Kinktober Day 19: Chase Kink
Overwatch, reaper76. Urban fantasy AU. SFW (no inappropriateness whatsoever, aside from a butt grab)
So this was going to be chase kink with sexiness at the end but I just can’t seem to actually make the story go anywhere past this point. Whatever this is, though, I like it.
***
Jack’s place does good business all year round, but during October he really cleans up. It’s a waning quarter moon on a Friday the 13th in the month before Halloween, and every table is full. The bar was too, till a few minutes ago, when the werewolf biker pack finished up their last round of Dogfish Head and left.
There are bogeymen and a couple of self-conscious revenants tucked into the dimly lit booths in the nooks. The more brightly lit tables include a few vampires who seem to be competing for who can wear the most expensive velvet-and-lace ensemble, a coven of witches having a hen night, and a double table of withered old ancestor spirits playing mahjongg and complaining about how young people these days just don’t know how to leave a good offering anymore. Ghosts flicker in and out of reality here and there around the room. It can be hard to keep track of them, but Jack’s never let one get away with dodging the bill yet.
A slenderman bellies up to the bar while Jack is still wiping down the shed fur from the werewolves. It taps its finger on a little patch and shakes its head mournfully.
“I know,” Jack grumbles. “I’m going to have to use a lint roller to get it all.”
It tilts an open palm toward the pile of money.
“Yeah, at least they’re good tippers. You after your usual?”
The slenderman nods, its spider-long legs tucking up on the bar stool. Jack cracks open a bottle of urchin’s tears and pours some out, then sets the bottle by the glass. “Nobody else seems in the mood for it tonight, so you’ve got it all to yourself.” The slenderman tips its glass toward him in a toast and then tosses it back. Into somewhere. There are things a smart bartender doesn’t ask about.
It was loud as hell in here earlier, with the boozed up werewolves, but now everything’s faded to a comfortable drone, underscored by the clacking of tiles and pierced occasionally by a female giggle from over where the witches are trading lewd quips about familiars. He does a round through the room to make sure the servers are keeping everybody happy.
One of the ancestor spirits pats him on the shoulder when he switches out the cold ceremonial dumplings in the middle of the table for a steaming hot fresh plate. “My great great grandson could take some lessons from you, young man.”
A witch leans back in her seat when he passes by, to quietly flag him down. “Dearie, could we switch from the mead to some hot cider? I think *some* of us are getting a bit toasty.”
Neither of them looks at her friend across the table, who’s drinking her latest round of mead from the table’s candleholder, while the candle flame flickers merrily in the center of the honey-colored liquid. “Sure,” Jack says. “I’ll bring out a pitcher.”
He doesn’t even bother to check which of the ladies squeezes his ass when he turns away.
Back behind the bar, he looks at it again, purses his lips at the dog hair that’s still sticking persistently to the finish, and ducks underneath to find the lint roller.
The doors bang open.
The doors bang open frequently. Some of his customers have auras that practically spontaneously manifest dramatic entrances. Jack’s had to install planks on the walls to protect the plaster from slamming doorknobs. But this time, the room actually goes silent for a moment. He peeks over the bar to see why.
It’s Gabriel, ducking his head to keep his antlers clear of the lintel above the doors.
Jack straightens up to stand and meet him as he heads up to the bar. The slenderman scoops up its glass in one hand and the bottle in the other, and skitters up the wall on long black tentacles to hang in a corner near the ceiling well away from the new customer.
Gabriel pulls his gloves off as he makes his way over, then lays them on the bar so he can offer his hand. “Jack. You’re looking well.”
Jack takes his hand and shakes it. “My lord. Not as well as you.” If the onceover he gives Gabriel is a bit greedy, Jack’s willing to own it. The Huntsman looks particularly fantastic tonight, his beautifully tailored riding leathers fitting him like a second skin and stained dark across the shoulders from the drizzle outside, and his antlers gleaming regally in the room’s lights.
from Tumblr http://ift.tt/2yzceIm