N.B. Happy New Year, guys. I warned you I'd be dicking around.
Why this? Well, I'm done with my first novel and into the editing phase. Been reading nothing but that for 10 hours a day, 7 days a week. I'm losing my shit.
Disclaimer: This is an actual story (I think). Gonna have a lot of sex in it. And death. You know.
Come to think of it - we ever figure out who Graves' reflection was in ATC? Hm.
Happy Reading.
He'd been through a lot of hard withdrawals.
There was the first one, from her memory. From the way her breasts caught the soft springtide light of Demacia. The rose color of her nipples, blooming against dark satin skin.
Then there was the bitter alcohol. Don't poison yourself, she always said. He tried his hardest. It tasted like burnt out dreams, the inside of Piltover streetlamps.
And finally, his sadness. He'd grown into it. The cold blue feeling was like a favorite blanket. A well-worn photograph. The scent of her hair fading from his pillow.
But eventually he realized that that, too, would be gone, would pass. And so he withdrew.
And no matter how many withdrawals he went through, they all sucked. Bad.
He threw his last pair of old boxers into his battered suitcase, then sighed. He could hear Jinx complaining loudly in the lobby of the Marksmen Quarters.
"— drag my ass clear in from Piltover, come here, settle down, and now you want me to leave?"
"Jinx," he heard. Vi. She sounded tired. "You don't have an ass."
Jinx pouted. "I'm staying. Sharky doesn't want to leave."
"You're not. Come on."
Lucian shook his head. No one's staying. At all. He slung his luggage over his shoulder, took one last look around the clean small room, and left.
The worst part, he thought, was that Noxus didn't even bother to show up.
The closing ceremony four days ago was a grand affair. Food was always a plus. Balloons, fireworks.
Even if he stood in a corner nursing one glass of soda water, it was a fine time.
Everyone oooohed and ahhhhed when the big white carriages came rolling in the gates, pulled by proud white stallions.
Shyvana and Jarvan IV sat on top of one. They looked stoic. Their blue-gold warrior armor glittered.
Married, apparently. Good for them.
Then, as the party wound down, the crowd got nervous. Waiting for a herd of big black mares. Flashing eyes, long teeth, loud laughter.
But it was just ex-Venerable Summoner Zandred at the fore of Central Fountain. He looked ancient in his faded hula-printed t-shirt. He cleared his throat.
"It seems our best friends won't be joining us."
"Gee. Boo-hoo," Jinx muttered, adjusting her tiny tits. Lucian glanced at her and snickered.
"But I do have a letter. Several letters, actually." Zandred cleared his throat again. "But I'll read about two."
"Get on with it," he heard someone call. There was laughter.
Zandred hesitated. "'Dear League of Legends. Though the closing of the Institute may seem regrettable to some, we feel it comes at a great place in Runeterran history. For the first time in eons, Demacia and Noxus are truly at peace and, while this does not include all portions of Valoran, it includes the two most important.'"
Lucian glanced at Karma and Yi. Yi's jaw gritted. Ouch.
"'Hopefully you all will be able to sleep at night knowing that the known and unknown worlds are the safest they've ever been. The Wheel Turns. King Ryland II of Noxus.'"
There was a low, disgruntled mutter.
Zandred snorted. "If you think that one was bad —"
"Come on!" the same person shouted. This was echoed by the others. Lucian shrugged.
Jinx was edging closer to him. It was hard to tell what she was thinking, but — no. That was real sadness on her crazy face. It cut unexpectedly deep.
Zandred huffed. "'Dear Institute. I didn't realize how dependent you were on one country when the whole point was interconnectivity. It's strange that you close your doors, but ultimately inconsequential. The Wheel Turns. Ezreal Lightbringer, of Noxus.'"
Lucian's stomach did a slow, greasy cartwheel. A lower whisper.
Zandred looked out into the crowd, grimacing. "Shall I contin —"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP AND READ!" someone roared. Agreement.
Jinx snorted.
"'Dear Institute. I miss you all and pray that you find your peace with the stars. The world is a very curious place. You have my blessing. Soraka. Of Noxus.'"
"Holy shit," he heard Vayne murmur. She was nearby, too, in a red dress. On her arm was Yasuo, another newish recruit. Getting kicked out almost immediately.
"This one comes from Luxanna Lightbringer. Of Noxus," Zandred said. The crowd whirled to watch Jarvan IV's face. It didn't move. "'Dear Friends, I miss you all. My time at the Institute was a strange one, but ultimately improved my life for the better…'"
"There's no way she wrote that," Ahri said with a laugh. Everyone around her agreed. It didn't even sound like Lux.
The Purifier could only stand to listen to three more. Katarina's disparaging one. Some other girl's that left Zandred clearing his throat and wiping his eyes. Then Jericho Swain, essentially abdicating the throne. When he heard Malcolm Graves of Noxus, he shook his head and left. Departed for the night.
The Institute already looked dead. Windows were shuttered, doors locked. Empty. The wind blew.
Soon it'd be another fading memory. Here in his life, then gone.
A white hand tugged on his dark one. "Where you going? You missed the best part."
Jinx. Her pink sparkly dress was somehow too tight, her grin too wide. Still, the cloud-blue curtain of silky blue hair was — pretty.
Yeah. That was the word. Nothing had been beautiful for a while now.
"What was the best part?"
Jinx laughed. "Jayce of Noxus. We knew he was crazy."
Jinx thinking someone's crazy. Lucian breathed out a long, slow sigh. "Man. What the fuck happened up there." He and Jinx hadn't been invited on the little unofficial task force to Freljord. Apparently for the better.
Lucian of Noxus. Nice joke.
He didn't resist when Jinx led him back to her room in the Quarters. She took it slow for once, peeled his dress pants off with nimble fingers, placed her fingertips on the sensitive upper rim of his dick.
He kissed her because she wanted to be kissed. It felt nice.
Nice. That was the word.
"Demacian," she murmured. "I always forget."
Then she knelt on the floor of her bedroom and flicked his cock with her tongue. He sighed as it stirred. He tried to ignore the framed picture of Jayce, the Defender of Tomorrow on her nightstand. It was cut from a magazine, doodled over in pink glitter pen.
For a heartbeat, he was tempted to close his eyes and let Senna replace her. Warm brown lips, that laughing twinkle in green-brown eyes.
But no. He forced himself to look on her pale white face, the dreaming light to those strange-colored eyes. The sheaf of blue framed her face as she slid down him. Deep. Deeper.
He gasped and buried strong fingers in her hair. Her tiny tongue rode up his thick length. Warm. Inexorable, until the lower curve of her lip was nestled against his balls.
She fluttered her eyelashes, and he cupped her chin. She grabbed his knees with cold hands.
And he heard a laughing whisper that wasn't Jinx, wasn't this life. Damn, love. You're thick. So thick.
He came and bit his lip.
It'd been a long time. It still felt like betrayal.
She stayed a little too long, then gazed up at him like a puppy afterward, until he patted her head.
That was the trouble. The first few times had been manic, pink pixie dust. But the last four or five times had been slow. Strange. No, not the kinky shit. He wasn't into that, and the first time she whipped out handcuffs he laughed in her face.
She wanted affection he couldn't give.
He was glad he was leaving.
Everything left eventually. Sometimes it needed a little help.
In the present, he stood by the Gates of the Institute and watched a parade of Champions and Summoners slowly pass. The light hand on his shoulder startled him. Caitlyn.
"Hey. Thanks for keeping an eye on her while we were gone up north." She glanced meaningfully at Jinx, who was sobbing loudly into Vi's side.
Lucian studied the Sheriff, her long brown hair. "Hmmm. Back to Piltover, huh? After all that?"
"If it's still standing."
"One of the few things that is, way I heard it." He studied her harder.
But all he saw was a strange little smile. "Uh huh. Take care."
He watched her move away. Come to think of it — he had no plan in mind. He had enough money saved to do whatever he wanted for about half a year. He traveled light.
Follow where the wind blows, he heard, and lifted his head, tired. Weary.
It'd happened before. Women who talked like her, looked like her.
He learned to stop thinking it was her. Not even an excited dip in his stomach anymore.
He wanted to see her. Even if he then had to blow her soul to ash and tatters to release it. It was his job.
But it was Quinn, standing awkwardly beside Jarvan IV and his entourage, looking away from a curious reporter. He heard her affirm that no, I'm definitely not Quinn of Noxus.
Demacia was his birthplace but unappealing. From what little he'd heard they were on high alert. Noxus swore there was peace. Demacia didn't believe. Never would.
Senna, he sighed inside himself. He headed for the outskirts of town. Please. This is already hard enough.
You hear what those doctors said? Piltover Eggheads. He could hear her, even above the crowd's murmur. See her in his mind. Topless on a beach in Ionia. A honeymoon, grinning over the rims of dark sunglasses. A fizzy green drink. Always a little piece of any addiction left behind. You try it one more time and it — it sucks you in.
So that's why you say I'm your addiction. He hadn't cared for that phrase. Made it sound like love was a bad thing.
Mhmm. Always a little piece of you. Maybe literally, some day. They'd kissed as the sun went down. Warm, sweet, hot, fiery — those were the words. And holy. Sanctified.
Her fingernails clawing his chest. They were never manicured, but sturdy, solid —
I miss your fingernails, he thought. He looked out into the desert, from the little town's outskirts. The wind was blowing steadily east.
He shrugged and decided to follow it.