#hatemakeouts

“Hey, asshole.” Clorad’s voice, and you settle on the wall to glare down at him. Tall bastard, now he has to look up. “Stop staring at me and come down here, creep.”

You flutter up and over him, doing your best to make it seem like you’re just relaxing in the sky. “Why don’t you come up here, fish?” You float down just out of his reach, though he doesn’t reach, which isn’t as fun. He seems a little more stiff than Grand, like he’s plotting. Fish are like that. “Or make me come down? Are you all talk, or can you do anything?”

“I can do plenty, butterfly.” He leans against a tree and you roll your eyes. You won’t fall for that, Grand’s yanked you out of the sky before. He flips his head and his hair wraps over one shoulder, and then an orange hits you in the face. It shocks you enough that you land hard on your ass a few feet in front of him. “It’s pretty easy, since you don’t pay attention.”

He steps forward slowly, and you jump up, straighten your shirt, and grin up at his dumb, pretty face. “How’s it feel to see someone fall from heaven?” You accidentally pull your shirt open, and accidentally don’t pull it back closed. Flirting is easy.

“Like you need to get some new lines, Sum. You said that last time I saw you.” He twists all that hair into a bun on the back of his head, stopped a few feet from you, as nonchalant as anything. You feel tense there with him, like there’s some energy in the air, and as soon as you think that, you swear that you’re not reading any more of Grand’s romance novels, after the one you’re reading now. And maybe like one more. They’re surprisingly good. “And I told you last time, the only angel who ever fell was kicked out.”

You kick the orange he hit you with over to him and he steps on it, wearing those ridiculous heels he does. “You fight dirty, Emperor. Do you have to rely on distractions to win?” He rolls his eyes.

“It’s not my fault you’re so easy to distract, Summ. I’m not even trying.” He shakes his foot to try and get the orange off the end of his heel and it sticks. He leans down to pull it off, muttering, and you have your chance.

You’re a tactically minded troll. You fight way dirtier than Clorad does, and it makes up for you being smaller. While he’s bent down, you lunge towards him, push off with your back foot and keep your head low. Your wings flutter behind you to add just a little more push, and you hook an arm around his waist, catch the length of your horn against his ribs, and shove. He stumbles, but doesn’t fall, planting his foot hard in the soft soil under the tree to keep from moving further.

“I fight dirty, huh?” He huffs, and you can feel him sliding. He hooks his elbow around your other horn and grunts. “You’re making a scene, Summoner.”

He smells like flowers. You don’t know what kind, but you know they’re the same as the candles Grand has recently kept in his quarters, or at least nearly. Sentimental old fool. You push against his hold on your horn and he grabs hold of your belt and flips you over his head, so you land face-down on the ground at his feet. Clorad’s knees thud against the ground on either side of your hips and rests his full weight on your waist, settling easily.

“You should fight dirtier. Bite or something.” He says, leaning down to whisper in your ear, and you feel his lips against your skin. At least he can’t see you turn bronze from it, though you’re sure he can feel the heat of your skin. Coldbloods are sensitive to that kind of thing. “It’s not dirty until there’s blood on your clothes, Summoner. I’ll keep winning while you work that out.”

Twisting, you lift your shoulders up and crack him across the jaw with your horn and in the ribs with your elbow, and knock him on his back. You crawl a foot off and get back to your feet, but as soon as you’re up he kicks your legs out from under you, and you swear he’s grinning. His pretty pink pants have grass and dirt stains on the knees, his heels scuffed a bit at the toe, but not broken, thankfully. He rubs his jaw while he stands, and you scoot back against the wall.

“Ow.” He pouts a little, but you don’t think he’ll bruise. “That seemed uncalled for.” He pulls his hair back into a bun, his gills fluttering a little. “You could just tap out, you know.”

“Why would I give up when I’m about to win?” You stand again, roll your shoulders, and start to fly. His eyes lift, and then his chin to look at you, and you almost forget what you were going to say just looking at the soft curve of his bottom lip stretch with his grin. “I have the high ground, you know.”

Clorad hums, stretching, and you float over him, kicking your feet idly. In a second, he grabs your ankle and yanks, harder than you’d expect from how he acts and how soft his hands are. You don’t even get a chance to try and pull yourself up before he flings you back to the ground. Though you land much lighter than you’d expected to, you still get winded, and it gets worse when he thumps to kneel over you again, his elbows pressing sharply into your shoulderblades.

“Fight dirty, Summoner.” He breathes, his lips on the back of your neck, and you shiver a little. How dare he. Didn’t Grand say he’s never had a pitch partner before? “I’m tougher than I look.”

You squirm, but he’s got your arms pinned this time; smart fish. “Coulda fooled me, pink. Aren’t you scared to break a nail getting rough with me?” The hair on the back of your neck stands up when he sits back, because you can’t seem to make your pan connect with your arms to move.

“My claws are just fine, bronzey.” He purrs, and you freeze.

His pink-painted claws press sharply against the base of your left wing and you have a flash thought of him tearing them off you, but he lightens his touch to almost tickling, and you shiver, then go limp. Your fingers twitch, but you don’t move. It’s good, warm tingles rolling up your spine and down the length of your horns, and your will to struggle is gone, because that’s good and you hate him, but in a way that makes you want to kiss him. Maybe throw him around while you do, but kiss him. You’re pushing up against his hands and he’s trailing the claws of his other hand over one of your wings and it’s so fucking good, you’re gonna pass out. How did he--

Grand. That bastard. He told. You’re going to slap him. Maybe. You can feel yourself starting to purr when Clorad stands up again. He pulls you up and loops your arm around his waist, chirping at you to lean on him with his usual bubbly tone, and his claws return to the center of your back and you don’t really have any complaints. He’s cool and soft and he smells nice under your cheek, on his shoulder. You’ll be embarrassed later. This is pitchflirting too, you’re in control. You want to blow him because his claws feel really fucking good.

He just about drags you inside, to one of the branching halls leading to the office wing, where Grand is probably working, since you sure as shit didn’t call him, and Clorad usually just shows up when he wants attention. It takes a second, but you shove Clorad against the wall to make his back thud, and then the punch you planned on lands flat against the wall next to his head. He bunches a hand in your shirt and drags you up to his face, his teeth all bared and his skin flashing pink in warning patterns and his fins flared out.

You ignore the little twist of something in your gut and kiss him. His other hand wraps around the back of your neck, tangles into your hair, and his teeth dig into your bottom lip as he kisses you right back. He growls in that low rolling way seadwellers do and it makes you feel a little inadequate that you can’t rumble through a swimbladder like he can. His hand moves to one of your horns to hold instead, and you flatten your wings against your back while he leads you back against the other wall.

“I’m gonna pick you up.” He murmurs, his hands moving down to grip your ass, and you only get a breath before he lifts you, easy as that. You wrap your legs around his hips and yank his hair out of the bun, because it’s long and soft and great for grabbing at. He kind of half-moans when you pull it harder, tangling it in your fist, and you store that bit of information somewhere you can use it later. “Stop pulling.”

You pull again, hard, and his head falls back. His gills flutter when he croons. “Make me.” You keep your hold firm and bite his throat, not even hard enough to bruise, just to make a point. Your pusher thuds in your chest; you don’t do this. Not usually. You don’t rush into things. His claws dig into your hornbed and you’re dizzy with the blood rushing to your nook. “Almost good enough.”

His fins twitch when you let his head up and you kiss him, hard, almost enough to draw blood. Not quite, though. You’ll save that for when you’ve got him in bed. Your pan buzzes while he presses you harder against the wall. Your wings are pressed almost painfully behind you, and his fingers dig into your thighs to adjust your legs. You press the heel of your foot against his lower back until he squirms, and take that chance to bite his fin. Again, not very hard, more to see what it feels like and, more importantly, how he reacts to it.

It twitches, a little, and you press your teeth to the pink membrane between the tines and he yelps, shoving at your chest and jumping back at the same time, which lands you on your knees. You were trying to land on your feet, but you don’t have as much time as when Grand shoves you.

“Don’t do that.” His tone is severe, eyes all wide and panicky. “Don’t do that again.”

You get to your feet and nod, wiping a hand over your mouth to see if your lips are bleeding. Not yet. “Okay. Does it hurt?” You don’t move towards him again, because he’s isn’t moving yet, but he takes a slow breath and stands upright, and you step over. He slaps your hand when you reach for the fin you bit, but you kind of expected that.

“Just don’t do it again. Please.” Clorad’s resting face looks like a pout. You grab the back of his neck and kiss him again, fluttering your wings to lift yourself and wrap your legs around his middle. His claws drag over the space between your wings and you shudder, going almost so lax that he has to hold you up. “Is this good?”

You roll your head forward and your horn kinda clotheslines him across the neck, but not hard. His gills flutter again, and you kiss the space between them, because fish anatomy is so weird and you just want to see what he’ll do. He leans his cheek on your head, but doesn’t complain, so you store that for another time. Grand’s said he’s a cuddly guy, you’re sure he would be down for some hatecuddles later on.

“It’s good.” You bite his jaw. “Makes me kind of fall asleep, though.” Your wings flutter uselessly and you have to bite him to muffle the complaining noise you make when he stops. “Maybe later. Kiss me again.”

He tangles a hand in your hair, and the hand between your wings moves back to grabbing your ass, which is better, since you don’t want to pass out just yet. He digs his teeth into your bottom lip and leans back against the wall, which you appreciate, since it would feel stupid to bounce between the walls. And your wings are kind of sore, if you’re honest, so this is all good. You pull yourself up with a grip on his shoulders and his hands both move to support your ass.

Or, it seems, mostly to grope. Whatever. You pull at his hair some more, dragging his head slowly back to stretch out his pretty, freckled throat. He growls, gritting his teeth to try and look threatening, but doesn’t fight against your hold. Clorad makes a little mewling noise when you bite his collarbone, and you sink your teeth into his skin harder, enough that he might bruise.

You wouldn’t lie and say that leaving a mark Grand will see isn’t part of it, but he flushes pink, and once you pull away from that bite, his skin is like pink marble in a semicircle of teeth impressions. Dragging your tongue over the bite makes him huff out a sharp breath, sounding just a little needy, and you find yourself mentally mapping out the compound to find an empty room. Cautiously, you drag your tongue over one of his gillslits, because you just. You want to know what parts of his seadweller anatomy you’re allowed to touch.

Clorad giggles, pulling at your horn just enough to pull you back. “That tickles, stop it. I don’t do gillplay. You can touch my fins, just, don’t bite.” He twirls a finger in your hair, smiling now that you’ve stopped pulling his head back. “Nibbling is fine, though. I just don’t want any piercings.” He flutters his fins and you stroke a claw over one of them, because they are pretty.

“I won’t break the skin.” You squeeze him around the waist with your thighs, pulling yourself up to nibble at one of his fins. He shivers a little, his fingers twitch, and you take that as a good thing. “No piercings for your fins, even if they’d be cute.”

He flushes pink on his round cheeks and you kiss him again, running one hand up into his hair, at the base of his neck. His hair is soft, and loosely curled, not like Grand’s tight nest of hair that can store things. It smells good, and you can imagine pressing your face into it if you got the chance, or the soft give of his waist. Or his thighs. He’s soft and cool in general, and you wonder if you can use him like a pillow at some point.

You drag his bottom lip out between your teeth and he sighs, leaning his head to the side while you trail back over to his fin, which flicks against your face with a thwap that makes you snort and him giggle again. “You like my fins, huh? I thought you hated fish.” Your face gets hot at that, and you nip a little harder for it.

“Don’t think you’re special, I can’t stand you either.” He giggles more, letting his head fall back to rest on the wall. “I’ve never really dated a fish, though. I have to get used to what I can do with your fins and gills. Porn doesn’t tell the truth, you know.”

He snorts, his delicate giggle breaking into hearty laughter that you feel come from his chest. “Oh, gods. I know. I’ve seen so much gill-fucking porn. That would be like if seadwellers wanted to fuck landdwellers in the nose, it’s so dumb. I don’t like my gills being touched a lot. It just makes me cough.” He slides his hand under the edge of your shirt, and you jump when his claws drag over your lowest grubscar. “These okay to touch?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Do you have grubscars?” You don’t grab his side, but you think about it. “With the gills too?”

Clorad nods. “They’re just smaller, yeah. Can we finish the anatomy lesson later?” His tone is playful again, now that you’ve gotten the fin issue squared off.

You yank his hair a little, because there’s a lot of it and it’s good to grab, and he spins to pin you against the wall instead. That’s fine, you lift your chin when he pulls back from your mouth to bite your throat; he’s not nearly as shy about leaving hickeys you won’t be able to cover with anything other than a scarf as you had thought he might be. Maybe that’s only so Grand doesn’t have to change his style to keep from getting embarrassed, though. You’re also his kismesis, kinda, so you guess that relates to it.

His hips pin against yours and you ignore the fact that there’s definitely a closet a few yards down the hall, because you don’t want to rush, even if you definitely want to see him naked. You’re not going to rush with this, even if you kind of really want to. You don’t at all roll your hips against his, not in the slightest, though he presses right back and you moan into his mouth a little. You don’t shove your hand under his shirt and find one of his grubscars, planted further up on his torso than yours, but about the same size as your own.

Clorad sighs, nibbling at your bottom lip and pressing one of your horns back against the wall to hold your head. You squirm against his hold while he bites your jaw, purring softly, and you try not to grind against him so much as just fight against his hold for fun. He’s so cold, it’s weird, and you wonder if he enjoys your relative heat as much as you like his cold. His hand slides up to the base of your horn, less holding you still and more just holding, his claw dragging over the chitin where it’s fresh and more sensitive.

You run your thumb over the base of his horn, up to where the thin spikes make it harder to follow any kind of path, and he hums a little pleased noise. “I’m gonna fall asleep if you do that. You’re too warm.” He giggles, lifting his head to shake off your hand. “Maybe when we’re not in my mate’s halls. You should come over sometime.” He strokes a hand down your side and gropes your ass, giggling more. “I’ll tell my guards not to shoot you out of the sky.”

“Are you gonna make dinner, Emperor?” You ask, fluttering your eyelashes. “Wine and dine me?”

He rolls his eyes. “I was thinking about it. Dinner dates not your thing? Are you more of a physical kind of guy?” He presses you against the wall again and waggles his eyebrows, and gods.

You hate this guy. “We’ll see. I’m just not a schedule sort of guy. I’ll come over when I come over.” You tug his hair a little, smiling at the way his fins perk up from it. “That gonna be a problem?”

“Only if you come over while I’m not hive. I won’t give you my schedule if you don’t even have one.” He leans away from your hand in his hair and kisses you, and your grip goes loose while you focus on that instead of making him flush and shiver.

It’s more biting than anything, and between his teeth being so sharp and him growling in his chest making you kiss him harder, you taste your own blood in your mouth not too long after. He chuckles a little without quite pulling away, and you bite him back, until you taste cold blood on your tongue, and he snarls in that fishy way he does that rumbles through his chest. You dig your claws into his side and his scalp and growl right back, rolling against him while his pupils blow wide and his skin flushes a new pattern in pink.

You never thought you’d be the kind of troll into the whole angry fish thing, but here you are, encouraging it because it makes your pusher speed up to see it. He snarls low in his throat when you drag his head back and bite the underside of his jaw and you feel heat prickling under your skin. You can feel him growl, in his chest and throat, and it makes your ears flick back submissively, but he isn’t paying attention, thankfully. His shirt rides up while you grope at his chest more than his grubscars, and you pull yourself up some more to kiss him while you pull at his hair.

From the end of the hall, there’s a soft gasp, followed by a door closing, and you both whip your heads around. Your horn smacks into the back of Clorad’s head and he drops you, and you both stare at Grand like wrigglers caught with their hands in the cookie jar. None of you even move for a full five seconds, and then Clorad pulls his shirt down properly, and clears his throat.

“Hi, my love.” He smiles shyly up at Grand’s sort of shocked face. “Uh, I was. We were. Talking. And stuff. Sorry, I was actually planning on seeing you, but I ran into him,” You stand and lean on the wall as nonchalantly as you can. “And we got to talking. And since I talked to you about it, uh.” He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, and you take a second to appreciate that his face is hot pink.

And that Grand’s neck is bright purple. You’re like, the ultimate pitchmate.

“We good?” You ask, looking up to meet Grand’s eyes when they finish looking at Clorad’s disheveled clothes and swollen lips, and feel them sweep over you; the bite on your throat stings with him looking at you, but you don’t show it. “We can go somewhere else if we’re in the way.”

He shakes his head, and straightens up a little. When you talked with him about it, he was pretty excited about it, and you can see it on his face even through his whole “totally cool” look he puts on to try and cover it up. You’ve known him long enough to tell that he probably would have watched you guys for a while if he hadn’t surprised you both into stopping what you were doing.

Clorad pulls the collar of his shirt up a little to try and cover the purple-pink bruise on his collarbone, though you think Grand has seen it already by the way he's staring. Grand seems to remember that he’s in his own clown compound and not, say, in your hive for something. Or Clorad’s fucking palace. What kind of tool needs a palace, honestly.

Someone behind him coughs, and you all press against the walls to let them pass, and then Clorad is nervously adjusting his clothes. “I should, uh, we should?” You nod when he looks at you for confirmation. “Go. I think.Get out of the way. Foot traffic.” His fins twitch and you see Grand watch them out of the corner of your eye while you watch them too.

Grand nods, clears his throat a little, and walks over to him. You don’t say anything when Clorad kisses him, but you slap him on the back and raise your eyebrows at the both of them. “What did you say about dinner? You still cooking?” You fix your hair a little, at least so it’s off your face, and try to look casual. “We can, you know, talk. About this stuff.”

This is weird. You’re not against it, but it’s weird. There’s no denying the weirdness of it, though it isn’t a bad weird. You’ve never done this, two pitchmates at once, and Clorad’s never really had a pitchmate, and Grand is. Well, happy about the idea of it at least, and from the way he’s smiling, interested in dinner too. You don’t exactly want to sit between two highbloods who hate you, or almost hate you, and eat what you have to assume will be some kind of cake thing because fish don’t eat real food for some fucking reason, but you want to make sure this whole thing is fine.

You and Clorad, and you and Grand, Clorad and Grand. All three of you in a chain of assholes. This is weird, but it’s fine. It’ll be fine. Because Clorad and Grand are hammering out the time together, and Grand is fixing Clorad’s hair where it’s wrapped around his horns a little, and it feels weird but it’s nice to see them interact like that. You confirm that you don’t have any allergies, and jab Clorad in the chest a little while you ask if he has any allergies, and Grand’s eyes light up a little bit.

Voyeur.

“Excuse me for wanting to be considerate, ass.” He shoves your shoulder just enough to make you stumble. “Go hive and take a shower, so the guards don’t think you’re just some weird oversized fairybull lusus stumbling into my garden. And because I can smell you from here.”

Grand barely suppresses a grin. Oh, he is loving this. That asshole. You jab him in the ribs and he slaps your arm, his face going sour. “You’re standing right next to me, fin-cess. And that’s the smell of an outdoorsman.” You flex, a little.

“An outdoorsman who didn’t bathe for a month. Shower. Wear something nice. Get there early so we can talk before dinner.” Clorad says, like it’s nothing to come back at you like that. Asshole. “And I’ll make some tea. Humor me, I feel like I should take you on a date for us to, like, date.”

You huff, but he and Grand both look all excited about it. And you like dinner. Even like, cakes and shit, so it isn’t that you don’t want to, but you can tease him about it. “If I come in and see you two making out, I’m leaving.” You point at one, then the other, and make your best mean face.

“Hypocritical.” Grand mutters.

“Hey! Making out in a hallway isn’t the same as just watching. Like you.” Your face feels hot, and you’re fluttering to hover a few inches off the floor until Clorad leans his arm on your shoulder. “I’ll be there for dinner. Don’t make it weird, though.”

Clorad rolls his eyes. “It’s already weird. It’s been weird. You’re making it weird acting like it isn’t weird, Summoner. There’s no making it not weird, so just accept it and stop acting like you don’t want to see two hot coldbloods ignore you.” Your face feels hotter and you almost want to smack him for that. Or kiss him. Terrible.

“Whatever. Should I also bring you a present, or just bow and scrape as soon as I walk in?” You half-bow right there, and Clorad yanks you up by the back of your shirt, baring his teeth more than smiling as he tosses you back against the wall. “What, are you more into the ‘kneel and beg’ thing, emperor?”

Clorad’s teeth show more and his fins flare out, flushed angry pink, but his tone is smooth when he speaks. “Keep that up and I’ll expect it from you. Maybe I can dress up all royal for it. Tie your hands back and see what you can do like that.” He’s in your personal space, looking down at you and stepping up to make you press against the wall, and you hope that he can’t smell you get wet over whatever smell he thinks you have. “I could lead you around by your horns for your attitude.”

Grand is grinning now, looking like a wriggler about to get a treat. You shove Clorad back and straighten out, scoffing. “Right. I’ll be there for dinner, keep your creepy royalty kink under control. Both of you.” Now Grand looks scandalized, but Clorad doesn’t deny it. You’ll remember that for both of them; Grand’s probably thought about a shitblood prince to serve.

Could be fun. This whole thing seems like it could be, so far. You’ll go to dinner, schmooze with them both, set some boundaries, and try not to rile them both up, because seeing them riled up would make it hard to pay attention, because they are hot. Sue you. You flip them both the bird as you walk out, and fly away before either of them can get it in their heads to try and knock you out of the sky.

You’ll shower, and dress in something nice, and be there when he wants you there. And you’ll bring some kind of present, maybe. Clorad seems like he would like presents. Maybe you can get along with both of them at one time. You can talk it out, if nothing else, and make sure you’re all three set for whatever you end up doing.

--

At dinner, you think you’re in Clorad’s shirt. It’s a roast, and it’s really good. Grand is in a pink robe obviously too small for him, and not looking at either of you while he eats, and Clorad is sitting shirtless while he eats his own dinner, seeming not to care about the bites on his chest or the way that he ended up shirtless.

“So are we okay? All of us?” He asks, finally, and takes a sip of his drink. His lipstick is smeared. “I mean, that’s uh, that was clearer than just a talk, right?”

--