#pt 1

Diana

Spider

River and River on days when he is played by Michael sheen

David with child River

Steven pulled on his reigns, and his horse, Beatrice of whom he'd nicknamed Bea for short,, slowed to a trot down the path. She shook her head, ears pinning backwards as she shifted hoof to hoof, irritated. He shushed her, before looking for the source of the voice, which was quickly found.

"Down here!"

A young man was on the ground in a clearing, and at initial glance, Steven believed him to be merely sitting; it was upon closer inspection that he realized the young man had his foot trapped between rocks. His stockings were torn and darkened with blood and debris. Steven was quick to jump down from Bea, jogging over to the young man.

"Goodness, how have you managed such a thing?" Steven asked, only a few strides away. The young man was close to his age, he presumed, though he had a softer face and mischievous eyes. Steven had never seen him before, and this was his land. No doubt, the youth was not here for bird watching, but Steven couldn't simply leave him here. "Are you hurt? What's your name?"

Steven took a few steps closer, and Bea began to cry out, stomping her feet. Steve glanced back at her, frowning. She was always high spirited, but never this ornery.

"Thankfully, it doesn't currently hurt," the young man said, with a wry smile. "My name is Dustin. I am a traveler."

He had a familiar tilt to his voice that caught Stevens attention. "Are you an Irishman?"

Dustin seemed to perk up some at the same, lips curling upwards. "I am not, for myself - but some of my family has found themselves there. Would you have not helped me, if I were?"

Steven paused, thinking back on comments his father had made; Steven was not his father. "All men were created by our Lord from the same clay - no matter the circumstances of our birth. Here, give me your hand."

Dustin smiled at him, before holding out his palm. As Steven reached for him, Bea nearly screamed, startling him. If she'd not, he wouldn't have noticed the small ring of delicate white mushrooms encircling the young man. Steven faltered some, realizing the tip of his boot had nearly crossed the ring.

Loud footsteps approach the room, and enters an ironclad woman. “Yes, my lady? Are you alright?”

“No, I am not. My latest meeting with Congreve’s prince has me ruminating.”

“Oh. Shall I get your mother to accompany you?”

“No, no.” The princess pats her hand on the bed. “Come. Sit.” The knight follows as if an order was barked upon a battlefield. “Do you think he really likes me?”

“Well he brought many gifts for you, held an exotic feast in your honor. I’d say it’s quite clear he’s trying to court you.”

“Court me, yes, but does he like me? Is he just doing what he’s supposed to, going through the motions like a ship at sea?”

“I’m not sure I-“

“I don’t think he loves me. I’m not sure he even enjoys my company. I’m a princess, him a prince. It’s what we’re supposed to do.”

The knight shifts awkwardly. Canceling her betrothal would place the kingdom in a very precarious position. “My lady, I’m sure he could grow to love you in time, as I’m sure you could him.”

“Me, love him? It hasn’t even crossed my mind. How curious…” The princess’s face furrows into deep thought. “One of my staff is a lesbian, yes?”

The knight chokes in fear. “I- well, not that I’m aware of.”

“No? I had heard rumors. I thought you would’ve been told. The blonde maid with the differently colored eyes?”

The knight feels a moment of relief, the princess’s suspicions averted. “Alecia? A lesbian?” The knight wonders to herself how she couldn’t have pieced that together before. It seems so obvious now.

The princess grabs the knight’s hands, looking deep into her eyes. “Go and get her for me, knight. I have questions on how to be gay.” The knight falters, her mind focused only on her hands clasped between the princess’s. “Knight?” Her focus regained, she heeds her lady’s command, exiting in the direction of the maid’s quarters.

Could the princess possibly be interested in women? That would certainly be good news for this one-sided crush that the knight has, but alas a royal beauty such as herself would never stoop so low as to love a knight.

“You can come in if you want. I was planning on being up later than this anyway,” Owen explained, opening the door for Silas to walk in. He didn’t have much, definitely not as much as Silas did in his room, but enough to get by. Simple sheets, little to no decorations, just enough to survive. Aside from that, everything was exquisitely clean. Everything had a place, and everything had to stay in that place. After glancing around the room, Silas sat in the open chair at his desk, placing his bag by the leg of the chair. 

“It’s not much, but it’s my home,” Owen explained, gesturing around the room. Only now did he notice it looked like he barely had anything. To snap his mind from the thought Owen spoke again. “What were you working on? In the cube?” 

“Mainly my philosophy paper, but also the dance paper we have to do,” Silas answered “but I’m going to guess you finished that paper days ago,” He added. Truth be told, he was right, Owen had finished that paper first. It was an analysis of a performance they had watched at the beginning of finals and how the movement worked with each piece of music. 

“Yeah, I finished it right after we saw the performance, it’s best to write stuff like that when the performance is fresh in your mind.” Owen articulated, indirectly criticizing Silas for not writing it earlier, but we all have our strong suits. 

“Of course you did,” Silas sighed, turning his attention to pull that paper out of his bag. There was less than a page done, and it was due on Friday. It was already Wednesday. Silas did his best to run through all the ideas he had for the paper itself, but to Owen, it looked like he was hoping the paper itself would combust under his gaze. 

“Are you trying to light that page on fire with your mind?” Owen questioned, messing with him, as he leaned on the wall just by the window with his shoulder. Silas just sighed, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a response. “You can work on it here if you want. I have to work on my philosophy paper anyway,” He added, sitting down on his bed to get working on his own paper. They both sat in comfortable silence for a while until the room filled with the sounds of crumpling paper. 

“What are you doing?” Silas asked, turning around to find the sound. Owen had crumbled what had been his philosophy. 

“Starting over,” Owen muttered, clearly frustrated. He pulled out a new sheet of paper and went to start writing but the pencil never moved. He couldn’t force it out. 

“What prompt did you pick?” Silas questioned, turning himself and the chair around to face him. 

“What does it matter,” Owen grumbled,

“Because,” Silas started, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, “if you’d put your ego aside, I could help you,” he finished, a calm smile spreading across his face. He stepped up from his chair and walked a few steps over to him. “Show me what you have,” Silas murmured. Owen lifted his notebook and handed it to Silas, grumbling something to himself. 

“The prompt I chose is ‘Is love just a feeling?’,” Owen admitted as Silas began scanning his notes.

“Where are you getting stuck? Your notes look just fine,” He asked, skimming through the perfectly organized notes. 

“I just can’t figure out where to start. I know the material just fine, it’s just starting the essay.” Owen admitted, fidgeting with his hair again. The large bun on the back of his head had begun to give him a headache so he pulled the two main pins holding it up and let it drop to a ponytail. He set the pins beside him, and pulled the tie out of his hair as well, letting it fall out completely. 

“So start in the middle, start with everything you already know and then work back to the introduction later. Get the stronger information out so you can go back with a clearer mind,” Silas explained, looking up to catch Owen’s gaze. He was loosely braiding his hair now and Silas was acutely aware of the soft color shift from the light blonde to the red on the ends. The movement was so natural; Silas shouldn’t be staring, but he was. “Your hair is pretty,” He muttered, pulling his focus from Owen’s braid and back to the paper where he was supposed to be looking.

“Silas Brown, are you calling me pretty?” Owen taunted

“I didn’t say you were pretty, I said your hair was pretty,” Silas corrected, eyes still on Owen’s paper.

“Same difference,” Owen started, “especially when you won’t look at me,” Silas didn’t respond; he didn’t want to. He was complimenting him, but he wasn’t quite ready to admit that yet. “Yknow, I wouldn’t expect you, Silas Brown, to so outwardly compliment someone else like that. Pretty forward if you ask me. I invite you into my space so we can independently work on our finals and you start complimenting me the first chance you get. I personally think that’s pretty weird, and-” his words are cut short by Silas pulling Owen forward by the front of his shirt and kissing him. The kiss itself was short, but the way Owen could feel himself relaxing immediately into it was alarming. Once Silas broke the kiss, Owen looked at him completely shocked before speaking. 

“Why’d you do that?” Owen felt like he couldn’t move; he was frozen in place. 

“Because you wouldn’t shut up,” Silas stated. His expression was unreadable, and it stopped Owen’s mind in its tracks. The two were still impossibly close, their breaths almost shared. Silas began backing up, but Owen impulsively grabbed Silas’ shirt and pulled him back into a kiss. This time, the kiss was more desperate; hungry. Hands started moving anywhere and everywhere. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife until Silas broke the kiss. 

“Finish the paper first,” Silas almost ordered. The tone of his words sent Owen’s mind into a freefall, as heat started to creep up his neck and onto his face. “Gods you fluster easily, don’t you?” Owen didn’t speak. Instead he lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck and pull his braid over his shoulder. “No smart quips, huh? I’ve stunned you into silence?” he mused

“Shut up and let me finish this paper,” Owen grumbled, picking up his notes and beginning to write like it was the only thing keeping him on this mortal plane. To be fair, it was. It was the only thing standing between the two of them, literally. Silas chuckled at what looked like frantic scribbling; the usual organization to his writing dashed. 

“Don’t rush the paper now, I’m not going anywhere,” Silas murmured, just trying to mess with him, as he sat back in the chair he had been in previously. Owen paid him no mind as he continued to write. With his newfound fervor, Owen buzzed through the paper; the 10 pages completed in less than an hour. He skimmed back through it a couple of times, checking for any careless mistakes he may have made as he was rushing. He could barely feel his hand at this point, constantly trying to shake out any cramps that would come in waves. When he was done, he sighed softly, the adrenaline of working so hard felt like it was melting out of him. Silas could tell he finished writing, so he lifted his hand to take the pages. 

“Let me see,” Silas spoke, almost ordered. Owen handed him the pages and Silas began reading. This was more nerve wracking than any time a professor was reading one of his papers, only because of the wordless promise of what would come after if he wrote it well enough. The minutes of Silas’ reading stretched on for what felt like hours, so he busied himself by trying to massage the cramps out of his dominant hand. Truthfully, it was no use, he had ignored it for the last 45 minutes so the muscles had already begun to seize. 

“What’s wrong with your hand,” Silas asked, not even looking up from Owen’s writing. It’s like he could recognize Owen’s every move even with his back turned. 

“It just hurts from writing, I’m fine,” Owen muttered. Finally, Silas finished reading and set the papers down on the desk beside him. From there he stood, moving Owen’s things from his mattress over to his desk.  

“Let me see,” he repeated, similar to his earlier statement, but softer this time.

“Silas, I’m fine,” Owen retorted, rolling his wrist a couple of times. 

“If I’m going to let you kiss me again, you’re going to let me make sure you’re alright first,” With that, Owen huffed, but lifted his hand so Silas could check it. He worked his thumbs on the skin of Owen’s palm, slowly working them up his forearm. “There it is,” he muttered, more to himself. “There’s a knot in your upper arm from you strangling your pencil, this might be uncomfortable,” he explained. Silas broke the knot easily but his hands lingered for just a moment too long. Both of them noticed it and locked eyes for another moment too long; the only thing that broke their gaze was the way Silas momentarily dropped his attention from Owen’s eyes down to his lips and back up again. 

“C’mon Brown, don’t just undress me with your eyes,” Owen challenged. “If you’re going to stare, at least do something about it,” Usually there was a reason, an excuse for their eyes to meet; their hands to touch. Something was always there that they could use to brush the tension away, but now? Neither of them wanted to excuse it away anyway. With Owen’s words, Silas was back on his lips again, but this time, Owen could feel his hands on his hips, holding on for what felt like dear life. In an instant, Silas’ hands trailed up to Owen’s waist and his lips trailed down to his neck. At this point, he couldn’t speak; no matter how many times he opened his mouth to try and make a comment, Owen’s words got caught in his throat and had no intentions of moving. Not with the way Silas’ teeth grazed against the skin of his neck. 

“Finally got you to shut up, it’s a miracle,” Silas teased, his words rumbling against the skin between Owen’s neck and shoulder. 

“You’re infuriating,” Owen breathed out, voice breathier than he intended

“And you’re turned on,” Silas retorted. Owen just scoffed at his words, and shifted against the feeling of Silas’ lips on his shoulder. He had pulled the fabric of Owen’s shirt to the side and it was pulling awkwardly at Owen’s neck. He tried to move against it, but Silas held him firmly in place before speaking. 

“Hold still,” he started, letting his teeth graze over Owen’s shoulder again pulling a shudder from Owen’s lungs, “I like feeling you get impatient,” 

“I hate you,” Owen breathed out, 

“Got quite a mouth on you, clearly someone needs to teach you how to use it,” Silas challenged, lifting his head to catch Owen’s eyes. His eyes were darker than Owen had ever seen before, laced with red, hot, need. His words, the look in his eyes, and gods the soft blush on his cheeks was too much for Owen’s mind to keep up with. “Dear, I can tell how much you’ve wanted me, gods’ sake, I can see it radiating from your eyes every time you look at me. You just don’t want to admit it,” he started, words just soft enough to hit Owen in the center of his chest, “so shut that pretty mouth of yours, and just let me take care of you,” It took Owen a moment to process the words, eyes fluttering just slightly. “Are you okay with that?” Silas added. 

“Yeah,” Owen blurted out, the urgency in his words even shocking himself. “Yeah, I’m okay with that,” He added, trying to seem more calm than he felt. His heart was beating out of his chest as Silas kissed him again. It felt like his hands were everywhere all at once, but it was incredibly welcome. As they continued, Owen felt Silas’ hands on the bare skin of his waist. 

“Fuck, Silas, your hands are freezing,” He exclaimed softly, accent sliping just a little bit. Silas smiled against his lips.

“You’ll live,” his hands dragged up Owen’s sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he dragged the fabric of his shirt up and off him. A soft sound could be heard as the discarded fabric could be heard hitting the hardwood floor. It was Owen’s turn now to work his way down Silas’ neck. As he began working the skin of his neck, Silas slid his hands into Owen’s hair, just resting there. As he felt his fingertips against his scalp, Owen took a moment to speak.

“You can take it out if you want,” he muttered before going right back to his ministrations on Silas’ neck. That was all Silas needed. He started undoing the loose braid in an instant, even as Owen let his teeth drag against Silas’ neck. Once the braid was basically undone, Owen sunk his teeth into Silas’ shoulder, biting down enough to make Silas hiss at the feeling. In response, he grabbed the hair at the back of Owen’s scalp, pulling him roughly off his shoulder. 

“Nice try, but if you do that again, I’m ripping up your paper and making you write it again. Got it?” He sneered, grip on Owen’s hair only tightening. The feeling in his scalp almost made Owen whine. Almost. Silas let go almost as fast as he grabbed onto him, giving Owen the space to move again. He puts his lips back on Silas’ shoulder, soothing the spot he’d bit on with his tongue. Silas shuddered at the feeling, letting his hands drag through the other’s hair, gently this time. “Better,” he muttered, relaxing into the feeling of Owen’s lips on him. From there, Owen lifted his hands to start unbuttoning Silas’ shirt. After a couple buttons, Owen paused, wordlessly waiting for the okay to keep going. “Go’head” Silas muttered, hands dancing across Owen’s scalp. As he sat up to undo the rest of the buttons, the view of tape across Owen’s chest. Owen could almost feel Silas’ gaze landing on the tape so he spoke before he could ask. 

“Before you ask, it’s binding tape,” Owen starts, words almost embarrassed, “cause I’m trans,” he finished saying as he pulled the shirt off Silas’ shoulders, bracing for the hundreds of questions or the disrespect. Instead he was met with warmth.

“That’s okay, I don’t mind, just tell me if you want me to leave it there or not,” Silas cooed.

“Just leave it there, I just put it on this morning,” Owen replied, a little surprised.