Wriggle & Sparkle: The Collected Tales of a Kraken and a Unicorn by Megan Derr (2)

Lynn had just bitten into the delicious strawberry mousse his mother put in front of him when he saw The Look pass over her face. He loved his mother, and he was aware he probably would do the same thing when he had kids, but it didn't make her interfering tendencies any less aggravating at times. "Lynnie…"

He swallowed, jabbed his spoon in her direction. "Mom, I came to enjoy lunch and a nice chat. That does not include—"

"I don't think grandchildren are an unreasonable subject." She gave him her second-best pout.

Lynn wondered how many times exactly he would have to endure this conversation. At least twelve per lover, though he suspected she was going to break that record soon. He set his spoon down with a sigh and drained his iced tea. "Mom, I've only been seeing Anderson for eight months. We don't even live together. There is no way in hell children are entering the equation. That is a different math book entirely."

His mother continued to pout, fussing with her own dish of untouched mousse and a steaming cup of earl grey. Her skin had taken on a faint, dark green tone, however, fingers curling and uncurling with an urge to wrap around something. Fantastic. "Why all this dilly-dallying? You obviously love him—"

"Mom!" It wasn't fair she knew that when he was still getting used to it.

She shot him an unimpressed look, giving a soft snort. "Don't try to play games with me, young man. You think I can't see when one of my babies is in love? You very much do love that nice unicorn, and how could he not love you? Your father and I knew after four months that we were meant to be. We started having children less than a year later. It was the same with your step-father. I do not expect them right this moment, but all this dithering and dragging on…"

"Yes, impulsive decisions have never turned out poorly for you," Lynn said and then immediately regretted the words at the hurt that filled his mother's face.

"That was uncalled for, Lynnie."

Lynn nodded and reached across the table to take her hand, squeezing it gently. "You're right, I should not have said it. I'm sorry, mom. It's no one's fault but Wynn's that he turned out so despicable." He withdrew his hand and got up to pour himself more iced tea, dragging the task out as long as he was able. Finally sitting down again, he said, "Just because you've done well doesn't mean it will be the same for me. Stop pushing it." He picked up his spoon and stabbed at his dessert, no longer hungry as thoughts he had been doing his best to avoid pushed their way to the forefront of his mind.

There was a long silence before his mother sighed softly and asked, "Sweetie, what's wrong?"

Lynn almost said nothing, but that patient, understanding mom look was ever his undoing. "I'm not sure Anderson likes children. No—I know he doesn't. We ran into one of his exes and they started reminiscing and bickering, and it came up that the only reason they really broke up was that she wanted kids and he didn't. So…"

That was that, really.

Except it wasn't that easy. He wished it were that easy. His mother was right—he was in love with Anderson. And he had no fucking clue how it had happened. Lynn had decided to say it, had been planning a fancy dinner and giving Anderson a key and everything. Discreetly mention he'd already mentally planned their wedding and composed a list of possible names for their children (at least three, but he'd prefer six). He had been so excited, and everything had been going so well, despite the additional hours they'd both been working.

And then that fucking encounter with that stupid fucking pegasus. Lynn knew he was good looking. Look at his parents—he was destined to be good looking. He was good in bed, better in water. Didn't need to worry about money, had an excellent job. Came from a good family, lived in a great area. He was definitely a catch, even with the attitude problems. There was absolutely nothing for him to be worried about.

Or so he'd thought. Until he was confronted with a beautiful pegasus that had twice his assets and none of his attitude. If she had gotten dumped over the children thing… and well it wouldn't be the first time Lynn was dumped over that. Everyone expected the expensive, bratty, high-maintenance tentacle monster to hate children. Throw the tentacles and his possessive streak on top of his attitude problems and people often found the fun bits were not worth the rest of the package.

So he wasn't such a great catch after all. Whatever. There were reasons krakens usually kept to other krakens and rarely wandered further than dragons when they opted to be adventurous.

"Talk to him," his mother said.

"Yeah," Lynn replied, absolutely certain he would rather remain celibate the rest of his life. "I was going to talk to him tonight." About something else entirely. "He's working late, on loan to the White Collar idiots."

She gave him a stern look. "You had better, Lynn Rebecca Seymour."

Lynn winced. "I haven't done anything to warrant using my full name, mother. Why did you have to name me for crazy Uncle Rebecca, anyway?"

His mother looked over the rim of her glasses at him. "Do not try to change the subject. I will not have my son lose the love of his life because he is scared of a conversation."

"I said I'd talk to him. Are you calling me a liar?" Lynn replied and dropped his spoon again.

"No, I think you will use any excuse you can to justify avoiding the matter for as long as possible," she replied, smiling faintly.

Well, he couldn't argue with that. "Then if you will excuse me, I am going to head home to prepare for my dreaded fate." He stood up, rinsed his dishes in the sink, and put them in the dishwasher, then returned to the table and stooped to kiss her cheek. "Thanks for lunch, mom. I'll see you guys over the weekend, unless I'm called away by work. Stay out of trouble."

She patted his cheek and combed her fingers through his hair, then fussed with his tie. "It's good to see you happy, sweetie. I hope everything goes well for you."

"Thanks, Mom." Lynn kissed her cheek again before disentangling himself and heading out.

Halfway back to the city, stuck in full-stop traffic, he dithered over what to say, how to say it, and if he could get away with email. After flying to China to send it. Lynn slumped in his seat and banged his head against the steering wheel.

Maybe he should focus on other matters, like his initial plan of a romantic dinner and offering of a key to his place. Anderson was practically moved in anyway and liked Lynn's place way more than his own… But what was the point if Anderson was inevitably going to dump him when he learned that Lynn wanted children someday.

As much as Lynn hated admitting it, his mother right: he needed to talk to Anderson. So that was that. Come morning he was probably going to be single. Normally that thought was unpleasant, but not… heartbreaking.

His phone chimed. Lynn jumped, then cursed softly and dug it out of the pocket of his slacks.

Borrowing your maroon Canali and assorted pieces

His scowl sharpened as he furiously typed a reply. Stop stealing my stuff! You have your own!

Yeah, cause the purple chiffon in your closet belongs to you. STFU.

Fuck off.

I'll return the suit next Thursday, xoxo

Siblings. Lynn smiled faintly. Hopefully Leslie had fun, whatever he was up to. Lynn drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, sighing when traffic crept forward a whole inch. He wished he had fun to look forward to. Instead his day was going to be creep-creep-creep through increasingly hostile traffic while slowly choking to death on exhaust fumes followed by a frantic rush to get dinner ready while fighting an urge to do something drastic, like pitch himself from the roof or run away to Europe.

Ugh, Talks. He hated Talks. He would rather be turned into calamari. If he was going to be forced to endure a Talk that would definitely end in misery, he was gonna go all out. At least they'd share one last excellent meal together. And there would be plenty of wine to drown in afterward.

He may as well get to work while he was stuck in hell traffic. Retrieving his phone from where he'd tossed it on the passenger seat, Lynn called up his favorite restaurant. It rang three times and then was picked up by exactly the voice he wanted to hear. Lynn smiled. "Annie, hey. I wanted to get a meal for two to go, pick-up around… say seven-ish?"

She laughed. "You got it. What would you like, sweetie?"

Lynn really should have figured that out before he called. Oh, well. It wasn't like it was hard. There were many delicious options, but Anderson had only one favorite. "Let's go with the lobster ravioli, house salad, sea salt breadsticks, and whatever wine you recommend. Charge it to my card on file, add the usual tip."

"Oh, going to have a good time tonight, aren't you?" She laughed again. "I'll make sure it's ready to go. See you in a few hours, sweetie," Annie replied and rattled off the total for him before hanging up.

Next, Lynn called Anderson's favorite bakery and sweet-talked them into making him a last minute cake: vanilla bean with layers of white chocolate custard and raspberry jam, finished with a white-chocolate buttercream frosting. By the time he was done, traffic was finally moving again. He hummed as he drove, torn between the thrill of dinner with his lover and the dread that it would be their last.

He did not even want to think about how miserable it would make work, which was just icing on the fucking cake. Maybe it would finally teach him not to date coworkers—partners. Bah. Remember the good stuff. Remind Anderson of the good stuff. There was no way he would give up his Sparkleson, and future mini-Sparklesons, without a fight. Or obscene bribes. Whatever worked.

By the time he got home, anxiety and traffic had him keyed-up and exhausted all at once. Ignoring the temptations of his pool, Lynn settled for a double espresso before hitting the shower.

Toweling off as he walked into the bedroom, he stood in front of the closet and pondered. Finally, he settled on his favorite slinky, faintly shimmery black slacks and an ocean-blue shirt with the faintest swirly pattern to it, overlaying it with a black and gray checked vest. He fussed with his silver squid cufflinks for several minutes before the damn things finally cooperated. That battle won, he finished getting dressed, then headed out to fetch dinner and dessert.

It was easy to forget, in the rush of excitement in planning the rendezvous, that he was only hiding from the problem that had spawned it. Whatever. Muscle through. Charm through. Fucking be obnoxious as goddamn hell straight through it. Fortune favored the determined, damn it.

Lynn carried the bags of food and the cake box up to his condo, setting it all on the island while he dragged out the fancy tablecloth and good china, the crystal wineglasses, and candles—the works.

When everything was ready, dinner keeping warm in the oven and the wine chilling, he wandered outside to lean on the railing and look out over the city. He curled a hand into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the heavy keychain resting there: a silver octopus clutching a glittery pink heart. He'd grinned all fucking day when he'd found it and had continued grinning once he'd affixed the new condo key to it.

He should probably just throw the damned thing in the pool. But there was always a chance…

The sound of someone knocking on the door made him jump. Sighing at himself, Lynn crossed the condo and pulled the door open—and stood, unpleasantly surprised, when Anderson just strode past him without a word, with barely a glance, before he headed down the hall toward the bedroom. He paused just long enough to throw something on the couch: a folder that slid to the floor, papers scattering.

Feeling even more nervous than he already had, Lynn closed the door and went to go clean up the papers. He frowned to see they were official-looking papers from the Bureau… in fact… lead filled his stomach as he realized they were transfer papers. Two sets.

One was a recall to Anderson's former position. The second was an invitation to join the White Collar division. Lynn sat on the floor, legs pretzled, and read through the papers. Anderson's old office wanted him back. Apparently his skills were sorely missed. Well, fucking duh. Anderson was good and his ex-boyfriend had been a petty, vindictive asshole.

He couldn't imagine Anderson going back there… except, of course, his friends were there, a city he knew and loved, familiar coworkers and patterns. He'd only been Lynn's partners eight months; that was barely any time at all. Especially for someone who did not have possessive tendencies.

Lynn's misery increased by leaps and bounds when he saw the job offer from White Collar. Pay increase, the team was a really fucking good one, and unless things had changed, they had pastries from Anderson's favorite bakery delivered every Friday for breakfast on the boss's dime. This was one of the reasons he should know not to date his partners: when they finally got tired of him, first they transferred, then they broke up with him.

Had Anderson already been planning to break up with him? Had he finally gotten tired of Lynn? Hardly the first one, and it wasn't even close to the first time Lynn had missed all the signs. He tucked the papers away with slow, stiff fingers and set the folder on the coffee table. Feeling numb, he wandered into the kitchen to open the wine, picking apart the last eight months to see if he could figure out when Anderson had started wanting out …

His pocket started buzzing, but it took Lynn a moment to register it was his phone. Fumbling for it, he saw it was Leslie and felt a rush of warm relief. Leslie always made him feel better. That was what a twin was for. "Hey—"

"Lynn—" Leslie said, sounding like he was crying.

"What's wrong?" Lynn asked, abandoning the wine and heading straight for his secretary so he could grab his keys. He shoved them in his pocket then strode down the hall to get Anderson.

"It's Wynn. He's here. I think he's killed people already. He saw me—"

Damn it, damn it, damn it. Why did everything go wrong all at the same time and in the worst possible ways? The shower was still running. Easier to leave a note, let Anderson do the grunt work with the office and follow him. Lynn headed back to the secretary to write him a note.

"I'm on my way." He hesitated, staring at the note, then gave in to the impulse before he could wisely squash it. Digging Anderson's key out of his pocket, he hooked it to the note. Shoving his wallet into his back pocket and pulling a coat from a hook by the door, he darted into the kitchen to turn the oven off then headed out. "You find somewhere safe, lock and bolt the fuck out of everything. Are you with somebody?" He bolted down the hall to the elevator, slamming the button to call it.

"B-Bobby," Leslie said, sniffling. "He freaked out. I don't know where he's gone, and I'm pretty sure he's got no intention of coming back."

"Fuck him. He was a crappy choice of boyfriend anyway," Lynn replied, drumming his fingers impatiently while he waited for the elevator to reach the parking garage. "Did you call the Bureau and let them know you saw him?"

"I called you."

Lynn surged out of the elevator as it stopped, jogging through the parking garage to his car and throwing himself behind the wheel. "Okay. Are you safe for now?"

"Yes. I'm not leaving. We're going to get that bastard once and for all, Lynnie. Are you coming?"

"Of course, I'm coming," Lynn snapped. "I'm in the car now. I have to call the Bureau to let them know what's going on, make everything official. Tell me where I'm going."

Leslie sighed softly. Lynn didn't need to see him to know that Leslie had just slumped, probably rested his head against a wall since he liked to curl up in chairs or corners or something else enclosed and safe when he was afraid—and Leslie more than anyone had always borne the brunt of Wynn's evil. No one feared or hated Wynn more. Of course Leslie had been the one to stumble across him. With anyone else, Wynn would have fucked off and vanished, but with Leslie he'd hang around until he could torment Leslie good and proper. "I'm up in the mountains. It was supposed to be a romantic weekend. I'll text you the address. Be careful when you get here."

"Soured romantic plans seem to be the theme today," Lynn muttered. "You be careful. Love you, bye." Hanging up, he called his boss. "Comber, problem. My brother just spotted Wynn skulking around the Silver Lakes Resort. Those lakes are big enough—deep enough—to hide him, never mind the caverns."

"Never mind all the people available for eating," Comber groused. "Fine. I assume you and Anderson are already on your way? I'll arrange for backup to arrive discreetly and be ready for when you need them. I'll also make certain we're ready here once he's captured. Assuming capture is possible."

Lynn grunted. As though he was going to do anything but kill the bastard. "I'm on my way. Anderson wasn't around, but I left him a note, and he'll probably catch up soon."

"You shouldn't be going alone!" Comber bellowed.

"My brother is in danger. I'm not fucking waiting around!" Lynn bellowed right back then hung up and tossed the phone in the passenger seat. He increased his speed as he left the city behind, forcing himself to relax his hold on the steering wheel when his hands started to hurt.

Twenty long minutes passed before Anderson's ring-tone filled the car. Snatching the phone up, Lynn accepted the call and pressed the phone to his ear. "Hey."

"What's going on?" Anderson asked.

"Wynn," Lynn replied and quickly laid out what little he knew. "Sorry we won't be eating dinner tonight."

"It all looks so good, too," Anderson said sadly. "You got my favorite everything, even the cake, somehow."

Lynn scoffed at that. "Of course, I did, Sparkleson."

"Of course," Anderson replied softly. "Is this key for me?"

Somehow, Lynn had already forgotten about that. "Y-yes. I was going to give it to you tonight." Assuming Anderson hadn't been planning to dump him and move home or to White Collar, but right then wasn't the time to mention that. He really wasn't in the mood to lose his boyfriend right before he went to try and kill his psychotic half-brother.

"I had a present for you, too," Anderson replied, and Lynn might have maybe melted a little bit to hear the smile in his voice. Maybe he could have this for a little while longer, though it probably made him a terrible person to cling to something that he knew full well would never last. "Guess you'll have to wait to see. I'll pack stuff for both of us, arrange a hotel, and text you the details for it. Did you already call Comber? Oh, nevermind, he's calling me now. I'll see you in a few hours. Try to stay out of trouble until I get there. Give Leslie my best."

"What about—" Lynn glared at his phone. "What about my present?" he muttered and tossed the phone back on the passenger seat. What about Anderson's job offers? What about the bad mood that had driven Anderson to fucking ignore him?

Whoever decided relationships had to be complicated should be thrown into the ocean attached to concrete.

Lynn stabbed at the radio until he found a tolerable station and settled into a long, three-and-a-half-hour drive.

It was nearly midnight by the time he arrived. The lodge was quiet but still brightly lit. Small clusters of people and a few couples milled about in various shadowy corners, murmuring or playing out a few light exhibitionist fantasies. Lynn smiled fleetingly as he jogged up the stairs and into the bright lobby. Plush green and gold carpet covered the floor, warm golden-oak furniture polished to a gleam. A small, artful waterfall burbled off to the left in a pool made of jewel-bright, green glass squares. Over to the right was a wide, half-circle bank of windows before which was a cluster of couches and chairs, a fire pit in the center of the loose ring, and four people scattered about.

He wasn't normally much for resorts and lodges and such, but though the subject had never really come up, he suspected Anderson would be all over it. Of course, he would. Lynn would sneer and be contemptuous if he wasn't already anticipating how fucking happy Anderson would look.

The burst of happy distraction died as he reached the desk and asked the clerk to let Leslie know he was there. Walking over to the waterfall, he shoved his hands into his pockets and scowled at the water, running through all the different places Wynn could be hiding and the best way to attack him for each.

"Lynn!"

He snapped around, opening his arms as Leslie crashed into him, held him tight, tension bleeding from him to have such solid, irrefutable proof that his brother was okay. "Had any trouble?"

"No," Leslie replied, pulling back. His hair was a bit longer and smelled faintly of the lavender-scented shampoo Leslie favored. "I should have borrowed your gun instead of your suit."

"Leave the shooting to me," Lynn replied, grimacing exaggeratedly at the idea of Leslie shooting anything. Twins they might be, but Leslie could not aim to save his life. Lynn gripped Leslie's shoulders. "Where's the bar in this place? I'll buy you a drink and you can give me all the details. Has anyone been reported missing?"

"Not that I've heard—that's the weird part. I asked everyone, but no one even acts cagey about it."

That was weird. "But you still think he's already started killing people?"

"He smirked at me," Leslie replied, bitter and miserable as he slid onto a barstool. "Vodka sour, please," he told the bartender.

"Sparkling water, lemon," Lynn replied and slid a card across the bar. "Start a tab for me, thanks." Sitting down next to Leslie, Lynn ruffled his hair then rested a hand on the back of his neck. "Tell me everything."

Leslie sighed and murmured a thanks as the bartender brought his drink. "Bobby and I were out walking around the shops down in town. I was looking at some jewelry—I bought you something—and I looked up and he was coming out of an ice cream shop. He saw me at the same time and gave me the fucking smirk. I freaked out, tried to go after him—"

"Stupid!" Lynn snapped.

"I know, okay?" Leslie stabbed at his drink with the stir stick. "Anyway, I lost him in the crowd. That's when I came to my senses and headed back here. I explained everything to Bobby, who decided that a crazy murderer in the family was a little too much for him." He shrugged, trying to smile. "Can't blame someone for that."

Lynn narrowed his eyes at the departed Bobby. "Yes, I can." Bobby was a fucking basilisk. As if they had any fucking room to talk about suspicious deaths in the family, please. What a worm. To hell with him. "How did Wynn look?"

"Same as ever," Leslie said sourly. " Clearly pleased with himself, the fucking bastard." His hand shook faintly as he lifted his drink and took a long swallow. Lynn signaled for a second one. "I'm sorry to ruin—"

"Oh, shut up," Lynn said. "You don't have to apologize for not wanting to fucking die, you goddamn moron. Anyway, it's a dinner. Not a big deal."

Leslie looked up, eyes dark and sad. "Mom told me."

Lynn sighed. "That woman is an interfering menace."

"Who are you telling?" Leslie retorted. "So how are you?"

"I really wish I could drink. It'll be fine. Or it won't be. So it goes." He glumly swirled the lemon around in his water. "Anyway, we have more important matters right now. My drama can wait. It's a good bet that Wynn will come after you since he knows he doesn't stand a chance in fucking hell of beating you in water—or out of it—without cheating like the stupid fuckhole he is."

That got him a weak laugh and a faint smile as Leslie looked up at him. "Hungry?"

"Starving," Lynn replied. "I was supposed to be eating lobster ravioli tonight. Wynn is definitely going to pay for that."

The bartender ghosted over with a fresh drink and a menu, smiling briefly before fading off again. Mmmm, fried mushrooms. And fried pickles. "So what made you decide to come here?"

"I wanted to get away for the weekend, and Bobby wanted to go camping. This was our compromise." Leslie wrinkled his nose. "Camping. Like I'm going to rough it unless I can spend the entire venture in a giant body of water."

Lynn stared to agree but froze as a horrid realization slapped him. "Camping. Have any campers gone missing yet?"

"Oh, god," Leslie replied. "I didn't think of that."

"I've gotta go—" Lynn stood up, grateful he always kept a spare gun in the car. "Tell Anderson what's going on the second he arrives."

Leslie shot out an arm, snagging his sleeve. "I'm coming with you."

"No," Lynn said flatly. "I don't care if you can help me kick his ass six ways to Sunday, he's a wanted criminal and this is a federal matter, and you're a fucking civilian."

"I don't care—"

"This is how people die in movies! And in real life," Lynn hissed, prying his fingers off and pointedly setting them on the bar. "Call the Bureau. Keep a lookout for Anderson. I'm not going to do anything stupid." Unless the opportunity presented itself. "I just want to know if any campers have gone missing—or could have gone missing. The sooner we know who and where, the sooner we can find him and put a stop to this. I swear to god, you better stay here where you're safe, or I'll kill you myself, Les."

Leslie sucked in a breath then blew it out on a frustrated sigh, slumping slightly. "Fine. Okay. But be careful, stupid. It's not fun sitting here knowing you're walking into danger."

"Hasn't killed me yet," Lynn replied and hugged him tightly before departing.

Fucking hell he was tired. He shivered in the cool mountain air, annoyed he'd left his coat in the car. Trudging to it, he pulled his coat out, yanked it on, then climbed inside and locked the doors. Pulling out his phone, he searched for the location of the campsite and the main offices, then started the car and drove off.

There were two rangers on duty when he walked in, and to his relief, they both wore shifter rings. Approaching the counter, he pulled out his badge and displayed it for them. "I'm Agent Lynn Seymour of the Bureau of Paranormal Security and Investigation."

"Wow," said the woman, and by the burr in her accent, she was likely a dryad, or at least part. "You look a lot like Masterson. Little bit prettier."

Dread scraped along Lynn's spine. Pulling out his phone, he flipped through his pictures to one of Wynn. "Is this Masterson?"

"Yeah," said the second ranger, a young man who looked fidgety, face way too open for him to be anything but new. "That's him. New guy, just started two weeks ago. Doesn't talk much, kinda the reserved type, you know? You his brother or something?"

"Something," Lynn said. "His name is Wynn Seymour, and he's wanted on numerous counts of murder. Where the hell is he?"

"What!" The woman blanched, and those were definitely leaves sprouting in her hair, ring or no ring, so dryad for certain. "He—oh my god he's been doing the patrols most nights. Do you think—"

"I think you had better call in reinforcements, and those reinforcements had better be capable of handling a half-dragon, half-kraken murderer who eats his victims. Now where the hell is he?"

The young man looked miserable. "He's off tonight. He's been staying in one of the cabins until he can find an apartment. I'll get you the exact location." He spun away and headed for a desk on the far side of the room.

"We didn't know, I swear," the woman said quietly, looking miserable, reaching up to toy with the leaves curling through her hair and brushing softly against her cheeks. Shifter rings were supposed to prevent even that much, but in extreme duress, magic rarely gave a flying fuck about supposed to, much to the continued aggravation of the scientists who crafted the rings.

Lynn nodded. "Your cooperation is noted and appreciated. Could you get me a list of all the campers, especially those camping for prolonged lengths of time who would not be missed immediately. Thank you." She bustled off. Lynn slumped against the counter, staring at his phone—and his chest gave a lurch when he saw a text from Anderson pop up.

Almost to you.

Damn it. He was never going to survive it if Anderson dumped him, and he fucking hated his job and his fucking brother right then for forcing him to backburner his own goddamn life. Check in on my brother, then come see me.

He texted the address and shoved the phone back in his pocket as both the rangers returned to the counter.

"Here's his address, and all the camps you requested. We can go with you. We know the area and can get to all of them faster—"

"And normally I would accept your help happily," Lynn replied, "but to date, Wynn is responsible for at least thirty murders, and most of those victims he ate. He's probably already eaten several of your campers, and he has no qualms about killing anyone who gets in his way. Unless you can say with absolute certainty that you can best a dragon-kraken psycho killer, stay here."

"With all due respect, agent, can you beat him?" the woman asked.

Lynn smiled tightly. "He's my half-brother, and I'm a full-blooded kraken. Yeah, I can beat him." Hopefully. He stood the best possible chance at it. "I don't suppose there's something with caffeine on the premises that I could steal?"

"Of course," the young man said and scurried over to a little fridge next to the desk he'd been at a few minutes ago. "We have soda and iced tea."

"Soda," Lynn said and thanked him as he handed over an ice-cold can. Popping it open, Lynn chugged a third of it, then moved to one of the uncomfortable looking plastic seats and began to read. He stood up once, to steal a highlighter and a pen, then settled back down.

The door creaked open a short time later, and Lynn knew before he looked up who it was. "'Bout time you got here, Sparkleson." Despite the exhaustion and anxiety gnawing relentlessly, the frayed edges of a tumultuous day, warmth bloomed and spread through him when Anderson smiled. "You look ready to fall over."

"You don't look so spry yourself, Wriggly."

Lynn dutifully rolled his eyes as Anderson sat down beside him, aching to lean in and kiss him until the world felt safe again. "I think I know the places he's likely already been and where he'll hit next—well, would have. Now that he knows I'm on to him, there's no telling what he'll do. Is Leslie okay?"

"He's fine. Tired. Worried. Furious. Same as the rest of us. I brought the cake."

"Of course, you brought it, you sugar-addicted, brain-addled sparkle pony," Lynn replied with all the scathing he could muster, refusing to smile when Anderson just laughed. "I assume backup is skulking around somewhere?"

"Yeah. I put half of them at the resort, watching our room and your brother's. The rest are waiting outside. I know you're probably going to argue with me, but we're running on fumes. We'd be better off—"

"Yep, I disagree. Not stopping. I'm catching him once and for fucking all." And if he went back to their room, he'd probably do something stupid like pick a fight instead of holding a mature discussion. Or begging. He definitely was not above begging, even if he would hate himself for it later. He stabbed at the papers in front of him with the pen, wishing they were Wynn's stupid face.

Anderson heaved a long sigh—the kind that usually meant Lynn was officially In Trouble. "You won't be able to stop him when you're hungry, exhausted, and too tense to even highlight straight. He's well-rested and, by this point, well-prepared. Do not force me to resort to drastic measures."

Lynn clenched his jaw and said nothing.

"Fine, you stubborn asshole," Anderson snapped. "Do whatever the fuck you want. Go out into the middle of a strange forest when it's pitch black and the place is probably booby trapped and get yourself killed. I so fucking enjoy a dead partner over a living one, and your family will be thrilled to hear you were killed because you were determined to be reckless and stupid."

Huffing, Lynn shoved the papers at him and stood. "Fine. By all means, let's go rest. I always sleep well when I know I could be keeping someone from being murdered and eaten by a goddamn monster." He stormed from the office, more than happy to leave Anderson to make their farewells to the rangers.

He'd just turned the car on when the passenger door opened and Anderson slid inside. Lynn huffed. "Don't you have a car of your own to drive?" He drove off anyway.

"Fuck you, then," Anderson snapped. "I'm so goddamned sorry I was worried about you. And no, I don't. I caught a ride with backup so I could go back to the resort with you. But if you don't fucking want my company, I'll be more than happy to walk." He threw the door open as Lynn came to a stoplight.

"No—" Lynn stopped as the door slammed shut, then muttered, "Damn it." Pulling the car to the side of the road, he killed the engine, shoving his keys in his pocket as he clambered out and bolted after Anderson. "Sparkleson—"

Anderson jerked away when Lynn snagged the cuff of his shirt. "Don't call me that." He turned and resumed walking.

Lynn huffed again, then ran and tackled him into the low shrubbery on the side of the road, yelping as they tumbled over them and down the hill on the other side. He grunted as they finally came to a stop at the bottom, not at all certain which way was up—and absolutely certain that the moment he let Anderson go, he was a dead man.

"Get off me," Anderson said in a low, even voice that definitely spelled death.

"No," Lynn replied. "I'm too young to die."

"Get off!"

Lynn scrambled up and back and promptly caught his foot on a root and went crashing all the way back, slamming his head on another protruding root. Swearing, he curled up on the ground, clutching at his aching head. He looked up, expecting to see Anderson kneeling over him …

But Anderson was facing the hill, probably scowling at it. Feeling hurt and a little stupid, Lynn picked himself up, gingerly testing the knot on the back of his head. He'd probably given himself worse trying to get a shower immediately after waking up. "I didn't mean—I'm sorry," he said.

"Whatever," Anderson said, rubbing at his forehead. "Let's just get back to the resort."

"Fuck you," Lynn replied sourly. "Like I'm the only one who's been a total ass today." He stomped off up the hill, feeling sore and tired and hurt and in serious need of a drink.

"I'm not the one who decided he couldn't wait ten more minutes for me to get out of the shower before bolting off and leaving me scared to fucking death!" Anderson snarled.

Lynn whipped around—immediately regretted it when the world tilted alarmingly, but gritted his teeth and held his ground. "I'm not the one who showed up and blew right by me without even a hello! And then threw transfer papers all over the couch! Then called me and pretended like everything was fine!"

"I was in a bad mood—" Anderson broke off. He raked both hands through his hair with a long, muttered, "Argh. I was going to tell you about the transfer, asshole. I just had a supremely shitty day, and I didn't want to take it out on you. And speaking of people acting weird—"

"Transfer," Lynn repeated dully, feeling like someone had just reached into his chest and given everything a hard yank. "There wasn't one transfer in that folder. There were two. But you're only talking about one. You've decided to transfer."

Anderson shifted. Lynn couldn't see him clearly in the dark, but he knew Anderson had that pinched frown on his face, the one that put heavy wrinkles in his forehead and always showed up when he was about to say something he knew Lynn was absolutely going to hate. "To White Collar. Maybe. I—"

"Fine," Lynn snarled. "We were going to have to break up anyway."

"What?"

Lynn turned around again and fled up the hill, fumbling for his car keys—and realizing they weren't in any of his pockets. Shit. Had he taken them with him? He bolted back to the car… which was definitely locked and lacked keys. Lynn kicked it. "Fuck my life."

"W-w-what's wrong?"

Head jerking up, Lynn stared. On the road, with a streetlight to break up some of the dark, Anderson looked exactly as miserable as he sounded—close to tears, even. A knife went through Lynn. "I lost my keys…" He jerked a hand toward the shrubs and hill. "Somewhere."

"Ah."

The most awkward silence in the history of awkward silences fell between them. Lynn almost flinched when Anderson finally broke it. "I don't understand why you want to break up with me. I mean—if you do, that's that, but… I thought we were okay."

"That—that's not it. I didn't say want—"

They both jumped as their phones rang. "God damn it, not now!' Anderson shouted, the angriest Lynn had ever heard him. Yanking the phone from his pocket, Anderson jammed it to his ear and snarled, "What?" The anger faded, replaced by dismay. "We're on our way." He ended the call, clutching the phone tightly as he looked at Lynn. "The resort was attacked. He tried to go for your brother. When Leslie got away, he attacked another family instead."

"Damn it!" Lynn kicked his car again. "Call for—"

"No need." Anderson looped around the passenger side of the car to the back, where he knelt and fumbled around the fender. "There's a spare."

Lynn stared at him, but neatly caught the key when Anderson tossed it to him. "You put a fucking spare key on my car. Why didn't you say so?"

"Because you get pissy," Anderson said to the passenger door. "And because we already spent the past half hour being dumbasses. And you just broke up with me. I didn't want to be yelled at over a fucking key too."

"I didn't—I don't—" But he was talking to himself, the door closing sharply behind Anderson. Taking a deep breath, Lynn climbed inside, started the car, and drove off as quickly as he could get away with safely on an unfamiliar road at Fuck Everything O'clock in the morning.

Anderson fussed with the heating controls. "Your brother is okay. I didn't get any details about the other family. I know—I mean—obviously there are more important things—"

"Just say it," Lynn said quietly, tightening his grip on the wheel because otherwise he'd reach out and take Anderson's hand, and he was eighty percent certain he wasn't allowed to do that right then. If at all.

"I—when this is all over, before… before we go our separate ways, could we at least talk about this first? If you really want us to end, then the matter is closed. But I don't want it to end like this when we're both tired and hungry and worried and pissed off, acting like fucking teenagers on the side of the road."

Lynn nodded, afraid that if he spoke he'd either word vomit or just plain vomit. Sighing softly, slumping in his seat, Anderson leaned back and angled slightly toward the door—a sure sign he was unhappy, but at least he wasn't raging and trying to walk back to the lodge. As if Lynn would let him do that. He'd shove the stubborn dumbass in the trunk first.

The silly thought made him smile briefly, but it hurt, trying to smile about Anderson when he was pretty sure this was the beginning of the end. He pressed a touch harder on the gas pedal and shifted all his focus back to his brother and the poor family abruptly caught in the middle of a mess they never should have been in.

The resort was lit up with red and blue lights when they arrived, Bureau and local LEOs milling all over the damned place. Lynn strode to the entrance, flashed his badge, and gave a nod of thanks to the officer who lifted the tape for them to walk under it.

"What's going on?" Lynn asked, striding up to the man clearly in charge, a sheriff's badge pinned to the front of his green uniform. "Where is Leslie?"

The sheriff gave him a look then flicked a glance at Anderson, who held out his badge. Grunting, he said, "We moved him to a new room. I guess I don't need to ask if you're family. He said something about this attack being done by a half-brother. That true?"

"Unfortunately," Lynn replied—and bolted down the hall when he saw Leslie appear. "Are you okay?"

Leslie nodded against his chest. "I'm fine. Managed to smack that stupid bastard around a bit, too." He gingerly touched a bruise on his cheek as he drew back. "Broke his fucking nose. Sadly, it didn't slow him down much." He rolled his eyes. "Dragons."

"Is it true he dragged someone else into it?"

"Yes," the sheriff said from behind him. Lynn turned, one hand still on Leslie's shoulder. "He assaulted a family of five, ran off with the mother and a boy of about eight."

Lynn's hand tightened. He only let go when Leslie made a noise of protest and jabbed him in the side. "I'm going to kill that son of a bitch."

"Son, from what I've been reading on his file—"

"I know his file better than anyone," Lynn snapped. "He's my half-brother. Leslie and I are the only ones who can kick his worthless ass. Did you read that in the file? Strongly advised I be involved in his capture, family connection or not."

The sheriff gave him a slow blink then turned and looked at Anderson. "Is he always like this?"

"Always," Anderson said with a sigh, and that hurt because normally he smiled a bit when he said that, but there was no smile there at all. "It really is best if you leave it to us, Sheriff." He reached into the inner pocket of his blazer and pulled out a card. "If you've not already contacted our boss, I strongly suggest speaking with him and getting all the details. I am sorry this happened. It's outside his MO. But it's the kind of trick that only works once because now we're prepared for it. Keep your men safe and let the BPSI handle this. What can you tell me about this woman and child taken? Paranormals?"

"The mother, Sarah Fellows, is completely human. But the father is pure werewolf and all the kids are half. This has always been a good area for kids like that. The boy is Tommie. Regular visitors—they come up for a couple of weeks every year. Doubt they'll come again." He sighed. "The father is downstairs at the bar if you want to talk to him."

"Thank you," Anderson replied. "Any other witnesses?"

"None that proved useful, but here's a list of them if you'd like a word all the same," the sheriff said, taking a piece of paper that a nearby deputy held out and handing it off to Anderson. "If you'll excuse me, there are other matters for me to attend. Ya'll feel free to contact me if you need to."

He walked off, and Anderson joined Leslie and Lynn. "Do you have any idea where he might have gone?"

"Probably a cave," Lynn said. "We'll need to go back to the rangers, see what they can tell us about the caves around here." He rounded on Leslie. "You should go home."

"I want—"

"You're becoming a liability," Anderson cut in. He rolled his eyes when Lynn and Leslie both glared at him. Ignoring Lynn, he met Leslie's gaze and continued. "It's true. You might not like it, but it's true. Two people have been kidnapped now because he's trying to get to you. He probably thinks this will draw you out. We're not giving in to his plans. You need to get the hell out of here and let us take care of it."

Leslie blew out an irritated breath but gave a terse nod. "Let me get my things." He shot Lynn a look. "I'm stealing your car. I drove up here with Bobbie. You can catch a ride with Anderson, right?" He strode off without waiting for an answer.

"I'm going to go talk to the family," Lynn said. "You pissed him off, you get to walk him to the car."

"Coward."

"You have no idea," Lynn muttered, walking off in the opposite direction, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Speaking with the family proved to be exactly as fruitless as he had feared because they had literally nothing to do with the situation and had been too terrified by the sudden attack of a dragon-tentacle man to really notice anything. "I'm sorry," Lynn said to the father. "We will get your wife and son back." He crouched down to speak with the two younger kids—one five, one three. "You've been very brave," he said quietly. "It's not everyone who can face a monster."

The little girl reached out and touched his Cthulu tie bar. "Monster."

Lynn winced inwardly. "Yes, but some monsters are good. You need good monsters to fight bad monsters."

She looked at him with wide eyes, tears still staining her cheeks, then buried her face in the teddy bear she desperately clutched. Lynn stroked her hair and looked to the boy, who scowled at him. "I'll get your mom and brother back."

"You look like him."

"He's a bad monster. I'm a good monster," Lynn replied. "You keep being brave. There's nothing a bad monster hates more than a brave wolf, and you're probably even braver than your dad." The boy sniffled but nodded and tried to stand a little taller.

Lynn smiled faintly and stood, pulling out a business card. "If you have any further information, call that number. I'll contact you the very moment we know something." He turned—and stopped when he saw Anderson waiting for him just a few feet away. He looked distracted, a little… uncomfortable? Lynn wasn't sure. But it wasn't often that something made Anderson's face flush. "You okay there, Sparkleson?"

"Y-yeah, fine," Anderson said. "I really hate your brother. The one that looks like you. Well, the other one too, obviously, but right now I want to turn every last one of you into fish sticks."

Normally Lynn would have replied to that with a cheerful "Fuck you," but right then he had no idea what he was supposed to say or do. He settled for full avoidance. "We need to get hunting."

"You need rest."

Lynn shook his head, moving in close enough he could speak without being overheard. "You go tell those kids over there the rescue will have to wait until we've had a nap. You know that's not an option anymore."

"So you're gonna go off and fight your murderous, cannibalistic brother while you're exhausted, hungry, and being especially stupid?" He started to say something else, but then shut his mouth with a click, turned, and strode off back outside.

It was only then that Lynn recalled Leslie had stolen his car so he had no choice but to spend more time trapped in a car with Anderson. And he would feel a thousand fucking times better if he could just walk out there, hold him tightly, and kiss that pinched look right off his face.

But he was 100% certain that was off the table. Because he hadn't been able to keep his stupid fucking mouth shut. Shoving his hands back into his pocket, he followed Anderson outside, not quite slinking to the rental car Anderson indicated and climbing into the passenger seat. "So we're headed back to the ranger station?"

"No," Anderson replied. "I called ahead, and they gave me a different location, said they'd have someone meet us out there who could show us the way to a very likely location—said we'd never reach it without the guide, and she's aware of the risks."

"Fine." Lynn leaned his head against the window, enjoying the cold glass against his too-hot face. He wanted to soak, sink to the bottom of a pool filled with cool, salty water and pretend that everything was okay. He most definitely did not want to trek into the woods, into dark caves, to hunt down Wynn and possibly come across the remains (if there were any) of a woman and child. And whoever the hell else Wynn had eaten. Plus, he was putting Anderson and a ranger at risk. "I should be doing this alone."

Anderson did not reply until they paused at a stoplight—but then he turned the weight of his anger on Lynn, compressed into a glare that hit so hard Lynn was honestly surprised he wasn't dead. "Fuck you. We're partners. On and off the clock. You've never had issue taking me with you before when we're doing something dangerous—"

"We've never been this close to him! And he's changing," Lynn replied. "I don't want—I don't want—" He slumped, head thudding against the glass again. "To lose you."

"Then you shouldn't have fucking dumped me," Anderson said bitterly and drove off with a screech of tires as the light flipped to green.

Lynn sighed. "I didn't. I said we were going to have to."

"Shut up. Just shut up. We'll figure this out later. Now's not the time."

"You started it," Lynn replied, not caring how petulant he sounded.

Anderson shot him a brief look. "Shut up or I will throw you out of this car."

Lynn shut up.

The drive out to the middle of nowhere was exactly as interminable as he had feared. It took the better part of an hour, which would have been a great time for a catnap, but every time Anderson so much as twitched or sighed, Lynn tensed, only to settle restlessly, only for it to start all over again. By the time the car finally pulled to a stop in front a trail straight out of a horror movie, Lynn was strung so tight he wanted to scream.

"If I get mauled by a zombie camp counselor," Anderson muttered, "you're going to be my first victim."

Lynn sneered at that. "Sea monster trumps everything, and basically everything trumps a zombie sparkle pony."

"Fuck you," Anderson replied. "Anyway, we're in the mountains. No sea. No monster. Just a whiny kraken bitching loudly to everyone forced to listen that he's being forced to endure crappy freshwater."

Preening, Lynn replied, "You know me so well."

He regretted the words the minute he said them, the way Anderson looked as though he'd just been slapped. "I thought I did. Now, I don't know. Let's get this over with." Climbing out of the car, he slammed the door shut and instead of heading for the SUV across the parking lot, walked to the rear of the car.

Climbing out after him, feeling more depressed than ever, Lynn just grunted as Anderson thrust bundles of fabric and a pair of muddy boots at him. "Get dressed. I highly doubt your fancy outfit will last five minutes in these woods, never mind the caves."

"Ugh." Lynn pouted at the clothes as he sorted through them. Jeans. He quickly stripped out of his good clothes, carefully folding them before putting them in the backseat, then pulled on the stiff, uncomfortable jeans and a long-sleeved, dark-blue Henley that he knew wasn't his. The boots weren't either, though they fit him perfectly. "Where did you get all this?"

Anderson rolled his eyes. "You're an idiot. Where else would I have gotten clothes that fit you perfectly but have obviously been used?"

Oh. "Why does my brother own such horrible clothing? Leslie has better taste than this."

"Snob," Anderson said, and normally Lynn would have smirked or laughed, but normally the word held a note of affection.

He'd never heard Anderson sound as genuinely fed up and contemptuous of his behavior as everyone else. Lynn swallowed against the sudden rock lodged in his throat. "Sorry," he muttered and sat down to yank the boots on and lace them. Standing up, he strode off toward the SUV, shaking off the fingers that tried to grab his wrist.

A short woman—so short he was impressed she didn't need a stepladder or something—climbed out of the SUV and settled a hat on her head before tipping it back to peer at him. "You're the Bureau guys?"

"Yes," Lynn replied and showed her his badge. "I'm Lynn, he's Anderson.”

"Robin."

"Thank you for helping us," Lynn replied, shaking her hand when she held it out. "Where are these caves you mentioned?"

"The Labyrinth Caverns," she replied. "They're closed to the public: too dangerous to let people go traipsing about, mostly because not far into them is a gigantic underground lake—one of the deepest on record. It seemed to fit the parameters your people gave us."

Lynn made a face. "It's perfect, especially if he can get in and out fairly easily to prey upon campers."

Robin nodded. "Are you two ready?" Her gaze flicked past Lynn.

"Ready," Anderson said quietly.

"And you two are all that's needed to take down this kraken-dragon thing. I've been warned going up against him single-handedly, or even with lots of people, is stupid, but you two are some magical exception?"

"I'm a kraken," Lynn said.

Her eyes went wide. "Oh. Never seen one of you before. We mostly get little types out here, like me: fawn, dryads, nymphs. None of you big ones." She turned to Anderson, the flashlight she'd just pulled striking his eyes. "What are you, then?"

Anderson winced and held up a hand to block it. "Not as rude as you. Also a unicorn. If you will please lead the way, ma'am, I'm sure we would all like to get this over with."

"You got it." She reached into her SUV, pulled out a bookbag, and shrugged it on. She tossed two more at them. "Take those." When they had them on, she tossed them flashlights. "I've got further supplies for when we reach the caves. You boys all set?" They nodded. "Then let's get walking."

The walk to and through the caves was even more miserable than Lynn had anticipated. He hated woods. He hated caves. He wanted a big, open, salt-rich pool. An ocean, with all the space a kraken could ever need and more to spare. "Are there any stupid energy drinks in this damn bag?"

"Yes, though I don't advise them myself," Robin said, looking over her shoulder briefly but not pausing in her stride. "Your boss said I should definitely include them, though."

Lynn cackled in glee and swung his bag around, digging through it—nearly walking into a tree in the process—before he came up with two small cans. Shoving one into the pocket of his jacket for easier access later, he cracked the other one open and drank.

It tasted like concentrated sweet-tarts mixed with soda water. Not his favorite thing on the planet, but so far as staying awake went, they worked extremely well.

"I fucking hate when you drink those things," Anderson muttered.

Lynn ignored him, afraid something stupid and bitter would slip out if he opened his mouth to do anything but drink. When he'd finished, he shoved the empty can back into his bag.

The exhaustion was still there, and his stomach felt like it was trying to eat itself, but it was all dulled by the muffling effects of too much sugar combined with too much caffeine. Lynn hummed as they walked, pace increasing enough that he had to keep forcing himself to slow down and not overtake their guide.

The sky was just beginning to turn a dull, lazy gray when they left the woods behind and returned to the dark. They paused only to put on their hard hats and confirm all their light sources worked. "It's going to get even colder, especially the further in we get," Robin said. "If you get tired—too tired, anyway—tell me. This ain't a place to mess around or try for bravado."

"Understood," Lynn replied.

Anderson pointed at something, and for a moment, his eyes seemed to shimmer. "I can see his life residue, more than I expected to see. I can smell blood, too, though it's faint."

Lynn barred his teeth. "I hope the wolf pup took a fucking bite out of him." He turned to Robin. "You should probably stop here. It would be better if you returned to your vehicle entirely, but I do not think you would agree to that."

"You think correctly."

Anderson stepped in, resting a firm hand on her shoulder. "At least stay here then, close to the cave entrance. Once we come upon him—if we do—he will not hesitate to drag you into the water. He has no qualms about killing anyone he deems a threat, and anyone in a uniform is automatically regarded as such. His presence is fresh enough, and clear enough now we're free of the forest, that we should have no trouble finding our way to him.

"What am I supposed to do if ya'll get into trouble and need help, and I'm just standing here with my thumbs up my ass?"

"How long should it take us to reach the lake?" Lynn asked.

Robin pursed her lips. "Two hours, maybe three."

"If we're not back in eight, come looking for us. We should have enough food and such here for a couple of days, even with the two people we're rescuing, right?"

She nodded. "Eight hours, then. In the meantime, I'm calling folks in to secure the area and be here to help get you out should that be necessary."

"Good. Thank you for all your help," Anderson said. He gave her shoulder a last squeeze before stepping away and following Lynn further into the dark.

The silence was unbearable. It was honest to god silence. No hum of traffic, no thrumming of the apartment building, the machinery that kept his pool exactly the way he liked it. No distant music and chatter. It was not the 'silence' of living high above a city. It wasn't even the silence of the forest with insects and rustling animals, falling leaves and burbling streams.

Even a morgue was likely to provide more noise. Lynn fucking hated it.

He tensed, almost jumped, when fingers landed on the small of his back. "You should let me take the lead. I'm the one who knows where we're going after all."

"No," Lynn snapped.

Anderson gave a soft sigh. "This is why I want to transfer to White Collar. You're protective to the point it's causing problems for both of us on the job."

Lynn's shoulders hunched, but he kept walking. First the transfer, then the break-up. That was always how it went. Even if some of them didn't realize it at the time. Damn. Now he just felt extra stupid for trying to save something that was clearly already dead. And he'd thought that for once, just once, he hadn't been fucking up a relationship. That should have been his first clue. "I don't want Wynn to get you."

"He won't," Anderson replied. "I know what to watch for—I know to get the hell out of your way. I'm hardly a cocky young agent with something to prove. Would you please let me lead the way so that you're free to concentrate on the signs I'll probably miss?"

"Fine," Lynn bit out. "Do whatever you want."

Anderson's mouth tightened, and Lynn could well-imagine the tongue lashing he was holding back as he strode toward Lynn—and stopped next to him, staring ahead and slightly down as he asked softly, "Why? Why did you give me a key if you… if you just want to end things? If you don't want…"

"I don't want to end anything," Lynn said tightly.

"Then why are you trying to break up with me!"

"You're the one leaving! And—" Lynn cut himself off. "It just seems like maybe something should be done before everything gets worse. I don't know, but I don't want it."

Anderson looked like he wanted to smack Lynn, but he only nodded and resumed walking. Lynn hated it, hated watching him, because the usual… ugh, sparkle that was always with Anderson was gone. His magical sparkle pony with the carefully crafted derision that made all their banter so much fun had vanished. The Anderson in front of him was exactly the kind of stiff, lifeless partner Lynn had never wanted.

The silence returned and stretched on for what seemed like a million years, but when Lynn looked at his watch again, it had only been thirty-seven minutes.

"Stop looking at your watch. You're just making it worse." Anderson stopped and spun around so suddenly Lynn almost ran into him. "Do you think we'll find them alive, or has he already killed them?"

Lynn tried and failed to stifle a yawn. His eyes watered, spilled over, and he wiped the tears of exhaustion away impatiently. "I wish I knew, but I don't. He's never done this before—gone after Leslie like that and then run off with others. Usually he gets the hell out of town, though with Leslie he'll linger just long enough to make him miserable." Lynn's mouth twisted. "He likes Leslie miserable and afraid. He knows he just pisses the rest of us off. But he's never taken people before—he kills them, eats them, and goes back to hiding."

"Is there any way he might have thought Leslie was you?"

"No." Lynn fussed with his hardhat, completely sick of the damned thing. "He can smell exceptionally well. It's the dragon in him. We might look dead alike, but we don't smell the same. I think he'd be able to tell anyway; the bastard is just that smart."

"I think this all smacks of desperation."

"I don't care what it smacks of so long as I finally get a chance to smack him around and leave him for dead," Lynn replied. "Let's get moving. You're starting to shiver and that's bad. Move it, Sparkleson."

Anderson glared at him but turned and continued on, threading through the caves as they narrowed, widened, and then narrowed again, twisting and turning through the quietest, darkest maze Lynn had ever been in. "I wonder why there's no sign of him past the life residue and some blood. Clearly he's been here, but not recently—and there's no sign that he had people with him."

"He probably came in a different way. I'm sure he knows all the nooks and crannies. He may even have given up using this place. We could be wasting our time." Lynn sighed. "But I don't think so. I think he's here. I think he brought them in through the water or something and is hiding—biding his time. I just don't have a fucking clue why."

"Guess we'll find out…"

The silence returned, and remained until they rounded a corner and reached the top of a steep climb, coming out on an open area that spilled into an enormous lake. Small streams of light filtered down from the ceiling, so there was some other form of access that a dragon could use. Lynn hadn't considered flying, given the attention that risked drawing, but Anderson was right—it all smacked of desperation, and flying was another indication of that.

Lynn turned off his light and set the hat aside, then began to remove his clothes.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to find them," Lynn said. "Chances are he has them where no else can reach them, but I'm big enough in full form I can go almost anywhere he can."

"You're also big enough that if you get into a fight, you'll bring this whole fucking place down on top of us!" Anderson snapped. "Did you think of that?"

Lynn dropped the last of his clothes in a pile, then turned, grabbed Anderson by the shoulders, and jerked him close. He cut off Anderson's angry words with a hard kiss, shifting to hold his head and pressing as deep as he could get, sucking on Anderson's tongue, reveling in the feel and flavor of him, the comfort that Anderson brought. The simple happiness.

Finally drawing back, nipping at Anderson's lip just to hear his soft grunt of not-protest, Lynn said, "I'm not a kraken hatchling, Sparkleson. Just be ready to do what you've got to do because I have no idea what that might be." He took one last, swift kiss, then stepped back and removed his shifter ring. Pressing it into Anderson's hand, curling his fingers around it, Lynn turned and dove into the water.

It was cold. Really fucking cold. Depths of the ocean, biting and refreshing cold. Free of the ring that regulated his shifting, his body quickly began to revert to its preferred state. There was a terrifying stretch of seconds where he could not breathe and then his body finally altered enough that water was air.

Normally the ache was worse, but the cold helped dull the edges of it before his body shifted enough to adjust to the temperature as well. His tentacles shot out, spread through the water, growing rapidly in size until each was anywhere from a foot to several feet thick.

Down, down, down he went, tentacles fanning out, exploring smooth stone, jagged stone, tiny little shrimps and fish darting away from him. He could feel them, taste them, taste the minerals that filled the water, the age of the place… and dragon, the faint, sweet-sour smoky taste of dragon mingled with the flavors of his family, of kraken.

That the lake was so deep was the only reason he was at all able to spread almost completely out. His body twitched, undulated, learned every crack and crev—

Teeth sank into one of his tentacles and tore the end off, filling the lake with the flavor of Lynn's blood. He struck out and got another tearing bite for his troubles, but the injury of two tentacles was acceptable when that gave him a chance to get six more wrapped around Wynn. Stupid of him to travel to the bottom of a lake just to turn into a mostly-dragon. Lynn surged deeper into the water, tightened his tentacles to the point of crushing bone, dragged the fucking bastard out of his hidey-hole and just. Kept. Squeezing.

Wynn thrashed, twisted, bit, and clawed. Piece after piece, chunk after chunk of Lynn was thrown into the water, filling the area around him with so much of his own blood it was making him sick. But Wynn's greatest weakness, after his own fucking insane stupidity, was that his size was the victim of his mixed blood. In some ways he was more than either, but in other ways he was less. In the depths of a dark, freezing lake, he was no match for a sea monster two and a half times his size and far better adapted to the environment.

It was what Wynn got for preferring caves to water. He never should have hidden where Lynn could best get to him.

Lynn held him tightly until several minutes after the thrashing had stopped. Loosing the body slightly so he could better maneuver it, he found Wynn's neck, and wrapped around it so hard he crushed it. He let go of the body and waited until it sank all the way to the bottom, lingering until he was certain beyond even the most paranoid doubts that Wynn was dead. He lingered a few minutes beyond even that, feeling… adrift.

In all his musings, all his nightmares, this was not how he had expected the fight to go. He'd always thought there'd be talking. Threats. Something other than a decidedly more violent and final twist on all the fights they'd had growing up. It was so reminiscent of those childish fights that Lynn's nausea spiked. It felt even more like Wynn had been desperate. But desperate about what?

Finally unable to stand the vile taste of the water any longer, hoping his blood would not do it lasting harm, Lynn slowly returned to the surface. His body hurt, the torn tentacles throbbing, barely working, hanging more like dead things. At least the dark meant Anderson wouldn't notice all the injuries—there was nothing Anderson could do for them, so his distress would just slow everything down.

Head breaking the surface, along with several tentacles—carefully keeping the torn ones under the water just in case the dark wasn't enough—Lynn looked around until he found Anderson, then moved as close as he could, snaking a tentacle up to rest beside him.

"If you get me wet, wriggly, I will deep fry you," Anderson threatened. "I assume from your thrashing you dealt with your brother? Good. I think the mother and son are up there—" He pointed up past Lynn, and as he turned to follow, Lynn saw what he meant. High up near the top of the cavern wall was a little hole. Easy enough for a dragon to reach, and he thought a tentacle might just barely manage it. "Can you reach them? You better put me up there. They won't come near you without assurance."

In reply, Lynn just twitched the tentacle already lying next to Anderson. "Ugh, you're so cold and slippery," Anderson groused. "If you drop me…"

Lynn smacked the water irritably with another tentacle. Once Anderson was settled, he carefully lifted him up, turning at the same time so that by the time he completed the turn, Anderson was at the entrance to the little hollow. Stepping off the tentacle, Anderson vanished into the dark hole. A few minutes later Lynn could hear crying, talking. He resettled himself, bringing the raised tentacle down to let it soak a bit.

He hurt. But he would not be allowed to shift back for hours yet, not until the wounds were safely treated and the doctors could be certain that shifting down to his human form would not carry the injuries over in terrifying and fatal ways. As much as they knew about shifting magic/science/whatever they wanted to call it, there was more they didn't know. Which seemed to be the credo with science—and seemed to make scientists happy—but Lynn would just prefer to have all his facts laid out for tidy memorization.

Ugh. Meandering thoughts. That was not a good sign. He must have lost more blood than he realized, or something.

He was sluggish to respond when Anderson called his name. Looking up, he raised the tentacle again and was relieved when all three climbed onto it. Moving them back down, he watched with increasing exhaustion as they picked up his things, dressing the kid in his clothes and settling the hardhat on the mom. The kid turned and looked shyly at him, reached out a hand, but then let it hang there. Lynn splashed a little bit and nudged his giant tentacle closer, pressing into the kid's hand. He smiled a bit more widely, then let his mom hustle him away.

Anderson turned to him. "Will you be okay?" Lynn nudged him, undulated in the water. "Be careful, you water-logged idiot. I—" Anderson broke off, shook his head. "We really need to talk later, so you better be ready. Don't get into any more trouble, dumbass, or I'll kill you myself."

Lynn nudged him again, and then they were gone. He slumped in the water, wrapping his tentacles around boulders and rocks and sturdy-lurking stalagmites—stalactites? No, they were called something else when they came together to form a column-type thingie. Weren't they? Whatever.

Confident he would not sink to the bottom easily if he passed out, he let himself doze, tried to think of happy things to distract himself from the pain. Giant monster or not, having bits ripped and chewed and torn off was never fun. And the water tasted horrible filled with his blood and Wynn's corpse.

He barely heard the voices when they arrived and had no idea how much time had passed. But he recognized the gray coats of the medical team and the large bags they hauled that promised poking and prodding was in his immediate future.

And he was really fucking tired of being awake. So he stopped doing it.

*~*~*

Lynn jerked awake, then dropped his head with a groan as a headache made itself known. He shifted, trying to get comfy, and felt something on his chest—two somethings, one cold and heavy, the other soft and light. Cracking his eyes open, he saw… his keys and a jewelry box. Ignoring the headache, Lynn sat up, catching the keys and box as they tumbled off his chest. Where…?

He belatedly noticed a familiar pair of red pajama pants, the really soft, slinky ones that clung just so to Anderson's everything and made Lynn incapable of doing anything that did not directly involve touching him in a lewd manner. And dragging him off to bed for as long as he could manage. Lynn lifted a hand with every intention of wrapping it around Anderson's naughty bits.

Bits. Wynn. Everything came flooding back, and Lynn looked up, hand dropping. He did not recognize the room, or anything, really, except for his keys and Anderson, who stood beside the bed, looming over him. "What."

"Coherent as ever upon waking, I see," Anderson said with a sigh. "You've been asleep for two days, and it's been driving me crazy, but I didn't actually mean to wake you."

Lynn looked at him, noting the dark marks under his eyes, the messy hair, and the fact he was not wearing a shirt. He looked down at the keys, then back up. "You didn't?"

"I was trying to put that stuff with your other shit, but you were mumbling in your sleep, and I thought maybe you were awake—and I dropped them. Sorry. How do you feel?"

"Like someone took a hammer to my head," Lynn replied. "Nothing aspirin won't fix. You look worse than me. Two days? What the fuck have I missed?"

Anderson took the keys from him and put them behind him, up on the headboard which seemed to double as a shelf. He tried to take the box as well, but Lynn held fast. "You don't deserve that present anymore, asshole."

Lynn kept it anyway, though he refrained from opening it. "What have I missed?" he asked again.

"A lot. All of the annoying bits you hate. I'd accuse you of doing it on purpose, but you would never pretend to sleep for two days. You'd get bored. Let me get you some tea."

"Coffee?" Lynn pouted.

"Doctor's orders are herbal teas until further notice."

Lynn pouted harder.

"That's not going to work."

"Herbal teas are gross," Lynn muttered, but Anderson had already left the room.

Lynn shoved the blankets away and climbed out of bed, grimacing at the stiff soreness of his muscles. He padded into the bathroom to take a piss, and it was only as he stared at the little pile of complimentary shampoos and shit while he was washing his hands that he realized where they were. The resort. Since when did Comber let them stay somewhere expensive two days after a case had closed? Given what little he remembered about passing out, he was surprised they hadn't carted him to a hospital or something.

Drying his hands and stealing Anderson's comb to give his hair some order, Lynn returned to the bedroom just as Anderson did. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of chamomile, something nutty, and honey. "I'm not drinking that."

"You are drinking it," Anderson replied flatly—but it was the thread of worry that made Lynn take the mug and drink the stupid tea. "I don't think you should be up and about so soon, either."

Lynn started to argue, then decided there was probably going to be enough arguing very soon and sat back down in bed, holding fast to the jewelry box with one hand, quickly drinking his tea with the other. "So what the fuck happened? I remember killing Wynn, getting you guys out of there, and then being bored out of my fucking mind until the others arrived." He took another swallow of tea, hiding his grimace with the mug.

"Your brother was sick," Anderson said quietly. "Like, definitely going to die sick. They think it was from someone he ate."

"Sick." Lynn finished the tea, scalded tongue or no scalded tongue, and set the mug aside on the nightstand with a hard clack. "He was sick. From someone he ate. And I sat in the pool—"

"You're okay," Anderson cut in. "If you were fucking dying, asshole, I would have broken it to you differently."

"It had better involve a parade with lots of hysterical sobbing and screaming," Lynn replied. "Obscene amounts of black confetti."

Anderson lifted his hand and flicked Lynn hard between the eyes.

"Ow!"

"Stop it," Anderson hissed. "You could have died. If the medical team hadn't been so quick to get there, so quick to figure out what was wrong with you and how to stop it, never mind stopping all the fucking bleeding, you would be dead! Or dying! And then where the hell would I be? What was I supposed to tell your family? That their crazy son died killing their psychotic son and the last thing we did was argue!"

Lynn let go of the jewelry box to wrap his fingers around Anderson's hand where it was balled into a fist on the blankets. "Technically that was not the last thing we did."

Anderson shoved him down into the blankets then smacked him with a pillow. "Go to hell."

Tossing the pillow aside, Lynn fumbled the blankets back out of the way and lunged, just catching Anderson's arm and yanking him back. Anderson swore as he hit the bed and fell back on top of Lynn, elbow just barely missing his crotch and landing in his gut instead. "Ugh. I hate you."

"Hate you more," Anderson muttered, not being at all careful with his elbows as he sat up and twisted around. "Are you going to stop being an insensitive asshole?"

Lynn blinked at him. "No. I think we all know the world will stop turning first."

Anderson's mouth twitched. Turned into a scowl. Twitched again. "God damn it," he said, dropping his head to fight the smile that was winning out. "I hate you so fucking much right now."

"You're the one who woke me up." Lynn reached out, gently turned his head up, and traced one fine cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Anderson asked bitterly.

Lynn wanted to kiss him, hold him tight until all that misery melted away. "Being stupid. Scaring you. Existing, if that helps at all."

"Why do you want to break up with me?"

"I don't," Lynn said, annoyed even though he knew he shouldn't be. "I never said I wanted to break up. I said we were going to have to."

"Why, damn it? Would you please, finally, just tell me what the hell is going on? We seemed happy. You gave me a fucking key, I bought you a fucking present that you're still not allowed to open—and then you say we have to break up. And I don't know why, because normally when people finally get tired of me, I know the signs and none of them were there." He ducked his head again, pulling away from the hand still cupping his cheek.

"Pegasus," Lynn said, too exhausted to give a fuck anymore, wanting to just have the matter done. "That stupid, perfect pegasus."

Anderson looked up, face pinched. "What… Constance? That pegasus? We broke up seven years ago. What the flying fucking hell does she have to do with any of this? I am going to kill you if don't stop making this more confusing."

"You broke up with her because you don't want children," Lynn said dully, wishing he had not drunk the tea so quickly because it was not helping him feel less like throwing up. "She wanted children. You didn't. And I…" he glared at the blankets, shoulders tightening. "I've always wanted my own family. I don't want you to go away. Ever. But."

He heard Anderson move—and bellowed in outrage when another pillow slammed into his face. Over and over and over the pillow hit him, until Lynn finally got enough space and leverage to throw himself forward, pinning Anderson to the bed and yanking the pillow away. "What the hell was that for?"

"Because you're stupid and infuriating and I want to kill you, you goddamn overreacting, sulking baby. Were you going to fucking talk to me about this, or just assume it was over and that was that?" He looked as though he were going to start hitting again; Lynn grabbed his wrists and pinned them lightly to the bedding. He could practically feel Anderson seething. "Words cannot express how much I want to kill you right now."

"Words, no. Expression, yes," Lynn replied, trying his damnedest not to laugh because that would get him killed. "I was going to talk to you. That was—okay, it's like this. I had planned to do up a big, fancy dinner and stuff to give you the key. But I realized there was no point in giving you the key if you were just going to walk away when you realized I wanted to have your miniature sparkle ponies. So I figured we could talk about it, even if I didn't want to. Then you came in pissed off and ignoring me. Then I saw the transfer papers. Then, well, everything went to shit."

Anderson twisted and jerked. "Let me go."

"Do I have to?" Lynn muttered but obediently let go and moved back—oofing as he was the one suddenly being pushed into the bedding. And he probably should not have been so acutely aware of the press of Anderson's thighs, the heat of his skin through the slinky pants, the smell of warm sugar that always clung to him, the flush that anger gave his skin. He especially should not have been aware of those delightfully distracting things when Anderson was still glaring death at him. "Why did you bother letting them save me if you're just going to kill me now?"

"I prefer a personal touch," Anderson snapped. "And you may yet live depending on how the rest of this conversation goes. First and most important, you should have spoken to me a hell of a lot sooner than you did. You think I haven't noticed you've been glum and withdrawn of late? I hate to admit it, but my first thought when I saw the fancy dinner was that my shitty day was going to end with being let down gently."

"I wouldn't do that to you."

"I know," Anderson said, voice calming some. "I told you—I had a shitty day."

Lynn gave an awkward nod.

"Two," Anderson continued, fingers tightening on his wrists, eyes narrowing. "I dated Constance seven years ago. Seven. Years. If I repeat that enough will the length of time lodge in your brain? Of course I didn't want children back then. I'm not a brownie or a pegasus. I don't want fifty kids before I'm twenty. Twenty-two, whatever. Ugh, just no. But I'm twenty-nine now, going on thirty very soon. I have a good, well-paying job, and a wonderful, if stupid, boyfriend. If I still have said stupid boyfriend further down the road, which would be nice, then children are not outside the realm of possibility. So will you stop freaking both of us out, you aggravating sea monster? Because if you do this to me again, I will sell you to a seafood restaurant."

Lynn tried to speak, but in the end could only nod, too overwhelmed with everything right then. Wynn was dead. Anderson wanted to stick with him. There would be mini-Sparklesons. Everything was okay.

Well, almost. As much as he would like to move on to make up sex… "What's this about you transferring?"

Anderson sighed. "I want to spend more time with you outside of work. All of our time is spent on work, or talking about work. Work, work, work. I thought if I transferred to White Collar… Well, it's only two floors up. I could see you all the time anyway. We could get time off together. It'd be more money… and I think we'd both do better without you being your overprotective self about me while trying to do your job."

Lynn tried to argue. Opened his mouth and everything. But. "I hate when you make sense about something I don't like," he admitted.

"It's my best-worst quality," Anderson replied with a faint smile.

"As long as you don't want to go back to your old office."

Anderson wrinkled his nose. "Why would I do that? I told them no before they finished getting the question out. I just hadn't gotten around to pitching the paperwork."

"Good. I hate it, but I know where to find you. Can I please have kisses now? I almost died and I had to sit for hours in my own blood with a corpse—" Mmm, magical sparkle pony kisses were definitely his favorite kind of kisses. Anderson's mouth was wet and hot, sliding along his with familiarity, knowing all the best ways to press and suck and nibble, exploring deep and sucking on his tongue in earnest, seemingly determined to make certain Lynn never fucking forgot how good he had it. As if Lynn could ever forget that.

Finally pulling back, Anderson said, "You can open your present now."

Lynn grinned and dug the jewelry box out from where it had gotten buried in the bedding. He ran his fingers over the green velvet, then lifted the hinged lid—and grinned even wider at the necklace inside. Strung on a gold chain was a little gold octopus with opals for eyes. "It's perfect, Sparkles." He thrust the box at Anderson. "Put it on me."

Huffing, but clearly pleased, Anderson took the necklace out of the box and leaned in to fasten it around Lynn's neck, where it hung right in the dip of his collar bone. "Looks good."

"Of course it does." Lynn wrapped his arms around Anderson, holding him as close and tight as he could manage, whining that he couldn't do better. He pulled away only long enough to get rid of the slinky pants, then promptly went back to touching. Anderson's skin was soft, smooth, almost golden in the sunlight streaming through the window. Lynn traced every bump and groove, every sinuous curve of muscle and the softer pudgy bits because he loved the way Anderson could never say no to a sweet. Anderson grinded against him, rubbing their hardening cocks together, the heat of his body quickly banishing the slight chill in the room.

"You really shouldn't be doing this yet—"

"Shut up, shut up," Lynn said, and kissed him sharply, biting at his lips, his jaw. "I'm fine, I swear. I need you more than I need bed rest." He sucked up a mark on Anderson's collarbone, though it was hard when all he wanted to do was hold him close and never ease up. Lynn held Anderson as tightly as he could, digging nails into his skin. Good but not enough. Lynn liked playing in fully human form, but he needed to wrap Anderson up, touch him everywhere at once, taste him in a way that only water allowed. "I want to be at home," he said with another whine, licking Anderson's jaw, nipping at the corner of it again, scraping his nails along Anderson's back, and holding him close so their cocks could keep rubbing together so wonderfully, just a slight bit of slickness now to make it even better.

"As much fun as this is, and even though you should be resting, no matter how well you sweet talk me," Anderson murmured between sucking bites across his throat and chest, "I think you'd have more fun out on the deck."

Lynn paused in the process of moving enough to be able to start working on another hickey at Anderson's collarbone. "I admit I have a slight exhibitionist streak despite the possessive streak that would theoretically prevent it, but not generally where ordinary humans might come across us."

Snickering, Anderson climbed off and held out a hand. "Come with me. And lose the pants."

"That's what I was trying to do," Lynn groused but obediently stripped off his pajama pants and took the offered hand. He let Anderson lead him out of the bedroom into a wide hallway with a set of French doors at the end that opened onto an enormous deck with a large… well, it looked like a Jacuzzi, but Anderson knew he and boiling water didn't really get along. "Are you trying to boil me?"

"I prefer my squid deep-fried, you know that. Try as I might, they wouldn't fill it with vegetable oil."

"Asshole," Lynn muttered against the side of Anderson's throat, plastering himself to Anderson's back, twining around him.

Anderson nudged him off. "Come on. It's filled with salt water." Lynn froze, and Anderson used the chance to haul him down the steps and into the—

Ohhhh, that was nice water. Just the right temperature and amount of salt. Lynn thumbed the proper setting on his ring, tackling Anderson into the water as he shifted, catching him from going under with long, winding tentacles, squeezing him tightly, tasting him with every sliding touch. Shifting around so his back was against the far wall of the tub, facing the cabin, he twined his thicker, heavier tentacles around Anderson's arms and legs, snaking out the smaller, smooth ones to explore his skin, leaving oil-slick rainbows across it. He dragged Anderson in close enough to nibble at his neck, suck a mark there, enjoying the way Anderson squirmed and gasped and tried to get away to no avail. Lynn squeezed tighter, leaned up to steal the groan that elicited. "You're spoiling me awfully rotten, considering my behavior."

"You almost died," Anderson mumbled against his lips, combing through his hair, nails digging in slightly. "You had to kill someone. I thought one way or another I was going to lose you. I'm not spoiling you—I'm totally spoiling me." He moaned into Lynn's mouth as a couple of smooth, questing tentacles teased along the crack of his ass. "It's been way too long since we've done this." He groaned again as one of the tentacles pressed in, head falling back as he pushed down against it, tried to rub against Lynn, shivering when he remembered he was only as mobile as Lynn permitted.

Humming in approval, Lynn nosed the length of Anderson's throat, enjoying the feel of him, the taste of him. Everything tasted better when he could feel it with every stroke and slide and splash; nothing was better than water filled with the flavor of his lover. He pressed the second tentacle inside Anderson, snaked another pair up either side of his body, trailing more slick fluid, loving the rainbow-sheen it left. "You should always be covered in me, Sparkleson." Lynn tugged him closer to lap at his wet skin, tasting saltwater and warm sugar.

Anderson started to reply, but the words were muffled as Lynn used the chance to press two thin tentacles into his mouth, stretching it wide, whimpering, writhing at the heat of Anderson's mouth, the obscene sight he made. He lifted Anderson up slightly, trailed nails lightly along his skin as he sucked up another mark on Anderson's chest, all the while working the tentacles in and out of his body, squeezing and teasing along his arms and legs, his torso, wrapping one around his throat firmly and murmuring soft approval at the moan that elicited.

He did adore how much Anderson loved being his captive. No one had ever taken to it like Anderson. Taken to him. Hard enough to find lovers completely comfortable with the idea he could change his naughty bits whenever he liked. Even when they were okay with that, they invariably got sick of the water, the tentacles, the way Lynn loved to hold and squeeze and play—the way he took over. But what was better than lavishing attention on his lover, extracting all those sounds and flushes and pleas? Having his lover focused on him and everything he could do and having all that pleasure fed back to him. Even being in the ocean, spread out and comfortable in full form, was not as sweet as having a happy, willing lover at his mercy. And Anderson outstripped them all.

Lynn dragged his nose slowly up Anderson's throat, sucked up a fresh mark on the underside of his jaw as he twisted and pushed all his tentacles just so, rubbed and squeezed at all the right places, and finally wrapped one last, slippery tentacle around Anderson's cock, winding around it and jerking him off exactly the way Anderson liked.

The way Anderson moaned his name around the tentacles in his mouth as he came was all Lynn needed to let go himself, shuddering and squeezing even tighter, panting softly as the release slowly tapered off. The water tasted so much of them it was hard to come down. He rested his head in the hollow of Anderson's throat, lazily nuzzling while he waited for his heartbeat and breathing to even out.

He grumbled when Anderson nudged at him, reluctantly loosening his hold, quietly thrilling at the way Anderson whined a bit as the tentacles pulled gently from his body. "You're going to be the death of me, I swear."

"Am not," Lynn grumbled, eyes falling shut as he tried to burrow deeper into Anderson. He wanted to drag Anderson under the water and wrap all around him while he slept. Unfortunately, that would result in a drowned unicorn, which was decidedly less fun than a living unicorn.

Ugh, he really wished he hadn't just thought about drowning. Closing his eyes more tightly, he thought about sparkles and cupcakes and Anderson having a key and miniature sparkle ponies splashing around happily and playing with his tentacles and climbing all over Anderson.

"You okay?" Anderson asked, petting his hair. "Let me sit."

Lynn meant to tell him he was fine, wasn't quite sure why instead he blurted out, "I love you."

Anderson froze in his arms. Panic crawled up Lynn's spine as the silence lasted a beat too long for his peace of mind—and then Anderson twisted fingers into his hair and gently tugged his head up. "I love you, too, Wriggly. So don't try to break up with me anymore."

"You'll never get rid of me," Lynn mumbled against his mouth, too busy trying to kiss and lick and bite him all at once to be bothered with speaking clearly. Anderson laughed into his mouth, looping arms around Lynn's neck and kissing him breathless, relaxing easily into the tentacles that tightened to hold him up just so. "You really… you really don't mind kids someday?"

"I think you'll be unbearable with miniatures to lord it over all day," Anderson replied. "But you'll probably be stupidly cute at the same time."

"Everyone assumes I hate kids."

"Everyone is stupid." Anderson nipped playfully at his nose. "Nothing would soothe your possessive, ego-tripping, mine-mine-mine tendencies more than children. I thought that was one of those things they always said about krakens."

Lynn sniffed. "It's really not, and even if it was, stereotypes are unbecoming."

Anderson laughed in reply. "As much as I love sitting here catering to your remarkable number of unbecoming stereotypes, I'm cold and you're exhausted. Let's go back to bed, Wriggly."

"As you command, Sparkleson." Thumbing his ring again, Lynn bundled Anderson in his arms as his tentacles shifted back to legs, then lifted him up, Anderson's arms sliding around his neck as Lynn carried him off to bed.