#kirinparv

Parvis is sprawled out across Will’s knees, head in Will’s lap. The rest of him is draped across the bench they’re sat on, his legs hanging off the end at an angle that doesn’t look particularly comfortable but apparently works for him. Or, at least, he’s not complaining about it – though considering the amount of alcohol in his system at this point, that doesn’t really count for much.

Someone apparently called Kirin is on his other side, perched on the small sliver of bench not taken up by Parvis’ sprawl and Will’s tired hunch. He’s got an arm around Will’s shoulders, leaning against him and doing what feels like his best to crush him. The man’s a good foot taller than him, probably more, broad shouldered and heavy and very definitely not doing anything to keep himself even remotely upright. His cheek’s resting against the top of Will’s head, beard a barely-felt scratch against Will’s temple, and Will’s not entirely sure he’s actually still awake.

Part of Will is honoured that he apparently makes such a good pillow. The rest of him is rather more concerned about the way the arm trapped between the two of them is going numb.

Will’s not actually entirely sure who Kirin is, if he’s being honest. He’s seen him around the place once or twice, recognises his face – but an impressively drunk Parvis had dragged him over to where Will had been sat in some unfamiliar bar at a little before midnight, introduced him as my new favourite person ever, and that had been it. Parvis had dragged them both around for the rest of the evening and Kirin had followed, an arm around Parvis’ shoulder and a bemused smile on his face at Parvis’ exuberance and enthusiasm.

All in all, he’s been the easier of the two to deal with, even taking the lack of feeling in Will’s arm into account.

“Vampires,” repeats Parvis, and tries to dig his teeth into Will’s jeans-covered thigh by way of clarification. He fails, mostly ends up drooling a bit, and Will sighs.

“I will push you onto the floor,” he says – but it’s mostly an empty threat, one hand coming up to card through the mussed and slightly sweaty tangle of Parvis’ hair.

Parvis giggles, wrinkles up his nose, and doesn’t seem too bothered by the prospect. “What if– what if I’m a vampire, Will?” he says. Thankfully, he doesn’t try and bite anyone again. “I’ve got teeth. I could be a vampire. I’d be a good vampire.”

There’s a moment’s pause where Will considers dealing with all the problems in that sentence – starting with why do you want to be a vampire and ending with I’m not sure having teeth is the primary requirement there – and then just gives up. He strokes a thumb through Parvis’ hair, feels the way Kirin’s breath stirs his hair with every exhale, watches the sky fade from black to blue, and breathes.

“He talks a lot, doesn’t he?”

Kirin’s voice is thick with sleepiness, lips only an inch from Will’s ear, and Will can’t help huffing out an amused noise. “He really, really does,” he says, and can’t help but smile when Kirin chuckles.

After a long moment, Kirin shifts a little, so Will’s arm is no longer trapped between the two of them. On the bright side, that means it’s no longer going numb. On the less bright side, that means the pins and needles can begin as the blood returns to it. It also means he’s leant even more against Will’s side, leaving Will’s arm nowhere to really go other than around Kirin’s shoulder – but Will’s sort of okay with that.

Apparently bored by the lack of attention being paid to him, Parvis makes a noise somewhere between a growl and a distressed kitten, and begins his inefficient attempt to chew through Will’s jeans again. There’s an unpleasant wet patch forming against Will’s outer thigh that’s entirely the fault of Parvis’ mouth, but Parvis doesn’t seem to notice.

“Stop that,” says Will, and flicks Parvis’ nose. He sighs again when Parvis tries to chew on his fingers instead. “You’re terrible.”

“Pretty,” adds Kirin, voice little more than a murmur. Will’s not sure whether he’s referring to Parvis, the sunrise, or whatever he’s seeing behind his own half-closed eyelids – he’s still not entirely sure if Kirin is awake, or just sleeping with his eyes partially open and sleep-talking at convenient moments – but he hums in agreement nonetheless.

“Okay, you’re pretty, your face is a work of art…” sings Parvis, delighted and out of tune, giggling. He rolls over onto his back so he’s staring at Will’s face, at the slowly-purpling sky beyond that and the faint scattering of stars laced through it.

“Aren’t you in a band?” asks Will, absently carding fingers through the short hair at the nape of Kirin’s neck out of sheer force of habit. “How are you tone deaf and still in a band?”

Parvis giggles harder, but somehow manages to get the rest of the words out through his laughter. “Your smile could light up New York City after dark.” He reaches up vague, questing fingers over his head. Somehow, they manage to find Kirin’s face to poke at his mouth. Kirin sighs, chuckles a little, and Parvis grins wider at the rush of warm air over his fingertips. “Okay, you’re cover-boy pretty, stamped with a beauty mark…”

His fingers dance over Will’s cheeks, tracing out his freckles – one, two, three, too many to count – and Will feels his cheeks heat up, knows he’s probably gone bright red.

“You’re terrible,” repeats Will, though there’s no heat to the words, just tired affection. He threads his fingers a little higher up through Kirin’s hair to run careful nails over his scalp, and sighs at the way Kirin curls into him. The weight’s almost comforting, now, the warmth of the two people pressed up against him enough to stave off the shivers of the early-morning cold.

“I definitely need both your numbers,” says Parvis sleepily, ignoring Will completely as per usual and yawning widely. The sun’s rising, which seems like the perfect time to start thinking about sleep.

Kirin hums quietly, tilts his head a little more until his lips are pressed against Will’s temple, which does nothing to help the slowly fading blush across Will’s face. “I’m not actually sure I know where my phone is,” he admits, patting vaguely at his pockets with one hand before giving up almost immediately. “Ah well. It’ll turn up. Probably. Everything’s fine.”

Will laughs, flushes again when he feels the way Kirin’s lips curve into a smile against his skin at the noise. “Parvis, you already have my number.”

Parvis blinks up at him, grins wide and slightly sappy. One of Kirin’s hands settles on his head, and Parvis leans into it – into the way Kirin’s fingers link with Will’s against the tangle of his hair, the heat of their hands sinking into his scalp. “Oh, yeah,” he says, softly, and reaches up to touch two fingers to the corners of Will’s mouth. “I do.”

And then he promptly falls asleep, mouth open and drooling against Will’s leg.

It’s around the point that Parvis starts to snore, barely three minutes later, that Will decides they really need to get back to their student accommodation. “Wake up,” he says, tapping Parvis’ shoulder. “You need a bed, and I’m not dragging you to one.”

When that doesn’t work, Will jams two fingers into Parvis’ ribs, and then grabs him around the waist to prevent him from rolling off the bench with his flailing. “Up!” he growls, detaching himself from Kirin and standing up to haul at Parvis’ upper body, ignoring the groaning noises the action produces that are somewhat reminiscent of the undead. “I swear to god, Parvis…”

Kirin watches the performance with something between amusement and confusion, before getting to his own feet and stretching expansively – something Will’s very grateful for. Despite his height, Parvis is scrawny enough Will can just about manhandle him. Judging by Kirin’s broad shoulders and solid torso, Will wouldn’t be able to do the same with him.

It takes a considerable amount of hauling and supporting and cajoling to get Parvis on his feet, and he only manages to stay on them by wrapping arms around Will’s shoulders and leaning heavily against him. This close, his breath smells of cheap alcohol and something sweet, probably the coke he’d been mixing with whatever he was drinking, and Will wrinkles his nose in distaste. “You’re disgusting,” he informs Parvis, wrapping a reluctant arm around his waist to stabilise him.

“And you’re pretty,” retorts Parvis, swaying forward until their noses nearly touch, giggling at how red Will turns – whether from embarrassment or annoyance, he doesn’t know and doesn’t really care. “Pretty, pretty Willy Strifey…”

“That’s not an insult, Parvis,” mutters Will, pushing his face away and trying to ignore Kirin’s poorly-muffled laughter.

As if suddenly reminded of Kirin’s continued existence, Parvis perks up a little, prodding Will’s shoulders with the fingers of the arm thrown over it. “Oh, yeah! What’s happening to him?” he asks, hanging off of Will’s neck and waving a hand in the vague direction of Kirin.

For a brief second, Will is annoyed – apparently, he’s now responsible for the strange man that Parvis picked up, purely because he’s the most sober, which doesn’t really seem fair. But Kirin’s spinning in circles, peering at the skyline in a mystified and distinctly non-sober fashion, so it’s a fair enough question.

Will sighs, and turns to face Kirin, Parvis swaying like a counterweight against his hip. “Where’re you staying?” he asks, and Kirin shrugs.

“I’m kind of lost,” he says, apologetically – as though it remotely bothers Will whether he’s lost or not. He doesn’t sound too concerned, though. “I’m sure I’ll get home fine, though. My flat’s probably somewhere…” He spins in another circle and staggers, before staring up at the stars, frowning. “It’s fine.”

Will sighs, and wishes he were drunk enough to be okay with leaving Kirin to wander the streets in the early hours of the morning. “It’s not fine,” he says, exhaustedly, and grabs Kirin’s wrist to tug him along behind them. “You’re coming with us. Come on.”

He pretends not to notice the large, slightly dopey grin that spreads across Kirin’s face, and very carefully doesn’t wonder whether he’s just been played.

The walk back is, thankfully, largely uneventful. Parvis has trouble staying on his feet and staying awake, but Kirin’s steady enough to help Will hold him up. Between the two of them, he manages to walk most of the way, his cheerful singing slowly quieting down to an out-of-tune hum.

Kirin gives him a piggy-back for the rest of the short trip, draped drunk and sprawling and still humming to himself over the width of Kirin’s shoulders. It’s an effort for Will not to stare, reluctantly amazed at the way Kirin bears Parvis’ weight so effortlessly, despite the very distinctly crooked line his footsteps make across the pavement.

The student housing flat block isn’t too far, a ten minute walk from the bar they’d been in, which itself was a five minute walk from the park they’d all ended up in. The walk back takes them over twenty, thanks mostly to Parvis’ shambling gait at first, and then to his weight slowing Kirin down, but they do all eventually make it in one piece.

Opening the door to the building, and then the door to the flat Will and Parvis share with Xephos and Lalna, and then the door to Will’s room, is something of an adventure. For a heart-stopping moment outside the building itself, Will thinks he’s actually lost his keys – but then he finds them in Parvis’ pocket, and from there it’s just a case of remembering which key is for which door, and then remembering exactly how keys work.

He realises, as he fumbles his attempt to put the key in the lock for the fourth time, that he may be drunker than he’d thought.

When they all finally fall into Will’s room – literally, falling through the doorway when the door suddenly opens with them all leaning against it – Parvis is asleep again on Kirin’s back, and neither Kirin nor Will are particularly awake. While Will shucks off his coat and scarf, carefully toeing off his boots, Kirin heads straight for the bed, taking Parvis with him.

By the time Will’s kicked his shoes off, moving both Kirin and Parvis’ shoes out the way of the door so they won’t all trip over them in the morning, his bed has already been stolen.

Kirin’s taking up most of it, sprawling expansively across the mattress, eyes already closed. Tucked under his arm and pressed against his ribcage is Parvis, a ball of too-long limbs somehow wedged between his side and the wall.

Will sighs. He can always go and sleep in Parvis’ bed, provided he’s forgotten to lock the door to his room as he usually does – and if that fails, he can brave waking Xephos up to try and beg the blow-up mattress off of him. Not that he particularly relishes the thought of waking the other student up at what’s rapidly approaching five in the morning.

Standing there, running a hand through his hair in faint exasperation, he jumps when Kirin’s hand curls around his wrist. It tugs him insistently towards the bed, only holds on tighter when he tries to pull his arm away. “No,” says Kirin, plaintively. Will tries to extract his wrist again, fails to pry the bands of iron that are Kirin’s fingers away from his wrist. “No, please, don’t do that. Please.”

He tugs again – and Will, exhausted and still a little, perhaps a lot, drunk and so very done with all of this, lets himself tumble onto the bed. Onto Kirin’s chest.

“Better,” murmurs Kirin, sounding inordinately pleased with himself, rearranging an unhelpfully ragdoll Will into a more comfortable position. He ends up with his head tucked under Kirin’s chin, curled mostly on the other man’s chest, legs tangled with Parvis’. One of Kirin’s arms is thrown over his shoulders. “Much better.”

Will wants to argue, to point out that this really isn’t better at all. There’s far too many of them in a single bed. They’re going to overheat horrifically in the tiny room, someone’s going to fall off the mattress, and they’re all going to wake up in the morning with aches from being contorted into strange positions.

There’s a kid on his knees in the middle of it, trying to push himself to his feet with one arm and covering his head with another. Kirin recognises him – knows his name as Parvis from the times it gets snapped by teachers, turns up on detention lists, gets muttered by kids looking to get hold of alcohol or cigarettes or weed – and watches, curiously, as one of the three people circling him kicks at the arm he’s using to push himself upright.

Parvis drops back to the floor with a thump and a snarl, knees cracking against the uneven paving. He raises his head, teeth bared, and spits crimson saliva in the person’s face.

“You little-!” They punch him, hard, and his head snaps to the side. There’s an audible crunch from his nose, blood suddenly streaming over his mouth and down his chin, and he doubles over with hands flying to his face.

It’s when another of the people grabs his hair, drags his head back hard enough to make him gasp so they can see his face crumple in pain when their friend kicks him in the stomach, that Kirin decides to intervene.

“Hello, friends,” he says, cheerfully, one hand in his pocket and the other raised in a small wave as he walks into the alley. They all turn, almost as one, at the sound of his voice – even Parvis blinks at him in something approaching surprise, although with blood covering most of the lower half of his face and one eye slowly swelling shut, it’s a little hard to tell.

The boy holding Parvis’ hair doesn’t let go, and Kirin smiles, thin and tight. “How are we today?”

“Piss off,” snaps the one that kicked Parvis in the stomach, scowling. “Get the fuck outta here, mate, this’s got fuck-all to do with you.” There’s a vague rumble of agreement from the other two, although the one with a fist in Parvis’ hair squints at him. He, at least, knows enough about Kirin – rich kid, golden boy, captain of the rugby team – to be wary.

Kirin doesn’t exactly have a reputation, per se. No one knows enough about him for that. There are, however, an awful lot of rumours.

He grins entirely unpleasantly, too many teeth in his smile and too much malicious glee in his eyes. “Well, that’s rude. I was only trying to be friendly. I suppose I’ll leave if you really insist.” He pulls his other hand out of his pocket with his phone clutched in it, and raises it to face height. “Pose for a picture first, though?”

They scatter faster than Kirin would have thought possible, although the panicked edge to their speed is certainly gratifying. He laughs as they run, doesn’t bother to chase them – though he has little doubt that they’d be easy targets if had. It’s just that his interest is rather more focused on the teen still on his knees on the filthy floor, one hand cupped under his nose and the other wrapped around his stomach as he wheezes wetly.

Broken things have always fascinated Kirin, and this one is no exception.

“Oh dear,” he says, quiet and sympathetic and altogether fake as he eyes the shift of Parvis’ shoulders at the words, the way he braces for a punch or a fight despite the fact he can barely breathe. It’s amusing, almost endearing, and his defiance in the face of slightly ridiculous odds is, in Kirin’s opinion, something very close to beautiful. “That looks uncomfortable.”

“Whaddya wan’?” asks Parvis, a hunched curl of anger and suspicion amongst overflowing rubbish bins and dirty puddles. The words are thick with the blood streaming from his nose, smeared down his face over his lips and chin and cracking as it slowly dries. “Pith ob.”

Kirin sighs, shakes his head, and crosses the space between him and Parvis in two strides. “Such a filthy mouth,” he says, almost absently, and pretends he doesn’t notice the way the smaller boy recoils from him, brings up ruined, bloody knuckles as if in preparation for a fight. “And to someone who’s just helped you as well. No wonder you get into so much trouble.”

“Ye’h, we’w-” Parvis braces himself, and then exhales sharply through his nose, wincing with the pain of it. It clears things out a bit, though, fresh blood dribbling down over his lip and clotted chunks caught on his palm.

He wipes it off on the floor, pulls a face. “Yeah, well. That’s none of your fucking business, is it?” He spits blood onto the dirty pavement, wrinkles his nose in disgust. It tugs at the cuts and blooming bruises on his face in interesting ways, turns his skin into a beautifully ruined canvas. Kirin’s tongue darts out to lick at his lips – not that Parvis notices, preoccupied by trying to get to his feet. “Fucking golden boy teacher’s pet, sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

There’s a hand around his throat before he can blink, dragging him upright and pinning him against the wall. “I’d suggest being a little more polite, if I were you,” says Kirin, mildly, dragging the back of one finger down the side of Parvis’ face. “I’m not entirely averse to finishing what the others started, if I have to.”

A heartbeat, and then Parvis giggles. The sound’s high and thin and not entirely sane, and he licks at the blood on his chin, grins wide with crimson teeth. “Pretty boy’s got a bite with that smile!” he says, sounding delighted. “Fantastic.”

“Watch who you’re calling pretty boy,” says Kirin, dryly, sliding fingers sideways to press against Parvis’ broken nose, hard enough to be a warning, and his eyebrows shoot up when Parvis’ hiss of pain turns into a faintly delighted whine that he can’t quite suppress. “Oh. How interesting.”

Parvis snarls, a noise of defiance that’s betrayed by the tail end of the whine still stuck in his throat, and snaps at Kirin’s fingers.

Kirin slaps him for that, hard enough to leave a red handprint over the bruises, and Parvis yelps with the unexpected sting of pain, the deeper spreading ache of the bruises already layered over his skin. His mouth falls open, gasping, and Kirin takes the opportunity to press in and kiss him.

It’s hot and wet and hungry, and Parvis mewls into it, tilts his head back for Kirin and opens his mouth wider.

There’s nothing nice about the kiss. It’s hard and biting and Kirin’s nose presses uncomfortably against Parvis’ own, despite his best attempts to turn his head and ease the pressure. His blood throbs in time to his heartbeat, breath strangling in his chest, and by the time Kirin pulls away with bloodied lips he’s panting.

“I think,” says Kirin, calmly – as if he isn’t casually licking Parvis’ blood off his lips, as if Parvis isn’t trembling in the aftermath of the kiss, “that you should come home with me. Let me get all that blood cleaned up.” He brushes a thumb through the mess of it beneath Parvis’ nose and then licks it clean, humming faint approval.

He reaches out again to rub a thumb over Parvis’ cheek, before slipping sideways, pressing against half-parted lips. Pushing the thumb inside, he smiles when Parvis opens up and lets him, when Parvis trails a curious tongue over the whorls of Kirin’s fingerprint and whines when he pulls away. “Hmm?”

Parvis is a reckless force, free-running through the underground tunnels on his way to get groceries, hitching rides with Smiffy to get to parties and winking at Trott as he leaves.

But when Kirin leaves him a note to come to his shop, Parvis complies.

“Sorry I’m late!” The bell jangles as Parvis all but crashes through the door, a whirlwind of tangled limbs. “Oh shit-”

Kirin looks up from the counter, a smile ghosting its way across his face as he observes Parvis picking himself up off the ground and holding his nose. “Glad you could make it, Parvis.”

“Ow.” Parvis mumbles, his tone nasally as he rubs at his face. “Yeah, yeah, formal bullshit, I know. What do you have for me?” He flaps his other hand at Kirin, dismissive of any aid Kirin might offer.

Kirin rolls his eyes at Parvis. “A job.”

“Oh no.” Parvis groans and find his way into a chair, slinging his lanky frame across it.

“Oh yes.” Kirin’s tail lashes in excitement, and he knows Parvis sees it as the younger lights up. A side effect of teaching him an older magic.

“Oh thank the gods it’s not another ‘Parvy, I need you to get me stuff from Lomadia again because she doesn't trust me’. She’s scary.” Parvis pulls a face just thinking about the look.

“You’ll like this one, I think. There’s a certain someone in town-”

Parvis interrupts with a splitting grin. “You want Willy-Willy Strifeykins, don’t you?”

“You’re good.” Kirin leans back in his chair. “How’d you hear about him? I’m very sure I didn't say anything.”

“Uh.” Parvis looks a little bit sheepish and rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “Things. Stuff. You know.”

“No, I don’t.” Kirin stares hard at Parvis, who’s suddenly shifting nervously. He lowers his voice. “Parvis, do I need to teach you a lesson again?”

“No!” Parvis shouts as he sits up, hands flapping wildly before he realizes his mistake and sinks back into his chair. “I mean, no, sir.”

“Be honest, Parvis.”

Parvis glares at Kirin, biting his lip nervously. Kirin stares back, gaze cold. Waiting.

“Fine! Don’t look at me like that- I went out with Smiffy, alright!” Parvis spits the words out, hoping maybe the chair will eat him.

“I see.”

Parvis looks away first, staring at the ground. “I’m… sorry?”

“You don’t sound like it.”

“Sorry.”

“For some reason, I still don’t believe you.”

“Hmph.” Parvis scowls at the wooden floor, stubborn.

“Very well, then.” Kirin starts to stand and Parvis jolts out of his chair, holding his hands out, palms up and empty.

“Wait! Kirin, wait, please- I’ll make it up to you!”

“I don’t know what you could possibly do, Parvis.” Kirin leaves the rest unsaid, that Parvis has been his for a very long time now, that Parvis has a debt to Kirin already that will never be paid off.

“I’ll get you William Strife.”

Kirin raises an eyebrow. “And how exactly are you going to do that?”

Parvis thinks for a moment, rocking on his heels. “Oh! Addiction.” He grins at Kirin’s frown. “Oh don’t worry, he’ll still be a juicy little whatever he is. But if I get him hopped up on blood magic, you can swoop in and save the day and all.” Parvis shrugs. “And I’ll get some premium blood for my altar. A win-win.”

Kirin’s tail lashes and he moves out from behind the counter, wedging himself into Parvis’ personal space. “I want him in one piece and coherent, am I clear?”

Parvis swallows hard, nodding. “Understood.”

Parv only ever came to him when he was bored- which usually meant Strife had gone back to being a boring businessman (although was he ever not a boring businessman?), or Parv had run out of things to raid. That was more than fine with Kirin though- it just meant he got to teach Parv more, and distract him from thinking about Strife- which was his plan in the first place.

So when Parv showed up at his house (thankfully, Lying had gone back to their well- he didn't need those two meeting) whining about Strife destroying Picky, well. He was quite happy to help him about that.

"Why did Strife destroy Picky again?"

Parv sniffs, happy someone's willing to listen to his overdramatic reenactment, "because Picky destroyed my base- and- and, Will didn't like them!"

Kirin sighs, moving to pat Parv on the back, "I'll tell you what- why don't we make you another picky, hm? And then we can go destroy Strife's base, how does that sound?"

It does perk Parv up, but he shakes his head, looking unwilling, "I'd like another Picky, but it wouldn't be the same. And Will would get angry and yell if we did that."

"So?" Really, Kirin didn't understand why Parv cared about that, "you destroyed my base, and I forgave you. And besides, who cares if he'd be mad- you could easily kill him- nothing's stopping you."

Parv nods slowly, thoughtful look on his face, "I mean yeah, duh, of course I can, being way more powerful and cooler than him. But still, I like Strife! And if I killed him he wouldn't show up at my castle anymore, or do my bidding, which would be not cool."

Kirin's pleased enough by that, before he sighs again, "fine then, we won't destroy Strife's base. Would you rather I teach you how to make one of the bigger demons you can summon?" He would, if only so he'd stop thinking about Strife, and start paying attention.

Parv grins and nods again, bouncing on the balls of his feet, "oh man, would you really? That'd be totally cool, and I could fight people with them! Or ooh, I could defeat the Magic Police. Ha, I bet those losers aren't nearly as powerful as I am."