2 July 2001
X-Force
Threeing: Rictor/Cannonball/Shatterstar

Hiding out in the Great White North.

Disclaimers: If they were ours, they'd spend a lot more time barefoot.

Te sez: Jane sent subliminal message to Te. It is her fault.

Jane sez: I had to. My Sam muse was threatening to go off and leave me if I wasn't nice to him. (I didn't make Te help. She did it 'cause she wanted to.)
 

Bundling
by Janete

Rictor hates the cold. They've been iced in here for a week. Cable's safehouses are always enough to keep life together, but as a rule, Rictor doesn't like them, and this one's worse. Because of the cold. And the dark. There are only four hours of daylight right now, and the snow's this extra person crowding around the house.

Sam is hideously cheerful about it.

Cable ignores it.

Caliban keeps creeping outside to finger the snow.

Domino curled up three days ago with a book and a cup of coffee, and she only moves to refill the cup or use the bathroom. Nobody disturbs her. It's law.

And Feral's long gone, but her absence still grates, and more so in the cold. People notice it. Look over their shoulders for her and find only windows with ice crawling up from the sills.

There's ice on everything. It's in the corners of the house. Rictor sat for half an hour yesterday and watched it build on the scruff of the carpet. On the windows, it's an inch thick. Things left on the sills in the fall are now embedded in the tiny, spreading glaciers that have long since sucked all the moisture out of the air.

And 'Star is going stark, staring mad without television. Or maybe that's just Rictor projecting, because 'Star stares at him now. All the time.

Silver-white like he just crawled in out of the cold. Even his hair seems paler. Like someone carved out of the cold. And Ric wonders if he ever saw snow before coming to their world. He knows he never did, not until X-Factor took him to New York. And in New York it was almost fecal, so polluted it was nothing you wanted to be out in. He used to sleep all day to avoid looking at it.

So he doesn't know why he wakes up early in the morning, while it's still dark. He pads downstairs just because it's too cold to sleep. And sees 'Star with his fingertips pressed to the window glass.

It's instinct to creep up quiet. Shatterstar still turns to him, but only for a second. And when Rictor joins him at the window, he finds himself looking into the eyes of a doe just one photo shoot away from a Disney movie.

Up almost to her belly in snow, and Rictor wonders whether she's supposed to be awake at this time of year. He remembers stories about caribou running through the arctic all winter, and looks for antlers, but doesn't see any. Turns eventually to Star and sees the frost on his fingertips. Has to jerk that hand away from the glass. And Star jumps like he'd been asleep. Pulls the hand up to his chest and blinks at Rictor until Rictor takes him off to make something warm for breakfast.

Oatmeal. Comfort food for the a.m., the way Tabitha taught him. Like baking cookies without the baking. Sweet to the point of having no nutritional value whatsoever, and Star eyes it dubiously. Or rather does that eyebrow thing that somehow includes eyeing the food, lecturing Rictor, having an argument, and conceding.

Rictor's just grateful that he doesn't get the same look for sitting cross-legged in his chair. The floor's cold, and the big woodstove is just getting going. Somebody -- somebody like Cable, who's capable of getting up and doing stuff and then going back to sleep -- stoked it in the night, but it burned down. Shivering and sort of nested in his chair with the blanket he dragged down with him wrapped around his body and his feet off the door when Sam wanders in, not very awake-looking and drifting towards the smell of oatmeal.

"More in the pot."

And bam, Sam's all the way there again. Cheery smile that makes Ric hurt this early in the morning, but then Sam is exactly the kind of guy who would be perfectly fine with all of them cramped in a cabin in the middle of the tundra.

It isn't fair. Guy's supposed to be Southern. Ric shakes it off and makes an effort to actually savor the food he cooked instead of just shovelling it in. Looks at Star, who's watching Sam serve himself a bowl with the same attention he would give one of the huge, sprawling action movie car chases.

And it suddenly occurs to him to wonder whether he's just, maybe, looking at Sam. Who's wandering around in pajama pants and no shirt. Socks, at least, big grey ones pushed down around his ankles. A lot of hair in his eyes.

Rictor glares a bit at Sam when he comes and sits down. Doesn't notice the nipples that are hard little pink points on Sam's too-golden chest.

Thinks about brown sugar. About the peaches he'd love to be eating if he could get them any way other than canned. Thinks vague thoughts about warm beds, maybe even with other bodies in them, keeping him warm. Not even sex-thoughts, yet, because he's not that awake. Just snuggling thoughts that disturbingly keep involving Sam and Star and his blanket and the warmth that the stove's just really getting going on.

Realizes that he's the bugfuck mutant at the table with something almost like relief, and tucks his feet under his thighs more comfortably. The day goes, with Rictor coming back to himself from that zombie dreamland place in the middle of playing checkers with Tabitha, who has somehow not noticed that her partner wasn't technically brain-live until just that moment. Loses spectacularly and finds himself wandering the house, trying to... something.

Make it feel like less of a bolt-hole, maybe.

It is a bolthole, but that's no reason to make it feel that way. Especially while there's a conspicuous absence of Cable, who's doing serious and secret things with some kind of Askani machinery and hopefully at some point he'll use his goddamn telepathy to scream for help for them. Before they're here til spring.

Maybe they could get some big, warm rugs and all sleep together in front of the woodstove.

Caliban could make snow teddy bears, and Ric would be found one morning curled around one, blue and grinning.

He looks up sometime after dark that could be seven and could be midnight and notices the absence of female persons.

"Where'd the girls go?"

Sam says, "They decided they were gonna sleep together to keep warm. Ah think they're consolidatin' blankets."

Suuuure. That's exactly what they're doing. They're cuddling and he knows it. Knows it. All that soft, warm, soft and warmness. And maybe more than cuddling. Maybe hot, sweaty sex so they'll have to get even closer later to avoid exposing any damp bits to cold air.

Damn it.

"Sam, how long have we been here?"

"Three days."

Damn. He'll have to fake sanity for at least another week just so they won't look at him weird.

Which means absolutely no suggesting that they go do the same thing. Preferably with girls, but without's good, too. Warm would be good. He's still in his blanket. He got dressed at some point, but it didn't make any real difference to how cold he was. There's this really nice fantasy he's had about discovering a lot of extra blankets in a trunk somewhere...

He shivers. Violently, in a way that's obvious to anybody who's looking at him though he didn't intend it to be.

Peeks out from under his eyelashes just in time to get the full effect of the Shatterstar Is Concerned, Perhaps We Should Kill Something look, which is definitely warming. In exactly the wrong way, because Star really isn't supposed to look at him like that when there are other people around.

That's the look for when Ric can just walk right up to him, put his hand on the man's shoulder, and explain why killing is unnecessary, or maybe just for the two of them to head out on Ric's bike and, at the very least, maim something.

But Sam is there, so the best Ric can manage is a shrug.

Sits quietly and stares at his reflection in the window and almost jumps out of his skin when Sam's hand dives into his blanket and drags his arm out.

"How long you been this cold, Ric?"

Sam's grip is startlingly warm. Like he radiates from within or something.

Which he should have figured out a while ago. Sam's just way too comfortable in this snow-cave of a world they've fallen into to be anything other than a personal furnace.

"You deaf? I've been cold since we got here. I keep saying." Tries to pull his hand away but Sam chafes it between both of his own. Bends after a second and blows on the fingers and that's just way too intimate. About one step away from a proposition, even if Sam's staring at his hands instead of his face. Very close to his knees.

Rubbing up his arms, under his sweater now. Way past where they should be, but it's warm, and Rictor needs this. Almost whimpers when hot fingers slide into the insides of his elbows and find the veins there, warming his whole arm through that contact with the blood.

Over Sam's shoulder, Star's look is very, very brittle.

Which is just. One of those them things. When it's quiet enough and Ric is alone enough that he can think of him and Star as part of a Them. And he usually can't handle that stuff at all, but there's also usually something to distract them. Like millions of dollars worth of property damage to cause. So. He holds out his other arm.

"Baby me?"

"There is nothing immature about the need for warmth." But there's something less icy in the silvery eyes as Star shoulders a place beside Sam, who just grins at him obliviously.

"Plenty of Ric ta rub."

Or not.

Star blinks at him very slowly. Rictor knows the speed at which the man thinks, but sometimes he drags it out into this long, intensely visible process, and it's something to see. But he takes Rictor's arm and chafes it gently. And then strokes two fingers up the thin-skinned inner arm as far as he can with the sweater impeding him.

Rictor knows that if he slides off this chair into someone's lap, it's gonna be Star's, but Sam's touch just feels so good. Warm like he'd like to have pressed up against him. Thinking that maybe the girls were exactly right. Warm bodies. Lots of 'em. Even Domino's wandered off to harass Cable, and she isn't probably coming back. And maybe if he doesn't sleep alone, he'll be able to sleep. Human flesh against him warmer than the blanket that keeps surrendering his body heat to the air outside every time he rolls over.

And for a while, Ric is boiled down to an arm being chafed and massaged to expert life, and another arm that is somehow connected directly to his cock. Which is not at all cold. Star is looking at him again, looking in him, which makes him want to look back, need to, not a thought in his head beyond warm and Star until Sam presses his thumb to the inside of his elbow and pushes.

Hits a nerve, right there, and works it. One glance revealing the motion to be mostly hidden by the folds of Ric's sweater.

Sneaky bastard.

Very clear, in that moment, that he's being seduced or. Something. Obvious from Star at least. And Ric does, eventually, just slide down and straddle Shatterstar where he's kneeling on the floor. Buries his head in that silver shoulder, one hand outside the blanket and reaching back half-behind him to keep Sam's touch.

Which slides back towards his wrist and strokes. Warm and very there, following the translucent blue of the veins down to his hand and warming the heel of it. Raises it and cups it and.

Kisses it.

Everything still for a moment, the three of them breathing. Star searching for something in his eyes before bending his head to repeat Sam's gesture.

Star gazing over his shoulder, and he can feel Sam returning the look, and wonders how he can feel left out while also being molested. It's definitely an odd feeling. He can hear the silence outside in that way he's learned means that snow is falling.

"We should... we could go. Upstairs." Sam.

"Julio..." Edge of pleading in Star's voice that Ric knows is all wrapped up in how hard Star is beneath him, how Sam is and isn't supposed to be here for this.

Rictor's decision. He's only half-hard. Wants this, but in an achy, sleepy way. He's cold where no one's touching him. Aware that this thing between him and Star that they haven't put a name to yet is thin enough to break if he pushes in the wrong places. But wanting, too. That warmth and the steady, quiet friendship that Sam offers.

Curls his fingers around Star's chin and tries to think.

And Sam makes a decision for him. Leans in, over Rictor's shoulder, and kisses Shatterstar.

Short and definite, not enough time for Star to make the decision whether or not to kiss back. Ric leans in to do the same, surreptitiously squeezing Star's hand at the same time. Yours, he wants to say, suddenly needing that future not-now time when they'll be alone, and safe, and for God's fucking sake warm.

Star nods and slips his free hand into Sam's curls and pulls him in for a long, thorough kiss that makes Ric harder, makes him push into it, lick at them both until they turn on him again, each going for opposite sides of his throat.

Vulnerable. It's what he's always aware of, has to remind himself that he trusts them. That there's no greater threat than Star's oddly delicate teeth sliding across his flesh. Or the bruises that are going to result from Sam's hard suck. Bringing blood to the surface. And he knows that's wrong, that it should cool him, but cold's not quite possible against Sam's mouth.

Shatterstar bucks underneath him, and he groans, and Sam kneels up and tilts Rictor's head back and kisses him. Mouth full-open and arching him back like hot, soft metal. Exposed to the air and cold and wanting and when Sam releases him, Rictor looks at Star and says, "Upstairs?"

And feels Sam's little neck-clasp and the rasp of a thumb along his hairline.

Little want-you touches. Helpless things everyone does when they're hard, and sure they're going to get it, and unable to wait with their whole body. Sam thinking that. Wanting that from him.

Star stands first, leaving him and Sam to a sort of dizzy scramble that makes Sam chuckle out loud before pulling him in for a messy, friendly kiss that makes Ric smile. Star's hands spread on his back, pressing and rubbing.

Staring at each other, idly touching as they move up the stairs.

At the door of Rictor's room, Sam steps back for a second and watches Ric and Star together. Long, slow look of him taking all the details into his brain.

Then, quietly. "Hey. Are you two already together?"

Rictor's not exactly proud of flinching, but he does it. Doesn't look at Star. "Um. Kinda."

"You want me not to?"

It's a kinder offer than he expected. Something very calm in Sam in spite of the obvious hard-on in his jeans. Offering to come in or not. And Rictor's choice, because Star's apparently determined not to say anything. Only to wrap an arm around Rictor's chest and throat and pull him back, kiss his neck and not look at Sam at all.

"No. I mean... it's OK. Better than OK."

Like discovering the cliff you dove off has no bottom, everything just keeps getting a little deeper, a little scarier, Star reaching past him to pull Sam into a hug, Ric squeezed and rubbed in the middle, blanket interfering not as much as it should. Oversensitized. So fucking hard. Together, the three of them, as they move to the bed, Ric set down first and Sam stepping back to watch as Star carefully removes Ric's clothing.

Shivering again, all over, and he can't tell why, isn't sure of anything beyond the sheet trying to score his back and Star's silver eyes.

Naked and open on the bed. Cold, but he'll be okay for a minute, and Sam's eyes on him are. Interesting. Not like he's seen before. Bluer. Darker. More adult and a lot more male than he's used to Sam being. Fierce and bright like something immortal.

Star runs a big hand over his chest, just once, and Rictor wonders whether he's on display. Star's possession, offered very conditionally to Sam.

And Sam just watches. While Star kisses him and strokes him, guides his legs apart and rubs possessively between them. Hard enough to make him moan and cling to Star's shoulders and pull him down onto the bed beside him. Making out and just waiting for Sam to join them. Except that when he looks up, Sam's gone.

He half sits up, looks over the arm of Star's sweater. And sees Sam coming back with his arms full of blankets, so many it has to be everything from his bed and Star's too. Flick of a blond eyebrow at Star, who squirms out of his clothes and kicks them to the floor. Little touch on that freckled back. And then Sam lays the bedding over them. Heavy layers, on top and around. Nesting.

Almost buried. Warm in a way that he's been needing. And he can still -- just barely -- watch while Sam peels his own clothes off.

Knows that Star is watching nothing but him, but it's too much right now to give him his entire focus. Sam is toned, browned with the sunshine Ric sincerely misses. Smiling at them in this mix of normal Sam-thinks-we're-so-darned-cute and Sam-wants-do-us-both-right-here before climbing under the covers, snuggling up to Ric's other side and throwing a long leg over Ric's own. Another of those sunshine kisses and he can feel Star and Sam's hands tangling together at his groin, touching and exploring andgripping and teasing him mercilessly.

Star's mouth on his neck, open and wet, messy, dragging kisses on his skin. Someone's hand cradling his balls now while another shapes and learns everything there is to know about Ric's cock and he's moaning, writhing a little, still ridiculously cold in spots but heating up so fast.

Scalp prickling with coming sweat and he wants to make words, say something, but Sam's tongue is insistent, thick and wet and hot and wonderful. Sam moans when Ric begins to suck, Star shifts to mouth Ric's nipples, breathe humid on them and tease them hard.

Decides he loves the shape of Sam's tongue. Narrow, hard muscle, slick and warm and moving in his mouth, a separate living force pushing into him. Swapping spit in a way that's a lot less gross than it ever sounded when he said it. Just both of them wet and sharing. Liquid and sound when Star bites Rictor's nipple gently and he screams. Hard enough to wake the house except that Sam swallows the sound and keeps kissing him.

One blunt finger of unknown ownership slides down under his balls. Rubs at the thin skin there and then slides the necessary couple of inches to stroke his hole. And he wants to say this isn't something he's tried before. He and Star've spent some very serious time in bed together, but the best of it was him on top of that silver-pale body just writhing to get them both off.

But there's an even chance that it's Shatterstar doing the touching, and Star already knows that. And Rictor trusts him. Implicitly, if that's the word. And Sam's taken him a dozen other dangerous places. Far enough into the fire that Ric should trust him by now.

The grip on his cock tightens and Sam lets his mouth go and suddenly he's breathing into cold air. Wanting to make noise. All of the snow-stillness bearing down on him and he's the only one even breathing hard.

"I want ta suck you. Can I suck you?" Sam, wide-eyed and flushed and eager and just too much for words.

"OK. ah. Yeah..."

Trailing off into a moan as the finger starts to tease a little harder. Rough and chafing at the edges of his hole, impossibly good and flash of Sam's grin and then he's diving beneath the mound of covers. Wet sounds from below and Ric can't even move his hands enough to lift and see but he's almost to the point where it doesn't matter.

Cock drooling and Star's tongue all over his chest, whispered Spanish too low to hear but loud enough to make his heart pound.

Finger back at him, slick now, and Sam's tongue on his cock, Sam's lips and teeth and a groan from beneath the covers as he sinks down on it. Takes Ric in and suckles and licks and nibbles and Ric is thrusting before he knows it.

Star's half-holding him down. Weight on Rictor's chest while he goes for the throat and mouths it. Like blindness. Rears back suddenly. Red and silver and staring down, flushed along his cheekbones. Says something guttural and desperate in Cadre, then brings his head down and kisses.

His mouth shallow, entirely different than Sam's. Tongue just barely teasing at him, a meeting of lips and mouths, soft and open and somehow wide. Spreading to around their mouths and across their faces. Until Rictor's just twisting madly, trying to get more of two mouths at once.

Startling shift and reach and he feels Star's hand trace along his belly. Towards his cock, but just the knuckles touching him, and it takes him a second to understand that Star's stroking Sam's face. Some deeper understanding in that. Of how this needs not to be impersonal. Three of them or none, and it would be so easy for Rictor to lose Sam in this, in spite of loving what he's doing.

Curl of the finger in him, hitting something that makes him choke. Vaguely aware of the, "Shhhh, Julio. Gently," that Star whispers. One arm under Rictor's head and one stroking Sam's face. Reach of a big man, which he knew, but it's startling to have his body spanned this way, would be more so if he were aware of anything other than wet and good and inside and StarSamStar.

There's this little curl of Sam's lips in the second before he brings Rictor to orgasm. Sheer joy of it. Some kind of affection and a pleasure in his body, and both men hold him while he sobs, quietly, and spills into Sam's mouth.

Has a few embarrassing moments when he thinks he's just going to pass out, even with Star shifting and moving him on to his side, hard, wet cock slipping and sliding over his ass. Sam snuggling up to him from the front, still smiling but with this edge of desperation that makes Ric wish his heart was bigger, somehow, strong enough to keep Sam with them for more than just this one night and whatever other crazy nights they might have.

He has to be crazy for this cheating/not-cheating, to have a man like Star, ay, Dios, for his own and still want Sam devouring his mouth like this, thrusting his cock against Ric's belly and groin while Star's big hand rests on his hip. While Star slips into his cleft and fucks him that way.

Promising, torturing Ric back to semi-hardness and licking the sweat from the back of his neck, nuzzling into his hair and biting at it, growling into it --

"Ah... Ah'm so hard..."

Ric has to take Sam's mouth again, suck and bite at his lower lip and take in the grunts and moans, thrust back and forth as much as he can between the two men, Star's cockhead nudging at his hole the most terrifying and amazing thing in the world.

Wild and possessed now, held tight and used for this, for their pleasure and this is nothing like. This is not. This is so good...

Star's holding him, tight and oddly tender, fingers over his heart. Just scraping Sam's chest with his nails, a secondary tease. Licking delicately at the back of Ric's neck, like some mouth not attached to the body driving against his ass. Never quite in him but always threatening, and he knows that sometime in the not-too-distant future, they'll do that properly. Gets a moment to picture lying on his back while Star spreads him and mounts him and fucks him, bigger and fiercer and more intense than Sam's careful touch inside.

Hauls Sam in tighter against him before he shakes the fantasy. Gets a leg forward and Sam's leg hooks obligingly over his hip. Foot rubbing along his thigh less immediate than the hard cock against his hip and the tight balls behind it. Tense even against the skin of his thigh, but he can't reach them until he slides an arm under Sam's. Gets a handful of that incredible ass and squeezes for a minute, some understanding of flesh and the way it moves, then slides his touch in farther and rubs Sam's balls with his fingertips.

"Ri-ic." Over-large blue eyes very close to his and wide open. Wider as Ric rubs each testicle separately under the soft, loose skin.

Sam's rhythm ragged now, attempting to match Ric's and still be as fast as he needs until he cups Ric cheeks and leans in close enough for a kiss, closer until their lips brush and slide against each other as they rock --

"Put it in me... your finger..."

Husky, hoarse voice, sound scraping over the accent and Star reaches across them to spread Sam's cheeks, making him flush even harder, making Ric want it to be Sam in the middle next time, Sam writhing between them and he's just that kind of hard where he knows he won't come for a while and wants to relax into it but Sam needs him.

Inside.

Slips his hand between them, gathering sweat and come, smearing it over Star's hand in a messy caress that earns him another hard thrust, another layer of awareness of his ass and this is exactly the kind of crazy he wants, hot and sweating and pushing two fingers into Sam. One wouldn't be enough and two is tight and Sam cries out and grinds against him.

Wordless plea for more and Ric thrusts and Star thrusts and Sam's eyes are squeezed shut, jaw clenched and head shaking back and forth. Sweat-dark curls falling over his face and the taste of his sweat on Ric's tongue and moving now, together, faster and harder, Star's soft grunts and their moans. Louder and harder together, Ric's face in Sam's throat, biting down, pushing and twisting his fingers, fucking him like he wants to fuck.

Like he wants to be fucked.

Soon. Soon. One day when they get out of here, somewhere south where they can do this with the air moving around them and hands going everywhere, feet tangling around his feet without the tangle of blankets. He's hot, he realizes. Sweating, and Sam's body against him is its own particular heat source. Enough all by itself, and he shoulders the blankets off, pushes them irritably down to his waist with the free hand and then pulls Sam tighter against him, pushes back against Star.

Who closes his mouth on Ric's shoulder and mauls him gently. Thrusts hard and shakes and comes, just wet between Ric's legs, which shouldn't be as good as it is. Slick that he wants to add to his touch in Sam but can't. Thrusts a bit harder, deeper, and jerks Sam close against him. Kisses the man through his orgasm, while he pants and whimpers and whispers their names. Both of them, which is... nice. More so than he expected.

Long moments just to be there together, held and holding, sweating and trying to breathe. Ric shifting onto his back, firmly in the wet spot to end all wet spots and utterly unable to care as Star and Sam switch back and forth between kissing him and each other. Tries to focus enough to study them when they kiss. Sam's dozily cheerful force, Star's thorough reserve. All that muscle looser now, sated, and the reserve has broken a little.

Enough that Ric can finally be sure that Star is taking his own pleasure from Sam, as opposed to just trying to please Ric. Hard to keep his ego in check around the man sometimes, hard to be anyone but Julio, who is. Loved.

Eventually Ric volunteers to be the one braving the cold to get them water, maybe Gatorade. He's feeling especially generous at the moment. And he has to know what's going on with the girls.

Not generous enough to go naked, but his sweats are still on the floor, and it's not hard to steal the top blanket. Leans over the bed and kisses both of them and goes. Ten steps down the hall before he realizes that he's barefoot and that's going to be uncomfortable.

But downstairs just the same. There are a couple of water bottles in the fridge that don't have anybody's name on them in permanent ink, and a case of Gatorade in a cupboard so cold it might as well be the fridge. Might even be colder.

Thinks for a minute, then takes more than one bottle. Appropriates cookies. And pads back upstairs, going to Terry's room instead of his. Knocks.

"Go awaaaaaay." Tabitha. And it's late, and that was definitely sleep in her voice, but. He has to know.

"I've got cookies..."

"Fuck you."

Followed by the sound of whispering, rustling... the sort of thing that just sends the young male imagination off to the stars, really. No way around it.

"Leave the cookies by the door."

Ric snickered. "Not a chance."

"I hate you, Ric. I hope you know that."

The door cracks open and a huge eye stares out at him. One that's utterly black and utterly not Tabitha's. Or Terry's.

"Friend-Rictor has cookies?"

He takes a minute to think about what exactly Caliban's presence might mean.

"Hey Cal. Um, yeah. They're," he checks, "something chocolate with a brand name. Looks good."

A big, ghost-white hand makes a grab for the bag and Rictor staggers back, clutching the cookies to his chest.

"I didn't hear 'please'."

Caliban looks profoundly disappointed, but he usually does when he forgets his manners.

"Caliban says please."

"Ric, stop teasing Cal and give him the goddamn cookies and go away," says Tabitha. There's a muffled thump and Ric hears feet hit the floor. Soft pat-pat and somebody pulls the door open properly.

Terry. In flannel pajamas and very thick socks. Caliban crouches behind her with his bear held to his chest.

"Give me the cookies, Ric."

"No please from you, either? Man, you leave a girl in the wild for a few days..."

"Friend-Rictor smells good." Caliban gives a long, slow blink and smiles. Showing all four thousand teeth.

Smells good? Oh, shit Ric takes one look at the flaring nostrils and takes a step back.

And Tabitha's there, also in flannel, bouncing a small bomb on her palm. "What, you've got a new cologne or something? You don't strike me as the perfume type..." Pushing past the others in an attempt to get a good whiff.

"Friend-Rictor is happy now?"

Ric surrenders the cookies and makes a break for it.

Behind him, he hears Tabitha say, "Ric, you smell like Sam. How come?"

"We're. Um. Pajama party. Liked your idea."

Still backing towards his room, but the blanket gets tangled around his ankles and he trips. Down in a heap, smacking his head against the wall, and for a second things are grey. And then white, because Caliban's got a big hand under his head and is sort of looming over him.

"Friend-Rictor is alright?"

"I'll live."

He pulls himself to his feet, gingerly. The girls stay in the doorway, sleepily staring while Caliban brushes him off. Little tenderness in his shoulder where 'Star's teeth worked him.

Caliban's breathing. Caliban's thorough, deep breathing. Which at that point could really only be called sniffing. Inhaling him.

"Friend-Rictor smells good," he reiterates, and pads back to Terry's room, having left a Caliban-sized handful of cookies on Ric's chest.

Which is just too perfectly him for words. And also maybe Sam. And also maybe all of them, in one way or another. Even himself.

Ric shakes it off as best he can and gathers his contraband, heads back into his room.

And closes the door behind him.

janete
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