Ｉｎ Ｆｏｒ Tｈｅ Ｋｉｌｌ (Pansexual)

[Bharune]

Sari not only heard Flannery speak, but legitimately listened to him and absorbed his words, his doubt in the biker dissipating like a soft morning mist. He still didn’t know what to do, but he couldn’t question Flannery’s sincerity; he knew the biker too well for that. Still, to hear Flannery reaffirm that he wasn’t around just on an impulsive whim made him feel better about the entire scenario, even though Flannery had said as much the night before. Sari didn’t mean to be so skeptical, it was just…a life-altering decision, and he wanted to be sure.

He supposed it wasn’t really Flannery’s style to ease into something…

When Flannery beckoned him, Sari shifted into the other’s muscled embrace, relishing the masculine strength and fortitude he’d always admired in the biker. The embrace itself wasn’t odd or awkward – Sari enjoyed hugs when they were appropriate, though Elessa was his usual recipient – but he felt his mind had yet to fully wrap around the notion of being with Flannery permanently. Of being with Flannery. Of all the various futures he’d pictured for himself, ‘housewife’ had not been one of the ones that came to mind. But…he reasoned that his desired future – whatever that was – didn’t necessarily have to change; he’d just have Flannery with him.




‘Domestic partner’. He really, truly never thought he’d actually consider something like that. But then, he’d never expected Flannery to strike up such an offer, either. It wasn’t like Sari had had any grand plans to remarry, though; his romantic future had felt so completely obscured that he possessed no expectations.

“Okay, Flannery,” Sari murmured, then emitted a soft laugh when Flannery likened him to a hamster. He tsked his tongue chidingly when Flannery used the term ‘f**’ in a self-deprecating manner, but he was used to the biker’s direct way of speaking.
“If you’re with me, that kind of does make you one, you know.”

Sure, his hair was long-ish at the moment and he could whip up a good meal, but he was still of the male persuasion last he checked.

He nodded a little when Flannery swore off crime, then smiled when the older male talked so eagerly about mundane domesticity. Flannery spoke of it like it was the greatest paradise he could ever want, and Sari felt his chest swell at the thought of it. So simple an idea, yet it seemed to be the biker’s most fervent wish, and Sari was momentarily awestruck and honored that a lifestyle most people would consider boring was both exciting and desirable to Flannery just because he was part of it. And he sincerely wanted to bring Flannery that happiness, especially after all the rough patches and stagnation the other had pulled through.

“You’re not worthless,” Sari countered firmly, looking up at him. “You saved me more than once, didn’t you? And we’re all kind of a mess in some way, even me.”

The young minister paused for a brief stretch, his hands resting on Flannery’s shoulders. No matter how he tried to analyze the idea, though, he just chased himself in mental circles, so he gave up thinking about it and decided to go with what he honestly felt.

“We’ll try something, Flannery,” he agreed finally, and a warm smile lighting his features. “On the condition that you stop calling me ‘kid’. I’m about to turn twenty-three, in case you didn’t know, and it’s not commonly considered a term of endearment.”

If anything, it was a little odd. Not that anything about their relationship could be considered ‘normal’…

“And until we have some solid plan, we have to keep our relationship on the down low,” he emphasized with a serious expression. “If my father catches wind, he’d kick me to the curb. And it wouldn’t be the end of the world, but…I’d rather we have some kind of general direction in mind before we wrestle that monster.”

Sari’s father had a lot of sway, even retired, and he still kept tabs on the youth as well as the state of Whistle City in general. He had a lot of connections and rumor ignited like wildfire, so Sari didn’t expect any prolonged association with Flannery to escape the man’s notice for long. But…that was fine, anyway. It wasn’t as if he was ashamed, he’d just prefer they both had the opportunity to prepare and be absolutely sure beforehand.

“So in the meantime, we’ll just…see what we decide…okay?”

Sari’s eyes dipped just a little to Flannery’s jaw, where he was momentarily distracted by tracing his hand along the familiar curve. Memories of the night before once again flooded his senses, and again he felt embarrassed and exposed, but he convinced himself to remain calm. Sari had never been particularly shy as a teenager, but adulthood had taught him propriety and modesty, and he wasn’t accustomed to being…intimate. His heart felt heavy in his chest, but he felt compelled to kiss Flannery, even though he still wasn’t sure what was right.

“Are you hungry?” he asked distractedly, his lips close to the other’s. “Because I have plenty of time before…”

Green eyes glanced at the clock near the bed and Sari nearly jumped with surprise at the displayed time, snapping out of his trance. “It’s three?!” he exclaimed, quickly pulling away from Flannery. He moved for the adjacent bathroom, working to unbutton the shirt he’d just donned. Once a few buttons were undone, he pulled it off and moved into the tiled room, pushing the door just enough that it swung halfway closed. Sure, Flannery had seen him all kinds of naked, but Sari was still used to maintaining some level of etiquette. “I told Silas I’d call him hours ago!”

He hadn’t anticipated oversleeping by this long…

Sari switched on the shower, then the lighter sounds of him shedding his clothes wafted from the bathroom. He emitted a soft inhale of discomfort when the hurried movements resulted in small spasms of pain, and he suddenly wished he had the time for a long soak to ease the aches. Luckily, he didn’t have work today…

“There’s plenty of leftovers in the kitchen!” the ginger called from the bathroom as he stepped into the warm shower. “Make yourself at home!”

[Bharune]

Rook crouched, stretching forward a tender hand to caress the cool marble of the headstone. It was cold beneath his fingers, nipping at his skin, but he was too lost in what lay beneath the padded dirt and grass to concern himself with minor discomforts. His brow collected in sadness, his throat knotting with all the words he wished he still had a chance to say. In his other hand he tightly held a small bundle of lilies, which he then placed on the grave, purposefully ignoring the splay of blood-red roses.

From Kyouya, he knew, and Rook couldn’t help but feel a selfish prickle of resentment at the knowledge; as Kimiko’s fiancé, red roses and all their passionate, intense symbolism should be his gift, and only he should have the honor of giving her that particular flower of so many romantic meanings. But he told himself such a petty possessiveness was both old-fashioned and cliché, and lilies were much more Kimiko anyway.

Kimiko had been so good-spirited. They weren’t perfect and their lifestyle hadn’t always been great, but there hadn’t been any shortage of contentment even when things were strained, and after his proposal Rook had never once doubted his decision. Sometimes they’d bicker a bit, but never extensively; Rook hadn’t been able to handle her silent treatment for long and always caved with apologies. She’d been alongside him for casual drinking, for the occasional indulge of cannabis with Jenique, for long debates about ethics and war and John Lennon. Despite being Japanese, Kimiko had loved American culture; she’d loved the music and the ideals and the sense of peace and belonging. A modern hippie in spirit if Rook ever knew one, and he’d happily accepted and learned from her beliefs.

“Merry Christmas, Kimi,” Rook said quietly, his hazel eyes sliding over the engraving on the memorial. “Brought Jenique this year. Thought you might like to see her.”

Rook often had Sword with him, but when he was feeling particularly emotional or pensive he preferred solitude. Sword hadn’t known her, so when he accompanied Rook for the commemoration of other important dates – such as her birthday – the visits were often more casual and relaxed rather than mournful. These moments here, though, on Christmas day, were for mourning. The only reason Jenique was with Rook was because she was mourning as well, and they were alike in their grief.

“Still missin’ you,” the brunette continued, and his voice cracked audibly. He drew in a shaken breath but continued on. “I know it’s gotta be great where you are, though, so don’t worry ‘bout me. Sword keeps me on path, and now that Jenique’s back ‘round there’s no need to fret. Can’t promise there won’t ever be trouble, but I think we got this.”

Rook paused, dropping his head slightly and pulling his hand from the grave.

Though he often wore his usual attire when visiting Kimiko, for occasions like these Rook cleaned up all the way. He wore a neatly-pressed black suit and a deep, plum-colored tie – a shade she’d loved – and even his unruly mane had been tamed and tied back, though some of the tresses stubbornly fell around his face. Freshly-shaven and scrubbed clean, the Third looked better and healthier than ever, even with the shroud of melancholia that coiled around him.

“You want me to move on, I know that, and I am. I understand now that missin’ you…it’s okay. The hole you left ain’t goin’ away, and it shouldn’t, ‘cause it’s the part of me that was yours, the part you took with you when you died. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

It hurt because he’d loved her. Rook was fine with bearing that pain, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have happiness too.

He laughed softly, lifting a hand to brush the tears from his eyes. “It’s been a good year, an’ I didn’t even fight with Sword this winter. Maybe I’ll even be able to start payin’ him back for all the good he’s done me. Dunno what I ever did to be so blessed, but I’m not gonna be so short-sighted to take things for granted this time ‘round. You taught me to enjoy what I got no matter the situation, and I can’t believe I forgot that lesson for such a long time.”

Like an idiot. Well, he’d certainly never claimed to be perfect.

Sniffling a little, Rook smiled, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I love you, baby. Gonna take care of myself and live it up, ‘cause I know I’ll see you in the next life.”

Feeling heavy but satisfied, Rook shifted away from the headstone and rose, retreating paces from the grave. He rubbed an eye again, and after a brief pause he glanced at Jenique.

“Your turn, darlin’.”

[Bharune]

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“Reconnect?” Ilya sneered, the cold bitterness and resentment darkening his eyes and souring his tone. He jerked back when Silas pulled away, permitting the physical separation, and the abrupt absence of warmth and fondness almost made the darker-haired Russian seem like an entirely different man. He was suddenly rigid and chilling, intimidating with the hardness of his eyes and set of his jaw. “You don’t want to reach me, Silas; you want to pretend. You get a craving for what I once was and come willingly to my bed, but once you’ve satisfied yourself on that ghost you no longer want what remains.”

Silas’ affection for him was occasional, sweeping in like a desert rain, just enough to wet the Earth without easing the drought. And when it was gone again, Ilya found the pronounced absence of the cherished reprieve that much more difficult to bear. Still he longed for the rain, and when it came he always hoped it would fix everything that was wrong, but the merciless shower sprinkled the ground and left him thirsting and waiting. Waiting and hoping, until time distorted that hope into bitterness.

“You love a man who no longer exists,” Ilya said evenly, though the biting edge to his tone was starting to ease into a more somber darkness. “Not me.”

But the game was painful all the same, and Ilya loathed how much he craved Silas’ unconditional acceptance. He knew he was a different creature entirely, but what was he to do about it? Unable to change, unable to let go, just trapped in a perpetual spiral.

Briefly, Ilya glanced away, his expression knitted with hard concentration. As soon as Silas spoke of a prior engagement, however, Ilya snapped back to attention. One hand lashed out like a viper, seizing Silas’ upper arm in a vice-grip and jerking the other Russian towards him.

“You are my subordinate,” the Shepherd spoke in the unforgiving tone of a master, his hold strong enough to bruise even muscled flesh. He had the merciless, unyielding persona of a killer, wrapped in the authoritative dominance of a sovereign. “No matter what our personal relationship, Silas Novikov, you will act as I dictate. Nothing conflicts with my command.”

The unspoken ’or there will be repercussions’ hung heavily in the atmosphere, driven home by Ilya’s piercing eye contact. There was no questioning Ilya’s ability to make someone’s life a wretched, pitiable thing; even if he lacked the desire to punish, he knew how to summon any manner of demon to conduct it for him.

“Now sit down,” he ordered harshly, releasing Silas and nodding slightly towards a chair in the sitting room. “We’ll talk of business until I grow tired of your company.”

[LouisdePointduLack]

From Russia....

Silas looked down as the other man sneered, it nearly stung as he stared at him, his words battering Silas like hail. He did crave what Ilya once was and was unsure if he could ever love what he was now, he had tried when he first started changing but there was something missing. A warmth that no longer truly reached the other man’s eyes.

“You’re right, I do crave what you once were…but I know that I can’t have that so I take what I can get because you still own me. And I don’t mean that you own me because of my connections with the mafia, no Ilya, you own me body, heart, and soul and it aches that you despise what you were and the fact that I mourn the loss of it.”

Silas grimaced lightly as the other man gripped at his arm, he could feel the coldness of the other man seeping into his bones. He resisted the urge to pull away though but he simply nodded, letting his eyes drop away from the other man’s gaze. He couldn’t look the other man in the eyes when he was like this, “Yes Ilya, of course.” He moved to sit down at the kitchen table, his hands settling on top of the table for the other man to see.

His eyes stayed on his hands and he remained silent now, not speaking unless spoken to, resuming the position of a subordinate, not a friend and certainly not a lover. He should have known that nothing good would come of this but he couldn’t help but return to the other man again and again. Silas knew that Ilya was a shell of what he used to be, paranoia and power had changed him into this and he would never get the man he fell in love with back.

....With Love.

[Sevsnapelove09]

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Wraith entered the lab, his expensive black wool coat sprinkled in snow. He wore leather gloves on his hands and newly shined shoes on his feet. He was looking especially dapper today. After he stopped here to pick up his mother’s medicine from the chemist, he would be heading straight to her home for Christmas dinner.

Wraith liked Sid. He found him to be one of the most interesting members of Aphorism. It was lovely to have one with a mind like his own. Whimsical and full of delightful thoughts. Wraith’s mind was often clogged with things he was the most interested in. He was curious to say the least. He wondered about the regular mysteries of life along with things most individuals may not think on.

He often thought about the things he read about in books from the East. He’d read the Kama Sutra and often contemplated the systems of energy it operated on. He’d traveled the world and in every country he’d always found something to occupy his mind. Wraith the strange sexual habits of nearly every country he’d been to. Being the man he was, the financier was curious about each of them. Even more so about trying them. Wraith cross was a man with very few boundaries and countless curiosities.

“Merry Christmas, my dear medicinal master. I’ve dropped in to pick up that delightful little concoction for my mother. You know how she is without her meds,” Wraith said weaving his way between the tables.

The lab was much like one would expect from a character such as Sid. It was poorly lit with bottles speckeld about on the tables. Flasks full of colorful, odd smelling liquids. For one as curious as Wraith, this was like a candy store.

Wraith liked Sid, he didn’t particularly like his relationship with his mother. Wraith was definitely a Mama’s boy. He was very possessive over the woman that had given birth to him. He’d almost never had to share her. So when he came to see Sid with his mother in tow, he found he was a bit uncomfortable. Uncomfortable for the simple fact that Sid was much like himself in the way the he was a flatterer. And Wraith’s mother loved every minute of it. It was bad enough she felt the need to tell him about her attraction to the Commissioner but to see her being fawned over, even for the purpose that Sid did, he was unsettled.

“I regret to inform you that I have not brought my dear mother along this time. I’m in no hurry but the two of you could go on for hours if I let you and I do have other things to do today,” Wraith said, removing his gloves, “And how are you on this most capitalist of holidays? I daresay I was off to a rather less than desirable start myself but I hardly let the little things get in the way of my good mood. I’ve been told I’m a complete nightmare for company when my attitude has been compromised. So I do what I can to be the type of person others enjoy being around. One could say the same for you. You have a such a delightful demeanor, I can only imagine what it must be like when you are in poor spirits."

Sid was such an amusing person to be around but Wraith had an innate fascination with the chemist’s person. Again, Wraith was and inquisitive person. What more to pique interest than a man in a mask and full body armor. Part Wraith hoped it was just for the fun of it but his much darker side wanted it to be covering something awful. Something that most humans would cringe to see. Wraith had an obsession of sorts with the imperfect. Scars were attractive to him. They told stories of the past without the need for words. Wraith felt he couldn’t trust someone unless they had scars, then he would know what they’d been through and what they were willing to do to protect what they have.

“And when, dear Sid, are you going to let me see beneath that lovely frock of yours? It must surely be interesting under there. What we cannot see if always much more attractive that what we have already seen,” Wraith said with a smile and a quirk of his eyebrow, “ You’re very much a tease, you know.”

[Sevsnapelove09]

Stood back, watching Rook. She felt a rush of nostalgia as she remembered Kimiko and Rook, the way they’d been. When she thought about it now, the couple had been a big part of her past. She’d been through the wringer, a couple times. She’d been 15 when she’d met Kimiko. It was funny because she wasn’t even close to the type of person Jenique usually hung out with. They’d been in school together. Kimiko had been around when she’d met Wayan, when she’d found out she was pregnant, and when Wayan had been carted off to prison.

No matter how bad things had gotten for her, Kimiko had been there with open arms. She was like an older sister to the female. She’d taken care of her when she’d been slobbering drunk. And when Jenique had managed to get herself tangled in the worst kind of relationship, it had been Kimiko and Clubs that had pulled her up. Clubs had smacked her across the face and Kimiko had held her close.

She’d known about her darkest of sides and never once had she turned Jenique away.

Jenique remembered when Kimiko had met Rook. She couldn’t blame her friend, he was a fine piece of man, as she’d stated upon meeting the mechanic. He was smooth, attractive, and he had a killer voice.

As she watched him now, Jenique understood why Kimiko had fallen for the third. Though he wasn’t good with expressing his emotions, he was heartfelt when he spoke. And when he said he loved someone, it was real. Jenique wasn’t ashamed to admit that when she was younger, she’d had a thing for Rook, but that was different now. He was heartbreaking like this.

“Huh?” Jenique responded when Rook announced her turn, “Oh yeah,”

Jenique stepped forward, “Hey Koko. It’s been a while. I’m out of prison, I know I know, I shouldn’t have been in the first place….s**t happens. But I’m doing better I think. I’m going to try to find my baby. If I’d had my choice, you and this sorry son of a b***h would have taken him in. At least then he’d have gotten some proper musical education."

She choked back tears. It was harder to talk to the grave than she’d anticipated. Why did the dead have to be so….gone? Yes, that was one of the definitions of death, to cease existence. But hadn’t always been said that as long as you remembered those that passed, they would never be gone? Then why was she here, speaking to one she used to know so well and feeling nothing on the other end? Why did she feel so alone?

“I’m sorry, by the way, that I missed your big goodbye….I should have been there but I was busy being an unproductive member of society. I really got myself in deep; I made a mistake assuming I’d always have you there to take care of me. I promise, I’m trying now. I’m going to make things right…”

It was all true. She’d taken Kimiko for granted. After she’d almost died at the hands of a lover, and Kimiko nursed her back to life, Jenique had assumed that she’d always have the older female. Then that life was ended.

“You taught me so much, you know? I learned that when you’ve got something, hold on to it or it’ll fly away. You got to keep it close or one day you’ll turn around it’ll be gone. And before I go, I wanted you to see this,” Jenique rolled up the sleeve of her jacket, “I got this when I heard. It’s prison tattoo but I couldn’t wait until I got out. Butterflies always made me think of you and now…you can’t fly away. You’re here, as long as I got skin, you’re with me."

The tattoo was a plain black butterfly. It wasn’t too crude but it was prison tattoo. It marked Jenique’s forearm, close to the area where her arm creased.

“I miss you, lady, so damn much. And one day, when I get my kid back, I’m gonna bring him back here to see his Aunt Kimi,” she said touching the headstone herself now.

Standing up and turning to Rook, “You tell anyone I cried and I’ll shoot you in the a** again.”

[Bharune]

“Do-do-do-do-do~” Sid Sargeras hummed, his hips and head swaying to the rhythm wafting from the Crosley record player poised at the edge of his current worktable. His voice was a low mumble, his mind concentrating on his work and his body hunched over the rectangular table covered with small tools and small mechanical pieces. “Hungry like the wolf~”

When it came to work, Sid was very eclectic in the tasks he was proficient in. Officially, he was a chemist specializing in hallucinogenic narcotics, but that delicate art had long since expanded to include other functions. He was a great as a secondary doctor – who needed medical school? – and a fantastic engineer, especially when it came to antique apparatuses. He loved history and art and 80s hits, so his work lab was filled with books and records and sculptures and bygone memorabilia. Currently he was dissecting an old-fashioned alarm clock for one of the other Aphorism members, trying to restore it to working order though it was so obsolete replacement parts could no longer be found. He wasn’t skilled in electrical repairs, but mechanical ones had always been something of a fascination, and for a small price he could fix those antiquated keepsakes. Unless he couldn’t. Sometimes he took something apart only to be completely baffled by its anatomy, and so a minor problem could be exacerbated beyond repair by his meddling, and uh…

Well, he didn’t charge in those cases. At least that was a rare occasion, to be sure.

Murmuring half-lines to supplement Duran Duran’s soothing melodies, Sid finally sighed and straightened, folding his arms over his chest and staring down at the pile of springs and gears in disapproval. He glanced at the back of his wrist, though there was nothing interesting about the cuff of his cream-colored button-down.

“Time of death: three thirty-four p.m.,” he mumbled behind the hollow of his beaked mask. “Cause of death: internal spring hemorrhaging during surgical procedure. Well, that’s what you get for choosing the discount doctor.”

The chemist glanced toward an actual time-keeping device poised on the bookshelf, even though he knew his assessment wasn’t far from actuality. Now that he was done with that…maybe he could do that thing he’d intended to do hours ago.

Introduce himself to his replacement, of course. Sid was always curious about Venna’s new hires, especially the young and pretty ones, and he appreciated the leader’s taste for aesthetics even if it sometimes compromised skill. Now, he didn’t know anything about this new doctor, but given the bonus physical appeal of most of Aphorism’s deadly roster, he felt his chances of fresh eye-candy were pretty damn fine. During his younger years, Sid had always considered himself strictly straight, but Aphorism’s collection of pretty male bodies had effectively caused him to rethink his sexuality, and his accident had rendered him far less…fickle. For the most part, he was satisfied just looking nowadays, and he’d chosen the right place for it; the complimentary frosting on the cake of his current career.

While Sid was momentarily caught up in visions of his colleagues’ loveliness, someone approached his opened door, and he snapped to reality quickly enough to drape a stained cloth over the remains of the clock, much like a doctor covering a grotesque corpse. When he glanced at his guest, though, what he found was not the owner of the deceased apparatus, but Aphorism’s own esteemed investor.

“Wraith Cross!” he greeted with a smile that couldn’t be seen. “Here I was, expecting a call from your beautiful mother to arrange a drop-off; I wasn’t aware you’d returned stateside, though I should’ve known you wouldn’t miss Christmas.”

Sid Sargaras liked Wraith Cross; the pair of them were alike in many ways. Nothing was taboo in the conversations and debates they spun, though Wraith had the means and attractiveness to experience far more of the world than Sid. The extensive knowledge Sid possessed was from years of reading and study; the chemist had never – and would never – own a television for purposes greater than a survey of the news. The one he did have was small and dusty and still colorless, sitting in the corner of the lab more to serve the function of a table and occasional laundry hamper. Computers were also out of the question, and the only reason he possessed a phone was because Vivi had insisted it necessary.

“If it isn’t my favorite fellow creepy lecher,” he teased, walking around the worktable to approach the red-haired diplomat. “Conduct any especially ghastly business these past weeks? Dissect any third-world peasants? Copulate with exotic animals? Spare me none of the grisly details.”

The masked gentleman plucked a small, glass bottle from a high shelf of containers, then held the vial out for a moment to read the label he’d scrawled in his own print. It said ‘Cross’, like always, and once confirmed he moved back to Wraith and handed it to him.

“Oh, I’m fine,” he answered. “You, an undesirable start? Let me guess – syphilis? I told you to watch where you stick that thing; all great men eventually contract syphilis.”

Sid chuckled as Wraith continued; yes, the redhead was a nightmare when his mood was poor, and Sid knew that from experience. Sometimes he liked to dote over Wraith’s mother just because the resulting petulance was so unbelievably entertaining to the chemist.

“And when, dear Sid, are you going to let me see beneath that lovely frock of yours? It must surely be interesting under there. What we cannot see is always much more attractive that what we have already seen. You’re very much a tease, you know.”

“Maybe if you’d buy me something nice, or take me to dinner once in a while,” Sid exclaimed in mock indignation. “I told you I wasn’t like those other girls!”

Sid almost always covered his entire body with some material or another, even when he didn’t need the extra padding. Days like today spent wrapped in the warmth and protection of Aphorism headquarters, Sid simply donned thick, dark brown trousers and a high-collared vest to match, his hands gloved and his mask covering his entire head. Did he even have hair under it? No one except Vivi knew for sure, and speculation ran abound. Maybe nothing was wrong with him at all, and Sid was just playing some theatrical game. He was never too inclined to comment or clear up any mystery, and even if he were his ambiguous speech couldn’t really be trusted.

“I’m flattered by your interest in my impressive endowments, but I’m afraid you lack the necessary physique to coax Johnny out to play. I know of a Korean surgeon who can help with that; would you like his card?”

The chemist knew what interest Wraith was really referring to, of course, but he wasn’t a fan of showing off his scars. He much preferred that his unique dramatis personae remain untainted by what lay beneath, just as the audience of a stage production shouldn’t shatter the drama’s spell by seeing its inner workings.

“Regardless, I was just heading off to make the acquaintance of our new doctor. Am I to understand you’ve yet to meet this individual? An adventure for both of us, then! Though I wouldn't want to be the cause of keeping your dear mother waiting.”

[Bharune]

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Ilya didn’t despise what he’d once been; on the contrary, sometimes he mourned the loss of that person just as Silas did. He knew, however, that that man had been inadequate, that he would not’ve been able to accomplish these feats, that he would not’ve been able to achieve power or protect those dear. This man, this Shepherd, was stronger than the man he had been, and Ilya could not regret his change if it meant the protection of those he’d sought to keep safe.

Silas didn’t have to understand or love him.

Ilya’s hard, brown orbs followed Silas’ movements, watching the other obediently sit at the dining room table. Internally, emotions of pleasure and regret conflicted, and Ilya felt both pride and disgust at the thing he’d mutated their once-loving relationship into. In the end, though…the only thing that mattered was Silas’ presence, and how he maintained that was a secondary concern.

But it was the aggressor within who always won his emotional struggles. He was a leader because he didn’t relent, and as soon as he started permitting concessions his weaknesses would be exploited.

After a frigid pause, Ilya walked towards the table as well, deciding not to comment or contest Silas’ observation. He didn’t want to talk of emotional matters any longer. He wandered in a slow, semi-circle behind Silas’ chair, his bare hand lifting to touch the other male. Cool fingers danced against the back of the chief’s neck momentary before he tugged out the ponytail tie, causing the brown waves to tumble over Silas’ shoulders. With absent-minded interest, Ilya’s touch sifted through the damp tresses, caressing the back of his lover’s neck in the process. He did not cause pain, but the definitive motion of his hand always carried the promise that it could.

He didn’t speak at first, merely contemplated. And when he finally parted his lips to address his subordinate, his cellphone rang softly from his pocket. Ilya retreated his hand, half-turning from Silas as he pulled out his mobile and answered the call.

“Is it now?” he murmured into the device, moving slowly away from Silas and back around the table. “No, that’s fine. Bring his personal effects to me.”

When his wandering eventually carried him to the front door, Ilya paused there to slip on his suit jacket and shoes, listening intently to whoever was on the other end. Occasionally he emitted a soft hum to show that he was still attentive, but he said little. He shifted his phone from one ear to the other, and then crouched long enough to quickly tie his laces. He continued to listen, but a look of displeasure crossed his features.

“Just remember what I told you,” he declared in a darker, more commanding note of finality, straightening once he was finished with his shoes. “I won’t excuse carelessness.”

Ilya ended the call and replaced his phone in his pocket, but he remained at the front door for a moment, contemplative. Finally, he glanced back at his fellow Russian.

“Go to work, Silas,” he commanded, though the harshness was gone from his voice. He no longer held the angry or bitter tone of a slighted lover; now there was only the indifference of a leader instructing a subordinate. “You are my eyes and ears on this case involving Councilman Adams. Deliver me explicit details on the performances of Commissioner Villier and Sheriff LeBane during this entire fiasco.”

Of course, Ilya had been the one to put out the hit on Adams; the man had grown too cocky and stepped on the syndicate’s toes one too many times. Silly sheep should’ve known better than to crawl around the den of wolves.

“Don’t interfere; that would ruin the experiment. Just observe.”

Ilya wanted to know what the precinct and its individuals were capable of. Whatever better way than to pull on their strings and watch how they danced? The Shepherd smiled.

“I’ll see you tonight, this time in my bed. Wear that outfit I so enjoy.”

And then Ilya was gone, slipping out the front door, the sound of his long, purposeful strides the only indication of his departing figure.

[Gekyll]

“Good evening…”

“…Commissioner.”

Elessa Villier had woken up alone. He vaguely recalled falling asleep with a certain redhead flush against his side, and then rousing briefly when he left. He remembered taking his hand and trying to pull him back into bed – and maybe succeeded for a moment – but everything after was a blur. Elessa woke up properly to needle-like claws kneading his chest. After shooing his and Lucien’s feline child from his bed and recovering from the sneezing fit that shook him moments after, Elessa spent a respectable amount of time lounging in his bed and reflecting on the night before.

Lucien and he had technically broken up, true, but he was feeling elevated nevertheless. He was almost positive Lucien loved him. Ninety-nine point nine percent sure. Lucien had never deigned to be so expressive before, not even regarding business, and never regarding personal emotions. It was the first time Elessa had seem him at ease enough to show that he was fallible, human. Elessa would never forget it, either.

He wanted to do it right, he said. Elessa didn’t know much of Lucien’s past romances (nor did he care to), but it was apparent in the way Lucien regarded and treated sex as a commodity rather than an act between lovers that he didn’t have much of a relationship repertoire. Lucien wanted to give more than his body, which was why he wanted to wait until he no longer had to use it as an instrument for his survival.

The thought was… Overwhelming.

He never considered that the enigmatic redhead he’d picked up at a bar would end up with his heart in a headlock. Elessa chuckled at the thought and finally hauled his mass out of bed. He headed for the shower and hummed a medley of Christmas music.

As he set the temperature and moved beneath the hot spray, all he could think about was Lucien’s attentiveness the night before. He hadn’t strayed from his side once, not even when Elessa went to get a drink or something to snack on. When they sat and talked, Lucien parked himself intently on his lap and didn’t move until they decided to lie down. Once they did, they cuddled beneath the blankets, talked and kissed until they passed out. He was far more affectionate than he typically was. After a good bout of affection, Lucien was prone to remove himself entirely, pace the room, look out windows, or stare intently at whatever inanimate object caught his fancy. Not last night, though. Lucien had scarcely looked away from him.

Elessa smiled at the thought and felt an intense desire to take him into his arms and squeeze the breath out of him. He hated waking up without him. Elessa wished business hadn’t called him away from his bed on his day off. He would have much enjoyed a lazy day to spoil his love with all the affection he could swallow.

… shiiit.

When had he started thinking about Lucien in such terms? ‘His love’? He knew his feelings had been coming on strong, but that day, in that naked, vulnerable moment in the shower, he knew it. He was in love with Lucien Serbanescu.

Elessa groaned with feeling and turned to knock his head against the shower’s tiled wall. ********. He told himself it wasn’t a bad thing since Lucien probably (possibly) returned the sentiment, but it was… an unfortunate time to realize it, in view of their re-evaluated relationship.

So what now?

Tell him, don’t tell him? Elessa was the type of person to want to share these things. He wanted his loved one to know how he felt at all times, and the idea of keeping his lid sealed was an annoying one. Probably the better decision, all things considered, but it wasn’t what Elessa wanted.

And of course, the implications of being in love made his situation that much more difficult! Elessa didn’t want Lucien to sleep with other men, even if in title they were no longer committed. Granted, he didn’t want him to before, but now he knew that would so much more severe now that he knew he loved him.

Elessa shut the shower off with a huff, and stepped out of the shower to towel off. He wrapped the towel around his hips and stood before his sink in order to brush his hair, and then his teeth, which felt fuzzy from overnight germs and the alcohol he’d imbibed the night before. He rinsed with a post-brush mouth-wash afterwards and spit with feeling.

He had been so good at not complicating his life up until recently. He didn’t think for a second that his one-night stand (or what he’d thought was a one-night stand) would progress into the semi-relationship he now found himself in. Did he regret it? Absolutely not.

How could he? Lucien was smart, sexy… He made Elessa think, made him better. Lucien didn’t settle for mediocrity. He pushed Elessa to think harder, look closer… Typically, Elessa was a-okay with his perspective on things, but he realized his horizons could do with some expanding… Lucien sure as hell did that for him. Elessa enjoyed his company, and he loved that they could spend hours talking about something obscure, then turn on a dime and talk about something with weight. Communicating with him was easy, and Elessa felt like he was really himself with Lucien around… Not the diplomat, but the eager-to-please and obnoxious man beneath.

And Lucien accepted that.

Elessa found himself wearing that stupid grin as he tugged on his jeans. Damn, he loved him. He loved him! He laughed aloud and shook his head. Oh, man… What an interesting turn of events. Elessa decided to go without his shirt for the time being and grabbed his phone and keys from his bedside table. Then, he noticed the little origami bird he’d overlooked earlier.

“Heeeey there, little bird!” Elessa lifted the shimmering creation and noticed that it was made of the piece of trash Lucien had pocketed. He held it in his palm and smiled even wider. He’d have never guessed Lucien was good at origami! It looked great, outside of the wear it had already been subjected to before Lucien found it. No sign of mistakes or of re-folding. If Les had to guess, he’d say Lucien had made many of these little birds in the past.

What did they mean?

Feeling as though he had flashed back to his college days of taking literature classes, he began considering possible symbolizations for the paper bird. Beauty, flight… Freedom? Elessa placed the bird back down onto the end table – carefully, so as not to damage his new treasure.

He turned at last, offering the creation a lingering glance before he made his way out into his living room. He tugged on his clunky boots with every intent of going to check the mail, but when he opened the door and discovered a meticulously wrapped box, Elessa forgot all about that task.

He crouched in his doorway, the cold air immediately causing goose bumps to rise along his skin, and seized the tag that was attached and read the little message. He knew that script~ Another present from his charming redhead~?

He cackled excitedly and grabbed the box. He turned into his apartment and closed the door with his hip. He placed it down on his coffee table and rubbed his hands together. What could it be, what could it be~? Elessa meticulously untied the golden bow and removed the lid. The tabby cat he’d taken in jumped onto the table and rubbed against the wrapped box curiously. Elessa chuckled quietly.

“Not for you, cat.”

He tugged out the decorative pieces of tissues paper to find a lump of something at the bottom. It smelled a little unusual, that was for sure. He touched the wrapped object curiously and wrinkled his nose to discover that the paper was a little soggy. Maybe it had been exposed to the elements while out on the porch or somethin’… He removed the object from the box and eyed it curiously as he unwrapped it.

God, what was that smell?

“[********]”

He dropped the present onto the coffee table and gagged at the resounding splat it made. He turned from the box and sucked in a deep breath to quell his nausea. He flexed the fingers on the hand that had held the thing as though it would make the feeling and residue go away.

Okay. Okay.

Okay.

Elessa turned to address the thing on his coffee table, and felt bile rise in his throat to discover his tabby licking a disembodied kidney. He covered his mouth and managed to choke down his stomach’s contents. He gagged once more, finding himself unable to look directly at it. He kicked at the cat to shoo her away from the organ.

Maybe it wasn’t from Lucien. Maybe it was a threat from some crazy person. Yeah, that must be it. Elessa was content with his justification until the memory of Lucien giving him a human eyeball came to mind.

Elessa sank into the chair nearest him and finally steeled his resolve enough to face the organ on his coffee table. He rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward to get a good look at it. Why… was Lucien giving him body parts? Who did they belong to? Part of him wanted to ask, but the other part of him was a little wary of the answer.

“s**t!”

Elessa jumped when the phone in his pocket sounded. He yanked the device out of his pocket and glanced at the caller ID. Suoh was calling him? That couldn’t be good.

He answered the call a little reluctantly, eyes falling upon the kidney once more. He grimaced at the sight of it, rubbery and leaking juices… At Suoh’s greeting, Elessa emitted a soft ‘uhm?’ to inquire for elaboration. Lover boy? Jesus. That was uncomfortable.

Suoh then told him that his relationship was all over the news, and that a warrant would probably be issued for Lucien’s arrest by the next day. Elessa mouthed a slew of cusses while Suoh spoke, his head dropping in shame. Why hadn’t he been more careful? Why didn’t Bronte know how to ******** keep his yap shut? He was a cop, for crying out loud! Confidentiality and all that s**t!

“We’re not seeing each other anymore,” Elessa said, offering no more on the matter for the time being. He needed to collect himself before explaining the ‘fight’ he and Lucien had…

“Suoh?” He paused a moment, raising his head to look at the organ decorating his table. "Thank you.” He hung up and placed the phone on his thigh for the time being. ********.

Whoever that reporter was wasted no time in getting that story to light.

He sighed, and seized the remote control to turn on and tune in to the news channel. Sure as s**t, his face was in the corner of the screen while some anchor was rattling off hypothetical questions. He powered the TV off and tossed the remote onto his couch.

Great. ******** fabulous. He was almost surprised reporters weren’t banging down his doors…

He removed his phone and opened a new text window to Lucien.

Guess who’s famous this morning? Police will be looking for you. Stay sharp. I’ll keep you posted when I can. Missing you already.

Elessa sent the message and heaved a heavy sigh. He stood and pocketed his phone. He stared at the kidney on his table and shook his head slowly. What was he supposed to do with a kidney? Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea to let the cat eat it, after all…

Deciding he was flat-out lacking the ability to deal with that right now, he grabbed the clean tissue paper off the floor and picked up the organ. He made his way into the kitchen with a grimace and dropped the bean-shaped body part into the cat’s bowl. He threw the tissue paper away and dutifully scrubbed his hands with scalding hot water and more soap than necessary.

He really needed to talk to Lucien about his gift choices… He didn’t get it. I mean, he’d been given dead birds before by cats his sister had when they were kids. People said they did it to share, like some sort of macabre present. ‘Here you go, I brought you this dead thing I killed, just for you. Ain’t you proud?’ Likely. Les snorted quietly and watched as the tabby cat – affectionately called Cat – trotted into the kitchen to resume her taste-test of Lucien’s present.

“Maybe it was for you after all,” Elessa grunted and turned to walk into his bedroom. He’d rather not see his cat devour someone’s ORGAN, thank you. He shivered and made a note to burn that coffee table later on… No amount of sanitizing would clean it in his eyes.

He pulled on a white T-shirt and turned his head to look at the paper bird by his bed. See, that was a nice gift. He loved that gift. It was beautiful. Handmade gifts were always Elessa’s favorite. But a human kidney? He dragged a hand down his face and made a variety of distressed noises.

He grabbed a striped button-up shirt from his dresser and tugged that on over his T-shirt. He’d better get to work before the reporters did manage to get to him…

~*~

A short while later, Elessa had arrived at the precinct. He donned his pair of black sunglasses and looked around. There was no good way to get past the groups of people with cameras. He really, really, REALLY would like to avoid making a statement until a later time…

“Fuuuuuuuck…”

Les breathed slowly, scratching his chin. He could do it. Make a beeline for the door. No comment. He unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out of the gargantuan vehicle. He closed the door, and began to quickly pace for the back entrance. There were a few vultures nearby, but not nearly as much as there were at the front of the building…

“Commissioner Villier! What do you have to say about the allegations?”

Elessa moved quicker when he was spotted, and he heard the people shout that he was entering the building through the rear. ********. He ignored each of their calls, each insistent cry of his name, and pushed through the doors of the precinct. The security guards quickly closed the doors and helped their boss inside, though it was clear in the way they looked at him afterwards that they weren’t sure what to think.

“Life savers, both of you.” He patted one of the back with a pleasant smile, though when the man shrunk away from him, Elessa’s smile faltered. Oh, well… He walked on, removing the sunglasses from his face.

He couldn’t wait to hear what Jocef had to say about this mess…

[LouisdePointduLack]

He wasn’t a big fan of Christmas, there was nothing really wrong with it but it just made him miss his family, even if they had rejected him. So for the most part, he had tried to remain in his room but finally the gnawing in his gut pulled him out of his solitude and he moved to exit his room. The kitchen was calling his name and he was hoping to any benevolent being out there that there would be leftovers in the fridge.

He was still in pajama pants and a baggy shirt, it made him look smaller than he was but they were comfortable. He didn’t mind if anyone from the gang saw him in his pajamas, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if they did. He shuffled into the kitchen, realizing that it was the late afternoon, he had skipped out on most of Christmas and he didn’t mind in the least.

The silver-haired boy didn’t even look about the room to see if there was anyone else in there, his primary target was the fridge and he let out a small noise of disappointment, it seemed as though there was nothing that could be easily heated and eaten. He was going to have to cook, it wasn’t that he was a bad cook but all he could really make was the incredibly simple stuff. Taking out a few eggs to scramble them up for his late lunch or early dinner, Levi put them aside so that he could find the pan.

He wasn’t really sure where things were in this kitchen so after searching a few of the cabinets, he gave a defeated sigh and put the eggs back. Grabbing a bag of chips to munch on instead at the table.

[Sevsnapelove09]

“Hello? Am I speaking to de Sheriff LeBane?” a voice came from the receiver in Jocef’s hand.

“Speaking,” he said firmly.

“Well, Sheriff. Merry Christmas to you and yours. In spirit of the holiday I would like to give you something. Wrapped up with a bow and all for you, sir,” the voice said, an smile detectable in the tone.

Jocef’s brow knitted together in confusion. A gift? What was this? Some kind of joke?

“I would hurry though, your gift will expire if you are not quick to pick it up. I’ll give you a hint, it’s important to you. It’s human, and it’s dying. Being the good man I know you are, you’ll be there to pick it up. It’s in the alley where your old partner took a bullet. Hurry Sheriff."

“Who is this? What are you playing at?” he said, his anger rising. He was no more amused than he had been upon answering the phone

“This is the head a** of course."

And then the line went dead.

Jocef grabbed his coat and a walkie, “This is Sheriff LeBane, I need back up and medical personnel on site at 1013 Westboro Street!”

He ran out of the precinct and to his squad car. His heart was beating wildly. He didn’t know what was waiting for him. Or if anything really was waiting for him. He just knew that if he didn’t go and a citizen died because of him, he would never forgive himself.

X
X
~~~~~~~~~~~
X


Jocef got out of his car, immediately spotting a figure lying on the ground. He ran the distance and hit his knees to examine the young man. It was definitely a gruesome discovery to make. And to top it off, there was a bow tied around the young man’s neck. A gift, the mystery caller had said.

“55 David, we have a male approximately 15, visible bruising and signs of severe blood loss. Vic appears to be missing an eye and has crude stitching on the abdomen,” he spoke into the walkie.

Dropping the device, the Sheriff felt for a pulse. To his relief there was one, faint but still there.

“Listen to me, kid, we’re going to get you help. You’re going to the hospital. You’re going to make it. I won’t let you die because someone decided to play with me,” he said brushing hair from the sweating forehead.

Someone was playing with him. He didn’t like it one bit. He couldn’t care less if someone was trying to get him. If they wanted him all they need do is ask him and he would come, unarmed and completely willing. But this, it was as if someone was attempting to get under his skin. This was exactly the way to do it.

Jocef looked at him, young. As he’d said on the walkie, no more than 15. What could this young man have possibly done to warrant such an end? When this kid woke up, he’d be missing an eye and probably some other body parts by the look of his side. What a sad state the world was in when someone so young could end up in an alley like this. Jocef wondered for a moment how these things happened and no one could even notice. How did people get involved in dark dealings? Were there other’s like the boy he was sitting here with?

And that was why he had to do better. That was why he had to make Whistle City a better place. He couldn’t bear the thought of his only son walking home from school and getting snatched by someone. That thought nearly made him shudder. If there was one thing in this world Jocef would kill for, it was his child. He almost felt bad for anyone stupid enough to take his, or any cop’s kid. Jocef was no cold blooded killer but he’d killed before and he’d do it again if it came down to it.

As the paramedics pulled up, Jocef stood out of the way so they could get through.

“He’s got a pulse, and a fever. I think he must have an infection in one or both of his wounds. I’ll be behind in my squad,” Jocef said watching as the EMTs got to work.

As he ran back to his car, he pulled out his phone and dialed his third speed dial number. He waited until the other line picked up.

“Just listen, I’m on my way to the hospital. Your friend, the one they've been talking about on the news, he was found in any alleyway bleeding, fevered with infection and he’s in pretty bad shape. There’s only so much they can do, he’s considered a John Doe until they have some evidence of his true identity. I assume you’d know more about him than anyone. Get in your car now and head to the hospital. There’s only so much they can do for him without a medical proxy. You’re his best chance, Elessa.”

[Bharune]

X
X

Lucien Serbanescu gasped frantically for breath, his nails scraping against the brick wall he’d dragged himself to. Curled half-naked in the dirty, blood-splattered snow, the redhead’s instinct drove him to any kind of progression, adrenaline coursing heavily to aid his directionless struggle. His senses felt so distant that he received very little information from any of them beyond the pervasive pain that seared his beaten form, and his mind had long ago lost the ability to weave thought, yet motion responded to his overwhelming need to defy his fate in any manner possible. Vaguely, he understood with his spirit more than his head that he was once again on the precipice of death, perhaps closer than he’d ever been.

He’d known. Lucien had known as soon as he’d slipped into the unfamiliar car a block or two from Elessa’ s home that the day would find him in a wretched state, though he hadn’t foreseen these specific circumstances. He’d sown so much destruction in his wake that every now and then someone caught up to him, someone sought to punish him, and sometimes they were just good enough to forge an opportunity. Sometimes, the best option was to accept that punishment.

Pressing against the wall as if it might free him, Lucien’s consciousness drifted further and further from his body as his physical state was ransacked by agony and hypovolemic shock. No amount of coughing, gasping, retching would fill his lungs with air and he was rendered writhing with the attempt, his pale arm lightly curled blood and dirt and bruises along his jawline, his tousled hair an additional shock of macabre vibrancy that made him seem like some undead creature from gothic lore. Though his single remaining eye was open, Lucien did not see, and he didn’t know there was someone at his side until there were many, wrapped up in a haze of unfamiliar presences caressing his own far too closely. Instinct seized his person and he must’ve fought against those touching him, for suddenly there was pressure and pain and dizzying, erratic movement, and hands came and left and pushed and pulled, until he was once again bound. He arched his back and jerked his body against these fresh straps, emitting a heartfelt cry of frustration when nothing gave way, and sheer desperation to fight off whatever restrain him decimated any regard for his own person. Pain was everything, and so it was nothing to him, and he ripped and twisted as if willing to tear himself to pieces in his feral conviction to free himself, his frail body suffering freshly from his own ruthless assault.

And then something more powerful than his unrelenting will started to devour his lingering strength and consciousness, swallowing him up in subjugation. The potent narcotics broke the braid of force and adrenaline that fed his resistence, and Lucien's body fell listless only seconds before his mind drifted into blackness.

[Sevsnapelove09]

“I never said I wasn’t, I just don’t need to act like one, like, pickin’ out drapes or some s**t. And you know, I don’t see myself as a f**, I see myself as an equal opportunist,” Flannery said, his tone light with humor.

A gay minister, not like Flannery really gave a s**t. He didn’t want to think about Sari where he could be with others. Flannery was the only man Sari had slept with and he was perfectly fine with that. In fact, he was okay with not thinking about Sari and anyone. Ever. At all. The biker wasn’t usually a possessive or jealous man about anything but where Sari was concerned. He felt he had a little bit of a right to be though. Like Sari had said, Flannery had saved him. He didn’t want anyone put Sari in the position where he needed that again.

Flannery remembered when Sari had gone on his ‘Let me save you from yourself’ kick. Back then, he didn’t really care much for the Jesus talk. Flannery didn’t believe in God. Sure, there might be something out there but he didn’t think it was the Christians prayed to. He never claimed to be an intelligent man but he had his reasons. But Sari, he had to admit that part of him was jealous of the man’s faith. It had been a long time since he’d even set foot in a church, let alone felt the presence that so many looked for. It was depressing feeling like there was no one up there watching over the world, but Flannery just couldn’t believe in the God so many worshipped.

“I’ve always called you kid,”Flannery said looking at the ginger in his arms, “I s’pose it sounds kinda weird. Still, I always called you kid.”

Flannery mulled over the things that Sari was saying. He’d always tried bolster the biker. The honest truth was that Flannery dislike himself. He felt like a failure, letting his gang get taken over by Aphorism. But Sari had always been the angel on his shoulder telling him he wasn’t a bad person, that he’d done his best. Even if Flannery didn’t truly believe it, he allowed it to lift him up for short periods of time.

“I got no problems keepin’ it quiet. Can’t promise nothin’ about you though. You were anything but quiet last night,” Flannery winked at Sari.


The biker listened to Sari as he spoke. He understood but it didn’t make the slight nagging annoyance of being in the dark. He knew Sari couldn’t just walk around, holding hands and being affectionate with him. Not that he wanted that anyway….maybe a little. Sari was a minister after all. Flannery had been there for that blow, as if marriage wasn’t bad enough. Flannery had watched Sari become a man. It was a good thing though, at least was confident he knew Sari better than anyone.

Yes, he knew the ginger well but that hadn’t changed the fact that he was unsure about where things were going to go when he pulled his bike up to Sari’s house. He felt it was just as likely for Sari to order him away. Had that happened, Flannery would have woken up with a hangover in some trash heap. He decided, standing there with Sari, this was far better.

Flannery was jolted from his thoughts by Sari’s sudden panic. One minute there had been thoughts of breakfast, now dashed by the flurry of ginger flying about the room. Flannery watched, quite amused with Sari’s rushing about. But then he watched as Sari made a dash for the bathroom, and a wolfish smirk took root on Flannery’s lips.

“Make yourself at home.”

Don’t mind if I do.

The biker dropped the sheet, his only manner of covering and entered the bathroom. Flannery had a lot more than breakfast and the chief of police on his mind. He was going to make the most of his time with Sari before he left him at the house.

His smirk still playing on his face, the biker slid into the shower with Sari, “Hey good lookin’, whatcha got cookin’?”

Flannery slid his hands around Sari again, holding him in the stream of hot water. He kissed the ginger’s neck. The biker knew Sari’s body and he could probably play it like a fiddle, it would probably make the minister sing like one too. Flannery smiled at that thought.

“I missed you."

[mmo lost boy]

Stan awoke on Christmas day without a hangover. How was such a thing possible? Last night’s events were a blur of laughs, singing, dancing, and much drinking. He had gone to the Christmas Eve karaoke party on a spare of the moment change of mind, as he returned from his incredibly late round of Christmas shopping. He was glad he had gone; it had been a lot of fun, and everyone there seemed to have been very pleased to see him. He could pick out little details from things that had happened, but not the whole picture. Hadn’t he sung at least five songs with Rook? Or had it been someone else? He felt a little heavier than usual, but apart from that he felt quite alright. Even though he finally got into bed at God knows what time, and had slept like a log, he had suddenly felt a strong urge to wake up, even though he probably could’ve slept well into the afternoon. The cowboy gave a huge stretch and a wide yawn, cricked his neck and shoulders, and then, with a huge effort, pulled himself out of bed, letting out a croaky groan as he went. His bedclothes and pillows were alarmingly askew, and he could almost feel how much bed hair he had.

He looked around for his cigarettes, but could not find them anywhere. Perhaps it was in the kitchen? He could’ve sworn he had stuffed his face with something before he had flopped into bed. Stan had just been about to open his bedroom door, when he realized he still had his black tie on from last night around his neck, and one sock on his foot. He removed them both and chucked them carelessly onto his bed behind him before leaving the room. He was lucky he hadn’t strangled himself what with the amount of moving he had apparently done in bed last night. Now he just wore his black pyjama bottoms and slightly baggy grey vest top.

As he came into the living room he was greeted with a pleasant surprise. There were Christmas decorations up, making the modern interior design look much more festive. Kyouya hadn’t put these up…had he? Stan could’ve sworn his roommate had taken them down just yesterday. The little Christmas tree upon the coffee table was new, however. He ambled towards it to examine it more closely, noticing the cute little decorations upon as he drew nearer. He had been about to pick it up, when he noticed a little wrapped parcel with a note just beside it. Stan blinked; it was addressed to him.

“Well Santa…” he drawled softly, his lips spreading into a small, crooked smile, “looks like I haven’t been all that bad, have I~”

He sank into the sofa behind him, and took up the note to read it. His thick eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise once more; his little Grinch had actually bought him something. Perhaps Kyouya had felt guilty about apparently being a ‘horrible person to live with’. He really hadn’t been that horrible though, not enough to mention anyway – just a bit moody really, and more distant.

Stan didn’t know what the time was, nor did he have his phone on him, and he couldn’t here any noise that would indicate Kyouya was actually here. Besides, his curiosity, as usual, was getting the better of him. Without further delay, the young rogue ripped open his present, and felt something small and rectangular fall into his lap. His face slowly brightened as he realized what it was. He had owned one like this once before, though this one was much more beautiful. While admiring it, he heard movement in the kitchen next door. So, Kyouya was here. Stan stood up, slipped the harmonica into his pocket, and followed the noise.

He found his Third with his back to him by the coffee machine, and fiddling with his long, soft, raven black hair in slightly twitching fingers. Stan was pleased to see him; he had barely spoken to him yesterday, and the little weight in his pocket felt like it was spreading a warmth throughout his body that had nothing to do with the high temperature within the apartment.

“Hey you~” he croaked happily to announce his presence, smiling as he moved towards Kyouya. “Mind if I bum summa that?” He gave a small nod in the direction of the brewing coffee. “I have no idea how I look, but I’m predicting it’s pretty awful,” he chuckled slightly, unbeknownst to the fact that he didn’t look that bad at all, rather he just had even messier hair and looked a little more tired than usual.

He moved a hand as best a he could through his hair, in a lame, habitual attempt to get it off his face, and moved towards the sink, touching Kyouya in a friendly manner on the shoulder as he passed him.

“I missed ya last night. Not in the mood to party huh?” he said, making sure his voice sounded casual, turning on the cold tap. “Scott didn’t come either,” he added lightly, as if to make Kyouya feel less put out if he felt any such emotion, and as well just to be informative. He bent down towards the water, cupped some in his hands, and splashed his face with it, rubbing it especially over his eyelids. He had forgotten to do this in the bathroom itself, but he needed to feel more awake seeing as the coffee wasn’t done yet. After he had done this twice more, he straightened up, turned off the tap, and grabbed the hem of his vest, lifting it up to pat his dripping face dry, the kitchen lights bouncing off his revealed abdominal muscles.

He looked across at the coffee machine as he pulled his vest down over his skin, but saw it still wasn’t quite ready. Then, an idea came into his head.

“Hey, let’s bust out a tune while we wait~” he said, pulling out the harmonica from his pocket. He turned to lean his back against the counter and cupboard above, before placing the little instrument against his lips, and broke into a jangly, bluesy tune. It blew clean and clear as a whistle, the sound punctuating the relative quiet of the kitchen.
After about a minute or so he stopped, pulled the harmonica away from his lips, held it up in one hand to admire it once more, then looked at Kyouya to grin.

“Thanks,” he told him after a moment, his grin melting into more gentle, mature, and genuine smile, “That’s real nice of ya.” He tightened his grip on the intrument and brought it down to stomach level. His smile widened a little more, “How’d ya know I’d lost my other one?” He had lost his old harmonica about a year and a half ago, and still could not recollect how or where. He was truly grateful to be given a replacement.

“I got you somethin’ too!” he said more brightly, pocketing his harmonica again and reaching with his opposite hand towards his other pocket. His expression fell slightly as he stepped closer towards the Asian, “Um…I didn’t have time to wrap it nothin’, but…well, here…” It looked as though he had gripped something in his other pocket, and there was a seemingly modest expression on his face. “Close your eyes.” He gave a small reassuring smile, “C’mon, close ‘em~”

Assuming that Kyouya did so, Stan removed the hand from his pocket, revealing nothing, and moved closer to the shorter man, close enough so their chests were almost touching. He placed his hand on the cupboard above the man’s head, and leaned his face down to his, opening his mouth ever so slightly, ready to touch their lips together. However, something made his change direction at the last moment, and instead, with his eye half-lidded, he planted a warm, soft kiss on Kyouya’s pale cheek. Something told him the Third would’ve taken a kiss on the lips in a very bad way, and Stan didn’t want to upset, anger, or even toy with his emotions in any way on today of all days.

“Merry Christmas,” he purred gently near the man’s ear, before slowly straightening up.
He had remembered Scott’s warning from yesterday, and went against his prior instinct. Christmas time was delicate for Kyouya, though he still did not know why.
When the pleasantly fragrant scent of the Third’s skin had left his nose, the cowboy spoke again.

“I didn’t just get you corny for Christmas, heh, don’t worry. I actually bought you a material present,” he told him in a lighter, friendlier tone. “I still really didn’t wrap it though, because…” – his eyes floated to the ceiling for a moment – “I got drunk and forgot,” he admitted, managing to be blunt but also apologetic. He pressed his wrists together and held his hands out to Kyouya, in a ‘cuff me’ gesture, smiling in a would-be innocent way that rendered the viewer with a difficulty to actually be angry. “But hopefully that won’t put you off.”

He lowered his hands and casually nodded to a spot just behind Kyouya, ”Coffee’s ready.” He turned and walked over to the table as he had just spotted his coat lying over the back of one of the chairs. His cigarettes were probably in the pocket.