Come Get Your Love [Kaspar]

[Grey Weston]

<Grey Weston> The apartment had undergone a transformation in recent weeks. The scarred, pitted grain of the floorboards had been polished, imperfections and the tarnish of traffic over the years -leaving the spacing between them black with grime - smoothed away. The floorboards gleamed the color of raw honey, their scent carrying the barest suggestion of lemon. The scent was sharp. Clean. It warred with the vaguely licorice scent of Thai basil that dominated the kitchen. A canvas - bleached and sunfaded, the fabric stiff with old paint - stretched the length of the living room, terminating at the southern glass wall. A scattered handful of abandoned rollers and a low-rise metal tray, half-filled with white paint coated its surface. The rollers were slightly damp; saturated with the layers of paint. He’d already bent himself to the task of obscuring the mural that had once covered the wall; erasing work that had taken the better part of a year to complete. Its dark edges were merely a shadow through the fresh paint; like infection radiating outward from the core of a ragged wound.

The blackout curtains - once draped across the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the far wall of the apartment - had been removed, allowing the soft neon shine of the city’s skyline to coat the apartment in shades of white and gold. Most of the furniture - what litle of it could be salvaged - had been placed in storage, along with the contents of the hallway closet; heavy winter coats removed from their hangers and carefully folded. He’d held a few to his face, quietly inhaling - an apology and a goodbye all at once - before they’d been placed in boxes. It felt like a burial; as if, rather than packing tape and the slow rasp of a felt-tip across cardboard, he was lowering cemetery soil onto what remained of his life before Kaspar.

The living room’s space was dominated by the couch and the sound system. The grainy sounds of ‘La Vie en Rose’ poured through the speakers of the later; swelling to fill the modest space with its thin crackles and faint pops. Grey stood in the kitchen, hemmed in by the baby gates that had been erected at either end. Curled at his feet was a Leonberger puppy; one leg tucked against its side, the other outstretched, ears flopped back to reveal their pale insides. A small blue ribbon was tucked into its collar.

He reached for his cellphone a moment later; tapping once to bring up Kaspar’s name under his contacts. Busy? And then, a few minutes later, Dinner?



<Kaspar> It had been a couple of days since Kaspar had curled up on the couch in Grey’s apartment, since he’d dragged the man into the bed they were so inclined to share. He hadn’t argued when the man called to say he was busy with some project that needed his attention, it allowed Kas time to focus and get some work done, to go home a couple of nights in a row to his Wife and son without distraction. He’d popped by The Aviary, to visit with Indigo and assist with some furniture arranging but distance from The Hive was still on the agenda. Time with Sig meant time to think, to talk with his Wife about where their lives were heading and what it meant, to discuss looming decisions that he’d been putting on hold since they’d first demanded attention.

He didn’t want to choose, but not doing so was remarkably selfish, even for him.

In fact, he’d found himself being so utterly productive this week that he was picking at things pointlessly to amuse himself, to keep his mind off what to do. Sig had kissed the back of his head, messing up the blonde locks before heading to bed, telling him to get out and stop moping. Easier said than done. Kaspar had little desire to go to some club, to lose himself in the sound and lights, to find warm bodies to rock and roll with in the darkness. It still mostly held it’s appeal but it had been a rough month and he just wanted a little bit of peace. Were he in Germany he’d probably head to the lake house, literally, it was floating one bedroom apartment moored at a lake out the back of their main house. He loved it there, the big glass windows to stare out, the quiet and soothing motion of the water.

His eyes had closed, the man tugging off the glasses he no longer required and slumped in his chair. It was nice to daydream, to remember and sure enough a few minutes ticked by, then another few until he was unaware of how long it was he’d let himself sit like that. Kaspar’s phone buzzing tugged him violently from his reverie, the familiar mesage tone he’d set for his darling boyfriend, his Grey, ringing out through the apartment. He hissed out a swear, grabbing at it, pausing before reading, listening for the cries of a waking baby.

Silence.

That would be his luck, having only recently gotten his son to settle after a fussy night and then waking him up by forgetting to put his phone on silent. He was typing a reply to the first when a second buzzed in, inviting him for dinner. The man didn’t hesitate, replying with haste. “Be there in 30.” Giving him a few minutes to shower, change and jump in the car.

When he arrived at Grey’s apartment door he didn’t use his key, for some reason it felt intrusive, rude after being invited over rather than just expected to waltz in at any moment. His knuckles rapped a rhythm on the door, foot tapping impatiently as he waited to see the man. Kaspar being patient wasn’t an utterly foreign concept, he could be quite the considerate creature but recent events had given him a certain edge, a suspicion perhaps that left him waiting to put out fires when they inevitably sparked.

<Grey Weston> The knock caught at Stoker’s ears. The shepherd’s ears gave a sharp, disinterested swivel for several long heartbeats, as if the subdued canine were deliberating the merits of dividing his attention between the interruption and the still-slumbering puppy he was permitted to view through the latticework of the baby gates. After a moment, he rose to a feet with a groaning huff, feet bracing against the hardwood as he gave himself a brisk shake. Grey’d felt badly about separating the two, despite the fact that it was a necessary precaution. Stoker, in many ways, was unaware of his own strength, and he’d been beside himself in the face of the new arrival; pacing anxiously outside of the barrier, snout pressed between the narrow spacing of the gate, tail swaying in cautious optimism as low sounds of encouragement and a sharp yearning slid from his throat.

It had been a long time since he’d had another dog around. The puppy, for its part, had been a relentless tease; often approaching Stoker on clumsy paws and delivering a harsh, squeaking bark before rapidly retreating, body bent in a tense, anticipatory posture, inviting play. The elder of the pair, naturally, lost his mind; responding by digging furiously at the gate and voicing his frustration in curt, darkly timbred barks. Half a week of it had nearly driven Grey insane. He carefully set down the knife in his hand at the knock, allowing it to rest against the cutting board, before moving purposefully towards the baby gate. “Move, Stoker!” He admonished, one long leg swinging over the gate. The puppy reared up on short hind legs, front paws catching at the cuff of Grey’s pants, nearly sending him sprawling.

He bit back a curse, before heading towards the door, Stoker trotting at his heels. He drew back the deadbolt a second later, before twisting the doorknob and pulling the door open. “Hey, handsome.” His gaze softened, the hint of a grin settling into place. Stoker chose that moment to shove his way passed Grey; head fitting in the narrow space between his hip and the doorframe, followed by a muscular set of shoulders. A grumbling admonishment shuddered from his throat; half-growl and half-trembling whine of excitement. “Your fan club obviously missed you,” he added dryly, stepping closer, rocking forward slightly, leaning up to capture Kaspar’s lips in a soft kiss. He stepped back a second later, allowing him room to get inside the door.

“Rough night?” He asked after a second, gaze searching, a frown of concern settling into place. The sharp, mournful cry of the puppy swallowed his next question. “Oh, right. I got you something.”


<Kaspar> The sound of footsteps and paws, nails clipping sharply against the floor, gave him a strange sense of rightness. Anticipation rose within him, a buoying feeling of excited nerves that some might describe as butterflies at the thought of being able to draw the man into his embrace, to stroke thumbs against his cheeks and jaw, to kiss him. It was the simple pleasures that he missed the most when denied them, and the little day to day moments that he held onto when he was apart from those he loved. And he did love Grey, he really did.

“Hallo, mein Liebling.” He couldn’t help the grin that took hold of his features, dimpling his cheeks as Grey opened the door in a way that trapped Stoker only briefly from seeking Kaspar’s attention. He laughed, glancing down at the head that poked through the small gap allowed him. “Ah, Hallo, Stoker! I missed you too.” His hand moved to allow the dog to sniff it eagerly, the other reaching to cup Grey’s face as he leaned forwards to steal a kiss. “Mm, just him? Shame.” He teased, shaking his head in response to the question that quickly followed. “Nein, nein, I was just finding ways to keep myself busy at home.” Home, referring to the place he and Sigrid shared, the solid base he always went back to no matter what occurred in his life. “And y-...”

A whine, that of a puppy, young and desperate for the attention that was being taken up by the new person in the room cut him off.

His gaze narrowed as he stepped further into the apartment, reaching back to close the door before taking a better look around. Different, the place was different. Cleaner and brighter than he’d ever seen it, even with his efforts of upkeep, someone had clearly spent days devoted to the effort. The faint smell that wasn’t unusual in Grey’s apartment was overwhelming today, fresh coats of it having been applied. “What the HELL?” As he took a stepped towards the baby gates that had been put up he nearly tripped over Stoker, being forced to pause and pat the dog rather than approach.

“Grey… What have you done?” He could see glimpses of varying shades of brown fur, hear the desperately excited whimpers that had Stoker padding off to respond in kind, attempting in vain to get through the gate to the other bundle of excitement. “A… Is that a PUPPY? Jesus, Grey. Is this why you’ve been…” Kaspar exhaled a sigh, it was both exasperated and fond. He’d been kept at arm’s length for the sake of surprise. An apartment scrubbed mostly clean of all traces of past, of the dark clouds that clung to it and to have new life brought in. Literally.

Slow steps carried him towards the gates, his height meant it was easy to peer over the gates even from a distance, getting an eyeful of a furry little puppy with a bow around it’s neck. He recognised the breed, a Leonberger, they grew into giant bear looking dogs. Kaspar, of course, had been to the city they were named for. “Hallo, Baby.” He spoke gently, crouching down beside Stoker, draping a casual arm over the wiggling Shepherd, the other reaching over the gates to offer a hand to the new addition. “Willkommen, Baby, ich bin Kaspar.”

[Kaspar]

<Grey Weston> “Hi,” he repeated, the greeting soft and peppered through with gentle pecks. The word was practically muttered against Kaspar’s lips; warm and borderline giddy. It had been hard -damnably so - to avoid the man. His resolve had wavered more than once over the week; the temptation to pick up and call the other man almost a constant. It would have been easy to give in; to lose himself in Kaspar and the distraction he provided. But it wouldn’t have been fair. The two of them were working towards a life together, and they couldn’t do that - Grey couldn’t - until one final exorcism was complete. His lips quirked upwards in a faint grin - the hint of laughter exhaled against Kaspar’s lips as Stoker attempted to divert the man’s attention.

Stoker’s nose pressed lightly between Kaspar’s knuckles, breath rushing in a slow drag of air as he breathed in the man’s scent, as if affirming that he was still theirs to claim, as much as welcoming him home. He seemed largely satisfied seconds later, drawing back to reward Kaspar’s use of his name with an excited stamp of a forepaw, tail wagging lazily. He spun on his heels a moment later, trotting back through the open apartment door. Grey settled against Kaspar, leaning into him, a soft, content sound at the back of his throat leaving in a half-hum against his lips. “You’re awful,” he informed him. “I get it,” he started, only to trail off. He looked briefly sheepish at Kaspar’s outburst, offering a mute shrug.

“I just wanted to…” He began, somewhat meekly. “You said you had a dog,” he continued carefully. “I wanted to apologize. For...basically everything. Besides. I thought it’d be good for Will to grow up with a dog.” He was stumbling through the explanation, eventually trailing off awkwardly. “Uh...yeah. Kind of.” He moved to stand behind him a second later, watching the pair interact. At Kaspar’s approach, the puppy had once again reared onto its hind legs, nose shoving eagerly against the plastic mesh of the gate, tail wagging furiously. The moment Kaspar reached for it, it exploded into a mass of excited wriggling, tiny tongue unfurling to lick against his fingers. Stoker, for his part, whuffled against Kaspar’s ear, snout shoved close against his temple, exhaling a snort against his hair.

Grey leaned over the pair a second later, one hand sliding under the plump stomach of the puppy, lifting it carefully over the gate. “I figured since you couldn’t go home, I’d bring a piece of it to you,” he explained.


<Kaspar>

It was easy to be distracted by the dogs, the wiggling puppy leaning up to eagerly lick at his hand, to struggle to get closer as Stoker snuffled and sniffed at his ear. He laughed gleefully, a sound of pure, unabashed joy at the surprising situation. He glanced up at Grey as the man came to stand behind him, leaning over to pick up the puppy which while tiny by his standards was already showing the proof of its future size. He stood up in response, watching the puppy wiggling in his hands, eager to reach out and ask to hold it but he refrained. Kaspar attempted to school his features, to shape them into something more serious in the face of his cheeky boyfriend.

“Well, I appreciate the gesture.” He spoke as gruffly as he could, hands pressing to his hips. “Is that why you’ve been cleaning? Painting? What else have you been up to while you were avoiding me, hm, Liebchen?” Stoker was struggling not to lose it at the puppy being free from it’s prison and potentially in reach, butt wiggling from the force of his wagging tail while he slunk closer and sit beside Kaspar. He felt the weight of Stoker leaning against his legs, Kaspar giving in and slipping a hand down to rub between his ears. “A puppy is like taking on a child, you know this, it is a life time commitment. It takes time, care and love. You… Wait, so you got this for ME?” He gestured to the puppy, trying not to giggle as it licked his fingertips again.

<Grey Weston> He was careful to tuck the puppy close, his free hand immediately rising to cup the puppy’s backside and offer support. For a brief instant, its front paws raked through the air, batting sluggishly in the throes of its excitement, before they came to rest, buried in the soft fur of its chest. Though small, the paws were oversized; roughly the size of tea saucers, despite being only a handful of weeks. The fur was a combination of pale, sandy gold flecked through with ash and black, and the darker highlights of red that would deepen as it matured. Invitingly soft, though fine. Eventually it would thicken, grow longer and silky, while still retaining that trademark softness.

Stoker didn’t hesitate to thrust his muzzle upwards as the puppy passed within range; nose burying itself into the short belly fur, drawing in a shallow, investigative breath that caused the puppy to squirm in response, head twisting down to peer at him; ears pricked forward in a way that caused tiny wrinkles to gather on its forehead. Grey gently pressed the dog into Kaspar’s chest a second later, waiting for the man’s hands to leave his hips and grip the tiny creature instead.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “I finished a few pieces of commission work before putting up my hiatus announcement.” The hiatus was necessary; it would give him time to focus on finalizing the move over the next few weeks, and more importantly, time to make up for what the two of them had lost in his absence. Time to focus solely on Kaspar. Stoker released a hushed, appreciative groan in the back of his throat, head tilting to lean against Kaspar’s palm, weight shifting slightly. A snort escaped Grey as his gift seemed to dawn on the other man. “Mmmhmm.” He murmured, lips dropping to brush a kiss into his hair. It allowed him to hide the slowly spreading grin that curled onto his lips. “It has a bow for a reason, babe.”


<Kaspar>

Made a strange little sound in the back of his throat as the puppy was pressed against his chest, almost as if he might complain, but his hand came up to wrap around the exciteable bundle. He could hold a squirming eight month old boy, the puppy was no great challenge. He couldn’t help the grin forming as the little one pressed his paws against Kaspar’s chest, using it for leverage to try and reach the man’s face, tongue touching his chin. “Ick, Baby!” He complained, as if it were gross, though his face lowered closer. He play snarled, pressing a kiss to the furry face as it yapped happily up at him. The other hand was still trying to appease Stoker, hoping to stop the older dog from giving in to his urge to jump up. “Well, I… You took time off work? Well, that work…” He blinked over at Grey, confused.

“Do you need time away? I can re-shuffle your duties at the Studio, the night receptionist can take over, or I can look into our options. You’ve got very particular talents, hard to replace.” His smile was genuine, although it could be taken in a dirty way, it certainly wasn’t the intention. He really did appreciate Grey’s help, the work he put in to help things run smoothly. It was nice when he’d come by, to work with Kaspar, watching the man across the room typing away with a little frown of concentration in place while he plucked at the strings of his guitar.

“Thank you, Grey…” He finally breathed, stepping closer so that the puppy was carefully pressed between them, cradled in Kaspar’s arms as his mouth sought Grey’s with gentle kisses. “I love you, and i’m sure i’ll love our Baby too. Have you got a name yet?” He cooed down to the puppy, tickling at it’s little belly.


<Grey Weston> He laughed - warm and genuine - at Kaspar’s complaint. It did very little to deter the puppy, who, emboldened by the slight cringe it inspired only redoubled its efforts, tongue frantically lashing out to capture Kaspar’s chin, straying dangerously close to the man’s mouth more than once. It was content to release a thin squeak of a bark as Kaspar’s face bent closer, tiny jaws nipping playfully in a quick snap that did little in the way of actual harm; glancing mostly harmlessly off of Kaspar’s chin with barely more than a light pinch and the sudden gust of warm puppy breath across his skin. Stoker remained still underneath his hand; muscles twitching only slightly in brief spasms. The picture of restraint. “Just until the end of summer,” he clarified, shrugging. “It’s not a huge deal. I just…” He trailed off briefly. “Need a break.”

All things considered, it probably wasn’t the best choice of words. “No! No. Thank you, but…” He shrugged. “I mainly just wanted time t--” He cut himself off, abruptly clearing his throat. “We can talk about it over dinner.” There was a clear excitement coloring the words; a tension that was at once uncertain and hopeful. He was grateful for the change of subject a handful of seconds later. “You’re welcome,” he murmured, hands lifting to lightly settle against his upper arms, returning those searching kisses with lingering, soft brushes of his lips. “I love you, too. And no. Your dog. You get to name him.”

<Kaspar>


It was a relief to hear that Grey was not intending to take a break from him, or a break from Studio, it was not just the man’s ability but the time spent together that was invaluable. Hel let himself enjoy the kisses, the hold of Grey’s hands over his biceps. It felt good, comfortable to be here and he couldn’t quite believe they were here, after everything holding a puppy between them. “I’ll let you bring the kids to work, if that helps.” Kaspar laughed, lifting up the wiggling puppy, adjusting him to get a better hold and settle it close to his chest. “Mmmm, Dinner? I’m guessing we aren’t going out, not many places we can take this Baby is there?” He was once again staring at the puppy in his arms, the expression shifting closer and closer to utterly adoring.

The talk of names had him pondering, but it wasn’t something he felt entirely ready to do, “I think I will have to get to know him better first, his personality. We can talk about this together, yes?” His lips fell to kiss the puppy’s head, it had settled somewhat now that everyone had stilled, getting itself comfortable in the man’s arms. “My goodness, in a matter of months this little guy will be big enough for Will to ride like a damn horse! You don’t do things by halves, do you, Grey?” There was a smirk, but it was hardly effective with the warmth in his voice. “Well then, Mr. Sneaky, what are we doing for dinner?”

<Grey Weston> “We’d never get anything done!” He protested, the hint of a grin tugging at his lips. It was true enough. Stoker, though not overly demanding of attention, reverted to the mannerisms of a dog half his age in the presence of Kaspar. Grey had no doubt that the shepherd would end up settling into Kaspar’s lap at the first opportunity. In that respect, the two weren’t dissimilar; content to share his company. “Though it might not be a bad idea. At least until Little Man’s haustrained.” The change to his inflection was slight; subtle. A gentle tease. “We can if you want?” He offered. “There are few outdoor cafes that might let us get away with it..” He hadn’t gotten far in meal prep; it was ultimately up to Kapar as to how the evening went. He nodded his agreement a second later, face softening as Kaspar interacted with the newest addition to the household. “Should I start browsing the baby section?” He teased. “Buy a book of names at the used bookstore?” The question, though teasing, left him mildly startled. At the very least, it gave him pause.

“Cosmo told me it was sexy,” he deadpanned. “I mean, it was either the puppy or grapefruiting,” he continued, unable to keep the grin from forming. Kaspar had that effect. He sobered a minute later, pressing closer, careful not to crush the puppy between them. His lips found the underside of Kaspar’s jaw, resting there briefly before peeling back to expose teeth. He nibbled along the length of it for a handful of seconds before pulling back reluctantly. “How do you feel about stirfry?”

<Kaspar>


“The baby section? No, we’ve already picked out our daughter’s name, if you’ll recall. I mean, we could call the little man Claude if you REALLY want.” He teased, quite smug that he had remembered and had the opportunity to do so. Even though he teased some part of him felt a quiet thrill at the idea of baby names, of that being a potential reality for him again. Sigrid had always talked about wanting more, and after his turning she said she was willing to help if he wanted to give their Will a sibling. A generous offer, that served both of them. He tried to brush the thought away, letting himself be distracted by the puppy that gave a squeaky little yawn. “Cosmo… Grapefruiting? What is… Wait…” He blinked a bit, stilling trying to recall what that might be when the man’s lips found his jaw.

It was a sensation that made him sigh, tilting his head to give Grey better access as he nipped and nibbled between kisses, stirring the man’s own hunger though not for stir-fry. “I feel like you’re the one who REQUIRES food, so I will be more than happy to nibble at whatever it is you want to put in front of me. Unless you’d like for me to cook?” Even as he offered he looked reluctant, curling the puppy to readjust him in his arms, wanting to sit down and let the little creature sleep in his lap. “He is going to be like a bear, ja? A big dog? Look at his paws, he’s going to be much bigger than poor Stoker.” He laughed, glancing down at the eager Shepherd. “Have they been allowed to meet properly? Maybe we should give poor little boy an equally horror driven, or novel inspired, name. He’ll just be my bär, my baby bear.” There was a cooing quality to his voice, the tall man folding his legs so that he could lower himself to sit crossed legged on the ground. “Stoker…” He warned, eyeing the dog that edged closer. “Stay.”

[Grey Weston]

<Grey Weston> “We are not naming her Claudia.” The words escaped in an airy laugh against Kaspar’s jaw. He paused a moment later, responding to the careful tilt of Kaspar’s head, mouth sliding from his jaw to his throat. He was content to ghost his lips over the pale skin, showering it with an almost reverent affection, kisses gentle and yet firm all at once, half-suckling. It was dangerous ground. It would have been too easy to untangle his arms around around the puppy and guide it to the ground in favor of shoving at his chest, sending them onto the couch in a tangle of limbs. It always startled him a little, how very like teenagers the pair became after an absence. He refrained, just barely. It was enough to have him home, to breathe in his scent. “Besides. You ended up with another son,” he said, pointedly. “Cl--” He began, before abruptly cutting off with a scowl. “Obviously, you weren’t the one who named your son.” He snorted back a laugh a second later. “Youtube it,” he suggested. He wasn’t even slightly apologetic for the horror the phrase would likely invoke later. He sobered a moment later, free hand absently dropping to lightly stroke the puppy’s head, fingertips as careful and ginger in their movement as if he were smoothing the downy-soft hair of an infant into place.

“I dunno. There’s plenty of protein right in front of m--stifry it is.” He shook his head a moment later. “Nah. It’d be cruel to take you away from your baby.” He started towards the kitchen a second later, bending to unscrew the gate from the threshold of the kitchen. “The males can get up to 160 pounds, so yeah. A lot bigger.” He slid the gate free a moment later, tucking it against the island as he entered the kitchen. “Not yet,” he called. “I heard it’s better to keep them separate for the first few days until they get used to each other. Not that Stoker hasn’t tried.”

His words were nearly drowned by the sudden hiss of steam as he abruptly lifted a plastic cutting board and carried it to the stove, cubed chicken striking the heated oil in the wok that rested on the stove. “I’m staying out of it. ‘Bear’ it is.” Stoker, momentarily distracted by the wet pop of meat, muzzle rising as he inhaled the scent, took advantage of both men’s apparent distraction to edge forward on his stomach, crawling closer to the space where Kaspar kneeled. At the admonishment, however, he froze, head dropping to rest his muzzle between his paws with a low, long-suffering sigh.

<Kaspar> With puppy in arms and Stoker briefly subdued Kaspar was free to wriggle backwards until his spine met the edge of the couch, stretching out his long legs only to draw his knees up, proving a safe cradle for the puppy to lay in. He was still smirking a little over Grey’s comment about protein and while of course it was tempting, it was almost always terribly tempting, he resisted the urge to respond in kind and focused instead on the concept of names. Surely he had to give him one that was better than Bear, something with more substance or meaning. Right? He shrugged in response to his own internal questions, tickling at the exposed belly as the puppy rolled around getting comfortable. “I don’t know, Grey, we will have to sleep on it.” He sniffed the air, enjoying the smell of cooking, enjoying the idea that his boyfriend had been playing house.

“You know, Grey, all this cleaning and painting, cooking a meal for your man… It is like you are nesting, like this puppy is your child and you’re preparing your home for him. It is… Too cute.” He teased, laughing quietly to himself, continuing to play with the squirmy puppy as Stoker edged forwards, a slow creeping that had his nose inching closer and closer until Kaspar swore he could feel warm dog breath on his arm. “Gently, Stoker…” He warned, eyeballing the Shepherd he tried to give his best innocent look, head laying upon paws, looking up like he could do no wrong. “You can meet him, ok? You just have to be patient, and be gentle. He is a baby, ja? He will one day be bigger and stronger than you perhaps, but right now he is too small for rough play.” The puppy had noticed the approaching dog, giving an excited little bark, a sound that was no more threatening than a mouse squeak as he wriggled around, paws pressing firmly down, nose leading as he were about to pounce free of Kaspar’s arms and right onto Stoker’s head.

The man chuckled, tucking his hands around the puppy’s midsection, holding him so that he couldn’t catapult himself forwards without great effort. “But, Greyyy…” He called out, adding a pouty sound to his voice, “They want to say hello!”

<Grey Weston> “Our child,” he corrected. “You’re going to have to pitch in when he cries to go out at night. This face is our breadwinner.” He paused a moment later, crossing the space between the stove and the kitchen counter, fingers curling around the worn handle of a worn chef’s knife. The bleached wood - once a pale shade of blonde and darkened with varnish - had faded over the years, the grain worn smooth. It fit against his palm in a way that was at once familiar and comforting. “I can cook!” He protested. It was just easier, most evenings, to settle for prepared meals; something that could be quickly heated in the microwave while he hunched over his laptop or finalized a sketch. It wasn’t necessarily a denial, however. He was quiet for a moment, the only sound the dull, rhythmic sound of the blade of the knife as it sliced neatly through the basil leaves on the wooden cutting board.

“No one said we had to decide tonight,” he pointed out. “Take your time.” When no further reprimand was forthcoming, Stoker was content to respond with a tentative wag of his tail. It made a broad, feathered sweep across the floorboards, gradually increasing in speed and tempo until the hollow sound of it created a staccato rhythm. His neck stretched out a moment later, muzzle extending towards Kaspar’s hands, ears pricked forward to catch the man’s words. The tone behind them was clear enough for the canine; the caution registering with the larger dog. He inched forward a moment later, nose abruptly colliding with the puppy’s, sliding up between his dangling front paws. “Watch him,” he said at last, tone resigned. “Don’t let him get too excited. I don’t think he’ll hurt him, but he’s never been around one before.”

<Kaspar> “Yes, our child. I am used to nighttime duty, changing diapers and the such… I can handle puppy poopy time.” He grumbled, eyes rolling, but the expression quickly broke into one of glee as Stoker continued to wriggle forwards and the little bear responded in kind, watching the two with rapt caution as their noses collided, causing a rather undignified noise to escape Kaspar as he felt briefly overwhelmed at how damn cute it was. “You got me a puppy, Grey…” He repeated, the fact seeming to finally truly sink in as the two dogs interacted with careful sniffs, the little bear giving a playful bark that made Stoker lean back in surprise, staring at it warily.

“It is ok, Stoker, he is your brother. He won’t hurt you, he is only little.” The man cooed, stroking a hand over Stoker’s thick fur, burying his fingers into his ruff and giving a good scratch. With deliberate slow movements he lifted the puppy from his lap, lowering it so that it sat Stoker, keeping a hand hovering over him so he didn’t get the chance to sprint off and get into mischief. “Greeeyyy… Liebchen, come see!” Stoker still looked considerably more nervous about the whole thing than the excitable puppy, but he had once more extended his nose, giving a little nudge to the soft belly, sniffing at him to which the little one simply rolled over, wriggling on his back. “Grey, komm!” He called out impatiently, wanting his boyfriend to see the two kids interact. For the most part the pair were behaving, those Stoker’s mouth opened, as if he might mouth the puppy, might lift it. “Aus, Stoker!” Kaspar warned, telling the dog to leave it, Stoker instead innocently turning his face to nuzzle against Kas instead. “Ja, ja, so cute… Liar.”

<Grey Weston> The sound Kaspar made, above all else, was what prompted him to glance over, his expression shifting, softening from one of smitten adoration to amusement. It was a side of him he’d rarely seen. It was endearing. More than that, it was a moment he wanted to preserve them in; draw out to allow the man a moment of peace. It seemed to be sorely lacking for the pair of them in recent months. “I wish I could do more,” he said. He shook his head gently, a soft smile curving his lips as he watched the trio interact. It was gratifying to see that the two were getting along, despite Stoker’s flinching caution. His ears remained erect; it was clear he was interested, certainly excited, if bemused by the puppy’s smaller size.

His tongue dragged lightly across the puppy’s exposed stomach, nose burying against his short chest fur. Grey paused, taking a moment to lower the heat of the stove, gripping the handle of the cast iron wok and giving it a brisk shake, encouraging the meat to settle. He glanced up as Kaspar spoke. “Yes, mon amour?” He reached for the dishrag a moment later, briskly wiping down the counter. By the time he’d called again, tone sharp with impatience, he responded with a mild roll of his eyes. He stepped from the kitchen a second later, just in time to witness Stoker abruptly edge closer, jaws falling open as if he were intent on seizing the puppy with all the careless enthusiasm of retrieving a chew toy. “Atch!” He began, the stern warning overlapping with Kaspar’s own. He was briefly startled, gaze seeking Kaspar’s own with a shy, pleased half-smile.

Stoker huffed, content to lap gently at Kaspar’s cheek. “You three are adorable.” He moved closer a second later, settling onto the floor. “I found the house.”

<Kaspar> Kas chuckled, amused as they both gave Stoker a sharp warning at the same time, catching Grey’s shy gaze with a wink and cheeky grin of his own. They both had similar philosophies when it came to raising pets, and a lot of other things in general, the more time they spent together it became more and more apparent that this was not just some fling. It was love, and it was a relationship. It was built on more than just attraction, they respected each other and for the most part tried to keep each other informed and involved in what was going on. Kaspar had always had a policy of honesty, no matter how ugly it could be he preferred it to hiding behind pretty lies. The odd white lie to avoid injury of feelings, or skirting around hard facts when they weren’t necessary was acceptable but beyond that? No, truth and honesty always meant more to him than trying to protect his feelings.

As a wet tongue lapped at his cheek Kaspar made a startled sound, turning his head and nudging Stoker away with a firm, but amused tut. “I love you too, Stoker, my goodness.” He shook his head, grinning at his partner as Grey joined the fray. “Are we? We… Wait. THE house?” His brows went up, surprised by this announcement. Kas had been helping Grey on the house hunting mission, they’d gone to look at places, or if he was too busy he’d leant him the car and demanded photos be taken so he could judge. It had been fun, but Grey had been uncertain about the properties seen so far, but determined to find one that felt like home. “Grey… Have you gotten me a puppy and bought yourself a house this week by any chance? Is THAT the full reason why you encouraged me to spend time playing catch up at work and with family? Hmm?” He narrowed a look on him, scooping up the excitable puppy to cuddle against his chest once more. “Bare bones, Grey… Spill.”

<Grey Weston> Stoker, rebuffed, exhaled a short breath. It was a borderline scoff, the huff forcing his sides to briefly expand with the force of his affront. He recovered from the shove, feet bracing on the slick wooden floor, before turning his attention to the puppy once more. He drew closer, movements no longer wary, but tense and purposeful. His front paws stamped in front of his face a second later; body lowering as his legs stretched out before him, tail giving a cautious, pleased wag in a clear invitation to play. “The house,” he confirmed, briefly eyeing the larger of the pair. Satisfied that Stoker was behaving himself - at least for the moment - he fixed his gaze on Kaspar. He glanced away a second later, fingers loosely hooking into Stoker’s collar, dragging the dog closer. The shepherd offered mild resistance at first; muscles tensing in his tense as he responded with an impatient jerk of his head, countering the motion.

He gave in a heartbeat later, weight abruptly settling over Grey’s legs with a low grunt, deprived of the distraction his would-be playmate had offered. “I was going to tell you!” He began, tone mildly defensive. He couldn’t necessarily fault Kaspar for his exasperation. The decision to look for a home had been a joint one, and he’d cautioned against rushing into a decision. “Not exactly. I counteroffered; they asked for a day or two to think about it.” His right hand came to rest between Stoker’s shoulders a second later, scratching absently. “It’s one we looked at,” he added. “The one,” he continued delicately, “with six bedrooms.” There was no need to elaborate further; it had been one of the first the pair had toured. Kaspar had made polite sounds of skepticism later that evening, though he’d been diplomatic enough to keep his teasing to a minimum. “But to answer your question, yes. I think I just bought our house.”

He cleared his throat, having the courtesy to look mildly chastened. “Could have been worse. I could’ve been hosting a cocaine party while you were away.”

[Kaspar]

<Kaspar>

He groaned, rather loudly, a hand swiping across his face as Grey announced which house it was. “Grey… The one we agreed was amazing, but ridiculously large? In fact, I do remember asking what you needed with such a giant house, to which you shrugged and…” His eyes narrowed, lifting the puppy next to his face, so both of them were looking his way. “Distracted me with kisses…” His expression turned into a pout, “Traitor.” He laughed, lowering the wriggling puppy that was trying to lick at his face. “Yes, cocaine party would be worse.” He admitted, “Come on, let’s eat and you can tell me more about this.”

Hours later, after dinner and a drink the pair had put Stoker on a leash, grabbed the puppy and headed off to the house where they stood. Kaspar stared at it, shaking his head slowly, a snoozing Bear tucked up in one crooked arm, the other draped over his boyfriend’s shoulders. “You, Liebchen, are such a problem child, hm? This place is huge. I still do not understand what you think you will do with this much room. One bedroom, and five studios? Break down a wall and have a giant bedroom, three studios and a puppy playroom? Hm?” He smirked, pressing a fond kiss to his temple. “It is a nice house, I understand this. If it will make you happy, I will be happy for you.”

<Grey Weston> His smile flagged for a brief second in the face of Kaspar’s rather marked lack of enthusiasm. It faltered in a way that, for that one instant - brief and trivial in the grand scheme of things - stripped him of his quiet confidence, the easy certainty that was second nature to the addicts and the young - and revealed a startling glimpse of raw vulnerability in its stead. The palest glimpse of the young man he’d been; wide-eyed and in many ways still impressionable. The boy who’d been too shy to sink his teeth into the world; peel away all it had to offer like the roughened skin of a peach. The college student who’d trusted the seeming sincerity in the smile of a stranger. Crooked and yet so bright enough to be incandescent. Sweet enough that he’d been curious about what it would be like to trace the shape of those lips, and whether that smile tasted as sweet as it looked.

He was there for a heartbeat, and then gone. What remained of him was an unpolished Houdini who’d landed wrong; who realized too late that the role he was auditioning for was the assistant. Who noticed only once it became apparent that some vital part had been sawn free. “I…” He began, only to snort a second later as the puppy’s gaze slid sideways, mouth angling towards Kaspar’s in a mute warning, before it began to writhe in earnest in his grip, tongue desperately attempting to bathe every inch of skin within his reach. “It’s not our fault that you’re putty in our hands after two seconds of tongue,” he countered cheerfully. He surrendered a heartbeat later, giving Stoker a firm, affectionate swat against his haunches to encourage him to rise. He did so grudgingly, a low, malcontent rumble beginning low in his chest as he surged to his feet. “It’s not too late, you know,” he threw casually over his shoulder, even as he hastily made his way into the kitchen, safely out of reach of Kaspar’s long limbs.

Some hours later saw Stoker with his muzzle skimming the stonework of the low garden wall that bordered most of the property, still holding the lingering warmth of the afternoon’s humidity. His opinion was expressed seconds later, in the form of a back leg abruptly lifting against the wall, gaze disinterested as it roved across the silent driveway. Grey settled against Kaspar, his hip nudging against his, offering warmth and a faint, consistent pressure. “Something like that,” he muttered. “There’ll be a playroom involved, at least.” He couldn’t blame Kaspar’s reservations. With a grand total of six bedrooms, eight bathrooms, and living areas twice the size of most, it was a study in sprawling opulence that bordered on grotesque. “Three of those rooms are yours to fill.” He paused, glancing up at him a second with an unreadable expression. It softened a moment later. “It won’t,” he said suddenly. “You do.” He stretched up lazily, lips brushing lightly against his. “Let’s go inside before the neighbors report us to the police for gawking.”

<Kaspar>
The blonde gave a bright laugh as Stoker decided this was an ideal spot to lift his leg, marking the wall and effectively leaving a big “I was here” sign for other dogs to find. The puppy who for now was being referred to affectionately as Bear stirred, one eye peeking open lazily, jaws opening in a yawn as he watched Stoker but couldn’t bring himself around enough to react in any great way other than to snuggle closer to his owner. His fingers sunk into the downy fur, soothing the little thing with gentle pets. “Three? Grey…” It was hard to argue, to be frustrated or confused with the warmth of Bear curled against his chest and Grey tucked closer to his side reminding him of what it was to feel a human stirring of emotion within. He accepted the kiss, humming his contentment in response, not letting him escape so easily though his words held merit. “Mhm… A moment.” He murmured, indulging in a few moments of gentle kisses, lingering and full of love that were nudged to his partner’s lips and eventually across his face. “You are crazy, you know this? Ich liebe dich, Grey. I love you, and… I hope I can make you happy…” He sighed, nudging a final kiss to the man’s forehead.

“Enough of this disgusting display, you are right, the neighbours might stare. I cannot believe you got me to convince them to let you have the keys and for us to take a private tour. I mean, not the worst appropriate use of my abilities, Grey, the things I do for you…” He trailed off, detaching himself from the man to head through the front gate, producing the keys from his pocket as they walked up to the door. It really was a beautiful house, he knew Grey had been impressed with it and so had he, but it was the kind of house that was designed for a big family or those with big egos and budgets. A house that he was expected to want, though it had a more homely feel, a warmth to it that appealed to his family man side. First and foremost, everything else aside, he was a father. His son, and Wife, were vitally important and the hours he spent working were setting them up to ensure they were looked after no matter what.

Again the thought nagged at him, the same one he’d had over and over, that he wished Sig would’ve agreed to settle back in Germany. They had been happy there for the time she’d spent, and while she had grown up here and her parents had remained there was little else tying her to the place. Her skills could be used in multiple countries, her European passport and ability to speak German, French and Italian didn’t hurt either but she insisted on coming back here. It pained him to imagine a future where he stayed the same as those around him grew older, it should appeal to his grandiose ego and sense of self worth, that he was worthy of staying young and beautiful forever but at the same time his vanity to spoke to him of growing mature, gray at the temples and receive a different type of respect. He couldn’t place the blame entirely on the agreement to settle here, it was his dalliance and dismissal of the slightly unhinged and rather muscle bound Luca that sent him teetering off the edge and into the arms of immortality.

It wasn’t all bad, he doubted he’d be standing where he was right now had it not happened, he had not found a way to see light through darkness, to embrace his gifts and use them to shape a better future for himself, for his own. The key felt good in his hand as he pushed it into the locking, turning it and letting the metal teeth grind until they click free, releasing the latch so he could press the door open. “I would offer to carry you over the threshold, but this is still a “maybe”, and also I don’t think I could juggle you, the little Bear and Stoker. I am skilled, but that is beyond expectations.” He chuckled, stepping aside to allow Grey space to enter, to take the lead into the house that could soon become a home for him. “Grey… Are you… Expecting me to move in? Full time?” It was a question he had to ask, one that had him glancing away, biting his lip as he ticked through his mental list of pros and cons of the man’s potential responses. Either way it landed, he had a lot to think about and they had a lot to discuss.

<Grey Weston> A quiet, amused shake of his head countered Stoker’s nonchalant assertion of dominance, a smile tugging at his lips at the unexpected burst of laughter that escaped from Kaspar. If he’d had any lingering doubts - any reservations that the home would be a suitable one - they were banished by that single, bright sound. “I think,” he began, “he beat us to the christening.” The thin, squeaking yawn of Bear drew his attention for a split second, and he reached over to scratch him behind the fold of one silky ear. “Someone’s awake.” The observation was hushed, and contradicted almost immediately; the puppy suddenly shifting in Kaspar’s arms, pressing closer, before his muzzle burrowed into the crook of the man’s arm once more, the whites of his eyes flashing as sleep stole over him once more. He glanced up at the use of his name, his expression patient as Kaspar attempted to seize on a response. “It makes sense if they’re yours,” he pointed out. “Your input on the rest of the house is kind of a given.”

He gave in to his request, matching those soft kisses with lingering, heated ones of his own. There was the barest spark of desire in the soft, echoing brushes of his lips; a smoldering kind of hunger that was always just beneath the surface. Beyond that, however, was contentment. “I’ve been accused of it once or twice,” he admittedly dryly. He’d heard it with increasing frequency from Kaspar’s own lips in recent months. “Hey,” he said quietly, as Kaspar’s lips pressed against his forehead. “Even if we decide that this one doesn’t work for us, ‘home’ is wherever you are.” He scoffed quietly a moment later, as Kaspar pulled away in order to start up the narrow walkway, leaving Grey to give a mild tug at Stoker’s leash to encourage the shepherd to fall into step. The pathway was formed from fine gravel; ground into a chalky substance that was sand like in texture. It gleamed a muted cobalt underneath the pathway lights that illuminated the footpath. The gravel abruptly gave way to rough cobblestone as they neared the front door; slightly raised and worn smooth from the elements and years of traffic. “I’ll clear my schedule for a proper ‘thank you’ later.” A laugh startled from his throat, eyes bright with amusement. “Raincheck,” he agreed with a lazy wink. He moved through the door seconds later, pausing long enough to lightly cup Kaspar’s cheek in passing as the man moved aside to allow him entry. He’d only just stepped over the threshold when Kaspar spoke again. He paused, turning to study him. “I don’t want to pressure you,” he said finally. “But…” He let out a shallow breath. “When you’re ready.”


<Kaspar>

The warmth of a palm to his cheek had his eyes closing, leaning into it without a thought. His mouth still tingled from the warmth and pressure of the kisses, his mind whirling with possibility of what it would mean to give in to what Grey wanted, what he didn’t ask for. It would be nice, they would be happy together and he knew that but he loved Sigrid, he loved his wife and Will, his son. He had committed himself to them, to settle in this beautiful home with Grey was unfair. Already he’d split too much of his time, deprived them of his presence with his business venture taking up time, his gigs and adventurous spirit. The Hive was another home, another place to rest his head but he’d found himself more and more separated from it, more reluctant to spend the night in that bed. He had a place there but he was beginning to believe that it wasn’t as a partner, it was as friend and family. He wanted them in his life, of course he did, but he had to face the reality that the lifestyle he’d been leading was largely hedonistic and selfish, which he had a right to but it wasn’t what he sought anymore.

There was an idea in his head, based on the things he’d witnessed, the way he saw his friends being treated. He wanted to find a way for them all to work together, those who held similar ideals, those who were tired of being stepped over and watching friends shot by hunters for the actions of others, or humans being killed violently by psychopaths. He had to focus, it was time to commit to something, to rise to his purpose. “Grey… I love you, and I want to be with you…” His sigh was weary, a sound he’d made too often since his turning. “But I need to be more. I need to acknowledge my responsibilities, and part of that is my family. No, it’s more then that, it’s not responsibility or duty, it’s love. I want to be with them, too, and i’ve been too absent. Sigrid deserves better, she deserves more of me and so does Will. Moving in with you would be amazing, but it would mean… I can’t. I’m not sure I ever can, and that is something we need to face. Things might change, Sig might decide she’s done one day or our love fades but right now that feels beyond unlikely, I can’t even imagine not having her in my life.”

He let his gaze fall to the little Bear, toying idly with a paw that was flopped over his hand, tracing the shape of the paw pads. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Grey, it’s funny she was the first person and only person I could have imagined having around long term. Flings and fucks sure, flirtations and friendships but long term partners? That was not something I expected to find for myself. You know of my issues with feeling that way, hm? I can not love Adley and Indigo, not beyond a certain point, I tried but it just isn’t there? I love myself more, too much to be second or third. I want to be around them, to be their friend and to know them, but I have to… I have to tell them that I can’t be their partner.” He swallowed thickly, it was the first time he’d said it outloud, acknowledged it fully. He had to re-evaluate their relationship, and he hoped they would understand, that they loved him enough not to cut ties.

“Fick…” He sighed, turning from Grey, walking further into the house. He lead himself from towards the living area, reminding himself of the space and why it had caught their attention, and why he’d said it was too big, too grand. It was a house that was meant to be inhabited, to be filled with the love and laughter of a devoted family. The sounds of puppy paws on the floorboards, the giggles of children and soft kisses stolen in hallways. “I want this, Grey. I want family, and home, I want things that are mine and only mine. I want to stop wanting more, to stop searching when i’ve already found it. It’s in my nature, and I don’t know if you can live with that knowledge. A kiss to me, that show of passion and affection, with a stranger or someone I merely find beautiful is nothing but appreciation. It isn’t a commitment, or a promise. I like that, and it isn’t something I dwell on but when I kissed them I thought of you being upset over it. I don’t want to have that on my shoulders.” It confused him, these feelings he struggled to process, to swallow down and own as his own.


<Grey Weston> He was in the process of unlatching the lead from Stoker’s collar, to allow the shepherd the opportunity to prowl the corridors of his would-be domain, when Kaspar spoke. He paused, hand gradually easing from the polished steel of the clasp. “But.” The word escaped quietly, despite the resignation that leant weight to it as it fell from his lips, as bitter and soft as ash. There was a tension behind the word; his voice was taut with it. With the anticipation of whatever devastation Kaspar saw fit. The quirk of his lips when the word was echoed was closer to an involuntary spasm. A sharp twist, faltering a second later, muted with the burden of too many emotions, too quickly. Stoker, uncertain, wove between the pair’s legs in an unfinished, curt half-circle, before settling onto his haunches. His gaze averted as Kaspar spoke. The avoidance allowed him to see the house as Kaspar did. It was an abrupt realization; jarring in the way it diminished his excitement the way flames caused paint to blister and peel away from the foundation in tattered strips.

It seemed, all at once, too vast. Too empty. Frivious. The absurdity of it hit him all at once; how unsuitable the space was for two. For one, it was unreasonable. He could almost picture the ringing silence. “I know,” he said, wincing at how small his voice sounded. How uncertain. The meal he’d eaten hours before abruptly refused to settle; unappealing and heavy. “I just thought…” He cleared his throat a moment later, tugging sharply on Stoker’s leash, encouraging the black-coated canine to rise. Stoker fixed an expectant gaze on the man, pale ocher gaze intense and unwavering. “It’s a very nice family home,” he began carefully. “You’ll need the space when Will starts walking. Growing. Your name is already on the contract as a co-owner, so…” He trailed off, offering a brief, shy smile. The gesture was anemic, lacking its usual warmth.

He trailed after Kaspar, his steps ringing out across the floorboards of the foyer just briefly before being muffled by carpeting. “I can’t make that decision for you,” he said carefully. “But I’ll support whatever decision you make. No one’s asking you to cut them out, Kaspar,” he continued patiently. “But you still need to do what’s best for your family…” There was a brief catch to the word; a sharp reminder of what he lacked in either case. What he would probably always lack. “And for you.” He wound the fabric of Stoker’s leash around the back of his hand, wincing as the skin beneath it blanched, the thick black strap biting into flesh, cutting into his circulation. It was a welcome sting.


“We’ve had this discussion,” he said finally. Not to the same extent, of course; then he hadn’t been keenly aware of the sudden numb feeling; the dull realization that he would always be secondary, even to himself. The consolation prize. Quickest to lose its luster and what minimal appeal it held. “It’s okay.” He paused. “I’ve gotta go,” he said abruptly, stepping closer to press a brief kiss to Kaspar’s cheek. “You should stay. Tell me what you think later?” He was already backing away, edging towards the door, when he spoke again. “Might want to look at the fourth bedroom on the right,” he added. The room in question was a nursery. Or rather, the beginnings of one.

[Grey Weston]

<Kaspar>

Grey was remarkably good at getting the wrong idea, of misunderstanding the struggle that Kaspar experienced, the patience he required. Instead of sticking around to talk him through it, to listen and remind of why the difficulty was worth it he would decide that space was required. Why was it always about space? About time? Too much, or too little, each just as bad as the other. He didn’t want time or space, he wanted here and now, wanted to enjoy the moment of just being together without thinking too heavily on what came next, on what they had to prepare for but it was inevitable. His throat felt dry, remarkably so as he swallowed back argument, breathing in sharply to keep it contained and allow Grey time to finish speaking.

The look he levelled on the man was heartbreaking, the look of a drowning man seeking air, reaching out for a hand to pull him to the surface. He felt the pull of his body, being tossed and turned, churned under the waves of Grey’s ebbing and flowing tide. He wanted calm seas for them, he didn’t want this to be harder than it had to be but it was. Wasn’t it? Why did it have to be? He leaned towards his boyfriend as the man came up behind him, gaze shifting in the suggested direction towards the bedrooms. The fourth? He frowned, slow to turn, to process the fact that Grey intended to leave him and Bear in this big place alone. “No… I… No, you can’t. The desperate sound in his voice alarmed him, it shook him and the surprise evident in his features as he followed blindly after the retreating man.

His longer limbs allowed him to get himself between Grey and the door, he and Bear a barrier between them and the outside world. “Please, don’t leave me. Don’t… What do you think i’m saying?” Kaspar’s features were worried, brow creased and eyes shifting over Grey’s features as if searching for an answer. “Are you not aware that you are included in the family concept? I know that it isn’t exactly what you hoped for or wanted, but it’s who I am and what comes with loving me. Sigrid adores you, I actually trust you with Will which is a miracle, ok?” A sighed passed his lips, hand reaching out cup Grey’s cheek, stroking his thumb along a cheekbone.

“I’m trying to tell you that I want to be here with you. I want to raise this puppy, “ He adjusted the dozing creature, laughing softly at the little huff he made at being jiggled, giving another yawn and peek of the eye. “And be woken up by Stoker impatiently slapping me with his paw or shoving his wet nose at me until one of us gets up to feed him.” His hand slipped from Grey, lowering to rub a hand against the anxious looking shepherd’s muzzle, the dog so sensitive to their moods Kaspar sometimes wondered if he understood more than just tone. “I also want to come home to Sigrid, and to fall asleep with my son on my chest, having finally gotten him to settle after singing him his lullaby and soothing him. Yet, I know how selfish it is to want both, to need both. It’s just how I feel, you are all very important to me and I can’t sacrifice one for the other.”

It was a whole lot of words, that could go around and around in circles for hours, but he didn’t have that long. There were minutes, maybe, perhaps seconds in which to change Grey’s mind before he slipped away and wasn’t seen or heard from for days on end, driving Kaspar mad with concern. “Please don’t disappear again, Grey. Just, show me around? We can talk about decorations, and room plans. You can show me the bedroom you are talking of. Please?” He stepped into the man, carefully crouching down to lower the dozing puppy to the ground, Stoker proudly dropping to the ground, nose nudging dutifully at Bear to gain his attention. Free hands did not remain that way for long, one snaking behind the man’s back, drawing him in until they were chest to chest, the other finding the back of his neck to let fingertips creep up through short dark hair. “I will tell you every single day that you are important to me until it sinks in, and then i’ll keep doing it just to remind you. I don’t know what else I can do to show you that I want this.”

His forehead tipped forward to meet Grey’s, eyes closed, braced for the inevitable escape and placations, the brief apology or promise it was fine that made him want to scream. “Grey Weston, I love you, I want to live with you and raise puppies, or children, or both. We have things to figure out, we have people to consider yes, but we will discuss logistics. We can all sit down together and we can figure it out, because this is what we want. We will figure it out.” His lips edged closer, head tilting so that they brushed across Grey’s like a whisper, soft as a breath. “I want to come home to you, I want to sleep next to you. That’s all I want, right now, we can leave tomorrow where it belongs.”

[Kaspar]

<Grey Weston>You can’t. The words were hollow with stunned disbelief. There was an urgency to them; a desperation. It was out of place for Kaspar, and as a result it seemed almost vulgar to witness; as if the panic that caused the slightest crack to his voice had created a fracture from the edge of his jaw to his chest that wasn’t meant to be seen. Grey was careful to avoid his gaze, pointedly glancing elsewhere. It was cruel, perhaps, but he knew that the moment their eyes met his resolve would collapse in on itself. That he’d give in to the impulse to drag him close, soothe his hurt with kisses and whispered apologies against his lips, his eyelids, as if it would be enough to hold the phantom of tears at bay, tongue heavy with the taste of their salt. As if he could suck the bereft, haunted look from his features. It was a curious thing. He’d gone from a partner that, though he’d loved him fiercely, had allowed him to strip away barriers a day at a time, surgeon precise, he couldn’t turn away from the fact that it meant he would not survive him. It was a slow realization; he hadn’t realized he was under siege until the cage of bone around his heart threatened to splinter. It was almost frightening, to go from living with that knowledge to...this. To Kaspar. A partner that some vital part of him couldn’t survive without. It was why his first instinct was to run. He couldn’t face that devastation; couldn’t suffer another loss.

**** you, he wanted to say. “You’re right.” The two words carried roughly the same inflection. He was already slowing by the time Kaspar positioned himself in front of the door. It was almost comical. A tired laugh escaped Grey, the sound hushed and frail. Don’t leave me. The plea rocked him; left him recoiling as if slapped. It stung; leaving a curious tightening in his throat. How well he knew those words. How many times had he whispered them in the dark, murmured against sheets that had begun to lose the shape of the man who had once occupied them. For a split second, he wondered how much of the plea was directed at him, rather than the phantom they struggled to leave behind. “I don’t know,” he said at last. It was true. It was less what he said that was the issue; it was the fear of what he had not yet said. The implication that hung heavy in the air between them.

A scoff, low and lacking any true derision, tore free of his throat, the sound ragged and half-mangled. “Nothing has been what I’ve wanted or hoped for since coming to Harper Rock.” He froze then; regret instantly etching onto his features. The words were as harsh and rasping as the distant call of a crow. Bitter. He softened a second later, relaxing under the slow brush of Kaspar’s thumb as it traveled along his cheekbone, tracing its shape. His lips parted on an exhale. “Except..” Except you. “Sigrid isn’t the issue. You know that.”

“Kaspar, I’m right here.” He understood his anxiety. The words weren’t spoken with the intent to dismiss, or to deliver a subtle kind of cruelty. “I understand why you think…” He swallowed, giving his head a shallow shake. “Why you’d be afraid that I’d just walk away from this...from us. But I can’t. I love you. I love Will. I care about Sig. I need you to trust me enough to know that I’d tell you if it ever got to be too much.” He quieted, soothed by the sensation of Kaspar’s fingers in his hair. He leaned into him a second later, flush against him. The slow beat of his pulse kicked between them; an echo of his heartbeat, briefly shared. Stoker, delighted to find that his owners were distracted for the moment, gave a final, sharp nudge to Bear’s thin shoulder, tail thumping audibly on the floor. He took off a second later; nails thundering on the floorboards for a brief instant before striking carpet, the leash pulling free of Grey’s grip to clatter behind him. Bear’s lethargy vanished, the puppy suddenly bounding in pursuit.

“Ah, ****.” A low chuckle escaped him; weary and amused all at once. “Come on.” He tugged gently at Kaspar a moment later; fingertips absently plucking at his shirt. He pulled Kaspar into the living room a split second later. A skylight dominated the vaulted ceiling; dark with the night that pressed against it from the other side. A fireplace was the centerpiece; pale white marble with veins of muted gray and gold, the mantel bare, but meant to hold photographs of treasured memories. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined far back wall; their wood a rich, polished cherry and mahogany, with doors that swung outwards, their glass surfaces polished and lined with thin gold metal. The carpet was vision of soft eggshell; but Grey’s attention was focused on the couch. It was an L-section; large enough to easily seat eight. Leather, softened to a soft charcoal. He drew Kaspar to the side, carefully navigating around the coffee table, before gripping him by the shoulders and forcing him onto the couch.

He crawled over him then; fingers threading through his hair, lips showering soft, adoring kisses over his lips, his cheeks. “I want this. And I want you. Kids, eventually. We’ll talk about it. We’ll compromise if we have to. Okay?”

<Kaspar> If he paused to think for a moment he would realise the performance was perhaps overdone, while the feelings were true and difficult to swallow for the man who was very good at avoiding the plight of others, it was perhaps a touch on the dramatic side. He struggled now that he’d let himself open up, to let himself love and feel for Grey what he only ever had for two or three people, to push it all back down seemed impossible. It was beyond frustrating, especially when he tried to express this, when he tried to explain the swirling emotions that were crashing inside him like a wavering crescendo, incessant and uncertain. Love, love was a curse for every bit it was a gift and here he stood declaring it and asking it be returned, though he knew it was tenfold.

Grey’s pause, his uncertainty was a surprise, it made him want to reel back, to demand and question but he was patient. He listened, and waited for the inevitable explanation. Kaspar sighed with relief when it came, the gentle assurances and touch that mean Grey too was struggling to communicate, to ensure he felt both heard and listened to. Why did it have to be difficult? Because it was not just them. That was why, because between them and beyond them their stood others that demanded thought and care, that required it. Grey was slowly but surely packing up his past, cutting his ties and severing the sorrow that weighed him down where Kaspar seemed only to pick up more responsibility, more concerns. More emotions.

It didn’t sit well with the man, the changes in him.
In reality he knew it was a sort of security blanket, his strength of self belief, rarely allowing it to come into question. Even his faults were flawless, they merely added to and supported his worth, his importance. The fact that he felt so torn, tugged and pulled at from all directions was a sign of that importance, the worth which others saw in him as he did in himself. Shouldn’t that make him feel good? Proud? It might have before, but now it was growing tedious. A coldness crept within him, a dark sadness that threatened when confidence wavered, a cruelness that would rear it’s ugly head if he were made to feel lesser. It was something that he’d tried to address in the past with varying levels of success, mostly at his Mother’s request. She loved her husband dearly, but she did not want her sons to be him, she knew what it would cost them and so once some truths came to light she decided to encourage them both to partake in therapy.

It was mostly a bust, though Klaus seemed to get something out of it and was able to stand up to his father, to declare that his life was his own Kaspar became more resigned to his nature.

He had already decided he wasn’t Nik, and he never would be, whether they share similarities or not was irrelevant. You could be similar without being same, you could the same mistakes and learn from them, grow from them in unique ways. Narcissistic tendencies, a startling attention to detail that in the right environment and stress levels could lead to more extremes measures of maintaining order, control issues, mild anxiety and daddy issues. Mild, we could work on them, simple coping techniques and honest discussion would solve it she said. Solve it, like he was a puzzle.No great surprises, really, though the therapist’s views on his relationships and approaches to them was mostly positive, flings aside she saw no issue with his attractions and interactions. In the regard, she thought him quite healthy, other than the way he viewed romantic love. It was not something he experienced often, nor was he able to fully put himself into someone else’s shoes unless he considered them HIS. An extension of himself.

He didn’t believe in being selfless, that even the kindest of acts he performed, his desire and need to care for and show his adoration for those close to him, was selfish. To give is selfish, because it is often a precursor to receiving, even if it as simple as praise it is still a reward for actions. Kaspar was fine, he was fine and he would always be. He was happy, for the most part and loved, truly loved. So what if he thought himself of more importance? Of more worth than the average? He was above average, and that came with responsibility.

He was broken from his reverie by the tug of Stoker, pulling his leash free of Grey’s hand and disrupting their moment, disrupting the intensity of it in a way that made Kaspar realise he’d been holding his breath. The air was released, hissing out in a sigh like a deflating balloon, his posture slumping like the used latex, misshapen after being stretched too thin. Grey was leading him away, forcing him to sit and he did without complaint, letting his weight sink into the couch. The warmth of Grey over him was welcome, the thought of tearing at their clothes, of being able to fully feel every inch of him, to take what was his and remind him of why it was so worth it was dismissed almost as soon as it entered his mind. Broken apart, shooed away by a mention of something more important. The kisses were gentle, but they left a burning trail across his cool features, ones which had twisted into a look of disbelief. “KIDS? I assume you mean of the human variety, not…” He glanced in the direction the dogs had taken themselves, frowning. “I love you, and we can talk about this later..” His lips found Grey’s, hands lifting to frame the man’s face. “Compromise, that I can do. Then we both get what we want, and we both want each other, so how hard can it be?” A hopeful smile replaced the confusion, a look that give him a fractured sort of innocence, a look he hated to see upon his own features and rarely wore for the naivety it spoke of. For Grey? He was willing to be hopeful, to be naive and believe they could make it work, they could make it.

They could do better than that, they could be their own best examples of love and success. For themselves, and for the future generation. If they couldn’t do it, then who would?