#g.fic

She bit her lip and tasted blood. The pain was eating up her leg, gnawing through her skin and into every nerve.

Don’t move. Don’t move. Don’t move.

If she moved, they would hear her. If she moved, they would find her.

If she moved, she would die.

The pain passed eventually, fading away with the sound of the Fleimkepa’s voice. Still, she waited. Waited until the world was silent around her.

There was a knock on the door. She jumped slightly, heart hammering in her ears. A second later, her entire body relaxed. “Nomi.”

Her mother smiled at her, lifting her from the secret spot. Her voice was soft, as warm as her eyes as she helped her climb to her feet. “Kom ai strik natblida.” Come, my little nightblood.

She wrapped her arms around her mother’s legs, a soft smile gracing her lips as she buried her face in the warm colors of her dress. Her mother’s hand rubbed her back gently. The fear of the fleimkepas faded away. She was safe. She was home.

.o.

The sky was angry.

It raged, red clouds filling the horizon. Days ago, it had sent down rain that burned, and the people began to get sick. The village was afraid. Children weren’t allowed to roam anymore.

Today the sky was roaring.

She pushed through the crowds, air burning her lungs, her skin. Around her, people gasped for breath. Some kneeled over, coughing until their red blood spilled on the ground.

Still, she ran, feet stumbling through the village to the edge of the wood. Hide, her mother had said, holding a cloth to her mouth. She didn’t understand. Was this the fleimkipas’ fault? Were they coming to take her away again?

Why was the air burning?

The door to her hiding spot creaked as she opened it. Climbing inside was harder than normal. Her skin stung where the rashes were the worst. Her breaths were short and tasted like fire in her throat. The run here had drained her, sucking every ounce of life from her limbs.

Shutting the metal door behind her, she reached for the smaller trapdoor, dropping more than climbing into the small bunker beneath the floor. She wasn’t fast enough to stop the door from slamming shut above her. The sound made her wince. She was supposed to be quiet. She had to be quiet.

She lay down, pressing herself into the very back of the small space. There were a few cushions and blankets lying in a corner for her. Her hands shook a bit as she pulled them away from the wall.

As she tucked the blankets over her, she listened for any sign of the usual announcement. The fleimkipas always made an announcement when they came during the day. It was at night that they were silent.

There was no sound, but she wasn’t sure if it was because she was too far away from the village to hear it. Her secret spot was in the woods between the village and the lake– a place with metal walls that her mother had decorated with her, covering the windows of the little room with thick curtains and laying rugs over the hidden door in the floor. No one from the Shadow Valley ever visited it. No one but her.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Just wait. All she had to do was wait. Wait for them to pass, wait for the special knock, wait for her mother’s arms around her again, pulling her to safety.

Her throat ached, every breath ripping through her chest. Everyone was sick in the valley. She’d watched her mother care for her father, nursing him as his skin blistered and peeled. Neighbors weren’t coming out to play or to train. Some couldn’t get out of bed. Coughs could be heard every hour of the day. The village smelled like sickness and death. She didn’t like going outside anymore.

Why was the sky angry? Why was everyone sick? Why was she hiding?

Why? Why? Why?

The walls shook, wind screaming outside. She pulled the blankets closer. Do not be afraid, her mother’s voice whispered in her head, no harm can find you here.

No fleimkepa had ever found her here. No enemy. No danger.  She was safe. She was safe. She was safe.

Why was she shaking so badly?

Around her, the walls groaned, rocking with the wind. She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, listening, waiting. There was no way to see the sun moving. She closed her eyes, drained, and tried to slow down her shaky breaths.

Her mother would come to get her when it was safe.

all chance that oscar's in the hotel lobby, frowning at the vending machine when jenson walks in with lando clinging to him, soft and wet; all intention when jenson makes eye contact with him and holds it as the elevator doors slide closed. predictable, in the end, the knock on lando's door five minutes later, the boy on the other side, dry-eyed, sharp-edged, smelling of soap.

jenson remembers winning, sure, but he also remembers losing.

is he alright? oscar asks, like the words are being dragged out of him. jenson wants to say you could have him, you could have all of him, why do you keep throwing him away? jenson says look at you, making him wait. again.

i didn't come to— oscar begins, but jenson doesn't wait for him to finish, who cares? you came.

inside, jenson watches oscar discover in real time the colossal difficulty of turning lando away when he's like this, open and earnest and wanting. victory sharpens others, but lando is not a blade, just a boy. who wants to be touched, and kissed, and adored on the biggest night of his life. oscar holds himself like a— member of the king's guard, honestly, stony and upright and emotionless and entirely a performance. you think you know what it's like to lose, jenson wants to tell him, but how can you, when you don't even know what you already have?

jenson says, i think he deserves a good time after all that, don't you?

oscar says he's drunk and lando says please. oscar says hasn't he had enough of a good time already? and lando says please. oscar says nothing and jenson says i remember you putting that mouth of yours to much better use and oscar blushes from the skin under his eyes all the way down the swell of his cheeks.

once for every win, i think, jenson says from the settee by the window with a perfect view of the bed, of lando's spread legs, of oscar's cock hard and red and pathetic between his thighs. that's seven. think you can give me seven, champ?