Chapter Two-Hundred Forty-One: Varg Island Part Four

Chapter 241

Varg Island Part Four

The Varg robots marched toward Celeste, Tristan, Jordi, Jaxon, and Deimos, their large metal feet causing the ground to shake with each giant step. Electricity coursed through Jordi. He shot his hand out, and a bolt of purple lightning struck down on one robot, surging through its circuits. The robot shrieked as its metallic frame groaned and warped under the intense voltage. With a shower of blue sparks and the smell of ozone, the massive machine seized up, toppled forward, and crashed into the ground with a deafening clang, silenced for good.

Baring her teeth and roaring like an angry tigress, Celeste lunged at one of the robots. She punched straight through its metallic exterior, hoisted it into the air, and smashed it violently into a second robot, crushing both machines. As another robot waddled toward her, she seized its arm and hurled it toward the dragon rollercoaster, triggering a cataclysmic explosion that shredded the support beams and sent the massive ride buckling and collapsing into a heap of twisted steel and splintered track.

As the rollercoaster toppled over, the ground shook beneath them. Tristan eyed the destruction with shock and awe.

Tristan noticed a Varg robot sneaking up behind him and quickly reacted. He shot his hand out and flash-froze the machine solid. The sudden, intense cold caused its metallic frame to crack and its internal gears to shatter, leaving it standing as a frozen, useless statue. He formed an ice block above its head, and it crashed down, crushing the robot beneath.

He formed an ice sword and slashed it through another robot, cutting its head off clean.

Celeste turned her attention to the nearby Ferris wheel. With a grunt of exertion, she gripped its massive steel foundations and wrenched the entire structure from the ground. She hoisted the towering wheel into the air before letting it fall, knocking it over directly onto the remaining Varg robots. The sheer weight of the ride flattened the machines instantly, leaving only a pile of crushed metal and silence in its wake.

Deimos, Tristan, and Jordi watched her with awe. Jaxon looked away with hurt. She never did this for me, he thought.

Celeste: “Let’s GO!”

She waved her hand and leaped into the air.

~

In the lounge, Helga pulled Fabien toward her by tugging on a heavy gold chain. This chain was attached to a metallic gold collar around his neck. Around his waist, he wore a dark red loincloth with a patterned gold belt. His accessories also featured a thick gold cuff on his wrist, a thick gold anklet on his right ankle, and a snake-shaped gold armband wrapped around his right bicep.

Cradling his jaw, Helga tickled Fabien under his chin. He glared at her indignantly, grunting as he jerked his head away. She slapped his ass, and Fabien winced.

Fabien: “Stop… doing that!”

He hissed.

Helga let out a sharp laugh and suddenly lunged for his bare feet, her fingers dancing across his soles. Fabien tried to pull away, but the tickling was relentless, and soon his indignant glare broke as he began to laugh uncontrollably, his body twitching despite his earlier protest.

Fabien: “WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!! NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!”

He shrieked and pressed his hands against his temples as he laughed. Helga intensified the tickling, her fingers moving faster and harder against his sensitive soles, causing Fabien to squirm and thrash wildly as his laughter reached a fever pitch.

Fabien: “AIYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHRÊTTE ÇAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

He tried to pry himself away, screaming through his tears, while Helga bit her bottom lip.

Helga: “...I love it when you break out in French!”

She gasped breathlessly.

Ignoring his desperate pleas, Helga redoubled her efforts, digging her fingers into his arches with even greater intensity. Fabien was completely at her mercy, his body bucking and squirming in a futile attempt to escape the ticklish onslaught as wave after wave of helpless laughter erupted from him.

Fabien: “WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!! ÇAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA SUHUHUFIT! WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

He wailed.

Brandishing a peacock feather she had just produced, she clamped her rough, calloused hand over his mouth. Fabien panted heavily, struggling to draw breath beneath her palm.

Fabien: “Râchm-mrn!”

Pulling his loincloth aside, she exposed his genitals, causing Fabien to let out a muffled scream through his gag.

Helga teased, "Cootchie-cootchie-coo!"

As the feather brushed across his penis, Fabien squeezed his eyes shut, laughing helplessly through his gag.

Fabien: “MRHRHRHRHRHRHRHRHRHRHRHRHRHRHMHMHMHMHMHMHM!!”

Writhing and jerking, his knees knocked against each other.

The tickling transformed into a chaotic, inescapable rhythm pulsing through his entire being, creating an escalating sensory overload that pushed him to the brink. Each stroke of the feather and dig of her fingers felt like an electric shock, triggering waves of involuntary, overwhelming laughter that he fought desperately to suppress. His muscles coiled and snapped in a futile struggle against the relentless stimulation, yet his body remained trapped in a cycle of agonizing mirth, leaving him physically unable to find even a moment of relief from the suffocating pleasure.

Fabien: “MRHRHRHRHRHRHRHRHRHRHRHRHRHRHMHMHMHMHMHMHM!! ÇRHRHRHRHRHRHRHRR HRHHNH!!”

He sobbed.

Without warning, a sudden tremor shook the ground beneath their feet. Helga stopped tickling Fabien and released her hold on him, though she maintained a firm grip on his chain. Gasping for air, Fabien pressed his hand against his chest as tears streamed down his cheeks.

The steel supports of the Ragnarök drop began to groan and buckle under an invisible weight, the massive ride tearing itself apart in a violent display of structural failure. A deafening roar erupted as tons of metal collided with the ground, sending powerful shockwaves through the area that made the very air vibrate.

Upon entering the lounge, Celeste, Tristan, Jordi, Jaxon, and Deimos spotted Fabien.

Fabien: “Celeste!”

He stammered. Celeste’s face lit up, and she immediately rushed toward him, but Helga quickly pulled him back out of reach.

Celeste: “You fucking—”

Before she could finish, Helga tossed an iron hammer at her like a toy. Celeste leaped up and pulled herself onto the chandelier, but the hammer sailed past and struck Deimos hard in the stomach, throwing him through the wall and sending him sliding down the corridor.

Celeste charged at Helga, but Helga grabbed her and hurled her straight through the wall. She turned to Tristan and her eyes lit up.

Helga: “Well, ain’t you a handsome fella?”

She purred. With a glare, Tristan unleashed an ice blast at her. The icy impact sent her crashing straight through the walls and smashing into a statue of Varg. Surrounded by debris, Helga gnashed her teeth and winced from the blast.

Jordi stepped forward, his eyes glowing with an intense violet light as electricity crackled between his fingertips. He unleashed a massive bolt of purple lightning that arced across the room, striking Helga squarely in the chest. She shrieked as the high-voltage current surged through her body, causing her muscles to spasm and smoke to rise from her clothes.

Snarling through the pain, Helga reached into the debris and ripped the granite head off the fallen Varg statue. With a primal scream, she hurled the heavy stone head at Jordi. It struck him with the force of a battering ram, knocking the wind out of him and sending him tumbling backward across the floor in a heap of bruised limbs.

Rushing over to Jordi, Deimos knelt beside him. A purple glow radiated from his hands as he healed Jordi's wounds. A tingling sensation washed over Jordi as his fractured bones knit back together, his open wounds sealed over, and his bruises completely vanished.

Jordi: “Thank you, Deimos.”

He murmured.

Helga marched toward them. Tristan stepped before them, his expression cold and unyielding. He raised his hands, sending a wave of sub-zero air toward Helga. Ice instantly began to coat the floor, slicking the ground beneath her loafers and causing her to stumble. He materialized a massive spear of ice and hurled it at her before she could recover her balance. Helga threw her hand up to shield her head, but the frozen projectile impaled her hand straight through. Blood splattered across her face as she bellowed in agony.

Yanking the spear out, Helga glared at him and fired it back. Tristan clasped his hands together, creating an ice barrier that shattered the spear on impact. Helga's massive fist burst through the barrier, crumbling it. Tristan gasped as she gripped his suit jacket and pulled him toward her.

Helga: “Do you know what I like to do to naughty boys?!”

She growled, grabbing his hand. Tristan winced in pain from her grip. Deimos gasped and flew at Helga.

Deimos: “LET HIM GO!!”

With a guttural roar, Deimos slammed his fist into Helga's face. The force of the blow was cataclysmic, but the impact was devastating for him as well; his hand and wrist shattered instantly upon contact, bones snapping with a sickening crack that echoed through the room. Deimos buckled, his legs giving way as the white-hot agony from his ruined limb flared through his nervous system. He hit the floor hard, his body curling into a fetal position as he clutched his mangled wrist to his chest. A ragged, choked sob escaped his throat, and his vision blurred with tears of pure shock, the cold stone of the lounge floor pressing against his cheek as he gasped for a breath that wouldn’t come.

Tristan: “DEIMOS!!”

Tristan screamed. He glared hatefully at her, quickly formed a jagged layer of ice in his palm, and pressed it firmly against her face. Helga shrieked as the sub-zero temperature seared her skin, leaving a blistering frostburn. She dropped Tristan to the floor. He dashed to Deimos. Jaxon knelt to him.

Jaxon: “I got you, man.”

A red glow emanated from his hands as he healed Deimos, mending his bones and reassembling the shattered pieces until his hand was fully restored.

Deimos rose, catching his breath. He put his arm around Tristan and locked his gaze on Jaxon.

Deimos: “Thank you, Jaxon…”

Tristan: “Yes, Jaxon, thank you.”

He said sincerely. Jaxon smiled, loved feeling appreciated and validated.

Celeste rushed to Fabien, wrapping her arms around him.

Fabien: “CELESTE!”

He cried.

Celeste: “I got ya, Fab!”

She reassured him, rubbing his back. Helga staggered and marched toward them.

Helga: “You want to play games, little girl?”

She sneered and grabbed Celeste from Fabien’s arms.

Fabien: “HEY! LET HER GO, YOU FAT BITCH!”

He bellowed. Helga slapped him away. Fabien skidded backward across the cold, debris-strewn floor, his bare skin scraping against the jagged fragments of the Varg statue. He hit a pile of twisted metal from the fallen chandelier with a painful thud, the breath leaving his lungs in a sharp gasp. Gritting his teeth against the stinging pain in his side and face, he pushed his trembling hands against the floor, struggling to rise. His wounds healed in seconds, the pain leaving his body.

His gold chain rattled mockingly against the stone as he looked up, his eyes wide with desperation, watching Helga’s massive hands tighten around Celeste while his girlfriend fought fruitlessly to break free.

Celeste’s eyes blazed with fury as she seized Helga’s massive digits. With a sharp, guttural grunt, she leveraged all her strength, prying the thick fingers away from her throat. With a sickening, rhythmic series of pops, she forced them backward until the joints snapped and cracked, leaving Helga bellowing in shock as her grip faltered.

Celeste drove a vicious uppercut into her jaw, knocking the wind from her lungs and sending a spray of blood from her mouth. Gaping at the blood dripping from her mouth, Helga staggered back. It had been decades since she last saw her own blood. She glared hatefully at Celeste and swung her fist. Celeste leaped, grabbed her arm, and flipped her over, breaking the bone.

Helga let out a piercing scream of agony, clutching her mangled arm as she collapsed to her knees.

Fabien sprinted over to Celeste, throwing his arms protectively around her. This only fueled Helga’s rage; roaring, she charged at the couple with her other fist raised high. Tristan intervened, tightly clasping his hands to manifest a sheet of ice under her feet. Instead of slipping, Helga leaped into the air, diving directly at them. Instantly stepping in front of Celeste, Fabien raised his hands as a vibrant green barrier materialized above them.

As Helga’s free hand collided with the glowing shield with full force, the barrier pulsed, reflecting the impact back into her arm. Her fingers bent at sickening angles, and the bones in her hand and wrist shattered instantly with a sharp, explosive crack. Helga let out a raw, guttural scream of agony, clutching her ruined limb as she stumbled back, her face twisted in disbelief and searing pain.

Tristan gasped upon witnessing Fabien’s new power.

Jordi: “Fabien, you got a new power!”

He said ecstatically. Jaxon turned around and embraced himself. Fabien gaped at his hands, watching the faint, emerald light still dancing like liquid fire across his palms. A surge of disbelief washed over him, his heart hammering against his ribs not from fear, but from a burgeoning sense of awe. He felt a strange, humming resonance deep in his bones, a latent strength that had finally answered his desperate need to keep Celeste safe.

Celeste wrapped her arms tightly around him, showering him with kisses.

Celeste: “Oh, Fab! I’m so glad you’re okay, but you also got a new power!”

Fabien: “Hey, babe.”

Running his fingers through her neon tresses, he and she kissed deeply. Jaxon’s face contorted with hurt, rage, and jealousy. Tristan caught Jaxon’s demeanor and was about to say something to him when Noriko entered.

Noriko: “NOOOOOOO!!! YOU KILLED VARG!”

She ran to the statue in tears, cradling its head. Tristan rolled his eyes. Jordi pursed his lips, recalling Ashley telling him stories about her and her Varg obsession.

Tristan: “Nothing about the man you kidnapped?”

He asked dryly. Noriko turned to Tristan.

Noriko: “Oooooh, you’re pretty!”

Deimos slid in front of him.

Deimos: “Don’t you fucking think about it!”

He growled.

Upon spotting Celeste and Fabien, Noriko wailed aloud, brandishing her feather sword at the couple.

Noriko: “NOOOOOOOO!!! THE AMERICAN GIRLFRIEND STOLE FABIEN-KUN, TOO!”

As Noriko shrieked, Celeste got up with a fierce snarl, glaring back at her like an angry tigress.

Celeste: “YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUU!!!”

She roared. Noriko yelped and turned to run, but gasped when she saw Jaxon.

Noriko: “Jiro-kun?! You came back to me!”

She gasped. Jaxon glared at her.

Jaxon: “Only because you kidnapped HIM! I don’t want to be anywhere near you or your hideous big-footed Viking!”

He rasped.

Noriko: “DON’T INSULT VARG, JIRO-KUN!”

She cried and slashed at his neck with her feather sword. Jaxon laughed and staggered back.

Jaxon: “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! STOP!!”

He whined.

She pulled off Jaxon’s Chelsea boots and socks.

Jaxon: “Don’t you DARE!”

He thundered and screamed with laughter when she tickled his feet using her feather sword. Jaxon screamed with laughter.

Jaxon: “ARGH!! NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO! WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!”

His body convulsed instantly, his legs kicking wildly as the sensitive skin of his soles met the ticklish onslaught. He was in sensory overload; every light brush of the feather sent shivers of involuntary, hysterical laughter tearing through him, leaving him breathless and helpless as he squirmed on the floor.

Jaxon: “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAHAHAHAHA!! NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOO!!”

He whined as tears streamed down his cheeks.

Jordi flicked his gaze to a peacock feather on the floor. He picked it up and presented it to Tristan.

Tristan: “Why is that there?”

He asked him. Tristan took the feather from Jordi and held it up.

Tristan: “I’ve been… tickled many times by Ivy, hahaha…”

He laughed awkwardly and stroked his ponytail. Deimos folded his arms and grimaced. Tristan caught a glimpse of Deimos’ disapproval. He cleared his throat.

Tristan: “...My point is I know a Huang peacock feather when I see one.”

He said with a hint of anger in his tone.

Celeste: “I would beat her ass, but nah, let her tickle Jaxon. He deserves her.”

She drawled.

Jaxon: “CEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHELEEHEHEHEHEHESTE!”

He whined through his furious bouts of laughter.

Fabien: “I wanna get out of here.”

Tristan: “Sounds like a great idea, Fabien.”

Tristan was just about to pull Noriko off Jaxon when Trevor walked in carrying bags of Voyage Burger food. He wasn't by himself, either; Bobby O’Sullivan accompanied him. A burly white man with long red hair, a beard, and blue eyes, Bobby was clad in a Demolition Killer shirt, a denim vest, cargo shorts, orange high tops, and a trucker hat.

Bobby: “This place is so MEEEEEEEEEETAAAAL! WHEEEEEEEEEEEWW!”

He headbanged while rocking out on an air guitar. Tristan made a face. Noriko finally ceased tickling Jaxon, who immediately scrambled away to cling to Tristan. She gazed at Bobby with awe.

Deimos: “HEY!”

He hissed.

Trevor: “Hey, guys, I brought my friend, Bobby, here when I found out all the Voyage Burger is free!”

Bobby: “This place is so fuckin’ hellbent for metal! Free Voyage Burger and Viking shit! WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW!!”

With his hand, he threw up a devil’s horn sign.

Noriko: “It’s… It’s… VARG!”

She gasped. Tristan turned to her with a raised eyebrow. Jaxon put his socks and shoes back on.

Jaxon: “Let’s get the fuck out of this hellhole.”

He huffed.

Noriko went to Bobby with stars in her eyes.

Noriko: “Would you stay on this island with me, Varg-sama?”

Bobby grinned.

Bobby: “All the free Voyage Burger, Viking rides, and METAL? WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWW!! FUCK YEAH!”

He headbanged. Noriko clasped her hands over her cheeks.

Trevor: “Uh, so you’re staying, Bobby?”

He scratched his ass. Jaxon marched to him.

Jaxon: “Didn’t you hear him?! He is! Get us out of here!”

He said flippantly.

Trevor: “Humph, someone didn’t have their pizza today!”

He huffed. He grabbed everyone, and they teleported off the island.

Dr. Zola Quirk stepped in, tapping her clipboard.

Zola: “Fascinating… Both the white-haired gentleman and the neon-haired lady caused this much destruction and destabilized Helga… No one has ever done this before.”

She hummed and smirked.

Zola: “I look forward to studying the white-haired gentleman, especially.”

She grinned. Bobby laughed at her.

Bobby: “Oh, fuck, look at that stupid-looking midget! I could put a can of beer on her head and have her follow me around!”

Zola’s grip tightened on her clipboard. Her expression remained a mask of clinical detachment, but her eyes—cold and analytical—narrowed infinitesimally as she took in the hulking, boorish man. While she was accustomed to dealing with volatile subjects, this display of crude arrogance was an affront to her intellectual composure. She didn’t waste her breath on a retort; instead, she merely made a sharp, decisive mark on her clipboard, filing him away not as an individual, but as a particularly irritating, low-functioning variable that would require a swift and brutal correction later.

~

Celeste and Fabien stepped into their house. Fabien darted to the couch, where he plopped down, completely exhausted. Celeste approached him and sat with him, draping her arm over him, resting her head on his chest. Fabien rubbed the small of her back and exhaled.

Fabien: “So glad to be home… Away from that Viking cunt.”

He said exasperatedly. Celeste looked up at him and traced her nail over his chest, making him shiver.

Fabien: “Thanks, babe.”

Celeste killed him.

Celeste: “Don’t mention it.”

She murmured, and the two kissed again.

Fabien: “Wanna get in the shower and wash this Varg failure and foot funk off us?”

He chuckled. Celeste bit her bottom lip and nodded. He rose, took her hand, and guided them to the bathroom.

~

Fabien was in their bedroom changing the sheets because Celeste’s menstrual blood had seeped onto them. He was dressed in plaid pajama pants, while Celeste stood in the doorway, wearing a black tank top and matching panties, pushing her two forefingers together.

Celeste: “Sorry, Fab…”

She murmured. Fabien went to her and wrapped his arms around her.

Fabien: “Celeste, don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for…”

He whispered into her ear. Celeste giggled and shivered.

Fabien: “Just glad to be home…”

He drew back and locked his gaze onto hers, gently running his thumb across her lips.

Fabien: “With the woman I love.”

He said softly. Celeste’s eyes sparkled.

Celeste: “I’m happy I’m with the man I love.”

She smiled. Fabien beamed and rubbed his forehead on hers.

Celeste: “I was scared, Fab…”

Fabien’s smile faded. He pursed his lips.

Fabien: “Me too, babe.”

He admitted.

The day’s tension finally dissolved as Fabien pulled Celeste closer, their lips meeting in a passionate, deep kiss. It was a kiss that carried the weight of their shared relief and the profound depth of their love, a silent vow that no matter what chaos the world threw at them, they would always find their way back to each other.

Breaking the kiss, Fabien let out a low, playful chuckle and suddenly scooped Celeste up into his arms. She let out a surprised squeal, her arms instinctively looping around his neck as he carried her toward the freshly made bed.

He gently set her down onto the soft sheets, where they pulled each other close again and shared another lingering, intimate kiss. Celeste moaned into his mouth and caressed his back. He was hers, and she loved it.

~

Tristan sat at Percy’s bar, with Percy’s back facing him. He wore a silk-red bathrobe as he organized his drinks. In the background, the soft, soulful melody of “Cowboys and Angels” by George Michael played, its smooth jazz-infused notes drifting through the quiet bar area. Tristan reached into his suit jacket to pull out his gold case. He opened it, took out a cigarette, and lit it up. He inhaled a long drag.

Tristan: “Not speaking to me?”

He asked him. Percy heaved a deep sigh. He turned to Tristan with a look of disappointment.

Percy: “Did Trevor tell you about teleporting to get to Jiro?”

Tristan nodded. Percy hung his head.

Percy: “And you disregarded that.”

He said tersely.

Tristan: “Trevor never told you we were rescuing Fabien?”

He asked him and exhaled a puff of smoke. Percy shook his head.

Percy: “No, he didn’t. You went to Noriko’s island. She and Jiro were engaged. Why on Reona would she kidnap Fabien?”

He laughed a humorless laugh, spreading his arms out. Tristan cleared his throat.

Tristan: “He waited on her and her father at Danny Donger’s, drew Varg on her placemat, and created ice cream to resemble Varg the Viking. She fell for him.”

Percy gaped at Tristan incredulously. Tristan had a hunch that he didn’t believe him.

Tristan: “I could have others vouch for me.”

Percy drew a breath.

Percy: “I know how you operate, Tristan. I don’t have time for these games.”

Tristan glared at him.

Tristan: “Games? It’s the truth.”

He said firmly, drawing a rough breath, inhaling another drag.

Tristan: “I know Jaxon hurt you, Percy. I wouldn’t do anything to overstep your boundaries, but Fabien was in trouble, and you and he have no personal issues. Please don’t make this out to be something it’s not. If you need me to do anything to remedy this, I will do it.”

He said gently. Percy smiled at him.

Percy: “There is something you can do.”

Tristan: “Name it.”

He exhaled a plume of smoke. Percy extended his hand out to him.

Percy: “Dance with me.”

Tristan’s eyes widened, caught off-guard by his request.

Tristan: “Who’s playing games now?”

He said wryly and crushed his cigarette in the ashtray. Percy smiled tightly.

Tristan let out a soft sigh, his gaze lingering on Percy’s extended hand for a moment before he reached out and took it. With a small, resigned smile, he allowed Percy to lead him onto the floor, their movements falling into a slow, rhythmic step as the soulful music continued to echo through the manor. Percy’s ruby-red eyes gazed into Tristan’s emerald eyes; he intertwined his fingers with Tristan's and led him into a graceful dip as their eyes met.

He gently caressed Tristan’s back as they danced. Percy leaned in closer and kissed him. Tristan’s eyes widened at the sudden gesture. He then closed his eyes and welcomed the kiss. Percy’s long fingers raked through Tristan’s soft, white tresses. He broke the kiss and smiled tenderly at Tristan.

Tristan: “Do you believe me now?”

He smiled. Percy’s thumb traced over Tristan’s soft lips.

Percy: “Of course, my ice prince…”

Tristan smiled tightly. Percy cupped his face and rubbed his thumbs over his cheeks.

They were interrupted when Noah entered the bar. He was startled to see Tristan standing there. Percy looked relieved.

Tristan: “Oh, hello, Noah. I was just leaving.”

He smiled.

Noah: “I came to return some of Jiro’s stuff to Percy.”

Tristan gazed at him and nodded. Sure, whatever, he thought.

Tristan: “Have a good night, Percy.”

He said softly and left the manor. Percy inhaled the aroma of Tristan’s cologne that filled the area.

Noah: “Sir, I believe Tristan is onto us.”

Percy turned to him.

Percy: “Of course, he is. I don’t want Jiro onto us, and he never will be, because he’s a fool.”

He said with hurt and anger in his tone.

~

Tristan sat gracefully on the leather couch in his bedroom, having already shed his clothes and now wearing his silver silk pajamas. He was quietly reading a book, his long, pristine white hair draped elegantly over his shoulders, looking composed. He turned the page to pull out the photograph of Noriko in her bridal kimono with Ichiro and Borko in the background. Who were you to Ichiro, and why were you at the wedding? He wondered.

The heavy thud of the bedroom door announced Deimos’s arrival. He trudged into the bedroom, looking completely exhausted. His massive mane of black hair was a bit wilder than usual, his tank top was clinging to him, and he looked ready to collapse.

Deimos: “What a fuckin’ day… Rescuing Fabien and then Lazaros, whining Madelyn’s costume clashed with his Mad Hatter costume.”

Deimos grunted, sighing deeply as he dropped heavily onto the armchair by him.

Tristan: “Sorry to hear that.”

He said softly, looking up from his book with a gentle, welcoming smile.

Deimos crossed the room to Tristan, and the two shared a tender kiss. As they embraced, the day's lingering exhaustion finally melted away, replaced by the tranquil comfort of being together. Deimos then slid off his tank top, revealing his ripped abs and powerful, muscular physique. Tristan bit his bottom lip, loving the sight and feel of Deimos’ rock-hard muscles under his soft palms.

Without a second thought, he leaned down to pull off his cowboy boots. Then came the socks. They were thick, work-grade cotton, completely saturated from a long rescue mission in the dead of summer. As Deimos peeled them off his feet and tossed them carelessly toward the laundry hamper, an invisible, catastrophic wave of odor was unleashed into the bedroom.

It was a potent, suffocating mixture of stale sweat, damp leather, and pure, unadulterated foot funk.

Tristan’s smile instantly vanished. His eyes widened as the scent hit him like a physical blow to the chest. The sheer, pungent intensity of it practically made his vision blur.

Tristan: “Oh, heavens above!”

He gasped, immediately dropping his book onto the couch. He slammed a hand over his nose and mouth, his shoulders tensing as he recoiled.

Tristan: “Deimos, your feet are RANCID! Did you marinade them in expired cheese and hot garbage?!”

He choked out, his voice muffled behind his hand. He used his free hand to frantically swat at the air in front of his face, though it did absolutely nothing to disperse the cloud of doom. Deimos blinked, looking down at his bare feet and then up at Tristan’s horrified expression.

Deimos: “Oh, come ON, Tristan! It’s not that bad!”

He whined. Tristan scrambled off the couch, keeping as much distance from Deimos' feet, and practically threw himself at the bedroom window, shoving it open to let the night air in.

Tristan: “I can taste it, Deimos. It’s lingering in the back of my throat!”

Deimos rolled his eyes.

Deimos: “Come on, Tristan! Not every man can be as perfect and pristine as his royal highness!”

He snapped.

Deimos: “It’s a locker room vibe!”

Tristan: “It’s a morgue vibe.”

He corrected sharply, glaring over his shoulder as he still breathed through his shirt collar.

Tristan: “Get in the shower NOW!”

He commanded. Deimos raised his hands in surrender.

Deimos: “As you wish, your MAJESTY!”

He huffed dryly and stomped off to the bathroom. Tristan stood by the window, fanning his face.

A few minutes later, the sound of rushing water stopped, and the bathroom door swung open. Deimos walked back into the bedroom, damp mist curling around his broad shoulders. He was wrapped in a towel, smelling significantly more like generic bar soap and significantly less like a chemical spill.

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest, and watched Tristan, who was still standing near the open window.

The bickering melted away as Deimos stretched out on the bed, his large frame taking up most of the space. Tristan watched him for a moment, a soft, indulgent smile finally replacing his scowl. He set his book down on the nightstand and crawled onto the bed beside him.

Deimos grinned, reaching up to gently snag the frame of Tristan’s glasses and pull them off, setting them safely next to the book. Without the lenses’ barrier, Tristan’s eyes softened completely. Deimos wrapped a heavy, calloused hand around the back of Tristan’s neck, his thumb caressing the soft skin just beneath the hairline.

Deimos tugged gently, pulling Tristan down until they were lying face-to-face. The contrast between them was stark—Tristan’s long, silk-white hair pooling across the dark sheets, framing a face that looked almost ethereal in the dim bedroom light, while Deimos loomed over him with dark, rugged intensity.

When Deimos leaned in to kiss him, all the teasing completely stopped. The kiss was slow, deep, and heavy with the familiar warmth of a long day finally coming to an end. Tristan let out a soft sigh against Deimos’s lips, his hands sliding up Deimos’s bare arms, feeling the heat radiating from his skin and the slight texture of the tattoo on his shoulder.

Deimos shifted, shifting his weight over Tristan, his large hands finding Tristan’s waist beneath the hem of his shirt. The touch was firm and possessive, a grounding weight that Tristan eagerly leaned into. Despite Tristan's poised elegance, he completely unraveled whenever Deimos held him like this—clinging to the broader man, his fingers tangling in the thick, wild waves of Deimos’ black hair.

Deimos moved fully over him. He pulled his towel off and tossed it on the floor. Every touch from Deimos was heavy, solid, and deliberate, pinning Tristan down in the best way possible. Tristan’s hands gripped Deimos’ shoulders, his fingertips digging into the muscle as Deimos kissed him with a fierce, consuming intensity that left them both breathless. He yearned for this for months. He craved this and he wasn’t going to mess things up with his beloved prince again.

Tristan arched his back, pulling Deimos down closer, his legs tangling with Deimos's as an implicit, urgent invitation. The elegance Tristan usually maintained completely dissolved, replaced by flushed skin, parted lips, and soft, desperate hitches in his breath whenever Deimos’s hands slid lower, gripping his hips with a bruising pressure.

Deimos shifted his weight, his calloused hands making quick work of unbuttoning Tristan’s top, sliding his pants down, and then his underwear until there were no barriers left between them. The stark contrast between Tristan’s pale, slender frame and Deimos’ larger, darker physique was striking in the bedroom’s dim light. Deimos looked down at him, his gaze intense and fiercely protective, before leaning in to press a hard, lingering kiss to Tristan’s collarbone. He loved feeling Tristan’s soft skin beneath his rough palms.

Tristan was glad to stop lying to himself—he wanted this as much as Deimos did, and was overjoyed he caved into his deepest desire to love his man and let him love him.

Deimos opened the drawer to the nightstand and grabbed a bottle of anal lube. With a squirt of it, he lathered it inside of Tristan’s hole. Tristan sucked in shallow breaths, feeling Deimos’ thick fingers probe his asshole.

When Deimos’s cock slid inside of him, Tristan’s eyes snapped shut, a sharp, choked gasp escaping him as he clung to Deimos’ back. Deimos paused for a fraction of a second, letting Tristan adjust, his thumb gently wiping away a bead of sweat from Tristan’s temple. But the patience didn't last long—driven by the heat of the night and the sheer, intoxicating pull between them, Deimos thrusted, a low, guttural groan escaping his chest.

Tristan’s white hair lashed across the dark sheets as he moved beneath him, his fingers gripping the bedsheets, completely undone by the raw, powerful rhythm Deimos set. Every slow, deep push from Deimos had Tristan crying out softly into the quiet room, his head tilted back, entirely at the mercy of the man above him. Deimos watched him the entire time, fueled by the sounds Tristan was making, burying himself deeper and pulling Tristan closer until they were completely in sync.

The pace quickened, the air in the room growing thick and electric. Tristan wrapped his legs tightly around Deimos’ waist, pulling him in as if he couldn't get close enough, his voice breaking on Deimos' name. With a final, heavy surge, Deimos shattered Tristan’s remaining control, sending a wave of intense pleasure through him that left Tristan trembling and clinging to him for dear life. Seconds later, with a low, ragged shout against Tristan's neck, Deimos followed him over the edge, spilling his warmth inside as he collapsed heavily against Tristan’s chest.

They lay there for a long time afterward, the sound of their ragged breathing filling the quiet room. Deimos didn’t move away, keeping Tristan pinned beneath his comforting weight, his face buried in the crook of Tristan’s neck as their heartbeats slowly synchronized in the dark.

~

Deimos lay sound asleep. Tristan lay awake, staring at the dark ceiling, watching the ceiling fan spin. A familiar restlessness settled into his bones as he thought about the photograph he found at the museum. He felt that Noriko wouldn't bother Jaxon or Fabien anymore since she had found her “Varg” in Bobby O’Sullivan, who was the perfect match, but his findings about Ichiro lingered in his mind.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, Tristan slipped out from under Deimos’ heavy arm and the thin bedsheet. The cool night air from the open window hit his bare skin, a stark contrast to the intense heat from earlier. He pulled on a silver silk robe, tying it loosely around his waist as he padded quietly across the room.

He grabbed his pack of cigarettes and a Zippo from the nightstand and sat on the couch. He slid a cigarette between his lips and flicked the Zippo. The flame cast a brief, warm glow over his sharp features and the long, silver-white strands of hair falling over his shoulders.

He took a slow, deep drag, the tip of the cigarette burning a bright orange in the dark. As he exhaled a long plume of smoke, he felt the last lingering tension from the day finally melt away.