Tiny Fandoms Flash

The room they’d arranged for him in D.C. was about as uncomfortable as Jesse could imagine. Made him feel like everywhere he was stepping he was tracking mud, even though it hadn’t rained in weeks and the roads were as dry as a Sunday sermon. The softness and cleanliness of the room made him feel filthy in comparison, but then he’d gone and gotten all contrary about it, because there wasn’t no good reason to be feeling that way in the first place, and had been refusing the bath they’d set out for him just on principle.

But there wasn’t much else for him to do. He hated being out in the city, and hated waiting even more, especially knowing how much everyone back in Calico had on their plates. He could just picture Edgar’s face now, that unbearably paternal disappointment. 

As if he hadn’t gotten that in spades from his dad.

Jesse garbled an “Aw hell” aimed at no one but himself and ripped off his hat, slapping it down on top of the little chest of drawers with the intricate white doily that he’d wager would be stained some shade of brown once he was done with the place. 

Not on no account of anything he planned to do, but just because he knew what kind of person a room like this expected, and it sure as shit wasn’t him.

He toed out of his boots next, trying not to pay too much attention to what he was doing, to the crusted-on blood and dirt that he knew would be knocking off onto the floor.

There was a chair there next to the chest of drawers and he loaded it down with his weapons–a severely diminished arsenal, far much more than he was comfortable with, but Emelia’d been pretty clear about how uncomfortable the D.C. folk would be with him walking around loaded down with a flamethrower and dynamite.

Shotgun and rifle across the arms of the chair, pistol and bandolier on top of his folded up coat. Crucifix next to them. And then the gauntlet…he didn’t know what to do with the gauntlet. Didn’t much care to take it off, truth be told. Picked off his gloves instead and tossed them on the doily next to his hat. Picked at the releases on the gauntlet next; felt the edges of the metal blunted against rough patches of skin.

Damn fool thing to get all skittish about, he thought, and made himself click through the releases, pulling the gauntlet off and setting it on the edge of the bed. It was closer to the tub than the chair, which was a kind of chickenshit allowance.

Then again, Jesse’d gotten more than enough acquainted with what letting your guard too far down would get you.

The rest of his kit followed slow. Scarf and shirt on the bed. Pants he left on the floor once he noticed how much blood was caked in around where they’d met the tops of his boots. Union suit after that, leaving him standing buck ass naked in the middle of the fancy damn room and feeling even less like he should be there.

But there wasn’t anything for him to hunt here. Just the tedium of one meeting after another that he had to look forward to early the next morning. 

Jesse crossed the last few feet to the screen divider and the tub waiting behind it, throw rugs far too soft and plush against the bare soles of his feet. He felt his frown set deeper when he saw it. Smelled it. Something floral. Not roses; he knew roses at least. Some ticks liked them, probably more for the color than anything, he’d wager.

Water looked clean and it was still warm enough to be steaming and he felt dumb and crass and clumsy just looking at it. Thought again that it’d have been better if anyone else had come out here instead of him. 

He knew killing and not a hell of a lot else. All this finery was wasted on him. 

Jesse got in the tub. Sloshed some of the water out even though he’d been trying to be careful. Sunk down into it and groaned at how damn good it felt, all that hot water up to his shoulders.

He tipped his head back over the rim of the tub and just lay there staring up at the ceiling for a minute or two.The floral scent was overwhelming and his legs were a little cramped, but he couldn’t really place the last time he’d had anything like this; anything more than just splashing blood and weeks of trail dust off himself in some ice cold little creek.

There was a metal stand with what looked like a brand new bar of soap and a small stack of wash cloths. A few bottles of what he gathered were oils, though he was a little wary of touching them. They had those little stoppers, like perfumes, and maybe they were perfumes, though Jesse couldn’t imagine what the hell anyone would need more perfume for, with the water stinking like that, but he wasn’t gonna risk knocking one over and spilling it all over himself or the floor. 

He closed his eyes to all of it; the wooden rim of the tub digging into his neck a little but he kind of preferred it that way, like it was a kind of reminder: this ain’t for you.

He breathed out. Grimaced at the sharp floral smell when he breathed back in. Wondered idly if they’d scented the water so strong because they’d taken one look at him and figured he needed it.

Jesse snorted. They’d be disappointed if that was the case; he only had the one set of clothes with him and he didn’t think there was a single thing on this damn earth that would get the stink of ticks outta his coat and boots.

He trailed his fingers through the water. Scratched at his chest with his other hand, fingers dripping water down between his pecs. Thought about the stretch of meetings he’d have tomorrow. 

He reckoned he could get the threat across at any rate. Or at least tell them about it well enough. His exposure to Harrow had dissuaded him from the notion that any of these suit and tie types had even the scrap of an idea of what it was like outside their meeting rooms and offices, but he knew ticks better than just about anyone save Edgar and could yap on about what they were capable of long enough to paint a picture.

Nothing pretty, mind, but something vivid enough, he figured.

Course he also knew they’d want to look at Felicity as some kinda fluke. An accident. When him and Edgar and Emelia and every single man and woman who’d ever even considered themselves part of the Rentier Institute knew that–

Shush of fabric–someone was in the room with him.

Jesse’s eyes shot open right as he felt the hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down when he’d started to rise, everything happening lightning-quick, like electricity pooling through him and the gauntlet and into the soft flesh of every foulblood monstrosity the Sanguisuge had stitched together and thrown at him–water sloshing everywhere, strength more than human, a goddamned tick–

He twisted his head to the left, caught the corduroy gray-black sleeve covering the arm holding him first, followed it upwards to–

“Chester,” Jesse bit out, knowledge lodged firm in the forefront of his thoughts exactly how far he was from each of his weapons.

“Easy there, boyo,” Chester Morgan said around a smile that dug at Jesse for how profoundly pleased it looked. He could see the tip of a fang peeking out; could feel the pinprick reminder of each of Chester’s claws pressing against the bare skin of his shoulder.

Couldn’t ignore how naked he was, either. Had to fight the urge to cover his prick; it’d just be drawing attention to a weakness.

Of course Chester was already trailing his eyes down Jesse’s body, just like he’d read his mind, Jesse’s hands gripping tight around the rim of the tub as Chester’s smile grew a notch wider.

“Let me guess,” Jesse growled, mind flipping far too quick through his far too short list of options, “you just passing through?”

“Oh, aye,” Chester said, eyes flicking back up to Jesse’s face, “in the neighborhood.”

“Uh huh,” Jesse said, voice flat, eyes narrowed. Not willing to discount that Chester would attempt some kind of revenge.

Or grab whatever opportunities his grasping little hands could land on.

One of them was on Jesse right that minute, after all.

Chester settled back on his heels, squatting there next to the tub, grip just as firm on Jesse’s shoulder. “Believe what you like, but some of us aim for a sort of professionalism, Jesse Rentier,” he said, far more at ease than Jesse had ever seen him. He had no doubts that Chester knew exactly how far he was from each of his weapons, too.

Jesse still couldn’t help the snort. “Yeah?” he said. “How’s that professionalism been working for you, ‘Weapons Caesar?’”

Chester only grinned wider, both fangs out in a clear display. His eyes just about fucking twinkled. “Oh, business has been booming, boyo,” he said. “I really did just happen to be in the neighborhood, you know. These Washington pricks are real keen on that sort of business. So keen they don’t really seem to care much where I’m getting the merchandise or who it is selling it to them.”

And Jesse–hell, he knew what Harrow’d been like, but he still felt his heart sink right down into his stomach; fancied he could hear the plop when it landed. 

That these fucking idiots would–

“Don’t get all worked up, now,” Chester said. “I’m just saying I’m here as a professional courtesy.” His thumb slipped down across Jesse’s collarbone, sending a shiver through him that he fucking knew Chester noticed, his eyes going sharp as they met Jesse’s own.

But he couldn’t just ignore it; couldn’t keep a bit of his mind from chewing at it. Just how fucking naked he was and how close Chester was. Close enough that he could smell him. A woodsy sort of scent, aftershave–if ticks even needed to shave–or maybe a cologne. 

He’d noticed it before–that Chester didn’t reek half as much as the rest of them. Felicity had smelled like a fucking charnel house, and sure, Chester smelled like blood, mostly his breath, but it wasn’t even a competition.

Hell, he’d probably smelled worse than Chester did.

“A courtesy,” he bit out. Chester used to wear a rose at his lapel, he couldn’t help but remember. He wasn’t now, but a part of Jesse was wondering if Chester could place what flower it was the water smelled like, or what those bottles were for, or–

Concentrate, you damned fool.

“That’s right,” Chester said, real deliberate when he ran his thumb across Jesse’s skin this time, eyes fixed on his expression in a hungry sort of curiosity. Everything felt hungry with him, damned tick. 

Jesse had to fight not to squirm; to just meet his gaze with a glare of his own. “Pardon me if I ain’t buying that, Chess,” he said.

“Wouldn’t have expected you to,” Chester said, seemingly unbothered. “But it’s been nothing if not blisteringly clear to me that there’s been a line drawn, and there’s one side of it I don’t aim to find myself on, if you catch my meaning.”

Jesse didn’t. He glared harder. Felt a curse rolling around between his teeth and ground down against it. Gripped the edge of the tub all the harder when Chester just kept stroking his skin. “The hell are you getting at,” he said through his teeth.

Chester leaned closer and Jesse inhaled sharply in surprise; got a whiff of that woodsy scent, all the stronger. “I’m not sniveling and scraping for another Highborn again, Jesse Rentier,” Chester said, voice gone quiet and serious; his grip tightened briefly on Jesse’s shoulder. “I’m done with all that. Done with it.”

Jesse looked him over. They were just a few inches apart; steam from the bath still rising up between them. Chester’s hair slicked back; the ends of his mustache perfectly curled. He swallowed and Jesse’s eyes were drawn unwillingly to the movement, to the coils of his tattoo stretching up his throat.

“They’re planning something,” Chester continued, still keeping his voice down, like there might be someone to overhear them. “You’d do best to get back to Calico as soon as you can. Get all your little friends together. They’re tracking Gravenor out there in Sheffield,” Jesse’s heart started beating a little too fast at that, a panic response he still couldn’t control making him butt up against Chester’s grip, giving too much away.

Chester went on like he hadn’t noticed, like there was a clock ticking down to some deadline only he knew about, “They’ve got eyes on all of you. And I went and threw my lot in with you by killing the two they had trailing you here.”

“What in the hell are you–” the thought that he’d been being followed and he hadn’t noticed–

“Listen to me for once, you feckin’ idiot,” Chester hissed. “It’s because you killed Felicity. They needed you to do it, to clean up that fucking mess, but they can’t let you live because of it, you understand? The Rentier Institute–whatever dregs are left of it–is an affront to them, and they’re not going to let you build it back up.”

And the hell of it was that it made sense. It was more or less what he was there in D.C. for in the first place, to warn anyone who would listen that Felicity wasn’t the end of it, she was the first course in a bugfuck nasty situation that every instinct he had told him was barreling straight for them.

It was too good a chance; Felicity had cut their numbers too low. His dad was dead. Their headquarters little more than a smear of ash and soot.

“The hell do you get out of telling me this?” Jesse asked the only thing he could think to. Chester had squealed on Felicity easy enough, had had no love for D’Abano, but…

He had more than enough reason to watch the rest of them burn too.

Chester blinked at him, and then his face scrunched up in annoyance, lip curling into a snarl. “Nothing,” he said, “Not a goddamned bleedin’ thing except for how much worse it’ll be for me if I just let them wipe you out.”

No weapons deals then, Jesse thought. Sniveling and scraping, and alright, if there was one thing he knew about Chester it was that everything he did was self-serving. He’d be a fool to believe that was all there was to it, but Chester had bet on them over Felicity. Maybe that was enough to make him think Jesse was his only option.

Jesse licked his lips; pretended not to notice the way it drew Chester’s attention. Pretended he also hadn’t noticed the way one of Chester’s too-long incisors pressed a divot into his bottom lip. His throat felt dry and he felt wired with energy, that spike of adrenaline going nowhere. “You know what I’m here in Washington for,” he said, not bothering to make it a question.

Chester responded the same, “Not really cut out for politics, are you.”

Fuck no, Jesse privately agreed. “And I’m meant to just take you on your word and fly outta here–”

“Do whatever you want,” Chester said, and then his hand was gone from Jesse’s shoulder and he was standing so quickly Jesse didn’t even think to move. “Professional courtesy, aye?” he was back to smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world, like he couldn’t imagine anything more pleasant than staring down at Jesse naked in a tub.

He started to turn and Jesse tensed, jolted out of the strange lull he’d been in. “Told you what I knew,” Chester added. “Don’t blame me if you choose not to listen.”

Jesse listened to his footsteps cross the floorboards, refusing to turn to watch him. Waited until he heard the door close before he twisted to peek around the divider–

Nothing. His weapons and clothes were right where he’d left them. The door shut and–he heard the click even above the sloshing of water in the tub–locked. Didn’t know how he felt about Chester locking up after himself. Definitely knew how he felt about Chester picking the lock to let himself in. Definitely wished he’d just left the damn gauntlet on. Bathed with it.

Was really wishing he still couldn’t feel the phantom touch of Chester’s hand on him, or smell his damn cologne. 

Jesse dunked his head, waited with it submerged a few seconds, counting up and up and then surfacing, shaking off, water droplets splattering audibly against the screen.

He couldn’t risk it. Even if it turned out to be nothing but Chester blowing smoke up his ass, even if Emelia and Edgar gave him all hell for it, he couldn’t risk ignoring the warning, not after…

Jesse hoisted himself up out of the tub, water rushing down his body, one foot after the other splatting wetly against the floor.

He bent down for one of the towels folded in a neat pile next to the tub and found it so soft it snagged a bit against his bitten and torn nails. He didn’t want to acknowledge it, but he was damn glad for the excuse to get the hell out of this place.

Jesse dried himself off as quickly as he could and set to putting his kit back on, already calculating how far he could ride before he’d need to rest the horse, how quickly he could get a telegraph out and how he should code it, how long it’d take to get word to Edgar, all the way out in damn Sheffield–

Hiking his union suit that wouldn’t quit sticking to his still-damp skin up his hips and his head a sort of mire, like the damn Maurepas, buzzing insects and all, Jesse could no longer ignore the shame-hot embarrassment of his still half-hard prick. 

Adrenaline, he told himself at first. And then: been a while since you laid with anyone. Pent up. 

But, now that he couldn’t avoid thinking about it, it was all just a wash of ain’t no way Chester didn’t notice and fuck is wrong with you, ticks could be attacking Calico this very minute and you’re–over goddamned Chester?

Except of course it wasn’t Chester. Who the fuck would get a stiffy over Chester Fucking Morgan? 

It was him holding you down, Jesse knew, wouldn’t ever speak it aloud but, you liked him having you vulnerable like that. You liked that he had the upper hand; that he could have killed you.

Jesse cursed aloud, grabbing for his shirt. It smelled like stale sweat and body odor and worse things and he wrapped himself in it to drown out the soft-sharp floral scent clinging to him from the bath.

The room was like a kind of tomb around him; not one for him, but one he’d broken into, uninvited, and set everything out of sorts. Dust disrupted and graves disturbed. He wished he could bury all his blasted useless thoughts there. Lay them to rest. 

“Chester could have used his professional courtesy to put me outta my fucking misery,” Jesse griped under his breath. Put the gauntlet back on and felt both better and worse for it.

He grabbed his coat and hat and couldn’t stop himself from looking:

Doily was fine, just a little bunched up but as white and pure as the driven fucking snow.

But he’d gotten mud on the floor after all. Dark brown bootprints where he’d stepped over his own wet tracks from the tub; dried up road dust soaking into it and leaving a clear trail behind.