The Grey Scale ((Grey Weston and Kaspar, Closed))

[Grey Weston]

<Grey Weston>

He wasn’t deterred by the nudge against his foot. The contact was welcome. Too welcome. He pressured back slightly - just enough for their ankles to briefly slide against each other - before relenting and giving ground. He’d only just begun to reach across the table for Kaspar’s abandoned meal when the other man spoke. “What?” He asked defensively, knife poised in the air as he tilted the rim of the plate towards the center of the styrofoam container. It was artless. Sloppy. But then, it wasn’t as if Stoker would pause long enough to admire the presentation. Grey would consider himself lucky if the dog managed to take the time to chew the fish, rather than swallow it whole with a neat, predatory snap of his jaws. He swept the contents of the plate into the box, using the flat edge of his knife to scrape the majority of it clean.

The food would only go to waste otherwise, he reasoned. Disposed of inside of an industrial trash can at the end of the evening, among the debris of countless other meals whose price tag ensured that the modern single family would struggle to pronounce nearly half of it, never quite able to even content themselves with the imagination of how it might taste. It didn’t sit well with Grey, who’d spent most of his youth hand-to-mouth. Food was a luxury in a home where the matriarch was a woman who lacked the energy to lift her head from the kitchenette table, most mornings; blear-eyed from another bender, thoughts saturated with lost time, breath stale with the half-carton of cigarettes she’d plowed through the night before and the yeasty-sweet smell of cheap liquor on her skin. There were days where he’d go hungry for days at a time, absently chewing the corners of his shirt to stave off the worst of the hunger pangs. Things had been better when she decided she was ‘in love’ with the latest barfly acquisition. They usually, at the very least, remembered to buy groceries.

One in particular he remembered fondly, solely because of his strange habit of grilling jelly sandwiches, layering them with thick slices of fruit with the barest whisper of sugar. He’d spent more than one lazy Sunday morning tangled between the man’s legs, constantly underfoot in the tiny kitchen. Eventually he’d gotten tired of them, too. A soft sound of satisfaction left his lips as Kaspar’s lips closed around the tines of his fork, jarring him back to the present. The gesture was exaggerated; hovering somewhere in the ballpark of ridiculous and just sensual enough to where he was forced to look away, clearing his throat. “Good boy,” he said automatically. He shrugged then. “I’ll be on my best behavior,” he intoned. “Really.” The latter was probably a touch too earnest to be convincing.


His eyes widened a second later, round with faux-innocence. “What?” He demanded for the second time that evening. “You have to admit, you do have the whole…” He gestured vaguely. He managed to stifle his smile for a split second. “There are witnesses,” he pointed out. He gave a fond flick of his wrist a second later. “Go on.”

For their part, the duo perked up at his approach, the former having the good grace to look at least slightly apologetic. “Partner? That might explain it. Please, sit,” he continued, carefully sliding over, allowing him room on the bench if he desired.

<Kaspar>

He didn’t truly believe for a second that what Grey considered to be “best behaviour” and what he did would match up, he knew that the impish man would find some way to get around this promise and ‘cause mischief for him. In truth he didn’t overly mind, it made it fun, interesting and that was enough to have him fighting a smile as he tried to look stern. His reminder of witnesses did little but earn an eyeroll and Kaspar was already on his way, no point arguing with him or being rude. As he approached he saw the looks offered, his suggestion making the pianist look vaguely apologetic, enough to appease Kaspar who had decided to humour Grey regardless. “Might explain what, exactly?” His brow was raised in question, but he did take a seat beside the man, sipping his champagne before placing it beside the ice bucket.

“I’m curious as to what my darling date has requested, or has said.” He glanced between the two, his smile still charming, patience maintained. His fingertips reached to brush idly over the keys, admiring. It was a gorgeous piano, and sitting at it made Kaspar’s fingers itch to stretch out, to press down and fly across the ebony and ivory. “You both play beautifully, by the way, thank you for your music this evening it certainly has set a lovely mood in the room.” He gave compliment with ease, a wink accompanying it.

<Grey Weston>


“His...well.” The man didn’t elect to elaborate. Not immediately. He settled for a mild clearing of his throat. “You’ll see. It’s fairly self-explanatory.” Grey, with Kaspar’s absence, was content to finish the remainder of his meal, finally tucking into the citrus salad with a brief glance in in the direction he’d gone. The pianist angled him a sly, considering look for a moment, expression cool for a moment, lips curving into a faint smile as he reached for his own glass after a pause, taking a small sip. He observed Kaspar for a second, watching the admiring way his fingers brushed over the keys. The cellist next to them shifted slightly, seeming to relax, bow settling against the outside of his thigh. He seemed to welcome the break, gaze drifting out across the dining room.

“Thank you.” The smile the pianist flashed was startled, but warm; flushed with pleasure at the praise. “We hear you have a lovely voice. He might have said so to be polite.” The same brief flash of mischief registered. “No need to thank us. However. If you’re going to fondle the keys all evening, let’s see if you can keep up, hmm?” He didn’t allow time to demur. To deny. It took a handful of seconds, perhaps less, for his own long fingers to search for the appropriate keys, the first few notes of the Ink Spots’s I Don’t Want To Set The World on Fire spilling into the room, honey slow.

[Kaspar]

<Kaspar>

Huffed softly at the man being less than forthcoming, glancing towards Grey who appeared quite just to continue his meal, at least he wasn’t staring over at them devilishly. That was a relief. He gave a snort of laughter to the use of the word “fondle”, it wasn’t too far from the truth, “Grey is rarely ever particularly polite when it comes to me, though i’m not sure how much attention he pays to my music.” The challenge was set, the man beginning to let his fingers drift across the keys, Kaspar listening a moment to the choice of song, “I’m Kaspar by the way, Kaspar Grube.” He introduced himself quietly before joining in at the lower register, matching the man’s pace. His eyes closed, settling in to it, using his ear to pick up the tone and memory to find the right keys.

It was an older song, and he surprised himself by knowing it, the lyric entering his mind and as they approached the start of the first verse, his lips parted, voice rising above the music. The softest, most sincere of smiles as his eyes opened, glancing over in Grey’s direction, Kaspar crooning along happily. It was easy enough to sing, while Kaspar often sang rock and occasionally growled into a microphone he was in fact quite capable of singing in multiple styles, including jazz and even did some classical opera training in his time. The young man boasted an impressive four octave tenor range he rarely got to fully let fly. In fact, if Grey spent enough time in Kaspar’s car he’d no doubt get to witness the man belt out an aria, sing along to some Sinatra and then just as easily get into an 80’s power ballad. This was hardly challenge but he met it, letting himself get into it, forgetting about the room and focusing on the music.

<Grey Weston>

“One of those, hmm?” The words are wryly amused. He was deliberate in terms of where his hands settled, never once breaking that fluid flow, layering sound just so. Smoothly. It looked deceptively easy only because he was clearly in his element, settling into an easy rhythm. The hint of a smile he’d offered before became more genuine; a sincere pleasure kindling in his expression as Kaspar caught on after only the briefest hesitation. He was careful not to cross into the other man’s space; keeping to the far center and right hand side.

“Cy,” he replied. “Pleased to meet you. The strong, silent type on the left? My cousin.” That much seemed to grab the other man’s attention. He fixed the pair a startled look, before offering an absent wave. “Hey. Aaron.” The keys climbed, even as Kaspar began to join in with his voice. The accompaniment caused the conversation to stall, several pairs of eyes turned towards the unexpected trio. Which is when it abruptly switched; the tune changing, layered with another underneath that struggled forth. Jauntier. Jazzier. Valerie. Grey, it seemed, was intent on putting Kaspar through his paces that evening.

<Kaspar>

He had nodded in response to both men’s introductions, grinning before he’d begun to sing, it was a good thing he’d been focusing enough to pick up on the change, the transition was a relatively smooth one, and he let his voice fade out as the jazzier tune picked up, laughing softly down at the keys, head shaking, he knew this one too. His foot tapped in time, voice ringing out, as he sang the lyric, “Stop making a fool out of me”, he shot Grey a look, a pointed one but his smile didn’t fade.
If the man was keen on trying to get a rise out of him he could try, of course, but Kas could take the punishment and would no doubt find a way to get sweet revenge later in the evening. In all honesty he was enjoying himself, it reminded of him hours jamming with the band, leading each other from one song to another without warning, without discussion just forcing the others to pick up where they left off, figuring out the right notes to hit, the rhythm to match. This song made him want to dance, maybe he’d force Grey to spin around the living room with him later, drag him if he protested until he was able to coax forth laughter. He shook his head again, focusing once more before the image of those beautiful eyes half lidded with laughter made him catch his breath.

<Grey Weston>

Cy, for his part, managed a mildly exasperated headshake that was belied by the ear-to-ear grin that settled into place. He’d been skeptical, originally. The clientele weren’t the sort to appreciate...distraction. Their focus belonged inward, as far as they were concerned. He hadn’t been entirely sure that the hourly rate made the proposed deviation worthwhile. He’d been pleasantly surprised. There was a fluid ease to his movements; something that suggested he was used to moving in tandem with someone else; picking up on cues, subtle and otherwise. His gaze cut periodically to Kaspar; askance. Impressed, despite himself. Grey glanced up and over at the abrupt change, a smirk fixedly in place as his eyes sought Kaspar’s. The pointed look wasn’t lost on him. The vague, unsettling sense that he might regret it later settled over him, just briefly. He couldn’t bring himself to be overly guilty.

Mercifully, the pair nearly made it to the tail end before the next shift. The build was faster - less of a fade out - a clear attempt to psyche him out. Throw him off his game with the sharp change. Trickier, only in the sense that it translated poorly to piano. Something of a one hit wonder, at that. Duffy was still...reasonably popular enough to where it was possible that Kaspar might catch on. It flowed, seconds later, into the lower notes of Mercy, leaving Kaspar to find the softer, higher notes.

[Grey Weston]

<Kaspar>

While knowing it was likely a mistake, he couldn’t help settling in, getting into the song, his focus shifting to his fellow musicians ensuring they were all on the same page and subtly watching Cy for necessary adjustments. He was finding himself surprised that they were almost allowed to finish the song, it was one that was really fun to sing so he was pleased enough to carry on, but he noted a subtle shift and went along with it, ending at a natural juncture and easing back on the keys. He stretched his fingers, this wasn’t the best piece for piano, and he didn’t have as much to do with his hands but found his place, giving Cy a nod as if to say he was with him.

Mercy, he recognised it, it had been a big hit and the album had a few other good songs on it but then the artist disappeared, he couldn’t rightly remember her name right now, but he knew the lyrics and with a roll of his eyes he began to sing along, shooting Grey another look. It wasn’t the easiest song for him to sing but he managed it quite well by slightly changing the key, making it his own. “I don’t know what you do, but you do it well, i’m under your spell.” Grey received a wink at that part, a cheeky grin, “I said release me.” He crooned, fluttering his lashes in the man’s direction, letting his gentle laughter blend into the song.

<Grey Weston>

Cy had soldiered grimly on, despite the fact that the tune was....jarring. Far too jumpy for the normally sedate pace a piano demanded. It wasn’t tuned for the sort of songs that required heavy bass accompaniment to be effective, and he was glad to take the less active portion as a result, comfortable in the monotony, the repetitive motion. Kaspar was steady; that in itself was all the encouragement he needed. The nod coaxed a slight, teasing wrinkle of his nose, but an appreciative nod of acknowledgment all the same.

Grey, to his credit, hadn’t resumed his meal. He’d spun around in his chair, chin nestled across his the pair of his crossed arms. He couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up; the sound swallowed under the jangle of keys in response to the wink, the broad grin Kaspar flashed. The flutter of lashes was more thrilling than ridiculous in that moment. The next two switches were rapid - first Spicks and Specks, for a handful of moments, and then finishing out with something far softer. Calmer. It settled into silence with Nightcall. Grey looked briefly self-satisfied, lifting a hand to crook a finger lazily.

<Kaspar>

The blonde grinned devilishly at Cy’s face, giving a little nod of agreement, as the song changed he didn’t sing along. He hummed though, recognising the tune but not knowing it well enough, but it changed soon enough to something slower, softer that made his expression soften, a little frown creasing his brow, one of concentration. This song he DID know also, London Grammar, he quite liked the band and was able to sing it. “He is ******* with me, but I think I get the point.” He muttered to Cy, his head tilted towards the guy. “I’ve got this…” He took the reigns a bit, letting the man merely accompany while his hands moved across the keys, his voice lifting. There was a sort of sadness there, an intensity that replaced the cheery, jazzy tones he’d used thus far.

Kaspar sang the song in it’s entirety, absorbed in the action, in letting the meaning of the lyrics shine through as if he was truly feeling them. The cello part sounded beautiful, it was a sweet sadness that resonated through the room. It was only as the last notes drifted out that he looked over at Grey, letting his fingers still on the keys, staring with an open sort of awe on his face as he was beckoned. He cleared his throat, turning just long enough to address the others. “Cy, Aaron, it has been pleasure. I’ll leave my card with the front desk, if you are ever interested in doing some recording or just coming to jam give me a call. You are welcome at my studio any time, I figure I probably owe you one for this.” He laughed softly, pushing a hand back through his hair as he stood, turning to leave the little stage. His hand captured his glass of champagne, finishing it on his way to the table.

“Grey…” There was no note of warning in his voice, nothing fierce, there was a soft longing as he placed the glass down and reached for him. His hands slipped either side of the man’s face, thumbs hooking beneath jaw to draw his head up. There was a moment where other words teased his tongue, pushing the muscle to the roof of his mouth before finally breathing out a different statement entirely. “Damn you, liebchen.” He murmured, before pressing a bold kiss to the man’s lips, not caring that they were in public. The soft applause for the impromptu performance lifted, a few cheers and whistles sounding as Kaspar kissed his lover, the blonde grinning as he heard it. Not what he would’ve expected, but hey, maybe even this crowd could handle a bit of a shake up.


<Grey Weston>

Both Cy and Aaron were amicable enough; open to the suggestion. It was one they’d likely take him up on in the future. As Kaspar drifted, however, both seemed content to make brief, fleeting eye contact, the latter jerking his head towards the faint glow of the ‘Exit’ sign towards the rear of the restaurant, taking a moment to prop his cello on its stand, briefly steadying it with the barest touch of his fingertips, framing it with his palms as if the broad flare of its body were a pair of woman’s hips. The pair drifted outside, grateful for the excuse to waste the next fifteen or so in a comfortable silence. Grey watched Kaspar’s approach with a soft, fond expression; eyes brightening slightly, shining with a hushed anticipation.

The check had been handled for the evening; it rested on the table just behind him, the slip of paper protruding from the textured leather holder. They were free to go, if they chose. Or stay, if Kaspar insisted on sateing his rampant sweet tooth. He tilted his head up at his approach, lips parting to greet him. To complement. He didn’t get the chance. He didn’t fight the guidance of the man’s fingers as they slid underneath his jaw, forcing his chin to tip. A soft sigh of sound - the start of a laugh, quickly muffled - rushed against Kaspar’s lips in the form of warmth. He reached up a second later, hands settling onto Kaspar’s shoulders, gently tugging him down in order to meet the kiss with a hungry, slow response.

He broke away only once the pressure in his lungs grew to be too much, giving in to their silent demand for oxygen. “Did you still want dessert?” He asked, more than a little breathless - in part from the force of the kiss, and in part from the scattered applause that prompted a strange little thrill. “Or did you want to go home?”

[Kaspar]

<Kaspar>

His own laughter seemed hard to control, the man breathing in shakily to still it as looked at the man, stroking fingertips across his cheeks with delicate pressure. His eyes flicked to the leather holder, attempting to narrow a withering a look on Grey but it most definitely fell short of the intended reprimand. He was happy, that much was clear and he was struggling to feign irritation. “You know, I asked YOU out.” He tutted, shifting the position of his hand, taking Grey by the elbows to urge him to stand as the server came by, also checking if they were to stay. “I want both.” Kaspar sighed, nudging his lips across Grey’s forehead, “Come on, let’s get out of here and let these good people get back to their meal before we make ourselves more of a spectacle.”

He picked up the box of food for Stoker, handing it to Grey, “Thank you for your service this evening.” He said to the woman, reaching into his pocket to pull out a card and beneath it more subtle folded few bills, the amount more than generous which he slipped into her hand. “Please ensure the musicians get my card, the rest is for you. Might you fetch my partner’s coat?” He asked and she didn’t hesitate to move, faster than she should have in this kind of establishment, staring eagerly at what she held in her hand. Kaspar’s arm slid behind Grey’s back, pressing to the small of it to guide him quietly towards the entrance.

The server met them, offering the coat which Kaspar helped the man into, giving her another grateful smile before grabbing the door, opening it with a cheeky grin, expectant. “After you, liebchen, after you.” He cooed, figuring it might earn him a smack but worth it.

<Grey Weston>

It was immediately obvious how startling long his lashes were in the brief moments that Kaspar’s fingertips ran across his cheeks. It was soothing, the faint pressure coaxing his eyes to drift partially closed. He released a content sigh. They didn’t quite fully open until Kaspar’s trailing gaze settled onto the neatly folded check holder. He managed a careful shrug of his shoulders; an expression that managed to be modest and sly all at once. “I’ll let you handle it next time.” The response was quiet; light. There was no point in turning it into an argument unnecessarily. Particularly not with the shift in Kaspar’s mood; unexpected and yet strangely suiting. It was something he wanted to shelter; to maintain, so that the buoyancy could sweep them along. So that they could sink into the evening - into the moment - when they chose.

He allowed himself to be lifted to his feet without protest. Ordinarily it might have been countered with chagrin and a low, mumbled reminder that he wasn’t a child. But he was held captive by the man’s strange mood. “Mmm. If you insist,” he said, the careful brush of his lips against his forehead pleasantly distracting. His fingers closed around the styrofoam container that held Stoker’s meal for the evening, drawing a thin sound from the material. “You probably made her month,” he commented, watching as their server dashed off. There was a warm approval in his tone; an understated sort of praise.

He shrugged into his coat a split second later, grateful for the aid in finding the armholes. He slid outside with only a minor roll of his eyes. “Better be careful,” he commented, biting back the laughter that threatened. “You pour on the charm any thicker and you might actually have to carry me home, just so I can beat off the hordes with a stick.” He hardly seemed overly concerned, one hand lifting to fit easily inside of Kaspar’s. “Shall we?”

[Grey Weston]

<Kaspar>

“And i’m not even trying!” He teased, allowing the shorter male to slip by, laughing enough for both of them at Grey’s words. “I’d like to see that, if i’m being honest, you wielding a stick waving it wildly at strangers yelling about them staying back from your boyfriend or something of the sort.” He paused, briefly, it was something that might have been able to be ignored or dismissed as distraction while the man ensured the door closed gently behind him but it was there. The word felt strange in his mouth, it didn’t sit quite right with him. He didn’t use words like boyfriend, or girlfriend. It was partner, it was Wife, it was lover and never something so specific.

He laced his fingers with Grey’s, tucking the man to his side. “Did you walk? I brought the car, but we can stroll if you prefer? I’ll collect it later. I’m thinking we pick up some icecream, cream, nuts and fudge sauce… Or you know, just go somewhere that does ridiculous sundaes. I sort of thought it might be fun to do it at home, though, make a mess for me to clean up later. Should probably get that,” He gestured to the container in Grey’s hand, “to Stoker before he hates us forever for leaving him alone so long.” He made a little pouty face, mimicking the whimper of a dog. “You know, I find myself feeding the ditzy blonde more and more.” He glanced at the man, probably not the best topic but he’d probably get it.

“I think i’m just waiting to go back and him not be there, you know? Like, just the remnants of dog hairs and maybe a t-shirt or two. I’ve seen less of him lately, and I mean it’s not like i’ve tried to find him so maybe it’s my bad. Here is this dog though, and I take it out for walks, play and cuddle, feed it because although i’m sure he probably he has been back to do so I can’t be certain. I’ve been there less, and I know Indie wouldn’t let Bucket go hungry or lonely. What happens though? I asked Adley if he loves her, did I tell you that? He was kind of dismissive about it but I think the answer is yes, and she loves him too. They just need to work it out.” They’d walked down to the street level where he stopped, moving closer, one hand still holding Grey’s toying with the fingers idly. “I wanted to give them space, to realise, but I also wanted to give myself space and time.”

His eyes were downcast, looking at a button on the man’s coat as if it were the most fascinating thing, and yet like he weren’t really seeing it at all. “I wanted, well I WANT, to give us time too. You deserve that, my full attention or at least as much of it as I can give you. Indie suggested I bring you by, seems like everyone wants to meet Grey.” His lips quirked slightly, a hint of a smile, he was still happy, still warm inside with the glow of… What? He couldn’t put his finger on it and it bothered him, not enough to ruin his mood but there was no doubt in his mind his little book would be filled with it later. The book, it reminded him. He reached into his pocket, grabbing it out again. “Here…” Hel’s fingertips plucked at Grey’s coat, seeking the inner pocket where he slipped it. “This one has a fair bit of you in it, it’s easier to read what I think than me trying to say it.”

<Grey Weston>

A low snort escaped him at Kaspar’s admission, though his reaction was to gently run the pad of his thumb against the palm of the man’s hand. He applied the barest hint of pressure; the touch closer to a gentle squeeze of affection than a silent reprimand. “You laugh now,” he said dryly. “One day you’ll look back on this and realize you only had yourself to blame.” He hadn’t corrected Kaspar’s slip of the tongue. That alone spoke volumes; a wordless acceptance of the designation. It was an unsteady road the two of them walked, and he wasn’t entirely sure if they’d reached that point; the point where they could comfortably use the term. They were certainly easing into it, if nothing else; caught up in the newness of it; the honeymoon phase.

“I did,” he confirmed, tucking against his side. He leaned slightly; not with the forceful, clumsy pressure of the drunk - though in a way he supposed he was - but with a quiet affection, answering that craving for the other man’s nearness. He shrugged a second later. “I’m good either way. If we’re doing a store raid, it’d probably make more sense to drive.” He glanced up at him, a teasing, crooked smile in place. “Maybe we’ll actually make it out of the parking lot, this time.” The gesture drew his attention back to the take out box he still held in his free hand, the faint scent of salmon rising from it to perfume the evening. “Good point. Maybe you’d better give it to him. As a peace offering.” The mimicked whine earned a chuckle; soft and fond. He started to reply, to counter with an affectionate tease - when Kaspar spoke again. The words seemed almost unbidden; spilling into the air between them unconsciously, as most fears did. He was silent for a moment, fingers tightening in Kaspar’s own in a soft, reassuring squeeze. The mention of Bucket prompted a smile; at once fond and slightly wistful. He stopped abruptly then; their interlaced fingers acting as a tether, allowing him to silently pull him closer. “He does that,” he said, trying and failing to keep his tone light. “That’s how he…” How he is. “How he leaves you.” A moment at a time. In the seconds where you glanced up to meet his gaze and realized he wasn’t where he he’d been before.

His words were low, even. “One morning you’ll reach for him and he just...won’t be there.” Cool sheets under fingertips. The feeling that someone had forced their hand into your narrow chest cavity up to the wrist and yanked. Split you open from chest to hip, every jagged edge bleeding the loss of him until you were dazed with the yawning emptiness. He cleared his throat softly. “It’s going to hurt.” The words were flat. “It’ll feel like the end of the ******* world for a few days. Or weeks. Or months. You spent so much time building a life with someone, and they just disappear. That’s Jameson. That’s what you signed up for.” He shrugged. “Then you’ll wake up and there’ll be something else. Someone else. Doesn’t mean you forget him. Doesn’t mean you have to stop missing him. Just means you’re still ******* here. So are they. You know?”

He hadn’t meant to say it. Any of it. But Kaspar brought it up first, and there was no getting around it. They’d sidestepped the truth long enough. His gaze was sympathetic for a moment; soft. He brought Kaspar’s hand to his lips, briefly kissing the back of it. “What happens?” He echoed. “Up to you. Up to us. Not worth stressing over right now. What happens right now is we go get your damned ice cream and then do something about those clothes.”

That was Grey. Grounded in the present. The pluck of those fingers against his coat was unexpected. He had the urge to touch the solid weight of the tiny notebook as it settled into his pocket. Instead, he exhaled. “Thank you,” he said quietly. And then, abruptly: “Come on. Boyfriend’s hungry.”

[Kaspar]

Chapter Four: Ash

Part Two: I'll Crawl Home To You...

<Kaspar>

He listened to the man speak, rapt by the movement of his lips as his eyes lifted to watch them, the soft timbre of his voice as he approached the topic at hand gently. While it was something they shared, it was also something Kaspar wished to separate them from. Their relationship, should they continue to have one, should not be forced to hide in the shadows of what had been. The kiss to the back of his knuckles lightened the quickly darkening mood, and prompted response. “The difference Grey is that I don’t love Jameson, not the way you do, or did. I have love for them all, yes, I care for them and want to be with them but it isn’t that desperate dedication of being IN love. Do you know what I mean? I want to, maybe I could but… I don’t know.” He scoffed at his own words, even to his own ear it hardly made sense. “Yes, right now we get ice cream and we make ridiculous sundaes, and we feed Stoker before he tries to eat you when you walk in the door.”

Kaspar pulled Grey into his chest, extracting his hand only so he could wrap it around his shoulders instead, leaning to steal a kiss that said what he couldn’t. You and me. The truth was he wasn’t trying to move on, he wasn’t trying to recover from any slight or sadness. Of course he would miss Jay’s company if the man chose to separate himself from them, if he disappeared he’d be disappointed and yes he’d sometimes long for his company but for him it wasn’t what Grey had experienced. It wasn’t an end, it was just a phase of life. Things would keep moving, people would keep coming and going as they wished. If they were no longer willing to give time, to give affection then it only made sense that they part. What was growing between himself and Grey was new, it was different and it was special. It deserved more than being haunted by the ghost of lovers past, or present. “Oh, you’re welcome.” His voice was softer, distracted perhaps or tight with something else but he kept his cautious smile as he lead the man towards his car.

There was no point in commenting on the last, they’d both said a word that many would consider a contract but for Kaspar it didn’t mean as much. When he made promises, he made them clearly. He wanted Grey, wanted to be with him and wanted to try, that was what he could promise and what he had. “You’re something else, you know that? Don’t make me love you, my black little heart couldn’t take it.” There was no filter between his brain and his mouth, the statement pressing passed his lips before he’d registered they would be coming. It was fine, Kaspar didn’t regret them, it was probably true.

Maybe he wasn’t capable of feeling that kind of love? He welcomed it when it was given and knew how to replicate it, how to give care and kindness, how to nurture and adore. To love completely? He released Grey without explanation, reaching for his keys to unlock the car and opening the door for him. As always he didn’t wait to ensure he got in before moving around to climb in the driver’s seat, turning on the engine and pressing his hands to the wheel.


<Grey Weston>

He was hyper aware of the shift in the evening’s mood. The subject at hand was a tightrope act; it would be all too easy to misstep and fall into the bleak aspect of the subject. He’d deliberately avoided mention of Jameson over the past several weeks. It had been hard, at first; borderline impossible. More than once, he’d caught himself with the man’s name on the tip of his tongue; he’d responded with a tightly controlled, mute sort of violence; the hard press of his teeth into the traitorous muscle, biting until it went numb. Until blood vessels ruptured and he was forced to release, to relax, alarmed with the sudden - if ridiculous thought - that he might bite through the end of it entirely; neatly sever himself from the inexplicable ache and his words all at once. He’d still wanted to question. If Jameson was happy. If he still smiled in that half-shy, dorky way of his when he finally caught on to a joke. If, if, if.

He hadn’t. He hadn’t because it would have been unfair to Kaspar. The pair were on the cusp of something new; something that had steadily built since their third encounter. He owed Kaspar an answer. An answer, admittedly, to the question he couldn’t or wouldn’t ask. The bitter, unspoken whisper of ‘What if?’ What if he was only looking to replace what he’d already lost? Maybe he had been, that first night; desperate for some remnant, some small taste of the man he’d loved. That he still loved, in a way. What if he spent their years looking for the afterimage of a man who, for all intents and purposes, no longer existed, and had never been a part of Kaspar to begin with? It was time to let him go. Grey knew this.

He was trying. Trying to answer him in the best way he knew how. In the only way. He was quiet by nature; well-spoken, yes, but not terribly fond of words. They were too easily twisted. It was too easy to turn something soft and delicate into something ugly. The answer, in short, was no. He wasn’t looking for Jameson. His jaw tensed a split second later at Kaspar’s words, desperate to rein them in, bite them back. “No one will.” It was matter-of-fact. “Then why did you take him?” He studied him for a moment. There was no anger. No malice. Only a hushed curiosity. Kaspar might have deserved blame, but certainly not all of it. He couldn’t have known. Not that it would tear Grey to pieces and not that Jameson hadn’t been truthful. He’d been prepared to hate Kaspar. And instead…

“It’s okay,” he said. To everything, really. The fact that Kaspar was so uncertain. That he didn’t know. “He’ll go for you first,” he countered. “You’re the bigger target.” He allowed himself to be collected against Kaspar’s chest; arms lifting to wrap around him. When the kiss came, he returned it with an unexpected tenderness; soft and lingering. He’d made his choice. He didn’t regret it. That was what he tried to impress upon Kaspar; to code into each slow brush of his lips against his own. He pulled back after a moment, peering up at him at those words. “Would it really be so bad?” he murmured. “Am I?” It was a gentle tease. And then, abruptly: “I --” I’m so fucked. “I meant it, you know,” he settled on. Because it was easier than the other words. “I want you.” They sounded correct. But there was an inflection; an emphasis that caught. He meant something else. ****.

He took his time in joining him, pulling open the passenger side door and carefully easing in. And then just as quickly surging against him, one hand pressing into his shoulder, the free fingers of his free hand curling under his chin, pulling him into a hungry, demanding kiss, one that was slightly uncomfortable, teeth clicking together in a sharp pinprick for a split second. Forcing acceptance, the here and the now, not wanting the high of the evening to be tainted by the strain of what they didn’t say.

[Grey Weston]

<Kaspar>

He hadn’t responded to the question, “why take him?” It was a good one, why would he? Well, he didn’t really, not intentionally. As hard as it would be to acknowledge he figured Grey probably already had, that Jamie was already gone before he found him, or was it the other way around? Yes, Kaspar had been looking for something and all three of them had been a part of it. The four together just clicked into place, like puzzle pieces, coming together to create some bigger picture. Almost complete. Did they cut the edges to make them fit? Is that why they were here now? No, things just happened. There was no blame to place, in fact he was happy, slightly uncertain but happy.

If Jameson stayed, if he came rushing back into his life with open arms then they’d face that, if Indigo and Adley changed their minds and wanted to be alone, he’d support them, he’d slip into the role of their mutual friend. It would work out however it had to, it always did. All Kaspar could do was try his best to make the right choices, to be honest and to be open to possibility. Easier said than done, especially when he looked at Grey, when he said one thing but there was the hint of another meaning beyond that, something far more intense, far more game changing that Kas wasn’t sure he could just take in his stride. How had they gone from needling at each other to Grey wanting to make room in his life specifically for Kaspar? In a month or so? A mere matter of weeks, not years.

It was too fast, all of it, but that was how they lived these young and beautiful creatures, it could be why he was cautious. Had that not been how the Hive had formed? Hot and heavy, while things had started out intense they had softened into a mutual respect, a desire to belong and have a home of their own making. A safe place, to express themselves without holding back, where they were free to come and go without restriction. Perhaps there should be more boundaries? More expectations? On the surface Kaspar appeared to be an easy going guy, living the rockstar life without a care, but those close to him saw how hard he worked and what a toll it took on him. He’d spread himself too thin, given too many pieces to try and make others happy because for it he received rewards beyond measure. Love, loyalty, lust. He craved it.

He did love them, in his own way, because they were his and an extension of himself. He loved them in that way, like precious fragile things that perhaps he played with too roughly. There was words on the tip of his tongue, apology or praise he wasn’t entirely sure, but they never got the chance to escape into the space between them. His mouth was occupied, a fierce kiss that had teeth clashing and lips caught, struggling to find purchase for a moment. Hands soothed, stroking down a back, tucking Grey close as he leaned away to release the pressure of that bruising kiss, to allow them to find a way to echo that hunger, that need without it shredding them.

Kaspar didn’t push him away, not yet, he held the man as he best he could trying to soothe with the persistent reassurance of his hands. I am here. His teeth captured Grey’s lower lip, claiming it in a sharp nip. I want you. The urgency left him feeling tired, it wasn’t simply the muscle clenching, heat rising desire to rip someone’s clothes off and explore every inch of them. This was trying to convey emotion, to reach understanding but neither were ready for that, surely? When he finally broke away he felt wild, like a feral cat trapped in a foreign room, looking for escape.

He needed a few seconds to gather his thoughts, to cool his nerves before he could speak. “Slow… Down…” He breathed, taking hold of his shoulders. “Please. I’m right here, I am RIGHT here, Grey.” His voice cracked, broken with some tight emotion, “It wouldn’t be bad, it would just be difficult.” To love you. “Liebchen, hear me, please… I WANT to. You have no idea what that means from me. No idea.” He stressed his words, letting them hang there in the darkness as hands came to cover his face, to hide them from the reality of his admission. The reality of the path he was walking down. When was the crack going to split the pavement, going to grow into the black pit that swallowed him whole? He was going to hell, no doubt about it.

<Grey Weston>

The brush of Kaspar’s hands - the faint pressure of his fingertips along the curve of his spine - would normally have coaxed him to settle against him, his face burying against the crook of his neck, or one cheek coming to rest against his shoulder. A low, sharp gasp escaped him at the faint sting of Kaspar’s teeth against his lower lip; the tug creating a flare of heat. His lips parted, breath briefly playing across Kaspar’s lips. There was no interplay; no exchange of oxygen. A hushed, cracked sound of protest rose in his throat. It carried an audible catch, sharp with wanting. Aching. The faint bite of Kaspar’s fingers against his shoulders was grounding, and his vision cleared. Slow down. It was a demand - a plea - a warning he’d heard all too often lately. It wasn’t what gave him pause, though. It was the crack in Kaspar’s own voice; the taut, brittle edge to his tone.

He brought a hand to Kaspar’s face a second later, gently cradling it against his palm. “I know who you are,” he said into the silence. It was quiet; half-exhaled, releasing the pressure that had steadily built between them. It was a surrender; a way of easing back. There were stress fractures woven into Kaspar’s posture; his body language shrill, despite his calm. “I’m not looking for anyone but you,” he said at last. The admission was matter-of-fact. Honest. His fingertips brushed over his skin, tracing aimless patterns. He deserved to hear it. To have whatever doubts that might have lingered chased away. He fell silent; content to listen. “Hey.” He said quietly after he’d finished. “Hey. We’ll do this at your pace, okay? If it takes months, or years, that’s fine. I’ll wait for you. We don’t need to rush this.”

He took a steadying breath a second later. “I just want you to be happy,” he said quietly. “As happy as you were in there.” He jerked his chin over his shoulder, towards the restaurant. “You were..” Radient. Dazzling. He trailed off. “For now, the plan is to get you your ice cream…” He began, lightly kissing along his jaw as he spoke. “Go home. I’m more than happy to clear my schedule for Wednesday, and I’m okay with meeting Indigo whenever you’re comfortable with it. And then…”

He drew away then, studying him. “Go home.” He said abruptly. “You need to get out of this hellhole for a few weeks.”

[Kaspar]

<Kaspar>

“Do you?” The words were hushed in the gravity of the space between them, his eyes frantically studying Grey’s features to ascertain whether he meant it, whether he understood. How could he fully? Kaspar had tried to be honest, to be upfront and give the man plenty of warning about what he was like, because while he knew himself to be more, to be better he was also aware others may it as fault or flaw. To invite that kind of judgement means to question yourself, Kaspar Grube was who he was, there was no question. There was a swelling desire to be soothed, to feel adoring touch that would ensure he stayed and so he allowed it, leaned in to the comfort Grey so readily provided. It would be selfish to ask him to only want for him, to only seek him and yet it gave him a slight thrill to think on it.

“I don’t even know what my pace is anymore, too much lately it’s been dictated by blind passions, by taking whatever I want because that’s what I do, because I can. Brat Prince isn’t wrong, hell, it’s funny you teased. My sire’s husband from day one has called me the Little Prince That Could, Eva calls me her golden boy. They see it.” His breath shuddered, very human in the way it entered and left his body, calming his thrumming nerves. “I would like to do this right, I actually care about that.” The echo of shaky laughter hovered in his chest, escaping around the words. “I really do, not just because you are something that is mine. I don’t just want you to be mine, I want your happiness, outside of me. Outside of us. I guess we want the same thing, then?”

That trail of kisses, the soft pluck of full lips that he could still taste on his own had eyes slipping shut to the world. Sensation had his nerves sparking again, wanting it to continue, head tilting to guide them further against the expanse of skin that sang out for attention. “Wednesday, yes…” He murmured, “Go home…” A pregnant pause, breath held too long in his chest as eyes peeled open to stare at Grey. “What home?” The words more breath than sound, burning on his lips. Home was far away, home was somewhere he couldn’t go and it was then that he felt the twist of loss in his stomach, fingertips draping over his abdomen, pressing against the twitching muscles. A roiling sickness took up residence in his gut, or at least he imagined it did, like a sucker punch that left you gasping and puking thanks to the wild spasms of muscles. Fingers dug in, clutching as he tried to keep his features even.

How many times had he thought of Germany lately? A distinct desperation to climb the tree in his family manor, to tackle his brother into the pile of leaves beneath it, or sit together in the reading nook at the upstairs window. That was home, home was with Klaus at his hip and the world at his fingertips. This place had provided a replacement but it was a mere shadow in comparison, a dark glimpse of the remnants he could scrape together. Falling asleep with his dozing son in his arms was enough for him, tangled in sheets with Indigo, Jay or Adley a warm enough sense of belonging that it filled the hollow part of him for a brief time. Grey, Grey and Stoker, laughing and smiling, soft kisses and curling up on the couch just BEING together. That could be enough, but he’d never stop wanting to fill the space of HOME.

“I want my brother.” He didn’t mean to say it, and didn’t pause to allow it question, he tugged out his phone and typed a brief text before tossing the thing at Grey and turning the key once more to make the engine roar fully to life. They were moving, Kaspar going through the motions of checking his mirrors, getting into gear and driving off into night with the question of what is home between them. “Ice cream. Do you like cream? Fudge? Nuts? Are you a sprinkles guy? What about caramel?” His phone tone was chirpy, distracted and he reached to turn on his music, shuffling through it with casual flick of his thumb until he settled on an upbeat 80’s style rock ballad he could sing along to.

<Grey Weston>

He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the sudden shift that overcame the man. He recognized parts of it - the half-caged thing - the hybrid between a need to be understood - validated - and the desire to recoil. To shelve the conversation and pretend as if nothing had changed. That he was unaffected. “I do,” he said firmly, meeting his gaze levelly. He couldn’t blame Kaspar for doubting; for his skepticism. For the blind assumption that Grey only sought to suck the ghost of the man who’d occupied their beds, their minds, for so long. To clutch white-knuckled at that specter, eagerly sucking him dry of the familiar and discarding the rest. The parts that were flawed, jagged at the edges.

What Grey wanted was to suck at those sharp edges; cut his tongue, his lips, drown in the way they overlapped until those sharp edges were worn smooth. Until they interlocked. He didn’t want to change the man; didn’t want to restrict him. What he wanted was Kapar, imperfections and all. “Is that really such a bad thing? Isn’t that what you want?” He asked quietly. To be seen. To be a marvel, yes, but to be accepted for who and what he was. He followed the tilt of Kaspar’s head, a low hum of appreciation escaping him as he was granted further access, eagerly tracing the newly exposed skin. He was surprisingly thorough; lips trailing from his jaw to sweep upwards, pressing against his temple, settling over his eyelids, before nuzzling into the hollow of his throat.

“We do.” He could, at the very least, understand the hunger. The desire to belong wholly to yourself as much as someone else. To lose yourself in someone else because you chose to, and not because they devoured you first. Not because they stole the choice from you. The question startled him. It hurt, just slightly; a sharp and unexpected sting that caused his own breathing to suddenly catch, shallow and rough. “What do you mean?” He began cautiously. Dangerous ground. And the ground was shifting underfoot all the time. The man’s next confession caused his lips to pull away from his skin, his gaze fixing on him for a moment.

“Have you talked recently?” He asked. He was left to fumble for the phone, just managing to catch it neatly in one hand and settle it onto his lap before the pair were off. “Yes to all of the above. Except for caramel.” He made a slight face. “I think we’ve established I enjoy nuts.” The words were straightfaced; quickly drowned out as the man’s slender fingers turned the dial on the volume. He shot him a look then - fond and exasperated all at once - before settling back into his seat.

[Grey Weston]

<Kaspar>“Nevermind.” It was in response to his question of the meaning behind his words, and instead pointed at the phone. “Every day? If I don’t speak to him at least once every three days, I get calls and concern. You’ll find most of the messages are “Arschloch” or just “Ich liebe dich”, otherwise just stupid facts about our day. The last one from him was, “Ate a sandwich. I’m living my best life.” You know, super exciting stuff. Sometimes we just send photos, I send him a lot of Will. He sends a lot of stupid faces, or ones of his surroundings.” The words were followed by a snort of laughter, “Ok so no caramel, and yes I should remember you love nuts. How could I forget THAT?” His smirk was genuine, reaching over to flick the man’s ear, “Cheeky ****.”

He carried on singing as the song changed, tapping hands on the steering wheel, letting himself spend a minute or two in his own head as Grey had the options to look at the mentioned messages, to join him in the singing or press the conversation. It wasn’t long before Kaspar figured it might be worth addressing the metaphorical elephant in the car. “Home, sorry, for a second I thought you meant go on a trip. Go HOME, as in my family home. That is to say, my mind went to Germany, to my mother and brother and the friends I miss. I built a life here, and then my life was taken from me. Now I cannot travel home, I might just make it there before I got my *** sent back here by some… I don’t know. Some force? I can’t explain it. You must have noticed I leave you, though? The sun goes down, and i’m gone, Grey. Did you think it was my choice?”

It had happened a few times the times he’d spent the daylight hours sleeping curled up with Grey. Kaspar usually returned within the first hour after sunset, bringing with him some food as peace offering and distraction, to delay question. He’d make them breakfast food, fuss about the place doing any chores before kissing Grey and taking his leave to get on with his day. He did the same at the Hive before they told Indigo their secret and she got to understand certain things. Why didn’t he tell Grey? Probably because it was an open wound, a daily reminder of what he had become and the restrictions that placed upon him. To wake up every new day around the corner from the place you died, where the blood was fed to you that restored you, where you left the mortal coil only to return as other. As more, and at the same time less.

“It’s a ******* curse, and I don’t know how to fix it. Maybe it is because i’m not set on where home is, you know? We have places we live, ja? I go to these places, with the people I love, or care for. My son is home, my family are home, my lovers are part of that. It’s… There is no one place for me.” They pulled into the supermarket car park, it was one of those smaller 24 hour things, with blinking fluorescent lights that catered to night owls and students mostly, it would be full of a variety of delicious food that was terrible for you. Exactly what they needed. He killed the engine but waited in the car, allowing Grey time to process and respond, hand reaching to take the other man’s and bring it his lips. “Liebchen, home is a complicated concept for me.”

<Grey Weston>

The phone rested on his lap, balanced precariously against his left thigh. The tips of his fingers kept it securely in place, forming a loose cage to prevent it from settling to the floor entirely. He’d been hesitant to scroll through the messages, at first; it felt...wrong. Invasive. It didn’t matter that Kaspar had extended the invitation; there was something rawly intimate about reading someone else’s words. Particularly when they were never meant to be seen by anyone other than their intended recipient. The look he shot Kaspar was unreadable; one corner of his mouth lifting into a half-smile; at once amused and slightly wistful. It was ruined a second later by the sharp flick to his ear. His head ducked slightly, shoulders abruptly lifting in a defensive gesture as he leaned away from Kaspar’s hand. “Punish me harder.” He deadpanned. The conversation sobered a moment later, Kaspar’s singing trailing as they returned to the previous topic of conversation.

“I did,” he clarified. He watched him out of the corner of his eye for a split second; expression carefully neutral. Home, for Grey, was a tricky thing. His mother had lived a largely nomadic lifestyle; drifting from one run down apartment or townhome to the next every handful of months. It hadn’t been the most stable of upbringings; the upheaval the only constant. Generally they moved on when the rent dried up and their respective landlord found their charity wearing thin. The stark lettering of an eviction notice hanging from their door was as familiar as the faded Christmas wreaths and bleached easter decals that decorated the chipped wood of the other tenants doors that lined narrow hallways.

He gave Kaspar his full focus a split second later, stiffening slightly. He’d noticed. It was difficult not to notice the lack of another body curled against his own in a careless tangle of limbs. He hadn’t pushed the issue. Hadn’t questioned. He was unsure of whether the lack of curiosity was because he hadn’t wanted to overstep his boundaries, or because he’d been afraid of the answer. He shrugged wordlessly a moment later. “I figured you had your reasons,” he said carefully. In the grand scheme of things, it had been easier to share a meal, or stand side by side at the kitchen sink, both of their arms wet to the wrist and weighed down with suds; to lean over and steal a kiss. To take comfort in the fact that at least he was there.


He was quiet, after the noise of the engine slowed into a handful of sporadic, faint pops. “I’m sorry,” he said at last. And he was. He’d never experienced homesickness. Never felt that sharp pang of nostalgia for Victoria, however beautiful it was. He couldn’t fathom what it might have been like, to yearn so sharply for something and never be able to reach it. The kiss against the back of his hand drew a sigh. He turned to look at him, his own hand lifting to gently stroke the back of his knuckles against his cheek. His touch lingered for a handful of seconds. “Give me a few days,” he murmured. He reached for the handle a second later, pulling firmly.

<Kaspar>

“A couple of days? For what? And well, now you know that I can’t go back even if I wanted to, not right now. Not until I find a way to stay.” He didn’t argue, letting Grey leave the car and following shortly after. Moving around to meet him Kaspar reached out to take his phone back, swipe to unlock it and check the message the made it buzz impatiently against his hand. It was Klaus making a kissy face at the screen, the text reading. “Of course you miss me, i’m perfect. What are you doing?” To which Kaspar turned the screen, opening the camera and snapping a quick photo of Grey. Ensuring it was a decent one, he grinned, typing out “Getting sundaes and going to bed. Come back to Canada, isn’t there some sort of break coming up?” He shoved the phone in his pocket, not waiting for reply.

“Ok, let’s get fat.” Like he ever could.

-30 MINUTES LATER-

The pair were walking up the hallway towards Grey’s door, Kaspar carrying bags full of snacks and sundae creating items including a few flavours of ice cream, he’d shoved the keys of his car at Grey at some point telling him he could drive the jeep after some silly discussion and the man had in fact gotten them home safely. “Ok, ok but seriously? Jalapeno chips and cinnamon ice cream? Who are you? Such a heathen. I’m glad they didn’t have the cinnamon ice cream, what is with people this end of the world and cinnamon? I like it in things, but wow. I will concede that those jalapeno popper pringle things are tasty, so ok, we can have those.” The bag that contained the mentioned item was given a wiggle.

They’d had to settle for mint choc chip Kas’ choice, hokey pokey, and one that contained a mix of chocolate, vanilla and strawberry in one. Behind the door the familiar scratching of claws rushing forwards to greet them could be heard, a little huff of impatience letting them know exactly how the canine felt about the hour at which they were returning. “Oh, yes, he’s definitely going to eat you. Best lead with the salmon.” The box was in Grey’s possession, Kaspar moving to stand behind him, acting as if he would let the man shield him from the rabid dog.

[Kaspar]

<Grey Weston>

“Have you even tried it?” Grey demanded dryly, once the pair were outside his front door. His tone was slightly distracted, the hand not gripping the rather cumbersome take out container dropping, fingers questing for the vague outline of his keys. His nails found the shape through the worn denim a second later, and his hip settled against the doorframe as he fished it free. “You’re one to talk,” he shot over his shoulder, fingers neatly palming the keychain, the metal warming in his grip as he lifted the keys to the lock, the muffled click of tumblers briefly cutting into his words. “Your country is responsible for the travesty that is sauerkraut.”

His knee pressed against the door a moment later. It swung inwards, permitting entry soundlessly. “He loves me. You, on the other hand…” He began. It was as far as he got before Stoker’s arrival; paws immediately slamming into Grey’s chest. He staggered, briefly sagging under the weight and muscle of the over enthused canine. “GOD --” he choked, the rest of the expletive swallowed by the way Stoker’s muzzle stretched towards his face, tongue immediately bathing his face, tail wagging contentedly. It was sweet for a handful of seconds. And then, rather sharply, “Ow! He bites.” He hoisted the container over his head as he marched further into the interior of the apartment. “Picking up filthy habits from his stepfather. Little ****.” It was unclear whether the affectionate scolding was aimed at the dog or Kaspar.

He just barely managed to place the container on the end of the kitchen counter, with the intent of unburdening Kaspar’s hands, when Stoker once again shot past, skidding to a mild-mannered stopped at the man’s feet, sinking onto his haunches with a positively serene expression.

<Kaspar>

Wrinkled his nose in distaste, “I have not, and knowing you that basically means i’ve just volunteered myself to do so haven’t I?” He whined, looking playfully miserable at the idea, though the expression quickly turned to one of feigned offense as Grey dared to question sauerkraut. “How very dare you, Grey Weston, the foods of my people are delicious, hearty and we also gave you schwarzwälder kirschtorte, you know, Black Forest cake? That **** is incredible, and might I say I make a damn fine one. Yes, this sexy and I can bake. How are your pants still on?” Kaspar snickered, bracing himself as the door was opened for the onslaught of fur and licks.

Grey, luckily for him, got the brunt of it with Stoker’s paws finding their way easily onto the man’s chest, covering his face in puppy kisses so Kaspar was able to slip around the pair, shutting the door behind him. He tried to ease further in but the man and his dog were in the way, Grey taking it in good grace until Stoker gave an excitable nip of love. Kaspar was going to comment, going to keep walking when he spoke of the dog picking up habits from his stepfather, this making him pause. “Pardon?” His brow went up, trying to fight the tentative grin that threatened to turn into something uncontrollable. “Are you referring to ME? If so, I don’t bite in front of the children, i’m a good influence. Aren’t I, Stoker? You love me!” Once in the kitchen he pushed the bags from his arms, letting them fall to the counter. “I think the man of the house knows you’ve got something for him there, best give it to him before he decides to take matters into his own hands.” A fond pat was brushed over the canine, receiving a lick to the back of the hand for his efforts.

Kaspar shrugged his way out of his jacket, draping it over a chair and rolling up his sleeves, the small motions of unwinding from a night out. There was enough to keep him busy for a moment putting items into freezer and cupboards, finding bowls and spoons, putting on the kettle. “Stepfather though, seriously?” He muttered it under his breath, pretending to be fascinated by the ingredients list on the back of the chocolate fudge bottle.


<Grey Weston>

“Yes.” The response was automatic, and playfully stern. “Even if I have to bind you to the kitchen chair.” He paused, taking a moment to scrub both chin and cheeks free of the worst of Stoker’s saliva against his shoulder, a mild grimace registering a second later. He endured Kaspar’s protest with a patient loft of a brow. “Bless you,” he said mildly. He busied himself with the act of shrugging free of his jacket a moment later, neatly folding it before setting it onto the edge of the counter. He would tend to it later that evening; ensuring it was carefully and properly hung up. “I’m not into food play,” he replied smoothly. “I was referring to you, yes. And you’re about as wholesome as the Starz channel.”

He made his way into the kitchen a second later, slipping behind him as he busied himself with the task of removing groceries and putting them away. His arms wrapped around Kaspar’s chest a second later, tugging him close with a soft, content sound low in his throat. He disengaged a second later, reaching to tug open the silverware drawer, retrieving a knife. He made his way around the counter, opening the container and carefully cutting the larger chunks of salmon into smaller, appropriate sized pieces, before crossing to Stoker’s bowl and upending the contents. Stoker rose a moment later, nails clattering over the kitchen tile as he approached his bowl, immediately snapping up a mouthful of the fish.

“You barely ate,” he pointed out abruptly, gaze fixed on Kaspar over the barrier of the low kitchen isle.