Fic - "Seven Days" (1/1)
Title: Seven Days
Word count: 4,100
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Azazel/Riptide
Summary: Shaw sends Azazel and Riptide away, to spend seven days alone together in a remote cabin. He hopes that they will emerge sick of each other and with their love affair over, so that they can better concentrate on fulfilling Shaw’s missions. Inspired by this prompt:
http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/3278.html?thread=3487182#t3487182
It doesn't have to be kinky, per se, but I would love to see Azazel carefully braiding Riptide's hair for him, talking to him, maybe kissing his neck while he does it, etc.
Disclaimer: I don’t own X-men. If I did the world would be a more interesting place.
Seven Days
Prologue
Shaw draws a breath in sharply and narrows his eyes. “Are you listening to me, Azazel?”
Azazel opens his mouth to respond but Emma speaks before Azazel formulates a reply. “He’s not,” Emma says flatly, her face a mixture of boredom and irritation. “He hasn’t heard a word you said about the mission. Instead, he’s thinking about what he and Riptide are going to do tonight. As in,” she adds after a pause, “tonight in their quarters.”
“I see,” Shaw says, not taking his withering gaze from Azazel.
It is not easy to fluster Azazel, but Shaw might have succeeded. Azazel stiffens noticeably. Although both he and his lover know that the two other members of the Hellfire Club are aware of their relationship, it has never been discussed openly with Shaw or Emma. Azazel is unsure of how to respond; in fact he’s not certain that his boss even wants a response.
“I apologize,” Azazel offers, after a few long pauses which helped him determine that Shaw does indeed require a reply. He forces himself to briefly meet Shaw’s eyes and keep his arms at his sides. “I will focus better. From now on.”
Shaw breaks his gaze away and begins to slowly pace. He continues to be silent for several long moments. Azazel watches his boss pace and starts to realize that Shaw and Emma are likely now speaking telepathically. They are taking their time, and all Azazel can do is silently observe and try to keep his thoughts from again drifting towards Riptide.
“I have an idea,” Shaw says, breaking the silence.
Azazel forces himself to again look at Shaw’s face and listen to his words. Many of Shaw’s - and Emma’s - ideas are harbingers of trouble.
“We have a property in a secluded woods in North America. It is very remote, and a lovely little place. It has modern conveniences - a small kitchen, a bathroom. Very nice. I would like for you and Riptide to spend a week there.”
Azazel blinks. He has struggled for words during this entire conversation and is especially stumped now.
“May I ask why, Mr. Shaw?” Azazel manages.
Shaw breaks into a small smile, but other than that has kept his posture and expressions steady. “Surely Russians understand the concept of a vacation, don’t they? I want you two to take some time off. This mission can wait, and we don’t have anything else pressing right now. You two have been such good fighters in our struggle - well, apart from today when you were daydreaming as I tried to explain something,” he adds, waving a hand dismissively. “But I want you to enjoy some time off. As I said, the cabin is secluded so you should not have to worry about anyone seeing you. Please go and tell Riptide to pack his bags,” Shaw says, gesturing to the door. “I’d like you two to depart as soon as possible.”
“Of course,” Azazel says, turning towards the doorway, his brow still furrowed.
After Azazel leaves the room, Shaw and Emma turn towards each other.
“Brilliant idea, my love,” Shaw tells Emma.
“Indeed,” she responds, a hint of a smug smile on her face. “Trust me that it will work. Seven days alone together in that small cabin - they will get so sick of each other. No more botched missions because someone is anticipating his next trip to the bedroom.”
“No more walking into the control room and seeing a sight I wish I hadn’t seen,” Shaw concludes, equally bemused and irritated with his henchmen.
***
Day One
Azazel teleports himself and Riptide to the coordinates Shaw has provided. They are now in front of a tiny cabin, surrounded by foliage.
“Beautiful,” Riptide breathes. He inhales deeply. Living as a member of the Hellfire Club, Riptide has acquired a taste for finer things but he has always liked nature too. The place smells vaguely of fresh dirt, but mostly just of crisp and clean air. They are in the middle of a dense forest, and the trees are just beginning to change color, a visual delight. Riptide’s nose becomes slightly chilly.
“Yes,” Azazel says, surveying the scene. He likes it too, especially the hints of red and orange beginning to decorate the leaves. It is nice to be free of the scent of exhaust from yachts and other vessels. “Let us see the cabin, yes?”
Riptide follows him as he unlocks the door. Both men expect a musty odor - it is clear that Shaw can’t spend much time here - but instead the place appears relatively clean. To their right is a kitchenette, complete with a white table and two chairs, an oven, a refrigerator, a few cabinets, and a modicum of counter space. Straight ahead is a cozy but not cramped sitting room, with a sofa, chair, television set, and fireplace. The curtains on the window are slightly parted and reveal a small patio. A door near the kitchen leads to the bathroom. It is small but, like the kitchenette, clean. A large tub takes up most of the space. Stairs leading up to a loft are tucked behind the sofa. Azazel and Riptide ascend the creaky staircase and find themselves inside a small space with a sloping ceiling. Both barely miss having to duck their heads. The room contains a king-size bed, another rug, and a dresser which is empty - although Azazel opens all of its drawers in order to be sure. Fall colors comprise the color scheme of the cabin, apart from the white of the kitchen furnishings. The cabin is replete with golds, greens, and reds in its rugs, bedspread, sofa cushions, and curtains.
“What is the word?” Riptide wonders, sitting down onto the bed. The springs give off a squeak. “Quaint, I think.”
“Yes,” Azazel says, sitting next to him. He shakes his head. “I do not understand. Why Shaw send us here.” The sentence comes out somewhere between a question and a statement.
“We do work very, very hard for him,” Riptide says. He reaches his hand to hold Azazel’s, threading his fingers through the other man’s. “Since I joined the Hellfire Club, I don’t think I have had more than half a day off.” He runs his free hand through his hair. “Look how long my hair is now - I’ve not even had time get it cut!”
Azazel glances at Riptide’s hair and then looks out the small window. Riptide expects Azazel to run his fingers through his hair, but instead the older man fixates on a tree in front. “That is why this does not make sense to me. We are so busy, so why spare time to send us away for seven days? Is this some type of test? Some type of challenge?”
“They did warn us to stay not far from this cabin,” Riptide adds. “They tell us that some people live near - not too close to here, but not far. So we need to stay in this area.”
“And he warned me not to teleport us anywhere. We can only leave if we need more supplies, and we have to come right back. Yes,” Azazel muses, gripping Riptide’s hand a bit tighter. “It must be a test.”
Day Two
The sofa bed is not comfortable, but both men have slept on far worse surfaces during their lifetimes - the worst of which include a dank basement floor, an outdoor bench on a rainy night, a smelly barn, and an attic above a noisy and violent bar with hot air so thick one could hardly breathe. They decided to sleep on the sofa bed instead of on the softer bed in the upstairs loft because Azazel wanted to play with the fireplace. Had Riptide objected to the idea of spending the night on the sofa bed, he would have spoken up but he too understands the lure of the fireplace. Last night was enjoyable for him, sitting on the sofa bed and watching Azazel stoke the fire. The flames performed an alluring dance which lulled the men, and it cast a warm glow throughout the cabin. They appreciated falling asleep together, beside the fireplace, insulated from the chilly outdoors.
“This is too strange,” Azazel says, emerging from the bathroom. “I cannot believe that we have entire day before us and we do not have to hurry to do something.”
“I know,” Riptide says. He pulls back the covers and beckons to the warm spot from which Azazel had emerged, raising his eyebrows. “You know what that means we have time for.”
Azazel smiles broadly and resumes his place. Riptide’s arms are strong and welcoming.
Day Three
“How are they doing?” Shaw strides up to Emma.
He waits as she closes her eyes and concentrates. He observes her give the slightest shake of her head, and then open her eyes.
“Let us just say that if there were to be a homosexual version of the Kama Sutra, they could write it.”
Day Four
Azazel and Riptide are seated on the back porch. The day is too beautiful not to enjoy time outside. The thick trees display more colors with each passing day, and a cool but pleasant breeze is in the air.
Azazel is braiding Riptide’s hair. Slowly and methodically, he is weaving the long strands.
***
It all started due to a comment Azazel made earlier that day.
Azazel had been tracing Riptide’s features with a finger as the two lay in bed. He had said that he could see Riptide’s American Indian ancestry in his hair and his features, the strong outline of his jaw and the shape of his nose.
Riptide had stiffened a bit at the remark; he had been raised, as had everyone else he knew growing up, to disavow their non-European ancestry. Comments referring to Native Americans had been used as put-downs, and Riptide had grown up pleased that he was light enough to pass for a Spaniard. Azazel had noticed Riptide bristle and had asked about it.
“You do not like what I just said,” Azazel had remarked. His finger continued to outline Riptide’s face.
“It’s alright,” Riptide had replied, taking a breath.
“No, really - I want to know, because I don’t understand. Why did you not like what I just say?” Azazel insisted, propping himself up on one elbow.
Riptide had turned towards him. He toyed with the idea of brushing it off but ended up deciding that it wouldn’t hurt to talk to Azazel about this. “Every Mexican I know,” Riptide began slowly, “did not want to be called what you just talked about. It was an insult to say that someone was ‘Indio’. We all wanted to look European. Spaniard. I was lighter than my brothers and sister, and that was always considered to be this good thing for me.”
“I see,” Azazel had replied. “It was the same in Russia, you know. Not about Indians so much, but really about anyone who was not…white. Not European, and not…Gentile, I think is the word.” He paused. “It is not important to me, if someone is European or not. I would not think that you feel this way.” His tone was matter-of-fact.
“I don’t,” Riptide had responded, quickly. He had looked at Azazel and then back down at the sheets. “Maybe it brings back bad memories. My older brother was the most dark of all of us, and the other kids made fun of him. He was my favorite brother.” Riptide paused and used a fingertip to stir a tiny whirlpool of air. “But he rejected me when he found out I was a maricon,” he concludes, using the Spanish equivalent of “queer”.
The two had simply held each other after that conversation, staying folded in each other’s arms.
***
And now they are on the back porch, Azazel having asked if he could braid Riptide’s hair, and Riptide responding, “Why not?” Perhaps the references to American Indians had sparked interest in braided hair.
“Your hair feels nice,” Azazel says. “It is so soft.”
“Thank you,” Riptide smiles. No one has ever done this to his hair and he finds he likes the touch. It is a new experience but a welcome one. Azazel is careful too; he doesn’t tug the hair at all, which Riptide appreciates.
Azazel takes his time, slowly separating the strands and braiding them together. Since he has met Riptide, he has touched his body in many ways but not like this.
“I should ask you where you learned to do this,” Riptide murmurs.
“It is not hard, not hard to braid. Anyone can do it,” Azazel says simply.
When the braid is complete and fastened, Azazel gently moves it to the side and kisses the back of Riptide’s neck.
“Oooh!” Riptide starts, giving off a bit of a giggle.
“You are surprised?” Azazel asks confused.
“No, I just….” Riptide’s voice trails off as something dawns on Azazel.
“You are…what is the word? Tickle! You can to be tickled!” Azazel exclaims.
Riptide turns his head to the side, a mock-alarmed look in his eyes. Azazel smiles devilishly. “Just on the back of your neck, or can there be anywhere else? Can there be an area I have not touched already - an area that can tickle?”
Riptide leaps from Azazel’s arms. “You are not going to find out!” Riptide exclaims, though he is laughing again and obviously up for a chase.
Riptide sets off into the woods but he doesn’t have much chance given Azazel’s teleporting abilities. Azazel fairly easily captures him and sets about discovering where else Riptide might be ticklish.
Day Five
Shaw drums his fingers on his desk. Emma enters his office, responding to his summons.
“Well?” he asks. “We’re already on day five. They have to be sick of each other by now.”
“I am sorry to say that our captives are loving every minute of their experiment,” Emma reports, crossing her arms over her chest.
“This cannot be. Haven’t they had any fights?”
“I’m afraid not. Nothing worth reporting on, anyway. Occasionally one or the other will go on a short walk by himself to get some time alone. Riptide did snap at Azazel when he accidentally stepped on his foot in the kitchenette. But no fight came out of it, and they ‘kissed and made up’ very quickly. Same thing this morning when Azazel misplaced Riptide’s hairbrush after using it himself. Some brief heated words, not a pleasant exchange but nothing major -- and then it’s gone and forgotten.”
“That’s it?” Shaw asks, his nose wrinkling.
“That’s it,” Emma confirms, drolly. “I can only add that they have made much use of the bathtub, many back rubs have occurred, and yesterday there was an incident involving hair-braiding and tickling. When they start giving each other pedicures, I’m done monitoring them. Finished!”
Emma turns on her heels and leaves Shaw’s office though she has not been officially dismissed.
Several hours later when she prepares to touch up her manicure, she notices that her nail-care kit is missing.
Day Six
“Can I ask you a silly question?” Riptide asks Azazel.
The two have finished their dinner, Azazel having had to briefly teleport away to bring more food, and are now enjoying an after-dinner drink. Riptide’s hair is unbraided but Azazel did give it a trim this morning and it looks tidy and fetching.
“Of course,” Azazel replies, eager to hear this question.
There is hesitation in Riptide’s voice and a conciliatory look on his face. “You are…are not a demon, are you?”
Azazel leans back and chuckles deeply. Upon observing the other man’s laughter, Riptide chuckles too.
“I do not think that a demon would need to eat or to sleep…or would belch or use the bathroom! For a demon, I have too many human needs - you must know that by now,” Azazel says, amused.
Azazel thinks about some of those human needs. During the past six days, the needs have been met, and very well. He and Riptide normally have so little time together that their intimate encounters have often been mostly a rushed drive to bring one’s self and the other man to climax. But during these past few days when the two have enjoyed an unheard-of abundance of free time, their coupling has been a bit softer, more exploratory, and perhaps more fulfilling.
No, a demon would not need or engage in lovemaking and Riptide - thinks Azazel - should know that.
He glances at Riptide’s face and surmises that his lover still has unasked questions. “No, Janos. I am simply a mutant like you. Why it is that we are both mutants yet you are so handsome and I am so frightening - I cannot say.”
“You are handsome too,” Riptide says quietly, softly gazing at Azazel. He then clears his throat and adds, “I know the question was stupid. But I ask because when I first join with Shaw, there were a few things he and Emma said that make me think that maybe you are a demon and not a mutant like the rest of us. I think I always know that you are really a mutant like us but for some reason, I wondered about this too. I cannot say why.”
Azazel shrugs and admits, “Many years ago, when I was young, I wanted to be demon.”
“Why?” Riptide asks simply, though he has an inkling of the answer. The pained look in Azazel’s eyes has already begun to hint at the response.
Azazel looks at his drink instead of at his lover. He is quiet for several moments. “Power, I think it was. I had not power, when I started to…to turn into this. Many times I wish I was demon so I could fight back more. I hated the humans for how they treated me.” Azazel takes a swig of his drink, “It was good, good to pretend to be demon without feeling.”
Azazel thinks about his words as he experiences the stinging warmth of his drink.
Riptide dwells on Azazel’s words too. “I never looked like a demon,” he admits, looking at his lover’s face. “Maybe I was lucky. The humans weren’t so terrible to me. But - I don’t want to be in their world either. I like the Hellfire Club’s idea better.”
Azazel continues to not meet Riptide’s gaze, and Riptide begins to wonder about what is in Azazel’s mind now. He is struggling to find the words to ask when Azazel makes an unusual suggestion.
“Come,” Azazel says, pushing his chair away from the table. “I would like us to dance.”
Riptide raises his eyebrows. Although Azazel did teleport in their records and player a few days ago, so far they have used them only to listen to the music.
“Dance?” Riptide echoes, a small bemused smile beginning to spread across his face.
“You can dance a little, can you not? You always move so elegant. We may not get chance again for long time. Come,” Azazel stands and extends his hand.
Riptide slowly takes it. Azazel leads them the few steps it takes to reach the sitting room, and he deftly moves the sofa, chair, and television set to the side. Riptide meanwhile turns the record player on and gently removes a record from its jacket. He selects a tango.
“Why not?” Riptide asks, as the strings of the guitar and sounds of the accordion fill the room. “It is not as if anyone is watching.”
Azazel has clearly thought about this before, Riptide notes. He gathers Riptide in his arms and guides him, naturally moving to the music. Riptide is uncertain of what steps to take but simply follows Azazel’s lead, and Azazel keeps the movements simple.
After the dance, they sit on the sofa together, slightly flushed. Riptide has something else he wishes to discuss with Azazel but he fears bringing up too many serious topics in one evening. He wants to ask why is it that it was automatic for them that Azazel lead the dance and that Riptide follow. Does Azazel see Riptide as “his woman”? Or is the answer obvious given other activities they engage in? And even if it is so, is it really an issue? Riptide truly has no problems with how Azazel treats him. He can’t find the right words to formulate and he’s not even sure what he would want out of having this discussion, so he decides not to bring it up.
Azazel suggests they take a quick walk outside to cool off before he lights up the fireplace for the night.
“I knew you would dance well,” Azazel says, as he offers Riptide his hand for their walk.
The crisp air feels good on his slightly damp face, and the leaves crunch as they walk upon them.
Day Seven
“What did they say about when exactly we leave here?” Riptide asks, as he flips the sausage patties over. They give off an enticing aroma in the small kitchen area.
“I think Emma will whistle for us,” Azazel says, pouring two cups of steaming coffee. “But Shaw did not say when.” He adds cream and sugar to Riptide’s cup and leaves his own drink black.
“I guess we need to be ready for any time then,” Riptide says.
Azazel loads the plates and cups onto a tray and brings them to the back porch, Riptide following. A few strands of Riptide’s hair clippings, from the other day when Azazel gave him a trim, litter the wooden floor of the porch.
They are quiet as they eat their breakfast, Riptide keeping his cold fingers on the warm coffee cup when he’s not using his fork. Azazel watches Riptide chew slowly, eyes downcast. Riptide had smiled much during the past seven days but is not smiling now.
“Do not be sad, my little prince,” Azazel says, reaching across to hold Riptide’s hand. He thinks back to their first day at the cabin when they sat upstairs in the bedroom loft, holding hands as they speculated on why they had been sent here.
“These past seven days were the best ones of my life,” Riptide states the words plainly and boldly.
Azazel admires how freely Riptide admits this. It takes some measure of courage, Azazel knows, to admit that you need another person, that they enhance your life this much.
But then, Azazel silently tells himself, he himself has never been low on bravery, has he? Perhaps he could make an admission of his own.
“Maybe we can have something like this again. It is possible to ask.”
Riptide squeezes his hand. “Yes,” he says. His voice is still small, still faraway, which concerns Azazel.
“And there is always future to think about - how good things will be when Hellfire Club takes over.” Azazel pauses. “Janos, I also wanted to say,” Azazel begins again, though a sudden hesitation grips him and he stops. He takes a short breath and tries again, “I wanted to tell you that…”
Azazel stops. Getting these words out would be harder than he had thought.
“I know,” Riptide looks at him, a slight smile on his face for the first time this morning. “I love you too,” he says, leaning in to cup Azazel’s chin with his hand.
A relieved Azazel happily pulls Riptide into a kiss.
***
Sebastian Shaw squeezes his eyes shut and tilts his head down to rest his forehead on his fingertips. It’s good to have his henchmen back, at least. There is much work to be done, and now they are back to do it. He tries to remind himself of that.
“Your brilliant idea was not a success, Emma,” he finally says, lifting his head.
“I truly am surprised that it did not have the intended effect,” Emma replies. She’s had several days to absorb the fact that the plan did not work, so she’s nonchalant now. She silently adds that were she to spend seven days in that cabin with Sebastian, one of them would be dead or both of them insane.
“And then for them to ask for a one-week vacation each year,” Shaw shakes his head, not looking at Emma. “We’re trying to take over the world - there’s no vacation in that!” He picks up a stack of papers on his desk, names of world leaders and weapons traders. He sets the papers back down. “I hired two henchmen with incredible powers and strength. And now what do I find I have? Two fairies in love.”
Emma refrains from giggling and instead promises Shaw that they will still take over the world, sissified henchmen or not.
THE END
Author’s Notes:
Thank you to RD for beta testing!
Reviews are always welcome.
Also, a note on terminology. In the 1960’s, the term “Native American” was not widely in use, and that’s why the dialog contains the words “American Indian” instead. Similarly, in all my Azazel/Riptide fics I tend to use the word “queer” (or “homosexual”) since that was the term widely used in North America to describe two men who were lovers. Terms like “gay” and “partner” (rather than “lover”) did not come into use until later.
Word count: 4,100
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Azazel/Riptide
Summary: Shaw sends Azazel and Riptide away, to spend seven days alone together in a remote cabin. He hopes that they will emerge sick of each other and with their love affair over, so that they can better concentrate on fulfilling Shaw’s missions. Inspired by this prompt:
http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/3278.html?thread=3487182#t3487182
It doesn't have to be kinky, per se, but I would love to see Azazel carefully braiding Riptide's hair for him, talking to him, maybe kissing his neck while he does it, etc.
Disclaimer: I don’t own X-men. If I did the world would be a more interesting place.
Seven Days
Prologue
Shaw draws a breath in sharply and narrows his eyes. “Are you listening to me, Azazel?”
Azazel opens his mouth to respond but Emma speaks before Azazel formulates a reply. “He’s not,” Emma says flatly, her face a mixture of boredom and irritation. “He hasn’t heard a word you said about the mission. Instead, he’s thinking about what he and Riptide are going to do tonight. As in,” she adds after a pause, “tonight in their quarters.”
“I see,” Shaw says, not taking his withering gaze from Azazel.
It is not easy to fluster Azazel, but Shaw might have succeeded. Azazel stiffens noticeably. Although both he and his lover know that the two other members of the Hellfire Club are aware of their relationship, it has never been discussed openly with Shaw or Emma. Azazel is unsure of how to respond; in fact he’s not certain that his boss even wants a response.
“I apologize,” Azazel offers, after a few long pauses which helped him determine that Shaw does indeed require a reply. He forces himself to briefly meet Shaw’s eyes and keep his arms at his sides. “I will focus better. From now on.”
Shaw breaks his gaze away and begins to slowly pace. He continues to be silent for several long moments. Azazel watches his boss pace and starts to realize that Shaw and Emma are likely now speaking telepathically. They are taking their time, and all Azazel can do is silently observe and try to keep his thoughts from again drifting towards Riptide.
“I have an idea,” Shaw says, breaking the silence.
Azazel forces himself to again look at Shaw’s face and listen to his words. Many of Shaw’s - and Emma’s - ideas are harbingers of trouble.
“We have a property in a secluded woods in North America. It is very remote, and a lovely little place. It has modern conveniences - a small kitchen, a bathroom. Very nice. I would like for you and Riptide to spend a week there.”
Azazel blinks. He has struggled for words during this entire conversation and is especially stumped now.
“May I ask why, Mr. Shaw?” Azazel manages.
Shaw breaks into a small smile, but other than that has kept his posture and expressions steady. “Surely Russians understand the concept of a vacation, don’t they? I want you two to take some time off. This mission can wait, and we don’t have anything else pressing right now. You two have been such good fighters in our struggle - well, apart from today when you were daydreaming as I tried to explain something,” he adds, waving a hand dismissively. “But I want you to enjoy some time off. As I said, the cabin is secluded so you should not have to worry about anyone seeing you. Please go and tell Riptide to pack his bags,” Shaw says, gesturing to the door. “I’d like you two to depart as soon as possible.”
“Of course,” Azazel says, turning towards the doorway, his brow still furrowed.
After Azazel leaves the room, Shaw and Emma turn towards each other.
“Brilliant idea, my love,” Shaw tells Emma.
“Indeed,” she responds, a hint of a smug smile on her face. “Trust me that it will work. Seven days alone together in that small cabin - they will get so sick of each other. No more botched missions because someone is anticipating his next trip to the bedroom.”
“No more walking into the control room and seeing a sight I wish I hadn’t seen,” Shaw concludes, equally bemused and irritated with his henchmen.
***
Day One
Azazel teleports himself and Riptide to the coordinates Shaw has provided. They are now in front of a tiny cabin, surrounded by foliage.
“Beautiful,” Riptide breathes. He inhales deeply. Living as a member of the Hellfire Club, Riptide has acquired a taste for finer things but he has always liked nature too. The place smells vaguely of fresh dirt, but mostly just of crisp and clean air. They are in the middle of a dense forest, and the trees are just beginning to change color, a visual delight. Riptide’s nose becomes slightly chilly.
“Yes,” Azazel says, surveying the scene. He likes it too, especially the hints of red and orange beginning to decorate the leaves. It is nice to be free of the scent of exhaust from yachts and other vessels. “Let us see the cabin, yes?”
Riptide follows him as he unlocks the door. Both men expect a musty odor - it is clear that Shaw can’t spend much time here - but instead the place appears relatively clean. To their right is a kitchenette, complete with a white table and two chairs, an oven, a refrigerator, a few cabinets, and a modicum of counter space. Straight ahead is a cozy but not cramped sitting room, with a sofa, chair, television set, and fireplace. The curtains on the window are slightly parted and reveal a small patio. A door near the kitchen leads to the bathroom. It is small but, like the kitchenette, clean. A large tub takes up most of the space. Stairs leading up to a loft are tucked behind the sofa. Azazel and Riptide ascend the creaky staircase and find themselves inside a small space with a sloping ceiling. Both barely miss having to duck their heads. The room contains a king-size bed, another rug, and a dresser which is empty - although Azazel opens all of its drawers in order to be sure. Fall colors comprise the color scheme of the cabin, apart from the white of the kitchen furnishings. The cabin is replete with golds, greens, and reds in its rugs, bedspread, sofa cushions, and curtains.
“What is the word?” Riptide wonders, sitting down onto the bed. The springs give off a squeak. “Quaint, I think.”
“Yes,” Azazel says, sitting next to him. He shakes his head. “I do not understand. Why Shaw send us here.” The sentence comes out somewhere between a question and a statement.
“We do work very, very hard for him,” Riptide says. He reaches his hand to hold Azazel’s, threading his fingers through the other man’s. “Since I joined the Hellfire Club, I don’t think I have had more than half a day off.” He runs his free hand through his hair. “Look how long my hair is now - I’ve not even had time get it cut!”
Azazel glances at Riptide’s hair and then looks out the small window. Riptide expects Azazel to run his fingers through his hair, but instead the older man fixates on a tree in front. “That is why this does not make sense to me. We are so busy, so why spare time to send us away for seven days? Is this some type of test? Some type of challenge?”
“They did warn us to stay not far from this cabin,” Riptide adds. “They tell us that some people live near - not too close to here, but not far. So we need to stay in this area.”
“And he warned me not to teleport us anywhere. We can only leave if we need more supplies, and we have to come right back. Yes,” Azazel muses, gripping Riptide’s hand a bit tighter. “It must be a test.”
Day Two
The sofa bed is not comfortable, but both men have slept on far worse surfaces during their lifetimes - the worst of which include a dank basement floor, an outdoor bench on a rainy night, a smelly barn, and an attic above a noisy and violent bar with hot air so thick one could hardly breathe. They decided to sleep on the sofa bed instead of on the softer bed in the upstairs loft because Azazel wanted to play with the fireplace. Had Riptide objected to the idea of spending the night on the sofa bed, he would have spoken up but he too understands the lure of the fireplace. Last night was enjoyable for him, sitting on the sofa bed and watching Azazel stoke the fire. The flames performed an alluring dance which lulled the men, and it cast a warm glow throughout the cabin. They appreciated falling asleep together, beside the fireplace, insulated from the chilly outdoors.
“This is too strange,” Azazel says, emerging from the bathroom. “I cannot believe that we have entire day before us and we do not have to hurry to do something.”
“I know,” Riptide says. He pulls back the covers and beckons to the warm spot from which Azazel had emerged, raising his eyebrows. “You know what that means we have time for.”
Azazel smiles broadly and resumes his place. Riptide’s arms are strong and welcoming.
Day Three
“How are they doing?” Shaw strides up to Emma.
He waits as she closes her eyes and concentrates. He observes her give the slightest shake of her head, and then open her eyes.
“Let us just say that if there were to be a homosexual version of the Kama Sutra, they could write it.”
Day Four
Azazel and Riptide are seated on the back porch. The day is too beautiful not to enjoy time outside. The thick trees display more colors with each passing day, and a cool but pleasant breeze is in the air.
Azazel is braiding Riptide’s hair. Slowly and methodically, he is weaving the long strands.
***
It all started due to a comment Azazel made earlier that day.
Azazel had been tracing Riptide’s features with a finger as the two lay in bed. He had said that he could see Riptide’s American Indian ancestry in his hair and his features, the strong outline of his jaw and the shape of his nose.
Riptide had stiffened a bit at the remark; he had been raised, as had everyone else he knew growing up, to disavow their non-European ancestry. Comments referring to Native Americans had been used as put-downs, and Riptide had grown up pleased that he was light enough to pass for a Spaniard. Azazel had noticed Riptide bristle and had asked about it.
“You do not like what I just said,” Azazel had remarked. His finger continued to outline Riptide’s face.
“It’s alright,” Riptide had replied, taking a breath.
“No, really - I want to know, because I don’t understand. Why did you not like what I just say?” Azazel insisted, propping himself up on one elbow.
Riptide had turned towards him. He toyed with the idea of brushing it off but ended up deciding that it wouldn’t hurt to talk to Azazel about this. “Every Mexican I know,” Riptide began slowly, “did not want to be called what you just talked about. It was an insult to say that someone was ‘Indio’. We all wanted to look European. Spaniard. I was lighter than my brothers and sister, and that was always considered to be this good thing for me.”
“I see,” Azazel had replied. “It was the same in Russia, you know. Not about Indians so much, but really about anyone who was not…white. Not European, and not…Gentile, I think is the word.” He paused. “It is not important to me, if someone is European or not. I would not think that you feel this way.” His tone was matter-of-fact.
“I don’t,” Riptide had responded, quickly. He had looked at Azazel and then back down at the sheets. “Maybe it brings back bad memories. My older brother was the most dark of all of us, and the other kids made fun of him. He was my favorite brother.” Riptide paused and used a fingertip to stir a tiny whirlpool of air. “But he rejected me when he found out I was a maricon,” he concludes, using the Spanish equivalent of “queer”.
The two had simply held each other after that conversation, staying folded in each other’s arms.
***
And now they are on the back porch, Azazel having asked if he could braid Riptide’s hair, and Riptide responding, “Why not?” Perhaps the references to American Indians had sparked interest in braided hair.
“Your hair feels nice,” Azazel says. “It is so soft.”
“Thank you,” Riptide smiles. No one has ever done this to his hair and he finds he likes the touch. It is a new experience but a welcome one. Azazel is careful too; he doesn’t tug the hair at all, which Riptide appreciates.
Azazel takes his time, slowly separating the strands and braiding them together. Since he has met Riptide, he has touched his body in many ways but not like this.
“I should ask you where you learned to do this,” Riptide murmurs.
“It is not hard, not hard to braid. Anyone can do it,” Azazel says simply.
When the braid is complete and fastened, Azazel gently moves it to the side and kisses the back of Riptide’s neck.
“Oooh!” Riptide starts, giving off a bit of a giggle.
“You are surprised?” Azazel asks confused.
“No, I just….” Riptide’s voice trails off as something dawns on Azazel.
“You are…what is the word? Tickle! You can to be tickled!” Azazel exclaims.
Riptide turns his head to the side, a mock-alarmed look in his eyes. Azazel smiles devilishly. “Just on the back of your neck, or can there be anywhere else? Can there be an area I have not touched already - an area that can tickle?”
Riptide leaps from Azazel’s arms. “You are not going to find out!” Riptide exclaims, though he is laughing again and obviously up for a chase.
Riptide sets off into the woods but he doesn’t have much chance given Azazel’s teleporting abilities. Azazel fairly easily captures him and sets about discovering where else Riptide might be ticklish.
Day Five
Shaw drums his fingers on his desk. Emma enters his office, responding to his summons.
“Well?” he asks. “We’re already on day five. They have to be sick of each other by now.”
“I am sorry to say that our captives are loving every minute of their experiment,” Emma reports, crossing her arms over her chest.
“This cannot be. Haven’t they had any fights?”
“I’m afraid not. Nothing worth reporting on, anyway. Occasionally one or the other will go on a short walk by himself to get some time alone. Riptide did snap at Azazel when he accidentally stepped on his foot in the kitchenette. But no fight came out of it, and they ‘kissed and made up’ very quickly. Same thing this morning when Azazel misplaced Riptide’s hairbrush after using it himself. Some brief heated words, not a pleasant exchange but nothing major -- and then it’s gone and forgotten.”
“That’s it?” Shaw asks, his nose wrinkling.
“That’s it,” Emma confirms, drolly. “I can only add that they have made much use of the bathtub, many back rubs have occurred, and yesterday there was an incident involving hair-braiding and tickling. When they start giving each other pedicures, I’m done monitoring them. Finished!”
Emma turns on her heels and leaves Shaw’s office though she has not been officially dismissed.
Several hours later when she prepares to touch up her manicure, she notices that her nail-care kit is missing.
Day Six
“Can I ask you a silly question?” Riptide asks Azazel.
The two have finished their dinner, Azazel having had to briefly teleport away to bring more food, and are now enjoying an after-dinner drink. Riptide’s hair is unbraided but Azazel did give it a trim this morning and it looks tidy and fetching.
“Of course,” Azazel replies, eager to hear this question.
There is hesitation in Riptide’s voice and a conciliatory look on his face. “You are…are not a demon, are you?”
Azazel leans back and chuckles deeply. Upon observing the other man’s laughter, Riptide chuckles too.
“I do not think that a demon would need to eat or to sleep…or would belch or use the bathroom! For a demon, I have too many human needs - you must know that by now,” Azazel says, amused.
Azazel thinks about some of those human needs. During the past six days, the needs have been met, and very well. He and Riptide normally have so little time together that their intimate encounters have often been mostly a rushed drive to bring one’s self and the other man to climax. But during these past few days when the two have enjoyed an unheard-of abundance of free time, their coupling has been a bit softer, more exploratory, and perhaps more fulfilling.
No, a demon would not need or engage in lovemaking and Riptide - thinks Azazel - should know that.
He glances at Riptide’s face and surmises that his lover still has unasked questions. “No, Janos. I am simply a mutant like you. Why it is that we are both mutants yet you are so handsome and I am so frightening - I cannot say.”
“You are handsome too,” Riptide says quietly, softly gazing at Azazel. He then clears his throat and adds, “I know the question was stupid. But I ask because when I first join with Shaw, there were a few things he and Emma said that make me think that maybe you are a demon and not a mutant like the rest of us. I think I always know that you are really a mutant like us but for some reason, I wondered about this too. I cannot say why.”
Azazel shrugs and admits, “Many years ago, when I was young, I wanted to be demon.”
“Why?” Riptide asks simply, though he has an inkling of the answer. The pained look in Azazel’s eyes has already begun to hint at the response.
Azazel looks at his drink instead of at his lover. He is quiet for several moments. “Power, I think it was. I had not power, when I started to…to turn into this. Many times I wish I was demon so I could fight back more. I hated the humans for how they treated me.” Azazel takes a swig of his drink, “It was good, good to pretend to be demon without feeling.”
Azazel thinks about his words as he experiences the stinging warmth of his drink.
Riptide dwells on Azazel’s words too. “I never looked like a demon,” he admits, looking at his lover’s face. “Maybe I was lucky. The humans weren’t so terrible to me. But - I don’t want to be in their world either. I like the Hellfire Club’s idea better.”
Azazel continues to not meet Riptide’s gaze, and Riptide begins to wonder about what is in Azazel’s mind now. He is struggling to find the words to ask when Azazel makes an unusual suggestion.
“Come,” Azazel says, pushing his chair away from the table. “I would like us to dance.”
Riptide raises his eyebrows. Although Azazel did teleport in their records and player a few days ago, so far they have used them only to listen to the music.
“Dance?” Riptide echoes, a small bemused smile beginning to spread across his face.
“You can dance a little, can you not? You always move so elegant. We may not get chance again for long time. Come,” Azazel stands and extends his hand.
Riptide slowly takes it. Azazel leads them the few steps it takes to reach the sitting room, and he deftly moves the sofa, chair, and television set to the side. Riptide meanwhile turns the record player on and gently removes a record from its jacket. He selects a tango.
“Why not?” Riptide asks, as the strings of the guitar and sounds of the accordion fill the room. “It is not as if anyone is watching.”
Azazel has clearly thought about this before, Riptide notes. He gathers Riptide in his arms and guides him, naturally moving to the music. Riptide is uncertain of what steps to take but simply follows Azazel’s lead, and Azazel keeps the movements simple.
After the dance, they sit on the sofa together, slightly flushed. Riptide has something else he wishes to discuss with Azazel but he fears bringing up too many serious topics in one evening. He wants to ask why is it that it was automatic for them that Azazel lead the dance and that Riptide follow. Does Azazel see Riptide as “his woman”? Or is the answer obvious given other activities they engage in? And even if it is so, is it really an issue? Riptide truly has no problems with how Azazel treats him. He can’t find the right words to formulate and he’s not even sure what he would want out of having this discussion, so he decides not to bring it up.
Azazel suggests they take a quick walk outside to cool off before he lights up the fireplace for the night.
“I knew you would dance well,” Azazel says, as he offers Riptide his hand for their walk.
The crisp air feels good on his slightly damp face, and the leaves crunch as they walk upon them.
Day Seven
“What did they say about when exactly we leave here?” Riptide asks, as he flips the sausage patties over. They give off an enticing aroma in the small kitchen area.
“I think Emma will whistle for us,” Azazel says, pouring two cups of steaming coffee. “But Shaw did not say when.” He adds cream and sugar to Riptide’s cup and leaves his own drink black.
“I guess we need to be ready for any time then,” Riptide says.
Azazel loads the plates and cups onto a tray and brings them to the back porch, Riptide following. A few strands of Riptide’s hair clippings, from the other day when Azazel gave him a trim, litter the wooden floor of the porch.
They are quiet as they eat their breakfast, Riptide keeping his cold fingers on the warm coffee cup when he’s not using his fork. Azazel watches Riptide chew slowly, eyes downcast. Riptide had smiled much during the past seven days but is not smiling now.
“Do not be sad, my little prince,” Azazel says, reaching across to hold Riptide’s hand. He thinks back to their first day at the cabin when they sat upstairs in the bedroom loft, holding hands as they speculated on why they had been sent here.
“These past seven days were the best ones of my life,” Riptide states the words plainly and boldly.
Azazel admires how freely Riptide admits this. It takes some measure of courage, Azazel knows, to admit that you need another person, that they enhance your life this much.
But then, Azazel silently tells himself, he himself has never been low on bravery, has he? Perhaps he could make an admission of his own.
“Maybe we can have something like this again. It is possible to ask.”
Riptide squeezes his hand. “Yes,” he says. His voice is still small, still faraway, which concerns Azazel.
“And there is always future to think about - how good things will be when Hellfire Club takes over.” Azazel pauses. “Janos, I also wanted to say,” Azazel begins again, though a sudden hesitation grips him and he stops. He takes a short breath and tries again, “I wanted to tell you that…”
Azazel stops. Getting these words out would be harder than he had thought.
“I know,” Riptide looks at him, a slight smile on his face for the first time this morning. “I love you too,” he says, leaning in to cup Azazel’s chin with his hand.
A relieved Azazel happily pulls Riptide into a kiss.
***
Sebastian Shaw squeezes his eyes shut and tilts his head down to rest his forehead on his fingertips. It’s good to have his henchmen back, at least. There is much work to be done, and now they are back to do it. He tries to remind himself of that.
“Your brilliant idea was not a success, Emma,” he finally says, lifting his head.
“I truly am surprised that it did not have the intended effect,” Emma replies. She’s had several days to absorb the fact that the plan did not work, so she’s nonchalant now. She silently adds that were she to spend seven days in that cabin with Sebastian, one of them would be dead or both of them insane.
“And then for them to ask for a one-week vacation each year,” Shaw shakes his head, not looking at Emma. “We’re trying to take over the world - there’s no vacation in that!” He picks up a stack of papers on his desk, names of world leaders and weapons traders. He sets the papers back down. “I hired two henchmen with incredible powers and strength. And now what do I find I have? Two fairies in love.”
Emma refrains from giggling and instead promises Shaw that they will still take over the world, sissified henchmen or not.
THE END
Author’s Notes:
Thank you to RD for beta testing!
Reviews are always welcome.
Also, a note on terminology. In the 1960’s, the term “Native American” was not widely in use, and that’s why the dialog contains the words “American Indian” instead. Similarly, in all my Azazel/Riptide fics I tend to use the word “queer” (or “homosexual”) since that was the term widely used in North America to describe two men who were lovers. Terms like “gay” and “partner” (rather than “lover”) did not come into use until later.