#lycaan

So Jace’s lease is up in a week, and this time he’s not renewing it. It should feel like a really big, really nerve-wracking step to move in together, but? Jace hasn’t actually slept at or even really lived in his own place for months and it’s just smarter, financially. 

The really big, really nerve-wracking part? Going through all his shit. 

But Lark and Willow are in middle school now, and he and Ash are finding that it’s a tough age. The kids don’t all go to each others birthday parties anymore, for one, and the parents start instilling weird ideas in their heads about what is and isn’t okay. They got their first real taste of that when Wil came home in tears today. 

It took a lot of coaxing (bribery, too, let’s be real) to convince her to open up, and it wasn’t pretty when she finally did. The kicker was in a catty ass text from someone who’s number wasn’t even saved in her phone. 

Reagan says your dad is a hooker. And a period at the end, so hostile.

“I’m not--” Ash starts, before he sees Jace’s withering look and bites it off. There’s a quirk to his mouth, though, because he’s an ass. 

“First of all, why are you even associating with someone named Reagan? That man was Satan. Anyone who names a child after him is Satan, too.”

“Dad,” she groans wetly, “you can’t say that.”

“I can and I will.”

“You should take this to the principal,” Ash takes the phone from her and squints at it, like examining the words closely will reveal something crucial, “isn’t this cyber bullying?”

“But I don’t have any proof that she said this,” Willow sniffs, gently batting Bandit away from enthusiastically licking her face off, “all I have is someone else saying she did.”

Ooh, that’s a good point. She’s too smart for them, clearly. Ash would have fully marched into the damn school, slamming the phone down in the principal’s office, expecting immediate retribution. 

“Who’s her mom?” Jace is feeling mightily responsible, “I’ll talk to her mom.”

“Her mom is Sharon Dawson,” Lark comes out of literally fucking nowhere, trailing his aging blankie behind him, “they live on 616 Ambrose. Sharon works until five, so you should probably knock on the door no earlier and no later than six. You don’t want to hound her right after work, but you also don’t want to interrupt them in the middle of dinner.”

They all stare at him for a few moments. It’s not like it’s easy to forget he isn’t quite human, but it’s always a little jarring when he comes out with this stuff. A preternatural ability to suss out the lives of his classmates’ parents? Why is that a thing? He loves his weirdo son.

“Okay, I guess I don’t have an excuse now. Thanks, kiddo.”

“Please don’t go,” Willow begs, “you’ll embarrass me, please.”

She’s promptly ignored. It’s 5:37. If he walks, he’ll be pretty much right on time. 

“You want me to go with you?” Ash starts looking for his shoes, “To defend your honor?”

“Nah, hubby, I gotta fight my own battles. Kiss me luck, though?”

Ash swoops down to plant one on him, then swoops down even further to lift Willow bodily off the floor and haul her miserable butt over his shoulder. She’s probably going to be forced to watch a few episode of the Twilight Zone while one dad embarrasses her, but it’s for her own good.

If he had more warning, he’d put together a much gayer outfit just to spark some controversy. That’s always satisfying, especially considering she’s definitely a white conservative with some potentially shitty ideas about a brown man in an interracial, same-sex marriage. As it is, though, he’s wearing some downright respectable jeans and a windbreaker. 

It’s one of those houses that flies an American flag off the porch year round, which Jace has always found very suspect. The porch itself is carpeted, also very suspect. How do they keep that shit clean?

It takes him a moment to place the lady who answers the door, but he spent enough time with her piecing together a PTA float last fourth of July that he thinks he can speak with some degree of familiarity. He’s got this.

“Hi, Sharon? I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, can we talk?”

Oh, that glint in her eye means she knows exactly what’s up. She doesn’t let him inside or anything, just closes the door behind her and strands them both on the fucking weird ass carpeted porch. 

“How can I help you, Mr. Callahan.”

“You can call me Jace, actually. This is about, um--well, it just seems like my daughter might be having some trouble at school because of a rumor circulating? I’m not trying to come after Reagan, specifically, I’m just trying to figure out what’s--”

“I think kids deserve to know what’s going on. You never know who might turn out to be a predator.”

“Predator? Who are you--”

“What’s your wife’s name again?”

Oh, fuck her. He grits his teeth, grinds the heel of his boot down. This is not the first time he’s dealt with this casual, passive aggressive hatred, and it won’t be the last. He just has to remind himself that they’re in love, that they’re content in their respective careers, that their children are happy and healthy. 

“My husband’s name is Ash.”

“Oh, that’s right. Your daughter’s done nothing wrong, Mr. Callahan, I’m just concerned for mine.”

Oh, he’s done with this shit. He’s speechless at first, ready to robotically turn around and descend the porch like an angry child. She speaks in such a frustratingly reasonable tone that he can’t say much to refute her without being painted as the asshole come the next day. The mature, adult thing to do is leave it at that. 

But wait. 

“Then why not tell her the truth?” his voice is fake cheery, horrible, “I was a stripper. I took off my clothes and danced naked, and I made six figures a year doing it. That’s how I bought my house. That’s how I have enough to give my kids everything they need. I don’t do it anymore, but I’m not ashamed of it.”

Her mouth is just...open. Really brings attention to how tacky her lipstick is. 

“And ‘hooker’ isn’t a nice word. I think the politically correct term is ‘sex worker’.”

Okay, now he’s really done. His adrenaline is high and he’s probably going to regret incensing an opinionated white lady by the time he gets home, but he feels pretty boss for now. She still hasn’t said anything, so he just flips her a jaunty wave and leaves. Fuck her and her carpeted porch. 

To: <3<3Ash<3<3: I just embarrassed Willow so bad, babe.

“Is this why everyone thinks you do dope in here?”

“I never did dope,” Jace pulls the heavy curtains over the tiny trailer window, then checks the deadbolt, “My drug of choice was blow, okay.”

He’s had moments of clarity, moments where he must have forgotten that whole fucking ordeal where he’s felt almost normal, almost okay. Jesus, he watched somebody die in front of him. That doesn’t get any easier the second time around, no matter who it is. 

And it feels like his life has irrevocably changed--Jace then, and Jace now. He can’t just be the same Jace for more than three years in a row, apparently. No idea what that means yet. 

Today is his birthday. He’s 28, and he can’t stop thinking about his mother, whoever and wherever she is. Chained and senile for some fetishistic pig, singing mournfully. He has to find her, but he’s dreading telling Ash and Rose he has to leave again. It’s not gonna be a few days and a phone call this time. 

Jace loves the beach at dusk. This cool, rocky place is his touchstone in so many ways, some he didn’t even understand until very recently. The ocean is a tempest in his blood. 

He has an armful of Ash, both of them marked up and kiss bruised, swollen and damp with sweat and other things. 

Jace wasn’t sure about this position at first, but he’s glad he chose it for a few reasons--the primary one being that not only can he see Ash’s face when he comes, but also feel his uneven breaths on his own. It’s almost too intimate, except this has never been about detachment for him.

Ash is hard again despite Jace’s hand being sticky from three separate occasions, and he’s rocking very gently against Jace’s hipbone like he wants something, head buried in his neck. He’s not subtle. Jace reaches around the leg hitched across his hip to squeeze his ass, fingernails cutting deep. 

Predictably, Ash shutters, mouthing inexpertly at Jace’s neck. That’s not gonna get him anywhere, so Jace is gonna be nice to him and help him out. This is a weird time to get shy. 

“What do you want, baby? You gotta tell me.”

He watches a blush creep across Ash’s chest, feels a sudden hand where he’s hard and dripping, too. His vision whites out. It tugs at him for just a second, but enough that he has to grit his teeth and bat it away. 

“That’s not an answer.”

Ash groans in exasperation, kissing a wet path from his neck to the corner of his mouth like it’s gonna earn him points. He stops before meeting his lips, the spurned hand coming up to tease Jace’s nipple, still tender from being bitten to within an inch of its life. It’s Jace’s turn to shake now, make a pathetic noise. 

A year ago, Ash’s hand on him would have him coming in a minute, tops, and his mouth even less. It’s taken a lot of ‘practice’ to maintain any kind of restraint, and he doesn’t have Ash’s supernatural lack of a refractory period, sadly.

“You’re mean,” Ash accuses, lips hovering over his own, “but I want you to fuck me.”

Jace’s dick twitches, and he has to swallow a moan. Jesus, he’s not even inside him yet and he’s ready to burst just thinking about it. Ash is really just that good.

He stretches behind him to fumble the lube off the nightstand, then surges forward to kiss him sloppily and hungrily. He’s gonna leave finger shaped bruises on his hips, teeth marks in his shoulder, and tell him he loves him at every thrust. 

“You guys are getting married??”

Artemis is fresh from her kick-boxing class, hair piled high on her head and bare face beaded with sweat. She was pretty pissed that they ambushed her in this vulnerable state to begin with, and the sudden news doesn’t seem to help.

Would it be better or worse if Rose were here? On one hand, Rose is a sweetheart who might sympathize and back them up. On the other, Rose is almost unconditionally loyal to Artemis, probably actually likelier to back her up. Welp. 

“Yeah, but it’s just,” Jace takes a dramatic breath, “so we can afford to go to school, because of the...oppressive overhang of capitalism.”

Artemis just stares pointedly at a few things for several moments. Their faces, Ash’s arm hooked around Jace’s shoulders and neck, their fingers playing idly. 

“I hate you both. Please don’t do this.”

Ash groans exaggeratedly, dropping his head to Jace’s shoulder. They knew how she was going to be going into this and thoroughly rehearsed their rebuttal for days beforehand, but it’s clear neither of them have the energy for it now. It’s like it’s impossible to beat her in an argument, or something. 

“It’s not like we want to,” Ash is still non-verbal, but Jace has this, “we don’t have a lot of options, okay? It’s not a big deal, jeez.”

Artemis just closes her eyes and whips around without saying anything. She disappears into her room for a few minutes, then emerges with an armful of clothing to disappear into the bathroom. They hear the shower running. 

Ash and Jace look at each other kind of frantically, silently communicating their predicament. Ash’s raised eyebrow wonders if they might be off the hook, but Jace’s wrinkled nose and screwed mouth shoot his hopes down. Ash rolls his eyes and gives up for now. 

They haven’t quite been dismissed yet, so they just sit there for the duration of her beautification. Ash finds some good baby goat videos to share with him and Jace finds a pretty good selfie angle for them both and takes advantage of that. 

“You smell good.”

“Thanks. I showered yesterday.”

Artemis clears her throat from across the room, startling them. They must have been too engrossed in thumb wrestling to hear her emerge, or she’s a ninja, or both. She looks smug (oh god, why?), holding up a hand before they can say anything. 

“I’ve thought about it. And I decided I’ll support you guys in lying to most of your family and friends, committing fraud, and potentially sabotaging your personal relationship.”

Crickets. Ash’s hand on Jace’s stomach tenses, and that’s it, because she’s not done. 

“But you have to have a wedding. You can’t just go to city hall on this, guys--I’m talking Facebook announcement, seventy-five guests each, save-the-dates, engagement party--the whole deal.”

They gape at her, ready with about a million reasons why they can’t do that, but her face brooks no argument whatsoever. 

“I think you can afford it with all the tuition money you’ll be saving. You have ten days to decide on a theme or I do it for you. Now get the hell out.”

They scramble off the couch immediately, Ash half-carrying Jace to the door and throwing it open so they can bolt out. Jesus fucking christ. 

Jace never in his life thought he might settle down with a wolf. Like, it was never a priority to him to settle down with anybody, but especially not a wolf. It might have been a little racist, in retrospect--though to be fair, they have kind of made an unpleasant name for themselves what with the ‘mate’ rhetoric and whatever. 

He knows there’s gotta be a lot of kinky tradition shit he hasn’t really been exposed to yet. Right now it feels pretty normal. Well, minus the whole part where it was sort of arranged, let’s not get into that. 

He likes waking up to Ash’s soft whuffs into his neck, likes feeling safe and warm and...cherished, maybe? He’s never been anything but gentle with Jace (apart from some friendly roughhousing Jace may or may not have instigated), always careful with his strong hands and sharp teeth, and nobody has ever looked out for him like this before. It’s spoiling him, honestly. 

So when some asshole--specifically Mallory, some other wolf that literally embodies every reason Jace was hesitant before--tries to hint at Ash having a darker nature that just hasn’t reared it’s ugly head yet, Jace is pretty ready to flip shit on him. He’s protective, too, of his big, goofy Best Boyfriend Forever, okay? His BBF. There’s gotta be matching rings for that somewhere. 

“I don’t think he’d like you talking to me,” super bratty, he knows, but true, “I’m not your piece of ass, sorry.”

“No, you’re his. He’s got a temper, you know--one piece of ass isn’t that valuable when he can have anyone he wants. Wouldn’t be the first time a wolf with anger issues used their human as a punching bag.”

Ew? The way he says human is totally gross, like they’re second class citizens. Look, he knows power discrepancy can come into play, but that’s not them and it never will be them. Jace came to the pack center so he could maybe hang out with Jackie while Ash was doing whatever, but she isn’t here either and Rowan isn’t even around with her adorable baby to keep Mallory in check. Why is he always fucking here? Doesn’t he have a life?? Fuck off.

“Fuck off,” he says aloud this time, spins on his heel to gtfo and try to catch Ash later. Mallory utters a shitty laugh from behind him and disappears into another room. 

Conveniently, right as Ash walks in the front door and catches a storming Jace by his arms. Oh, thank god. 

“Hey, babe,” Ash kisses him between his jaw and his ear, right where he likes it best, “you leaving?”

Jace has to fight back an inappropriate moan because Ash’s stubble shouldn’t be allowed. This is not the time.

“Yeah, can we?”

Ash’s eyebrows knit. “What’s wrong?” 

“Oh, you know. Mal. Our Mally Pal.”

He’s surprised by the very inhuman growl that starts in Ash’s chest, the slight tightening of his fingers in Jace’s skin. Horribly, he’s reminded of Mallory’s words. He’s got a temper, you know.

They’re still sort of stiff in their tuxes, planning to move at some point but not yet. The sand is cool and loose under the sprawled blankets--it isn’t especially warm tonight, just enough that they can comfortably lay here without a tent or any real protection from the elements.