Chapter Text
July had shown its horribly humid face.
Peter always hated July. A dreadful affair from childhood where, on the hot days, he’d been driven back into Moorland instead of exploring the grounds. He’d been subject to many a cornering from his younger siblings, who’d had a sort of idolization of him.
And a savior complex for him, as it turned out. Trying to get him in on their games and engage with him. Save him from the rest of the family.
That didn’t matter, not anymore.
He’d been avoiding Elias after the breakfast fiasco, to marginal success. He didn’t want to think about feelings. He didn’t need to know about his own, or face any sort of temptation to follow up. As he looked at himself in the mirror this morning he looked...healthy. The white in his hair had stopped spreading, the natural color of his curls longer than they’d been in years, and there was a certain color to his skin that he wasn’t used to. A color he didn’t usually have.
Staying here was killing the Lonely in him, he realized quite suddenly. Angrily. The yearning he had for Elias was barely feeding it, with the fact that it was requited. It wasn’t acted on, aside from the manipulative kisses Peter initiated. But it was enough. Domestic.
And, though he still went out for sacrifices, the fact that he had a place he came home to each night, a person he came home to each night, was murdering the Lonely in him.
He had to go. He had to figure out how to leave before he was stuck here, not by any supernatural means, but by human ones.
He left the room, moving quickly down the stairs to the door. He realized he couldn’t leave. Elias wasn’t at work. He’d re-negotiated the terms and now he couldn’t leave if Elias was here. He shut the door, frustrated, and moved back up the stairs.
“Peter.” He heard a voice call. He ignored it, until he felt the familiar tug that accompanied Elias's next words. “Come here."
Peter sighed, and went to the study.
Elias held a letter in his hands, reading over it carefully. He didn’t look up. Called in just to be ignored. Peter didn’t mind that at all. Peter sat across from him, eyes trailing to the shelves of books. It was comfortably vague enough, until he looked down at the desk and saw the envelope.
Peter froze.
“Is it your birthday, Peter?” Elias asked, blunt. The letter was placed to the side. Judith. His twin. His betrayer. She may as well be Judas to him in this exact moment. She’d never once forgotten to send a letter in July, even if Peter had never opened them. Never once replied. She must have remembered the address from the congratulations. Peter scowled at the letter, the pretty, neat script of the sister who refused to let him go. His expression faded, sliding back to the vaguely numb smile. He kept his voice perfectly cheery.
“You didn’t know?”
“I didn’t look. Is it today?”
Peter shrugged.
“Today is the 12th.”
Peter made no response, shrugging again.
“...You don’t know what day your birthday is?”
“No. And I don’t want to, Elias, before you poke into my head!” Peter cleared his throat, pulling the letter from Elias's hands. There was a brief moment of curiosity. To read it, see what Judith had to say to him after all these years. What does she do? Where is she? Why does she still care about him?
He ignored the questions, loving the pang of loneliness that rewarded him for such an effort, and crumpled the letter into a ball. He threw it into Elias's bin. “We’re not told the day.”
That’s enough explanation on Peter’s part, but it seemed to spark some curiosity into Elias's gaze. He could feel it prickle deeper, searching. No doubt he wanted to know more about Lukas family childhoods. How traumatizing they were. The horror of them. Something he could use to scare Peter or another Lukas.
Peter would not be obliging that curiosity. He kept his expression neutral, blank. Didn’t think of any specific moments that Elias could use. The prickling feeling pulled back after a moment, disappointed.
"Is that all, Elias?” He asked, flatly enough.
Elias straightened, crossing his hands over each other neatly. Peter hadn’t noticed how close he’d leaned in. “We will, of course, have to celebrate.”
“I would rather not.”
“It will be a small party, don’t worry.”
The idea of a party was horrifying enough to Peter. People milling about that he was expected to speak with. Hours of that. He smiled, teeth grinding together slightly. “Again. I’d rather not. ”
Elias ignored him. Peter’s hands curled into fists. Infuriating man.
“And how old are you now, Peter?”
“I don’t know.” Peter answered, feeling a prickle that urged him on. There was no harm in guessing. He racked up the years mentally. “...Close to thirty, give or take.”
“Hm. Let’s go with thirty, then. A nice, even, number. That’s what I’ll tell the guests.”
Peter grimaced. “No guests.”
--
Peter was drunk. Peter was extremely drunk. It was the only way he could stand Elias' guests. Or this party at all.
Simon, at least, was bearable. But, they’d met before. When Peter was a fresh captain, he had taken the Tundra into deep enough waters that Simon had noticed, dropping next to him one day to ask him about his ship. Peter had spoken to the skinny old man with an arrogance he regretted. The old man had smiled and made him drop. ...He made him drop for so long. It was impossible to tell the time exactly, but Peter remembered falling deeper and deeper into cold water, unable to right himself. Unable to swim.
...Peter had been kinder after that. Had even engaged with Simon when he showed his shriveled, cheerful, little face.
He wasn’t bad company. Happy, didn’t delve too deep. They had each other’s numbers, and Peter could consider him an acquaintance. Simon was fine being here, and Peter found himself laughing a bit at his antics.
But the other one. Maxwell Rayner. Unsettlingly blank eyes, a calm and measured tone. Peter knew who he was and tried very carefully not to speak too much to him. He struck him as dangerous, in a temperamental way instead of a whimsical one.
Elias at least had spared him any more than those two, and Peter had a pleasant enough time playing cards with them. They sat in Elias’ decorative sitting room, staring portraits and all, and played. Simon and Rayner sat on chairs on either side, and Elias and Peter sat in the middle couch, close enough that their knees bumped occasionally. Peter, for his part, kept very still, eyes on his cards.
He didn't want to think about the jolt touching Elias sent through him.
Elias didn’t participate every round, preferring to speak idly with the guests. Trail a hand possessively across Peter’s upper arm. Peter had flinched the first few times, but he’d gotten used to it.
The group seemed content to speak without Peter, only occasionally drawing him in.
He felt as if he were the least important part of this gathering. The three others made him feel small, insignificant. ...Young. His intoxicated brain clung curiously to that last part. He was the youngest in the room, but not by much, especially with Elias.
Elias passed a hand along his back, leaning down to press a kiss to Peter’s lips before leaving the room. Peter's shoulders relaxed. The other two didn’t even blink, continuing to play without pause. Perhaps Elias had partners around before.
“...Say.” Simon said after a moment. “Does Elias keep you in the loop now? Since you’re so happily married?”
“The loop?” Peter replied with confusion.
“The loop! Halley and I wondered-” Simon paused, seeming to measure out his words carefully. “-What he tells you about himself.”
Peter snorted, placing a card down and picking one up. “No weaknesses, if that’s what you’re talking about!”
Simon frowned, looking to the other man. Rayner cleared his throat, folding his cards onto the table, withdrawing from the game.
“What is your husband’s name?” He asked, rather bluntly.
“...Elias.” Peter said, confused.
Rayner passed Simon a note. Peter didn’t look close enough to see how much, but he realized what it’d meant. They’d bet on him. And it had to do with Elias's name.
“...But, I’m aware he has another!” Peter lied. Simon paused, smiling at him. Peter felt like he was shrinking under that look, nothing.
“Are you?” He said, encouraging, prompting. Peter’s mind whirled, but Elias was walking back now, and he slid into the seat next to him, hand trailing over his shoulder.
“No.” Peter said, quietly. Simon smiled, revealing his hand. He’d won.
The time came for cake. Peter was eager for that part, he liked his sweets. He was...not amused when Elias had insisted on the singing. Rayner stood in silence while the other two sang, and Peter decided he was his favourite of the group. He sat, arms crossed, as the small cake was put in front of him. The candles were still burning, and three sets of eyes were on him.
“What?”
“You blow them out, Peter.” Elias provided, helpfully.
"Why?"
Elias stared at him.
Peter leaned forwards, and Simon made a sound, interrupting him.
“It’s traditional to make a wish!”
Peter glanced at Elias. He blew out the candles, deliberately still looking at him, eyebrows lowering. Elias’ lips tightened.
--
Rayner rose to have a smoke, and he offered a cigarette to Peter. Peter took it, not because he particularly wanted to, but he felt as if he should.
He didn’t ask to leave the house. Not in front of their guests, especially when he saw the look in Elias’s eyes when he made eye contact with him.
Elias wanted him to. He wanted to deny him in front of the other two. Peter would not give him that opportunity.
He led Rayner up the stairs and to the balcony, hearing Simon’s loud laughter and Elias’s sharp and witty (but slightly slurred) responses.
They stood in silence, lighting their cigarettes quietly. It was not a particularly large balcony, and Peter was still tilted half inside when Rayner did open his mouth. Smoke came out, darker than it should be. Darker than the sky here, bleeding against a greying yellow. An infection of light pollution.
Peter briefly wondered how that affected someone like Rayner. Someone who needed the mystery of the pitch to pull his victims in.
“Do you keep secrets, Peter Lukas?” The other asked, quietly.
Peter let the question sit, considering. Perhaps not actively. The only secrets he could think of were the secrets of the fears, the rituals and tradition carried by his family, things meant to be remembered but never uttered. No one ever asked, and Peter didn't volunteer. He supposed that was keeping secrets.
“...Yes.”
“Hm,” Rayner responded. “Why?”
Peter shrugged, tilting his body out of the balcony now, shoulder brushing the other’s. “Many things shouldn’t be said. I have no desire to repeat them.”
Rayner smiled, looking away. “Loyal of you.”
Peter bristled. “Not at all. ”
“Then you’ll indulge me something.” Rayner continued, unbothered. “Simon also thinks you should know, if that matters to you. He thinks you’ve trapped yourself here, somehow.”
Peter said nothing. It said more than speaking about it would have.
“...As he thought, then.” A pause. “Your husband serves the Eye, and he understands the power knowledge can bring.”
Rayner stared at Peter. But in a blank way, without that usual smothering feeling looking others in the eye gave him.
Peter held the cigarette in between his fingers and carefully stared back. He didn’t have anything to contribute, so he stared. That was enough for Rayner, seemingly. “...I serve the Dark. There’s power in hiding truth. He’s chosen to hide for quite a while now.”
“I think it only fair to perform the same switch.”
“Take something from him that I’m sure he’s been saving for a delightful occasion.” The cigarette flicked from the older man’s fingers, over the balcony and into the street below.
“His name isn’t Elias. It was, and always will be, Jonah Magnus. He’s changed his appearance, but that doesn't change who he is.” Rayner said casually. If he expected a reaction, he didn’t get one. Peter stood, watching the cigarette burn lowly on the cobblestones.
“...Perhaps you can use that for something.”
And Rayner turned away, leaving Peter behind.
The cigarette burned in his hand, a column of uninterrupted ash that fell to the ground when it finally burned the tips of his fingers. Jonah Magnus. He closed the balcony door, and he didn’t go back down the steps to the party.
--
The door opened a few hours later, a warm hand pressing against his back. “They’re gone.”
Peter made a sound of acquiescence. A few moments passed, tipsy disappointment and careful cold consideration.
A cheek pressed in between his shoulder blades, arms wrapping around his waist. “Come inside, Peter.”
Peter sighed. He turned in Elias’s grip, looking down at the man.
He was handsome, Peter knew. In a bland way. He was attractive enough to catch someone’s gaze, and purposefully bland enough when he talked to cause it to move away. Peter saw what he was underneath that facade, now. That mask, carefully put in place to trick others.
He saw Jonah Magnus. He saw the frantic obsession, the burning fire of need for knowledge, the cruel ice when no one was around to see it. Jonah Magnus flew under the radar as a boring Elias Bouchard, but when the mask was lifted, he was passionate and crueler than Peter could ever be.
And Peter loved him for it.
Now he was a little ruffled, red high on his cheeks, glasses slightly fogged by the humid summer air. An endearing mix of his personas, which Peter now knew were possibly two separate people entirely. He took a breath.
“...Do you love me, Elias?”
Something guarded trying to fight past the tipsiness. Elias seemed to shove it down. “Yes, Peter. I love you.”
Peter believed him. He leaned down and pressed their lips together.
Elias seemed shocked by this, but that didn’t stop him from kissing back, tipping his head back and wrapping his arms around Peter. Peter lifted him by the hips, hearing the strangled “Peter-” and moved him back, back. Against the wall, the door, pressing him down on the bed, overtop of him.
That position didn’t last long. Peter kissed him, tongue moving gently against his, but he could feel Elias growing impatient under him. And growing hard in his trousers. Peter reached down, brushing a hand against him, testing, and that was when Elias had enough.
He flipped Peter onto his back, pressing him down hard into the mattress and grinding against him, kisses burning and insistent as he pulled at his hair.
Peter let him tug at his clothes, keeping his hands sliding slowly over Elias, exploring over smooth skin, passing over chest hair and a thin back. He lifted his hips when Elias started pulling at his bottoms, helping to kick them off and then pausing with a sharp breath as Elias pressed a hand against him, the tip of a finger just barely dipping into him, coming away wet.
Elias drew back just to give Peter a shark’s grin, working at unbuttoning his own bunched up shirt as Peter stared at him.
Handsome, harsh, horrible.
“...I do too.” Peter whispered at last, unable to say the right word. He didn’t need to, he was sure. The effort alone was more than enough. Elias paused, sharp smile softening just a little as he pressed his lips against Peter’s again. A moment of softness before diving back in again, hungry.
Elias pulled and pushed and bended Peter under him. It was a breathless process, offset by teeth and fingernails and words and a demanding pace. He shivered when Elias finished inside him.
A break, panting, and then Elias immediately replaced himself with his mouth. Peter gasped and writhed under his tongue. It was precise. It was unrelenting in it's attention.
When Peter felt he might die if Elias kept going any longer, Elias drew back, wiping his face. He was hard again. Peter took a few breaths, a few moments, steadying himself as Elias laid back next to him. He rolled to his side, wrapping his hand around him, and he moved Elias at his pace.
Slow, teasing, stopping a few times when Elias seemed to get too into it. Waiting for his breaths to slow before tightening his hand and trying again. Elias curled closer to him, arms almost too tight around him as Peter pulled him over the edge, feeling Elias finish against both of them.
It was warm. And the chill didn't settle back in.
--
He was clean when he woke up, and he knew Elias had done it.
He felt so warm. So loved, and it pressed against his heart like a vice.
Peter propped his elbow under him, leaning over Elias, and tilted his face gently to his. He pressed their lips together, and he felt Elias sag under him and wake up, stretching like a satisfied cat.
“You have to let me go.” Peter whispered, as he pulled back from him.
Elias stiffened, hand curling into Peter’s hair and tugging him back down for another kiss. Peter went easily, lips still against Elias'.
Elias sighed against his lips and pulled back enough to speak. “And why would I do that? After I finally got what I wanted from you?”
Intimacy. Sex. Love. Understanding. Peter smiled.
“Because I'm losing my grip.” On his god. He couldn't remember the last time he felt alone.
Elias's eyes glittered, and he cupped Peter’s face. “And what if I want that.”
A challenge. Trying to appear stronger than he was.
Peter sighed. “You don’t. Because then I won’t be me anymore.”
Elias stared. He knew him. He wanted him, and not just as some sort of power play. He loved him.
Peter's heart twisted, too hot, too warm, too tight in his chest. He felt every beat of it.
"I could die." He whispered.
Elias said nothing, fingernails digging into Peter’s cheek as his eyes hardened. “...my answer is no.”
Peter frowned. Elias kissed that look off of him, desperately. Peter jerked back, feeling the nails catch on his skin, clawing burning lines into his cheek.
“Peter.” It was stern, pulling at the damned coat that laid out of his grasp, molding him into his shape. Into his design. Trying to make him bend. “Enough. I don’t want to hear about it anymore.”
Peter gritted his teeth. “Elias. Please.”
It jerked again, disobeying the order brought that similar feeling of seasickness, and he breathed heavily, pulling back from the other. Elias stared at him, eyes shifting into a glittering hardness. His shape almost seemed to expand, stretching out above Peter, despite their size difference being the reverse.
He pushed Peter onto his back, staring him down.
“No. I said enough .”
Peter opened his mouth, and Elias’s hand pressed tightly over it. He didn’t need to, the protest would have made Peter vomit, he was sure. He breathed through his nose, hot over Elias’s fingers, willing the seasickness down as he tried to close his eyes.
He couldn't.
Elias looked down his nose at Peter, forcing him to bend, give it up, give in. Peter went limp, like prey yielding to its death by a predator. Elias lifted his hand, and Peter was silent. Elias' lips curled up as the other didn’t speak. Cruel and wide and victorious.
He was never going to let him go, Peter realized. He’d watch Peter fade away to nothing before he did. He’d watch Peter die before he gave up his power over him. His ownership. It was a hopelessly grim future, and Peter knew those eyes would watch him until he left this world.
No. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want anyone to be there when he died.
...But he had a card up his sleeve, slipped up by a man surrounded by darkness. A wildcard, and he realized he needed it now. He needed to say it. “ Jonah. ”
Something stretched almost to the point of breaking, releasing the pressure off of Peter. There was a rush of the ocean within his ears, a high pitched squeal of the Lonely following as it flooded back into him. He gasped, and then it settled again.
Elias pulled back, expression turning to disbelief. A flash of something else. Concern? Fear? Rage. Peter knew he was considering which of his friends had given it away. He would have to thank Rayner, because Peter was suddenly very certain that the man would never get peace after this day. “... What did you say?”
“...Your name. Jonah Magnus.” Peter said, testing it on his tongue. The stretching came again. Space. Having Jonah’s name gave him space. He stood up, feeling giddy, as if he could finally breathe again.
“Peter. Come back.”
“No.” He whispered, testing it. There was still a tug, but it settled out as he thought of Jonah’s name again.
He could leave. Jonah still had his coat, he could still try to control him, try to bend him down, but Peter could leave. He reached for his clothes, dressing with shaking fingers as Jonah watched him.
“Peter-”
“No!” He cut him off cheerfully, searching in the closet for something he hadn’t needed in so long. His boots. He pulled them on as Jonah stood, crossing over to him, wrapping his arms around him.
“Peter. Don’t.” He whispered, voice low. Vulnerable.
But the ocean was calling, the Lonely screaming alongside it. It got louder and louder as Peter made the decision to leave. The right decision. Peter could barely hear Jonah anymore.
There was no tug. Jonah wasn’t using the coat. He knew he couldn’t, so he tried to appeal with his humanity at last.
Too late. Far too late for that. Peter shook his head, smiling.
And he walked away. He walked down the stairs and out the front door and nothing, not even the furious yelling that followed, or the harsh tugging in his chest, could stop him.