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when-they-write-stuff · 4 years

Note

No. 25 - Wrapping arms around them when they make breakfast - but with a specific twist. In canon. Pre relationship. Stiles fell asleep at Derek's (exhausted after research, hurt after fight with big bad, it's up to you but nothing too dramatic ^^) or Derek stayed at Stiles'. When Stiles wakes up Derek's in the kitchen, making breakfast. Then the prompt happens. Then awkward silence xD cause, wtf are you doing Stiles? Set season 2ish? Or something? Idk.. But only if you want to! XD

“I told you to stop touching it.”

“I’m not touching it!”

“I can see you touching it, Stiles.”

“Whatever,” Stiles said, crossing his arms as he dropped back onto the bed. “I totally wasn’t touching it. You don’t have eyes in the back of your head.”

Derek huffed and turned back around, a first aid kit in hand. Stiles sat straight back up then, only to groan and wrap an arm around his side once more.

If anyone asked, Stiles would say that he totally got injured in some badass, heroic way. He totally wasn’t running from the current Monster of the Week only to trip over his own feet and nearly brain himself on a rock.

There was a gash sliced open across his chest. Stiles winced as Derek knelt down in front of him, frowning at it. Like the injury had somehow personally offended him or something. Stiles snorted at that, earning a strange look from Derek.

He just shrugged. “I’m just curious, but when was the last time you cared that I nearly died?”

“I’d care if you died.”

“Aw, Sourwolf. Would you say some nice things at my funereal?”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“I’m just saying,” Stiles said. “There was this one time I showed up with a bruised face, bloodied lip, and cracked rib and I don’t think even Scott cared.”

Derek’s face hardened at that. He glared even harder at the gash before angrily dabbing at it. Stiles squeaked and tried to shy away.

“Dude, ouch! That hurts!”

“I should have checked in on you,” Derek said. Stiles blinked at him.

“Dude, it’s fine. I’m not bitter.”

Derek looked a little bitter. Stiles studied him for a moment longer before barking a laugh.

“Oh my god, you totally care about this token human.”

“Shut up.”

“Derek, I’m just gonna say it. I’ve totally gotten under your skin.”

“Like a parasite.”

“Rude!”

Stiles thought there was a hint of a smile playing along Derek’s lips when he rolled his eyes and set the cloth aside, studying the injury again. Stiles was pretty sure it wasn’t bad at all, but Derek had taken one look and told Stiles either he came back to the loft, or Derek was taking him to the hospital.

Looking at it now, Stiles laughed again. “Dude, that’s just a little baby cut.”

“It could’ve been worse.”

“Oh yeah, definitely. I could have gotten an infection and died.”

“You could have.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, pushing himself up. “You’re no fun, you know that?”

Derek rolled his eyes. Stiles pulled out his phone but then hesitated, glancing back. Slowly, he raised an eyebrow.

“Why the hell do you have a first aid kit lying around anyway?”

“Why do you think?”

Stiles grinned from ear-to-tear, turning around again. He scrolled to his dad’s name, just to let him know he was finally heading home, and waved a hand through the air as he wandered back out of Derek’s bedroom.

“Whatever, you totally care about me. Now if you’ll excuse this token human, I’m going home. My bed is calling and it’s like… oh my god,” Stiles blinked at his phone. “It’s three am, dude. I can’t go home now! My dad is the lightest sleeper you’ve ever met and he’ll totally ground me for life.”

Derek stood silently in the doorway. Stiles spun around, pointing a finger at him.

“I blame you. This is your fault.”

The man just blinked silently. Stiles thought for some reason, he looked a little pleased. Groaning, he typed out an ‘At Scott’s’ message, knowing there was no way his dad was going to fall for that. But Stiles still had yet to explain… things. Werewolf things. And currently, he’d take distrust over putting his dad in danger.

“I’m staying here,” Stiles said flatly. Derek raised an eyebrow and Stiles crossed his arms. “The pups are already asleep and you, sir, can spare the couch. The next time you nearly hospitalize me over a small cut, I hope you remember this.”

“I will,” Derek said. And Stiles didn’t think he was being sarcastic.

Huffing, he stuffed his phone into his pocket and wandered down the hallway to find some extra blankets or pillows. But, finding nothing, he popped his head back around the corner.

“Dude, I’m not sleeping on that lump of a couch without at least a pillow.”

“Okay,” Derek said, pushing his bedroom door open. Stiles blinked a few times and then narrowed his eyes.

“What?”

Derek raised an eyebrow, his meaning obvious. Stiles crossed his arms, sitting back on his heels.

“Dude, what are you playing at?”

“It’s a big bed, Stiles,” Derek said flatly. “If you don’t like it, you can sleep on the floor. I don’t care.”

“You totally care.”

In response, Derek turned back into his bedroom, vanishing from sight. Stiles stayed rooted to the spot for a moment, debating his options. Because yes, he could probably share a bed with— oh my god— Derek Hale. But Stiles was… okay, you know what? Stiles was a growing boy. The feelings he may or may not possibly have were completely not his fault.

But he was totally waking up early tomorrow morning and making a run for it. Stiles did not need to see Erica’s smug grin if she came across any of this.

Stupid werewolves and their super-sniffers. She always caught him thinking bad thoughts at the worst moments.

Usually when Derek was around.

After another long moment, Stiles plodded into the room after the werewolf. He could share a bed just fine! He and Scott used to all the time.

When they were literal children.

Derek was already under a giant pile of blankets, his back to the door. Stiles held his breath as he climbed in bed behind the man, carefully turning his back toward Derek was well. The last thing he wanted to do was have his throat ripped out because he accidentally ended up snuggling the man come morning or something.

It took him a long time to fall asleep. And by the time he did, he was nearly falling out of bed trying to make sure he stayed very far away.

Stiles woke up first.

That was exactly like he’d planned except for some reason, he was sweating. Like, drowning in his sweat, and he was pretty sure he couldn’t move. It took a few moments of tired blinking to realize there were a pair of giant arms wrapped around his chest, caging him against the mattress, and a stubbles face pressed into his neck.

Stiles froze.

If Derek woke up to this, Stiles was so dead. He’d never be able to show his face at the loft again. He could probably get his stomach sliced open and Derek wouldn’t bat an eye.

Stiles was an idiot. And he had to escape.

He tried to move slowly. A wiggle there, a bit of ducking underneath Derek’s unfairly muscular arms here. By the time he was halfway out, Stiles was pretty sure he was going to be caught in the most compromising position ever.

He ended up with one foot out of bed, one foot still tangled up in the sheets, and ended up just oozing to the floor.

Derek grunted and Stiles froze, staring in terror at the ceiling. But then the man rolled over, seemed to go right back to sleep, and Stiles let out a soft breath.

His phone read six o’clock in the morning as he crept out of Derek’s bedroom.

Erica was sitting on the couch.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, resisting the urge to groan. “What is wrong with you betas? It’s six in the morning! Go back to bed.”

“Sleep well, Stilinski?”

“I am not engaging in this,” Stiles said, ignoring Erica as he pulled his shoes on and started toward the door. But the beta cut him off before he could make his escape, a smirk tugging at both sides of her mouth.

“I won’t say anything,” she said. “If you make us breakfast.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“I want pancakes and eggs.”

“I’m pretty sure Derek doesn’t have anything in that kitchen of his other than protein powder, raw meat, and bread,” Stiles said flatly. Erica just grinned.

“You’d be surprised at the things he has around this place to impress the annoying token human.”

Stiles blinked at her. Because… he was the annoying token human, wasn’t he? Allison was definitely very human, but Stiles was pretty sure she was just drop-dead gorgeous and exceedingly nice, not annoying.

Erica raised a brow and rested her shoulder against the loft door, waiting. After a moment, Stiles groaned, turning back around and starting toward the kitchen. Erica’s laugher followed him.

Stiles hated Derek’s betas sometimes.

He was pretty sure he heard the sound of Erica’s door shutting and of course she was going back to sleep. Stiles briefly considered making a run for it, but then he just sighed, resigning himself to his fate.

He made some mean pancakes. He better get all the praise in the world for this.

By the time Stiles had a neat stack of pancakes on one plate and a skillet of scrambled eggs on the stovetop, he realized Derek was standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Just standing there, looking at Stiles with an odd expression on his face.

Stiles froze, feeling a blush creeping up his neck. A dozen excuses came to mind but none were better than, “Erica made me.”

Which Stiles realized also wasn’t great. But Derek just nodded quietly and plodded into the kitchen, coming to stand behind Stiles. The man studied the food over Stiles’s shoulders and Stiles shivered a little, painfully aware of how close he was standing.

For a moment, all he could feel was arms locked around his chest. A stubbled face tucked into his neck. Derek’s warm breaths on his skin.

Stiles was pretty sure his heart skipped a beat.

Then Derek was reaching around him, stubble brushing against his ear. Stiles went stock-still, not moving a muscle, only to realize Derek was reaching for one of the pancakes. He made a noise of protest, trying to smack the man’s hand away, and Derek’s arms wrapped around his waist instead.

Stiles froze. “Derek.”

The man didn’t say a word but he’d gone stock-still too. Stiles swallowed hard.

“Dude.”

“You’re making breakfast.”

“An astounding observation.”

“In my loft.”

“... Erica made me?”

Derek finally pulled back, fingers ghosting over Stiles’s sides. Stiles shivered despite himself and then Derek was reaching over again, grabbing a pancake and moving away before Stiles could protest. He glared as Derek took a giant bite.

“You animal.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles glared harder.

“Pancakes with no syrup is a crime.”

“I don’t like syrup.”

“Because you’re an animal. Next thing I know, you’ll be begging for ear scratches and whining when I pet you.”

“No dog jokes,” Derek grumbled, dropping onto the stool in front of the counter. His hair was sticking up in all directions and he was still wearing the same rumpled clothes from yesterday. It was kind of adorable. “It’s too early.”

“That’s the only objection you have about what I just said?”

“If you ever try to pet me, I’ll rip your throat out.”

“There the Sourwolf I know.”

Derek gave him a flat look, taking another pointed bite of his pancake, but Stiles thought he could read a hint of a smile. Before he could say anything though, the betas came plodding in. Erica last, looking from Stiles, to Derek, and then back with a small smirk. Stiles rolled his eyes and returned to finishing the eggs.

This was blackmail. The only reason he was still here.

Stiles could still feel phantom arms wrapped around him, though. The brush of stubble against his ear. Once more, he shivered and this time, it was Derek watching with an amused expression. Or maybe a pleased one. Stiles just rolled his eyes and looked away.

Whatever. He didn’t care.

There was another first aid kit in the drawer that Stiles opened, searching for the silverware. Despite himself, he smiled. Another one. Because apparently Derek didn’t trust him to not be an idiot.

Or maybe the man cared a little too.

Stiles closed it carefully and might have been smiling even brighter when he turned back to the eggs. Erica was downright beaming now and Stiles flat-out ignored her. Whatever. He could survive this level of blackmail.

And maybe he would accidentally stay over again some time.

- -

I accidentally misread the prompt a little and had Stiles make the breakfast instead. But it still works, I hope? I had fun with this one! I love some awkward accidental domesticity. Thank you for the prompt, my friend!

(if you enjoy my writing, consider supporting your struggling student writer? You can also request a prompt if you’d like!). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

#teen wolf #sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #all the fluff and humor #auriette #prompts

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katemarley · 4 years

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fanfiction: fugue in a minor

Fandom: Hetalia Pairing: SpAus (Austria/Spain) Characters: Austria, Spain, Belgium, Augsburg, Swabia, Bavaria, Holy Roman Empire, Saxony Rating: E

Summary: 23 October 1520. Spain and Austria get married. The Imperial Estates and their guests while away the evening with music and courtly dances, celebrating both the union and Charles V’s crowning as “elected Roman emperor” in Aachen Cathedral. But what is expected of the newlyweds? And what is in for them on their wedding night?

This story has been written for Hetabang 2020. It’s a collaboration project with @aph--lietuva who was my Beta and who created wonderful art for this story that you can find on her tumblr. With her permission, I also inserted her art into this tumblr post. It’s been a pleasure working with you! ❤︎

Also available on AO3 (see the link in my profile).

---

This story also is the sequel to “Prelude in A Minor” that you can also find on AO3 and that I have been talking about, but not written, for almost four years, oops... xD Both stories can be read independently from each other.

Preliminary notes: Augusta – Augsburg: brown hair, green eyes, elegant low bun Hilde/Hildegard – Swabia (Reichskreis/Imperial Circle, Reichsritterschaft/Imperial Knighthood): blond locks, green eyes, some resemblance to Switzerland and Liechtenstein Léa – Burgundy: our canon Belgium before she came to be called Belgium

---

“Roderich!”

Austria turned slowly. He was wearing a cumbersome ceremonial robe that was far heavier than his usual formal attire. It had been made especially for today in order to dress him in the latest fashion and he didn’t want to rip any fabric by accident—and definitely not before the wedding.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” said Burgundy, not sounding sorry at all as she pried him from the clutches of a dozen courtiers. He didn’t mind—courtly talk was stressful because it contained a dozen pitfalls, and Léa was a straightforward woman. Also, in a moment like this, he’d much rather be with someone comforting and familiar rather than navigate the sea of faces and names of humans he had probably only met once but was to remember regardless. Usually, he had no problem with that; he was actually very skilled at the diplomatic game. But right now, his head was too full of other thoughts.

“I need some moments alone with my consort, my partner.” Burgundy gave off an air of sovereignty as she spoke to her court who all accepted without question that this was business for the immortals to tend to. Roderich sighed in relief and let her steal him away into their bedroom.

She was fussing at his outfit, straightening it and picking imaginary lint off the velvet before making him sit down on a chair in front of the dresser. She took a brush and took off his black beret to run it softly through his hair, obviously just to have something to do while they talked.

“Liefsteling, I think we should have a little chat before you and Antonio exchange rings.”

“Didn’t we talk about all I need to know already?” Austria frowned. He was unable to keep in all his pent-up frustration and around her, he wasn’t too scrupulous to show it. “You and Charles want to strengthen the unity of the empire, so I am to marry Spain. I understand that. I don’t like it and you know I don’t like Charles, but I can see your point that marriage is a useful device to strengthen the empire.” He huffed indignantly. Sometimes, it was annoying to be “a sensible lad”, as Charles had once dubbed him, but he knew too well how these things worked to waste his time on rebelling. She let him pour it all out with a patient smile.

Finally, he quieted down and added more demurely: “I just wish it wasn’t me, and I wish I didn’t have to marry another male personification. It seems … indecent.”

“I know, dear. It’s a bit … unorthodox.” Burgundy touched his arm and squeezed it in an attempt to comfort him. A smile played on her lips that already showed her intent to lighten Roderich’s mood. “Well, listen to you complaining! You get to marry Europe’s newcomer, a surprise uncovered from Al Andalus. A shiny, new, mysterious knight, a devout catholic, and dare I say … a fair countenance. I’m sure many of the ladies here envy you. But it seemed more important to strengthen relations between two important parts of the empire that are further away from each other, rather than between him and me.” She sighed wistfully, but a bit theatrically.

“Burgundy, if you talk like that I’d swear you want to wed him!” He feigned indignance. “I wish you were the one to marry him,” he added glumly. “And the ladies can have him, for all I care.”

“Now! To think you’d give me away that easily. I’d want my husband to be jealous and fight for me!” She then stopped the theatrics and, with a soft smile, put her arm around him, just like an older sister would do. “I am a little jealous to give you away … I’m going to miss our library talks.” Roderich’s smile softened and he touched her hand.

“There is another thing I must discuss…” She seemed to hesitate. “Remember our wedding night and what we left unfulfilled?”

“Ah.” Austria tensed. “So this is what we’re talking about.”

“It is indeed.” Burgundy paused. “We didn’t complete our union that night and while we did later, it did affect us. Charles and I believe it is vital to strengthen the union of Spain and Austria as much as possible, and for that…” Her arm around Austria tensed. He could feel the topic was uncomfortable for her.

“And for that, the marriage needs to be consummated,” Austria said flatly. “That doesn’t exactly come as a surprise, Léa.”

“Yes, but it’s not the only thing we discussed…”

Roderich now felt his cheeks redden “What? The insolence!” He sighed. “That imprudent man was actually discussing the technicalities of a coupling between two men with you? ”

“He only wants to ensure that the strength of the union…”

“Don’t defend him!” Austria snapped. Léa flinched.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a quieter tone. “It’s just that he has no idea how things actually work at my place. I don’t like how little interest he takes, and now he focuses on the anatomy of the personification rather than on the resources of the land…” He sighed. The duality of beings like them further complicated everything.

Spain and him were “mere manifestations of the political body shaping them”, Charles had told him not long ago. Manifestations of the body politic—not men. That meant the laws of the Church regarding marriages between humans didn’t apply to them. Archbishop Hermann of Cologne had agreed and had added that the biblical example for a country was to be the heavenly Jerusalem, which further expands itself to gain as much territory as possible and to help the spread of Christianity all over the world. To strengthen their holy empire like this was to behave exactly as the Bible dedicated.

“The fact that we’re human personifications really is convenient to the likes of him: Whether they consider us human or not ultimately depends on what’s more convenient to them. Two men couldn’t marry, but the human-shaped, but not human, personifications of Spain and Austria can. It doesn’t matter to him that our anatomy is exactly the same as that of two male human beings.”

“I know. I agree with you, I’ve seen kings and bishops use scripture as a justification rather than as a guide many times. As a woman, I have often felt what it was like to be an exception to the rule”, said Burgundy firmly, reminding him of her own position. “However, there’s another message those cowards have made me the messenger of” She stopped brushing his hair, seemingly looking for the right words.

“Yes?” Austria waited. He had no intention to help her with this.

“The king and bishop believe that because this is already infringing on normal matrimony, everything else should mimic a normal marriage as closely as possible.” She interrupted herself, She looked at Austria as if she was hoping that he would understand it. He did but he was going to have her say it.

“Well, you know. Have the position of the wife be taken by the—by the—more gallant one of the two.” Even her silver tongue couldn’t phrase this more delicately.

Austria was speechless. Charles—this morally rigid, exceedingly religious person—not only insisted two men marry for political reasons, as an unpleasant but ultimately bearable formality. No, he had also insisted these two men actually consummate their marriage and had elaborate thoughts on the mechanics of it. Austria was seriously tempted to rush off, grab Charles by the ruff and give him a piece of his mind. Including the rhetorical question what he thought their private parts looked like.

Burgundy saw the face he was making and spat out the rest. “And only the accepted position, all else is fornication. So you’re to lay on your back.” She let out a small whimper and looked faint. Austria realized that he shouldn’t direct his anger at her. She had always been his friend.

“Cowards, the both of them. In treating you as a country, they are indeed forgetting you’re a lady. Your nature is far too delicate for such crass messages.” He stood up and took her hands gently. He didn’t want to fight with her.

She embraced him, held him for a moment and then stepped back.

“I have something for you.” She opened a chest with a key from her belt and produced a box. “Open it, I’d like for you to wear it today.” Roderich did so and found an ornate golden chain with the Golden Fleece in it.

“Your order…” Roderich smiled at her.

“When you united with me, you obtained the right to be a part of the Order of the Golden Fleece. When you’re out there, I’m with you.” Roderich felt a tightness around his chest as he recognised the curls on top of the ram shaping the letter B for Burgundy.

He wasn’t in this alone.

She placed the chain around his neck with an air of ceremony and made sure it lay evenly over his shoulders. She smiled at him and kissed his forehead, after which she traced the sign of the cross on it with her finger. After the tender gesture, she rather forcefully put the beret back on his head and chuckled. “There, you’re ready!”

Oh, he wasn’t ready. Far from it, but it was happening now.

---

The procession departed from the house he shared with Burgundy in Aachen. Usually, the bride was led to the house of her new husband, but Spain did not have a house there. Out of convenience, they were using the cathedral, which had already been prepared for the coronation of Charles V, and the city hall for the festivities after that. In the procession, all the nuptial gifts Austria had received were carried along and displayed. Some of them were made of strange, exotic-looking gold brought from the new world that gleamed ostentatiously in the afternoon sun. Roderich could feel the presence of Spain through everything surrounding him. Even the new coat had been paid for by him.

The marriage itself was overwhelming in terms of pompously clad courtiers and country personifications, but rather underwhelming in terms of anything else. Roderich’s feelings were a mixture of nervousness because so many people watched him and carefully veiled anger at being one of the two pawns in Charles’s and Burgundy’s political plans.

The truly annoying thing was that he saw the logic behind their actions. He just didn’t like how they affected him.

They were met by the second procession coming from the opposite direction with Spain at its centre. Roderich sought out his eyes, but he was still mostly obscured by the crowd. Both processions reached the cathedral and filled the front part of the space. The nave and choir were reserved for mass, after all, and weddings were worldly affairs. So, leaving the late Gothic choir unoccupied, everyone gathered in the octagonal Palatine Chapel at the very front of the church, leaving the centre open for the couple and the priest.

Roderich’s eyes had to adjust to the relative darkness of the church in contrast with the bright afternoon outside. Two young boys were made to hold long torches over Spain’s and his head and above them, a plethora of little candles were lit in the giant octagonal candelabra. For a moment, he was captivated by the little lights and a realisation dawned upon him: The small structures on the chandelier represented gates. It was a direct depiction of Heavenly Jerusalem. The architecture mimicked the octagonal shape of the chandelier and thus that of Jerusalem as well. The words of the archbishop about the biblical duties of a country echoed through his head. He realized that his duty was literally hanging over his head.

As his gaze war already turned upwards, he saw that the upper gallery was filling with people as well, all of them waiting while a small shadow was passing in front of them. The figure walking around the upper gallery barely reached over the coiled cast-iron balustrades when he finally halted and stepped into the light. The Holy Roman Empire wore the Imperial Regalia and made a gesture of blessing. He was their witness, as it was his empire they were fortifying. The ancient child climbed onto the bare marble throne that had once belonged to their forefather in order to oversee the wedding. Roderich would have laughed at the image of Karl der Kleine playing at being Karl der Große, had he not felt a chill run down his spine at the image of Karl on his throne. Among everyone here, he was the one that belonged there. His spirit had been there when these walls had been built and through his presence, through his breath, the spirit of history slowly filled the space.

When the priest asked them to say their vows, Austria obliged, speaking flatly and without emotion. Spain’s intonation was much livelier, but from what little he had learned about the other country in the past months, that was the way they were: One who usually remained calm unless you crossed him one too many times; and another who seemed to be ever vigorous.

The priest produced a small dish on which Spain put a piece of gold, a piece of silver and a ring.

Roderich extended his hand meekly for Antonio to put on the ring, but then noticed something. The ring was of a German type. He wondered if this was Spain being thoughtful or him purchasing one at the last minute. Spain held up the ring and clicked it open to be two separate rings. To Roderich’s surprise, they were gimmel rings …

Spain explained in a hushed voice: “Because we are both men, I felt I couldn’t just put a ring on you. We should both wear one. I liked these because of what they say.” He was referring to the words around the band, which he read out in horribly accented German: was Gott zusammen fueget soll der Mensch nicht schneiden. They were a purplish ruby and an emerald. Antonio carefully put the half with the emerald on Roderich’s left ring finger and then handed him the ruby to do the same. This was thoughtful of Antonio—had he come up with this himself or was this the council of Karl advising him? Austria was very aware of the new weight around his finger and his resolve to remain cold started to waver.

When the priest asked them to kiss, Austria’s first impulse was to do it as unemotionally as he had made his vows. Then his eyes caught the pleading look in Spain’s, and his resolve faltered.

Spain was a pawn as well. He didn’t deserve Austria’s coldness. If anyone, it was Charles who deserved coldness.

They settled for a chaste but tender kiss. There was relief in Spain’s eyes when they separated, and Austria was glad his softer side had got the best of him.

They didn’t deserve to be pawns.

They were in this together.

They were then taken to the altar to kneel and be blessed. Austria stole a glance to Spain halfway who had his eyes shut tightly and was fervently praying. Thoughts were drowning out Roderich’s own prayers as well as the words of the priest. Worries about everything—about whether God could really approve of their union, about how his life was going to change after this, even about the impending consummation. They all seemed to lump together in an all-encompassing buzzing noise in his head.

He barely registered the “Amen”.

Then they were hoisted back on their feet and, with much loud music and cheering, led out of the church for another procession to the city hall that had been readied for further festivities. For a moment, Roderich stood there like a deer facing a hunter. Then, almost as if it was the most natural thing ever, Spain took his hand and pulled him into the cacophony of the crowd, but the act did make Austria’s thoughts quieten down.

Remember, Austria thought to himself.

They were in this together.

---

“Austria.”

Austria turned to the speaker. He had recognised her voice instantly.

Augsburg bowed, albeit not very low. She was an imperial city, much smaller than him in terms of her land and yet so much wealthier.

“Augsburg.” Austria bowed on his part, anxious not to incline his head lower than she had. He could at least keep up appearances, if nothing else.

It was her who took his hand for the basse danse—almost imperceptible, but the transgression was there. She swept her eyes over the people that had gathered inside Aachen’s town hall: Most of them were members of the high nobility and imperial estates who wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to show themselves for Charles’s crowning and the establishment of the Austro-Spanish union alike. There were guests from other kingdoms, too, moving in the slow and elegant sequence of steps so characteristic for this dance. Not all of those people had come to Austria and Spain’s wedding ceremony itself.

It makes them uncomfortable, Austria thought. But who was he to complain? It made him uncomfortable, too.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Augsburg said with the attitude of a self-satisfied host. “Don’t you think the banquet was quite decent, too?”

Hand movements, steps, hand movements—they all came naturally to Austria. He didn’t need to think with his brain when he danced. His feet had memorised the steps, going through the motions without his conscious thought.

“One could almost think it was your marriage,” Austria replied in the politest tone he could muster.

Stop it, Aunt Augusta, this isn’t your marriage.

Augsburg understood him very well. She pulled them aside before they were to change partners, giving him her piece of mind. Someone like Augusta didn’t even need to raise her eyebrow. One look was enough.

“Oh, I much prefer to be the merchant who pays for all of this,” she said bluntly. “I pay; you do my bidding. That’s how things work these days, dearie. It’s the same for your Charles and my Jakob Fugger.”

He’s not my Charles. Austria bit down on his lips. It would have been unwise to wear his heart on his sleeve in front of her. You never knew what she might do with a delicate piece of information such as this. How she might profit from it. For this seemed to be what the world of merchants was all about: Profit; personal gain.

“You’ve become cold,” he said eventually. The irony wasn’t lost on him: Augsburg seemed cold because she focused on monetary gain; Charles seemed cold because he focused on political gain; and Austria acted cold because he did what needed to be done.

Still, marrying someone he barely knew felt daunting. So did the uncertainty of how other people thought about his marriage: Did they perceive it the way Charles had presented it to everyone—as a political union only? Were they secretly disgusted because both personifications who had exchanged vows inhabited male human bodies? Did they expect them to consummate their marriage?

“I’m not cold, dearie,” Augsburg interrupted his train of thoughts. Her voice was warmer and darker now; a tone he remembered from his childhood. “I’m only trying to achieve the best for my people, as we all do—or should be doing, at the very least.”

That was undoubtedly true. It was the truth at the very core of all country personifications: You are the land—or, in Augsburg’s case, the city. Do what is best for the land and those who call it their home.

You could go against that, but not for very long. It drove you insane. There had been examples of that, too…

Swabia had told him to be the land, time and time again. When she had vanished, everybody had thought her dead. Then she had returned, telling everyone she would always be there as long as there was one soul who remembered her name and called themselves Swabian. Histrionics, they had thought, and yet…

Perhaps there was some grain of truth in it. Perhaps the key was to believe in it yourself.

“You look far too serious, darling,” Augsburg said into his thoughts. “Cheer up, it’s your wedding day!” She patted his cheek in an almost motherly gesture. “It’s all new to you now, but you’ll get used to being his husband.”

“Will I?” he said flatly. His anger was still there, bubbling under the surface. “Will I ever?”

She ignored his despondent answer and studied Spain from across the room before leaning in with a conspiratory grin. “So, what do you think: Is he or isn’t he?”

Austria was confused. “Is he what?”

She answered as if she was discussing the latest court scandal. “Moorish, of course! He spent so much time under Muslim occupation. Perhaps he obtained some Moorish blood or strange habits! Hmm, his skin is pale, but his curls are dark! If he’d grow a beard, he’d look the part.”

She had achieved her aim. Roderich had been fighting the Ottoman Turks at his eastern border for a while now, and he was thoroughly scandalized.

“I sure hope you’re joking!”

“Oh, well, it doesn’t matter, as long as he has no more Muslim tendencies. Take a piece of advice from someone who’s been around for one and a half millennia,” she told him, glancing meaningfully at Spain’s back once she had spotted him among the dancers. “You could have had it worse. At least he’s handsome.”

“He plays the vihuela.” Austria hadn’t even intended to give her this piece of information; it had simply slipped out.

“Does he?” Now Augsburg did raise an eyebrow. “That’s even better. I may know less than you about arranged marriages between rulers unless we’re only talking about ceremonies, but I believe it’s always useful to have some common ground.” She glanced at Spain again. “And like I said, he’s nicely shaped.” Her hands made curving motions, forming two semicircles.

“What?” Austria looked at her in puzzlement.

It took a few seconds until the penny dropped.

“Augusta!” Austria hissed, blushing furiously. “How very indecent!”

“You’re the one who’s going to see it without all those layers of clothing,” Augsburg deadpanned. “Most likely, in any case.” She shrugged. “Unless Charles told you not to make inquiries in that direction. But if I were you, I’d still try to squeeze it, no matter what Charles says. I feel tempted to do it even now.”

“Please don’t!” Austria felt very hot all of a sudden. Until now, he had pushed thoughts about the technical side of consummating a marriage out of his mind. Trust Augusta not to let me get away with it. Augsburg’s words planted mental images in his head that he really didn’t want to think about just now.

“Hmm...” Augsburg threw a calculating glance in Spain’s general direction. “No, I won’t squeeze it. But tempted I am.”

They joined the basse danse again. At some point, Spain gave a little yelp, looking around himself in puzzlement. Austria was entirely unsurprised to spot Augusta quite close to him, looking just as surprised about the sound as anyone else.

Austria sighed.

She was a good actor, he had to give her that.

---

“Roderich!”

Third time’s the charm, Roderich thought, turning toward the person who had uttered his name in a mixture between a hiss and a rough whisper.

Swabia took him by the arm—not a very comfortable experience from an old warrior with an iron grip. Austria winced.

“Sorry,” Swabia said casually, not sounding sorry at all. Austria inwardly rolled his eyes. Why was half his family like this?

She dragged him in a corner suitably far away from spying eyes and ears. Only then she released her grip. Austria rubbed his protesting upper arm.

“Listen to me, boy,” she said urgently. Her voice was dark, almost masculine. When Austria had been little, he had thought she was a man, and she had done nothing to discourage that notion. Then the Duchy of Swabia had been no more, and for all people knew, she had vanished from the face of the Earth. It was only when she had reappeared a few decades ago, from Heaven knew where, that she had been open about being a woman.

“What is it, Hilde?” He couldn’t help it; he sounded unnerved.

“I do realise that everyone wants you to do or be something for them today,” Swabia said gruffly, “but that is precisely the reason why we need to talk. What do you know about bedding ceremonies?”

“Oh no,” Austria groaned. “They wouldn’t, would they.” His tone was too flat to count as a question. They would, he knew that. Or at least certain people would.

“I discouraged them from actually witnessing the consummation,” Swabia said in the tone of the long-suffering. “But Burgundy will guide Spain and I will guide you to your chamber.”

Austria smacked his head against the nearest wall. He did it with caution, so as not to accidentally hurt himself, but the message was clear. As soon as he leaned back, Swabia patted his back not very gently. He suspected it would take several minutes until it recovered from this onslaught.

“We’re going to leave as soon as we’ve finished escorting you,” she reassured him. “I, for my part, have no intention whatsoever to watch the actual consummation, whether it actually takes place or not.” Her voice sounded affronted at the mere suggestion, one clear indication, Austria thought, that someone had indeed suggested she stay and watch.

“But others might have fewer qualms,” Austria said. Swabia had always appreciated straightforwardness, a no-bullshit attitude and, last but not least, people who thought for themselves. That was one thing that hadn’t changed between before and after.

“Precisely,” she said darkly. “Don’t look at him, but you know who I mean.”

Bavaria, thought Austria. Out loud, he said: “He has always been a bully.”

“He has been a bully towards you from the very moment Redbeard and I decided to make you a duchy independent from him,” Swabia specified. “Which, even though it is all water under the bridge now, it is a major reason why I feel responsible to protect you from him in a moment when you will be vulnerable.”

Austria’s heart softened. Thinking back, she had always had an impressive ability to put herself in other people’s shoes—oh well, nothing special there; think like the enemy was one of the first things Bavaria himself had taught him. But Swabia had always had a motherly streak towards him, Austria—and that made all the difference, even though he hadn’t realised it when he was little.

“In any case,” Swabia swiftly returned to the matters at hand, “Bavaria will probably try to sneak up on you. If you don’t want that—and I’m sure you don’t—I urgently advise you not to start anything until he has made the attempt. I don’t know, sing some merry songs instead. Play a nice board game with your husband, for all I care. But see to it that there will be nothing for Bavaria to see. Alright?”

“Alright,” said Austria, “but how can I be sure that he won’t come back for another attempt?”

“I will see to that,” Swabia said gloomily. Austria had to pull himself together so as not to take an involuntary step back. She could be menacing when she set her mind to it.

An old warrior, they said. Better with the sword than with the head. But that wasn’t true; Austria knew it wasn’t. In order to be as good with the sword as her, you had to be a quick thinker, too. The difference was that she was no schemer at all—nothing like Augusta. But she was no schemer because she had an aversion to scheming, not because she was fundamentally unable to think in such a way.

“Thank you.” He gave her a genuine smile. She smiled back, in her own firm and earnest way, insofar as you could smile earnestly.

“You will remain in the corridor?” he asked.

“Don’t worry, I will keep my distance.”

“I did not worry. In fact, I’m glad it will be you who stays there.”

---

As the festivities progressed, Swabia came over once again—this time for everyone to be seen—took Austria gently by the hand—the hand, not the arm—and guided him away. He did not see Burgundy approach Spain, but they arrived in front of Spain and his chamber at the same time.

“Have fun, boys!” Burgundy said with a cat-like smile before she left them alone.

Swabia exchanged a meaningful glance with Austria. Then she nodded at them both and went away. Her footsteps echoed in the corridor—still a soldier’s steps despite the elegant dress she was wearing.

“Who is she?” whispered Spain in Italian as soon as the footsteps had died away.

“Swabia.” My guardian angel, he thought. And she is still here.

“The one who—” Spain craned his neck as if he could catch another glimpse of her that way.

“Who what?” Austria pretended not to know what Spain was asking about.

“Who spent her time in that mountain—you know, the same that Emperor Frederick II went to?”

“The Kyffhäuser, you mean,” Austria said.

“And said she had returned because it was a time of need for her children?” Spain continued, still craning his neck to see what was not to be seen anymore.

Oh dear, my husband is naïve. Roderich sighed.

“For all I know, Frederick II died in Castel Fiorentino in 1250,” he said drily. “For all I know, she has never been gone. Probably kept her head down because her children wanted so many different things. But as soon as aforesaid children think it best to unite, she’s there again, as head of their league. Head of the Swabian Circle now, too.”

“I hear grudging respect,” said Spain.

“At some point when I was little, I used to look up to her,” Austria explained. “She was the leading power of the empire back then. I wanted to be like her. Wanted to earn the empire’s crown.”

“So you did.”

“So I did,” Austria repeated sourly. “And look what good it is doing me. I’m nothing but a pawn in a game too big for me to play. She has never been a pawn.”

“Oh no,” Spain said earnestly. “She has always been a knight.” He paused. “So are you. And so am I.”

There was a small silence before Spain opened the door.

“Shall we go in?”

The room was pleasant and warm. Roderich noticed he’d been gifted a marriage chest. He had no time to look at it, though. Instead, he was looking for the right words to say.

For the first time after their wedding ceremony, Austria looked directly into his husband’s eyes. Play a nice board game with your husband, for all I care.

Then, to his dismay, Spain stepped closer to him and leaned in, inclining his head for a kiss.

“No! Wait.” Roderich’s voice came out more shrill than he had intended. He stepped back and tried to compose himself.

“May I challenge you to a game of chess?”

Shock and hurt manifested in Spain’s eyes. Austria could read him like an open book.

Oh. So this is important to you, Austria thought. Who would have thought.

“But…” Spain whimpered.

“I do not intend to eschew my marital duties,” Austria reassured him in his most formal tone. “I do, however, intend to postpone them for some more minutes or, as it may be, hours.”

Spain looked at him in confusion.

“You will see why.”

Spain thought about that.

“Chess it is, then,” he decided in the end.

They had barely lit all the candles in the room, taken off their shoes and laid out the chessboard in the middle of their four-poster when a long-haired blonde barged into their chamber.

“Austria!” he barked.

“You know, Saxony, there is such a thing as a door,” Austria said gently, placing his first pawn to e4 on the board. “The concept might seem novel to you, but it is for knocking.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit!” The blond man’s blue eyes bored into Austria’s purple ones. “I’m here to warn you! Your brother wants to be an asshole once again and spy on you…”

“Spy on me playing chess with my husband?” Austria asked sweetly.

Saxony visibly deflated.

“I should have expected you to know.”

“No harm done. But, Saxony—” Austria paused.

“Yes?”

“Next time you intend to warn someone of potential bedding ceremonies, do knock before you barge in. You might, you know … cause the exact thing you aim to prevent.”

“Sorry, Austria.” Saxony hung his head.

“Chin up,” Austria said jovially. “Like I said, no harm done.”

There was silence after Saxony had trudged out of the room.

“So this is why you suggested a game of chess,” Spain said eventually, moving one of his own pawns to e5.

“Exactly.” In a split-second decision, Austria moved a second pawn to f4. Spain whistled.

“Classic! Did you read Francesch Vicent’s book on chess?”

Austria gave him his best enigmatic smile.

---

They hadn’t played for long when the door clicked open one more time, and Augsburg put her head inside.

“Chess?” she asked in disapproval. “How boring!”

“It is a very interesting game!” insisted Spain.

Augsburg pouted.

“Your butt is far more interesting to me, young man. One should have thought seeing it was included in the price I paid for this wedding, but this seems not to be so. Good evening, gentlemen.”

With that, her head vanished, and the door clicked shut. Spain stared after her, open-mouthed.

“What was that?”

“The question is: Who was that, dear Antonio,” said Austria patiently. “The answer is: Meet Aunt Augusta, the moneybag who pays for everything you have seen so far, except for the fixed interior of this building. Then again, you have already met her or, rather, met her thumb and forefinger when she pinched your behind earlier this evening.”

“That was her?” Spain stared at the door.

“I’m afraid so.”

With that, Austria returned his focus to the game.

---

“Do you really think this is appropriate—”

Everyone was surprised when they first heard the child’s voice that sounded so very old. Austria’s first thought now was bafflement.

“Let me down!” the voice clamoured. “Let me down this instant! I don’t want—”

Then their camber door was kicked open with a bang, revealing Bavaria with a struggling Holy Roman Empire in one of his arms.

Something within Austria’s mind clicked. He stalked towards Bavaria in his stockings, putting his hands on his hips.

“What do you even think you’re doing?” he hissed. White-hot anger coursed through his veins.

“Roderich!” Bavaria said in what he had clearly attempted to be a jovial tone. It slipped. “We just…”

“We?” hissed Austria. “We?” His voice rose. “You dragged little Karl here against his will and you have the nerve to suggest he was in any way involved in the idea of seeing his guardian in a compromising situation?” Austria was still growing and only wore socks, but somehow, he managed to tower over Bavaria regardless.

“Erm…” Bavaria did one sensible thing and put Holy Rome to the ground. Austria grabbed him by the collar, still seething with anger.

“Roderich?” the young, old voice said calmly. “Theodor?”

Both countries looked at him.

“I think we should all calm down now, and then Theodor and I will return to the festivities. Is that not a good idea, Theodor?”

“Yes,” Bavaria said glumly. Then Holy Rome took his hand and guided him away. Austria closed the door after them—with deliberate care. Antagonising Karl was never a good idea. It made you seem childish.

“Alright.” Austria let out a long sigh. “After this, I think they will leave us alone at last.”

Then he saw the look in Spain’s eyes. There was a flicker of reverence in them as well as a distinct spark of—interest? Austria’s stomach did a tiny flip.

“So…” Spain was brushing his hand alongside the nape of his neck; a clear, if somewhat clumsy, sign of nervousness.

“So.” Austria was nervous, too. He tried not to show it; tied to muster the stoic bravery he always associated with Swabia.

“I rather think there will be no more disturbances now, and … I think we both know what is expected of us.” Damn. He was sure Swabia’s voice would not have been quavering.

“Have you ever done this before? I mean, with…” He didn’t know how to continue the sentence. With another man? But were they men? They weren’t human beings; that he was sure of. But their bodies were built like those of two male human beings, and the fact that the church itself had made it official today that human law did not apply to them… To him, it seemed like cheating. It appeared that kings and popes would always decide what they were on the basis of what was most convenient to them.

He looked on the chessboard. Were they pawns in this game of kings?

Spain followed his gaze. He picked up the chessboard from the bed and placed it carefully on the floor.

“You’re thinking too much.” Even Spain’s voice was gentle.

“I always do.” Austria looked away, on the cushions of the large four-poster. So, he thought once more. This was when…

“Will you let me guide you?” Spain said in the same quiet voice he had used before. “Because I actually have done this before.”

“You?” Austria’s head whipped up. He stared at Spain incredulously. “I thought…” He didn’t know how to continue. “Religion…”

For a split second, Spain appeared to be flustered but then answered with an aloofness that seemed almost like he was overcompensating:

“I know what the authorities say on the matter, and in the beginning, I was confused, too. But … it’s not really all that different, you know.” He shrugged. “I’m not a theologian, so I might miss a few points, but if the bishop approves of it, I can’t find fault with it either. Especially when it’s about our kind, who don’t have children the human way anyway.”

“Hm.” Austria thought. “That seems to be the main point, doesn’t it?”

Spain didn’t reply. Austria didn’t know if Spain really thought what he suspected—what he would have thought in Spain’s stead, in any case: Think like that if it makes you feel better about it.

He would try to, anyway.

“What do I need to do?”

“Stop looking like you’re going to face down an enemy, for starters.” Spain smiled as he was inching closer to him.

“I’m trying to.” Austria relaxed his features. Perhaps thinking How would Swabia handle this? wasn’t a good approach in every situation.

“First of all, I’m going to kiss you,” Spain declared. There was an edge to his voice Austria couldn’t quite place. “Then … just follow my lead. And push me away if you want me to stop, okay?”

Austria nodded.

Then a gentle, calloused hand cupped his chin and warm, slightly chapped lips captured his lower lip.

This really was no different to being with a woman, Austria thought involuntarily. At least so far.

He opened his mouth to let Spain in when his tongue demanded it. Spain was a good kisser, at the least; Austria had to give him that. He made an involuntary, small sound at the back of his throat and could feel Spain smile against his lips before he started to kiss Austria’s cheek.

“That is a fine coat you’re wearing but it’s in my way.” Spain deftly pushed the fur-lined coat down Austria’s shoulders and let it fall to the floor with a heavy thud. He kissed down Austria’s neck where the wide necked undershirt left him ample room for kisses. While kissing he got at the laces and points that held Austria’s doublet closed down his side and carefully started undoing them.

Austria’s hands were much more clumsy as he tried to open Spain’s belt that held his sayo gathered at the waist. It was an action dangerously close to the codpiece that peeked from between Spain’s skirts. The kissing had made him light-headed; he refused to accept thinking of himself as aroused yet.

Spain was progressing rapidly and now moved to the laces that tied his doublet to his hoses, it wouldn’t be long or he’d be in his shirt. Austria believed it his duty to do the same, but it was hard to think with Spain’s lips and hair touching his skin, and he had to get Spain to remove his coat and say first before he could get at any laces himself…

Spain sat back and laughed.

“We should have changed into our nightshirts before we started this, shouldn’t we?”

“Probably,” Austria said breathlessly. His mouth twitched upwards, too. “I always underestimate the time it takes to change out of ceremonial clothing.”

Spain flashed back a grin.

“Especially when you’re dead tired after some tedious reception, isn’t it?” He chucked off his own heavy coat and then pulled off the sayo over his head, leaving him in just his jubón and very short breeches and stockings, a state of undress that was already quite scandalous. Austria watched him before he realised that now would be a good time to start unfastening what Spain hadn’t unfastened yet. He took off his doublet and was left in just his undershirt and his breeches.

There was just one problem: The moment he untied the codpiece that was closing his breeches, Spain would see that… Well, that the kissing hadn’t quite left Austria unaffected. And wasn’t that too early…

Meanwhile, Spain had loosened his jubón from the shorts and undid just as many laces as needed to hastily pull it off. He accidentally pulled his linen undershirt along and got a bit stuck. With a little determination he had freed himself and stretched, his upper body was now completely bare. Austria stared. Where he was soft and a little skinny, Spain’s body was covered in hard planes of muscle. He suddenly felt self-conscious about his own body.

Then, Spain pulled loose his garter bands and loosened his codpiece and pushed down everything he wore on the lower half of his body. It was tight so he had to work it down a bit before being able to pull it off. The man was stark naked now. Without conscious thought, Austria’s eyes were drawn to his half-hard cock.

“But you didn’t even…” Austria had no idea how he wanted to finish this sentence.

“It’s basically been like this since we entered the bedroom,” Spain admitted frankly. “But it got a little harder when you put your brother in his place.”

“But … why?” That probably ranked pretty high on a list of most stupid questions ever uttered, Austria realised, so he clarified: “I mean … it’s not as if we had much of a choice…”

“Simple,” Spain said. “You look good. You’re graceful when you dance, among other things. I knew kissing you would feel good, too, and it does.”

“You’re the one who looks good.” Austria knew he was simply stating a fact. “I, on the other hand…” He pulled his wide linen shirt, over his head, leaving himself shirtless. He was trying not to think too much about how he looked.

Then he caught Spain’s stare.

He blinked.

“You know the saying,” murmured Spain, walking over to Austria’s side of the bed. “Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.” He raked his eyes over Austria’s, as Austria thought himself, rather scrawny chest. Spain’s broad, warm hands followed, and that did feel good…

Then Spain had managed to untie Austria’s knee breeches. He pulled them down.

“Oh.” Spain stared at Austria’s cock—a rather unbecoming thing, Austria thought; pale with some angry red at the tip.

“And here I was actually worried your body might not react, no matter what I do.”

Was that before or after you kissed me breathless? Austria wanted to quip, but then Spain was on his knees and—alright, that was something he had experienced before too, but Spain had swallowed him whole, and…

He cried out and swore in German, in words he would otherwise have denied he even knew. So much for keeping this to ‘the approved position’ Burgundy had demanded of him this was definitely fornication. He liked that idea, yes there were so many things he had to comply with about this marriage. But there were parts of it that no one could control except for the two of them, no matter how much others might want to.

Spain pushed him on the bed, getting rid of Austria’s breeches and socks while he was at it, never stopping with his mouth…

Rational thought escaped Austria, and that was probably just as fine because he wasn’t keen on evaluating the sounds he made anyway.

Then one of Spain’s hands held down his hips. Cold air hit his cock as Spain sat on his knees, raking his eyes over Austria while he was stroking himself.

Austria stared. He hadn’t felt so aroused in a long time.

“Want to touch me?” Spain asked. Austria nodded. He ran his hands over the muscles on Spain’s chest before he let one hand dip down into Spain’s soft flank. His other hand wrapped around Spain’s cock.

It was a new sensation to hold a cock that wasn’t his own, but Austria knew how he liked to be touched … if he twisted his hand just like this … Spain’s hips bucked under his hands.

“Okay, okay, you’re making me come!” Spain pushed his hand off. “Not yet.”

Oh yes… So far, it had been easy. But that had just been Spain’s way of making the whole thing more bearable, hadn’t it?

Austria rolled on his stomach. Better get it over with…

Broad hands started to knead his … backside, for want of a more becoming term. He felt a puff of air between his cheeks, and then…

He didn’t know if he had bucked or flinched. In any case, he hadn’t been prepared for Spain’s tongue … there.

At first, the sensations were just confusing. Then Spain’s tongue started to work him for real, darting in and out and caressing his inner walls. He started to pant again.

“Hmm…” Spain hummed against his arse. Austria’s hips bucked out of their own volition. “And I didn’t even need to tell you to relax.” The puffs of air against his hole made him buck his hips again.

“That’s good,” Spain continued. “I’m going to work you open now,” he explained. “That might get a bit uncomfortable. You need to tell me if it gets too much, alright?”

“Yes,” said Austria. It was hard to think through his arousal, but he had understood. On the other hand, he had no intention whatsoever to tell Spain that anything was too much. Grit your teeth…

Spain leaned away from him, taking something from his clothes. Austria looked after him.

“Olive oil,” Spain explained as he opened the jar. “The very best.”

Then Spain started, using his tongue and an oil-coated finger to stretch Austria from the inside… It didn’t feel good, but it was also not the horrible feeling Austria had expected: A mixture of pleasure—yes, it was still there—and the uncomfortable sensation of being stretched in a place that hadn’t been made for stretching all that much. Austria’s hips still bucked when Spain inserted two oily fingers and his tongue, moving them in and out, but his moans were now half pain, half pleasure.

“I think you’re ready,” Spain said eventually.

Am I? thought Austria. He wasn’t ready at all; not mentally, at the least.

Something warm and spongy that had also been coated in oil nudged his arse, and then he had to bite his lips hard not to cry out in pain because that was definitely bigger than…

“Oh, shit,” Spain swore. A number of Spanish expletives followed as he rolled them both to the side, arms flailing. At least it distracted Austria from the unpleasant feeling.

“What…?” he started to ask.

“Damn. Sorry. I almost lost control… Did I hurt you?”

“Not much,” Austria said, more or less truthfully. “Is there something I can do to help?”

“I’d better … hold my legs still. Can you, uh, move against me?”

Austria understood immediately. He tugged one of Spain’s arms across his chest.

“Alright. Hold me.”

Spain did, muscles quivering from the effort not to move while Austria pushed his ass against him again and again, panting in the effort of moving.

“This doesn’t work,” he concluded. “On your back.”

Spain did as he was told. Austria took the jar from Spain’s hand, rubbing more oil on his dick and between his ass cheeks. Then he sat on him, face to his legs because Spain really didn’t need to see the grimace he pulled. He gave himself no time to think about the fact that suddenly it seemed to be him, not Spain, who controlled the situation. Instead, he used his weight to push Spain’s dick inside of him in slow thrusts that strained his leg muscles

When he was almost inside, Spain’s hips jerked upward, knocking the wind out of Austria’s lungs.

“You can turn me around now,” Austria panted as soon as he was sure his voice wouldn’t come out an octave too high. Spain did so, trying to hold his dick inside of Austria as it was. It wasn’t really possible because Austria could feel every little movement, and it wasn’t a pleasant sensation at all.

In the end, they were on their sides again, Spain’s arm once again slung across Austria’s chest.

“You’re so tight,” Spain panted. “Too tight. Can you try to relax?”

Austria did his best. He thought about Spain’s hands on him; the moment he had touched Spain; Spain’s lips around him… That had felt good.

“Better,” Spain grunted. He rocked his hips, keeping Austria in place with his arm.

It actually was better. The stretch was still unpleasant, but the oil did its job quite nicely now, and the pace Spain set suited Austria well: Not too fast, but not too slow either; not too hard and not too soft. He felt his cock that had become softer in the past minutes harden once again.

Then Spain’s hand brushed down Austria’s chest, gripped his cock, and—oh, that was more like it.

Spain’s mouth started to pepper kisses on his neck. Austria understood what he wanted, turning his head until Spain could kiss him. The kiss was open-mouthed and clumsy. Spain moaned into it as his hips moved harder and faster. At last, Austria’s hips started to jerk out of their own volition, torn between the thrusts from behind, the hand around his cock and the tongue in his mouth.

Suddenly, Spain brushed something inside of him that sent a shock of arousal through him. He cried out. Spain’s hand that had only held his cock before twisted up and down. Before Austria had registered what was happening, sticky wetness hit his stomach. Then Spain brushed the same spot as before, and another spurt of come followed the first.

Spain pumped Austria’s cock in a frenzy while his hips jerked up fast and erratically. Spots started to dance before Austria’s eyes. Then Spain’s hips stilled, and Austria felt hot fluid inside of him.

So this was penetrative sex between men, Austria thought with the part of his brain that never seemed to shut off. He pumped air between his lungs in long gasps until the spots in front of his eyes vanished.

The next things he registered were how sensitive the skin on his thighs felt—again, something that was not entirely new—and that he felt unable to move his legs even an inch.

“Austria?” Spain asked in a small voice.

“Hmm?” He couldn’t bring himself to say more.

“Are you … I mean, did I hurt you?” Spain sounded worried.

You mean, when didn’t you hurt me, a malicious part of Austria wanted to quip. He reined it in and settled for the truth.

“It stung when you spread me and it did hurt in the beginning,” he admitted. “But I don’t mind that you were chasing your own release at the end, which is what I think you are referring to.”

“I’m sorry.” Spain sounded sincere. “It gets easier if you do it more often.” There was an unspoken question in that statement, but Austria chose to ignore it for the time being. He had done his duty—the marriage had been consummated—but he didn’t know yet what he wanted for the future.

“Still,” Spain said. Austria felt the bed dip as he stood. He heard him move, but couldn’t bring himself to lift his head. “It was your first time. I should have been gentler.” Spain’s upper body entered Austria’s field of vision, holding a wet piece of cloth. “Allow me to clean you up, too?”

“Please.” Austria realised his own switch back to a formal tone. It seemed to have an effect on Spain: The way he cleaned him up was meticulous and efficient. Austria noted he had warmed the piece of cloth with his body—an act of care he appreciated.

“Tell me,” Austria asked, “if we hadn’t been ordered to consummate our marriage properly, would you have done all you did tonight?”

“No,” Spain answered at once. “I wanted you to enjoy it. I’d probably have stroked us off together, and that’s it. And you can keep caressing each other while you do that…” His voice trailed off. “Look, I think you’re clever and brave and beautiful, and I want to touch you. I’d want it if we weren’t married. But I’m worried I thwarted my own chances before I had any because we were doing what others expected of us.”

“Don’t be cross with me, but I believe I’m unable to think about that just now.” Austria only realised how true this was as he said it: He was exhausted; his legs felt like jelly; and he needed a good night’s sleep anyway after the dances, the chess match and Swabia’s and his own valiant efforts to thwart all spectators.

“Don’t misunderstand me,” he hurried to say as he saw the disappointment on Spain’s face. “If I say I need to think about it, I don’t mean no. I mean that I need to think about it, but I’m about to fall asleep. So … come to bed with me?”

Spain nodded. Then he doused the candles and went to bed, putting the blankets over them both as well as he could. Austria made a point of taking Spain’s hand.

It had been a long day, and he really needed to think. He also needed his legs to work again, but he assumed that problem would have solved itself by tomorrow.

#hetalia #hetabang 2020 #spaus #aph spain #aph austria #historical hetalia #aph belgium #aph bavaria #aph holy roman empire #aph saxony #hws spain #hws austria #hetalia fanfiction #aph fanfiction #aph #fanfiction #my fanfiction #katemarley #there be citrus fruit

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decodamalion · 3 years

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OC-tober Day 28: Treat

Thanks to @oc-growth-and-development for the peompts!

@bamboozled-boi, have an adorable little AU suggestion with you and Kaylum taking care of the rest of the gang as 6 year olds on Halloween XD.

Characters from: Malion Series on Wattpad

The following prompt challenge containing characters from the Malion Series is not a part of the canon and is safe to read.

Treat

"Mister Laidon, can we pleeeasse go Trick or Treating? I wanna get candy!" She asked, staring at me with wide green puppy-eyes. Alex ran up, the black sheet that she had ripped up hanging around her shoulders.

"Yeah, can we? Can we? I wanna scare some little punks!" She growled.

"Hey, watch your language, Alex. If you don't speak nice, I'm not letting you go out tonight." I warned her.

"You're mean, Alex!" Elliott muttered and punched her shoulder, only to flinch when she raised a hand at him.

"Hey! Stop it! You too Alex. What did I say?" I warned the two. Elliott was two years older than Alex, but was only a little bit taller than her.

"Hey there. You getting the kiddos ready for tonight?" Anthony asked, carrying Mistyal in one arm and holding Michelle's hand with the other. Michelle wanted to be a knight and Mistyal decided to be a little fallen angel. She called herself an "Alu-Fiend." She said she heard it from her dad. It wasn't surprising, coming from a Beneathean researcher.

"Look at this cutie." I said, to Anthony's surprise. He blushed and grinned, the sharp fake fangs arching over his real teeth. My Lovely Vampire...

"Thank you, Mister Laidon!" Mistyal chirped, "You're silly. I'm over here! Mister Martin is scary." She said with a hearty cough. I took her from his arms and snuck in a kiss to his cheek. It was unsuccessful, because I got a few ew's and gross' from the kids.

"What? Is it because we're both boys?" I asked.

"No! Kissing is gross!" Decoda yelped. Anthony and I laughed. This was normal for us. I remembered that he was moving in soon and grinned, filled with excitement.

"Come on you guys. Let's get going." Anthony said, leading me to Mistyal's wheelchair. I placed her inside and strapped her in, making sure her pretty black wings were ok before carting her down the ramp and onto the side walk. We saw plenty of other kids in spooky costumes with their guardians. I saw Herross leading a fair few kids from the kids ward he worked at, alongside his own kids. Selvan tagged along, staying farther back than usual. As I passed Carvarak's house, I saw Baron sitting in the window, waving at us as we passed. I snuck up to the window and placed a small bag of candies on the windowsill for him. His sorrowful eyes lit up as he swiftly and silently opened the window and pocketed the candies. He gave a smile, and my heart sank as I noticed another one of his teeth missing.

Continuing through the night and visiting nearly every house in the neighborhood, we collected so much candy that it would last the group the whole year... if we rationed it at least. If we left it unattended, we'd probably have empty bags by the end of tomorrow night.

We had a case of Mistyal passing out and having to bring her home, but left her with all of the candy that both Mistyal and Michelle had collected.

Once we made it back home, with three sleepy kiddies in tow, we put them all to bed, after leaving Michelle at her own home so she could be with her half-sister. Anthony and I settled down on the couch and enjoyed the rest of the evening watching horror movies and cuddling.

"Thanks for inviting me to hang out today. It was a real treat." He whispered into my ear and kissed me. I gladly returned the kiss.

#malion #my writing #oc #fiction #oc prompt #oc tober #writing #write #writer #writers #writeblr #ocs #october #halloween #treat

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imastrangeone98 · 4 years

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Azloc-III

(A/N: my Mando fics are finally being unread! Yess now I can write whatever the fuck I want XD "ask him about the job on azloc-iii" this is basically what I think happened on it in regards to my oc)

Also fair warning- what happens here is most definitely NOT CANON- I have no idea if he left the planet during the job or if he just decided to leave after it, but this is just what I thought would be fun

Mandalorian tag list: @kateb013

"We're pinned down!"

Mando could hear Qin's hoarse voice from the communicator, but he couldn't find the physical strength to get up.

"Mando!" Ran's voice crackled with frequency. "Where you at, buddy?!"

His voice wouldn't work. His entire body ached. His armor was just too heavy.

He felt exhausted.

The job was supposed to be a simple snatch-and-grab. There was a noble's son from Birren who had gotten himself involved with the wrong crowd, and ran off to some unknown planet, never to be seen again by his concerned parents.

It was supposed to be easy.

But of course he had to have heavy protection from his gang friends. Of course he would have the best security Inner Rim credits could buy. Of kriffing course he would.

Which now led to their current situation. Separated by multiple traps, and assaulted by heavy artillery on nearly all sides.

He knew he had ended up closer to the ship than the others, but had no idea where said others were.

"Qin! Ran! Xi'an!" he hissed into his communicator. "See if you can make it back to the ship!"

"My sister and I are trapped in the canyon," the male Twi'lek replied. "There's no way out unless we climb. And by then, we're sitting ducks!"

"The canyon?" Ran responded. "I think I'm close by. I got some pulleys we could use to pull you guys up, but I'll need time."

The cliff... Mando took a quick look at his surroundings.

"I'll buy you some time," he said. "Move quickly."

"Got it."

He shut off his communicator and gripped his blaster, yet still he waited. For what, he didn't understand. But his body refused to move.

Like he was waiting for something.

He reached for his communicator once again, but rather than reaching out to his teammates, he connected back to the Razor Crest. "Baize. Can you hear me?"

"Mando? What's going on?"

"I'm pinned down. The others are trapped somewhere." He paused for a second at the brief blaster fire near the large ice block he was pressed against. "I need help."

There was a solid second of silence before she replied, "Where are you?"

"Near the ship. There's a glacier nearby, with the large spike in the middle. I'm hiding behind it; there's heavy fire."

"On my way." Her voice cut off, and he was left alone.

More blaster fire. On occasion, he would fire off shots of his own, or peer out of the corner, pulse rifle at the ready, and send someone to a dusty end. But still, it was never ending.

"Baize!" he whispered harshly into the communicator. "Where are you?"

No response.

"Baize!"

No response.

Mando cursed under his breath. Was she out of range? Did she forget her communicator? Or was she shot down?

Whatever the case, he had to fend for himself.

Blaster in hand, he was about to jump out of his hiding niche when his communicator crackled to life. "Mando."

"Baize?"

"Stay low."

He pressed himself against the wall and waited.

It didn't take long before he heard the screaming. And he couldn't resist the urge to look behind him.

And before his eyes, with two blasters in her hands and a cold, robotic look in her eyes, was Kyla.

She moved quickly, firing with insane precision from almost every direction imaginable. Thugs fell with every shot. Something about her fighting style tugged at him...

But he didn't pay much attention to it, focusing instead that she was running towards him.

"Mando!" she called, holstering her blasters and rushing to his side. "Are you hurt? Can you move?"

"I'm fine." He gripped her outstretched hand, and was pulled to his feet.

"Where are the others?" she asked, looking around.

Why was she so concerned for people who hardly cared about her? "Somewhere."

Her hair whipped around in the wind. He stared at it. "We need to find them! Do you know where you last saw them?"

They could hide. Rid themselves of the others and hide out somewhere.

"Baize."

"The coms on the Crest were wacky, but I managed to hear something about a canyon."

"Kyla."

Finally, she stopped rambling. "Yes?"

"Do you trust me?"

For a brief second, she looked hesitant. He couldn't blame her. Then her eyes cleared. "Of course."

"Then follow. And whatever happens, keep your head down." With that, he sprinted down the glacier towards the ship, Kyla silently trailing behind him.

"Ran!" he hissed into the communicator. "I'm surrounded! I can't make it to the canyon."

Out of the corner of his helmet, he could see Kyla opening her mouth, then promptly closing it. Good.

"Well, shit!" he muttered. "Alright! I'll deal with it."

Mando didn't press further. They either survived, or they died. He hoped for the latter. He ripped off his communicator and broke it in half for good measure.

By the time they reached the ship, Kyla looked like she was about to burst from confusion. He couldn't bring himself to care, though. He threw himself at the controls, the engines began to roar, and the ship flew off into the atmosphere.

He allowed himself to relax only when the ship was put in hyperdrive. And by then, Kyla had made her way to the cockpit and sat at left seat behind him.

"Mando?"

A hum was his response.

"Why did we leave them behind?"

Because they're assholes. Because they'd do anything for a quick credit. Because they don't care about you.

"They're mercenaries. They'll take care of themselves."

"Yes, but..." Her voice dimmed to a whisper. "I thought they were your friends...?"

"Friendship hardly matters when it comes to survival." He turned around to look at her. "Survival is strength. That's all that matters."

She looked down. "Then... what about me?"

He tilted his head.

"Are we friends?"

The question threw him.

What was she to him?

She was someone he would throw away his old allies for. She was someone he would no doubt have trouble sacrificing in the future.

But was she someone he could abandon the Creed for? Was she someone he could tell his past to? Was she someone he could share his life with?

He didn't know. He remained silent.

"Oh." Her voice was small. And sad. "I see." She stood up. "I'll... clean out the cargo hold, then.

Mando was lost. Did she think they weren't... allies? Maybe not friends, but at the very least, acquaintances?

Before he could stop himself, his gloved hand reached out and brushed the skin below her chin.

She froze, her eyes meeting his visor. Bit by bit, the tenseness in her shoulders eased.

With one indulgent scratch, he finally managed to turn away, focusing back on the controls.

His silence and his touch were his answers.

We're not friends... but we can be.

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A/N: finally I can kinda write whatever I want without being scrutinized!! This is kinda garbage but hopefully I might get into some more interesting background stuff... like why she fights so strangely... hehehehehe

#the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x oc #din djarin x reader #din djarin x oc

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runnfromtheak · 4 years

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fanfic author’s tagging game (yay!)

Thank ya darling for tagging me!!!! @boyblunder-thedarkheir!!!!!

AO3 Name(s): LostandLonelyBirds aka RUNNFROMTHEAK

Fandom(s): Primarily Batfamily (so, Dick Grayson) and Young Justice (along with DCU obviously, but I also dabble into Miralculous Ladybug, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter, and MCU (none of which I will ever seriously write for? Idk man).

Number of fics: 22 I will admit to (how do you have so many, my dear @boyblunder-thedarkheir? What is your secret?)

1. Fic you spent the most time on: Are we talking writing or thinking about writing, cause those are two very different answers. I spent the most time writing this bitch of a fic I’m working on right now, and the most time thinking about the two latest installments of my main series, Death is But An Illusion (aka How Could He and How Could It Be). I agonize over every goddamn detail with Dick’s anger, Jason’s Jason-ness, and every person’s every move and word. I am a mess, and I’m going to be murdered if I don’t update them soon. I am not sorry about that XD

2. Fic you spent the least time on: You Came Behind Me Secretly and Shattered Every Piece of Me (There's Blood On My Hands) aka my pick-your-own-canon clusterfuck of Dark!Dick Grayson and Dick Grayson being traumatized and tortured with no comfort (Some of them are so fucked up I question my own mind). I take less than an hour to write 80% of them, cause they’re short, and they very rarely take any time to plan. Fun and easy!

3. Longest Fic: At present, he had a chest full of heart and a body full of scars (pain became the only way that he could ever learn) is my longest, but the fic I’ve been hinting at on my other tumblr, @lostandlonelybirds is easily double the length (why do I do this to myself? Why am I like this?) the long boi (named one, not the one I won’t shut up about) is easily my best fic at the moment, and I’m so excited to write a sequel whenever I get the chance.

4. Shortest Fic: With Bated Breath and Pain You See (We're Nothing More Than Memories) technically, I have one shorter than that, but it’s a collab that wasn’t my original idea so I’m not counting it :)

5. Most Hits: You Came Behind Me Secretly and Shattered Every Piece of Me (There's Blood On My Hands) why do you people like this trash-fire so much? I don’t understand

6. Most Kudos: How Could He which does not surprise me.

7. Most Comment Threads: Technically, How Could He followed by the trash-fire AU title thing I’m too lazy to type again, but I’m gonna love on this one: Just Close Your Eyes (No One Can Hurt You Now) because it’s my baby, and it deserves it okay?

8. Fave Fic You Wrote: Ooo we are doing a top five.

5. How Could It Be (Jason is precious and sad and Dick is oblivious, and I love one-sided pining wayyyy too much)

4. How Could He (I put my life force into this stupid fic, so ofc it’s here)

3. I'm Scared to Live But I'm Scared to Die (I'm Numb Inside) (the suicidal boy, major trigger warning)

2. I See Things That Nobody Else Sees (And It's Slowly Killing Me) (the only fic I’ve ever written from Cass’s perspective, and definitely one of the creepiest and most fucked up. Bruce does not look good here)

1. he had a chest full of heart and a body full of scars (pain became the only way that he could ever learn) (so ummm Bruce doesn’t look good here either? RHATO #25 if DC wasn’t cowardly and let Dick react how he actually would, aka fuck Batman is the new motto)

9. Rewrites?: Fuck. All my older ones? Everything? Who knows.

10. Share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea that you’re planning:

Let’s do two. I’m nice.

First comes from How Could It Be:

“You loved him,” Donna says, ignoring his barb. “You loved him, and no one’s seen you or heard from you and I’m concerned, damnit.”

She punches his shoulder roughly, and he’s reminded of her strength, no matter how small she seems in her dead best friend’s sweater.

“I’m fine. Peachy-keen. Couldn’t be fuckin’ better. Honestly, you should be more concerned with Replacement, don’t think he’s slept in—”

“Jason.” Her voice is firm, even as her eyes swim with tears and she holds her arms tight to herself, breathing in the well-loved item’s scent. Jason wonders when Dick wore it last, if Donna had taken it from his abandoned Gotham Penthouse or his Chicago Apartment. He wonders if he’d left it draped over the couch, like the natural disaster he was, or if it had been folded neatly in a drawer.

For someone who prides himself on not being sentimental, Jason suddenly wishes he had something of Dick’s too.

“I’m here because I care, and because if Dick was here, he’d be doing the same thing I am.”

“But he ain’t here,” Jason snaps, “Is he?”

Donna’s head falls, and he feels like a giant jerk. He just… reacts poorly to that name, hasn’t heard it spoken since the transmission and subsequent funeral, since the guy he’d had the hots for since wearing the scaly panties had his mask ripped away and his life taken in front of Bruce’s eyes (who, to absolutely no one’s surprise, failed to save his son).

In the aftermath, no one said Dick Grayson’s name, always Nightwing, or some inane nickname the superhero community had for him. Last time he said it was to Damian, a failed attempt at comfort. But even Jason’s form of mutual grieving had been better than any of Bruce’s shit ideas. Bastard immortalized the ripped costume from his own son’s corpse (not that it had been the first time) and hadn’t even had the decency to give it a plaque (No ‘Good Soldier’ or ‘Good Son’, just a bare glass case with a bloody suit). Which… was weird. Jason was far from B’s best friend, but even he noticed something seemed strange, off, just not quite right. Like the funeral he didn’t speak at, like the breakdown none of them had witnessed beyond a one-off rage fit

“B, what the fuck happened down here?”

The Batcave was a disaster, dents glaringly obvious in several vehicles and a large spiderweb crack across the Batcomputer. Bruce closes the screen down, but Jason manages to catch a spiraling eye.

“Nothing, just…”

Bruce looks at the spare Nightwing costume none of them had taken down yet, still clean and ready for use (too bad its owner died and would never wear it again).

“Dick?” Jason questions, and the way Bruce’s eyes snap to his face is almost suspicious, almost enough to arouse concern.

“Yes. I—”

Jason sits next to Bruce on the desk, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I miss him too, Old Man. Don’t mean you need to be an ass about it.”

A memorial next to Jason’s own, but Dickhead’s is empty and broken from Damian’s fists and grief, and Jason’s is just gone. No one told him why, it was just gone.

Kind of like Dick.

He wonders if Bruce would have told him if the video hadn’t been broadcast, if he would’ve told anyone. B did love his fuckin’ secrets.

“No,” she whispers, and he can hear the tears in her voice, can feel her grief as keenly as his own. It’s palpable, tangible, “He’s dead, and I’m alive, and I don’t know how to handle it.”

And then, to Jason’s mounting horror, she starts crying openly.

…..

Second comes from my one I’m working on rn with Stray!Dick called I See Sunset In Your Eyes (I Hate This Part Right Here)

“Come on,” Wally says with a pout, dragging an overly amused Jason and Dick with him through the karaoke bar doors. “Donna and Roy are waiting for us, and Dick had to take forever to primp.”

Dick shrugs with a grin.

“Beauty takes time, time I can tell you did not take.”

Jason snorts, and Wally glares at him.

“At least I don’t take five hours to finish getting ready.”

“At least I can last longer than five minutes.”

“Ouch!” Roy butts in, throwing an arm around Jason and Dick’s shoulders. “Claws are out tonight!”

“Speaking from experience?” Jason asks, eyebrow raised.

Dick smirks without comment, sauntering past the group towards the table Donna’s lounging at.

“Hey gorgeous twin of mine,” He greets with a kiss to her eyes. She smirks, rolling her eyes at him.

“You’re just stroking your own ego with the twin tacked on, Wonder Boy.”

Dick bumps his shoulder against hers.

“Can’t I stroke both our egos?”

“You can stroke mine,” Wally mutters, turning red when Stray winks at his phrasing. Jason and Roy both facepalm, groaning. “Not what I meant guys!”

“Why Kid Idiot,” Dick replies, hand on his heart, “I had no idea you could be so forward~!”

Wally glares, waving over the waitress.

“Round of shots, on this dick,” he jerks his thumb at Stray, offering up his fake ID. She doesn’t bother checking it, probably because this is Gotham, and they were all in uniform. “Whisky, please.”

“Trying to get me drunk?” Jason jokes. It is, after all, his first big outing with the Titans for non-mission reasons. Stray had practically dragged him out of the Manor with a wink at Alfred and a middle finger for Bruce, saying that Jason needed to have fun outside of books.

Jason knows better than arguing with Dick Grayson-Kyle when he wants something, Stray trained him well.

“Of course, Batboy,” Roy replies, “It’s not a Titans outing if Stray is fully dressed and everyone’s sober.”

Dick shrugs.

“You’ll have to get some real liquor in me if you want me to do anything like last time.”

“Last time?” Jason asks, looking to Donna for an answer. Dick snorts. You get near naked one time…

“Boy Blunder ended up in just his boxers in a dancing cage drunk of his ass. Everyone thought he was one of the strippers, and he made, what, three-hundred dollars in bills?”

“Five-hundred,” Dick replies proudly, offering the waitress a twenty as she came back with their drinks. “Keep the change, darlin’!” He adds with a wink.

She flushes, making Jason frown.

Stray, of course, notices this and elbows Jason.

“Don’t get jealous, Blue Jay, it’s not becoming.”

Jason does not blush. He doesn’t, and that’s the hill he will die on.

“I’m not. On an unrelated note, pass me a shot.”

Jason is the master of changing the subject, Stray thinks sarcastically, passing him a shot and downing one of his own.

“Five bucks says alley cat blacks out,” Roy says smugly as Dick makes a face, the way he always did with heavier liquors. He glares at the redhead, who shrugs unapologetically.

Donna eyes them both speculatively, taking a sip of her own drink.

“Twenty says he gives a lap dance before he blacks out.”

Roy snorts.

“I’ll take it,” and to Dick, “Don’t do it, for me.”

Dick bats his eyes innocently.

“Lil’ old me? I would never do something so…” He trails a finger down Roy’s chest, making him swallow roughly. “Scandalous.”

Donna grins victoriously as Roy groans, trying and failing to hide his excitement.

“I hate you. I hate you both.”

Tagging whoever sees this, I suppose?

#dcu #dick grayson #my writing #stray!dick

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