goodfellow | To Kill a Puck, Part 1 (for Thomas)

To Kill a Puck, Part 1 (for Thomas)

It had been a good day at Robin's car dealership. Just before closing, he'd talked a mother into buying a three-year-old sports car for her 16-year-old son; from the looks of him, he'd have it wrecked within the week and back for another - at which point he could recommend a nice safe SUV with all the bells and whistles that cost even more than the first one.

He was also expecting a visitor. Thomas Raith, who never failed to put him in a good mood. More than a good mood. What Thomas Raith put him in were orgasms that curled his toes for days. They'd only met two months ago, but he was already far more regular a sex partner than Robin had had in a very long time - but then, anyone who was more than a one night stand amounted to "regular" for Robin.

Everyone else had already gone home, except for a janitor who was sweeping the show room. Robin caught a glimpse of Thomas' lovely head of hair and met him just outside. "Can I interest you in... let's see, something fast, something powerful, something in white, perhaps?" he asked as soon as he opened the door to greet him.

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Robin took the opportunity of the creature's distraction from Thomas' attack to lift the knife again. When it descended back upon him, he shoved it up into its ribcage.

Unfortunately he suspected that the knife wasn't long enough to hit anything vital, and that thought was validated by the fact that the thing didn't fall - instead it took a swipe at him with one cat-clawed paw.

Pain lashed through his shoulder and chest. Robin howled, and shoved the knife up deeper - and the creature howled in return.

And then, with his knife still sticking out of its chest, it hauled off of him and flashed across the room and out the window.

Robin started to get up to follow, but let out a gasp of pain instead, his legs feeling like jello.

Thomas dragged himself up from the base of the wall he'd slid down, wincing as he tried to catch his breath, watching the retreating beast to make sure it wasn't circling around to have another go at them. When it was clear it wasn't coming back he started toward Robin, limping as he took the first step and then reaching down to pull a jagged piece of glass from his calf, pale pink blood staining his pants, smeared on the shard. "Robin. You all right?" he asked breathlessly, then took in a sharp breath as he saw the slash marks across his chest.

Robin blinked up at him and then looked down. He was covered in blood, though at least only some of it was his.

"It's not deep," he grunted, struggling a little but managing to sit up. "I'd have had its head off in a second if my pants hadn't been around my ankles. On a good day I could take out a nest of them without breaking a sweat."

He was in pain, but he mostly sounded pissed off.

"Uh huh." Thomas held his hands out to help Robin to his feet, balancing carefully. "What the fuck was that?"

Robin swayed a little bit on his feet, grasping Thomas' arm for support. No, the wound wasn't deep, but it didn't have to be.

"What do they teach you pups in school these days?" he ground out as he began to feel the poison working its way through his system. This was gonna hurt like a bitch.

"That was a sirrush. Sixth century B.C. Babylonia." As soon as he said the words, he felt a cold chill wash over him at the implications. Implications he had absolutely no intention of sharing with Thomas.

"I was homeschooled. It was more about how to deceive and backstab, and less about ancient Babylonia." He slipped an arm around Robin's waist, offering silent support. "It seemed more interested in you than me. So who did you piss off?"

Robin snorted. "You're joking, right? Who haven't I pissed off? Ex business partners, ex marks, ex lovers, ex lover's husbands and wives..." He swayed a little. "There isn't a rolodex in existence big enough to keep that list. Thousands upon thousands of years, the enemies add up when you've got a sparkling personality like mine."

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling lightheaded. "Get me to a bed. And I don't mean that in a sexy way."

"Color me surprised," Thomas muttered, but he frowned and looked at Robin at his next words. "They're not that deep," he reminded Robin, unsure if he was just milking it or if he was really hurt. He leaned closer to observe the wounds and caught the faintest whiff of something besides puck blood (which had its own rather unique smell, not quite human, like his own). "...Poison," he breathed, then swore. "Empty Night, I think you need more than a bed!" But he tightened his grip on Robin, dragging him toward the now-gaping opening in the building.

"No, a bed will do," Robin said tersely. "If I were human, I'd be dead by now. Lucky for me, I'm not."

At that moment, the janitor chose to walk in from the door, his eyes going wide. Robin swallowed hard and looked over his shoulder at him. "Two hundred dollars," he said. "If you clean the place up as best you can before going home tonight, and then come in tomorrow and pretend you didn't see a damn thing. Deal?"

The janitor nodded numbly. Robin chose his employees well. He leaned back against Thomas and groaned. "How am I going to explain this to the insurance company..."

"Say a disgruntled ex-employee drove their car through the wall," Thomas suggested as he half-led, half-carried Robin to his own car. "I'll come back and put lay some convincing rubber after you're settled, if you want." He glanced back at the janitor and narrowed his eyes. "Can you trust him?"

Robin was kind of surprised by the offer to help him. He wasn't used to inspiring that instinct in people. Ever.

To the question about the janitor, he weakly waved a hand. "Discretion is something I vet my employees for. I am one hundred percent confident that bribing every one of them is effective." In his opinion, it was much more effective than trying to inspire loyalty.

When they reached the car, Robin took in the giant white hummer and snorted. "Subtle, aren't you."

"Good enough for me," Thomas muttered. If bribery worked, then the janitor was the least of their worries.

He hit the button on his key fob and the doors unlocked with a double-chirp. "It's fun. And can take a beating." He'd seen to that with a few modifications.

He yanked the door open and helped Robin up into the passenger seat. "Buckle up," he commanded, steadying him, making sure the puck wasn't going to fall back out of the vehicle before he could get the door closed.

Robin managed both to fasten the seatbelt and to wait until the door closed to lean against it, his body slumping a little. "I'll try not to bleed on your seats," he mumbled when Thomas entered the car again. "Where are we going, your place or mine?"

"With the life I live? The fabric's treated. Blood should just wipe right off." He glanced over as he started the car, pressing his lips together. "Mine." That way he could keep an eye on Robin, make sure he wasn't lying or exaggerating about not needing more than a bed.

Robin lolled his head a little so that he could look at Thomas while still resting it on the glass.

"I really wish I were in a condition to be excited about that," he sighed. "Damned sirrush." He sounded seriously disgruntled. "Made even more of a mess than the aqrabuamel the other day..."

"The what?" Thomas pulled out onto the street, driving fast, clearly not worried about silly things like speed limits. Part of it was wanting to get Robin settled and get a look at those scratches--but part of it was he just liked speed. And hell, he had the reflexes, why not use them?

Robin was actually starting to get too out of it to make snarky comments about Thomas' lack of education. "Aqrabuamel," he repeated. "Scorpion men. You do at least know who Tiamat is, yes? She created them to fetch and carry for her, don't see 'em around much anymore, but sometimes the occasional mercenary... a couple jumped me in an alley near my building a few days ago. I tore my new cashmere sweater." He actually sounded pretty put out about that.

Thomas was glad for once that Robin talked nonstop. It was the easiest way to keep tabs on him without taking his eyes off of the road. "Does this happen to you a lot, then? Random monster attacks?"

"Not really," Robin sighed, and let his eyes drop closed again. "Seems I've gotten more popular lately. Of course, that's the way of things, can't keep their hands off me..." He hadn't really intended to tell Thomas his actual suspicion, that he was being targeted, but it seemed a little harder to think at the moment.

"So this is a recent development?" Thomas arched an eyebrow and glanced at Robin. "Think they're related? The sirrush and the scorpion men?"

"If not I'm having the worst week ev... okay, no, I can't even say that with a straight face." A little smile tugged at Robin's lips, even with his eyes closed. "I could tell you about some bad weeks. Good ones, too. I've probably had orgies that lasted longer than your short life..."

"Yes, yes, I get it already. You're eons older than me," Thomas commented, rolling his eyes. "And I've had my share of orgies too, thanks." He drove a little faster as they got closer to his place.

"We should have a party," Robin murmured. Suddenly, falling asleep seemed like a really good idea. He was pretty close to getting there. "Though we might want to wait until I no longer have a target on my back. Monster party crashers are only fun if they're fun monsters..."

Thomas could hear the slur thickening in Robin's voice, and it worried him more than he would admit. He took the next left a little sharper than necessary, barely even touching the brake pedal. "You know, I might know someone who can help you narrow down just where that target's coming from," he suggested even as the tires finished squealing and the Hummer straightened out.

When Thomas took that sharp turn, Robin's head bounced against the glass. "Ow. Watch it! I'm already poisoned, I don't need a concussion on top of it. And I already told you it's too big a fucking list."

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