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kingdomsofrain2024-01-24 08:25 pm
onefellswoop) wrote in kingdomsofrain2024-01-24 08:25 pmtexts texts texts
this one is for texts!
onefellswoop) wrote in kingdomsofrain2024-01-24 08:25 pm
no subject
2) That night ended with a "car accident,” which really meant he was stuck in a toy car and pushed down the steps.
3) Did he tell you the story about his ex and the handjob at the Parthenon? Because that man’s never been to Greece.
4) Who on earth needs a lapdog when you have your Puppy’s lap?
5) Fuck off, I broke my foot jumping out the window on YOUR watch so who was really to blame there, hm??
6) Bets on how easily I can slip past security covered in blood, wearing only a robe?
7) where is my Puppy’s lap ;.;.; i need it ;.; how can i recharge ;.; how ca i leave it empty??
3 - From Across the Room at Esma's Party
I don't know why he's telling me any of that. We were talking about international travel???
Don't leave me over here by myself :(
no subject
I'd say turn and walk away, but— Mm. One, it's no good you coming into Fitz's orbit, and two, I've a suggestion of another sort.
You're right to guess he's never been to Rome. He has been to the Parthenon and Colosseum, but the trick, Enri, is that he found both in Florida.
One, a bakery; the other, a stadium.
Ask him, won't you, what the score was when he stepped out for that handie, and whether the crowd was booing when he came.
1/2
[...]
[...]
He said there's always a standing ovation when he comes, so I asked why his partner's still standing at the end if he's any good.
He got a weird look on his face and left, so. Okay, then.
[...]
Did she literally invite every single one of your exes? Someone said your ex-wife's here.
I'm not mad or anything. It's funny and I'm having a good time. But [...] how many guests would be here if she didn't stack it with people you fucked?
It's about to get real crowded; Clark and Cooper are on the way with half my coworkers. Are Sen and Rin getting here soon? Pretty sure I saw Costas and Alice.
2/2
DADDY
SHE INVITED HIM
I'm gonna ask for tips on limbering up so I can suck my own dick.
1/2
Better to focus on Enri’s enjoyment, and on the now-developing situation that Darius would very much like yo witness, and gods damn Fitzgerald for his inability to take a hint. ]
Puppy, Puppy—
Get. Him.
Then tell me everything. 😌
If the moment strikes, by the by, you might also ask what channels he’s found critical in harnessing the healing energy of a spread asshole. Tell him the hostess wants to know, but - well, you know Esma! She’s simply too shy to ask. Watch how quickly he runs to spill ill-informed secrets of the anus.
Alternatively, point him in the direction of Hummel, aka Mr. ‘Standing Ovation.’ The two of them would destroy one another. …That or they'll fuck off for an attempted poke at the nearest bakery, which wouldn’t be the worst thing.
It might add to the fun of this currently unbalanced gathering, hm? What do you think, Enri: One by one, we’ll remove the most egregious shits from this party, until our cavalry alone remains. 😌
2/2
…Which suggests, gods preserve us all, that the Jaegers are en route, and we’ll soon be treated to the squawkings of Nellie and Pippa. I am at once gritting my teeth and somewhat eagerly awaiting the response of Esma’s retinue.
The when of Sen and Rin’s arrival remains a mystery. I understand they’ve formed some plan about ‘gathering supplies,’ and spent fifteen minutes chasing down an albino squirrel Rin may or may not have spotted. There was something about going back for Andi and Marlowe, then going back again for Kaleo. And, of course, when Sens are involved, one must always allow for an extra hour of becoming lost, reoriented, then lost all over again.
Blake might - might - be of use in keeping the lot of them on-track.
I can’t blame the shitheads particularly for dragging their feet, but if they don’t show in the next hour, we are going to find them and drag them over, kicking, screaming, and expositing on injustice and the tyranny of New York’s street plan, in which all roads lead to Esma’s.
Delphina and Layne have landed, though they’re likely to take their time in arriving. I expect the rest of my particular circus’s clowns will be arriving sporadically throughout.
[ … ]
Honestly, I’ve no idea how Esma tracked down so godsdamned many of my exes. The more I see, the clearer it becomes how much effort she expended on this nonsense. Were I not thoroughly annoyed, I might almost be flattered.
The small relief is that no earthly force could have compelled my ex-wife to cross the Atlantic, or permitted Esma to swallow her pride far enough to contact the woman. Well. And she must know Rin might kill her. Or Sen might kill her. Or I might kill her.
[ … ]
I’ve not seen Deforest yet.
Or Simon.
Bridges to burn when we reach them, I suppose. If nothing else, Deforest had damned well better show himself; he has a role to fulfill as ‘twin’ bait.
[ … ]
Enri. If at any point this nuisance of exes becomes over-much, or if you become weary of Esma’s antics, let Daddy know. We needn’t remain any longer than you’re comfortable.
And. If we could use a break, there’s always the option of slipping off for a bit of private conversation. >;3
1/2
[...]
She's telling him about the money, too. They'll probably roll in around 8:30.
Morgan and Lydia are coming, too, but they run on Morgan and Lydia time. Hey, here's a question for you: are we still fashionably late if everyone else is fashionably later?
Also, this place is huge. Like, stupid huge. I've never seen anything besides the living room. Parlor. Sitting room. Thing. The boring ass white and blue room with her figurines and that obnoxious lamp.
Chandelier.
Who needs all this space for one person and a fucking dog and then threatens a couple of kids for more money like some kind of Disney villain?
2/2
That's too bad. I had some questions about crystal dildos.
[...]
Hummel whoever is inbound. Don't applaud; he might come on you.
[...]
[...]
Hey.
Are you okay? You can tell me, too. You know. If this gets to be too much. We don't have to be here to ruin it. I don't want you feeling any kind of bad tonight; big day tomorrow, Kitten.
...I won't say 'no' to a private conversation, by the way. I have a lot of things I'd like to say where only you can hear. >;)
no subject
Let’s see, shall we?
[ Hummel has indeed made the critical error of passing Darius in his approach toward god-knows-who. He makes as well the error of meeting Darius’s eyes, which is when Darius - half-smile sharp, sharkish - raises his hands and claps slowly, once, twice.
It has the double effect of stopping the shit cold, and silencing Fitzgerald mid-sentence. Which leaves an opening for Darius to offer a superficial introduction - “Hummel, Fitzgerald; Fitzgerald, Hummel, and do take care, Theodore; that one positively thrives on ovations” - then slip away.
He doesn’t get far, granted. There are too many people here and just now, Jack Ramsey and his wife have decided to ‘congratulate’ Darius on his ‘upcoming nuptials,’ suggesting Esma has said so much about his fiancé, what an interesting young - very young! - man he seems to be! Darius is on the cusp of suggesting that Ramsey and his wife go stick a thumb up the rectum of Ramsey’s probably-scowling and certainly not-so-young beau, when there’s a minor uproar from the front entry, indicating that Verne, the ‘twins’, and the perennial birthday boy have arrived.
It’s another chance to slip away, and Darius takes it after suggesting that the Ramseys ask whether Esma happened to mention that his fiancé is her nephew, or that she’d attempted to take money from the mouths of literal babes.
He manages to slip beside a plant and out of the way of any further interference, where he can text Enri once more. ]
No visible orgasming from Hummel, though I’ll call his arrival fortuitous; I’ve pawned he and Fitzgerald off on one another.
And it sounds as though the first part of our cavalry has arrived. Not the faces I’d hoped to see, but they’ll do for a distraction.
…Gods, where is Esma? I’d spill blood to see her face when they barrel in.
Where are you, Puppy, Puppy, my Puppy? This damned crowd persists in barring my vision, and I would very much like to cling to my husband. I’m all right, Dearest; only needled by the actualization of Esma’s pettiness, and irked by myself for being needled. It’ll all smooth itself out as the evening carries on, and as I wrap my arms around you.
Pity Circus Act steered off. If he persists in avoiding you, I’m sure we can send someone his way. Sen and Rin lack your look of earnest innocence, but they’ve that knack for posing mmm ‘whimsical’ questions with the most unruffled expressions.
Mm, and if they take on Barnum & Bailey, we can look on together. A nice bit of amusement for you and I. 😌
Regarding Esma, I suspect the answer to your question runs along the lines of ‘the same person who throws a fit when her less-favored sister marries first among the Boyles, then brings children to the world.’ One might think the pool cue incident would have discouraged her from being an outright shit. One would, clearly, be very much mistaken.
[ … ]
I suspect this little gathering of hers is intended as an affront to you, just as much as to myself. And I’d strangle her right now, were it not that we’ve a takeover in motion already, soon to be more drawn-own, and thus more satisfying.
Well. And what better revenge than to revel in one another, and stir trouble in her schemes?
Mm. And, as a treat, to share our private conversation on her most expensive sheets. 😌
no subject
There's a brief exchange, after which Cap, eyes already on some distant point in the hall, touches the tip of his index finger to his nose, then points with a smile Enri doesn't want to interpret. Neither does he want to see where Cap is heading. He doesn't fucking want to know.
He points the three Jaegers to the open bar, thanks them for coming to his wedding party - a reminder for the girls, a plea to Verne to try and spread that story - and continues on, drawn ever towards Darius - inescapably, needfully.
Except Darius isn't where Enri expected; instead, there's Jack Ramsey and a woman Enri can only assume is his wife. He doesn't like the sneering way the man's looking at him, or the way he drawls, "Enri. There you are. We'd thought it was past your bedtime."
He could be petulant. He could snap back because he knows it wasn't a light-hearted joke, he knows it was a pointed dig about his marriage. But Darius would want him to be smarter than that.
He raises a brow and sticks out a hand. "Glad you could make it, Jack."
Seeing as they're on a first-name basis.
There's a pause during which Ramsey clearly is considering ignoring his hand; the wife jostles his arm with a pointed expression and Ramsey forces a charming smile. He takes Enri's hand in a clammy, two-handed grip (he can't quite mask the look of faint disgust, but he thinks Ramsey didn't notice.)
"We wouldn't miss it. We've known Esma for years." He looks to the wife for confirmation; she nods vaguely, her attention drifting. "Funny; she never mentioned you were her nephew. Why in the world didn't you say?"
Enri has a dozen responses in mind. They'd be polite. They wouldn't cause problems. He would make his parents and Darius proud. But the thing is, in that same heartbeat, he thinks about this fucking party, and the strain on Anna's face over the years, and how he hates ramen noodles. In that same heartbeat, he sees Costas over Ramsey's shoulder, across the room, trying not to look this way, and fuck, he doesn't like that, either. (He does like that Cap has intercepted Costas with a violently blue drink in one hands and a scotch in the other. Good move.)
He cocks his head and lets his attention slide back to Ramsey. "Probably for the same reason I didn't tell anyone about you sucking my uncle's cock on the sly. Someone asked me not to."
Widening his eyes in faux-shock, he brings a hand to his mouth. "Oh, shit. My bad."
People are staring. People heard that.
Well. Fuck it. Now he's got their attention.
Ramsey's eyes are bulging along with a vein in his forehead. The wife is glaring. Not at Enri, though. Dropping the feigned shock, he clicks his tongue. "You can start it, but I'll end it."
As he turns, he pauses and throws out, "And my bedtime's whenever Daddy says, man. Enjoy the party."
Speaking of Daddy. Time to find him. ]
Man, I really need to get better at remembering what's a secret and what's not. Sucks to be Ramsey right now.
One down.
Hey. Where are you? I followed the clapping but it might've been Hummel's ass. I want my Daddy. :c
[...]
Okay, how about this: I'm going to sit very patiently at the bar and wait for you to come rescue me from being a lost, lonely Puppy.
May I have a drink?
no subject
(Nothing less than Ramsey the Rancid has called down on himself, certainly. I was half a breath from strangling the fuck myself.)
He’ll have to tell me when I arrive at the bar for his rescue.
Which ought to be soon, as I am leaving my temporary port of safety for my forever safety, forever home, forever husband. 😌❤️
In the meantime, do, yes; Daddy insists that you have a drink. A Gold Rush for my Honey Pup, who chose an ideal meeting point, and who requested his drink so prettily!
A Gold Rush from which Daddy will take one sip, while seated on his Puppy’s lap. I believe we both deserve a little throne time, hm?
[ He’s sent the message and moved from the plant’s cover, has made it all of five steps in the bar’s direction when there’s voice at his back, entirely too close: ’Darius Scarlett. I never would have thought.‘
Oh.
No.
For shit’s Jesus ass-grinding son of a rot-written fuck’s sake no.
He should keep moving, ignore the voice or pretend he didn’t hear. Only there’s no feigning when he’s already drawn to a halt, shoulders tensing, gathered upward, and she always did observe too close for his liking. When his hand’s clenching too-tight around his phone, and her voice has been joined by another, less familiar but not unknown: ’It’s been some time, Scarlett.’
And a hand at his elbow, he doesn’t know which of their hands and he doesn’t fucking care; the answer’s offensive either way.
Fuck.
Fuck.
He turns, not yet looking at his ex-wife or her husband. Attention fixed instead on shrugging off the hand (it was the husband’s, fucking Hancock) and lifting his phone. If he’s going to be drawn into this for even a moment, he’s going to message Enri first.
And get the fuck out of this as soon as he can.
(As soon as he can. If he can. Fuck knows he’d like to turn heel and stalk off right now, but he’s rooted to the spot, lost to incomprehension because he can’t quite believe this is godsdamn happening, and no it shouldn’t matter and no it shouldn’t bother him and certainly shouldn’t stall his motion, but the last time he saw this woman was across a godsdamned courtroom, looking infinitely godsdamned pleased with herself, and for shit’s sake did Esma bribe them into making the trip jesus christ??) ]
[ … ]
I underestimated Esma’s fuckminded audacity.
[ … ]
As well, I’m beginning to believe. Quite firmly. That she instructed these shits to intercept us.
[ … ]
My ex-wife is indeed present. As is her husband.
It isn’t anything I can’t handle. Be there as quickly as I can, Love.
Alongside your drink, order one for Daddy, won’t you?
I’ll still expect a sip of yours, of course.
Nothing’s so sweet as what’s touched by my Puppy’s lips. 😌❤️
[ He keeps his phone in his hand and folds his arms - yes he knows it’s a defensive posture and no he doesn’t care - cocks his head and speaks unhurried, voice even, ’Ursula. Andrew. I’m afraid I lack the patience for your shit just now.’
The response comes from Andrew: ’Language, Scarlett.’ Then clearing his throat and indulging in one of his self-proclaimed ‘hearty chortles,’ ’Ah, my mistake; you never could help it. A couple decades apart, and I forget how crass you are.’
Darius would like to point out that he remembers very well how much of a self-satisfied stuffed shirt Hancock is, but Ursula’s speaking already: ’There isn’t any need for hostility, Darius. Here I nearly thought you might let bygones be bygones. We’re all of us friends here. Old acquaintances. And we’ve come such a long way.’
The words don’t matter, really. What Darius sticks on is the fact of her presence and the question of how and how quickly he can slip away. And. Fuck it. While he’s got the phone handy, he’s going to message Sen, as well: Would you kindly, please hurry yourself along. She’s fucking here.
When he looks up, it’s with a raised brow, expression unamused in the face of their smiles. He glances around, sees no current method for escape, and shakes his head. ’I’d no idea you and Esma had grown so cozy.’
A smile from his ex-wife.
A beat and a laugh from her husband, a look shared between them. Then a look of pleased pity that Darius does not like at fucking all.
He likes the words that follow even less: ’No, my, no. It wasn’t Esma who invited us. It was your brother. He came over last month; Deforest always was the best-mannered of you. Where is he, by the by?’ ]
no subject
I'll get the drinks, then come find you and get you out of there. Your very own search and rescue Puppy. How's that?
It'll be okay, Sweetheart. For once in the world, someone's saying this and meaning it: they're just jealous. You've got me, I've got you, and they don't mean anything. They're just blips on the radar.
Remember: I'm always on your side.
[ He doesn't get far. He orders the drinks, and really, that was the problem: turning his back to the room. While he's waiting, trying not to think about how much it cost to have this fucking bar installed, he sees someone approach on his left. The hairs on the back of his neck raise; someone's behind him, too.
Languidly, he straightens, glances to his left, then looks at whoever's behind -
Oh.
Circus Act.
Cool.
He raises his brows, his gaze dropping down the other man's body as though to indicate he's just a little too close. To his credit, Joyce takes a step back, then to the side as though he meant to do that all along.
"You must be Enri," the other man drawls, his tone suggesting intrigue, amusement. Enri's used to this. He hears it a lot from his family's friends.
"Must be," he replies, shrugging, taking in this second man, who's now trading a look with Joyce. He's a little older, maybe late twenties, with sandy brown hair and pale eyes. Dark circles under those.
A thought slides into comprehension: he looked way healthier on the tape. Enri has to hide a smirk under the guise of looking to see what's happening with his drink.
"Well. Welcome to the kennel club," Joyce...jokes? Enri glances at him with brows raised.
"Just a joke," the second one contributes unhelpfully. "Between all the Puppies he's run through. You being the latest in his usual trend, of course. We've started betting on who the next one's going to be. Usually it's Simon. Safe bet; he's one of Daddy's favorites."
"He's really not," Enri answers lightly. This lack of concern seems to momentarily throw what's-his-nuts. (What is his name? Peter? Pike? Porter? Shit.) "I mean, just because shitty beer's what you grab doesn't mean it's your favorite. It's what's always available."
Joyce snorts, shakes his head pityingly. Oddly, Enri feels...unbothered by this. He sees what it is. He knows - trusts - Darius. These guys are trying very hard in the eleventh hour to - what? Hurt his feelings?
"You really think he's going to marry you? Maybe he told you that -"
"If he isn't, he spent a lot of money on a wedding cake for no reason. And a suit. And a -" He holds up his left hand. "Ring. That's a weird long con, right?"
"It's Darius," Joyce snaps, his pity and good humor ebbing. "He's going to make you all kinds of promises and then throw you out the minute you think he cares about you."
The bartender slides two Gold Rushes to him. Enri picks one up, tastes it, then returns his attention to the two not-Puppies. "Did you think he cared about you before or after he left you in that bed for thirteen hours? Maybe it was before you pissed yourself."
Joyce...doesn't answer. He stares in disbelief, like he's not sure he heard what he did.
Enri pulls a contemplative face. "'Care' is a weird word to use. You sure seemed to think he was going to fuck you, though. You know. When you called your fiancee and told her you weren't ever coming home?"
People around them are going quiet. Joyce's face is pale, his lips parted in shock, forming soundless words. He cuts a look at his companion.
So Enri looks that way, too, and then snaps his fingers. "Right! Preston! Man, took me a minute. You look way different."
Confused, Preston looks to Joyce and back again. "We've never met...?"
"Nah. I saw your film."
"My film?" he echoes tonelessly - the moment before dawning comprehension.
"Yeah." Enri smiles blithely, the picture of a Young, Dumb Puppy. As though realizing only just now that neither of them understands, he explains, "The one of you in the car with your pants around your ankles. He said half of Manhattan got a look."
"...He makes you watch what he did to us?" Preston seems to be covering his growing tension with a scoff.
"What, like said I had to?" Enri raises both brows then shakes his head. "Nah. I asked when I realized I really, really like hearing all the shit he's done to you. And that he'll never, ever do any of it to me. And he really, really likes telling me."
He takes another drink, then makes a sound of remembering suddenly - a little mm! - before adding, "You're the one that spanked your own cock like, what, forty times because you kept having to start over? Dude. Kennel club? You need PETA."
It's then that he spots Darius struggling to make a beeline this way, so, ignoring the looks on the faces of the two men penning him in, he calls out merrily, "Hey, Daddy! I found Evan and Preston! They have some kind of weird therapy group for guys you blue-balled."
There are some gasps and scandalized looks from nearby guests, but Enri's locking eyes with Preston, his smile growing sharp. "Had to tell them I can't join. I'm special." ]
no subject
Darius knows, Darius knows there’s a good chance that it’s a fabrication, a way for Ursula to prod, provoke
He knows it’s equally likely that Deforest did reach out to this woman.
Part of Darius rears, writhes toward anger. Toward snarling condemnation, asking what the fuck right she thinks she has to be here, on the eve of his wedding for shit’s sake. It helps nothing that she’s speaking again, somewhere beyond the din of his mind’s growing fury. Helps nothing that what she speaks is some manner of ‘reminder’ to hold his temper, something about words from Deforest, a warning that his elder brother had grown more erratic, and really she isn’t surprised, certainly not when he’s stooped to marrying one of his, what were they again, ‘Puppies’?
His eyes sharpen, piercing blue shooting accusation at her own iced-over, taunting smile. He knows what she does, how she claws beneath skin to provoke him, corner him. This is precisely what she does, and it’s been fucking years but she’d brought it back from the fucking dead, here with anyone around watching, likely waiting, likely Esma’s somewhere at the crowds edge with baited breath, awaiting her chance to swoop in. Likely Deforest’s somewhere near, waiting to crow over the fuckforsaken scene.
Darius’s fingers itch, his muscles drawing toward tension, a willingness, readiness to spring, to fuck with what follows, she has no right to speak that way of Enri.
Enri.
Who would want— What? To see Darius’s ex-wife flayed, oh, undoubtedly. But privately. Somewhere nobody could interfere. Somewhere Darius wouldn’t be restrained, delayed further from finding his Enri.
And there, a thought flickering bright, drowning anger in clear sunlight: It’s obscene, it’s a crime to waste words on this woman when his husband waits nearby.
Anger recedes, tensions soothe themself away. What Ursula’s playing at; whatever she’s saying, whatever she’s attempting isn’t worth Darius’s time, isn’t worth an ounce of trouble. Certainly isn’t worth keeping away from Enri a minute longer. What Darius wants is to be with Enri. What he wants is to find himself in honeyed eyes and leave behind the irritations of every interference.
He wants his husband; there’s nothing stopping him.
At some point Darius had drifted his gaze, began looking up, over the Hancocks, over the crowd, expression slightly vexed. Now he shakes his head slightly, laughs to himself, soft, and runs a hand through his hair. Returns his eyes to her and, with the hint of amusement, speaks in an easy drawl—
“As we’re old friends, you won’t mind my excusing myself peremptorily. My fiancé waits on my arrival.
“My fiancé, my Puppy, my soul; there is no better being to be found. And I love my Enri infinitely.”
He doesn’t wait for a reply; doesn’t linger long enough even to gauge his ex-wife’s expression. Darius simply turns and moves, without a look backward, and with no remnant of his anger.
It takes some careful maneuvering to step through the crowd, each step taking him toward the bar. When he sees Enri, hears Enri, his chest turns warm. Even the sight of the shitstains flanking Enri can’t jar him; whatever they were planning - and its clear they’d thrown themselves at Enri (had attempted some manner of cornering, perhaps chiding or shaming, and damn them both for trying) - Enri’s outplayed them, as of course he would.
Some boys never learn.
Darius knows the look of his Wolf toying with prey. Knows the sharp glee marking Enri’s expression, and oh, there’s a shivering up Darius’s spine in those words spoken with relish and with hazard: ’I’m special.’
His beautiful, malicious little wolf.
There’s no glance spared for Evan or Preston, not at first. Darius’s attention rests fully on Enri. On approaching, head canting slightly, offering a smile and reaching to brush his Puppy’s jaw, to settle cupping his cheek as Darius closes the last two steps between them.
When he speaks, his voice runs warm with adoration, with pleasure at the sight and finding of his husband, lingering over his love’s name, reveling upon its sound. ]
Enri.
Hello Puppy.
[ There’s a tilt of his cheek toward Enri, a signal for a kiss. And after Enri’s bent and Darius has breathed soft joy at the brush of lips, he turns, meets Puppy’s lips with a long-drawn kiss and an embrace.
It’s a show of adoration played perhaps partly for the would-be-puppies who dared approach Enri; a show emphasizing - alongside the giving of both Enri’s name and ‘Puppy,’ a doubling of name and title never given to any feigning boy - Enri’s import. It’s also an act born of wanting and relief, removed entirely from show. Darius kisses Enri because he wants, needs to feel his love against him, to share breath and take a moment for the two of them, the world beyond fading away.
He’s slow to end the kiss; slow, clearly reluctant, to draw away. And for several moments he continues only to meet Enri’s eyes, and run a hand along his bicep in slow, steady caress. And speaking softly (not to hide the words, gods no, but because they’re made for Enri only)— ]
Missed you, my love.
[ Then, nodding to the drinks— ]
Which have you tasted?
[ He takes the glass in question, steals a sip of his own before handing it back, smile crooked. ]
Lovely.
[ He takes the other glass, raises his eyebrows at Enri with a sharpening, a conspiratorial grin. At last glances over one ‘puppy,’ than the ‘other’ before tossing his hair, returning his eyes entirely to Enri. And standing both possessive and familiar, at ease beside his husband, he speaks again, louder now— ]
Did the rabbits think they’d found a friend? Really, they ought to recognize a wolf when they see one.
But then they never were perceptive. And they’ve no chance outrunning you.
You are special. A truth that writes itself in every moment. In every vicious smile.
[ He seeks, finds Enri’s hair and cards through, relishing, thinking gods yes they were apart too long, knowing there’s nothing in Esma’s obscene ploys that can upend him, so long as Enri’s at his touch. ]
I trust you’re enjoying yourself, Love.
[ And, favoring Club Blue-Balls with a longer, more assessing look as he adjusts his position, guides Enri’s arm around his waist— ]
Hadn’t the pair of you better get on with your therapy? Puppy’s correct; he won’t be joining you. And you’d do well to skitter out of our sight.
no subject
He doesn't often have the chance to be in public alone, then be approached by Darius; they always arrive together, leave together, stay together, so on the rare occasion when they have to separate and reunite, Enri has the singular experience of seeing just how much of his world his love occupies.
One moment, it's all too loud, too pressing and harsh, and the next, there's Darius. (Darius, and commands. Darius, and steps to take, rules to follow. That always helps. Everything gets so much easier.) One moment, he's flanked by Darius's exes, and the next, they've fallen back and Darius is embracing him.
Kissing him after expectantly offering his cheek - which Enri kissed dutifully and happily, because being dutiful and being happy are never mutually exclusive with them. One of his hands lingers at Darius's hair after they part, a privilege others never got to enjoy because others never enjoyed much about him. Certainly not caressing his hair. (They lost out, Enri has thought so many times.)
He's fascinated by Darius's mouth when he drinks, when he smiles. Enri can still taste him, mint and good cigarettes and whatever he drank earlier, and the traces of what they did earlier, and beneath all that, the familiar essence of Daddy. He feels his cheeks grown warm from the secrets still on his tongue.
It isn't until Darius speaks of rabbits that Enri realizes the two men are still there. A glance tells him maybe Joyce was trying to leave, but unwilling to leave Preston or unwilling to be on his own. Preston is standing in the same place, staring at Darius the way a hungry dog stares at food. But - awkwardly, too. And enviously, yeah, that's there.
Joyce has that hungry dog longing in the darted glances, but -
But there's something else with both of them and it's got them nailed to the floor.
It strikes him then that the reason they haven't left is because they're still obeying. They're waiting to be told what to do, like they're still part of Darius's games. Like he gives half a fuck about them. (Almost expectant, those looks. Like he owes them his attention.) And like the world vanishes for Enri, Enri has vanished for them.
(Has this happened before? Has Darius been with a would-be-puppy and left him for another, more interesting one?)
He doesn't laugh. His expression shifts to one of both pity and disgust.
Darius can treat him like a Puppy. Those two, though - they can't. Tightening his arm around Darius's waist to pull him closer, Enri straightens, then Young, Dumb Puppy look gone from his face and bearing. He lets the other thing creep forward, the thing Darius calls Lovely, just a little.
Just enough.
Darius might've shown favor like that a thousand times in front of them. He never would've let them show possessiveness. Never let them stand as his equal.
He has their attention now, so he takes a slow drink from his glass (tasting honey, whiskey, and Darius, oh-) and, as though he's only waiting for them to leave - then, in a tone very much like the one Darius uses to level orders, he drawls - ]
Walk away.
[ He sounds more like his father than Daddy.
Well. Good.
People are watching, either stealing discrete glances or staring openly, conversations gone stilted. The two men look wrong-footed, Joyce sweating and Preston fixating now on Enri, trying to work something out that doesn't have an answer he'll ever know.
Joyce says something that doesn't quite become audible, then grabs the other man's arm and pulls him into retreat.
He doesn't relax. He doesn't need to; he never really tensed up. When he finally sees their backs, he brushes a kiss to Darius's temple, then lingers there, breathing in his mate until "Lovely" retreats back into dormancy.
Nuzzling then, he murmurs, ]
Sorry, Daddy.
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Let them see: Them, these puling former ‘puppies.’ Them, the guests gathered around, gaping or feigning unconcern.
Let everyone see how different, yes, how special Enri is. The beautiful devoted Puppy; the beautiful, feral-clawing Wolf as well. Let them know that Darius is Enri’s just as much as Enri is his own; let them see how adamant the bond between Daddy and his Puppy holds, how much this man has altered, made anew for Darius. How Puppy obeys, yes, and how obedience is something other than compulsory, something other than a means toward some senseless end. How Enri protects what is his, and wraps his husband close.
Darius is so proud of his Enri.
He’s so pleased, to feel the coalescence of his Lovely gathering against him. Knowing, of course Darius knows Enri’s intention, knows the impulse bringing out the man of fangs and hazard. And with a pleased, internal shiver - internal mostly; there’s a tremor at his chest, shadow of a purr within his lungs, that can be known only to the man he’s twined against - Darius anticipates the voice so soon to speak, and show its claim, its place.
It’s perfect: The ‘puppies’ want a word from Daddy (ah, he isn’t theirs, he never was; performed a role upon them, but not one of them could see him, let alone reach him); any further dismissal would be take as command, as a bone of hope to gnaw on. Wordlessness would leave them waiting, watching, hovering still.
It’s the wolf’s voice only that could banish them in full.
Two words; that’s all it takes.
Two words, and neither Joyce nor Preston can fight against recognition, against fear. There’s no denying every meaning in Enri’s voice like infliction; no denying the meaning of the arm wrapped and welcomed around Darius’s waist.
Gods, he loves this man, loves every corner of his Enri’s being.
Spares no more than a peripheral observation for the would-be-puppies’ exit; just enough to track their direction, and to think it’s likely there’ll give no further trouble. Thinking even if they’ve no sense of what’s good for them, there’s no returning from the sight of his wolf, or the clarity of Enri’s importance.
Thinking on how beautifully his Lovely snaps his teeth.
Leaning into his husband’s kiss, and breathing out and in in kind, rhythmic, reveling in this hushed coming down, the curl of Lovely back to quiet, back to waiting. Never gone, just as no part of Enri’s being ever vanishes from reach; just as no part of Darius ever drifts out from himself.
He welcomes the nuzzling, the murmured words. Settles a kiss below his Puppy’s jaw, upon the flickered arteries, the hum of blood.
Then shifts, draws back to meet his Puppy’s eyes, his half-smile grown out of approval and amusement, and of infinite regard. He lets a moment pass, as if considering that apology, as if considering what Puppy’s done, here in front of everyone.
Then there’s a ‘tch’ of Darius’s tongue, audible in the hush around them, and he speaks— ]
Are you sorry, Puppy?
[ Darius knows damned well Puppy is not sorry, nor should he be.
And Darius heard the play, the subtle flaunt of Daddy’s Perfect Brat within that ‘sorry.’
There’s no need to speak against apologies given in knowing play. But, ah, this calls for restitution.
Poor, poor Puppy is in for a bit of punishment.
Hand set on Enri’s chest, fingers tented claw-like, Darius cants his head, blinks once, twice. Lets several moments settle, silence grow before he speaks again, words velvet-lined and sauntering— ]
That was beautifully done, but I’m afraid you’ve missed a crucial step—
Daddy. Didn’t. Say.
[ Lightly, a means of punctuation, he bites his lip and smiles, the expression sharpening toward a cutting, a dangerous grin. As Darius reaches upward simply, swiftly, to crook a finger around Enri’s collar, thumb brushes the conjoined rings. To draw Enri downward, gently, with force more feigned than actual. Then leaning in to whisper words born of appreciation and given only to his Enri’s ears— ]
My love, you please me so.
You make your Darius so happy.
And Daddy’s going to give his Puppy a little punishment. For my perfect, my lethal love.
[ Slowly he draws back, and slowly he relinquishes his hold on Puppy’s collar. Smiling upward, indulgent, and moving to stand beside Enri, to link arms and nod toward the nearest door, through which he’ll lead Enri, intending to find a room for their own use. ]
There’s no escaping, Puppy.
Daddy’s got you now.
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And that's all it's going to be, he'd pretty sure. A light punishment just to remind him who's boss (as though he could ever forget!) and put on an act for everyone else. That latter's more about him than Darius, though. He never wants anyone getting the idea that even though he's Daddy's equal, he can get away with anything. He wants them to know he chooses to be Puppy.
He chooses to be punished, too.
(And he definitely wants those two fuckers to know Daddy punishes him and it's so good, every fucking time. Not like they ever got.)
Setting his drink down, he schools his expression to one of subtle contrition, maybe faint fear. Oh, no, he's really in for it now! his expression acknowledges. (The thing is, he's not really all that contrite (yet) or fearful (yet.)) He follows Darius's lead to the door, noting that by the time they pass through it, they've lost most of the party's attention.
The door exits into a hall; once it closes behind him, he slides his hand down into Darius's and begins to swing them as they walk, his contrition and fear replaced with a cheerful smile. He might as well be humming and skipping, he feels so happy.
The smile turns to a grin if Darius looks at him, and really, he can't resist chirping: ]
Last punishment before I'm your husband.
[ "Lethal". Sure. ]
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It’s as if none of the rest existed. As if the trifling partygoers have been vanquished, banished— And why should it be otherwise? When all the world is here, and swinging Darius’s hand in innocent (ah, ‘innocent,’ his perfect brat and lover pleased in the wake of discarded foes, and why shouldn’t he be? Enri, Puppy, Lovely played so well with intruders who sought to sow their senseless discord) joy.
Joy, what Darius wants for his Enri always.
And peace, surety of his place with Darius, with Daddy, who is his in every name and every light.
He leads them onward through the hall, toward the stairs. Having decided on the room they’ll make their own. Esma’s in name and current claim, but all that Daddy and Puppy touch becomes their own, and it’s only right, it’s only apt to give his husband the utmost comfort, the mansion’s primary bedroom.
It’s theirs now; Esma as good as signed it to them when she chose to entertain this party.
That chirp in Enri’s voice thrills him, turns the hall’s harsh-soft light a honeyed gold, and that smile, ah, he could like a hundred year upon his Puppy’s smile. ]
Then it ought to be excruciating, hm?
For my very, very nearly husband, Daddy inflicts only the best.
Utmost pleasure. Utmost torment.
[ A turn toward Enri brings a pause in their step, and Darius draws nearer, voice lowering to a velvet purr. ]
Oh no, Puppy.
[ Now leaning inward, upward, to tent a hand to Enri’s chest - feeling, savoring the beat of his love’s heart - and grin, crooked with a flash of teeth. Then to speak softer still, and breathy, half-hissed and full of promise— ]
Oh no.
[ Another subtle shifting upward, as if he means to steal a kiss, to draw Puppy’s lip between his teeth—
Then he winds away, tugging Enri’s hand with a playful grin and a wink, a riant little laugh, as he draws them onward, upward toward their bedroom. ]
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[ An echo of words, cheerfully toned to suggest he'd like nothing better in all the world.
Enri laughs at the feint, at the way Darius spins away from him; the sound comes free and untroubled, as though nothing can touch him. Nothing can steal between them, not even hopeful would-have-beens like Joyce and Preston.
Those two, Enri thinks, don't know what they've really lost because they never knew it in the first place. They never saw Darius this way, playful and loving and deadly. They got to know the terror and pain, the momentary flickers of thrill like lights in the dark, but they never knew the fullness it could be with him. They never felt themselves cherished or held safe at the heart of all that destruction. If they had experienced that euphoria even for a moment, they'd have fought harder. They'd have stayed there and let Enri rip them apart just to show Darius how badly they needed him.
Their loss.
Never mind them. Darius is leading him into a bedroom that is their bedroom - because all bedrooms are theirs. All rooms, anywhere, belong to him and Daddy, as long as Daddy says.
Without being asked, Enri locks the door behind him - and then, on second thought, grins and unlocks it again. He holds Darius's hand still in his other and gives it a squeeze.]