10-

 

 

“…Swordrush?” Locke’s voice cut across the table’s silence. “You’re a SWORDRUSH?!”

 

“Yes, and thank you for shouting it out,” Aidenai smiled at him.

 

“AIDENAI FUCKING SWORDRUSH!”

 

“Actually, I don’t have a middle name,” the assassin grinned at him.

 

“Seems as good as any,” Sage muttered.

 

“Anything else jarringly important you haven’t mentioned? That a wig on your head?” Locke growled, and Aidenai put a protective hand on his hair. “Maybe you’re a girl? Or my long-lost brother, or a zombie or something? That’d explain the whole non-dead thing.”

 

“Ohhhh, so YOU’RE the corpse!” Sage beamed, and Aidenai blinked. “Oooo, this’ll be FUN...”

 

“Excuse me?” Aidenai frowned, only to have Locke slap him. “WHAT are you doing?”

 

“I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA, BUT IT’S SURE AS HELL MAKING ME FEEL BETTER!” Locke roared, and punched the stunned assassin in the shoulder.

 

Aidenai gaped at Locke’s livid face. “OW.”

 

“Uh, maybe we should break them up,” Dante frowned at the scene. The white-haired assassin was hunched over against the wall as Locke loomed over him, right hand still clenched in a fist as he stood on his knees on the cushion, glaring death at the older man.

 

“No, see, they’ve gotta work of the sexual tension,” Sage grinned, and Dante rolled his eyes, but complied. In these situations, the blue-haired man tended to have the best opinion, even if it was for the wrong reasons. “Plus, if they REALLY get into it, we might get to see some mud wrestling!”

 

“…I think I’m gonna break them up.” Dante winced at the mental picture.

 

Sage frowned. “Honestly, how can you call yourself normal with moral ideas like that? It’s not natural.”

 

Dante just stared at him. “I weep for the future of Tormiad.”

 

“PLEASE stop hitting me,” Aidenai groaned.

 

“You could always fight back, you know,” Sage said over Locke’s growling, meeting Aidenai’s frantic eyes under the makeshift shield of his arms. “Self-defense is perfectly polite.”

 

“And it’s LOCKE. Manners are wasted on him,” Dante shrugged.

 

“Actually…” Aidenai said, and in a single fluid movement had grabbed Locke by the back of his jacket and was dragging him away from the booth, to the startled expressions of Palma and company. “Excuse us. We need to have a talk.”

 

He didn’t see Sage’s knowing elbowing of Dante, of course, because he was too busy trying to avoid Locke’s wayward fists. Okay, maybe not wayward, and just trajectorially deficient. Dragging the thief into the back alley, the white-haired man let go and quickly backed away as soon as the door was shut.

 

“I’m not going to apologize for not telling you,” Aidenai stated simply, calmly standing in front of Locke at a respectful distance. “I haven’t investigated into your life, and I expected you to respect the same for me.”

 

Locke paused for a moment, then chuckled, shaking his head. “Well,” he stated, and leaned back against the crumbling brick alley wall. “I’m surprised, is all.” His hand reached for a pocket, fingers groping for a cigarette. “Don’t think I’m the only one who’d heard all the Swordrushes were massacred.”

 

“They were,” Aidenai said, closer.

 

“Yeah, so how can you blame me for smacking you around for surprising the shit outta me?” Locke snorted, planting the cigarette between his lips as he patted his pockets for a match, frowning as it eluded him. Damn it, the thing always went missing at the worst times…

 

A hand drew the cigarette from his lips, and Locke glared up at the assassin. “Why do you ask me to help you when you’re so intent on committing slow, painful suicide?” Aidenai frowned, tossing the thing aside.

 

“Bite me,” Locke snapped, glaring daggers at the smiling man in front of him.

 

Aidenai shrugged. “If you insist,” he said, adding an overly dramatic sigh, almost comedic, into his words, and with a dangerous glint in his clear turquoise eyes Locke found himself perilously situated between the wall and Aidenai.

 

“Uh…” Locke blinked, traitorous pulse going into overdrive and thought fleeing as Aidenai’s warm breath ghosted across his face, and it really must have been colder than he’d thought because he ended up shivering at it and- HOLY FUCK what was he doing?!

 

Locke could barely restrain a moan as Aidenai’s teeth nipped at his earlobe, dragging the sensitive skin into a very nice warm mouth, and his eyes clamped shut and he REFUSED to admit how delicious that felt when he- oh shit- when his tongue ran around the sensitive edge, sucking and caressing and Locke never really knew he could feel that much in such a tiny surface area.

 

As Aidenai’s mouth continued kneading his earlobe, an arm wrapped around his waist, pulling the thief closer. Locke let him, mind barely registering anything other than ‘Oooooh that’s nice’, eyelids fluttering. Another hand laced through his hair, fingernails running across his scalp in the nicest way, and Locke couldn’t help it. He whimpered, a strangled sound he barely missed as it escaped his clenched teeth. And he could just feel Aidenai’s smile at the noise, damn him.

 

That was it.

 

Locke growled, and with a shove Aidenai was flipped around and rammed against the wall, gasping as his head smashed into the brick at impact.

 

“What the FUCK are you doing, corpse?!” Locke snarled, choosing to ignore the fact both his hands were fisted full of Aidenai’s black shirt under the familiar white coat.

 

Aidenai wasn’t just smiling. Oh, no. He was grinning- no, GLOWING, entire face beaming sunshine and fucking bunnies at Locke. “I’d think that was obvious,” Aidenai chuckled, utterly unafraid and completely giddy. “I was biting you of course, as requested.”

 

“You’re insane,” Locke snarled, choosing to ignore how his own voice sounded and that he was still out of breath, his pulse was hectic, and his heart was pounding so fast a normal person would have been worrying about heart attack, among other things. “You’re fucking insane.”

 

He paused, and then lunged. Aidenai’s head smashed into the wall again as Locke attacked, lips crashing into lips, eyes shut against the absurdity of the whole situation. This was stupid, even though it felt good, and he knew it.

 

Before Aidenai really had time to react, Locke pulled away, glaring as he stepped away from the man and trying to ignore how he felt like a jittery thirteen-year-old girl. Shaking hands stuck a cigarette in his mouth, and his feet moved on their own, quickly guiding him out of the alley and into the streets without turning around.

 

His thoughts were mush right now, plain and simple. Locke knew he wouldn’t be able to function off pure instinct for a while, and all he could feel was- NOTHING, because he wasn’t thinking about it.

 

“You’re running away,” a voice stated, ethereal and nonchalant. Locke turned around, hands shoved in his pockets, to see a man wrapped up in a black cloak. His entire stance screamed ‘uninterested but evil’.

 

“No, really? I though I was off to announce to the world how fucking stupid-”

 

“There’s nothing stupid about it,” the man cut off Locke’s acerbic commentary.

 

“Get to the point, alright?” Locke snapped, speaking around the cigarette. “And who the fuck are you to talk to me, anyway? You look like a Chained reject in that outfit.”

 

“Well, you would be the authority on that,” the man shrugged, and seemed to glide in front of Locke. “I’m watching out for Aidenai. And who are you to question me, anyway?”

 

“I don’t usually chat with cloaked psychopaths in dark streets, you know,” he growled.

 

“I’m sure you can make an exception for Aidenai’s well-being,” the Freak, as Locke dubbed him mentally, said, and he didn’t miss the underlying threat.

 

Locke’s maroon eyes latched onto where the Freak’s eyes would be. “What do you want.”

 

“Aidenai’s well-being, as I’ve already said. Are you aware that you’re the first continuous non-business human contact he’s had in the past five years?”

 

Locke frowned. “Huh? Why the fuck would he choose me?”

 

“Exactly what I would like to know,” the Freak muttered.

 

“Look, Freak,” Locke rolled his eyes. “I get that you’re babysitting him, but does that really mean you’ve gotta come down here, make me aware of your presence when you damn well know I could explode you with my brain, and confront me about things I don’t even want to THINK about? Doesn’t seem too smart, for a sneaky stalker-type like you.”

 

“I’m not a stalker.”

 

“Of course you’re not. And I’m not gonna blow up your ass if you’re not gone in twelve seconds, either,” Locke said, smiling cheerfully and holding up a hand, power already visibly sparking on the surface of his skin.

 

“…I had more trust in his taste than I should have,” the Freak stated disparagingly.

 

“Hey, is it my fault if the man likes gaudy white coats?” Locke grinned.

 

“…Indeed. Good night.” The Freak stated, and with a quick bow at the waist just evaporated, much like Aidenai when he was in a rush.

 

Who he still wasn’t thinking about.

 

Locke was, in fact, fully aware of the fact he was acting like an idiot about the whole…incident. Yes, incident was a good word for it. Because, if there was ever something that Locke Morningside did damn well aside from stealing shit and blowing people up, it was avoiding the things he wanted to.

 

Maroon eyes rolled behind dark lashes. “Fuck this. Aelar, take over,” he growled.

 

His eyes shut tightly, and confused red opened.

 

“…Locke?”

 

All that answered him was the chill in the air. Glaring, Aelar headed back to the apartment. “Shit, kid, this isn’t why I’m here. I PROTECT you, I don’t play puppet. And I don’t care if you see this as protection, I see it as hiding. You get one night, got it? ONE NIGHT.”

 

As soon as he stepped into the tiny apartment, he strode towards the dresser, opening the single drawer Locke left alone. Although the thief hadn’t remembered his protector’s name, he had remembered his presence and occasional “excursions” enough to turn a blind eye to the slowly growing contents of the drawer. Whether the thief repressed it or just didn’t care Aelar didn’t know, but he did appreciate it, and made sure to never take advantage of Locke’s generosity.

 

But, this time Locke owed him a night. Just one night. That was all he asked for being such an incredibly good boy for the past couple of days- he did nothing inappropriate while Aidenai had tied them to the bed, had let Locke stay in control during the whole Shadows incident, and had even let the coward run and hide from the repercussions of his own stupid hormones. One night was an insignificant price to pay for that, in Aelar’s view.

 

He stripped down from Locke’s usual outfit, placing everything exactly as his other self did (although in a different order), and slid his drawer open, a smile growing on his lips.

 

Immediately the thick black choker went around the base of his neck- without any sort of  presence there, Aelar got twitchy. And a twitchy Aelar tended to blow things up. So, the black cloth latched on immediately after he’d pulled off Locke’s usual green shirt, an unbidden, relieved sigh escaping as he snapped it in place.

 

Next came the loose red pants- probably the cheapest thing in the outfit, but it wasn’t like Locke didn’t have money to spare, after all. Aelar had seen the treasure hold under the couch, and they wouldn’t have any problems for quite some time, even if the thief suddenly became benefactor of the resident starving artist. They fit snugly around his narrow hips, managing to emphasize in all the right places.

 

The shirt Locke absolutely HATED came next. The apparent ‘flowiness’ of it that the thief ranted about in their conversations wasn’t nearly the worst part- the black and gray shirt was practically translucent, made of a pricey fabric imported from Arven through the black market. Long, baggy sleeves cascaded down their arms, and the shirt managed to just slide over their body’s toned chest.

 

The final pieces were two ornate wrist-guards. As Aelar was used to extensive wrist flicking while exploding people, he had long ago learned the value of having something sturdy on his wrists. The length and design (gray vines and leaves dancing around a black background with ruby stars inlaid- it had cost about four month’s rent, but Locke never seemed to notice) simply added to aesthetic value.

 

A final addition transformed him from “Aelar in Locke’s body” to Aelar, period. One tiny jar of blue face paint sat beneath the other two outfits in his drawer (both equally expensive). With a careful sweep of his index finger, a blue line rode the line beneath his left eye, curving around his cheekbone in an elegant arc. On impulse, he dipped his pinky finger in and added a tiny dot at the end of the arc, amused by the pattern for some reason. Probably something Locke had done a while ago, he guessed.

 

Aelar grinned at himself in the mirror, simply for the fact it WAS him now. It was a comforting thought that he could be his own person if he felt like it, almost like proof he was real. He couldn’t help but wonder sometimes, after all.

 

With three people on his mind and one in it, Aelar Colai’da swept out of Locke Morningside’s apartment.