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Chapter Text

Edwin stares down at the Cat King standing inside his personal space, just enough to feel the force of him, the warmth of another body and the weighty pull of magic.  It’s abundantly clear what the Cat King means when he says ‘take advantage’ and Edwin considers trying to simply give in to it, but the same chains are there inside, holding him back. 

Yet the words bring to mind a conversation with Niko, and a thought that Edwin disregarded at the time, yet which had lingered in the back of his mind.  And he’s not sure whether the Cat King will even be willing, but—

“The truth spell,” he says, rushing the words out before he can change his mind or hesitate again.  “The one you used on me in Port Townsend.”

The Cat King’s expression shifts from seduction to curiosity.  He tilts his head a little, eyebrows raised in surprise.  “I’ll admit that’s the last thing I expected you to say.  I didn’t think you exactly have fond memories of the last time.”

“While I was annoyed with you at the time, for your general behaviour and the interruption of my casework,” Edwin says pointedly, “You weren’t wrong when you asked me whether saying the truth felt better.  And in this instance, here and now, I am asking for it.  I trust that you will not ask for anything I don’t want to share, and that you will remove the spell the moment I ask you to do so.”  And maybe, maybe, if the spell can pull the words from Edwin now, he’ll be able to speak them freely on his own in the future.

“That’s an awful lot of trust you’re throwing around, sweetheart.”

“Yet I do not feel it is at all misplaced,” Edwin replies. 

“The things you say to me,” the Cat King groans, more than a little pleased if Edwin’s any judge.  “Tempting me with your secrets.” 

Edwin lips quirk in a small smile, taking that to mean the Cat King’s not against the idea.  Curiosity and cats, after all.

The Cat King gives Edwin a warning glare that might be more effective if his slit pupils weren’t already widening with interest.  “You don’t get to be mad at me later if you say something you meant to keep to yourself.  I can control what I ask, but the spell will pull out the truth, whatever it is.”

“I reserve the right to be horribly embarrassed,” Edwin replies with a grimace, because even though he cannot say them, he’s well aware of the content of his thoughts.  “But no, I won’t be angry.”

“Well, you’re very cute when you’re embarrassed, so I’ll take it.”

“Making me flustered does seem to be a favourite of yours,” Edwin acknowledges wryly.  But truly, he’s not overly concerned over what he might say.  He wants to share these things, the thoughts locked up inside his chest.  It is hard, but he refuses to be ashamed of, afraid of, those secret parts of himself any longer.  And in a very specific way, he wants to give the Cat King this vulnerability.  Embarrassment and all.

Unsurprisingly, thinking is easier than doing.  “I admit I’m not sure how to…begin.”

“Getting comfortable is always a good start.”  The Cat King’s hands are still wrapped around Edwin’s elbows and he uses the hold to steer Edwin toward the bed, urging him to settle onto the soft mattress.  Edwin removes his shoes and pulls his feet up to sit cross-legged, both because he is quite comfortable seated this way, and because he knows the Cat King finds it amusing. 

As the Cat King sits next to him, leaning back on his hands in a way that stretches his torso very distractingly, Edwin can’t help but recall the last time he sat here with the Cat King lounging next to him.  His memory supplies images of bared skin and eyes of gold-ringed black, seductive smiles and sounds of pleasure, and oh god the purring. 

The thoughts he’d had but been unable to articulate.

Maybe this time he’ll manage to speak them. 

Taking a deep breath – or the imitation of one, anyway – Edwin nods decisively to himself and straightens his shoulders.  Meets the Cat King’s eyes and nods to him, as well.  Permission.  Agreement. 

With a little smile, the Cat King lifts his hand and brings his fingertips to Edwin’s mouth.  Drags the pads of his fingers with just a bit of pressure down over Edwin’s lips, and the warm brush of skin is followed immediately by the hot-ice burn of magic.

Edwin’s lips part on a soundless gasp.  The sensation is as startling and intense as the first time, on that stone overlook by the Port Townsend lighthouse.  But where then it felt like an intrusion, this time – now knowing the Cat King, inviting him in – it feels…intimate.  Perhaps dangerously so.

The Cat King watches him steadily, waiting, with a curious tilt to his head.  Edwin touches his own lips with tentative fingers, pressing against the magic burn.  His eyes fall closed and he gasps a little.  It’s even more intense than the sensation of skin to skin with the Cat King, and the thought that this is the feel of the Cat King’s magic is terribly enthralling.

“It feels like you,” he murmurs, opening his eyes again to see the Cat King dark-eyed and focused very intently on Edwin. 

The Cat King makes a pleased purr, but visibly shakes himself out of the distraction.  He winks playfully at Edwin.  “Save that thought for later.  You ready?”  At Edwin’s nod, he grins.  “For now, I’ll start you off easy, because I’ve been terribly curious.  What were you thinking the first time we met?”

How is that starting easy? is what Edwin tries to say, but the spell takes hold and what comes out of his mouth is, “I thought you were uncivil, and garish, and much too far into my personal space—”

“Ooh, ouch,” the Cat King gasps in mock affront, but it slides quickly to a laugh with a teasing smile. 

“—and yet you were quite unlike anything or anyone I had ever seen before.  I could not take my eyes from you, which I know you noticed.”

Edwin shakes his head ruefully as the words continued to bubble up and spill forth, and it’s terrifying but freeing, too.  “You could have had me right then, had you not put the bracelet on me.  Although I would have run immediately afterwards, I’m quite certain. All the way back to London.  I wasn’t anywhere near to understanding or accepting that part of myself.  But in that moment, if you had pressed a little more, if you had touched me at all, I would have been on your bed in an instant.”  The Cat King’s eyes are dark and shining, his lips parted on a pleased little smirk.  “You set out to tempt me, and you succeeded, for all that it was in service of punishment for my actions against one of your cats.” 

“And then of course there was the binding spell, and I felt…betrayed.  Not just by you, but by myself and what I perceived as my own weakness.  The knowledge that you took one look at me and instantly picked the perfect temptation, one that I hardly even knew to guard against, and exposed all of those parts of myself I’d never acknowledged, with little more than a few words in my ear…it made me so afraid of myself.  Which made me angry, and I took it out on you, and Charles, and just about everyone.  Certainly not some of my proudest moments.” 

He gasps a little after the torrent of words as the truth spell lets go.  It doesn’t feel quite the same as the first time; the words he speaks feel pulled out inevitably, but not as though it is against his will.  Perhaps because he’s not attempting to fight the spell’s influence.  “Goodness, that was…quite a lot.”

“A little harsh and hard to hear, but I can’t exactly blame you,” the Cat King sighs.  He’s trying for a playful pout, but it does little to cover the actual sorrowful look on his face, one that Edwin wants to wipe away. 

“It’s all in the past,” he insists quietly.  “Suffice it to say I don’t think that about you any longer.”  When the Cat King looks reluctant to believe him, Edwin smiles warmly and dares to reach out and gently run his hand down the Cat King’s arm.  “Truly.  Anything that may have wanted forgiveness is forgiven.”

Chapter Text

Edwin knew exactly what was in the little potion vial the instant he saw it; he’d know that swirling sickly-grey anywhere.  Still, he carefully fingers the little card attached to the seal, turning it over carefully to read the neatly printed words.  To be very sure that he is correct. 

The answer is exactly what he expected.

Lethe water. 

He lets go of the tag but his hand hovers there, an inch away from smooth glass and the murky contents within. 

It is a valuable ingredient.  Hard to come by; he is frankly surprised to find it here.  Primarily used in spellwork and alchemy for the purposes of altering or removing memories.  With the right spell, and a powerful precision casting, Lethe water can be used to alter or remove specific memories.

Any memories, no matter how strong.  How hellish.  How deeply they dig their claws into one’s soul.

It would be easy.  He knows where to find more than one memory spell within the books that he has collected.  Slipping the little vial into the armful of other items would be simple, just as simple as tearing off the little tag, or smudging the ink with a dampened fingertip.  Enough to obscure it from another’s sharp, observant eyes.  The proprietor will recognize their own wares, and with any luck will not name it aloud in the bargaining. 

He could probably even simply steal it, however unworthy an action that would be.  But he is alone, in the depths of this magic shop, with no eyes on him to see.

His fingertips come to rest on the glass, smooth and likely cool to the touch, if Edwin could truly touch, from what he remembers of the Lethe. 

What would it be like?

To finally scour the memories of Hell from his mind, his very being—what would that feel like?

Would he be happier, free of the knowledge of his own torments?  Of everything he lost?  Would his thoughts no longer be haunted by the horrors that took him, over and over again?  The never-ending fear that he will be dragged back?

How much would he lose, no matter how precise the spell?

Would I still be myself?

There are no noises, no approaching footsteps, yet somehow, he knows.

“There you are, mate,” Charles comes around the end of the shelf, grinning cheerful and bright.  Edwin can only gaze in awe at how Charles’ happiness, his sheer presence, lights up the shadowed corners.  “Thought I lost you in here, this place is bigger than it looks.  Find something interesting?”

And there is not even a second of hesitation in Edwin’s reply.  In his fingers dropping away from the little vial.  “No.”

“All right.”  Charles bounces on his toes.  “Got everything you need, then?”

“Yes,” Edwin says, because in the end there is no question at all. 

Chapter Text

Were it any other shade, the burst of flames in the middle of the office would be cause for concern.  As it is, the brilliant violet fire subsides in seconds to reveal one very welcome visitor.  “Hey, ghosties.” 

Because of course it is Thomas, wearing a roguish grin, an obnoxious fur coat, and carrying a bag sparkling with frost. 

Edwin smiles, surprised but pleased.  “We weren’t expecting you today.”  He folds away the parchment and journal on his desk in anticipation of—

Thomas saunters over and leans over the desk, both hands planted right where Edwin’s work had been, and licks a quick kiss into his mouth.  “I know, but I come bearing gifts.”

“We could’ve been busy,” Charles points out with more than a little snark.  He is very obviously not at all busy, currently bouncing a football on one knee.  He made it up to sixty-five this time.

Thomas merely rolls his eyes.  “Whatever.  No one’s too busy for me.”

Charles rolls his eyes right back.  “Someone’s full of himself.”

The back and forth of their typical bickering makes Edwin smile.  “As it happens, you are in luck.  We are indeed free, having just finished our latest case not long ago.”  He stands and comes around the desk, curious eyes on the bag dangling from Thomas’ hand.  “What is it you’ve brought?”

With a flourish, Thomas sets the bag on top of the desk with a glassy clink.  Little flakes of ice crumble from the fabric, vanishing before they touch the wood.  “I got my little paws on this and figured, why wait?”  He unloads several slender bottles, all of them made of sparkling glass.  The contents swirl with iridescence.  Pretty, but in some way uncanny.

Edwin picks up one of the bottles curiously, and is startled to feel it, smooth and cold against his palms.  Turning it in his hands, he notes the lack of labels or identifiers of any kind.  The liquid inside shifts and shimmers.  He’s not sure he’s ever seen anything quite like this.  “What is it?”

“Just a little treat.”  Thomas grins crookedly, all golden-eyed innocence, but… 

Edwin narrows his eyes.  If possible, Thomas’ grin goes even wider.  Well, that’s suspicious.  “Thomas, is this something illegal?”

“Semantics,” Thomas waves a hand dismissively.

“Thomas!”

“All right, all right!”  Thomas pouts, petulant and smug in equal measure.  “Don’t get your shorts in a twist, sweetheart.”  He picks up one of the other bottles.  “It’s basically fae moonshine.  It’s not made in Faerie so it doesn’t have all the ‘don’t eat or drink or you’re stuck here forever’ bullshit attached, but the important part is that it will absolutely get a ghost drunk.”

Charles laughs incredulously, catching his football with both hands before dropping it onto the nearest shelf.  “You brought us bootleg fae wine?”

“I brought you booze you can drink!  Keep up, Cricket Boy.”  Thomas brandishes one of the bottles in Charles’ direction emphatically.  “Everyone loves a celebration!”

“And what would we be celebrating, then?” Charles challenges, but his eyes are starting to glimmer with humour.

Thomas shrugs.  “It’s Tuesday?”

That does it.  Edwin cracks out a laugh, so amused and so in love with these two ridiculous men.  “For gods’ sake, the two of you are each as bad as the other.”  But he’s leaning against the desk, helpless to stop the laughter or drop the smile from his face, so the attempted scold lacks force. 

And they both look terribly pleased with themselves, too, for getting him to break and laugh aloud.  Sparkling, pleading golden eyes look up at him from under dark lashes, while Charles’ glowing brown shine at him from across the room.  Outnumbered, but Edwin doesn’t really mind.

“You are certain there will be no ill effects?” Edwin asks seriously, turning the bottle in his hand.  His previous experiences with the Fae were less than pleasant; it’s hard not to be wary.

“None.  I made very sure.”  Thomas drops the careless mask for a moment, allowing certainty and sincerity to shine through.  “Nuala is a good friend, and I trust her word.  You’re risking the ghostly equivalent of a hangover, at most.”

“Hmm.”  Edwin hesitates, though at this point it’s mostly for show, and both Thomas and Charles know it.  But they do have their little games, the three of them.

“Come on,” Thomas cajoles, leaning in close and blinking slow, slipping his arm around Edwin’s waist.  “You deserve to enjoy yourself.”

“Much as I hate to admit it, he’s right, mate,” Charles adds, trying unsuccessfully to hide his own longing to experience whatever Thomas’ gift will offer.  “You deserve some fun.”

And so Edwin capitulates, as they all knew he would.  Most especially because this is a gift for Charles, too, and Edwin will never deny him whatever trappings of the living world he wants.  “Oh, all right.”  He hands the bottle back to Thomas.  “I suppose you have glassware in there?”

Thomas merely scoffs and winks as he hooks his claws in the cork and pulls it out with a loud pop.  “Hardly.  What’s a little spit shared between whatever we are?”

Edwin makes a face at the comment, but accepts the bottle when Thomas hands it back.  Another moment and Charles is holding one, too, and Thomas toasts them with his own and brings the bottle to his lips.  “Bottom’s up!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

To Thomas’ amusement and delight, Edwin turns out to be an absolute lightweight.  Which, to be honest, neither Thomas nor apparently Charles expected, given Edwin’s insane tolerance for every other kind of magic or injury the world has thrown at them.

Apparently fae wine is the exception. 

Charles is keeping it together a little better; he had at least a bit of experience with drinking when he was alive.  He’s still exuberantly celebrating both being able to taste something as well as enjoy the effects, and telling wild stories of the agency’s early days that Thomas is pretty sure can only be half-true.  Thomas’ bottle was actually catnip-infused wine, rather than the fae wine he brought for his ghosts, so he’s feeling warm and soft and a little bit tipsy, but otherwise fine.

But Edwin is giggling, three sheets to the wind, and it’s fucking adorable.  Over the last hour his outfit has shifted from the usual head-to-toe layers into a soft sweater, and from there to a simple button down, sleeves rolled up, tie hanging loose over his collarbones.  His hair has suffered from the touch of Thomas’ fingers and his own, leaving it loose with the hint of curls beneath the remaining pomade.  So sexy.

They are all three of them sprawled out on a larger and much more comfortable couch that Thomas magicked up in place of the dinky little loveseat the office usually has on offer.  But it’s not that much bigger, because Thomas is a clever cat, and so he has Edwin cuddled up against his side with those long legs thrown across his lap.  Charles is not quite upright either, leaning on Edwin’s shoulder with one arm looped around that lean waist and the other passing the nearly empty second bottle of fae wine between Edwin’s lips and his own. 

Thomas has lost the thread of whatever story Charles is telling, because he’s too preoccupied by the sight of Edwin’s flushed cheeks and laughing eyes and the hollow of his throat bared as Edwin tilts his head back against Thomas’ shoulder.

“You are a delightful drunk,” Thomas teases, entirely charmed by Edwin’s…well, everything.

“You,” Edwin replies with inebriated certainty, “are a chaos gremlin.”  Unsteady fingers seek Thomas’ face, at which point Edwin boops him on the nose like a little shit.

Thomas flashes his fangs and gives a little faux-glare, capturing those elegant fingers.  “A what now?”

“’s what Niko calls you.”  Edwin shrugs, leaning a little heavier against Thomas.  “And I agree.  You are very chaotic.  Just look at this, bringing contraband into our office.  You’re a terrible influence.  Too handsome to be a gremlin, though.  And you shouldn’t be allowed to wear skirts when I am working.”

“Oh, is that so?” Thomas grins, threading his fingers through Edwin’s and giving his hand a teasing little shake, then a little kiss.  “Why’s that?”

“Distracting.”  The statement is punctuated by Edwin’s fingertips slipping out of Thomas’ hold and beneath the lapel of his fur coat to drag along his collarbone.  “Disss…tract…ing,” he mumbles again, leaning in to lets his lips follow his touch.

But he doesn’t get that far.  Instead, a laughing Charles hauls Edwin backwards with both arms around his waist.  “Oi mate, none of that.  Office rules, no snogging in the shared areas.”

Edwin collapses against Charles’ chest with a little huffing pout.  “What a stupid rule.”  He gazes longingly at Thomas, with eyes that don’t quite focus, but doesn’t try to struggle for more than a moment before relaxing back in Charles’ hold. 

“It’s your rule, mate,” Charles points out.

“Well.” 

Oh, the pout on this boy.  Thomas does his best to hide a laugh behind his hand.  Not well enough, clearly, because Edwin glares petulantly over crossed arms.  Which is honestly only sillier since Edwin’s currently sprawled on a crooked angle over Charles, their legs now tangled together over Thomas’ lap.  Edwin is an undignified mess, as he almost never allows himself to be, and Thomas loves him so much.

Then Edwin huffs impatiently.  “Actually, no.  I’m rescinding that rule.  Effective immediately.”  He twists around in Charles’ hold until they’re face to face and he can press a wine-clumsy kiss to Charles’ mouth.  And Charles’ response is immediate as always, tugging Edwin close, one hand slipping up into his hair to ruin what remains of the usual tidy styling.

Thomas pinches Charles’ ankle but it’s not enough to pull the ghosts apart.  “Why do you get the fun end?”

Charles just keeps on kissing Edwin—and flips Thomas the bird behind Edwin’s back. 

Hand to his chest in full faux-pearl-clutch, Thomas gasps, “Rude.”  His theatrics go unappreciated, however, given the ghosts are still preoccupied with each other’s mouths.  Well, fine.  If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

He eels his way out from underneath two pairs of legs until he can stretch out along the length of Edwin’s back.  He smirks at Edwin’s little groan at the weight.   The loose bowtie is long gone at this point, making it easy for Thomas to tug down the back of Edwin’s starched collar and start nipping kissed into the nape of his neck and under his ear.  He’s rewarded by a very interested squirm and several very pretty noises. 

But then Edwin starts giggling again, pulling away from the kiss with Charles and rolling over, patting Thomas’ cheek clumsily with a tipsy little, “Noooo, we mustn’t.  We’re in the office…”  He flings out his other hand dramatically.  “Not in front of my bookssss, Thomas.”

Thomas exchanges a laughing glance with Charles, who snickers into Edwin’s temple.

“Mate, I’m sure your books don’t care.  Only one of ‘em is sorta sentient anyway.”  Charles ruffles Edwin’s hair fondly.  “But I guess we shouldn’t.  If the girls or Nursie turn up to catch us in the middle of a proper snog we might never be forgiven.”

Edwin answers Thomas’ inquiring laugh with wide eyes and exaggerated seriousness.  “We got in so much trouble last time.”  But he can’t keep up the façade and starts giggling again, eyes crinkled in joy.

“Well, we can’t have that,” Thomas agrees, and gives Edwin one more slow kiss before shifting to the side. 

“This is very nice, too, though,” Edwin sighs, cuddling deeper into the space between Thomas and Charles.  They trade a fond look over Edwin’s head, and Thomas has to stifle his laugh when Charles mouths ‘cuddlebug’ with a little nod at Edwin. 

But his ghost is right, it is pretty nice.  Thomas snuggles down into Edwin’s chest, tangles all their legs together, and settles in for a proper cuddle.  There are arms around his waist, and a hand in his hair, and Edwin’s occasional giggle under his ear. 

Thomas is going to call this surprise treat a rousing success. 

Chapter Text

The hum of conversation from the crowded party nearly drowns out Thomas’ mildly dismayed, “Uh-oh.” 

Edwin turns immediately, attention caught by the tone of Thomas’ voice.  “Thomas?  What’s wrong?”  He looks over Thomas quickly, seeking signs of injury or distress, but sees only Thomas’ mouth full of some obscene pastry-and-icing concoction, the other half crumbling in his fingers.

Swallowing slowly, Thomas blinks.  “Somebody’s spiked the desserts.”

“Spiked them how?” Edwin exclaims, dragging Thomas further to the side of the room away from anyone who might overhear.  “How do you even know?”

Thomas licks his lips consideringly, catching a spot of icing from his bottom lip.  “Creature of desire, remember?  There’s some sort of desire magic mixed in here.  I can taste it, but that means it’s too late.  Because, y’know, I already ate it.”

Oh, that’s not ideal, especially given they are at a party full of supernatural creatures and magic users as well as regular humans who are part of the supernatural world in some other way.  Throwing misguided or manipulated affections into the mix is a recipe for disaster.

“Desire magic as in a love spell?  Aphrodisiacs?”  Certainly love spells are hokum, producing obsession or other altered mental states but never true emotions.  Lust-based magic is more of a concern, as affecting physicality and inducing irrational behaviour is much easier than attempting to induce emotion.  “How worried do we need to be?” 

His mind is already running through scenarios.  He’s not opposed to taking on Thomas in the throes of some desirous spell—it does in fact hold promise of quite the enjoyable night, under different circumstances, which is a thought he tucks away for later.  But as it is, they are at a party, not at home, and if someone clandestinely adulterated the food then they are soon to have a much larger problem on their hands.   

“Mm, unclear.”  Thomas runs his tongue over his teeth.  “It’s the kind of thing that makes you crave what you most desire sort of spell.”  He contemplates the dessert in his hand, then shoves the rest in his mouth.

“Thomas!”

Chewing thoughtfully, Thomas waves off Edwin’s exclamation. “I already said it’s too late, it’s a one-and-done thing, not cumulative. I can taste, hmm, aniseed, ambrosia, something floral…bellum flower, maybe?  Any of that sound familiar?”  He licks a smear of sugar off his fingers.  “I definitely should know what this is.”

Edwin waits impatiently and frets, focused intently on Thomas.  But after a few minutes he has to acknowledge that Thomas seems…fine?  Mumbling under his breath as he tries to identify whatever magic has been mixed into the pastries, but otherwise…

Maybe he was mistaken?  That whatever Thomas senses is not desire magic, or perhaps there is some other reason the desserts carried a taste that made him think of magic?

“Thomas, how are you…feeling?”  Edwin hesitates, but ultimately sets a careful hand on Thomas’ shoulder to turn him Edwin’s way.  Thomas blinks slowly up at Edwin, the gold half-eclipsed by wide pupils.

“Mmm,” Thomas purrs, leaning into Edwin’s touch and then slipping an arm around Edwin’s waist and curling into his side.  He noses up Edwin’s throat to his ear.  “I feel like…”

Edwin is helpless to stop his own hands from wrapping around Thomas’ shoulders, slipping against the silky material of his shirt.  He glances around quickly, thankful no one seems to be paying attention.  He doesn’t exactly want to end up in flagrante delicto in the middle of a party, but Thomas’ touch is hard to resist.  “Thomas?”

Hot breath caresses Edwin’s cheek.  “We should check the food tables.”  He slinks back, trailing a hand down Edwin’s arm to grasp his hand and begin dragging him out of their corner toward the buffet.  Edwin follows dumbly, unable to muster his voice, because what?

Thomas paces slowly, intently along the length of the tables—and there’s a lot of length, the offerings stretching along two entire walls of the ballroom.  He’s leaning forward slightly, nose twitching as he sniffs the air.  If he had whiskers, Edwin is sure they would be quivering, and when he catches another glimpse of Thomas’ eyes he notes they are even more dilated than before.

Well, that answers that; there’s definitely something having an effect.

Suddenly Thomas stops and spins himself around into Edwin’s chest, pouting up at him longingly.  Edwin brings his arms up around Thomas’ waist quickly to balance them both. 

“Edwin,” he purrs, sliding his hands up Edwin’s lapels, over his shoulders and around his neck in one long, slow trail.  “I want something, really bad.  Will you help me get it?”

Arms tightening helplessly, Edwin gazes down into Thomas’ dark, glassy eyes.  It’s such a pretty look on him, one Edwin doesn’t usually see outside of the bedroom, and for all that he’s still aware of their un-private location he can feel himself slowly giving in to his lover’s magnetic pull. 

“Yes, of course,” he whispers, one hand sliding to Thomas’ hip and pressing his thumb into the little hollow of his hipbone.  “What is it you want, darling?”

“Mmmm…”  A warm nose nudges Edwin’s chin.  “I really, really—”  Thomas’ voice drops to a low, enticing moan.  “—really want… some tuna.”

“Some—”  Edwin jerks his head back, staring down at Thomas incredulously.  “What?”

“Tuna.  Tuna fish, come onnn,” Thomas groans with longing, eyes drifting closed.  “It’s my very favourite and I have such a craving right now, ghostie.  Thought there would be some here but noooo, apparently not, and I want it.  Find me some fish?  I know you like making me happy.”  He wiggles in Edwin’s embrace, all pleading eyes and pouting lips, and it would be sexy if Edwin hadn’t just been supplanted by—

“Tuna.”  He shakes his head in disbelief.  “Really, Thomas?”

“Please, Edwin, I am craving it, I want it so bad.  The good kind, salty and oily and just, mmmm!”  Thomas gives a little growl, biting his lip with one sharp fang. 

“I feel like I ought to be offended,” Edwin mumbles beneath his breath, but he’s honestly too bemused to take any real offence.  Here he was anticipating Thomas veritably pouncing on him like some sort of seductive whirlwind at any moment, and the blasted cat wants fish.  For gods’ sake.

“Please, honey?” Thomas pleads, kneading at Edwin’s shoulders.  “Tuna?”  

Edwin looks at Thomas, then at the crowded room containing no one else he knows or cares about, and abruptly decides that none of this needs to be his problem. 

“Fine.”  He disentangles himself from Thomas’ embrace.  One hand circling Thomas’ wrist, he leads the way across the room to the last place he saw the party’s host.  “We shall inform our host of the problem with the desserts.  We shall take our leave.  And then yes, I will find you some bloody tuna.”

Thomas grins eagerly.  “God, I love you.”

“You damn well better,” Edwin mutters.

Later:

“How many times do I have to apologize?”

“Oh!  I don’t know!  How many cans of tuna have you eaten?”

“Edwin.  Sweetheart.  I swear I love you more than I love fish.”

“Hmph.”

Chapter Text

“Your Majesty?”

The Cat King’s attention snaps to the source of the tentative voice to see Niko leaning halfway out of the cannery mirror.  She smiles when she sees she has his attention, stepping carefully the rest of the way through the glass. 

“Niko, what brings you to my humble kingdom today?” Thomas asks, discretely hiding the little packet of cat treats he’s been munching on.  No need for anyone to see him doing that in human shape.  His reputation might never recover.

Then he takes in her full appearance and feels a prickle of concern.  Her moon-white hair looks messier than usual, the typically smooth curtain instead tangled and with hair clips slipping loose.  Unusual for his stylish friend.  “Everything okay?”

Niko grimaces a little as she approaches the throne, and he notices that she’s got both hands carefully clasped together in front of her, clearly holding something cupped between her palms.  “Don’t freak out.”

Well, that’s less than promising.  Thomas stands and steps down to meet her.  “I’m not usually the freak-out type, but you’re not inspiring a lot of confidence here, girlie-pop.”

She hesitates, but only for a moment before the words start spilling out.  “I swear he’s fine and we know how to reverse it probably, and we just have to deal with the apparently evil jerk alchemist and then this will all be fixed—” she babbles nervously, eyes wide and pleading and Thomas loves her but still isn’t sure if she’s for real or trying for sympathy for him not to get mad or something.  Which he’s not gonna get angry, probably, but he is worried. 

“Okay…  Deep breaths, kid, and spit it out.  I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that.”

He’s expecting another torrent of words.  What he’s not expecting is for her to wince apologetically as she extends her cupped hands and opens them to reveal a tiny gray mouse.

Feline instinct flares and Thomas feels his eyes go sharp-focused, head lowering and shoulders rising as he takes slow, slinking, stalking steps toward the girl and the little treat in her hands.  Sub-vocal growls rumbling in his throat, he wants to hunt—  He wants to pounce, to bite—

Twin squeaks of surprise snap him back to himself and he flings himself backwards.  “Whoa, okay!  Wow.”  He shakes his head sharply.  He hasn’t done that in this shape since he was a lot younger and newer and not nearly as civilized as he is these days. 

Two sets of wide eyes meet his—one pair dark brown lined with glittering pink, the other tiny and black and very much not their usual human green—and Niko curls her hands a bit closer around the little mouse tucked close to her chest.

The little mouse that he has to assume from context is Edwin.

“Wow, your eyes just went really extra cat,” Niko breathes.  “Also kind of your everything.”  And she doesn’t look scared, exactly, but she does look cautious.  “I thought you were going to pounce on us for a second!”

Instead of answering, Thomas takes another step back because holy hell he also thought for a second that he was gonna make a ghost mouse his lunch.

But Edwin, true to form, gets over the surprise almost immediately and starts squeaking and chittering loudly in an obviously scolding tone.  If mice can even have tone.

And Thomas doesn’t exactly speak mouse, and clearly Edwin’s not currently able to speak human, but since Thomas is a Cat King he’s got a pretty good understanding of other animals anyway.

Which means he knows Edwin is telling him off, big time.

He holds his hands up defensively.  “Sorry!  It’s just an instinct thing!  I wouldn’t have actually pounced on you.”  Probably.  Maybe.

He shuffles another half-step further from temptation, anyway.

“So why did you bring him here, exactly?” Thomas asks.

Niko shifts her hold on the mouse so that he’s sitting on one palm and she can pet him reassuringly.  “None of us can understand him, not even Charles really, and playing twenty-questions is taking too long.  He knows what kind of spell hit him, and how to reverse it.  But we can’t figure out what he’s trying to tell us.”  She frowns sadly down at mouse-Edwin, and he clasps tiny paws around her finger in a little hug, squeaking quietly.

It’s honestly pretty cute.

But that’s not the issue at hand here.  “Yeah, all right.  Come here, ghost-mousie.”  He holds out his hands, and given his instinctive reaction earlier, he might have expected some hesitation but Edwin immediately leaps from Niko’s palm to his own with a stern little chitter.

“Don’t even pretend you dislike the nicknames,” he teases.  Lifting the little grey ghost mouse to eye level, he asks even though he can feel the answer in the magic buzzing against his skin, “Is it really you?”

A slow blink and an annoyed squeak make Thomas roll his eyes.  “Okay, okay.”  To Niko, he says, “What do you need to know?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Twenty minutes later, Niko is skipping back through the mirror with the necessary information—that Edwin got caught by a transformation potion thrown by the very angry alchemist while they were attempting to stop him from continuing to make a dangerous alchemical mixture that has been incapacitating ghosts all across London.  Edwin saw the matching antidote on the shelf next to the transformation potion just before the alchemist grabbed it, and with Thomas’ interpretive help provides a description of the bottle that should be enough for the others to find it.  With any luck, the alchemist’s furious retaliation won’t have broken it. 

The team had retreated quickly after Edwin changed shape, so they do still need to deal with the alchemist before they can search his workshop.  Unfortunately, with Edwin like this—small, vulnerable, unable to cast magic—he would only be a liability.  Edwin knows it, too, however much he dislikes it, and he did agree that staying behind would be best.  But it doesn’t stop him from staring after Niko with liquid-black eyes, forlorn and frustrated in equal measure.

A small, sighing squeak has Thomas stifling a smile.  “Come on, ghostie, surely staying here for awhile isn’t that bad.  Better than sitting in the office all alone and worrying.”

Edwin turns on his palm and looks up at Thomas with a quiet squeak, and it’s not really language, not like speaking.  But a Cat King’s inherent magic means he gets a pretty clear understanding of what Edwin’s saying, anyway, and the longer they’re together the clearer Edwin gets.  I suppose you’re correct.

Thomas slouches back onto his throne and gently sets Edwin down on the wooden arm at his side.  He watches, amused, as Edwin determinedly investigates the expanse of pallet plank.  “So, is this just like, any old Thursday for a couple of ghost detectives?  Magic potion accident, unexpected transformations, same old same old?”

A string of annoyed squeaks and the scratch of tin claws against wood.  I’ll have you know I’m not usually rendered quite so…indisposed.

“No injuries, though?” Thomas frowns.  “Should’ve asked earlier.”

I am unhurt, merely involuntarily forced into this shape.  If a mouse could look indignant, well, that’s what Edwin’s doing now.  Sitting upright, front paws curled together, whiskers quivering.  I am still a ghost, merely one who is currently…mouse-shaped.  At the moment.

Edwin’s tail is twitching with nerves and annoyance.  Back and forth. 

Thomas doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until his hand reaches out and firmly lands on top of Edwin’s tail, trapping it gently against the wood.

Edwin jumps a little in surprise, though he doesn’t get far with his tail caught beneath Thomas’ fingers, and chitters a sharp scold.  I beg your pardon?  His tiny front paws tug his tail from Thomas’ hold and hug it close.  What was that for?

Thomas takes his hand back, a little guiltily because he hadn’t exactly meant to do that, except for how he sort of had meant to.  Having a twitchy little mouse right next to his paw—his hand, is sending his instincts into overdrive.  “Uh, couldn’t help myself.  Sorry.”

Edwin gives him a very nervous mousey side-eye, but does let go of his tail.  But as soon as it’s free, Thomas’ attention is zeroed in on it again.  He can’t seem to pull his attention away from Edwin at all, really, which is not exactly unusual; Edwin holds pretty much all of his attention anytime they are in the same room together.  But it’s not usually driven by this instinctive buzzing beneath his skin to hunt and chase the small tasty creature in front of him. 

Then he notices that there are more than a few other cats also giving Edwin the hunter’s eye, which is less than ideal—mostly because their control over their feline instincts is much looser than Thomas’ own, and the last thing he needs is a bunch of cats pouncing and traumatizing Edwin or accidently hurting him.

And also, Edwin is his treat to play with—

Okay, whoa.  That’s…not great.  Thomas shakes his head a little, trying to shuffle off those thoughts.  It’s not really working, though. 

Maybe they need to come at this another way.

He watches Edwin with narrow focus, intense enough that Edwin turns to face him, whiskers quivering.  He gives an inquiring, cautious squeak.  Thomas?

And Thomas doesn’t like that Edwin might be afraid of him, even a little bit.  But the only thing he can think of, well, he’s not sure whether his instincts or his common sense are leading here, but…

“Okay, hear me out.  Maybe we should just…get this out of our systems.”

A quick blink of tiny black eyes.  How do you mean?

It’s not a ringing endorsement, but yeah, Thomas flicks his wrist and shifts them into the privacy of his bedroom—and specifically, onto the bed with himself on four paws.

Thomas! Edwin squeaks indignantly, scrambling to free himself from a fold of rumpled sheets.  What is this?

Thomas crouches, golden eyes fixed on his sweet little ghost-mouse, shoulders flexing, tail high and flicking back and forth.  “Come play with me, ghostie.”  He stalks a few steps forward, growling a little with excitement as Edwin scrambles a few inches away. 

What are you doing?

“Let me chase you a little,” Thomas purrs invitingly, claws flexing into the bedding.  “Maybe let me catch you a little.  I bet that’ll help us both settle down once we can satisfy some of these instincts.  I’ll know I can catch you; you’ll know you’re safe and I won’t actually hurt you.  It’ll be fun.  I promise.”  And if his motivations are a little selfish and maybe a little something else, well, that’s just the way it is. 

Edwin stands tense on the edge of a pillow, black eyes trained on Thomas, whiskers twitching.  And Thomas creeps closer, closer, fangs bared in a feline grin.  His muscles tighten in preparation, his eyes tracking Edwin’s every miniscule twitch to anticipate which direction his little mousie will go. 

Thomas pounces, and Edwin darts away cursing him out with feisty, bitchy chitters.  Thomas just laughs, paws digging into the sheets as he turns to leap again.  He misses Edwin by an inch—deliberately, no point in cutting the fun short too soon—and slows to a stalking crawl.   Edwin peeks out from behind a pillow.  Black eyes narrow with determination, and Thomas purrs with delight. 

He lunges, and Edwin evades, and then the game is on.

Back and forth across the bed, Thomas chasing and almost catching, Edwin narrowly escaping the clutch of paws and claws.  Tumbling and jumping and scampering over increasingly mussed blankets and cushions.  Squeaks and playful hisses fill the room, and Thomas laughs out loud with enjoyment. 

Edwin’s little squeaks and chitters sound like laughter, too. 

Thomas resists as long as he can, enjoying the chase and the play, but eventually his instincts fully win out and his next pounce lands him neatly atop Edwin, the little mouse trapped close in the curl of his paws and under his chin. 

“Caught you, ghostie,” he purrs, tipping his face down to nuzzle Edwin’s ears with his nose. 

So you have, Edwin squeaks tiredly, but he sounds pleased. 

“Good chase, though.  You’re a quick little guy.”

I suppose I will admit that was…fun.  Edwin sits up on his haunches and folds his forepaws together.  But he is relaxed in the curve of Thomas’ paws, which means Thomas is feeling a lot less predatory, so he’s gonna count this little game of chase to be a success. 

Thomas yawns and blinks drowsily, curling his paws around Edwin and cuddling him close.  That was a lot of running around, Thomas is feeling just about ready for a nap. 

Thomas?  Edwin touches one tiny paw to Thomas’ nose.  Thank you.  I’m still worried about the others, of course, but…  It was nice to take my mind off it all, for a short while.

Thomas nudges gently into the pressure.  “Anytime, Edwin.”  And he knows it won’t be long until Niko and Charles return, antidote in hand, and everything will be sorted out again.

For now, he closes his eyes and curls into a warm ball with Edwin in the center, and purrs and purrs and purrs.

Chapter Text

Edwin carefully dips a brush into the little pot on the corner of the desk, and equally carefully runs a line of the magically-enhanced paste along the edge of the book’s cover, and carefully, carefully, presses down the endpaper, smoothing the single ripple out.  He lifts his hands away and is satisfied to see no curling corners or wrinkled lines. 

Most ghosts have trouble interacting with the material world, unable to hold physical objects for any length of time or to keep enough corporeality to get anything done—but of course Edwin is different, and Charles too, a fact that has contributed significantly to the reputation of the agency over the years.  Which means on occasion, they receive requests for their assistance with tasks other than solving mysteries.

Sometimes they will refuse; cases come first, after all.  But Edwin never could resist an interesting book. 

And so Edwin is currently tucked away in a small nook at the back of one of London’s small arcane libraries, repairing some magical tomes on behalf of the ghostly librarian who cannot do it themselves.

It is delicate, tedious work, but Edwin enjoys it.  As a bonus, these are books he would otherwise not have access to, much less borrowing privileges.  All in all, he and the librarian feel the arrangement is a good deal on both sides.  Edwin fixes magic books the librarian is unable to handle, and in exchange he gets to read them—and make notes. 

As Charles would say, it’s aces.

And speaking of, it seems Charles has wandered off to explore the stacks.  Even though he possesses an unusual—and flattering—willingness to sit and watch Edwin do…well, nearly anything, there are still limits to how long he can stay still before his energetic nature takes hold and he needs to move about for awhile to rid himself of the restlessness. 

Edwin is done with the repairs on this book, but in no hurry to clean up.  Its contents are extremely intriguing, and before he knows it, he has gotten quite caught up in reading. 

So much so that Charles’ return gives him quite the startle and he jolts in surprise, knees knocking into the table leg with enough force to send the materials on top scattering.

“Sorry, sorry,” Charles apologizes quickly, scrabbling to catch anything that looks breakable before it rolls to the floor.  “Thought you heard me coming.”  He catches up the little pot of binding paste that has toppled onto its side, the contents oozing out in a slow spread—thankfully onto some scraps of endpapers and not the wooden desktop.

Charles rights the paste pot and rubs tacky fingers together.  “Oh, that feels a bit odd.”

“Odd how?” Edwin turns, worried.  Without thinking, he catches Charles’ hand and lifts it, searching for anything he should be concerned about. 

“Nah, I’m fine.  It’s just a bit tingly,” Charles says, but when he goes to pull his hand back from Edwin’s…he can’t.  He makes a curious noise, his ‘we might have a problem’ noise which Edwin knows very well after all these years.

“Charles?” Edwin begins slowly, attention on their hands.

“Yeah, mate?”  His tone is even, as Charles tries again to tug his hand away from Edwin’s, a bit more forcefully but equally unsuccessfully. 

Though it’s obviously at this point rhetorical, Edwin still sighs and asks, “Did you get some of the magically enhanced bookbinding paste on your hand, and now we are stuck together?”

Charles ducks his head with a sheepish smile.  “Looks like it.”  He wiggles their joint hands apologetically.

Edwin huffs and rolls his eyes, but he’s not overly irate.  On the scale of magical accidents he and Charles have gotten themselves into over the years, this is quite low on the list—it is a short-term inconvenience, at best. 

“Sorry,” Charles says, but Edwin merely shakes his head.

“Oh, don’t apologize, it’s not entirely your fault.  I did grab your hand, after all.”  Edwin lifts both their hands closer to his face, inspecting the bond.  The magic glimmers a little between the skin of their palms, even in the dim library lighting.  They seem to be able to move relative to each other to change position, slow and tacky like molasses between their skin, it’s simply that their hands will not come apart for any distance.  It’s not an insurmountable problem; he knows of several magical solvents he can mix up back at the office that should have them free quickly enough.

“You don’t look too worried,” Charles observes.

Edwin shrugs.  “I’m not.  I cannot do it here—I need my alchemy kit—but it’s a simple enough fix once we’re back to the office.”  With his free hand, Edwin quickly tidies the rest of the items on the worktable.  When he’s done, he picks up the repaired book and gestures Charles forward.  “A quick stop at the front desk to return this, and then home.”

As they make their way down the long rows toward the front of the building, Charles falls in step beside Edwin as he always does.  It’s Charles’ usual position, shoulder to shoulder but a slim half-pace ahead, always ready to put himself between Edwin and any danger.  But something about it feels different.     

He realizes what it is when Charles tugs Edwin by the hand as they leave the building, steering him to the side to avoid walking through a group of people.

It’s not just that they’re currently magically glued together.  It’s that Charles—the boy Edwin likes, the boy Edwin loves—is holding his hand, strong fingers wrapped around his palm. 

And it might be the result of a mishap, might be temporarily required, but it is something Edwin has wanted to do for weeks now, ever since their return to London.  But it is a gesture he has been struggling to initiate, because it turns out that a dramatic realization and declaration of romantic feelings is one thing, and touching entirely another.   And so far, Edwin’s ability to overcome his own deeply ingrained reticence has been…well, quite lacking.

Charles, because he is wonderful, hasn’t changed a thing in that regard after Edwin’s confession.  He is just as physical and tactile as always—hands on Edwin’s shoulders, the brush of arms when they stand side by side, claps on the back, the friendly pokes and pats that he has become accustomed to over their thirty-odd years of friendship. 

Yet the fact that it is all the same has only made Edwin realize just how much he wants more. That he wants touches and closeness that is different, more romantic, than that of best mates—however lovely being Charles’ best mate is.

And Edwin’s never been shy, exactly, not with Charles.  But with this, in particular, he doesn’t know how to ask.

Perhaps he should have known that with Charles, maybe he doesn’t have to find the right words.

“Not that far to the office,” Charles says with a casualness that isn’t.  “Could just walk, instead of finding a mirror.  It’s a nice night.”  But he casts Edwin a shy sidelong glance, gives an extra squeeze to Edwin’s fingers.

“A walk sounds nice,” Edwin agrees, and squeezes back.  A little more time with Charles’ hand in his is nothing he would ever refuse.  Not when Charles wants it, too.

Charles response is quiet, but very, very pleased.  “Aces.”

Edwin smiles, small and private.  He is strolling through midnight London, holding hands with the boy he likes—the boy he loves—and he’s quite sure Charles likes this, too.