An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
*Digs a ditch in the fandom's ground, fills it with 100k worth of Pariston/Cheadle/Ging slime*: jump down.
Summary: Within the pages of an urgent report she receives from a team of civilian scientists stationed at the Dark Continent, Cheadle finds a cryptic message from Ging asking her to return, and to bring Pariston—now an ex-Hunter under house arrest—with her.
AKA three horny people ruin each other’s lives while trying to survive the most dangerous place on Earth, and each other.
I gift this fic to the underground Ging thirst fandom (I see you).
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Cheadle receives a naughty gift, then a phone call. More cheeky and suggestive than anything.
“Did you receive it?”
It was his cell phone number, but the spirit of his voice was that of someone gleefully twisting the cord of a landline. There was a commotion around him, and he was distracted for a moment when somebody called his name on the other side. He didn’t hear her answer.
“Cheadle?”
She took off her glasses because she didn’t want to keep staring at the elegant foam-green box hugged gently by the sheets of her bed.
“I looked it up online,” she said, unable to stop her fingers from trailing over the box’s smooth surface, the protruding golden letters, pulling her leg up to the bed. “Stop buying me expensive things I never asked for. It’s embarrassing.”
“Why?” He asked, feigning hurt, and she could imagine the hand that went to his heart, the way his eyes widened, the curve of his open mouth. “Aren’t we friends?”
“No, we aren’t. What world do you live in?”
“The world where you use my gift and tell me how good it is.”
“I won’t even open it.”
“Not even if Ging used it on you?” He murmured. “Not even if I was watching?”
Her heart dropped, beating between her legs, the tips of her fingers. She held the phone away from her face just to sigh and take a shaky breath. He walked out of whatever room he was in, his surroundings growing much quieter. She could only hear the sound of his breathing.
“He told you he’s coming?”
“Mmhmm.”
She reclined on the bed, head swimming, the free hand not holding the cell phone drawing quivery circles over her thigh, sneaking under her blouse. She couldn’t hold her breath anymore.
“And you?”
“I won’t be able to fly over tonight,” Pariston said, sighing glumly, his voice lost to the gust of wind that sent crackles through the phone. “Wouldn’t a video call be exciting? How about 11:30, your time zone.”
“Where are you now?”
“Still in the MP office.”
“What are you wearing?”
“Your favorite suit,” he trailed off. “A butt plug.”
Cheadle closed her eyes.
“You?”
“The red harness.”
Pariston drew a breath.
“Let Ging open the box for you. Don’t cheat and use it before I call.”
A breathless laugh bubbled up in her chest. “I can’t believe you. It’s a fifty thousand jennies gold vibrator, Pariston.”
