Feb. 12th, 2008 04:29 pm
Longest Battle 6/8
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lovely_ambitionThe Longest Battle 6/8
Pairing: Ambrose/Cain, Queen/Ahamo
Disclaimer: I do not own them at all.
Summary: The Witch won't rest until she has the O.Z. in darkness, no matter how she must do it, no matter how long it takes.
Rating: This part is NC-17.
Notes: This acts as an AU to the entire Tin Man series and hinges on just one question: "What if DG hadn't let go?" Fifteen annuals pass and while some things may remain the same, many is different. EXTREME thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
blackletter for being a wonderful & efficient beta.
CHAPTER ONE: In which DG holds on, Zero takes matters into his own hands, Adora Cain is a casualty, Ambrose is given a lifetime of glitches, and Jeb Cain gets into Ambrose's bed before his father does.
CHAPTER TWO: In which the search for the Mystic Man begins, Cain makes failed attempts at bonding, Jeb hides well, and a tentative agreement is made between Ambrose and Cain.
CHAPTER THREE: In which Ambrose reveals why he hates Zero so much, it's Jeb's and then Wyatt's birthday, and Cain finds out that you can never have too much heart.
CHAPTER FOUR: In which Cain and Ambrose are exiled, they meet a Viewer named Raw who can feel the O.Z., Ambrose has to face the facts, and mobats have a nasty bite.
CHAPTER FIVE: In which Cain heals from wounds rendered, Jeb admits he doesn't know Ambrose, Zero makes a house-call, and Ambrose informs Cain that he and Jeb are moving back to the palace.
Their moving in had been chaotic in both the amount of possessions they seemed to have as well as the rumours that circulated through the ranks of the O.Z., whether in the top tiers or a place much lower. While nothing was officially said, people saw Wyatt Cain move his way into the Royal Circles with ease, as if he belonged to the family.
“He’s just a Tin Man,” came the calls from the streets of Central City.
The North had little else to say. “Nothing more than a hired guard, from what I hear.”
“I heard he and the Advisor are lovers.” The Realm of the Unwanted, of course, had a racier version of the story.
The Royal Court itself had been a snooty reaction of disdain that still riled Cain every time he thought back to what he’d overheard. “The Queen is clearly starting to let the common folk in.”
Cain didn’t give a damn about any of the rumours and neither did most of the people he cared about and that was the last word on the subject, as far as he was concerned.
The living arrangements had settled with ease. Jeb had his own room in the corner of the palace, next to DG’s and down the hall from Azkadellia’s and the kids were happy to be within shouting distance of each other. Cain meant that literally, seeing as he’d interrupted one too many a shouting session in recent days.
“Talk to each other,” he’d said sternly. “Before you give the rest of us headaches.”
“Yes, sir.” “Yes, Mr. Cain.” “Yes, Father,” came the trio of agreement all at once.
Cain’s room had been, at his request, put right beside Ambrose’s, where there was a door between them that adjoined the two large suites. It was close enough to Jeb that he could hear his son if he was needed, but had the proximity to a part of his life that he was just opening his eyes to. The walls were thick, but that didn’t mean that Cain didn’t hear the occasional movement in Ambrose’s room and he lay in bed most nights waiting for the even steps of Ambrose coming back from his lab.
His arms would rest behind his head and Cain stared at the ceiling as he heard the familiar footsteps against the marble floors and only when he saw the light from under his door extinguish did he close his eyes and go to sleep. Eventually, after several weeks of adjusting to a life where breakfast was cooked for you and the days held more meetings than Cain could have ever imagined before palace-life, he started to leave the door between their rooms open.
One night, Ambrose actually came into his room, doing little more than stand there in his ragged coat and tug on his hair. He’d not let the Queen replace the coat, saying that it held sentimental value to him, but had at least agreed to have it laundered after Cain complained about the smell.
“When the door is open like that, it causes a draft,” Ambrose said, very matter-of-factly.
Cain had been lying casually in bed atop the covers, arms crossed over his torso. “Can’t have that,” he said evenly. “How about you close that door and pull up some space?” He could have been suggesting anything by his casual tone, but no other combination of words could have made Ambrose smile like he did.
That was the start of a ritual, that although they each had their own room, they only ever needed one bed.
While Cain didn’t seem to care about the rumours, Ambrose did and Cain heard no end about it every night while Ambrose fidgeted with the blankets. Eventually, they would end up in the same position, with Ambrose on his side and his arm around Cain’s waist while Cain kept one broad palm perfectly fitted against the nape of Ambrose’s neck. There was space between them – just enough to be able to shift in the night – but it was an intimate sort of distance.
They didn’t do much more than experience the beginnings of a relationship, but Ambrose seemed to be patient with that. Cain could weather the occasional comment about ‘needing to hurry it up’ because the slow, deathly sweet kisses that Cain could draw out of Ambrose usually shut him up for days. Cain would push him up against a wall and take an excruciatingly long time to find new angles and explore old ones, to kiss Ambrose the way he thought the man ought to be kissed.
And after that, the complaining would stop and the rumours didn’t matter so much.
*
Ambrose had noticed that although Cain was putting in a concerted effort, he still couldn’t make his way around the palace without getting turned around once or twice. Eventually, he would always find his way to where he meant to go and that room usually contained Ambrose, who would always grin away and ask just how long it took Cain to get there.
Today, Cain was met by that same smile, but he didn’t look very cheerful in return.
“What happened?” Ambrose asked warily, wondering if something had gone amiss or if Cain had suddenly decided that he needed to go off somewhere. While Ambrose knew these were just his paranoid thoughts, he could never truly rid himself of them.
“Every day I wake up safe,” Cain said slowly, pacing back and forth in Ambrose’s room, coat trailing behind him. “I’m well-fed, never cold, and in good company.”
“And?” Ambrose was wondering if he was glitching or just utterly missing the point. It was getting more and more difficult to tell. Sometimes, Cain forgot that he needed to express all his thoughts and couldn’t just think them and expect Ambrose to pick up on them. He hadn’t gotten that far in devising something that could pluck thoughts out of mid-air and translate them to speech. Yet.
“And Zero is still out there,” Cain got out through gritted teeth.
Ambrose didn’t sigh aloud, but the weary feeling flooded him. Once a week, the subject came back to Zero and though Ambrose did his best to convince Cain that there were Tin Men out there searching for the man, Cain always seemed to be a half-second away from packing up all of their things and committing to the road to find Zero himself. Ambrose could at least be glad that Cain always seemed that he would pick up the Advisor and tote him around if he did end up out there.
“Cain…”
“He shot me,” Cain interrupted.
“And I want him dealt with as much as you do,” Ambrose pointed out. Cain could never know about Ambrose’s icy words that day when he’d thought he had lost Cain forever and if he had his way, it would remain like that. When the storm of that moment had settled, Ambrose knew that he could never murder the man, no matter how much his baser nature wanted him to. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, sending loose strands of dark hair sprawling from the neat hairstyle. “Cain,” he sighed. “Wyatt,” he pleaded tiredly. “Let the Tin Men do their job and when they find him, we’ll deal with it.”
“And if they never find him?”
There was a perverse sense of hope in Ambrose that no one would find Zero. He wasn’t looking forward to what would happen when they found him. He had no idea how much mercy, if any, was left in Cain. Ambrose himself had no idea how generous he would be with the man who had ruined so much of his past and was now trying to do the same with his present.
“Have faith,” Ambrose offered, managing to conceal his true feelings on the subject with a clipped tone and a barely-there smile as he wandered forward to pry Cain’s hat off and gesture inside the room with his chin. “Come on, the suns are setting,” he invited. “It’s about time you started watching them.”
Cain went with a mild word of protest, but a quick grope of his behind and a kiss to the corner of his lips silenced him until the suns had settled into the horizon.
*
Ambrose honestly didn’t know why they called it ‘terrible twos’ when it was really ‘terrible thirteens’ that parents should have been warned about. Even though DG was not his daughter, he felt paternal enough to want to protect her and to do all the things a father might for his little girl. DG had always been fiery and headstrong, but now that she was thirteen and Jeb was busy spending most of his time mooning over Azkadellia, she spent most of her time in the lab with Ambrose.
There were endless distractions, the occasional crash and ‘oops!’ and the babble about her magic, her parents, her sister, Jeb, and inevitably, talk about Cain, which was the biggest distraction of them all.
“What’s this one do!” DG asked perkily, picking up a round crystal and lifting it to the light before Ambrose could sprint over and pry it out of her hands, giving her a worried and panicked look. “What?” she laughed warmly, settling onto the visitor’s chair in the corner – the one that, to Ambrose’s delight, smelled of Cain. DG had taken to wearing more casual dresses as she grew older, outfits that allowed her to run around with Jeb outside the palace and not get caught in stray hedges and bushes. “It’s just a ball,” she said dismissively.
“Looks, Princess, aren’t everything,” Ambrose pointed out, tapping her on her nose. “Consider what people would say about you? Is she just a girl? Just a Princess?” He smiled warmly at her, delicately setting the crystal ball back on its holder. “But you’re so much more.”
“You’re just saying that,” DG mumbled, clearly embarrassed to the point that her cheeks flushed and she had to look down at the floor.
“I promise you, I mean it,” Ambrose assured, returning to his work while he constantly kept one eye on DG as she was bound to get curious about yet another precious item in his lab, which she inevitably did. At least this time, however, it was a garden-variety invention he’d concocted some time ago to sift out small items from a large pool of substances.
She tested it out and let Ambrose have a blissful ten minutes of silence, but that wasn’t to last long.
“So,” she drew out the word curiously and carefully, treating the word as Ambrose did his various inventions, “now that Cain lives in the palace, does that mean they’re staying here for good?”
Ambrose stopped what he was doing (a cursory study of several slides brought back from Finaquan caves) and looked up, caught in a moment of blind honesty. His mouth had fallen open and he gave a very unregal ‘ummm’ as he stumbled for an answer. The answer he wanted to give was, ‘yes, of course, they’re here to stay forever’, especially now that Cain had taken to sneaking into Ambrose’s room at odd hours of the day for activities that had the maturity of people far younger than they were and spent most of his spare time in his laboratory. He’d already made Ambrose an unspoken promise that he wasn’t going to leave in his kisses and his actions, but Wyatt Cain was still a stubborn man. Ambrose also knew that the extent DG cared about was whether Jeb was going to stay with them or not.
Ambrose chose to err on the side of hope and optimism. “They are, yes,” he agreed, finding he was elated to even say the words.
When Ambrose saw the way DG completely lit up, he was even gladder that he could be the one to tell her such good news.
“Good,” DG announced with that bright smile that could light up the whole O.Z. if it had to. “They’re family,” she said decisively, setting down Ambrose’s contraption and pacing around the lab, looking for things to prod. “Even if Jeb’s starting to get all crazy-eyed and stuff,” she complained.
“I’m sure he’ll grow out of it,” Ambrose promised, unable to hide his bemusement.
“Mr. Cain’s pretty good, so I guess it’s not inherited. He doesn’t go babbling and idiotic around girls,” DG said logically and though she couldn’t possibly know why, Ambrose had started to choke on his own breath and had gone red as a tomato. Ambrose would hope that Cain didn’t do that when he wasn’t looking because jealousy was hardly flattering on him and all the strain that DG had unintentionally caused sent a synapse firing wrong.
“He babbles all right.” A pause. “Oh, he babbles all right.”
There was a quick shake of his head and Ambrose cleared his throat, ignoring the amused giggle from DG. While she was sweet enough to never say anything, he sometimes wished that she didn’t make light of it because it made him feel as if he were back in school all those years ago.
“What kind of babbling?” DG said, poking Ambrose in the stomach playfully and tugging at his coat to idly fidget with the strands that had pulled loose. “I don’t think I can even imagine him babbling.”
“You just have to catch him off guard,” Ambrose advised, as he did with matters as important as military strategy and as small as telling Azkadellia what colour went best with her eyes. “Honestly, when he’s without an answer, he’ll go on and on until he finds one.”
DG laughed again, but this time it wasn’t mocking and it set Ambrose more at ease as she released his coat and went wandering to the door.
Ambrose finally relaxed fully when DG was completely out of the lab.
They’re family, DG’s words echoed in Ambrose’s ears and he ducked his head down to hide a silly smile from all his inventions. When he looked up, it was as if the machines around him were looking at him with their own little mechanical eyes.
“Let me be in love,” he informed his laboratory, as if it was sentient and could almost reply back. He’d gone so long choosing work over everything else that one beacon of light in the storm to tie him to sanity wasn’t selfish to ask for. He’d earned it.
*
It was rare that Ambrose took time off. It was even rarer that he would take time off in the middle of the day, but he felt he had earned it. Summer had come upon the O.Z. with great force and with two suns blaring in the sky, everyone was feeling the discomfort of the heat, especially those in stuffy rooms with no ventilation. Ambrose had given up his quest to incorporate Raw’s abilities into physical manifestation when he’d actually begun to drip sweat onto the pristine floors.
He had announced to the empty room that he would be back in two hours and had marched straight up to his room to pour himself a lukewarm bath. His usual neatness was abandoned for the lazy condition the weather had left him in and he left his clothes in messy pools about the bathroom, climbing into the refreshing water and sinking deeper and deeper with an ecstatic sigh.
The door opening made him tense and wonder who would possibly wander in without even knocking for politeness’ sake…
“Ambrose?”
Oh. Well, that was the one way his break could possibly get better. Ambrose curled his toes and smiled that slow and satisfied smirk he had, resting his arms on the rim of his clawfoot tub (royal designs for a royal palace, after all) and watched the door carefully. While Cain and Ambrose hadn’t officially said anything, they both acknowledged that they had something of a quiet relationship with each other. Thus far, the only person who knew about it was Jeb, who had sworn that he would keep quiet out of respect and until the men knew what they wanted to do about it. Raw knew, of course, but Raw was hardly around these days, what with his constant travelling between his people’s tribes.
Apparently, all Cain wanted to have were incredibly frustrating physical encounters that never completely got to the point, that didn’t follow through with anything more. Ambrose would die a very painful, exasperated death if it weren’t for his hand and a steady fantasy to help him (and though he would never admit it, he had an emergency TDESPHTL set up of Cain working in the palace gardens with his shirt off on a hot day in the event that Ambrose ever needed reinforcement for his vast imagination). They had their stolen kisses in hallways, brushed touches at dinners, and as always, time spent together in quiet talk. They even had the frequent nights in which neither Cain nor Ambrose left the other’s bed, choosing company over isolation.
“I’m in here,” he called out lazily, the heat of the day having settled in his limbs and weighed them down heavily.
Cain rounded the doorway, taking his hat off as he gave a low, appreciative wolf-whistle at Ambrose, who took it well, giving nothing but a smile to his Tin Man, who looked rather wilted around the edges.
“Cain,” Ambrose sighed. “It must be the hottest day of the year out there and you’re in full dress. One day, you are going to get heatstroke and then…”
“And then I’ll come and get something from you to deal with it,” Cain interrupted as he started to strip off his full dress. The first layer went in the order of the hat being tossed across the room, his coat being shucked off and draped over a chair, and his boots toed off. Not once did his eyes leave Ambrose’s form.
Ambrose gave a pleased murmur of a sound. “How about you just avoid the heatstroke and we call it even?”
The second layer was next. The socks were peeled off with agile fingers before the holster (and gun both) was carefully and gingerly placed on the chair and the vest was unbuckled. Ambrose did love the sound of a good unbuckling. The fact that there were layers yet to go made Ambrose laugh lazily and got him a dour glare.
“What?” Cain demanded.
“You’re so stubborn,” Ambrose said, shaking his head in complete bafflement.
The third layer was finally getting to more interesting places and Cain seemed to torture him in the way that every last button of his shirt took an eternity to come loose. It floated to the ground while Cain slowly pushed off those tight pants of his.
Ambrose was still laughing as he sank deeper into the water.
“Ambrose…” came the growl.
“You’re still clothed, Cain,” Ambrose protested. “It’s almost uncanny.”
He shifted and managed to kick a stream of water in Cain’s direction, soaking up the look of his skin with his eyes – not so pale after enough hours spent in the sun working – and riddled with a lash or two here, scars there, and bruises all over. Some of the faded bruises from long ago were out of malicious intent, but that one bruise on Cain’s shoulderblade had been Ambrose’s doing when he’d shoved the man up against a thick door in the library to assault him with a desperate kiss.
Down went the briefs and Ambrose’s contented smile curled up as wide as it would go.
“Better?” Cain challenged.
“Finally,” Ambrose concurred and shifted to draw his knees to his chest and make room for Cain, as if this were something casual and the prospect of Cain being so close and being so naked wasn’t enough to make him overheat and think about dying if he and Cain didn’t manage to have something more than groping kisses and friction-filled hours spent rocking in bed.
Ambrose knew he had to be patient, but he wasn’t sure how much more patience he could muster before he exploded.
Cain sank into the water, holding onto Ambrose’s shoulders to ease himself down against the other half of the tub and managed to entwine their limbs without anything being poked.
“Are you happy here?” Ambrose asked curiously, his eyes trained carefully on Cain’s face and nowhere else. If he let his eyes slip lower (even to Cain’s collarbone), he would lose all sentient thought and then he’d never be able to have this conversation without trying to push the subject of sex along into Cain’s consciousness and subtly hint that what Cain was doing was going to kill Ambrose soon enough. “With us?” He meant the general ‘us’ of the palace life, but if Cain mistook him for what was between them, it wouldn’t bother Ambrose in the least.
“Happiest I’ve been in a while,” Cain agreed patiently as he let out a slow sound of content and sank deeper into the water, his toes brushing against Ambrose’s hip as he extended the reach of his limbs.
Ambrose let out a pleased sigh at the touch, pushing a hand across the warm water to press flat against the heart-shaped bruise on Cain’s chest, fingers lightly touching. “I need to make you a new heart.”
“I’ve got one already and it’s beating pretty hard,” he pointed out.
Ambrose was hard-pressed to argue with that and settled into the tub, closing his eyes and trying to tug Cain closer, but he refused to give way.
“Cain, something else is going to be very hard soon,” Ambrose informed him, tone clipped in a casual reminder of things still undone.
Instead of doing something about it, all Cain did was reach a palm over to rest on Ambrose’s shoulder, thumb brushing against his neck. Cain had done this before, this small token of physical affection, this familiar gesture.
Ambrose knew implicitly what was coming next, as well.
“Soon,” Cain promised, his tone as even as ever and that neverending promise still lurked in his eyes.
“Soon,” Ambrose echoed with a sigh with the promise of neverending suffering therewithin.
This. This was why, Ambrose reminded himself, stubborn men made absolutely terrible significant others. He sighed and vowed to break Cain’s resolve, even if it took him forever.
*
Eventually, there came a time that Cain had always anticipated, but hadn’t really been looking forward to, at all. Now that they were back at the palace, the Queen had been doing her part to make Cain feel absorbed in all that warm, fuzzy family stuff, which he sort of understood, seeing as Jeb had experienced it for nine annuals now. Now that Jeb was twelve, Cain was glad to see that palace life hadn’t completely changed him. He still preferred to go rough it up and get dirty in an adventure over practicing manners and dancing.
Not that he didn’t have to do the latter, but he never enjoyed it, secretly pleasing Cain to no end.
“Wyatt,” the Queen beckoned to him one morning at breakfast, brushing her hair back over her shoulder as she stood to meet him halfway across the room. The truth was that even though he didn’t blame her for it, Cain still wasn’t so sure of the Queen, at least, not since the exile. He knew she meant well and all, but he’d seen a side of her that was calculating and reminded Cain a little too much of himself. “How would you like to accompany me to tea?” she invited gently. “There will be a lady to join us, if you’d like. Her name is Bella.”
He should have seen this coming.
He and Ambrose had kept quiet about their … whatever you wanted to call it. Of course, that led to situations like this and he had to wonder just what the Queen was doing when it came to Ambrose. Maybe trotting a line of well-dressed men in front of him? The stab of jealousy that hit Cain surprised him, but he pushed it down easily enough, the only outward reaction being a clenching of his jaw.
“Would this be a date between me and this Bella?” Cain clarified, having learned that you didn’t just say no to the Queen. Apparently, it lacked respect, according to Ambrose. He still wasn’t very gung-ho on learning about seven kinds of manners and what was polite in company and what wasn’t. It made him miss the kind of life where you did as you liked so long as you abided by the rules.
The Queen’s lips slowly lifted in a beautiful smile, her lavender eyes sparkling. “If you would like it to be. Bella is the beauty of the O.Z. with hair as shining as spun gold,” she raved. “With eyes as blue as Finaquan water.”
The more Cain let the Queen speak, the more this was going to be awkward when he finally bit the bullet and told the truth.
Time was up, it looked like. There were no more days left to dance around the fact that he and Ambrose had something of a relationship with each other. Cain felt oddly relieved right then, like he’d wanted to get this off his chest for some time.
“Well, should I tell her to wear her best?”
Cain grimaced and shifted, rubbing his hand through his hair. “Majesty,” he offered, remembering what Ambrose said to call her. “I’m already taken and happily so.” And by more than the ring on his finger that he refused to remove, even now. It didn’t mean more than the fact that he wanted to keep a part of Adora with him, constantly.
“Oh?” the Queen gave the perfect little sound of curiosity.
“Yeah.”
He didn’t need to say anything more because actions spoke a hell of a lot louder than words and when Ambrose wandered tiredly into the dining room, Cain stalked his way over as casually as possible while making sure everyone knew he was determined to get to Ambrose.
“Morning,” Ambrose mumbled with a drowsy smile directed at Cain.
“Morning, sweetheart,” Cain greeted, tugging him close by his red and black striped shirt to crush his lips against Ambrose’s. He felt the resistance, considering that the Queen and her daughters were no more than a few steps behind them and Cain was currently trying to get Ambrose to part his lips so Cain could deepen the kiss with his tongue.
Eventually, he let Ambrose stumble out of his grip and he gave him a wink.
“I…you…h-hm, Cain?” Ambrose stumbled both in speech and his balance as he blinked and a synapse misfired as he broadly grinned, staring at the room around him. “Hi!” he said excitedly. “Have we met?” A blink and a cleared throat later and Ambrose came back to himself, colouring a deep shade of fierce pink. “Cain?” he drew out the word warily.
“I see,” the Queen remarked, sounding fairly amused. Cain expected to see a displeased look when he turned around, but all he discovered was a smile waiting for him while DG giggled away to the point that Azkadellia had to cover her mouth to calm her down.
“You don’t care?” Ambrose asked curiously. “That Cain and I are…?”
“He is family,” the Queen remarked decisively, resting a hand protectively on Jeb as she decreed the simple words. Ahamo hadn’t spoken up as he was trying to help Azkadellia in calming DG down, while Jeb beamed on proudly. Sitting there together in the room, the Royal Family, the Cains, and Ambrose, Cain felt like things were finally going right.
Ambrose wrapped an arm around Cain’s waist to tug him closer, leaning his nose against Cain’s cheek while everyone else went back to their meals.
“Now that we’re officially a couple, can we please go all the way?” Ambrose murmured, his hot breath sending a shiver down Cain’s spine.
Cain’s warm laugh in return was just another promise, but Cain knew that it was one he planned on fulfilling in full.
*
Cain knew that he was going to have to give in to what his body wanted, what Ambrose wanted, and what was clearly expected of any couple before he expired from need. He still remembered his first time with Adora when they were nothing more than clumsy teenagers fumbling to find the right place to put their fingers and to press their shaking lips. Sometimes, Cain didn’t have nightmares at all, but flashes of dreams in which he undressed Adora of her clothes and laid her back against the bed like it was their first time in his dreams, every night.
Cain felt a sort of blessing that he still remembered the experience so fondly, even if it hadn’t been anywhere near perfect, not at all.
He came home – yes, home, that losing argument had fallen through a long time back and now he knew that any home with Ambrose and Jeb in it was where his heart would be – to find Ambrose in bed, writing in three notebooks at once and consulting two texts.
He’d brought his work home with him and it was taking up all of Cain’s sleeping space, which made him smile ruefully as he slowly slid his callused fingers through the knot of his tie. He’d gotten himself all fancied up for a dinner with advisors on the security force, the leaders of the various Tin Men search parties, and the Queen and Ahamo themselves. The official clothes had been a favour to the Queen, who’d asked him to make a striking picture for their visitors. The tie came loose and he watched Ambrose do his work, barely even aware that he had company in the room.
“How was the dinner?” Ambrose asked without glancing up, giving Cain the benefit of acknowledging his presence, which was a start. Some days, he didn’t even get that.
Cain smoothed a hand over his long jacket, a grey version of the one Ambrose had worn down to a raggedy mess. “Boring,” he said with a quiet sound. “It seems all the O.Z. wants to talk about is going to war. You can’t fight an army you can’t find.”
“They’re out there somewhere,” Ambrose murmured thoughtfully, the scratching sound of his pen stopping for a moment before going off wildly once more. “I’m sure the Witch has just hidden them with a protective shield of her own. Probably magical.” He still hadn’t looked up and Cain sighed to himself. He didn’t mind so much that Ambrose was so obsessed with his work. He’d probably mind more if Ambrose had changed into something Cain was unfamiliar with and this level of obsession before him was pure Ambrose.
His fingers shook just the once as he smoothed them down the jacket and draped it over a chair, unbuttoning his forest-green shirt and sliding out of his shoes, socks, and pants.
Ambrose didn’t know it yet, but Cain had decided that tonight was it.
Cain made his way to the bed in nothing more than a pair of grey boxer-briefs and began to slowly pick up book by book, marking their place and setting them on the table beside the bed, giving Ambrose an arched brow as he sat on the edge of the well-sized bed. “Hey, I was…” he began to protest, before he finally looked at Cain for the first time since he had entered the room. “What happened to your clothes?” Cain gestured wordlessly to the chair before slowly wrapping his hand around the back of Ambrose’s neck, fingers brushing the hair at the nape as he moved with slow grace to pin Ambrose back against the headboard with a deep, intense kiss.
When Cain closed his eyes, all he thought about was Ambrose and the flashes of that familiar dream of him and Adora laughing between itchy bedsheets while they rolled and became accustomed to unfamiliar positions. That dream began to fade in preparation of a new one to be added to Cain’s memory.
Ambrose gave a pleased and muffled sound as Cain slowly pushed his bent knee up by Ambrose’s hip, effectively sitting in his lap as he twisted to kiss harder, his other hand pushing upwards to pop open button by button of Ambrose’s nightshirt. The buttons didn’t make a sound, but every time Cain’s gaze flickered down, he caught a glimpse of pale skin being revealed.
Cain would remember for annuals to come the exact moment that he knew it would be okay. He knew the moment when his inhibitions shed like a thick coat and fell to the ground to be replaced with an overwhelming sense of need.
It was when Ambrose made the slightest sound of need, a cry stuck in his throat that sounded half like a pleading whimper and half like a demanding growl.
It hit Cain hard and sent his blood rushing lower to prove that none of this had been a mistake and he was long past ready. He returned a low sound of desire as he gave up the whole slow seduction plan and ripped Ambrose’s shirt off, giving in to the part of him that said that rolling around on the bed seemed like a good idea while they struggled to get the rest of their clothes off. Ambrose had managed to wrap his arms around Cain’s broad shoulders and was staring down at him, looking like Cain had just given him permission to play with a new invention (which, in a very perverted, strange way, Cain supposed he had).
“Are you sure?” Ambrose asked, gasping the words out. He sounded like he really didn’t want to be asking him that.
“More than I’ve ever been,” Cain swiftly promised with not a hint of hesitation in his voice. “You lead,” he instructed, arching a brow to give Ambrose the control and to show Cain these new horizons. “I’ll follow.”
It was long past time.
Ambrose seemed to eat up the invitation and wound his arm around Cain’s body as he pushed him down onto the bed and crawled atop him, reaching over to the table to pluck out a small bottle of something or other that Cain couldn’t possibly name. Ambrose seemed to be happy with it, wiggling it back and forth.
Cain’s look of ‘yeah, and?’ seemed to move him along from showing off his shiny bottle to uncapping it and coating his fingers with whatever was inside. Cain wasn’t sure where those fingers were intending to go exactly, so when Ambrose reached down and moved Cain, just enough to push those fingers inside of him, Cain managed a small gasp of a sound, writhing in mild discomfort.
No one had ever done that before.
Cain was still moving with the uncomfortable pressure pushing inside by Ambrose’s fingers and the liquid or substance was cool. The pressure slowly, very slowly, became something that felt a lot better than a bit of pain and the pleasure washed into Cain’s consciousness and he gave a low growl of a sound, pressing up to steal a possessive kiss from Ambrose, tugging at his lower lip with his teeth. He wasn’t sure how many people got this twice in their life, but if he was one of the lucky few, Cain wasn’t about to give a single word of protest.
Now, there was no discomfort at all, just that overwhelming feeling of pleasure that made him moan and make a lot of other noises that encouraged Ambrose on, pushing Cain’s knees towards his chest with strong and tapered fingers.
“Are you…”
“Don’t ask me that again, Ambrose,” Cain warned, a look of absolute death in his eyes. Now that he’d gotten to the point of desperate arousal, the last thing he wanted was Ambrose deciding to have pity on him and backing off.
So Ambrose didn’t ask. He didn’t even make a statement. He just gave Cain a dark smoulder of a look as he replaced his fingers with his cock and pushed slow and deep. Cain’s knee was touching his bare chest and the discomfort had returned tenfold as Ambrose pushed in. He gritted his teeth, tensed his jaw, grabbed hold of Ambrose’s hair until the other man gave a yelp and then Cain released his hair and grabbed his shoulder instead, hard enough to leave a mark.
Ambrose didn’t move just yet. He kept his eyes on Cain and watched as Cain writhed and panted and gasped and tried to push through that feeling, but then all Ambrose had to do was slide out a little and push deep again for it to abate, change back into the pleasurable feel.
A few more repetitions of this and Cain was able to give enough moans of pleasure that really encouraged Ambrose along, settling them into a clumsy rhythm that seemed just fine, considering this was their first time together in these positions. Ambrose twisted and contorted Cain’s body and his own as they moved and Cain hissed with every new angle, glad for someone who knew what he was doing.
“Ambrose,” he got out, a half-audible gasp of a sound. Then came the loud shout of pleasure as Ambrose pushed a hand between them and those long fingers took hold of Cain and started to stroke a lot rougher than Cain had expected Ambrose to be with him. Cain wanted to put thoughts together, wanted to think something about this, or even compare it to other encounters he’d had in his life, but Cain’s mind had decided to go blurry and shut off.
It just made the sensations down below a hell of a lot better.
“Ambrose, gods,” Cain growled, getting it out before he reached a climax that he’d been building up to for a lot longer than just the last ten minutes or so. It was a breathless climax, nothing more than an exhalation of relief and ecstasy before he collapsed against the blankets and pillows and managed to get his hands to Ambrose’s hips to guide him in, again and again, to bring him to the same place Cain had been.
It was the look on Ambrose’s face as he came that Cain never wanted to forget, that blissful slate of pure joy and satisfaction.
Ten minutes passed before either of them formed anything that wasn’t a grunt, a growl, a moan, or a whine. Cain had tugged the blankets over them when he’d verified with a quick glance at the door that it was locked and he wrapped an arm around Ambrose’s waist to pull him back into his body.
“Good?” Cain checked.
“About time,” was Ambrose’s lazy and sarcastic remark, tinged with the faintest hints of bliss.
Definitely good, Cain appraised in his mind as he closed his eyes and let himself have a good day without a single thought to the plight of the O.Z. outside the palace walls.
*
It was a stormy spring day when everything took a turn for the worst and changed the outlook that the Royal Family, the Cains, and Ambrose had on the situation with the Witch.
Ambrose had gone to bed with Cain that evening as they did every night. Now that the Queen, Ahamo, and the girls knew what was going on between the two men, Cain supposed they should just call it what it was, that they had ‘moved in’ together, that they lived together, but it had been so short a time that they still looked on it as a nightly arrangement that happened often. The Palace had been quiet, but for the sounds of rain on the windowpanes until the strike of two in the morning when the screams woke everyone up.
DG was shouting loudly and at the top of her lungs, a note of panic in her hysterical cries as she sprinted down the halls, pounding on any door she could find. She was fifteen and had been learning how to protect herself not only with her magic, but with a weapon.
At the moment, her fists were weapon enough in their pounding down the palace doors until everyone had woken up.
She arrived at Cain and Ambrose’s room last, but Cain had long ago been roused by the noise and had opened the door while Ambrose tried to brush away the cobwebs that clouded his mind and kept him groggy.
“Cain!” she shouted, pushing into the room and Ambrose hadn’t needed more than the look of sheer fear and panic on DG’s face to get him out of bed. “Ambrose,” she pleaded, swallowing back a thick sound of a cry. “Az is gone. She’s not in her room!” DG was paler than Cain had ever seen her before in his life. “She’s gone!” DG said in a fit, throwing herself at Cain and wrapping her arms around his waist, forcing Cain to embrace the girl while he shot Ambrose a look of desperation.
Such a simple little thing, it had been. In all the commotion to protect the palace from the assault of dark magics, no one thought to remember that someone with great determination could easily take someone out of the protective shell that the palace walls created if they bided their time and waited long enough.
Ambrose was hurrying around them as Cain did his best to comfort DG, which didn’t end up being more than smoothing her hair out and promising again and again that they would find her. Cain kept Ambrose in his vision, always in the corner of his eye while the other man rushed around the room to dress and prepare himself for anything. Carefully, Cain manoeuvred DG into Ambrose’s waiting arms so he could get his holster on and get ready to hunt down whoever took the Princess.
“It’s my fault, I should have noticed something,” DG said, her tone miserable.
“Stop that now,” Ambrose said sharply. “You did the right thing coming to get us and you did nothing wrong, DG, do you understand?”
They didn’t get much of a reply out of her beyond the quiet sound of a choked ‘yes’, but Cain was already half out the door, striding down the halls on a mission.
He pounded on the door to the Queen and Ahamo’s suite and pushed the askew door all the way open to find the monarchs looking worse for the wear and staring over maps with Tin Men flanking them and palace security hovering behind.
“Ambrose and I are going out there,” Cain announced, checking his gun and setting his hat on his head. “We’ll find her,” he guaranteed. While he was still breathing, he wasn’t about to let anyone in his family get hurt in this war, not ever.
He didn’t even wait for anyone to agree or disagree, just pulled on his coat and grabbed Ambrose when he passed him in the hall. “DG, go stay with your parents and get Jeb,” Cain instructed, crouching down to give her instructions. “Do you understand me? Don’t let Jeb or your parents out of your sight.” She gave a nod of comprehension and then Cain was off at a pace so brisk that Ambrose had to hurry to catch up and meet the speed.
“Where are we going?” Ambrose asked, his voice hushed.
“We follow the trail,” Cain said simply and for once in his life, he was going to take a leap onto Ambrose’s side of the coin and look at this like an optimist. It didn’t matter that the rain would wash out footprints or that they had no idea what direction the kidnappers had gone. They were going to find Azkadellia. “I have a hunch.”
“Yeah? Plan on sharing?” Ambrose spoke, fumbling to get on his ragged coat as he kept up the pace.
“This all started because the girls were in that cave. Zero’s done a lot, but no one’s ever seen the Witch outside dreams,” he pointed out, covering ground with every word spoken. “I don’t think she’s just using the caves as a stronghold. I don’t think she can leave.”
“So they’re bringing Azkadellia to the Witch,” Ambrose deduced as they made it out into the rain and the large droplets rendered them soaked in less time than it took for the men to corral two horses and mount them. Cars wouldn’t be able to traverse the ground if any mudslides had coated the roads and the Brick Route got too unwieldy in areas for tires anyhow.
“Which means we cut them off if we get there fast enough,” Cain agreed, giving Ambrose a long look. “Use that big brain of yours for all its worth, now,” he encouraged. “We’ve got us a Princess to rescue.”
tbc
Pairing: Ambrose/Cain, Queen/Ahamo
Disclaimer: I do not own them at all.
Summary: The Witch won't rest until she has the O.Z. in darkness, no matter how she must do it, no matter how long it takes.
Rating: This part is NC-17.
Notes: This acts as an AU to the entire Tin Man series and hinges on just one question: "What if DG hadn't let go?" Fifteen annuals pass and while some things may remain the same, many is different. EXTREME thanks to
blackletter for being a wonderful & efficient beta. CHAPTER ONE: In which DG holds on, Zero takes matters into his own hands, Adora Cain is a casualty, Ambrose is given a lifetime of glitches, and Jeb Cain gets into Ambrose's bed before his father does.
CHAPTER TWO: In which the search for the Mystic Man begins, Cain makes failed attempts at bonding, Jeb hides well, and a tentative agreement is made between Ambrose and Cain.
CHAPTER THREE: In which Ambrose reveals why he hates Zero so much, it's Jeb's and then Wyatt's birthday, and Cain finds out that you can never have too much heart.
CHAPTER FOUR: In which Cain and Ambrose are exiled, they meet a Viewer named Raw who can feel the O.Z., Ambrose has to face the facts, and mobats have a nasty bite.
CHAPTER FIVE: In which Cain heals from wounds rendered, Jeb admits he doesn't know Ambrose, Zero makes a house-call, and Ambrose informs Cain that he and Jeb are moving back to the palace.
Their moving in had been chaotic in both the amount of possessions they seemed to have as well as the rumours that circulated through the ranks of the O.Z., whether in the top tiers or a place much lower. While nothing was officially said, people saw Wyatt Cain move his way into the Royal Circles with ease, as if he belonged to the family.
“He’s just a Tin Man,” came the calls from the streets of Central City.
The North had little else to say. “Nothing more than a hired guard, from what I hear.”
“I heard he and the Advisor are lovers.” The Realm of the Unwanted, of course, had a racier version of the story.
The Royal Court itself had been a snooty reaction of disdain that still riled Cain every time he thought back to what he’d overheard. “The Queen is clearly starting to let the common folk in.”
Cain didn’t give a damn about any of the rumours and neither did most of the people he cared about and that was the last word on the subject, as far as he was concerned.
The living arrangements had settled with ease. Jeb had his own room in the corner of the palace, next to DG’s and down the hall from Azkadellia’s and the kids were happy to be within shouting distance of each other. Cain meant that literally, seeing as he’d interrupted one too many a shouting session in recent days.
“Talk to each other,” he’d said sternly. “Before you give the rest of us headaches.”
“Yes, sir.” “Yes, Mr. Cain.” “Yes, Father,” came the trio of agreement all at once.
Cain’s room had been, at his request, put right beside Ambrose’s, where there was a door between them that adjoined the two large suites. It was close enough to Jeb that he could hear his son if he was needed, but had the proximity to a part of his life that he was just opening his eyes to. The walls were thick, but that didn’t mean that Cain didn’t hear the occasional movement in Ambrose’s room and he lay in bed most nights waiting for the even steps of Ambrose coming back from his lab.
His arms would rest behind his head and Cain stared at the ceiling as he heard the familiar footsteps against the marble floors and only when he saw the light from under his door extinguish did he close his eyes and go to sleep. Eventually, after several weeks of adjusting to a life where breakfast was cooked for you and the days held more meetings than Cain could have ever imagined before palace-life, he started to leave the door between their rooms open.
One night, Ambrose actually came into his room, doing little more than stand there in his ragged coat and tug on his hair. He’d not let the Queen replace the coat, saying that it held sentimental value to him, but had at least agreed to have it laundered after Cain complained about the smell.
“When the door is open like that, it causes a draft,” Ambrose said, very matter-of-factly.
Cain had been lying casually in bed atop the covers, arms crossed over his torso. “Can’t have that,” he said evenly. “How about you close that door and pull up some space?” He could have been suggesting anything by his casual tone, but no other combination of words could have made Ambrose smile like he did.
That was the start of a ritual, that although they each had their own room, they only ever needed one bed.
While Cain didn’t seem to care about the rumours, Ambrose did and Cain heard no end about it every night while Ambrose fidgeted with the blankets. Eventually, they would end up in the same position, with Ambrose on his side and his arm around Cain’s waist while Cain kept one broad palm perfectly fitted against the nape of Ambrose’s neck. There was space between them – just enough to be able to shift in the night – but it was an intimate sort of distance.
They didn’t do much more than experience the beginnings of a relationship, but Ambrose seemed to be patient with that. Cain could weather the occasional comment about ‘needing to hurry it up’ because the slow, deathly sweet kisses that Cain could draw out of Ambrose usually shut him up for days. Cain would push him up against a wall and take an excruciatingly long time to find new angles and explore old ones, to kiss Ambrose the way he thought the man ought to be kissed.
And after that, the complaining would stop and the rumours didn’t matter so much.
*
Ambrose had noticed that although Cain was putting in a concerted effort, he still couldn’t make his way around the palace without getting turned around once or twice. Eventually, he would always find his way to where he meant to go and that room usually contained Ambrose, who would always grin away and ask just how long it took Cain to get there.
Today, Cain was met by that same smile, but he didn’t look very cheerful in return.
“What happened?” Ambrose asked warily, wondering if something had gone amiss or if Cain had suddenly decided that he needed to go off somewhere. While Ambrose knew these were just his paranoid thoughts, he could never truly rid himself of them.
“Every day I wake up safe,” Cain said slowly, pacing back and forth in Ambrose’s room, coat trailing behind him. “I’m well-fed, never cold, and in good company.”
“And?” Ambrose was wondering if he was glitching or just utterly missing the point. It was getting more and more difficult to tell. Sometimes, Cain forgot that he needed to express all his thoughts and couldn’t just think them and expect Ambrose to pick up on them. He hadn’t gotten that far in devising something that could pluck thoughts out of mid-air and translate them to speech. Yet.
“And Zero is still out there,” Cain got out through gritted teeth.
Ambrose didn’t sigh aloud, but the weary feeling flooded him. Once a week, the subject came back to Zero and though Ambrose did his best to convince Cain that there were Tin Men out there searching for the man, Cain always seemed to be a half-second away from packing up all of their things and committing to the road to find Zero himself. Ambrose could at least be glad that Cain always seemed that he would pick up the Advisor and tote him around if he did end up out there.
“Cain…”
“He shot me,” Cain interrupted.
“And I want him dealt with as much as you do,” Ambrose pointed out. Cain could never know about Ambrose’s icy words that day when he’d thought he had lost Cain forever and if he had his way, it would remain like that. When the storm of that moment had settled, Ambrose knew that he could never murder the man, no matter how much his baser nature wanted him to. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, sending loose strands of dark hair sprawling from the neat hairstyle. “Cain,” he sighed. “Wyatt,” he pleaded tiredly. “Let the Tin Men do their job and when they find him, we’ll deal with it.”
“And if they never find him?”
There was a perverse sense of hope in Ambrose that no one would find Zero. He wasn’t looking forward to what would happen when they found him. He had no idea how much mercy, if any, was left in Cain. Ambrose himself had no idea how generous he would be with the man who had ruined so much of his past and was now trying to do the same with his present.
“Have faith,” Ambrose offered, managing to conceal his true feelings on the subject with a clipped tone and a barely-there smile as he wandered forward to pry Cain’s hat off and gesture inside the room with his chin. “Come on, the suns are setting,” he invited. “It’s about time you started watching them.”
Cain went with a mild word of protest, but a quick grope of his behind and a kiss to the corner of his lips silenced him until the suns had settled into the horizon.
*
Ambrose honestly didn’t know why they called it ‘terrible twos’ when it was really ‘terrible thirteens’ that parents should have been warned about. Even though DG was not his daughter, he felt paternal enough to want to protect her and to do all the things a father might for his little girl. DG had always been fiery and headstrong, but now that she was thirteen and Jeb was busy spending most of his time mooning over Azkadellia, she spent most of her time in the lab with Ambrose.
There were endless distractions, the occasional crash and ‘oops!’ and the babble about her magic, her parents, her sister, Jeb, and inevitably, talk about Cain, which was the biggest distraction of them all.
“What’s this one do!” DG asked perkily, picking up a round crystal and lifting it to the light before Ambrose could sprint over and pry it out of her hands, giving her a worried and panicked look. “What?” she laughed warmly, settling onto the visitor’s chair in the corner – the one that, to Ambrose’s delight, smelled of Cain. DG had taken to wearing more casual dresses as she grew older, outfits that allowed her to run around with Jeb outside the palace and not get caught in stray hedges and bushes. “It’s just a ball,” she said dismissively.
“Looks, Princess, aren’t everything,” Ambrose pointed out, tapping her on her nose. “Consider what people would say about you? Is she just a girl? Just a Princess?” He smiled warmly at her, delicately setting the crystal ball back on its holder. “But you’re so much more.”
“You’re just saying that,” DG mumbled, clearly embarrassed to the point that her cheeks flushed and she had to look down at the floor.
“I promise you, I mean it,” Ambrose assured, returning to his work while he constantly kept one eye on DG as she was bound to get curious about yet another precious item in his lab, which she inevitably did. At least this time, however, it was a garden-variety invention he’d concocted some time ago to sift out small items from a large pool of substances.
She tested it out and let Ambrose have a blissful ten minutes of silence, but that wasn’t to last long.
“So,” she drew out the word curiously and carefully, treating the word as Ambrose did his various inventions, “now that Cain lives in the palace, does that mean they’re staying here for good?”
Ambrose stopped what he was doing (a cursory study of several slides brought back from Finaquan caves) and looked up, caught in a moment of blind honesty. His mouth had fallen open and he gave a very unregal ‘ummm’ as he stumbled for an answer. The answer he wanted to give was, ‘yes, of course, they’re here to stay forever’, especially now that Cain had taken to sneaking into Ambrose’s room at odd hours of the day for activities that had the maturity of people far younger than they were and spent most of his spare time in his laboratory. He’d already made Ambrose an unspoken promise that he wasn’t going to leave in his kisses and his actions, but Wyatt Cain was still a stubborn man. Ambrose also knew that the extent DG cared about was whether Jeb was going to stay with them or not.
Ambrose chose to err on the side of hope and optimism. “They are, yes,” he agreed, finding he was elated to even say the words.
When Ambrose saw the way DG completely lit up, he was even gladder that he could be the one to tell her such good news.
“Good,” DG announced with that bright smile that could light up the whole O.Z. if it had to. “They’re family,” she said decisively, setting down Ambrose’s contraption and pacing around the lab, looking for things to prod. “Even if Jeb’s starting to get all crazy-eyed and stuff,” she complained.
“I’m sure he’ll grow out of it,” Ambrose promised, unable to hide his bemusement.
“Mr. Cain’s pretty good, so I guess it’s not inherited. He doesn’t go babbling and idiotic around girls,” DG said logically and though she couldn’t possibly know why, Ambrose had started to choke on his own breath and had gone red as a tomato. Ambrose would hope that Cain didn’t do that when he wasn’t looking because jealousy was hardly flattering on him and all the strain that DG had unintentionally caused sent a synapse firing wrong.
“He babbles all right.” A pause. “Oh, he babbles all right.”
There was a quick shake of his head and Ambrose cleared his throat, ignoring the amused giggle from DG. While she was sweet enough to never say anything, he sometimes wished that she didn’t make light of it because it made him feel as if he were back in school all those years ago.
“What kind of babbling?” DG said, poking Ambrose in the stomach playfully and tugging at his coat to idly fidget with the strands that had pulled loose. “I don’t think I can even imagine him babbling.”
“You just have to catch him off guard,” Ambrose advised, as he did with matters as important as military strategy and as small as telling Azkadellia what colour went best with her eyes. “Honestly, when he’s without an answer, he’ll go on and on until he finds one.”
DG laughed again, but this time it wasn’t mocking and it set Ambrose more at ease as she released his coat and went wandering to the door.
Ambrose finally relaxed fully when DG was completely out of the lab.
They’re family, DG’s words echoed in Ambrose’s ears and he ducked his head down to hide a silly smile from all his inventions. When he looked up, it was as if the machines around him were looking at him with their own little mechanical eyes.
“Let me be in love,” he informed his laboratory, as if it was sentient and could almost reply back. He’d gone so long choosing work over everything else that one beacon of light in the storm to tie him to sanity wasn’t selfish to ask for. He’d earned it.
*
It was rare that Ambrose took time off. It was even rarer that he would take time off in the middle of the day, but he felt he had earned it. Summer had come upon the O.Z. with great force and with two suns blaring in the sky, everyone was feeling the discomfort of the heat, especially those in stuffy rooms with no ventilation. Ambrose had given up his quest to incorporate Raw’s abilities into physical manifestation when he’d actually begun to drip sweat onto the pristine floors.
He had announced to the empty room that he would be back in two hours and had marched straight up to his room to pour himself a lukewarm bath. His usual neatness was abandoned for the lazy condition the weather had left him in and he left his clothes in messy pools about the bathroom, climbing into the refreshing water and sinking deeper and deeper with an ecstatic sigh.
The door opening made him tense and wonder who would possibly wander in without even knocking for politeness’ sake…
“Ambrose?”
Oh. Well, that was the one way his break could possibly get better. Ambrose curled his toes and smiled that slow and satisfied smirk he had, resting his arms on the rim of his clawfoot tub (royal designs for a royal palace, after all) and watched the door carefully. While Cain and Ambrose hadn’t officially said anything, they both acknowledged that they had something of a quiet relationship with each other. Thus far, the only person who knew about it was Jeb, who had sworn that he would keep quiet out of respect and until the men knew what they wanted to do about it. Raw knew, of course, but Raw was hardly around these days, what with his constant travelling between his people’s tribes.
Apparently, all Cain wanted to have were incredibly frustrating physical encounters that never completely got to the point, that didn’t follow through with anything more. Ambrose would die a very painful, exasperated death if it weren’t for his hand and a steady fantasy to help him (and though he would never admit it, he had an emergency TDESPHTL set up of Cain working in the palace gardens with his shirt off on a hot day in the event that Ambrose ever needed reinforcement for his vast imagination). They had their stolen kisses in hallways, brushed touches at dinners, and as always, time spent together in quiet talk. They even had the frequent nights in which neither Cain nor Ambrose left the other’s bed, choosing company over isolation.
“I’m in here,” he called out lazily, the heat of the day having settled in his limbs and weighed them down heavily.
Cain rounded the doorway, taking his hat off as he gave a low, appreciative wolf-whistle at Ambrose, who took it well, giving nothing but a smile to his Tin Man, who looked rather wilted around the edges.
“Cain,” Ambrose sighed. “It must be the hottest day of the year out there and you’re in full dress. One day, you are going to get heatstroke and then…”
“And then I’ll come and get something from you to deal with it,” Cain interrupted as he started to strip off his full dress. The first layer went in the order of the hat being tossed across the room, his coat being shucked off and draped over a chair, and his boots toed off. Not once did his eyes leave Ambrose’s form.
Ambrose gave a pleased murmur of a sound. “How about you just avoid the heatstroke and we call it even?”
The second layer was next. The socks were peeled off with agile fingers before the holster (and gun both) was carefully and gingerly placed on the chair and the vest was unbuckled. Ambrose did love the sound of a good unbuckling. The fact that there were layers yet to go made Ambrose laugh lazily and got him a dour glare.
“What?” Cain demanded.
“You’re so stubborn,” Ambrose said, shaking his head in complete bafflement.
The third layer was finally getting to more interesting places and Cain seemed to torture him in the way that every last button of his shirt took an eternity to come loose. It floated to the ground while Cain slowly pushed off those tight pants of his.
Ambrose was still laughing as he sank deeper into the water.
“Ambrose…” came the growl.
“You’re still clothed, Cain,” Ambrose protested. “It’s almost uncanny.”
He shifted and managed to kick a stream of water in Cain’s direction, soaking up the look of his skin with his eyes – not so pale after enough hours spent in the sun working – and riddled with a lash or two here, scars there, and bruises all over. Some of the faded bruises from long ago were out of malicious intent, but that one bruise on Cain’s shoulderblade had been Ambrose’s doing when he’d shoved the man up against a thick door in the library to assault him with a desperate kiss.
Down went the briefs and Ambrose’s contented smile curled up as wide as it would go.
“Better?” Cain challenged.
“Finally,” Ambrose concurred and shifted to draw his knees to his chest and make room for Cain, as if this were something casual and the prospect of Cain being so close and being so naked wasn’t enough to make him overheat and think about dying if he and Cain didn’t manage to have something more than groping kisses and friction-filled hours spent rocking in bed.
Ambrose knew he had to be patient, but he wasn’t sure how much more patience he could muster before he exploded.
Cain sank into the water, holding onto Ambrose’s shoulders to ease himself down against the other half of the tub and managed to entwine their limbs without anything being poked.
“Are you happy here?” Ambrose asked curiously, his eyes trained carefully on Cain’s face and nowhere else. If he let his eyes slip lower (even to Cain’s collarbone), he would lose all sentient thought and then he’d never be able to have this conversation without trying to push the subject of sex along into Cain’s consciousness and subtly hint that what Cain was doing was going to kill Ambrose soon enough. “With us?” He meant the general ‘us’ of the palace life, but if Cain mistook him for what was between them, it wouldn’t bother Ambrose in the least.
“Happiest I’ve been in a while,” Cain agreed patiently as he let out a slow sound of content and sank deeper into the water, his toes brushing against Ambrose’s hip as he extended the reach of his limbs.
Ambrose let out a pleased sigh at the touch, pushing a hand across the warm water to press flat against the heart-shaped bruise on Cain’s chest, fingers lightly touching. “I need to make you a new heart.”
“I’ve got one already and it’s beating pretty hard,” he pointed out.
Ambrose was hard-pressed to argue with that and settled into the tub, closing his eyes and trying to tug Cain closer, but he refused to give way.
“Cain, something else is going to be very hard soon,” Ambrose informed him, tone clipped in a casual reminder of things still undone.
Instead of doing something about it, all Cain did was reach a palm over to rest on Ambrose’s shoulder, thumb brushing against his neck. Cain had done this before, this small token of physical affection, this familiar gesture.
Ambrose knew implicitly what was coming next, as well.
“Soon,” Cain promised, his tone as even as ever and that neverending promise still lurked in his eyes.
“Soon,” Ambrose echoed with a sigh with the promise of neverending suffering therewithin.
This. This was why, Ambrose reminded himself, stubborn men made absolutely terrible significant others. He sighed and vowed to break Cain’s resolve, even if it took him forever.
*
Eventually, there came a time that Cain had always anticipated, but hadn’t really been looking forward to, at all. Now that they were back at the palace, the Queen had been doing her part to make Cain feel absorbed in all that warm, fuzzy family stuff, which he sort of understood, seeing as Jeb had experienced it for nine annuals now. Now that Jeb was twelve, Cain was glad to see that palace life hadn’t completely changed him. He still preferred to go rough it up and get dirty in an adventure over practicing manners and dancing.
Not that he didn’t have to do the latter, but he never enjoyed it, secretly pleasing Cain to no end.
“Wyatt,” the Queen beckoned to him one morning at breakfast, brushing her hair back over her shoulder as she stood to meet him halfway across the room. The truth was that even though he didn’t blame her for it, Cain still wasn’t so sure of the Queen, at least, not since the exile. He knew she meant well and all, but he’d seen a side of her that was calculating and reminded Cain a little too much of himself. “How would you like to accompany me to tea?” she invited gently. “There will be a lady to join us, if you’d like. Her name is Bella.”
He should have seen this coming.
He and Ambrose had kept quiet about their … whatever you wanted to call it. Of course, that led to situations like this and he had to wonder just what the Queen was doing when it came to Ambrose. Maybe trotting a line of well-dressed men in front of him? The stab of jealousy that hit Cain surprised him, but he pushed it down easily enough, the only outward reaction being a clenching of his jaw.
“Would this be a date between me and this Bella?” Cain clarified, having learned that you didn’t just say no to the Queen. Apparently, it lacked respect, according to Ambrose. He still wasn’t very gung-ho on learning about seven kinds of manners and what was polite in company and what wasn’t. It made him miss the kind of life where you did as you liked so long as you abided by the rules.
The Queen’s lips slowly lifted in a beautiful smile, her lavender eyes sparkling. “If you would like it to be. Bella is the beauty of the O.Z. with hair as shining as spun gold,” she raved. “With eyes as blue as Finaquan water.”
The more Cain let the Queen speak, the more this was going to be awkward when he finally bit the bullet and told the truth.
Time was up, it looked like. There were no more days left to dance around the fact that he and Ambrose had something of a relationship with each other. Cain felt oddly relieved right then, like he’d wanted to get this off his chest for some time.
“Well, should I tell her to wear her best?”
Cain grimaced and shifted, rubbing his hand through his hair. “Majesty,” he offered, remembering what Ambrose said to call her. “I’m already taken and happily so.” And by more than the ring on his finger that he refused to remove, even now. It didn’t mean more than the fact that he wanted to keep a part of Adora with him, constantly.
“Oh?” the Queen gave the perfect little sound of curiosity.
“Yeah.”
He didn’t need to say anything more because actions spoke a hell of a lot louder than words and when Ambrose wandered tiredly into the dining room, Cain stalked his way over as casually as possible while making sure everyone knew he was determined to get to Ambrose.
“Morning,” Ambrose mumbled with a drowsy smile directed at Cain.
“Morning, sweetheart,” Cain greeted, tugging him close by his red and black striped shirt to crush his lips against Ambrose’s. He felt the resistance, considering that the Queen and her daughters were no more than a few steps behind them and Cain was currently trying to get Ambrose to part his lips so Cain could deepen the kiss with his tongue.
Eventually, he let Ambrose stumble out of his grip and he gave him a wink.
“I…you…h-hm, Cain?” Ambrose stumbled both in speech and his balance as he blinked and a synapse misfired as he broadly grinned, staring at the room around him. “Hi!” he said excitedly. “Have we met?” A blink and a cleared throat later and Ambrose came back to himself, colouring a deep shade of fierce pink. “Cain?” he drew out the word warily.
“I see,” the Queen remarked, sounding fairly amused. Cain expected to see a displeased look when he turned around, but all he discovered was a smile waiting for him while DG giggled away to the point that Azkadellia had to cover her mouth to calm her down.
“You don’t care?” Ambrose asked curiously. “That Cain and I are…?”
“He is family,” the Queen remarked decisively, resting a hand protectively on Jeb as she decreed the simple words. Ahamo hadn’t spoken up as he was trying to help Azkadellia in calming DG down, while Jeb beamed on proudly. Sitting there together in the room, the Royal Family, the Cains, and Ambrose, Cain felt like things were finally going right.
Ambrose wrapped an arm around Cain’s waist to tug him closer, leaning his nose against Cain’s cheek while everyone else went back to their meals.
“Now that we’re officially a couple, can we please go all the way?” Ambrose murmured, his hot breath sending a shiver down Cain’s spine.
Cain’s warm laugh in return was just another promise, but Cain knew that it was one he planned on fulfilling in full.
*
Cain knew that he was going to have to give in to what his body wanted, what Ambrose wanted, and what was clearly expected of any couple before he expired from need. He still remembered his first time with Adora when they were nothing more than clumsy teenagers fumbling to find the right place to put their fingers and to press their shaking lips. Sometimes, Cain didn’t have nightmares at all, but flashes of dreams in which he undressed Adora of her clothes and laid her back against the bed like it was their first time in his dreams, every night.
Cain felt a sort of blessing that he still remembered the experience so fondly, even if it hadn’t been anywhere near perfect, not at all.
He came home – yes, home, that losing argument had fallen through a long time back and now he knew that any home with Ambrose and Jeb in it was where his heart would be – to find Ambrose in bed, writing in three notebooks at once and consulting two texts.
He’d brought his work home with him and it was taking up all of Cain’s sleeping space, which made him smile ruefully as he slowly slid his callused fingers through the knot of his tie. He’d gotten himself all fancied up for a dinner with advisors on the security force, the leaders of the various Tin Men search parties, and the Queen and Ahamo themselves. The official clothes had been a favour to the Queen, who’d asked him to make a striking picture for their visitors. The tie came loose and he watched Ambrose do his work, barely even aware that he had company in the room.
“How was the dinner?” Ambrose asked without glancing up, giving Cain the benefit of acknowledging his presence, which was a start. Some days, he didn’t even get that.
Cain smoothed a hand over his long jacket, a grey version of the one Ambrose had worn down to a raggedy mess. “Boring,” he said with a quiet sound. “It seems all the O.Z. wants to talk about is going to war. You can’t fight an army you can’t find.”
“They’re out there somewhere,” Ambrose murmured thoughtfully, the scratching sound of his pen stopping for a moment before going off wildly once more. “I’m sure the Witch has just hidden them with a protective shield of her own. Probably magical.” He still hadn’t looked up and Cain sighed to himself. He didn’t mind so much that Ambrose was so obsessed with his work. He’d probably mind more if Ambrose had changed into something Cain was unfamiliar with and this level of obsession before him was pure Ambrose.
His fingers shook just the once as he smoothed them down the jacket and draped it over a chair, unbuttoning his forest-green shirt and sliding out of his shoes, socks, and pants.
Ambrose didn’t know it yet, but Cain had decided that tonight was it.
Cain made his way to the bed in nothing more than a pair of grey boxer-briefs and began to slowly pick up book by book, marking their place and setting them on the table beside the bed, giving Ambrose an arched brow as he sat on the edge of the well-sized bed. “Hey, I was…” he began to protest, before he finally looked at Cain for the first time since he had entered the room. “What happened to your clothes?” Cain gestured wordlessly to the chair before slowly wrapping his hand around the back of Ambrose’s neck, fingers brushing the hair at the nape as he moved with slow grace to pin Ambrose back against the headboard with a deep, intense kiss.
When Cain closed his eyes, all he thought about was Ambrose and the flashes of that familiar dream of him and Adora laughing between itchy bedsheets while they rolled and became accustomed to unfamiliar positions. That dream began to fade in preparation of a new one to be added to Cain’s memory.
Ambrose gave a pleased and muffled sound as Cain slowly pushed his bent knee up by Ambrose’s hip, effectively sitting in his lap as he twisted to kiss harder, his other hand pushing upwards to pop open button by button of Ambrose’s nightshirt. The buttons didn’t make a sound, but every time Cain’s gaze flickered down, he caught a glimpse of pale skin being revealed.
Cain would remember for annuals to come the exact moment that he knew it would be okay. He knew the moment when his inhibitions shed like a thick coat and fell to the ground to be replaced with an overwhelming sense of need.
It was when Ambrose made the slightest sound of need, a cry stuck in his throat that sounded half like a pleading whimper and half like a demanding growl.
It hit Cain hard and sent his blood rushing lower to prove that none of this had been a mistake and he was long past ready. He returned a low sound of desire as he gave up the whole slow seduction plan and ripped Ambrose’s shirt off, giving in to the part of him that said that rolling around on the bed seemed like a good idea while they struggled to get the rest of their clothes off. Ambrose had managed to wrap his arms around Cain’s broad shoulders and was staring down at him, looking like Cain had just given him permission to play with a new invention (which, in a very perverted, strange way, Cain supposed he had).
“Are you sure?” Ambrose asked, gasping the words out. He sounded like he really didn’t want to be asking him that.
“More than I’ve ever been,” Cain swiftly promised with not a hint of hesitation in his voice. “You lead,” he instructed, arching a brow to give Ambrose the control and to show Cain these new horizons. “I’ll follow.”
It was long past time.
Ambrose seemed to eat up the invitation and wound his arm around Cain’s body as he pushed him down onto the bed and crawled atop him, reaching over to the table to pluck out a small bottle of something or other that Cain couldn’t possibly name. Ambrose seemed to be happy with it, wiggling it back and forth.
Cain’s look of ‘yeah, and?’ seemed to move him along from showing off his shiny bottle to uncapping it and coating his fingers with whatever was inside. Cain wasn’t sure where those fingers were intending to go exactly, so when Ambrose reached down and moved Cain, just enough to push those fingers inside of him, Cain managed a small gasp of a sound, writhing in mild discomfort.
No one had ever done that before.
Cain was still moving with the uncomfortable pressure pushing inside by Ambrose’s fingers and the liquid or substance was cool. The pressure slowly, very slowly, became something that felt a lot better than a bit of pain and the pleasure washed into Cain’s consciousness and he gave a low growl of a sound, pressing up to steal a possessive kiss from Ambrose, tugging at his lower lip with his teeth. He wasn’t sure how many people got this twice in their life, but if he was one of the lucky few, Cain wasn’t about to give a single word of protest.
Now, there was no discomfort at all, just that overwhelming feeling of pleasure that made him moan and make a lot of other noises that encouraged Ambrose on, pushing Cain’s knees towards his chest with strong and tapered fingers.
“Are you…”
“Don’t ask me that again, Ambrose,” Cain warned, a look of absolute death in his eyes. Now that he’d gotten to the point of desperate arousal, the last thing he wanted was Ambrose deciding to have pity on him and backing off.
So Ambrose didn’t ask. He didn’t even make a statement. He just gave Cain a dark smoulder of a look as he replaced his fingers with his cock and pushed slow and deep. Cain’s knee was touching his bare chest and the discomfort had returned tenfold as Ambrose pushed in. He gritted his teeth, tensed his jaw, grabbed hold of Ambrose’s hair until the other man gave a yelp and then Cain released his hair and grabbed his shoulder instead, hard enough to leave a mark.
Ambrose didn’t move just yet. He kept his eyes on Cain and watched as Cain writhed and panted and gasped and tried to push through that feeling, but then all Ambrose had to do was slide out a little and push deep again for it to abate, change back into the pleasurable feel.
A few more repetitions of this and Cain was able to give enough moans of pleasure that really encouraged Ambrose along, settling them into a clumsy rhythm that seemed just fine, considering this was their first time together in these positions. Ambrose twisted and contorted Cain’s body and his own as they moved and Cain hissed with every new angle, glad for someone who knew what he was doing.
“Ambrose,” he got out, a half-audible gasp of a sound. Then came the loud shout of pleasure as Ambrose pushed a hand between them and those long fingers took hold of Cain and started to stroke a lot rougher than Cain had expected Ambrose to be with him. Cain wanted to put thoughts together, wanted to think something about this, or even compare it to other encounters he’d had in his life, but Cain’s mind had decided to go blurry and shut off.
It just made the sensations down below a hell of a lot better.
“Ambrose, gods,” Cain growled, getting it out before he reached a climax that he’d been building up to for a lot longer than just the last ten minutes or so. It was a breathless climax, nothing more than an exhalation of relief and ecstasy before he collapsed against the blankets and pillows and managed to get his hands to Ambrose’s hips to guide him in, again and again, to bring him to the same place Cain had been.
It was the look on Ambrose’s face as he came that Cain never wanted to forget, that blissful slate of pure joy and satisfaction.
Ten minutes passed before either of them formed anything that wasn’t a grunt, a growl, a moan, or a whine. Cain had tugged the blankets over them when he’d verified with a quick glance at the door that it was locked and he wrapped an arm around Ambrose’s waist to pull him back into his body.
“Good?” Cain checked.
“About time,” was Ambrose’s lazy and sarcastic remark, tinged with the faintest hints of bliss.
Definitely good, Cain appraised in his mind as he closed his eyes and let himself have a good day without a single thought to the plight of the O.Z. outside the palace walls.
*
It was a stormy spring day when everything took a turn for the worst and changed the outlook that the Royal Family, the Cains, and Ambrose had on the situation with the Witch.
Ambrose had gone to bed with Cain that evening as they did every night. Now that the Queen, Ahamo, and the girls knew what was going on between the two men, Cain supposed they should just call it what it was, that they had ‘moved in’ together, that they lived together, but it had been so short a time that they still looked on it as a nightly arrangement that happened often. The Palace had been quiet, but for the sounds of rain on the windowpanes until the strike of two in the morning when the screams woke everyone up.
DG was shouting loudly and at the top of her lungs, a note of panic in her hysterical cries as she sprinted down the halls, pounding on any door she could find. She was fifteen and had been learning how to protect herself not only with her magic, but with a weapon.
At the moment, her fists were weapon enough in their pounding down the palace doors until everyone had woken up.
She arrived at Cain and Ambrose’s room last, but Cain had long ago been roused by the noise and had opened the door while Ambrose tried to brush away the cobwebs that clouded his mind and kept him groggy.
“Cain!” she shouted, pushing into the room and Ambrose hadn’t needed more than the look of sheer fear and panic on DG’s face to get him out of bed. “Ambrose,” she pleaded, swallowing back a thick sound of a cry. “Az is gone. She’s not in her room!” DG was paler than Cain had ever seen her before in his life. “She’s gone!” DG said in a fit, throwing herself at Cain and wrapping her arms around his waist, forcing Cain to embrace the girl while he shot Ambrose a look of desperation.
Such a simple little thing, it had been. In all the commotion to protect the palace from the assault of dark magics, no one thought to remember that someone with great determination could easily take someone out of the protective shell that the palace walls created if they bided their time and waited long enough.
Ambrose was hurrying around them as Cain did his best to comfort DG, which didn’t end up being more than smoothing her hair out and promising again and again that they would find her. Cain kept Ambrose in his vision, always in the corner of his eye while the other man rushed around the room to dress and prepare himself for anything. Carefully, Cain manoeuvred DG into Ambrose’s waiting arms so he could get his holster on and get ready to hunt down whoever took the Princess.
“It’s my fault, I should have noticed something,” DG said, her tone miserable.
“Stop that now,” Ambrose said sharply. “You did the right thing coming to get us and you did nothing wrong, DG, do you understand?”
They didn’t get much of a reply out of her beyond the quiet sound of a choked ‘yes’, but Cain was already half out the door, striding down the halls on a mission.
He pounded on the door to the Queen and Ahamo’s suite and pushed the askew door all the way open to find the monarchs looking worse for the wear and staring over maps with Tin Men flanking them and palace security hovering behind.
“Ambrose and I are going out there,” Cain announced, checking his gun and setting his hat on his head. “We’ll find her,” he guaranteed. While he was still breathing, he wasn’t about to let anyone in his family get hurt in this war, not ever.
He didn’t even wait for anyone to agree or disagree, just pulled on his coat and grabbed Ambrose when he passed him in the hall. “DG, go stay with your parents and get Jeb,” Cain instructed, crouching down to give her instructions. “Do you understand me? Don’t let Jeb or your parents out of your sight.” She gave a nod of comprehension and then Cain was off at a pace so brisk that Ambrose had to hurry to catch up and meet the speed.
“Where are we going?” Ambrose asked, his voice hushed.
“We follow the trail,” Cain said simply and for once in his life, he was going to take a leap onto Ambrose’s side of the coin and look at this like an optimist. It didn’t matter that the rain would wash out footprints or that they had no idea what direction the kidnappers had gone. They were going to find Azkadellia. “I have a hunch.”
“Yeah? Plan on sharing?” Ambrose spoke, fumbling to get on his ragged coat as he kept up the pace.
“This all started because the girls were in that cave. Zero’s done a lot, but no one’s ever seen the Witch outside dreams,” he pointed out, covering ground with every word spoken. “I don’t think she’s just using the caves as a stronghold. I don’t think she can leave.”
“So they’re bringing Azkadellia to the Witch,” Ambrose deduced as they made it out into the rain and the large droplets rendered them soaked in less time than it took for the men to corral two horses and mount them. Cars wouldn’t be able to traverse the ground if any mudslides had coated the roads and the Brick Route got too unwieldy in areas for tires anyhow.
“Which means we cut them off if we get there fast enough,” Cain agreed, giving Ambrose a long look. “Use that big brain of yours for all its worth, now,” he encouraged. “We’ve got us a Princess to rescue.”
tbc
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I have to go remind myself to start breathing again now.
Cain strip tease, that's being cataloged in my happy place.
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You. Are. An. Awesome. Writer.
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I loved this chapter. I loved how you sort of turned things around so that Ambrose is the confident worldly one, and Cain's the one who needs coaxing along, and the bath and..
I can't be any more coherent than that at the moment. But know I adore.
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to summerize, Cainonbottom kewllll, dg is adorable when she giggles and bothers Ambrose, and DUNDUNDUN love the ending :D
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And thank you for reading! There will be more DG-Ambrose fun later too!
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Yay for Cain announcing their relationship & for finally giving in. And now I'm nervously anticipating the next chapter to see what happens to Azkadellia as well as Cain/Ambrose...
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And I can say that they're definitely going to have a rough time getting through this unscathed.
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Such a good chapter!!! -^_^- Can't wait for more!!!!
<3
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Thank you for reading!
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Thank you for reading!
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on that note, can't wait to read more!
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Thank you for reading!
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Thanks for reading!
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