What I Want

The last few days had been a strange and heady sensation. Perhaps, had he not been forcibly acquainted with violence at such a young age, Sam might have been more disturbed by the blood and gore that Dennis’ world seemed to shed. But even then… it didn’t seem like an adequate excuse.

Standing by the window of one of the high end boutique shops, Sam glanced over his shoulder at his sister who was smiling brightly at Marie and Brett, smoothie in hand. As a general rule, Sam was not fond of the shopping mall, particularly this floor, but life continued and he wasn’t going to avoid this place forever.

If Charity had seen Dennis covered in their father’s entrails, or if Charity had been present during that fight with King Crowley, would she have taken it so easily in her stride? Sam thought it unlikely.

There was a marked difference between them. They were twins, they had been through a very similar childhood, but Charity had emerged still able to see good in other people, still eager to make friends and indulge in a normal life, she would have been horrified, traumatised even, to see further bloodshed.

That one! That one! I want that one. In his arms, Missy squirmed, squeaking and flailing in the direction of a dress she had suddenly decided she loved the look of. It was a satin blue flapper style thing, sequined with little white shimmering stones.

“It’s too expensive, and it’s too big for you,” Sam told her firmly, “You said you just wanted to look.”

His Familiar huffed. Sam’s just jealous because Missy would pull it off so much better than he would.

Eyes rolling, Sam didn’t even bother to point out that he was not particularly bothered by the idea of looking less flattering in a slim fitting, over priced ball gown, than an otter would. He was happy to agree that they would both look terrible.

“She gets this way about clothes sometimes,” he explained to Dennis. “When I was eleven or twelve, she just wanted to pick things out for Charity, and then when we started Middle School, it became ‘Missy wants, Missy wants.’”

He ignored the reproachful nip.

Missy does not… I mean… I do not sound like that!

It was a mystery to Sam, that clear distinction between him and his sister, and it seemed wrong to start comparing who had what worse in which area. Despite their similar experiences, they were treated differently by the adults in their lives, and perhaps that was the reason for it? But even that was just a guess.

Missy squarely secured by both arms, Sam nudged Dennis with his shoulder to show that they were ready to move on.

No! The little otter wailed, paws struggling to return to the shop. Sam and Giftden got nice clothes today. I want some too! It’s not fair. Missy is on her period so boys have to be nice to her! Sam is not being fair! Boys don’t understand! Missy… I am a woman now!

“Real women don’t throw tantrums about dresses they can’t have.” A huff of annoyance escaped his lips, was she going to be like this all day? “We’ll get you something later, but not a dress, you don’t need it.”

This was another reason that Sam did not frequent the mall, and when he had done in the past, it was always with Missy contained in her… in her bag. That was something else Sam had recently discarded, another memory of his old home, something he’d grown so accustomed to using that he’d stopped even registering how or why. But, as much as Missy was irritating him right now, he wouldn’t do that to her again.

Stroking the back of her head, Sam urged her to lean away from his body, letting her body flop a little. Angled back he could look her in the eye, see the mottled flash of gold, intertwined with grey… Or was it silver?

He didn’t say anything to her, and she didn’t say anything to him, but they stared at one another for a while. Finally, Missy released an acquiescent sigh.

Okay, Missy doesn’t need the dress. But Sam and Giftden better get Missy something nice before we go home. Something as nice and expensive as all of your new clothes.

That really was something.

After Brett’s aunt had wandered off, Dennis had simply handed her credit card to the other group, and produced the wallet he’d stolen the other day from King. There had been no holes barred from there, anything Sam so much as glanced at, Dennis was happily encouraging him to try it on and buy it.

After a few awkward minutes, Sam had reminded himself that King Crowley was a bastard who had been torturing Dennis for years, and after that the whole thing became quite enjoyable.

Having chosen a few outfits for himself, Sam had picked out a few he thought might suit Dennis as well, because that vest top was most certainly not something his boyfriend would be stepping outside in again.

Nothing too extravagant, slim fitting shirts that looked like something right out of ‘Mousse’*, a proper leather jacket thrown in because… well… Sam just rather liked the idea of seeing Dennis in leather.

He dug around and found a few lazy clothes for them both as well, longer t-shirts, a few more vests, boxers, shorts, that sort of thing.

With his own outfits, Sam took more care. He had never had a chance to dress himself properly, for several rather glaring reasons, but now he felt that he had the means and the security… Well, if people were going to believe that he and Dennis were an item then Sam needed to make sure they knew to back the fuck off where his boyfriend was concerned. And, if he’d learned anything from listening to the cheerleaders bitch over the years, the main threat to boyfriend security were people who thought they were better looking than you and thought your boyfriend could do better.

Not on his fucking watch.

His looks had been a curse for as long as Sam could remember, they might as well start working for him now, because karma owed him.

He also dragged them to buy new school uniforms, picking out several sets that were the correct size. Trying them on and looking in the mirror, Sam was shocked by his own appearance. He knew his old uniform shirt and blazer had been a couple of sizes too big, but he really hadn’t noticed what sort of a difference it made on how his entire form seemed to transform. His back looked straighter, waistline trim, and the blazer didn’t sag in a depressed way off his shoulders.

The haircut had been next, because Sam was absolutely serious about that. Get rid of the fringe and sweep it back. For this part he’d kept Dennis close at hand, fingers locked together the entire time, tense whenever the barbour’s fingers brushed close to his neck, or shifted suddenly. Sam kept his gaze firmly fixed on the floor once his fringe was clear, avoiding all eye contact in the mirror.

Once the barbour declared he was done, and Sam had decided he was happy with the cut, he darted off the chair immediately, shifting around to stand close at his boyfriend’s side, holding tightly to Dennis’ arm while the other boy flashed King’s credit card and paid.

It would take some getting used to, but Sam was still determined. Someone like Dennis deserved to be seen with a person who matched him in looks, and Sam didn’t like the idea of anyone thinking they’d try their luck at luring Dennis’ attention away from him.

Most of their shopping had been piled up by the benches where the others were sitting and chatting. The entire centre was empty, save the shop staff, so they didn’t need to worry about anybody pinching their stuff.

Dragging Missy away from the boutique, it had been Sam’s intention to encourage Dennis onto the hardware shop, where they might be able to find some heavy duty cleaning equipment, and then he stopped.

This shop was new.

Beautifully crafted wooden instruments shone out through the glass display.

A row of handcrafted mahogany Boiswick guitars, a single Cassiopeia of pure ebony, a rich solid spruce cello, and several violins with their strings weaved tight along the neck.

They all made his hateful clarinet look like a child’s toy by comparison.

Sirius had a Boiswick, he’d brought it into Middle School when he was a member of the light music club, and he’d let Sam have a go. The music was unlike anything Sam had ever played before, and Sirius had taught him where to put his fingers for the chords. He also knew that Sirius’ eldest brother had a Cassiopeia because the other boy had told them.

…Sam missed music.

Proper music, not that drivel the school orchestra played.

Perhaps he was feeling nostalgic, spurred on by Charity reminding him of the old song that they had sung together as children.

I think she could play the cello, if I had hands. Missy’s voice broke him out of his reverence.

Throat a little dry, fingers squeezing around Dennis’, Sam looked away from the instruments and up at his boyfriend instead. Asking for clothes and a haircut felt like one thing, but an expensive musical instrument… Would that be taking advantage?

Charity would certainly think so, and she would be pissed if he walked away with something like that he hadn’t paid for or earned in any way.

But right now… looking back at the instruments, Sam had never wanted to own something more.

------------------

* Greece

What was an extravagant day out at the shops without a bit of light, harmless pickpocketing?

Of course, knicking that fat fuck, King's, wallet didn't count. It was just fair turnaround for being a bastard, that Dennis used the scumbag's money to buy a few nice things for his boyfriend. Sam deserved it as a bit of compensation, after that whole run in the other day. He didn't like that he'd given Blondie a reason to stress, so today was all about making up for it.

But that clothes that Missy wanted... Well, his littlest Soulmate wanted pretty things, and Dennis was not in the habit of denying Martja absolutely anything she wanted, so why should Missy be any different? One sister was very much like the other, as far as Dennis was concerned. Besides, he had to earn the nickname 'Giftden', didn't he?

So, while all of his and Sam's purchases were paid for at the expense of King Crowley, Missy's things were sneakily pinched while Sam and Missy's attention was elsewhere and the backs of the staff members were turned. Every now and then, when he needed a little help redirecting them, Marzi (who'd spent the whole day waddling around fluttering her eyelashes as his boyfriend like the filthy little hussy she was) would dive in and start squawking for attention, or go hissing and charging down the shop owners noisily, to draw Sam and Missy's attention away.

So far, Dennis had pinched Missy a couple of dresses (including that blue, glitzy thing he thought Sam really would have pulled off well, if he'd wanted to), about five necklaces, three packs of patterned scrunchies, a silky night top, a pleated skirt, two pairs of fluffy socks, some kitten heels, and a velvet scarf that cost more than Dennis's whole wardrobe. Here and there he'd thrown in some cheaper kid's jewellery too - purple Soulmate bands, glittery stickers, and a couple sets of friendship bracelets. Stuff he figured she would like.

Obviously, none of this was stuff she could wear outright, but Dennis... he kinda liked the idea of customising her little outfits here and there, using fabric she liked. Why shouldn't he spoil her? He wanted her to know that she was special too. Heck, he'd even make her a little school outfit, if she wanted to match them. If being able to dress up and be considered like any other girl was important to her, then he'd bend over backwards to make sure she got what she wanted... even if it meant sneaking shit in under Sam's nose and surprising them both later. It didn't matter. Dennis liked a challenge.

Still, by the time they'd visited the barbers (Sam had been nervous there, and so Dennis had watched the barber with a wide, bright smile and sharp eyes from the first snip to the last, holding onto Sam's hand and stroking his thumb over the other boy's knuckles as he did so), done their clothe and school shopping, and had a chance for Dennis to fall over himself like a total fuckin knob about how damned cute his boyfriend was, his rucksack, carryall and all the carrier backs he'd been dumping along with the others were crammed full of hijacked gifts and illegally paid for goods.

It had been a productive day and Dennis had enjoyed seeing Sam and Missy properly relax a little, bantering amongst themselves while Marzi circled them all in a protective, crab-walking, wing-batting dance.

After dumping more of their pilfered purchases (including that last dress Missy had liked) down where Brett, Charity, and Marie Donahue were all gabbing at each other, Dennis had been more than happy to trail after his unbelievably attractive boyfriend, wherever he went.

They hadn't gotten far, though, before Sam stopped dead in his tracks, all conversation between him and Missy petering out, as his head turned towards...

Dennis looked around, and his eyebrows rose up towards his hairline.

A music store?

Glancing back at Sam, the expression of unadulterated longing etched into his boyfriend's face through the softness at the corners of his mouth and the creasing at the edges of his eyes, stole his breath. In his chest, his heart began to race, blood thrumming with that same, sharp note it had started following since Monday. His mouth watered.

Want. That was what it was. He wanted Sam...

To be happy. Obviously. That was what he wanted.

He ran his tongue over his teeth and sucked, one side of his mouth twitching up into a crooked grin.

I think she could play the cello, if I had hands, Missy said, from the crook of Sam's arm. Dennis tore his eyes away from the slight colour rising in his boyfriend's ears, to step closer so that his chest brushed against Sam's shoulder. This close to the two of them, it was so much easier to weave his and Martja's Bond tighter around them, until the coolness of it lapped over their ankles and rose up their shins in an incoming tide, shivering cold and clean, and humming with the roar of an ocean storm.

Let's go inside, he said, leaning down to run his lips over Sam's smooth cheek, and raisign his free hand to ruffle Missy's fur.

Before either of them got a chance to complain, Dennis moved around them, tugging on Sam's hand, and whistling sharply for Marzi (who was busy trying to clamber into one of the open-topped bins by the edge of a nearby sushi restaurant) to follow. It wasn't really necessary to keep the vulture close, but giving her a sense of purpose with something like 'guarding' tended to save on her being such a massive pain in the arse, or potentially maiming some poor sod passing by on their lunch break.

Through their connection, she croaked a noise of wordless understanding, as Dennis, Sam, and Missy ducked inside.

The scent of what Dennis imagined was wood varnish and brass polish greeted them, heady and expensive. Dennis' fingers itched, to touch everything. Or perhaps to break something. But... he shot Sam another sidelong glance. That'd upset him, wouldn't it? Dennis somehow couldn't imagine Sam being cool with him smashing up an instrument like this for the sheer sake of it.

Next best thing for that, then, was...

"Choose anything you want," he said, voice quiet, but eyes intent. Dennis stepped closer again and reached out to flick back Sam's fringe - now too short for his old excuse for touching not to pass as reasonable. Not that it mattered anymore; he didn't need excuses, now. He leaned in to press his lips to Sam's temple. Not a kiss, but something more possessive. 'My partner,' the gesture said. 'My heart.' He had used it with Sam before, more than once, but this was the first time he'd really wanted to impart the meaning.

Before he drew back, he brushed his nose through Sam's soft, short hair and breathed in the scent that was unique to him - peppermint oil, cool soap, and something sharp and clean. He'd almost taken off the barber's fingers earlier when the guy'd tried to spritz some ugly-smelling shit in his boyfriend's hair. Fucking moron. It was bad enough that the barber had been touching him - as if Dennis wanted any other sign that someone else had been near Sam than that. It was almost enough incentive for Dennis to try taking up hairdressing, for fuck's sake.

Pulling back, his smile softened, and his fingers trailed down Sam's throat in a soft, buzzing slide. "The other day, when you played that harmonica, you lit up. If I wasn't already arse-over-tits in love with you since we were tiny, I would've fallen for you then." It was sappy shit that might have made him gag to hear anyone else say, but what did it matter? It was the truth, and he wanted Sam to know how special he was. "I like seeing you being passionate about things. You're stunning when you're enjoying what you're doing, Blondie."

Stealing a quick, soft peck at the corner of his boyfriend's mouth, he looked into eyes the colour of frothing waves and winked cheekily.

"We're not leaving until you pick out at least one thing," he said, moving back a step. And then, looking between them at the otter, he said, "And while a cello might be a bit on the big side for you, Missy, I bet a fiddle or a small violin could be used the same way... if you behave. I do owe you a couple of presents, after all."

Knowing that would wind both of his new Soulmates up to no end, Dennis bit back the laughter warming his chest, and nodded for Sam to go on and explore.

Let's go inside.

Feeling the brush of Dennis’ lips against his cheek, and the soothing wave of his boyfriend’s voice in his head, Sam felt his ears redden and his heart quicken. He was still getting used to the feeling of a person who wasn’t Missy in his head, but it wasn’t at all unpleasant. Dennis being close was something he liked, and there was something pleasingly intimate about being able to hear each other’s voices.

Around his ankles, Dennis and Martja’s side of the Bond lapped at his heels, and Missy whistled happily.

Happy to allow Dennis to lead him inside by the hand, Sam followed with Missy curled safely over his other arm. When she heard Dennis’ sharp whistle, Marzi followed them, wings flapping as she skittered across the smooth marble floor. Unsure whether she was going to stand guard outside or follow them into the shop itself, Sam was quickly distracted when they passed over the threshold.

Eyes wide, Sam inhaled. Instruments, as they were supposed to be, how they were supposed to smell, it was a sensory paradise, and Sam could feel the tempo of his heart lift and the inside of his stomach fluttering.

It reminded him of the day Mum had taken him and Charity to get their first instruments. Sam had spent nearly an hour inside, trying out everything, unable to decide, and that had been a significantly cheaper shop than this one.

"Choose anything you want."

Attention drawn back to Dennis, blush spreading along his sinuses, Sam lifted his stormy blue eyes to peer, unobstructed, into Dennis’ molten gold. The other boy’s fingers brushed through his shorter fringe, reminiscent of contact exchanged over so many years, and then lips pressed against his forehead.

Meaning buzzed behind the touch, but not in words, it was more like a feeling. And that feeling said ‘My partner, my heart’.

The blush spread a little further down the back of his neck, and he maintained eye contact when Dennis’ fingers skimmed down his throat, following the trail. A thrumming sensation followed the touch, and Sam was more than happy to lean into it, to move closer, press closer. He wanted to tangle his fingers in the other boy’s hair and kiss him.

"The other day, when you played that harmonica, you lit up. If I wasn't already arse-over-tits in love with you since we were tiny, I would've fallen for you then. I like seeing you being passionate about things. You're stunning when you're enjoying what you're doing, Blondie."

That was one of the things Sam loved about Dennis, nobody else said those things to him. Even people who had claimed to appreciate him, claimed to see something desirable in him, it was never so personal, and never so selfless. Sam didn’t need Dennis to love the music he played, he just needed Dennis to love him while he was enjoying it.

The peck on the corner of his lips left Sam fidgeting for more.

"We're not leaving until you pick out at least one thing."

At least one thing…

“And while a cello might be a bit on the big side for you, Missy, I bet a fiddle or a small violin could be used the same way... if you behave. I do owe you a couple of presents, after all.”

Dennis nodded, encouraging him to go and explore, but before he did, Sam did exactly what he’d wanted to do earlier. Reaching forward, he tangled his hands in Dennis’ hair pulling the other boy into a chaste, but otherwise passionate kiss. Pulling back, fingers still tangled through dark curls, the corner of Sam’s mouth twitched into a smile. “She can have a harmonica, nothing else. She’ll just chew the strings when she loses her temper, and it would break my heart to see one of these beautiful creations ruined.”

With that said, Sam ducked his head forward again, this time moving at a curious and uncertain pace, leaning in to press his lips to his boyfriend’s temple. Not a kiss, but the same mimicked movement that Dennis had imprinted on him several times over the last few weeks.

“Stay close.” He requested, handing Missy over to Dennis, as he walked a little deeper into the shop.

Giftden is nice to Sam. Mis… I always knew that Giftden was special.

Sam started with the piano. He had to, it was beautiful.

One hand bracing over the keys, he ran through the opening bars of one of the pieces on his oldest tape, a recording of the Shiire Royal Orchestra.

A couple of mistakes, he ran through it again, shifting himself around the stool to settle where his feet could reach the pedals, something he’d never been able to manage as a small child.

He started again, introducing the second hand, practising with the pedals. The sound was so much richer than anything Sam had ever experienced before, no tinny tape recording, listened to through headphones, could ever do this sound justice.

Breathing falling into line with each note, and the rhythm of his heart falling in line with that, Sam closed his eyes and played.

His fingers, out of practice, stumbled and made another mistake, but he carried on regardless this time, following the pattern of twirling colour and light that drew his finger to each new note, each new chord.

In his head he could see and create a work of art. How he longed to show Dennis, and perhaps, if an S-Rank Bond was really as powerful as people said, artificial or not, perhaps one day he would be able to show the other boy.

The piano was beautiful, but it would take up so much space in their room, and Sam had no idea how long they would be there anyway. It seemed wrong to buy something so expensive and precious when your living situation was still so precarious.

Reaching the end of the short piece, Sam let the final heavy note land, letting it cross the canvas in a splatter of winter blues.

Eyes open, he released a small sigh and slipped off the stool away from the piano, but not before letting his fingers brush longingly across the lip of her open mouth.

Away from the pianos, he avoided woodwinds, and went straight to strings.

Guitars weren’t his favourite, but he was hardly going to pass up the chance to have another go on a Boiswick.

Chords first, Sam let muscle memory lead him to the right place, cringing whenever he failed to press at the right angle and the note came out flat. However, it helped to give him a good impression of where those notes sat on the neck, and he adjusted his fingers to tab, already able to feel the bruising against his fingers, as he was unaccustomed to the instrument. He doubted he could do any song any real justice, so he just played out the first minute of the song that Sirius had taught him.

It was a pretty enough sound, but the art in his head was incomplete. It was a song that was supposed to be performed by a band, and a lone guitar would never be able to properly replicate it.

Even so, he twiddled out a small little melody of his own, and then set the guitar down again.

Giving his hand a small shake and rubbing his fingers together to tend to the little ridges that had risen against the soft points, Sam turned his attention to an instrument he had held a particular fascination with from a very young age.

Arm extending, standing on the tips of his toes, Sam wavered over the different violins for a few seconds, before selecting a particularly dark flavoured instrument with its well strung bow.

This instrument was less foreign to him. In Middle School, during down time between practises, he’d managed to borrow one of the school’s instruments to practise on, trying to mimic the movements of the other kids he’d seen in the string section just in front of him.

The strings weren’t quite as hard on his fingers, and the movements were smaller and more subtle than those required of a guitar.

Fixing the instrument carefully under his chin, Sam considered it a moment before playing a gentle ‘C’ to test the sound.

It was rich, a deep velvet red, not the neon flash given off by the school instruments, and it carried with it something almost comparable to a scent, rich and bitter like melting dark chocolate. That was a new experience, and Sam played the note again. The colour sprang up again, but so did the subtle undertone of the scent.

‘C’ followed by ‘D’. A pastel sunflower yellow, warm like Summer and the gentle sensation of peach.

They weren’t real scents, and Sam knew his brain wasn’t registering them as such, it was less vivid that the colour and more like a sensation than anything else, another way his brain was choosing to perceive the music.

Adjusting his fingers, Sam ghosted his fingers over the opening notes, just as he’d practised them in his bedroom in the quiet moments he had at home. It was a song he’d loved when he had heard it for the first time at the age of 6, but since then it had become a bit of a joke, understood to no one but him.

The cheerful tone of Major notes, coupled with the pacing of a dance performed by people far more glamorous than Sam and his sister could ever hope to be. The song reminded him of the dreams and games of a child, there was an innocence to it, a well meaning and well intended chirp that meant nobody any harm. It simply existed to try and bring pleasure and happiness where it went.

As Sam painted in his head through this song, he let the colours dictate, spreading and forming through transitional Winter and Spring. Little green buds, peering curiously out from their soil beds, vulnerable to the frost that could sweep them away, but they were so eager to see the sun.

When Sam was feeling particularly angry, he’d summon the frost back with his fingers moving over the invisible neck of the violin, to bring forth a wind that struck down the curious little buds. Other times he left the song with their fates undecided, but today he let them grow just a little.

Fingers lovingly stroking across the neck, Sam lowered the violin. It was a good instrument, small and portable, light and easy to carry. If he and Dennis ever had to go somewhere without notice, their destination undecided, then this wouldn’t hinder them.

Still… Sam’s eyes moved over to the cellos. He still wanted to have a go.

Laying the violin down carefully on one of the benches, Sam moved over to the cello. He had just reached out for the nearest one when a man appeared from behind one of the corners.

Any ease Sam had for music departed immediately, and he jolted away from the cello, head spinning as he looked around in panic for Dennis. A buzz of alarm sounded in his head, and it did not ease until he had located his boyfriend, who was standing only a few feet away.

“I apologise, I did not mean to…”

Sam reached for his boyfriend’s arm, and suddenly aware of his exposed face, he pressed it against Dennis’ shoulder.

“It’s okay.” The man was trying to speak. “My wife, my Soulmate, she’s a fourth generation DeBleu. It doesn’t work on me.”

What was he talking about?

Don’t hurt him, but don’t let him come any closer. Sam knew that Dennis had to obey his words, not that he didn’t trust Dennis to keep him safe even if that compulsion didn’t exist, but it gave him comfort to know that he was safe.

Thankfully, when Sam peered up again, the man had stopped, hands raised.

“I simply wished to compliment you on your playing, remarkably accomplished. Are you third or fourth generation?”

Frowning, Sam shook his head.

This only seemed to confuse the man, but he didn’t push or ask any more questions.

“If you are interested in the Cassiopeia they come in several different styles. The Grand Piano is of course our finest piece, but it does cost 1,100 don, and takes up quite a lot of space. At a more affordable range, and within a more affordable price range we have the Studio Pianos at 140 don. Our cheapest Upright model is 320 don, and the sound is much closer to that of the Grand Piano model, but it takes up significantly less space and is much cheaper.”*

Sam didn’t know anything about pianos based on their names, apart from what defined a grand piano, and apart from the cheap untuned models at school, he had only ever once seen a piano of this quality in that style.

Still holding onto Dennis’ arm, face still partially hidden, Sam kept his eyes fixed on the knot of the man’s tie, rather than his face.

“What’s an Upright model?”

When the man made to move, Sam shook his head.

“Don’t move, stay there. Just tell me.”

Sam expected the man to argue, and he was admittedly quite surprised when he didn’t.

“They look a little like the smaller models of piano you can set against a wall, but they’re taller and designed to carry the sound much more clearly.”

Another nod, and Sam turned his head away again, pressing it deep into the curve of Dennis’ shoulder.

He can go now. But I still don’t want him to come near us, not unless we’re paying for something.

“Well, if you need anything else, I’ll be by the till.”

Footsteps, the man retreated away, but Sam still waited an extra heartbeat before raising his head to look into his boyfriend’s beautiful amber eyes.

“Would it be possible for me to get a piano? As well as the violin? One of those Upright model things? I know if we had to move quickly we wouldn’t be able to take it with us… But…” He brushed his nose against the other boy’s shoulder, careful to phrase his words as a question so that Dennis could answer as he wished. They’d been spending a lot of King’s money today, but Sam had more or less just asked for 680 don for two musical instruments, and he didn’t want Dennis getting into too much trouble for all of this.

------------------------------

Sam Piano song = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JFnjwGlzX6A
Sam Guitar song = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R6-YdUkWBPU (Only the first minute)
Sam Violin song = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XIKEd03WVWI

* 1,100 don = £27,500
140 don = 3,500
320 don = £8,000

680 don = £17,000

While Sam moved from instrument to instrument, playing each one with a grace and skill that Dennis knew he couldn't truly appreciate on a musical level, but loved for his boyfriend's sheer enjoyment alone, Dennis stood closeby and watched. He cuddled Missy close and tickled her belly by turns, using the livelier pockets of music to bring her close and blow raspberries on her fluffy neck and side, and the slower moments to sway in time, dancing with her like she was a princess. All of this, he did while watching Sam, his eyes soft and his smile wide and genuine.

He'd always known Sam was a gifted musician. For as long as he'd known the other boy, he'd followed him about and listened under windows, or from behind closed doors, eyes shut and head tilted to catch the tune. There had been a spot on the stone wall just outside of the middle school music room, where Orchestra had practiced, which Dennis sat and watched from religiously, whenever Sam was present. Even if he couldn't understand the tunes in an intuitive way, like Siri, Brett, and that arsehole Rowan seemed able to, he could still find peace and enjoyment in the rhythm, and the comfort it brought his boyfriend.

What Sam loved, Dennis loved. What made him happy, Dennis treasured. It was really as simple as that.

Just as Sam was moving a step ahead of him, towards one of the big string instruments that Dennis assumed was a Cello, Marzi blasted a warning through their connection.

DENNIS. BAD STRANGER. STUPID BASTARD. Out loud, from the entrance of the stoor, Marzi croaked and lunged in, hopping in wide arcs across the floor with her wings flared.

At the same time, Sam sprang back from the cello and spun around to search out Dennis. Alarm shot through the back of Dennis' skull, and the same pounding drive to attack--the one that he'd had on Monday when they'd packed up all of Sam's belongings from his old house--returned with a vengeance. Hissing, spitting rage as he spotted the cause for alarm, and he moved forwards to block his path, even as Marzi reached them, snapping her wickedly sharp beak and blocking the man's path with a series of whistling breaths.

“I apologise, I did not mean to…”

As soon as he was within reaching distance, Sam reached out for him, stepping back and tucking his face down against Dennis' shoulder so that the stranger couldn't see his face. Dennis' bared his teeth in the mockery of a smile, eyeing up his stance to search for likely weaknesses. He was favouring his left side, and he held his right shoulder higher than the other. Spinal injury? Weakness in his hip? Arthritis? He wasn't old, but those sorts of issues weren't limited to age. They were also relatively easy to exploit.

Shifting his hold on Missy so that she was cradled in the crook of the arm that Sam was holding onto - an additional block between him and his boyfriend - Dennis widened his stance, shifting partially forwards to further block his view.

“It’s okay. My wife, my Soulmate, she’s a fourth generation DeBleu. It doesn’t work on me.”

Making note of the comment--something to ponder over later, along with Dennis' own, long-time suspicions and Marie Donahue's comments, over the course of the last day or two--Dennis said with biting cheer, "Great story, bro; no one fucking asked."

Don’t hurt him, but don’t let him come any closer.

Dennis' head twitched to the side as he considered this, and then his grin stretched wider. "You're lucky. My Soulmate doesn't want me to hurt you. But that doesn't mean my Familiar won't. Take another step closer and she'll rip your guts out."

Yes. Stupid small man. Marzi will bite ugly bad man.

To emphasise this point, Marzi snapped her beak with an audible clack, and flapped he wings hard enough to stir the hair on their heads. Her talons clicked against the floor as she sidestepped, and Dennis' blood rushed with satisfaction. He'd seen her disembowel bigger men and women than this dude before. He'd seen her take Familiar out of the sky to skewer on barbed wire fences. That she was willingly defending Sam made Dennis forgive her for all her shameless flirting over the last 24 hours.

The man raised his hands, paler now, and seeming to understand the severity of his fuckup. Maybe the creep shouldn't approach unsuspecting teenage boys then, huh? He'd ruined Sam's time by stuffing his bent nose in where it wasn't welcomed.

“I simply wished to compliment you on your playing, remarkably accomplished. Are you third or fourth generation?”

While Sam shook his head, Dennis bristled. "Enough of the personal questions," he said, all feigned warmth gone from his voice. He didn't like that this dude thought he had the right to keep pushing for a conversation when they'd already made their lack of interest in him blatantly apparent.

After a brief pause, the man apparently decided to wind his neck in.

“If you are interested in the Cassiopeia they come in several different styles. The Grand Piano is of course our finest piece, but it does cost 1,100 don, and takes up quite a lot of space. At a more affordable range, and within a more affordable price range we have the Studio Pianos at 140 don. Our cheapest Upright model is 320 don, and the sound is much closer to that of the Grand Piano model, but it takes up significantly less space and is much cheaper.”

Against his arm, Sam shifted. Dennis didn't turn to check, yellow eyes locked on the clerk to track every minor movement.

“What’s an Upright model?”

As soon as the man made to move, Marzi mock lunged, her beak snapping shut a mere inch from his dick. To his credit, the mad didn't piss himself and run away screaming bloody murder. Or perhaps it just spoke volumes about his stupidity.

“Don’t move, stay there. Just tell me.”

Since Sam had asserted his own boundary there, Dennis didn't add anything else on. If the dumb bastard couldn't understand the warnings they were giving him, then let Marzi at him, Dennis said.

“They look a little like the smaller models of piano you can set against a wall, but they’re taller and designed to carry the sound much more clearly.” Was that a slight tremor in his voice? Dennis' satisfaction doubled, and then tripled when Sam buried his face back into his shoulder.

He can go now. But I still don’t want him to come near us, not unless we’re paying for something.

With the slightest nod of his head, knowing that Sam and Missy would be able to hear him too, Dennis said to Marzi, Let him go for now. The second he tries coming back, tear his fucking balls off.

Marzi hopped from foot to foot and croaked, as excited as she always was by the prospect of a bloodbath.

"Kindly fuck off now, before I lose my temper," Dennis said, voice once again lit with barbed cheer.

“Well, if you need anything else, I’ll be by the till,” the man said, before carefully backing away and beating a hasty retreat.

Only after Dennis was happy with the distance between them (Marzi crowed with delight in his head as she chased him away and crowded him in behind the counter) did he turn to look into Sam's monsoon blue eyes. The heightened beating of his pulse pulled at his blood and itched at his bones, until Dennis turned fully towards him, free hand raising to stroke over Sam's hair and thumb gently at the shell of his ear, right at the point his blush always started.

“Would it be possible for me to get a piano? As well as the violin? One of those Upright model things? I know if we had to move quickly we wouldn’t be able to take it with us… But…” A nose brushed lightly over his shoulder, and Dennis shivered, brain going spongey as that fucking adorable face blinked up at him.

Unable to resist, but careful not to squish Missy, Dennis gently urged Sam's face up and pressed a firm, chaste kiss to his lips, threading the needy heat of his affection through their fledgling Bond. The kiss lingered, tame but hint at more, and with the slightest graze of teeth which made his mouth tingle oddly, Dennis withdrew.

Pupils dilated and a blush dusting over the bridge of his nose, Dennis tipped their foreheads together to express, 'Precious one.' Another sign he had used again and again with Sam. "Course it is," he said softly. " As if King, that fat old fuck, will even know the difference. Six-hurndred-odd don's not a drop in the bucket for an heir of the Four, Blondie. You could buy out the whole store and it wouldn't even flag on his card. No one'll know the difference for weeks, and even then, he won't do shit, since at least as far as he's concerned we're under Aunt Struck's care now. As much of a bitch as she can be sometimes, she'd beat the everloving crap out of him if he so much as breathed wrong near us."

Pausing for another moment, Dennis leaned in for a softer kiss, pressed again to his cheek. His skin hummed, and the rush of a river current played in his ears.

"You can have both of those. Of course you can. Is that all you want? You're sure you don't want to take anything else too?"

After the alarm, Dennis’ kiss came as a reassurance, and Sam curled in against it, eye flickering closed as the Bond rose up, ocean spray tickling the skin on his cheek. Feeling the light brush of Dennis’ teeth against his lip, Sam released a small needy sound, not loud enough to carry.

Missy heard it, because Sam practically felt her rolling her eyes.

If Giftden and Sam are going to get all weird and mushy then I’ll go and help Marzi. Keep the shop man in line.

But Sam wasn’t listening, too consumed by Dennis when the other boy let their foreheads brush, and Sam once again caught that strange sensation. Not words, but a meaning carried on the same tone. ‘Precious one.'

Blush darkening, already making progress down his neck again, Sam brushed his fingers through the soft little hairs at the base of Dennis’ skull, nails grazing the area ever so carefully.

"Course it is. As if King, that fat old fuck, will even know the difference. Six-hurndred-odd don's not a drop in the bucket for an heir of the Four, Blondie. You could buy out the whole store and it wouldn't even flag on his card. No one'll know the difference for weeks, and even then, he won't do shit, since at least as far as he's concerned we're under Aunt Struck's care now. As much of a bitch as she can be sometimes, she'd beat the everloving crap out of him if he so much as breathed wrong near us.”

His own half of the Bond coming up to meet Dennis’, Sam let the spinning rapids of the river encircle them, crashing and breaking as they made contact with Dennis' ocean. The other boy’s lips were soft against his cheek.

"You can have both of those. Of course you can. Is that all you want? You're sure you don't want to take anything else too?"

Sam shook his head. “These will be enough to keep me occupied for a bit. I’ve never learned to play the violin properly, and I’m pretty rusty on the piano, those were just songs I knew well.” He waved vaguely in the direction of the instruments.

With a wiggle, Missy slipped out of Dennis’ arms, hitting the ground with a thump that sent a waving sudden jolt through Sam’s spine.

Would you be careful.

Missy huffed softly. I forgot to brace for landing. I got confused. Missy is on her period.

Apparently that was going to be the excuse for everything this week. Speaking of, Sam stepped away from Dennis so that he could curl down on bending knees and clutch his abdomen, catching a particularly burning cramp. It only lasted a minute, but it left him feeling a little nauseous.

Fingers braced against Dennis’ shoulder, Sam released a small huff.

“If you ever wanted a sign that I loved you, then this is it. I would not tolerate this torture for anyone less.” He maintained a firm expression for a few seconds, fixing his gaze upon Dennis, and then, to reassure the other boy that he was (somewhat) joking, he let the corner of his lip twitch.

Head tilting up, Sam caught his boyfriend’s lips with his own.

I liked it when you called us Soulmates. Dennis had kept him safe. Even if that man wasn’t a proper threat, Dennis had still kept him back, Sam had felt safe. Even if they shared this Bond with Martja and Missy, Sam liked the sense of belonging that word evoked. Even if it wasn’t natural, the rest of the world didn’t need to know that, they had a claim to one another that nobody could question.

He broke the kiss, pupils wide, the storm in his eyes building into a tempest. The blood in his body was pounding in time with his heart, Sam was dizzy with it, drunk on everything Dennis was. Dennis would kill to protect him, there were no lines that Dennis wouldn’t cross.

Directionless, and unsure where to direct his energy or the building urge, Sam drew his boyfriend into a tight hug, bodies slotting together, chest to chest, Sam’s face pressing into Dennis’ warm cheek.

He simply stayed there for two full minutes, until enough of his body had calmed for Sam to feel steady enough to pull away again, the surface of his skin still feeling hot.

“The piano and the violin.” He nodded, reluctantly stepping back so that he could take up the violin from where it had been left on the bench. “Call Marzi back while we talk to the man at the counter. I don’t want him to make a mistake with the order because he’s frightened.”

As for what the man had said earlier…

It wasn’t the first time that Sam had experienced that strange assumption behind his heritage.

A DeBleu… The idea was pretty laughable. But, considering he and Charity had no idea who their father was, perhaps he was some 3rd or 4th generation DeBleu. It wasn’t exactly uncommon on the Island to have some vague heritage leading back to the Hondas, Crowleys, or DeBleus. Either that or everyone was getting carried away, not everybody with blonde hair and blue eyes was a DeBleu.

However, the man did have a point. Reflecting back, Sam hadn’t detected any of the usual glints in the shop man’s eyes. He said something about it ‘not working’ on him, because his Soulmate was a DeBleu?

Was he talking about the whole ‘draw’ thing that Sam had finally allowed himself to be convinced of following his conversation with Dennis about the Click.

Gods, was it really worth obsessing over?

His dad, whoever he was, had left Sam and Charity in that house for years. He knew who they were, Sam had evidence enough of that, but he had still chosen to leave them. He could have been Sèbastian DeBleu himself and it wouldn’t have made a difference.

Either way, Sam or Charity weren’t proper DeBleus and they never would be.

Any protection Sam had gotten over the years hadn’t come from his absent father, it hadn’t come from his mother, and it certainly hadn’t come from ‘Dad’. The person who had saved him, protected him wherever possible, that was Dennis. Being of aristocratic descent only mattered to snobs and arseholes who had nothing else going on in their lives.

Best they just made their purchases and got out of here, he would leave the details to Dennis.