Fanfic Friday

Happy Friday!

Today will be my last Fanfic Friday for the foreseeable future. As you may know, I’ll soon return to university in order to obtain my second degree! I also want to spend more time on the freelancing services I offer (editing and ghostwriting) which you can view on .

My weekly updates of my original fiction will be pushed to every other week, but I will be starting video reviews of my favorite MxM (male x male) sci-fi/fantasy romance stories! These videos will be available here as well as on my soon-to-be created Youtube channel! Stay posted!

This is the last part of my three-part fanfiction based on Avatar: The Last Airbender

Warning: This story contains explicit sexual content.


Part 3: Envision

Zuko’s hands are warm on Jet’s face. Jet lets his eyes flutter closed and leans into one of them gently, feeling the calluses on the underside of Jet’s knuckles. His eyes open gently, meaning to move his gaze up to Zuko’s golden eyes. As he looks, however, he finds his gaze stuck on the rumpled sheets of the bedding. Reacting without thinking, Jet pushes him firmly away.

Zuko’s golden eyes are wide as he stares of Jet. His hands are frozen in front of him, cupped around some phantom of Jet’s cheeks.

Jet finds his chest heaving and takes several steadying breaths.

“Sokka invited me to go with him when he leaves.”

He sees the breath rush out of Zuko as he stumbles back a step. “What?”

“I don’t love him.” Jet hurries to get the words out. Then he wishes he hadn’t. He’d pretty much destroyed most of the leverage he’d had over the situation; Zuko will never be jealous now.

“I love you.” Jet breathes, unable to keep himself from saying it. “I want to stay here, but I don’t know how it will be for me here. There, I know how it will be. With him, it will be…less,” he doesn’t know any other way to describe what it would be like to be with someone else, “but I won’t be neglected.”

Zuko flinches. He sits on the edge of the bed and puts his hands into his face.

“Jet I haven’t…I didn’t…” he takes a steadying breath. “I’m sorry you feel like I neglected you. I’m sorry I don’t have an excuse for,” he pauses, coming to terms with the meaning of the words, “ignoring you all this time. I need to make this convincing Jet. I couldn’t just marry her and run off with you the next day.”

Jet crosses his arms and comes to stand in front of Zuko, looking down at the Firelord where he sits on his bed.

“What if I choose to stay?” He notices that his tone comes out angry but can’t help it. Zuko should be the one asking, no, begging him to stay. He should be making a dozen offers to keep him here.

Zuko looks up at him, his features open as if surprised. Had he really not expected to hear those words from Jet?

“I would do anything.” He whispers hoarsely.

“Would you tell your wife about us?”

Zuko pales, although it’s barely distinguishable with his fair complexion, and rockets to his feet. He stands just inches from Jet, the bed at his back. If this were a simpler conversation or an easier argument, Jet would have simply pushed him back onto the blankets and melted away all his anger and concern.

“Why would I-”

“Tell her about us.” Jet’s tone is firm. “Find out if she’ll be understanding, and then tell her. If we don’t, she’ll be the first to find out, you can guarantee that.”

“There’s no way she’d agree to be my wife knowing that I…that I love another.”

Jet shrugs. “Who knows? It was an arranged marriage for her as well. Maybe she has someone else, someone she would like the freedom to visit without you minding.”

Zuko frowns deeply. Jet watches as anger and jealousy fill him at the idea of her having another, before he realizes the innate hypocrisy of this and shoves his feelings down.

“But…a child.” The Firelord mutters, fixing his golden gaze on Jet’s.

Jet presses his lips into a firm line. “Yes. I know. It can’t be helped. You’ll have to fuck her sometimes to put children in her. I’ll try not to get jealous.”

When Jet says the word fuck Zuko’s eyes flick nervously in the direction of the bed before he refocuses them on Jet.

“Will this work?” He asks quietly. He sounds insecure, like he did when he was younger. Jet suddenly finds it very easy to imagine him newly coronated, looking out over a kingdom his father had nearly destroyed that he somehow must rule.

Jet thinks of Zuko raising children with his wife, and the way they will look like both of them and be firebenders like both of them are. He thinks of spending his whole life in the shadows, on the fringes, first only in Zuko’s heart until maybe one day he isn’t anymore.

But then he thinks of spending those frigid nights in the rural Southern Water Tribe, fucking Sokka under animal skins to try and keep warm. He thinks of staring out to where the grey water meets the grey sky and wondering what it would have been like if he’d stayed in the Firenation.

“I don’t know.” Jet says quietly. “I don’t know it it will work.”

Zuko doesn’t speak for a few moments, his eyes flickering over Jet’s body.

“Do you want to try?” He asks.

Jet smiles and takes a step forward, closing the gap between them. He brings his hands to circle Zuko’s waist and draws him in, bringing their lips together slowly.

There are a hundred unanswered questions between them, and half again as many wounds that have yet to heal. Still, Zuko winds his hands into Jet’s hair and kisses him back. It isn’t sweet, or chaste. The kiss is all hot desperation and clutching need, making up for too many days apart all at once. It seems instant that they are on the bed, Jet’s chest heavy on Zuko’s with a knee between his slender thighs. Zuko’s hands slide under his shirt, pulling it off and almost tearing it in his haste. His hands move over Jet’s chest, trail up his spine. Jet moans into his mouth, tugging at the belt that holds Zuko’s robes together. He isn’t wearing his full Firelord uniform, but it’s still quite a big of clothing. The outer robe falls away from him to expose the shirt and pants he wears underneath. Jet yanks the pants down first, then pulls the shirt off.

Zuko pushes him over so he’s on top. Though he’s wearing just his underwear, Jet still has his pants on. The sensation of Zuko rubbing against him is dulled by the extra layer of fabric, and Jet reaches between them frantically to pull them off. They rush it and he still has a pant leg wrapped around an ankle as Zuko straddles him, rubbing their dicks together through the fabric. Jet wraps his arms around Zuko’s shoulders and reaches up to suck at the spot just under his ear, where his neck meets his jaw. He can’t help but give a low, growl-like laugh at the sound the Firelord makes. If only his royal advisors knew how lewd their leader could be after finding his sensitive spot. Their lips meet again and Zuko pulls Jet up so he’s sitting with Zuko in his lap. The angle heightens Jet’s desire, and he snarls as he pushes them over so he’s on top of Zuko again, their feet pushing against the pillows at the head of the bed.

Jet stands, moves to the nightstand where Zuko keeps the oils they use. He can’t help wondering what his new wife would think if she found them there. Would she know what they were for? Spread them over her skin, thinking they were made for beating the dry skin the hot weather causes?

No. Jet closes his eyes. He squeezes the bottle in one hand and uses the other to pull off his underwear. Zuko’s wife isn’t here. It’s just the two of them, just this. Zuko pulls his own underwear off. Jet’s eyes move down to his cock, long and proud between his legs. He crawls over the bed, pulling Zuko’s legs apart wide. Zuko murmurs some obscenities as he reaches his hand between Jet’s legs, pulling on him.

Jet moans at the sensation, his hands shaky and his pours oil into his palm and uses it to coat his fingers. He passes it to Zuko, who pours some into his hand as well before returning his hand to Jet’s cock. Jet presses a finger into Zuko, who moans at the feeling. He adds more, slowly, closing his eyes at the familiarity of all this. They’ve done it, just like this and so many other ways, hundreds of times but he knows he will never grow tired of it.

Then, finally, after a careful look and a nod, Jet moves into him. Zuko doesn’t muffle his cry. Jet is slow at first, accomodating, but soon Zuko begins to push against him and urge him to thrust harder, faster. Jet obliges, pushing himself faster and deeper until the world begins to blur and there is only the man he loves in his arms and his imaginings of all the things they will do together.



Fanfic Friday

The weekend has started! Enjoy this new piece of fanfic, a continuation of last week’s piece based on Jet, Zuko, and Sokka from Avatar: The Last Airbender. (I know, it’s incredibly nerdy…and still not the nerdiest thing I’ve done!)


Part 2: Seen

Jet wakes up with the sun shining in the window and into his eyes. Zuko always leaves the curtains open. The fire inside him means he likes to rise with the sun. Jet grumbles something, turning over and pulling the blankets over his head. His eyes slightly open, he sees the person next to him is not Zuko. Memories crowd their way into his mind as he sits up. He looks over at Sokka, who seems sleeping soundly. He’s ripped all the covers off, doubtless hot in this climate, and every inch of his brown skin is exposed. Jet stands from the bed quickly and then glances over at Sokka, but he simply mumbles something sleepily about food and shifts slightly.

Shakily, Jet moves towards the window. He looks out over the palace gardens, beautiful fields of orange and yellow flowers. He thinks of Zuko’s rooms. He is there waking up next to his new wife. The thought of it makes Jet’s stomach clench. How many times had Zuko fucked her the night before? With a vicious twist of his mouth Jet has a fleeting hope that Zuko had been unable to get it up for her supple curves, craving Jet’s lean muscle.

Jet dresses himself quietly and stands uncertainly at the foot of the bed. Should he leave, quietly, before Sokka wakes up? And do what? Return to the silence of his room to attend to his meager amounts of bullshit duties? Without meaning to, he sits on the end of the bed and curls into himself. He hadn’t thought past his sadness and anger at Zuko’s marriage. He hadn’t thought about his own role here. What will he be, now that his place by Zuko’s side is gone? Will they be forced to keep pretending to be friends, never having a private moment together?

“Good morning” Jet tenses at the sound of Sokka’s sleepy voice. He takes a deep breath and looks over his shoulder. Sokka’s brown hair is down. Jet has a hazy memory of yanking out the tie that usually holds it up, making Sokka hiss and dig teeth into his neck.

The memory makes Jet jerk away from the bed as if it was burning hot.

“I’m…leaving.” He whispers, not making any sort of excuse. Sokka says nothing as Jet wrestles to get his clothes on and storms out the door.

In the hallway, Jet leans back against the black stone of the wall and closes his eyes. Thanks to the lightning-quick metabolism that kept him scrawny like a teenager, he barely has a hangover. A headache is beginning to form behind his eyelids, but he’s not sure it’s from the alcohol. He doesn’t know what lies for him on the other side of this wedding, outside of Sokka’s room, he only knows that he wouldn’t have been able to stand a single second longer in that room under Sokka’s gaze. He stays like that, leaning back against the wall, for an extended amount of time before pushing himself up and shuffling down the hallway back to his rooms.


Turns out that escaping Sokka wasn’t going to be that easy. Jet had not been informed that the Avatar and his friends would be staying for two weeks. He spent days after the wedding avoiding Sokka. He’d sulked in his room and waited for Zuko to come and apologize and beg for his carnal attentions. When Zuko didn’t come, he started to venture out from his room more. Without realizing it, he kept putting himself in Sokka’s way. All it took was one look, one muttered admission from Jet that he wasn’t going to talk about it but wants to do it again. And again. And again. And every day since then.

So, here they are, nine days after Zuko’s wedding. They’re in the room off of Jet’s bedroom, the office where he is supposed to work on all the paperwork he never has. Bent over the desk is Jet, his short nails scraping against the wooden surface. Behind him, Sokka pounds into him furiously. He is bent over Jet, growling into his ear and nipping at the soft skin at his neck. Jet hisses and reaches a hand back to grab Sokka’s ass, pushing him in harder and faster. Sokka snarls as his thrusts become erratic. He reaches down and grab Jet in his hand, stroking him.

Jet doesn’t hear the door open, but he sees the motion. He tries to turn around, pushing against Sokka, but pleasure makes Sokka slow to react. Sokka is still inside of him when the door pushes all the way open, revealing the Firelord standing in the doorway.

“No.” Jet whispers.

“Jet?” The Firelord’s voice is uncharacteristically weak and thin.

“Zuko…wait.” Jet scrambles away from Sokka over the desk, still trembling with pleasure. He’s aware of the fact that he’s still erect, hears Sokka climaxing just as he pulls away and coming onto the dark wood of the desk.

Zuko says nothing, but his face resolves from his initial look of shock to hard anger, and Jet stops short before he can reach him. The Firelord pulls the door shut, and Jet hears the sound of his footsteps retreating away.

For a few moments, there is no sound except the deep breathing of Jet and Sokka, heartbeats still elevated from sex. Jets stays frozen a few feet from the door. Eventually, he hears Sokka slide his pants back on and move around the desk towards him.

“Are you okay?” He asks quietly. He hands Jet a bundle of fabric which he realizes are his pants. He draws them on slowly and shakes his head without looking at Sokka. Slowly, hesitantly, Sokka reaches out towards him and wraps his arms around Jet. Jet lets himself be held, though Sokka isn’t the one he wants comforting him right now.

“You don’t deserve this.” Sokka’s voice is husky in his ear.

He pulls away slightly, putting his hand under Jet’s chin and angling his face upwards.

“When I leave, will you come with me? Nobody in the Tribe will care if I love you instead of some woman. They aren’t ruled by all the codes of law and honor that run the lives of the people here.”

“What about….won’t you want children?” That was ultimately the matter that had separated Jet and Zuko, after all.

Sokka shrugs. “Katara and Aang will doubtless produce at least one waterbender. It’d be better if that child takes my place.”

Jet pushes away and crosses his arms. “I don’t know, Sokka.” How can he make that choice? He can either stay here, within an arm’s reach of true love without ever really having it, or he can leave and accept this, this whatever it is that he has with Sokka. It’s not love, it’s something that burns less intensely than that. But if the choice is nothing or this lukewarm whatever-it-is that he has now with Sokka, he knows he’d be happier in the Water Tribe.


He has to talk to Zuko. He knows it, but he puts it off for two more days. He probably would have put it off forever, but Sokka approached him for the first time since Zuko saw them and pointed out that there’s only three days until he leaves. Jet needs to make a choice soon. He has to tell Zuko what Sokka has offered, and make it clear that he will leave if Zuko no longer has anything to offer him.

Jet hovers in the hallway around a corner from Zuko’s chambers. Will Zuko let him in? What will Zuko say when he tells him about why he’s slept with Sokka, and what Sokka has offered him? He can’t fight back the question that flutters in his mind and puts his stomach in knots: What will Jet be to Zuko now?

He was never this scared before a battle. Well, he was, especially when he was young (a child, really, he understands now), but not in the same way he is now. He takes a steadying breath and turns the corner. The guards on either side of the door eye him warily.

“The Firelord is resting.” One of them says.

“I need to see him. Official business.” Jet lies.

The guard glances at the other, but there is no hesitation in his reply. “He’s told us not to allow you in.”

“Me, specifically?” Jet frowns.

“Yes.” The guard answers coldly.

Jet sighs, begins to turn and walk away, and spins back before charging the door. The guards reach for him before he can quite reach it, but he manages to land a solid kick against the wood. He fights against the guards but they are stronger than him. He is successful only in making a lot of noise.

“Zuko!” He shouts desperately. “Let me in, please! Zuko!”

The guards toss him to the floor.

“Get out of here.” One of them growls.

Then, the door opens. Jet scrambles to his feet. The door is only open a sliver, but he can see one of Zuko’s golden eyes through the gap.

“Let him in.” His voice is quiet, but carries with the royal authority that he always bears.

The guards hesitate, but do not disobey the order. They stand aside and Jet moves past them. The door opens more widely, just enough for Jet to slip in. Jet steps through it into the Firelord’s chambers and closes it behind him. The room is large, the bed covered in dark red sheets with a red canopy shrouding it. Jet can’t help standing still, looking at the bed. There he and Zuko had explored each other, been inside each other. There the Firelord and his new wife had doubtless tumbled in the sheets every day since their wedding.

Jet turns his gaze to Zuko, standing on the opposite end of the room facing away from him. The angle of his shoulders is tense and Jet can see tightness in the back of his neck, exposed from the way he wears his long hair pulled up.

“Where’s your wife?” Jet says bitterly.

Zuko doesn’t turn around. “She has business to handle today.”

Jet can feel a hundred sharp insults waiting on his tongue, words about how she must have left to get away from his groping attentions. He doesn’t say them. He can’t quite bring himself to when he sees the tightness in Zuko’s body, even after everything that has happened.

“Why did you let me in?” Jet asks. Zuko’s intention seems to be to stand away from him without looking at him, in which case he might as well have left Jet outside.

Zuko turns quickly to face him. Jet can see his eyes flash.

“I can’t believe you…why did you…” He stutters through his anger, unable to find words. In a moment of rage he tosses a fireball to the floor which dissipates instantly.

Jet shuffles back a few steps, eyes wide.

“Zuko you…you didn’t talk to me at all after your wedding. You didn’t even look at me once during the ceremony. You looked so happy…” Jet trails off, his voice breaking with all the things he feels.

Zuko takes several quick steps towards him and grabs him by the upper arms. Jet starts but doesn’t really struggle.

“You think that was real happiness that I felt with her? You think it’s easy for me, having her in my bed?” Zuko shakes his head. “It was torture for me, knowing you were there during the whole wedding. If I’d looked at you, if I’d seen the look I knew you had on your face, I would have called the whole thing off. And….I couldn’t do that.”

He moves his hands up to cradle Jet’s face. Wide-eyed, Jet watches him.

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Fanfic Friday

You can read all my fanfics on or Archive of Our Own

This piece of fanfiction is based on Avatar: The Last Airbender (the original animated show, not the movie)

This is set six years after the coronation of Firelord Zuko. Jet and Zuko have an established relationship, but Zuko is forced into an arranged marriage. Feeling abandoned, Jet seeks comfort in the arms of another. Will their relationship survive?


Chapter One: Look

Look at me. Look at me. Jet stares straight ahead, through the crowd, at where Zuko stands under an archway of volcanic rock. An official stands besides him, wearing the sort of benevolent look he supposes is typical of someone who is about to conduct an important marriage ceremony. Jet wants to push the crowd aside and slap the idle smile off his wrinkled face. Don’t you know this is all a lie? Didn’t you see that your Firelord was happy before this stupid wedding arrangement? But mostly he wants to grab Zuko by the collar of his fancy robes and scream in his face. Why won’t you look at me? Just one small look, just the smallest hint of sorrow, regret, anger, whatever in those eyes would have been enough to comfort Jet.

Then, the gentle sound of a horn playing a slow melody, and all eyes turn around to watch the bride walk down the aisle. Jet, set on getting at least one second of Zuko’s attention, remains facing straight ahead. There are the expected gasps and whispered comments about grace and beauty as she makes her way down the aisle. Jet feels his fingers clenching and loosening at his side. Beauty is well and good, something Zuko has that he never will, but will she make Zuko laugh until he’s breathless, or fuck him until he screams? No. She’ll never be to him what Jet is. Was?

He feels a prickling on the side of his neck and turns his head to look. After a few seconds of blank staring, he recognizing the man who’d been watching him as Sokka, one of the Avatar’s friends. Jet’s surprised he is sitting up at the very front row with the Avatar and Katara.

When the bride reaches Zuko’s side, they hold each other’s hands under the altar. The gathered crowd sits. Jet sees the soft, happy look that enters Zuko’s eyes when he takes the hands of his bride, and Jet finds it hard to bend his knees and sit down. His stomach hurts. He feels sick. He looks back over at Sokka, to distract himself. The future chief of the Southern Water Tribe certainly looks different from when they’d first met, almost six years ago. He’d grown out of his teenage gangliness in a way Jet never had, and in addition to older-looking facial features, his shoulders had gotten broader and his arms were lined with musculature. He is certainly easy to look at, and Jet can register his attractiveness even though the pain of watching Zuko marry someone else. The thought causes a corner of his mouth to curve up, thinking of all the times his wandering eyes had caused fights between he and Zuko. He’d never really strayed of course, and the fighting had always led to fantastic make-up sex. If only this could be like one of those times. He’d be in my bed tonight instead of hers.

The thought of Zuko fucking his pretty new wife sends a powerful wave of nausea through Jet. He realizes that he is still staring at Sokka, who has noticed his attention and returns the eye contact with a smile.

Jet flushes in anger, though he’s sure Sokka will misinterpret that as well, and turns away.


The ceremony itself seems to last forever. Before, Jet had decided that would slip away quietly before the reception. It had seemed like watching Zuko pretend to be happy with his new bride would be the most painful thing he could experience. However, it seems to him that Zuko isn’t pretending to be happy with his new bride. Their kiss at the archway is anything but chaste, and his happiness seems genuine as they smile at each other and walk down the aisle away from the ceremony. Jet stares at the Firelord. Look at me. Look at me. But Zuko just walks right past with his new bride. So now he has to go to the reception, just to see if that happy exterior will crack. He follows the crowd from the outdoor ceremony site to the palace, and in the shuffle of the crowd he notices Sokka walking besides him.

“I wasn’t expecting to find you here.” Sokka says, smiling, “Last I’d heard of you, you were still recovering from your spinal injury after Lake Laogai.”

Jet grimaces. He doesn’t like remembering the agony or the painfully long recovery. He’d spent months that had felt like years re-learning to stand, to walk, to move in all the ways he had before.

“I’ll never fight like I used to.” Jet grumbles, not feeling particularly conversational.

Sokka, same as ever, simply laughs and keeps talking. “Well, fighting isn’t the way to solve everything. Why are you here, exactly? Are you some sort of ambassador or something?”

Jet can’t help but smile wryly. He can’t exactly tell Sokka the real story: he showed up as soon as his injury had healed two years ago, continually demanded to see the Firelord until they let him in, discovered that Zuko had felt the same spark of interest Jet had felt years ago in Ba Sing Se, talked Zuko into giving him some sort of bullshit advisory title, and eventually found his way into Zuko’s bed.

“I’m an advisor, the ‘Rebellion Prevention and Dissent Control Advisor.”

He can see Sokka trying not to laugh.

“I know. It’s a total bullshit title.” Jet catches a note of humor moving into his own voice.

Sokka shakes his head. “Not necessarily.”

They enter into the large reception hall, probably normally the site of royal balls and things of the like. The walls and floor of the room are black, but the fires burning in the sconces lining the walls keep the large room feeling warm. With a quick parting word, Sokka leaves to take his place at a table with Aang, Katara, and Toph, closest to the head table where Zuko sits with his bride. Jet sits at a table further back, with some of the other less important advisors and government officials.

He taps his fingers on the table impatiently, ignoring the conversation around him and trying not to stare at Zuko while he waits for someone to come around and pour wine. When they finally do, he downs the glass of deep red liquid quickly. When a plate of food is placed before him, he feels his stomach twist with the thought of eating. He pushes the plate away without touching it and asks for more wine. He drinks this glass more slowly, watching Zuko and his wife laugh together at the head table. He’d only met her once before the wedding. How could they have so much to talk about? He’s aware he’s staring daggers at them as he takes another sip, but he can’t seem to drag his eyes away. Zuko places his hand gently over hers. Jet forces himself to turn away.

Zuko’s hands. They aren’t soft as most aristocrats due to his years of exile, but they are always warm and gentler than Jet had expected. Jet can remember the feel of them on his cheeks, digging bluntly into his back, moving over all the most sensitive parts of his body.

Jet turns his glare to the other officials at his tables. These had been the ones who had forced Zuko to marry. Zuko didn’t want to…or at least, he’d told Jet he didn’t want to. They’d had two years together, not nearly enough time, two years of laughter and sparring and sleepy moments together in bed as the sun rose. They’d been careful, barely even touching each other outside of Zuko’s room. In a way it had been incredibly arousing, keeping all that physicality pent up until they unleashed it on each other in private, tearing at each other. At first the talk about them had been good natured. At least the Firelord has found a companion his own age to enjoy the end of his adolescence with. Look at those two, thick as thieves. As careful as they’d been, it’d been impossible for them to hide how they felt about each other. They couldn’t do anything about how they looked at each other. Whispers had started circling among the officials. It’s really time for the Firelord to settle down. The Firelord really needs an heir to secure his rule. Zuko had brushed them off for as long as could, but eventually they had gotten insistent, and he could no longer misdirect them without exposing he and Jet.

When the servants come around again, Jet switches out the wine for something stronger. It tastes strongly of cinnamon, and like most things in the Firenation, it burns. He loses himself in ordering more drinks and watching Zuko and his bride. It doesn’t take long for the room to start spinning. When he orders another drink, he notices the servant give him a wary look, but he’s just a servant, so he pours the drink for Jet anyway.

The music starts, and Zuko takes the floor with his bride. He spins her around him happily in a traditional dance, shooting small streams of fire to accentuate his movements. Jet thinks of the night before, when Zuko had gripped him tightly as Jet had thrusted into him again and again, both of their cheeks wet with tears. The whole night, Zuko had clung to him.

Jet stands suddenly from the table, and the other officials look at him with shock. Jet mumbles some sort of excuse and leaves, trying to make a quiet exit. He steals one last look at Zuko and his wife before slipping quietly out of the ballroom and down the hallway.

As he moves further down the hall the memories flood him faster, and faster. Before he knows it he’s half-running, half-stumbling down the hallway. He trips over nothing with a clumsiness that is nothing like him and falls against the wall. Crumpled up in the junction between floor and wall he bangs his fist against the black stone. Tears fall onto the stone and he angrily swipes them away. He tries to stand but his legs shake and do not listen to him.

Then he feels warm hands on his back. In a moment of senseless hope, he thinks that Zuko has come after him, and he turns expecting to face the Firelord. The face that stares down at him is not the pale-skinned Firelord, but Sokka. His blue eyes are wide in concern. Jet instinctively pulls away, but finds the alcohol has made him so weak that he cannot react as he’d like to. Sokka’s hands on him are strong. He pulls Jet to his feet and supports him, wrapping an arm around Jet’s thin waist. Jet, unable to stop crying, leans into him.

“Where are you taking me?” Jet asks blearily.

“That depends.” Sokka begins, “Do you remember where your room is? Otherwise I’ll just take you to mine.”

“Too many memories.” Jet mumbles, “Take me to yours.”

Sokka looks at him curiously but says nothing, helping Jet shuffle down the hallway until they reach one of the guest rooms where Sokka is staying. There is a guard in the hall who flashes them a suspicious look, but Sokka tells him he is simply assisting “Advisor Jet” before lugging him into his room.

Sokka helps Jet to the bed and lays him down. The bed sinks with his weight as his sits down at the end of the bed.

Sokka takes a deep breath and looks over at Jet.

“I know I was never the smart one, but I’m not stupid. There’s something between you and Firelord Zuko.”

Jet groans and pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes.

“I just want to forget all about him.”

Sokka moves further up the bed and pushes his hand into Jet’s hair.

“I can help with that.” He says, leaning in.

Fanfic Friday!

Happy Friday! Today I have a piece of fanfic based on Maiden Rose by Fusanosuke Inariya.

This fanfiction is set roughly after the second OVA. Taki and Klaus reconcile in a very smutty way. 

Warning: previous non-consensual sexual encounters are mentioned, but all of the acts explicitly described are clearly consensual.

Favorite me on!

The Span of a Few Breaths

Klaus shut the door to Taki’s room behind him. Taki stood alone at the window, his black hair shining in the sunlight. He continued to stare out over his base and the blue sky as Klaus slowly approached him, footfalls heavy on the wooden floor. Taki’s heartbeat escalated as his knight drew closer, hoping that Klaus will put his large arms around his own slender frame yet afraid of what might come after that. Klaus didn’t touch him, but stopped only a few steps behind him. Taki turned his head just slightly, bringing his chin to his shoulder and regarding Klaus out of the corner of his eye.

“Taki…” Klaus began in a low, growling voice that made Taki close his eyes. “I know now what I did. I know…how awful it was. I understand what happened.”

Saying nothing, Taki turned back to look out the window.

“You may have denied me these past six months, but you love me. Or, you did when you were in my country. You fell in love, and you gave yourself to me. You brought me back with you, even knowing that when we got here you wouldn’t be able to love me. You knew that, here, all this pure and impure shit would take over once again, and you would have to reject me in order to keep your own obscure idea of purity intact so you could lead your people. You knew that, and still-”

“Enough!” Taki whipped around, raising his hand as if to strike Klaus. He didn’t. His chest rose and fell raggedly with his breath as he stood glaring at his knight.

Klaus’ eyes wandered over his slender frame, his beautiful blue eyes narrowed in anger. Closing the space between them rapidly, he grasped Taki’s wrists in his hands.

“Taki. Please. Let me make love to you. Really make love.” He paused, eyes flickering over Taki’s face. The smaller man hadn’t protested yet, which was a good sign. “If you want it, don’t fight it. Don’t hold back your cries. I promise I will be gentle.”

Taki’s eyebrows arched up towards each other, his eyes an unreadable ocean. Klaus was sure that he was no longer angry, but he could not tell if he would accept his offer or prove his unexpected strength by pushing him away.

When Taki continued to simply stare into Klaus’ eyes, Klaus closed the narrow space between them and put his hands on Taki’s cheeks, just a few shades lighter than his own skin. Taki’s eyes fluttered closed and strands of his black hair brushed his eyelids. Klaus couldn’t help himself from moving in closer and placing his lips gently over Taki’s. Taki didn’t protest or pull away. Slowly, he moved his hands until they rested on Klaus’ upper arms. Feeling the muscles there, he couldn’t help making a small noise in his throat.

Klaus pulled away and looked down at him, eyes wide and face open. With a long sigh, he slid his hands into Taki’s hair and kissed him again more deeply. Taki’s hands moved up his arms to clutch at his shoulder blades. Their mouths opened against each other. Klaus’ hands were already working their way to his chest, unbuttoning his jacket. Taki stiffened, but didn’t resist. Once Klaus had removed the military green garment, he pressed his hands to Taki’s waist and felt warm skin through his white shirt. Klaus undid his own garments, pulling away from Taki to get at the buttons. Taki made a small noise and leaned back into him, kissing him passionately. Klaus undid his shirt as quickly as he could and shucked it to the floor so he stood before Taki barechested. They separated for a moment, Taki looking over the muscular lines of his chest and abdomen. The commander raised a hand, experimentally, to touch Klaus’ chest. As his fingertips grazed over the skin his knight leaned into him and kissed him gently on the neck. He drew away, smiling, and pulled on Taki’s hand to lead him towards the bed.

Surrounded by the white fabric of the sheets, Taki stared up at him. He was quiet, save for his own aroused panting. It was wonderful to hear simply sounds of pleasure from him, and no longer shouts of frustration or pleas to stop. Klaus closed his eyes against the memory and all the horrible things he’d done. He sat back on his knees to unbutton Taki’s shirt, exposing his pale skin as well. Unable to help himself, Klaus leaned down and placed a kiss to where his heart should be. Then, after a playful glance up at his lover, he moved his attentions downward, placing his lips gently over a nipple.

Taki tensed and made a strangled sound. Klaus looked up at him, reaching a hand up and pushing back his obsidian hair.

“I told you Taki. Forget about everything pure and impure. Nobody can hear us here. Let me hear your cries. Tell me if you don’t want it but if you want it, give in to it.”

He lowered his head back down to kiss Taki’s nipple. When he ran his tongue over it and moved his hand to roll the other between his fingers, Taki let out a cry and arched his back. Klaus groaned against his skin and continued to lavish his attentions as Taki began to moan rhythmically, rutting his hips up against Klaus’ through layers of clothing. Taki’s hands were twisted into the sheets, and Klaus continued his teasing until Taki lifted his hands and dug them into the golden skin of Klaus’ back. Then he looked up at Taki, smiled wolfishly, and moved back up his body to bring their mouths together in heated rubbing of tongues.

With one hand Klaus holds the commander around the waist. With his other, he reaches down between them to unbutton his own pants. Even before they had come to this country, when they had been together across the border, Taki had so often closed his eyes and held himself tense. He hadn’t resisted back then, but he hadn’t let himself enjoy it — really enjoy it — until the pleasure had overwhelmed him at the end. Once they’d come here all the talk about his sacred virginity, a sexuality which was never really his, had overwhelmed him and all he had done was resist. So Klaus relished in pressing his lips to the soft skin over Taki’s collarbone, loving the way Taki gave himself over to it and moaned at the touch. Klaus kicked off his own pants and reached to undo Taki’s as well. He found his hands unexpectedly shaky and he fumbled with the button.

“Let me.” Taki whispered against his ear, his own slender fingers reaching down to pull his pants off before kicking them onto the floor. Klaus was overwhelmed with a strong pulse of both desire and joy by the simple act of Taki removing his own clothing, so obviously willing.

As if afraid that Taki would change his mind and deny him at the final moment, Klaus rushed to remove their undergarments, wetting his fingers from the vial of lubricant on the bedside table and slowly pushing them into Taki. The sensation of Taki’s body opening, of letting him in rather than resisting him sent waves of pleasure over him. He plundered Taki’s mouth with his tongue, stretching him with his fingers, listening to Taki’s high-pitched moans of pleasure. The moment was bittersweet. Klaus loved the feeling, loved knowing that they were arousing each other so fully, but there was a sorrow and pain at knowing that Taki had never really felt this way before now.

Torn between the desire to simply push into Taki without giving him the chance to resist and the knowledge that what was occurring between them was new and fragile, Klaus hesitated, stilling his fingers inside Taki. He stared down at the black-haired commander. Taki whispered his name questioningly.

“Taki I…do you want this? Will you let me…”

Taki reached up to cup Klaus’ cheek in his hand.

“Take me, Klaus.” He whispered.

Klaus groaned against the pale column of his neck and pushed himself inside, slowly. Taki moved his hands down to Klaus’ back, clutching at him, making small strangled sounds. Klaus whispered words of comfort to him, peppering butterfly kisses down his jaw, all the while moving in and out slowly and shallowly. Once Taki’s voice transformed into a sound of pleasure and his body began to open to Klaus, his thrusts sped up and grew deeper.

“Klaus” Taki whispered against his ear, his hips moving of their own accord, working with the rhythm that Klaus had set. They moved against one another, lost in the pure physicality of the moment. Just for the span of a few breaths there was no war outside the windows and no horror between them and no talk of holy virginity. There was only the two of them, and the blinding pleasure that they both rode into the void of each other’s bodies.


Missed fanfic friday yesterday: Oops! That means a double post today! Enjoy this Yuri on Ice fanfic now, and I will post the next chapter of Pull later tonight.

Victor x Yuri fanfic
This fic is set after the Cup of China Freeskate *SPOILERS FOR EPISODE SEVEN*
Warning: contains explicit sexual content

Yuri is elated. He can’t believe he won a silver medal. He raises a finger to his lips, feeling the sensitive skin where Victor had kissed, in front of everyone. He’d kissed Victor many times, sometimes sweet and innocent, other times long and deep and breathless. Never before had they kissed in public like that, confirming for the whole world what they had all guessed. They love each other. They hadn’t said it, but they’d each been thinking it for a while, ever since the first kiss after the Hot Springs on Ice competition where he had beat out his Russian competitor.

He looks over at Victor, standing next to him in the elevator, only to find his coach watching him. Not just watching him, but absolutely staring at him. He gives a shy smile, clutching the silver medal around his neck. There is something in Victor’s eyes, something deep and wanting. He’s seen that look in Victor’s eyes after long intervals of passionate kissing, quenched only when they take each other into their hands and release each other. Lust. Yuri has felt it too, starts to feel it now when he sees that look on his boyfriend’s face.

The elevator pings and the doors open. Yuri and Victor walk down the long hall to their room, neither speaking but doubtlessly thinking the same thing. Will tonight be the night that they make love? Yuri feels nerves move in his stomach just at the thought. The thought of opening himself to Victor, of consummating what is between them by getting as close to each other as possible, makes him more nervous than he ever was stepping onto the rink. Victor flashes him a look as he slides the room key in, pushing the door open. It might make him nervous, but the thought of making love with Victor also brings a surge of joy like the first time they’d kissed, and the first time Victor had called them “boyfriends,” and sleeping and waking up with Victor in his bed.

Yuri busies himself with taking off his shoes and jacket, toying with the medal around his neck before deciding to lock it in the safe in their room. He gets a glass of water, checks his hair in the mirror, and tries to find other menial tasks to do to distract himself from what is coming. He’s fidgeting with something on his phone when Victor wraps a hand around his upper arm. Yuri looks up at him.

“Yuri,” Yuri shivers at the way Victor says his name, “come sit with me.”

Yuri nods, following Victor to the bed and sitting next to him on it.

“There’s something I want to talk about, if you’re up to it.”

Yuri gives a half-smile and interlocks his hands with Victor’s. “I just won a medal. I’m up to anything right now. I feel like I’m gonna burst with this energy.”

Victor chuckles. He looks away for a brief moment and takes a deep breath before looking back to Yuri. Could he possibly be nervous?

“I think we should talk about sex.”

Yuri tries to keep his gaze steady. He isn’t shocked by the statement, though it makes all the things he has been feeling twice as strong.

“Okay.” He says, sure his nerves show even in that brief statement.

“I just…I think we should talk about it now, not in the heat of the moment when…” he cuts off, gesturing vaguely like he does when searching for a word in a language he has not mastered.

“I understand.” Yuri smiles at him. “That’s very considerate of you.”

“Have you had sex before?” Victor asks slowly, as if afraid to ask or perhaps afraid to know the answer.

Yuri blushes violently, pulling his hand suddenly from Victor’s and turning away. “N-no.” He mutters.

Victor wraps his arms around Yuri, hugging him from behind. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed of, Yuri. I know how it is with training and competing…there’s rarely time for relationships.”

“Unless it’s with your coach.” Yuri laughs. As the sound dies out, the somberness of the situation and his own embarrassment at his innocence resurfaces.

“What about you?” Yuri asks quickly, to try and move the conversation away from his own embarrassment. He realizes quickly the mistake he’s made. Does he really want to know the answer? Who knows how many people Victor’s slept with!

“Just one other person.” Victor says quietly. “A long time ago, almost ten years ago. I was so young then that it feels like a different time.”
“Another skater?” Yuri asks before he can help himself. He can’t help but wonder if it’s someone he knows.

“No.” Victor gives a gentle kiss to the crook of Yuri’s neck. “Just someone from the city I trained in when I was a teenager.” He pauses before continuing.

“I want to make love with you, Yuri.” Victor whispers into his ear.

Yuri turns in his arms, so they are facing each other once again. “Me too, Victor. I want to.”

Victor cradles Yuri’s face in his warm hands. “Yesterday during the short program…you were so seductive, Yuri. I wanted to have sex with you so badly after that, but I knew you needed to perform today, so I waited. You’re so sexy, Yuri.” Victor mumbles as he leans into Yuri’s neck, his breath hot on the sensitive skin there.

Yuri shivers and clutches at Victor’s shoulders as he kisses a gentle path up Yuri’s neck, his jaw, stopping at the corner of his mouth and pulling back so they can gaze at each other. He smiles, but Yuri only digs his fingers into his shoulder blades and crushes their mouths together. Victor makes a sound of need low in his throat, and Yuri relishes in the thought that he is the one doing that to his coach, his idol, his lover. Victor’s hands clutch at his waist, and they relish in long deep kissing as they move up onto the bed. Victor breaks off from the kiss, his chest rising and falling rapidly from the force of his breath. He lays Yuri down on the bed, and Yuri opens his legs slightly, looking up at his coach with what he hopes is an alluring gaze. Victor stares down at him as if he were naked even though they are both fully clothed. He settles himself between Yuri’s legs, their cocks rubbing together through the thick fabric of their pants. He buries his face in Yuri’s black hair as Yuri kisses the soft skin where his shoulder meet his neck. Victor groans and rubs his hips against Yuri’s, relishing in even the dull sense of friction.

Hands wander up Yuri’s shirt, and soon the fabric is discarded. Victor’s is gone as well, and they each take a moment to look at each other, hands running over exposed chests and shoulders. They’d given each other hand jobs before, but they’d never been fully naked in front of each other. The idea that they soon will be totally exposed to each other stirs up a complex of emotions inside Yuri. He is yanked out of these thoughts by the exquisite sensation of Victor’s fingers moving over his nipples. A sweet moan escapes from his lips and he lifts his legs to wrap them around Victor’s waist.

Soon Victor is moving downwards along his body, smiling mischievously up at Yuri as he snaps open the button of Yuri’s pants. Soon they have been pulled off, and Yuri reaches to rub Victor’s buldge through his pants before unbuttoning them and pulling them off. They resume their earlier position, Victor nestled between Yuri’s legs, now with only the thin layer of their boxers separating them. It is barely any fabric between them, but it is too much. It doesn’t take long for those to be removed as well. Victor props himself up on his hands and looks down at Yuri, taking in the sight of his naked form. Yuri lets his own eyes slide over the muscular lines of Victor’s form. Their bodies are different, but they complement each other. They are both lean muscle, graceful and strong.

“You can still say no any time you want to.” Victor whispers sweetly into Yuri’s ear. Yuri responds by kissing Victor with feverish intensity.

“Fuck me.” He whispers into the coach’s ear.

Victor groans at the words and pushes himself up, leaning over so he can reach the nightstand. He must have put the supplies they would need there. Yuri has the endearing mental image of Victor getting everything prepared, ensuring it would all go smoothly.  

“I’m going to use my fingers first.” Victor says quietly, coating the fingers of his right hand which a generous amount of the lubricant he had retrieved. Slowly, he leans back between Yuri’s legs, using his left hand to guide Yuri’s hips higher and further apart. He pushes gently at the entrance, knowing that patience is crucial here.

Yuri watches Victor with his face flushed, nervously anticipating how the touch will feel. When Victor’s finger presses into him, Yuri grits his teeth at the feel of it. It isn’t what he expected. He knew it might hurt, and it does, but it feels strange besides that.

“Relax, sweetheart.” Victor whispers, his eyes watching him closely and wide with concern.

“It feels weird.” Yuri says through clenched teeth.

“Should I stop?” Victor stills his movements.

“No.” Yuri says breathlessly. Yes, it feels weird, but he knows it will feel good if he is patient. He wants to go through with this.

Their eyes are locked together, Yuri’s expression changing as the sensation shifts, moving from discomfort and pain to something more pleasurable. He moves his hands from where they’d been bunched in the sheets to grab onto Victor’s shoulders. Victor makes a sound of pleasure and begins to suck on Yuri’s neck, adding another finger inside of him. Yuri adjusts to this one more quickly, and soon Victor begins to prepare him in earnest, scissoring his fingers and then adding a third. Yuri closes his eyes, relishing in the motion, until Victor withdraws his fingers and reaches over again.

“Yuri.” He whispers, staring down into Yuri’s eyes with a condom in his hand. “Can I….”

Yuri answers by bucking his hips, rubbing himself against Victor’s erection. Victor shivers and quickly rolls on the condom. He positions himself at Yuri’s entrance, using one hand to grip Yuri’s thigh and the other to guide himself in. He breathes heavily over Yuri, his eyes wide as he watches the skater’s reaction. Yuri closes his eyes against the sensation and digs his fingers into Victor’s naked back. Victor presses his lips against Yuri’s neck as he slowly pushes forward.

The feeling is uncomfortable, at first, but before long Yuri is moaning and arching his back to deepen the thrusts. Victor changes his position so he can push in harder, his arms wrapped around Yuri, their tongues pressing into each other’s mouths. Yuri has been thinking of this since he had first seen Victor naked in the onsen. He had thought of it so many times after heated nights of kisses and hands, when the strain he would have to put his body under in training prevented him from letting VIctor inside him. Knowing he’d been waiting for this so long heightens the sensation, and soon he finds himself closer to the edge than he’d expected.

He calls Victor’s name over and over against the pale skin of his throat.

“T-touch me.” He cries out as the pleasure grows even stronger.

Victor arches his back, pounding harder into Yuri, and wraps a hand around his dick. Yuri watches as Victor’s face changes, becoming more and more wrapped in pleasure. He switches to Russian, the unfamiliar syllables sounding unbelievably sexy.

“I’m c-coming!” Yuri whispers, digging his nails into Victor’s skin, relishing in feeling Victor come inside of him as his own climax hits and he rides the wave of it into nothingness and joy.

Once they have both finished, Victor slumps on top of Yuri. The lean weight of him is comforting and his silver hair falls against Yuri’s face. He is still inside Yuri, and Yuri keeps his arms around him as they catch their breath.

“I love you.” Yuri whispers.

Victor pushes up, looking down into Yuri’s face. His cheeks are flushed and glowing, and the smile that begins to grow over his face is endearing.

“Ya lyublyu tebya.”

Yuri doesn’t know any Russian, but he knows what that means. He pulls Victor against him again, planning to never let him go.

Fanfic Friday!

Hey everyone! For the fourth day of Yule, enjoy this piece of fanfiction to kick off something I’m calling “Fanfic Friday”! This first post is a very fluffy. Considering my usual smutty approach to fanfic, it was fun for me to write something a bit more innocent and cute. Anyway this is a Magnus Bane and Alec Lightwood piece. They’re both characters who show up in many of Cassandra Clare’s books and in the new Shadowhunters TV show. They were my first real ship, and they’re actually cannon, which is unusual for me. Anyway here you go, a little diddle about Magnus taking Alec along to Zumba class.

Alec’s Zumba Adventure

Alec sat on the couch in the lavish living room of Magnus’ apartment. His apartment too, he guessed. He certainly seemed to spend all his time there. Even with a handful of iratzes from Jace, he still felt totally beat-up after his run-in with a nasty demon the night before. He lay on the couch, half-dozing and half-channel surfing.

He felt a pair of warm, slender hands sneak their way over his shoulders to rest on the muscles of his chest. He closed his eyes as Magnus leaned down to press a gentle kiss to his check. When Magnus pulled away, Alec craned his neck to look at him. He stood by the door, his normally spiked hair pulled away from his face with a red headband. Alec couldn’t help noticing that he wore tight rainbow-colored paints. As he bent over to pull on one of his sneakers, Alec sat up some to better admire the view. The black tank top he wore had large holes for the arms, exposing the lean lines of his sides.

“Where are you going?” Alec asked, already feeling much more awake than he had just a few moments ago.

Magnus, having got both his shoes on, came back over to sit on the couch. He reached over to brush a piece of Alec’s hair out of his eyes.

“I’m going to workout class. I go most days. Haven’t you noticed?”

Alec blushed at that. “Well…you’re in and out a lot every day, doing work.” He waved his hand in the air vaguely.

Magnus laughed. “Do you really think I’d meet a client dressed like this?”

Alec raised his eyebrows at him, and they both laugh.

“Okay, I know I’m not the most average of dressers, but I would never wear something like this anyplace other than the gym.”

“I hope not.” Alec looked up through his eyelashes at Magnus, running a hand up one of the warlock’s thighs.

Magnus rolled his eyes. “Oh, relax. With a horndog like you all over me all the time, I don’t have any energy left for anyone else.”

Alec laughed and tightened his grip on Magnus’ thigh. “Seriously, though, how could I not know you work out almost every day?”

“How did you think I keep this figure?” Magnus raised an eyebrow suggestively, moving his hips from side to side slowly to show off his slender frame.

“I thought it was genetic.” His voice was a little breathless.

“What, because I’m Asian? Or because I’m half-demon?” Magnus crossed his arms and stared down at him.

Alec blushed and mumbled something, turning away from his lover. Magnus laughed and settled on his lap lightly. Alec forgot the pain he was in and raised his lips to the golden tan column of Magnus’ throat.

“You should come with me!” Magnus kissed him on the nose and smiled.

“I’m sore.” Alec muttered, turning his attentions back to Magnus’ neck.

Magnus pulled away and regarded him with eyebrows raised. “Obviously not sore enough to slow you down.”

Alec chuckled. Magnus got off him and pulled him up to standing.

“Come on, it’ll make you feel better. Trust me, it’s Zumba. It’ll be like a walk in the park for you. It’ll help your muscles.”

Alec groaned and refused. “No. I’m not going.”


It was a testament to how frequently Magnus got what he wanted that Alec ended up in the Zumba studio twenty minutes later. As the girls filtered in they move to Magnus enthusiastically. Their eyes flickered over Alec, taking in his grey sweatpants and black tanktop before looking back to Magnus with confusion clear on their faces.

Magnus stretched his arm up over his head, exposing a strip of his golden skin. Alec found himself suddenly not caring about what the women seemed to be thinking.

“This is Alec.” Alec heard Magnus’ voice and looked up from staring at exposed skin.

A woman with her hair in a blonde pony tail and an athletic outfit (clearly the instructor) smiled at him and extended a hand.

“Hi Alec, I’m Stacey.” She looked over at Magnus questioningly.

Magnus slung an arm over Alec’s shoulder. “Yes, this is my boyfriend, and the love of my life.”

Alec looked over at Magnus, feeling like the breath left his body. The instructor smiled at them and turned away to set up the sound system. She was a mundane. There was no way she could understand what those words mean coming out of Magnus’ mouth.

The music started and Magnus flashed a bright smile at Alec before moving away to start mimicking the instructor’s dance moves. Alec moved as if in a bit of a daze, following the instructor’s movements mechanically.

When it came down to it, he really wasn’t much of a dancer. Magnus was right, the class barely even made him sweat. It did loosen up his muscles though, and he had an easy time following the movements. He had been a fighter all his life, and he had a good eye for motion. As graceful as he was, he found himself stumbling from time to time as he got distracted by Magnus. He happened to be standing slighty behind the warlock, at the perfect angle to watch the smooth motions of his hips moving and the elegent movements of his long arms.

Alec found himself continually glancing at the clock, counting down the moments until the class would be over.


As soon as they walked in the front door to Magnus’ apartment, Alec’s hands were on his tantilizing hips. His lips press hotly against the warlock’s neck as he drew their bodies closers. His hands ran up Magnus’ back into the damp hair at the nape of his neck. He tore out the red headband to free Magnus’ silky black hair. Thier lips met with a crashing force, and Magnus pushed them further into the apartment. They fell together on the couch, and lost themselves in one another…