#two-shot

They explored, by the old valyrian gods they did; part of their childhood was around it.

But then, they married. Beautiful women occupied their minds, their thoughts, bringing them happiness like no other. They remained close, as dragon brothers could be, but their feelings cleared as the years passed.

Until you were born.

You were the first to be born in the family. The first grandchild of Daeron the Good.

The day of your birth, your cries echoed across the Red Keep. Servants would whisper for days, comparing your cries to the roars of an awakened dragon.

Loud, strong and a taft of white hair on your head.

A dragon born like your father, ancient valyrian blood coursing through your veins.

Baelor was the first man to hold you, after your father. His own wife was soon to give birth to his child as well.

Hands held you steady, his presence easing your war cries. Red from the stained blood, you looked as mighty as you could be. Your little hands shot up, aiming to grasp at anything for comfort.

You found his beard, tugging faintly at a few strands with surprising force. Baelor winced, unable to free himself.

Maekar laughed at the sight. You fell asleep right after, holding your uncle as if he were your lifeline.

Baelor never saw the resemblance you bore to Maekar until you started to age.

Your first years were spent at Summerhall with your parents, raised as the eldest child. Soon, brothers would follow, but you were always the first; no one could compete with that.

At age eight, you returned with your two new brothers and father to King’s Landing for your grandsire's name-day.

Slowly grown, your white hair and lavender eyes were the pride of your beauty and your lineage. A spitting image of your father, there was no sign of your mother in your features.

But Baelor did not see just how close you resembled his brother until the first family dinner.

Sitting next to your father, you occupied yourself with some bread. By your side, Daeron and Aerion were busy disasters. One was about to fall asleep on the table, head held up by his hand. The other, eager to pinch his tired brother with a fork, hard enough to draw blood.

You and Maekar leaned back on your chairs simultaneously. You rolled your eyes as if practised beforehand, scowling in the same manner as if trained.

Baelor’s goblet never reached his lips at the sight. He stared, blinking slowly at the uncanny resemblance.

In the days that followed, Baelor found the image haunting his waking hours. He chose to walk, praying some fresh air would ease his thoughts. He passed by the training yard, stopping short upon seeing you.

A princess of the realm, in a tunic and pants too big for you. A wooden sword held in your hands, hair tied back for convenience. Your opponent? Maekar, the Anvil, himself.

You were his firstborn, his most beloved. What you wished, he gave, questioning little of what was proper.

Baelor remembered once questioning his brother about it.

Maekar had shrugged. “She will grow; she will find other things to do. And if she can wield a blade better than most green boys, so be it.”

The Crown Prince watched you in silence, mismatched eyes darting between you and your brother.

When a hit landed too firmly and knocked your sword away, you scowled. The same way Maekar always did when younger, training with his brother.

When your father blocked your well-planned hit, you frowned, disappointed and tried again.

Baelor’s breath hitched momentarily, memories flashing into his mind. Each expression you pulled, each narrowing eye moment; he saw a younger Maekar in your place.

And feelings that had once plunged his dreams into pleasure Feeling he had once considered them buried and gone...

Had started to return. Not for your brother alone. But for the female image of him, in the body of his niece.

Your visits to King’s Landing were rarer the more you grew. Summerhall was too far, the trip too tiring for quick visits. Your mother's constant pregnancies kept the family busy, isolated behind the castle walls.

Having two younger brothers was one thing. Having four in total, with a fifth child on the way? It was becoming too much.

Perhaps that was what had started to make you scowl more, joining your father at the mess of this growing family. The hours you spent in his presence, finding solace from the migraines caused by your siblings.

He never turned you away, inviting you to continue your studies while he worked.

His influence on you only grew, his manners becoming yours without realising it. And the next time you visited your uncle, he was in for a surprise.

At your 18th name-day, your grandsire wished to host a tourney. To celebrate your coming of age, to parade his first grandchild, the realm’s beauty. And much to your disappointment and horror, I will find you a suitable marriage match.

Held at King’s Landing, lords from all over Westeros had promised to attend. Three days of festivities, competitions and feasts; an event like no other.

The celebrations had left Baelor drowned in paperwork, the widower Hand of the King busy tracking the expenses and plans for such an event. He had not come to greet you when you arrived with your family, but he had watched you from the window, from the top of the Hand’s tower.

The Banners of his family were visible from afar, the red winged dragon placed against black.

You did not arrive in a carriage befitting of your status.

No, you arrived on horseback alongside your father.

White long hair had been tied back and low, an identical style your father favoured since his youth. Instead of dresses, you wore a riding gear; your Targaryen cloak clasped around your shoulders.

Maekar’s horse stopped next to yours, the resemblance between you uncanny enough to spook the stable boys coming for your horses. Your sharp, hardened gaze was rivalled only by his.

Your brothers arrived right after. Daeron almost fell from his saddle, head pounding from the wine he consumed the night prior. For someone younger than you, he drank more than your father on tense days.

Aerion, on the other hand, barked at a stable boy to get to his horse first. Throwing an insult in the mix, just for self-pleasure.

A simultaneous groan left you and Maekar’s lips, already tired by their behaviour, unfit for their status and bloodline.

Only Aemon and young Egg seemed the most behaved, riding last on the same horse. At least there was hope for them, if insanity did not claim them first. Considering the chaos of your family, your own intact sanity was god gifted.

Baelor focused on his work, his thumb teasing his bottom lip in thought. Your arrival had shaken him; the resemblance from afar was a sight he did not expect. He had chosen to bury himself in work, knowing he would see you at night for supper.

That was his plan. But not yours.

A knock on his door startled him, mismatched eyes looking up. “Come in,” he permitted, grabbing a ledger from the pile to his right.

Hinges creaked as the heavy door was pushed open. You walked in, still in the riding gear you arrived in. Boots echoed on the stone floor before muffled by the carpet before his desk,

“You did not come to greet us, uncle.” Your voice was smooth, huskier than he recalled. “I feel I should be offended.”

Baelor looked up again, inhaling once. Sharp, short; the breath did not come out.

You stood before his desk, head tilted faintly in tease. Your white hair tied back, falling across your back in thin, tamed strands. Violet eyes bore into his soul, and that smirk... Maekar’s smirk.

He would be able to recognise it anywhere. A rare trait, a sight often saved just for him growing up.

“I have been drowning at work, dear niece,” he cleared his throat, leaving the ledger on the desk. “I would have seen you at supper.”

His mismatched eyes took in your appearance, your changes. No longer were you the small child trailing after her father, glaring with the hatred of an elderly man.

You had grown taller, stronger. Your chest had bloomed after your first bleed, your face thinned and shaped; cheekbones protruding more. A true Valyrian beauty, as wild and untamed as the dragons your ancestors rode into battle.

But it was not just beauty Baelor saw. It was also him.

You bore your father’s eyes, nose and lips. Your face, alas, more feminine, resembled Maekar more than any of his children or even his siblings.

Baelor stared a little too intently.

Growing up, the boys often wondered what it would be like to be born a woman. If marriage between them had been achievable, approved even. With Maekar’s long hair, it was not hard for Baelor to imagine back then.

Now, he barely had to put his mind to work.

What he often imagined and dreamt as a growing prince, you had brought into life.

His thoughts were halted when you leaned forward, a hand on his desk. Your low ponytail slipped aside, over your shoulder. In the silence of the moment, you had moved to his side.

Your breath tickled his skin. “What have you been working on, uncle?” you asked, your other hand snatching the ledger effortlessly.

Pushing yourself to stand, you scanned the pages in violet hues. Expenses, coins, grain shipments and endless numbers. A sight you had seen before, enough times to know how to handle it.

Baelor cleared his throat. “Like I said, dear niece, work.”

You sat on the chair, leaning back against the cushion. “Let me help you then, uncle.” You glanced at him above the open ledger. “It is my name-day that has you drowning in work, after all.”

He parted his lips to argue, but you had already stolen his quill, dipping the tip into ink before marking something on the old pages.

Inhaling once, he let you be, then fetched a different quill for himself. But his eyes would not stick to the work before him, nor would his mind focus.

Because you stood within arm’s reach of him. A sinful old dream coming true. An innocent niece who tempted him more than his brother ever did.

And all that, without you even understanding the war within his heart.

Or so he thought...

Jousting was the heart of Westerosi culture, the event everyone wanted to see. Men and boys trained endlessly to compete, egos boosted and bruised with each opponent they faced.

The stands were filled, the crowd wild as the competitors rode into the arena. They galloped up and down, intricate helmets designed to stand out. Their swords held up, their sigils carved on their chestplate.

You sat in the royal booth, shielded from the warm sun. A fancy dress of red and black clung to your blooming form, shoulders revealing enough to draw eyes. Your hair, the same low ponytail you favoured, a style you openly refused to change.

A style your father also supported, further showing your resemblance to him.

Aemon and Aegon were seated just below you, the youngest cheering for the knights he supported. Daeron sat nearby, nursing yet another hangover from his drinking.

He should have been down there to compete, but his condition left him unable to do so. A well-crafted plan by his side, earning another disapproving look from his father.

Your cousins Vaelar and Matarys would compete, the crowd cheering louder as they rode their horses.

Your brother Aerion, while far younger, had threatened his way in. His slender body drowned by his armour, yet his cocky smirk never left his lips.

He stopped before your royal booth, lifting the visor of his helm. His eyes fell on you, an obsession from his side that had grown over the past year. He licked his lips and winked before galloping away to take his position.

Your lips parted in disdain, the forced smile long gone.

Maekar copied you, the feeling mutual.

You exchanged a look with him, aware already how terribly this idea of Aerion would go. No words needed to be exchanged, your thoughts surprisingly in sync.

Heads turned towards the arena, noticing your uncle, who was busy looking at you.

Baelor stared at the two of you, seated by his brother on the other side. Long fingers played with the rings he often favoured, his breathing quietly laboured.

There, side by side, your profiles aligned... the resemblance was terrifying. You and Maekar could pass as twins if it weren’t for his brother's pox-scarred face.

He suppressed a groan, looking forward again. This day would be far longer than he expected.

Every tourney had to end with at least a feast. A celebration could not be called one if free food and wine were not served, and guests had not danced to their hearts' content.

You sat behind the royal table, always by your father’s side. Your brothers were already embarrassing themselves, at least Aerion and Daeron. Aemon and Aegon had long sneaked away.

You nursed a goblet in your hand, the watered wine swirling faintly. Lavender eyes cast up when you sensed someone approaching.

A common occurrence in the past hour. Brave souls daring to approach, to comment and ask for a dance. Only to leave humbled, rejected and sometimes mocked by your father.

“Princess,” the older Lord approached. He bowed his head. “Your beauty outshines every woman in this room. May you continue blooming with it each year.”

Your forced smile threatened to fade. The man before you could be older than your father. His words drew disgust, but you remained mannered, years of education and septa-wired etiquette wired into you.

Maekar, on the other hand, was not under any such expectations. “Where did you learn how to court, by a fucking Tyrell?” he scoffed, looking both annoyed and tired; a familiar feeling from the past decade.

The Lord was left stunned by the insult, lips parted in surprise. The glare coming from your father discouraged him further. He left the same way he had come, head hung lower in embarrassment.

With him gone, your smile turned into a snarl. The exact same one your father currently sported.

“Fuck me,” you cursed in a hushed tone, emptying the wine left in your goblet.

Maekar scoffed in amusement, head turned to look at you. “Say it louder, watch them come back.”

You lowered your goblet, looking at him. “Then I will grab your sword and defend my honour.”

His shoulders shook with a silent chuckle, amused by the dragon fire within you. You joined soon after.

Baelor had been watching you silently for the past hour, twisting his rings in worry each time a lord tried to approach you. Even he could not help but cringe at their attempts, some worse than others.

Yet you handled each one with restraint and grace, your comments holding back the poison you wished to drip.

He eyed the way your fingers wrapped around your goblet. How your lips rested on the rim, hiding your expression from the flirtiest advances. The way your hair almost glowed under the light of torches.

Your nose wrinkled in disgust when a comment felt too cheesy.

When a drunken lord fell during a dance, you scoffed and chuckled along with your father, not a second apart. Even your humour was the same as his.

And when you would look to the side, at your father, you would also look at him. Lavender orbs, all too familiar, stared into his sinful soul, as if they could read his thoughts.

Vaelar suddenly approached. “Dear cousin, may I have a dance with you?”

Your white eyebrows shot up. The invite was unexpected but not unusual. A quick glance at your father said it all.

“Only if you promise not to hand me to anyone else,”

He chuckled, spreading his hand for you to take. “I promise I will be the only man dancing with you.”

You smiled, truthfully this time. His hand held yours carefully, guiding you around the long table and then leading you to the dance floor.

A year younger, but Vaelar was taller, his growth spout having started. His face was kind, his Dornish dark hair softening his expression. A relief to see from Aerion’s smug expression.

Vaelar guided you with ease, hands never leaving their rightful place of respect. A sudden twirl made you chuckle; the dance gave you more joy than you expected. He stayed true to his promise.

Quick as a striking snake, he would switch places with you whenever a lord approached. His shoulder would bump into men who came too close. You trusted him, and he did not disappoint, truly bringing pleasure to the mundane event.

And while you two danced with the joy of youth and shared blood, your family watched, studied, and planned.

King Daeron smiled at the sight, leaning between his two sons. “They make a fine pair, don’t they?”

Maekar scoffed. “He is younger than her.” His argument was valid but weak, an excuse a caring father would throw.

You were of age, you should have been married already, but you hadn’t. Maekar had been living up to his name and his reputation. Any lord brave enough to ask for your hand was turned down as quickly as he had arrived.

Few braver men tried to approach you directly, only to find you were your father’s child through and through.

In his eyes, the decision was yours to take.

When he was married, he had been pleased.

Only Baelor knew he had been left speechless the first time his eyes landed upon Dyanna Dane. While not a man expressive with his feelings, he had made it work because he wanted to.

The same thing he chased for you, giving you the freedom to decide.

Dragon’s blood, you were. Granddaughter to the King, niece to the Hand. You held more titles than most men could dream of. No one dared to question your disapproval, your freedom, or the delay in marriage.

No one would dare to even try it, for he would personally hammer them down like he did to the Blackfyre rebels.

“Only by a year,” Daeron argued. “She would make a fine Queen one day, don’t you agree, Baelor?”

The eldest son had been staring at you and Vaelar from the start. Lips pressed into a thin line, a pained expression in his eyes.

Yes, you would make a fine Queen. A crown upon your head as you sat by his side on the Iron Throne. Your cunning mind finds solutions he missed, and your lips smirking at him across small council meetings.

Yes, you would make a fine Queen.... for him.

• Pair.

Noa and Mae

• Movie.

Kingdom of the planet of the apes

• Tags.

NoaxMae, yes it is a ship, dont read if you dont ship them, smutt, au, future, humans and apes politics, ape and human relation, Noa is an inocent ape, twoshot, relationship, Interspecies, strong language, honour apes, writer is not English native speaker, if you see errors tell me, etc

• Other Nomae fic.

You and Me

• Sipnosis.

Noa and the Beast

Apes and humans lived in peace for more than half a century, the war only brought internal conflicts between the sides and although peace was the later consequence, they finally lived together and peacefully.

But it was still not well seen that humans and apes had relationships, each one lived in their area, both separated by borders and policies.

Noa son of the leader of the eagle clan. And Mae daughter of an important senator. Ape and human had set their eyes on each other, unable to ignore the other's presence when they saw each other. The tension between the two ends in a nighttime escapade with consequences for the future.

DO NOT COPY OR SHARE IT ELSEWHERE WITHOUT PERMISSION!

• No words [One shot]

Mae didn't like participating in her father's political campaigns. More than anything because she always ended up in the middle, like a piece of meat.

She was just grateful that her father always defended her and never left her hanging, but the suitors always surrounded her, eager to get close to the senator's daughter from the southern zone.

That first day, she had to accompany her father to a dinner with the Eagle Clan. A friendly clan that always worked alongside humans.

Mae sat quietly in her seat, trying not to draw attention to herself. She didn't have the same tension as with other human politicians who tried to pair her up with one of their sons at every opportunity.

No, there she only observed Noa, the son of the Eagle Clan's leader. He also looked back at her.

They didn't need many words; they never did. Whenever they saw each other, their relationship was one of glances, smiles, and even touches.

Mae didn't know if Noa caught her attention because he was different from the others or because he was the only one his father didn't try to pair her up with.

That was simple. Neither the senator nor the clan leader understood that humans and apes could have a relationship beyond politics. For both humans and apes parents, humans and apes could coexist with boundaries and each in their own place.

None of them realized that their children understood that humans and apes could have a much more... intimate relationship.

That dinner passed quietly. Except for a surprise at the moment of saying goodbye. Noa this time bid her farewell with a hug.

No one seemed to pay attention, and if they did, they didn't say anything. Nor did it interest either of them. Mae was too comfortable in his arms, and Noa was too busy feeling the small, soft, peculiarly scented human in his arms.

When they separated, their eyes met again. Neither of them knew why their bodies reacted so intensely.

They didn't need words.

________-------------------_________

That night, Mae went out of her hotel room for a walk. She was sure the place was quiet and guarded, since politicians and leaders from all states had gathered there.

She was sure, yes. But she got a little scared when she heard footsteps behind her.

"What are you doing alone at night here?"

It almost cost her to recognize that voice. When she turned her head to see the ape standing beside her, she sighed in relief.

"I was taking a walk."

"You can't go out at night without company. You know there are apes who still have trouble coexisting with you humans."

Mae let out a laugh.

"Well, for that, there are apes like you who feel very comfortable with humans, and even dare to hug them in front of everyone."

The human couldn't appreciate the blush that appeared on the ape's cheeks.

"Not only do I feel comfortable. I like humans."

"What? Is it a fetish of yours? Having them all at your feet? Am I just one more?"

Noa stopped, making her stop too.

"You're the only one."

Now it was her turn to blush. But this time, Noa could see her, because the moonlight reflected off her face and eyes.

Mae coughed a little, turning her head to the right, unable to bear his gaze.

Many times they had looked into each other's eyes, smiled, touched, and hugged, but never had Noa's eyes shone like that.

"Am I the only one?"

Noa's voice brought her back to reality.

"What do you mean, the only one?"

Noa took her hand, leading her to a more secluded spot.

If someone saw them together, they might think the worst. Noa leading her by the hand in the darkness of the night towards an empty corner of the hotel building.

Once Noa found the perfect spot, he leaned her against the wall and pressed his body against hers.

Mae could feel the strong, muscular ape body against hers.

He went back to hugging her, bringing their faces very close together.

"The only one you feel like this."

Noa kissed her ear and neck.

"Noa."

"What do you mean Noa?"

Mae felt stupid. Of course, she felt the same way. But there were too many obstacles between them.

"This is wrong."

"Does it feel wrong?"

Of course, Mae didn't respond.

Noa was attacking her weak points, kissing her neck and, in a moment when Mae wasn't paying attention, had slipped a hand into her underwear to touch her most intimate parts with curiosity and passion.

Now it was Mae's turn to protest for the ape to touch her the way she wanted.

"Shh." Noa whispered. "We might be overheard."

Without making her wait too long, the simian's long fingers began to caress her clitoris. The other hand went to her buttocks to help her stay just as he wanted. His mouth continued with what he had left pending, mimicking the human's breasts with kisses, licks, and nibbles.

"Noa, please."

Mae felt too close to climax. Her legs trembled, and her lower abdomen electrified with the energy that coursed from her clitoris to her head. Noa's fingers moved faster, like a cable that made the energy pass through him to her.

"Noa!"

Mae came with that cry, clinging to the ape's shoulders, unable to achieve her goal, and ended up sitting astride him.

Her breasts still rose and fell, struggling to breathe normally.

Their eyes met, and they maintained silence, gazing at each other.

Noa raised a hand to the girl's cheek, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen forward, and left his hand there to continue caressing her.

Mae sighed.

"Did you like it?"

Noa asked uncertainly.

Mae laughed.

"Are you asking me that after I just came on top of you after giving me an orgasm?"

"An orgasm? Is that what you humans call it?"

"What? And what do you apes call it?"

"We don't call it. Females rarely have ongasms."

"Orgasms." -Mae corrected, laughing.-

"Whatever. Males usually care more about reproducing than about the female's pleasure."

"Seeing it that way, humans are very similar to apes." -Mae realized something before continuing.- "But then, how did you know how to touch me like that?"

Now it was Noa who looked away, embarrassed.

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does!" -Mae insisted.-

"And I... I saw some material before I met you."

Mae was very confused by the two confessions.

"Why did you care so much about me?" -the human stopped.- "What material!?"

"Because I like you. I thought it was obvious." -Noa responded in order to her questions.- "And material... visual."

"Have you seen porn?"

"Is that what it's called?"

Mae didn't know what was the strangest of all. That Noa seemed so innocent after touching her in a not-so-innocent way, that apes didn't have terms like orgasm or porn, or that Noa had seen porn to know how to please her.

Mae burst out laughing.

"Mae!" -with one hand, Noa tried to silence her.- "Seriously, we might be overheard."

"I don't know why you thought you needed to please me like that before, like, talking to me or asking me out on a date and eating ice cream."

"What's ice cream?"

"What?"

Noa silenced her again with his hand.

"Don't you know what ice cream is?"

Mae asked in a lower tone, and he shook his head.

"We need to fix that."

Mae got up quickly.

"Wait, Mae." -Noa held her hand.- "You haven't answered me."

"What?" -the human realized.- "Oh, yes, I also like you. I thought it was obvious." -she imitated the simian's words.-

"I'm going to ask your father for your hand!"

"What?"

Noa seemed very sure. He got up and was determined to seek out the senator.

"No, wait Noa." -Mae stopped him.- "We need to think this through calmly. We don't know how they'll react."

The ape shook his head.

"I don't care. I only want you."

Mae blushed and looked away, remembering something.

"Noa." -she stopped him again.- "But how are you going to go like that?"

The human pointed to the ape's large erection. Because they were used to not wearing clothes, she could see it clearly in the moonlight. Long, erect, almost covered with hair. And Mae wondered how it would feel in her hands or inside her. If it would be soft and hard at the same time.

Noa, who had also looked down, turned away, embarrassed.

"You're right. Maybe it's not the best moment."

"You don't have to be embarrassed! On the contrary, I owe you an orgasm."

"No, we can't do anything, I don't want to do it inside you without engagement."

Mae was surprised by his response. The way he cared for her, not just physically but also her honor. For humans, physical contact went beyond just hugs, many reached marriage with three or four lovers, and women didn't wait for marriage either.

Those traditions of loyalty, fidelity, and union concept were something to envy. Apes might not marry for passion or taste, but for a bond much more important than the physical.

And Noa wanted to share that with her. It reminded the human that they did it because the ape believed she liked it. And of course, she did, and his erection showed that he liked it too.

But Mae wasn't going to rush things just for a fling when what Noa offered was indescribable in human words.

"We don't have to do anything." -Mae began, trying to speak softly.- "I could help you without penetrating me, but we can wait for that."

Noa remained silent. He looked at her fixedly and turned his body, letting her see his powerful erection again.

"Mae." -Noa approached her, taking her hands.- "Help me, please."

The power she felt inside her in that moment made the human move without control.

Mae moved her hands down, caressing his chest and grabbing the large penis with both hands when she reached her destination.

Noa followed her gaze, sighing, and Mae shook her head.

"No, look at me."

Noa obeyed, and Mae wrapped her hand around his virility and began to move it up and down while the other carefully caressed the tip from which a liquid was already coming out, wetting her hand and showing her how much the ape liked her touch.

"Mae." -Noa whispered without taking his eyes off her.-

Both remained standing, looking at each other fixedly.

When Mae noticed Noa's restless body, she moved her hands faster, holding onto his phallus more tightly.

"I'm going to... Mae!"

Then Noa closed his eyes and a hot jet of liquid hit the human in her exposed belly.

Noa hugged her tightly while trying to recover his breath.

"Shh, they're going to hear us. Noa." -Mae whispered to the ape, mocking all the times he had told her that.-

The ape laughed between his teeth.

"Mae." -then they looked at each other again in the eyes.- "Thank you."

The human squinted her eyes, unsure why he was thanking her.

Before she could ask, a light pointed at them, startling them.

"What are you doing there?"

The voice of the ape who had found them startled them. Mae with her shirt up, pants down, and underwear wet due to her orgasm but also because of Noa's, which had ended up falling there. And Noa, who still showed enthusiasm in his gaze.

Even so, the ape placed himself in front of the human, covering her nudity towards the other ape.

“D-do you work out?” Mira asks, coughing into her fist, the blush on her cheeks barely noticeable under the dim lighting.

It’s a sentence Rumi has heard a lot, all with flirty tones and battering eyelashes. Mira, though, asks more from shock and awe, than any intentional flirting. Rumi runs a hand over her bicep unconsciously.

“Oh, yeah, sort of. I’m a personal trainer.” She flexes a little, preening at the dark look that crosses Mira’s eyes. Heat creeps up her spine as Mira continues to stare at her arms and shoulders.

Mira licks her lips, swiping away a drop of amber on her lip. Rumi’s eyes track the movement. She shifts in her seat. Mira clears her throat, “I guess…having a flabby armed personal trainer ruins all incentive to follow your workout plans, huh?”

Rumi laughs easily and relaxes her bicep. “Yeah, you wouldn’t go to a hairdresser who has a botched haircut.”

“709, Frankie the Fence. I made the arrest.”

Sid half-listened as Sullivan searched. Too much talking for a good job, but still. Not like he couldn’t make good use of his own time in here.

“Well, well, what do we make of these?” Sullivan held up a pair of shoes, a smug smile on his face. Sid glanced over them, unimpressed.

“Frankie the Fence has size ten feet.”

“Frankie the Fence is a woman.”

The sheer, almost manic victory in Sullivan’s usually dour face might have been amusing, charming even (if Sullivan could ever be charming). But not in an evidence room where, Sid was pretty sure the inspector hadn’t registered this yet, they were breaking and entering. He blew out a breath, cheeks puffing out.

“Come on,” he said, voice low. “We have not got time for this.”

All at once, Sullivan popped back up. His eyes went to Sid, then to the evidence shelf. He was a sharp one, for a copper, so by the time their eyes met again, it was clear he’d picked up on Sid’s own bit of shopping.

“Put that back.”

Sid’s gaze didn’t so much as waver, even as Sullivan’s eyes swept down to the back in his hand before looking back to the shelf. (Funny, how this inspector’s once-overs always looked more interested in the whole of him than Valentine’s ever had.) But when Sullivan’s eyes traveled back to his, he let out the smallest hint of frustration as he held the bag up.

“This evidence will get me six months in the poke. The way I see it, you owe me,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice low enough to keep from being heard.

“The debt doesn’t extend to the theft of your evidence,” Sullivan said through his teeth.

Sid’s eyes casually went down to the shoes. “Says the man holding stolen evidence in his hands.”

Sullivan stood up straighter, puffing up with his usual righteous indignation. It’s funny, normally, when Sid can get under his skin, but right now it’s unfortunate, because said indignation made him loud. “The distinction being, I’m innocent and you were caught fair and square. Put it back.”

There wasn’t much room to get in Sullivan’s face back here, considering they were already practically nose to nose, but Sid did try to get the air of it as he said, “Or what, you’ll raise the alarm?”

Sullivan’s chin jutted out, the sharp, stilted inhale that typically came before a self-righteous screed escaping him. While this would normally be an excellent time to rile the inspector up to boiling point, this was, in fact, a job, and keeping a cool head was essential, even as he could feel Sullivan’s frustration radiating through the whole room.

But before he could get so much as a word out, a voice floated in from the other side of the door—one Sid didn’t recognize, but given the wide-eyed, panicked look that crossed Sullivan’s face, he could pretty confidently guess it was Trueman. (He wasn’t the Father, of course, but contrary to popular belief, he could, in fact, put two and two together.)

“Open the door, Sergeant. I think I heard voices.”

They both moved quick. Sullivan turned, tucking the shoes against his chest. Sid put the evidence back where he’d grabbed it, lip curling in frustration. He might’ve pulled it off if Sullivan hadn’t—no time for that, not with keys jingling on the other side of the door. He dove down to sit beside Sullivan; the inspector had tucked himself up around the corner. Not a great hiding spot, so Sid merely tucked his legs up and waited for the inevitable.

“No-one signed the key out. I’ll take a look around, sir.”

That was Goodfellow. Not too bright, but decently lived up to his name when he wasn’t toadying after Sullivan. As Sid settled back, he had to admit to being a little curious what would happen when they were caught. Clearly Sullivan was, too, given the way he was practically shaking beside him.

It was tempting, of course, to sneer at the state of him, but Sid kept his gaze down. He didn’t like the inspector, let’s get that clear. But…well, honor among thieves, he supposed, and Sullivan—at least for this moment—was in with him. And yeah, it was a little gratifying to see the inspector on his side of the law for once. But he was a prideful man, and this was a hell of a fall. Now, he was frightened, desperate—Sid was careful not to look directly at him, to let him keep a small shred of his pride, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sullivan clutching the shoes like a teddy to his chest.

Nah, he couldn’t kick him while he was down. If they got out of this, it’d ruin the fun of riling him up. Besides, Sid could remember all too well how he’d done on his first job—he’d been just as spooked.

Footsteps came round the corner, and Sid finally lifted his eyes to look up at Goodfellow. Well, jig was up. Both he and Sullivan stared up at the sergeant in silence, the slightest noise from beside him suggesting the inspector was mouthing something. Goodfellow stared down at them for what felt like a lifetime.

“All clear, sir,” he finally called, sparing one last glance to Sullivan before he made his way out.

When the door shut behind him, Sullivan sagged down in relief, practically going limp against Sid as he relaxed. Sid kept his eyes on the door, body tense as he listened for their footsteps to fade away. Once it was silent again, he caught Sullivan’s head turning to look at him. Sid met his eyes, finally. He was about to say they ought to get up and moving, but then Sullivan lunged at him.

His hand scrambled against the side of Sid’s head, catching his ear before going to his neck, and he tugged the other man forward to crash their mouths together, all teeth and adrenaline. Somewhat shamefully, considering his reputation, it took Sid a solid ten seconds to realize that the inspector wasn’t attacking him; he was kissing him.

This...wasn't as much of a surprise as Sid thought it should be. After all, there had been looks, and he'd always had a feeling there was something more than sheer morality that made him Sullivan's favorite target. But all the same...things suddenly got a whole lot more interesting.

 Not that this was the time, though. It took a great deal of strength—literally, Sullivan had a hell of a grip—to pull himself back. Sullivan’s eyes were bright, and his chest heaved as he gripped Sid’s collar. Sid kept a hand on his chest, just in case he dove in again.

“We need to get out of here,” he whispered, voice clipped and nose still brushing Sullivan’s. He nodded to the window. “You go down first, and keep your head down.”

Sullivan swallowed, throat bobbing, and he seemed to come back down to earth. He nodded, then carefully stole to the window. Sid followed, watching the inspector go down before he followed. He shut the window after them—the crowbar had left it a little worse for the wear, but hopefully Sullivan would be back in business by the time anyone noticed.

Sid was quick to pull down the ladder, silently directing Sullivan to dump out the water from their cover bucket. He watched him as he did, noting the way he shook. Ooh, not good. He wasn’t handling this well—granted, the kiss kind of gave that away. As Sullivan turned back around, he nodded for him to follow after him.

Now, time for a detour.

He, of course, knew all the best ways to slip out of sight. So, with a sharp whistle, he directed Sullivan down a narrow alleyway, ladder just able to pass through with them. No windows on either side, and hardly noticeable provided they didn’t make much noise. All at once, he stopped and propped the ladder against the wall.

“What are you doing?” Sullivan hissed, voice shaking. “We need to get back to the presbytery. I need to figure out what Finley’s shoes are…”

And time to help get him grounded.

Sid was much smoother than the inspector had been, hand easily resting on the other man’s neck and thumb directing his jaw up for a deep kiss. This time, Sullivan froze, and Sid mentally cursed as the bucket went crashing to the cobblestone. But it certainly wasn’t enough to get either of them to stop.

Sullivan’s free hand gripped Sid’s collar again, tight enough to threaten to tear it, and he pushed into the kiss with all the dogged energy he’d had in the evidence room. Sid coaxed him back against the wall, one arm propped against it. Meanwhile, Sullivan’s teeth teased at Sid’s lip, tongue meeting his without a bit of hesitation.

All at once, he pulled back, breathing hard and eyes bright. “What are you doing?” he asked, belatedly.

“You were about to break. I’m getting your head on straight.” Sid paused. “Well, in a way.”

“I wasn’t about to break.”

“You’re a shit liar.” Sid’s head dove down, lips going to his jaw. “And anyway, you started it.”

Sullivan swallowed, head falling back. “It’s…adrenaline. That’s all.”

Sid snorted, right next to his ear. “Sure, tell yourself that. We can both pretend you haven’t been practically undressing me with your eyes every time you give me a once-over.” He gave the lobe of Sullivan’s ear a sharp bite—not as playful as he’d done with others, for obvious reasons, but the shuddering breath the inspector let out was very gratifying.

“This is illegal,” he finally whispered.

“Gonna arrest us yourself, then?” Sid murmured in his ear, then pulled back with a shit-eating smirk he couldn’t force down. “Oh, wait. Can’t do that right now, can you?”

Sullivan stared hard at him, then pushed forward. Sid fell back against the other wall as Sullivan dove down to his neck, biting and sucking at the skin like a man possessed. Sid, melting back, didn’t fight it in the least. Not only was it very nice, but he was pretty sure he’d seen less repression in all those priests-in-training at the Father’s old seminary.

Sullivan let out a frustrated grunt as he tried to work open Sid’s coveralls one-handedly, and he automatically brought up his other hand to get at the button. And that was when the shoe dropped—literally, in this case. He pulled back, startled back into the moment by the noise, and he stared up at Sid with pupils large enough to nearly swallow up the blue. They both breathed hard, staying still, but Sullivan finally ducked down to pick up the shoe.

“There’s something inside,” he said, trying not to sound breathless as he stood back up. Sid adjusted his collar as he watched him dig in the shoe, only to pull out a small slip of paper.

“What is it?” he asked, idly rubbing at his sure-to-be-bruising neck as Sullivan looked it over.

“Left luggage ticket,” Sullivan muttered. “For a briefcase.” He paused, eyes darting back and forth. “The expose, that must be it.” He looked up at Sid, holding the paper up. “And that briefcase is the key to my innocence.”

“Then we ought to get back to the presbytery,” Sid said, going to grab the ladder. “Might want to get yourself back into order; Mrs. M’s bound to notice otherwise, and that’s not a conversation you want to have.”

He glanced back at Sullivan, smiling a bit, but it faded as the inspector stiffly put the paper in his pocket. He cleared his throat, pointedly not looking at Sid as he smoothed his coat.

“This doesn’t change anything,” he said, voice quiet and short. He bent down to pick up the other shoe, and the familiar hard expression was back as he finally lifted his head. “You are being charged for theft when this is over, and I’ll be the one ensuring you go to prison. Like you deserve.”

An odd sort of pang went through Sid’s chest at that, and he stared at Sullivan for a moment before he let out a sharp breath. “And just when I thought we were chums,” he drawled out, then pushed past Sullivan to lead the way. “Keep your head down. I know a shortcut back.”

~

Funerals weren’t exactly Sid’s favorite thing, even less so when he didn’t know the deceased. But it did feel right to go to DC Albert’s. The kid had done a lot for this case, and paying his respects was the decent thing. And, for all of his faults (and there were plenty), Inspector Sullivan—reinstated and decked out with all his various medals and finery—seemed to recognize that too in the speech he gave. And, perhaps, he’d even turned over a new leaf; at least, that’s what Sid, Lady Felicia, and Mrs. McCarthy silently hoped for as he pulled Father Brown aside after the Mass. Sid was even playing with the idea of inviting him out for a pint to celebrate.

“I thought you’d like to know,” he said, voice low. “Sir Jeffrey Greensleeves has been charged with accessory to murder, and Chief Constable Busby with perverting the course of justice.”

“And Inspector Trueman?” Father Brown asked.

“Gone.”

“And that’s an end to this horrible business, I hope,” Mrs. M interjected, firm enough that any Illuminati within earshot would think twice before causing mischief.

Sullivan glanced over at her, then looked back to Father Brown. “There is something I’d like to say, Father. Grateful as I am for your assistance…”

Father Brown smiled.

“…nothing that’s happened will change my opinion of you…”

The smile faded.

“…as a somewhat dangerous and subversive influence. By rights…” Sullivan glanced over at the three huddled nearby. “…I could have you all arrested.”

“Go on, then,” Mrs. McCarthy challenged, but Sullivan was unswayed.

“If you imagine this will in any way color our future dealings, or that your meddling in police matters is any more welcome, you are sorely mistaken.”

“I see,” was all Father Brown said, placid as ever even though the disappointment was clear on his face. That alone was nearly enough to get Sid winding up his arm to knock those stupid medals right off of Sullivan’s chest. But then, the Father wouldn’t like it very much if he did. So he stayed put as Sullivan turned to walk off, having the audacity to tip his hat as he did.

“Well, that’s gratitude for you,” Lady F. said, more than loud enough for Sullivan to hear. But the inspector needed something a little more direct after pulling off a stunt like this to the dubious associates that had saved his hide.

Sid stepped forward, hands clasped—it was the only way he’d keep from popping Sullivan in his stupid jaw. All this work, all of their sticking their necks out, and this stupid blighter was still too goddamn proud to admit that he’d needed their help. Not to mention the evidence room, and the alley, and… “Yeah, thanks for nothing, inspector. Guess I’ll see you in court.”

Sullivan paused as Sid spoke. His head tilted slightly, and he slowly turned to face them again. Sid, chin lifted, waited for the reprimand, the gloating.

Sullivan met his eyes for a moment, and he shifted back and forth, legs restless as he wrung his gloves. Finally, he said, “I’ve been informed that due to an…administrative error, the evidence in question has been mislaid.” The words came out awkward and stilted—the bloke really could not lie to save his life. But Sid (and Lady Felicia, and Mrs. McCarthy, and Father Brown) were listening all the same. It took Sid a moment to register what exactly that meant, but Mrs. M’s big smile helped clue him in as Sullivan added, “Isn’t that right, Sergeant?”

Goodfellow stared.

“Sergeant.”

He caught on, too, and lived up to his name. “Oh! Right, sir. Yes, sir.”

“Which means,” Sullivan continued, ignoring Lady F.’s smirk, “we will be forced to drop all charges on this occasion.” His eyes locked on Sid’s, and Sid was careful not to smile as he fiddled with his own gloves. “But rest assured, Mr. Carter, we will not be nearly so careless in future.”

At that, Sid’s lips did turn up, just a bit, as he nodded, with one deep one added as a silent “Thank you”. Sullivan started to turn, keeping his eyes on Sid until he finally snapped his head forward.

“I want a full investigation on how this was allowed to happen, Sergeant. Heads will roll, mark my words,” he blustered. Oh, bless, he even included a little indignant shake of his gloves. Definitely laid on far too thick, but Sid was hardly going to complain about it as he shared a grin with the group.

And, maybe, he’d rethink buying Sullivan a drink next he saw him…as thanks, of course.