Sweet Disaster

The looks had been constant the day he’d returned to campus. A few, he was sure, making sure that he wasn’t Theo, glancing suspiciously down, wide eyes raking over his chest, his stomach, the long length of his legs like somehow they’d see wounds scored deep through all the layers of his clothing. Somehow the rumours had been kept quiet, the news that his brother was dead, not just taking some vacation somewhere to recuperate from what had happened out in those woods not escaping beyond their little knot. Kit, Freyja, Dom. The only ones who had a clue that Theo was now cold in the ground. It didn’t stop the talk altogether though and the rest of those eyes that had been on him, leaving him shrugging his shoulders to try and escape the itch wariness brought on. Scars rasping on fabric, muscles complaining, brain on watch.

It should’ve been even here but after a couple of drinks it had all loosened up enough for Nixon to try and slip in. If his brother’s office mate had heard the stories that had circulated around campus he hadn’t believed them, not the ones that had Theo safe and whole somewhere at least. The glass had been slipped onto the table in front of him with a gleam in the guy’s eyes, magnified by the lenses of his glasses. It had dimmed as he’d failed to reach for the glass but the minute he’d grown desperate enough for the escape from the pressure of having to play civil with a room full of people who all had their own version of what had happened Frank had seen them light up again.

The fumes from the glass and the burn from his gullet had his eyes watering as he’d shoved it away. Trying to escape it, the resulting ache that came on like a heart attack at the realisation Theo wasn’t here watching his back at these things anymore and the jackal in an academic’s clothing who was shifting away from the bar Frank had gone to escape. Knuckles tight on the edge of the table he’d started working his way along the seat, feet nudging aside bags and coats shoved beneath, an obstacle course that threatened to snare him long enough for Nixon to catch up. Almost there, his chest heaving with the need for air and then she was there.

Frank stared up at her, brow furrowing as he tried to place her. Feeling that prickle bite harder between his shoulder blades he’d looked back, finding Nixon stopped at the bar, something close to disappointment in his eyes. Check mate. The relief had him letting out a long breath, the comment on the drink almost an afterthought. ”Hey,” he breathed, wincing when he realised the fumes on his breath were probably strong enough to knock her out.

The smile was sweet but the comment had just enough of a teasing bite to it to have his hazel eyes rising from his glass. They narrowed, a smirk that was duller than it had once been tugging at his lips. Dark brows rose as he shook his head. ”You wanna try it and prove I’m a lightweight?” he asked. That was probably gonna be considered assault of some kind considering the punch it had packed. He was still crowded up on the edge of the seat, his fingers at his collar. A couple of minutes to deter Nixon and he’s still slip outside to gulp in that cool night air, a reset switch for his brain, however pickled it already was. He suspected he wasn’t going to find that out until he tried to walk.

Before he could shift she was moving in, her hand still wrapped in his, one knee finding the edge of the bench seat. Barely enough room between his thigh and the edge of the seat, her body just an inch from his as Frank started to shift back. He kicked someone’s bag under the table, would probably hear something about the heel mark ground into it but there was enough room for her to slide in after him. Frank stopped, staring at her like the words were taking time to penetrate. ”Europe…” Barely a question in it before he dipped his head and let out a long breath. ”After that I’m surprised I remember my own name.” An excuse for what had really Swiss-cheesed his brain of late. ”European History. I think I even sat in on one of your classes at one point. Sorry.” Apologies felt like they were always on the tip of his tongue these days, sometimes sobbed out, sometimes feeling they were cutting him apart on the way out.

A breath hissed in, a warning on the edge of it but she was already reaching for the glass. If Nixon had slipped anything more into it, this was where he was finally gonna get caught out.

He flicked his glance up to him as she took a gulp of what was left. Nixon was already turning away, shoulders stiff, and it was no wonder. The coughing and wheezing that’d racked him was getting her. Frank lifted his other hand, reaching awkwardly between them to try and pat her back. ”Warned you,” he crooned. The sigh was back, his lips pursing for a moment as he dipped his chin. ”I wouldn’t be surprised. We’ll be lucky if there wasn’t some kinda truth serum in it.” An attempt to loosen his tongue in more ways than one.

He’d already sunk enough alcohol to probably do it without much more coaxing but as that sly grin spread over Roxxi’s lips Frank found himself swallowing hard, the thirst burning in it. ”I didn’t realise there was any other historian in the school who knew how to party,” he drawled. Although, the rumours about academics were rarely true. ”I’m up for it. If you think you can keep up that is? Pick your poison.” Frank was scooping the menu up, using it to gesture to one of the women behind the bar before he held it up in front of Roxxi’s face. A bad move, he heard Theo’s voice echoing in his head to say it but that was the point, he needed to burn it out, didn’t need to spend another night falling apart with his brother’s voice amongst the others whispering constantly in the back of his head these days.

Tagged: ROXANNE BRASCHI * Word Count: 1074

Nixon’s drink alone might’ve been to blame for the gaping holes in his memory but it was more than that. Had been since that blade had taken Theo’s life and shredded his own. Scraps of it left to hold onto with desperate hands. What he’d known then, when he could recall now, two separate worlds. Apologies could drip from his lips over what had disappeared down those holes but it wasn’t going to bring any of it back. Grief was still doing a number on him and Frank knew there was no apology for that. You shouldn’t have to apologise for loving someone enough that your life was pockmarked with scars at their loss.

The grimace had been there though, tugging at his features as recollection had dragged the brunette away from one of those holes. A lecture hall, the brunette holding sway with a charm he’d never quite mastered. Her students had been engaged, hanging on every word, or just those full lips. More than half of them probably would’ve given a limb for the grip of her hand on their leg. Frank swallowed hard, not looking down at those delicate female fingers. Lashes fluttering for a moment before he managed a chuckle. ”You had a way with them,” he admitted voice rough. ”I can see why they were rapt.” He just couldn’t feel it libido deep the way Kit would’ve done. He’d have taken that hand, dragged her out of there. Taken opportunity of the drink Nixon had set down to boil inhibitions away.

Frank let out a groan instead, warning in it, then apology flickering over his face. Meant for him but she’d got a dose instead.

His eyes settled on her lips as she laughed, a huff of amusement wrung out of him as his fingers grazed her back. Nixon hadn’t held back. The questions burning his lips and a dozen others’. Frank grunted, shifting slightly under that squeeze of his knee again as he drew his hand back. A grimace pushed at his lips as he went to pluck the glass from her hand but it was already being pushed away. ”I think he gets off on that spy shit…” A weak explanation but at least she hadn’t hit him right in the gut with sympathy over his brother. ”In Nixon’s book everything in my past getting retracted just gives him something to aim for. Although, if he wants to play…” A hint of smugness in the look he shot the guy. ”…I guess you’d have to be game now too.” She’d ended up snared in all of this, willing squeezing into that spider’s web as she pressed in close to him.

Roxxi was studying his face like there’d be something there to read, her dark eyes fixed on his in a way that left him feeling stripped naked by the whole thing. His throat worked hard, grief and thirst doing their best to choke him. He clucked his tongue, fingers popping lightly against the edge of the menu. ”Did you see the guy who was in my spot before me? He bled dust, it’s a stereotype for a reason,” he countered. There was a grin tugging uncertainly at the corners of his mouth though. A dark brow quirked, a glance raking her behind that menu. Well practised, a cover to keep his tastes away from the eyes of command and men like Nixon who’d see something twisted in it. ”You’re definitely no dusty, old grandma, but Frank … please.” Damasca was too close. Theirs not his. Him and Theo, another thing they’d shared, now carved on his brother’s tombstone.

He chuckled as he felt her press in, a breathlessness to it as he shook his head. She had no hope after he’d spent years in dives a thousand times grimmer than this with stuff that could’ve stripped paint. ”Guess I’m carrying you home after,” he countered. A sudden burst of aridity in his throat again, a choked agreement to the request. Ten shots? Jesus. Nowhere near enough. Frank was straightening up, bracing himself on her as he called after the waitress for a bowl of fries. ”Nowhere near enough, although I have a feeling a medieval feast wouldn’t stop you from trying to be standing the victor. You got some secret booze handling skills, Roxxi?” Oh boy.

When the drinks came he scooted forward, already reaching for the salt. He glanced at Nixon, caught the man’s scowl. Too interested still, watching every move like he was going to be reporting this later, unpicking every move for some sign of deception. Frank settled his hand over the hand she had on his thigh, lifted it to drag his tongue over the tender underside of her wrist before he sprinkled the salt on. ”Game on,” he told her low. Then he was licking again, grimacing faintly as he snatched up the first of those shots to hammer in down. One more nail in the coffin holding the truth back from just about everybody in this town. The Damascas’ own personal Pandora’s box, ready to suck more of the hope out of the world than it already had.

Tagged: ROXANNE BRASCHI * Word Count: 861

A low grunt of agreement rolling out of him. Frank didn’t seek Nixon out this time. Weird tastes probably wouldn’t have covered Theo’s office mate, former office mate. He’d always complained about the guy, tolerating him and wondering which alien planet was gonna come looking for their advanced scout in equal measure. It probably wasn’t a case of technically getting off but there was some sort of fanatical gleam in Nixon’s eyes when he thought he’d gotten his teeth into something. Wild flights of imagination gripped onto as tight as Roxxi’s on his thigh. At least if he saw this and ended up sitting there watching him with that pin point focus he’d see something that further hid the truth. Professor Damasca getting handsy with Professor Braschi at Campbell’s, not Damasca getting his kicks in his truck or dragging some guy into his bedroom for a single night of hedonism. Layers of cover.

Hazel eyes narrowed with amusement, Frank flicked a finger towards the glass as she batted her lashes, shrugging off his warning about Nixon’s eyes being on the two of them now. ”You didn’t know you were signing on for that though,” he mused. A burn in this pit of his own stomach a warning about dealing himself that deck again. He’d never blinked about taking a risk but the Middle East had turned any game playing too serious for his tastes, stripping it all out until he’d been hollow in that hospital bed. Hollow still now but maybe desperately looking for something to fill it up and this could’ve been it, at least for tonight.

Frank’s smile moved molasses slow. From that uncertainty to something more confident. If he couldn’t do it he could at least paint up that shell of a man pretty enough that she wouldn’t have known any different. Her throat was bared as she tossed her head back and laughed. The sort of cackle that should’ve been infectious. Wild, unshackled by fear and loss. Hell, he needed to catch it, Frank thought with his own chuckle. He narrowed his eyes faintly, that low hum of consideration in his throat as he kept them shielded from Nixon behind that menu. ”I’m guessing I’m about a quarter of the way there to full dustiness.” In more ways than one.

Something inside of him had started to crumble faster after what had happened in the clearing. Shaken apart, ground down by the scream, the loss. If she’d been a guy, just as willing and forward as she was now he would’ve had her outside already, fingers banded around her wrists, his wrists. There was no heat filling his throat and travelling south with her words then but he cleared his throat all the same. ”And miss out on getting blind drunk first?” He tsked, shaking his head like getting a good drunk on was the only reason he wasn’t immediately taking her up on the offer. Frank offered up that quick flash of a grin, the shiver still beneath his skin in that odd way as Roxxi pressed against his side with that thickened accent on her lips. ”Probably half as much as my team knocked back the beers and hooch. A decade in the army’s gotta give me a leg up, right?” Easier to pretend when that buzz was on. Competition was something he could handle in his sleep.

Til the nightmares ripped him out of those dreams.

Squaring his shoulders, chin up, parade ground ready, Frank dashed off a sloppy salute to Roxxi. Just started. The game was on, time to steep himself in liquor until that ache disappeared from his chest. If it ended up that Kit had to save his ass here too then he’d make the call. Him draped over one brawny shoulder, Roxxi the other, although that might just’ve been shuffling her straight into the lion’s den.

He’d get straight out of his with this show. Roxxi’s skin was soft against his mouth, warm, his beard scratching at it in a way he probably should’ve apologised for. Her dark eyes were on him, his own meeting them over the curl of her fingers. Then the shot was down, a fireball cannoning down his throat, a hiss, a grimace, a chuckle breathed out as she reached for the lime wedge. ”Didn’t wanna shoot my shot too early,” he murmured. His fingers curled around hers, dragging her thumb lightly against his teeth before he nipped at it, licking the juice off of her thumb as much as the lime. ”The army teaches patience, you get things done by stealth, one step at a time and people have no idea until you’re … right there.”

And there she was, rising up on her knees in front of him in a way that had Frank fumbling, getting one hand at her waist, the other on a thigh, hastily adjusted. She was leaning in, no wrist for her, just her tongue against his throat. Less difference there, just that damp heat he wanted to sink into so it could wash away that ache in his chest. Eyelids fluttering shit with that soft nip, a vibration of a groan in his throat as she pushed off. ”You raised the ante,” he accused low. The groan deepened as Roxxi eyed the wedge he’d pulled free of his mouth. His eyes narrowed, locked on her face before she bent to get it … hands free.

Frank’s chin dipped slightly, eyes darkening with that challenge. Nixon was forgotten now, drifting back into those dark babbling corners of the bar. God, some part of him had needed this. The oblivion of those nights somewhere across the world, breaking off from the team like he was just heading back to the base for some shut eye, half drowning somewhere until the things he didn’t want to see in his mind were washing away.

Fingers reached up for the lime wedge as he shifted his weight. Rolling in towards her, not even considering where he was going, just rolling over the territory of sternum, up to Roxxi’s collarbone, tracing that line of pale skin with his tongue before he sprinkled the sort there, following it back down with his tongue before he sucked lightly on that border between shadow and light. ”Batter up,” Frank murmured against her skin. Bracing himself on Roxxi’s hip with his hand had remained settled, head dipping low enough to pick up that next shot without his hands. Lips fixing around the rim of the glass, his eyes tearing up slightly as he tossed his head back. That hiss of triumph as he reached up to snatch the empty glass away. Frank plucked up a wedge of lime. ”Hold on to this for me?” Lips quirking as he eased it between her teeth, peel in, his thumb light on her chin as he leaned in to suck on the lime. Close enough that he could feel the light puff of her breath hot against his mouth. Still not crossing that line.

Tagged: ROXANNE BRASCHI * Word Count: 1173

They’d tried to slither that close before. Bars continents away or just a few states. Avaricious eyes fixed on the soldier’s like they were a big door prize. Hook yourself a serving man and you not only had yourself a well trained, hunk of a man in uniform but if you could get a ring on your finger, maybe pop a few kids out with him you had it made on Uncle Sam’s dime. Get a couple of drinks in them and they wouldn’t even see the face, wouldn’t care if he wasn’t all hands and whispered promises like the other guys. ”Hey, look, Damasca’s getting all saintly again. It’s always the quiet ones huh?” Chaco winking at the blonde or brunette who’d pressed themselves to his side, all giggled words and exploring fingers that did nothing to set the nerves under his skin alight. They were barking up the wrong tree but telling them that would only have had the world around him exploding.

It wasn’t the closet. That would’ve meant he was ashamed of who he was, hiding behind the curtains and pretending that he was something he wasn’t. Clinging to the hope that maybe if he kept his eyes closed just a little longer something would happen to make everything work out.

He hadn’t, it hadn’t. Years of nights in other places, without his team tagging along with a million questions and maybe judgment in some eyes, had been ended in that blinding, body shattering explosion.

No longer so secretive about the whole thing, hell, if this had been the club and Kit had been there it probably would’ve been crowed from the rooftops but it wasn’t and that wasn’t a discussion for now, when raw nerves were barely dulled by the death water Nixon had poured into that glass and the first round of tequila that had gone down. Frank had steadied her as she’d swung up there like she was mounting a horse but by the time he was tossing his chips into the game, it was just the one hand on her hip. His prop as he leaned in to trail his tongue over her skin, that sprinkle of the salt against the heat of it as she clutched at him. A grunt against her as she gripped at his shoulder. Not enough alcohol yet to have him forgetting about the scars that laced it, that twinge that rolled through him at the bite of finger tips.

Hazel eyes locked with those dark eyes, heavy on both ends. That hum seeming to vibrate through both of them as it came. Pressing in, Frank bit down, the lime wedge popping, filling his mouth with that sour tang a heartbeat before … woah. Lips warm on his, fingers tight in his hair, a kiss he could’ve fallen into but it was … off, different to every other one he’d had in his adult life at least. Softer somehow, despite the heat and that play of tongue as Roxxi passed the wedge to him. God. If he was straight, she might’ve already killed him.

His head fell back as she tipped hers away, taking the wedge with him. Hazy eyes saw her grin, his own lips, still damp with the taste of tequila and her curved faintly. Her arm was slithering around his shoulders before she leaned over. ”Steady,” he crooned. ”Don’t want me winning this by default if you go sliding off and braining yourself on the table. I’m not the medic.” That had been Kit in the end, Raik when he’d arrived. Both men back in his life now like the universe knew he was gonna need to be patched up again when half of him was torn away.

The feeling bubbled up as Roxxi downed her next shot, burning behind his eyes instead of down his throat. Frank sniffed it back, sucked in a breath as he glanced at the glasses still lined up. ”When we’re done,” he echoed. ”Not the one for the slow game huh?” For the best, he knew, especially when the minute they were out of here the game was gonna be over. A whispered admission in her ear, apologies dripping from his tongue. He wasn’t … he couldn’t. The words were already growing fuzzy though. Lightweight.

A hum not unlike the ones that had rolled through her hit him now as Frank looked at and then past her to where Nixon stool loomed like that shadow of death at the bar. ”Not if you wanna avoid photos of it appearing all over campus in the morning and a trip to the Dean’s office.” Inappropriate behaviour, bringing the college into disrepute, like a professor being killed on campus hadn’t done that in an instant. Nausea rolled up inside of him, threatening to boil over until that shot was right there in front of him.

Frank drew in a deep breath, the scent of her and the tequila washing the remembered coppery tang from his sinuses. He bent his head, teeth nipping the glass, head thrown back to toss it down before he was bending his head, breathing deep against her skin as he plucked the glass from his mouth and set it down on the table with a fumble. ”You wanna get out of here?” he asked. ”Toss the cards in? Pick the game up elsewhere?” Somewhere he didn’t have the weight of any of this on him. Oblivion in alcohol and touches that would maybe break through that novacaine shot feeling that was everywhere at once.

Tagged: ROXANNE BRASCHI * Word Count: 927

Oh, he knew all too well that playing doctor was never half as sexy as it sounded. Dressings changed with care that still tore wounds open and left him screaming, needles giving and taking, broken bones and barely knitted flesh a ripping agony every time he was forced out of the bed. It had left him gun shy when it came to doctors, had him swallowing hard now before that twitch of a smile pulled at his mouth as she grabbed his collar now. Strange, Frank thought, when his world had fallen apart, a wound carved right through the centre of him it had been Kit he turned to for that healing. The man who’d saved his life once before clutched at desperately, the same sort of healing wanted badly enough that he’d shook with it.

It wasn’t so easy though. There was no surgery to bring Theo back, no band aid slapped onto a mortal wound to keep it sealed just long enough to stop him from bleeding out. Theo would’ve cringed his way through this, shooting him that knowing look as he gave Professor Braschi – Roxxi – just enough to keep her willing to play here. That roll of hazel eyes, amusement tickling his own throat instead of the heat that welled up there and left his throat feeling raw as he tilted his head. ”Not if you’re playing it right, Roxxi,” Frank rasped. He rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, tasting the bitter notes of the tequila underscored with something sweeter, her. The chuckle rolled out instantly, as low and almost as filthy as that sly grin she shot him. She was incorrigible and he was playing right into it.

He wanted the heat, whether or not this would come back and bite him on the ass with a reprimand later or not. Anything to cauterise that still burning would inside of him. The shots had started the process, leaving him almost numb to the touch that slid up his chest and into his hair. Frank dipped his head into Roxxi’s neck, another deep breath in that was all her as he nosed at her collarbone, his breath a hot wash across her skin. If they’d gone to the club instead of Campbell’s Kit would’ve been there to save his ass again, reminding him of how bad an idea this was, probably stepping into the fray for him.

Frank hummed as he lifted his head, those hazel eyes soft focused from the shots hitting hard in a near empty stomach – finger food ‘for the table’ wasn’t putting up any sort of fight against the alcohol. The offer dripped from his lips before he hooked his fingers in the front of her top. ”Call it changing the playing field,” he murmured. A slow tick of his head from side to side, his eyes locked on her as she threw the shots backslipped out of the booth, her hand holding tight enough to his that he barely had enough slack to throw a couple of bills down on the table. Nixon was back at the bar, a scowl pinching the already mean features behind the thick lenses of his glasses. Frank grinned, firing a sloppy salute at the man before he was towed out.

The cold air should’ve brought him around but if anything it did the opposite. Enclosing him in a bubble with the woman clinging on to him, laughter beating back the chill but somehow fogging his brain more than the alcohol alone. He pressed close to her as she fumbled with the keys, one hand on the small of her back, hazel eyes squinting, closing entirely with the roll of laughter, thunder sharp as Roxxi proved how bad her marksmanship was. Frank kept his hands on her as they stumbled inside, bracketing her hips, sliding as she pulled him in.

Her hands suddenly the ones pulling him down. Wrong. The word echoed through his head, muddied by the liquor but loud enough as he rested his forehead against hers. Breath coming short, hands there on his hips again as she hopped up to guide him. Frank swallowed back the sudden rush of booze and bile. He didn’t look where she’d gestured, just stared at her mouth until he looked up and found her looking back at him.

Sure some dam inside was gonna burst he peeled a hand off of her, knuckled his mouth until he was sure he wasn’t gonna embarrass himself here – that way at least. ”Roxxi,” he breathed. ”Shit, I shouldn’t have done. I’m …” He tipped his head back like blood was about to pour from his nose, something inside of him definitely cracked if he was about to do this. Lips pressed together, he looked back down at her, managed something tight enough that it probably couldn’t have been called a smile. ”I’m gay. I shouldn’t let this get this far. I’m sorry. I can … I can go if you want?” The first time he’d spoken those words aloud … maybe ever. The people who knew him didn’t need the announcement made, they saw him, raw as he was, and even if they spouted bullshit off about it, they accepted it. Whether or not the college would he didn’t know … fucking enlightening the students didn’t always extend to the faculty being enlightened.

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