xx. it will come back

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The couch stationed in the common room of Rhys' apartment was a little too small for Ezra to stretch out fully. So he laid on his left side best as he could, legs bunched up beneath a thin blanket, restlessly asleep like he'd been for the last fifteen hours. Periodically he tossed and turned and frowned in his sleep, or started awake from a nightmare, only to fall back into unconsciousness a moment later and do it all over again. He'd never really been a sound sleeper, the bit of it that he did get, so this was no new development. At the present moment, he was twitching in his sleep, lips parted and brows furrowed, visibly in the throes of another night terror. A barely audible whimper left him, his mind putting him back in the shapeless darkness of his own grave, as if he'd never left it. With a sharp, ragged breath, he was pulled into consciousness, having seemingly clawed his way out of the ground once more. Ezra moved to sit up fully, looking around the apartment, belatedly recalling that his own had been destroyed after a quick survey of his surroundings. Wrestling the blanket off of himself, he pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes, feeling only a tad better from his lengthy hibernation. Dragging his hands down his face, he felt the puffiness of his eyes, and the stubble that was at least two days old now. A shaky breath escaped him, and he whirled around to glance at the desk in the room. As he'd suspected, Rhys was there with his back turned, working on whatever it was he did. On the ground beside his chair, Jonah rested, looking like he was getting more rest than Ezra would ever have been capable of. A reflexive and distinctly derisive snort came from him abruptly, and he shook his head with a vaguely amused smirk. "I'm starting to think you're bribing him when I'm not looking." He teased, laying back against the arm of the couch and propping his head up with one of the pillows. His voice had a raspy quality to it, laced with ever present exhaustion. He slung one long leg over the back of the couch, the shorts he'd slept in riding up just slightly as he did so. In effort to resume his presence as Rhys' number one annoyance, he strained and prodded the back of the chair with his foot, pushing just enough to be a nuisance.

. . . I gotta go; i gotta stick my head in the sand and block out all the sadness . . . Séance @rhysand

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Two times, every hour. That was what it had averaged out to. Two times. Every hour. Rhysand would think about the situation he'd been landed in. How ridiculous it was, how unpleasant and inconvenient. Two times, every hour, he would mutter a curse for Perses for orchestrating all of this, a curse for Mournspire for being such a burden, and a curse for himself for f**king going along with it. The absolute only silver lining to the whole f**ked up s**tstorm was laying next to him on the floor while his own master tossed and turned fitfully (annoyingly) on the couch next to the door to the apartment behind them. Oh, officially and in all appearances Rhysand having a dog in the apartment was just another in his long list of complaints. But... When Mournspire was asleep, and no one was watching, Rhys looked down at Jonah with an expression only his sister and her kids had ever had the honor of seeing before. Somewhere in the midst of Ezra's aggravating flip-flopping on the couch, Rhysand had even leashed Jonah and taken him on a walk; picking up his s**t and hiding it in a planter outside of a ground-floor neighbor's apartment who always tried to f**king talk to him. Back in the apartment, Rhys pored over the details that Perses had been charitable enough to hand them as a starting point. The sooner they got to the end of this case, the sooner Rhysand would have Mournspire and Jonah out of his hair and could get on with his life. He wasn't built to be around people this much, even if that was just one person. A particularly loud shift from Ezra coiled Rhys's fingers into knuckles to let out a bit of the irritation. Then he realized that Mournspire was finally getting up. He'd been hoping for it for hours now, but with it finally happening Rhysand realized that conscious Ezra was definitely going to be twice as grating as sleeping Ezra, and his fist clenched harder. "Mutt might be annoying, but at least he's got taste," Rhys said, voice muffled as he rested his chin in one hand whose elbow was propped on the desk. The back of his chair bobbed. "Makes one of you," he added. Rhysand tried for all of two seconds to ignore Mournspire's obvious attempt to get under his skin. Then he whirled in the chair, glaring at the man sprawled on his couch. Rhysand's eyes traced the pale, lanky leg thrown over the back of it from toes to where the bare skin disappeared into shorts. Then his hard glare flitted to Mournspire's face, nostrils flaring. "You should shower. You're starting to attract flies."

. . . I'VE BEEN RUNNING WILD HAD A GOOD TIME BUT I CAN'T STOP NOW OVER MY HEAD IN THE LANDSLIDE CAN YOU PULL ME OUT? . . . omen @ezra

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[googlefont=Dancing Script]

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An exaggerated eye roll was the way he dignified the insult hurled at him. "Aye aye, Captain." The words dripped with sarcasm, and he smirked with narrowed eyes at Rhysand. Drawing his leg from over the back of the couch, he straightened up once more, pushing himself from the makeshift nest of blanket and pillows, before turning to swing his legs off the couch. "Glad to see you're in high spirits as ever." Standing fully, he stretched for a moment before twisting just so to level a taunting look at Rhys. As he padded across the room, in the general direction of the bathroom, he flipped his hand up, fingers in v-formation before adding, "Don't wait up." Staggering into bathroom, he started up the shower, letting the water run for a moment to heat up before stepping in. It did nothing to shake the grogginess away, but at least it felt nice. Ezra was in and out in about 10 minutes. Toweling off, he wrapped and cinched the cloth around his waist before walking back into the living room of the flat and over to his 'go-bag' of things. Retrieving a set of briefs and his tooth brush, he ambled back to the bath, slipping on a pair of trunks before brushing his teeth. With all the grace he was known for, he spit into the sink before calling out to Rhys. "How goes the mystery, Sherlock?" A laugh followed, and he rinsed the brush out before retracing his path back to his back pack on the floor. "Find anything useful?" Ezra asked, voice returning to normal volume once he was in the same room once more. Jonah looked up at him from his place on the floor, and he gave a quick nod, taking his medication out of the bag as well and popping a tab of it before shambling over to stand beside Rhysand and leaning back against the couch with his arms folded over his bare chest.

. . . I gotta go; i gotta stick my head in the sand and block out all the sadness . . . Séance @rhysand

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[googlefont=Dancing Script]

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He had every urge and instinct to roll his eyes at Mournspire as the other man quipped and meandered toward the bathroom. Rhysand didn't, though. He didn't have the energy to, but somehow conveyed the same distinct spirit that he would have if he'd done it. Rhys waited until the water had been on for a few seconds, and the sound of its cascade changed, meaning it was beating against and over Mournspire's body. With the coast clear, he looked down at Jonah, who sensed the attention and perked up. Rhysand smiled vaguely, reached down and scratched the dog's ears. The water shut off and Rhys assumed a position in front of his laptop as though he'd never moved. Ezra sauntered into the living space, to his bag. Rhysand glanced over his shoulder, and took in the bare torso of Mournspire; the way the towel around his waist hugged certain, sinful contours. His grip on the arm of his desk chair tightened and he fixed his attention back on the laptop screen. "You'd know if you did a f**king thing to help out," Rhysand called dryly back to Mournspire's question. He pointedly and hypocritically ignored the fact that he didn't want Ezra's help and had glowered at any attempt to offer it he'd done so far. He didn't care he was being a d**k. In fact, he reveled in it. Mournspire popped up again, taking a place behind the PI. Rhys could smell the fresh film of aromatic soap on him. The cool, crisp mint from his toothpaste. Beyond that - or, beneath it - Rhysand found the first genuine sample of another scent, though. Mournspire had been pretty filthy during each of their encounters so far. This was the first time Rhys smelled the other man's natural, unique musk. That alone made something stir in Rhys's skin. "Something's here, just gotta look at it from the right an-" he glanced back while he spoke and froze, seeing Mournspire clad only and unabashedly in his underwear. That thing that stirred in Rhysand's skin uncoiled; a feline stretching from a nap. He glared, scowling, fixing his eyes on Ezra's, ignoring everything else. "Put some f**king clothes on, idiot. You're staying here, but it's my home, and I don't want to look at your skinny ass."

. . . I'VE BEEN RUNNING WILD HAD A GOOD TIME BUT I CAN'T STOP NOW OVER MY HEAD IN THE LANDSLIDE CAN YOU PULL ME OUT? . . . omen @ezra

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[googlefont=Dancing Script]

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Unfurling one of his arms, he idly scratched at the stubble of his chin and neck, half listening as Rhys began speaking once more. There was an audible pause however, and Ezra blearily met his eyes with a jaded expression. For a split second, he swore he saw the older man freeze before falling back into the aggressive, hostile demeanor. It gave him pause, and he stopped itching the scruff, instead narrowing his eyes with a sort of curiosity as another glare was leveled at him. With an amused snort, he let his arm fall back down, crossing it over his chest with the other once more as he tilted his head at Rhysand. "I'm in my pants! No arse in sight. S'not like anyone's making you look, anyhow. Eyes on your own paper, Scarborough." He snarked back, shifting his weight from one side of his pelvis to the other. With a lazy nod at the laptop, he stayed where he was, and added: "Now, what were you about to prattle on about?" Ezra was more than aware he was being an asshole, but the way he figured, Rhys was too. Two could play at that game. Not that he wasn't grateful, no, he was more than appreciative that the older man was willing to put up with him. If anything, it showed that he didn't always have a chip on his shoulder. Only most of the time. It just so happened that the chip was especially fun to pick at. He let his arms drop to his side, stepping forward and leaning closer just so, not quite bending at the middle, but enough that he could help look at some of the leads they'd been given. As he stood there, Jonah perked up, and Ezra idly and reflexively stretched his hand down to scritch between the Shepherd's ears. "That...looks like it could be an address, we could probably cross reference it and see what comes up. Or whatever detective-y jargon you want to use." He mused after glancing over it all, reaching out with his other hand to point at a shred of paper that had crept it's way out of the manila envelope.

. . . I gotta go; i gotta stick my head in the sand and block out all the sadness . . . Séance @rhysand

template by rem of WW

[googlefont=Dancing Script]

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Mournspire's counter, telling him not to look if he cared about him being in his f***ing underwear, made Rhysand grit his teeth. Heat snaked up his neck - irritation and something else he refused to acknowledge. Fortunately he'd never been one to visibly color or blush. Even if the muscles standing out in cords in his neck betrayed that he was gnashing his teeth. Rhys glared at the documents and computer screen in front of him without really seeing them, boiling in his agitation. He was waiting either for it to simmer down, or to reach a point where it'd spit up something for Rhysand to say to Ezra. Anything that came to mind would only feed the asshole's douchebaggery, though. His radar painted Mournspire shifting closer, bending at the waist, until he was hovering close by Rhysand's shoulder. Rhys found himself taking careful, measured breaths, and at first he didn't know why. Then he realized that doing that made it easier to continually smell and draw in Ezra's unique scent. The heat skated higher, and lower, and Rhys's anger was now at himself rather than Ezra... Who was actually trying (Rhys thought) to be helpful, for a change. Rhys swallowed past a suddenly dry throat. He could feel the warmth rolling off of Ezra's hardly-clothed body and the apartment suddenly felt much too claustrophobic. Against all instinct, Rhysand started breathing through hardly-parted lips to avoid smelling Mournspire's musk and scraped his phone out of his pocket, jabbing in the address the other man had pointed out and saving it. "Tired of sitting on my ass," Rhysand said. He pushed out of his chair, turned to face Ezra eye-to-eye (which he only managed because Mournspire was still slightly bent forward) and reached to grab his jacket without looking away. "I'll check into it. Don't mess with any of my stuff." Rhys was out his apartment door, shrugging on his jacket, in a few heartbeats. He'd kept his flat, lax expression the entire time, but as he stalked down the hall toward the rickety lift, he heard Mournspire scrambling on the other side of the door. And, damn, if it didn't bring a wicked grin to the corner of his mouth. Rhysand was in the elevator by the time his apartment door opened, and he stared Ezra down as the other man raced to catch up. The door was shutting, and Rhys pointedly did nothing to stop that. At the last second, though, Ezra's bony arm caught the lip of the panel and it paused, then shuddered open to let him in. Rhysand looked at him with half-lidded, bored eyes.

. . . I'VE BEEN RUNNING WILD HAD A GOOD TIME BUT I CAN'T STOP NOW OVER MY HEAD IN THE LANDSLIDE CAN YOU PULL ME OUT? . . . omen @ezra

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[googlefont=Dancing Script]

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As far as he could tell, he was succeeding at pushing Rhys' buttons, and it gave him a faint sense of satisfaction. The older man looked as if he were a half second away from putting Ezra through the drywall, even if doing so would be a  a waste of his apartment deposit. In a blink, Rhys was up and nearly eye level with him. Despite his honest attempt, he couldn't keep from smirking, straightening up to his full height and looking vaguely down his nose at the other man. He couldn't help but arch his brow at the command given to him, thinking Rhys was crazy if he believed he would just stay behind at the flat while he did his Scooby-Doo bullshit with the address Ezra had pointed out. Before he could open his mouth to bite out another sharp comment, the door was closing behind Rhys. Ezra jolted into movement, diving over the back of the couch and ripping a change of clothes out of his bag. Pulling a pair of tight black jeans and an old t-shirt on, he grabbed a flannel and his denim jacket and all but scrambled out the door and down the hall. His arm caught the lift door just in time, and he ducked in, the cramped space only serving to further sour his mood. "Such a gentleman." Ezra muttered in a deadpan tone, glancing sideways at Rhys. "You really know how to make a lady feel special." He shrugged on the flannel and the jacket, reaching into the front pocket and retrieving his sunglasses, putting them on. Once they were out of the elevator, he visibly relaxed, sinking back into his rhythm from before and doing his damnedest to annoy the fuck out of Rhys in the process. Lighting up a spliff, he took a long drag, letting the smoke linger in his lungs for a moment before exhaling through his nose and turning his head to look at Rhysand with a cheshire grin. "Should I consider this our first date? Nothing says romantic quite like a little breaking and entering."

. . . I gotta go; i gotta stick my head in the sand and block out all the sadness . . . Séance @rhysand

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[googlefont=Dancing Script]

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For all Ezra's prodigal ability to piss the hell out of others, he didn't take his own medicine very well. The agitation practically rolled of the tall, skinny man as he shoved into the elevator, and it was only years of experience disguising his emotions behind an expression of deadpan neutrality that kept Rhysand from smirking. F***, it felt good to be on this end of it. Rhys didn't respond to the withering comments that Mournspire lashed him with while the rickety lift trundled down to the ground floor. Rhysand was hopeful that the foul mood Ezra had turned toward at being left in the apartment would keep up but they'd scarcely made it through the narrow building lobby before he was perking back up. Rhysand rolled his eyes and muttered some choice cusses to himself, below hearing. "I don't date," he answered the sly remark, completely unfazed, as he shouldered open the main door - pointedly not holding it open for Mournspire. He shoved his hands into his pockets and bounced down the stairs, hitting the pavement at a purposeful gait. "Besides. You're not my type." That brought a vague, cunning curl to the side of Rhysand's lips. Even if he wasn't being entirely truthful - his mind flitted through the way he dragged on Ezra's scent just like Ezra was dragging on his cigarette; or how him slumping around the apartment in just his underwear had made Rhys's throat go dry.

. . . I'VE BEEN RUNNING WILD HAD A GOOD TIME BUT I CAN'T STOP NOW OVER MY HEAD IN THE LANDSLIDE CAN YOU PULL ME OUT? . . . omen @ezra

template by rem of WW

[googlefont=Dancing Script]

[Deleted]

He let out an amused snort, flashing another toothy smirk. "You? Not date? I'm honestly so shocked. You're such a catch," He all but laughed, catching the door that Rhys pointedly let swing in his face. Following Rhysand down the stairs, he easily kept pace with the older man. Ezra didn't believe the following statement for a second, both because of the turn their conversation took when they first met, and the subtle clue he'd picked up not even ten minutes ago. Not that it mattered, his brain pointed out. Ezra was about as emotionally available as a sodden cardboard box at this point, and definitely not romantic partner or boyfriend material by a long shot. Still, he flirted, both with Rhys and the obvious danger that came with pushing the other man a little too much and a little too far.  "I'm honestly a little offended, Rhysie. Lying to my face? So beneath you." He teased, and jabbed at his side with his elbow."I know better. My boyish charm is irresistible." Ezra batted his eyelashes dramatically, and took another long drag from the spliff hanging between his lips. Daringly, he stretched out his arms, feigning a yawn, before slinging his arm around Rhysand's shoulder. Anticipating that the older man might lash out, at minimum maybe break his arm, he preemptively let out an impish giggle. "You're so cute when you're mad." He pressed even further. It wasn't a lie. Though, Rhys didn't need to know that he truly thought as much.

. . . I gotta go; i gotta stick my head in the sand and block out all the sadness . . . Séance @rhysand

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[googlefont=Dancing Script]

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Yes, Rhysand was forced to admit: Ezra had bounced back to his ****ing annoying usual self. That small window where the shoe had been on the other foot was falling further and further behind them with each footfall on the pavement. Rhys missed it. Meanwhile, he scraped together his meager restraint and patience, because Mournspire was trying to burn through it quicker than Rhysand could build it up. Barbs and grunts came to mind while Ezra kept running his mouth, but Rhys didn't voice any of them. He honestly wasn't sure which would egg Mournspire one more - playing along with his smartassery or completely ignoring it. He realized, with a mix of emotions, that he'd probably have time to try out both approaches, compare and contrast them, going forward. Then Ezra cracked a yawn. Rhysand's radar painted him, even though his eyes were facing front, and he sensed the arm cast toward his shoulders a mile off. Mournspire's lanky limb was just long enough to loop over Rhys's broad, sturdy shoulders. The PI kept his cool - even if his expression was puckered in complete frustration - until- "You're so cute when you're mad." Rhysand knocked Mournspire's arm off of him and, with one hand, snatched the front of his shirt to keep him steady. He stared up evenly and lazily at Ezra. "I don't date and I don't f*** clients or colleagues," he added onto his earlier comment. "So you have until the end of this case to figure out if you're all talk, because hell knows I'm not." The straightforward approach was always Rhysand's preference, when he could manage it. In this case, clearly pointing out his intent just might have had the added bonus of making Mournspire stutter and blanche. No use beating around the bush. Rhys knew what he wanted and, even if Ezra pissed him off to no end, he'd be only too happy to do the guy once they weren't working together anymore. Satisfied that his intentions were on the table - maybe making Mournspire flustered, maybe making his flirting less, maybe making it more from here on - Rhysand gave a grunt and released the other man. He stuffed that hand back in his pocket and kept walking. And, really, the PI felt a hell of a lot better for his gruff confrontation. Now they could cut all the pussyfooting around s**t and continue their... Banter, he guessed? With one of two clear destinations - one would just be a whole lot more fun than the other.

. . . I'VE BEEN RUNNING WILD HAD A GOOD TIME BUT I CAN'T STOP NOW OVER MY HEAD IN THE LANDSLIDE CAN YOU PULL ME OUT? . . . omen @ezra

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[googlefont=Dancing Script]