#OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends

[thiswasinevitableid]

The Pact (OT4)

The winner of the previous monsters poll was fae! This fill is NSFW

The Appletown Fourth of July parade is an exercise in despair. It’s been this way ever since Joseph was six and someone threw egg salad at his sister, Lily, while saying her parents crashed planes into their fathers ship, before dashing off as she yelled that their dad was Korean, not Japanese. 

This, the 1960 parade, is shaping up to be worse. Sweat is dripping down his back, his hair is stuck to his forehead, and his father hasn’t even come marching by with the other veterans. He and his younger sister, Iris, are making the best of it by teasing Lily for her seemingly all-encompassing crush on a rotating cast of boys. Joseph, at seventeen, thinks a few of them are cute, and Iris, in spite of being thirteen, seems unconvinced by the idea of boys in general. 

It’s not the heat, the noise, or the threat of lukewarm pasta salads that’s making his skin itch; it’s the anticipation. Tonight, while everyone else is distracted by fireworks, he’s going to execute a plan that will change everything. He’s going to summon a Fae.

So he waits, and waits, and smiles, and waits. When they’ve gone home for dinner and a respite from the soupy air, he slows his movements a little, asks Lily if she’s feeling cold or if it’s just him. By the middle of dinner, he pushes his half-finished sandwich aside and asks if it’s alright if he lays down awhile, he’s not feeling well. 

He’s still on his bed when his father pokes his head in to ask if he’s feeling well enough to join them. He shakes his head and so his father ruffles his hair and tells him they’ll be home in an hour or so. 

Once the tail lights of the car are gone, he sneaks out the back door and crosses into a patch of undeveloped, scrawny woods, a piece of paper clutched in his hands. He found it tucked in the back of a copy of The Lord of the Rings and intends to follow the directions on it down to the last letter. 

He stands in a clearing in a patch of moonlight, then begins reciting unfamiliar words as he walks the shape of a winged sigil in the grass. The night goes silent and his skin prickles as if there was lightning on the horizon. 

“You wish to make a pact?”

The lilt is barely louder than the whisper of the grass, but when he turns it’s speaker towers over him. He puts Joseph in mind of a mouth, feathery, black antenna sprouting from moonlight silver hair and a ruff of black, speckled feathers around his neck. He’s cloaked in so much black Joseph wonders if he’s no more than a shadow, a trick of the light. 

Then he steps forward, red eyes glowing as he takes Joseph in with a placid gaze. 

“Well? Do you have something you would ask of me? Or is this one of those cases of idle curiosity?”

“I do.” Joseph clears his throat, reads from the paper, “great and wise emissary of the other realms, I ask that you…you make me a man.”

The fae studies him closer, perplexed “But you are one.”

“I am! Or, I am but no one will acknowledge it. I want to be one they’ll never question and I want…I want everyone to forget I was ever anything else. Can you do that?”

“I can. But surely a young man clever enough to summon a fae knows any favor comes with a price.”

“I’ll give you whatever you ask.” He frowns “if it’s money I might have to save up and summon you again. Is that an option?”

Soft footsteps cross the grass and slender fingers reach out, lightly touching his cheek. For a hopeful moment, he thinks the fae will kiss him, that the payment will be something he’s eager to give.

“No, Joseph Stern, I will not ask for money. My offer is this: you must promise me I may take your hand some time from now. I cannot say when. Will you agree to that?”

He looks down; if he starts now, he can probably be ambidextrous by the time he loses a hand. 

“I do.”

The fae extends his hand and Joseph places his own within it. Instead of shaking, the fae bows, touching first his lips and then his forehead to Joseph’s knuckles. 

“Then it is done.”

Joseph blinks once and he’s in bed, his family clamoring through the door downstairs. As his sisters shout that he missed some big ones, his dad pokes his head into the room.

“Are you feeling better, son?”

His smile could light every town from here to San Francisco.

“I am. Thanks, dad.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------

His deal with the fae resides in a special corner of his mind, one he never looks at purposefully but returns to when he isn’t paying attention, unable to forget cool fingers on his skin or the glimmer of power in ruby-red eyes. 

It’s just past five years past the bargain. This morning, Joseph made a pact of a different kind.

His college years were marked by a distinct lack of sex or romance; he was busy with a stack of classes, his workload at Berkeley threatening to crush him if he turned his back on it for too long. In spite of the fact some of his male classmates snuck into the city to find boyfriends, Joseph’s deep-seated fear of getting in trouble kept him from joining them. Half of them thought he was some kind of government plant anyway, so it’s not like he was invited often. 

 His junior year, a transfer student took the seat next to him in an entomology class. Joseph was taking it to fulfill a science credit and Duck, as the transfer student introduced himself, was taking it as part of his forestry degree. He’d needed a pen and Joseph had several, and they struck up a conversation that continued after class as they walked to the dorms. When Duck came to a stop at one of the women’s dorms, a familiar expression crossed his face and Joseph understood. 

Joseph asked if he’d like to join him for coffee tomorrow, and to his delight, Duck said yes. 

They became friends over those two years, and when Duck was, bafflingly, rejected from every forestry position he applied for, it was Joseph who sat and commiserated (with some help from Duck’s friend Juno, calling on the landline in Joseph’s apartment). And when Duck began worrying about moving home, about being pressured to get married, they came up with an idea. 

Joseph needed a “wife.” Duck needed a husband. Q.E.D, they should get married. 

It was only after they were engaged and on a trip to West Virginia to meet Duck’s family that Joseph realized he was actually in love with his friend. Lucky must be his middle name, because Duck loves him, too. 

And that’s what finds him here at an elegant suite in Yosemite Lodge, the two of them having driven down from their wedding in San Francisco this morning. 

“How do I look?” Duck steps from the bathroom in his suit, the black fabric showing off the strength of his thighs and an ass that would make god cry, and the jacket holding his muscular arms just right. 

“Like a dream, Mr. Newton.” Joseph sets his hands on Duck’s lapels, “thought you won’t be keeping that on for long.”

“That so?” Duck’s hands find Joseph’s ass, “how do you know I ain’t gonna keep it on while I bend you over this here bed and fuck you into next week?”

“Please.” Joseph tugs him towards the bedroom, “let’s-”

Static on his skin, prickling out from his chest to concentrate in his left hand. 

“Oh shit.”

“What?” Duck pulls back, green eyes wide with worry. 

“Do you remember that deal I told you about?”

“You mean the one with a fairy?”

“Fae. But yes. It’s, I think he’s about to collect.” He watches silver and black light curl around wrist and up to his fingers, “god damn it. Of all the nights to lose a hand, why did he have to choose this one?.”

“Joe? You sure that’s what he meant?” Duck points to where the smoke is coiling around Joseph’s wedding band. 

“Oh shi-” Is all he gets out before the room is gone. In its place are wood walls, painted black, with windows that tell him he’s up in a tree. Smoke is still curling around him, and the fae from years ago is grinning like a cat that ate all the canaries. 

“Hello, Joseph.”

“H-hello….”

“Indrid” the fae bows, black-feathered wings spreading slightly as he does, “since we are to be husbands, you may know it.”

He summons as much politeness as he can, “Indrid. Magnificent lord of the other realms. May I please have a little more time. I, well, I’m literally on my honeymoon and I, I can’t” he thinks of Duck alone and alarmed, “please don’t make me leave him so soon.”

“I’m afraid a deal is a deal. Though perhaps now and then you could see him? Time can be a bit odd here.” He frowns, “I am not certain of the exact conversion of fae days to human ones.”

As he’s despairing at the thought of not making it home before Duck is dead of old age, the smoke to his left coalesces into a hand.

Indrid’s head snaps back up, “What in all the world?”

The hand grabs Joseph’s shoulder and pulls, sending him through a rabbit hole between realities and right back into a hotel room in Yosemite. 

As he stumbles for his footing, Duck drags him into a bear hug, mumbling, “Thank fuck, I wasn’t sure I’d grabbed you” into his shoulder. 

“How did you do that?” Joseph strokes his husband's hair with awe. 

“Since the smoke wasn’t gone, figured the door was still open. So to speak.”

Joseph kisses him hard, laughing as the shorter man dips him. When they stop for breath, he keeps Duck’s face between his hands. 

“We need to get some salt from the kitchen and sprinkle it around the room.”

“This a kink of yours?” Duck teases. 

“No, but it will ensure my showing you a good time for saving me isn’t interrupted by an angry fae.” 

—---------------------------------------------------

Indrid stares at the spot where his betrothed was only seconds before. Then he looks over his shoulder into the dining room, antenna drooping at the table laden with candles and a lovely meal for two. 

—--------------------------------------------------------

Joe’s jumpy for the first month after their honeymoon, making their move up the coast to his new teaching job more stressful than necessary. But as they settle into their little house and there’s not so much as a wisp from the fae, his husband returns to his normal levels of stress. 

While Joe teaches history and folklore at the small college, Duck finds a job at the botanical garden, one of the tourists draws in a dying logging town. While a few of the staff at the college are weird about it, most of the town accepts Duck when he introduces himself as Mr. newton; god knows he and Joe aren’t the only two men sharing a home in this place. 

A year passes in a blink, mornings having coffee in the garden and evenings pressed together in bed blurring together in a steady hum of happiness. 

Duck usually beats Joe home, but tonight he had a special stop and the lights are already on when he pulls up the drive. As he steps inside, a baritone voice croons from the record player

And I'm sitting with friends, where forty-five cents

Will buy another glass of beer

He's got something to say, but I'm so far away

That I don't know who I'm talking to

Cos you just walked in the door, and honey, all I see is you

“You’re gonna run out the grooves on that thing.” Duck opens his arms and Joseph sets the duster aside to come get his kiss.

“I can buy a new one if I do. It just makes it so much easier to relax after work. I saw in the paper he’s playing at the Hornets Nest next week but I think I missed the window to get tickets.”

“Nope” Duck produces two, narrow rectangles from his pocket, making Joe clasp his hands over his mouth with delight. It never fails to make him smile, this show of excitement from his dignified husband, “what do you say, darlin? We got a date?”

—---------------------------------------------------------

A week later, Joe is practically in his lap as they wait for the show to start. It’s not that the crowd is huge, more that the space is tiny; the bar, stage, and tables take up less room than their house. Of the two of them, it’s Joe who sticks out; he looks a little square, a little soft, compared to bohemians and bikers smushed around them. Duck puts a protective arm over his shoulder, just in case anyone gets any ideas.

Barclay Cobb takes the stage to rowdy cheers, thanking them all for coming before strumming his guitar and staring in on his first song. Duck could take or leave the sea shanties, but he likes the folk and union songs plenty, and has to admit the guy writes a mean love song. Joe, on the other hand, is having a religious experience, face growing more rapturous with each song. 

These tickets were worth every goddamn penny. 

The show lasts two hours, and when he’s through Barclay tells everyone he’ll be hanging around to have drinks and talk. Enough of the audience drains out in search of more excitement that he and Joe can actually reach the bar without throwing elbows. 

Duck kisses Joe on the cheek, promising to be right back, and goes in search of a bathroom. It takes a shockingly long time to find somewhere that isn’t occupied by people doing each other, drugs, or both. By the time he gets back to the main building, it’s nearly empty and Joe is still at the bar.

He’s not alone. 

Barclay is leaning against the battered wood, listening intently as Joe talks. His beer is at his lips but he doesn’t drink, as any time he tries Joe asks something or makes him laugh. Duck can see a smitten glint in his eye all the way from the door.

He gives them more time, ordering a beer and drinking half before coming up behind Joe and slipping a hand into his back pocket. There’s barely a foot between them and Barclay, but to his credit the instant Joe turns and smiles at Duck, the singer steps back. 

After Joe introduces them, Barclay shakes his hand and then fidgets with a bracelet on his wrist, “Sorry, didn’t realize you weren’t flying solo.”

Duck glances at the pink in his husbands cheeks, the only tell that he knew damn well he was flirting, and says casually, “I don’t mind Joe gettin’ some on the side. Long as I get to watch.”

The nervous sip Barclay was taking turns to a cough, and Joe turns to him, eyebrow raised. 

“We talked about it before we got hitched, remember?”

They had, but it was before they’d admitted they were in love and were each assuming the other would want to have a partner outside the marriage. Duck’s overall stance hasn’t changed; he doesn’t need to be the only man in Joe’s life to know Joe is the man for him. 

“I guess we did.” Joe smiles, face like a movie star’s, and Duck watches Barclay’s knees wobble when Joe turns it on him. 

A voice calls for Barclay from the back door and he mutters, “Fuck. We’ve gotta hit the road. Uh, here” he grabs a napkin and scribbles on it, “I’m home starting week after next. See you then?”

Joe takes the napkin, folding it carefully and tucking it in his pocket, “Of course. Big guy.”

The singer says his goodbyes and hurries out, nearly banging into a door when Joe winks at him. Then he offers Duck his arm and they head for the car. 

“Can’t decide if I feel real lucky or real sad you never flirted full-on with me. It’s hotter than the fourth of july, but think I might’ve walked into fucking traffic from it.”

“I’m not that smooth. Am I?” Stern pauses at the passenger door, looking across the roof at him.

“Smoother’n ice and twice as cool. C’mon, hop in. And keep your eyes peeled for a quiet spot; not sure I got it in me to wait until we’re home to fuck you.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Barclay’s house is an hour and a half north of them, up a small, hilly road that’s so rough both Joseph and Duck wonder if they’ve taken a wrong turn. Then the cabin is waiting for them, windchimes and suncatchers dangling from the covered porch while the forest renders the whole picture dappled and dream-like. 

He’s asked Duck over two dozen times if he’s really okay with this. It wasn’t until his husband took him by the shoulders and said, “the second-hottest thing in the world is the thought of you getting fucked into next week by someone else. First hottest is doin’ it myself.”

Barclay welcomes them in with a golden retriever grin, showing them their room and giving them a tour as bread bakes in the oven. Joseph relaxes the longer they’re there, and not solely from the fact Barclay looks as excited as he feels; the singer is being incredibly friendly to Duck, and the two are getting along famously. 

They eat a light lunch, all made by Barclay, and have iced tea on the porch in the afternoon sun. Then the singer is offering him his hand.

“Ready, baby?”

He nods and lets Barclay lead them to his bedroom. The singer pulls a chair to the foot of bed, offering it to Duck and then saying, “How do you want him, babe?”

“Tied to it.” 

“Now that’s just fucking mean” Duck is already sitting and puts his hands behind the chair, “or are you just doin’ this because you like how I get when you ain’t bein’ good?”

“The second one.” Joseph pulls off his shirt as Barclay ties Duck’s hands.

“Then as soon as the big fella is done, I’m roughing you up and riding you into next week.” Duck growls, tilting his face up for a kiss. Joseph gives him one, then another just because he can.

“Can I get one of those?” Barclay purrs, voice rich and dark as caramel. 

Joseph turns to him, lets calloused hands cup his face and draw him into a sweet, exploratory kiss. His short, auburn beard tickles Joseph’s skin, and as big hands glide down his body Joseph moans and pushes closer. 

“You really are something, babe.” Barclay spins him so his back is to the singers chest, kisses trailing down his neck, “fuck, no wonder he wants you so bad.”

“That I d-” Duck stiffens, eyes darting to where a swirl of smoke rises from the floor.

“Are you kidding me?” Joseph tries to pull away, but Barclay just grips him tighter as Indrid appears in the room.

The fae offers Barclay a smile, “Thank you for your assistance, dearest.”

“Nope, fuck this” Duck struggles against the rope, glaring ar Barclay, “and fuck you for tricking us into whatever the fuck this is.”

“This” Indrid glowers at Duck, “is only necessary because of your cleverness” he points at Joseph, “and your stubbornness.” For that he points at Duck, who makes a rude gesture in return. 

“Look, Joe don’t want to go with you, so fucking drop it.”

“I am aware. If Joseph does not wish to give me his hand, fine.” The fae’s voice is oddly calm, “but a fae bargain does not care about his wishes, nor mine. Once I invoke the contract, I have five hundred days to collect. If I do not, I become what humans call a ‘fairy ring’ for a hundred years. And we are approaching five hundred days far faster than I would like.”

“And how, exactly, do you come into all this?” Joseph looks over his shoulder at Barclay.

“Indrid’s the reason I’m famous.”

“I heard him singing and was so enchanted by his voice that I offered him anything he wanted if he would give me the honor of a private concert each month. That and, ah, one other favor, to be called in at my discretion.” 

“So he got you with that too” Joseph murmurs.

“Very few futures showed you having a marriage you like!” Indrid throws up his hands, “Yes, I can see them, and when you offered me anything I wanted that summer night, I looked and saw a man who intrigued me and who had fallen into a loveless marriage to please others.” He points at Duck once more, “he was completely unexpected! And when I summoned you I thought… I thought…” his whole body droops, imperious tone gone in a breath, “never mind what I thought. It was clear you abhorred the idea of a life in my realm.”

Joseph breathes in for a count of three, out for four, and in his best professor voice says, “Barclay, please untie my husband while I talk to Indrid.”

The singer doesn’t even look to Indrid before obeying, and is apologizing under his breath to Duck as Joseph takes a careful step towards the fae. 

“Indrid, the idea of living with you fascinates me. And you’re right, had it been anyone but Duck, I probably would have agreed to stay with you. I don’t want to break our bargain.”

The fae chirps, unconvinced.

“I mean it. And I didn’t know avoiding it put you in jeopardy. There’s nothing in the books about that. If there’s some way to keep both my promises” he looks back at Duck, who’s clearly poised to pull him from another realm again, “I need you to tell me.”

The fae clicks his nails together, “If a human comes willingly–no tricks, no vague language–they may move between worlds as they please and without losing time in the mortal realm.”

“Seems like an important loophole there.” Duck says. 

Indrid shoots a displeased glance his way, then bites his lip, “Here is what I propose. I am a very generous, attentive partner. Barclay can tell you that much. Allow me a week to court you, to show you that I could make you happy and you would not lack in the days you left your waterbird and visited me. If at the end you do not wish to come willingly, I…I will make our bargain void and accept my fungal fate.”

Joseph looks to an equally surprised Duck, who nods when he meets his eyes. He holds out his hand and, for the second time in his life, makes a deal with a fae.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

Duck and Joseph decide to stay at his place for the week, neither of them wanting a fae near their actual house. Barclay isn’t complaining; he likes them both. And this will give him a chance to apologize more than he already has for tricking them. 

Part one of his apology is breakfast, which is why he’s been up since four, trying to get everything perfect. A little after six, Joseph’s reflection appears in the kitchen window. 

“Good morning.”

“Morning.” Barclay swallows down his nerves, “Joseph, look, about last night-”

“You don’t have to explain. I get it; Indrid tricked you too.” Joseph, unfairly handsome even when sleep-rumpled, hunts for a mug, “I just don’t appreciate someone pretending they’re interested in me when they really have an ulterior motive. Oh, thank you.” He takes the offered cup and turns his focus on the coffee pot. 

“I don’t! Or, I, I did but it wasn’t my only reason for inviting you. I didn’t even know about the deal with Indrid until after we met at the bar. I was telling Indrid how excited I was that you wanted to see me again and he realized who you were. And yeah, he had that favor to call in, but I…shitty as it is I woulda helped him anyway. He’s been my patron? Partner? For years. I really care about him.” He feels silly saying it; Indrid dotes on him, but only the way you would a pet you wanted to show off. 

At least, he thinks that’s the case. It’s hard to tell what Indrid is thinking sometimes. 

Joseph sets his mug down, studying Barclay’s face. Barclay wonders if he turns this kind of scrutiny on his students, or on Duck, and how anyone survives it without getting a little turned on. 

“Okay, you’re actually interested in me. But you still fucked me over”

“Please let me make it up to you. Just tell me how.” He winces at his own earnestness; here he is about to add a “professor who’s not even a one night stand” next to “fae lord” on the list of people he hopelessly pines for. 

Whatever Joseph reads in his expression, it softens the suspicion in those blue eyes, “You can start by telling me where you keep your cream.”

Once his coffee is to his liking, Joseph sits at the kitchen table and asks Barclay a dozen questions about his life, about Indrid, about the food Barclay heaps in front of him. When he bites a cinnamon roll and moans, Barclay thinks he might die of wanting to kiss him again. 

“Mornin’, darlin. Whoa damn, Barclay did you make all this?”

“Yeah, it’s part of the ‘oh god I’m so sorry’ breakfast.” 

Duck snorts, rests his hand on Joseph’s shoulder, “I’m gonna take a walk before we eat.  No fuckin’ the big fella until you’re sure he’s trustworthy.”

Barclay grips the edge of the sink, wondering at what point getting on his knees and begging is justified. There’s a soft clink of tableware, and then Joseph sets his plate in the sink. Barclay turns his head to say something and gets a chaste kiss on the lips instead. 

“Thank you for breakfast.” Joseph murmurs, “need some help with clean up.”

Even his “mmhmmm” comes out as a whine. Joseph just kisses him again and goes to find a dishtowel.

—-----------------------------------------------------

Duck knows the birdcalls of this area, so he’s guessing that anxious twittering is coming from somewhere else. 

He reaches a place where the earth dips down into a grove of redwoods. Indrid is standing at the center, glowing writing in the air all around. He’s paced a path in the leaf litter and muttering to himself as he erases and replaces words. Then he stills, looking out into the trees beyond them. 

“You can say it.” He sighs, defeated. 

“Say what?” Duck descends the slope.

The fae keeps his back to him, “You are going to say that none of this will work, that Joseph is not a fool and will not fall for anything I offer him, no matter how shiny or magical.”

Duck reaches the edge of the writing, and it morphs into English, “Was mostly gonna ask why you came out here to do this.”

Indrid turns, only barely hiding his surprise, “You…you do not wish to taunt me?”

“More wanna chew you out for buggin’ Joe. But I believe in second chances. Third ones too.”

“...I came out here to give the rest of you space. I see you both forgiving Barclay more easily if I am not around. And I also enjoy it out here. I love the woods of earth.”

“Me too. More or less what I went to school for.”

“Really?” Black antenna perk up, “do you know what bird keeps making that-” he cheeps “noise?”

“Chickadee. Folks say the name comes from the call but I don’t really hear it.”

“And what’s that?” 

“Fern. You get ‘em on the coast sometimes.” 

He goes on to explain why when Indrid asks, then answers six more questions about the world around them before realizing something. 

“Can’t you just see my answers in the future?”

“Yes. But I like this way better. Your voice is so much more pleasing in the real moment, and you keep adding these little stories and asides at the last moment that make it all the better.” The earnestness is too clunky, too awkward, to be anything but genuine. 

Duck looks at the glowing letters once more, “It’d make Joe happiest if you just talked with him. Let him ask questions about fae and your world and whatever other weird stuff comes to mind. He loves gifts as much as the next fella, but when he gets to investigate things, puzzle them out…he lights up like a Christmas tree.”

Indrid nods, waving a hand to clear the air. Last night he seemed ageless, old features mingling with young on an alien face. As the morning light spreads, Duck sees lines of worry on his forehead and that his lower lip is chewed raw.

“Thank you. If it is alright, I will walk back with you.” His wings rustle in the breeze as they start for the cabin. Then he stops, hesitates, and touches Duck’s arms with his fingertips, “They are few, the futures where he chooses to see me again. But I promise you that if they come to pass, I will cherish him no less than you do. And that I, I will never seek to keep him permanently from you” a nervous laugh, “I am not sure I could. You are rather determined. An admirable trait.” 

He smiles, reserved, until Duck returns the expression. Then his eyes glow brighter, and he talks with Duck all the way back.

—---------------------------------------------------------

“And that is how new fae royalty comes to be.” Indrid cocks his head at the drawing he made at Joseph’s behest, the two of them sitting side by side at the coffee table, “I fail to see how this is any less convoluted than human government.”

“Slightly fewer duels. At least these days.” Joseph closes his notebook; he’s going to need another one before the week is out. Over the last two days, Indrid has talked with him for hours, the two of them trading questions and stories about their realms. It’s clear that Indrid is as intrigued by human life as Joseph is by the fae realm.

Duck and  Barclay will join in the conversation from time to time, and tonight Barclay is passed out on the floor after fiddling with new songs on his guitar all evening, and Duck is asleep on the couch behind them, book open on his chest. 

There’s a tingle of magic, and then a notebook, bound in blue leather, appear on the table. 

“You were about to say you were running out of pages.” Indrid nudges the books towards him, “that one will always have more space to write.”

“Incredible.” Joseph smooths his hand over the cover as the clock ticks over to one in the morning. He stretches and murmurs, “I should go to bed.”

“Then I will say goodnight. And thank you once again for allowing me to pass an evening in your company.”

Joseph catches his hand and kisses it, smiling at the resulting, breathy chirr, “My pleasure.”

—----------------------------------------------

“Y’know, thought Duck was joking when he said your back is just solid knots.” 

“I can’t prove I’ve gotten where I have by worrying about everything, but I’m not about to stop now.”

Barclay chuckles, running his hands over Joseph’s shoulders. They’re on a patch of secluded beach, Joseph laying on his back with his head in the singer's lap. A fog bank curls up the sand, but the sweater Indrid gave him keeps the damp at bay, making him feel like he’s sitting by a cozy fire. 

Strong hands massage his neck and shoulders and he lets his eyes drop closed. For a while there’s no sound but the wind and the waves. Then Barclay hums to himself, soothing and slow, and gradually he starts singing The Sailor’s Boy. Joseph’s favorite. 

The singer’s voice pulls him down, first into the calm of the moment and then into a deeper, dreamy place where he’s a lost sailor floating in the dark sea as a merman circles him, singing him back to life. 

Barclay sings two more love songs before Joseph opens his eyes and reaches up to rest a hand on his cheek. 

“How Indrid was the first person to offer you anything you wanted is beyond me. I’d give you the world just to hear you every day.”

“You don’t need to. You’re the first person who could cage me up like a bird and I’d still sing for.” Barclay’s fingers trace Joseph’s jaw and pet up his throat, “I’m crazy about you.”

“Then I guess this isn’t my final visit.” Joseph grins flirtatiously and a deep, needy whine rumbles out of the other man. 

“Fuck, I was hoping you’d say that. But I, I need to show you something.” He eases Joseph into a sitting position, squeezes his eyes shut, and pulls off the bracelet on his left hand.

Fur the same auburn as his beard appears on his arms, face, and chest, his ears turn pointed, and his fingers show short, black claws. 

“Oh my god.” Joseph desperately wants a closer look but now doesn’t feel like the moment. 

“Indrid says it’s a side effect of the initial spell he used, and of me and him spending a lot of time around each other. I don’t really mind it, but I figured I shouldn’t hide it from you.” His posture turns shy, “what do you think?”

Scratch that, this is exactly the moment. 

He climbs into Barclay’s lap, the singer letting out an adorable, rumbling purr as Joseph runs his hands down his chest. 

“I think you should let me” he bites the tip of one ear, earning him a growl, “investigate.”

His beast flops obediently onto his back with a grin, “I’m all yours, baby.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------

They’re five days into their week, and Indrid has walked with Duck for every single one of them. Barclay’s cabin isn’t far from a series of barely maintained trails, and in spite of his dislike for the cold, coastal breeze, Indrid seems content to stay beside Duck for hours. 

He’s talking about the drawing he did of Joe that he hopes he’ll like when he gets distracted by a hummingbird zipping between the bushes. When he glances at Duck, smile breathless and bright, Duck shakes his head. 

“I don’t get it, Indrid. How come you had to trick Joe into that marriage deal? Seems to me you’re charmin’ enough to get anyone you wanted back home.”

The fae’s antenna droop as he crosses his arms comfortingly around himself, “You are kind to say such things. But to my kind, I am rather offputting. Insectoid fae are not common and are seen by many as harbingers of doom, or incapable of true enchantments. Some days I fear they may be right; being near my magic is already causing Barclay to morph into something less human, for which I am certain he will hate me one day.” He gives a wistful smile, “we cannot all be such perfect suitors as you.”

Duck laughs, hurrying to explain himself when Indrid looks hurt, “Lots of humans have made it real fuckin clear they disagree with you. Took me awhile, but these days I think they’re as full of shit as fae who can’t see you for the gorgeous, sweet thing you are.”

Indrid’s ruff poofs slightly, then turns away, wings open enough to cover the movements of his hands. When he faces Duck once more, there’s a small, obsidian planter cupped in his palms, the plant at the center blooming gold and blue. 

“Please let me woo you?”

A blush seeps up his ears, “Hell yeah I will.”

Indrid trills happily, taking Duck’s hands as the plant floats beside them. Duck tugs him closer, kissing him first on the cheek and then on his lips. When he meets red eyes, they’re wide in shock. 

He writes it off as first date jitters. Though he hopes it means Indrid will be fun to fluster in bed. 

That evening, he and Barclay have drinks on the porch while Indrid teaches Joe a painfully complex, fae card game. Their talk turns to Indrid, and when Duck–only half joking–says he must be as giving in the sack as he is the rest of the time, the singer frowns.

“I wouldn’t know. He’s been in my life years and he, like, never touches me. Offers his hand or arm sometimes but that’s it.”

“Huh. He ain’t done more than that with me, either. And from what Joe says he barely touches him. You think he doesn’t want to?”

“At first, yeah. But there’ve been times it was really fucking obvious he did. He almost kisses me, then pulls back, or I offer to cuddle and he gets to the point of sitting next to me before changing his mind. And it’s like…like I can feel him still looking at me afterwards, like there’s this whole wave of want rolling off him and he’ll just sit on his hands and his voice will go tight and it’s so frustrating. Like, I know fae aren’t just about courtly love; I’ve run into a few who asked me to fuck without knowing my name. I just…I’d give him anything if it would make him happy. Doesn’t he know that?”

It’s like looking through a camera lens, the image only coming clear when you focus on the right thing. 

“I got an idea. But we’re gonna need Joe’s help.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

His time is almost up. Were he braver, he’d look to the futures to see if they’ve changed since that first day. But now that he knows Duck and Joseph better, it will hurt all the more to see them turn him away. And Barclay…

He’ll miss him so much, even when he’s asleep. And humans don’t live to be a hundred and thirty. 

Indrid tries not to think about that as he sits on the bed as Joseph requested, the human opening the gifted notebook and starting a new page.

“Thank you for letting me do this. It occurred to me I don’t really know how wings work on someone with a human body. Shirt off, please.” 

He removes the loose fitting,short sleeved, black tunic.

Joseph sits on the bed in front of him, “Open your wings a little?”

Indrid obeys, gasping as the human sets a warm hand on his chest, feeling for flight muscles, “You know, I would not do this for just anyone. To open your wings is to offer vulnerability and even submission.” He manages a grin, “but how can I not spoil you, my pet?”

The fingers on his chest still, “What was that?”

“N-nothing. A slip of the tongue!” He squeaks as Joseph’s left hand digs into the sensitive patch of his wing.

“Try again.”

“I called you pet!” He chirrs as the hold tightens, “I am sorry, it slipped out, you are not my anything.” 

“Don’t be silly.” The hand switches to stroking his wing, “I’m your fiance. At least I was the last time I checked.”

He gives a helpless chirp; what is Joseph doing, addressing him like this? As if he was the powerful one and Indrid no more than his toy. 

“Speaking of which, I appreciate your attentive courtship. But there’s an important piece of information I’m missing.” Blue eyes pierce into him, “any husband of mine needs to treat me right in bed.”

“I, I don’t, you do not need to-”

“Indrid” Joseph rests a hand on each shoulder, “do you not want me that way? Or Duck and Barclay for that matter?”

Tears well up, unbidden and deeply unwelcome, “I do! I want you all so badly but look at me. Even if Duck finds me handsome surely none of you could truly desire me, not when I look like this and am a conniving, powerful fae who you fear deep down.”

The human catches his hands before he can hide his face in them, “You couldn’t be more wrong. Did you two hear all that?”

“Yep” the door opens and Duck steps through, followed by Barclay. The singer is on the bed immediately, arms wrapped around Indrid’s waist and face buried in the dark feathers of his ruff.

“I was never afraid of you, little moth, never ever ever.” His beard tickles Indrid’s skin as he traces kisses across his neck and shoulders, “I’m so sorry you ever thought that, I love you so much-”

“You what?” His words cut off into a chirp.

“Love you.” Barclay’s voice is muffled against him, and the singer seems wholly uninterested in doing anything but pressing himself as close to Indrid as possible. 

Indrid glances at Joseph and Duck, who are trading a remarkably conspiratorial look. 

“Not sure we feel the same as the big fella does-”

Barclay lets out a little, affectionately apologetic howl as he kisses the back of Indrid’s head. 

“-Joe and I have talked it over and, uh, we wanna take you up on your offer.” Duck scratches the back of his neck, bashful in a way Indrid’s never seen. 

He turns his attention on Joseph, heart gnawing on his ribs, “You will honor our bargain? Freely?”

The human takes his hand, pressing it first to his lips and then to his brow, “Indrid Cold, I’ll gladly be your husband.”

His hands act without his permission, grabbing Joseph’s shirt and pulling him into a kiss. It’s as precise and clever as everything the human does, and when Joseph breaks free Indrid clings to him, chirping and pleading for another. 

“I’ll do anything pet, please.”

Duck laughs, sitting down beside Joseph, “Damn, darlin, he’s even needier than you were the night we got hitched.”

“I am not nee-EEP” his whole body is lightning bolt as Barclay bites one antenna, “alright, I am needy, I need all three of you like a tree needs the sun, I need you to never stop touching me because I will disintegrate from loneliness if you do, and you” the looks over his shoulder at Barclay, “I need you to take me this instant because I have loved you for years and wanted you so badly my heart aches.”

“Fuck yes.” Barclay grabs his face, kissing him, and Indrid swears there’s honey on his tongue by the time they part, “gonna be so good for you.”

“Unless fae are real different, these have gotta go.” Duck grabs Indrid’s flowing black pants and pulls them down. They’re barely clear of his ankles when Joseph is between his legs, full attention on his cock.

“Oh, this is gorgeous. I expected it to be human but this is so much better.”

Indrid looks at his lap; he supposes his cock, which goes from narrow to wide and back again three times before reaching the base, is more elaborate than the uniform shaft of a human. 

“Duck, get on it.”

“Yessir.” Duck offers his husband a teasing smile, pulling off his pants and oh, Indrid understands now why Joseph was so upset to be taken on his wedding night.

Duck’s belly sticks out from under his grey-green shirt, and Indrid runs his nails over it with a purr. When he digs them into the skin, Duck moans.

“He likes it when you bite” 

“Hey, no fair tellin’ him th-AH” Duck shudders in his arms as Indrid nibbles his throat, “okay no this is fuckin amazin nevermind. Still gonna tell him how to fuck you so you cry.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Don’t you ‘yes dear’ me” Duck lunges backwards, dragging a laughing Joseph into a kiss. Indrid only tears his eyes away from the scene when claws tap his arm. Turning, he finds Barclay without his bracelet, auburn fur stunning in the lamplight and smile sharper than usual. 

How could he have ever seen this as some unwanted remnant of his power? 

“You are a vision, my dearest.” 

“Glad you like it, little moth. It’s funny, there’s more colors in your feathers when I’m like this. Whelp, question for another time.” He growls, playfully, “you still want me to be good for you?”

“So badly.”

“Uh, how should I warm you up?”

“No need” Indrid waves his hand, loosening and slicking himself up, “fae magic is good for more than strange bargains.”

He straddles Barclay’s lap, facing away from him, and sinks down on a thick, long cock.

“Ohhh, oh I was an absolute fool to deny myself this for so long.”

“Don’t worry, gonna make it up to you.” Barclay rolls his hips, “Indrid, Indrid, you feel so good.”

“Bet he does.” Duck is in his lap once more, staying up on his knees to line Indrid’s cock up with his entrance, “you wanna fuck me, sugar?”

He chirps at the nickname, nodding frantically until Duck lowers himself. Then he makes a rather undignified noise and throws his arms over the human’s shoulders. Claws dig into his hips and he keens, Barclay’s strokes turning rough as he fucks him deeper.

“Like that, baby?”

“Yes, yesyesOH” he trills as he bottoms out inside Duck, who’s busy kissing his chest.

The bed dips beside him as Joseph joins them, fully clothed save for where he’s unzipped his pants enough to release his cock. Indrid has never wanted anything in his mouth quite so badly, but his position prevents it.

Joseph leans in to kiss his cheek, then moves on of Indrid’s hands from Duck’s shoulder to his cock. 

“Are you going to take care of me like a good husband?”

“Yes, always, anything you wish.”

“Then prove it.” The demand is loving but an order all the same. Indrid curls his fingers around Joseph’s shaft, stroking it until he’s hard and panting.

“What do you say?”

“Th-thank you, thank you my darling pet.”

Joseph pets his wing, “Good boy.”

“Holy fuck darlin, where’s this comin’ from?”

“These two, oohgod, bring it out in me.” He smiles, “well, Barclay does some of the time. Yesterday he ambushed me in the kitchen and held me against the wall .”

“That’s where that hickey came from.”

“Yeah” Barclay grunts, holding Indrid’s ass flush against his body, “sorry man, but you know he’s cute when he pretends to fight back.”

“Damn right he is.”

“Careful, big guy” Joseph’s hips begin to stutter, “if you get cocky I won’t let you blow me anymore.”

Barclay whimpers, “Would sharing Indrid’s ass make up for it? Bet he’s got a spell that could make him loose enough to take us both at once.”

“Another time, right now I, I need him to be a good boy and open his wings.”

Indrid obeys and a moment later Joseph cums across them with a moan. It’s one of the filthiest things a fae can do to another, and the fact that he has while another uses his ass like a toy and a third tells him to be a sweet little thing and cum in is all too much at once. Indrid cums, wings spreads and body thrashing, chirping and trilling for more even as the exhaustion hits. Barclay must cum right after him, as by the time he’s floating back to earth the singer is soft inside him and thanking him over and over for the honor. 

Before he can apologize to Duck for finishing before him, Joseph is kissing Indrid while rubbing swift, practiced circles on Duck’s dick. Then he moves Indrid’s hand and uses it for the same purpose. 

“That’s it” Joseph whispers in his ear, “any husband of mine is going to be a good boy and make damn sure my other husband cums.”

“Fuuuck” Duck groans, tightening around him, “Jesus fucking christ, Joe, we shoulda gotten someone in bed for you to boss around ages ago.” Duck turns his attention back to Indrid, “you okay, sugar.”

“I am in heaven.”

Duck chuckles and kisses him, the gesture at once playful and so grounded Indrid wants to put down roots. 

Once the human slides from his lap, Duck goes to fetch water while Barclay tidies up the room and pulls back the covers on the bed. Soon the four of them are crammed into it, Joseph on one side of him and Barclay on the other, Duck spooning Joseph so his hand can reach over and hold Indrid’s. 

It’s a tight fit, but nestled in the heart of this tangle of affection, drifting off to sleep as the others discuss logistics of visiting each other, Indrid knows he’s never been happier.

#OT4: government men and their cryptid boyfriends #indruck #indrid cold/ duck newton #agent stern/duck newton #inclay #sternclay #monster boyfriend #monster march #human/monster romance #terato

[bellafarallones2]

Merry Christmas! Here's some NSFW ot4 for @thiswasinevitableid. I've had a great year hanging out on Discord with you!

The lobby of Amnesty Lodge was glowing: a fire in the fireplace, stockings hung on the mantle, and the glow of the lights strung around the roof coming in through the open windows past gently falling snow.

The front door burst open, and in came the peak of an enormous pine tree, followed by Duck, supporting the middle section, and Barclay, carrying the thick trunk. The tree was eight feet tall at least, but the two men maneuvered onto its base with ease. A stream of others followed them into the room, Mama stomping snow off her boots, Dani and Aubrey and Jake Coolice and Moira and Ned “Santa’s Little Helper” Chicane.

“Alright, tall guy,” said Mama, and handed Barclay the star to go on top. Even six feet tall as he was, he couldn’t quite reach the top.

“Can someone get me a stool?” he said, grinning. Aubrey booed. “Alright, alright.” Barclay slipped off his bracelet, grew an extra foot, and topped the tree. Everyone cheered, and he stepped back to stand with Duck as Moira started untangling the multicolored strings of lights.

“When they chose that tree I thought, ‘there’s no way we’re getting that thing back,’” Duck said.

“It was a lot easier with you helping,” said Barclay. He stretched, twisting so his back emitted a series of cracking noises. “You know,” he continued, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “on Christmas Day I can usually convince Mama to put on a Santa hat.”

Duck chuckled. Then, remembering his own Christmas plans, his face fell. “I usually spend Christmas with his sister, but she’s in Brazil this year.”

“Everyone at Amnesty Lodge would be happy to have you join us for dinner.”

“You sure it wouldn’t be any trouble?”

“Of course! We usually have a pretty small celebration, but this year I think Ned will be joining us, and definitely Aubrey, since Dani told her there’d be mistletoe. One more won’t be any trouble.”

“I really appreciate it.”

Barclay hummed. “Are there any foods your family always eats on Christmas?”

“Christmas cookies.”

Barclay looked over seriously. “Who do you take me for, Duck? We’re decorating cookies right after this. Give me something more obscure.”

“Alright, alright!” Duck thought for a moment. “One of my aunts always made really killer potatoes au gratin when I was a kid, but I haven’t had it since she passed.”

Barclay looked thoughtful. “Hm. Well, it’s hard to go wrong with cheese.”

True to Barclay’s word, after the tree was trimmed he brought out trays and trays of cookies and containers of homemade frosting in all colors. Duck felt rather sheepish, glopping green icing onto a tree-shaped sugar cookie and throwing on some green sprinkles as Barclay used a piping bag with a narrow tip to individually accessorize gingerbread people.

“I wonder if Indrid would get a kick out of this,” Duck said, wondering if he was allowed to eat his creation immediately. “His drawings were real good. But maybe he only does it for, uh, for business.”

“Hm,” said Barclay, focusing. Soon he put aside the gingerbread men and started in on a whole ethnically diverse lineup of Santas. He gave them their red suits first, then put them aside and waited for the first layer to dry before adding their smiling faces. They all might be killed by an abomination any day now, but by God, Barclay was going to construct a utopia of sugar and flour.

For some reason some of the sugar cookies were shaped like butterflies, and Duck took one. There wasn’t much black icing - Barclay was just using it for Santa’s boots - but Duck spread it across the butterfly’s wings, then added some red.

“What kind of butterfly is that?” said Ned, leaning over the table.

“Oh,” said Duck. “I meant it to be a moth. Like Indrid.”

“He really is something, isn’t he?” said Barclay softly.

“Yup.” Duck surveyed his work. “Hey, it just occurred to me to wonder - y’all don’t celebrate Christmas on Silvain, do you?”

“No,” said Barclay, “but Mama likes it, and I’ve gone native.”

–

After all the cookies were decorated, Barclay loaded up one plate for Duck to take home, and another plate for Duck to bring over to Indrid’s place. Duck stopped over on his way, finding the Winnebago strung with lights.

As usual, Indrid opened the door a moment before Duck knocked on it and looked at him.

Duck realized suddenly that he didn’t know quite what to say. “I brought you some Christmas cookies.”

“Thank you,” said Indrid. “Would you like to come in?”

“Uh, sure,” said Duck, and followed Indrid inside. Indrid took the plate of cookies from him, unwrapped it, and froze.

“Are these supposed to be me?” he said, sounding amused. The cookies on the top of the pile were black-and-red butterflies.

“Yeah, everyone at the lodge got together to decorate them, and I just, I don’t know.” Duck gestured vaguely. “I’m not much of an artist.”

“Oh,” said Indrid. “Well, I’m happy to be your muse.”

“Uh, yeah.” Not wanting to dwell on just how often his mind wandered back to Indrid’s more monstrous body, Duck changed the subject. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around the park.”

“I’m afraid I don’t get out much.”

“That’s a real shame.”

“Maybe you could, ah, show me around sometime.”

Duck smiled. “I’d like that a lot.”

–

Barclay had cleared off two shelves of a bookshelf in the lobby of Amnesty Lodge, one over the other, and was setting out the ceramic nativity. The top shelf had a chorus of angels, all of whom looked very juvenile, and Jesus, Mary, Joseph, the three wise men, the innkeeper, a shepherd, and a selection of animals were on the bottom.

“Hello, Joseph,” said Barclay, without looking around at the FBI agent who had appeared at his shoulder.

“Hey. What’re you up to?”

“I can’t get the nativity to look right.” He swapped a wise man for a goat. “Some of them always look like they’re looking the wrong direction.”

“Can I try?” said Joseph.

“Sure,” said Barclay, and stepped aside. He watched Joseph study the display for a moment. “I know this isn’t your holiday.”

“I could feel you stressing about this from the other side of the room. If it’s important to you that it looks right, it’s important to me.” Joseph rotated the shepherd about fifteen degrees counterclockwise, so his gaze was aimed at Jesus rather than the goat. He moved Mary and Joseph from Jesus’s left side to His right. Then he stepped aside. “How’s that?”

Barclay moved a cow out of biting range of the Christ child, and stepped back too. “Perfect.” He could feel Joseph’s hand on his shoulder. “Thanks, Joe.”

–

Every year Joseph got overtime for working on Christmas Day. It almost made up for the fights he went through to get time off for Rosh Hashanah. When he was younger he’d seen some really horrible things, being the one on call when a local police department didn’t know what to do with an entire family’s apparent Christmas Eve murder-suicide. Now that he was in Kepler, though, looking for bigfoot, there wasn’t much he could do besides wonder whether bigfoot might celebrate Christmas. Every business was closed, and everyone he might have interviewed was busy celebrating.

It was almost dinnertime when he pulled into the Eastwoods Campground and RV Park, wondering about the odds of breaking his ankle if he tried to take a walk in the dark on one of the hiking trails there.

The only vehicle in the lot was an ugly brown box of a Winnebago with stained sides and a string of blue lights around the roof. While Joseph was sitting there, the front door opened and disgorged a figure Joseph guessed to be Indrid Cold, though the heavy winter coat made it difficult to tell. Maybe-Indrid carried a garbage bag down the steps of the Winnebago and tossed it into the dumpster at the edge of the lot before detouring to Joseph’s car on the way back.

Joseph rolled down the window. Yes, this was Indrid alright.

“Found bigfoot yet?” Indrid said. There was less mockery in his voice than most of the residents of Amnesty Lodge used.

“Nope.”

“I don’t suppose you’d like to come in and warm up?”

“I don’t want to interrupt your Christmas.”

“What?” Indrid looked around, the blue glow of his lights illuminating the sharp planes of his face. “Oh, I don’t celebrate. I just like the lights.”

“Alright.” Joseph rolled his window back up, took the key out of the ignition, and got out of the car. He double-checked that he’d locked the doors, as though someone might be interested in grand theft auto on Christmas in Kepler, West Virginia, and followed Indrid up the steps of the Winnebago and inside.

It was roughly the temperature and humidity of a greenhouse inside, and as soon as the door was shut Indrid stripped off his heavy coat to reveal a thin white tank top, sweatpants, and fuzzy socks. A floor lamp looming over the couch illuminated the lap desk and sketchbook lying on the cushion in incandescent-yellow. Sure enough, there were no Christmas decorations to be seen.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Indrid said as he put a new bag in the kitchen trash can and washed his hands.

Joseph settled on the couch. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen anything strange since we last spoke?” He’d interviewed Indrid about bigfoot before.

Indrid moved the lap desk and the sketchbook to the floor and sat down next to Joseph, folding his legs. “Hm. I saw a display of gingerbread-flavored Mountain Dew at Leo’s last week; that was pretty strange.”

“Blech.”

“If you mean in the way of bigfoot, though, no. Nothing strange.”

Joseph nodded. A thought occurred to him, of Christmases past. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“No,” said Indrid.

“Want to go get Chinese food?” Joseph asked. “I’ll buy,” he added hurriedly, when he realized he didn’t know what Indrid’s budget for eating out was like.

“Agent Stern, are you asking me on a date?”

Joseph hadn’t intended to, but Indrid’s voice was as pleasantly teasing as it always was, and he did have a very striking face. “Yes. Although if we’re that familiar you should just call me Joseph.”

“Joseph. You seem like a Joseph.”

“How so?”

Indrid thought for a moment. “Sturdy. Very reasonable.”

Joseph didn’t think he’d ever been called those things before. Sturdy made him think of Barclay, who never seemed sleepy serving breakfast at six o’clock sharp, who seemed strong enough to carry anything. And reasonable… he’d always thought of himself as rather neurotic. “Thank you,” Joseph said, and then realized that it might not have been a compliment. But Indrid was smiling.

“I would love to eat Chinese food with you.”

The nearest Chinese restaurant was a twenty-six minute drive from Amnesty Lodge, which Joseph knew because he went there at least once a week.

“You’re a big fan of accordion music?” said Indrid, amused, after five minutes in the car.

“I don’t keep a lot of music on CDs,” Joseph admitted. “But a few years ago I was in a restaurant and there was this performer with CDs for sale and I bought one, and I guess it’s been in my car ever since, and since there’s no radio in Kepler, it’s what I’ve been listening to.”

“Perfectly understandable.”

They sat at a table for two just inside the front window of the restaurant. Beyond the edge of the parking lot there was only darkness. Indrid was looking out at the stars, chin tilted up. “It’s like being in a spaceship.”

“Have you ever been in a spaceship?”

“No,” said Indrid. “Well, except in the sense that every planet is a vessel traveling through space, in which case I've never not been on a spaceship.”

“That’s a fun way of thinking about it.”

“Thank you.”

For a while they ate in silence. Then Indrid put down his fork and spoke again.

“Can I ask you about work, or is that classified?”

“Classified,” said Joseph apologetically. He was well aware of how much avenue for small talk his situation precluded. “You’ve never said how you spend your time, though.”

Indrid grinned. “That’s also classified.”

By and by they finished their dinners, and Joseph snagged one of the fortune cookies and cracked it open. “New loves are approaching,” he read out loud. “Huh.”

“What would you say is your love now?”

For some reason Joseph was more honest than he would have been with just about anyone else. “Finding bigfoot.”

Indrid laughed. “Maybe it’s telling you to get a new hobby.”

“What does yours say?”

“Today is a good day to buy stocks.”

“It does not.”

“It does!” Indrid pushed the scrap of paper across the table. Joseph picked it up and read it.

“Oh my god.”

“Maybe you got the one that was meant for me,” Indrid suggested. “And you’re supposed to be buying stock and I’m going to be finding new loves.” He popped the cookie into his mouth and crunched.

“You actually eat the cookie?”

“Yeah,” said Indrid with a mouthful of crumbs. “You don’t?”

Joseph shook his head. “Feel free to have mine.”

Indrid took it. “I like them. They’re uncomplicated.”

They finished eating and headed out. Indrid climbed into the passenger seat of Joseph’s FBI-issue car, and Joseph drove.

“Do you believe in fate?” said Indrid.

“Well,” said Joseph. “Different moments in time are just different locations in spacetime, right? So everything that is going to happen already exists, just not in a place that is accessible to us. You can call that fate, if you like.”

“Seems like it,” Indrid murmured.

“Do you believe in fate?”

“Yes. But if you don’t know what your fate is, then it amounts to the same as free will.”

Joseph pulled into the parking lot of the Eastwood Campground and RV Park and shut off the engine. Indrid didn’t move to get out, and Joseph didn’t say goodnight, or any of the other things he could have said to cue that the evening was over.

“I confess,” said Indrid. “I don’t know what to say to make this go further. But I do find you very handsome.”

Joseph touched Indrid’s face, gently. And he leaned over the console, holding Indrid’s face in both hands so he knew exactly where he was, and Indrid leaned forward too, and kissed him.

At this angle Joseph could see beneath Indrid’s glasses, but his eyes were closed.

Indrid pulled back. “Thank you,” he said. “This was a very nice date.”

“I agree,” said Joseph. Impulsively he kissed him again, and Indrid’s mouth slipped open easily under his.

“If you’d like you could come inside,” said Indrid breathlessly, when he finally pulled away enough to speak.

“I would,” said Joseph, not caring the least bit whether it was fate or not.

–

While Joseph and Indrid drove to get Chinese food, the other residents of Amnesty Lodge, plus Aubrey, Ned, and Duck, were just sitting down for Christmas dinner.

“Where’s the secret agent?” said Aubrey, looking down the table after everyone had filled their plates. “I thought he’d be here.”

“He’s Jewish,” said Barclay.

“Well, Havah Nagilah!” said Ned. “Just so long as he’s not here.”

Barclay still looked rather sour. “We made latkes last week. You don’t think he feels excluded, do you?”

“Barclay,” said Mama. “You know he’s hunting you, right?”

“He doesn’t know it’s me,” said Barclay. Then he smiled. “Anyway, Jake, weren’t you going to tell us what happened at the mall yesterday?”

After the dishes were cleared away, Barclay brought out a pecan pie.

“Any of y’all happen to like pecan pie?” said Mama.

“I do!” said Aubrey. “It’s kinda nauseating, but in a good way!”

“None of the sylphs like it,” said Mama. “Used to be just Thacker and me, and then for the last few years just me. I tell Barclay he doesn’t have to make it, but he knows it’s my favorite.”

“Well,” said Aubrey, “when Thacker comes back it’ll be the three of us!”

--

Sometime after New Year’s, Indrid and Joseph lay together in Joseph’s bed at Amnesty Lodge, Indrid’s hands tight in Joseph’s undershirt.

“What are you thinking about?” said Joseph finally.

“Duck Newton,” said Indrid. “I find him… terribly attractive.”

“Me too.”

Indrid giggled. “In that ranger uniform, he can punish me for breaking campground rules anytime.”

“Do you break a lot of campground rules?”

“No,” said Indrid. “Do you think I should? Would that get his attention?”

“I don’t think he’d scold you sexually.” Duck Newton seemed very committed to his job.

“Hmm.” Indrid was quiet for a moment. “What do you fantasize about?”

Joseph squeezed his eyes shut. “Both of you. And Barclay. Is that dirty?”

“Incorrigibly,” said Indrid, but he was smiling.

“I bet they both have big dicks. Not that you don’t seem like you do, but…”

“I know what you mean.” Indrid shifted, turning so his back was to Joseph’s front, and nestled up against him again. In this position Joseph wouldn’t be able to see him get hard.

“I never felt attractive when I was in college, but I wanted to be one of those people who could go out to a bar and have multiple people hit on me. Having threesomes, and all that wild stuff.”

“You are attractive. The only reason not to hit on you is because you’re intimidating.”

“You don’t seem intimidated by me.”

“You asked me out first.” Indrid breathed for a moment. “Do you think you could take all three of us at once? Duck, Barclay, and I?”

“Yes. I’ve never been accused of being an underachiever.”

Indrid squeezed Joseph’s hand. “You aren’t.”

“Hey,” said Joseph. “I’m glad you’re chill about me being into them. Doesn’t mean I’m less into you.”

“It’d be rather hypocritical of me, in any case.”

Joseph took a deep breath. “I know we haven’t done anything like that, but if you want me to jerk you off or something… What I mean to say is, I want to touch you.”

“Oh,” said Indrid, and drew Joseph’s hand downwards to touch where he was half-hard through his sweatpants.

“Turn around so I can see your face?”

Indrid moved so they faced each other on the pillow. “Thank you.” Joseph pushed his sweatpants down below his dick and laughed. “Do you always go commando?”

“No,” said Indrid, but he was blushing. He was cute when he blushed. His dick perked up right away in Joseph’s hand, and he honest-to-god whined when Joseph licked his palm before getting back to it.

“I would be up for something more than this,” Joseph said, “but you look so relaxed lying there I’m not going to suggest anything athletic.”

“Thank you,” said Indrid. He grabbed Joseph’s wrist and kicked off his pants entirely so he could spread his legs wider, on his back now. “Please kiss me?”

Joseph leaned over to kiss him, and kept stroking him off until his moans reached a peak and he came all up his own chest.

Joseph leaned back again. Fuck, Indrid looked good like this, breathing hard with his skinny legs spread.

“I’m not that good at handjobs,” Indrid said, pulling his shirt off.

“That’s alright.” joseph knew his anatomy was unfamiliar to many gay men. Something to work on.

“Sit on my face?”

Joseph blinked. “Really?”

“Didn’t you just say how relaxed I looked lying here?”

“I did. And I do want to see what you can do with that mouth besides flirt.”

Indrid squeezed his hand. “Then pants off, Agent; what are you waiting for?”

Joseph’s pants joined Indrid’s rumpled by the foot of the bed. Then he straddled Indrid’s head and gingerly lowered himself down, holding onto the headboard for support. Indrid groped his ass hungrily and went to work. Joseph cried out at the first touch of Indrid's tongue to his dick - he hadn’t done this in a long time, and he’d forgotten how good it was, having a hot wet mouth to grind down on while he held onto the headboard for dear life.

Indrid said something unintelligible, and Joseph lifted himself up. “What was that?”

“Want fingers inside you?”

“Oh yes please, start with one -” Indrid’s fingers were narrow, but they were long, and somehow he unerringly found the perfect spot to press. “Another one. More - oh right there yes!” Joseph pressed his hot forehead to the cool wood of the headboard and rocked his clit against Indrid’s tongue with three of Indrid’s fingers inside him and came, so hard it took him a moment to peel his fingers from the headboard.

Finally he collapsed down on the mattress again. Indrid was breathing hard, and smiling contentedly. His glasses were still on. “That was fun.”

“You never take those things off, do you?”

“Nope,” said Indrid, giving Joseph a kiss that tasted of himself before settling into Joseph’s arms. (Indrid was much cuddlier than most of the cis guys Joseph had been with.)

There were strange things in Kepler. This Joseph knew very well. “Are you bigfoot?”

“No,” said Indrid. Something in his tone made Joseph stay quiet. “But you’re not far off.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not up to me. I’ve promised, to other people, it’s not just me, it’s, it’s complicated.” A deep breath. “I can’t tell you.”

“Can you show me?”

“I can’t let you see me. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t have to take pictures or tell my supervisor or even write it down at all. I’m just curious, I want to know.”

Indrid breathed. “If you let me blindfold you, you can touch me.”

“Yes. Indrid, please.”

“I could use your own tie.” Indrid got out of bed to look, and Joseph watched him, his long legs and soft penis, the sinewy lines of his chest. “You’re sure about this?”

“Yes.”

Indrid found a tie in the closet. “If you want this off at any point just tell me, I need to… put my disguise back on.”

“I don’t want you to have to disguise yourself around me.”

Indrid leaned down and kissed him, and Joseph took the blindfold out of his hands and put it on himself. Indrid exhaled and adjusted it, so Joseph was plunged into complete darkness. And then Joseph couldn’t feel Indrid touching him anymore. “Indrid?”

“I’m right here.” His voice was the same, which was a relief. And Joseph groped forward and felt something warm and soft, and buried his hands in it and rubbed the fibers between his fingers. Feathers?

He ascertained that Indrid’s body was much, much, bigger like this, his torso turned barrel-like, all covered with thick feathers except for the hard joints at his elbows. “Put my hands on your face,” Joseph demanded. “I don’t want to stick my fingers in your mouth too hard by accident.”

“But hard enough is just fine,” Indrid teased, and Joseph felt claws on his wrists as Indrid guided him. A long, thin tongue came out to lick his fingers as Joseph felt his lips. Not much of a nose. And Indrid’s eyes, when Joseph rested his fingertips on the lids, were huge.

“May I touch you too?” said Indrid. “If you’re not too alarmed by me.”

“I’m not alarmed by you, but I’m not any different than I was.”

“No, but I still enjoy touching you.”

“Alright, then.”

Indrid rested his hands at Joseph’s hips. And… more hands, on Joseph’s thighs. On a hunch, Joseph reached around Indrid’s torso and found that his form extended in the back, and Indrid gasped a little when he touched the feathers there. Then he rounded the top of Indrid’s head and found two delicate protrusions.

Joseph’s hand stopped. “Can you see the future?”

Indrid laughed. “Clever thing, you are.”

“You aren’t going to distract me from this with compliments.”

“Fair enough. Yes, I can.”

He was going to have to ask questions about that. Many questions. But maybe not right now. “What’s your dick like?”

Indrid laughed, surprised. “Would you like me to get it out?”

“If you’re going to fuck me with it, I think you’d have to.”

“If I’d known this would excite you I’d have taken you like this sooner,” Indrid teased, taking Joseph’s hand in one of his and rubbed Joseph’s knuckles against a place low on his belly, so Joseph could feel a seam in the flesh and then the member emerging, already slick. Joseph could only barely get one hand around the base.

“You’re big.”

“Thank you.”

“Can I ride you?”

“Yes.”

Joseph lifted himself up, and Indrid helped guide him back down again, until the tip of Indrid’s cock brushed his hole and he gasped. Only because he was still wet from Indrid’s tongue earlier did he have any hope of fitting it in. But he was wet, excited by the strangeness of the creature beneath him and the thrill of being right that Indrid wasn’t human after all, and so he sunk down onto a cock so big it seemed to knock the breath out of him.

“Good?” said Indrid breathlessly, keeping his hips relatively still.

“Yes,” said Joseph, already rubbing his clit. “If you’d like to fuck me properly, go right ahead.”

Indrid growled and Joseph found himself flat on his back, claws pricking his inner thighs as Indrid spread his legs and fucked him. “If you don’t cum from this you can find out what my tongue feels like in this body,” said Indrid, before swiping said tongue down Joseph’s cheek.

Joseph very much wanted to, but he was already touching himself, he couldn’t help it; he whimpered and came anyway, his orgasm rolling over him before he could stop it. “Oh, Joseph, yes, tighten up around me,” Indrid gasped, the same voice Joseph knew so well, before he was coming too, the volume of his spend more and better than anything Joseph had ever felt.

--

It was past eleven, which was basically 3am by Barclay’s standards, and he was drinking eggnog spiked with rum.

The kitchen door opened and Duck came in, freezing when he saw Barclay standing there. “I think I’m in love with him,” Barclay said by way of greeting.

Duck closed the door behind him.

“I’m in love with Joe.” Barclay’s hair was loose around his shoulders and he was wearing a bathrobe over his undershirt and boxers. “I normally don’t fall for the humans who want to shoot me.”

“You don’t know he wants to shoot you,” Duck pointed out.

“Mama thinks he does.”

“She might be overly cautious. And I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

The door opened again, and Indrid slipped inside. His hair was an absolute mess. “Hello,” he said. “Can I have some eggnog?”

“Yes, your excellency,” said Barclay hollowly and went to get a glass.

“I can fix it for myself,” said Indrid. His hand stopped Barclay’s on the handle of the cabinet door. “And you don’t have to call me that.” He poured himself a glass of eggnog from the carton on the counter and drank. “Now I’m on Earth, you can treat me however you like.”

“Yeah?” said Barclay. He advanced on Indrid, backing him up until his hips hit the kitchen counter.

Barclay, alone among the residents and visitors of Amnesty Lodge, had seen Indrid as court seer. The other sylphs were too young, or too old, and the humans had never even been to Silvain, not seen the grand staircase with a huge red stained-glass rosette in the wall behind it, not seen Indrid Cold’s dark head looking like the dark center of the flower as he descended the stairs. Not heard the click of his gold rings on the handrail, the whisper of his spreading wings. Barclay had only ever glimpsed him from a distance, as part of a crowd of plebians the court seer had no reason to remember. Indrid’s human disguise, skinny and unimposing, was almost unrecognizable as the beast he truly was.

As Indrid tilted his head, though, and the light glinted off his glasses, Barclay saw him.

“You’re drunk,” said Indrid after a few moments of silence.

Barclay backed up instantly. “Yes, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“No, no, it’s alright.” Indrid reached out for Barclay’s hand and caught it, folded Barclay’s fingers between his own, the glass of eggnog forgotten on the counter. “I don’t mind. Really. Here, here, I know what’ll cheer you up – I can tell you – Joseph likes you. Very much.”

Barclay pulled away and laughed.

Duck spoke up. “’Drid, what are you even doing here? Did you –“

“-walk? No. I, ah.” Under the pressure of Barclay and Duck both looking at him, he buckled. “Joseph picked me up. We, ah, we’ve been sleeping together.”

Barclay pushed down his jealousy. The cup of eggnog he’d been drinking was empty, so he went to the sink and washed it. The familiar motion made him feel a little more like himself. He dried the cup with a dish towel and returned it to its place in the cupboard. “I’m going to bed,” he announced, and swept out the door.

“I didn’t know you went for humans,” said Duck once it was just him and Indrid standing in the kitchen.

“Occasionally,” said Indrid. “I’m going to go check on him.” He refilled his cup of eggnog and took it with him as he went to Barclay’s bedroom, though he’d never been there. He knocked on the door. “It’s Indrid.”

“And this is Barclay.”

“I know. I’d like to come in and talk to you, if that’s alright.”

“Go right ahead.”

Indrid went inside. Barclay’s room was dark and narrow, dominated by a bed that had to be huge to fit Barclay’s body on it. The man himself was lying face-up beneath the sheets, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling.

Indrid put his cup of eggnog down on the side table and lay down next to Barclay, on top of the covers.

Barclay’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “Why did you make your disguise look like that?” he said, finally. “And why do you live in a trailer? You could be rich. You could be clearing out casinos. You could be back in Silvain!”

“I like it better here,” Indrid said simply. “I have enough money not to have to stress out about money, and I don’t need more space than a trailer. It’s easier to clean than a whole house, anyway.”

Barclay sighed.

Indrid reached across the blanket, almost to Barclay’s hand, and Barclay closed the distance. Indrid rubbed his thumb across Barclay’s skin.

“Thank you for sharing your eggnog with me,” Indrid said softly.

“Of course,” said Barclay.

Then Indrid breathed in, sharply, and squeezed his eyes shut. Barclay looked over, and his first guess as to what the seer was seeing was correct. The end of the world.

–

The apocalypse may have been halted, but dinnertime would march on, and so Joseph found Barclay in the kitchen. “Hey,” he said cautiously, shutting the door behind him.

Barclay dropped the spoon and rushed over, taking both of Joseph’s hands in his. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he said.

Joseph looked up at him. At bigfoot. “Can I kiss you?” Barclay kissed him, and he could feel the scratch of Barclay’s beard against his face, and it was perfect. “I’m also glad you’re okay. Did I say that?”

“No, but I got the idea.”

“You’re bigfoot.”

“Yes.” Barclay did not flinch away.

“Indrid did a very good job of keeping that secret. He did let me, uh…” Joseph looked away. “I know that he’s mothman.”

“He let you see him?”

“No. But he fucked me. I was blindfolded.”

Meanwhile, Indrid was sitting on the floor outside the kitchen door, back to the wall, knees folded up to his chest. The sound of footsteps made him look up. Duck Newton was standing there, looking down at him.

“It was close, wasn’t it?” said Duck.

“Very.”

Duck sat down next to him, with all the noises one would expect of a middle-aged man getting himself down onto the floor. Gingerly, Indrid leaned his head onto Duck’s shoulder, and Duck tugged Indrid into his arms properly. Duck’s hand slid up into Indrid’s hair, Indrid’s hands closed in Duck’s shirt, which was warm from his skin.

“There are some futures where you kiss my forehead, and I’d like it if you did so,” said Indrid.

Duck laughed a little. “Alright, magic eight ball,” he said, and kissed Indrid on the forehead.

The kitchen door opened, and Joseph and Barclay came out hand in hand. Indrid felt Duck tense.

“It may be helpful to say at this juncture,” Indrid said, “that sylphs are generally not monogamous.”

“And neither am I,” said Joseph.

“Oh thank god.” Duck looked up at Joseph, and then back at Indrid. “Does that mean I can kiss you?”

#ot4: government men and their cryptid boyfriends #sterndrid #trans joseph stern #jewish joseph stern #ot4

[thiswasinevitableid]

Observations (OT4)

The winner of the humans and mers underwater poll was: Humans kept in a zoo underwater for mers to look at. Duck's design is based on a grouper, Indrid's on a flying fish. This fill is NSFW

Hell would be better than this.

The U.S.S Chicago flames behind him as Barclay’s life jacket practically chokes him, not built for a man his size. His shipmates are calling out around him, calling for each other, for help, for their mothers, and he doesn’t know what to do. 

Thompson is to his right, blood dripping from his forehead. Maybe he hit it on the way down, maybe shrapnel got him. Barclay swims toward him, intending to check on him, when a fin slices the water between them. At the sight, the younger man kicks, panicked, for a few feet before disappearing under with a horrific cry. 

There’s more fins now, and he sees a shark head breach the water nearby. They didn’t have time when they abandoned ship, and they don’t have time now. 

When the teeth clamp onto his legs, it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as he expects. He calls out for help anyway. 

The world is all a blur, then it’s nothing at all. So it’s a complete shock when he opens his eyes to a blue sky and grass under his back. 

Barclay sits up, looking around at stands of scrubby pine trees and a staggering number of rubbery plants. Ice plants, he thinks they’re called. A seagull calls in the distance, and a breeze drifts along his neck, cooling a patch of singed hair. 

Heaven would make sense, but he’s still in his uniform and everything hurts. That makes it unlikely to be a dream, either. So where the fuck is he?

A groan from the ground in front of him, and he stumbles over a mound of sand to find dirt and grass, bracketing a woodland stream. Laying beside the water is the first thing in this place that makes and fucking sense. 

“Stern! Uh, I mean, Lieutenant, are you okay?” He kneels down beside the other man, rolling him gently onto his back. There’s a bad cut on his face and a burn covers much of his left arm.

“Fuck. Okay sir, don’t, don’t worry, I’ll find us some help.”

Eyes, blue as a friendly sea, open and focus on him.

“Wherever we are, I’m pretty sure you don’t have to worry about calling me ‘sir’ anymore.” His usually calm and confident voice is weak, and panic re-emerges in Barclay’s chest. 

“Wait right here, I’ll find someone, there has to be someone here.” He stands, picks a direction, and jogs off. 

In about twenty steps, he smacks into a wall. There’s still images of the woods and an ocean beyond it in front of him, but it’s a wall all the same.

“What the fuck?” He whispers, setting his hand on the surface, “we’re in a fucking room or something.

He looks back; Stern raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t ask any questions. Stern is always asking questions.

Barclay pounds on the wall, “Hey. HEY! Is anyone out there? We got a man down in here and we need help.”

There’s a melodic ding above him, followed by a lilting voice, “Do not worry, someone is coming in to address his injuries. Please remain calm. Mr. Cobb.”

“How the-”

“I can see the future.”

“What??”

“Oh dear, I under-anticipated the timelines where you become alarmed.”

“You’re damn right I’m alarmed.” He jumps as the piece of wall making it look like the river continues slides open and a man about his age swims in, bare-chested and carrying a bag over his shoulder. He swims up the river and hauls himself onto the bank beside Stern. At the point at which Barclay sees his lower half is a tail, he has to sit down. 

“You okay there big fella? Humans can get kinda light-headed on the trip down.”

“Yeah no, I’m not okay.” He rubs his face with his hands and adds, helplessly, “what’s going on?”

The merman sighs, “I keep tellin’ ‘em that wakin’ y’all up here is more disorienting than if you woke up somewhere where it’s obvious you’re under the damn water. Here” he pats the ground next to Stern, “have a seat and I can explain it to you both.”

Barclay complies. Even though his attention should probably be on the merman, all he can focus on is whether Sterns’ breathing is weakening. 

“Let’s see, how do I put this, uh, delicately. Y’all are in a terrarium park. Like those things on land where you keep fish and stuff-”

“Aquariums?” 

“Those are the ones, yeah. Mers got something similar, just for stuff you find on land rather than in the water.”

“We’re not stuff” Barclay’s voice cracks at the thought of being miles and miles from home and treated like a beast.

“I know you ain’t.” The merman carefully rubs a salve onto Stern’s arm, “But plenty of mers figure that since you’d keep us in zoos, you would. So it’s fair play. I don’t agree with that. But mr. high and mighty out there has me on human detail anyway” He pulls out a green bandage, “yeesh, Indrid said this was a shipwreck, how’d he get burnt.”

“They hit us at midships. Blew the engine room. There was fire everywhere and, and sharks and, and-” 

“Easy, big fella, easy. What’s your name?”

“Barclay. And that’s…Stern. I don’t know his first name.”

“Joseph.” It’s barely a whisper, but the other man holds out his hand, “nice to meet you.”

The merman shakes his hand, “You too. And I’m Duck. It’s a nickname.”

Joseph smiles, “Your tail is magnificent.”

“Thanks.” Duck smooths his hand over Joseph’s hair, “I’m gonna leave you this salve to put on the burn if it starts hurtin. And these’ll help with adjusting to the depth” He passes Barclay a tin of small, pale orange hard candies, “Anythin goes wrong, that stump right there has a little button in it. Hit that and I’ll come swimmin.”

“Okay.” Barclay holds the tin to his chest. 

Duck sets a hand on his arm, “Don’t worry about anythin but feelin’ better and helpin Joseph here rest up. Okay Indrid, I’m comin’ out.” He slips back into the river and dives, raising his tail in goodbye.

In the artificial woodland noise, Joseph murmurs, “I knew they were real.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

If merfolk ever decide to make real contact with humans, they should bring their medications with them. They’d make a killing. 

Joseph is only three days out from the worst injuries of his life and his arm is barely scarred and the gash on his face is gone. Better still, Duck has visited them every day, ostensibly to check how they’re getting on, but he’s easily led into more casual conversation. 

That means Joseph can turn his attention from his own wellbeing to that of Barclay. The cook has tended to him like a candy-striper to a dying man, seemingly ignoring his own needs in favor of looking after Joseph. It only seems fair to return the favor. Especially to his favorite part of being on the Chicago. 

The mers have a deal with a select group of humans to send them supplies from land, which is why Joseph and Barclay have a little driftwood cabin to call their own complete with a few pieces of furniture, clothes, some books, toiletries, and a record player. 

Joseph still wonders how they got that down here. 

Indrid, the voice from the speakers, assured them that they would not be “on display” until they were both fully healed. So he gathers up the shaving supplies and carries them to the pond at one end of the stream, where Barclay stares into the calm water. He has no need of them himself, but it helps to keep up appearances. 

“I wasn’t sure if you want to keep your beard regulation or not. If you want I can trim it for you.” He sits beside the other man.

“Think I’ll let it grow. Thanks, though.” His mouth almost forms another word. If Joseph didn’t know better, he’d think Barclay liked calling him sir. 

He packs the kit back up. After a moment, Barclay dips a foot in the water, “Do you think anyone else made it?”

“I hope so. But I don’t know. It was so fast I’m not sure we even had time to send a distress signal.”

Barclay turns those big, coffee-brown eyes on him, “It’s like I can’t get it out of my head. I can’t sleep because when I close my eyes I just see all of it again. But you seem so calm.”

“Honestly, I think my body and brain went through so much shock in the last few days that my responses to things are all out of order. And I…well, I suppose there’s no harm in saying now that when we reached our destination I was going to ‘disappear’ and take up work gathering intel behind enemy lines. I learned how to keep a lid on my emotions under horrific circumstances.”

“Always thought you were too smart to be a Lieutenant.” He yawns, “god I’m tired.”

“I have an idea. Lay down in the grass.”

Barclay obeys, his head coming to rest near Joseph’s thigh.

“Good. Now, when you close your eyes, I want you to picture that restaurant you’re going to open. The one you always talked about.”

A soft chuckle, “Didn’t know you remembered that.”

“I tried to remember details about the men on my crew. But I’ll confess our conversations always stuck in my mind.”

A blush creeps beneath Barclay’s beard, “Should I, like, describe it too?”

“That’s exactly what you should do.”

So Barclay tells him about how the dining room will look. What drinks he’ll serve. Then he describes a five course menu in such delicious detail that Joseph is relieved their hosts provided them with a pantry of semi-recognizable foods. 

Barclay pauses mid-description of a roast duck with spiced plum sauce and, as shyly as a virgin at a drive-in asks, “Would you pet my hair?”

He’s spent so long drilling the urge to touch others out of himself that he almost says no. Then he reaches down and runs his fingers over dark strands until his shipmate in this strange, underwater shelter is finally asleep. 

—----------------------------------

Barclay is napping in a remarkably effective ray of fake sun when arguing voices jar him awake. He looks around to find Joseph in the chair he’s dragged outside. When their eyes meet, his friend simply points to where a speaker is in the ceiling above them. 

“You know why I cannot.”

“I know why you didn’t in those other ‘zoos,’ since you apparently were gone before the humans even got settled in. But this is Sylvain! You’re gonna see these fellas all the time. And if you don’t want ‘em thinkin’ they’re no more than glorified pets in your eyes, you oughta at least go in there.”

“You know I do not see them as such.”

“You keep makin some real big assumptions about what I know, Indrid. What I know is you used to treat humans as friends, used to be the one talkin’ me into pokin’ my head above water to talk with ‘em. And I know somewhere along the line the fella who’d do that started actin’ like he was too good for those trips. For me.”

“My duties changed, you know-”

“If you say those two words again I’m gonna rip my ears off and feed ‘em to the sand sharks.” It's the angriest Duck has ever sounded, “I just want you to talk to me like you used to, without all this weird formal platitude shit.”

“It’s not as easy as all that.”

A sigh, then “Guess I know how much effort you think I’m worth, then.”

The conversation ends there, though a moment later Indrid makes what sounds like a curse and the speaker goes dead. Then the doors to the outside open and Duck swims into the stream with a not-very-convincing smile.

“Afternoon, fellas. Oh, Joe, I brought you Stone Jump, like I promised.” Duck produces a wooden box and sets it on the ground. Barclay’s still a little stuck on the fact that Joseph lets someone use a nickname. 

“Thank you.” Joseph sits on the bank, making small talk as Barclay brings over water for them both. As Joseph takes his cup he asks, casual as can be, “will we ever get to meet Indrid?”

Annoyance is plain on Duck’s face when he says, “Don’t seem to be shapin up that way. You know what’s wild? Back when we were kids, Indrid loved spendin time around humans. I was this stubby-tailed thing who didn’t wanna go into weird situations, but all he had to do was smile at me right and I’d follow him to the surface. Older we got, the more we talked about maybe makin a place where humans and mers could live side by side. When he got his powers as seer he told me he had all these plans. Then he off and disappeared, came back, and was talkin about the human zoo thing! I peaced out after that and started workin in the kelp forest. When we got word Sylvain would be gettin’ humans, he pulled some strings to make sure I was the one working with you, even though he knows I hate the zoo thing!” He notices his own raised voice and sighs, “Sorry, sore spot.”

“Understandably.” Joseph opens the box, studies the game pieces, “would you like to talk about something else?”

“I really would.”

“How do mers tattoo?” Joseph gestures to the illustration of kelp twining up Duck’s bicep. Barclay can’t prove it, but he’s pretty sure the mer flexes a little when he notices Joseph looking. 

“Same as humans do. Or maybe used to. Y’all still tap sharp little sticks into each other?”

“Not these days.There are machines for the needles now.”

“Wild. Mers actually learned tattooing from humans, way back when.” He smiles playfully at Joseph, “you got any?”

“None. What about you, Barclay?”

“Uh, one. It’s kinda embarrassing. We all went to get one the week before we shipped out and I wasn’t sure what to ask for so..” he lifts his shirt, revealing the mermaid on his left pec. That it looks like Joseph in a seashell bra with longer hair does not escape him, or help the blush on his chest. 

“Very classic.” Joseph’s smile suggests the likeness is apparent to him too. Barclay wants to wipe the knowing look away with a kiss. 

Instead he lowers his shirt like an obedient sailor and listens as Duck explains the rule of the game.

—-----------------------------------------------------------

When he was seven, Barclay’s grandparents took him to a zoo, where he spent a considerable amount of time at the grizzly bear exhibit, waiting for it to come out. The nice keeper had explained that the bear was shy at times, but usually came into view when fed. Then she’d winked at Barclay, reached into her pocket, and tossed an apple into the cage. The huge, lumbering shape emerged, took the fruit, and arranged himself in the sun to eat it. When a crowd gathered, he first turned away from them, and then slunk out of view. 

Barclay understands why. 

Their “exhibit” has been open to the public for a week, and Barclay rarely leaves the cabin or the trees if he can help it. It just freaks him out, being watched like that. 

Joseph is the exact opposite, has dragged a chair down to the main glass–it can become two way during visiting hours and one way at other times–and is watching the mers who visit them more intently than they gawk at him. 

“It’s not ideal observation conditions by any means, but there’s no way in hell I’m passing up the chance to take notes on a civilization few humans ever see.”

A cluster of mers swim in, pointing at Joseph. Barclay can’t really blame them for their reaction; he’d pay good money to see Joseph, and even more to touch him. And god knows he’s probably giving all these mers the wrong idea about how handsome the average human is. His bearing, dress, really everything but his insistence on slicking back his hair has become more relaxed since they got down here, yet he never seems anything but confident and in control. 

Joseph moves from the chair, kneeling on the grass to converse with a kid mer through the glass, patiently answering her questions. 

He’s right there. And there may as well be another pane of glass between them for all Barclay feels able to do about it. 

Barclay retreats into the cabin until closing time, and is busy assembling dinner when Joseph steps inside. 

“Just like old times.” 

“Yeah.” Barclay can’t look at him. Not right now. Not with the thought of being trapped here forever with the person he wants but can’t bring himself to make a move on.

“Putting you in charge of the galley was the smartest thing Hayes ever did.” There’s a pause, and then a hand rests on his shoulder, “Barclay? Is everything okay?”

“Peachy keen.” 

“Lying doesn’t suit you, sailor.” 

Barclay turns. Joseph watches him with an inviting expression, which is how he musters up the courage to say, “It does when the truth is hard to put into words. Sir.”

“You could be a man of action, then.” Joseph strokes Barclay’s beard, touch lighter than a spring breeze. 

“I could.”

The touch is firmer this time, “That’s an order, Cobb.”

Barclay grabs Joseph’s shoulders, yanking him into a kiss. It’s the worst possible idea, he doesn’t know if Joseph swings that way, let alone for him-

The other man tangles his fingers in Barclay’s hair and presses him against the counter with the fervor of a man who’s been unsatisfied for far too long and is ready to do something about it.

They don’t break the kiss until Barclay’s knees are nearly buckled, at which point Joseph murmurs, “Thank the lord, I wasn’t sure that would work. I’ve wanted to do that for months.”

“Months? I, I mean, I know I wanted to but you’re, you so…you’re you. I didn’t think you’d go for some nobody cook.”

“Barclay, I used to lay awake in my bed and daydream about how when the war was over I was going to convince you to go into business together in a restaurant so we’d have an excuse to see each other every day. When I woke up down here and saw you I figured I was dead and in heaven.”

Barclay whines, hiding his face in Joseph's shoulder, “I feel like such a fucking numbskull. I should have noticed.”

“We’ve both had a lot on our minds.”  Joseph kisses the side of his head, “I’m not sure I’m up for more than, um, heavy petting for the time being. But if you want to take advantage of the fact there are no cameras in here, I have a few ideas.”

—----------------------------------------------------------

For various reasons, Joseph resigned himself to going without intimacy until he was out of the navy. So being able to lay like this in the grass, Barclay’s head on his chest, feels more fantastical than the mer structure surrounding them. 

It also makes him very glad the mers project a sky onto the ceiling of the enclosure; if he had to look up and contemplate how much water is atop him, it would damage his calm. Right now, the sky shows constellations and a waning, crescent moon. Indrid explained to him that the spell enchanting it mirrors the sky directly above them. 

It turns out Indrid can be incredibly chatty when the mood strikes him. While Joseph has no idea what he looks like, hours spent gabbing with him through the speakers mean he knows Indrid’s opinions on terrarium design, the warmest portions of the ocean, and which octopi make the best pets. 

Their talks also make it clear that Indrid is painfully in love with Duck, to the point that Joseph and Barclay have debated whether to tell the other merman that and spare everyone years of pining. 

Barclay is mid-description of the time he made a cake so gorgeous it nearly caused a fight at the cakewalk when a burbly, sorrowful noise drifts through the glass. Duck’s left instructions for the one-way glass setting to always show them the outside world, which is why they can see the mer huddled in the far corner of the room, tail tucked to chest and shoulders shaking. 

“You okay there?” 

In spite of the gentleness in Barclay’s voice, the mer bolts upright like he’s been stabbed, “Yeyes, perfectly fine, nothing wrong.”

“Indrid?” They say as one.

“Yes.” A weak, awkward wave, “Hello. It is nice to meet you in person. I assumed you were asleep. I will be going now so as not to disturb you further.”

“Or you could come in here for a while? Seems a lot better than being upset on your own.” Barclay gestures at the hatch in the wall. 

“I do not wish to intrude…”

“Indrid, we’ve known you for close to two months now. It’s not an intrusion when a friend visits.” Joseph doesn’t add that Indrid coming in after an invitation is probably the least intrusive way they’ve been made aware of his presence. 

The merman disappears at the edge of the enclosure–he and Duck have to dive beneath it, into an anteroom, and then through the hatch–and then emerges in the stream, giving them their first, unfiltered view of him. To his left, Barclay gasps. A remarkably restrained reaction under the circumstances. 

Indrid is stunning. Silver hair falls to his shoulders, framing an angular face as he hauls himself onto shore. His tan skin is covered in tattoos, and his tail reminds Joseph of flying fish, only black with silver streaks instead of silvery-blue. 

As Joseph turns on the nearby “lanterns” (really glowing algae in containers shaped like camping lamps), Indrid looks at Barclay and sighs, “This is not at all how I wanted my first visit to go.”

Joseph rejoins them at the stream, “You met us when we were nearly drowned. I think  inelegant introductions might be par for the course.”

Glowing, red eyes well-up with tears, “I, I am sorry I could not save more of your crewmates. They only ever let me save two, no matter how much I argue. And only then for the terrariums! I started out trying to convince them that routinely saving humans from shipwrecks, would foster peace, would make you see us as allies but no one would listen. And all the while humans died at sea and I could do so little to stop it. I had to give them a way to think of us as superior before they’d even hear of saving any.” 

“That’s why there are humans on display so many places.” Joseph muses.

“Yes! I would try to get ahead of the wrecks and convince the towns to build these terrariums, and now everyone assumes I am this eccentric mer who sees humans as pets. And I don’t! Especially not you two, I do so enjoy our talks Joseph and our chats while you exercise, Barclay-”

Joseph shoots his friend an amused glance. He’d wondered why he kept coming back from that one grove shirtless. 

“-and all I want is to be your friend, to spend time with you as Duck does and I cannot because I fear any affection for humans will be used to dismiss my requests down the line and it will all be for nothing!”  The last word is trilling wail. Joseph isn’t sure how to proceed, if comfort would just make it worse. 

“C’mere.” Barclay opens his arms. Indrid blinks once, surprised, and then dives into them, curling himself around the cook and hiding his face against his chest. So close, Joseph realizes that Barclay is actually bigger than Indrid, even accounting for the tail, an observation his imagination unhelpfully runs off with while he’s trying to focus. 

“Oh” another, softer trill, “oh you are very good at this. I see why Joseph chose you as his mate.”

“We’re not quite at that point, but I agree; he’s wonderful to hold.” Joseph sits closer, “should I pet your tail? I know that helps Duck relax.”

“Yes” is all that Indrid gets out before tearing up again, “I, I was hiding out there because we had a fight. A bad one. He, he accused me of not caring about you. Both of you. He asked me to give him a reason why he should keep supporting my idea and do you know what I said? I said “because I said so!” Like the absolute fool I am! It only got worse from there.I was just so upset and tired from arguing with other officials all day over seer matters and I just wanted someone to listen to me rather than second guessing everything I say.” His tail goes limp, “in most futures this argument is the end of it. He stops trying to be close to me. And all because I could not bring myself to tell him what I have told you.”

“It’s a damn good thing I worked out your hiding spot, then.” Duck floats in the stream, eyes on the other mer.

Indrid yelps, startled, “There was only one future where you came for me.”

“Yeah, well, recall someone sayin’ I was the most stubborn mer they’d ever met.” Duck pulls himself onto the grass, “why didn’t you tell the truth when I asked about the zoos?”

“I was…ashamed. I had made so many promises to you about what we could accomplish and then all I could produce was something you despised.  And there were so many futures where the confession did nothing to save our friendship. In retrospect, this was foolish of me. You have never been one to opt for the likely futures.”

“Take a lot more than a fight or a disappointment to get rid of me.” Duck leans forward, rubbing his cheek against Indrid’s, “all I’m askin’ is you tell me the truth next time.”

“I shall.” Indrid purrs, melting from Barclay’s arms into Duck’s. 

“Uh” Barclay clears his throat, “since you boys got that sorted out, do you wanna stay awhile? I finally figured out how to make cookies down here.”

Indrid trades a quick glance with his companion, then nods, “Nothing would make me happier.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Things become much livelier in the enclosure after that night. Duck visits them at least every other day, and Indrid stops by whenever he can during open hours. More often than not, the pair come together after the zoo closes, joining Barclay and himself at the stream. They’ll teach other card games, eat, or trade stories about the surface and submarine worlds. 

At first the two mers simply swim or sit next to each other. But after two weeks, Indrid’s preferred sitting position is draped around Duck. When he’s not laying his tail in Barclay’s lap or resting his arms and chin on Joseph’s legs to talk with him about the finer points of mer technology. 

Duck is the one to suggest swimming together, and while Barclay jumps in with little coaxing, Joseph prefers to sit on the bank with his legs in the cool water. This gives him an excellent view of Indrid winding around Barclay, laughing as the cook tells him the kinds of jokes only sailors can create, and means that when Duck swims up and rests his arms on the bank, he does so between Joseph’s spread legs. 

Suffice to say, he’s been having a lot of interesting dreams lately. 

The one he’s awakening from involved Indrid in the bedroom window of Joseph’s childhood home, but as a humanoid moth rather than a mermaid. He sighs, hoping he’ll get to pick it up tomorrow night. He takes Barclay’s hand where it’s draped over his waist and nestles back against him, fully intending to try for more sleep when he catches on to what woke him up in the first place. 

“Why, Mr.Newton, such forward courtship.” Indrid’s voice drifts from the nearby speaker, “and towards the court seer no less.”

“If mister high and mighty seer didn’t want me cornerin’ him like he’s a cheap siren in a dark reef, he shouldn’t have spent all mornin’ teasin’ me before I left for work.”

“Such accusations. That behavior would be unbecoming of one such as myself.”

“Show you unbecoming”

There’s a trill, accompanied by the thud of a body being shoved against something sturdy.

Barclay’s hold on him tightens, “We should tell them, right? Indrid said the control for that mic is still faulty.”

Joseph extricates himself enough to lean out the window by the bed and says somewhat loudly, “You’re right Barclay, it sounds like someone unintentionally left that microphone on.”

Silence, then, “Damn, darlin, sounds like your pet’s been hearin you get felt up.”

A whining purr, “You promised you’d let me live down accidentally calling Joseph ‘pet.’”

“Aww, it’s cute when you try’n wiggle away. Your choice, fellas; I can turn the mic off, or you can listen in.”

“I wanna listen.” Barclay sleepily hugs him from behind.

“You can leave it on.”

Indrid moans, and Joseph can pick up the thwap of his tail. Then he smiles as he feels Barclay’s half-hard cock pressing against his ass.

“Did that happen before or after you woke up?”

“After” Barclay kisses his shoulder, “please let me fuck you, sir? Or you can fuck me, I like that just as much.” His hands drop lower and lower. Joseph stops them at his navel. 

“I want to so badly, big guy. But there’s something you need to know. My dick isn’t exactly…standard issue.”

“That’s…well I was gonna say wild but if there’s anyone I know who could pull off being in the service without that getting found out, it’s you.”

“A shocking number of people are easy to bribe. It really doesn’t bother you?”

“Not at all, baby.” Barclay traps him against the wall, “does explain why you never engaged in any, uh, ‘off hours recreation’.” His hand slips into Joseph’s shorts just as a very loud moan comes from above them. 

“Not exclusively. Everyone above me was a prick, and sleeping with subordinates is unethical–oh, ohmylord” He groans as Barclay slips two fingers inside him. 

“Too bad. Because there were plenty of guys on that boat who would’ve loved a turn with you. Sir.” Barclay fingers him more roughly, “mostly because you were so fucking put together it seemed fun to ruin you.”

“And it, it had nothing to do with wanting to put an officer everyone saw as a brownnoser in his place I’m sure?” He steals a glancing over his shoulder, hoping Barclay takes the hint. 

He does, grinding against him and growling, “Yeah, that too. Don’t know a sailor who doesn’t wanna see the officers taken down a few pegs but you, baby, if you’d been a hardass about something all anyone could talk about was what we were gonna do you” He laughs when Joseph moans, “didn’t think you’d get off on knowing we used to talk about fucking you two at a time, sir. Fuck, woulda been even more fun once we found out it could be three.”

“Yes, yes” he rocks his hips, trying to rub his dick on Barclay’s palm, “Barclay, please, please fuck me.”

“By all means do” Indrid’s voice floats by, “but first; meet us at the river.”

Barclay waits for Joseph to meet his eyes and nod before saying, “Guess we better follow orders.”

They make their way over as graceful as the situation allows and find the mermen waiting for them. Duck’s chest is covered in bites, and Indrid is smiling like a shark who just ate an entire hatchery. 

He can’t help himself. 

“Do mers generally finish fast?”

Duck laughs, “Nah, we both just been real pent up all day. I was comin by to make some notes before I forgot and this one followed me instead of waitin’ for me at home”

“The futures suggested several promising timelines if I did.” Indrid settles against his boyfriend, “well, gentlemen? It seems you were in the middle of something.”

“I have an idea. Undress, sailor.”

“Yes, sir.” Barclay stands, pulling down his pants. Joseph takes the opportunity to slap him once on the ass before removing his own clothes.

“Sit with your legs in the water. Yes, like that, and then I can just…” he straddles Barclay while facing the mers, and the cook wraps an arm around his waist to steady him. 

“My, my, what a lovely view.” 

“Got that right.” Duck kisses Indrid on the cheek before watching hungrily as Joseph sinks down onto Barclay’s cock. 

“And here I thought it looked big. Christ that feels amazing.” He rocks his hips, then gasps as Barclay begins thrusting into him with abandon. 

“Sorry sir, lost the last of my patience feeling how wet you got for me. Fuck” he grabs Joseph’s thighs, “you’re so fuckin’ lucky none of us ever got fed up enough to bend you over. Tighter than a fucking virgin in church and so fucking needy you’ll put on a show for anyone who asks.” 

“I, I’d argue Duck and Indrid aren’t just anyone.”

“He’s right, dearest” Indrid swims close enough to pet Barclay’s legs as the tense in the water, “you belong to us, after all.” He leans in, nibble Joseph’s stomach before giving an experimental lick to his cock. Then he swims back a few inches so he can watch Barclay driving into Joseph with increasingly erratic thrusts, “mmmm, such power. You’ll make a wonderful mate, Barclay. Such the perfect combination of sweetness and…strength” his eyes widen excitedly as Barclay thrusts hard enough that his balls slap into Joseph’s skin. 

“Fuck, fuck” Barclay grunts, “much as I wanna hear you scream while you get fuckin’ knocked up by an enlisted man, think I better cum somewhere else.” The cook pulls and, as much as he appreciates it, Joseph groans in frustration. 

“C’mere, slick.” Duck holds out a hand, “got just the thing.”

Joseph takes his hand, slipping into water for the first time since the wreck. Duck swims them backwards with ease and rests his back against the bank as Joseph lovingly paws his chest. 

“It really is a shame, you being under the sea all the time. The whole world should get to see this amazing body.” 

Duck blushes and trills, a lower noise than when Indrid does it, “You’re a real sweet talker, you know that?”

There’s a moan from the other bank, and Joseph looks over to see Indrid with Barclay’s cock fully down his throat as the cook cums. But instead of releasing him fully, Indrid sits back and then begins mercilessly sucking and licking the head as it tries to soften. 

“I didn’t know he could be mean.” Joseph whispers

“Me neither. With me he’s either sweet or just a little feisty because he wants me to show off how strong I am.” Duck kisses his jaw, “but what I wanna know right now, darlin, is how you want me.”

“If I'm honest I hadn’t gotten much farther than touching you. It’s all I can think about sometimes” he runs one hand along Duck’s tail and strokes his face with the other, “you were made to be worshiped to..be…what is that?” He looks down, and through the water can see the scales where he’s straddling have given to a flat, ridged surface dotted with short, soft nodes.

“My set-up ain’t one of the more common ones, but I like to think it’s mighty fine. Go ahead, try rubbin on it.”

Joseph grinds against the tail, the texture firm with just enough give to be comfortable. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt, and he closes his eyes to focus on the sensation as it glides his body towards orgasm. When he opens them again, Duck’s pupils are huge and he’s letting out pleased, gentle grunts. 

“Does it feel good for you?”

“Uh huh. See, I got more underneath it, a spot where someone can fuck me full on. But they gotta work for it first like this.”

“Like this?” Joseph grinds down more aggressively and Duck moans. 

“Just like that, fuck, feels fuckin’ amazing, c’mon, a little faster, yeah, perfect.” He pulls Joseph into a long, tender kiss, and when they separate Joseph kisses every inch of his face he can manage as he cums on the merman’s tail.

“See? Told you it was mighty nice.” Duck grins, lopsided and so charming Joseph kisses him again.

“Agreed. Do you need to cum?”

“Nah, in a one and done mood tonight.  Besides, seems like the big fella could use you back on land” he tilts his head to where Barclay is sprawled on the grass, moaning weakly as Indrid licks the remnants of a second orgasm from his cock. 

The seer releases Barclay as Joseph crosses the stream, catching him in his arms and purring “next time, pet, I demand a whole turn.”

Once he’s bundled himself in a towel and Barclay into his arms, Joseph rubs the cooks neck and tells him how wonderfully he did, and how glad he is they’re together.

“Speaking of such things…” Indrid looks at them, “am I correct that while both of you are happy here, you’d prefer a life on land?”

“Uh huh” Barclay murmurs, “lotta things I miss.”

“I have to say I agree. Not that this isn’t fascinating. And…well, without this zoo we’d never have met you both. But still, there’s a lot on the surface I wanted to see.”

Indrid taps his fingers together, “I make no promises, but Duck and I have been talking and I think I have a way for you to do just that…”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

No one is sure how Ned Chicane finds a buyer for a house that anyone on the island could tell him is dangerously close to falling into the sea. He simply says he found people who truly appreciated it’s charms.

(He leaves out the part about it being enchanted to protect from storms and rot).

What they are sure of is that, shortly after VE Day, two men move into it. Bachelors, one who quickly finds a job cooking in Mr. Kahale’s restaurant, and one who eventually takes a job as a schoolteacher. 

And some say that they see both men climbing down a ladder into the sea. But that’s probably just a rumor.

#OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends #mermay #duck x indrid #agent stern/barclay #trans agent stern #inclay #agent stern/duck newton #agent stern/indrid cold #terato #human/monster romance #monster boyfriend

[thiswasinevitableid]

#10 with OT4, it’s so perfect.

NSFW if you can.

Happy Holidays, and thank you!

Here you go! I did indeed make it NSFW

10. Three ghosts just showed up and are telling me about Christmases past, future, and yet to come but I’m pretty sure they’ve got the wrong bedroom

There are three, good looking men at the foot of his bed. 

Were this any other context, Joseph would think he was having a sex dream. But a quick pinch of his thigh has confirmed that’s not the case, so he shifts his grip on the covers in case he needs to throw them off to fight or flee in a hurry. 

“Um, can I help you gentlemen?”

“It is we who are here to help you.” The figure on the right, silver haired and smiling wide, gestures to his companions, “we are the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future, and we have come to show you the error of your ways and how you may mend them, Richard O’Hare. 

Joseph raises an eyebrow, “I think you have the wrong house.”

“This is 469 Cherry Way, Apartment 302, right?” The ghost on the left speaks with an unexpectedly southern drawl. 

“Yes, but my name is Joseph Stern. Also, I’m Jewish.”

“Fuck” The ghost in the middle, tall and bearded like a spectral lumberjack, studies a glowing piece of paper that just appeared in his hand, “O’Hare is dead. This is his old apartment.”

“Brilliant.” The silver-haired ghost rubs his forehead, “I did not bother to check the timelines since I assumed the front office would have updated their files in a timely manner.”

“Ain’t your fault, ‘Drid.” The ghost of what he assumes is the past turns to Joseph, “you got any Hanukkah based regrets? Or, uh, any winter-related ones?”

“I regret plenty of things, but no. This time of year isn’t all that fraught for me.”

“Aw beans.” 

“I’m sorry, I’ve been in this kind of situation and it’s very frustrating. Or, well, not this exact situation but I bet afterlife bureaucracies are just as bad as the ones on earth. Is there a ritual or something I have to do to help you get back to the afterlife? Or at least help you mark the job as done.”

The bearded ghost fiddles with the arm of his fir green and fur-lined robe, “We won’t be able to go back until the end of Christmas Day, and we can tell them it was a mix-up; they didn’t reassign us.” He waves the paper and it dissipates into green smoke. 

Stern glances at his alarm clock; it’s three in the morning. He’s in his pajamas with the little mothmen on them. He’s getting towards the end of his groceries. In other words, he’s in no state to host anyone. 

But how often does a paranormal experience just fall into his lap?

“You’re welcome to spend the day here. I don’t have the most exciting Christmas schedule but I don’t mind the company.”

“Ohthankfuck.” The bearded ghost smiles, “we were literally gonna be stuck floating around the building the whole day otherwise. Uh, so, I’m Barclay. This is Indrid and Duck.” He points to the silver-haired ghost and then southern ghost.” 

“It’s a nickname.” Duck adds. 

Indrid floats over to sit on the edge of the bed, “Tell us, what does today look like for Joseph Stern?”

“A quiet morning followed by getting Chinese food and going to a movie.” He shrugs, “cliche, but I really do enjoy it.”

“No big breakfast?” Barclay looks genuinely disappointed. 

“Not unless I’m visiting my sister; her in-laws celebrate Christmas and my niece is growing up with both.” He sighs, still sleepy enough to feel sentimental, “She always makes our mom’s coffee cake recipe.”

“I, uh, I could try making it if you want.” 

If Joseph didn’t know better, he’d say the ghost was blushing. 

“I’d…I’d actually really like that. Thank you.”

Barclay smiles and fades from view. Joseph stands, stretching to get the kinks from his back. When he turns towards the door, he finds Duck’s gaze finishing a prolonged trip down his body. 

Duck is exactly the kind of guy he used to pick up at bars so, to prove to himself he’s not out of practice, he drops his own gaze to Duck’s round belly and gorgeous thighs, then meets his eyes with a smile.

He excuses himself to the kitchen to help Barclay. As the bedroom door closes, Indrid lits, “yes, my sweet, I feel much the same.”

Before he can wonder who the spirit agrees with, he bangs his shin into a pumpkin the size of a small child. His counters are overflowing with pie, cookies, roast turkey, tureens of vegetables, and more casserole dishes than a church potluck. 

Barclay looks sheepishly from where he’s trying to close Joseph’s fridge against a tide of cheese and clanking bottles, “Sorry, I’m still getting the hang of all this. Being the ghost of Christmas present is all about abundance and stuff so whenever I enter a kitchen this happens.” He waves his hand twice and the fridge slams shut, “phew, okay, I'm gonna try getting the coffee out again.”

“Here, let me.” Joseph fishes the bag from the refrigerator door, nudges an apple pie drizzled with caramel sauce to the side so he can reach the coffee pot, “do any of you take milk or sugar?”

“Duck and I both take it black.”

“I would prefer creamer, if you have it.” Indrid materializes through the wall while Duck steps through the threshold from the hall. 

“I have eggnog. I like to put that in mine.”

“Oooh, yes please!” Indrid reaches for a sugar cookie, which slips through his fingers. He grumbles, but a second cookie floats off the plate and hovers in front of his lips. He grins and disappears, the cookie doing the same a moment later.

“Geez you two, get a room.” Barclay teases.

“You can see them?”

“Yeah, ghosts can see other ghosts even when we’re not visible to humans. Got some other cool tricks too. Can I, uh, can I hold your hands?”

Joseph puts both hands out, palms up, Barclay disappearing right before his hands come to rest in them. Chilly fingers gently hold him as a voice soft and deep as a mound of fresh snow says, “Think about the coffee cake. Like, eating it.”

He closes his eyes, puts himself back at Lily’s house, tries to conjure cinnamon, ginger, and brown sugar in the right proportions on his tongue. 

A beard grazes his cheek as Barclay whispers, “Look at the table.”

He knows it’s there before the baking dish even comes into focus, the smell catapulting him through three decades and back again. 

“Incredible.” He grabs a knife from the top drawer, cuts himself a slice and tastes it cautiously. Then he slumps down into his chair, moaning happily, “It’s perfect.”

Barclay beams, “Fuck yeah. I, I was gonna offer to make it from scratch but every time I try to do that I summon ten times more of each ingredient no matter what I try.”

“The perils of the paranormal.” He picks a napkin from the holder at the center of the table. 

“More of ‘em than you’d think.” Duck sits to his left, looking for all the world like he’s in the chair instead of hovering, “For my first year I kept ending up in the past any time I listened to oldies.”

“When you say first year, is ‘holiday spirit’ a job you can be assigned?”

“More or less.” Indrid settles in Duck’s lap, “if you wish to remain a ghost rather than passing on into the great beyond, you have to accept some form of ‘post-death service.’ Many of them are like our assignment in that they only take up a small portion of a year. You still have to write weekly reports though.”

“That’s a bit bleak.”

“Assuredly. But ghost-hood does have perks” he grins at Barclay, “like excellent company.”

This time the ghost’s blush is obvious as he slides cake Indrid’s way. Joseph pours four mugs of coffee, Indrid flapping his hands when he gives him the mothman one. The conversation moves towards the finer points of afterlife politics and Barclay’s relief that ghosts can now consume food without it having to be burnt as an offering first. Then Duck bemoans the fact a restaurant in his hometown hired an exorcist after he turned up hoping for his favorite, french onion soup, and soon they’re trading stories about where they grew up.

By the time Duck gets up to wash the dishes, Joseph has almost forgotten his guests aren’t ghosts. Two of whom are undoubtedly flirting with him; Barclay may be trying to, but whenever Joseph tosses a flirtatious comment his way he starts fading from view. 

Joseph turns a coy smile on Indrid, “You said you can see the future. Can I ask you a question?”

“Is it the date you die or whether you find true love?”

“Neither. Will I have a better time if I go see Torsey Torse or The Conjuring: Psychic Bigfoot?”

Indrid cocks his head, amused, “Let me see…” his face goes blank. Then he jerks backward in his chair and looks, alarmed, at Joseph from behind his red glasses, “You, you cannot leave the house today.”

“What? Why?”

“The weather” he points at the light snow falling outside, “will get worse within the next two hours. And when you are out in it, you will be crossing the street when a driver loses control. There are no timelines where you survive.”

“Jesus.” His whole spine is ice and his heart is bouncing between his throat and the pit of his stomach. 

Duck sets a comforting hand through his shoulder, clearly trying for a light tone, “Real glad you asked ‘Drid about the movies. Much as I like you, hate to see you beef it so soon.”

He laughs nervously, “Well, I, I guess I’ll stay in then. That’s safe, right?”

Indrid goes blank a moment before nodding.

“Okay, operation hunkered down holiday it is then. I, um, I’m going to go shower quickly. Please make yourselves at home.”

Twenty minutes of dissociating in the shower at the thought of coming so close to his own death later, Joseph steps into his bedroom and puts on  jeans and his favorite sweater; black save for a festive pattern made up of UFOs and cows around the chest. 

“Are you okay?” Barclay floats through the doorway.

“I will be. Just a little rattled.”

“Do you want a hug?”

“God, yes.” 

It’s a bit mind melting to feel something holding him even as his eyes tell him there’s nothing nearby, but the sensation quickly loses out to how excellent Barclay is at hugs. There’s a flannel shirt under his robe and Joseph rests his cheek against it. He wonders if he and Barclay would ever have crossed paths if the cook had lived longer, if there was ever a future where he held this same body while blood ran in its veins. 

“C’mon, I wanna get a spot on the couch before Indrid just completely boxes us out of the blankets.”

It’s not much of an exaggeration; Indrid has every blanket in the house piled on the couch, and is making grabby hands at Duck, who’s studying Joseph’s DVD collection. 

“Since you ain’t able to go out, thought maybe we could watch a flick or two here?”

“Oooh, or we could even have a movie marathon.”

“I’d love that, although our options in that case are The Lord of the Rings trilogy or all five of the Bigfoot: The Legend is Real movies. Number one and four are particularly good.”

Duck smiles at him, a crooked, charming thing that Joseph wants to kiss for hours, “Fuckin nerd.”

“I find it works for me. The box sets are right there.”

“Yessir.” Duck teases, grabbing the Bigfoot case and carrying it over to the T.V.

“Joseph, sit by me please.”

He slides under the offered blanket, only for Indrid to disappear.

“Wh-AH, ohgod, Indrid you’re freezing.”

“I ran cold in life and apparently it carried over into death. And while my fellow specters are lovely to cuddle you are so very, very warm.”

“GAH” He laughs as chilly fingers sneak under his sweater.

“Go easy on him, little moth.” The pet name is fond in Barclay’s mouth; at a guess, it’s referring to the tattoos peeking from the collar of Indrid’s black shirt. 

“Mmmm, you don’t mind, do you Joseph?” Indrid purrs. 

“Not a bit.” He manages to sling his arm over Indrid’s shoulder. Barclay settles on this other side, and once the opening titles blare across screen Duck hops under the blankets and kicks his legs into Indrid’s lap. 

Ten minutes in, Indrid is fully engrossed in the action, Duck is pointing out all the flaws in the park ranger’s behavior, and Barclay keeps whispering jokes in Joseph’s ear. 

When–between movie two and three–Duck suggests they order delivery from his favorite Chinese place, Joseph wonders if he actually did get hit by that car and ended up in paradise. 

By the time they’re midway through the fourth movie, the apartment smells like fried rice and Barclay is trying valiantly to rest his head in Joseph’s lap without going fully invisible. Indrid is half asleep on Duck, who pets his hair and brushes crumbs from the arm of the couch. 

When the final credits roll, Duck stretches out an arm, tracing the air just above Joseph’s arm, “You thought about how you wanna wrap up your Christmas Day?”

“If it were just me, I’d take a bath and have a nightcap. But, well, that isn’t exactly an interesting evening for my guests.”

“Don’t be so certain” Indrid tips his head to look over the rim of his glasses, “I think the sight of you in the tub would be quite diverting. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?”

“Hell yeah.” Duck grins.

“Barclay?” Joseph turns to the third ghost, whose hands are glued to his knees.

“I would do literally anything to see you naked.” He smacks his palms into his face, “that sounded more romantic in my head.”

“I think it was charming.” Indrid lilts. 

Joseph wishes for the hundredth time that night that he could just take Barclay’s hand, “I agree.” On a hunch, he adds, “come on, big guy, help me get undressed.”

He leads Barclay to the bathroom, starting the tap in the tub before turning to him and murmuring, “Okay, go ahead.”

The ghost disappears, and then spectral fingers hook the edge of his sweater. He obediently lifts his arms then watches, amused, as the sweater seems to fold and set itself on a chair. The process repeats with his blue t-shirt before his jeans are carefully undone and pulled to the floor. His underwear follows, and then for a moment he cannot figure out where Barclay’s gone. Then strong hands are on his hips and a deep voice asks, “Can I kiss you?”

He nods, lets Barclay initiate the kiss and then cups his hands on invisible cheeks. His lips tingle the way they do when he uses mint chapstick, and he sighs happily as Barclay dips his tongue between them. 

The tap squeaks off. 

“While this a most interesting sight, your bath is now ready, pet, and I suggest you get into it.”

He gasps, blushing at Indrid pegging the perfect, well, pet name immediately. 

“Yeah, he does that. Uses the futures to get all your fantasies outta you.” Duck whistles, “damn, slick, nice tub.”

“I took an apartment further from the bus stop just so I could have it.” He sinks into the hot water with a sigh, “it’s a lifesaver when it comes to relaxing after work.”

“Speakin of, uh, relaxation, ‘Drid and I spotted somethin mighty interesting on your bookshelf.”

He cringes, “Exorcise My Heart?”

“Yep. Explains why you weren’t freaked out by any of us comin’ onto you.”

“I promise the premise is better than it sounds. It’s about a ghost hunter who falls in love with the two spirits he’s been assigned to locate and remove from an old New England mansion. It’s a, um, a favorite of mine. But it’s not the only reason I was comfortable enough to flirt; the three of you are wonderful, I feel so relaxed and happy around you. Like I can be myself.”

Duck’s smile is brighter than the lights around the mirror.

“All the same, pet” Indrid isn’t visible, but his voice is getting closer, “it seems to me that such an accommodating host should be rewarded.”

“What do you have in mind?”

A splash as something slips into the water behind him, then lithe arms circle his waist and cold lips kiss his throat, “I say we do your book one better and have three ghosts enjoy themselves with you.”

“Yes, that sounds amazing, please, please can we do that?”

“Gladly, pet. Let me just–damn it, come on–okay there we are, I managed to banish my clothes somewhere. In theory your bedroom but I’m a bit distracted at the moment. Barclay, how about you join me?”

The green robe joins his bathrobe on the door, more clothes materializing in a stack as Barclay takes them off. When the water in front of him ripples, Joseph leans forward for a kiss. He breaks it a moment later with a gasp as a lubed  finger works itself into his ass.

“H-how-”

“I have some conjuring abilities that are not related to my work. Now, do tell us more about this book.”

“What about Duck?”

“You’re sweet, slick. But I’m gonna wait until you’re finished doin’ what ‘Drid says. Then I’m gonna use that nice mouth of yours until I cum.”

He groans, dick twitching at the thought, and does his best to form words while Barclay kisses his face and chest, “The, the best scene is when the ghosts decide to ambush the hunter in his bedroom. The, ahgod, the idea is to scare him but then they have to restrain him so he doesn’t use any cleansing tools on them and he gets turned on by it. So they end up tying his hands together and one of them fucks his ass while the other makes him deepthroat them. They end up spending the whole night using him so he’s too, too tired to bother them the next day.”

“Fuck, that’s hot.” Duck’s fly is undone, his fingers moving beneath his boxers.

“It really is. Relatedly, one, one of you please fuck me right now or I’m going to go out of my mind.”

“You go ahead, Barclay. In death, as in life, I am an ass man and it will take a little bit more preparation for that.”

Joseph shifts, straddling Barclay’s lap. 

A gentle hand strokes his face, “you ready?”

“Readyoh, oh” He drops his forehead to Barclay’s shoulder, “oh wow, big guy really is an accurate pet name huh?”

“You know it, babe. Fuck, you feel great, your so warm and tight it’s like fucking heaven.”

“Right, that’s all the patience I possess.” Indrid’s cock presses into his ass, “oh, oh goodness, pet you feel divine.”

“Th-thank you.”

“So polite too. That should be rewarded. Sweetheart, I think it’s time.”

Duck comes right to the edge of the tub before disappearing. Then a hand grabs Joseph’s hair and drags his face forward to meet slick folds and a very pleasing dick. He sucks eagerly, manages to run a hand along a thick, perfect thigh before squeezing his wonderful ass. 

Duck’s laugh bounces off the walls, “Damn, knew you were checkin my ass out but I didn’t realize how much you liked what you saw.”

Joseph pulls back with a gasp, “‘Like’ is an understatement. Your ass and thighs and belly were all made to be adored and god I hope everyone who ever saw you alive appreciated the honor of getting to see them.”

“Aw geez.”

“My, my, pet, he rarely blushes like that.”

“I mean every word.”

Fingers brush damp hair from his forehead, “Don’t doubt it, slick. But as much as I like you feelin me up, we got other plans.”

Cold fingers circle his wrists, wrenching his arms behind him and trapping them there. The resulting moan is muffled by Duck shoving his mouth back where it belongs. It doesn’t take long for the ghost to switch to holding his head in both hands and fucking his face as his moans grow more and more ragged. He tries to not seem too desperate for rough treatment the first time with a partner, but he knows there’s no reason to hide how badly he wants this, how good it feels as Barclay drives into him and Indrid snaps his hips and laughs at his resulting squeaks. 

He closes his eyes, loses himself in the whirl of sensations, and pictures what the scene would look like if the ghosts could be seen and felt at the same time. When fingers rub swift, calculated circles on his dick, he can’t tell whose hand it is, only that it feels incredible and is pushing him towards orgasm with remarkable speed.

“Oh yes, yes pet, tighten up for me, oh, ohohohyes.” Indrid digs his nails into his hips as he cums.

“Fuck, you look so gorgeous when you cum in him, sugar. Can you go a little harder big fella? Every time you do he sucks real nice.”

Barlcay holds him tighter just as Joseph  gasps and writhes with the most intense orgasm of his life. As his cock thrusts harder and harder, his legs kick and on instinct he tries to twist away from the overwhelming sensation. 

“Uh uh, you’re not done babe, don’t worry, I got you, god you feel good, gonna make you feel so good too, fuck, fuck.” A kiss smushes into his cheek as Barclay cums in him with a long, low moan. His jaw is starting to ache but he keeps sucking all the same until Duck cums too, hips shuddering and bucking as he does. 

“You’re fuckin amazin’” A hand ruffles his hair and then Duck is visible, kneeling by the tub, “you doin’ okay.”

“I think every circuit of my brain is blown out, but yes. I feel incredible.”

Duck smiles softly, “I’ll get you that nightcap.”

Once Barclay pulls out, the three of them stumble from the tub, Barclay bundling him in his robe while Indrid kisses his face and tells him how wonderful and good and perfect he is. Duck meets them in bed with a tray of spiked eggnogs, the four of them cuddling and huddling in bed as the snow whips around outside. When eleven thirty hits, Joseph loses his battle with unconsciousness. 

He wakes up at seven on the 26th, tries to ignore the horrible, empty feeling in his chest as he stands and shuffles into the kitchen. There’s a new note on the fridge, held in place by a heart shaped magnet. 

Going to talk to head office about more holiday visits. Will sneak up here for New Years Eve regardless. 

See you soon, handsome

-Barclay, Duck, and Indrid. 

#OT4: government men and their cryptid boyfriends #winter fills #indruck #sternclay #agent stern/duck newton #inclay #agent stern/indrid cold #ghost boyfriends #trans agent stern #trans duck newton

[thiswasinevitableid]

Spring Awakening (OT4)

The “continuation” winner was eldritch OT4! You can read as a stand alone but the first part is very good.  Mild content warning: the prompt does mean there are references to body horror. There are also references towards breeding, but none actually occurs.

Winter has never been Indrid’s favorite season; it’s cold, the first chunk of it is spent with everyone telling him to give thanks and be cheery, and his van always malfunctions more. 

Now he has a new reason: one of his boyfriends hibernates.

It was just after Thanksgiving that Duck told him and Joseph what would happen. 

“It ain’t a full hibernation; I won’t be dead to the world.” Duck’s in his human form, which he favors for serious discussions. Indrid appreciates this, as it’s easier to read emotion on a round, friendly face than an incomprehensible mass of plant matter and ancient divinity, “but when growing things go to sleep, I go with ‘em. I’m alert enough, even in my sleep, to make sure the house keeps standing and that you two are taken care of. Not to mention this big fella will still be here.” He tips his head towards Barclay, whose resting in his bigfoot form by the fire

Joseph had a number of follow-up questions, but Indrid’s main concern was whether Duck would want them to touch him or take care of him while he slept. Phlox poked out of Duck’s shoulders as he smiled and said he’d appreciate it. 

That’s why Indrid is sitting in a nook of their cabin, stroking approximately at Duck’s shoulder; his human form is all but gone, and his eldritch one seems to be melding with the wall of the cabin. A tingle runs through his fingers, as if he was running them over the tips of fresh grass. 

Barclay is elsewhere gathering his offerings, and Joseph has been on assignment for over a month. Indrid ought to go into town and check the P.O box before it starts snowing again. But he doesn’t want to leave Duck’s side, the warmth radiating from the core of his form. 

“I’m going to run some errands, sweetheart. I won’t be long” He leans down, kissing a dark patch of corn silk. 

As he pulls on his jacket, a voice in the air drawls, faintly, “See you soon, darlin.”

He stops first at the general store, Leo waving to him as he helps himself to the small shelf of arts and crafts supplies. Neither Barclay nor Duck can quite manage to make drawing paper, so every few weeks he buys a new sketchbook for his commissions. 

The post office is full of racks of pink, white, and red, all signs of the impending holiday. Valentines’ Day fascinates Barclay, and has promised Indrid he’ll do something special for the two of them, and Indrid’s fairly certain he spotted him trying to make snowflakes take the form of hearts.

He opens the P.O box, pulling out flyers for the dehumidifier store and the strange waterpark on the edge of town; they only have the box  is because the farmhouse by the field has no known address. And a tendency to move around from side road to side road.

Under the multi-colored fliers is a single postcard. It’s a photo of Lake Mendota, with a little, serpentine monster drawn on in pen. He flips it over with a smile.

Dear Indrid, Barclay, and Duck,

Madison is about how I remember it. I can’t say much about the case, other than so far I’ve been right about everything and the other agents lost a car to the thing we’re investigating. 

Indrid, you should come here with me sometime when I’m not working. Might sister keeps demanding to know when I’m going to introduce you, and there’s a lot of excellent places to get ice cream and baked goods. We could even bring some back for Barclay and Duck if we timed it right. 

I miss you all so much. I can’t wait to come home. 

Love, 

-Joseph. 

There’s a meticulously drawn heart after the name. Indrid tucks it safely in his coat pocket and steps back into the cold. 

—------------------------------------------------------------

The frost makes it much harder to feel the decay of the stray fruits and layers of leaves blanketing the earth. So much so that Barclay spends most of his hunting for offerings in town; the high school has something called “home ec” where students' attempts at cooking sometimes end in a trash can of burnt offerings. From the taste of the cake he just finished, the baker would have produced something stunning had they watched the oven more closely. 

Where his body takes in the decay in the deeper layers of the earth, he feels familiar footfalls and Indrid’s voice on the wind. He concentrates his being on the spot, taking his more mortal form in front of the bundled-up human. 

“Hey, little moth. What do you need?”

“I…” Indrid peers hesitantly up at him, “I was hoping you had some time to spend with me today. It’s been a few since I really saw you, and with Duck asleep and Joseph away-”

“Think I get the drift.” He wraps his arms around the human, resting his chin atop his head, “time is weird for us, so thanks for telling me.”

“May I say something silly?”

“Sure thing.” 

“I miss Duck so much. Which is ridiculous, and greedy, I have you and Joseph and that should be more than enough but it isn’t.”

“If we were interchangeable, you wouldn’t want all three of us. I mean, I miss Joseph when he’s gone for, like, a day, even if I spend that whole time making a pillow burrow with you. Pillow fort?”

“Fort.” Indrid mumbles against him, “I feel so selfish, wishing spring would come just so Duck could hold me, really hold me, again.”

“You’re not selfish, little moth.” He nudges Indrid’s hood back and kisses silver hair, “but I got an idea. What are missing most right now?”

Indrid hums, “The way he sort of...envelops me sometimes. Like he did the night we first met; heavy and comforting on top of me, touching me everywhere, like I, I’m something worth treasuring.”

“He and I sure as fuck agree on that part. And I think I have something that might tide you over until spring. Close your eyes for me.”

The human obeys and Barclay unfurls himself, his fur peeling out and away, his body spinning into its true form, mouths tasting the air, the earth, the leaves on the trees and the mushrooms sleeping beneath them. 

He wraps himself tenderly around Indrid, taking care to keep his head and neck free; according to Duck, humans tend to panic if you confine their heads. Indrid sighs as he registers the pressure of Barclay around him. Of his human lovers, Indrid is the one who enjoys being bound and trapped this much; Joseph adores when Barclay holds him down or cuffs him to a headboard or branch, but anything more than that turns the excitement in those blue eyes to fear. 

His hands find Indrid’s zippers and buttons as his pelt slides beneath his feet, insulating him from the snowy ground. 

“Ohhhhh it’s so warm like this.” Indrid’s muscles relax and Barclay clings tighter to be sure he stays upright. Peeling Indrid’s clothes off layer by layer, more and more of Barclay’s hands emerge, eager to join the fun. Before Indrid, he never gave much thought to the texture of his fur. Now his human presses and twists his body against it, biting his lip as his cock rubs along a patch of it. Barclay smiles and his mouths multiply, kissing up long legs as his hands grope his ass, caress his face, tease his chest in hopes of showing him how much he deserves. 

“That’s, that’s so lovely, I-OH” Indrid laughs, “what was that hand made of? It tickled.”

“Uh, like, mossy reeds? You mean this one right?” He rubs Indrid’s stomach and the human laughs again, much louder this time.

“Indeed.” He squirms as several hands find his cock, one thumbing the tip while another strokes the shaft and a third teases his balls, “I, Barclay please I want, I want…”

“Want what?” He rumbles.

“Cover me up all the way, please. I know why you’re, you’re being cautious but I’m not afraid. I know you’ll let me go if I ask.”

Barclay pushes his form up, cocooning Indrid and discovering instantly that this means he can now kiss his lips and cheeks, run his hands through his hair the way people do in the movies Indrid watches curled up on the couch some nights. 

Pleasure is an odd thing when his body is once formless and concrete, not nearly as straightforward as when Barclay is in his mortal disguise. The most sensitive part of him when he’s like this are his mouths, and so he devours Indrid with kisses, savoring each little memory and feeling they bring to his tongues. 

Indrid’s cries turn wordless when a soft, fork-tongued moth finds his cock and sucks hungrily. Human fingers cling to his fur and Barclay revels in the touch, in the pleasure of bringing Indrid this close, of being able to keep him safe, warm, and happy, all while he writhes in delight and cums with an adorable squeak. 

Barclay twists and turns his body through space, bringing them back to the cabin and depositing Indrid into bed. 

“I love you” Indrid purrs, eyes bleary with joy when Barclay removes the red glasses and sets them on the little stand Duck made for them so they wouldn’t keep getting lost. 

“Love you too, little moth.” As he brings his mortal disguise back, a single, green vine snakes up the bed and slowly tugs a thick, mothman patterned blanket over Indrid’s body. Then it picks up the mothman plush from the corner and tucks it into Indrid’s arms.

“Thank you, my sweet.” Indrid gazes towards Duck. 

The vine caresses his cheek as it retreats and the floor creaks, “rest up, darlin.” 

Barclay plants a final kiss on Indrid’s forehead, then goes to see if he can recreate the home ec cake without the char. 

—----------------------------------------------------------

First, the case took twice as long as anticipated. Then there was the deposition in a Michigan case from last year that finally went to trial. Finally, to top it all off, his flight was delayed for two days. 

All this is to say, the most pressing thought on Joseph’s mind is how fast he can drive without putting the car in a snowbank. 

When the “Welcome to Kepler” sign finally comes into view, he relaxes his grip on the wheel and carefully navigates into the library parking lot. It’s a half hour to closing, and the snow is a half-foot high on the book drop. He knocks his boots against the mat and crosses the pine-tree green carpet to return the stack of books he took on his trip. Since he has a few minutes to spare, he scans the new books shelf and the rows of romance for titles for himself or Indrid. 

As he stacks a copy of Red Hot Ranch on paperback of A History of Mysteries, he spots the new sheriff and gives him a friendly nod. The man gives him a tight smile in return and ducks behind a shelf. 

His initial return to Kepler after being tossed into the field as a sacrifice had been so shocking that the previous sheriff fainted when Joseph stepped into the room to explain why he, and the mayor, were being arrested for kidnapping and wrongful imprisonment. Joseph knows Duck needed the energy from the sacrifices, and that he let all but a few go, but that’s no excuse for non-consensually offering people up to him. 

After the arrests, he mentioned to the interim mayor that he’d be setting up a satellite office in Kepler, since there was a lot of paranormal activity in the area. Then he made damn sure that the tail they put on him followed him all the way back to the abandoned farmhouse and watched as he stepped out of the car and into the cornfield, the stalks parting to show him the way back to the cabin. 

In a way, the people in town are more afraid of him than of Indrid, in spite of them both surviving stints in the cornfield with their memories intact and then taking up residence there. He suspects they think Indrid–with his otherworldly face and aloof demeanor–is a god himself. It’s a fair conclusion, given that every tomato plant, pumpkin vine, and apple tree in town got an unexpected, final wave of fruit when he arrived. Which means they think Joseph is the only human in town able to walk with gods without fear. 

He sets his books in the passenger seat and makes his final stop; Indrid asked him to pick up a few groceries on his way home. He tucks a bottle of hard cider next to the toothpaste, hoping he and Indrid can split it tomorrow while watching horror movies on the bed (he bought them some solar cell packs, as neither Duck nor Barclay have much sway over electricity).

Before the field, his last time having sex while tipsy was back in college and not particularly memorable. The more drinking became a social necessity for his work, where he was already seen as unusual and too buttoned-up, the more he was careful to never let his guard down and enjoy himself, unwilling to give his co-workers fodder to further discredit him. 

The past October, he and Indrid had decided to take a picnic into the field and watch Orionid Meteor Shower, the evening still carrying traces of summer. Duck made them a dome of corn husks and sunflower stalks to eat under, the dirt turning to a carpet of impossibly soft clover as they sat down. They’d drunk something honeyed and definitely alcoholic that Duck made them and traded bites of pear cake Barclay prepared as the sliver of a moon rose. 

Dinner was barely done before they were tangled together on the ground, making out with all the excitement and carelessness of far younger men. Then Indrid was on his back, humming as Joseph sat on his face, laughing because it felt nice and because he could. By the end of it there was slick on Indrid’s chin and cum on Joseph’s thigh, neither of them particularly interested in fucking full-on when there was so much of each other to enjoy. 

Then they’d lain on their backs and the dome opened, revealing an infinity of stars as tendrils of grass stroked their hair and the clover turned to thick, soft fur. 

God help him, if the farmhouse isn’t around this next corner he’s going to offroad to cut his time getting there. Snow be damned. 

He’s saved from this poor decision by the familiar silhouette, and turns towards home. Once parked, he retrieves his bags and steps towards the field. The withered stalks try to bend, but can’t get far. Watching them, he understands the worry in Indrid’s voice the last time they spoke on the phone; knowing Duck is at a low power is one thing, seeing the signs of him weakened is another. 

As he’s wondering if he can get to the cabin from memory, a form materializes from the snow. 

“Hey, blue eyes.” 

“Hi, big guy.” Joseph tips his face up so Barclay can kiss him, a hint of winter bonfire and cardamom on his tongue. 

“Lemme get those.” Several more arms appear on his bigfoot form, taking Joseph’s things with ease. Walking close to him seems to stave off the cold, and furry, warm arm rests on his shoulders as Barclay asks about the trip. 

When they reach the cabin, the god sets the bags on the table and the suitcase on the bed. Joseph kneels down to the mass of glowing fungus and twisted plant life and takes the nearest vine in his hands, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. 

“Just letting you know I’m home.”

“Missed you, sugar.” The reply seems to come from the stalks rattling outside the windows. 

The back door creaks and Indrid steps into the main cabin; Duck built him a little art studio–complete with pencils and paints conjured from plants– so he didn’t have to always go into the one he teaches at in town. 

“Welcome home, pet.” Indrid drapes his arms over Joseph’s shoulders. There’s charcoal on his cheek, and Joseph wipes it away before kissing him. Indrid grins when they part, “I have some business with you, agent.”

“I hoped as much.”

“Barclay, will you be joining us?”

“Not as much as I want to.” The god sighs, “The freeze is deep this year, and on top of that, humans seem to burn themselves out on cooking and canning after the new year. So I need to forage a bit more tonight.” He kisses them both goodbye and then he’s gone.

Joseph unpacks his things in a hurry, knowing he won’t be able to enjoy himself with Indrid if the laundry isn’t in the hamper and the groceries aren’t put away. Indrid makes no comment other than asking what on earth can rip the tire off an SUV. As they talk, the domesticity of it all overwhelms him; a home like this with someone used to be no less out of reach than living in a cabin in a cornfield with two eldritch beings. 

“You know, when I was zig-zagging about the states I–oh” Indrid smiles as Joseph gently backs him against the counter for a kiss, “shall I leave the last bag for later?”

“Please.”

Indrid laughs, allowing Joseph to pull him to the bed. Then his grin turns wicked and Joseph is trapped on his back, his boyfriend calling, “Barclay? A moment of assistance?”

Black, fur-lined cuffs appear on his wrist, leather cord leading from each to the headboard. As Indrid fetches a matching collar from a peg on the wall, Joseph groans, “I haven’t gotten to touch you in weeks and this is what you do to me?”

“As much as I love your attentive touches” Indrid closes the collar around Joseph’s throat, “we both know that when you’ve been overwhelmed with work, what you truly need is to be taken.”

“Yes” He closes his eyes, lifts his hips and shifts his legs to help Indrid undress him. He’s still in a dress shirt, but rather than uncuffing him a moment Indrid opts to leave it unbuttoned and shove the undershirt up to kiss his stomach before retreating to remove his pajamas. 

When his boyfriend finally pushes his cock into him they groan in comic unison. Indrid rests their foreheads together and murmurs, “I missed you so much, pet. So much.”

Hands unable to comfort him, Joseph kisses his chin and jaw, “I’m here now.”

Indrid licks his lips, “So you are.”

His boyfriend takes his time, thrusts slow and steady while languidly kissing Joseph to capture his moans. Eventually his hand slips between them, rubbing Joseph’s dick. The collar no longer feels inanimate; now it’s Barclay’s hand, reaching across acres to close around his throat and remind him to be a good boy. 

When he cums it’s with a pent up moan from over a month without the attention he ached for. Indrid switches to quick thrusts, joining him with a little gasp. Once he pulls out, Indrid rolls over, only managing to wiggle his pajama pants back on before cuddling into Joseph’s arms. He pets his boyfriend’s back, tracing his fingers over his tattoos, and spots a single, glowing eye watching them from Duck’s spot. 

He hopes he enjoyed the show. 

Joseph blows a kiss. The eye winks, playful, and then it’s gone. 

—---------------------------------------------------------

On March 7th, Joseph and Indrid wake up to snowdrops peeking through the floor. Joseph says “that’s a good sign” as Indrid sprints across the cabin to where Duck’s form is looking more human by the moment. 

“Hey, darlin. Hey, city boy.” Duck shifts positions, sitting up for the first time in two months. Skin is always the last thing to form on him, so Joseph feels as if he’s looking at an anatomical drawing where the sinews are swapped for roots and stems. 

“Do you need anything?” Indrid’s hands are flapping as Duck yawns and stretches. 

“Nah, I’m okay for now, sugar. It’ll take me a few days, maybe even a few weeks, to be able to do much more’n sit here and talk. By the by, that tree in the orchard that the storm took out is gonna make for some real nice soil. Good job on the decay, big fella.”

“Thanks, man.” The rug by the fire yawns, pushing up onto many hands as Barclay’s bigfoot form takes shape, “feels like there might be more mushroom this year, I kept running into their mycelium.”

“That’ll be nice, gets folks out and foraging, which I like to see. Uh” his posture turns sheepish, “sorry, shouldn’t talk shop when y’all been missin’ me, but I always wake up with all this info about how spring is gonna go.”

“I do not care what you talk about” Indrid takes an earthy hand, “I’ve missed hearing your full voice too much.”

“And I, sadly, have to be at work in forty-five minutes. Catch me up at dinner?”

“Yes” the three respond as one. 

The stalks still struggle to form a path as he walks out. But when he gets to his car, crocuses bloom in the shape of a heart by the driver-side door. 

When he arrives home that night, Duck has hair and a thin layer of skin and as wrapped in a robe of new leaves, Indrid perched in his lap. Joseph takes up a similar position in Barclay’s lap, breathing in crisp air as his boyfriend nuzzles his throat. They stay up well past midnight, just talking, and Joseph is glad tomorrow is Saturday. 

He’s even more grateful for this when he’s awoken in the early morning by a yelp. Indrid, who was a moment ago on his side, asleep, is now being dragged across the floor to where the swirling mass of Duck’s true form is gathering in the center of the room. Even seeing it dozens of times, Joseph’s brain rebels at defining the shape as anything more general than “big” and “covered in bioluminescent patches to act as eyes.” At least he can tell that Indrid isn’t being dragged as he first thought; a tendril of green has his ankle, but he’s being spirited towards Duck by a carpet of small, purple flowers. 

“I, I thought you said you wouldn’t need this kind of, of intensitEEP” Indrid squirms as his clothes are thrown to the other side of the room, “for a few weeks, when, when spring started in earnest and brought your energy with it.”

“That’s how it’s happened every year for longer than anyone can remember. But this year, you’re here, sugar. You put more energy into me just from cuddlin’ yesterday than I’d normally gather in a month. Which means I’m fuckin’ ravenous and it’s time for my little offering to do his job.”

Indrid moans, body fully off the ground in the vines sprouting from the floor and ceiling. Reality bends and cracks so abruptly that Joseph gets a headache. Then Duck’s human form is standing their, studying Indrid. 

“You ready for this?”

“Yes, yesyes, Duck please”

The god takes Indrid’s face in his hands, and for a moment everything, even the air, is still. Joseph wonders what Duck is looking for, if he sees things in Indrid Joseph’s human eyes will never perceive. 

Even tied up, Indrid manages to lean forward and kiss Duck. When he pulls back, the god’s smile is achingly human in its affection. 

Then Indrid cries out as a tendril pushing into his ass, the noise muffled as another finds his mouth. Some of the plant matter pulls him to his knees, bright red flowers spreading out around him as another vine circles his dick and a fourth begins twining up his body.

To Joseph’s surprise, Duck’s attention shifts to him.

“Now, if I recall correctly, city boy, I ain’t shown you all my dicks just yet.”

“I, I cataloged five so far” His tongue is sticking in his mouth and his sleep pants are already a mess. As Duck prowls towards him, he seems to become more solid, more real, with every step.

“Clothes off. Now.”

Joseph obeys as thin, flexible tree branches extend from the wall to fasten his collar in place. Duck manhandles him into his lap, facing Joseph away from him, vines spinning Indrid to face them at the same time. 

The scene across from makes any porn he’s seen look tamer than a Disney kiss. It’s as if all the plant life emerging from Duck’s renewed energy is reaching for Indrid, leaves forming into hands to pull his head back, vines working his cock, binding his thighs to the ground, and tugging at his nipple piercings, while the main two fuck him so deeply it’s as if they’re trying to touch inside him. Tears are coming down Indrid’s cheeks and he’s thrashing with every thrust. 

“Duck? Is, can you tell if he’s alright?”

Hands the temperature of sun-warmed dirt slip around his waist to caress his chest and stomach, “Yeah, darlin, I can. I’ll feel if he needs to stop before he even has a chance to say it.” A kiss on his cheek, gardenia tickling his nose, “thanks for lookin out for him. You want me to show you somethin’ new?”

“Yes, please.”

The head of the cock slides in so suddenly he doesn’t get a chance to look at it. Staring down, he can only see the base, which resembles a hibiscus flower in shape and color. Rather than pushing into him, the base cups his body, and the “petals” begin undulating, stroking his cock and folds deliciously. The cock inside him feels pretty plain, though now and then it seems to ripple.

“I gonna get to get in on the action?”

Joseph’s head snaps up to find Barclay idly stroking his cock as he watches Indrid. 

The vines holding Indrid shove him forward, offering Barclay a much better view of his ass as Duck says, “you can have as much of Joe as you want. But just for today, ‘Drid is all mine.”

“Got it.” Barclay stands, “not like it’s a bummer to just fuck you, blue eyes.” A short, thick, rounded cock bumps his mouth, “open up baby.”

Joseph takes the cock into his mouth, the tightly packed bumps on it already each moving on their own. It’s a wonderful, novel feeling on his tongue and he sucks happily as little growls come from above him. The pressure on his own dick changes, speeding up and pushing him towards his orgasm. He tries to pull off and say this, but Duck holds his head in place, forcing him to keep the cock in his mouth.

“I know city boy, I can tell you’re close. I’m glad you’re havin’ fun, but you cummin’ ain’t what stops this.”

He whimpers happily and surrenders to his orgasm. He can’t see Indrid anymore, but Duck seems to have stopped fucking this throat, and desperate, ecstatic moans are coming from just out of sight. 

“Mmmm, forgot how good you feel, city boy.”

He finds Duck’s hands and squeezes them, snickering when flowers follow the path of his thumbs. 

“That’s it, fuck, you both feel so fuckin good, I’m, I’m gonna-” There’s a grunt like a tree groaning in the wind and then something bursts from the cock inside him, hundreds of disctint sensations, all buzzing. The portion on the outside of his body doesn’t let up in the slightest, and the shaft inside begins not only expanding but pulsing.

“Feel that?” Duck growls in his ear, “told you I had one that had seeds that’d fill you up and get you off at the same time. But that ain’t all” another pulse and Duck purrs, “y’know what it’s doin?”

Joseph manages to shake his head.

“It’s trying to keep ‘em all in and push ‘em as deep as they can go.” A hand slides to Joseph’s stomach, “heard all kinds of stories about humans gettin’ bred by gods like us.”

Words like that would bother him with anyone else, but Duck’s grasp of human genders is shaky at best, and he knows this doesn’t change how his boyfriend sees him. Also that Duck, would never actually do something like that without seriously checking with him first.

So he surrenders to the fantasy, spreading his legs wider to feel the base of the cock widen to keep everything in. 

 “Fuck, you like that blue eyes?” Barclay groans, “then once Duck is done I oughta have a turn. See if I can make it so all you can do is burrow up with me and let me take care of you.”

“Good thinking. We’ll both try today. Whoever’s takes, the other guy will get to put the next one in him. Not, not like I can’t make this cabin big as we need it to be.”

Barclay cums down Joseph’s throat, and the sensation is so overwhelming combined with the way Duck is fucking him that Joseph cums again, certain he’s squirted as well.

“Fuck yeah” Duck holds him down as the cock pushes deeper, “see, your body wants us to know just how bad you want this.”

“Yes” he gasps, Barclay holding his face up so he can watch him come apart, “yes, god please”

“Your wish is my command, darlin.” Duck moans and another wave of cum pulses into him, then another, and another, the vibrations finding all the right spots inside him and he cums a third time, helplessly crying out as Barclay tells him he was made for this. 

Then Duck pulls out and waves of something faintly blue drip down Joseph’s legs as Barclay cleans him and bundles him up into the bed. Indrid is limp in the vines, cum noticeable on the floor, and Duck scoops him up to carry him over, whispering all the while about how much he loves him, how amazing he is, how he’ll always take care of him. 

As Indrid curls against him, Joseph murmurs, “Was that okay? They didn’t ignore you for my sake?”

His boyfriend smiles weakly, “First, pet, do not underestimate how much I enjoy seeing you ruined. But more importantly, Duck was with me, too. A benefit of his nature, I would say.”

“No kidding.” Joseph kisses him softly as Duck and Barclay cuddle up with them, the whole house moving to prepare them breakfast and clean the floor. And when Joseph steps outside after a long nap, he finds the entire structure covered in spring blooms. 

#monster march #OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends #indruck #sternclay #inclay #agent stern/duck newton #trans agent stern #agent stern/Indrid Cold #terato #monster boyfriend #human/monster romance

[thiswasinevitableid]

44 OT4 NSFW?

44. I’m a noir detective and you’re the hot mysterious person who just slunk into my office the week before Christmas.

(This takes place slightly more than a week before christmas)

The radiator rattles like a dying man. Joseph ignores it; they’ve only got the cash to repair one thing this winter and the upstairs radiator is a week out from full shut-down. And he doubts Duck wants to act as his makeshift blanket when it does. 

He looks out the window, the lights of a dozen apartment windows and storefronts staring back at him, all decked out in their Christmas best. It’d look better with snow, but the City of Angels insists on being a temperate paradise. 

Right as he’s about to sit down and continue his bookkeeping, there are two, sharp, raps on the door. He calls for them to come, running a hand over his hair as he settles into his worn office chair. 

A tall, slender man with white-blonde hair steps over the threshold. The only hint of color in his wardrobe is the pair of red-tinted glasses perched on his nose, one that’s as angular and striking as the rest of his face. 

Indrid Cold. 

Joseph would have been less shocked if the president had walked into his office. 

Indrid Cold, whose father owned half the city and the people in it. Indrid Cold, one half of a twin pair of sons never seen outside of their father’s shadow. Indrid Cold, who until yesterday was a suspect in his father’s murder.

“Going by your expression, I suspect I do not need to introduce myself.” The voice from those thin lips is lilting, nothing like the icicle sharp tone Joseph heard the one time he encountered his father and brother. 

“That’s right.”

“And am I speaking to Mr. Newton or Mr. Stern?” He cocks his head.

Joseph extends a hand, “Joseph Stern.”

Indrid shakes it with chilly fingers, “In that case, Mr. Stern, I require you and your partner’s help. Not in solving my father’s murder, as you are about to assume. The police are swarming about that business like so many ants.”

“And you trust them to solve it?”

“To be frank, my interest in the culprit extends only to whether they are someone who would like me dead as well. Which is where you come in. You and Mr.Newton will serve a dual function; you will join me at my home in the mountains to provide a degree of security. And you will work out who tried to shoot me two days ago.”

Joseph raises an eyebrow, “You seem very confident we’ll take the case. Even though it carries a non-zero chance of being shot and attaching ourselves to potentially one of the biggest scandals of the decade.”

“It will be worth your while. I can pay a hundred dollars a day to each of you, and cover any expenses. Then there’s the fact you’ll have room and board during your stay, and the twenty thousand I’ll pay if you find out who attempted to cut my life short.”

He keeps his face flat and says nothing; it’s a tempting offer, more money in one job than they make in a year. But there’s a gnawing in his stomach, one he’s learned the hard way to not ignore. 

Indrid removes his glasses, cleaning them on his sleeve, “You are also likely to take it because of your, shall we say, disreputable pasts. The ones that mean even with all your skills and successes, Mr. Newton has to work evenings as bouncer at some unsavory establishments and you yourself must take the occasional job that’s no more than being a glorified peeping tom. The pasts that are the reason I am bringing this job to you” amber eyes meet his own and Joseph sees his calm for what it truly is; a rabbit holding stone-still under the gaze of a hawk, certain it’s about to be eaten. 

“Your father paid off or pissed off all the cops and respectable detectives?”

“Precisely.” The glasses slot back into place, “I need help. You can provide it, or you can go back to taking pictures through windows. What shall it be?”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

“You sure we ain’t passed it?” Duck cranes his neck as Joe steers them around yet another hairpin turn in the San Gabriel’s. 

“Positive. He said the gate is ‘impossible to miss.’”

“Someone must be really pissed if they hauled ass all the way out here to try and off him.”

“Apparently it happened in the city; he was on his way back from the police station. The friend who was with him, Mr. Cobb, saw the gun in the reflection of a store window and dragged him down behind a car.”

“We gonna get the chance to confirm that with the guy?”

“We should. He lives with Mr. Cold full time as a cook. Aha, finally.” The car slows in front of a twelve foot tall iron gate with flames twisted into the metalwork. Joe hits the intercom and after a moment the shining mouth of the estate opens. The house itself isn’t quite a mansion, but it sure as hell isn't a cozy cottage for two. 

As they wait in it’s shadow for someone to open the front door, a gust of wind makes them both shudder. 

“Damn, forget how cold it gets up here. Who knows, slick, maybe you’ll finally get some snow.”

“Maybe.” Joe’s hands are in his pockets and he knows without looking that he’s worrying his palms with his nails. Duck doesn’t blame him for being nervous; stepping into the Cold’s orbit is like shoving your hand into a rattlesnake burrow and hoping nothing bites

The door opens on a man who towers over the six foot tall Joe. His short beard and shaggy hair are both auburn, his clothes are sensible outdoor wear, and there’s dirt under his nails. 

Duck likes him instantly. 

“Come on in, Indrid’s expecting you. I, uh, I’m Barclay” he holds out a large hand for each of them to shake in turn. Joe’s cheeks are pinker than they were a moment ago and Duck fights back a laugh; Joseph Stern may swear he’s straight, but put him near a big man with a soft voice and a sweet smile and he goes rose-colored. 

“Ah, I am glad you found the house. It’s so far into the hills that even I sometimes fear I’ve somehow gone past it.”

See, this is why Duck didn’t snicker at Joe’s little blush. Because now he’s staring up a staircase at Indrid Cold and his heart is bouncing like a dog at a stick. The newspaper photos don’t do him justice, don’t convey how his strange features meld together into something Duck never wants to look away from. 

Indrid shakes their hands and shows them to their room, Barclay helping them with their luggage as clouds darken the windows. Their room is bigger than the apartment above their office, with two, huge beds instead one murphy bed and one couch that they alternate sleeping on. 

“The house is yours to wander as you need, and you’re welcome to ask Barclay or myself for assistance should you need it. As I told Mr. Stern, it’s just Barclay and myself here.” He taps his fingers together, “will you be needing anything from us this afternoon?”

“You mind giving us a little tour so we can get a lay of the land?” Duck tosses his hat on the bed as Joseph carefully hangs his on a hook.

“Oh! Of course, a very good idea. Right this way.”

As Indrid leads them through the cavernous house, Duck is struck by how different it is from its sleek, dull exterior. The rooms are painted bright colors, there’s stunning art on every wall, and even the Christmas tree is decked in pink and gold. The garden is a bit overrun, but there’s a swimming pool and a row of climbing vines positioned near the house. When Duck comments on them being a good choice for the climate, Indrid smiles. 

“Thank you. I’m afraid I rather pestered the gentleman at the garden store working out which things could actually thrive here.” He looks out over the covered rose bushes, “this has been ‘my’ house ever since I turned eighteen. Apollo laid claim to the house on the beach, and my father always preferred his penthouse in the city. I find the woods inspire me, don’t you.”

Duck smiles wistfully, “Yeah, I really do.”

When the tour ends, Indrid excuses himself to work on his art until dinner. Duck and Joe use that same span of time to unpack. His partner is quiet, which means he’s thinking, and Duck lets him. 

Dinner is a simple pot roast that he crams into his face faster than is polite. Which is better than Joe does; he full on moans when he takes a bite, causing Barclay’s eyes to widen comically before he collects himself. 

By the time they say goodnight, Indrid has been at his side most of the evening, asking him questions and seeming fascinated by his knowledge of plants, which may be the most good it’s done him in years. 

“Try not to get too friendly.” Joe says as he removes his tie.

Duck locks the bedroom door, “I’m just bein’ polite. We’re their guests. Besides, thought you said Indrid had been officially cleared as a suspect by the cops.”

“He has, but we both know that means very little.” His partner sighs, “we should stay close to them when possible, both to fulfill the bodyguard end of the agreement and see if we can learn what’s going on here. Just…just be careful, okay? Alistair Cold didn’t get where he was without manipulation, and I’d bet he passed those skills to his sons. Which means the line between ‘useful close’ and ‘dangerous close’ with Indrid Cold is thin.”

Joe has a point, but he’s using that voice that makes Duck feel like his partner thinks he’s nothing more than a clueless hick. Which is why all he says is, “Don’t worry slick, I won’t let anyone know you’re jealous that someone else is gettin’ my attention.”

The other detective fixes him with a stern stare, “Go to hell.”

“Gonna go do some rounds instead. Make sure the place is secure.” He tips a hat that isn’t there and steps into the hall. 

As he double checks doors and windows (including testing that his key matches all the locks; Indrid swore only himself, Barclay, and the two detectives had keys to his new locks, but Duck wants to be sure), his thoughts keep wandering back upstairs to Joe. They’ve been partners for two years, and he’s damn grateful that he got paired with a guy whose brain puts Einstein to shame and a face that’d make Cary Grant jealous. He just wishes Joe weren’t wound so tight he can hear his bones cracking. 

And at least three times a week, he wishes he could slap him. Not because he’s mad at him or wants him to suffer. Because he bets those blue eyes would look even better all teary and that Joe would cry out and moan so sweetly when he did it. And then he’d let Duck do more, give him the green light to do every vicious, indulgent thing he’s been too scared to ask for until the other man is a bruised, bitten, fucked-out mess. 

He pads into the living room, stops when he sees two figures asleep on the couch. Indrid stirs, letting out a sleep mumble, before turning to bury his face in Barclays chest. Duck creeps backward to let the lovers be. He’s glad they have each other. 

Because in his fantasies, when the debauchery is done, all he wants is to pull Joe into that too-tiny bed of theirs and hold him until dawn. 

—--------------------------------------------------------

Christmas carols drift from the record player downstairs as Indrid sits in bed, sketching the images of a dream before they fly away. This will be the first Christmas he can remember without endless holiday parties and people sending him lavish gifts that always came with favors to fulfill, without his father hissing for him to act normal and Apollo mocking him every chance he gets. 

It’s the best Christmas ever, even accounting for the probability of being shot. 

Then again, that probability has led to two more charming, handsome men under his roof, which softens the sting. Joseph, gorgeous as he is, still seems wary– of him, and of everything–Indrid understands the sentiment and so tries not to begrudge him his caution. He also walked into the kitchen last morning to find the detective and Barclay having an animated discussion about movies, so maybe one day he’ll see them as friends and not suspects. 

Then there’s Duck, sturdy and understated in his many charms. Indrid would do a great many things for a peek at what’s beneath his slacks and would murder someone for one kiss of that crooked smile.

A knock on the door and a drawl asking if he’s up. 

“One moment.” He stands and, curious as to what will happen, reaches for a thin, short, silk robe instead of the heavy one he wears most days, “alright, you can come in.”

Duck opens the door, “Mornin’, I was wondering if…if uh, if we could, uh.” His eyes are fixed on Indrid’s legs. He can feel them staying there as he wanders to his dresser in search of a water glass. 

“Is there something you wanted to discuss?” Indrid tries not to smile as Duck’s reflection actually shakes itself back into focusing. 

“Yeah, uh, I wanted to go back over the orders you made for the locks. From what you’ve told me about your brother, I think we oughta check to see if there was any way another key was made or if someone sent him the lock diagrams so he could have one made on his own. 

It’s a good idea, but Indrid is more relieved by the fact Duck takes his suspicion of Apollo seriously. His twin was the golden child, respectable and capable of convincing a man in the desert to buy sand, while Indrid was a scraggy black sheep following behind him. 

He turns, takes his time coming toe to toe with Duck, “An excellent idea. I see why the clients of yours I spoke to recommend you so highly.”

Duck blushes, “Heh, Joe’s really the brains. I’m just the muscle.”

“I’m afraid I must disagree. Even if the muscle in question is spectacular.” He reaches out, running a finger up Duck’s chest. 

Warm hands catch his wrist and palm, “Sorry, sugar, no can do.”

“Ah.” He steps back, drawing the robe around him, “that’s alright. I do not blame you for not being interested.”

Strangely, Duck steps forward instead of back, “It ain’t that. I got a rule: I don’t sleep with clients. No matter how cute they are. Helps keep things from getting messy.”

“Sensible.”

Duck smiles gently, “Besides, wouldn’t Barclay be mad I was makin’ time with his fella?”

Indrid shakes his head, “We have an…understanding. Barclay has been in my life since we were children, and been my lover for  over ten years. He knows that even if my heart and eyes find others, that will not change that I’m his.”

Duck steps closer, guiding Indrid’s robe back up his shoulder, “He’s a lucky fella.”

He’s about to say they both are when there’s a tremendous crash from downstairs. They take one look at each other and then run for the door. 

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

He shouldn’t have let his guard down. 

Barclay knows why Indrid brought the detectives into the house, and he’s willing to put up with a lot to never have to hear a gunshot that close ever again. But something about Stern in particular made him anxious, like he was a hunter and Barclay was a beast lumbering in the woods. Even his polite demeanor,handsome face, and earnest praise of Barclay’s cooking couldn’t cover for that. 

Then, a few nights ago, he’d been unable to sleep and came down to find Stern in the living room in the same predicament. In the light of one, shaded lamp, the detective seemed to fade away, leaving a tired, charming man in his place. They played chess until Barclay nearly fell asleep in his chair. After that, Joseph sought him out more often and Barclay let himself be found. 

They were chatting about movies as he worked on the bread for dinner when he’d asked if Joseph had seen The Fugitive with Henry Fonda. 

“No, westerns aren’t quite my thing.” Joseph pauses mid-sip, “that’s the one you two saw the night Alistair Cold was killed.”

“Yep. Hell of a thing to come home from the movies to find the cops at your door.”

“I’d imagine.” The cup thunks onto the table, “You know, when I spoke with the ticket girl at the theater, she said she remembered you buying tickets alone.”

Fuck. Did Joseph bring up movies just to maneuver him into this conversation?

Barclay  turns from the dough and crosses his arms, “I know what you’re getting at. And yeah, I know you and every private eye from here to San Francisco could point out that it’s really fucking convenient Indrid and I are each other’s alibis. But all that happened is that Indrid was running late, so I bought two and waited in the lobby for him.”

Joseph stands, ostensibly to refill his cup, but all it does is bring him closer to Barclay, “Which means that the witness statements saying they saw you and Indrid leaving the theater when the movie was over don’t mean as much. You could have waited for Indrid in that lobby for quite awhile.

“I could have, but I didn’t. Look, Joseph, I know better than anyone else that Indrid had all the reason in the world to bump off his dad, and that’s before we get to how much he and Apollo are gonna inherit. I also know that there’s one Cold twin capable of killing someone and it isn’t Indrid.”

The detective meets his eyes, “I’d say you’re not the most impartial party when it comes to the Cold brothers. Especially since Apollo doesn’t strike me as the kind to fuck the help.”

A thousand memories flare up in him and he snarls, grabbing Joseph’s shirt and spinning them so the detective is slammed against the counter. Flour dusts the air and the coffee cup shatters on the floor as he brings them nose to nose. 

“If you think for a goddam second that Apollo is harmless and Indrid is a threat, your skull is so thick I could smash it onto the counter and you’d be fine.”

Joseph just looks at him, and for all the blush in his cheeks he looks utterly unafraid. Barclay realizes he didn’t mean a single word of his comment about the help; he was doing it to see how Barclay reacted. To see if his feelings for Indrid could make him into a mad dog.

Two sets of footsteps skid into the kitchen, but he’s not ready to let go.

“Barclay, what on earth?”

“Blue eyes here is really fucking sure you’re the bloodthirsty one and not Apollo.”

Duck’s eyes flick between Barclay and his partner, “You’d better let go of him or he’s gonna start thinking you did it.”

Barclay releases his grip and steps back. Joseph brushes the flour from his shirt, perfectly unruffled. 

“Joseph, I have been over the events of that evening with you three separate times. And that’s not to mention that the police have confirmed my story.”

“Police can be bribed.” Stern straightens his cuffs. 

“Oh for–is that what this is about?” Duck rubs his forehead, “yeah, Joe, they lie all the time. But you and I both know that there’s no way Indrid or Barclay coulda been anywhere near the murder.”

“But-”

Duck shakes his head, “Nope, I no for a damn fact you ain’t slept well the last two nights, and it’s startin to show. Go to bed.”

“No.” Joseph tries to pass Duck, only for Duck to grab his arm.

“Barclay, gimme a hand.”

“Excuse me?” Joseph tries to pull away but Duck doesn’t let go. 

“You won’t be good and go on your own, we’ll take you.” He tips his head and Barclay gets the hint, grabbing Joseph’s other arm and starting to pull. He’s not big on manhandling people, but it’s satisfying to half-drag the pissed-off detective back up the stairs. 

He and Duck let go once they’re in the bedroom, though Duck continues blocking the doorway as he says, “Get some sleep. And if you can’t fuckin stay put, I’ll cuff you to the bed.”

Joseph’s cheeks go redder even as his expression stays flat, “That seems like overkill.”

“Then don’t make me do it.”

Joseph takes a deep breath, “I’m not trying to insult either of you when I say this but: have you considered that being attracted to Indrid is clouding your judgment?”

“Nope. Why, is it cloudin’ yours?” Duck leans against the doorframe. 

“Fuck, Joseph, why are you so convinced it’s Indrid? You’re so desperate to pin it on him it’s like you murdered the guy.”

Joseph’s gaze darkens as it whips onto him.

“Get. out.”

“Okay, okay, we’re going.” Barclay throws up his hands and leaves, Duck shutting the door behind them, “what the fuck, did he actually kill someone?”

“No. But everyone thinks he did. See, Joe was on the force, was on his way to making detective there, there were even whispers that he’d be D.A eventually.” Duck’s steps slow, “you remember the Millicent Green murder case?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“Joe was in charge of the investigation. Turns out it was her boyfriend. Not all that shocking, but he was was the police chief. Joe refused to back down, wouldn’t be paid to look the other way. So they hit him with accessory to murder on a smaller case and kicked him off the force. Only reason he didn’t land in jail is that the judge was on the level and threw out the case.”

“That was, in no small part, why I hired him.” Indrid meets them at the bottom of the stairs, “Joseph Stern could not be bought or beaten into going against his moral conscience. And I trusted he would choose a partner of a similar nature.” He glances at Duck. 

“Oh fuck, did the same thing happen to you?”

“Nah. Long story short, the state park I was workin’ at got shut down and turned into an orange grove. I needed cash and had to take some shitty jobs as hired muscle to get it. I actually met Joe throwin’ him out of The Black Swan. He has a way of makin’ people listen to him and the next thing I knew I was helpin’ him solve that case. When it was over he asked me to be his partner.”

Barclay looks back up at the second floor, “It just felt like I was talking to a different guy this morning. More…ruthless.”

“A trait which may come in handy if anyone does come after us.” Indrid muses.

“He can be that way sometimes. But he’s really a good guy. Great, if you can get the stick outta his ass.”

“Or put one there.” Barclay adds.

Duck snickers, “Never managed it, but not for lack of tryin’.”

They settle into their usual routine, Duck hanging around to sweep the kitchen and, Barclay realizes, make sure Barclay is really okay after his fight with Joseph. 

Barclay doesn’t see the taller detective again until well after dinner. Duck is doing a round of the house and Indrid is painting in his studio, so Barclay wanders into the kitchen to start on the dishes. What he finds is Joseph, sleeves rolled up and scrubbing away. 

“I’m so sorry about earlier.” Joseph must know it’s him by his footsteps, “I…I was trying to prove something to myself and forgot who was on the other side of the thing.” 

“Thanks.” Barclay joins him at the sink, “please don’t do that again. Act like you think there’s something wrong with Indrid for loving me, I mean.”

“I won’t.” 

Barclay squeezes his shoulder, feels him relax for a half second before the usual tension returns to the muscle. He grabs a towel from the cupboard. 

“Here, I’ll dry.”

—---------------------------------------------

This might be the glitziest Christmas morning Duck’s ever been part of. Barclay did some last minute decorating, so the whole living room is shiny with tinsel, the tree glowing like a heart in the corner. There’s a surprising number of presents beneath it, and when Duck sneaks a peek he finds that while most are addressed to Barclay, two are for him and two are for Joe.

Barclay is stretched out on the couch, reading, and Indrid moves through the room with a mug of eggnog in hand. He changes out the record, humming as a slow song crackles into the air. 

He reminds Duck of a moth, fluttering about the house at night, ethereal bearing barely concealing something fragile. Something that’s been flapping its wings against a storm for too long. 

Duck stands and offers his hand, “How about a dance, sugar?”

Indrid cocks his head, grinning, “And what about your rules?”

“Ain’t no harm in a dance.” 

Indrid takes his hands and, rather than keep a usual dancer's distance, presses against him. 

“You sure you wanna get that close? I got two left feet.”

“Can’t be any worse than me.” Barclay turns a page.

“Dearest, you are forgetting the time I once took out two waiters at a club with my movements.”

The cook chuckles, sets his book on the end table, “I’m gonna go check on Joseph. Kind of worried that he’s not down yet.”

“Let me” Duck spins Indrid off into Barclay’s arms, “he can get kinda morose on Christmas.”

When he gets to their room, Joe is fully dressed save for his shoes, laying on the bed with a book over his face. 

“You got somewhere to be slick?” 

“I’m trying to maintain professionalism.”

“You can let it slide for one day. C’mon, it’s real nice downstairs.”

“I’m sure it is, but you should get used to those scenes without me.”

“What?” Duck closes the door.

“Isn’t it obvious? Indrid and Barclay both like you. Once we’re done with this job, assuming we’re both still alive, they’ll probably keep you on as a bodyguard and send me home.” His voice is far away, like he’s still half in the book. 

“You’re not gettin rid of us that easily.” Duck teases as he nears the bed. 

“I don’t want to! But none of you will ever want me, not like I-” Joe slams the book across his mouth. 

“You better finish that sentence, slick.” Duck sets his hands on his hips but keeps his voice soft. 

Joe covers his face, “I want all three of you so badly. I, I think I might even be in love with you, Duck.”

He settles on the bed, “How long has this been goin’ on?”

“Six months, maybe more” Joe turns away from him, “I’m so sorry.”

Duck gently pets black hair, “You shoulda said somethin’ sooner. I mean, hell, we coulda been sharin’ a bed and freed up some space.”

A weak laugh, “would have been warmer too.”

It’s like coaxing a scared kitten from under the bed, getting Joe to look at him. His hands have to caress his jaw and trace circles on his cheek before he’ll turn to face him. 

“For a private eye, you can be real fuckin’ blind.” He leans in and kisses Joe as sweetly as he dares, catching a surprised gasp between his teeth. The hope is for Joe to climb into his lap, or pull him down to the mattress, but instead the other man collapses against him even as pleads to continue the kiss. 

“Easy slick, don’t want you droppin’ like a sack of laundry.”

“Easy? Nothing about this is easy, not when I’ve thought about crawling under your desk and blowing you every time I get a look at your thighs, not when wanting you, wanting the others, makes me feel like I’ll float away like a forgotten balloon. Please” he rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, “please, I want it to be easy, but I don’t know how.”

Duck gets the best idea of his life and then kisses Joe’s forehead, “I do. Do you trust me?”

Blue eyes gleam in the dark, “with my life.”

“Then you’re gonna do what I, and what the other two, say. Yeah?”

“Yes” Joe drags him into another kiss, moaning when Duck bites his lip. 

“On your feet slick.” He sneaks his cuffs into his back pocket as Joe obeys. When they reach the door, his partner hesitates. 

“Are you sure they want me involved?”

“Positive. But also” he grabs the end of a blue tie and yanks, “you ain’t got a choice.”

Joe moans, footsteps unsteady as Duck leads across the landing and down the stairs. Barclay sees them first, eyes wide as dinner plates as he sways Indrid in his arms. Indrid turns next, breaking into a wicked grin as he takes in the duo descending the stairs. 

“Brought you two a little present.” Duck lets go of the tie and Joe stills, looking at the other two for some kind of sign. 

“Lucky us.” Barclay rumbles, stepping forward and tipping Joe’s chin up to kiss him. 

Duck takes the moment where Joe is too surprised to hold onto the cook to grab his wrists and cuff them behind his back. 

“The hell?” Joe tries to look behind him only for Barclay to drag him into another kiss and not release him until he’s giggling. 

“I know you, slick. You’ll try to take control of the whole scene if we don’t stop you. As this is as much about makin’ you relax as it is findin’ out what’s under those slacks. 

“Duck, you’ve seen me in my underwear.”

“Yeah, but I never saw what was under ‘em, no matter how many times I wanted to yank ‘em down.” He guides Joe over to the couch, where he sits without needing to be told. 

“What, exactly, is the plan?” Indrid hangs back by the fireplace, metallic threads in his robe making him look like an emperor. 

“To show this handsome fella just how bad we want him so that the idea will actually sink into that big brain of his.”

“I see.” Indrid saunters forward, hands behind his back, considering Joe with an unreadable expression. The detective looks up at him hopefully as he approaches the couch, some silent conversation passing between them as Indrid looms over him. 

Then an ink-stained hand catches Joe across the face, loud enough that Duck and Barclay both jump. Joe doesn’t take nearly so long to recover, licking his lips and smiling up at Indrid while Duck is still trying to parse what happened. 

“That’s about as hard as I expected a spoiled heir to hit.”

Another slap, Joe yelping as it hits. Duck takes a half step forward when the sound turns to a moan and Indrid lets out a sharp, menacing laugh. 

“Oh you like that, don’t you pet? All that sophistication and cleverness to hide the fact you’re nothing more than a mutt who needs to be put in his place.”

“Better than being a brat who thinks he’s better than everyone else.”

Indrid crouches so they’re eye to eye, tracing a heart on Joe’s cheek with his finger, “Oh no pet, I don’t think I am better than everyone else.”

Slap

“I know I am.”

“Holy fuck.” Barclay grips the edge of the couch where he’s been standing, tent noticeable in his pajamas.

Indrid smiles at him, “Surprised, dearest? Yes, I suppose you would be. You, my sweet, perfect, beloved beast, never need such a firm hand. You’ve never been anything but good.”

Duck shifts from foot to foot. His cock is twitching at Indrid addressing the others in that way, even though if the pale-haired man tried it on him, Duck would pin him to the floor and ride him until he cried. 

“Joseph? Is this really okay?” Barclay’s voice is going husky.

Joe nods once, then adds, “It’d be better if your boyfriend didn’t hit like a baby.” 

Indrid snarls, but instead of slapping him again he fists his hand into his hair and yanks Joe's head back. His partner cries out as Indrid sinks his teeth into the skin of his neck, not relenting until the moan turns broken and panting. 

“Dearest, please fetch the supplies. Duck, help me make him less decent.” Indrid begins unbuttoning Joe’s shirt. 

“Thought you’d never ask.” As Duck joins them, Joe kicks out a leg, lightly catching Indrid on the shins. 

“Now that ain’t very nice, darlin.” Duck pulls off Joe's tie and binds it around his ankles.

Indrid turns, kissing his cheek before pecking Joe on the lips, “Goodness, I had no idea you two would be this much fun. Are you alright, pet?”

“I feel like I’m flying.”

“If it turns to a fall, tell us.” Indrid cups his face to offer a tender kiss, “none of us want you hurt.”

“Thank you.” Joe sighs, tipping his face into Duck’s hand when he offers it. They stay like that until Barclay returns, at which point Indrid rises and points imperiously at Duck. 

“Take off your pants. Barclay, sit there and put Joseph over your lap so you can, ah, open him up for me.”

“Ohfuck.” Joe actually whines as Barclay obeys and throws him over his lap. 

Duck is enjoying the sight of carefully pressed slacks being bunched around Joe knees that it takes reality a moment to join him in the room. Joe knows the truth, and he’s fairly certain Barclay figured it out when he poked his head into the room to ask a question right after Duck was in the shower and saw the scars on his chest. 

Did Barclay tell Indrid? If he didn’t, how the fuck should Duck go about this?

Indrid’s fingers wrap around Duck’s pants and shove them, and his underwear, to the floor. In retrospect, this is what he gets for stopping to think near a man who looks horny enough to fuck an entire barroom. 

“Mmmm, it seems Barclay was correct.” Eager fingers tease the folds beneath his dick, “are inside visitors permitted?”

Duck snickers at the phrasing, “Sometimes. Depends on how I’m feelin’.”

“Understood.” Indrid brushes their noses together, “go lay down on the couch. Joseph has a mouth that was made to suck cock and I have waited too long to see him do so.”

He positions himself so he’s laying on the couch. Getting where Indrid wants him, especially with the sight of Joe facedown and ass up, moaning into the cushions as Barclay fucks his ass with two fingers. 

The cook pauses from where he’s groping and kissing Joe’s ass, “Put your feet wherever you need to, man.”

That lets him get close enough that he can reach down and drag Joe’s face between his legs. 

“MOH, oohhhhhhhhhhh” Joe isn’t doing much besides moaning but that alone is pretty gratifying. 

Indrid tugs Joe’s hair, “Get to it pet.”

“What–ohfuck–what about you?” Duck turns his head as Indrid kneels by the couch.

In reply, Indrid kisses him, really kisses him, for the first time. It’s like Duck has been holding his breath, diving deeper and deeper in search of something, only to find the treasure glittering at him up at the surface. He sighs into the kiss and Indrid lets out a pleased chirp. 

“It’s like you were meant to kiss me.” Indrid murmurs before bringing their lips together a second time. 

Duck has to agree, lets himself melt into the feeling of Indrid’s mouth on his and the toe-curling steadiness of Joe sucking him off. His climax builds slowly, like a wave far out from shore, and by the time it crashes into him he’s blissfully sprawled on the couch with Indrid nibbling his neck and Joe kissing his thighs. 

“Think he’s ready, baby.” Barclay is practically drooling as Indrid helps Duck sit up and turns his attention onto Joe, undoing the tie on his ankles. Barclay is also ready, his cock fully hard as he kicks off his pants. The cook coaxes Joe to straddle his lap, thighs shaking as he pushed and pulled into position. His hands are still trapped behind him, and Duck watches them flex as Barclay shoves him down onto his cock. 

“SHIT! Ohmygod” Joe slouches forward, “god, Barclay, yes, god you’re amazing.” 

“Thanks baby.” Strong arms circle Joe’s waist as Barclay kisses his neck. 

A constant stream of short, helpless, ecstatic moans leave his partner, and Duck swears he’s never sounded more beautiful. 

“As lovely as you sound, pet, I have another use for your mouth.” Indrid undoes his robe, cock shorter than Barclay’s but already burning it’s image in Duck’s mind. 

The loss of Joe’s moans is made up for by Indrid purring , “Good boy” as Joe takes the head of his cock into his mouth. Had Duck not just cum, he’d be jerking off frantically to Joe being used so thoroughly and expertly. 

After a moment, Joe chokes out something he can’t quite make out.

“So soon? My, you really were meant to be nothing but a rich man’s toy, weren’t you?”

Joe cums with a muffled shout, but the other two offer no relief, and so he writhes in Barclay’s lap, softening cock bouncing helplessly between his legs as tears spill down his cheeks. 

Barclay rams into him hard enough that his partner actually squeaks, and an instant later Indrid pulls away, cum painting Joe’s flushed face and chest. 

In the chorus of panting that follows, Barclay manages, “Keys?”

Duck quickly undoes the cuffs, catching Joe as he collapses into his arms. He’s never looked this relaxed, this vulnerable.

This happy. 

“You with me, Joe?”

A slow, satisfied nod, “I’m here. You’re a genius.”

“See, he agrees with me.” Indrid flops into Barclay’s lap, peppering his face with kisses and cooing things meant for only the cooks ears. 

Gradually, the four of them rearrange into more comfortable positions on the couch, Barclay wobbling off and returning with coffee for each of them. As Joe cuddles between Barclay and Duck, Duck puts his lips to his ear. 

“Merry Christmas, darlin.”

Joe kisses him, soft as mountain snow, “Merry Christmas.”

#OT4: government men and their cryptid boyfriends #winter fills #detective au #noir au #sternclay #indruck #agent stern/duck newton #inclay #indrid cold/agent stern #trans duck newton

[thiswasinevitableid]

Second Chances (OT4)

Prompt for the 17th: Seeing your ex apple picking with their new partner at the same place you introduced them to and always went to together

I am once again asking Hallmark to let me write your horny, fall themed romances.

Duck’s been coming to the Kepler Orchards Fall Fair on and off since he was eight years old. In those days, his goal was picking enough to convince his mom to make Apple Pie or keeping Jane from wandering into the goat pens. 

These days, his motives are a little less pure.

“I know you drag me outside on days like this just so I’ll cuddle up.” Indrid links their arms and shoves a hand into Duck’s coat pocket as they walk towards the rows of trees. Kids dart and weave around trunks, crunching up leaves as the clouds move into stay, rather than blowing away like Duck hoped. 

“Promise I’ll buy you somethin’ hot from the cafe. And I’ll, uh, warm you up plenty later.”

“Mmmm, I look forward to it. And don’t let me forget, I promised Pigeon we’d put some of these up while we were here.” He pulls a stack of folded fliers for the haunted house volunteer sign-ups. 

As they turn towards the red barn housing the cafe, Duck waves to a familiar figure waiting near the door. Indrid notices the same shape and perks up, waving as well. 

“Hey Barclay, surprised you got the day off.”

“Mama kinda made me. And I quote ‘soon as October hits you ain’t gonna do anythin but plan holiday menus so and I need you feelin refreshed.’’ Plus I’m trying to show Joseph more of the town; It’s been two weeks since he moved down here and he hasn’t gotten out much. Oh!” he waves someone over, “you guys can finally meet him! Hey babe, this is Indrid and Duck.”

A tall man with black hair steps beside Barclay with a smile and turns to look at them. 

Three years ago, Duck fell down an embankment at work. The result was nothing more than some bruises and a bad scratch on his right palm. It was the fall that sucked, the sensation that the world was upending over and over again and he couldn’t right himself no matter how hard he tried.

That’s how he feels the instant he sees Joe’s face. 

“This was a great idea” Joe picks two more Granny Smiths and sticks them in the bag Duck holds out for him. 

“Glad you think so. I, uh, I” he blushes, “I always worry when I ask you to do corny shit like this with me.”

Joe brushes a strand of hair back into place; he’s been wearing his hair slicked back more and more often and Duck would be lying if he said it wasn’t hot. Besides, it makes it even more fun to mess up when the other man is pinned to the bed. 

“Firstly, I grew up in the midwest. This was as much a part of my childhood as it was yours. And second” he slips his hands into Duck’s front pockets, “I love doing things like this with you.”

Duck pecks him on the cheek before they continue to the next tree. This is the second time he’s brought Joe back to Kepler; the first was for his great-grandma’s 95th birthday, where his boyfriend charmed the entirety of the Newton clan in under three hours. He’s pretty sure that if he hadn’t brought him for Thanksgiving there would have been a riot.

At twenty-four he’s not getting the full brunt of the “when are you getting married” brigade, but he can feel them amping up to start it within the next year. He hasn’t gotten there yet; he’s had to do part time to finish his degree and Joe is still knee deep in getting the professional experience he needs to apply to the FBI. 

Maybe someday. For now, he takes Joe’s hand and guides him deeper into the trees.

“I was gonna introduce everyone but I’ve got a feeling you two know each other.”

Joe’s fingers look ready to pierce his to-go cup as he says, “Duck and I used to date.”

From one glance at Indrid’s face, he can tell his boyfriend put the pieces together. From a similar glance at Barclays’, it looks like Joe wasn’t nearly so forthcoming about his past. 

“More proof that Duck has excellent taste.”  Indrid winks at Joe. It’s not suave flirtation so much as Indrid scrambling to change the course of an awkward conversation. When it does nothing to ease the tension he adds, “do you ever have one of those social interactions where you do not know what to do and then you’re in hell?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry” Joe holds out his hand for Indrid to shake, “I just, um, imagine we’re all a bit surprised by this turn of events.”

“Yeah.” Barclay’s eyes dart to Indrid’s hand and he  chuckles a little, “uh, anyway, we should probably let you guys get in line before it’s around the building. See you around.”

“Nice meeting you Indrid. And it’s good to see you again, Duck.” Joe’s using his FBI voice, detached and polite, the tone slipping under Duck’s skin so that all he can do is offer a wave as they part ways. 

As they take a spot behind a family dressed in matching overalls, Indrid moves from holding Duck’s arm to gently intertwining their fingers.

“Alright, sweet one, what aren’t you telling me?”

“Joe didn’t tell you in a vision just then?”

“There was one future with a longer explanation. But some things I would rather learn the direct way.”

Duck stops pretending to study the menu and looks at Indrid. This close, he can see his eyes behind the red lenses of his glasses. His gaze is completely present, completely patient.

Beneath the din of registers and coffee machines, he tells him the story.

—-----------------------------------------------------

“I’m sorry, Joe. I just…I can’t. I can’t do this with you.”

His hope is cracking into pieces, but Joseph is nothing if not persistent.

“Why?”

Duck leans against the kitchen table, “You really don’t know?”

“I know that I love you. I know that when I’m with you is when I’m happiest. I, I know that we’ve been talking about the future. Our future.”

His boyfriend sighs, looks up at the popcorn ceiling, “Yeah. Yeah we have. But here’s what I know. I know we ain’t fucked in close to four months. I know we ain’t been on a real date in even longer. And I know that I hardly see you, and when I do you’re this, this wilted version of the fella I used to know.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry, I know work has been crazy but once I get promoted I’ll be able to-”

“Stop. Just, stop right there. You said the same thing about gettin’ hired in the first place. Then your first promotion. Maybe you mean it but we both know how you get when you got a goal.”

His hope splinters like a sunken ship, and he flails for a piece to cling to, “What are you saying?”

“That my answer ain’t gonna change. And that I…I got some things I need to think about.”

Duck turns and walks out of the room. Joseph tucks the ring back into his pocket and drowns.

He knew it would happen eventually; Kepler is a small town and Duck had always talked about moving back there to work in the national forest he grew up loving. When Barclay mentioned a friend named Duck, Joseph hoped it was a coincidence while knowing all the while it couldn’t be. 

He’s been here less than two weeks. Couldn’t the universe have given him a little time to recover from that major life change before confronting him with one of his biggest regrets?

Barclay is showering, so Joseph allows himself to open Instagram and bring up Duck’s profile. He’d found it a few years ago but forbid himself from looking. After this morning, he can’t bring himself to care. 

Duck’s profile is mainly nature photos and pictures of friends. The first selfie he finds is back in June; a round face smiles at the camera as he sports a gray button up shirt patterned with little rainbow-colored bears. The top two buttons are undone and Joseph wants to reach through the screen and unbutton the rest. 

He keeps scrolling, stops at a picture of Indrid and Duck together on a porch swing and the Lodge. The angle suggests Duck took it while Indrid napped on his shoulder. 

ItsANickname: Happy three year anniversary, mothman.

Indrid is tagged and Joseph clicks through to a page featuring more bug than tree photos. There are many of Duck and of the same fluffy, orange and white cat that was in Duck’s profile. But his finger stops on the one of Indrid, seated behind a yellow and pink cake, dragging Barclay into frame for a hug. Joseph’s impressed; his boyfriend is notoriously camera shy. 

Maybe it’s the power of being a former flame?

“He asks for that cake every year.” Barclay sits down next to him, smelling comfortingly of sandalwood, “and every year he’s so fucking happy to get it.”

“I can tell.” He sets the phone on his nightstand. 

Barclay grabs one of the blankets from the end of the bed and unfurls it, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I wasn’t completely sure the Duck you kept mentioning was the same person and it still stings a little to talk about it. And, well, the way things ended doesn’t exactly show me in the best light” He takes Barclays’ hand, “I was so smitten with you I didn’t want to scare you off because the old me had a shitty work/life balance.”

The fact Barclay could easily point out Joseph had that same problem until three weeks ago but doesn’t is proof he loves him. And that he believes Joseph when he says he fought for more chances to see him.

Barclay lays down and opens his arms. Once Joseph is in them he whispers, “I get it. When we first met in person I was so afraid you’d spot all my flaws right away and never wanna see me again.” He kisses him, “I know I come across as a romantic, babe, but I’m not in denial about the fact the people I love have fucked up. You don’t have to hide shit from me, okay?”

Joseph holds him a little tighter, remembering where he is, “Okay.”

—--------------------------------------------------------

“Ooooh I have so many ideas.” Indrid drums on his thighs as the other haunted house volunteers find seats. It’s one of the few times when all the weirdos in Kepler come out. In his Cramps tank-top, mothman and bone tattoos on full display and silver hair hanging over his red glasses, Indrid could be their king. He’s also the hottest guy here, but Duck might be biased. 

Joe walking in shouldn’t be a surprise; he loves Halloween. Honestly if he and Indrid ever form an alliance Duck’s apartment, the Lodge, and half of Kepler will be covered in meticulously planned yet vaguely chaotic Halloween decorations. 

His ex gives them a slightly stiff wave as he settles in a chair on the opposite side of the circle. As Pigeon welcomes everyone and runs through the timeline and theme for this year, Duck can’t keep his eyes from wandering back to Joe. They’ve both aged but Duck never sees the kind of exhaustion in his own face that’s lingering on Joe’s. He’s in a navy button up and blue jeans, though when he adjusts to let someone by Duck spots UFOs on his socks. The fact he’s still wearing his hair slicked back fills Duck’s chest with an ache there must be a word for in German. Or maybe Japanese.

He’s stacking chairs while Indrid and Pigeon talk logistics after the meeting when a voice says, “do you need help?”

“I’m good, city mouse. I mean, uh, fuck.” Ten years apart should have killed that pet name, “No, Joe, but thanks.”

Joe runs a hand over his hair, “Look. I know this is awkward for both of us. I, I was sort of hoping we could get coffee in the next few days and clear the air.”

He could say no and Joe would back down. But he’d prefer to not spend the next several years in low level social hell. 

“Log Cabin Coffee tomorrow? I can be there after work, about 5:15.”

Joe nods with noticeable relief, “I’ll see you then.”

—------------------------------------------------------

“So used to havin to wait for ‘Drid’s order.” Duck watches him tip half and half into his coffee cup before following him to a corner table. 

“I’ve seen him order it a few times at the Lodge. I’m impressed. And a little worried about his heart.”

“Swear the fella really is part moth.” 

“The name of his studio really is genius.” 

Mothman Prophecies: Art Studio and Fortune Teller was one of the first places Joseph noticed on his drive back into town. He hadn’t realized then that the proprietor was as intriguing as it’s namesake.

Duck sips his black coffee. He looks how he always does in Kepler; calm, at home, unafraid. But Joseph sees the way his left knee is bouncing. 

“Look, Duck, I…I guess I should start by saying I’m sorry. For everything. For choosing my work over you. For” he looks away, “for being so fucking caught up in myself I hurt one of the best things to ever happen to me.”

“I’m sorry, too. For, uh, for some of the things I said towards the end.”

“You were right about all of them.”

“That don’t necessarily make it okay.” Both hands close around his mug, “how the fuck did you end up back here?”

“I’d like to say that, when they told me they’d never, ever let me work the cases I wanted to, I left. That when they said they weren’t wasting all the training and time they put into me on a few missing hikers a year, I quit on the spot. But I didn’t. I stayed another four fucking months before they fired me because I couldn’t take the hint.”

“Christ, that’s fuckin’ bullshit.”

“Barclay offered to let me move in and I accepted. I know it’s a little fast, we’ve only been together a year and it’s been long distance but under the circumstances-”

“You don’t gotta justify stuff that makes you happy, Joe.” Duck’s right hand comes off the enamel, then retreats back, “Besides, I know for a fact you make the big fella so happy Mama was convinced she was gonna lose her best cook to the big city because he was gonna propose.”

“I’m extremely glad he didn’t do any of that. It’s a culture shock, living here, but at least he has a social circle I can cling to. If he’d moved to Cincinnati we’d be up shit creek.” He’s dying to change the subject and so he clears his throat, “enough about my predictable burn-out. How have things been for you?”

Duck leans back in his chair, “Good. Tourism board is listenin to some of my ideas to get the forest to be a bigger draw. ‘Drid moved in about a year ago. Folks passed away, Jane’s off on missions.”

Joseph waits but nothing else comes. 

“I, um, saw a few pictures of your cat. She’s very cute.”

Duck smiles, “Yeah. Shelter named her Henny and her sister was Penny. Fitting, since she yowls like the sky is falling if she don’t get her way. Here,” he pulls out his phone, “look at this.”

A video starts, showing Henny meoqing at the camera. When nothing happens, she turns and trots across the floor to a pair of long legs in black pants. Bats at them once, twice, and then jumps halfway up them and begins climbing. Indrid shouts “OWmenace!” as Duck giggles behind the camera. 

“Oh, and then two days ago she did this…”

The cat videos lead to a video of Aubrey’s giant rabbit, Dr. Harris Bonkers, followed by a video Duck took of one of her shows, followed by a video of him narrating as he walks through the trees.

“They want to get the forest on Tik-Tok to get more-” Duck looks up from the screen and freezes. Joseph cannot, for the life of him, remember when they got this close.

Before he can speak, Duck tucks his phone away but stays in his space.

“I, uh, I know we can’t exactly start over. But if you’re up for it I, uh, I’d really like to try bein’ friends.”

“I’d like that so much.” Joseph whispers. 

Duck smiles his full, crooked, perfect smile, and Joseph pretends the warmth in his chest is from the promise of friendship and nothing more. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------

“Joseph? Would you hand me that string of lights? Ah, thank you.” Indrid takes the coiled cord and ducks back behind the plywood. They’re working on a spooky forest scene for one of the transitional hallways of the haunted house. Indrid can make his own hours and Joseph is currently unemployed, which increasingly means the two of them spend whole afternoons planning out animatronic placement or going over make-up ideas. Joseph has some deliciously gory ideas for the zombie pen, if Indrid does say so himself. 

“Do you want me to stand here so we can feed them back and forth?”

“Yes, please.” Indrid pops some lights into place, then passes them through, humming as he does. Through the various holes and gaps, he watches Joseph follow directions with eager efficiency. 

He knows what Barclay says about him, but Indrid suspects it would not take much to make the other man into an obedient, well-dressed pet.

Indrid may be the only person on earth who knows how Joseph and Barclay actually met. Last winter, after far too many glasses of spiked eggnog, Barclay confessed that one night he’d been dying to put on a certain pair of underwear, but was still too shy to do it of his own accord. A few profile swipes and chats later, he found a special agent who happened to love big men in lacy things. It snowballed from there, a fact for which Indrid is glad, even if it meant Barclay’s occasional visits to his bedroom eventually ended. 

“You know” Joseph says from the other side of the wall, “Barclay mentioned that you two were seeing each other before he and I became exclusive.”

“Indeed. Does it bother you?”

“Not at all. I’m mostly surprised Duck was open to it.”

“Them being friends and trusting each other helped a great deal. And I’ve found that as one gets older, one becomes more confident in oneself. Duck included.”

“I think I’m the exception to that rule. Thirty-five years and I feel like I’m holding onto my sense of self by my fingernails.”

Indrid finishes stringing the lights and steps from behind the panel. Joseph is untangling another string of eerie, green lights with the kind of concentration that comes from needing to distract yourself (Indrid knows it well). 

“To hear Barclay tell it, there’s still a great deal to admire about you. And to hear him and Duck tell it, there always has been.” He touches Joseph’s arm, “If you ever feel out of place, come talk with me.”

“How did you-”

“I wasn’t always in Kepler. It’s a perfectly nice town but I know how hard it can be to adjust to it after a life in a busy place, even when you have people here you love. Now” he slips his arm through Joseph’s, who relaxes instead of pulling away, “let’s go finish the werewolf den.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What did you see? When you shook Joseph’s hand that first time.” Barclay chops another apple, tosses it into the bowl with the rest. 

Indrid sips his white chocolate pumpkin spice latte, “Do you want all the answers, or only the comforting ones?”

Barclay glances at the doors to the dining room; they’re both locked while he does his prep. 

“All of them. Starting with the bad ones.”

“There aren’t any. Just…puzzling ones. Or, not puzzling, but surprising.”

Barclay chops two more apples before Indrid adds, “The four of us end up dating.”

“Fuck” he nicks his thumb and pulls it back, Indrid hopping over the counter to clear away the bloody cutting board, “don’t worry, it’s not bad.”

“All the same” Indrid holds out his hand and Barclay dutifully rests his own in it as Indrid fishes a bandage out of the first aid kit. It goes on a bit lopsided as he says, “you’ve thought about it, haven’t you?”

“A couple of times.” He blushes, “after it was just the four of us at game night I just, I thought about how nice it would be to all cuddle up in bed.”

“I have as well.” He touches Barclay’s face, “You know I care for you and want you. Joseph inspires some very similar feelings. And some new ones” That dazzling, wide grin, “he’s convinced  he can work out the tricks I use to give accurate palm readings. I wonder how long it will take him to learn there’s only one.”

“If anyone can figure it out, it’s him.” Barclay holds Indrid’s hands, “do we tell them?”

“No. If there’s any outside pressure, even if it’s not really pressure at all, I suspect it will go wrong. So, potential polyamory later ” Indrid tugs Barclay’s apron, “pie now.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

He has no one to blame but himself. Weeks ago, when Indrid said they still needed a vampire and vampire hunter for one room, Duck and Joseph volunteered. At the time they saw it as a chance to spend more evenings catching up. And it is, the two of them hidden in an alcove, whispering between scaring groups of guests. It also means hours pressed close to–and pretending to bite– a body he firmly believes was made to be worshiped. 

They did this last night and when he got home he fell asleep to the idea of Duck holding him against the wall and kissing him silly before passing him off to Indrid and Barclay to absolutely ruin. He spent today feeling guilty; he should count himself lucky he still has Barclay. Wanting Indrid, wanting Duck–the last person in the world who wants to entangle their heart with his own–is not only foolish, it’s utterly selfish and greedy. So he’s pulled back, only waved to Indrid when he got here instead of chatting with him and is keeping as much space between Duck and himself as possible. 

The haunted house has two sets of admission hours; the late afternoon into early evening is for families. After dinner and into the later night is for adults only and is much bloodier and scarier. He helps Duck get the rig onto his neck that sends blood spurting when Joseph bites him, then steps back against the wall. 

“Okay Joe, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been usin’ your professional voice all night and you’re acting like I got cooties.” Duck crosses his arms and Joseph curses whoever thought to put his ex in a long, brown leather jacket that shows off his arms.

“I’m just making sure you feel comfortable with me.”

“Feel com–Joe for fuck’s sake, aw fuck” the light blinks to let them know a group is about to come in. 

They take their positions, Duck thrashing and screaming as Joseph pretends to bite his throat and blood splashes unsuspecting guests, distracting them so that Aubrey scaring them from a coffin around the next corner will be extra surprising. 

Joseph moves away as soon as they’re clear, “Not everything is about you and me, Duck.”

“Dunno, this really feels like it is!” 

“Would you please just drop it?” He hisses. 

“Not until you stop avoiding an answer, fuck Joe you know I hate that.”

“I’m sorry but I’m not-”

Duck backs him into the wall, “What’s. Wrong.”

Panic, arousal, and frustration bubble up inside him, and as the light blinks again he does the first thing that comes to mind. 

He grabs Duck, and bites down for real.

Duck just manages to sound like he’s in pain, cursing more than usual as the group hurries past. This time, when Joseph tries to move away, the shorter man grabs the edges of his cape and keeps him there. 

“That wasn’t very nice, darlin. You know biting is my weakness.”

“I’m, I’m so sorry.” He stops, wipes fake blood from his chin, “actually, fuck that, I’m not sorry at all. I needed you to feel it too, Duck. The reason we can’t keep spending time together. I” he straightens his back, accepting his fate, “I’m falling for you all over again.”

A thumb brushes his jaw, an old, comforting gesture. The sign for “look at me.” So he does. 

“I’m in the same goddamn boat, Joe.”

“Even after-”

“I didn’t leave because I stopped lovin you. I left because it wasn’t working. And I scared half outta my mind that it might work now.”

“Me too.”

“So then we face it together instead of tryin to pretend it ain’t happening. We talk with Barclay and ‘Drid and figure out if there’s even anywhere to go from here that’s worth going. But I need you to promise me you won’t leave me alone for that.”

“I promise.” 

Duck touches his cheek as the light flashes, “Good boy. And no more biting without permission.”

“I won’t.”

The rest of the night speeds by, and when they finally emerge at closing time, Indrid offers him a hand down the back steps. 

“Uh, sugar, me and Joe got somethin to talk with you about. Barclay too.”

Indrid smiles in that knowing way of his, “I see that. And you don’t need to look so worried, either of you. The future looks very bright.”

#OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends #promptober 2022 #Indruck #sternclay #agent stern/barclay/indrid cold/Duck newton #agent stern/duck newton #inclay

[thiswasinevitableid]

22 Construct, NSFW, OT4

I have so many potential starts for this. Manifesting Bigfoot and Mothman into existence? Summoning creatures from another world? Or Sylvain is dying and Indrid summons heroes from another world to help? So many possibilities 🤔

Here you go! This is inspired in part by the old Bigfoot hunting movies, which are some of the only media my brain accepts these days.

Duck’s been hiking the woods in general since 1949 and the woods of the Pacific Northwest since he moved out here for work in 1970. So excuse him if he’s skeptical that there’s some gigantic ape monster running around out here. 

“You don’t gotta be a believer, but this is a hell of a job. Make a little scratch, keep seasoned woodsman from gettin too big for their britches, and make sure they don’t muck up the ecosystem.”

Thacker had a point, which is why Duck agreed to act as both a naturalist and one of two back-country guides for the North American Wildlife Research center. The name is sensible enough, but after a week of hearing them speculate about Sasquatch at base camp, Duck is starting to despair for the wildlife researchers of the future. 

Now, a week out on the trail, Duck suspects many of his fellow explorers have even less outdoors experience than they let on; there’s a whiff of weekend warrior about most of them that gives him the same bad feeling as watching someone wander up a trail in sandals. 

The one exception is Joseph Stern, a former FBI agent turned full time Bigfoot researcher. He listens when Duck points out interesting wildlife, takes both his warnings and opinions seriously instead of treating him like a hick they have to cart around in exchange for permission to be out here.

He also wears the tightest shirts known to man, and Duck is starting to suspect he wouldn’t complain if the ranger felt him up in the tent some night. Not when he made a crack about there being a bear in it the first time they shared. 

Duck’s in no hurry; they’re out here until early fall. If Joe still hasn’t made a move by them, Duck will wait until they get back to town to ask if he’d like to come over and “debrief.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------

“How you holding up?” Barclay sets the grocery bags on the dusty table. 

“I maintain existence is not all it’s cracked up to be.” Indrid stands, intending to join him, and bangs his knee on a chair. Barclay sympathizes; eyesight adjustment was bad enough going from bigfoot to human. He can’t imagine how difficult transitioning from mothman eyesight is. 

Indrid landed in Kepler–literally–three months ago with the same alarmed timbre to his voice Barclay had after stumbling into the place several years prior. He, and many like him, were conjured into existence by sheer force of belief after that fucking Patterson-Gimlin film. Indrid’s lot is even stranger in that mothman as a construct only encompasses a single entity, not the idea of new species, and so he’s the only one of his kind. 

Kepler is a saving grace for Cyrtpids in two ways; it houses the Amnesty Lodge, run by a woman who’s decided that just because cryptids come into being fully grown with memories and legends in tow doesn’t mean they don’t need someone looking after them. And it’s home to Aubrey Little, who’s parents founded the Sylvain commune and who can do magic that would put James Randi to shame. 

For starters, she can make the cryptids disguises so they’re not spotted and off to spend their lives in a zoo. 

Indrid likes to tease him that, if it weren’t for Aubrey making him such a distinct human disguise, Barclay would have no interest in him. They both know it’s not true; Barclay’s wanted Indrid since he first laid eyes on his eye-spotted wings. 

He draws the willowy man into his arms, “Go draw the blinds, little moth. I’ll get my claws into your feathers and show you just how nice being alive can be.”

Indrid kisses his nose with a chirp and a sly smile, “Hmm, well, I’m in such a mood, it may take you all night to convince me.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I thought this place was abandoned.” Joe, standing by his horse as they have lunch, pulls out the map and frowns. 

“It should be. That cabin ain’t had anyone in it for years. But I guess the new resident didn’t get the memo.” Duck peers through his binoculars at the humble structure down in the valley, clearly occupied and in the midst of being repaired. 

“We should ask if we can stay on his property.” Winthrop,one of the backers, looks at his bologna sandwich with disgust, “and if we can, I call the porch. Damn bugs.”

“Yeah, real rude of mother nature not to be a five star resort.” Duck mutters. Joe snickers softly and passes him the bread. 

It’s evening by the time they hit the valley. Duck stands beside Joe in the glow of the porchlight, moths bumping the windows as they wait for the occupant to answer.  When he does, Duck’s breath is gone with the daylight. 

The man in the door is tall and wiry, hair so pale it could be white, with red glasses perched on a narrow nose. His features are angular, his smile wide, and it should all add up to something alarming. Instead, he’s so gorgeous Duck forgets what he was going to say.

If Joe is having the same problem, he doesn’t let on, introducing them and explaining the situation. The man, who gives his name as Indrid, thinks for a moment before agreeing to let them cap near the cabin and make use of its restroom.

 As the others set up camp, Duck watches Joe chat with Indrid on the porch. He must have been a menace as an agent; in ten minutes, Indrid’s posture moves from relaxed to open, and soon he’s leaning almost flirtatiously on the railing as Joe talks. 

“Hey, slick, you gonna help me with the tent or what?” He teases, fully aware of the fact Indrid is now studying him with a flattering intensity. 

“One second, I was asking Mr. Cold if he’s seen any unusual, large, wildlife in the area.”

“Nothing but elk and one bear. Unless we’re counting deer as large? They strike me as medium sized, but no, other than those I haven’t seen anything of note.”

“Any strange smells? Like a skunk but more intense?”

“No? Goodness, who is spreading the word that these, ah, Sasquatch smell bad?” Something in Indrid’s smile flickers.

“It’s just something that turns up in eye-witness accounts. Have you-”

“O-kay, that’s enough with the interrogation for now.” Duck steers Joe towards their tent, “thanks again, Indrid. See you in the mornin.”

They pitch the tent and go over their notes from the last few days, discussing the route for tomorrow. Duck feels more than a little smug that Joe removes a cluster of sightings based on his explanation of how that’s absolutely where a bear den is and how weather can warp bear tracks to look plausibly like a bigfoot. The researcher does keep glancing over at the cabin; at one point, Indrid is at the window and waves to both of them. Joe waves back, a little awkwardly, and protective affection curls through Duck’s chest. 

By the time they’re done talking the rest of the camp is asleep. They lay down and shut off the lantern. Fifteen minutes later, a faint, red light emanates from the upper window of the cabin.

“That’s odd” Joe sits up, peering through a crack in the zipper, “there’s no reason to have a lantern there. It almost…almost looks like a signal.” He pulls the zipper further, reaching for his boots. 

Duck groans and sits up, “Joe, get your ass back in the tent.” 

Joe’s blue eyes glint in the faint light as he looks over his shoulder “Last I checked, Duck, I was the head researcher, and you technically answer to me.”

 “And last I checked, it was fuckin bad manners to creep around some poor fellas house.”

“I'm not creeping, I'm just...going for a look.” 

“No, you ain’t.” Duck grabs the back of the boxers Stern’s taken to wearing to bed. 

“Let go!” Joe hisses.

“Get back in the tent and I will.”

Joe simply turns around and tries to further unzip the tent, at which point Duck tugs, pulling him backwards and landing the taller man on top of him with a mutual “oof.”

“This seems unnecessary.” Joe mutters into his shoulder, though he stays down. 

“It’s necessary to keep you from violating someone’s privacy for the sake of a silly story.”

Joe’s posture sags, and after a moment he whispers, “If you think it’s silly, why did you agree to come?”

“Because y’all are payin me. And because I'm real curious about what people are seein'. Truth be told, you’re the first fella who’s made a case for Bigfoot that I even half-believe, because you know your stuff and actually think about things for two seconds.”

“Thank you. Really, coming from you that’s actually high praise.”

“Seems to me you deserve a little praise now and then.” Duck smiles. Joe shifts in his arms and so he quickly adds, “you need me to let you up?”

“No. Um, that is, I’m comfortable like this if you are.”

“I’d say I’m plenty comfy.” He hazards a glide of his hands down Joe’s lower back, settling them on his ass and getting a surprised sigh in return. 

“Really? I, I mean, not that I’m complaining it’s just, you seem like a very normal, red-blooded american man.”

“Sure as hell red-blooded enough to appreciate this handsome face” He moves one hand up to carefully trace a thumb along Joe’s jaw, a hint of stubble pricking his skin, “you crack me up, slick. You believe in a huge-ass ape thing but not a gay fella from the south.”

“That second one's not as much talked about.”

“Think you might just need to broaden your horizons some. If you stick around town when we’re done, happy to help you do just that.”

“I’d like that.” Joe shifts and rolls so that he’s straddling Duck, the smallest flash of shyness on his face before he dips down and kisses him. Duck slips his fingers into black hair, pressing him closer so he can tease his tongue between his lips. Joe moans, covers his mouth as Duck pulls away enough to kiss his way across his cheek and down his neck, nipping softly enough to avoid any marks.  

He grunts as Joe rolls his hips, the taller man smiling at the reaction and giving his thigh an appreciative squeeze, “If you want, I've been told I give good head. Through stalls, at least.”

The thought of Joe on his knees in some grimy bathroom with a dick down his throat sends most of his blood south, but the remainder still powering his brain reminds him the other man deserves something much better than an anonymous hook-up. 

“Appreciate the offer, darlin. But we got plenty of nights ahead of us, and you could do with a hell of a lot more kissin’ first.”

A soft moan, followed by a self-depreciating laugh, “Shit, that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Damn shame.” Duck rolls them onto their sides, hooking his ankle over a toned leg, “guess I better get to makin’ up the difference.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------

“Ugh, you get sprayed by a skunk one time!” Barclay throws up his hands, “just my luck I walked by a campsite where someone had a camera right after.”

“That does explain Joseph’s comment…” Indrid stares out the window in the direction the research party left. He didn’t enjoy having to tell Barclay to stay away last night, but even with them both human the chances of the disguise malfunctioning were too high. 

(He does appreciate that when he moved from concept into concrete being, it was a version of him that had the gift of future vision).

“Do you think they’re a big threat?”

“I think Joseph is exactly the kind of person who brought us into existence. And that if anyone in that group is going to find out the truth, it will be him. Or Duck, because he’s looking for it, not just for us.”

Barclay takes his hand, “Come back to the Lodge? I know you need some space to sort out being mothman but I’d, uh, I’d feel better if you weren’t out here alone with them tromping around.”

“Yes, I think I had better.” He flutters his eyelashes, hoping it looks as alluring on him as it does on the heroines in his romance novels, “provided you let me stay in your room.”

Barclay kisses him, “Sure thing, little moth.”

—-------------------------------------------------------

Joseph knows Winthrop and the others are on this expedition in the hopes of making a find that will make them millionaires, and that it was only a matter of time before an argument like the one he had with them tonight broke out. 

He did not expect the end result of this to be his and Duck’s tent getting shoved down a hillside. 

As they scrabble at the polyester and the dirt beneath, trying to slow their descent and keep them from turning into a knot in one end of the tent, he marvels at the other’s confidence; yes, they have a second guide, but Duck knows the area better than anyone. He doesn’t wish harm on anyone, but if the rest of the party is never seen again, he won’t feel that bad. 

They almost make it to the bottom with only bruises and torn bags. Then the angle sharpens and they drop six feet, Duck landing on his wrist and cursing as Joseph frees them from the tangled fabric. 

“Fuck, think it’s fuckin broken, must’ve fallen on it dead wrong.”

“Stay still. My first aid kit is somewhere around here.” He digs through the mess, finds the red carrier and helps Duck onto a log so he can get the wrist into a sling and bandage the cut on his own leg.

“Good news is, owfuck, if my map” Duck taps his temple, “is right, we ain’t all that far from Kepler, and they got at least one doctor. But we might wanna wait until morning; stand a better chance of stayin the right course if we can see.”

“I’ll see what else I can salvage from the tent.” He runs a hand over his hair, “I’m so sorry, Duck. I should have kept my mouth shut.”

Duck’s uninjured arm bumps into his own, “All that woulda done is make it so I was the one who reamed ‘em out for the idea they could fuckin poach out here.”

A crack in the brush in front of them. Duck grabs the flashlight they’d been using to check their injuries. 

It’s not the reflective eyes that worry him; it’s the fact they’re a good eight feet off the ground 

“Gun in your bag?”  Duck whispers.

“It was. No idea if it’s still there.”

A low growl as the hulking figure moves closer. He motions for Duck to stay still and takes the flashlight from him, standing between his friend and the encroaching creature. Its fur is reddish-brown in the light, and it’s not nearly as hairy as he expected. The face is more human than ape, the ears pointed, and claws are visible on the tips of its hands. 

“It’s beautiful.” He says it half to Duck and half to himself, which is why he nearly drops the flashlight when Bigfoot responds. 

“Uh, thanks.”

“Holy shit.” He shakes his head to clear it, the urgency of their situation keeping him from jumping for joy at the fact he’s not only right but that the subject of his research can actually talk with him, “I’m sorry if we’re in your territory, but we were abandoned by our expedition and my friend here is hurt. Do you know the safest route to Kepler?”

Bigfoot chuckles, “Man, he wasn’t kidding about you. Yeah, I can get you there. You both okay to walk?”

Duck gets to his feet, “Yep. Just go slow to start, think Joe and I are both a little rattled in the skull from the fall.” 

Bigfoot gives a thumbs up, then waves for them to follow him. Joseph takes Duck’s arm, unwilling to risk his falling behind, and starts into the darkness after him. 

—-----------------------------------------------------

“Incredible” Joseph stares at his notes, coffee sitting untouched on the table in front of him. Whether he’s referring to the disguise charm, the way cryptids come into existence, or Barclay’s cooking, he isn’t sure. All he knows is those blue eyes have been sparkling at him all morning and he’s not interested in losing their attention any time soon. 

“Brought into being by intense, sudden, collective belief. I mean, the theological and metaphysical implications alone are earth shattering. Duck and I could write whole papers on how it influences ecosystems, too…” He sets the end of his pen in his mouth, pondering the notebook.

“Don’t let Mama hear you say that. She’s got a basement and she’s not afraid to lock people in it.” It’s a teasing comment; in the day since they arrived, Joseph has made it abundantly clear he has no interest in endangering Barclay or the others by revealing their exact location or identities.

Joseph lowers his pen, “What’s it like? Being you, I mean. Coming into the world that way.”

“It’s…weird. Like, I have these memories, this history, these features. I exist the way I do because enough people think that’s the truth. But at the same time I, I like cooking” he gestures to the flattop, “I like blues music and I hate the way smoke looks in the sky and I cry at wedding scenes in movies. No one gave me those things. That’s all me.” He shrugs, “Like I said, it’s weird. I, uh, I can try to answer whatever questions you have, though.”

A gentle, dazzling smile, “And if my questions are just about Barclay and not Bigfoot?” 

“That’s fine too.” He winks, then settles in for questioning. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------------

“Room service!”

Duck looks up from the paper to find Indrid Cold in tiny shorts and a tank top, beaming as he holds out a breakfast tray.

“Aw hell yeah, is that corned beef hash?” 

“Indeed. Joseph said it was your favorite.”

“Swear that fella’s got a mind like a fuckin steel trap.” 

“He is remarkably observant. I can see why you chose him for a mate.” 

Duck drops his fork, then laughs a little, “Guess that’s one word for him. Ain’t sure he’s interested in anything that formal.” Suddenly, all he can picture is Joe at basecamp, getting into his car and driving away, back to his small apartment and nights spent hoping someone will call him a good boy from the other side of the glory hole. 

“Uh, thanks, by the way. Barclay said you were the one who told him to come look for Joe and me.”

“I did. There were futures where you were more seriously injured and my future sight told me it was best if he moved in his true form so he could reach you more quickly.”

“Is that sight-”

“-Why I am here? No. I, ah, I am like the others. In a way.”

“You’re a Bigfoot?” 

The taller man shakes his head, stands, and removes his glasses. 

“Jesus!” He nearly overturns his chair jolting away from the huge, insectoid shape towering over him. 

“Yes. That seems to be the usual reaction.” Feathery antenna droop, “Mothman was created to be something to be afraid of. An explanation for disaster. Or so I gather.”

“Hey, hey no” Duck stands, “I ain’t scared. Just wasn’t expectin you to look like this” He uses his good hand to touch Indrid’s arm, the chitin smooth and cool under his fingers, “did they at least make you look like one of the cool moths?”

“I…I do not know” He turns, wings spread, “can you tell?”

“Damn” Duck brushes his fingers along the circle of red on the left wing, “almost look like a Cinnabar Moth. Fuckin amazin.”

“Thank you. I, so far it is only Barclay who has found this form appealing. And perhaps Joseph? He asked if he could study me in it and take notes, but I cannot tell if that is flirtation in this case.”

Duck traces a little heart on the glossy black feathers, wondering if Indrid can feel it, “Depends. If he turns up in his Bluff Creek t-shirt, I’d make a move.”

Indrid swivels his head, red eyes glowing charmingly, “Noted.”

—---------------------------------------------------------

“Do you still have the paper? I want to see if there are any apartments listed. Thank you.” Joe takes the pages, leaning his back on the wall. Duck, half-upright on the pillows, kicks his feet into his lap. 

“You plannin to stay?”

“I think I can make a case to the research center that this is a logical outpost for me. And I really would be researching, I just would be…discreet with my sources. Not to mention it, well, it’s not far from where you live. So if you wanted to keep seeing each other we could.”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes, if it’s what you want.”

Duck snorts, hoping the noise doesn’t sound cruel, “That ain’t what I asked.”

Joe places the paper on the dresser and says calmly, “I want it so badly I could scream.” He shifts, nudges Duck’s legs apart, “I never, never thought I’d find someone like you. When you smile at me it’s like coming home, and your body” he pushes Duck’s shirt up, kisses just above his bellybutton, “your body makes me want to invent new sex positions just so we can fuck in every one of them.”

“Yeah?” Duck moves his hand, palming his fly, “seems to me you’re anglin for a tried and true one. 

Joe watches the glide of his hand, the swell of his dick against it, “May I?”

“Knock yourself outAHhey” he laughs as Joe bonks into his belly, “didn’t mean literally.”

Joe laughs, guides his cock from the fly of his boxers, “I maintain my enthusiasm is warranted.”

Duck groans as an eager tongue glides up his shaft, “Fuck, nice to be appreciated.”

The other man takes the head into his mouth, sucking skillfully as he tucks a hand under his waistband. Unlike most things Joe does it’s aimless, no defined goal beyond squeezing and pawing at Duck’s body. 

He digs his fingers deep enough into black hair to muss it, savoring the fact he’s the only one Joe allows such a gesture (he slapped Winthrop's hand away when he tried it at camp one night). 

“Good boy, fuck, Joe, you know how to make a guy feel like a fuckin king.”

Joe moans at the praise, then freezes as a knock comes from the door. 

“We were gonna go grab a bite. You guys wanna come?” 

At Barclay’s voice Joe’s eyes squeeze shut in pleasure. But when he tries to pull off to reply, Duck holds his head in place. 

“In a few. Got somethin y’all might wanna see first. C’mon in.”

Barclay and Indrid step inside, only for Indrid to grin and Barclay to slam a hand over his eyes. 

“Is, is this what you wanted us to see? Joseph, is it okay with you?”

Unable to move his head, Joe gives them a thumbs up.

“We have the all clear dearest.”

Barclay drops his hand, needy growl filling the air the moment he looks at Joe.

“See, here’s the thing. Joe’s real proud of his cock-suckin, and it’d be a damn shame not to give him the chance to show off. Not to mention, if you let him get a peek at what your dicks look like in your, uh, other forms, he’d probably bend over and let us fuck him two at a time.” He releases Joe in case he needs to protest or catch his breath. 

“God yes” He gasps, surging up to kiss Duck, “see, this is why I’m sticking around, no where in the city can I find a bear this smart.”

“Bear?” Indrid cocks his head adorably.

“I’ll explain later, sugar.” 

Indrid chirrs, blushing as he reaches for his glasses. When he’s Mothman once more, Joe sighs, “I’ll never get tired of looking at you.”

“Ahem” Barclay’s shadow falls across the bed. 

Joe’s gaze starts at his face, moving down with a smooth smile, “Or you, big guy. Um, very big guy.” He scoots to the edge of the bed, circling both hands around Barclay’s formidable cock, “amazing, the head is more flared than a human’s would be” he runs his thumb over said head, setting pre-cum beading down it, which he then licks at with an inquisitive expression.

“Why is this so hot?”

“Earnest interest in a partner is very attractive?” Indrid grins, antenna twitching, “or perhaps you get off on geeks.”

“Oh I gonna get off on him alright.” Barclay is now caressing Joe’s face, nudging him towards his cock, “you want in?”

Indrid rubs between his legs, “I’m working on it. It, ah, it takes rather more effort for mine to emerge.”

“Want a hand?” Duck tries not to snicker at the pun.

“I have four already, but yes.” Indrid steps into his space, folded wings bumping the edge of the bed, “be a sweet human and help me.”

Duck offers his good hand, “Show me how?”

Indrid guides it along the feathers, holding Duck’s fingers down and circling them until the skin parts. Silvery slick runs down his wrist, silky rather than sticky for which he has to say he’s grateful. The cryptid purrs, running black claws down his arm as his cock curls free. It’s thin and flexible, curling around his wrist enough that Duck wonders if there’s any chance it’s prehensile. 

“Ohmylord.” Joe nearly tips over turning from Barclay to Indrid, “I’ve never seen…Indrid this is amazing.” He examines the tentacle for a moment, then drags his tongue along the side, following it along Duck’s wrist and finishing with a kiss to his palm. As he pulls back, the appendage follows him, making Barclay laugh. 

“Damn, baby, it likes you.”

Joe glances at Barclay, winks, and then takes the whole thing into his mouth. Indrid trills and his wings snap open hard enough to knock a picture off the wall. 

“Awww, you excited sugar? Duck stands, stroking a palm against the closest wing.

“Extremely, oh, ohgoodness, you were not exaggerating he is magnificent.”

Joe moans, waving one hand at Barclay.

“Want me to do something?” The cryptid grins. Joe’s nostrils flare and he points more emphatically at the floor directly beside Indrid. As soon as he’s in reach Joe’s hand flies up to stroke his cock, smirking when Barclay yips.

“This is what you’re gonna do once you move, ain’t it?” Duck continues caressing Indrid’s wing, planting kisses on the edges nearest his shoulder, “be a nice, upstandin’ researcher all day and then spend the night on your knees.”

“Mmmhmmph” Joe nods, pulls free of Indrid and immediately takes Barclay’s cock into his mouth.

“Rude, pet.” Indrid crows against Barclay, cock pushing past the corner of Joe’s lips. Blue eyes widen in excitement, and from here Duck can see the tendril pulsing against his cheek as Barclay’s cock forces his mouth into a wider stretch.

Fuck, he should have made him finish before letting the others have a turn, he’s still so hard he could carve a fucking statue with his dick. 

A black wing drapes over his shoulder, drawing him against Indrid’s side, and a spindly hand reaches around his dick.

“Allow me.” Indrid dips his head, nuzzling Duck’s hair as he moans and bucks his hips, “my lovely Duck, so thoughtful, sharing his mate.”

Joe moans, eyes wide and a bit hazy when he looks Duck’s way. 

“Yes, pet, you’re very good too. So handsome and composed, even on your knees. But you’ll look far nicer in just a moment.”

“Fuck!” Duck gasps as his orgasm hits him in the gut and Joe in the face. As his legs buckle, Indrid grabs him and holds him close, trilling sharply. He can see Joe’s throat working, but as Indrid’s cock retreats, silvery cum trails down his chin. 

Then Duck is scooped up in four arms and carried back to the bed, Indrid cradling him close and wrapping his wings about him like a luxurious blanket. 

“C’mon babe, touch yourself while I fuck your throat, fuck, Joseph, that’s it, fucking-A you feel so fuckin tight when you moan.” There’s a howlgrowlpurr and a gasping cough. When the gasping continues, there’s a thud. Duck peers over Indrid’s wing to find Barclay kneeling on the floor, cupping Joe’s face and using someone’s discarded shirt to wipe his chin. 

“There we go, I got you blue eyes, are you okay? You need water? I can get water or-”

“I’m fine, big guy.” Joe’s voice is rough but happy, “riding out my own orgasm while you came all down my throat turned out to be a bit too much multi-tasking, even for me.”

“Thank fuck, I was so worried I’d hurt you.” That needy growl is back as Barclay joins them on the groaning bed and cuddles the human against him, “everyone good?”

“Divine.” Indrid nuzzles Duck again. 

“Fuckin great.” Duck glances over at his fellow human, “seems to me like whoever came up with the, uh, constructs of these two made ‘em real fuckin fun in bed.”

Joe smiles at him, sandwiching himself more comfortably between Indrid and Barclay, “No, I think we just got lucky.”

#OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends #sternclay #indruck #inclay #agent stern/duck newton #terato #monster boyfriend

[thiswasinevitableid]

Chapter 2: Wolf Pack

Stern gambles. Indrid shows off. Barclay explains.

#OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends #werewolf au #indruck #sternclay #inclay #agent stern/duck newton #agent stern/barclay/indrid cold/Duck newton #terato #monster boyfriend #trans duck newton #trans agent stern

[thiswasinevitableid]

Joseph Stern, long-time FBI agent and fairly new werewolf, is enjoying his new life in Kepler and his amazing boyfriend. As he spends more time with Duck and Indrid, he has more and more questions about Indrid and Barclay's pasts, as well as what the future might hold for the four of them.

(This is set after the events of Howling For You, but can be read as as stand alone).

#Indruck #sternclay #OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends #inclay #duck newton/agent stern #werewolf au #Werewolf boyfriend #terato #indrid cold/agent stern #trans duck newton #trans agent stern

[thiswasinevitableid]

8 & 21 Hellhound and Ghost, SFW, OT4

I really love all of the ghost ideas you’ve done before, and I thought maybe an afterlife vibe could be cool?

Here you go!

The graveyard behind the house doesn’t bother him. Frankly, it frightens Joseph far less than the rows of right wing flags he had to drive by to get out here. Even the realtor's disclosure that most people think his new house is haunted didn’t worry him; half the buildings in Tonopah make that same claim. 

Still, when he sees reflective eyes watching him through the fence his first night, he jumps a good foot in the air. 

Flipping on the porchlight reveals a massive dog, so wild in it’s features that he wonders if it’s a wolf. But in his experience, wolves don’t have brindled fur, and the longer he watches it creep along the edge of the light, the more he’s certain it’s a stray. 

“Hi there, friend. Is your owner nearby?” It wouldn’t be that strange for someone to be in the graveyard; it’s public land that connects to a network of trails. He’d certainly like it if someone took him for a moonlit walk through it.

The dog’s half-down ears prick up just as Joseph feels a chilly breeze graze the back of his neck. He swears he hears two voices, so faint they could just be the product of his moving-addled brain. Then the dog trots up the back steps into his kitchen. 

“Hey, wait, hold on.” Joseph hurries in front of it, “this isn’t your house. And if someone is looking for you,  they’re going to be upset that they can’t find you.”

His voice isn’t that sharp, but the dog whines and stares up at him. He takes the opportunity to examine his fur, which is matted in places, the scar on his nose, and the tattered collar on his thick neck. In faded letters, he makes out the word “Barclay.”

“You’ve been out here awhile, huh?” He kneels and the dog wags his fluffy tail, wiggling closer as Joseph cautiously pets him. 

“I can’t keep you, I barely have food in the house for myself, let alone a dog. See, I’m still unpacking.” He gestures to the carefully labeled boxes.

Barclay flops over, demanding belly rubs. As Joseph obliges, he checks his to-do list for the first day of unpacking and finds he’s actually ahead of schedule. He could run into town…

The dog flips back over and bounds down the hall into the master bedroom. Without hesitating, he nestles down in a corner, staring at the spot where Joseph will eventually put his bed. 

Of course, that’s why Barclay was hanging around the house. 

“Your owners used to live here.” He sits on the floor and rubs a fluffy head, “Such a good boy, waiting for them to come home. Guess it’d be rude of me to kick you out after all that.”

Another whine and the dog rests his chin in Joseph’s lap. His big eyes are an odd shade, more red than brown. Nobody has looked at Joseph with that much affection in years. 

“Okay, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll go get some food for both of us, and you stay here and keep an eye on the house. Deal?”

Barclay “boofs” as if he understands. And when Joseph glances in his mirror as he starts down the driveway, a big, furry, loyal face is watching him from the window. 

He is going to get that dog the most highly-rated, ergonomic leash and bed money can buy.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

“Uh, so are you gonna just…let him think you’re his dog?” Duck materializes next to Barclay once Joseph’s headlights are safely in the distance. 

“Technically, he thinks he’s our dog.” Indrid appears, poking his head into various boxes.

“You do call him a good boy an awful lot.” Duck winks at him and Barclay chuckles as he changes shape. His true, hellhound form seems the best call, since he can talk in it but if Joseph sees him at the window he might not immediately clock him as anything but a big pet. 

“If he buys you an ugly collar I reserve the right to throw it out.” Indrid floats into Barclay’s arms, “though from his clothes he has a decent sense of style.”

“Rude to snoop, little moth.” Barclay nuzzles the top of his head. 

“As if you are not about to go nose about his kitchen supplies.” Indrid kisses his arm.

“He’s got you there, big fella. Awfuck” there’s a thunk as a book falls through Duck’s hand, “been almost a year and I still ain’t used to that.”

“Ooooh, he’s a fellow romance reader.” Indrid disappears and the book lifts, “TNT for Three: An Agent X Adventure. How fun, the library here doesn’t have nearly enough paranormal romances.”

“‘Drid, they got like two whole rows of ‘em.”

“As I said.” The book moves across the room and slides onto an empty bookshelf.

“Good thinkin, sugar. We don’t wanna just poof into sight right off of the bat, since this fella seems nice and not like we need to scare him off, but it won’t hurt to drop some hints that this place is still, uh, occupied. In case he needs to bow out.”

“Precisely. Though between the books and the commemorative Winchester Mystery House mug I spotted downstairs, I think he may not be all that bothered. Now, I believe I promised you a night walk to look for bats.” Indrid offers his arm.

“Hell yeah.” Duck takes it, and as they fade away he calls, “keep an eye on him for us?”

“You know it.” Barclay waves and watches them float through the back wall (he can tell when they’re no longer visible to human eyes because there’s a slight shimmer to their outlines). Then he pads down the hall to see if his new roommate is savvy enough to have some cumin and smoked paprika in his spice rack. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

His job at the library started a week after he arrived in town, and now that he’s been here two full weeks he’s (mercifully) found a routine. Wake up, work out, go to work, come home, make dinner, read, sleep, repeat. 

After the chaos of the field, it’s heavenly. 

Better yet, he’s now positive the house is haunted by at least two entities. 

It started with his things unpacking themselves; a few books, his ties, the blender. Then it became clear the entities had opinions on his decorating. His vintage Legend of Boggy Creek poster was put up in the living room without him ever grabbing a tack. An aloe plant he bought on a whim moved from one windowsill to another, thriving as a result. 

Next were the two voices, talking or laughing in another room, then shushing each other whenever Joseph got up to look. Lately he’s seen shapes in the corner of his eye when he’s unpacking groceries or walking in the graveyard. Which is why, when the door creaks open as he’s shaving his face after his shower, he expects there to be a human on the other side. 

Instead, an auburn furred head pokes in. Barclay is calmly wagging his tail as he watches Joseph wash his face. Then his eyes settle on the scar on his side, just above the towel on his waist, and he whines with what Joseph pretends is worry.

“I’m alright, big guy. It barely hurts these days. I just wish it had been worth the trouble.”

Barclay cocks his head, one ear flopping adorably. 

“We were told it was a rescue of kidnapping victims. Turns out some politician had a grudge against a big-shot rancher and wasted the FBIs goddamn time trying to scare him with a raid. And because everyone in this state has a fucking gun, he shot at us and hit me.”

The dog raises on his hind legs, balancing his front ones on the sink as he tries to lick Joseph’s face. 

“Uh uh, down” Joseph points at the floor and the dog sits. He scratches his face with both hands, “I’m okay now. I’m here with you.” 

He doesn’t say that, in spite of getting along with his coworkers, he feels like a man on a deserted island. Some nights the bitterness hangs so thick in his throat he can’t taste dinner. Luckily, dogs can’t read the nuances of human expressions, so Barclay won’t know he’s anything but happy. 

As he turns off the light and goes to change, a voice whispers, “Damn smart to quit.”

That afternoon on the desk, he takes advantage of it being a slow day to dig through the archives of the local paper. About a year back, he finds a brief article detailing a car crash that killed two men: Duck Newton and Indrid Cold.  

Officials believe they swerved to avoid something on Goldfield Road on their return home and hydroplaned, causing the car to veer off the road and down the hillside. Mr. Cold was declared dead at the scene, and Mr. Newton was in critical condition. He passed away before he reached LifeFlight. 

There’s only one house on Goldfield, and he’s living in it. 

When he gets home, he hangs up his blue cardigan and stands in the kitchen, hands on his hips and Barclay at his heels.

“Mr. Newton? Mr. Cold?”

He holds his breath, waiting for the creak of a chair or a whispered word. When nothing comes, he can’t help but sag against the counter. There’s no one here, there never has been, it’s just the overactive imagination of a washed-up special agent whose so goddamn lonely he’d rather be a ghost himself. 

Barclay lifts his nose, snuffling the air. Then he sprints out the back door Joseph swears he locked this morning. He chases the dog into the graveyard, the fading sun throwing long shadows across the sand, then nearly trips over him as he drops to a stop, barking at the rickety bench near the fence. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Joseph grabs his collar, afraid he’s about to chase the idea of a rabbit into the hills. His dog continues barking, then pulls forward with such force it sends Joseph to the ground.

“Barclay, knock it off! I already feel like an idiot for trying to talk to your old owners when we both know they’re not here and this is not helping the situation!”

“On the contrary. He knew we weren’t home and led you out here so you weren’t talking to an empty house.” The voice becomes a man, tall and silver-haired, floating slightly above the bench. He’s in a pink and yellow tank top, black jeans showing off his long legs, and when Joseph covers his mouth in surprise he simply smiles. Even faintly translucent, it’s a dazzling sight. 

“We were kinda wonderin’ when you’d try to talk with us.” The second voice is much closer, and as he moves his hands from his face the right one bumps into something chilly, “help up?”

Joseph takes the phantom hand and gets to his feet. Then the fingers dissipate and he’s looking down at a man with green eyes and a grey streak in his dark hair. A crooked smile is the finishing touch on a rounded face, and the longer Joseph looks the more he wishes he could run his hands over the soft, sturdy curves of his body. 

“Mr. Newton?”

“Yep, but Duck is just fine. That’s ‘Drid, but I’m guessin you already know that, seein’ as you’re a smart one.” 

“Yes. And, um, thank you. I’m glad I haven’t made such an ass of myself at home that you still think that.”

“Gotta be honest, slick, you’re real nice as roommates go. So,” he gestures to the spot next to Indrid on the bench, “what do you wanna know?”

—------------------------------------------------------------

“You have to tell him.” Indrid stands at the side of the bed, arms crossed, as Barclay looks sheepishly at him and transforms. 

“I know. I fucked up not telling him sooner and now I’m not sure how. I mean, he’s being chill about you and Duck, but you guys haven’t been sleeping by his bed and cuddling him on the couch.” 

“Not for lack of interest.”

Barclay rolls onto his side and smirks, “He’s kinda off type for you, isn’t he?”

“A man like that is everyone’s type. Or he should be. God help me if he ever calms down enough to masturbate, he’ll end up writhing on the ceiling like it’s the Exorcist.”

“Easy there, little moth.” Barclay tugs him onto the bed, nuzzling his face. 

“No, now I am too worked up. Someone will have to help me remedy that.” He digs his fingers into Barclay’s fur, scratching in just the right spots to make his tongue loll out of his mouth. 

“You think we have time?” 

“Joseph and Duck are planning the garden, and putting in an order of houseplants. Given their personalities, I suspect we have at least an hour. So, hellhound” Indrid reaches around and tugs his tail, “come and claim your prey.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

“We’d better hurry; I don’t love running in the dark and it looks like we’ve got a thunderstorm coming in.” Joseph clicks Barclay’s leash into place, calls a quick goodbye to Duck and Indrid as they step out the front door. As they start down the road at a jog, Barclay is once again treated to the sight of Joseph’s ass and legs moving with strength and grace. Joseph’s fondness for tiny running shorts isn’t his only reason for putting off his confession this long, but it’s certainly one of them. 

After yesterday’s conversation with Indrid, Barclay’s decided he’ll come clean tomorrow morning. He’ll make sure coffee is going and laundry is started before he does, so that he can still make the house nice for Joseph to be in after the human rightly turns him out for being both a creep and a coward. 

Headlights crest the road, swerving more than they should. It wouldn’t be the first time some flock of young guys decided to drunkenly joyride up into the hills. 

But it is the first time a pick-up careens directly towards his human. 

Barclay’s supernatural speed allows him to knock Joseph out of the way in the few seconds before the car hits him. As he expected, it catches him instead, and he yelps as his body tumbles down the road. Yeah, those broken ribs are gonna be a pain in the ass to heal. 

“Assholes!” Joseph is already on his feet, sprinting towards Barclay, “shit, shitshitshit, okay, it’ll be okay big guy, I’ll get you to the vet, you’ll be okay, you’ll be okay.” He scoops Barclay into his arms, moving slowly and determinedly back up the road to the house, “just hang on, I got you, those assholes are going to be so sorry they bought a vanity plate, it’ll be so easy to call them in for drunk driving.” Joseph stumbles near the mailbox, “shit, ow, almost there-”

“I got him.” Duck is by Barclay’s feet, “saw the whole thing from the window, c’mon, ‘Drid’s got the bed set up.”

“No, no we have to get him in the car-”

“If we just get him in-”

“I’m not letting my dog fucking die!” Joseph snaps, usually collected voice catching in his throat. 

Nope, no way is he making Joseph cry. 

Barclay rolls out of their hold. Josephs’ cursing takes on a new tone as he changes shape, holding his side as he towers over him. 

“You, you’re, you’re-”

“I’m so fucking sorry.” Barclay hunches his shoulders and drops his fiery tail, “I should have told you that first night-”

“You’re okay” Joseph throws his arms around him, hiding his face in his chest.

“Uh. Yeah? I’m a hellhound, we can’t really be killed.” 

“You’re okay.” Joseph takes a shaky inhale, looks up with blue eyes that are far too teary.

“Uh huh” Barclay cups his face, wiping a tear away with the pad of his thumb, “I didn’t mean to scare you, I just, a hellhound protects his pack.”

“Fellas? We might wanna do this inside before anyone spots Barclay.”

“Right, right of course.” Joseph sniffs, grabs Barclay’s hand and pulls him towards home, “I have some many questions.”

He squeezes it reassuringly, “I kinda figured.”

—------------

“I’d been the graveyard guardian for years, even before Duck and Indrid moved here. It’s the job they put hellhounds on when they, uh, aren’t all that great at hunting”

“Don’t sell yourself short, dearest. The few times you’ve hunted you were magnificent. But your heart is far too big to be a creature of punishment.”

“I guess.” Barclays tail wags shyly as Indrid rests his head on his shoulder, “anyway, when they died it was safer for me to interact with them, and since they stayed here to haunt we started hanging out more. After a while I got kinda attached.” He traces his claw over the Luna Moth tattoo on Indrid’s left forearm. 

“He’s got that effect on folks.” Duck is reclining in the easy chair that Joseph now knows is a Newton family heirloom. When he blows a kiss across the rug, Indrid catches it, “we weren’t monogamous when we were alive, so it’s kinda fun that we can keep that up now that we beefed it.”

“Fascinating.” Joseph murmurs, jotting bullet points in his notebook, “Are hellhounds where we get the myth of church grims?”

“Probably” Barclay shrugs, “they usually put us in graveyards where there are lots of restless spirits, and old west towns had a LOT of those back in the day.”

“And being able to touch ghosts regardless of whether they’re visible is to help with hunting?”

“Yeah. Got a lot of other perks too.” Barclay licks Indrid’s cheek, making him laugh. 

“Man, havin to choose between bein visible and bein’ able to pick shit up is so fuckin annoying.”

“Technically, if we gain enough power, we can do both.”  Indrid perks up, flapping his hands, “ooh, now that everyone is on the same page, we can have movie nights!”

“Didn’t we do that last week?” Joseph distinctly remembers the DVD of Red Dust on His Soul bonking into his arm.

“Yes, but now you can do it with Barclay’s cooking. There’s a particular spell that allows you to burn it as an offering so we can have some too.”

“So you did keep knocking certain spices off the shelf so I’d use them.” Joseph raises his eyebrow and the cracks of embers along Barclay’s back turn pink. “And I can do that for you two, Indrid. In the sink, though, I don’t want anything catching fire. Maybe we should get you a hairnet while we’re at it for the fur…” as he bites the end of his pen, Barclay shrinks and Indrid topples into the now-empty space with an “oof.” The hellhound is now a human, shaggy auburn hair tied back and sweet smile parting a short beard. The barrel chest, big hands, and strong legs nearly distract him from the fact the ends of his teeth are still a little pointed.

He bites the pen so hard the plastic cracks. “Oh. Um. That works too” 

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is what he gets for expecting the best. Four interminable hours with the most annoying man he’s ever had the displeasure to meet who is somehow still convinced that Joseph will fuck him. 

Ever since they’ve cleared the air at home, Joseph’s confidence–his real confidence, not his professional kind–has been climbing steadily. 

It climbs when Barclay wakes up a few minutes before or after him (from the guest room, though Joseph is ready to invite him back into his room any day) and makes him coffee with just the right amount of cream. Or when they play chess in the evenings and the hellhound compliments his techniques. 

It climbs when, on a hunch, he brings Duck a model ship kit from the thrift store and the ghost nearly floats through the ceiling with excitement. For the next two nights, he sits at the table across from the moving pieces, doing his crossword while Indrid sketches and Barclay cooks. 

It climbs when Indrid, lilting voice close in his ear, fixes his tie for him even though they both know Stern gets it perfectly even on the first try every time. Or when a ghostly head settles in his lap, the faintest shimmer of a wide smile asking him how his day was and then really listening when he replies. 

And it spiked through the stratosphere when, once he put on his outfit for tonight, Duck wolf-whistled, Barclay’s tail went double-speed, and Indrid looked like he wanted to possess him in the filthiest way possible. 

So of course, of course he’d end up spending his evening with someone who can’t imagine why you’d turn away from a “real mans” job to do something boring and was never taught to chew with his fucking mouth closed. 

Worst of all, Joseph was optimistic enough after their texting sessions to let this Asshole be his ride. Which is why he cannot get him off his porch. 

“So, you gonna invite me in for coffee?”

“No.” Joseph opens the door, sort of hoping Barclay is in his hellhound form. Instead, his dog form click-clicks across the hardwood. 

“Aw, c’mon, I’m dying to see your place.” Asshole pushes past him while he’s trying to get the lights on, “hey, watch the fucking pants” He shoos Barclay away, using his body to block Stern against the wall. Barclay growls, ears back and teeth bared. 

“Tell the fucking mutt he’s killing the mood.”

“No, that honor falls to you.” Joseph pushes him aside, “goodnight, get home safe. C’mon big guy, let’s get you some dinner.”

“Look, I put up with your prissy ass all night, the least you can do-”

“The least I can do is ask you one more time to leave. After that, I won't be polite about it.”

Asshole steps forward, then looks up with a frown. He’s out the door screaming before Joseph can count to three.

The door slams closed behind him, Duck appearing next to it as Indrid floats down to join them, giggling the entire time. 

“The ax murderer idea was brilliant, sweetheart.” Indrid kisses his husband, turns to Joseph, “we were going to appear as we looked after the crash, but Duck thought something more…ghoulish was called for.” He’s beaming, manages to scritch Barclay’s ears before he shifts into a hellhound. 

“Man, what a dick.”

“No kidding” Joseph runs a hand through his hair, “I put up with him all night and then he has the fucking nerve to insult my boyfriend. Um. My dog. I meant my dog. Just, had dating on the brain is all.” He turns away, undoing his tie.

Warm, furry arms circle his waist, and hot breath tickles his neck, “I get it. That’s why I was gonna bite his fingers off. Nobody fucks with my boyfriend.”

Joseph closes his eyes, opens them again to be sure this isn’t a dream. 

“C’mon,” Duck’s fingers brush his cheek, “you think we’d pull out the ax murderer trick for just anyone?”

“We talked about it amongst ourselves, and decided that since we’re supernatural and you’re human it might feel like we were pressuring you if we asked. So the agreement was that if you came to us and wanted to be our boyfriend, we’d be ready to welcome you.” Indrid’s fingers stroke his hair and card through Barclay’s fur.

“I do want it. I want it so much. I want to call this home and mean it in, in all senses of the word. Is that what you all want, too?”

Two more sets of arms hug him, a pleasant chill pressing him into a comforting warmth. 

“You know it.”

“Of course.”

“Hell yeah.”

#OT4: Government men and their cryptid boyfriends #monster march #terato #indruck #sternclay #inclay #duck newton/agent stern #trans agent stern #trans duck newton

[thiswasinevitableid]

Chapter 5: Wolf Den

Indrid takes a bath. Stern gives orders. Duck, well, ducks.

#OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends #werewolf au #induck #sternclay #inclay #agent stern/duck newton #indrid cold/agent stern #trans duck newton #trans agent stern

[thiswasinevitableid]

Chapter 4: Howling Wolf

Indrid hides. Barclay makes guacamole. Dani is pissed.

#OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends #indruck #sternclay #agent stern/duck newton #inclay #agent stern/Indrid Cold #terato #werewolf au #monster boyfriend

[thiswasinevitableid]

Chapter 3: Hungry Like the Wolf

Indrid gives a present. Duck gives some advice. Joseph investigates.

#OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends #werewolf au #indruck #sternclay #inclay #agent stern/duck newton #trans duck newton #trans agent stern #terato #monster boyfriend

[thiswasinevitableid]

Chapter 6: Wolf Hearts

Joseph paints nails. Barclay is patient. Indrid makes an offer.

or

The end!

#OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends #werewolf au

[thiswasinevitableid]

for monster march, 6 ot4 nsfw?

Here you go!

Content note: #6 is Eldritch, which means there is some body weirdness/minor body horror. I tried to keep it tame and don't describe anything too graphically, but if you're super sensitive to that stuff, proceed with caution.

Should Indrid have stopped at the last town, before the road became lined with nothing but cornfields? Yes

Should he have stopped at the gas station at the edge of the small town called Kepler, to ask if anyone could tell him if that sound under the hood was a problem? Also yes.

Is he now stuck in a dead car on a dirt shoulder in the middle of nowhere. Of course he is.

He grabs his phone, hoping his father hasn’t canceled the family AAA account he’s been secretly using for years. There’s no service, and he remembers that the sign also said NRQZ.

“Well, fuck me I guess.”

In the dying August twilight, he spots a silhouette of a farmhouse on the other end of the huge field. If nothing else, they’ll have either a phone or a car he can use. After walking up and down the road and finding now sign of a driveway or country road, he parts the sea of stalks and starts forward.

Twenty minutes later, the light is completely gone, and there’s no sound but crickets and the rustle of corn. Worse, the house isn’t getting any closer. He’s checked, using his hand for scale, and the building never gets bigger.

“Lovely, apparently you can create a mirage in a cornfield.”

“Ain’t a mirage. But it ain’t really a house either. It’s just a staging area.” A voice comes from his right and he yelps, spinning to scan for the source. He finds none, just more leaves fluttering as the voice adds, “kinda surprised, usually they start ‘em from there.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just trying to find a phone.”

“Phone ain’t gonna help you.”

Indrid swears the stalks are pressing closer, caging him, and his voice isn’t as level as he likes when he says, “Then can you? I need to call AAA.”

“......Is that minor deity or somethin’?”

“No.” Indrid crosses his arms in front of his chest, suddenly wishing for more than a tank top and jean shorts to put between himself and the voice, “Look, I, I know you’re just a local messing with me so knock it off and help me get to town.”

The corn shakes and Indrid realizes with horror that it’s laughing at him.

“Well, you got one thing right: I’m a local.”

The soil in front of him splits, roots and dirt coiling into a dozen arms, vines sprouting after them. Rotten wood sticks out from all sides as both dead and living stalks form some incomprehensible skeleton around the mass. Bioluminescent fungus flicker to light throughout it, regarding him like eyes. He can’t even step backwards, looks down to find a web of mycelium binding his feet to the dirt. Part of the monstrosity reaches out and he closes his eyes as if that would make it go away as warm tendrils touch his chest, right above his heart. They spread outward, coiling and searching, and Indrid prepares himself to be swallowed up.

Then the appendage retreats and the corn behind him bends and binds into a backboard. His feet are released, only for his arms to be trapped by his sides by cuffs of leaves. Which is fitting, as he’s shaking like one.

“You can open your eyes.”

Indrid shakes his head with a whimper.

“Aw, I ain’t gonna hurt you. You got a good heart, like most of the folks they sacrifice. Just keep you around for a week or so then turn you loose.”

“What h-happens in that week?” He’s shaking harder, visions of mushrooms sprouting from his pores, of vines sucking the energy and years from his sinews, flooding his mind in a nightmarish torrent.

“I use you for energy. Helps me keep the orchards, fields, and whatnot nice and healthy all year long. That’s the deal; I make sure the town’s livelihood thrives, they make sure I get my offerin’ now and then.”

“I’m not an offering!” He’s yelling, hoping someone might hear and knowing they won’t, “I just got lost, I need help, please, please-” a tendril touches his face and he shuts his mouth, terrified it might slither inside.

“Hush now, darlin. You ain’t in any danger.” Two more vines caress his sides through his thin shirt, “all I need is this, just to touch you some, and I get what I need.”

“Promise?”

“Yep. Aw now,” something earthy lifts his glasses away, “don’t cry. Here, lemme put on a form that’s easier on a human brain. There, you can open your eyes.”

Indrid decides it’s best to obey, weakly cracks one eye open and finds he now has to look down a few inches to see his captor. The monstrosity in the field is now wearing the shape of a middle aged man, with soft features, dark hair, and a sturdy, chubby body. Were there not glowing fungus and bits of plant matter peeking from his skin, Indrid would think he’d just been rescued from his nightmare by a bear.

“That’s..that is a little less alarming. Thank you.”

“My pleasure. I may be a god of the, uh, well it used to be the harvest but now it’s more general, anyway, point is I don’t like seein’ a sweet, stunning thing like you cry.”

Indrid sags in his restraints, “You don’t have to flatter me. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

Corn silk brushes his hair from his face as the creature studies him, “That ain’t flattery, that’s just the truth. Ain’t ever had a human out here who looked quite like you.”

Indrid’s about to point out that unique is not the same as appealing when the god steps into his space, the heavy scent of soil filling his nose.

“Can already tell we’ll get along just fine, can hardly keep myself off you.” He indicates where vines and leaves are stroking Indrid’s skin, parting his legs, tugging at his hands and shirt. Where the dirt is covering his feet and seems to be rubbing them.

Indrid giggles, shaking his head, “And here I thought I was clingy.” When the god meets his eyes he adds, “my ex dumped me because I was ‘too needy.’ He hated that I always wanted to be cuddled or touched. Really, he hated it when I needed more care than a pet rock.”

“Shame.” The man touches his cheek with a hand that almost feels human, but a little too thin, the skin of a stone-fruit, “some folks don’t know their own good luck. Well, won’t have to worry about that with me; make sure you get lots of attention.” He hesitates a moment, then brings their lips together.

Indrid gasps, expecting this to be the start of some kind of torment, but the gesture is gentle and chaste, more reassuring than anything else, and he finds he doesn’t want it to end.

Poppoppopop

The god pulls back, both of them staring at the ears that just turned into popcorn.

“What are you?” Glowing green eyes study him.

“A broke artist?” His hands are suddenly free and the backboard is gone. He wobbles, the man steadying him gently. He’s warm, and when Indrid hugs him sprouts burst from the ground.

“Whoa, hey now, ain’t your time, go back to sleep.” The man lets go of him, kneeling and waving his hands over the bright green, “got a whole winter to get through. There we go, back under ground, build your strength.” He turns, still on his knees, and sets his hands reverently on Indrid’s hips, “you positive you ain’t even a demigod?”

Indrid laughs, “If I were, I would not have blundered my way into a Stephen King book. Oh, ohhhh” he sighs as Duck’s hands pet his thighs and net of roots grips his ass, massaging away the stiffness of day after day of long drives.

When he first appeared, the man had regarded Indrid with a kind of casual hunger. Now, there’s no mistaking the look in his eyes (both the ones in his face and the one that keeps peeking through his forehead) as desire.

“I…I would not be opposed to more touching. But I don’t suppose you have somewhere a little comfier?”

“Nope, but I can make one. C’mon, know just the spot. Uh, it okay if I carry you?”

“I suppoOHs” Indrid cackles as he’s lifted bridal-style. The man tries to brush stray dirt from his hair and only succeeds in sprinkling more, but it’s the thought that counts.

“You got a name?”

“Indrid.”

“Mines-” he lets out a series of low creaks, adds, “but you can call me Duck. It’s a nickname.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If he survives this, Joseph is going to have Agent Williams’ badge. And possibly his head, depending on what happens to him out here.

When their cover in Kepler was close to being blown, his fellow agent panicked and finished the job. In exchange for the information, he was allowed to speed out of town in their car after handing Joseph over to a cult on a goddamn silver platter.

All he has to do is stay calm; he’s managed to so far, and because of that he knows what route they took and where they are, even with his eyes covered. If he keeps this up, he can get himself free and find out why people passing through Kepler sometimes lose weeks or disappear.

He’s shoved to his knees as the sheriff calls out, “Mighty and Bountiful one, Protector of our fields, he who walks behind the rows and sleeps beneath the earth, we bring you an offering on this, the appointed night of your unknowable name.”

Thwack

Something lands in the dirt near him as confused murmurs fill the air. The same noise, over and over, and as the sheriff argues with the mayor, he reaches out and feels around until he solves the mystery: the field is pelting them with corn.

“I think it wants us to go away.” The sheriff’s voice, puzzled.

“It could be a test. Let’s consult the elders and regroup. And don’t let the suit out of your sight.”

As Joseph is hauled to his feet, he wonders if he should be insulted that whatever is in the field doesn’t want him.

—---------------------------------------------------------------

“Are you certain you don’t want to just tell them?” Indrid sits on a stump, eyes closed; Duck asked him to so he could surprise him with his new home.

“I got corn to throw for days. Besides, I don’t wanna leave, even for a second. Not when I got you here. Okay, open your eyes.”

Indrid obeys and then, in spite of himself, flaps his hands, “Amazing!”

Duck proudly pats the side of the cabin of once-rotted logs and corn husks, “Thanks. Oughta give you plenty of room, and a hurricane couldn’t knock it down.”

As he steps inside, Indrid smiles; Duck must see flashes of human life but lack important context. For instance, there are two chairs facing a black rectangle that must be a T.V, and there are two large, green boxes that he suspects are meant to be a washer and dryer.

Duck snaps his fingers and a bowl of soup appears on the table. As Indrid moves towards it, he notices all the plant life in the room is trying to interact with him; the floor warms under his feet, grasses or flowers try to brush him, and vines and stalks bend towards him or twist around him. He eats the soup and drinks the glass of something with notes of wheat and honey that Duck conjures (from the facsimile of the microwave, not the fridge). All the while vines pet his legs and glowing eyes study him from across the table.

One of the few items of furniture that’s just as it should be is the bed; it’s huge, moss turned to soft pillows and corn silk transformed into sheets. Indrid lays down, full and warm, eyes fluttering closed as Duck brackets him on all sides.

“Sleepy little thing.”

“If you’d spent days driving in the heat and then gotten lost in an otherworldly cornfield, you’d be tired too. So, if you” he yawns, “want to, ah, fuck me, you should do it soon.”

“Okay, sugar, we won’t do anythin’ intense tonight. Want this to be fun for you, not wear you out. And I ain’t entirely sure fucking you hard and long won’t accidentally send all the orchards in town into bloom.”

“I doubt I’m that good in bed.” Indrid grins.

“Look, you ain't me, so you can't feel it but...fuck, you saw what happened to that corn when I kissed you. You put all this energy out from the barest reaction to me, plants are budding and soil is renewing at a rate I ain’t ever seen.” He rests his hand on Indrid’s shoulder, “I wanna get to know the guy who can help me do that. And, uh, it seems like you’ve had a rough time lately. Seems to me lookin after you will be good for both of us.”

Indrid turns his head, looking at Duck’s hand. Soil peeks through his knuckles and a corn stalk is visible between his thumb and wrist. It doesn’t unnerve the way it first did, and when he runs his own fingers over it, Duck sighs happily.

“Do I have to leave in a week?”

“Not if you don’t want. And you…you could leave right now. If you really want to. There was enough energy in carrying you here to satisfy me for a long time.”

Even as he says this and the vines retreat, the hope in Duck’s eyes is painfully clear. And how often does one get the chance to be worshipped by a god?

Indrid settles his hands by his head, “Oh, I’m staying. I want to see what those tentacles can do.”

“You mean these?” Duck grins as two bind Indrid’s wrists to the bed, bends to kiss him as a half-dozen more pull his shorts and underwear away.

“Yes, yesyesEEP! Cold, so cold.”

“Fuck, sorry.” The slick, thin tendril pushing into his ass suddenly feels like sun-warmed grass. Duck bends down, capturing Indrid’s moans in his mouth and wrapping his fingers in his hair. His weight is comforting, reminds Indrid of when he’d bury himself in the sand at the beach. Now and then Indrid can almost feel himself sinking against him, like into loose soil, but Duck always corrects before it gets to a point where Indrid panics at the thought of being swallowed up. And so he relaxes, shielded by the ever-shifting body above him, and let’s Duck make good use of his offering.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

Indrid is napping in the sun, newly woven sunhat on his head, when the unmistakable racket of someone blindly crashing through the field wakes him. If it’s those cops again, Indrid is going to be annoyed.

They already turned up once, asking if he was the owner of the abandoned VW. When Indrid said that yes, he was, and it was only abandoned due to the haunted cornfield, they pretended not to know what he meant, even as the air above the corn told them to take the van to Chicane’s garage and make sure the repairs are paid for. Then the corn passed Indrid’s two backpacks from stalk to stalk as the cops told him to have a nice day.

“You left the window open. Figured you want your stuff” Duck drawls from all around him, busy ensuring the fields haven’t gotten ahead of themselves thanks to what he and Indrid did last night.

When the well-dressed man stumbles to his knees in front of Indrid, they’re equally surprised by this turn of events. Indrid is also wondering if having sex with a harvest deity improves someone’s luck, because the man is gorgeous; he’s in a white dress shirt and black slacks, tie around his neck, his black hair is coming loose from a slicked-back hold, and there’s dirt on his unfairly sculpted and symmetrical face.

Mr. gorgeous hurries to his feet holding out his hand, “I’m Special Agent Joseph Stern. If you’re also in this field against your will, I left a stealth trail back to the edge. Assuming I can find it again, I can get you out too.”

Indrid shakes his hand, “Thank you, but I’m quite happy here. And I doubt you’ll find that trail unless Duck wants you to.”

“Who’s-” Joseph loses his balance, sitting heavily down on the blanket next to Indrid as the ground rumbles and shifts. As Duck��s inhuman form fills the space, glowing eyes all turned on the newcomer, Joseph’s blue eyes stare right back. Then he whispers, “I knew it. I knew there was something out here, something behind the disappearances.”

“Hey, I let almost all of ‘em go. Like, 99%. And the ones I didn’t deserved to be swallowed up. One of ‘em was a fuckin serial killer.”

“Which one?” Joseph stands, talking to Duck as if he were a man on the street and not an eldritch entity, “because I had a theory that one of the disappearances here tacked oddly to a serial killer two towns over…”

Duck chuckles, “If I hadn’t seen them throw you in here, mighta thought you’d volunteered. I got business to take care of, so I can make you a path out.”

“Excellent! This is going to be such a satisfying report to write.”

Duck’s eyes narrow, “What report?”

“About the disappearances. Everyone at the UP thought I was crazy but-”

“Oh no, you ain’t blabbin about this.” Vines whip up, covering Joseph’s mouth and dragging him into the cabin, the agent fighting the whole way. A much gentler vine taps Indrid’s arm, just above his Luna Moth tattoo.

“Darlin? You mind goin’ and talkin some sense into him? He’s got a good heart, so I don’t wanna hurt him, but I also don’t want a bunch of feds pokin around town. I’d do it but I just got word my buddy Barclay is arriving early this year and I gotta get some stuff in order for the changing seasons.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Thanks.” A vine pinches his ass playfully as the god disappears.

—----------------------------------------------------------------

“I can’t just abandon my mission! That’s unethical, and it’ll get me fired!” Joseph throws up his bound arms for emphasis.

“Think of it this way; no one else is getting offered, so no one else is in danger.”

“How can you be sure?”

Indrid fiddles with the edge of his tank-top, “I’m staying with Duck, and something about our connection means energy he gets from me covers him far longer than other offerings would.”

“Indrid, with all due respect, you’ve been here less than twenty-four hours. How can you be sure you won’t want to leave?”

“I probably will now and then, maybe I’ll even find a job nearby, or an art studio. But I can just come back for visits and Duck still won’t need more offerings. Besides I…I like him, I like the way I feel with him.” He glances Joseph’s way, red glasses hiding his face, then looks down, “you wouldn’t understand.”

Joseph scoots closer, “Try me?”

Indrid weaves stray bits of grass, “I’ve been traveling for almost two years, looking for a future I could live with. Feeling less and less like a person and more like a cryptid, sneaking around the edges of society because I just can’t work out where I belong. And now here’s this, this being who doesn’t want anything but my company and the chance to be nice to me. Who spent last night making sure no part of me was left wanting for his touch.” Indrid snaps his mouth closed, then resolutely opens it and adds, “don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

Sometimes, the best strategy is the truth.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little curious. And I get it; I’m surrounded by people all the time, and I’m always hiding some part of me from them. Sometimes it’s a cover story, sometimes it’s just the fact that I believe in bigfoot and have the best of ABBA CD in my car.”

Indrid snickers, then gives him a secretive grin, “Mine is an Enya compilation.”

“Hey, she’s great for relaxing.” he shivers, Indrid mirroring the motion and yanking a blanket from the nearby bed, “christ, why’s it so cold?”

“That may be why” Indrid points to a pelt of fur with mouths on all sides that just appeared on the floor. It sprouts arms, everything from bear paws to monkey hands to gnarled, stripped treebark. It pushes itself up, cold air and snow whirling into a shifting mass, even more mouths and teeth appearing as Indrid huddles closer.

“Oh, hey, I’m Barclay.” The horrifying shape waves with all available hands, “Duck’s probably expecting me. Man, this is cool, he’s never built a house before.”

“Never had a reason to” Duck appears, though he’s wearing a human form that makes it much easier to imagine what he and Indrid do in bed. Which Joseph is not complaining about.

“Nice job. Good to see you again” The mass sort of hugs Duck, then fur flaps and dead branches twist into a mostly human form.

“It’s a good thing you like bigfoot.” Indrid murmurs. Joseph has to agree, though Barclay’s spare hands keep shimmering into view, and his fur almost seems to be pelts wrapped around a frame of frozen ash.

Dirt shoves Joseph into a standing position as Duck helps Indrid up, “‘Drid, Barclay is sort of a winter and decay/renewal guy. This here is Indrid, my new, uh, energy source.”

“Nice to meet you.” Ember colored eyes take Indrid in appreciatively, then zero in on Joseph, “damn, they sent you two this year? And two hot ones? Harvest must be shaping up nice.”

“It’s kinda a long story. I ain’t sure what to do with Joseph yet; he was talking about telling the FBI about us.”

Joseph’s about to make his case when Indrid says, “I think we can trust him.”

Duck waves his hands and the bonds are gone. Then a fur lined collar closes around his neck.

“Still might wanna keep him on a, uh, tight leash. I don’t feel like risking being found out.” Barclay’s smile suggests he’s enjoying the look on Joseph’s face. One that Joseph hopes doesn’t give away his true feelings on collars.

“Good thinkin’” Duck snaps and a long leash of woven plants tethers him to the wall, “okay, mister god of the winter pantry, feel like feedin some humans?”

“Fuck yeah I do.”

Joseph tugs at the material of the leash, glancing at Indrid, “Do you think this is flammable?”

Barclay looks over his shoulder, “Not helping your case there, blue eyes.”

From the air, a drawl adds, “No, you’re really not.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It’s raining.”

Joseph smiles; Indrid has the habit of stating the obvious, which he initially apologized for. Joseph finds it grounding, and told him his as much

He opens his eyes, looking up at the other man. His silver-dyed hair is up in a half-bun, offering a lovely view of his singular face as he reads page after page of Stakes and Spurs.

Joseph has the habit of imagining the worst-case scenarios for missions, mainly so he can plan for them, and some of those have included ending up chained to a bed. So the fact the last five days have been wonderful is a welcome surprise.

His move to the bed happened his second night; he and Indrid were talking and the artist mentioned the only downside to having Duck for a lover was that he couldn’t stay around and cuddle him while they slept. Not only did he not have to sleep, there was a real risk he would accidentally engulf Indrid if he tried to. Barclay admitted there was a similar risk with him (which confirmed Joseph’s theory that he was interested in Indrid). So Stern offered to keep Indrid warm.

He hadn’t spent the night in someone’s arms in over two years. And he fully intended to let Indrid simply hold him or curl around him as needed, to avoid the awkwardness of his own desires. But then artists murmured, “you’re allowed to hug me back, agent” and Joseph nestled into tattooed arms and never looked back.

Duck and Barclay are also warming up to him (the leash stays on at night out of habit more than anything else). Duck genuinely enjoys his questions about the mechanics of his powers and purposes of different plants, even laughs with a strange, rustling giggle, when Joseph makes a bad pun. More than once, he’s felt vines stroking his hair as he sleeps, or awoken to find the plant life in the house collaborating to pass him a cup of coffee (Duck pulled some strings with a deity in town to get a basket of goods delivered for Joseph and Indrid).

Barclay, once his wariness wore off, poured more attention onto him than Joseph’s had in years. He waves him over to the kitchen every morning, proudly showing off the food of his domain; preserves over sturdy bread, marrow spread on seedy crackers. Talks with him about myths, even plays chess with him. And when Joseph struggles to sleep, his mind fills with a vision of a little black fox, asleep in a warm den beneath the snow and he can finally rest; he’s positive that if he takes the collar off, the dreams will stop.

Then there’s Indrid, who sits by his side in the fall sunshine as the gods work . Who’s as unafraid of the caress of Duck’s vines or an embrace from Barclay as he is of holding Joseph’s hand under the covers. He’s also sharing the box of paranormal romance paperbacks he bought at a library book sale in Missouri; Joseph knows he was on book one of the Saloon of the Count series last night and that he’s now holding book two.

“You stayed up all night reading.” He raises up on his elbows.

“Indeed.” Indrid closes the book, yawning, “it’s not my fault she ended on a cliffhanger. However, I think I should rest a little; it’s only five now.”

He lays down, sighing happily as Joseph spoons him. More than once Joseph's wanted to take a man like Indrid to bed but never so much as approached them; they’d sniff him out as the uptight nerd he is right away, he knows it. He pets the artist’s side, musing on what it must be like to kiss someone with a tongue piercing, when his fingers brush Indrid’s chest. Lord help him, his nipples are pierced, too. Does he touch them when he jerks off? Does Duck know, twine his vines or tongue around them to make Indrid scream-

“Something you want, Joseph?”

His fingers freeze; he’d been toying with the left piercing.

“I, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“That’s not what I asked.” Indrid rolls to face him, “now is it?”

He takes a deep breath, “I want…I want to kiss you. If we have condoms, I want you to fuck me like I, I matter.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Indrid removes his glasses, brown eyes wide with affection, “nothing would make me happier.”

Joseph smooths his hand over Indrid’s chest, “I won’t be as good as a multi-form god, but I’ll do my best.”

Indrid kisses him, presses him down into the bed with a teasing grin, “I’ll be the judge of that.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Duck guides the sight he extended into the house back to the core of himself; he’s glad Indrid and Joe are getting closer. Both because it increases the odds he’ll get to tether both of them to the bed and fuck them, and his understanding is that humans do better with other humans for company.

As he lays within the soil, the network of his body stretching from field to field, he thinks on how little he really knows about humans. He sees glimpses of their lives when he takes his offerings, but the only others who know of him are his followers. And their only interest in him is what he can do, how he can better their lives.

Not like Joe, who asks a dozen questions and doesn’t shy from complex and slow-coming answers, his blue eyes glittering with curiosity. Not like Indrid, whose kisses make flagging plants bloom and who now touches Duck’s formless form without fear.

Above him, fallen fruit shrivels up and decays. That’s how Barclay sustains himself without offerings; the fruit that goes rotten on the ground or vine, the scraps of food that fall unnoticed into fireplaces and under stoves as people brace themselves for winter and feed themselves through it.

“You really think Joseph would kiss me if I asked?” Barclay’s question rumbles down to him.

“Yep. He’s fuckin fascinated by you. ‘Drid is too.”

Silence, then, “I think Joseph might have the same effect on me Indrid does for you. Whenever I touch him it’s like the clouds start gathering rain in earnest. Do you think I should ask now?”

“Nah, he and ‘Drid are busy. The storm’s gonna get worse tomorrow, right? We could make a whole day of it. Really spoil ‘em after too.”

“Right, because you’re so rough on them the rest of the time” Barclay teases, “what with making Indrid a whole new wardrobe.”

“We wanna talk about that special mushroom coffee you created for Joe?”

Barclay laughs, the rumble of the earth settling, “Fair enough.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Thank you again for agreeing to this.” Joseph clicks his pen as Indrid opens his sketchbook. Barclay has agreed to let Joseph make some notes about him for personal reference, with Indrid providing illustrations.

“You sure nobody will find out about us from these?” Duck tilts his head at Joseph’s notes.

“Positive. I, um, I use a personal cipher I developed in college.”

“Nerd.” Duck says fondly.

Barclay kneels by the bed, holding out a hand as Joseph asks about their dexterity and how far they can reach. Then he asks about his eyesight, why he has so few eyes than Duck seems to, with both gods chiming in to answer.

“This is fascinating. Can you open your mouth next, like you would if you were eating something?”

The entity nods, smiles like usual. Then the curve turns into a cross, opening to show rows of teeth on multiple sides and at least two tongues.

“Goodness.” Indrid’s breath hitches.

“I can change it up some, watch” the teeth disappear, replaced by rows of soft ridges. He raises his eyebrows at Indrid, “you okay there, little moth.”

“It looks like a fleshlight I used to have.” Indrid blurts out, then bonks his head into the sketchpad.

“Yeah? Y’know, if you ask nicely, might let you see how it compares.”

“I would very much like you to suck my dick please and thank you. Is that alright?” Indrid looks over at Duck, who nods.

“I mean, I want to, but doing that really turns me on. But, uh” Barclay turns his glowing, dark red eyes on Joseph, “might turn me on so much I’ll need something to do with my dick.”

“I, I’m sure I can suffice.”

Barclays hands rest on his knees and the god presses their foreheads together, “More than suffice, blue eyes. That was my fucking clunky way to ask you if I could fuck you because I think you’re amazing and gorgeous and I wanna build a big, warm, burrow for us and just keep you there to fuck and feed forever.”

“Ohmylord.”

Indrid kisses his cheek, “I told you he was interested.”

“He ain’t the only one.” Duck purrs, wooden chair walking itself over to join them.

Barclay leans in and Joseph offers his mouth for a kiss. He tastes snow and spices, moans as hands gather him up and lay him down on the floor. A soft, cornflower blue cushion forms from the plants and for a moment the world is only him and Barclay, warm fur blanketing him so he feels like a kid sheltering in bed on a snowy night.

“Here, this way I can take care of you and Indrid at the same time.” Barclay sits, head by Indrid’s lap as vines peel away Joseph’s clothes. Two lower his collar, holding it questioningly.

“Yes, please.” He laughs as more and more plant life manhandles him to help latch the collar into place.

“Glad you like it” Barclay paws between his legs.

“It makes me feel safe. I know, that’s a little ridiculous.”

“Nah” Duck settles on the floor next to him, snapping so vines trap his arms behind his back, “makes perfect sense. Handsome fella like you was made to be tied down and kept in his place.”

“Christ” a blush spreads down his chest and then he gasps as the rounded head of a cock pushes into him. It seems to be a ball covered in pleasant bumps with a narrow base, short enough that soon his folds are grinding against Barclay’s pelt.

“My, that’s a lovely sight; how thoughtful of Barclay to stay sitting up so I can see just how nice you look on someone else's cock.” Indrid licks his lips, seemingly unaware of the vines creeping up the bed.

“One, one of these days I’ll have all my stuff and then you can see how good you look on mine.”

Indrid blows him a kiss, then cries out as Barclay swallows him to the root.

“Ohyes, yesyesyesyes thank you” Indrid’s fingers dig into dark fur, “Barclay, dearest, ohmygoodness.” The artist’s long legs kick out, only for Barclay to grab and throw them over his shoulders. Indrid makes a much higher noise, writhing like he’s close already.

“He’s cute when he loses control, ain’t he?” Duck murmurs, running a finger over Joseph’s cheek.

“Very.”

“You got good taste, city boy.”

“Th-thank youOH, ohmygod” he bucks his hips.”

“You okay?” Duck grins.

“It changed” he stares, fascinated, at where Barclay’s cock thuds into him. It’s no longer short and round; it’s as if the first shape unfurled, a central, bumpy shaft pounding into him, each of the bumps rubbing and pressing at his walls as if each has a life of its own.

“God, that’s incredible” he arches his back. Barclay rumbles out a purr, making Indrid yelp, and winks at him.

“You take it like a champ, I’ll give you that.” Duck cups his cheek, “let’s see if you take it down the throat just as well.”

“Yesplease.” He moans as Duck straddles his face, parting his lips eagerly as he lowers himself down.

What slides into his mouth reminds him of sundews he saw in a botanical exhibit once; short tendrils dotted with something sticky and sweet, curling and twisting as he teases them with his tongue.

“Fuck, that’s it city boy, show ‘em some love.” Duck rolls his hips, “hell yeah, could, could sit here all fucking day and not get sick of this sweet mouth.” His eyes glow bright as he looks down and adds, softly, “not when you look so fuckin’ happy, anyway.”

He moans and sucks harder, smiles when Duck tugs his hair, forcing his head from side to side so he can worship his thighs with kisses.

There’s an undignified noise, followed by Indrid saying, “Cant keep yourself off me can you, sweet one?”

“Not when that ass is right there, just beggin’ me to fill it up.”

Joseph can just see around Duck to the edge of the bed, where a thick vine teases Indrid’s balls and a smaller one fucks his ass open with deliciously slick movements. Indrid tenses, cumming with a cry which morphs to a whimper when neither Barclay nor Duck lets up.

“You’re in trouble now, little moth” Barclay pulls back, lapping at his softening cock, “now that I got a taste, gonna make you cum over and over to keep getting more.”

“Ohgod” Indrid whines as the god takes him back in his mouth, “nnnnf, that’s so good.”

“You need it to stop for real, just say the word.” Barclay’s voice comes from around them rather than his mouth, “I’m gonna cum really soon, blue eyes, so be ready.”

Muffled growls pour out of Barclay’s chest as his hips gain speed, the bumps on his cock warming the harder he fuck him. Then there’s a howlgrowlpurr and the central shaft retreats. But the bumps remain, pulsing and stroking inside him, the once again rounded cock keeping them from spilling out. Several find his G-spot, seem to respond to his moans and garbled pleas for more.

“Fuck, you like that, you and I are gonna have fun later. This ain’t the only dick I got, and they can put all different seeds in you. Ones that got a little chill, ones that suck your dick while they fuck you deep, and I just fuckin know you’re gonna wanna make notes on all of ‘em and I cannot wait.”

He groans, twisting to try and free his arms.

“Somethin you need?” Duck pulls sits up so he can speak.

“I want to touch you, Duck, please, please let me touch you.”

His hands are instantly free, guided by vines up to Duck’s thighs. He gropes them, slips around to smack and grab Duck’s ass as he returns to fucking his face. If he holds tight his fingers sink into soil, and when he rubs his hands along the human form, blossoms and moss sprout in their wake, Duck seeming to have trouble keeping his form intact the more he loses himself.

As Barclay’s cock concentrates on just the right spot inside him, he closes his eyes and sucks, greedy and hard. When he read reports about Kepler, the people who lost a week here report the only difference between before and after their visit was they dreamed–often stressfully– of plants for weeks on end. Holding Duck to him, eyes closed, he smells the honeysuckle that used to grow outside his window, and visions of a summer orchard, fruit on his tongue and soft grass between his toes spread through his mind. Now and then they change, replaced by the invigorating chill of a walk in new-fallen snow, of a hearth warming his cold bones as he lays naked on a bearskin rug.

He gasps, cumming so hard all the visions collapse into a field of white. There’s a crack of cornstalks, the floor shoving his body up so Duck’s cock is as far in his mouth as it can be. There’s a burst of an almost too-sweet liquid that tingles down his throat as Duck collapses backwards with far more eyes visible on his body than normal.

Then the god is on him, kissing him ferociously as Barclay pulls out with a chuckle. There’s a weak cry above them, and after a final, adoring kiss, Duck helps him sit up to marvel at Barclay forcing Indrid through another orgasm, his hands now pinching the nipple piercings to make the artist squeak

Indrid whines and Joseph climbs onto the bed, kissing him while Duck materializes beneath him to coo soothing, filthy things in his ear as he cums.

“Everybody okay?” Barclay’s mouth returns to normal as he wipes it.

“Hell yeah.”

“Very.”

Indrid can’t speak but manages a thumbs up. Then Duck is fully sitting on the bed, human cradled in his arms and head resting on Joseph’s shoulder. Barclay joins them, cuddling Joseph close and petting Indrid tenderly.

“Did that m-make a convincing case for staying?” Indrid looks up at him.

Joseph kisses Barclay’s hand, “My work really is important to me. As much as I, I want to stay here, to be part of this strange home, I don’t think I’d be happy doing just that.”

“I get that” Barclay murmurs.

“Yeah.” Duck kisses his shoulder, “we’re gonna miss you when you go, city boy.”

Joseph kisses the top of his head, “Then we’d better make good use of my time here.”

—-------------------------------------------------------

“Are you certain you want to continue investigating Kepler?” Hayes raises his eyebrow and Joseph from the other side of his desk, “Agent Williams made it sound-”

“I’m not interested in the opinion of an agent who ran at the first sign of the case being difficult.” Joseph says calmly, “besides, I’ve cultivated contacts in town who can assist me.”

“Alright, I’ll get the requisitions and details in order and you can be on your way.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m excited to return to the field.”

#OT4: government men and their cryptid boyfriends #monster boyfriends #monster march #terato #exophilia #sternclay #indruck #trans agent stern #inclay #duck newton/agent stern