The Stains Beneath Our Skin {mxm}

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48 Wizard Daddy Extraordinaire

Cain Smith. Thirty-one years of age raised an orphan in some dingy corner of England. Dropped out of schooling at sixteen and took a plunge into the world of shady business dealings. Seven years later, the devil surfaced running middleman for gun deals between huge American manufacturers and generals in the China-Russia ‘lukewarm’ war. Both sides, and he ran it for so long as the war kept him richer than weaselling his own company into position as the primary supplier to every participant. No skill with gunsmithing, just impeccable connections and great wholesale deals. All the companies he’d worked for had sold to him at rock-bottom prices before he turned twenty-eight.

Three years later, now, the business had exploded into pharmaceuticals and domestic gun sales, and had a huge share in a new company making bounds of innovation in space exploration. There was even a nice little video of Cain and some other CEO chatting to an interviewer about their vision for humanity’s future in space. Casper had watched it three times, mesmerised by the glowing passion in Cain’s face.

Of course it wouldn’t be Cain if it was all so pristine. Rumours were rife about his connections to South American cartels, drug trafficking, and numerous high-profile deaths that furthered his business development. The continued unrest in the Middle East and in the Mongolian deadzone were a plague across his good name.

Cain didn’t answer to any of these, and his total silence other than that single video kept him just short of becoming a Fawkes-like scapegoat for the slow collapse of society. No social media, no records, no paparazzi run-ins – just one big fuck all. Business accounts pristine according to the sources Casper had prodded for information with bitcoin bought out of Cain’s account, and every email was exemplar in its professionalism, even if loads of it was evil villain shit straight out of a movie.

He had to be the only guy in the fucking universe who actually kept his entire life analog. Fucking paper and parchment. Absolute prick.

Casper fucking loved it.

Didn’t help him though. Not one jot.

But hey, Nutjob hadn’t noticed that Casper had changed his email signature. Some Arabic general emailing Cain today was trying as subtly as he could to point out the change. Casper was still snickering at the latest email when Cain swanned into the study, coat still on and a briefcase dangling from his fingers.

Casper’s heart stuttered at the sight of him. The big leather seat creaked as Casper sunk into it and gave Cain eyes over the top of the laptop screen. Necessary eyes by that glower.

Now that he’d exhausted everything the laptop could do for him, this would probably work in his favour. After all, he hadn’t sent out a distress beacon or anything like that. Hadn’t logged into his Instagram, nothing, not even an email. He didn’t have anyone he gave a fuck about telling he was alright. Not even Jack.

“Don’t you bloody look at me like that.”

Casper batted his eyelashes. “Like what?”

“Like I ever agreed to let you use that, let alone told you the password.”

The pin had been a date circled yearly in the diaries languishing in Cain’s drawer – one coming up soon, in fact – like that had been hard to guess. Dickhead needed a harder one if he didn’t want Casper in there.

Sighing, Cain shrugged his coat off and threw it over the armchair. “Well then.” The thick carpet muffled the tap of his shoes as he circled to Casper and leant his elbow on the back of the chair. The air around him tickled Casper’s nose with pine. “What have you been doing?”

Casper tilted the screen of the laptop back, baring the thread with the Arabic general as Cain leant in. “Snooping.”

“Is that—” Cain groaned, rubbing his fingers over the bridge of his nose. “Oh for fuck’s sake, Cas. You’re an absolute little devil, you know that. How much have you read?”

“Well, you’ve been really busy this week and I’ve been really bored...”

All of it?” Cain caught Casper’s smirk and some half-groan half-laugh sound burst from his lips. The chair rocked and muttered its complaints as Cain dropped onto the arm, his arm slipping down around Casper’s shoulders. “You bloody devil...” The chuckles trailed off. “Cas... Have you—“

A short hiss pushed between Cain’s teeth and he tipped his head back. Slanting afternoon sun cast his features to sublime golden relief, the creamy perfection of marbled martyrs beneath the vatican sun.

Casper cut in before the cogs in Nutjob’s brain could clock onto Roach Boy getting ideas above his place as captee.

“I haven’t.” Cain’s shoulder lay taut beneath Casper’s head. Hard, but the softness remained a promise in its familiar shape. The tight line in his jaw that clenched deeper still as Casper held his eyes. “I thought about it, but...” Casper toyed with his shirtsleeves, eyes flickering away, “I don’t have anyone but you, Cain. There’s no one else I want. Not even Jack.”

So beautiful, the way that softness came back, in the loose wonder of his smile and the shine in his eyes. His arm squeezed, crowding Casper’s shoulders against him, and he pressed a chilly kiss to the top of Casper’s head. Dickhead fell for it every time, and Casper hardly had to lie.

“Nothing else then? Just snooping?

Casper tapped his feet in the air where they sat up on Cain’s desk. Cain hated that. He’d grumbled at Casper everytime he caught him with his feet kicked up for the first few weeks, but now he never did anything but sit beside them and run his thumbs over the tight muscles while Casper read. Foot massages had never turned him on so much. Not that he’d ever had one from anyone but clients.

A sick feeling ran through his gut. Casper pulled his feet back under him, crossed in a lotus, and rubbed his face against Cain’s shirt. Always smelt so damn nice, but Casper had forgotten to shower again today, and he could kind of smell the musty scent of himself. But Cain never seemed to mind.

“Well?” Cain scratched his fingers against Casper’s scalp and he just about purred, butting his head up into Cain’s touch like goddamn Roach Cat. “Are you honestly expecting me to believe you didn’t do anything but read my emails?”

“Uh, I know you went to Wells Grammar School but dropped out before college and have a weirdly good relationship with the head of the Columbian cartel. Then there’s that that whole fuelling the Middle Eastern war to sell your guns thing, and you’re getting my profits from essential medication rant later and you’re not going to like it one bit, Pharma Bro Shkreli. Plus—” Casper winked, poking his tongue between his teeth, at Cain and got some pinched-nose glowering back— “you look cute as fuck when you talk about space.”

“Brilliant.” Casper giggled at Cain’s stubborn monotone and nestled deeper into his side. “Is that all then, brat?”

Casper rapped his nails against the laptop and glanced down at the ghoul curled up by the chair. It winked. “Uh... I changed your email signature too.”

“My what?”

Grinning, Casper popped up the signature dialog box. Cain leant in to read, tugging Casper forward with him.

Corporate Child – Certified Wizard Daddy, it read, in bold pink text, and underneath, smaller in grey italics, displayed in two neat columns, Casper had written:

Daily Corporate Child Facts

Private yacht count (excluding any lost to sea storms, sunk to hide bodies, and the five six gifted to my favourite rent boy): Nine (updated bi-weekly)

Today’s breakfast: Flesh of the poor taken with a garnish of the eggs of a near-extinct fish

Bill of the day: Seeking to legalise the illegal dumping of toxic waste on coral reefs

Today’s private plane to work song: Toxic by Britney Spears

Net wealth: About $2 billion more than yours, scum

Beauty tip: I really can’t emphasise enough how good the blood of virgins is for your skin. All you fools miss the zero off the end of my age.

Needless to say, Cain had a good few long blinks at it. “You—Are you telling me I’ve been signing all my emails today with this?”

Oo-ooh. Was he angry? Hard to tell. That voice came through a fresh, blank canvas stretched stiff across the frame of his tongue. Casper tipped his head back. Cain was completely impassive except for that twitch around his brows and the tightness in his mouth.

“Not just today. For the past four days. I updated it every day too.”

“Oh for bloody fuck’s—” Cain’s words broke in a hiss and his fingers went like iron to a magnet up to the bridge of his nose.

Maybe he was angry. Why should Casper care if he was angry? It was hilarious, and a drip of the vengeance he deserved. The laptop snapped shut, and Casper and the ghoul both looked up at Cain with puppy-dog eyes and a pout.

A huff broke Cain’s lips, then another. He cracked one of his eyes, a flash of dancing brown, and his lips trembled for one tenuous moment before he burst into laughter. Bright, loud, genuine gales of laughter with his head thrown back, hand clutched to his gut like it might subdue the hilarity. The sturdy chair rattled under Casper’s ass and Cain clung onto the back to keep himself up. It was infectious. Just a few seconds before Casper started laughing too, hand pressed to his mouth against the swell of fluttering butterflies that swarmed through his stomach seeking their final rebirth up his throat.

God, he was a fucking psycho nutcase, but right now, he was Casper’s psycho nutcase.

The giggles died on his lips. What fucking shit’s going ’round your head, Roach? No time to think on it. Cain gasped down the laughter and his eyes flew open. Settled right on Casper with enough intensity to take his breath away.

“You little bloody...” Cain’s words died in a soft exhale, the gentle aftershocks of that hilarity. Then a growl, made low in his throat like a flame-kissed hand plunging into Casper’s pants. “Come here.”

The sound was like sex, and even as the words left Cain’s mouth, his arms snarled around Casper’s chest, and Cain claimed his lips with a kiss.

Somewhere distant, the laptop clattered to the floor, but that didn’t mean or matter for shit. Cain’s kiss battered his mind like the blizzard trapped under his skin, and it raged through his body under this touch of ice so passionate it burned red hot. Cain hauled him up and Casper wound his legs around his waist, hands twisted in that silken hair. One of Cain’s hands grasped Casper’s thigh, fingers clamped down so tight they bruised and the other cradled the back of his head crushing him into the kiss.

Casper couldn’t get close enough. Couldn’t get deep enough. He tipped his head back and opened his mouth and moaned around the shuddering pleasure of Cain’s tongue sliding against his own. It was all teeth and nails in their skin and aching, desperate need. Casper’s mind rolled back and it nearly slipped away. Nothing but a haze of black-red-scalding want.

Cain broke, gasping for breath. The jolt as he dropped into the chair went through Casper’s spine, forcing a burst of laughter from his lips. His feet locked behind Cain’s back crushed against the leather, and Cain’s panting breath was winter caressing Casper’s throat.

“God, Cas, I love you so bloody much.” Those gasped, ragged words punched an ache in him deeper than anything that kiss managed. All the way through every inch of him, hot and steamy and fiercely intense. Casper froze as Cain pressed a kiss against his throat, drenched with the slick testament of that mind-blowing kiss. “So much, Cas.” The words were dangerously close to a moan, breathed in his ear while Cain’s forehead pressing against his temple. “God, I’m sorry. I couldn’t not kiss you. I love you. I love you so, so much.”

Loved him.

Air didn’t seem to be doing much right now, like when you hid beneath the covers and that same stale air kept turning round and round in your lungs until you’d drawn all the oxygen out of the thin, muggy space. Casper’s head spun, and the dust drifted through the slow air like snow danced in the spaces in between, and in their soft quiet, the only sounds were the soft laughter in Cain’s breath and Casper’s thumping heart.

He really does love me.

A little whimper burst up Casper’s throat. Cain drew back, and in that breath of a space, Casper nosed himself under Cain’s chin. His limbs quivered. Was that the blood still pooling around his groin? But this trembling came like the brush of feathers, soft. A flutter of wings within his chest.

Because psycho nut delusion or no, the hypnotisation of insanity or no, within these walls there was no real madness and Cain’s crazy existed solely to love him.

And it was the best he was ever fucking going to get, and right then with Cain’s arms around him and his fingers scratching behind Casper’s ear just the way he liked – right then, with those soft hushes and the weight of comfort slung around his shoulders, none of that madness mattered. Even imprisoned, he felt freer than he’d ever dreamed.

Cain loved him, and it … kind of made everything feel okay.

Corporate Child – Certified Wizard Daddy

Daily Corporate Child Facts

Private yacht count (excluding any lost to sea storms, sunk to hide bodies, and the five six gifted to my favourite rent boy): Nine (updated bi-weekly)

Today’s breakfast: Flesh of the poor taken with a garnish of near-extinct fish caviar

Bill of the day: Seeking to legalise the illegal dumping of toxic waste on coral reefs

Today’s private plane to work song: Toxic by Britney Spears

Net wealth: About $2 billion more than yours, scum

Beauty tip: I really can’t emphasise enough how good the blood of virgins is for your skin.

All you fools miss the zero off the end of my age.

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