"No?" Ivy challenges. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you two want to either kill each other or fuck each other. Maybe both."
All I can do is stare at her, shocked by her bluntness. I don't even know if she's right. But that's the problem. Idon'tknow. The weird shit that's gone on between me and Plague for years doesn't make sense to me, either. I know I hate him, and the feeling's mutual, but that just makes it more confusing for some reason.
Plague's face has gone carefully blank, his preferred expression when he's truly rattled. "I don't see how this is relevant to our current situation," he mutters, somehow not rudely. Apparently, he reserves every ounce of niceness he's capable of for Ivy.
"It's relevant because we're stuck in this room together for who knows how long," Ivy reminds us. "And at this rate, you're going to tear each other apart before nightfall.”
"We're fine," Plague insists.
"You're not fine," she counters. “None of us are fine. I'm in heat and you two are about to spontaneously combust.”
She's right. This pressure cooker of a room is going to explode if something doesn't give. I watch her face, noting the flush on her cheeks, the dilation of her pupils. Her heat is affecting her too.
"What exactly are you suggesting?" Plague asks carefully.
Ivy hesitates, biting her lower lip. She looks away, her fingers twisting nervously in the blankets of her nest. "I think maybe you two need to work through whatever this is between you," she says carefully. "Before things get even more complicated."
"You… want us to get each other off?" I ask her directly, my eyebrows shooting up.
She blinks in surprise at my bluntness, then nods.
The room falls silent. I look at Plague, really look at him. The perfect posture, the way he holds himself apart from everything and everyone. What would it be like to break through all that ice? To see what's beneath his discipline?
I've been wondering for years.
"I'm game if you are," I say to him.
Plague's eyes snap to mine, widening slightly. "You can't be serious."
"I am." I shift on the loveseat, leaning forward. "Come on, Plague. She's right. We've been dancing around this for how long? Years?"
"We have not?—"
"Bullshit," I cut him off. "You think I don't notice the way you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention? The way you keep exactly six feet between us at all times, like you're afraid of what'll happen if you get closer?"
A flush creeps up Plague's neck, visible above the high collar of his turtleneck. "I'm not afraid of you."
"No? Then prove it, Ice Prince. What's it gonna be?" I ask, voice low. "You in or out?"
For a moment, I think he's going to walk out of the room. Then, to my surprise, he pushes the desk chair back and stands, straightening to his full height and pulling his mask off.
"I have conditions," he says, folding the mask and setting it aside.
Of course he does. "Name 'em."
"We respect each other's limits. We stop immediately if things get too intense and Ivy gets nervous. And..." He takes a deep breath, some of his composure slipping. "And you don't comment on this afterward. Not in the locker room, not on the ice, notanywhere. You never mention this again for the rest of our fucking lives."
"Deal," I say without hesitation. "Though that last one's gonna be hard. I make jokes when I'm nervous. You know how I am at funerals."
"Try," he says dryly.
I turn to Ivy. "You still want this?"
She nods, her eyes wide and curious. "Yes."
"Any preferences on how we... proceed?" Plague asks, already slipping into planning mode like this is a fucking hockey play.
Ivy shakes her head. "Whatever feels normal."
