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The curse becomes apparent in the soft glow around Morgan’s features, making them oddly angelic.
Alex takes a second to breathe, and then another. The glass in Morgan’s hands is open. Somehow, it feels like something in Alex has split open as well. This is something they would have to deal with one way or another. Humorously, the words “Be not afraid” come to mind.
“Are you-”
“No.” Alex says firmly.
The grip they have on the situation is tenuous at best. The priority is Morgan. The light catching in their eyes like a fucking church window is not going to distract Alex. Nor is the subtle increase in their heart rate.
Morgan sighs, relieved. “Oh thank God, it wasn’t real.”
Alex is staring at the flush on Morgan’s cheeks like the tip of an arrow, like the glint of a knife blade.
“Oh, it’s.. It’s real.” Alex says. “You were cursed, I can see it as plain as day.”
After all these years, they want to say ‘surely, surely you see it’ because how could Morgan look so confused? How could they stare back at the face of a deep, unfathomable desire, suppressed by the thin veneer of willpower and stubbornness, and knock at the door, asking if hope was home that day?
And Alex is trussing up all their buried affection, tying it down with heavy ropes of abstinence, shoving it in the coat closet.
“But if it’s real, then why aren’t you-”
“Because I’m me.” Alex can’t even stand to let the question reach their ears. Fuck the stupid curse. How could artificial want even begin to compare to the ocean of longing that grew inside of them?
“Do you honestly think some piddly little love curse would affect me?” They sneer. Bitterness seeps in. Soaks the welcome mat.
A little bit of that light fades from Morgan’s eyes. They straighten. “Right, of course. Would you be able to break it?”
“Easily.” Because it’s just a challenge like any other. What can’t Alex do?
“In that case, can you go ahead and break the curse?”
“Sure.”
A wisp of a curse. A tinge to the overpowering aura of Morgan. Clearing it away would hardly take any effort. What, exactly, can’t Alex do?
And it’s a small thing, the kiss. It’s barely a peck. Alex pulls back before their mouth can register the warmth. Refuses to think about the softness of Morgan’s lips.
“Just like that.”
Morosely, Alex curls back in on themself. It’s a challenge. A test of their strength. This is a part of the trial.
Morgan touches their mouth, slow to understanding. Alex watches them. The cursed energy is gone. They’re glimmering just as brightly as ever. Of fucking course.
“The curse is broken, you’re good.” Alex says flatly, trying to hurry this part along. The sooner it’s over with, the sooner they can get back to the comforting chokehold of denial.
“Was that-”
“True love’s kiss.” They take it on the chin like a fist. “You wanna complain about it or something? It got the job done.”
Something like shame burns inside of them, white hot and unabated. Of course Morgan would be upset. If Alex’s game was denying themselves, then Morgan’s game was denying Alex. It took four hands to hold back the intensity of Alex’s want. To cover it up and smother it. Stubbornly, it continued the path of destruction.
“Are you,” Morgan clears their throat. If Alex didn’t know better, they’d think it was nervousness. “Are you sure the curse is broken? Cause I still feel a little bit cursed. We might need to do that again.”
Somehow, the doubt hurts more. Alex can do anything. Alex can break a measly curse. They can stamp both feet over the floorboard that covers up their still-beating heart. They can pretend not to be in love with their best friend.
“Of course it worked, you think I can’t break a curse?” They spit. But.. They process the words. They’re stupid.. They’re so fucking stupid because they almost missed-
“Now that you mention it,” Alex tries again, swallowing down the line of questions and insults they’d begun to line up in self defense. Let the guard drop just a bit. “It never hurts to be sure.”
And the tension in their limbs might be enough to hold up the golden gate bridge. They pray, dumbly, like some deity might listen to anything they’d have to say, that this isn’t a dream.
And that’s really their Morgan, tongue sweeping delicately over their bottom lip, flushed with anxiety and hope and a question in their eyes.
That’s Morgan, leaning in with all the tenderness of a holy angel. All the power of a righteous God as they shadow Alex with six pairs of wings.
And what, exactly, can’t Alex do?
Warm breath fans over their mouth. They accept the fullness of Morgan’s lips against the seam of their own. Savor the taste of them. The salt of their skin, the vulnerability of their blood pulsing through their veins. It’s so ridiculously human.
They want to laugh at the unfairness of it all. Want to scream with joy and devastation as it fills every empty space within them. The blinding light of a love requited.
Alex can’t resist.
Morgan takes and gives in equal measure, nipping gently at Alex’s lip and soothing over the spot with their tongue, licking into Alex’s mouth.
It feels like surrender. Alex can’t quite tell what they’re surrendering to. Somewhere between their own heavy breath and the way Morgan digs their fingers into Alex’s shoulders, Alex is helpless to do anything but hold on as Morgan crawls into their lap. Alex is being consumed just as much as the flames are fanned by the sturdy press of thighs around their hips.
And they’re tipping back against the couch cushions. Morgan pulls back to bump their nose against Alex’s, breathing hard.
Morgan's eyes drift downward. They swipe a thumb over Alex's bottom lip and it comes away red. Alex notices the same deep color staining Morgan's lips.
"You're bleeding." Morgan says, pointlessly.
And Alex laughs. The sound of it almost catching them off guard. It's a light sound. Their breath comes a little easier.
"Heroes have done far worse for less."
And true love's kiss, a third time, tastes of iron, and a bit like hope, fulfilled.