Work Text:
There are, technically, IPRE rules against fraternization. With no idea what they would find on the other planes, a small subsection of the handbook was written detailing rules about appropriately dealing with alien life. Of that subsection, there is only one line concerning relationships, added conspicuously after the crew had been chosen.
The line reads:
Should the life on these planets meet the aforementioned standards for sentience above, relations beyond the cordial are strictly prohibited.
Predictably, it is the twins who openly break this rule first. On the tenth cycle, they land on a planet that has huge, fairly clean cities despite its relative lack of technological advances. More importantly, these cities have promoted an impressive nightlife.
Magnus, Merle, and the twins depart for a club in the evening. While Magnus and Merle stumble back to the Starblaster close to midnight, Lup and Taako do not arrive back until 10:30 and noon respectively, both of them grinning awful, Cheshire smiles. Taako has beard burn down his neck. Their cheer seems especially smug to Magnus, who has been laid low with a hangover and is currently resting the side of his face against the cool tile of the kitchen island.
“Before you ask,” Lup tells Davenport, pouring milk into her multicolored cereal, “We were careful. Didn’t mention that we’re aliens even a little.”
“I did research on the STDs here and everything,” Taako says from the kitchen. Magnus can vouch for this; Taako burst into his room last night laughing hysterically to show him a picture of this plane’s version of condoms.
“Yes,” Lup says, then adds, “Also, we’re adults and you’re not our dad, so we shouldn’t get in trouble.”
Davenport blinks at her over his newspaper. “What makes you think you’re in trouble?”
“The rulebook,” Lucretia says, without looking up from her notes.
Davenport sips his coffee. “I think we’re a little beyond the rulebook now,” he says, wryly enough that Taako squints at the back of his head.
“You sneaky bastard,” he says accusatorily, loudly enough to make Magnus wince. “You slept with the tribe leader last year, didn’t you? God, I knew you two weren’t just talking strategy all the times you were holed away whispering.”
A long sip of coffee this time. “I don’t kiss and tell,” Davenport says mildly. Lucretia throws her eraser at the side of his head.
Magnus has dated before, though never seriously. This is true of essentially the entire crew, though there are a variety of reasons; Davenport and Barry are married to their jobs, Merle is somewhat of a free spirit, Taako and Lup disparage the idea of settling down, and Lucretia’s tendency to cloister herself away has headed off most dating opportunities.
With Magnus, his inexperience is mostly due to age. He was a month away from twenty-three when the Starblaster left, and the farthest he’d gotten in a relationship was letting Jamie (whose last name he could never remember and certainly couldn’t now) keep an extra shirt in his IPRE dorm.
So whenever they have a cycle where no one is in imminent danger, he’s certainly not averse to the idea of getting “more than cordial” with the inhabitants of that plane. This doesn’t always work out; sometimes there simply isn’t a physical compatibility between species, and sometimes what Magnus likes to think of as his roguish charm doesn’t go over especially well. He’s not as adept as either twin at picking people up, but a symmetrical face and a genuine smile go a long way on a lot of planes. That is, he makes it work.
Since most of the people he meets are at the sketchy bars that Taako drags him to, there’s usually a mutual understanding that this is a one time thing. People, Magnus finds, are beautiful. He’s never been picky, never been good at differentiating between the feelings of interest and attraction, and even though the bars tend to be similar on most planes, there are a huge variety of people to kiss against the grimy walls. He only makes the the mistake of growing too close once.
Magnus has always been a people person. He meets Marian five months into the cycle, and she’s funny and smart and beautiful. Magnus, as always, does not think about rushing in. (Oddly, it’s Taako who tells him it’s a bad idea, and Magnus thinks -- how would he know?) He does not think about the fact that they haven’t found the Light and likely won’t, or about how he will know what fear looks like in Marian’s dark eyes, but also what useless bravery looks like. He doesn’t think about how he might see her die.
He’s selfish, and he doesn’t tell her that her world is ending until there are only days left. He tells himself it was because they still could have found the Light, but that isn’t why.
Magnus stays on the ground with her when the Hunger comes, and because he is selfish, he doesn’t think twice about stepping into the path of a tendril to protect her for, gods, just a few more minutes. He’s selfish; he doesn’t want to watch her die, even if he knows with total certainty that it happens.
(His shoulders are shaking even as his body reforms. He doesn’t make that kind of mistake again.)
Taako rubs his hands together. “Alrighty,” he says. “Let’s get me up on that platform.”
Magnus stares at him. “What are you talking about?”
Taako frowns. “What are you talking about?”
“I thought I--” Magnus says, “The plan was that I was going to--”
Taako’s brow crinkles, then smooths. “Magnus,” he says. “You can’t seriously be arguing with me over who gets to die.” He looks pointedly at his paralysed leg and the venom that’s been visibly running up it, getting closer and closer to his spinal column each day.
“I--” Magnus says, then stops.
“Oh my God,” Taako says. “You actually haven’t thought about it, have you?”
Magnus’s voice comes out small. “No.”
“Okay, I’ll spell it out,” Taako says. “If you decide for some dumbass reason that you need to be the one to sacrifice yourself, I’m going to sit here until I die. I can’t move. I can’t do magic. I’m going to die in what, two days?”
“They said two and a half,” Magnus says.
“Right,” Taako says. “And this entire plane is chomped by the Hunger. If I do it, you can get the Light back to the crew.”
“Oh,” Magnus says. He sits down beside Taako.
“Yeah,” Taako says, and he actually looks at Magnus. “Oh, c’mon, don’t cry--”
“Sorry,” Magnus says, looking firmly at the ground.
Taako’s voice is grudgingly affectionate. “You’ll see me in two weeks anyway, dummy,” he says.
“I know,” Magnus says. “I’m gonna miss you, that’s all. And Lup is gonna throw something at me for letting you get hurt and then die.”
Taako pats him on the knee. “Sunset’s coming, my dude. You gotta help me to the altar.”
Obligingly, Magnus gets halfway up and hooks one arm around Taako’s back and another under his legs. They’ve been mostly going piggyback the past couple days, but this is easier for setting down. Taako drapes an arm over his shoulders.
They cross the chamber of the cave. The platform is about level with Magnus’s chest, so he has to hoist Taako a little higher.
“Wait,” Taako says. Magnus stops. Taako’s face is the same height as his, now, and just as Magnus registers that, Taako leans in and kisses him, more carefully than he ever would have expected from Taako.
Magnus blinks at him. “What was that for?”
“You’re bummed you don’t get to be the big hero,” Taako says. “Thought you could use something for the trouble.”
“That’s very thoughtful,” Magnus says. Despite himself, he’s smiling.
About twenty-five years in, Magnus pretty much stops having sex with humans. Some of the people who look the same age as him are starting to feel… uncomfortably young. Any overtures he makes towards humans who are his actual age tend to be laughed off; even if he grows out a beard he can’t pass for older than his late twenties, even if he’s lived about twice that.
Even as he starts to pull back, the others are changing too; Lucretia disappears for a night and barely even blushes when they holler congratulations at her in the morning. That is, until she leans down to grab something from the fridge and her pants are a little low and Lup exclaims, “That isn’t your underwear!” Lucretia puts her head in her hands until her face stops burning.
“This is purely sex-positive harassment,” Taako informs her, dropping onto the floor beside her. “You gonna give us the dirty deets?”
“You guys don’t deserve dirty anything,” Lucretia says, still pressing her palms to her cheeks. “I’m an adult woman capable of consent, I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“Okay, okay,” Taako says. “Just one question.” He leans over and whispers something in her ear.
Lucretia thinks for a moment, then whispers something back.
“Seven?” Taako shrieks. Lup nearly falls off her chair laughing. Lucretia curls up in the fetal position on the tiled kitchen floor, hand over her eyes.
“Aw, don’t let them bother you,” Magnus says.
“Thank you, Magnus,” she says.
“I have some extra fantasy Gatorade if you want some. I know you like the blue.”
“Thank you, Magnus,” she repeats.
“You know, to replenish your electrolytes?”
Taako conjures Bigby’s hand to high five Magnus from across the room. Lucretia takes the orange from Taako’s hands and chucks it at Magnus’s head from the floor. It hits him square in the forehead; maybe she should have been the fighter instead of him.
Thirty-one years have passed when Barry looks at him, both of them moderately drunk in the corner of a bar, and tells Magnus, “I’ve never kissed anyone with a beard. With stubble, but never a beard.”
Magnus is not drunk -- or at least not as much as Barry -- but his brain still takes a moment to process the words. “Do you want to?” he asks finally.
Barry’s eyes are distant. Lup left for the next bar a half hour ago. Barry’s not nearly as subtle as he thinks; he’s good at hiding how he feels about Lup most of the time, but when he’s tired he lists towards her and when she’s gone, he deflates. “Always been too curious for my own good,” he says, like it’s an answer.
The years have evened the two of them out, made them equals. When they first started, Magnus was too boisterous and Barry too guarded for them to really understand each other. But the older they’ve both gotten, the more their age gap has shrunk comparatively. Magnus can’t imagine what it was about Barry that made him such a mystery when they met.
Magnus knocks him on the shoulder. “It’ll be good,” he says, and slowly enough that Barry could move away, he leans in. One of Barry’s hands comes to rest on Magnus’s collarbone, the other on his neck, his fingers gentle and warm through Magnus’s thin shirt. His lips are chapped, but he’s a good kisser. It’s Magnus who finally pulls away, but the weight of Barry’s hand on the back of his neck is enough excuse to keep their faces close. “So?” Magnus asks.
A long moment passes. “Scratchy,” Barry says finally, and he laughs, genuine and rough. “I don’t know what I expected.” He pauses. He’s smiling now, the edges of it catching the crinkles by his eyes. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Magnus says, and when Barry leans in again -- less curious this time, more certain -- Magnus meets him in the middle.
They’re sharing a room anyway and were probably going to head back to the hotel anyway, so stumbling back down the hallway in the dark feels normal. Pressing Barry up against the door to kiss him is much less so. A lot of the buzz left Magnus on the chilly walk back, but the skin-to-skin contact is lighting him up again.
As they shuffle into the room, Magnus half-falls onto Barry’s twin bed, without letting go of Barry. It means that Barry ends up partly on top of him, which Magnus is not complaining about. Magnus is the biggest person on the Starblaster, but Barry is broad and heavy and only a few inches shorter than Magnus and it’s nice to be weighed down like this.
The contact feels -- comfortable. That’s the best word Magnus can find for it in the moment. It feels good to touch and be touched, especially with someone he’s known over half his life. Whenever Barry stretches his arms above his head, an inch of stomach emerges below his t-shirt, and Magnus has been fighting the urge to touch that strip of skin for decades.
Barry has a leg over Magnus’s hip, half-straddling him, and he’s kissing Magnus’s jaw.
“Barry?”
Barry pushes himself up. His brown eyes look especially dark in the low light. He’s a quiet kind of handsome; you don’t really notice it until you’ve looked at him for a while, and then it’s hard to look away. “Yeah?”
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Magnus says, the words feeling odd in his mouth. “I mean, we’re still kind of lit, and you’re in love with Lup--”
“Oh, good,” Barry says, flushing deeply. “ Everyone knows.” He sits back, shifting his weight off Magnus, and runs a hand down his face. “Shit, I’m such an idiot.”
“No,” Magnus says, sitting up, “I just…” He lets his hand trail from Barry’s shoulder down his chest. Barry shivers. “I get it,” he says. “I get lonely too, I just don’t think this is the best -- God, I can’t believe I’m the one saying this -- I don’t think having sex right now is going to make you feel better.” He doesn’t add that he’d be happy to have sex with him later. They can figure that out some other time.
Barry presses his lips together. “Fair,” he says, and he huffs, almost amused, scrubbing a hand down his face. “When did you get so much smarter than me?”
“Sucked your brain out,” Magnus says, and he makes some slurping noises.
Barry makes a strangled sound that turns into a slightly desperate laugh. “Seen stranger things, haven’t we?”
There’s an edge in his voice that makes Magnus concerned he’s going to cry, so he moves closer and wraps his arms around Barry’s shoulders. Barry melts against him.
“Boy, this bed is comfy,” Magnus says. “I’m so tired and it’s cold out. Maybe I should just sleep here tonight.” He does an exaggerated yawn.
“I’m not Taako,” Barry says into his shoulder. “I’m not ashamed to ask you to stay.” He pulls his head back to look at Magnus. “Thank you,” he says.
Magnus kisses him again, but very lightly and so quickly that it barely even counts. “You’re welcome,” he says.
Magnus has to give Barry and Lup credit; they’re remarkably subtle about their relationship for two people who would and have died for each other. Maybe it’s the presence of Taako on their cramped ship -- or hell, any one of the other four people they’ve lived with for decades -- but after the first few days, they keep PDA to a minimum, at least in common spaces.
He doesn’t know whether it’s better or worse, the knowing glances and light touches they limit themselves to exchanging. Magnus doesn’t know how to say, “I love your love,” without it sounding creepy and he doesn’t know how to say, “If you guys wanted to kiss in front of me, that would be okay,” without it sounding like some kind of proposition.
Magnus is just tired, that’s all -- tired of losing, tired of holding himself back so he won’t lose anyone. Lup and Barry had one in a million chance and they made it work.
He’s not jealous. Magnus wasn’t built for jealousy. He just wants something to be happy for.
Merle is sitting with Magnus while he dies. He’s lost track of which death he’s on; the novelty wore off about a decade ago. Poison, he’s finding, isn’t so bad. Merle is carving. The sun is setting. The grass is a little itchy on his neck, but Magnus isn’t in pain. It could be much worse.
“Have you ever been in love?” he asks Merle.
Merle doesn’t look up from his carving, but he huffs a sort of a laugh. “I’m all for getting philosophical in your last moments, but don’t forget you’re gonna see me again in two weeks, kid.”
“I’m serious,” Magnus says. “Have you?”
Merle pauses. “Yeah,” he says finally. “I think so. Who’s to say what’s love, you know?”
“I mean in love,” Magnus says.
Merle thinks about it some more. “Yeah,” he repeats. “Yeah, I think I have, once or twice.” He glances over. “You want something under your head? A rolled up shirt or something?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Magnus says. He’s lived almost seventy years and he’s never been in love.
Magnus’s eyes hurt when he looks at Julia for too long. Wherever she touches him, his skin buzzes. His nose starts to run after standing near her. (That’s the allergy he has to the soap she uses. It doesn’t sound as romantic as the other things.)
Julia laughs, later, at the way he talks about her. It’s a good laugh, genuine enjoyment ringing clear inside it. “You silly thing,” she says. “Who’d think from looking at you there’d be a romantic inside there?”
She does not know it because he does not know it, but Magnus has been collecting spare love in his ribcage for years until it overflowed out of him like a full piggy bank. The first time Julia smiles at him, really smiles, gap teeth on proud display and dimples carved deep in her cheeks, Magnus cracks open and all he can hear is the chime of hard-saved coins falling to the floor.
Steven has knocked over the cash register; their earnings for the week have spilled out across the floor. Julia, still grinning, pats Magnus on the shoulder as she goes to help her father pick up the gold.
“C’mon, doofus,” she calls to his immobilized back. “You plan on helping at all?”
“Oh,” Magnus says, turning. “Sorry.” His eyes meet hers. She’s still smiling at him fondly, her dark hair falling over her shoulder and her eyes crinkled in amusement. He forgets, momentarily, how to breathe. “I do.”