Work Text:
The door closes without as much as a creak, leaving the booming music behind. Shadow is almost impressed by it, although he won't be able to truly put the acoustics to the test.
The VIP room is lightly furnished, with some comfortable looking armchairs and two round tables, as well as a mini bar facing the now closed door. Most of the space is occupied by the billiards table in the center. It makes sense: this place is, for the most part, used for going over business, rather than entertainment. Shadow is sure he could have asked for more amenities, but this suits his purpose just as well.
He leaves his gun on the table farthest from the center of the room then walks to the glass wall overlooking the club's dance floor and the bar counter. Despite the crowd and the blinking lights, Shadow spots the figure dressed in black and purple within seconds. He brings his communicator closer.
“Do you have eyes on me, Rouge?”
The figure raises a glass in his direction; Shadow can't tell its contents from this distance, but he's sure it's something deceptively festive, with an umbrella decorating it and everything. As if he hasn't seen Rouge down hard liquor without as much as wince.
“I always have you in my sights, pretty boy.”
Shadow rolls his eyes over the meaningless flirting, and giggles fill the comm line, Rouge finding his terse silence amusing. He's used to her antics by now, indifferent to all her teasing. He waits for her to regain her composure.
“I have a clear shot of the room, if you need my help just give the signal.” Here, she pauses, only to keep talking in a more cautious tone. “Are you sure you're okay with doing this alone? It's not your… usual way of business, let's say.”
She isn't wrong. Despite wearing more layers than usual, Shadow feels weirdly exposed in this garish costume, fighting against the urge to squirm whenever the bodysuit clings to his overheating fur. The added height is nice, but that's about all Shadow can say in favor of the high heels Rouge had gotten for him.
In this line of work, it’s not entirely rare to find overindulgent bastards who are more amiable to make a deal as long as you put on a little show, but usually Shadow would be happy to owe Rouge a couple favors in exchange for her taking the role of seducer—a role she takes to with grace and far too much sadistic enjoyment.
This guy, however, had explicitly asked to meet with Shadow. He has connections, the sort that will lead Shadow to the kind of information he needs for one of his jobs, crucial enough that he's willing to humiliate himself for a couple minutes if it'll get their target to cooperate.
“I just have to wear the stupid outfit,” he mutters. “This was your idea in the first place. We're not backing out now, Rouge.”
“Of course not,” she agrees easily. “May I add, that outfit looks amazing on you.”
Shadow adjusts the headband he's wearing, disgusted by the cheap, plastic feeling of the faux ears.
“It better be. If you got me into this stupid custom for nothing, there will be hell to pay Rouge.”
“When have I ever been wrong? In fact, I'm confident that if a certain someone—”
“Don't,” he cuts in sharply. Then, in perfect contradiction, he adds, “How is he doing these days?”
“You ask that when what you truly want to know is whether he's asked about you. In which case, I'm not telling you anything, not until you promise to try and fix whatever it is that went wrong with you two.”
The silence is heavy with tension. Shadow can perfectly picture the disapproving frown on Rouge's face. They've had this exact discussion before, exhausted every bit of the argument for the last year and a half. Rouge has long resigned to the fact that Shadow has no intention of listening to her opinion on his personal life, but lately she’s taken to reminding him of just what she thinks of his choice to walk away from one blue hedgehog.
“Things aren't as simple as you think, Rouge,” Shadow says, tiredly rubbing his face.
“Whatever you say,” she agrees with an air of finality.
Rouge doesn't apologize, but neither does Shadow. Instead, she sighs into the comm and comments on how sore her feet are, talking about nothing at all while Shadow half-listens to her complaints. This is just how it goes between them: Rouge never stays mad for long—in fact, she's never mad in the first place. She's just more of a worrier than she'd like to admit, and Shadow gives her plenty of things to be concerned about. Not that it makes him any more appreciative of her tendency to think she knows what's best for Shadow.
“E.T.A?”
“You have about 20 minutes until the target is here. Why don't you have a drink or something?” Rouge suggests. “Loosen up a bit, it makes the job a lot easier.”
Her words hit him just as Shadow's gaze strays to his gun. He doesn't intend on using it tonight, and its presence is more for show than necessity, but something in him can't calm down without its weight. Perhaps a sign that he's in too deep with this line of work.
Shadow scoffs and takes a cigarette. He hops onto the billiards table as he lights it, taking a long drag to settle the gloom that creeps on his thoughts. He doesn't have the time to think about the direction his life has taken when there's a job to be done.
He leaves the comm link open, despite the irritating bass floating into his ear. Over the music, he can hear Rouge's chatter as she strikes up conversation with the other people at the bar, and her disembodied presence keeps the jitters at bay.
Someone shouts in the distance. Shadow cocks his head towards it, but it does little to help, as the sound is coming from Rouge's side of the comm line. Although it's too faint to make out the words, those are definitely raised voices engaged in what sounds like an one-sided argument.
“What's going on down there, Rouge?”
Through the glass, he sees Rouge turn around and look for the source of the commotion. In the earpiece, she gasps.
“Rouge?” He urges, wondering what could have her in such a shock it would render her speechless.
“Head's up handsome, you've got company tonight, and you're not going to like this,” she answers quickly, all in one breath.
Shadow turns to get his gun, but before he's even off the table, the door opens with a bang. The person comes in like a whirlwind, kicking up a draft, and briefly putting Shadow on fight or flight mode. He's about to teleport behind the intruder to get them in a chokehold when Shadow fully understands the picture before him.
“Okay, I know you're a bigshot around here or something, but—” His damned blabbering stops halfway through, his jaw slackening. Sonic points an accusing finger at him. “Shadow?!”
One look at him, and the horrible flutter in his chest that he thought he had killed returns with a vengeance. Shadow has spent several nights entertaining what-ifs, and even more of those drinking away that exact line of thought. He worked through the ache in his limbs, the distinct awareness that something was missing , reminding himself that being around Sonic wouldn't remedy that emptiness in the first place. He's been doing… not good, because Shadow can't remember a time after Maria when life has been anything but terribly bleak, but was coping. He was focused on his job, rather than acting like a forlorn maiden.
Yet, here they are. Sonic seems surprised, but not much beyond that. If anyone looked at him, they'd never be able to tell that it's been almost two years since they last met. The nonchalance rubs salt into a wound he never realized was even there.
All at once, Shadow remembers just how much he hates Sonic for always acting unaffected by anything that transpired between the two of them, and how much he hates himself for pathetically falling in love with such a person anyway.
The surge of emotions boils in his veins, and Shadow sees red.
He kicks the door closed and hoists Sonic against it with an elbow against his throat. Sonic scrambles for purchase, coughing from the sudden impact. When it looks like he's about to retaliate or struggle to come free, Shadow puts more pressure to his windpipe.
“You can't be here right now,” he hisses. “Leave.”
“H-Hold on…!” Sonic clutches his forearm, failing to push him away. “You're… choking me…”
“ Leave. ”
His bloodshot eyes roll upwards. Shadow eases his grip before Sonic passes out, not offering any help when he collapses onto his knees while coughing and wheezing.
“Are you gonna be okay?” Rouge says in his earpiece. He can tell she's anxious, but not in his stead.
“I'll handle this.”
“Go easy on him, will you?”
Shadow makes no promises. He walks back to the table to retrieve his fallen cigarette, taking a steadying drag as he avoids looking at Sonic’s slumped form by the door. He wills the idiot to just disappear into thin air, but unfortunately he’s still there when Shadow checks a second later. He leans his hip against the table, thinking it was naive to believe he’d safely reach the two years mark without ever encountering Sonic again. To his utter chagrin, there’s something out there determined to ensure their paths will always cross, whether he likes it or not.
Once Sonic is on his feet and staring at him, Shadow narrows his eyes in threat.
“Talk.”
Sonic's hands shoot up in a placating manner.
“I kept hearing rumors about some dangerous guy in the area, so I was just gonna check if he was gonna be trouble…” He says absentmindedly while rubbing his throat. Realization hits him a second later. “That was you ! What are you doing, Shadow?”
He takes on the same tone he uses when assessing a threat, when warning the Doctor not to go through with his latest crazed scheme. Shadow would be offended by it, if he wasn't amused by how out of his depth Sonic is. Trying to play the hero here, of all places. He smirks.
“None of your business.”
“Will I have to make it my business?”
“No. This isn't your kind of job, Sonic,” Shadow says bluntly when Sonic continues not to take the hint. He gestures for the door, feeling a bit merciful at the moment. “Go home.”
But of course, he should know that the moment he's commanded to do something, Sonic will be compelled to act in opposition. He's contrarian to a fault, and he demonstrates that point by walking further into the room and doing a sweep of it. He even twirls on his heels as he does so, looking unimpressed by the whole thing. His gaze falls on the cigarette held between Shadow's fingers.
He'd never smoked in front of Sonic before, had always gone through great lengths to make sure the taste of it didn't linger on his mouth whenever they met up.
“Dude, if this is the kind of stuff you've been up to, then no wonder you've been gone all this time,” Sonic asserts after a moment. “Shady place, eh?”
“It suits the job.”
He briefly looks through the glass, then back at Shadow.
“Does that go for the outfit, too?” He gestures in a way that seems to encompass both the bunny ears headband and the white fishnet. There's an edge to his expression, a hint of discontent in the way his eyes narrow.
Shadow refuses to indulge his curiosity. “Sure.”
“So, what, you'd do anything as long as it gets the job done?”
“Be careful with what you're implying, hedgehog.”
Whatever he's imagining about Shadow's job, Sonic doesn't share with him, but the heated stare doesn't lessen one bit. Shadow can't gauge what it is that Sonic wants from him, but then again, that has always been the issue between them. Regardless, he has no ground to make any demands of Shadow.
“How much longer?” He asks Rouge, ignoring Sonic's confusion when he assumes the question is directed at him.
“There was an accident downtown, he'll be stuck in traffic for a bit,” she readily informs him. “Whatever you're doing with him, I suggest you resolve it in under twenty five minutes.”
“Understood.”
Whether out of shock or consideration, Sonic waits until the brief exchange is over to burst out, “Is that Rouge?”
In place of an answer, Shadow gestures down to the bar, leaving Sonic to squint at the glass until she spots Rouge (who now has a completely different drink in hand, Shadow notices with mild exasperation). He's gawking, gesturing between her and Shadow.
“Wait, she knew this whole time what you've been up to and just never mentioned it to anyone?!”
Not even the nicotine is helping him anymore. Shadow can feel his nerves becoming threadbare, the shaking in his hand only kept at bay by how tightly his fists are clenched. Shadow exhales slowly, watching the smoke instead of Sonic.
“Don't act as if you were looking for me,” he whispers.
“What can I say, I've never been much of a chaser.”
“No, you prefer for others to cling to you instead.”
The confused noise that earns him is nowhere near the response he had been hoping for—then again, Shadow knows there isn't a single answer that Sonic could give him on this topic that would actually satisfy him. He swallows the lump of his bitter feelings, reminding himself to stay on track.
“I wasn’t joking before.”
“Yeah, I don’t think you’re even able to comprehend what humor is in the first place,” Sonic replies before Shadow even finishes speaking. He blinks. “Joking about what, by the way?”
“I need you to leave,” he reiterates.
“Uh, are you forgetting who you're talking to? Dude, whatever you're up to, it can't be that dangerous. I can take it.” While dismissing Shadow's words with a wave of the hand, Sonic breaks into a wide smile. “Think about it, I can be your backup, then we'll fight together… Like we used to do!”
On someone else's tongue, those words would be a provocation, or maybe some kind of elaborate mind game. This is Sonic, however; he's not stupid, but he's a total fool: incapable of conceptualizing the impact of the things he says. “Like we used to do” encompasses far too many things between them, all of which Shadow turned his back on over a year ago.
Moreover, Shadow knows Sonic, understands him enough to accept he won't simply leave because Shadow asked him to. He's always been difficult, stubborn. Quick to find excuses to keep himself in Shadow's sphere.
Finally coming to a decision, he hops off the table and brushes the bits of ash that fell onto his legs. He doesn't miss how Sonic tracks his hands, fascinated by the way his fingers snag at the fishnets, the threads fraying and threatening to snap. Shadow shoves his cigarette into the ashtray then turns back to Sonic, who snaps upright to badly conceal his blatant stare.
“Let’s bet on it.” He cycles around the table to get the pool sticks, then he extends one to Sonic. “Do you know how to play pool?”
Sonic eyes the stick dubiously, not making a move to accept Shadow's offering. He scrunches up his nose as he thinks for a moment. “Uh, kinda? If you count the stuff we do at Amy’s parties, then yes.”
Shadow has been to Amy's parties—more often than not blackmailed by Rouge. He has also seen the mess that is left in the wake of Sonic’s games with Knuckles, and he’s damn certain that actual pool doesn’t involve somehow making a hole in the table (and desperately apologizing to Amy in the aftermath). Then again, Shadow didn’t suggest pool banking on the possibility of Sonic being actually good at it.
“Afraid you’ll lose?” He eggs on. “I can go easy on you, hedgehog.”
Sonic practically tears the stick from his hand, leaning way too far into Shadow’s space just to glare down at him. “There’s nothing I can’t win against you , Faker!”
It’s so easy to manipulate Sonic at moments like this, Shadow feels a shred of sympathy for a brief second. That is, until Sonic shoves him with the stick for no reason other than being a little shit, then Shadow remembers why he can’t stand the sight of him sometimes.
“I’m running short on time, so let’s play by simple rules. If you pocket at least four balls, any of them, I’ll consider it your win. If you pocket the cue ball, however,” he picks up the white ball to show it to Sonic, “you’re out. Even you can understand that, can’t you?”
“Wait, I’m the only one who’s betting anything here. What about you?”
“Your loss is already my win. Besides, you’re the one intruding on my business. Beggars can’t be choosers, Sonic. Accept my terms or I'll drag you out of here unconscious. It’s your choice.”
The unfairness of their deal has finally caught up to Sonic, but that hardly matters. Once Sonic takes on a challenge, he won’t back down no matter how bad the odds are against him.
“Doesn’t sound like much of one,” he grumbles even as he takes position at the end of the table. “Fine, let’s do this.”
It takes only a minute for Shadow to set the balls in place. Once he does, he steps to the side, doing a grand gesture in mockery as he encourages Sonic to start the game. “Do the honors.”
He gets a suspicious side-eyed stare for his troubles, and Sonic studies the table as if it's rigged to explode.
“I haven't set any traps, if that's what you're wondering,” Shadow clarifies.
There's no elaborate scheme at play here, aside from Shadow's confidence in his ability to beat Sonic at a game he has no previous knowledge of. Usually, he would preserve the fairness of their matches, but this isn't a test of their abilities.
Besides, that almost flustered, cornered look on Sonic's face suits him.
“Here goes nothing,” Sonic whispers to himself before hitting the cue into the neat triangle of colorful balls. They rebound off the edges, hitting each other with a noisy clack. Sonic's eyes frantically follow their movements, until finally the 6 ball falls into one of the pockets.
His uncertain slouch bleeds out of him, and Sonic pumps his fist in celebration. He turns a self-assured leer on Shadow.
“Hey, don't feel bad if your little plan to get rid of me doesn't work out. Trust me, these things happen.” He bumps into Shadow's hip, easy with camaraderie and teasing affection. “I'm practically an expert at foiling people who want me gone.”
“I don't want—”
“Hm?”
Shadow snaps his mouth shut. There are times when he slips up; he forgets himself, forgets who they are, forgets that the chances of this (whatever it is now, or has been in the past) ever working out are near zero. Then, it all threatens to spill out, this unreasonable desire to simply keep Sonic in his life, to populate his thoughts and monopolize his easily-given affection. He feels like a pitiful dog showing its vulnerable underbelly, begging for attention.
Sonic is watching him, head tilted, his ears drooping as he notes Shadow's sudden sullenness, but unable to figure out the reason for it. It's endearing. It's irritating. Shadow just can't bear to be around him.
He pushes him out of the way for his turn. As Shadow passes him, Sonic leans in as if he's about to reach out, maybe under the illusion of offering him some comfort. Shadow smoothly slides away from the touch and ignores the dejected frown he gets in response.
Upon considering his options, Shadow notices that the ball number 5 is a straight shot from being pocketed into the upper left corner. He just needs a better angle. Shadow hoists himself up onto his right knee, with the other foot just barely grazing the ground. He flattens his palm on the table and strikes the cue ball, launching his target into the intended pocket.
“Woah,” Sonic mumbles. His eyes fleet everywhere on Shadow's body, then the table, seeming a bit starry eyed as he takes in the (albeit unintended) show Shadow has just put on.
He breaks himself out of his stupor when Shadow smirks at him, blowing a raspberry at him in retaliation. Brat.
The display of his skills instigates Sonic to attempt something similar, but he doesn't have the muscle memory that Shadow does. His angle is off, and his good luck from the first turn doesn't repeat itself. The cue ball hits the sides a few times, almost falling into one of the pockets before stopping in the middle of the table without touching any of the other balls. Sonic gives an embarrassed shrug when Shadow shakes his head at him.
The cue ball is in an unfavorable position now, towards the center of the table. It forces Shadow to bend over the edge to reach it. Sonic, who's watching him from behind, doesn’t realize they’re standing too close, and Shadow's back quills bump into him. His hand stays there for a moment before he remembers himself and slides away, stumbling a few steps to give Shadow some space.
Despite the unnecessary show of chivalry, Sonic immediately contradicts himself by setting his palm on Shadow's spine, just above where the bodysuit cuts off to allow space for his quills. Sonic pushes him further down until Shadow is flush with the table with his chin chafing against the fabric.
“Stop touching me,” he hisses.
“Why?”
His fingertips slide further up, following the knobs of his spine and fitting around the curve of his quills. The touch is smoldering on his fur, but it lacks any tenderness to it. It's such a blatant display of dominance, a silent invitation for Shadow to give in, it makes his stomach flip—in anger, in arousal. Shadow grits his teeth, snarling wildly; he's never been very good at submitting in the first place.
“ Sonic .”
It's not much of a warning, as Shadow jams the stick into Sonic's thigh before the name fully leaves his mouth. There's a wince, quiet swearing, then Sonic finally stops trying to manhandle him.
“Geez, fine! Was that really necessary?” He grumbles. “Loosen up a bit.”
Shadow waits for a moment, in case Sonic decides to do something funny, but he stays put in his place. Once sure he won't be interrupted, Shadow strikes the cue ball. With perfect accuracy, both the 7 and the 12 ball fall with a thunk. Sonic looks over the remaining balls, quickly realizing that his task grows more difficult with each ball that Shadow removes from the table.
From there, it goes as well as Shadow hoped it would. To Sonic's credit, he doesn't drop the cue ball, and he even approaches his goal by pocketing two more balls, but he doesn't progress any further than that. His frustration gets the best of him, and by the end he's merely hitting the cue ball without a thought for where it'll land. The sight of it makes a vein throb in Shadow's temple.
“That thing is so distracting!” Sonic bursts out in the middle of his turn.
Surprised by the sudden outburst, Shadow looks up from the table, frowning. “What is?”
“You! Dressed like that and then doing the thing with legs and the bending—” He clears his throat. “Is this what G.U.N is up to these days? Interesting uniform you've got there.”
“I'm not working with G.U.N.”
“Huh.” He stalls on giving a proper answer by finally striking the cue ball, though with no success. He makes a face before turning back to Shadow. “Like, in general or just tonight?”
“Both, I suppose. I still take commissions from them, since it comes with a certain degree of benefits.”
For the most part, Shadow offers his service in exchange for a steady supply of firearms, as well as the occasional maintenance to his bike. That, and keeping his name off the record whenever Shadow toes the line a bit too far in his other job; G.U.N is more than happy to cover up for him as long as he continues to be their ally.
(Not that Sonic needs to know any of that.)
“So, this is your life now? Totally underground, super dangerous and definitely not shady, the whole thing?”
Shadow narrows his eyes. “What are you trying to say, Sonic?”
“Nothing! Nothing, just… worried about you, I guess.” He looks to the side, scratching his cheek. “I don't really get why you left if this is what you've been up to, but it's your life, so who am I to judge?”
Of course he doesn't understand. As much as he dislikes the title, Sonic is a hero through and through. Even now, he's attempting to “save” Shadow from his own choices. Honestly, Shadow has had it with other people thinking they can dictate his future, regardless of how well-intentioned they are.
“For the record,” he positions himself lower, one eye closed as he targets the last ball on the table, “it's meaningless to say that when you are, in fact, judging.”
The ball falls into the pocket. Sonic is looking sourly at the table, mumbling something to himself that Shadow would bet to be a shoddy excuse for his loss.
“Your form is terrible ,” he spits out now that the match is over. “I expected more of you, hedgehog. Despite your lack of experience, you're a quick learner—isn’t being fast your one defining feature? You could have done better than that. If you hadn't given up towards the end, you might even have managed to win. A lack of effort doesn't suit you, don't ever show me such a sloppy display again. Next time…”
He looks up to find Sonic watching him from across the table. He's not doing much of anything, just leaning on his hip with his arms crossed and a faint smile on his lips, letting Shadow go on with his tirade without his usual quips. Between them, silence means so much more than any of the words they spew out. Silence doesn't lie. Shadow sets his arms around himself protectively, feeling too naked under Sonic's scrutiny.
“No, I suppose there won't be a next time,” Shadow says resolutely. Of course there won't be one; otherwise, Shadow's effort to keep away from Sonic would all have been in vain.
Even then, Sonic is still watching him, analyzing him, drinking him in. Shadow feels no different than a piece of hard candy being rolled around on his tongue, waiting for his jaw to clamp down and shatter him to pieces.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“I can't touch you, I can't look at you,” Sonic laughs, warm and teasing. “Throw a guy a bone, Shads. Didn't you miss me at all?”
“No, of course not.”
“Well, I missed you.”
In one smooth motion, he hops onto the table, practically crawling across it to reach Shadow. His legs dangle over the edge, framing Shadow's hips, and he kicks his feet playfully as he plucks the headband off Shadow by one long ear. He considers the accessory for a moment, twirling it on his index finger.
“So?”
“What.”
“Your answer!”
With his eyelids lowered and the curious glint in his eyes, there's an innocent but provocative charm to him that Shadow finds hard to resist. He licks his lip and steels his voice against all the soft things it wants to throw at Sonic's feet like an offering.
“It's of no consequence to me whether you've missed me or not. I'm here to do my job.”
“All work and no play, huh? You're not fun at all.” He stops twirling the headband to wave it meaningfully. “You need this thing for your job, right? Here you go.”
Sonic presses the inside of the right ear to his mouth, leaving a prolonged kiss on the fabric before setting the headband atop Shadow's head again. He studies his handiwork for a moment, then slides the accessory a bit to the left, setting it perfectly upright. Finally, he brushes down Shadow's quills to fix his fur.
His next breath gets stuck in Shadow's throat. His heart feels as if it has grown ten times the size of his body, clamoring to burst out of him with loud thumps. Shadow holds himself stiff, willing himself not to shake.
“I can't tell if you're just dense or if you enjoy torturing me,” he chokes out.
White noise and loud chattering fill one of his ears, drawing his attention away from what Sonic had been about to say. Shadow presses the communicator further into his ear to better hear what Rouge is saying through the booming music.
“I'm sorry, but your time is up, handsome.”
He doesn't answer, instead turning to Sonic and offering him a hand, palm up. Sonic stares at the appendage for a moment before taking it in his own. The table isn't so tall that the jump would be enough to pose any danger to a normal person, much less to Sonic. Shadow finds himself steadying him with a hand on his waist all the same.
They take a step back in perfect synchrony, fingers lingering for as long as they can even as they fall. They're experts at this dance, pushing and pulling, always close enough to touch, never so close as to make promises they can't keep. They walk to the door in silence.
Sonic delays at the threshold, tapping his foot twice before facing Shadow with a smile that's a bit too casual.
“For old time's sake,” he says, then his hands are on Shadow, pulling him. Every move is telegraphed, strangely slow for someone like Sonic, with every bit of opportunity to refuse it. Shadow lets himself be dragged all the same.
The touch is far too brief, no more than a peck, and Shadow is the one to cling to it. He snakes his hand around Sonic's head, scratching at his quills as he holds on for dear life. Sonic follows suits, gripping the dip of his hips, where he can hook his fingers into the fishnets and pull. The fragile fabric snaps, but Shadow is too busy seeking out Sonic's tongue to care.
Who can blame him for seeking this out with the doomed passion of a drunk driver chasing the speed meter, when the only thing that comes close is the thrill of near death? His heart is pounding so loud, Shadow can barely hear the little sounds Sonic is making, for once acting just as desperate Shadow feels. Sparks are bursting in his tightly closed eyes, but all that matters is bruising every bit of skin he can get his hands on, to leave Sonic stinging and aching for days. It's far too little compared to all the nights Shadow has spent tossing around the bed with the image of his smiling face haunting his every dream, but it's the only revenge he can think of at the moment.
“I won't be leaving, by the way,” Sonic whispers between kisses.
“What?”
“I'll just… be around. So if you need me, for anything, I hope you know I have your back.”
Perhaps Shadow had it all wrong. They've never known a thing about waltzing around each other, they've been stumbling through each step, stepping on their partner's toes and refusing to acknowledge their lack of finesse. Otherwise, why would Sonic say sweet little things like scraps to a dog, giving just enough to make him hungry, all while Shadow starves?
If he had any sense of self-preservation, Shadow would eat the flesh off his bones in retaliation, but he has developed somewhat of an addiction to the ache, the desire without fulfilment.
He pulls Sonic's bottom lips between his fangs until it draws blood, then shoves him away. “Rouge is already guarding my back,” he rebuts, the rejection easy on his tongue. “I don't need you , Sonic.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Sonic chuckles, thumbing the wounds on the inside of his mouth. He kisses his bloody finger, then looks up at Shadow. “The offer is still there. See you around?”
And Shadow, being the complete fool that he is, agrees with ease: “See you around.”