c h a p t e r. 40

"I think we dream so we don't have to be apart for so long. If we're in each other's dreams, we can be together all the time." ― A.A. Milne

This is???? So late???? and I am SO SORRY.

I've had a lot going on. I've lost motivation for a lot of things and had a lot of personal problems. I think it's been literally almost a year since I published this and since my Sister finished her half of this story.I'm sorry to everyone that's messaged me, worried, I'm really trying to write and to get better but it's been a, hm... yeah, it's been a process.Anyways, I love you guys! Thank you for the constant support you give despite my lack of attentiveness to this platform and followers.

chapter 40

News Year's Eve was a simple night away and like his own family, Castor's didn't stop themselves from celebrating early and playing games or getting drunk or both.

It was kinda funny, actually, watching the god's older siblings drink themselves into giggles or arguments that probably were so serious to a drunk person but downright hysterical to someone of the rather sane mind.

His parents drove the younger kids down to one of their best friend's houses and was staying there, so they kinda had the house rather to themselves in a way that they couldn't when the parents were there. Kinda weird, being in his boyfriend's house with it so full, still feeling like a child, with other children his age who were also legally allowed to drink.

He had a glass of spiked eggnog himself (not yet downing the second), but Castor refused to, which made him a very easy target for Nemesis and Max, both well past tipsy and well past annoying.

When he started to notice that his star was getting a little overwhelmed with the annoyingness that is his siblings and one rather dumb redhead, he asked to see all of his trophies and to his surprise, he said yes to viewing the shiny things.

They both got ready--Castor getting decked out in his coat and gloves while he just got out his shoes and gave a thumbs up to the god in recognition that they were ready to go outside and to the garage, where they kept them.

"All of your family is loud." Jazz can't help but to note as they step out from the house, arm resting around his waist as he shuffles closer. "Why are you quiet?"

"Oh," Castor pauses, song going a little deeper, delving into a color that's not seen often, that he doesn't know what to make of. "They have better reason to speak, plus they're better at speaking. And I know I'm quiet, Jasper and sometimes that could be a problem, but there's a lot more ways I say I love you-- bit hot innit-- than just saying them out loud. I don't want you to forget that."

"I know that, Castor," Jazz leans down to bonk their heads together, which seems to draw an amused huff out of the god. "I'm good about reading you now, if I do say so myself, and know when you say I love you without actually saying it. Like my fingerboop... but not, y'know, a fingerboop. Or just one specific thing."

Nodding, his greens go softer and brighter, settling down into adoration as Castor flicks open the lock pad, enters the pin, and makes the garage door open.

As the garage opens, the metal around it creaks from the cold, distracting him for only a second as an icy blue shoots through the interior. Inside, there was a truck and on the other there's a large freezer, boxes, and a bin of what appears to be summer floaties and pool noodles.

Castor moves into the building, going over to the boxes and grabs the one at the top, a small wince coming from him (probably from his still hurt wrist) before the god meets his eye. Tilting his head, the musician jolts when the rest of the boxes are kicked at him as if they mean nothing.

"Hey!" He gasps, the offended sound making his boyfriend smirk. "Don't break anything, Star!"

"They're my things, Jitterbug," His star's reply is rather unhelpful as he grabs another box from the pile. "I could stomp on them until they're shattered or shred the papers to a million pieces if I wanted to."

Pouting, but not bothering to argue, Jazz opens the closest box next to him and sits on the ground, his butt does not appreciate how cold the concrete is, like, at all for a good couple seconds but he ignores that and pulls the box of his god's 'shiny things' to rest right in front of him and gently opens it.

Inside are, indeed, shiny things.

Smiling softly, Jazz pulls out the first trophy of a male doing what looks like a funky back bend, with a small piece of paper wrapped around it. Awarded for best Layout (540 degree twist), Castor Rex. Happily, he folds the paper back up before neatly setting the trophy aside and grabbing the next one and looking at that too. This one, apparently, was for a singing contest.

"You're a very cool god," The musician compliments, patting the spot next to him. "And the gymnastics thing really explains some questioning moments."

Wrinkling his nose and looking at the floor like it personally offended him, Castor sighs, "Love, I'm already freezing. I'll die if I-- cold, cold, cold-- sit down. And um, yeah, I guess it does."

"Sit on my lap then?" He offers, tugging the box to his side and opening his legs into a wide criss-cross. "These are all amazing and I'm really proud of you for being able to do all of this. I'd never be able to do whatever half of this is, like I'm really impressed, my star. Oh! Can we take these home with us? If Mango Queen and your dad don't mind, that is. I wanna put them up where I can see them."

Taking the offer, his celestial takes his hand and lets him help him find a comfortable position before pressing a cold kiss to the side of his neck as he grinned, "Well they aren't exactly doing anything with them, and they're mine, so they won't mind but we don't really have the room in the dorm for all this. There's five boxes of this shit, Jitterbug."

"I'll buy us a house to put them in, then." Jazz says without hesitation. "I want them."

"You're not, you can't, you just-- is it really that easy for rich people to just be like 'I'll buy a house' with that amount of confidence? And I'm not complaining about living with you, or getting a place that's just for us in the future, but isn't it unreasonable to do all that just to have all this junk out?"

"I-I mean, no?" Jazz nuzzles his face into Castor's neck. "I could always bring them to the mansion, but I'm not there enough for it to count. I could literally buy another island with the money I've saved over the years, or that I'll inherit. Buying a house for comfort reasons, practicality, and because I really have a lot more knick knacks than I should."

He hums, thinking a little, before continuing.

"Plus, it wouldn't be a really big house or anything." Nothing too large, where he could be on one side and his celestial on the other and not hear each other, distant, nothing like the castle. "Just like... a half-way point between the mansion, the college, and close to the Headquarters for Astoria Empire. Plus! That way we'll have more privacy, too."

Castor, having shuffled so his legs were around the musician's hips instead of to the side, seems to pause, thinking. His song dips and twists with color; emotions playing out for his eyes only.

Then, he nods--just like that.

The god's excitement is bright and makes everything a little echoey but Jazz can't help but to find it beautiful. Find him beautiful.

"I want to live in a house with you- -bit hot innit- -and I want to do that forever." Grinning, Castor wraps his arms around Jazz's neck, meeting his eyes. Grey to green and full of love, love, love. "When this school year is over, let's get a place. And I don't care how big it is, it just needs to fit me and you."

"And Noodle," he adds, ecstatic as he places his hands on his god's hips, beaming. "And all your shiny things."

Forgetting the shiny things would be a sin.

"And all your instruments." His star reminds, growling afterwards but leans into his boyfriend despite the tic. "I want a big shower."

He'd reply but Castor saying that makes him imagine what he could do with all that new space and the flush that climbs it's way to his cheek burns. Jazz is quick to nod, happiness bubbling in his chest, longing not too far behind--he closes the distance, lips easily sliding against his god's.

Not far afterwards, he realizes how bad of an idea that is as he presses closer. Cautiously, he lifts Castor off of his lap and into the air, still close but not close enough for things to get too... heated.

Castor, ever confident in his ability to rile up the musician, smirks and raises his hand to his neck, thumb caressing the skin on one side and fingers flexing against the other. His hand rests an inch below his chin and leaves a lovely amount of skin for Castor to kiss along.

Jazz shivers--gasping.

His boyfriend's hand is cold, tantalizing against his skin but his lips are warm and the feeling they leave in their wake sends a rush through him.

This continues for a couple minutes--like they're two teenagers who snuck out for a quick make-out session in the middle of the night--and Castor only pulls away after making his self-control severely impaired.

It turns into something sweet--a soft kiss, slow and fiery all at once.

Jazz sucks in a breath, fingers digging into the other's hips as he fully sits up again, hand slipping up to his back as he whines, "Castor."

"Jasper," the god easily replied, the smirk still tugging at the corners of his mouth and he barely registers it even if his gaze is still locked onto his mouth. "If I keep going, I'm going to leave marks."

Marks.

The word is said as if Jazz would mind.

As if he himself hasn't littered his god's body with them, turned divine skin into something glowing with something simultaneously worshipping and also less than holy.

Before, the only places that Castor has left his trace on are few are far between. Once on his side, often on his thighs and occasionally on his collarbone--but he never goes much further even if Jazz knows that he wants too sometimes.

He never found the courage to ask why.

Pouting when he doesn't continue, Jazz draws the star back into him for another kiss. "I don't care. It's New year's Eve in less than an hour, I say we celebrate. Everyone inside is watching some loud movie, or drunk and can't walk straight, or sleeping. And your parents won't be back until the new year anyway."

"You're bold today," Castor notes, shoulders jumping in a tic.

"You're just... very you, when you're here." More open, less abrasive notes of hesitation to his song. "It's like movie nights and cooking days, just all the time. Nobody is around to make you cautious, even when you're bothered you're yourself. And it's--it's very attractive." Jazz tilts his head, leaning in for a few short kisses that he's blessed with, pressing his boyfriend further against him, even so his inner thighs are flush with his sides.

Kissing along his jaw, Castor barely pauses to catch his breath and ask, "how am I different."

"Quieter, worried. Always wanting to prove yourself." It's hard to talk despite Castor's attention to his skin but he managed. "I didn't... I didn't know living in a, in a dorm made you act so... different. When we're alone, really alone, you're always you. I want that. Constantly, I want that."

"Then have it." Saying this, Castor wraps one hand in Jazz's hair and tilts his head up to him more, kissing the musician and if Jazz kisses him harder after teeth sink into his bottom lip, the other doesn't seem to mind.

Wrapping his arms back around the god, he dips his boyfriend down before standing, making Castor laugh.

Green—light to gold and dark to pine, brilliant and lovely and his.

"You know what else is good--" Castor squeaks. "--about getting a house that's just ours?" Asking this, he places a kiss on his boyfriend's lips that quickly turns into more forcing Castor to pull away, almost unwillingly, just so Jazz can answer.

What an unfortunate thing, the fact that they have to leave the comfort of each other's lips to speak.

What a lovely thing, that here they are, speaking and loving and kissing each other.

"I don't know." The musician replies breathlessly, cheeks stained red.

Castor grins, holding onto his chin with his thumb moving to press down on his lower lip--something the god knows always makes him flustered and has no problem using against him. "Constant privacy."

Jazz laughs, nodding.

He won't disagree--privacy and a place to call theirs would be really nice, after all.