Derek innocently meant he’d give Stiles his heart in its place, because yeah, he’s totally gone on him, too. Stiles was found guilty of raging hormones and inability to let his boyfriend finish his sentences.
His punishment? Watching Derek strut around in his brand new Deputy uniform, the shiny pair of handcuffs mocking him for several weeks before both finally caved and utilized them for purposes that were indeed deviant.
Stiles later found Derek guilty of knowing exactly what he was saying, the innuendo-loving asshole of his heart.
He was insufferable. Damara Megido know
that and only that as she fumed silently, her rust colored claws digging into
her palms as she paced back and forth in her hive. Or, rather, her memory of
her hive. She didn’t allow herself to think of anything other than the fact
that he was insufferable.
“He” happened to be an obnoxious little
prick by the name of Kankri. She hated him. Just, hated him. Not in the black
way, not in a quadrant way, just, hate, like she’d hated Meenah, and like she
hated Rufioh, and his little twerp. The cheating…
She shook her head and continued to
pace. A bit of blood was drawn, and dripped to the ground unnoticed. It wasn’t
like it mattered anyway. They were all dead, and that would never change. Not,
ever. They would rot here unti-ding-dong.
Damara turned, and squinted at the
door. If it was Zahhak with one more translation device, she was going to scream
and probably break it and his neck. She stalked over and flung open the door.
Oh. Him. Kankri. Before she could open
her mouth to tell him exactly where he could stick his whistle, he started
speaking. For a second, she thought he was going to bring up her vulgar speech and
how it must be triggering for Rufioh, and how it most certainly seemed to upset
Horuss, and how she shouldn’t speak if she didn’t have something nice to say.
“Ah, Damara, I thought I would find you
here. It is your home, after all, and you do seem to retreat here in times of mental
distress. It appears that I’ve triggered you, and for that I would like to
offer my sincere apologies.
“Now, moving forward, I would like to
suggest that you find yourself a moirail. Ah, wait, that could’ve been seen as
slightly triggering, considering that you have had trouble in the past with
your quadrants. Rather, I would like to suggest that you find yourself someone
who can calm you so you don’t have to retreat from conversations, as that might
seem to others to be a form of cowerdance, which can be triggering for some of
us, especially those of the Nitram blood line, and of course, the Amporas, who
I believe would hate to be called any
form of cowered or to have it implied that they might be a coward.
“Oh, do pardon me, is the word ‘hate’ a
trigger word for you, Damara? I could see how it would be, and I apologize profusely
for using such a word, and will add it to the list of things that should not be
mentioned around you. I will use dislike instead, unless you find that to be
triggering as well, in which case I might have to find a word that implies
strong negative feelings without using such words as dislike or hate or
anything related to them.” Kankri began.
As he continued, Damara stood in her
doorway, one hand on the frame, tapping her finger on it, her anger draining
quickly. She could understand him perfectly, and could make herself understood,
if she wanted, but, she didn’t want. After maybe half an hour of listening to
him drone on, she simply turned and walked back into the house, done with
listening to him. Kankri followed her, continuing to talk. She went into her
nutrition block and grabbed a tea pot. She half listened as she began to make
tea, not even realizing that she was grabbing two cups.
“-And of course would loathe to-Oh,
wait, that is a word that is strongly related to hate, isn’t it? And, I
probably should not use strong unless I want to summon a Zahhak, which would no
doubt be triggering for you as well, considering your past.” Kankri said. “Do
you mind if I sit? I’d hate to be rude.”
Damara turned and looked him up and
down. He was a few inches shorter than her, and his bright red sweater muted the
duller red that covered most of her home. She gnawed on her lip, then nodded,
and he plopped down at the table she’d set up in the center of her kitchen,
with two chairs. She finished making the tea as he continued, and then set the
tray down. She poured them each a cup, and sat down and sipped on hers while
Kankri was leaned part way across the
table, his eyes half closed as he talked, on hand playing with his whistle and
the other holding his cup. His legs were hooked around each other, and back
under his chair.
He droned on, and it was clear he’d
lost his original intended subject for his visit here, assuming he’d had one in
the first place. Occasionally, he asked Damara a question, and she replied with
a suitably vulgar threat or offer in her own language. He’d simply nod, and
carry on. She wondered if he could understand what she was saying, or if he
simply didn’t care. She was betting on the second one.
Damara didn’t know how long he talked,
and it really didn’t matter, because time was hardly a thing anymore. She tried
not to think too much about the implications that that had on her. Of course,
if there was no time, and that meant she shouldn’t exist, then since Meenah
represented life-In a way.-then she shouldn’t exist either. If gave her a sort
of grim satisfaction to think about that.
However, she was far more interested in
the mutant blood drinking his third cup of tea and explaining how one went
about avoiding the subject of breathing to someone who had been hanged. She
found herself laughing at him, at his absurd notions. Not her cruel laughter,
or her flirty giggle. Her full, happy laugh, and she couldn’t remember the last
time she’d laughed like that, or that hard.
Kankri looked irritated, and went on to
lecture her about laughing at people who might be triggered by being made fun
off. That only made her laugh harder, and she struggled through her English to
point out that he, of all people, would probably be the one most likely to be
triggered by being laughed at, so he should just come out and say that she was
triggering him. He huffed in an offended manner, and made as if to stand and
leave, but she poured him another cup of tea.
“Sit. I be nice. Very nice. Drink tea.”
“Damara, while I appreciate that you
are giving me tea, I do have to admit that I’m not a great fan of it. I am
sorry if you find that triggering, but I need to be honeswt with you. A cup of
coffee would be much better right now then another cup of, frankly, weak tea.
It is hardly deserving of the name.”
“No. Good tea. Very good. You like. I
like. Good tea.”
“I disagree. This tea is atrocious. If
I have to drink one more cup, I might-”
“Very good tea. I make.”
Kankri rolled his eyes.
“I’m sure that you think so, but perhaps you should think of someone other than
“I be unlike you, then.”
silence was thick enough to taste, and Damara smirked. She got up, dumped the
tea out, and went into the living room, swaying her hips just enough to grab
his attention. Kankri stood up and followed, but it was more for the sake of
carrying out the conversation then for the sake of watching those hips. She
turned and placed the back of her legs against the couch. Kankri walked closer,
close enough to smell the scent of tea, of some sort of flower perfume, of a
hint of plastic, like when you open a new toy, and a slight musk, a heated
smell, like that which would cause sweat, but not sweat specifically.
He stilled and simply stared at her for
a few moments. She was beautiful. High, sweeping cheek bones, a small nose,
large eyes with makeup, sharp teeth behind full, red lips. A long neck, with a
head held high in defiance of pain. A larger forehead, with hair that was swept
Beautiful. He was suddenly very self-conscious.
Was he handsome? Did he smell like the inside of a house, and an old sweater
and ink and cinnamon and a hint of Porrim’s perfume? He hoped not. He couldn’t
stand Porrim. Her mothering tendencies and blasted sweaters and…So on and so
forth. He leaned in, just slightly, needing to be closer.
She jumped and tumbled back onto the
couch, and one of her legs kicked his out from under him and the next moment
they were on the couch, his face pressed up against her stomach. There was a
moment of silence, and he could feel his face heating. His torso was on her
legs, which were-mercifully-closed. He placed his hands on the couch and pushed
himself up, then looked down. She was biting her lower lip, and for a moment,
he thought it was in anger, then he noticed that her eyes crinkled just
slightly at the corners, and then she burst into laughter.
He found himself laughing along, and
she wrapped her arms around his thin waist, and tipped them over to their sides,
then curled him to the curve of her stomach. She placed his back against her
front, and squished him like a doll. She had just enough body fat to make it
cozy and comforting, until the bony angles of Porrim.
They sat like that for a few moments,
just curled up on her couch, and Kankri opened his mouth to bring up a trigger
warning about warmer bloods cuddling and how that could upset a cooler blood
who’d never had the comfort of a low blood to cuddle, but she placed her plump
lips to his ear, and murmured a “shh” and he closed his mouth.
One of her hands found his whistle, and
played with it as he lay there, curled in her warm arms. Every time he thought
of something to say, he couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth.
Because this was nice. It was nice to
be held, to not feel the over whelming pressure to say something, anything, to
fill in that silence. He’d been told silence was awkward, and being awkward was
not something he wanted to be.
However, after a bit, he found that her
touching him was beginning to upset him. He squirmed a little, not wanting to
leave, but beginning to feel triggered by being touched. He finally sat up and
jumped off the couch. Damara sat up and stared at him.
“I do something wrong? Upset you?” She
asked, looking confused and a bit hurt. He shook his head, but he couldn’t
force the words out of his mouth. He just stared at her, trying to figure out
what to say, but the words didn’t come, and even if they did, he doubted he
could say anything.
Her face softened, and she sat up and
patted the couch. He walked over and sat on it, but shrugged away from her
hand. She stood up, and left the room, and he felt awful, this pinching feeling
in his gut. A few minutes, she came back with tea, and set it on the coffee table.
She poured him a cup, and he cradled it in his hand. He sipped off it for a bit
before finally finding the words.
“My apologies, Damara, I seem to have developed
a slight issue with my…” He looked at her, and she was just watched. She was a
puzzle to him. He remembered how sweet she’d been, and how Meenah had
completely destroyed that. She’d become bitter, and angry, but seeing her now
made him realize that she was still that sweet girl, somewhere. “Nevermind. I’d
hate to trigger someone with my rather bumbling speech. I’ll explain it later.”
After a few minutes, he curled up next
to her, and put his head on her lap. She combed her fingers through his hair
and played with his whistle, humming softly and drinking her own cup of tea. He
closed his eyes, and didn’t notice when she used her telekinesis to take his
cup of tea out of his fingers. He didn’t notice when he slipped off, either.
He was still insufferable, no doubt
about it, but he was also funny, and warm, and kind, in his own way. Well, kind
wasn’t the word. He seemed to want to do anything in his power to not offend
people. Maybe it was because people stormed off and didn’t listen when he
insulted them, so he used triggers to tag ways that he upset people so he could
avoid it in the future? Or maybe it was something else. Damara knew that he
knew that he’d upset her, and that he’d searched her out and attempted to make
it better. His voice was calming, if a
bit annoying, and when he curled up against her like this, he was rather cute.
She’d never seen him as someone who
liked being touched, but she’d only really seen Cronus throw an arm across his
shoulders and him glare, and Porrim hugging him against his will. For all that
Damara said, she never touched without consent.
She tugged on a strand of his hair. She
had a lot to learn about him, and he had a lot to learn about her, but she had
a feeling that they would both learn.