Page 1 of Habibi: Always and Forever
SEVEN OF WANDS
I wake up, not to the sound of my alarm, but muffled sobs. I sit up, eyelids heavy with sleep but my brain is wide awake. Lance is on his side, his back facing me. He’s covered his face with his pillow. My heart drops into my stomach as I wonder how long he’s been crying without me noticing.
I start to rub his back. “Lance,” I say loud enough for him to hear past pillow stuffing.
He lets the pillow drop and lifts his head. He’s a mess, eyes puffy and the skin around his nose dry. Sometimes I wish I didn’t see so well in the dark. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
Lance sniffs, opens his mouth and lets out a sad croak.
“It’s okay,” I tell him before he ends up making himself more upset. I lean down and kiss the space between his thick brows. “Let me hold you…”
He rolls over as I lay back on the bed. Wrapping my arms around his torso I pull him against my body. I kiss his forehead. Then his crown. I want to kiss him all over– find the spot that will make all of his pain go away.
When his nightmares first came back that’s exactly what I did.
Kissed it better. Fucked him back to sleep.
Which– felt good, but I’m not sure it’s great therapy.
Lance has told me all about his hookups, how laying alongside a one-night-stand would keep the nightmares at bay.
It felt nice knowing out of all the guys he’s been with, he stuck with me.
Lance nuzzles into my neck. He breathes, “Sorry…” so quiet I’m not sure if I’m meant to hear it.
But with supernatural hearing, of course I hear it. “You don’t need to apologize, honey.”
The nightmares have been back for two months now. It started out slow– but intense. I expected the worst when I awoke to screams. So when I found Lance next to me like any other morning, I just felt helpless.
I’m getting better at comforting him. I think.
My alarm goes off and I manage to shut it off with one hand and without jostling Lance, now resting his cheek against my chest. “You wanna get coffee? We could split a pastry.”
He slips his hand under my nightshirt, playing with the little trail of hair below my navel. Despite the flirty gesture, his voice is solemn. “I’m ruining your run.”
“It’s my rest day,” I lie. Technically tomorrow is my rest day but a switch up isn’t going to change anything. I can miss a morning run. Or two… It’s hard to justify a workout when Lance needs me more.
Lance buries his face in the crook of my neck again.
The soft gesture is somewhat ruined by his teeth nipping at my neck.
My body jerks with surprise and Lance’s hand slides under the waistband of my boxers.
Cheeky little thing. He replaces his teeth with his lips, sucking softly while his fingertips brush my knot.
“Hey,” I chide. I take his wrist, dragging his hand out of my pants.
I settle his palm right over my heart. “We agreed we’re going to try…
Other ways of dealing with our feelings.
” Lance has moved up from my neck to my ears.
My earlobe might as well be the head of my cock the way his tongue caresses the round shape.
I am going to lose this battle if I don’t do something drastic. Still holding his wrist, I pin it to the bed as I roll to get on top of him. Lance grins up at me, his breathing heavy. “Shower and I make you breakfast.”
He pouts. “Shower together?”
“If you promise to keep your hands to yourself.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” He scoffs.
“ I get to touch you .” I pause, then clarify. “I’ll wash your hair and scrub you down– but no sex, okay?”
Lance lets out an exacerbated sigh, but relents. “Fine.”
He brushes his teeth while I get the shower to the perfect temperature.
Once the water is at the right level of steamy, we strip.
Lance slips under the water first with me right behind him.
It’s a tight fit, and only one of us can stand under the shower head at a time, but that’s part of the fun.
Lance turns to face me, tilting his head back into the falling water.
I lean down and give him a soft kiss on the lips.
Lance hums with appreciation. Then when I pull away, he sticks his tongue out in mock disgust. “Dog breath.”
I snort and grab his shampoo. “You’re just mad I’m holding us accountable.” I lather the shampoo in my hands.
Lance leans his head forward, his dark blond hair sticking to his forehead. I push the hair back before shampooing his head. “Remind me again why we can’t just fuck through our feelings?”
“Because sex should be fun and not a way to mask shitty feelings?” That’s more or less what we agreed on. I lift Lance’s chin, tilting his head back into the water. I run my fingers through his sudsy hair. “And they’re your feelings…”
If I could have night terrors on his behalf I would in a heartbeat. For the past two months I’ve wondered if it’s possible… if there is a spell that could alleviate his pain.
Lance isn’t cursed. As much as his trauma comes from magic, it’s not a literal spell that keeps him up at night. He’s got to face his feelings, and I’ve got to support him– not just carry him to bed every time he has a panic attack. Though that would be a hell of a lot easier.
Lance is silent as soap bubbles circle the drain.
“What do you want for breakfast?” I ask before grabbing the conditioner.
He hums to himself, eyes shut as my fingers work his scalp again. Finally he murmurs. “Oatmeal…”
“You want cinnamon and banana? I think we have blueberries too.”
He sighs dreamily. His green eyes flutter open like he’s waking up for the first time this morning. “God I love you.”
I smirk. “Do I get a kiss? Or is the wolf-morning-breath too much?”
Lance gets up on his toes and kisses me, a little more than a light peck but nothing scandalous. Though he does hold my bottom lip between his teeth long enough for me to regret my restraint back in bed.
It’s like he can sense my shift in mood because as soon as we’re separated he leaves the shower and wraps a towel around his waist. “I’m gonna go journal… Or meditate. I dunno.” He shrugs.
“Yeah, good idea.” I shut off the shower.
There is enough time between now and when I need to get to my shift at Metropolitan Antiques that I can get a quick workout in at the gym that’s in the apartment complex.
Not that their weight machine is much of a challenge with or without werewolf strength but beggars can’t be choosers.
I start breakfast and catch Lance entering the spare room.
I’ve only gone in the room once before, the morning after Lance and I hooked up.
So, the low point in our relationship. The room is mostly used for storage, things Lance doesn’t really use but he can’t stand to part with.
It’s full of clothing made by friends, rare thrift finds, and for reasons I don’t fully get– all the random magic shit he kept from his childhood.
Random magic shit because I don’t actually know what all he has in there. When I snooped around all I could recognise was an old tapestry and a dagger. I found other things, sure, but I couldn’t say what they were. Definitely couldn’t decipher what they have to do with witchcraft.
I know more about Lance’s past than I should. I wish I could unlearn all the things I read about him and his family in case files. Maybe it’s that unfortunate history that makes me wish I understood magic better.
It’s not my place… I’m not sure it’s even Lance’s place. I don’t understand how he feels comfortable sitting in that tiny room doing breathing exercises next to a trunk full of skeletons. Now that I think back, I’m pretty sure I did see a literal skeleton in there– but from an animal. I think.
Eventually I knock at the door, happy to bring him a mug of coffee with cinnamon and a splash of creamer. Lance pops his head out, perking up when he sees the coffee in my hand.
“Whenever you’re ready, breakfast is done.”
His arm snakes out from behind the door.
“I’ll be out in a minute.” He maneuvers his coffee out of my hand all without opening the door enough for me to see what’s going on inside.
I do catch a whiff of something. The aroma is strong but something I can’t place.
Then he shuts the door and the smell wafts away.
—
As I climb the steps of the old Victorian I grab the keys from my back pocket. As soon as I put the key in the knob I can tell it’s unlocked. I frown, double checking my watch as I push inside. The shop doesn’t open for another hour, but Taylor and I always have our check-ins at nine.
My job is weird. When Taylor offered me a position I thought I’d spend my days chasing down rogue supernaturals around the city.
That is what I do maybe a fourth of the time.
Mostly I’m a watch dog. I touch base with wayward supernaturals who would rather not be found, bring them what they need, make sure their location is still secure
That and sell antiques. The shop is such a good cover because well, it’s a legitimate antique shop. I know more about art nouveau lamps and cameo pins than I thought possible.
I poke into the two main show rooms but find no one. So I head upstairs, avoiding the side of the house where Daphne sleeps and instead going towards the kitchen. Sure enough, I can smell black tea steeping before I step inside.
Taylor sits at the round table, his wife Daphne next to him, and a young woman with bright purple braids across from him. An intricately painted teapot with matching tea cups sits in the center of the table.
“You left the front door unlocked.” I say to Taylor then glance at the woman across from him.