Tag Archives: Baltimore Crabs

Bleed

Theo has always hated blood.

The first time he busted his knuckles, getting in a fight with some snot nosed kid who called him a slur on the playground, he held his fist and sobbed. Roland would patch him up back then.

He’s bled a lot more since then. Bloody noses, cuts and scrapes, the graze of a sword getting a little too close to his side. Every time, it turns his stomach, it makes him sick.

He hates blood.

When the decree hits, when the metallic smell hits his nose, he vomits.

Theo has always appreciated his spot in the outfield. Right side, quiet and unbothered, he could dissociate among the sheets of red as the game goes on.

It is day 31.

The game is going, frankly, a grind. Tied for innings and innings, just waiting for someone to hit a homer and end the whole affair.

It’s the bottom of the 8th.

Knight has always stood center field, it’s a point of command and leadership, Theo relied on that often.

Combs, he thinks? That’s who’s up to bat.

The Ump calls a strike.

Theo glances away.

The gurgling starts.

The smell of blood is suddenly stronger, overwhelming, drowning. The droplets fall away from him and the rest of the team, the form around Combs at the plate and stream out away from him. The deep read clouds from around his lover, his captain, Knight. Blood flows around and into their suit, destined to go there by the gods and their assignment as a siphon.

The rain turns back to normal. Yosh is standing on the mound in horror.

Combs hits a double.

They win, in the end, but Theo barely recalls it.

They played into the 12th.

They were drenched.

Yosh is the one to storm off the mound first, going straight for Knight.

“What was that.”

Knight’s echoing voice explains it away “I couldn’t control it.”

Yosh stares at his own reflection in the shining, ruby tinged steel. “Okay.” They go to clean up, Theo pulls away to breathe.

He believes Knight.

Nine days.

It takes nine days.

They’re in the infinite LA and blood is drip drip dripping from his metal glakneesframes. His dreads are already tinted a deep maroon.

Fig crumbles at the plate. Out.

Val Games, that Val Games, gasps violently. Out

Then Fig screams. OUT

Percy is screaming too. The outs don’t feel good. The inning shifts are tense. Three times, three times he watched Knight fill with blood and stand firm in the wake of the pain of their opponents.

They win.

Theo helps Percy off the mound.

They do not speak to Knight.

It happens again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

The Shelled One is angry. The world is rumbling. The blood keeps pumping and draining and looking Knight in the helm is becoming harder and harder and harder.

It’s nearly the end of the season now.

Day 97.

Bloodrain.

Even his disgust is getting tired, his original horror feels dulled in the wake of everything.

Pedro goes down in a gurgling gasp, and Sandy walks him in an instant.

Knight stands firm.

Kennedy, poor fucking Kennedy, he gets drained and falls to his knees, with Luis and Parker having to help him to his feet.

Knight is shining under the blood.

Sutton glows when it hits her, she laughs with blood dripping from her lip as she slams a ball right past him.

Knight radiates.

They win. It’s a shutout.

It’s between himself and Sandford who get to Knight first. But Theo moves quicker than he has in ten fucking seasons and makes it first.

“What the fuck is wrong with you Triumphant!”

He bangs on Knight’s chest plate and blood splatters across his face and glasses.

Knight doesn’t even try to defend themselves.

Knight’s face is shifting, they certainly aren’t upset, in fact, they look proud.

“This is helping us, isn’t it? We won. We’re in the playoffs.”

Theo stares at them.

They keep staring.

Theo hits them again, right against the helm, suddenly he feels his knuckles sting in a familiar ache. Knight does not flinch. Theo is certain his blood is mixing with Knight’s and everyone else’s

There’s something unspoken here.

The fact that it’s not about winning, the fact that Knight didn’t care what they did to other people, the fact that Knight didn’t care about what they were doing to them, all of them.

Those issues went unsaid.

They lose in the semifinals against the same team Knight sucked the life out of.

Theo catches himself whispering to Percy in bed, asking if maybe they did that in spite of them, in spite of Knight.

The finals happen.

They are nearly torn apart.

Theo never gets a chance to ask.

Dinner Night

The smell of spices hits Adalberto’s nose when they get to the door.

The apartment lights, sans the kitchen, are turned down low. Some sort of music fills the air between the smell of garlic.

She said he was just going to pick up wine, cheese and bread, just like his husband asked, but got sidetracked by a few extra treats along the way. The corner market by their apartment was always too tempting, and Brock would definitely tease him for it later.

He watches Brock sway to the quiet music, he looks focused, relaxed, and the sight makes Bertie feel warm.

He sets the grocery bag on the counter, which gets Brock’s attention enough to smile at him, before going back to swaying.

Bertie lets himself slink behind him, pressing himself against Brock’s back, moving with his sway. Bertie’s long arms wrap around Brock’s waist, Brock leans his head back slightly, enough to press against Bertie’s chest.

This is how they stay, the lingering jazz, the warm smell of tomato & rosemary.

Then Bertie leans in, bending down, they kiss the man, letting their lips linger on the top of his head, then he hears Brock chuckle.

“Isn’t bending down like that gonna hurt your back?”

Bertie rests their chin on his head, “That ship sailed a long time ago dear.”

Brock sighs, “It’s only a little unfair that you’re so much taller than me”

Bertie grins, “It’s either this or we get you a step stool.”

With his unoccupied hand, Brock lightly hits him. He sets the spoon down, then turns to face Bertie.

“I can reach you just fine thank you.” Suddenly Brock raises up, balancing on his tiptoes, to place a kiss on the bottom of Bertie’s lips.

Bertie meets him, of course he does, he holds his husband close. He takes in his cold skin, running his hand against the rough texture of his face. He keeps an arm around him, just to make sure the steady balance doesn’t shift.

Then he feels Brock jump, he falls off his tiptoes.

“The sauce!”

Brock turns around to what is clearly a now steaming and bubbling concoction. Bertie chuckles and presses another kiss to his head.

“Keep your eyes on the prize love.”

Brock grumbles with no malice behind it, “Well someone decided to distract me!”

“Do you want cheese bread or not?” Bertie retorts.

Brock grins at him, “the oven is already preheating, I didn’t forget.”

Bertie smiles back, then goes to get the groceries they brought home.

The warm silence fills the room again, with the promise of dinner getting closer.

Without warning, Brock asks, “What snacks did you buy?”

“Dammit.”