Lost Prophet

Author's Note

: Hi again! I know my usual line is "every story is stand alone, blah blah blah," but this really, really isn't. There's too much world building to repeat it all and still be interesting. Go read Blind Faith first <3

Sorry I've been gone. I'm queer and not cis in the US south. It's hard to write right now. This probably needs a part two, but there's a whole story arch in this part. You won't be left on a cliffhanger.

Flynn

Bars are hard. Too much noise, too many people. Too many chances to say the wrong thing. So, I was sitting in the corner and focusing on being unnoticed while Owen made his rounds. This place was apparently full of the kinds of people he knew - document forgers, smugglers, guns for hire, and bounty hunters like my man.

Owen never struggled in a crowd. His easy charisma and confidence made him magnetic. Watching him in his element was almost worth the social anxiety of being among so many people. My beautiful Owen, so small and slight, but with a bold, mischievous grin and the spirit of a much larger person. His pretty, dark curls drew attention, tempting curious hands to tug the coils and see if they were as springy as they looked. The pale complexion born of his time spent working at his computer suggested delicate china. His sharp, gray eyes were the biggest hint that he shouldn't be underestimated. I usually saw his soft, caring side or his playfully mischievous smirk, but everyone else saw a confident man with a caustic sense of humor edged with his cold, no nonsense way of handling his work.

I watched him laughing with a tall black woman with multicolor braids hanging down her back and a man that could have passed for a viking if he wasn't wearing basketball shorts. My heart sank when Owen turned to lead those two people back to our table.

Ok. Be normal. Act normal. Don't tell them anything about animals or plants. Or just be a tortoise and keep quiet. I could do it.

Maybe.

"Flynn, these are some old friends. Ophelia and Lucas," Owen introduced the two as they took seats across from me. The woman, Ophelia, blinked at me in surprise.

"Oh, I didn't even see you there!" she laughed. She had a pretty lilt in her speech that I tentatively place as Irish.

I smiled weakly and shrugged. She hadn't seen me until Owen pointed me out because I was actively occluding myself. That wasn't going to work so well if there were three people talking to me, so I let it drop. Owen squinted at me suspiciously. It wasn't terribly noticeable with small things like that, but he was very accustomed to the way the air shifted when I cast or dropped spells

"Flynn, huh? Do you hunt bounties with the wonder kid here?" Lucas asked.

"I'm too old for you to still call me that," Owen said dryly. "And, no, Flynn is my lovely partner. He doesn't hunt."

"I'm an artist," I volunteered. I had all my tattoos and scars covered. I still looked strange in my decorated denim jacket and purple hair, but I looked like your run of the mill punk artist instead of the favorite acolyte of my goddess.

"You bring in a lot of cash with that or are you trading ass for Owen's money?" Lucas snickered.

Owen was fast when he wanted to be, and he was a lot braver than you would guess from his size. He was up and dragging Lucas from his chair with a vicious snarl in less time than it took me to really clock that Lucas was making fun of me. He shoved Lucas backwards, making the big man stumble in surprise.

"I don't know why you think I would let you talk to my man like that," Owen said in that quiet, even way he used when he was really, really mad. I froze myself in place to keep from shuddering at the unfamiliar coldness from my beloved.

Lucas looked Owen up and down for a moment. I prepared myself to jump in. Owen was brave and dangerous in his own way, but I had a much better chance in a brawl with that big viking guy. Lucas relaxed and offered an uneasy grin.

"Sorry, man," he said with a tense laugh. "I'm drunk."

"Then I'll catch you another time," Owen said pointedly.

Lucas nodded and left without another word. Owen turned back to us with his mischievous smirk. He slid into the seat next to me and took my hand under the table.

"Lucas is a fucking idiot," Ophelia said conversationally. She sipped her beer, looking completely unbothered by the exchange. She and Owen talked bounties and let me just listen. Ophelia wasn't like Owen. He did most of his work on the computer. She apparently talked her way into anywhere she wanted to be. I could see why. She was engaging and beautiful. I'd probably let her into a bank vault, too.

"Flynn," Ophelia said, turning the conversation to me. I managed not to wince. "How did you meet Owen?"

"I got caught spraying some graffiti. Shark, um, Owen faked some distress calls and distracted the cops so I didn't get arrested," I answered.

"Shark?" Ophelia shot an amused look at Owen.

"Yeah, Shark," Owen scoffed. "Only Bunny gets to call me that."

"Hm, Shark and Bunny," she chuckled. "Cute."

"Very," Owen said blandly. "What was that job you wanted to run by me?"

Ophelia glanced at me pointedly.

"He goes everywhere I go," Owen said. "If you can't talk about it in front of Flynn, you shouldn't pitch it to me."

"Ah, well," Ophelia looked at me for a long moment. "I don't know where your affinities lie. This isn't for everyone."

"I don't pick the jobs," I said, trying to sound friendly and engaged like Owen. "I'm just a, um, I go with him."

Owen squeezed my hand under the table.

"Right," Ophelia said doubtfully. "It's a temple job. I don't fuck with temples, but I told the client I would pass them to someone I trust."

"Am I third or fourth choice?" Owen asked.

"First, actually," she said. "Lucas is second. I'm sure he'll take it if you don't."

"Nice," he chuckled. "Yeah, send me the details. I'll take a look."

...

Owen

Flynn perked up on the walk back to our hotel. That didn't surprise me. The deserted city streets at night were second nature to him. I wrapped my arm around his waist and leaned into him so he would tuck me under his arm.

"You don't have to fight with your friends," he said thoughtfully. "I don't really care what people say about me."

"I care," I said firmly. "I can't fix everything, but I can stop some asshole from disrespecting you."

"What if he threw a punch, though?" Flynn asked quietly. "I was ready to jump in, but I might not have gotten over there fast enough to stop him from hurting you."

"Well, Lucas wouldn't have thrown a punch in that bar," I pointed out. "He would have had half the bar on him and gotten a ban. No fighting at the Crow. It's neutral ground."

"So you were bluffing," he concluded with a sigh.

"No, I was baiting him," I said. "He was either going to walk away or be dragged away. I had the upper hand and I'm not as delicate as you think. I used to be the kind of bounty hunter that needs to fight, and I did it without you to be my attack dog."

"I'm not a very good attack dog," he chuckled. "But I make an ok kingsnake."

"Oh, I know that one!" I exclaimed. "Red touches black, yeah? You look dangerous when you're really not?"

"I'm rubbing off on you," Flynn giggled. "You'll be sharing inappropriate facts in weird situations before you know it."

"You can rub off on me any time you want," I purred to him. Flynn shivered with goosebumps and pulled me in tight.

The night was cool and pleasant. We passed a few other people, but we were in a quiet part of the city. Flynn stopped every now and then to add his handmade stickers to random telephone poles and blue mail collection boxes as we passed. Each of those stickers was unique, with scenes of twisted forests or intricate, miniature paintings of animals and bugs, all covered with packing tape to make them more weatherproof. There were spells hidden under the paint, little covert shrines for his goddess. He had explained it to me once in his strange, circuitous way.

"It's chlorophyll. That painting attracts admiration, the spell converts it to praise for my lady," he told me back then. "Worship photosynthesis. Food for gods."

I didn't really understand, but that didn't matter. I loved to see him happy and in his element when he locked in to paint those tiny masterpieces. The sweet, awestruck look on his face when he left them behind to work his magic was enough for me to just accept whatever it was that he was doing.

We turned down an abandoned street lined with dark businesses and picturesque street lights that reminded me of London. A wicked thought crossed my mind. I ducked out of Flynn's embrace and very gently pushed him down the closest alley with one hand on his chest. He took one look at my smirk, grinned, and bit his lip.

Flynn was a lot bigger than me. By all accounts, I shouldn't have been able to push him around at all. He loved it when I took over, though, and he let me back him up to the bricks in that shadowed off street.

"Hey there, Bunny," I growled softly. The desperate shudder that ran through him as I palmed his growing erection through his jeans jolted me like a static shock. "I want you to fuck my face. Will you do that for me, baby? Shove this big dick down my throat and make me gag?"

Flynn looked a little surprised, but he nodded eagerly.

"You beautiful boy," I sighed happily and dragged him down to kiss him. Flynn was exactly my dream of a perfect man. Tall and lanky, with lean, knotted muscles hidden under the layers he wore to hide the tattoos that marked him as an acolyte. His cute face always boasted dark stubble and he kept his hair dyed bright, eye-catching colors. Dark, nearly black eyes gave him an eerie, unnerving gaze that pierced my soul. On top of all that, he had a genuine sweetness in his soul that soothed my rougher edges.

I pushed him back to the wall and quickly unbuttoned his jeans to shoved my hand down his pants. Flynn whimpered and covered his mouth to contain his reaction. He begged me with his eyes while I teased him, tracing his straining dick through his boxers and pulling him back down to kiss the delicate skin of his throat.

I didn't waste any more time. The ground was littered with gravel that dug into the knees of my thick jeans. I ignored that in favor of freeing Flynn's gorgeous, weighty cock. I licked the tip just to see him jump. Flynn whined and reached for me to cradle my face with his glove covered palms. He stroked my cheeks with his thumbs and gave me his sweet, loving smile.

"I love you," he said softly.

"I love you," I replied. "Now fuck my face like you own me, baby."

His hands shifted to my hair to hold me more aggressively while I liberally licked him from base to tip. He swallowed a needy sound when I circled his tip and began to work my way down. I pushed him to the back of my throat and held him there, drooling and humming happily at the way he was shaking.

The pressure on the back of my throat threatened a gag, but I pushed through it and eased him down. Flynn gripped the back of my head and slowly, carefully guided me up and back down. His eyes were on mine, looking for my go ahead or any hint that he should stop. I couldn't smirk at him with his dick down my throat, but he still saw the twinkle in my eyes. He grinned and increased his pace with his attention still on me. I moaned and squeezed his thighs to encourage him.

Flynn tightened his hold in my hair and really gave in. I purred happily, tearing up and gagging but loving the way he gazed at me with pure love while his body screamed lust. I went limp to let Flynn use me like a toy. He growled softly as his thrusts knocked the thoughts from my head.

"Shark, I'm close," he warned me breathlessly. "You want it in your mouth?"

I nodded as best as I could with my face impaled like it was. Flynn grinned and upped his pace, holding his breath and trying to stay quiet. He grunted when he came, I hummed happily at the way his dick swelled in my throat. He panted a moment, then pulled back so I could breathe.

Crouching down in front of me, Flynn stroked my back until I caught my breath. He gently wiped my face with the sleeve of his jacket and kissed me with all the tenderness he didn't use to fuck me.

"What about you, Shark? You want me to return the favor?" he offered.

"Nah, I'm good," I chuckled. "You can get me later."

He helped me back up and brushed my knees off with a wince.

"I think those jeans are done for unless you're going to start dressing like me," he said. I looked down at my stained knees and laughed.

"Oh, well," I said and shrugged. "Let's get back to the room. I think I'll put you in that giant bathtub and see what happens."

...

Flynn

"Hey, Bunny? Can I get your opinion on this?" Owen called me from the floor in front of the little couch in our hotel suite. I looked up from my sketchbook and tried to process the words he said from the hyper focused haze I'd dropped into. Owen patiently repeated the request.

"Oh, sure?" I said in confusion. He didn't ask my opinion on his jobs just like I didn't ask his opinions on the art I did for my goddess. I sat behind him on the couch and leaned over his shoulder to look at the screen.

It was the file Ophelia had sent. There was a picture of a young man with soft brown eyes and dusty blond hair in oracle robes, followed by a name and the location of a temple.

"The bounty is an oracle?" I asked.

"Sort of. Elijah here is missing, the job is to locate him and bring him back," Owen explained. "But I'm not that familiar with this stuff. Is there a reason he would be missing besides foul play?"

I looked at the picture and listened carefully. I couldn't pick up anything directly about a person through a picture, but my intuition was always close at hand.

"You can find him," I said slowly, "But you shouldn't help the temple get him back."

"Hm, yeah. That's what I thought," Owen said. He typed a quick reply to Ophelia telling her this job wasn't a good fit. I watched him send it off, then stopped him from closing out the file.

"

Can

you find him?" I asked. "I think, um, it feels bad. I think he needs help."

"Why would he be missing from the temple?" Owen asked me.

"Oracle robes " I pointed out. "He's got at seven or eight leaves on that pin he's wearing. That's usually years of service, and that file says he's just nineteen."

"You think he's a temple ward that he ran," Owen said. He meant a talented child handed over to a temple to serve, usually with very little input from the kid in question. I nodded.

"If he was taken as an oracle that young, then he's a prodigy. He's a prize racehorse and that temple he's in is a prophecy factory. They'll push him to glory or burnout," I said. "Either way, he'll be broken in a decade. There's no nice way out."

I mean that the temple was one of the large chains that specialized in keeping oracles and selling their talents for cash. Oracles in those places were locked into service with nasty temple pledges and kept far away from any outside influences. The best an oracle could hope for in a place like that was being treated like a pampered pet. Oracle farms usually attracted disgraced acolytes kicked out of other temples or they purchased very young potential oracles from their families. It wasn't really legal, but there wasn't any authority all that interested in stopping the practice.

Owen looked thoughtfully at the very young man in the picture. It was obviously a promo shot, with him in the traditional robes and kneeling in a sumptuous sanctuary. The icons on the walls indicated a few different gods. That wasn't unusual for large oracle farms. They often had representation from any number of compatible deities to appeal to the widest client base.

"We'll be racing Lucas," Owen said thoughtfully. "And I'll have to stick to less noticeable tactics, but I have more tricks than he even knows about. Shouldn't be a problem."

"You'll do it?" I said hopefully.

"Bunny, you know I'll do anything for you. You only have to ask," he said fondly. "I'll need your help on this one. I have a feeling there's going to be some acolyte shit going on."

...

Owen

Finding people wasn't much different than finding information. That was where I began my criminal career, after all. I started with uncovering what I could on the temple Elijah had disappeared from.

It was pretty standard. A US franchise location of an off shore based chain, privately owned and managed mostly in shadows. No files accessible online. It looked like we needed to get close enough for me to tap their internal network.

We were back home in the little mountain cabin that Flynn was slowly turning into a gallery of his art both inside and out. He painted directly on the walls, often filling the air with fumes from his spray paint until I opened all the windows to chase off the headache.

He was outside somewhere in the woods most of that day. I expected him to show up sometime around dinner like he usually did, so I started cooking a meal for us. Cooking wasn't something I had bothered much with before Flynn. I ate because I needed food. Taking care of Flynn, making sure he got everything he deserved and more, was enough of a reason for me to brush up on my culinary skills. I would never say I was a great chef, but I could put together a few meals that he really loved.

Flynn showed up around sunset. He grinned at me from the doorway and shed his muddy boots in the entry. The blood smeared on his face and staining his shirt was the only hint I needed to know he had been communing with his goddess out there. She always at least made his nose bleed. She occasionally left him with bruises or claw marks. I'd learned to bite my tongue and keep extra tee shirts around for him.

I didn't comment as I wet a dish towel with warm water and carefully cleaned the blood off his face. Flynn smiled sheepishly while he allowed me to fuss over him.

"Did she want anything in particular?" I asked him quietly.

"Not really," he said. "She's questioning why I'm bothering with another deity's follower, but she didn't forbid it assuming I still meet my responsibilities."

"Hm, how generous," I scoffed. "Can I go into a temple with your sigil on my arm?"

"It's occluded," Flynn said. I just looked at him until he explained. "Um, there's a spell worked into it that disguises the whole thing. The passive detections at most temples will read it like a normal devotional. Like something a mundane worshipper might get from a temple, you know? Anyone looking close will know what it is, though, so keep it covered and don't give them a reason to really scan you. What temple are you going to?"

"The one our oracle friend disappeared from," I told him. "I need a peek at their files. Can you go into a temple?"

"Sure," he said. "I'll have to work a little harder to hide myself, but I can do it."

...

The temple was out in a Seattle suburb, tucked among the evergreens, fast food chains, and outlet malls. It was small, with the prerequisite faux limestone facade and ornate columns, all cast with fake cracks to mimic an ancient structure. The small temple couldn't have housed more than a half dozen oracles.

We were sitting in the outdoor seating of the sandwich place next door. I had my laptop out. Flynn didn't have a laptop, so he was occupying himself with one of the esoteric books he had collected over our travels and his notebook.

There was definitely a local network. I was lightly tapping at it to see if I could get in without raising any alarms. It was slow, but there was very little security to speak. Prodding around their files was disappointing, though. It seemed this small franchise still relied on paper records.