storybrooke: john, kit, + james WHO: John Wolfe (Remus Lupin), Kit White (Sirius Black), and James Peterson (James Potter) WHEN: Backdated to April 1 WHERE: Their house! WHAT: Boyfriends bein' boyfriends and planning to cause some trouble on April Fools' Day, but plans keep getting derailed. WARNINGS: N/A
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Kit’d had the day off from the pet sanctuary, so he’d slept it until well past noon and crawled briefly out of bed in order to get a bowl of cereal. Cereal secured, he’d crawled back into bed for another hour. It was rare when he had their place to himself, and he’d never much liked it if he was being honest. The silence was too resounding, and there was no chance of anything happening unless Kit made it happen. No, it was much better when James or John were here, because then everything was full of possibility.
He’d eventually -- and finally -- gotten up for a beer and to a roll a joint, which he was mostly done smoking when he heard the familiar sound of a key in the lock -- John. Kit perked up with dog-like interest.
He was still in his underwear -- hadn’t quite found his way to getting around to putting on clothes -- which he fervently hoped would be an excellent way of riling John up.
…
John was often busy. He was a full-time student and worked as a dishwasher at the diner at night, fervently trying to work his way through school. Student loans were still going to crush him, but he could at least try.
It was one of those rare days when he wasn't on the schedule, and that meant coming home after classes and finally having the chance to relax. He was already fantasizing about what he'd do. He'd lie back, he'd light some candles, he'd grab a book he'd been meaning to read and he would read the shit out of it.
Stepping inside, he slumped back against the door to close it and let out a heavy, raspy sigh. Peace and quiet, finally.
…
“There’s a couple puffs left if you so desire, J,” Kit said, suspecting that John didn’t know he was there yet. He wriggled his eyebrows regardless and waggled the joint in mid-air.
He also slouched down a little further in the couch and spread his legs more -- just a tad. Not enough that John would notice notice. But just enough so that he’d be aware of how Kit had decided to forego all the pesky clothing that John never did seem to ever getting off. While it was true that Kit didn’t mind wearing things once they had gone a bit tatty, John was usually the one ripping them in the first place. ...
Oh. Kit was here. He did have the day off, didn't he?
John waved a hand in front of his face, shaking his head. "You know damn well I can't smoke," he said, setting down his satchel and bending over to unlace his shoes. "And I shouldn't even be around smoke. Tsk."
There were a lot of rules surrounding what John Wolfe was and wasn't supposed to do. His health was fragile, he'd spent the better part of his childhood as the kid who was dying, and while he was expected to survive well past his twenties there were a great many rules to follow in order to keep his ass alive and able to breathe.
But, eh. Sometimes they were more like guidelines.
When Kit had pot in the house it was soothing, and while John never took a hit of it directly he didn't often seem terribly bothered with it being in the air. He wasn't supposed to be around smoke. He wasn't supposed to have overly vigorous sex, either, but … guidelines.
…
Kit rolled his eyes when John made a fuss over how he wasn’t supposed to be around smoke. Technically, Kit knew this. But technically, it never had stopped him from smoking in the house, because John, arguably, was the healthiest out of all three of them with his guidelines.
“If you come over here, I’ll make it up to you,” Kit answered, deserting the joint in favoring of lounging back on the couch, his legs sprawled in front of him.
…
John rolled his shoulders, shrugging out of his jacket. "You know, I had plans, Kit."
He wandered into the room, circling the coffee table. He was almost unbearably shy in new situations with new people, but he walked through this house like he was its king. Here, he was comfortable, here he felt accepted and loved, here he could sink down to his knees and crawl forward like an animal on the prowl and press an affectionate kiss to Kit's knee.
"Plans that involved private, personal time with a book. Perhaps candlelight. Perhaps a warm bath. I'd expected a few hours of being entirely alone, without being interrupted or nagged or provoked."
Because that was what Kit was doing, provoking.
…
“Provoked,” Kit answered cheekily, grinning up at John with the most shit-eating grin he could manage. He could have gone for the tactic of pointing out that neither the book, bath, nor candle were going anywhere. But where was the fun in that?
“Who’s provoking you?” Kit asked. “Is it the bath?” Kit persisted cheekily. “I can go fight that porcelain bastard if you need me to, J. You know I would.”
…
John crawled his way up over Kit so he could slump on top of him, invading his personal space and settling his weight on him. With a little whine, he leaned in and kissed Kit's throat. "Yeah, yeah, sure, you go fight the bathtub, you go ahead and do that," he murmured, pawing at Kit's chest for more attention. Kit was being coy and coy drove him insane.
Not that John didn't do coy. He was exceptional at it. He was quiet, he was shy, he seemed prudish and repressed until one got him at home. But coy was his job.
…
Kit felt a warm surge of satisfied success when John decided to slump on top of him. There was something peculiarly wonderful about being nearly naked and feeling John’s warmth on top of him, the fabric of his clothes a bit rough against Kit’s skin.
“I will,” Kit answered, catching one of John’s hands with his own, lacing their fingers together when John started touching his chest. “I’ll tell it that it monopolizes far too much of your time when you’re naked.”
He squeezed John’s hand and then leaned down so that he could catch him in a bit of a rough kiss. He didn’t really want John to be thinking about that tub at all, so he set about distracting him, sinking his teeth down into John’s lower lip with marked intention.
...
"Are you going to write it a strongly-worded letter?" John asked, his voice low and soft. There was always a hoarse quality to his voice, a raspiness that came with breathing difficulty and coughing. It was sad to know why his voice sounded that way, but it was kind of hot in the moment.
He liked this arrangement. His two best friends were open and available with the physical affection that he'd lacked most of his life, and it meant that John crawled all over them and requested that attention on a near-constant basis.
"I'm sure it will issue a public apology, Kit," he murmured against Kit's mouth. The rasp in his voice was stronger than usual, his breaths shorter than normal. He had bad days, sometimes, and right now it was easiest to blame the smoke in the room that he was trying to ignore.
…
“No,” Kit murmured against John’s mouth. “I’ll dictate a strongly worded letter to the tub, and i’ll have you write it down for me.”
He let his hands journey down in between them so that he could start undoing the buttons of John’s cardigan.
He let his mouth wander lazily across John’s until his were slanted and pressed to the corner of John’s mouth.
“Make sure you record the tub’s apology to me,” Kit mumbled, pushing the cardigan off John’s body.
…
John rolled his shoulders, sliding the cardigan off his arms. He had a Mountain Goats t-shirt underneath, washed so many times it was nearly sheer. "I feel like I need a list of the things you've said to me while taking off my clothes," he said, with a curious little tip of his head. "Now you want me to write a letter to a bathtub. It's very sexy, Kit, thank you."
He nipped at Kit's lower lip, tugging a little. John, apparently, liked to bite.
…
“Does James give you such good dirty talk,” Kit asked, grinning lopsided at John for a moment. “No. No, he doesn’t.”
He ran his hands down over John’s chest, letting one linger above a nipple, which he began to trace with the edge of his thumbnail through the thin fabric of John’s shirt.
Kit hummed quietly in the back of his throat when John sank his teeth into his lower lip. His skin vibrated with awareness of everywhere they were touching. He spread his legs a bit more, slotting John more neatly in between them.
...
John settled in, making a bit of a show with how he squirmed, making sure to wriggle against him before making himself more comfortable. "Jamie doesn't tell me to sweet-talk the household appliances," he murmured, nuzzling Kit's jaw and pressing soft, adoring kisses to his ear.
He had to pause a moment, resting his forehead on Kit's shoulder, just to take in a few deep, steadying breaths. "You weren't just sitting here, mostly naked, hoping for me to show up, were you?"
…
“I wasn’t tell you to sweet talk anything,” Kit answered cheekily, reaching down to start rolling up John’s T-shirt. “I was telling you to fight the damn thing.”
He ran one hand down John’s side and then along his back, his fingers digging in a bit when he reached John’s shoulder blades.
“Do you like that, J?” Kit breathed, turning his head so he could murmur the words into John’s ear. “The idea of me just lounging about all day, waiting for you to come home and fuck me?”
...
John knew Kit. He knew that Kit got a rise out of riling him up, that he did his best to provoke him and get him to snap, to tease and play and talk dirty until John gave up and tackled him down to the floor.
Usually, it worked, but John's response to Kit's sexy little purr was to shake his head, turn away a little, and cough into his hand.
"Yes---but---yes, hold on."
Leave it to John to be so kind as to answer the question despite the fact that he was horribly unsexy at the moment.
…
This was the best week of the year. It had kicked off with his birthday, and would end on April Fool’s. James considered that an excellent excuse to do whatever the fuck he wanted (although that really was no different from what he did every other day, week, and month of the year). On this particular day, he stopped on his way home (from doing absolutely nothing productive) to get them some food, and walked into the house with a big, greasy bag of burgers and fries swinging from one hand and a box of fireworks under the other arm.
He followed the smell of pot and murmur of voices to find his friends on the couch, and plopped his offerings down on the coffee table nearby. First the bag of cheeseburgers, and then the real prize: fireworks.
“Dinner’s here,” he said, and then (absentmindedly, with the air of someone who knew he wasn’t going to be listened to, but was saying it anyway), “You shouldn’t smoke when John’s around, Kitten.”
--
It was both a surprise -- and not at all -- when James suddenly entered the room. It broke the moment certainly more than John’s coughing fit, and Kit found his attention wandering toward the bag of food that James had brought with him.
“I was smoking before John was here,” Kit corrected, but without much malice. “Go open the window and turn the fan on so we can air the room out.”
He turned his attention back toward John, pressing a kiss to his mouth, although this one was brief -- more friendly than sexual.
“Do you want to eat first?” he asked.
…
John would never complain about the smoke. It was stupid of him not to, but he never wanted to bother anybody. He didn't like drawing attention to the fact that he struggled to breathe, even if Kit and James both were more than aware. The last thing he wanted to do was nag.
He rubbed his hand against his chest, clearing his throat, and pressed a little kiss to Kit's mouth. "Food first. The rest later," he murmured. After he had his meds, after his airway was more clear. Kit liked things rough.
He gave Kit another kiss before rolling off of him, sliding down to sit heavily on the floor. "Ooh. Ooh, what's this?" he asked, picking up one of the fireworks.
…
“It’s your smoke. You do it.” James was seated already on one of the chairs nearby, and loathe to get up again. Plus, there was the fact that he really didn’t like doing what he was told, even by one of his best friends.
He picked a cheeseburger out of the bag and raised it to his mouth, eying it lovingly before taking a bite. “Fireworks,” he answered, through a mouth full of meat.
--
“Jamie, you lazy fuck,” Kit half-heartedly complained, even though it was his smoke. Once John had moved off of him, he got up as well and went over to open one of their windows and turned on the overhead fan.
That done, he sauntered back over to where John and James were. He dropped down on the ground next to John and grabbed up his own cheeseburger, although he was also eyeing the firework that John held.
“What are you planning to do with those?” Kit asked with a grin.
…
John turned the firework over between his fingers, starting to smile. "Leave it to Jamie to liven up a Friday night, mm? I imagine we're going to set them off somewhere inconvenient and hilarious."
He wasn't necessarily comfortable holding a live explosive, and he gingerly set it back down in order to grab a burger for himself.
…
“I bet that’s the first time you’ve gotten off your ass all day,” James retorted, more amused by the banter than anything else. Kit had done it anyway, so there was no reason to be annoyed. He kicked his legs up on the same table, shoving the box over a bit with his toes and crossing his ankles.
He had lifted his burger halfway to his mouth, but then paused and grinned at them over it, wicked and mischievous. “April Fool’s.”
--
“I must have forgotten all the times when you’ve been oh so helpful and productive on your days off, James,” Kit quipped.
He took a bite of his burger as he began to ruminate on the places they could stick James’ newly acquired contraband.
“I think we should stick the whole lot in Dean’s car,” Kit declared through a mouthful of food. …
John frowned, pausing in unwrapping his food. "What? No, oh my God, we can't put fireworks in Dean's car," he said, sounding quietly horrified. He didn't like Dean, simply because Kit didn't like Dean, but he didn't want anyone getting hurt, or any serious damage done.
"Besides, Dean can sue the pants off of you if you do something like that."
…
“And it’s a pretty car,” James added, possibly more helpfully. He automatically disliked the man for Kit’s sake as well, but he really liked the car. “Let’s blow up something uglier, instead.”
He paused for dramatic effect, then added, “Like the library.”
--
Well. He was most certainly taking at least one for the tailpipe, although it seemed better to keep that to himself with the kind of reception that the initial pitch had received. Besides, Dean wouldn’t sue him.
“The library?” Kit asked, laughing. “You’re going to make poor John weep tears of blood over the thought of so many damaged books.”
…
"I don't want to cause any trouble," John said primly. He was a bit of a pushover, and if James and Kit campaigned hard enough for doing some damage, he'd end up going along with it. This was about as hard as he'd fight -- he never wanted to hurt anyone or cause damage, or make a prank feel serious or mean. Sometimes he succeeded with a little gentle course-correcting. Sometimes he didn't.
He picked at his cheeseburger, opening the bun and setting the tomatoes to one side.
…
“Don’t have to burn the books,” James said, waving one hand dismissively. “Just think about it. It’s the quietest place in town. Bet those librarians would lose their shit if fireworks went off.” He grinned. “We could do ‘em more than once. A couple at a time. Then let them think they’re safe. Then set off another. And another a couple hours later.”
--
Kit couldn’t help snorting when John said that he didn’t want to cause any trouble.
“I got bad news for you, J,” Kit said, nudging John’s leg with his toes. “We’re going to cause trouble by setting off fireworks anywhere in town.”
He listened to James’ plan thoughtfully for a couple of seconds.
“We could set them off from the roof,” Kit said. “That would definitely give them a scare without burning any books. We’d need to find a couple of routes to be able to get up and down if we’re going to manually set off a couple of different rounds, though.”
…
"Getting up onto the library roof is easy," said John, taking one of the pickles and popping it into his mouth. "And if we're really going to drive them crazy, we need to start soon, or the library's going to close before we have a chance to be really effective."
Even if he hemmed and hawed over whether or not this was a good idea, he already was drawing up plans in his head for what would and wouldn't work.
…
James nodded along with Kit’s idea, but when John started to talk, his face lit up into a shit-eating grin. “See, this is why I love you, Pup.”
He swallowed the last bite of his burger and got up, briefly, only to plop down right next to John and nudge him playfully in the ribs. “You act all proper, and then you go and use that beautiful brain of yours to make all our plans go perfect.”
--
Kit let out a snort of laughter when John added his two cents and then at James’ analysis of John’s agreement -- it was funny because it was true. John tried to stay uninvolved, but he usually did come up with some angle that him or James would have forgotten.
He leaned over and snuffled the space just beneath John’s ear.
“Tell me about that big brain of yours,” Kit said, both mimicking James’ voice and talking overly breathy.
…
John forgot all about the fact that he had food in front of him. With James on one side and Kit on the other, it was easy to forget just about anything.
He'd never pictured himself in a situation like this, but then again, he'd never pictured himself living past fifteen or sixteen, anyway. He'd barely considered the idea of dating, and here he was, in a committed relationship with the two most important people in his life. He didn't have to choose, he didn't have to feel disconnected with one to connect with another, and ---
And the sex was good.
The sex was obscenely, ridiculously good.
He tipped his head to expose more of his throat for Kit to pay attention to, all while turning to press an affectionate kiss to James's mouth. "I'm so clever," he murmured. "I'm so achingly clever, it drives both of you insane." He snickered, nipping at James's chin. "That's what you really want me for, my mind."
…
“Mmhm,” James murmured, a muffled sound of agreement against John’s mouth. He lowered his hand to John’s knee, and then to his thigh, giving it a suggestive squeeze. “Obviously. It’s all about your big, clever brain.”
--
Kit snickered when John decided to go along with the game. He pressed a soft kiss to the skin above John’s pulse as a reward and then trailed his mouth down along the column of his neck. He smoothed his mouth over the curve of John’s shoulder when he arrived there, his eyes flitting up to watch John and James.
“Tell us about something you learned in class,” Kit prompted coyly. He straightened to nip John’s earlobe.
…
John couldn't help laughing, and that laughing caused a little cough. He ducked his head, reaching up to sift his hand through Kit's hair. "Do you really want me to go into detail about advanced literary theory, because I wasn't aware that we were going to take a nap instead of setting off fireworks."
He liked the attention, he had to admit. He liked feeling wanted, he liked feeling like the center of not just one person's universe, but two. Did that make him selfish? Maybe, but John had never been very good at making choices, and if he could compromise, he would.
He had to wonder if this counted as a compromise, or just an ideal arrangement. It wasn't perfect -- they had their fights, and nurturing two relationships was harder than nurturing one, especially when James and Kit were fighting and John had no idea how to stand up to either of them.
With a little whine of protest, he reached out to grab one of the fireworks and lightly tap James with it.
"Focus. Focus, both of you. I know I'm entertaining, but we've got some explosive plans."