#the bloody vol-au-vents made me do it

[ineffable-suffering]

The Jane Austen Ball and why it was never about Nina and Maggie

Otherwise known as (*takes a deep breath*): A completely inflated close-up look at various dialogues and events of Season 2 that prove that the Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeeper's Association Meeting Cotillion Ball was supposed to be Aziraphale's confession to Crowley

Look, the point's been made before but that's never kept me from making it myself again, still. In fact, even I made it before, at the end of one of my other metas. But I feel like it's absolutely worthy enough to get its own soppy, way-too-long post. And I do love it so very much to write ridiculously long essays on something that could easily be condensed into a short paragraph.

So, here we go! Snuggle up, get cozy, settle in and, most importantly:

(Word count: 3.177 | Reading time: ~13 minutes)

As I already said above, I laid out a similar case in my meta about why Aziraphale is somewhat of an unreliable narrator. I'll try and recycle it here briefly, so I can further make my point.

When Aziraphale arrives back in London from his Edinburgh journey, he seems oddly happy and giddy for the fact that he just had a rather odd and threatening encounter with Shax. I explain in my other meta that this is because he just spent the last hours of his drive reminiscing on the thrilling and romantic magic show adventure of 1941 and also the fact that he just found out that Crowley has been replaced by Shax and no longer works for Hell.

Ergo: We have a hopelessly lovesick Principality at our hands, who's practically swooning over his serpent who saved him, his books and his magic show all those years ago.

Ergo:

✨This✨

Realistically, Aziraphale should probably be a tad worried about the eery encounter with Shax, in which she definitely had the upper hand on him. But well, if you spend many-a hours driving across the serene countryside (Edinburgh is about an 8-hour drive from London), pondering on one of the craziest, sticky-sweet romantic adventures of your not-life life, well ... things tend to turn a little rosy around the edges. Head in the clouds and all that. Light shades of grey!

Alright, onwards: Once the angel, filled to the very brim with fond memories and butterflies, gets out of the Bentley, he's kindly met with a face full of verdant plants and a very in-character-grumpy Crowley.

Fhwack! Way to burst the rosy bubble.

Seriously, the absolute lightning speed with which Crowley storms out to vacate the bookshop the very second Aziraphale arrives makes me giggle every time.

Let's make a first small (who am I kidding) diversion into analysing the following conversation in unnecessary detail ...

... simply because I enjoy quoting dialogue as an accurate reference in my metas. I'll also highlight certain passages I want to comment on in individual colours so I can back up my thoughts with them below. Alright, their little chinwag goes as follows:

Crowley: "They you are! I was worried something might have happened to you." Aziraphale: "No, nothing happened to me. Very uneventful journey indeed. No strange things at all." Crowley: "Good. That's what we wanna hear." Aziraphale: "Um .. everything okay with- ah.." *nods to the bookshop* Crowley: "Oh, yeah, fine. He's singing to himself. I think he must have been asleep. I heard snoring coming from his bedroom–" Crowley, to the Bentley: "Did you miss me? I bet you did." Aziraphale: "... I'm sure it did." Crowley: "So, any more clues from the mystery of the missing archangel?" Aziraphale: "Not exactly. Or, if there are, I haven't yet cracked the case. But I'm certainly hot on the trail of something." Crowley: "I'm sure you are. Oh, by the way, the whole sudden rain and awning thing was a complete washout." Aziraphale: "Sorry?" Crowley: "You know, project making Nina fall in love with Maggie. I failed, it's your go." Aziraphale: "I see. Well then, Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeeper's Association Monthly Meeting, here we come!" Crowley: "You're really hosting the meeting?" Aziraphale: "Absolutely! And I can guarantee you, it will be a night to remember."

At first glance, this has little to do with the plot of this meta but actually, it folds into my point very nicely! However, it's not time for that yet, so we'll just state the facts as they are for now and then bring them back 'round later when we need them. That being said: For the love of Someone, will these two ever manage to simply tell each other the truth of what happened instead of thinking they can protect each other by lying about it all the time? Hrmpf. As a big fan of open communication myself, I'm close to developing a stomach ulcer with the amount of false truths being spewed here. (Then again – and yes, that is another, way larger meta I'm currently cooking up – it plays so very perfectly into the whole Jane-Austen-Pride-and-Prejudice tragic miscommunication theme that this entire Season has, so I understand the point of it.)

Very uneventful journey indeed, Aziraphale, except for the fact that you were ambushed by a demon who told you she was Crowley's successor, knows about the rumors of the two of you being an item as well as what went down in 1941 (that almost had both of you exposed) and also seems to have figured out where you and your demon boyfriend are hiding Gabriel, all in the span of about a minute. No strange things at all, nooo!

And Crowley's "Oh yeah, fine" is a total lie too. Again, we see him make an absolute run for it before Aziraphale can even enter the bookshop. After all, he just once again witnessed Jim have a Gabriel-flashback, speaking of the Second Coming, while Crowley was alone with him. As fumingly angry he is with the amnesiac archangel – he's also absolutely terrified of what might happen (to him and Aziraphale) should Jim regain his memories. So, no wonder he's quick to vacate the premises after witnessing Jim's rather eery memory flashback (and was, just like Aziraphale, threatened by Shax mere moments later, lol).

But no, nothing out of the ordinary happened to either of them. Tip-top. Absolutely tickety-fucking-boo.

Alright, let's get back on track with the actual topic of this meta. Certainly hot on the trail of something, hm? At first glance, it might seem like Aziraphale is talking about the fact that Gabriel was in company of someone whenever he went to the Resurrectionist Pub. (The clue!) However, I don't actually think he is talking about that. Why? Because, and this slipped my mind too at first, he never actually follows any of this information up, does he? Yes, sure, he went to Edinburgh, found the capital-c Clue and then returned to London. But what does he do with it? Nothing. He doesn't keep investigating this hot trail because that's not the important thing he realized during his journey. No, the more important clue Aziraphale found during his trip, is that Crowley no longer works for Hell and that he is also very much irrevocably in love with him and must confess this at the earliest given chance. (The latter part isn't necessarily a new discovery for Aziraphale, but it surely is fuelled by the fact that he just realized Crowley's out of a Hellish job and simply hasn't told him yet.)

This exchange just the perfect indicator for the fact that Aziraphale, at no point during his drive back, was thinking about the Maggie and Nina mission. He has no idea what Crowley is talking about once he mentions it and seems surprised, even, that he would. Even though they just talked about it on the phone when Aziraphale was still at the graveyard. Which is another important piece of evidence because it means that the last status update Aziraphale got of Mission Lovebirds, was that Crowley had sensed an opportunity to make them fall in love – and had then hung up on him. Why is this important? Because it means that until that very point of their conversation, Aziraphale did not know that Crowley's attempt had failed! There would have been just as much of a chance of Crowley's weather miracle actually working out and Maggie and Nina already having skipped into the sunset happily ever after.

So, riddle me this:

Why would Aziraphale spend the entire ride back from Edinburgh plotting "a night to remember" (because clearly, he already had the entire Ball planned out down to a T in his head since he goes into action right away after arriving) if he didn't even know yet that Crowley's attempt had failed?

To be very clear here: We're not talking about Aziraphale driving on the M1 to London, having a silly little idea for putting on some good music, miracle-ing Nina and Maggie to dance to it and watch them confess their love–

No.

He planned an entire actual Cotillion Ball with very particular location design that involves re-arranging the entire bookshop, specifically designed individual outfits for (almost) every single attendee, topped off with a live band, hors-d'œuvre, drinks and an actual choreographed group dance.

During one car ride.

Where's the party planner Aziraphale AU? I'm waiting!

Now, sure, we know that it's still quite important for Aziraphale to convince Heaven of the faux-reason they gave for their accidental ✨25-Lazarii miracle✨. But if we're all honest, this all seems to be a tad much just to make two random humans fall in love, even for that.

Glittery ball gowns and suits? Red and gold wall curtains? A modified language filter? Bloody vol-au-vents?

Talk about over the top ...

Once we start S2E5, Crowley is still surprised at the mere fact that Aziraphale is actually planning to organize the Monthly Meeting – and he doesn't even know yet that it's gonna be the most extravagant ball-boogaloo that the Whickber Street Community has ever seen! Aziraphale wanting to organize the meeting alone, is enough to render Crowley incredulous, because Aziraphale never mingles with the other shopkeepers. He usually actively avoids them and any sort of social encounters as much as he can because he doesn't care about the bloody Christmas lights, alright?

These things seem mundane and uninteresting to him, obviously, since all he really cares about is hoarding his book collection in peace like the little hedonist he is and drawing as little attention as possible to his none-business business.

Oh, right, speaking of books:

Let's take another unnecessarily detailed look at the whole Whickber Street invitation scene:

Aziraphale realizes very quickly that he's not the only one who's quite unenthusiastic about the blessed Chritsmas lights. And despite his very persuasive methods of temptation ...

... he has to take some more drastic measurements. And those are?

That's right: Giving away his books.

I'll repeat it again, slowly: Aziraphale is willingly (!) giving away or lending his books to pretty much complete strangers to, allegedly, make two other humans strangers fall in love.

Seriously, who is that angel and what has he done with our prim, fussy, hedonistic Aziraphale that protects his books with the vice grip of an eagle carrying his precious prey?

Believe in the importance of Mission Lovebirds as much as you will, but we're talking about Mr. A.Z. Fell here who, over the past millennia, has pretty much spent every day actively working out methods to stop people from purchasing as much as a single paperback from his holy shelves.

And yet: the 1965 September Dr. Who Annual? Given away. The first edition of Expert at the Card Table that was S. W. Erdnase's personal copy? Lent away to grubby human hands to fondle around with.

Let's do another coloured dialogue diversion (don't worry, it's not as extensive as the last one):

Crowley: "You just did what I think you did?" Aziraphale: "I'm not prepared to talk about it." Crowley: "You gave away a book." Aziraphale: "I had to! Maggie and Nina are depending on me. They just don't know it yet."

Crowley backs up my point: This is a huge deal. Aziraphale does not sell his books – let alone give them away for free. We're all shocked! Flabbergasted!

And the explanation Crowley and us get just ... doesn't satisfy. Something and someone sure is depending on this Ball and doesn't know it yet. But it's most definitely not Maggie and Nina, folks.

You know for whom Aziraphale would give away his books in the blink of an eye, though?

Mhm, that's right.

This pretty old serpent.

I want to take a minute to show you the reaction again that Aziraphale has upon entering the very same magic shop him and Crowley went to in 1941 to acquire the Bullet Catch:

You ... you need a minute there, angel? You're sure looking a little ... affected.

And I mean, well, no wonder. He reminisced about that very memory four hours last night. To him, this shop is where the most turbulent, ecstatic, adrenaline-fuelled and romantic night of his life began. And it shows.

I've made my point in my other meta series about how Aziraphale is an incredibly nostalgic character. He romanticizes so many things in his memories – especially the parts that feature Crowley. So, it doesn't surprise me in the slightest that he's once again willing to loosen the tight grip he has on his book collection to get the successor of Will Goldstone's Magic Shop, the shop that started it all for him, to come to his fancy Ball.

As we watch Aziraphale and his little lap dog demon pat around Soho, I'd like to take another second to point out that he goes to seven or more establishments before he even invites Nina.

... and he only does so because she starts talking to them on the street. Almost like he'd forgotten about it. Why not ask her at the very beginning? To establish whether or not he'd have to book-blackmail her too?

"Perfectly ordinary invitation with no hidden agenda of any kind", except that he's using you and Maggie as a pretence to resolve his own clusterfuck of a relationship-miscommunication Jane-Austen-style so that he can then hopefully confess his undying love to his demon not-boyfriend boyfriend.

Marvellous!

You'll forgive me another short diversion but my God, the whole exchange at the Marguerite's restaurant with Crowley literally cat-call-whistling Aziraphale over to him (and Aziraphale checking if he meant someone else first, I–)? I am weak. So, so weak and

However, this is also when we get a snippet of Crowley finally revealing the truth in place of his "Oh, he's fine"-lie earlier and telling Aziraphale that he's actually pretty scared Jim might turn back into Gabriel and smite him altogether. And Aziraphale's response is, in a cosmic sense, (remember the pink paragraph now) so hilarious:

"Have you thought of just talking to him?"

Yeah, have you? Have any of the two of you? Just thought about talking? To each other? About anything?

'pparently not. But hey, it's all good because remember what the ultimate remedy for star-crossed lovers simply misunderstanding each other is?

Bish, bash, bosh, problem solved!

Back at the ballroom bookshop, Aziraphale sends Crowley to invite Maggie in order to, in my opinion, not spoil the Ball-y surprise for him. (Inviting Maggie only now?! Wouldn't she be one of the only two guests who really should attend? Why the short notice? If she's really that important for the Ball you're planning, hm?)

On top of this, we see Nina almost not attending the Ball meeting after her partner broke up with her and Crowley being the one who coincidentally runs into her and ushers her into the bookshop before Shax and her "legion" of demons start creeping up on them. Again, if this hadn't happened by pure coincidence, Nina would have left to go home and this whole Ball would have taken place without her, rendering the apparent sole purpose of making her fall in love with Maggie useless.

Why doesn't Aziraphale care more for both of them to attend and be there? Why is he instead busy fussing over everything looking perfect and wonderful and doesn't even seem to notice that both Nina and Maggie are really late to the meeting?

Well. Well.

The answer's in the title, babes.

Alas, Crowley safely gets Maggie and Nina to join them, Mr. Brown is the only one who doesn't get a miracled outfit (fussy, petty angel, you just don't like him, do you?), Jimbriel stuns with glamour and flirt (and whatever sexually suggestive thing he does with his cheeks) and the Whickber Street Ball is a-go!

Sorry, I just had to chuck this in again because Crowley's face here absolutely kills me every time. He looks so confused, I am hollering.

And the heart eyes Aziraphale is making at Nina and Maggie now that they're actually here?

Oh, bless it, angel.

He's all like "Oh look, it's working! Jane was right! It's all going to be resolved, all the misunderstanding and quarrels! Crowley, where's Crowley–"

Ah yes, there he is.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is an angel who is not listening to a single word being said right now. No, in his head, Aziraphale is already down on one knee, pouring his heart out to Crowley after they just danced the night away.

Oh, yes, right. The dancing.

Parallel much?

But well, as marvellous and beautifully romantic as her stories tend to be, it turns out that Jane Austen isn't always right after all. Because before we know it, the perfect night shatters into many-a tiny pieces (literally).

And once again, fhwack:

... the rosy bubble bursts.

Let's take one more deep breath so I can make my final point:

In S2E2, Aziraphale explains to us very exactly what Jane's Balls (hrhr) used to be about: Solving miscommunication and confessing love to one another.

During his car journey back from Edinburgh, Aziraphale:

doesn't know Crowley's Mission Lovebirds had failed

remembers 1941 and just how badly he's in love with Crowley

and also realizes that they seem to have been wildly miscommunicating for quite some time now. (Crowley didn't even tell him he basically got let go!)

So, what does maddeningly strong love plus a want to resolve all the miscommunication equal? That's right: A night to remember! A Ball to change it all! A dance, a vol-au-vent, a confession. And, ideally, a happy ever after. Because:

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man angel in possession of a good fortune Jane Austen collection, must be in want of a wife demon husband.”

The Ball was never for Nina and Maggie. As a byproduct, maybe, yes. But the whole rest of the glimmer and glamour, the careful, romantic planning and set up of it all, the book-bating the other shopkeepers– that was for Crowley and Crowley only.

And oh, if only it were as easy as in the books.

*whispers* I'm sorry, I had to.

***

Your honour, the tinfoil-hat crackpot defence rests. Feel free to share thoughts (and prayers) if you want to!

Au revoir! 💗

#good omens season 2 #good omens #gos2 #go2 #good omens 2 #good omens meta #good omens s2 #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #my own meta #the bloody vol-au-vents made me do it #aziraphale has balls #truly #jaune austen ball #it is a truth universally acknowledged that this show is going to drive me out of my mind #azi just wanted his silly little love confession #but then he had to surrender the angle #bummer

[thegirl20]

Just to reiterate, Slap, I don’t need a plus one, I need a stand in.

(On my skim through the series, this little bit of dialogue stuck with me and niggled at my brain until I did something with it. So here’s a wee ficlety thing.)

----

It’s ridiculous, all this fuss over nothing. It’s only because she’s heading out the door that they’re doing this. Prizes before pasture. Absolute nonsense.

The thought of having to hear someone read out a paragraph of nauseating rubbish written by some poor admin assistant who’s never met her in their life fills her with dread. Not to mention having to get up and smile graciously while the Chief Con hands her a stupid certificate that might as well say ‘Well done for not driving off a cliff’ on it while people clap. And not just ‘people’. People she knows. Folk she’s worked with her whole life.

And bloody Rachel Bailey.

She’s pictured it; meeting Rachel at the do. All done up to the nines, hanging on Will Pemberton’s arm like an accessory. All tall and charismatic and gorgeous. She can’t bear the thought of the two of them sitting at a wobbly table, eating mediocre vol-au-vents, whispering to each other about her. Laughing at her, like everybody else will be.

Her mind’s made up. She’s not going. They’ve just picked up this job anyway, so the likelihood of her being able to get away for a whole evening is very low. There’s a tiny, spiteful part of her that thinks about not letting Rachel go either, but she shakes her head and rids herself of that notion. 

Without giving it much thought, she brings up the phone thingie on her dashboard console and hits Julie’s number, clearing her throat. The line’s engaged. She hangs up without leaving a message, knowing that Julie will call her when she sees the missed call. 

Stopping at a red light, she taps her fingers on the steering wheel, jumping a little when the phone rings. Sure enough, it’s Julie. 

“Hiya Slap,” Gill says, pulling out of the junction when the light goes green. 

“This is a surprise,” Julie says. “I’ve not heard from you in weeks.”

“Yeah, well, been busy, haven’t I?” Gill lies, shifting in her seat. “Listen, what you up to tomorrow evening?”

“Nothing to speak of,” Julie says. “Why? Are you going to grant me the honour of spending time in your dazzling company?”

“Not this time,” Gill says, guilt dripping into her stomach. “I need someone to go to that stupid do and pick up my-” She can’t say ‘award’, it feels too stupid. “To pick up that thing they’ve foisted on me.”

“Your commendation for bravery, you mean?” Julie sounds amused. “Why can’t you go? Be a shame to miss out on a chance to shake the Chief Con’s hand and listen to him go on about how brilliant you are. Not to mention the buffet.”

Gill rolls her eyes. “We’ve picked up a job this morning and I can’t see me getting away at this rate, so, you know…” She trails off, highly aware that Julie will know this is rubbish.

“Gill,” Julie says, and Gill braces herself for a lecture. “You know nobody would blink an eye at you taking a couple of hours away from the office for this.”

Keeping her eyes on the road, Gill shakes her head. “Can you go or not?”

“I can, but I’m not going to. You need to go,” Julie says. “They’re acknowledging what you went through and celeb-”

“Acknowledging that I was daft enough to leave my car unlocked and stupid enough not to notice someone hiding in the backseat.” Gill sighs. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I want to be remembered for.”

“For God’s sake, Gill, can you not just take it for what it is?” Julie sounds exasperated now. Like any minute she might stop the friend stuff, pull rank and order Gill to attend.

“And what’s that?” 

“Recognition that, on that day in particular, you were bloody brave.”

Gill twists her neck to the side. Sometimes she can still feel that belt around her neck. She can see the blood running down Helen’s arm. It doesn’t feel like something to be celebrated. 

“You know I hate all that rubbish,” Gill tries again. “Two hours of people spouting trite drivel and handing out prizes for not being dead yet.”

“Why don’t you take someone with you? Enjoy the evening?” Julie pushes. “I think we both know there’s someone you’d like to go with.”

Gill grits her teeth.She should never have told Julie about this. Her tongue had been loosened by too much wine and she’d confessed the secret she’d kept close to her chest for literally years.

“No.”

“Come on, you stubborn cow.” Julie clicks her tongue and Gill can feel the roll of her eyes down the phoneline. “I know you’re a stickler for propriety and all that, but you’re on the road to retirement. Nobody would grudge you this.”

“She’s already going to the thing,” Gill says. “The do. Whatever.”

“Oh?” She can hear Julie’s confusion. “I hadn’t heard she was up for anything…and she’s definitely not old enough for a long service-”

“She’s going with Will Pemberton,” Gill says. “He has been around long enough for a long service award. And she’s going with him.” 

Saying it out loud brings back the hurt she’d felt when she’d figured out what was going on. Not that it took much figuring out. It had been more painful than she’d thought it might be. Rachel had been with plenty of blokes before and Gill had coped with it. But there’s something about this one that cuts deep. Will Pemberton isn’t like the others. He’s where Gill should be. Would be, if she hadn’t let that shag bandit ex-husband bugger up her career path. Maybe even higher.

Worse than that, he’s a nice guy. A good guy. The kind of person Rachel might actually settle down with. 

“Oh, I see.” There’s a pause. “That’s why you’re trying to get out of going. Gill, I’m s-”

“Don’t, Slap,” Gill warns. “I can’t take you pitying me.”

“I don’t, love,” Julie says. “It’s just…I’ve seen the way she looks at you and if you’d only ask her-”

“Don’t start all this bollocks again,” Gill says. “It’s embarrassing enough as it is without you rubbing salt in the wound.” There’s silence for longer than she’d like on the other end of the phone. “Well?”

“You need to go to the ceremony,” Julie says, finally. “You can’t hide yourself away, crying into your pillow like a daft teenager because the girl you fancy has got a boyfriend. I won’t let you.”

Gill sighs. “You are not helping in the slightest.”

“I’ll come with you if you like, but you need to get up on that stage and accept the praise you’re due.”

Turning into a side street, Gill is relieved to see the police tape up ahead. And not so happy to see the crowd that’s gathered at it.

“Listen, Slap, I’ve just pulled up at the scene, so I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Fine,” Julie says, not sounding like she means it. “Meantime, I’ll look out my best party frock and tell my wife I’m going out for the evening with my bit on the side.”

The irritation that flares briefly in Gill’s chest is tempered by affection for this idiot she’s lucky enough to call her friend. Still, she won’t allow herself to be browbeat. “Just to reiterate, Slap, I don’t need a plus one, I need a stand in.”

“I’ve told you, you’re going,” Julie says, firmly.

“Yeah, well, think about it. Ta ta.” 

She hangs up before Julie can say anything else. The worst of it is, she knows Julie’s right and she knows she’ll end up at this bloody do, no matter how much she protests. 

#gill murray #julie dodson #gill x rachel #scott and bailey #fic by me

[emospritelet]

27 - GoldRushBelle

27: “All I want for Christmas is like a dozen orgasms. Is that too much to ask?”

Yes, it really has been 2 years since I posted the first part of this fic, but I promised threesome smut and I’m delivering!

[AO3 Part 1] [Part 2]

-

Gold looked at the Santa hat he had been given, let out a defeated sigh, and tugged it down onto his head. Belle beamed at him, turning on her toes and heading for another door, and Gold shared an amused glance with Rush. The white pom-pom on her Santa hat bounced as she entered the kitchen, and an excited squeak floated back to them. 

“You do realise she’s already set her heart on this place,” said Rush, and Gold smiled.

“So it would appear,” he said. “I have to say that my initial impression is positive, though. You?”

“Yeah.” Rush looked around, hands on hips. “It’s got a nice feel to it, I suppose. Seen anywhere for my whiteboards?”

“No, we didn’t look in the basement yet.” Gold grinned at Rush’s snort of annoyance. “You should check upstairs. There are five bedrooms, all decent sizes with plenty of light.”

“I’ll take a look.”

“I’ll go check out the kitchen,” he said. “Sounds as though Belle likes it.”

He turned on his heel to follow Belle.

“You should wear that hat to class,” Rush called after him, and his grin widened.

The kitchen was everything he could have wished for. Gleaming cupboards, granite worktops and modern appliances, and a large tiled floor with space for a table and chairs so they could eat breakfast in the morning sunshine, and within easy reach of the coffee maker. He walked around slowly, opening cupboards and mentally planning the dishes he would cook. The layout was exactly what he would have chosen himself, the appliances perfectly placed for efficient movement between fridge, sink and stove, and there was plenty of worktop space for preparation. He peered into the larder, nodding approvingly at the shelving and storage space. The sound of Rush’s footsteps made him back out, and he caught Belle’s eyes as he turned to face her. She was beaming at him, barely restrained excitement making the pom-pom on her Santa hat quiver.

“Well?” she said eagerly. “It’s everything we wanted, right?”

“Looks alright,” he said warily, and she huffed at him.

“Come on! You can do better than that!”

“Okay, it’s perfect,” he admitted, and she bounced up to him, rising up and sliding her hands over his shoulders as she kissed his nose.

“Told you,” she said happily.

“Looks ideal for you, Gold,” remarked Rush, from his place in the doorway. “Enough cupboard space for your collection of weird ingredients that no one else uses. You can spend the evenings in here making truffle vol au vents and asparagus foam, or whatever.”

Gold gave him a flat look.

“You like my cooking.”

“Well, it’s certainly better than mine.”

“Given that your idea of an exciting recipe is putting tomato on your cheese sandwich, that’s not exactly hard.”

“Stop sniping,” said Belle, and bounced over to Rush. “What do you think? It’s perfect, isn’t it?”

Rush sniffed.

“Found a room for my whiteboards,” he said, and Belle squeaked and bounced on her toes.

“You both like the house, I knew it!” she exulted, clapping her hands. “This is the one, and we’re gonna buy it and live here and get a dog!”

Rush blinked rapidly.

“We’re getting a dog?” he said. “Since when?”

“Since you both decided that you love me,” she said sweetly, batting her eyelashes.

“That was bloody ages ago.”

“Then it was decided ages ago.”

“Yeah, but I don’t remember discussing getting a dog at the time.”

“And some cats!” added Belle.

“Some cats?”

“This is what happens when you’re late,” said Gold snidely, and Rush sighed, running a hand through his hair and making it even messier.

“Fine,” he said, “but you can walk the dog.”

“We’ll all walk it,” said Gold. “It’ll do you good to get your arse out of the house and get some Vitamin D once in a while.”

Rush grumbled under his breath, and Belle giggled as she grabbed his hand.

“Come on, the realtor said there was a hot tub!”

Gold watched with a grin as she dragged Rush towards the back door. It led out onto a wide section of decking that overlooked the extensive rear garden. Thick evergreen trees marked the boundary, and he nodded approvingly.

“Nice and private,” he said.

“All the better for shenanigans,” said Belle, winking at him.

Rush had found the hot tub sunk into the decking, and was squatting beside it with a puzzled look on his face. Gold was about to ask him what the problem was when he reached out and dipped his fingers in the water.

“This thing’s on,” he said.

“What?” Belle dropped down beside him and stuck her hand in. “Weird. It’s warm.”

“The owner’s definitely out of town, right?” said Gold.

“Yeah, I had a look in the fridge, and it’s empty,” said Belle. “Plus there’s only really the bare minimum of furniture here. Definitely no one in residence.”

“Maybe the cleaning staff turned it on or something,” suggested Rush.

“Maybe.” She pushed to her feet with a wicked grin on her face, brushing water from her palms as she looked them over. “Lucky for us, hmm?”

“Lucky?” Rush was looking confused, and Gold wanted to sigh as Belle’s grin widened and she sidled up to him.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she purred.

“No,” said Gold flatly, and Belle pouted.

“Oh, come on!”

“I am not stripping off and getting in that hot tub,” he said. “The realtor could be back at any minute.”

“No she won’t, she’ll be back at two, she said so.”

“And if she’s early?”

“She won’t be!” insisted Belle. “She has to get to the airport and back in the Christmas Eve traffic! If she’s even back by two I’d be surprised.”

She was grinning at him with that wicked glint in her eyes that he loved, and he was surprised to find himself giving her proposal serious consideration.

“I’m still not keen on the idea of getting in someone else’s hot tub,” he said. “I doubt it’s what they expected to happen when they decided to sell the place.”

“Yeah, but we already decided we’re gonna buy the house,” she reasoned. “It’ll be our hot tub soon. Imagine all the fun we can have in it.”

“Which can wait until after we’ve purchased this place.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Currently standing shoulder to shoulder with my sense of propriety,” he said. “Looking at you very judgmentally.”

“Well, tell it to lighten up, it’s Christmas.”

“Yeah, come on, it’s not that big a deal,” put in Rush. “There are cleaning products in the kitchen. If it makes you feel better, you can clean it afterwards.”

Belle raised an eyebrow, that grin still on her face, and Gold sighed, feeling his resolution drain away. It was true, he could always clean it.

“When I said I wanted to spend some quality time together this Christmas, this wasn’t quite what I had in mind,” he said, in a dry tone. 

“I’ll even help you clean it, if you like,” offered Rush, and Gold gave him a look.

“Well, now I have to agree, just to get you to clean.”

Rush grumbled under his breath.

“Look, why don’t you call the realtor and make an offer?” he said. “It’ll make you feel better, and then we can concentrate on enjoying ourselves.”

Gold nodded.

“Good idea. Hang on.”

He fished out his phone, thumb flicking at the screen to call the realtor. The dial tone sounded, and then the whooshing sound of a car on a highway.

“Cara Deville-Waters.” The familiar drawl came oozing out of the phone, and Gold smiled.

“It’s Mr Gold,” he said. “We’d like to make an offer on the property on Arendelle Drive.”

“Excellent,” she said, with relish. “I thought it might be what you wanted, after our initial discussions. I told you the price has recently been reduced in order to achieve a quick sale, but given that discount, the seller is unlikely to be too flexible. I’m authorised to accept offers within a certain range, so that should help to grease the wheels, as it were.”

“Yes, well, I don’t propose to bandy offers back and forth,” said Gold. “We both have things we’d rather be doing, I’m sure. Four percent off the asking price. I’m not trying to rip your client off, but I won’t pay more than it’s worth.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I do admire a man who knows what he wants,” said Cara. “Very well, Mr Gold, that’s within the range that the seller has authorised. I accept. Subject to contract, of course.”

“Of course,” said Gold. “As long as there’s an understanding that the house will be taken off the market immediately.”

“I’ll call the office directly after you hang up,” she said. “Would you be able to pop to the office today to sign the preliminary documentation? It’s just with it being Christmas…”

“Yes yes, we’ll drop the keys around later,” Gold assured her. “We just want to spend a little more time here. Uh - planning, you know.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure there’s a lot to plan, what with the three of you to consider,” she said carelessly. “Did you find the hot tub, by the way?”

Gold hesitated.

“We did.”

It was almost as though he could feel her smirking.

“A pleasure doing business with you, Mr Gold,” she drawled. “Do give my regards to your partners. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you too.”

He hung up, and turned to the others, grinning widely.

“We have our house,” he said, and Belle squealed in excitement and hugged him. Rush piled in after, making him stagger, and Gold laughed.

“Well, at least next Christmas should be different,” he said. “We’ll have to ask how soon we can move in.”

The other two drew back, and Rush kissed Belle’s cheek.

“So,” said Belle, raising a brow. “Are we gonna try this hot tub?”

Gold gave her a level look.

“I suppose there’s no harm in giving the thing a test run.”

“Is that a yes?” asked Belle eagerly, bouncing on her toes, and he couldn’t help chuckling at her excitement.

“How could I possibly resist the look on your face?” he said. “It’s like you just got everything you want for Christmas.”

Belle pursed her lips, shaking back her dark curls.

“All I want for Christmas is like a dozen orgasms,” she said. “Is that too much to ask?”

“A dozen?” said Rush, scratching his chin and looking thoughtful. He glanced at Gold. “What’s our record?”

“Eight, I think.”

“We might be pushing it to fit a dozen in one session.”

“Then you’d better get on with it, hadn’t you?” she said tartly. “Come on, you’re both scientists. This must be a calculation you can both make.”

“What about half now and half later?”

Belle sighed dramatically.

“Alright, fine!”

Rush grinned, sharing an amused glance with Gold, who smirked.

“Last one in buys the drinks this evening,” he said, and tugged at the knot of his tie.

Belle squeaked, tossing her bag to the side of the tub and shrugging out of her coat. There was a flurry of motion as pieces of clothing were shed, a pile of jeans and shirts and underwear tossed onto the deck, and twin splashing sounds as Belle and Rush jumped into the hot tub. Gold had already accepted that he would be last, but there was no way he was about to toss his suit onto the floor, thank you very much. 

“Would you get in here?” called Rush. “You must be freezing your bollocks off.”

“I assure you they’re perfectly fine,” he remarked, shaking out the suit pants.

“I can kiss them better if there’s a problem,” offered Belle, making him grin.

He could hear splashing and murmuring, interspersed with wet-sounding kisses, which made his grin widen. He was getting cold standing in the nude, though, so when everything was folded to his satisfaction, he hurried over to the tub, leaning his cane to the side. It was a relief to sink into the water, which was pleasantly warm, and Belle slipped from Rush’s lap, scooting over to him and pulling him with her until he and Rush were either side of her.

“Turn on the jets!” she said excitedly.

Rush reached behind himself, pushing a large button. The water began to bubble and seethe, and Belle kissed Gold, straddling his lap as his arms went around her.

“When we came out here to do a house viewing, I hadn’t planned to get naked,” remarked Rush.

Belle broke the kiss, leaning back a little.

“It’s nice though, isn’t it?” she said, and Gold nodded.

“It’s relaxing, certainly.”

“I can just imagine us all snuggled in here with a glass of wine, watching the sunset.”

“I suppose that could be arranged.”

“With our new dog.”

“You want the dog to come in the hot tub?” said Gold. “I draw the line at having sex in front of the dog.”

“Agreed,” said Rush.

“The hot tub isn’t just for sex,” said Belle reprovingly. “Honestly, do you two think of nothing else?”

Rush made an indignant sound, and Gold had to agree.

“Says the woman who suggested sex in the hot tub in the first place.”

“Oh, come on, this is definitely a joint venture!”

“I’ll remind you, Miss French, that the multiple orgasms were your idea,” he said severely, and Belle pouted.

“I love it when you’re strict, Professor Gold.”

“So help me…” he sighed, and she giggled.

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s just that this is so exciting! A new house for all three of us! It’s the best Christmas present ever!”

“The master bedroom looks big enough for three,” said Rush. “If we get a king bed, of course.”

“We can each have our own bedrooms, too,” said Belle. “If we want to, that is. And I get my library. It really is perfect.”

She kissed Gold again, her mouth soft and hungry, and he ran his hands over the curves of her hips, feeling himself begin to swell and harden. Belle pulled her mouth from his, kissing down his neck, and he groaned as a shiver of pleasure ran through him. Her lips pulled at his earlobe.

“How do you want me?” she whispered, and Gold let his head roll back with a moan.

“We could start out in the tub and maybe end up on the deck,” suggested Rush, from his right. Gold raised his head.

“I vote for staying in this nice warm water.”

“Fine, but it could make positioning a little difficult.”

“That deck’s pretty hard, though,” said Gold. “And it’s cold.”

“Oh, it’s okay, I saw something.” 

Rush heaved himself out of the tub and ran, dripping, through to the lounge. After a moment he returned, wrapped in the rug from the lounge floor with his thin legs sticking out beneath it. Soft twists of wool were standing up from his shoulders like the fur of some great beast, and he whipped it off, spreading it on the deck.

“Fucking cold out here,” he said. “This should be okay, though. Soft and warm.”

“So now we’re ruining the rug too?” said Gold flatly.

“There’s dry cleaning.”

Gold sighed, shaking his head.

“This is the worst thing we’ve ever done.”

“Worse than that time on the plane to London?”

Gold inclined his head.

“Okay, maybe not,” he acknowledged.

“That was your idea,” Rush reminded him.

“In my defence, I thought the toilet door was locked,” said Gold patiently. “And we agreed we weren’t going to mention it again.”

“You can always up the offer a little, if you feel that bad about it,” suggested Belle, and he frowned.

“Well, let’s not get carried away…”

“Thought as much.”

Gold rolled his eyes, clicking his fingers.

“Give me my phone again.”

Rush reached for it, handing it over and spreading out the rug before getting back in the tub and heaving a sigh of relief. Belle slid onto his lap, kissing him, and Gold brought up the call history to call the realtor again. The call went to voicemail, and he assumed she was on a call.

“Yes, it’s Mr Gold again,” he said airily. “I’ll throw in another grand for the rugs. Pleasure doing business with you.”

He hung up, setting the phone down, and turned to the others, grinning wryly.

“I guess we’re all set.”

Belle beamed, and slipped from his lap to sit between them. He felt her hand on his knee, slowly stroking upwards, and glancing to the side he could see that she was doing the same to Rush. He felt his cock twitch in anticipation, and Belle’s fingertips gently caressed his inner thigh, stroking in slow circles, inching closer. He heard Rush gasp at the same time as him, Belle’s finger stroking up the length of his cock, the fingertip circling the head. The bubbling water was a pleasant sensation against his skin, increasing the pleasure of her touch, and he groaned as she wrapped her hand around his length and began to stroke, palm tugging at his flesh, the pad of her thumb flicking over the head.

Gold let his head fall back against the deck with a thump, a contented groan coming from him. He could hear Rush making a similar sound, and surmised that Belle was touching him in the same way, both hands working to the same rhythm. He closed his eyes, mouth open, breath quickening as he concentrated on the delightful push and pull of her palm. The past week had been busy and stressful, and he thought how wonderful it would be to come home from the university to this house. How pleasant to sit together in their hot tub and do this at the end of a long day.

His pleasure was building, and he didn’t want it to be over, but Belle sensed him nearing climax and let go, leaving him tingling and aching. She pushed up, turning to straddle him and sinking down onto him with a moan of pleasure as she took him deep inside. Gold groaned, pushing his hips upwards, sliding into her as he gripped her hips. Rush had shuffled closer, and Belle reached out to him, grasping him beneath the water and continuing to stroke in time with the rise and fall of her hips.  

Gold raised his head, putting his mouth to her wet nipple and sucking hard, and Belle moaned again, quickening her pace a little. Her cheeks were flushed, her thigh muscles tense against his, and he could sense she was close. She gripped his shoulder, rocking against him with tiny, high-pitched cries, and let out a long moan of pleasure as she came, her flesh fluttering around him. Gold groaned in answer, pushing deep inside her, feeling the scalding heat of her against his hard flesh. Belle continued to rock against him, her moans fading to a contented murmur that made him grin. She raised sleepy eyes to his and kissed him hard before lifting off him and straddling Rush in turn.

Gold missed her heat, his cock still hard and eager for her, and he growled in pleasure as she reached beneath the water with a firm hand to tug at him once more. Glancing to the side he could see her take Rush deep inside, pale thighs opening wide. Rush groaned as she sank down onto him, cupping her breasts with his hands and putting his mouth to her. Gold watched as he licked her, pink tongue circling her hardened nipple, and Belle moaned, shaking her hair back as she began to move her hips in small thrusts. Her hand was still stroking him, her grip firm, and he licked perspiration from his upper lip, the heat of the water and the pleasure of her touch making his heart thump and his skin hum.

Rush had licked across to her other breast, lips pulling at her nipple, and Gold watched as his tongue stroked upwards to her throat. Belle let out a cry as he bit down, squeezing Gold’s cock as her hips jerked and making him gasp. 

“Fuck, you feel incredible!” growled Rush. “Come for me, love.”

Belle moaned, rocking her hips, her pace increasing as her hand pumped. Gold could feel his pleasure rising, his skin tingling as his pulse throbbed, and he closed his eyes, waiting for the bliss to take him. He was so close, so close, but then Belle released him with a cry, making his eyes fly open at the loss of her touch.

“Fuck!” he gasped.

Glancing to the side, he could see her in the midst of her pleasure, head thrown backwards as she bucked her hips. Rush’s arm was clamped around her waist, his mouth pulling at the hard peaks of her nipples, and Gold let his hand drop to grasp his cock with long, slow strokes. Belle was slowing her pace, rolling her shoulders with a sleepy grin on her face, and she leaned in to kiss Rush before reaching for Gold’s arms and sliding over onto his lap. Her mouth was hot and sweet, her body soft and yielding in his arms. She pulled her mouth from his, kissing down his neck and sucking at the point where his pulse throbbed. Gold groaned in pleasure, and Belle’s lips trailed up to his ear.

“Was that bad timing?” she murmured. “It felt like you were almost there.”

“Just makes it all the sweeter when it comes,” he rasped. “Just like you.”

Belle giggled, kissing his neck again, and slipped from his arms, heaving herself out of the tub to sit on the deck between them. She leaned back on the rug, knees bent and her feet in the tub, the water frothing around her pale calves. He watched Rush rise up out of the water, parting her knees with his body, hands pushing her thighs wider as he bent his head to her. Belle arched her back with a moan of pleasure as Rush’s tongue stroked her, the soft tip parting her folds. 

Rush eyed him, inclining his head, and Gold shifted closer, grasping Belle’s foot and lifting it out of the water. He drew his tongue along the arch, making Belle jerk and moan, then sucked a toe into his mouth and circled it with his tongue. Belle gasped in pleasure, and Gold continued to lick and suck as he watched Rush’s hands slide up over her belly to squeeze her breasts. His head was working as he licked at her, and Belle’s eyes were closed, a rapturous expression on her face, full lips flushed and parted. She arched her back, hips pushing upwards, and Gold stabbed his tongue between her toes, watching the colour rise in her cheeks and chest as her breathing hardened. Rush’s right hand slid down, fingers pushing between her legs, and Belle let out a desperate whimper that rose to a cry as she came, legs jerking with the force of it.

Rush was letting out a contented groan as he licked at her, and Gold tapped him on the shoulder, making him start to kiss along Belle’s thigh as Gold kissed his way up the other. Belle was still murmuring, and Gold licked the soft skin of her inner thigh, tasting a hint of salt on her. He could smell the scent of her pleasure in the air, and ran his nose over her wet flesh, inhaling deeply. Belle jerked at the touch of his tongue on her sensitive flesh, her sex already wet and swollen with pleasure, and he was careful to only graze her clit as he licked her. His tongue pushed inside her, tasting salt and sweetness, and she sighed contentedly, opening her legs a little wider. His tongue flicked over her again, circling her clit, and she moaned, pushing upwards a little to meet his mouth. He growled at the taste of her, covering his face in her scent, breathing her in.

There was a tap on his shoulder, and Gold began kissing down her thigh to let Rush take his place. Belle moaned, pushing fingers through his wet hair, and Gold kissed all the way down to her toes once more. They had done this for her before; alternating places was always pleasant, and helped with stamina. He thought perhaps they could try it with penetrative sex; when he was deep inside Belle, pulling out to let Rush have his turn would be exquisite torture.

Belle was starting to whimper in pleasure, and Gold smirked before tapping Rush on the shoulder. He got a growl in response, and Belle made a disgruntled noise as Rush moved aside. Her grumble turned to fresh moans as Gold took his place, his tongue moving in circles. Her limbs were stiffening, tension evident in the shortness of her breath and her rocking hips. She clutched at his hair, fingers twisting as her thighs gripped his head, and cried out in climax, pushing up into him. Gold groaned at the taste of her, warm fluid against his tongue.

Rush tapped him on the shoulder, and Gold drew back, slipping down into the water a little to catch his breath and warm his cold torso. Belle was murmuring in pleasure, and she grasped Rush’s hand, tugging him further out of the water.

“Fuck me,” she whispered.

Gold watched as Rush reached down, slipping two fingers into her, the pad of his thumb rubbing over her clit. He took himself in hand, guiding his cock into her, and grasped her hips as he slid deep inside with a low groan of pleasure. Belle lifted her knees with a gasp, back arching as she wrapped her legs around him. Her head rolled to the side, her eyes meeting Gold’s, and she held out a hand. He pushed up out of the water, the cold air biting at him as he lay down on the rug at her side, and Belle reached for his cock, stroking it firmly in time with Rush’s thrusts.

Gold shifted closer until he was pressed against her side, the touch of her hand sending ripples of pleasure through his body. He reached up to cup her cheek and turn her face towards him, her skin hot against his palm, her eyes bright and her lips plump and wet. He kissed her, tongue pushing deep, and she moaned into his mouth, squeezing his cock and making him groan. He rolled his hips, increasing the friction, and slid a hand down to cup her breast, thumb rubbing over her nipple. Belle let out a tiny whimper, a shudder of pleasure.

“Fuck, Belle, you feel amazing!” growled Rush.

Belle gasped as his pace quickened, and her hand moved faster, making stars begin to burst behind Gold’s eyes. A tingle started low at the base of his spine, a rising tide of pleasure.

“Oh, sweetheart!” he whispered. “Yes! Oh, fuck yes!”

A wave of bliss poured over him, his vision going black before the explosion of colour in his head. He came with a rumbling groan, his cock pulsing in Belle’s hand, hot fluid spurting over her thigh and coating her fingers in sticky trails. She let go as Rush came, thrusting rapidly, a long, groaning cry pulled from his throat. Belle rocked her hips, her cries of pleasure high-pitched and stuttering, and Gold bent to suck a nipple into his mouth, tongue working in circles as his cock continued to pulse.

Belle’s movements slowed and stopped, her head thumping down on the rug, and for a moment there was no sound other than their heavy, ragged breathing. Out of the corner of one eye, Gold watched Rush pull out and flop down on Belle’s other side, gasping for breath. He grinned to himself, pushing up on one elbow to gaze down at Belle. She was watching him through half-closed eyes, looking thoroughly debauched and utterly beautiful. He kissed her forehead, and she smiled, one hand reaching out to take Rush’s, her other taking Gold’s.

“See?” she murmured. “This is the perfect house. Imagine doing that every evening.”

“I may die,” said Rush, and Belle giggled.

“I’ll just kiss you back to life, then.”

He chuckled, and pushed up, catching Gold’s eyes.

“I suppose we’d better get dressed,” he said. “We have a hot tub to clean and another six or seven orgasms to plan.”

Belle heaved a contented sigh.

“Merry Christmas to me,” she murmured, and Gold grinned.

“Merry Christmas to us.”

#sprite's festive fic fest #rumbellerush #fic: comfort and joy #fic: extracurricular #lemon fic

[esandcasg]

Chapter Three – Patterns in the Snow

I sat on the solitary wooden chair outside my hut, watching the sun come up over the jungle trees. Time seemed to be running slowly. Inside, Adam was making porridge, wrongly convinced it would give him some sort of biking advantage. In front of me, standing ten feet away, was Ifan.

“Ifan Thorne,” I said. “I always knew someday you’d come walking back through my door. I never doubted that. Something made it inevitable. So, what are you doing here in Nepal?”

Ifan looked me up and down coolly. “Adam has presumably explained everything.”

I nodded, my teeth starting to grind. “I’ve learned to hate you in the last ten years.”

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“I was a child. I thought we were just climbing a mountain. It was wrong and you knew it.”

“You knew what you were doing.”

I stood. “Now I do. This is my place. Get out.”

I turned and walked back into the hut, away from Ifan’s protestations that, as technically he hadn’t come into my place yet, he couldn’t get out; which rendered my statement nonsensical. I swung the door open, interrupting Adam as he was trying on some of my age-defying eye cream.

“Oh… I was just…”

Ignoring him, I went back into the bathroom, cursing the fact that the cheap extractor fan I’d installed the previous year hadn’t had time to ventilate the room yet. I placed my hands on the sink and stared at my reflection in the mirror. The time had taken a toll. Arguably, it wasn’t the years but the mileage; irrespective, I resembled a dried out husk of a man. My face was weather-beaten and pockmarked; lines etched deep trenches in my forehead. My hair, more salt than pepper now, unkempt and thinned by the unrelenting sun. Time had taken its toll; but thankfully not on the eyes.

I bowed my head, giving in to the inevitable. I had lost something on Kangleong. Maybe it was time to get it back.

I walked back out into the main room of my hut. Adam had by now gone outside, the appearance of wrinkles on his forehead presumably now visibly reduced via the magic of oxycutin-10. I switched the TV off and looked round the room, wondering if this would be for the last time. It was home, and I was happy here. But something was pulling me away, to complete something I’d began ten years previously.

I clambered into the back of the C-Max; Ifan drove us through the Korok Forest to Gerudo Town, the nearest large settlement. Ifan explained that this was where he and Adam had been staying whilst trying to track me down.

As Adam went off to check out of the hostel, Ifan and I found a bar. Gallantly, Ifan bought me a bottle of the second cheapest beer. For a while we drank in silence, save for the occasional fart.

“So,” I said, after half my bottle was finished. “Are you going to tell me what this is about?”

Ifan looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly that.”

“You said Adam had told you everything.”

My hands circled the bottle impatiently.

“He told me some stuff, sure. Stuff about time travel, Henry Craven and going back to Kangleong. Now I want you to tell me what’s really going on.”

Ifan let out a hiss of breath. “What he told you was true.”

“From a certain point of view?”

“Look, let’s not start this again, you made that Star Wars reference in the epilogue of Vertical Summit.”

He was right. Damn him, I thought, taking another gulp of my beer.

“Look,” he began, making some attempt at conciliation, but the anger rose up again inside me. I couldn’t help it. Ten years had done nothing to help me accept what had happened.

“Do you have any idea how bad it was?” I interrupted. “I don’t think you do. I don’t think any of you have the first idea. I died here. I lost everything. Everything I was, everything I wanted to be. And then I got given it back.”

“What are you talking about?”

I shook my head. Maybe this was too obscure a reference; I wasn’t convinced either of Ifan or Adam had watched the DVD extras of Touching the Void.

“You owe me,” I said, finally. “I had to put your names on the memorial at base camp. Had to phone your parents. Had to sing a hymn at your funeral and make hors d’oeuvres for the wake. Vol au vents. You know I hate vol au vents. I found some caper berries that went really well with cream cheese, but no-one really went for them so I had to take them all back in my car. I thought they’d keep for a while at least but they lasted three days. Three days Ifan! I had to eat 150,000 vol au vents in three days.”

Ifan looked at me but said nothing.

“All this time carrying your secret. Why didn’t you just tell me from the start? I could have helped. Or I could have stayed at home. Or climbed something people would believe that I climbed. Yeah, that’s right. No-one believed I’d summited. There was no-one left alive to back me up. They thought I’d faked the photos. ‘No-one can climb Kangleong in winter’ they said. So what did they assume happened? That I went on an expedition where everyone else died and I miraculously survived without a scratch? No-one believed a word I’d said; even after I told the whole story.”

“I thought you told it well. The even chapters at least.”

“Thanks.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth!” I almost shouted. “Bloody hell, Ifan, don’t you think I’m owed that? I kept your secret, even though it ruined me. I had to give up my entire life, come halfway round the world just to find some peace. And I found it. I actually found a peaceful life for myself. And then you two turn up and shatter it.”

“It’s not as easy as that.”

“You think anything has been easy for me?”

Ifan looked at me in the eyes and I knew he agreed; he owed me, him and Adam both.

“What we told you was true, back in the tunnel,” he began. “We were on Craven’s tail. He knew we were after him; he’d tried to kill us on that mountain. So we had to fake our deaths, had to make him think we were out of the equation. Then, only then, he might lower his guard and let us get close enough to bring him in.”

“You told me this.”

“We spent the next three years living in the Karakoram. Trying to blend in. We had most of our gear from base camp and plenty of energy gels, so we knew we could hunker in for long enough. In the meantime we were looking for the exact smuggling route Craven was using. It wasn’t enough to know it was somewhere in the Karakoram. We needed the exact trail. It took three cold years, but eventually we found it.”

“I thought you’d already found the trail? Isn’t that what the tunnels were for?”

Ifan shook his head. “You studied the Vietnam War, right? Think of the Ho Chi Minh Trail. A whole network of routes, and the US never knew which routes were being used. Sort of like that. They’d been building this network up for years. We don’t know how long the tunnels have been there, but they might even pre-date the smuggling. They certainly pre-date Craven. There are only two of us, so there was no way to patrol all the tunnels in order to find out which ones they were using.”

“Presumably there was some sort of pre-planned route? Or a system?”

“Exactly,” said Ifan. It took a long time to figure it out, but we did. We got very lucky. We knew we were getting nowhere. We couldn’t just wait in the tunnels because that would get back to Craven. We had to be patient and figure out the system. After three years of waiting, we started our observations. Two years later we had made barely any progress. Truth be told we were on the verge of giving up. Morale was pretty low; Adam and I were barely talking to each other, we’d got so sick of each other’s constant company. So I suggested we forget about things and climb a mountain. So we did. Gasherbrum IV.”

I let out a sharp hiss of breath. Gasherbrum IV was just under 8000m, so not technically in the group of the 13 highest mountains in the world, but its difficulty was legendary. No safe route on the mountain, a sheer west face. Originally known as K3, it was felt in some circles to be a harder mountain to climb than K2. Each route was exposed; you could be blasted by hurricane-force winds, hit by rockfall or swept off the route by avalanches. Seracs hung perilously on each way to the summit, barely clinging on to severely steep faces.

“Acclimatisation wasn’t a problem,” continued Ifan, “as we’d been living pretty much at 30,000ft for the three years previously, just under the death zone. So we figured we could just do a fast and light ascent of one of the ridges. We knew it would be tough.”

“Tough!” I exclaimed.

“Only problem was we knew nothing about the routes, or when was best to climb, and I found out that Adam hadn’t bothered to pay our broadband bill, so we couldn’t get wifi to google it. I suggested we head up an easier mountain, like Broad Peak, wait there with a telescope and plan our expedition.”

“Okay,” I said. I wasn’t sure where the hell this was going.

“So we made it up Broad Peak easy enough. Conditions weren’t brilliant – a lot of scratchy ice. Not a lot to dig into. A bit of a slog. But anyway, we got up to the top, set up our tent and just watched Gasherbrum IV for a month. As you know, there are a lot of avalanches there, supposedly. So we watched for their frequency, where they tended to fall, etc. We started to write our observations down. And then we noticed.”

“Noticed what?” I said, signalling the barman for more beer.

“There was a pattern. An undeniable pattern. It took us a while to realise. It was only when we were having a barbeque to mark our anniversary that I re-read the notebook and noticed the pattern. Avalanches down the south-east ridge specifically. At 8.45, every morning, there would be an avalanche. Some days just a solitary one. Other times two, or three. Rarely, four. But always at 8.45. And always on the south-east ridge.”

“Hold on,” I said, finishing off an onion ring from the sharing platter I’d ordered for myself. “Are you serious? Timed avalanches?” I picked up a mozzarella stick. “You realise how ridiculous that sounds?”

“Which is why we stayed on the summit for another month, just to be sure. I’ve still got the notebook. I can show you.”

“Well, what does that mean?”

“A signal.” Ifan took a folded piece of manuscript out of his jacket pocket and spread it out over the table, knocking over a couple of jalapeno poppers onto the floor. Observing the three second rule I crammed them hurriedly into my mouth, not willing to sacrifice them to the story.

I looked down at the table. The paper Ifan had unfolded was a map; a map of the Karakoram. I counted off the peaks – K2, Broad Peak, the Gasherbrums, Mason Mount, Denali and, of course, Kangleong. But there was something else on the map. Criss-crossing the mountains, someone had drawn a series of coloured lines in thick marker. Seeing the criss-cross made me jump.

“What am I looking at?” I asked, taking a bite of my plant-based burger.

“This is the network of tunnels. We think we found them all. Each different colour represents a different route.”

Although each coloured line ended in a different place on the western edge of the mountain range and started at different places at the northern boundary of the Karakoram, at points the lines converged before separating again. I could count six separate colours.

“Six routes,” said Ifan, as if he was reading my thoughts or the last sentence. “Six routes through the mountains.”

“So,” I said, “let me get this right. You’re saying that each number of avalanches corresponds to a different smuggling route?”

“Yep.”

“But you said there were a maximum of four avalanches.”

Ifan nodded. “We saw four three times. Most of the time it was one, two or three. But when we looked in the diary, Adam had recorded five avalanches on the south-east route once. Early on.”

“Okay, so that’s five. What about the sixth?”

Ifan leaned forward and pointed to the red line on the map. For the most part it ran a distance away from everything else.

“This one,” he said. “We think this is the sixth. We’re not even completely sure it exists. We drew the line on this map where we thought it goes but we’ve only found parts of it. We think sections of it are hidden. Behind seracs, inside crevasses, that kind of thing. But we found tunnels which didn’t seem to go anywhere. We think they’re part of this sixth route. A secret route.”

“What for?”

“Craven himself. You know the passetto di borgo in Rome? Provides an escape route for the Pope to the Castel Sant’angelo. Something like that. A route only Craven knew. A way for him to escape. That’s why there are no six avalanche signals. We think it’s for him only.”

“You think.”

Ifan grimaced. “We don’t know for sure. After we descended from Broad Peak we searched extensively for him. We found the tunnels, bit by bit, and built up this map. We knew where the passages intersected, we had a remote camera on Broad Peak watching Gasherbrum IV, so when the avalanches went off we knew where to go. Over the next two years we caught ninety-six smugglers. Found seventeen tonnes of plutonium. But nothing of Craven himself. You can see the routes all begin and end at separate places. So there was no way of knowing where he was holed up. Of course, the smugglers themselves wouldn’t tell us. They were too scared of him. Meanwhile he was happy for them to take all the flack.”

“A craven individual, you might say.”

Ifan looked at me silently.

“Hold on,” I said, “you said you were hiding out for three years. Then you said you were finding tunnels for two years. That’s five years.”

“We spent a while looking for you.”

“How long?”

“Six months.”

I paused. I’d only got GCSE maths but I’m fairly sure that didn’t account for the whole ten year gap between seeing them last and now.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I asked.

Ifan looked down at the table. He slowly folded back up the map and placed it back inside his jacket. Then he took a deep lungful of air.

“Towards the end of the time we were rounding people up. We were on K2, just around the Black Pyramid, where one of the tunnels runs behind. It was a snowy day. Fairly typical bad weather for K2. Anyway, we decide to head up to the balcony, to see the famous bottleneck and the serac above it. Adam left before I did as I had to pop a few things in the boot of the car. When I got to the balcony there was no sign of him.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’d gone. I could barely see his tracks in the snow. The whole balcony was a complete white-out. No sign of anything at all. I couldn’t even see as far as the bottleneck. He’d vanished.”

I didn’t understand.

“I stayed on that mountain for four years, looking for him. Looking for any sign of what had happened. Then, just as I was packing up at Camp II, he came wandering back down the mountain as if nothing had happened.”

I still didn’t understand.

“So what had happened?” I asked.

Ifan shook his head. “I don’t know. He seemed completely fine. Still had all his gear, still wearing the same clothes. But… there was something different. I didn’t realise until we were down at base camp. But then he started talking about you, about getting back to Kangleong and 2013. Stopping Craven. I didn’t understand it.”

“You mean…”

“Yeah. This whole time travel thing. The whole thing about being from the future. That’s what he’s been saying since he came down the mountain. I don’t understand it. But he’s convinced we have to get back to Kangleong. He’s convinced we need to stop Craven.”

“But what happened up there? What happened to him in those four years?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ifan, for heaven’s sake…”

“Jeez, Andrew!” Ifan was shouting now. “Read between the lines! I haven’t decided what happened! I’m leaving that for Adam to potentially use in a subsequent chapter!”

I fell quiet, unable to process everything. What had happened to Adam to leave him convinced he was from the future? Where had he been for those four years?

“So,” Ifan said softly, “I figured that the best thing to do would be to go along with it. Find you, then head back to Kangleong. See if I could understand along the way what was going on.”

“Okay,” I said. “So what’s the issue?”

Ifan looked up at me. The expression chilled me to the bone.

“Kangleong’s not there anymore.”

“What do you mean? Not there?”

“That’s what I’m telling you kid. It’s been totally blown away.”

“What? How?”

“The earthquake. You saw it on the TV. It’s reduced the mountain to rubble. There’s no way back. Whatever was hiding there, there’s no way to find it now.”

I looked over Ifan’s shoulder. Entering the bar, his 85 litre backpack over his shoulders, was Adam. He looked down at the bottles of beer.

“Where’s mine?” he said.

Ifan and I looked at each other in silence.

#Vertical Summit 2