Jazz Red's Anomaly

c h a p t e r. 28

"--ink Mistlefoe- -Christmas lights- -but all year round?"

Catching the tail end of what Castor says, and used to blurting things out way to much around his boyfriend, can't help but to ask, "What's Mistlefoe?"

His god's head whipped around and he felt kinda sheepish about the glare directed at him as he was asked, "Why are you out of your seat? You could hurt someone, or more importantly, yourself."

"I-I know but we're talking about you getting hurt," Jazz shrugs innocently, but even he had no shame when his eyes flicked over to Flynn's, seeing the tinsel looking back at him. He was still jealous. "Nothing you can do about it now."

Castor did not appreciate that and snapped, "Do you not remember I can pick you up? Or are you just selectively choosing to forget that."

Ah, well... no, how could he forget that being picked up?

He liked being man-handled, as long as it was by the celestial and it's not like something like that-- the very rare occurrence of Cas using his strength on him-- would just escape his mind.

Realizing his face was about ten degrees warmer, he sputters for a reply and, thankfully, his papa takes over the conversation by asking, "What the fuck is Mistlefoe?"

Castor puts a tight arm around Jazz's waist, tugging their bodies closer as he answers, "Hangs above your head, green, pretty sure it's a plant."

"Man," Tio Law frowned at him, looking slightly confused and the musician looked behind them briefly to see Tio Auggie grinning like the goof ball he was behind them. "Are you just mispronouncing mistletoe?"

"Oh. Oh!" His lightning-strike eyes go wide. "No, no that's not it. Instead of kissing, he just gets to punch me? It's like a freebie. No consequences, no limit. Usually he hovers around the arches just to bump into me. He's the only one that ever goes full no, no one else seems to enjoy beating someone else up. Besides maybe my dad but eh, I got used to it."

That's... not okay.

"Nine years, you were eleven when this started." Law frowned as he put this together. "How much older is your brother than you?"

"I don't pay attention to him." Jazz sees the lie as Castor says it. "Does it matter?"

His papa's soft pink song turned protective. He knows what his dad is thinking-- his own, abusive past rearing its head and turning his thoughts sour. Jazz, if he didn't know all he knew, would probably think the same thing.

Catching Bar's dark, glaring eyes, he shook his head at his papa-- whose shoulders relaxed slightly but the anger tensing his face did not disappear.

"Yeech." Flynn shudders, sinking in his seat as his papa glanced at him.

"Dude, do you honestly think he's scary?" Castor chuckles. "Him? Grow up, his wife's more scary than he is, and that's saying something. " Jazz never heard more true words spoken in his life. "The guy won't even touch you unless you hurt someone here. Given you're closest to Scar, you should even be looking out for the blond more."

"You grew up with guys who look scary and act mean!" Fly jabs his friend in the stomach, instantly making the musician want to pull him away from the tinsel-colored man. "Meaning you're used to this, I'm still scared of this. Plus you're used to getting hit, your pain tolerance is insane. So even if he did scare you, you wouldn't worry."

"Why's your pain tolerance so high?" Scar asks Castor, narrowing her charcoal eyes at him.

""I second that." Tio Law continues. "And what kind of guys did you grow up with?"

"I know you know how much fucking older he is." His papa growls out, apparently peeved and concerned enough not to let it go.

"I don't know how- -Christmas lights- -to answer when you, when--" The celestial growls, green going chartreuse and sea colors and basil; he's overwhelmed. "--when you're all asking me questions. No personal questions."

Bar sends his son's boyfriend a hard, worried look before the god leads them both back to their seat, anxiety seeming to run through him like olive streaks.

"Hey," Castor mumbled, moving his hands down to hold onto one of Jazz's. "Can we cuddle?"

Jazz grins, nodding. "Please."

"Oh wait," The star pulls back slightly, hesitatingly. "My meds make me really--" His head tilts to the side, hair falling into those deep eyes. "--drowsy if I stop moving. I might fall asleep."

"You took them today?" He tilts his head, not having known that.

"I don't mind, come here," Offering his lap up to his boyfriend, Jazz snuggles him closer when he doesn't hesitate to curl up on his lap, breathing in his comforting scent. "Perfect."

"You make me seem so small," Castor complained, rubbing his cheek against the musician's chest and he can tell that he's getting sleepier by the second. "Isn't that annoying to you? You have--" He squeaks, then yawns quite adorably. "You have to reach down all the damn time just for a kiss."

Jazz laughed, "It's cute, not annoying."

His boyfriend was a top, dominating man who was gentle but firm and very attractive. Having to lean down to kiss him only makes the musician love it all the more-- how could he not, when he was finally comfortable being able to get that close?

"Six years," Castor's soft words startle him slightly, the celestial's hand moving out to clutch on the arm moving across his chest. "He's like... six and a half years older than, than me."

Jazz can't help but to tense slightly before forcing himself to go slack again, a gentle hand coming up the run along his boyfriend's back.

Six years.

That's... That's just-- Atlas should have known better.

Atlas should've done better, shown more kindness to his brother.

And it made him angry that he didn't.

"That's a long time for a kid." Jazz doesn't let his anger be heard, knowing it wouldn't help and knowing that he just needs to be held right now. He hummed softly, holding on tighter.

"Kinda..." His murmurs are muffled by the musician's shirt. "It just...hurts that he hates me. Ya' know. " He did know-- and it only made an ache grow in his chest, too. It hurt him because it hurt Castor. "More than the...than the punches, I mean..."

Castor falls asleep, and Jazz is left to softly brush his fingers through his hair, trying to calm down the pain and anger and fierce protectiveness running through his whole being.

Atlas should just fuck off the next time they see him.

He needs to get his shit together before ever trying to speak to the god again.

And Jazz, well, he's going to make sure that happens.