Also crossover Part 1 is aaaaaaaaaalmost posted. I'm editing all bunny-fast-like and so forth, and also trying to tell myself that yes, I can occasionally write semi-decent not-Tin-Man fic.
The screaming awoke everyone within a two-hall radius and Cain, who had already been awake, was one of the first on the scene, but not the first. That was Ambrose, who was pacing back and forth and jumped when he saw Cain. “I just sent someone to find a key or to get DG,” Ambrose urgently said, standing back when Cain gently moved him aside with two hands on his hips. “She’s got it locked from the in…”
The sound of wood splintering ended Ambrose’s worrying.
“…side. Or we could do that.”
Ambrose and Cain shared a long glance and wordlessly, Cain assured Ambrose that he would take care of it. He rested a hand on Ambrose’s shoulder and wasted no time in pushing past the splinters of the door and crawling into the room.
And since we're sharing, some of the 15 Annuals Epilogue Epic:
The pounding he heard wasn’t a hangover, which he knew because he hadn’t been drinking last night. Yes, he’d been a bit stupid last night after spending the day with Nurvus (which always made him a bit stupid, really – he blamed how smart Nurvus was. He probably got it by sucking the intelligence out of everyone around him), but he had gotten into the Kage habit of never intentionally impairing himself.
Well, unless he really wanted to.
It took a while to roll out of his bed, but it was easier when he remembered he had two other people in bed with him and managed to clamber out with minimal grumbling, pulling on a robe as he walked over to the door, opening it up with his eyes squinting at the lamplight.
“DG?”
She sighed and nodded, frowning at him. “Didn’t your father ever give you the sexually transmitted diseases talk?”
He stared at her. “You woke me up at four in the morning to lecture me?”
“No,” she stated. “I woke you up at four in the morning so we can go get drunk.”
THAT IS FULL OF SO MUCH WIN! JEB IS AWESOME. NOW I WANT TO SHARE MORE SO YOU'LL GIVE ME MORE. HENCE, DOMESTIC-FIC:
“Besides, this way we see the girls and Raw. Is Jeb still hovering around DG?”
“He’s constantly fishing for stories about the Otherside, yeah,” Cain confirmed. An ‘unquenchable thirst’, Ambrose had once called it, ‘that he apparently got via osmosis,’ he had added with slight wickedness, at which Cain had merely smacked him over the head with his hat. “I suppose there’s that. But don’t you notice the looks they give us?”
“After ten annuals with a zipper in my head, I got used to staring,” Ambrose quietly said. “I don’t really notice looks anymore.” Cain knew that, but sometimes, Cain asked things twice to three times. Ambrose supposed you didn’t test your memory so much while stuck in an Iron Suit. It was familiar by now, anyway, for Ambrose to gently lay a hand on Cain’s shoulder and remind him of something very lightly.
From The Very Messed Up Fic Where Cain Is Extremely Mindfucked:
“Sit down already, Cain. You might feel like you’re bigger and stronger when you’re standing, but I promise that you’ll always be the same size if you’re sitting or standing or laying down or even twisted like a pretzel.” Cain simply rolled himself over next to Glitch.
“Think it’d be hard to turn me into a pretzel,” Cain said lightly, watching Glitch’s fingers survey the metal he was holding.
“I could make you do it,” Glitch said lightly, and flipped a switch on the device, making something shoot out of it and unfold into Glitch’s hand, slicing it in the process. His eyes widened, pulling out the razor disk. “Okay, this one’s bad.”
“Glitch, what the hell-” Cain began, only to find a bloody hand covering his mouth, Glitch frowning at him.
“Relax.” He smiled, and pulled out yet another metal thing, this one with a very obvious trigger on it. Cain tensed, trying to ignore the twice-metallic tang of Glitch’s blood combined with the metal he’d been holding onto. When Glitch pulled his hand away, Cain’s mouth was bloody and Glitch was shooting something blue onto the cut, sealing it and smiling at Cain’s red-streaked face. “See? All better. How’s the blood, by the way?”
Cain managed to glare slightly at him before Glitch laughed and handed over his handkerchief, nothing but good-natured. “You’re going to drive me insane one of these days, Glitch,” Cain grumbled.
Glitch just smiled at him. “Not unless I want you to be insane.”
.....controlling-Glitch is secretly REALLY HOT. AND NOT SECRETLY. JUST REALLY HOT.
I refuse to give you gift-hints, so:
“Dad?” Jeb’s voice interrupted from down the hall. “You seen my scarf?”
“Front hall, Jeb.”
The interjection did wonders to break the moment and Ambrose closed his eyes tersely. “I should…get ready for dinner. Dried off, at least,” he laughed nervously. Cain didn’t respond and Ambrose groaned, pushing himself to his feet, the floor creaking under his weight. There was more dripping to be had and he pressed the ice pack harder to his cheek.
“Ambrose?”
“Hm?”
“How about tomorrow?” Cain asked.
“What’s tomorrow?” Jeb whispered to Ambrose, passing him in the hall with red scarf in hand. ‘Nothing!’ Ambrose hissed back at him, still staring in perplexed fear towards the kitchen while Jeb knotted the scarf around his neck and moved to accompany his father. “Dad? What’s going on tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, Ambrose?” he reiterated, ignoring Jeb’s question.
WHAT'S TOMORROW? I don't like being in suspeeeeense! D:
Next fic snippet is....ummmm...eh. More of the last one since I have seven pages of it, ahahaha... IN SMALL TEXT BECAUSE I'M EMBARASSED OF THIS FIC! \o/
“You’re both adults, and I know it’s not my place to interfere, but I’d like to ask you to seriously consider your positions,” she had said.
Cain had frowned. “What do you mean, your majesty? Do you mean the class difference, or-”
“I mean physically,” the Queen had said, and before Cain had the chance to blush, said, “You haven’t left him since the surgery.”
“I said I’d be here.”
“No, Ambrose said you’d be here.” Cain blinked at her, and she settled herself uncomfortably in a nearby chair. “I have known Ambrose for a very long time. We were in fact betrothed for a brief period of time, and that’s why I fear that you don’t know what is happening.”
“What’s happening?”
She looked straight at him. “He’s beginning to own you.”
He jerked awake, barely stopping himself from punching Ambrose. Cain gaped at him – the zipper was gone, even if there was a scar running down his scalp, and he wasn’t wearing anything but the sheet off the bed. He still looked like Glitch, though, even if his eyes were a bit less hazy and his mouth a bit harder. But Glitch was Ambrose now. That wasn’t anything surprising.
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Cain asked.
Ambrose smiled at him. “I should be, but I thought you should know you can leave.”
“I said I’d be here.”
“And you are,” Ambrose agreed, putting a cold hand on Cain’s cheek. “Now stop worrying everyone so much and leave my room for a few hours.”
Without a thought, Cain simply nodded and walked out, making appearances in everyone’s usual morning areas, looking normal and like someone who didn’t need to be worried about. Seven hours of small talk and pleasantries, and Cain was back in Ambrose’s room.
TOMORROW is the DATE that Cain asked Ambrose out on. Except Ambrose is kind of a GIGANTIC HUGE IDIOT. And oh my GOD I REALLY WNAT THAT FIC. You have NO IDEA how much that hits one of my kinks.
Here, have another of my kinks:
It was a package of six little red pills. Ambrose glanced up warily at his wife to try and figure out if she was trying to tell him something, but Cain sat draped in his lap and looked right back without a single hint of guilt or any other emotion on her face. They’d settled into the expansive reading chair in Ambrose’s study with Cain in his lap while he opened his birthday gifts from fellow Advisors, friends, the Queen, and of course, Cain. His palm had rested on her stomach (she was five months along, at that point, with their child) and the last gift had been Cain’s. These…pills.
“Um?”
“They’re black market,” Cain admitted, giving Ambrose a slightly sheepish look. “It’s that something you once talked about, how you wished you and I could…y’know.”
“You know?” he echoed warily.
“What you said the night after we discovered I could’ve gone for either a man or a woman.”
“Oh, that…the thing where I wondered if you would want me if I were a woman?” Ambrose clarified, still twisting and turning the pills in his hand. “These are…”
“Yeah.”
Neither of them had to say much more than that. The pills had been imported from the Otherside as a cure to cancer. And so, no one in the O.Z. ever suffered from the disease. Of course, there was the pesky little temporary side effect that a person’s gender was completely reassigned – genetically and functionally. And Cain had bought Ambrose six of them, which must have cost her nearly four months’ worth of salary. Ambrose weighed the little packet in his palm, giving Cain a curious look.
And since apparently you like it, THE FOURTH SNIPPET FROM THE SAME FIC!
Cain went very quiet at that. “Glitch, that’s your family you’re talking about. Do you understand that? That’s your family.”
“That’s my blood, not my family,” Glitch corrected, twirling in his chair. “I don’t remember much, Cain, but I remember that at least.” He sighed, turning to look at Cain again. “You’ll be there when I wake up after the surgery.”
“Of course,” Cain nodded. He would have put a hand on Glitch’s shoulder, but that wasn’t how it worked. Nobody touched Glitch unless he was okay with being touched by them, and while Cain was usually in that elite category, there were a lot of lines they’d drawn between them that Cain wasn’t going to even look at.
I want my whole brain first, Glitch had said two months ago, and the first line had been drawn. You’re still mourning your wife and I’m not going to be a rebound for you had been two and a half months ago, and most recently there was nothing but the word no. He said no, and that was the end.
“I’m going to be Ambrose tomorrow,” Glitch said again, but this time it didn’t break him. One more time, Glitch had rebuilt Cain, made him just a little more his.
“About us. About us being together. We are, we just skipped all the way to the way old married couples behave. As characterized by routines, bickering spats, little to no physical affection, but comfortable. We’re like old slippers.”
“Smart as you are,” Cain swore, shaking his head, “you’re not exactly a poet with your words.”
“It does mean we skipped all the fun stuff,” Ambrose added ruefully, “but most couples never reach this stage of comfort. It’s all a trade-off, really.” He leaned back, satisfied to have aired his theorem in words and to find it made the most perfect of sense out loud as it had in his mind.
Cain gave something of a considerate ‘hm’, joining Ambrose to stare skywards, supporting him from falling (the action nearly an afterthought to prevent a once-clumsy man from tumbling to his death). “Suppose that’s why Miss Waters won’t dare flirt back,” Cain commented.
“And why Lady Simmons accuses me of being a man of terrible morals whenever I try and cozy up to her,” Ambrose said
NO MORE POSESSION-FIC FOR YOU. And eeeeeeeeee, my personal fanon. I honestly had NO IDEA you were writing a fic of it. It's just...well, in my head that's just How Things Go!
GUESS WHO THIS IS:
He’s the one on the ground now, feeling that pathetic weakness as his blood weeps out onto a cement-looking ground, his entire being centered on staying awake, staying propped up on the building, staying alive even because there’s just that one other thing he has to do or it’d really, really suck to die even though it’d be so much easier.
Then, through the blurry darkness that eats away at the edges of his eyes, there’s a face. Since he’s lost a lot of blood and that tends to fuck people’s minds up pretty well from what he’s heard he figures it’s okay that the first thought that manages to wriggle out is “PRETTY.” He regrets that it’s blurry, and dark, and cold, because he can’t see more than the face, those glassed-over eyes, that absolutely breathtaking hair that he wants like he only wants two other things right then (life and that one other little thing he has to do) but he thinks maybe, just maybe, there might be even more to want, and decides to see it just as soon as he can keep his eyes open, if they ever do open again, because fuck, that bastard’s sword was a hell of a lot more painful than he’d thought it would be.
Keri and I kept talking about it til she asked me for it. Except in my fic THEY KIND OF DO GET TOGETHER. IS IT CAIN I HOPE IT'S CAIN IT'S PRETTY.
One more Domestic-ness and then I go to bed:
There was a narrow and quaint little Central townhouse that came completely furnished and didn’t break the bank. One sunny autumn day sometime after the Witch fell, Wyatt Cain moved in with all his possessions and the day after that, so did Sir Ambrose. They quickly became the gossip of the town and the palace, though folk were often forced to admit: “Well, no, I’ve never actually seen any of this with my own eyes, but it comes from a friend of my cousin’s friend. Very reputable source!” Logic, though, insisted that something was afoot. Why else would two bachelors lock themselves in a family abode? It quickly became ritual for citizens of Central City to perch beneath the lamp outside the townhouse, just watching the windows for activity, for proof.
It most likely would have frustrated the whole city, really, if they knew that neither Cain nor Ambrose thought it possible for people to believe such a thing.
They had established their own comfortable routines. They spent nine to ten in the morning at the market (but never touched hands, gossiped the women, and certainly never kiss, harrumph those in the gentlemen’s clubs). Once fresh food for the day had been bought, Ambrose regularly passed a note to Cain and they parted ways to different directions of town.
“I bet it’s a love note,” the ladies sighed at the launderettes.
“Some reminder of appointments to be punctual for,” said the men at their poker games.
(It would disappoint to know that it was merely a shopping list of meat, priced to the nearest pound and ounce)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-09 03:39 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-09 03:43 am (UTC)Also crossover Part 1 is aaaaaaaaaalmost posted. I'm editing all bunny-fast-like and so forth, and also trying to tell myself that yes, I can occasionally write semi-decent not-Tin-Man fic.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-09 03:45 am (UTC)*Sad Manda is Sad Panda Sad*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-09 03:47 am (UTC)And the correct grammar would be "Sad Manda Panda is Sad" I think. MANDA PANDA! :D
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-09 03:54 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-09 03:56 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-09 04:00 am (UTC)And here, from NOT your gift:
The screaming awoke everyone within a two-hall radius and Cain, who had already been awake, was one of the first on the scene, but not the first. That was Ambrose, who was pacing back and forth and jumped when he saw Cain. “I just sent someone to find a key or to get DG,” Ambrose urgently said, standing back when Cain gently moved him aside with two hands on his hips. “She’s got it locked from the in…”
The sound of wood splintering ended Ambrose’s worrying.
“…side. Or we could do that.”
Ambrose and Cain shared a long glance and wordlessly, Cain assured Ambrose that he would take care of it. He rested a hand on Ambrose’s shoulder and wasted no time in pushing past the splinters of the door and crawling into the room.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-09 04:10 am (UTC)And since we're sharing, some of the 15 Annuals Epilogue Epic:
The pounding he heard wasn’t a hangover, which he knew because he hadn’t been drinking last night. Yes, he’d been a bit stupid last night after spending the day with Nurvus (which always made him a bit stupid, really – he blamed how smart Nurvus was. He probably got it by sucking the intelligence out of everyone around him), but he had gotten into the Kage habit of never intentionally impairing himself.
Well, unless he really wanted to.
It took a while to roll out of his bed, but it was easier when he remembered he had two other people in bed with him and managed to clamber out with minimal grumbling, pulling on a robe as he walked over to the door, opening it up with his eyes squinting at the lamplight.
“DG?”
She sighed and nodded, frowning at him. “Didn’t your father ever give you the sexually transmitted diseases talk?”
He stared at her. “You woke me up at four in the morning to lecture me?”
“No,” she stated. “I woke you up at four in the morning so we can go get drunk.”
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-09 04:12 am (UTC)“Besides, this way we see the girls and Raw. Is Jeb still hovering around DG?”
“He’s constantly fishing for stories about the Otherside, yeah,” Cain confirmed. An ‘unquenchable thirst’, Ambrose had once called it, ‘that he apparently got via osmosis,’ he had added with slight wickedness, at which Cain had merely smacked him over the head with his hat. “I suppose there’s that. But don’t you notice the looks they give us?”
“After ten annuals with a zipper in my head, I got used to staring,” Ambrose quietly said. “I don’t really notice looks anymore.” Cain knew that, but sometimes, Cain asked things twice to three times. Ambrose supposed you didn’t test your memory so much while stuck in an Iron Suit. It was familiar by now, anyway, for Ambrose to gently lay a hand on Cain’s shoulder and remind him of something very lightly.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-09 04:27 am (UTC)From The Very Messed Up Fic Where Cain Is Extremely Mindfucked:
“Sit down already, Cain. You might feel like you’re bigger and stronger when you’re standing, but I promise that you’ll always be the same size if you’re sitting or standing or laying down or even twisted like a pretzel.” Cain simply rolled himself over next to Glitch.
“Think it’d be hard to turn me into a pretzel,” Cain said lightly, watching Glitch’s fingers survey the metal he was holding.
“I could make you do it,” Glitch said lightly, and flipped a switch on the device, making something shoot out of it and unfold into Glitch’s hand, slicing it in the process. His eyes widened, pulling out the razor disk. “Okay, this one’s bad.”
“Glitch, what the hell-” Cain began, only to find a bloody hand covering his mouth, Glitch frowning at him.
“Relax.” He smiled, and pulled out yet another metal thing, this one with a very obvious trigger on it. Cain tensed, trying to ignore the twice-metallic tang of Glitch’s blood combined with the metal he’d been holding onto. When Glitch pulled his hand away, Cain’s mouth was bloody and Glitch was shooting something blue onto the cut, sealing it and smiling at Cain’s red-streaked face. “See? All better. How’s the blood, by the way?”
Cain managed to glare slightly at him before Glitch laughed and handed over his handkerchief, nothing but good-natured. “You’re going to drive me insane one of these days, Glitch,” Cain grumbled.
Glitch just smiled at him. “Not unless I want you to be insane.”
*posts TOTFATWBSAEO*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-09 04:35 am (UTC)I refuse to give you gift-hints, so:
“Dad?” Jeb’s voice interrupted from down the hall. “You seen my scarf?”
“Front hall, Jeb.”
The interjection did wonders to break the moment and Ambrose closed his eyes tersely. “I should…get ready for dinner. Dried off, at least,” he laughed nervously. Cain didn’t respond and Ambrose groaned, pushing himself to his feet, the floor creaking under his weight. There was more dripping to be had and he pressed the ice pack harder to his cheek.
“Ambrose?”
“Hm?”
“How about tomorrow?” Cain asked.
“What’s tomorrow?” Jeb whispered to Ambrose, passing him in the hall with red scarf in hand. ‘Nothing!’ Ambrose hissed back at him, still staring in perplexed fear towards the kitchen while Jeb knotted the scarf around his neck and moved to accompany his father. “Dad? What’s going on tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, Ambrose?” he reiterated, ignoring Jeb’s question.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-09 04:58 am (UTC)Next fic snippet is....ummmm...eh. More of the last one
since I have seven pages of it, ahahaha...IN SMALL TEXT BECAUSE I'M EMBARASSED OF THIS FIC! \o/“You’re both adults, and I know it’s not my place to interfere, but I’d like to ask you to seriously consider your positions,” she had said.
Cain had frowned. “What do you mean, your majesty? Do you mean the class difference, or-”
“I mean physically,” the Queen had said, and before Cain had the chance to blush, said, “You haven’t left him since the surgery.”
“I said I’d be here.”
“No, Ambrose said you’d be here.” Cain blinked at her, and she settled herself uncomfortably in a nearby chair. “I have known Ambrose for a very long time. We were in fact betrothed for a brief period of time, and that’s why I fear that you don’t know what is happening.”
“What’s happening?”
She looked straight at him. “He’s beginning to own you.”
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-09 05:06 am (UTC)...good fuck I need sleep.
STOP ME.
Date: 2008-08-09 05:11 am (UTC)He jerked awake, barely stopping himself from punching Ambrose. Cain gaped at him – the zipper was gone, even if there was a scar running down his scalp, and he wasn’t wearing anything but the sheet off the bed. He still looked like Glitch, though, even if his eyes were a bit less hazy and his mouth a bit harder. But Glitch was Ambrose now. That wasn’t anything surprising.
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Cain asked.
Ambrose smiled at him. “I should be, but I thought you should know you can leave.”
“I said I’d be here.”
“And you are,” Ambrose agreed, putting a cold hand on Cain’s cheek. “Now stop worrying everyone so much and leave my room for a few hours.”
Without a thought, Cain simply nodded and walked out, making appearances in everyone’s usual morning areas, looking normal and like someone who didn’t need to be worried about. Seven hours of small talk and pleasantries, and Cain was back in Ambrose’s room.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-09 05:16 am (UTC)Here, have another of my kinks:
It was a package of six little red pills. Ambrose glanced up warily at his wife to try and figure out if she was trying to tell him something, but Cain sat draped in his lap and looked right back without a single hint of guilt or any other emotion on her face. They’d settled into the expansive reading chair in Ambrose’s study with Cain in his lap while he opened his birthday gifts from fellow Advisors, friends, the Queen, and of course, Cain. His palm had rested on her stomach (she was five months along, at that point, with their child) and the last gift had been Cain’s. These…pills.
“Um?”
“They’re black market,” Cain admitted, giving Ambrose a slightly sheepish look. “It’s that something you once talked about, how you wished you and I could…y’know.”
“You know?” he echoed warily.
“What you said the night after we discovered I could’ve gone for either a man or a woman.”
“Oh, that…the thing where I wondered if you would want me if I were a woman?” Ambrose clarified, still twisting and turning the pills in his hand. “These are…”
“Yeah.”
Neither of them had to say much more than that. The pills had been imported from the Otherside as a cure to cancer. And so, no one in the O.Z. ever suffered from the disease. Of course, there was the pesky little temporary side effect that a person’s gender was completely reassigned – genetically and functionally. And Cain had bought Ambrose six of them, which must have cost her nearly four months’ worth of salary. Ambrose weighed the little packet in his palm, giving Cain a curious look.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-09 05:26 am (UTC)And since apparently you like it, THE FOURTH SNIPPET FROM THE SAME FIC!
Cain went very quiet at that. “Glitch, that’s your family you’re talking about. Do you understand that? That’s your family.”
“That’s my blood, not my family,” Glitch corrected, twirling in his chair. “I don’t remember much, Cain, but I remember that at least.” He sighed, turning to look at Cain again. “You’ll be there when I wake up after the surgery.”
“Of course,” Cain nodded. He would have put a hand on Glitch’s shoulder, but that wasn’t how it worked. Nobody touched Glitch unless he was okay with being touched by them, and while Cain was usually in that elite category, there were a lot of lines they’d drawn between them that Cain wasn’t going to even look at.
I want my whole brain first, Glitch had said two months ago, and the first line had been drawn. You’re still mourning your wife and I’m not going to be a rebound for you had been two and a half months ago, and most recently there was nothing but the word no. He said no, and that was the end.
“I’m going to be Ambrose tomorrow,” Glitch said again, but this time it didn’t break him. One more time, Glitch had rebuilt Cain, made him just a little more his.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-09 05:29 am (UTC)More from They're Just Bachelors, REALLY!:
“About us. About us being together. We are, we just skipped all the way to the way old married couples behave. As characterized by routines, bickering spats, little to no physical affection, but comfortable. We’re like old slippers.”
“Smart as you are,” Cain swore, shaking his head, “you’re not exactly a poet with your words.”
“It does mean we skipped all the fun stuff,” Ambrose added ruefully, “but most couples never reach this stage of comfort. It’s all a trade-off, really.” He leaned back, satisfied to have aired his theorem in words and to find it made the most perfect of sense out loud as it had in his mind.
Cain gave something of a considerate ‘hm’, joining Ambrose to stare skywards, supporting him from falling (the action nearly an afterthought to prevent a once-clumsy man from tumbling to his death). “Suppose that’s why Miss Waters won’t dare flirt back,” Cain commented.
“And why Lady Simmons accuses me of being a man of terrible morals whenever I try and cozy up to her,” Ambrose said
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-09 05:36 am (UTC)GUESS WHO THIS IS:
He’s the one on the ground now, feeling that pathetic weakness as his blood weeps out onto a cement-looking ground, his entire being centered on staying awake, staying propped up on the building, staying alive even because there’s just that one other thing he has to do or it’d really, really suck to die even though it’d be so much easier.
Then, through the blurry darkness that eats away at the edges of his eyes, there’s a face. Since he’s lost a lot of blood and that tends to fuck people’s minds up pretty well from what he’s heard he figures it’s okay that the first thought that manages to wriggle out is “PRETTY.” He regrets that it’s blurry, and dark, and cold, because he can’t see more than the face, those glassed-over eyes, that absolutely breathtaking hair that he wants like he only wants two other things right then (life and that one other little thing he has to do) but he thinks maybe, just maybe, there might be even more to want, and decides to see it just as soon as he can keep his eyes open, if they ever do open again, because fuck, that bastard’s sword was a hell of a lot more painful than he’d thought it would be.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-09 05:42 am (UTC)One more Domestic-ness and then I go to bed:There was a narrow and quaint little Central townhouse that came completely furnished and didn’t break the bank. One sunny autumn day sometime after the Witch fell, Wyatt Cain moved in with all his possessions and the day after that, so did Sir Ambrose. They quickly became the gossip of the town and the palace, though folk were often forced to admit: “Well, no, I’ve never actually seen any of this with my own eyes, but it comes from a friend of my cousin’s friend. Very reputable source!” Logic, though, insisted that something was afoot. Why else would two bachelors lock themselves in a family abode? It quickly became ritual for citizens of Central City to perch beneath the lamp outside the townhouse, just watching the windows for activity, for proof.
It most likely would have frustrated the whole city, really, if they knew that neither Cain nor Ambrose thought it possible for people to believe such a thing.
They had established their own comfortable routines. They spent nine to ten in the morning at the market (but never touched hands, gossiped the women, and certainly never kiss, harrumph those in the gentlemen’s clubs). Once fresh food for the day had been bought, Ambrose regularly passed a note to Cain and they parted ways to different directions of town.
“I bet it’s a love note,” the ladies sighed at the launderettes.
“Some reminder of appointments to be punctual for,” said the men at their poker games.
(It would disappoint to know that it was merely a shopping list of meat, priced to the nearest pound and ounce)