Disclaimer: I don't own Trollhunters or any of its characters.
Hey! I'm back with another fic in the same verse! This one is a one-shot that is mentioned at the end of The Night Doctor. I'll be another fic sometime next week as well hopefully. I hope you enjoy! Reviews are always appreciated! Big thanks to my beta writer Ash, who you can find on tumblr at or mine at . I'm always happy to chat.
Barbara took a sip of her Malbec. It was Argentine with a strong plum flavor and a sweet tobacco finish. Different than her normal choice of wine, but not unwelcome.
Work had been crazy lately. Two of their doctors had come down with the flu and another was on vacation in the Caribbean, leaving Barbara to cover more than her fair share of shifts. She knew she needed a vacation at some point. As much as she loved her job, it was beginning to cause her to burn out.
So when Mr. Tall, Trollish and Elusive came calling, she practically ran over.
It had been hard to contact the man since he "separated" from his little Changeling Country Club, her only communication with him through phone.
She looked around his apartment with interest; it was her first time over. It was homey. Though barren of photos and other memorabilia (likely so they could leave immediately, she suspected), there were touches of personality here and there that brought a smile to her face. He called it his "safe-house" but it looked more like a bachelor's pad than anything, with a well-stocked wine bar (Walt's influence she was sure) and a large screen TV atop an organized collection of DVDs (definitely Atlas, especially all the cooking videos).
"Okay," she started, pushing her glasses up. "Tell me again what happened. I didn't quite catch all of it over the phone."
Her boyfriend nursed his whiskey, "Yes, well, Atlas snuck off to Trollmarket."
"Oh really?" She asked, her voice faint.
"Because he was following the Trollhunter to the Killahead Bridge."
"And the bridge is . . .?"
"A portal to the Darklands," he supplied. "Not the most pleasant place to be. In fact, I'm quite sure your kind would akin it to, and pardon my language, 'hell.'"
She resisted the urge to abandon her wine glass and head straight for the bottle. "What happened after that?"
"According to my intel, he and the girl went through the portal."
"When did this happen?"
"Oh, I'd say about a week ago or so."
Barbara threw a pillow at his face, exclaiming, "And you're telling me this now?"
Walt pinched the arch of his nose, brows drawn. "I wasn't sure how to tell you, dear. Oh, Barbara dear, remember the boy you're ninety-nine percent positive is your long lost son? Guess what? He crossed over our version of hell with his girlfriend for a few. Should be back before the turn of this century if we're lucky."
She groaned in annoyance, face placed in her hands, then louder than she meant to said, "You could have stopped him!"
"How was I supposed to know he would go off with that blasted girl! He didn't tell me! Me!" The man in front of her reddened, his eyes glowing bright against the dreary backdrop of his "main-base-of-operations –cum-apartment."
The brightness of his eyes faded, his shoulders slumping along with them. "I-I thought he trusted me. Why would he do this to me? Why didn't he tell me?"
"Would you have stopped him, if you knew?"
Walt slammed a fist down against his armchair. "I would have tied his ass to the bed and grounded him until adulthood." He sighed, "Ever since he's met this Claire-girl, he's become more reckless, more disobedient, more—"
"More like a teenager?" Barbara added.
"Ugh," he groaned, "Yes. That."
Barbara nodded in sympathy, then stood, reaching over him for another bottle of wine she so desperately needed. The angle was awkward however, leading the tipsy woman to lose her footing, her front landing completely on top of him.
"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry Walt—"
"—Barbara, dear, really it's not—"
"—but I—"
He lay a finger against her lip, smiling softly. "It's quite alright, Barbara."
Was it? His right hand sat precariously against her lower back to keep her from falling off. She could feel the steady rise and fall of the man's chest underneath her sweaty palms.
Was he as firm beneath his shirt as she imagined? Heat rose to the doctor's cheeks. She nearly shuddered as his finger lazily moved from her lips to her neck in a single line, drawing one or two loops, as if he were testing her, seeing how far he could get. And his eyes, god his eyes. They followed her own, never straying for a moment. Finally, he shifted his index finger away, his burning gaze still smoldering but more subdued.
"What are you thinking about?" She finally asked.
His other hand reached lower down her back. "How beautiful you are," he admitted.
She snorted, "You're drunk. You don't know what you're saying."
"Oh, I think I do," he chuckled warmly.
He leaned closer, his other hand delicately spread across the back of her neck. She could feel his hot breath on her throat. Her breath hitched. Slowly, almost agonizingly so, he laid a trail of kisses down her neck, each one as soft and tantalizing as the last.
Barbara shivered, goosebumps rising along the sides of her arms at the intimate gesture. Her back arched slightly as he reached the end near her collarbone.
Her boyfriend scouted up until their faces were level. The normally confident stoic mask he liked to presume had shattered, leaving behind a quiet melancholic look that spoke of something she'd yet to decipher. "I won't go any further unless you want me to, Barbara."
She shook her head. Always a gentleman. "You're impossible."
Taking a deep breath, she dived in, seizing his lips with her own. He reciprocated eagerly, bending her head back against his arm, while his other hand caressed her thigh.
The doctor felt a flash of surprise run through her. Before she had discovered his secret they had kissed, but never in this way. He acted old fashioned (well, no surprise, since he was probably centuries older than her) and most of the time backed off before things got too hot.
She trembled in delight as his tongue played with hers, then gasped as his other hand—which had slower delved further and further down her inner thigh—reached her clit.
"Bed," she murmured between kisses.
"What?"
"Your bedroom, Walt." Barbara said, "I'm not doing this on your recliner."
"Right, right, right," he repeated, eyes shining, wide, and alert.
She nearly yelped when he stood, his hands cradling her ass. On instinct, she curled her legs around his waist. "Warn a girl when you do that."
"Apologies, dear," he said, though to Barbara's ears there didn't seem to be even an iota of guilt in his voice.
He kicked open the door of his room and settled her down over the bed as he began to pull of his jacket. In the meantime, Barbara gave the room a look around. She'd never seen his bedroom before.
It was spacious, contrasting the small living room out front, with Greek and Roman artifacts lining the walls. Amongst the works, a large painting of a woman with an unusually-shaped scepter and mask sat in the corner of the room, her picture illuminated by a series of well-placed lights. It looked old, the paint of the work cracked and lacking the luster she was sure it held in its heyday.
Her attention drifted to his bedside shelf, where a framed picture of her son as a child of perhaps ten or eleven years old. He wasn't looking at the camera, rather, it was as if someone had caught him in unawares, his smile genuine and sweet. She should have smacked herself for not seeing it earlier. It was far easier to see the resemblance as a child than as an adult. Even now her mind's eye would flicker between the old and new Jim. It was hard to reconcile the fact that her baby boy was nearly a man, but she would, eventually.
"Barbara, you've no idea how long I've waited for this." Walt said, pulling off his turtleneck and throwing it to the floor.
She admired the sharp lines of his body. While not muscular, he was lean, with a tailored waist that lead up to wide shoulders.
Just as he made his way onto the bed, Barbara was struck with a thought: what if she got pregnant? If Atlas—no, Jim— truly was half-troll, then the possibility existed.
She put a hand on Walt's chest to prevent him from continuing. Looking him in the eyes, she said, "I'm not doing this without condoms."
Walt stared unblinkingly down at her. "What?"
"Condoms, Walt. I don't care how 'sterile' you are. Atlas—Jim is proof that that is bullshit."
"I-I don't think I own any condoms, dear."
She sighed, then gestured to the door. "Living room. There should be some in my purse. Could you please bring it?"
He hopped off the bed and left. Moments later, he returned with her bag, handing it over to the woman. As Barbara was shifting through, she noticed the curious look he sported.
"Is there something you want to say, Walt?"
"Barbara, dear," he said, "did you plan this?"
"Walter, dear," she mimicked, her voice dry. "Are you asking me if I came here to have sex with you because my—no, our son is off to god knows where for who knows how long?"
"My apologies, that was a stupid question."
"No, sorry. I guess I'm just a bit frazzled right now," she sighed. "I was hoping to . . . at some point, but everything is so complicated now. I mean, you're on the run from your little Gunmar cult—"
Walt coughed, "Janus Order."
"Gunmar cult," she repeated. "and not only am I dealing with my own grief but with several children who keep hurting themselves to take the place of their best friends. Claire's friend, Darci I believe, sprained her wrist trying to contain a renegade gnome and those boys—Atlas' friends—are even worse. At least the girls try not to get hurt. The short boy with glasses came in with a dislocated shoulder and a black eye after trying to wrestle a goblin! And it doesn't help that despite how much I patch them up they've still got this broken look in their eyes. It's frustrating, you know. No matter how much I heal up their bodies, they're still hurting and I can't do anything."
He sat beside her, stroking her cheek. "Everyone is hurting, Barbara. You're doing the best you can."
"I know, I know. That's why I need you right now," Barbara said. "Like you need me."
She inched closer, positioning herself so that she straddled the man. She slid her white coat to the floor. Feeling giddy and more daring then she'd thought possible, she slowly pulled off her blouse, drinking in the growing look of thirst on the man's face.
"Make me feel good," she began, planting light kisses along his collarbone. "Make me feel safe. Make me feel . . . loved."
He visibly swallowed. "I'll do whatever you desire, dear one."
As if by magic, his long digits worked their way up her body, seemingly touching every erogenous zone in just the right way. Nevertheless, he was careful in his touches, maddeningly so, leaving Barbara to wonder what was on his mind.
"Have you," she said between breathes, "ever been with a human before?"
His mouth found her ear, "yes, though not with one I've loved before."
Her stomach dropped. She felt chilled, as if someone had dropped ice water on top of her. What should she say? Her throat felt fuzzy; her tongue numb.
They'd only been dating a couple months. Was he only saying so to try to placate her?
No, as much as she knew Walt, she understood that the "L" word carried something deep for him. If he was telling her this, then he meant it.
"I bet you say that to all the girls," she kidded, faking a punch to his shoulder.
"No, very few actually."
She snorted, trying to alleviate the awkwardness, "So, I guess you could say you've been in a dry spell longer than I have."
"Decades," he provided.
She believed him.
"Life at the Order didn't give me much time to search for partners."
"What about the other Changelings?"
"It would be a risk to my position. Whoever I showed any interest would use it to higher their position." His eyes raked over her body, "I was not very trustful of people until I met you."
"Oh really," she said, raising a delicate brow. "After lying to me about everything?"
"Barbara," he paused, lips drawn together tightly. "I'm deeply sorry. I should never have brought you into this. And, while I believed at the time that it was imperative not to reveal myself, I now find myself embarrassed by the way I acted and shameful in how I treated you. I take full responsibility."
Barbara drew herself toward his ear while sneaking down his backside, eliciting a short dry gasp from his lips. "Well," she began, "at least you paid for all the damages. I like my new couch by the way."
"H-how," he coughed, then restarted, "How long has it been for you since you've been with someone?
She sighed, tightening her grip against his back. "Oh, since my husband left my son and I."
"Oh."
The woman pushed him down against the mattress, her other hand landing directly above his head. Feeling adventurous, she grinded against his hips. He bucked in response, irises flickering between green and red.
"Less talking," she said, throwing her glasses to the bedside table. She winced a bit when it clanged against lamp and completely missed her target. Damn, she really need to work on her coordination skills.
His eyes fluttered as her hands unzipped his pants. She palmed his length, her jaw nearly dropping at the size of it.
She circled a finger around his bulge. "Wow, Walt, you're as hard as a—"
Walt threw her a look, clearly not impressed with her joke. "For the love of god, Barbara, do not finish that sentence."
"I take it you've heard it before?"
"Barbara, believe me when I say, that is literally the oldest pickup line in recorded Troll history."
She smirked, fingers stroking him up and down, "but you like it, don't you."
The man shook his head, lips desperately trying not to smile. "Gods, woman, you are impossible."
Laughing, Barbara captured his lips with her own, devouring its softness. His tongue caressed her own masterfully. Her thoughts spun, senses reeling as he roused the passion within her.
Was she ready for this? It had been so long since she'd let someone come this close. She'd always used work and family as excuses to evade dates and social gatherings. Walt had been a fluke, a whim, something she'd never done before. She remembered the incident fondly: she'd been in a hurry to get to work and after grabbing her drink from the barista, turned and bumped straight into him, spilling the drink all over him. Somehow in her fluttered and embarrassed state she'd gotten him to agree to a coffee-date and from there, they began dating. Hard to believe it had only been a few months. For some reason it felt like a lifetime ago to her.
His mouth its way to her shoulder, his teeth pushing down one of the straps while his hand roamed across her bosom. She unhooked her bra in response, eliciting a deep purr from him.
Heat gathering in her lower regions, she started to pull of her pants, which was quite difficult with one hand, her other still preoccupied with his shaft. Ultimately though, with a little flexibility and luck she pulled it off. Right when she was about to reach for her panties however, his hand reached out to grab her own.
"Barbara," he began, "if we're to continue, you should know that I might lose control of my form. I don't want you to be alarmed if it happens. I'll try to maintain it but—"
"Shh," she whispered, laying two fingers against his lips. "Walt, I don't care what form you take. Just be gentle, alright?"
His large hand took her face and held it gently. There was something about his face that spoke of fragility, of a brokenness she'd never seen before. "Thank you."
Her heart leaped as he eased the lacy material of her underwear down her legs then lifted up her hips, positioning himself between her thighs.
One fingertip slid down her stomach to the swell of her sex.
He paused to kiss her as his hand journeyed down her body, whispering his love for each part of her body. Her cheeks flushed at the words, not used to the compliments.
Shivers of delight followed his touch. She could sense his thrill of arousal as his fingers began to rub against her, her whole being flooding with desire as he increased his pace.
Barbara sucked in a sharp breath as his index began to inch into her. It wasn't uncomfortable, merely strange. It had been awhile since she'd penetrated herself and even longer since someone else had done so. She forced herself to relax, loosening her muscles to allow him in.
The stroking of his fingers sent hot jolts of pleasure through her. She let out a small gasp as a second and third digit accompanied the first, in and out, hitting the edges of her G-spot.
Sliding on the condom, he removed his fingers, his member pressing against her entrance.
His eyes flickered between green and yellow, his form tense, muscles trembling.
She gasped as he began to push in. Her hands gripped the sheets below her. His tongue caressed her sensitive swollen nipples. Heat gathered within her, the blood rushing from her head to her nether regions.
He was big, much bigger than she'd been accustomed to. Still, she grinded down, the slight pain outweighed by the wonderful hot fullness he produced within her.
"You're beautiful," he whispered. Then he began to move.
She matched his eagerness with her own. Her blood boiled with an intensity, vibrating with a liquid fire.
Beneath her, he began to flicker between forms, his body struggling to maintain its disguise.
"Barbara," he began, "we should stop, I'm about to—"
"No," she interrupted, grabbing his horns. "It's fine."
His fingers—no, at this point, they were more like claws—grasped onto her hips, pulling them closer.
The pleasure within her grew, her folds tightening around his penis.
"Yes, yes, right there," she panted. "God, Walt. Right, there. I'm almost there."
He grunted, snapping his hips, causing her to cry out in pleasure.
White hot lightning burst through her body. She trembled as she rode the orgasm. Walt followed soon after, a loud sigh emitting from his mouth.
"Extraordinary," he gasped. "You . . .are . . .extraordinary."
She laughed, pulling off of him and rolling to his side. Her sex still tingled with pleasurable aftershocks.
"You . . .took the words . . . right out of my mouth." She said between breaths.
They sat that way for several minutes. At some point he had changed back, though she didn't remember when, only noticing when one of his fingers brushed along her jawline and tiled her face to the side to look at him.
It was strange how out of sorts he looked, his hair messy and wild instead of the prim and proper way he normally had it. It almost made him look human.
"Barbara, might I ask you a question?"
"Of course, Walt."
"How . . . do you feel about me?" He asked. "Truly."
She paused. What should she say? It wasn't as if she didn't feel for the man. He was interesting and fun, something she hadn't had in a long time.
But he betrayed her trust as well. While she'd forgiven him for destroying her living room, the fact that he lied about himself had hurt. A lot.
"Oh, Walt, you know I like you a lot," she started, "perhaps . . .even more than that. But it's going to take a lot more to regain my trust again."
He nodded, his hand moving to her own. "I know. I'll do whatever I can to earn your trust back Barbara. I . . . I love you."
She nodded, unsure of how to respond.
Walt seemed to have noticed her discomfort, adding, "You don't have to say anything right now, I'm not expecting you to. I just . . .I just wanted you to know."
She smiled, then, getting up, brought their faces together.
Slowly, Barbara kissed his forehead then his lips, resting there for a moment before pulling away.
"So, ready for round two?"