A Sure Thing
by Mythdefied
March 2005
The rain slid down Deimos' naked skin like a wet waterfall.
But it was a light rain, more of a mist, really, so maybe it was closer
to moist dew.
No, actually, it felt more like cold ice. Or just--
"Fuck it," Deimos muttered, resisting the urge to rub his arms. He
sucked at metaphors and he was freezing his ass off.
"How much longer do I have to do this?" It sounded too much like a
whine to him, but then, he kind of thought that naked, wet, freezing
and up to his ankles in mud gave him permission to whine by default.
"Ha!" Phobos pushed away from the tree he'd been leaning on, grinning
viciously. He was fully clothed, brown leather and pale gold silk, and
of course, not a drop of water was touching him, because he wasn't stupid enough to take a
dare from Strife.
"You lose, Strife!" Phobos said, turning that grin on their cousin.
Standing in near an old, burned tree stump, rain falling about him but
not a drop touching slick black leather, Strife crossed his arms and
glared, first at Phobos, then at Deimos.
"You just had to open your
mouth, didn't you?" he said, tone scathing.
"Huh?" Deimos frowned.
"Should've known better than to take the bet," Phobos said, still
grinning. "I mean, come on, don't you think I know Deimos the best?"
"What bet?" Deimos looked from one to the other, frown deepening. The
only one he knew about was the dare he'd taken from Strife and there
hadn't been any mention of no talking.
"I told him you couldn't shut
up for five minutes." Phobos clapped his hands together with a sharp
laugh.
"Hey!" Deimos protested, but Phobos just waved it away.
"Oh, get over it, bro. Besides, think about what we're getting because
you don't know how to keep your mouth closed." Phobos' grin morphed
into a leer as he looked at Strife, looked him over. "We've got
ourselves a slave for the next month."
"What?" Deimos stared at
Strife, wide-eyed. Strife had made a bet like that?
Strife rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. So, you won. Doesn't start until
sunset, so save the gloating."
"Gloating wasn't what I had in mind." Phobos' leer took on a darker
edge before he looked over at Deimos. "Come on, bro. Let's go set a few
things up in the bedroom." And he vanished in a gold bubble of light
that was far too bright for the overcast day.
Deimos winced and looked away -- right at Strife. Strife, who was just
standing there, weight resting back on one foot, regarding him
silently, all trace of annoyance gone.
"You really made that bet?" Deimos had to ask, because it didn't seem
possible. Strife had always been so clever.
Strife shrugged and dropped his arms to his sides. The rain was
touching him now, bright droplets catching in the dark curls of his
hair, in his eyelashes as he let his head fall back, eyes closing.
"B-But...you know me." Deimos
said. Strife knew he liked to
talk; this didn't make any sense.
"Yep." Strife said, then left his mouth open to catch a few drops of
the light rain on his tongue.
"You're not this--this stupid!" Deimos said, confused. "You had to know
Phobos would win."
"No, I'm not," Strife said calmly as he opened his eyes, brought his
head back down. "And, yeah, I did." His gaze slid slowly downward and
Deimos was abruptly reminded that he was very naked.
Then Strife grinned -- and winked.
A fast, blue flash of light and Deimos was alone in the small clearing.
Cold, wet and naked. And smirking.
Fin
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