[fic] [Tales of Arcadia] Good Things Come In Threes 1/?
Good Things Come In Threes
by K. Stonham
first released November 22nd, 2024
Douxie leaned back against the sun-warmed merlon, closing his eyes and breathing out smoke. The stone was warm beneath him, the air cold around him, and the wind took the smoke and the ash and whirled them all away. He lifted the cigarette to his lips and took another drag; it went in like dragon's fire and went out tasting like cloves, reminding him of incense and patchouli, of silk drapes and mysticism, of telling fortunes and spinning spells. Camelot had to be thousands of feet in the air to hide in the clouds the way it did, but he had no trouble breathing here. The tower was well within the bubble of spells that kept the air at sea level density. Merlin had been no fool, had flown above the clouds himself to determine the conditions there, and ensorcelled the castle accordingly.
Douxie wondered how far in advance Merlin had known that his castle would eventually join the sky. He supposed he'd never get the chance to find out now.
Regardless, the spells had held; Douxie had checked and double checked them all, with Archie acting as a second set of eyes, and, amazingly, they were holding fine. Even though Camelot was now held together by spit, baling wire, and alien Akiridion technology, Merlin's spells held.
Douxie would never be that good at spellcraft.
But he had other strengths, and they'd kept them all safe so far.
He heard his company before he saw them, the creak of the grate in the tower floor alerting him to open his eyes. Claire and Jim climbed out of the stairwell, both of them jacket-clad to fend off the windchill of the heights.
"'Allo," Douxie greeted them with a salute.
Claire shivered in her jacket as she came closer. "It's cold up here," she complained.
Douxie grinned and unfolded himself. "You should try Wales in winter," he said. "Sometimes the wind funnels down the hills and goes right through you without stopping. Feels like there's nothing between you and the North Pole but the odd passing reindeer."
Her expression went skeptical and her gaze latched onto his cigarette. "You're up here smoking to keep warm," she accused.
Douxie's grin widened, delighted to have been caught. "Guilty," he admitted. "Want a try?"
Claire was hesitant, but shrugged after a second and reached for his cigarette. He let her take it, watched as she took an inexperienced drag, then started coughing. "Ugh," Claire complained, handing it back. "How do you do that?"
"Long practice," Douxie told her. "Also, a complete inability to be affected by it." He didn't blame her for being cold up here. She had safety pins threaded through her denim jacket, but under her short skirt her tights were fishnets. While he approved on general principal, it wasn't really the warmest choice of clothing.
The first time he'd met her, he'd sized Claire up as a baby punk, wanting desperately to rebel against her stifling life, but unable to run the risk of being turned out of her home. The intervening time had done little to dispel that impression: she wore studded denim and fishnets but didn't dare shred them or wear a pair with holes. She had her band shirts and the dyed streak in her hair (though he knew it to now be the effect of magic overexposure, not a bottle of bleach) but couldn't risk piercing anything more than her standard pair of earrings. And she was still too young for any reputable tattoo parlor to accept her as a client.
She was one part good girl, one part anything but this. Shadowmancy, he thought, might be helping to fill the hole in her that screamed for freedom, for difference, but he didn't know if that would be enough for her, or if she'd go further the way he had. Either way, she was smart, and brilliant, and managed to make Douxie laugh with her tart observations.
Jim arched his eyebrows. "Inability to be affected?" he asked.
And Douxie, oddly, liked Jim. Which he really hadn't expected. Jim was straight laced, practically a poster boy for the type of people who looked at Douxie and wanted him to be unmade. Jim wore neat clothes, combed his hair tidily, and rode a Vespa with his helmet on. He was nice, and nice people didn't like Douxie.
Jim was also the Trollhunter, with a spine of fucking adamant. He had spent months as an uncanny being caught between two species, eventually adjusting to the change with a grace that would make even a seasoned shapeshifter like Archie proud. He'd fought, and he'd sweated, and he'd bled, and in the end he was as far from a typical seventeen-year-old boy as he could be. The scar that stretched from one cheek, across his nose, and cut through the opposing eyebrow, was testament to this. He might not be worthy of Excalibur yet... but Douxie had absolutely no doubt that he would be.
Plus he was an amazing chef who utterly blew away Benoit's best.
Douxie shrugged. "One of the perks of immortality. You won't get old, you don't get sick, you definitely can't get lung cancer." He took one more inhale off the cig, relishing the taste of cloves on his tongue, before stubbing it out against the stone wall. "So. What may I do for you?"
The teenagers exchanged a look, and Douxie smiled, waiting. It was clear they'd come looking for him for some reason. He just didn't know what it was yet.
It was a long minute before Claire finally opened her mouth and asked, "Will you have sex with us?"
Douxie blinked, almost sure he'd misheard her. But he hadn't, and she and Jim looked so awkward about the request....
"Well," he said, "I have to admit, that wasn't even remotely on my list of guesses."
They ended up going back inside for what Jim was sure was going to be an incredibly uncomfortable conversation. He almost bit his lip and backtracked his way out of it even as Claire opened a shadow portal to her bedroom on the castle.
"All right," Douxie said, once they'd all gotten their shoes off and were sitting cross-legged on Claire's bed. "Walk me through this, because from where I am, this is coming out of the blue. Thought you two were happy together, and you don't have the vibe of swingers...?"
"We're not," Jim said immediately, earning an arched (pierced) eyebrow.
"Then why are you asking me?" Douxie asked, which was a fair question.
Jim went red and Claire squirmed.
Douxie sighed. "Right," he said. "Rule one: if you're not able to talk about something, you probably shouldn't be having it." He made to get off the bed.
"Wait!" Jim reached out for him.
Douxie paused. Settled back down. Waited.
Jim breathed out, trying to find words. "You're only a couple years older than us," he said. "But you're also over nine hundred years older than us. So you've been around a long time, tried lots of things. I assume."
"That I have." Douxie's voice was studiously neutral.
"I--" Jim's throat closed up.
Claire took pity on him and continued. "Um, so, we've been having sex. Which my parents are never allowed to know about," she admonished.
Douxie held up fingers. "I shan't say a word. Scout's honor."
"You were never a Boy Scout," Jim accused.
Douxie laughed. The sound was light and amused. "True," he said. "I leave that honor to you."
"I was never a Boy Scout either," Jim told him.
Douxie's eyebrows bounced up. "That does surprise me," he said. "Regardless, continue," he invited Claire.
"So. Um. It's okay," Claire said, with a glance at Jim, who nodded. They both came, so that was good. But.... "But there's got to be something more, right?" she asked Douxie. "Something more like the stuff in romance novels."
"Ah." The wizard nodded sagely. "The toe-curling, fireworks-going-off, I-thought-there-was-an-earthquake stuff? Absolute best orgasm ever, every single time?"
"You sound like you're familiar with the genre," Jim accused.
Douxie smirked. "I read a lot. And I may edit some of Archie's work."
Claire's eyes widened. "Wait, Archie-- No," she interrupted herself. "Off topic."
Douxie just grinned.
"But there is sex like that, right?" she asked Douxie.
Who sighed and leaned back on his hands. "Really fantastic sex? Certainly. Doesn't happen every time, no matter what the books want to tell you. But there's certainly a hell of a lot of shades beyond bland and boring."
"You've had a lot of sex, right?" Jim asked, leaning forward.
Douxie had a smile hovering around his mouth as he looked directly at Jim and said, "Darling, I've fucked my way around the planet. I've got nine centuries of sex under my belt. Well," he amended, looking thoughtful, "eight."
"Eight?" Claire asked.
Douxie shrugged. "Turns out that, like a surfeit of sweets, you can get tired even of pleasure. Took a century's break from debauchery in the mid eighteen hundreds."
The idea of eight centuries of sex was blowing Jim's mind. "And you never had any kids from all that...?"
Douxie shrugged again. "I'm sterile. Most immortals are." He sounded unbothered. But then, Jim guessed, he'd had nine hundred years to get used to it. "It's a base energy trade: fecundity for longevity."
"Will you teach us? Or, you know, help us figure out what we're doing wrong?" Claire asked.
"You're asking me?" Douxie demanded, with accompanying gesticulation. "Claire, the two of you have the whole internet at your hands, if you don't want to risk walking into a sex shop!"
"You want us to learn about sex from the internet?" Jim asked. "We looked!"
Douxie paused, mouth open as he clearly considered that. "All right, fair. The internet is indeed a wretched hive of scum and villainy. Nonetheless, I'm amazed that your next logical step of progression is inviting someone into a threesome. That's not usually how these things work."
"What is the usual way these things work?" asked Jim.
"Trial and error," Douxie said flatly.
"Well, that sucks," Claire said. "I'm pretty sure there's something to be said about using efficiency and resource management to improve things."
Douxie laughed. "Oh, and I'm a resource, am I?" His smile lingered, lazy and unoffended. He looked at Jim. "Have to say, most blokes would be a bit touchier about inviting another fellow in on things."
Jim's face felt like it was on fire. "I'm... not sure I'm straight," he admitted.
Douxie's eyebrows shot up, and he regarded Jim with astonishment for a minute. "Huh," he murmured eventually. "I must stop being surprised by you, Jim."
Jim bristled. "What's that mean?"
Douxie gestured to all of him with one hand. "From where I'm sitting, you look very straight."
"And you look very not," Jim shot back.
Douxie grinned. "After nine hundred years? I'm everything, Jim."
"You're certainly something," Jim muttered.
Douxie breathed, amused. "So it's not just that you two want help figuring out really good sex, then, is it? You want your first kiss from a boy."
"I'm reconsidering this," Jim announced.
"No you're not," Douxie and Claire said as one. They looked at each other and laughed.
Jim glowered.
"All right, no teasing," Douxie finally allowed. "But seriously... you and Toby never practiced kissing with one another?"
"Eww." The thought of kissing Toby was rank in Jim's throat. "No. Toby's like my brother."
Douxie shrugged. "Sorry, no offense. I've never had a brother."
Jim looked at him with all the cynicism he could muster. "Archie," he said flatly.
"That's not the same," Douxie said, "but I take your point." He looked at Claire. "And are you all right with this, love? All right with me kissing your boyfriend?"
Claire shrugged. "Go for it."
"As you will." Douxie shifted over, until he was right in front of Jim. "Sure you want me to be your first gay kiss, Jim?"
This close up, Jim could see the details of Douxie's makeup, the thick eyeliner surrounding his eyes. And he didn't know if Douxie was wearing mascara, but if he wasn't, his eyelashes were utterly wasted on a boy. Or they would be if the boy wasn't Douxie. He smelled of cloves and some sort of aftershave, but Jim didn't know what kind. Suddenly struck dumb, he nodded.
"Well, then." Douxie crossed the distance between them, and his lips were soft and dry on Jim's.
It was just a few seconds, then Douxie drew back. He chuckled and shook his head. "Close your eyes, Jim," he instructed, thumb drawing a gentle line down Jim's cheek. "Stop thinking for a minute."
Jim obeyed, and Douxie's lips came back.
It was easier to relax into it now, somehow. Douxie's mouth moved against his, and Jim's moved back, responding. A touch of tongue against his lips and he opened them, and--
Oh.
He and Claire definitely hadn't done this.
Holy fuck.
Jim felt himself being borne back, laid down on the bed, surrounded by a halo of cloves and spice, Douxie kissing him for all he was worth, until finally the older teen pulled back. Lightened up. Returned it to just lips moving against one another and then, with a peck, pulled away.
Jim opened his eyes.
Douxie looked down at him, somehow smug despite not even smiling. "Going to have a gay panic now?" he murmured.
Jim considered it. "No," he finally said.
"Good. Because you really are not straight." Douxie shifted, and Jim realized his leg was planted between Jim's, his thigh pressing against Jim's... erection.
Jim's face caught on fire.
Douxie laughed. "Welcome to being queer," he said, not unkindly.
"I didn't even like you when I met you," Jim confessed.
"Believe me," Douxie said with a smile, "you made that abundantly clear." He backed off, sitting up, and offered Jim a hand. Jim accepted it, straightening and trying to surreptitiously adjust himself.
Claire snickered.
What the hell, they were in her bed, talking about sex. Jim gave up on discretion.
Claire watched as Douxie eased Jim back down onto the bed, and had to admit to herself, okay, that's a little hot.
Maybe more than just a little, in fact.
Because Jim made her heart beat fast, and Douxie was almost too pretty to be a boy, no matter how he tried to toughen things up with all the piercings in his ears and eyebrow, and the tattoos they all knew he had because they peeked out from his shirtsleeves and over the collar of his tank tops.
Jim was melted by the time Douxie was done kissing him, and Claire knew they'd asked the right person. Douxie wasn't laughing at Jim for not being sure if he was actually bi, wasn't being mean at all--
In fact, despite how he dressed and carried himself like someone who had at least three knives on him at all times (and, Claire had learned, Douxie did in fact have at least three knives on him at any time), he was possibly the kindest person she'd ever met.
Which was part of what she loved about the punk scene. Everyone outside it judged them by what they wore and the music they listened to, the anger and rebellion they expressed... but inside that culture, she'd found some of the most caring people she'd ever met. Certainly ones who'd understood her better than her mother. People who had looked at Claire and seen her, not some cutout figure of what they thought she should be. They'd been happy to share new music with her. Happy to recommend makeup brands and where to get good stockings. Happy to teach her how to bleach and dye her hair, back when her hair would still take dye.
Happy to let her be herself, no matter who that was.
Wait a second....
As Jim sat back upright, she eyed Douxie's hair. "Did you dye your hair again?" she asked. Because it looked like there was more blue now than the last time he, Archie, and Nari had managed a visit to the castle.
Douxie blinked. Then snickered. His fingers feathered through his own bangs. "This isn't hair dye any more than your white is, Claire."
"It's not?" She felt dumb.
Douxie shrugged. "Color changes are a sign of magical overexertion. And, yes, dodging and bamboozling the Arcane Order's taking a fair amount."
"I thought your hair was dyed," Jim said, sounding surprised.
"Most people do." He fell silent.
Claire eyed him. "Doux-ie," she wheedled, trying to get the story out of him. "When did your hair start changing color?"
He huffed a sigh. "Fine. The thing about living a long time? People ask you where you were for certain events. A pretty popular one's 'were you on the Titanic'?"
Claire went absolutely still. She swallowed. "Were you?" she asked.
Douxie shook his head. "I wasn't." He met her eyes. "I was on the Carpathia."
Which meant little to her, but Jim's eyes went wide. "The rescue ship."
"Just so." Douxie's mouth formed a line. "I'd been working as a stoker, but I was really there to deal with a nasty little infestation of nimwraiths. Archie was a ratter. When the captain changed course and word came down about why... well, all speed was wanted. That night I shoved as much magic as I could into the boiler to get us there faster. With all the coal dust, I didn't even realize my hair'd gone blue until after we'd hit New York."
"I would have thought you'd be a passenger. Or, you know, a waiter or something," Jim said awkwardly.
Douxie shrugged. "I wasn't nearly high class enough to be a waiter. Wrong accent. As for being a passenger... I think Hollywood's led you to the wrong impression of immortality. Wizardry doesn't pay shit."
Claire wet her lips. "So that's why you didn't change your hair color, when we were in the past."
Douxie nodded. "I could hide all this," he said, gesturing at his tattoos and piercings. "But signs of magical change? Simply impossible."
"Wait, so why does your hair go blue and Claire's white?" Jim asked. "You've both got black hair."
Douxie spread his hands. "Your guess," he said, "is as good as mine. Zoe," he said with weight, "believe it or not, used to have brown hair. Handling lightning's a high-powered bitch."
Author's Note: I am working on the next chapter of Your Future Hasn't Been Written Yet, but it's been an uphill struggle. I've finally managed to get it one scene from being ready. But today I happened to notice this set of files in my drafts folder, sitting there apparently untouched since March of 2023. So I read them over and realized they weren't too bad, did a bit of tweaking, and this first chapter at least is now ready to be seen by others. Nothing explicit happened herein, but when I get to the next part, it will earn an Explicit rating, so I'm preemptively setting the story at that.
As for where this came from... my notes to myself: "Someday I'll write about the boy who wears makeup and black nail polish, who has actual non-magic tattoos and more piercings than is generally considered polite, who smokes and drinks and wears ripped denim and ripped fishnets and says fuck it to all my ideas of conventionality, yet still tries so hard and bleeds so much, trying to save the world and the people who matter most to him. That particular kind of anger is hard for me to write, so I should do it."