#winter aus
Note
14(+44?), 16, or 71 for indruck! (71 could also be cute for dani/aubrey)
I went with 14, SFW! I’ll also do 16 at some point.
14: The power goes out in our apartment building, but i’m not prepared for this, and you come to check on me
Duck’s playing his old Tony Hawk game just for the hell of it when the power goes. Judging by the suddenly dark building out his window, it’s not just his building, but the whole block.
He’s gonna go out on a limb and assume the huge-ass snowstorm has something to do with it. It’s only six p.m, but it’s so fucking dark his brain thinks it’s midnight, so maybe he can just go to sleep. Thank fuck the heat in this place is gas and not electric.
Duck putters around, refills Taco’s water dish, and changes into his sweatpants and t-shirt, figuring he’ll read on his phone until bed.
There’s a clatter-crash above him, followed by a thud and the kind of curses someone makes when they’re alone.
He takes advantage of living in an old building with thin walls and floors.
“‘Drid? Everythin okay up there, man?”
All the scuffling ceases, then, “As much as it can be.”
Duck grabs the nearest sweatshirt and his keys, tossing another blanket over Taco before heading out the door and up the stairs. See, Duck is a guy with lots of soft spots. And one of those soft spots has “Indrid Cold” stamped into it.
He barely saw the man the first year he lived here, though he heard him plenty. Footsteps at all hours of the night, music that either ping-ponged wildly between genres or stayed on the same song for the whole day, and only ever one voice to go along with it all.
The first time they met, Duck nearly fell off his balcony.
“Those look lovely.”
He drops the watering can, whirling to look up. An angular face with red glasses and a mess of silver hair peers over the edge of the railing above him.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you. I, ah, I just meant the plants are very nice. The rosemary in particular seems to be thriving.”
“Uh, yeah. Thanks. Uh, how long have you been watchin me?” He’s in a tank-top due to the heat, but was shirtless until a few minutes ago.
“A number of weeks. Oh dear, ah, that sounds creepy. I just mean that I can see your deck from mine, and sometimes I end up watching it instead of focusing on my work. I’ve never seen so many pollinators come to such a small space; it’s amazing.”
“Huh.” Duck tongues his cheek, not sure whether to be flattered or alarmed.
“Do you want a Capri Sun? They're cold.”
He chuckles, “Sure, why the hell not? Send one down.”
There’s a plastic thunk and then a beach pail comes down on a rope to deliver his drink.
In spite of that odd start, he and Indrid started talking more, to the point the other man would come down and sit on the balcony while Duck gardened or Duck would sit in Indrids chaotic apartment and read while Indrid did tarot card predictions over the phone. During those five months, he discovered Indrid is a disaster magnet; broken glasses, a broken-into car, an almost broken ankle due to slipping in the first frost of the season. Hence his trip upstairs, just to be sure nothing is wrong.
He knocks, gets a “come in,” and cannot see the other man anywhere. And the apartment is freezing.
“Bedroom!” Indrid calls from down the short hallway. Duck shuts and locks the door, picks his way over crumpled drawings to find his friend no more than a pile of fabric on a mattress on the floor with an unplugged trio of space heaters pointing at him.
“You want me to turn the heater up?”
“You can’t. It’s broken. The repair man was supposed to come this morning but had to cancel because of the roads.” Indrid’s face appears from a black blanket.
“Shit, you got no way to heat the place? My little hand-power radio says this might last until tomorrow mornin.”
“I was afraid of that.” Indrid sighs, “I’ll just hope that the blankets are enough. The bang you heard was me tripping over the one I was wearing as a shawl.”
Duck holds out his hand, “Or you could come a floor down where there’s a workin heater, goofus.”
“I, ah, suppose I could. I won’t be in your way?”
“Just don’t take Taco’s blankets and we’ll all survive the night. Grab whatever you need for the night and I’ll meet you down there.”
As he tromps down the stairs, he reassures himself that he’s just being neighborly; he’d check on anyone in the same circumstances. But his heart still bubbles with excitement when he thinks of Indrid in his house in the snow-covered darkness.
He’s pulling all the blankets from the closet when the door opens and shuts. Even with his heater working, they’ll need to bundle up.
“I’ll just put my things by the couch.”
“Works for meAH, what the fuck?” He pulls his foot back from where a box narrowly missed landing on it. Minor scare aside, he can’t think of anything better to fall from the sky.
“Hey, you like s’mores?”
“...Yes? Though I feel like a campfire, while tempting, is ill-advised.” The other man is perched on the couch, fidgeting with his sweater sleeves.
Duck shows him the box, “Got this at a white elephant swap at work last year and never used it. Supposed to make it so you can make s’mores inside. Wanna try?”
“Absolutely” Indrid tears into the box and begins setting up what looks like a fondue pot’s long-lost cousin, retrieving the matches from their usual spot on the counter while Duck finds the marshmallows, a half box of graham crackers, and left over hershey minis from Halloween.
“Is having s’more supplies on hand a requirement of being a ranger?”
“Trade secret” Duck plops down across from him, the flames adding an eeriness to Indrid’s features that does nothing to Duck’s desire to take his hand and hold him until he’s warmed through.
Indrid makes it through four s’mores in the time it takes Duck to eat one and a half, and is licking his fingers in a painfully appealing way when he muses, “Should we tell scary stories? I understand that goes hand in hand with roasting marshmallows.”
“Havin some summer camp flashbacks?”
“No. I never went, which was probably for the best. I’m not sure accident-prone children with glasses do so well in such places. Though I was always curious about kayaking.”
“Can take you in the spring if you want. There are lakes in the park where it’s allowed. Could even paddle out to Floating Island if you wanted to draw.”
“That sounds wonderful.” Indrid smiles, “I almost finished the drawing for Jane, it will be ready in time for Christmas.”
“Thanks, ‘Drid.”
Indrid licks molten sugar off his fork and Duck searches for a distraction from the way his tongue moves.
“You ever hear the story of the hook-handed man?”
“What?”
“It’s an old camp story. You seriously never heard it?”
“I’ve heard references to it. Now I want the full experience.” Indrid leans in attentively. Duck does his best, but it’s not quite s scary when you’re in an apartment with three locking doors between you and the outside world and the only place a murder could hide is in the closet Duck was just in. Indrid doesn’t jump at the ending, but he applauds,
“My turn?”
“Go for it.”
“Hmm. Ah, okay, once upon a time, there was a lonely artist who lived in a barren land. Every day he would sit and stare at an oasis of green, but he could not get too near. Until, one day, the caretaker of the oasis invited him in. The artist felt so happy when he was there, the caretaker was one of the nicest men he’d ever known. And the, ah, the artist wanted to know if, if he would, ah, like to go out with him. Maybe tomorrow?”
It takes Duck’s mind two seconds to catch up with what just happened and in those seconds Indrid looks increasingly like he’s going to bolt out the door.
“Not much of a scary story.” Duck teases gently.
“I’ll have you know I am terrified right now.”
Duck links their fingers, “No need for that, darlin. I’d love to go out with you.”
They could re-light the whole block with the power of Indrid’s smile.
“In the meantime” Duck snuffs the flame on the table, “let me keep you warm?”
Indrid tugs him into an embrace, kissing his cheek with an excited hum and laughing when Duck chases his lips for a proper, tender kiss, “Of course.”
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Cute winter time or New Years Eve AUs? :D
Sure, why not? :D
ugh i think i partied too hard at the christmas party- who are you and why are you sleeping on me
there’s too mUCH GOD DAMNED SNOW ON MY CAR I CAN’T GET IT ALL I’M SO TINY oh, you’re gonna help me oh no you don’t need to do that
i forgot my gloves at home hey i bet your hands could warm me up (more of a cheesy pick up line but whatever :P)
i didn’t know it was gonna be this cold if i did i would’ve worn a coat (my mother warned me about this)
you’re my new year’s resolution (again: cheesy but i like it :3)
why on earth do you need this much sparkling juice for new years why don’t you just buy some actual wine (or share some with me)
you DO realize you’re working new year’s eve, right? you have nothing better to do? i can fix that
oh god i hope no one saw me slip on the ice- oh shit that cute person’s laughing at me G R E A T
i was caroling with some people and you said i could come back later for some hot chocolate hi i’m freezing now is that offer still vaild?
secret santa gift that i’ve always wanted
there are little children EVERYWHERE wanting to see santa and you just want to leave the mall with your stuff without toppling a child here let me help you
you hate the santa hat you have to wear for work to make it more ‘festive’ why so angry it’s time for the holiday spirit you know
Here you go! I hope you like them! :)
~Karissa
#mod karissa#illusionedwinter#winter aus#christmas aus#new years aus#aus#au list#writing prompts#otp prompts
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Took a stab at some shitty fan-fiction. Aka Carmilla loves the snow and laura is shocked.
Thanks @ukulelekatie for the lovely winter prompts
Shit its cold.
You’re surprised how much Carmilla likes the snow, considering how long she’s lived in Austria and how little body heat she has. You watch as she walks slowly, almost in a daze down the path through campus, baby snowflakes sticking to her black hair.
“There’s just something about the first snowfall of the season.” She says softly, breaking the silence of the night.
“It makes me feel so small, so insignificant. Each of these snowflakes is unique. It’s comforting.” She turns to face you, a sad smile forming across her face. You can’t help but smile too.
“Care, maybe we can brood about the snow somewhere a little less sub-zero?” You whine, pulling your scarf tighter around your face against the chill.
“Fine” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “But you’re buying the cupcakes, cupcake.”
—
Surprisingly enough, the cafe is quiet save for the low din of holiday music in the background. Most of the students have already gone home for christmas. Your last final isn’t until Monday and Carmilla, well, she didn’t have much of a choice but to stay on campus through the holidays.
You sit in comfortable silence watching the flurries slowly turn into a full on blizzard. and you are wearing only a peacoat and sneakers. Double shit.
“You know.. I’m the one with the reputation for brooding, creampuff. Penny for your thoughts?” Her voice pulls you out of internal complaining.
“I hate the snow.” you mumble taking another sip of your hot chocolate.
Suddenly, she stands and extends her hand to you. You’re confused but you take it anyway.
“Where are we going?” you ask, basically being dragged from the warmth of the cafe back to the biting cold.
She drags you by your hand for what feels like hours. Your shoes are soaked through and your teeth are chattering. At some point on the walk, she wraps her scarf around you. Before long, she stops at the edge of the woods where you see a little gazebo complete with a fire pit, some logs and a box of matches. You watch as she sets up some logs, and when she thinks you’re not looking, lights them with a snap of her fingers. She just gives you a shy smile before lifting one of the floor boards of the gazebo and procuring a bottle of whisky and a few blankets. What?
You sit by the fire, but she decides to take her blanket and lay it in the new cushion of snow and stares skyward. You watch as she breathes contentedly snow collecting slowly over her body. You can’t help but smile. When your shoes are finally mostly dry, you trudge through the snow, picking up a small handful and packing it into a ball. Slowly, silently, you raise your arm and.. whack you are struck by something wet and soft. what the..
“You didn’t think you could sneak up on a vampire, did you?” She’s smirking and you throw the snowball with all of your might and it narrowly misses her face. Her smirk grows into a full on smile.
She leans to pick up another fistful to throw at you, but you charge, catching her off guard and you both fall to the ground.
“Oof, jeez cupcake, you could have killed a girl.” She chides, her pale cheeks flush pink. Can vampires even blush?
She’s just.. staring at you, deep brown eyes fixed on yours. You’re all of a sudden acutely aware of how her hips are lined up with yours, her lips so close. You could just…
You move closer, not breaking her stare.
“uh cupcake?” You answer her question by slowly pressing your lips against hers. She surprises you by bringing her hand to your cheek and caressing it softly with her thumb. Your kiss is soft and slow. Nothing else- not the biting cold, or the crackle of the fire behind you- seems to matter. After a moment, you break the kiss and look down at her, now even more pink, but her smile is genuine with no trace of sarcasm.
“See creampuff? the snow is magic.”
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I have a sudden need for Red sitting in a book nook with an over-sized mustard cable knit sweater and black leather skirt or leggings with a mug in hand looking out the window at snow
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It got cold today, so logically I had to crANK OUT HOLIDAY MUSIC IN NOVEMBER TIS THE SEASON, EVERYBODY.
#commandy speaks#from now until the end of december you wont hear me talk about anything but holiday stuff#HOLIDAY AUS#WINTER AUS#FLUFFY CUDDLING BY THE FIRE#BUT BBY ITS COOOOOLD OUTSIIIIIDE#i cant wait
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57 with indruck would be the perfect christmas gift! Love your work!
#57: You called me at two in the moring insisting that I come over and help you bake christmas cookies for the party tomorrow because you forgot to make them earlier and need help now.
It’s 1:58 a.m, December 22nd, and Duck Newton should really be in bed.
Instead, he’s aimlessly puttering about his kitchen.
He can’t sleep. He’s tried. But something in his mind won’t settle, and each time he tries to grasp at it, to see what’s troubling him, the thought skitters away into some dark corner of his brain.
Any distraction would be welcome at this point; hell, even if the now-closed gate were to open up with an abomination, that would be an improvement. At least then he’d know what he was worried about.
Ringring
Thank god. Maybe Leo can’t sleep either, maybe Minerva’s decided he needs to do some kind of sudden hero training, maybe Barclay needs help at the lodge.
“Go for Duck.”
“Hello, Duck.” The lilt drifting across the telephone lines is unmistakable.
“Hey, Indrid, everything-”
“-okay? Yes. Or, well, mostly yes. My call is not a matter of life or death, if that’s what you mean. I was calling to ask if you’d be able to help me with something.”
“What kind of somethin?” Duck is already looking for his shoes, partially as a means of distraction from the filthy picture his mind just supplied of how he could help Indrid in the middle of the night.
“I am baking cookies for the party tomor-, ah, well, I suppose it’s technically today now, and I require assistance.”
“I mean, sure, but why call me? Sounds more like Barclay’s kinda thing.”
“True, but the futures showed me that you were going to spend the remainder of your night in a restless funk, and I wanted to prevent that. Also they show Barclay, ah, preoccupied with Agent Stern this evening. Goodness, who knew they-”
“Whoah, god, please do not make me think about my friends doin it. I’ll be over in a few.”
Indrid’s smile is audible, “wonderful. I shall see you soon.”
------------------------------------------
Indrid spends the next fifteen minutes cleaning.
Shoving things into cabinets and under furniture counts as cleaning, right?
Perhaps he should have done this sooner. But there’d only been a 50% chance Duck agreed to join him. In half his visions, the human politely declined, and spent his night simmering in discontent.
A crunch of tires is in new fallen snow means he doesn’t even need to look at the futures to see Duck arrive. He has a minute before he reaches the door.
He glances down at the eggnog stain on his pajama pants, and dashes into the bedroom to change them. Gets to the door two seconds before Duck knocks.
The ranger lowers his hand, smiling gently, “Hey.”
“Hello. Apologies in advance for how warm it is in here.”
“Eh, visited you enough lately that I’m kinda gettin used to it.”
“Oh, good. That’s very good.”
(Why are there futures of them kissing? Where is that coming from?)
Duck steps into the trailer, shutting the door as Indrid heads into the kitchen.
“So, what are we makin’?”
“Sugar cookies. I promised Barclay I would bring some to the potluck tomorrow. I have all the necessary supplies here.”
“Great, what recipe are we usin?”
Indrid looks at the pile of ingredients on the counter. His future vision told him which ones to buy, but isn’t of much use when it comes to predicting a recipe.
“You don’t have a recipe, do you?” Duck says with amused patience.
“No, I do not.”
“Don’t suppose you got any cookbooks layin around.” Duck opens the nearest cabinet, which contains solely Capri Suns.
“I may. I collected various books that seemed useful during my travels. They’re in that cabinet towards the front.”
Duck kneels down, begins searching through the cabinet and pulling out books.
“‘Drid, how the hell are you fittin all these in here? The physics don’t make sense.”
“Mmm? Oh, most of the cabinets and the closet are enchanted to allow for more storage space.” He waves his hand distractedly, trying to parse out the warmth swirling in his chest at the use of the nickname.
“Sewin’ guide, anatomy textbook, uhhhh maybe, nope, that’s a repair manual for the Bago. Didn’t know you worked on it yourself.” Duck leans further into the cabinet and Indrid spends a moment appreciating how his legs and ass look in his jeans before responding.
(Probability of kissing jumps ten percent).
“I can do basic repairs. Though, at this point, my home is held together mainly by magic. And duck tape. A truly excellent human creation.”
“Not fillin me with confidence about the safety of drivin in this there, ‘Drid.” Duck teases. There’s rustling from the cabinet, though no further commentary.
The kissing futures jump even more. What on earth is happening? Yes, he wants to kiss his friend. But as far as he can discern, Duck does not want that, and it takes two for that fantasy to work.
“Aha, got it.” Duck crawls backwards, proudly produces a red and white checkered cookbook, “Bettin this has what we need.”
“Wonderful!” Indrid claps his hands together as Duck flips to a page with a recipe for sugar cookies and hands it to him.
“Oh dear, I do not have a mixer, this is going to take…” He blushes at an oncoming future.
“You also got a friend with chosen strength. Ain’t just good for savin the word.” Duck grins and flexes his arm.
Indrid chirrs appreciatively, then catches himself, “Ahem, in that case, please beat this butter and sugar in that bowl while I measure out our dry ingredients.”
They set to work, side by side. The small kitchen means they bump into each other often, but neither seems to mind. In fact, Duck seems to be bumping into him more than usual.
“How come you waited until now to make these?” Duck cracks an egg into the bowl.
“I didn’t mean to. But as you know, I can be easily distracted by watching futures or trying to stop them.”
“Coulda just bought some at the store in the mornin. Not that I mind helpin you.”
“I...you will think me silly if I tell you.”
“That what the futures show?”
“Half of them, yes.”
“Try me?”
“It has been a long time since I had any kind of connection to my fellow Sylphs. Let alone friendships with both Sylphs and humans. I want to demonstrate that I value those connections, make things to contribute to our time together. It is nice to belong, in a way, and I often fear losing it.”
“‘Drid, you know you don’t gotta earn your place with us. We all care about you. I care about you.” He takes Indrid’s hand from where it’s paused, mid gesture, and squeezes it once.
“Thank you.” Indrid sighs, decides to take the risk of his next words, “I’ve seen the end of things, so many things, so many times. I am used to it, in many ways. But there are times when I struggle to believe that the good things in my life will not be cut short in the same way.”
“I mean, everythin’ ends cause of time and mortality and shit like that.But that don’t mean good things are gonna disappear as soon as you find ‘em.”
Indrid smiles.
(Seventy percent of the timelines show them kissing.)
“Hey, goofus, I see you floatin off into the futures. Stay in the present with me, or I’m eatin all the cookies myself.”
Indrid grins, “ You wouldn’t dare.”
Duck grabs a nearby spoon and scoops out a bite of dough and chews it with an exaggerated “mmmmmm.”
Indrid pouts and makes grabby hands, as humans call them.
“Nope, this is all mine now.”
“Noooo, the raw dough is the best part.” Indrid grabs for the bowl, but in spite of being shorter than him Duck manages to keep it out of reach.
“I’m savin you from yourself, you’re gonna get salmonella.”
“I am not, my Sylph biology prevents such a thing. You, on the other hand, can very much get that illness. So,” he lunges for the bowl playfully. Duck sidesteps him and he stumbles with an undignified chirp. Duck snickers and Indrid giggles
“Okay, okay, I’ll give you some if you tell me one thing.” Duck sets the bowl back on the counter, blocking it with his body, “How come you have a bunch of drawins of me saved in your cabinet?”
“I, ah,” oh goodness, he should have seen this coming, “I save certain drawings if I like them.”
“‘Drid, those were almost all of me.”
“Because I like them. I like you. Seeing futures of you made me feel happy while I was away from Kepler.”
Ducks eyebrows slowly raise.
There’s no point in looking at the futures. Indrid has to do this in the present, has to face the reactions in real time, because that us always what being near Duck does to him; draws him back to earth, to the moment, over and over again because all he wants to focus on is him.
“I am very fond of you, Duck. It has been quite awhile since I had anything resembling a crush on someone, and my feelings for you have grown considerably in that direction. But I understand completely if it is not reciprocated.”
“That’s uh, that’s, fuck, uh-”
Indrid droops; if Duck is trying to lie, it must be to spare his feelings.
“Um, I don’t, uh, oh fuck it.”
Warm hands are suddenly on his upper arms as Duck pulls him into a kiss. Sugar and butter on his lips, strands of dark hair tangling in his fingers as he clasps Ducks head. It’s tentative, a tad awkward because of his glasses, and he never wants it to end. Whimpers when it does, and Duck simply smiles, bumps their noses together.
“I was tryin to come up with some line about how I was surprised. But I ain’t, not really, especially not after findin those drawins. I been fallin for you for awhile, and was gettin the sense you might be doin’ the same. Just didn’t wanna push my luck and scare you off, sugar.”
Indrid grins.
“What?” Duck arches an eyebrow.
“I simply enjoy the nicknames you give me. Most of my aliases are attached to my sometimes unnerving appearance. It is nice to be called something new and sweet.”
Duck kisses him, first on the cheek and then snowflake-light on the lips, “Good to know. Now, c’mon, we can uh, cuddle, more once these are done and I need that real bad. So let’s finish these cookies, sugar.”
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Can I request 42 with Sternclay? I love the way you write everyone it’s adorable ((42. i found a cat shivering in the snow and you’re the cutest vet i’ve ever seen))
The snow morphs into sleet as Stern hurries down the street, the wind off the lake biting his neck. According to the directions he glanced at, the building he needs should be on this block.
“Mew” Says his pocket.
“It’s alright, we’ll get you warmed up soon.”
The sign on the door of West Elm Veterinary declares they’re open until six. Relief shakes some of the damp from his shoulders, though the wind deposits another round before he manages to get inside.
“Hello, how can I help you?” The young, blonde woman behind the counter looks him over, “I'm gonna guess this is an emergency?”
“In a way, yes. I, I found a kitten on my way home and it seems to be in very bad shape. I’m so sorry I don’t have an appointment, but this was the vet closest to home.”
“That’s okay, we don’t have any remaining appointments today, and I feel safe saying we’d rather you bring someone in than we get to go home a bit early. Let me go grab Dr. Cobb.”
“Thank you so much.” He does his best to smile through his exhaustion and cold as she ducks into a back room. The office is small, and he sees on two vets listed: Dr. Cobb and Dr. Newton. But it’s warm and clean, walls decorated with pet medicine advertisements and PSAs, two shelves on the far wall holding special diet pet foods.
The wall behind the reception desk is lined with thank you cards and photos, and as Stern peers at them his pocket meows once again, the noise weaker than before.
“Shhh” he pulls his jacket closer, hoping to pass on more body warmth, “it’s alright, the vet will be here soon.”
“He will indeed.”
Stern looks at the now-open exam room door. Leaning against it is one of the most handsome men he’s ever seen. He’s tall, looks like he could bench press Stern, with a short-clipped, coppery beard and shaggy dark hair that he’s gathered into a bun. The warm brown eyes and the reassuring smile are just the icing on the beefcake.
“Kitten?”
“Excuse me?” Sterns voice creeps up. No one’s called him that in years.
“You’re the one who brought in the kitten, right?” Dr.Cobb repeats, patient as can be.
“Oh, yes. She’s in my jacket. I didn’t have anywhere else to keep her.”
“Good call. Let’s bring her in here and have a look.”
Stern follows him into the exam room, and gingerly lifts the kitten from his pocket. She looks impossibly scraggly in the bright light. Her eyes are crusted over and she shivers in Sterns hands.
Dr.Cobb holds out his palms, and they’re large enough that the kitten nearly fits in one of them.
“Hey, little one.” He sets her down on the metallic table, begins checking her vitals, “what happened to you, huh?”
God, his voice is deep and comforting and if it’s affecting the feline the way it’s affecting Stern, the cat will be better in no time.
“Where was she when you found her?”
“Behind a dumpster at the EL station. I looked to see if there was a mother nearby, or other kittens, but I couldn’t find them. And honestly, based on how thin and dirty she looked I assumed she’d been on her own a bit.”
“Think you’re probably right. She’s malnourished for sure, and dehydrated, if you can believe it given how wet it’s been. Got an eye infection, hopefully that’s all the illness she’s dealing with.” The vet rubs the kittens forehead and she lets out an unsteady “mewp.”
“We’ll keep her overnight, get some fluids in her, and go from there. Do you want us to contact you with an update?”
“Yes please.” Stern rattles of his name and phone number and Dr.Cobb jots them down.
“Thanks, hopefully we have good news tomorrow. Dani can help you wrap up out front.”
Just as Stern finishes paying (in spite of Dani saying they have a pool of funds for caring for strays. After all, what good is his job if he can’t use the money to care for helpless animals), a tender baritone voice calls out, “Joseph, hold on a sec.”
He turns, finds the vet holding out a an umbrella and a travel mug smelling faintly of mint.
“For the road.” He smiles.
“Thank you, uh...”
“Barclay.” The vet supplies.
Stern takes the offered items, “Thank you, Barclay. I’ll keep an ear out for the updates.”
----------------------------------
His phone rings at lunch, as he’s eating a reheated sandwich.
“Stern.”
“Hi Mr. Stern, this is Dani at West Elm Vet. I’ve got some good news about the kitten. She’s stable and eating, and we got fluids into her. Her eyes are still a little wonky, but she’s already getting some energy back.”
“That’s wonderful. Uh, would it be alright if I came by to see her this evening?”
He hears the smile on the other end, “Of course.”
When arrives at the vet, he brings the washed travel mug, the umbrella, and a small box of gourmet truffles.
“Here to see the kitten.”
Barclay grins at him across the counter.
“Yes. And I wanted to return these. The truffles are a thank you to you all for your help.”
“Ooh, love their stuff.” Barclay eyes the chocolate box.
“Barclay I swear if you eat it all before I get any-” Dani appears from a back room, returning to her post at the computer.
“I know, I know, you’ll let that one chihuahua loose in my office.” Barclay hands her the box, gestures for Stern to follow him. They head down a small hallway to a little boarding space for cats. The kitten, clean and and snoozing in the warmth, looks like a sandy brown, tiny tumbleweed.
“I hadn’t realized how big her paws are.” Stern pets the glass softly,not wanting to wake the feline.
“She might grow into them, or they might stay big compared to her. I’m a little worried about her eyes; if that infection doesn’t clear up, she could lose one, maybe both.”
“Oh dear.” Stern murmurs, tracing an ear through the glass, “that hardly seems fair, does it? It’s not your fault, little cat. If I’d found you sooner maybe…” He sighs.
“Hey, none of that.” A warm hand rests on his shoulder, “she’s probably alive right now because of you. And she’s a tough little thing, she’ll manage.”
Without thinking, Stern rests his hand atop Barclays, “thank you.”
The hand squeezes his quickly, and then it’s gone.
--------------------------
Stern’s routine changes over the next weeks. Once, and usually twice, per week he visits the vet to check on the kitten and her caretakers. He starts bringing a late afternoon pick-me up for Dani from the local coffee shop, and whatever gourmet candy or snack he thinks Barclay might like. If it’s slow, Barclay will make him tea and the two of them will chat while he fusses over the kitten. She grows stronger, looks less like she’s been run through a washing machine, but her infection claims her right eye.
Stern still thinks she’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen.
Well, second cutest. But it’s hard for anyone or anything to compete with Barclay. Especially when he laughs or sends a wink Sterns way.
Stern starts bringing toys for the kitten, catnip fish for her to hold between her large paws, jingly plastic spheres to help her practice hunting and chasing with one eye. When she’s finally old enough and well enough to be put up for adoption, Stern helps take the photos to go up on the Humane Society page.
Three days later, he’s ready to take a chance. And as luck would have it, Barclay is at the front desk alone when he walks in.
“Hey, Joseph.”
“Hello. I’m here to check on my little friend. And, ah, to ask if you would like to go to dinner with me tomorrow.”
Barclay stands, starts walking around the counter with a funny smile, “you want the good news or the bad news first?”
“Bad.”
“She got adopted this morning, so that stuffed hedgehog in your coat might not get much use.”
“Oh that’s, that’s wonderful!” He means it, he really does. He just wishes he could have scritched her ears one more time.
“But the good news” Barclay rests one on his shoulder while the other brushes a strand of hair back into place, “is that you and I have a date on Friday.”
Stern beams, even as Dani’s voice comes from the back room, “I TOLD you he was into you!”
Dinner the next night is perfect. Stern’s never seen Barclay in anything other than work clothes, and nearly walks into a pole when he catches the first glimpse of the other man waiting at the crosswalk in his jacket and slacks.
They talk easily, Barclays rumbling laugh filling the plush restaurant booth and sending sparks up Sterns fingers. To his surprise, Barclay asks if he’d like to come back to his place for “coffee”. He eagerly accepts, even if the meal and the company has him feeling sluggish and dreamy.
“So” Barclay flips on the light, revealing a modest apartment that looks like a north woods cabin was dumped inside it, “this is my place. Figure we can start out with coffee on the couch and then” he blushes for the first time that night, “see how things go. But first, let me introduce you to my roommate.”
“Roommate?”
“Mew!”
Stern makes a somewhat higher than normal shriek of delight as a familiar, one-eyed ball of fluff barrels into his legs, purring happily as he scoops her up and cuddles her.
“I was due to adopt one of the strays eventually. Bigfoot here turned out to be the one.” He bats at the cats still-oversized paws, scratches the her head as he nuzzles the top of Sterns hair.
“It wasn’t a ploy to get me to come over?” Stern teases.
Barclay chuckles, “That did cross my mind. Call it a bonus piece of good luck.”
Stern ends his night wonderfully. He spends the first hour happily and handsily making out with Barclay on the couch while Bigfoot gnaws and chases her new stuffed hedgehog. And then he and Barclay fall asleep, cuddled up beneath a heavy knit blanket, with Bigfoot nestled between them.
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09. "i gave my winter coat to a homeless person and come into your store to warm up," except Duck goes into Leo's store and then overhears Indrid talking to Leo about the nice man who gave him a coat thinking he was homeless, when really he just misjudged how many layers he'd need.
“Howdy, Pigeon,” Duck nods to to the young woman working the bakery case as he stomps snow from his boots. Maybe walking the six blocks to the Jenny Street Market in the mild snowstorm wasn’t the wisest call, but he’s been cooped up in meetings all day and in desperate need of fresh air.
He goes for his list, and realizes it was in the pocket of the jacket he no longer has.
Whelp, time to do this from memory.
He needs wet cat food, that Winnie rather aggressively reminded him of this morning. Bread, cheddar jack, that protein pasta Minerva told him he needs to start eating, sugar cookie chai for when Aubrey comes over, sliced turkey and...damn it, he know there’s at least one thing he’s forgetting.
As he winds through the aisles, he overhears Leo, the store owner, talking to someone.
“Hey, Indrid, tattoo any bikers today?”
A lilting chuckle, “Hardly. A sociology undergrad, two graduate students, and flash walk-in were all that was on the schedule.”
“Snazzy jacket you got there. Looks kinda big though.”
“It’s not mine. Or, well, I didn’t buy it.” There’s a rustle of plastic bags, a crinkle of containers from the bakery section, “I was in a hurry this morning and forgot a layer. I was fine until I was waiting for the bus, and then I had to huddle up against the corner of the nearest building. A good Samaritan assumed I was homeless, gave me his jacket and a ten dollar bill, mumbled something, and dashed off before I could explain.”
Duck’s mortified lightbulb moment is underscored by Leo’s wheezing laugh.
“Heh, though Duck looked under dressed for the weather.”
“Excuse me?”
“Pretty sure I know who gave that to you.”
“Really?” Indrid sounds excited, “what do they look like?”
Duck peeks around the end of the aisle: That’s the man he gave his jacket to, alright. His silvery hair pokes out from under a red beanie, matching the red glasses on his hawkish nose, and his scarf is a garish striping of pink and yellow. He doesn’t look as disheveled under the grocery store lights. In fact, he’s pretty cute.
Duck’s still not going to talk to him, though.
“The guy I’m thinkin of is kinda stocky, got streaks of grey in the hair around his forehead, eyes are two different colors-”
“-and he’s trying to hide behind that pyramid of grape juice?” Indrid locks eyes with Duck before he can get out his sight-line.
“Yep.” Leo smirks, crossing his arms and turning back to his register, leaving Duck to his fate.
“Hi” Duck waves sheepishly, contemplating if Leo will let him do an IOU so he can bolt out the door with his grocery basket.
“Hello.” Indrid cradles the stack of day-old cookie packages in his arms, and Duck is so busy trying to come up with an apology that he doesn’t notice the once-over he’s being given until Indrid makes an approving face in the direction of his arms. Were he not preoccupied with a wish to sink into the floor, he’d be glad he wore the sweater that shows off his arms.
“Uh, um, look, I’m real sorry, I shouldn’tve assumed you were homeless, you just looked so fuckin cold and I wanted to help and, uh-”
“It’s quite alright, ah, Duck, correct?” Indrid steps closer.
“Yep. It’s uh, a nickname.”
“I like it. And thank you for your jacket, although I assume you’ll want it back now.”
“You can keep it.”
Indrid raises a dark, pierced eyebrow.
“Um, seems like you live nearby. You oughta wear it home so you don’t freeze and I can get it another time. But, uh, can I have the grocery list in the right front pocket?”
“Of course.” Indrid balances the cookie containers in one arm and pulls out the crumpled paper, nearly dumping a pair of skeleton themed mittens on the ground as he does. But instead of handing it over, he says mildly, “it does seem like you remembered everything.”
“I mean, maybe, but I don’t feel like havin to go out again if I didn’t.”
“Bread?”
“Yep”
“Cheese?”
“Yep.”
(is Indrid reading off his list with a flirty expression, or is that his imagination?)
“Cat food, pasta, chai, turkey, eggs, my number?”
“Yep, yep, yep, yep, nope, wait what?”
Indrid grabs a pen from the nearby counter, setting the boxes down, and scratches something on the list, “Now you do.”
Duck giggles as he takes the offered paper, “Damn, you always that fuckin smooth?”
“No, it happens about once a month. And really only for men with cute butts who are good-hearted enough to give a stranger their jacket in the middle of a Wisconsin December.”
“Heh” Duck scratches the back of his neck, blushing at the floor.
“And if you’d like, I was planning to stop by the Wayfarer later tonight. I wouldn’t mind company. I can even buy you a drink.” He grins, flashing the ten dollar bill Duck handed him earlier.
“Ain’t you the generous one.” Duck teases stepping one across one more linoleum tile so the only thing between them is his basket.
“You have no idea.” Indrid purrs in his ear, plants a quick kiss on his jaw before turning and grabbing his groceries. The smile he turns on Duck is anything but innocent, “see you at seven.”
Duck takes a moment to watch him go, before heading off to get eggs. After all, he needs to hurry up; he has a date tonight.
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winter promts: 100 with ot4!! (mayb 2 double beds so they have room yknow)
I went with fluff rather than smut with this one, so there are references to sex but the fic is SFW. For context, Stern in this universe has a lot of anxiety around belonging somewhere.
100 from this list: The b&b we’re at asked if we wouldn’t mind sharing a room since we know each other and this snow storm has brought in some unexpected guests...one bed...three nights...
“I’m so sorry, sir.” The harried looking young woman behind the desk looks between Stern and Barclay, “between the blizzard and it already being New Years weekend, we’ve had to take in a few more people than expected.”
“So our room’s been given to someone else?” Stern puts on his professional demeanor, the one he uses to soothe tourists who’ve definitely seen something they shouldn’t
“Yes, unfortunately. The, the only room we have left is the cottage in the back. It sleeps four, but we can’t guarantee you wouldn’t have to share with another couple.”
“Uh, ‘scuse me, miss, but I think we can make that work.” Duck Newton steps around Barclay, Indrid busy looking over the many brochures on the far wall, “you see, my friend and I’d more than willing to bunk with these two, since they’re friends from back home. Assumin that’s alright with them?”
“Of course.” Stern smiles.
“Oh, thank you, thank you all for being so accommodating. And I’m sorry again about the inconvenience.”
---------------------------
“Well, that went better than expected.” Stern sets down his duffel bag on one of the two beds.
“You’re tellin me, this is way easier than bookin the two next to each other and sneakin back and forth.”
“Yeah, had my fill of sneaking around.” Barclay adds, evaluating the small kitchen.
“I mean, unless one of the other guests took a rather blurry photo of you, it’d be better than your previous attempts to ‘sneak’” Indrid is finally down unwrapping himself down to his sweatpants and the pink and yellow sweater Duck bought him.
“You’re on to talk stealth, mr. my-pants-say-mothman-on-the-ass.” Barclay grabs said ass, making Indrid squeak.
“I am wearing them ironically.”
“Uh huh, sure.”
Duck, meanwhile, flops down on the bed where Stern is unpacking.
“Jesus, darlin, how many books did you bring?”
“Three. When Indrid said there’d likely be a blizzard, I assumed that would cut down on our outdoor activities. And cable is so atrocious these days.”
“So…” Duck tugs the front of his shirt, bringing him down for a kiss, “you really can’t think of another thing we’d be doin to stay out of the cold?”
“Duck, we can’t do that for three days straight.”
“You sayin you opposed to tryin?”
“I’m saying” Stern puts away the last of his clothing, “that I am a mortal man, and three days of non-stop fucking would probably kill me.”
“Hey, we’d stop some. Gotta eat, and sleep too. Probably throw in a few showers. Unless what does it for you is the smell of a bunch of sweaty dudes.”
Stern wrinkles his nose, and Duck laughs.
“Oooh!” Indrid steps into the room, clapping his hands excitedly, “I’m going to take a bath.” He swings the bathroom door open, revealing a tub. It occurs to Stern, as the skinnier man strips down without delay, that none of them even bothered asking how Indrid knew the tub was there.
Stern never thought he’d be around them long enough to get used to his boyfriend always being a bit ahead of him.
He heads back into the main room of the cottage, finds Barclay unloading groceries.
“Glad we stocked up before we left. Think trying to get the car down to that grocery store we passed would be impossible. I have had enough car-based hijinks for one lifetime, don’t need to add doing Icecapades in a Jeep to the list.”
“Car based hijinks?’
“Long story.” Barclay turns, offering his hand, “c’mon, agent, haven’t gotten to hold you nearly enough today.” The larger man stretches out on the couch, Stern laying so he’s cuddled against his chest.
A chirp-moan splashes out of the bathroom.
“Guess Indrid’s got company.” Barclay chuckles. Another chirp, this one more of a trill, and Barclays legs shift as if he’s hiding something. Stern has a good guess as to what.
“Feeling the need to join them? I know you get wound up when Indrid makes sounds like that.” He traces a finger along the blue lines of Barclays plaid shirt.
“Nah, not right now. Right now, kinda enjoying being all warm and cozy with the best thing to ever come out of the FBI in my arms.”
Stern snorts, kisses his chest. Let’s his mind wander like a cat searching for a sunny spot as intermittent moans continue reaching them.
“Wait…there was a report from the 90s that I always thought was absurd. Something about Bigfoot stealing someone’s car. But the location, the timeline…”
“Uhhhh.”
“Oh my LORD, why would you steal a car?”
“Things got out of hand! Quickly.” Barclay regales him with the story, Stern doing his best to look affronted at the reckless behavior but tipping quickly into pure amusement.
Barclay eventually coaxes Stern off of him so he can go ask the kitchen in the main B&B if they have cumin. Stern wanders into the bedroom and finds a now mothed-out Indrid falling asleep with Duck in his arms. The Sylph lifts the wing resting atop the human, an offer for Stern to join them. He does, looping his arms around Duck as the wing gently returns to its role as blanket.
“You know” Indrid murmurs, “one of these days I ought to make you all moth disguises, just so I can see what all the fuss is about.”
“That could be a fascinating exercise.” Stern whispers.
“Hell yeah.” Duck wiggles in Sterns embrace “Mothman cuddles.”
--------------------------------------------------
Stern wakes up alone, though someone has thoughtfully draped a blanket over him. As he rouses, voices drift in from the living room.
“Do you think he knows?”
“Judging by the futures, no.”
“Please tell me we’re tellin him soon. If I end up havin to try to lie about this it’s gonna go bad.”
Hmmmm, that is not the kind of conversation one wants to overhear their boyfriends having in hushed tones.
He yawns exaggeratedly, assuming that will bring a hush over the trio.
Instead, it brings a certain ranger right on top of him. Duck kisses him, smiling as he does, and all Sterns worries evaporate.
“Perfect timin’, darlin, dinner’s almost ready.”
“I’d love to join you all, but it appears I’m being attacked by a bear.” He smirks. Duck growls playfully, bending down to drag a rough kiss up his neck. Stern retaliates by placing a hickey on the first exposed patch of skin he sees.
“You two are welcome to continue in that direction, but be warned I will eat any cheesecake not claimed in the next five minutes.”
“Indrid, that’s for dessert!”
“I reject such arbitrary notions of EEEEEEEP”
“Come on” Stern sits up, Duck coming with him, “let’s go make sure Indrids glasses don’t come off from Barclay throwing him over his shoulder. Again.”
----------------------------------------------------------
“The methodology in this show is truly abhorrent.” Stern rests his head on Ducks belly, the two watching one of the dozen ghost hunting shows airing on the Discovery Channel.
“No kiddin’. Also, these fellas startle so easy they’re doin a better job scarin themselves than any ghost could.”
Duck strokes his hair and he sighs, nuzzles at the slip of skin that’s showing between his boxers and white t-shirt. The boxers only went back on about ten minutes prior, as Stern had been seized with a desperate need to unhurriedly and lovingly suck his boyfriend off, fingers teasing and squeezing the thighs he so adores.
The front door creaks open and whines closed, Barclay and Indrid walking in arm in arm.
“Did you have a nice walk?”
“Indeed.” Indrid’s face is school-girl shy.
“You’re blushin, ‘Drid.” Duck teases, before sitting up so animatedly that Sterns rolls to land facedown in his lap with an “oof.”
“Holy shit, Barclay, did you work some kind of magic shit to make him willin’ to have sex in the snow? Because that’s fuckin impressive.”
“No, I am merely feeling a bit nostalgic.” Indrid unzips the first of his three outer layers.
“The first time Indrid and I met was in the middle of a really, really bad winter.” Barclay sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing Sterns legs gently as he talks, “Uh, is it gonna weird either of you out to hear this?”
“No.” Stern reaches out to squeeze Barclays hand once, before returning it to rest comfortable on Ducks knee.
“Nope. Gotta admit, been kinda curious about it ever since you first mentioned y’all had fucked around when you were younger.”
“Well, long story short, I was in a trailer park, renting a little spot while I tried to sort shit out. One night, I kept hearing noises I recognized as being from another Sylph. And whoever was making them sounded real upset. So I trudged out in my pajamas and followed the noise to this other trailer. Poked my head in and there was Indrid, looking sad as could be. And, y’know, like a giant fucking moth.”
“I was busy feeling sorry for myself and was therefore not watching the futures. It was startling to suddenly have a human in my space. At least until you took off you, hmmm, what was it then?”
“I think it was a ring. Anyway, once we were on the same page, Indrid just kind of started, uh-”
“You can say babbling. It’s an accurate portrayal. I was lonely, I’d been having a run of bad visions, and I’d found myself more homesick than made sense.”
“Aw, ‘Drid.” Duck opens his arm and the Sylph slips under it, Barclay scooching closer as well.
“I was also, shall we say, dealing with an unexpected spike in my arousal levels, almost like a heat. So I was craving touch and connection. I must have been a sight.”
“Yeah” Barclay rumbles, “a real cute one. Little moth.”
Indrid chirrs bashfully, pressing his face into the crook of Ducks neck.
“Anyway, ended up spending the next few days together. Bumped into each other a few times after that, but nothing could ever top finding him that first night.” Barclay smiles at his fellow Sylph, who continues making charming chirrs. After a moment, Indrid lifts his glasses, smiling at the trio. It starts off sweet, moves to wicked as he finishes his question.
“As I sense that’s brought a, ah, romantic air to the evening; would anyone care to help me push the beds together?”
------------------------------------------
Stern is about to be broken up with. He can tell.
That morning he’d awoken with Indrid still snuggled up around him, purring softly, but when he stepped into the kitchen he’s certain Duck and Barclay had switched to an innocent topic at normal volume, rather than the whispers they’d been making before.
Later, as they’re lounging about by the little bot-bellied stove, reading (or, in Indrid’s case, drawing), he noticed the pale-haired man taking care to not let him see certain pages.
But truly, the most damning fact is that Stern has never had a relationship last more than a year, no matter how well it seemed to be going. And no matter how much logic he applies to the situation (Duck murmuring filthy suggestions for that night into his ear, Barclay kissing him any time he walked past, Indrid pulling him into the bedroom for a vigorous bout of sex), he cant stop thinking that the end has come. Patterns are patterns, and while he knows that’s a tautology, he can’t help feeling it offers some unshakeable truth.
It’s the early evening when Barclay, coming up behind him for a hug, says, “Damn, babe, your back is all knotted up.”
“It must be from the cold.” He replies, sighing when Barclay nuzzles his cheek.
“If you need to shake the chill, I found that bath yesterday quite helpful.” Indrid lilts.
And so Stern draws himself a bath and settles in with the “champagne” scented bubble bath provided by their hosts. How very seasonal.
Maybe they won’t do it until after the all return to the lodge. That makes the most sense, as it won’t ruin anybody’s trip. If that’s the case, maybe he ought to savor this last little bit of bliss.
He does feel a little better after the bath, though he’s now covered in a faintly sugary smell that’s far better suited to Indrid than him. He pulls on one of the fluffy robes, heads into the main room to see if dinner is ready.
“SURPRISE!”
“JESUS!” He jumps, unprepared for the sight of his boyfriends standing around the table, at the center of which sits a cake and...are those fondue pots?
Hanging on the table is a banner, obviously handmade, that reads, “Happy Anniversary.”
“Anniversary?” He looks at the others, perplexed.
“Little delayed, on account of we thought it’d be more fun to wait and do it now. And, uh, you had to fly back to D.C the actual week.” Duck says, stifling the giggles he got from Sterns surprised outburst, “but it’s the one year anniversary of when you turned up in Kepler. Kinda. And we wanted to celebrate you comin into our lives, even if it scared the livin hell out of us--you okay, city mouse?” Duck’s face falling is the last thing Stern sees before his head collapses into his hands, his built up dread pushing out of his body in shuddery gasps.
Barclay’s arms are around him in an instant, “Hey, babe, hey, it’s alright. We’re so fucking glad you turned up.”
“It’s, it’s not that.”
“Oh dear.”
He glances over Barclay’s shoulder, sees Indrid coming out of a peek at the futures.
“Oh pet, did you really think all the secrecy was because we were going to leave you?”
“Wait, what?” Ducks glances at Indrid, who nods, “Joe, we’re crazy about you. Hell, Barclay was flirtin with you even when he thought you might put him in area 51 or some shit.”
“I, I know. It, it seems silly in retrospect but unfortunately my track record is a bit bleak. I once had a date I’d been seeing casually for six months sneak out the bathroom window while we were out to dinner. Never heard from him again. Another called me up the day after I got accepted into the UP and said we could never see each other again. We’d been fine two days before.”
“Yeeesh” Barclay kisses his forehead, “can see why you got jumpy.”
“Even so, I’m afraid I let my anxiety drive more than I should have. I’m sorry”
“Unnecessary apology accepted.” Indrid teases, pulling out a chair, “come, Barclay’s been having to beat me off with a stick the entire time he was making that red velvet cake and my patience is waning.”
“You didn’t mind the spatula to the ass.”
Indrid chirps, mock affronted, and Duck snickers, settling across from Indrid as Stern and Barclay take their seats.
“Only you could manage fondue in a rental cottage.” Stern smiles fondly at the cook.
“I’ve got like, a dozen fondue sets. Jake keeps giving them to me at the holidays. I’m not sure if it’s a joke, or if he just forgets he’s gotten me that before. This year he put Hollis’s name on it too.”
“That...explains the color palette.” Stern grabs one of the black skewers from the yellow pot. To his side he sees Indrid set his hand out on the table, Duck’s coming to rest in it automatically, as if the two were made for each other.
“Hold up” Duck uses his free hand to lift his glass, “wanna make a toast. Here’s to makin it through the end of the world, to findin each other even if the mess of monster-huntin that was our lives and” he grins at Stern, “here’s to the fact no one could lie well enough to keep you from stayin at the lodge.”
Stern raises his glass and clinks it with the others, smiling back as he murmurs, “cheers.”
#sternclay#winter aus#indruck#OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends#agent stern/barclay/indrid cold/Duck newton#agent stern/duck newton#Indrid cold/Barclay
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The Gift that Keeps on Giving (Sternclay)
The second winter prompt fill for @ghostabek! It is NSFW, which should not surprise you given the prompt. I decided to make both Stern and Barclay trans for this one.
17: I get your name during secret santa at work and use the same wrapping paper for my gift to my friend so...sorry about all the sex toys.
Joseph Stern has many regrets.
He regrets getting frosted tips in high school
He regrets not switching from his chemistry major sooner.
He regrets the actions that lead to that one meme. He will not name the meme. He is trying so hard to leave that legacy behind.
But in this moment, he regrets not buying more wrapping paper.
Three weeks ago, his workplace set up its secret santa exchange. He, to his delight, pulled the name of his workplace crush: Barclay Cobb.
Two days later, Barclay announced he was taking a sabbatical, for lack of a better word, to write a cookbook. Stern was excited for him; Barclay was an amazing cook, and had catalyzed the Youtube presence of the Foodie test kitchen (and he had the kind of body Stern wanted to lick whipped cream off of ). He deserved good things, and Stern just knows the book will be a hit.
And so Stern had said goodbye and good luck to him a week ago, with the rest of the test kitchen team, with a promise to bring his secret santa gift by his house when it came in the mail. He put it in a nice, rectangular box, and wrapped it in his cryptid christmas paper.
It was only when Barclay opened the lid that he realized his horrible, horrible error.
“Uhhhh” Barclay lifts the burgundy leather collar, confusion plain on his handsome face.
“Ohmylord. Oh, I’m so sorry. That was for my...friend.”
“Friend?” Barclay raises a dark eyebrow.
“My ex.”
“Okay, that I believe.”
“I...this is so embarrassing. I got you a copy of that super-rare vegan soul food cookbook you’d been wanting, I was so pleased with it and I must have mixed up the packages, they’re the same size and I like that paper so it’s all I have-”
“It is very you.” Barclay smiles, nodding his head at the torn paper covered in a pine tree motif with Bigfoot (wearing a santa hat) and mothman peeking out.
“I’m sorry, it must still be at my house. I was looking forward to impressing you with my gift giving skills.”
“Dunno” Barclay sorts through the box, “if this is any indication, I think I can tell how much thought you put into it.”
There is not a word, in English or any other language, to describe the mixture of mortification and desire he feels when Barclay takes the items out, eyeing them appraisingly.
“I mean this, this is like the extra-fancy wand, right?”
“Yes.” He manages.
“And the strap-on in here looks real high-quality. Pretty cool looking too. Not to mention the underwear, looks like the kind of thing you’d want to take off with your teeth.” When Barclay meets his eyes, a dark curiosity glitters in them. Then he must notice the stress radiating off Stern, because his demeanor drops back to his usual gentle friendliness.
“Hey, it’s no big deal okay? Remind me to tell you sometime about when I mixed up the present for my sister with the present for my boyfriend.” He looks down at the box again with a strange, secretive smile, “I know why you ended it with that guy. I still think he was serious dickhead if he was being that shitty to the kind of guy who’d give him this.”
Stern laughs, bitter, “You don’t know the half of it. Two of those items are for me, with the idea being I’d wear them for him as part of the gift. The underwear and the uh, the collar. I didn’t even want a collar, but he was so into the idea and I thought it might make him happy.”
Barclay makes a noise Sterns’ heard in the past, the one that indicates he’s disapproving of something but trying not to be harsh.
“I know, it was a flawed plan-”
“I’d say it was a generous thought directed at someone who didn’t deserve it.”
A smile creeps across Sterns face, and he glances at the fire to avoid saying something impulsive.
“Whelp” Barclay whacks his thighs and stands, “how about a drink? I’ve got some mulled cider I could heat up.”
“You don’t want me to go?”
“Course not, I want you to pass on all the hot office gossip I’m missing.”
“You mean like how Indrid managed to explode a container during the ginger beer episode of ‘Make it Ferment’?”
Barclay rumbles out a laugh as Stern follows him to the kitchen, “You’d think he’d have learned after what happened with the Kombucha. I think Duck’s camera still smells a little fermented after that blow-up. How’s ‘Make it Perfect’ going?”
“Good.” Stern opens a cabinet and grabs two mugs, “I’m planning out the one for cheese plates, since it can go out before new years.”
“Nice.”
They talk shop for awhile, moving back to the living room. When they both need refills, Stern hops up to get them. When he arrives back in the room, it’s only through professional training that he doesn’t drop both mugs to the floor.
Barclay is wearing the collar, examining his reflection in (mercifully curtain covered) window.
“Dunno, might hold onto this, think the color looks good on me. That alright with you?”
“Guh.” Stern responds.
“Seems a shame to let a good gift go to waste.” Barclay turns to look at him. He’s never seen that expression on Barclay’s face before, most likely because if Barclay made it on camera, the video would get taken down for containing obscene content.
“Ah, uh, you’re, you’re quite right.” Stern sets the mugs down on the coffee table, wipes his hands nervously on his jeans.
“You okay?” Barclay leans against the mantle and stays put, and Stern realizes why; he’s not going to push this. He’s letting Stern come to him only if he wants to.
“I, ah, yes. Totally fine.” He crosses the hardwood, joining Barclay by the fire, “I was simply taken aback with the revelation of why my ex was so eager to see me in that.”
“Oh?” Barclay pushes off the mantle, turning so the two of them are face to face. He keeps his hands to himself, but there’s micrometer of space between their bodies.
“I have no interest in wearing it, as I said. But seeing you in it…” a spark of confidence flickers up his arm and he reaches out to hook a finger into the small metal loop at the front of the collar. He pulls down just as Barclays hands fly to his shoulders, joining them in a kiss. Keeping one hand on the metal, he glides the other up to Barclays cheek, beard tickling his palm as the taller man deepens the kiss.
“Is this really okay?” Barclay whispers, kissing his neck.
“Yes, good lord yes.”
“Knew it.”
“Excuse me?”
“You were checking my ass while I was shooting “Make it Gourmet.” Dani swore she noticed it when she was editing footage together.”
“Ohmygod.” Stern giggles, embarrassed, pressing his face into Barclays sweater.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure she cut all those out. Probably.”
“Noooo, I can’t handle being another meme, Barclay, it will break me.”
“Shhh” Barclay pets his back soothingly, broad chest now shaking with laughter, “you chose a career on the internet. This is your fate.”
“Is that a better or worse fate than people writing in and demanding a do a video about making gourmet NERDS?”
Barclay shudders, and Stern kisses his nose. When their eyes meet, Barclay grins.
“Y’know, the rest of that gift doesn’t have to go to waste either.” Barclay laughs again, “and judging by how excited you look, got a feeling you’ve already thought of some ways to use them on me.”
“And on me. Do you have a harness?”
“Yep, in the bedroom, if you wanna-”
“Ah, um, actually” he glances over to his right, then back at Barclay, unsure if he should say it.
But Barclay is too quick on the uptake
“The table, huh?” He loops his arms around Sterns shoulders.
“Please.” So much blood is heading south he’s amazed his other organs aren’t shutting down.
Barclay kisses him tenderly, “Get naked and wait for me.”
Stern does exactly that, being sure to fold his clothes and set them aside in a chair before heading to the table.
“Now there’s a sight.” Barclay steps in from the hallway, naked save for the harness. Pauses to kiss Stern eagerly before retrieving the strap-on from the box while Stern rests his elbows on the polished wood.
“It looks kinda monster-y. I like it.”
“It’s the uh, ah, ahem, ‘bigfoot’ model.” He mumbles.
Barclay laughs again, bending to kiss along Sterns shoulder blades as he teases at him with the toy, “Very on-brand, babe. Like a man who knows what he wants.”
“Even if what he want’s is strangeOH, fuck.” He spreads his legs wider as Barclay pushes in.
“Someone got a thing for size?” A kiss to the back of his neck.
“Yes,yesyes.” Stern presses back, demanding.
“Easy, tiger, don’t hurt yourself.”
“Barclay, I have been fantasizing about this for months, please, if you don’t start fucking me I’m going to make an utter embarrassment of myself.”
“Don’t have to beg, baby, I’ll take good care of you.” Strong hands grip either hipbone, and then his arms are struggling to keep him up as Barclay pounds into him.
“Shit, oh my lord that’s good.”
“Yeah?” Barclay growls, biting his ear, “gotta say, the way your ass moves when I fuck you is real fucking hot.”
“Nhmmmm.” Stern presses his forehead to the table. Barclays feet nudge his own aside, forcing his stance almost uncomfortably wide.
“I’d hold tight.”
“How, it’s a tablAHahhhnnn, fuck, don’t stop, please.”
“Not unless you come or collapse. Fuck, Joseph, you’re amazing, I can’t believe you’re letting me do this.”
“As, fuck, as often as you want.” Stern tries to move one of his hands down to stroke his dick, finds he can’t manage that and balancing at the same time. Barclay suddenly shoves him forward, pressing his pelvis against the table. Barclay hunches over him, continues fucking him as one hand snakes around to rub him off. The other rests a top Sterns own, Barclay holding his hand tightly as he whimpers from the new stimulation.
“That’s it, babe, that’s it. C’mon, I wanna make you come so bad, yeah, you like when I say that don’t you?”
Stern nods with a needy whine.
“Then lemme tell you, this is just the first course, handsome. Gonna find every way to make you come, gonna fuck you so much neither of us is gonna be able to stand for weeks.”
“Please, please, ohlordohfuck, yes, Barclay, yesAHhnnnn.” As soon as his orgasm hits, Barclay stops, pulling out carefully. He stays curled over Stern, stroking his hair and kissing up and down his back.
“That was, that was incredible.”
“Got that right, babe.” Barclay straightens, and Stern does the same, turning to kiss him hungrily.
“Take that off and get the magic wand.”
Barclay practically rips the harness away. Grabs the vibrator as Stern hops up to sit on the table.
Barclay hands him the toy, “how do you wanna do this?” His words die into a gasp when Stern grips his collar.
“I’d like to get you off with this” he turns on the wand, “would you like that too?”
“Yes.”
“Ask politely.” He tugs on the collar and Barclay moans.
“Please, babe, please, I want it so bad.”
“Mmmm, I can tell. You’re soaking.” Stern purrs, hovering the wand only an inch away from Barclays dick.
Barclay makes a panting, pleading whine, and that’s good enough for Stern.
“FUCKfuck, oh baby yeah, fuck yeah.”
“What do say?” He tugs again.
“Thank you, thankyouthankyou-oh shit, just little more babe please I’m so fucking close.”
Stern presses harder, yanking Barclay the rest of the way down for a kiss. The taller man whimpers into his mouth as he comes, shaking even after Stern pulls the vibrator away.
Then he promptly falls to his knees, resting his head in Sterns lap.
“So, uh, that was, wow.”
“I’m taking that as a sign you liked it unless you tell me otherwise.”
“Liked is putting it mildly, babe.”
Stern pets his hair, sighing happily.
“Would you, uh, like to stay a bit longer?”
“Absolutely.”
“If you wanna put on your clothes, I was gonna make dinner. I mean, you don’t have to put them on.”
“Being naked is not in the least bit kitchen safe. And I should clean this part of your table before I join you.”
“True on both counts.” Barclay stands, offering Stern a hand he doesn’t need ut takes all the same to get off the table.
“You know,” he muses as he pulls his underwear back on, “we didn’t get a chance to use the underwear.”
“Don’t worry,” Barclay only half-dressed, wraps him in a hug from behind, “you can wear ‘em tomorrow when I take you out.”
Stern turns, kisses him, “That sounds perfect.”
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#53 with Indruck? Also I LOVE 17 and I’m not picky on the pairing. Which Ever you think works the best/most in the mood for, I’d adore to see. ❤️
Decided to tackle 53 first! Prompts are from this list and still open.
53: Your scream woke up the entire building because you’re so damn excited about the snow and I’m going to give you a piece of my mind except you’re really cute.
“WOOO HELL FUCKIN YEAH!”
Indrid falls out of bed, cursing before he even hits the floor. Scrambling to the window, he’s not at all surprised at what he sees. His roommate or, rather, housemate, standing out in the snowfall with his arms out, smiling at the sky. He’s only wearing pajama pants and his ugly Christmas sweater.
If he catches a cold, Indrid is going to lose it. They’re already the only two remaining housemates left, and Duck, usually charmingly calm, has lost his damn mind with Christmas fever. Duck being sick would mean Indrid will get no respite from carols, decorating, and the other man asking his opinion on different gifts.
He tosses on an oversized sweater, steps into his rainboots, and tromps outside, muttering a dozen, rather unkind fantasies about what he’ll do if Duck doesn’t come inside (and a few lurid ones as well; he’s well past the point of pretending Duck, with his strong arms a soft belly, his fondness for gently teasing Indrid, the little idiosyncrasies he only let’s Indrid glimpse, doesn’t light his heart up like the scraggly Christmas tree in the living room).
“Duck, what in the world has gotten into you?”
The shorter man turns, breathless smile painting his face, snow dusting his dark hair, and Indrid struggles to remain annoyed with him.
“Hey, ‘Drid! Uh, oh” his brow furrows, “trouble sleepin again?”
“Yes, actually. But that’s not the problem. The problem is you are standing here, yelling, in the middle of the night, and scared me so badly I fell out of bed.”
“Shit, sorry.” Duck smiles, “but, look at it ‘Drid. It’s the first snowfall. It’s fuckin gorgeous.”
“Duck, I moved to the desert specifically to avoid the cold.”
“It ain’t just cold. It makes everythin look peaceful, like nothin bad is ever gonna happen. And you know, can’t have Christmas without snow.” He spins around gazing at the sky like the hero in a hallmark movie.
“Ah, I see. This is yet another part of the tinsel covered madness that you’ve been under.”
“Huh?”
“Have you honestly not noticed? Duck, ever since the day after Thanksgiving, you’ve been a walking, talking Christmas decoration.”
“So, I like the holiday?” Duck shrugs.
“There’s liking the holiday and then there is subjecting me to a month long parade of cheer!”
Duck looks stunned.
“That’s how you feel about it?”
“It’s. Obnoxious.” Indrid doesn’t mean to snarl. It’s not Duck’s fault. Not really.
Duck glares, “Jeez, I’m just tryin to enjoy myself. I ain’t goin out of my way to torment you.”
“How is singing carols off key while doing the dishes not tormenting me?”
“You could just tell me to stop.”
“Then you’ll call me a grinch, or some other unimaginative term for someone who doesn’t want to be covered in red and green vomit.” Indrid crosses his arms, kicks a track in the fresh snow. Glances up to find a familiar smirk on Ducks face. The last time he looked that way it was right before he rattled off the worlds most convoluted brain teaser in order to distract Indrid from a distressing incident at work.
“You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch…” He croons.
“Don’t you dare.” Indrid growls.
“You really are heel.”
“Gah, how are you getting more off key?” A smile cracks through his grimace.
“Aw, can’t a fella serenade you?”
Indrid squawks, hoping indignance covers his blush, and chucks a handful of snow at Duck. The other man barks a laugh and hops backward.
“Not a fan of the classics, huh?”
“Stay still and suffer for your crimes against melody.” Indrid throws more snow.
“When a cold when blows it chills you, chills you to the bone.”
“Don’t you dare use the Muppets against me!”
“Better figure out a way to stop me” Duck dances out of the path of a snowball.
“I will, get back here.”
Duck keeps singing as he jogs ineffectively backwards, “But there’s nothin in nature that freezes your heart like years of bein aloneAH” He trips and tumbles into the snow and Indrid seizes his chance and tackles him.
Before Duck can open his mouth to continue, Indrid is kissing him. If Duck is surprised by the gesture, he doesn’t show it, cups a chilly hand at the back of his head, encouraging, pleased sounds bubbling from his throat.
Indrid sits up, shyly, reserves of boldness used up on that one kiss. Duck shifts up onto his hands, walks them forward so he can lean in and kiss him again, breath fogging Indrids glasses as they separate.
“You feel like continuin this inside? My pants are gettin kinda soggy.”
“Can’t have you suffering too much for your questionable clothing choices” Indrid teases, helping him up, “come on.”
Indrid waits on the couch as Duck changes, enjoying the way the multi-colored lights he hung over the doorway cast strange, stained glass shadows on the walls.
Duck plops down on the couch, grabbing a thick, snowflake patterned blanket and pulling it over them.
“Can I confess something?” Indrid whispers.
“You mean other than your crush on me? Because that boat done sailed.”
“Hush.” Indrid tugs him closer, “There’s another reason I didn’t speak up about how the Christmas overload was bothering me. I, well, it makes you so happy. I know you get homesick, and that studying abroad last year meant no snow. And I so love seeing you happy, I couldn’t bring myself to dampen your joy.”
“You never get homesick?” Duck rests his head on Indrids shoulder.
“Not unless one can be homesick for a version of home that never existed, rather than the one that did.”
“Heh” Duck takes his hands, running his thumb along the knuckles, “y’know, that’s part of why I went so overboard. I know you got mixed feelins about the holidays, and I was hopin that maybe I could show you how nice they could be if you were with someone who cared about you.”
The answer startles him, and Duck takes the opportunity to kiss his nose.
“You’d really do that for me?”
“Do a lot of things for you.” Duck grins.
“I, uh, ah, yes” his world tilts as Duck lays down on the couch, guiding him to rest atop his warm, soft form, “all I ask is that we perhaps discuss what things about this season we might both enjoy. I’ll need to ease into it.”
“Think I can manage that.” Fingers carding his hair now.
“I’m” he yawns, stretches out before snuggling down “I’m going to fall asleep, on you, I fear.”
“Don’t worry about that none” Duck kisses his forehead, wraps his arms around him, “sleep tight, darlin.”
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i really love the way you write meet-uglies/meet-cutes so,, "i’m having a snowball fight with my friend in the park and i hit you instead" prompt w indruck?
Indrid is slowly, begrudgingly, starting to enjoy winter.
After all, the lake is pretty when it’s frozen, and it’s fun to see the whole neighborhood out and about in the fresh snowfall, early enough in the winter that snow is still a joyful thing rather than the unwelcome phenomenon it becomes around March.
Also, the coffee shop around the corner just started selling eggnog lattes, which are the pinnacle of seasonal beverages. Which is why he’s strolling along the lake, drink in hand, thinking about how nice it will be to curl up with his sketchbook in his little apartment that’s all his. Just him and the cat. Alone.
And those thoughts are why he doesn’t see it coming.
Something cold collides with his face, and he loses his balance, slipping on the icy ground and tumbling back into the snowy lawn, sending his drink down his front.
“Oh shit!”
“Oh man, bad luck dude!”
“Duck Newton, that was not the intended target!”
Snow crunches by his ears as he sits up, dazed and nutmeg-scented, eyes still stinging.
“I’m so, so fuckin sorry man, I was aimin’ for my friend, didn’t mean to hit you, fuck, uh, lemme see your eye.”
His red glasses come off, and he blinks in bright winter light.
A pair of mis-matched eyes look over his face, shining with worry. Faded blue dye in dark hair frames a soft face, and gloved hand, still chilly with snow, touches his cheek. He winces when a finger traces below his eye.
“Aw, fuck, I gave you a black eye.”
“Goodness, I didn’t think someone could throw a snowball that hard.”
“Got kinda a knack for it, I guess.” The man, Duck, scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.
“Yes, well” he’s trying so hard not to be upset. He’s trying so hard to hold on to his positivity, “I would have preferred not to be on the receiving end of ow, ow.” His whole body hurts as he stands. Duck braces him.
“Shit, oh man, I made you spill your drink too. Um, fuck” he looks helplessly in the direction of the friends he was, presumably, trying to hit with a snowball instead. One friend, a young woman with fiery streaks in her black her, mouths something his way.
“Can I buy you a new one to, uh make up for it?”
“No, it’s, it’s fine. I ought to go home and ice my eye. And change. Ow.”
“Do you want me to walk back with you? You ain’t lookin too steady.”
“I wonder why.” He mutters.
“Sorry.” Duck mumbles.
Indrid looks him up and down; he’s built in a sturdy way (Indrid can hear his mother in his head uttering the words, “husky”), and it would be safer than walking home on sore, unsteady legs and falling again.
“Very well, I suppose you can help me get home. It’s not far.”
The man slouches with relief, and offers Indrid his arm.
----------------------------------------
He feels better after a bath (alright, so it’s a large washtub that he shoves in his shower and then sits in, but it does the trick). Dries his hair, wraps himself in a fluffy pink and yellow bathrobe and nestles down into his chair to draw. Taco blinks sleepily at him from the nearby heater vent, and he scritches his ears.
There’s a knock on the door. That’s odd, given that he’s not expecting anyone. He opens it to find the man from earlier, wearing slightly fewer layers and holding a carrier with two to-go cups and a small bag.
“Uh, hey again.”
“Hello.” Indrid responds, flatly.
“Got you an eggnog latte.” He holds out one cup.
“How did-”
“Aubrey, my friend, looked at the cup after you dropped it.”
“Ah, of course, thank you.”
Duck hesitates, then offers him the bag, “can’t have a drink without somethin to eat. Weren’t sure what you’d like, so got a few different things from the pastry case.” A blush creeps up his cheeks, from the heater no doubt.
“They aren’t exaggerating when they say southern boys have good manners.” Indrid smirks.
“Tend to come out more when we’re feelin guilty.”
“Duck, it was an accident. And you’ve more than apologized.” He shudders as a gust of cold air rushes up from the downstairs hall, “would you like to come in?”
“Uhhhh no, uh, fuck, uh, I mean, fuck. Yes.”
“Oh good. It would be nice to share these with someone.” He steps aside so Duck can enter the apartment. As he gets down plates, Taco sidles over to give their visitor a cursory head-bump, followed by a demand for back scratches while he sips his coffee.
“Do you have pets?” He takes a large sugar cookie from the bag, while Duck helps himself to an apple scone.
“Yeah, got a cat too. Not near as sleek as this fella though, mine’s a big fuckin fluffball. Gonna start usin her to insulate the front door and keep the draft out.”
Indrid chuckles at the image, and Duck grins.
“So, uh, you in town for school?’
“No, actually. I’m finishing up an apprenticeship at Rag and Bone downtown.”
“No shit, you’re a tattoo artist?”
“Soon to be, yes.”
“That’s so fuckin cool! I got this one done there when I first moved to town.” He rolls his sleeve up to reveal a line drawing of a pine tree in deep green ink.
“Oooh” This is familiar territory for Indrid, and welcome as well; he likes seeing other artists’ work, and learning the stories behind people’s tattoos.
“Got another on my bicep, a succulent. Ironically enough, got it before I started workin’ at Green Thumb.”
“That’s where I’ve seen you!” Indrid slaps the table, “I come in after work sometimes. And usually resist the urge to add another plant to my, ah, collection.” He nods at his sickly houseplants on the nearby shelf.
“I can take a look at those for you, bettin they’re salvageable. Most of those ones are pretty hard to kill.”
“So people say. Bear in mind, I have killed not one, but two, airplants.”
“Jesus,” Duck giggles, “how?”
And so Indrid regales him with the story of his ill-fated air-plants that went brittle no matter where in the house he put them. Which leads to Duck getting the surviving houseplants down and examining them, before showing Indrid where to place them so they’ll thrive. And as Indrid is lifting one onto the bookshelf, his cuff slides up and Duck asks about his rosy maple moth tattoo. So Indrid tells him, and once their coffees are done he makes them tea as Duck asks about how he got into this line of work.
Then, it only seems natural that Duck offer to order pizza while they swap stories about growing up gay in small towns, and then eat while heckling a “documentary” about Bigfoot (“Black bears, you saw a black bear! Lord Christ almighty how do people forget there’s bears in those woods that walk on two feet?”)
“Damn, how many tattoos do you have?” Duck says, spotting the black rabbit on Indrid’s chest when his bathrobe slips to the side.
“Six.”
Duck counts on his fingers, looking at each in turn, “where’s number six?”
“It’s, ah, it’s on my thigh.”
“Oh” Duck turns bright red, “uh, you don’t got to share it if you don’t want to.”
“I can, if you’re alright with it.” Indrid pulls one side of his robe up until the stylized ouroboros is visible.
“Damn, the colors on that are amazin’” Duck traces a finger along the snake’s body. Indrid gasps, softly, and Duck pulls back, “fuck, sorry, shoulda asked first.”
“I don't mind. It felt rather nice.”
Duck’s eyes flick quickly to Indrids, then down to the tattoo. Cautiously, he reaches out and traces it again in slow, steady circles.
“I oughta be headin out soon, need to feed Winnie and get my lunch ready for tomorrow.” He says, making no move to stand.
“Would you like to come back? Tomorrow, I mean.” Indrid taps his nail on the side of his mug.
“Yeah” Duck looks up at him with a rather more mischievous smile than before, “yeah I would.”
He leans in, lifts Indrids glasses up, and plants the softest kiss on record to the bruise below his eye.
Then he stands, grabbing his coat and slipping on his boots, Indrid staring all the while with a dreamy smile.
Duck winks to him as he steps out the door, “see you tomorrow.” He blows a kiss, and heads out into the snowy night.
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Danbrey 13 please!
“my family invites you to join our holiday meal as an obvious setup and i’m so sorry “
This is a trap.
Really, you’d think Aubrey would be better at spotting them by now. Her dad and step-mom have at least moved on to inviting people other than dudes to these things. But she could live without the “oh ho ho, this holiday celebration is also an attempt to set you up with someone because we’re worried you’re going to die alone surrounded by your fifteen pet rabbits.”
Not that the girl seated across from her at the table isn’t cute. Her blonde hair is up in a messy bun, her nose is dotted with freckles, and the smile she keeps sending Aubrey’s way is like sunshine and baby bunnies and a warm blanket on a cold day…
But it’s the principle of the thing!
“So, Dani, your parents weren’t able to come?” Aubrey asks.
“Um, I don’t think they were invited.”
“They were” her stepmom interjects, “but they were unable to come. I saw Michelle at work and she was very apologetic.”
“O-kay.” Dani glances at back at Aubrey, “either way, it’s really nice to be able to spend Thanksgiving with people.”
“Even if it’s celebration of colonialism and an erasure of the harm inflicted on indigenous populations.” Aubrey mutters.
“Don’t forget a holiday designed to reinforce notions of a certain kind of domesticity and respectability.” Dani adds. Her father groans at the head of the table, but Aubrey is too busy focusing all her attention on the woman across from her.
“And yet another holiday where it’s impossible to get decent vegetarian options.”
“And the start of a season focused on consumerism.”
“God, I used to work retail and it was the worst.” Aubrey rolls her eyes.
“Man, I know the feeling...”
At the head of the table, Aubrey’s dad and stepmom exchange a look.
------------------------------
“So, did you know this was a set-up?” Dani tightropes along a planter box, green beanie on her head a defense against the gently falling snow.
“Yeah, I’m super sorry. They’ve been inviting people over to try and get me to date them for, like, almost a year.”
“Jeez.”
“I’d kinda hoped they were starting to chill out about it. Apparently not. Uh, that is” she kicks the toe of her black boot at a lump of snow, “I’m still glad I got to meet you. You’re uh, you’re really cool. But I wish we’d gotten to meet some time when you hadn’t been, like, tricked into dinner.”
“To be honest, it wasn’t much of a trick. My mom was pretty sure your stepmom was gunning to set us up, so we figured that’s what this was. Apparently she keeps talking about you and how you’re single.”
“Uggggggh.” Aubrey thwaps her head into her hands, red wool gloves scratching her skin, “Wait, if you knew it was gonna be an awkward trap dinner, why did you come?”
Dani hops down onto the garden path to face her, “Um, because I learned you’re a punk rock magician with a super-cute bunny? You sounded really cool and I wanted to meet you.”
“Oh.” Aubrey squeaks.
“Buuuut” Dani steps closer, adjusts the front of Aubrey’s jacket, straightening a few of her pins, “if you’re not interested, I totally get it.”
“No! I mean, uh, yes, I mean uh...meep.” Aubrey covers her mouth to keep anything more embarrassing from slipping out.
“I had a lot of fun talking with you tonight, Aubrey. I’d really, really like to get to know you even more.”
“I’d like that too. It’s just kinda weird that my family’s set-up worked. I’m worried it might encourage them to, like, try to trap me into a career change via a fluffy bunny or a cute girl or something.”
“So I shouldn’t say that you’re the prettiest thing in this whole huge garden?”
Aubrey’s cheeks are so warm they must be steaming.
“And I’m a botany student; I know from pretty things in gardens.” Dani strokes her cheek.
“Eeeeeeh.” Aubrey grabs her hands excitedly.
From the house, someone calls them in for dessert.
“Should we, um, do you wanna go back up?” She asks shyly.
“Just one more thing” Dani leans in and kisses her, soft and warm and for not nearly long enough, “okay now we can go.”
Aubrey giggles, kisses her once more, and then they hurry hand in hand back up to the warm lights of the house.
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