Future me will hate past me for having taken the time for this, but I just love Jerza and I wanted to thank a reviewer whom I cannot answer otherwise. Thank you for reviews, KiraKate!
Anyway, this is set during the Grand Magic Games, not too long after Jellal's and Erza's meeting under the bridge, and before Lahar "reveals" Jellal.
English isn't my native language so do let me know if you find mistakes! Reviews and constructive criticism are much appreciated!
Hope you'll enjoy!
The air was crisp, but he hardly felt it. It was unusual to be wearing so many layers in front of his face, but it was by no means unpleasant. Visually impractical, yes, but not mentally uncomfortable. A church's bell chimed, more and more across the giant Capital of Fiore being heard from afar. Ten, eleven, twelve, he counted in his head.
The steps were still behind him.
Taking a sharp turn, Jellal found himself on yet another abandoned street. It was even wider than the last, lanterns granting little illumination of the cobblestone underfoot. Little but not none. He fought the urge to snap them out one after the other—broad streets and lighting was the last thing he could use.
And where were Ultear and Meredy when he needed them? Which was—truth be told—more often than he liked to admit. Again, seldom but not never.
He took another turn. His pursuers were hot on his heels, always just a corner away. He was lost—it reminded him why he could not stand such big cities. Too many people; too many eyes, and too little opportunities to vanish. Meteor was not an option, seeing as he would not only stand out like a Fairy Tail Wizard in a china shop, but give away what he was currently trying his utmost to keep a secret: his identity.
The steps were closer now, hardly a hundred metres away. Or fifty. If the man shouted out, it would be over—not to mention if he had the authority to arrest anyone suspicious on the spot. Lahar, Jellal thought. He stole himself down another alley to escape. He bolted with shock but pressed on. There were more steps—more persecutors. Rune knights, he assumed, seeing his chances dispel in the chilly night air. They knew the city like the backs of their hands; he was going to run right into one, it hit him when Lahar was just about to round the same corner and catch him.
The steps continued, indeed coming from both sides. The Head Captain of the Custody Enforcement Unit must have set the trap, leading Jellal right into the arms of another Council member. Only now, he found himself in a different set of arms instead.
She must have acted quicker than his thoughts could keep up, and she must have known that he would be numb to her touch. However ungraceful, and despite his alertness, Jellal found himself cramped into a corner, his back against wood and her chest pressing to his. Unresistingly, he had let her tear him away and haul him into whatever she had chosen their hiding spot to be. A closet, he reckoned.
Boots sped up, clacking across the cobblestone outside the building.
"He went here, I saw it," Lahar—of course—barked at his men.
"We waited right there," another man reported.
"Perhaps he flew off?"
"Or teleported?"
"Check the side alleys," Lahar ignored his men's suggestions. "And the roofs!" he hollered, receiving salutes. Metal clattered loudly when the Head Captain kicked over a bin in frustration. "Interrogate the residents," he said. Jellal suddenly jolted when he heard a door open so closely, it might have as well been the one of his secret closet.
"A hotel?" another subordinate asked.
"Look for other entrances," Lahar ordered, eyeing the corridor closely, "I'm going to ask the receptionist for a guest list."
His steps thundered down the hall, right past the wooden doors of what was fortunately a very unsuspicious cupboard. It must have been the size—or lack of such—since Jellal was now positive he would be mocked for the broomstick imprints in his back once he returned to camp. How two people had fit in in the first place was a miracle he did not dare to question.
Not least because it would make him aware of the places his limbs were currently pressing against.
Both of them held their breaths until the side door to the alley had fallen shut, Lahar stormed past them and disappeared inside the building. Erza remained focused, and once again he wondered how, his own mind spiralling when the realisation of their position hit. She must have felt it, the hammering of his heart surely impossible to miss with her palms on his chest. It made his already flat breathing accelerate embarrassingly.
He did not have to see her to know it was her—he knew her almost better than himself, his body oddly enough as fidgety as it was soothed by her presence.
She let out a quiet breath then. He could feel her eyes flash up, but she must have been as blind as him. The unsteady staccato pattern of their breathing spoke for them, replacing any hypocritical words.
He had no time to think about why she was there, how she had known about his predicament or if his feet had carried him to the hotel she apparently stayed at as if by instinct.
The steps had returned.
Both were alert, tense to the very tips of their hair. Jellal cursed his pounding heart, afraid he would not hear Lahar move. He froze when Erza did. Noiselessly, she her hand wandered down. There was hardly any space for her to do so, and with his arm flush against the wood, she had no choice but to grab his elbow and direct it. Downwards. Jellal gulped.
What was she…?
He felt his breath hitch when her other hand crept up his chest to his neck, having to grope her way around as silently as possible, finding his face. She hooked a finger onto his scarf. Slowly, she pulled it away from his face. The other hand insisted despite his unwillingness, forcing him to play along and touch—if with the lightness of a feather—somewhere he had never dared to dream he would touch. Even through the fabric of her skirt, her rear was soft and voluptuous, much like her breasts still squished against him.
His brain hit the brakes just then. Play along…?
He must have guessed even before fully realising the scale of her plan. She had freed his mouth, purposefully leaving the hat on to protect his identity—he resembled Mystogan, that much was impossible to deny, but no one really knew what he looked like beneath the disguise. And was she actually preparing to be caught—quite literally? They could not be punished for an inter-team tryst; they were supposedly of the same guild.
Still, how likely was it that Lahar would be embarrassed enough to let it go? At least more embarrassed than them, Jellal started to fear.
There were more fears bubbling in the pit of his stomach, the consequences of their possible excuse setting his every thought ablaze.
Erza's grip on him tightened, meaning she grasped the cloth at his chin, accidentally also shoving his hand to further cup her behind. He was by far too stiff to be convincible, but he had a feeling she would make up for his bad acting skills.
Lahar had stopped pacing, but was still audible through the thin wooden door. He was sneaking, it dawned on Jellal. His body heat up even more than before, every muscle screaming to release Meteor and burst through the wall. Erza's thigh tightened around his, as if she wanted to push him behind her and shield him with herself if Lahar's hand so much as brushed the doorknob. Something clanked—perhaps a weapon or perhaps a set of handcuffs—but they knew fighting was not an option.
Jellal's every hair stood on end when he heard the faintest of grinding—the latch in the lock. It was like sharp nails on a chalkboard, making goosebumps rise all over his skin.
The feeling was an understatement when Erza reacted just in time, kissing him flush on the lips. Every cell in his body seemingly exploded, everything tingling and tickling so painfully, he might have as well had the entirety of his body fallen asleep. Or eaten by ants. His stomach was a knot, twisting and turning, his hands spasming, cramping—something he did not feel at that moment but ultimately somehow acted in their favour with the compromising position she had initiated.
"Oh!" Lahar winced just as much as they did. It did not keep Titania from a flawless performance, the corridor's light only just flooding them when she licked over Jellal's lips—roughly, ardently, like a cat dragging its abrasive tongue through fur. His heart was in his throat, and he noted with shame how more places than just his leg were twitching. "S-Sorry," Lahar managed. He turned on the spot, staring at the opposite wall.
Erza's face was glowing just as much as that of the men, rivalling the colour of her hair. Within a heartbeat, she reached for the door and slammed it shut.
Had she not just assaulted him like a prurient lioness, Jellal would have almost laughed.
Lahar must have expected them to compose and then explain themselves. Erza had other ideas, not taking any more risks than they already had. Harking, they were back to holding their breaths. This time, they did not have to endure for too long though, Lahar giving up rather soon, obviously not too keen on interrupting them again.
They heaved a sigh of relief when the side door of the hotel opened and closed. Neither dared to move for another minute.
Again, it was Erza who was the most courageous, but she remained just as prudent as him. It was not unthinkable that the Head Captain had set up a trap, having stayed inside, the noisy door posing as his alibi. The hand from his chin—by now on his cheek—travelled behind his neck. Jellal felt her breath vent warmly against his face, mingling with his own, irregular one.
She used his nape as a lever, and it must have been another reflex, because he held her closer, wrapping his arms around her back to ease her off her toes and into him.
"Sorry," Erza breathed once reaching his ear. His stomach still seizing, Jellal gave the softest of negating hums. A smile shyly stretched onto her lips, causing a shiver to run down his spine—a warm shiver. Why warm, he asked himself, not receiving an answer. It should have been hot with the previous bashfulness, with guilt and anger at himself. Perhaps it was not the smile itself, but the way he could feel her heart hammer against her ribcage, transferring the same fears through his fingertips that must have already betrayed him.
But it was warm. Warm and soothing like she always was. More comforting than any mask or feigned persona could ever be.
They waited for longer than was probably necessary, even after Lahar had given up his anticipated charade and finally left the building for real. It was all a precaution, of course, and so was keeping a tight hold around her back, having her breathing drown in his neck. As would be the distance he was going to have them both suffer under in the near future – something his guilty mind urged him to do no matter her reasoning. A safety matter; an old friend named pain he had come to live with long ago.
Without ever admitting it, not even to himself, Jellal knew it was more than all that. In his heart, he was home.