Archive of Our Own

He was stumbling as he appeared in the Dead Boy Detective Agency, light-headed and clumsy and with Edwin more or less slung across his shoulders - his limbs were limp as a corpse, and he was too light, too insubstantial, half faded away already.

The shouting started almost immediately, but Thomas managed to set him down gently on the ground - the floor was clear, good, they needed to chalk a circle and a carpet would get in the way - and he set down a moth-eaten sack beside Edwin.  He was unconscious, or whatever the hell ghosts did instead of unconsciousness, but Thomas grabbed a pillow from the couch and slid it under his head.  

The shouting was still happening - Charles was in his face, demanding explanations, and Crystal was shouting Edwin’s name, trying to rouse him.  Behind them, Niko was fretting - she’d been crying, wan and puffy with tears. It had been two days, fourteen hours, and a handful of minutes (19 minutes, almost 20, Thomas had been able to see the clock on the wall when the pillar of fire had erupted in his boudoir while Edwin stood at the end of the bed, looking angry and sad and confused, and then screamed as something took him ), but he was back.  Thomas had brought him back.  

He snatched a page torn from an old grimoire out of his bag - Mick was going to kill him when he realized - and stuffed it into Crystal’s hands.  

“Vestin’s Stabilization of Humours,” he rasped.  “These are directions.  Supplies in my bag.  Text is in Middle English, but this,” he said, digging a sheet of looseleaf from a pocket, filled with his crabby handwriting, “Is the modern translation of the chant. It’ll work fine and you’re less likely to fuck it up.  Don’t look at the stygian candle when you light it, and make sure you light it last. Say it back.”

Crystal swallowed.  Her hand was shaking.  “Vestin’s Stabilization of Humors.  You’ve got the ritual and the ingredients and we can say the chant in English.  Light the black candle last and don’t look at the flame.”

“Good,” He said, and staggered as he got to his feet.  He could almost see the pillow through Edwin’s forehead. He felt like he was going to be sick.  

With ferocity that somehow surprised him, Charles spun Thomas around by his shoulder.  On the floor, Crystal was already chalking the circle, and Niko was carefully taking the supplies from his bag - bags of herbs, carefully labeled, thirty pieces of silver from a sunken ship, five new candles, etched with runes, a half dozen other bits and baubles that he’d bought or stolen or bribed for.  

Charles was shouting, demanding answers that Thomas just didn’t have, the words barely even made sense he was so tired - not just tired but weak .  He felt frail.  When Charles snarled at him, and grabbed him by collar, shaking him violently, Thomas didn’t even think - he punched Charles hard enough to send him spinning away.  

His knuckles throbbed .  Crystal, bless her, hadn’t even looked up from her work.  Thomas licked his knuckles; his voice was wrecked from smoke and shouting. “Don’t stop until midnight.  He probably won’t wake until dawn,” he said thickly, and let the flames of teleportation consume him as Charles lined himself up for a second go. 

And he was back in his boudoir.  Stale glass of water on the bedside table next to a pile of Edwin’s books.  Scorch mark on the floor where the damned witch had somehow broken through his protections.  Old ceramic mug, now tacky with the cold sludge of last week’s coffee.  He hadn’t been here since...

He staggered over to the bed and collapsed on top of the covers.  That last spurt of magic had nearly wiped him out - he was lucky not to have clipped his head on a table collapsing, and wouldn’t that be a way to burn through a life - and his mind finally gave into what his body had been screaming at him, and the oblivion of something far deeper than sleep washed over him.

~*~

He woke to sheets that were tacky and stiff, and he briefly thought - Edwin ? - before memory slammed into him with the force of a blow, and he gagged - copper, blood .  He flopped onto his back, barely holding back a shout as he moved.  He’d bled through his haphazard bandages, his shirt, and the sheets beneath him.  The shirt was stuck into the wound, and the movement reopened the jagged tear that went from his shoulder, across his chest, and down to a few inches above his navel.  He’d irrigated the wound with witchblight and salt, stung like a motherfucker, but he was 90% - ah, shit, 80% , he thought as pain lanced through him as he tried to stand - that he’d unrooted the necromantic magic that had clung to the blade, but that did fuckall for infection.  

He staggered to the vanity and sat down heavily.  He looked terrible, one eye developing into a fantastic bruise, soot smeared across his face in messy smudges. His shirt, a faded tee emblazoned with The First Pride Was A Riot , was sliced across the same path as the wound on his chest and caked with blood. He went to conjure a bowl of water, but his head clanged like a bell and an abrupt spell of vertigo sent him slumping to the floor. 

He stayed there a few moments, face pressed to the carpet, dancing in and out of consciousness until he finally found the will power to stand, clutching his chest, like that was going to stop his organs from making a bid for freedom. 

In the bathroom, he filled a bowl with warm water and took it back to the vanity - even trying to be careful, he sloshed more than half of it onto the ground. He took several ragged breaths before dipping a washcloth into the water, and laboriously began washing the wound through the rip in his shirt. There was no way he was going to be able to take it off without help, which meant it wasn’t coming off without a pair of scissors. 

He stared at his reflection dully as he worked, watching the washcloth turn pink and then red.

‘You’re off your turf, Cat King.’ The witch had been beautiful, too young and too ethereal, flanked by four of her fellows.  She’d laughed, cheery and happy and idly tossing a fireball back and forth between her hands.  It was blue white with heat, too powerful for this sad little coven, struggling along in some awful backwater miles away from any significant Crossings.  They should be languishing here, winnowed down to scraps.  They should be starving, wretched things.  They weren’t.  

He hissed - the washcloth dislodged some bit of gravel from the wound with a flash of pain and new rivulet of blood.  The flinch was enough to upset the bowl of water, sending a splatter of pink water all over the vanity and ground.  

“ Fuck !” he shouted, throwing the cloth at the mirror.  “Fuck!”

Stupid.  Fucking idiotic .  Getting involved with a smug British closet case and pretending it was more than just a goddamn way for him to work out his curiosity on the way to something real.  Thomas was a good liar, oh yes, one of the best, but he wasn’t usually one to lie to himself, but you pick up all sorts of bad habits over the centuries.  Empathy, hope, the goddamn downfalls of civilizations.  

Thomas let his head thunk down onto the vanity.  He could feel the anxiety of his subjects, milling around the cannery.  He should check on them, he thought vaguely.  The headache was back, throbbing in time with his heart beat.  

He could just die, he thought idly.  Fresh slate.  Hurts to lose two inside a year, but it would be a good reminder to not let himself get taken away by a pretty -

“There you are,” Charles snarled.  The fucking mirror .  He’d closed it a week ago, trying to let Edwin off easy, save him whatever little speech he’d worked himself up to, but he’d never actually removed it from the boudoir.  That had felt...too final.

“How the fuck do you keep getting in,” Thomas groaned, tapping his head on the vanity in time with the throb in his temple.  

“You owe us an explanation, Thomas ,” Charles snapped, and hauled Thomas around violently.  “What the fuck ?” 

That last bit seemed more in response to the mess of his chest.  Charles released him like he’d touched a hot coal, backing up a few paces.  

“That name was not freely given,” Thomas growled, but he couldn’t really do more than that.  If he even tried to stand right now, his knees would go out on him, he could feel it.  Kissing the floor in front of Chales was more than his pride could take.  “Edwin told you, did he? Tut tut, telling tales out of school.  That your idea of pillow talk?”

Charles colored slightly.  “He’s been calling for Thomas for hours .  I took a wild guess and figured that was you.”

Thomas swallowed thickly, briefly letting his eye close. “He’s awake?”

“ No ,” Charles snapped.  “He’s still - unconscious, or something.  But we did the bloody ritual until midnight.  He started murmuring and calling out about an hour after we finished.”

“Good,” he said after a moment.  “Then he’ll be fine.  Did you want to finish me off?” he said, gesturing lazily at his body.  “Wouldn’t be hard right now, and maybe it’ll be good therapy for you, hm? Maybe with this handicap you’ll actually be able to win a fight for once.”

“I’m not here to fucking hurt you,” Charles said loudly.  “I wanted to - you broke his fucking heart.”

Thomas rolled his eyes with his whole body, hissing through his teeth when the movement pulled on every inch of him that ached.  “Oh please , I’m an asshole for wanting him, I’m an asshole for fucking him, and now I’m an asshole for getting out of your way?” he asked incredulously.  “Choose a fucking side.  Because I’ll be your bad guy, Charles,” he said, grinning sharply, “But just help me out here and pick a fucking reason .”

“I didn’t want you out of my fucking way,” Charles said, almost snarling.  “I never asked for that, did I?”  He swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.  “I thought things were - good,” he said, his voice creaky.  “I thought things we like - not fucking normal because it’s fucking you , innit?  But like the closest the three of us could get to normal.”

“Being a British twink’s side piece isn’t exactly my idea of a good time,” Thomas sighed, looking down at his nails.  “Tried it in the 1800s, can’t recommend it.  Don’t fuck poets, by the way, they’re all lazy in bed.”

Charles just looked at him incredulously.  “What the fuck happened?  He came here to talk to you and then doesn’t come home and then you show up with him half fucking annihilated -”

“He shouldn’t have been able to get in,” Thomas said.  

“Well he spent two days breaking the protections on this place because you wouldn’t talk to him!”

Well that answered one question.  Thomas rubbed his face with his hand. “Oh, and so he fucking unravels enough wards protecting this place to squeeze in here through the god damn mirror, and clever though he fucking is, it didn’t occur to him that those wards were keeping other shit out .”  He clenched his jaw, pressing his hand against the wound, which had sluggishly reopened.  

“Can’t you heal that?” Charles said, eyes flicking between his chest and his face.  

“Yeah let me just snap up some healing magic, because this is Dungeons and Dragons!  It doesn’t work like that you moron.  That’s not the kind of magic I do.”

Charles snorted.  “So yours is just about turning up like a bad penny and making yourself look fit?” 

“Oh you charmer ,” Thomas said, fluttering his good eye.   “You think I’m fit ?”

Charles rolled his eyes, but there was a faint blush on his cheeks.  “You know you are, you don’t need me to tell you.”

Thomas pointed at him, triumphant.  His eye was nearly swollen shut.  “That’s not a no.”

Charles ignored him.  “What about your cats?  Can’t they do something to help?”

“Oh yeah, let me just get a few down here to put some stitches in me.  They don’t have fucking thumbs .”

Charles looked past him, taking in the mess of the vanity, the gritty, bloody footprints into the bathroom.  

“You’re mental ,” he said, but to Thomas’ surprise, it was mostly just exasperation, the hint of a laugh.  “Just - don’t move, right?”

“Aye, aye -” Thomas started, but Charles was already turning, and then he was back through the mirror, “...Captain.”

The room was quiet.  Laboriously, he turned back to the mirror, groaning when he caught sight of himself.  There was a scratch near his hairline he hadn’t noticed before and it had bled enough to stick his hair up in a clotted matt.

“Pathetic,” he said to his reflection, listlessly picking up the now cold washcloth and dabbing at his chest. He felt gritty with old sweat and blood and grime.  The idea of a shower sounded better than sex, but he couldn’t stand up that long.  Another nap, he told himself, aware he’d wake up dehydrated and hungry and crusted with blood.  By then, he might be able to face a shower and enough magic to get the blood out of his sheets, check on his subjects, get over to Mick’s for some healing salves -

“I told you not to move.”  

God fucking dammit. “I need to fix those fucking wards,” Thomas groaned.  

“Yeah, you also need to stop being so bloody stubborn,” Charles sighed.  

“Oh fuck all the way off.  Who’s with Edwin?”

“Niko and Crystal are sleeping in the room with him.”

“You should be there, checking on him ,” Thomas said, too weak to protest when Charles crouched down beside him, his bottomless bag slung over one shoulder and an ordinary first aid kit in his hand.  He got his shoulder under Thomas’ and guided him to his feet, walking him over to the edge of the bed.  

“Yeah, mate,” Charles said, gently setting him down.  “So should you.”

“I think the two of you have got it all figured out,” Thomas said, almost choking as he laid back down on the bed.  

“We did have it figured out,” Charles said sharply.  “You fucking changed the rules and didn’t even tell us.”

“Is there an us?” Thomas said, arching his eyebrows.  Charles was standing at the foot of the bed, between his splayed knees, looking frustrated and annoyed and absolutely gorgeous.  “Easier ways to get me on my back, you know.”

“Yeah, well,” Charles muttered, digging through the first aid kit for alcohol swabs.  “You’re not interested. You didn’t have to go and run out on Edwin to make that pretty fucking clear.”

“I didn’t -” Thomas cut off, gritting his teeth as Charles swabbed the wound out.  “Who said I wasn’t interested?”

“I think the word Crystal used was ghosting ,” Charles said mildly, not looking even slightly repentant as Thomas swore.  “And don’t get cute about it.”

“I’m cute about everything,” Thomas panted, squeezing his eyes shut.  Charles was about halfway across his chest, reaching for more swabs.  

“Yeah, right.  You want to tell me what happened to Edwin?  Or is that too much to ask?”

“Esther had an apprentice,” Thomas muttered, some oily slick guilt curling in his belly.  “They broke bad about a hundred and fifty years back, Esther kicked her to the curb, banished her from Port Townsend.  Watch it ,” he snapped as Charles swept into a ragged, deep edge of the wound.  “That’s my chest, not a girl you’re fingering.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Charles muttered.  “So what, you piss her off too?  You make friends all over, don’t you?”

“She doesn’t give a shit about me,” Thomas groaned.  “She must have been poking around once you smoked Esther.  She found the old cunt’s notes.  She’s got a wanna be coven, and they...found the thing she built to hurt Edwin.”

Charles’ eyes flicked back up to Thomas’ face.  “He was in there for days ?”

Thomas shrugged miserably.  “I don’t know.”

Charles' jaw worked, and he shook his head sharply, as if dislodging a thought.  “Why did they take him from here?  Why not London?  What, have they got their noses pressed up against your window?”

Thomas stared at the ceiling.  Well, in for a penny.... “Probably because they could get in here, because again, Edwin broke my fucking wards.”

“So?  Why not get him in the office?  Breaking in here seems harder than -”

“No,” Thomas said brightly, “It wouldn’t be.  Because I fucking warded your god damn office, too.”

It was foolish, careless, wasteful .  It had been knotty work, done while the team was away on an investigation, which was for the best because it took the better part of a day to set it up, and the last thing he needed was questions and concern from the peanut gallery.  And it wasn’t the type of magic that stopped pulling at him once it was cast.  It sapped him, and it was half the reason those smug bitches had gotten him as good as they had.  And for what?  For this little tragedy that was taking far too long to play out?  He was exhausted, there was nothing left in the tank, but he reached out, touching the netting around the office through the ether.  His reserves were tapped, but the wards were still holding.  Edwin and the girls were safe.  

When Thomas glanced down from the ceiling, Charles was giving him a strange, penetrating look.   “When he was breaking your wards, Edwin said they were solid.  Took a lot of mojo to keep them in place, he said.”

“So glad he appreciated my work as he was wrecking it,” Thomas said tartly. 

Charles tossed some bloody tissues in a bin and started digging through his bag.  “You could’ve let us help.  Bursting in for ten seconds to tell us you’re handling it doesn’t count, by the way.”

“I knew who had him, I knew what had to be done, you would’ve gotten in the way,” Thomas said, watching Charles’ arm disappear up to the shoulder into the bag.  “You just would have slowed me down.”

Charles withdrew a glittering jar from the bag and glared at Thomas.  “Yeah?  And now we’re going to be spending how long tracking a fucking coven jazzed to the gills with Edwin’s agony - “

“No we won’t,” Thomas sighed, eyeing the bottle curiously.  Then his eyes focused and he hauled himself onto his elbows.  “What is - is that Astor’s Tears? Where did you even -”

“Payment on a case back in ‘97,” Charles said, shaking the bottle absently.  It sounded mostly empty. 

Thomas scoffed, watching him incredulously. “Do you know how hard it is to get that shit?”

“It doesn’t work on ghosts,” Charles said, dumping out a small dollop of the glittery, gel-like contents onto a fresh piece of gauze.  “It’s been collecting dust for -”

“This scratch isn’t going to kill me, you idiot.  What if Crystal gets hurt?  Or Niko?”

“One, they were the ones that reminded me we had it when I went back to grab the first aid kit. Two, I can see your fucking ribs, your actually bloody bone, yeah?  And three, you’re weak as a kitten and you can’t stop me, can you?” he said, hefting the gauze.  “Hey, I hear this part hurts, you ready?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Thomas said, trying to crab back up the bed, but Charles was faster, unceremoniously swiping the gauze down the length of the wound.  

The pain was bright, incandescent, spreading like lightning from the wound out through his chest and down his limbs, but blessedly it was short lived, because after only a few seconds, he passed out.

~*~

“You fucking asshole,” Thomas groaned sometime later.  His head was foggy and his tongue tasted like  - ugh, like awful .  

“Welcome back,” Charles said.  He was kicked out on Edwin’s side of the bed, thumbing through one of his books.  “Do you think he actually like, enjoys reading this shit?”

“Are you kidding,” Thomas said, patting himself down.  “He loves it.  He takes notes.  I told him to get a highlighter and he acted like I suggested he use the pages as rolling papers.”

The wound was knit closed completely, just a thin pink line going from his shoulder to just above his navel.  His eye wasn’t throbbing any more, either, just tender to the touch.  The terrible dry mouth aside, he felt - good.  Fine.  Better than fine.  He conjured a licking ball of fire in his hands and it sprouted cheerfully to life.  

“Feeling better?” Charles asked mildly.

“Smugness is really unattractive,” Thomas said, dismissing the flame with a thought.  

He gave a burdened sigh.  “You’re telling me.”

“What are you still doing here?”

Charles glanced at him and snapped the book shut.  “You always ask that to people you wake up in bed with?”

“Only the ones I haven’t invited,” he muttered, swinging his legs out of bed.  Some parts of him still felt like he’d been beaten with a bag of pennies.  

“You, mate, need a shower,” Charles said, stretching as he stood.  

“And a blow job and a cup of coffee,” Thomas muttered, flexing his arm curiously.  

Charles coughed.  “Lets start with the shower and see where we end up.”

Thomas twitched.  He liked it better when the pair of them could be tripped up with sex, but when he glanced at Charles, he was just grinning slightly, waiting.

“You’re already a really awful detective,” Thomas said, grunting as he stood. “Do you want to add being a really awful nurse to that list?”

“Get out of your clothes,” Charles said, blushing, “I know you’re good at that.”

Thomas tsked.  “Slut shaming, really?  How long was I out?”

“Twenty minutes,” Charles sighed.  “Barely any time.  Come here.”

“I can -”

But Charles was already man-handling him, stripping the ruined shirt off him with sure, steady movements.  It would have been more trouble to fight him, and the work of the Tears aside, there were parts of his body that were still grumbling and sore.  And Charles’ hands felt - they were steady, warm, and so careful it made Thomas’ throat ache.  

Charles’ fingers trailed down the scar, inspecting his handiwork.  Thomas jerked, forcing himself to breathe steadily through his nose.  

“Like what you see?” he murmured.  This was the most Charles had ever touched him outside of trying to throttle him, which had been happening less and less these days.  Reaching an armistice? Edwin had hummed one night, his legs tangled up with Thomas’ while his heart rate came back down.  That day he and Charles had chased down a Rat King lurking in Port Townsend’s sewers, had done it deftly and quickly, before another one of his subject’s ended up dead, and they’d both been...pleased with themselves, after that day’s work, trading off explaining to Edwin how they’d managed it, interrupting each other and sniping back and forth easily.  And Thomas had said, “ Not on your life ,” while thinking, it’s past time I get out of this .

“Yeah,” Charles said simply.  “I do.  Like seeing your pulse.  Like not seeing your bones.  Now get in the fucking shower, you look like hell.”

“Sweet talker,” Thomas sighed, shoving his pants down his legs, noticing Charles’ idle glance as he stepped around him and headed for the bathroom.  

“Nice, this,” Charles said, following him into the bathroom and dropping down on the closed toilet.  The room was tiled with hunter green tile and brass fixtures, and the shower was large enough for two, with water pressure that could drum the tension out of his shoulders.  Thomas was under the showerhead before the water had even come up to temperature.  “I was expecting a litter box.”

Soaping his hair with one hand, he reached up, turning the shower head almost absently. 

The spray drenched Charles, sending him scrambling off the toilet and onto the ground.  “Oh, leave it out,” he groaned, “What the hell was that for?"

“Oops,” Thomas called, turning the shower head back and facing up into the spray.  The water swirling into the drain was a rusty brown.  Thomas groaned, leaning his forehead against the tile.  

“You okay?  Edwin’s notes said it might make you dizzy -”

“I’m fine ,” he said.  “What the hell are you even still doing here?”  He glanced over his shoulder, shaking his ass.  “Just to cop a feel and watch me bathe?”

“I want to make sure I don’t have to tell Edwin you’re dead by the time he comes around,” Charles said, shrugging out of his drenched jacket, leaving him just in black jeans and a sodden white under shirt. “Tell me more about the witches, how do we stop them coming back around?”

The water was clearer now, but still greyer than it ought to be.  Thomas scrubbed at himself with renewed intensity.  “Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, a bunch of power-mad witches with our home address,” Charles scoffed, “Nothing to be concern-”

“They’re dead.”

He said it without inflection, eyes closed and leaning one shoulder against the shower wall.  

Charles paused.  Thomas could hear him shifting his weight.  

“...all of them?”

“Yes,” Thomas said shortly, including the youngest, who’d begged to live even as she readied one last hail Mary of a spell to kill him.  He’d been almost beaten by then, badly wounded, licking blood off his teeth, magic barely responding to his demands, and he’d finished her off with a piece of rebar that had been in the rubble of the collapsed building.

“How many?”

“Five, all told,” Thomas sighed.  He was finally starting to feel clean, and god it felt good.  He rolled his shoulders, tipping his face up into the spray.  “And before you ask, I burnt their notes.  And their building.” And the block around it, old empty tenements deep in disrepair.

Charles laughed hollowly.  “Last time, you didn’t even help the girls with Esther.”

“I gave them information,” he said stiffly.  “And it had been less than 24 hours since she beat my head in with her fucking cane.  And both of you weren’t exactly my biggest fans at the time, were you?”

“You’re good at acting untrustworthy,” Charles muttered, something guilty curling his inflection.  

“It’s not an act,” Thomas said, “You’d be an idiot to trust me.”

“You’re not fooling anyone but yourself,” Charles sighed.  When Thomas shut off the water and turned around, Charles was standing awkwardly in the center of the room, watching him with a decidedly odd expression.  Thomas ignored him, stepping out of the shower with, as it turned out, too much confidence in his balance.  

Charles caught him before he slipped, wrapping a strong, sinewy arm around him and hauling him upright.  “I’d really prefer death,” Thomas gritted out, batting at Charles as soon as he got his feet under him.  “I don’t need your help.”

Laughter burbled out of Charles, and he ignored Thomas’ protests, grabbing a towel from the pile and hauling Thomas back into the bedroom.  “You’re so bloody good at acting cool and above it all, aren’t you?”

“I am above it,” Thomas muttered, scrubbing the towel across his chest and through his hair.  “Do you realize how tiring it is, pretending to care about your hijinks ?  I’ve lived for centuries and I’ve had fewer magical fuckups than your detective agency has had in the last six months.”

Charles chuckled; his arm was wrapped sturdily around his back and his hand was idly petting Thomas’ side.  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, you don’t care about Edwin, you don’t care about us, you only care about yourself, blah blah blah.”  He sounded amused, the bastard.

“Oh look, he can learn,” Thomas said to cover the sudden awful sensation of being flushed out of cover.  He pulled away from Charles and snapped his fingers at the bed, replacing the soiled linens with clean, sweet smelling sheets.  He threw himself down nude on top of the blankets, and glared up at Charles.

Charles just rocked back on his heels, smiling slightly.  The damn undershirt was stuck to him with water, gone translucent where it hugged his abs.  “That’d be easier to buy if you hadn’t just come this close ,” he said, holding up two fingers pinched together, “To burning a life, right?”

Thomas rolled his eyes.  “If I hadn’t brought him back, you would never have left me alone.”

Charles nodded agreeably and started ticking off points on his fingers.  “Warded our offices with some big bloody magic.  Spent, according to Niko, a few thousand pounds on magical supplies - “

“Most of it was stolen-”

“Located your kidnapped boyfriend ,” Charles went on relentlessly, “Went up against five witches alone , nearly got yourself killed, and dropped him back home with the information we needed to stabilize him.”

“I punched you,” Thomas said, petulant.

“I deserved it,” Charles said easily, moving to the edge of the bed.  His eyes followed the new scar on his chest, eventually sliding up to meet Thomas’ stare.  “Kind of dramatic to insist on doing it alone though, innit?”

“Oh so I bring you, who’s batters box for the fucking torture-o-matic, and the two squishy humans you keep on payroll?”  Thomas snorted.  “Fucking inspired suggestion-”

Charles pointed at him, triumphant.  “But if you were worried about us, it makes more sense, don’t it?”

Thomas opened his mouth.  Shut it.  Glared .  

Charles spread his hands. “Didn’t even need a truth spell, did I?”

“Fuck off ,” Thomas spat, doing a little crunch to sit up on the edge of the bed, putting Charles squarely between his knees.  

“What I can’t work out, is what made you run?” Charles mused, leaning down until their faces were just a few inches apart. When Thomas stubbornly held his gaze and stayed quiet, he murmured, “Crystal says you’re afraid of being happy.”

“I’d take a star chart from the avian twink before I take relationship advice from the chick that let her ex possess her,” Thomas said, eyes flicking between Charles’ mouth and his eyes.  

“Big feelings,” Charles said sympathetically.  He bit his lip, released it.  “You don’t seem like the sort that walks away from something he wants.”

“I don’t see anything I want,” Thomas said, and reached out, grabbing Charles by the back of his knees and pulling him into his lap.

“Hah!” Charles said, triumphant and grinning and that was obnoxious , so Thomas kissed him, grabbing him roughly by the hair and turning his head until he could lick into his mouth, gliding his hands up the back of his thighs to dig into the meat of his ass like he’d wanted to for months now, watching him slouch around in those awful black jeans, laughing and fighting and keeping up a happy smile when the cases got bleak, looking after Edwin, giving him cow eyes, making him blush, sending him off to Thomas’ bed marked up and, once or twice, still hard and gagging for it.  What sort of game is he playing, Thomas had wondered, usually while fucking into Edwin hard enough that they were both half mad with it, so worked up they couldn’t even kiss, just rub their open mouths against one another, teeth clicking.  

“You want the cup of coffee or the blow job first?” Charles said, nipping hard at Thomas’ bottom lip.  He looked entirely too pleased with himself as he ground his hips down, scraping his teeth down Thomas’ jaw.

“The cup of coffee’s probably got a better chance of being halfway decent -” Thomas gasped, sliding his hands up under the damp shirt, splaying all over that lean muscle, digging the pads of his fingers until Charles jerked in his grip.  He was hard, pressed up against his zipper, and he made a beautiful, mewling noise against his mouth when he dropped a hand down for Charles to rock into.

“Oh, I’ve got hours of practice in, mate,” Charles said, sliding off his lap and thudding down onto his knees.  None of that virginal shyness this time, Thomas noted, tonguing his bottom lip as Charles wrapped his hand around his cock - he’d gotten hard so fast he was almost dizzy with it.  Thomas slid his fingers into his hair, gripping tightly near his skull, and dragged Charles face where he wanted it.  

“Prove it,” he panted, arching enough to rub his cock against Charles’ mouth.  “No teeth, Edwin told me you -”

“That was one time ,” Charles said hotly.  There were bright spots of color in his cheeks, and he lipped messily at the head, his soft lips giving slightly as Thomas rocked against the bow of his lips, pink and wet and too much a tease for any real relief.

“This why you gave me the Tears?” Thomas said, unable to stop a groan as Charles finally stopped fucking around, wrapped his mouth around the crown, sucking tightly.  “You just looking for someone to put you on your knees?  Use your mouth the way you need it?”

Charles groaned, letting Thomas set the rhythm with the deathgrip in his hair.  He took it admirably, for long, agonizing minutes as Thomas tried not to come apart too quickly, his heels skidding without purchase across the carpet.  He slid his dick along Charles’ soft palate, pressing his head down until he choked, eyes watering, and let him up for air.  His mouth was ruined , puffy and spit slicked, and little breaths were panting out him, ragged and pleading.  

“Your mouth was made for this,” Thomas murmured, watching him through half lidded eyes. He pushed his thumb into Charles’ mouth until his lips sealed around it, his tongue rolling against the pad.  “Get your dick out,” he said, an order, and watched as Charles scrambled to obey, shoving open his fly and curling his fist around his cock with a whimper.  

A breath shuddered out of him - Charles was so hard his cock was already jerking, straining up against his belly, flushed dark at the tip.  “That’s it, isn’t it,” he said mindlessly, slipping his thumb out and replacing it with his cock, thrusting hard enough that Charles choked again, but he didn’t pull away, obediently began to bob his head.  Thomas could see the telling flex of his arm as he jerked himself, and the frantic rhythm of it had Thomas halfway to coming already.  They’d gotten here so quickly, Thomas thought, he was still damp from the shower, still aching with the pains that the Tears didn’t burn through, but it had also been months of stepping around one another, pushing and pulling, creating little spaces for the other to step into.  

Fucking stupid to let himself want this, he raged at himself, but he gasped just the same a Charles slid a hand up his thigh, cupping his balls and pressing two smart fingers just behind, perfect pressure, perfect angle, just like Thomas had shown Edwin months ago, sucking his dick until he was light headed with it, thrilling in the way Edwin twisted underneath him.

It was partially that deft little move that pushed him over the edge, but mostly it was the realization that Charles sucked cock the exact way Edwin did, the way Thomas had shown him.  The two of them had been learning off each other, figuring out one another’s bodies worked, but he could feel echoes of himself in the way Edwin handled him, cheeks hollowing, staring up through his lashes.  Charles probably spent hours with Edwin’s dick down his throat, listening to his breathless advice, getting his hair pulled, choking when Edwin came, unable to swallow quick enough - 

Thomas came with a hoarse shout, knotting his fingers in Charles’ hair and letting his hips snap forward until Charles pulled back, gasping for air he didn’t need, a dribble of come at the corner of his mouth. He leaned his face into Thomas’ thigh, chest still heaving.  Thomas shut his eyes, collapsing back onto the bed when his elbows gave out on him.

“Get up here,” he said once he got his breath back, patting the bed next to him.  “I’ll blow you.”

Charles snorted.  He was still crouched at the edge of the bed, and brazenly let his gaze wander up Thomas’ body.

“Yeah, no need mate,” he said, waving a sticky hand as evidence.  “Kinda beat you there.”  He wiped his hand on the sheets before crawling up into bed.

“You’re a fucking animal,” Thomas groaned, too tired to complain when Charles collapsed next to him, dropping his ankle over Thomas’ shin.  “And you stole my blowjob.” 

Charles cackled, turning to grin at him.  “Yeah?  You got like, trade marks?”

“I’ll expect a tithe if you ever plan on rebranding as a rent boy.”

“Uh- huh , that one of the dirty fantasies you whisper in Edwin’s ear?” Charles asked, arching an eyebrow at him.  Thomas gazed contemplatively at the ceiling.  His heart was still racing.

“It’s not,” he admitted, “But that does have potential, doesn’t it? Something about us taking turns on you until you cried for your lost innocence, et cetera et cetera.”

“Yeah, et cetera et cetera,” Charles said dryly.  There was a brief moment of quiet, which was damn near miraculous for Charles, who treated silence like something he was put on this earth to defeat.  After a moment, Charles squirmed out of his jeans and shirt, kicking them to the end of the bed and pulling his clingy little underwear into place. Thomas’ mind was in a happy fog, still too keyed up adrenaline and dopamine to really consider the implications of what just happened, so of course that’s when Charles drew breath to speak.

“Look, I think we ought to talk about -”

Thomas was saved from squashing that useless line of conversation by the bubbling sound of the mirror activating; he pushed himself up on his elbows, frowning at his reflection until, haltingly, Edwin’s wan face pressed through the rippling quicksilver.  

He blinked at them, carefully pulling himself through the frame.  He was pale, but that awful, insubstantial fog had left him - he looked real, solid.  He also still looked liable to fall over at the slightest provocation, but at least the far wall wasn’t visible through his temples.  

“Are you....” His eyes darted over them - Thomas, naked and still sweat slicked, his softening cock laying in the crease of his thigh, Charles beside him in just his underwear, hair mussed and lips bruised.  “Really?” He sounded incredulous, some kind of laughter burbling around the word.  

Thomas finally shook into action, swinging his legs out of bed and getting his hands on Edwin as quickly as he could, smoothing his hands from his shoulders, down over his chest, and anchoring with bruising force on his hips.  “Edwin, are you - “

“I feel worlds better,” he admitted, leaning to bump his forehead against Thomas’. His eyes were amused and his gaze slid over Thomas’ shoulder to where Charles was still sprawled in bed.  “Niko told me there was some...scuffling when you brought me home,” he said, failing to hide the grin lingering at the corners of his mouth.  “And that Charles left in quite a state.  I thought I’d have to pull you off one another.  Maybe I still do.”

“We got ourselves sorted out,” Charles called from the bed.  

Edwin’s eyebrow twitched.  “Evidently.”

“What’s one blow job between romantic rivals?” Thomas said lightly, still fidgeting his hands over Edwin’s body, looking for tender spots.  Edwin huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.  

“Is that what you are?” he asked, letting Thomas steer him toward the bed, stripping him out of his jacket and bow tie.  “Because from your earlier behavior, I thought that romantic entanglement was the last thing you wanted?”

Thomas pushed him onto the bed and followed him down, rolling Edwin into the warm valley between him and Charles.  

“It could be,” Thomas said, conjuring a thick blanket big enough to cover the three of them, “That I misspoke.”

“Really?”

Thomas shrugged.  Both he and Charles had rolled onto their sides and were watching Edwin carefully.  “Perhaps I even lied.  Prevaricated.  Dissembled.”

“I see,” Edwin said, shutting his eyes.  When Thomas dropped down onto his back, Edwin rolled enough to lay his head on his shoulder.  “I had assumed you were just being an idiot child.”

Beside them, Charles snickered.  “Yeah, that too.”  Thomas opened his eyes enough to glare.  In his arms, Edwin was tracing his scar with gentle fingers, some of the laughter gone out of him.

“I don’t remember much -”

“Probably for the best,” Thomas said quickly.  “Just some sullen bitches with a deathwish.”

“I should tell Niko and Crystal we’re okay,” Charles said, sighing as he rolled out of bed and crossed to the mirror.  He poked his head and shoulders through the glass and his voice became muffled.  “Hey - we’re sorted, right?  We’ll be back soon.  What?  No - I.  I just took off my shirt because - what are you laughing about?”

“Thank you,” Edwin said quietly.  “For coming for me.  And for not putting the others in danger.”

“You’re mine,” Thomas said, too quiet to carry.  He tipped Edwin’s face up with a knuckle under his chin, leaning in to kiss him gently, several slow pecks before sucking Edwin’s bottom lip, releasing him with a hint of teeth.  “Them coming after you was just a roundabout way of committing suicide.”

“I love you too,” Edwin yawned - he said it as easily as ever, but there was a reliable pink stain on his cheek, and he focused on the scar as he said it, stubbornly refusing to look up.  Thomas’ throat ached, and he bit back the first five caustic, dismissive replies that jumped to his tongue.    And without those defensive barbs, he was left without anything to say, and the silence dragged. 

“Listen, no! It’s none of your business, right?  We’re just seeing to Edwin, okay?” Charles insisted desperately.  “No - no I’m not taking your cartoon porno, okay?  We’re fine .”

“I love him too,” Edwin sighed, as if seriously questioning his own decisions.  A moment later, Charles flopped back into bed and curled himself along Edwin’s back.

“I think the girls know something’s up,” he muttered, forehead pressed against Edwin’s shoulders. 

“No,” Thomas said blandly.  “Really?  How do they put these things together?”

But he curled his fingers through Charles' hair, sweeping his thumb behind his ear.  It was treacherously affectionate, but he could chalk that up to exhaustion, at least for the moment. 

“Have you fucked him?” he asked idly, petting his fingers through Charles’ hair.

“Not yet,” Edwin said with another cracking yawn.  Ghosts didn’t sleep, but magic was odd and often presented strange bills for the work it had done.  Edwin was halfway into a doze already.  “I thought perhaps you’d like to provide instruction.”

“M’right here,” Charles grumbled, but he kept his face pressed against Edwin and didn’t raise any further protest.  

“It’s just work, work, work with the two of you, isn’t it?” Thomas sighed.  The idea lit a slow fuse in him, though.  Charles took direction like a dream, went almost liquid and compliant with just a touch of praise. That could be fun to work with.

“You two sleep,” Charles grumbled.  “I’ll keep an eye out.”

It was a laughable promise, the idea of Charles facing down attackers in his clingy little shorts, armed with nothing but a cricket bat and righteous indignation. But it was...sweet.  Usually something that insipid would be intolerable, but Edwin was curled against him, and the arm that Charles had thrown over Edwin’s waist was now drawing nonsense circles on Thomas’ hip.

“Don’t touch my shit,” Thomas mumbled, already sinking into sleep.  

“Yeah, yeah,” Charles said.  There was a smirk in his voice.  “Sleep well, whiskers.”

He could keep doing this a while longer, Thomas thought.  Not forever, obviously.  They’d figure themselves out eventually.  But...maybe, just in the meantime, he could let this happen, sink into their quicksand, get dragged under the surface unprotesting. He’d made worse choices in his lives.  Charles pressed his head into Thomas’ stroking fingers, and on his chest, Edwin’s open mouth was pressed in sleep against his skin.

Just a while longer, he thought, letting the confusion and the guilt and complication spin away as sleep finally caught up to him.  A little while yet.