#first time i did blackwood and heard him i was like 'wow that's young for what im looking at but okay' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kenanda · 3 years

Note

For the smut prompt a lonelyeyes mix of 106, 111 and 127? If you want only.

This took a while, but it was just too good a prompt not to give it my best shot. I hope you enjoy it.

Happy belated birthday!! Consider this your gift from moi <3 🎁🎉

prompt 106. “Were you just masturbating?” “U-uh..no, i was just..” “Want some help?” prompt 111. “You have no idea how much I want you.” prompt 127. “Are you wearing my shirt?”

CRAVING Rating: EXPLICIT Words: 5,7k Pairing: LonelyEyes Characters: Elias Bouchard; Peter Lukas; Tim Stoker; Martin Blackwood; Gertrude Robinson (mention); Jurgen Leitner (mention). Tags: Established Relationship; Parenthood; Smut; PWP; Mutual Pining; Fluff; Sweet; Masturbating; Cock sucking; Handjobs; Scent Kink; Fingering; Anal Fingering; Anal Sex; Dirty Talk; Banter; Wearing the other's clothes; Doting Parents!LonelyEyes; unbeta'd; Tim and Martin are their kids AGAIN

Disclaimer: These characters AREN’T mine. They belong to Rusty Quill’s The Magnus Archives. Warning: This work ISN’T SUITABLE for minors. It’s a NSFW piece of slash fiction. Therefore, if you’re a minor or in any way squicked by what’s in the tags, DO NOT READ!

Filthy, FILTHY LonelyEyes below the cut, my beloved. It's official, this is now a Verse.

Ever since they became parents, Peter and Elias haven’t known what alone time is anymore. Life is a jolly mess most of the time, with all things required for the rearing of two children. Even if the boys are now a bit older and can shoulder small responsibilities, it still seems like too much is going on at once.

Some days are more hectic than others, which often sends the two men to bed at 10PM feeling like they could sleep for days. Work hasn’t been any better in allowing for a break — Peter’s schedule has him away for months every now and again, and Elias can hardly ever catch a break from the Institute (he’s the Head, after all).

Needless to say, it all takes a toll on their love life. They can count in one hand the number of times they’ve had a weekend for themselves in the past few years. When they want sex, it’s always rushed and quiet, afraid that one of the kids will wake up because of a nightmare and ask to sleep with them.

Elias misses the days when he and Peter would go on long dates and weekend trips; catches himself thinking about those every once in a while, of how they would spare a day to stay in their room talking and getting each other off. They aren’t that young and horny anymore, but there’s still enough of that old spark that Elias will sometimes get turned on merely watching Peter doing mundane stuff, like doing the dishes.

To think that they didn’t get along at first. Elias chuckles whenever he remembers the first time they were together. Peter had been a cocky bastard, but Elias had been cockier and given Peter one hell of a show. Elias still has the eye tattoo on his stomach, but he had removed the nipple piercings once he’d started working. Peter had been so impressed by them, he had played and pulled on them with his teeth once they actually went on a proper date.

Elias lets out a nostalgic sigh.

“Everything alright?” Peter asks over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Elias breathes. “Fine. Just reminiscing about stuff.”

“Such as…?” Peter rinses a bowl of oatmeal.

“That time you used to be more of an insufferable arse.”

Peter snorts. “You’re one to talk, love.”

Elias can’t help a smile. “We turned out alright. Sometimes though, I miss those days.”

Peter’s disbelief is visible even from his back. “Really!? We used to be swamped all the time, and there was that professor, Jonah- Wouldn’t leave you alone. I think he wanted to — what was it he used to say — see you.”

Elias shudders with a disgusted noise and gets up. He circles Peter’s waist and hooks a chin over his shoulder, pressing their bodies flush enough that there’s no mistaking that he’s half-hard. Peter drops a spoon in the sink with a clatter.

“Oh, wow, hello there.”

Elias giggles. “I miss you,” he whispers. He gives Peter’s nape a slow, open mouthed kiss, causing the larger man to shiver.

“Elias…”

“I know, I know.” Elias pauses, buries his nose into Peter's neck, where his silver hair has grown past his ear. He smells so good. “I could take a day off tomorrow. We could ask Gertie to keep an eye on the boys over the weekend. She’s always delighted to see them.”

After the beach incident in which they had met, Gertrude Robinson had become a dear friend of the family. She and her husband (an old scholar with a booming voice and a gentle face called Jurgen) had a massive library and a collection of items from all over the world. The boys always returned home with strange facts about books and places of which neither Peter or Elias had ever heard. Gertrude also had a grandchild a year older than Martin, Jon, whom Martin had (at the tender age of seven) sworn to marry.

Peter thinks about it for a moment, but doesn’t sound too hopeful in his reply. “They’ll need me at work tomorrow. I already said I’d be there, and it could take a while.”

“Can’t always have it all...”

Peter turns around and holds Elias’s face to give him a kiss. Elias struggles at first because Peter’s hands are covered in suds, but eventually gives in. The kiss is slow and warm; if he isn't careful, Elias can easily get carried away with it. Peter’s growing beard is ticklish, but when it slides down his jaw and neck, Elias has to stifle a whimper.

“I’m sorry, love.”

Elias shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’ll survive.”

That’s not to say Elias’s body will just quit the yearning — it becomes quite self-evident when Peter pulls away and Elias is half-tempted to chase his lips.

But then one of the kids calls him and he needs to go. It's like that the whole day.

Elias only gets some blessed alone time with his husband before bed. Peter pulls him into a hug and they kiss until they have to stop before it gets too hot to ignore. Elias grabs Peter’s hand when it slides between them, because one thing will certainly lead to another.

“Pretty please?” Peter pouts. It looks outrageous on him and Elias barks out a laugh.

Peter smiles, but it fades into something else — something charged. They are kissing again before they know it, and it’s insane how well Peter fits between his legs. The weight of his larger body on top of him, pressing down where it feels so good, has Elias wrapping both legs around his waist and using them for leverage. Peter hums in approval.

At least, Elias is not alone in his lust. Peter is usually quieter about his wants and needs, but once he’s into it, he’s ready to go all the way. Perhaps Elias should’ve been more careful, because now he has to live with the knowledge that Peter is right there and that he wants it just as bad as Elias.

They are humping through their clothes and Elias is ready to make a mess of his pants just like that when there’s a yell from down the hall. Elias’s head snaps up and he all but tosses Peter off of him to leap up and grab his robes.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

“Is it Martin again,” Peter rubs his eyes tiredly, pulling a pillow over his clothed erection.

“Coming! Daddy is coming!” Elias yells back.

Afterwards, they cuddle in shared frustration until they fall asleep. When Elias wakes up the next morning, Peter’s boner is poking his arse, so he gives it a wistful little press. Peter groans and holds Elias there with an arm around his waist. Peter grinds up and Elias huffs into the pillow.

“Wanna finish what we started?”

“Be late for work,” Elias points out. Peter swears, but lets him go.

They’re out an hour later; Elias drops the kids off and heads to work. Heavy clouds of sleep deprivation and sexual frustration hang ominously above his head.

Thankfully, work is something he can lose himself in. He’s good at what he does and there’s something soothing about all those Excel sheets. Coupled with the steady hum of the AC, they almost make Elias forget his troubles.

But then he sees the flyer for this new jazz café that had opened a few months ago, where he had intended to take Peter on a date but never managed to make time, and his face falls. Damn, he misses his husband’s presence, his silly jokes and ridiculous sailor stories.

Lunch hour comes in a blink; Elias is poking a fork into his salad with an utter lack of enthusiasm when his phone chirps with an incoming message. He wipes his mouth and sees that it’s from Peter.

It’s a picture of Peter standing in front of a tall restroom mirror. He’s wearing the big old ratty coat he’d left with this morning, but it’s pulled halfway to the side to reveal Peter’s hand clutching the sizable girth of him through his grey slacks.

Elias chokes on lettuce.

What’s the meaning of this???

Been thinking of you. A lot. — is Peter’s swift reply.

Well, Elias has too, but not to this extent. Can I call you?

Peter calls him instead. “Hey.”

“Are you mad!? I’m in the middle of work!”

Peter laughs. “You talk as if you don’t have a cushy office all to yourself to play as you wish.”

“Yes, at least I can say that. You on the other hand, you’ve got a bloody crew swarming you every day.”

“I’m not on the ship right now. And there are stalls here.”

“You’re hiding in the loo?!”

“Had to. Wouldn’t stop thinking of you. Now, do you want to play?”

“You can’t be doing what I think you’re doing. What if someone comes in?”

There’s something hot and heavy about Peter's chuckle that makes Elias shudder. “A while ago, you’d be the first to say fuck it.”

“Well, apparently one of us has grown past that.”

“I bet you wouldn’t refuse if you could see how hard I am right now.”

It’s a bait. Elias knows it’s a cheap bait and that he’s gonna fall straight for it if he isn't careful. When he reaches down, he notices that he’s hard too. Shit.

“I’m not gonna do this. Bloody hell, not in the middle of work. Fucking Rosie could walk in. Did you know I have a reputation to maintain?” Elias pinches the bridge of his nose. “This can wait until we’re home.”

“We won’t have time then,” Peter replies. “And I miss you too, you know.”

Elias makes a pained little noise. “You have no idea how much I want you right now. But this will wait. We’ll figure it out.”

“How much? Show me.”

"Peter," Elias warns.

Peter gives it up with a breathy laugh. "Okay," he whispers. “See you at home. Love you.”

“You too.”

Apparently, Elias’ ability to stick to reason is intact even with his horny-addled brain. He lets out a deep exhale after the call is over.

The next ten minutes are spent willing his boner to go down by and focusing on work. It’s uncomfortable, but he manages. It gives him a headache for the rest of the day and much to think about — and even more to look forward to.

Unfortunately for both, Peter shoots him a message later on telling Elias that he will be home late and not to wait for him. The boys are disappointed, because it was film night and Peter had promised to watch Return of the King with them. Elias is sad, too; Peter had come back from three months at sea not a week ago, but again they have to be apart.

Elias helps the kids with homework and gets on a work call that drags on for an hour, which only serves to worsen his headache.

During dinner, Elias is taken aback by how observant his youngest is. Martin’s Daddy must be wearing his sourest look, for it prompts the boy to pat Elias’ hand (exactly how Peter does when someone’s upset) and tell him:

“Don’t be sad, Daddy. Dad will be home soon and then you can complain to him about work.”

Elias nearly chokes on food the second time that day. Tim chimes in.

“Yeah, dad. Don’t worry about it. The old man knows what he’s doing.” And without missing a beat, with those big brown eyes of his. “Can I play before bed?”

“Definitely not. You’ll wake up cranky tomorrow.” Tim pouts, tries again, but Elias’s word is final (even if he feels soft after their comforting words). “Thank you, boys. I know how much you look forward to movie night. I’m sorry it didn’t work.”

Tim shrugs, digging into his pasta. Martin is quick to come up with a solution.

“Can you read for us, daddy?”

That catches Tim’s attention. Elias crosses both hands over the table.

“Oh? What would you like me to read?”

Martin leaps out of the chair and thrusts a tomato-sauce covered spoon up in the air. “The adventures of the incredible Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag-End!” he roars.

Tim rolls his eyes.

It doesn’t take them long to sleep with Elias reading The Hobbit. Well, it doesn’t take Tim long to sleep (he’s heard this story countless times before and it's a favourite, even if now he says it's for babies) — Martin is paying close attention and interrupting Elias every now and again to ask questions. When the youngest finally drifts off, Elias tucks him in and puts the book back on the shelf.

Tim is almost as tall as Elias now, but Elias can still pick him up from Martin’s bed and carry him to his own bedroom. For someone who wanted to play video games and rolled his eyes at their book choice, his oldest fell asleep very swiftly.

Elias clears the dinner table, does the dishes and puts the rest of the food away. It’s a little past 10PM now and Peter is still not home. Elias only hopes nothing bad has happened (especially after today’s surprise).

Elias finally has a chance to shower and spends five minutes just letting the hot water spray massage his back. He considers touching himself — the awareness that he could use an orgasm and that now is the perfect time to achieve it is very present within him — but before he comes to a decision, he’s already stepped out of the bathroom.

Peter’s sleep t-shirt seems to eye him from the bed as Elias pats himself dry. Should he? After all, why not? He misses the old fool.

Elias pulls the t-shirt on and has to suppress a laugh at how silly he looks, greying brown curls plastered to his forehead and lean body looking too small in that tee — Peter is many sizes larger than him, so the item reaches halfway down his thighs. Elias pulls on some underwear and crawls into bed with a book. The t-shirt is so large that he has to keep adjusting it lest it falls below his shoulder.

For the first hour, Elias tries to read. He really, really does. But perhaps wearing Peter’s clothes hadn’t been his brightest idea. The item is soaked in Peter’s scent, which is positively distracting. Elias catches himself reading the same line three times and lets out a frustrated groan.

“Okay, fine! Fine, I’ll do it!”

Elias shoves the book onto the bedside table and ducks beneath the duvets, lying on his side. He’ll make this as quick as he can and then he’ll go the fuck to sleep.

He runs a hand down his chest, but it feels more perfunctory than pleasant. When it's Peter doing it, it has Elias shivering in no time. Elias closes his eyes and tries to relax, tries to think of how it feels when Peter rubs a rough palm over his nipples and kisses his belly until he squirms.

Elias has left the door open and his ears peeled to any sounds of little steps in the hallway, so it takes a while to concentrate on the ways his body is reacting.

Eventually though, it becomes easier — there have been no steps, no sounds but the soft little puffs of air that he’s letting out. One of his hands is rubbing a nipple through the t-shirt and the other is cupping his cock. Pleasure finally takes over when he presses that hand down his pelvis and a shiver runs up his body, arching his back.

Elias slips a hand under the waistband of his underwear and wraps it around his cock to pull back the skin. It’s getting hot and damp under the duvets, but Elias doesn’t plan to make this long. Just a bit more and he’ll come.

A twist of his wrist has him shuddering and letting out a breathy curse. Elias pulls the too-large shirt up to his nose and takes a big inhale. His mind is filled with Peter and he darts a tongue out for a taste, but gets none.

Still, he has had Peter in his mouth times enough to remember his taste. It makes Elias wet at the tip. He’s so close, so fucking close — but he’s also tempted to keep edging himself; keep thinking of all the things he wishes Peter would do to him. It’s been too fucking long, and he knows that if he doesn’t give his body what it wants every once in a while, it will just keep coming back to bother him.

But then again, the mess… And he’s so close, so, so close. Just a bit more, just drown out everything else.

Elias is so lost in his chase that doesn’t hear it when the front door clicks open; nor when a heavy coat is hung on the hallway pegs; doesn’t notice some of the lights being turned on and off, and is completely oblivious to the figure standing on the threshold and the socked steps that carry the man inside.

Elias only notices that Peter has arrived home when the duvet is gently pulled back and Peter’s smiling face pokes into his line of view — but by the time Peter has let out a soft “hey darling, what are you doing” Elias has already let out a blood-curdling scream and punched him in the face.

Peter falls flat on his bum with an expletive. “Jesus! What the fuck, Elias!”

Elias clutches his chest, breathing hard. “Oh- Oh Lord Jesus. My heart, my poor heart.” He turns to Peter with murder in his eyes. “What the hell were you thinking sneaking in like that?!”

Peter gets up, rubbing his sore bum. “I didn’t exactly try to sneak in, maybe you just didn’t hear me. I wasn’t particularly trying to be quiet. What the hell are you doing still up anyway?”

Elias ignores him. He snaps his head to the hallway. “Do you think the kids heard it?”

Peter shrugs, still sore.

“Get on!”

Peter grudgingly goes to check on the kids, but comes back shaking his head. Elias falls back into bed with a relieved sigh. Peter takes up a spot near the edge.

“What are you doing up? It’s way past midnight.”

Elias then remembers that his (now very much limp) dick is still out under the duvets. “Nothing much, I was just reading.”

“You were reading under the covers in the dark.”

Elias nods.

Peter isn’t convinced, but that gives way to a confused frown. “Hold on, is that my t-shirt?”

Elias looks down as if he hadn’t realised he had been wearing it. “Huh. I guess.”

Peter’s frown deepens. He touches the duvet. Elias clutches it and holds it down on reflex. Peter’s mouth opens in an accusing “oh!”

Peter can be very stubborn when he sets his mind upon something. This time, said something happens to be getting the covers out of the way.

Elias curls in on himself and burrows deeper into the duvet, but Peter (the cheap bastard that he is) resorts to tickling. Elias muffles an ugly laugh into the pillow. Peter is laughing too.

“Stop! Fuck, I’ll show you, stop!” Elias wheezes. Peter’s laughter dies off. He combs Elias’s damp hair backwards and kisses his cheek.

Elias sits up and pulls the duvet aside, feeling completely undignified. His cock is poking out above the underwear, but at least the t-shirt is covering it.

It’s enough for Peter to put two and two together.

“Were you masturbating?”

“No. Like I said, I was reading.”

Peter reaches for the hem of the shirt. Elias grabs his hand. “I said I was reading.”

Peter drops it, lets his hand fall to Elias’s thigh. A moment later, he gives it a squeeze. “Want some help?”

Elias narrows his eyes at him, then glances at the clock. Way, way past midnight.

The squeeze is back, travelling upwards. In spite of his better judgement, Elias’s legs fall open to give it more access and he sighs in defeat. So much for a steely resolve.

Peter slides a palm under the shirt but doesn’t get the item out of the way. Rather, he caresses Elias’s stomach and lower pelvis. Elias shivers deliciously; he’d been dreaming of this all day.

“You’ve been holding back a lot today,” Peter points out after Elias gets hard with just some light teasing. Peter hasn’t even touched his cock.

Elias wiggles to get Peter to touch him, slides down the bed. The invitation is clear enough, but Peter seems to be waiting for a verbal one. “I was being a sensible adult.”

Peter smiles. “Thought you’d like a bit of sexting. You used to love it back in uni.”

Elias had always been weak to Peter’s eyes, especially when they’re looking at him as if he’s something to be slowly savoured and then swallowed. Elias rolls his hips, staring at Peter’s hand on his inner thigh. The movement almost makes it touch his cock, but misses it for a few inches. Elias huffs in frustration.

“Thought you said you were going to help.”

“I can only help if you tell me what you want.”

Elias rolls his eyes at him. Peter waits happily.

“Touch me.”

“Where?”

“My cock.” Elias wants to punch him when Peter merely raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. “Touch my cock, please?”

If that doesn’t do it, Elias is getting a divorce. To his delight, it awakens something in Peter that makes his eyes go dark with lust.

“Fuck, yes. But it’s too dry- Where’s the-” Elias passes him the lube before Peter finishes the sentence. “Love you.”

Peter squirts some lube onto his palms and rubs them together. They’re cool when they touch Elias’s inner thighs and drag down, massaging the region and getting it all wet.

Elias sighs, eyes fluttering momentarily. He can’t help but roll his hips to ease some of the tension. He’s so hard and Peter is taking so long — but when he finally does it, Elias hisses through clenched teeth.

“Feels good, love?”

Elias bites his lower lip, chin tucked to his chest as he watches that big fist pumping wetly around his cock. Only the glistening head is visible, hot red and ready to shoot. Peter rubs a thumb under his frenulum and Elias sees stars.

“Ah, shit,” he sobs, grabbing fistfuls of the too large t-shirt and fucking into Peter’s fist, because the squeeze is so damn good.

Will Peter mind if Elias sniffs his shirt? Fuck it. Elias balls up some fabric and pulls it to his nose. The action doesn’t escape Peter; in fact, he seems entertained by it.

Elias notices his husband’s amusement only through half-lidded eyes, because every single part of his body feels like molasses right now.

“Look at you, ’s like you’re drunk in it.” Peter licks a finger and presses it up Elias’s perineum.

The pressure sends a thick dollop of pre-cum leaking down Elias’s cock. Elias’s eyes roll back into their sockets. Peter taunts him further.

“Want me to put my mouth on you or do you want something better to sniff on?”

“Fuck you and your dirty mouth.”

Peter laughs. “You can, baby. Always loved the way you shiver when you come down my throat.”

Elias points a weak finger towards the door. “Close that first.”

Peter goes and Elias hears the unmistakable sound of a lock falling into place. Peter sheds his shirt and trousers on the way back. Elias can see the outline of his cock against his underwear and makes grabby hands at it.

Peter chuckles and stands next to the headboard. “Can’t decide?”

Elias forgoes the shirt in favour of leaning over the edge and burying a face into Peter’s groin. He takes a deep inhale and mouths at it, dragging his tongue all the way up.

“Fuck,” he groans. “I’ve missed this.”

Peter moans above him and cradles his nape, pulling at the fine hairs there to make Elias shiver. Elias gives his own cock a few lazy pumps while his mouth is busy getting Peter’s underwear all damp.

Elias steals a glance at the digital clock again and whines. Peter asks him what’s wrong.

“I want to fuck you so bad right now, but look at the time.”

“I am looking. It’s working fine.”

Elias swats at him. “I’m serious!”

Peter lets go of Elias’s nape to cradle his face, guiding him upwards. Elias follows it, standing on his knees.

“I’ve bought Red Bull,” Peter confides, and that’s the most beautiful thing to ever come out of his mouth. Elias melts a little just then.

Peter grabs his arse and pulls him to himself. The feel of his underwear is rough against Elias’s cock, but Elias ruts into it. The hand on Elias’s face has now slid to wrap loosely around his neck. Elias pulls Peter’s underwear down and Peter wiggles out of them.

Peter’s cock hangs heavy where it’s nestled amid the thick silver hair on his groin. Elias’s mouth waters at the sight of it, but he eagerly presses them together. The hairs on Peter’s chest and lower abdomen feel coarse against his skin, but Elias loves every second of it. It will leave him tender and pink tomorrow, but he doesn’t care.

Peter pulls him into a kiss that is everything Elias has been craving all day — it doesn’t stop at his mouth, but drags down his jaw and neck, making him pliant. Peter moves his face from one side to the other to nip under his ear and suck bruises onto his collarbones.

“Got rubber?” Elias asks. Peter growls affirmatively.

It’s been a while, but they know how the other likes it. Elias is dripping wet with lube while Peter preps him. Elias would usually prefer his own fingers (much slimmer than Peter’s) at first, but right now he’s turned on enough that the slight burn of the stretch feels perfect. Elias lies on the pillows and lets Peter work his magic.

Peter kneels between his legs and fingers him as if he doesn’t have a care in the world, curling up his fingers to milk Elias’s cock. Elias arches his back and watches dollop after dollop of pre-cum leak from his tip.

“Peter, I swear- to God… If you make me come like this-”

Whatever Elias had thought of saying is completely wiped from his mind when Peter leans down and gives his cockhead a gentle suck, as easy as someone scooping some ice-cream with their tongue.

Elias swears at Peter, but he can’t do much else besides clench his hands and teeth and try to keep from coming. He was so close just now; only a brief touch of Peter’s tongue and his cock is now throbbing, legs shaking so hard he has to suck in his stomach to not orgasm right then and there.

“It would be a sight to behold. You are a sight to behold.”

“Cut the crap, please cut the crap and just fuck me. Fuck, I’m so hard it hurts, you bastard.”

“Then come, love.”

“I don’t wanna come without you inside me.”

Elias should be embarrassed to find that his eyes are glistening with moisture. These can’t be tears. He refuses to believe that he’s crying during sex.

Peter wipes the corner of his eye, boops Elias’s nose with his own and gives him a gentle peck.

“Okay,” Peter whispers.

Peter rolls condoms on himself and Elias, then arranges a pillow under Elias to prop him up and slides home. The size of him fills Elias up so good, so perfect — all the way down to those wiry silver curls. Sure, topping Peter also felt brilliant — but if he’s true to himself, Elias rather likes it up the arse.

They fall into a nice rhythm — whispering disconnected praises and curses. Elias keeps a hand on the headboard for leverage, rolling his hips to meet Peter’s own, re-learning where it feels good. He reminds himself that this is supposed to be quick, just a bit of rough friction before they can’t hold it anymore.

But feeling Peter’s hand clutching his waist, relishing in the delicious push and pull, seeing Peter’s fuzzy pecs flex with the easy effort of taking him — it all has Elias clenching around Peter’s cock and reaching out to trace the lines of his chest.

“Fuck, I should be telling you to go faster.”

“Do you want to go faster?”

“No… I want to keep taking your cock until sunrise.”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to stop at some point for rest, but if you’re up to it, I’m all yours.”

Elias smiles, but his eyebrows twitch when Peter finds that spot and fucks into him, pressing right up against it.

“You see I want that, but when you do this… I want you to leave me all sore.”

“You’re a man of many wishes.”

Elias grins. “Think you can answer them?”

Peter pats his leg. “On your hands and knees, then.”

Arse up in the air, Elias stifles a laugh when Peter squirts more lube onto his hole and drags his cock over it.

Peter pushes back in with a smile. “What is it?”

“Just remembered something. When we first-” Elias hisses when Peter spreads his legs further and angles his thrusts just right. “Yeah, right there. Fuck… When we first had sex. I couldn’t believe you were just bringing people to your room and never doing this to them.”

Peter holds his hips like his hands belong there, finally giving it to him hard and fast. Elias has to clutch the sheets, but damn, that’s more like it. The t-shirt has balled up near his face and he keeps breathing in Peter’s scent.

“Uh- yeah. Hah, that was a long time ago. Is this OK, love?”

Elias nods. “Yeah. Bit rougher would be even nicer though.”

Peter grunts and his hands slide upwards. “Don’t want to hurt you, but if you say you can take it...”

Elias’s waist used to be so lean that Peter’s fingertips almost touched circling around it. Now that Elias is a bit better padded, they grab his flesh with a bit of loving violence while Peter ruts into him. Elias prays that this million pound house has thick enough walls that the noise of skin on skin won’t bleed out.

Elias wraps a loose hand around his cock, but that mere touch is enough to bring him closer to the edge. The fact that he feels so wonderfully used for Peter’s pleasure also does things to his head, because every grunt of Peter’s feels like a small victory.

Peter continues, fondly. “You used to be so fucking shameless. I’m still sad you had to remove the nip piercings.”

“It was easier- Oh, oh! Yes, just like that!” Elias presses his face into the bed, panting open-mouthed against the mattress. “It was easier- Easier,” he tries to continue, but Peter is fucking him so good that he can’t complete his line of thought.

“...that way?” Peter supplies.

Elias nods. He feels half out of it already. “I think- Gonna come. S-so good...”

Peter’s approving hum is followed by him dropping part of his weight onto Elias’s back, which forces Elias flat into the mattress. Elias gasps, loud and breathless and more in love with Peter than ever before. His husband knows that he’s a sucker for a bit of choking and is giving him exactly what he needs.

Peter thrusts harder, deeper, and it only takes a moment of Elias to come — the pressure and the friction too good to resist. Peter has to wrap a hand over his mouth to quieten his moaning. Elias shudders with the aftershocks, Peter’s still moving inside him almost too much to bear.

“God, you squeeze me so good every time,” Peter breathes into his nape. “I’ve missed this.”

Elias can’t breathe; tears gather freely on the corners of his eyes, but Peter doesn’t get off until he comes, too — it feels like orgasm drags on forever in an agonised bliss.

Elias shivers when Peter pulls out. It always gets a bit dry towards the end, but the burn and the stretch leave Elias tingly and sated — and now, completely boneless.

Peter eases him onto his side and removes the now damp t-shirt, chucking it aside; he then ties off both their condoms. The one that Elias has been wearing has almost slipped off; his flaccid cock now covered in spunk. Peter kneels between his legs and takes him into his mouth, causing Elias to seize with oversensitivity and nearly pull off chunks of Peter’s hair.

Peter pulls off of him with a wet pop, looking like the cat that got the cream. Elias sags and drapes an arm over his head, damp chest going up and down.

“Feeling better?” Peter asks. He caresses Elias’s thighs gently, barely even there. It makes pleasant goosebumps rise on Elias’s skin.

“God, you’ve ruined me…” Elias croaks. “You’ve fucked my brains out, Mr. Lukas.”

Peter chuckles. “Good.” He kisses Elias’s knee, his belly, his chest. Elias buries his fingers into his hair. “Gonna get something to clean you up.”

“Wait, just. Just stay like this for a bit.”

“Feeling like some post-coital cuddling, Mr. Bouchard?”

“Ugh,” Elias untangles his fingers from his perfect silver hair. “Now you’ve ruined it. Just go.”

Peter gives a rumbling chuckle that resounds through Elias’s chest. “No, thinking about it, I rather like it here. I get to see all your freckles.”

“Hm. Have you finally managed to count how many of them there are?”

“Nope,” Peter kisses his stomach, over the Eye tattoo. “But I’m still on it!”

Elias yawns. “Good- Good luck.”

“Gee, I really ought to get something to clean you up. At this rate you’ll end up sleeping.”

Elias snorts with his eyes closed. “Already am.”

Peter kisses his nose and leaves him be. When Elias wakes up the next day, he notices three things: one, Peter actually did give him a wipe down; two, he is very much aware of all the sleep he didn’t get last night; and three, he’s got an easy smile on for the rest of the day that he can’t deny.

#my fic #nanda's ramblings #lonelyeyes #lonelyeyes fic #lonelyeyes fanfiction #peter lukas #elias bouchard #martin blackwood #tim stoker #gertrude robinson #jurgen leitner #tma fic #tma fanfiction #do not archive #peterelias

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official-weasley · 3 years

Text

The Irreplaceable Charlie Weasley: Pt. 5, Ch. 2

PART 5: THE YEAR WHEN EVERYONE FIGHTS Chapter 2 - A Very Quidditch Crush

Penny

Who am I? What's my name?

I am so busy this year that I don't even have time to think about myself. Braiding my hair every morning? No time. Keeping my sister from getting lost around the Castle? No time. Spending time with my friends in any other way that doesn't revolve around studying? No time!

I even thought I wasn't nagging the group about O.W.L.s as much. They quickly proved me wrong when they started to complain about how much I talked about them. I decided to give them a little break as most of them were doing rather well so I went from every day to missing a couple of days per week, not mentioning the O.W.L.s and their importance.

I did, however, take as much time as I could to brew and experiment with potions. I wanted to learn new recipes and it was a good opportunity to talk to Snape about O.W.L.s even though, not much to my surprise, he wasn't as keen about it as I was. I still had access to his ingredients room and he even lent me one of his books about Potions which made me jump as I knew just how rare it was!

I knew I couldn't keep it forever, so I tried memorizing and trying as many potions from it as I possibly could and I wrote to my mum about it every chance I got. To be perfectly honest, she was the only one who shared my excitement about this.

I also took the time to attend as many of Ravenclaw's Quidditch practices as I possibly could. I half pretended to study, sitting on the lower stands and half eyeing Andre. He was so cute and the best Keeper ever, of course!

It seemed that Orion wanted to win the Quidditch Cup this year as they had practice almost every day. I, of course, didn't mind and neither did Nova for some reason. I noticed that after every match she didn't fly from the Pitch but joined the Quidditch commentator, who as I could recall, wasn't as funny compared to how much Nova giggled when he was talking.

After the fifth Friendly, I was pretty sure that Nova's secret crush from last year was finally revealed and I decided to casually ask her about it. I asked her to help me study for Transfiguration O.W.L. in the Library, as I knew she wouldn't be able to refuse, and since I told her all about my crush on Andre last year in the Library it made sense that I would ask her about Murphy there as well.

I chuckled when I saw how prepared she was! She brought 3 books and so many notes for which I didn't even know she was capable of having. I decided to be very cool about the whole thing, I didn't want her to run away after all. So we studied Transfiguration for about an hour, when I closed her book, crossed my arms on the table, and leaned my head on them.

“So...” I started.

“What is that look in your eyes, Penny?” She was suspicious already.

“About your crush.” I grinned and she rolled her eyes.

“You only invited me here to talk about who I fancy, didn't you?” She frowned as she knew what was coming.

“I was just wondering if I can make the same guess list Tulip did last year?” I blinked at her to appear as cute as possible.

“Alright.” She wasn't amused.

“Murphy McNully.” I said casually. She gasped and her cheeks turned tomato red.

“I knew it!” I pointed my finger at her.

“Shh!” I could hear Madam Pince behind us. I turned around and she was glaring at me.

“I knew it!” I repeated when she finally decided to walk to the other side of the Library, this time whispering.

“How do you know?” Nova was stunned.

“I might attend your Quidditch matches to daydream about Andre but I am not blind.” I winked at her.

“How obvious is it?” She sighed.

“Well,” I rubbed my chin, thinking about it. “If you didn't find him so funny talking about Quidditch, since I can't phantom what's there to laugh about, I wouldn't notice at all.” I was sarcastic as that wasn't the only reason I knew. She was also eyeing him during the matches and she flew right past him as much as possible.

“But he is funny.” Nova defended him.

“Nova, there is a 14,5% chance that only you laugh so much when he speaks.” I giggled and she rolled her eyes when I took Murphy's statistics to prove my point.

“Alright, you got me! But promise you won't tell anyone!” She made me swear.

“My lips are sealed.” I dragged an imaginary zipper across my mouth. “But only if you tell me how it happened?”

“Well,” she leaned closer to me to make sure Madam Pince wasn't going to throw us out, “remember how when you asked me about it last year, I was completely clueless who I had a crush on?” I nodded. How could I forget? I was positive it was Charlie and that she just couldn't see past their friendship.

“Well, after one practice I was taking extra time to get dressed because I wanted to be as late for History of Magic as I possibly could.”

“I knew you were being late on purpose!” I gasped.

“And I stayed alone in the tent and Murphy came inside and we talked and I realized that I liked him.” She blushed. That was pretty rare for her. Oh, she was so cute!

“What made you realize?” I was curious.

“He was talking about this Quidditch strategy that he was confident would improve my skills and I zoned out and suddenly realized just how blue his eyes are and what a cute smile he has.” Her face was as red as Tulip's hair at this point.

“Does he know?” I beamed.

“Does Andre know you like him?” Clever girl, throwing that in my face.

“Are you planning on telling him?” I asked, ignoring her.

“Are you planning on telling Andre?” I frowned at her. We were not talking about me and Andre right now.

“For a matter of fact, I am!” I scoffed at her. “We are going to Hogsmeade next week and I will tell him that I fancy him!”

“Wow, very brave of you Penny.” She winked at me.

“Thank you!” I lifted my chin up proudly and as I started to think about what to wear when I tell Andre I remembered that this wasn't about my crush but hers.

“Stop distracting me!” She giggled. “How serious is this crush of yours?” The answer to this question interested me not just because if they started dating, we could go on double dates but also because I knew Charlie fancied Nova.

“I don't know. I am not so invested in these matters like you are, Penny.” She answered honestly.

“Don't you want to know if he feels the same way?” I asked, confused. Nova gave it some thought.

“Not really. At least not yet. I feel too young for this stuff.” It was probably the first time I struggled to understand her.

“So you will just stare at him and giggle at his not so funny speeches all the time?” I raised my eyebrow.

“I guess.” She giggled. Why she would do that for I had no idea. I know we're only turning 16 this year but if you like somebody, shouldn't you let them know?

“You're weird, Nova Blackwood.” Was all I said.

“Good for you to notice after so many years. Can we go back to studying now?” She opened her book again.

Even though she didn't want to act on it right now, I knew she fancied Murphy very much and I knew that sooner or later she will want some advice on how to best approach him.

I was so happy for her, I could see her dating Murphy and I think they would look really cute together. But I couldn't help but feel sorry for Charlie who admitted to me last year that he has a crush on his best friend. Nova liked Murphy a lot but I got a feeling that Charlie was deeper than that even though he didn't want to admit it and was waiting for his feelings to go away.

At first, I was hoping that I was wrong and I was observing Charlie as much as possible, without being too obvious, to see if he still fancied her. Not only did he blush every time he saw her and stiffened every time she leaned on him or hugged him. He also became more awkward around her and I was beginning to wonder if all my friends needed glasses as he couldn't be more obvious.

I decided I wouldn't tell him as I reckoned it would break his heart and ruin their friendship and honestly, wasn't my business and he would probably be as stubborn about it like he was when he told me about his crush. He said that he will never act upon it and, unlike with Nova, I actually believed him. I reckon Murphy is a great mate and everything, but I couldn't help to think that Charlie and Nova were a match made by Merlin himself.

“Penny, are you even listening to me?” Nova poked my cheek.

“Huh?” I rose my head, which was leaned on my closed fist.

“Were you daydreaming about Andre?” She shook her head, winking.

“Yes.” I lied. It was the first time I didn't.

“So, how are you planning to tell him about how much you fancy him?” She asked, making a kissy face.

“I was thinking of inviting him to Hogsmeade and taking him to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop.”

“Take him where?” Nova asked puzzled. I giggled, I knew she wouldn't know where that was.

“It's this cute little tea shop in one of the narrow alleys. It's perfect for dates and a lot of couples go there to snog.” She nodded, knowing immediately why she had never heard about it before.

“You're going to snog him?” Nova raised her eyebrows.

“Well, if he feels the same way after I tell him, why not?” I frowned as she chuckled.“What's the matter with snogging?”

“Oh, nothing. I just think you're adorable!” She pinched my cheeks like my aunt did every time she visited.

“Just go back to reading your book!” I rolled my eyes, trying to focus on reading her notes as it has become apparent she wouldn't give me any more information about her and Murphy.

—

Weeks were passing by so quickly that I felt unprepared for my O.W.L.s I knew we still had plenty of time to study but I was hoping that the teachers would cut us some slack since we had to study for such an important examination.

It seemed, however, that they had more to teach us this year than ever before and the worst of it was that all of the material was also going to appear on the exams. We were all doing a pretty good job. Charlie studied for his Care of Magical Creatures and Defense Against the Dark Arts the most, while Nova teased him that there were other subjects to study for as well.

I was doing as good as I could on all my subjects. I was even surprised how good Tulip was doing as I was sure she would refuse to study just like Tonks did.

Speaking of Tonks! She was driving me insane. She didn't want to hear about O.W.L.s at all. She rarely came down to the Lake with us or joined us in the Library and every time I tried to explain just how important this examination was she rolled her eyes and tried getting as far away from me as possible. I started to worry about her as studying in the last week and a half won't help her get through this as it did with regular exams.

However, I was determined I won't give up and stop nagging her. Sooner or later she will have to start studying. Something that wasn't an issue with my little sister who was just the biggest angel when it came to doing homework and studying. What puzzled me though was the fact that she didn't enjoy Potions at all!

I asked her about it once and she threw in my face that not everybody wants to become a Potioneer and I didn't have a choice but to accept that.

I also convinced Andre to start studying with me which was more for his benefit than mine as I could barely focus on anything else but his cute face. I helped him with every subject but I knew we would have to ask Nova for help when it comes to Transfiguration.

The day to tell Andre finally came and I decided to wear my favorite yellow blouse as it was too cold to wear a dress. We walked to Hogsmeade together and I was relieved when I told him where I was taking him and he didn't seem to mind at all.

It went great as usual. He made me laugh and I just loved how much we had to talk about. We got so lost in our conversation that I didn't get a chance to tell him how I feel. I didn't need to do that, however, as our hands brushed while walking back to the Castle, and Andre, looking away, held my hand and didn't let go until it was time for me to go into my Common Room. It was by far, the best day of my Fifth Year.

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bibliocratic · 4 years

Text

s1 martin and tim go drinking, mlm/mlm solidarity

(some cws on this one, check the tags)

“Looks like it's up to us to paint the town then, Martin!”

“Huh?” Martin glances up, not really in the mood for Tim's hi-jinks. He doesn't want to admit he's been frowning over this statement follow-up for about forty minutes, because Jon sent it back, covered in corrections, again, and it's getting on late on a Friday evening and Martin's brain's decided to clock out from the working week. If Tim's been talking, Martin's not heard a word.

Tim playfully throws a rubber-band ball over to him. Martin fumbles but manages to catch it.

“Sasha's got 'plans'” Tim makes finger quotes, and gives Martin a wink like he's in on a joke. “And it's not like Jon's going to come out with us. So it's you and me buddy! Two stunning single bachelors, us against the world!”

Tim grins at the idea, and Martin automatically smiles back, warmed by Tim wanting to spend actual time with him.

“O-ok!” he says, bolstered by Tim's enthusiasm. “That's... yeah, great, cool! Where are we going?”

He hasn't been out in ages. He's struggling to remember when he last did.

“Was thinking some food first,” Tim replies, catching with ease when Martin lobs the ball back. He throws it from hand to hand thoughtfully. His eyes light up as he snags on a thought. “Let's make a night of it! Head into Soho, what d'you reckon. Bit of a walk, but it'll be a nice night for it. I'll take you to G-A-Y, see if we can't set you up with some strapping lad who finds Star Wars t-shirts sexy.”

Martin's hands suddenly twitch like a grave spasm.

“I – ah, I'm s-sorry. I – er. What?”

Tim leans back on his chair, disregarding both gravity and Martin's panicked expression that's slammed the brakes down on his previous bubbling excitement.

“I know, can get packed on a Friday. If it's too busy, we'll try for the Admiral Duncan or somewhere else. The bartender at Ku Bar is really fit, might even be your type, so we could head over there...”

“I – ” There's a lot of words in Martin's throat, and he's not sure how to work with the stiff material they're formed of, making them into something sensible. “I... I've... I mean...”

It's not that he's ashamed. It's not the word he'd use anyway, even if there's defensiveness in his posture, insecurity in his constant omission, and he's strung up in a reaction that scratches up him like fight or flight. He's wondering, despairingly, does everyone know?

Tim must notice something wrong, because he's knocking the legs of his chair back onto the ground. Frowning and leaning forward, putting the ball down on his desk.

“We don't have to,” he says, holding up his hands as though backtracking. “If you've got some secret fella on the go, hey, you're allowed to keep the mystery man a secret. Just thought it might be a good night out, that's all.”

“I don't... I don't have a secret....” Martin can't even say the word, splutters and swallows it bitterly. “How did you...?” he stops again, miserable and irate at his own inability, embarrassed that he's nearly thirty and this is so hard, worrying about what gave him away. He'd been so careful.

“Ah,” Tim's face clears from the clouds of his confusion, and it's abruptly replaced by the weather front of something heavy, a sad kind of comprehension. He adjusts his cap a bit further back from his face. “Let me guess, and tell me if I'm barking up the wrong tree here. You've not been to G-A-Y before.”

Martin gives a little stiff shake of his head.

“You've – and again, I might be wrong – but you've never actually been to a gay bar before.”

Another shake of the head.

“But you like blokes, right?”

Martin's throat is dry. He feels overwhelmingly looked at, and he wants to shrink away, he wants Tim to just shut up, and leave it, and forget they even started this whole thing.

It takes a lot for him to nod.

Tim's expression blooms into a kind-hearted sympathy.

“I'm not going to tell anyone, Martin,” he says, and the air in the room is a little less tight at that earnest promise. “If that's what you're.... No one here would bat an eyelid, but I, I won't say anything that you don't want me to, ok?”

“I don't...” Martin says falteringly, and he fidgets with the stapler on his desk, prods at a biro. “I don't tell people.”

There's a lot in that. Tim knows not to push.

“We don't have to go,” Tim finally replies quietly. “Not if you don't want to. If it's too much...”

“No!” Martin surprises himself with the force of his response, and colours violently, feeling his entire face heat up. “I mean – I – I'd like to. If you – if you still want.”

Tim grins, and his cocksure manner is on display like a theatre curtain lifted. He stands up, doing a stupid little bow like he's trying to make Martin laugh.

“t'would be my honour to lead you astray, Master Blackwood,” he puts on the snobbiest toff voice, and Martin can't help but unwind a little at how daft he sounds, how at ease he looks. It could be, he thinks to himself, maybe it could be this easy.

They get pub-grub in a Wetherspoons near Camden Lock, and they talk about things that aren't work. Films and sport and TV, and it's deliberately breezy and Martin's so appreciative. After a couple of pints, Tim starts teasingly pointing out people around them like he's some sort of cold war spy, asking Martin under his voice to give them a score out of ten – hey, he defends himself when Martin gets flustered and half-heartedly objects, as your wingman I need to know what I'm working with. And there's a giddy delirium to how suddenly all very simple it is to talk about things like this with someone, the cider lubricating his thoughts, his easily tied-up tongue, and soon they're a few pints down, and Martin's snorting a laugh and arguing with Tim about his taste in men, because apparently their opinions and interests vary wildly. The debate only ends when Tim points his fork at him, mock haughtily, replying that at least he's got the common sense to not fancy the boss, and that sends Martin choking on his drink for a good minute, eyes streaming and face burning.

Finally, Tim stands up and claps his hands together as though it's a moment of great grandeur.

“And now!” he declares. “It's time we got this young cub a boyfriend!”

“Would you – Tim! Would you, shush! I'm only a year younger than you, you absolute pillock.”

“No one cares! Best thing about London, Martin, everyone's too wrapped up in their own bollocks to care about ours. Now, are we going or what?”

It's... it's a really good night. They get in easily, and Tim apparently knows the bouncers at the door because he picks up some banter with them easily. Martin looks around at the lights and the people while Tim buys the first round. It's not as scary as he'd imagined. It's, well, it's a normal night club, and it's not late enough to be packed, so people are milling around in groups, drinking, half-dancing to Lady Gaga. The floor is sticky with spilled drink and the music is a little too loud for conversation to be heard, but Martin finds his feet tapping along to the music regardless, and when Tim hands him his plastic glass and holds his own drink up for a cheers, Martin's smile is wide and genuine, the knotted sensation in his chest gone slack.

He'd entertained the worry that Tim might ditch him as soon as he got a hint of attention. Tim certainly gets appraising looks and a few flirty glances which he coquettishly returns, but he sticks to Martin's side, pulling him onto the dance floor and woot-ing with delight when a song comes on that he likes.

They buy more drinks. Martin's round, then Tim's round, and then it's someone's round but Tim's had the grand idea of shots. It must be after midnight, and the music has dissolved into thumping chart-toppers, and Martin is buzzing. Dancing in his own artless way to the music, his shoes stained with some drink he spilt earlier, sing-shouting to the words he knows in the songs. He's danced with people, people who were interested, interested in him, and he hasn't felt the urge to step back, to make sure no-one is watching, to make sure no one gets the wrong idea.

Tim's nudged him forward with a go on Casanova, strut your stuff towards a short blond man, dancing flat-footed and throwing himself into the music, who has been giving Martin impressed, slightly wowed side-eyes all evening, who beams when Martin joins his dance space and draws him into a complicated dance move which Martin stumbles over but tries his best. The man is trying to shout something complimentary in his ear but the music is too loud to hear.

They're both sweaty but the other man is giving him such a look, and Martin feels like an uncorked bottle of champagne, and he finds himself shyly smiling back as the song merges into something louder and more energetic.

He doesn't notice his mobile vibrating. Can't hear it over the music. He pulls his phone out of his pocket almost absent-mindedly, intent on checking the time, figuring he'll have to get the night bus back if they stay here much later, and he blinks as the blurry words and shapes realise themselves into multiple missed calls.

He is suddenly, shockingly sober.

He pushes his way through the dancing throngs, throwing out apologies like scattering seeds, and he clatters back down the stairs, bumping to a few people queueing for the toilers, and then he shoulders his way inexpertly through the downstairs bar and its clusters of people, and then he's out the front door. His breathing is too fast. He's returning the call with a panic, clearing his throat, hoping desperately he doesn't sound too drunk, that he's not slurring his words, because what if something's happened, something bad, and what's his excuse, really. He should have been there, he's just been out, getting pissed, and what's she going to say when she realises....

“Martin?” comes a hollered shout, and Tim's tumbling out of the doors, holding both their jackets and an expression of such concern. “Martin, what...?”

Martin desperately shushes him with an expression.

“Hey,” he croaks down the phone line. “I got your....No, m-my phone was.... No, n-no honestly, it wasn't, I wasn't ignoring....... I-I know, I know, I'm............ yeah........... yeah, I know, but................. Just some people from work, I just lost track of time, I'll.............. I know...... I'll get a taxi, I can be there in...... Ok. I-I know. Sorry, I'll...... Ok. Ok. Bye, mum.”

He ends the call. Rubs at his face. He feels wound up in his chest again.

“I have to go,” he says, and he refuses to meet Tim's eyes. He has the strong suspicion his own eyes are shinier than he wants them to be. “She's not well. She had an episode earlier, and I.... I just need to go. Make sure she's ok.”

“She doesn't know, does she?” Tim's voice is rough from singing, from drinking, but his expression is hard and dark.

“It doesn't matter,” Martin replies shortly.

“Of course it matters!” Tim says, almost with disbelief. “Martin, I know it's your..... but this isn't, this isn't ok. You can't let people tell you what to do with your life!”

“What are you doing then?” Martin snaps back. Because Christ, he's tired and the night's drawn on too late, and his skin feels sticky, and his mum, she sounded bad, sick under the snapping annoyance at the bother he's caused her yet again. He wasn't there, wasn't there to check up on her, and she'll know he's been drinking and he doesn't need this, not now. He can't do this now.

“That's unfair,” Tim replies curtly. There's something like anger on his face before it dissipates into something Martin can't read. “Martin, you can't keep... one of these days you're going to have to be honest with yourself.”

“You say that like it's easy!” Martin responds, almost enraged, his voice cracking. “I can't be – I can't be like you! I can't – it's all so easy for you, a-and I just... I can't. I'm, I'm sorry. I can't.”

Martin breathes out a tear-stifled breath. He thinks there's a taxi rank a few streets away that he saw on the way over. The lights and loud music are pulsing away, and it's distant, like a bubble he's had to walk away from.

“Thank you for... for trying,” he says hoarsely. “I did.... I had a really nice night, you know.”

Tim pauses and then nods wretchedly, a weight to his shoulders. He walks up to Martin, a little wobbly from the shots, the skin of his exposed arms beginning to get chilly, signposting his intentions so Martin has the chance to move away.

Martin doesn't. Tim's arms come crushing around him, and he slumps into it, full of emotions he doesn't have the ability to name, he doesn't have the bravery to face up to yet.

“We'll do this again sometime, yeah?” Tim mumbles encouragingly into his sweaty hair.

“I'd like that,” Martin replies faintly, before he pulls away, taking his jacket back. Gives Tim a worn-down little wave before he turns away.

The music takes a long time to fade from his ears.

#the magnus archives #tma #martin blackwood #tim stoker #tw internalised homophobia #cw repression #cw unhealthy family relationships #part of a larger work that will eventually see the light of day about Martin being mlm #i forgot how much i loved tim #and then i remembered seeing his daft little hat at the liveshow #cw Martin's canonically bad relationship with his mum

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squeeneyart · 4 years

Text

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 3

AO3

Martin tells the researchers about his experience with the lighthouse.

Sound travels far.

Martin managed to convince the others that perhaps waiting until the rain let up a bit would be best before taking them to the other side of town. They might want to take notes, he had suggested, and maybe it would be better to wait until the end of their work day, since they would have to head to the local inn, anyway?

They conceded, though Sasha seemed antsy after her apparent discovery. Martin couldn’t deny that the questions she had had about the windows bothered him in the same way, but talking about it with no expertise seemed like it would invite something unpleasant. Instead, he led the way back down. Tim kept to the side from the beginning this time, firmly holding the handrail, and when the vertigo hit, he asked the group to stop for a moment before continuing down to the ground floor. At the back of the group, Jon was a different sort of quiet from before. Was he more irritated than before, Martin wondered, or was he taking this as seriously as Sasha? Maybe both. The guy seemed like he could hold a lot of irritation in him. Okay, that was mean, Martin thought. It wasn’t as if there wasn’t at least one thing to be rightfully irritated by.

When they reached the bottom, Martin shook off the thought and went back to his desk in the corner to gather his things. He would be ready the moment it was time to leave. The rain was still pounding against the outer walls of the lighthouse, so he was, for the moment, stuck. Once he finished packing up, he headed toward the kitchen to wait the rest of the day out.

Before he could make it there, Sasha said, “Martin, can you bring your chair over here? We have some more questions for you.” Martin shut his eyes tight, opened them, and turned right back around, plastering a sheepish smile to his face.

“Oh, sure. Don’t think I have much else to say, though?”

“That’s fine,” Tim said, taking his own seat. “At this point we’re just killing time.” Sasha shushed him halfheartedly and motioned at the small open space between Tim and Jon. Catching Martin’s concerned look, Jon rolled his eyes and scooted his chair over to make room, causing the knot in Martin’s stomach to tighten. Martin carried his chair over and willed himself to be just a bit smaller to no avail.

“So, Martin, how long have you lived in the area?” Sasha asked, settling her notebook in front of her, tapping the open page with her pen.

“Gosh, since I was born? Never really been anywhere else unless you count the town over, and only a few times,” he replied, picking at the sleeve of his shirt, holding himself back from looking at any of them. All those years all spent in this dreary town, they must’ve been thinking, what a bunch of nothing. He wouldn’t disagree.

“Okay, great,” Sasha said. “How long have you worked in this building? And how did you come to work for Mr. Lukas?”

“Just a few months now. I had been working some smaller jobs when an opening came up here and Peter picked me. He’s supplied the town with a lot of work the last few years since the fishing’s been not so great. Don’t tell anyone I said that, though!” He added the last bit quickly and then coughed. “People get defensive about it? Like-”

Jon interjected, “Yes, I’m sure there are many opinions on the subject of the local economy, but these details are unnecessary.” Martin flinched.

“Right, sorry. Um, yeah, I applied for the job and I guess it was a good fit. Kept me on this long, right?”

“Right,” Sasha said, her mouth twitching a bit as she gave Jon a look. Martin felt very much like there was a silent conversation happening that he was not privy to. “All right, next. Martin, if we could get an official statement regarding the… strange attributes of the lighthouse, that would be very helpful. Just something quick so we can get an outside description.”

“Yeah, yeah, I can do that.” Martin adjusted himself in his chair as Jon dug out an old tape recorder. “Wow, that’s-”

“Very old, yes, we know,” Jon said, his tired voice echoing a sentiment they must’ve received a thousand times. “Speak into this part here. Statement of Martin Blackwood, regarding the old lighthouse where he works. Statement taken by Jonathan Sims, further questions by Sasha James. Statement begins.”

“R-Right okay, well. The first time I noticed it, I was still quite young, maybe nine or ten? Somewhere around there. Anyway, I had walked up to grab something for- yeah, it was when I started grabbing groceries for my mum. I had walked up the hill and made it to the top, at which point I see, as usual, the big old lighthouse on the other side of town. A really easy landmark for me to follow. I walked down the street as usual, but this time around, I watched the lighthouse as I went. And just like I told you before, as I walked, it began to get bigger somehow. Not like a normal amount, but as if the thing was growing with my steps, and before I could even make it to the shop, I suddenly got hit with this dizziness, and next thing I know, I’m on the ground, being roused by the local florist.”

“And this had never happened before?”

Martin shook his head. “No, not that I remember.”

“And it’s happened ever since?”

“Yeah, though after a while I learned to just… stop looking? I knew it would make me sick, so why look?”

“And the weather discrepancy at the top of the building, was this something you’d ever noticed?”

“No, not really. I was always busy with work and for the most part the view tended to be pretty much the same. Staring out to sea loses its charm pretty quick, especially since by the time I get up there, the dizziness would set in hard.” Martin looked at Tim who nodded sympathetically. “But it’s weird, yeah, once you pointed it out.”

“Okay, great. One more thing: Are there any other strange occurrences, related or not to this building, that you know of in this town?” Sasha stared at him hard. The hairs on the back of his neck begin to prickle at the intensity.

“Not personally, no,” he said easily. “Lots of the older folks around town could probably be helpful, though, with stories they like to tell. There are some I could point you towards if you’d like.”

“That would be great, yeah.” Sasha looked at her notebook, tapped the pen twice on the page, and then closed it. “That’s all the questions I have. Jon, Tim?” Tim shrugged and Jon shook his head. “Okay then. Statement ends.” Sasha nodded at Jon who clicked off the recorder and left it on the table. “Now we wait for either the weather or the day to end, I suppose.” Martin nodded and stood up, finally able to escape to the kitchen.

He had barely managed to get the kettle back on the stove before he heard what seemed to be Sasha’s attempt at a whisper in a place that wouldn’t allow for it.

“Are you really going to pout about an accident this whole week? It’s not like we’ll have to work with him that long.” Martin, who had been about to tell the others about how easily sound traveled, froze.

“We’ve been here less than a day and he’s made it very clear that he’ll be of little help to us,” Jon whispered back, though not as quiet as Sasha was trying to be. “I’ll go along with him leading us to nothing to get it out of the way, but I think it’ll be best if we leave him out of the work otherwise.”

“Elias clearly wants us to check out this place or else he wouldn’t have wanted us working here. Sure, the guy seems pretty simple, but that’s no reason to be rude. Besides, he’s worked here for months. There may be other things he’s forgotten.”

“Yes, ‘forgotten’. He seems to do that a lot, like when I asked him to print something off earlier and he just ‘forgot’. It’s not my fault he’s either forgetful or just plain lazy. I don’t believe for a minute he managed to finish all of his work so early. He might even be making up this extra thing to seem important. We’ve seen the type before.”

Martin didn’t make a sound, electing to pick his nails and keep his eyes on the stove. He knew he had missed something, hadn’t he? Of course it was something Jon had asked for.

“It’s not like he’s our office assistant,” Tim said pointedly. “He seems nice enough. Not his fault we came in here and took the place over.”

“Either way,” Sasha said, “just cool it a bit? He helps us out when he can, we collect some information, and then we’ll be done. We might even get the go-ahead to leave by next Friday if we work at it, and after that you can get back to whatever it is you’re so anxious to get back to. But honestly, I’m going to enjoy doing field research without Elias breathing down my neck.” There was a grumble.

“Fine. But this still feels like a waste of time. All of it.” Footsteps echoed and Jon appeared in the kitchen, making a beeline for his jacket without making eye contact. Martin acted as if he were considering the different tea options and didn’t let up the charade until he heard the front entrance open and shut. He breathed out and then jumped as the kettle brought his full attention back to itself.

He could try harder, really. It’s the least he could do.

Martin knew the nerves were plain on his face as he reached the end of the road. Tim whistled.

“So, that climb doesn’t do anything to you?” Tim asked, hands in his pockets, staring down the steep path leading home.

“Never. Just makes the mornings a little harder than they need to be,” Martin said in a tone he hoped was lighter than he felt. Sasha and Jon had their gazes set on the lighthouse.

“Okay, I’ve got the camera running,” Sasha said, holding up an old camcorder. They really didn’t have the latest tech, wherever it was they worked. Not that Martin judged too harshly. He wondered if the recording would feel like a home movie when they finished. “Let’s see for ourselves, shall we?” She said, and began to walk with Jon and Tim close behind and Martin waiting at the start.

“I definitely don’t feel anything,” Jon said, his tone curt and arms crossed. Martin’s stomach churned as he waited for the three to turn and look at him in disappointment. He had wasted their time, of course, with his own stupid-

“Oh,” Tim said, beginning to wobble. “Oh that’s fucking weird.” Sasha and Jon looked at him in confusion and annoyance respectively. Tim stopped, walked himself back a few steps, and then walked forward again, doing his best to consistently look at the lighthouse. “You weren’t lying, Martin, that thing is growing.” Jon snorted disparagingly.

“Tim, please don’t make jokes-”

“I’m not! It’s the same as before, on the stairs! My head feels like it’s, I dunno-”

“Full of fog?” Martin said weakly, still standing back where the others had left him. Tim turned to nod at him in encouragement, and Martin continued, turning his eyes up to the lighthouse briefly before flitting them between the ground and Tim for support. “You stare up at it, but your head can’t make sense of what’s going on, and then you can’t focus at all, and it’s like your stomach is dropping out of you. At least, if you do it for too long.” Sasha and Jon looked at the two of them, and Sasha stopped recording to look back at the video.

“Oh, shit,” she whispered, pressing a few buttons before handing it to Jon.

“You’re kidding,” Jon said quietly. All Martin could tell from a distance was that, when Jon pressed play and turned the volume up, the only thing coming from the camcorder was a horrible static.

#tma #the magnus archives #martin blackwood #breathe in the salt #jonathan sims #timothy stoker #sasha james #peter lukas #jonmartin #fanfic #au fanfic #selkie au #sort of #i swear im gonna draw things i just also. want to get to some things in this

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nashvillesingersblog · 6 years

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HOW CAN I KEEP FROM SINGING by Crossroads

A review by Todd Wilson

So I got a text on July 20th from my friend Fred Farrell. The point of his contact was to ask if I would consider publishing a review of Crossroads' fourth CD release, How Can I Keep from Singing.

Before Fred, Jim, Brandon and Mike came together from other notable champion quartets to form Crossroads, and quickly won the International Quartet Championship in 2009. I have appreciated their friendship and admired their individual musicianship. As I pondered Fred's request for a hot minute, the first word that came to my mind was "Wow!" Like my own championship foursome ACOUSTIX, Crossroads sings a wide variety of musical styles including vocal jazz, blues, gospel, pop classics, and classic American standards. While I have served as a judge at a number of singing events, and for the Contemporary A Cappella Recording Awards over a span of almost 20 years, I have never been asked to review a new CD, so I am looking forward to this new journey in my music-filled life. LISTENING ENVIRONMENTS: I listened to these tracks in my car, on my Bose Sound Dock, and using my Fostex T20RP studio headphones. I enjoyed this recording the best in my car, as I could get more gain. My next favorite was the headphones as I could diminish background noise. The Bose speakers were last, but are portable and convenient. DISCLAIMER: Reviews are so very subjective. What I will share are my candid, personal opinions. I do not expect everyone to agree with my assessment.

01 - Just One of Those Things This refreshing new Aaron Dale arrangement opens with a scat solo by bass singer Dr. Jim Henry, and includes a wide variety of musical elements to keep things interesting. While I have no critique of the singing, Crossroads never disappoints in that category - the dynamic range felt a bit too compressed. The mix throughout this project does seem a bit dry for my personal taste but does allow Crossroads to better replicate what you might hear in an an up close and personal live performance in someone's living room at an after, afterglow. The tag was a nice musical surprise, but did not have the climactic feel you might expect. Regardless, this track showcases the amazing skills of these four singers quite well. 02 - Butter Outta Cream I've never heard this composition before and am grateful to Crossroads for expanding my horizons with this one. Great storytelling exhibited with this performance throughout. The melodic line of this song is not easy, but Mike Slamka makes difficult passages sound so effortless. Jim's solo was equally masterful and expressive, but I'd love to hear him showcased a bit more by diminishing the gain of the BGVs a wee bit and adding a touch more verb. The dry mix worked better for me on this track, than the first, however, the compressed dynamic range still left me wanting more of what we might experience from a live performance. And YES, these guys do look like they enjoy butter and cream. : ) 03 - This Heart of Mine This song grabbed me from the first word and held my attention to the very end. That statement defines emotional engagement. On the first two tracks, my ears were drawn more to (lead and bass) Mike and Jim. Fred and Brandon did nothing to call attention to what they were doing or distract me in any way. This ballad was a great vehicle to demonstrate the mood you can create when four gifted voices come together to tell a powerful story. But, it really showcased the vocal prowess of Brandon on baritone and Freddie on tenor. All four singers OWNED this performance. Hearing this made me want to reach out to arranger Brent Graham to request the sheet music so I could perform this song with my brothers in the Nashville Singers. My favorite track so far. Well done gents. 04 - A Wonderful Time Up There Intros can be a chance to capture the attention of the listener, get you in the right mood, and set the tone for the rest of the song. That said, I could have done without the first 10 seconds of this track. With the Blackwood Brothers, this southern Gospel classic showcased their bass singer, J.D. Sumner. David Wright's arrangement, while dominated by the dulcet tones of bass singer Dr. Jim Henry, also included solos by lead singer Mike Slamka and baritone Brandon Guyton. When it comes to nailing the soulfulness you often hear in great gospel quartet soloist, Brandon Guyton won the authenticity award in this mini version of the "Sing-Off." Jim's mastery of his voice through a huge range is very impressive. The over use of the off beat "dots" from the BGVs got a bit tedious for my taste. In a coaching session, I would encourage an alternative of some kind.

05 - St. Louis Blues A song/arrangement like this was meant for Crossroads. Mike has such a soulful, expressive interpretation of this W.C. Handy masterpiece, arranged by David Wright. The rest of his quartet mates add the icing to the cake. They have fun with the dissonance and occasional bending of the pitch to blues it up a bit, but not too much. Jim drops a low C a few times and I could almost envision him winking as he does it. The guys exhibit a tasteful and appropriate contrast in dynamics. 06 - The Devil Ain't Lazy This chart opens with Dr. Jim and again, he does not disappoint. All four singers generate a great deal of vocal excitement, executing close jazzy chords and tricky rhythms like pros. These guys are consummate storytellers. 07 - Not Like This Wow. Just wow. OK, that's not much of a review. Let me elaborate. Take Crossroads, add the the international mixed quartet champion, Double Date, throw in a killer arrangement by Dr. Jim Henry and a soulful solo by Brandon Guyton and what you get with this track is both magical and beautiful at the same time. I have listened to this track over and over again and do not tire of it. No critique necessary. It's marvelous, and worth the price of the CD on its own. 08 - Get On Board I think you'll enjoy this catchy, uptempo toe-tapper originally popularized by The Isaacs, and arranged by Mike's son-in-law Nathan Johnson. I loved the key changes and solos. 09 - They Could Not I really like this Steve Armstrong arrangement, Mike's treatment on the melody and of course the message. These guys came together to present a majestic performance of this Sandi Patty song written by Ron Harris and Claire Cloninger. 10 - Hello Young Lovers Rodgers and Hammerstein collaborated on this composition for "The King and I." Arranged by David Wright, this is a huge departure from the original interpretation. Kudos to David for his creativity and vision and to the guys in Crossroads for bringing it to life. I really enjoyed this jazzy uptempo treatment, the wacky chords, and Dr. Jim's walking bass lines. 11 - How Can I Keep From Singing The lush, fat, and warm chords in the intro set the tone for this gorgeous hymn quite nicely. This David Wright arrangement showcases the sweet, tenderness in Mike's lead voice. He makes it sound so effortless. Jim Henry has many solo sections on this project, but his delivery on this song is my favorite of the bunch. That said, from a mixing point of view, I would have pulled the fader bar down a bit on the BGVs to let Jim's warmth and resonance wrap around me (the listener) even more. The tenderness, dynamics and reverence complemented the message perfectly. Bravo guys!

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12 - You're My Best Friend The final cut on this project has Crossroads performing a Queen song arranged by Aaron Dale, includes Vocal Spectrum, solos by Mike Slamka and Tim Waurick, and vocal percussion by Nick Gerard. As with track 7, when you bring that much talent to the table, expectations are going to be huge. Were they met? Almost. But when your expectations are that lofty, "almost" is still very, very impressive. The singing by both quartets (as expected) was superb. The VP wasn't as distracting as I thought it might be. The arrangement kept things interesting, captured the essence of the original Queen score and introduced some new elements to boot. When you record a rock classic like this, comparisons to the original are unavoidable. The solos were stellar, but none of them delivered the sometimes "over the top" edge and passion delivered by the late Freddie Mercury. But then again, not many singers are born with those kinds of pipes? Still, this track left me wanting more. Pardon the minutia again, but similar to one of my observations in track 4, I was a bit distracted by the repeated "dah" on the tonic C note. I probably would have modified this to a "doo" and/or lower the gain a wee bit on that particular element. I liked the sweet and tender treatment at the beginning, but as the arrangement unfolded, I was hoping to hear some more edgy expressiveness to complement what was happening in the arrangement. Speaking of comparisons, when you include a contemporary a cappella chart in your project, my musical brain could not help but wonder what a few of the best collegiate a cappella groups, like the Tufts Beelzebubs or On the Rocks might have done with this chart? To end this review on a night note, (excuse the pun) another thing this track has going for it is a four-octave spread on the last chord. Nice!

In closing, this is a very fine, quality recording project with something for everyone. I encourage you to order your CD or digital download today. It's been nine years since Crossroads won the International Quartet Championship of the Barbershop Harmony Society and these four guys continue to raise the bar musically. It's an honor to have them as my friends and brothers in the Association of International Champions. They have been and will continue to be outstanding ambassadors for the a cappella community. It is no surprise that Crossroads was awarded "Quartet of the Year" in May 2018 by the inaugural A Cappella Music Awards program.

Order a copy of this or other CDs by Crossroads by clicking this link https://www.crossroadsquartet.com/cds/

#cd review #crossroads

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