Chapter Eighty

...

Warren groaned softly as Layla tied her hair back, his dick twitching against his leg. Layla looked over to him with a frown, wondering if he was all right. He'd had a late night at the Paper Lantern, but he'd slept for most of the morning. She was about to ask if he was okay when she felt desire pulsing on her wrist. He was awake, so he wasn't having an erotic dream, and Layla didn't think she'd done anything to warrant the response. She was wearing a thin shirt and shorts, since it was already too hot to have more material covering her body and trapping more heat.

"C'mere, hippie," Warren murmured, his eyes dark as he looked at her.

"Are you okay?" Layla asked, just in case she was misreading the feelings on her wrist.

"Fine. Better than," he added, tugging her down to kiss her thoroughly. "You've fucking trained me, hippie."

Layla frowned, pulling away from the kiss with a question on her lips.

"Your hair. You tie it up with a vine every time you kiss me, so I see you tie it up now and my dick thinks you're going to make my toes curl."

Layla's eyes widened at the explanation. Then she grinned, biting her lower lip. "What if I braid it? I don't want you getting horny every time we have to fight someone."

"I don't know; we can try. Just... kiss me first?" he asked.

Layla smiled and kissed him deeply, a sense of satisfaction and relief unfurling in Warren's chest as she licked into his mouth, her body pressed up against his. She pulled away, smiling again when she saw Warren's swollen lips and the blissful expression on his face. Kissing his lips lightly once more, she stroked his cheek, prompting him to open his eyes. Undoing her hair so it fell over her shoulders, Layla tied it up with a vine again, feeling Warren throb beneath her. She licked her lips at the feeling and kissed him, just so he wouldn't be disappointed, then pulled away to try again with braiding her hair. There was no response this time, and Layla was almost disappointed. Deftly undoing the braid, she tied her hair back with a vine again, Warren groaning beneath her.

"Fuck, hippie. Stop it already," Warren groaned, taking her wrists to stop her from doing it yet again.

"Mmm, sorry," Layla said, leaning down to kiss him and gyrate down against his hips.

"No, you're not," he muttered against her lips, squeezing her wrists tighter and Layla gasping in pleasure in response.

"You're right," she replied breathlessly, grinding down harder.

Warren kissed Layla harder, biting her lips and tongue, leveraging his hips until Layla's wet pussy was pressed flush up against his hardening dick. He couldn't wait to be buried in her, to have her surrounding him on all sides, her wet and hot pussy clenching around his dick. Fuck, he wanted her so much, he could practically taste her on his tongue.

"Fuck, Layla. Want you bad."

"I know. I can feel it," she said, her voice husky. "What if I go down on you?"

Warren's hips stuttered at her words and he almost came untouched between them. "What? Hippie, tell me you're not fucking with me."

Layla pulled back and shook her head, biting her plump bottom lip. "I want to try. I want to taste you on my tongue."

Warren had to let go of her wrists so he could bite his fist and stop himself from coming right there and then. "You sure?" he asked, his breath ragged.

Layla rolled her hips in a figure eight, the motion making Warren arch up against her. "I'm sure. Just... what if I'm bad at it?" she asked, eyes full of worry.

Warren shook his head. "No chance. If you think you're bad, then by all means, hippie, use me to practice all you fucking want," he said, his eyes dark as he held her hips and thrust his hard dick up against her.

Layla's gasp and arousal on his wrist made him want to tear her shorts and underwear off. He wanted to lick and suck and bite until she was writhing beneath him, her juices on his mouth and chin as he made his way up her body, his fingers buried in that wet warmth and his thumb flicking and grinding down on her clit. Licking between her breasts and rolling her nipples with his fingers, then moving to kiss her with his wet mouth, her pussy's taste shared between them as she sucked on his tongue, just like she'd suck on his dick.

"Fuck, hippie. If you're gonna do it, then do it. I'm not gonna last long," Warren groaned.

Warren almost cursed his words as she slipped off his body, her warmth and wetness leaving his body far too soon for his liking. He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe, to get his body and dick under control. His eyes flew open when he felt fingers curling into the waistband of his briefs, his breath catching when he saw Layla's aroused and determined expression.

"Lift your hips," Layla instructed.

Warren watched her as she pulled his briefs down, his gaze intent as she blushed beautifully, her cheeks red. All because of him.

Layla looked at his dick for a moment that felt like an eternity and Warren fisted his hands in the bed sheets. She reached out hesitantly, biting her lip, and stroked her fingertips along the length of his dick, her nails dragging slightly. Warren did not fucking whimper.

Layla's fingers came away wet and sticky with precum. She licked her fingertips gently, curious about the taste. Salty, for the most part. Her fingers smelled musky, even from that light touch, and still curious, Layla stroked Warren's cock lightly again.

He trembled beneath her fingers, as though it was taking every ounce of his willpower to stay in control. The feeling was a heady one and Layla's eyes darkened as she thought of this same situation, only slightly different. Warren on the bed, his body shaking and trembling, but he was tied up and at her mercy. Only she had a flogger in her hand, a simple one that would cause welts and an ache, rather than draw blood. Super Jesus, he'd look even more beautiful than he did now.

Licking her lips, Layla leaned forward to take the head of Warren's cock in her mouth, sucking firmly.

Warren couldn't hold on any longer. The feeling of desire that had been looping around them had been bad enough, but then Layla's lust had spiked suddenly, and she'd sucked his dick into her mouth without warning. The warmth and wetness were similar enough to her pussy and his imaginings that Warren couldn't stop himself from letting go. He came with hardly a touch of her lips, Layla spluttering at the unexpected response and Warren holding his dick as she pulled away, his ejaculate still spurting out eagerly.

Warren groaned when he'd finally stopped cumming, collapsing back on the bed. "Fuck. Sorry, hippie. Didn't expect it that soon," he said. Warren cracked an eye open when Layla didn't respond, and he smothered a laugh at her expression and the cum that dripped from her chin.

Layla wiped her chin on the back of her hand and glared. "Don't laugh. You surprised me. Next time, don't cum unless I say so."

Warren's dick twitched valiantly at her tone and words. Super fucking Jesus, did she even know what she meant when she said that sort of thing?!

Layla muttered under her breath, grabbing some tissues and clean them both up. Warren saw that she'd missed a spot on her cheek, so he tugged her down onto his lap and licked it off her, musk and salt on his tongue.

"How can you tell me to cum if my dick's in your mouth?" Warren asked, his voice a lust-filled whisper in her ear.

"I'll think of something. I want to try that again, I barely did anything," Layla muttered with a cute little pout.

Fuck, he was so gone on her.

Warren kissed her and manoeuvred their bodies until his hand was inside her shorts. "Like I said, hippie: use me to practice all you like."

Layla sighed contently and arched her body against his deft fingers. "I want to tie you down and flog you. You'd look beautiful," she added breathlessly.

Warren thought of it for a moment as he worked his fingers at her clit. He could practically see her standing above him, her body wrapped in tight leather, a flogger in her hands, her hair tied back with a vine. Fuck, maybe she knew exactly what she meant. "Anything you want, hippie."

She smiled brilliantly, as though she'd expected nothing less, and Warren rubbed her clit harder until that smile turned into breathless gasps and wanton moans. All because of him and for him alone.

Layla collapsed against his body, her body sweaty and sticky. She held Warren's wrist and licked his fingers clean, feeling his cock stir beneath her thigh.

"We've got to get to the Council building for the language class," Layla said reluctantly.

Warren sighed and kissed her cheek, her neck, biting gently at the curve. "Shower with me, hippie?" he asked, his words warm against her skin.

She was nodding before she'd really thought about it, and Layla felt Warren smile in response. He picked her up as he stood up, carrying her through to the ensuite and setting her on her feet gently. Warren turned the taps on, then focused his attention on undressing her, his hands running along her sides and leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

Layla put her hair up so it wouldn't get wet, then stepped into the shower with Warren crowding in behind her. The spray didn't cover both of them properly, but Warren didn't seem to mind. His eyes were dark and intent as he lathered her washcloth until it was soapy, his hands gentle as he stroked her body and cleaned her. She laughed when he paid special attention to her breasts, Warren grinning in response.

"Can you blame me?" he murmured, kissing her once before he dropped to his knees.

He picked up her foot and cleaned her leg with long measured strokes, setting it back down before repeating the process with her other leg. Layla felt as though she'd never been washed or cared for quite so thoroughly before. Warren pressed a kiss to her stomach, then turned her around to wash her back and ass, her body covered in goosebumps by the time he'd finished.

"Your turn," Layla murmured, her voice soft as though she was afraid to break this thing between them with loud words or actions.

Warren just nodded, accepted a kiss, and Layla stepped back so he could be under the spray more fully. The tiles were biting cold against her back and ass, but she didn't care at the moment. Her attention was focused solely on Warren, on washing him with his own washcloth, spending extra time on his pecs, grinning cheekily when he looked at her.

"Can you blame me?" she quipped, kissing him.

Warren let out a soft groan as she grabbed his dick, still sensitive from his orgasm.

"Is that clean?" Layla asked curiously.

"Not yet," Warren replied, his words guttural.

Layla stroked him again, concentrating on making sure she cleaned every inch of his cock and balls, then moved on to clean his thighs as well.

Warren was this fucking close to cumming again, his dick was so sensitive and Layla's firm grip and her intense expression weren't doing a fucking thing to help him. He focused on his breathing, the motion already ragged and desperate as his dick started to thicken.

"Oh," Layla said, blinking in surprise as Warren's cock swelled before her eyes and under her ministrations.

She looked up at him, his eyes closed tight, and she grinned as a thought came to her. Turning Warren around, Layla spent a minute cleaning his back, stroking the welts she'd left on him earlier. Swiping down to his ass, Layla took a moment to appreciate the crescent marks she'd left indented in his cheek. After making sure he was as clean as the proverbial whistle, Layla took the shampoo down and uncapped it, squeezing a generous amount on her palm.

"Head back," Layla murmured.

Warren tilted his head under the spray of water completely, Layla using her free hand to stroke through the wet strands. She kissed his shoulder blade before starting to lather and massage the shampoo into his scalp. Warren felt a shudder run through his body, Layla's nails scritching against his scalp before running down the length of his hair, washing the shampoo out gently, the contrast making him bite his lip and his dick twitch.

Layla washed out the last of the shampoo and made sure that Warren was free of any suds, her hands trailing along his body. When he was clean and the water ran clear, she moved forward until she was pressed up against his back. Layla could practically feel his breath stuttering in his chest at the unexpected move.

"What're you doing, hippie?"

Layla kissed his spine, then reached around his body to take hold of his cock. "This time, don't cum until I tell you."

Warren didn't know if he had that kind of willpower. He inhaled shakily, Layla's breasts pressed against his back and her hand hot and firm around the base of his dick.

"Please?" she asked.

"Anything you want, hippie," he murmured, unable to deny her anything.

Warren felt Layla smile against his spine, then she squeezed and started to stroke him, and he felt nothing but her hand and her pleasure unfurling around his wrist.

What felt like an eternity later, Warren was completely wrecked. He was holding himself up, bracing his arm against the shower tiles, though his muscles were trembling at the Herculean effort. Behind him, Layla was smiling again, and she grabbed his wrist with her free hand, her nails digging into the vine tattoo.

Pain blossomed, but it warred with the satisfaction and pleasure rolling off Layla in waves. Warren bit his tongue hard, desperate to cum, desperate to please Layla, desperate and still hearing that 'please' echoing in his head.

Oh, wait. That was his own voice. That was him begging Layla, begging for release, begging her not to stop, begging her for more.

Layla kissed his spine, dug her nails in that little bit more until they felt like thorns, and then said Warren's favourite three words at that moment: cum for me.

Two more strokes of his dick and he was cumming so hard he whited out, his vision going blank. He would have collapsed if not for Layla holding him up, and Warren came back to himself to hear Layla humming happily to herself, cleaning the last of his body before turning the shower off.

Fuck, he felt so utterly wrecked, he didn't know how he was going to get through the rest of the day.

Layla kissed him once, briefly, as though she recognised the over-stimulation would be too much, and led him out of the shower with a gentle hand. Warren followed, slowly feeling his energy returning as Layla dried him off and cared for him, praising him between gentle swipes of the towel.

"You were so amazing, Warren. I'm so proud of you for waiting," Layla said as she dried off his back, warming the towel between her hands before drying Warren some more.

The fact that he was letting her dry him off spoke to just how wiped he was. She wondered if he could even power up right then.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" she asked, her voice soft and moving around to face him when he didn't respond. He still looked a little slack-jawed and Layla kissed his mouth. "Power up for me? I need to know you're okay, Warren," she said.

He blinked, slow and dazed, then nodded. Her towel was ashes in a moment, but Warren was dry and all right, so Layla supposed it didn't matter. Using a leaf to sweep the ash down the bathroom drain, Layla led Warren out of the bathroom.

He let her dress him, though the material was obviously sensitive against his skin. Layla bit her lip and wondered if she should have waited. Maybe it was too soon to do this, especially when they had to go out and function for the rest of the day.

Warren looked at her, as though he could sense her internal struggle, though he probably could thanks to their wrist brands. He licked his lips and shook his head. "I'm fine, hippie. Just... still coming down from it all."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded, his eyes looking a little clearer. "I didn't think that would happen with a simple edging. I've done it to myself, but it's never been like that before. That was fucking intense."

"You liked it?" Layla asked.

Warren smirked, looking a little more like himself. "What do you think, hippie?"

Layla smiled and kissed him. "I want to try again. Outside of the shower next time, though that did make it easier to clean up," she admitted.

Before Warren could reply, Layla's phone went off with an alarm.

"We've got half an hour before we need to leave for the language class. Do you want something to eat?" Layla asked.

"Yeah, food sounds amazing right now. Maybe we can try it again at night, I feel kinda wiped right now," Warren admitted.

"Okay, let me know when you have a night off, we'll do it then," Layla said, then took Warren's hand and led him downstairs to the kitchen.

...

"I thought we got paid for this?" Will asked, his eyes wide.

"You only get paid after you've defeated a villain. It's in the contract, Will. Did you not read it before signing? That's the first rule in real estate: always read the contract!" Josie said incredulously.

"I... I know, but this wasn't real estate," Will said, wincing at the lame response.

Will knew it was bad when even his father didn't defend him. Realising that he'd convinced Magenta to sign her own contract without reading it as well, Will knew he was well and truly fucked.

Maybe he could just... never tell her? Yes, that was a great idea. If Magenta asked about it, he could just say there was a problem at the bank or something. It would be fine, he reassured himself firmly.

Will was reprieved of a lecture because his parents' red phone rang shrilly. He slipped away when his mother answered the phone, flying out of the house and heading to Magenta's before his mother realised he was gone.

Steve opened and closed his mouth, warring with his need to let Josie know that Will was gone with his desire to never interrupt Josie while she was on the phone. Will had left before he could make a decision, and since he didn't want to get reprimanded himself, Steve left and went down to the Secret Sanctum to play the X-box.

"I really am sorry about this, Jetstream, but this villain's requested a fight with both yourself and the Commander during the day," Layla said.

Josie sighed heavily. She and Steve had sold a measly two houses during the summer break so far. With all of the villains that they needed to defeat, they kept missing appointments with potential clients, or running late to open houses. They were both lucky that they were paid for every fight, whether it was with a villain or not, because they'd read their contracts. Still, she knew that summer was a busy time for villains. Josie just wished they'd give her and Steve a day off at the very least.

"Is tomorrow suitable, Jetstream?" Layla prompted.

A sudden fear clutched at Josie: she and Steve weren't the only supers with red phones. While they were the more important superheroes, there were still others out there who would love to defeat a villain and gain the public's attention and affection. "We'll be there. What time?"

Layla smiled and listed the villain's requested time and place. "It's bordering on Westville, so would you like me to inform Airborne in case the fight moves over 100th Street?" she offered.

"No, that's fine. I'll tell him myself," Josie said, looking around the room only to see that both her husband and her son were gone. Hearing the sounds of the X-box coming from the Secret Sanctum, she rolled her eyes, thinking that they were both down there playing a game.

"Have a nice day, Jetstream."

"Thank you, Layla. You too," Josie said, ending the call. Heading to the Sanctum entrance, she didn't bother sliding down. She was still annoyed at Will and just couldn't bring herself to see his face right then. "We have a fight tomorrow at noon on 100th Street; it may go into Westville," she called down.

"All right, dear," Steve called back.

"Don't yell in the house, Steve," Josie said.

"Yes, dear."

Looking to her watch, Josie figured that she could still make the Barr's open house if she flew as fast as possible. "Organise dinner, would you, Steve?" Josie called over her shoulder before flying out of the house.

"Don't yell in the house," Steve muttered under his breath, waiting a moment to ensure his wife hadn't actually heard him. Relief filled him and he returned his attention to the game he was playing.

...

Grant turned the cuff on his wrist nervously. It was yet another prototype design that Honey wanted to be tested in the real world. This one looked similar to a FitBit, though it was a firmer design to ensure it wouldn't accidentally fall off. It also told the time, which was a new feature for the cuffs, and one that R&D were apparently very proud of.

Jewel had offered to pick Craig up for their date and meet him at the movies, so he was waiting for them, nervous as the minutes ticked by without them showing up. Grant wondered if they'd got caught up making out. He couldn't blame them for the delay, if that was the case.

The cinema's door opened and he looked up, smiling when Jewel and Craig entered. They didn't look like they'd been making out, since he knew that Craig looked significantly more blush-red with swollen lips when that happened. He waved when Jewel looked towards him. She took Craig's hand and headed over to Grant.

"Sorry, babe; there was a buttload of traffic. Craig had to pull a Wendy to get them moving again," Jewel said, kissing his cheek with stone-rough lips. She pulled back with a frown. "What's going on?"

"What's wrong?" Craig asked, looking between them. Then he did a double-take. "You're still jewelled? Are you sick, Grant? Do you need something? Soup or... uh, something?" he asked.

"I'm fine, babe," Grant said, showing Craig and Jewel the cuff on his wrist. "Testing a prototype for Honey."

"Oh, geez. You scared me," Craig muttered, hugging Grant tight.

"Sorry, babe. C'mon, the movie's about to start," he said, offering them their tickets before going to the theatre with them.

Jewel took Grant's hand in her gloved one. "Why'd you offer to test the prototype, babe?" she asked curiously.

Grant looked to her and shrugged slightly. "I thought you'd both like the ability to power up while you were nearby."

"Mmhmm. Are you sure this isn't because you've got a thing for Lady Peregrine?"

He laughed and shook his head. "You got me," Grant said, kissing her cheek.

Jewel laughed brightly and Craig grinned.

In the back row of the dark theatre, Craig shifted to Lady Peregrine's form and tugged Grant close to make out with him. Grant clutched Jewel's hand as their boyfriend did things with his tongue that made him glad he was already sitting down. Jewel smirked, pressed cool kisses to his neck, and then she cupped his half-hard dick over his pants.

Craig pulled away after another tongue swirl thing, winking at Grant with Lady Peregrine's third eyelid. Then he leaned over Grant to make out filthily with Jewel, who seemed to be just as into it as Grant was. Grant moved the arm rest so Craig had more room, then lifted him completely onto his lap so Craig could keep making out with Jewel while Grant held his now-voluptuous body.

Thank science for technological advances, and thank Honey for the cuff, Grant thought, taking Craig's earlobe between his teeth and being rewarded with Craig clutching his hand with talon-sharp nails.

Jewel cupped Craig's breasts curiously, her hand sliding lower and making Craig squirm on Grant's lap. Grant took over her mouth then, his hand joining hers on Craig's breast. She smiled against his lips, both of them taking a moment to listen to Craig desperately trying to be quiet at their ministrations.

"Please," he whispered, grinding down against Grant's erection.

"You're slipping, babe," Jewel murmured, seeing the freckles on his skin.

Craig forced himself back to Lady Peregrine's form, yellow irises bright in the dark.

"We've got a Skype date tonight, babe. If you keep her form for another five minutes, I'll wear Gemstone's outfit for you," Jewel whispered in his ear, Craig shivering in delight at the mental image.

"Fuck, please do it, babe. For both of us," Grant murmured, holding Craig's hips and rutting gently.

Craig clutched Jewel's hand tightly, squeezed his eyes shut, and concentrated on keeping his form. Four minutes and thirty seconds left.

"Fuck, babe. I still can't believe you're doing this for me," Grant murmured, squeezing Craig's thighs, still rutting his hips up against him.

Three minutes and fifty-six seconds left.

"You're so fucking amazing. Thank you so much, babe."

Craig wasn't sure if he could last the next three minutes of this. It was like his own personal torturous Hell, but at the same time, Craig never wanted it to end. Grant whispering praise in his ear while he spooned him and Jewel teasing his nipples was the stuff made of his dreams.

"The minute you're eighteen, I'm going to take you apart, babe. Me and Jewel? We'll be the only ones who can put you back together again," Grant said, Craig biting back a whimper at the thought, the promise.

Two minutes left. He could hold his shift, he totally could. Fuck, Craig sure hoped he could.

"I promise you, babe. We're yours for as long as you'll have us," Grant said, his voice serious considering how his hips were practically bucking under Craig's thighs, his erection straining against his jeans.

"You're ours, babe. We don't want anyone else," Jewel murmured, cupping his cheek to turn Craig's face to hers, kissing him and swallowing his moans.

One minute, three seconds.

C'mon, almost there, Craig told himself, losing himself in Jewel's kiss and the erratic motion of Grant's body under his. He wasn't even sure if he'd make it to eighteen; he was so sexually frustrated, he'd probably explode before then.

Beneath him, Grant groaned into Craig's back. Craig knew that the damp moan was caused by an orgasm because that was the sort of thing he knew about his boyfriend now. He also knew that Jewel's orgasms resulted in moans that sounded like diamonds tinkling together. Her skin also flushed a light pink colour that sparkled in candlelight, and Craig loved the colour as much as the sound of her.

"Five minutes. You did so well, babe. You want to cum now?" Jewel asked.

Slipping back to his own form, Craig forced himself to shake his head. He didn't want to spend the next two hours of the movie sticky and gross, even though he really wanted to get off.

"You sure? I've got wet wipes," Jewel added with a wink, opening her bag and offering the packet to him.

Craig kissed her quickly, and Grant took his hand to led him to the bathroom so he could clean up as well.

On their way out of the bathroom, Craig caught his blush-red reflection and tried not to grin too broadly when he realised his eyes were still Lady Peregrine's yellow colour. If he could hold such an important detail through all of that, then his powers were definitely improving.

...

Ryuu narrowed his eyes at his father. "Why'd you change your shirt?"

Connor shrugged. "This one's nicer. I'm trying to make a good impression."

"The other one was fine, Papa. Are you trying to impress someone in particular?" Ry asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Maybe. I don't know. It's complicated," Connor said in a rush, wincing.

"Uh huh. We both know you'll ruin that white shirt in minutes, Papa. Get your green one, it makes your eyes pop," Ry added with a grin.

"You think?"

"Yes. Now hurry, or we'll be late and really be making a bad impression," he replied, trying not to laugh when Connor hurried back into his room to change his shirt for the third time that afternoon.

Taking the potato salad out of the fridge, Ry waited for his father to return. It didn't take long, and soon they were in the car, following the GPS' instructions to Edith's house.

"So who are you trying to impress?" Ry asked with a grin.

They were locked in the car for at least another ten minutes, so Connor couldn't escape the interrogation.

"Damn, son, you're really doing this?" Connor asked incredulously.

"Yep. Spill, Papa," Ry said.

Connor glanced to Ry briefly, seeing a broad grin on his face. He looked so eager and excited - the first time since starting either of the medications - that Connor couldn't really bring himself to squash his son's excitement. "He's got short black hair, blue eyes, and looks thin as a rake."

"Booooring," Ry crowed, laughing. "I want details, Papa. C'mon, you can do better than that. I want all the adjectives, flowery language, starry-eyed crap."

Connor laughed and shook his head, turning left as the GPS indicated. "All right. Let's see what I can do..." he murmured, thinking back to his meeting with Victor. "Hair as black as a raven and shorter than summer grass."

"Ooh, nice. Go on, go on."

Connor thought that if they were at home, Ry would be sitting on the armchair with his knees up to his chest, just like he'd sat as a child waiting for a story. He smiled at the mental image and then continued with his flowery depiction of Victor.

"Blue eyes like a summer sky and bright like the sun's reflection on the ocean. Thin as a scarecrow and just as watchful over all that is his. Broad hands and long fingers that, uh," he trailed off abruptly, realising that the GPS was telling him he'd arrived at his destination. "We're here."

"That's one hell of an impression, Papa. By the way, I'm only allowing the multiple summer references 'cause you had a theme going. You need a minute 'fore we go in?" Ry offered with a quick and sly grin.

"I'm fine," Connor lied.

He hadn't text Victor, though he'd spent a few minutes (hours; it was no good to lie to himself as well as his son) every day convincing himself that it wasn't a good idea. Things could be misconstrued over text without the emotion and body language behind them, and that's not how Connor wanted things to be with Victor. If there even was anything with Victor.

"Yeah, right, Papa. If you need to bail, cough three times. I'll break something and we can leave out of shame," Ry said.

Actually looking at the house they were parked in front of, Connor's eyes widened. Was that a pool on the house's third storey?

"I don't think this is going to be the kind of place where you can break something small and replaceable, kid," he murmured.

Ry ducked his head to look out to the house properly. "Kuso." (Shit.)

"Language," Connor said.

"Japanese."

The cheeky response was familiar, but it still made Connor laugh. "C'mon, son. Let's go to our first pot luck," he said, reaching over to ruffle Ry's hair.

Ry shook his head to straighten out his hair - even in the summer humidity, it didn't take much, thanks to his mother's genes - then waited for his father to open the car door so they could go up to the fancy house together.

...

End of the eightieth chapter.

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