2 comments/ 5061 views/ 0 favorites The Tangled Webs of Love Ch. 01 By: jaxxom87 Author's Note: This is my first story for Lit and I hope you like it. It' started as a stand-alone, then grew into something more. I'm sorry there's no actual sex in this chapter, in many ways this is an introduction, the frame of a much larger story and if some of it just doesn't quite make sense yet, that's okay, all will come clear in time. ----- Halloween has come to New Orleans, though it hardly brings with it even half of the color and celebration of Mardi Gras, it still fills the streets and bars with costumes and drunkards alike. But Joe's House of Blues is a smokey, local place, not a gaudy tourist attraction, and with that comes a subtler, if not always friendlier air, even on a holiday such as this. Which isn't to say that people aren't in costume, but they're less gaudy and more common from the slutty witch in the corner nursing a bourbon to the man at the end of the bar in the top hat dressed as Baron Samedi himself and on the stage, which sometimes hosts live bands and tonight hosts a drunken karaoke-fest, is a lithe woman in a black unitard and cat ears belting out Waiting on a Hero like a champion. Amidst the calm bustle of the friendly bar is Sharyn, a girl who both seems to fit and stands out. Leather pants hug narrow hips and bring out the tone of lean muscle in her legs, disappearing into knee-high leather boots with a line of silver buckles up along the outside of each boot. Her torso is covered by a loose puffy shirt of off-white covered over by a black corset with red brocade, doing what is to be done to emphasize her average breasts and give her otherwise boyish form a more feminine set of curves. Where her body lacks natural femininity, her face has a simple beauty to it from gentle features to piercing green eyes and a cascade of red and auburn ringlets that frame her face and fall around her shoulders, shifting naturally as she alternately sips from a glass of bourbon and glances at the door.. The fact that she's waiting for someone is all too obvious and every time the door opens, there's a flare of hope followed by the bitter flash of disappointment when it's not him. As a wizard and an apprentice, she rarely gets to come home to New Orleans and it was years ago that he gave in to his Faerie nature and joined the timeless ranks of his kin in the Autumn Court of the Sidhe. Love transcends many things, but it doesn't stop them from being kept apart. She has her studies and he has his duties to his lord and his Kings. There are only a few days in the year where they might meet and be together for just one night and one of those is his birthday: Halloween. She's already on her second bourbon, beginning to think that perhaps he's forgotten her. That this year they won't be able to be together. Or worse things, things barely imaginable when you date an immortal, but possible. Even powerful Fae can die under the right circumstances. She dares to allow herself to look at the stage as catwoman is replaced by a man in a superman costume that only goes to show that he is far too thin to be the man of steel and the strains of some rap hip-hop travesty, which only drives Sharyn further into her drink before making a disgusted face, trying so hard not to gag at the choice of music. It's the joys of karaoke right there. It's then that she hears him, his voice with the smoothness of honey and the richness of the spiced wine of the Autumn Court they both favor coming from right behind her, "It is a shame what they allow people to use to embarrass themselves, isn't it?" It's then that the rich scent of allspice and cinnamon that usually precedes his presence hits her full force and for a moment her knees go weak, the music fading to the background as she turns to find his gorgeous face just there framed, as always, by long hair in the reds, golds, and oranges of autumn along with his piercing amber eyes. "Merrin!" It came out louder than she intended and a few heads turn to stare as she throws her arms around him, burying her face in his neck and inhaling that deep, heady scent that is uniquely him. And pumpkin pie, but mostly him. The gentle strength of his arms wrapping around her waist draws her attention to his dress and she chuckles softly, "You wore a puffy shirt just for me?" Puffy indeed. He's in a loose shirt of bright Halloween orange with a loose, open neck that shows off the top of the tree 'tattoo' that covers his whole chest, currently cast in the brilliant tones of autumn, the tiny leaves seeming to blow and shift in an invisible wind. His legs, like hers, are encased in black leather pants so tight they almost seem to be painted on and she can't stop herself from letting her fingers run over the taught material as if she could feel the flesh beneath, though she freezes when he murmurs, his tone sliding into a more severe register, "I did. But you seem to have forgotten to wear a skirt." Oops. Well, only a small oops. The familiar interplay and complaint brings some color to her cheeks, "I didn't so much forget as decide to really show off my ass tonight. I know you like it when everyone looks but knows they can't touch." It's true, not only does he enjoy it, but so does she, and many of the eyes in the bar are upon them, people jealous of each in one way or another. After a moment, he concedes with a smile and she adds, "And I have a skirt in my bag for later," before tucking a strand of yellow-orange hair behind one pointed ear, careful to avoid the sensitive flesh there, "What are you dressed as, anyway?" His smile is slow and languid, finally tilting his head to steal a long, passionate kiss once the vile karaoke is finished, and she melts into it, pressing against him and savoring the extended contact. It's enough to make her forget she even asked the question and they both let out soft sighs as the kiss ends. Then a slow smirk pulls up his lips and he murmurs, "Why, I'm the Halloween Faerie, can't you tell?" Sharyn smirks and runs her hands over the smooth silk of the shirt, "So I see." She leans in and takes a deep whiff of that heady, spicy smell that is uniquely him and he gives her a playful shove, a knowing smirk on his lips, "Come on, woman, are you going to inhale me all night or are we going to get signed up for something?" Sharyn glances at the stage as singers change again. It's the requisite drunken rendition of "Hey Jude" no karaoke session is really complete without and she takes the opportunity to lean back against his firm chest, tipping her head back to look up at him, "I don't know, Mr. Todd, are we ready for another performance so soon?" His first response is a smooth laugh as he reaches to run a hand over her hair. Sweeney Todd is one of their traditions. Even before they started seeing each other as more than friends all those years ago singing as Todd and Lovitt at karaoke was something they did and now it's become something more: a re-affirmation of their complex feelings for eachother. "Of course, Mrs. Lovitt. It's been a year since they've heard our lovely voices, it seems only fair we give them another performance." She knows he craves the stage in a way she can only imagine, even since his Choice when he gave up his human side in favor of the Fae and left behind the torn, crazy psyche that came with it. He's always craved the stage, the cheers of his fans. At one time, he was even the lead singer for a band that never quite made it pro, though they should have, and here in New Orleans they were reasonably well know. Well known enough that when the pair move to put their names down, another girl, younger than Sharyn, but with a similar build but long blonde hair, moves to intercept them with a bright smile, her tone pitching up to a fangirl squeal, "Oh my god! You're Merrin from Spaced Outsider, right? You've got to be him!" Sharyn cuts her off with a crisp, frigid retort, "Before you ask him to sign your tits remember that those need to be washed." The completely dumbstruck look on the blonde's face makes it entirely worth it even as Sharyn tugs a pad out of one pocket and adds more politely, "This will last longer." An amused smile flickers on her face while she lets him play rock star, it was a rare enough treat for him while he still walked the streets of the real world day to day, let alone now. One arm stays possessively around his waist, though, lest the girl get the wrong idea and, when the necessary evil of allowing someone else to indulge his ego is over, she tugs him around for a proper kiss. Her long fingers dive into his red, orange, and golden yellow hair while her other hand tugs him tight against her, grinding against the inescapable turgid reminder of how long they've been apart while their tongues dance in a pale imitation of what their bodies will do later. They part reluctantly, both smiling and both, for a moment, completely wrapped up in each other, his deep amber eyes meeting her piercing green. Sharyn's hand slides free of his hair to gently stroke his cheek, "I love you, rock star." There's a moment's hesitation. A Fae cannot lie and every time the L-word comes up, he has to for a moment weigh whether or not that uniquely complex human emotion is one he can still express. Then he leans in for a soft, quick kiss that is no less passionate in its brevity, "I love you too." Sharyn's smile is gentle, her eyes promising darker things once they're somewhere more private, "At least one song before we retire." Her hand hesitates awkwardly before tucking some of his ever-lengthening hair behind his pointed ear and for a moment enjoying nothing so much as his spicy aroma, "If all goes well, next year I'll be able to visit for the Equinox." As the song playing unnoticed around them ends, he's almost inhumanly still, his eyes still locked on hers, an odd mix of emotions there, flitting between hope and lust as he murmurs, "Don't make a promise you can't keep." Unlike in previous years, when those words have made her look away, knowing that though she hasn't promised, she can't follow through either, this time she just smiles that small, knowing smile, "I'm almost done with my year as a drudge and there's no reason I can't pass my trials. I'll be home by this time next year. I'll finally-" she hesitates, leaning against him and trying to ignore the next piece that starts up on the stage, "We'll finally have an equinox together again, like our first solstice." A small shudder passes between them as he tugs her against him, pulling her into an almost painfully tight embrace. It's been more than five years since they've been able to share that most special time in his life, when his Court is at the height of its power, with the man she loves. Five and a half years and more since he made his Choice, forever putting that rift between them. Seven years since they first shared eachother's embrace. Eight years since they first met, since she first came to New Orleans. -*-*-*- The sun is blindingly hot in the sky as Sharyn nears the outskirts of New Orleans. She's been on the road for months and it shows in the weight of the worn backpack on her shoulders, the holes in her jeans, and the wear on the end of the staff she's used to walk when she could no longer run... The Tangled Webs of Love Ch. 02 Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who voted on the first chapter of this story. Once again, this story has no actual sex. Next chapter, I promise. The first chapter was something of a teaser, a look at the future these two characters have and now I'm stepping back to write how they got that way. This story will bounce somewhat between their two perspectives and lives as they ebb and flow with eachother. Thank you again for putting up with the slower chapters that will be used for building the characters and I'll be sure to pepper in enough romance to at least keep it interesting. ----- It's mid-June and the sun is blindingly hot in the sky as Sharyn nears the outskirts of New Orleans. She's been on the road for months and it shows in the weight of the worn backpack on her shoulders, the holes in her jeans, and the wear on the end of the staff she's used to walk when she could no longer run. Despite the humidity of the southern swamps, it has been a fine day and she has not been on the road so long that her journey begins to wear. She set out from Ohio in the early chill of fall when her home was no longer afforded her. Even now, as she runs along the roadside, she knows not where her feet are taking her, only that she still has a ways to go. Certainly, she knows not what will develop not quite two years from now. For now, she is young, just turned eighteen. Scrawny from a lack of proper food, but there's a sparkle in her eye as her feet tread surely against the pavement. A sparkle that turns to a startled yell when she treads wrong, her foot catching the edge of a cracked bit of pavement and upsetting her mid-stride and sending her toppling to the pavement. It takes a few moments to regain her breath and once she does all there is at first is a soft, "Ow." The aches of scraped palms and arm are barely registering beyond the painful firing of her synapses, panickedly reporting the state of the ankle. She rolls carefully onto the less injured side, tears springing to her eyes as she tries to rotate that ankle. It isn't broken, but moving it even a little is painful. Her fingers claw against the pavement, reaching for her staff fallen just out of reach. One doesn't walk this far, though, to be stopped by a turned ankle, and she closes her eyes, gritting her teeth as she drags already screaming flesh against the rough pavement until she rolls face first into the grass beside the highway and lays there for a long moment, again having to catch her breath before she can continue. Finally, her fingers wrap around the smooth oak brand, well worn from use and her own attentions and she pulls herself to her feet, leaning heavily on the stout wood to avoid putting weight on the injured ankle. Having grown up on a farm, it's hardly her first sprain, but now the dark outlines of New Orleans' skylines shimmering in the heat seem impossibly far and she's coated in a thin sheen of sweat by the time she moves from the outskirts into the tighter streets of the older inner city. She is, at least, blessed that the streets are not full, it being just past the average lunch hour and far enough after Mardi Gras to be lacking in tourists. It doesn't make the stilting path any easier along old, worn and cracked sidewalks. One busker is, at least, nice enough to point her in the direction of the nearest clinic that accepts walk ins for a reasonable price and she repays him with a few bills from her pocket before limping along her way. Caillis Clinic looks a decidedly odd place, nestled in as it is along Decatur Street between a small curio shop on one side and a two-story apartment on the other. Little does she know as she reaches to open the plain glass door into the small clinic, just how profound an effect it will have on her life. Stepping into the clinic is almost like stepping back in time. Despite the modern storefront with Dr. Sean MacHough and the hours marked out in clear white letters on the glass door, the interior is without electrical devices or, really, any modern contrivance of medicine. Gas flames flicker along the walls of the softly pointed lobby with it's comfortable chairs and a plain wooden desk stained a deep oak protecting the files of patient records against the far wall. Only one hallway stretches back into the clinic, two exam rooms and a storage space. Sharyn is lucky in that the clinic is not busy and Dr. MacHough is seated at the desk, mid-sip of tea and dressed formally, though his white coat hangs on a peg. He is a thin, lanky man with short sandy hair and intelligent brown eyes. Not that it takes much training to see what ails the young lady as she leans heavily on her staff, her green eyes paled with pain now as she murmurs, "I'm sorry, sir. Is the doctor in?" Sean nods, an easy smile on his lips as he stands, reaching for the white coat, "Aye, that would be me." His voice comes out with a melodic Scottish lilt as he nods towards her leg, "Sprain, then? Come on back, I'm Dr. MacHough." He offers her a hand, but she doesn't take it, offering only her name, and, after an awkward pause, he turns to show her back into the exam room, it again conspicuous by its lack of electronics or eve light bulbs. He motions her up onto the exam table, "Well, let's take a look at it, then." It does take an effort for Sharyn to slide up onto the tall exam table and the stout staff bows under her slight weight a moment before she manages to settle safely atop the perch. It takes her but a moment to set the staff aside, removing shoe and sock take longer, heavy boot and worn white sock fall to the floor, revealing ugly bruising already purpling and blooming to the surface of the offending ankle. Despite herself, she winces when he touches her ankle, both from the pain that lances through her when he touches the tender flesh and muscle and from the unexpected zing of static electricity that passes between them. While Sharyn marks this as little more than proof that he shouldn't have carpeting in his hallways, Dr. MacHough examines her face a moment before beginning to wrap and treat the ankle, "Well, there's not much more to be done for this but to wrap it and keep off it for a few weeks while the tissues heal." One of Sharyn's brows arches up, "I was just passing through. I generally keep on the move." "By foot?" MacHough's voice is part incredulity, part surprise, "Well, you'll need to stay off this for at least two weeks. I can prescribe some pain medication but the rest is all time to heal. Are you on some sort of walk-about as part of finishing your apprenticeship?" Even as he asks that, he shifts to stand, moving to a cabinet and rustling around with its contents, which at least gives Sharyn the opportunity to look perplexed without having him see it before she asks, "Apprenticeship?" There's a moment's awkward pause as MacHough turns from the cabinet with a blue air cast cradled in his hands, "Do you know how to use one of these? And, yes, you're clearly a wizard. Surely you've had some training?" "I'm a what?" Clearly, MacHough's words are as meaningless to her as they would be to any of the uninitiated. When her eyes flick to the cast, though, she manages a nod, "Yes, we had similar things for the horses. Thank you. I don't have much money left." The money question seems to flit through MacHough's mind like a blink, already forgotten as he examines the young wizard with no knowledge of who she truly is, "A wizard. You can do-" He pauses, trying a less 'I'm a nutball' line of explanation, "Can you do things like this?" He holds out one hand, gentle cradled palm up and murmurs a soft word, causing water to bubble up there until it slowly overflows, first dripping, then streaming down to the floor before he murmurs another word to cease the fountain, leaving Sharyn for a moment speechless before she nods slightly, "I fill my canteen that way..." MacHough gives an almost imperceptible glance towards the door, then reaches to swing it shut, "You have no formal training?" "Well... I..." Sharyn shrugs, slumping a bit and resting her elbows on her knees, "I mean, I met a few people who could do little tricks and learned from them? It never really seemed like a big deal." And through it all she can't help wondering why she feels she should be embarrassed of this and why this stranger's opinion seems to matter to her. Thankfully, all he does is nod again, "Hedges, then? Well, you need proper training." "Why?" The ever-present question hangs in the air between them, the elephant in the room. Why? Just as the pause begins to become unbearable, MacHugh clears his throat, "Because with training you could do so much more and without it you could hurt or kill someone." That gets her attention and green eyes blink a couple of times, "I would never..." MacHough gives a stark shake of his head, "Not on purpose, but magic is driven by our emotions. I'm sure you've noticed you get more power when you're upset or angry or happy, right?" He accepts her nod as silent agreement, "Well, imagine that you're angry at someone, you might use it against them, right?" Another silent nod is all he gets in response, "Then you might kill them, and that would be bad. Training will help you learn to control your magic and your emotions." Sharyn nods again, but her eyes narrow, examining him more skeptically, "Is that an offer or a suggestion while kicking me out the door?" MacHough sighs, taking in the jaded look and know her expectation is clearly to be sent on her way, just like every other person who's taught her a trick or two has, then settles into his chair a bit deeper, "Well, I haven't had an apprentice before, but I can't very well send you on your way untrained. I know a place you can stay while you heal," he nods indicatively towards her ankle, "And we can see if this thing might work out. If not, I can see if anyone else might be up for the challenge." ----- Thanks for Reading, the next chapter is coming soon and will be from Merrin's perspective/life instead of Sharyn's. The Tangled Webs of Love Ch. 03 Author's Note: Thank you again for the votes and comments. Things will be continuing from Merrin's perspective for a few chapters before returning to Sharyn's. ***** The blonde beneath him cries out as Merrin thrusts home within her. He doesn't know her name, but then again, he doesn't really care to, either. Knowing her name would create a connection he's not looking for in this act. The summer solstice is around the corner and it brings his Fae blood more and more into aspect, sometimes driving him nearly mad with the need to give in to his darker, more sinful desires. It's not that he's an inconsiderate lover, but they both entered into this knowing that they would have some fantastic sex tonight and likely never meet again. Cat-like eyes and pointed ears, the only indications of his heritage, are hidden now beneath the illusory magic that came with them. He doesn't bother to hide the oak tree tattoo on his chest that quite literally grew in along with some of his powers. She's too far gone to realize that it moves on its own as if blown by an invisible wind and since she'll never see it again, the fact that its current bright summer bloom will eventually fade to autumnal orange and red and thus through all the seasons isn't something she'll have the opportunity to notice. He doesn't smell like pumpkin pie yet, that will come later. Now there is only him and tonight's beautiful distraction. A pleased groan is ripped from his throat as she thrusts her hips up to meet his as he drives into her again and she matches him, her nails digging into his firm shoulders as he sets a strong, steady pace designed to bring her to her peak at least once more before he finally allows himself release. It's the only way to prolong it enough, the only way to take the edge off. His seemingly brown eyes watch her blue ones as they ebb and flow together. They've been at it for a couple of hours now and she's already getting that starry-eyed look that tells him this will have to be his last go lest she become attached. Not that it stops him from letting his arms slide forward until he's resting on his elbows, nuzzling his nose against the side of her neck as he lets his pace pick up, eliciting a soft moan every time he bottoms out in her tight sheath. He smirks against that sensitive flesh as she mistakes him for God, her breath hitching in her throat as she climbs higher and higher, long since having lost count of how many orgasms she's had tonight in the hours since she brought the strange man home from the bar, but she has at least one more in her and it's building faster than she can process. Every time her eyes manage to focus on the beautiful man above her, her body just heats up more until they give up entirely, rolling up into her head with a deep, stuttering moan, her back arching up until as much of her as can be is pressed against his chest, fingers digging into the corded muscles along his back. After a couple more thrusts, he arches away from her, freezing his motion completely buried in her tight channel, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he releases himself into yet another condom. Even Changelings have to worry about STDs and unwanted pregnancy, after all. In that brief moment, his glamors falter, revealing the truth of him, but neither of them are looking and by the time he's collapsed on top of her they're safely back in place: secret protected. As breathing slows and their bodies begin to cool as the air conditioning evaporates the sheen of sweat brought on by the exercise, Merrin hoists himself back up and slowly disengages from her, "I should go." Because that's what every woman wants to hear after mind-blowing half-drunk sex. She blinks a few times as she processes his words, then her face slowly morphs to a scowl, pleasure fleeting in the face of a brush off, "Go then." There's a moment of pause where it seems he might actually feel guilty, but it passes as quickly as it came and he pushes the rest of the way up until he's standing at the foot of the bed. He's not actually posing, but it seems that way as he lingers there, oddly backlit by the light filtering in under the doorway so that his smooth hips and the curly hair of his pubes almost seeming to lift up his semi-flaccid penis. That part's always ready for more, but Merrin doesn't need another stalker, so he turns and stoops to retrieve his pants, finding her eyes glued to his rear when he tugs them up, "I know it's fantastic, but it's about to walk out the door, I'm sure you can find another." "You don't have to go." He looks back, brown eyes sliding over her sweet little body and well-proportioned breasts before settling back on her face, but not her eyes. He doesn't have to look her in the eyes to see that pleading, half-addicted look. He stuffs himself away and zips up his pants, just stuffing his underwear in a pocket, "Yeah... I think I do." He pulls on his shirt, leaving the front open while he loops the tie over his shoulders. She starts to stand, perhaps to ask him to stay, but he doesn't give her the opportunity. He just turns, shoes in hand, and walks out the door. He can hear her fumbling from the bed and across her floor as he makes his way calmly down the hallway, buttoning his shirt up as he goes and knowing he should have left earlier and not fucked her that last time. The worst part is that this close to the solstice, his body is already begging for more. The walk home in the muggy heat is nothing the Summer Changeling is disused to. In fact, it's almost comfortable. Before he pledged himself to Summer, it was worse, but now? Now it's just heat. He doesn't bother to tie the tie, letting the ends flippty-flap in the breeze as he walks, which at least takes the edge off a touch, but only a touch. As he pushes the door open to the house he shares with several friends, he's hoping that even at this late hour at least one of them might be awake, but the lights are out. He whispers a soft, "Hello?" but the place is well and truly dead. It's not really a surprise, like the other children of Summer are out seeking their own vices and there are only a few others in the house beyond that. Through sheer force of willpower, he resists the urge to turn on all the lights or turn the TV up really loud. Harial, who owns the building, might not appreciate Merrin waking up his children, so Merrin settles for his other balming vice. The kitchen light isn't bright enough to wake others when he turns it on. Now that he's home, the energy that drove him through the streets has ebbed and he finds himself groping awkwardly at the top of the fridge until he pulls down a bottle of whiskey. He considers a glass, but passes it by, moving to crash across the couch, taking a sip right from the bottle. The Jack may burn going down, but it's a good burn, returning him from starting to sober up to drunk. Drunk is better, things don't hurt when you're drunk. Maybe if he'd stayed... But he knows it wouldn't have worked out. Women and his sexual appetite don't mix well in the long run. He learned that one the hard way. The Tangled Webs of Love Ch. 04 A/N: Thanks again to all my readers. No sex again this chapter, more development and growth for the cast. More Sharyn next chapter and thank you again for the positive feedback and voting. ***** And that is how they find him in the morning, snoring loudly in his disheveled clothes, the now empty bottle tucked in the crook of his arm. Harian stops just long enough for another harsh snore to convince him his friend was alive before hurrying his children off to school. Cheyenne, though she cares for him, passes him by next with little more than a cursory glance. She has to be at work and it's hardly the first time she's seen him like this, especially coming up to the Solstice. It's his brothers in the Summer Court who take the time to actually take care of him. Chivalrous Cowan with his long ginger locks and old-world attitude reaches him first while Sampson, the half-satyr, is still abed. He gives his head a shake and reaches to ease the empty bottle out of its little nest and moving to the kitchen to dump it into the glass bin with the rest, "Oh, Merrin." Really, not all of the discarded bottles of beer, ale, whiskey, and bourbon are Merrin's, but they all know he's responsible for a good portion of them. He does a quick mental count before letting the lid shut again. He turns to pull a glass out of the cabinet, letting Merrin continue to sleep while he fills up the morning cup of hangover treatment at the kitchen faucet. He knows just how much pain Merrin is likely to be in when he wakes and he does try to help his friend through these times. It's something that's always repaid to him. By the time he returns to the living room, Merrin has managed to roll over, one arm hanging off the side of the couch, his face mooshed humorously against the arm with his other arm looped over it, waving oddly in the air where it dangles with hefty snore. Anyone who didn't live with Merrin would be surprised the slim, toned man could produce such a sonorous sound. Cowan has heard it many times, though, and merely accounts it to his talent as a singer. He sets the glass of water aside and moves to lean over the back of the couch, prodding his index and middle finger into the small of Merrin's back, "Wake up, Merr. You're drooling on the couch." When Merrin doesn't immediately stir, Cowan nudges him a bit more forcefully and he startles suddenly awake, rolling defensively away from the probing digits and onto the floor with a high-pitched yelp followed by that unmistakable 'oh, hi ground!' THUMP. Merr groans softly, his golden eyes with their cat-like slits fluttering open, still bleary from the amount of alcohol he consumed before slipping into the stupor he's no longer enjoying. Ever so slowly, they focus on Cowan, slurred speech only complicating the matter now, "Mmf, Cowan? Wha' time is it?" "Ten. Maybe eleven. I didn't really look, just figured it was time to wake you up before the weave from the upholstery became a permanent addition." Cowan's hair is far longer than Merrin's and straight, falling down his shoulders and around his face while he peers over the couch at his friend, rubbing indicatively at one cheek. It would have been imprinted right here. "You going to live? When did you get in?" "I dunno," Merrin gives his face a scrub as if that would magically make it presentable, "Two or three? It was dark out?" "That's a lot of hours that could cover, Merr." Cowan gestures towards the glass of water, "Bad night?" "Yes... and also no. Shouldn't you be off hunting in Summer or something?" Merrin knows that, as close as he is with Cowan, they're different people and where his Fae blood drives him to balm his nerves with sex and alcohol, Cowan is at home in the forests of the Summer Court and that would be more likely to calm the ever-mounting wildness as the solstice approaches. "Eh, might be calmer there, but I have a job. And what would you do without me?" Deciding it's safe, Cowan hoists himself easily over the back of the couch and settles into one of the cushions where he can reach and offer the water glass to Merrin more actively this time. Merrin finally pulls himself to a sitting position, still ignoring the water to rub at the back of his head, "Still on the couch, for one. I don't have to work until this afternoon, you could have let me sleep." "I could have." Cowan wiggles the glass of water at Merrin again and smirks when his fellow Summerling finally takes it and downs the whole thing in two swallows, "But I know you, Merrin. What was she like and how much did she beg you to stay?" Now it's Merrin's turn to laugh, though there's a sad, rueful edge to it, "She was pretty. I think. I'd had a few drinks." "Like that's unusual." "Shut up, Cowan." Merrin oofs, slowly getting to a stand so he can move to refill the glass and raising his voice so it carries easily to where his friend sits, trying so hard not to laugh at his half-drunk, half-hung-over state, "She didn't beg as much as the last one, but I didn't give her much chance." Cowan looks over as Merrin re-enters the room and sighs, "You don't even know her name, do you?" "Does it matter? She was willing, we both enjoyed it. There are no debts." Merrin flops onto the couch beside Cowan and takes a slower sip of the water now, nursing at his would a strong drink, "It's too bad you're straight as your arrows, Cowan." Cowan wraps an arm around Merrin's neck, promptly bending him a bit to give him a solid noogie, "Sorry, Merr, you're just not my type." The headlock doesn't last long, mostly because Cowan's not really trying to contain Merrin, allowing his friend to worm loose from his arm and punch him on the arm, "I know, I know." He looks down into his empty glass, for the water became a casualty to their rough housing, "Can't blame a guy for hoping." "Well, you can, but it's hardly fair. Who doesn't want a piece of Cowan?" The new voice belongs to Sampson. Tall and lanky, he's almost unhealthily thin, though it accentuates the squareness of his jaw and the height of his cheeks just below his unnaturally piercing blue eyes. What really stands out, though, is the pair of curved horns that sprout up from his currently water-slicked hair. He appears to have come straight from the shower, right down to the crisp white towel wrapped around his waist that seems to be all he's wearing, leaving his smooth, pale chest and recently shaved legs in clear view. The sudden arrival of the third Summerling makes both Merrin and Cowan jump, but Sampson continues on as if he's not basically naked and sneaking up on them, "That being said... What are you doing down here instead of still sacked out, Merrin? You've got the afternoon shift." Cowan gets his words in before Merrin can, "Because I found him down here in the first place. He's just lucky Harian didn't let his kids use him as a trampoline." "He wouldn't." Merrin huffs the slightest of laughs as he stands, "Kids have school." He waggles the empty glass at the pair and moves back to the kitchen, "Looking hot, by the way, Sampson." The pair can tell by the unmistakable clinking of bottles that the clear liquid in the glass when he returns to the living room is not water, but neither will goad their friend by mentioning it. It's Sampson who keeps the silence from becoming awkward by asking, "Long night?" "Not as long as I'd have liked, but you know how people get when they get a taste of my magical dick. First it's 'oh, oh, don't stop,' then it's 'how dare you,' then 'no, don't leave.' She didn't stumble into the hallway like the last one, at least." Sampson snorts, giving him a clout on the shoulder, "You're losing your touch, Merr." "I'll touch you, Sam." It barely takes a moment for Merrin to thunk his glass down on the table and lunge over the back of the couch towards Sampson, who dances back, leaving the cat-eyed Sidhe flailing awkwardly over the back of the couch while Cowan tugs on his shirt, "Hey, hey, I don't want to see you two like that." There's a moment of flailing before Merrin manages to tip the couch over backwards, spilling both him and Cowan across the floor. It's hard to say who it is who runs into Sampson's legs and topples him into the pile of Summer Changelings, leaving them all smiling and laughing as they're tangled together.