#feather writes

You can’t see Illuga from his position behind you, but you feel him running reverent fingers down your spine. “Just relax,” he urges you, a hint of nerves in his voice. “Breathe through your nose. It’ll be easier soon.” 

His words come as a contrast to the sharp tug of your boyfriend Lohen’s hands woven into your hair, pulling you closer with his cock down your throat. The vice captain has never been one to hesitate when he wants something, and there is little in the world that he wants more than you. 

You gasp a little only to choke as he shoves you deeper, nose brushing against the base. “Just shut up and take her already, Captain.” he grunts to the other man. He doesn’t even acknowledge the way your fingers scratch at his thighs, both to push him away and draw him closer. “Drop the nice boy act. I’ve seen the way you look at her when she brings you supplies from the Knights. You’ve wanted her ever since you laid eyes on her.” 

Lohen was usually a jealous man, but he also craved worthy competition. He loved to rile his rivals up. And in the case of Illuga, he wanted to see the promising, oh-so-responsible captain finally snap. “Don’t be so embarrassed. She wants you too,” he smirks as he begins rocking slowly in and out of your mouth. “I know that pussy is soaking. Darling, why don’t you show him?”

He taps your cheek with his palm, too lightly to be a slap but with enough force to urge you on. Obediently, you arch your back. The curve of your ass brushes up against Illuga’s hardness and he gasps. 

Lohen laughs as if he had won a prize. “You want a taste of her? Go ahead and prove you can handle it, Captain.”

Your head is pillowed on his shoulder. He’d told you he wasn’t that comfortable of a bed - a decade of living on the streets has stripped him down to lean muscle and bone - but you didn’t seem to care at the time, and you certainly don’t now. Soft breaths waft across his collarbone, and you murmur something, a hushed mumble born of your dreams, hand sliding up his chest to grab at the blanket covering you both. It’s too small for his frame, leaves his shoulders and the bottom part of his legs uncovered, but Waylon could not give less of a damn when you look so cosy. He leans down, careful not to stir you too much, and nudges what could possibly be called a kiss against your forehead. His face isn’t made for kissing, his sharp teeth jut out too far and his lips barely exist, pulled back against his jaw to reveal a permanently bared snarl, but you’ve never cared about it.

He tries not to care as well, but an involuntary sigh works its way out from his chest. Waylon’s not made for this, being all tender and loving. Every freakish trait shoved onto him by his genes is made for violence, for ripping flesh and cracking bones, for biting down into warm meat. He’s not built for-

His train of thought is interrupted when you let out a minute whimper, face scrunching up into a pained expression. Your grip on the blanket tightens, and it takes him a moment to see that you’re shaking.

“Hey. Hey, wake up cher. S’just a dream,” he says, clawed hand on your shoulder, not shaking just yet. Your nightmare continues, a solitary tear beading in the corner of your eye. Waylon nuzzles his face into your head and lets out a deep rumble, hopefully loud enough to wake you.

It works. Bleary-eyed and trembling, you’re pulled out of your dream by a comforting pressure across your waist and a very concerned boyfriend purring into you.

“Waylon?”

“M’ here, baby. Bad dream?”

“Yeah.”

You sigh, and shift yourself up and over so you’re draped over his broad chest. Your face tucks up into his throat, and he mumbles something inaudible. You’re about to ask when he rolls over, pulls you close against him, and adjusts his arms so they aren’t crushing you. Waylon looks down at you, nuzzles a kiss against your forehead, and then rumbles out a “go back to sleep,”. The weighted blanket of your boyfriend soothes you enough to let your eyes flutter closed, bringing a hand up to trace a pattern on his scaled face. In turn, he ever so slowly lowers his head down to rest on your chest, ever conscious of how huge he is in comparison. He manages to fit into a position where he isn’t squishing you too much, and he blinks sleepily at you.

“I’ll sleep if you do,” you murmur, a smile teasing at your lips.

“Deal.”

"What the-" She started to say as she stumbled back into the person that had grabbed her. The rest of the words died in her throat once she found herself face to face with a boy. Did she know him? He seemed familiar but something about him was odd.

The boy was wearing dark-rimmed glasses and his hazelnut brown hair was gelled back. But she knew that smirk. And she also knew those grey eyes. If it wasn't for the hair colour and the glasses she would swear this was Malfoy! But why did he look like that?

"What happened to your hair?" She asked in confusion.

"Do you like it?" The boy in front of her drawled lazily. It was definitely Malfoy. Nobody else she knew drawled like that. Haley snorted.

"You wish," she retorted. Then she noticed a silver hand mirror in his left hand.

"I knew you were vain but… is it really necessary to carry around a mirror with you?"

Malfoy simply watched her, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

"Here," he said, holding the mirror up right in front of her face. Haley reached for it reflexively and took a look at her reflection. She looked exactly the way she always did. Which was weird because she had done her hair up in a bun this morning. But now it was all over her face like she'd walked out of a hurricane.

"Huh?" She whispered, astonished.

Malfoy chuckled. "You're blushing," he told her. What? She wasn't blushing! Why would she be-?

But he was right. Her reflection in the mirror was turning redder by the second. But how? Why?

She hadn't known it was possible to blush this furiously. Malfoy kept chuckling like this was the funniest thing he had ever seen. Haley glared at him. Did it have something to do with the mirror?

"What kind of mirror is this?" She asked in annoyance.

"A metamorph mirror, of course," he replied matter-of-factly.

"And how does this meta-mirror thing work?"

"Metamorph mirror," Malfoy corrected, "Have you ever wanted to change your hair colour?"

"I…" Of course she had! But why was he asking her that? She looked into the mirror again. Haley knew she had her mother's eyes. She had always wondered what she would look like with her mum's red hair. As soon as the thought entered her mind, the reflection in the mirror changed. The girl in front of her had sleek, red hair that went almost down to her waist. And from the corners of her eyes she could see that her own hair was suddenly long and red as well.

Haley let the mirror fall in surprise.

"Woah!" She exclaimed as she felt the silky strands with her fingers.

"Careful Potter," Malfoy said in an amused tone, picking up the mirror swiftly, "Breaking mirrors is bad luck."

"What kind of mirror is that?" Haley asked another time.

"It's a metamorph mirr-"

"I don't care what it's called! Where did you get it from?"

Malfoy shrugged. "It's an heirloom. The charm lasts for about an hour, I think. I thought it was a good idea. No one will recognise us like this."

It had indeed been a good idea. She had to admit that. She snatched the mirror from the boy's hands and took another look at herself. Maybe she should try different glasses? Or was it possible to get rid of them completely? The girl in the mirror looked back at Haley without glasses. It was a strange sight. And it was even stranger that she was able to see her reflection clearly. If she could make her glasses disappear, perhaps it was also possible to…

"Huh!" She almost let the mirror fall once more, at the sight of her forehead that was now smooth and scarless. "I – I think, that's enough for now," she stammered and pushed the mirror back into Malfoy's hands. She liked her face the way it normally looked. She was used to it. Seeing herself without her trademark glasses and the lightning-shaped scar was odd. Not to mention the red hair.

Malfoy stored the metamorph mirror inside the shoulder bag, he had brought with him. He took in Haley's new features and smirked.

"Interesting," he commented with a chuckle. Haley rolled her eyes. As if he looked any less strange. The only familiar thing were his tailored robes. Did the guy never wear normal clothes?

"Shall we?" Malfoy asked but he didn't wait for an answer. Instead he turned around and started to walk in the direction he had come from. As soon as he realised she wasn't following him, he turned around, raising one eyebrow expectantly.

"This is not a secret plot to kill you," he said dryly. Well, that sounded reassuring.

"Where are we going?" Haley asked, not moving an inch.

"It's a surprise?" Malfoy answered in a tone that implied something like "Are you stupid?"

Haley glared at him. She didn't like that tone at all. And what was he talking about anyway? A surprise?

"What kind of surprise?" She asked suspiciously. She wasn't sure whether she was up for a surprise.

Malfoy ran his hand over his face and sighed. He walked back toward her until he was standing right in front of her.

"Haley," he said quietly, softly, like a caress. Like he was carefully trying out her name on his tongue. This one word was all it took to make her heart stop.

What? Haley couldn't do more than blink stupidly as the boy in front of her took her left hand in his and started to play with her fingers. The unexpected touch made a shiver run up her arm, making her wonder whether it was caused by the touch itself or the coldness of the boy's fingers.

"I barely slept last night," he admitted, his eyes focused on her hand, "I was too worried you might not like what I planned for today. But now… you won't even let me surprise you. Shouldn't you come with me so you can at least properly make fun of it all?"

The last part was obviously meant to sound mocking but as Malfoy lifted his grey eyes, looking into hers cautiously, she was reminded of that boy from almost a year ago who had seemed so hopeful and vulnerable at the same time.

"I…" Haley started to say but she wasn't sure how to continue, "Why… Why did you call me that?"

The Slytherin smirked in the most annoying way. "I could be wrong but I thought that was your name," he drawled smugly.

"Very funny," She replied, not sounding amused at all, "You've never called me 'Haley' before."

"Well, don't get used to it, Potter," Malfoy whispered with an amused grin. Haley rolled her eyes over his childishness. For a moment it seemed as if there was something else he wanted to say but he stayed silent.

"Follow me," he instructed, as he started to walk again, pulling her along with him.

It wasn't too long before they had reached the main road again, with all the different shops left and right. Haley couldn't have imagined an experience more peculiar than this: walking through Hogsmeade with her fellow Hogwarts students all around her, following Draco Malfoy, who was holding onto her hand like he didn't ever want to let go.

But it wasn't as bad as it seemed. Malfoy was pretending to be someone else and she was doing the same. So, technically it wasn't her who was holding Malfoy's hand, which made it all strangely okay. As long as she thought that way she would be fine.

…

DRAGO

"So, you're still not going to tell me where we're going?" Potter questioned impatiently.

She looked up at Draco in a way that seemed so innocently curious that it made him want to squeeze her or jump around in circles or do anything equally ridiculous. It wasn't so much the expression itself that made him almost giddy with joy. It was more the lack of animosity. Or the fact that he was here in Hogsmeade with Haley Potter and he was holding her hand and they were on a bloody date! He barely stopped himself from giggling like a 13-year-old girl. Barely.

As he watched the girl, taking in every detail, from the maroon muggle jacket she was wearing to her dark blue muggle trousers, he wondered why she had chosen to change her hair colour to red. Did she like her Weasley friends that much? Or was it merely a coincidence?

"Hey! I'm talking to you! Are you ignoring me again?" Potter had stopped and was frowning at him now. It was really strange to see her without the glasses and the scar; and with her hair long and red. Although Draco liked her better the way she usually looked she was still beautiful. Her deep green eyes especially.

"Yes," he whispered absently, reaching for a long strand of red hair and freeing it from one of the buttons on her jacket it had caught on.

"'Yes'? Were you even listening?" Potter inquired in annoyance.

"Obviously I wasn't," Draco stated with a sigh, "Why is your hair red?"

"Presumably because I looked into your stupid mirror," she answered oh-so-cleverly.

Oh, he loved it when her fiery nature showed. She seemed like a kitten that was trying to be a lion. It was adorable. Draco had to bite his lips to stop himself from saying something stupid like 'You're so cute I could eat you'. That wouldn't be a very malfoyish thing to say.

What were they talking about again? Right. The colour of Potter's hair.

"My mirror is not stupid," he clarified, "Why red? Don't you like brown or green or… blond?"

Was he being too obvious? She had probably noticed the way he had said blond. Was it so wrong to want to know whether she liked his hair or not? It wasn't like she'd ever tell him that on her own.

Potter looked at him contemplatively like she was pondering something.

"My mum," she murmured finally, "It's what her hair looked like."

Oh. Her mum. Draco hadn't known she had been a redhead. Was Potter somehow related to the Weasleys? No, that wasn't possible. Her mum had been a muggleborn, hadn't she? Had he ever insulted her? He couldn't remember.

"She was a muggleborn," she told him almost in a challenging way. Like she was testing him. Testing his reaction. Well, Draco wasn't stupid.

"I know that..." He said in a neutral tone of voice. It was quiet for a moment. He had no idea what she wanted him to say. Or if he should say anything at all. "Do you um… do you remember her?"

"No," Potter said quietly, looking at the ground, "I was a baby when Voldemort murdered my parents, remember?" She lifted her head to meet his gaze.

Draco looked away. This wasn't exactly what he wanted to talk about on their date. It was actually the last thing he wanted to talk about. The only thing it did was remind him of the fact that Potter and him weren't supposed to go on a date together. They belonged to different worlds. Had different goals and believes. How long could it last? Was this really the right thing? Wasn't it a mistake?

But no, he couldn't think that way. He couldn't start doubting his decision now. It was too late for that. It wasn't wrong. Not with the way it felt to be holding Haley's hand.

It felt so warm in his. So warm and real. It wasn't wrong.

It couldn't be.

…

HALEY

"Is it still far?" Haley asked after they had started to walk again. Malfoy seemed uncharacteristically quiet. Was it because she had mentioned her mum? Did the fact that she had been a muggleborn make him uncomfortable? If so, it wasn't her problem. She wasn't ashamed of who she was or what kind of blood was running through her veins.

"No…" Malfoy answered absently, "We're almost there."

As Haley looked around she noticed that they were leaving the main part of the village. The shops and houses were getting fewer. The silence was starting to grow heavy around them. It felt almost suffocating. Hadn't there been so many questions before? Where had they all gone? She watched the Slytherin's profile contemplatively. It was definitely strange to see the boy without the blond hair and wearing glasses. She could almost forget it was him. If it weren't for the pointy chin… or the grey eyes that reminded her of a clouded sky. What was he so worried about?

"You look like you just found out someone hid your pet snake at the bottom of the Great Lake," she joked, trying for humour.

"Ha ha, Potter. I don't have a pet snake," Malfoy said distractedly.

"That reminds me," Haley remembered, the talk of the Great Lake had triggered her memory, "How did you get Dobby to help you out with the gillyweed? I mean, I know he used to 'work' for your family but… I didn't get the impression he was your biggest fan… so to speak."

"I… can be very convincing," Malfoy offered after a short pause, "Besides, after I told him that I needed the gillyweed to help you, he all but agreed to do anything I asked him to."

Usually when it came to Dobby Haley would believe this right away but.. there was something in the way Malfoy was avoiding her gaze that seemed suspicious.

"Really?" She asked doubtfully.

Malfoy nodded hastily, which didn't stop the faint pink colour from spreading all over his cheeks.

Haley grinned smugly. "Well then, I'm sure you won't mind if I ask him about it myself."

"No! You can't!" Malfoy protested. The suggestion seemed to startle him so much that he even let go of her hand.

"Why not?" She asked innocently.

"That's because – because he is surely terribly busy at the moment! And – and it doesn't matter much anyway – hey, look, isn't that the place we were looking for?"

It was unbelievable how quickly Malfoy made up one excuse after another. It was also a tiny bit cute but that wouldn't stop her from getting the whole story from Dobby later on.

They stopped in front of a green patch of grass that was surrounded by tall trees. Around them the red, orange and yellow leafs were dancing, caught in the light autumn breeze that was blowing softly.

It looked awfully cosy. There even was a picnic blanket in the middle of it! It was green and grey chequered. Colours that suited a true Slytherin. Did Malfoy prepare this? Haley looked at him in surprise. But the Slytherin seemed to be busy doing something different, namely looking for something in his bag.

"There!" He exclaimed, as he pulled something out of his bag that looked suspiciously like an umbrella.

"What do you need an umbrella for? It doesn't look like it's going to rain any time soon," Haley said. The weather was actually rather nice. It was warm enough to take off her jacket. Underneath she was wearing a light blue, long-sleeved shirt.

"Umbrella," the boy repeated with a snort and walked toward the picnic blanket. He opened the umbrella – or whatever it was – and leaned it against one of the trees near the blanket.

"What are you waiting for?" Malfoy asked, watching her expectantly, "A special invitation?"

He smirked lazily. It looked just like he was back to his normal arrogant self. What a shame.

Haley thought about ignoring him and staying where she was just to spite him but… it wasn't really what she wanted to do. She walked the few steps over toward the blanket and sat down on it as far away from the Slytherin as possible.

"Let me guess. Another heirloom?" She asked with a nod toward the umbrella.

"Not bad, Potter," Malfoy said and grinned at her amusedly, "Come here, I'll show you how it works." He held out his hand in invitation and the sun made his eyes shine mirthfully. She noticed that his fake glasses were gone and his hair was starting to turn blond again.

She crawled over to him slowly – she didn't want to seem too eager – and glanced at the umbrella in curiosity. What kind of magic trick was hidden inside it?

Malfoy didn't wait for any more encouragement. "It's a time machine," he told her, in a rather casual tone. Like time machines were the most normal thing in the world.

Haley squinted her eyes at the boy in disbelief. "Do you expect me to believe that?" She asked sceptically. What did he take her for?

Malfoy didn't seem discouraged. "Believe what you want to but," he smirked in a superior way, "What do I get, if I'm right?"

What the hell? There was no way she would play into that. Not while there was this mischievous glint in his eyes. She cleared her throat, suddenly feeling nervous.

"Fine. Show me what that magic umbrella can do," she muttered, ignoring the triumphant grin on the boy's face.

"That curious, are we?" He asked smugly. Haley rolled her eyes in annoyance. Couldn't he simply get on with it?

"So… you have to press this button," Malfoy explained, while pressing a round silver button above the handle of the umbrella, "And then it records the… essence of the people that sit underneath it."

"Like a photograph? Or a memory?" Haley asked, still wondering where this was going.

"You could say that," Malfoy confirmed. He raised his eyebrows expectantly like he was waiting for her to understand. But what was so great about a magic umbrella that recorded memories?

"And…?" Haley prodded, feeling extremely stupid.

"And…" he repeated impatiently, "Once you're done with the recording you press the button again and seal the memory with a password." He seemed really excited for some reason.

"I still don't see how that makes it a time machine though," the Gryffindor dead-panned.

"It's actually really easy, Potter," he said in an almost patronising way, "The next time you sit under the umbrella, you only need to say the right password and it will take you right back to the memory it recorded beforehand."

"Like a time machine," Haley stated, she wasn't sure whether she completely understood how the magical umbrella was supposed to work.

"Exactly."

"Sounds a bit like an Invisibility Cloak," she added thoughtfully.

"Except it doesn't turn people invisible but takes them back in time."

"I don't see the big difference. Basically people can't see you anymore, right?"

"Right."

"Cool. And why did you bring it?"

All of the confidence seemed to leave the Slytherin at her question.

"Well… I thought, if we… in case we went on another…" His eyes were big and slightly uncertain, like he was looking for something in her face he doubted was actually there. Haley stared back cluelessly.

Malfoy shook his head and looked away. "Never mind," he muttered.

Perhaps… Had he been trying to say 'in case we went on another... date'? Haley felt her face grow hot. This wasn't… She didn't know what she thought about the idea of another… date. Wasn't it too early to even think about? She hadn't even acknowledged this as a date yet.

"I…" She started to say but Malfoy interrupted her.

"You probably haven't had lunch yet, right?" The boy asked but he didn't wait for an answer.

Instead he reached into his bag and retrieved a wooden box from it that looked big enough to comfortably fit two grown cats. He placed the box between them and opened it. Inside, there were different kinds of sandwiches, pastries – she even spotted treacle tarts! – and down below, was that an actual teapot? With teacups? It looked terribly delicious.

"I can't tell whether you're impressed or trying to catch flies," Malfoy disrupted her staring, sounding annoyingly amused. She closed her mouth, which had apparently been hanging open.

"I'm… not hungry," Haley whispered, still in awe over the amount of food he had brought.

"It's not poisoned, I swear," Malfoy informed her, chuckling.

"I didn't think it was," Haley answered, rolling her eyes, "Knowing you, you probably made a house elf prepare this."

"No, I didn't," he said, unconvincingly.

"You totally did," Haley exclaimed, laughing out loud over the realisation. It was kind of amusing.

"Are you going to eat something or not?" The boy replied, in an attempt to change the topic.

She didn't really have an appetite but it all looked so good. She would at least try one of the treacle tarts. Even if she tried she couldn't say no to these. There were even plates next to the teacups. Haley reached for her favourite treat and placed it on top of a plate, while Malfoy filled the teacups with a steaming liquid from the teapot.

"You brought tea?" She asked, with a raised eyebrow. She didn't know what else she should have expected. Butterbeer? Firewhiskey? Wine? Neither of those seemed more likely. But tea was so…tame, so… ordinary.

"Obviously," the Slytherin drawled, "You don't like tea?"

"Of course I like tea. It's just… I don't know… unexpected," she replied.

Malfoy chuckled softly. "What did you expect? Firewhiskey? Dragonwine? Blood?" He placed one cup of tea in front of her. "Every respectable wizard drinks tea."

With three spoons of sugar in Malfoy's case. Haley grinned softly, as she absently took a bite from her treacle tart. Treacle tarts were usually really sweet but she imagined Malfoy's tea was even sweeter. By now he was at his fifth spoon of sugar! Did he have a sweet tooth? The thought was strangely endearing. Either that or he didn't realise how much sugar he was spooning into his cup. Haley felt herself grin as the boy lifted his cup to his mouth and took a sip. It didn't seem like he was surprised at the taste.

Haley chuckled. She couldn't help it.

"What's so funny?" Malfoy asked suspiciously, "Is there something on my face?"

Still grinning, she shook her head. The boy took another sip of his sugar tea and watched her warily.

He set down his cup and leaned closer. "Why are you grinning like that?" He asked, sounding irritated.

"It's nothing," she whispered, suddenly aware of how close their faces were. It seemed like Malfoy noticed it as well. His eyes were wandering over her face like he was trying to commit each little detail to memory.

"It's back," he breathed lowly, gazing at something on her forehead. Was he talking about her scar? Haley didn't really like people staring at her scar. She cleared her throat nervously and looked down at her hands. Malfoy seemed to sense her discomfort and leaned back on his hands.

She hadn't known he was capable of behaving in such a considerate way. He seemed so… human. Was this the real Malfoy? Or was he showing her one of his masks again? This was so confusing.

...

DRACO

Why was Potter staring at him like this? If only he knew what she was thinking. Was this good staring? As in, she couldn't help but stare at his extraordinarily handsome face? Or was it bad staring, as in, she regretted all of this and was trying to think of a way to end it as soon as possible? It couldn't be that, could it? He was going to go insane at this rate!

Potter was chewing on her cherry red lips. And no, now Draco was thinking about her lips again. Was it too soon to kiss her? Would she punch him if he leaned over and did just that? Merlin's beard, he would just do it! He would just lean in, close his eyes and-

"Can you tell me why…" Potter began, disrupting his plan, "why you were this horrible to me a few weeks back?"

Draco sighed. She wanted to talk about that now? "Can't we talk about this another time?" He asked in a hopeful tone.

"No," she said decidedly. He should have known better than to argue with her.

"It's just," the girl continued, "One day you're kind of nice and the next it's as if you despise me."

She shrugged. "Is it always going to be like this?"

Draco shook his head hastily.

"Everything I did for you last year… was real. But then after everything that happened during the Third Task and afterwards… I didn't know what was right anymore. I thought it was best to forget about... the way I felt… and just… go back to the way we were before. Enemies."

It was hard saying all of this out loud. Some of it Draco had talked to Lovegood about but… well Lovegood was not Potter. It didn't feel like every word was important when he looked into her blue eyes. But that was what it was like when he was met with Haley's sparkling green eyes that were kind of making him a little crazy.

"What… changed your mind?" She asked. Draco noticed that her cheeks were slightly pink. When had it become so hot around them? He had to take a deep breath. She was definitely driving him crazy. More than just a little bit.

She watched him in a curious way. Oh right, she had asked him a question.

"My mind?" He repeated stupidly.

"Yes… What changed it? Why did you – I mean… all of this, really… Why?" She gestured toward the picnic blanket and the food and the whole situation in general.

Why? Wasn't it obvious? But then Draco realised that he had never actually told her how he felt about her. Not in words anyway. He didn't even know for sure what it was he felt. It was definitely more than a fleeting crush. A mere crush wouldn't have been that persistent, right? Just sitting here together with her in the autumn sun made him feel all tingly inside. Made a thrill of excitement run through his body. But what did it even mean? And how was he going to relay those feelings in the right way? He cleared his throat nervously and started to play around with his empty teacup. It was easier to find the words when he wasn't looking at Potter.

"I tried… not to think about you but… somehow you were always there. And do you know how annoying it is that you're always getting yourself into trouble?"

He gave a short chuckle. Then he looked up at her and met her curious eyes.

"I didn't want to watch you fight your battle with Umbridge alone. I wanted to shake you because you were being so stupid."

Potter glared at him. Well… maybe it hadn't been the right moment to say that. He cleared his throat again.

"Um… what I meant to say is… I didn't want to just watch uselessly anymore. And I was certainly not going to sit around while you went on a date with that dull Hufflepuff."

Draco shouldn't have mentioned the Hufflepuff. A frown was forming on Potter's face. It was funny how much she resembled her usual self in that moment. Watching him suspiciously. Her glasses slightly askew due to her scrunched up nose. And her hair was short again and back to its raven colour. The top half of it was tied with a green hair tie and part of her fringe was hiding the lightning-shaped scar. Draco couldn't help but grin as he waited for her response.

…

HALEY

This was the second time Malfoy had mentioned "the Hufflepuff". The first time had been on Thursday inside that empty classroom. How did he know about Justin asking her out?

"How do you know about Justin anyway? You spied on me again, didn't you?" She asked warily.

Her accusing tone seemed to disconcert him. "So? What if I did?" He asked defensively in return.

"Well, I don't like people following me around and spying on me." She didn't know why she couldn't just let this go. Maybe it was because everything else the Slytherin had said was so difficult to make sense of.

"Don't act so surprised, Potter," Malfoy said darkly, "You wouldn't expect anything different from a sneaky, evil Slytherin, would you? And a Malfoy at that."

"That's not what I said," Haley argued hotly.

"But it's what you thought! It's what you see when you look at me! I just – Didn't you listen to what I just told you at all?" He asked, sounding upset. His grey eyes were like a stormy sea, as they bored into her own. She felt so helpless all of a sudden. She didn't understand how their conversation had escalated into a fight so quickly. It was hard enough to take in everything Malfoy had told her. Because in the end he hadn't said much at all. Couldn't he have been clearer with his words?

The hard expression on his face softened visibly. "Have you ever…" He started to whisper, "ever seen me as a boy? Without the name and the house rivalry attached to it?"

Haley thought about his words for a moment. But then the boy lifted his left hand toward her face and stroked her cheek gently. It was impossible to form a complex thought after that.

"Can't you… try to do that?" He asked softly, never looking away from her eyes.

"For five years… I have... had this picture of you in my mind... That won't magically change over night," Haley heard herself whisper almost soundlessly.

For some reason Malfoy smirked at that. Then his eyes strayed down to her lips for a moment. Haley swallowed nervously as she realised that he had somehow got incredibly close to her. He stroked his thumb over her lower lip slowly, his touch incredibly soft.

"Why don't you let me... adjust the picture for you then?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

She couldn't even begin to think up a clever reply to that because her vision was filled with nothing but his grey eyes. The emotion in them was so intense that for a second she thought he was going to attack her. But to her surprise the attack turned out to be incredibly soft. It came in the form of a kiss.

She should have seen it coming. But at the same time, how could she have known? Before she could decide whether she liked the kiss or not it was already over.

Malfoy jumped away like he had been burned, hissing lowly.

Huh? A quick glance told her that he had indeed been burned by something. His right hand was soaked with a dark liquid and the teacup that Haley hadn't touched was upside down next to it. The Slytherin glared at the cup like it had personally offended him and wiped his hand on the blanket.

Haley took a moment to take in the scene before her. It seemed so surreal and downright ridiculous that she couldn't help but break into hysterical laughter. Malfoy turned his glaring eyes toward her. Maybe it wasn't the nicest thing to laugh at him after he had kissed her. But she couldn't help it. The situation was just too funny.

"Are you… laughing at me?" The boy inquired, still glaring at her. Haley just shrugged, trying to stop herself from laughing. But that was easier thought than done.

"Do I look that funny to you?" He growled, as he got into her personal space, his nose almost touching her own. Her laughter died down almost instantly, her breath catching inside her throat. For a second she saw a mischievous glint light up in the boy's eyes. Then it was gone.

This time Haley wasn't surprised by the kiss. Just as she had closed her eyes she felt a sharp pain in her lower lip. He'd bitten her! That jerk! It was probably because she had laughed at him.

Haley pushed him away irritatedly.

"What was that?" She asked in bewilderment. Was her lip bleeding? It didn't seem that way…

Malfoy chuckled. "Look, who doesn't know what a kiss is," he said mockingly.

"I know what a kiss is," she replied defiantly, "I've done lots of kissing, just so you know."

"Really," Malfoy scoffed, "Who did you kiss?"

"I don't have to tell you that," she deflected.

"Are sure you're not just saying that because there is nothing to tell?" He asked. From the corners of her eyes she saw that his hand was slowly crawling over to where hers was resting on the blanket. She thought about pulling her hand further away just to annoy him.

"You're an expert in kissing, then?" Haley asked playfully, with one eyebrow raised.

Malfoy shrugged nonchalantly. "You know… a respectable wizard doesn't kiss and tell," he replied, grinning smugly.

Haley snorted. "Nice try," she said, "I almost believed you."

The Slytherin squinted his eyes at her disbelievingly, "Did you just imply I was lying?"

"Maybe," she replied offhandedly.

"That's funny. Clearly you're the one who's lying," he insinuated, as he reached her hand and covered it with his own. She noticed that it wasn't as cold as it had been before. It was probably due to the 'tea accident'.

"No, I'm not," she answered back stubbornly, trying to pull her hand away but he wouldn't let her.

"Yes, you are," he almost sang. She had never seen him in such a cheerful mood before. His fingers were gently stroking over the skin of her hand. It tickled. She suppressed a grin.

"No, I'm not," she repeated, wondering how long this was going to go on for.

"Yes," Malfoy leaned closer, making her lean further back in return, "You are."

Haley wasn't going to let him win this little competition. Her upper body was mostly resting on her fore arms. If she leaned back any further she would be lying down on her back.

"No, I'm not."

"So stubborn," he tsked, "just admit it already." He was on his side next to her now, slightly leaning over her with one hand still holding hers and the other resting next to her face. His face only inches above her own.

"You admit it first," Haley whispered, not caring the slightest that she had forgotten what they were arguing about.

Malfoy shook his head. "That's not going to happen," he whispered. She got the feeling that he, too, didn't know what they had been arguing about in the first place. His eyes never left hers and the sheer childlike delight that was reflected in them was positively disarming.

It was enough to make her give up the battle and let her body sink to the ground completely.

"You always have to have the last word, don't you?" She asked almost dazedly. She felt so weak all of a sudden.

He raised the hand that wasn't holding hers to her face and slowly ran a finger from her temple to the corner of her mouth. He let it rest there for a second, then he cupped her cheek in his hand.

Haley almost forgot to breathe.

"Yes," Malfoy said, grinning amusedly, "I do."

She was saved from coming up with a response by a pair of lips that covered her own gently.

…

This was not what Haley had thought her first real kiss was going to be like. Whatever she had expected it was certainly not this: Spread out on a picnic blanket with Draco Malfoy. Well, the picnic blanket was not the unusual part. It was a rather comfortable picnic blanket.

But she was being kissed by Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy was kissing her. And the most terrifying thing was that… it didn't feel unpleasant. Not in the slightest. It felt… nice. And also really soft because his lips were as soft as a freaking feather. Did he use lip balm or something? She wouldn't be surprised about that. It was also soft because his lips were moving over hers so gently. Hesitantly almost, like he was afraid of something. But what could he be afraid of? Kissing wasn't dangerous, was it?

It wasn't long before he pulled away. Haley opened her eyes to find Malfoy's gazing down at her already. He licked his lips that were unusually red and there was a look of wonder in his eyes. He wasn't even blinking. Was something wrong? Haley frowned slightly, opening her mouth to ask what was wrong but she didn't get that far. Whatever spell the boy had been under seemed to be broken, seeing as Malfoy rubbed his thumb over her cheek and leaned down to kiss her again.

His lips were still gentle but something was different about the way he kissed her. The hesitancy from before was mostly gone now. It felt more confident somehow. The fingers of his right hand were interlaced with her own and he angled his head to the side so he was able to reach her lips better. It was strange how little it bothered her that her glasses were sort of piercing the side of her face or that her hair tie was pressed against the back of her head in an uncomfortable way.

All of that was not important because something else was demanding her attention. It wasn't something blatantly obvious or physical even.

It was like Malfoy was telling her something through the kiss. No words. More like little impressions of what he was feeling. It was impossible to discern what each of those impressions meant. But overall there was one feeling that stood out among the others. Something warm and affectionate. It felt so raw, so honest that it hit her with the force of an oncoming mountain troll. It was all for her. The way he sometimes looked at her, the way he kissed her in this very moment – that was him. Without any masks. It was real. It had to be. Haley didn't think it was possible to pretend to feel something like this. It was a sobering realisation:

Malfoy… He seemed to genuinely care… about her. Unfortunately this realisation raised another question: How did she feel about him?

He’s standing in the middle of Hargrove's trophy room, gripping his sword tightly. The Meta's armor is too big for him, tailored for a bulky frame. The teal color is comforting, but it feels unnatural, wearing the suit of a dead man. His alien plasma sword is glowing a shining white, and looking at it for longer than a second makes his eyes burn.

Sparks are flying from the door as Hargrove's soldiers begin to cut it open, and muffled shouting comes from behind the heavy metal door.

Epsilon hovers over his shoulder, pale sky-blue armor glinting in the harsh false light. Tucker glances at him, a grim smile on his face. He knows how this ends. He’s lived it more times than he can count.

"See you on the other side, Church," Tucker says to him.

He blinks, and Church is gone. It's not that he's retreated into his armor; his presence has faded from Tucker’s head. His mind feels hollow and empty, and even though he knows how it feels, knows what to expect, it’s never prepared him for the reality of losing his friend in the blink of an eye.

(It’s happening again.

What loop are we on?

I don’t know.)

Hargrove’s soldiers burst through the door. Tucker steels himself, lifting his sword in preparation.

(They come from the left.

Watch your back.)

A soldier fires a burst of gunfire, and the armor actives, a bubble shield forming around him. He stabs through it, and hits the soldier in the gut, all the force of the Meta’s strength enhancement and of his rage and sorrow and fear pushed into the blow.

The guard retreats, and another takes his place. Tucker stumbles sideways, into another one of Hargrove’s forces. He hasn’t memorized where each soldier is, and sometimes they catch him by surprise. He always manages to mess something up, no matter how hard he tries not to.

A glowing bolt of energy hits his armor, and the armor’s bubble- and over-shields short-circuit, leaving him defenseless. His active camouflage turns on, distorting his armor’s colors until they match the area behind him. The soldier looks around in confusion, shooting blind.

(We can do this.

Maybe this time, we can save them all.)

He dodges shot after shot, hearing gunfire and shouts ringing in his ears. He pushes back the stream of panicked thoughts that bombard his mind and focuses on the fight, focuses on eliminating the threat, focuses on the fact that this is easy, he can do this.

He’s so focused on what’s in front of him that he doesn’t pay attention to what’s behind. A whimper of pain meets his ears and he whips around, to see Caboose scrambling backwards from a soldier in dented and scratched armor.

Tucker dashes forward, cutting through lines of enemies to reach the blue soldier. He lowers the sword and helps Caboose up, forgetting to check for enemies around him. There’s a sharp cry, and he sees an alien sword protruding from his chest, cutting jagged lines through his armor. As his vision dims, he sinks to the floor, eyes burning.

(So this is how it ends, this time.

I don’t think it’ll ever end.)

His sight goes a stark white, and he cries out in agony, a searing heat tearing through him. He clutches his chest, gritting his teeth as the world dissolves around him.

*

When he opens his eyes again, slowly, painfully, he’s right back where he started. In Hargrove’s trophy room, Epsilon hovering above his shoulder.

“Hey, uh, I just want you guys to know that, out of everyone I've ever met... I hate you all the least.” Epsilon tells them.

(Yeah, well, it’s a little late for that now, isn’t it.)

Tucker closes his eyes, focusing on the burning red behind his eyelids. “See you, Church.”

He opens them, and Epsilon is gone.

It’s worse than dying, watching Church fragment himself, over and over again. Hargrove’s soldiers don’t give him enough time to stop, to take a breath, to rest. To grieve. They just attack and attack and attack and soon there’s nothing left but ashes and blood and a wisp of a memory, disappearing as the world fades away.

(He tried to tell them, once, about the loops. They didn’t believe him.)

The battle goes quicker, this time. He’s down on the floor, a bullet through his shoulder, and blood staining his teal armor. Caboose is crouched over him, and he smiles weakly at the cobalt soldier.

“It’s okay,” Tucker tells him softly, as Wyoming’s enhancement flares up around him. “It’ll all just-”

*

“-reset,” he finishes quietly.

Epsilon turns towards him, looking concerned. “Tucker, you okay?”

“You’re so dependable, my friend.” Phainon says with a smile. “Checkmate”. He holds the white knight piece in his fingers, moving it in the L-formation to bump against Dan Heng’s king. The black king tips over onto the board with a light clatter. 

Dan Heng frowns.

“Woah. Someone actually managed to beat Dan Heng at chess? That’s a first.” You pipe up from beside Phainon. You’re lounging on the wine-red seats of the parlor car, belly down and propped up by your elbows. Almost all of the pieces are crowded around the edge of the coffee table, taken in a back-and-forth battle between the two players. “How did you manage to pull that off?”

“It’s all about predicting the battlefield.” Phainon replies proudly. “I was lucky enough to have the esteemed Imperator as my mentor.” He leans onto the backrest of the seats and glances at Dan Heng. “And an audience worth putting up a fight for.” 

“It seems that the esteemed imperator did not teach you basic chess etiquette,” Dan Heng counters. The loss of a game, especially in front of you, stings. He picks up the black king, setting it right side up on the board. “Your last action was a violation of touch-move rules. A player should never make contact with the opposing side’s pieces, with the exception of a capture. According to volume 5 of the IPC’s official galactic chess federation rulebook, such a fault would result in a time penalty during the match.”

“Come now, my friend. No need to be so formal.” Phainon replies with an easy smile. “A time penalty is hardly possible now, unless my partner here remembers how to use Oronyx’s prayer outside of Amphoreus.” 

Dan Heng is steadfast. “In this case, I believe a rematch is in order to determine the best possible outcome.” 

“A rematch?” Phainon asks, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to leave you unfinished.” 

“A rematch?” Your eyes light up. “I’ll do you one better. Whoever wins this round gets to decide what’s for dinner, on me.” 

“Perfect!” Phainon beams. “You know I love your cooking, Partner.” 

He begins to set up his pieces again, lining them up on the board. Dan Heng follows suit. There’s no way he’d let the Deliverer slip by his defenses again. 

“Pawn to e4”

“Pawn to d5”

“Knight to f3”

“I capture your pawn on e4.” 

“Knight to g5.”

The ensuing game is much, much briefer than the first. Before Dan Heng can blink, his queen piece is captured, and his king is in mate in only a few more moves.  

“Good game, my friend.”

Dan Heng doesn’t dare lift his eyes from the board. 

He hears you giggle. “Grilled fish with salad, then?” 

“You know me too well.” 

Your shoes get up and shuffle around the table before you take off for the kitchens. Phainon follows suit, stopping briefly by his side. A large, gloved hand grips his shoulder, patting him on the back once. “Try not to let it get to you, yeah?” 

+++

Dan Heng cuts his losses and  spends the next few hours in the bowels of the Archives room, letting the darkness soothe his bruised ego. He left the chessboard and the rest of the pieces standing where they were. The Deliverer won their match– he could clean up the proof. 

His stomach growls. Normally, skipping dinner would be fine for him– his Vidyadhara side means that he eats lightly and gets the missing energy from sunlight. But the Express gets very little in the way of sunbeams out in space, and the tiny radiator in the corner of his room doesn't do much to substitute. 

He sighs. Tonight is movie night, anyway. The rest of the crew members would be concerned if he didn’t show up. Pushing himself to his feet, he makes his way through the corridors down to the theatre car. 

The soft lighting of the theatre room does wonders to lift his mood as he slides open the heavy oak doors. Comfortable couches and chairs modeled after Penacony’s cinema seats circle the room amphitheater-style, with a large, arching screen acting as the centerpiece. Raven statues and black and white movie posters line the walls, reminding him of past film capers with you and March 7th, from the space themed scenes taken from Dreamjolt Havoc to the darker, more surrealist posters of Possibly in The Reverie.

March had warned you against watching it, since it was supposedly cursed. She had left the room early, leaving just you and Dan Heng to lean against one another in the darkness. Later that night, you had been so nervous that you couldn’t sleep, so Dan Heng had moved his cot into your room for the rest of the week. 

Speaking of March 7th, he spotted her in her usual chair at the front of the room, a scattering of colorful snacks around her feet. She’s already halfway through a pack of trick snacks. Her mouth is too full to talk, but she beams at him as he passes. Dan Heng suspects that she’ll get up halfway through the movie to refill. 

He makes his way over to a certain seat toward the middle-right of the room. It’s a loveseat with well-worn blankets tossed over the side. Just like every week before, you’re curled up in the corner with your phone open, waiting for the movie to start. 

“Dan Heng!” You perk up immediately when he approaches, pulling back your legs to let him sit down. He settles in next to you, letting you rest your ankles in his lap. It comforts him to have this routine, sitting in the same spot in the same position with you, even if the others tease him about it. 

He couldn’t recall it himself, but according to Himeko, he had once audibly growled and snapped at Sunday when the former had sat in this spot during his first week on the Express. Himeko had called him possessive. Dan Heng just liked to think that he didn’t like change. 

“Did you see the group chat? I convinced Mr. Yang to play The Princess Bride for you tonight.” You’re wearing a loose red tunic, he notices, with one of Himeko’s gold accessories tucked into your collar. You’re clearly trying to imitate the princess’ outfit from the movie, and doing a pretty good job of it at that. 

“It’s my favorite.” He smiles, pleased that you had remembered. “Mr. Reca had to be removed from the set several times while they filmed the Fire Swamp scenes. He kept muttering to himself during the filming which was picked up peripherally on the microphones.”

You smile at him and nod, even though he’s definitely told you that fact a hundred times before. “You didn’t join us for dinner today, and you didn’t respond to my messages. I was a bit worried about you.” 

Your eyes are so sincere. Dan Heng winces. “I was a bit tired,” he mutters. He doesn’t want to admit that he avoided reading the group chat messages because he didn’t want to see Phainon’s name anywhere near yours after that morning. “I must have slept through the notifications.”

“I figured. The fridge in the kitchen car has an extra portion for you, if you want it.”

“I’ll go get it. I’ll be back in a second.” 

The grilled fish is exactly where you said it would be, packed neatly in a tupperware with a bed of rice. He smiles to himself as he thinks about you taking the time to prepare this just for him. He can even tell from the smell that you added extra spices to his portion, along with a scoop of curry in the second compartment. He places it in the microwave, picking out a few snacks from the pantry while it turns under the artificial lights. 

He wasn’t gone for more than five minutes, but the others have filed into the room while he was busy. As expected, March’s snacks are nearly all gone. She’s engaged in what seems like a very one-sided conversation about chimeras with Sunday, who, to his credit, is trying his best to follow along. Dan Heng takes out a packet of Sour Dream candies from his pocket and places it on the armrest next to them as he passes. 

Himeko and Welt occupy luxurious recliners near the back of the room, a mug of coffee in the cupholder of the former’s. They’re conversing idly about something that Dan Heng is too far away to catch. He gives them a nod, intent on getting back to his seat so the movie could start. He’s almost there when another body brushes past him and plops down into the spot next to you. 

Phainon’s distinctive white jacket and blue-and-gold cape are gone, leaving him in just his dark undershirt. A haphazard black eye mask sits in his messy white hair. “Ready for the movie, Partner?” 

The chatter in the room dies instantly. March audibly gasps, slapping her hands over her mouth. 

Dan Heng clears his throat.

“Black isn’t your color, Deliverer.” 

“Hmm?” Phainon turns to look at him. “Oh! There you are, my friend. We missed you at dinner.” He gestures to the container in Dan Heng’s hands. “I hope you like the fish. A little birdie told me to make it just how you like it.” 

“You’re in my seat.” 

“Oh, I am?” He laughs. “Sorry about that. I was just saying how excited I was for my first movie night aboard the Express. I even dressed up for the occasion!” 

Dressed down is more like it, Dan Heng thinks. He lets his eyes roam over the muscles under Phainon’s compression shirt. The Deliverer’s pectorals aren’t leaving much to the imagination. “I can see that. It’s a little… small for you, isn’t it?” 

“Size has never been a problem for me.” Phainon smiles self-assuredly. “You’ll let me sit here for tonight, right? You’ve all been so welcoming.” 

Dan Heng opens his mouth. He knows the eyes of every other crew member is on him, but the ones he is most aware of are yours. 

The retort dies in his throat. He doesn’t want to disappoint you twice in one night. “Just this once.” 

March’s mouth falls open. 

Dan Heng slinks away to sit in a single armchair just behind the two of you. He tries to get comfortable, but the cushion is much stiffer than he’s used to. 

The movie begins. The light from the screen illuminates the silhouette of your head in front of him, huddled close to Phainon’s.

“Since they were filming during the winter, Robin told me she got cold wearing just her character’s dress. The guy who played Fezzik would help keep her warm by covering her head with one of his hands.” 

“The tapestries in the castle are real Oak Family relics dating back to the creation of the Dreamscape. Mr. Reca said he wouldn’t continue filming if his sets weren’t authentic enough.” 

“Mr. Reca had to send hundreds of emails to the original author of The Princess Bride in order to get permission to turn it into a movie. Apparently it was his favorite thing that he had ever written, and he didn’t want anyone making the story into something he disliked.”

Phainon nods eagerly at everything you say. He leans in closer every time you tell him a new fact, replying in a voice so quiet that Dan Heng can’t catch it. It was like staring into a mirror image of himself, watching you relay all of the facts that Dan Heng had once told you, to someone new. 

Just before the halfway point in the movie, after the man in black and the princess share a kiss, Phainon lets out an obnoxiously loud, exaggerated yawn. He stretches his arms upwards, laying them over the back of the couch and around your shoulders. Dan Heng watches the muscles under Phainon’s tight shirt flex as he pulls you closer, and sulks. 

By the end of the movie, you were fully snuggled into Phainon’s embrace, head resting on his chest. You look so warm and comfortable, lost in a dream that Dan Heng hopes is sweet. The others file out of the room as the screen goes dark. Phainon stays still, arms securely around you. 

Dan Heng approaches. “I’ll take them back to their room.” He goes to wake you up, but Phainon stops him. 

“I’ll take care of them.” 

He watches as Phainon lifts you up gently, carrying you all the way back to the passenger cabin. Phainon pauses at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the second floor, where yours, Phainon’s and Sunday’s rooms are. “Good night, my friend.” 

Dan Heng chooses to keep his peace.

+++

The Deliverer has done a good job of monopolizing your time over the next two weeks, and Dan Heng rarely sees you outside of mealtimes and group settings. Word had spread quickly about Phainon taking his crown in chess, and what used to be your weekly one-on-one matches on Saturday mornings have turned into a public spectacle with a scoreboard. The current tally is 12 to 15, with Phainon on the winning end. Dan Heng misses when it was just you and him. 

“We only have a few hours to spare, so don’t go too overboard.” Himeko instructs everyone as they disembark at the docking station at Aurum Alley. “We’ll meet up at midnight back at the Express. Keep the sugar and alcohol to a minimum and don’t buy too much.” 

She directs the last statement towards March, who is already bouncing on the balls of her feet. Dan Heng reaches out and catches her shoulder before she can run off, earning him a thanks from Mr. Yang. 

“Look! Tall Auntie’s stall is having a collab with Love and Deepspace!” March points to an advertisement posted outside of a building The chalkboard is crudely penciled in with the icon of her favorite otome game, and the dates that the collab was running for. “Do you think they have any merch of Sylus left? He’s my favorite.” 

“Of course you’d like the head of a crime syndicate,” Sunday shakes his head and lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Isn’t there more beauty in life to look for than a proclivity for violence and a deep wallet?” 

“But that’s what makes him hot! Besides, you can’t say anything. You took one look at Caleb on my homescreen and downloaded the game the next day,” March shoots back. Sunday has the decorum to look embarrassed, but makes no move to correct her. 

“Personally, I think Sunday wins this one,” you add from Dan Heng’s other side. “Caleb is cute. Plus, I’m a sucker for a good friends to lovers story.” 

Dan Heng smiles at that. 

“Caleb? Who’s Caleb?” Phainon appears over Dan Heng’s shoulder in an instant. He wears his usual smile, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“He’s a character from March’s favorite dating simulator,” Dan Heng explains, mystified. He’s never seen Phainon like this before. “He’s not a real person, if that’s what you’re… worried about.”

Is that what I look like around you? 

Just like black, jealousy is not a good look on the Deliverer. 

March yelps. “You’ve never heard of Love and Deepspace? Oh, that changes tonight.” She grabs ahold of Phainon’s forearm before he can protest. “You’re coming with me! You can help me decide whose washboard abs are the hottest.” 

“I can do that! I’ve got loads of experience!” Phainon replies with a grin, causing Dan Heng to raise an eyebrow at him. He links his arm with March’s as he’s led off, Sunday bringing up the rear.

You and Dan Heng are left alone at the dock under the streetlamps. “Sushang texted me earlier today. She told me about a bookstore down the street that opened last month.” You smile at him. “Let’s go check it out together?”

“Mm-hm.”

+++

By the time you’ve finished up and paid, the moon is bright yellow and rising above your heads. Though it’s still a little while before midnight, you and Dan Heng decide to head back to the loading docks early to wait for the others. 

The streets have become bustling; every vendor set up along the way calling to you to catch your attention. 

“Cheap and tasty chop suey!”

“Try your luck betting on jade!~”

“Fresh herbal tonics for your skin! Eternal youth! Apply once a day and look 200 forever!” 

Dan Heng cringes at that last one, moving in the opposite direction from the stalls. He feels your hand grasp his, leading him down a quieter side street.

“You’d think the Cloud Knights would be here in an instant to shut that down,” you remark as soon as you’re out of earshot. “Are you okay? I know you told me about that encounter with Dan Feng’s shadow on Amphoreus…” 

“Mhm.” Dan Heng nods. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve made my peace.” The shadows cast by the street lamps flicker over his face. “Losing you down in the depths of that world, going on that thousand-year journey just to find you… I can understand it now. Why he did what he did.”

“I wondered when we’d get a chance to talk about that again,” you say. “It’s hard to believe we really only spent a year or so there, in the scepter. No one else wants to talk about it, with everything that happened, and I can’t really blame them.”

Dan Heng nods. 

“... But I wanted to tell you how much it meant to me, that you came to find me when I was down in that cave.” You continue. You’ve stopped walking now, at the edge of the docks, grasping his hand still. “Even beyond the whole saving the universe from destruction thing. I can’t tell you how much that meant to me. How much you mean to me.” 

You're gazing at him, your face just inches away from his. He barely dares to breathe. 

Are you leaning in? He can’t tell. 

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you two!” 

You pull back abruptly, and a cold breeze fills the place where your lips were seconds ago. Dan Heng straightens up, disappointed.

March 7th waves to you from up the street. Her arms are full of merch of her favorite character’s face, some of which drops onto the paving stones when she does. Sunday picks them up for her. “Phainon, they’re over here. You can stop fretting now.”

“Oh, Partner!” The white-haired man rounds the corner, hurrying over to you. “It’s getting windy tonight! You must be cold. Here, take my jacket until we get back onto the train.” He unwraps the white coat from himself and lays it across your shoulders. “Did you have fun?”

“I did,” you smile at him. “But I think Dan Heng might be colder than I am, since he’s part dragon and all. Here.” You pass Phainon’s jacket off to Dan Heng, who accepts it awkwardly. He can feel Phainon’s eyes linger on him as you help him drape it around his shoulders. 

“I don’t see any merch on you,” You observe to Phainon. “Did March not convince you to play?” 

Phainon laughs, eyes still on Dan Heng. “March and Sunday– well, mostly March– showed me some photos of abs from the guys in their game, but to be honest, I’ve seen better.” 

“I’m sure you have,” Dan Heng snips. He wonders if Phainon is talking about himself and the rather impressive physique that hides under his armor, or a certain blonde-maned prince back on Amphoreus. Maybe if he sent the Deliverer back in a box, Mydeimos would keep him there. 

“Welt and Himeko must be waiting for us by now.” He tugs at the jacket. “The sooner we get inside, the better.” 

He tries to catch your eye as Phainon leads you away. The Deliverer’s broad shoulders block his view. 

+++

1 message from you to Astral Express Family

Cold_Dragon_Young: Busy with data bank on last trailblaze mission. Will be absent from dinner tonight. Don’t wait up. 

From: Astral Express Family: [12 unread messages]

From: GalacticBaseballer: [3 unread messages; 1 missed call]

It’s easier to hide in the Archives room under the guise of completing data bank entries than it is to find you and ask you what your intentions were that night in Aurum Alley. If it was up to Dan Heng, he would have continued to run on nothing but the warmth of his radiator for a week if a knock at his door hadn’t disturbed him. 

He wonders if it’s you, but when he slides the partition open he nearly gets a faceful of solid chest covered in a gold-lined breastplate. 

“Hey there, my friend.” Phainon smiles down at him. The Deliverer is leaning against his doorframe like a loitering teenager, biceps crossed one over another. 

“Your jacket is on the table in the laundry car.” Dan Heng goes to shut the door, but Phainon’s annoyingly muscular shoulders are in the way. 

“Hold on a second.” The Deliverer shoves a foot in the door and steps into the room without asking, and Dan Heng’s annoyance grows further. He wishes he could glare at Phainon without craning his neck. Unfortunately after leaving Amphoreus he had lost the extra height gained from the Coreflame of Earth. He was sure that with the coreflame, he was just a bit taller than Phainon. 

“Mr. Yang told me that you were working on the data entries on Amphoreus,” Phainon explains. He’s surveying Dan Heng’s room as he speaks, and it makes Dan Heng feel exposed. “He suggested I come and help you, since you didn’t have much time to spend in Okhema before everything… happened.” 

“Oh.” Dan Heng isn’t the happiest with that arrangement, but he respects Mr. Yang too much to refuse. “Yes, that would be helpful.” He goes to pull up a stool next to the rolling chair at his desk.

“Thank you.” Phainon sits down, the seat almost comically small compared to his frame. “So what do you have so far?” 

Dan Heng types his password into the login. Long rows of text pop up on his monitors.

CHIMERAS

Chimarae okhema An intelligent life-form created by Amphorean researchers in the Garden of Life. The Chimera shares a common ancestor with the Chryseus Leo of Castrum Kremnos (see Mydeimos[1]) “Awoo~”

DROMAS

Dinosauria georios Large beasts of burden created by Georios. Prefer earth as sustenance. Prime material for insults due to their perceived low intelligence, despite scientific consensus stating otherwise. (see Anaxagoras[2])

“I don’t think I need much help on the ecology index.” Dan Heng muses, skipping the page. 

HYACINTHIA

Demigod of Sky. A physician and scientist descended from the skyfolk. Her companion Little Ica has a digestive tract that defies all biological reason. A good library companion. 

AGLAEA

Demigod of Romance. Wise and fair in judgement. Runs the teleslate communication in the Holy City. (see Okhema[10]) Note: Refrain from sending anything improper by teleslate. Search history cannot be wiped. 

ANAXAGORAS

Redirected from: “a dromas draped in finery” A scholar and professor from the Grove of Epiphany. Expert in alchemy and life sciences. Talks a great deal about things that annoy him. (see “Aglaea[11])

PHAINON

Deliverer from Aedes Elysiae. Skilled with a sword. A personality quite unlike any other. (see "笨蛋"[12])

Phainon points to the words under his own incomplete entry. “What does that mean?” 

“It’s not important.” Dan Heng hastily deletes the Xianzhouan text and scrolls away. 

The bottom section is Dan Heng’s most recent entry, and one he thinks the Deliverer will find most favorable. “Here. This section needs working on.” He turns the screen towards Phainon. 

AEDES ELYSIAE

A small agricultural village on Amphoreus. Known for its abundant wheat harvests and fishing. Hometown of the two heroes of Amphoreus, Phainon and Cyrene. 

Dan Heng opens the dropdown tab under the page. An unfinished swath of colors on a grid marks the bottom half of the screen. “I wanted to model a comprehensive map of different fish species and their habitats near Aedes Elysiae,” Dan Heng explains. “Using geospatial data and mapping systems provided by Madam Herta, we can track movements of populations and their habits. I’d like to add your local expertise and anecdotal knowledge to our database, if possible.”

Dan Heng can tell that Phainon is pleased with this assignment. “Of course,” the Deliverer nods eagerly. “I’ll tell you everything I know.”

The more Phainon talks, the more Dan Heng finds himself beginning to relax. He can understand now why you enjoy Phainon’s company– the Deliverer is charismatic and intelligent, beyond the cocky exterior. Alone with him, Dan Heng can stop scrutinizing every action the Deliverer makes towards you and instead listen to him talk. Phainon paints a picture of golden kernels of wheat against a sky the same color as his eyes, and clear rivers brimming with simple childhood promises. 

The digital clock in the corner of the screen ticks by four hours before Dan Heng stands up. “That’s enough work for today. I need to give the data bank time to upload. He regards the Deliverer. “Thank you for your help.”

“Thank you,” Phainon replies with a sincere smile. “It was nice to relive those memories again.” He stands up from the tiny stool, stretching out and arching his back sharply. “Say, why don’t you join me for a soak in the bath parlor? You can experience an Amphorean tradition for yourself, instead of just writing about it.” 

Cultural immersion? Dan Heng is familiar with the concept. “I suppose I could. I’m not sure how accurately you could recreate an Amphorean bath with just the materials we have aboard the Express, though.”

“That’s not something you need to worry about,” Phainon laughs. “I’ll make sure you enjoy it.”

+++

The third floor bath parlor is vacant when the two men step inside, sliding the door shut behind them. White-and-gold marble tiles and personal cubbies line every wall, with heavily tinted arched windows giving the passengers inside a view of space without letting any prying eyes see in. Two long benches run down the middle until they reach a large, steaming pool reminiscent of a hot tub in the center, and individual showers are located near the back wall with curtains to protect one’s privacy. Various cart tables around the room hold bathing supplies and fresh towels. 

Dan Heng makes a beeline for the cubbies, placing his phone and earpieces inside. He hesitates before taking his clothes off— he isn’t terribly uptight about showing skin, but being completely naked in front of someone is different. 

Phainon, however, seems to have no qualms about stripping down. Dan Heng watches surreptitiously as the Deliverer unbuckles his harness and belt, taking off his cape and armor pads and folding them neatly before putting them to the side. The loose-fitting vest and tunic come next, leaving him in just the tight black compression shirt that he had been dressed in during movie night. 

Phainon catches his eye, and Dan Heng turns around quickly, shedding his own coat and tugging off his shirt and pants before wrapping a towel around himself. When he turns around again, Phainon is fully bare, from his broad shoulders to the valley between his pecs and abs. Instead of wrapping the towel around his waist, Phainon has it slung over his shoulder. His skin is evenly tanned, and Dan Heng can spot a faint silver trail leading down his stomach to…

“You have an impressive physique.” Phainon’s voice cuts into his thoughts. He has his hands on his hips, and Dan Heng can feel his gaze roaming over him, assessing every dip, curve, and tone laid out in front of him. He opens his mouth to thank Phainon. 

“… For an archivist,” the Deliverer finishes with a smirk. 

So the peace was too good to last. Dan Heng turns away. “Just get in the bath already.” 

He climbs into the steaming pool, sighing as the warm water soaks into his muscles and draws out the long-standing aches . 

Phainon steps into the pool on the opposite side. “Ahhh…” He leans back against the side of the pool, arms thrown over the rim and eyes closed. “A long bath always hits the spot after a hard day at work.” 

Dan Heng murmurs in agreement. He doesn't broach any subject in particular, but Phainon keeps talking. 

“You know, you’re quite the expressive person once you’ve been coaxed into something. I’m starting to believe that you have a heart under there after all.” 

Dan Heng glares at Phainon through the steam. “I thought this bath was supposed to be a relaxing affair, not a dissection.” Without his armor, the Deliverer looks less like a hero and more like a siren in the heat, hair damp and loose, moisture accumulating in droplets and rolling down muscular shoulders. The skin on Phainon’s neck and collarbones are clean and white. Dan Heng thinks about what it would be like to bite down there. Maybe that would shut him up long enough for him to get the hint. 

“Ah, well. It’s all in jest. I’m just getting to know my new cohorts. Besides, we all want reciprocation, don’t we?” Phainon’s words echo on the tiles, dancing across the gap. “I can’t help but notice it when you look at a certain companion of yours.” 

Dan Heng freezes. “Leave them out of it.” 

Phainon smirks, and Dan Heng knows that Phainon knows he’s caught him. “Come now, my friend. You don’t have to be shy about it. You wouldn’t be the first person to find them so… alluring.” 

What is that supposed to mean? Is Phainon alluding to something that Dan Heng doesn’t know about? “There are far more dignified words to describe them than alluring,” he replies, stone-faced. It’s true, to a degree. Dan Heng doesn’t dare let himself think about you that way. You deserve far more than that. 

And yet… a small voice in the back of his mind nags him. He feels the blood rush southward when he thinks of how you might look here in the bath with him, sitting across from him and the Deliverer.

Phainon meets his gaze steadily. “And yet you don’t deny it.” 

Dan Heng doesn’t, and that’s the worst part. He stands up abruptly, water falling off of his bare body with a swash. “I have no reason to discuss something so tasteless with you, Deliverer.” 

He climbs out of the pool and strides back to the lockers. He hears the water ripple behind him as Phainon follows him. “I’m just saying! Be too slow about it, and I’ll have to swoop in and make my own move.” 

Dan Heng hastily grabs the towels from the cart and wraps it around his waist to hide the forming erection between his legs. He disregards drying off his hair to gather his things quickly. Anything to ignore the other man behind him. 

“You seem frustrated, my friend.” 

Dan Heng says nothing.

“So you’re just going to ignore me, then?” The Deliverer is annoyingly persistent. He sits on the edge of the marble bench, still bare. Water still drips from his hair. “What a shame. And here I thought we might have so much in common.”

Dan Heng marches up to him. “I am not frustrated, nor do we have anything in common,” he hisses. “Choose your next words carefully, Deliverer, or I’ll…” 

Phainon’s smirk widens. He’s leaning forward now, elbows resting on his spread knees, clothes sitting in a pile beside him. The curve of his cheek is dangerously close to Dan Heng’s nether region. “You’ll what?” 

The ghost of his breath caresses Dan Heng through the thin towel, and that’s the last time that Dan Heng ever thinks about reasoning with the Deliverer. 

His hands seize into Phainon’s hair, shoving him hard against the erection that’s been long since straining between his legs. The towel falls without anything to support it, pooling between his feet and Phainon’s. Dan Heng swears he sees the white-haired man smirk, and barely a second later, his snarl turns into a gasp as he feels lips, and then tongue, as Phainon swallows his length whole.

Size has never been a problem for me, Phainon’s earlier words echo in his ears as he tries and fails to suppress the gasp he lets out. Dan Heng wonders how many times he had to train with the prince of Kremnos before becoming this talented. He feels the quiver of Phainon’s throat as he bucks his hips deeper, a fantasy he would never enact had it been you on the receiving end, rather than a rival made by his own words. 

The Deliverer is enthusiastic, bobbing his head in time to Dan Heng’s thrusts. “Fuck,” Dan Heng throws his head back and moans. How long has it been since he’s felt something like this? A memory of a previous white-haired companion flashes in his mind. Dan Heng digs his fingers deeper into Phainon’s scalp and pulls him off of his cock with a wet pop before he can cum.

“There’s that fire I saw during our chess game,” Phainon laughs, panting. He stands up, picking up the towel to wipe the drool hanging from his lips. “I knew you had a different side to you. I just wasn’t sure how far I’d have to go to bring it out.” 

There are still far more sides to me, Dan Heng thinks of his more draconic forms. “How long were you prepared to wait for it?”

“As long as I needed to,” Phainon replies. He leans down, nose brushing Dan Heng’s. The Deliverer smells like the soap from the baths and radiates warmth. The kiss that follows is heavy and deep, and Dan Heng can feel the saltiness of his own precum on Phainon’s tongue. 

Dan Heng begins pulling him back towards the baths, but Phainon stops him. “Hold on for a second.” He goes to a side cabinet and crouches down, fiddling with the lock on it. When he stands back up, there’s a bottle of clear, viscous liquid in his hand. 

Dan Heng raises his eyebrows. “You store a bottle of lubricant in here?” 

Phainon shrugs. “No one uses this car except me. I might as well make use of the privacy.”

“There are sleeping quarters right downstairs.” 

“I’m quiet, I promise.” 

Dan Heng gives him a look, but doesn’t push it further. He takes ahold of the Deliverer’s other arm, leading him into the water once again. As the warmth envelops them, Dan Heng pulls Phainon in for another kiss. This one is less aggressive, and Dan Heng finds himself nibbling on the Deliverer’s bottom lip before he turns him around, bending him over the side of the bath. 

He takes the lube, smearing an ample amount of it onto his fingers before spreading Phainon’s ass. As soon as Dan Heng’s digits make contact with his rim, Phainon shivers, the small movement rippling up his spine. “You run a little cold, you know.” 

“It’s the vidyadhara biology,” Dan Heng replies, sliding a finger inside and stretching him. He takes another portion of the lube and begins spreading it on his own length. “I can change my outward appearance at will, but the inner processes of my body will always stay the same.” 

He presses his tip to Phainon’s hole and begins to push in. The Deliverer lets out the most delicious moan, and Dan Heng groans as well, letting the feeling envelop him. Dan Heng begins to rock his hips gently, slotting himself into the curve of Phainon’s ass as he sinks into him. 

“Maybe– ah– maybe you should change, then.” Phainon pants. The teasing lilt in his voice is still there despite the obvious difficulty he’s having in speaking. “This form is a little small for my tastes.” 

“Small?” Dan Heng scoffs. “You’re barely stringing a sentence together, Deliverer.” Dan Heng is having trouble thinking straight himself, with the way Phainon’s inner muscles grip around him. 

Dan Heng chokes when he feels Phainon suddenly clench on him. “I can take more.” The Deliverer’s voice is clearer this time, with a hint of challenge in it. “Show me the side of you that you wouldn’t dare show your precious companion.” 

“Don’t ask for things that you can’t handle,” Dan Heng grits out, but he complies. His shoulders broaden and horns sprout from under his hair. Phainon lets out a strangled cry as he feels the cock inside him grow, stretching him past what he imagined was possible. A second member springs up just underneath the first, arching underneath Phainon’s ass and rubbing textured scales along his thigh as Dan Heng speeds up his thrusts. 

He’s pounding into Phainon now like his life depends on it, losing himself in the sensation of the contraction of Phainon’s insides around him. The Deliverer himself is crying out, moaning louder than Dan Heng would ever have thought possible. He already came, Dan Heng observes, sticky strings of white trailing off of his swollen cockhead and making a mess on his abdomen. 

Dan Heng feels himself reaching his peak quickly. He braces himself, grabbing onto a nearby pipe and clutching it as hard as he can as he cums with a loud gasp, filling the Deliverer with his spend. His second cock paints the inside of Phainon’s thighs white, dripping downwards as it settles. Dan Heng collapses on top of Phainon’s back, panting. 

Returning to his normal form, Dan Heng’s softened cock slides out of him. “Phainon–” 

Both men pause when they hear a screeching of metal and a cracking sound. The pipe that Dan Heng had grabbed ahold of is trembling. As they watch, it begins to split apart from the main and spray water in an arc across the room. 

Dan Heng curses as he dodges the jet, pulling away from Phainon. He had forgotten to account for the extra strength he gained during his Permansor Terrae transformation. “Grab some towels, quickly.”

Phainon pushes himself up onto his knees before staggering upwards. “Looks like you were a little too boisterous,” he huffs, his voice hoarse. He limps over to the towel cubby, grabbing an armful. It quickly becomes apparent that this is a problem bigger than the two of them can handle alone as the room begins to flood, waterlogging both the floor and the towels they used to try and contain the mess. 

“I need to inform Himeko,” Dan Heng ignores Phainon’s jab at him. He hops between puddles, picking up both his and Phainon’s clothes from the bench. “Get dressed and go back to your room. The second-floor bathroom has showers; you can go clean off in there.” 

The two men hastily don their clothes and shoes. Phainon’s gait has improved enough to make it down the hall. “Didn’t know you had it in you, my friend.” 

“This means nothing, Deliverer.” 

“Sure.” Phainon says lightly. “Remember what we talked about.” 

+++

At dinner, Himeko is twenty minutes late and changed into a fresh pair of clothes when she joins the rest of the Express cohort at the table. “I was able to fix the pipe, but the flooding was already pretty extensive when I got there.” She nods at you. “I apologize, but I wasn’t able to contain all of it before it seeped through the ceiling.” 

You sigh, propping up your head with your elbows on the table. “Just my luck that my room is right underneath the bath parlor.” You pick at the plate in front of you. “At least I wasn’t in there when it started, and nothing seems too damaged so far. I think I can dry everything out with a bit of time.” 

Guilt rises in Dan Heng’s belly, and he shoots a glance at Phainon, who’s seated next to him. The Deliverer’s expression is serene, but the corner of his mouth is quirked upwards in an amused expression that makes Dan Heng scowl at him.

“I can call Madam Herta to see if we can make a stop for fresh bedding at the Space Station,” Mr. Yang says. He gestures for Sunday to pass him the bowl of baked potatoes. “In the meantime, you’ll have to find somewhere else to sleep for the time being.”

March throws her hand up so fast that she nearly smacks Dan Heng across the face. ““Ooh! A sleepover! You can come stay with me–” 

“I have room.” Dan Heng cuts her off. He shoots March a look from across the table, but she doesn’t seem to absorb his meaning at all. 

“The archives? But there’s no space in there! Where are they going to sleep, on your bookshelves?” 

“I have a bed, you know.” 

“Sure, if that’s what you call that pile of tissues on the floor.”

You laugh. “Tissues? What have you been up to, Dan Heng?” 

“March is right,” Mr. Yang says, shooting you a look. “You do have a limited amount of space in the archives room. Plus, your room is on the first floor. It would be a hassle for them to have to carry their things down a flight of stairs. And you’re on dish duty today– you can’t help.” Mr. Yang turns toward Phainon and Sunday. “Since you two also have your rooms on the second floor, would one of you be willing to share instead?” 

Sunday flushes, standing up and excusing himself from the table abruptly. 

Phainon beams at you. “Of course! You can stay with me for as long as you need, Partner.” 

He’s clearly welcoming this opportunity with open arms. Dan Heng scowls. 

“Thanks, Phai,” you smile back at him. “I’ve got quite a few things that survived the worst of the flood. Would you help me carry them?”

“Of course!” Phainon stands up. “We can start now, if you’d like.” He takes your hand, leading you towards the door to the parlor car. “I’ve got something that I wanted to ask you, anyways.” 

His eyes meet Dan Heng’s over his shoulder as he leads you out. 

Dan Heng stays frozen in his seat, stomach churning. For ten minutes he tries to stay, but the apprehension overtakes him. 

“Take my dish duty for today,” he mutters to March as he gets up. “I’ll owe you one later.” 

She tries to protest, but Dan Heng hurries out before she can. 

+++

Racing through the parlor car and the party car, Dan Heng nearly trips over the conductor on his way to the escalier. He takes the flight of stairs two at a time, heart pounding, but finds your room empty save for the heaps of towels on the floor. Slowing to a halt, he backs out before making his way down the hall to Phainon’s room, hoping he isn’t too late. 

He slides open the door. “(Y/N). I have something to tell you–” 

Dan Heng freezes, breath catching in his throat. 

You’re splayed on your bed, naked from the waist down with Phainon looming over you. His broad frame cages you in, and you’re locked in a passionate kiss. One of his hands is buried between your legs, and your back is arched, exposing your midriff as your shirt rides up. You’re letting out small whimpers, hips bucking up into him as he pins you down. The Deliverer’s wrist flexes as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, no doubt brushing against every sensitive spot inside of you. 

“Nice of you to join us, my friend.” It takes Dan Heng a second to realize that Phainon is speaking to him. The Deliverer sits up, pulling his fingers out of you and wiping them on his slacks. His shirt is halfway open, giving Dan Heng another taste of what he had already seen earlier that day. “Why don’t you say hello to him, Partner?” 

Phainon pulls you up into a sitting position. “Hi, Dan Heng.” Your voice is breathless. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

Your hair is mussed and your shirt is wrinkled, and Dan Heng thinks that you couldn’t get any more beautiful. His eyes trail over every inch of exposed skin he can see, feeling like the greediest man in history. 

“He’s glad he’s here too,” Phainon smirks. Dan Heng looks down to see a tent forming in his pants. He ducks his head, cursing the obviousness of his feelings. “There’s no need to be shy. We all know you’ve wanted this for a while, right?” 

“Mhmm.” You walk over to him, taking his hands in yours. “Come here, Dan Heng.” Leading him back to the bed, you press soft kisses to his cheeks while shedding his coat. Wisely, Phainon has stepped aside and pulled out his desk chair, sitting down and unbuckling his pants. 

“I wanted you to kiss me that night in Aurum Alley” Dan Heng murmurs. He couldn’t care less about Phainon beginning to stroke himself at the sight in the corner of the room. He leans in further as your hands cup his cheeks. “I just couldn’t tell if you wanted to kiss me too.” 

“Of course I did. And I would have, if we hadn’t been interrupted.” You smile fondly at him. “You mean the world to me, Dan Heng.” 

Your lips press against his, and finally everything Dan Heng has ever wanted is right in front of him. He doesn’t pull away until you come up for breath, and even then, he presses one last peck to your lips before you do. 

“Isn’t that sweet.” Phainon huffs in amusement from his chair.

Dan Heng eyes the Deliverer’s cock, which stands at full mast. “You liked it.” 

“I did,” Phainon replies easily. “I went through a lot of trouble to make sure this happened, you know.” He reclines back, gesturing to his length. “The least you could do is help me enjoy it.” 

Despite everything that had already happened, Dan Heng feels his face heat up. He glances towards you, as if asking for permission. You’re nodding at him eagerly, so he goes and kneels in front of the Deliverer. 

He feels one of Phainon’s hands thread into his hair, guiding him towards the swollen cock in front of him. Dan Heng wraps one hand around the shaft, slick with lube, and gives it a few experimental pumps. He hears Phainon sigh. 

You nudge him. “Go on. It’s mouth-safe, if you’re wondering.” 

Dan Heng takes the tip into his mouth, and immediately chokes when Phainon pushes into his mouth deeper than expected. He digs his nails into Phainon’s thigh and hears the Deliverer hiss. 

“Don’t be mean,” he hears you scold Phainon. The Deliverer says something that Dan Heng can’t quite make out but relents, his grip on Dan Heng’s hair loosening. Dan Heng allows Phainon to guide him further down the shaft, slipping slowly in and out until he gets a good rhythm going. The Deliverer’s loud groans echo off the walls of his room, and he’s just big enough that Dan Heng can’t fit him in his mouth all at once. Still, he relishes in the feeling of Phainon’s thickness in his mouth. 

“You rushed me earlier, but now you want to take your time,” Phainon murmurs as he thrusts slowly. His fingernails scrape Dan Heng’s scalp. “Isn’t that a bit unfair?” 

Unfair? Dan Heng could fix that. Vidyadhara biology lent him more than just two members. Taking a deep breath, he allowed his jaw to slide open further until Phainon was fully inside his throat, swollen tip threatening to gag him. 

He hears Phainon gasp in pleasure, and allows the Deliverer to buck into his mouth for a few more minutes before pulling off of his shaft. For all his posturing, Phainon lets out a downright pathetic whine when he’s denied his release.

It’s Dan Heng’s turn to smirk. “Wouldn’t want you to finish too early, Deliverer.” He picks up Phainon’s dark shirt from beside the bed, spitting Phainon’s precum into it and wiping up leftover saliva. 

You laugh, “Oh, I think Dan Heng’s gotten bolder.” Pulling your shirt off, you’re left fully nude in between the two men. “Does that apply to me, too?” 

Dan Heng is too busy staring at your breasts to notice. He quickly snaps out of it when Phainon starts for you first, shoulder-checking the Deliverer to the side. He climbs onto the bed, pulling you with him until you’re straddling him. Hastily, he sheds his own pants and underwear, before going to pull off his shirt. 

“Wait.” You stop him, and he looks up at you inquisitively. 

“Hm?” 

“I’ve always wanted to do this.” Your hands go to his collar and unzip one of the two zippers at his throat. Leaning down, you kiss his bare collarbone before sucking a dark mark onto it. “There. Now you can take it off.” 

Dan Heng sheds his shirt. He lies back down, letting you drizzle lube onto his shaft, and tries not to moan too loudly when your soft hands wrap around him to spread it. Finally, you line your hole up with the tip of his cock, and slowly sink down onto him in one smooth motion. 

Dan Heng nearly cums on the spot. Maybe it was his long-buried feelings talking, but he could swear that you feel so much better than the Deliverer did. He claps his hands over his face to stifle the cry he lets out. 

“Let me see you,” you murmur to him. “Let me make you feel good.” You pull his hands away from his face, no doubt taking in his flushed, panting state in all its glory. You lean down to kiss him as you begin to rock your hips, whispering praises into his mouth. Dan Heng bucks his hips to match your pace. The stifling heat and your tight, gummy walls contracting around him make Dan Heng feel as if he’s in heaven. His cockhead drags along a particular spot inside of you, and he hears you keen, throwing your head back.

He reaches between your folds with his fingers, finding your clit. “I want you to feel good too,” he pants, rubbing and pinching the little bud. You squirm and whimper in his hold when he uses the slender digits to brush the hood of your clit back, rolling the sensitive nub between his fingers. “All I’ve ever wanted was you.” 

A gush of wetness follows his words, warm and pleasurable as you pulse around him in orgasm. Dan Heng barely registers that Phainon has joined you on the bed until the mattress dips under his weight. He feels the Deliverer’s hands steady you as you bask in the bliss of your release, and then Phainon’s cock is sliding into your warmth alongside him. Dan Heng groans as Phainon’s shaft rubs against his, the delicious friction bringing him closer to his own peak. 

“Give us one more, partner,” Phainon sighs into your ear. “You can do that, can’t you?” 

You whimper from overstimulation but nod your head as the two men begin thrusting in time, your sensitive pussy quivering. 

Dan Heng decides he wants to draw one more orgasm out of you before he finishes himself. He does his best to time his thrusts with Phainon’s, reaching down to play with your clit once more. He sees Phainon’s own hands come up to squeeze and palm at your breasts, pinching and toying with your nipples. 

“You look so beautiful like this,” Dan Heng pants. They’re both speeding up and getting sloppier with their thrusts at the same time, and Dan Heng knows his climax is near. “Cum for me, please. I want to watch you come undone.” 

His words are directed towards you, but his eyes meet Phainon’s over your shoulder, and the Deliverer doesn’t seem opposed to his declaration either. Dan Heng feels Phainon’s cock twitch before warmth floods your insides, and his own orgasm washes over him afterwards, adding to the mix.  

Dan Heng catches you as you collapse onto him. “You did so well,” he murmurs. He strokes your sweaty shoulder. Phainon pulls his own softening cock out of you, moving closer to give you a kiss on the forehead. After a moment, he plants one on Dan Heng’s, too. “Let’s go get them a towel.” 

Dan Heng pushes himself to his feet, the post-orgasm haze dissipating. He allows Phainon to lead him out of the room and into the hallway. 

“Do they know about the pipe?” 

“Nope. And I’m not telling them.” 

+++

BONUS

“Ah.. hahh.. Aeons, forgive me.” 

Sunday kneels against the anterior wall of his room, eyes closed and hand clenched around his exposed cock. 

Moonlight filters into the room from the train’s open window, illuminating his pale, sweaty skin. Long past the point of overstimulation, he strokes his shaft in jerky, weak motions, listening to the muffled sounds of your pleasure from next door. 

What must you look like in there, beneath the broad shoulders and moving hands of not one, but two lovers? He’s seen the way Dan Heng reveres you with his eyes in public. Does he do the same with his hands in private? Does Phainon kneel at the altar of your legs, licking up the ambrosia you give him, drenched in sin?

The fantasies behind his eyes are too much. He cums into his palm for the second time, biting into his palm to quell his pained, pleasured whimpers. 

He just can’t stop. Aeons, he just can’t. 

Sunday doesn’t know how long he lays against the cool paneling while the haze of pleasure washes over him. Abruptly, he hears two voices in the hallway. 

“Do they know about the pipe?”

“Nope. And I’m not telling them.” 

To confess is to atone for your sins. Sunday stores that bit of information in the back of his addled mind.

How very, very interesting.