#rainstorm

Warnings:

Well it's the big fucking chapter--literally. Explicit sex in this chapter--oral, intercrural, and vaginal. Daddy kink that hopefully isn't too much of a surprise at this point. Full taglist is updated on AO3.

Credits/etc

Chapter 9: cabaletta

The floor of the warehfinisouse was hard; the nest is anything but.

So Rain doesn't get the air knocked out of his lungs this time. He's breathless anyway.

Above him, scarf coming loose and eyes wild, Storm watches as Rain's pupils blow wide. Can feel Rain's heart pounding under the wide spread of his hand.

Rain expects something sudden, for Storm to crash their mouths together with an equal ferocity, maybe. Instead, he unfurls like a distant roll of thunder. He nudges Rain's knees apart, climbs over him, and gently drops down. Doesn't need to hold Rain in place with a hand on his chest anymore, because he's got Rain pinned down with his whole body.

Storm shifts some weight to his knees, rolls his hips in one slow, merciless motion, and drags a keening whine from Rain's throat.

And that's when he lowers his mouth to Rain's, pressing a firm kiss there, then his cheek, the corner of his jaw, before settling his lips against Rain's neck, on a mission to find and catalog every sensitive spot from here to his collarbones.

It's instantly deep and needy, Rain clutching at Storm's shoulders, hands in his hair, hips chasing contact. When Storm drags his tongue along the full length of one gill, slow and deliberate, he grinds against Rain again, allowing him a few aching seconds of contact before he shifts back, just out of reach. Rain whines in protest.

"Patience, siren," Storm murmurs. "You've got me. And I've got you. Come here."

With a frustrated whine, Rain pulls Storm into another kiss, hands cradled on either side of his face. Resting his forehead against Storm's as he breaks the kiss. Face flushed, skin damp, a few stray curls stuck to his cheek, he says, "If you don't touch me soon, sailor, I might combust. Which is quite the feat for a water ghoul, in case you didn't know."

Storm laughs, bumping his nose against Rain's. "Sounds like one of us is going to have to take one for the team."

"Your honorable sacrifice is noted." Rain sniffs.

"Lean back, then, and let me get started on those hundred thousand pleasures I promised you."

Rain stretches back as Storm slides his hands along Rain's thighs, cradles his hips, traces his waistband. They make silent eye contact as Storm undoes the button and the zipper of Rain's jeans. Rain helps him shimmy them down over his hips, peeling his socks off for good measure. Storm sets every piece aside with care, as if they're sorting ritual garments in the chapel again.

"I wasn't joking about the towels, by the way. Is there something I can grab?" Rain glances over at the bathroom. If he'd have thought about it earlier—but then again, he wasn't thinking that far ahead when he was in there before.

"Hm?" Storm's tugging his own sweater off, and folding the scarf before placing it atop the growing pile of clothes.

"The whole water ghoul thing…" Rain says, sitting up and starting to unbutton Storm's shirt, impatient. "You kind of get used to the extra laundry, but I don't want to mess up your nest or anything."

"You could never," Storm hums, shrugging off the shirt when Rain reaches the last button.

He's barely had time to fold it and put it on the pile when Rain's running both hands over his chest and shoulders, grinning like he's been presented with a pirate's hoard.

Storm can't help but to bask a little in the attention, at the way Rain looks at him. "We should be good, though. Waterproof blankets."

Rain looks at him, then down at the bedding they're kneeling on more closely. Huh.

"What? You're not the only one who can ask a certain someone for help, you know." A clear tease, this time, accompanied by a gentle smile.

"Remind me to thank her again." Rain laughs and reclines, long legs pleasantly loose as Storm chuckles, adjusting the bedding, only content once Rain's ensconced on a throne of cushions that elevate his hips and provide gentle support for his knees. He rolls the malachite pendant between the fingers of one hand, reaching for his wine with the other and managing to look regal, clad in nothing a pair of underwear that cling to his hips like they're on a mission from Asmodeus himself. They're a deep indigo shade, cut high on the legs, thin, silky fabric with a v-shaped waistband that's trimmed in chunky lace. Nothing elaborate, but he's always loved the way they look against the soft blue-gray hue of his Topside form's skin.

It's Storm's turn to look like he's just unwrapped the best present of the night. He traces the pads of his fingers down Rain's belly as he kneels between Rain's legs, eyes dark with intent.

"You're one of the most beautiful creatures I've ever seen, you know."

Grazing over the waistband, his hand trails down Rain's hip, the inside of his thigh and knee, and along his calf and ankle before, with a sly grin, he squeezes the arch of Rain's foot.

Rain's toes curl in response and he gives Storm an appraising look, asking with a grin, "I guess this technically counts as a third date, huh?"

Storm grins back, wiggling the tip of his tongue at Rain as he bends at the waist, pressing a kiss to the inside of one of Rain's thighs.

"Technically? I suppose it does. Pretty as they are, though—just like the rest of you, exquisite—I have something else on my mind just now."

Rain's water ghoul nature is evident as Storm noses along his thigh, slow and reverent, inching closer to where Rain's already starting to dampen the fabric of his underwear. Storm follows the heady scent to the source, stretching out onto his stomach as he presses his mouth to Rain's mound.

At first it's gentle, the barest graze, teasing and feather-light, but soon Storm's pressing pursed lips against the heat of him, sliding up and down over the spot where Rain's already chubbed up and desperate. Rain's hands settle against the back of his head—pleading, not pushing. Storm runs the tip of his tongue along Rain's folds and the water ghoul whimpers as if the thin fabric, growing increasingly sodden, doesn't exist.

Storm lolls his tongue out, allowing spit to gather, almost dripping off, before he presses it against Rain all at once.

Rain gasps, thighs twitching, as Storm's mouth surrounds him with wet heat and gentle suction. His fingers twist in Storm's hair as he tries to grind back against his face, but the air ghoul's grasp on his hips is resolute.

In a brief moment of coherence before Storm begins to methodically take him apart, Rain thinks about stopping him to make sure he's aware of some of the finer points of water ghoul biology, but just as he's about to say something, Storm pulls away, face shining wet, before tugging Rain's underwear off in a long, smooth movement. Then, with the same ease that he caught Aurora, and swung a sledgehammer like it weighed almost nothing at all, Storm moves closer, rising to his knees, lifting Rain's legs. He holds Rain there, dark hair spread out across the bedding, lower back propped against Storm's stomach, tail curled to one side and lashing curiously, while his heels drape over Storm's shoulders. Storm presses a kiss to the inside of Rain's leg again, this time on the other side. "How long I've wanted to taste you. And it's even better than I imagined."

He hoists Rain's hips higher, hands curving to support his legs as they fall open. Rain feels the tremor in Storm's grip when he takes a moment to absorb the sight of him, spread wide and wanting, hears his quiet groan before he lowers his mouth in reverent worship.

The first direct touch of his tongue is not unlike a lightning bolt. Rain's spine goes fuzzy and every nerve in his body lights up as Storm tastes him: warm, wide strokes applied with the patience of a ghoul prepared to spend centuries doing exactly this. Rain realizes that the high whine that he hears is coming from his own mouth, and that as hard as his hips wrenched at that first contact, he's going to have bruises in the shape of several fingerprints from where Storm maintains his grip like the very important responsibility he considers it to be.

As skilled as Storm is with his hands, Rain isn't surprised that his mouth is just as talented, lips and tongue drawing obscene noises from the water ghoul. Rain finds his focus pleasantly and forcibly narrowed to the simple, deeply intoxicating way Storm's mouth makes him feel.

Once he's got Rain entranced, cock-drunk in reverse, Storm's nose traces a careful line along the underside of Rain's length, proud and pretty where it sits above the deep slick heat of him. Shifting his hold on Rain's hips, Storm teases his tongue against that heat as Rain's legs relax, opening up, making more room for him.

"Please—"

"What's that, siren?"

"I need it. Need you."

"I know." Rain feels Storm's breath dance over wet skin, close and warm. His tongue presses in and Rain makes a broken sound, fists balling against Storm's thighs.

Storm fucks his tongue into Rain, rocking Rain's hips at an agonizing pace, slow and deliberate, his nose sliding against Rain's cock with each thrust, slick spreading.

"Storm—fuck—" Rain's hips shake in reflex, but Storm just grips him tighter and groans into him, tongue plunging deep as only a ghoul's can.

Rain's hips jerk again. He drags a hand up his torso and rolls one nipple between his fingers. It's almost too much. It's not enough.

"Fuuuuuuck." He lets out a low groan, head rolling sideways. He wants more. Needs more. "Your fingers. Please. And your mouth."

Storm makes a deep, greedy noise, lapping at Rain's cunt with one final slow stroke of his tongue before he guides Rain's hips back down to the bedding.

In the soft tower light, his face, beard, and even his chest glisten with his devotion to Rain. He pauses for a moment to unfasten his belt and trousers, setting them aside. Rain takes the opportunity to collect his shirt, placing it in Storm's waiting hand, which returns soon after to cradle his cheek.

"Do you want me to make you come?" His grip shifts, thumb angling under Rain's chin as he presses the tips of two fingers, claws glamoured away now, against Rain's barely parted lips.

"Yes." Rain whispers, opening his mouth. Is rewarded by the slide of Storm's fingers, two knuckles deep and pushing down against his tongue.

"Do you need me to make you come?"

"Fuck yes," Rain warbles around Storm's fingers despite how they keep his mouth from working properly. They press in further, force him to relax his throat until they're fully seated at the last knuckle, Rain's head tipping back as his brain slowly disconnects from anything and anywhere other than this, here and now.

"That's a good boy. Show me how you like to be touched."

Rain whines as his stomach does that thing again, compounded by the sensation of Storm pulling his fingers from Rain's mouth and, as Rain settles a finger along either side of his aching clit, pressing one inside Rain with no resistance.

"You're so fucking wet, siren. Going to drown me. I want you to." He adds a second finger, still sliding in easily, slick as Rain is for him. From him.

"Keep going. I will." Rain's voice finds a new register when Storm turns his wrist a little, presses deeper.

Storm grins and does it again, while Rain jerks himself off with trembling fingers. He's so wet, it's sloppy, their hands moving in an unsteady syncopation that hasn't quite found the pocket yet.

Gathering more slick, Storm works in a third. "I don't even have you back in my mouth yet and you're already making such luscious sounds."

Rain keens, hips coming up off the blanket as his heels dig in. "Lucifer below, I fucking hate you."

It's a shame Rain's eyes are shut tight, missing the hungry, pleased smile Storm gives him. "No you don't, pretty ghoul. You're doing so good for me." He runs his free hand up along Rain's thigh, ghosting his fingers over where Rain strokes himself as Rain whines, pressing up into the contact. "Are you ready for my mouth now?"

The strangled noise that Rain makes doesn't exist in any language that Storm recognizes.

"Words, princess," he teases, feeling Rain clench around him.

Rain begs so beautifully.

"Please. Please suck my cock—fuck, your fingers feel so good, I need you, I need more, please—"

Storm smiles indulgently as he stretches out between Rain's legs again.

"Good. Take what you need. It's yours."

He lowers his mouth, surrounding Rain with an irresistible, welcoming heat.

With a groan, Rain grasps the base of Storm's horns and, still half expecting Storm to stop him, starts to grind. Storm angles his wrist as Rain rocks, curling his fingers and feeling Rain start to drip around him. Rain controls the pace as he fucks up into Storm's mouth, coaxing soft moans from the air ghoul as he strokes the smooth ridges of his horns. Moans that press into Rain's cunt, cradle his cock, coat Storm's face in slick as Rain chases release.

It doesn't take long for Rain to find a sweet spot and ride it like he's running down a rabbit, clutching and clenching as he gasps Storm's name and his body gives a great shuddering gush. The pulsations that ripple through his cunt pull at Storm's fingers as he works him through it, gentling him with shallow strokes and soft kisses against his throbbing clit, until Rain goes quiet and still.

Storm withdraws his fingers with great care, slides them into his mouth with a hunger that has yet to be sated. Licking them clean, he curls up next to Rain, opening and holding out a water bottle.

Rain accepts the water, taking a long drink and offering the bottle back to Storm, who drains most of what's left.

There's also a small stack of hand towels stashed behind some pillows, it turns out; Storm gives one to Rain and they both mop up before cuddling into each other.

"Fuck, you're good at that. Now—" Rain faceplants directly into Storm's chest, rubbing against the dense, downy curls of silvery hair, scenting him. When Storm laughs, Rain leans back and adds, "I've been thinking about this for weeks," before going right back to it.

"Don't let me stop you," Storm chuckles, throwing back the last of the wine.

When Rain's had his fill, and before his clever fingers get the chance to start wandering too far, Storm clears his throat.

"I want to draw you. Would you let me?"

"Right now?" Rain's head tilts.

Storm kisses him again before answering, hand curled possessively around the back of Rain's neck, fingers tangled in his hair at the nape. "Yes, now. Because I certainly don't plan for either of us have enough energy for it later."

"Good answer." Rain grins, then hooks a finger in the waistband of Storm's underwear, fangs glinting. "Only if you take these off. If this counts as a third date, then you owe me the goods. And I want the goods!"

Storm shrugs, untangling himself just enough to slide them off and toss them next to Rain's.

"Fair's fair," he says, eyes bright as he reaches for the journal and opens it to where it's already marked with a pencil tucked inside—a blank page very near the end.

As he does so, Rain's free to catch an eyeful, letting his gaze linger on the dusting of soft silvery curls that cover Storm's chest, belly, and legs, contrasting against the deeper gray of his skin. The way those curls thicken and grow darker and denser at the juncture of his thighs, framing a cock that hangs, half-hard and heavy, before coming to rest against Storm's leg when he settles himself across from Rain.

"Put the sweater on?" Storm asks, already starting to block in the page.

"Hm?" Rain misses the question, distracted.

"The sweater," Storm gestures at it, laying to one side of the nest, where Rain discarded it earlier. "Put it on?"

"Just the sweater? Like this?" Rain reaches for it, slides his arms into the sleeves again, adjusts his hair so it's not stuck inside the collar.

"Yes, but let it down off you shoulders, like—yes, exactly." Storm nods, smiling as Rain adjusts with his direction. "And stretch to that side a little. Bend your knee? Not that much—perfect. Hold that."

Rain isn't sure where he's supposed to look, but finds himself quickly fascinated watching Storm. It's the first time he's had the chance to see him draw—maybe the first time Storm's felt comfortable letting him. His hands move with confidence, steady and sure, eyes shifting between the page and his subject, with occasional pauses to do nothing but look at Rain while Rain does his best to stay still. Rain isn't sure if that's part of the process or just Storm enjoying the way Rain looks in his nest.

Possibly it's both, but he's never minded being admired.

On the third long pause, Storm takes a moment to adjust—to Rain's great delight, he's been getting harder, little by little, as he sketches. Storm allows himself a few lazy tugs, accompanied by a wink.

"You're being mean," Rain whines, "You told me not to move."

"I did," Storm says, pencil scratching across the paper again. Adding shadows, erasing highlights. "And I know you want this to be good, so you'll stay right there until I'm finished."

"I'm going to bite you."

"Wouldn't be the first time." Storm grins, before putting a finger on his lips and turning his focus back to the journal. "I'll be done soon."

And a few minutes later, he is. When he shows Rain, handing him the open book to look at it up close, Rain stares for a long time, quiet.

It's a beautiful portrait, with a surprising amount of detail for maybe 20 minutes of effort, though Rain only really knows that with the same amount of time, his would look like it was drawn by a kit who's still getting the hang of coloring between the lines.

Storm's version, despite being a pencil sketch, somehow manages to capture the gentle tower light and the just-fucked flush on Rain's cheeks and chest. In the portrait, he's looking off to the side, Dew's braids are less unruly than in reality, one fang just barely dimples his lower lip, and the gills along the side of his throat are flared. He looks powerful. Regal. Ravished.

"It's beautiful. But don't you want one for yourself?" Rain knows from paging through earlier that the journal contains more than a few drawings of him—even ones in older band uniforms, which has him intensely curious how that came about—but Storm shrugs.

"I can always draw you again later."

"I think you should have this one. I want you to." Rain hands the journal back to Storm. "You can always draw me again later, right?" He grins, flopping back against the pillows, stretching his legs, toes curling and poking against Storm's knee.

"You're incorrigible." Storm shakes his head, but he's smiling. He flattens the journal out, scoring the page near the binding and doing his best to tear the page neatly. Except for one corner, it works, and he takes the drawing and tucks it inside the closest book, stacking the journal on top of it nearby.

"You love it," Rain says, holding his hands out expectantly. "Now get over here."

When Storm gets to Rain, instead of falling into the nest next to him, he pulls him up by the hands, so they're facing one another, on their knees.

"Hi." Storm grins at Rain.

"Hi," Rain smiles back, leaving one hand in Storm's while his other traces along Storm's hip. If he curves his hand just so, and pulls—

Storm's about to say something, but instead they both make soft, needy sounds as Storm's cock, having been given absolutely zero reason to change its mind about anything and now fully hard, slips between Rain's thighs, close enough that they can both feel the wet heat of one another. Rain's palm is going to have marks where Storm's claws dig in as the air ghoul's whole body shudders.

"Fuck—" Storm hisses through clenched teeth as Rain grins, merciless.

Relishing the opening left by this surprise advance, Rain shifts his weight side to side a little, thighs slick, teasing, pressing closer and closer until their bellies touch. With agonizing control, he drags back along Storm's length, letting the head rock against his own little cock, already standing at attention again, with shallow strokes. Teasing. Tempting.

"Want to touch you." Rain practically bats his eyelashes at Storm, who's still rebooting.

"Extremely certain that you are touching me, siren," Storm says in a strangled voice as Rain rolls his hips again then makes a little space between them.

"Not enough," Rain says, reaching even as his eyes stay focused on Storm's. "Can I?"

Storm swallows back something that's closer to a whine than he'd like to admit. "Yes. Please."

Rain's hands, strong and capable and elegant, move down to wrap around the velvety warm length of him. Cup him from below. Rain's first stroke is deliberate, not tentative in any way, but exploratory. Learning.

He's a quick study. All ghouls are.

Storm's forehead rests against Rain's shoulder, hands loose at the water ghoul's waist, and Rain finds the noises he's able to wring out of him very interesting—especially when he leans in, tasting his skin and pressing wet kisses into Storm's exposed neck. Rain makes a small curious sound, feels Storm's eager nod of permission, and seals his lips tight, letting his teeth graze against the skin and sucking a dark mark into his shoulder as Storm leaks pre into his hand.

Rain, voice pitched for maximum damage, breathes into his ear. "Unholy Father, you feel amazing. I can't believe you made me wait this long."

And whether Storm was planning to let Rain dig himself deeper, or if it's just too much to bear, something changes. His grip on Rain's waist tightens and his head comes up. He catches Rain's mouth in a searing kiss before shifting and turning them both, spinning Rain around.

One hand in the middle of Rain's chest again, Storm pulls Rain's hips into his with the other, his cock sliding between Rain's thighs once more, this time from behind. The head, already ruddy and slick, peeks out from just below his cunt, right where Rain's cock juts out from between his folds.

Rain, held upright, grinds back into Storm. Relishes the spark of mixed pleasurepain when he feels Storm's hot breath and the pressure of lips and teeth, dragging against his shoulder.

Loses his breath when he opens his eyes and realizes that Storm's placed them directly opposite the mirror, and he can see just how tight Storm's grip is, the desire painted on his own face, Storm's reverence as he kisses Rain's skin and hair, and the way their bodies fit together like this.

The echo of a memory stirs—he remembers what Storm said about enjoying when they can both watch Rain lose his composure.

He's going to take Rain apart in front of this mirror and Rain is going to have to watch him do it.

Storm catches Rain's gasp, looks up in time to make eye contact with him in the glass as his hips make a full stroke against Rain's. Storm's hand moves to cup one side of Rain's chest, fingers splayed against his ribs, palm pressed close, thumb grazing back and forth over the nipple.

Rain's hips twitch, thighs squeezing together as he lets out a shaky breath, tail lashing where it's trapped between them. He can't do anything but watch Storm's cock disappear and reappear as he thrusts between Rain's legs, sliding against him, chasing every brief moment of friction when he can feel Storm drag against his clit, despite Storm's firm grasp on his hip and chest. The only thing keeping him from leaning over, changing the angle, taking advantage of the fact that Rain is absolutely dripping again to—

"Putitinputitin—please—" Rain rocks against Storm out of tempo, patience unraveling far too quickly to regain the upper hand. But he's always been willing to let Storm hold the lead—metaphorically, though they should talk about that—and so far it's going pretty well, so why stop now?

"What's that, siren?" Storm rolls his hips in a way that Rain wouldn't have described as vicious before, but in combination with the way his fangs gleam in the tower light, in such close proximity to Rain's neck, that's how it lands as Rain watches him thrust again, so close but so frustratingly far from what he wants.

Needs.

Rain writhes as the hand that holds his hips shifts, as Storm's fingertips settle around his length like Rain showed him, stroking in time with every shallow thrust.

"Fuck! Please," Rain repeats, seeing the hunger in his own eyes, the way it lands in Storm's, whose eyes are a near-constant glimmer now, and not just from the twinkling lights that surround them. "I need—hnnn—fuck me, d—"

It almost slips out of Rain's mouth, unconsidered, unprompted, and unbidden, but he swallows it and feels his heart start to gallop. He stares at his own reflection as if he can demand answers from it.

Where the fuck did that come from?

His eyes race to meet Storm's in the mirror, and his stomach drops.

Rain knows, despite himself, despite any incorrect assumptions he may have had in the beginning, that Storm misses nothing. And right now he's smiling like a fox let loose in an entire barn full of chickens as Rain's face and chest go hot and pink.

That's still soaking in as he watches Storm lean close, lick against the edges of his gills, when Rain feels the warm hum of breath near his ear, the tickle of his beard against his neck.

Casual as can be, Storm purrs, "What was that, pretty ghoul?"

Rain answers as evenly as he can. Which is, to be honest, not very—it's quiet and wrecked, against his best efforts. But he's still valiantly trying to play the game of chase in spite of the fact that in truth he's been thoroughly ensnared for some time now.

"I want you to fuck me."

Storm goes still, voice dropping into a soft, dangerous tone as he holds Rain, somehow, tighter and closer. "That's not what you were going to say."

Rain whines.

Storm nips at Rain's neck, rocking between Rain's thighs as if punctuating his instructions. "Try again."

Rain groans, hips flexing with no thought or restraint. His face is warm, he's disarmed, and he craves everything that Storm dangles entirely within reach, if Rain's willing to meet him in uncharted waters.

Given everything, it's a terrifyingly easy decision.

He turns his head to the side, dragging his lips against the corner of Storm's, awkward but endearing in his clear, overwhelming need.

"Fuck me, daddy."

"Good boy. I knew you could do it, so good for me, Rainy. And good boys…" Storm exhales, his hold on Rain shifting in an instant as he changes the angles of their hips, lines up, and sinks in entirely, all at once.

"…get what they ask for."

Both ghouls make an unholy noise, clutching at one another. Everything goes still.

With Storm holding him in place, Rain has little choice but to watch in the mirror. To absorb every shifting micro-expression as Storm presses into him, slowly at first. Anticipation. Tenderness. The way he almost loses himself in the wet press of Rain's cunt squeezing around him for the first time, eyes closed as he carves out a space for their mutual pleasure. Blazing want, possessive, when his eyes open and catch Rain's, reflecting equal desire back at him.

Rain arches back into Storm as he starts to move—each stroke an agonizing slow drag of withdrawal, then filling Rain again with a sharp, decisive thrust that punches the air from his lungs. Rain is so absolutely soaked that his body, having been subject to countless fantasy variations of this exact moment, offers little resistance. Much like his determination to hold anything back, it's gone.

He is open and ready to be filled.

It's something that, like many of the things that paved their way here, Storm has been preparing for since not long after the first time he laid eyes on Rain.

His legs start to go loose and unreliable as Storm takes hold of his hips, fucking into him in earnest, so Rain leans forward, propping himself on his forearms for more support, unable to drag his eyes away from the mirror. He watches the way Storm's gaze travels down over his back, how he curves a hand over his ass in appreciation, then runs his fingers up from the base of his tail to move it aside, ghosting his thumb over Rain's asshole as Rain whimpers. Sees the absolute ecstasy that dances across his features when he pulls out until he's barely seated against Rain's entrance, just to marvel at the sight.

Rain can't resist pushing against him then, taking advantage of the momentary distraction. He needs him back inside. To feel him stretching and filling him, to feel—more.

Shifting his weight to one arm, Rain reaches between his legs, intoxicated enough on pleasure alone that he struggles to do more than rub trembling fingers in vague circles over himself. But the friction, however meager, helps. He lets out a series of breathless little moans, finding an angle that lets him match the pace that Storm sets even as he feels more and more slick drooling into his palm.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck—"

As Storm presses a hand against Rain's lower back, adjusting the way that his cock drags, hitting the same sensitive spot over and over again, Rain starts to pull at himself with slippery, frantic fingers.

"I wanna come again—I'm gonna—" Rain's flushed all over now, dappled markings on his skin even more lovely with the contrast.

Storm makes eye contact with him in the mirror, arches one eyebrow as his hands tighten on Rain's hips and he pulls Rain back onto him, pretending at nonchalance. As if to say, you know how to get what you want.

And Rain does. He's aware of the ripple of a feeling he doesn't have the wherewithal to try and name as it washes over his entire body and buries itself deep in his gut. Sees his own face contort in response to the strength of it as it rises to the surface, like knowing something that's been there all along, undeniable.

What he wants is to come, hard and gushing and brainless, on this ghoul's cock. Right now.

What he needs is permission.

He doesn't realize he's saying this out loud—babbling again—until his ears stop ringing and he hears himself, sees his eyes streaming in the mirror as he rubs frantically at himself, begging, "I-need-you-I-need-your-cock-I-need-to-come-please-daddy-please-let-me-come-oh-please-oh-fuck—"

"Yes. Yes, Rain—come for me, baby," Storm purrs, draping himself against Rain's back and licking along his spine, hot and slow. "I want it. Give it to me, it's mine."

Rain obeys.

Storm holds him up when his legs give out, thighs wet and shaking, as he gasps for air, mouth open and gills all flared wide. Repositions Rain onto his back, brushes his hair out of his face, wipes his tears, presses a damp kiss to his sweaty temple. Coos soft, gentle words into his ear like honey, as Rain, whimpering, rides the aftershocks that jolt through him, all while Storm's cock lays heavy at Rain's hip.

The only sign that Storm's endless reserves have been pushed to their limit is that he doesn't wait to be asked before he's shifting Rain's legs apart, pressing inside again.

Rain is so plush and wet and welcoming, limbs heavy and relaxed, resting against him instead of squeezing. Utterly fucked out. Clinging to Storm's shoulders in the most boneless way possible, Rain mutters into his ear, half-jumbled but more than comprehensible enough to ruin Storm's tenuous hold on what's left of his own self-control, "Y'gonna come for me now, daddy?"

He doesn't know that Storm had been planning on taking his time. Had wanted to see if he could tease at least one more out of Rain, whose body is an endless ocean of pleasures big and small, one that fits against his like they should have been here all along but is all the sweeter for the anticipation.

That isn't going to be an option now.

He huffs back, nearly a snarl. "Where you do you want me, baby?"

Rain manages to bite back the first answer that comes to mind—everywhere—as he presses another kiss against Storm's mouth. "I want—hhhow do you do that—fuck. On my tits. I want it on my tits."

As satisfying as it would be to stay where he is, to fill up Rain's cunt and add to the beautiful wet mess of him, Storm manages to pull himself away. He settles astride Rain's stomach, where Rain can see how his slick smears across Storm's hips and belly, soft curls now matted and damp and smelling deliciously like them. Reaching back, between Rain's legs, Storm slides his palm against that wet warmth before taking himself in hand, a deep groan reverberating in his chest as he starts to stroke himself in earnest using Rain's slick. His breathing is already erratic as Rain reaches up, running fingers through his chest hair, teasing a nipple.

Storm smacks his cock against Rain's sternum and Rain laughs, squeezing his arms together to let Storm fuck his tits. They're not big enough to provide much grip, but what Rain lacks in size, the visual more than makes up for. They both groan watching Storm slide against Rain's skin, Rain using his hands to squeeze tighter and cover the gap as he lets a long stream of drool slide down his chin, dripping onto his chest, adding to the growing mess of slick and pre-cum.

Storm shudders, muttering, "Filthy…" in a delighted undertone. His hips don't pause as he ruts against Rain's chest, and he asks, "You want more?"

When Rain nods, opening his mouth with tongue extended, making a small but unmistakably eager noise, Storm leans over. Holds Rain's chin in one hand as he half-kisses him and half-spits into his mouth, slow and sloppy. Storm groans as Rain does that with his tongue, closes his mouth. Swallows. Opens again.

"Oh, f—I'm gonna come, Rainy. Let me—" He sits upright again, barely able to register Rain's encouraging moan. Rain's hands clutch at Storm's legs as the air ghoul strokes himself, hips rocking.

"All over me. Right here." Rain holds his gaze, breathing heavily, savoring the weight of Storm pressing him into the nest. Grazing his hands along Storm's hips, tips of his claws raking his thighs. "Please."

Storm's shout as he starts to come, spine rigid and head thrown back when he physically can't keep staring at Rain, one hand fisted around his cock and the other with fingers curled into his own hair, is incomprehensible. The glass baubles and the panes in the windows rattle, and one window even blows open, a wet wind forcing itself inside as Storm shoots all over Rain's neck and chest, hot streaks of cum and cool spatters of raindrops hitting his skin in quick succession.

Feeling it running along his collarbones, paired with the unobstructed sight and sound of Storm finally—finally—coming apart for him, from him, with him, is almost enough to make Rain come again. His cunt aches with the memory of Storm taking him apart earlier and the way he looks now, perched atop him, breathing hard, looking and sounding every bit as wrecked as Rain feels.

He could have asked Storm to just come in his mouth, sure. But this way he got to watch.

And he still gets to taste: Rain doesn't wait for Storm to milk the last few dribbles from his spent cock before he's running his hand through the mess, desperate for this. He slides his fingers into his mouth, eyes shut as he groans, licking them clean.

Storm lingers for a moment, catching his breath, stroking Rain's face and hair and horns as he murmurs inarticulate praise, a soft purr rising in his chest.

He'd stay there forever, but for the small matter of the weather, intruding on their warmth and starting to jeopardize the drier half of the nest. Reluctantly, Storm climbs off Rain and pulls the window shut, double checking the latch. He flops down again nearby, offering Rain another hand towel, which Rain accepts after he's finished lapping up every taste of them, using it to pat himself the rest of the way dry.

It's a good thing the nest is big, because—he glances over at the other side, where they'd started the evening. Storm had been wise to get a couple of those blankets.

But as Storm folds one over on itself, there's another layer of dry bedding below it, which Storm now uses to tuck sheets and blankets over them both, fluffing up their pillows and pulling a couple of the water bottles close. After rummaging around for the remote, he turns off most of the lights, lowering the few he leaves on, cradling them in a soft, more intimate glow.

Rain curls into Storm's spent body, wriggling his way under one heavy arm.

"Hey." Rain cuddles in close, tucking his head into Storm's neck.

"Hello, beautiful ghoul. How are you?" Storm presses a kiss to Rain's hair, then tips Rain's chin up to kiss his mouth, too, slow and lingering. He tastes of Storm, and Storm tastes of Rain. It's perfect.

"So good," Rain murmurs, dreamily, when they pull apart. "You?"

"Also very good." He lets out a content sigh, squeezing a hand around Rain's hip.

"Yeah," Rain agrees, hand finding Storm's and interlacing their fingers.

And then they both start to speak at the same time.

"We should probably ta—"

"So do you want to—"

They laugh, heads knocking gently together.

"Later?" Rain asks.

"Later." Storm nods.

He pulls Rain against his chest, and they make quiet conversation about nothing in particular for a little while, having jointly decided to table more serious talk for another time. Rain starts to take his hair down, because there's no salvaging those braids now, and Storm helps, deft fingers untangling a stubborn knot at the back in order to free Rain's hairtie.

Eventually, soft words and small touches fade into a half-asleep cuddle, relaxing into each other. They lay there, quiet and content, enjoying the comfort of uncomplicated, satisfied animal warmth, and the wrung-out gratification of well-fucked bodies, until Rain drops off first, and Storm follows behind not long after.

---

coda

Sunrise announces itself as the sun crests over the lake, beams glinting off the surface and piercing through the tower windows, catching in the dangling crystals that hang suspended in the air. Scattered fragments of rainbows drift over the nest, where Rain curls against Storm's sprawling form. They skim the ghouls' bare skin where it emerges from under blankets and pillows, rake over tangles of messy hair, slept on and sex-wild.

The chimes on the balcony and the sound of birds chirping are faintly audible through the closed windows. No sign of ravens, but it's early and the sun is not yet fully up.

Warnings:

One last Big Feelings chapter here. This chapter has more explicit drug use (cannabis), alcohol use, intoxication/cross-fading, an anxiety moment that doesn't escalate to a panic attack, some making out and removal of clothing, as well as a big meal. Consider yourself warned!

Tags have been updated on AO3, and I’ll keep updating as we go along. Slow-ish burn, but they’re ghouls and I’m me, though, so, you know–it’s gonna be freaky.

Credits/etc

Chapter 8: più mosso

Rain texts Aurora as soon as he finishes locking the tower door behind him.

Need your help, there in ten

He's already hurrying in the direction of the den, not waiting for a response. His phone buzzes with her reply just as he enters the ghoul wing proper, and he heads straight for her room.

Twenty minutes later he emerges with a plan, a determined expression, and owing Aurora a favor that will be a problem for future-Rain. He makes a brief stop to see Mountain, who's been around long enough and through enough of his packmates' schemes to know better than to ask too many questions when one of them turns up with the kind of look Rain has in his eyes.

Ticking things off a list that only exists in his head, Rain retreats to his room.

He spends an hour and a half with Dew, curled up with his mate, debriefing. Rain knows how this will go: he'll catch Dew up, the fire ghoul being as patient as he ever gets while Rain talks through his excitement. Then, once Rain's started to settle, Dew will take Rain's hand and press it against his dick while kissing him with increasing urgency. Rain will promise to tell him everything, after, and Dew will promise to give him something to hold him over until then. And he does.

---

With two hours left until he needs to meet up with Storm, Rain reluctantly untangles himself from Dew's cuddly post-orgasmic grasp. He peppers his face in playful kisses as Dew's nose scrunches up in indignation, fingers combing through the fire ghoul's hair, before whispering something in his ear and pressing one last kiss to his lips. Then he pushes himself up out of bed, heading to the bathroom to start getting ready.

When Rain returns, Dew's up and puttering around, having helped himself to a sample of Mountain's contribution to the forthcoming evening of indulgence. He makes suggestions as Rain tries on different outfits, petitioning for more exciting options that he knows exist in Rain's wardrobe, but Rain votes him down. There's time for that later.

For tonight, Rain settles on something that won't be too distracting to wear: his favorite pair of jeans, just worn in enough to be comfortable, and a long-sleeved light knit shirt with a wide neckline that leaves his collarbones exposed, emphasizing his shoulders as the material drapes and clings in all the right places.

With that sorted, he opens his top dresser drawer, shifting the contents from one side to the other until he finds what he's looking for: a slim black box a little bigger than his phone. He checks the contents and puts the box in his back pocket, then starts picking through his jewelry box, choosing a couple of his favorite rings and a long silver necklace with a ring-shaped malachite pendant that grazes against his sternum. After taking thoughtful sniffs of several small glass vials, Rain applies careful dabs of perfumed oil behind his ears, on each wrist, and in the center of his throat, dragging a line down his chest. As his skin warms the oil and awakens the scent, he breathes in the comforting smells of cardamom and coastal cedar rising around him.

He briefly leaves the den to pay a quick visit to the Ministry kitchens, charming his way into the wine cellar. One of the bottles he liberates gets packed into a duffel bag along with the weed, while he passes the other bottle to Dew with a wink. They'll find some time to enjoy it together soon.

Rain spends the remainder of his preparation time alternating between fussing with his hair, frantically texting Aurora for status updates, and second guessing his outfit. He manages to throw a few simple things in the duffel, including a soft change of clothes and the toiletry bag he never bothered unpacking after tour.

And then Dew, tired of watching Rain pace and make disgruntled noises at his phone, takes his hand and sits him on the bed, and begins to carefully braid back the top half of Rain's hair, warm fingers tracing along his hairline in soothing strokes.

Once it's done, Rain is calmer, and he has just enough time to double check everything in his bag, give Dew an early good night kiss, and meet Aurora in the kitchen.

As promised, she's sifting through a pile of delivery bags when he enters, dropping his duffel on a chair and coming up behind her to wrap her in a hug.

"You're a lifesaver, Rory. Thank you." He leans down, kissing the top of her head between the horns.

"I know," she says, grinning up at him. "Besides, if you can't double team your boyfriend with the other guy he's sleeping with, what are you even doing with your life?"

"I don't think that's what that phrase means," Rain laughs, starting to help her organize everything. He grabs a pair of mismatched wine glasses from a nearby cabinet, wrapping them in a dish towel so they won't knock together and break, before handing them to her.

"It's not, but we could, is what I'm saying," Aurora says, giving Rain a speculative sort of look. "Not to mention," she adds, mentioning it, "I'm nothing if not efficient. This way I get brownie points from both of you." Her eyes gleam as she carefully places the glasses into a full bag of takeout that she slides across the counter, ready to go.

"And what do you plan on redeeming those for, I wonder, starling," Storm interjects from the doorway. He's leaning against the door frame, a wolfish smile Rain hasn't seen him wearing before on his lips. He looks good like this; Rain admires him without hiding it, taking in the deep navy trousers and their interesting texture, the pearly gray sweater that looks so soft. The confidence in his posture, and the way he looks at Rain—contained as always, but with a hunger he no longer pretends is anything other than what it is. Rain has to make a concerted effort to stay at the counter, but Aurora has no such restraint.

"You'll find out soon enough!" Aurora pirouettes around Rain, slingshotting herself toward the door and jumping into Storm's arms. He catches her with a practiced ease that tells Rain just how often he must be used to doing that, holding the tiny ghoulette in his arms as he spins her in a circle, depositing her on the other side of the doorway. Rain can't hear the other words they exchange before Aurora yells, "Good luck, Rainy! Don't have too much fun!"

"No promises!" He calls back, grinning as Storm turns to him. "She's a menace."

"Yes. Isn't it fantastic?" Storm beams, shouldering Rain's duffel and lifting one of the overstuffed takeout bags, leaving the other for Rain to carry so he has something to do with his hands. "Is this everything?"

"It is," Rain says, picking up the second bag, and following Storm as he leads the way back to the aerie. It's easier to keep quiet as they traverse the Ministry halls and climb to the second floor of the library—there's nothing Rain needs to say that can't wait until they're alone again.

A frisson of nervous, excited energy zips along Rain's spine as Storm unlocks the tower door, holding it open for him. When Rain enters the room, he notices right away that he's not the only one who's spent the last few hours in a flurry of preparation.

The first thing is that Storm's nest has been reset, refreshed, and rebuilt. It's more orderly than before, the bedding is different, and a wide tray sits perched nearby holding the journal as well as a bottle of ink and some pens. To the left, between the windows and the entryway, what Rain had assumed were merely decorative hangings of textured velvet in a beautiful deep turquoise have been pushed aside to reveal a pretty arched door he hadn't noticed before. And the room glows now, filled with warm light from strands of tiny bulbs strung along the windows and shelves, supplemented with the generous flicker of candles placed with deliberate care—simulated flames, Rain notices, relieved that he won't have to worry about accidentally knocking into one.

Storm brings Rain's bag as well as the takeout over to the couple of steps that lead up to the nest, placing them on the platform lip that encircles the bedding.

"Please, make yourself comfortable. I thought we could eat on the balcony, if you'd like? Not the exact weather I was hoping for, but it's still a nice view." Storm gestures to the outside space, where Rain sees a table and two seats, a cozy fit to be sure, looking out over the lake.

"Sounds good," Rain says. He brings the weed and the wine, setting the bottle on the table as he ducks through the open window. Standing at the railing, Rain watches the wind sculpt the lake, carving a thousand tiny waves as it skims the surface. As the sun sets, the long shadow of the building is already starting to stretch over the water.

He's wondering if they'll lose the light too early when, as if in answer, more candles tucked all around the balcony flicker to life. He turns, looking back as he sees Storm holding up a tiny remote, which he points over his shoulder as even more twinkling lights turn on inside.

When Storm joins him a minute later, music quietly playing in the background, he drapes a thick cream-colored cardigan around Rain's shoulders.

"I'm sorry for not mentioning we might be outside—you look like you're about two minutes away from starting to shiver, siren. Can't have that."

"Thanks." The wind chimes hanging above their heads add a gentle asymmetrical counter-melody that drifts out over the grounds on the breeze. "You're right—it's a good view of the lake." Rain observes, turning toward Storm as he tugs the sweater around him, voice soft, pensive. "You've been watching for a long time, haven't you?"

"Watching. Wanting, waiting." Storm replies, equally tender, squeezing Rain's shoulder as he pulls out a chair for him.

Once they're both seated and comfortable, they unpack the takeout bags together, setting out the glasses and a number of containers that, as they continue to stack up, start to look like Aurora has ordered them the entire menu. Which is entirely possible, Rain suspects.

Storm looks over the accumulating spread, then to Rain, "I'm so very curious—this all smells delicious. What are we having?"

"Well," Rain glances over at him, his turn to look pleased, if a bit overwhelmed. "I remembered that you don't care for red meat—but that you did really seem to enjoy when we had sushi in the green room, while we were on the road. Rory helped me pick a place because the one we used to like closed—they had good reviews and it's got to be way better than whatever we were getting from Catering. I wasn't sure what you'd like, and it appears that Rory decided to get us one of everything."

Rain starts popping open the containers, revealing a ridiculous amount of bite-sized pieces of several dozen rolls in a wild array of colors and fillings. "And what's more indulgent, really, asking your friends to help you make dinner for your hot date, or ordering an outrageous amount of takeout?" Rain holds out a pair of chopsticks to Storm, who seems delighted by the big reveal.

"Plus," Rain continues, fishing a lighter from his pocket and a joint from the stash he'd nabbed from Mountain, which he extends to Storm. "Appetizers. If you want?"

"After you." Storm defers, absorbed in watching Rain as he places the joint between his lips. He flicks the lighter with something less than confidence (relying on a convenient fire ghoul—or at least a Swiss, who could rarely be described as convenient in any context—has its downsides), and pulls until the ember takes. Casting a glance over at Storm through half-lidded eyes, Rain exhales, letting the smoke filter through the delicate ladder of gills climbing up his neck. Storm makes a noise that Rain pretends not to hear as he takes another drag. Then he's offering the joint to Storm again, grasped like a delicate thing, between two long, lithe fingers.

"No?"

Storm makes a motion with his head that says, do it again.

Rain obliges, taking his time with a long, slow inhale. He makes eye contact, waits, exhales, feeling a pleasant tingle in his limbs and the warm air that trickles over his gills. Watches as, instead of drifting aimlessly over the table and dissipating into nothingness, the smoke he exhales coils around itself, serpentine, before Storm gestures with a couple fingers, letting it wind around his hand for a moment before he inhales it in one deep breath.

"Never tried that before," he says, exhaling slowly, looking pleased.

Rain scoots a little closer, hip bumping against Storm's under the table. "Nice trick."

The flush on his chest says that he thought it was a lot more than nice.

"How about this one?" He takes a drag and, holding it, leans in.

Storm meets him there, their noses grazing while Rain exhales at the same time as Storm breathes in, lips not quite touching.

It's probably for the best that Storm plucks the joint from Rain's hands, takes one more hit (which he shares, shotgunning it back to Rain), and gently stubs it out, because for a second Rain wonders if they're going to end up getting irresponsibly high and skipping straight to dessert.

"Good call," Rain whispers, already floating a little more than intended—that was at least two hits too many, but given Storm's reaction, he's got zero regrets.

"Dinner first, siren." Storm chuckles as he pats Rain's knee and reaches for the soy sauce.

At first, they each serve themselves, picking and choosing at random from the vast selection in front of them, until Storm holds a piece in front of Rain's mouth and murmurs, "Here."

There's a long moment where they look at each other, silent and recalibrating, before Rain parts his lips, obedient, stretching his tongue out to receive. Closes his eyes and savors the bite as he chews. Swallows. Smiles at Storm, eyebrows lifted as he chooses something to offer in return.

Tries to sound casual, when he speaks, voice and hands as steady as he can make them as he lifts a piece to Storm's mouth. No reason to be weird about it now, right?

"So I don't know if it's part of, uh, air traditions, but water ghouls usually give gifts on both sides."

Once he's finished the bite Rain feeds him, Storm looks at him, curious. "Oh? It's not unheard of, although also not necessary." He leans over, butting his nose affectionately against the side of Rain's head with a chuff. "You got me something, Rainy?"

Setting his chopsticks down and trying not to visibly react to the shift in pet name—it's the first time Storm's called him that, and the way it sounds in his voice gives Rain goosebumps that can't be explained away by the slight breeze coming off the water—Rain retrieves the box from his back pocket. Makes an effort to steady his hand again when he holds it out.

Storm accepts the box after wiping his fingers on a napkin, opening it to reveal a silk scarf wrapped in tissue paper. He sets the paper and box aside, unfolding the scarf as Rain explains.

"It's—not from home, but it is from my first tour. When Frater was just—when he was the Cardinal. It feels like a long time ago, now. We played all over the States in these…honestly, they were theaters, and then just for good measure, a bunch of festivals in Europe. I think I slept for a week when we got back. But anyway, we were in France, or maybe it was Belgium, and I saw this. I was feeling a little homesick at the time, if you can believe it. And it reminded me of the kelp forests where I grew up."

It's a large square of delicate fabric, hand-painted with billowing petals of a dozen shades of blue-green, accented in outlines of gold, like halos of sunshine in the water viewed from below the surface. It flows between Storm's fingers as he traces along the design, admiring it. He makes quick work of folding the scarf into an ascot, tucking it around and into the open throat of the collared shirt he wears under the sweater.

"Here, let me—" Rain reaches out, adjusts it a little, then smiles. "I wore it a few times, but it looks better on you, I think."

Storm puts a hand on Rain's knee, fingers tracing small circles on the dark denim. "Thank you—it's beautiful. Just like the story behind it." The and you is implied in the kiss on the cheek and subsequent look he gives Rain, and the way he has to tear his eyes away and back to the meal before distraction takes the match point and they start making out on the table, sushi be damned.

They trade leisurely bites for a while, opening the wine, with a brief pause for Storm to locate the one thing Rain managed to forget—a corkscrew. As dark falls and their glasses empty, they abandon their chopsticks in favor of feeding one another by hand. Storm lets his thumb linger on Rain's lip after almost every bite and Rain's chair couldn't be any closer.

Storm's arm drapes along the back of it, and he offers Rain another piece.

"Mm, I think I gotta tap out, actually." Rain signals his surrender with raised hands; he can't hold another bite. His stomach (and the associated anxious twisting feeling in it—something he's been making a concerted effort to brush aside for at least the past hour) is already threatening to be a Problem, which he has to admit was always a potential flaw in the plan.

"Fair enough." Storm pops it into his own mouth, then starts to tidy up. He consolidates the remaining food, piling it onto a long, narrow ceramic dish that he takes from, and returns to, the wide lip of the balcony railing.

Rain tilts his head, watching as Storm lights a stick of incense, waving it over the tray of leftovers.

"What're you doing?"

"Sharing our overabundance with some friends. It's a little late so they'll not be around until morning, though, so shall we?" He stands, holding a hand up for Rain to take and climb back through the window.

"They?" Rain takes his hand and rises, but doesn't move to the window yet.

"Ravens," Storm grins. "They're scavengers, and so clever. I've been working on winning a pair of them over for months now. Still a bit shy, but if we're lucky in the morning we might get to say hello."

Rain laughs. He's been known to take a scrap or two to the lake's eels, who have had him pegged as an easy target since his first summer here, so he nods in total understanding. He climbs inside, only letting go of Storm's hand when Storm starts passing him the wine glasses and bottle, still half-full, and the joint as well.

Storm brings the takeout bags in with minimal contortion as Rain arranges their assorted intoxicants on the edge of the nest, reachable but out of the way, and Storm finds somewhere to stow the bags.

"Um. Is there a…?" Rain points to the room's second door, fairly certain he'll find a bathroom behind it, but not wanting to assume.

"Oh! I meant to say something before—yes, right through there."

Rain finds the light with the help of the dim flicker of another LED candle sitting on the back of the sink. He looks around, taking in the room, which is simple but well-appointed. Notes with disappointment that there's just a shower and not a tub, but the space is small enough that it makes sense. The towels and rug are nice and he sees Storm's robe, hanging on the back of the door. There's one little window that also looks out over the lake, though it's too dark outside to see much of anything now.

Turning to the mirror, he evaluates himself. Dew's braids are holding well—for now—and the oversized cardigan actually works, somehow. Rain's dinner plan turned out perfectly, and he's about to get what he's been begging for in everything but words for some time now. He should be pleased with himself. So why can he see the faintest hint of panic in his eyes? How long has it been there?

He lifts the sweater to his face, taking a deep breath. Steadying, like always. Scrubs his hands over his face.

Get it together, Rain.

He emerges a few minutes later, face faintly damp from a fresh splash of water, as Storm's adjusting the volume of the music and closing the windows against the night's chill.

When Storm excuses himself to the bathroom, Rain takes the opportunity to send a quick check-in message to Dew confirming that the evening's going about as expected (without mentioning his momentary bathroom freakout which he'd really rather not think too much about), before putting his phone back in the duffel and attempting to get comfortable in the nest.

He gives himself a start when he catches sight of an unexpected movement in the back of the room. But when he looks again, heart pounding, he realizes it's only that the piano and mirror have been shifted slightly, maybe to bounce more of the room's light toward the balcony for the evening. Mostly he's just glad he didn't make an embarrassing noise because he was scared by his own reflection.

When he reaches for the joint and his lighter, hoping to help himself chill the fuck out, he sees Storm has placed a small ashtray nearby, too. It's no surprise that Storm's also set out a carafe of water behind the wine—and refilled their glasses. It's these little reminders of Storm's consistent consideration that put Rain at ease enough to try and settle instead of pace around the room.

When Storm returns, he reclines near Rain, adjusting the cushions to give them something to lean on. Rain passes him the joint and, once Storm is settled, scoots into the space between Storm's legs, stretching out and laying back against him.

"This okay?" Rain shifts, trying to make sure he's not putting too much pressure on Storm's stomach.

"More than. Are you comfortable?" Storm asks.

"Could you sit up just a little more, actually?"

"Of course."

Rain props himself up so Storm can adjust the pillows, then leans back again once Storm stops moving. His head tucks perfectly against Storm's chin, and he can feel the slow rise and fall of his chest, warm behind him. He lets out a sigh like dreaming as he focuses on letting his whole body relax, arms draping along Storm's legs.

Rain goes quiet for a long while, staring up at the lights, into the ceiling that glitters above, thoughts coalescing. Consolidating into something that's taking form, little by little. He twists one of his rings with the other hand, introspective.

Storm, content to let their meal settle to the accompaniment of the quiet melody that flows from the speaker, and perhaps also to give Rain space to make the next move, waits patiently.

When Rain speaks, his voice is quiet. Almost airy. "I have a question."

Storm follows Rain's line of sight up into the dome. No answers up there. "Of course. Ask away."

"I know this is kind of a weird time to be bringing this up, but. Us, um, "completing" the courtship"—he makes a gesture that approximates air quotes—"I don't want to promise you something I can't offer."

"What do you mean?" Storm glances down, all too aware that Rain's shoulders hold a tension that wasn't there before dinner. He rests his hands lightly there, giving Rain a gentle squeeze.

"I want to make sure this isn't like us saying we're going to be like Cirrus and Cumulus or something now. And I don't want you to get the wrong idea in the other direction either—I like you a lot. I want to fuck you senseless. I'm so happy to be here. But I can't give you—-"

"Rain," Storm interrupts Rain's anxious spiral with a gentle hush, shifting to hold him a little tighter. His hands are warm where they rest over the center of Rain's chest. "Has this been bothering you for long?"

Rain shakes his head in the negative, his hands coming up to cover Storm's.

"I think it's been in the back of my head all day, but it just kind of hit me after dinner for some reason. I spent so much time focused on other stuff this afternoon, I guess it didn't have a chance to catch up with me until now. Sorry."

"You brought it up as soon as you figured it out. And I'm glad you did." He kisses Rain's temple. "I think I can help, though. May I ask you something in return?"

"Yeah. Of course."

"Based on what you've learned about me, do I seem like the kind of ghoul who wants to spend upward of ninety percent of his waking life with someone?"

Rain pauses, replying with mild consternation. "Okay, when you put it that way it sounds ridiculous."

"Not ridiculous—it works for them and that's wonderful." Storm strokes Rain's hair, gentle fingertips careful not to catch the braided parts. "But I moved up here for a reason. Yes, it's the light and the air, but it's also the quiet. I am a solitary creature, for the most part. And you already have an extremely devoted mate—who, supportive as he is of your happiness, I suspect would rip my throat out in a heartbeat if anyone so much as suggested I had any intention to tempt you away."

"He would," Rain murmurs, unable to hold back a small smile.

"But no. This can be whatever we want it to be. That's the point." He gives Rain a gentle squeeze as the water ghoul settles back against his chest, shoulders lowering, and they lapse back into silence.

They stay that way, passing the remainder of the joint and most of a second back and forth until, during a lull in the music, Storm's stomach makes an especially loud gurgling noise and Rain, drifting on a heady mix of relief and smoke, can't contain his amusement. Storm holds Rain like the gift that he is, solemnly intoning the word borborygmus, sending Rain into another round of giggles while Storm struggles to keep a straight face.

Once the moment passes, Rain settles again, staring up at the ceiling once more.

Sounding steadier, he asks, "So… What do you want?"

"Mm. I know I've told you before. Did you forget?"

"No. But I want to hear it again."

Storm's laugh rumbles from deep in his chest. "There you are. My pretty ghoul. So full of demands…"

He leans in, voice close to Rain's ear, tone even, in that maddening way he knows Rain can't resist.

"…just the way I like you. What I said was: I want to wring a hundred thousand pleasures from your body, to savor every inch of you, to split you open and fill you until you can't take any more. To add to the constellation of adoration etched on your skin, to fill the air with the sweet sound of our voices in rapture… any of this ringing a bell?" His lips graze against Rain's ear.

"Hmm, maybe a little. What else?" Rain can feel Storm's beard brushing against his hair, wiggling his head a little to nuzzle back against him.

"I want…" Storm chuffs against Rain's hair. "I want to take care of you. In bed, yes, but in life as well. Make your days easier, whether I'm around or not." His voice drops into a lower register. "Show you off, when we go out together and absolutely everyone stares at you."

Rain makes a quiet noise and wriggles in pleasure, a soft shade of pink tinting his cheeks and ears.

Storm continues. "And I want you to spend time with me here. Even if it's just sitting together in the quiet, or relaxing while I play for you. Would you like that?"

"Yeah." Rain turns over, half-kneeling as he folds his arms on Storm's chest, resting his chin atop them, tail swaying behind him. "I'd like that a lot." Lips curled in a smirk, hovering a centimeter or two in front of Storm's. Just out of reach, taunting.

"Me too." Storm hooks a finger in Rain's belt loops, one at each hip, a gentle tension that draws Rain in.

Rain allows himself to be pulled, and they rearrange their legs with a minimum of giggling. With his knees bracketed on either side of Storm's hips, Rain perches in Storm's lap once more. They're both wearing a lot more clothing this time, but the look on Rain's face says that might not be true for much longer.

"Can I kiss you?" Storm asks, warm fingers sliding up under Rain's shirt, grazing the gills that sit on each flank, just above his waist.

After a full-body shiver that reboots his brain, Rain gives Storm a curious look. "Are you just asking that in order to hear my answer? Because—" He rolls his hips, a slow smile curving his lips, "I'm pretty sure you already know what I'm going to say."

"I do like hearing it." Storm's hips shift under Rain's, his fingers pressing into Rain's skin just a millimeter or two. "Is that a yes?"

Rain cups his hands on both sides of Storm's face, looking deep into his turbulent slate eyes. Feels heat dragging through his core, slow and syrupy, holding the gaze for long seconds. Neither of them blinks as Rain grazes his lips against Storm's, lets the air ghoul's mustache prickle against his skin, their breath mingling. His voice is siren-song and sweet.

"Yes, it's a yes. And I'll let you know if that changes. You know I want you."

As his eyes drop to Storm's mouth, the kiss starts soft, almost tentative.

Slides into indulgent as Rain traces his tongue against the corner of Storm's lips.

Storm licks into Rain's mouth like it's the only thing he's craved all night, like everything that came before this moment was merely the opening volley in a seven-course meal.

Rain opens to him, devoured, and devouring in turn.

Tangling his fingers in Storm's hair, fine short silvery waves just long enough to tug on, Rain nips at Storm's lower lip, then along his jaw, past where his beard protects sensitive skin. Drags a fang along his neck before sucking into the spot just behind his earlobe, pressing his tongue into the place where he feels Storm's heartbeat, racing every bit as fast as his own.

Storm groans, grabbing Rain's ass with both hands, claws careful not to do any damage. He rocks Rain's hips against his, just once. Even through his jeans, Rain is exquisitely aware of the heat and the growing thickness pressed against him.

Looking mischievous, Rain peels away the cardigan, already halfway hanging off his shoulders, and ups the ante by taking off his shirt too, tossing it behind him without looking—avoiding the wine glasses by inches.

Storm doesn't seem to notice the near miss.

It's not like Rain makes any particular effort to hide his body from his packmates—why bother—but Storm's never allowed himself to look as openly as he does now. Greedy to absorb every detail, his eyes drag over Rain's proud shoulders and graceful arms, dappled with freckles and irregular shadowy rings that would serve him well underwater.

The malachite pendant, a lure that encourages Storm's gaze to linger, dangles at the center of Rain's chest, his dusky nipples still soft, until he notices Storm looking and runs his fingers over the sensitive skin, and they pebble up under his touch. The gills on his flanks ripple, dragging Storm's attention away, until—

"I thought about wearing something special for you," Rain says, wiggling his hips in a way that could be unintentional but definitely isn't as he cups his hands against his chest. "But I wasn't sure if you'd want me to…"

He looks Storm dead in the eye.

"…or if you'd rather pick something out for me yourself. Would you like that?"

Storm makes a noise that might be a purr, or might be a growl. Possibly, a plea to any entity who might be listening for some kind of mercy from the decisions that led him here.

"Now who's asking que—estions he knows the answer to?" Storm's voice is hoarse, and it hitches as his hips jerk on the next roll of Rain's hips. "You're already so pretty it ruins me, Rain."

"Mmhm. And you have quite the collection of pretty things, don't you?"

Rain arches back, hands falling away as Storm kisses a line down the center of his chest before taking one perfect nipple in his mouth, sending buzzy waves of sensation skittering over Rain's skin as he pulls at it with his lips, sucking hard for a second before leaning back again with a quiet, wet pop.

It's not enough. Not nearly.

Rain leans in again. Starts to kiss him, but stops short of connecting.

Watches for the flash he knows he'll see when he looks up to Storm's eyes again.

He stays there for a long moment before speaking. Letting the tension build up until it's nearly unbearable.

"Hey, Storm?"

"Yes, Rain?"

"Do you know what I want?"

"Tell me."

"I want you to stop holding back."

The words hang in the air for a second before gravity takes effect.

And then, just like that day at Wrath, before Rain's brain or body have a chance to respond to the movement, Storm has Rain pinned on his back again, one hand fisted in his hair, and the other spread, palm down, in the center of his chest. 

Warnings:

We're getting into the actual smut, y'all! Conduct yourself accordingly. The scene at the beginning of the chapter is really the only thing going on in this one, since it's a lot of setup and foreplay (ahem).

Tags have been updated on AO3, and I’ll keep updating as we go along. Slow-ish burn, but they’re ghouls and I’m me, though, so, you know–it’s gonna be freaky.

Credits/etc

Chapter 7: fieramente

The pack is remarkably chill about the way Rain and Storm's growing bond re-sculpts the shape and weave of pack activities. Sometimes Rain catches Dew and Phantom whispering together, sly smiles unconcealed, before finding conspicuous ways to settle around him that leave room for Storm, though the air ghoul's selective social battery means he keeps to himself, journal propped open, pressing ink to paper as often as not. Other times he's occupied with Aurora, who relishes the opportunity to test the endless reserve of his willingness to anticipate and cater to her whims. Rain would tease her about it, but it turns out, he's learning to like it, too.

When Storm catches Rain's eye after practice, or sitting down to a meal, or when they start blowing up the pack group chat, rearranging schedules so they can take chapel shifts together again, Rain finds himself relaxing into the certainty of Storm's presence, somehow both electrifying and grounding. Of knowing that when they're alone together, he can truly let go. That Rain doesn't have to show up a certain way or any way at all. That no matter what ridiculous thing he might say he wants, and even sometimes when it's unspoken, Storm will try to find a way to give him what he needs. That the air ghoul derives a deep sense of fulfillment in the way he cherishes, nourishes those he chooses to invite in.

Rain can see it in the way Storm works in the greenhouse, when he catches sight of him through the foggy panes one damp day on his way to the lake. Whispers about it with Aurora, giggling their way through one of Swiss' joints (stolen) as she paints his nails. Finds himself peppered with questions about how it's going over breakfast by Cirrus and Cumulus, who coo at him and one another, and exchange knowing glances before drifting back to their room with all the subtlety of a Papa's wardrobe.

But it's not all gentle nurturing and bouquets of flowers, either (though Storm does stop by with something fresh every few days, as soon the ones in Rain's room start looking a little sad). Rain's lost count of the number of times he's felt the back of his neck prickle with the weight of regard and looked around to find Storm watching him, eyes full of appreciation, admiration, desire. And, if Rain's being honest, the number of times Storm catches him doing the exact same thing. Either way, when it happens, there's always a moment where they both watch to see who's going to break first.

Rain learns that the easiest way to "win" is distraction; one night he's pretty deep into a sample of Mountain's newest strain and, feeling Storm watching from across the room, meets his gaze and, following an impulse, cups his tits in both hands, giving them a slow squeeze. The way the light flickers through Storm's eyes makes it impossible to hide the way they immediately, almost involuntarily, track Rain's hands. He gives Storm a silly, satisfied smirk when he looks back up, acknowledging a point in Rain's favor this time.

But often, Rain gets more pleasure from being on the receiving end of the strategy Storm's adopted in their dirty little private game of chicken. If they're alone when it happens, he'll start describing whatever thoughts he's having about Rain in the moment. If they're not, Rain can expect a lengthy text, meticulously tapped out between appraising glances. Admiring the way his gills flare in the afternoon sunlight on a warm spring day and praising the soft bassline he hums while he makes his morning tea, sure, but also opining on the generous curve of his ass and every detail of how it bounces when he's playing. Monologuing about the ways he'd like to mark the elegant length of Rain's exposed neck and throat. And so on.

For the most part, Rain can't get enough of it, but on one memorable night in the chapel before Mass, his actions come back to haunt him. Storm, laying out the ceremonial necessities while Rain lights candles, chooses this opportunity to recount exactly what happened when he discovered Rain's underwear tucked into the back pocket of the pants he'd worn to the club that night. Rain has never felt lightheaded just from someone describing their experience jerking off before, but Storm does so in such exquisite, excruciating detail that Rain hurries them through the remaining preparations. This leaves just enough time for Rain to drag Storm into the broom closet, which has seen more than its fair share of covert ghoulish dalliances.

Rain's desperate enough that when Storm follows him inside and presses up close behind him to pull the door shut, sliding a warm hand around Rain's hip and stroking him through his pants with a broad palm and insistent, relentless pressure, Rain's coming apart almost before they even really get going. Which is all they have time for, anyway, without risking being missed at the beginning of the service. It certainly helps that Storm's pressing his mouth to Rain's ear the whole time too, crooning absolute filth as he all but orders Rain to come for him.

They return to their appointed places just in time to greet Papa, ignoring his brief but unmistakable glance at where Storm's wrist has a clear and deep imprint—skin fortunately unbroken—from the teeth of a ghoul making an attempt at being quiet as he's being utterly unraveled. Storm radiates a certain smug satisfaction from Rain's side for the rest of the night, which the pack picks up on even if they don't know what Storm did to earn it.

---

Then, on an otherwise ordinary afternoon, as the pack gathers for practice, Rain notices a small envelope tucked under the strings of his bass. As he hoists the instrument onto his shoulders, adjusting the strap, he looks around, but no one is watching him. He's about to slit the envelope open to see what's inside when Perpetua enters and the energy of the room all turns toward him. Rain shoves the envelope into his back pocket, fishing around for a pick and trotting over to his first mark.

The pack emerges from the rehearsal room a couple hours later, sweaty, hungry, and in Rain's case, ready for a nap. He'd spent the entire second half of practice distracted, fantasizing about the hot bath he was going to take before crawling into bed, and damn the consequences to his sleep schedule. He makes a brief stop in the kitchen and finds Storm and Mountain chatting as they cut up fruit to add to the spread that Swiss is arranging for everyone to share while Phantom rummages through the cabinets, occasionally thrusting something they find at Swiss.

Before Rain is even aware that he's about to make the decision to take his to-go, Storm's handing him a bowl. Mountain looks on, amused, as Rain gives Storm an ironic shrug; yeah, all right, you got me this time. Storm arches one eyebrow, mouth curved in a smug grin before he gets right back to the melon he's butchering with practiced efficiency.

Rain escapes the kitchen without further incident, draws a bath, shucks off his clothes, and drops into the water with relief. It's not until he's toweling off and gathering his dishes and dirty laundry that he feels the rustle of paper and remembers the envelope.

It's a little crumpled now, and still a bit damp from his sweat, the humidity of the bath, or both. Rain opens it as he flops into bed.

Inside, there are two notecards. The first is inscribed with an elegant script Rain's grown to recognize almost as well as the feeling of its writer's gaze. It reads, simply, You Are Invited and he flips the card over, looking for more details. On the back, the message continues, though it's equally—perplexingly—brief.

When you're ready, text me.

- S

Ready? Ready for what, Rain wonders, tracing a fingertip over the elegant curve of the oversized, stylized S. The ink isn't black, not quite, shimmering in a deep navy shade with a hint of gold-green iridescence, when he angles it just so in the light.

Bemused, he puts the note aside and examines the second card. A hand-drawn sketch in ink, washed with watercolor in gentle hues, which as Rain considers it, he realizes is of an out-of-the-way corner of the Ministry, a tall tower encircled by trees that's always struck him as a bit odd, architecturally speaking. But there are many strange things about this place, and he wouldn't have enough time to examine them all even if he put effort into it. Nonetheless, it's drawn from the perspective of someone looking at the building from a vantage point near the lake, and therefore strikes a chord of familiarity.

And that's it. No other explanation, no directions, no clues.

So obviously Rain grabs his phone.

He's being mean to me again :(

Aurora responds right away.

[🦄]: u like it and u know it

[🦄]: what is it this time

Rain groans; he was hoping for a hint but Aurora's either not in on it, or is playing coy for her own obscure reasons. He takes a picture of the sketch, sends it to her.

[🦄]: ohhhhh

[🦄]: can't help u rainy

[🦄]: ur on ur own ;)

Rain resists the urge to throw his phone, instead thumbing out a reply.

Remember that next time you want to borrow something from my closet 😘

He switches to his conversation with Storm. Thinks. Taps out a new message.

How will I know? And invited to what??

Storm's next message doesn't arrive for a few minutes. He replies not in text, but in the form of a voice memo. Rain's finger hovers over the 'play' button; the first time Storm sent him one, he made the mistake of listening to it as soon as it arrived, which happened to be while he was helping Swiss put away groceries. How was Rain supposed to know that that was how he would learn that Storm had found yet another way to thoroughly undo him without laying so much as a finger on him or even being in the same room, scrambling to stop playback while Swiss cackled over the sound of Storm's hushed voice narrating how he'd like to take Rain apart on the drum riser, while the faint sound of Perpetua giving the band's guitarists feedback during their most recent practice session was audible in the background.

Rain finished listening to it later. Several times. Texted Storm a photo afterward, face flushed and shiny, hair a mess, fingers in his mouth like he could transmit the taste of himself through the airwaves.

Maybe that round was a draw, after all.

And now he's alone, so he hits 'play' with less hesitation than he would otherwise, ignoring the way warmth rises between his legs, anticipating.

Hello, beautiful ghoul. I hope you're having a good evening.

His voice drips like the honey Rain takes in his tea.

Did you enjoy your soak? I have a new batch of things for you that I've been working on, but they're not quite ready yet. And speaking of ready…

Rain hears shifting fabric, a soft tinkle of chimes, and the quiet, close exhale of Storm's breath before he continues. His voice is no less self-assured than Rain knows it to be most of the time, but there's an edge of something new here. A quiet vulnerability that's usually shielded by the confidence, Rain thinks.

The time hasn't quite arrived, but there's something I want to show you. Share with you. If I'm honest, this part isn't something I've asked of many others. I don't say that to flatter you, though if you wished, I would spend a thousand hours devoting my tongue to that pursuit.

Rain squirms, feeling a pleasant, lazy curl of heat flicker in his core. On the recording, Storm clears his throat.

But I digress. It's so easy to be distracted by your many fine qualities, siren. So, in answer to your questions… How will you know when you're ready? When you understand that my intention is to place a few carefully-hewn planks on the bridge of trust we've been building between us since you agreed to allow me to pursue you, and that this undertaking is, I believe, to both your benefit and mine.

As far as, 'to what,' the answer is the same. And also, the answer is, to what you see.

Rain picks up the sketch again, staring at as if it's going to reveal more secrets if he looks hard enough. To there?

Storm continues after a short pause, as if anticipating Rain's thoughts (which he has).

I'm fairly certain you'll recognize the view. I'd like to show you what it looks like from the other side. Not tonight. It's getting late and I think we'll need some time. I certainly don't intend to rush. How do you feel about Saturday morning?

The recording ends. Rain plays it again, feeling only vaguely more informed than before.

And all the more committed to unraveling the unexpected puzzle Storm dangles in front of him, knowing he can't resist the bait.

Saturday's great, I'll see you then

Despite wanting to ask a hundred more questions, Rain forces himself to put the phone down. He's got a few days to spend pondering the voice memo and the envelope's contents. No need to keep himself up doing it now.

But then he thinks of a question he cannot leave unasked.

Were you touching yourself when you recorded that?

Without waiting for a reply he throws his phone onto the nightstand and rolls over, burrowing into the pillows and blankets. After a lot of tossing and turning, he manages to fall asleep.

At some point in the middle of the night he braves a peek at his phone screen; the reply is succinct, but hours old:

[⛈️]: No, but I am now. Sweet dreams. xo

"Fuck."

Getting to sleep is even worse the second time.

---

Saturday arrives full of promise—a sparkling sunrise that Rain spends at the lake in Mist's company, once again submitting himself to her pointed ribbing. He manages to get her to share a few stories about Zephyr and Ifrit, and can't help but agreeing with her that air ghouls—for all their outward poise—might have the greatest potential to cause the most chaos in any pack they're part of, based on their uncanny ability to intuit any number of ways to take another ghoul apart purely with words.

Explaining that he can't stay too long, Rain and Mist swim along the shore so he can point out the strange tower, describing the note and how Storm wants to show him something there. Mist stares at the grounds for a long moment, going still in the water.

"That was Zeph's tower. They stopped being able to get up there, before—you know." She offers Rain a tiny smile: real, but steeped in the quiet grief of being the last of something. He pulls her into a tight hug, which she allows for exactly three seconds before pushing away, submerging until she's only visible from the chin up.

"They'd be happy to know it's not going to ruin, guppy. It's all right," she reassures him. Starts to sink, then adds, "I think the staircase is hidden in a back corner of the library. If nothing's changed."

And then she disappears into the dark deep.

Leaving Rain with no choice but to face whatever comes next.

---

In the time that it takes Rain to swim to the dock, pull on enough clothing to not cause a riot as he walks back to the ghoul den, and catch Dew in time to share a brief, steamy shower, the weather shifts.

When Rain emerges with Dew from their room, scrubbed clean, dressed in soft, casual trousers and a linen button-down, and only a little mussed in the wake of mandatory post-shower affection from his fire ghoul, it's much cloudier outside. Not entirely gloomy, but not the bright, clear morning he'd expected after such a brilliant start.

But it's no matter because now, Rain is a ghoul on a mission. He explores the library, emptier than usual on a weekend morning, with fresh eyes. No one seems to notice him wandering from section to section and peering out the high, dusty windows, trying to triangulate his position relative to his mental image, the lake, and the sketch tucked in his pocket.

After getting turned around a few times, he finds himself in an upper-floor reading room, and knows he's on to something when he catches a hint of the familiar scent of Storm: citrus, a dose of static, and a deep warm layer underneath that he still isn't sure of but recognizes instantly. Around the corner, he finds an unmarked door at the far end of a long shelf of books about liturgical music, which tracks based on what little Rain has learned about the elder air ghoul who once used the space. When he tries the handle, however, it's locked. He knocks, hesitant to break the peace of the library or draw unwanted attention, but there's no response and no sound from within.

Ducking back into the reading room, he looks around for any further hints. Maybe the door is part of a different mystery.

Or not, he decides, spotting a familiar little object resting on a side table tucked between two big cozy chairs next to the windows. It's another of Storm's charms, resembling the one Rain's been carrying in his pocket like a much more superstitious ghoul than he considers himself to be. Attached to this charm is a key.

It slides into the lock without resistance, and turns easily. Despite its somewhat shabby appearance, the door doesn't so much as squeak when he opens it, or pulls it shut behind him, re-engaging the lock as he pockets the key.

The door conceals a staircase that rises up past Rain's line of sight. As he begins to climb, a faint sound of what he thinks is piano music begins to reach his ears, though it's distant still. He hits the landing, which curves around as the stairs double back over themselves. It's brighter as he ascends, the sound of the piano growing louder by the step, and as he reaches the top Rain finds himself in a short hallway, at the end of which is a room, and nowhere else to go.

The room is full of natural light that spills around the edges of the door, three-quarters shut. The music, too, pours out into the hallway. As Rain approaches, peers inside, nudges the door open just wide enough for him to slip past, this is what he sees:

The music he's been hearing is not, as he assumed, a recording. The tower room, which he's successfully located, is large enough—if only just—to house a small grand piano, shabby with age and wear, but rich in tone. Storm sits at its keys, deep in concentration as he plays. Rain, unsure if he's been noticed and unwilling to interrupt, freezes in place.

The melody, at first tentative but persistent, grows in urgency. Shifts darker, louder. Builds. Crescendos in triumph. Settles, then rises again with a momentum that that doesn't quite feel under control. And finally, retreats, tender and soft, back to where it began.

Rain lets each emotion wash over him as it plays out on the canvas of Storm's body, channeled in his every move, every touch of the keys. He doesn't realize he's been holding his breath until it bursts out of him in an impressed whoosh once Storm goes still. Storm turns to look at him, eyes still a little wild as Rain gives him a small wave.

"Hi. That was beautiful."

"You're beautiful. And thank you. Come in. You can shut the door, please."

Rain shuffles his slippers off near the door, closing it then turning back to Storm, who's still seated at the piano.

"I locked the one downstairs, too. Did you want your key back?" Rain reaches for his pocket, stopping mid-motion when Storm looks back up at him.

"Good. And no, that's for you. If you want it." Storm smiles, the closest to shy Rain's seen him since perhaps the first week he was summoned.

"I do," Rain reassures him, pleased to see Storm's expression warming. "Will you play something else for me? Can I watch?"

Storm gestures at what Rain can only describe as a true ghoul nest, an interwoven circle of cushions and pillows, blankets and other select pieces of fabric, which takes up most of the front half of the tower room, spread out on an elevated platform under windows that curve along one of the short ends of the room, opposite the piano. They span almost floor to ceiling, and open onto a covered balcony barely large enough for two ghouls, which shimmers in the daylight despite the overcast sky. All are thrown open wide, gauzy curtains stirring from the breeze that blows off the lake, filling the room with the smell of an approaching cold front.

As Rain settles into the nest and Storm begins to play again, he tries to take it all in. For such a small space, there's much to see.

Built-ins set into the stone walls line the back half of the room; lower cabinets topped with shelves, climbing all the way to the ceiling, which rises higher than Rain would be able to reach. Above him, in this rounded part of the turret that makes up most of the front half, is a dome that, from the looks of it, was painted centuries ago to resemble the night sky. Suspended in front of the windows and throughout the space, catching light and throwing prismatic flashes into every corner of the room, there are crystal and glass baubles of many sizes and shapes, arranged with obvious intention even if Rain can't infer the reasons behind their placement. He sees more charms scattered about, some in the style he recognizes, and others he does not, interspersed with other small pretty things—white pebbles, woven strands of river grass, plant cuttings in tiny jars, soaking up sunlight.

Tucked into one corner and partially obscuring the piano, an enormous floor mirror sits, perhaps of equal age to the venerable instrument judging by its freckled patina and faded gilt finish. Rain realizes that it's placed at a very particular angle; it does a wonderful job of reflecting light and brightening the room, and it also gives Storm a direct line of sight to the nest, and the way Rain sinks into it, eyes wide.

His knee bumps against something familiar: the same journal that he's seen Storm carrying around for quite some time now, even before all this began. He starts to set it aside, would never dare to peer between its covers even if he didn't know that Storm could see him. Storm clears his throat, fingers falling still for a moment, as their eyes meet in the mirror.

"You can look. Should look. It's for you."

Rain makes a puzzled expression, eyebrows raised. But Storm offers no further explanation and launches into the next movement of the piece.

Rain looks down at the book in his lap. Pushes his hair out of his face and opens the front cover.

It's not a journal—not really. It's more like a scrapbook, he realizes, running his thumb along the edge of the pages as he pauses to read the inscription.

Rain,

In the Circle I come from, we sometimes follow what some rightly characterize as outdated traditions. Ghouls choose to walk these paths when we find ourselves in the presence of someone who, simply by existing, undeniably and unfailingly draws the attention and admiration of all around them. It is imperative that in these moments of recognition, we honor the magnificence of His creation, and consecrate them in the Princes' names. It's not dissimilar to the pledges of fealty sworn by noble knights in other Circles, and in mortal stories that perhaps started as fables that knew a little too much. But each ghoul who chooses this path has the opportunity to shape their own story. I hope that this will be the beginning of ours.

Rain isn't sure how long he spends paging through the journal, which is crammed full of more things to see than this small, airy room that's full of light and music, all for him.

The first quarter of the journal is a beautifully illustrated catalog of notes on the various salves, oils, and other concoctions Storm's created for Rain, covering everything from the best ways to grow and harvest the base ingredients, to full recipes, and notes on the optimal methods to decant and store everything long-term to maintain efficacy.

Past that section, Rain finds an illustration of the charm Storm first gave him, decorating the corner of a recipe for the tea blend they'd shared the first time they'd talked about Storm's request. Beyond that, a hasty but well-captured sketch depicting Rain standing at the practice room workbench, headphones on and oblivious to the outside world. He feels his cheeks go warm—he didn't know Storm had stood there watching him long enough to draw him, even if it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Inscribed in the corner of the page, a symbol Rain has to examine for a moment before linking it to Mammon, the Prince of Greed.

Between another pair of pages, he finds a pressed flower. Its many petals, overlapping and interlocked in cascading layers, are a creamy ivory that shades into vivid spring green in the center. A note on the page, rendered in Storm's flawless script to the side of another symbol, this one for the sea serpent Leviathan, identifies it as a zinnia.

The right-hand page here is crinkled, uneven in the way paper dries after it's gotten damp. Rain tries to turn the page and realizes it's stuck to the one behind it. Snorts out loud when the suspicion strikes him, which he confirms as he leans closer, catching an undeniable scent.

The music doesn't falter, but Rain feels Storm's eyes on him again and he looks up, a wide and wicked grin on his face as their eyes meet, briefly. The breeze picks up, causing the crystals in the window to spin and the light to dance.

As Rain continues to look, he finds more art—another sketch, from Storm's perspective with Rain asleep on the couch, tucked against Storm's side and his book closed in his lap as Dew curls up at the far end. Rain looking untouchable at the club with colorful lights streaking around him, this time captured in watercolor and ink. The other ghouls are there, too, blurry figures surrounding him, but Rain is rendered in the greatest detail, as if he were somehow even more alive than the vibrant scene surrounding him.

The page opposite that contains the recipe for the hangover cure Storm made sure to bring him that night, despite his own complicated feelings.

It continues. On a napkin from the place they'd eaten after their visit to Wrath, a simple drawing of Rain's hands, elegant and beautiful, alongside a photo Storm must have obtained from the Sibling working there. It looks like a printed still frame from the security system, freezing the moment that Storm pinned Rain against the floor and capturing it for posterity.

There's more, and a long ribbon embroidered in careful threadwork that marks the spot where there are blank pages still to be filled, but Rain has seen plenty. Is bowled over in many quiet ways from the effort and care and deep yearning that this book represents. He sprawls out in the nest, getting comfortable, folding his hands over the journal, which he rests on his chest. His gaze remains steady for a while before he allows his eyes to drift shut, letting the notes wash over him as Storm plays on.

When the music ends, some time later, Rain opens his eyes and finds Storm watching him again. Expression unreadable, too many emotions at once.

"Come here," Rain whispers. "Please." He stays on his back but shifts to one side of the nest, tucking the book away behind a pillow as he looks up into the dome above.

He hears the small clunk of the cover that protects the piano's keys, and the scrape of the bench. Storm walks over, tentative in a way Rain doesn't recognize on him, but very much wants to assuage. Rain gestures to the spot next to him, and Storm joins him in the nest.

"I suppose that means you don't hate it, then?" Storm settles in, a little further away than Rain expects or would like.

Without looking, Rain reaches for Storm's hand, finds it among the blankets. Takes it in his.

"No. I could never. I'm—you're—" Rain shrugs helplessly, unable to word good. "Whatever they put in the water where you came from… it makes for one hell of a ghoul."

At this, Storm throws his head back in a bright laugh of delight. The tension eases.

"I mean it. I can't believe you did all that. And the piano? I mean, I knew you could play obviously, but…" Rain shakes his head, scooting a little closer so that their shoulders touch.

"You're the one who called me, what was it, a 'ghoul of many talents'—it wouldn't be right to contradict you." Storm waves his free hand lazily in the air above them and the breeze shifts again, drawing fresh air inside. Rain recognizes the sound of the tinkling chimes from the background of the voice memo, drifting in from out on the balcony.

Rain concentrates, lets his own magic mingle with Storm's, and soon they're batting around a conjured wisp of a puffy little cloud that drifts in the air currents as Storm guides it up to the ceiling before letting it float back down again.

"At least now I know why your room down in the den looks like you've been here for weeks, not months. How did you even find this place?"

"Ah. That was a little bit of luck and a certain amount of perseverance. The den is wonderful and I love being part of this pack, but you all are—"

"A lot," Rain cuts in, laughing. "I know."

Storm continues, "And it's a little, well, dark and enclosed. For my taste. I know others have made it work, but when Cirrus and Cumulus mentioned that their old mentor had an aerie, I decided to try to find it. The keys were hidden in a place I'm sworn to keep secret, but it was, for the most part, intact. And the ghoulettes gave their blessings, to open it up, and to make it my own."

"Mm. Mist mentioned it was Zeph's, before. We were looking up here from the lake—this morning. She said the same thing. That they would be happy it's being used again." Rain hums thoughtfully, looking around. "And it's beautiful. Very you. Much more than where I thought you were staying," he teases, glancing over.

"I do stay there! Sometimes." Storm laughs. "To keep an eye on you, at the very least."

"And an ear," Rain interjects.

"That too. But yes, this is my home." Storm turns onto his side, and Rain mirrors him, letting Storm pull him close. "And like I said, this isn't something I share with everyone. There are three keys that unlock the door downstairs, at least that I know of, and you now hold the third."

Rain thinks for a moment before murmuring, "Rory," and receiving Storm's nod in return. "That makes sense. I knew there was something but I wasn't sure if you two were—like us. Or however. You know what I mean."

"I do. And Rain?"

"Hm?"

"I'd like to kiss you now."

"I was wondering what was taking you so long."

Storm leans over him, presses their mouths together in a soft, steady kiss. The moment is, at least right now, more tender than heated.

They pass a little time like that, simple touches and quiet noises of gentle pleasure, before Rain abruptly asks, "So what's left?"

"What's left?" Storm regards him with half-lidded eyes, the remnants of a purr in his chest.

"You mentioned the Princes again, in the book. And I saw Their symbols in there too, but the book's not finished, right?" Rain reaches for it, flipping it open to the empty section at the back. Not that many pages to go, but some.

Storm takes it back, closing it with a smile and setting it behind him.

"That's right. The rites aren't prescriptive, not really. It's more like a path to follow, to illuminate important details about yourself and the other ghoul. Or ghouls, I suppose.

"There are a lot of variations that evolved over the centuries and as our kind spread, but this is the one I'm most familiar with. According to tradition, by invoking the Princes, you're petitioning for their support, which does two things. The first, it proclaims that the intended is of high status, evident through their words and deeds, and second, that because of this, it also conveys that the suitor is committed to putting forth an effort worthy of not just their intended, but our Princes as well.

"Mammon, for greed, not for one's own sake, but to enrich those around you. Leviathan, for envy, to remind us to work for what we desire to hold. Abaddon, for sloth, a reminder to rest and replenish ourselves so we may better serve in days to come. Sathanas, yes, for wrath, for the fire of righteous anger used to protect our pack." He drops another kiss to Rain's lips. "Asmodeus, for lust."

Rain grins. "My favorite."

"Hardly surprising," Storm laughs. "And today is for Lucifer. Pride. The culmination of my gifts, the things I'm proudest of—my art, my music, my home. All things I want to share with you."

Rain feels the swell of Storm's chest and the weight of this gift—not just the book, the literal work as well as all it represents, but also Storm's vulnerability, his space, and his truest expression of self. Things that Rain might, very easily, have never had the chance to see.

"I accept and praise your gifts," Rain says, serious as salt, eyes wide as he looks up at Storm. "I'm honored to be invited in. Thank you. But…"

"But?" Storm frowns, cocking his head to one side.

"Unless my math is wrong, that's six." Rain's pupils widen playfully. "Aren't you forgetting something? Or, I guess, someone?"

"I have some ideas," Storm says, starting to smile again. "Nothing on Belphegor, but we both know that with a single request, you have the power to convince Swiss and Mountain to conjure a feast fit for honoring the sin of gluttony."

"Not just a feast." Rain's mind whirls in many directions at once. "Want to have dinner with me? Here, tonight? We can bring it up from the den together," he adds, seeing Storm start to reply. "If you're free, that is."

"I'd love to. Yes." Storm's face is a perfectly charming shade of pink.

Rain wonders if he's moving faster than Storm had expected, or with more enthusiasm. It was probably a little unorthodox for Rain to be planning the final piece of the path, but if he's honest with himself, it doesn't matter to him in the least—because what matters is that Storm still says yes.

"Great." Rain's voice softens, and he shifts a little closer, hand on Storm's hip. "And… How would you feel about me staying, after?"

"I can think of very little I want more," Storm replies, his voice shaded with desire as he traces his fingers down the length of Rain's arm.

"Good. Okay." Rain squeezes Storm's hip and hops up, excitement no longer contained and for once being unwilling to get distracted by Storm's touch. "I need to go take care of some things, then. Text me any requests? And meet me in the kitchen in…" He pulls his phone from his pocket, thinks for a moment as he shoves his feet into his slippers. "Let's say four hours?"

"Four hours it is. Until then, siren."

Warnings:

We're getting into the actual smut, y'all! Conduct yourself accordingly. Some play-fighting in this one but otherwise nothing else too wild to warn you about.

Tags have been updated on AO3, and I’ll keep updating as we go along. Slow-ish burn, but they’re ghouls and I’m me, though, so, you know–it’s gonna be freaky.

Credits/etc

Chapter 6: prima volta

Pulled in opposite directions by their respective chores and Ministry duties for much of the following week, Rain and Storm mainly see each other at band practice and the occasional den meal. Now that he's more attuned to the air ghoul's wavelength, Rain finds himself lingering on that side of Mounty's drum riser more often, finds himself being a little showier than necessary, particularly for the off-season. He feels Storm's eyes on him more often than he had realized and carries himself with a little more bounce in his step even as he flirts with Dew and Phantom and Mountain too, the shape of his stage routine shifting little by little.

Thursday arrives, and Rain still isn't sure what kind of "comfortable" clothes he should be wearing for this mystery date, so he snaps photos of three different outfits, and on a hunch, texts them to Aurora. Now that he's been paying more attention to what's going on up on the back risers, has made an effort to watch Storm and Aurora interact onstage and off, he's realizing how many times the helpful little air ghoulette has been around to nudge things along between him and Storm.

Bingo. She texts him back within minutes to weigh in and suggests a different pair of shoes. Her recommendations are more fitting for a gym trip than a date, and Rain's even more curious now, deciding to braid his hair back after pulling on the slim-fitted tracksuit and digging under the bed for a pair of sneakers that aren't too beat up.

With about five minutes to spare, Rain hears Storm's knock on his door, and takes a second to give himself one last check in the mirror before answering.

When Rain opens the door, Storm stands there dressed not dissimilarly, carrying a small arrangement of flowers, which he holds out to Rain.

"Hello! For you, fresh from the greenhouse."

"Mountain's been teaching you well, I see." Rain grins, feeling his face flush in delight as he takes the flowers, finding a safe spot to put them where he'll be able to enjoy them later.

"Yes, well. 'First date' and all, and a beautiful ghoul deserves beautiful flowers, don't you think?"

"I'm biased, but obviously yes." Rain crosses the room again and they hug, Rain once again pressing a soft kiss at the corner of Storm's mouth. "Thank you. Outfit's okay? I'm onto you and Rory, you know." He tucks a hand in the crook of Storm's elbow as they start walking toward the front door.

Storm's booming laugh of delight fills Rain with warmth. "Ah, guilty. I knew you'd catch on sooner or later." He winks at Rain. "And yes, not that you don't look amazing in everything. And nothing. Or so I like to imagine."

They pause before leaving the den to slip into their strongest glamours, the ones they wear in public. There's a car waiting for them outside, and Storm holds the door open for Rain before getting in on the opposite side as they ride together in the back.

The backseat design doesn't lend itself to getting close, so Rain has to forgo giving in to the urge to tuck himself against Storm's side for the ride, and instead spends it making polite conversation with him and the driver. At some point Storm's hand comes to rest on Rain's thigh, a pleasant warm weight that he covers with his own. He runs his fingertips along the nails, the joints, the back of the palm, the wrist, feathery touches that nonetheless make Storm struggle to keep a straight face as they chat about the weather, the driver's family, their jobs (which they lie about, naturally), and overall nothing of importance.

Eventually, the driver stops outside a weird little warehouse that's near the edge of town. It's not the same neighborhood as the club the pack visited, which is about as much as Rain can tell. As they get out and the driver pulls away, Rain reads the text etched on the glass doors: Wrath. He makes a curious expression as the air ghoul holds the door open for him, but once they're inside, he starts to get the picture.

The walls are covered in posters of people looking furious while they take out their frustration on everyday objects. There are brochures in the lobby, and a TV looping footage of the same people who are on the posters, showing them as they get cut off in traffic, or ignored at work, or dumped. A million mundane things that contribute to the average member of society's baseline level of rage—and offering a solution. An outlet.

The person behind the counter looks familiar; not in the way that Rain could tell you their name or even the last time they crossed paths. But as Storm speaks with them, Rain places the face, at least—he's seen them at the Ministry, so either a local who's part of the modest congregation that lives nearby, or maybe a Sibling or even a ranked Clergy member who didn't mesh well with full-time Ministry life. Their grucifix necklace, which he spots when they hand Rain and Storm each a pair of heavy work gloves and a pair of safety goggles in exchange for their signed personal safety waivers is further confirmation.

After they put those on, Rain giving Storm a perplexed look but following his lead, the employee, who seems to be the only staff on site, leads them from the little front office into what turns out to be the rest of the warehouse: a veritable cavern full of all manner of discarded appliances, office equipment, dishes, windows, furniture, and a wall full of implements of destruction: primarily, baseball bats and sledgehammers.

After one final warning to be safe and have fun, Storm exchanges a silent gesture with the employee, who nods and returns to the front desk.

"Welcome to Wrath, Rain." Storm chuckles, taking off his safety gear and with a shift of his shoulders, dropping his human glamour too.

"Are you—what are you doing?" Rain frowns, looking in the direction of the front office.

"This is a Ministry facility, though I'm not surprised you haven't heard of it. One of the Siblings had the idea, and Frater Imperator was interested in alternative outreach options, so he said yes." Storm walks over to the wall of bludgeons, considering.

Rain lets his glamour slip, feeling unnerved, though his curiosity is piqued. He sets the glasses and gloves aside, falling in near Storm. "Huh. I guess it makes sense. So you…come here often?" He groaned internally: sure, it was a cliche, but also, he wanted to know.

Storm tests the weight of a few sledgehammers before selecting one, stepping back to take some test swings against the air.

"Mm. Not often, we've been too busy for that. But I thought you might enjoy being one of the first ghouls to get a shot at the place."

"Where does all this come from?"

"Donations, mostly. From what I understand most of what people pay to come here gets used to cover disposal afterward. But Sathanas gets a cut too. See?" Storm points down, tracing his toe over a line embedded in the floor, obscured by the fine layer of grit that's underfoot everywhere. Rain, a few steps away, scuffs his own shoe against it, peering at it as he realizes they're standing on a massive sigil, scaled to fill the entire warehouse.

"…very clever." Rain smirks, kicking the dirt around to cover the mark back up.

"So what do you say?" Storm holds a bat out to Rain, grinning. "Wanna work up a sweat?"

---

An hour later, they've both stripped off their jackets and Rain's braid is holding on for dear life. Rain's got a wide streak of dirt on his face and his t-shirt, already snug, is plastered to his torso. The white tank top that Storm wears is covered in grime and dust, and is equally soaked in sweat. Rain appreciates the way it's gone translucent against his stomach, openly admiring how Storm swings the sledgehammer like it's a toy. Definitely not thinking about how Storm could throw him around, if he wanted to.

They'd spent the hour in increasing amounts of explosive glee, from Rain's first tentative swing against an old cabinet, which barely makes a dent, to Storm obliterating all manner of things with the sledge, to the way Rain ends up stalking Storm around the warehouse, all implements of destruction forgotten as they leap from pile to pile, scrabbling around corners and off walls, causing landslides of clutter and trash in their wake.

When he manages to sneak up on Storm after several failed attempts, Rain pounces on him from behind, leaping onto his back and latching on, claws not engaged while leaving the threat of them implied.

And that was how they'd gotten so dirty—Storm drops to the floor in response, throwing Rain off-balance and flipping him around faster than Rain can process. And then they're wrestling like kits, the air full of playful snaps and snarls as they both strive to pin the other to the ground.

Rain's braid is his undoing; Storm gets it in his fist and pulls Rain's head back, exposing his throat as they both pant for air. The next thing Rain knows, he's on his back, Storm perched atop him, fangs millimeters from his gills. They flare as Storm's breath heaves, warm and wet and so very close.

For a fraction of a second, they're both frozen in place, electrified, pupils wide and all senses prickling from the chase. With a gasp that splits the silence, Rain rocks his hips up in a last ditch effort to escape, but the bigger ghoul is unmoved, too dense for Rain to flip; it would work on Dewdrop or Phantom, maybe, but not Storm, who's an unstoppable force and immovable object at the same time.

Not yet satisfied, Storm growls and grazes his teeth against Rain's throat, earning a quiet whimper from the water ghoul. He licks a hot stripe into the skin there, tongue tip flirting with the edge of the topmost gill. Rain groans, scrabbling at Storm's shoulders, still squirming. Storm shifts, snags Rain's wrists, pins them against the ground, easy as anything.

He gets close, speaking in Rain's ear in that way he's learned makes the water ghoul shiver every time. "Hi, princess. Having fun?"

"I'd be having more fun if you stopped teasing me and kissed me properly instead." Rain isn't the type of ghoul to let a little thing like "losing" stop him from getting what he wants. He flexes his wrists, testing, but Storm's grip is firm.

Storm pretends to think about it. "Not very proper, to kiss you down here in the dirt. Especially on our first date." His eyes betray any attempt at putting on an act every time, Rain's noticed, now that he's had more time to look.

"You're the one who put me down here, you… you lout." Rain breaks first anyway, unable to keep a straight face because of Storm's barely-there facade, collapsing into giggles, the tension broken.

"Well, you've got me there." Storm shows no indication that he plans to let Rain up, grinning down at the pretty, laughing ghoul that he's captured fair and square.

Just then, the buzzer that indicates that their time is up sounds from up in the rafters.

With a groan, Storm rolls off Rain, standing and offering him a hand up, which Rain accepts as he rises.

They spend a minute dusting each other off, Storm using the sleeve of his jacket to brush the dirt off Rain's face, even though once he puts his glamour back up it won't be visible.

Undeterred, Rain pulls Storm against him, firm in his demand. "Before we have to glamour up again. Kiss me."

Storm smiles, nudging Rain back until he's pressed into the wall. If they're lucky, that Sibling won't come to check on them too soon.

He takes Rain's chin, holding it with thumb and forefinger, and kisses him. Rain's mouth opens for him eagerly, welcoming the wet warmth of his tongue, savoring the slide of their lips and the graze of sharp fangs. Rain arches up into him, grabbing the front of his jacket and trying to somehow get even closer, even though their chests are already plastered together. Storm slots his knee between Rain's thighs as he presses back into him, and it's only a pointed, "Ahem," from behind them that stops the moment from escalating.

Storm pulls away a little reluctantly, only after pressing one last kiss against Rain's mouth, an affectionate IOU. "Sorry about that. You know how it goes."

"I do. But we're not equipped for that kind of cleanup so kindly take it back to the Ministry, thank you!" The Sibling looks amused more than annoyed, so Rain decides not to worry about it too much. Probably not the first time. Or the last.

There's no car waiting for them when they exit the building, re-glamoured.

"I think you mentioned something about food?" Rain's stomach growls in agreement, affirming his interest in refueling after their romp around the warehouse.

"Yes!" Storm gestures up the street. "It's this way, not too far from here. I knew we'd work up a pretty good appetite. At least, I hoped we would. Did you have fun?"

Rain falls in alongside him. "Absolutely. A bit non-traditional, but as far as dates go, it scored especially well in the creativity and physique categories. Plus you brought me flowers."

"Well." Storm looks a little bashful as he absorbs the feedback, then smiles and moves his hand to the center of Rain's back. They both feel the other relax into it as everything settles into place. "You deserve something memorable, first of all, but I also thought it might be fun to get away and blow off some steam. Last week was a little…" He frowns at the memory. "You know. Not my best."

"Hey, it happens. I get it, I feel the same way. No need to dwell on it—and today I'm all yours." He pauses, glances over. "Tonight too, for that matter." Not a question. Just leaving the door open, in case someone might feel like walking through it.

Rain catches the briefest flash in Storm's eyes before he manages to contain it. His hand trembles, imperceptible if not for how keyed up Rain is, has been, since they slid into the backseat earlier. And then he deflects, offering Rain a broad, knowing grin, "I'm often thinking about you at night."

"So you keep saying. Why not make it a reality?" Rain can't resist pushing. Just a little.

"Soon, siren. Here we are."

They've arrived at a little cafe with outdoor seating. Thankfully, the weather is favorable, and they're able to be seated outside, tucked into a corner out of direct sunlight, and with no other patrons around.

They order enough food for six people, or two hungry ghouls who just spent an hour doing intense physical activity, and before Rain knows it, they're making conversation as Storm pays the bill and requests their ride home return to pick them up.

It's a different driver this time; this one seems much less interested in small talk. Rain checks his phone for the first time in hours, replying to nosy messages from Aurora and Dew, asking if they were having a good time and if they were fucking yet, respectively. He snaps a quick selfie with Storm in the backseat and texts it back to both without additional commentary. Dew fires off a reply immediately about how it looks like they've got plenty of room, and Rain reacts with the middle finger emoji before shoving his phone back into his pocket.

He notices Storm watching him, want yet again exposed and plain on his face. Rain catches his eye, lets his hand drift across the seat between them, tucks his fingers into the crease of Storm's hip. He won't—can't—reach further than that, not here, but the way that Storm shifts his legs, letting his knees relax and fall open a little, tells Rain everything. Rain licks his bottom lip, dropping a meaningful look to Storm's waistband; the tracksuit hides little and thank the dark lord below for that. Storm winks at him.

The ride feels both maddeningly long and far too short, but soon enough the two ghouls return to the Ministry's doorstep, adjusting their clothes and nodding their thanks to the driver.

Rain slips his hand into Storm's. "Well?"

"Tell you what." Storm pulls open the massive front door with his other hand, following Rain inside. "I don't know about you, but I could use a shower—"

Rain's eyes light up, and Storm holds a hand in the air.

"Separate showers."

Rain rolls his eyes, though it's (mostly) in jest. "Fiiiiine."

"Siren, if you got me in the shower with you I have no doubt that I would find myself happily drowning in your waters."

"Sounds perfectly reasonable to me," Rain hums.

Storm laughs. "Unfortunately for you, I still have a modicum of self-preservation in me that you haven't yet claimed. Want to watch a movie after instead?"

"Yes. But come over to mine. Didn't look like you were set up for it in yours, and trust me, you don't want to risk Swiss and Phantom showing up with play-by-play commentary if we watch out here." They're nearly back now, kicking their shoes off and dropping their glamours as they enter the den, and Rain's still looking for ways to whittle away at Storm's endless reserve of self-control.

Storm considers for a moment, then nods. "Deal. I'll be over shortly." He kisses Rain's temple, then lets him go, disappearing into his room.

Rain does the same, sliding into the warm heat of the shower, hands wandering all over his body as he soaps up and clears away the sweat and dirt. Storm was correct, he realizes, they'd never have survived a shower together, not after a day like today. Something else would have gotten broken, and Dew would never forgive him if their shower was out of commission for repairs.

Rain washes up with a selection of things that Storm made for him, and after drying off he swipes a line of perfumed oil on his throat and wrists, wild sage and honey, chosen from his own collection. He lets his hair hang damp and free, now clean and unbraided, and chooses his comfy clothes strategically. The same pajama top as the lazy day they'd spent cuddled on the den couch, and a pair of boxers that had seen better days, but were short enough to be barely visible under the hem of the oversized shirt. Just in case.

He's in the middle of adjusting the various blankets and pillows that make up his and Dew's bed (which truly resembles a nest most nights) getting things arranged just right so they can see the TV and be comfortable at the same time. "Come in," he calls, squishing his shark stuffie behind his neck and pulling his favorite and softest blanket over himself as Storm enters, arms full of snacks and drinks.

"My hero," Rain enthuses, reaching out to accept a giant bowl of popcorn as Storm sets a bag of sour candy and a couple drinks on the nightstand, next to the flowers, which Rain's moved closer so they can admire them from bed. "Now get in here."

Storm's wearing a cozy-looking robe, cinched and tied at the waist, which he slips off to reveal his own pajamas—comfy plaid pants and a fresh white tank much like the one he'd been wearing earlier. Rain pats the spot next to him and Storm only hesitates for a second before climbing in.

"Better," Rain nods, handing Storm the remote.

It takes some searching and debate but they agree on a selection and start the movie. After trying several positions, sitting and reclining, they end up spooning, Rain in front and Storm behind, arm draped around Rain's waist as Rain tucks himself into the curve of Storm's body. Knowing that he can (and does) make Storm get a little bit hard every time he shifts his hips, Rain seems content to keep his teasing at a simmer. He covers Storm's hand with his, interlacing their fingers, and by the time the film ends Storm's hand is cupped over his chest, fingers idly teasing the nipple through the fabric of his shirt.

Rain could drift off like this, floating away on the air ghoul's gentle affection. But as the credits roll, Storm nudges his nose against Rain's shoulder, breathing in their mingled scents and making a quiet chuff as Rain rolls to face him.

"You all right, sailor? Not going too fast for you?" Rain's words are light, but he's sincere, and he runs a hand along Storm's hairline, looking up at him. "This has been really nice, today. And before. I know I didn't quite know what to make of all of this, at first, but—I like it. And I like you."

"I like you, too." Storm smiles, and it's genuine—his eyes still churn constantly, but Rain sees no hesitation, no holding back. "I'm enjoying every minute. And no, not too much. In fact…"

He leans in, grabbing Rain's waist and pulling him into a deep kiss, picking up where they left off earlier. Rain's tongue presses into Storm's mouth first, and he slides his own against it, opening, stroking, yielding. Rain wraps his arms around Storm's neck and feels Storm smile as he shifts back against the pillows, pulling Rain on top of him.

They both groan, deepening the kiss further. Storm's hands slide up and down Rain's back and Rain runs his fingers through Storm's hair, rocking against the bigger ghoul as their hips meet. With a little adjusting, Storm gets Rain astride one of his thick thighs, bends his knee until he's grinding against him, Rain's leg pressed into the heat of Storm's erection.

After spending a few minutes like this, Rain's boxers do little to contain the damp warmth of his own arousal as he rolls his hips against Storm's thigh, wishing for the drag of skin instead of cloth.

They break the kiss, catching their breath, bodies still moving together. Rain looks down at Storm, shifting against him, finding the spot where the way his body presses makes the air ghoul's breath stutter, repeats it, sighs in pleasure as he catalogs every reaction.

"I want you to…" Storm grits out, struggling to focus as Rain teases him without relief, "Take what you need." His hands settle on Rain's hips, not setting a tempo but following Rain's, adjusting as he rocks back against him in time.

Rain hadn't been waiting for permission, not really, but who would he be to decline such a generous offer?

"Want me to use you, sailor? I'll take what I need, ngh, yesss," Rain hisses, angling his hips for the optimal drag of his cunt, pajama fabric already starting to soak through. "And what if what I want" —his voice only wavers a little as he slips a hand between them, squeezes Storm's cock, realizes how thin the single layer separating them is compared to when he touched him here before—"is your pleasure, in return?"

"Do your best," Storm rumbles, eyes flashing again in the dark.

Rain kisses him then, messy, all fangs and tongue and spit and need. Weathering the insistent tides of his desire, Storm swallows the water ghoul's moans, cock kicking in the warmth of Rain's hand. When Rain feels the wet blurt of pre on his palm, soaking through the flimsy material, he grinds his hand in, just this edge of mean, pulling away and breaking the kiss as a thin strand of saliva clings, stretches between them, snaps.

And so does he.

He hasn't bothered to pull his hair back, so it hangs around his face in a messy curtain as he braces himself with both hands. More intent now, his hips roll, thighs squeezing tighter as he nips at Storm's shoulder, panting. Right now, there are exactly two things that matter: finding the perfect amount of pressure as he ruts against Storm leg, and the hot, wet drag of Storm's cock against his thigh.

Storm presses one hand tight against Rain's lower back, up under his shirt, matching Rain's pace when it speeds up, holds tempo as his movements become erratic. Rain clutches Storm's shoulders, claws dragging faint marks that don't quite break the skin, huffing ragged breaths in Storm's ear, feeling the tension spiraling deep in his belly start to unravel, pulling, pulling, pulling—

"Fffuuuck, Storm—fuck!" He crashes over the peak with a yelp, his entire body going rigid. As Rain comes, Storm follows right behind, holding tight to Rain as his hips cant up, grinding, teeth clenched as he makes a deep and needy sound against Rain's shoulder that might be a grunt or a growl. Rain's long panting wails soften to breathy moans and gradually to silence as his body trembles, then starts to relax.

Their hearts still crash erratically in their chests, pressed together, fevered breaths returning to normal as the minutes pass. Storm cradles Rain against him, one hand stroking through his hair as Rain rests his head against Storm's shoulder, the other snug at the water ghoul's waist.

As Rain rejoins Storm in the land of the living little by little, the first thing he's aware of is: wet. They're both sweaty again, and both bear distinct soaked-through patches on their pajama bottoms. Once his legs feel like they might be working again, he shifts sideways until he's tucked against Storm's side, pulling a blanket over them.

"Mm. Hi."

"Hello, pretty ghoul. Feeling good?" Storm turns to face him, scooting down until their noses are nearly touching; they'll get their horns tangled if they aren't careful.

"Feeling great. You?" Rain gives him an impulsive peck on the lips.

"Me too. You need anything?"

"More orgasms," Rain replies promptly.

"Insatiable. No wonder it takes half the pack to keep up with you." But this time, Rain feels certain that he's being teased, and as Storm kisses him back right away, he can feel the smile on his lips.

"And they're ready for a break, sailor. Time to step up and do your part," Rain jokes, snuggling against Storm's shoulder as he tries to stifle a yawn. "Will you stay?" He feels Storm start to shift, uncertain. "Just to sleep. Promise. Today was a lot, I know."

"Mm. It was. And that's not a complaint, just so we're clear."

"That sounds like a no, though," Rain draws back a little, doing his best not to let it shade into a whine. "I get it, it's okay."

"I don't always rest well in places that… that aren't mine," Storm admits, nuzzling against Rain's temple and pulling Rain back into him, unphased, reassuring. "But how about this—I'll wait for you to fall asleep, and if I start to drift off, I'll stay. But if I can't, I'll make sure you're all tucked in before I go. Okay?"

"Okay," Rain agrees, snuggling in again. "I… like sleeping with you. You feel—I don't know. Strong. Peaceful." Rain's already starting to babble, unable to resist the inevitable crash after an intense day.

They both let out long, deep sighs of satisfaction as he starts to drift off.

---

Rain isn't surprised to find Storm gone in the morning, the remnants of their movie night cleared away and an extra bottle of water sitting next to the flowers on the nightstand. When Rain rolls over to check the time, he realizes he woke up clutching a pillow that wasn't in the bed before, its emerald-hued pillowcase a dead giveaway. Burying his face in it, one deep breath confirms his suspicions; Storm must have brought it over from his room before he left Rain for the night.

Warnings:

If Rain being called a name that's technically a (mis)gendered pejorative, or characters being in a very minor physical scuffle is a problem, this chapter may not be for you. Please take care of yourselves! If that's nothing something you're comfortable reading please reach out, I'll be happy to send you a lightly-edited version to enjoy.

Other potential stuff going on in this chapter that might be sensitive: lots of drinking (alcohol), exhibitionist behavior, potential fisticuffs that are largely averted, and some (temporary) feelings of jealousy and confusion due to our lil' muffins getting their wires crossed a bit. It'll be all right, I promise.

Tags have been updated on AO3, and I’ll keep updating as we go along. Slow-ish burn, but they’re ghouls and I’m me, though, so, you know–it’s gonna be freaky.

Credits/etc

Chapter 5: col pugno

The next night, Rain practices in his room, door ajar so he can hear the sounds of his pack, when Phantom and Aurora barge in.

"Rainyyyyy~" Aurora drapes herself around his shoulders, planting a big wet smooch on his cheek.

Phantom, always up to harass Rain or participate in a bit (especially with Aurora, who matches the quint's chaos and their freak), hurries to wrap their arms around them both and kiss Rain's cheek from the other side. "Hiiii, Rainy~"

Having learned the hard way that they will be so much worse if he resists their affections, Rain sets his bass aside.

"You two sound unreasonably pleased with yourselves, so I can only assume someone's in trouble or is about to be in trouble."

"Oooh, how did you guess?!" Aurora cackles, as if Rain isn't a regular recruit for her schemes and gambits. "Go out with us tomorrow night! Everyone's coming—"

Phantom interrupts. "—even if they don't know it yet! So you have to."

"You have to," Aurora affirms, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "We can get ready together. I'll do your hair!"

"Just my hair?" Rain arches an eyebrow, dubious. He's been down this path before. Sometimes he even remembers the details afterward.

"I mean, if you want help getting ready you just have to ask, baby," Aurora purrs, running dainty claws over his scalp.

"And what about you?" Rain asks Phantom.

"I accept your gracious invitation," they give Rain a deep and sarcastic curtsy.

"Uh-huh." These two have his number: Rain sounds fond, despite doing his best to appear exasperated.

He turns to Aurora. "I'm supposed to believe you're organizing this with purely innocent intentions?" He remembers an evening out with the pack that Sunny had planned after they'd returned from Copia's first tour as Papa. Or remembers what the pack told him about it, anyway, all smug smiles as they showed him pictures of himself, looking like—

Something nice about the Pit, Rain thinks; mobile phones are a strictly human invention.

"It'll be good for morale! Pack bonding is important, especially after periods of separation!" She flashes a wide, pointy grin at him, flouncing toward the door, triumphant.

"Sure it is." Rain laughs, picking up his bass and shooing them out. He closes the door before he can hear if Storm responds to Phantom's frantic knocks on his, across the hall.

---

It's a game they call playing dolls, Aurora and Phantom and Rain, and sometimes Swiss. Each of them relinquishes control of their own look, and in return they get to impose their will on the others. Ghouls being ghouls, this tends toward brinkmanship on multiple fronts as hemlines rise and hairstyles grow more elaborate, fashion decisions issued as threats or revenge.

Cirrus once described the whole thing as terrifying before wisely escaping to help Cumulus finish getting ready.

Tonight the participants all gang up on Rain, of course, demanding to know everything about his courtship, a word that Aurora singsongs at him while making a show of considering which pair of tiny shorts she's going to make him stuff his ass into. Swiss snorts, hands occupied with Phantom's eye makeup which he applies in shades of deep gray, highlighted with a shimmery purple that echoes the irises their human glamour obscures.

Rain gives up enough details to satisfy their curiosity but after one too many 'courtship's from Aurora, he takes care to omit things like the way Storm had kissed the back of his hand when they'd said goodnight the evening before. An absolutely ridiculous gesture, Rain knows, but he can't help but find the air ghoul's habits endearing. Unusual, but presented with confidence and applied, he suspects, with calculated precision to unravel him as effectively as possible.

He isn't sure which part of that is hottest. And he doesn't have time to dwell on it; Aurora tosses the shiny black pair of shorts at him and Swiss swoops in to start on Rain's eyes after declaring Phantom's look complete. He's got the steadiest hands in the pack and a flair for more dramatic looks than Rain would gravitate toward on his own. Which is perfect for tonight.

As Rain waits, eyes closed so Swiss can work, he feels something cool and slippery slither into his lap and smells the cloud of cotton candy haze that follows Phantom around like a lazy aura. "Here's your top, Rainy. You and Rory match tonight!"

Absent his ability to look, Rain picks it up, perceives right away that it's not much more than a glorified handkerchief, and that it will drape like water over his skin. Heavy, for its size. His fingers trace the edges, finding the fine chains that will secure it around his neck and back.

He imagines how Storm's going to react when he sees him wearing this. Not just wearing it, but wearing it while he dances in the arms of their packmates, questing hands holding his waist, groping him as he grinds against them. Within reach, but almost untouchable, by the rules of the game he proposed and bound Rain to.

It's only fair that Rain gets to make him suffer a little, too.

---

When the pack piles into the rented van a couple hours later, the dress-up parade, as Dew calls it, is, as usual, last to arrive, having fended off a last-minute meltdown over Aurora's heels, and in a cloud of smoke after Swiss pulls out a couple joints to smooth things over.

Rain, bundled up for the trip, waits until they arrive at the club for the full reveal. Once they get to coat check, though, the music already thrumming through the floor, he's sliding his coat off his shoulders and throwing it over the counter, barely pausing to tuck the ticket into the (tiny) pocket of his (tiny) shorts. The currents of the club's air conditioning promptly steal away the body heat that's absorbed into his top, though he'll appreciate that later when he's slick with sweat. Then Aurora and Phantom grab his hands and drag him into the pulsating dark.

It isn't long before he feels eyes on him, because no one in the place has missed the arrival of a dozen creatures of inhuman beauty, even tamped behind their human glamours and camouflaged by a lot of makeup and as little clothing as most of them can get away with (not) wearing in public.

The ghoulettes alone would be enough to cause most ordinary people to trip over their own feet, taking in Cirrus' slim cigarette pants and snug bustier, Cumulus' slinky blue dress that covers almost every inch of skin but leaves nothing to the imagination, and Sunny's riot of curls and equally exuberant romper that hugs her ass just so. Haze looks to be wearing something borrowed from Cirrus; her hair, styled in long gleaming waves of pale gold, sets off the sparkling black dress, with its long sleeves and a hem that covers the barest sliver of thigh, in a way that says it's her dress now.

The nightmare quartet of Aurora, Phantom, Swiss, and Rain orbit one another in a gyre of glitter and shine. As he loses track of almost everything beyond the rhythm of the music and the body heat pressed against him from all sides, Rain's silver handkerchief top clings to the subtle curve of his chest. His wide shoulders, granted to him by their Creator for swimming infernal tides, and his tiny waist, granted to him by their Creator for more sinful acts, are fully exposed. Making up the considerable distance from the floor to the the bottom hem of what he suspects are the tiniest shorts Aurora could find in the entire ghoul wing, dark sheer stockings held up by the straps of a lacy black garter belt that the shorts conceal in no form or fashion. Courtesy of Swiss, his lips are a slash of deep venous red-purple, his eyes ornamented with smoky navy shadow, turquoise highlights, and dramatic pointed liner that hints at the shape of his concealed fins. As a rule, Rain refuses to let them do too much to his hair, but tonight he allowed Aurora to style it while it dried, letting it hang loose, coaxing his waves into messy curls that will keep getting messier as the night goes on.

Aurora's top is similar to Rain's, and Swiss insisted on pairing it with stilettos and a floor-length skirt that has a mile-long slit at the thigh. Phantom's look matches their chaos goblin vibe: they've squeezed into the mystery skirt-slash-belt Rain had thrust at them, combining it with bat-shaped pasties applied by Aurora and paired with a fishnet top and tights, tall platform combat boots, and glittery makeup that complements the long-sleeved flowy top they'd picked for Swiss. He wears it unbuttoned almost to the waist, tucked into his painted-on jeans, held up by a leather belt with a buckle shaped like a devil mask that they'd unearthed from the depths of Rain's closet, because subtlety was something best left far behind them on nights like this.

It's one of the few kinds of public places that the pack feels comfortable letting loose, or at least looser. While they could—and did—throw parties at the Ministry, there's something special about taking their energy into a human space, infusing its darkened corners with ghoulish pheromones that no human could detect, but that would influence the mood of the room in sufficient saturation. And tonight, the pack is horny.

Aether and Mountain, who tend to more reserved celebration, at least until someone—Dew, usually—gets a few drinks into them, scout out a booth to make their home base for the night. Dew, on the other hand, makes brief eye contact with Rain, grins as he makes a crude gesture, and stalks over to Haze, pulling her out of a conversation with Cirrus and Cumulus. He spins her around, appreciating her outfit before tugging her onto the dance floor, hand on her lower back and drifting south as he pulls her against him.

Rain watches them fondly for a moment, glancing around and unable to spot the pack member he would have judged least likely to be found in a nightclub. But Phantom had recounted Storm's enthusiasm for the invite as they were getting ready, and Rain saw him for just a second earlier, as they all crammed into the van for the ride here. It hadn't even been enough for him to get a sense of the ghoul's outfit, other than 'dark.'

He's sandwiched between Phantom and Swiss, hips gyrating in sync as Aurora holds herself against Swiss' back, hands wrapped around his sides and raking her nails down his chest. He hears Swiss' groan, notices the warm breath on his back, feels Swiss chub up against him, which he presses into without reserve. On his other side, he's got one thigh nudged between Phantom's, and the little quint is taking advantage of the meager friction that Rain's stocking provides, hands ghosting over Rain's stomach, fingers trailing along his waistband, his sides, before settling on his hips as they rock against him in time with the music.

Rain finally spots Storm while he's standing at the bar placing an order, and Rain gets a turn to do the watching for a change. His clothes are simple but impeccable: dark trousers and a deep green shirt that complements the short-cropped gray hair and beard of his glamoured form. It's hard to see the details at this distance but even so, Rain admires the way the shirt clings to his shoulders just the right amount and highlights the breadth of his back before tapering down at the waist. But what steals Rain's breath away, what causes him to step on Swiss' toes, is the one-two punch of Storm's black leather suspenders and rolled-up sleeves, which highlight his forearms in a way that's entirely unfair.

Their eyes lock, Rain faltering for a second too long to not be obvious. They continue to hold eye contact for a long moment, Rain's coy smile growing as the seconds tick by and he slips back into the rhythm of the music. Swiss and Phantom are holding Rain's hips, fingers intertwined as they rock him between them while Aurora gropes Swiss's chest and grinds against his ass.

Storm lifts his wineglass to Rain, expression enigmatic as he takes a long drink. Rain offers a coquettish wave in return as Phantom licks a line up the side of Rain's throat and he breaks the gaze, throwing his head against Swiss' shoulder with a gasp. When he looks back, Storm has vanished into the crowd again.

Soon, Sunny and Cumulus appear with a round of shots for the group. and Sunny manages to peel Aurora away with a transparent question about her lipstick that will somehow turn into making out in the bathroom. Phantom and Swiss decide to step out "for a smoke," giving Rain a nip to the jaw and a smack on the ass, respectively, as they tell him to, "go get 'em, tiger."

After a quick survey conducted on a solo circuit of the dance floor, Rain locates his quarry: Storm's dancing with Cirrus, making broad, playful movements that nonetheless echo the elegance of their shared elemental alignment. Before the song ends, Dew appears at Rain's side with drinks for them both, pointing out that since they were playing dolls earlier he hasn't had a moment for himself with his ripple all night. Which is unacceptable when Rain looks this good, he asserts. And Rain can't say no to Dew when he's both correct and also dressed like several sins poured into a skintight black outfit that almost manages to make him look like he has an ass.

Dew continues to be right for several more songs and several more drinks, and Rain allows himself to float on the pleasant tide of alcohol and endorphins, growing more and more affectionate until he's draping himself over whichever ghoul is closest, giggling and singing along with the music. It's not just him; at one point Aether demands everyone take a water break and Rain, Phantom, and Aurora are all in someone's lap as the pack piles into the booth. Rain teases Dew for being greedy, watching Mountain tug Phantom onto his knee and Storm holding onto Aurora's waist as she blushes, nodding furiously at whatever he's whispering in her ear.

---

The ghouls talk, sing, dance, drink, and, yes, hydrate for hours, spinning off in almost every possible permutation as the evening wears on. Mountain and Aether make it onto the dance floor sometime around midnight, now wonderfully loose-limbed as they make Swiss and Cumulus shriek in delight with spins, even lifting their partners off the ground a time or two. But every time Rain looks for Storm, he finds him dancing with other packmates and eventually, people they don't even know. And while it was amusing at first, Rain's starting to feel more and more uninhibited, and pouty about being ignored.

He starts to formulate a plan.

Aurora barely gives him a minute to piss after he escapes into the bathroom, shrugging and locking the door behind her when he emerges from the solitary stall, adjusting his garters as he points out that the ladies' room is across the hall.

She gets right to the point, hopping up to sit on the edge of the sink. "Are you gonna dance with that ghoul or what? I haven't seen you two together all night, which isn't what I expected at all what with all the making eyes at each other from across the room, and stepping on Swiss when he looks at you..."

Rain frowns. "He's been pretty busy." He remembers the random guy he'd seen dancing with Storm earlier, expression transparent; it didn't take a ghoul's insight to read the want in the stranger's eyes.

"And? Use your words, Rainy." Her nails flash as she reaches out and tweaks one of Rain's nipples through his flimsy top.

"Ugh. Do I have to do everything around here?" Rain rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the wall.

"Yeah, 'cause it's better than being jealous of a human."

"Hey—" Rain starts to protest at her painfully accurate observation.

"Besides," she continues smoothly, giving him the out, "I know the view's nice from a distance and all but I promise, it's even better up close." She giggles, flipping open a tiny mirror and attempting to tidy up her eyeliner. Rain could guess why there was no longer one hanging over the sink, eyeing the fist-sized crater in the wall where it should be. When she's done she holds the mirror out to him and he takes a quick peek. His lipstick is a mess. He fishes the tube out of his pocket and reapplies as best as he can. It's not as good as when Swiss did it, but it'll work.

"Fine." He snaps the mirror shut and hands it back to Aurora, who looks at him curiously.

"Fine?"

"Yeah." He reaches past her to unlock the door, feeling the heavy humidity of the space prickle his spine with sweat as he opens it. Trailing behind, Aurora follows him to the bar where he orders a pair of shots for the two of them and a glass of wine to take with him, making his best guess after a quick scan of the menu. As they clink the tiny glasses together, Rain catches sight of Storm out of the corner of his eye.

He throws back the shot, presses a dramatic kiss to Aurora's forehead, squares his shoulders, then hesitates.

"Do I look okay?"

"Okay? Rainy baby, you could make a ghoul bust from across the room. You look way more than okay. You're devastating. The most beautiful natural diaster I've ever seen."

Never let it be said that Aurora isn't a devoted hype ghoul.

It seems to work. Without another word, he nods, and as he crosses the floor, Aurora sees what he doesn't. The way the crowd parts to clear his path. How Storm's expression shifts when he sees Rain coming and the glance he throws Aurora's way as Rain is intercepted by Mountain before sliding past him with an apologetic wave. The thumbs up she flashes Storm as if to say, mission accomplished.

By the time Rain slinks up to Storm's side, he's had a chance to figure out the rest of the plan he'd started working on in the bathroom. Step one is done, and step two is in his hand, so on to step three: get rid of the random human engaged in competition with an apex predator who's on the prowl.

He focuses on him first, snagging the man's gaze as he stalks closer, repeating natural disaster to himself in his head. Waiting for a break in the music, he puts his hand against Storm's bicep, glamoured nails painted deepest midnight pricking against the smooth fabric of his shirt.

"I'm going to have to steal him back now, so sorry." Rain smiles at the unassuming human, and if he lets the smallest flash of fang slip through his control, who could blame him. Sometimes the quickest and easiest solution is the most dangerous one.

Storm gestures a more polite apology, of course, and excuses himself from the man's grasp as Rain slips his hand into Storm's, tugging him toward the other side of the dance floor with determination, away from where the man retreats to a group of his friends, looking disgruntled.

"And hello to you too, siren," Storm says, squeezing Rain's hand.

"Hi, sailor. You look nice." Rain takes a step back, arms stretching between them as he lets his eyes wander. Slips back into Storm's space, offering the glass as he tucks his other hand into the crook of Storm's elbow. "Brought you a drink."

"Why, thank you. On both counts." He takes a sip, about to offer a taste to Rain when the water ghoul interrupts.

"I want to dance with you. You've been avoiding me all night." The music shifts. Still loud, still energetic, but with a deeper, heavier beat that pummels Rain's core.

Storm says something that Rain can't make out over the music, taking another sip of wine, holding onto the glass as they begin to move.

They find a rhythm together. He feels Storm's feather-light touches, buzzy traces of contact on his shoulders, his back, his waist, the back of his neck. He can tell the difference in the way that Storm touches him compared to how he held the stranger earlier at relative arm's length, and Rain relaxes a little, only now recognizing just how much it had put his hackles up. Sharing with pack is one thing. Sharing with outsiders is entirely another.

Occupied by these thoughts and Storm's eyes as they circle one another, Rain doesn't notice Swiss wandering over to the DJ and palming him a special request. It takes a few more songs for everything to play out, during which Storm acquiesces to Rain's demands for attention and manages to hold his own—he's good at this, Rain realizes, as he continues his blatant campaign of slutty terror. As they dance, Rain manages to undo the top button of Storm's shirt, and then another. Now Storm's outfit, which was already very good, is perfect. As he's admiring his work, the music changes again.

The tempo shifts down, way down, and Rain would suspect Storm's machinations if he hadn't been right here with him the whole time. Instead, he crowds into the inches of space left between them, pressing his palms and forearms against the big ghoul's chest, fingers wrapping around the suspenders, tugging on them. He leans in, breathes into Storm's ear.

"Hold me. Please."

Rain can't hear Storm's soft laugh but he can feel it, the air ghoul's chest rocking as he tips back the last of his drink. A stray drop runs down from the corner of his mouth, and he swipes at it with his thumb. Surprising both of them, Rain pulls Storm's hand closer, sucking the droplet off his thumb in slow motion.

It's not clear who moves next or if they make the decision as one, but Storm's thumb presses inside, petting the pleasant velvet softness of Rain's tongue. His grip is firm, lingering for just a moment as they stare at each other, both caught off guard but committed to it now. Rain can't tell if the swooping, thudding feeling in his chest is his heart pounding or the bass shaking everything in the room.

Storm sets the glass aside. Places one and then, after Rain releases it, his other hand around Rain's waist, pulling Rain flush against him and swaying their hips in time with the raunchy beat of the music. Coming back to himself, Rain moves like his namesake element, writhing, arching, aching, groping himself where Storm doesn't, emboldened by the press of bodies around them, the darkness pierced by colorful lights that illuminate flashes of Storm's expression: the satisfaction of watching Rain argue with himself about it before choosing to come to him, of dancing with the prettiest person in the room, of being at the focal point of Rain's desperate desire.

The darkness and the dancing conceal another secret, the final step in Rain's plan—he moves away for a second, retrieving the pair of lace panties he'd taken off in the bathroom from where he'd tucked them into his waistband, spinning back, and under the guise of sliding his hands down Storm's back on the way to getting a double handful of ass, he sneaks them into a back pocket, lingering there long enough that he's pretty sure he hasn't given himself away.

As Storm's fingers splay against his sides, wrapping around to press into his back, Rain relishes every inch of skin contact and the ways their bodies respond to each other. Rain's nipples are prominent against the clinging drape of his top, and not being a ghoul made of stone, Storm's arousal is every bit as obvious to Rain as the night they'd worked together in the chapel. Giddy at his successful campaign to recapture Storm's attention, Rain moves in close again, telegraphing the slide of one hand downward, over the curve of Storm's belly, eyes locked on, daring him to say stop.

To Rain's surprise, Storm flashes his teeth in a feral grin and shifts his own grip, cupping the water ghoul's ass through the tiny shorts Aurora picked out. At the same time, he moves them sideways, guiding Rain into deeper shadow and positioning himself with his back to the dance floor, blocking light and prying eyes alike.

Rain wraps his free arm around Storm's neck, taking a deep breath to catch his scent as Rain almost presses his entire face into the air ghoul's shoulder, stopping only because he wouldn't want to stain the shirt—or catch heat from Swiss for ruining his makeup. Instead, he focuses on dragging his fingertips along Storm's length, groaning at the heat when he cups his hand, fingers pressing around the edges, woefully limited by far too many layers of fabric in the way. He's even harder now, straining to escape the zipper that Rain's fingers flirt with, causing tiny vibrations as he drags his nails up along the teeth, gives a teasing little tug of the pull. Rain can feel Storm's groan, reverberating in his chest, warm breath on sweat-slicked skin.

Lips pressed to Storm's ear, the only way he's going to be able to hear anything Rain says, Rain murmurs, "Fuck, you feel so good. I've been thinking about this, about you. All night."

Storm leans in, trails his nose along the line of Rain's neck that Phantom licked earlier, puts his mouth near the shell of Rain's ear, breath sending shivers down Rain's back. "You feel almost as incredible as you look. Temptation made flesh, as usual. Seems like you were having plenty of fun without me, though."

Rain leans back a little at that, concern playing across his features as he studies Storm's expression. He's pretty sure he's trying to tease him, in the way their packmates might, but it's a reminder that they still don't know each other as well as some of the others, that he's not sure, because it also feels like Storm might be angry about it?

Rain doesn't have much more time to consider it, and is in fact about to brush it off entirely. Maybe he didn't even hear him correctly. It's awfully loud in here, after all.

He feels a tap on his shoulder.

Hears someone shout, "Hey, bitch—" as he turns.

Ghoulish instincts kick in as he ducks the backhand aimed at his face.

He scrambles upright, finding himself toe to toe with a tall woman he doesn't recognize, and behind her, the man who'd been dancing with Storm when Rain cut in.

Her second attempt doesn't connect, either, as he grabs her wrist in mid-air, intercepting the strike. She yelps for him to let go.

"What, so you can fuck it up a third time?" Rain looks around for the rest of the pack, torn between wanting backup and being grateful that if it's just the two of them, there's less likely to be an Incident. They all know how much Cardi hates paperwork.

When Rain doesn't let up on his grip, she decides to take a swipe at Rain with her other hand instead.

And then Storm is snarling, pushing past Rain. The waves of want and frustration are intense, rolling off them both. And underneath it, the same thread of anger that Rain had sensed on Storm earlier, now given a much easier target.

"Back off. Now."

Rain obeys without hesitation, though he realizes later (much later) that the order wasn't directed at him at all.

Swiss' head pops around the edge of a door propped open to the alley outside, alerted by the noise, the scent, or something else. Maybe the shimmer of quintessence that flows in his veins, or simply the pack bond. The motion catches Rain's eye and he shakes his head at Swiss' inquisitive glance but makes a 'wrap it up' gesture. They're okay. Probably. And he knows that the entire pack will be on high alert in minutes, and that someone will come and extract them, should it become necessary.

When he reorients his focus on the woman who confronted him, she and her friend are having a heated conversation with Storm, who's regained his composure and is explaining, without apology, that the two will be leaving now and not bothering them again or security will be notified.

Rain squeezes Storm's shoulder, staying at his side but having little to add that wouldn't be throwing fuel on the fire. At last, the humans walk away, though not without throwing several more dirty looks and a rude gesture or two at the ghouls.

"Shit. Come on," Rain takes Storm's hand and stalks in the opposite direction, toward coat check, correctly anticipating that the rest of the pack will soon follow.

"I'm sorry about that, Rain."

Rain waves it off, trading in his ticket and receiving his coat in return. "Not asking for an apology. That was hot."

"I know you can take care of yourself," Storm adds, even as he's taking Rain's coat from him and helping him into it.

Rain smiles brightly. "Of course I can." He kisses Storm's cheek. "Doesn't mean I don't like it when you do it for me, though."

And at that, they both feel the weird tension that's inserted itself between them begin to evaporate.

They're first to the van, so Rain sits with Storm on the way back, crammed in the last row. Mountain snoozes on Rain's other side, able to sleep through anything. Knowing they won't be a bother, Rain unglamours his tail and wraps it around Storm's calf. Reaches over and, without a word, slips one hand inside the open neckline of Storm's shirt, burying his fingers in the soft silvery hair on his chest. Storm pulls him closer, and holds him there until they get home. It's a much quieter ride this time.

In the ghoul wing, Rain gets ready for sleep though he's already pushed past the point where it'll come easy. He washes his face and does his best to mop off the worst of the sweat and glitter, at least enough that Dew won't give him hell for it in the morning when they have enough energy for a proper shower. Just as he's about to climb into bed, he hears a soft tap at the door.

He answers wearing pajama pants and nothing else, waistband slung low on his hips, hair up and damp from his hasty cleanup. Storm is unglamoured now too, but still dressed in his nice clothes (though his shirt is buttoned again, much to Rain's disappointment).

"Hi. Everything ok? Want to come in?" Rain takes a step back and holds the door open.

Storm shakes his head, though Rain catches the glance he casts at the bed in the corner, trying to find somewhere to focus that does a better job of concealing how much he would rather be looking at Rain. He settles on focusing on the wall, gaze flickering back despite himself.

"I wanted to bring you this." He holds out a bottle of water and a small envelope. "For the morning. Hangover cure."

"You're a ghoul of many talents." Rain accepts, walking them over to his nightstand before returning to the doorway.

Storm lingers, still subdued. Deflated.

It had been a strange night.

Rain steps out into the hallway, pulling the door most of the way shut behind him.

"Hey. Talk to me? What's going on with you?"

"You haven't done anything wrong, Rain."

"Didn't say I did. But there was something, before—I want to know why you said that. That I was 'having plenty of fun without you.' I thought you liked that."

Storm takes a deep breath. Slides an arm around Rain's middle, curling a hand along his waist. Grounding them both, though he's not quite meeting Rain's eyes when he speaks.

"I did." He squeezes Rain gently. "I do. But I was also—angry. With myself. With nobody in particular."

"Mmm." Rain lets Storm pull him close, leaning his forehead against Storm's cheek. Rain isn't feeling particularly equipped for this conversation, given the circumstances, but he's doing his best. "Why?"

"For holding myself back from you. For a night like this happening before I've had the chance to take you out properly. As I promised you I would. When you touched me, when you said you'd been thinking about it all night, I—" He shakes his head. "I loved hearing it. But I also felt awful that you didn't come to me sooner. Which I blame on myself, to be clear. Not you. But still. I shouldn't have—"

"Hey…" Rain taps a finger against Storm's chin, turning his face until they're looking at one another. "We misunderstood each other a little, that's all. It's okay. And I'm here now. And you're still fucking gorgeous, by the way. Did someone tell you I'm weak for a ghoul in suspenders?" He tugs on them again, only a little disappointed they don't have the same satisfying stretchy snap that his old uniform ones did. Maybe there are still some spares stashed somewhere he could dig up.

"And you're the most beautiful creature around, as always," Storm sighs, but he's got a hint of a smile returning as he touches Rain's face, now bare of makeup but flushed nonetheless.

Rain closes the distance, capturing Storm's lips in a kiss that grows heated in seconds, Storm's other hand inching up his side, grazing the gills there, nearly making it to Rain's chest—when a loud whoop comes from Dew, who can't resist smacking Rain's ass as he sidles past them, into the bedroom.

"Don't mind me, kids! But save some for me, Rainy, all right?" His boisterous laughter follows him into the room as he shuts the door.

Rain sighs, offers Storm an apologetic grin. "Guess I should…"

Storm nods. "Yeah. It's late."

Rain leans in to press a soft parting kiss against his cheek, closer to the corner of his mouth than the last time he did this. As he steps back, he holds his hand out to Storm, a reflex more than a conscious choice.

And Storm takes his hand and leans over it, as if to kiss the back of it again.

Pauses.

With a great deal of tenderness, he rotates Rain's hand—the one Rain had touched him with, and rested against his chest as they rode home in silence—until the palm is facing up. Strokes his thumb against the pulse point near the deep blue veins at Rain's wrist.

Brings Rain's hand to his lips, pressing a kiss into the center of his palm.

Storm must be able to feel how Rain's heartbeat accelerates as he slides his lips down, the tip and then the length of his tongue laving the delicate web of skin between Rain's middle and ring fingers. His breath is so warm, tickling delicate skin as he breathes in and slips the two fingers into his mouth without hesitation.

Rain whimpers and his fingertips curl; it's impossible to look away from where his fingers disappear into that heady wet warmth. Storm keeps them there a few moments longer, making eye contact before sliding off, rising up and looking pleased with himself.

"I like how you smell when you've been touching me, siren. I'm looking forward to smelling myself on you more often."

He takes a step back, now kissing the back of Rain's hand, fingers still gleaming wetly, before letting go. "But for now, good night."

"G'night," Rain mumbles, still a bit scrambled. Wanting more. Instead of ducking into his own room, Storm gives Rain a wave and disappears around the corner.

Rain, curious, brings his hand to his face, slipping those two fingers into his own mouth and breathing in. It's not the same, of course, but Storm has a point, Rain thinks, savoring the salty mix of their commingled saliva, sweat, and scents. They do go well together.

And then, as he turns to open the door, expecting to see Dew already passed out in the middle of their bed, Rain bursts out laughing, suddenly remembering that he'd slipped his underwear into Storm's back pocket before the night went completely sideways.