I, um, I can be out of your hair in a moment.”

Barclay raises an eyebrow, “because you want to be or because you think you should be?”

“The second one.”

“Don’t gotta leave on my account. In fact, uh, I, uh, I was hoping maybe you’d stay. I want to test out some breakfast ideas on you. Also I like cuddling you and don’t want to stop.”

“A compelling argument. Though we should move to the bed.”

“On it.” Barclay stands, scoops him up with some effort, and carries him precariously to the still-shut bedroom door.

“Damn it.”

“On it.” Stern reaches out and turns the knob, whereupon Barclay barely gets him to the bed without dropping him, as Sass is boinging about their feet.

“What kind-”

“Rottweiler, corgi, spaniel. I think. Not sure where the huge feet came from.” Barclay cuddles up next to him as he strips off his clothes. As he rolls under the covers, Barclay nuzzles his cheek.

“Would, um, would you like to try having a, um, a different kind of relationship? Like a dating one?”

“I’d love it.”

Barclay’s smile is pure bliss, and when he kisses him, it’s the best taste in the world

Chapter Text

The concert was a bust, Duck is learning that, at the ripe old age of 24, his body can no longer stand up to a mosh-pit, and Juno had to cut out early, taking the car. Which is fine, he can take BART home.

Except there was a fucking game tonight and everyone and their goddamn uncle is packed onto the train. He dips and shoves his way in, spots the sole empty seat towards the back and makes it there before it’s taken. He sighs, turning to sit, only for a black clad figure to slip in behind him.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

The man looks up, startled, and Duck sees he has earbuds in and was staring at his phone when he sat down.

“Excuse me?”

“That was my seat.”

“Clearly not, since I’m sitting in it.”

“I was about toFUCK!” The train jolts and he loses his balance, landing in the seat-stealers lap.

“Agh, hey!”

“Fuckin’ busted ass infrastructure.” God it feels nice to be off his feet. Fuck it, he’s staying here.

“Are, ah, you planning to get up any time soon?” The man is trying to push him off, so Duck puts all his weight into his lap.

“Nope, gonna stay right here because it’s my fuckin seat.”

“It is not! It is a public train, no one has claim to a seat!”

“There’s rules!”

“It was empty so I sat down. I have been up on my feet since four in the morning, for goodness sake, I just wanted to sit.”

“Join the fuckin club.”

“Get. off” He grunts, continues failing to move Duck, “agh, why are you so heavy?”

“Hey!”

“Look, normally I enjoy having a bear in my lap, but not when you’re cutting off circulation in my thighs.”

“I’ll take my own weight again if you stop pushin me.”

“Fine.” The man crosses his arms, slumps back in the seat. Duck adjusts so he’s no longer just dead weight.

“You’re really going to sit on me the whole ride?”

“Yep.”

The man grumbles something rude, shoves his earbud back in and stares angrily at his phone. Duck pulls his phone out, but keeps glancing at his new chair. The man’s hair is dyed silver, with black patches that suggest he did it himself. His ears are pierced, his glasses are dark red, there’s a weird orange crystal around his neck, and his jacket is covered in patches. Duck knows his type; some willowly gay trying to hard to seem edgy. He’s probably on his way to the suburbs on the other side of the tunnel. And he’s gotta ride in his lap for a fucking half hour.

He snorts in bitter amusement and turns on a video. About ten minutes later, he realizes he’s not watching alone.

“Don’t you got your own phone?” He turns, finds the stranger’s head cocked in interest, still engrossed in his screen.

“Hey’ he snaps his fingers in front of his glasses, “I asked why the fuck you’re looking over my shoulder.”

“Because our positions mean your screen is right in my sight whenever I look up.” He glares, then adds, “although now I’m mostly just watching for fun. Who knew plants could be so interesting?”

Duck almost offers to share, then decides he’s not getting seat-stealer ear-gunk on his headphones. He turns back to his phone with another annoyed grunt. And promptly flicks on the closed captions in case the stranger wants to read them.

Twenty minutes into the ride his butt is falling asleep, so he shifts in the stranger’s lap. The man hisses, bumping an arm into his side to still him.

“Stop moving.”

“I’m just–oh” he registers the unmistakable feeling of a denim-trapped cock bumping his ass.

“Jesus, man.” He giggles at how ridiculous it is; he spent half last week trying to get various guys into this position with him, and now some dipshit on a train’s done it by accident.

“I’m, I’m sorry” it’s still a hissing whisper, “it’s vibrations from the train plus friction, I didn’t mean for it to happen, so for goodness sake stay still.”

“Why? Ain’t my fault you got a hair-trigger down there.”

“You’d be singing a different song if our positions were reversed.” The voice is creeping up an octave.

A wicked thought enters his head, “Who say’s I ain’t in the same boat now?”

“Because I can see you, you jerk.”

“Eh, I ain’t all that big. Thick, but nothin’ to write home about, not to mention these jeans are kinda loose. So I could be getting wound up as we speak and you might not spot it.”

“Talking about your dick is not helping the situation.” The man is staring him down now, hunger flitting around beneath mortification on his face.

He escalates the game, wiggles his ass slightly, “Might wanna rethink those tight jeans next time.”

“If, if nnnh!” the man stifles a moan against Duck’s neck, then giggles “if this is how you flirt, I think I might know an issue with your approach.”

“Naw, this ain’t how I flirt.” He turns, exaggerates his drawl, “if I were flirtin, I’d ask if a tall drink of water like you was in the mood for some bear huntin. Tell you I liked your style, liked the thought of you under me in bed,” he reaches his hand up, runs his fingertips along the man’s cheekbones, and from so close he sees an excited, playful glint in the eyes behind the glasses, “liked how that face is cut-diamond gorgeous.”

The glint disappears, “Please don’t tease. Not about that, anyway.”

“I ain’t.” The sincerity sparks between them without warning as he splays his fingers on a cool cheek to gingerly cup it.

“That, uh, that is, uh, I’d say all that if we we’re flirtin’.” He turns back around, flustered and wrong-footed by his own damn feelings. He wants the other man to start the game again. He wants to say he’s sorry, ask if they can start over. He wants someone, anyone, to make the decision about what to do next for him.

The stranger obliges him, wiry arms slipping around his middle as breath tickles his neck.

“Since we’re playing what ifs, were I flirting with you, I might say that the shirt you are wearing is very flattering.” He hesitates, and Duck realizes that in spite of being around him, his arms aren’t actually touching Duck. They’re waiting, patiently, for a sign to continue.

Duck takes the bony wrists, drawing the arms close, and chuckles, “you did say you liked my type.”

“I did. Or, ah, I do.’ One hand pets Duck’s thigh. Keeping an eye out for onlookers, he guides the other stealthily under his jacket and shirt, shivering as cold fingers tease his skin.

“Well, uh, how do I measure up, ahehe, hey, no, was tryin to show off this bit.” He guides the hand currently petting his belly up to the noticeable muscle near his pecs.

“I know, and it is very nice” A purr in his ear now, “but I like this bit just as much.” His other hand rubs circles on Ducks belly through his clothes, “it’s all such a pleasing shape.”

A kiss on his neck makes him sigh, and he fights to get the upper hand again, to not just melt, to make this a game again because the game feels safe.

“Seems like your dick’s calmed down some.”

“Yes, thank you for holding sti-AH” another moan in his shoulder, another high laugh as he jerks his hips without warning, “you dick.”

“Pretty sure that’s your dick.” Duck grins at him, enjoying the fact he’s still holding him, savoring how he can nuzzle his cheek even as he whispers, “sure as hell’d like to make it mine, though.”

“Is that so? I’d like to see you try.” The man practically snarls, lust dripping from every word.

He doesn’t get to answer, drowned out by the voice announcing his stop.

“Shit, that’s me, gotta, uh, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Getting off the train?” The man points at the opening doors, “this is my stop too.”

They make their way off and onto the platform. It would be easy to lose each other in the crowds, slip away and pretend nothing ever happened. Yet Duck keeps his pace slow and, when they do get separated, he finds his new friend has chosen the exit turn-style with the longest line, conveniently allowing Duck to catch up with him.

When they reach the street, night air chilling with fog, Duck decides to be reckless.

“How close is your place?”

“Six blocks that way.”

“Mine’s four this way.” He holds out his hand. The stranger takes it, grinning, and they’re off, stopping only when crosswalk and Saturday night traffic demands it.

“Almost thereah!” Duck jumps a little when, as they’re stuck waiting, the other man steps directly behind him, kneading his ass.

“MmM, apologies, this has been tempting me ever since you sat down.”

“You were rubbin off on it, ain’t that enough?”

“That was on accident. This” he squeezes harder “is on purpose.”

“C’mon.” Duck growls, dragging them across the intersection and to the door of his apartment. They’re stone cold sober but take the stairs like drunks, fumbling and mis-stepping as they laugh and grab at each other.

Duck slams the door shut and shoves the taller man against it, making him stumble and bring them both to the floor. He kisses him hard, biting his lip and pulling silver hair while bony fingers dig into his back and ass. Their tongues tease together and he gets a hint of metal, pulls back.

“Stick out your tongue.”

Instant compliance as the other man reveals his pierced tongue through panting lips.

“Damn, gonna have some fun with that later.”

“Why, why wait?”

“Because” he tugs a fistful of hair, making him whine, “you’re gonna get that nice cock out and get real hard so I can ride you.”

“Yes, ohyesyes.” He’s frantically undoing his pants as Duck stands and strips his own off, tossing them and his boxers into the laundry.

“Stay.” He rifles through his tiny nightstand, finds two condoms and his lube, returns and barks, “legs out in front of you.

Lean legs still half-trapped in jeans slide forward, red canvas sneakers scuffing the floor.

“Now” Duck straddles him, tearing open a condom as he does, “you keep that dick nice and hard while I get ready. Then I’m, fuck, gonna use it like a toy.” He pushes the first finger deeper, moaning, grits his teeth trying to get the second in as the silver-haired man slowly strokes himself, licking his lips as he stares at Duck’s hardening cock.

“C’mon, fuck, there we go” he breathes deep, gets three fingers in and flexes them.

“Don’t, nnnn, rush on my account, I’m enjoying the show.” He runs his free hand up Duck’s body, purring appreciatively.

“Cute how you think you’re the one settin’ the pace.” He pulls his fingers out, grabs the second condom and rolls it down that perfectly average but nonetheless mouthwatering cock, “fuck, yeah, yeah,” he sinks down the first few inches and the other man’s head thunks back, hands flying to gratefully cup and paw his ass.

“Oh goodness, ohyes, you, your ass is amazing.”

“Think so? Then how about you, nnfuck, thank me for the pleasure of fuckin it.” He sinks down nearly to the base, a high gasp coming from his partner when he does. Based on their exchange on the train, he’s expecting the man to tease, or maybe snark at him.

What he gets is a desperate, blissed out expression and, “thank you, thankyouohgodthankyou” as his hips buck wildly, making Duck grunt with each thrust.

“There we, fuck, there we go sugar, now you got the idea, you be good and fuck me like youFUCK, mean it, maybe I’ll even cum on you.”

A whimper as the thrusts quicken, Duck bouncing as best he can with the angle and speed. He dips forward, kisses him messily, then switches to tender pecks up and down as face until laughter joins the moans.

The he grabs the other man’s hair and yanks hard enough to pull some of it out, making him sob with pleasure and pump madly up into him, delivering two retaliatory smacks to Duck’s ass.

“Oh fuck yeah” Duck grins, “you like it rough, don’t you sugar?”

“Yes, god yes, AHnnnn” Duck bites his neck this time, chuckling when he hears his feet kicking against the wood floor.

“Good, I like it too.” He murmurs, kissing the new bruise before biting down on it a second time.

“AHGOD, god, please, I’m, I’m close, I want to come, please sweetheart, please-”

“Duck.”

“W-what?”

“My name, fuck, that’s my name.”

“Ohhhhh” the man nods, understanding, then tightens his hold on him, “Duck, please, you feel so good, so amazing, please let me cum.”

“Alright sugar, since I’m feeling, fuck, so fuckin generous, you can cum in my ass.”

Two more thrusts and a high, breathy cry signal the taller man doing just that, his whole body shaking under Duck. He’s fighting to stay upright, panting as he looks to Duck for direction. Duck grabs his left hand from his hip and places it on his dick, guides it swiftly up and down.

“Mnnff, yeah, like that, like that sugar, fuck that feels good.”

A pleased whimper as a narrow nose and metal glasses frames presses into his neck, the man clinging to him with his other hand.

“You like that? Like bein’ good for somethin?”

“Yes, yes, want to be good, want to be good for you.”

A pang of affection and he kisses his cheek even as he growls, “you wanna see just what you’re good for.”

A nod, and so he cups the back of the man’s head, shifting it so he’s gazing down as his cock.

Duck snarls “That’s what you’re fuckin, fuck, good for, and goddamn you do it well, fuck, fuck, ain’t been this fuckin hard in months, fuck, shit.” He comes, dropping the cool hand as spend dribbles down their joined fingers.

Then he slumps forward, hoping for a few seconds to catch his breath before the man up and leaves. But all he does is loop his arms around him, breathe shaky as he nuzzles and kisses Duck’s hair. So Duck takes his time, let’s his breathing recover, enjoys the feeling of fine hair under his fingers and heartbeat next to his own.

“I, ah, I don’t wish to bother you, but could I have a tissue? I have, ah, eh, well-”

Duck sits up and immediately giggles; the man has cum across the left lens of his glasses.

“Shit, sorry about that. Here, I can get ‘em clean.”

A shy smile as the glasses are handed off, and he’s face to face with deep brown eyes, still glazed with contentment.

“Be right back.” He kisses him once. His search for a clean cloth, however, leaves him vulnerable.

“OWFUCK, jesus Taco!” An enraged ball of blonde fur savages his ankle and his friend sits up, alarmed.

“Do you need help?”

“Naw, ow, he’s just pissed that we made a racket and woke him up.”

“Oh dear, that was very rude.” The man holds out his hand and, to Duck’s surprise, gets a headbump and a “mrrp” instead of a brush off.

“My, aren’t you soft and lovely. You said his name was Taco?” He keeps scritching the cat’s head, smiling, as he looks at Duck.

“Yeah. And, uh, speakin of names, I, uh, I never got yours.” The admission is at once thrilling and shameful.

“Indrid.”

“It’s, uh, it’s nice to meet you, Indrid.” He holds out the now clean glasses and Indrid slips them on, before tilting his head and sitting up on his knees to look at Duck’s thigh.

“I assume this tattoo is because of your name?”

“Eeesh, yeah. Long story short, ex of mine got tattoo equipment and offered me a hundred bucks if I let him practice one on me. I needed the cash, but I was a dingdong and let him choose the design. Thought he was real funny.”

“Please tell me he did not go on to become a professional” Indrid wrinkles his nose at the cartoonish image.

“Nope. Got bored with it. Like he did, uh, most things.”

“Ah.” Indrid nods with perfect understanding and sympathy, “you know, it would take a little design work, but I could correct this into something knew, something you might like.”

“Not unless you got a-”

“License? Almost. I’m finishing up my apprenticeship at Cobra over in the city. I might even be able to swing you a, ah, shall we say, friends and family discount.”

“Shit, really?”

“Of course. Why would I offer if I didn’t mean it?” He looks up, so sweet and genuine that Duck wants to fall to the floor and cuddle him up.

“Do you, uh, do you want to shower? With me? We’re both kinda sticky.”

“Very well.” Indrid stands, following him to the bathroom, “though you’re warned, I like it hot.”

Duck turns on the water, kisses him playfully on the nose, “I gathered.”

Indrid laughs, pulls him into a kiss, smiling all the while.

They swap tattoo stories as they shower, Indrid explaining the designs on his arms and complimenting the realistic pine tree on Duck’s arm. By the time they’re dried and bundled in various tray sweatpants and shirts, Indrid is asking him about what he does.

“Golden Gate Park. My, that must be a master gardeners dream.”

“It’s pretty damn cool, even if I’m still just low level help.”

“You must” Indrid yawns, leaning against him in bed, “you must tell me all about it.”

“In the mornin’, sugar.” Duck lays down next to him, grabbing his thickest blanket to compensate for the shitty heat in the building.

“I don’t” another yawn “I don’t wish to impose, I can call a ride or something, or just walk home.”

“Do you wanna stay?” Duck asks softly.

“Yes. Very much.” Indrid nods, smiles sleepily when Duck gently removes his glasses and sets them on the nightstand.

“Then stay. Please. Fuck, Indrid, I know we got off on a bad foot but I’m so fuckin glad you stole my seat. I wanna get to know you so bad.”

“Was my seat, but agreed.” Indrid smirks as he cuddles closer.

“That’s good enough for me, sugar. Sleep tight.”

He switches off the light and curls up in the arms of the happiest accident he’s ever had.

Chapter Text

Barclay is running out of daylight. It was worth it, he found two flocks of survivors, waited with them until Ned was able to get the car down and pick them up (the Lincoln is remarkably immune to hoards of undead/possessed humans). They’d told him there was another group further East, that they’d passed them the evening before and tried to link up for greater safety. So Barclay took his chances, just like everyone does these days, and gone to find them.

He’s found them; eight people, all prone on the ground, all with white ooze seeping from their mouths and the wounds on their bodies. Too late. He’s almost immune to being too late. Almost.

It’s not worth trying to dispatch all of them, he’ll lose what time he has left to find shelter if he does. He turns into the woods, trying to remember if he can make it to the cave up the rock-face or if he’ll be spending the night on the move.

His Sylph sense of smells picks up something human and he pauses, tilts his head and listens for footsteps. What he gets is the crunch of leaf litter behind him, from the clearing where he found the newly minted undead.

Maybe the person nearby has shelter. Maybe they’re vulnerable and need help.

Cautiously, he takes off his bracelet, and the scent becomes much stronger. He follows it, finds its source at a log. Kneeling down, he feels along the ground and finds metal beneath a full foot of dirt and leaves.

The sun goes down, and he shoves the log, sliding the hidden door open enough to drop down into the darkness and slide the door shut over him. A human couldn’t manage the weight, but a Bigfoot certainly can.

Once in the holding room, he keeps the bracelet off long enough to spot a door to his right. He turns human, considers his options, and then politely knocks on the solid metal. No answer, but not moaning voices either.

He could probably manage the night in this holding area. But just to be safe…

He pulls out one of the last things they got from Heathcliffe prior to blowing the gate closed (for now. He hopes) to at least foil part of Reconciliation’s plan. A universal lock pick. Holding it against the metal, gears whir and tumblers fall until the door swings open. He steps through into a well lit bunker and is immediately greeted by the barrel of a handgun.

“Shut the door.”

Barclay shuts the door, keeps his hands up in surrender.

“Give me three good reasons why I shouldn’t shoot you.” The man, tall and lean and clearly comfortable with the weapon in his hand stares him down with steel in his blue eyes.

“I, uh, I’m on a rescue team, see?” He indicates the torn red patch on his jacket, the one volunteer rescuers got when this all went down.

“How do I know you didn’t steal that from someone who was?”

“Why the fuck would I do that?”

“I’ve run across no fewer than three groups of people claiming to be ‘helpers’ or to offer shelter who then, on all three occasions, tried to kill and eat me.”

“What the fuck, there’s still plenty of food places?”

A huff, “you seem genuinely indignant, so fine; one reason. You need two more.”

“I, I honestly didn’t know if anyone was down here, I just came down because it got dark. There was a party I, uh,” he swallows, ashamed, “I didn’t get to in time. They’re infected now and I didn’t want to get bit.”

“Shit, they’re close and you opened the main door?”

“And closed it!” Barclay says hurriedly, “but if they or anything else does get in, I swear I’ll help you. And I’m damn good in a fight.”

“One reason left.”

“I, I, uh, I’m a good cook?”

“How does that help us in this situation?”

“You still gotta eat, right?”

His walky talky crackles with Mama’s voice, “Barclay, you somewhere safe? Over.”

He doesn’t move.

“Bud, if you’re in trouble gimme your best guess at coordinates and I’ll come. Over.”

“Reason number four: if you kill me, you’ll be dealing with her, and I cannot stress how terrifying she is when someone she loves is hurt.”

The man hesitates, then lowers the gun, nodding. Barclay picks up the walky-talky.

“Found a bunker, staying the night, over and out.”

“Come on, then.” The man waves for Barclay to follow him into the main room, “but if you try anything, know I’m not a man of empty threats.”

“Clearly.” Barclay mutters, taking in the bunker; it’s well supplied, like a miniature house, and if one did not know what was going on outside, it would seem cozy. No longer with terror tunnel vision, he gets a better look at his reluctant host. Short, black hair that’s been combed back, sharp cheekbones and a clean-shaven, handsome face. He’s almost Barclay’s height, which is novel.

“So, uh, how’d you get such a sweet hiding spot?”

“I am, or was, an FBI agent. I knew where many of the apocalypse fallout shelters were, and was lucky enough to be near one when this all started. I was en route to a town called Kepler.”

“No shit.” Barclay sits down at the tiny kitchen table, “that’s where I’m from. Where we’ve been running the rescue missions out of.”

“I’ll admit I’m not up on how things are going outside. I lost contact with my superiors three days into the epidemic. They were my last tie to what was happening. As I said, the last times I went out to search for others, to try and help if I could, other people posed an issue.” He sighs, sits down across from Barclay, “I guess it’s nice knowing I rid the coming world of three groups of people who would eat others for fun.”

The implications of that statement take a moment to sink in and Barclay is torn between feeling sorry for how frightened the man must have been and understanding just how close he was to dying a few minutes ago.

“I’m sorry you’ve had such shit luck. Maybe the nice digs balance it out?”

A polite laugh, “they do. I was worried at first about getting lonely, but that’s not all that different from how my work life used to be. Most people don’t want to pal around with a man in black on a mission.”

“That does explain the suit.” Barclay points to the slacks and dress shirt the man is wearing and the jacket hung over a nearby chair.

The man blushes, “I, uh, I’ve only had my work clothes, most of which were suits. Plus, they make me feel a bit more like…well, like myself I guess. That’s always been my fear of apocalyptic scenarios; that’d I’d stop being me and become some faceless creature bent on survival.”

Barclay shudders, “yeah, I get that.”

A hand extends, blue eyes taking on a bit of warmth, “I’m Joseph. Joseph Stern.”

“Barclay.” Barclay shakes his hand, noting the way Joseph inhales sharply at the touch.

“Are you hungry? The food in here is about what you’d expect, but it’s still food.”

“Here, lemme see what I can do.”

Joseph shows him the shelves of canned food, instant ramen, and MREs, and Barclay sets to work in the weird little kitchen. The bunker must have a generator running of some non-electrical source of power, because he’s able to get a hotplate working. Cooking soothes him, a familiar rhythm in an alien space. Joseph sits nearby, sometimes talking with him and sometimes inventorying his supplies. It’s been awhile since he spoke this easily with someone; he loves his friends, but they can talk over him very easily.

When he presents the two bowls, Joseph’s face lights up.

“This, this looks amazing! How did you do this from all that? Wait, is that Spam?”

“Yep.” Barclay twirls some ramen on his fork, “adds a hell of a lot of salt and it’s actually pretty nice deep fried.”

Joseph takes a bite and moans, “lord, I’ve missed food. Er” he clears his throat, “that came out wrong.”

“Bit of a foodie are we?” Barclay teases, bumping Joseph’s shin with his toe.

“Yes, actually. I traveled a lot for work, and food is a great way to get to know a place. Plus, people always talk easier in restaurants, so it’s an excellent way to do recon.”

“What’s your favorite thing you’ve ever eaten?”

“Hmmmmmm. Is it tacky to say foie gras fries I had once?”

“No and holy shit that sounds good.”

“Oh, it was. I do love a good fried rice though; like, the kind you get from some hole in the wall place that just sells every kind of Asian cuisine mushed together.”

“Mmm, I haven’t made fried rice in awhile. Maybe I should do that when I get back.”

“Oh, right. How far is-”

The walky talky squeaks and Barclay grabs it in a flash.

“Mama, that you? Over.”

“Yep, it’s me. Indrid got a word to Aubrey through the ol’ third eye and says to stay indoors all through tomorrow and into the next day. Gonna rain buckets, make the roads rough for anyone who’s human but not that dangerous for an oozer. You feel me? Over.”

“Copy that. I’ll stay put here. Over.”

“We’ll let you know when it’s clear. Over and out.”

“Looks like I’m staying here a little longer.”

“That’s absolutely fine. Did she say third eye?”

“Uh, hey, you wanna grab dessert? I saw some Twinkies on those shelves and haven’t had them in ages.”

Joseph raises his eyebrow in a way that indicates he knows exactly what Barclay is doing, but follows him all the same. They spend the evening eating baked goods of dubious quality and talking on the couch. At some point Barclay adjusts, bumping against Joseph, but rather than pull away the agent just lays his legs across his lap. When the time comes to sleep, Joseph shows him to a bedroom behind yet another heavily fortified door.

“This is kinda…”

‘Grim? I agree.” They stand between the two small beds in the grey room, the lamp buzzing above them. Joseph’s is on the right, somehow more tidily made than the one that hasn’t been touched.

“We could, um, push them together. If that’s something you’re comfortable with. Might feel less like a prison and be warmer too.”

“Works for me.” Barclay pushes his bed away from the wall. Were it safe to do so, he’d show off, by lifting it over his head. He bets Joseph would like that.

Barclay waits until Joseph is changing into pajamas to strip down to his boxers and slide under the covers, not wanting to presume his comfort with Barclay’s mostly naked body. Judging by the appreciative look he gets when Joseph lifts the covers and stares, he didn’t need to be so concerned.

“Y’know, you can just ask for a hug.” He chuckles when he notices Joseph hesitantly inching closer.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortableAH.” He laughs as Barclay pulls him into a hug, smoothing his hands along his soft pajamas.

“Ohhhh” the sigh is soft, chaste, but still dripping with want, “this feels nice.” His fingers trail up and down Barclay’s chest.

“Mmm, but we both gotta rest up. Been a long day. Get some sleep, agent.”

Ever since the Reconciliation-generated illness broke the perimeter, the other Lodge residents have had trouble sleeping. Barclay’s gotten into the habit of kissing their foreheads; for his kind on Sylvain, it was always a gesture of protection. So when he kisses the top of Joseph’s head, it’s purely out of habit.

Joseph just sighs again and murmurs, “goodnight, Barclay.”

————————————————-

He wakes up before Joseph, gives him a much more deliberate kiss on the cheek and heads out into the main bunker. Makes coffee and a simple breakfast, revels in the delight on Joseph’s face when he walks out and sees the meal waiting for him.

They play cards after breakfast, Joseph better at BlackJack and Barclay better at poker. Try their hands at a chess match, though Barclay is rusty (but more than happy to let a handsome guy show off for him). Joseph digs out what books are available, so they can read now and then. But mostly, they just talk. Joseph talks about his work, about his interest in the paranormal. Barclay talks about the Lodge, his friends, offers a carefully edited series of stories from his traveling days.

They’re laid out on the couch, Barclay functionally spooning the smaller man as they read. He doesn’t notice he’s running his hand up and down his side until Joseph moans.

“Will, um, will you keep doing that? I, it’s been awhile since I’ve been touched like that. But, um, more to the point, I like it when you touch me. So, please?”

“Course.” Barclay grins, sets his book down so he can loop his other arm under Joseph’s head. He slows his strokes, takes time to savor the muscle he feels under the dress shirt. Even in his human form, he can smell that the agent is aroused. Then again, the fact he’s twitching his hips is kind of a give away.

Barclay rumbles out a laugh, leans forward and nuzzles the back of his neck, kissing it when Joseph gasps.

“Barclay, will you–that is, I want, unnnnfhcuck” He moans when Barclay gently nips the base of his neck, trailing little lovebites all over his throat.

“What is it babe? What do you want?” Barclay bites his ear just as he’s trying to answer, causing another whimper in place of a reply.

“Oh fuck you.” Joseph snickers, turning his head to kiss him, the awkward angle doing nothing to dampen the hunger in it.

“Can if you want to.”

“Good lord yes” Both Joseph’s hands find his arm, clinging to him as he wiggles his ass backwards to grind against him. Barclay’s cock eagerly responds, and Joseph groans, excited, “oh yes I like that very much.”

“Not sure you’re ready for that yet, babe. Much as I like the idea of cumming in you until you’re fucking dripping, rather be on the safe side and use a condom the first time I fuck you into the ground.”

“Figures that’s one of the things I haven’t found in this place.” Joseph grumbles as Barclay unbuttons his slacks.

“Think I got something you’ll like just as well.”

“Okay, oh, ohOkay.” Joseph tips inelegantly backwards as Barclay yanks off his pants and underwear. Barclay growls, hooks his legs over his shoulders and dives forward.

“FUCK” Joseph grips his head, pulling him closer as he laps at him, “ohlord, oh thank you, fuck.”

Barclay growls, does it again when the noise makes the agent tense and moan. Chuckles with each new sound of pleasure, drinking them in as he relishes Joseph filling his senses.

“Fuck, shit, Barclay you’re going positively wild and I love itGAHhhnnnyes.” Slick coats Barclay’s beard as he drags his face up so he can suck Joseph’s dick. God almighty does he want to be inside him, want to make him scream as he fucks him open in both forms, want to watch his body bounce and strain to take his Sylph form while those blue eyes go teary with pleasure.

He cups Joseph’s ass with both hands, pressing him as hard against him as he can manage, his focus stripped down to doing whatever it takes to make him cum.

“Fuck, fuck, Barclay, ohlordohfuckme, like that, please just like that.” His ass tenses under his hands and Barclay flicks his tongue out one last time as he cums, panting and still pleading for more.

Taking care not to actually hurt him, Barclay hauls Joseph so he’s laying on the couch before pouncing on him, kissing him until he’s gasping, growling and rumbling praise as Joseph manages to get his jeans open.

“That’s it babe, jack me off, lemme cum all over you, oh fucking-A that’s good.”

Joseph moans a little at the compliment, then smirks, “you have a thing for marking me, big guy?”

“Fuck yeah I do.” Barclay sinks his teeth into his shoulder, nearly howls when that makes Joseph speed up.

The agent swiftly undoes the buttons on his dress shirt, running his hands across his chest as he grins teasingly up at Barclay, “you want to cum on this, want me to let you make a mess of me?”

“Uhhuh, fuck, Joseph, you’re all mine babe, all mine.” He drops down to kiss him, pumping his hips so his cock fuck’s Joseph’s fist over and over again. He’s growling uncontrollably, kisses turning messy feral as he licks and nips at the human’s lips and neck.

When he cums he buries the sound against Joseph’s throat, praying he can’t notice how non-human it is. Glancing down gives him a perfect look at the last of his cum dripping onto the agent’s stomach, and he whines, low and animal, with affectionate want.

“That, that was, ha” Joseph kisses his cheek, “good lord I can’t remember the last time a hook up felt that good.”

“Glad you liked it.” Barclay smiles at him, kisses his nose.

“I did. I like you too, Barclay. So much.”

The come down on the couch together, cuddled up and trading innocent kisses between whispers of affection.

As they’re cleaning up, Barclay picks up the walky-talky, intending to call Mama for an update, “y’know, I meant to ask last night; what were you going to Kepler for?”

“My work with the UP. I was investigating a string of disappearances tied to Bigfoot.”

Barclay drops the device.

“I know, it sounds silly in the face of what happened next.”

“Uh huh, right, I mean, it’s good to have a goal-”

“Barclay, this is Mama, we got the all clear to pick you up. Over.”

Joseph looks at the radio, visibly sad but clearly resolve to the fact Barclay will leave him.

He could do just that. Leave him here to keep fending for himself. Pretend this never happened. Pretend he doesn’t matter.

Keeping an eye on Joseph, he gives Mama the nearest spot on the road to pick him up.

“And, uh, Mama? Tell Ned he’ll be picking up two people. I found someone I can’t bear to leave behind. Over.” He holds out his hand. Joseph looks at it, then around the room, then at his face.

Then he smiles, and takes his hand.

Barclay knows they’ll be explaining to do down the road. Bu right now, that doesn’t scare him. Right now, Joseph’s hand is in his, and that’s all that matters.

Chapter Text

Barclay is so excited; he’s going to be spending two weeks on the Dual Mesa set, writing an exclusive behind the scenes story that’s sure to give the magazine a big sales boost.

“Ah, Barclay, come in.” Ned Chicane, the show’s director, ushers him into his office, “I assume they told you we will be leaving to shoot on location tomorrow?”

“Yes, I, uh, I’m really honored that you chose Q to run your story; your cast is so diverse, it really resonates with our readers.”

Ned waves a hand in faux-humility, “Why create a show with paranormal elements that simply recreates homogeneity? However, my dear boy, you were not chosen by me.”

“I requested it.” Barclay turns as a tall man with dark hair enters the office, and has the sudden urge to hide under the nearest table. The man currently staring him down with bright blue eyes and a mild-yet-clearly displeased expression is Joseph Stern, star of Dual Mesa and subject of a very unflattering article Barclay published a week ago.

“Look, Mr. Stern, I-”

“Quiet.” Stern holds up his hand, “I asked Ned to give Q a boost by granting access to the shoot because I think the magazine does excellent work. I asked for you to give you a chance to prove yourself.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your writing is quite good, but clearly your research and fact checking needs some work.”

“Just because you don’t like it-”

“I don’t, but that’s not the issue. You published things that are patently false and easily provable as such. For instance, the claim that I got this role by sleeping with the director has two major flaws; one, Ned is not my type.”

“There’s no accounting for poor taste.” Ned says, clearly unbothered,

“And two, Mr. Mosche would break my fingers if I tried to fuck his husband.” He points to the corner of the room where a large, tattooed man sits reading.

“Right you are.” He looks up long enough to reply.

“And anyone on set could have told you that. Whatever your sources were, you didn’t do due diligence. So you’ll be trying again.”

“Look, buddy, where do you get off giving me orders?”

“By being the star they’d have the hardest time killing off.”

“And by raising good points.” Ned stands, “asking for a flat retraction would reflect poorly on the show, as it would look as if we were trying to hide the truth. This allows you to correct misconceptions as well as get exclusive looks at next season.”

“You’re literally a paid actor, how the hell do I know you aren’t faking these two weeks?”

“You won’t be spending all your time with him; you’ll be interviewing others as well and have opportunities to observe him without him knowing.” Ned pats Barclays shoulder, “but he will be responsible for introducing you to the rest of the cast”

Barclay glances at Stern, who lifts an eyebrow with a smirk.

“So. Have fun with that!”

—————————————–

The introduction the next day goes as well as trying to light a match in a hurricane. Stern is polite and professional when Barclay arrives, introduces him to the cast and the main crew without mentioning the article. But it’s clear Barclay’s reputation precedes him.

“You really got Joe figured all wrong.” Duck Newton, who plays good-hearted Sheriff Frank Roosevelt on the show, pulls Barclay aside as Stern and co-star Aubrey Little (who plays Lucille, a plucky young woman with a dark past) get ready to shoot.

“So everyone keeps saying, but I didn’t make that stuff up. It turned up when I researching him.”

“Don’t mean someone else didn’t just pull it out of their ass.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Barclay sighs, rubbing his forehead.

“Look, all I know is Joe’s been nothin but kind a professional to me. I’d even call him a friend. Know he can come off as intimidatin' and rigid sometimes, but he’s a good guy.”

Barclay hears variations of this sentiment over and over during the next two days. It’s part of why he’s currently sitting inside his motel room not far from the main set, eating dinner alone. Indrid, the costume designer had actually invited him to eat with a few members of the crew. Barclay demurred. If the bulk of the people on set think he’s a jerk, he doubts they’ll be that open to getting to know him. Plus, he’s kind of humiliated at how little actual evidence he can find for the claims against Stern, and doesn’t want to give the other man a chance to gloat.

There’s a knock on the door, and he opens it to find the last person he expects, or wants, to see.

“Good evening, Barclay.” Out of costume, Stern almost looks ordinary. There’s still the unfair symmetry of his face, the way he makes jeans and t-shirt look somehow sophisticated.

“Uh, something you need from me?”

Stern looks past him to his cobbled together dinner; Barclay’s a good cook, but the damn room doesn’t have anything more than a microwave.

“The chance to buy you an actual dinner.”

Barclay’s about to point out that he’s not eating in the commissary tent because of Stern when the actor adds, “please?”

He grabs his wallet and joins Stern in the still-warm evening air, following him into the few blocks that make up downtown Sagebrush, the former mining town that makes up much of Dual Mesa’s background. He expects them to stop at the Mizpah, the sole fancy hotel and restaurant, but Stern guides him past it and into a kitschy diner.

They study their menus in silence, the pleather booths squeaking awkwardly whenever one of them moves.

Barclay orders the burger plate that comes with a slice of pie and Stern, surprisingly goes for an omelette off the all-day breakfast menu.

“Barclay I, well, it’s obvious we got off on the wrong foot. I want you to know that as much as the article upset me, I don’t want you to be miserable while you’re here. No ones going to shun you for what you wrote.”

“Pretty clear they’re all on your side.” Barclay sips his water, meeting Stern’s gaze.

“There don’t need to be sides; you want to write an accurate profile of what it’s like on set, and I want to not have my name dragged through the mud anymore. Those come out to be the same thing.”

“You seem real fucking confident.” Barclay narrows his eyes.

Stern’s hackles go up, but then he sets his hands on the table with a measured breath, “I don’t pretend to be perfect, Barclay. I’m aware, well aware, of my flaws. But none of those flaws match what you wrote about me. I’m not asking to look untouchable in your piece, I’m asking to look like myself.”

Barclay looks down, spots him nervously shredding his napkin. As he’s thinking, a teenager in a tricolor tank-top approaches the table.

“Um, sorry, but are you Joseph Stern? The guy who plays agent Hooper?”

Stern smiles, genuine and reassuring, “I am.”

“Could I, uh, get a picture? Like a selfie?”

“Of course.”

Barclay watches Stern pose with the kid and compliment his pride shirt, before waving goodbye as he scurries back to his table to show his friends the photo.

“That doesn’t bother you?”

Stern shakes his head, “It happens pretty often, especially in town where most people know what I look like in my street clothes, so I’m used to it. Besides, for a lot of these kids there’s more than just the celebrity angle. I can count the number of gay, trans, Asian-american actors on T.V when I was kid with one hand,” He holds up a fist to indicate a zero, “if the price of being that person for kids now is posing for some pictures, I’ll pay it any day.”

Warmth blooms in his chest, the sincerity making him want to trade a truth in return, “Yeah, I remember looking for guys like me and not seeing them. I’d just pick a character I liked and kinda projected. Except the X-Files; then I just had a huge fucking crush on Mulder. Oh, thanks.” He smiles at the waitress as she sets his food down.

“I know that feeling. Somewhere there are pictures of me dressed as him for a Halloween party.”

“Heh, I haven’t dressed up for Halloween in ages.” Barclay munches on a fry, “Last three times I went as Bigfoot. It was an easy costume and kept my face hidden.”

“That’s a shame for the other party-goers.”

Barclay coughs, choking on his fry, as Stern blushes, shoves a piece of toast into his mouth, and changes the topic to books.

The next day, when Barclay arrives on location and everyone is milling about getting ready to shoot, Stern pats the chair near his own and talks with him until he’s needed on camera. Over the next week, Barclay finds himself next to Stern more often than not, comparing notes on the mystery novels they’ve been passing back and forth, or explaining his job moonlighting as a cookbook editor, or listening to the actor describe his travels to the locations of famous cryptid sightings. What surprises him most is how charming he finds Stern when he’s nowhere near a camera. On set, in character as Special Agent Alex Hooper, he radiates the quiet charm that makes his character so beloved. When they’re alone it’s different, a little less polished and little nerdier, and rather than captivating him it makes Barclay want to protect him.

It turns out that slips of the tongue happen to Stern a lot, at least when he’s around Barclay. “Sec” routinely becomes “sex” and comments about Barclay’s size and strength come often, Stern always sheepish afterwards. As if his attention is something Barclay may not want rather than something he craves like a four-course meal.

When he starts daydreaming about asking Stern back to his motel room after one of their now-regular dinners together (that Stern always pays for), he knows he’s in trouble.

“Helllloo?”

He jumps, chuckles in surprise as Aubrey finishes waving her hand in front of his face, “Sorry, was thinking about dinner.’

“I was saying thanks for coming out while we shoot this. I know how hard it can be to pull away from your ‘muse’.” She wiggles her eyebrows and Barclay feels the blush overrun him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let him figure it out on his own.” Aubrey winks, the groans, “aw fuck here he comes.”

Robert Hayes, who plays the recurring role of Hooper’s supervisor, appears in the grove where they’re shooting a scene with just him and Aubrey. Barclay steps out of frame, Aubrey hissing “don’t leave me” as he does.

“I can’t believe Ned is letting Indrid do more alternative looks for you.”

“It works for Lucille.”

“It would work better if she was more conventionally attractive.”

Barclay growls under his breath; how dare this guy talk to his friend that way?

“Well, obviously not, because the audience likes me like this. And they have opinions worth listening too.”

The tension remains throughout the shoot, Barclay tensing every time Hayes opens his mouth. He pretends to be busy when the actor comes over to join him.

“I’m glad you’re planning on expanding your take-down of Stern.”

“I never said that. I’m writing about the new season of the show.”

“If you want more information about what he’s really like, I’ll be happy to chat with you in private.” The older man pats his shoulder and heads off to his trailer.

Barclay waits until he’s gone, then goes to look for Ned. He has a hunch the director might like to know about Haye’s offer.

——————————————-

“…guess Ned put him in his place.” Stern finishes adjusting his tie as the scene sets up, “Sounds like he wanted his character to become the eventual lead, and thought shit-talking me would be the way to go.”

“I’m glad it’s sorted out.” Barclay pretends to be studying his notes so he doesn’t stare too noticeably at Stern’s ass.

“Me too. Thanks, Barclay.” Stern steps onto set, and as Ned begins running through the scene with Stern and the actor playing his (unbeknownst to him) alien lover, Bee, Barclay wishes he’d chosen to be elsewhere. Because this is a sex scene. With Stern. That he will be watching.

No, damn it, he’s a professional. His butt is staying in this chair.

He makes it through the several takes of the dialogue just fine, starts sweating a little when he kissing begins. Stern’s kisses strike a balance between tender and passionate, perfectly in character, and Barclay would give his right arm to trade places with Bee.

The action moves to the bed, Stern caressing his lover as they unbutton his shirt.

Okay, now he’d give his right arm and leg to be the one beneath him.

He reminds himself this airs on TNT, not HBO, so it can’t get much more explicit.

Sterns whole body drips with soft dominance as he pins Bee to the bed, cooing that he’s never seen a finer sight.

Fine, his right arm, leg, and any non-vital organs, he’ll trade them all in a second to hear Stern say that to him, even if it’s only pretend.

He doesn’t make it through the second take of the bed scene, hurries away as quietly as unobtrusively as he can. There’s no way he can make it to his motel like this, cock pressing so hard against his jeans he’s afraid he’ll end up with a zipper mark. And the bathrooms aren’t exactly private. He does have the key to Stern’s trailer, the actor having given it to him in case he needed somewhere air conditioned to rest from the heat. The trailer that is very nearby.

Does he dare?

The question hardly registers before he’s at the door, unlocking it and ducking inside before anyone sees. He leans against the counter with a groan, unzipping his pants and praying the pre-cum that immediately streaks his hand hasn’t made a noticeable spot in the denim.

He fumbles around to find some tissues, not wanting to face the humiliation of Stern walking in to find him cleaning cum off of his cabinets (he does actually want that humiliation, and badly, but not without Stern’s consent).

The strokes are hard and fast, his eyes shut so tight he sees static as he imagines Stern behind him, saying how much he wants him, how needy he is, how he’ll take care of him. He grits his teeth, breath leaving him in faint hisses and stifled moans until the temptation to say Stern’s name overwhelms him.

“Joe, Joe, fuck, Joe.”

“Yes, big guy?” A voice purrs in his ear as hands bracket him against the counter.

“Fuck” He tries to freeze, finds he’s shaking too much from want and worry to do so.

“You forgot to lock the door, silly boy. I, however, did not.”

“I’m, I’m sorry, I just needed to, fuck, I didn’t mean for you-”

One hand leaves the counter, strokes the base of his neck and toys with his hair, “what about this suggests I’m angry with this, um, development?”

Barclay whimpers, feet unwilling to turn and look Stern in the eye.

“Should I stop?” The tease goes from his voice.

All he can do is whimper again and shake his head.

The hand leaves his neck, slides down Barclay’s arm to rest atop his hand on the counter. The other takes it’s time snaking down his stomach and hips.

“Poor Barclay, no wonder you had to leave.” His hand nudges Barclay’s aside, takes it’s place around his cock, “you can probably see this thing from space. I’m taking this as a testament to my acting skills.” A laugh as he kisses Barclay’s neck, stroking him slowly.

“Please don’t say this is acting too.”

“It’s not.” A kiss to his cheek, a twist along his cock, both making him weak-kneed, “do you know what I was thinking about during that scene? I was thinking about you, what you’d look like if I fucked you. It’s only a quirk of anatomy” he grinds against Barclay’s ass, “that means I didn’t have a noticeable reaction on camera.”

“Fuck, Joe, more, please I need more of you, all of you, I’m so fucking close.”

The hand on his cock pulls away, “not just yet, big guy. Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Uhuh.” He whines, pushing his hips forward to bump his cock along Stern’s hand.

A light smack on the ass, “behave. Take everything off and wait for me on the bed.”

“Uh huh.” He turns, only for a hand to firmly grasp his chin and force him to stay eye to eye with Stern.

“Try that response again, big guy, with better manners.”

“Y-yes, s-sir, I, I understand.”

He’s yanked into a demanding, possessive kiss, Stern stroking his cheek approvingly when he releases him, “Good boy. Is this alright?”

“Yes, yesyes, Joe, please, I love it, don’t stop.”

“I won’t, unless you say so. Promise you will if you need to?”

“I swear, cross my heart, babe, please.”

A loving laugh, coupled with a peck on the lips, “bed.”

Barclay strips so quickly he loses his balance, landing on the bed as he fights to pull off his pants. He tries to calm himself by folding his clothes and setting them aside, certain that if he gets more excited he’ll become the first confirmed case of human combustion.

“Hands and knees, please.”

“Oh fuck me.”

Stern is standing by the bed, naked from the waist down save for a strap-on, but still in his special agent clothes from the waist up.

“Do you like the suit, big guy?”

“Yessir.”

“Good to know. Maybe next time I’ll wear the whole thing while I fuck you. Now” he climbs onto the bed, “try to relax for me.”

A condom-covered finger presses against his ass as soon as he’s on his hands and knees, Stern working him open efficiently yet gently until he’s begging for more. Stern ruffles his hair, and then the toy is pushing into him. It’s narrow, so the stretch isn’t too bad, and for a moment he wonders if it will even do much for him.

“Let me see, if I just-”

“FUCKfuck” The curve of the toy finds his prostate.

“That’s part of why this is a favorite of mine, it’s so effective” he thrusts harder, “at finding the right spots.”

“Mhhhmmmmm” Barclay bites the pillow to muffle his moans and growls, wiggles his hips as Stern finds his pace.

“The other reason I like it…”

“SHIT, babe, baby, ohfuck that’s good.” The toy vibrates, sending heat all through him, “fuck, I’m gonna come in like th-thirty seconds from that.”

“Thirty seconds? Let’s see if you’re right, big guy.”

“GaaAAHfuck, Joe, yeah, yeahyesbabeyes.” He gives up on being quiet as the actor rams into him, drops to his elbows when the intensity makes it impossible to anything other than moan and and grunt and take it.

“That’s it, good boy, let’s see just how hard you are for me” Stern pants as he reaches around, teasing the head of Barclay’s cock, “perfect, you’re doing wonderfully, fuck” a groan of gratification as Barclay spurts across the bed, “messy, god I love making you come apart, even I might make you clean that with you tongue later.”

“Oh god.” Barclay moans, drool staining the pillow, as Stern loops an arm tightly around his waist and grinds, the toy still bumping and rumbling inside his ass.

“Nnn, Barclay, yes, hold out just a little longer, let me get off on this perfect ass.”

Barclay whines, sensitivity overloading his circuits and driving him wild.

“Just a little more big guy, fuck, fuck, lord almighty I’m close, c’mon, you can handle it, you can be good and take me as long as I need.”

“Yes, yes, wanna take you, wanna be yours, wanna serve you.”

“Fuck” Stern doubles over, hips working frantically, “that’s it, good boy, if you’re in this bed you, fuck, your only job is to please me.”

“Yes” Barclay sobs just as Stern moans into his shoulder. When he pulls out, Barclay flops, limp, onto his side.

“You with me, baby?” Stern wiggles out of the harness, lays so they’re face to face and cups Barclay’s cheek.

“Mmhmm. Fuck” he pulls Stern into a hug, “I can’t believe we just did that. That was fucking amazing.”

“Didn’t take you for the sub type.”

“Everyone always wants me to be big ‘n dommy. Don’t wanna. Wanna be someone’s good boy.” He’s slurring, mind still a bit foggy.

“You can be mine. In, um in not just a sex way, although it can be just a sex thing if you want it to.”

“Nope” He cuddles him closer, then it hits him, “you’re asking me to be your boyfriend?”

“Please?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes” He kisses him after each answer, making them both laugh.

“It won’t fuck up your work?”

“I’ll ask Mama what she thinks, we might need to transfer the rest of the article to Thacker. Uh, maybe this is silly but, uh, can I take you to dinner? My treat?”

Stern kisses him, stars in his eyes and a hundred watt smile on his face, “that sounds perfect, big guy.”

Chapter Text

Duck pulls the Captain Planet comforter up to his chin, sighing as he lays down. He turned seven today, and has been spoiled and fussed over. Mama Newton isn’t much of an entertainer, but she knows how to throw a birthday party.

A scrape of nails on the floor and the rustle of something under his bed makes him freeze.

“Taco, that you?”

When the cat doesn't appear, he sinks further under the covers.

“Mom?”

“No” soft voice with a bit of hiss drifts up from under the bed.

He swallows, “Who’re you?”

“My name is Indrid. I live under your bed.”

“No you don’t, you weren’t there last night.”

“How do you know?”

“Just do. So go away.”

“No.”

“I’m gonna call my dad.”

“He won’t believe you” the bed frame rattles, “he will tell you to be a big boy.”

The monster is right, just yesterday dad was saying how proud he was of Duck being brave at the doctor. Fine, maybe if he pretends it’s not there, it’ll go away.

“....aren't you going to cry?”

“No.” He sets his shoulders, glares at his wall.

“....not even a little?”

“No.”

“Oh.” A sigh, “I am not very good at this.”

Duck didn’t know monsters could be sad.

“Are, uh, are you a grown-up monster?”

“No. I am young and little, like you. They would not send a grown-up monster to a child, they send them to grown-up humans.”

“Grown ups don’t have monsters under their beds.”

“They do. They may not know it, but they do.”

Indrid doesn’t say anything else and Duck falls asleep. He’s hoping the monster won’t come back, but the instant his mom turns out the light, he knows he’s there.

“I’m n-not scared.” He whispers to the ceiling.

“Yes you are. I can taste it.”

“You can't hurt me. You ain’t real.”

A hand closes around his ankle and he yelps. The monster laughs, then hisses when Duck kicks his wrist.

“That was not nice.”

“Neither was grabbing me”

There’s a huff, but nothing else. The third night, Duck is ready, sticking a fake sword under the bed as soon as Indrid says something.

The sword is yanked from his hands.

“Why is it this color?”

“Suppose to be from the future. Ain’t you seen Space Rangers?”

“No. That is not a movie we have down here.”

Duck is only now starting to recognize awkward pauses, but he’s pretty sure this is one.

“Will you tell me about it?” Indrid slides the sword back onto the floor by his dresser.

He rolls onto his back. He’s not all that tired, and Juno is sick of hearing about it.

“Okay, so there’s this guy who’s a space farmer….”

----------------------------------------

It’s been a year and Indrid is under his bed almost every night, but Duck isn’t afraid of him anymore. Which is why he’s determined to finally get a look at him. How scary can a monster that wants to talk about T.V or trees or whatever else Duck has been up to really be?

When his mom turns off the light, Duck slips out of bed and lays on his stomach, staring into the darkness beneath it.

Four red eyes appear, but nothing else.

“Hey ‘Drid.”

“Hello. Why are you down here? Did you lose that action figure again?”

“Nah. Wanted to see you. Where’s the rest?”

“Hidden in shadows. I am not supposed to let humans see me. It can be dangerous.”

“Oh, uh, sorry?”

Indrid hurriedly adds, “But we can stay like this, this is okay. I think. I do not really care, I like being able to see you. You're like the baby multibear my friend has.”

“I ain't a bear.”

“No. But you are, ah, cute.”

Only Iris, Juno’s friend, has ever called him cute, and he only knows that because Juno told him. He understood he was supposed to think that was good. But he likes it much better when Indrid says it.

“What should we talk about tonight?”

Duck rests his chin on his hands, “You wanna play go fish?”

“You have a fish?” The red eyes tip to the right.

He snickers, “No, it’s a game. Here, lemme show you…”

------------------------------------------

“You better give that one back.” Duck grumbles as he looks down from the bed to see his new Spiderman comic missing.

“I have given all of them back.” He can hear the smile, the one he’s glimpsed in darkness while whispering secrets under the bed; it’s wide, and there are definitely fangs, but Indrid only ever shows it when he’s happy. He never has a mean smile like the jerks at school.

“Where’s my Black Panther?”

“...........I dropped it in the stream when I was reading.”

“‘Drid!”

“I got excited!!”

“You owe me a new one.” There’s no anger in his words. It’s just a comic book, not nearly as special as Indrid.

“Can I give you something from here instead?”

Duck closes the new Iron Man, holds it down to the space beneath the bed, “deal.”

------------------------------------------------

He wakes up with a cry, too quiet to be a scream but with tremendous force behind it. As the nightmare fades, something rolls off the bed behind him.

“‘D-Drid? Please, please say that was you or Taco.”

“It was me, Duck. I, I am sorry, you were whimpering in your sleep and I could taste more and more fear and I did not want you to be afraid. I, ah, I thought if I held you, it would make you feel better.”

“Thanks.” He shivers, the dream reaching out from all sides, threatening more horror if he falls asleep.

“Can, uh, can you come back up? Just for a little bit?”

“I should not. It was already risky to do it how I did.”

Duck nods, forgetting Indrid can't see him. That's fine. He’ll be okay. He can handle-

A tree branch scrapes the window and he throws the covers over his head.

“Put your hand over the edge of the bed.”

Duck slips his hand out from the blanket and lets it hang in the air. Fingers link around it, and then Indrid is holding it full on. It doesn’t feel like holding Janes hand when he’s helping her cross the street; it’s cold, smooth, and the nails are sharp. He sneaks a glance, sees red claws wrapped around his wrist, and feels safe enough to sleep.

--------------------------------------

“Trouble sleeping?”

“Yeah, don’t know why I’m so worried about startin’ high school. I mean, it’s fucking Kepler, the high school ain’t any bigger than the middle school. “

“I always get nervous for new lessons. Even with some ability to see the future, I am worried I will do something wrong. Maybe it is that?”

“Yeh.” Duck rolls onto his side, hoping for a glimpse of a hand. He wishes he knew what Indrid looked like, wishes he was coming to school with him tomorrow.

“I am sure you will be fine. You are intelligent, and funny, and charming.”

He smiles at the wall, “Thanks, ‘Drid.”

“Any time, Duck.”

--------------------------------

His roommate is snoring, which is not what he was hoping for from his first night in the dorms. Class tomorrow is going to fucking suck if he hasn't slept.

“Congratulations on the successful move.” A familiar voice slinks up to his ear.

“‘Drid? Holy shit, did you follow me?”

“I am your monster, I go where you go. Sort of. It is complicated. What is not complicated however, is this.” The clawed hand pops up to the edge of the bed, placing a wrapped package near Duck’s head. Stealthily removing the paper shows it’s the bright orange truffles that come from Indrid’s home. Duck loves them.

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“It is traditional in both human and monster culture to give a gift when one moves to a new home. And I like bringing you things. Are you feeling well? Excited to learn about the forest?”

“Yep. Just wish I could get to sleep.”

“One moment.”

He feels Indrid leave. Then his roommate's bed shakes and shudders, the other guy jolting awake in fright. He doesn’t look like he’ll be getting back to sleep anytime soon.

Duck shifts onto his side, facing the wall, and whispers down the stucco, “Thanks.”

---------------------------------------------

A perk of his roommate getting a girlfriend is that Duck gets more nights alone. He’s soaked the pillow with sweat, and is so wrung out from cumming he hasn't wiped his hands yet.

“Are you done?”

“JESUSFUCK”

“I'm taking that as a yes.”

“Please tell me you ain’t been there this whole time.”

“No, I always leave if you are doing that. It is private.”

“Thank fuck.”

Relief is followed by disappointment, which he decides he won’t think too hard about.

It only takes another night before he does, imagining Indrid listening to him fuck himself, whispering instructions for how Duck should do it, even touching himself at the same time, getting off on the sound of Ducks pleasure before holding his hand all night.

------------------------------------------------

It’s fall, and the apartment he and Juno share is close to campus, cheap, and fucking freezing.

Duck knows just how to warm up. Sliding his hand down his sweats, he starts picturing Rich, but the thought of jerking it to an ex is a boner-kill waiting to happen. So, he switches to his trusty fallback, selecting a blonde, fresh-faced yet kind of punk body for the voice under the bed.

He wants to draw it out, but fantasizing about Indrid always sets his hand flying, too many nights like this seeding a deep desire in his veins that he has to purge fast for fear of what will happen if it lingers. The monsters name drops from his lips, breathy and urgent, and he’s too caught up to care

“Indrid, fuck, please.”

“Please what?”

Gasping, he sits up. A figure is standing at the foot of his bed, staring at him with red eyes. In the dark room, he can’t make much out beside their glow and two short horns on the top of his head. Duck’s mind spins so fast it hurls out the first sentence that comes.

“‘Drid’s got four eyes, not tw-”

Another pair of eyes open just below the first.

“They are a secondary pair, so I can keep them shut and see just fine. I thought the sight of them might be too much combined with the rest of me.” Indrid murmurs.

“Th-though I ain’t allowed to see the rest.”

A shrug, “You aren’t. But I cannot bring myself to care right now. Not when you say my name like that.”

Summoning his courage, Duck locks his gaze onto Indrid’s own and slowly drags a hand up his dick, “You gonna show me the rest or not?”

A hissing growl curls around him as Indrid leans forward, clawed hands leading the crawl onto the bed. In the moonlight coming through the window, Duck sets eyes on the whole of him for the first time.

His face is angular, sporting his wide toothy grin and framed by silver hair falling just past his chin. Past the claws, his arms are a mixture of tan skin and black and red scales, twining up his arms. The same combination is clear on his chest, visible above the neckline of the white tank-top. Flashes of color appear under the fabric, racing down Indrid’s spine, and Duck would ask what they are if Indrids face had not just come level with his. Standing up, the monster can't be much taller than him. But here, pinned against his headboard like a scientific specimen, Indrid bracketing him, he feels frighteningly small.

“What happened to not spying on me when I did this?” The words stick in his dry mouth.

“It was accidental. I only stayed when I heard you call for me.”

“Wasn't callin.” Heat rises in his face.

The grin widens, “Oh no?” A long tongue drags down Duck’s cheek, “You did not have even the smallest hint of hope I would hear? That I would lay in the shadows, savoring the sounds of you, ah, taking yourself in hand?”

He’s so strange looking, every sensible part of Duck is screaming for him to run, to banish him under the bed and go back to his normal life.

Duck inches his face forward, closing his teeth round the lobe of a pointed ear, “Maybe.”

Indrid chuckles, “Then maybe I have been hoping for the same. Maybe I have been touching myself and dreaming it was your hand instead of mine. Maybe” he brushes their noses together, “I have wanted this for as long as you have?”

“Least a year, more if I’m bein honest with myself.”

“Several years, but then again, I had the pleasure of being able to see your face. It made you all the more appealing.”

Duck reaches out a shaking hand, stroking silver hair. He means to say some platitude about Indrid being handsome because the affection in Duck’s heart means he couldn’t see him any other way. While that may be true, a second, more surprising truth comes out in its place.

“Thinkin if you’d let me see you, we woulda gotten here a lot sooner. “

There’s another growl and then he’s yelping out a laugh as Indrid yanks him flat on his back and unceremoniously rips his shirt off. His monster brings their lips together, tongue sliding between them as the human shoves both hands into Indrid’s hair. When he teases his tongue against Indrid’s, the monster whines, pressing closer and pawing his sides.

“‘Drid” He mumbles.

Another whine, higher and morphing into a chirr as Indrid grinds their hips together.

“‘Drid, you gotta let me breathe.”

The monster breaks the kiss, but coats his face in pecks as he catches his breath, chirping all the while. Something solid ripples beneath the fabric of his black pants where they rub against Duck’s thigh.

“Holy fuck what, what exactly are you packin down there?”

“Would you like to see?”

“Hell yeah.”

The pants and Duck’s sweats hit the ground in quick succession, Indrid’s shirt landing atop them a moment later when Duck pulls it off to kiss along the scaled swirls of his chest.

“Well, what do you think?”

“Guh, uh, jesus, uh, ‘Drid, what’s it doin?”

Indrid looks down to where four short tendrils are unfurling to reveal a ridged cock.

“Getting ready to fuck you?”

“Uh, how exactly?”

Indrid licks his lips, “Lay back and I will demonstrate. Do not worry, as much as it pains me to focus on anything but your face, I will use my foresight to be certain nothing I do leads to trouble.

Duck rests his head on the pillow as Indrid settles between his legs, claws pricking his thighs when the monster pushes them apart.

“Does the whole thing goOH, oh fuck.” He wiggles his hips, “fuck, ‘Drid, that feels so fuckin weird.”

‘That is not surprising. It is one of the tendrils which, unless I'm very wrong about human anatomy, none of your previous partners had.”

“Nnnnnnfuck, fuck you’re gonna fuckin ruin me, god fuckin damn that feels nice.”

“Wonderful.” Indrid bends down, hands gliding to rest by Ducks biceps. He kisses him slowly s the tendril continues stretching him open, slick and pulsing in time with the careful movements of Indrid’s hips.

His monster noses down his throat, drags his tongue back up it with a purr, “You taste divine.”

“If you're, fuck, gonna eat me, do me a favor and do it after I cum?” Duck teases, stroking Indrid’s shoulder blades.

Indrid laughs, “A fair request. But I have zero interest in eating you; how could I? I would lose my best friend and my new favorite past time.” The tendril thickens, making Duck moan and throw his forearm over his eyes.

“Fuuuck, are all monsters this fuckin sappy?”

“Only yours. And it is not as if you're not that way. I remember those love notes you asked me to help with.”

“Okay okay, we’re both big fuckin marshmallows. Now, AAHnn, are you gonna help me break this bed or not?”

Indrid pulls out with another growl, kneading Duck’s ass as he lines up his cock, “Yes, yes I am.”

“FUCK, ohfuckohfuck, yeah, fuck yeah.” Duck digs his fingers into Indrid’s back as he shoves in, “‘Drid, tht’s so fuckin goodohshit, what, what’s it doin now?” The tendrils have spread, one curling around his dick, two teasing his balls, and the fourth twining up Indrid’s shaft, meaning Duck’s toes curl with new sensations on the next thrust.

Indrid grins against his neck, “Taking care of you.”

“Ain’t that, that thoughtful.”

“All for you my sweet, goodness, you’re so warm and your ass is delightful.” His lips find Duck’s cheeks, “I’ve wanted this so long, sweetheart, so very longAHhnnnn.” His head hits the pillow as Duck scratches down his back. Not only do colors flash in his wake; spikes emerge along the ridge of his spine, flickering red to purple to black.

“Is that-”

“-okay yes very, o-okay. You can touch them, they will not hurt.”

Duck runs his finger up one. It’s feathery and smooth, rising and lowering with the undulations of Indrid’s body. Tugging it makes Indrid snap his hips with a chirring growl.

“Yes, yes do that again, more, please ohahnnnnisJunohome?

“No?”

“Good.”

The words Duck meant to say give way to shouts of pleasure as Indrid slams into him over and over, sinking his teeth into his shoulder and clawing at his sides. Duck scratches his scales and skin, strokes and pulls the feathery spines, Indrid trilling when he does. His hips quicken, Duck struggling to keep pace as the monster pins him more firmly to the bed. When he cums the tendrils tighten, sending Duck over the edge right after him. Indrid kisses him again, nipping long his lips as he whimpers the monsters name.

As his whole body spasms and relaxes, Indrid rolls him over, panting.

“More, I want more, again, mine, you are all mine.”

Duck looks over his shoulder, grinning fondly, “Uh huh.”

“What is so funny?”

“Nothin. Just, uh, realized there's a plant your dick reminds me of.”

Indrid blinks so intently his second set of eyes join in the expression. Then he cackles, draping himself over Duck to kiss him again.

“You can tell me all about it after we are done with the extremely pressing matter of me fucking you again.”

“Go wild, darlin.”

This time the pillow takes the brunt of the noise, Duck grunting and moaning into it as Indrid fucks him from behind, switching between slow, gentle thrusts and grabbing Duck’s hips to drive into him hard enough to set off fireworks in his brain. He’s overstimulated to the point of tears, but his whole system floods with pleasure at the intensity of Indrid’s desire, the feeling of being so utterly used and wanted all at once. When the monster pulls out, he’s cum enough that it drips down Duck’s thigh, tingling as it goes.

“Now” Indrid flops onto the mattress, wriggling into Duck’s waiting arms, “tell me about this plant.”

----------------------------------------

When Juno gets home Sunday morning, Duck is in the kitchen humming long with a playlist on his phone.

“Holy fuck man, what happened to you?” She stares at the bitemarks and bruises all around his neck and shoulders and the scratches on his legs.

“Had a real nice weekend.”

“You got all that from a hook-up?”

Duck shakes his head with a secretive smile, “Nah. Just had a sleepover with my new boyfriend.”

Chapter Text

Barclay can totally do this. He’s seven, the same age most monsters are when they’re assigned to humans, and his teacher was very clear about what he should do. She also told him that most monsters don’t need to do much at all; the humans do the work for them, getting very scared by the smallest things.

He emerges beneath the bed, his view mainly that of a wooden floor with a few neat piles of toys and books. Reaching up, he drags his claws along the underside of the bed. There’s a creak, the child in the bed sitting up. Barclay growls, and gets a small gasp in response.

“There’s a monster under my bed.”

Barclay, unsure if the child is speaking to him, replies, “Yes. There is.”

He sniffs, and while there’s a whiff of fear in the room there’s not nearly as much as his teacher said there would be.

“What kind of monster?”

Okay, this wasn’t mentioned either. Human’s weren’t supposed to be this talkative, and also he’s not sure what this one even means by his question.

“Uh, a Barclay?”

“…That sounds like a person name. Is that your name?”

“Yes.”

“I said what kind of monster are you. Are you a sasquatch?”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“A chupacabra?”

“I also don’t know what that is.”

“A frogman?”

“I don’t, uh, don’t think so?”

There’s an exasperated huff, “I’m just going to look.”

“No don’t!” Barclay squeaks, trying to make himself smaller. When bare feet hit the floor, he gives up and runs away.

What was that? Why was the human asking so many questions? Is Barclay not scary enough?

The next night, he starts with the growl, hoping that will scare the kid. What he gets is something shining in his eyes, and he just manages to throw up protective shadows to keep his whole head from being seen.

“Are you going to run away again?” The kid, Joseph, sticks the nighlight further under the bed. He’s on his belly, pajamas covered in faintly glowing UFOs, and frowns when Barclay tosses a higher growl his way.

“I won’t hurt you. I just want to see a real monster.”

“You, you can’t. It’s not allowed. I’ll get in trouble.”

That same, exasperated noise as Joseph retracts his arm, “Fine, but I still want to know what kind of monster you are. Here” he grabs a large book, opening it and shining the light so Barclay can see the pictures, “tell me when I get to one that looks like you.”

“Okay. You really aren’t scared?”

He shakes his head, face serious, “I don’t think monsters are scary. As long as you’re careful.”

Barclay feels like he should point out that sticking your arm and part of your head under a bed with a monster doesn’t seem all that careful.

“Most monsters are friendly. I think. Except lake monsters.” The boy stiffens, “you’re not a lake monster, are you?”

“No, I don’t live in a lake.”

A sigh of relief, “okay, then we can be friends.”

Barclay likes having friends, and there’s nothing in the rules that say he can’t be friends with his human “okay. We’re friends.”

Joseph smiles, begins turning pages and explaining the pictures in an animated whisper. By the end of the night, they determine Barclay looks most like something called a “bigfoot.”

———————————————–

“It’s so cute, don’t you think?” Mr. Stern steps back from the half-open door of Joe’s room, taking the stack of laundry his wife hands him, “kid’s almost nine and he still likes reading to his stuffed animals.”

“I don’t think he’s let that stuffed bigfoot you got him out of sight since you bought it. And it’s good for him to practice reading aloud.” She sets the laundry basket down on their bed, “even if he thinks he’s being stealthy by hiding on the other side of the bed.”

——————————-

“…the end. Huh, that one was okay. What do you think?” Joseph closes the book, setting down near Barclay’s face. The boy’s sitting up on the floor, back resting on the side of the bed, with his few stuffed animals arranged across from him, so his parents will think he’s reading to them rather than the very much alive creature behind him.

“I liked the part with the prince.”

“You liked the kissing part?” He sounds amused.

“Kinda. Didn’t you?”

“I like the mystery part more. I like guessing what’s going to happen and seeing if I’m right.”

He’s right almost every time, which Barclay thinks is so cool.

“Thanks for reading to me. Same time tomorrow?’

“Yes. Goodnight, Barclay.” Joseph stifles a laugh when Barclay leans into rub his face against the exposed skin between his pajamas, knowing full well it tickles when he does.

“Night, Joseph.”

————————————————-

It’s not that his home, or the monster world, is perfect. Barclay’s met plenty of monsters his age who like to be mean for no good reason. But if what Joseph has been going through the last few days is any indication, humans really like being mean to each other.

The first night he knew something was wrong was that he nearly spoke before catching on to the fact Mrs. Stern was in the room, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“…you all are starting middle school next year. Unfortunately, people tend to get cliquey around this age.”

“But why me? Why don’t they like me?”

What the heck? Who didn’t like Joseph? He’s smart and funny, he knows lots about monsters and aliens and weird events, he’s a good friend who listens when Barclay talks.

Barclay doesn’t like being mean, but he will for sure fight whoever is making Joseph so sad.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I wish I did. Just…try not to let it get to you, okay? And if it gets worse, you tell me or dad and we’ll try to help.”

When she leaves, Barclay doesn’t know what to say, stomach still bubbling with anger on his friends behalf.

“I don’t really feel like talking.” Joseph whispers.

“Okay.”

A sniffle, followed by a hand reaching towards the darkened floor, searching for something. Barclay spots the plush bigfoot wedged between the bed and nightstand, grabs it and sets it into Joseph’s hand.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” It doesn’t feel like enough. He wants to make it better somehow.

“Will you stay until I fall asleep?”

He reaches up, touching the underside of the bed, “Yeah, sure thing.”

The trouble at school has been getting worse, not better. From what Barclay can piece together, Joseph has been labeled a “nerd,” and shunned by kids who were previously friendly for fear of being labeled the same. He doesn’t tell his parents the worst of it; that he confides only in Barclay, who is discovering all the names humans have for people they want to make outcasts.

It’s time for his secret weapon. Barclay spends the afternoon in the kitchen, careful to do all the washing up since that will decrease any scolding he gets for using the oven alone. He makes a batch of cookies big enough for his parents,cousins, aunts, uncles, and anyone else who may pass by in the next two days, all so no one will notice when he takes a few with him up to the human world.

“Psst, Joseph, come down here a sec.”

His friend appears, mothman pajamas looking a little tear-stained. Barclay slides the plate out to him.

“Where’d these come from?”

“I made them.” He tries not to sound too proud; he did this to cheer Joseph up, not show off, “it seemed like you needed a friend.”

Joseph bites a cookie, smiles for the first time all week.

“Seems like I’ve got one.”

—————————————————

“How do I look?”

“From the knees down? Fantastic.”

Joseph laughs, “The door is locked, and I’ll close my eyes. Okay, closed!”

Barclay crawls out from under the bed, breath catching as he gets a good look at Joseph in his prom suit. It’s black, with a blue shirt underneath and a silver tie. With his hair slicked back, he looks like a secret agent, like a movie star, like, like…

Like everything Barclay’s ever wanted.

Man, he hopes Joseph’s boyfriend knows how lucky he is.

“You look fucking amazing.”

Joseph smiles, eyes still shut, “everything is on straight? No lint?”

“Some on your left shoulder, which I’m not touching unless you want it replaced by fur.”

“Thank you, Barclay. I wish you could come with me.”

“Me too.” Barclay reaches for his cheek, thinks better of it and lowers his arm, “tell me all about it when you get home?”

“Of course.”

———————————————–

The small white lights in the kitchen are the final touch, and Barclay brushes his hands off, satisfied. At eighteen, most monsters leave home to find or build their own, and Barclay his inherited this small A-frame house from a great-uncle. It needed some touching up before it felt like home, and it took two passes with a cleaning potion to make the mildew smell go away. Now it’s all his. And just in time, too.

His first heat starts tonight, and the general consensus is it’s much easier to deal with in the privacy of your own home than in a family one. It’s also supposed to be better with a partner, but Barclay is flying solo for the foreseeable future.

What he’s most nervous about is seeing Joseph during it. He doesn’t want to miss a whole week of hanging out, but there’s no escaping the fact that if he could have anyone with him during (or after) his heat, it would be his human.

But he’s got it all figured out; he’ll just ask if they can watch a movie, or maybe even if Joseph will read to him. Then he’ll go home and fuck his hand until he passes out.

Yeah, this won’t be awkward at all. It’ll all be totally, completely fine.

———————————————

Joseph flips to the next page of The Fortean Times, the subscription an eighteenth birthday present from his dad. A slight chill drifts up from beneath the bed, and he smiles.

“How are you tonight?”

“Good. Uh, what’re you up to?” Barclay’s voice is soft, though ever since it changed that gentle baritone makes regular appearances in Joseph’s fantasies. There was a time, right after his top surgery, where Barclay read to him when he couldn’t sleep from the discomfort, and he had the most lurid dreams of his life from that voice (and maybe the painkillers).

“Reading about a supposed “meat shower.”

“Cool. Uh, um, do you, uh”

He sets the magazine down, “Are you alright? You sound kind of…tense?”

(He actually sounds squeakier than usual, but tense seemed the politer choice).

“I’m good.” Is the unconvincing reply.

“I’m coming down there.”

On his belly, he spots the reflective glint that indicates Barclay’s eyes. They’re definitely wider than normal, and from here his breathing is labored.

“Shit, you look sick. Do you need tea? Or, um, I have some painkillers?”

“It’s not pain. It’s, uh, it’s a, uh, look, it’s really, really embarrassing.”

Barclay’s breathing gets louder as Joseph ponders what else it can be.

“It’s partly your, uh, your smell.”

“Is that your way of saying I need a shower?”

“N-no, it’s my, my way of saying you smell really fucking good.” Barclay’ voice creeps upward, and a possible explanation presents itself.

“Barclay, are you thinking about eating me?”

“Not in the traditional sense, no.”

He’s certain his own eyes go comically wide.

“Fuck. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I’m, uh, I’m kinda in heat, so I’m like uncomfortably horny and I thought I could handle it and hang out but you smell so nice and I wanna fuck you so much I think I might lose it, so I’m, I’m gonna go, I’m so sorry-”

“Barclay”

“Seriously, I thought I could be chill, it’s not your fault, I’ll come back when it’s over, should be about a week, a miserable week, oh fuck sorry I didn’t mean to say that either.”

“Barclay” Joseph says firmly enough to make the monster stop talking, “I have an idea.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you, um, do you-” oh, right, he’s not very good at this either. He’s learning to be smooth, but it all tends to evaporate when sex comes into play. He inhales, tries again, “If I sit up on my knees with my hands on the bed and you come behind me, even with my eyes open I won’t see more than maybe your hands and arms.”

“You..you want me to fuck you?”

He sounds so hopeful, and it makes Joseph blush, “Yes, Barclay, I do.”

A low, hungry growl, “Get comfy.”

The sound turns him on so quickly that his pajama pants are wet by the time he gets them off. Toys with the bedspread to calm himself as he whispers, “I’m ready.”

The same growl as something heavy crawls from beneath the bed, growing loud enough to shake the lamp. Thank the lord his parents are gone for the weekend.

Warm, slightly furry hands drag up the backs of his thighs, “Fuck, look at you. You always look so fucking put-together in your matching pajamas, like you think someone might be watching.”

“Someone has, for over a decade.”

“True.” There’s a zip and a scuff of fabric, then pants and long-sleeve shirt hit the floor in his periphery, “think it’s time I did something else.” He nudges Joseph’s leg with his knee, “spread ‘em, babe.”

He gets his legs as wide as he can comfortably go, tenses when the head of a very large cock presses against him.

“Um, Barclay? H-how much bigger than me are you?”

Barclay’s chin rests on the top of his head as two large hands, at least fifty percent bigger than a human’s, come to cover his own on the bedspread.

“Oh. Um. Alright then.”

“This still okay?” Barclay noses down through his hair to kiss and nuzzle his neck, “Can stop if you want. I’ll go slow to start, I promise. I, I don’t wanna hurt you, wanna make you feel good.” It’s a borderline whine, laced with sweetness and accompanied by the monster rolling his hips, rubbing his cock along Joseph’s folds.

“Yes, very okay, I, I just need to, um, mentally prepare. I didn’t ever expect my first time doing this would be, um, with you.”

“You’ve never done this before?”

“I’ve had other kinds of sex, just not this.”

Strong, fuzzy arms encircle his waist, Barclay growling even louder as he grinds against him.

“Mmm, do you like that, big guy? Like the idea of being the first?”

Barclay stops breathing for a moment.

“Oh lord, I’m so sorry, I, I don’t know where that came from, it sounded much better in my headOHokay, okay.” He laughs as Barclay rumbles low, mouthing at his neck, “if you bite just do it below the collar.”

“Yeah, yeah, gonna mark you up, fuck” his cock bumps Joseph’s leg, smearing pre-cum along it, “babe, please, can I fuck you now?”

“Since you asked so nicely yes, you canAHnnnnnnfuckohmyfuckinggod.” He drops forward, head on the mattress as Barclay pushes in. They don’t get far before he winces, pointing at the bedside table, “lube, need lube, please.”

He keeps his eyes on the bed as wooden bangs and a pop reach his ears, Barclay pulling out to slick himself up.

“That’s like half the bottle, that should be good right?”

Joseph smiles, anticipation rippling up his spine, “There’s only one way to find out.”

The cock is just as overwhelming the second, Barclay building a steady, gradual rhythm of thrusts, going a little further on each one. The shaft is flared, so the deeper it gets, the more Joseph has to open his legs. When his knee slips in a stray bit of lube, Barclay’s hands drop to his thighs once more, keeping him upright.

“God” Barclay’s growls are whimpers now, his teeth tugging his ear and tongue lapping at his neck, “god, Joseph, you feel even better than I thought.”

“Been imagining this a lot big guy?’

“Uh huh.”

He reaches back, the angle awkward as he keeps his head facing forward, but finds Barclay’s cheek, stroking the soft fur, “me tooOOHh, that’s, that’s as far as it can go.”

“Fuck, a third of it is still out.”

“S-sorry”

“No it’s” A kiss to the top of his head “it’s so fucking hot, you’re so fucking perfect and you’re fucking straining to take me, I could fucking split you, gonna fill you up so much and so hard you’re gonna still be dripping when I come back tomorrow”

Now it’s his turn to whimper, the thought of a repeat performance making him dizzy with excitement. The intensity heightens every time Barclay touches him or nestles closer, every time he’s reminded of how big the monster is, how obviously strong. He’s right, he could tear Joseph to pieces if he wanted to. But instead his nose is once again at the base of his neck, praise and sweet, shy promises dripping down his back.

“Whatever you want babe, whatever you need, it’s yours, wanna take such good care of you, wanna make you mine.”

Joseph wiggles his hips, claws digging into them in reply, “then do it. I’ll tell you to stop if it’s too much.”

The next thrust shoves his bed six inches to the right, Joseph scrambling to hold on as the monster pounds into him. A moan winds its way out of his mouth, punctuated by shouts. Whenever he makes one of those, Barclay chuckles smugly and squeezes his thighs or his ass.

“That’s it, fuck, make noise for me babe, love hearing you feel good, want everyone to know you’re taken.”

“C-careful what you wish fofFUCK, if we get the cops called on us for this it’ll be mortifying.”

“Don’t care, wanna hear you scream.” Claws scrape across his ass.

“AHGODyes, I know big guy, but if I have, have to explain that to my parents, I’m revoking your fucking privileges.”

A growl, teeth on his neck, “You wouldn’t dare”

“I would, so behaAAAAveemphh” He laughs into the palm now across his mouth, Barclay grunting with effort as he fucks him fast. A howlgrowlpurr floods the room and Joseph gasps, not anticipating the feeling of Barclay coming inside him.

The monster stays put, but loosens his grip and drops his hand in favor of roaming his fingers across the human’s body.

“Did, did that do it?” He wants to turn his had, wants to be able to see the answer on Barclays face, wants to do silly things like kiss him and gaze into his eyes as he comes down.

“Only kinda. I, uh, I wanna go again and this time I really, really, really wanna make you cum.”

He takes Barclay’s right hand, sliding it down to his dick, “Here, let me demonstrate.”

As he guides the slightly rough fingers at the correct pressure and angle, Barclay purrs louder and begins thrusting. Gradually, they’re surrounded by the twin, obscene sounds of fingers on slick skin and Barclay’s cock fucking his own cum back into the human.

Once he gets the gets the hang of the motion, Barclay nudges his hand out of the way to stroke him off alone, working his fingers in time with hips.

“I love feeling you like this, Joseph, fuck, please, wanna make you cum every day.”

“Pace yourself, big guy, f-focus on making me cum now, ohOHlord, fuck, fuck yes, like that, likethatlikethatohgod.” He slumps across the bed as the orgasm ripples through him, holds on for dear life as Barclay lets out a proud yip and proceeds to fuck him so vigorously he’s amazed he doesn’t chip a tooth.

This time, Barclay pulls out as soon as he finishes, cum dripping down Joseph’s thighs onto a spot on the floor he will definitely be cleaning before tomorrow. Warm, furry weight leaves his back, replaced by Barclay’s fingers rubbing his shoulders.

“Um how, how did I do? Did you like it?”

“Was amazing.” He slurs into the pillows, “y’so good, Barclay.”

That rumbling purr again, a kiss on his cheek, “Close your eyes?’

He does, the thwip of the covers being turned down followed by strong arms scooping him up, setting him on the sheets and, after a short trip under the bed, cleaning off his legs before helping him back into his pajama pants.

“Joseph I, um, I just wanted to, um, to say thank you. I never thought you’d want me to do that with you and , and I just can’t believe you like me that.”

Feeling round, he finds his hand and holds it, “I wanted it more than I was ready to admit. I want you.”

“Can I stay and talk for awhile? Under the bed?”

“Of course, big guy.”

The next week is filled with normal days and strenuous, wonderful nights. Barclay fucks him into the bed once more, and when his parents are back in the house he and his monster get creative, using blankets on the floor, a makeshift blindfold, and a white noise machine. On one occasion, Joseph lays on his back on the bed, eyes shut and legs over Barclay’s shoulders as he eats him out with muffled sounds of joy.

When Friday night rolls around, Barclay surprises him.

“Babe? You feel like coming under the bed?”

He does, though he only fits through whatever magic of science allows Barclay to be there without being smooshed (or tipping his bed sideways). It’s dark, but the monster takes his hand, guiding him into a warmly lit room with a large bed, a bookcase, and a floor strewn with cookbooks. The longer he looks, the more he notices the area by the bed is dotted with candles and flowers, the nearby wall hung with little heart-shaped lights.

“I’m not supposed to be seen in the human world. But I didn’t see a rule about being seen in my own.”

Joseph turns.

Standing behind him is a figure with reddish brown fur, a humanish face, pointed ears, claws, and rather big feet. He’s dressed in a red flannel shirt and soft looking pants, deep brown eyes lit up like a supernova as he looks at the human.

“What do you think?” He rubs his arm with a shy smile.

“I think I’m the luckiest human in the world if you’ve been under my bed all these years.” Stepping forward, he takes the monsters hands, grinning up at him, “and you’re even hotter than I was picturing when we were, um, fucking this week.”

A blush is just visible under the fur on his cheeks, “aw, thanks babe. Both for that and for letting me spend my heat with you. That’s, uh, part of why I wanted you to come down here. After all that time in bed, I figured we should have a real date, even if it’s just a stay-in one. I meant all that stuff I said, Joseph; I wanna be so good to you, you have no idea.”

He raises an eyebrow, “I have some.”

“True. So, what do you say? Up for a first date?”

“Yes.” He tilts his head up, guides Barclay down by the chin and kisses him with the full force of years of accumulated affection, “but only after our first kiss.”

Chapter Text

When the sun sets over the Monongahela, Lake Greenbriar becomes a sky burning with stars. The woven crowns, strung through ash leaves for men or rowan leaves for women, each bear four small candles which flicker in the twilight as they bob on the water. If they sink, their owners will return home alone. If they make it to another part of the shore, the one who picks them up and the one who set them afloat are meant to be together. 

By the time darkness cloaks the trees, all but one of the crowns is sunk or retrieved. Duck Newton sits on the shore, skipping stones across the black water. 

This happens every. Goddamn. Year.

He makes his crown, he sets it on the lake, and it floats aimlessly until the candles go out. It doesn’t sink, and no one ever picks it up. Two years ago, when he was allowed to weave ash leaves instead of rowan into it, he thought that might fix the issue. No such luck. 

It’s not that Duck is hoping to find his true love; every one knows that the Festival of Floating Light is an excuse to hook-up in the woods with no repercussions. Kepler is strange like that. Sex is private, unless there’s a an ancient ritual involving boning down in public, in which case it must be observed every year.

That’s not the only strange thing about his home, far from it, but as moans and cries of pleasure punctuate the darkness it’s the one on his mind. 

He’s contemplating whether to go home when his crown changes course, floating purposefully to a point diagonal from him. Lo and behold, a figure picks it up, and there’s a flash of silver as they lift it. But instead of moving towards him, they turn into the woods.

“Man, what the fuck?” He grumbles, getting to his feet and running towards the dimming candles, staying on the shore to avoid tripping over an amorous couple hidden in the trees. Duck catches up to the mysterious figure just as they pass into a clearing, moonlight spilling onto the grass around them.

“Y’know, real rude to turn your back on your true love.” He teases.

A rustle of fabric as the figure turns and Duck bites back a frustrated groan. Standing before him is a man with silver hair, faintly glowing red eyes and, god help him, short, feathery antennae. He smiles wide, showing teeth just sharp enough to be worrying. 

Six years of waiting, and the first person to get his crown is a fucking fae. 

“That seems rather forward.” The fae cocks his head, “I was of the understanding this night was for more, ah, casual activities.”

“I was, uh, just goofin around. Sorry.”

“There is no need to apologize for such a jest. Here” tan arms offer the crown back to him, “I came to observe, not participate. I was running late at that, and thus thought I would see the lake empty. Only this remained and when it came to me I assumed it’s owner had long since given up.”

“Uh, thanks.” He blows out the candles, not wanting to start a forest fire, “yeah. This same thing happens to me every year. Don’t stop me from waitin until the last moment, hopin it’ll be different.”

The fae looks at Duck’s feet, gaze slowly moving up his body with an unreadable smile. 

“I know many consider this festival a mere game, rather than true magic, and you are the proof” red eyes lock onto his face, “Such a handsome man is left floating year after year? No decent magic would allow that.”

Duck knows that fae flirt with humans all the time, that people come back with stories of being bewitched until the member of the Unseen Court had their fill. But this one seems too earnest for that.

No sooner does he think this then the fae steps back, “Oh, ah, apologies, I did not mean to alarm you with my compliment. You need not fear trickery from me, Duck Newton, I promise.”

“Uh, my, my name ain’t, uh, fuck, my names really Way-, no, no uh. Fuck.”

“Do not worry. I am a seer, and thus learned your name by following your futures. But magic has odd ways about it; because I can learn others’ names with ease, I cannot use them for any sort of spell or binding.”

“Thank fuck.”

The fae snickers, then bows, “Indeed. You may call me Indrid,”

“Indrid. Right. Uh, well, been nice meetin you Indrid, but I’m gonna head back into town.”

“You wish to return to a lonely bed and a night of disgruntled dreams?” Indrid raises an eyebrow.

“N-ye-uh, fuck, I mean, what else am I gonna do?”

“You could stay with me awhile. I would offer a meal, but I foresee you being wary of it and, honestly, that speaks to prudence on your part. Fae are fae, after all. What else do you like doing at night?” He sounds excited, as if he wants nothing more than to indulge Duck’s most mundane fantasies. 

“I like stargazin.” Duck mumbles, certain the fae will leave rather than stay and listen to him babble. 

A wave of the hand and a thick, green blanket covers the ground. The fae sits down with less grace than expected, flopping onto his back with a sigh. Cautiously, Duck joins him. As he lays back, a pillow forms to cushion his head. 

Crickets call near their heads. Duck likes silence, but a growing part of him wants to talk more with Indrid. He points to a cluster of stars, “There’s the Great Ship. Always did like that one.”

“You know, we call that The Pine. But now that you say it, I can see the ship as well.” Indrid’s finger traces lines through the air.

“Huh, never occurred to me y’all would see different things. What about…that one. Cygnus.”

“It seems we both saw something avian. To me, that is The Crane.”

The trade constellations for a time, then move on to their experiences in the woods. Their conversation chases away Duck’s nerves, and soon they’re shoulder to shoulder, the human pointing out a particularly notable Spruce. When he lowers his arm, the backs of their hands bump together. Duck turns his hand, an offering to the stranger direction the night is taking. Cool fingers link with his, and he swears Indrid purrs at the contact. 

“Can’t wait to write a friend of mine about this. He’s jealous that I live somewhere so fuckin weird.”

“I take it ‘weird’ is not something you enjoy?”

“I mean, there’s nothin wrong with it. But things like spells and prophecies, magical destinies, leylines, Unseen Courts, they ain’t something I want to stick my finger into. But uh” he squeezes Indrid’s hand, afraid he’ll get the wrong idea, “there are some parts of it I don’t mind.”

The conversation turns towards fate and Indrid’s misadventures trying to get people to heed his visions. A lull hangs between them just as a moan curls towards them from far off in the woods. 

“Jesus, thought folks’d be done by now.”

“Perhaps they got a second wind. Or are making use of the darkness to do things they would not otherwise have the courage to ask for.”

Another moan and Duck shifts, uncomfortable with the fact the noises turn him on. He wants to focus on Indrid, not on his low-level, frustrated boner.

“It appeals to you, doesn’t it? These dalliances in the trees?”

“I mean yeah. Some of us like to touch as well as look, mister just-here-to-observe.”

Indrid lightly whacks Ducks’ thigh, “I told you, I came to see the lights on the lake. They sound captivating. That being said, I am not opposed to doing the, ah, traditional activity with you. But my visions suggest that would be too much.”

“It would, at least so soon after meetin you.” It’s the safest option, and he hates it. 

Indrid drums his fingers on the blanket, “Ah ha! What about kissing?”

“Hell yeah” Duck rolls onto his side, Indrid mirroring him. The fae strokes his cheek, but does nothing else, waiting for Duck to initiate. He’s glad to, leaning in to press an exploratory kiss to cool lips. Indrid chirps softly as he returns the gesture, and Duck moves his hand to caress his cheek and play with the starfall silver of his hair. Curves his fingers down Indrid’s neck, chuckling when the fae teases his lower lip with concentrated kisses.

“AHhnnnnrrrrrrr” It’s half chirp and half purr.

“Fuck, sorry, thought you just had a scarf on.” Duck starts pulling his hand away from the ruff of dark feathers around Indrid’s neck, only for the fae to grab his hand and press it deeper.

“NoOoo” he wiggles closer, hooking an ankle over Ducks calf, “that is divine, please, touch it as much as you like.”

“It’s so fuckin soft” He pets the down, gets that same chirp followed by a flurry of kisses on the cheek. 

“My k-kind come in many form. Mine is uncommon, some would even say offputting due to it’s commonalities with moths.”

“Bullshit. Wait, does this mean you have win–HOLY fuck, I thought that was a cloak!” He lays there, stunned, as Indrid sits up and extends two night skies from his back. The wings, pitch black, dusted with hundreds of small, pearlescent spots are the most beautiful sight Duck’s ever seen. 

“A common mistake. Do you like their coloration? It is very handy if I wish to go for a night flight to clear my mind.”

“It’s incredible Indrid. Can I touch them?”

A playful smile, “Why, Duck Newton, first you come to me professing to be my true love and then ask to touch my wings. You move far too fast for a shy fae like myself.”

“Ohhh, is it a sex thing?”

“To a degree. Perhaps in the future I will permit you to touch them. Speaking of which” he lays back on his side, waves a hand in the air above Duck’s bound chest, ‘am I correct that you want me to steer clear of this part of you.”

“Uh huh. Wish you could touch a little more of me, but the damn things are hard to get rid of.”

“Of course. In that case” his hand skates over Duck’s side, pushing on his lower back to bring them closer, “I shall explore all the other parts of you that you will allow.”

Duck stays on the blanket until dawn peers over the horizon. In that time they trade touches of gentle desire and kisses that grow more fiery with each hour. At times they stop to lay in each others’ arms, Duck explaining how, if he had his way, he’d be like the fae forest stewards, watching over the woods and helping them grow. It’s with reluctance and his fingers carding through Indrid’s ruff that he says it’s time for him to go unless he wants a search party from Kepler to come looking for him. 

Indrid stands, helping Duck up but not letting go of his hand, “I foresee my court duties requiring a great deal of time for the next few months but when I do have time, ah, if you are amenable, I would like to meet with you again.”

Duck brings his hand to his lips, kissing it, “I’ll see you then, ‘Drid.”

—————————————————————-

What nobody tells you about magic rituals is that there’s a fuck-ton of waiting. Duck’s been on his back on this fucking stone slab for at least a half hour and, depending on the whims of the Unseen Court, could be here even longer. 

At the exact midpoint between the spring equinox and the summer solstice sits the Green Marriage Ceremony. The belief is that the ceremony not only ensures bountiful fields, but ongoing peace between humans and fae. Any residents of Kepler who are of age and unmarried put their names into a bowl, and one is selected to fulfill the human side of consummating the “marriage.” In the old days it was mandatory to accept if selected, but the fae now insist that the participant be willing. This year, Duck was the chosen one.

He accepted for two reasons: one was that, once you’re selected, your name is taken out of the running in the future, and why not get the weirdness over with when he can. The other was that he hopes whoever the fae send will be willing to take a message back to Indrid to let him know Duck still wants to see him. 

So here he is, in a white shirt and loose, green shorts, at the center of a stone slab the size of a wealthy mans bed. White curtains form a tent around the slab, flowers strewn about and an unlit lantern hanging from the center of the ceiling.  Juno helped him get the required flowers into his hair, (“gotta help you out how I can because Duck, I love ya, but I ain’t gonna hang around and listen to you get fucked”).

He’s not nervous. It’s not an actual marriage, just a symbolic one. The fact that he’s supposed to spend from now until sunset enacting a wedding night with a fae sounds exhausting, but assuming the fae isn’t a dick it should at least be fun. He’s heard horror stories about the human participant disappearing at the end, but that hasn’t happened since his grandfather was young.

The whispers outside the tent change, more earnest than idle, which means the fae have arrived. He has no idea how many come along with their chosen participant; like Juno he’d rather not hang around while someone he knows gets fucked for eight hours, no matter how great the food and games at the festival are. 

A swoosh of fabric has him sitting up on his elbows to see who his partner will be.

“Oh” sighs a familiar voice, “I did so hope I was in this timeline.”

“Indrid” He sits up all the way. His fae is draped in flowing silver robes, which he doffs to reveal an outfit that matches Duck’s.There’s no hesitation as he joins him on the “bed,” waving his hand so the stone disappears beneath a thick, moss-colored blanket. 

“My, my, they left me the most handsome husband imaginable. Lucky me.” He purrs, straddling Duck and leaning down to kiss his cheeks. 

“H-how’d you end up with this gig?”

“The same way you did; pure chance. I saw you in most futures, though in some you decided to withdraw at the last moment. I am glad you did not.”

“No fuckin kiddin.” Duck grabs his head with both hands, pulling him into a kiss that spins sparks up and down his spine. When they part Indrid sits back, studying him. 

“That is still not how you wish it to be?” He tips his head, indicating Duck’s chest. Duck shakes his head. Then he bolts upright, ripping his shirt up and off to stare at the newly flat space. 

“‘Drid, you, did you just-”

“If that is not what you wanted I can fix-”

“No, no it’s fuckin great! I, I never asked a fae for that kind of help because, well, the whole bargains bein’ tricky thing.”

“Of course. Though I must warn you, I had selfish motives. I wanted to be able to touch all of you.” He pulls Duck into his lap, kisses him as he glides his hands over his chest. When he plays with his nipples the human gasps and the fae grins, “oh yes, I am going to have fun with you, sweet one.”

Duck tilts his head back with a groan, lets Indrid guide them down so he’s on his back once again “Fuck that’s good.”

“Very. But I suggest we start consummating the marriage in the traditional way soon; the futures show everyone getting antsy should we delay.”

“Way ahead of you.” Duck tosses his pants away, stares as Indrid does the same before undoing the tie that helps his shirt accommodate his wings. The feathers of his ruff continue down his shoulders, turning to a light dusting by the time they reach his elbows and collarbone. Duck runs his fingers through and over them as Indrid positions himself between his legs. 

“This does not need altering for you to be comfortable doing this with me?” His fingers rub Duck’s inner thighs. 

“N-not right now. I mean, if you wanna whip me up a bigger dick later I might be ready for that.”

“Noted. My, you are quite aroused already.”

“I around you, it ain’t hard.”

“On the contrary, it is very hard.” He rubs the head of his cock across his folds, grinning. 

Duck giggles, “Christ that was awfulAHHHhhnnnfuck’Drid.” The fae sinks into him with tender determination.

“Nonsense, I learned how to ‘goof’ from the best.” He kisses his nose, purrs, “mmmmm, you fit me perfectly, sweet one.”

“Did-didn’t know fae were on the uh, the bigger siIIiide.” He moans as something catches the tip of his cock.

“Ah yes, that ridged ring at the base is always popular with humans. It seems you are no exception.”

“Nuhuh.” Duck wraps his arms around feathered shoulders as Indrid rocks his hips, “fuck ‘Drid, want it more, want you.”

“Here I am.” Indrid kisses him and the world dissolves. As their lips trace over each other, he dips his tongue into Indrid’s mouth, the hints of sharp teeth making him shiver. In the warm, soft light of the tent, Indrid’s body moving in time with his own, it’s all too easy to see the marriage bed as it could be. A cozy house full of light, nestled in the trees, with a big, soft bed where his beloved fae could comfortably sprawl his wings open as they spent each night tangled together.

A short, high chirp brings him back to earth, Indrid raising up onto his palms and snapping his hips purposefully. 

“Oh, oh yes, Duck, sweet one, yesss.” He thrusts deep, wings abruptly opening halfway, and cums with a charming trill. 

When he pulls out Duck opens his mouth to protest, only for the fae to reverse their positions. Dizzy, Duck puts out his hands to steady himself. They land in Indrid’s wings, close to his body.

“AHfuck, goodness that’s wonderful keep them right there while you ride me.” He guides Duck down onto his cock; if every fae is this quick to recover, Duck’s pretty sure he knows who set the length of the ceremony all those years ago.

The feathers in these sections of the wings are a mixture, some long and satiny, others the downy tufts Duck is growing used to. He sets a slow pace to match the drag of his fingers through the inky heaven of Indrid’s wings. The fae purrs constantly, bucking his hips now and then but otherwise letting Duck lead. That is, until his orgasm starts to build and he grinds down harder.

“AHhhnnn, yes, good little human, so good, please, sweet one, my antenna are sensitive too please touch them.”

Duck gropes fistfuls of wing, “Thought you wanted me to pay attention to these. Make up your mind darlin.”

Indrid growls, yanks one hand up to his head, sending Duck down with an amused yelp. The instant he toys with the base of one, feathery antenna Indrid moans louder, gripping his ass with sharp nails and driving up into him. The ridge on his cock catches just right over and over, sending Duck over the crest of his climax as he pours a groan down Indrids throat.

The fae, still hard inside him, holds him tight and sits up, keeping Duck in his lap. Starry wings encircle them. It’s so intimate, a world that is theirs alone, and being surrounded by those sumptuous wings has Duck bouncing on his cock even as his own body grows sensitive.

“That’s it sweet one, goodness, the way your ass moves when you do that is delicious, I will have to find all the ways to make it bounce and, ahnn, and tremble laterrrr” he breaks off into another trill, gathering Duck even closer as he spills into him. The human rests his check on the feathered part of his chest, sighing happily as Indrid plays with his hair. 

“Since I see you asking, yes, we can try some different things if that part of you needs a rest.”

He makes sure Duck is laying comfortably on his back, then straddles him so his cock drips pre-cum at the center of his chest.

“Use your hand, sweet one, and I will use mine.”

“To do whaAAAfuck, ohfuckyeah.” He hurriedly strokes the cock before him as Indrid cups his chest, pinching and teasing his nipples. They’re sensitive, having gone untouched for years, and that combined with the fact that they’re exactly how he wants them to be makes Duck whimper and eagerly work his cock. 

“Mmmmm, you turn such lovely colors when I play with you like this. Would you–ahhhnn, yes, use your thumb like that–like me to get you some jewelry for them.”

Duck whines, nodding his head as the image of Indrid affixing a god chain to each one floods his mind. 

“I could even make ones that connect chains from here to your wrists or neck; that way I could play with them no matter what direction I took you fromOH, oh, oh, oh” he smirks as cum spatters up Duck’s neck and chin, “you do like that idea. Here I thought it was idle dirty talk.”

“Nope, fuck, darlin, I wanna do so many goddamn things with you, wanna do every filthy thing two folks can do.”

“Is that so? In that case” he crawls a few inches, sets the shiny head of his cock on Duck’s lips, “open.”

Duck obeys, loses himself in the sensation of Indrid ravishing his throat as he tells him how’d he leave him tied on a bed and fuck him every hour. He uses his foresight to keep from pushing to far. All the same, by the time cum drips down to his stomach his jaw is sore and his lips swollen. 

Over the next few hours Indrid fucks him a half-dozen ways, from kneeling on the ground to suck his dick to working his cock into his ass in increments as he coos praise into his ear. 

By late afternoon, Duck is exhausted and Indrid is close to joining him. The fae stays on top of him, fucking him so lazily that at times they barely move. In place of their earlier ardor are whispered confessions and languid kisses, even a few jokes. Duck takes advantage of the lull to groom Indrid’s feathers into order, the fae humming happily under his touch.

Twilight approaches and lamps flicker to life outside the tent. Indrid reaches up, turning on the lamp above them.

“We have about twenty minutes until they call the ceremony to an end. And the new arrangement of light means they can see our shadows.”

In spite of himself, Duck moans.

“Does my sweet husband like being watched?”

“Only with the tent up. Fuck, ‘Drid, the idea of them knowin’ I’m yours. Knowin’ what you do to me…”

A wicked smile flashes into view and then Indrid maneuvers him onto his hands and knees. This time, he thrusts in hard and sets a rough pace, Duck crying out in pleased surprise when he does. 

“I think they deserve a little show. Deserve to see how lucky I am, and how eager you are.” His fingers dig into Duck’s hips as fucks him harder. Duck tries to stifle his next moan, the sound broken and desperate, and Indrid tuts, “None of that. I want them all to hear you. I want them to know how, even after a day of spreading your legs for me, you are still pleading for your husband to fill you again.”

“Holy fuck, ‘Drid, yes.”

Cool fingers run down his right thigh, through the still-wet lines of cum, “Just look at this. This sinful body of yours is practically covered in my spend, and yet you want more.”

“Yeah, fuck, yes I want it ‘Drid, want you, want you forevermmmph!” Cum-streaked fingers shove into his mouth, don’t leave until he sucks them clean.”

“You do not mean that, that is just these needy holes of yours talking” he gives a sharper thrust for emphasis. 

“No it ain’t, ‘Drid, pleaseplease.” It comes out as a sob and the fae stops, leaning down to hiss in his ear. Outside sounds of townspeople taking themselves in hand or bending each other over just out of sight fill the air, but Indrid’s voice drowns them out. 

“Do you really mean it? Do you wish to be with me?”

“Yes, ‘Drid, for fucks sake, you know I can’t lie. I fuckin hated bein away from you, thought about you everyday. Please I, I think I’m in love with you and if I ain’t, pretty goddamn certain I’ll get there.”

Indrid pushes him down to his elbows, “I feel the same. Now, listen carefully…”

———————————————–

The last few minutes of Green Wedding are the most vigorous anyone has seen in years. As the sun sets and the tent goes dark the onlookers agree that the Newton boy won’t be able to walk for days. 

What they are not expecting is to open the tent and find it empty. The fact that the fae guards are equally surprised could suggest genuine spontaneity, some strange agreement between the “grooms.” Or maybe it is simply part of the act. After all, fae are fae. 

Chapter Text

“Buddy, I promise, you can come in and cuddle in like, ten minutes.” 

The whining at the bedroom door stops, replaced by a big, wet nose, just visible through the crack at the bottom of the door as it snuffles back and forth. It’s very cute, but Barclay is not about to let his dog deprive him of a much needed jerk-off session.

He’s ready for bed, so it’s just a matter of pulling down his pajama pants and getting to it. Closing his eyes, he pictures that cute customer who gets black coffee and a croissant every morning at the Lodge. It takes a few tries to find a fantasy he likes, the one about the back counter and the new uses for a spatula.

Outside the door, Sass starts whining again, scratching frantically at the wood. There goes his deposit. 

God, he can practically feel the guy up against him.

The bed dips on the outside of each thigh. Opening his eyes reveals a man wearing nothing but deep blue boxer briefs and a smile. 

“Holyshitwhatthefuck?” He clambers back, banging his head on the wall in his hurry to sit up, “what the fuck man, how’d you get in here?”

“A portal between dimensions.  That’s the, um, simplified version. But don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you. The opposite really. I’m an incubus.”

“Why the fuck is a fucking sex demon in my bedroom?” Barclay yanks his pants up. The incubus looks sad at this development. 

“I feed on sexual energy, and to do that I follow trails of that same energy to their source. You have a lot of it.”

“Yeah, year-long dry spell’ll do that.”

“Consider it broken.” The demon leans forward only for Barclay to hold up a hand.

“Nope. This is not how I want to break it. Sorry.”

“Is it my appearance? I can look like anyone–or anything–you want.” His features morph, eyes going from brown to blue to green, hair from honey-blond to fire red, “if you’re shy, my powers let me see into your deepest fantasies and make them come true.”

“No that’s not the problem, I wanna fuck someone I have some kinda connection to, not some guy who dropped into my bedroom. And would you please knock it off with that face-changing? I’m not gonna fuck you, so you can just look like yourself.”

The incubus starts, surprised by his sharp refusal, features landing on short, black hair, blue eyes, and a face that’d make a movie-star insecure. 

“I said you don’t have to try and be hot.”

“…This is how I look.” 

“Oh. Uh. Cool.” 

The demon smiles, “Having second thoughts?”

He takes a deep breath and lies through his teeth, “Nope.”

With that, he stands, grabbing the nearest shirt and pulling it on. Sass wiggles when he opens the door, takes one look behind him, and runs the other way.

“I wish I knew why earth canines react that way to me. I have a hellhound named Mother Leeds who adores me.”

“Jersey Devil reference?” He pads into the kitchen, starts the kettle and rummages in the cabinet for the most soothing tea blend he owns. 

“Yes!” The demon grins from his new position by the fridge, “when I found her she was pregnant with a litter. Most people don’t get it. Demons don’t either.”

“Friend of mine likes Mothman and all that kinda stuff. Uh” He takes a cup down, reaches for a second one automatically and then stops, “are you gonna hang around? Because my answer isn’t changing and if you keep pestering me I’ll just leave the apartment.”

“No, I’ll drop it. You’re not interested and sexual energy only works if it’s from something consensual. But, um” he toys with a magnet, “could I ask a few questions before I go?”

“About?”

“Humans. How things work up here, what your daily lives are like, that sort of thing.”

“Uh, sure.” He gets down the second mug, “is this so you can better seduce them or something?” Turning, he finds the incubus sitting at the table, producing a small notebook and pen from the air.

“No, this is my own research. I’m, um, more curious about humans than the average demon. I basically ended up an incubus because at my last job I kept trying to talk with humans or spend more time around them than was wise and, well, my supervisor got sick of it. So they offered me a reassignment to a role where the whole point was to be around people.”

“You fuck people just so you can, like, interview them afterwards?” He sets the two mugs on the table, notices that the notebook is crammed with questions in neat, elegant handwriting. 

“Technically, I also need the energy from it. But, um, yes” he blushes, “I know it’s a sort of silly hobby.”

“I don’t think it’s silly to wanna know about other worlds and people. But this doesn’t seem like the most, uh, effective way to do it.”

A sigh as the demon picks up his mug, “You’ve got that right. Sometimes I can get a few questions in during ‘pillow talk’ but mostly it’s in and out. Literally.” He snickers at his own bad joke, which further kindles the inexplicable, protective impulse Barclay feels towards him, “Don’t get me wrong, I like my work, and being a good incubus takes skill and dedication. It just…isn’t quite what I thought it’d be.” He sips the tea, brings the mug away from his mouth to study the liquid, “what kind is this?”

“Mostly chamomile.” 

“Chamomile…” he flips through the book, which contains more pages than should be physically and spatially possible, “that’s a plant, one that humans thing is calming, right?”

Barclay can’t help but smile, “Right. You want me to sit here and quiz you?”

“No, there’s too much to discover. What would you say is your area of expertise?” 

“I’m a cook, so food.”

“Food, food, ah here it is. Let’s see, why do humans persist in eating things that could kill them?”

“You mean things like rhubarb or are we in, like, Fugu territory here?”

The demon smiles, “I have no idea, please say more.”

They sit at the table until two in the morning, at which point Joseph ,the incubus, excuses himself to go collect energy from a willing participant. Before he disappears, he takes a chance and tells Joseph that he can come back if he has more questions. The demon thanks him and, out of what Barclay suspects is a habit more than anything else, blows him a kiss goodbye. 

—————————————-

“Y’know, I kinda figured you’d look more demonic. Do incubi just get human forms?” Barclay shakes red pepper flakes onto his pizza while Joseph finishes a filled bread stick. 

“This isn’t my ‘true’ form. When you asked me just to look like myself when we met, I figured you meant the least alarming version.”

“As long as it’s not, like, a beast with a thousand eyes, we’re good.”

Joseph wipes his mouth and by the time the napkin reaches the other corner of his lips, Barclay is gasping.

His nails turn sharp and silver, his eyes pure black, but it’s his skin that’s most noticeable; it’s swirls and swoops of blue and silver, dancing down his arms and blooming out from the neck of his  “Museum of Anthropology” souvenir shirt. He stands, giving Barclay a fuller view. Short horns sprout from his head, doubtless the perfect size and texture to hold him in place with your dick down his throat. His tail is that same mix of royal blue and silver, the right length to wrap around your hand and tug while you fuck him. Every inch of him is made to be pinched and pulled, groped and fondled, and Barclay will not be standing up from the table any time soon.

“It’s the color that gets people.” Joseph smiles with pointed teeth as he sits back down.

“It’s incredible, Joseph.”

The demon smiles, mischievous, “I’m glad you like it. Now, where were we?” He uncovers his notebook from a stack of Parmesan packets and clicks his pen, appearance fading back to the human one Barclay is used to. He mourns his loss for a moment, before Joseph draws him into an animated conversation about movie theaters. 

—————————————————————————–

“Come on Sass, it’s okay. Look, I even have your favorite.” Joseph holds out the treat, still fresh from the oven, while Barclay puts the rest of the batch out of range. The dog no longer runs from the demon, but will not come within arms reach of him. 

Sass whines, looking from Joseph to Barclay and back. 

“Here” Barclay settles on the couch next to him, resting his arm along the back of it, “see, buddy, he’s our friend.”

Sass creeps forward, still on his belly, plucks the treat from Joseph’s palm, and retreats to his bed. 

“Progress.” Joseph leans back, pleased. Their positions mean he comes to rest with Barclays arm around him. Barclay doesn’t move it, and the demon stays put until the end of the episode of Hells’ Kitchen

——————————————

The newest Agent X is so engrossing that Barclay doesn’t register Joseph until his friend slumps onto the bed. 

“Hey, you’re early.” He sets the book down on the nightstand, scooching to where the demon sits rubbing his forehead.

“I’m, um, I’m having a bit of a problem.” When he looks up, silver and blue peeks through the skin on his face, “I misjudged how much energy I was going to get from my last two visits. I’m so weak I don’t think I can make it back home. I, um, I came here because if I’m going to be stuck and without powers I” his horns appear and he scratches them awkwardly, “I want it to be around someone I trust.”

“What’ll happen if you can’t get more energy?”

“I’ll get sick, and if the worst happens I’ll have to signal for someone to come get me. Which’ll get me demoted for sure.” He tucks his legs up onto the bed. He’s wearing the UFO socks Barclay gave him as a surprise last week, and the cook sets a hand on a flying-saucer covered ankle. 

“You can stay as long as you need, okay? And if there’s anything else I can do to help, let me know.”

“Unless you feel like taking me door to door to ask your neighbors if they want to fuck, a safe place to rest is what I need most.”

“What if, uh, you recharged here?” He draws a finger up and down the side of Josephs’ calf.

The incubus raises his eyebrows, “Barclay, are you forgetting how we met?”

“I didn’t want to fuck you then, but now…now you’re you, this handsome, clever, dorky guy who also happens to be a sex demon who hangs around my house most nights. I, I didn’t ask about sooner because I was afraid you’d think it was fuck me or lose our friendship, but if I can help you in a kinda self-serving way, I’m down.”

Joseph shakes his head, “That’s sweet, but you’re not the only one with concerns. How can I be sure you actually want me, and you’re not just offering because you want to help?”

Barclay snaps his fingers, “You can read my deepest desires, right? How about you take a peek and tell me what you see?”

Joseph closes his eyes, tail twitching as he concentrates, and Barclay gets the distinct pleasure of watching his face as he learns the truth. 

“Oh. OH. Um, you’re not kidding about how badly you want me. And some of this makes the reaction you had the one time I showed up in a suit make way more sense. But we can explore that later.” His eyes, now-pitch black, snap open, “right now, big guy, I’ll do whatever you want, however you want it.” 

“In that case” Barclay catches Joseph just as he tries for a kiss, “how about you tell me what you want?”

“Barclay, I’m an incubus, I want whatever the person I’m feeding on wants.”

“Nuhuh, I don’t buy that, babe. You’re telling me there’s nothing that’s your favorite, or that you’re curious about?” He teases their lips together.

“N-no?”

“You’re not getting any kisses until you tell me the truth.”

Joseph narrows his eyes with a “hmmph.” Then, as if it’s his greatest secret, he whispers, “I want to know what it’s like to get a massage as foreplay. No one’s ever wanted it or offered, and it sounds so nice.”

Barclay rewards him with a kiss. The demon melts against him, slides a forked tongue into his mouth to tease it. Clawed fingers tug at his shirt until Joseph remembers he can do magic and renders them both naked with a wave of the hand.

When they part, Joseph licks his lips, “Holy hell, Barclay, that kiss was enough to make me feel better than I did this morning. Tastes nice too, like coffee with lots of cream.”

“So, coffee the way you like it.” Barclay nudges him backwards, rolls him over as the incubus keeps talking. 

“Usually it’s a neutral sweetness. I wonder, hmm, maybe it has something to do with the fact you’re attracted to me, as in the actual meOHohhhhhhh” he flattens into the bed like a cat on a sunny floor as Barclay digs his thumbs under his shoulder blades. 

“You can theorize later babe, I promise. Right now, all you gotta do is let me rub you down. Uh, can you magic up some oil or something? It’ll feel better if–great, thanks.” Barclay sets the lit massage candle safely on the nightstand, waiting for it to melt. 

“Should I put my human form back on now that I can hold it?”

“Nope” he traces his hands up parallel patches of silver, pinches one horn playfully, “I love that version of you, but this one is so, so, fucking hot. Now” be kisses the base of his neck, “relax.”

Drizzling liquid wax down his spine makes the incubus moan, but the sound is nothing compared to what happens when he starts kneading him like dough. It’s a yowl, rough and inelegant in a way Joseph never is, and Barclay dedicates the next fifteen minutes to finding new ways to trigger it. He’s so beautiful, it’s like touching a painting, a galaxy, a miracle.

By the time he reaches his lower back the incubus is grinding on the bed and Barclay is half-hard from touching him. He grips Joseph’s ass, parting it enough to grind between the cheeks. 

“Don’t tease” his tail delivers a scolding thwack to Barclays cheek. The cook growls, turning his head to capture the offending appendage between his teeth.

“OHholyffffffuckinghell.” Joseph rips the blanket as he flails, “no one’s ever thought to do that before and now I really wish they had.”

That’s all the encouragement he needs. He ignores his growing hard-on in favor of nipping and kissing his way down Joseph’s tail. It’s velvety, feels like nothing he’s ever experienced as it twitches and trembles under his tongue. The base gets an extra-hard lovebite and Joseph moans, rolling over so fast he nearly catches Barclay in the face with his cock. And what a cock, on the narrow side but covered in swirling ridges.

“Holy shit, you just get hotter and hotter.”

“Th-thank you, big guy, now for gods sake pleeEEEase fuck me.” He whimpers adorably when Barclay licks up his shaft. 

“Okay babe, we can fuck. But I think…” he grabs the incubus, flipping them so Joseph straddles him, “I want you to fuck me.”

Joseph registers his words and his eyes glow deep blue. 

“Uh, is that a good thing?”

“Yes, big guy, it’s the closest I get to having my pupils dilate when aroused. And since you look so good underneath me, I’ll expedite things” he snaps his fingers and Barclay inhales in surprise; his ass is dripping lube and stretched like someone just pulled three fingers away from it.

“Fuck yeah” he spreads his legs, “c’mon blue eyes, don’t make me wait anymoreOHFUCK, fuck, yeah, like that.” He hooks his legs around Joseph as the incubus thrusts all the way in. Joseph kisses in precise shapes up and down his face, even as his hips keep a rapid, erratic rhythm. 

“Shit, shit, Barclay you taste so good, feel so good, please, please don’t stop touching me.”

“Not sure I could ever keep my hands to myself again, babe, god you’re so fucking handsomeAH, hah, someone got a praise kink?” He gasps out laughter as Joseph fucks him harder with each kind word. The ridges on his cock are solid enough that Barclay feels them with each drag, and it sets his toes curling.

“Maybe a little one” the incubus smiles against his neck, “though kink is a distinctly human concept and a complex one-SHITfuck, fuck please do that again.” He kisses Barclay hard as the human obligingly pulls his tail with one hand and smacks his ass with the other. Teeth catch Barclay’s lower lip on the next tug, a moan spilling from Josephs’ mouth down his chin. 

“That’s it baby, fuck me while I rough you up, fuck, Joseph, your dick is fucking perfect, never gonna want another one, c’mon please, I’m close.”

Joseph sits up, grinning joyfully, and grips Barclays cock. It’s a masterful handjob, because how could a sex demon give anything else, but what strikes Barclay most is how happy and relaxed Joseph is. The incubus admitted once that even when he was having sex, he constantly worried about fulfilling the fantasy to earn enough energy to feed. Yet here he’s laughing and smiling, eyes aglow as he works Barclay up to the best orgasm of his life. 

It means something; Barclay only hopes Joseph will stay in his life long enough for him to figure out what. 

He’s too busy with the sparks behind his eyelids and the pleasure coursing down from his head to his toes to note that Joseph managed to make them cum at the same time. The incubus pushes a hand through his fair, swooping it back and off his face, as he notes this accomplishment. 

“I want to run a marathon. Or maybe go hiking, or swim the lake. I have so much energy. Barclay, it’s amazing. You, it’s never been like that before. It’s felt good, but that was fucking transcendent. 

“No fucking kidding.” Barclay shifts onto his side, nestling up against him so his head is under Joseph’s chin. He yawns, kisses a blue shoulder, “but you might have to burn off some energy without me. You wore me out, blue eyes.”

Joseph adjusts his arms so he’s holding him, “If I stay the night, can I walk Sass with you in the morning?”

Barclay nods, already falling asleep, safe in the knowledge that Joseph is okay and, better yet, so fond of him that his eyes are still glowing, “You got a deal, babe.”

Chapter Text

A sketchbook, new pens, a Hershey bar, and a bag of jumbo marshmallows. A small but lively fire. And a new, huge, fuzzy sleeping bag waiting for him in the tent. 

Not a bad camping set up for a city-boy art goth (as Barclay likes to call him).

Indrid sticks another marshmallow on the fork, roasting it until it’s deep brown, the smell of burning sugar curling through the air and settling in his hair. He’s never liked Graham Crackers, so he jams a square of chocolate into the molten center of the marshmallow and shoves the entire thing into his mouth. 

Kepler is small. Barclay hadn’t been kidding about that. He’d also been right that one of the two tattoo shops in town was willing to hire Indrid after looking through photos of his work and confirming he completed his apprenticeship. 

He’s been living in the Eastwoods campground in the Monongahela National Forest while he apartment hunts, and the tattoos he’s done so far netted him enough cash to buy his luxurious new sleeping bag. He might be waiting on a place for some time, so he may as well camp in style. 

Three “s’mores” later, the moon is up and the night is chilly enough that he wants his sweatshirt. Ducking into the tent, he can’t find it on his pillow, where he swears he left it this morning. Maybe he accidentally buried it getting dressed.

A splashhiss interrupts his rummaging. Scrambling from the tent, he discovers his fire is now a pile of soaked ashes and logs being angrily stirred by a thick piece of kindling. 

“Excuse me, but what the fuck?”

A man in a ranger uniform appears, the stick falling through his hand as he gives Indrid a disapproving stare. 

“Look here, I know you’re new here, maybe to campin entirely. But you can’t just leave a fire burnin when you go to bed.” He doesn’t sound mad, more like he’s a disappointed big brother scolding his sibling. 

“I wasn’t-”

“And all this” he gestures to the food on the table, “has gotta go in the bear box. Black bears are real good foragers and we don’t want ‘em comin’ into camp and gettin to comfy around humans.”

“Of course, but-”

“You didn’t take any food into the tent, right? Wouldn’t want somethin to decide to join you ‘cause it smelled a snack.”

Indrid pinches the bridge of his nose, “I am aware of all of these rules, and plan to follow them. Once I actually go to bed instead of ducking into the tent for my sweater. But since my evening appears to be over…” he grabs the marshmallows, roasting fork, and chocolate, carries them to the bear box, and slams it closed. 

When he whirls back around, the ghost is still there, chagrined. 

“Uh, sorry. I kinda jumpy about people leavin fires alone.” In the lantern light, his smile is as charming as his drawl. His stocky, bearish shape and unassumingly handsome face command Indrid’s focus, which is why his revelation comes so quickly. 

“You…there’s a statue of you at the visitor center. Which makes you, ah, damn it what was the name-”

“Duck. Duck Newton. They put my legal name on there, even though Juno tried to stop ‘em. But my name’s Duck.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Duck. I’m Indrid.”

“Nice to meet you too. Uh, sorry for ruinin your campfire, looks like you were havin a nice time.”

“It’s alright. I suppose I’m grateful there’s someone haunting the campsites to keep them in order.”

“You’re takin me bein’ a ghost surprisingly well.”

“I’ve always been interested in strange things, to the point that I earned the nickname ‘mothman’ in high school.”

“Huh” Duck watches him a moment, then shrugs, “well, guess I better be goin’. Have a nice night, mothman.”

With that, he’s gone.

——————————————————

“Hello again.” Indrid says as the campfire smoke curls around a human form, “Doing your rounds?”

“More or less. I like my job, and ain’t about to give it up just because I beefed it and turned into a ghost.” A creak as Duck joins him on the picnic bench. When he materializes, he floats slightly above the worn wood, watching Indrid draw. 

“That’s incredible, it’s so realistic it’s like you pressed the leaves into the pages instead of colored them.”

“Thank you.” adds depth to the leaf, “you know, I looked at the statue again today. It hardly does you justice.”

From this close, he can see a blush spread up semi-opaque cheeks. Then he starts fading.

“Oh, ah, I’m sorry. I was aiming for a benign compliment, not to make you uncomfortable.”

“S’alright, just surprised me. Not many folks wanna flirt with a dead guy.”

“I’m more interested in what the ‘dead guy’ wants.” Indrid smiles, hoping to convey he would submit to spectral touches as readily as he’d keep talking. 

Duck floats closer, “Kinda curious about your other drawin’s.”

Indrid turns the sketchbook back to the beginning, “they’re half portfolio and half travelogue. Here” he holds up a fade, detached piece of paper,  covered by an Morpho Butterfly that looks ready to fly away, “this is the first tattoo I ever designed.”

“Damn. Guessin’ that means you did this one” he touches the Rosy Maple Moth on Indrid’s forearm (or tries to). It’s chilly, but not in the way Indrid feared. More like taking a cool shower on a sweltering day.

“I did. Here, it gave me an idea for my first series of flash tattoos…”

They go over the illustrations page by page. Slowly, Indrid weaves in questions to Duck who, instead of recoiling from discussion of his mortal life, tells him rambling stories about the woods and which places serve the best food in town. 

The conversation doesn’t end until the fire goes out on it’s own, Duck standing automatically, grabbing a water bottle, swearing, and then disappearing so he can pick the bottle up. 

“Do you think that’s part of why you’re still here? Some unfinished business having to do with the woods?”

“Nah.” The water bottle thunks back on the table as Duck reappears, “I tried to live a normal life, improve the world the way I knew how, make some kind of difference to this town. Then I had to go play the goddamn hero.”

“I would say saving two dozen people from a forest fire makes a considerable difference in the world.”

A sad huff of a laugh, “Yeah, guess you’re right. Just…I meant to do somethin’ with my life, not my death, even if it was a small somethin’, and the closest thing I got to unfinished business is a model ship.”

“I…what?”

“It was four-masted and everything! I had Leo order it in special and everything and then I never, I never got to-”  He tilts his head up, sniffs once, “never mind. I better let you get to sleep.”

By the time Indrid calls “goodnight,” the ghost is gone. 

——————————————

“Please tell me you’re gettin a place soon so you stop eatin everythin outta a can?” Leo bags the last of groceries.

“No such luck. Ah well, there are worse things than canned soup and Pop-Tarts.”

“At least let Barclay feed you, half the point of havin a friend who can cook is to let ‘em do it for you. You need stamps or anything?”

“N-” A box behind the counter catches his eye. It’s at an odd angle, as if whoever put it there is hoping no one will see it. Indrid can just make out an illustration of a four-masted ship.

“Is that for sale?”

Leo looks where he’s pointing, and for a moment something in his gruff affability wavers. Then he nods, “Yeah, suppose it is.”

“Can you ring it up for me?” Indrid nearly bounces on his toes when Leo sets the box on the counter and confirms his hunch. 

The older man sets a gentle hand on the cardboard, sliding it across to Indrid, “Don’t worry about that, kid. It’s yours.”

———————————————-

“Duck?” Indrid turns in a circle by the picnic table, “Duck, I have something for you!”

He saw the ranger briefly last night, but he didn’t hang around. Gingerly, he sets the box on the table, tearing off a piece of sketch paper to write a note in case the ghost stops by while he’s asleep. 

“Holy fuck.” Duck floats across the table from him, “‘Drid, where did, how did–why?”

“Leo still had it. As for why I, ah, it seemed like you still wanted it. If you can douse a fire and over my camp stove, I figure you can build a model ship.”

Duck disappears and Indrid’s heart sinks; that must have been too much. Then he’s squished in an invisible, wonderful bear hug.

“Thanks, ‘Drid.”

From then on, Duck spends every night at his campsite, building the ship while Indrid draws, reads, or talks with him. The model lives in the safest corner of the tent during the day.

“I mean, I’m up durin the day too, but I scared a few folks on accident and I don’t want people avoid the forest because of me.”

Indrid also learns that Duck is stuck within a certain radius of where he died, and that his attempts to talk with Juno when she was in his part of the woods only lead to his friend thinking she was hallucinating and Duck feeling miserable for three solid days. Indrid offers to act as messenger and invite Duck’s friends (many of whom have, by chance and by proximity to Barclay, become his friends) to the campsite to see him. The ranger is quiet for some time after that offer.

“Not yet. Maybe someday, but not yet. I, it ain’t even been a year, ‘Drid. I think a lot of ‘em are still hurtin. And, and maybe this is selfish but…I ain’t ready to deal with them findin’ out I ain't fully gone. It’d be so much all at once.”

Indrid doesn’t bring it up again. More than once, when Aubrey tells a story about Duck only for her eyes to sadden halfway through, or when he sees Juno looking at Duck’s statue a little too long, he struggles to keep his promise. 

A cold front blows into town and, since he’s still in the tent, he pops into Kepler Thrift N Find in search of an extra sweatshirt. Tucked in between one reading “Ranchos” and one with a picture of Garfield is a soft, well-loved hoodie with “Monongahela National Forest” on the front. He buys it and wears it home, the fact it’s loose in the arms making it even easier to tuck in his hands when he gets cold. 

He stops by the visitor center out of habit, checking out the new plush wild animals. There are also hints of Duck here and there; his name on displays, his face in group photos. As he contemplates a small, squishy black bear, he notices Juno looking at him more than usual.

“Hello again” he sets the bear on the counter.

“Howdy. This all?

“Yes, please. Are you alright? You look, ah, tired.”

“Yep. Or, uh, just noticed that sweatshirt. It was one that got made special for staff a few years ago.”

Indrid fidgets with the cat-bitten drawstring, “It was Duck’s, wasn’t it?”

“Uh huh. He put that patch on the sleeve. Guess it startled me to see it on someone else.”

“I understand.” 

“Knew him since we were kids. Hell, he’s my daughter’s godfather. Still don’t feel right, bein’ here without him.”

Indrid pushes the bear towards her and she pets it.

“What was he like?”

In the empty visitor center, Juno tells him. In her stories are echos of every conversation he’s ever had with anyone who knew Duck. When it’s time to close up, she asks if she can hug him, and thanks him for listening to her. 

“Guess you weren’t kiddin about wanting to sleep with a bear” Duck teases as Indrid sets his new purchase inside the tent. Indrid whaps at him, arm going through his torso. The ranger floats nearby as Indrid heats up ravioli and opens a can of Mountain Dew. Indrid tells him about the conversation with Juno. 

“Huh, guess that is my old one. Glad someone is gettin some use outta it. And it looks good on you.”

Indrid sets down his bowl, “We talked a lot, Duck. And it made me think about what you said to me one of the night after we met. You said you wanted a chance to make the world, the town, a little better. Everyone I’ve talked to, and I mean every one, has a story about you. How you helped them, how Kepler is worse off with you gone. You did so much, even with your time cut short. I, I wanted you to know that.”

The ghost looks away, “I wasn’t done tryin to help.”

“You still aren’t. You do what you can to keep the forest and the visitors safe. And you, you’ve made my life immeasurably better Duck. Seeing you is the best part of my day and I think I’m falling–ah, that is, you’re not done making a difference.”

Duck hasn’t moved since Indrid started talking about his feelings. When Indrid tries to meet his eyes, he disappears. Hurried, he reaches out to offer a reassuring touch and gets only air. 

“Duck?”

Nothing, even after he calls his name three more times.

He slumps onto the bench, “well, fuck me I guess.”

—————————————————

This is a terrible idea. But it’s his last, and therefore his best. 

Indrid even asked Barclay’s boyfriend, Joseph, if anything in his impressive library of the paranormal advised the reader on dealing with upset ghosts. A few did, always from the perspective of trying to get the specter to go away. They said nothing about what to do if your upset ghost was missing, leaving an ache in your heart you didn’t know you were capable of feeling. 

Instead, after a week of silence, Indrid changes tactics: if he can’t coax Duck back, maybe he can annoy him into appearing. 

Tonight, he finishes dinner and cleans his dishes, puts the bulk of the food in the bear box, and then tears open a bag of chips, scattering them across the table. He eats one, then leaves the open bag laying amongst the potato shards. 

Next, he dumps his remaining water on the fire, which takes it down to embers but does not extinguish it. When none of that gets a reaction, he decides to narrate.

“Hmm, that should be fine, it’s not that dry and I don’t think sparks can go over the edge.”

“Should I leave these juice pouches out? Yes, I think I should, in case I get thirsty at night. Maybe I’ll take one into the tent, just to be safe.”

He already feels silly and like no one is listening, and so he escalates. 

“I know I shouldn’t leave food out for the wildlife, but since there’s no handsome, ghostly ranger here to punish me for my transgressions, I am just going to leave some nuts out for the raccoons. I like raccoons. They deserve nice things. Hell, how about I just leave them a whole buffet since no one is stopping me!”

All he gets in reply are the few bugs awake this early in the spring and the crack of brush as a small mammal runs away from the weird bipedal thing yelling at his camp fire. He doesn’t leave out food for the raccoons; he climbs into his tent in a huff. What a bad idea, to think this of all things would bring Duck back to him. He’s being childish and bratty and selfish; Duck doesn’t deserve that, no more than he owes Indrid his company. 

He changes into his pajamas pants and sleep shirt, intending to go back out to make the site safe and tidy. Except.

Except something just opened the bear box. The chip bag crinkles and the fire hisses out a minute later. He should be running outside to apologize, but his mind has simultaneously  registered the full darkness of the night , the possibility that Duck is not the only paranormal thing in these woods, and the fact the nearest other campers are on the other side of the campground, meaning he is very, very alone.

The zipper on the tent moves, the flap falling open so his lantern shines on nothing but April air.

“Duck? Please say that’s you.”

A low chuckle, “It’s me, ‘Drid.” The fly zips shut, “mighty peeved about that trick you pulled.”

“I’m, I’m sorry. I missed you, but that was a bad way to communicate that.” He can’t see him, and the lantern only picks up the odd shift of sleeping bag or tent floor, so Indrid’s eyes’ dart about trying to pinpoint him.

“Oh, you communicated plenty, sugar. Like what you want a certain, uh, ghostly ranger to do to you.”

“Oh god” he winces, “please, forget I said that, it’s humiliating.”

“Not all that surprisin, truth be told. I mean, you and I flirted now and then. And you told me enough about yourself for me to suspect that you’re a kinky little weirdo who’s dyin to get fucked by a ghost.” 

“I, I feel I should point out that I only want to fuck one ghost. You. I want to fuck you and that means fucking a ghoOOOst.” He gasps as cold lips press into his neck.

“I can make that happen, darlin, all you gotta do is say it. You were a pain in the neck earlier, so now I expect you to be real polite and use your words.” Duck’s voice has never been like this before, rough and possessive yet still, under all of it, the same warmth draws Indrid in like a flame. 

“I want you, Duck.”

A bite to his ear, strong arms wrapping around his waist from behind him, “Want me to do what?”

“Fuck me” this is like every wet dream he had as a teenager, the supernatural being coming for a fellow outsider. 

That gets him a tender kiss on the cheek, “That’s better. Though, if I’m rememberin correctly, word you used was punish.”

Indrid yelps as Duck turns and shoves him to lay across his lap, kicks his legs out in surprise when his waistband slides down to his upper thighs. 

“Yesss” he wiggles his ass as Duck palms it, “yes, Duck, pleaseAHgod” the first strike stings, and Duck doesn’t let him recover before delivering five more, three to each side. His cock perks up at the pain. Stranger still, because Duck is invisible, all Indrid has to do is tilt his head to watch it harden and twitch with each slap.

Twenty strikes later Duck pauses, hand rubbing soothing, cool circles on the burning skin, “Learned your lesson?”

“Mmhmm.” Indrid presses an awkward kiss to Duck’s knee. 

“Glad to hear it.” Duck hauls him up onto his knees, slides a hand under his shirt and up his chest, “I’m rarin’ to feel more of you–holy fuck” 

“AH!” Indrid arches as Duck toys with his left nipple piercing, his other hand quickly finding the right. 

“God, fuck, you’re fuckin hot, if I were alive I woulda taken you home first time I saw you.” Messy kisses cover his neck as Duck tugs the piercings.

“Gaahnnyes, that’s, that’s very flattering.”

“Ain’t flattery, sugar, it’s the truth. Never could turn down some skinny punk with piercin’s and messy hair, not when I was a teen burnout hidin in the woods and sure as hell not now.” He moves Indrid onto his back, rucking up his shirt as his legs twist in his half-down pants. The ranger cups his face, and Indrid is positive he’s meeting his eyes, “tell me what you want sugar, tell me so I can treat you right.”

“Marks, I want marks anywhere you’ll give them.”

A growl from above him, then lips smashing into his, drinking him in before continuing down his throat, biting and sucking hard enough that he cries out every time. Duck pauses, teasing his nipples with his tongue as he rakes his nails up his sides. He sits up and for a horrible moment Indrid loses him. Then with glee he watches five red marks drag down his chest. He moans, rolling his hips and discovering just how closer Duck’s clothed cock is to his own. The contact only feeds the rangers eagerness, and Indrid is tosses and turns as he sucks, bites, and scratches, laying claim to the illustrated expanse of his body. 

“More, please, god that all feels so good.” 

“Don’t worry darlin, still got plenty of you to mark up, but we’re gonna do somethin else while I do.” He eases Indrid onto his stomach, slaps his ass fondly, “don’t go nowhere.”

Indrid’s duffel bag unzips, clothes and pens moved aside until a bottle of lube hovers in the air. The tube compresses and drips coat the rough outline of fingers. When the two digits press into him he sighs, eyes closing as he melts under Ducks watchful eyes. 

“That’s it ‘Drid, relax for me. Got well over a year of horny to work out, so this cute ass needs to be ready to take it.”

Indrid pushes his hips back in reply, taking as far as the fingers will go and whimpering excitedly when he presses in the tip of the third. Duck works that one more carefully, kissing Indrid’s face and shoulders as he whispers about how good he is, how much he’s wanted this.

“I want it too so for, for goodness sake please fuck me soon or I’ll leave my entire cooler out for the bears.”

“Only one bear in this campsite tonight darlin.” Duck laves his tongue down the base of his spine, bites down hard on his ass. Indrid’s still moaning from the pain when his cock pushes in.

“Fuuuckme that’s good. Shoulda snuck into your tent sooner, sugar, made you a fuckin cocksleeve you feel so fuckin good.”

“Ohgod” is all Indrid, voice muffled by the sleeping bag he’s biting, manages before Duck adjusts them so Indrid is on his knees. The ranger isn’t gentle, pounds into him like he’s nothing but a warm hole and chuckles whenever Indrid moans. 

“H-handprints, Duck, want hand prints GAHyesyesyes” he struggles to move in time with the ghost as the air fills with ear-splitting slaps. He’s so close, the pain and the sensation of phantom fingers claiming his body making his body beg for release. When he slides a hand down to jerk himself off, the arm twists up and stays trapped against his back. 

“You wanna cum, you know what to do.”

He blinks away the ecstatic tears, words raw in his throat, “Please let me cum, Duck. I want to, need to cum while you fuck me pleaseplease-” he cuts off into whine as the ghost works his cock hard, all the while jamming into him hard enough that the smooth fabric of the sleeping bag burns his knees. When he cums it’s with a weak cry of Duck’s name, which is swallowed up by hungry lips as Duck kisses him over and over, repeating Indrid’s name like an incantation as he pumps his hips and cums, pulling out as he does so it splatters on the reddened patches of his ass. 

A final kiss to the top of his head, and then there’s no contact between them and the zipper is moving.

“Oh no you don’t” Indrid scrambles, sweaty and exhausted, between the tent fly and the invisible man somewhere in front of him, “for goodness sake, Duck, I thought you liked me enough to at least let me fall asleep before you ran.”

The ranger finally appears, hair a mess and cheeks noticeably pink, “‘Drid, all that was amazing, but it’s all I can give you. I, I can’t…you said you were fallin for me and I can’t give you that.”

Indrid cocks his head, “Why not?”

“Because I’m a fuckin ghost, ‘Drid! You deserve to be with a livin’ fella, you deserve someone who can be a real part of your life.”

He crosses his arms, “Duck, you are a real part of my life. Honestly, what part of all the nights we spent together, all the ways we take care of each other, all of this” he points at the rumpled sleeping bag, “suggests otherwise?”

The ghost doesn’t speak, simply hugs himself (or tries to).

“If this is too much, if I’m offering something you do not want, then please tell me. But if this is you thinking that some paranormal quirks keep you from being a worthy partner for me, kindly think again.”

Duck disappears and Indrid is gearing up to try and tackle a supernatural entity when a familiar face buries itself in the crook of his neck. The ghost clings to him, and Indrid clings right back. 

“You really wanna give it a go?”

“More than anything.”

Duck lifts his head so their cheeks rest together, “Then fuck it. Let’s see what happens.”

—————————————-

Indrid finishes hooking up his lightly used Winnebago, AKA his solution to the lack of available apartments. He’s in a different section of Eastwoods, but he’s happy with his new spot. He opens one of his few boxes, gently lifts the completed model ship into a place of honor, and waits, humming happily, for an unseen hand to knock on his door. 

Chapter Text

The two canvas bags are ready to burst. Barclay peers into them, contemplating the addition of another box of tea, in case Joseph doesn’t like the other two. Mama was cagey when he asked, he doesn’t know what’s ailing the other man, only that he’s sick. 

Joseph manages Amnesty Lodge, where Barclays’ been a cook for the last six months. Barclay was initially wary of him; his cosmopolitan bearing and clean-cut appearance is so out of place in the rustic mountain town of Kepler that the logical explanation is he’s one of those city types who fell on hard times and got stuck here. 

It took less than forty-eight hours for him to prove Barclay wrong. Polite and polished, efficient and stunningly good in a crisis, Joseph handles the day to day chaos of the lodge while Mama, the owner, took care of the big picture stuff. His friendly greetings and consistent compliments about Barclays cooking gradually turned to afternoons spent at a table with his work so they could talk during lulls in business. 

When Joseph leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled up, laughing as he helped Barclay tidy the kitchen, the cook rushed headlong into his crush and never looked back. He regularly dreams of blue eyes and a movie-star face, finds his day doesn’t really start until Joseph pokes his head in to say good morning. 

He’s been without that greeting for two days now. Joseph never misses work, and his sudden absence worried Barclay enough that he checked with Mama to be sure the manager was okay.

“Joe’s fine big fella, just under the weather is all.”

The one time Barclay got sick, Joseph brought him tea and soup himself, checked in on him every hour, and–if Barclay’s fever addled brain is to be trusted–fluffed his pillows. It’s the least Barclay can do to drop off snacks and be sure his friend is okay. 

It’s a short drive to cabin Joseph calls home; he used to live at the Lodge, but as it got more crowded, he moved to his own space so those who needed a cheap, safe place to stay could have one. 

His knock on the door is answered by a brisk, “Who is it?”

“Barclay. I, uh, I brought you a get-well gift.”

Joseph opens the door to the cabin and to an entire new universe of fantasies. His normally slicked-back hair falls, relaxed, across his forehead, his loosely tied blue robe shows a tantalizing V of skin, and the dreamy-sleepy expression makes his face even more kissable. 

“Hi.” Joseph takes a step forward, taking the bags and bringing his face achingly close to Barclays’. Then he freezes, reversing into the house, “I, um, it was very sweet of you to bring all this. But you need to go.” He takes another step back, then doubles over with a groan. 

Barclay hurries across the threshold, setting the bags on the floor and steadying him over to the couch.

“Fuck, do you need me to get you like a heat pack, or a puke bucket?”

“No, no I just need to lay down, and for you to g-” he shudders, curling in on himself and tipping sideways. 

“Joseph, you’re really sick, I’m not gonna just leave you here. I mean, fuck, what if it’s your appendix or something?” He sits down next to the shaking man, rubbing his back comfortingly. 

“It’s not, I promise. Oh lord” he whines, looks at Barclay with frantic eyes, “I hope you can keep a secret.”

“Of course I can. Whatever I can do to help, I want to.” 

“Careful with those promises, big guy.” The nickname comes out in a growl as Joseph stands, undoing his wristwatch. 

“Oh FUCK!” Barclay scrambles back, almost falling over the arm of the couch.

There’s a monster where Joseph just was. Years ago Barclay saw a Maned Wolf in a zoo, and he’d swear that’s what he’s looking at now were it not for several glaring issues. First, it’s standing comfortably on two legs. It’s paws are more like hands, able to hold the watch and adjust the collar of its shirt. And he’s never seen a wolf, maned or otherwise, with spines down its back and a whip-like tail.

The creature runs a clawed hand through the fur at the top of it’s head, the way Joseph does when he’s nervous,  “So. I can’t tell you everything, at least not right now. What I can tell you is that this is the form I was born into, somewhere far away from earth.”

“Okay.” Barclays brain grinds like a broken ice machine as a familiar voice speaks to him from a fanged mouth. 

“I, um, I’m what humans call a Chupacabra. To answer the usual questions: no, I’ve never been to Puerto Rico. No, I don’t eat goats. And no, I’m not going to eat you.”

“Okay.” His heart is still racing, but not from fear, which is the most confusing was this could have gone.

Pointed ears flick, worried, “Are you in shock?”

“Kinda, yeah.” He nods as Joseph sits next to him with a heavy sigh. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out this way. I took the next few days off to avoid this exact scenario. I figured I wouldn’t see you, but forgot how thoughtful and caring you are.” Claws gently stroke Barclays hair, “my wonderful Barclay.”

He’s about to bring his hand up, cup those strange fingers to his cheek and whisper “always”, when Joseph pulls away. 

“I, I’m sorry. Again. I always get too handsy when I’m in heat. That’s the second worst side-effect, after the fact that being in my disguise is untenable when I’m in the thick of it. It’s like wearing a wet, wool sweater made of nausea.”

“….Hold on, you had to take time off work because you’re horny?” 

“Almost. Heat doesn’t come that often for me, which means whenever it happens, it’s intense. I have a hard time eating or sleeping, I can’t focus, and I spend most of the week masturbating. Which is not as fun as it sounds; I’m not even at the height of the damn thing and last night I humped a pillow on the kitchen floor while dinner reheated.”

Barclay groans, tries to hide it when the ears swivel his way, “Uh, guess I’m glad I brought you lots of food so you remember to eat. Shoulda, uh, put some lube or something in there as well, huh?” 

Joseph chuckles, “My nose tells me you put molasses cookies in there, so I’ll let it slide.”

“There anything else I can do to help?”

“Well…” he shakes his head, “never mind, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Do what?”

“My heat is more manageable when I have a partner. Fucking someone relieves things more effectively than masturbation does. But I can’t-”

“I can help with that.” The offer is out before his brain catches up with his mouth. 

“Barclay, my kind have a very, um, involved mode of, um, well, I guess you foreplay. As, as much as I’d love for you to be my mate” he winces, “see, that’s what I mean. I say things like that, most of them not even possible given the fact you and I can’t reproduce.” 

“Uh, does it help if I say hearing you call me that is really hot?”

Blue eyes widen, and a tail traces up Barclays leg, “Only if you mean it.”

“I do.”

A narrow, long tongue flicks into the air, “In that case, big guy, how about we have a little planning session over dinner?”

————————————————-

Barclay parks in the driveway, next to Josephs’ sedan. He heads past the house and down a short slope to a creek, the twilight sky casting the forest in eerie grey-blue. There’s a tire swing leftover from a previous resident, and he idly pushes it back and forth as he waits for the game to start. 

“It’s like hide and seek” Joseph wipes his mouth, cleans cookie crumbs from the table, “We start outside, move inside, and you go as long as you can without me catching you. After all, I want a mate who can hold his own.”

He stuffs his hands in his jacket pocket to warm them. A yip bounces out from the trees behind him. When he turns, he quickly spots glinting eyes and bared fangs hidden in the undergrowth. 

Sprinting towards the cabin, he realizes Joseph laid a trap for him from the start; by asking him to begin at the creek, he’s forcing him to run uphill to safety, slowing him down. He lets his lizard-brain, concerned only with the fact that something dangerous is chasing him, take over and drive his legs as fast as they’ll go. The back door is locked, he double-checked that on the way down, so he doesn’t waste his time trying it, races to the front of the cabin and slams the door shut just as something huge rounds the corner after him. 

The nob jiggles, his pursuer testing the lock and discovering the thrown deadbolt. Barclay uses those few seconds to secure the windows on the first floor, throws his jacket down into the cellar as a failsafe, and bolts up to the bedroom. His hammering heart insists that locking that door is not enough, so he crawls into the closet and shuts himself up among the meticulously organized shirts and slacks. It’s not enough space for him to stand, so he tucks his knees to his chest and waits. 

“What happens if I, like, completely outsmart you.”

A toothy smile, “I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you.”

Each of the downstairs windows rattle in turn. Then the scratching starts, claws on wood coming closer with each breath. Joseph is climbing the wall up to the bedroom window that Barclay knows for a motherfucking fact he did not secure. 

A shuff as the window slides open, the cryptid landing with remarkable stealth on the bedroom floor. Barclay tracks him by the light coming under the closet door, his mouth covered so his breathing won’t give him away. The shadow pauses, sniffs, and then the bedroom door opens and shuts. Barclay’s not moving until he hears the front door do the same. 

Just as his legs start to protest being smushed up against his chest, the door reopens. Snuffling signals Joseph closing in, and an instant later the only light coming in is from the far ends of the door. Slowly, his last line of defense rolls to the right, revealing the creature crouching on the other side.

“Not a bad effort, big guy. You actually confused me for a minute with the scent trail of your coat downstairs.” Joseph reaches for him and Barclay, remembering that he’s not supposed to give up until he’s pinned, leans away. 

“That’s how my mate wants to play?”

“J-just following your instructions, babe.”

An intrigued purr, “I guess you are. All the more reason you’re the perfect partner for me.”

The words Barclays dreamed of hearing for months distract from the claws closing around his ankles. He lets out an undignified yelp when Joseph pulls his legs straight out and drags him out of the closet. Once he’s free of the forest of clothing, the cryptid picks him up and drops him on the bed. He moans and Joseph snickers, joining him on the bedspread. 

“Fuck, Joseph, no one’s ever been able to do that before and it’s so, so fucking hot.” He arches his back and shifts his limbs to help Joseph undress him.

“It’s because you’re the perfect size; big and strong, large enough to give me a decent cuddle when I’m human, but still small enough to be an easily subdued mate.” He gets the humans’ jeans and boxers off, hesitates, and then tosses them on the floor with a pained expression, “I’ll fold those later.”

“Gonna hold you to that. Also, wanna point out that it wasn’t that easy to subdue me.”

Joseph nuzzles his cheek, claws caressing his thighs, “Barclay, I was jogging while you were sprinting.”

“You coulda caught me right awaAAy ohwhatthefuck.” Tingling heat glides down his throat as Joseph licks a stripe along the skin, “fuck, it, it feels like the time I tried hot wax.”

The cryptid sits up slightly to look at him, “Is that a…good thing?”

“Fuck yeah. I really fucking liked it but it was fucking murder with the chest hair.”

Joseph runs his claws through the hair in question, “I like it.”

“I know, I saw you eyeing me that one time I used the springs at the lodge.”

“You can’t prove anything.” Joseph leans back down, curling his tongue around Barclays left nipple. The sensation makes him buck his hips, which Joseph correctly takes as a signal for more. He moves to the other side, takes his time teasing it and licking down the sensitive center of Barclays chest. Noses his stomach, nips his sides, and slides the alien heat of his tongue into the crease of his thighs. 

“Y’know I, ohfuck, I assumed from all that talk yesterday you’d get right to fucking me.”

Joseph kisses the inside of one thigh, “I, um, I thought about it, almost ripped your jeans to shreds and took you on the floor. But I wanted to be sure you were turned on. You’re not just a warm body, Barclay. You’re my mate. That means your pleasure matters as much as mine.” He licks up Barclays’ cock, hardened from rubbing against the soft fur of his belly, and sighs, “and what a mate.”

“Fuck” he squeezes his eyes closed because if we watches that mouth saying everything he wants to hear in between sucking his dick, he’ll cum in ten seconds flat. 

A final lick to the tip and then Joseph hops off the bed, “Did you prep the way I told you?”

“Uhhuh.” 

“Good.” Joseph returns, sets several items he can’t see by his feet, “that’ll make things easier. First things first” he produces a cock cage, sliding it into place, “these are a few things I smuggled over from my original home. This is enchanted, so it can go on an erect cock but still prevent the wearer from cumming until it’s removed.”

“That’s just cruel, babe.” He sits up on his elbows to kiss Josephs snout, earning him a pleased yip. 

“If you cum too fast, I won’t be able to properly breed you.” He winces again, “sorry, I sound like one of Indrids romance novels.”

“Again, gorgeous, I find it really fucking hot.”

The spines on Joseph’s back ripple, “You think I’m gorgeous? Like this?”

“I do. Also kinda scary, but in a hot way.” Now it’s his turn to cringe, “see? I sound like cheap porn written by an eighth grader when I’m horny. The way you sound is fine.”

Joseph lovebites his ear, then retrieves the other two items from the end of the bed. 

“And how does this look, big guy?”

“Like it’s either going to kill me or make me cum like a dozen times.” He furrows his brow at the strap-on. It’s narrower than the average human dick, with a pointed, slightly up-curved tip. What’s worrying him are the spikes. 

The entire shaft is coated in short protrusions. They don’t end in points, thank god, but if they’re at all stiff this is going to be miserable. 

“Here” Joseph waves him over, “touch it.” He guides his fingers along one side and the spines bend fluidly under his touch, and now all he wants to know is how they feel inside him. Joseph also moans, bucking his hips so the toy slides along Barclays palm.

“It’s, ohlord, also enchanted so that the wearer feels it as an extension of their body and can cum with it. Also, please decide in the next thirty seconds whether you want to be on your back or your stomach.” Amber pre-cum drips down Barclay’s fingers. 

“Stomach is better for meWHOAH, ohfuck, okay we’re doing this.” Now flipped on his belly, he raises his ass. The cryptid kneads it appreciatively before holding it open and sliding his cock in with once, graceful thrust. 

He bottoms out with a groan, which is more articulate than Barclay is managing to be as the spines rub and glide inside him, finding every patch of nerves, every angle to drag against in just the right way. Joseph hauls him onto his knees and then he’s off, growls and yips filling the as he fucks him. Barclay only just registers the bed banging into the wall so forcefully the headboard is cracking when claws sink into his hips and Joseph pulls him all the way onto his cock and pulses into him. 

“Holy fuck that was fast.”

“I, I didn’t jack off once today. Didn’t want to waste it, wanted to save it all for my perfect mate.” He’s thrusting again, not as hard but twice as fast, “shit, you feel so good, big guy, please tell me Mama okayed your time off for tomorrow.”

“Wh-why are we talkingAHnnn, about this now?”

Hot breath tickles his ear, “Because now that I know what’s like to cum in you, I don’t plan on cumming anywhere else for the next day and a half.”

“Ohfuckme” Barclay groans happily into the pillows as Joseph empties into him, cries out when his tail whips across his calf.

“Shit, did that hurt?”

“No, no it felt good, fucking-A babe every fucking part of you is amazing.”

The cryptid whines, pleased, and wiggles his hips, giving Barclay an idea. 

“That’s, uh, that’s why I want you for my mate, because you’re so fucking goo-mmph” his face presses harder into the pillows as Joseph pins his shoulders down and fucks into him, snarling “yes” over and over again. When he finishes this time he hunches over, nipping Barclay’ shoulders and neck. 

“You catch on quick, big guy.”

“Thanks, babe. Uh, are we gonna switch it up at any point or am I staying like this until tomorrow night?”

“No, we can fuck however we want. After” a fuzzy hand rubs circles on Barclay’s abdomen, “I’ve cum in you enough times that I can feel it from out here.”

Barclay moans, tightening around him as his hips snap once more, already imagining being full and fucked out. Maybe it’ll take all night. He’ll be limp if it does, but right now nothing sounds better than melting into the bed while Joseph fucks his ass like it belongs to him. 

After forty-five minutes, his cock is aching, his mind holds only thoughts of how good it feels to do as Joseph tells him, and he’s been cum in so many times that wet, obscene sounds accompany the cryptids thrusts. Said sounds pale in comparison to Josephs’ voice, which is spinning increasingly impossible scenarios the longer they’re in bed. 

“I hope they take after you.” Joseph murmurs. 

Barclay just manages to turn his head, “Who?”

A muzzle playfully nudges his cheek, “Our kids.”

His heart seizes and shakes at the words; they both know that’s not what will happen. Joseph warned him he might say things like this, said he could tell him to knock it off if need be. 

“Maybe they’ll, ahnn, they’ll have big, beautiful brown eyes and bigger hearts, just like you.”

He doesn’t want him to stop. Every thrust hits deeper, every point where their skin meets buzzes brighter when he talks like this.

“H-hope at least one looks like you, blue eyes.”

A guttural whine, tingling heat as Joseph laps tenderly at the back of his neck, “We’ll just have to see, usually we’re born in threes so, soOH, oh I’m close, shitshit” 

“That’s it babe, fill me up, c’mon, c’mon I want it so bad, Joseph, baby, please.” 

There’s a howltrill as cum spurts into him, Joseph panting as he smooths his hand around Barclays side.

“There, that’s done it.”

Barclay whimpers as he pulls out, his mind and body pulled tight, certain that if he doesn’t cum soon he’ll propose marriage instead and that’ll be a fucking disaster. 

Joseph carefully rolls him over and unlocks the cage, “Do you want to cum?”

“More than anything. Oh!” he’s unprepared for Joseph to sink down on his cock, “oh fuck, yeah, wanna cum so bad babe please, I’ll be so good, be such a good mate if you just let me cum in y-fuuuck” A trio of sensations levels him as he climaxes; his vision whites out, his hips jerk more violently than they ever have before, and a line of cum drips down his leg. 

Somewhere far away, Joseph says, “I think we’ve earned a break.”

He nods, body limp as the cryptid climbs off him. Then he’s falling, spinning helplessly down in a pit of realizations. 

Joseph didn’t mean any of those things he said. His friend needed a mate and Barclay, lovesick fool he is, was eager for a chance to play pretend that he didn’t think about what would happen when the game ended. Even if Joseph keeps him here through tomorrow, the next time they meet at the Lodge he’ll act like nothing happened. 

Fuck, Barclay didn’t even get to kiss him during all this, and now he’ll never get the chance, never, nevernever-

“Shit, I should have put a towel or a spare blanket down. Now I’ll have to strip the bed before I can–Barclay? Oh, oh baby, what’s wrong?” A hand pets his face and he turns away from it, refusing to open his eyes. Joseph takes his hand instead, “it’s okay, I’m here, whatever you need I’ll-”

“Don’t. Don’t say that. You can’t give me what I need, it isn’t your fault I, I know I’m not really your partner and I, I…” he sniffles, wipes his palm under his eye. 

“Barclay, look at me please.”

Reluctantly, he opens his eyes just in time to see Joseph dip down and kiss him. It’s awkward, their mouths not made to fit together, but he savors it all the same because it’s Joseph, his Joseph, kissing him like he hoped he would. 

“My heat can make me say some ridiculous things. What it can’t do is make me feel affection where none exists. In fact, the reason I wasn’t able to keep my disguise on yesterday is because being near you meant being near the mate I wanted most in the world. I, um, suspected you might share my feelings, but I didn’t want our first interaction as boyfriend to be me asking if you wanted to spend a day or so with me while I was in a sex haze. But then you offered to help, and I wanted it so badly that I barreled ahead without making sure you understood that this was me declaring my feelings. I’m sorry.”

Barclay climbs into his lap, not caring about the mess he makes in the process. The cryptid laughs, hugs him close.

“I, I shoulda said something sooner too. Not that I regret how we spent our first date.” He kisses Josephs chin.

“Me neither, though I don’t think it quite counts.” He rubs their foreheads together, “can your boyfriend take you out to dinner on Friday?”

Barclay grins, looks into loving, blue eyes, “Yeah, he can.”

Chapter Text

This is all the hangman’s fault. 

Indrid could be pleasantly dead right now, not trapped in a gibbet on a clifftop, if the man had bothered to check his ropes ahead of time. But no, instead he failed to see the rats had been gnawing on them and the blasted noose snapped clean off the instant it took Indrids weight. To the villagers, this was a sign that Indrid was indeed a witch (and the son of a demon, a rare charge that drags his poor, deceased mother into this mess). To Indrid, it meant a new set of bruises and the worst possible death. 

They locked him in the gibbet, the Atlantic crashing in angry, grey waves far below them. The man on his right is dead, eyeballs already plucked out by an enterprising bird, and the man on his left is getting there. If his visions are accurate, Indrid has a good five days of suffering the elements, the wild-life, and his own hunger and thirst before he joins them. 

A lifetime of visions breeds resignation in the face of fate, so he closes his eyes, follows the futures of luckier men as a temporary escape. The screams of his neighbor rouse him with a start. Their source is wholly unexpected. 

Looming at the edge of the cliff is an immense monster. From his vantage point, Indrid spies the creatures’ lower body still submerged in the sea, making it well over a hundred feet tall. It’s skin is green, it’s fingers webbed, and it’s crowned by a frill of wave-shaped spikes. The face is humanoid, with green eyes and hair of black water and a squid-beak where a mouth should be. Strange tentacles appear and disappear along its torso, as if they have not made up their mind as to whether they wish to exist. 

The monster sighs, “Fuckin hate it when they leave their dead like this. Unsightly, and I ain’t sure it’s good for the seagulls to be eatin humans.”

“The dead and, ah, almost dead do not enjoy it much either.” 

Upon hearing Indrids voice, the creature peers into his cage, “Huh, guess you ain’t dead. Either of you.” He turns his eyes on the other condemned man, who starts screaming again, “why’d they stick you here?”

“Witchcraft, specifically foresight and dabbling in ‘black magic.’ Well, that and a failed hanging” He tilts his head to show the visitor the rope mark. 

“Damn, that looks like it hurts. Wonder if I can..” the tip of an immense claw extends towards him. There’s a crackle of power that makes his ears pop, and the monster pulls his hand back, “nope, fuck, was hopin it’d be a small enough thing to do.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The monster sighs, “Long story short, my kind ain’t able to interact in an, uh, altruistic fashion with humans unless they’re acolytes. Can’t even open that damn cage without gettin zapped. Never mind that some of us don’t even wanna be old gods or whatever the fuck, still ain’t allowed to help. Maybe if I get a real big stick..”

“How does one become an acolyte?” Indrid presses his face to the front of the cage.

“Uh, you gotta swear loyalty and servitude to me, specifically, and the ‘old gods’ in general, live in a place I set up for you, and do stuff when I need you to.”

“Very well, are there specific words of the oath or…”

“Whoah, hold up now” the creature raises his hands, “this shit is real bindin’, rather you not rush into it.”

“Given the alternative is death, a rush is rather necessary.”

“All I’m sayin is you might wanna think for more than two seconds before you agree! And there might be other ways for me to get you out.”

“Do..do you not want an acolyte?” Being rejected by a sea monster feels like a fitting end to his life. 

“Not really. It ain’t personal or anythin; I’m just now leanin into the whole god thing and I still ain’t all that comfortable with parts if it. Last thing I want is an acolyte who saw me as ‘not as bad as death.”

“And the last thing I want is to die of exposure, so we are at an impasse.”

The monster clicks his beak once, “Okay, here’s what I’ll do. You take until sunset to think over whether you wanna be stuck servin’ this” he gestures to himself, “for a long-ass time, and we’ll go from there.”

“Very well.” Indrid resigns himself to several more hours of misery as the creature sinks from view. He glances at the other prisoner, “what do you think? He seems very considerate for a sea monster and I for one would like to keep living.”

The man stares, babbles incoherently for a moment before shouting, “You, you conversed with a devil! You are a witch, just as they say!”

“He spoke to both of us.” Indrid blinks, puzzled. 

“I closed my ears to his lies, you offered yourself to his wickedness! Speak no more to me from your black tongue.”

“Hmmph” Indrid does his best to ignore the ongoing beration. He’s not sure the creature is a god, but then again the creature seems uncertain on the matter himself. Serving a maybe-god seems no worse than serving the king, a life among the depths no less tolerable than his small home in a town torn to pieces by accusations of witchcraft. 

After a time, the storm clouds fulfill their purpose, a downpour battering him from all angles. Then a shadow falls over his shut eyes, and no more rain touches him. 

“Seemed awful rude to leave you stuck in the rain while you thought things over.” The god explains, one massive hand shielding the human. 

“Many thanks. Ah, I do have one concern about being your acolyte. Would…would I have to hurt anyone?”

“Don’t think so. I ain’t fond of hurtin folks, and if someone did need to be hurt, seems real strange to make the tiny human do it.”

Indrid puts on his most hopeful, charming smile, “I am very cold, very hungry, and my whole being feels as though it’s been stomped on by a team of horses. Perhaps I could give my answer early?”

A chuckle, like bubbles in deep water, “Hard to say no to that face. Okay, you got a deal. I checked with Joe while I was gone, to make sure I knew the right thing to do if you said yes. I’m gonna say the oath, and you’re gonna repeat it.”

Indrid nods, makes his way laboriously through the incantation in a gurgling language he does not know. The god patiently guides him along, cracks open the cage when the last word is spoken. 

“Do I get to know your name? If it was one of those words, it will take me some time to master it.”

The monsters’ cheeks rise, suggesting a smile, “You can call me Duck. It’s a nickname. C’mon” he holds out his hand, “let’s get you outta the rain.”

“One moment.” Indrid moves to the other gibbet, undoing the lock, “you can get free if you wish. If anyone asks how, tell them it was the witch.” With that, he settles in Duck’s cupped palms, the skin smooth and cool to the touch. 

“Down we go.” Duck sinks. 

“Wait, how will I bre-” water fills his mouth, but only for a moment. A clear bubble forms around him, let’s him gulp in air as Duck dives further into the sea. More jarring than the spell is the sight of the monster unfurling behind him. He assumed Duck had legs, but instead his lower body is that of a sea-serpent, green with bronze rings and undulating in the dark waves. 

“Like what you see?”

“Yes” he wonders what touching that tail is like.

“Yeah, this is a real beautiful part of the sea. If you want, some time I can take you further out; some spectacular lookin creatures out there. Here we go, home sweet home.” They surface at the base of a much shorter cliff, Indrid woozy from the change in depth. Three cottages–one red, one gold, and one blue– stare back at them from a grassy hill. 

“Let’s see if I can do this” Duck sets Indrid on the ground, closes his eyes, and hums. The world shudders and splits, and then a fourth, emerald green cottage sits alongside the others. 

“Ha! Pretty damn good for a first effort.” His frill flickers with silver light.

“It’s wonderful.”

“All yours. You get yourself settled, I’m gonna go find out from the others what else needs doin’ now that I got an acolyte.” He lowers himself so the two of them are roughly face to face, “see you soon, Indrid.”

————————————–

The cottage holds more possessions than Indrid’s ever had in his life, including a large feather bed that he stretches his aching body across before falling asleep and dreaming of seaweed twining up his legs. 

Voices from the window rouse him some hours later. At the side of the red cottage sit three other humans, two of whom are at work in a vegetable garden. Indrid ventures down to introduce himself. 

“Hi!” One, a woman with golden hair, waves to him, “you must be Indrid. I’m Dani, this is Barclay” she points to the bearded man harvesting potatoes, then to a tattooed man polishing a pile of gold and silver jewelry, “and that’s Boyd.” 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. You are all acolytes as well?” His stomach rumbles and Barclay pauses his digging to slide him a basket containing bread and cheese.

“Help yourself, those are leftover from lunch. And yeah, we are. Or were, in Dani’s case.”

Even with foresight, Indrid is surprised when the woman says jokingly, “Got promoted to ‘wife’ a few months.”

“Congratulations.” It seems the appropriate thing to say, given her smile, “ah, what exactly do you all do for your gods? Duck is rather unclear on the details.”

“Some of it is spellwork. Beings like Duck have some innate power, but they can get more of it from an acolyte doing rituals or making offerings. Joseph, that’s my monster, Duck, and a few others aren’t sold on the idea that they’re meant to destroy humans, so they spend a lot of time keeping other monsters from doing just that. Our spellwork gives them an edge. Other than that, it really depends on who you’re working for; I spent a lot of my first month helping Joseph understand that hauling himself up onto a random dock to ask questions is not the best way to learn about humans. Boyd spends a lot of time maintaining Ned’s treasure.”

“Only because he bloody tricked me into workin for him. Just bidin my time until the deal runs out. You hear that Chicane!” Boyd yells towards the water, “don’t care how much you steal, I’ll get my share and run one of these days.”

To Indrid’s ear, the sea laughs in reply. Boyd grumbles and returns to his work. 

“He’s just annoyed because he and Ned thought they could outwit each other; Boyd was on a prison ship bound for Jamaica and Ned offered him an out. Apparently they spent hours haggling over the terms.” Dani leans closer, whispers, “Boyds left twice, comes back every time saying he’s bored without someone to challenge him.”

They talk a while longer, Dani promising to bring Indrid some hens and a goat from town, Boyd giving him some firewood, and Barclay explaining the network of sea caves in the surrounding hills. When there’s a knock at the door, he opens it expecting another human and jumps when this is not the case. 

“Evenin’” Duck smiles as he slithers into the house, “brought you a few more things.”

“You got smaller.” 

“Can change my size some, though this is about as small as I can get.” He’s still two heads taller than Indrid, who notes that the ceilings are just high enough to accommodate him, as if the god built the cottage with visits in mind. 

Duck sets a bucket of fresh oysters in the kitchen along with a large slab of butter, some milk, and some sugar, “Had one of my human friends bring me these. And, uh, I made you this” he holds up a cloak in the same colors as his tail. It fits Indrid snugly, shutting out the chilly air and making him feel rather grand indeed. 

“C’mere” Duck pats a kitchen chair, “lemme take care of your neck.”

Indrid sits, shudders when webbing and claws rub sticky balm into his skin. The gods hands easily encircle his neck, a realization that stirs heat deep in his stomach. Duck talks as he works, a meandering story about a shipwreck, and Indrid finds he enjoys his manner of speech. The initial discomfort of the touches subside, the balm washing the pain in his neck away like a wave erasing a message in the sand. Cool hands wrapped around his throat turn as comforting as the fire crackling in the stove. 

“That looks like it healed. Good” Duck’s beak fondly nips his ear, “gotta make sure my servant is in good condition.”

“Mmmm” Indrid bumps his chest with his head, hoping for more; tomorrow he’ll ask the others if it’s commonplace for an acolyte to lounge in the coils of their gods lap like a housecat. 

The beak touches his ear once more, biting it lightly with little kissing sounds.

“Huh’’ two tentacles catch Indrid as he tips sideways, his body deciding that the earlier nap was not enough rest, “didn’t think you’d find that soothin. Did it by accident, it’s how my kind show affection.”

“S’very nice” Indrid mumbles, dimly aware of being carried. 

“I’ll keep that in mind. Y’know, in case I need to reward you for somethin.” Duck lays him in bed, pulls a thick blanket over him, and bids him goodnight. Indrid is sound asleep before the door closes. 

————————————

“Ngahka miskato–ah! Give that back” Indrid wrenches his spectacles free from hold of a far too inquisitive octopus. The creature squirts him with water, then disappears back into its pool. 

Each of the gods has a sea cave in which their acolytes perform their rituals. Since the processes involves ancient, dark magic, all manner of strange sea life makes its way to the caves. Some, like the octopus or the seals that bob in the distance or flop on the rocks to nap, are known to him. Others might be classified as indescribable horrors from the deep, though Indrid thinks they look like crustaceans with a few too many limbs or the offspring of an eel and devil fish. 

His oath to Duck allows him to read the spells, and his pronunciation is improving. Duck’s requests center on defense; letting himself take greater damage from an enemy, be better able to protect his friends, that sort of thing. Indrid even found a ritual that gives the god new cloaking abilities, which he’s used to make the cottages disappear on the hillside and thus keep curious townsfolk away.  He also found one that allows Duck to remain out of water for well over a day.

The Duck who visits him in the cave and the one who stops by his home may be radically different sizes, but his disposition is constant. He talks about the kelp forests and the animals, about his annoyance with his supposed destiny as “destroyer of all man.” He conjures fine clothes from seaweed, furniture from driftwood, and brings Indrid newly made grins embedded with fresh pearls. 

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one serving you?” Indrid will tease.

“Way I see it, we serve each other. Don’t care what that fuckin oath said.”

Indrid is feeding his hens one evening when his luck catches up with him; his human friends are all standing at the edge of Dani’s house, peering anxiously around it’s corner and down the hill. Joining them, he sees a crowd marching with torches and an assortment of lethal farm equipment. 

“What the fuck are they doing? You were just in town today and everything was fine” Barclay glances at Dani, who shrugs, worried.

“My visions tell me that as they get closer we will hear them yelling about witches and that I will recognize many of them. I suspect my fellow gibbet-occupant told them about Duck.” He sighs, “I’ll try to lead them on a chase, get them away from all of you.” 

Indrid runs into the evening before the others, or his own common sense, can stop him. Keeping to the cliffside, he lets them glimpse his hair and his red glasses, both used at the trial as proof of his wicked nature. His plan is to take a secret tunnel down into the caves, but his visions alert him a moment too late to the fact there are two, not one, groups of villagers. He’s outflanked on the cliff, holds up his hands to show he means no harm.

“I understand my continued existence alarms and confuses you, but that is no reason to go running about with weapons. Would you kindly leave me alone?”

“No, witch, we will not.” The head of the party shouts over the wind. 

“I have a name, you know.” He grumbles, looking behind him and wondering if his status as an acolyte grants him immunity from death by falling in the water. 

“You have already confessed to your black work, and we have on good authority you have made a pact with the devil. There is nowhere to run, and if you come quietly I promise we will hang you properly this time.”

“And if I do not?”

“We shall see to it that your body is scattered about this cliffside before the night is out.” The mob moves forward and Indrid stumbles back, the earth giving out beneath his feet. 

He lands with a yelp in a smooth, large hand. As Duck rises more fully from the waves, the crowd freezes, struck dumb with fear. 

“Y’all ain’t gonna touch him, y’hear? Indrid’s under my protection and in case it ain’t obvious, I could smoosh the whole damn bunch of you without breakin a sweat. So, what you’re gonna do is turn around and go back to your village, and I’ll forget this ever happened. If you come after him again, I’m gonna start taking out ships in your harbor. We clear?”

The panicked flight of the mod downhill suggests he’s made his point. 

Duck carries Indrid home, joining him in the cottage once he can fit through the door. The monster follows him upstairs, pulling him into his arms.

“Thought I was gonna lose you.”

“That makes two of us.” 

Duck nuzzles the top of his head, “You mind if I stay here tonight? Little worried some of them might get it into their heads to come back and hurt you.”

No futures show this, but Indrid nods all the same. Duck curls up near the bed, not leaving until the morning sun shines through the window. He does the same the next night, and the night after that, and soon it’s been two weeks of the god talking softly with Indrid as the human falls asleep. 

When Indrid shyly asks if Duck will join him, his monster lays as comfortably as he can on the right side of the bed. Indrid is now used to waking up with a tail looped around his leg or a tentacle clinging to his arm. 

————————————

Indrid is just drifting off when the covers slide aside and weight slithers up the bed. He opens his eyes; Duck is on his side, facing him, annoyed. 

“What troubles you, my dark excellency?” Indrid nudges Ducks’ lower belly with his toes. He’s taken to calling Duck increasingly absurd things, and the monster calls him “faithful servant” or “esteemed attendant” in reply. 

Tonight, Duck just sighs, “Y’know how I was supposed to do somethin important tonight, bein’ that it’s the second full moon in the month? Turns out that somethin was, ‘spread my seed among the beds of men’ so our kind will gradually overrun the surface.” He clicks his beak with a snort, “don’t that sound fun?”

“No.”

“Smart little thing, ain’t you?” Duck teases, cups Indrid’s chin, “Yeah, I said no. Problem is, apparently a second full moon makes my whole body wanna fuck, which is why that prophecy was supposed to happen tonight.”

Indrid looks down, sees something rippling under the skin at the upper part of Duck’s tail. 

“I’m gonna try sleepin it off.”

His visions give him courage; Duck turns him down in most futures, but none of them end in death or bodily harm, which at his point in his life is all he asks. 

“Or you could, ah, allow me to help you.”

Green eyes blink, slow and calculating, “‘Drid, that ain’t part of your job.”

“No…” Indrid scoots across the sheets, tentatively runs his fingers up Duck’s side, “but that is not why I’m offering.”

“No?” The rest of his tail joins them on the bed, curving so it traps Indrid against him, “Then why are you offerin, sweet human of mine?”

“Because I, ah, I want, that is I would very much like to know you in that way, and I thought it was allowed based on the others, I apologize if it’s not, I did not mean to-” He freezes as Duck cups his face, nipping his ear and throat with a kissing noise.

“‘Drid?”

“Y-yes, my lord of the depths?” He’s breathless, drowning in Duck’s gaze. 

“Stop apologizin and take off your clothes.”

Indrid flails until nothing is between him and his monster. 

“Thats better” Duck’s voice deepens, washing over him like rough waves, “now, come serve your god.” He pats what Indrid thinks of as his waist, the point where his human qualities disappear entirely. 

“As you wish” Indrid tries for a coquettish smile as he straddles him, but it gives way to surprise as the slit in Ducks skin parts. 

“I was not expecting tentacles. Which, given the rest of you, was naive.”

“Not usin that future vision of yours to see what’s comin’?” The webbing of Duck’s fingers is like velvet as it caresses Indrid’s chest.

“It is difficult to focus on such things when you are here. You command my attention. You always have.”

Duck flicks his tongue across Indrid’s lower lip, “Now that kind of devotion I could get used to.”

“It is yours whenever you want it.”

A tentacle emerges from his side, petting Indrid’s face, “My Indrid. You been so good for me, so faithful and true. Letting me babble about seaweed and when my claws through that pretty hair. And you just keep gettin better.” 

“Please” Indrid rests his head against Duck’s chest, hugging him as best as his size will allow, “please teach me how to serve you this way too.”

“I can do that. You don’t gotta lift a finger.” Several of the tendrils that comprise his cock twine together to form a single appendage. The tentacle on his face gains a twin and the pair slide down to his ass, parting it.

Indrid’s thighs are uncooperative, struggle to get and keep him in the right position to sink down. He curses, reaches down to adjust only for a thicker tentacles to bind both wrists and yank them up above his head. 

“Uh uh, I said no finger-liftin and I meant it.”

Indrid moans, his cock filling as he discovers there’s no way to free himself. He expects Duck to guide him into place with his hands. The end of his tail encircles Indrid’s hips while his claws trace arcane shapes on his skin. 

“I, I did not know it was quite so dextrousOH, oh god.” The tip of that strange cock pushes in, pulsing little by little to stretch him open without pain. 

“Right here.” Duck nibbles his hair with that same kissing sound, “I got you. Take such good care of my faithful human.”

“Oh god” Indrid can’t come up with anything else to express the sensation of Duck sinking deeper into his body, of how safe he feels stretched out and stretched open in the monsters hold. He tips his head back with a cry as Duck bottoms out and his cock moves fluid and disjointed all at once. It’s pulsing, thrusting him full on each inward push, yet it’s individual tendrils curve and curl within him independent of the whole. 

“More, oh god, please, please never ever ever stop.”

 A fond chuckle, “That good huh? Maybe that prophecy was wrong. Maybe what I’m supposed to do is fuck you full and then drop you in town so you can spread the word of how good my dick is. Be my consort and prophet all in one. Get everyone clamorin for the chance for me to fuck them.”

“No” Indrid squirms, petulant, “you’re my master. Not theirs.”

A louder laugh this time, “You gonna take the amount of fuckin I was supposed to do to a whole town yourself?” A tendril curls around Indrid’s aching cock. 

“Yes” He wails, rolls his hips “you may have me as often as you please, I want you too, I’ll, I’ll be your faithful servant always.”

“You’re already somethin better; you’re my ‘Drid.” Duck twists the tendril and Indrid’s lost, his orgasm knocking breath from his chest and tears from his eyes as white spatters the green of Duck’s abdomen. 

“That’s it darlin, lookit you bein so good, cummin for your master. Think it’s time for you to make good on your promise to take whatever I give you.” The tail lifts Indrid up and down as Duck cums, the monster not so much as pausing before thrusting his hips harder, “fuuuck that’s good, my perfect servant, my ‘Drid, takin me so well.”

Indrid sobs as another burst of cum enters him and a strange feeling fills his chest; he’s buzzing with blindingly bright power. It’s coming from Duck, he knows this, and in the haze of his submissive state he understands the depth of his divinity.

“Duck” he whimpers as more tentacles twist around his limbs, the god losing himself in his pursuit of pleasure, filling Indrid until his belly twinges and his eyes fight to remain open. When the god groans out the humans name a final time, Indrid is so enveloped by him he wonders if they’ll ever fully disentangle. 

The monster carries him to the washroom, Indrid still squirming on his cock, and gently pulls him free to set him in the tub. A flick of his hand fills it with warm seawater.

“You okay?”

“I doubt I will be able to walk tomorrow.” Indrid smiles to show he relishes this fact.

“Guess I’ll be spendin tomorrow waitin on you.” Duck joins him in the tub, coiling protectively around him as he washes his chest and thighs.

“I thought I was the servant here?” Indrid cuddles closer, kissing Duck on the tip of his beak.

“Nah. Far as I’m concerned, we take care of each other.”

Chapter Text

“I thought we could act out that, um, request you had for me tomorrow night”

“The one where you let me…”

“Yes, big guy, that one.”

——————————————————————

Barclay waits in Mt. Sterns study, clock on the mantle reading three minutes to six. Lamps are being lit up and down the street as the citizens of London flock out into the first warm night of the year. Barclay will not be joining them; Mr.Stern has other plans for him, and the crosses over the windows and doors to the street ensure Barclay doesn’t go anywhere without his permission. 

It could be worse. Much worse.

Mr. Stern frequents the gentleman’s club where Barclay is (was) a cook, is polite and charming when he discusses the latest evidence of monsters in the Himalayas or the depths of the sea. He’s American, like Barclay, which meant someone appreciated the pies he made for dessert. Every visit, he stopped by the kitchen to compliment Barclays food, insisting was the best in the city. 

So imagine Barclays’ horror when, half-starved and foggy-brained, the man he pounced on in an alley turned out to be none other than Joseph Stern. The fear intensified when the human easily overpowered and pinned him, revealing that he was an agent of the crown, a member of the Royal Order of Vampire Hunters.

“I can’t let you free, not in good conscience given you attacked me and could attack someone else. But I don’t want to hurt you, Barclay.”

The agents solution was to bring the vampire home with him, lock him in the safety of the cellar (so he wouldn’t get burnt), and use him as a subject for his research. Mr. Stern prides himself on being the preeminent scholar on the subject of vampirism (“Dr. Helsing’s research is sorely lacking, but everyone goes to him because of the Harker Affair”), and couldn’t pass up the chance to make use of his live-in vampire. Generally, he peppers Barclay with questions or submits him to minor medical tests, always giving him a glass of blood to drink while they work. That glass is conspicuously absent tonight, as was the note Mr. Stern usually leaves him detailing what to expect. 

Barclay bounces his knee as his stomach growls; they ran out of blood last night and a new supply has yet to arrive. Then the door opens, and he perks up like a bloodhound offered a bone. 

“Hello, Barclay, thank you for being so prompt.” Mr.Stern is in his full suit, hair styled as if he just returned from the office. 

“Of course, sir. I, uh, I’ve been looking forward to this all day.” He smiles, licks his lips as the human removes his jacket, revealing more of his throat in the process. 

“You like being my research assistant?”

“Very much sir.”

Mr. Stern rolls up his shirtsleeves, “I think you’ll like tonight’s experiment quite a bit. On the desk.” He pats the strangely empty hardwood and Barclay sits on the edge, tall enough that his feet still touch the floor. The human opens his dictograph, stops before turning it on, “lie down.”

Barclay does as he’s told, jolts in confusion as Stern pulls three leafs of wood from the desk; one on either side of Barclay and one at his feet, meaning that his whole body is on the table with a few inches of room to spare on all sides.

“This isn’t your normal desk, is it sir?”

“No, I had it made just for us.” The dictograph clicks on, “April 14th, experiment twenty-nine; determining the relationship between sexual arousal and bloodlust in vampires.”

“Wait, what?” Barclay bolts upright, starts climbing off the desk only for Stern to firmly cup his cheek. 

“Barclay, you want to be a good specimen, don’t you?” Something sharp and wicked as a scalpel glints behind the clinical curiosity in his blue eyes. 

“Yes, sir.” He does, he really does, but he’s so hungry. Hungry and terrified that whatever Stern is planning will cause Barclay to admit the feelings he has to keep reburying in his chest thanks to their reemerging whenever Stern smiles at him. 

“Then do as you’re told.” He takes his hand away, Barclay mourning the loss of contact as the reclines back onto the desk. 

“Much better.” Stern walks around the desk, patting Barclay’s head along the way, “If you’re good tonight, I’ll give you a special reward. One you’ve never had before.”

Barclay resolves to be better than he’s ever been. Stern’s rewards are well planned and generous, leaving Barclay positively spoiled when he’s done. He buys him the expensive draught that lets vampires consume non-blood foods without illness, then takes him to dinner. Brings him rare teas and books to read while he sips them. When he learned Barclay liked theater and opera, evenings out in finery became part of the rotation. He can’t imagine what the extra special reward will be, but he hopes it involves more of Sterns gentle touches on his skin. 

“I’m starting the experiment now. To establish our baseline, how aroused are you?”

“Like, a little?”

“Are you craving blood?”

“Yeah, I’m kinda hungry, but not like, crazed or anything.”

“Good. I’ll keep checking in with the subject throughout the process.” He pulls a notebook from his shelf, and Barclay can see a checklist running down the page, “I’ll start by relaxing the subject.” 

The detached manner in which Stern refers to him should aggravate him; instead, his cock twitches in his pants and he squirms, hoping the human will say it again. 

Stern rolls Barclays pants up to his knees, picks up his right foot and kneads his thumb along the arch. He finds all the sore spots with ease (almost as if he’s done this before), Barclay moaning softly as he works his way up one leg and then other. The vampire is so relaxed by the end he almost misses Stern guiding his wrists into the cuffs on either side of him. 

“Sir?”

“It’s for your safety and mine; you may get agitated later on, and I don’t want you injuring yourself. Arousal level?”

“About the same.”

Stern raises his eyebrow.

“Uh, I mean, about the same, sir.”

“Hunger?”

“The same, sir.”

The agent turns back to the dictaphone, “Subject is now restrained. Proceeding to step twoOW, shit.” He sets the notebook down and shoves his right pointer finger into his mouth. 

It’s only a small paper-cut, bleeding a bead of red when he pulls it out to examine it. To Barclay, it’s like someone cracked open a fine wine and is taking their sweet time pouring.

Stern notices his interest immediately, “Is this what you want, Barclay? To taste me?”

He whines, nodding his head. Stern’s hand hovers over his face; he could reach it with his tongue, but if he takes it without permission the human will no doubt revoke his reward. 

The cut finger strokes his neck, leaving a faint trail of red that he can smell but neither see nor reach. 

“Then I guess it’s convenient that’s your reward for tonight.”

“Ohfuckyes, sir, thank you sir.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, we’re only through step one. Where was I” he flips to the same page in his notes, “Oh, right. Addition of even a faint trace of blood lead to increased arousal in the subject. Testing the reverse pathway now.”

“Ohhhhhhfuck” Barclay bucks his hips as Joseph palms his cock through his pants. The warmth and pressure are enough to tease, to coax his cock up, but too little for him to do anything but rut like a needy dog on his hand. 

“It looks like stronger stimulation is required.” 

“AHahgodOWfuck” tears prick his eyes and he wishes, not for the first time, that he’d been less prone to taking the lords name in vain when he was human. The habit is hard to break and the word burns his tongue whenever it’s uttered.

Sterns eyes flick up to his face just long enough for him to see Barclay isn’t hurt, then they return to his cock. His hand moves in calculated, steady strokes, his voice calm even as Barclays grunts of pleasure fill the room. 

“Good boy, Barclay. Let’s see what happens if I…”

“Fuck, ohfucksir.” He jerks his hips as Stern quickens his hand, pre-cum slicking the shaft.

“Subjects fangs are emerging, salivary glands seem more active, eyes-Barclay, be quiet, you’re going to drown out my notes.”

This statement does not have the desired effect, as the thought of the device picking up his moans, of Stern playing them back with a clinical ear or fucking himself to them or letting other hunters listen to just what a vampire will do in order to feed, makes him moan louder. 

Stern stops entirely, his tone a warning, “Barclay.”

“S-sorry sir, it, it just, it feels so good, wanted you to, to know I like it. It’s, it’s an honor to feel your hands on me.”

“That’s very sweet. So sweet that I’ll make you a deal; if you can be quiet until after you cum, you can make as much noise as you want afterwards. Understood?”

“Yes sir.” He clamps his jaw shut, fangs pricking the inside of his mouth. Stern works his cock relentlessly, smiling as Barclay’s legs begin jerking and twitching with his impending orgasm. 

“That’s much better.”

Barclay smiles, proud, swallows down a moan, and cums all over Sterns waistcoat.

“Messy boy.” Stern wipes himself off, then covers Barclay’s mouth with a cum-streaked hand, “clean it up.”

He obeys, ambivalent to the bitterness of his own spend and elated by the taste of Sterns skin on his tongue. When he’s done the human ruffles his hair with his other hand, smiling down at him. 

“I’ll be right back.” Stern leaves his view and Barclay only just keeps himself from whining at his absence. The agent returns with a case which, when opened, reveals a vibrator. 

“I’m not hysterical, sir.”

“Not yet.” Rather than hold it himself, Stern straps the device so it rests against Barclays cock and switches it on.

“AHFUCK, sir, it’s, how many times-” His cock, which was soft only a moment ago, perks back up even as the nerves in it scream for it to stop.

“As many as it takes to complete my study. Let’s see.” The human turns Barclays face this way and that, frowns, and digs his finger and thumb into his jaw to keep his mouth open as he moans, “subjects fangs are now fully out and he” Stern snickers as Barclay’s beard tickles his wrists, the vampire licking and nuzzling at his inner arm, “he’s increasingly submissive and blood focused.”

“N-no, I’m you focused sir, want you, be so good for youAHannn” he cums, cuffs clanking on the table as he arches off it. Stern drags a chair over, sitting near Barclay’s head and leaning with his elbows on the desk to watch as his cock continues leaking and shuddering under the onslaught of sensations. 

Barclay recalls a myth, Greek he thinks, where a man is punished in the afterlife with intense hunger and thirst. He doesn’t remember why it happens, he tends to skim tragic stories. The part that stuck with him was the man being trapped with food and water just out of reach. With Joseph so close and Barclay so aroused and hungry, he can see the veins in his neck, can almost crane his neck to reach them. 

Then he cums a third time and his vision whites out, taking away the temptation for a few moments of mercy. His brain gives up on coherent thoughts after that, and all he can do is moan and sob as Stern forces two more orgasms out of him. His feet and legs go from kicking and thrashing to laying so limp he’s not sure he’ll be able to walk when they’re through.

“I think I have what you need.” Stern shuts off the vibrator, removing bringing a water basin and pitcher over to the vampire. He dips a handkerchief into the warm water, guiding it along Barclays forehead, “you’re doing well, Barclay. I’m so proud.” 

“Thank you sir. 

“I have one more test to run, okay?” His voice is so gentle, his touch so soothing, and Barclay would do anything for him like this, all he wants is to serve him, to make him happy so he’ll keep looking at him like he’s something precious instead of dangerous. 

The agent checks the dictaphone, clears his throat, “Final test: role of discomfort in the arousal-bloodlust dynamic.”

Barclay swallows, so turned on he couldn’t be scared if he tried. The agent pulls a loose page from the notebook, mischief in his eyes and menace on his fingertips. Only Stern could make the snap of a freshly inked piece of paper erotic, and Barclay adores him for it. 

“I will now have the subject read a passage and record my observations.” 

Letters fill his view and it takes his eyes a second to focus on them. His tongue, likely out of self-preservation, fights to stay behind his teeth. 

“We don’t have all night, Barclay.”

The vampire takes a deep breath, “O God, accept me in penitence. O God, l- leave me not. O Lord, lead me not into temptation” his tongue flinches even as his chest burns with pleasure “O God, grant me good thoughts. O God, grant me humility and obedience.”

“I’d say you’re doing well on that front already,” Stern murmurs, saying more clearly, “the subject responds positively to pain associated with holy words, and looks increasingly thirsty.” He gives Barclay a pointed look, “subject should continue if he wants his reward.” 

 “O Lord, grant me patience, courage and meekness. O God, grant me to love Thee with all my mind and soul.” Tears run down his cheeks; the pain is right on the edge of what he can take, and even in his submissive haze he’s certain this alone is deserving of a reward, “Sir, please, please, I’ve been so good, please say you’re satisfied so I can, I can-”

Stern sets the paper aside, “can what? Specificity is important, Barclay.”

A dozen types of hunger well up in his throat as he whimpers, “please say I can taste you.”

An indulgent smile, “Of course. Give me a second to prepare.”

The vampire closes his eyes, breathes as slowly as he can manage as his tongue ceases tingling. There’s a scuff and thud of Stern touching the desk, and Barclay assumes he’s being freed until warmth straddles his chest and a shadow blocks the lamplight from his face.

“Ohfuck.” He opens his eyes, finds Stern–naked from the waist down–bracketing his ears with his knees. 

“Is this the taste you wanted?” Stern guides his head up and Barclay eagerly kisses his cock.

“N-no I wanted to feed but, but this is so, so perfect sir.”

“You think you deserve to feed from me?”

Barclay nods, too busy teasing his tongue along his folds to respond further. The hunter is wet, and the thought of him soaking his tailored trousers just by watching Barclay cum is almost as heady as the scent of the blood beneath his skin. 

“Well, I think this is what you deserve, for being so careless as to attack me, and for having to rely on my hospitality to survive.”

“Uhhummm” Barclay closes his lips around his cock and Stern moans, a sound Barclay would gladly swallow holy water to hear again. 

“Nnn, oh lord, that’s it, you’re doing so well big guy.”

He purrs at the praise, mouth watering as Stern’s body sends more blood south. The skins so sensitive here, so thin, he can practically taste iron through it. He grazes his teeth along Sterns thigh, hoping for the smallest of scrapes, yelps when the agent pulls his hair hard enough to slam his head back against the desk. 

“If you bite without permission, I will leave you here, like this, with that vibrator strapped to your cock, until the morning.”

Barclay whimpers, licks plaintively at his cock to show he’s sorry. Stern’s voice softens, “That’s better. I know it’s hard to restrain yourself, but you–oh lord–you must. I hate having to discipline you my sweet boy, I’d much, much rather-” his hips gain speed, smearing slick across Barclays mouth, “fuck, I’d rather spoil you and then do whatever I want to this perfect body, oh, ohlord, ohyes.” He tenses, gasping, and Barclay wishes his hands were free so he could hold him, keep him safe and steady while he takes his pleasure.

The hunter eases off of him, undoes the cuffs and helps him upright. They move on equally shaky legs to the settee, the human undoing the top buttons of his shirt once they do. 

“Barclay…”

“Yes, sir?” He grips the edge of the cushions to keep from pinning the agent to their deep blue surface. 

“You can have your reward now.” Stern tips his head sideways, revealing a welcoming patch of throat. Barclay growls, lunges forward as Stern makes no attempt to stop him. His teeth pierce willing skin and hot, sinfully delicious blood flows across his tongue. Stern goes rigid in his arms, voice cracking in a moan. Then he relaxes, clinging to Barclays shoulders as the vampire pushes him down, licking and sucking and smearing crimson kisses across his neck. 

Nothing in the world compares to fresh blood, freely offered, swallowed down while the most handsome man you’ve ever seen lets out softer and softer moans of ecstasy. 

Two taps register on his shoulder and he pulls away, lapping at the wounds so they’ll stop bleeding and be protected from infection. Joseph groans, gingerly shaking his head to clear it.

“You feeling okay, big guy?”

“Y’know how pythons will eat a cow once a month and then sleep for days? That sounds really fucking good right about now.” Barclay knows some vampires feel energized after feeding, but for him it’s always followed by the need for a nap.

“Let’s go upstairs first, the bed is better than the couch for that. Last time I fell asleep here my back hurt the whole next day.”

“Someone feeling being in his thirties?”

“Barclay, you’re three hundred.”

“And I don’t feel a day over two hundred and fifty.” He smiles as Joseph chuckles and kisses his cheek. 

They make it up the stairs, Barclay easing his way under the covers and trying not to let them touch his sore cock. Joseph brings two water glasses and a damp cloth. Barclay uses the latter to clean the last traces of blood from his skin, patching over the punctures with the bandages they keep in the bedside table. 

“Fun as it is to pretend to be your, like, pet vampire, I really glad you decided you just needed a roommate after I was stupid enough to attack you.”

Joseph polishes off his water, “You were starving, not stupid. Most vampires who go after humans are. It did put a damper on my plans to proposition you in the club kitchen the next night, but it worked out in the end.”

“They did warn me the clientele might try to bribe me into earning a few extra pounds with uh, ‘special services.’”

“A few pounds is barely a fair price for a kiss from you.” The human kisses him, somehow more sincere and loving than the equally tender kiss he gave him before leaving for work. Then he rubs his leg through the blankets, “do you want some tea? Indrid dropped off a new one he found while traveling with Duck, and it smells amazing.”

“Sounds great, blue eyes.”

“I’ll go make a pot of it while you rest; you did so well tonight I’m inclined to spoil all weekend.”

“No complaints here. You take such good care of me, Joseph.”

“You deserve it, big guy. Don’t go anywhere.” He kisses his brow and leaves the bed, whirling on his dressing gown as he goes towards the stairs. 

Barclay watches him with all the love his unbeaten heart can muster and murmurs, “I won’t. Not when everything I need is right here.”

Chapter Text

They’ve done it. 

The crew of the Washington has captured a live mermaid; not the remains of one, not the stories of drunk or scared sailors, but a genuine, breathing, swimming mermaid. 

Joseph keeps pointing out that, technically, they’ve caught a merman. One with a smooth, almost black tail, coppery hair and beard, and a human torso that puts sculptors to shame. 

Not that Josephs attention to those details is for any reason other than scientific curiosity. He, Captain Hayes, several officers, and Duck Newton, the botanist joining them for this mission, are all regarding the merman in the tank constructed for just this purpose. Their guest is pressed to the far side of the glass, watching them with frightened eyes. 

The only person who looks less comfortable than him with this scenario is Duck. 

“I still say there’s no reason to keep the fella cooped up in here. Look at him, he’s terrified. And I don’t buy for one second the crew was gentle when they hauled him up. He fought at all, they probably got rough with him.”

“It is a good thing, then, Mr. Newton that you are not in charge of this endeavor.” Hayes says with a disapproving glance at the scientist. Duck frowns the instant the captain looks elsewhere. Joseph is more on Duck’s side, the mans willingness to speak up when he sees something unkind one of Joseph’s favorite traits. But he’s certain there’s room for compromise between the two views; after all, that’s why he’s here.

————————————————————–

This is the worst day of Barclay’s life.

One minute he’s searching for urchins near shore, the next he’s being pulled towards the surface in a net. The last thing he sees under the waves is Indrid rounding the rocks, his red eyes widening in anger and sorrow as Barclay is heaved into a longboat. 

Barclay wishes he could tell him it isn’t his fault; the other mer has done so much to look out for him, but you can’t stay ahead of danger forever. Instead he’s huddled in the far corner of his prison, wanting to know what’s happening but terrified of drawing the human’s attention back to him. A parade of them come and go, some pointing at him or talking in circles while looking his way. One, black haired and tall, is in the room the most, writing at a desk and pulling books from a short set of shelves. His most frequent companion is another dark-haired man, shorter and stouter who keeps glancing at the first man whenever he thinks he’s not looking, then turning away with a pink color in his cheeks. 

The moon is up now, and only the tall human remains, writing by the light of a lantern. Cautiously, Barclay rises so his head is out of the water. At the splash, the human turns. 

“Oh, good evening. I, um, I’m sorry for not introducing myself sooner, but I decided it would probably be less frightening if I let you come to me in your own time. I’m Joseph Stern.”

“Barclay. Uh, are, are you the one who had them catch me?”

Joseph shakes his head, “No. I’m one of two scientists aboard this vessel. Her primary goal is to find new valuable riches for trade, but a secondary one is to collect knowledge of rare and exotic creatures, so that we might broaden our understanding of the world. I specialize in animals and my colleague, Duck, is an expert in plants.”

“…That doesn’t explain why I’m here. I’m neither of those things.”

The human sighs, “I know, but most of the sailors and officers view you as an animal.”

“But not you?” He narrows his eyes, swimming backwards. 

“Not at all. In all my research, I’ve found nothing to suggest merfolk are any less men than myself. The way you and I are talking now confirms that.”

“So I can go now?”

“No” he must notice the alarm in Barclay’s face because he sets his hands on the rim and the tank and adds, hurriedly, “but you’ll get to eventually. My job is to learn all I can from you, about your kind, your numbers, things like that. I’d prefer to do it in a more comfortable setting but I was, um, overruled.” He gives Barclay a reassuring smile, eyes bluer than open sea on a summer day, “You’ll be a free man in no time, I promise.”

Barclay nods, sinks back under the water, and eventually falls asleep. When wakes up at dawn, Joseph is still there, asleep in his chair. When Barclay asks if that’s how humans sleep, the man shakes his head, “No, we have beds. I just didn’t want to leave you alone your first night here, in case there was something you needed.”

His stomach growls as another human arrives with a tray of food and a pot of something that smells very, very good. He leans out of the tank, startling Joseph when he turns around.

“Oh! Um, I asked them to bring fish for your breakfast but you can try some of mine if you like. Assuming it won’t make you sick?”

“I’ve had human food before. But that’s new” he points at the pot, “Ma-, uh, the humans I know only drink tea.”

Joseph hands him the cup of what he soon learns is coffee and he sips it with a sigh; it’s bitter, but woody and dark in a way he enjoys. The human leaves, returns a few minutes later with a second cup, slides the tray within arms reach of Barclay and pulls a notebook from his desk, “Do you mind if we talk over breakfast?”

Barclay doesn’t mind at all. In fact, as the days go by he minds his captivity less and less. He and Joseph talk for hours, not only about mer society but about humans and their lives as well. About myths and stories, and a great deal about food, which Joseph brings him in abundance. Some of it gets soggy when Barclay tries to hold it, and they settle on Joseph keeping it between his fingers or in his palm while Barclay samples it. The first few times they do this the human blushes and looks away. When he finally meets Barclay’s eyes, the mer grins at him and licks his palm clean.

Joseph also takes great care to ensure Barclay isn’t bored. Barclay learns some chess and card games by watching Joseph and Duck play after dinner. In exchange he teaches Joseph how to play Five Shells High. When Joseph isn’t around, Barclay talks to Duck, and finds him good company, funny but also happy to let Barclay think in peace. 

He still longs for his freedom, for the ability to dive and swim in an endless sea. However, as Joseph sits beside his tank in the evenings, reading to him and smiling whenever Barclay reaches out to toy with his hair, he’s not in much of a hurry to get home as he should be. 

———————————————-

Any other time, Duck would tease Joe for mooning over a merman and reading him bedtime stories. Trouble is, he’s not much better. 

The night they brought Barclay aboard, Duck was halfway to bed when someone threw a crab through his open window. Peering out revealed another merman, silver haired and wary.

“Duck Newton?”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, that is a relief. I was afraid I’d alerted the wrong human to my presence.”

“You threw this into my room on purpose?”

“Indeed. I, ah, foresaw you being both sympathetic to my plight and disinclined to tell others of my being here.” He stays close to the hull, voice a lilting whisper.

“The fella we caught today a friend of yours?”

“Yes, a close one. Is he alright? I, my visions show he is safe and that the human looking after him is kind but I, I am” his red eyes look sadly down at the water, “I am worried all the same.”

Duck wants to reach out to him, stroke that moonlight hair and tell him not to worry, “Ain’t no shame in carin about a friend. He’s safe, and he won’t be stuck on this boat forever. And the man stayin with him is a decent, honorable sort.”

The mer sighs, rests his head on the side of the ship, “Thank goodness.” When he turns his face to Duck, it steals the breath from his lungs, “may I come to you again for news of him?”

Duck smiles, “Sure.”

Indrid, as the mer calls himself, comes back every night. Luckily, Joe spends his nights in the cargo room with Barclay instead of in his and Duck’s quarters, so there’s no one to witness their conversations. It’s not that the other man would react badly; as much as Duck likes him, Joe is a little too inclined to defer to authority, and might put Indrid in danger without meaning to.

Better still, when Duck is ashore searching for specimens, Indrid keeps him company. The mer swims parallel to his path in the sand, or follows him up briny tributaries to show him rare plants. 

Unlike Barclay, Indrid has visible fins beside the one on his back; two he can extend from his sides. All are the same silver-blue shade that colors Duck’s dreams these days. 

Tonight they’re talking at the window about Duck’s travels when Indrid goes still. Then he sinks under the waves as the door behind Duck opens.

“Mr.Newton, who are you talking to? The men said they saw a creature off the side of the ship.”

“Uhhhhhhhh”

———————————————————-

“I despise you.” Indrid glares over the edge of his tank.

“I said I was sorry! Ain’t my fault I can’t lie for shit.”

“No, but you could have told me about that issue before it got me imprisoned on a ship!”

“Hey, you’re the one who can see the future, you coulda warned me they were comin.”

Joseph and Barclay trade a concerned look; after an initial chirp of joy at seeing Barclay, Indrid directed all his focus to glaring at Duck while Woodbridge gave them their orders. 

“Um, Indrid, right? I’m sure Duck didn’t mean for you to be caught. And we’ll both make sure you’re comfortable while you’re here.”

Indrid spares a dagger filled glance for Joseph, then swims to the side of the tank closest to Barclay’s enclosure, popping up and leaning over to his friend, the two of them trading clicks and trills. The conversation calms Indrid some. Barclay explains later that he assured his friend the stay was only temporary and, while the conditions were not ideal, the company was good. 

All the same, any time Duck sits near Indrid’s tank, a silver tail splashes him with water. The botanist takes it in stride, seeming to accept it as a deserved penalty for getting Indrid trapped. 

Several days later, as they’re both working, the botanist sets down his pen, stands, and sets his back against Indrid’s tank. 

“Joe, gimme a hand please.”

Joseph pushes as hard as he can, and the tank scrapes across the floor.

“I can still splash you from here.”

“That’s not why I’m doin it. You and Barclay keep starin at each other all sad; seems mighty cruel to keep you where you can see each other but can’t touch.”

Indrid falls silent until they get the tanks side by side. Then he rises from the water and leans out to rub his cheek against Duck’s own with a trill of thanks. The research room is more peaceful (and much drier) after that.

Three nights later, dinner stops by the hold to see if either of the mers needs anything from him. He opens and then immediately shuts the door and backs away; he’s learned that mers are demonstrative, but heated, frantic kissing and moaning suggests something they’d rather not have him present for. Lord, why did it look like Barclay had two…

The hall is hotter than a furnace, and as he walks down it as fast as dignity will allow, Duck steps from the officers dining room. Wordlessly, Joseph grabs him and pulls him the rest of the way to their room.

“Everythin okay JoeOHfuck” Duck’s heads thuds back against the door as Joseph palms him through his trousers, “what’s gotten into you huh?” 

“I, I need, I saw, um” he rests his forehead on the door, hands gripping Duck’s hips, “Barclay and Indrid making use of their rare chance at privacy.”

“Uh huh” Duck kisses along his jaw, “and here I’ve been wonderin how to get you back into my bed since that night in Port Royal, when it turns out I just need to find some mermen and pay ‘em to fuck in front of you.”

“It’s not just that” Joseph looks down at him earnestly, “it’s you too. It’s so hard to keep my hands to myself, to maintain decorum and poise and not beg for your kisses every minute we’re at work. Seeing them together snapped the rest of my control, I need release but more than that I need you.”

“Right here, darlin” Duck pulls him down into a kiss, leaves a trail of them across his face, “so show me just how much you need me.”

He thuds to his knees, the two of them tugging and tossing at clothing until Duck’s legs are bare and Joseph can bury his face between them. He loves doing this, loves feeling enveloped by the perfection that’s Duck;s body. His hands grope and circle, relishing the muscle and fat beneath his hands as Duck holds him by the hair and tells him how good it feels, how well he’s doing, the grip tightening the closer his orgasm gets, until Joseph can barely breathe from how hard he’s pressed against him. 

He barely gets a chance to kiss his thigh in thanks before Duck hauls him up by his coat to kiss and spin him to the nearest bed. Black hair streaked with grey falls across green eyes as Duck grins down at him. 

“My turn.”

————————————————-

Barclay can’t look at Indrid without blushing; it’d been so long since they fucked and he’d forgotten just how nice it felt, how teasing and playful Indrid was as a mate. Case in point: as their kisses deepened, he whispered in Barclay’s ear that Joseph had seen them and was, as he spoke, pawing Duck in their room. Barclay moaned at the words and Indrid laughed, spread his side fins, and leapt into Barclay’s tank to lick and bite at the sensitive patch of tail that hid his cock. 

“My, my dearest, it seems Joseph is skilled with his tongue as well. Perhaps if you ask nicely we will use our mouths on you at the same time.”

Indrid is currently sighing as Duck combs his hair. Barclay takes a moment to watch the scene unfold: Indrid’s made no secret of his attraction to Duck (or Joseph for that matter), and Barclay likes seeing his friend happy, likes the way Duck touches him with the tenderness he deserves but will often deny himself. 

Joseph opens the door and calls, “Duck? Hayes wants to speak with us.”

The human departs and Indrid blows a kiss when his back is turned, then winks at Barclay. Barclay is about to ask if they have time to trade kisses of their own when Indrid freezes. 

“Oh no.”

Indrid cocks his head and Barclay follows suit, voices reaching him from the hall. 

“Captain Hayes, I must object to this plan. We can get all the information we need from my interviews with Barclay and Indrid, there’s no need to take them away from their home.”

“This is not about information, Mr. Stern. The company that funded this mission did so in the hopes that we would return with mermaids to sell. Which we have, and the two them alone will make not only the company but all of us rich men indeed.”

“Who gives a damn about riches? They ain’t fuckin treasure to be traded.”

“Mr. Newton-”

“Duck’s right, this is completely inhumane. If I’d known this was your goal, I’d never have agreed to this voyage.”

“The decision is final. And I’d advise you both to tread carefully from how you speak to me from here on; men of science or no, this is my ship, and what I say is the law.”

Indrid flicks his tail, swimming back and forth in agitation as Barclay curls his arms around himself; he doesn’t want to be taken away from home, and he certainly doesn’t want to be someone’s prized possession. Worse, Joseph doesn’t return, and so there’s no one to comfort him as he worries and Indrid sorts through unhelpful futures. 

He’s half-asleep when the door opens, gasps as a hand touches his shoulder.

“Can you heave yourself out of the tank?” Joseph whispers

Barclay nods, pushes himself up, out, and then into the human’s embrace. Across from him, Duck manages to carry Indrid in his arms on the first try.

“What are you doing?”

Joseph touches his face, “I promised you that you’d get to go free. I keep my promises.” 

With that they struggle out the door and up stairs, Indrid helping them determine when the coast is clear to reach the edge of the deck. He’s already dizzy, breath coming in gasps. Indrid wastes no time, launches himself into the sea with a graceful splash. 

“What, what will happen to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Joseph smiles sadly.  Barclay kisses him to the thunder of footsteps, then falls into the sea. 

The last thing he hears is Duck muttering, “Well…fuck.”

—————————————————————–

“Pirates would have at least given us a pistol.” Joseph lays on his back in the sand as Duck tosses rocks into the sea, The Washington disappearing on the horizon. 

“Yeah. That’s why Hayes ain’t one; he’d have to be too damn nice.”

Joseph chuckles, “True.”

Duck’s certain this is not even remotely what was supposed to happen, and it’s certainly not what either of them expected. Flogging, being thrown in the brig, brought up on charges when they arrived home all crossed their minds. Not being marooned on a small, deserted island with only the clothes on their backs. 

He doesn’t regret his choice. Joe doesn’t either. All the same, they spend a few hours on the beach bemoaning their fate or silently considering how to mitigate it. By evening, they determine it could be far worse. They’re study of the plants and animals of the region means they know what’s edible and what’s poisonous, there are fish in the shallows and a small spring hidden in the rocks and trees towards the center of the island. Duck suggests building signal fires when they can in case other ships are near, and they set up a rough lean-to as shelter from the sun. They spend the next few days figuring out how to survive, and Duck discovers just how charming Joe looks when he’s unshaven. 

(His budding facial hair also leads to the discovery that Duck;s thighs are incredibly ticklish).

They’re alright for now. Duck’s just worried about how long their luck will hold. 

—————————————————-

Joseph is making a new spear, eyeing the storm clouds on the horizon, when Duck’s voice catches his attention. 

“Uh, you might not wanna wade out just yet. Looks like there’s a shark.” The other man points to a dark fin sticking slicing the water. 

“That doesn’t look like-”

“AHJESUS” Duck is knocked back onto the sand by shape with silvery fins and hair. His further commentary on the matter is cut off by Indrid kissing him, tail wiggling happily as he does. 

“I did not get to do that when we fled, there was no time, but oh how I wanted to.”

“Seriously, he kept saying I was smart to kiss you when I could.” Barclay’s entrance onto the beach is more graceful, using the surf to slide up the sand and settle at Joseph’s feet.

“Oh yes, that reminds me” Indrid rolls off Duck, grabs Joseph’s shirt, and pulls him down into a kiss. 

“Y’all hunt us down just for some kisses?” Duck scoots over to join them, draping an arm over Indrid. 

“Nope. When Indrid’s visions showed us what they were gonna do to you, we knew we had to come get you. You, you’re here because you saved us-”

“It was the right thing to do” Joseph strokes the dark brown of his hair as Barclay rests his head on his stomach/ 

“And neither of us could stand the thought of losing you, especially not like this.”

“We would have arrived sooner, but we had to make arrangements for your rescue and get permission from the mer whose territory we’re technically in. 

“Fascinating. Are there borders, or identification or-”

“All in good time” Indrid purrs, nipping his ear. He shudders down to his toes as Barclay begins kissing his hips and belly. 

“Like the way you think, ‘Drid.”

“You will like how I do other things as well. Now come here” Indrid pulls Duck into his arms as Barclay crawls up Joseph’s body to kiss him properly. There’s salt on his lips, sweetness on his tongue, and Joseph sighs as he wraps his legs around the smooth, cool texture of his tail. Barclay smiles into the kiss, rolls his hips as Joseph teases his fingers up and down his sides. 

“I missed you so much.” Barclay murmurs, “nights aren’t the same without you keeping me company.”

“I missed you too.” He nudges his hips up, letting the mer know he’s heading in the right direction. 

“Holyfuck, you have-”

“Two, yes, is that not what humans have?” Indrid cocks his head at Duck. 

Joseph hides a smile, “See, Duck, I’m not the only one who finds you irresistible.”

“That and when Indrid gets going, he gets going fast.” Barclay adds. Indrid flicks water at him with his tail. 

“No kiddin. Joe, you gotta see this.” Duck climbs off Indrid, revealing two cocks protruding from the upper part of his tail. Joseph’s brain fails to supply any thoughts other than yes

Indrid preens under the attention, lazily stroking one shaft, “Are you all going to just gawk at me, or will one of you come and attend to the situation?”

“May, um, may I?” Joseph looks between the three of them, unsure whose permission he’s asking or what he’s asking it for. 

“Heh, oughta tell you two that Joe needs someone to order him around in bed.” Duck smirks as he crawls through the surf to kiss Joseph’s shoulders. 

“Is that so? In that case, be a good human and come ride my cock.” Indrid gestures to said cock with a flourish.

“But I was gonna go down on him.” Barclay mock pouts.

“We can do both at once. If he will hurry up and get his trousers off. Honestly, why do humans insist on so much clothing?”

“Because our dicks don’t stay nice and hidden until we need ‘em.” Duck disrobes along with Joseph. 

Red eyes rove across Duck hungrily, “I see. A lovely sight all the same. Now Joseph, come face away from me.”

He straddles Indrid’s hips on shaking knees, warm sand the perfect counterpoint to cool scales.

“Do not worry about taking both, my foresight suggests it will be too much right now. AHhnnn yes” he wriggles when Joseph strokes the shaft, bringing it into position. 

“The ridges are intriguing.” They also feel incredible on his hand, and he rushes to feel them inside him. 

“Do humans not have those either? Honestly, what do you haveAHahhhoh, oh nevermind, oh you’re so tight and warm, oh this is wonderful, Barclay, you have to try this.” The ridged cock bumps and thrusts into him, and Joseph tips his head back to moan. 

“I will. Got other things to do right now.” Barclay lays along Indrid’s tail, kissing both it and Joseph’s legs before closing his lips around Joseph’s swollen cock. 

“Lord, ohlord that’s good, Barclay, Indrid, fuckplease.”

“Please what, Joseph?” Indrid thrusts more roughly.

“Just please, please don’t stop, it’s incredible, you both are.” His mind is going blank, his whole being thrumming with a singular desire; to be good, to filled and used and wanted.

“Fuck, Joe” Duck paints kisses along his back and shoulder, “you look damn good like this, takin it two ways at once.”

He pets Duck’s thigh, kisses him messily “You, someone should take care of you.”

“Yes they should” Indrid “come, sweet one, let me show you what I can do with my tongue.”

“Hell yeah” Duck scrambles away, and a moment later his moans fill the air, underscored by Indrid’s pleased laughter. 

Barclay hums, making Joseph jolt and squirm. The merman pulls back, winks at him, then drags his tongue along the cock not buried to the hilt in the human. 

“MMMPHHmmmmmm” Indrid’s garbled shout of delight makes the other three laugh.

“Jesusfuck, Barclay can you do that again, his mouth gets even better when you do.”

Barclay obliges and another moaning trill washes over the beach.

“God, it’s so fucking hot, watching him fuck you, wanna see it everyday” Barclay dives back down and soon Joseph’s orgasm crashes into him, his whole body twitching as pleasure overwhelms his nerves. Behind him, Duck lets out the singularly charming groan he always makes when he cums. Indrid is close behind him, spilling sticky and cool inside Joseph and across his thighs and Barclays chest. The other mer growls, roughly pulling Joseph off or Indrid and into the sand with him, the particles burning his knees as the merman grinds him roughly back and forth across his cock, not pushing in but not needing to, cumming in a few short seconds with a howl of ecstasy. 

They rearrange themselves, panting, so the mers are mostly in the surf and the humans mostly on the sand, he and Duck pulling their clothes back on to avoid sunburns in the worst possible places. 

“That was exquisite” Indrid sighs, resting between the humans with his silver tail draped across Barclay’s dark one. 

“No kiddin.”

“And we finished not a moment too soon.” Indrid points out to sea. 

Rounding the side of the island is a small sailing boat bearing the words  Amnesty.

“Man, I cannot wait to get us all home” Barclay smiles, kissing Joseph’s hand. 

The human leans down and kisses him back, “Me neither.”

Chapter Text

Duck goes to the depths still protesting, hands and ankles bound in rope and dark water closing over his head.

No amount of insisting he was the man he said he was or appealing to logic was enough; a woman aboard, even when he isn’t a woman, is bad luck and must be gotten rid off. So here he is, drowning for the sake of superstition, folklore and nonsense the reason his lungs scream in protest, denied air.

Whoever said drowning was like falling asleep was a damn liar; he’s in agony, reduced to his most basic state of a creature that wants to stay alive and cursed with the knowledge that he won’t. He shuts his eyes, as if that might make it more dreamlike, and circles past him, he feels fingers on his cheek and then, and then….

Then he’s waking up, chest rising and falling with ease. No more than a nightmare, then, he’s still on the ship-

No, wait, his blanket is floating where he kicked it away. He’s alive, he’s in some sort of bedroom, and he’s fucking confused.

Voices float in under the door, a lilting one reaching him first, “…most stubborn set of legs I ever encountered. A kiss is supposed to be enough, yet while his body can survive in our realm, it insists on remaining like itself.”

“Indrid, his majesty is going to be unhappy when he finds out.”

“I am aware, Vincent. And if my brother finds a drowning man, he may rescue him or not as he sees fit. He does not get to dictate my conscious.”

“I mean, I think you did the right thing” A woman’s voice now, “but he’s still pretty angry at you for the whole giving me legs incident.”

“You wanted to see your beloved, and I am almost as fond of Aubrey as I am of you. A charm that allows you to go between worlds is hardly cause for such a fuss.”

“It was the no-voice thing that bothered him.”

A sigh, “Time and again I have reminded him that strong magic comes with a price. In your case it was easily paid, because Aubrey recognized you instantly and kissed you. As if I would send my own niece into a situation where she might be trapped.” The last sentence is muttered, like the speaker knows no one will listen.

“I know that. That’s why you’re my favorite uncle.”

“I am your only uncle” the smile is audible, “and I am just glad the two of you will be married soon. Now if you will excuse me, my foresight tells me my guest is awake.”

A door opens and shuts, and a moment later the curtain of kelp at the end of the room parts. Duck’s never believed in mermaids (or mermen), but that’s what swims to him now, human face and torso giving way to eight silvery tentacles dotted with deep blue rings. They’re almost as striking as his face, his features sharp and alien, crowned with silver-white hair.

“Hello” The mer smiles with sharp teeth, “How are you feeling?”

“Uh, not as confused as I could be on account of what I heard, but still tryin to work out why the fuck you saved me at all.”

“Three reasons: for starters, I dislike having corpses floating around the kingdom. I also do not see the point in having the power of foresight if I cannot use it to prevent suffering when possible. And finally I…” The calm smile on his face falters a moment, “I saw the moments that lead to your being thrown into the waves. You were condemned for being something you are not. I, ah, I could not let such an injustice come to pass.” His mask remakes itself, “and so here you are, Duck Newton.”

“And the kiss?” Duck raises his eyebrow.

“Ah, yes. If a mer kisses a dying human, that human will become a mer themselves. Except in your case, you have-”

“-Stubborn legs?”

A light laugh, “And here I thought I would be the one interrupting you. Yes, exactly. I have no idea why. I’m simply glad the magic worked well enough to help you breathe. There is a, ah, an issue however. My visions show that in your current state, you will not be able to survive on land.”

“But you said somethin about a charm to your, uh, niece?”

“That worked because it simply had to take her from mermaid to human; you’re stuck between forms in a way that, were I to apply the same approach to you it would end badly. As in accidentally turn you into a fish badly, at least in most timelines.”

“Huh” Duck worries the inside of his cheek with his tongue, “so I’m stuck here.”

“Indeed. I’m sorry.” Indrid sits on the foot of the bed, tentacles moving this way and that to fidget with the blankets, the bedposts, and the stray shells on the floor, “This has never happened before, and I did not mean to trap you in this way, I only meant to save you, to give you freedom.”

“That’s more than a lot of folks’ve tried to give me lately.” Tentatively, he touches the tentacle tip nearest him. It weaves between his fingers, the pressure from the suckers on the underside oddly pleasant. He rubs his thumb over a blue spot, which draws Indrid’s attention. His face goes pink and he pulls the tentacle back.

“Apologies, they have a mind of their own at times.”

“Don’t bother me. I, uh, I was just tryin to show you I ain’t mad. Feel a little adrift, but that’s a damn sight better then bein’ dead.”

“Adrift–OH, oh I see, you are going to say you do not know what to do now. The answer is heal; even though you are alive, your body and mind suffered before I saved you. You need rest and care, and I promise you shall want for neither. You are my honored guest, Duck Newton. My home is yours. I, ah, I would offer to let you leave the instant you are feeling able, but as you heard there are some issues with you being seen in this state.”

“Used to layin low.” Duck sighs, flopping back on the bed (or trying to, as he floats down onto the mattress instead).

“I gathered. If I had things my way, you would not need to do such things here. Alas, until my brother gets eaten by a shark, we may be dealing with this arrangement for some time” he gestures to the room, bathed in blues and greens as light filters down from the surface and in through the windows. Two tentacles gather the blanket, spreading it back up Duck’s body and smoothing it down.

“Rest now, Duck Newton. In the morning I will have much to show you.”

——————————————————————————

Duck wakes up clawing at the water above the bed, heart beating fast enough he fears it might eject itself up his throat.

The nightmares a fewer these last two days, but whenever they want to be done for good is fine by him.

He gathers seaweed green robe Indrid gave him and makes his way out of the bedroom and down the hall. Indrid gave him a bracelet of cowrie shells that’s enchanted to let him walk without floating away. He’s a strong swimmer, but without a tail to aid him he tires quickly against the force of the water.

The merman’s house is huge, an attempt by the king to keep him happy without giving him any useful power. Most rooms are cluttered with etchings and drawings or items salvaged from wrecks or the shoreline. There are spare beds, but after the night where Duck awoke in a panic and could not calm down, where Indrid found him the next morning exhausted and shaking, the mer offered to sleep in the same room with him. Duck pointed out that it was technically Indrid’s bedroom anyway and he could sleep there if he wanted to. The mer dragged a variety of comfy pillows into the corner and declared he would be quite happy there. More than once Duck’s woken up first to see him sprawled out on the cushions, always clinging one against his chest. Duck wonders what would happen if he offered to take it’s place. He suspects he could do so without issue.

He’s no stranger to being admired, though the last time someone eyed him so approvingly he ran off to sea to avoid marrying them. Indrid’s red eyes contain the same desire but none of the entitlement. The merman’s been staring at him since that first day, though it’s only recently that he let’s Duck seem him doing so, after Duck caught his eye and stared right back.

Teasing Indrid is more fun than he expected, because while the mer usually gives as good as he gets, some days he blushes and wiggles his tentacle tips under Ducks attention. Indrid is obviously high status and, in Duck’s view, the most captivating mer in the kingdom; making him go pinker than a virgin at a striptease from a little flirting is gratifying.

His absolute favorite part of his new home, aside from Indrid, are the gardens at the center. Coral glistens and rainbows of fish flit across his path, sea flowers bloom and wave as he passes by. The best place to sit is in a massive clam shell with an excellent view of the grounds and the city beyond. It also happens to be Indrid’s preferred location to draw.

The mer takes one look at him and extends a tentacle, guiding Duck down to nestle close to him. When they’re with arms reach, one hand leaves his drawing to pet Duck’s thigh soothingly. He tilts his head, intending to study the sketch and ask about it, but ends up with his head on Indrid’s shoulder, slipping back into sleep.

“Oh dear.” Indrid murmurs, closing the book as a flurry of voices swim towards them.

“So, the rumors are true; you’ve brought a human into our domain.”

“Good morning to you as well, dear brother.”

The king crosses his arms, glaring at them, “if you cannot provide a decent reason for your having him here, I will make exile him myself. Right now.”

Indrid’s expression and voice remain calm, but one tentacle coils around Duck’s ankle and his hand clings to the loose trousers, “He, ah, he is, ah”

“I thought as much.” The king swims forward.

“Pet!” Indrid grins triumphantly, “he’s my pet. You keep saying you wish I would find a way to occupy my time and stay out of trouble, and here he is.” Indrid pulls Duck into his lap, patting his head with such exaggeration Duck has to stifle a laugh, “I have been so busy with him the last few weeks I’ve had little time for anything else. Isn’t that right, Vincent?”

Their friend nods, “Yes, your highness, the prince has found Du–, uh, the human most diverting.”

The king narrows his eyes, “Very well. The human may stay in that capacity.” With that, he swims from the gardens, trailed by his advisors.

“I gotta start wearing a leash now?” Duck teases, realizing too late that he’d do so in an instant as long as Indrid was holding the other end.

The blue of the rings deepens, “Not at all. Apologies for referring to you as my pet, but the timelines shifted so heavily in the direction of him casting you into the open sea that I panicked.”

“Aw, you lied to the kings face just for me. Must really like me.”

“I do! I, oh dear have I not made that clear?” Indrid gathers Duck’s hands between his own.

“You have, I was just teasin you. I don’t mind playin your spoiled pet to get one over on him, provided you keep spoilin me.”

Indrid’s grin returns, “I’m certain I can manage that.”

—————————————————————–

“I hate it when he calls my bluffs.” Indrid glowers into the jeweled box just delivered to their doorstep. Right before Duck asks what’s wrong, the merman hands him a small piece of parchment.

Prince Indrid,

Included is a gift for your ‘pet,’ as you are apparently in need of it. It would be a shame for him to get lost, after all.

The note ends with the kings seal. Duck looks up as Indrid turns the box his way, revealing a collar studded with abalone shells and a leash woven from dark, sturdy seaweed. So many obscene images flood his mind it takes two tries before he can focus on Indrid’s words.

“…Thought I kept us clear of anyone who would bother to report us. I’m sure there’s a way around it, ruse aside you are my friend and equal and I will not ask you to humiliate yourself. Hmm, oh goodness, we will need to send word to Dani and Barclay that we cannot come to dinner to tonight, that’s not enough time to draw up a solution, though perhaps we can invite them here instead.” His tentacles trawl the ground as he paces the room.

“‘Drid?”

“Yes?” The mer stops, then his eyes widen, “you are serious?”

“Gotta let me offer first.” He replies with fond exasperation, “I fine with wearin it while we’re out. I know how you really feel about me and, uh, it, uh, makes me feel…safe?” It’s right on the border of a lie by omission, but he manages to get it out.

“I see” Indrid swims casually towards him, as if that will distract Duck from the pink creeping up his cheeks, “in that case, may I put this on you, pet?”

“Uh huh.” Duck tilts his chin up, shuts his eyes with a happy sigh as Indrid latches the collar in place. The mer stays chest to chest with him, testing to be certain the collar is comfortable.

“How is that?”

“Woof” Duck deadpans.

Indrid blinks, confused.

“It’s the noise a dog makes.”

Another blink.

“Y’know those things that are like sea lions but on four legs instead of flippers?”

“That’s what those are called. Fascinating.” Indrid loops the leash into place and Duck growls playfully. The mer pats his cheek, fingers lingering on his skin as he purrs, “good boy.”

——————————————————-

“Are you ready?” Indrid tips to vials of purple powder into a bowl, causing sweet smelling swirls of color to fill the room.

“Yeah. Been ready for years.” Duck stands opposite from him, drumming his fingers nervously on the rim of the bowl.

A week ago, Indrid asked in that blunt way of his if Duck wanted his human form to be different than it was. When he said yes, the mer immediately swam from the table and into the library to pull books from shelves.

“It will take a few days to prepare; I am careful in all my spells but, well…well I suppose when it is you I am inclined to take even more care than usual.”

It’s not the spell that’s making his nerves bubble up his chest; it’s the component of it he has to contribute. A secret, a precious one, because powerful magic will not give something for nothing.

“Whisper it into the foam.” Indrid gestures to the golden bubbles on the surface of the bowl.

Duck keeps it short and sweet. Then blinding light surrounds him, pure white spiked through with pink and blue, and he collapses to the ground, unable to do anything but hold himself as the spell courses through him. When the colors fade and the room returns to view, it’s all he can do to make his legs stand.

“How, ah, how do you feel?” Indrid taps his fingers together nervously, four of his tentacles following suite.

“Like I got trampled by a horse and came out a new man.”

“Oh. Good.” The fidgeting intensifies. Duck can only think of one reason for that.

“‘Drid? Did, uh, did the spell mean you learned the secret?”

“Yes.”

“Does it bother you? What I said, I mean.”

“No.”

A pulse of water, flourish of blue and silver, and Indrid’s lips find his. Arms and tentacles lift and hold him as they spin slowly across the room, the mer moaning when Duck drags his hands up his chest. He keeps kissing him as he speaks, mouth growing needier after every pause, “I, there were only a few timelines where you confessed your feelings for me and I, I wanted them so badly but I swore I would only act on your feelings if you used them in the spell, not simply because I saw futures where you might.” Tentacles slide under his shirt and up his pant-leg, “ohhhh, touching you in visions is nothing compared to feeling you for real.”

“Can feel me as much as you want, darlin. Got some things I wanna get my hands on too.” He tangles his fingers in Indrid’s hair, glides his mouth down to kiss his collarbone and tease a nipple with his tongue.

“Oh my sweet little human, the things I am going to do to yo-”

The doorbell times and Indrid nearly drops him.

“Damn it all, I forgot we were hosting game night.”

“Don’t worry ’Drid,” Duck pinches the base on one tentacle, “I ain’t goin anywhere, we can pick this up another time.”

———————————————————-

“I call that a success.” Indrid ushers Duck into the house. They’re returning from Aubrey and Dani’s engagement party (Indrid having provided Aubrey with a mer-charm of her own. As much as he loathes the idea, King Woodbridge has had to give the marriage his blessing; Dani is his only heir. If he disowns her, his throne passes to Indrid, a scenario he hates even more than a human/mer wedding.

Duck wore his collar all evening in case one of the king’s toadies got it into their heads to tell on him. It also matches the clothing Indrid bought him exceedingly well, and he’s not ashamed he admired himself while passing the mirror.

Indrid doffs his cloak as Duck closes the bedroom door, “You can remove that now my sweet.”

He leans against the carved driftwood, “And, uh, what if I don’t wanna?”

The mers hand pauses where it’s setting the leash on a table, “then I suggest you come here at once, pet.”

Not for the first time, Duck longs for a tail so he could speed through the water into Indrid’s arms. The mer is impatient as well, gives a wickedly charming grin as the lease whips out on it’s on to connect with the collar so he can yank Duck flush against him.

“Better, but you are still not as I need you.” Keeping the leash wrapped around one hand, the other starts on the buttons of Duck’s shirt. The human tries to help, only for tentacles to trap his wrists together, “thoughtful, pet, but I do so enjoy unwrapping you myself.”

“‘Drid, pleaseplease hurry.”

“Manners, pet” A tentacle thwacks his ass just as two others pull his pants to the ground.

“I said please” Duck laughs as Indrid nibbles his neck.

“Is that sufficient for someone who spoils you as much as I?” Indrid flutters his eyelashes.

Duck bumps their noses together, “Please, ‘Drid, want you to fuck me, you take such good care of me, wanna take care of you right back, I’ll make you feel so good darlin please.”

“Much better”

His remaining clothing falls away. Out of habit, he moves to cover himself, only for his arms and legs to be pulled outwards, leaving him spread-eagle in Indrid’s hold.

“Do not so much as think about hiding this perfect form from me, pet.” In the front folds between his tentacles, Indrid’s dick begins to emerge.

“Someone get off on admirin his handiwork?”

The smile softens, “I am admiring you, sweet one. You have the finest body I have ever laid eyes on; you did when we met, and you do now. I delight in holding it, touching it, these days I delight in seeing your comfort in your own skin.” A predatory glint returns to his eyes, “and of course, I like fucking you in it. In fact, that gives me an idea.”

Tentacles spin Duck in a half circle as Indrid swims to the mirror, meaning the human sees their reflections as the mer purrs in his ear, “I want you to see just how perfect you look on my cock, pet.”

“Jesusfuck, ‘Drid, yes” His own cock is hardening between his legs as small tendrils part and prod his ass; Indrid’s cock resembles a human one until it reaches it’s base, where the tendrils wait to push his partner further open or coax them to climax. They took some getting used to at first, cool and slick as the teased into Duck’s ass. Now he welcomes them, savors the tenderness with which they ready him.

Indrid coos and purrs in his ear, chirping whenever his cock grinds between Duck’s cheeks. The hand not holding the leash caresses his face while the tentacles see to everything else. And he means everything

“Fuck!” One coils around his dick as another rubs gently at his balls. The first time they tried this they were cautious, unsure how human anatomy would respond to the pressure and suckers. In Duck’s case, the answer was “cum so hard and fast it takes them both by surprise.” Indrid had taken one look at the cock with cum still beading at the head and swallowed it to the root, not relenting until Duck came a second time.

“Ohhhnnnyes” The head of Indrid’s cock presses into him, “oh I never tire of how you feel, pet. So warm and welcoming for you, ah” he whispers in Duck’s ear, “master”

“‘Drid you, you keep that up I’m gonna cum any second.”

“Not before I show you something important. Look” Indrid forces his head forward with the collar. His reflection writhes and bounces eagerly on a cock he can’t see but can definitely feel, lips parted in a prolonged moan as Indrid lays claim to every inch of him.

“My perfect, handsome pet, letting me play with him as I see fit.”

“Damn rightAHfuck, I’m close, if you twist like that again I’m gonna-”

“Cum” Indrid orders. Duck obeys, spilling into the water with a groan of thanks. The mer waists no time, traps him in place with his tentacles so can fuck him hard and fast, one hand tugging the collar and the other fisted in his hair, “oh yes, yes pet, just a little more, you can take a little more, you must, because you are my spoiled little treasure and I can cum in you whenever I please.”

“Fuuck” Duck turns his head for a messy kiss as the mer empties into him with a muffled trill.

One by one, the tentacles relax, Duck’s feet gradually meeting the floor as Indrid trails kisses down his spine.

“Goodness, whatever did I do to deserve you, Duck Newton?”

“Save my life?” Duck turns, gathering the mer into a hug.

“I did that because it was the right thing.”

“You’re right. Hmmmm” he peppers Indrid’s face with kisses, “must be because you’re so damn perfect.”

Indrid hums happily as Duck maneuvers them into bed, “I doubt that’s it, but I am too tired to argue.”

Duck lays down beside him, looping his leg over Indrid’s waist as tentacle twines around his ankle. Maybe one day it will cling to his fins instead, but he’s not all that worried about that now. However he ends up, as long as he’s with Indrid, he knows life will be perfect.

Chapter Text

The party is a splendid success, as was the book launch that preceded it. Indrid has done what he does best, lined his pockets and those of his agents and editors, and gotten everyone talking. 

“Did you see the one of the pyres?”

“The one of the hurricane aftermath, the look in the girls eyes is so haunting.”

“Personally, I found the jeweled mummies a bit much, but the emergency room shots? Stunning.”

This is why Indrid is sitting on the rocks on his private cove, and will not be going back up to the house until he’s polished off all three of these heavily spiked bottles of eggnog. It’s better than the time he emptied most of a bottle of vanilla vodka, but not by much. 

He was tipsy when he snuck out the back door and down the path to the sea. So when the empty bottle rolls away, all he can do is whap at the air close to it and wave as it plonks into the water.

“Oops. Hic, oh, hic, well, what’s one more piece of trash in, hic, a dying world?”

He yelps, knocking his remaining bottles into the sand as the lost one flies through the air towards him. Or he thinks that’s the trajectory; it’s hard to tell. The point is, the bottle is back and he’s clutching his chest like an old man in a silent movie.

“Look, man, I know it’s temptin to just leave trash everywhere, but there are signs up and down this beach sayin not to litter.” A man floats in the water at the foot of the rock, black hair plastered to his forehead and muscular arms crossed over a bare chest. 

“It, hic, it was an accident. And I am, hic, in no condition to retrieve anything from the water.”

The man frowns, “shit, if you’re that drunk, you oughta get off the rocks. It’s deep here, you might drown. Go sit on the sand, it’s safer. Warmer too, still holdin heat from the sun.”

“I, I’m fine, hic, don’t, don’t need some wet man babying me.” He stands to prove his point, nearly falls face first into the water, and sits back down, “see, m’fine.”

“Get off the rock.” The man says, sounding for all the world like a cat owner two seconds from grabbing the spray bottle. 

“No.” Indrid huffs. 

Water splashes his face and he sputters.

The man pulls his hand back, preparing to send another wave at him, “Get.”

“Fuck you” 

The splash is much more intense this time and he curses, scrambles sideways, and falls to his knees in the sand. 

“That’s better, now I don’t gotta worry about fishin your careless ass outta the water.”

“If, if we are, hic, t-talking careless, you, you shouldn’t say a thing. You’re, hic, swimming in cold water with, without a wetsuit.”

The man shrugs, “Don’t need one.” With that he floats on his back, bringing a dark-scaled tail into view. 

“You’re, hic, you’re a merman.” He crawls forward, breathless, “that’s so cool, wanna, gotta photograph you, so handsome, gotta-”

“Nope” The merman swims back into deeper water, “no pictures, those can end real bad for us.”

“But, but you’re so beautiful. If, hic, if pictures are no good, I, I can draw. I draw good, even if no one likes it.”

“Uh, you really wanna sit on a cold beach paintin my picture instead of hangin out at that shindig?” He points up the hill to the brightly lit house. 

“No, nonono, hic, don’t, don’t wanna go back up there, s’awful, hic.” 

“Awful?” The merman sounds concerned, and in the patchy moonlight he swims close enough that Indrid can see the details of his face, “is someone up there hurtin you?”

“No” He shakes his head, “it, it-”

“Indrid!”

“Damn it.” He mutters as the merman retreat beneath waves. As his guests grow closer he stands, carefully picks up all three bottles, and heads uphill to meet them.

—————————————————————–

Indrid shuffles through the house, head pounding, decides he hates the following people, in this order:

-His agent

-Himself

-Whoever mentioned it was a shame there were no Plata River Bridge photos, causing Indrid to drink a whole martini in order to bite his tongue.

It’s not until his third cup of coffee that he remembers the merman. God, he was really rude to someone who was just trying to keep him from drowning.

Very, very carefully, he makes his way to the beach, sketchbook in one hand and thermos in the other. 

“Hello?” He calls across the water. No reply. Of course there isn’t; the merman has the whole ocean to explore, there’s no reason for him to hang around Indrid’s house. He sighs, sits down on a piece of driftwood, and draws. Normally the cold would drive him back indoors, but today it’s bracing, blowing his hangover off of him and down the sand. 

“Glad to see you’re in one piece” 

Indrid sits bolt upright. The merman waves to him.

“You came back?”

“Yeah? I mean, this is part of my rounds, so I come by here at least once a day. More surprised you’re down here when it’s all cold and grey.”

“I, ah, I wanted to apologize for last night. I was being stubborn and rude.”

“You were, but I was kinda grumpy too. At the end of my shift and all that, but I shouldn’t have splashed you.” He smiles, swims closer, “do you, uh, remember any of the other stuff you said?”

“I have a vague memory of begging to photograph you. Or maybe draw, it’s all very fuzzy.”

“You did. I, uh” the merman’s cheeks turn pink, “you were really, uh, well let’s just say you were excited at the idea of drawin me, so I thought maybe, if you wanted to..”

“Yes”  Indrid shifts down into the sand so he can rest his back on the log, “can we do it now? You said you were on rounds, and if you’re working I don’t want to interrupt.”

“I’m done for the day. Should I get on a rock or somethin?”

“Can you come on the sand at all? Oh, ah, it seems you can.” Indrid scoots back as the merman slides gracefully ashore. In the daylight, his tail is a rich green-brown, his hair streaked with grey near his forehead. His eyes, one green and one brown, regard Indrid with curiosity as he turns to a new page. 

“You got a name?”

“Indrid. Indrid Cold.”

“Duck Newton. It’s a nickname.” The mer stretches his arms and tail, and were Indrid in a self-flattering frame of mind he’d say he was flexing for him, “I gotta pose?”

“No, as long as you don’t move too much, I should be fine.”

Duck nods, shifts onto his belly with his tail dipped in the surf. Indrid sets his pen to paper, asks Duck what he does for work and when the tunnel vision of his project dissipates, it’s dusk.

“Oh my, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so long.”

The merman yawns, “S’okay, it was nice talkin with you, and I got to birdwatch some. Can I see?”

Indrid turns the sketchbook. Mis-matched eyes widen. 

“Holy fuck. You made me look damn good.”

“I simply captured you as you are.” Indrid feels a blush moving up his cheeks as Duck scoots closer. 

“You gonna do this tomorrow?  If, uh, if you don’t wanna draw me again, I can bring you some interestin stuff from the water. If, uh, if you want.”

His schedule for tomorrow starts with a phone interview, after which he was planning to sit in a dark living room and watch mindless T.V.

“That sounds lovely. Thank you, Duck.”

The merman beams, waves, and then pushes back into the sea, raising his tail once in farewell. 

—————————————————————

“…now, Juno thinks it’s-holy fuck ‘Drid, was that your stomach?” Duck raises his head from where he’s been sort-of-napping, sort of talking.

“Hmm? Yes, I suppose it was.” He has his watercolors out today, a surprise stretch of sunny days rendering the beach and hillsides in glorious technicolor. 

“When did you last eat?”

“…………..”

“Oh my fuckin god, ‘Drid, no wonder you look like you’re close to passin out.”

“I’m fine.” 

Duck has that look on his face again, the one he got when Indrid admitted to walking the cliff-side trails when he’s coming back from the roadhouse on the edge of town. When Indrid says he hasn’t slept in two days. 

The merman says nothing, goes back to reading the book of nature essays Indrid brought him. A buzz cuts through the air and he groans, shuts off the alarm on his phone, “I need to go get ready for that interview.”

“You wanna meet up tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Great. But, uh, seem to remember you promised me some of those cookies you say are the best in the world.”

Indrid smirks, “I suppose I did.”

“I want some. But not for dinner, with dinner. You feel me?” There’s an edge in his drawl, as formidable and unyielding as the nearby cliff-face. 

“Alright, I’ll bring you some other things to try.” Indrid smiles, suddenly looking forward to a grocery run. 

Duck, now in the water, looks over his shoulder, “Good boy.”

Indrid shivers even as heat blooms in his chest. 

When sunset graces the beach, Indrid is busy setting out a half dozen take-out containers and many plastic boxes of cookies and fruit.

“Damn” Duck slides and wiggles his way onto the sand by the blanket, “you went all out.”

“You wanted a meal. I brought you one.”

“Sure did.” Duck sniffs the air, taps a carry-out bowl of soup, “what’s this?”

“Umm” Indrid peers at the label, “french onion soup.”

“Can I have it?”

“Of course.”

The merman downs the soup as fast as temperature allows, munches happily on the orange segments Indrid peels and samples the cookies. 

“Ahhh” He flops his head into Indrid’s lap, “that hit the spot.”

The human nods, bottle of pineapple soda on his lips. He’s so happy and full. 

Wait.

“Duck? Did you suggest this just so I would eat something?”

The face in his lap only looks a little chagrined, “Kinda. I been meanin to suggest this, and today seemed like the right time. And, uh, I know sometimes I have a hard time lookin after myself for me, but if someone else tells me to do it, or I have to do it as part of lookin after them, it’s easier. Thought that might be goin’ on with you. I, uh, I won’t do it again if you don’t want me to.”

“Nono” Indrid sets a hand in his hair, stroking it so Duck rubs his cheek against his thigh, “you’re right. It was easier to do the kind thing for myself when you told me to. Would, ah, would you be willing to do it again.” 

Duck meets his eyes, gaze bubbling with something dark and alluring, “Sure thing, ‘Drid.”

———————————————————————–

“Before you go, I wanted to give you this.” Indrid holds out the small camera. Duck, perched on a rock, takes it with a puzzled frown. He adds, “It’s waterproof. You mentioned you wish you could take pictures of the things you see in your home. I couldn’t think of a better time to give you than your trip.”

“Thanks, ‘Drid.” Duck leans forward, rubbing their cheeks together, “you remember your instructions?”

“Yes.” He whimpers when Duck pulls back. 

“Good. Want you in good shape when I get home.” Duck’s voice returns to normal, “should be back in a week. I’ll see you then.”

Indrid waves goodbye, keeps waving well past the point where Duck could see him, even if he surfaced. Then he grabs the basket of fresh oysters and heads to the house to call Barclay. 

The phone calls and dinners with one of his few friends in town are part of his agreement with Duck. The mer told him he couldn’t meet every night, so maybe Indrid should find other forms of company. He also helpfully supplies Indrid with fresh shellfish that he has no idea how to cook, but his friend the professional chef certainly does. This dovetails nicely with his promise to Duck to eat at least one full meal a day.

It’s not just the strange dynamic they’ve hit upon that’s improving his life; it’s Duck. The merman makes him feel so safe, like someone cares about the real him and not just the him that makes them money or feeds their morbid curiosity. Not to mention he’s even more handsome than Indrid first thought and he spends plenty of nights jerking off to the thought of a cool, strong tail between his legs. 

He does well the first five days Duck is gone. Barclay and Dani come over for dinner, he paints and draws prolifically, and he even reads up on whether it’s feasible for him to adopt rats (“those are kinda like otters, right?” “close enough.”). Friday night his agent calls, excitedly reporting that it’ll soon be the fifth anniversary of the Plata River incident and the magazine is getting requests for a feature on it and Indrid will be perfect. 

Indrid says he’ll think about it, hangs up, and opens the fridge. He promised Duck he’d only drink if it was with dinner or with friends. He grabs two wine coolers and heads into the living room. 

The next day, he’s idly fiddling with the dating app he hasn’t touched since December when a new profile appears. Very good looking, close by, clearly just passing through town, and interested in Indrid. He invites him over, spends the next half hour getting ready, and even cleans the bedroom because well, that’s what he’d do for Duck, he should do it for anyone else he brings over. 

Indrid opens the door at the second knock. The guy takes one look at him, shakes his head, and returns to his car.

Indrid downs the remaining wine coolers and goes down to the beach to sulk. He tucks his legs up, pressing his forehead to his knees, and rocks back and forth. He’s nearly sober when a voice drifts across the waves.

“‘Drid?” 

He looks up, glasses slipping down his nose, “Duck? You’re, you’re back.”

“Yep. It was fast goin the last ten miles. Brought the camera back, think you gotta be the one to get the pictures off, but I can’t wait to show you all the cool shit we saw.”

“Me neither” He stands and instantly pitches forward, landing on his hands and knees in the shallow water. 

“You been drinking?”

“Yes.”

“You and Barclay have a good time?” He’s giving him the benefit of the doubt, giving him an out, and Indrid decides that isn’t what he wants. 

“I wasn’t with Barclay. I got horrible news last night, and today I tried to get laid and got rejected, and I’m at the point in my life where I nearly called after the guy that he could keep his eyes shut and I’d just blow him so he wouldn’t need to look at or touch me. So yes, Duck, I’ve been drinking.”

Duck’s expression swims between concern and disappointment, then comes to rest on neutral steel, “That ain’t what we agreed.”

“I’m aware. But I don’t care, I don’t” he aims a splash at Duck, “it doesn’t matter, nothing matters, nothing will come of it, same as always.”

The merman cocks an eyebrow, “You really think that? You forgettin I said there’d be consequences if you broke the rules?”

“Oooh, I’m so scared.” Indrid splashes him again.

Duck smiles, reminding him that all his teeth end in points, “Didn’t say anythin about scarin you. You really wanna believe that nothing matters, you can head home. Or” he points to a nearby rock, “you go get on your hands and knees, facin the cliffs.”

Indrid crawls gracelessly to the designated spot. It’s dangerous to turn his back on the ocean, but a gentle voice in his mind reminds him over and over that Duck is here. Duck won’t let him get hurt. 

There’s a splash as Duck pulls himself onto the rock. Then a whoosh of air and a sting in the right side of his ass. He yelps, startled, and looks behind him.

“If this ain’t okay, need you to say so now.” Duck’s eyes are wide and hungry, but his hands stay on the grey rock. 

“It’s okay.” He can’t believe this is happening, can’t decide if he should tell Duck this is not remotely a punishment. 

Another sharp grin, “Eyes front.”

Indrid’s barely obeyed when the next strike comes. Duck is strong and makes no attempt to hide it, hitting him hard enough that his knees jolt forward in the sand. The pain lights him up each time, forces the thing knotted in his chest up towards his throat. 

When the blows stop he whimpers, pushing his ass back in hopes of more.

“Don’t worry, ‘Drid, I ain’t done with you by a long shot.” Cold fingers undo his fly, bring his pants and underwear down to his thighs. He’s expecting another hit, wiggles his ass in anticipation. 

What he gets are teeth sinking into his skin.

“AH!GOD” He yells loud enough that his throat hurts.

Duck chuckles, “Holler all you want, we both know no one can hear what goes on on this beach, especially with all the wind.” He bites down again, Indrid thrashing and moaning as teeth sink into already reddened skin. Duck growls in reply, savaging the meat of his as and grazing his teeth along his thighs, dangerously close to his balls. He’s already getting hard, the process expedited by warm breath and lips on his body. 

He moans embarrassingly loud when Duck shoves his ass apart.

“Damn, you really did get all prepped for that fella. Shame, he didn’t know what he was missin.” The plug hits the sand to his right.

“You, you don’t have to flatter meEEEoh, oh Duckohmygoodness.” His fingers dig into the sand as the merman teases his rim with a flexible tongue. There’s a muffled laugh, but Duck doesn’t respond beyond that, too busy threatening him with a good time as his tongue gives an experimental push. 

Then it retreats and he turns his head left and right, delivering quick bites to either cheek before his tongue returns. He alternates between the delicious, teasing licks and painful bites, the shift never coming when Indrid expects and causing him to cry out every time. When the mer releases one side of his ass in order to slap his thighs while he continues licking, kissing, and nipping his way across bruised, sensitive skin, Indrid lets out a strangled sound, the thing in his chest now trapped at the back of his throat. 

“You make such cute noises, but they ain’t the ones I’m lookin for. I ain’t stoppin until you apologize.”

Indrid opens his mouth, intending to say something about how this is the wrong way to make him do so. 

“I, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t be angry with me, don’t leave, don’t leave me here, I can’t, I, I don’t want to think about it, Duck please, I’m sorry, so sorry” he;s hunched forward, sobbing into the sand, when he realizes he’s fully clothed and Duck isn’t behind him.

“No” he squeaks, “no please don’t go.”

“I ain’t goin anywhere.” Duck slides up the sand next to him, pulls him into his arms, “I’m so sorry darlin, I didn’t mean to make you cry, I took it too far, I ain’t mad, not really” he eases Indrid’s glasses off and sets them out of harms way, “oh darlin, c’mere, it’s okay” salty kisses dot his forehead and green scales pet his legs. 

“It’s, hic, it’s not your fault. I, I l-liked it, but this has, hic, been building up for months. Years.” He hides his face in Duck’s chest.

“Years?” Duck grabs Indrid’s sweater from where he cast it off, draping it over the human. 

Indrid sniffs, “You know I’m a photographer. But I’ve never told you what I photograph. I, I made my name recording disasters and their aftermath. For a long time I took pride in it; someone has to document those things, so we can’t erase them, so we have to confront them and try to make things better, or try to keep such tragedy from reoccurring. I was so good at recording it I became famous. Wealthy. And I learned that most people like to gawk at horror and then go about their days. I, I tried branching out and…and I ended up with a disaster anyway. A bridge collapse, I chronicled everything from the instant it started to the funerals and it, it was too much. Ever since then I’ve felt trapped by my work. At times, by my life. My agent wants me to go back for the fifth anniversary, he told me so last night.”

“You ain’t goin, right?” 

“I don’t think I can.” 

Duck nods, rests his chin atop his head, “tell me what you wanna do instead.”

He does. He tells him about his other art, about the pitches for childrens books and the plans for a real vacation, about the life that, for the first time, feels in reach when he speaks about it. By the time he’s done the stars are out and he’s much calmer and clear-headed.

“Did you mean what you said earlier? That, that you thought I was attractive?”

“Every damn word.” Duck rolls them so Indrid is on his back, kisses his cheek, “thought so since that first night. But, uh” his gaze flicks down to Indrid’s crotch, “if you want more proof I’m happy to give it.”

“Please?”

“Get your pants off and lay on your sweater.”

Indrid complies, shivers when Duck guides his shirt up and off. 

“Fuuuuck” the mer rubs his hands up and down his torso, “when it warms up, you’re gonna swim out with me so I can get my fill of this while you ride my dick.”

“Yes. Ah, I, I did prep, but it’s been long enough now that lubrication may be an issueOOOh, ooohyes.” He release into the sand as Duck grinds his tail against his cock. The scales feel as lovely now as they do when he pets them, and he wonders if Duck will let him get off by humping his tail one of these days.

“It won’t, trust me. Lemme just–there we go. Open your legs. Heh, eager little thing.”

“I’ve wanted this too long to play coy.”

“Good.”

“Eeep!” Something slick and squirming presses into his ass, “do, do you have tentacles?”

“Kinda? They’re just the tip, for this exact reason. It, uh, it feel okay?” Duck smiles reassuringly and that, combined with the genuine concern in his voice makes Indrid moans and nudge him closer. 

“VeryOH, oohgracious” two more tentacles join the first, pulsing and scissoring him open, “how many are there?”

“About eight.”

He moans louder and Duck laughs, pushes his hips forward, “glad you like it, darlin’. Because from where I’m sittin your ass is fuckin amazin and I wanna be as deep in it as I can.”

“Yes, absolutely, pleaseAHHnnn” enough tentacles now that he can’t keep an accurate count, “please use it as you see fit.”

“As I see fit huh? That’s a tricky question. See, sometimes I wanna, fuck, wanna shove the whole thing in you at once and make you scream while I leave my mark on your neck.”

“AHHnnngod” A firmer shaft pushes in, ridges rubbing all the right places as the tentacles continue exploring him. 

“Other times, think it’s better to tease you with the tip, maybe make you blow me first and jerk you off until you’re beggin for my dick.”

“Yes, yesyesyesyes”

“But tonight” Duck bottoms out with a groan, “I’m gonna take it nice and slow, show you just how fuckin wonderful you are. How much you mean to me. My Indrid.”

“Yours” Indrid twines his limbs around him, “god, Duck, it feels so good, you’re so good, you always look after me.”

“That I do. Because you deserve it. And” the tentacles find his prostate and he nearly howls as Duck continues, “you deserve to learn how t’be nice to yourself. And I, ahfuck, know that ain’t easy, but I’m gonna be here to help.”

“Yes, ohgod, yes, you’re, you’re so perfect, aaAAAhnI, I’m, close sweetheart, you fill me so well.”

“Damn right. Gonna, nnngh, gonna find every fuckin way to fill you, make you feel fuckin amazin, fuck, that’s it darlin, ohfuckyeah” as he starts spilling into him, Indrid cums with a shout, splattering their stomachs. Duck moans at the sight, wriggles his hips as his shaft continues rippling and pulsing. It turns out mer orgasms are long, so long that Indrid is whimpering from overstimulation by the time Duck pulls out. 

A gentle, salt-soaked kiss to his lips, “Lookit you, took it all. You’re so good for me, darlin.”

“Mmmhmm” He doesn’t want to let go, cold, wind, and damp be damned. Duck seems to understand, holds him and whispers sweet promises in his ears until he’s shivering.

“‘Drid, your teeth are chatterin.”

“I kn-know, I s-should g-go home and w-warm up.”

Duck kisses him again, “sooner you go and rest, sooner we can do this again.”

“An excellent p-point.” He stands, blows a shaky kiss towards his future, “see you tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

Lieutenants Log, stardate 10015, Joseph Stern recording

We’ve finally arrived at an agreement with the Aquariads, the species who control this moon. They will allow our research team unfettered access to the planet, but at an odd price. They requested one of our crew agree to be married off to a high ranking member of their governing council. 

I suspect, but cannot prove, that this is not a desirable being to be married to. He’s a revered seer, and yet they’re willing to couple him to a human and not one of their own? Suspicious.

Myself and the other single members of the crew were all given extensive questionnaires on everything from our sexual preferences to our daily habits. It took me a good hour and a half to finish it. 

After a full earth day of waiting, we received word that chief astrobotanist Duck Newton was the chosen human. I have no idea how this happened, as Duck has little tolerance for what he views as “woo-woo” things like precognition. But he was chosen all the same. 

Because this is Duck, he grumbled a bit, but cheered up when he learned he would only be required to stay with his new husband for three weeks before joining us on our field word, and that we can send him specimens for identification and research. If we decide Aquaria is the planet we’ve been looking for and establish more permanent research stations here, Duck will be expected to spend at least a few days a month with the seer. Mama made it clear that if the idea was truly not something he could agree to, she would call the deal off and we could try another approach. Duck said that wouldn’t be necessary, and that he could think of far worse things they could have asked of us. 

We deposit him at the seers home tomorrow. After that, we begin our exploration of Aquaria, fourth moon of the plant Oceana and (hopefully) the home of the antidote we’ve been searching for. 

Joseph Stern, Lieutenant on the spaceship Amnesty, signing off.

————————————————————————–

Duck waves to the skiff as it pulls away, his planetside bag slung over his shoulder. There’s only one way to go; down the single stone levee, decorated with beautiful tiles, to the massive mansion at the end. 

It reminds him of the photos of Venice he’s seen in old National Geographics, beautiful buildings floating atop a planet of water. He knows Aquaria has islands, but the majority of it’s cities are on or near the water because most of its residents live beneath the waves. They remind Duck of mermaids, with scaled tails and fins giving way to humanoid upper bodies and faces. As far as creatures to get politically married off to, he could be staring down worse. 

There’s still the problem of not knowing why this mer is off by himself and without a partner. Or, as becomes obvious once Duck is inside, any company at all. The other high-ranking aquariads they’ve met come with miles of attendants; here there’s only the high, curved ceilings and rippling water. Maybe the guy is shy? Or maybe he’s a dick? Or just real fucking scary to look at?

As he walks further into the house, he notices the tiled walls are covered in striking murals that, when coupled with the odd half-light allowed in by the green glass windows, makes him feel as though he’s wandering through a dream. The pools and canals criss-cross the floor, and really the ground is more water than concrete, the fact he’s able to walk at all is a concession to the fact some aquariads evolved to be land dwelling. 

A splash makes him turn, and in the pool to his right a black fin cuts the water. He steels himself to not insult the alien he’s now legally attached to. The figure rises from the water, setting his arms on the edge of the stony floor and Duck steps back as a wide, toothy smile appears in an angular face. 

“Hello, Duck Newton.” His tail is the same black as his fin, and his silver hair is tucked behind ears of the same color, which Duck has learned can fan out as a way of communicating. 

“Uh, hi. You must be-”

“Indrid Cold, yes. Apologies, a peril of my profession is that I will always be a little bit ahead.”

“Right. So, uh, guess we’re gonna be seein a lot of each other the next couple of weeks.” He aims for a joking, nonchalant tone. 

“Yes, as we’re married.” He cocks his head, confused, then grins brighter, “Oh, oh I see, you are attempting levity because this is all very awkward. I, ah, I appreciate that. Here, let me show you where you’ll be staying” Indrid pushes off the wall, swimming gracefully on his back as Duck follows him down the hall. The center of the house has more skylights, allowing him to see that his host’s fins aren’t pure black; small silver and white dots are scattered across it. He wonders if he could find constellations in them.

“Here we are.” Indrid gestures to a room, one where the only water is in the form of two deep blue half-circles on the left and right walls. The center of the room is a large bed, linens gleaming whites and pale greens, and the skylight nestles against a chandelier of finely detailed rosey glass. 

“Holy shit.” Duck sets his bag down on a trunk near the door.

“Do you like it?” A flash of yellow up Indrid’s fin, echoed in the dots on his tail.

“I mean, anythin looks ritzy after months on a spaceship but” he turns, smiles, “yeah, I do. Thanks for giving me such nice digs.”

“You are most welcome. Now, this room is designed to give guests privacy. See that red panel on the wall? If you press it, it opens the pool on that side up to the rest of the house, allowing myself or servants to come in and help you.”

“So you do have staff.”

“They’re, ah, more like errand folk. None live here.” Indrid clears his throat, “I can show you the rest of the house, although if you need to sleep I can let you be. I am, ah, not entirely clear on where your internal clock sits now.”

“Aquaria’s days are about four days longer than earth’s, so I ain’t too thrown off. Happy to see more of the place.”

Indrid nods, and Duck follows him out of the bedroom. Most of the other rooms they pass are sparse squares of walkways and still water, under which lies the parts of the house Indrid uses. When they reach Indrid’s quarters, he spots what looks to be an artists’ studio under the clear blue water. 

“You paint?” He kneels and peers down for a better look, Indrid bobbing nearby. 

“Indeed. Art helps me make sense of my visions, and I enjoy it besides. In fact, all the murals you see in this house are my doing. There are even more under water.”

“Damn, that’s fuckin incredible. If I get my SCUBA gear rigged up, maybe I can get a tour?”

“Scu–oh, yes, an underwater breathing apparatus. We have a much smaller device that can help you breathe and sea down here” he dips his head at the pool, “unfortunately, the one I commissioned for you will not arrive until close to the end of your stay. They, ah, did not give me much time to prepare. Hence the lack of many comforts I might otherwise give, as well as places for you to and I to talk, eat or do, ah, other activities together.” The yellow intermittently flashing up his fin gives way to a burst of pink. 

Oh, right. Duck pulls up his infopad (given a generous waterproofing treatment prior to his leaving Amnesty) and opens the contract he signed. 

“Yeah. About that. Says here they expect us to, uh, ‘consummate’ the marriage.”

“I’m aware” Indrid’s voice creeps up.

“Do you…wanna do that now?” He spins a finger in the water.

“I, ah, I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, seems like we could just get it outta the way, rather than have the fact we gotta fuck someone we didn’t pick hangin over our heads?” 

“This…this is not at all how I wanted this to go.” 

Duck looks up and immediately wishes he could reverse time; Indrid looks genuinely hurt, ears flicked back like a scolded dog. 

“Duck I, ah, well, you did not choose me, that is true. But I chose you.”

“Well, fuck.” He sits down with a heavy sigh, “figured some big wigs used those surveys to pick me out. Guess what they say about assumin things is true.”

“…..”

“It makes an ass outta you and me?”

Indrid blinks, then snickers, “Your humor is part of why I chose you. It is very bad, but also extremely good.”

“Glad you think so. Pretty sure Mama was ready to blow me out the airlock for some of the ones I made on the way here.” He knows he’s dodging the conversation they should be having, but how the fuck is he supposed to respond when an alien mermaid tells him he picked him to be his husband?

Indrid swims over so he can rest his arms and chin on the stone, glancing shyly up at Duck as he says, “I suppose I also made an ass of myself, as you would say, by assuming you would not see this as an obligation.”

“I mean, even if you chose me, don’t this feel like an obligation to you?”

“No. For me, it is a reminder that most of my kind are too afraid of me to even give me a chance to court them. And that the council thinks I will get into too much trouble without someone to distract me now and then, and decides the company I am worthy of is an alien explorer with no interest in me.”

“I mean, the only reason we agreed to this is because there might be a plant on Aquaria that can treat the illness runnin rampant back home. So at least it’s for a good cause?”

Indrid flicks his ears, red running up his fin, “What you are doing is noble. What I am doing is being used as a way to keep your exploration team in line.”

Duck winces, “Fuck, I’m, uh, I’m just gonna stop talkin now.”

For an agonizing five minutes they sit there in silence, contemplating their situation and stealing glances at each other. Duck always tried to do the right thing, tried to live an honest life and treat the people in it with respect. He’s been kind and polite to beings up and down the galaxy. He can extend some of that to his own husband, can’t he?

“Indrid?”

The alien raises his head.

“Can we start over?”

“Yes. But I do not see how-”

Duck holds out his hand, “Name’s Duck. Thanks for invitin me in and lookin after me the few weeks.”

Indrid’s smile widens as he understands the game, and he takes the human’s hand, “A pleasure to meet you. I am Indrid, seer to the court of Aquaria, and your anxious husband in spite of the now-changing, much more pleasant futures.”

They finish their tour, the humid air less stifling in the wake of their confessions. Indrid shows him the kitchen, the sitting room, and the gardens which, to Duck’s delight, are as much above the water as below. 

After that, Indrid excuses himself to attend to seer duties and Duck goes back to his room to unpack. As he’s putting away his toothbrush and razor near a large, elaborate tub carved from golden stone, one of Indrid’s admissions from earlier floats through his mind, bobbing there like a buoy until he gets a chance to ask it.

When they’re in the gardens, Duck taking notes as Indrid dives and surfaces with new things to show him, the human slips his feet into the water and says, “Indrid? You said my offerin to fuck you wasn’t what you wanted. What, uh, what did you want?” 

The alien blinks, slowly, pink and teal flashing in his tail, “It is a bit silly in retrospect, but since I knew we would not have time for a proper human marriage courtship, I thought I could mimic the process leading to a one night stand; that way you would be romanced in a manner that made you both comfortable with me and the concept of sex with a relative stranger.” 

Duck chuckles, “Always wild to find out how human stuff gets interpreted by the rest of the galaxy. How’d you even come up with what you were gonna do?”

Indrid crosses his arms, mock affronted, “I will have you know I have seen a great deal of human media, courtesy of our minister of defense.”

“Oh yeah?” Duck shifts onto his stomach, sends a small splash Indrid’s way, “what was this night gonna involve, then?”

“Food, dim and therefore, apparently, romantic lighting, dancing to sensual music, and then hopefully some kissing.” The pink in his tail intensifies, “and then working out exactly how to have sex human.”

The mixture of enthusiasm and being utterly out of his element charms Duck to no end; not to mention it’s the most thought someone’s put into a hook-up with him in the last three years. 

“Seems to me you got the gist of it. Though I really wanna know what you picked out for ‘sensual music.’”

A playful glint enters Indrid’s glowing eyes, “I will show you, but we must go through the whole evening, otherwise it will seem like a disjointed choice. With, ah, with the understanding that you are not obligated to kiss me at the end.

“You got a deal.”

“Wonderful” Indrid claps his hands together, “wait right here.”

Indrid disappears in a whoosh of black and silver. When he returns, he hoists six opaque domes onto the floor in front of Duck, “I initially planned to eat in the sitting room, but you like this room much better, so we can have dinner here.” With that, he double-taps the top of each dome, revealing a confusing buffet. 

“Uh, are those french fries?”

“Yes. You are from the United States of America, and so I chose foods that would make you feel at home.” Indrid points to each plate in turn, “french fries, steak, a turkey with cranberries, lobster, macaroni with cheese, and an apple pie.”

The pie is covered with an odd, yellow meringue, the turkey is the size of a quail, and the black shell suggests this is not a kind of lobster he’s eaten before, but Duck can’t stop smiling.

“Also I took care to be sure none of the necessary substitutions were poisonous to you.”

“Thanks, Indrid.” He means it; in their travels they’ve learned it’s not only humans who think everyone lives and eats exactly the way they do.

Everything except the french fries tastes strange but he finds the meal, like it’s orchestrator, intriguing in it’s oddity. Indrid brings two cool, white bottles from below, offers Duck tastes of each. One is like the celery soda he drank on a dare, the other like root beer if it wasn’t gross. He keeps the second one next to him as the meal progresses, Indrid asking him all kinds of questions about botany and himself. When dinner is over, Indrid guides him two rooms over, grinning excitedly. 

“I will start the music; one moment.” 

A few seconds after he dives, a chrome cylinder descends from the ceiling and music fills the air.

Ninety-nine red balloons

Floating in the summer sky

Panic bells, it’s red alert!

There’s something here from somewhere else!

He giggles, sits down so it’s easier to call, “Indrid? Not sure you got the right song bud.”

A silver-haired head pops up, “Not romantic?”

“Nope.”

“Hmmmm” He lifts a small, white rectangle and the song changes. 

He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way

He had a boogie style that no one else could play

He was the top man at his craft

But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft

He’s in the army now, a blowin’ reveille

He’s the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B

“N-not quite” The laugh is stronger now.

“Drat. How about….”

I threw a wish in the well, don’t ask me, I’ll never tell

I looked to you as it fell and now you’re in my way 

Indrid looks hopefully at him.

“Ain’t what I’d call sensual, but you’d hear it at the kind of place you’d pick up a date.”

The alien beams, starts shifting back and forth to the beat, “shall we dance?”

Duck blushes, pretends he doesn’t know why, “Uh, probably should have said this earlier, but I ain’t much of a dancer.”

Indrid swims to him, stopping close enough that Duck can see the lines on his face that reveal they’re close in age, “That’s alright. Sometimes conversing while having a drink is acceptable behavior, correct?”

“Yeah.” Duck doesn’t bother to hide how intently he’s watching as Indrid dives, his form elegant and ethereal beneath the water. 

They sit sipping a hard cider that tastes of papaya and flowers instead of apples until the three other moons glow bright in the skylight. Duck yawns, and excuses himself for the night. 

“Thanks for a great evenin, Indrid.”

“You are most welcome. A pity I could not make the music work.”

He’s here for another three weeks at least. And Indrid is floating through the darkening water like a dream he’s tempted to chase.

“Guess you’ll just have to try again.” Duck winks. 

Indrid’s ears frill slightly and he flashes bright purple, “Yes, my dear husband, I suppose I will.” 

—————————————————————–

Duck’s routine is not the one he usually has while docked on a planet. Every day for the last week, he wakes up, joins Indrid for a leisurely swim, works on his research, and then spends his evening with a weirdly cute alien trying to accurately recreate the earth dating experience for him. 

The second night, he asked if Indrid would bring him some of his favorites for their next meal. The steamed coconut crab was a hit. The mantis-squid served still swimming, less so. From then on, when Indrid put in his food orders to the cooks at the main court, it was for a mixture of earth and Aquariad dishes, each one leading him or Indrid to share an anecdote from their time on their home planet. 

For the last two nights, he’s lifted the partitions on the pools in his room so Indrid can talk with him until neither of them can keep their eyes open. He wonders if it would be rude to ask him to stay, to sleep in such a small space just so he could be the first thing Duck sees when he wakes up.

There must be floating beds he could put in Indrid’s room, or maybe a hammock he could hang in the garden. 

Duck now understands that Indrid’s powers make him politically valuable, but also mean his fellow residents of the lunar city see him as dangerous, as knowing things they’d rather keep secret. Duck understands, especially if their only time encountering the seer is when he glides his formidable, dark body from the depths of his inner sanctum. But all he can see is his Indrid, awkward and well-meaning, whose fear of Duck disliking him has given way to genuine affection. His Indrid, who now pulls himself up onto the stones so they can sit shoulder to shoulder after breakfast or before dinner, whose tail Duck’s fingers beg to caress. 

His Indrid who is, at this moment, continuing his losing battle with earth music. 

“How about this?”

Danke schoen, darling, danke schoen

Thank you for all the joy and pain

“Oh fuck no” Duck guffaws, “anything but him, ‘Drid, he’s a boner killer if there ever was one.”

“I don’t think he’s that bad,  but I will be speaking to Vincent about his human music suggestions.”

“For the love of god, turn it off.” Duck flails for the remote.

Indrid sticks out his tongue, “Very well, but I am this close to pulling you down here and seeing if you can do any better.”

“You wouldn’t dare” Duck is still laughing, eyes closing as he does, which means he gets only a splash of warning before he’s yanked into the pool. He comes up giggling and spluttering, “now, is that any way to treat your husband?”

Indrid’s laugh is a siren song, “No, I suppose not.” The music clicks off as Indrid steadies him by curving his tail behind his legs, “how should I treat you instead?”

Duck drapes his arms over Indrid’s shoulders, “You been treatin me pretty damn well, dunkin me aside.”

A flicker of pink and yellow as Indrid rubs their cheeks together, “And if I wanted to be even better?”

“I, uh, I mean if you wanted to we could tryYYYYohfuck” he hunches forward as Indrid’s tail drags across his dick. The clothing on Aquaria is thin, so he can feel the cool scales tease his skin. 

“Oh, oh dear, apologies, I was only trying to embrace you further, I forgot yours do not stay concealed until they’re needed.”

“You, you keep doin that and it’s gonna be needed real quick.”

“Oh?” red eyes narrow wickedly, “does my sweet husband need attending to?” Another drag of his tail, much more deliberate, and Duck grinds his hips in reply. 

“Only if you want to.”

“I do, so very badly.” Indrid nuzzles his nose, “may I take a little while to acquaint myself with your wonderful body?”

“Uh huh.” Duck tugs his shirt off, throwing it onto the land and then giving his shorts the same treatment. 

“Ohhhhhhyes.” Indrid purrs, fins and tails shimmering purple and gold. Then he sinks down, swimming in a slow, tight circle around the human. Pleased chirps and trills bubble up to Duck’s ears. Cool fingers play along his legs and belly, eventually finding his dick and offering an experimental stroke.

“Fuck” he groans, and Indrid does it again, kissing his navel as both hands rub and tease his dick and folds. Indrid is clearly experimenting, maybe even using his visions to guide him, and Duck eagerness to get off succumbs to just how fucking hot it is to have a partner this enrapt by his body, to have them explore it like some awe-inspiring landscape. 

He spreads his hands out and runs them along Indrid’s torso and tail; the scales are just as wonderful under his fingers as he hoped, and he can feel Indrid sigh happily as he pets him. 

Then lips close around his dick and he makes a series of undignified noises, digging one hand into Indrid’s hair to encourage him. 

“Ohmyfuckinchrist, Indrid, yes, fuck please keep suckin like that.”

Indrid wiggles his whole body in response, happy trill underscored by a firmer suck. Duck can’t get enough of his body beneath his hands, of his mouth on Duck’s skin, and he wonders if someone can black out from how good a blowjob feels. 

Indrid’s fin breaks the water and Duck runs an appreciative thumb along the top. Funny, there’s a little depression between it and the membrane of the fin. Curious, he drags his pinky along it. 

The alien bursts upwards with a loud chirp of joy, “Ohgoodness, yes, oh that feels nice please do it again.”

“Yeah? My cute, needy husband need me to play with his fins to get off.”

“Not, not technically by my gods does he want you to.”

“Don’t worry darlin, I will–uh, ‘Drid? Is, is that your dick?”

Indrid follows his gaze to the thick, bumpy shaft emerging from his tail, it’s tip crowned with short, searching tendrils.

“Yes. Also an ovipositor, hence those lumps.”

“Holyfuck. Uh, I, I ain’t sure I’m ready for that yet.” 

“That’s perfectly alright. Though it does mean my cock is not going into you tonight; I’m not sure I can control my bodily responses enough to avoid ovipositing accidentally.”

“Lots of others things we can do.” Duck bites the tip of one ear, making the other flare out.

“Indeed. I say we start with this.” Indrid’s tail encircles his waist just as Indrid shoves his cock between his thighs.

“Like, like the way you think sugar. Fuuuck, fuck that’s good.” The bumps from the eggs have just the right amount of give as he humps them, Indrid matching his tempo with his thrusts. He keeps his arms around his husbands neck, kissing him furiously. Indrid kisses back with a chirp, gold flashing in his scales, and Duck knows he won’t want to kiss anyone else for a long, long time. 

The tip of Indrid’s cock bumps his ass and he groans at what that suggests about it’s size. 

“I’m, I’m takin this fuckin perfect thing all the way before I go.” He bucks his hips harder to make his point, “gonna let you fuck me open on it, fill me up, wanna know what it’s like to cum with you inside me.”

“Oh gods” Indrid whimpers, hiding his face in Ducks neck as he squeezes his thighs together. 

“And, and you’re gonna be a dutiful fuckin husband and fill me however I say, ain’t you?”

“Yes, yesofcourse, goodness Duck I, I’m-”

“Heh, you like that, mr high and mighty seer likes bein bossed around. Well, lucky you, because now that I know just how fuckin good you are at fuckin me, gonna have you doin it ever, fuckin, day.” He jerks his hips hard, three times, and Indric cums with a cry, cock pulsing as he sinks his teeth into Ducks shoulder. Duck doesn’t let up, chases his orgasm over the bumps and ridges until he nearly whites out with pleasure, clinging to Indrid tighter as his body gives up on supporting him. 

After his cock retracts Indrid, still holding Duck up with ease, swims to the button that orders a cleaning cycle on the pool and deposits the human back on the stone. 

“I dearly hope your team finds what you need on this planet so that I may see you beyond these few weeks.”

“Sex was that good?” Duck teases, petting Indrid’s hair as he lays his head in his lap.

“No. Or, well, yes, but more than that you are so, so very wonderful. I wish to get to know you more, to show you even more of my world and my skill in bed.”

Duck kisses the top of his head, “I hope so too.”

—————————————–

Communication log between leader of Amnesty Mission at Astrobotanist Duck Newton. 

Mama: Got some promising leads. Will be back to pick you up in three days. 

Duck: Glad to hear it. But take your time, no need to rush only my account. 

------------------------

Communication Log between Lieutenant of the Amnesty and Chief Astrobotantist Duck Newton.

Joseph: Storm is forecasted to last four days at least. We won’t be able to land on Atlantia to pick you up until it passes.

Duck: Roger that. We should be fine here; ‘Drid says the storms are dangerous for spacecrafts and travel but not for buildings. I’ll keep testing the specimens we found in the meantime.

Joseph: if it gets too dangerous, let us know and we’ll try to get an emergency retrieval ship to you.

Duck: Will do. Duck out.

———————————————————————–

Atlantia, one of the four moons of the planet Oceana, is off limits to most. It’s home to precious minerals that the residents of the moon Aquaria have been known to go to war over, fighting to see who controls the territory in which the substance resides. To avoid these conflicts, the whole moon was declared a public resource, and all but the native Atlantians must acquire elaborate permits to visit. Outsiders are practically forbidden.

Unless said outsider is married to one of the most valuable individuals in the whole lunar system and said individual is suddenly very willing to throw his weight around for the sake of his beloved’s research.

Indrid’s negotiations were only able to secure permission for him and Duck, not the rest of the Amnesty, and so Duck spent the better part of two weeks scouring the plant life and trying to discern if the mineral make-up of the soil produced plants more likely to contain the curative properties he’s searching for. When the storm picked up, rendering the surface of the moon unsafe, Indrid apologized profusely for not foreseeing the change in the futures. Duck pointed out that it was sudden enough that the two of them had already arrived at the pick-up spot before the storm turned violent.

Of places to be sheltering during a storm, an Oceanic Beacon is at once an excellent and terrifying choice. It’s a combination of a lighthouse and landing strip, alerting travelers to the presence of land and the location to dock their craft. Because light from the beacon has to reach a massive distance into the sky and across the waves, the building lives beneath a dome of specially engineered, see-through glass. A storm has never so much as cracked one. But it means that Duck has a perfect view of the gigantic waves washing over them which, while awe-inspiring, makes his lizard brain certain he’s about to drown.

So he spends most of his time in the terrestrial rooms researching to keep his mind off the weather. Except for when Indrid swims up from the heavily fortified subaquatic portion of the lighthouse to visit him. Then he devotes every last bit of his energy to his husband. Most of the Aquariads he meets are shocked to discover he’s not only happy to be married to the eerie, formidable seer, but that he actively misses him when he’s out on his missions.

“The others are not too worried I hope?” Indrid swims to him as he comes down the stairs from the communication pad.

“Nope.” Duck pulls off the top of his uniform, “once you knew we had food to last over a month if we had to, I got a hell of a lot calmer too.” He drops into the pool, water carrying a hint of heat, as Indrid curls the celestial expanse of his tail around his waist. Duck is a strong swimmer, but Indrid’s ability to carry him to and fro without getting so much as winded makes him want to feign helplessness and spend his days in those undulating scales.

“In that case, sweet one, care to join me for a swim before dinner?”

Duck smiles, “You know it, sugar” and draws the alien in for a kiss as the lights of the beacon make gemstones of the salt spray on the glass.

————————————————–

Two days down, two to go, and Indrid wishes he could enjoy their little impromptu second honeymoon to it’s fullest (he’d taken Duck on a proper one his first visit back after joining the others on their expedition). His body has other plans; it seems to have caught on to the fact his partner keeps coming and going, and that if he wishes to have offspring with said partner, he needs to be ready (never mind that he and Duck cannot have offspring through any sort of biological means). So when Duck’s scent fills his nose and his laugh floods his ears, his body decides to fill his ovipositor.

Thus, he’s spent the last three days increasingly uncomfortable, the weight noticeable in his abdomen. His initial plan was to excuse himself early in the evening when they got home and masturbate until they were all released. But the beacon, while spacious, has very few rooms closed off, and the water is so clear that there are a high number of futures in which Duck catches him in the act.

Which is why, as the human sleeps a very safe distance from the edge of the pool (“‘Drid, if I fall in the worse that’ll happen is I get a hell of a wake up call” “yes but I cannot bear even the slightest risk of you drowning”), Indrid is squirming in an attempt to get comfortable. He doesn’t even realize he’s chirping in frustration until Duck murmurs his name.

“It, it is nothing sweet one, go back to sleep.”

“Darlin, your spots are goin’ green.” Duck indicates the flickers of sickly chartreuse in the water, “you feelin sick?”

“No. Or, ah, not in the sense you are thinkingoh, ohhh” he sighs, rubbing his face against Duck’s palm as the human gauges whether he’s feverish, “but I am achy and restless.”

“And hot, christ ‘Drid, there are med supplies here right? I mean, I got some in my bag, but they’re for humans-”

“I am not sick. It’s this” He rolls onto his back so Duck can see his cock straining to emerge.

“Sugar, you know you can ask for help with that any time.” Duck’s smile is sweet sin.

“No, it’s” Indrid whines as the tip emerges, the bulge of the first egg painfully obvious.

“Oh. Huh. Kinda figured you weren’t due for that again for a year or so. Not sure why; guess I just assumed Aquariads had a matin season.”

“Unfortunately it can happen quite often. If, if you do not mind, I will excuse myself and deal with it. It’s to the point where the eggs need to come out sooner rather than later.”

“Sure. Or, uh, if you want, I could, uh, help you out?”

————————————————————–

The widening of Indrid’s eyes and the shock of orange that travels up his tail and fin suggests Duck has just done something remarkable.

“Surprise you, sugar?” He tucks a strand of silver hair the behind the aliens fanned out ear.

“Yes. There, there were no futures where you offered, why in the name of the deep did you?” His colors have turned nervous, but Duck spots occasional bursts of desire.

“Because” He sits up, patting his lap so his husband will rest his head in it and let Duck rub the knots in his neck, “you’re my ‘Drid; I wanna help you out, make you feel good too. And uh, I gotta admit, I been a little curious about it. Plus that holo-porn compendium you sent me while I was gone time before involved it a lot and it seems like it could be fun.”

“So you did watch it” Indrid looks up, grinning.

“Course I did. Gotta learn how to please my Aquariad husband.” He teases, kissing Indrid’s forehead.

“You need no help in that area whatsoever. I could not ask for a finer husband, human or otherwise.” Indrid kisses Duck’s belly through his thin shirt, then pauses, “you are not offering this out of a feeling of obligation, right?”

“Right. I want to do this with you, ‘Drid. Cross my heart.”

Red eyes skate up to his face, “In that case, disrobe and get in the water at once.”

Duck sinks into the clear depths the instant he’s naked, Indrid swimming back only long enough for him to get in before crowding him against the edge of the pool.

“My love.” Indrid purrs, kisses so languid and gentle they almost disguise the heat in his fingertips as gropes Duck’s ass, the force with which his tail forces his legs apart.

“You know itAHhh, fuck, fuckin love that” he groans as the tendriled tip of his cock teases Duck’s own, “so, uh, this gonna be that different from the way we normally do this?”

“For starters, I will not cum until all the eggs are deposited.” Indrid’s fin flickers pink, “and it will be more intense on your end, not only because of the stretch but because I have to be rather, ah, vigorous in order to make sure they all come out.”

“As opposed to all those times you don’t fuck me like there’s no tomorrow.” Duck snickers, wrapping his legs around the dark scales to help ease Indrid’s cock into him.

“It’s not my fault you are the most delectable, ah, ‘piece of ass’ I have ever seen. Did I use that correctly?”

“Yep” Duck tips his head back, allowing Indrid to kiss it as he pauses his thrust so his tendrils can stroke his G-spot before continuing deeper, “you been watchin earth porn for ideas?”

“Indeed. I also found some featuring an actor who looks rather like you, and watched it an embarrassing amount during your absences.” He chirps as he bottoms out and Duck toys with the sensitive band in his fin as Indrid positions them so the bottom half of his tail is flat against the wall, which lets him keep Duck pinned to it.

“You are going to squirm, and I do not want you doing so and coming off my cock.”

“Seem mighty confident you’re gonna get that reaction.” Duck nips his ear.

Indrid’s sharp-toothed grin takes on a hungry glint, “The futures tell me so. But since you seem to doubt them…”

“AhFUCK!” Duck’s back bangs into the wall as Indrid pulls halfway out and then drives back into him, “fuckyeah, sugar that feels so fuckin goodOHwhatthefuck” the bumps in Indrid’s cock are moving, the ones towards the base of the shaft grinding on Duck’s dick as they do.

“Nmmmm, I told you I was pent up, oh, oh yes, yes sweet one, get ready to take the firstAHhhnnn.”

“Jesusfuck” Duck bucks his hips as the first egg pushes into him. It’s not hard like a birds egg, more soft and squishy, but all the same his body convulses as it registers something inside him. His brain, however, sends a moan from his mouth because as alien as the sensation may be, the fact it’s Indrid doing it makes him wetter and harder than he’s been in weeks.

Better still is the look on Indrid’s face, his head tipped back in bliss as he fucks him. It’s only when he looks down that Duck sees the tears threatening his eyes.

“You, I, I’ve, you are letting me lay in you, letting me mate with you, no, no one has ever let me do this before.”

The heat spiking through him on the word mate changes to fierce affection at the thought that Indrid was denied such closeness, or any closeness, for so long.

“Oh darlin, c’mere” he guides the alien into a kiss, then moans as another egg presses into him. Indrid swallows the sound down, keeps Duck in the kiss until the pressure has subsided.

“Such a lovely little mate.”

“Do my best.”

Indrid rubs their cheeks together, “That is why this has been so frequent, you know. I am so very enamored with you that the primal parts of my system want nothing more than to fill you with my eggs, keep you here pampered and fucked out until we have a whole little school swimming about the house. I, ahhhn, I could even look after them on my own while you are away. Or, or if we decide that is not for us I want to lay in you every day so no one else will ever dare to think you could be theirs.”

“Not a fuckin chance, fuck, darlin” his thighs tighten around his tail as another egg pulses out of the tip, “it’s so fuckin hot when you talk like that.”

“Really? I was afraid I was babbling. OhOHohdear, ah, this is unexpected.”

“Uh-”

“Not in a bad way, but I am so aroused the eggs are going to start coming out more quickly. Which means, my darling husband, I suggest you hold on.”

“Way ahead of youUUUshit, fuck” his hands switch from gripping Indrid’s shoulders to thrown around them for dear life as Indrid bounces him roughly on his dick. There’s not pause between the fourth and fifth egg and he’s starting to feel full, squirms when the sixth egg almost pushes Indrid’s cock free.

“I, I told you so.” Indrid purrs, hands holding tight to Duck’s ass as another egg emerges, “but you are not going anywhere, little human. You are, nnng, staying right here, taking every last one of them, because you are my mate and if I want you full to burst you will be.”

“Holy fuck, ‘Drid” Duck buries his face in his husbands neck as his cock shifts backwards. The tip opens wider, covering all of Duck’s folds as the tendrils return to his dick, “fuck, fuck, sugar I’m gonna cum.”

“Yesss” Indrid growls, tail rippling as he forces the next egg into place, “that’s it, sweet one, cum for me, cum while I stuff you full, my perfect, perfect, wonderful one.”

Duck can’t even get words out as his orgasm races through him, muscles spasming in new ways around the eggs. He whines as Indrid continues bouncing him, eggs shifting and keeping his muscles from relaxing, tendrils keeping a rapid tempo on his dick.

“Oh, ohohohoh I am close, ohyes, Duck, my sweet Duck, you take me so well, take a little more, be a good mate and take the last one, take my cum, you are going to hold all of it until I am satisfied that you are mine AH, ahhhhyes” he trills and Duck grunts as he’s stretched wider by the last egg and flood of cum. Indrid clings to him, chirping and trilling as his tail twitches, until his cock retracts. Then it’s just the storm and the sound of their joint panting as Indrid swims them weakly backwards to a shallow section of the pool.

“Here” the alien guides Duck to recline half out of the water, “if you spread your legs and relax, most of them will fall out on their own.”

“Gotcha.” Duck can neither keep his eyes open nor stay upright, so Indrid adjusts so the human is resting atop him, back against his chest. One by one, the eggs slip out dissolving in the water after a few moments. The last two prove stubborn and Indrid massages his abdomen, cooing about how wonderfully he did, until they too slip away.

“Thank you.” Indrid murmurs, nestling his chin on his shoulder.

“Any time, darlin. Or, uh, maybe not too many times back to back. Not sure my junk can take it. Still, better we did that than tryin it up my ass. Woulda lead to some awkward med records and my crew never lettin me live it down.”

“Do not be so sure. I suspect Joseph would have been envious.”

Duck snorts a laugh, looking over his shoulder in surprise.

“I read his sexual preferences on those forms they made you each submit.” Then he smiles like a sunrise welcoming Duck home, “but I think I made the right choice, don’t you?”

“Yeah, sugar, I do.”

Chapter Text

When you’re in an aggressive profession it’s best, in Duck’s experience, to be as calm and friendly as you can the rest of the time.

But this whole shit-show is testing his fucking limits.

It’s been two days since he found out his perfectly fine P.A was working for the Wallstreet Journal, hoping to learn that Duck was somehow using his T or his identity to gain an unfair edge in matched. Ned fired him on the spot, thank god, but it took less than twelve hours for the guy to publish some fabricated piece on his attitude and for Duck to remember why he needed an assistant in the first place. He’s gotten so used to having one that he keeps forgetting stuff or dropping the ball on appointments, and the last thing he needs right now is to look like some stupid hick.

When Ned texts him to let him know his new P.A is en route, Duck groans “thank fuck” loud enough to startle the cat from her tree.

He goes to the door when someone knocks, but doesn’t open it.

“Who is it?”

“Indrid Cold? I, ah, Mr. Chicane said this was Duck Newton’s address and I’m supposed to start as his assistant tomorrow.”

Duck opens the door, “Fuck tomorrow, you’re startin today. I gotta focus on strategy with Minerva the next two days if I don’t wanna show my ass Friday night and it’s real fuckin hard to do that with people callin me left and right.” He guides the startled young man inside, then stops to take a deep breath, “sorry, lemme try that again” he holds out his hand, “Nice to meet you, Indrid.”

“Likewise, Mr. Newton.”

“Duck is fine. It’s a nickname. You bring your stuff with you?”

“Yes, it’s all in my car.”

“Good. Here, lemme give you the, uh, the grand tour, so to speak, on the way to your part of the place.”

Indrid smiles and nods, hanging back slightly as Duck leads him through the house. They cover the living room, kitchen, Duck’s bedroom, then come what was once the garage door.

“This here’s the gym; you can’t find me in the rest of the house, I’m probably here.”

“Goodness” The other man’s eyes widen behind his red glasses, “that’s an impressive array. I mean, I know professional athletes need to train but I, ah, I assumed you did it on site with the rest of your team.”

“Team?” Duck closes the door, spots Indrid’s fingers diving into his pockets to hide their twitching.

“Yes.”

“Which team?”

“Your…sports team?”

“….you got no fuckin clue who I am, do you?”

“No.” Narrow shoulders sag in his sweater.

Duck chuckles, “Figures.”

The silver haired head snaps back up, “Mr. Chicane didn’t say it was a prerequisite for hiring me.”

“Guess he didn’t. And I guess it ain’t. Just hoped they’d hire someone who knew what the fuck he was gettin into.”

Indrid crosses his arms, “They gave me a very thorough job description. I assure you I can do every part of it. Laying out your pre-workout and scheduling appearances isn’t rocket science, and it doesn’t matter if the dry cleaning I pick up is for a, a baseball after party or some sort of charity basketball fundraiser.” It dawns on the taller man that he’s just snapped at his boss. He contracts in on himself, staring down at his black converse.

Duck takes the chance for a more careful look; all of his clothes are second hand, chosen as if he’s cosplaying a jock who went into white collar work. There are piercing holes in his ears, flecks of silver polish on his nails. This job application was a hail mary and Ned Chicane went ahead and caught.

“No harm done, slim.” He rests a friendly hand on Indrid’s arm, “think it’s time I enlightened you.”

His office doesn’t get used much, so a sprinkling of dust greets them as he flips on the lights and reveals posters, magazine covers, and newspaper clips bearing Duck’s face. The gloves he used to win his first fight hang in a place of honor, right above the photo of him and the other fighters from Amnesty Boxing. It’s an older photo, taken the first time they sent a team out of state, sun-faded to the point the writing on it is disappearing. It makes him smile all the same.

“This does explain the set of instructions for helping you cut weight if needed.” Indrid takes in the posters, then turns his attention to the corner dedicated to Duck’s model ship collection. He cocks his head, says more to himself than Duck, “boxer. Interesting.”

“Were you just gonna bluff about knowin who I was until I said somethin?”

“That and look for clues in the rest of the house.”

He smiles, “Like a man with a plan b. C’mon, lemme show you your room.”

—————————————–

Alright, so Indrid should have researched Duck Newton before turning up at his house so he didn’t come across as ignorant and unprepared. But he was busy running every Taskrabbit and UberEat he could get just to scrape up enough to keep his landlord off his back. Sue him for not wanting to sleep in his car again.

He never expected to get this job; live-in P.A who doesn’t have to pay for groceries (buy them, yes, since that’s one of his jobs) is not the kind of luck he’s familiar with. He keeps waiting for the catch, so nervous that when Duck pops in on him unpacking he assumes he’ll scold him for his wardrobe.

“I, should I buy some more professional clothes?”

Duck takes in the two duffel bags and backpack, “Up to you. I don’t mind you lookin like the little art punk you are, but a dress shirt or two might help if we gotta go somewhere real upscale. Don’t worry about buyin it yourself; just use the same card we do for groceries.”

Indrid is still hung up on why the fact a man three inches shorter than him calling him “little” makes his chest burn. Luckily, the phone rings and distracts him. Then it rings again. And again. And again. All while the inbox doubles every time he looks at it.

This turns out to be the catch; the work is actually hard. Everyone and their uncle wants to interview Duck, get him to sponsor something, or proposition him. Four hours in, he’s overwhelmed, overstimulated, and ready to hide under the desk. His fidget necklace isn’t helping, so he pulls out his chewable one; it often helps him think in high pressure moments.

The phone rings again and he growls at it.

“You’re allowed to let things go to voicemail, y’know.”

He spins in his chair, black rubber moth still in his mouth. Duck leans in the doorway, tank top soaked in sweat and towel around his shoulders

“I, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to drop anything important.”

“Ned handles the fights and the money, and anyone I care about has my private number for emergencies.”

“Right. I knew that.” Indrid can’t have his boss thinking he’s a total space-case.

Duck smiles, “What I’m sayin is; ain’t the end of the world if you don’t get back to everyone right away. Besides, right now you need a lunch break, slim. Lemme go rinse off and I’ll join you.”

By the time Duck enters the kitchen in an old “NIN” shirt and jeans, Indrid has his protein bowl laid out for him and is finishing microwaving a hot pocket for himself. Before he can scurry away, Duck pats the seat beside him and Indrid sits down, preparing to politely listen to Duck talk about himself or his sport.

He talks for ten minutes about the trees he saw on his run that morning before asking Indrid what he did before coming to the house. Indrid explains about his art and his side hustles in tarot and palm reading, about the run of bad luck that saw him without roommates and lost him his steady gig at a coffee shop. Duck makes genuinely sympathetic noises, lets Indrid change the subject when the fact he was on the edge of disaster makes Indrid’s chest tighten. They’re still talking about music as Indrid returns to his desk and Duck goes to meet Minerva in the gym.

By the time Duck’s fight rolls around that weekend, Indrid is feeling much better. He has a system of sorting emails that works for him, some Mothman stickers to help him organize the paper calendar on his desk, and more confidence in his ability to spot callers with ulterior motives. He’s shut down two separate ones looking to trap Duck into interviews where he’d be forced to defend his very identity. Duck overheard his responses to the second one and brought him back a fancy creme brulee latte from his breakfast as a thank you.

He doesn’t go to the fight; it’s a small one for charity and Duck has Ned to manage him, Minerva to train him, and Leo to coach him ringside. He doesn’t need his P.A. Instead, Indrid finishes up his correspondence for the day, makes sure Duck’s breakfast is all set in the fridge, and confirms the masseuse is coming in the morning.

Once in bed, Indrid gets sucked into the commission he’s doing and is lost to the world until a tired, satisfied face pokes through his door.

“Oh! Hello Duck. Did it go well? Do, ah, is there something you need from me?”

“Yep, I won like I thought I would. And nope; was just poppin in to say goodnight.”

No one’s said that to him in a long time. The bitterness of that realization is sweetened by Duck’s smile.

“Goodnight to you too, Duck.”

——————————————

Minerva is sick, which wouldn’t be a problem except for one part of his workout. He could skip it, but he needs to keep everything sharp for when they go to L.A.

“‘Drid? You got a few minutes?”

His assistant appears in the doorway, black jeans and white “Cramps” tank-top fitting him in a way that makes Duck want to hold him face down on the floor and find out how to take his breath away.

“What do you need?”

Duck points to the heavy bag, “You up for bracin this while I hit it?”

“I…I am not as strong as Minerva.”

“You don’t gotta be; this is just to keep the damn thing from swinging while I’m doin this speed drill.”

“Alright.” Indrid takes off his glasses and sets them on the folding chair, joining Duck, “how do I hold it?”

Duck shows him, does a few test punches to make sure he won’t send the poor guy flying. The round clock dings green, and he’s off. The bag wobbles for the first few seconds, then Indrid seems to find his footing and holds it stable enough for the drill to work. When the round ends, Duck steps back, “okay, you can let go until the next round.”

“Goodness.” Indrid stretches his hands, “I feel for your opponents. I’m jarred just from that.”

“You need to stop? I got two more rounds at least, but if it’s hurtin you I can skip ‘em.”

Indrid shakes his head, smiling, “nono, I like helping you with this. It’s exhilarating.”

The bell dings.

“Glad to hear it. Now brace it again.”

By the end of round three, Indrid is panting loud enough for Duck to hear him over the fan. He looks up, glove still on the bag, and finds them face to face.

“Minerva said three to five rounds for this. You wanna keep goin?”

Indrid, breathless and grinning, nods, “Can’t have you slacking off, now can we?”

Duck wants to bite his lip, just to see what happens. Blames the thought on the adrenaline. Then discovers the exact same thought waiting for him when Indrid, cleaned and in his most respectable clothes, joins him in the car to go to an interview.

Ned gave the P.A a list of likely questions, so they practice those as they creep across the Bay Bridge. But Duck notices that on both the trip there and back, whenever there’s a lull in conversation Indrid is on his phone reading about boxing. Duck knows the other man fixates on topics that interest him; knowing one of Duck’s passions has earned that distinction makes him smile.

After that, he starts inviting Indrid to watch him train, or shares his thoughts about matches with him. That’s all it takes for Indrid to start drawing him into long, animated conversations about his sport. When Indrid asks why there’s such debate over the proper way to wrap hands and also how does Duck do his, Duck demonstrates.

“Here, ‘Drid, now you try it on me.”

The P.A moves the wraps slowly, deliberately, moving Duck’s hand like it’s a priceless treasure he’s readying for transport. Every time he bites his lip in concentration or brushes hair from his forehead, Duck has to remind himself to breathe.

“Done.” Indrid is still holding his left hand, “Did I do well?”

The boxer tests the wraps, wiggles his fingers and clenches his fists. Then he squeezes Indrid’s hand, “you did perfect, slim.”

Duck can wrap his hands in his sleep. But whenever he’s home, he finds Indrid and asks him to do the honors. Indrid does them every time. Perfectly.

———————————————

Indrid stands in the green room with Ned and a cluster of arena employees. The roaring crowd a few walls away echoes through the screen. He’s never seen Duck fight, but this event required all hands on deck to handle P.R, scheduling, and making sure Duck had what he needed to win.

Duck and his opponent enter the ring. Touch gloves.

Indrid’s pulse climbs.

Then the bell sounds and no useful noises come through the T.V. Just the announcers shouting and being drowned out by the crowd. Indrid gives up on parsing the cacophony, focus only on Duck. He’s seen him practice, but in a true match he’s a different beast. His opponent is faster, that much is clear, but Duck is patient, steady, blocks and weaves until he can land blows that make Indrid hurt just watching them.

Duck is magnificent like this. Indrid has to draw him like this, has to capture this and keep it forever, he has to, he has…

He has a hard-on in the middle of the green room.

He sticks it out long enough to see Duck win and then bolts to the bathroom so it can be taken care of by the time the boxer is done with the post-fight interviews.

They go out to celebrate, and Duck never nudges Indrid aside to let someone more important sit next to him. And as the drive to the hotel, he nods off with his head on Indrid’s shoulder.

It only gets worse after that.

Duck will coax him into joining him for a run with the promise of a fancy breakfast. On cheat days, Duck orders food to the house or takes Indrid out to lunch, and somehow the thing he wants when not focused on macros is always the thing Indrid mentioned he’d been craving. He invites Indrid on hikes with him, starts taking him to all his events even though he seldom needs help or herding at them (“yeah, but it’s nice to have someone to crack jokes with”). And on days when Indrid needs to be alone, or wants to see other friends, Duck simply smiles and closes the door.

The most dangerous days are the ones without anything on the schedule. Then it’s all too easy for Indrid to pretend that they’re something they’re not while he draws at the table across from where Duck is building his model ship. Too easy to imagine that the water-wise garden Duck tends is something he put into their house, not his house that Indrid happens to live in. Too easy to admit that Indrid wants to look after him for no payment except being looked after in return.

Duck reciprocating his feelings is within the realm of possibility. Indrid’s caught him staring when he walks in on the P.A doing yoga, and the casual touches long ago made the leap from accidental to deliberate. He also knows that Duck can’t fire him–only Ned can–and hopes that might lead to the boxer slinging him over his shoulder and tossing him on the bed one of these days.

There’s also the tabloid site circulating a photo of them with a caption claiming he’s Duck’s “boy toy” in spite of them only being two years apart. They’re not even sitting that close in the picture; Duck’s just smiling at him like he’s the only thing in the world, that’s all.

Currently, he’s having an easier time keeping his feelings buried because–ever since they landed in Vegas– Duck has been a dick the rest of the day. Well, as much as a dick as he can be; his offenses are mainly snapping at people and lacking his usual patience.

When he scolds Indrid over something silly in the hotel that night, Indrid turns and stares at him over his glasses.

“Duck, what’s wrong?”

“Wh-uh, fuck, nothing, why do you, uh, fuck, I’m fine.”

“You just snapped at me in a way that was completely uncalled for.” He crosses his arms, “is it the fight? I know it’s a big one but that’s no reason to be rude.”

Duck scratches the back of his neck, “You’re gonna laugh at me.”

“I swear I won’t. Or, if I do, it will be after you leave.”

That gets a smile, “I’m uh, well, I’m what you’d call ‘horny as all fuckin get out.’”

Indrid’s immediate thoughts would solve the problem at hand while creating a new and far worse set, so he keeps them to himself and replies, “If need privacy, I can come back later and hold all your calls.”

“Nah.” Duck sits on the bed, “You’re not supposed to get off before a fight. Makes you too relaxed.”

“That strikes me as an old wives tale. Old boxers tale?”

“Either way, it’s one Minerva still believes. If I lose, she will ask about every possible cause, includin that one. Better if I just cat nap before I start all my pre-match stuff. Come get me in fort minutes?”

“Of course.” Indrid waves and closes the door before he offers to lay down in the hopes of Duck having a wet dream while holding him.

——————————————————–

Duck wins, though it’s a tough battle to get there. He fucking hates these Pay-Per-View fights, they try to make it sound like he’s got beef with the other guy. In reality, once he’s down from a knockout, Duck is the one who helps him to the other side of the ring.

There’s a flurry of press afterwards, of questions and congratulations while all he wants to do is shower. He gets clean, promises Ned they can all go out to celebrate later. As he and Indrid finally escape to his suite he’s forced to admit that–if the thoughts of hitting the “fire” button and fucking Indrid against the wall are any indication–his problem from earlier hasn’t gone away.

“Do you need me to see if I can get a masseuse up here? You look very stiff.”

“Just uh, just tense.” Why did he tell Indrid he liked those jeans on him? He’s worn them as often as he can since.

Indrid cocks an eyebrow, “Still pent up even though the fighting is done?”

“Yep.”

The P.A shakes his head, hiding a smirk, “Do you need me to find something for you to watch?”

“No.”

“I mean it, this place has all the good channels.” He’s so earnest, picking up the channel guide like it, rather than those fucking jeans and shirt with Duck’s name on it, has what Duck needs.

“No.” He growls.

Indrid sighs, sets the book back down, “This mood is annoying us both, so just tell me what kind of porn you want and I can go out and buy it.”

“Unless they got somethin called ‘boxer jackhammers skinny artist until he cries’ we’re gonna be shit out of luck!”

The P.A blinks, “Duck, this is Vegas, I can probably find that. Or look for it on your laptop…” he trails off when their eyes meet. Duck knows he must look like he’s ready to jump him. Indrid licks his lips, “Duck? What, ah, what exactly lead to this situation?”

“You really wanna know, slim?” Duck steps across the carpet, notices Indrid padding over the black and blue patterns to meet him.

“Yes.”

Duck removes Indrid’s glasses, “Had a dream about you while I was on the plane. Woke up havin just finished fuckin you open. First thing I thought was “no big deal, ‘Drid’s right here. We can do the real thing once we get to the hotel.’ Then I fuckin remembered that we couldn’t, and I know for damn sure that if I jerk off I won’t feel satisfied because you’re be over there” he jabs his thumb at the door connecting their rooms, “so close and completely outta my reach.”

“So keep me right here instead.” Indrid purrs, fingers tentatively finding Duck’s hips. The light contact splinters his self-control and he practically tackles Indrid onto the bed, kissing him as the taller man moans and paws at his clothes.

The kiss takes the heat off enough to clear the steam fogging up his head and sits up, “This really okay?”

“I would have said if it wasn’t now for goodness sake please get back down here.” Indrid yanks him forward by the front of his shirt, smashing their lips together. He’s humming and sighing every time Duck touches him, rolling his hips to display a quickly forming hard-on.

“Aw, sugar, you gettin excited just from kissin’?” Duck grinds down just to see him gasp.

“Y-yes. I, Duck, I’ve wanted this for months.”

The implication of those words slam his desire into overdrive, “You sneaky little thing, that why you kept runnin around in tight clothes?”

“Most of my clothes h-hang off me.” Indrid holds tight to Duck’s thighs as the boxer strips his shirt off, “but yes I, I did start wearing what you liked more often.”

“Ain’t that thoughtful. And what were you hoping would happen, slim?” Duck yanks his sweats off and kicks them to the floor.

“This.” Indrid’s eyes keep slipping down to stare at Duck’s dick.

The boxer strokes himself lazily, “like what you see?”

“So much.”

“Then how about a closer look, sugar?” He crawls up Indrid’s body to straddle his face. It looks even better than normal framed by his thighs.

“Do I get to touch too?”

Duck guides his hands onto his ass, “As much as you want. You gonna be sweet and let me fuck your face, or am I gonna have to hold your mouth open?”

Indrid opens his mouth instantly, a whimper creeping out of it as Duck strokes his hair. The sound morphs into a louder, but muffled, moan when Duck sinks down. He teases his dick against Indrid’s lips, drags slick across his chin, feels his jaw tremble with wanting to close. Duck shifts so his dick touches Indrid’s tongue, “get to it. Oh fuck” he braces a hand on the wall, “heh, didn’t know Ned screened for cocksuckin skills.”

Indrid shakes his head, brown eyes wide as Duck roughly rides his face.

“No? He didn’t make you demonstrate on some of the other fighters? Didn’t make sure you could make a whole gym cum to prove your mouth was good enough for me?”

“‘O” Indrid shakes his head again, silver strands sticking to the pillow as he kneads Duck’s ass in a way that makes him groan.

“Too bad for them. Because now they ain’t ever gonna get a chance.”

A whimper and write of the torso; Duck glances over his shoulder to watch Indrid buck his hips in the air, pre-cum clear on his crotch. His feet, still in their shoes, point and flex as he moans around Duck’s dick.

“You like that, don’t you sugar?” He threads both hands into Indrid’s hair, pinning his head down or pulling it closer as it suits him, all the while gently rubbing his scalp “like knowin’ that you’re doin well.”

A harder suck in reply.

“Then be a good little cocksucker and make me cum.” He holds his head down and let’s loose, grinding and grunting in pursuit of the heat that starts at Indrid’s tongue and is steadily curling up into Duck’s belly. The other man holds him tight, moaning and licknig and sucking until Duck cums on his mouth, the lasts bursts of it happening against a slackening jaw.

As soon as his legs cooperate, he climbs off and guides Indrid to sit up in his arms. His attempt to check on the other man is interrupted by a frantic kiss.

“I was gonna ask if you wanna keep goin’, but I think I got my answer.”

“Yes, I mean no, I mean please don’t stop yet. Please I, we can do whatever you like, we can do just this, you can drag me out on the balcony and fuck me in full view of the city-”

“Easy, slim, easy.” Duck cups his cheek, “let’s start with somethin simple. Get naked and get comfy on your back for me. I gotta go grab somethin from down the hall.”

His memory turns out to be spot on; the vending machine on this floor has toiletries, including condoms and a travel bottle of lube. He buys ten of one and three of the other, drops them in the pockets of his robe and hurries back to Indrid. Sprawled on the bed, he looks painfully vulnerable, like someone who got used to life kicking him and telling him to stay down.

It’ll be different when they’re together, Duck can promise that much.

“Seem to recall you wanting me to keep you here.” He grabs a handwrap, holds it where Indrid can see, “how do you feel about me usin this?”

“Extremely good. Oh, oh hello.” He laughs when Duck rolls down beside him to pepper his face with kisses. The process of trapping his hands to the headboard is prolonged thanks to their mutual need to keep kissing every five seconds.

“Now” Duck kisses his shoulder, “I didn’t bring any toys to fuck you with, so it’s just gonna be my hand.”

“You say that as if it’s a disappointment to me and not incredibly sexy.”

“Some folks don’t think you’re fuckin ‘em unless you use somethin dick-shaped.” Duck shrugs with a flicker of sadness from the last time he had that conversation.

“Tell me who insulted your body or your skills in bed and I shall stand outside their window with a megaphone informing them of how terrible their manners are and how they missed out on the finest man in the world.”

“That’d be funny” Duck leisurely kisses his belly and hips before sitting up, “but you’d have to get outta bed.”

“True. Ah well, a sternly worded email will have do OOOh, oohhhyes.” He wiggles his hips as Duck presses in the first finger, relaxing under his touch.

“Get the feelin you’ve done this before”

“Yes.” Indrid’s chest is flushed and Duck reaches up his free hand to play with his nipples.

“What’s the most you’ve taken?”

“Th-three, I believe. I, ah, I’m usually facing away so I sometimes lose track.”

“You’re takin four tonight. Can’t believe anyone would wanna miss out on how you look when you’re getting fucked.” He teases the second finger to prove his point and Indrid’s mouth curves with bliss.

“My ass is many people’s type; my face not so much.”

“Fuck that.” Duck pushes the second finger in. Indrid arches, then sighs as Duck keeps working him open.

“I find it difficult to care what they thought right now. I, ahhhn, it’s much more fun to think about you.”

“About me…?”

“About right you’re doing right now and, AH, what we can do next. I do so want to sit in your lap in the hot tub back home.”

“Can manage that. What else?”

“I’d very much l-like to fuck you, however you’ll let me and, and I want us to do it right after you train some day, you look so good like thatAHgod.” The third finger is in and Indrid is now steadily pushing down on them, “and one of the times you get me to run with you I expect a blow job in reward oh, ohfuck” his eyes are wild and eager, “please do the last one, I’m ready, I want it so badly, please.”

Duck begins teasing the fourth finger, “Think all those wants of yours sound real good. You wanna know mine?”

“Absolutely. AHaahnnnahgod” The wrap tightens as Indrid clings to it, trying to stabilize himself as Duck fucks his hand into him hard.

“Soon as we get home, I’m gettin the strap-on and fuckin you for a solid hour at least. Gonna leave you so fuckin raw and relaxed you won’t wanna do anything but lay there, and you’ll goddamn get to because you’re mine and I’m gonna take care of you.”

“Duck” it’s a happy sob, Indrid’s cock bobbing in the air.

“Gonna take a trip somewhere private, just the two of us, and you’re gonna spend the whole fuckin time tied up, to the bed, a chair, whatever the fuck else I feel like so I can ride your dick whenever I want.”

“Yes.” Indrid is barely getting out words between his cries.

“And the next time you have the fuckin nerve to wear tight jeans the day I gotta fight, I’m gonna shove a vibration plug up that cute little ass and lock your cock in a cage so we can both be horny without bein able to get off.”

“Duck please, I’m close, please touch-”

He wraps his fingers around Indrid’s dick and works him over hard and fast, “Soon as I’m done with that fight, you’re gonna blow me in the locker room so I can focus on nailin your ass into next week when we get–ohfuck!” Cum hits his chin as Indrid gasps and squeaks, scratching at the wraps and the headboard.

If Duck ever loses his memory, he hopes this is the last moment to go; Indrid Cold, happy, safe, and satisfied while he moans Duck’s name.

Indrid is boneless as Duck undoes the bonds, though he rallies enough to pull the boxer into a hug so he can cuddle him like a teddy bear. He kisses his throat, feels his pulse even out beneath his lips.

“Duck? Does, ah, does this mean what I think it does?”

The phone rings right as he’s about to answer. It’s probably Ned, so he holds up a finger and grabs the receiver.

“Go for Duck. Yeah, yeah that’ll be fine” he nods as Ned explains the plan for their exclusive, late night dinner, “yeah, tell ‘em five; you, Minerva, Leo, me and” he winks at a beaming Indrid, “my boyfriend.”

Chapter Text

Indrid thought he was having a normal day. He’s treating himself to a post work iced vanilla mocha, then he’ll go home, watch T.V and draw, maybe jerk off, then go to bed and get up in time for his eight a.m appointment tomorrow.

He’s messing around on his phone when the person placing their order catches his ear. There’s something in the drawl, polite and friendly, that feels weirdly familiar. It’s not a regular at the shop, and a glance at the mans face offers no useful information; he’s a complete stranger.

The barista asks something about the second drink, and the man replies, “as sweet as can be, please.”

“Ahnngod, please, please, please say I can cum?” Indrid’s been edging himself with the fleshlight so long his wrist is sore.

“Hmmm” the voice on the phone takes his sweet time answering, “dunno, not sure I punished you enough for teasin me in the bar.”

Indrid whimpers, hoping the neighbors can’t hear (even if he’d like them too, they haven’t consented to it).

This is how his calls to the 1-800-Hot-Guys line have gone ever since his first time. He asks for “Ryan,” gets a sweet, southern greeting before the other man asks what he’s in the mood for tonight. See, Indrid’s only recently begun exploring his interest in men, and is discovering that a better sense of his sexuality makes it much easier to get in touch with his other desires. Like being fucked in a bathroom stall where lots of people can hear what’s happening to him.

Ryan always takes the ideas generated by Indrid’s desire-addled brain and runs with them. Tonight, virginal Indrid Cold went to a leather bar and found a bear waiting for him (he suspects Ryan might be one in the real world, because when Indrid first revealed that preference his moans sounded a touch more genuine). The bear made him blow him in front of everyone to make sure he was worth taking home, then told him not to cum until he was done fucking him.

“Please?”

A chuckle, “Okay darlin, you can cum.”

Indrid’s certain he hurts Ryan’s ear with the noise he makes as he spurts into the toy, but all the other man says is , “Good boy.”

After a moment, he adds, “aw fuck, meant to bring some spankin or somethin into the scene because I know you like it.”

“That’s, that’s quite alright. I’m not sure you could ever disappoint me.”

“Thanks, sugar.”

Indrid whines, hoping it sounds horny and not like the noise a man who’s just realized he’ll be sleeping alone makes.

“You like when I call you that? Because it’s true; you’re as sweet as can be”

As he’s been having its slow-motion realization, Indrid’s body has been going on autopilot, picking up his cup when the young woman behind the counter calls his name. Which means that–when Indrid startles at his revelation– the cup is in perfect position to send its contents flying straight onto the man who caused it.

“AHfuck, jesus man be careful!”

“I, I’m so sorry, here, let me-” he slips in the puddle of coffee and hits the floor, kicking the other man in the shin on his way down.

“Owfuck, fuck, okay, don’t fuckin try to help again.” The man snaps.

“Nono, right, I’m sorry, goodbye” he scrambles up, sticky with shame and vanilla syrup, and hurries out of the shop.

————————–

Duck keeps an eye on his burner phone while playing Plants vs Bom-Boms on his real one. It’s shaping up to be another night with only two calls.

He took up the phone sex thing during the last government shutdown; the park had to furlough them, and he needed money. The extra cash was nice enough that he kept at it even after work started back up. He isn’t the most in-demand operator; he can’t lie, laughs a little too easily, so lots of callers don’t come to him a second time.

One of the few who does is Indrid. He’s Duck’s favorite because their fantasies align well enough that he actually jerks off while on the phone with him. But the guy hasn’t called in two weeks; this is a bummer, in part, because Duck came up with a scenario involving a pool table and a biker gang he thinks Indrid would really be into.

More than that, he’s worried about him.

He worries about him so much that even a half a day later he’s wondering if he should figure out how to have someone check on him. The coffee shop is conducive to thinking. Right up until the dipshit who spilled coffee on him a few weeks back plops down in the seat across from him.

“You here to ruin another shirt?”

The man, all silver hair and angular features, shakes his head, “Nono, I, I really am very sorry about that. I came to offer to buy you another.”

Duck points at his cup.

“Some other time?”

“You come here often?’

“Since I moved to the city, yes. I was out in the suburbs up until a few months ago.”

“Fine. Next time we see each other, you owe me a drink.”

He nods, nearly sliding his red glasses off his nose in his eagerness. Then he taps on the table, “There’s, ah, something else you should know. We already know each other. In a way.”

Duck frowns; he’s never seen this guy before, he’d remember his face.

“We talk on the phone. Often.”

Oh fuck.

“My name is, ah, it’s, it’s Indrid.”

“Jesus, glad you’re ok–hold the fuck on. How the fuck do you know who I am?”

“I recognized your voice the last time we were both here. I, I wanted to get to know you more but I felt it was only right to do so if you knew I knew who you were so you wouldn’t be uncomfortable, but you clearly are, I’m so sorry” he stands up, banging his knee in the process, “I promise I won’t call any more, I didn’t mean to be creepy, I’m sorry, goodbye.”

He’s out the door in a flash of long limbs before Duck has a chance to respond.

Duck sighs, downs the rest of his coffee, and decides not to dwell on the fact he’s going to miss Indrid’s calls.

————————————————–

Indrid’s excited. He really is.

It’s just that the sex club is even more overstimulating than he anticipated.

It was alright at first; when he replied that yes, this was his first time, the guy working the counter ushered him over to a set of blue velvet seats and told him to wait. Soon, Indrid and ten others were being given a rundown of the rules, risks, and etiquette of the space, their understanding of which they signed in a neatly typed contract.

Then they turned them loose into three stories of sexual exploration and Indrid froze, totally unable to process it all. Lucky for him Lucy, there with her girlfriend Willow, helped him navigate the edge of the first floor until they came to one of the “chill out” rooms; rooms for people for whom the club was as much a place to chat with friends as it was a place to get spanked or suspended. They even have juice.

After three separate people check to be sure he’s alright, he asks the trio on a nearby couch where he should go to if he’s interested in bondage and impact play. They all agree the second floor is his best bet, and that there’s a shibari demonstration starting soon.

To reach the demo room, Indrid passes though a portion of the space that reminds him of a hotel. The nice dominatrix explained the rules for their use as: doors and windows closed, leave us alone. Curtains open but door shut? You’re free to watch, but don’t come in. And if the door is open, you’re welcome to join whatever is happening. He pauses at some open windows, but nothing really catches his attention.

The demo room is already packed, so he stays at the back. A perk of being tall is he can see the couple on the little platform easily without blocking anyone else’s view. The dom is explaining why she chose the rope she did and what ties she’s going to show everyone. Indrid listens, but his eyes wander in hopes of finding someone checking him out.

Someone is. But Indrid isn’t sure it’s a good thing.

Duck stands a few bodies to his left, looking him up and down with a slight smile. Well, at least that means he doesn’t think he’s stalking him or something.

The other man meets his eyes, tips his head towards the nearby green room and raises an eyebrow. Indrid nods, picks his way through the crowd to find Duck has beaten him there.

“Y’know, if you’d told me you were into this scene, I coulda worked with that.” He polishes off his water and tosses the cup in the trash.

“I…this is my first time. Is, ah, is it yours?”

“Nah. Came some when I was younger, decided to come out tonight because I was bored and itchin’ to get someone cute in my lap.” The casual way he says it is a hundred times hotter than the practice voice he used on the phone.

“Ah. In, ah, in that case, would you mind if I asked you a question?”

“Shoot.” Duck leans against the wall, grinning.

“Am I dressed alright for this?” He gestures to his pink and yellow tank top and black jeans.

He watches Duck catch his laugh before it starts, which he appreciates.

“You’re dressed just fine, Indrid. I mean, just look at me.”

“I am” Indrid is having such a difficult time tearing his eyes from the way Duck’s white t-shirt fits his chest or how the bluejeans show off his ass. Duck catches him mid-ogle, which is all it takes to drop his gaze to the floor.

“C’mon, sit down with me a sec.” Duck settles on a grey couch, leaving Indrid space to join him, “feel like you and I got off on the wrong foot. You know I ain’t angry with you for tellin me you were a customer, right?”

Indrid shakes his head but sits down all the same.

“Indrid, you startled the hell outta me when you admitted that. For a second, I was sure you were gonna try to get somethin outta me by threatenin to tell my boss at my regular job. But then it was so fuckin clear all you were tryin to do was be straight with me and try to be polite about the drink thing, I wasn’t mad at all. You just up and bolted before I could say as much.”

“Ah. Yes. I, ah, I can be a bit of a walking disaster so I try to get out of situations before I make them even worse.”

Duck touches his hand, “I get bein’ spooked. Happens to everyone. But, uh, guess what I’m also gettin at is, uh, if you wanna actually get to know each other, I ain’t gonna complain.”

“I’d like that.”

“Okay” Duck scoots closer, “let’s start easy; what do you do when you ain’t callin me?”

Indrid tells him about the tattoo shop, which leads to them comparing ink, which in turn leads to Duck getting on a ten minute digression about native plants. They’re debating the best Cramps album (Duck votes for “Date With Elvis,” Indrid for “Off the Bone”) when they decide to stretch their legs, Duck holding Indrid’s hand as he weaves them through rooms and clumps of people.

They end up doing laps of the second floor, people watching, during which Duck nudges Indrid playfully, “Knew you were kiddin me with the never been fucked stuff.”

“Ah, well…”

“Holy fuck, you’ve never had sex and you picked here as the place to try? You got guts, sugar.”

Indrid blushes, “Well, yes and no. I’ve never had sex with another guy, but I feel confident in what kinds of things I want to try. You helped a lot with that; you made me feel safe enough to express and explore my more intense desires.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“I came here out of curiosity, and because I thought my chances were good of finding someone who shared my interests without running the gamut of dating.”

“So all that stuff about bein watched, bein roughed up and used, you, uh, you really like it?”

“Indeed. Do you like it too? I, ah, I assume you pretend to like everything when you work on a sex line.”

“You’re supposed to yeah. But I’ll let you in on a little secret” Duck leans close, whispers in his ear, “I never was much good at pretendin.”

“Oh. Oh my.” He leans against Duck, excitement making his legs unreliable.

“You want me to show you just how much I like it?”

“Please.”

Duck kisses his cheek, “Missed hearin you beg, sugar. C’mon.” He pulls Indrid two doors down to a room dedicated to impact play. People are sprawled and tied to crosses, benches, chairs, all of which look exciting. Duck doesn’t stop to consider them, doesn’t even hesitate on their trip. He stops at a table, one bolted to the floor, and digs through a nearby basket.

“Here it is” he pulls out a red blanket, holds it out for Indrid to test the texture.

“It’s lovely.”

“Good” Duck spreads it on the table, “you’ll be comfier this way. How naked do you wanna be?”

“Is just my underwear alright?”

Duck points to the completely nude person being spanked on his right and the fully clothed one being hit with a crop to his left.

“I meant with you.”

Duck sets his hands on Indrid’s hips, “as long as I get to see this cute ass in the air for me, I’ll be just fine.”

Indrid quickly strips to his boxer briefs, opts to leave them on for now. Duck licks his lips, pats the table. Indrid bends over it, feet planted on the floor.

“Gonna use just my hand tonight. Easier for me to feel how hard I’m hittin, and I wanna be able to grope you while I turn your ass red.”

He moans, tenses as Duck rubs soothing circles on his ass. The first few slaps are mild, Duck checking on him after each one. Then one comes, hard and sharp, and he gasps, hips momentarily twitching away from Duck.

“Still good?”

“So very good, more, pleaseAHgod” He clings to the far end of the table as Duck brings ten slaps down on each side before giving him a rest.

“Let’s see…how many times would you say you called me?”

“At, at least fifteen.”

“Fifteen times two, add a few extra for ghostin me…” Duck pets his lower back, “You’re gonna get forty on each side as punishment for not lettin me see you cum all those times you called. Think you can handle that?”

Indrid nods.

“Count.”

“AHone, two, th-three, Aaaah,god, fourfive…”

Indrid loses himself somewhere around “ten” on the second side; all his focus is on being good, on counting out each strike, on taking whatever Duck wants to give him. His heartbeat is loud in his ears and his skin stings from ass to thigh. Dimly, he hears spectators complimenting Duck on having such a well-trained sub.

“He is, ain’t he?” Duck lands the final blow with a grunt, keeps his hand there and squeezes. Indrid whimpers, the pain going straight to his already aching dick. Duck shifts his stance, still mercilessly groping the bruise but pressing his fly against the cleft of Indrid’s ass, making it abundantly clear Indrid isn’t alone in his arousal, “he fuckin knows who he belongs too.”

Indrid moans, tears pricking his eyes; Duck is wonderful, Duck is handsome, Duck is perfect, and Duck is claiming him instead of someone twice as attractive or experienced.

“I know, sugar, you like it when people see how good you are for me.” Duck crouches down, petting Indrid’s hair as he studies his face, “you wanna regroup and finish this at home? Or do you need me now?”

“Now?” Indrid raises his head hopefully. His voice is odd in his throat, vulnerable but not afraid in the slightest. Duck nods, helps him up, thanks the person who offers to clean-up the station since Indrid, “looks like he’ll hit the ground if you let go” and grabs Indrid’s clothes.

“No point in putting these back on. Not with what I’m gonna do to you.”

They find an unoccupied, cleaned room, Indrid flopping on the bed as Duck closes the door.

“You wanna prep yourself or do you want me to?”

“I, I can do it. And could we, ah, leave the curtains closed for this bit?”

“Course.” Duck draws the red fabric tight as Indrid fishes complimentary condoms and lube from the bowl on the table. He’s so wound up he starts with two, the stretch uncomfortable for a few instants before he gets himself to relax.

“You look so fuckin good doin that.” Duck is undressing, only taking his eyes off Indrid when his belt buckle resists him.

“I’ve had a lot of practice fingering myself while listening to you. I, I’d picture whatever person you told me to but I, none of it compares to you.”

Duck blushes as he pulls his pants off.

“I mean it. You, you’re so handsome I” he tenses, pushing the third finger in and fucking himself fast, “I can’t believe it. I,I want to be so good for you, Duck, please,” he’s babbling, decides to quit while he’s ahead, “is three enough?”

“You tell me.” Duck gestures to his dick with a flourish; it’s average length, he thinks, but combined with the dark hair on Duck’s belly and the strong curve of his thighs, it is the most glorious dick in all of creation.

“Yes, yesyes, please come over here now oh, wait, the curtains please?”

Duck whisks them open on his way to the bed, settles with his back against the wall before rolling the condom on with ease. He points to his lap, “You wanna face me?”

“Yes. I…I like the idea of people watching but I don’t think I can handle seeing their scrutiny just yet.” He straddles Duck, let’s the shorter grope his sore ass before guiding it down.

“You sure you wanna do this now?” Duck murmurs into his chest, “you don’t owe me your first time with a fella.”

Indrid kisses his forehead and sinks down in reply.

‘Fuck!” Duck grips his hips, laughs, “that’s a hell of an answer, sugar.”

“Nngh” Indrid’s whole brain goes offline at the feeling of Duck inside him.

“Dick drunk already?” Duck teases.

“YesAHGOD, god, ohmygoodness.” He clings to Duck’s shoulders as the other man fucks up into him with abandon.

“That’s just fine, ‘Drid. Got enough brains for the two of us; all you gotta do is be my cute, fucked-out toy.”

“Nffph” Indrid hides his face in Duck’s neck. His legs and ass, still sore from earlier, are reluctant to obey his mind, so all he can do is let Duck bounce him on his cock or hold him down on it to thrust up in short, demanding jerks of his body.

“We got an audience.”

Indrid tries to moan. It comes out a whimper.

“You want me to tell you what they’re doin?”

“Mmhhmm”

“Two of ‘em are makin out with one eye on you. The other three…” he nibbles Indrid’s ear, “they’re jerkin off to us. Don’t blame ‘em, you look so fuckin good on my dick they all wish they were me.”

“Duck” his cock keeps rubbing on Duck’s belly, threatening to spill before he’s ready.

“One of ‘em asks how you feel on my dick. You want me to tell him?”

“Please.”

“Fuckin’ great!” Duck yells, “it’s his first time and he’s” Duck grunts, bucks his hips, “so fuckin tight but takes it like a fucking champ. Gettin in this ass is a fuckin privilege.”

Indrid smiles into his skin at the pride in Duck’s voice and the responding whoops from outside.

“Fuck” Duck kisses his cheek, “fuck, shoulda grabbed a cock ring, I’m gonna cum way too fuckin fast.”

“Me, me too.”

“Just like a fuckin virgin.” Duck quickens their pace.

“I’m not a–Aaaahn” the noise cuts off as he cums between them, cock pulsing onto Duck’s skin.

“Fuck, fuck that’s hot, fuck, c’mon sugar, lemme cum, lemme cum right in this fuckin perfect assfuck, fuck, ‘Drid.” He holds Indrid down, groaning as he pumps his hips. Then he tips them forward, crashing their mouths together and pressing Indrid into the bed.

When they surface for air, the spectators are gone. Duck pulls out, cleans them both up as Indrid tries to remember how words work.

“So good.” Is what comes out.

“Glad you think so.” Duck gathers him into a hug, “you want me to do all the aftercare here?”

Indrid blinks, “what’s the other option?”

“We could, uh, go back to my place?”

“That…I’d like that. Wait.” Indrid cocks his head, “do you…would it really be okay if I stayed the night?”

“Yep. Kinda hopin you’d stay over plenty in the future.”

“You want to date me?’

“Damn right” Duck kisses him, “besides you, still owe me a drink.”

Indrid kisses back, grinning, “So I do.”

Chapter Text

For being in a mountain town in the slow season, the seasonal candy shelves of the Kepler Walgreens are bare. Were it 10 am on Valentines Day, Joseph would be in a panic. At 10 p.m, it feels like yet more proof this trip is utterly doomed.

But he didn’t become one of the top agents in the Department of Unexplained Phenomena by being unobservant. On the top shelf, pushed towards the back, is a bag of Reese’s hearts and a bag of M&Ms. Thank you, years of training.

Being six feet tall helps too.

He’s so locked onto his target that he doesn’t notice the other person in the store until their hands smack into each other en route to the bags.

“Sorry, uh, lemme just get these and I’ll get out of your way.” A voice as deep and sweet as summer honey reaches his ears.

“I’m sorry, but I was going to buy these.” He starts pulling the bags towards him, only for the other guy to grab them. Joseph glares; the man trying to relieve him of his last solace looks like the kind of lumberjack you see in recordings titled things, “Log Pounders IV” or “Bear Hunting.”

“Look, buddy, I really need these so can you, like, find some other bags?”

“These are the last two. And I guarantee I need them more.” As long as he keeps a pleasant voice and gives no ground, this should go smoothly.

“Unless you got dumped this month, I don’t think you do.”

“I got dumped seven hours ago.” He says through an increasingly tight-lipped smile.

“At least your ex isn’t tagging you in a bunch of photos bragging about his new boyfriend.”

“He can’t, because he probably only just got back to his apartment in the rental car. The one I’m now stranded here without.”

“Pfft, just call an Uber or something.”

“It’ll cost several hundred dollars to get home!”

“You look like you can afford it.” Brown eyes flick from his hair down to his shoes, “some of us have to use half-price candy to soothe our wounds. You’re probably staying at the kind of fancy B&B where they have complimentary booze.”

“I would be, except their was a fuck-up with the reservation. Which my ex took as proof this was time to end things, and is the reason I’m dragging this all over town.” He kicks his ergonomically designed, rolling suitcase hard enough that it bumps into his adversary.

“Better he gave you some bullshit reason than the truth, which mine was all too happy to tell me. You can have these when someone you tried to make happy tells you he thinks you’re ‘too soft’ and that if only you’d manned up he woulda stayed, whatever the fuck that even means.”

Goddamnit, Joseph is not about to lose this argument–and his candy–on top of everything else.

“I’ll trade you that for being told you’re: too exacting, far more uncool than your job implies, too anxious, too invested in your work, that your whole personality is flawed and, just for extra fun, that your kinks are too weird and no one in their right mind would ever want to sleep with you if they knew them ahead of time.”

The other man’s hold on the bags loosens. Then it returns, stronger than before, as he grumbles, “Please, no one’s kinks are that weird.”

“You have no idea what mine are.”

“Then how about you give me a demonstration, huh?” Lumberjack snaps.

Joseph’s common sense finally catches up with his thirst for comfort and, apparently, conflict.

“I, I’m sorry, did you just offer to fuck me in the middle of a fight over discount candy?”

“I….” the man lets go of the bags, chuckles, “yeah, I did. Fuck, I’m sorry, it’s been such a shitty day that my mouth decided it was gonna do whatever it took to stay in that fight.”

Joseph laughs a little, slumping against the shelf, “I guess it’s nice to know I’m not the only person in town whose Valentine’s Day didn’t go to plan.”

“No kidding. Though, uh, I didn’t get dumped this month. It was three months ago. He did tag me in all those photos today though.”

“That’s so rude.”

“Not as rude as leaving your boyfriend stranded in the mountains.”

B-grade pop hits fill the awkward silence between them.

“I, uh, this might be way outta line, but I got an idea; if you buy the candy, I can take us back to my place and bake something with it. That way we can both enjoy it, and you won’t be stuck wandering around in the cold.”

He runs a quick is-this-a-serial-killer scan of the man in front of him.

“Sure. But just so you know, I’m opening the Reeses in the car.”

—————————————————–

“Feeling better?” Barclay, his host, wipes stray cupcake crumbs from his lips.

“Much.” He polishes off his second coffee-cocoa cupcake with M&Ms in the batter, lifts his coffee cup, “this place is lucky to have you.”

Barclay blushes the same way he has every time Joseph compliments his cooking, home, or taste in books. They’ve spent the last ninety minutes in the kitchen of Barclay’s small, A-Frame cabin, one of eight laid out in a half circle behind Amnesty Lodge. The cook explained that the cabins were for staff or long term residents, and that while the Lodge sometimes had vacancies, this week had seen them swamped.

The rain alternates between pleasant pitter-pats and drops that could kill a small bird, so Joseph is incredibly grateful to Barclay for giving him a place to shelter. When he thanks him, the cook shrugs with a little smile, “you shouldn’t leave nice things out in the rain.”

As they’re cleaning up the dishes, Barclay passes him a plate and says, “You can stay here tonight. If, uh, if you want. The couch isn’t much, but it’s dry and I’ve got a bunch of spare blankets.”

“That’d be great, thank you. And, um, thank you for being so nice to me, given how we met.”

“Eh, no one who’s in a Walgreens after ten is in a good mood. And, uh, it’s nice to have someone to talk with. I’m kinda the quiet one of my friends, and work is mostly calling orders and stuff.” He pulls the coffee pot from the heat, “can I top you off?”

“Yes, please.” His caffeine tolerance is so high a few cups late at night doesn’t mess with his sleep. Barclay is sticking with tea, something scented like cardamon and comfort.

They move to the couch that’s clearly been re-covered a dozen times, Barclay only getting up to turn on some music; delta blues, if Joseph’s ear is right. It’s not until the clock strikes one thirty that Joseph notices they’re sitting so close that their knees bump whenever one of them turns to talk.

“Okay, I gotta ask” Barclay’s brown eyes shine sweet and playful, “what exactly was so weird about your kinks that your dickhead ex went out of his way to mention them?”

He thinks a moment, scanning his body and noticing he’s more relaxed than he’s been in weeks, including all the times he spent with his ex. Something about the faint scent of dish-soap on Barclays hands, the gentle smile that makes Joseph certain that–for all his bulk–if Joseph told him to roll over and show his belly, he’d do it in an instant, the way he doesn’t rolls his eyes or shy away when Joseph talks, all of that makes him calm. Which makes him bold.

“Wait right here.” He hops up, grabs his bag from the door and pulls it over to the rug by the couch. All he has to do to reveal his secret is lift his pajamas.

“Holy fuck.” Barclay leans forward, “you really came prepared.”

“It was supposed to be a romantic getaway. I…we’d never used any of this together, but I hoped we might this time. It’s, it’s not his fault, I know my tastes aren’t for everyone, and we had plenty in common in bed. But he went through this whole thing where he said we should share our deepest fantasies. Apparently wanting to be choked is fine, but wanting to fuck Mothman is not.”

“That’s what this one is.” Barclay picks up one of the two dildos, black with lots of swirling ridges.

“That’s actually my dragon one. Um.” he holds up the ovipositor toy, “this one is supposed to be mothman.”

Barclay squishes one of the silicone eggs, “that feels kinda nice. What else did you bring?”

His genuine interest is not helping Joseph keep his hopes under control.

“The other toy is the ‘bigfoot’ model. And this is, um, this is my newest one, I was so excited I pre-ordered it. It acts like a cock-sleeve, but this part here is supposed to mimic a, um, a knot.”

“Like the idea of getting knotted, babe?” The cook’s voice is a little deeper than when he last spoke, and rather than pulling away he’s inching into Joseph’s space.

“Yes. I, um, I’m getting the sense” he shifts so his hands are on Barclay’s knees, “that we might have something in common besides our taste in leftover candy.”

“I packed all this so carefully” he brushes their lips together, “it’d be a shame to let it sit unused.”

Barclay scoops him into a kiss, growling happily when Joseph instantly parts his lips. His beard is soft and tickly under Joseph’s palms, and his mind takes the thought of getting beard-burn on his thighs and runs so far with it that he almost misses what Barclay says next.

“In that case, you better decide if you want me to open your ass up so I can fuck you with a knot, or if you wanna do it yourself.”

“I prefer to do it myself.”

A second kiss, a bit gentler this time, “bedroom’s at the end of the hall. Get naked and wait for me there?”

“Roger that, big guy.”

When Barclay growls this time it’s rougher, jumping out of his chest and seeming to surprise him.

Joseph undresses as Barclay stops off in the bathroom, rifling through the medicine cabinet while Joseph folds his clothes. He’s down to his boxers when he remembers there is a conversation he needed to have before it hit this point.

“You trying to get me to rip those off with my teeth?” Barclay grins as he sets some condoms and lube on the bed and starts taking off his pants.

“I, um, there’s something you should be aware of. We don’t have the same, um, set-up.”

Barclay furrows his brow, gets his meaning, then nods, “no problem. If you’re okay with that part of you being involved I, uh, I just got a really, really good idea for what to do.”

“It’s not always the case, but tonight I definitely want it involved. I want you inside me as many ways as possible.”

“Fuck yeah.” Barclay tosses his shirt into the laundry, “get your ass open enough to take that knot.”

He slips the condom on, douses it with lube, and presses the first finger in, discovering that he’s unable to stop complimenting Barclay for even five seconds while he finishes disrobing. The flush under his dark chest hair is unendingly charming, as is the little whine he makes at Joseph telling him he likes how big he is.

“I, I’m serious, ahhn, it’s rare to find someone taller than me and I really like it.”

“Feeds into the monster thing?” Barclay crawls beside him, laying down so he can kiss him as he works the second finger in.

“In a way.”

A deep, rumbly chuckle that has Joseph fucking himself hurriedly, “Don’t be coy, babe. You like the thought of something big and hairy getting a hold of you and not letting you go until you’re dripping cum.”

“Holy shit, yes” he gets the third finger in, sighing as Barclay nuzzles his neck.

“Well, I’m not bigfoot, but I’m betting I’ll do just fine.”

“More than fine.” Joseph kisses him, feels him smile in a way that melts his heart like cheap chocolate.

“Got some other theories about you, babe, but you gotta wait until you’re on my dick to hear ‘em.” Barclay sits up, stroking his cock in time with Joseph’s hand, “fucking-A, can’t believe your ex didn’t wanna stick around for this. You look like a fucking porn star; we oughta record you getting fucked in your suit and sell if for big bucks.”

He moans, pulling his fingers free, “Fuck me now. Please.”

“Fuck that’s hot.” Barclay works the sleeve down over his cock, sits up against the wall, “come sit in my lap, facing away.”

Joseph straddles him, gasps when the head of his cock presses in. He prepped well, but all the same he has to take his time wiggling his way down. Barclay caresses him, grunting and whimpering whenever he moves, breath prickling the hairs at the base of his neck. It’s heavenly.

When he hits the knot, Barclay rubs more lube on it, but it stays outside of him as he grinds on it. Between moans, the cook manages to say, “want me to start the next part?”

“Yes, please.”

Barclay loads the ovipositor with the three eggs, praises Joseph for being a good boy when he spreads his legs to accommodate the head of the toy.

“I, I thought you had more you were going to tell me?” He tilts his head awkwardly to kiss Barclay’s shoulder.

“Uh huh.” Barclay slowly works the toy in and out, doing his best to sync it to the rolls of his hips, “I think you’re the kind of guy who doesn’t just want one monster; you want ‘em all.”

“Variety is, ohgod, part of a healthy sex life.”

“I don’t mean one monster on one day and a different one on another. I think you want them all at once.”

“Oh yes, oh! Ohohoh” he kicks his legs as the first egg pushes in, “fuck, Barclay, please keep going.”

“Whatever you want, babe.” He nuzzles Joseph’s hair, “that’s how I came up with this plan; seeing all those different dicks made me think you’d, fuck, you’d like me to pretend there was more than just me fucking you.”

Joseph nods, clinging to Barclays arm and bearing down on the knot.

“Can just see it now; you got yourself lost in the woods out here, go looking for help only to find a whole bunch of monsters waiting for you. Spend the rest of the night pressed into the dirt and leaves while every cryptid from, fuck” he bucks his hips, “from here to Canada had their turn.”

“Shit, shit” the knot starts pushing in, “y-you’ve got my number, big guy.”

“Yeah?” Barclay squeezes the base of the toy as he talks, causing the remaining two eggs to push their way in, Joseph’s body clenching around them, “you want a night where all your good for is being fucked, where if you beg for a break you get a bigfoot fucking your throat and werewolves cumming on your chest instead of them all mobbing you at once?”

“Shit, yes, YESohfuck” the knot enters him as Barclay shoves his hips down, “ohmygod that’s good, fuck, I feel so full, you’re so smart, this was genius, fuck you know how to treat meAHannnfuck, shit.” He holds on to Barclays arm’s as the other man fucks him with abandon.

“Oh I know, babe. Know I was fucking right. You wanna be claimed, wanna be owned, wanna be bred by a whole fuckin pack-”

“Jesuschrist” it’s hard to breathe at the pace Barclay sets, his body aching to cum but not quite able to get there. He squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing frantically at his dick as Barclay loses himself in the fantasy.

“You’d be so cute, leaves in your hair and cum on your chin, taking it all and begging for more. Good thing you’re so needy, you could tear a pack apart with folks fighting over who gets to fuck you, fuck, Joseph, baby, you’re so fucking good, gonna be so fucking good to you, fuck, fuck” he shoves as deep as he can while he cums, and in the haze of pleasure Joseph swears claws prick the skin of his chest. Just the thought of that sends his own orgasm coursing through him, his body tensing and twisting on Barclay’s cock, making them both moan from sudden overstimulation.

“S-sorry” Barclay pants.

“Nothing to apologize for, just physiology, here, let me ow, ow, okay maybe I should have relaxed more first.” He’s free of both toys, but that was right on the edge of too painful. He waits for Barclay to take off the sleeve, then rolls the bigger man so his head is on his chest.

“Your ex didn’t know how good they had it.”

“Thanks, babe.”

He smiles, “I like that. No one ever calls me something that informal.”

“Call you it whenever you want. Babe.” Barclay kisses his arm, “you can, uh, stay in bed if you want. We don’t have a ton of time together so I’d, uh, well, I’d like to spend as much of it with you as I can.”

For the first time, Joseph wishes his vacation would last longer.

“Agreed, big guy.”

————————————————–

“You said you had my new assignment, sir?”

“Yes. Agent Stern, you will be going to the town of Kepler to investigate the events described in this file.” Agent Hayes passes him the folder.

“Understood, sir.”

Joseph manages to keep his smile to himself all the way to his desk.

Chapter Text

Joseph is not missing his chance. Not again.

If he’s keeping count, which he’s certainly not, he’s missed fifty-two chances between fifth grade and now.

Barclay’s family moved next door in the summer of 1951, causing eleven year old Joseph to learn very quickly what it’s like to have someone whose side you never want to leave. Lucky for him, Barclay felt the same way; they were in the same boyscout troop, were each others first choice for sleep overs or outings where they were allowed to take one friend. When they hit high school, Barclay went out for football because Joseph did (and Joseph did because that’s what upstanding young men do). They played together all four years, Barclays growth spurt rendering him doubly dangerous on defense and the dominant source of Joseph’s late-night fantasies. Joseph did debate club alone, but Barclay joined him for chess club. And when Barclay bought his car, his first stop was to take Joseph cruising, just the two of them.

Unluckily, Joseph’s never worked up the nerve to tell Barclay how he feels. This may be why he hasn’t had a date since the spring hop two years ago, while Barclay’s had quite a few (cheerleaders and band boys alike can’t seem to resist his physique and general gentleness).

That all changes today. Joseph slipped a note into Barclays locker right before lunch that conveyed all relevant information.

Dear you,

Drive in on Friday? We can park in the back row.

Love,

Joseph.

He’s sitting in his normal spot on the bench near the cafeteria, doing his best impersonation of someone who’s heart isn’t in his throat.

As he’s scanning the crowd, none other than Duck Newton begins weaving his way over to him, leather jacket reflecting the sun and his black hair combed back as always. Joseph was wary of him for years–as any good square is of kids from the rough side of town–until they got paired together in biology their senior year. Duck, who seems not to give a shit about school the rest of the time, is incredibly good at science. And he’s funny, nearly got them both kept after class for cracking a joke that made Joseph lose his breath laughing.

The problem is, right now he’s waving a very familiar piece of paper.

“Gotta say, I’m pretty fuckin flattered, Joe. But, uh” he leans on the table, smiling playfully, “I gotta make sure ‘Drid is okay with me playin backseat bingo with someone who ain’t him.”

“Um.” Joseph shakes his head, trying not to focus on the idea of Duck holding his head in his lap in the dark corner of the drive in, “I, I’m so sorry. I must have been nervous enough to put the note in the wrong locker. Not, not that you’re not a catch.”

Duck raises his eyebrow, “1650 or 1652?”

“1652.”

“Huh. Well, I got shop class with Barclay. You want me to just give it to him?”

“No.” Joseph holds out his hand.

Duck places the letter in it with a shrug, “Suit yourself, slick. See you later.”

Joseph rips the letter to shreds, tosses it in the trash, and hopes that’s the end of this humiliating error.

It’s not.

“Hello, Joseph.” Indrid Cold rests a shoulder on the locker next to his. There’s no one in Kepler High quite like him; his family moved from California three years ago, which most people use as the explanation for Indrid’s red glasses, crystal necklace, and pale hair that is always a quarter-inch shy of the principal writing him up for it. He’s never struck Joseph as the kind to fight, but he did mistakenly proposition his boyfriend three hours ago.

“Indrid. How can I help you?”

The taller boy hands him a folded slip of notebook paper, “By taking me up on this invitation.”

Before Joseph can ask any questions, Indrid is disappearing down the hall. The paper contains a hand drawn map to an X, under which is the word “Bash” but nothing else. Joseph has never been invited to any kind of party that needed a secret map. He mostly just gets invited to get togethers because he’s the captain of the football team. No one talks to him once he’s there. Well, except Barclay.

He stares at the map; he doesn’t have to be home until ten. He’s never going to get a chance to make the scene like this again.

Joseph shuts his locker and hurries to his car.

——————————————————

Indrid’s remarkably accurate map leads him to a dirt parking lot beneath the sign for Amnesty Point. As he follows the signs for the “beach house,” a Coaster’s song drifts through the air, underscored by splashes from the lake to his right. He’s deep in the woods on the wrong side of the tracks, but even so he’s unprepared for how everyone lounging around the weathered picnic tables on a shaded patio stops talking and stares at him.

“Who the fuck invited the square?” Someone whispers, making him wish he hadn’t left the map in the car.

“Joseph?”

He turns so fast the gravel flies. Barclay, clad in a grease-stained apron, is smiling so bright it evaporates his nervousness.

“Hi, big guy.”

His friend hoists him in a hug, “I’m so glad you’re here, Indrid said he invited you but I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“He piqued my curiosity. Um, is this the new job you were so cagey about?”

“Yep. Mama–she runs this place–pays real well, but tries to keep Amnesty Point kinda secret. Cops just love busting places like this up for no reason.”

Joseph nods, still a little hurt Barclay didn’t trust him enough to share where he worked. His friend must notice the dip in his smile before he hides it, because he adds, “It’s gonna be even better working here now that you know where to find me. Listen, um, I gotta get back before Jake sets something on fire, but the burger stand closes at eight. I’ll come find you after that. Duck and Indrid are down by the dock, if you want company.”

He absolutely does, since the alternative is looking even more out of place by being the only person here alone.

When he hits the grey sand, Duck is just pulling himself back onto dry land. The half moon scars on his chest are the only reminders of the trip he took to San Francisco last summer.

“Glad you showed up, slick. Day like this, the water is the only nice place to be.”

“I wish I’d known, I would have brought my swim shorts.” Maybe if he rolls up his pant legs he can get some relief from the heat…

“Could just go in your boxers. I won’t tell.” Duck winks.

“Nothing is also allowed.” Indrid lilts, floating past on his back.

Joseph looks at him, then at the planks of the dock because Indrid is also demonstrating that second option without a care.

Duck snickers, “sugar, put somethin on, you’re scandalizin’ the poor guy.”

“Very well. But I demand help with the sunblock in payment for quashing my self-expression this way.”

“You’re soundin like your pops there, ‘Drid.”

“….ugh, you’re right.” A splash and the soft fwup of a towel, “alright, Joseph, I’m decent.” He is, but his swim shorts leave very little to the imagination. Joseph stares a moment too long, notices Duck smirking when he looks away.

The greaser holds out a bottle of sunblock and they get to work.

“Goddamn, this wouldn’t take so long if you weren’t so fuckin long everywhere.”

“You’ve never complained about that before.” Indrid grins, red sunglasses hiding his eyes. He doesn’t lift a finger to help them, but Duck seems to get a kick from it. Joseph wonders if he spoils Indrid like this in everything they do. If Indrid ever does it back.

(If either of them would do it for him).

They spend the evening talking, Duck skipping stones and Indrid sunning himself while Joseph dangles his legs in the water. When they get back to the beach house Joseph receives fewer stares, Duck and Indrid’s company substituting for cool. He and Duck get a real dinner, but Indrid opts to down three Cokes in place of a meal.

When Barclay closes up shop, he’s immediately at Joseph’s side. Joseph is about to suggest they all go for a walk when Indrid winks at Barclay and steers Duck towards the trees with a promise to see Joseph at school tomorrow.

“You get on okay while I was working?” Barclay starts them on a path towards the edge of the point.

“I did. It was actually really nice just to spend time talking with people who like me. Or at least don’t hate me enough to shove me in the water fully clothed.”

“Nah, they’re not those kind of guys. Hell, it was their idea to invite you here. I was, uh, I was too shy.”

He stops, turning to face Barclay, “what do mean?”

“Duck told me about the note.”

“Oh lord.”

“Not on purpose, he just mentioned he’d seen you and when I asked how you were doing, well, you know he can’t lie for shit. So Indrid suggested we invite you out here.”

“Out of pity?”

“No.” Barclay frowns, sets his hands on Joseph’s shoulders, “Joseph, why didn’t you just ask me out in person?”

“I was too nervous. I thought it might ruin everything.”

“Not a chance, blue eyes.” Barclay rumbles. Then he’s kissing him, gentle and slow, whimpering when Joseph kisses back and cups his face. When they part, he’s certain there’s nothing but air under his feet.

“Can we do that again?”

“Not tonight. Your curfew is still ten.”

“Shit, you’re right, if I don’t get on the road I’ll be late.”

“Lemme walk you to your car. I gotta hang around since I’m Indrid and Duck’s ride home tonight.”

“Do you want to go get them so we can all leave together?”

Barclay chuckles, tips his head towards the woods where a faint, rhythmic grunting cane be heard.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, not gonna ruin their fun.” He pulls Joseph into a much more heated kiss, then sighs, “get home safe, blue eyes.”

———————————————————

Joseph suffered through both the personal hygiene class at school and his father’s lecture on what to expect now that he was truly a man. But nothing in either of those taught him what to do if he’s so hot under the collar he can’t focus but the guy who’s causing it won’t just fuck him.

He and Barclay have gone out every Friday for the last month, steaming up the car windows with their kissing sessions. They tried to work out who was supposed to give who their varsity jacket and settled on just trading, Joseph smiling whenever he spots Barclays name on his back. And Barclay tells everyone Joseph is his boyfriend with a level of pride he never gave their state football wins.

But he won’t go all the way with him. One Sunday afternoon they were listening to records in Barclays room when the larger boy rolled across the rug to straddle Joseph. His hands were hot and a little rough on his cock, Joseph moaning into his mouth as he came in under a minute. Before he could reciprocate, the front door banged open, announcing the return of Barclay’s parents. His boyfriend told him not to worry about it and kissed him on the cheek.

He’s worried Barclay loves him but doesn’t want him. He’s worried that if he ever does, Joseph will embarrass himself, be so inexperienced and inelegant he’ll turn him off forever. He wonders if he can entice Barclay to ask him to fuck so he doesn’t have to admit the embarssing intensity of his desire.

“Duck? Do you, um, do you think I’d look better if I dressed like you?”

The greaser looks up from his notes, “Maybe? I mean, I dress like this because I dig it. You wanna try it, go wild.”

Joseph nods, intending to drop it. Instead, he slows his stride by Duck during their laps in gym.

“It’s just, I’m worried I’m too square for anyone to be really into me.”

“Joe, what the fuck is this about?”

“Newton, I heard that! That’s an extra lap.”

“Son of uh, hold on, are you worried about Barclay? Because he’s so into your goody-goody thing I’m surprised he ain’t asked you to fuck him with your report card.”

“Stern, you’re done, get off the track!”

He jogs to the bleachers, Duck’s words rattling around long after he’s hit the locker room.

“You’re really worried about this, ain’t you? You’re smart, slick, but I swear sometimes you can’t see what’s right in front of you.” Duck is behind him, still in his gym clothes while Joseph is half changed out of them. They’re both dawdling, the locker room empty save for some other stragglers near the bathroom.

“Duck, if I were in high demand, I’d be getting more, um, attention than I-”

His sentence is cut short by Duck yanking him down into a kiss, lips salty with sweat and so demanding Joseph wants to get on his knees.

Duck pulls back, pats his cheek, “Like I said; right in front of you.”

With that he waves and leaves the room the back way. Joseph can’t even be mad for cutting school; right now, he’s almost ready to follow him.

————————————————-

“I really must thank you again.” Indrid clears the low table of his math notes, “my focus is such that I struggle with math much more than I’d like. Having someone sit and walk me through it in a calm setting helps a great deal.”

“I’m always happy. Barclay can too, if you ever can’t get a hold of me.”

“Oh, I know he can. He helped me last year.” Indrid stretches his legs; they’re on the floor of his VW Westfalia. His parents let him live in it on the property behind their one-story house as long as he continues to be a cooperative member of the household.

“I didn’t know that.”

“It was only a few times, though he often lingered when we were through.” Indrid’s emphasis makes Joseph blush.

“Duck and I weren’t going steady yet. And my cocksucking skills are not the stuff of legend for nothing.” Indrid smiles, dreamily.

“Oh. Um.” Joseph shifts his notebook into his lap.

Indrid sits up straighter, “I apologize. I, ah, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not sure that’s what this is.”

Indrid cocks his head, “No? Envy perhaps? After all, you’ve had years to dream about him, to hope you’d be the first, and here comes a skinny little freak from the coast to beat you to it.”

“You’re not a freak” Joseph says softly, “I, I can’t say I blame Barclay for taking you up on it.”

“He does have excellent taste” Indrid looks pointedly over his glasses at him. The heat under his skin doubles as Indrid crawls forward, “you know, Duck and I have an…understanding. But if you and Barclay do not, I can stop. I mean, I can stop regardless, if you don’t want this.” He lowers to his belly between Joseph’s legs, nuzzles his fly with a hum.

“I, I–ohlord” He moans when Indrid mouths at his slacks; he’s getting hard, if he had his way he’d lay down and let Indrid suck him off until he came on his glasses. But he knows he won’t enjoy it if he isn’t sure how Barclay feels.

“I, we should stop. Please.”

Indrid sits up, smiling, “Of course. Would you like to stay for dinner? My mother is making fish stew instead of tofu salad for once.”

“…I’d love to.”

———————————————

“I didn’t know Amnesty owned all this.” Joseph let’s Barclay guide him through the trees.

“Yeah, Mama’s family bought it years ago and she’s hung onto it through some seriously nasty shit. Hah, there they are.” Barclay waves to Duck and Indrid, resting against each other on a massive, checkered blanket. His boyfriend sets the picnic basket down and then, confusingly, turns off the lantern Duck brought.

“Okay, baby, there’s something I’ve got to ask” Barclay looks at him, “do you think I don’t wanna make it with you?”

“Truthfully? Yes. You, you’ve barely gone beyond some heavy petting, meanwhile Indrid was offering to blow me.” He slaps a hand over his mouth; there go all three of these relationships.

Barclay shrugs, “He told me about that.”

“Honesty is important. Most of the time.” Indrid grins.

“Blue eyes, I’m crazy about you. I’ve just been going slow because I was afraid I’d stress you out. I know how you get, Joseph. You put so much pressure on yourself to do everything right, I was worried you’d try so hard to be perfect for me that you wouldn’t enjoy it at all.”

Joseph stares into deep brown eyes, eyes he’s loved since he was a boy. Then he laughs softly, rests his head on Barclay’s shoulder, “You really do know me well, you know that.”

“Oh, oh baby” Barclay holds him closer, “you really think there was a way of touching me that’d disappoint me? Fuck, just getting to kiss you makes me the happiest guy in the state.”

“That being said” Duck drawls, “aint there somethin about practice makin perfect?”

“I, are, is this really what you three want?”

“Yes” Indrid nods, “but if you don’t, well, we shall never speak of it again.”

“I do. Sweet fucking christ I do.” He kisses Barclay ferociously as the other two scoot closer.

“Hmm, I believe we should let seniority decide. Barclay, what’s your preference?”

His boyfriend pulls back, kissing his jaw, “Do you wanna blow me, blue eyes?”

“So badly.”

“That settles that. Duck, what about–ah, I see you’re already taking off your pants, so I guess you’re fucking hm. He’s fucking you? Ah, semantics.” Indrid waves his hand dismissively.

“Wait, does, do we have a rubber?”

Duck pulls one from his wallet, “never leave to see this one without one. I know how he is.”

Indrid pecks his cheek, then grins, “I believe, Joseph, that leaves me to help you with your hand jobs.”

“Fuck, yes.”

“On your back, baby.” Barclays nudges him and he falls onto the blanket. For a moment only the trees and stars look down on him; then Barclays face fills his vision as his hands open his fly and guide his cock out.

“AHshit, shit that’s good.” He bucks as his boyfriend jerks him off steadily, his cock standing at attention in a matter of seconds.

“Okay big fella, you go get your dick sucked.” Duck straddles him. He’s down to only his undershirt, his muscular thighs, soft belly, and strong arms on full displays as he rolls the condom down.

“You’re so handsome” Joseph sighs.

Duck seems to blush, “Thanks, slick. Not bad yourself.”

“I mean it, really, you’re incredible” he paws his legs, grabs his shirt and pulls him down into the kiss. Duck giggles into his mouth, then sinks down onto his cock. Joseph decides he is never, never letting go of the man above him; his weight is so comforting, his body so perfect, the way his laughs morph into moans so charming.

“G-great thing about this position” Duck gasps, “is you don’t gotta do much besides let me ride you. That’s why it’s ‘Drid’s favorite.”

“Second favorite; you on my face is my first. Speaking of which” he kneels, gently lifts Joseph’s head into his hands while Barclay sits cross-legged on the other side of his head. His cock is thick and long, so mouthwatering Joseph opens his mouth without being told.

“Fuck, baby, wanted this so long.” Barclay guides his cock between his lips when Indrid turns his head. The skinnier man keeps supporting him as his tongue registers skin, sweat, Barclay and he whines for more.

“Easy, blue eyes, fuck, you’re doing great.”

“I’ll say. Fuck, can’t believe you been keepin this dick all to yourself, Joe.”

“I got my haAAnds on it once.”

“Clearly you should have done it more” Indrid purrs, hips moving slightly, “as soon as someone plays with it, he sucks cock very nicely.”

“No fuckin kiddin. Baby, baby, yeah, suck like that.”

Indrid shifts behind him, “Barclay, hold him a moment, there’s been a change of plans.” A zipper goes as Barclay cradles him. Then Indrid’s fingers are back, turning him to face a second, narrower cock.

“Handjobs can wait.” Indrid pulls him forward, moaning high when he sucks the head, “oooh, yes, that’s it.”

“Fuck, I’m gonna fuckin combust watchin you do that.” Duck bounces more deliberately and Joseph yelps joyfully around Indrid’s cock. He’s already close to cumming, the feeling of Duck around him and Indrid inside him flooding the rest of him with pleasure.

Indrid pulls his head back, starts to turn him towards Barclays, when it punches through him. He moans, pushes up into Duck as the shorter man laughs.

“I, I came first, I’m sorry, this is one of the things-”

“Shush” Barclay helps him up as Duck climbs of him, “that was fucking incredible, and you’re not done yet.”

“On your knees, facing us. Unless, sweetheart, do you-”

Duck’s hand is already between his legs, “I’m gonna enjoy the show.”

“Mmm, which means I get to enjoy you enjoying it. Barclay, turn slightly, like this.”

“Why, oh, oh I got it, fuck, you’re a fucking genius.”

Joseph agrees, though he’s going a bit cross-eyed. So he closes them, lets first Indrid and then Barclay press their cock into his mouth. It’s a stretch, his jaw aching instantly, but it’s the best he’s ever felt. They can’t push more than the heads in, so he concentrates on sucking and licking, pre-cum collecting on his tongue and spit seeping down his chin. Duck grunts behind him, offering running commentary on Indrid’s appearance and Joseph’s voice. Barclay shoves both hands into his hair while Indrid keeps one on his cock.

“Fuck, fuck, Joseph, baby, this is fucking aces, gonna paint your whole fucking stomach white.”

“Ahnnn, agreed” Indrid pants, “your mouth was made for this, ohyes, that’s it, mmm, this is even better, feeling your cock against mine dearest, oh, oh” Indrid cums, bitterness hitting his tongue, and when he tries to swallow he gasps and gags instead.

“Fuck” Barclay grunts and then another burst of cum fills his mouth. He gasps for air as they pull out, sending some down his chin. He wipes ineffectively at it with the back of his hand.

“Here” Duck, underwear back on, cleans his lips with a napkin.

“Th-thank you.”

“Of course.” Duck kisses him as Indrid flops on his belly and Barclay curls his arms around Joseph.

“Gotta say, blue eyes, don’t think you got anything to worry about when it comes to making it good for me. Or, uh, us.”

“No, I don’t think I do.” Joseph rests against him, then jolts up, “shit, what time is it?”

“Ten.”

“Shit!”

“Don’t worry” Indrid nestles next to his knees, “we’ll say I had car trouble and you two came to my aid.”

Joseph relaxes back among his boyfriends, “Good call. Just, um, don’t let Duck talk?”

“Only if I get an extra kiss for keepin my mouth shut.”

“Deal.”

Chapter Text

This is the best hook-up Barclays had in years. Mr. Tall, dark, and handsome has done nothing but compliment him all night, from the fit of his shirt down to his kissing skills. So now that he’s facedown on the bed in this guys brownstone wearing only his boxers, he’s so excited he can barely think.

“Almost ready” a shcck of blinds dropping, “I just need to grab one more thing. Then the fun can start.”

“Can’t wait.” He sighs, shuts his eyes as his date moves across the room. Then the movement stops.

“Who the fu-”

Horrible, sticky warmth spatters the side of his face. Startled, he opens his eyes in time to watch his date fall to the floor, dead. Behind him is a figure in dark clothes with a tactical mask covering his face and a gun with a silencer in his right hand. A figure who has just noticed Barclay is awake.

In five swift, purposeful steps he’s at the bed, and Barclay doesn’t know what to do, whether to bolt for the window or knock the gun away or beg or, or or-

“Are you alright, sir?” The voice coming from the mask is calm and businesslike.

“………what do you think?” Is the reply his useless brain comes up with.

“You look like you’re in shock. Which is understandable.” A gloved hand touches his face, “shit, I’m sorry, I was hoping none of it would get on you. Here, hold still.” He rifles through a pocket while Barclay’s mind drifts further from his body. Why isn’t he just killing him now? Is this part of some sick game?

“Turn your face this way just a bit” the back of his hand nudges Barclay’s chin, “good, thank you. I’m going to get you cleaned up, once that’s done I need to ask you to stay here until I’m finished cleaning up the scene. And also to not call the authorities for help when I’m out of the room.”

“Why?” Nope, okay, that’s it, that’s the reply that gets him shot.

“For one, you’re not in any danger from me. You were in danger from the now-deceased Mr. Martin, which is why I killed him.”

“I, uh, h-how can you be sure?”

“Let me show you” he helps Barclay up, guides him to the body, “you don’t need to look at him, just at that.”

He’s pointing to the boning knife clutched in the man’s hand. Barclay’s guts turn to sour milk.

“M-maybe he picked that up when he saw you?”

The killer shakes his head, gently guides Barclay back to the bed and, after a moment of studying the nightstand, pulls out the bottom drawer. It contains two more knives, duck tape, pliers, and seven, severed human thumbs.

“Oh fuck. What the fuck, what the fuck?” He whispers as the man closes the drawer.

“Mr. Martin is the Bear Butcher. I doubt you’ve heard of him, because that’s the name the authorities use among themselves while insisting that there’s no need to warn the public about him. He’s killed seven men, all gay and all on the bigger side; you would have been number eight.”

“I’m gonna be sick” He tips forward, feels gloved hands catch him and easily half-drag him into what turns out to be the bathroom.

“Wait here and do what you need to. I’ll be done in fifteen minutes, less if I can manage it. And, um, you might want to keep your eyes closed.”

Barclay has no problem with that order, though when the killer (his hero?) moves the body into the tub he discovers both the reason for the warning and that he does indeed have more in his stomach to throw up.

After an eternity of iron and bleach in the air and bile on his tongue, he’s helped back into the bedroom. The man hands him his clothes, turning his back as he dresses. He’s changed too, though the mask remains.

“I, I didn’t bring my car.” Barclay says weakly, knowing he won’t have the energy to walk home and the thought of getting in a cab or rideshare sets his nerves screaming.

“I assumed, since he wouldn’t want it being abandoned to lead to someone calling you in missing. If you’re okay with it, I can give you a ride home.”

Barclay nods. The man ushers him out the front door, pausing at the threshold for a final sweep. Then he pulls off his mask. Black hair sticks up until he smooths it back in a practiced motion, and blue eyes regard Barclay gently from a handsome face.

“It’s the Altima, right on the corner.” He says, folding the mask and tucking it into his pocket. Barclay gives his address, sits stiffly in the passenger seat as a pop station plays from the speakers.

“Do you want to change the station?”

“No” Barclay inhales fine, but the exhale comes out shaky, “jesus, how are you so calm?”

“Because if I’m trying to help you stay calm, I need to model the behavior. And, um, this isn’t my first time doing this, in case that wasn’t obvious. I’ve never had a witness before, for all the usual reasons and I’d prefer not to traumatize someone. But he went off his pattern and picked you up tonight, and I was not about to let him claim another victim.”

“Thank you.” Barclay doesn’t know what else to say. His adrenaline brain suggests propositioning the man in gratitude because it’s not everyday a hot mystery man saves your life. But the rest of him is well aware that if anyone touched him right now he might scream.

“It’s my job. Or it’s supposed to be.”

His curiosity peeks out from where it’s been hiding behind his sense of self-preservation, “What’s your name? Or can you not tell me?”

“It’s Joseph.”

“Barclay.”

“I wish we’d met under better circumstances, Barclay. Oh, here we are.” He parks the car, engine still running, “do you want me to wait until you’re inside to go?”

It should feel safe; it’s his apartment, his home above Amnesty’s new location, Mama’s own little house just out in the backyard. But his hand can’t make the fucking door handle go.

“Would, uh, would you mind coming up with me? Just, just for a few minutes?”

The man raises his eyebrows, but nods. Soon he’s standing in Barclays little kitchen, hands folded politely behind his back while Barclay tries and fails to start tea.

“If you want to just point to where things are, I can do that for you. You should eat something too, if your stomach’s settled.”

Barclay declines at first, but when his stomach growls Joseph moves through the kitchen–making distracting small talk all the while–not stopping until he’s assembled a plate of crackers, cheese and apples.

“Ooh, you got the good stuff.” He steals a piece for himself while Barclay nibbles a Triscuit

“Kinda a cheese snob; comes with the job.”

They talk about food and food writing until his plate is clear, at which point Joseph suggests he get ready for bed. Without being asked, he stays by the door as Barclay finishes getting changed and brushing his teeth.

“I, uh, I’m not really sure how to, uh, end this night.”

Joseph cups his cheek, “Lock the doors behind me. You don’t need to worry about anything else; you don’t owe me a thing. You’re safe. That’s what matters.” He smiles at him for the last time and heads out into the early morning light.

———————————-

“Hey big fella, you’ll never guess who put in an order.” Mama clips up the slip from the table she’s working; Amnesty has been busy in the week since they opened here, so much so that she’s had to help with the crowds.

“Who?” Barclay flips the pancakes he’s watching, checks the bacons for tables 15 and 9.

“Your late night visitor.” Mama winks.

He turns, spots Joseph at the far end of the counter. He’s in a black suit, blue tie setting off his eyes, and his hair is fully slicked back. On his chest is a badge identifying him as working at the nearby FBI offices. He’s clearly as surprised to see Barclay as Barclay is to see him. He’s less surprised that Mama saw him leaving; she gets up early and her window faces his back stairs

“Hold on” Mama nudges him, “did he give you trouble? Because you look pretty off.”

“No, no, just, uh, didn’t expect to see him again.”

Joseph orders hash and poached eggs, and when Barclay sends the order out, he hands Dani a slice of cherry pie to go along with it. He peeks over his shoulder; Joseph is looking at the free dessert, smiling. Then he takes a bite and makes a face that’s borderline orgasmic. Barclay looks away before he drops a hot waffle on his foot.

Amnesty’s restaurant closes at 3, and as Barclay is locking the front door, he notices Joseph waiting for him in an easily visible, well-lit spot.

“You know, I meant it when I said you didn’t owe me anything. Not even the most delicious pie I’ve ever eaten.”

“I give freebies now and then” Barclay smiles, “no rule that says I can’t give them to someone who did me a huge fucking favor. And, uh” he blushes, “glad you like the pie.”

“The whole meal was incredible. You’re a very talented cook. Would it be okay if I came back?” His expression is hopeful, almost nervous.

Barclay touches his shoulder, “Anytime.”

————————————-

“So, uh, I’ve haven’t had a chance to ask but, uh, when you’re not working or chatting with me here, what do you do? For, like, fun?” Barclay leans across the counter as Joseph licks his form clean of meringue. Barclay’s gone through twelve different pie recipes in the last month just to see which ones the other man likes best.

“I read a lot, cultivate an extensive knowledge of old horror movies, try to make decent risotto in my apartment…oh, I play frisbee golf sometimes, I picked it up in college.”

“Any interest in seeing that new Godzilla movie? It looks terrible but in a fun way.”

“Oh yeah, I like what I’ve seen of the design they’re using for the kaiju.” He notices Barclays hand resting millimeters for his own. He runs his thumb along Barclays knuckles, “are you asking if I’ll go see it with you, big guy?”

“Uh huh.”

“I’d love to.”

———————————————

“Holy fuck babe, when you said you were running out to get breakfast I figured you meant, like, McMuffins.”

“Only the best for you, big guy. Consider it a thank you for making dinner last night.” Joseph finishes laying out the donuts from “Holes in One” next to the plate of bagels and lox from the only place that Joseph insists does them right.

Barclay wraps his arms around him, tickling his cheek with his beard, “you’re fucking amazing babe.”

Joseph kisses him, coffee flavored and light, “So are you. Still want to play chess later?”

“Uh huh. Winner gets to blow the loser?”

“I like those terms, Mr. Cobb.”

It’s been like this for the last three months; evenings at the movies or tangled up in bed, mornings in sleepy hazes on the couch or out the eat, days upon days of Joseph spoiling, servicing, and just generally loving the hell out of him.

There are also the nights or, more often, early mornings, when Joseph returns steeped in grim satisfaction. At first he avoided having Barclay over those nights or going to see him the next day. Lately, they’re together so much that it’s unavoidable that Barclay will see the lethal edge lingering in his gaze or rub knots from his shoulders that he knows were earned in some darkened room where horrors had been playing out for weeks, months, even years. He doesn’t shy away from it; he loves Joseph, and that means seeing him clearly, though sometimes what he sees sends chills across his skin. Chills that feel less and less like fear.

They’re out for a walk around the lake, trading bites of gelato, when a question tunnels it’s way to the front of Barclays mind. He waits until they’re sitting on a bench far from any prying ears to ask it.

“What made you decide to, uh, do what you do?”

His boyfriend studies him, then sighs, “A number of things. Fear was the first one; you said you don’t follow true crime, so I’m guessing you don’t know of the Janesville Strangler?”

“Nope.”

“He killed ten young women over the course of three years. He’s also my biological father. Michael Stern is my stepfather and, at my request, my adoptive one as well; my mom remarried as soon as she was sure my father couldn’t get out. He, he never turned any violence on me, but I suspect he used me as leverage with mom; she was a smart woman, I suspect she noticed something amiss but was frightened into keeping quiet. I was six when they locked him up, eight when she remarried. Mike is a gentle man, he did his best to raise me the same. But I, I never shook the fear that whatever drove my father to kill innocent people lurks somewhere in my genes.”

Barclay’s arm rests protectively across Joseph’s shoulders.

“I joined the FBI because I felt if I was able to turn whatever killer genes I have towards understanding serial murderers, I could use them to help others. Keep people safe. Ambition and skill moved me through the ranks quickly but” he sighs, “the more I rose, the more I saw how little was being done. How cases were mishandled, how if there was the slightest hint it was a cop or veteran doing the killing suddenly the case went cold, how a killer could pick off person after person and no one cared because the victims were the “wrong” kind of people. It came to a head two years ago; I’d poured all this energy into a case where the killer went after sex workers. He was prolific and obviously cruel, I fought tooth and nail for every resource I needed to track him. Officer Alex Brown was my main suspect, I was so close to getting a warrant to search his property and then they closed the case. Insisted the deaths were unrelated. I…I went up and searched on my own and” he looks at the sky, rests his head on Barclays arm, “lord almighty the things I found. I was right, I was right and I couldn’t do anything about it, he’d get to just go on preying on people and I couldn’t handle failing his future victims that way. I waited until he went on a hunting trip. Alone. Lots of things can happen to a man in the woods. And it’s hard to find evidence when his body just happens to fall near a coyote den.”

A little smile, one he tries to suppress, creeps up his cheeks, “I’ve never felt so powerful in my entire life. I decided I’d still try to play by the rules but that if I knew, for certain, someone was guilty and being shielded by either ignorance or malice, I’d solve the problem myself.” He looks at Barclay for the first time since he started his answer, face turning to shame, “I’m sorry, I, I should have given the short answer. I didn’t, I don’t want to upset you, or scare you but it’s hard not to given-”

“Joseph” Barclay carefully runs his fingers over black hair, “it’s not like I forgot how we met. I…I’m not under any misimpressions about what you’re capable of. I just wanted to know how you arrived at the solution you did. It’s, uh, it’s not what I’d choose for myself, not something I could do but, uh, I guess what I’m trying to say is that this isn’t going to push me away from you. And that it means a lot to me that you trust me enough to explain it.”

His boyfriend curls closer, “It means a lot to me, too.”

——————————————————-

Black gloves on his throat, weight on his chest and when he opens his eyes it’s Joseph above him, steel in his gaze and between his fingers. He’s in a muddled dream version of Bear Butcher’s apartment

“Hi, big guy.” The thin knife slices up Barclay’s pants, “let’s get you out of these.”

“Please, please I-”

“Shhhh” Joseph kisses him, “I removed the man who threatened you. But you’re so handsome laid out like this, a victim just waiting for someone to make you scream.”

“Babe, I-”

“That’s not my name right now. Call me..” the hand no longer has a knife, is running roughly up his cock instead, “call me…”

Barclay wakes up still humping the mattress as he cums. Blindly, he reaches for his phone to check the time. It’s the fifth dream like that in two weeks, and they always leave him so horny he tries to get it up and get off again if there’s time. No such luck today; he has to be up in ten minutes.

He tries not to think about it during work, just like he tries not to think about it the rest of the time. Especially in bed with Joseph, his attentive, indulgent Joseph who puts all his organizational skills and professional practice at giving orders into domming Barclay so sweetly he stays in subspace for hours.

He’s still very much not thinking about Joseph gagging him so his screams don’t wake the neighbors as he climbs the stairs to his boyfriends place. Dani was a sweetheart and took care of his orders for him, so he was able to leave work early.

The T.V is on, volume up loud enough that he can tell what his boyfriend is up to before he even walks into the room. He fully intends to tease him for not being able to wait until Barclay was there to jerk off before hauling him into the bedroom. But when he sees the screen, he freezes.

A man in what looks like a cheesy camp counselor uniform is tied to the bed, his shirt stuffed into his mouth as a make-shift gag. Straddling him is a man in a black jumpsuit, knife near his hand and cock buried in the counselors ass.

“That’s it sweetheart, wiggle and try’n get away; you ain’t gonna and it feels so fuckin good when you try. This is what you get for leaving the window open.”

The counselor shakes his pale-haired head, fear so palpable Barclay barely notices the fact the boom mic is in the shot. The killer pulls the gag free.

“Please, please, don’t kill meAH, ohgod”

A dark laugh, “I’m not gonna kill you, sugar. Thought about it, but when am I gonna find an ass this good again? Nah, I’m gonna take you back with me, keep you strapped down because you’re the, fuck, cutest goddamn specimen I ever caught.”

On the couch, Joseph tenses, cumming in the sleeve he’s using with a cry at the same moment the killer on screen cums and bends to kiss his co-stars tear-streaked face.

Joseph hits the remote, causing the T.V to go dark and reveal Barclay’s reflection.

“Shit!” Joseph leaps up, making Barclay yelp in surprise, “oh, oh thank the lord it’s just you….oh god how much of that did you see?”

“Some?”

Joseph drops to the couch, head in hands, “shit. I’m, I’m so sorry Barclay, I, I never wanted you to know about this habit, I’m sorry it’s awful.” The voice between his fingers sounds like it might cry.

“I mean, that wasn’t like a snuff film, right?”

“Those aren’t real.”

He can’t help but smile remembering Joseph’s rant on the subject, “what I meant was: those guys are just actors getting paid to do a scene like that, not some actually getting attacked.”

“Of course not.” Joseph looks up, horrified, “I’d never watch something like that. The, the whole reason I like this company is that they do horror porn under very ethical working conditions.”

“Then why are you acting like I caught you pissing in my coffee?”

“Does the fact I get off to this honestly not bother you?”

“I mean, people get off to all sorts of shit. Like, um, like” he twists the bracelet on his wrist, “like their boyfriend tying them up and threatening to make them scream.”

Josephs eyes widen. Then he shakes his head, “No. No we can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I…I never, ever want to hurt you that way. Even in a scene. I can’t stand the thought of you being scared of me, of turning these impulses loose on you. It sounds fun until I picture it and then it makes me ill. No, this stays firmly in my head.”

“Okay.” He keeps his reply soft to hide his disappointment. Joseph is still on the couch, refusing to look his way, and so he circles it and kneels at his feet to better rub his arms. He thinks about the images on screen. About Joseph, blissed out then suddenly shame-faced. Joseph, two nights ago, calculated and loving as he worked Barclay over.

No, maybe the kind of scene he’s been picturing isn’t for them. But he can think of one that is.

“What if, uh, instead of giving into the desires that freak you out we kind of re-channel them. Like, instead of strapping me down to torment me, you’re doing it to show off?”

Blue eyes meet his for the first time all night, “Say more.”

————————————–

“Ready?” Barclay bats his eyelashes at Joseph as his boyfriend finishes double checking the tightness of the rope he’s using to tie Barclays arms above his head.

“Ready.” Joseph stands, rolling his shoulders and closing his eyes as he takes deep breaths. Then he frowns, “can you start us off?”

“Sure thing, babe.” He nestles his head on the pillow, “okay, you found me tied up like this. What’s your first thought?”

Joseph opens his eyes, gaze sharp, “That I’m so lucky someone left a handsome specimen like you where I could find him.”

Barclays cock twitches at being referred to that way, “You’re not gonna let me go?”

“Not just yet. You’re so perfect, will you let me make a case for staying here with me?”

“Please” Barclay whimpers as Joseph straddles him, knife in hand.

“I’m very precise, for starters.” He cuts slowly up Barclays boxers until he can pull the strip of fabric off. Repeats the process, lips a firm line of concentration, with his undershirt, “see? There’s not even a scratch. I have to be careful not to damage my perfect specimen.”

Barclay groans, rolling his hips. Joseph smiles, shifting so his cock rubs against Joseph’s clothed crotch.

“Fuck, Joseph-”

“Shhhh” a gloved thumb brushes his lips, “When you’re like this, my name is Sir.”

“Ohfuck.” Barclay rubs his cheek pleadingly in his palm, “Sir, please, please, untie me so I can touch you.”

“Not yet.” Joseph pats his cheek, scoots backwards on the bed, “besides, you’ll have lots of time to touch me once I take you home and make you my sweet live-in plaything.”

“Holyfuckingshit.” Barclay fights off a dozen tantalizing images of what that could entail to focus on their plan, “Sir? What, uh, what was the guy who tied me up going to do to me?”

His boyfriend settles between his legs, “He was going to take you apart.” He lifts Barclay’s right leg, “starting with these, so if you got free you couldn’t run. This tendon first” he kisses the back of his knee, making Barclay giggle. He pauses, then decides on holding both legs up at once so he can repeat the kiss on the other side. His lips move slowly down to his ankles, right side and then the left, before a final one lands on his arch, “he was going to cut here too. But not me” the kisses continue, “I’m going to rub them every evening so you’re never sore.”

“Fuuuuck” He sighs as Joseph straddles him once more, leaning forward so he can kiss and fondle his arms.

“He was going to slice alllll along here” Joseph’s breathing is picking up the longer he lavishes Barclay with kisses, “then he was going to take your fingers one by one” Joseph kisses each knuckle in turn, his free hand petting Barclay’s face and hair, “then he was going to commit a cardinal sin by mangling these” Joseph toys with his pecks, sucks happily on his left nipple for a moment, “what a crime that would have been.”

“Sir” it’s a whine as Joseph nips and kisses his way down to his navel.

He raises slightly, mouth just above Barclays cock, “and because he had no imagination, he was going to cut this wonderful appendage off. Which is not the treatment it deserves.”

“What treatment does it deserve SirrrrrOHfuck, fuckyes” Barclay pants as Joseph licks stripe after stripe up his cock. As Joseph licks and sucks him to a hard-on, he feels the plug slip from his ass.

“I don’t know what his plans were for that” Joseph sits up, undoing his pants and pulling out his cock, “but I know what mine are.” He pushes Barclays legs wide, works his cock in with slow, steady thrusts while Barclay tries to remember how words work.

“Shit, yes, god your ass is amazing, what kind of person sees it and thinks its for anything but fucking?”

“Nngh” Barclay clings to the ropes as Joseph’s thrusts quicken.

“Lord, I thought you were a perfect specimen before but I was wrong, you look even better taking my cock.”

“Fuck, fuck that’s hot.”

Joseph grip his thighs tight enough to hurt, “well, big guy, will you stay with me?” His eyes glitter, his hair is coming loose and falling across his forehead.

“YesAH, yes, ohfucksirright there” He didn’t notice Joseph changing the angle of thrusts until his cock found his prostate, “I’ll be so good Sir, wanna be a good boy for you.”

“Oh good.” Joseph’s smile goes wolfish for an instant, “because I would have had to do some very mean things to persuade you if you refused.”

Barclay cums at that, staining Joseph’s shirt with white. His hands knock against the headboard as Joseph fucks him hard enough to make him sob with oversensitive pleasure.

“You’re going to be such a nice plaything for Sir, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good boyOH, ohshit, shit.” Joseph pulls out halfway through cumming, spattering it on Barclays thighs and balls. Carefully, he lowers his legs. Then his boyfriend collapses into his arms, panting and giddy.

“That, that was so fun. I’d say who knew but every time we fuck you show me just how fucking fun all this can be.”

“Aw, babe.” He goes to hug him and rediscovers the ropes.

“Ohshit, here” Joseph sets to work undoing his knots, “are your wrists okay? Not too sore? How about your shoulders?”

“They all feel fucking great, baby. I feel great. How could I not? I got you looking after me.”

Joseph smiles, “and out for you.”

“That too. Now c’mere, special agent, your next assignment is cuddling your boyfriend.”

Chapter Text

“Indrid? Some from Kepler House is here to speak with you.” Ned pokes his head into Indrid’s rooms.

“Drat” Indrid hisses, dressing gown whipping about him as he scrambles to put the apartment in order while also dragging his notes on the man in question to the forefront, “I didn’t foresee anyone coming by today, goodness, he had his first engagement with Lady Austen's daughter last night, what on earth could they need to see me for?” He tosses his spare pens aside, landing them in his second set of house slippers.

“Well, dear boy, given the luck you’ve had with them lately-”

“It’s not luck, it’s simply very unlikely futures. Please just, just stall whoever it is a moment, Leo is usually patient and-”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that my friend.”

“Why not? I watched you once talk an entire flock of constables away from your door. Pray-tell, why can Ned “Silver Tongue” Chicane not get rid of a single attendant?”

“Because the attendant ain’t here this time.”

Indrid slams the drawer of his desk, looking up as an orc in a deep brown suit steps into the room, tossing his hat onto the table. He’s shorter than Indrid and Ned (stout and strong, according to the notes Indrid received), wavy black hair streaked with grey at the front. One eye is blue, the other brown, and both regard the harried matchmaker with casual annoyance.

“Mr. Newton, I, ah, I was not expecting you to visit me.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to be on a date where she found me so damn dull she hailed a cab as soon as dinner was done. I was already in town on some business for Minerva, so I decided to come tell you I ain’t in need of your services anymore.”

“I beg your pardon? Your benefactor employed me to find you a suitable match and I intend to do just that. I know there have been missteps, but such things are to be expected when searching for one’s lifelong partner.”

“Uh huh. And the fact I’m Lady Minerva’s chosen heir, which means there are a bunch of folks waitin to mimic my style and choices, has got nothin to do with it.”

“I, ah, I can’t say that I’m ignorant of the potential repercussions of being the one assigned to locate a spouse for you.”

“Which is the long way of sayin you know damn well that if I decide to stop askin you for help, no one with money is ever gonna come to you again.”

There’s a determined set to his rounded jaw, and a glimpse at the future suggests Indrid will have better luck with a different tactic

“….were they really so awful?”

“Yes. They were rude, or thought I was rude, or thought I was dull, or we just had fuck-all in common.”

“Have you considered you might just be a tad more demanding than average?”

“It ain’t demandin to want the person I spend the rest of my life with to actually like me.” He sighs, “I’m sorry, Mr. Cold, but unless you got a real winner up your sleeve, I’m done.”

All responses, all timelines show Duck ending his time as Indrid’s client and walking out the door.

“You could try me!”

“Really?” Duck looks deeply unconvinced.

“I will admit it’s unorthodox, but I, I foresee us having a perfectly nice time together. It will let me prove that I am capable of choosing companions for you.”

The shorter orc looks him up and down more deliberately and Indrid fights not to draw his dressing gown tighter. He will not be intimidated by some newcomer from across the sea.

“Okay, I’ll make you a deal. I got to go to this concert tomorrow; someone from Kepler house is expected to show and Minerva is busy. You’re comin with me.” He holds Indrid’s gaze, daring him to renege on his offer.

Indrid summons his best, professional grin, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

—————————————

Indrid smooths his waistcoat and jacket as he steps from the cab, tucks a strand of his silver hair behind his ear. It’s his only concession to the nerves skittering up and down his spine.

Gatherings such as these are nothing new to him; he goes to them to gather new information and new clients, to remind the well-to-do families of London and beyond that he is the matchmaker extraordinaire. But there is always the moment between when they see him and when they recognize him, when every face in the room wonders why someone like him dares to enter their space.

Somewhere in Indrid’s ancestry is a love story between an orc and a goblin. His silver hair, very angular features, and complete lack of tusks or fangs is the proof. The red eyes don’t help–they unsettle everyone who sees them–but his mother insists they’re evidence of other orcs gifted with rare magic on her side of the family. He wears red spectacles over them just to be safe; he rather likes how the color stands out against his skin, and his glasses let him avoid prying questions.

Duck is waiting for him under the awning outside the music hall; he’s in a grey day suit this time, looking just as understatedly handsome as he did yesterday morning. Indrid must admit his desire to save his reputation is not the only reason he agreed to this; he cannot understand why Duck is having such trouble meeting his match. He’s good looking, moneyed, American–an exotic background in the eyes of the average, sheltered upper-class orc–but still has family history here in England. All Indrid’s matches showed a high probability of success. The point of failure must lie with the orc himself.

“Afternoon, Mr. Cold.” Duck smiles with everything but his eyes.

“Indrid is fine, given the reason for our meeting.”

Duck nods. Indrid wishes the ground would swallow one of them up. When the pavement fails to oblige, he offers his arm. The shorter orc takes it, both of them doffing their hats as they step inside.

“I, uh, like the earring.” Duck indicates the moth cuff on Indrid’s left ear, a stark contrast to the single gold hoop in his own.

“Thank you. A friend gave it to me. I, ah, I rather enjoy working moths into my wardrobe; I find them fascinating.”

“Y’know, back home we got moths that look like hummingbirds.”

“Really?” Indrid’s ear twitches, “how big?”

Duck holds up his hands to indicate the size. Indrid is about to demand details when they’re waylaid by their hostess and pulled into a cluster of families. Indrid breathes deep, feeling crowded in, and notices Duck routinely being cut off in conversation or given disapproving looks behind his back. Yes, Indrid supposes his manners are a bit rough, but there’s no harm in that. Too, everyone seems far more interested in the goings on at Kepler House and with Lady Minerva than with Duck himself. By the time they’re seated, their arms feel locked together from shared tension.

The violinists are quite good; Indrid enjoys strings, his recordings of them being his favorite music to listen to while drawing. But his mind is so consumed by futures and by thoughts about the orc beside him that he struggles to focus on the music. Duck is having a similar issue, though he hides it well; were they not side by side, Indrid would miss the way he fidgets with the knee of his trousers.

“Are you alright?” He whispers under the applause.

“N-ye-uh. Fuck. I, the musics real nice but I gotta say I’m gettin kinda bored. But I got no fuckin clue if leavin will piss everyone here off.”

“Intermission is soon. When it comes, keep quiet and follow my lead.”

When the guests rise to stretch their legs and fetch refreshments, Indrid guides Duck to their hostess.

“I’m so very sorry, but I’m afraid my stomach is rather angry with me and it’s best if I go home. Duck has agreed to accompany me so I do not pass out in the street. I’m sure you understand.”

She nods, and in a matter of moments they’re out on the street, each breathing deeply.

“Thanks for that.”

“My pleasure.”

“Guess I oughta just head back to the hotel.” Duck sighs.

“You could. But, ah, we’re not far from Kew Gardens and the weather isn’t miserably cold for once. If you’d like-”

“Hell yeah. Wait, fuck, sorry, tryin to swear less in public.”

“I don’t really mind.” Indrid starts them down the street.

“Lots of them do” Duck tips his head back towards the concert hall, “I mean, at least that rule is easier to figure out. It’s not that there aren’t weird rules and class stuff back home, but I grew up learnin them. Here I always feel like I’m one move away from makin an ass of myself. No one’ll say anything because of Minerva, but I know if it weren’t for her, none of ‘em would give me the time of day. It makes every interaction so goddamn stressful.”

Indrid twinges with sympathy, “When I first started in these circles, I wrote myself note cards and had Ned test me on them.”

Duck giggles, so absurd and loud it draws stares from passersby, “why? You seem to know your stuff.”

“I didn’t come from money, and I don’t always read social situations the way others expect. It was learn or live as a penniless artist for all my days.” As the gardens come into view he adds, “I know the basics of your life in America but if you weren’t here, what would you be doing there?”

“Workin in the Yosemite valley. I was a ranger there for a few years before Minerva called me here.”

“What was that like?”

Duck tells him as they wander the first stretches of the gardens. He’s midway through a tangent about bears when he stops.

“Holy fuck, you’re really still listenin.”

“Of course I am, this is fascinating.”

His companion smiles, “Glad you think so. But it ain’t polite for me to dominate the conversation like this. Now you gotta tell me what you do when you’re not gettin fancy folks together.”

“…You promise you will finish the story about the bear and the tent later.”

“You know it.”

Indrid knows that time passes more quickly with good company, but he’s still startled when the sun sets. The Savoy, where Duck is staying, is closer than his home, so their cab stops there first.

Duck pauses halfway out the door, “Meet me here for dinner tomorrow?”

Indrid grins, “I’d like nothing more.”

——————————–

“I didn’t know the line even went this far.” Indrid watches the moors race by them out the window of the train.

“You and me both.” Duck rotates his map, glances at the letter he received a week ago, “okay, once we get off at Amnesty, we need someone to take us down Greenbank road. The house is at the end of it, somewhere around here.” He taps a patch of moor miles from anything else. Indrid studies his fingers and is glad that, of his more rugged habits, one he elected to keep was letting his nails stay claws rather than filing them down.

“My visions suggest that as long as we don’t ask anyone to drive us out after dark, we should have no trouble reaching it.”

Indrid tries not to be too giddy at the prospect of spending weeks and weeks more or less alone in the countryside with Duck. They’re going because an anonymous note informed him that he did indeed have a family estate and–once they determined that the house near Dartmoor did indeed legally belong to him–it was decided he would go to see how the old place was doing and perhaps take up residence.

He asked Indrid to come without even glancing up from the telegram from the solicitor. Indrid agreed without looking away from his drawing. If two months of semi-courtship in a crowded city got them close enough for that, Indrid dares to hope that being out here together will bring them closer still.

Amnesty is small, as they both expected, the air chilly and fog threatening to swallow whole buildings as they make their way to the Lodge where they’ve been told they can find a driver. When Duck asks the young woman working the counter for help getting to Greenbank Hall, she quirks her lips in a frown.

“I’m not sure there’s even a place called that around here….OH! Do you mean Beacon House?”

“Maybe?” Duck looks at Indrid, who quickly looks at the futures.

“Yes, it seems we do.”

“Okay. Since it’s still light, I should be able to find someone to get you out there. If it comes down to it, I can, like, drive you out myself.”

They end up being driven by a friendly young man named Jake, who deposits them and their bags on the steps of the massive house with a friendly wave farewell.

“Agh” Indrid shivers as they step through the newly unlocked doors, “I think it’s actually warmer outside.”

“No kiddin. Damn fog means it’s already gettin too dark to see too. I’ll go get some kind of fire started, you see if you can find some lanterns or candles so we ain’t trippin all over ourselves.”

Indrid begins his search, comes to the kitchen and finds some matches and a candle. The solicitor arranged for food and other supplies to be brought in ahead of time, so in theory lanterns should be somewhere nearby. He’s just glad that the paltry light shows no signs of rodents getting into their food.

When he gets upstairs, he discovers two things; one, all the lamps are gas, so he’s able to light them easily. And two, a mother tortoiseshell cat is nesting with her kittens on a guest bed.

“Well, that explains the lack of mice.”

Footsteps behind him, “Got a fire goin in the sittin room, if you wanna pick a room for yourself I can light one th–awwwww” Duck moves past him towards the cat, who hisses at him, “now, there ain’t any need for that, missy. I ain’t gonna hurt you or your babies. But we oughta bring you somethin more’n mice to eat.”

“I saw some tinned food in the pantry.”

“Perfect, lemme go find a bowl.”

———————————-

Beacon House has seen better days, but Indrid discovers the houses loss is his gain. Duck decides they can do many of the repairs themselves, and sets about ordering supplies from London or bringing them in from Amnesty. The few times they need help, the cook and several others from the Lodge come to assist in the project. These gatherings are far more pleasant than any Indrid had to attend for work (well, except for the ones where he was with Duck). And they always end before dusk.

Indrid occupies himself with figuring out why. There was no mention of this house when he first researched Duck, and even using the local name turns up very little. It’s not until he finds a diary belonging to one H. Newton in the library that he understands.

October the 15th, 1805

I fear the worst is upon me. I cannot leave the house, dare not even peer out the windows for fear of what I shall see. Lucy says it is my health, that we should travel to warmer regions so it will improve. But I know it is not so simple. Were we to flee, it would merely wait for our return. It may even waylay us before we reached town. I am cursed. We are cursed. We always will be.

Beneath the words is a hastily sketched image; yellow eyes and sharp fangs peering from between the bars of the front gate.

There are no more entries.

Indrid is unsure whether to raise the matter with Duck. On the one hand, he wishes him to know of any possible dangers. On the other, his friend is so very content these days, coming in from some project or other with grime on his skin and a smile on his face. Indrid’s own desire to stay with him here, in a house he can pretend is theirs, threatens to drown out all other reasons.

Eventually, his conscience shouts it down while he and Duck are on their evening walk.

“Oh yeah, Barclay told me about that a few days ago. Some ghost apparently wanders around the moor at night; got somethin to do with a murderous ancestor.”

“That does not alarm you?”

“You know I don’t believe in curses and destiny or anythin like that. People make up all kinds of stories when they’re alone in wild places.”

Indrid’s foresight guides his arm, gripping Duck and keeping him from moving forward.

“Does that look like a story?”

Directly ahead of them, a tor rises like a spike. Atop it, revealed by the rising moon, is a gigantic, fur-covered shape.

“See” Duck whispers, “were we back home, I’d say that was a bear.”

“And now?”

“Given there ain’t been bears in this part of the world in decades, I say we get the hell outta here.”

They take off back down the slope, the hall a collection of yellow squares of light in the darkening distance. A howl splits the air behind them and Indrid quickens his pace, keeps his eyes on the future in hopes of protecting them both.

This means he doesn’t see the burrow in the path until his ankle goes sideways in it.

“‘Drid!”

“Under no circumstances are you to try and help meAH!” He yelps as Duck swings him over his shoulder and continues his flight towards the house. As he’s bounced about, Indrid watches a glowing shape bounding closer.

“Thank fuck.” Duck crosses the gate, slams them closed, and lowers Indrid to his feet. Nothing glares at them from the path. But a growl creeps from the shadows and follows them until they shut the door.

——————————————

“How’s the ankle?” Duck drops his coat on the chair opposite Indrid before tending to the fire.

“Better than yesterday. I should be up and moving tomorrow, if the futures are to be believed.”

“You know you don’t gotta rush. I’m happy to take care of you.”

Indrid picks at the ends of the blanket in his lap, “but I miss being able to aid you with work.”

“There’ll be lots of time for that. We got plenty to do to get the house to where we can live in it full time.”

“We?”

Duck goes completely still, then fails to put the fire poker back in place three separate times. When he finally meets Indrid’s eyes, he looks worried.

“‘Drid? What’s your endgame? With, uh, with me?”

“I…” Indrid grabs his teacup, intending to drink it to buy time and finds it empty, ‘I…I don’t know. I, I wanted to prove to you that I could find you a companion who made you happy, hoping you would give me another chance to locate your perfect match. But lately I, ah, I struggle to see that plan working. As I do not wish you to have any match but me.”

Duck moves across the rug, shadows on his face making it hard to read.

“I know that shows great selfishness on my part. If that is not something you wish to have in your life I, I…” he shrinks back as Duck leans down, certain this is the timeline where he accuses him of being a conniving monster.

“Funny you should say you’re bein selfish” Duck braces his arms on either side of the chair, “because I’ve been beatin myself thinkin’ I was selfish for keepin you out here so long.”

“Keep me here forever.” Indrid whispers. Duck smiles, closes the remaining space between them. His lips are still a bit chilly from working outside; Indrid does everything he can to warm them with his own.

The shorter orc straddles him and he whines so needily that Duck snickers in reply.

“What’s wrong darlin? Kissin too much for you?’

“On the contrary; it is far too little, but my injury means my ability to drag you to my bed and beg for more is greatly impeded.”

“Good thing we live alone.” Duck pulls the blanket from Indrid’s lap, nibbles his ear as the seer catches on and begins frantically undoing the buttons of Duck’s workshirt and shoving his suspenders. When at last he pushes it open he loses himself a moment, tipping forward to tongue at the golden ring in Duck’s left nipple.

“AHheh, gettin right to it. Good” Duck unbuttons his pants, “because I’ve been wantin to fuck you since before we even came out here.”

“Oh I see” Indrid purrs, “you lured me into the countryside to sully my virtue.”

Duck laughs, full throated, as his tusks catch in the firelight, “You forgettin the time we got drunk instead of goin to the opera and you told me you convinced two sailors to take you home?”

“Only if you’ve forgotten telling me about the young ranch-hand you gave several rides to” Indrid nibbles along his neck, his twitching oddly in their quest to grind against him without jostling his ankle.

“Not a chance. But I don’t care about reminiscin right now; right now, I got the best lookin fella in the world beggin for my dick.”

“I’m not begging.” Indrid tilts his head back to help Duck get his shirt open some.

“Not yet.” Duck grins, then shoves his hand down his trousers.

“Ohhhhhyes” Indrid reaches for him.

“Keep your hands on the armrests until I say you can move ‘em.”

“But, but” it’s hard to argue when he’s trying to stare a hole through Duck’s remaining clothes. His partner notices and makes a show of moaning louder.

“Only good boys get to watch the show. You gonna be good for me?”

“The best.”

Duck kisses the tip of his nose, then wiggles and kicks his pants and underwear off. Indrid can only watch, growing more envious by the moment, as he fucks himself open and rubs a thumb along his cock. Indrid tries bucking his hips, only to discover Duck is keeping himself out of reach.

“Cruel creature.” Indrid groans.

“Cruel? I’m giving you a seat to the best show in town.”

“I’d rather you take the best seat in town.”

Duck laughs, is still doing so when he bends to kiss him. Indrid whimpers, nails digging into the upholstery to keep his promise of good behavior. Duck notices.

“Good boy.”

“AHHHnnnthankyou, thankyouthankyouthankyou” Indrid moans as Duck drops his weight into his lap, grinding on his clothed cock with abandon. He flings Indrids hands up to his shoulders. The seer glides them up to his hair, burying them there where he’s now certain they’ve always belonged. Duck mirrors him, lips only leaving his to bite the tip of his ear.

“Fuck, Indrid, that’s it darlin, lemme ride you like the sleek little beast you are.”

He whines, loses his thoughts as Ducks hips quicken.

“I know ‘Drid, you like bein mine, like that I’ll bounce on this fuckin perfect dick as often as you want as long as you’re my good, sweet, ohsweetfuck, fuck, darlin’” Duck drops his forehead to Indrid’s shoulder with a groan as he cums, soaking the fabric of his pants. Before Indrid can think about stopping, Duck picks up again with as much force as before, growling in his ear to be a good little social climber and cum for his lord.

Indrid cums at that with a chirping sound he thought he’d stopped making long ago, legs spasming from the force of his climax. Unfortunately, this means his pleasure is chased by a burst of pain. He whimpers, flinches, and Duck spots the problem.

“Oh, oh darlin I’m sorry” He drops to the floor, rubbing Indrid’s thighs, “thought the position would keep you from hurtin.”

“Apparently not. I, I want you to know I don’t regret it in the slightest.”

Duck smiles, relieved, and rests his head on Indrid’s stomach, “Guess you did find me a match, huh?”

Indrid bends slowly, nuzzling his hair with a hum, “Yes, I believe so.”

Chapter Text

The air is grey and chilly, and his best coat is still a bit too plain for this affair, but Barclay can’t help but glow. His husband to be is using this engagement party to invite him into parts of society he’s only glimpsed from behind kitchen counters or through windows on his way home in the early hours of the morning.

He didn’t even have to cook the table of delicacies and warm punches, which is usually his entry fee into any social space not hosted by Mama or his other friends back at Amnesty Lodge.

“Are you alright my dear?” William touches his shoulder. He’s the height of fashion from the new stud in his nose to the cut of his suit. Barclay looks at their linked hands, marveling at how his tattoos and calluses contrast with the smooth, unmarked green of Williams’ skin. It’s wonderful to know he can be part of such an unlikely match.

“I’m fine. I just wish Mama and them could be here too.”

“Barclay, I know you care for them, but they agreed with me that this is not a party they’d feel comfortable attending.”

If memory serves, Mama’s word choice was “enjoy” not “comfortable” but he’s distracted from this detail by the orc currently in a hushed conversation with William’s parents. His accent is American, the same as Barclay’s. He knows William has no friends or family on the other side of the Atlantic, and he’s too well-dressed to be an attendant. When William’s parents fervently shake their heads, the newcomer turns and strides across the floor, right to the happy couple.

“Mr. Cobb” he offers Barclay a slight bow, shows no deference to William, “My name is Joseph Stern. I’m a private detective hired by your fiance’s family. They hoped I would find reason for him not to marry you. I have.”

“I, I don’t understand. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“No, you haven’t. The reason I suggest calling off the wedding is that he” Stern indicates William, “is not the least bit interested in you. He chose you because he knew his parents would disapprove of the match, which would in turn make it easier for him to call off the engagement two months from now and, three months after that, propose to his lifelong friend, Albert Rothby.”

Gasps and whispers fill the room. Barclay looks to William for reassurance but can’t find any; William’s too busy trading alarmed glances with Albert.

Stern continues, “His parents would be all too happy to accept the orc they once rejected for being from a slightly less well-off family after the shock and scandal of him almost marrying a nobody cook.”

“Hey!”

“His words, not mine.” The detective turns to the hosts, “You don’t need to pay me for my time, since I didn’t give you what you wanted. Good afternoon.”

A thoroughly baffled servant hands him his coat and hat as he exits, the room overflowing with chaotic accusations behind him. William doesn’t say two words to Barclay, choosing instead to shout at his parents. Barclay pulls off his silver engagement band, shoves it into his now ex-fiance’s hand, and storms out of the room.

He intends to make straight for the train station, hide his tears and humiliation until he’s safe under Amnesty’s worn shingles. But when he spies Stern on the corner handing coins to an errand boy, his foolish hope gets the better of him.

“How do you know?”

“Excuse me?”

“How do you know that’s really what William planned?”

Stern hails a cab, motions for Barclay to join him inside it. When they’re seated, he reaches into his coat and removes a bound stack of letters.

“Albert’s arrogant and sloppy; all it took was five pounds to get one of the maids to fish these out of his wastebasket.” He passes the notes to Barclay.

Each one he skims is like slicing his finger with a meat cleaver. Not a single piece of his personality or appearance remains unmocked by the time he’s done.

“I was just a game to him.” He stares at William’s signature, the same one that dots a pile of letters he’ll burn when he gets home. When he looks up, Stern’s face is full of sympathy.

“I considered not saying anything. That even if the engagement ended, you might be able to tell yourself it was a true love that wasn’t meant to be. But the longer I trailed you…I saw that you deserved better than being a pawn in someone else’s trivial chess game. I offered his parent’s the chance for me to have the conversation in private; they doubled down on their insistence that you must be secretly awful to have lured their dear son to you. Ruining their party seemed fair.”

“I guess.” Barclay’s lip trembles. What was it William wrote? That he was as tender and devoted as a lapdog and twice as fun to kick around?

Stern produces a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket, holds it out to him, “I’m sorry. I know ignorance is bliss but, um, wasting your heart on someone like him strikes me as hellish.”

Barclay wipes his eyes, but the tears insist on flowing, “No you’re, you’re right, it just, I, I really thought he loved me.” He lets out a bitter laugh, “I really am more brawn than brain, just like he said.”

“No, you’re not.” The cab slows, and Joseph’s blue eyes pin the pieces of his crumbling heart together, “and even if you were every single thing he said you were in those letters, that wouldn’t justify his treatment of you. You’re a good man, Barclay” he smiles for the first time, “someone will treat you how you deserve one of these days.”

The driver announces they’ve arrived at Barclays hotel. He glances at Stern, surprised.

He opens the door for Barclay with a wink, “detective.”

————————————————————-

Fall arrived on the first of September, meaning the business at Amnesty dwindles right along with leaves. They won’t see another flood of visitors until the winter holidays, when everyone travels up and down the country to meet with family. Barclay fills his days with work and tries not to think about how happy he was a year ago.

Dani has a cold, so he’s working the lobby counter until it’s time for him to start dinner. A chill and burst of nickel-tinted light announce a guest. When the orc approaches him, he drops his pen.

“Hello, Barclay. It’s nice to see you under happier circumstances.” Stern removes his hat, runs his fingers through his black hair, “would it be possible to rent a room here indefinitely? I’m on a case and I have no idea how long it’ll take.”

“Yeah, of course.” He pulls out the register to check which rooms are open, which would be easier if his eyes didn’t insist on flicking back to the orc in front of him. He’d noticed Stern was handsome before, in the same way he noticed the sky is blue or a piece of fruit was ripe. Now it’s all he sees; the cut of his clothes suggesting a trim, capable figure beneath, his clean shaveness showing off the angles of his jaw and cheeks. His tusks are the same size and not chipped like Barclays own. The cook wants Stern to sink them into his skin and not let up until he sobs for a kiss instead.

“Uh, here” he retrieves a key, “I can put you in number twelve. It’s upstairs, last door if you take a left.

“Great!” Stern takes the key, lifts his two bags, “thank you for accommodating me.” His gaze slows as it moves up to Barclays face, “I think I’m going to enjoy my stay.”

———————————

Joseph hates the days where he has to wait for telegrams before proceeding with his investigation. It makes him feel like a dog gnawing its tail out of boredom. At least, it used to. Now that he’s at Amnesty, he’s never bored. It’s hard to be when the best looking orc he’s ever seen likes to talk with him while cleaning tables or making breakfast.

William Ashby is a fool. Joseph knew this when he watched him forgo a kind, interesting orc who was built like a god and had eminently kissable lips for the sake of some uninteresting upper class nobody. But now that he’s eating Barclays’ cooking every day, the opinion is twice as strong. No one should be able to make potatoes a divine experience, but his friend manages.

“No running around stuffy offices or abandoned houses today?” Barclay sits down across from him.

“Not until I get a telegram from that solicitor in London. Black or white?”

“White. Well, that’s good news for me, I get a chance to beat you.” He’s smiling, the firelight dancing in his eyes and off the copper in his beard. Joseph wishes he could mimic the light’s path with his hands.

Instead, he grins as he lays out the chess pieces, “In your dreams.”

An hour and a half later, Barclay whoops, “checkmate” and Joseph falls even more in love.

———————————–

“Barclay? Since it’s not raining I thought you might like to…” Joseph falls silent at the sight of Barclay sitting on his bed, facing the window with a defeated set to his shoulders.

“Sure, as long as we’re back before dark.” He shrugs and doesn’t so much as look up.

“What’s wrong?” Joseph settles beside him, notices the handkerchief with his initials on it clutched between his hands. The tears on it are fresh.

“Nothing. Just, uh, just….this is the anniversary of when he proposed. Of when I thought someone loved me that way, of when I thought that, that…fuck, it’s gonna sound so silly.”

“You don’t have to say it but I, um, I hope you know I won’t judge you for whatever it is.”

Barclay twists the fabric, “I love my life here at Amnesty. I love Mama, all my friends, I love being a cook. But I’ve never been wealthy; Mama and I faced lots of hard times before coming here, especially when my folks died and she took me in. The Lodge does well but there’s always the fear that one day it won’t. I can be happy without fancy food or nice clothes or nights out but, uh,” he clears his throat, “that doesn’t mean I didn’t really like having them. I don’t miss him so much as I miss this feeling of being able to want without worry. Of, of thinking I’d get to do that forever.”

He lists to the side, rests his head on Joseph’s shoulder. He’s both taller and broader than Joseph, which adds to his charms, but right now the detective wishes he was smaller so he could gather him in his arms and protect him from the disappointing world. Give him what he’s missing.

An idea buzzes to the front of his mind. He rubs Barclays shoulder soothingly, “You have to go into London for some orders, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“I have to go in to deal with this case and check to make sure nothing urgent is waiting at my office. Do you want to go together?”

Barclay looks up at him, brown eyes glittering like precious metal, “I’d love to.”

—————————————————————–

Barclay knows Joseph has wealthy clients; he’s starting to suspect he has even more of them than he lets on. They’re in London for two days, and every moment not spent sleeping or working is filled by Joseph taking Barclay somewhere. The meals are by far his favorite, but Joseph bought them tickets to the opera their second night. When Barclay worried he wouldn’t be well dressed enough, Joseph decided they could both do with new clothes and bought everything without blinking at the bill.

Now, Barclay is in a private box, belly full from their stop at Simpson’s and Joseph’s shoulder resting against his own. The music is beautiful, the staging intriguing, but he’s struggling to keep his eyes open, too warm and comfortable from the company and the darkness.

The port they had after dinner probably isn’t helping.

He rests his head back, let’s his eyes flutter closed. After a moment Joseph laughs softly and whispers, “A bit too full from dinner?”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“That’s okay. The whole point of tonight is for you to enjoy yourself. If that means happily lazing like a dog by a fire, that’s what you should do.”

Barclay tenses for a second, then relaxes. It’s not like when William kept referring to him as a dog; in Joseph’s voice it’s fond, like a master who knows he indulges his hound but doesn’t care.

“That’s me. Just a spoiled pet.” He murmurs.

Short claws trace across his upper thigh, “As it should be.”

His eyes flutter open; Joseph watches him in the dark, expression attentive and possessive. His fingers don’t move even a centimeter until Barclay nods. Then they finish curving over his thigh to stroke his cock through his pants.

No one can see them, but even so his eyes dart side to side before shutting once more.

“Good boy” Joseph sighs, “sweet boy.”

Barclay nods, squirms as the touches stay teasing.

“Don’t rush. We have a whole other act to go. Just keep quiet; you’re a big, sweet beast, I’d hate to have to” he presses his palm down, “discipline you.”

He bites his tongue to keep from groaning; when they’re back at the lodge, he’s going to misbehave so much.

Joseph keeps up his steady, calculated teasing, Barclay never moving past half-hard. He falls into an almost sleep-like state, feeling weightless and far away from himself yet completely safe in Joseph’s care.

Then swift fingers undo his trousers and a handkerchief wraps around his cock. He throws a palm over his mouth as Joseph jerks his hand up and down.

“It’s almost over.” The detective murmurs, chuckles when Barclay crumples to hide his face in his neck, “that’s it, be a good boy and—oh, oh good lord.” He stifles a sigh in Barclays hair while Barclay cums into the cloth, saturating it embarrassingly fast. William once compared him, unfavorably, to a centaur in that regard. Joseph simply kisses his forehead and tidies him up. By the time they exit, the only sign of their dalliance is Barclays wobbly legs.

He fully intends to return the favor, but sex-drunkeness and general exhaustion drag him to sleep before Joseph is even in bed.

Their morning is a brisk packing up of things followed by a trip to the train station. Once they’re in their cabin, Joseph looks over the notes he made during his research.

“I just can’t shake the feeling Mr. Newton is in danger.”

“Giant cursed hound will do that.”

“I’m not so sure that’s it. I’m not ruling out the supernatural, but there are elements of this that feel distinctly orcish and very much alive in their threat. I’m glad he brought that friend of his with him; were he in Beacon House alone, he could be in serious trouble.” He closes his small notebook.

“I still can’t tell if he’s more than a friend.”

“They might not know. The few times I’ve run into Mr. Newton or Mr.Cold, they seem to be in stalemate, neither willing to make a move.”

“Good thing you don’t have that problem.” Barclay winks, then realizes he might be reading the other orc wrong, “I, uh, I mean, not that last night has to mean anything.”

Joseph unbuttons his coat, “I, um, I hoped it might.”

“Thankfuck.” Barclay slumps back, “me too.”

There’s a click of the lock, then Joseph stands and begins undoing his pants, “speaking of which, it seems to me a good boy would reward me for last night.”

“Yes, oh fuck yes.” He scrambles to get his cock out, stroking it frantically as Joseph rolls up his sleeves.

“You’re so eager to please, it makes me want to give you everything you ask for.”

“Please?”

Joseph, now bare from the waist down, bends to kiss him, “Please what?”

“Please let me fuck you, let me mppph!” His moan slips straight down Joseph’s throat as he sinks onto Barclays cock.

“Ohhhhhyes, ohmylord” the tips of his ears twitch as he rocks his hips, “you feel so good”

“Y-you’re one to talk, fuck, Joseph can I touch you?”

“Anywhere you waAAnt” he tips his head back, whisper threatening to break as Barclay drops a thumb down to rub his cock. He sets his hands on Barclay’s shoulders, “we, we don’t have much time, and I do need to review more of the case before we arrive, so be a good boy and let me ride you hard and fast?”

“Yes, yesfuck, ohyeah” A laugh catches on his tongue as Joseph, his dignified, debonair detective, sets to bouncing up and down on his cock with the kind of abandon he only witnessed when he used to serve drinks in a brothel.

Joseph grins, kisses him messily as their grunts meld with the rumble of the train. Barclay glides his free hand around to grope and paw his ass, savoring how it tightens with the effort of riding, of taking Barclay again and again. Curious, he gives it a light slap, wishing he could see a little pink bloom on the green there.

“Careful, sweet boy; if anyone’s ass is getting bruised it’s yours.”

“Tonight?” He smiles hopefully at Joseph’s flushed face.

“Yes, Barclay tonight. Tonight I’ll, ohlord, strip you down, let you rut on the bed like the needy beast you are while I turn your ass tender and red before fucking it, oh, ohshit, Barclay.” He smashes their lips together as he cums, Barclay whining with pleasure at the fact that he got him there. The detective doesn’t break the kiss as he pulls off, simply uses his strong legs to keep straddling him as he jerks Barclay off with one hand and rucks his own shirt up with the other. Barclay moans helplessly as he cums in large, white droplets all up his stomach and chest.

“You’re wonderful.” Joseph kisses his cheek.

“So are you.” Barclay holds him close, giggles adoringly when Joseph starts concocting theories while half-naked and cuddled in his lap. By the time they reach home, there’s no sign of their dalliance.

Except for their linked hands and matching smiles.

Chapter Text

All I’m sayin is it seems mighty unfair to me that one fella gets a handler-assistant type deal and the rest of us don’t.” Duck crosses his arms as Ned fiddles with the pen on his desk.

“You’re not wrong, dear boy, but Apollo was in high demand from the higher ups-”

“Because he’s a shallow dipshit with a mean streak who’ll be good for ratings?”

“Precisely. He demanded in his contract that we allow his twin to continue his work as his photographer and assistant. He has over a million followers on Instagram, so those photos will be a boost to the show. Just try to get along for the camera’s?”

“His brother ain’t even on camera.” Duck mutters.

“I meant with Apollo.”

Duck shrugs, defeated, “sure thing, Ned.”

As he walks back to the main house, he mulls over the fact that the twin (Indrid, he thinks that’s the guys name) bugs him more than Apollo does. Apollo is vain, mean, and selfish, but at least that gets him things, even makes sense for the kind of show they’re on. Indrid gains nothing by helping him out here. Except protection from the bully, which Duck finds to be the worst kind of cowardice. Hopefully Vincent, this season’s bachelor, will see through the “influencer” and send him packing ASAP.

————————————-

Four weeks in, and this is exactly what Duck was worried about. Not only is Indrid hovering around his brother like a nervous moth (excet when cameras are near, at which point he ducks out of frame), he’s doing fucking nothing to reign him in.

A few frontrunners are starting to emerge, and with that claws are coming out. Barclay, a chef and all around nice guy, is the target of choice. Nico and Josh both took bites out of him this morning. But Apollo sunk his teeth in like a dog on a fox, calling him, among other things, a pathetic, six-foot puppy dog who no man would ever want. The cook left noticeably teary eyed. Duck was about to block the cameras from following when Joseph beat him to it. Which is weird, because he thought Joe couldn’t stand Barclay. Apollo flounces off, but Duck corners Indrid where he’s been stoically watching his brother be a raging asshole.

“What the fuck man?”

‘Wrong twin.” Indrid says flatly, indicating his silver hair, tied back in a half-bun. His dark roots are showing and his eyebrows are black, unlike Apollo’s immaculate blonde dye job and bleached brows.

“Nope, right one. You’re his handler, cant’ you fuckin intervene when he’s doin’ shit like that? Or are you just here to let him hurt whoever he feels like?”

Indrid fixes him with a bitter smile, “If there were a way to make my brother be kind or, indeed, see others as people, don’t you think I’d have found it and used it everyday since?”

“I-”

“You people have no idea how much I’m already doing. I kept him from going after you yesterday by reminding him he looks ugly when he yells on camera. And if nothing else console yourself with the fact you all have only to deal with him for a few months. Some of us have endured twenty-eight years of it.”

With that, he turns and stalks from the room. As he leaves, Duck can’t shake the thought that his black denim jacket and worn jeans fit him better than Apollo’s designer ones ever could.

———————————–

Indrid understands why there’s so much alcohol on set, but he can’t partake (too bitter) and it makes Apollo even harder to handle than usual. Which is why Indrid is out on the grounds at ten p.m, intending to hide from his brother until dawn.

At six weeks in, fan favorites are getting more established and Indrid, needing to predict Apollo’s mood in order to do his job, is keeping a close eye on them. His twin is well-liked for being snarky and hot, though he suspects the large number of contestants means there have been limited chances for his unpleasant side to be showcased. Joseph is another, because of course he is, movie-star handsome with an interesting past. Barclay is beloved for the very things that the other contestants torment him for. And Duck? Duck is quickly becoming the one people think Vincent will choose.

Indrid thinks they’re right. He’s charming in an understated way, funny, and while Apollo needles him for his “dad bod,” Indrid and Vincent have both noticed the muscles in his arms. Who gives a damn about flat abs? Indrid would much rather have something soft to rest his head on while those green eyes look lovingly down at him. His crush on Duck is useless, persistent, and must be hidden from Apollo at all costs.

His foot catches something solid and he tumbles over the obstacle to land ass-first on the lawn.

“Ow.” He glares at the object. The object turns out to be Duck Newton, who’s obviously drunk as he sits up.

“Sorry man, thought no one’d come out here. Oh it’s you, it’s, uh, fuck, fuck c'mon” he snaps his fingers as he searches his thoughts, “It’s cute Apollo!”

“Indrid.” Surely Duck didn’t mean to use that adjective. Right?

“No, I’m Duck?”

He snickers, “No, I meant I’m Indrid.”

“Ohhh, right. You’re Indrid. I’m Duck. That’s the big dipper” He points at the sky. Indrid follows the line and grins, delighted.”

“It is!”

“Uhhuh. C'mere, can show you more.” Duck pats the spot beside him and lays back. Indrid scoots closer and reclines as well, making appreciative sounds each time Duck shows him a constellation.

As they’re studying the sky, the other man whispers, “Can I tell you a secret? I, I think Joe’n Barclay are into each other now.“

“The way they look at each other is not exactly subtle.”

‘“Heh, yeah.” he links his hands across his belly, “I think they’re in love. You ever been in love?”

“No.” He sighs, not wanting to dwell on that pile of baggage, “You?”

“Nope. And, uh, don’t, don’t tell anyone but I don’t think I am with Vincent. Maybe I could be? Does that make me a bad person? He’s nice, think he likes me a lot but, I, I dunno.”

“Not being in love with someone doesn’t make you a bad person. No more than loving someone does.”

Indrid is hard to surprise; years of getting out ahead of his brother and father taught him how to see things coming. But nothing could prepare him for Duck rolling to hide his face against Indrid’s chest. Not knowing what else to do, he pats his back, notices a woodsy scent tingling his nose.

“You smell good.” He winces; that was too creepy, now Duck will pull the comforting bulk of his body away.

“Thanks. I bought a bunch of cologne when I realized I was actually going to be a contestant. News clothes too. Thought it would give me an edge but…I dunno, can’t compete with a guy like your brother.”

“Join the club.” Indrid reaches up to toy with a lock of Duck’s black hair, expecting Duck to bat him away. Instead, he sighs and turns his head to give Indrid better access.

“You could compete with ‘im. You’re cuter. Nicer too.”

“Oh. Ah. Thank you.”

Duck’s fidgets with the mothman pin on Indrid’s jacket, “You wanna cuddle?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“No one cuddles with me. And we ain’t allowed to cuddle Vincent yet.” He looks up, lips pouting just enough to be charming.

Indrid let’s a purr enter his voice, “That’s a shame. I’m happy to cuddle.”

Duck rolls more of his body onto Indrid, resolutely nestling his head under his chin and tangling their legs together. His hands stay on Indrid’s chest and shoulders, though he’s now drunkenly petting Indrid’s collarbone, making him shiver. He expends four months worth of daring in a second, wrapping his arms around the curves of Duck’s torso. When Duck’s fingers brush skin instead of shirt, Indrid whimpers, then bites his lip and prays it went unnoticed.

“You don’t get cuddled much either, do you?” Duck murmurs thoughtfully.

“No.”

“Damn shame, you’re real good at it. Can cuddle me any time.”

Indrid “mmhmms” knowing the promise is like the stars; bright and comforting in the darkness, but ultimately beyond his reach.

Three day later, he drops his guard; Apollo’s been on his good behavior since Vincent’s been spending more time with him. You’d think Indrid would learn by now that all his venom has to go somewhere.

He’s huddled down in the rec room trying not to cry; it’s pathetic enough that he let such childish insults get to him, but to cry over them would confirm everything his brother said.

“Indrid? You, uh, you okay?” Duck’s reflection in the darkened T.V approaches his own.

“I’m fine.” It’s the same inflection he’s used hundreds of times, but Duck sits down on the couch all the same.

“Do you, uh, need a hug?’

“No.” He replies a hair too quickly.

“Do you want one?”

“……Badly.”

Duck opens his arms and Indrid shifts on the cushions, doing his best to curl his long limbs so they’ll fit in his embrace. The shorter man notices, concern flashing on his face.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Okay. You, uh, wanna hear the most exciting news of the day?” He waits for Indrid to nod, “there was a cougar sightin’ in the foothills near here!”

“That is both very exciting and alarming.”

“Doubt it’d go after folks, they try to steer clear of people. We don’t have ‘em back home, but you learn what to do when you’re also learnin how to deal with bears.”

“How does one deal with a bear? Other than buying them a drink.”

Duck snorts, relaxes further into the couch, “Depends on how soon you see ‘em…”

They emerge two hours later, and Indrid is so engrossed in their conversation about hiking incidents that he runs smack into a camera man. While he’s apologizing profusely, Duck guffaws, steadies him, and leads him off in search of somewhere to watch the sunset.

—————————————–

“Oooh, ooh, look, sea lions!” Indrid points to the distant wharf.

“Good eye. Man, those fuckers are big. Glad none of ‘em were in the water when we did that fuckin cliff dive.”

“I for one would pay good money to see my brother chased by a sea lion.”

Duck chuckles, pops the tab on his WhiteClaw. They’re having dinner on the beach, a gourmet spread meant to encourage them to show off their pallets. Indrid took Barclay’s recommendation and ordered the whole, grilled snapper, which he assumed he’d be eating alone; Vincent’s attention has been on Duck ever since he went swimming this morning. Duck seems to be enjoying it, but come dinner time he demurred (“gotta let some of the other fellas have a chance”) and brought his basket of fried oysters over to join Indrid on the sand.

“Speakin of your brother, kinda surprised he didn’t make any digs at this whole, uh, situation.” Duck gestures to the torso Indrid is currently aching to lick droplets of saltwater from. To subdue the craving, he licks salt from his fingers before replying.

“I, ah, the last time he tried to, I reminded him of all the pictures I have of him eating. He hates to be seen eating. Most of the time.” He tilts his head towards his twin, who’s chowing down next to Vincent without a care for the cameras. Indrid sets his hand on the warm sand, “I’ve been trying to, well, reign him in as you suggested. Or at least make him think twice about his choices.”

(Indrid omits the part where he’s most likely to risk it if Duck is the one with the target on his back).

Duck sets his hand down beside Indrid’s, brushes sand from the side of it with a calloused thumb, “Mighty good of you. But, uh, think I mighta read things wrong that day. You gotta handle him how you think best. Just, uh, just promise me you won’t sacrifice your own well-bein’ for my sake, or anyone else’s. We’re all grown-ass men; we can handle it.”

“I promise.” He lies.

The other man leans back on his hands, green eyes drifting across the waves. Indrid would gladly sit in silence the rest of the night, it’s so easy to be comfortable in the lull when it’s Duck filling the space beside him.

Eventually, the ranger murmurs, “It’s so fuckin breathtaking. The ocean, I mean. Maybe if you live on a coast you get used to it but man, it is somethin;.”

“More so than the forest?”

Duck smiles, “It’s like apples and oranges. Monongahela got its own charms; you’d have a blast takin pictures and drawin there, believe me. If, uh, if Apollo and I both make it to the final four, uh, maybe we could take a few hours durin’ my hometown visit and I could show you my favorite spot.

Indrid imagines the two of them beneath the trees, walking hand in hand.

“I’d like that.”

———————————————

“You know you’re just a distraction, right?”

Indrid doesn’t look at his brother, just flips the page in his book, “I doubt that. You’ve said, often, that I’m too off-putting to be interesting.”

“Not when there’s competition for someone superior; Duck knows he might not win. You’re his back-up if he doesn’t, and a way to kill time until the end. Once Vincent sends him home, which he most definitely will, he’ll keep you around until something better comes along.”

“Don’t act like you know him.” Indrid hisses, looking up just in time to see something scurrying behind the triumph on Apollo’s face: fear.

So, his brother has a new weakness. He’ll tuck that away for later; this is shaping up to be an unpleasant conversation, but not one requiring quite that degree of weapon.

“You should thank me. If I weren’t so captivating, Vincent would spend all his time with Duck. Then you’d be without any attention at all. Even Duck’s taste isn’t that abysmal.” He grins his several thousand dollar smile, “he and Vincent are probably laughing about it right now.”

Indrid stands, crosses the tiny room, “Shut up, Apollo.”

Then he slams the door. There’s a yelp, followed by “you hit my nose, you pathetic excuse for a man, ow, open this door this instant I’m not done with you!”

He flicks the lock and sits back on the bed. There’s a tin of sensory putty on his nightstand and he opens it, playing with it between his fingers. Duck brought it for him after a museum date with Vincent. The image of him not only thinking of Indrid when he saw something, but then buying it for him just to see him smile makes him want to grin and hide his face in a pillow like a teenager who just got asked to prom.

But maybe this date is going differently.

Indrid squeezes the putty, repeats the mantra he’s had since he was a child, “Apollo always lies. Apollo always lies.”

Eventually, he’s calm enough to work on some tattoo commissions, is coloring away when there’s a knock on the door. A secret knock Duck invented as a goof. Throwing open the door reveals the shorter man wearing a suit jacket and an exhausted expression. Indrid gestures to the bed, shuts and locks the door as Duck slumps on the mattress and sets his head in his hands.

“Whelp, that was a shit-show.”

“What happened?” Indrid sits cross-legged beside him.

“Vincent went in for a kiss and I, uh, I turned him down. I mean, he took it well because he’s a sweet guy but I, I feel like shit.”

“There’s no shame in not wanting to kiss just yet.”

“That ain’t the problem. I, I wanna kiss someone on this set, but it ain’t him. Indrid” he looks up, green eyes watery, “Indrid, I think I’m fallin in love with you.”

“Oh. I, are you sure-”

“The whole night, and I mean the whole fuckin night, I was thinkin about you. Thought how nice the trip to the botanical gardens would be with you there to point out color combos and get excited about butterflies. Wanted to hold your hand over dinner. Fuck, when they brought out the dessert menu all I could think was how fun it’d be to order one of each thing to surprise you so you’d do that thing you do with your hands when you’re real excited.” Duck turns, sets his hands on Indrid’s shoulders, “‘Drid, if you don’t want this, I’ll back off but-”

Indrid cuts him off with a kiss, let’s strong arms pull him down to the bed and presses as close to Duck as he can, as if any space between them might be a way for the universe to push them apart.

“Than fuck” Duck pants, cupping his face, “wait, fuck, what do we do now? I can’t string poor Vincent on.”

“We’ll get them to let you out of your contract. It can’t be that hard, right?”

——————————————–

“Absolutely not” Ned shakes his head, “dropping out of the show is out of the question.”

“But that ain’t fair to any of us. Can we at least tell Vincent the truth?”

“No, it needs to look as if he naturally decided not to choose you. If not, we could be accused of manipulating results; the last time that happened, the ratings tanked for that season and the next. And my predecessor was fired.”

Duck looks at Indrid, “Guess I’ll just…pull back? That way Vincent won’t have a reason to choose me and’ll let me go soon.”

———————————————-

“Droppin out is outta the question, huh?” Duck mutters to Indrid as they watch Barclay and Joseph walk off holding hands, the host eagerly asking them questions as they go.

“I suppose he didn’t drop so much as sprint.” Indrid glances at the rose in Duck’s hand, “congratulations on making the final…well, final three now.”

“Thanks? Guess Apollo’s pretty happy about it too.”

“Yes, but his ego needs no stroking.” Indrid smiles, “maybe this means you’ll get to show me the woods?”

“I hope so. Huh. What are they gonna do with the rest of us when it’s not our turn for the hometown visit?”

The answer turns out to be: drag everyone to each hometown. Because they no longer have Joe’s trip to do, Ned decided they needed more scenes of the contestants exploring where their competitors came from.

Kepler is first, and tonight is the night Duck’s been dreading. His romantic, home-town date that everyone expects to end with at least some kissing. He manages to make it through dinner, even enjoys showing Vincent the down-town he spent years roaming. But as they start down the river walk for a romantic stroll, his heart is trying to smash its way out of his ribs.

“It’s alright, you know.” Vincent stops, guiding Duck to face him, “the fact you want to be with Indrid.”

“I, uh, fuck, I, I don’t not know, uh, fuck-” he closes his eyes, “how’d you know?”

“I’m more observant than I get credit for.” Vincent brushes his cheek, “I’ve had a hunch for weeks now, but I kept you around because I liked having you here, even if I suspected it wasn’t going to end with us together. I’m very fond of you, Duck. You deserve someone who makes you happy. I promise I’ll send you home this next rose ceremony”

“Christ” Duck chuckles, “you’re a hell of a guy too, Vince. I hope whoever you pick treats you right. I, uh, can I, should we…?”

Vincent plants a chaste kiss on his cheek, then smiles, “go get him.”

—————————————-

“Any twos?”

“No. Go fish.”

Apollo grumbles as he takes another card. Given Duck and Vincent are on their date, neither he nor Indrid is having a good night. Before Indrid can make his ask, his twin says, “How do you get people to like you?”

“Why do you care? You’ve made it this far, so obviously Vincent likes you a great deal”

“I don’t just mean him. I, I mean, I want him to like me. To want me. But I suspect he’d like me better if other people did.”

Indrid idly taps his cards, “I suggest you stop acting like our father.”

“I’m nothing like him!” Apollo squawks.

“Oh, but you are. Everything he taught us you still hold as true; you’re just the newest version of men like him. Self-absorbed. Cruel. Shallow. I’m amazed you’ve gotten this far with Vincent, given that the age difference means you’d be caring for him in his old age.”

“I, I can care for him. I will!”

“Apollo, I wouldn’t trust you to care for a potted plant.” He sets his cards down.

“At least I’m not a-”

“Ambitionless deviant who has to ride his brother’s coattails to survive?”

“Wha–how-”

“Like I said; you’re just like him. Down to your insults.” Indrid stands, “I’m going to bed. I suggest you do the same.”

His brother remains speechless–a rare state for him–as he closes the door and heads for his room. He doubts Duck will do anything on the date (hell, the two of them have only been able to steal some kisses now and then), but the whole charade has him feeling low.

There are far more cameras in the rented house than there were a few hours ago. Which means the rest of the crew is back. Does that also mean…

“Hey, sugar. I was just lookin for you.”

————————————————–

Duck’s glad his door is open, because otherwise Indrid would have smashed it to pieces dragging them both through it. He’d only gotten out the barest explanation before the taller man was kissing his face and tugging at his clothes, purring “mine” over and over again.

“Yep, all yours.” He shuts the door as Indrid mouths at his neck, “which also means you’re all mine.” He yanks Indrid’s black sweater up and over his head, sends the matching t-shirt after it a moment later. Indrid whines, fumbling with Duck’s dress shirt, and he gets an idea.

“Uh uh, only good boys who show me why they deserve it get to feel me up.”

Indrid groans into his shoulder, fisting the fabric of his jacket “What constitutes good behavior in this instance?”

“One sec, don’t go nowhere.” He starts to step past him, pauses to grips his chin and pull him into another kiss, “and no peekin.”

As he digs through his bag for the strap on he brought just in case, he keeps an eye on Indrid to be sure he’s following the directions. The taller man’s fingers twitch, but his head stays still. God, Duck is going to memorize the shape of each of the tattoos decorating his skin with his mouth.

“You did real good.” He slips around Indrid once more, resting his back on the wall. Indrid notices the new bulge in his pants and thuds to his knees.

“May I?”

“You better.”

Indrid undoes the button of his fly. Then he looks at Duck over the rim of his glasses as he takes the zipper between his teeth and pulls it down. When the black silicone of the strap breaks free, Indrid cocks his head as if unsure of his options. Duck doesn’t really have a plan–he just wants to be with him, to make him feel good and show him just what weeks of pent-up desire have done to him–but he’s starting to regret that choice.

Indrid flicks hair from his face and wraps his lips around the head of the cock experimentally. He hums, sucking on it a moment, then pulls back blushing, “This is going to sound strange but, ah, I, I really like that. It’s such a lovely texture on my tongue, it’s, it’s almost soothing to suck.”

“Guess you better keep suckin it then, huh?” Duck runs the fingers of his right hand through Indrid’s hair.

“Is that really alright? It can’t feel like much on your end.”

“Don’t mean it ain’t fun to watch. But, uh” he touches the edge of Indrid’s red glasses, “it okay if I take these off?”

Indrid nods and Duck slides them free, tucks them into his breast pocket for safekeeping as Indrid draws the cock into his mouth again. He focuses on the head at first, humming and moaning as it bumps his cheek. Then Duck sees him swallow and relax the muscles of his jaw as he presses closer. Little puffs of breath tickle Duck’s skin as Indrid gets most of the cock in his mouth, cheeks hollowing and head bobbing as he sucks. Hungry noises burlbe up his throat, and the more he lets himself go the messier he becomes, spit coating his lips and eyes fluttering closed in bliss.

“Okay, I lied.”

Brown eyes shoot him a disbelieving look.

“This ain’t fun. This is one of the hottest fuckin things I’ve ever seen.”

Indrid wiggles happily on his knees, left hand dropping to rubs his own cock through his jeans.

“Needy little thing, gotta have somethin down your throat and around your dick at the same time.”

“MMMhhmmm” Indrid purrs, the picture of filthy perfection.

“If, if you swallow the whole thing, I’ll let you finger-fuck me.”

Both hands fly to his thighs with an excited moan. Indrid’s brow crinkles with determination as he slowly, carefully brings his lips to the base of the toy. Duck groans out “good boy” and shoves his pants down, Indrid helping to drag them to his ankles. Indrid keeps his left hand on Duck’s hip while the right hovers below his folds. Duck takes it, the toy making the angle a bit awkward, and guides it against him.

“Start with one.”

Indrid nods, moans reverently as he obeys. Duck curses, looks down to find Indrid watching him attentively. Duck is going to wreck him. Then he’s going to cuddle him to sleep and wonder at the fact he got this lucky.

“You’re doin’ great, sugar. Promise I’ll tell you if you need to adjustOH, ohyeah” he lets his head rest against the chipped white of the door, “that’s the spot. Fuck it, add one more, Ahfuck, yeah, those artists fingers are fuckin perfect for this.”

Another purr and then a sharp, choked noise. Duck looks down, realizing he rolled his hips without meaning to. Before he can apologize, Indrid grips his thigh and shakes his head.

“You like that?”

“Mmhhmmm” Indrid traces a heart on his belly.

“You’ll pull off you need to?”

“Mhmmmm.” Indrid curls his fingers as his stretched lips manage to grin.

“Fuck!” Duck giggles, “okay, if my darlin wants his face fucked, that’s what he’ll get.” He keeps a hand on Indrid’s shoulder as he lets loose, grunts and curses mingling with the increasingly wet moans of his cock claiming Indrid’s throat. Soon he’s out of words, too busy with the sight of himself forcing Indrid’s lips apart as he tightens around his fingers. Handjobs are a toss-up for him most days; sometimes they work, other times he can’t cum from them at all. It turns out what makes it very easy to do so is-

“‘Drid, fuck, fuck, sugar, yeah, right there, rightthererightthere ohfuckyeah.” He cums, jerking his hips hard enough to punch a new, high sound from Indrid’s throat. The other man pulls off, rests his cheek on Duck’s belly with shuddery, satisfied sighs.

“Y’know” Duck unbuttons his shirt from the bottom up so Indrid can more easily nuzzle the skin there, “I had this whole plan where I was gonna fuck you with this and then ride your face to cum.”

“I’m not opposed.” Indrid grins, bouncing a bit.

“Yeah, but I’ve only got one in me tonight. So” He tosses the shirt away, pulls off the harness as Indrid nibbles his hips, “if you wanna cum, you’re gonna have to do all the work.”

An edge enters his smile, “I can manage that.”

Duck hits the floor with a whump, Indrid trapping him on his back and climbing atop him, all the while kissing him with abandon.

“May I fuck you?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Condom?”

“Dop kit, bathroom, aw come back.”

“Patience, sweetheart” Indrid blows him a kiss, returns a few moments later doing an inelegant dance to kick his jeans and boxers away, “got one!”

“Good, now get back down here before I-AHfuck!” Indrid is on him and in him so fast it knocks his breath away.

“Before what? You’re not going anywhere, you’re mine, alllllll mine.” He drags kisses across Duck’s cheek, then bites his chapped lip as he looks down at him, “right?”

“You know it, nnng, fuck, that’s it sugar, be a good boy and cum for me. Fuck, darlin, wanted this so bad.” He locks his fingers into silver hair to keep Indrid in kissing distance as the other man whimpers, thrusts shallow and rabbity.

“Want you too, so much, I’ll be worth it, I swear, I’ll be good, I’ll, I’ll make you so happy.”

Duck rests their foreheads together, “You already do.”

There’s a high, gasping moan, almost like a chirp, and Indrid rides out his orgasm in drawn-out rolls of his hips. Then he collapses, laughing, on Duck’s chest.

“I, I’m sorry, I just never thought I’d get this. Someone wanting me. Choosing me.”

“I mean, I went on a T.V show to find love, so I know a little somethin about that fear. But I also know findin you is better than anythin I ever imagined.”

“Likewise.” Indrid nestles closer, one hand reaching out to hold Duck’s where it’s flopped on the rug.

“…You realize this means there’s a fifty-fifty chance your brother will win.”

Indrid shrugs, lifts his head to smile at Duck, “I leave that to Vincent. I already got my prize.”

Chapter Text

It’s a dark and stormy night, because of course it fucking is.

Indrid steers the borrowed car down the street, rain hammering the car while his heart tries chiseling it’s way from his chest. He doesn’t want to be here, circling the block like a shark on a reef, the light from the top floor, left corner of the apartment building telling him there’s no pretending his prey isn’t home. He doesn’t want to think about the instructions he burned, the lethal object hidden in his clothes.

He doesn’t want to kill Duck Newton.

“Excuse me, but I have a rather odd question; which of these trails is the least traveled?”

The ranger looks up from the map between them, grin friendly and a little lopsided, “Lookin to do some birdwatchin?”

“I like to draw but I, ah, I also get easily overwhelmed by crowds.”

“Try this one” The man circles a trailhead, “not super popular this time of year. Watch out for mud.”

“I shall, thank you.”

He didn’t.

Which is why he’s back in the visitor center, trying to get enough of the mud off so that driving home isn’t miserable. Worse, the ranger from earlier walks in, takes one look at him, and snickers.

“I tried! Truly, I was careful, but there was this-”

“Patch of stones in the trail?”

“…Yes. How did you know?”

“Fell flat on my ass two days ago thanks to them. Wait here a sec.” The door swings shut, then opens again while Indrid is rinsing mud from his glasses. The ranger holds out a packet of body wipes, “this’ll get the worst of it.”

“Thank you ranger…Newton.”

That same smile, reaching a pair of mismatched eyes, “Just call me Duck. It’s a nickname.”

Indrid parks in a spot far from any streetlights or cameras, pulls the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and starts towards the apartment complex.

“These are fascinating.” Indrid peers over the edge of the dock at the early blooming bulbs.

“Glad you like ‘em, thought they might be alley after you showed me those drawings of the marsh.”

He imagines Duck seeing the flowers on his rounds and thinking not of the seasons, the weather, the way their petals look near the water, but of him. It’s the sweetest thought anyone’s ever spared for him.

The lobby door opens easily, courtesy of the copy of the keycard left in his mailbox. He knows he should take the stairs; fewer people use them.

He calls the elevator.

“Duck? The sign on the door is, that’s just temporary right?”

“Nope.” Duck sets his hat on the counter, runs a hand right through the grey streak in his hair, “they’re closin the whole park until further notice, which is probably gonna be never. Laid all of us off.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“S’okay.”

Even Indrid could tell it wasn’t. That from their occasional conversations, Duck’s work was akin to his heart, kept life flowing through him on even the roughest days. The assignment had told him not to worry, that he was almost doing his target a favor, ending a life he wanted over anyway.

Indrid knocks on the door, tossing his options about in his mind as slow footsteps approach. He could do what he was sent here for. Or he could offer Duck Newton something to brighten his days.

The door opens, Duck standing there in boxers, a plain white t-shirt, and a confused expression.

“Indrid? Jesus, come in, you’re fuckin soaked. This is some storm.”

“At least it will help with the drought.” Indrid closes the door, slips off his shoes, lets Duck take his sweatshirt to hang near the heater, angling his body so he won’t see or feel the handgun tucked in his waistband.

“Yeah. Assumin it don’t just mudslide all the hills that lost their cover durin fire season.” Duck sighs, plops down on the couch, “sorry, ain’t exactly in a chipper mood.”

“That’s sort of why I came to see you. I, ah, I wanted to see how you were getting on after the park closing.”

Duck gestures to the messy apartment, then at himself.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not unless you got enough money to reopen the park indefinitely.”

He chuckles, “I wish I did.” He picks up a small, wooden ship, “goodness, did you make this?”

“Yep. Know it’s an old man hobby but, uh, I dunno. I just like makin stuff. Putting things into the world, even if it’s just a model ship on the shelf or a mint plant on the windowsill.” His smile is tired, but there’s a determination to it that makes up Indrid’s mind for him. He’s about to make his offer when Duck adds, “mind grabbin me some water since you’re closer to the kitchen? Cups are in the middle cabinet.”

“Of course.” Indrid crosses into the small kitchen, mind wandering to what their first date will entail as he sets his hands on two glasses.

The cold metal at the base of his neck hurtles him back to earth.

“Someone set you up, slim.”

“I, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Duck’s hand goes instantly to Indrid’s gun, pulling it free and tossing it away before roughly patting him up and down. The barrel on his skin never wavers.

“Duck, please, I, I can explain.”

“No need to. Thought you seemed familiar, went diggin and found out who you work for. Bet you thought I hadn’t seen your nine mil, but I ain’t lived this long by bein careless.”

“I don’t understand. The file they gave me didn’t say anything about this.”

A bitter chuckle, “Wasn’t always a ranger, slim. The fact they didn’t tell you that makes me think they’re hopin I off you, not the other way around.”

“But, but I didn’t do anything.” The crack in his voice is why he was never cut out for this, he told them that, over and over again.

“And you ain’t gonna.”

“Duck please I, I wasn’t going to do what they told me.”

“If your bosses are who I think, then helpin me would be a goddamn death wish on your part.”

“It would have been worth it. One date with you would have been worth whatever they did to me if they caught me after I ran.”

“That’s mighty funny” the barrel disappears, and the ghost of a kiss takes it’s place, “I was busy weighing whether askin you out was worth the risk of gettin shot.”

Duck sets the Glock on the counter as Indrid slumps against it, turning to find the ranger watching him carefully.

“What do we do now?” He sort of wants him to kiss him, sort of wants to storm out and find whoever thought he could be gotten rid of so easily.

“I say we-” Duck freezes as three, sharp knocks come from the door. He crouches to the floor, Indrid following him. The ranger grabs Indrid’s gun from the floor, whispers, “stay put, follow my lead.” Then he calls, “who is it?”

“I have a package for you to sign for, Mr. Newton.”

“Be right there. Actually” he lowers his voice slightly, “uh, Indrid, you’re right by the door, could you-”

The shot breaks the wood right where Indrid’s head would be. Duck fires two shots, both of them sighing when there’s a tell-tale thump of body meeting carpet.

“Glad yours had the silencer. Buys us some time, but someone is bound to come outta their apartment eventually and find the fucker.”

“Our hitmen also have to report completion within a certain time frame or back-up is sent. And no, I can’t do it for him, it has to be voice contact.” Indrid stands, calmer than a moment ago; this part he knows.

“Good to know. In that case, slim,” he raises an eyebrow, “think it’s time you and I take a vacation.”

——————————————————————

“You really got no clue what they’re after you for?” Duck winds them along highway 50 as the sun peers anxiously over the horizon.

“None.” Indrid fishes out the roll of mini doughnuts he bought near Donner Lake, the first place Duck had deemed safe to stop since they left the coast. They’re in his car, Indrid knowing full well the one he borrowed has a tracking device installed, “I’m mostly a numbers man; they give me scenarios and I give them likely outcomes. I, ah, I also helped with clean up, but I suspect they did that when they were annoyed I’d given them what they thought was an inaccurate prediction. I don’t like the aftermath of disasters, even if they’re small. And I was never, ever assigned a hit until last night” He worries a hangnail, “I thought they were satisfied with my work. Even if they weren’t, they could easily do away with me. There was no point in sending me on a fake mission and hoping you’d kill me instead.”

“Unless they got something against me too, which they could.” Duck drums on the wheel, “I, uh, I joined a, uh, guess you’d call ‘em a vigilante group when I was younger. I was eighteen and they recruited me, sayin how there were certain folks who were chosen to protect the world from evil. I avoided it for a few years, but they were persistent, and honestly I thought I could make a difference. That we were just protectin folks who the system didn’t. And we did. Kinda.”

Indrid offers him a doughnut, which he takes and chews before continuing

“Trouble was, not everyone agreed on who needed protectin. It got so convoluted and so goddamn dangerous that I decided I wanted out. Wanted to spend the rest of my life makin things grow, lookin out for the woods, that kinda thing. It almost worked. But if I could go back in time to talk to that kid, I’d tell ‘im there are enemies you can’t unmake, things you can’t undo.”

“Very true.” Indrid murmurs, “I suppose I’d tell myself I did not blame him for throwing in with who he had to in order to survive.”

“Pretty sure that’s what you’re doin’ now, too.”

“No.” Indrid shakes his head, “right now I am on the run with someone I like a great deal.”

Duck flashes him a smile, flips the blinker to turn them into the only sign of civilization for miles; a cluster of buildings calling itself Cold Springs Station. The groggy teen at the counter gives them the key to a cramped cabin.

Indrid tosses his bag–the one he hid in the trunk of the borrowed car, knowing the likely outcome of his visit would involve flight of some kind–down on the right side of the bed, Duck doing the same on the left. It’s only when they’re under the covers, both half-asleep, that he notices he forgot something.

“Drat. I meant to stick something plush in my bag. I, ah” he blushes, “I sleep much better with something to cuddle.”

A strong arm drapes over his waist while Duck tucks his head under Indrid’s head, “how’s that?”

Indrid winds his limbs around him, feeling like a little kid who’s just had his favorite teddy bear returned to him after hours of tearful searching, “perfect.”

——————————————————

The plan is to weave through the Southwest like a drunk bee before turning North; they need to put off visiting any places with friends or family for as long as they can. They spent a morning on the floor of a run down motel with a map and some pens, marking off the safest routes and places they’d like to visit. Duck picks state parks, Indrid any place likely to have lots of sweet food.

Whenever they stop for the night, they never bother asking for two beds. While they’ve yet to go further, Indrid delights in waking Duck with a kiss on the cheek each morning.

On the Nevada border Indrid spends two hours playing Blackjack, counting cards enough to win several thousand dollars but not enough to get caught. In a pizza place outside of Salt Lake, Duck wins Indrid a stuffed mothman from a claw machine (“just in case you gotta sleep alone some time”).

And fifty miles from Alamogordo, they get into trouble.

Indrid carries his weapon near constantly, but he really didn’t think he needed it at the Motel 6 Breakfast Buffet. When the man waiting for the waffle maker next to him says “outside, Cold, let’s get this over with” he goes still, wishing they’d at least given him time to eat.

Then he hurls his scalding mocha into the man’s face, striking him in the ribs and breaking his nose before he even hits the floor. Orange and red liquid splashes his face, two shots hitting the juice dispenser behind him. The other two assassins don’t get a second chance to fire; Duck takes out one with a chair, jabs the other with the splintered leg, and gathers both their guns with an ease that Indrid admires.

As they’re sprinting for the parking lot, Indrid slapping an extra two hundred dollars on the lobby desk in apology, he realizes admiration doesn’t quite capture his feelings. Duck is so calm in the face of danger, so commanding, and so very, very…hot.

The moment he allows himself that thought is the moment he dooms his focus for the remainder of the day. He contributes to the planning of their next stop, to driving and watching the mirror for cars that follow for too long, but his mind is back in the dining room, hoping Duck will turn the fire in his eyes onto Indrid, bend him over the beige table and take him while the people who tried to hurt them whimper and bleed on the floor.

“‘Drid? I’m gonna go shower, didn’t get a chance this mornin. You wanna scope out dinner?”

“Of course, but I fear it might be the vending machine special again.”

“Eh, I can live with that, especially if they got those Oreo packets.” Duck blows him a kiss and shuts the bathroom door.

Duck’s showers are between five and six minutes in length; Indrid’s certain he can get himself off in that time. He slips his pajama pants down, spits in his hand, and pretends the fingers pressing on his neck are not his own. That Duck’s voice is in his ear the same way it was that first night, low and so firm Indrid has no choice but to bend.

“You droppin hints, slim?” Duck leans in the bathroom doorway, towel around his waist.

He bolts upright, pants tangled around his knees, “Nono, I’m, I’m so sorry, I thought you were going to be a few minutes more.”

“Wanted to shave and forgot my dop kit. Now I’m kinda disappointed that I was gonna miss the show.”

“I, ah, I, it doesn’t bother you?”

“Thought we established we were into each other.” Duck’s smile falters, “wait, fuck, if you decided you ain’t I’ll back the fuck off.”

“No!” Indrid crawls to the edge of the bed nearest Duck, not caring how silly he must look, “it’s the opposite, I want you even more now than I did when we started this trip. After this morning I–ah, never mind. The point is, I would very much like to get you into bed sooner rather than later.”

“How about now?”

“Only if you…” Indrid’s brain screeches to a stop as Duck drops his towel. Now he understands where the urge to create phallic sculptures comes from; he wants to preserve this sight for all time.

“Glad you approve.” Duck chuckles, joins him on the bed, “gotta say the, uh, feelin’s mutual.” He slides a hand along Indrid’s dick, gone soft from his alarm, and lets out an approving groan as it hardens against his palm, “that’s it, sugar, get excited for me.”

“If I get any more excited I will explode.”

“Can’t have that, it’s a pain to clean blood off of walls by yourself” a kiss finds his cheek, “you got a preference for how we do this?”

“I, I’d like to, ah, receive. At least for tonight. Is that alright?”

“Hell yeah.” Duck growls, abandoning him on the bed and laughing when he whines, “gimme two seconds, slim, then I’ll take care of you.” Two condoms and a small bottle of lube bonk into Indrid’s foot, “packed those just in case. You’re gonna get one of ‘em out and open yourself up for me while tellin me just what got you so riled up. Shirt off, c’mon, get to it.”

The gruff tone means Indrid is blushing on every inch of skin by the time he’s fully naked. As Duck’s gaze moves over him, all traces of dominance wash away, leaving expression tender when their eyes finally meet.

“Christ, ‘Drid, you look better than ever coulda pictured. Shoulda been bookin more places with pools just to get you shirtless.”

“It’s January, dear.”

“Hot tubs, then.” Duck nudges him onto his back by kissing his shoulder, and the sight of the ranger above him reminds Indrid’s fingers what they should be doing. He fumbles the condom open, gasps when one digit feels like a massive intrusion.

“Easy slim, easy, you’re probably still tense from this mornin.”

“I thought that much was obvious.” Indrid grins as Duck bends to kiss his collarbone.

“It is, so start tellin me what got you so horny you jerked off the first free second you had.”

“It’s a, a bit embarrassing OH, ohthat'snice” he sighs as Duck kisses a slow trail towards his hips, “but I find the moments when you demonstrate a certain…ruthlessness in-incredibly arousing.” He wiggles his hips happily as Duck drags his lips across his belly.

“Keep goin.”

“You’re brave, and calm even when things are awful, and that makes me feel so very safe with you. But then there are those times when I remember how dangerous you could be, AHnnn” the second finger goes in easier than the first, “that when it, it comes down to it you are more seasoned in lethal matters than I am and I, you could render me utterly helpless, have me, use me, hurt me, but instead you offer me more tenderness than I deserve.” He glances down to where Duck’s chin rests on his chest, the ranger’s eyes overflowing with affection.

“You want the gentle me or the rough one tonight?” Duck tucks a strand of Indrid’s silver hair behind his ear.

“Rough.” It’s so quiet he’s amazed Duck hears it.

“Okay. In that case-”

“AHgod!” Indrid’s hand is pulled free as Duck first flips him over and then hauls him onto his knees.

“Hands on the wall. Now.”

Indrid sets his palms on peeling grey paint as foil crinkles behind him. When the head of Duck’s cock rubs his entrance he whimpers, hoping the prep was enough.

“Here’s how this is gonna go; I’m gonna use this cute little ass however long and however hard I want, and you;re gonna keep your hands there the whole fuckin time. You move, or you mouth off, and I shove some fingers in along with my dick just to remind you who’s boss.”

“Ohhhhhyes” Indrid rests his forehead on the wall.

“It gets to be too much, say stop.” A kiss to his neck, “much as I wanna ruin you, wanna be good to you even more.”

“Understood. Now please, please fuck meEEEh, ohgoodnessAH, ahhhgod.” He scratches the wall as Duck stretches him open, the prep proving enough but only just and tears pricking his eyes by the time Duck bottoms out.

One hand stays on his hip while Duck’s right arm wraps around his chest, keeping them close, “Fuuuck, now I see what your job was; ass this nice, you were the fuckin cocksleeve for the entire Organization, weren’t you?”

“Not at all” Indrid rolls his hips at the taunt in Duck’s voice, “I was a very valuable asset.”

“Yeah, I’ll say you’re an asset.” A sharp thrust, the menace of which is broken by Duck giggling at his own joke, Indrid hiding his face in his arm to do the same.

“I say in, ahgod, an office all day, no one saw me, I was not h-hired for my looks, I promise you.”

“If you say so. I say it’s their. Fuckin. Loss.” Three thrusts and Indrid’s cock is dripping onto the pillows, and he moans as Duck settles into a demanding rhythm.

“Got another theory for you, slim.”

“D-do tell.” Whether the stammering is from his teeth clacking together or his thoughts being bounced around his brain from the force of Duck pounding into him, he can’t say.

“I think you stuck around as long as you did because you get off on it danger.”

Indrid sucks in a breath, whimpers, “No. I, I was there because I was apprenticed out and, as you knowOH it’s, it’s hard to leave such places.”

Fingers on his throat, pressing but not squeezing, “Liar. Bet you got off at least once a day, let everyone from the hired hits to higher ups cum in you as long as they made you think they could off someone. Oh fuck, heh, you like that?” Duck smirks as Indrid tries to fuck himself in time with the pumps of his hips.

“Yes, goodness, I’d never want it, only want you, but, but the idea is divine.”

“Too bad, because now you’re all mine and anyone who tries to take you is gonna be in for a world of hurt.”

His climax curls in his stomach, begging him to touch himself and free it, but he’s determined to be good.

“Duck, please let me cum, please, it’s so good but I can’t-”

“I’ll help you out sugar, don’t worry. But you gotta do one thing first.” Duck nips his ear, “say you’re my personal toy from now on. C’mon” the fingers on his throat tighten, “say i-”

“I’m yours, I’m your toy, only you can have me, you can do whatever you wish to me and I’ll take it with a smile, anything, sweetheart, please, pleasepleasepleaseAHhhhn.” His cum splatters on the wall, Duck’s hand leaving his dick the instant it does to dig his fingers into both hips and fuck up into him with ecstatic groans.

“That’s it sugar, take it, be good for me and lemme fuck you until you can’t move, ohfuck, fuck, ‘Drid, yes, fuckyes.” He holds him tight as he cums, breath warm against his back. Then he’s pulling out and slumping forward as Indrid falls back into his arms.

“Ooops” he snickers, spotting the cum, “still easier to clean than blood.”

“Indeed.” Indrid bites his lip, “I, that was wonderful but there’s one thing more I would like. Will you kiss me.” He looks over his shoulder to say it. Duck cups his face, turns it so he can bring their lips together. It’s far slower and twice as tender as anything else they’ve done together.

“Can’t believe I forgot to do that until now. Gonna kiss you silly.” Duck kisses him again as Indrid turns in his lap. When he pulls back, his face is serious, “Y’know, it’s easy to be brave and calm when I’m doin’ it for you. You make me feel like I can face any goddamn thing, long as it’s for your sake. That make sense?”

Indrid studies his face in the half-shaded light from the bedside lamp, sees the curves and colors, sees the man he was willing to run away for.

“Yes, sweetheart, it does.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

When Indrid was seven years old, his family lived next door to a Rottweiler. There was a woman who lived there too, but she made far less of an impression than her dog, who would growl through the gap in the corner of the fence, startling Indrid every time. He was out in the front yard, sketching moths on the sidewalk, when the dog came barreling out the front door, straight onto him. His owner was incredibly apologetic, and Indrid only suffered a bruised side and some pavement burn. Looking back, he knows the dog was harmless, a friendly barrel on legs who just had to share his joy at an impending car ride.

Nevertheless, his inner child still freezes like a rabbit before a hawk whenever any canine larger than a corgi comes near him. 

So you can imagine that the hellhound is not a welcome development.

He clenches his hands in his lap as the monster pinches each of the black candle wicks, leaving only the moonlight through the window screen.

“Fire season, figure you wanted those out ASAP.”

“Ah. Yes. Thank you.” He keeps his gaze just in front of the hellhound so all he has to process are the white-hot claws and dark brown fur with emerald embers showing through cracks, not the green-fire eyes and the mouth crammed with god knows how many teeth. 

“Aw hell yeah” The claws lift the trio succulents in their tray, “I’ve never seen two of these. Mighty nice offerin.”

“I’m glad” He clears his throat, wishing the spell summoned any other entity, “I hope it will be sufficient for the task I ask of you. I, a dear friend of mine has been frame for murder and is stuck in prison. I know without a doubt he’s innocent but, but nobody seemed to believe my testimony at the trial and, ah, the point is I implore you, emissary of the shadows, to get him the hell out of there.”

“Do my best. Got a name?”

“Barclay Cobb.”

“Lemme go scope him out now. Don’t go nowhere.” 

There’s a faint whiff of ozone and campfire, leaving Indrid alone to anxiously return the candles and books to the appropriate piles and shelves in his room. He flips on the light, intending to play Cryptid Crossing to calm his nerves, when a massive, canine shadow falls across the wall. The hellhound is with him once more, and there’s no way to avert his eyes without being rude, which for Barclay’s sake he cannot risk.. Nothing for it but to face the nightmare head on.

“You want the good news or the bad news first?”

“Good, please.” 

“Your friend ain’t locked up any more. Seems like he got free, even got a car.”

Indrid perks up; he’ll go check the spot where he and Dani left the junker that Ned repaired for them in the hopes that Barclay might, somehow, escape.

“Bad news is, one of my, uh, co-workers is already keepin an eye on him. He’s a smart one, but the second he spotted me he showed his teeth and made it damn clear this was a one hound job.” The hellhound shrugs, “I can check back on him from time to time if you want, but if I try to move in on another hounds contract, I’ll be in big fuckin trouble. Like, get turned into stone trouble.”

“Oh. I see. I, I’m glad he’s out but he’s he’s still in danger, someone could get him…” Indrid’s hope crumples and falls like a dead moth to the bottom of his ribs. He’s failed his friend again, even his attempts at dark magic aren’t enough, he’s always too slow, too far behind the twists of fate, he’s useless, useless, useless.

He sinks down on the bed and closes his eyes, turning his back on the hellhound, unable to find words or sounds to express anything helpful. His mind is going flat, his tongue heavy. 

“Hey now-”

The growl is closer, startling his mouth into motion. 

“If you can’t help Barclay you may as well go. That was the only reason I summoned you.”

“It just don’t feel right, leaving you here all blue to spend the night beatin’ yourself up.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s what I deserve for failing him.”

“Don’t sound like you did.”

“If I’d just been more convincing at the trial, if I’d, I’d had him over the night he was arrested or something so he wouldn’t have been anywhere near the murder in the first place, he wouldn’t be in this mess.” He sniffles, feeling guilty for being so pathetic when his friend has faced far worse. 

Then he stiffens as a large, hot weight settles on the bed and creeps it’s sharp teeth towards his neck

———————————————————————————————

Duck can tell the human–Indrid, that’s what he’d called himself–is upset. He’s sensed this feeling in some of the hikers he rescues, where they shut down out of fear, stress, exhaustion, or all three. If he’s careful he can usually scent out how to comfort them without pressing and stressing them out more. So it’s only natural to climb onto Indrid’s bed and snuffle at the back of his neck, memories and emotions flooding his senses as he does. 

The human stills, exhaustion and guilt flooding Duck’s nose as he murmurs, “Are you going to bite my head off for sending you on a pointless hunt?”

“What? No, of course not, that ain’t how hellhounds roll.”

“Mmm” is all he gets in reply, but in a rush he knows every self-blaming statement, every belief that he failed, came with total conviction. Duck takes a deep breath, searching for the source of his current fear, and finds a memory of a Rottweiler, chased with a memory of a brother threatening over and over again to drag him through the gate and let the dog finish what it started. 

Whelp, that explains it. 

Duck let’s the heat slip away from his body, lets himself shrink and his limbs shorten until he’s human. His human form, like his true form, is stocky and hairy, and he likes that it keeps the roundness of his face and the easiness of his smile. He scoots to the end of the bed, hands in his lap as he lets Indrid note the change at his own pace.

The human looks at him, then sits up in surprise, “You can turn human?”

“Yep. Got a whiff of the memory that you were scared of dogs, figured this’d be easier on you.”

A dark eyebrow raises, a stark contrast to the silver hair, “Did you also read my mind to turn into a guy who’s exactly my type?”

“No? This is just how I look.”

“Oh.” Indrid sits up, rubs his face with a groan, “I’m sorry. I’m just…I’m so scared. For him. For me. For everyone.”

“Y'know, if I ever scare you, you can just whack my nose with a newspaper.”

Indrid’s eyes blink behind his red glasses. Then he laughs, a fluttering burst that reminds Duck of a much-needed summer rain, “Fair enough. I’d never do that to a real dog but I suppose you can take it.”

“Gotta say, half of my job to be scary, so I’m flattered you think I’m good at it. I’m considered kinda tame by most other hellhounds, on account of my finding more lost hikers or kids who wandered off than killers. Way I see it, ain’t no point in scarin’ people who ain’t done nothin wrong. Like you.” He smiles, sets his hands in his lap and crosses his ankles, “you got no reason to be scared of me, I promise.”

Indrid nods, but his hands come up to cling to wiry arms.

“Want me to go haunt that brother of yours for threatenin you so much? Could put the fear of Duck into ‘im.”

A soft snicker, “No, but thank you. I, if you’re willing to stay around, would you like some food? I was going to make myself a midnight snack.”

“Wouldn’t turn down beef jerky if you’ve got it. Or some popcorn; fuckin love that stuff.”

The human leads him downstairs; his room is part of a hotel, the old, small kind where it was just a big house that humans built up near train stations or beaches. No one else is up, and so he stretches out on the couch as Indrid makes a bag of popcorn, then dumps Lucky Charms into a bowl for himself. 

“I’m amazed you’re not constantly setting things on fire.” Indrid gestures to where his tail would be as he sits in the chair opposite him. 

“Mostly because I’ve been around for awhile. You learn how to change your temperature, keep your flames kinda, uh, metaphysical instead of real. Younger hellhounds catch shit on fire left and right; drives me nuts. Humans already think we’re evil, we don’t gotta add to that by causin fuckin forest fires. Plus you gotta be able to make sure flames don’t show through your human form.”

“Fascinating.” 

Duck notices the tattoo on Indrid’s right shoulder, a deaths-head moth with the phases of the moon on it’s back, “You design that?”

“Mm? Oh, yes, I designed all of my tattoos.” A shy, friendly smile, “would you like to see the others?”

“Hell yeah.”

They talk until well past three, shushing and giggling on their way back up the stairs. As they sit on the bed, Indrid takes two, deep breaths and whispers, “Could I see your true form again? Or, at least, try being near it with my eyes closed?”

“You sure?” 

“I feel like fear is all I’m made of these days. I want to be less afraid. Even if it’s just a little bit.”

Duck nods, waits until Indrid closes his eyes to return to his usual shape. Indrid senses the shift in the bed, and after a moment carefully extends his hand. Duck gently grasps his wrist, guiding his hand to the thick fur of his chest. There’s a delighted little inhale and then the second hand joins it.

“Your fur is a lovely texture.”

“Glad you like it. You good temperature-wise? I can make myself colder if you need.”

“I run cold, so this is nice. And yes, even in the summer.” Indrid scoots closer, bumping into Duck’s crossed legs, smile growing the longer he pets him. On a hunch, Duck cautiously tips them onto their sides, allowing Indrid to burrow against him with a long sigh, the kind that lives in a chest so long one can’t remember when the tension first began.

“Not as scary when you can’t see me?”

“Mmmhmm”

He drapes his arm over Indrid’s side, “I can work with that.”

———————————————————————————

Indrid will never understand how a town the size of Kepler can support not only himself, but the psychic parlor on the other end of the highway that slices between the rows of fast food chains, used car shops, and car washes.  He’s not complaining, as it allows him to pay his rent while also selling his art on the side. 

Before it all went to hell, Barclay would sell him baked goods at a discount, which he could then sell near the crystals at the front counter, enticing a sale out of people who’d just come to gawk at the rocks and weird plants he puts in the windowsill. 

He’d give anything to be picking up that order again, for Barclay to pass him off some new cookie he was tinkering to test it on his sweet tooth…

Warm, reassuring breeze ruffles his hair. There’s no one behind him, but when he turns back around he swears there’s a canine-shaped shadow slipping beneath the front door. 

After work, he drives into the Monongahela State Park, waving to Thacker at the toll booth as he does; his friend gifted everyone at the Lodge yearly passes to all state parks, which Indrid uses to come and find inspiration for new art. As he’s studying the updated map in the Visitor Center, a commotion catches his ear. It seems some lost day hikers have just been rescued after two days in the woods. Juno is talking with the ranger who led them in. The ranger who looks exactly like the man Indrid slept next to this morning. 

“How long you been workin here again? Not that I ain’t grateful for the help, but I just can’t believe we never crossed paths before”

“Uh, I, uh, I’m usually the, uh, night shift? But, fuck, uh, they call me in for search and, uh, rescue sometimes? Uh, dang, think that’s the end of my shift.” The man tips his hat and departs out the back door. Indrid waits a moment, then follows him out onto the boardwalk trail.

“If you’re done for the day, would you care to join me on a walk?”

Duck yelps, then laughs when he realizes who’s beside him, “Damn, Indrid, nothin gets by you.”

“On the contrary, plenty of things get by me. Like time, for instance, or whether I put the clothes in the washer before turning it on. You simply have a way of capturing my attention.” He doesn’t mean it flirtatiously, but pink appears on Duck’s cheeks all the same. 

“You, uh, got any favorite spots? I ain’t been in this forest until today; I was keepin an eye on you in case you were still feelin blue when I overheard someone on the street talking about the missin hikers.”

“I like this loop; if we linger long enough, we’ll even see bats. The way they fly always cheers me up.”

Duck offers his arm and Indrid takes it, emboldened by the affection on Duck’s face. 

They stay long enough for both bats and fireflies to emerge before driving back to the Lodge. His lack of sleep last night is catching up with him, so he faceplants on the bed before remembering that Duck doesn’t have anywhere to sleep. 

“I could crash on the floor? Or go ask, uh, Mama right? I could ask her about a room.”

Indrid’s room was once a suite, complete with a king bed whose springs are so old it acts more like a hammock than a mattress these days. But it does have some perks. 

“If you’re comfortable, you’re welcome to sleep up here again. But I warn you, I tend to flop about.”

“I can handle that. You head off to sleep, ‘Drid. I gotta touch base with the beyond to make sure there ain’t any messages waitin’, then I’ll join you.”

Indrid tugs the sheet up, not quite willing to surrender the comforting, mild weight even in the face of the June heat. For the first time in over six months, he sleeps without fear of fingers lifting the half-open window, of the real killer coming for him while his friend rots in prison. 

When he wakes up, his sleep-addled brain wonders why there’s a rock covered in phosphorescent moss laying on the end of his bed. Then a tail wags in pursuit of some dream and he remembers. Duck is enchanting like this, the embers peeking through his fur and skin reminding Indrid of those glow-in-the-dark stars he once had on his ceiling. His face is, remarkably, even softer in sleep than when he smiles, and while a chain of memories urges him to freeze or flee, reminding him of the rows of teeth behind that muzzle, no fear grips his veins. 

Instead, he sets a hand on a warm back and pets in slow, meandering motion, until the hellhound stretches and mumbles something about breakfast.

———————————————————-

They’ve reached the point in the summer where Indrid is sleeping with no covers and only boxers preserving his modesty.

Duck is certain this is the greatest torment on earth. Which, given where he comes from, is saying something. But laying next to him, night after night, wishing he could rip them off and lick every inch of what they’re hiding, is getting to him. Twice now he’s woken up humping the bed and thanking his lucky stars Indrid wasn’t roused by the motion. 

Worse still is that he knows Indrid’s affection for him morphed into attraction weeks ago. The human is constantly cuddling up with him, brushing his fur, holding his hand. They’ve gone on outings that are dates in all but name. But all it takes is one snuffle at Indrid’s mind to know that, in spite of no longer fully blaming himself for Barclay’s imprisonment, the human still believes he doesn’t deserve to be happy until his friend is able to be the same. 

Duck aches to tell him to be happy when he can, but he’s afraid that will come across as selfish. So he contents himself with sleeping in his bed and watching over him when he walks home, with hushed late-night conversations and mornings spent shoulder to shoulder on the couch. 

The other residents of Amnesty Lodge barely batted an eye when he started hanging around, and he’s enjoying having friends who aren’t about to be called away to chase down damned souls. He also knows that Aubrey, Dani’s girlfriend, is a hellhound herself, but they’ve arrived at a mutual agreement to never, ever mention this. 

Everyone he loves misses Barclay. Which is why he cannot wait to give them findings from his latest recon on the guy. 

The Lodge is empty save for Indrid, and so Duck stays in his hellhound form as he says, “He’s in the clear, ‘Drid. I just found out his hellhound worked out who the real Northwoods Killer is and, uh, well I ain’t sure we gonna be seein’ the guy anymore. Point is, soon as the legal stuff is sorted out, Barclay’s comin’ home.”

The news plays across Indrid’s face, surprise giving way to unfettered joy. Then cool hands are cupping his cheeks as the human kisses him.

His tail wags so hard it knocks the mail from the coffee table. 

“Sorry” Indrid’s smile suggests the opposite as he collapses against Duck’s chest, “I just, he’s okay. He’s okay and he’s coming home.” His arms circle half-way around Duck in a very determined hug, “I can’t wait for you two to meet each other.”

The next two weeks are a flurry of chaos and phone calls, Barclay checking in every day to update them on his status. Duck helps Thacker fix up Barclay’s room, the one Mama couldn’t bring herself to clean out and rent to someone new. Dani sets up a brand new kitchen garden, while Indrid and Aubrey decide on which cake most says “oh thank god you’re home.”

When the day finally comes, Barclay is barely through the door before he’s swarmed in a group hug. As tearful “welcome homes” flood the room, Duck meets the eyes of the man who accompanied Barclay across the threshold. 

Joe gives him a small nod of recognition as a towering hellhound shadow–that only Duck can see–looms behind him. 

Barclay wipes his eyes, “This, uh, this is Joseph. My boyfriend. He helped me out a ton through all this.”

Joe casts a dazzling smile into the group as he shakes hands as the tail on the shadow wags happily. 

————————————————————

Would the bed be cooler without a furry hellhound in it? Yes

Is Indrid about to kick Duck out or make him be human? Not a chance. 

Ever since they began sleeping side by side, Indrid dreams of sunny beaches or turquoise pools at desert hideaways. Tonight, his dream self is in a tent on a tropical island, his friends all safe and chattering away at the campfire outside. Duck, however, is with him, running his claws along his sides and kissing his neck.

He wakes up slowly, the dream still clinging to him as he registers soft fur and a familiar snout snuffling his face and throat. It’s an idle expression of affection, one that Duck sheepishly admitted he doesn’t notice half the time.

“Just happens because I’m so damn happy when we’re together.”

He lets his eyes flutter closed and runs his fingers along Duck’s face, “Nice Duck.” He kisses his shoulder, “Good Duck.”

There’s a thwup-thwup of tail on sheets, “Love hearin the little sounds you make when you’re all comfy.”

“Mmmm” Indrid hooks his ankle over a strong leg, wiggling until he’s as close to his hellhound as can be, “Duck? Pay attention to me.”

A growling chuckle, “Sugar, I’m literally huggin’ you right now.”

“I want more” He glances up at Duck, laughing when his tongue drags up his neck. 

“Like that?”

“Yes, yes very much like that.”

“Aw, should I be hurt you ain’t even a little scared of me anymore.”

“‘S your own fault for being so sweet and nice to me. My handsome Duck” He kisses just below the strip of embers on his chest, rolls his hips to let Duck know just how unafraid he is.

“I got fire for eyes, darlin.”

“I know what I said.”

A claw traces down his arm, “What do you want, sugar?”

“You. Want my hellhound.”

“Your hellhound, huh?” A paw slips between them, cupping his half-hard cock, “that mean this is my, uh, situation to attend to?”

He whimpers at the realization that Duck’s palm covers his entire cock with ease, “Please?”

Duck shifts, bringing his free paw around to grip Indrid’s ass. Claws prick through his boxers as Duck kisses his cheek, “Show me how much you want it.”

Indrid grinds against his hand, savoring the warmth of it, digs his fingers into dark fur. There’s a rip of fabric and then his underwear is gone, its remains tossed in the direction of the trashcan. The stress of the last few months meant he never jerked off to ease his body’s tension, and so he chases long-overdue relief, moaning as Duck murmurs that it’s okay, that he has him, that he’s here. 

He never wants to be anywhere but here, hints of pine smoke in his nose and green flames flickering off his skin. The more Duck envelopes him, the easier it is to let go, to wildly work his hips until he comes with a gasp that drowns out the Cicadas.

When he looks up, Duck is panting, rows of teeth glinting in the moonlight. In spite of the palpable wave of want coming off him, all he says is, “You wanna go back to sleep?”

How could he deny such a sweet, thoughtful beast?

“No. M’tired but I want you to feel you cum. I want you to use me.”

A growl shakes the lampshade and he shudders. Then there’s a clunk of Duck slamming his mouth shut.

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t be sorry, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.” Indrid peppers his chest with kisses, “you’re my Duck, you take such good care of me and I could never be afraid of you, no matter how big…oh, oh my” his hand can only wrap halfway around the hardening cock between Duck’s legs, “that may be an understatement.”

“Yeah” the pink tinges the embers along his back, “pretty common for hellhounds. Uh, if you want me to fuck you full on it might take awhile. I could eat you out if you want, I know they’re always doin’ that in those books you read…”

“Tempting. But right now I want to be able to talk to you it, it helps keep me in the moment. You could fuck my thighs if you’d like.”

 The growl shakes his bones this time, “Fuck, I’m gonna make such a mess of you.”

Indrid rolls onto his other side. Before he can fumble for the lube, his legs are yanked open and Duck slides his cock between them. 

“Ohmygoodness.”

“You ain’t gonna need any of that.” Duck’s cock is already dripping, mingling with Indrid’s cum and sweat to slick up his thighs, “now, keep ‘em nice and tight for me.”

“Duck” he grabs one, muscular arm, grinning like a fool as Duck slowly thrusts against him, grunting whenever his knot pushes between his thighs. He’s being so careful, his hold and touches remarkably light for his size. Indrid kisses his hand and arms, then turns his head to peck his cheek and murmur, “I recall asking you to use me, sweetheart.”

There’s a snarl and then his knees hit the bed and his cheek smushes into his pillow. The only light is from the flames peeking through Duck’s fur, his bulk blocking out the moon as he blankets Indrid. He’s thrusting so roughly it catches Indrid’s cock, and he squeaks from oversensitivity as it bounces helplessly between his legs. 

“Fuck” Duck growls, “gonna be so much fun to knot you sometime. Gonna do it up, take such good care of you and then keep you on my cock all fucking night, see just how deep in this cute little ass I can get ohfuck, ‘Drid” claws dig into his hips as a low, moaning growl drips down his back. Duck jerks his hips twice and then cums so hard it spatters up Indrid’s stomach and chest. 

The world spins and Indrid is on his back, resting atop Duck’s chest. That won’t do at all; he wants to see his face. He flips over, adjusting so he can kiss him silly as he pants and whines through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“Does…does this mean we’re boyfriends now?” Duck smiles hopefully at him. 

“Nothing would make me happier. I, that is, if you-” Duck cuts him off with another kiss, then licks his nose just to see him laugh. 

“Bet Barclay’s gonna tease you for stealin his ‘date a hellhound’ idea.”

Indrid nestles down in his arms, “I can work with that.”

Chapter Text

Duck’s been hiking the woods in general since 1949 and the woods of the Pacific Northwest since he moved out here for work in 1970. So excuse him if he’s skeptical that there’s some gigantic ape monster running around out here. 

“You don’t gotta be a believer, but this is a hell of a job. Make a little scratch, keep seasoned woodsman from gettin too big for their britches, and make sure they don’t muck up the ecosystem.”

Thacker had a point, which is why Duck agreed to act as both a naturalist and one of two back-country guides for the North American Wildlife Research center. The name is sensible enough, but after a week of hearing them speculate about Sasquatch at base camp, Duck is starting to despair for the wildlife researchers of the future. 

Now, a week out on the trail, Duck suspects many of his fellow explorers have even less outdoors experience than they let on; there’s a whiff of weekend warrior about most of them that gives him the same bad feeling as watching someone wander up a trail in sandals. 

The one exception is Joseph Stern, a former FBI agent turned full time Bigfoot researcher. He listens when Duck points out interesting wildlife, takes both his warnings and opinions seriously instead of treating him like a hick they have to cart around in exchange for permission to be out here.

He also wears the tightest shirts known to man, and Duck is starting to suspect he wouldn’t complain if the ranger felt him up in the tent some night. Not when he made a crack about there being a bear in it the first time they shared. 

Duck’s in no hurry; they’re out here until early fall. If Joe still hasn’t made a move by them, Duck will wait until they get back to town to ask if he’d like to come over and “debrief.”

——————————————————————

“How you holding up?” Barclay sets the grocery bags on the dusty table. 

“I maintain existence is not all it’s cracked up to be.” Indrid stands, intending to join him, and bangs his knee on a chair. Barclay sympathizes; eyesight adjustment was bad enough going from bigfoot to human. He can’t imagine how difficult transitioning from mothman eyesight is. 

Indrid landed in Kepler–literally–three months ago with the same alarmed timbre to his voice Barclay had after stumbling into the place several years prior. He, and many like him, were conjured into existence by sheer force of belief after that fucking Patterson-Gimlin film. Indrid’s lot is even stranger in that mothman as a construct only encompasses a single entity, not the idea of new species, and so he’s the only one of his kind. 

Kepler is a saving grace for Cyrtpids in two ways; it houses the Amnesty Lodge, run by a woman who’s decided that just because cryptids come into being fully grown with memories and legends in tow doesn’t mean they don’t need someone looking after them. And it’s home to Aubrey Little, who’s parents founded the Sylvain commune and who can do magic that would put James Randi to shame. 

For starters, she can make the cryptids disguises so they’re not spotted and off to spend their lives in a zoo. 

Indrid likes to tease him that, if it weren’t for Aubrey making him such a distinct human disguise, Barclay would have no interest in him. They both know it’s not true; Barclay’s wanted Indrid since he first laid eyes on his eye-spotted wings. 

He draws the willowy man into his arms, “Go draw the blinds, little moth. I’ll get my claws into your feathers and show you just how nice being alive can be.”

Indrid kisses his nose with a chirp and a sly smile, “Hmm, well, I’m in such a mood, it may take you all night to convince me.”

—————————————————————————————–

“I thought this place was abandoned.” Joe, standing by his horse as they have lunch, pulls out the map and frowns. 

“It should be. That cabin ain’t had anyone in it for years. But I guess the new resident didn’t get the memo.” Duck peers through his binoculars at the humble structure down in the valley, clearly occupied and in the midst of being repaired. 

“We should ask if we can stay on his property.” Winthrop,one of the backers, looks at his bologna sandwich with disgust, “and if we can, I call the porch. Damn bugs.”

“Yeah, real rude of mother nature not to be a five star resort.” Duck mutters. Joe snickers softly and passes him the bread. 

It’s evening by the time they hit the valley. Duck stands beside Joe in the glow of the porchlight, moths bumping the windows as they wait for the occupant to answer.  When he does, Duck’s breath is gone with the daylight. 

The man in the door is tall and wiry, hair so pale it could be white, with red glasses perched on a narrow nose. His features are angular, his smile wide, and it should all add up to something alarming. Instead, he’s so gorgeous Duck forgets what he was going to say.

If Joe is having the same problem, he doesn’t let on, introducing them and explaining the situation. The man, who gives his name as Indrid, thinks for a moment before agreeing to let them cap near the cabin and make use of its restroom.

 As the others set up camp, Duck watches Joe chat with Indrid on the porch. He must have been a menace as an agent; in ten minutes, Indrid’s posture moves from relaxed to open, and soon he’s leaning almost flirtatiously on the railing as Joe talks. 

“Hey, slick, you gonna help me with the tent or what?” He teases, fully aware of the fact Indrid is now studying him with a flattering intensity. 

“One second, I was asking Mr. Cold if he’s seen any unusual, large, wildlife in the area.”

“Nothing but elk and one bear. Unless we’re counting deer as large? They strike me as medium sized, but no, other than those I haven’t seen anything of note.”

“Any strange smells? Like a skunk but more intense?”

“No? Goodness, who is spreading the word that these, ah, Sasquatch smell bad?” Something in Indrid’s smile flickers.

“It’s just something that turns up in eye-witness accounts. Have you-”

“O-kay, that’s enough with the interrogation for now.” Duck steers Joe towards their tent, “thanks again, Indrid. See you in the mornin.”

They pitch the tent and go over their notes from the last few days, discussing the route for tomorrow. Duck feels more than a little smug that Joe removes a cluster of sightings based on his explanation of how that’s absolutely where a bear den is and how weather can warp bear tracks to look plausibly like a bigfoot. The researcher does keep glancing over at the cabin; at one point, Indrid is at the window and waves to both of them. Joe waves back, a little awkwardly, and protective affection curls through Duck’s chest. 

By the time they’re done talking the rest of the camp is asleep. They lay down and shut off the lantern. Fifteen minutes later, a faint, red light emanates from the upper window of the cabin.

“That’s odd” Joe sits up, peering through a crack in the zipper, “there’s no reason to have a lantern there. It almost…almost looks like a signal.” He pulls the zipper further, reaching for his boots. 

Duck groans and sits up, “Joe, get your ass back in the tent.” 

Joe’s blue eyes glint in the faint light as he looks over his shoulder “Last I checked, Duck, I was the head researcher, and you technically answer to me.”

 “And last I checked, it was fuckin bad manners to creep around some poor fellas house.”

“I’m not creeping, I’m just…going for a look.” 

“No, you ain’t.” Duck grabs the back of the boxers Stern’s taken to wearing to bed. 

“Let go!” Joe hisses.

“Get back in the tent and I will.”

Joe simply turns around and tries to further unzip the tent, at which point Duck tugs, pulling him backwards and landing the taller man on top of him with a mutual “oof.”

“This seems unnecessary.” Joe mutters into his shoulder, though he stays down. 

“It’s necessary to keep you from violating someone’s privacy for the sake of a silly story.”

Joe’s posture sags, and after a moment he whispers, “If you think it’s silly, why did you agree to come?”

“Because y’all are payin me. And because I’m real curious about what people are seein’. Truth be told, you’re the first fella who’s made a case for Bigfoot that I even half-believe, because you know your stuff and actually think about things for two seconds.”

“Thank you. Really, coming from you that’s actually high praise.”

“Seems to me you deserve a little praise now and then.” Duck smiles. Joe shifts in his arms and so he quickly adds, “you need me to let you up?”

“No. Um, that is, I’m comfortable like this if you are.”

“I’d say I’m plenty comfy.” He hazards a glide of his hands down Joe’s lower back, settling them on his ass and getting a surprised sigh in return. 

“Really? I, I mean, not that I’m complaining it’s just, you seem like a very normal, red-blooded american man.”

“Sure as hell red-blooded enough to appreciate this handsome face” He moves one hand up to carefully trace a thumb along Joe’s jaw, a hint of stubble pricking his skin, “you crack me up, slick. You believe in a huge-ass ape thing but not a gay fella from the south.”

“That second one’s not as much talked about.”

“Think you might just need to broaden your horizons some. If you stick around town when we’re done, happy to help you do just that.”

“I’d like that.” Joe shifts and rolls so that he’s straddling Duck, the smallest flash of shyness on his face before he dips down and kisses him. Duck slips his fingers into black hair, pressing him closer so he can tease his tongue between his lips. Joe moans, covers his mouth as Duck pulls away enough to kiss his way across his cheek and down his neck, nipping softly enough to avoid any marks.  

He grunts as Joe rolls his hips, the taller man smiling at the reaction and giving his thigh an appreciative squeeze, “If you want, I’ve been told I give good head. Through stalls, at least.”

The thought of Joe on his knees in some grimy bathroom with a dick down his throat sends most of his blood south, but the remainder still powering his brain reminds him the other man deserves something much better than an anonymous hook-up. 

“Appreciate the offer, darlin. But we got plenty of nights ahead of us, and you could do with a hell of a lot more kissin’ first.”

A soft moan, followed by a self-depreciating laugh, “Shit, that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Damn shame.” Duck rolls them onto their sides, hooking his ankle over a toned leg, “guess I better get to makin’ up the difference.”

—————————————————————–

“Ugh, you get sprayed by a skunk one time!” Barclay throws up his hands, “just my luck I walked by a campsite where someone had a camera right after.”

“That does explain Joseph’s comment…” Indrid stares out the window in the direction the research party left. He didn’t enjoy having to tell Barclay to stay away last night, but even with them both human the chances of the disguise malfunctioning were too high. 

(He does appreciate that when he moved from concept into concrete being, it was a version of him that had the gift of future vision).

“Do you think they’re a big threat?”

“I think Joseph is exactly the kind of person who brought us into existence. And that if anyone in that group is going to find out the truth, it will be him. Or Duck, because he’s looking for it, not just for us.”

Barclay takes his hand, “Come back to the Lodge? I know you need some space to sort out being mothman but I’d, uh, I’d feel better if you weren’t out here alone with them tromping around.”

“Yes, I think I had better.” He flutters his eyelashes, hoping it looks as alluring on him as it does on the heroines in his romance novels, “provided you let me stay in your room.”

Barclay kisses him, “Sure thing, little moth.”

———————————————————-

Joseph knows Winthrop and the others are on this expedition in the hopes of making a find that will make them millionaires, and that it was only a matter of time before an argument like the one he had with them tonight broke out. 

He did not expect the end result of this to be his and Duck’s tent getting shoved down a hillside. 

As they scrabble at the polyester and the dirt beneath, trying to slow their descent and keep them from turning into a knot in one end of the tent, he marvels at the other’s confidence; yes, they have a second guide, but Duck knows the area better than anyone. He doesn’t wish harm on anyone, but if the rest of the party is never seen again, he won’t feel that bad. 

They almost make it to the bottom with only bruises and torn bags. Then the angle sharpens and they drop six feet, Duck landing on his wrist and cursing as Joseph frees them from the tangled fabric. 

“Fuck, think it’s fuckin broken, must’ve fallen on it dead wrong.”

“Stay still. My first aid kit is somewhere around here.” He digs through the mess, finds the red carrier and helps Duck onto a log so he can get the wrist into a sling and bandage the cut on his own leg.

“Good news is, owfuck, if my map” Duck taps his temple, “is right, we ain’t all that far from Kepler, and they got at least one doctor. But we might wanna wait until morning; stand a better chance of stayin the right course if we can see.”

“I’ll see what else I can salvage from the tent.” He runs a hand over his hair, “I’m so sorry, Duck. I should have kept my mouth shut.”

Duck’s uninjured arm bumps into his own, “All that woulda done is make it so I was the one who reamed ‘em out for the idea they could fuckin poach out here.”

A crack in the brush in front of them. Duck grabs the flashlight they’d been using to check their injuries. 

It’s not the reflective eyes that worry him; it’s the fact they’re a good eight feet off the ground 

“Gun in your bag?”  Duck whispers.

“It was. No idea if it’s still there.”

A low growl as the hulking figure moves closer. He motions for Duck to stay still and takes the flashlight from him, standing between his friend and the encroaching creature. Its fur is reddish-brown in the light, and it’s not nearly as hairy as he expected. The face is more human than ape, the ears pointed, and claws are visible on the tips of its hands. 

“It’s beautiful.” He says it half to Duck and half to himself, which is why he nearly drops the flashlight when Bigfoot responds. 

“Uh, thanks.”

“Holy shit.” He shakes his head to clear it, the urgency of their situation keeping him from jumping for joy at the fact he’s not only right but that the subject of his research can actually talk with him, “I’m sorry if we’re in your territory, but we were abandoned by our expedition and my friend here is hurt. Do you know the safest route to Kepler?”

Bigfoot chuckles, “Man, he wasn’t kidding about you. Yeah, I can get you there. You both okay to walk?”

Duck gets to his feet, “Yep. Just go slow to start, think Joe and I are both a little rattled in the skull from the fall.” 

Bigfoot gives a thumbs up, then waves for them to follow him. Joseph takes Duck’s arm, unwilling to risk his falling behind, and starts into the darkness after him. 

——————————————————–

“Incredible” Joseph stares at his notes, coffee sitting untouched on the table in front of him. Whether he’s referring to the disguise charm, the way cryptids come into existence, or Barclay’s cooking, he isn’t sure. All he knows is those blue eyes have been sparkling at him all morning and he’s not interested in losing their attention any time soon. 

“Brought into being by intense, sudden, collective belief. I mean, the theological and metaphysical implications alone are earth shattering. Duck and I could write whole papers on how it influences ecosystems, too…” He sets the end of his pen in his mouth, pondering the notebook.

“Don’t let Mama hear you say that. She’s got a basement and she’s not afraid to lock people in it.” It’s a teasing comment; in the day since they arrived, Joseph has made it abundantly clear he has no interest in endangering Barclay or the others by revealing their exact location or identities.

Joseph lowers his pen, “What’s it like? Being you, I mean. Coming into the world that way.”

“It’s…weird. Like, I have these memories, this history, these features. I exist the way I do because enough people think that’s the truth. But at the same time I, I like cooking” he gestures to the flattop, “I like blues music and I hate the way smoke looks in the sky and I cry at wedding scenes in movies. No one gave me those things. That’s all me.” He shrugs, “Like I said, it’s weird. I, uh, I can try to answer whatever questions you have, though.”

A gentle, dazzling smile, “And if my questions are just about Barclay and not Bigfoot?” 

“That’s fine too.” He winks, then settles in for questioning. 

———————————————————————-

“Room service!”

Duck looks up from the paper to find Indrid Cold in tiny shorts and a tank top, beaming as he holds out a breakfast tray.

“Aw hell yeah, is that corned beef hash?” 

“Indeed. Joseph said it was your favorite.”

“Swear that fella’s got a mind like a fuckin steel trap.” 

“He is remarkably observant. I can see why you chose him for a mate.” 

Duck drops his fork, then laughs a little, “Guess that’s one word for him. Ain’t sure he’s interested in anything that formal.” Suddenly, all he can picture is Joe at basecamp, getting into his car and driving away, back to his small apartment and nights spent hoping someone will call him a good boy from the other side of the glory hole. 

“Uh, thanks, by the way. Barclay said you were the one who told him to come look for Joe and me.”

“I did. There were futures where you were more seriously injured and my future sight told me it was best if he moved in his true form so he could reach you more quickly.”

“Is that sight-”

“-Why I am here? No. I, ah, I am like the others. In a way.”

“You’re a Bigfoot?” 

The taller man shakes his head, stands, and removes his glasses. 

“Jesus!” He nearly overturns his chair jolting away from the huge, insectoid shape towering over him. 

“Yes. That seems to be the usual reaction.” Feathery antenna droop, “Mothman was created to be something to be afraid of. An explanation for disaster. Or so I gather.”

“Hey, hey no” Duck stands, “I ain’t scared. Just wasn’t expectin you to look like this” He uses his good hand to touch Indrid’s arm, the chitin smooth and cool under his fingers, “did they at least make you look like one of the cool moths?”

“I…I do not know” He turns, wings spread, “can you tell?”

“Damn” Duck brushes his fingers along the circle of red on the left wing, “almost look like a Cinnabar Moth. Fuckin amazin.”

“Thank you. I, so far it is only Barclay who has found this form appealing. And perhaps Joseph? He asked if he could study me in it and take notes, but I cannot tell if that is flirtation in this case.”

Duck traces a little heart on the glossy black feathers, wondering if Indrid can feel it, “Depends. If he turns up in his Bluff Creek t-shirt, I’d make a move.”

Indrid swivels his head, red eyes glowing charmingly, “Noted.”

————————————————————

“Do you still have the paper? I want to see if there are any apartments listed. Thank you.” Joe takes the pages, leaning his back on the wall. Duck, half-upright on the pillows, kicks his feet into his lap. 

“You plannin to stay?”

“I think I can make a case to the research center that this is a logical outpost for me. And I really would be researching, I just would be…discreet with my sources. Not to mention it, well, it’s not far from where you live. So if you wanted to keep seeing each other we could.”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes, if it’s what you want.”

Duck snorts, hoping the noise doesn’t sound cruel, “That ain’t what I asked.”

Joe places the paper on the dresser and says calmly, “I want it so badly I could scream.” He shifts, nudges Duck’s legs apart, “I never, never thought I’d find someone like you. When you smile at me it’s like coming home, and your body” he pushes Duck’s shirt up, kisses just above his bellybutton, “your body makes me want to invent new sex positions just so we can fuck in every one of them.”

“Yeah?” Duck moves his hand, palming his fly, “seems to me you’re anglin for a tried and true one. 

Joe watches the glide of his hand, the swell of his dick against it, “May I?”

“Knock yourself outAHhey” he laughs as Joe bonks into his belly, “didn’t mean literally.”

Joe laughs, guides his cock from the fly of his boxers, “I maintain my enthusiasm is warranted.”

Duck groans as an eager tongue glides up his shaft, “Fuck, nice to be appreciated.”

The other man takes the head into his mouth, sucking skillfully as he tucks a hand under his waistband. Unlike most things Joe does it’s aimless, no defined goal beyond squeezing and pawing at Duck’s body. 

He digs his fingers deep enough into black hair to muss it, savoring the fact he’s the only one Joe allows such a gesture (he slapped Winthrop’s hand away when he tried it at camp one night). 

“Good boy, fuck, Joe, you know how to make a guy feel like a fuckin king.”

Joe moans at the praise, then freezes as a knock comes from the door. 

“We were gonna go grab a bite. You guys wanna come?” 

At Barclay’s voice Joe’s eyes squeeze shut in pleasure. But when he tries to pull off to reply, Duck holds his head in place. 

“In a few. Got somethin y’all might wanna see first. C’mon in.”

Barclay and Indrid step inside, only for Indrid to grin and Barclay to slam a hand over his eyes. 

“Is, is this what you wanted us to see? Joseph, is it okay with you?”

Unable to move his head, Joe gives them a thumbs up.

“We have the all clear dearest.”

Barclay drops his hand, needy growl filling the air the moment he looks at Joe.

“See, here’s the thing. Joe’s real proud of his cock-suckin, and it’d be a damn shame not to give him the chance to show off. Not to mention, if you let him get a peek at what your dicks look like in your, uh, other forms, he’d probably bend over and let us fuck him two at a time.” He releases Joe in case he needs to protest or catch his breath. 

“God yes” He gasps, surging up to kiss Duck, “see, this is why I’m sticking around, no where in the city can I find a bear this smart.”

“Bear?” Indrid cocks his head adorably.

“I’ll explain later, sugar.” 

Indrid chirrs, blushing as he reaches for his glasses. When he’s Mothman once more, Joe sighs, “I’ll never get tired of looking at you.”

“Ahem” Barclay’s shadow falls across the bed. 

Joe’s gaze starts at his face, moving down with a smooth smile, “Or you, big guy. Um, very big guy.” He scoots to the edge of the bed, circling both hands around Barclay’s formidable cock, “amazing, the head is more flared than a human’s would be” he runs his thumb over said head, setting pre-cum beading down it, which he then licks at with an inquisitive expression.

“Why is this so hot?”

“Earnest interest in a partner is very attractive?” Indrid grins, antenna twitching, “or perhaps you get off on geeks.”

“Oh I gonna get off on him alright.” Barclay is now caressing Joe’s face, nudging him towards his cock, “you want in?”

Indrid rubs between his legs, “I’m working on it. It, ah, it takes rather more effort for mine to emerge.”

“Want a hand?” Duck tries not to snicker at the pun.

“I have four already, but yes.” Indrid steps into his space, folded wings bumping the edge of the bed, “be a sweet human and help me.”

Duck offers his good hand, “Show me how?”

Indrid guides it along the feathers, holding Duck’s fingers down and circling them until the skin parts. Silvery slick runs down his wrist, silky rather than sticky for which he has to say he’s grateful. The cryptid purrs, running black claws down his arm as his cock curls free. It’s thin and flexible, curling around his wrist enough that Duck wonders if there’s any chance it’s prehensile. 

“Ohmylord.” Joe nearly tips over turning from Barclay to Indrid, “I’ve never seen…Indrid this is amazing.” He examines the tentacle for a moment, then drags his tongue along the side, following it along Duck’s wrist and finishing with a kiss to his palm. As he pulls back, the appendage follows him, making Barclay laugh. 

“Damn, baby, it likes you.”

Joe glances at Barclay, winks, and then takes the whole thing into his mouth. Indrid trills and his wings snap open hard enough to knock a picture off the wall. 

“Awww, you excited sugar? Duck stands, stroking a palm against the closest wing.

“Extremely, oh, ohgoodness, you were not exaggerating he is magnificent.”

Joe moans, waving one hand at Barclay.

“Want me to do something?” The cryptid grins. Joe’s nostrils flare and he points more emphatically at the floor directly beside Indrid. As soon as he’s in reach Joe’s hand flies up to stroke his cock, smirking when Barclay yips.

“This is what you’re gonna do once you move, ain’t it?” Duck continues caressing Indrid’s wing, planting kisses on the edges nearest his shoulder, “be a nice, upstandin’ researcher all day and then spend the night on your knees.”

“Mmmhmmph” Joe nods, pulls free of Indrid and immediately takes Barclay’s cock into his mouth.

“Rude, pet.” Indrid crows against Barclay, cock pushing past the corner of Joe’s lips. Blue eyes widen in excitement, and from here Duck can see the tendril pulsing against his cheek as Barclay’s cock forces his mouth into a wider stretch.

Fuck, he should have made him finish before letting the others have a turn, he’s still so hard he could carve a fucking statue with his dick. 

A black wing drapes over his shoulder, drawing him against Indrid’s side, and a spindly hand reaches around his dick.

“Allow me.” Indrid dips his head, nuzzling Duck’s hair as he moans and bucks his hips, “my lovely Duck, so thoughtful, sharing his mate.”

Joe moans, eyes wide and a bit hazy when he looks Duck’s way. 

“Yes, pet, you’re very good too. So handsome and composed, even on your knees. But you’ll look far nicer in just a moment.”

“Fuck!” Duck gasps as his orgasm hits him in the gut and Joe in the face. As his legs buckle, Indrid grabs him and holds him close, trilling sharply. He can see Joe’s throat working, but as Indrid’s cock retreats, silvery cum trails down his chin. 

Then Duck is scooped up in four arms and carried back to the bed, Indrid cradling him close and wrapping his wings about him like a luxurious blanket. 

“C’mon babe, touch yourself while I fuck your throat, fuck, Joseph, that’s it, fucking-A you feel so fuckin tight when you moan.” There’s a howlgrowlpurr and a gasping cough. When the gasping continues, there’s a thud. Duck peers over Indrid’s wing to find Barclay kneeling on the floor, cupping Joe’s face and using someone’s discarded shirt to wipe his chin. 

“There we go, I got you blue eyes, are you okay? You need water? I can get water or-”

“I’m fine, big guy.” Joe’s voice is rough but happy, “riding out my own orgasm while you came all down my throat turned out to be a bit too much multi-tasking, even for me.”

“Thank fuck, I was so worried I’d hurt you.” That needy growl is back as Barclay joins them on the groaning bed and cuddles the human against him, “everyone good?”

“Divine.” Indrid nuzzles Duck again. 

“Fuckin great.” Duck glances over at his fellow human, “seems to me like whoever came up with the, uh, constructs of these two made ‘em real fuckin fun in bed.”

Joe smiles at him, sandwiching himself more comfortably between Indrid and Barclay, “No, I think we just got lucky.”

Chapter Text

Duck’s used to having his face sat on. It’s what happens when a giant pumpkin is the closest you get to a physical form (most of the time).

Usually it’s little kids, either questing to climb the biggest thing they see or set upon it by photo-hungry parents. They don’t stay long, and the most Duck has to do is sneak a vine up to steady one that’s about to fall off.

He gets vloggers and influencers and whatnot too. He’ll just ignore them, though he wishes some of them would shut up for ten seconds. If he felt like it, he’d teach them how to tell a decent shaggy dog story. But he doesn’t, so he usually naps or checks on the real pumpkins while they ramble on.

Today, however, a new Amnesty Acres employee has been perching on him for two. Fucking. Hours. He’s drawing on a sketchpad, red glasses slipping down his nose and silver hair tied in a half-bun to keep it out of his face. Don’t get Duck wrong, his ass is nice, but when humans stick around this long he can’t stretch his vines or move for a better view of the nearby forest.

He taps one denim-covered thigh. A foot sporting black converse kicks out, but the man doesn’t even look up from his drawing. Duck twines a vine around his ankle, which never fails to make humans scream and run.

“Shoo, I’m busy.” The lilting voice sounds more distracted than anything else.

Duck tightens his grip and tugs.

“Knock it off.” The human gently kicks the front of his pumpkin.

He raises more vines and shoves him onto the ground. From this angle, Duck can see the name tag reading “Indrid” with a little moth drawn at the bottom.

The human huffs, setting his sketchpad aside. Then he cocks his head, tapping the pumpkin with curiosity, “Does this bother you?”

Duck swats his thigh in reply.

Indrid grins playfully, the expression like warm sun on hungry leaves as he traces shapes on Duck’s skin, “You know, you’re a very nice looking pumpkin. Maybe I should carve you…”

“Oh yeah?” The risk of speaking is immediately rewarded by Indrid’s eyes going wide behind his glasses. Duck shoves his orange shirt up and traps his legs against the ground before tracing the tip of a vine in a smiley face on a tan chest that’s just screaming for some sunlight, “how’d you like it if someone carved you.”

A nervous laugh bubbles up the human’s throat, “Is, ah, is now the time we both say ‘just kidding?”

Duck pulls back, lowering the fabric into place and patting Indrid’s stomach, “Yep. I ain’t interested in hurtin anyone. Just wanted a chance to move around some, and I can’t do that with your ass in my face. Not that it don’t make for a nice view on its own.” He makes a vine into a circle, holds a leaf at the center, then closes and opens it.

The human snickers, then tenses and fidgets with the orange crystal dangling around his neck, “Are all the pumpkins here like you? Because I’m not sure how that’s going to work out well when we need to harvest a new batch for the farmstand.”

“Nah, it’s just me. I’m a plant spirit, and this field has been my home for a long-ass time. Guessin’ I ain’t the first one of those you’ve met, seein’ as you didn’t hightail it outta here when I poked you.”

“Nono, you’re the first.” Indrid scoots closer and crosses his long legs, “the way I see it, there are lots of weird things in this world, and we should consider ourselves lucky to run into them. It seems silly to, ah, pass up the chance to know you.” The setting sun highlights the blush on his cheeks.

“So you ain’t just wanderin from field to field hopin’ the plants get handsy with you?” Duck teases.

“If I’d known that was an option, I might have. I, ah, I mean, agh, apologies” He pinches the bridge of his nose, “see, this is why I have to work at a place where the most they need me to do is ring people up. I’ve never been good at normal conversations.”

His voice is like a field mouse hiding from a hawk, tone conveying all the moments and missteps that lead up to that confession. Duck picks up the discarded drawing supplies and sets them in the human’s lap, “Ain’t no shame in bein’ awkward. Or curious. And, uh, if you feel like indulgin that curiosity some, come back to this spot two nights from now.”

Indrid blushes again, standing as a dinner bell rings, “I’ll think about it. And I’m sorry about the kicking.”

“No harm done, darlin.”

The human heads towards the house, turning once to offer a little wave. Duck puts a vine to where he suspects a mouth would be on his pumpkin and blows him a kiss.

——————————————————————————————-

Amnesty is closed to the public on Mondays, so there’s no one in the U-Pick fields when Indrid wanders to the farthest end and sits down across from the massive Jarrahdale pumpkin.

“Hello. I am here to see if our conversation yesterday was some sort of ice coffee induced hallucination.”

The pumpkin shifts almost imperceptibly and there’s a muffled laugh not only from behind it’s rind but from the earth beneath him and the air above.

“Nah, but now I’m hurt you didn’t come here because you wanted to share your lunch with me.”

“I could if you’re hungry. Wait, no, you probably eat like a plant. I suppose I could pour soda on the ground for your roots…”

Another laugh, “I’m good.”

“Are you sure? It’s a limited edition Mountain Dew.” He shakes the bottle temptingly, “I did actually come here to eat, if that’s alright. I like how much of the woods you can see.”

“It’s pretty damn gorgeous. There’s even a badger family that lives in it, sometimes I’ll watch ‘em come out and snuffle around. Oh, and for awhile there was a barn owl nest at that far end, for a few years there were way fewer mice nibblin’ on my leaves…”

“Does it hurt when that happens?” Indrid unwraps his sandwich.

“Not really, seein’ as I’m tougher than the average plant. Usually they don’t bother me, they like the berry patches better anyway. Glad Mama took the hint and put the blackberries in.”

“You talk to her?” The surprise gets out before he can think about the fact that, if anyone he knows could keep the presence of a talking plant present, it’s his laconic employer.

“I communicate sometimes. Leave the seed catalog in the shed open to a certain page, put a weird-lookin pumpkin out where a plant is startin to get diseased, things like that. Ain’t sure she even knows it’s me, but whenever anyone asks to buy me she shuts ‘em down real quick. Says I’m a part of the farm.” A vine lifts his chip bag, “they’re makin chips outta crab now?”

“I think it’s a special kind of flavoring. There’s an Asian Market on the corner by my apartment and these are my favorite potato chips they sell.”

A smaller vine pets his ankle, “What’s your place like?”

As Indrid tells him, the pumpkin–who introduces himself as Duck–continues fiddling with his shirt and shoelaces. In exchange, Duck eagerly talks about the daily life of a plant spirit. When Indrid has to head back to work, the leaves droop just a little.

And here he thought being a struggling artist in an unfamiliar small town meant he was the loneliest thing on this farm.

————————————————————————-

Indrid locks up the farm stand, having taken the closing shifts for this week so Barclay can actually go to bed at a normal hour for once. That and Duck told him he should come at midnight to satisfy his curiosity. At a quarter to twelve, he tucks his keys into his pockets and starts towards the pumpkin patch, moonlight making shadow puppets of all the plants.

“Just couldn’t wait, darlin?” Vines clear stray leaves and twigs from the ground so Indrid can sit down.

“It was faster than I thought to get the lunch counter cleaned up. We were swamped with field trips today.”

“Thought there were more kids than usual. Here, lemme do that.” Duck nudges Indrid’s hand aside from where he’s trying to rub his sore feet through his shoes and slips them off. Maybe at midnight they’ll turn into glass slippers and Duck will become a prince.

“Oh, oh that’s very nice, thank you.”

“Any time, sugar. Nice to have someone appreciates the vines.”

“They’re quite lovely.” Indrid pets a large leaf; Duck’s form doesn’t feel the same as the other plants at Amnesty. His leaves are sturdier but softer to touch, his vines and tendrils are smooth instead of prickly.

“Am I right that part of why you came tonight is you’re wonderin’ what else I can do with ‘em?”

“Yes.” His ears tingle with heat, “I went through a rather intense phase of reading, ah, erotic material featuring tentacles and vines and such. The thought of being touched all over all at once is, it’s nice.” He looks down, unsure why he’s shy when this was Duck’s idea in the first place. Vines sneak under his waistband, a few more stroke his face and pet his hair, and one even tickles behind his ear.

“I can do that. But I want a different body first.”

The alarm Indrid forgot to turn off beeps. There’s a flash of orange and green light, ozone and burnt Jack’O Lantern in the air. And then there’s a man perched on the giant pumpkin, eyes as green as the leaves at Indrid’s feet.

“Howdy.” He grins, stretching his arms and legs as the wind catches dark hair, grey streak about where a stem would cast its shadow. Even the fact he’s in overalls, checkered shirt the same color as his usual self, just adds to his charm.

“Hello.” Indrid tries to cross his legs, feeling like a hormone-drunk teenager for how hard the sight of Duck’s human form is getting him. The spirit has other ideas, two vines circling his thighs and holding his legs apart.

“Damn, now that’s flatterin.” Duck slides down to join him on the dirt.

“I, I, ah, I wasn’t expecting you to be so handsome.” He manages a grin, “did you ask me to come tonight just to show off?”

“A little.” Duck straddles him, cool, calloused hands cupping his face, “mostly I wanted to do this.”

He kisses him, and somehow it’s the last thing Indrid expects. Duck can change shape, control plants, could do anything he wanted to and Indrid would gladly take it. Yet all he wants is to climb into the human’s lap like a high schooler in the backseat with his boyfriend. Indrid loses himself in the faint scent of soil and earthy taste on Duck’s tongue until the spirit is satisfied and lets him breathe.

“Yeah, that was worth waitin a few days. You wanna move to the main event.”

“Please.” Indrid pulls off his shirt, laughs when vines lift him up enough to undo his jeans and pull them away.

“No underwear?”

“I’d like to say that was to surprise you, but I actually forgot to do laundry in time.” He braces for the feeling of his bare skin hitting the ground. It never comes.

“Can’t have you gettin too dirty. Just dirty enough to know you’re mine.” Duck answers his unasked question, kisses him again and murmurs, “want your glasses to stay on?”

“Yes, please. You’ll be blurry without them and I want to see you.”

Duck nods, kisses him a final time, and then lounges on the pumpkin like a throne as the vines move Indrid through the air. At first he’s afraid they’ll drop him, or fail to take his weight, but they transfer and turn him as if he was a piece of paper, presenting his ass to Duck.

“Just as cute as it was a few days ago.” Duck pats his right cheek as a thin vine teases his entrance.

“G-glad you approveEEP!” He gasps as the tip pokes in, “lube, oh I’m such a bonehead, I forgot to bring some, you can use spit, I’ll be alrIGHT!” The vine is suddenly slick.

“Plant spirit.”

“Right, right silly me.” He moans as his arms are trapped behind his back and the vine works deeper. Duck’s very human hands run up the backs of his thighs, and there’s a chuckle as a second vine twines around the first and slips inside.

Indrid groans, quivering as his body registers just how trapped he is.

“It don’t hurt, does it?”

“No, nono, I, I just, it’s been awhile since I’ve done something like this and I forgot how nice it feels.”

“Fuckin a harvest spirit?”

“Being helpless for someone.” He murmurs, trying to recall the last time he trusted someone enough for it.

“Ain’t that a shame. Don’t worry, I’m pretty damn good at making little humans helpless.” Duck kisses his shin.

“I’m, ahhhhhngoodness, getting that impression.” He wiggles his ass, “May I have more, please?”

“Well, ain’t you polite? I’m gonna add a third, lemme know if it’s too much.”

“Will doOOOyes.” The stretch is just what he’s aching for, the feeling of someone wanting to fill him so thoroughly making him rut uselessly at the air.

He whines, frustrated that he can’t reach back and touch Duck in return. A thicker vine suddenly rises between his legs, and he moans ecstatically when his cock grinds against it. Duck is staying put behind him and he knows he ought to be embarrassed to be seen dripping pre-cum in the dirt while vines make a show off opening his ass and fucking him deep. But all he hopes is that Duck is enjoying the show.

There’s a low, appreciative whistle, “Quite a show, darlin.”

Suddenly, the vines aren’t enough.

“Please say you have some kind of dick and that I can suck it.”

Duck barks out a laugh and stands, hand gliding along Indrid’s body as he moves in front of him, “Gettin fucked one way ain’t enough for you?”

“No.”

The spirit undoes his overalls, shoving them down to reveal a round, hairy belly and a wonderfully thick cock waiting between his thighs. He’s hard, a fact Indrid takes in with pride.

He’s expecting the vines to move him. Instead, Duck steps close enough that he can wrap his mouth around his cock with ease and fists both hands into Indrid’s hair.

“Fuck, is there anythin’ this mouth of yours can’t do?” Duck inches further in, grunting when he meets the resistance of Indrid’s throat, “first time I’ll cum in years and it’s gonna happen in ten goddamn seconds.”

Indrid whimpers, looking up with gaze he hopes conveys just how hot that would be. Then he gasps around his cock as a vine circles his own, stroking it up and down in time with the vines fucking him deeper. One vine inside him curls and presses until it finds his prostate and rubs it relentlessly until he cums across the ground. He’s still crying out, muffled and delighted, when Duck tightens his hold and fucks his face, his sharp, demanding thrusts giving way almost instantly to cum spurting down Indrid’s throat.

The spirit steps back as the vines set Indrid on his feet. When they disappear and his legs won’t support him, Duck is there to hold him, kissing the sweat from his face and breathing hard against his neck.

“Duck? Can we do this again?”

A gentle laugh and a kiss on his shoulder, “Insatiable little thing, ain’t you. Yeah, sugar, we can do this every night if you want. Or, uh, the vine part at least. I can only take a human form at midnight on a full moon, or if someone summons me, but that ain’t happened in a long-ass time.”

“That’s alright. I just…something about you makes me feel like I can be myself. Like I can let go and someone will catch me.”

Duck looks up, smiling, “Anytime you need me to, darlin.”

—————————————————————————–

Indrid visits Duck every afternoon and almost every night for two months. Even when he’s not at Duck’s side, Duck does his best to show him he’s thinking of him. He can make the breeze in the garden feel like it’s kissing his cheek, and more than once he’s pinched his butt when he was bent over doing some chore or other. Indrid always murmurs, “fresh” and blows a kiss his way.

But for the last three days, Indrid has been listless. He leaves for home right after work, apologizing to Duck for breaking what he sees as their dates. He brings his sketchbook at lunch, but doesn’t draw, and he’s not eating much either.

Today, Indrid comes and sits down on Duck. He stays quiet for a long time and Duck lets him, pets his leg gently with a vine to show he’s here if Indrid needs to talk.

“Duck? You said there was a way to summon you. Is it hard?”

“Nah, just not somethin’ that interests most folks.”

Indrid sniffs, quickly wiping under his glasses, “If I summon you at home tonight, would that okay?”

“Of course, darlin. Here” he draws his sigil in the dirt, Indrid taking a picture with his phone when he’s done, “draw that and light a candle. I’ll be there soon as you do.”

“Thank you.” Indrid stands, then crouches down and kisses the top of Duck’s form.

Just after sunset Duck’s whole body tingles, and then he’s human and standing in a tiny studio apartment. Indrid is sitting at the table with relief on his face.

“Hey, sugar. Oh, uh, okay then.” He wraps his arms around the humans as he burrows against him. He pets silver hair, so goddamn glad that he can, and adds “what’s wrong, ‘Drid?”

“The last few days have been awful. I got a horrible series of emails from my father, work has been so busy I nearly had a meltdown because I got overstimulated, and I had three people back out of art commissions. And there are all these little bad things too, and I just, I just, I wanted to hug you. I wanted to know if you even wanted to be part of my world beyond the farm.”

“Oh sugar, of course I do. I figured you didn’t want me creepin’ into the rest of your life, that’s why I didn’t offer the sigil sooner. Guess that was kinda silly of me.”

Indrid nods and clings to him.

“I’m here now, though. So howsabout you tell your boyfriend how to cheer you up?’

The human stares at him, surprised. Then he smiles in that way that never fails to chase the loneliness from Duck’s chest.

“Want to watch It’s the Great Pumpkin with me?”

Duck kisses his forehead just to see him smile brighter, “hell yeah.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Text