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A Pucked-Up Situation	By : ChysLattes Category: G through L > Leandros Brothers Series Views: 1564 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't make money off this & I do not own the Leandros Brothers Fandom (I only own specific jokes within this story as well as my OCs Jazel & Piper)

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Title: "A Pucked-Up Situation"
Chapter: Two/?
By: Chys Lattes
Two days ago…
Ishiah was watching the clock. The auphling was late once more but that was no surprise. He wondered again why was he still letting him work at the ex-angel peri bar, the Ninth Circle? Oh, right. Robin had gotten pissed when he'd first considered tossing Cal in the street with the refuse from the bin.
Hm. Whatever.
The puck would make good on his promise to keep it worth his while. He would make sure of that. Not that Robin's attentions were the only think keeping Caliban employed, regardless of the gruff commentary as of the latter, the kid was not that bad at his job and he kept the customers in line with his predatory other-worldliness. He would never admit to this on record, ever, at all, but only internally in his own personal musings. Some only semi-inebriated supernatural patrons actually knew to keep their heads down and not piss off the auphe-spawn. That tended to keep the bar a little less rowdy at times. Well, maybe half the time. Make that Part of the time. Or just Sometimes... occasionally.
The door bounced open and in sauntered the puck in all his velvety glory, his brown curly hair unusually shimmery this night, shimmying right up to the bar with a small twitch of a smile curving his delicate pink lips. "Hey handsome, gimme one on the house!" He ran his hands down his black coat-jacket and slid his left hand into its deep pocket. He pulled out a cigar, which Ishiah promptly took from his hand and threw in the nearest trash receptacle.
"No." at Ishiah's cold response, the puck flinched, rubbed his right hand on his black-clad knee.
"I'm not paying for your abuse of my liquor." Ishiah growled. "And I don't want you smoking that here."
"I meant: on you then? So I can lick it off? And I paid twenty-two bucks for that." the puck wiggled his rear then planted it firmly on a bar stool. He adamantly refused to move from that spot other than swiveling to change the direction he faced for the course of the next hour. That was when Caliban walked, or slightly limped, in. A small, bloodied gash on his leg told the occupants of the bar to stay the hell away because the auph was in a rip-your-face-off kind of mood. That didn't stop the two members of the kin, (the local gangster werewolf pack who disliked anything -Cal- lately) who had been seated in a dark corner, from glaring daggers his way all evening. Apparently some of them hold grudges for past misdeeds, even if it was on their own parts. Cal was at the point he couldn't notice or couldn't care.
The puck had downed several alcoholic beverages at Cal's serving hand, and the first time, when the puck had insisted that Cal serve him rather than bandage his wound, the glass he'd been served had a smear of Cal's blood on the side of it. He'd licked it off like a cat with cream. Cal hadn't noticed the blood on his hand or on the glass, or by sequence of events, on the puck's tongue either. He was kind of immune to noticing blood by now. He'd gone back to tending his wound, muttering under his breath about asshole pucks and their alcoholic tendencies and something about Bogglets marking new territory, which must have been how he got the new scratches. Ishiah, who had been quietly observing, primarily out of curiosity at Caliban's wound and whether or not he'd be up to serving tonight, had taken every sinuous stroke of the puck's tongue against the bloody glass as a dire personal insult. On top of the fact it was draining his pocketbooks.
Monogamy, it seemed, had taken the last subway train to hell. Ishiah's grip had broken the glass he'd been holding. The puck, unperturbed, and seemingly ignorant to his lover's agitations, stared at Cal as if he were his next meal. Or his new mark. Was he testing him? Teasing? Ishiah bit his lip.
Cal finished serving a dark-haired, hollow-eyed vampire that had seated himself at the far side of the bar and looked up to see the trickster eying him closely. "You need a refill?"
"Oh, I'm getting an eyeful, babe." Was the response, with, "But yes, thank you."
'Ok,' Cal thought, 'Even for Robin, that was strange'.
Ishiah growled deeper, his wings appearing full-force at his back. "That's it, Robin! Stop it with the flirting!" A parakeet sitting on a perch behind him almost got dislodged by the sudden fluttering movement. It squeaked in protest and relocated to a safer perch.
"Robin? The Robin Goodfellow? The Robin Goodfellow can flirt with anyone he desires!" the puck raised the glass in his left hand then bit down on his knuckles, narrowing his foxy eyes at the furious Peri. "A puck's gonna do whom a puck's gonna do! How about you, little auphe-seed? How are you between the sheets? On the table? Against the wall? There's a bar right here, babe, let's make better use of it and spread 'em for me!"
"You have had way too much, trickster." The vampire said the last word as if it were a curse, peering from across the bar. "Anyone who would willingly fuck that abomination must be beyond inebriated or far past senseless." He eyed Cal, whom had his hand on a knife in his sleeve, "and tasteless." He grinned, showing fangs, "Unless, as some do, you like the stink of… monster."
Cal returned the stare leveled at him by the vampire, only to retort, "This from the star of such popular titles as 'Dracula in space!' and 'Scooby-Doo meets the Vampire!' Nice." He grinned, eyes narrowed "It really gets across the 'dark and scary' impression your kind has worked so hard to perfect over the long years."
Tall, dark, and pointy-toothed gave him a venomous glare and went back to his vodka.
"Don't insult the customers, Caliban." Ishiah's venom turned in Cal's direction. Apparently being the object of his lover's attentions wasn't in a much better sinking boat than actually being said lover. Who wasn't paying him any attention at all.
Cal gulped and started wiping down the bar. Busy work was better than an ass kicking. Niko had taught him that, repeatedly. The puck, not nearly forgotten, licked his lips when he neared him. "There's always the floor." He continued, as if nothing had interrupted his tirade of sexual fantasies, sticking his tongue out between his lips, biting. Cal threw the washrag at the puck's face, but Ishiah caught it.
"You. Back here. Now." Ishiah ordered. Cal went to follow him into the back room but a strong hand threw him back to the bar. "I meant Goodfellow. You tend the bar."
"Ohoo!" Robin crowed and quickly hopped off the bar stool to follow the Peri into the back room, hips swaying.
Ten minutes later all hell broke loose, as if it had chosen that moment to come barreling back at full force through the walls on previously said subway train. The screaming and crashing noises could be heard for blocks. The bar patrons quickly filed out, the last kin that was there to keep an eye on Cal was wagging his tail and drooling at the prospect of violence but was also too much of a pussy to stay and participate. Cal noted the vampire had vanished without paying. Nothing he could do about it since he was distracted by the puck, who'd come running out of the stockroom, his velvety clothes stained in blood, calling out several suggestively toned death threats toward Ishiah. He was followed closely by a pissed off Peri who'd lost more feathers than several overstuffed pillows could provide. Cal ducked the flying shot glasses as Goodfellow threw them at Ishiah, who tried vainly to hastily catch them all and deposit them safely on the back counter. The effort, though ridiculous to watch in the heat of a passionate jealousy-induced violence, was not for naught. He didn't miss a single one. Except the one that hit Cal square on the temple. He didn't manage to catch that one, for some reason.
The puck grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass, threw the shot glass and tossed back the bottle, draining it of half of its contents before Ishiah could tackle him and wrestle it out of his hands. Words of foreign and probably questionable origin hissing from the Peri's lips, Robin kissed Ishiah's forehead as he kicked him where the sun doesn't shine. Once properly insured that this particular Peri won't have offspring, he slithered out of Ishiah's death-grip and pounced all too happily on Cal. This was a change of scenery! He planted a kiss on this victim as well, but this time firmly on the lips. Cal, experiencing something completely unexpected, had a knee-jerk reaction to reach for his gun but was too stunned to actually follow through with it. He stopped in mid draw.
'What. The. Hell?'
He never found out, considering that the kick Ishiah had aimed in their general direction had landed on his temple. The world winked out and sleep felt pretty good for a while. The last thing he remembered hearing as he was passing out was the taunting gasp of a puck calling his feathered opponent a 'duck-love', whatever that was. Or maybe he was just telling him to. Hm. Too late....

...Some time later, Cal opened his eyes to see one of the Peri he was less acquainted with staring down at him dismissively, an air of superiority quite present. "Get up. Clean the floor." He'd ordered, "Puck blood doesn't wash out easily so get started. Now." The Peri walked off, muttering about filthy messes and lazy employees. Cal flipped him the bird.
That had been two days previous.
Ishiah still looked as ruffled as he had during the little scuffle, and anyone who didn't know any better would assume that Peris occasionally molted. They didn't, as far as Cal knew. Not that he was too intent on discovering if it really were a possibility for ex-angels, of all things, to actually mimic parrots. He couldn't remember if it were ever mentioned before.
Cal sat back on the couch staring at the blank television. What to do? What to do.
He could just do it. He could just get off his lazy ass, turn it on manually and flick through the channels while kneeling in front of the screen with his face pressed up against the brain-melting fun box. Niko was right; he never was going to make out the porn on the squiggly screen, but that didn't mean he had to stop trying, right?
Or he could just do it. He could just go in to his bedroom and retrieve the damn remote from the twice-damned puck. Or he could open up a gate and turn Tumulus into a radioactive amusement park; ten dollars admission, children under five get in for free! Considering they both required the same amount of torturous effort, each idea was equally unlikely. His very opinionated ass preferred to stay glued to the lumpy couch. His ass usually won arguments with his conscience. It was a weird relationship but the rest of him (and Niko) had learned to live with it and accept it, begrudgingly. His consciousness still required entertaining, however, which the couch currently wasn't providing. He'd tried to meditate too, but the mala beads were not comfort on this night.
If Delilah was still talking to him and everyone else would just vacate the premises then the couch might have proven more interesting. But Cal had a bed for that… which was currently occupied by a curly haired Adonis (far too loudly and exuberantly self-proclaimed), and the werewolf hadn't shown her face in quite a while. Cal figured she was probably off tending to the needs of numero uno, maybe nipping at fleas, chasing cats, or marking fire hydrants or something like that, so Cal could just piss off. He was fine by that. She wasn't exactly on his favorite person's list at the moment either. But, neither was the puck. Or his stunt double with the grabby-hands who'd been causing big trouble in the supernatural underbelly of New York. From what they'd heard, Ishiah's wasn't the only bar that the puck had disgraced. Without paying.
And what the hell was up with that kiss? So Robin wasn't kidding when he stated that a puck would fuck anything that moves. Cal wouldn't be surprised if Robin's evil twin went after Ishiah again. He seemed all too happy to kiss and brawl. Cal wondered just what it was about pucks that made them insatiably horny. Well, then again, he didn't want to know. He was fairly certain Robin would gleefully enlighten him on that subject.
"Hades fiery balls!" the scream broke through the apartment, causing Cal to jump to his feet automatically, gun in hand. Niko was by his side nearly instantly, only half dressed in black pajama pants, his samurai sword already drawn and ready. At Niko's questioning glance, Cal gave a half-shoulder shrug, "Loman's in my room still."
Cal and Niko braced themselves on either side of Cal's bedroom door. Cal turned the knob quickly and shoved it open. The first thing they saw was a skinny round rear wiggling in the air, devoid of any clothing and obliviously aimed their way. For once Cal didn't think Robin actually intended to flash them.
"What foul manner of beast…what filth…. Ugh!" Robin tossed an armful of dirty old clothes into the corner near Cal's closet, leaned back over to gather up another rancid stack of forgotten underwear, socks, and half-eaten pizza crusts. He was cussing in several different languages. Upon spying the pair of brothers framed in the doorway or maybe just the irritated looks on their faces, he stuck out his tongue, wiggled his ass deliberately this time, and said, "Do you Neanderthals know about this little modern thing called hygiene? No wonder the Kin always complain about how rank you are, Caliban, if this is how you keep your room. Your cleanliness habits leave much to be desired."
"Why did you yell?" Niko asked, surveying the room once more and this time eying the mess that was Cal's room, storing the information away for a more appropriate moment to chastise him over it, as more fuel for 'training sessions'. Cal had a creepy feeling that Niko was going to make him clean his room, or just kick his ass, or a combination of both. If he could get a two-for-one that would probably be his luck. Damn.
"I yelled because hidden under this blanket, or dirty, dog-haired, ratty cloth pretending to be a blanket was a six inch blade, which, if you've taken in the full majesty that is my truly exquisite derriere, it decided to forcefully take a taste of."
"Wait, what? You sat on my knife?" Cal's puzzled look melted into a smirk. He finally noticed the little smear of blood on the puck's right ass cheek. He lowered his gun and turned the safety back on while laughing. Niko surveyed the room yet again before sheathing his sword with a death-glare 'o ' doom leveled Cal's way, Cal stuttered in response, "I-I swear I'll clean it later!"
Niko's leveled gaze blinked slowly, then he ran a hand through his unbound hair and turned to head back to his own room, "You had better do so before I inspect it again." They heard Niko's door close again. 'Such a drill sergeant.'
"Get your skinny ass in here and help me! I want to avoid any further mishaps involving the realm of surprises involving the sharp-and-pointy hidden on the layer of muck you willingly call a floor." The puck straightened up and threw the armful of unlaundered clothing toward the pile he'd been crafting in front of the closet. "You'd better clear them out of my way. Or else." He muttered on how Abbagor kept his room under the bridge cleaner than this. Abbagor, being a giant, corpse collecting sludge troll, had a very sticky, messy, goopy, slime coated abode. Robin couldn't see much of a difference between that and Cal's current bedroom.
Robin glared back over his shoulder at Cal's amused expression. The pale-skinned, black-haired man stood in front of his dresser with his arms crossed over his chest. "Or else you'll sit on my knife again? I'm not too worried, actually. The knife can fend for itself, obviously."
"How about I solve that little problem you have of you creating future Auphe-lings by chopping your hairy little balls off then shoving them in the blender? Delilah might like a smoothie." The puck smirked right back, supposing he'd hit a chord. "Then again, that might be doing you and the world's future generations a big favor."
"Naked men have no business with my balls." Cal deadpanned.
"I'll put on a tux and make an appointment for the occasion." Robin kicked another pile of discarded jeans toward the closet. "Have you ever heard of a Laundromat? A washing machine? A clothes line? A river and a rock? A bathroom sink and a bottle of fabric softener?" The puck looked expectantly at Cal, eyes wide.
Cal sighed roughly, "You are too freaking much. Don't you dare come into my room and criticize my laundry." He sniffed, "It never hurt you." He looked away from the nude man before him, glancing instead toward the window.
"And yet, I do recall you've done exactly the same thing to me. We're even then." Goodfellow tapped his lip thoughtfully before he realized that Cal was avoiding looking directly at him. Oh, yes, the nudity. Not being prudish, but Cal didn't want to see Robin, birthday suit and all, in his room.
"Something up, Caliban?"
"No." Cal continued to study the far wall next. He was not going to say it.
"Want there to be?" the blatant innuendo brought a flush to Cal's cheeks, not of embarrassment but of anger, though the puck couldn't know the difference for a certainty. It seemed to amuse him.
Cal abruptly turned to look Goodfellow in the eye, one word on his lips, "Monogamy."
Ishiah. Right.
Robin deflated, shoulders visibly slumping. Monogamy, for a puck, was like starving to death in a room full of canned foods because you've deliberately lost your can opener. Well, oops.
Any thoughts that Robin had of entertaining himself with his young friend here had fluttered out the window. With the situation diffused, Cal grabbed the television remote off the bed-side table and stalked angrily toward the hall. With a hesitant pause at the door, hand on the door frame, Cal stated, "If you ever try to neuter me, I will neuter you."
"You can't neuter a puck. We're un-neuter-able." Robin scoffed and a snorting laugh followed Cal's shaking head out the door.
"Obnoxious!" 'Yeah, 'Cal surmised, 'that one word could sum up Robin nicely.'
Neither of the two of them heard Niko's small chuckle in the next room, an amused smirk on his face. 'Gee, Cal, what do you think –I- must deal with daily?'
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A Pucked-Up Situation