Ship It(2)

Smokey knows he shouldn’t trust the demon in front of him, that there’s a more-than-fair chance that this is all a trick to catch him with his guard down, but the truth is, he’s tired. Tired of the battle. Tired of being on guard. Tired of fighting solo. The demon portal is open. The Commander has returned. The world is on the brink of total demon rule.

Nothing matters, except that Smokey screwed up yet again. And he’s alone.

But Heart, for some reason Smokey can’t comprehend, forgives him.

Smokey keeps his eyes firmly on the ground in front of him. “I tried to stop it, but it wasn’t enough. I didn’t change anything.”

Heart grasps his hand, and the heat from Heart’s fingers sends a wave of warmth up Smokey’s arm. “You changed me,” Heart says, low and rough, and it seems impossible. “I know you think we have to be enemies because of how we were born…” The pain in Smokey’s arm is barely a whimper now, ignored as he tries to make sense of the words coming out of Heart’s mouth, the feeling of Heart’s fingers lacing into his. “It doesn’t have to be that way. We want the same things.”

What does Smokey want?

He knows, of course. He’s always known.

“Heart…” Smokey whispers.

Heart smiles. “If you want me, I’m here, I’m not leaving.” The two lock eyes as the rest of the forest fades away. “I’ll stay with you…” he starts, then waits, the words from their first meeting hanging in the air for Smokey to finish.

“’Til the dirt hits my chest,” Smokey says.

And like that, Smokey’s head feels light, his eyes are clear, his arm doesn’t hurt, and everything makes sense.

Smokey meets Heart’s deep brown eyes and sees him waiting for an opening, waiting for permission. Smokey tips forward, and before his brain can stop his body, their mouths fit together, hot and solid and exactly what Smokey has been waiting a very long time for.

Smokey wraps his hands around Heart, one of them traveling up to curl into his hair, the other pressing into his back, bringing him closer, closer. The heat of Heart’s breath sends a thrill through Smokey’s spine, and he can’t believe they’re finally kissing, and he can’t believe it took this long.

As Heart’s mouth grows more insistent, Smokey feels an aching heat grow in his stomach, like a sun threatening to turn supernova, the enormity of this kiss overwhelming his senses, blinding out his brain.

There’s a crack of thunder and a flash of lightning, and Heart is pulling off his shirt, his warm brown skin smooth over taut muscles, bearing the marks of many battles, including one scar that runs long and thin down his chest that, Smokey realizes with horror, he remembers inflicting.

Doubt creeps in.

This isn’t right. They’re enemies, not lovers.

Smokey pulls away and turns his back on Heart, all the feelings hitting him in a crush at once. He’s tried to kill Heart so many times. What if this is a trap? What if Smokey’s letting his feelings get in the way of good sense? Does he even know where his battle-ax is?

“What is it?” Heart asks, worry in his voice. He follows Smokey’s line of sight to the ax, lying on the ground a few feet away. “You want to kill me? Now’s your chance. I won’t even fight back.”

Smokey shakes his head. “I’ve already hurt you too much.”

“Oh, these?” Smokey peeks over his shoulder to see Heart trace the shapes of the scars on his body. “My skin heals. Just don’t hurt my heart”—he pauses, smiling at his joke before he even says it—“because I have one of those, too, you know.” Heart’s eyes twinkle annoyingly, but Smokey isn’t in a joking mood.

He has to know. Smokey turns back and fixes his eyes firmly on the dirt in front of him and asks, low, “Is this real?”

He hears Heart take a long breath in, then step forward, hooking his chin over Smokey’s shoulder. Smokey tenses, but as Heart slides his hand across Smokey’s stomach, lifting his shirt, he feels the tension leave his body. When Heart subtly rocks forward so Smokey can feel the swell straining stiffly against the fabric of his pants, Smokey gasps out a breath and closes his eyes, letting the desire course through him.

Heart whispers in Smokey’s ear, breath hot on his skin, “It’s real for me. Is it real for you?”

And so, like a book sliding into place on a shelf, Smokey makes the decision to allow himself to find a home in Heart’s arms. He leans back into Heart, letting their bodies notch together. Heart is all skin and steady pressure, and Smokey wants nothing as much as he wants this. Heart slides his open hand down Smokey’s chest, over his belly, dipping under his waistband, and curls it around his—


HMM. SOOOO… HMM. I have to pause writing for a moment because this is the first time I’ve ever tried to do a scene with this kind of choreography, and I don’t actually know how the next part works.

Frankly, it can be a challenge writing explicit gay fanfic as a teenage girl virgin who’s never done any of these things before.

I glance around the school library, but the only other person here is Ms. Wignall, our librarian, who’s shelving books and not paying any attention to me, so I go ahead and try to mime Heart’s movements. He’s about to give Smokey the handjob of his life, but, like, from behind? Is that a thing? I feel like it could be. Having never given a life-altering handjob—from the front or behind—I’m a little mystified as to how it works. Does the wrist go this way or that way?