You are the daughter of an angelic faerie and an elven king. You have grown up inside the only magical safe-haven of an increasingly apocalyptic land outside. You have wanted for nothing, essentially leading the perfect life, suffering and death playing little role beyond the abstract. Your father will never die, and your mother will never leave, but for tradition you are still crown princess and are educated as such. You love to dance and to sing.
You meet some kind of monster inside your mother's borders, a monster not of her or your making. It stumbled across you, dancing in the forest, bloody and travel-worn and weary and wide-eyed as it stares. You are stronger than it, but you run rather than lunge for the kill. You feel pity, more than fear. And something about him makes the part of you that you inherited from your mother sing.
He tries to follow you, for a year and a day. You are stronger, and faster, and stealthier, and you let him see you sometimes anyways. You are not convinced that he is not a monster, but nor are you convinced that he is.
Spring blooms again to the tune of your song, and you let him get closer than before until you run.
But you hear him speak for the first time. He is a speaker, and perhaps to him you are the monster. You do not run, and you do not kill.
He calls you "Tinuviel"
He calls you nightingale- a little songbird, plain and brown, with a lovely voice. They are your mother's creation, but he does not know this.
He calls you daughter of twilight- perhaps for your skin and eyes and hair, but perhaps because that is when he has seen you most.
He calls you singer- creator of the very fabric of the universe, skilled enough to deserve the title.
You are the most beautiful creature the world will ever see, the daughter of an angel and a king. He does not call you beautiful, or angelic, or princess. He calls you a singer, plain and brown, dark and distant as the approaching night.
He is bloody and travel-worn and weary and wide-eyed as you dare to step closer.
He called you nightingale.
You don't know what to call him, but you hope to find out.
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Part 2 of the problematic sebcedes polyamory by which i was consumed this afternoon:
The aftermath of the failed threesome is as follows: Seb spends Saturday evening watching Taskmaster with Lewis instead of dropping him off at Nico’s apartment, and he is awoken the following morning (read: the crack of dawn) by a spectacular blowjob. Lewis beckons him out of bed with promises of smoothie bowls and granola. Seb likes these things, but not as much as Lewis does. He wonders whether Nico gets this treatment when Lewis sleeps over there.
By 5:30 a.m., Seb and Lewis are on the way to the beach, Seb in the driver’s seat and Lewis blasting ENNY from the stereo speakers. When they arrive, Lewis changes into his tiny swim trunks behind the car, and Seb strips down to his boxers. It’s fucking freezing, and the sun is just peeking above the horizon. Seb shivers and wiggles his bare feet atop the sand while Lewis ties his hair back.
The polar bear plunge involves charging madly towards the tide with a few hundred other nutty participants and submerging one’s entire body in near zero degree water. Seb grabs Lewis’s hand and orients him towards the water. He can feel himself grinning. Lewis is already bouncing on the balls of his feet—he loves this shit too.
Seb and Lewis race down the beach, hand in hand, until the water is up to Seb’s waist, and he can practically feel his balls retracting into his body.
“Fuck, that’s cold!” Seb shouts over the sound of a hundred other freezing people shrieking.
Lewis giggles madly and pulls Seb under. He comes up sputtering and shuddering, but Lewis rewards him with a sub-zero kiss on the lips.
In the end, Seb has to drag Lewis out of the water and back to the car. He retrieves the emergency blankets from the trunk, and they cuddle up in the backseat with a thermos of mint tea.
“We should do this again next year,” Lewis says, knocking his head against Seb’s.
“I think my toes are going to fall off,” says Seb. Lewis snorts.
-
After the polar bear plunge, Seb savours a picturesque dinner with Lewis downtown before Lewis has to leave to start packing for a work trip. He wants to protest, but he knows it really will take Lewis most of a day to stuff his ridiculous, designer luggage. Lewis sends him a text when the plane is about to take off, and then five days later Seb is waiting in front of the airport to pick him up.
Seb helps him heave two suitcases and a compact duffel into the back before kissing him on the cheek. Lewis lingers in his arms for an extra second, his chin on Seb’s shoulder.
“I missed you,” says Lewis.
“Let’s stop at the pizza place you like,” Seb says.
Lewis pulls back with wide eyes. “Cauliflower crust?”
“Obviously,” says Seb.
-
Two days later, Seb is back at the airport, dropping Lewis off for the promised Bali trip. Nico is waiting at the gate with his own ridiculous mountain of luggage and giant, tinted sunglasses sliding down his nose. Lewis jogs happily into his arms while Seb lingers beside the rack of overpriced travel pillows.
Seb crumples the receipt for Lewis’s green juice in his fist, watching Nico and Lewis tow their suitcases towards the boarding area. Nico is literally intolerable—Seb can’t stand to be in a room with him. Speaking to him is like speaking to an ex that knows how to push all of his buttons and doesn’t hesitate to do so whenever it’s convenient for him. The only good part about it is that Nico doesn’t like him either, which prevents Seb from shouldering any guilt.
He walks back through the airport to get to his car and drive home. Roscoe greets him at the door, snuffling like a human with a severe sinus infection. Seb kneels to the floor to pat him on the head, and Roscoe flops on his back and wiggles gratefully, soliciting tummy rubs.
Seb used to have another partner—this was in the middle of Lewis, two-ish years ago—but he was younger and ultimately not interested in Seb’s lifestyle, so it ended. Still, it was nice to have someone living in his home.
Now it’s just Lewis. Seb is okay with that.
-
Seb and Lewis are in the car again, on the road to spend the weekend camping out in Joshua Tree. Lewis reserved the site he wanted six months ago and has been talking about it ever since. Seb convinced him to pack one suitcase instead of two, and made him promise they won’t break up during the fight that will inevitably happen while pitching the tent.
“If anyone would break up with anyone over a tent,” says Lewis, his elbow out the window, “it would be you breaking up with me. Not that I’m calling it, or anything.”
“Ha ha,” says Seb. “Wait until I tell you you can’t light candles inside the tent.”
“The tent is flame resistant,” says Lewis. “I checked.”
Seb shrugs, one hand on the wheel. “Sure. Let’s test it.”
Lewis snorts, and settles against the window. The dust from the road is floating inside the car, mixing with the afternoon sunlight to form a heavy haze. Lewis looks good in rugged conditions—as good as he does wrapped in fluffy bathrobes and slathered with shea butter.
“So,” says Lewis, turning his torso towards Seb. He really should wear his seatbelt correctly. “About two weeks ago. We didn’t talk about it… but that was objectively awesome sex, right?”
“Excuse me?” says Seb. It figures that Lewis would trap him in the car for this conversation. He blows out an overwhelmed breath. “It was… satisfying, in a certain respect.”
Lewis tilts his head and sucks on his lower lip. He has that wobble in his eyes like he isn’t very happy with what he’s being told. “You’re telling me that wasn’t the most intense, coordinated scene we’ve ever done?” Lewis rubs his temple. “Fuck, that was so hot, when both of you…” Lewis trails off and his thighs fall open a few extra centimetres. Seb wonders if he’s remembering the part where he and Nico fucked Lewis at once, both holes filled, or when Seb held Lewis down so that Nico could eat him out.
Seb chooses his words carefully. “It was a challenge,” he says. “There was a lot of negotiation that you didn’t see beforehand.”
“It was perfect,” says Lewis. Seb chances another look over at Lewis, spread across the passenger side. His smoothie and his kombucha occupy both cupholders, and he clipped an air freshener to the dash that smells like pina colada. “Thank you for doing it for me.”
Seb grips the steering wheel and forces his gaze back to the endless road. He can’t think of anything he wouldn’t do for Lewis, even if Nico were involved.
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