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kingdomsofrain2019-05-24 05:05 pm
loyalless) wrote in kingdomsofrain2019-05-24 05:05 pmOPEN RP POST
send a prompt, a starter, images, words, music, whatever you like.
loyalless) wrote in kingdomsofrain2019-05-24 05:05 pm
no subject
What with Darius half in his lap. ]
You look like you belong right here.
[ He'd said the same thing this morning, when he'd woken to find Darius in his arms, both of them groggy, both of them happy. (He had carried that image with him all day, had been unable to concentrate on anything but the dwindling hours between himself and the moment he would see Darius again.)
Enri's hand drifts lazily down the back of Darius's neck. In the other, he holds a cocktail picked out for him, because it was either order his old fallback or trust Darius to know what's best for him. (Daddy always knows what's best for him. He'd hummed that in Daddy's ear at the bar.) He lifts to drink as he listens, getting his first taste of what Darius knows is best -
And pauses over it, surprised, his eyes flickering to the man beside him.
Are you comfortable, Enri?
His lips part, flashing faint white, and his heart staggers its beat. His insides flutter. His cheeks burn with an almost-immediate buzz and an almost-immediate excitement.
His drink is laced with honey. (Daddy's fingers were laced with honey -)
He shakes his head slowly, then angles for another kiss; he waits there, taking nothing. Inviting. (Pleading.) ]
Not even a little. You're instigating.
[ And, a slight lowering of his chin, his eyes bright and soulfully pleading - though his smile hasn't wavered. ]
I love it. I love you. And my point was, whether we're precisely people or not, we're the only ones who matter. If you're comfortable, I'm happy, even when you're slipping me honey like a goddamned roofie.
[ And, innocently enough - ]
Daddy.
no subject
Yes, he sees Enri's reaction to the honey. Yes, he revels in it, and when Enri -- playful, pragmatic - accuses him of instigation, he laughs a brief, pleased sound. (When Enri speaks love, Darius's chest turns to honey itself, and the world seems to glow.) And when Enri speaks 'Daddy' - another word that rolls through him, and coils sharp pleasure down his spine - Darius grants the kiss, light and lingering, without a sign of teeth.
(Those eyes, though bright, those pleading eyes; Darius would, he thinks, do anything for those eyes.
Would do anything for Enri, which is a strange thought to be holding in public, but what dos anyone matter, where they two are the world?)
Hovering a mere breath from Enri's lips, he speaks with a slyness, with his own note of feigned innocence, and with the barest edge of a purr — ]
I thought you'd like it.
[ Which is true. It's also true that - as Enri so rightly discerned - Darius intended to instigate. Wanted to give the boy something he would enjoy, and something that might thrill him. Something that might enhance the evening for them both. And really, really, it seemed the appropriate choice; a golden, honey-touched drink for a golden, honey-blessed boy.
There's another kiss, this time with more pressure, this time with a bit of bite. This time with promise of something deeper to come. Before he draws away, he speaks again, his voice hushed, husky— ]
My love. My love.
[ When Darius leans back, it's to find Enri's eyes, tracing fingers in caress from Enri's cheek to Enri's throat, along the boy's shoulder. For several moments simply admiring him. Knowing only the world compassed by Enri's presence and his own, and Darius shifts his thigh against Enri's, settles a little closer against Enri's side.
Everything, everyone else has fallen away, and really, Darius hasn't been paying much mind to the people around the club. He can feel the general tenor of the atmosphere, has caught glimpses of faces around and seen nothing worthy of alarm. Usually, he'd be taking a peripheral survey of every face, would be tracking three or five interactions at a time. Tonight, what anyone else might be up to doesn't concern him; even their discomfort is worth only partial notice. None of them matter. And Darius's attention is quite taken up by warm eyes and a heat-rending smile, by the grace of a touch that sets his mind and self aflame. ]
Keep it up, my Puppy, and you'll spin my head.
[ Darius cants his head and brushes his hand through Enri's hair, his half-smile not precisely a smirk. Then nodding toward the glass in Enri's hand— ]
Share a drink?
no subject
It's different from how things were before. The one week that was supposed to be only one week, he'd often trailed after Darius like a lost dog (Puppy). Their interactions in public were lit with predatory smiles and possessive holds, their conversations shot through with insinuation. He'd had to fight for every casual affection. A held hand. A kiss. A photo. A seat beside Darius's.
There were times he thinks Daddy might have been intentionally ignoring him. Or trying very hard to do so. (That hadn't lasted long.)
He'd definitely been trying very hard to tamp down, hide this thing growing between them, inescapable and unfamiliar. Behind those stupid sunglasses, or an offhand air, or a crude remark, or a shitty text to Sen, or whatever else he got it in his squirrelly brain to do.
Darius called him my adoration in the sacred privacy of their suite, but never where others could hear.
It's worlds different, now. This is real. This is fearless, settled, assured that no amount of affection, no amount of romance, will make Enri forget his role - or worse, afflict fatal harm on Darius. (And, likewise, no amount of playing Daddy and Puppy will take away the boyfriend, the lover, the friend. They can have all of it. They can be all of it.) (And fuck, it feels good to be all of it.)
He tastes love and faint pain laced with honey and moans almost inaudibly, shifts for more, but Darius is leaning back, cuddling against him, and Enri thinks of a video he saw once of a Holi celebration, black and white footage bursting into technicolor as clouds of colored pigment flew up from the hands of a crowd. The music had burst at the same moment.
That's it, he thinks. That's the feeling around his heart and lungs. Colorburst from monochrome. Joy from silence.
There's not enough honey in the world that can do for Enri what's done by the repetition of those two low-pitched words. He mouths them back, his smile softening with all the warmth 'my love' carries.
(He'd thought it was so silly, the first time. Romantic, sure, but old-fashioned. But 'my love' feels like it can contain everything Darius is to him - all the titles, all the things that don't have words comfortably applied. He doesn't feel right when kneeling and looking up into the face of his god, thinking boyfriend. He doesn't feel right thinking of Darius as Daddy (much) when they're lounging together on a sofa, in bed, driving in the car, just talking. But my love -
Yeah. Darius is his love, no matter what they're doing together.)
His arm has slipped from the back of the sofa and wound almost casually around Darius's shoulders, his fingertips strumming along his bicep, his shoulder, rhythmically caressing. He thinks my love between kisses, thinks it through each kiss, thinks it as he inclines his head to the touch along his throat. (Thinks of honey, of the moon casting its light onto Daddy's shoulders, how it caught in his hair and shimmered, and how he's lucky. He's so lucky to be loved like this.)
Darius calls him Puppy (my Puppy, which falls under the vast umbrella of my love, because there were no other Puppies that were Darius's, the way Enri is) and he glows with pleasure.
He's still smiling, daft, overjoyed, when he leans his forehead against Darius's and nudges gently - a small butt, affectionate and cute - then considers his glass. Since Darius left the specifics pretty loose, he's got a lot of options here. He could take a sip and offer a kiss, long and deep, and holy shit he'd like to try that. But it might be something better done at home (someone's got to keep their public play a little in check, and he doubts it'll be Daddy.) (Daddy might do it, himself, anyway.)
He could take a sip and then offer the glass. That's sharing.
But the rules - all unwritten, and most of them concocted as they go along - probably suggest Puppy shouldn't drink before Daddy in this very specific situation.
He could hand over the glass like a good Puppy.
That's boring. ]
Nothing to share. What's mine is Daddy's.
[ He speaks with a curling smirk, then proffers the glass just below Darius's mouth, tilting gently if he drinks. Careful. Watchful and enthralled. Before his hand withdraws, he strokes the back of his forefinger along Darius's jaw.
He takes another drink, himself, feeling a flood of warmth his his chest again and spread outward through his limbs. Over the rim of the glass, he raises his brows and hums. ]
Too bad we're out. I'm pretty good for body shots. That's like sharing.
[ Maybe he shouldn't have said that?
He'd never done anything intimate with people before Darius, true, but he did earn some fast cash at bachelorette parties by letting blonde, squealing twenty-somethings in pink tiaras lick salt off his chest and drink tequila out of his navel.
...Well. Whatever. Darius loves him. He won't mind. (God damn, this drink's good.) (The fuck's in it besides honey? He doesn't know the flavor.) Maybe he'll let Darius do lines off his abs sometime. (He's going to hang on to that idea for when Daddy's mad at him. ('Mad'.) (He never gets in real trouble.) (Singsong in his own head: Daddy loves me.)) ]
Shit, what's in this?
no subject
(Thinking, somewhere back in his mind, that he’s never let, never trusted anyone to hold a drink for him that way. Thinking how simple it was, how simple it is to simply trust in this man’s mindfulness and composure, to know that Enri won’t let anything turn awry, or leave Darius in a compromised position. It’s new, and somehow it feels natural. It’s new, and Darius finds this trust - that Enri is worthy of it; that Darius can believe it - reassuring, even comforting.)
When Darius speaks, his voice is resonant, loud enough to be heard by clubgoers in the vicinity, a voice speaking both command and tender approval— ]
Good boy.
[ And, his smile conspiratorial, the drink and its honey still fresh on his breath, he leans for another kiss, speaking Enri’s name with relish.
When he moves back just a little - feeling Enri’s arm around him like a badge, like reverence, like fondness and protection and the world sealed in around them - he looks Enri over, pleased with what he sees. This man so near against him; this boy so clearly pleased, and yes, of course, fucking of course Darius would like to see about those body shots, is considering already how they might work this into the salvation he’d promised Enri for the weekend.
At present, though, it strikes Darius that Enri is already feeling the impact of his drink. It’s something that, Darius thinks, he’ll need to better keep in mind: that the bot doesn’t hold liquor especially well; that a little bit can turn Enri tipsy. That maybe Enri’s had enough for the moment, and maybe Darius would do best not to egg him on.
So. Darius sets his hand at Enri’s jaw, head cocked. ]
Bourbon, lemon juice, and your honey.
[ And - because he is an instigator, because he does love to play with his Puppy - before he speaks ‘honey,’ there’s a brief pause, Darius rolling his bottom lips inward and running his tongue over, catching his teeth on the lip’s edge. Afterward, offering a pleased smirk before speaking again— ]
Enough about drinks now, hm? Set it down; I want all of your attention - and both of your hands - on me.
[ Spoken as if it were the only possible way to proceed. Spoken as if, of course, Daddy demands reverence, Daddy demands focus, and it will be given.
And, after taking a drink of his Manhattan (thinking it’s missing something) (thinking, he’d rather like to taste honey once more)— ]
Mine as well, Puppy. Your taste is all I need.
no subject
(Fuck, he'd like a taste of Daddy right now.) (He'll be a good boy. He'll be a good Puppy.) (He-)
Really wants to meet Darius's friends, and he might as well now, seeing as he and Darius are already dressed up and drinking bourbon and kind of making out on this sofa, which is a really nice shade of purple, actually, and feels good under his elbow. If they leave now to go talk about the pause and Daddy's tongue, they'll have to come back later, and he has no intention of getting dressed again, up or down, this weekend.
(Unless Daddy wants him in clothes.)
(He'd do anything Daddy asked.)
(He'll do anything for Darius, he amends, his eyes moving over the other man's face, committing his smirk to memory.)
He considers the glass in his hand and nods a little absently, yeah, okay. Darius is right about the drinks. Going to have to take that shit slow. He doesn't drink because he's a lightweight, because he doesn't particularly like being shitfaced, because drinking to the point of feeling no pain means there's a lot of pain in the morning. He likes the high he gets off Darius.
He definitely wants both his hands on Darius.
Just as careful in motion as he was a moment before, he eases away, reaching to set his drink down on one of the contempo-deco-something-table (also purple) (lots of purple in here), then solicitously takes the Manhattan, as well. (Here, a moment of perplexity because the drinks didn't come with napkins and he doesn't see one on the table, and somewhat inanely he thinks Anna would throw a fit if he put glasses on the table without coasters or napkins.) (Yes, even here at Null Set.)
(Well. No one's going to tell her, probably.)
Enri settles back, where 'back' is his arm resuming its protective, tender hold around Darius's shoulders, and his other hand caresses his jaw, his throat, settles warmly under his hair. With laughter in his eyes, he teases - ]
Miss me?
[ He doesn't wait to find out. He kisses Darius as though he has a right to do it - as though he's done it a thousand times before, sunken deep in the act of it. As though in kissing, he can convey his thoughts about the subject of that pause Darius let linger in the air as he bit the lip Enri bites now.
He doesn't care who sees; he doesn't care that they're in the middle of a club instead of their living room. (Daddy wants his (pause) honey, and Daddy gets whatever he wants.)
He doesn't notice the club anymore.
The club notices him.
Or rather, a moment or two into this interlude, an unfamiliar voice interrupts his cheerfully buzzed non-thought with -]
All right, break it up or I'll get the hose.
no subject
Darius doesn’t have time to answer, but then he doubts Enri needed to hear. Because the answer was clear in Darius’s expression: wide-eyed and unguarded. Because the boy knows and has seen how direly Darius wants him, how Darius can’t stand to be apart from him, how easily Darius will cross town in the depths of night to spent a few paradisiacal hours with his boyfriend. His love. His only.
In any case, all thoughts of missing are overrun by the presence and potent certainty of Enri. By how much confidence is in his kiss; by how utterly Enri’s wrapped himself with Darius, in this little sphere apart from the club. All he needs, all he wants is with him here, Enri’s teeth a pleasant sting at his lip, Enri’s breath touched with honey, Darius breathing 'Best Puppy' and 'Only Puppy' and 'Mine,' Darius scooting further onto Enri’s lap, the better to wrap arms around the man’s neck, the better to draw near his chest and sink himself more wholly still into their kiss.
Which is where they are, when Sen takes it on himself to break in. Absolute shithead, breaking in on a perfectly good bit of screwing around; he could have waited. Darius almost pauses, almost sighs, but opts instead to offer no immediate sign of recognition. Let the man live in his terrible sense of timing.
Let the man can wait until Darius and Enri are good and ready. So Darius’s teeth take Enri’s lip again before pressing to another kiss, deeper. At the same time, Darius extends one hand in the direction of Sen’s voice, first finger raised as if to say, ’One moment.’
A gesture that, of course, quickly shifts to the middle finger, brandished unwavering.
It’s what the shithead gets for his piss-poor timing. ]
no subject
He feels Daddy withdraw a hand and gesture, which means he's probably flipping someone off. And since there's no signal to Enri that he should stop, he carries on happily, following the lead he's given. Paying no heed at all to people who might be made uncomfortable.
His own hand has slipped down to Daddy's hip, and he's thinking about moving it further down and around, which means he isn't thinking at all about breaking it up.
What he hears next is an impatient tut, the sound of skin striking skin, and then a muffled clap that jostles him back and away from Daddy, so that he stares, stunned, up (and up and up holy shit) at the newcomer.
---
Sen's patience for Darius is -
Prodigious.
But Darius and his doggy need to break this up before Rin comes along, because Rin's patience for Darius is just about as null as they are. And also. But also. They're here to see him (meet the family!), not examine one another's tonsils on Rin's very tasteful furnishings.
Otherwise, he'd just relocate the lovebirds.
One of whom is giving him the universal "go fuck thyself" sign.
The hose was only a momentary consideration; after all, he is again presented with the problem of Rin's very tasteful furnishings, so asking Andi for the club soda hose might not be the best plan he's had today. He takes a shortcut, instead: first slaps the extended and offending hand, and then swats the back of Darius's head.
Swatting the back of someone's head is a carefully calibrated process, timed for a moment when they are not, for example, biting another person's lower lip. The force of the blow in this case must be restrained enough to cause pain to the recipient, but only startling the other party.
He comes at it from a low angle, landing a satisfying thwack and jostling Enri out of the embrace. (He could almost laugh at how bewildered and affronted the boy looks, as though he stuck his finger in a light socket.) (Darius is a fucking light socket. He just unplugged the doggy, is what happened.) ]
That was a warning blow, as Darius knows. Better a love tap than Rin seeing you dry-humping on their sofa.
[ And, to Darius himself, with a bit of a chagrined frown - ]
Behave. I've already egged them on once today with the horse joke. Their sensibilities won't endure.
[ Their sensibilities have survived worse. ]
no subject
Still, the swat - hand first, head second - catches Darius by surprise, and he hisses a ’What the fuck,’ jarring his head out of collision with Enri as soon as he can (didn’t save the boy from getting jolted, and he huffs an irate breath at that), looking Enri over to make certain there was no injury, then - seated still on Enri, not moving from Enri, hand still at the boy’s shoulder - he turns to glower, then to roll his eyes at Sen. ]
Yes, I’m sure, their coquettish sensibilities wouldn’t— Oh for shit’s sake, the horse joke?
[ Way to set the tone of their meeting, Senan. Way to burn through what little patience Rin’s got. And also. And also is Sen still telling that fucking joke?
Of course Sen’s still telling that fucking joke. The man’ll run a joke into the ground if it got a laugh once or twice fifteen years ago. Or if he knows it’ll piss with Darius. Darius, who remembers every excruciating details of the worst jokes. Unlike certain Rins, who somehow manage again and again to escape the jaws of memory. ]
They forgot the fucking thing again, didn’t they?
[ Darius sighs heavily, shaking his head, and turns back to Enri. To smile, to draw a thumb along Enri’s cheek, then smooth back a bit of Enri’s hair. To mouth ’Hello, Puppy.’ For a moment feeling only the pull of their shared spell; for a moment feeling even Sen’s presence at a distance.
There’s more to be said, though, and Darius returns focus to Sen, along with an exaggerated scowl. ]
Christ. ‘Behave.’ As if you didn’t put them in a foul mood in the first place. You’re not making it easy for us.
Or making much of an impression on our newest number, hm? We did try to wait. We can’t be blamed for entertaining ourselves when our hosts didn’t show.
[ He’s smirking now, tosses his head and looks back at Enri. ]
Enri, this walking piece of wreckage is Sen. Sen, this perfectly innocent man you have just jostled is Enri.
[ And, after a beat, wrapping his hand in a press at Enri’s shoulder— ]
My Enri.
no subject
Look at him playing it up, doe-eyed and full of apology. As though he's been wounded, deep in his soul, by the interruption of their makeout session. (Odd to see Darius falling for that act.)
(It - is an act, isn't it?)
(Fuck, it might not be an act. Darius might have found himself the one man on earth whose heart breaks when he's prevented from having the shithead's tongue in his mouth.
...Well, now he feels rather badly for stopping them.)
Act or no act, clearly Darius is wound around Enri's little finger. (And everything else, at the moment.) Sen has never actually seen Darius climb all over one of his Puppies like this. Not exactly like this, anyhow. Not with a determination to stay close and be cuddled - which is, as a matter of fact, precisely what's going on now. Darius turned on his warm, blond perch and Enri responded by winding his arms around Daddy's waist and holding on, and Darius hasn't shaken him off, has only made it worse, in fact, and what - did he just mouth 'hello puppy'? He absolutely fucking did.
And there goes the doggy with his shy smile and big brown eyes answering hey-
Beautiful.
He did. He mouthed 'beautiful'.
This is not real. That's not Darius, Sen is having a fucking fever dream. Where is Rin? He's looking around for Rin, hoping to gesture with all the indignation he possesses, Do you see this shit? But Rin is still doing their Rin-flitting, and he is left to confront the fever dream alone. And also. Darius is talking to him, and immediately he raises a hand to interrupt, to correct an assumption, but Darius talks over him, so he drops that hand and pulls half a frown, instead.
That doesn't last long, either.
Our newest number, is it?
Well, Darius did say he wants to marry the man. (Who is, Sen sees, only barely a man. He must be skirting the absolute borderlands of even Darius's standards for age.) (He feels old.)
He always feels old.
He feels old and bemused when Enri, having been introduced, extracts one arm and holds out his hand for a shake. (...Good dog?)
And speaks. (...Good dog?) ]
'S nice to meet you, Mr. Renault.
[ ...Good dog.
Sen's lips part as though he means to speak, and he does mean to speak, but he finds himself at a complete loss for words. (And also, very dizzy. Fighting the threat of a smile. Mister Renault.)
Before the doggy can grow too uncomfortable with Sen's hesitation, he jars himself forward and - still. Of course still hesitates, hand almost extending. Because he just doesn't touch people, you see. He touches Darius and Rin, he touches both of them quite a lot, but the only call he ever has to put hands on someone else is to pick their pockets.
Enri's Darius's Enri, though. Darius said that very loudly, actually. And Darius is Sen's Dear, so Enri is...
Welcome, of course.
His fingers flex, and just before Enri's expression crumples into complete dismay, Sen snatches his hand and gives it a swift, not-ungentle squeeze. ]
I'd tell you your Darius introduced me as Sen, but I can't in good conscience tell you not to call me Mr. Renault. You're working hard to endear yourself from jump, aren't you?
[ That explains some things about Darius's firm attachment.
Just as quickly, he lets go, steps back, and uses a change of tenor to hide his discomfort with the physical contact: he points a long forefinger at Darius and chides - ]
I did not put them in a foul mood. I put them in a very good mood, as a matter of fact. I said their sensibilities and patience had been tested, not their mood. And yes, the horse joke. They forget it annually, and I try to take full advantage of this, just as I -
[ A small interruption stops him dead and leaves him with widening eyes and a broadening grin. Enri - who clearly is buzzed or well into tipsy - has leaned forward to join in the conversation, and has done so by asking: ]
What horse joke?
[ Oh, welcome to the club, Enri Anderson-Pendleton-maybe-Scarlett, he thinks with nigh on malicious excitement. ]
no subject
After leaving the roof, Rin touched up their eyeshadow, touched up their lipstick, checked in with a brief list of staff members, ascertained that the evening’s musical act has indeed arrived, and paid the group a visit. Was told, on returning to the main floor, that there’s a mild altercation going on, some verbal tussle between a couple. Something the staff is keeping an eye on. Something that doesn’t require action right now, though one of the men involved is a known and occasional shit-stirrer.
A shit-stirrer whose name Rin knows. (It’s rare that they recall names of people they don’t care for. This one is a… particular exception.) (This one slashed their tires some years back, if they’re remembering correctly.)
(This one really shouldn’t be anywhere near Darius Scarlett. And it’s awfully suspicious that this altercation and Darius’s presence have coincided tonight. And Rin doesn’t like the sound of any of this.)
Rin’ll be told if anything more develops. And it sounds like Jerry and Simon were maybe, maybe on their way out. So for now, there’s not much to be done, save to catch up with Sen. Save to greet Darius and to meet Darius’s— What, newest accessory?
If ‘accessory’ is the right word; from what Sen’s said, and from what Rin’s heard from Darius, from the wreck Darius made of himself when the boy was away, this one might be something other. Which doesn’t fit with what Rin knows of Darius Scarlett, and Rin doesn’t really believe it, but. Stranger things have probably happened.
Probably.
They’ve spotted Sen - their absolute noodle of a man - and adjust their hat, resettle their scarf, and are walking over to him when they hear an unfamiliar voice speaking a too-familiar topic: ’What horse joke?’
Oh. No. Oh-dear-no.
Nearing Sen, they take in the scene: Sen with his shit-eating look of impish anticipation (they adore that ridiculous, that roguish face, in all its schemes and angles), ready to pounce. Darius on the lap of a man Rin has only ever glimpsed once, briefly. Darius looking very nearly horrified, Darius sputtering the edge of what’s probably some foul variation on a curse, Darius apparently torn between keeping perched upon the mostly-stranger’s lap and throwing himself at Sen, probably, probably to slap a hand over Sen’s mouth. The man - young man, little more than a boy; didn’t someone say he’s another one of the… Pendletons? Boyles? One of those ridiculous dynastic families - the man named Enri, arms wrapped around Darius (the two of them look awfully comfortable together; it’s interesting), seems to have been drinking, looks as if he’s no idea what he’s walked into.
And Rin - confidant, walking as if on air - swishes up beside Sen (feels the solidity of his presence; feels the world settle a little more evenly beside him). Nudging Sen with their shoulder in a graceful little movement, looking upward to smile at him, eyebrows raised. ]
I beg your pardon, Senan: are you thinking of retelling my joke?
[ They huff a breath, as if affronted, their eyes faux-wounded. Clearly faux-wounded, clearly tending over-dramatic. Pulling lightly at their scarf, they shake their head once, decisive, as if they’ve decided on what must be done. ]
I’m afraid I must insist that you repress your wit in this instance. No, when you tell a joke for me, it must not be told for any other! For I am a jealous null, and demand to keep it for myself.
[ And, shifting up onto their toes, they reach to set a kiss to Sen’s jaw, offering a bright smile. ]
Another day, perhaps? For this evening, let the joke be mine— Much as I understand Darius is dying to hear it.
[ To Darius, grinning with a flash of teeth— ]
Patience, Darius, patience; all things in good time.
[ And, back to Sen, in French, voice lowered somewhat— ]
There’s been a minor upset nearby. We may need to keep an eye out. A familiar - mm - offender.
[ Then turning quickly to Enri, Rin gives the young man a brief but obtrusive survey, not bothering to hide their scrutiny. Then, chin tilted slightly upward, they meet his eyes. ]
You must be Enri Anderson, yes?
no subject
Certainly, he'd been a little sad about the sudden stop to his fun with Darius, and okay, he'd been playing it up a little, but his primary focus in that moment had been the sound of a hand slapping his boyfriend. He didn't think Darius was hurt, and it seemed like this was something that occasionally occurred between the two friends - but he didn't like it. He had discretely run a hand up Darius's back, rested it soothingly on the back of his head, and had, when the other man began began looking him over (between a heart-thudding warmth and a breath of awe) given a glance full of apology and questioning.
What he'd mouthed back: hey, beautiful.
What his sorrowful, slightly tipsy, doe-eyed glance had said: Are you hurt?
And. I'll kiss it better.
And. Miss you already.
And he had wound his arms comfortably around Daddy while he ranted at Sen, right up until he introduced Enri as my Enri.
He had straightened, glowing with pleasure, because Daddy had - right here in this bar with its nice purple and its nice drinks, where everyone knows Darius Scarlett and all the boys he's fucked with - introduced him as my Enri, to a guy who's allowed to slap the back of his head and get away with it. (A friend. Family?)
(He will later amend that to "family", without a question mark, because he realizes this is a bit like meeting Darius's parents.)
And Sen shakes his hand. Enri clocks something in his hesitation, and he knows it's not anything to do with himself. It's something about Sen, something about how he held back Darius that night with Mark but didn't try to hold back Enri, how he was cuddled up to the blond on the sofa. Something about how he steps aside carefully, gracefully, when people move past so that he's just out of proximity for accidental touches. (He'll notice, later, Sen doesn't return claps on the shoulder. He stiffens in unfamiliar embraces.) Sen doesn't touch people much, he thinks. But he touches Enri, a shake that reminds him of a million hands he's known all his life. Rough, strong, but careful.
Like his own.
He likes Sen immediately.
Maybe likes him a little more for the manic look on his face when Enri asks about the horse joke. Darius, of course, sounds apoplectic, so Enri navigates silently, his head resting on Daddy's shoulder, his eyes a little wider and raised innocently, hand caressing a steady stroke up and down his side. Okay, nevermind. See how good I'm being?
And that.
Is when Rin Renault enters stage left.
Because that's how it feels. An entrance. He half expects an audience applause track. He knows without question this is Rin, because -
Well, for one thing, Sen gets the stupidest look on his face, as though he's been hit with a frying pan, and clearly he's forgotten all about the horse joke. His hand finds a place on Rin with no hesitation at all, and Enri swears to god (Darius) that they remind him of grandparents. Not his grandparents. But someone's. Old people in love. It's as much that they're totally vibing with one another as it is that they're performing together. It feels like he's watching a home movie, actually.
For another, though.
For another thing, he can't tell what sex Rin is. It's a perfect, seamless performance of - every gender. No gender? He doesn't think to call it androgyny. It's like how his drink isn't whiskey or honey anymore, even though it has both (he'd actually like another drink of that -), but also how it's not anything else. Rin's a perfect cocktail.
He's caught up in this assessment, eyes wondering and faintly impressed, when he realizes Rin has slipped into French and lowered their voice.
He blinks.
Darius speaks French. They must know Darius speaks French.
So the French is for privacy. From him - about bar business? That's kind of weird. He flickers hurt at the exclusion from the conversation, turns his attention to fiddling with the buttons of Daddy's shirt and pretending not to follow Sen's gaze to the left.
He sees a couple getting up at the behest of bar staff, one of them angrier, louder, darting glances in the direction of his sofa. Hey - he knows that guy. That's Jerry. That's Alice's doctor, the one Alice called to come see him after the trip, to give him some medication he subsequently dumped down the toilet.
And the guy with him. Oh. Yeah, he knows that guy. He -
Rin's talking to him again, so he raises his head and meets the green-eyed scrutiny. He feels a flinch of disquiet. (Rin doesn't like him. Doesn't trust him. Doesn't want him here.) (He's not good enough.) (He did something wrong.) (He shouldn't have had alcohol, it always makes him (more) stupid -)
(Daddy said he should play into it when people don't think he's smart -)
He pushes back from (the moment) those thoughts and gives an untroubled, pleased smile - a dumb kid, happy to be noticed. Nods confirmation: he sure is Enri Anderson (though that's not true, is it?) ]
Yeah. I guess you're Mx. Renault?
[ A polite pause and, with a tint to his smile speaking of an eagerness to please, and an unawareness that he shouldn't ask about things that were said in confidence - ]
Hey, what language was that?
no subject
One: Shit, he’s going to fucking owe Rin for that averted horse joke. A conviction solidified when Rin settles a brief glance on him with the barest, barest goddamn hint of a grin.
Well, whatever. So he owes Rin one. Whatever. Worth it.
Second: Those two look as though they’ve been married for years.
Third: He enjoys this very much, simply sitting with Enri, the boy’s arms around his waist.
Fourth: There are raised voices nearby, words indiscernible over the club’s noise; probably this is whatever upset Rin was referring to.
Darius doesn’t bother to look toward the source of the disruption. Doesn’t give a shit’s worth of a damn about whatever squabble’s got some asshole worked up, though vaguely, vaguely, he thinks he might know the anger-edged voice that almost bites through the crowd. Whoever the voice belongs to, it’s not worth his effort to parse. Let Rin and Sen deal with the club, and anyway, Darius is busy tracking Enri’s reactions.
Something’s wrong. Something’s unsettled in Enri, a piece jarred out of place sometime following Rin’s entrance. It’s in Enri’s body, in the precise hold of his muscles, in perhaps a catch in his throat or slightly altered pulse. It’s in a feeling of distance, and that sets Darius looking back to catch Enri’s eyes, sets Darius placing a hand over Enri’s wrist, letting his thumb caress slowly, back and forth.
At first, Darius supposes it might be Rin’s scrutiny, always a little too openly invasive, curious and unsparing. But Enri speaks, and Darius hears clearly the statement beneath the question: that Enri doesn’t like the way he’s being treated, that Enri sees he’s been cut out, that he feels as if he’s being treated as less than, as stupid, as unworthy.
Christ. Rin never was much good with first impressions. True, they’ve learned a few things over time, but they’ve dropped the fucking ball here, where it matters, and nicked Enri in an oft-assaulted sore spot. Darius wraps his arm over Enri’s, presses acknowledgment, as if to say ’I hear you, Puppy,’ and ’Daddy’s here.’
Meanwhile, Rin’s glance is tinted with surprise, as if it hadn’t occurred to them that Enri might hear and remark on their comment. They blink at Enri, shoot a glance at Sen, then offer an easy lift of their shoulder. ]
French.
[ Darius shakes his head and turns, leans in to kiss Enri’s cheek, to briefly tug at Enri’s ear. To find and hold Enri’s eyes as he caresses the boy’s jaw. His own eyes offering certainty, offering trust. His expression flickered with anger for Enri’s sake. His eyes speaking as well of approval, because Enri found a way to let Darius know his upset, and because Enri has been performing admirably in meeting Sen and Rin.
Voice hushed, Darius speaks a secret for his ears and Enri’s only. ]
You’re doing very well, my love. You’re making Daddy terribly proud.
[ And Enri is; he absolutely is. His choice to call Sen by his surname-to-be; his use of Mr. and Mx. Renault. The boy is tipsy, and still he performs with admirable poise (and seems to have drawn some favor from Sen, who allowed Enri to take his hand, who dared that never-easy-for-Sen act, and sure, yeah, Darius felt a warmth of appreciation for Sen, sure), still he fights against nagging, gnawing feelings to present an agreeable face. And. And he’s been so careful about checking in with Darius; offered comfort when Sen dealt the pretty-much-accustomed swat. Quietly assured Darius he wasn’t going to pursue that fuck-forsaken horse joke.
There’s a kiss for Enri’s lips, and Darus turns back to the shitheads, frowning. Thinking it unlikely that Rin meant anything particularly dismissive; thinking as well that intention matters little when Enri has been hurt. So Darius’s attention settles on Rin, currently occupied with speaking something toward Sen’s ear. And Darius clears his throat, eyebrow raised, still settled on Enri’s lap. ]
About that French.
There’s no cause for playing clandestine, Renault. Everything you say in front of me, you’ll say to Enri.
He’s a clever man. He can take it.
[ Rin rolls their eyes, waving a hand as if in dismissal and shaking their head. Thinking, likely, that this is a case of Darius being a stubborn shithead. ]
Yes, but will I advertise it to the floor at large? Don’t be an asshole.
[ Eyes widening almost imperceptibly at their lapse back into French, they toss their head, then nod toward Enri, attempting agreeability, afterward directing the translation at Darius. ]
Pardon— That is, ‘Don’t be an asshole.’
Some affairs are better not publicly advertised.
[ A shrug from Darius, who again winds his arm around Enri’s, who presses Enri’s arm closer to him. ]
Then use your ‘inside the group’ voice, Rin.
no subject
It sits in his chest, a glowing ember of pleasure. He's doing well, he's making Daddy proud, and he's still, still his love. (Even if Rin doesn't like him.) His smile returns full-force, and the hurt doesn't feel quite as present any longer. He's loved, and he's important -
And Darius is showing up for him. His smile vanishes before surprise, a little parting of his lips and a darted look back and forth between Rin and Darius. (He doesn't want to piss anyone off. He doesn't want to get in trouble. (He doesn't want them to like him less, he -))
Enri hadn't expected anything at all from Darius - only to convey, quietly, that he wasn't feeling it. The subtle snub, the sense of being cut off from the group. (Left out.) He hadn't wanted to be rude to Darius's friends, of course. Fuck with them a bit, sure.
He's not certain how to take the flap of a hand at first. That casual dismissal that seems as though in answer to Darius asserting he's a clever man. (All evidence to the contrary at the moment.) Then they speak, and he raises his brows slightly and thinks about pointing out that the floor at large probably knows what's going on.
But saying that means admitting he knows what they're talking about.
He resorts to nodding dumbly at the translation, his eyes wide, his eyes flickering to Darius, then Sen -
Sen, who was staring at him. Sen, resting the side of a long forefinger against his lips, his scrutiny just a little too...knowing.
(Ah, fuck. Fuck, fuck, Darius told him in a text. He said something about Enri having a facility for languages. He overplayed that one, fuck fuck fuck fuck.) (When in doubt, play dumb.)
Turns out, he doesn't need to do anything at all. Saved by the sound of raised voices; Sen whips his head around, and off he goes, vaulting over the opposite sofa to help break up the fight between Jerry, Simon (that's his fucking name, the prick), and a waiter who tried to get them moving faster out the door.
For a sick guy, Enri thinks Sen moves pretty fast. (He does not think he should say this out loud.)
Instead, he slowly returns his attention to Rin, his arm tightening around Darius.
The thing is. The thing is, he usually knows what to say to people, but right now he's at a total loss for words.
The thing is, Rin is about Daddy's height, and terrifying in a not-Darius way.
He needs to fucking say something. Say anything. ]
Nice place.
[ Fuck. That's going to sound facetious, what with the fight over there. He extracts a hand and grimaces, holds it out and gestures no no, didn't mean that. ]
I mean - it is. I'm not being shitty or anything.
[ He shouldn't have said 'shitty'.
He feels a little cold-numb, his tongue settling heavy, and looks down, turning his attention to futzing with Darius's hand. ]
no subject
Jerry and Simon aren’t slipping off easy, which means Jerry’s agitated far beyond sense and Simon’s doubling down on his one-track fixation (a fixation that has a whole lot to do with the self-serving imp of a man currently perched upon the lap of a decidedly not-Simon boy) (the self-serving imp who is - unhabitually, remarkably - nudging Enri’s head with his own, and is he comforting the man?) (the self-serving imp who is steadfastly not giving a moment’s heed to the nearby altercation, unwilling to grant his attention to the undeserving or - perhaps; maybe - somehow wrapped wholly in this Enri). It’s abysmal timing, and Rin half-wishes they would have told the bouncers not to let those two in tonight.
They’d though there was no need. They’d assumed chance might be on their side, and keep this from happening.
Well, as the saying goes: Live and learn, and hiss invectives underneath your breath.
There’s another outburst, and suddenly Sen moves. There’s a split second in which Rin sees the tensing in Sen’s muscles, hears the calculation shooting through his thought, and they want to stop him, set a hand at his arm. Tell him Sen, no, this isn’t necessary. (Sen, be easy, someone else can handle it.) (Sen, please, don’t risk straining yourself.) (Sen, be careful, you must take care.)
They aren’t fast enough, or/and this isn’t the time for pointing out Sen’s growing weakness, isn’t the occasion for imposing stillness on a man primed for action. The moment passes, Sen’s gone, and for several beats they only watch him, his fluid leap and not-ungraceful landing, his surety in stepping up to the growing flurry of the quarrel. How readily he shifts from stasis to action.
Sen’s a good man, much as he might argue against the designation. An oddity among rogues; a beautiful anomaly amid the whole of humankind. (Perfect - they think, trilling internally - for the beautiful oddity they are, themself.) But he needs to be easier. But Rin can’t help watching with worry.
(Briefly, Rin notices a flickering shift in Darius. A turn of the head toward the shouts, following Sen’s path, a brief tension— And the moment vanishes quickly, almost as if Darius hadn’t seen a thing, or as if he’s decided it doesn’t matter. Which is how Darius treats most disputes beyond his immediate interest.)
This shouldn’t be happening. It’s a ridiculous case, the cause of which belies logic; the cause of which pre-dates Null Set, and should have been put to rest years ago. Rin’s tried talking to Simon. Or they did try once. About bullets dodged and the value of moving on, about sometimes you’ve got to burn compulsions out of yourself, and it’s an arduous process, but eventually worthwhile. The talk had ended with a vacant-knowing smile, a scoff, an ‘I know what bullet I want and I know how to find it’ and a ‘keep your over-powdered nose in your own business.’ Rin had nearly decked him, but instead washed their hands of the snot-nosed stink, figuring he could go to the devil his own way, so long as he caused no upset in their club.
They’ve spoken with Jerry, too. Jerry, who is a well-known quantity among many frequenters of the club; Jerry who has aided countless people who’ve come to or been directed toward Rin for aid. The subject of Simon’s been mentioned in scattered fragments ever since Jerry started up with the stink, and there was one murky night where Jerry spent a long half-hour explaining that he was sure he could help Simon, that Simon’s a decent person at heart, that Simon tries, that Simon’s attentive enough when there’s been no word of ‘past provocateurs.’ That Jerry thinks Simon could use therapy, but Simon has no interest, Simon insists he’s fine. That Jerry’s certain Simon will eventually stop chasing shadows, and Jerry will be there when he does.
Both of them, then, were immovable. And for Jerry, Rin offered an ear, an open extension of assistance, and left it at that.
Clearly, nothing’s changed with Simon. The fool-headed stink of a man must have seen Darius with this new boy of his. Who is supposed to be - according to Sen, according to Darius’s own report - different from Darius’s usual pursuits. Who is drawing uncharacteristic behaviors from the self-styled deity known as Darius Scarlett. The ‘my’ in ‘my Enri.’ The use of the boy’s name; the very fact of this introduction, when Darius typically prohibited his assignations from speaking around Sen and Rin. The way Darius sits wrapped in the man’s hold and offers caresses, again and again. And Darius’s insistence that Enri be included in anything spoken. Really, Darius very nearly appears to be doting on the young man.
It’s— Unusual. It’s realms beyond unusual.
Rin has a difficult time believing this change can be explained away by any alteration in Darius’s character. Darius, who has been the same intractable ass since returning to their life. (To be fair— Yes, to be fair, Darius took Rin’s apology with something very near to graciousness. For Sen’s sake, they’ve assumed, but the point remains regardless.) Darius, who showed up at Null Set after a morning spent in custody, looking like more than his usual wreck, having set fire to another apartment. Who still smirks with all the certainty of the egomaniac he has always been.
Who is, when Rin returns their attention to Darius and Enri, nudging his head against the boy’s. Who seems to be murmuring words for Enri’s benefit. Who has not yet left Enri to dangle alone in discomfort.
What is it about this boy? This Enri - Anderson, Pendleton - who doesn’t appear much different from the rest. Muscle-bound and puppy-eyed, with a strong jaw and an easy smile. Apparently content to sit where Darius likes. More courteous than some, though politeness hasn’t been unheard of among Darius’s encounters.
They’re watching the young man again when Enri speaks. Nervous, isn’t he? It’s the nearby altercation or the environment or— What, precisely?
So many curiosities. So much Rin can’t piece out for themself just now. They’ll simply have to keep an eye out. And perhaps Sen can help fill in some of the blanks.
For now, they cocked their head, watching the boy inquisitively. ]
Aren’t you?
[ It’s a mild remark meant mostly in jest, though the tone is relatively even. Their brow furrows just barely, slightly, then evens, and— Yes, that’s Darius running a hand along the boy’s arm again. (…Comforting him? Odd, that’s simply— Very odd. They’ve heard that Darius is fond of this one, but seeing it is very different from hearing the phenomenon.) ]
No, of course. We have our disruptions, but I am fortunate: they’re rarer than not.
[ They could speak of the club. They do like to speak of Null Set. But right now, another path of thought still has Rin snared. ]
Enri? Perhaps you know by now that the creature known as Darius Scarlett is a notorious miser with his praise. Shit-stirrer though he is, I am inclined to believe what commendations he affords.
He has spoken of you: this you must certainly have heard.
However, I confess I know very little of the details: what you are in life, or where you have been, or how you’ve come to rest upon my sofa.
What do you think, Mr. Anderson? Pendleton?
How will you tell me who you are?
no subject
He's got options here. He could excuse himself and go to the restroom. He could lean his head on Darius's shoulder and give him the big wounded puppy eyes and let him save the day.
But in the back of his mind, he's got this niggling feeling that this is one of those times when he needs to do the right thing. Like with those guys at work, telling him to ignore the texts from Darius.
(He doesn't like the insinuations, suggestions, whatever they are when Rin says his surname, and then his should-have-been surname.) (Even more, he dislikes what Rin's saying about Darius.) (Hinting. Not quite saying. Rin seems to be not-quite-saying a lot of things.)
How will you tell me who you are? they ask. That's a really good question.
Darius has been openly, lovingly comforting him this whole time. He's been smiling, been kissing and petting him, been doing everything to make sure he's surviving this. Enri meets his eyes for a moment, considering as he traces his fingertips down his boyfriend's jaw. (His boyfriend.) (He needs to step it up a little more.) His hand comes to rest over the scars he left - impressions he can feel through the shirt. A heartbeat. Warmth.
He fell asleep last night feeling perfectly loved. He woke up this morning and it was still there, a blanketing sense of wholeness, rightness - as though everything else in the world would be all right, as long as he was with this man.
He's smiling wryly when he returns his attention to Rin. ]
Anderson.
[ His arm tightens around Darius, his hand pressing against the scars and then drifting down to his hip. ]
It's on my birth certificate. I do okay with it.
Hey, you ever had pumpkin spice latte? Like, from Starbucks?
[ He doesn't give them a chance to reply. He does notice Sen has wandered back, casting glances over his shoulder that turn into the single look of a man who knows he's walked into something he might not want to be around. ]
We didn't have a Starbucks when I was growing up. Rural Iowa, you know? It was hot shit when we got a Target when I was ten. But people talk about it constantly online, and every fall it's like people lose their goddamn minds because it's Pumpkin Spice Latte season.
So I finally had a chance to try one a couple years ago, and I was all kinds of excited, because the way people talk about it, it had to be really great.
[ He leans forward a little. ]
Mx. Renault, it's pumpkin. With spice in it. It literally tastes like hot pumpkins. People are losing their shit about coffee with the same stuff you eat at Thanksgiving. And Starbucks isn't even good coffee. As far as coffee goes, it's pretty mediocre stuff. They burn it, and it's gone all stale and shit, so it's bitter.
Anyway.
[ He does pause now, pursing his lips. ]
Everyone I know thinks you're pretty great. My uncles. The guy I met up with here last time. People over there at the bar. That guy.
[ He jerks his chin at Sen. ]
He thinks you're hot shit. He looked like a kid in a candy store when you walked up. Fucking goofy over you.
Even Darius thinks you're okay, which - [ He cocks his head and widens his eyes a bit, yeah, okay - ] - I'm pretty inclined to believe his 'commendations', too.
So who I am is...'disappointed about Pumpkin Spice Latte'.
[ He sees Sen jerk and his hand snaps up, his jaw setting. Hold on. ]
Okay. Remember that. You see how he just tried to jump in and save you? Because that was a super shitty thing to say, right?
[ Good. Good. That helps him. ]
I wasn't being shitty. 'Bout your bar, I mean. Earlier. Just now, though? A little. Because you are being really fucking rank about my boyfriend.
[ He glances at Darius again, his brow furrowed and frown tugging his mouth fretful. And back to Rin - ]
I don't care what you think about him. Don't try to get me on board with it, though. What if I said your fiancé's a nosy fuck? Even if it's true, it's rude, and you wouldn't fucking agree with me in front of him.
You'd do what he just did, and jump to defend him. That's what a good partner does.
[ He breathes a heavy exhale, then leans his head briefly against Darius's shoulder. ]
I don't know the person you're talking about; he's not an asshole to me. He praises me all the time, when I earn it. And I don't much like you calling him a 'creature'.
I'm his Puppy. I'm also his boyfriend, and I love him, and I want to be good to him, so he's as happy as he makes me. That's what and who and where I am. And I guess why I'm on your sofa, trying really hard to be cool with you.
no subject
Or Rin would have given him that, up until the knife turns and Rin feels the world go still, feels suddenly too warm, feels their eye twitch, their body going tense.
This boy.
Told this story.
To call them stale.
Stale and bitter, overrated; as good as old.
The boy keeps talking and maybe, maybe that wasn’t the only reason he spun that story. But Rin can’t follow the rest of the thread immediately. But Rin’s head is buzzing and they’re thinking very seriously that they could spit on the little shit or - more collectedly, more appropriately - walk away.
Thinking, ’I’ve disappointed better people than you.’
Thinking they don’t care for being lectured (is it really or only a lecture); particularly not by men who’ve known them for no more than a handful of minutes.
Thinking, ’Did Darius put you up to this?’ (Knowing Darius wouldn’t have dared. Knowing Darius has been ken on remaining near Sen and maybe Rin. Knowing Darius brought the boy here and wanted to introduce him for a reason. No, whatever this is, it’s spoken of the boy’s own volition.
(And why? And to what end?))
Also. And also. Did the boy call them, of all the lusterless descriptors on this planet, a pumpkin spice latte?
They feel their teeth grit together. They swallow, and feel as if their throat’s aflame. They want to go; they don’t want to flee. And they didn’t invite Darius and this boy here only to walk out on them, but Rin could do it, easily do it.
Something noteworthy: Beside them, Sen started to move, to speak, then stopped when the boy continued talking. There’s a reason Sen stopped. Something maybe worth listening to, worth following, because Sen wouldn’t tolerate this nonsense without purpose or promise of a change.
Rin tries to think about Sen, think about reaching for Sen, an attempt to anchor themself. Rin looks at Sen, a long and searching attempt to bring Sen’s image into focus (everything feels a little hazy; they just want to see Sen clearly, feel a little less unsettled). And Sen’s still her. And Sen’s still listening, which means something worthwhile might be happening. And Rin did come into this intending to be civil, to give this boy Darius has found - this boy who has so noticeably and strangely impacted Darius - a chance.
Well, and they had tried to be genial! And they had asked about the boy and so what if they called Darius the asshole he so unrelentingly has been? The boy must know Darius is himself fucking rank. He can’t possibly be deluded enough to have missed it, can he?
A thought, a recognition, a piece of Enri’s speaking that flickers to awareness: the boy does know, but knows as well some other - difficult to believe; not impossible - face of Darius. And his preference for that face alone need not speak ignorance; it’s a choice, and perhaps Enri does care for Darius. And perhaps the perpetual shitstorm of a man has managed to make this boy happy.
…Did the boy say.
Yes, the boy said he loves Darius.
It’s no excuse for flinging diatribes or insulting Rin. Whose brow furrows at the renewed recollection of what the boy insinuated. Still, it explains a thing or two.
…And.
And if nothing else, the boy did answer Rin’s question.
And if removed from what he said and what he insinuated about Rin, it was rather a clever way to approach responding. (Maybe, maybe one Rin will moderately respect, when and if they get past the pumpkin spice latte.)
Rin’s looking at Sen again, blinking, eyebrows raised. Thinking, well, if nothing else, they can carry this on for Sen’s sake. And. And Darius’s as well. (Thinking they’d like to speak with Sen. Ask Sen. Maybe. To ease the wounds that have been spoken.)
So they find the boy again, expression mild. Watching him in the wake of this storm of speech. Watching Darius, who’s casting the boy a glowing half-smile, pleased and proud and if it’s an uncommon look on Darius, it isn’t a bad one. ]
As it happens, Enri, my fiancé does have it in him to be a nosy fuck. As do I. As does your boyfriend.
[ Which is - they think, but don’t say - an odd word applied to Darius. Which Rin speaks without a hitch, regardless. And really, none of the three of them were ever much for relationships, until recently. Until now.
Rin takes Sen’s arm and squeezes, smiling up at him. ]
This doesn’t mean I love them less. Nor should I condemn nosiness.
[ And there are kisses for Sen’s hand: one to the back, one to the palm, one to the wrist. And, in Italian, voice lowering for Sen alone— ]
My ecstatic fire. My lover. Where would I be without you?
[ Keeping Sen’s hand in their own, Rin returns their focus to Enri and Darius. Darius who is in fact opening his mouth to speak— ]
Gross, Rin.
[ And, leaning over to set a kiss to Enri’s cheek (whispering something unheard by Rin; whispering ’My Puppy, my Enri, thank you,’ and ’You love me so well’), Darius speaks again— ]
You see? I’m unspeakably fortunate. And I did tell you Enri’s a class of his own.
My clever boy. My dutiful defender.
[ Rin would roll their eyes, Rin is absolutely thinking about rolling their eyes, only Darius - while partly, maybe, crowing, maybe boasting - seems remarkably in earnest. As did the boy. And maybe, maybe this isn't the moment for further antagonism.
The boy may have called them stale and bitter and the most basic coffee drink in pop culture's imagination, but he might have made a point or two, and it might not hurt to acknowledge the fact. So Rin settles for meeting Darius's gaze and raising an eyebrow in cheeky acknowledgement before finding the boy's eyes. ]
Don't mistake me, Enri; I see your point. You are of the forthright sort, yes? You made a not-insignificant showing of yourself in this response. For that, I thank you.
I won't ask your forgiveness, but I might see my way to mellowing whatever speech I place upon your boyfriend.
It seems you might truly be good for him. If he is good for you, as well - and from your words, he is - then who can complain?
no subject
Well. No. He knows not to applaud. That would just make this situation worse. As it is, he suspects he'll be spending a good portion of the evening reassuring Rin that they are not, in fact, a Pumpkin Spice Latte. (He understands that wasn't the boy's point. He understands that the insult was a false flag. He also understands that Rin almost certainly stopped listening after 'stale' and 'bitter'.)
The best possible thing he can do in this situation is pull Rin close and - with some managing of their hat - nuzzle against their ear. Murmur to them in the low, promising tones he used when they were separated from him by a bartop, when he thought they might launch themself over and at him. (In the before-times. Before they spoke those fateful words. Before they loved one another out loud.) (It's nice, he thinks, to be able to seduce them also out loud.)
In Italian, of course. While he can't confirm or deny the kid knows French, he's almost positive Enri doesn't speak that one. ]
Any complaint would fall on deaf ears, anyhow. Look at them - as though either in a state of passion could compare to 'nothing', where there is everything. Tolerate it a while longer for all our sakes. After, I'll have a taste and assure you there is no hint of staleness or bitterness. Only decadence on the tongue.
[ Teasingly, he nudges his head against theirs, his laugh an intimate, loving one, full of good humor. ]
I'll throw myself on that grenade. The most noble sacrifice.
[ Despite his words, the look he shoots Darius over Rin's shoulder is a warning one. You know better. Yes, it was Enri who did the shitstirring - all right, and yes, Rin might have been less than welcoming. But Darius could have warned his doggy that Rin has a talent for making bad first impressions.
With good reason. Life made a bad first impression on them. (And second, third, and twentieth.) They have little reason to trust anyone, much less yet another Puppy.
Unfortunately, Darius doesn't seem to be looking. Nor Enri, for that matter. They're utterly engrossed in one another, Darius inflicting the boy with praise, and Enri staring with that wounded calf expression, with a little hopeful smile. (Is that the same man who, half a minute ago, looked at him with a set jaw and had the fucking nerve to hold up a hand to tell him to stop moving?
It's either the genes or the military training. Maybe. He's an interesting study: part innocent naivete and part mutinous little shitheel. It -
Might be nice to know him. If he can avoid miffing Rin in the future, of course.)
He draws back and gives them a little tug, then flashes them three fingers - a silent communication not even Enri could interpret. Three, for I'll give you three compliments. Later, of course. Well-crafted and truthful and having no mention of lattes. ]
You've been on your feet all day.
[ Here, a faintly knowing smirk. They've been on their feet all day, indeed, including that interlude on the roof, where he thinks he apologized very well for the horse joke. ]
Stay a while, Pookie. Let's watch the doggy ruin Darius. Turn him unrecognizably romantic.
He'll be useless now, you know.
[ Enri, meanwhile, cocks his head, catching a look at Sen and Rin from the corner of his eye. It doesn't rankle him, the way Sen speaks; it's almost too obvious that he's trying to smooth things over.
(Rin said they love them - not just Sen, but Darius, too. And then Rin said your boyfriend, and he didn't sense any sarcasm.
Rin said I won't ask for your forgiveness and Enri kind of respects that. He prefers actions, anyhow; he doesn't have any real use for words from anyone but Daddy.)
Despite the petting and the soothing words Darius offers him, he feels awkwardly out of place here. These three have known each other for almost as long as he's been alive. They've got all kinds of history, all kinds of unspoken communications and knowledge and understanding.
He feels stranded. No, not abandoned - never that. But like he's got to struggle to catch up, and the weight of that struggle compresses his lungs. The way he feels when he's in his parents' element, listening to their friends ("friends") chat about events from fifteen years ago, when he was exiled in Iowa, shoveling horse shit.
Sen has sprawled himself on the sofa, limbs seeming too long for the furniture, and Enri thinks he doesn't sit much. It doesn't seem like it's his natural state. Sen leans forward and starts to animatedly regale the group (Enri included, maybe) with a story about someone named Marlowe, something about lighting equipment.
But Enri doesn't know Marlowe, or anything about lighting equipment, or half the references Sen makes to people, to things in the bar, to things that were said, and the problem with having shit for attention is, unless there's a compelling reason for it to fix (like Daddy), it wanders.
Enri tries to listen. For Darius, he really does try. But there's the discordant notes of a guitar being tuned, and the rattle of ice in glasses, and the drone of conversation, and Enri's stomach has soured after that squabble with Rin. (His whole self feels horrible - guilty. What if he ruined everything? Even if Darius is happy, even if he said Enri loves him well, and Rin capitulated a little. What if he just bombed this?)
(He feels tired.) (He wants to just go home.) (He wishes he could pull out his phone and scroll Instagram or something.)
There's this, though: Darius. Darius's hand in his, a focal point for a crumbling and chaotic world. Darius, who smells so good; who feels good when everything else feels rancid. Darius, who can make all his roiling thoughts turn to a grey and comfortable haze.
He rests his head on Daddy's shoulder and pretends to be listening. ]
no subject
Enri, who’d wanted to meet these two shitheads that have been, yes, more family to Darius than are most of his blood relations. (Who are the closest Darius has come to considering even ‘friends.’) (…Okay. Who are friends and family both. True.)
Enri, who’d endeavored for politeness and who won a handshake out of Sen, only to come up against the nettlesome nature of Rin Renault. Familiar to Darius, not particular disagreeable to Darius (in more than one or two ways, not far from Darius’s own nature), but abrasive to those who don’t know Rin and haven’t been prepared.
Which. The fault there lies at Darius’s feet; he ought to have prepared Enri for Rin. There had been a bit of introductory discussion about them, their club, how capricious they can be, but Darius had neglected to mention or really consider the phenomenon of first-encounters Rin. So far as he had considered it, he’d counter on Sen’s presence to soften any jolt Rin might deliver.
Darius hadn’t counted on Sen suddenly disappearing himself. (Suddenly vaulting over a couch, very dramatic, Wilkes.)
(Darius also hadn’t counted on the presence of that shithead aka Simon aka get a fucking life and go fuck your boyfriend or fiancé, whatever he is at the moment. When Darius had finally glanced toward the altercation, when Darius saw who it was that Sen was herding, there’d been a moment of what could have been panic, a moment that eased itself because agitation would do no good, would only give Enri cause for concern, and anyway, Darius had more important matters to attend to than that little fuck.
And it’s fine. It’s probably fine. Enri didn’t seem to notice, and Simon’s gone, and with a little luck, that’s the last Darius’ll ever hear of the fucker.)
Any notice Darius might have given the quarrel was quickly superseded by attentions given to Enri, and by the sudden defense Enri rallied for Darius. (Shocking Rin, staggering Rin, and it’s a wander they didn’t storm off with a single sharp word. A wonder, or it was a concerted effort on their part.)
His bold, incisive Enri. Speaking openly of happiness and love; commanding this sphere with a lift of his hand and a deliberate leveling of words. And if Darius hadn’t precisely needed the boy to speak up, it did warm him, did feel fucking gratifying.
Rin didn’t leave, Rin didn’t snap back, and it occurs to Darius that Rin has learned how to reel in their flaring temper, and/or Rin has endeavored (for Sen’s sake?) (for the sake of keeping peace?) ((Rin did say something about not really wanting to leave Darius behind again; they hadn’t needed to say it, but it hadn’t been the worst thing to hear) to rally themself and endure what must have felt like an insult, what had clearly struck them sharp.
So later. So later, Darius might thank Rin, or offer up a bribe. (Absolutely a bribe. Something strange, something rare. Morbid? Maybe. He’ll track down something.)
He ought to Sen as well, for that matter. Sen, who eased things over with Rin. (Darius caught wind of what the sap was saying (’Gross, Sen’) before tuning out the Italian in favor of setting his full focus to Enri.) Sen, who was clearly not unimpressed by Enri’s discourse. Sen, who is now reeling out his chatter, easing Rin against him and inviting fond repose.
While Sen spins his telling, Darius tosses out occasional questions or interjections, and Rin offers flourishes of detail. And not for the first time since reuniting with Sen and Rin, Darius thinks idly (Darius feels somewhere deeply) that he’d missed this, the casual bullshit and not-quite-bullshit, the camaraderie that feels like nothing forced, like an easy confab of miscreants.
The trouble right now, though, is that Enri’s caught drifting. Darius feels the boy going absent, his attentiveness turning slack, likely in spite of himself or any efforts to attend to the conversation. (Enri doesn’t have context for following this talk. Sen’s easy to listen to, but if Enri has nothing he can grasp hold of, if Enri is left with only scattered, unfamiliar pieces, doesn’t he tend to become set adrift?) It’s nothing that can be easily spotted without knowing the boy; it’d also be difficult for Darius to miss.
When Enri sets his head at Darius’s shoulder, Darius’s hand finds Enri’s hair in steady caresses. The other hand runs along Enri’s bicep, caressing, bracing. And, head cocked toward Enri’s ear, he speaks softly, little more than a whisper— ]
You’re being admirably patient, my love.
[ There’s a shift of his head and a kiss just beside Enri’s ear, and Darius thinks, he’s going to take care of this man. Take him home, to their shared sanctuary. Where nothing outside can enter unless they welcome it. Where nothing enters that they cannot surmount together.
Where there is honey. A dark-mirrored room. A bath that Darius is eager to coax Enri into, to share with him. Where there are gnashing bites to be given and agonies to be savored, driven into ecstasy. Where they might howl for one another freely.
Lingering after the kiss, Darius again speaks quietly, again for Enri only— ]
When we’re through here, Love, I’m going to take you home. To bed. To the blessing of my teeth. And you, my Puppy, are going to be justly rewarded.
[ There’s another kiss, a slow drawing away, and, catching a line in Sen’s story, Darius raises his voice, turns his head to find Sen— ]
Fuck’s name, were you tucked behind the bar again?
[ Looking to Enri, giving a dramatic eyeroll and not lowering his voice— ]
That one’s turned the bar into a private hideaway. Or so I’ve heard.
The way regulars tell it, you can sometimes hear a ghostly, ceaseless voice emanating from beneath the rows of gin and vodka.
[ To which Rin adds, arm wrapped around Sen, beaming at the noodle— ]
Ours is the most agreeable phantom. I would tolerate no other.
[ And, after a moment, looking from Sen to Darius to Enri, finding that Darius has returned to drifting kisses along Enri’s cheek, finding the boy has been silent since his (absolutely intolerable) (no, they’re not pleased, but they’ve survived worse) outburst, thinking maybe, maybe they can make amends toward being a welcoming host, Rin speaks again— ]
Granting that I might regret this— In the interest of privacy and repose, we are free to move upstairs.
[ Darius takes several moments to watch Rin, deciding there’s no particular agenda behind their asking, thinking it might, might be a little easier on Enri. Thinking, absolutely, that they’ll be freer to tend to one another upstairs. So softly, Darius speaks to Enri, voice without pressure, voice promising that no answer is a wrong answer— ]
What do you think, Enri? Shall we ascend?
We need only stay as long as you like.
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Occasionally, Darius calls him back again with a word in his ear, earning a little grateful, adoring smile - a flash of teeth and a breathed word. But otherwise, it's nice to sit here, listening to the tones of Sen's story, countered by the reverb of Darius's voice. It's nice that even Rin is trying to include him, in a way.
It's nice to have a hand caressing his hair, lulling him, so that the bar sounds become less prominent, and all that matters is their little sphere.
Soon enough, the feeling of unhappy guilt, of being stranded and (bad) having erred, ebb to nothing. A sense of near-contentment begins to warm his chest, and once, he reaches for his drink to let the honey-toned whiskey further ease him.
Of course he's being patient. He wanted a date with Darius, and he wanted to meet his friends; he's lucky to be here, even if there was a little hiccup.
And there's no rush. They'll go home tonight and play. Darius won't shout at him in the car, won't accuse him of insulting his friends, of being antisocial, of not engaging enough. (He never would. He's never raised his voice at Enri -
Ha. Never accused Enri of any wrongdoing, really. (Daddy loves me.))
With the promise of that on the horizon, with Darius clearly happy to be here with his friends and his Puppy - shit. It all starts to feel pretty good.
Enri even finds himself listening a little more attentively now and then, able to readily - half intelligently, even - answer a question Sen sends his way. So it goes on, nice and nicer, with his head at Daddy's shoulder, the petting continuing comfortably.
Safe.
When Rin invites them upstairs, it's not an unwelcome idea. If Darius is having a good time, hey, why not. Enri's having an all right time, himself. (They'll have a better time at home.
Which isn't a reason to rush off. There's plenty of time for screwing around. He doesn't need to steal Darius from Rin and Sen to do it sooner.)
His answer comes first in the form of a brushed kiss and a loving smile. ]
Let's stay. I'm good with staying. I get you to myself all weekend.
[ And that's how he comes to be in the Renaults' apartment, marveling at all the places for sitting that don't really count as 'chairs'. It's how he takes up a pretty comfortable spot on the floor at Darius's feet, one of Daddy's legs over his shoulder, his cheek against Daddy's thigh and arm winding around his calf.
No one seems to mind.
And it's quiet in here, the sounds of the bar downstairs almost completely inaudible, even when the band starts up. There're lots of knickknacks scattered around, but nothing too distracting. This is, he gathers, where Rin and Sen come to escape the world, so of course the apartment is borderline serene in spite of its eclectic contents.
Not bad.
If he can sit like this and zone out a little now and then - just lose himself in cloudbanks of grey while they talk - then really, it's not much different from home, when he and Darius are lounging together between one frantic moment of play and the next.
Not bad at all. ]
no subject
It’s a comfortable place. More luxurious than any of the apartments the three of them had shared, and it’s not so bad knowing Rin and Sen have an agreeable space for themselves. It’s also not so bad being here with them (this is, what, the third time he’s been up here? it’s starting to feel familiar; starting to feel like sure, he maybe does belong here), and now, bringing Enri here—
He hadn’t anticipated just how pleasing (read: ‘thrilling’) (read: ‘comforting’) (read: ‘encouraging’) it would be to share a room with these three together. And though Darius isn’t precisely surprised to find Enri adapting to the scene, though Enri and Darius carry home wherever they go together, still he appreciates how easily Enri makes himself at home here, beside Darius.
How well Enri fits here. How enchanting it is to sit easy and run fingers through his hair, again, again in slow caress, while feeling Enri wound around his leg, feeling Enri’s cheek against his thigh. How easy it is to bend a kiss to Enri’s head. To shift a finger beneath Enri’s chin and urge upward, then kiss the boy’s forehead, then admire amber eyes.
(A corollary thought: How well Enri fits here, unlike any other would-be-Puppy Darius allowed to come near Sen and Rin. Unlike those puling wastrels whose sole purposed was to entertain Darius or endure neglect in silence. Those shits who knew their lacking worth or believed that they could claw their way into importance. None of them had managed it; none had possessed the skill, or the strength.
None of them had been interesting in the least, save in their pain, save in the extremities Darius drove them inevitably toward. None of them had kept an ounce of his attention beyond a week, a few weeks’ time at most.)
True, there was the hitch with Rin, but there always is a hitch with Rin, and they’ve clearly been attempting amends for that friction. Speaking to the room, inviting Darius and Enri up, suppressing the irritation they certainly, certainly bear regarding - Darius smirks at the thought - pumpkin spice lattes. They’re trying, and Darius thinks yes, all right, maybe he owes Rin for more than the get out of horse joke free card.
Just now, Darius shifts his leg against Enri’s shoulder, lightly, lightly, then bends down to kiss his ear, to tug with a slight pressure of teeth. Speaking softly, a whisper into Enri’s ear— ]
Enjoying your honey, Love?
Give us a taste, won’t you?
[ Which is when Darius meets Enri’s lips with his own, a kiss drawn through three, four, five ecstatic seconds. Before Darius draws back to behold Enri’s eyes. Before Darius offers a warm smile, then sits up and returns to stroking his boyfriend’s hair, rhythmic once again.
And, catching a familiar name spoken in Rin’s voice, Darius breaks in— ]
You’re fucking kidding. He can’t still be alive?
Assuming you mean Lavern ‘can’t con for shit can’t make or take a joke for shit lost five full teeth in one fucking fistfight’ Jaeger. Lavern 'shot off half a toe while cleaning my gun' Jaeger. Lavern 'drank half a can of gasoline on a dare no one offered' Jaeger. Is that the Jaeger you mean?
[ There's a shrug from Rin, an easy-spoken affirmative, and Darius rolls his eyes, shakes his head. ]
It boggles the absolute mind.
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(What the fuck was Darius thinking, not warning the kid about Rin? Not warning the kid to avoid any insinuation that Rin is old? (Or did he know? Maybe he hit so close to home because he was aware, after all?) (That seems unlikely. Enri doesn't strike Sen as malicious. Just young and eager to please Daddy.))
So he tells his stories until even Rin is engaged, until even Darius can't help but throw out a comment or three.
Odd, though, that he can't seem to engage Enri. It could be that Enri doesn't feel comfortable, but watching the kid, Sen entertains the idea that it's something else. He notes a good deal: the way Enri's eyes drift away and back sharply, as though he hadn't meant to go wandering. The way noises and lights in the bar jar his attention away. The way he settles, serene and quiet, when Darius strokes his hair - as though it has a narcotic effect.
He's barely touching his drink. He's still nursing it when they all troop upstairs, long after he seats himself at Darius's feet. (Unprompted.) (Comfortable. Comfortable enough in their company to place himself on the ground as though it's his customary position.) (It probably is.)
It's warming. It's really rather warming. Darius's-
Hm. Sen is loathe to think of Enri as a Puppy. Or just a Puppy. This relationship is different, isn't it? He recalls past assignations with clarity: how Darius sneered over them. His imperiousness, the cold callousness of his dismissal. How even when they were permitted to sit at his feet like this, they never seemed to enjoy it. Or rather, there was an energy to those acts: a desperation to please Darius. Ambitious, those Puppies, hoping to rise above the ranks of the discarded. Hoping to be special, or to be given whatever favors Darius dangled before them. (Or ignored. Exiled with silence.)
Enri, however. He sits at Darius's feet without so much as a gesture from Darius, as though he wants to be there. As though it's only natural. Leaning his cheek against Darius's thigh and slipping into distance again, hazy and drifting, his eyes lighting now and then on décor, or on one of their faces. He isn't doing it to please Darius. He's doing it because he enjoys it. Certainly, that isn't outside the realm of possibility; God (non-Darius variety) knows there are plenty of people who love the submissive role. (But Darius doesn't seek submissives. Darius seeks boys to break.) (And yet. And yet. Here sits Enri, contentment all but emanating from him.)
While Rin picks up the thread of the tale, transitioning from his own chatter about the incident at the Guggenheim two weeks before to talk of Lavern Jaeger, Sen watches the boy (man?) (kid?) (how old is he, really?) and resumes his earlier wondering about the way Enri seems to only ease when Darius holds him in his focus. (When Darius demands his focus.) (There's something to that, something about the inattention. Enri isn't bored, or he'd have refused to come up. He'd be pissing and moaning the way Simon used to do.) (Not that Simon was ever in their apartment. He pissed and moaned no matter where they were.)
...Would he, though? Maybe Enri is bored. Or rather, even if he wouldn't deem himself 'bored', he isn't particularly entertained. Maybe Enri isn't able to engage with the current conversation, but is willing to sit here with them, languid, lounging affable and content, as long as he's being petted. And allowed to lose focus. As long as Darius kisses him.
(Another consideration: beyond speaking his piece - unless he has something wholly relevant to add - Enri does seem like he prefers to keep quiet. The genetics of Morgan Pendleton at play, there.)
(Fuck's sake, this kid is that golem's son.)
Strange.
Enri is raising his drink to his lips after another round of kissing that, on one hand, makes Sen want to threaten with the hose again. (On the other. On the other, it's rather pretty. Once one gets past the notion that this is Darius, and that the boy is definitely half his age, they do start to look rather good together. And the way Enri smiles up at Darius is going to do that shithead a world of good.) Sen doesn't notice Enri is watching over the rim of the glass, not drinking, until the kid speaks. ]
Isn't he the one that broke your nose?
[ He stares at Enri in a fit of indignation, thinking, you just had to bring that incident up, didn't you?
Thinking, you're a perfect little shit-stirrer to complement your shit-stirring boyfriend, aren't you?
And then - Wait. How could you know that? How the FUCK could you know that?
Because.
Because the only people who know that Lavern Jaeger broke his nose are in this room. (He's not certain Jaeger himself remembers the incident.) Because the only connecting detail in what's been said and the day Jaeger threw one good punch at Senan Wilkes was the five missing teeth. (Recompense for the one good punch.)
And the only time he has mentioned that in fifteen years -
Was in a text to Darius. (Darius, who handed his phone to Enri to take a photo while getting choked-and-likely-sucked-off.)
(Darius, who doesn't. Let. Puppies. Touch his phone.)
His annoyance slides away with an interesting realization.
Very interesting.
His eyes shift from Enri to the man draped over Enri.
Puppy has been reading Darius's texts.
Many, if not all, of them.
(Does that mean, he wonders, that Enri knows Darius wants to marry him?) (Does Enri know about Simon?) (...Has Enri seen Rin's glorious ankles? Oh, he hopes so.)
With a measure of ill-concealed glee, he replies. ]
Right you are. Jaeger is indeed the selfsame shit-flecked mental limp who broke my nose. The first time, mind you. Later incidents had nothing at all to do with him, because he could ill afford to lose five teeth each time he felt bold enough to take a swing.
[ He pauses and fixes Enri with a stare, which the boy meets without flinching. Innocent and unafraid.
In a lilting tone, he asks: ]
Have you been doing some light reading, Enri?
[ The accused glances up at Darius, then settles back once more, cheek to his Daddy's thigh, and blinks mildly at Sen, showing no sign of chagrin, no hallmarks of embarrassment.
(Fucking fascinating, is what this is.)
The boy takes another drink, and then seems to come to the conclusion that the question wasn't rhetorical - and shrugs. Pulls an unfazed expression that reeks of I don't see the problem, and fucking shrugs.
As though it's completely normal for him to read Darius's texts.
For a Puppy to read Darius's texts is unthinkable. To have any insight at all into Daddy's life is unheard of. To have more access than would be considered normal in any relationship, to hurdle boundaries with such casual indifference, is...insane. It's insane. He wouldn't believe it if he didn't have the proof here, now.
Amazing.
Sen leans his head to Rin's and tightens his arm about their shoulders. ]
Pookie, my love. My beautiful not-nothing.
I was almost convinced our newest number had some measure of telepathy, until I recalled mentioning that very incident in a text not three weeks ago. But as that text was not sent to the young man before us, I can only draw one conclusion: our Darius has it very, very bad for his doggy.
[ And then - abruptly changing tone and posture, he jolts himself to lean forward, gesturing angrily at Darius. ]
See here, you shit. He was not cleaning his gun, he was putting olive oil on it because he believed it would make the bullets go faster. He lost half a toe because I slapped his hand before I lost half a head. Let's keep all our facts in order, lest this poor young man walk out of this room tonight thinking Jaeger is possessed of the mental facilities to perform routine maintenance on a firearm.
[ A sound draws his eyes down, and he catches a flicker of-
Oh.
Well, fuck me, he thinks, feeling a curl of pleasant warmth. (Feeling rather gratified, in fact.)
He made the kid laugh. ]
no subject
Fair enough; Darius wouldn’t have been eager for anyone to know Jaeger’d smashed his nose, or landed a solid hit anywhere. Which Jaegar had in fact never done. Darius has been hit by plenty of shitheads, but that particular piece of work’d never been among their number.
Thank fuck.
And also, and again, by what work of fucking miracle is that shitheel still among the living?
The night of the broken nose - and the lost teeth; and the half-absenced toe - is written clear enough in Darius mind. Probably, yes, Darius had been riding some substance or other, probably, yes, coke, but he has a clear memory of waiting for Jaeger to get himself killed right then and there, recalls the shot and a shout from Jaeger, a shout from Sen, looking over to find Sen’s noodle arms walloping a hurricane against the shitstain. Remembers thinking about jumping in, but feeling like it was Sen’s business, and also Darius had managed to nab the good chair so ha ha like fuck he was going to get up. Darius also remembers thinking Vern went and died at the end of the fight, realizing a week or so after that the idiot’d only passed out.
…There was a scatter of teeth splayed across the floor after everything, and thinking back on it (thinking back on it, and catching sight of a few of Renault’s more macabre arrangements), he has a pretty clear idea where those teeth might have ended up.
What was it Rin said? That Jaeger came by with a friend, that Jaeger hadn’t known Rin was here and wanted to make small talk, that Rin sort of kind of sidestepped away and didn’t show up again. It’s the first Darius has heard of the asspucker in years— Aside, of course, from Sen’s text a few weeks back. Which, yes, Darius hadn’t thought particularly on it, but of course Enri would have read it. Enri who is very, very good at picking out and keeping hold of could-be-useful details. Enri who knows precisely where a bit of information might best be leveled. To join in with and further a conversation. To, sometimes, use the information as a prod.
Smirking, Darius sets another kiss to the boy’s head, caresses and musses a sign of approval. Good, good boy.
Enri was - as Enri so often is - listening very well to the conversation, catching onto what pieces he could hold to and engage with. Enri, drifting blissfully against Darius’s thigh (it’s a boon for Darius, to feel the drift of contentment surrounding Enri; it’s a tranquility that seeps into Darius, leaves him warm along the edges of feeling; and there’s something speechlessly gratifying in knowing what his presence does for Enri, how wholly Enri can relax with Darius and simply be), was never far from the talk lilting around him. Enri, even in this drifting response, is never far from Daddy, or whatever speech might be flittering around.
Darius looks up in time to see Sen’s irritation vanish. To catch the intrigued and calculating look that precedes an upbeat tone, and it’s clear Sen thinks he’s found something (maybe has found something) (…probably has found something, nosy fucking bastard) (maybe, Sen, maybe you’d get your nose broken less if you kept it in your own business), Sen had been clocking Enri closely, is flat-out staring, and—
That’s what it is, then. The messages.
…Well. Let Sen marvel all he likes; there’s nothing so very strange about Enri having read those messages. (There’s nothing strange about Enri reading the messages; there’s something terrifically strange about anyone else reading Darius’s messages. It’s unprecedented, certainly. Any would-be-Puppy, any person who dared to read a single message would have been penalized, but—
But Enri is different.
Enri is special. And what’s Darius’s is Enri’s, too. And really, there’s nothing to hide from him. (A thought that jars part of Darius’s thinking to a halt. Because it’s true: there’s nothing to hide, when Enri has already seen some of Darius’s most guarded depths. When Enri regarded, accepted, handled the secretive corners of those depths with care. When Darius’s wounds lay open and Enri kissed him, held him, spoke of beauty. Set flame to words that wounded.) (Darius is - he thinks, he knows, breath catching briefly - obscenely lucky.))
Enri shrugs and Darius continues to caress his hair. Reaches for the drink, and if Enri passes it to him, takes a sip (thinking that, that, that honey is the taste of his love). Hands the drink back before favoring the man with a honey-touched kiss, and when Sen speaks to Rin - employing the ridiculous nickname he’s held onto all these years (it’s actually almost, almost a little bit charming) - and suggests Darius ‘has it very, very bad,’ Darius feels no compulsion to argue or to veil himself. Only looks up to meet Sen’s eyes and offer a smile that’s half-smirk, half-challenge, wholly an affirmation of Sen’s assessment. Flicks the glance to Rin, then back to Sen again.
And when Enri laughs - beautiful, golden sound - at Sen’s description, Darius’s fingers find the line of Enri’s jaw and trace backward, along to the throat, to the collarbone, to linger while Darius watches Sen, eyebrows raised. ]
I wouldn’t worry, Sen; this ‘poor young man’ is discriminating, even frightfully accurate in his evaluations of character.
[ There’s a slight movement from Rin, what could just be a casual stretch of the neck and settling back against Sen, what Darius is willing to bet has more to do with the description so recently leveled in their direction. Darius catches their eyes, darts his glance sideways with a shrug. A sign - rarely offered, but fuck it, he’s feeling generous, he knows how to reach the null from time to time - that there’s nothing to worry over, that what Enri said about (fucking beautiful) Starbucks doesn’t hold the weight Rin’s read in it. That the words Enri’d leveled don’t equate to a final evaluation or any real evaluation.
Whether or not Rin catches his meaning, whether or not Rin accepts his meaning, Darius raises Enri’s hand to place a kiss at his knuckles, then finds Sen’s eyes and speaks again. ]
As it happens, I am more than uncommonly fond of Enri. He is, as they say, the brilliance of my existence.
[ Yes, that was in French, and before it can settle, he adds in English— ]
My entire adoration.
And I’m quite certain he knows both the proper handling of firearms, and the extent to which anyone applying olive oil to a gun might be trusted. Don’t you, Puppy?
[ And, to Enri— ]
When the occasion permits, you'll need to ask Sen about the third time he broke his nose.
no subject
Reading Daddy's texts.
Of course he reads Daddy's texts. He wants to know everything about his love, and what better way to learn while Darius is resting, or showering, or preoccupied with mail, than by reading his conversations with other people? (He has unlimited access, really. What with Darius allowing him to handle the rotating phone numbers, he can request transcripts of every text he's sent.) (Not that he has. Not that he's really that diligent about the reading. It's more of a pastime. He just happened to catch that particular conversation - the teeth, the broken nose, the 'fuck that failed abortion'. Lucky him.)
His smirk becomes a radiant grin when Darius musses his hair. He tilts back his head and casts that winsome smile upside-down at Daddy, warm with being coddled. Warm with Daddy's approval. (Warm with being favored, trusted, loved perfectly.) (Again, a sing-song thought: Daddy loves me.) (In his head, he sing-songs it at Sen.)
(He's. Kind of tipsy. Oops.)
He passes his drink (their drink) up without hesitation, because what's his is theirs, and what's Darius's is theirs, which is why he reads those texts. Daddy trusts him. Daddy knows he'll never use any of those secrets to drive harm.
Not to Darius, anyhow.
He's leaning his cheek (so recently kissed) (he smells honey and love and Daddy's cologne) back against Darius's thigh when a remark from the man above him hits a sour note. Not in the room, but - between Enri and Rin. Or maybe just for Enri. He shifts a little, his eyes flickering away from Sen in time to catch a movement from them, a stretch that maybe isn't a stretch.
Darius is calling his attention back, and he looks up with another smile, though this time it wavers the moment he settles back again. He does try to keep up with the conversation, of course, with a brief - ]
Heard that one before. The olive oil thing. But I mean, I also heard you'll die if you drink Coke and eat pop rocks.
[ He means something about not believing everything you hear. He means only kids believe that shit. He was going to elaborate, and maybe chase the question of Sen's oft-broken nose, but his eyes are on Rin again, and a feeling of leaden guilt settles over him.
Sen's talking again, sounding his indignation about the third broken nose incident. (His indignation seems, Enri thinks, to be largely performative.
He's happy. Having Darius and Rin and - sure. Maybe even Enri, here in this room, has made him happy and expansive.)
Enri's eyes shift to his waning drink, and he tilts the glass back and forth a little, watching the remaining amber liquid. He starts to raise it to his mouth to finish it off.
But there's a pause in the conversation, and it's into this that he quietly, gently interjects, as though while Darius and Sen verbally spar, he and Rin have been having a conversation all their own in the silence -]
You're more like a cocktail.
[ A pause here, in which he can sense Sen staring at him, trying to sort out what he means. And then sorting out what he means, and shifting imperceptibly nearer to Rin.
Enri purses his lips, letting them pull slightly right, and his eyes follow to drift along shelves, displays, the notebook and pen, before flickering to Rin and away again. ]
You're not shitty coffee. I don't think that. I did think you were like a cocktail, though. Not really the things that make it up anymore; something better.
[ And you know what? Since he's talking, and he can't really keep hold of his train of thoughts thanks to the grey and the whiskey, he stares up at the ceiling (why isn't that purple?) and continues: ]
Pumpkin spice lattes are kind of a cocktail, huh? Not pumpkins or coffee anymore. Frankencoffee. Stupid and kinda sad. The guy, whatsit. Jaeger.
[ Is in fact a walking Pumpkin Spice Latte, he thinks, but doesn't actually say. He's looking at his drink again. Hums and holds it up to Darius again. Thinks, want the rest?
And he smiles up at the beautiful man caressing him, feeling warm all over again. ]
I'm good.
[ Something about. Something about the whiskey and maybe he's had enough.
But also, he is good. He's a good puppy. And he's good here on the floor. This is a good apartment. Good people. He's settling back against Daddy's thigh with a sigh and a contented smile, thinking that's good, too. ]
Good Puppy.
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Rin would think it was a lie, some kind of protracted joke, if Darius weren’t incapable of feigning fondness. If Darius hadn’t only ever leaned away from accusations of preference or - gods forbid - any kind of affection.
So when Sen suggests that Puppy’s gotten into Daddy’s phone, Rin can only accept the thought as likely fact. When Darius doesn’t argue, Rin can only blink in puzzlement, looking from the boy’s easy grin to Darius’s eyes locked on Enri, Darius’s smile blooming warm, and conclude that Sen’s suggestion resonates with fact.
Rin has read Darius’s messages before. Used to make an occasional practice of reading Darius’s mail, and when Darius’d put two and two together, it hadn’t ended well. Darius, making a point, had burned several days worth of the apartment’s mail. Darius, making a point, had pitched his phone into the middle of 14th Avenue and offered a dramatic shrug when it was instantly pulverized. Darius, making a point, had tried to read Rin’s messages, hadn’t had the patience to work through various passcodes and lock. Had kept the phone in his room until Rin stole it back. Had dumped Rin’s phone in the bath, only to replace it the next day. Had started reading Rin’s mail, until Rin filled the mailbox with letters to themself, several of them reading ‘Fuck off Darius’ for half a page on repeat.
Point being: Darius doesn’t do well with privacy infringements. And so far as Rin has seen, the man hasn’t ever given his fleeting paramours so much as a glimpse beyond the surface known as ‘Daddy,’ or a chance to glean information about whatever Darius is when he’s not playing god. (Though whether Darius Scarlett ever drops the self-deification is an open question.
…One that the blonde lounging in their apartment might be able to answer. Oh, Rin doesn’t particularly care to know; it’s simply noteworthy that Enri seems to have curled himself so near to Darius’s, what, trust? Trust and affinity. …Well, good for the boy, perhaps.
Good for Darius, certainly.)
Rin’s flittering through these thoughts when the blow strikes. What - yes, true, probably - shouldn’t be a blow; what shouldn’t matter, this boy doesn’t know them, they’ve no cause to hold his judgment above any other, and after all, they’ll be over it in a day or two. For now, though. For now, the words (stale) (bitter) (implied: overrated) still echo, and Darius’s remark about the boy’s judge of character lands with a sting.
(It doesn’t matter what the boy said.
It doesn’t entirely not matter.
Because to ever, ever be deemed as insipid as that. To be seen and found lacking, lackluster, a sour replication of stagnant worn-out would-be-brilliances—
Well. Sen’s words had helped; Sen always, inevitably helps, heals, brings them back to themself when the world feels rotten, when the glistening world’s been overrun with noxious haze. And it’s true that they aren’t stale or humdrum in the least. Rin knows who they are, knows the brilliance they posses, and knows no stranger can define them.
Even so. Those words hit close to worries of what they’ve no intention of becoming, and hearing what the boy suggested means feelings its implications, means feeling discomfort in beholding even the potential that those words might seems to someone to be true. So when Darius recalls the boy’s words, Rin shifts uncomfortable, cozying closer still to Sen.
The words are followed, strangely, by an assuring look from Darius. The shitweasel is - he really is? - offering encouragement, as if to suggest the boy’s earlier words weren’t in earnest, as if to suggest those words weren’t part of what Darius is speaking to, that those words held a different purpose. Which doesn’t do much to comfort Rin, because they shouldn’t need Darius’s reinforcement on this matter, because Darius shouldn’t know that Rin is bothered at all, let alone by what.
(Still, it isn’t the worst thing. To see Darius being not-contentious. To see Darius offering a gesture of sheer consideration. Is that also the effect of this boy?)
Rin sees the boy glance their way. Feels some weight of what might be his focus, or the periphery of his focus, though they don’t want to think about it. Though they’re doing their best to simply let the boy observe as he will and to let the thoughts play out - listening to Sen’s story, letting themself be drawn back to the moment by Sen’s words, which they adore, which Rin always has adored - when Enri’s voice cuts in again, and—
Really. Is that really what he—
…Hm.
They feel Sen move in close, and Rin leans their head against him slightly, nudges appreciation. Beautiful man with his beautiful nose (oft-broken, yes, but haven’t all of them seen more than their fair shares of tussles? haven’t they all wound up bleeding and broken in half a hundred ways? it’s a good nose, it’s the very best nose, no matter how many breaks it’s endured); they lean over to kiss his cheek, then kiss his nose.
While they process what it was the boy said, was trying to say. Because drawing on cocktails sounds as if he’s attempting to either make amends or to revise his earlier statement. And they can buy the ‘something better’ narrative applied to cocktails. And after all, if they were to describe themself as a drink, it would be a cocktail.
But then Enri keeps speaking and maybe he’s still saying they are the ‘shitty coffee,’ since it’s a kind of cocktail? Or, no— Is he saying the separate parts are turned monstrous by putting them together? That both seems harsh and sounds like a win in the ‘no Rin Renault is not a pumpkin spice latte’ column.
Also, the boy is clearly tipsy. And maybe trying to make sense from his words isn’t the most foolproof endeavor, period.
But he tried, maybe, to set something right. And Rin - even if still fuming mildly from the pumpkin spice (which, really, isn’t the worst of flavors, but is seen now as trite) - can recognize the effort, or at least acknowledge that some effort may have been made.
By the boy who is now very nearly melting against Darius. And did the boy just say ’Good Puppy?’ Did Darius just reach down to stroke the boy’s hair, kiss the boy’s hair, and pronounce ’Good Puppy, best Puppy’ and ’Only Puppy’ right back? Yes, yes, and the world is a strange and infinitely faceted place.
Tilting their head upward, Rin seeks Sen’s eyes and offers the edge of a smile - a smile suggesting that yes, Rin’s still a little uneasy, but less so, a little less caught on what the boy said earlier - slipping back to Italian. ]
Sometime, you’ll tell me my cocktail, yes? Perhaps when you’ve had your taste?
[ Cuddling closer to Sen, leaning their head against his chest, they watch the ongoing display of Darius and his (self-proclaimed!) Puppy, before speaking once more— ]
If you’re suggesting that the imbecile known as Jaeger is both stupid and sad, I’ve no arguments to offer. It would in fact be immoral to argue, since one need only observe the man for forty-five second to discern conclusively that he is both.
My hope is he will not remember that he was ever at my club, and will never endeavor to visit again. The man is a hazard, quite simply put.
[ With a sharp nod, they seal that proclamation into stone, then speaking softer, with a grin turned impish, they look to Sen— ]
Do you think he would flee on seeing you, or meander headlong into collision?
[ And, soft still, with a small poke to Sen’s side— ]
Not that I wish to see you in the fray of any further fights. In fact, Sen, I have half a mind to swathe you in bubblewrap and ward off anyone who thinks to afflict you.
[ They'd like to do it, and they'd like him to take things a little easier. Rin also isn't about the impose any kind of rest regimen on Sen, or inflict any edict he doesn't care for. There's another kiss for Sen's nose, sealed with a smile, and again they look across the room, clock the boy who looks as though he could use something to balance the drink. ]
We do have food, you know. Water. The chips and the raspberries aren't for touching; anything else is yours as you like.
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Enri gets to wondering whether he said something stupid, because it's not uncommon for people to exchange a look after he speaks, and it's definitely not uncommon to find himself meeting a language barrier when it happens. (Therein lies part of the reason he began absorbing languages so voraciously. He wanted to know what the fuck people were saying about him. His parents. His uncle. Ranch hands.) (Why didn't he learn Italian? Jesus.)
Rin probably isn't saying anything about him. Darius would object. Darius would stick up for him. (Wouldn't he?) (...Would he?) (Enri looks back over his shoulder, wondering. He's known Rin and Sen for a long time.)
Deeper than his niggling concern that he did say something stupid is the sinking feeling that he's not going to be able to salvage this. He shouldn't have said what he did earlier (but what choice did he have? They were being shitty about Darius -)
(Maybe he shouldn't have said it because Darius isn't sticking up for him?) (He's getting in his own head and he's kind of tipsy and he needs to pay attention or just...Something.)
He is deep in his own head, distracted and a little inebriated, and he misses that Rin directs a comment to him. When he tunes back in, they're talking to Sen, and Sen is looking at them with that goofy fucking smile, and that's nice. Enri can appreciate that.
Sen's easy to read, is what he is. Rin...not so much. Except when they look at Sen. Then they're easy to read. Whatever vibe they exist with, Sen's on it. (Sen's answering something about Jaeger, and Enri begins to wonder if he actually spoke at all. He does that sometimes. He thinks he said something and then doesn't actually say anything. It's worse when he's drunk.)
At least Darius is petting him. (Darius said he's proud. He said 'thank you' and 'you love me so well' and he's been giving Enri affection in front of his friends in a way he never did in the Bahamas. It's like they're at home.) (Maybe Rin wasn't talking shit about him, after all. Maybe he just...forgot to make the words come out of his mouth, or they were too dumb to be worth comment.)
Rin's looking at him. He tenses, worrying he missed something, worrying they're pissed. But then they start talking about food like maybe he should have known they had food, like maybe he was stupid for not knowing they had food, and he thinks - What?
And thinks, Oh.
They're offering. (They know he's a little drunk.) (He must be less sober than he thought.) (But they don't want to seem like they're offering?) (Because they don't want him to think he's welcome.) (He's not welcome.)
He's hungry, though.
And he thinks, I could eat.
And then remembers he has to actually say the words. He relaxes a little, swallows, makes a noise like an 'um' without opening his mouth. ]
I guess. Anything not chips or raspberries is good.
[ They make it sound like the chips or raspberries are decorative. That's weird.
Almost immediately, Sen pipes in - ]
I'll come along.
[ And the man begins to unfold himself, pausing after Rin stands, his hand at his eyes and rubbing, scrubbing his face. Hands falling to his knees to help leverage him to his feet, but he pauses before the act of rising when he sees Enri staring.
(He's tired, Enri thinks.) (He knows this is tense, even if he's pretending it's not.) (He's worried about Rin. And for Rin.)
(He's worried. Period.)
(This isn't abnormal, Enri realizes. The way Rin's acting.)
(Or maybe it is. Or maybe it's known, and not common?) (Sen understands something he doesn't.)
Sen's smile cast his way isn't unkind, but it's like a gently closing door. (Enri knows those smiles. And gently closed doors) Like maybe that wasn't something he wanted Enri seeing. For once, Enri thinks it's better if he pretends not to see it. The other man is up and vanished with Rin into another room, leaving Enri feeling like the room just got a little less full of pitfalls.
He looks back at Darius again, his smile gone, his eyes reflecting his own precarious thoughts. And smoothly, he turns and shifts to his knees, arms wound around Daddy's waist, face buried against his shirt. ]
Sorry.
[ And, thinking he'd better actually say more words than 'sorry', he adds just as quietly - ]
Fucked it up. Sorry, Daddy.
[ He's not allowed to say he's not smart, that he says the dumbest shit sometimes - Darius hates when he says that about himself. So he doesn't say it here, now.
But he thinks it very loudly. ]
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