Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Fucking ghouls. Copia is tired of being trapped in close quarters with their stench. The ghouls themselves aren’t so bad, it’s really not that much worse than you would expect for a tour bus packed with eight sweaty beasts from Hell. That’s not the problem. 

The problem is that they piss all over everything like poorly trained dogs, marking their favorite spots and their territory and each other and inside the fucking tour bus. Copia should be used to it by now, especially after he was thrust into the reality of what it’s like to live closely with them during his first tour cycle, back when he was still a Cardinal. He had been distressed at the time, thinking they were misbehaving because they had no respect for him, and had lamented as much to Sister Imperator, who had…laughed at him. She’d chuckled disbelievingly over the phone, and when he had insisted that he doesn’t know what to do about this and that it’s not funny, she had escalated to full-blown laughter, and when she finally caught her breath, she’d informed him that this is very normal ghoul behavior. 

Still. This is only the fourth stop on this tour leg, his first after being officially promoted and granted the title of Papa, and the marking is at an all time high. Copia loves his ghouls to death, he really does. What he does not love is the fact that every day, this bus smells more and more acrid and cloying, and even the most powerful of odor-masking sprays hardly put a dent in it anymore. 

Something has to be done about this.

At the next tour stop, they play their show. It goes off without a hitch, the crowd loved them, the buzzing energy is palpable when they all pile backstage after bows. As usual, they split off into the meager dressing rooms to blow off some of the steam and excess energy from the ritual. Copia hangs back and helps the crew start packing everything up, knowing that if he ventures too close to the dressing rooms right now he’s likely to be pulled into one of them and he’s not in the mood. They can fuck each other brainless without him. Maybe they’ll be a little calmer on the ride over to the hotel that way. Unlikely, but Copia can hope.

It’s late by the time Copia boards the tour bus, and he knows the moment he steps on that it definitely stinks more than it had when they’d arrived at the venue. He hadn’t planned on addressing it now, but maybe it’s that he’s still a little bit in his stage persona, or maybe he’s just finally fed up enough with it. He stops at the top of the steps, staying at the front and claps his hands twice, loud and staccato. The ghouls are already scattered around the bus and comfortable, a few of them tussling in a blur on the floor, but they freeze and eight pairs of glowing eyes and pricked ears are trained on him. 

“Everyone’s attention, please, yes, thank you,” he says, gaze drifting to each ghoul in turn, ensuring he has their full focus before he continues. “The marking has gotten out of hand. That stops now. This bus smells like rotting shit, so the next ghoul who pisses in here, I am going to piss on you. Capisce?”

A quiet wave of chittering goes up among the ghouls, and to Copia’s deepest exasperation, Dewdrop straightens up and raises a hand from his place in Aether’s lap, but he doesn’t wait for acknowledgement before he starts talking. 

Is pissing on the bus required, or is there like a special reque–

He’s cut off by Aether yanking him back down, frowning deeply at him, but Dew is cackling, completely unbothered. Copia has no way of telling if he’s being serious or not, so he just sighs and shakes his head, making his way down the bus to the small quarters in the back. He sinks down onto the bench in the tiny kitchenette and drops his head into his hands, rubbing at his temples. These ghouls are going to be the fucking death of him.

Thankfully the hotel is a short ride from the venue, though still long enough for Mountain to poke his head through the doorway, clicking softly to get Copia’s attention. He lifts his head with trepidation, prepared for it to be Dewdrop coming to bother him with more ridiculous propositions, but he’s pleasantly surprised. 

“Ah. Hello, Mountain,” he says, straightening up a little more and steepling his fingers together beneath his chin. 

Mountain watches him for a moment in his quiet, unnerving way, head tipped slightly to one side before he lifts his hands to sign. “Papa. I wanted to apologize for the distress we’ve caused you. We forget sometimes that scents are different for you.”

Copia smiles, dipping his head in a nod. It’s sweet of Mountain to apologize on behalf of the pack, and it ebbs away a little bit of his frustration. “I appreciate that, I do. Just ehh, as long as the marking stops, I will be happy.”

Mountain nods, one ear twitching slightly, but Copia has no idea what that means, if anything at all. He still doesn’t have the best grasp on ghoul body language, even after all this time, and of the lot of them, Mountain is the most difficult to read.

“Yes, you made that clear,” Mountain signs, expression utterly indecipherable. He lingers for a moment longer before disappearing back towards the front of the bus, leaving Copia alone again. He props his cheek in one palm with a little sigh of relief. Perhaps the ghouls had come to some sort of agreement and sent Mountain as their representative. Perhaps things will go more smoothly from here on out. One can only hope.

The next morning is an early one, most of them bleary-eyed as they file onto the bus to settle in for a long ride to their next stop. The majority of the ghouls simply collapse on the nearest surface, half piled on top of each other, which means none of them even make it as far as the back room, leaving it open for Copia to claim. He appreciates the longer trips like this, when the ghouls are all fast asleep and the ones that aren’t tend to keep to themselves or sit quietly nearby. It’s a good opportunity to enjoy some peace and quiet, catch up on some of his shitty airport novels and work through his little book of crosswords. He fools himself every time, though, thinking he’ll actually stay awake long enough for more than a couple of chapters of a novel or more than half a puzzle; the lulling rumble of tires on the highway and the snuffling symphony of snoring ghouls always gets him. 

This time, Copia wakes with his cheek squashed flat into his crossword puzzle, blinking blearily and separating the damp page from his face with a groan, grimacing as he inspects it for grease paint transferred in the mess of drool. He glances around, grateful to find that he’s still alone, but– a horrid, acrid scent hits him like a truck, invading his nose and throat and he has to swallow hard against a gag. He’s forced to perform an odd combination of breathing in through his mouth and nose at the same time for a successful breath of air, but it still burns on the way in. There’s absolutely no mistaking the stench of fresh ghoul piss, nor denying the obvious dark stain in the bus’s carpeting mere feet from the table Copia occupies. Incredulous rage spears him through, so sudden and complete that it steals Copia’s breath from his lungs and sends his blood pressure skyrocketing. He stands, trembling hands pressed flat to the table as he draws a tense breath, knowing he can’t just go raging into the front half of the bus like this. He has to retain his composure, and his wrecked crossword puzzle takes the brunt of his glaring for now. 

It takes Copia several long minutes to calm himself enough to face the ghouls, to think rationally about how to handle this. In the end, he steps carefully around the stain with a disdainful wrinkle of his nose and towards the front of the bus. He has a few ideas as to how he’s to find out which of his ghouls was so bold as to mark in such an obvious place, mere feet away from him, but he needs a ghoul he can trust to be willing to help and be truthful with him. So he picks his way through the bus, rousing Aether from where he’s buried fast asleep under Rain and Mountain, and when he manages to extract himself it turns out that Dew was underneath him, wedged in between the cushions of the bench seat and unhappy that Copia is taking his weighted Aether away. Copia dutifully ignores this, and Dew’s soft growls of protest are quieted when Mountain curls back up right on top of him and Rain drapes himself over the both of them. He thinks there’s an extra tail among them, flicking irritably from between Rain and Mountain, and then he catches a glimpse of Stratus as she wriggles her way underneath them, sparking a brief hissing spat between her and Dew, ended quickly by a low warning chitter from Rain.

Aether chirps quietly, sleepy and inquisitive, and Copia turns from the distraction of the resettling ghoul pile to face him, feeling a little bad to have woken him when he sees how disheveled he is, ears resting lopsided and sleeplines running across his cheek. “Come,” Copia says, keeping his voice soft and beckoning Aether to follow him. He leads the ghoul back through the bus, coming to a stop with the tips of his shoes an inch from the edge of the dark stain in the carpet, pointing at it and raising his gaze steadily to Aether’s. 

Aether already has his hands up in defense, shaking his head. “I didn’t do that,” he signs, brows drawing together and his ears wilting with his posture. 

“I didn’t think you did. Will you tell me who it was?” Copia says, patient despite the ire that courses hot through his veins. Aether stares at him for a long moment, hesitant. Copia can see the gears turning and adds gently, “Whoever it is won’t know you told me, hm?”

Aether blinks, gaze dropping slowly to the carpet and Copia watches his nostrils flare once. Without looking back at him, he signs, very carefully, “Mountain.”

“What?” His voice is a little sharper than intended, incredulous. “That can’t be right, are you sure?”

The look that Copia receives from Aether is forlorn and he nods slowly. “Yes. I’m sure. Is that all you needed, Papa?”

Copia sighs, closing his eyes as his finger and thumb rest on the bridge of his nose. “Yes, that’s all. I apologize for, ah, interrupting your sleep.”

Aether dips his head in acknowledgement and slinks out of the room, leaving Copia to stare down at the carpet and struggle to reconcile this behavior with the Mountain he knows, always so quiet and respectful, how he’d specifically gone out of his way to apologize on the ghouls’ behalf. Only to go and do this. Right under his nose. 

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Aether. Of course he does; Aether has always been right by his side, serving him loyally just as he had Terzo, helping Copia adjust to his new role and acting as a liaison between Cardinal and ghoul. Sure, Mountain can be a little headstrong at times, has a tendency to quietly dig his heels in when he doesn’t like something, but he usually comes around. He’s never been outright disobedient like this. It just doesn’t make sense. So Copia squares his shoulders and heads back out towards the front of the bus, passing by the reassembled ghoul pile and onward to where Cirrus sits beside a tangle of Cumulus and Swiss and he feels a flush creep up his neck as he realizes that Swiss has fallen asleep with his hand down her pants. He tears his eyes away to focus on Cirrus, who looks up from where she’s focused intently on her planner, brows drawn a little as she scribbles something down. It’s a beat up thing, bulkier than it should be and bristling at the edges with softened corners of sticky notes; she carries it with her everywhere, uses it religiously, something Copia has always admired about her. He waits patiently for her to finish what she’s writing, squinting surreptitiously at the page, curious as to what she has written down and he thinks maybe he can pick out a name or two, but it’s upside down and too far away and he can barely read her spidery scribble anyway, even with his reading glasses. She clicks her pen shut and looks up at him; he has to push down the nagging feeling he’s been caught out, clearing his throat quietly.

“May I borrow you for a moment, Cirrus?” Copia asks, and she tips her head quizzically, though she’s already starting to stand, pulling her legs out from behind Cumulus. He leads her down the bus, eyeing Mountain critically as they pass by, and explains the situation once they arrive in the back room. 

Cirrus takes barely half a whiff and frowns. “Yes, that’s my stupid mate, alright,” she signs, her tail lashing once behind her and that’s all Copia needs to see to know that he’s not the only one that Mountain is in trouble with. He watches, curious, from the doorway as she heads back to her spot, but she doesn't even pause beside Mountain, though one of his eyes does crack open and he tracks her as far as he can without having to move his head. His gaze flicks to Copia, lingering for a moment before his eyes slip closed again and it just feels so purposeful that Copia wonders for a moment if he really has as much control of the situation as he thinks he does. That just steels his resolve, though, so he steps back decisively and closes himself up in the back room of the bus again to spend the rest of the ride to the hotel cooking up plans for Mountain’s punishment. But not before he throws some paper towels down over the stain, yanks open the window the few inches it’ll go, and sprays a generous amount of air freshener directly on top of the paper towels.

It seems that news spreads rapidly, because the ghouls hold a tense, subdued energy among them during check-in, and they scatter to their hotel rooms more quickly than usual. Copia decides he'll let them get settled in before he pays a visit to Mountain's room, heading first to his own. The siren call of a nice restroom that's not the tiny, cramped toilet on the bus is sorely tempting, but if Copia is to make good on his threat, he has to resist. So he firmly shuts the door and sits on the edge of the bed instead and tries to focus on the novel he pulls from his bag, restless though he is.

He makes himself wait an hour before he's up again, tossing the book he’s been failing to read aside and slipping out of his room, making his way down the hall to Mountain's to rap firmly on the door. 

No answer. 

Copia listens for a moment and knocks again, and when he's met with more silence, he calls out, "Come on, Mountain. I know you're in there." He's about to knock for the third time when the door swings open, revealing a very naked Dewdrop, head tipping to the side and eyes slitted with amusement as he takes in the sight of Copia. 

"Need something, Papa?" he signs, coy grin spreading over his face, tail flicking beside him in a manner not dissimilar to a cat who’s just spotted interesting prey. 

"This is Mountain's room. Is he here?" Copia says, voice remaining even despite the tip of Dewdrop's tail ghosting over his crotch. 

"Ohhh, nah, we switched rooms. Try Cirrus's, think I saw her dragging him in there earlier," Dew signs lazily, gaze crawling everywhere but Copia's face. 

"Thanks," Copia says dryly, in no mood to be the object of Dew's games at the moment. Or any moment, really. He steps back, out of range of that damn tail, and marches a few doors down. He raises a hand to knock, but the sound of a pained groan drifts from the other side of the door just before knuckles meet wood. Concern blooms in his chest and he leans closer, brows knitting in concentration as the sound comes again, and he hadn’t been sure before but it definitely sounds like Mountain, but it sounds…lighter this time, almost more of a moan. Copia steps back, hesitant. He's still not sure what exactly the nature of whatever is going on behind the door is, and he's not exactly keen on interrupting it. Especially not after he catches the sound of Cirrus growling, followed by the unmistakable sound of flesh meeting flesh with force. He's heard that growl from her countless times, usually in the context of correcting the behavior of too-rowdy ghouls, but hearing it now does nothing to clarify anything for him. 

What does, however, make things clear, is the smug, suggestive expression on Dewdrop's face from where he stands a few doors down, nude in the hall and leaning against his doorframe. He crowds into Copia's head and purrs, We could make you sound like that if you'd let us, punctruated with a pointed nod at Cirrus's door. 

Copia doesn't dignify that with anything more than a glare as he steps back from the door, the rising sound of Mountain's groans stirring heat within him, and he turns decidedly back towards his own hotel room. He hears Dew snickering behind him, and he’s annoyed but not at all surprised when he calls out, That wasn't a no! after him. Copia lets his hotel room door slam shut and kicks Dew out of his head, flopping onto the bed and fishing his cock out of his pants with a sigh. He shouldn’t be getting hard to fantasies about just what Cirrus might have been doing to Mountain to make him groan like that, and he definitely shouldn’t be making the decision to get off to it. But…it’s just so enticing, particularly when he considers that of all the times he’s overheard the ghouls – difficult not to, especially in the forced proximity of touring – or caught them in public areas of the abbey, he’s fairly certain never actually heard Mountain make sounds like that before. Still. He should be above this. But no one will know, right? He’s already stroking himself anyway, he might as well go through with it. He’ll simply think of something else. 

Except, no matter how hard he tries, his thoughts keep turning back to Mountain as his hand goes faster, to the lash of Cirrus’s tail and the way she’d stared him down as she’d walked past him on the bus. He can’t help but wonder about that sound he’d heard; had she been spanking him? Or…he groans at the thought, or maybe she was just fucking him that hard, enough for him to hear the sound even through the door. No, that can’t be it. That would be more of a reward, wouldn’t it? And he’d only heard it once. But the way Mountain had moaned afterwards echoes through his mind, a fresh wave of heat in his belly following. His orgasm catches him off guard, heat spearing suddenly through him and he spills over his hand and belly with a soft groan. He strokes himself gently through it, conjured images of Mountain flashing through his mind, and when he’s spent he lets his hand fall from his softening cock, draping over his ribcage instead. Clarity hits him hard only a few seconds later, spreads a filthy feeling through his chest. He rubs his eyes with his clean hand, huffing out a sigh. He lays there for a moment longer before he reaches for a tissue from the bedside table, cleaning himself up with a few rough passes of it before he hauls himself out of bed and heads for the shower.

Copia barely pushes the bathroom door open before it hits him like a truck that he’d never gone after he’d arrived from the bus, and it’s with a strange combination of guilt and exhilaration burning through him that he imagines the look on Mountain’s face later as he relieves himself. Copia drags a hand through his hair and sets about removing his greasepaint, and it’s only when he looks in the mirror that he notices faint black lines across his cheek. He leans closer, frowning, and groans despairingly when he realizes what it is. His paint hadn’t transferred to his crossword puzzle when he’d fallen asleep on it, but it seems the ink on the page had transferred to him. And he’d been walking around like that for hours. Wonderful. 

Nothing to be done about it now, though, so he just scrubs the paint off with vigor and puts himself in the shower. 

By the time he’s clean and dressed again and has had a nap to clear his head, there’s still several hours before it’s time to load up and head for the venue. Copia curls himself into the armchair in the corner of his room with a book, but he can’t focus and he gets barely halfway through a chapter before he gets too restless to continue pretending to read. He drops his head back against the chair, debating. Perhaps Mountain will be less occupied now. He’s cooked up several plans, but he’d like not to have to resort to his final fallback, but he will if necessary. So up he gets, throwing on a rudimentary coat of paint and heading out into the hallway in search of his misbehaving earth ghoul. 

Who is nowhere to be found. Cirrus directs him to Aether’s room, which is empty. He braves the sounds of coitus from behind the door to Rain’s and Swiss’s room and the inevitable invitation inside.

Rain is draped over Swiss’s back when they swing the door open and Copia very carefully keeps his eyes on their faces as he dutifully ignores Swiss’s immediate delight at the idea that he might be here to come in and join them, instead asking if they’ve seen Mountain recently.

“Hm, no, not since Cirrus hauled him off to beat his ass,” Swiss signs with a lazy grin, leaning his head against Rain’s and lifting a hand to cup his cheek, an affectionately possessive gesture that Rain leans into. Copia is glad for his paint to cover how his face heats at that, both at their display and this information, how everything he’d heard through the door falls into place under the true context.

Rain barely lifts his hands from where they’re wrapped securely around Swiss’s middle to sign, “I heard Cumulus talking about going to the pool, though. If you’re sure you don’t want to come inside for a while.”

“That’s a very generous invitation, but ah, I’m sure,” Copia says firmly, and leaves behind Swiss’s disappointed whine, heading for the ground floor of the hotel. He braces himself for the sickly scent of chlorine and steps inside, careful on the slick tile and trying not to breathe too deeply. He finds Aether and Cumulus in the water having a grand time heartily splashing each other and tossing each other around, their screeching and hollering echoing off the walls. He pauses to watch them for a moment, pleased to see them letting loose and having fun. It’s clear they’re having a grand old time from the delighted whooping screech from Cumulus as Aether sinks under the water to hoist her into the air, tossing her a good ten feet, how she comes gliding back towards him, a quick blur under the surface and returns the favor, tossing him nearly effortlessly halfway across the pool. Aether pops up with wild, gleeful laughter and catches sight of Copia, waving exuberantly and jumping a few times on his way back to Cumulus in the odd half slow-motion way only achievable in ribs-deep water. Copia beams and waves back, stepping cautiously up to the edge of the pool. 

“Have either of you seen Mountain recently?” he asks, raising his voice over the splashing of the water against the sides. Aether’s hand lowers and he goes quiet, shaking his head. Cumulus, on the other hand, sprouts a devious grin.

“Looking to make good on your threat, Papa?” she signs, draping herself over Aether’s shoulders, seemingly oblivious to his dampened mood. 

“He’s hiding from you.” 

Copia turns at the sound of the voice, rough from underuse and holding the tell-tale rumbling edges of a ghoul speaking aloud, and catches sight of a pair of ears and horns just above the edge of the hot tub beside the pool. A few steps closer reveals Stratus, sprawled out beneath the water, up to her nose in it. She sinks further under until only her eyes show, glinting. A brief wave of irritation washes over him at the news, but he pushes it down, saves it for later. 

“Hiding where?” he asks, keeping his tone pleasant, but Stratus just blows bubbles and disappears into the water, still watching him from under the surface. 

Copia waits. 

He just gets another round of bubbles, though, so he accepts that she’s not going to be any more forthcoming than that and turns away. There’s a thousand places that Mountain could be hiding, and Copia quickly reaches the conclusion that wasting his afternoon searching for him might be exactly what he wants. Copia refuses to allow the tables to turn on him, so he retreats to his room until it comes time to head for the bus. 

He could do it here. It’d be so easy; Mountain can’t hide from him in such a small space, all he’d have to do is drag him to the back. But when they’d all just have to sit and smell it on him? On the way to a show? When he doesn’t know if Mountain has a change of clothes or not? That’s a little too cruel for his taste. Instead, Copia sits down right beside him on one of the bench seats along the side, even if it means he has Dew and Swiss on his other side, doing everything in their power to fluster him. He hardly looks at them even when Dew pulls Swiss into his lap and he hears the tell-tale sound of a zipper, even through all the noise they’re making. He pretends he doesn’t mind when a tail flicks into his lap; he tells himself it may have been an accident, until the tip of it quests towards his crotch, surely with uncouth intentions. Copia gently but firmly removes the tail, redirecting it to Dew’s thigh instead. He watches out of the corner of his eye as it wraps around its new target, and keeps his eye on it a moment longer to be sure it stays there. 

Swiss keeps his tail to himself after that, so Copia turns his attention to Mountain, who seems to be very invested in watching Aether across the aisle where he’s seated on the ground between Cirrus’s legs, Cumulus in front of him so he can braid her hair. He nudges Mountain, gentle so as not to jostle him and by extension Stratus, who is glued to his other side, cheek pressed to his shoulder and clinging to his arm, tail wrapped securely around his middle, but he needn’t have worried about disturbing her, because nudging Mountain is like nudging a brick wall. He’d never have known how rigidly tense he was without touching him, but it’s clear now in the way he holds his shoulders, lines of tension written through his body despite the carefully casual appearance of his posture. 

“No one’s seen you all day, Mountain, are you feeling alright? You ah, missed a nice time at the pool, I hear,” Copia says mildly, glancing at him as he pulls his phone out to pretend to check his email. Mountain doesn’t answer, but his tail thumps once, twice against the bench, a soft, hollow sound. Copia keeps talking.

“You know, you can’t avoid me forever. You can certainly try, but ehh you know. I don’t make empty promises, hm?”

This gets a reaction from both of them; Stratus’s head lifts from his shoulder and fixes Copia with a fiercely intense stare that he has no hope of understanding the meaning behind, and Mountain’s gaze slides from Aether and Cumulus, landing purposefully on him. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something about the weight of the eye contact that sends a hot spark wrapping up the base of his spine. He refuses to look away, though, simply offering a small smile and holding his gaze until Mountain lets out a breath and folds, looking down at his lap instead; Stratus lets out a small huff and lowers her head to his shoulder again, still watching him. Copia avoids her gaze, instead following Mountain’s, and he can’t help but notice the slightest of tremors in his long fingers a split second before they curl into loose fists, hiding from his view. 

A small sense of triumph blooms in Copia’s chest; doubt had been starting to creep in over the course of the day, leaving him unsure of exactly how in control of the situation he is. But this – Mountain hardly looking at him, having to hide trembling hands…it’s reassuring. Any second thoughts he’d been having about what he plans to do are banished when he glances to Mountain’s lap again, really just checking to see if his hands are still shaking, and he can hide the trembling but he can’t fully hide the way his pants are tented, not even when the end of Stratus’s tail flicks over to rest atop his bulge. 

Copia turns his attention back to his phone and tries to keep his expression from being too smug for the rest of the ride to the venue, and the moment they get there he’s in business mode, pushing all of it from his mind as they file off the bus. 

Mountain alternates between avoiding his gaze and staring directly at him as they go through the pre-show rituals and warm-ups, and it’s almost enough to get under Copia’s skin. Almost. He’s gotten quite good at ignoring his ghouls’ antics and performing through anything, and he pretends the persistent buzz under his skin is just the usual pre-show apprehension, or the usual way the energy of the crowd twists through his veins. That it has nothing to do with the goading in Mountain’s eyes backstage, like he’s pleased with himself that he’s avoided his punishment thus far, and now he’s issuing a challenge to see if Copia will actually go through with this. He buries it all under his stage persona, but he can’t pretend he doesn’t feel the weight of Mountain’s eyes on him throughout the whole ritual. Or that his temper isn’t rising as the show drags on and, despite his best efforts to stay focused, he can’t keep from thinking about the sheer audacity of what Mountain had done. And now he has the gall to stare at him like this. Defiant. After he’d hidden all day, after he’d gotten Copia second-guessing himself and loosening his conviction to follow through with his threat. That alone has him quietly seething, angry with Mountain for planting doubt in his mind, for knowing exactly how to get in his head and twisting things around, and angry with himself for falling for it, for leaving himself open to the manipulation.

He’s positively fuming, just as much as he’d been when he’d woken to the stench of piss on the bus, when he strides towards the back of stage to hide out of sight while the crowd shouts for the encore. He meets Mountain’s staring eyes, his own gaze cold and threatening, but Mountain seems unbothered; there’s something taunting in the angle of his head, in the way he spins a drumstick over the top of one hand. Copia was going to wait until after the show. He was going to take Mountain by the hand and lead him backstage after bows. His head spins with the force of his previously stifled ire and his feet change course, carrying him towards Mountain and his stride hardly falters as he grabs a handful of the scruff of his neck and drags him off his stool. He thinks he might have heard a quiet yelp, but it’s impossible to tell through the noise of the crowd and the ambient notes floating through the speakers, but he’s committed now, so he just drags Mountain around in front of him, grip still tight on the back of his neck as he steers him off the stage. 

It’s always impressively quiet backstage, the cries of the crowd dulling and fading behind the pounding of Copia’s heart in his ears as the curtain falls shut behind them. The instant it does, Mountain digs in his heels and tosses a pleading look over his shoulder, one hand reaching back to cling to Copia’s wrist. He just smiles, baring his teeth and tightening his grip on his scruff, giving Mountain a firm push forward, breaking through his resistance and driving him through the maze of backstage, ignoring bewildered glances from the venue stage crew, the curious stares from their own ghouls. It’s not long before they come upon a door with a red sign hanging from the knob, proclaiming, Private: No Unauthorized Entry. Mountain throws one last desperate glance at Copia, but he just reaches around him and pushes the door open, giving Mountain a shove between the shoulder blades so he stumbles into the room. 

Copia shuts the door behind him with a soft click, turning the lock for good measure and taking stock of the room, pleased to see it hasn’t been disturbed during the show; the towels he’d carefully laid out are still spread on the floor, the small stack of paper towels still sitting neatly on the vanity. He turns his gaze to Mountain, who has collected himself enough to turn towards Copia, a low, distressed sounding chitter clicking out of his throat. 

“Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts, no? You asked for this, quite clearly. Kneel, please,” Copia says, his voice coming out in a soft, dangerous pitch that sounds strange to his own ears, but it matches the controlled fury burning through his veins. He watches Mountain swallow hard, clear to see even under his balaclava, and his tail flicks wildly behind him as he backs up  and sinks to the floor in the center of towels. Copia steps towards him, slow and purposeful as his fingers unlace the front of his pants at the same pace, heady adrenaline spinning through him and his heart kicking in his chest at the prospect of what he’s about to do, at the sight of Mountain on his knees. 

“Take your mask off for me,” Copia murmurs, stopping less than an arms’ length away and gazing disdainfully down at Mountain as he reaches up with shaking hands to pull his mask and balaclava off. He lets them clatter to the floor and stares up at Copia, flushed dark, his ears set flat out to the sides, pointed slightly back with, sheepish and already looking chastised. Yet when he tips his chin up, there’s a hint of a challenge in the angle of his jaw, even as his lower lip twitches and his hands hang quiet and trembling by his sides. Copia is struck for a moment by the clarity of just how affected Mountain is, when he’s usually so stoic and quiet, and he’s hit with the thought that maybe this is the side of Mountain that Cirrus had had on the other side of that hotel door. Heat spins through him as his cock kicks in his pants, and he’s all too aware of how Mountain’s eyes snap to it, drawn by the movement. Copia lets him watch as he finishes pulling the laces apart, sliding a hand into his pants to pull himself free, half hard, and he sees how Mountain’s pupils blow out at the sight of it, lips parting just slightly. 

Copia takes a steadying breath, trying to calm the apprehensive nerves that have flared up white-hot in his whole body. If he’d known that Mountain was going to look at him like that, maybe he’d have be more prepared for this, but he’s not. He never could have hoped to be prepared for the way Mountain’s pleading expression is now begging for the exact opposite of what it had been before this moment, the way he’s leaning towards Copia, the way even he can smell the way his scent has changed, sweetening the air and settling warmth in his whole body.

But he has a job to do, and very limited time to do it. He’d given an ultimatum, had drawn a line and laid out the consequences, and Mountain might as well have looked him straight in the eye as he’d trampled all over it. So Copia gives his cock a couple of soft strokes, watching with satisfaction as Mountain’s eyes glaze over in real time. 

“Remember why I’m doing this, you little shit,” Copia says, letting a fresh wave of annoyance crash through him as he calls to mind how he’d felt when he’d woken on the bus to find that stain on the floor. It only takes a little bit of effort, his body trying to insist that this isn’t a toilet, but then he’s pissing, giving a soft, pointed sigh of relief as he drenches Mountain’s clothes; they’re already wet and clinging to him with sweat, but he’s mesmerized with how the fabric grows even darker, spreading from his chest and shoulders downward, creeping towards the top of his pants and eventually soaking into the waistband too. He thinks he might have imagined the quiet little groan from him, but then Mountain’s lips part further and the low sound rumbles out of his throat again, too loud to deny. Equally undeniable is the way Mountain is leaning forward, eyes heavy lidded and glassy as he gazes up at Copia, and he doesn’t even think about it before he’s drenching Mountain’s face too. His eyes fall shut and another groan punches out of him, his claws twisting tightly into the fabric of his pants at his sides, hips rocking forward like he’s seeking friction.

Eventually, the stream peters out, and Copia shakes out the last few drops, eyes locked on the rivulets running down his throat, dripping from his chin. He’s glad for Mountain’s closed eyes so he doesn’t see how his hand trembles. His pulse is racing through his veins, deep satisfaction settling in his chest as he takes in the mess he’s made of Mountain, how his chest rises and falls with quick, shallow breaths, and when his eyes crack open they’re unfocused, his expression somewhere between pleading and reverent. He’s reaching for Copia even as he tucks himself back into his pants, doing up the laces with methodical precision. Now that it’s over, now that his irritation has faded, he’s left feeling a little wild, a little off-kilter, but he pushes it down deep and keeps his expression neutral, a little displeased as he ignores Mountain’s hand and steps around him to the dresser. He picks up a few paper towels and returns to his place before Mountain, tossing them disdainfully at him. 

“Get yourself cleaned up,” Copia says mildly, watching Mountain fail to catch the paper towels before they flutter to the floor. He sinks down from kneeling upright to rest his weight on his heels, reaching too slowly for Copia’s taste to pick them all up. “Quickly, we don’t have time for you to pick your jaw up off the floor.” 

He feels a only a little bad about the note of panic in Mountain’s expression as his eyes snap to Copia, but they wouldn’t be here right now if he hadn’t avoided him all day, if he hadn’t provoked him so much, so he brushes it off and folds his arms over his chest to watch him drag the paper towels over his face. He dabs halfheartedly at his shirt, quickly soaking through the thin, shitty material and rendering it useless. His clothes have soaked up a surprising amount considering how damp with sweat they already were, and he’s not dripping anymore, which is good enough for Copia. He steps forward, bending to retrieve Mountain’s mask and balaclava from the floor and pressing them into his hands, waiting with minimal patience for him to pull them back on before he hauls Mountain to his feet, ignoring the way his soft grunt sends heat spinning through him. He wavers a little, and Copia watches for long enough to be sure his knees won’t buckle before he’s pulling Mountain back towards the door, back to the stage. 

The noise of the crowd chanting for the encore grows steadily as they make their way closer, but Copia ignores it, pausing just before they emerge and turns to Mountain. 

“I trust that you can still play, hm?” He can hear how his own tone is clipped, and maybe it’s a little unfair of him to be preemptively annoyed if this causes Mountain to be unable to perform properly, but there’s a whirlwind of emotions clouding his head, too tangled to parse right now and it all settles into irritation. Mountain’s eyes widen a little behind his mask, but there’s confidence in his nod. Still, Copia waits another few seconds before he returns the nod, sharp and final. He turns back towards the stage, the final curtain between them and the crowd, and takes a breath, shoving himself back into performance mode before he strides back out into the spotlight.

Chapter Text

The first crack of Cirrus’s palm across Mountain’s ass echoes off the bare walls of the hotel room, his shuddering groan nearly lost with how he bows his head, dropping his chin to his chest. Cirrus snarls, low and dangerous as she darts a hand out to wrap around one of his horns, wrenching his head up and back until his gaze meets hers in the mirror, hazy and unfocused. 

Stay, she hisses, and he lets out the barest hint of a whine. Cirrus releases his horn with a jerk of her hand and stands back for a moment, awash with a fresh wave of fury over the sheer audacity of what he had done, and no amount of the sweet-sharp, herbal apologetic scents he’d pumped out as she had hauled him by the shirt to this hotel room had done nothing at all to soothe her ire. The remainder of the bus ride after Copia had shown her what Mountain had done had been spent silently fuming, made so much worse when he’d tried to slip away with Rain and Swiss the moment they'd gotten off the bus. She’ll deal with them later. 

For now, Cirrus is focused on her own insolent little shit of a mate. She feels a little better now, with Mountain exactly as she’d dictated: hands flat on the surface of the dresser, eye to eye with himself in the mirror, feet shoulder-width apart, pants shoved down to his ankles. His tail is tucked between his legs, the scent of apology still lingering in the air, but there's something else to it now, something smug. And that fans the flames of her fury all over again, drowning out any sense of gratification from his proffered obedience.

A low, dangerous growl fills her throat as she drags her claws across the surface of his ass, digging in harshly when he lets out a soft moan, pushing his hips back towards her, back arching. She gives no warning before the next strike, and it's not just the flat of her palm this time; she'd left her fingers curled slightly, claws out. It makes his whole body jump as he yelps, his own claws scraping across the surface of the dresser, his gaze in the mirror going glassy and unfocused. 

Mountain. Cirrus's voice is cold, and the only sign he’d heard is a single twitch of his ear. She says his name again, punctuated by the bite of the claws of both hands into tender flesh and she watches as he shudders and slowly drags his gaze to meet hers in their reflections. Do you know what you did wrong?

His only answer is a wrecked groan, his lips parting as the sound hangs in the air and he manages a weak nod. Cirrus watches her own expression harden in the mirror, sees a flash of almost genuine fear in Mountain's eyes, but it does nothing to quell her wrath. That he'd looked Copia in the eye and offered sympathy for him, had apologized , knowing full well he was going to blatantly trample all over the line he’d drawn the moment his back was turned. And Copia– is here . His scent drifts through the door, and if the note of worry in it is any indication, he'd heard Mountain. Cirrus smiles at him, a tight, dangerous thing, as she anchors one hand in the meat of his ass and bends over him, her body not quite touching his. She wraps her fingers around his jaw in an iron grip and sets her mouth right against his ear, letting loose a low growl, watching all the little hairs across his skin stand on end as his scent goes a little sharp. 

Can you smell him? Papa's here. Maybe I should let him in, she muses, and Mountain's eyes fly wide as he lets out a low keening sound, hips rolling against nothing. Cirrus snarls, lets it settle into a warning growl as her hand shifts neatly to close around his throat just as she lands another hard blow to his ass. He takes it near-silent, body jerking with it, knees buckling slightly. She's just starting to wonder if he's finally starting to understand the depth of the situation, but then his delayed groan sounds out and she realizes it's timed with the receding of Copia's scent. 

You didn't want him to hear you? To think you’re being rewarded? she says, tone sharp and acidic. Pleading ebbs into his gaze and she thinks it might be finally starting to set in that she's not going easy on him. Let me make this very clear to you, my love, she murmurs, words deceptively soft and laced with intent as she lets the weight of her body settle against his back, You won't be finding pleasure in this. Not from me, and not from him. 

She’s made sure of that. Mountain’s soft whine is pitiful, cracking when Cirrus grazes her claws down his front until they catch on the metal cage enclosing his cock, the sound breaking into a gasp when she presses a finger between the bars and finds him filled out, pressed against his confines. Cirrus won’t give him the satisfaction of teasing, though; she straightens back up and eyes him critically in the mirror, raking her gaze over him and finding his posture has gone slack. A sharp blow to his ass and a corrective growl fixes that, his spine straightening and his hips settling back into position, and she has to admit she’s pleased that he knew what he’d done without her having to say anything. Still.

So, Mountain, she says, voice quiet and cold, How many rules have you broken?

She watches the fear creep into his eyes, watches his throat bob as he swallows hard. There’s a long moment of silence in which she scrapes claws over tender skin, making muscles tense and a tight breath hiss out of his lungs. 

Three, he manages, desperation showing on his face and in the way his body clenches when she stops moving. Cirrus lets the silence stretch, lets the weight of the comprehension that he’s wrong dawn on him, waiting until he looks and smells properly alarmed and guilty before she speaks again. 

She smiles, razor-sharp and repeats: How many rules have you broken?

Mountain tries again. 

He’s still wrong.

The crack of her palm echoes, and the distraught look on his face says he’s finally realizing the true depth of just how much trouble he’s in.