I know there’s a prompt going around and this is not exactly on point or on time, but hey – it’s Saturday. Excuse enough for another random hannigram conversation.
“Do you remember your first time?”
“What? The first time I …”
“Masturbated, yes.”
“Not a big fan of that word.”
“It is what we were discussing.”
“What you were discussing.”
“In any case.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Of course.”
“I’m not sure I can say what was the first-”
“That you recall.”
“I don’t know. I was … maybe thirteen.”
“And?”
“You seriously want details?”
“I’m interested in what you remember.”
“Not much. It wasn’t, you know, something I planned.”
“Go on.”
“It just happened.”
“Nothing precipitated the need?”
“Puberty?”
“Nothing more immediate?”
“You mean like, was I looking at porn?”
“Were you?”
“No.”
“That was a decisive answer.”
“I would remember if I was looking at porn.”
“Very well.”
“I hate to burst your little shrink bubble but there’s not much to say. It was quick. Utilitarian. Nothing interesting.”
“That in itself is interesting.”
“I remember the radio was on.”
“Oh?”
“Again, nothing special. Just some pop song.”
“I don’t suppose you recall the name.”
“Livin’ on a Prayer.”
“Excuse me?”
“Not a big Bon Jovi fan?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Are we done now?”
“It does seem to be that time.”
“See you next week then.”
“I look forward to it, Will.”
***
“Sorry. I just realized I didn’t have my phone. I thought maybe I-”
“Will?”
“Wait. Were you just listening to-”
“Nothing.”
“You closed that laptop awfully fast.”
“You startled me.”
“Uh huh.”
“I simply reacted.”
“Open it.”
“I was just preparing to leave.”
“Open it, Hannibal.”
“I honestly don’t see-”
“Fine. I’ll open it.”
“…”
“I knew it.”
“Innocent curiosity.”
“Nothing you do is innocent.”
“Be that as it may. You said something about your phone?”
Stick and stones might break your bones, grounds might also break some… Will Graham thought after jumping the fence of the garden next to the park. He had trying to catch a Dogbane Leaf beetle, and landed on his side, groaning at the pain and gasping when he saw he was not alone in the garden.
It’s 5am, the sun is rising and Adam Towers can’t sleep. He’d taken this assignment for the potential respite it offered from the humid, tourist-ridden clusterfuck the City always turned into during July. A quick and easy student/teacher scandal to write up and then three uninterrupted days of good food, good beer, and plenty of pretty postgrads to pick from. Instead, he’d failed to get the interview, had picked a restaurant that couldn’t understand why “such a lovely omega” would want a table for one, and had been rejected for a younger model by the cute alpha he’d spent all night flirting with. And he hadn’t bothered to bring even his most modest knotting toy to help him get off (to sleep, or otherwise).
He flings the covers off, unwilling to lie there with his head spinning any longer. He needs to do something, needs to move, to blow out the cobwebs and start fresh. The weekend’s far from over, after all, and he’s not letting one shitty night spoil the whole thing for him. He briefly considers the gym, but the thought of fluorescent lighting and stale sweat on the recycled air makes him grimace. And then he thinks of the perfect alternative – a gorgeous, natural pool he’d passed on his way back from the disastrous non-interview the day before. He’d been too pissed to explore it at the time (the professor, as well as being a lecherous old man, had turned out to be the kind of sexist dick who thought omegas should stay at home, barefoot and pregnant, instead of reporting on predatory assholes like him), but now the thought of cool water and fresh air is irresistible.
He dresses quickly, jeans and a t-shirt all that are necessary in this heatwave, shoves his phone in one pocket, his keycard in another, and leaves his room to the tender mercies of housekeeping. The pool’s only a fifteen-minute walk and he spends it mentally composing the hatchet job he’s going to do on that reprehensible knothead of a professor once he’s unwound a bit. Been a while since anybody’s tried to do him for libel, and this one would take him past Lounds’ record – assuming she’s still alive and the hot cannibal and his husband haven’t gotten her since they last exchanged emails.
He’s just trying on headlines for size – KNOT FOR TEACHER has potential – when he feels the ground sloping away from him and realises he’s reached his destination. The pool is separated from a cluster of little farm cottages by a thick line of trees, marking the beginning of the forest, and they curve all around the water, a curtain of sturdy branches and leaves that flutter in the gentle breeze. In the dusty-gold light of morning, it’s even more beautiful than he’d remembered, the water tinted green but mirror-clear and glimmering.
He pulls off his shirt, shoes and jeans in quick succession, folding them perfunctorily and sparing a prayer to the god of errant journalists that nobody comes by and snatches his belongings, room key and all. Standing in nothing but a pair of very expensive, very skimpy briefs, he takes a quick look around, just to be sure, but it’s still only half-five and there’s no sign of a single, living soul anywhere nearby. So he strips off his undies and stuffs them into his trouser pocket, then hides the whole lot in the tall grass under a couple of rocks. One final check that he’s alone, and then Adam stretches up into the dappled sunlight, feeling the first touch of warmth on his bare skin, before carefully making his way down the bank and into the cool water.
I’m in the process of writing a spacedogs fic, and while talking out the concept with @devereauxsdisease, we discussed this image, so it had to be drawn.
Nigel stared at the poor excuse of a children’s book tucked away in the far corner of Adam’s bookshelf. It was a ridiculous book about a raccoon named Adam living in Central Park. He presumed it was supposed to be a sweet book, but all he could see was ignorance and condescendence. Why would a family of racoons not belong in the middle of Central Park? How was this book supposed to highlight the brilliance of the man for whom it was modeled after? Whoever this Elizabeth Buckwald was, she should just choke on a fat cock.
“Oh, did you find Beth’s book?” Adam’s arms snaking around his waist pulled Nigel from his murderous thoughts. He flipped the book closed, so Adam could see the cover.
“I found a book, gorgeous,” Nigel retorted, leaning into Adam’s embrace.
Nigel felt Adam shift behind him, pressing in closer so he could peer over Nigel’s shoulder. “Yea, that’s Beth’s book.”
“It’s not very good.”
Adam chuckled, pulling back a little so Nigel could turn in his arms and face him. “No, it really isn’t. I told her it was strange that the raccoons talked, because raccoons don’t talk. But she said it was a children’s book, and dismissed me when I stated it would be better as a nature book. Children read nature books too.”
“That they do, gorgeous.” Tossing the book aside, Nigel slipped his hands through Adam’s hair until they rested on the nape of his neck.
Beth Buckwald was undeserving of such an angel. The very fact that Adam had given her months of his life made Nigel’s blood boil. And now, this undeserving bitch had written a book inspired by his brilliant star; an affront Nigel refused to let go unanswered.
“Perhaps I should write a children’s nature book about the raccoons in Central Park, show her how it’s really done.” Nigel gently stroked his thumbs along Adam’s jaw, breath hitching when he was rewarded by a brilliant smile.
“Oh you definitely should,” Adam beamed, blue eyes twinkling with delight. “You would do such an amazing job.”
“You think so, gorgeous?” Nigel preened.
“I know so,” Adam said nodding fervently, “I’ve heard you explain M-Brane theory to Darko.”
Nigel barked out a laugh. His gorgeous husband most definitely had a point. If he could get Darko to understand string theory, he could most definitely articulate to a bunch of kids why raccoons should exist in Central Park. “I love you, Adam Raki, you know that?”
“Yes I know,” Adam said bluntly, surging forward to press his lips onto Nigel’s. “And I love you too, Nigel Raki.”
.
“Okay, so tell me again why you’re writing a children’s book… on raccoons.”
“For the last time, motherfucker, it’s to prove a point,” Nigel said, flicking the pen he was using at Darko’s head.
Dodging the pen, Darko glanced over at him and snickered before crossing his arms across his chest. “To Adam’s ex. Who you’ve never met.”
“Whom.”
“Fuck you, English is a stupid language,” Darko retorted, pushing back from the desk. “Come look at this fucker and let me know if it’s what you wanted.”
Smirking, Nigel crossed the room, picking the pen off the floor before stopping to assess Darko’s drawing. “This is…”
“Raccoons in a fucking park,” Darko said smugly, appreciating Nigel’s loss of words over his work.
“Darko, this is gorgeous.”
“I still don’t know if I should use a set of constellations or the Milky Way for the background.”
Nigel ran a hand through his hair as he contemplated the two options. Logically, it should be Ursa Major and Minor since the raccoons were supposedly in Central Park, but an image of the Milky Way would be aesthetically superior. They could possibly get away with the Milky Way, but only if they didn’t run the image by Adam first. Then again, his brilliant star would probably have some choice words about the raccoons to begin with.
“Do the Milky Way. It’s more eye catching.”
“Whatever you say boss,” Darko said with a mock salute. “I still think this whole book business is absolutely ridiculous though. What do you know about raccoons anyway?”
Lighting a cigarette, Nigel settled back down on the couch and picked his notebook back up. “I know that they have always existed in Central Park, and to assume they are there as an anomaly is juvenile at best.”
“Why would anyone assume that raccoons did not exist in Central Park?”
“Because they’re fucking morons,” Nigel said with a scoff. “Ignorant, condescending bitches.”
“We’re back to this Beth chick again, aren’t we?”
With a groan, Nigel tossed the notebook aside again. “I fucking hate that bitch.”
“Because your little spaceman dated her?”
“No,” Nigel spat with more venom than he had intended. “Because she never fucking bothered to understand him. Bitch just assumed she knew better and that he needed changing. Adam fucking Raki is perfect the way he is.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“I just don’t fucking understand why people automatically assume that different means broken.” Nigel took a long drag of his cigarette before flicking the ash into the tray. “People should just be able to be themselves without someone complaining about a quirk they cannot fucking change.”
Darko hummed in agreement as he proceeded to paint the milky way across the top of the drawing. “Like the raccoons.”
“Exactly.” Butting his cigarette, Nigel picked up the notebook and scribbled away furiously. “Just like the mother fucking raccoons. Why should they be seen as an invasive species? They were fucking there first. It ain’t their fault people came in and destroyed their homes. They’re fucking scavengers, of course they’re gonna go through your trash.”
Explicit // M/M // Evening Wedding – Jacob (After The Wedding)/Buddy Wittenborn (Evening) // Tags: Explicit for future chapters, Time Travel, Near Death Experiences, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Period-Typical Homophobia, Family Drama, Closeted Character, Getting to Know Each Other, Kissing, Mutual Masturbation, Discussions about homophobia, preminitions (kinda), more kissing, Intercrural Sex, Family Reunions, Internalized Homophobia, Coming Out, Weddings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Happy Ending Words: 14250 Chapters: 2/3
When they got to Buddy’s room everything felt clearer.
The car, the clothes. The house and Buddy’s mother. And now the room. This might not be a dream but Jacob was unsure how it could be reality. Everything was old fashioned – vintage but new. Decades out of place… or Jacob was?
He was about to ask Buddy what year it was, when the young man threw himself into his arms. Jacob steadied him as best he could as Buddy buried his face in his chest once more and began to quietly cry.
Jacob ran a hand up and down his back, letting the other play softly at the nape of his neck. After a few minutes the sobbing subsided but they did not break apart. He felt Buddy relax into him, and he found himself taking the moment to feel every part of what was happening. Buddy’s lithe and firm body against his; his musky male scent, obscured somewhat by the reek of alcohol; his hands now mirroring Jacob’s.
It took him a few minutes to realise that Buddy’s breath was shuddering against him and a few seconds longer that the same was true of himself. He could feel himself quivering – the intimacy of the moment more intense than he knew anything could be.
Buddy pulled back and looked at him. The young man was only a fraction shorter, but even so he seemed so small framed. Fragile. Jacob wanted to protect him.
They looked at each other a long while, before finally – in an aching moment – Buddy cautiously leaned in and pressed his lips to Jacob’s.
It was tentative and chaste. But it was everything.
A flood of emotions welled within Jacob as he started to kiss back. Somehow free for the first time he could remember.
“No no. Nothing like that. You’ll like this. A little break from your field work. It’s a consulting gig. Harvard has got some new profiling program they want the BAU to take a look at.”
“Program? As in computers?”
“I know what you’re thinking but the techy stuff is already done. They just need some user interface testing. Someone to tell them if it works how it’s supposed to.”
“Why me? I don’t even use my computer for anything but email.”
“Ah, but that brain of yours. It’s all about connections, Will. You might even outsmart the damn thing. That would be valuable feedback.”
“I’m really kind of busy, Jack. Maybe you could ask-”
“I’m asking you. Here. Just take a look at the file. Think on it.”
“Fine. What’s this thing called? The Harvard-”
“It’s part of the Harvard Advanced Neural Network Interactive Bio-metric Analysis Lab. I know it’s a mouthful. We’re calling it H.A.N.N.I.B.A.L.”
Whilst people outside the community considered Meyerism to be a cult, the Zealots actually were a cult. Probably. They were definitely an offshoot of the Masters of the Mystic Arts, who were also almost definitely a cult. The main compound for the MMA was somewhere called Kamar-Taj in Nepal, if Cal remembered correctly, although they had property in Hong Kong, London and New York as well. They were headed by someone called the Ancient One and that was all anybody knew. And then there were the Zealots. In Cal’s opinion, it was an appalling name for something, cult or not. He didn’t know much about them, to be honest, other than that they were very secretive and rich as Croesus. Oh, and rumour had it that their leader – Kaecilius – had once been a Danish prince.
Unfortunately for Cal, he didn’t manage to find a way to pay back the money by the imposed deadline, not even close. Neither had Sarah, who had unbent enough to help try and find a solution. Instead, when their representative arrived at the compound, they had nowhere near the required amount and, instead, a crowd had gathered to witness Cal’s failure. A crowd that included a rather smug Eddie. Swallowing his pride, and feeling a red flush of shame spread to his ears, Cal stepped forward.
“I’m sorry, we don’t have the money. If you could just give me a bit longer…”
“Extending the time-frame is not an option. If you don’t have the money, then we will take something else as collateral until you do have the money.”
“What might that be?” Cal’s mind flipped through the possible things that could be offered as collateral in lieu of money and came up incredibly short. The movement had nothing, and he had never been one for personal items and definitely nothing of value. A single word from the Zealot had Cal’s immediate attention.
Aiden looked over at Vivian and smiled, trying to hide the excruciatingly terrible time he was having.
He had agreed to be her plus one because she had begged so pitifully, but even doing a good deed for his best friend wasn’t reward enough for going to a wedding. Especially as he’d had to spend money he didn’t have on a new shirt for it. The joys of being a starving artist.
Even so, he wasn’t about to let his unmated omega friend go to a wedding alone. All the unmated alphas would be sniffing around her, and after her recent breakup, it would suck. That didn’t mean Aiden was going to enjoy himself. He’d seen enough shit from his parents to know marriage wasn’t the fairytale that weddings made them out to be and had less than no interest in the whole thing.
He planned to smile and nod and be otherwise pleasant whilst Vivian and the bride – her cousin – danced and laughed with half of the congregation. In fact one of the few people not dancing, Aiden noticed, was the best man.
He sat on the head table, dressed impeccably in a full black suit, shirt and tie, looking bored stiff. Vivian had mentioned him before – the groom’s oldest friend, they didn’t have much in common now but were still very close. And the man didn’t look bored so much as just, not bothered. This was clearly not his sort of thing either, but like Aiden, he was a good friend.
About to turn away, Aiden’s breath hitched when the man looked suddenly straight at him. One eye was glazed and had a scar running through it, but both eyes pierced him. The man titled his head slightly, a motion that at first made him simply look like he was studying Aiden. But after a moment, even over the heated scent of sweat spilling from the active dancefloor, it hit him. The man’s movement had sent a wave of pheromones his way – signalling not just the omega dynamic Aiden had suspected, but also his interest.
Aiden took a deep breath, his eyes slightly wide at the obvious, and dominant, proposition. He couldn’t help his lips curving into a smile. Perhaps the evening wouldn’t be a total bust?
Mostly reblogs and random words 