Chapter Text
“I’m too tired for this, March.”
Stelle stares at the bowl of soup waiting for her at the table, her stomach guiding her feet without her brain’s permission. The dish may not look like much, questionable color aside, yet she’s learned to trust Gertie and her soup recipes with her life.
That, or she’d have to try the Rat Jelly.
March settles into the chair across from hers, nose scrunching at the strange mushrooms poking out of her own bowl. When she finally gathers the courage to pick up the spoon, Stelle has already stuffed her mouth full of stale bread.
“Hey, that’s your fault for disappearing in the middle of the night again,” March states with a pointed look, “I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought we agreed not to go off on our own anymore? Especially not in the middle of the night ?”
Stelle dips the bread into her soup. “Natasha needed my help.”
“You could have woken us up,” March says, “I’m sure she could have used our help, too.”
“We had to be discreet.”
March slams her hand against the table, voice rising in pitch. “Hey, I can be discreet.”
A pause. The other patrons glare at them.
“Sorry,” March whispers, grimacing.
All things considered, Stelle doubts that bringing March and Dan Heng along would have changed much. The emergency supply run had gone to complete shit five minutes into the not-so-well-thought-out plan, forcing Natasha to improvise an escape route through the streets of the Administrative District.
They’d managed to slip through the Silvermane Guard’s fingers, but at the cost of the medication they’d attempted to steal. Medication Natasha’s patients have desperately needed for several weeks now. Not Stelle’s best moment, especially given how the guards had recognized her through the ridiculous wanted posters plastered all around the area.
“I’ll have you know that I’ve been working on my stealth,” March says, voice lowered to an accusatory whisper, “I’m telling you, mark my words, I’ll be the best sniper you’ve ever seen in no time.”
Stelle hums. “You’ve been playing hide and seek with the Moles again?”
“Better than sleeping all day,” March smiles.
Touché. “Where’s Dan Heng?”
If she minds the sudden change of subject, she doesn’t show it. “No clue.”
“I’m not allowed to go off on my own but he is?” Stelle asks, the twitch of her lips betraying her growing amusement. “A bit unfair.”
“He’s probably nerding out over some random piece of rock,” March shrugs.
That tracks. “Maybe. We should go find him, though.”
“Yeah. I’m getting kinda tired of being an Honorary Member of the Moles.”
Stelle smiles.
How painfully relatable.
“Psst, my friend! Looking for a ticket?”
Stelle ignores him, squinting at the crumbling building in front of her. The neon sign is brighter than most street lamps around Boulder Town, leading her to wonder just how that greedy owner pays for that much electricity.
Or more importantly, why that ridiculous amount of money isn’t going to more meaningful places than the damn Fight Club.
March doesn’t seem too happy, either. “You sure he’s in here?”
A beat.
“ Again .”
Stelle shrugs. “That’s what Julian hinted at, anyway.”
Not exactly the first place they thought about whilst searching for their friend, yet Dan Heng always seems to be full of surprises. Why the grumpy archivist would choose to spend his evening at the boxing ring is beyond her.
Staring at rocks for hours? Sure. She can imagine him doing that.
But him getting dragged back into the boxing ring? Not so much.
At least not without a proper logical reason.
“C’mon then, let’s see what he’s up to,” March says.
Stelle follows her into the building.
* * *
And nothing could have prepared her for what she saw in there.
* * *
Dan Heng is shirtless.
People all around the stuffy room are chanting his name, exchanging coins — shields? — with satisfied smiles and devastated scowls, laughing and cheering for the fight happening at the center of the room. Instead of the robots she’s come to expect, he’s facing a man about double his size, his large shoulders almost too wide to fit through the cage’s door.
They don’t seem to be fighting with weapons, Dan Heng’s spear nowhere to be seen. Instead, she gasps as the larger man ducks under his attack and punches him square in the face, prompting another wave of loud chanting around the room.
His head snaps to the side.
His eyes glaze over.
He licks at the trail of blood trickling down his lips.
He smirks.
“Oh,” Stelle breathes.
March thankfully doesn’t hear her over all the noise. “Oh my god, what is he doing?!”
She takes a step forward, most likely to get him out of trouble like last time, but Stelle grabs her arm before she loses her in the crowd. March turns, a little bewildered. “What?”
“I don’t think, uh, he needs our help,” Stelle says.
March frowns at her, leaning closer. “What? Speak louder!”
“He doesn’t look like he needs our help!”
Right on cue, the crowd erupts into the loudest cheers yet, completely drowning out the pained groan of Dan Heng’s opponent as he stands over him, his foot resting on top of his throat. Stelle can’t hear what he’s saying, but she can read on his lips.
Yield .
The man yields.
Dan Heng wins.
He searches the crowd for Dr. Dig, but meets her eyes instead.
* * *
Nothing at all.
* * *
“You’re awake,” is all Dan Heng says as he stops in front of her.
Most people around them are too busy settling their bets to pay them much attention. She opens her mouth to speak, but March is quick to hop into the conversation. A blessing, really, as Stelle’s own treacherous attention seems to be flickering to the drops of sweat trickling down his collarbone.
“This is where you were?” March asks, arms crossed.
Dan Heng blinks at her. “Evidently.”
“You said you were going to explore the mines!”
“I did, and I was,” he says, “At least until one of the miners told me one of his colleagues knows a secret way back to the surface.”
That does spark her curiosity. “A safe way back to the Overworld?”
“Yes,” he nods.
“And did you find the person?” March asks, intrigued as well.
Natasha and Oleg have been treating them with nothing but respect, as have the others around Boulder Town, but Stelle would be lying if she said that her little failed mission with Natasha hadn’t reminded her just how much she misses fresh air.
Dan Heng nudges his head towards the man currently being dragged out of the fighting ring on a comically large stretcher. “I did, yes.”
“And?” March asks impatiently. “Does he know a way out?”
His expression sours. “No. It was a lie.”
“Ah, well, there goes our hope of escape, huh?” March states, shoulders slumping. “At least you got some money out of this, right? You aren’t just getting punched for free?”
Dan Heng isn’t looking at her anymore. “I still have to go pick up my prize.”
“I’ll go!” March chirps happily, already elbowing her way through the crowd.
Stelle, who’d struggled to contribute to the conversation, suddenly realizes that she spectacularly lost the battle against her self-control. She hastily flickers her eyes back to his face, gold meeting blue, and prays that the room’s bad lighting keeps her flushed cheeks hidden in the shadows.
“You left in the middle of the night again,” Dan Heng says.
She nods, a little sheepish now. “Natasha came to me for an emergency.”
“I see.” His hand moves through his hair. If he’s bothered by her vanishing without a word, his eyes don’t betray him. “Take us with you next time something like this happens.”
“Sure,” she drawls, rather awkwardly.
He eyes her, head tilted to the side. “Anything the matter?”
“Clothes,” Stelle blurts out. Her eyes go wide. “I mean, where are your clothes?”
Dan Heng points at one of the tables on the farside of the room. She’s not quite tall enough to see over people’s shoulders, but she does notice flashes of his signature color somewhere around there.
“Didn’t want to get blood on my clothes.”
She hums. “Ah, yeah, of course.”
“Wait here,” is all he says, before making his way through the crowd.
Stelle stares at his retreating back, warmth spreading across her cheeks.
The next few days feel like torture.
Her focus keeps shifting from genuinely important subjects and people to the memory of him standing in the middle of that boxing ring, shirtless and smirking, with bloody lips and sweat trickling down his chest—
“Stelle?”
The bubble pops and she’s violently hurled back to reality. “Sorry?”
Natasha eyes her worriedly. “Are you okay, dear?”
“Yes, yes, sorry, yes,” Stelle mutters, raising her hands to wipe at her eyes. “Distracted.”
She doesn’t expect to see Dan Heng’s face so close to hers when she opens them again. He studies her silently, evidently a little concerned as he says, “Are you sure?”
Stelle gulps. “Yeah, I’m fine. I promise.”
A beat.
“Just… tired.”
Natasha nods knowingly. “You three have been working quite hard these last few days. Maybe you should take the night off to rest. You deserve it after all you’ve done for us.”
March’s yawn is quite telling. “We don’t need sleep, we’re Trailblazers.”
“Well, I’m just a doctor,” Natasha states, quick to change strategies, “And I’m quite tired. Why don’t we all take the night off, mmh? We can continue this meeting tomorrow morning.”
“I mean, if you insist,” March mumbles tiredly.
Dan Heng leans away from Stelle. “Rest might help. Thank you, Natasha.”
“I should be the one thanking you . How is your lip doing, by the way?”
“Healing.”
She smiles. “Good. Alright then, off you go, I’ll see you in the morning.”
The walk back to the hotel is quick, and the three of them part ways right after dinner.
“Keep your hands above your head.”
Stelle whimpers as the order melts into her bones, his much larger hand pushing both of her wrists harder into the mattress. He doesn’t break eye contact as he shifts his hips against hers, and nor does he allow her to close her eyes as he pries her lips open with his thumb.
“Eyes on me,” Dan Heng whispers, breathless.
Her tongue swirls around his finger, eyes fluttering, and the sight goes straight to his cock. He groans low in his throat and presses harder against her, his restraint slipping with each delicious roll of her hips.
“Please.” She nibbles at his thumb. “Please, I– ah –”
He tells himself that patience is a virtue and fights the awful urge to drag her to the edge of the bed to fuck her mouth. Instead, he leans down and replaces his finger with his lips, swallowing down her moans, desperate to brand her sweet taste on his tongue.
Stelle struggles to obey his orders, mind torn between the need to touch him and the desire to please him. Her hands flex helplessly, even as he lets her go with a warning glance. She can do it, she knows she can. All she needs to do is keep her hands above her head.
No matter how torturous it is not to be able to feel him.
“Please what?” He mutters into her skin, kissing and licking and biting down the length of her neck.
She gasps. “I– please, Dan Heng– ah – just–”
“You want me to fuck you?”
He moves back to her lips, teeth pulling and biting until he can feel his self-control threaten to snap, and forces himself away from her. The sudden movement has white-hot panic flashing through her and her arms dart out to catch him, a choked whimper escaping her throat, “No–”
He wrestles her arms back against the bed.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” Dan Heng asks, enunciating each word slowly.
She nods.
She wants him. Gods, how much she wants him.
He presses their foreheads together.
“Then wake up, Stelle.”
* * *
She does.
* * *
Oh.
Oh no.