#corinnewrites

Deep in the dungeons Where the Slytherins lie Lives a Dark Magic boy Who (probably) needs a good cry.

"I'm a Dark Magic boyo With a Dark Magic book, So I spread the Unforgivables Around the school like a crook."

"Crucio, Imperio, AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Along comes a new kid  With Ancient Magic divine And a mission of their own That their pal thinks is "just fine."

"Hey Dark Magic boyo, With your Dark Magic book Would you help me with my quest? Here, take a look!"

Says the boy to his friend, "Nice thought, new kid. I hear what you're saying, I'll do it; you're definitely not mid." 

"I'm a Dark Magic boyo With a Dark Magic book, So I spread the Unforgivables Around the school like a crook."

"Crucio, Imperio, AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Along comes the boy's uncle He stomps through the field His angry face on full display, shouting, "ANNE CANNOT BE HEALED!"

"Hey Dark Magic boyo With your Dark Magic book, I'm gonna report you to the Ministry Don't act so shook."

Says the boy to his uncle, "You jerk! I DON'T agree! I'm gonna kill you, It's entirely up to me."

"I'm a Dark Magic boyo With a Dark Magic book, So I spread the Unforgivables Around the school like a crook."

"Crucio, Imperio, AVADA KEDAVRA!"

(Uncle's dead.)

Along comes the boy's twin sister, Anne, His kindred spirit, still quite sick. She is sad, she is mad, She is one powerful chick.

Says the boy to his sister, "Anne, I can cure you! Please let me try." "YOU'VE MADE YOUR CHOICE!" She yells back. (Bye-bye, book.)  Boy screams, "NO, ANNE!!! WHY???"

"I'm a Dark Magic boyo With no more Dark Magic book, But I'll still spread the Unforgivables Around the school like a crook."

"Crucio, Imperio, AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Along comes the Ministry With their dementors most foul, Stealing souls and breaking hearts They'll really make you howl. 

"Hey, Dark Magic boyo Let us tell it to you straight. Your Dark Magic meddling Is an unattractive trait."

Says the boy to his captors, "Ministry, get WRECKED! With a power like mine I'm more than just inept."

"I'm a Dark Magic boyo With no more Dark Magic book, But I'll still spread the Unforgivables Around the WIZARDING WORLD like a crook."

"Crucio, Imperio, AVADA KEDAVRA!" 

Now along comes his old friend, The Ancient Magic kid. The Ministry has never seen before Such amazing skills (Merlin forbid)!"

New kid approaches Dark Magic boyo But instead of saying hey...

They use Ancient Magic Throw  On the Ministry and its dementors And then they bolt away.

Dark Magic boyo is most astounded; Dark Magic boyo is just aghast! He is stone-faced like a statue Then he blinks, and speaks at last:

"New kid!" yells Sebastian Sallow, "I should have known it all along. I thought I needed Dark Magic, But it turns out I was wrong."

"I'm an Ancient Magic lover With an Ancient Magic Kid, We can cure Anne together Because look what YOU did!"

"So I'll not call you ignorant Because that would be dumb. Join me, my friend, And we'll be more than just ho-hum."

Ominis released a long-suffering sigh. The kind of sigh that could fill the entire castle and still not hold all his exasperation. Sebastian's mid-pleasure interruption was probably more than just a habit. It was probably more like a ritual. Presumably, of course, although it made a certain sort of sense. 

"Because some of us know how to wait our turn," you muttered, a difficult feat since your mouth was still stuffed full of Ominis's cock. Whether anyone actually understood you was debatable. 

Apparently someone did, because Sebastian shot back, "Wait my turn? Darling, I don't wait for anyone. I take what I want."

Darling, hm? 

You very much wanted to ignore him, but when it came to Sebastian, that was difficult, nigh on impossible even. Ominis would have to wait, at least for a moment or two. With a soft pop, you pulled away from him. He sighed again, clearly unamused, as you settled back on your haunches. 

"I don't see you making a move, Seb," you drawled. "What happened to that relentless determination, that cockiness?" You waggled your eyebrows. 

Sebastian was moving now, stalking forward, dropping low to seize your shoulders, hard enough to bruise. As he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, he mouthed, "Don't start," then caught your right earlobe between his teeth in a quick, sharp nip. You gasped, knees buckling beneath you. Good thing he was holding you up, not so much supporting you as imprisoning you, shackling you in place. 

Oh how the tables had turned.

No more than half an hour ago, you'd slipped into this very room unnoticed, practically radiating smug satisfaction. Garreth's potion had worked like a charm, quite literally, although it wasn't an invisibility charm, but a subtler kind of vanishing act. An "ignore me if you see me" effect, as he'd put it. He called it his Wallflower Potion. 

You had to hand it to Garreth. No one could say he wasn't clever. Just not always reliably so, which had soon become painfully clear. ('The potion will last a full hour,'—your arse.)

Still, to be fair, not everything could be blamed on his half-baked potion. 

In hindsight, you probably should've done your due diligence. Sebastian was hardly a model student, after all. He was too much of a rakish cad for that. And while the rest of Slytherin House was off at the Three Broomsticks, celebrating the completion of their N.E.W.T.s, downing butterbeers and dancing like there was no tomorrow, Sebastian had been serving detention, with Ominis, of all people. 

Or so you'd overheard as they'd wandered through the door. Sebastian, of course, was the one muttering about it, clearly quite put out, the extrovert that he was.

You briefly considered how Ominis and Sebastian had both ended up in detention, together, but you didn't have much time to mull it over, for you were mere seconds away from being caught bear-handed by the devil himself, flanked by his angelic—ignoring his heritage, that is—blind shadow. 

Surprise!

So, how had you ended up here? Here, now, with Sebastian shoving you against his bed, ass up, conjuring only the smallest daub of lubrication, too quick to entirely cloak your entrance but just enough that it wouldn't be horribly painful when he—"Ah!"—shoved his cock inside you. It didn't take long before you'd adjusted to the firm pressure of him and were shouting out, "Merlin, yes!", making it all too clear that you wanted this. That you had wanted this since you ever met him. Had he wanted it too? 

Huh. And here you thought he only saw you as an irritating schoolmate to best in various subjects: Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, dueling, spider obliteration, just to name a few. 

Perhaps you were wrong. Perhaps you had been wrong all along.

Ominis hissed a choice curse or two from behind the two of you, apparently none too pleased that Sebastian had pulled you away for such an, allegedly, time-consuming act. Sebastian was too busy thrusting to pay him any mind, grunting with each earth-shattering movement, the bed creaking in reply. 

Speaking of busyness, you were too busy trying to breathe, bracing yourself as his cock traveled deep, deep, deeper inside you, so deep it was punishing; Sebastian was hammering away at you like his very life depended on it. It was a bit ridiculous to be totally honest, but you didn't have any complaints. Why would you? Sebastian's determined resolve was far too stimulating to allow any other thought, not even of the unwelcome variety. Far too stimulating and then some. 

Sebastian's cock made its last triumphant hurrah. He moaned, a helpless sound, so unlike him that it made your heart leap into your throat, but then warmth flooded your insides, pooled inside you, and you lost all sense of time and place…  

Until Sebastian released himself and collapsed on his side, pulling you along with him. 

For the briefest moment, Sebastian had been part of you, as one with you as anyone could possibly be—physically, that is—and then, faster than a reluctantly cast Crucio, it had ended, his cum dripping out of you and soaking into the bedsheets. 

But it wasn't over. No, not yet. Ominis made certain of that.

He conjured two hand towels and tossed them. Both towels somehow landed squarely on your bare stomachs, slick with sweat, still heaving as you both tried to recover your breath. 

"Clean yourselves up," he said. 

Sebastian didn't budge, but he did manage to shoot back, "Not even a 'please'?" 

"I'm saving my 'pleases' for people who actually listen. Like him," he added, nodding toward you as you sat up, already doing as Ominis commanded. 

In all honesty, it hadn't quite been a conscious choice. When it came to anything of a sexual nature, obedience seemed etched into your very bones. Odd, sure, what with everything you'd managed to achieve at Hogwarts in the short time you'd attended, but true. 

Deed done, you rose, a bit unsteadily, to your feet. Ominis took your hands, gave them a firm squeeze, and led you to his side of the room, which was far less chaotic, his bed still immaculate, not a wrinkle in sight. That wouldn't last long though. He pushed you onto it, clambered atop you, and brought his mouth to yours, all but devouring you. 

You could hear Sebastian puttering around in the corner, then… silence. You were too lost in Ominis to glance Sebastian's way, but some part of you hoped he was watching.

There was a fleeting moment where it all felt too good, too exhilarating, too much, to be real, like your body had moved faster than your sense of disbelief. You hadn't even wanted to kiss Ominis until he'd been the one to confront you first about sneaking into their room, until he'd been the one to demand answers with that quiet, dangerous focus of his. 

"Explain yourself," he'd said, his voice taut. 

You'd flinched, though, rather inconveniently, your trousers had gone tight at the exact same moment. "I—well, erm—" you'd stammered, your grip stiffening around the stuffed bear you were hiding behind your back.

"You're stammering. And you're hard. Interesting combination."

By Jove! How in Merlin's name did he know? you'd thought, your mind racing through all the potential possibilities. Was Ominis's wand really as sentient as Sebastian had explained in your fifth year? 

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, his eyes locking on you, traveling down to the offending body part. He smirked. Typical. "Subtle, very subtle," he teased. 

In hindsight, it made perfect sense that their interrogation—if it could even be called that—had such an effect on you. Confrontation was a rare occurrence for you these days. Most people steered clear, well aware that you were far more powerful than the average wizard.

But then again, most people weren't Sebastian Sallow or Ominis Gaunt. Clearly.

You dropped Sebastian's bear quietly behind you, praying they hadn't noticed, then stepped forward, toward Sebastian, a question in your eyes. Sebastian tilted his head, murmured, "Alright then," and just like that, the whole encounter had begun.

Now, back in the present, Ominis freed your lips from captivity, and your mouth hurried to his cock. Likewise, his large but slender hands made their steady way to you, settling on the shaft of yours. The two of you attended to each other—Ominis was, unsurprisingly, more generous than Sebastian—moving in tandem, his touch insistent, but also somehow gentler. You climaxed in unison: Ominis's pleasure quiet and controlled, yours loud and guttural. Sebastian had apparently joined in as well, for mere moments later, you heard him moan, low, nearly a growl, sounding like the bear of a young man that he was.

The bear! 

You tensed at the thought of it. You still wanted to claim Sebastian's most beloved possession—needed to, really, maybe even more so now than before, especially after Sebastian—and Ominis!—had claimed you in their own way. That had been the whole point of this grand escapade, hadn't it? 

"Now that that's done," Sebastian said, yanking you back to your senses. "Why were you in our room again?" 

You met his gaze, a wicked glint in your eyes. "Who says I wasn't here to do exactly what we just accomplished?"

Sebastian barked out a laugh. He turned to Ominis, who was sitting to your left beside you, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Well, whatever the reason," Sebastian said, waving his hand casually in the air, "you've certainly earned the right to return, should you feel inclined."

"Noted."

"But next time," Ominis piped in, "a little notice wouldn't hurt. Perhaps an owl, for formality's sake."

You leaned back, letting out a slow breath. "I'll consider it." You rose to your feet and glanced around for your scattered clothing.

As Sebastian and Ominis did the same, you smiled upon observing that your off-white shirt had—miracle of miracles!—ended up draped over Sebastian's bear. You slipped it on last, the fabric cool against your skin, and tucked the bear carefully behind your back. You backed toward the door, ever so cautious, hoping that your two Slytherins were too distracted to find your movement suspicious.

But just as your hand closed around the doorknob, Sebastian spoke. "You're hiding something."

You froze.

Ominis didn't even pause the careful fastening of the last button on his shirt. "It's Sebastian's bear, isn't it?"

Damn! How?  

You offered your best attempt at wide-eyed innocence. "What bear?"

Sebastian's eyes narrowed. "My bear, hm?" Well, at least he didn't seem too angry.

You shrugged, backing up another step. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Funny," Ominis said, stepping past you to open the door himself. As he did, his hand brushed against the concealed lump beneath your shirt. "Lying now, hm? After everything we did for you?" 

You sighed dramatically and tugged at your shirt, revealing just enough of the bear's ear to prove your guilt... to Sebastian at least, maybe even to Ominis, for all you knew. You were severely doubting now that he was actually blind. Perhaps he had been pulling a long con the past three years. You wouldn't put it past him.

"Fine," you said through a pout. "You caught me out. You win." But you didn't make a move to return the bear.

Sebastian laughed, then, to your complete and utter shock, waved you off.

"Keep my bear warm, then," he said. 

You blinked. "I intend to." You took a hesitant backwards step over the threshold, still not quite certain if he was being serious. 

You took another, and another, until you realized Sebastian had been serious. He wasn't stopping you. You still picked up your pace. Just in case. 

Ominis's voice trailed after you. "Send that owl next time, won't you?"

You paused, glanced back at the two of them, hair tousled, cheeks flushed, entirely too pleased with themselves—and with you.

"Don't worry," you said with a grin. "Next time, you'll know when I'm coming." 

Were you being entirely truthful? Perhaps, but also, perhaps not. That was up to you to decide. 

And with that, you disappeared down the corridor, stolen bear tucked under your arm, a dozen more dangerous ideas already forming in that brilliant mind of yours.

The door closed behind you with a soft click.

This particular adventure was over. But the game?

You wished, not for the first time, that your Latin extended beyond Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum, which you'd dutifully mumbled in Catholic school long before you found out you were—miracle of miracles!—a wizard. You wondered, briefly, what the Virgin Mary would make of that. Probably cross herself and run away screaming. 

But you didn't have time to mourn your unholiness, nor your linguistic failings. Not when heat blossomed beneath your skin like spilled ink: slow at first, then spreading everywhere, all at once. Not when your breath caught and your spine arched entirely without permission, like some buried part of you had been waiting for this—had remembered this—long before your conscious mind could catch up.

"Oh," you breathed, uselessly.

Sebastian smiled, his chocolate brown eyes twinkling in the low light of the Undercroft. 

Damn him! Damn that beautiful boy. 

"Worth it yet?" he said, arching a brow. 

You might've answered if you weren't currently melting, totally boneless, into the floor. Metaphorically, of course. If his spell had actually removed all the bones from your body, it would've been significantly less pleasurable, or so you assumed. And really, why would he do such a daft thing? 

No, this was something else entirely.

Your nerves were singing. Every inch of your skin felt tuned like the strings of a violin—a Stradivarius, the most expensive of the lot—which he was manipulating with a finely sculpted bow. Breathing was suddenly a task you had to remember to do, and even that was touch-and-go.

He lowered into a crouch beside you, entirely too smug.

"You're taking it well," he said, as if you weren't halfway to the stars already; Amit would be so proud.

"Define 'well.'"

He grinned. Again. Your heart leapt into your throat. "You look like you've never been happier," he said. 

But he wasn't finished. Not yet. Because then, he reached for your hand.

And God help you, you let him take it.

Worse, you sighed. One of those soft, traitorous sighs that belonged in a love letter or a scandalous novel, not in the middle of a spell-induced sensory overload.

And then—then(!)—he bent his head and pressed a kiss to the back of your hand.

A kiss. So delicate it was almost as if a feather had fallen from the ceiling and landed on your skin. 

You gasped. It was so involuntary, so unexpected, that your cheeks grew hot. 

He glanced up through his lashes. Your eyes met. 

"Just making sure you're still with me," he murmured, as if you weren't barely tethered to the room, your sense of self floating somewhere just above your two heads, your still entwined hands.

Wait a moment. Had you died? Were you a ghost? Was this some sort of exquisitely strange limbo? Maybe Sebastian's Crucio in the scriptorium had killed you, and this was your afterlife: pleasure-laced purgatory, courtesy of his very selective remorse.

"Just… barely," you managed to reply, your fingers trembling beneath his. 

He smiled, slow like molasses. Satisfied, like he liked you best in ruin —pleasurable, yes, but ruin nonetheless. 

And you, still thrumming, still clutching Sebastian's hand like it might anchor you to reality, were in no state to stop him if he pressed further.

Which, judging by the look in his eyes, he was absolutely about to do.

Until—

Creeeak.

Ominis made his entrance with all the subtlety of a thunderclap, opening the positively ancient gate that led into the Undercroft like it had personally offended him. 

Sebastian shot to his feet faster than if he'd been caught committing a crime, which, erm, depending on how one interpreted consent under experimental magic, he may have been very close to doing. Not that you would've stopped him. You'd have made sure to say, Please, do go on. Loudly. Clear as fucking day. 

But now Ominis was here, and he was tapping his foot impatiently on the stone floor.

"Ah, here you two are," he said. "And up to no good, most likely."

"We were just… erm, studying," Sebastian said, hastily wiping a bead of sweat from his freckled forehead.

"Mhm. Right. Care to explain what you were actually doing?"

Deep, unrelenting pleasure still coursed through your body—and with it, your mind—like a dense fog, leaving you far too occupied to conjure up even a half-decent excuse. How long did this spell last, exactly? Because honestly, you were starting to get a bit dizzy. Maybe you should lie down.

So you did. Yes. Definitely better. Much, much better.

Sebastian was talking, words tumbling from his plump, pink lips faster than you could comprehend them.

Ominis was shouting. A blaring sound, really. Rather too insistent for comfort's sake.  

And somewhere in the middle of it all, you were wondering… what in God's name was happening?

Then, faster than you could cast Revelio (which was absurdly fast at this point), Ominis was sprawled on the floor beside you, looking far too relaxed for someone who'd just barged in with a scowl.

Wait. Had Sebastian cast the spell on him too?

Ominis's back arched; a low moan slipped past his lips.

Oh.

Oh.

Sebastian dropped down beside you again, this time on his broad, muscular back. He rolled onto his side, propping his gorgeous head in his large hand, a wavy lock of hair just barely grazing his thick brow, his gaze locking with yours. 

In a sly, conspiratorial whisper, he said, "Looks like the fun's just getting started."

Poppy was, frankly, surprised the two knights were in such good spirits. The knight who died must not have been a friend of theirs. Or perhaps he wasn't very well-liked in general. 

Ah well. 

"Where do you think he went?" Tori whispered to Jaimsen.

Jaimsen crossed his arms over his chest—a difficult feat to be sure in all that armor, but he managed. "Where do you think?" he said through a laugh.

Poppy wasn't quite sure who they were talking about, until… 

"Sebastian's always so predictable," Tori said, rolling her eyes. 

"True," Jaimsen replied, "although I certainly didn't predict he'd be on the run for murder, even though it makes loads of sense now that it's happened." As Tori quietly murmured her assent, Poppy clapped a hand to her mouth, stifling a gasp. 

Prince Damien's best friend, a murderer? 

Because everyone knew that Prince Damien Ambrose-Evans and Sebastian Sallow were inseparable. 

Before Sebastian had begun his training, he and his twin sister, Anne, had lived within the castle walls, their parents serving the royal household until their untimely (natural) deaths. In those years, Sebastian and Anne had been a constant in the prince's life. Where one of them was found, the others were never far behind. And when Anne had eventually been sent to France to join the royal court there, it had simply become the two of them instead. Damien and Sebastian. Sebastian and Damien. Always.

Which meant that this—whatever this was—would not go unnoticed.

Prince Damien would not abandon his best friend.

… Would he? 

"What are you doing here, milady?" a voice cut in from just behind Poppy's head. 

She straightened at once, every instinct snapping to attention, and swiveled around to address the man behind her. 

"Oh, Sir Solomon," she said, schooling her expression into something mild and pleasant. "I was… merely daydreaming. As gentle ladies are so often wont to do." 

It wasn't a complete fabrication. She had been thinking about Tori mere moments ago. That likely counted as daydreaming. And Poppy was, by birth at least, a gentlelady, though she had every intention of shedding that particular skin someday. Hopefully soon.

Solomon narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced. Poppy had a bit of a reputation after all. His gaze lingered a fraction too long.

"Daydreaming," he repeated. "In the east corridor. At this hour."

Poppy smiled sweetly. "I find the light rather… nice here. Good for thinking." He glanced toward the tall windows, where the light was, in all honesty, objectively terrible, then back at her. Poppy held her breath. 

"Of course," he said. "And what, pray tell, were you daydreaming about?"

Poppy considered several answers. She settled on one of the decidedly safer ones. 

"France," she said, lightly. "I hear from Anne that the court there is quite lively." Never mind that she hadn't spoken to Anne in years, nor had they ever corresponded via letter. 

At the name Anne, Solomon's face darkened. 

Oh. Perhaps Poppy shouldn't have mentioned Solomon's niece. That seemed to hit a nerve for some inexplicable reason. 

A handful of seconds passed before Solomon responded. "So I've been informed," he said.

Poppy's shoulders relaxed. Good, he wasn't going to comment further. That seemed rather final. Could she maneuver the conversation to her discreet exit somehow? Or, better yet, persuade Solomon to move along so she could study the lovely Tori Lewis for a few minutes more? 

As it turned out, Poppy didn't need to do anything at all. 

A trumpet sounded, its cacophonous call ricocheting off the stone walls. 

The castle went eerily still. 

"A message from the king!" the trumpeter announced.

He paused to open the scroll in his free hand. "It reads: By order of His Majesty, King Ambrose-Evans, it is hereby decreed that Sebastian Sallow, knight-in-training of the royal guard, is to be found and apprehended immediately. Once in custody, he will be sentenced… to death."

A ripple moved through the gathered knights. Tori and Jaimsen, earlier so bright and jovial, suddenly went rigid. They locked eyes, deep frowns plastered on their faces. Poppy had never seen Tori so pale, nor her eyes so haunted. 

Beside her, Solomon's face twisted. His own nephew, a murderer. Poppy couldn't imagine what was going through his head right now. She'd never particularly liked the man, but this news was heavy, and she felt some sympathy for him, albeit small.

The announcer wasn't finished. He continued: 

"Sebastian Sallow is charged with the unlawful killing of the knight and nobleman by birth, Leander Prewett, during a sanctioned training exercise. Until such time as the murderer is apprehended, all gates are to remain sealed. No persons are to enter or leave the castle without express royal permission."

Poppy's stomach dropped. 

"Furthermore," he said, "any individual found aiding Sebastian Sallow in evading arrest will be considered complicit and punished accordingly."

The silence that followed was worse than the trumpet's earlier call. And then, everyone started talking at once, Tori and Jaimsen included.

Poppy didn't move. She barely noticed Solomon stalking away, likely to brood over this unfortunate turn of events. 

And unfortunate was, perhaps, an understatement. 

Because if Tori and Jaimsen were correct in what she overheard earlier—that Sebastian had gone to the prince—what would Prince Damien do? 

Especially now, with the entire kingdom watching.

She didn't envy him. Not one bit. 

//

[ Read chapter three ➡️ ]

Because if it came down to it, Damien would choose Sebastian over the throne. There was no question. 

He was so lost in thought that a sound from below startled him back to awareness.

Damien leaned over the parapet, peering into the darkness.

"Sebastian?" he whispered. He hoped none of the guards were close enough to overhear. 

A familiar, low grunt answered him.

Without thinking, Damien swung a leg over the railing, already preparing to climb down.

"Are you alright?" he called as he began his descent. He still couldn't see Sebastian through the thick vines clinging to the castle wall, but he didn't need to. He'd know Sebastian's voice anywhere.

"I'm fine!" Sebastian said, muffled by a clenched jaw, or so Damien assumed. "Don't come down. I'll be there in a moment."

Damien hesitated. He took a breath. Then, after hearing a rustle of movement, and catching a glimpse of Sebastian's unmistakable mess of hair below, he obeyed.

Back on the parapet, Damien smoothed his clothes, scanning for tears or damage. Good. Not a scratch. He couldn't risk the servants noticing. Or his valet. He wasn't technically meant to leave the castle. Ever.

Not that he followed that rule.

To be fair, neither did his sister.

When he straightened back up, Sebastian was there, staggering forward; he fell into Damien's arms.

"Fuck," Sebastian said, his body trembling. "Fuck! I'm… sorry." 

Damien's heart lurched as his fingers brushed Sebastian's side and came away wet. He pulled his hand back, staring.

Blood. Loads of it. Thick and sticky.

"You're bleeding," Damien said, keeping one hand steady on Sebastian's back even as he stepped away to inspect the damage.

Sebastian swayed on his feet.

Damien guided him slowly to the stone beneath their feet, settling himself down beside him. Sebastian clutched at his side and let out a low groan.

"Yeah, about that—" he began.

"You can explain later," Damien cut in, scanning Sebastian’s body for more injuries. Luckily, it seemed as if it was just the one. It was deep though. Concerning. Very much so. 

"No, D. I have to explain now." 

A chill raced down Damien's spine. "Why?" 

Sebastian bowed his head. "I can't see you anymore."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Damien, I can't. You don't understand." 

Damien reached for Sebastian's hand; he laced their fingers together. "That's not acceptable," he said. "Your prince won't allow it." 

"You don't know what I did."

"Sebastian, love, you're a knight in training, a protector of the realm. What could you have possibly done?"

Sebastian swallowed. "I killed someone. Another knight."

Damien tore his hand away. "What?"

"It was an accident, I swear."

"How?" Damien demanded. "How did it happen?"

Sebastian shook his head. He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. 

"Sebastian," Damien said. "Please. I have to know."

"I… fuck!" Sebastian dragged a hand down his face. "It was a training exercise. It just… got out of hand."

"Was anyone else there? Did anyone else see?"

"Everyone." Sebastian sighed. "Everyone was there." 

A bead of sweat slid down Damien's forehead. "Then how did you get away?"

"Tori brought me to the medical tent to have my injury looked at. She left me there, with Jaimsen. When he turned his back… I ran." 

"Do you think Jaimsen—"

"I'm not sure." Sebastian shook his head again. "God! I don't know.  I don't know what to do."

Damien's voice dropped. "Who died?"

"Leander." Damien exhaled. "Of course." 

"Damien—" Sebastian leaned forward, bringing his head to Damien's shoulder and letting it rest there, heavy as an iron weight. "You have no idea how sorry I am. I've fucked up everything. I can't stay. I… have to go. Somewhere they won't find me."

Damien leaned back to grab Sebastian's hands again. He gripped them, holding fast. "No," he said. "No, you don't. I won't allow it. I'll pardon you."

Sebastian lifted his head. Their eyes met. "I… would that even work?"

"I don't know," Damien admitted. "But I have to try." 

"I couldn't ask that of you."

"You didn't."

Sebastian frowned. "And if… if it doesn't work?"

Damien didn't hesitate. "Then I'll marry you."

Sebastian gawked at him. "What?" 

"I'll marry you." Damien said it plainly, as if the decision had been made long ago, and perhaps it had. "But first: we need to get you cleaned up, hm?" "Damien, you can't. We can't."

"Why not?"

"I’m—"

"Being rather argumentative at the moment?" Sebastian let out a startled, incredulous laugh. "You can't possibly think—"

"I do whatever I wish," Damien said. "And what I wish, right now, is to entertain the idea of marrying you."

"Only if the pardoning idea doesn't work, right?"

"No."

"No?"

"I've decided I'm marrying you either way."

Sebastian blinked. "Don't I get a say?"

Damien arched a brow.

"Well. Erm." Sebastian looked down at his lap, then back up. "I suppose I'd say yes." 

Damien nodded, schooling his expression into something suitably composed, refusing to let his elation show. There would be time for celebration later.

For now, he needed to tend to Sebastian's wound. Sebastian needed to survive the night, after all.

Because once he did, Damien intended for them to be together for the rest of their lives. Somehow.

It would work. 

It had to.

//

In order of publication date:

// THE ONE-SHOTS //

Still-Life in Yellow (rated Teen)

Kip waited three years for this. Now that it's finally happening, he's not letting go.

Unknown Number (rated Teen) MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

Scott hasn't seen Kip in two years, even though he still thinks about him. Constantly.

Then a number with no caller ID sends him a text that splits his life clean in half:

Kip is dying.

Jenga (rated Teen)

It's date night at the Hunter-Grady house. Drinks are strong, egos stronger, and a Jenga tower may, or may not, survive the night. What else is new?

Trust Fall (rated Teen)

Kip Grady was passably competent at a lot of things. But skating? Not so much.

(Or, Kip has the Aladdin moment he's always dreamed of. What? Who said that? Not Kip.)

Return to You in Blue (rated Explicit)

When Scott called, Kip returned. But Kip returning was never the problem. Keeping him was.

Monopoly (rated Teen)

Scott Hunter-Grady is losing at Monopoly, arguing with his husband, and realizing far too late that game night was a trap. Oh, and Eric and Kyle are here too. They brought mocktails. Good times. Good, good times.

Blue Skies and Sunshine (Guaranteed) (rated Gen)

Kip enables, their daughter demands, Scott accepts his fate. (He wouldn't have it any other way.)

// THE COMPLETE LONGFICS //

Sympathy Magic (rated Explicit) OMEGAVERSE Omega!Scott, Alpha!Kip

This is a story about love told out of order, between now and then, and all the ways a life can grow when (and where) you least expect it.

Opening lines:

"Everyone and their mother knew the New York Admirals were an all-alpha team. Absolutely no betas. Betas were considered dull at best and breakable at worst. And omegas? The very idea was treated like a punchline.

Scott Hunter knew this fact far, far too well. Because around the locker room, the word omega wasn't used as a secondary designation. It was used as a slur.

Major League Hockey only recruited alphas. Too bad Scott himself was an omega. Not that anyone knew it. And if Scott had anything to say about it, no one ever would."

+ Spotify Playlist

Through the Looking Glass (rated Explicit) *co-written with @trekchik!

Kip sees Scott through the window the night of his birthday celebration at the Kingfisher.

(Or, how Scott and Kip find their way back to each other.)

// THE (ONGOING) LONGFIC //

Second Life (rated Teen)

A series of interconnected firsts in Scott and Kip's new life together, post-kiss.