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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"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."

"Sorry," Thomas said cheerfully, not sounding a bit sorry. "And he's a private investigator...and a wizard. Maybe he can catch something you've missed."

"A wizard." Robin snorted. "I've probably got a few of those on my list. But it's so cute that you care. Are we there yet?"

"Yup." Thomas ignored the previous comment and pulled into the parking garage next to his building, reaching into the back to grab a leather jacket and toss it in Robin's lap. "Put that on, if you can. A drunken, stumbling companion leaning on me won't raise any eyebrows, but a slashed and bloody shirt might. And...keep your comments to yourself until we make it to the elevator, okay?" Because he was sure Robin would have comments, even in his current state. He always did.

"Comments? What kind of comments?" Robin did at least manage to put on the jacket, though it was a touch big on him. Thomas at least had good taste in clothes. Leather wasn't really Robin's thing, but at least it was expensive.

"Any comments," Thomas growled, jumping out of the car and quickly coming around to open Robin's door and help him down out of the monstrous vehicle so he could tow him to the front door of his just-as-swanky-as-Robin's building.

"You're lucky I'm being slowly poisoned to death," Robin drawled. "I'm not a big fan of keeping my mouth shut under normal circumstances."

Though as they made their way into the building he really could be easily mistaken for a simpler tipsy-and-stumbling. Probably because the world was spinning so much.

Thomas kept the conversation brief and cordial with the doorman and the security guard, understandable with his company. He also kept it in the French accent that they all expected from him, tightening his grip on Robin and hurrying him to the elevator to stab impatiently at the button.

"Nice place, by the way," Robin said, slumping a little against Thomas. Narrowly missing pushing him into the wall of buttons. He'd much rather be in a bed than stopping on every floor.

"Not as nice as mine, but..."

Thomas eyerolled and didn't reply, though if he'd had a handkerchief or a sock or something handy he might have been hard-pressed not to shove it into the puck's mouth. He just did his best to keep Robin upright as the elevator climbed to the top floor, then led him to his front door, fumbling his keys back out of his pocket to unlock it.

"You don't have a housekeeper who's shy about nudity do you?" Robin asked. "Because if I'm going to be sleeping off near-death I would prefer to be as comfortable as possible. Silk sheets, I hope?"

"No and no," Thomas kicked the door closed behind them and headed straight for the bedroom. "Egyptian cotton." With ridiculously high thread counts.

"That'll do in a pinch." Robin was was already fumbling at his clothes when they got into the bedroom; he had every intention of getting into that bed naked.

Thomas didn't care what state of dress Robin wore to bed, as long as he got a better look at those slash marks. He caught the leather jacket as it slipped from Robin's arms, tossing it on top of the cluttered dresser. "I have a first aid kit," he suggested, though it was a bit more robust than some little tin box with a few band-aids and some iodine.

"Oh. Right." As Robin got his shirt off, he looked down at the marks as if he'd forgotten they were there. At least they weren't bleeding; they weren't very deep, after all.

He shoved down his pants.

"This wasn't how I was hoping to be introduced to your bed," he added morosely.

"That makes two of us," Thomas muttered, holding Robin up until he lost the rest of his clothes and then easing him down onto the bed before leaving him to get himself settled. He ducked into the adjoining bathroom and yanked open the cupboard under the sink, hauling out gauze, tape, peroxide, and a towel.

To Kill a Puck, Part 1 (for Thomas)

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