Work Text:
“Dad, Dad, come see!” Hubert calls, twisting round on the floor when he hears the door click open.
Malik looks a little weary from work, but still he dutifully inspects the model arrayed on the rug Hubert’s been working on for several days.
“Looks great, kiddo. Remind me, which one is this?”
“The Jewel of the Desert. It was the first vessel to combine the cryas combustion four-stroke engine with wind power,” Hubert says, in an eager tumble.
He remembers Cheria once teasing him about that, a lifetime ago; you really must be a boy if you love boats.
She’d been wrong about that. Hubert didn’t love boats. He really loved boats.
“Looks like it’s coming along great. You want dinner yet?”
Hubert shakes his head. “I wanna finish this first.” He pauses. “Can you help?”
Malik chuckles, and sits down on crossed legs. “Alright, Captain, tell me what to do.”
Hubert has Malik help construct the starboard bow. He has all the pieces laid out and labelled, arranged in neat piles where they’ll need to go. Malik is a much better assistant than his brother, Asbel had been, when they were children. Asbel had been a menace, not following his system, losing pieces, not keeping them in their colour coordinated piles…
He and Malik have been playing these sort of games for a few weeks, now. It helps Hubert relax when he’s had a stressful week. He knows Malik likes it, too. He’ll put on one of the several sets of cute pajamas Malik has gifted him, and that’ll be their cue. Today, he’s wearing ones with ducks.
If it’s dredged up some old feelings from the past, too… well, Malik tells him that’s OK. Healthy, even, although Hubert chafes at these kind of discussions. Malik knows where the lines are drawn, and never pushes Hubert over them.
He’s no fool. There are things he knows they should talk about. That it might even help to talk about. But he still holds out hope that choked of oxygen, these feelings might just… suffocate, and die out, down in the dark of his heart.
All these ugly things that have grown wild in the cavity of his chest, what might happen if they were suddenly dragged out and exposed to the air? What might chemical reaction might take place, if those memories are allowed room to breathe? It makes Hubert shudder to think of it.
If Hubert wanted to go delving, he’d have joined the Izolle Caving Society, thank you very much.
So he doesn’t think about it. He’s good at that. He’s been actively not thinking about things for years.
They stop to eat. Malik heats up some left overs and after, as these things tend to go, they end up on the bed. Hubert crawls up to lie on Malik’s chest. He’s so big and broad-shouldered compared to Hubert. As much as Hubert wishes he were taller– taller, at least, than Asbel, he doesn’t dislike the difference between their bodies. He especially doesn’t dislike it when they’re playing together like this.
“You make a good pillow,” Hubert mumbles into his chest. Hubert can feel Malik’s laugh in the rumble in his chest, as he pulls a broad arm up around him. He can feel Malik’s heartbeat, slow and strong and steady.
“Yeah? You getting a bit sleepy, buddy?”
Hubert shakes his head, forehead brushing against Malik’s chest. “I want to play some more.”
“Yeah? What do you want to play?”
His hand travels down Hubert’s waist, to his hip. But he always lets Hubert initiate, when they’re playing this sort of game. It’s kind of a pain.
He sits up, straddling Malik’s waist. He answers his question with a little roll of his hips.
Malik feigns ignorance. “What kind of game is that, sweetheart?
Obtuse git. He knows Malik is trying to get him used to actually talking about these things, but it doesn’t make it any less annoying.
“Daddy…” Hubert complains, rubbing himself against Malik.
“Hubert, baby. I need you to use your words. Tell me what you want from daddy.”
Hubert colours. He doesn't stop rocking against Malik, though. It feels good. He forces the words out. “I want you to touch me, Dad.”
“Hmm..” Malik’s hands slot over the grooves of Hubert’s hips, as though he’s considering his request. Ugh. “I don’t know. Is that something dads should do with their little boys?”
Hubert colours further, for a different reason. Why does he find this kind of talk so impossibly hot? There’s definitely something wrong with him.
The idea of doing this with either of his fathers makes him feel sick to his stomach. So why does he– why does he want–?
The same image lodges into his vision; the wallpaper in the inn in Barona, with the embossed cherry blossom, the little robins. It’d been something to focus on, when Father had given him the news. He barely remembers that conversation now; only the flowers, the robins, the hand tightening around his chest.
“Hubert, sweetheart, come back to me,” Malik says, more gently.
His voice pulls Hubert back. He gets like this, sometimes, gets so tangled up he slips away somewhere else. Especially when they’re playing pretend together. It frightens him, how far he sometimes goes.
“Malik.” He uses the word to ground himself. He’s not back in Lhant. He’s here, he’s with Malik. He’s safe.
“You want to take a break?” Malik asks.
Hubert shakes his head furiously. He’s not letting foolish, irrelevant memories spoil this for him. “We can keep going.”
“Sure?”
He can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. “I’m fine. I’m not made of glass.”
This is clearly an acceptable answer, for Malik next rolls him, so that Hubert ends up on his back, Malik kneeling over him.
“Shall we see what you’re really made of, then, hm?”
Further complaints from Hubert are swallowed up by Malik’s hand on his cock, Hubert arching up into his touch, and Malik’s mouth covering his own.
Hubert moans into the kiss as Malik’s deft tongue swipes against his lip, and then his tongue is in his mouth, making him see stars, licking up against him.
“Dad, Dad, Dad…” he says.
What is Hubert made of? He’d once considered himself iron, or steel, but whatever element he is, Malik reforges him in his hands.
Just as things are really heating up, though, Malik rummaging in the bedside draw, he says, “Damn. We’re out of lube.”
Oh.
Hubert slides out of character. “There’s vaseline in the bathroom. The chemical compound isn’t too dissimilar.”
Malik raises an unimpressed brow. “Hubert, I’m not fucking you with vaseline. You’d know what a bad idea that is if you weren’t so horny.”
He’s. Probably not wrong. But he still pouts about it.
“How about I take you in my mouth instead huh, baby boy?” he says, pivoting.
Hubert shakes his head, a childish stubbornness rising up in him. “I want you inside, Dad.”
Malik looks at him for a moment, gauging, then he sighs and gets up from the bed, grabbing his shirt. “I’ll go to the pharmacy on the corner. Just for you, baby.”
Hubert beams at him, kneeling on the bed, pushing himself up so Malik can ruffle his hair. “I won’t be long. Why don’t you draw something for me while I’m gone, sweetheart?”
Hubert nods. “A kiss, before you go?”
He chuckles. “Such a needy boy. Of course.”
He presses a kiss to Hubert that leaves his head spinning. Then he grabs his keys, and heads out.
When he’s like this, Hubert finds himself tapping into an old impulse. In his teenage years, it was transmuted; into the desire for academic success, into upholding the legacy of the Oswell family. As he scribbles away at his desk, it has reverted to its earlier, purer form; that old desire to please.
He wants to be a good boy for his daddy while he’s gone.
At his desk, he picks up the new pack of watercolour pencils Malik bought for him, specifically for their play time. He sets to work.
He draws Malik and him, dressed as Sunscreen Ranger Red and Yellow. By the time he’s finished carefully colouring in between the lines, he starts to wonder; what’s taking Malik so long?
He squirms in his seat, fighting the urge to palm himself through his pants. He has to be good. He has to wait until Dad gets back.
He might as well draw a background, while he’s got time. He adds the crumbling seaside castle from Volume 188: Castle Panic!
Even as a child, Hubert was always the sort of boy who coloured carefully between the lines and used appropriate colours. It was his brother who would give people purple skin and green hair, just because he could.
By the time he’s done, nearly an hour has passed. The pharmacy is only five minutes down the road, where is Malik? There’s an anxiety building low in his gut he cannot ignore any longer.
He reaches for the Communicator. One of the weirder things the Amarcians have invented, but for situations like this, it’s certainly useful. His is paired to Malik’s.
He taps a quick message on the keypad. Long line or something? Miss you.
He presses the send button, and from the orb, a hatch opens, birthing the whirling metal bird into the air. Off it goes, winging away to find its partner. It won’t return until Malik responds, or if it’s unable to deliver the message.
But as Hubert sits and waits, there’s no returning mechanical whirl.
What if he— what if–
Hubert cuts himself off sharply. No, stop that.
As a distraction, he grabs a pillow and stuffs it between his legs. He humps it, the same way he did in his early adolescence, a clumsy answer to the strange stirrings of his body, chasing the feeling it gave him. It’s not enough. He needs his dad to help him.
A low whimper forces its way through Hubert’s teeth. How pathetic. Malik’s only been gone a couple of hours, it’s not like he’s never coming back–
But another voice from the back of Hubert’s mind answers; but what if he doesn't?
What if he’s finally had enough of Hubert’s hypocrisies, if he’s fed up of him, and has walked out?
The world closes in around Hubert. Old thoughts, feelings he thought stomped down beneath the earth spring wild and poisonous.
He sees the wallpaper. The little robins.
What did Hubert expect, really?
Even his own father didn’t love him enough to keep him. Why would he think this could be any different?
As he curls up on the bed, he’s no longer in his apartment, but in that room in Barona, the walls tightening around him until the world consists only of his skin, his own thundering heart, the iron-heavy weight pressing against his chest.
You’re going to live with a new family in Strahta, Father told him. It’s for the best.
His family had abandoned him, cast him off like yesterday’s paper. He was old news.
Who could blame them, really? What need did they have for cry-baby, scared of his own shadow wet the bed Hubert Lhant? Better to cut their losses before they sunk any more time and effort into a useless second son.
His palms sweat, his chest feeling like it’s caving in.
Hubert curls up on the bed, hugging Sir Reginald tight, and sobs, eleven years old again.
*
It’s hours later when Malik finally finishes up at the police station.
“We’ll let you know if we hear anything, Ambassador,” the officer says, as Malik gives him a nod on the way out. He knows as well as Malik does; he isn’t ever seeing his wallet or Communicator again.
“Thanks,” he says anyway. “You know where to find me.”
He thinks about his poor little boy, waiting at home for him. He hadn’t even been able to send him a message without his Communicator.
After he’d been to the pharmacy, he’d been stopped by a woman who’d lost her way, was trying to find her way back to her hotel in the other part of town. Malik had walked her there, of course. In thanks, he found his pockets pilfered. Still wasn’t sure if she’d robbed him herself, had someone else pick his pockets while she kept him busy, or if she was totally innocent.
Malik stuffs a hand in his trouser pocket, pulls out the lube. Small mercies. Hopefully Hubert is still in the mood when he gets home. He feels a throb of arousal as he thinks of his boy in his pajamas, rutting impatiently against the bed as he waits for Malik to come back to him. Runs his hand across his stubble, covers his smile as he remembers Hubert’s obstinate pout. No, want you inside, Dad. God, the things Hubert does to him.
His keys rattle in the lock. “Hubert?” he calls, as he steps over the threshold, pulls off his shoes. It’s all quiet. “I’m home. So, a funny thing happened– well, only funny if you like tragedies, I suppose–”
It’s almost too quiet. He’d kind of hoped Hubert would run up to him, jump into his arms– the way he’s been doing lately, since they started playing together like this. Burying his face into his shoulder with a happy exclamation of Dad!
Well, he can hardly blame Hubert. It has been hours. He’s probably pissed off at him.
“Hubert?” he calls again. “Sorry I left you for so long–”
His voice trails away, his heart plummeting. Hubert is on their bed, curled up on himself, rocking. He’s seen that look on Hubert’s face before, during their play. Eyes unfocused, not really there.
He hurries to kneel down beside the bed, unwinds Hubert’s hand from the tight grip around his knee. Squeezes. “Hubert, it’s alright. I’m here.”
Hubert doesn’t react to him at all.
Shit. He’s always been able to pull Hubert back out of this before now, with a soft word, or a comforting touch. But he’s also never seen Hubert disappear this far inside of himself.
Hubert’s lips move, without sound coming out. He gazes up at a blank space of wall.
“Come on, Hubert,” he says, shaking him by the shoulders.
“Don’ wanna go,” Hubert whispers. “Don’ wanna. Want to stay.”
He still doesn’t see Malik at all.
Malik’s heart sinks further. He isn’t certain, but he thinks he knows where Hubert has gone back to.
It’s not the first time he’s seen something like that. All of the things his fellow rebels had seen, all of the Chancellor’s bullshit wars, it left a toll on people. Sometimes they drank and smoked those memories away, until they were incoherent and blissfully empty. Other times, their heads threw them back into the past for them to relive it over and over.
Hubert had watched his childhood friend die in front of him, endured grievous injuries, and then had been ripped from his home and his family. Even if he hadn’t fought in a war, his mind was still fighting in its own battle.
Malik climbs into bed, pulling Hubert close to him. Hubert is all taut muscle and stretched sinew, trembling against him, unyielding.
“Dad, please don’t make me go…” Hubert whispers.
Malik instinctively replies, “You’re not going anywhere, Hubert. I’m here.”
He doesn’t expect a reply, but Hubert’s hand finally tightens around his. “I… I don’t have to leave?”
Hubert’s eyes are still unfocused. He’s still not back with him. Does he think Malik is really Lord Aston?
Ah, wonderful. Playing the part of a man who managed to set up both of his young sons with lifetime issues.
“Of course not buddy. I’d never do that to you.”
Hubert sobs, but it's with blinding relief and emotion that he clings to Malik’s shirt. He cries his little heart out. The sound of it twists into Malik’s own chest. He exhales heavily, brings the boy tighter to him.
“It’s OK. Shh. It’s alright.” He rubs comforting circles upon the lad’s back.
Is going along with this delusion really the right thing to do? Malik doesn't have a damn clue. All he knows is he can’t stand to see Hubert looking so heartbroken a second longer than necessary. He knows Lord Aston’s reasoning for abandoning Hubert, and if he could sit and have a drink with the man, he’d respectfully tell him his reasons were complete bullshit.
Hubert’s separation from his family was done with the same amount of tact as a street side amputation.
As Hubert sobs on his chest, he amends that thought. Maybe it wouldn’t be so respectful.
So, he rubs his partner’s back and lets him get it out of his system. God knows he needs it.
Eventually, Hubert’s tears subside into sniffles, the storm starting to pass. Malik’s shirt is soaked. His poor little boy.
“You got yourself into a real state, huh, little guy? It’s OK. Why don’t we take it easy and relax for a bit, huh?”
“Sorry,” Hubert says, in a small voice. “I didn’t mean to be such a crybaby.”
Malik hushes him, tells him not to be silly. It’s OK.
Hubert shakes his head. “I drew a picture for you, but I, I broke it when I got upset.”
Ah. Malik sees the picture in question, torn into shreds.
Hubert’s gaze is guilty and fearful. He doesn't look him in the eye.
Malik ruffles his hair. “You don’t have to apologise, Hubert. I didn’t mean to leave you alone for so long. I’d feel scared and frustrated too.”
“O-oh.”
“How about we relax and draw some pictures together, huh?”
“OK.”
It’s been years since Malik did anything resembling drawing, soon reflected on the pitiful stick figures he scrawls on the paper. Luckily, his companion doesn't seem to expect any masterpieces. He leans over to see Malik’s work and tells him, “That looks good, Dad.”
“You too. Your colouring is really neat.” Hubert has drawn his family; Lady Kerri, Lord Aston, Asbel, himself and… “Is that Ranger Red? How come he’s there too?”
“Because he’s my favourite,” Hubert tells him.
Well, fair enough, then.
Soon after, Hubert starts to droop. Malik isn’t surprised, after the emotional night he’s had.
“You ready for bed?” he asks.
Hubert nods. But he bites his lip, looks around the room, as though he’s expecting to find himself somewhere else.
“Where is Asbel? Isn’t he coming to bed?”
Uhhhh. “Your brother is having his bath. He’ll be up soon.”
Hubert’s brow furrows. “We normally take a bath together.”
“Yeah, but your brother went mud-sledding today. Trust me, you don’t want to share the tub with him today.”
That elicits a small smile from him. Thank God.
“Silly Asbel,” he says with a laugh.
“C’mon. Let’s get you to bed. You can sleep here. I’ll take the sofa.”
Best he keeps his distance, here. He doubts Lord Aston had allowed Hubert to crawl into his bed with him as a ten year old.
He takes Hubert by the hand. He looks startled, though, when Malik leads him toward the bed.
“I can’t take your bed, Dad.”
“It’s fine, bud.”
Hubert climbs in and pulls the cover over him. Malik fusses over him for a minute, fluffing his pillow and tucking him in. And then… what do kids like? Normally, by this part of the evening, their play has been derailed by more adult activities. Those are out of the question with Hubert as he is right now. “You uh. Want me to tell you a story?”
Hubert nods, the duvet tucked up close under his chin. “Yes please, Dad.”
Too late he realises the books on his shelves probably aren’t suitable reading for a child. Except, Hubert isn’t just any child.
He pulls out Hubert’s well thumbed copy of Top Naval Battles of the Century. Hubert’s eyes light up with delight. Malik holds down the chuckle.
He smooths down the duvet, and hops up by Hubert’s side.
Damn, this is dry. He decides to add some flair. “Tonight, we tell the tale of the glorious Lightspeed and her sea battle with Strahta’s newest ship, the Jewel of the Desert. Let me set the scene. The sky was dark, the waves crashing over the side of the ship, and through his binoculars the Captain of the Jewel spotted a mast in the distance…”
Malik gets so into telling his tale that he doesn't notice Hubert’s eyes sliding close. Ten minutes later, Malik is getting to the exciting part of the battle, and he realises that Hubert has fallen asleep.
Ah.
Tenderly, he takes off Hubert’s glasses, and sets them on the bedside. “Sleep well, Hubert,” he says.
He digs out the spare blanket, and makes himself home on the sofa.
He can only hope that come morning, Hubert will be back to normal… or else he’ll have to seek out a doctor. A discreet one, who won’t let Hubert’s superiors he’s regressed back to being a ten year old.
The sofa is old and hard, and Malik tosses and turns. He drifts off for a time, then wakes. He doesn’t know why he’s woken.
He sits up, to find Hubert sitting up in bed, gazing out into the dark.
“Hubert?” he asks.
When Hubert doesn't reply, he slides out of the sofa and plants himself on the side of the bed. “Hubert, are you alright? Are you…”
Are you yourself again? He doesn't say.
He puts a hand on Hubert’s shoulder. At last, he seems to notice him.
“Malik?” he asks.
Malik exhales relief. “Hey,” he says.
At least, until he notices the tears rolling down Hubert’s face. Hubert himself doesn't seem to notice them. He presses a hand to his cheek, face scrunching up in confusion.
“Do you remember what just happened, Hubert?” Malik asks gently.
His brow furrowing, he shakes his head. “I was waiting for you to come back. When you didn’t, I got worried, and, and scared. Then… I don’t remember. I think I went somewhere. I felt cold. Alone.”
Under his hand, he feels Hubert shiver. He squeezes him comfortingly.
“To tell the truth, I’ve always felt that way. Even around other people. Ever since…” he clams up. Brushes the tears away, looking embarrassed and frustrated with himself.
“Hubert, it’s OK. You don’t need to push all your feelings down. Let it out.”
He shakes his head, frustrated he’s not able to get his point across. He meets Malik's gaze, eyes sharp and focused again, brilliantly blue. “But I don’t feel that way. Not with you.”
The breath catches in Malik’s lungs. It has to be the most honest Hubert has ever been with him.
Malik shuffles in closer next to him. “Yeah?”
Hubert shoots him a look. “I’m not repeating it back.”
Now that’s the Hubert he knows.
Malik chuckles. He pulls Hubert in close. Hubert falls into his embrace with an exhale, as though Malik’s arms are a hot bath he can sink into.
In the morning, he’ll tell Hubert what happened.
For now, he just wants to hold his precious boy.