Archive of Our Own ^beta

“What’d you do?” 

The question is exasperated, flat with some minor hints of amusement. Scar lifts his head from where he was absently drawing in his sketchbook to be met with a raised brow and an unimpressed look from Cub. He’s as put together as always, noise-cancelling headphones slung around his neck and black hair sweeping across his forehead, dark green eyes glimmering slightly in the café lighting. Scar loves him, but he thinks Cub has one of those faces that melts seamlessly into the crowd⎯ He could be anyone. He’s just a guy. It makes him fun to draw, though, especially during the rare glimpses Scar gets when Cub’s super passionate about something. Usually about losing extraordinarily badly at Mario Kart.

“Cub!” Scar exclaims, delighted. He pulls his various pencils, erasers, laptop, and drink away from the rest of the table, making room for his best friend. He tends to use up a lot of space with random things wherever he is, so Cub takes this in stride. Cub ‘mhms’ and takes the seat across from him, messenger bag slung over his lap. He reaches up, loosening his tie from around his neck effortlessly. “How’ve you been, dude? I feel like it’s been ages since we saw each other.”

“It’s only been three days, and you’re avoiding the question, which means that whatever you did was pretty bad by Scar standards.” A look of horror dawns on Cub’s face, which only means that his eyes widen slightly and his mouth pulls into a frown. “Please tell me you haven’t nearly destroyed a laundry room again.”

“That was one time⎯”

“One time is too many times, Scar!” Cub groans. “How extensive was the damage this time? Am I gonna have to get Cleo to work her intimidation techniques on your landlord or something?”

“I didn’t cause any property damage!” Scar protests, before rolling his eyes. “And Cleo would eat my guy alive. Not that he wouldn’t deserve it; he’s an asshole.”

“Most people are,” agrees Cub, unfazed. “Is he still refusing to get the elevator fixed?”

“Yeah,” Scar sighs, long-suffering. “I’m honestly thinking about having Skizz over to take a look at it and just getting it fixed myself. It’s not sustainable for me to be using the stairs so many times a day. Of course, if he’d just given me the ground rooms when they were available, I wouldn’t care so much!” He would still care a bit on principle, because he doesn’t know if there are other disabled tenants in the building, but at least it wouldn’t affect him so much directly.

“Yeah, that was stupid of him,” Cub says, disgusted. “You were willing to pay extra on rent and utilities and everything⎯ not that I approve of that, Scar⎯ but it wasn’t even smart financially for him to refuse you.”

“I swear he just hates me personally,” Scar declares, shaking his head. “I didn’t even do anything to him, but the asshole gets after me for existing. Like, God forbid I try to live my life, huh?”

“God forbid.” A ghost of a smile graces Cub’s face, and Scar beams in return. “So, what’d you do? Or is this one of those things we’re dancing around until I’ve got like five minutes before I have to go, at which point you explode?”

“Rude!” Scar says, but his smile remains, even if it’s a bit dimmer than it was two seconds ago. Cub dips his head in acknowledgement; he fully embraces his rude status. He’s actually one of the nicest people Scar’s ever met, but it takes a second to get past the standoffish, introverted exterior that greets most people on the daily. Cub told him once that no one really took the time to do that, not like Scar did, and it’s something Scar still holds close to his heart.

“Is this yours?” Cub gestures vaguely in the direction of his drink and Scar nods. Of course, the other man grabs it and takes a long sip, making a face right after. Scar cackles.

“Oh, that’s karmic retribution right there!”

“Gross, what’s in this?”

“I think it’s five shots of espresso in a vanilla latte.”

“You, my friend,” Cub says, deadpan. “Are disgusting.”

“I gotta stay awake somehow,” Scar protests, still giggling. He happily takes his drink back from Cub, taking his own swig. It doesn’t taste great, but the sweetness of extra vanilla he got helps disguise some of the bitter espresso flavour. “I have to stay up late tonight to finish grading. I mean, I could be doing it now, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, Grian said he’d come over and help, sooo…”

“Uh-huh.” Cub doesn’t bother to hide the disapproving edge to his tone. Scar smiles at him, feigning obliviousness. It works better than one would think, for him. As much as everyone accuses him of being a conman, they believe him just as easily whenever they think he’s oblivious to something. Or maybe it’s not surprising, given the impression Scar can leave on those around him. That he’s stupid, clumsy, a well-meaning fool. Scar swallows and pretends the bitterness in his mouth is from coffee. “And…how’s Grian, again?”

He’s trying, that much is obvious. Cub can be rude and unintentionally harsh, but he always tries. He tries to be nice, to curb the thoughts that are written all over his face anyway, and he tries to look out for Scar without making it seem like he can’t do anything independently. Scar appreciates that. He knows he’d be dead several times over without Cub, and he’s glad that the man has stuck around even after the chaos that trails Scar like his shadow. Cub’s trying to play nice for Scar’s sake, and normally Scar finds that endearing and sweet, but today, he just⎯

“Do you ever get sick of being second choice, Cub?” Scar smiles, and he can feel how unconvincing it is, but to let it fall would be like admitting defeat. Cub’s ‘I’m being nice and not saying the rude things I’m thinking’ face changes into something worried and angry. Protective, perhaps. Scar resents the idea that he needs to be protected, but he knows that it comes from a good place with Cub.

“Scar…”

“No, it’s like, I get it, right?” Scar interrupts, picking up steam as he twirls his pencil between his fingers. “I do. I’m good at feelings and good at sex but not good enough for dating. And, you know, I should’ve gotten over this years ago, because it’s only my fault we’re in the situation in the first place, but God, Cub. I get so sick of being second place, a participation trophy, fucking⎯ Bronze instead of gold or whatever. I dunno, metaphors aren’t my strong suit. And I know you’re right, okay, I know he’s not good for me when I’m being like this, but you don’t get it, I can’t give him up. He’s all I want. They’re both all I want! And they’ve picked each other.”

“What happened, Scar?” Cub has a pained look on his face, but there’s no pity in his dark green eyes. Faintly, they scratch some itch in Scar’s brain, giving him flashes of dark, rocky stalagmites and glimpses of shiny emeralds bypassed over for more important things, like diamonds and gold. He blinks, clinging onto the wisps of memory with all his strength.

Scar’s always had an overactive imagination, and it translates well to paper. This isn’t the first time he’s been having an innocent conversation with someone only to be reminded of something he saw in a dream or imagined from a book. His therapist said it wasn’t anything to be concerned about, so Scar isn’t. He just takes inspiration from the memories as they come; he’ll have to draw something with caves and Cub when he gets home. No… Scar thinks distantly. Painting will work better in this case. Something about the memory felt severe, like it was for the sake of his survival. Oil paints, perhaps. He doesn’t know what material will capture that emerald gleam very well, though.

“Oh, you know,” Scar answers eventually, shrugging. “Grian and Mumbo got together, that’s all.”

“Fuck,” Cub says, commiserating, and it’s so surprising that it makes Scar bark a laugh. He chuckles at his friend, who only seems bemused.

“Really, Cub?”

“What?” Cub protests, raising his hands in surrender. “I didn’t know what to say!”

“Oh, gosh, I love you, man. You’re so funny,” Scar says, completely earnest and still laughing a little. Cub rolls his eyes, but he knows that the sentiment is returned. Cub isn’t so good at the whole emotional vulnerability thing, so he doesn’t often return Scar’s easy declarations of love. He cares in a different way, that’s all. It doesn’t change how much Scar loves him.

“I try,” Cub mutters. “Do you want me to kick their asses?”

“Cub! No!”

“Do you want me to get Cleo to kick their asses?” Cub brightens at the prospect because of course he does. He and Cleo get on scarily well; sometimes Scar regrets ever introducing them to each other, especially when they both get on his case about self-care. 

“No,” Scar says emphatically, because even though Cleo is friendly with both Grian and Mumbo, he knows that she’d happily try and fight them. She probably wouldn’t even ask for too many details. The woman is ready to throw down at a moment’s notice. Cleo’s a badass like that. “No one will be kicking anyone’s ass. Except me, y’know, kicking my own for being so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, Scar,” Cub says with the air of a man who’s repeated this too many times to count. It makes a smile tug at Scar’s lips, that exasperation. “You’ve got a stupidly big heart, perhaps, but you’re not stupid.”

“Ouch,” Scar replies. “Way to knock a man when he’s down, Cub.”

“You should’ve told Bdubs if you wanted someone to soothe your ego.”

“I would have, but he’s in the honeymoon phase with Etho right now. Last I checked, they’re having picnics in the park and planning a trip to Etho’s hometown. No way am I getting in the middle of that.” Scar fakes a shudder, dramatic as always. Cub doesn’t even grant him a pity laugh. He’s reliable like that. Of all his friends, Cub is the one least likely to bullshit Scar for the sake of his feelings.

“So they’re finally dating?” Cub asks, not letting Scar weasel out of the subject like he’s wont to do. Scar appreciates it on some level, but right now it just grates on his nerves. He sighs, absently sketching random lines onto his sketchbook. He doesn’t know what, exactly, he’s drawing, but it’ll more than likely default to Jellie. She’s the real star of his art, at least low-key stuff like this. “And we feel…negatively about this, I assume?”

“I guess. I mean…” Scar agrees, huffing. “We feel very negatively about this, Cub. But also not, because I’m happy for them, I have to be, they’ve been pining for years. Of course I’m happy for them!”

“But that doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been left behind.”

“Yeah. Can’t help that.”

“Do you…want to hold my hand?” Cub tries. The offer is unusual enough that Scar immediately looks up, blinking slowly at the man in question. Cub’s cheeks heat in obvious embarrassment as he clears his throat. “I just mean! It makes you feel better when we watch scary movies, so⎯ Ugh. I’m doing my best, Scar, don’t look at me like I’m an alien.”

“Oh my gosh,” Scar says, giggling. “Cub. You’re too sweet, man.”

“Not another word, Scar.”

“Aww, but c’mon, I do wanna hold your hand!” He pouts, batting his eyelashes at Cub. He doesn’t expect it to work; he’s mostly doing it for the laugh. To his pleasant surprise, though, Cub only gives a long-suffering sigh before holding his hand out across the table. The bustle of the café goes on around them, all the customers oblivious to this truly ground-shaking moment. “Cub,” says Scar, feeling teary.

“Scar, don’t you dare start crying,” Cub hisses, his hand cool and comforting within Scar’s own. Their fingers interlace comfortably, naturally. It’s just what Scar needs right now. He laughs, a little wetly, and wipes away the tears with his free hand. He can’t help it. He’s always been an emotional guy, and Cub rarely offers such obvious shows of support. Scar never doubts that their friendship is strong, but his love language and Cub’s don’t always mesh the best. “I didn’t think this through. I forgot to get my pastry.”

“What, you don’t wanna hold hands with me in line?”

“You hold your cane with this hand, Scar.”

“I have another hand! We can switch around!”

“I suppose,” Cub allows. “Or you could just let me go get my blueberry muffin and come back and then hold your hand.”

“Ha. Nice try, Cub, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting you squirm out of this one.”

“That’s not⎯”

“Scar!” A semi-loud exclamation interrupts Cub, making him scowl. He might be rude himself, but he really doesn’t like being interrupted. Scar’s head turns towards the source of the shout immediately, unsurprised to see a blur of red and sandy curls pushing their way through the customers in line. Grian approaches their table with a bright, beaming grin, not at all paying attention to the dirty looks his back receives. “I figured it out! The blueprints, I figured them out, I finally got them working the way they’re supposed to be!”

“Oh my gosh!” Scar’s delighted, of course, even if his heart twinges at the sight of Grian. “That’s amazin’, Grian, I’m sure Maui and Pearl will be so happy with their new cat…climbing…thing. You really need to get a name for this project. What finally caused the break-through?”

“Your white-choco macadamia nut cookies, I think,” Grian returns importantly, tapping the side of his head. “Good brain food, them.”

“Are you fishing for more cookies right now?” He can’t keep the amusement from his voice. Grian shrugs, but the twin spots of pink on his cheeks give him away.

“Maaaybe,” He rocks back on the balls of his feet. “Is it working?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Scar assures, grinning. “Flattery gets you everywhere with me.”

“Grian!” Mumbo comes up to them, looking a bit harried. Only his expression gives that away, however. His suit is as immaculate as always, along with his pretty, ruby red tie. Scar’s never been one for formal wear, necessarily, but Mumbo makes it work. He has several inappropriate, fond memories of Mumbo’s suits, and the things they’ve gotten up to while he was wearing one. “I swear, I leave you for two seconds and you wander off⎯ Oh! Scar! Forgive me, I didn’t mean to ignore you. Hello, mate! How’ve you been?”

“Hi, Mumbo.” Oh, Scar realises belatedly, this is a date. Mumbo and Grian are on a date to Scar’s favourite café. Wow. What shitty luck. Scar wonders if he’ll be able to come back here, later, after knowing that Mumbo and Grian sat at one of these tables and flirted over amazing coffee and sweet treats. Not as good of treats as his, but a close second. “I’m great⎯”

Cub clears his throat, reminding Scar abruptly of his presence. Both Mumbo and Grian look towards him, the former looking a bit politely surprised and the latter looking displeased already. Maybe over the interruption? Scar knows that Grian thinks he’s too nice sometimes, allowing people to talk over him and whatnot, but this is Cub. Cub’s much more different than his and Grian’s fellow faculty members. Of course, Grian doesn’t know that, since he and Cub have never met. Scar usually has a strict policy about involving any of his Sex Friends with his Best Friend. Cub put that boundary in place a long time ago, and Scar happily complies. Besides, Cub gets a bit overprotective sometimes.

“Oh, right! Grian, Mumbo, this is Cub. Cub, this is Grian and Mumbo!” Scar beams. “There we go, introductions are all done. I feel so adult-y and mature.”

“Scar, you’re never mature,” Cub says, making Scar giggle. Well, he’s not wrong. He’s surprised to see that Grian looks like he’s swallowed a lemon and Mumbo’s eyes have narrowed slightly when he glances back at the pair, though. “Hello, Mumbo, Grian.” He nods at each as he says their names. Mumbo returns the nod, but Grian’s still glaring. Scar can’t imagine why.

“Nice to meet you, Cub,” Mumbo says, voice a bit flatter than Scar’s used to hearing. He nudges Grian in the side in a way that’s probably supposed to be unnoticeable, but Scar finds himself staring far too keenly at these two men for that.

“...Yeah. Nice t’meet you,” Grian agrees gruffly. Scar frowns.

“Cub’s the best friend I’ve told you about, Gri! Not Cleo, although you’ve met her, so that makes sense, and not Skizz⎯” Scar pauses, trying to think if he’s called anyone else his best friend lately. “Anyway, this is him!”

“Oh,” Grian mumbles, but the look on his face softens.

“Are you two on a date?” Cub wonders curiously before Grian can say anything else. He doesn’t usually bother to censor himself or his questions, which is something Scar can appreciate. “Scar mentioned that you’d gotten together recently. Do people say congrats for that sort of thing? Congrats, if so.”

“That can’t be a thing,” Scar interjects, incredulous. “Who says congratulations when people start dating? Isn’t that reserved for when you have a baby and stuff?”

“I have no idea,” says Cub, shrugging. “It seems polite, though.”

“I think, er, I think people probably do…?” Mumbo voices hesitantly. Scar smiles at him, trying to be encouraging. He knows that Mumbo can get a bit nervous around new people, and he wants to convey that Cub isn’t a threat. “Thank you, Cub.”

“‘Course,” Cub replies agreeably, nodding.

“Oh! Oh, hey, are you guys gonna order stuff?” Scar asks, eyes lighting up.

“That’s normally what people do when they enter coffee shops, Scar,” Grian answers, snickering. Scar sticks his tongue out at him childishly in return. “So yes, we were going to order stuff. Why? Is there something you want?”

“We can get it for you,” Mumbo volunteers immediately. “Or maybe you, uh, have some recommendations? I admit, Grian wouldn’t stop talking my ear off about your cookies, so now I’m craving something sweet…” He smiles sheepishly. Scar’s heart does funny things inside his ribcage at the thought of Mumbo and Grian talking about him when he isn’t around. It makes him feel wanted, which is a nice sentiment, even if it doesn’t ring true.

“Oooh, well, I’d say that Beth makes a pretty good brownie. Like, almost as good as mine, of course.” Scar winks, prompting giggles from Grian, who is the foremost taste-tester of his baking. Mumbo’s smile seems to widen, just a bit, which is effortlessly endearing. He is so in love it hurts, but Scar’s been dealing with pain all of his life. This, of anything, will not kill him. “And I know you like citrus, Mumbo. Her lemon bars? To die for. Honest. I’m not a muffin guy, but Cub loves them, and I think there’s like, what, four kinds?”

“Blueberry, banana-nut, chocolate-chip, and lemon poppyseed,” Cub rattles off. Scar beams, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. He can’t help it, he’s just so happy right now. Any flares of emotional hurt are easily ignored when he’s hanging around his three most favourite people in the whole world.

“Sounds good,” Grian says bluntly, some strained edge to his voice as he looks at Cub. Scar seriously doesn’t know what’s up with that. Grian isn’t snobbish or anything, so it’s strange that he’s acting so blatantly rude towards Cub. “We can grab whatever you want for you, Scar, it’s no trouble. What is it?” His entire demeanour softens when he looks at Scar, which is adorable, and also weird.

“I’ll definitely try a lemon bar, if they’re as good as you say,” Mumbo adds, smiling.

“They are!” Scar insists. “They’re delicious. And if you could pick up a blueberry muffin, maybe? Cub wants one, but y’see, he offered to hold my hand, and then he tried to wiggle out of it by going to get his muffin, and I won’t let him. Y’know, maybe if you held my hand more, this wouldn’t happen.”

“Sure, Scar, I’ll make it my personal mission to hold hands with you more.” replies Cub, dryer than the Sahara. “Definitely in the top ten of my priorities right now.”

“Good,” Scar says confidently. “Glad we sorted that out.”

“Yes,” Mumbo says, sounding strangled. “We’ll get right on that. Be back soon, Scar.” He’s ushering Grian away before Scar can get a good look at either of their faces. He frowns as soon as their backs are turned, returning his attention to Cub.

“That was weird,” He admits. Cub raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, you mean they don’t act that stilted with everyone?” Cub mocks. “I never would’ve guessed. God. They hated me. And for once, y’know, I didn’t even do anything to warrant that!”

“Cub…”

“Stop pouting,” Cub sighs. “I’m being sarcastic. They don’t hate me.”

“No, but they don’t like you, and I don’t get why.” Scar is definitely still pouting. “Maybe they’re annoyed we interrupted their date…?”

“Grian approached you, Scar,” Cub reminds patiently. Scar hums, lost in thought. He releases Cub’s hand, turning it so it faces palm-up and beginning to trace nonsensical patterns. Cub lets it happen, as he does with most of Scar’s fidgeting. He works it over in his mind, but Scar honestly can’t figure out why Mumbo and Grian were both so standoffish to Cub. They were fine when they talked to him, but it was like Cub either wasn’t there or was a nuisance.

“That really…” Scar worries his bottom lip between sharp teeth. “That really bothers me. You’re my best friend.”

“And they’re your…oh, what do you call them?”

“Sex Friends?”

“I’m not saying that.” Cub’s flat tone makes Scar giggle. “Anyway, they’re your them, okay, the guys you’ve been hung up on for way too long. It’s fine that they don’t like me, Scar. Not everyone is obliged to. And I was ruder than I needed to be, too, because I don’t like them either. Or passive-aggressive, maybe. Anyway. Mumbo’s nice…ish. Don’t like how he makes you flutter around like a teenage girl or something, but he’s polite. You know how I feel about Grian.”

“I do,” Scar says, because he does. Cub makes no secret of his dislike of Grian. “But I wanted them to like you.”

“I know, Scar.” Cub catches his hand and squeezes it gently. Scar looks up at him, surprised to find Cub giving him a softer look than he normally does. It’s sweet, really, and it doesn’t scrape across Scar’s skin the way some looks tend to do. “This is why I never meet your…ew. You know what I mean. This is why I never meet them. I don’t like making you feel like you have to choose.”

“I’d pick you,” Scar says earnestly. He needs Cub to know that. “Over anyone. Except, like, well, I don’t know, Bdubs, maybe… And Jellie.”

“I’d pick Bdubs and Jellie over you, too,” Cub returns sarcastically with a roll of his eyes. Scar grins. “I know you’d pick me, Scar. That’s super obvious. But you don’t have to, and you gotta learn to live with the fact that they don’t like me. I’m not bothered by it, but you will be, if you don’t figure out how to ignore it.

“Ugh,” Scar groans, smacking Cub’s hand. “Stop being so rational.”

“Can’t help it,” Cub says, offering a crooked smile. “Someone’s gotta balance out all your irrationality.”

“Like thermodynamic equilibrium but with emotions?”

“Sure, Scar.” Cub seems a bit exasperated, but fond nonetheless. “Like thermodynamic equilibrium... of all the things. Why are you thinking about that anyway? Last I checked you weren’t a biology professor.”

“Our hands,” Scar answers, shrugging. “You’ve always got cold hands and I’ve always got warm hands so it balances out. You’re kinda the yin to my yang, or whatever. I’m really glad we’re friends, Cub.”

“Stop it.” Cub’s nose is wrinkled. “You’re being too sappy. Ugh.”

“Jerk.”

“Whore.”

“Cub!” Scar says, scandalised, but then he’s laughing, because, well, it’s kind of true. He isn’t exactly ashamed of his whoring around. It’s not an insult that stings; Scar knows that Cub does his best to refrain from using those, even in a joking manner. Cub snorts, reaching across the table and grabbing Scar’s drink again. He makes a face after he takes a sip. Scar rolls his eyes. “It’s not going to get any better the more times you steal it. Thief.”

“But I’m thirsty, and you didn’t tell your boytoys to get me a drink.”

“They’re not⎯” Scar hisses, cheeks flaming. He snatches his hands away to wave them in the air at his best friend emphatically. “Cub! Shut up!”

“Just saying…” Cub mutters, eyes gleaming. He’s a bastard at heart. Really, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s listened to Scar crying over him too many times, he thinks that Cub and Grian could actually get along. They’re a bit similar in all the right ways, with their mischief and general lack of care over what the public thinks of them.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Mumbo says as he approaches their table, precariously balancing a few drinks and a small, brown-paper bag. Scar beams at him immediately, because how can he not? He adores Mumbo. Plus, the man was kinder to Cub than Grian was, which goes a long way in Scar’s book. “Your muffin, Cub. And a brownie for you, Scar.”

“Huh?” Scar says even as Mumbo sets down both a muffin and a brownie in front of Cub. There’s no other space on the table except for in front of him. “Mumbo,” He complains, pouting, and Mumbo gives a sheepish chuckle.

“It’s just a brownie, Scar. It’s nothing,” He insists, cheeks red. Scar’s frown deepens. “I mean it! You know I can afford it, and it’s not like you haven’t bought things for me before. I’m serious. Keep your money. Please?” It’s the last word combined with Mumbo’s killer puppy dog eyes that does him in. You wouldn’t think that a gangly, pale, formally dressed man with an amazin’ moustache could make such good puppy dog eyes, but Mumbo’s very, very skilled at it. 

“Fine!” Scar sighs, relenting. Mumbo smiles, shifting back on his feet a bit. “But next time, I’m totally covering our movie tickets.”

“I can live with that,” Mumbo allows, amused. “Have you seen Grian? He got bored of waiting in line and told me he was coming to badger you… Did he leave?”

“We didn’t see him,” Scar says, even as his mind races. Could Grian have been close enough to hear Cub calling him and Mumbo Scar’s boytoys? Did he hear Cub saying how hung up on them Scar was? He desperately hopes not. They’ve got a good thing going right now. Scar doesn’t know how he’d handle losing them. Doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to ever have to think about that.

“He probably went to the bathroom,” Cub volunteers logically. Scar’s heart calms a bit at that. Grian does have a ridiculously small bladder. He’s the one who makes them stop twice on tiny, thirty-minute road trips, after all. “Here. For the muffin. Thanks, by the way.” Cub passes over some cash to Mumbo, who easily accepts it.

“Hey!” Scar exclaims. “How come he can pay you back but I can’t?”

“Because I like you, and I barely know him,” Mumbo answers, and then his eyes widen as regret dawns on his face. He turns towards Cub, apologies spilling frantically from his lips. “I mean! I’m so sorry, oh my gosh, I didn’t mean to⎯ That sounds so rude, I, ah, I didn’t, oh, um, goodness, I’m a disaster⎯”

“Mumbo,” Scar interrupts, fond. “Take a breath. Cub doesn’t care.”

“I really don’t,” agrees Cub frankly. “I don’t know you either, y’know, it makes sense. You’re good, dude.”

“Thanks, mate,” Mumbo says, still nervous but no longer panicking. Scar privately laughs in his own mind at the comparison of Cub’s dude versus Mumbo’s very British mate. “I better find Grian before he wanders off into some trouble. I swear, he could find chaos to cause in a padded room.”

“I don’t doubt it!” Scar agrees cheerfully. “It was nice seeing you, Mumbo.”

“You as well, Scar.” Mumbo hesitates. Scar smiles, trying to project open and encouraging . Sometimes it takes Mumbo a few minutes to collect his thoughts. “You, um, ah, you take care of yourself.”

“O…kay?”

“Right! I’ll be going then!” Mumbo hurries away, looking flustered. Scar stares after him until he disappears behind the line of people, left bereft and confused. He glances back at Cub, who gives him one of those ‘don’t ask me’ looks.

“That was weird.”

“Tell me about it,” Cub agrees, biting into his muffin. “You’re into weird men, Scar.”

“I’m not⎯” Scar deflates, thinking back on the interactions that just occurred. Wow, he really has no way to disprove this for Cub. “Yeah, okay, maybe.”

“Have you finished that drawing of me yet? I finally found space on my walls. It’ll look pretty badass between my Gem & The Scotts poster and that one abstract art Doc gave me.” Cub changes subjects with ease, which isn’t unlike him. Scar latches onto the new topic immediately, brightening as he bounces in his seat.

“Yeah! It’s done, or, well, maybe I should finish some more shading on it first… But oh, Cub, it turned out so awesome! You look amazin’, seriously, kind of spooky but mostly just cool. And I still have no idea what I’m calling the stuff that’s, like, infected you, but it glows blue in the dark and honestly, the glitter made it pop way better than I expected. Normally I don’t like mixing coloured pencils with other mediums unless it’s marker, but the glitter just sells the whole thing.”

“You mix mediums all the time,” Cub points out. “But I’m glad it’s turned out so well.”

“I don’t mix coloured pencils, though. Usually I want those drawings to stand on their own. Actually, I’ve got a new idea, too, just while we were talking⎯ A cave, y’know, with emeralds and diamonds and gold. The whole piece is gonna be in dark tones, super gritty. I’m gonna try to go for realism, not necessarily fantastical, so I guess I gotta look up some cool caves when I get home. I haven’t decided if I’m gonna involve anyone in it yet⎯ I remember…a weird shaped tool, uh, what are those things the dwarves use in Snow White? Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, heigh-hum…”

“Don’t spontaneously burst into song, please.” Cub says. Scar grins, making him narrow his eyes in suspicion. Really, he should know better than to say something like that, as it just makes Scar want to do it more. He was a part of a flash mob once and he’s never forgotten the experience. “I think it’s a pickaxe? Is that what you’re talking about?”

“Yes!” Scar blurts out, distracted from singing. “That’s what it is, a pickaxe! It was silver, kind of shiny. Like steel! But the emeralds were the focus, really, since it was your eyes that made me think of it. I’ll have to get something to make them pull focus, since I want the gold and diamonds to be in the centre.”

“Glitter again?”

“No, this’ll be oil paints, so glitter just… It’s too crafty, you feel me?”

“Sure,” Cub says, even though he proclaims he doesn’t have an artistic bone in his body. Scar disagrees; he’s seen the things Cub makes with a 3D printer. Just because it isn’t traditionally artistic doesn’t mean it isn’t artistically creative at all. “Too crafty. Um, what about those fancy imported paints of yours? Or were those only in whites and golds for your beach watercolour?”

“The pearl-shell ones?”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t have a green, but I might be able to get one…”

“There you go, then.”

“Oh, you know what I want to do! Not for this painting, I already have it planned out, but have you seen those TikToks with the painters and the sand? It looks so cool and textured, and it looks like it’d be amazing to touch. I really want to try it out. Probably not for another beach piece, but maybe a desert? I’ve been having lots of dreams about the desert lately.” Nightmares might be more accurate, but Scar takes his muse in whatever form it’ll come. Cub shrugs, noncommittal.

“I have seen those TikToks. I always thought that would feel gross, though. Like I’d want to scrape my skin off afterwards.”

“Huh,” Scar says, not having thought of that in the slightest. “Gosh, I hope not. That would suck.”

“You can always give your leftover materials to Bdubs if you hate it. He loves experimenting.”

“True,” Scar agrees, delighted. “I always forget about that. You have the best ideas, Cub!”

“I know I do.”

⎯⎯⎯

Sometimes, Scar gets in the zone.

It’s usually only with new projects. When he comes back to finish a work in progress, it takes more effort to stay focused and interested, but with new ones… Well, the idea’s all fresh and exciting then, and Scar feels like he’ll explode if he doesn’t manage to transfer his thoughts to paper or canvas or collage. (Really, he’s not very good at the last one; his dreams can be abstract, but his art usually isn’t, and collages are sort of made for being abstract.) When Scar is in the zone, he usually has Disney music playing in the background with his arm supplies spread out across his living room. As the largest, main area of his apartment, it’s the most suited to being covered in random materials and mediums. Plus, since it’s open plan with a kitchen attached, cut off by a small bar that’s tall enough to comfortably stand at, Scar won’t forget to eat as much.

This is where Grian finds him; standing in the middle of his living room, easel set up and oil paints on his palette, humming along to A Whole New World.

“Evening, Scar,” Grian says, coming up behind him and hooking his chin on Scar’s shoulder. Scar doesn’t startle, as he heard Grian come in over his music, mostly the muffled curses he said when he tripped in the entryway while taking his shoes off. Although he isn’t super focused on the fact that Grian’s there, his friend comes over all the time unprompted, so surely this isn’t any different? “What’s this, then?”

“Cave,” Scar answers, squinting at it. “Haven’t decided where I’m going with it yet… The emeralds need to be in a good spot, but not the main spot. I want to purposely draw focus there, not just have them be the centrepiece.”

“Lower left hand corner, amidst those stalagmites,” Grian suggests. He points to the spot he’s suggesting and Scar lights up. It’s perfect.

“Ohh, you’re so right, Gri! Thanks!” Scar says, turning and planting a quick kiss on Grian’s lips. He looks back at his painting almost immediately, stepping closer and beginning to block out where he wants the emeralds to go. He doesn’t have the paints he’s going to use for the gems yet, but he can get the rest of the shading done while he waits on shipping.

“Yeah, erm, of course.” Scar pays no mind to how Grian sounds abruptly choked. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“Nah,” Scar answers on autopilot, tongue sticking out a bit in concentration as he smooths out an irritating line. “I had some snacks, though. Cub came over and we made fruit platters and binged his newest anime. It was pretty fun.”

“Uh-huh. And when was this?”

“After the café, so maybe around three?”

“Scar, it’s seven p.m.”

“It’s what?” Scar whirls around, incredulous, and looks over at the digital clock above the stove. Sure enough, in neon green lettering is a bold ‘7:06’. He groans, realising abruptly how much time he lost track of. Grian giggles, nudging their shoulders together. “Oh my gosh, Grian! We’re supposed to grade tonight! I completely forgot!”

“I know, Scar.” Grian doesn’t sound mad, which is a good sign. Scar will have to make it up to him somehow, though… Here Grian was, coming over to do him a favour, and Scar still scuffed it up somehow. “Want some painkillers? I’m going to make spaghetti, you should probably find a stopping point for the painting. It looks great, by the way.” Grian flashes a toothy, sincere smile.

“Thanks,” Scar sighs, becoming intensely aware of how his lower back throbs. He’s been standing without his cane for way too long, which happens more often than he’d like to admit. The braces dig into his thighs and Scar knows there’ll be marks left over, just like always when he wears them for too long. “Yes to the painkillers, but you don’t have to cook for me, G.”

“I know,” Grian replies, squeezing his arm. “But I want to. Besides, I haven’t eaten dinner yet anyway. Are you really going to deprive me of dinner, Scar?”

“This is blackmail!” Scar exclaims, making Grian snort. “Fine, fine, but I can help. Just let me clean this up first and figure out a spot for it to dry in.”

“Put it beside the couch so you don’t forget about it. And no, Scar, you will be sitting down and watching me cook. You can get a headstart on grading this way, and we can spend plenty of time together.” Grian’s tone is calm, warm, nothing suggesting he’s looking down on Scar or upset with him for forgetting.

“I’m not helpless.” Scar retorts flatly, even though he wants nothing more than to do exactly what Grian’s talking about. Still, he doesn’t want to be seen as weak. He knows that Grian doesn’t look at him like that, but that can change on the flip of a dime. It’s happened plenty of times in the past.

“I know that, Scar,” Grian reiterates, giving him an unimpressed look. Scar frowns. Something must get through to him, because Grian’s expression softens in the next second. “Would you just let me take care of you for once?”

“I don’t⎯” Scar splutters on instinct.

“You’re perfectly capable, Scar, and we both know it! Just let me take care of you. I love you, I don’t want to see you in pain or forcing yourself to stand for another half hour.” Grian scowls at him. “This kills two birds with one stone, anyway. You can grade, I can make dinner, and then we can both eat and finish up whatever’s left over. Don’t be an idiot just to prove some ridiculous point about what a strong manly man you are.”

“That’s not what it is, and you know it, Grian.”

“Do I?” Grian raises an eyebrow. “Because all I’m getting from you right now is ‘I don’t want to let one of my oldest friends help me because I’m big and strong and manly’.” He does some stupid voice every time he emphasises each adjective, making Scar smother giggles despite himself.

“Quit it!” He accuses, pointing a finger in Grian’s face. “I’m trying to be mad at you.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Grian drawls, and then bites the tip of Scar’s finger, because of course he does. What else would Grian do when presented with a friend’s finger? Scar makes some yelping noise and whips his hand away as Grian cackles. “Big baby. Put up your shit, I’ll bring you painkillers in a sec.”

“You’re an asshole,” Scar mumbles, but Grian just flips him off and flounces into the kitchen. Despite his protests, something in his heart settles at the insistent way Grian tries to help him. Just like with Cub, he knows it comes from a good place. It’s hard to reconcile that with the rest of the world at large sometimes, though. Scar hates feeling like he can’t do things, the way he’s been made to feel practically all his life. Grian’s good about that, though. All of Scar’s friends are. He’s picked the good ones.

“Did another dream inspire this painting?” Grian calls from the kitchen as he rummages around, gathering the ingredients for spaghetti. He knows Scar’s kitchen like the back of his hand, of course, even though he doesn’t do all that much cooking. Spaghetti is one of the few meals he can make without burning it.

“Nope,” Scar replies cheerily, projecting his voice. He gathers up his oil paints and starts depositing them back into their clear, plastic tub, making sure the lids are on tightly. He’d nearly had a breakdown the last time he broke out the oil paints and discovered they’d all dried out. “It was at the café, actually! I was talking to Cub and his eyes reminded me of emeralds and I just got this, like, mental picture of a cave and going mining… Dunno, but it was pretty sick.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeahhh, it felt super gritty. Like…it was necessary for my survival, y’know? I had to go mining for whatever reason. I was thinking of drawing it originally but something in me was like ‘no way, it definitely has to be oil paints’, so here we are! Cub actually gave me the idea of getting some pearl-shelled paints for the emeralds in particular. I want them to stand out but I don’t want to be crafty about it, you get what I mean?” Scar pulls his easel out of the way next to the couch, where it won’t be tripped over. It’s a good spot; Grian was right. He usually is about these sorts of things. Scar carries his oil paints tub into his bedroom and slides it underneath the bed, grabbing his cane as he does so. He sits down briefly, undoing his braces and laying them carefully across the comforter. The pain radiating from his lower back and thighs lightens for a second as he walks back into the living room, now that he’s using his cane, before returning in full-force.

“No glitter,” Grian agrees. “It’d read like a primary schooler’s art project.”

“Yeah!” Scar says, sliding into his seat at the bar. There’s a glass of water and painkillers set out for him already, which he happily takes. “You get it, Gri. Anyway, how are you? What’d you do today? Oh, oh, how was your date with Mumbo? Y’all didn’t stay at the café, right? Did you have a picnic or something?”

“We went on a walk around the park for a while, but, ah⎯” Grian pauses, studiously avoiding looking at Scar as he preps the water for the noodles and heats a pan for the beef. “Scar, I think we should talk.”

“Nothing good ever comes after those words, Grian,” Scar whines dramatically, even though his heart feels like it’s dropped out through his stomach. This is it, he thinks. This is when Grian breaks off their arrangement permanently because he has Mumbo now, so there’s no need for Scar, and eventually their friendship will peter off entirely until they’re just those sad acquaintances sharing the occasional happy birthday message!

“This isn’t anything bad!” Grian protests as he laughs a bit. “I just… In the café, I sort of overheard you and Cub talking? And I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I mean normally I do but I was just trying to surprise you and I overheard him⎯”

“Oh no,” Scar says with feeling. “Gri, I swear that wasn’t⎯”

“He called you a whore, Scar.” Grian’s voice is flat, unflinching as he slams a wooden spoon down onto the counter. Scar blinks, surprised. He looks up from the pot of water to meet Scar’s gaze, eyes narrowed and practically boiling with rage. He’s never actually seen Grian angry, not like this. “And I can tell you love him, which is, God, Scar, you love everybody and I love that about you, but for fuck’s sake. He doesn’t even hold your hand! It’s you, how can someone not hold your hand?! You deserve someone way better than that! You deserve a boyfriend who cares!”

“Um.”

“Scar. I know it’s not really my business, but please. You’re so amazing, and sometimes I think you don’t realise it, but you are. You deserve better than Cub.”

“Grian,” says Scar, trying not to laugh. “I’m not dating Cub.”

“Well, whatever you call it, then.”

“Gri. Honey. I’m not doing anything with Cub. He’s my best friend, and you heard him call me a whore because I am one, and it’s okay. Like, that isn’t something that bugs me. And Cub was the one to offer to hold my hand because he knew I was sad, and that it would make me feel better.” Scar softens, reaching out across the counter space and gently grabbing Grian’s hand. “Thank you for caring about me so much, Grian, but I’m not stuck in some emotionally abusive relationship. Is this why you were such an asshole to Cub in the café?”

“You aren’t with Cub?” Grian asks, looking surprised. Scar can’t help it, then. He bursts into cackles, nearly knocking over his glass of water as he brings his hands to his face to try and smother his laughter. “Scar! Don’t laugh at me… Oh, gods, this is so embarrassing. I can’t believe I wasted that speech on nothing.” Grian groans, face turning a fierce shade of red. Scar’s chuckles subside naturally, and he looks closely at his friend, heart doing funny things in his ribcage.

“Really, Gri, is this why you were rude to Cub?” He repeats, raising an eyebrow. Grian looks at him, forehead wrinkled. “‘Cause it’s sweet, and it can be forgiven, if that’s why, but otherwise… Well, y’know, G, he is my best friend. He matters so much to me. But you guys acted so weird! And, honestly, like a bunch of jerks! Of anyone, Cub did not deserve that. ”

“I mean…” Grian looks uncomfortable. “I thought he was your boyfriend.”

“My emotionally abusive asshole boyfriend who doesn’t like to hold my hand?” Scar can’t contain his amusement. Grian glares at him, nose scrunched like always when he’s annoyed or disgusted.

“Yes. Sorry for being a prick to him, though.” The apology is gruff, but Scar knows it’s sincere. Grian doesn’t make a habit of lying like that, even small white lies, not to him. It was one of their first stipulations when they began their arrangement; Scar doesn’t like liars, and he needs to know he can trust his partners. “He didn’t deserve that. I guess I was just jealous.”

“I thought you weren’t the possessive type, G?” Scar giggles. Grian shrugs, continuing to make dinner on autopilot.

“I’m not,” Grian says. “Not unless it’s with you. Not unless it’s with Mumbo. I guess. I dunno, you two bring out a lot of new things in me. For a bloke who hates change, it’s shocking that I actually like you guys so much, ‘cause I change all the time for you.”

“Grian,” says Scar, watery-eyed. “That’s so sweet. I mean, possessive and jealous implications aside, that’s really sweet. You’re adorable.”

“I’ll tone it down,” Grian agrees. “And I’ll do better, the next time I see him.”

“Thanks, G-man.” Even though he doubts there will be a next time, it’s nice to hear. He knows that Grian means it, that he’d do better automatically, because it’s important to Scar and Grian cares about him. It might not be the same way Scar cares about him, but oh, it’s more than enough. Scar watches as Grian moves around his kitchen like he belongs there. His heart skips a beat. Disney music still plays in the background and there’s the scent of pasta sauce warming on the stove. All that’s missing is Mumbo’s cold arms wrapped around his waist, or perhaps his moustache tickling Scar’s neck. “What’s Mumbo up to tonight?”

“Staying at home, I should think. He’s buzzing with some new circuitry project of his, I could barely get him to look at me before I left. Want me to call him over? I’m sure he’d come, even if it’s just to sit in the room near us while he fiddles with his wire.”

“That sounds really dirty, I hope you know.” Scar teases, voice dripping with innuendo. Grian gives him an unimpressed glance, but his lips tug at the corners because he has just as inappropriate a sense of humour as Scar does. He simply hides it better, that’s all.

“Mm. I’ll call him.” Grian gives him a once-over and Scar does his best sparkling smile in return. He gives finger-guns, making Grian snort. “How bad is the pain, on a scale of I can edge you tonight to we should just cuddle and watch Disney movies?”

“Jesus Christ,” Scar says, face immediately heating. Grian smirks at him. “It’s not bad. I mean, it’s bad, but it’s always bad, and I think I could last through maybe…three almost-orgasms. I don't know how good I’d be at reciprocating, though. My legs are killing me.”

“Scar,” Grian gives a long-suffering sigh. “The whole point of tonight is that I take care of you.”

“I know! I know, I know, I’ll listen. I’ll be good.” Scar winks, but the look Grian gives him in return is more along the lines of ‘you better be’. He’s suddenly more than excited for later tonight, after dinner. “Want me to grab your phone and call Mumbo while you cook? Oh, do you think he wants to join, tonight?”

“He seemed fine, touch-aversion-wise today, but you should ask him.” Grian replies truthfully. Scar nods. He grabs his cane and slides off of the barstool, leaning heavily on it as he walks to the entryway of his apartment. Grian’s messenger bag hangs on the hook, his shoes neatly placed below them with Scar’s own messily kicked off in opposite directions. It makes Scar smile, how different they are, how he could get used to coming home to a sight like this. He fishes Grian’s phone from a messenger bag pocket, dialling Mumbo’s number by memory.

“Pesky bird, have you talked to him already?” Mumbo answers, a faint electrical buzz coming from the other end of the phone line.

“Yes, he did, and no, Mumbs, I’m not dating Cub. Nor is Cub emotionally abusive! He’s my best friend, saying some stupid shit that Gri took outta context,” Scar answers, wedging the phone between his ear and shoulder. He walks back in the direction of the kitchen with a wide smile on his face. “Grian misunderstood the whole scenario. Honestly, Cub’s wonderful when you get to know him, it just takes a minute.”

“Oh, dear. I was worried about something like that happening.”

“Uh-huh,” Scar gives Grian a pointed look. The man in question sticks his tongue out at him. “Assumptions do make assholes, don’t they, Mumbo?” Mumbo’s laugh is warm and comforting, even through a shitty phone speaker. Scar wants to see him in person, suddenly, desperate for him to be right there. Even if Mumbo doesn’t want to be touched today, it would be enough just to see him.

“I must agree that they do.” Mumbo sighs, the sound soft. “Was there a reason you called, darling?”

Scar tries not to giggle like a lovesick teenager. “Yes. Do you want to come over tonight? Grian’s making spaghetti, and it doesn’t look like we’re going to get much grading done, so…”

“Tell him it’s a booty call!” Grian exclaims loudly, laughing.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing, oh my gosh,” Scar flutters a hand randomly in the vague direction of Grian’s mischievous face. He snickers, continuing to finish up their spaghetti. “Gri’s being inappropriate and embarrassing. Are you feeling alright with the idea of touch? Or, actually, do you even want to come over tonight?”

“Yes, Scar.” Mumbo sounds amused. “I would love to come over. Touch is fine, too. Has Grian got plans?”

“Many, many plans,” Scar hums, grinning. “He wants to take care of me.”

“Good. You deserve it. I’ll be over in a pop, should get there before Grian finishes the food. Tell him he’s not weaselling out of our important conversation either for me, would you, Scar? It’s nothing bad, don’t worry, but he’s avoidant. You know how it is.”

“Mumbo says don’t be a weasel and he still wants that important conversation with you, G-man,” Scar relays gleefully, making Grian squawk in offence. “I’m shocked that you’re being emotionally intelligent here, Mumbo.”

“Someone has to be when we don’t have you, darling.”

“You, my friend, are way too much of a smooth talker. I’ll see you soon, Mumbo.”

“See you, Scar.”

Scar hangs up the phone, setting it down on the counter. “So, what’s this super important conversation you’ve gotta have with Mumbo?”

“Hm? Oh, that.” Grian scoffs. “He’s being an idiot. He thinks…some things that are very stupid that I can’t tell you. You’d have to ask him. But what it boils down to is Mumbo being Mumbo. He’s worried about losing this person, just because we want more out of the relationship we have with them. I’ve told him a thousand times it’s ridiculous⎯ Who wants to lose Mumbo, firstly? And secondly, we’re so close with this person we might as well be living together.”

“Is it… Impulse?”

“Why would it⎯” Grian makes a face. “Scar, no. It’s not Impulse. He’s got the band, anyway, with Gem and Scott. Also, really? We aren’t that close to Impulse! And he’s a great guy, but oh, gods, Scar, no.”

“Just spitballing here!” Scar defends. “Impulse was the first to come to mind!”

“You’re ridiculous.” Grian sighs, but he sounds fond. “Quit thinking and go get your sketchbook or something. Better yet, actually grab the assignments you’re supposed to be handling this weekend.”

“No thanks,” Scar says with a grin, going to retrieve his sketchbook from the living room. Jellie’s curled up in a semicircle near it, happily napping away. He distinctly remembers feeding her when Cub was over, and then again after he left, so she hasn’t fallen victim to his poor time-management skills. “‘Scuse me, Queenie,” He whispers, carefully nudging her to the side. Jellie blinks up at him and mroaws in irritation before settling back into her nap.

“Have I starred in any of your dreams lately?”

“You’re in all of them,” Scar answers, honest. He ignores the faint choking sound Grian makes in response, huffing as he sits back down. Really, he won’t be getting up again until after dinner, not even with his cane. “But not lately. It’s just been the desert, and I’ve been so sad, G. I wake up with tear tracks sometimes because of it! It’s like I’m grieving, but I don’t know what. There’s never any graves. There’s just the sand and the sun and cacti and feathers.”

“Feathers?” Grian seems surprised. “You’ve not mentioned that before.”

“I haven’t?” Scar pauses, trying to think. He guesses it slipped his mind. The desert dreams are always weird, a bit uncanny, too realistic, like Scar actually lived through the events he dreams of. Normally he can write that sort of thing off, since his dreams are like snapshots, blurred and unfocused, but not the desert. “Well, yeah, feathers. Macaw feathers, I think.”

“How strange,” Grian says, brow furrowed. Scar nods. “You have weird dreams, Scar.”

“I can’t help it!”

“Hm. Try this.” Grian picks a noodle and hands it to Scar, who eats it obediently. It’s just right, straddling the line of too chewy and al dente. He nods, giving Grian a big thumbs-up. The other man doesn’t like tasting noodles, even if he’s the one cooking, and claims that he can’t taste the difference between too hard and too soft anyway. It’s endearing, is what it is.

“Is the food ready? I’m starving,” Scar complains, sketchbook flipped open on the counter in front of him. He’s landed on a page filled with unfinished doodles of Mumbo, along with some detailing on his hands or suits. Mumbo’s fun to draw; he’s all sure, sharp lines and severe shading.

“You can see me making it, Scar, shut up,” Grian replies instantly. “It’ll be done when it’s done. You wanna hear what I overheard in the breakroom yesterday while you wait?”

“Oh my gosh, you know I do.”

“Apparently, and you didn’t hear this from me⎯”

“Gri, literally everyone knows we’re attached at the hip. If they were stupid enough to say it in front of you, it’s a safe bet that I know, too.” Scar teases, smirking. Grian rolls his eyes and flips him off before pulling the noodles off the stove burner.

“Well, anyway, apparently Whatshisface is having an affair with Elle! I guess she left her husband, but he hasn’t even told his wife that they’re together. Y’know, you should stay home sick more often, people forget about me way more when you’re not there. They just talk and talk, like, jeez, some things really don’t need to be mentioned in the faculty break room before eight a.m.” Grian’s animated as he talks, moving his hands around with his pretty dark grey eyes sparkling. Scar watches him, content, and flips to an open page in his sketchbook.

“You mean Tom?”

“Yes, Whatshisface, keep up, Scar.”

“Uh-huh. Did you hear anything about Sofia from down the hall? I know everyone dislikes her for whatever bullshit reason, so… But I saw her post last night about the baby being born! A healthy baby boy, isn’t that cute? We should really send her a gift basket or something, I adore her. She’s so much fun to shit-talk prissy Stevens with.”

“I’ll figure out what hospital she’s at.” Grian affirms. “We can bake tomorrow for the gift basket, if you’re feeling up for it. And I didn’t hear anything, which I can only assume is good news, given the vultures we work with. A pity that Brittany will be gone once Sofia’s back on her feet, though, she was sweet.”

“Oh, oh, I didn’t even think of that!” Scar pouts. “We’ll have to get her some cookies.”

“‘Sorry you got let go, here’s a chocolate chip cookie’?”

“Mhm,” Scar agrees, ignoring Grian’s sarcasm. The man snorts, combining the spaghetti noodles, sauce, and meat in one big bowl. “Chocolate chip cookies make everything so much better.”

“That I can⎯”

“Oh my God!” Scar half-shouts, startled as he whirls around to see Mumbo enter the room. Mumbo holds his hands up in surrender, eyes wide with a sheepish expression in place. Grian’s overcome with laughter, of course, the bastard. “Mumbo! You can’t just be sneaking up on a guy like that, you’ll give me a heart attack!”

“Sorry ‘bout that, mate,” Mumbo says dryly, walking over and placing a kiss on Scar’s forehead in apology. Absently, he tucks a strand of Scar’s hair behind his ear before joining Grian on the other side of the counter. “Thought you two heard me come in. Having dinner at the bar?”

“Yep,” Grian answers while Scar tries not to melt in an ooey-gooey puddle of emotions. He loves that Mumbo is so free with his affection around him, but it hurts like a motherfucker sometimes. Scar knows that Mumbo doesn’t mean it like that, only in the same way he’s meant it for as long as they’ve been friends. Platonically. And sexually, occasionally, though Mumbo’s usually a bit more forward with his affections when he’s starting something. Forehead kisses aren’t exactly arousing.

“I’ll get the plates. No garlic bread?” Mumbo grabs the plates from a cupboard, laying them out in a row along the counter space. He grabs cups, too, and fetches the pitcher of tea from the fridge. Scar’s heart doesn’t skip a beat, but it doesn’t need to. It knows he’s home.

“It slipped my mind,” Grian admits, nose scrunched. “I was more focused on getting Scar fed.”

“Ah. New project?” Mumbo asks, directing the question to Scar. He grins, making Mumbo roll his eyes. “I’m not surprised. What is it this time?” He likes that Mumbo doesn’t try to scold him; it makes him feel surprisingly emotional. Scar gets scolded a lot by Cub and Cleo, so it’s nice not to hear it from Mumbo or Grian. They’re just…here, taking care of him. And Scar can let himself be taken care of without worrying that it means Mumbo or Grian see him differently.

“A painting,” He answers, once he’s snapped out of his thoughts. “A realistic rendition of this cave I saw in my head earlier today. It’s drying by the couch, if you wanna look. I’m hoping it turns out good! It’s kinda based on Cub, or Cub’s eyes, I guess. They inspired the main focus of the painting.”

“Ooh, that’s nice,” Mumbo replies sincerely, placing a plate full of steaming spaghetti in front of Scar. “Tea sound okay?”

“Tea’s good!” Scar replies cheerfully, beginning to dig in. His sketchbook gets put off to the side, no longer important. Mumbo moves it down to the end of the bar, so it won’t get food on it. “This is amazin’, Gri, so yummy. Thanks for cooking!”

“It’s nothing, and you’re welcome,” says Grian deflectively, even though his cheeks are flushed from the praise. He joins Scar at the bar a second later with his own plate, sitting on Scar’s right. Mumbo chooses the seat on Scar’s left, leaving him sandwiched in between the two men. Honestly, Scar doesn’t know if there’s a better place to be, aside from sitting next to the loves of his life and eating delicious food. There’s a lack of talking for a while as they all eat, only the sounds of silverware clinking against plates filling the air.

“Sooo,” Scar starts, once he’s feeling comfortably full and not so much famished. Grian hums curiously, taking a drink of his tea. Mumbo glances at him, a bit of red sauce around his lips that he missed. It’s so cute that Scar can’t help but giggle. “You’ve got a bit⎯”

“What? Oh, here?” Mumbo tries to wipe it away but misses, making Scar shake his head fondly. He leans over, tilting Mumbo’s chin and gently swiping it away with his thumb before wiping his hand on a paper napkin. When he looks back at Mumbo, he’s confused to find the man simply staring at him, cheeks flushed. “You will be the death of me one day, Scar.”

“Sorry?” Scar tries experimentally. Mumbo groans, burying his face in his hands as Grian laughs.

“Oh! Oh, you’re a disaster, Mumbo, gracious.”

“Shut up, Grian.”

“Yeah, shut up, G.” Scar echoes, grinning wildly. Grian glares at him, poking him firmly in the side.

“Oh, I see how it is! Ganging up on me now, are we?”

“Can’t help it,” Scar replies without missing a beat. “It’s too fun not to.”

“And you make it incredibly easy,” Mumbo adds, composure gathered once more. Scar doesn’t really know what that was all about, but eh, it probably doesn’t require any critical thinking. He trusts Mumbo to tell him if he has a problem.

“Absolute wankers, both of you,” Grian exclaims, shaking his head in faux-disappointment.

“Anyway!” Scar declares before either of them can get going again. “What’s this super important conversation you have to have with G, Mumbs? Because lemme tell you, Grian was, like, super tight-lipped on the conversation and if there’s someone you guys are trying to get with, you should’ve come to me first! I’m like a love guru!” Really, Scar thinks he’d rather crawl over nails than help Mumbo and Grian seduce someone, but it sure as hell beats the alternative. He has to be useful somehow, and if this is the way he can help them both… He’ll do it. It’s that simple.

“Never say the words love guru again.” Grian says flatly, disgusted. Scar winks cheekily at him.

“Admit it, I’m a love guru!”

“Never.”

“There’s no⎯” Mumbo starts, then stops, flustered. “Grian. What did you tell him?!”

“Nothing!” Grian exclaims, giving his best innocent impression. “I only said that there was someone we were really close to that we wanted more out of our relationship with. I was super vague.”

“None of that is super vague, Grian!” Mumbo hisses, cheeks dark red. Grian gives him an unimpressed look.

“Scar guessed Impulse. Impulse, Mumbo. Tell me again about how it’s not super vague?”

“I did do that,” agrees Scar cheerfully. “He was the first to come to mind.”

“Oh.” Mumbo sounds genuinely surprised. His gaze shifts from Grian to Scar, seeming quizzical. His suit jacket must’ve been discarded on a hook next to Grian’s messenger bag, because he’s only wearing his usual dress pants and a white button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing muscles that Scar wants to bite. He looks relaxed, disarmingly casual, like he feels at home.

Scar hopes he does. He hopes Grian and Mumbo feel like this place is their home, too.

… Oh.

“You weren’t talking about Impulse, huh?” Scar asks, weakly joking. The look on Mumbo’s face softens. Grian hums, taking Scar’s hand in his own and giving it a squeeze.

“No.” Mumbo replies, offering a small smile. “Not Impulse.”

“If I was your boyfriend, I’d hold your hand whenever you wanted, y’know.” Grian interlaces their fingers. “I was a prick to Cub when I thought he was your boyfriend. I hated him the minute you introduced us because of that, Scar, long before I actually thought he was…y’know, a horrible human being. That probably swayed my judgement, too, when I overheard you guys. I hated Cub when I thought he was your boyfriend, because that’s what I want to be.”

“We want to be,” Mumbo corrects, earnest. “We’ve been in love with you for, oh, a very long time, I think. We were trying to ease you into the idea, which is why neither of us broke off our arrangements when we started dating⎯ It came out rather fast that both of us were in love with you. But then Grian saw Cub today and thought you’d already moved on and pushed up our timeline here quite a bit.”

“Like you weren’t walking on pins and needles trying to keep it a secret,” Grian replies derisively. Mumbo rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny the sentiment. “Look, the point is, sweetheart, Mumbo and I would like to get rid of the friends part of our relationship.”

“But you’ve been⎯” Scar protests, heart racing. “You’ve been hung up on each other forever! We started having sex because you guys wanted each other so badly and couldn’t have it in case you ruined your friendships!”

“That’s why you started hanging out with Scar?” Grian asks, surprised. Mumbo blinks at being addressed.

“Apparently it’s what you did, too, I don’t think you should judge me here!”

“I’m not, I’m not judging, I’m just shocked that you were the one to approach him. You’re kind of stuffy, Mumbo.”

“And you’re weirdly unashamed about sex, we know! Can we focus on Scar, please?” Mumbo retorts in embarrassment, face red. Grian giggles, but his eyes slide back over to Scar with ease. He’s not upset with the attention; it’s starred in a few of his fantasies, having both of them looking at him like that. Like they love him.

It’s hard to swallow, is all. Scar had been dead set on being alone romantically in life. That’s just how it goes. He’s good at feelings, at pillow talk, and he’s good at sex, but he isn’t good at the love part of it all. He’s too much to deal with. That’s what all of his partners have said in the past. He’s too high-maintenance, half because of his disabilities and half because he’s emotional and he can be overwhelming and he’s not good at regulating his impulses. Scar’s brought out of his thoughts by Mumbo gently cupping his face, cold hands feeling like a balm against his heated skin.

“What are you thinking, darling?”

“I can’t,” Scar’s voice cracks and he swallows. “I don’t think… You don’t want me. You like the sex, that’s all, and you don’t want to lose it. Which is fine, I’ve told you guys that I’m here for as long as you need me. But you don’t want me. You’ve been in love with each other for years, I’m sure this is some st⎯ silly crush. You’ll get over it. I’m just…good at what I do.”

“That’s not fair.” Grian snaps, and he sounds angry.

“Grian⎯” Mumbo tries, but Grian waves him off.

“No! I won’t be quiet, and I’m not gonna mince words here. You’re being an asshole, Scar. You don’t get to tell us what we do or don’t feel! This isn’t a crush. This isn’t a crush, Scar, this is our lives, this is⎯” He gives a short, incredulous laugh. “This is everything. You’re everything. We both want you and we both love you and is that really so hard to understand, Scar? Is it so difficult to think that maybe, just maybe, you’re worth more than sex?”

“Yes,” Scar says unthinkingly, tears stinging his eyes. “Sorry, fuck, I don’t want to cry. I just⎯ I don’t get it, I don’t⎯ I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you how you feel or what you want. God knows I get enough of that from strangers.”

“You can cry, darling,” Mumbo insists quietly. “We won’t look down on you for it. And you’re worth more than sex, Scar. You’re worth it all. Please, won’t you let us love you?”

“I don’t know how.”

“It starts like this,” Grian says, determined. “It starts with you saying yes. Believing that we can love you for you, not based on what you can do for us or if you’ll have sex with us. Because we do, Scar. I love the you that forgets to eat for three hours because he’s so focused on a painting and the you that spends hours with Jellie so she won’t feel neglected and the you who gets excited when new nature documentaries release and the you who insists we dance to Disney songs. I love you.”

“I love waking up with you,” Mumbo continues, gently rubbing his thumb below Scar’s cheek and catching his tears. “Because you don’t wake up all the way immediately, and before you do, the first thing you do is seek me out. You pull me close and mumble random things and I just know that, whatever happens, it’ll have been a good day, because I got to wake up and hug you. I love you.”

“Oh my God.” Scar chokes on a sob. He buries his face in his hands, crying. “I love you guys too. I can’t believe this is happening. Of course I⎯ I want to be with you guys, of course I do. It’s pretty much all I’ve wanted for years.”

“Great,” Mumbo exhales, relieved. “Think we’re due for a proper cuddle now, yeah?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Grian agrees.

“Sounds nice,” Scar manages, watery. “...Can we watch Up?”

“Then we’ll all be crying!” Grian exclaims, laughing, and he grabs Scar’s hand once they’re all standing like it’s habit. He wants that. He wants Grian holding his hand to be something so natural it’s a habit. Scar sniffles, grinning widely.

“Maybe that’s my master plan.”

“Well, far be it from our place to ruin that,” Mumbo jokes, kissing his temple. “Let’s watch Up, then, darling. I always forget how sad that movie is at first…”

⎯⎯⎯

Later, after a few hours of cuddling and cute Disney films, Scar finds himself in a much better headspace. Realistically, he knows that the only thing that will change between them is their label, and he knows that Grian and Mumbo don’t just use him for sex. It’s hard to think of it like that when Scar’s so used to just being useful for people, but he can understand that Grian and Mumbo love him. Not for the sake of sex, but…

Well, look, Scar’s only a man, and his thoughts started wandering about halfway through The Little Mermaid, and now he’s trying not to draw any attention to the half-chub in his pants. Mumbo’s all loose limbs next to him, legs brushing as he adjusts every so often, laying back into Grian’s chest. Scar has his legs over Mumbo’s and he’s leaning against the opposite armrest that Grian’s on, while Mumbo’s situated in the V of the other man’s legs. Grian’s fingers have already destroyed his hairstyle, making Mumbo look sleepy as he plays with his hair. The only thing saving Scar’s semi from being noticed is the blanket draped over him and Mumbo, because his sweatpants would do absolutely nothing to hide it.

“Scar?” Mumbo’s voice draws him out of his thoughts. Scar blinks, realising that he’d been staring aimlessly at the other two for God knows how long. He offers a sheepish smile. “You okay, mate? D’ya wanna go to bed? It’s a bit late, I think.”

“I would very much like to go to bed, but not to sleep,” Scar admits, feeling a bit vulnerable. Grian frowns.

“Scar, we told you⎯”

“I know!” Scar interrupts, shaking his head. “No, no, I know, I’m not⎯ This isn’t me trying to prove my worth with sex. I’ve been thinking about you edging me for the past half hour, and honestly, it’s like I’ve been edging myself. I really, I really want you to, um, please. I want you to take care of me.”

“Yes,” Mumbo says immediately, sitting upright. “Absolutely, darling, we’ll take care of you. Come here, Scar.” He crooks a finger and Scar goes to him immediately. He thinks Mumbo only has to ask, and Scar would follow him anywhere.

Their lips meet with none of the passion he’s expecting, only a gentle surety. Mumbo cradles his face, fitting Scar’s cheek in his hand perfectly. It’s chaste for a few moments as they trade kisses, finding a rhythm, and Scar hums. Mumbo’s tongue swipes gently across the seam of his lips and Scar parts them, allowing him access. He makes some ridiculously breathy noise as Mumbo’s tongue slides across his, hands coming to fist in the open collar of his button-up. He feels it as Mumbo’s other hand comes to tangle in his hair, tightening slightly and pulling Scar back. He gasps, eyes opening to find Mumbo looking at him with a fond smile.

“Hey there, darling.” Mumbo runs his thumb against Scar’s bottom lip. “So pretty, isn’t he, Grian?”

“Gorgeous. Let’s move this to the bedroom, shall we?” Grian presses a kiss along Mumbo’s neck, and Scar catches the barest glimpse of teeth before Mumbo sucks in a sharp breath. “Wanna be carried by our big strong Mumbo here to bed, or are we going to walk?”

“I can walk,” Scar mumbles, but Mumbo’s still holding his hair and his thoughts are starting to pleasantly slip and slide right out of his brain. He knows he can walk, but he doesn’t really want to, and this whole thing is supposed to be about him getting taken care of. “But… Please? Mumbo, will you hold me?”

“Ah, oh, Grian,” Mumbo breathes as Grian finally pulls away from his neck, leaving a blooming hickey in place. It’s gorgeous against Mumbo’s pale skin, and Scar’s mouth waters in turn. He wants to bite Mumbo anywhere right now. Grian smirks, and then he winks when he catches Scar’s eye. “I can, yes, Scar, I can hold you.”

“How many times do you want to be edged tonight, sweetheart?” Grian shuffles up from the couch, standing in front of Scar. Scar hums, tilting his head towards the man in question. Grian’s eyes darken, his lips curled into a smirk that Scar knows like the back of his hand. Mumbo’s hands slip from Scar’s hair and face to under his thighs, pulling him close. “Scar. I need you to answer me.”

“Mm,” Scar nuzzles against Mumbo’s chest. “Twice? Or…three times? Maybe?”

“Ambitious tonight?” Mumbo laughs quietly. He braces himself for a second before standing, lifting Scar as he does so. Scar wraps his arms around Mumbo’s neck, pressing his grin into the other man’s collarbone.

“Three times is nothing,” replies Grian. “I edged him five times in one night before. He was desperate for me. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“I’m impressive like that,” Scar agrees, mouthing along the sharp jut of Mumbo’s bone. It feels good, not to worry about anything right now, to know that he’s in the arms of a man who loves him. Grian brushes hair off of his temple and places his lips there in a soft kiss.

“Damn right you are, Scar.”

“Gods, you guys are much kinkier than us,” Mumbo sounds fond, and a little exasperated. Scar giggles, biting gently against his skin a second later. He doesn’t taste like anything, not really, just skin and a little tang of sweat and he can smell Mumbo’s spicy aftershave, but it’s perfect. Mumbo’s perfect. “Most we get up to is a little masochism and bondage.”

“Gri’s fault,” Scar mumbles. “He’s super kinky.”

“Oh, like you don’t love every second of it, sweetheart.” Scar’s moved slightly in Mumbo’s arms as he and Grian start to walk towards his bedroom. There’s a meow and he opens his eyes, peeking over Mumbo’s shoulders to see Jellie staring up at him.

“Jellie! Sorry, Queenie,” Scar whispers. “I’ll give you a bunch of treats tomorrow to make up for leaving you alone tonight, sweet girl.” He can feel Mumbo’s laugh through his chest where they’re pressed together. Jellie meows again, clearly displeased with this turn of events, but she allows Mumbo and Grian to finish walking into his bedroom. Once inside, it’s dark and cosy, just how Scar likes it. Mumbo sits down with him on the bed, keeping Scar in his lap and claiming his lips nearly immediately.

“Cock ring tonight, Scar? Or do you think you can be good enough to hold out for me, sweetheart?” Grian’s voice comes from behind him, and he feels the man start to mouth at his neck a second later. Scar whines, unable to think straight when Mumbo’s tongue is halfway down his throat and his hand is in his hair. One of Grian’s hands comes to settle on Scar’s waist while the other palms over his bulge. Scar moans, not expecting it, and bucks up into Grian’s hand.

“Scar,” Mumbo says, ragged when he finally pulls away. His grip tightens on Scar’s hair, pain lancing up his spine in the good way. Scar whines wordlessly, eyes lidded as he looks at Mumbo pleadingly. “Grian asked you a question, darling. Can you focus enough for us to answer it?”

“Yeah, yeah, I can be good, wanna be good,” Scar twitches when Grian buries his teeth in the juncture of his neck and shoulders, eyes falling shut. His palm is still placed over Scar’s erection, heavy and warm and just right for Scar to grind up against. “Oh, uhn, please, Gri, more, more, ah⎯”

“Are you particularly attached to this shirt, Scar?” Mumbo asks, hand sliding from Scar’s hair to finger at the collar of his worn t-shirt. Scar’s eyebrows furrow and he blinks slowly, looking at his boyfriend in confusion. Mumbo’s lips tilt up at the corner, his smile crooked.

“N- ngh, no, no, I’m not⎯ Ah, Grian!” Scar moans as Grian’s hand slips under his sweatpants, rubbing his hard dick through his thin boxers. He can feel his hips twitch, the wetness of his precome spreading through the fabric and making it all feel so much more obscene. “M’mbo, not attached, please!”

“Good.” Mumbo’s grip tightens, his knuckles brushing against Scar’s chest. He braces and then there’s the sound of cheap threads tearing apart as Mumbo rips his shirt right down the middle. Scar jolts, eyes flying open. Mumbo gives him a breathless smile. “I wasn’t sure if that would work.”

“You’re so fucking hot, oh my God.” Grian groans. He sucks Scar’s earlobe into his mouth, digging the tip of his thumb into the slit of Scar’s drooling cockhead. Scar keens, hips moving in restless circles. “You close, Scar?”

“Mnh, almost, not, not quite,” He protests, feeling the pull of his orgasm coming closer like magnets, inevitable. It’s there, it’s close, it’s just right out of reach. Grian hums, biting down on Scar’s earlobe. Mumbo’s cold hands spread across Scar’s pecs, pressing flat against his nipples and groping.

“Look at you, darling, look at these pretty tits.” Mumbo coos, voice dripping with lust. Scar moans, the praise shooting straight to his dick. Grian’s hand makes a circle around his dick, giving him something to thrust against even through the wet cloth of his boxers. Cruelly, Mumbo’s fingertips find his nipple and twist. “Fuck, Scar, you’re beautiful. Perfect, darling, absolutely perfect, with your tits and your gorgeous dick. You gonna cum, Scar, are you gonna cum for Grian?”

“Yes, yeah, g’nna, oh, Mumbo, Grian, please!” Scar gives a dry sob as Grian’s hand squeezes around the base of his dick, abruptly bringing the crashing wave of his orgasm to a stop. “No, no, please, wan’ it, wanna cum, Gri⎯”

“Give me your colour, sweetheart,” Grian orders, nails digging into his skin through his t-shirt. Mumbo’s stopped pinching his nipples but hasn’t stopped groping, taking particular pleasure in feeling Scar up.

“Green, green, pl-please, green.”

“Shh, doing so well for us, sweetheart, you’re being so good. You think you can give me one more? One more and I’ll let you cum?” Grian checks in and Scar nods desperately, hands curling into fists against the bed covers. Mumbo leans in, placing a kiss against his lips that Scar returns instantly. He makes a needy noise, grinding down against the bulge he can feel in Mumbo’s pants. He pants when Mumbo breaks away, Grian’s hand slipping underneath his boxers and stroking against his dick. The skin on skin contact makes Scar nearly lose his mind. He moans, hips jerking rapidly. He can feel Mumbo’s cock through their pants, is desperate for it, hole clenching reflexively.

“Wan’ you t’fuck me, Mumbo, please?”

“Oh, baby, darling, you’re addicting,” Mumbo says it like a promise. “Grian? Gonna let me fuck our good boy here?”

“Lube’s in the bedside drawer,” Grian answers, breathing heavily against Scar’s neck. He feels it as Mumbo shifts and twists underneath him, presumably fetching the lube. Grian moving his hands in maddening twists around Scar’s dick, shifting down and rubbing his thumb against the tip. He collects the precome before smearing it around the shaft, easing the slide. “God, you’re so wet for me, Scar. So wet and needy, what a good little slut for us, sweetheart. You want me or Mumbo to open you up, get you ready for Mumbo’s thick cock?”

“Hnng, don’t, don’t make me choose, oh, please, more, G, I need more⎯” Scar thrusts up into Grian’s hands and the man lets out a dark little chuckle.

“Oh, sweetheart. Already fucked dumb and no one’s gotten anything in you yet,” He murmurs, saccharine and degrading all the same. It makes arousal pool in Scar’s stomach, heat crashing over him in waves. “Prep him, Mumbo. How close are you, Scar? You gonna cum soon?”

“N-no, no, not yet, might when, ugn, Mumbo⎯”

“I got you, darling,” Mumbo says, and then there’s hands under his thighs as he pulls Scar’s sweatpants and boxers down. There’s a click of the lube bottle as Mumbo opens it and wets his fingers. Grian pulls him closer onto his lap instead of on Mumbo’s, tilting him so his hole’s exposed to the other man. Mumbo’s fingers slip under his dick, making Scar keen as they rub gently at his perineum. “There you are, Scar, oh, you’re doing so good for me.”

“G’nna, Gri, Mumbo, gonna cum, ‘m gonna cum, I can’t⎯” Scar writhes as Mumbo slips one finger into his hole past that tight ring of muscle. Grian hums, wrapping his fingers tightly around the base of Scar’s cock and stopping his orgasm once more. Scar really does sob then, tears dripping from his eyes as he throws his head back onto Grian’s shoulder. “No, no, no, Grian, please, I need it, please, oh God.”

“Oh, Scar, darling, you’re so tight,” Mumbo praises, making Scar keen. “Gonna feel so good around my cock, darling, you’re being so good, so good for Grian. For both of us, Scar, you’re absolutely perfect.” He slips in a second finger while Grian reaches up a hand, twisting his nipple and making Scar moan. The man mouths at his neck, teeth probably forming bite marks and hickies all over Scar’s skin.

“You’re so pretty, Scar, so pretty, looking good around Mumbo’s fingers. We love you, sweetheart, love you so much. You want something in your mouth?” Grian’s asking questions even as he rubs maddening circles over the tip of his dick, making Scar lose track of all his thoughts. His head fuzzes out and his mouth tips open, ragged moans leaving his lips. Mumbo swears under his breath, fucking two fingers in and out of his hole. He crooks them just right, brushing against his prostate as Grian places his fingers into Scar’s mouth. His hips jerk uselessly and he drools around Grian’s fingers, whiny uh-uh-uhs leaving his mouth each time Mumbo fucks into him.

“You ready for my cock, Scar?” Mumbo asks as he fits a third finger into Scar’s hole, the sound wet and messy. Scar’s dick jerks uselessly against his abdomen, blurting precome and twitching in Grian’s grasp. He makes a truly pornographic moan at the thought of Mumbo fucking him, desperately nodding.

“Think that means yes, Mumbo,” Grian hums, teasing and voice dark with want. He withdraws his hand from Scar’s mouth, bringing it down to his dick, covered in spit. “Look at him, he’s practically shaking. Begging for cock, aren’t you, slut? Go on, give it to him. Scar knows what he can handle.”

“Jesus,” Mumbo breathes, and then Scar can feel it, feel the blunt head of his lubed cock pressing at his entrance. Scar whines, trying to fuck back onto it. Grian’s hands hold his hip in place, pressing him down against the bed. He shifts back so Mumbo has more room. “Oh, oh, fuck, Scar, you’re so tight, so hot around my cock, so good, darling, so good for me⎯”

“There we go, sweetheart,” Grian says as Mumbo’s cock pushes into him fully, making them both moan. Scar makes another mindless, high-pitched noise, feeling so full. “There we go, Scar. You look so good like this, Scar, full of Mumbo’s cock and just gorgeous. Our perfect little slut, yes you are, Scar.”

“Full, so f’ll, please, M’mbo, more, want more, need it harder,” Scar begs, trying to fuck back onto Mumbo’s cock.

“Of course, darling, of course,” Mumbo murmurs, and then he’s fucking into Scar like he means it. His pace is hard and fast and bruising, making Scar lose his mind as he throws his head back and moans. Grian’s hand snakes around and rubs his hard dick, whispering filthy praises in his ear about how good he looks, stuffed full like this, tits bouncing with Mumbo’s thrusts. 

“Oh! Right there! Right there, right there, Mumbo, more, nghh,” Scar almost shouts as Mumbo nails his sweet spot. “Can I, can I, please, G, let me cum, Grian, please, oh, please!” A litany of moans fall from Scar’s lips as he begs Grian, desperate to cum and desperate to be good, to obey, to listen. Grian makes a small sound, biting down onto his shoulder.

“Yes, Scar, go ahead, cum for me, sweetheart, cum for me.”

“G, Mumbo!” Scar comes with a long, drawn-out moan of Mumbo’s name, spurting white across his abdomen as Grian strokes him through it. He keeps going, right until Scar’s teetering on the edge of oversensitivity. “Ngh, no, no more, G, too much, please!” Scar sobs, and Grian withdraws his hand, gently laving his tongue over the bite mark that nearly broke skin on Scar’s neck.

“Shh, okay, okay, sweetheart, you’re okay,” Grian soothes, his voice a gentle murmur, even as Mumbo’s still thrusting into him. “Want Mumbo to cum in you or on you, pretty slut? Can you give me an answer?”

“In, in, please, wanna be filled,” Scar begs, eyes slipping shut as Mumbo fills him in all the right ways. Sparks wrack up his spine and into his blood every time Mumbo brushes against his prostate, blurring the lines between pleasure and pain. Grian feeds his fingers into Scar’s mouth and he starts licking instinctively, sucking the cum from each one and swallowing even though it’s his own and salty and a little gross.

“Oh, fuck, nghn, uhn , you’re so tight, Scar, so good, I’m gonna cum, want me to cum? Want me to fill you up, darling?” Mumbo’s thrusts become erratic as he nears the edge, his breath coming in harsh pants. Scar whines wordlessly. “Oh, oh God, I’m g’nna cum⎯” Mumbo moans, and then he’s cumming, filling Scar up. It’s warm and wet and Scar feels so full.

“Fuck,” Grian mumbles. He’s hard against Scar’s back, he can feel it, but everything’s warm and syrupy and Scar doesn’t want to move forever. He just wants to lay here, full with Mumbo in front of him and Grian behind him. His boyfriend shifts, moving slightly to his side and laying Scar down against the bed. Grian begins jerking off furiously, coming almost immediately and letting his cum splatter across Scar and Mumbo’s chests.

“Gross,” Mumbo complains, looking all sated and content. Grian chuckles, and then his hand finds Scar’s. Despite how spit-slick and cum-covered it is, Scar doesn’t care, holding onto it tightly. He slips out of Scar’s hole, making the man whine. “Shh, Scar, you’re okay, you’re fine. Want a bath, darling?”

“Nooo..” Scar mumbles, eyes falling shut. “Wet wipes. Wanna cuddle.”

“Well, what the prince wants, the prince gets,” Mumbo teases, and Scar knows without seeing that he’s staring at Grian, who hates not having a bath after sex. He’s prissy that way, and it’s adorable, and Scar doesn’t care one bit right now. He just wants to lay around.

“Alright, alright,” Grian grumbles, but he isn’t complaining, not truly. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. I can’t believe you’re making me do this… We better have the longest shower in the morning with the best shower sex.” Scar laughs quietly, turning his head and nuzzling into the side of Grian’s thigh. A second later, there’s the cool sensation of wet wipes against him as Mumbo and Grian clean him off together.

“This really is ineffectual, huh?” Mumbo says lightly. “You’re lucky we love you, darling.”

“I know it,” Scar agrees sleepily. “Now are you two gonna cuddle me or not?”

“Just gonna drop these gross wet wipes to the floor and worry about them in the morning, yep, that’s what I’m doing. Gosh, I love you so much.” Grian mumbles, and then he curls up against Scar’s back. They’re sleeping with their heads towards the foot of the bed, for some reason, but Scar doesn’t care enough to move.

“Alright, budge on up, here,” Mumbo murmurs, joining Scar around the front. He curls his arms around Scar’s chest, ignoring his half-torn t-shirt, and plants a chaste kiss on Scar’s lips. “Love you two. Pancakes for breakfast?”

“Only if you make ‘em!” Grian proclaims. “I wanna get all the Jellie and Scar snuggles…”

“If you two don’t shut up, I’m gonna kick you outta my bed,” Scar mutters, burying his face in Mumbo’s chest. “G’night, I love you. Shhh…” His boyfriends share a soft laugh before Grian kisses the back of his neck and Mumbo kisses his temple.

“Alright, sweetheart. We’ll shut up.”

“Yeah, sorry, Scar. Goodnight, darling.”

“Love you.”

⎯end.