I Wanted Her To Love Him

its november so heres some half-baked scorpio races fan art

Brian Carroll does not ride for the reasons that most do: money, fame, glory, the hot rush of blood and magic through his veins. He does not ride for the reasons that others do, the old families of the island who’s blood and bones have been sunk into the soil and sand and surf.

Brian finds Sean Kendrick on the racing beach at sundown, two days into the training period, and asks for his help in catching a capall. Sean Kendrick wipes his hands on an old rag, sets it aside on the pommel of his upturned saddle. He squints out toward the sea, his red stallion restless behind him. Brian does not think he would turn his back to either of them, man or horse.

“Why?”

Sean Kendrick does not ask it in the way that most would: curious, prying, so obviously interested in digging deeper into his heart. He asks, and it is only a question, because he thinks it is important.

Brian looks out toward the ocean, at the storm brewing off in the Atlantic. He thinks of his brother’s bright smile, of how desperately he loved the races, of how he wanted nothing more than to ride in them one day, to win.

He stares out toward the sea and remembers the limp strength of Jonathan’s hand in his, the sweat that would bead on his brow as another coughing fit wracked his thin frame. The light in his eyes as he asked Brian what he thought the races would be like.

Jonathan would never get the chance to find out.

Puck steps into the house and kicks off her muck boots. Between herself and Sean, they do a terrible job of keeping mud out of their home, but Puck still tries to make an effort when she can be bothered to remember. She follows the faint sounds of banging, clanging, and cursing throughout the house, and finds herself hovering just beyond the kitchen.

She rests her hip against the door jamb, arms crossed over her chest, and smiles.

Sean swears again as she pulls her head out of a cupboard, only narrowly missing bashing her forehead on the ledge—the pot that she pulls out after her is large, larger than any Puck has ever used. She didn’t even know that they owned that pot. She lingers there in the doorway, watching Sean move to the sink to fill up the pot, then haul it over to the stove and light the burner.

To see Sean in the kitchen isn’t an unheard of occurrence, though, in truth, neither of them is a housewife, just as Dory Maud likes to say. If Sean is in the kitchen less often than Puck, it is only by virtue of her being in higher demand with both the islanders and the rich horse buyers who wash up at their doors. Puck would be offended, but she knows it’s less a comment on her competence, and more a reflection on Sean’s ability to be less offensive when the situation demands.

At last, Puck steps forward, and she knows that Sean knows she is there from the tilt of her head, the relaxing of her shoulders. Puck reaches out and brushes her fingers over the soft, short hair at the base of Sean’s neck, and leans forward, pressing her forehead into Sean’s spine.

“Hello, Kate Connolly.” A hesitation, and Puck can hear the smile in her voice when she continues. “Puck Connolly.”

“I think you’ll find,” Puck says, voice muffled by the fabric of Sean’s shirt, “that I am now Puck Kendrick, thank you very much.”

The last of the tension slides out of Sean’s back, and Puck brings her arms up to hold her around the middle.