vincerets
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hauntology (hɔːnˈtɒlədʒi) • noun
the past that haunts the present. see also: list of things that can be haunted: houses, furniture, dolls, and me by him.
Of all the ways his life could go to shit, amnesia wasn't one that Buck had ever really considered, but with the trajectory of his life, he probably should have seen this one coming. The world's still exactly the same as it was yesterday; the sky is blue, the sun rises East and sets West, he's surrounded by people who love him and—
Oh, right! He has a boyfriend.
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“Made for it, for me, weren’t you?” Tommy breathes.
And Buck, he was— he is.
“Fuck, you guys are—”
Buck stops listening. It’s not the point of a threesome, he knows that, he shouldn’t be ignoring the third guy, delegating him to some kind of voyeur to the first time Tommy’s been back inside him in months, but he can’t help it. Every time he moves to get involved Buck wants to hiss at him and egg Tommy on, to spread his legs wider and moan and whine.
Buck starts his night in a bar, alone, and, somehow, ends it in bed with Tommy and the guy he was on a date with.
Surely this can only end well.
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“Bed, now,” Buck pants, hands dropping down to fumble with Tommy’s belt until he’s ripping it from the loops with practised ease.
“Uh, Evan,” Tommy pauses, blinking around the room aimlessly, “where exactly is the bed?”
“Floor,” Buck answers, far too preoccupied with sliding his hand into Tommy’s jeans and pawing at his cock to care about something as trivial as shame. “Haven’t, uh, had the time to set things up yet.”
Buck and Tommy have some casual, definitely not at all ill-advised, ex-sex: an 8.11 coda.
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“So,” Tommy says eventually. “Are you going to tell me the real reason you’ve covered your kitchen in sex toys?”
Buck’s never been one to be shy when it comes to talking about sex; he’s always operated under the general adage that the more you talk about it with the people you have it with, the better it’ll be. Which is exactly why he doesn’t hesitate when says:
“I want you to fuck my throat.” He pauses, and then adds, “I want you to teach me how to deep throat.”
Buck wants Tommy's dick in his throat. Tommy gives him a taste of what he's asking for.
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Tommy laughs, as much as it can be called a laugh when he can barely get the air to do it, but his breath still grazes against Buck’s lips, the ghost of what he really wants. It’s warm, and Tommy’s still looking at him, and it’s been eighteen days, and he’s baked on nearly every one of them. They’re in a crashed helicopter and Tommy’s pinned down and it’s a terrible idea and it’s been eighteen days, he’s counted every one, and-
Buck kisses him.
Tommy's helicopter goes down. Buck copes.
Kind of.
Hey - he never said he was coping well.
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After a patrol gone very wrong, Alec Lightwood comes to in the infirmary with no memory of the past three years, and that turns out to be just the beginning of his problems. There's an ominous plot afoot, a possible traitor at the Institute, and he's pretty sure that he ought to remember the handsome warlock who was waiting beside his bed when he woke up...
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Grantaire tends the bar in a restaurant where single people come to be set up on blind dates for a TV show. It's a pretty easy gig: he mixes drinks, chats with the singles, flirts with a few, and occasionally gets a pretty decent tip.
Then Enjolras walks in.
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The sheriff watched him for a moment, then he sighed and turned slightly. He reached out to open a cabinet door beside him, and pulled out a shelf. It was on a track, so it rolled out of the cabinet fairly easily, and held a small CCTV. Derek frowned and inched his chair to the side a little bit so he could get a better angle.
He was looking at a teenager, or someone at least young enough to be the same age as Scott. He was sitting on a bed in what looked to be a larger room, the area he was in surrounded by four glass walls, with his legs crossed and head tilted.
He was also staring directly into the camera, as if he knew someone was watching. A creepy smile slowly slid onto the teen’s face, and he held up one hand, wiggling his fingers in a slow, eery wave.
Derek felt his mouth run dry. He didn’t know who this kid was, but he didn’t like him.
“Who is that?” he asked quietly.
“That,” said the sheriff, “is my son.”
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“I had to,” Alec insists. “I know I hurt him. By the Angel, I know, and I hate it, but I had to. He was so broken, I had to do something, I had to fix it. And I can’t tell him about the deal, because that was part of it. That was one of the conditions. Magnus can’t know.”
“No.” The look Catarina gives him makes Alec’s chest tighten in fear. “Alec, Magnus doesn’t have any memories of you anymore. He has no idea who you are.”
***In which Magnus removes his memories of Alec, Alec swallows the pain of Magnus’ obliviousness to their shared past, and the devil is in the details (literally).
(AKA the canon-divergent 3x19 rewrite, because it disappointed me.)
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Magnus is Alec's first kiss, first relationship, first everything. So when they start having sex, he's a little overwhelmed at first.
(Or: Five times Alec accidentally 'finished' early, and the one time he finally outlasted Magnus.)