Iroha

On another bonkersly hot summer Wednesday, please have these cuties in a heatwave of their own (chapter 1 coming soon):

It takes a while for Jonah to drift off tonight. It’s too hot. The crickets are loud. Fireflies pass by the window like tiny spaceships seeking a warm world to land on. And it’s not a school night. And tomorrow isn’t going to be a regular Saturday because they’re going on a night out, and and and and…

Jonah is talking through all the ands with TK when his droopy eyes finally close.

TK slips his hand free from both of Jonah’s, kisses him on the forehead, and sneaks out of the room. He creeps all the way along the hallway, avoids the tattle-tale floorboards, and dips into his own lamplit bedroom.

Here, TK finds his husband lying stark naked. He’s sideways across the bed, eyes closed and head practically lolling off the mattress on TK’s side. The ceiling fan rotates with soft swishes right above him.

“Mmm,” Carlos hums pleasantly. He lifts his flaccid penis to get more air to his sack.

“You okay, there?” TK whisper-laughs. He wanders over to his side of the bed to loom over Carlos’ face.

“I’m hotter than the sun,” Carlos murmurs.

“You can say that again.”

Carlos smiles. “But I’m great. My baby’s sleeping. My belly’s full…” he opens one eye. “I married the best man in all the world.”

“Stop.” TK grins and leans down, pressing both fists to the mattress either side of Carlos’ head, where he makes biscuits for a moment like a cat.

Open tag and tags below!:

thank you to @carlos-in-glasses @ladyknight1512 and @actuallylemon for the tags! here is another whumpy snippet from the kindred spirit sequel, which I have decided to name Infinitely Yours!

The door to the chamber opens, then slams shut as soon as TK steps through. He puts a hand against the wood, and suddenly roots grow out from it, sealing it from the inside. Banging ensues as the guard requests—as respectfully as possible in this situation—for TK to open the door.

Carlos can't help the relief that floods him, though it is matched by panic and guilt in equal measure. Slowly, the man he would give his entire heart to—the man he has failed—turns around and faces him.

TK's expression crumples in an instant. "Carlos," he gasps.

Carlos hangs his head. "You... you shouldn't be here," he says, although it's more of a whimper with the way his voice trembles. He hates himself for the tears that drip from his eyes. He never wanted TK to see him this way—a weakened failure of a man.

TK is at his side in an instant, cupping his face. "What have they done to you?" he asks, voice eerily quiet with anger.

Only then does Carlos entertain the idea that TK's rage might not be pointed towards him. It's made easier to believe by the way TK is caressing his cheek and the devastated expression he wears.

A lump is steadily forming in his throat. "You shouldn't be here," he says again. "It isn't... it isn't safe."

thank you to @afiendishthingynisba for the tag! from the kindred spirit sequel:

Pearce doesn't look fazed. He simply continues breathing heavily and leaning on TK's doorframe and taking up space in a place TK doesn't want him to. "I was out training in the fields—"

"So you thought you'd come dripping at my door?" he drawls, unimpressed. There is only one man in the world he ever wants to see sweat, and it's definitely not him.

"Ha, you're quite funny in the mornings. Anyone ever told you that?" He wipes his forehead with his arm, displaying what TK has to admit is quite the set of muscles. "I was thinking you and I could get breakfast before the games today."

Before he can ask why Pearce would want to do that, he enters his room uninvited. TK takes a quick glance outside, but neither of the typical guards are at their posts.

"I had the help sent away," Pearce says, not even bothering to look over his shoulder. "No worries about safety—" he pats his hip, where his sword is tied to his belt— "I would't let anything happen to you."

been trying to write a little every day! a snippet for today, from the kindred spirit sequel:

TK and Carlos exchange a look. Young love, he mouths at Carlos, waggling his eyebrows. It really hits TK now exactly how young. He's pretty sure Wyatt only just came of age a few months ago.

Carlos pulls him in, lips brushing against TK's, not quite kissing. He teases, as is his right—TK has teased him quite a bit these past few days. "You know, I wasn't expecting this when you told me you'd 'see me later'."

"Are you disappointed?" he asks, voice husky. Alone time for them has been so rare; perhaps Carlos was looking forward to something else.

But his lover smiles. There's excitement in his eyes, and TK knows that he's mirroring it. Change is right here, within the four of them. It's manifesting in connection between people who are not allowed to be so close to each other and yet have beaten the odds anyway. It might not be enacted for years yet, but now that each of them knows they're not alone, TK is certain that it's coming. It's inevitable. One day he's going to show every soul in this kingdom exactly what Carlos means to him, and he won't feel one ounce of fear for it.

Thanks @actuallylemon and @carlos-in-glasses for the tags!! A biggish chunk of my draft — because I couldn’t decide where to cut it — for this teen tk & toddler Jonah AU. It’s a Tarlos fic, and a TK & Jonah fic, but maybe more than anything it is a TK & Gwyn fic. Because I love them!!

He’s just about managed to drift off when the door opens again.

“Oh, my god, what?”

“Soup,” says his mother.

TK puts an arm over his eyes. “Mom. I just want to sleep.”

“Sorry,” she says. She doesn’t sound sorry. “You still haven’t had any water.”

“I had a little!” he protests.

She eyes the nearly-full bottle skeptically. “Have some more. Here, take your pill.”

“I told you I don’t want anything,” he says.

“Not for the flu. Take your pill,” she repeats, and he takes the Lexapro and tosses it back with a sip of water. He’s desperately thirsty, it turns out, but his throat is raw. “Good job,” she says. “Now soup.”

He sighs and takes the bowl she offers, bringing a shaky spoonful to his lips. Despite the flavors being muted by congestion, the matzoh ball soup is as warm and soothing as it always. “Thanks,” he says reluctantly. “It’s good.”

“Of course it is. Jewish penicillin is good for everything.” She watches him eat a few more mouthfuls, then stop to cough and wipe his eyes. “You poor thing. What am I going to do with you?”

He rolls his eyes and keeps eating, slowly in case his stomach decides to rebel, too.

Undeterred by his lack of response, she continues, “What were you even thinking? Look at you, you can barely sit up. It’s raining, were you trying to get pneumonia?”

He scowls at her, not in the mood for a lecture. “No.”

“What was so important about going out tonight? What did you have planned?”

She’s giving him her lawyer-mom cross-examining gaze. It drives him nuts.

“What, did you think I was trying to go out partying or something?”

“Were you?” she demands.

“No!” he says, his voice cracking. He swipes his wrist across his eyes angrily.

“Okay, okay, that’s not what I thought, anyway,” she says, the deposition demeanor dropped in an instant as she puts a palm on his cheek, her fingers combing through his hair. “I just don’t get why you were trying so hard to go out in this condition. You were that desperate to defend your honor at that Invaders of Catan game?”

“It’s Settlers of Catan!” he shoots back. “And no, I don’t know, I just wanted to see – everyone.”

She sits down on the edge of the bed, and he moves over and lets her settle down beside him, her arm around his shoulder. “Everyone, huh?”

“Fine. Maybe especially Carlos.”

“Ah, the truth comes out,” she says, pulling him close and kissing his hair. “He did look very nice tonight, didn’t he? Turquoise is a good color on him, don’t you think?”

“Ew,” he groans.

“Oh, you don’t think it looked nice on him?” she says innocently.

“You’re being so mean to me, I’m sick,” he complains.

“You poor thing.” It sounds decidedly more sarcastic than it had the first time she said it. “So does he usually dress that nicely for game night, or did the two of you have plans?”

There’s no use trying to hold back, she’s going to get it out of him sooner or later. She’s like Buttercup with a snuffle mat when she wants information from him.

“We were just going to get food first,” he admits. “I don’t know. It seemed like. Kind of a date.”

thank you @afiendishthingynisba @actuallylemon and @carlos-in-glasses for the tags! for my latest wip, the kindred spirit sequel:

Carlos kneels before TK, lowering his head in the ultimate show of respect he could give. He did all of it for him, and it is indescribably satisfying to know that out of all the competitors, his victories are what has put Texas in first place. The blood, sweat, tears—all of it for his prince.

TK places the crown of flowers on his head with a delicate touch, fingers brushing as much as they dare against Carlos' curls. Instantly, Carlos knows the crown was not just another symbol of victory meant to be handed out to the athletes—TK grew it himself. The poppies woven into its intricate braid are too vibrant, too beautiful to be grown with anything other than the prince's magic. Fiery oranges and reds stained with dark purples and blacks at their centers. Pure things being stained to make it more perfect than before.

Carlos feels himself heating up on the inside at the notion. He thinks, ridiculously, that this was all TK's design for him. TK put up with the royals, the manners, the endless hoops to jump through to please everyone and prove whatever it is they wanted to see, just so that he could stand here and crown Carlos the winner. He hates the decorum, loathes the formality. He rolls his eyes whenever someone points out his un-prince-like behavior. And yet, he did all of that for him.

"Sir Reyes," TK says, and Carlos tilts his head up to look at him. The look in his half-lidded gaze says everything that Carlos wants to hear. He's proud, he loves him, he wants him in every way. There's not a thing Carlos could do wrong. Nothing could sully this moment, or the way TK sees him. Carlos is his knight, his protector, his lover. His.

Carlos tilts his chin up further, imagining what it would be like to lean in and take him into a kiss. He holds himself back, but only just. When he refocuses on TK's face, it's clear the man is thinking the same thing.

"Congratulations," TK whispers, and it's only for him.

I've been thinking lately that perhaps when this is done being written (currently sitting at an unedited ~55k! wow!) I might commission an artist to do a little drawing of one of the scenes. if any of u have suggestions, lemme know ;) also hopefully one day I'll decide on a name for this bad boy

hello hello! take a wip from me today from the kindred spirit sequel! (and thank you to @actuallylemon for the tag)

"What was that about?" TK doesn't hesitate a second longer to get in his space. He cups his cheek. "Carlos, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he says, removing TK's hand from his face so that he can hold it instead. A smile—brave and fake—flickers on his lips. "I had a nightmare, was all. They were... overly concerned."

Because you woke up screaming! TK wants to shake him. A wave of frustration rolls through him. They can't go on like this. He nearly gave TK a heart attack.

"That is the last time you lie to me," he growls. "You're done protecting me from the truth."

Carlos seems at a loss for words. "TK—"

TK steps away from him. If Carlos is going to jam this distance between them, then he'll be the one to make it physical. "You have these nightmares. You won't tell me what they're about. Fine. I don't need to know." He glares. "But I know you don't trust those two. Tell. Me. Why."

Carlos groans. "Why are you being so difficult about this?"

"Difficult? I'm the one being difficult?" TK scoffs. "Would you look at yourself, Carlos? You run yourself ragged constantly—you don't sleep, you barely eat, you must always be alert—but Lords forbid someone try to help you. Lords forbid someone cares enough to get you to stop and slow down." Beneath him, small tremors shake the ground. Roses, red as blood and much too thorny, sprout at his feet in small bushes. If he's not careful, they'll spread to the other tents. If he's not careful, people will hear him raising his voice. TK doesn't give a damn about being careful. "You are so full of shit. Difficult? No. I'm doing my best to love a man who won't fucking talk to me about his problems!"