lord treavor pendleton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
loyalless) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kingdomsofrain2019-05-24 05:05 pm
loyalless) wrote in kingdomsofrain2019-05-24 05:05 pmOPEN RP POST
send a prompt, a starter, images, words, music, whatever you like.
loyalless) wrote in kingdomsofrain2019-05-24 05:05 pm
no subject
If anyone else had mentioned it, Treavor might have laughed. Would have laughed. Because anyone who pieces out their future that way’s probably a stodgy sort of nerd who’s got no room for improvisation or fun (or a going-nowhere would-be-ruffian), and because setting out plans is a good way of calling down failure. Anyway, what’s the fun in a plan? And what’s the fucking point?
It’s what he’s declared time and again. What he said when he forfeited required classes for the sake of scattered electives; what he told himself when he quit attending half his classes, when he spent all his time with his camera or a revolving group of sort-of-friends at sort-of-parties. What he told Sheldon when Sheldon wouldn’t shut the fuck up about ‘hey but what’re you going to do anyway.’ What he told any date who asked, before he stopped attempting dates and stuck to hook-ups.
It’s what he told his family (in softer terms, often mumbled and half-lost) again and again, wishing they’d fuck off with their ‘now Treavor you need to do something’ bullshit, their ‘it needs to be a respectable something,’ their ‘if you had an ounce of spine you wouldn’t be back here in New York, taking jobs from our hands.’ (Eventually they did fuck off with that. Eventually a while ago, when it became clear he in fact wasn’t going to find a plan or make a plan or manage to stick to anything beyond the day-to-day of his not-really-job at his family’s firm.
It isn’t really better this way, with them resigned to his bottom-of-the-barrel place within their watch. But at least it means a little less griping from them.)
This is different, though, the way everything with Alice is different. Alice mentions a five-year plan, and Treavor glimpses a flash of meticulous calculations, of steps and maneuvers planned just-so. And what Treavor hears is Alice - painstaking in his designs, very nearly fussy (okay, maybe pretty actually kind of fussy) in everything he does - offering to open space for Treavor, to speak into possible being a possible future together.
Which is a brave thing and a generous thing to offer. Which sets Treavor surprised and smiling, attempting quiet encouragement even before he speaks. (The guy should knows that Treavor understands. That treavor doesn’t take his meaning lightly.)
(True, revising any plan around Treavor isn’t a good idea. Treavor’s a mess and he knows it, and he knows Alice should know it, and probably Alice does know it when the sun strikes a little less perfect and weed’s not a part of the equation.
Should he warn Alice? Maybe he should warn Alice. Or, no, why drag graveled details into this sun-struck afternoon? He’ll warn Alice another time, if he needs to. If Alice somehow hasn’t worked it out for himself.
And anyway. It strikes Treavor that he might like to live in this idea right now. Would like to curl himself in the thought that Alice might be inclined to make room for Treavor in his life.
It might not be so bad being part of a five-year plan. So long as that plan is Alice’s, and so long as it involves the two of them together.)
(Fuck, what would it be like to look ahead at anything beyond a roil of question marks and nothing?
What would it be like to look ahead every day, even on the darkest days, and see Alice waiting always, and Treavor rising to meet him, Treavor working day after day to meet him better, and prove worthy of this change of plans?)
This guy is wonderful.
Treavor’s guy is wonderful. ]
Hey, that’s good. Because I like your name a lot. It’s got a good sound. It conjures a great guy.
Really sticks with you.
[ It’s true he’d liked Alice’s name from day one, even if he hadn’t given the guy any kind of chance.
It’s true that since the day he awoke on Alice’s sofa, Treavor’s found himself reciting the name, relishing the name at odd moments, just to feel its form in his mouth and feel the world turned bright with his syllables.
And, speaking with appreciation, eyes slipping half-shut as he lingers in the sounds— ]
Alice.
[ That’s his thumb brushing Alice’s jawline, that’s his forefinger brushed the side of Alice’s face, deliberate and soft. That’s Treavor smiling warmly, reassuring, and yes, maybe smitter. ]
My Alice.
Definitely my Alice.
[ A small sigh, a nuzzle, and then he's seeking Alice's eyes again. ]
Complicated I can do. Complicated’s about all I know…
As long as it’s not too much for you.
[ A flash of concern, and his caress pauses, turns to a gentle hold. ]
I don’t want to make too much trouble for my best and only guy.
[ It feels good to say. Feels like relief and joy to think, the same way that hearing Alice call Treavor important thrilled him. ]
But hey, if you’re up for the challenge, I bet we can work it out.
[ A pause and a smile, a moment as he brushes his thumb along that jawline, then moves that thumb - his own thumb - to his lips, presses a kiss to his thumb, brushes his thumb at Alice’s jaw. And he cocks his head. ]
You’d really change your plan for me?
I don’t… I’m not big on planning, myself. But I’d like to be a part of yours. I’d like that a whole, whole lot.
no subject
(People routinely ask to touch his fucking beard like it's a pet he's carrying around. And some people don't ask at all, just dive right in, Alice snapping What the fuck?! and throwing a hand up to knock the intruder off his face, and oh, okay, he's the crazy one. It isn't that he minds people touching his beard - if he minded, he'd shave it off.
The same story for his hair. People (women, why is it always women?) want to play with it like he's a Barbie doll, and sometimes he'll sit and let them braid it with his eyes rolled and his mouth set in grim irritation, sure. People (men) want to pull on it while fucking.
Sure. All right.
If he minded, he'd cut it off.
He doesn't mind.
But it does nothing for him.
It. Did nothing for him.
This does something for him. How Treavor had his hand wound in Alice's hair, not pulling, not knotted or yanking. Treavor's thumb with the memory of a kiss on its pad, Treavor's every perfect touch leaves him shaken.
(There's something niggling at him, gnawing at the edges of his pleasure.)
He wants to guide Treavor's hand over every part of himself, echo every touch he ever endured with passive disinterest. He wants to know how easily he can be sundered now, can bow into a palm against his chest, into the coaxing of a fingertip at his throat.
(Something Treavor said, about.)
He wants to melt, and kiss some more, and maybe Treavor will let him gently - gently! - catch his lower lip between his teeth.
All of this, because today is lovely, and he's definitely verging towards stoned now that his heart is starting to calm itself down - and they're together, finally together, and Treavor is the One.
(That's it. The thing Treavor said.)
Alice reaches up, seeks Treavor's hand with his own and pulls it down, out of distraction range, and hums a sound: a man trying to shake off thrall, even if his eyes still track Treavor's. He said.
He said. I don't want to make too much trouble.
Alice's smile fades as the entirety of meaning sinks in, as his heart shatters down the center. (The desires, the lethargy, the dizzied warmth notions recede, and the world clarifies a little; he wishes it wouldn't. He wishes they could have held in that perfect sphere of softness just a little longer, but Treavor thinks Alice meant he's the complication, and that's gutting.
And Treavor doesn't understand, but needs to know, that Alice is the complication. And that's gutting, too.)
Softly, he manages: ]
Bunny.
[ As if to say, No, you've got it all wrong.
Or, How could you think that I meant you.
Or, Do you know how much I adore you. You wonder. You startling miracle.
He relinquishes the hand in favor of stroking his fingertips along Treavor's hairline, and then offering a cupped palm against his cheek. ]
I'm the complication.
[ He pauses, considering. Treavor drinks. Heavily. And that's a complication, and it's trouble, and it's something they need to deal with. Eventually.
But what he's bringing to Treavor's door is worse, isn't it? ]
I can't be out. [ He didn't mean to blurt that, even quietly, even with the pain lurking in his throat, so hurriedly, he adds: ] Not yet. But if you can bear with me. Wait for me to pass the bar -
[ Treavor knows, he remembers, that his life is handed to him. He also remembers telling Treavor the reason for the internship was to get out from under his father's financial hold.
He shouldn't have pressed this forward. He shouldn't have kissed Treavor. And he shouldn't be so frightened now of what could happen, of the absence of a safety net, of the lack of money.
But he's young. And he's terrified of all the walls and pyres that exist beyond his line of sight.
...And despite that. Despite that. He'd take this small risk, because Treavor is something worth chasing. Alice's eyes hold all that longing; if he can reach the finish line, then maybe. Maybe Treavor is what he can have.
Bar. Junior partnership. Treavor. The five-month plan. Three, if he pushes. Fuck. He'll push. For Treavor, he'll push. ]
Could you give me a few months of 'complicated'? Please, I.
[ It occurs to him belatedly that Treavor could very well say 'no'. He'd be right to say 'no'. There's no reason why Treavor should accommodate this unreasonable cowardice, this spinelessness, this.
He closes his eyes, holding on a moment longer to the nearness of the body against him, his hand slipping to Treavor's shoulder. And in the space between what he said and what Treavor will say, before there's an ending or a continuing, wreckage or relief, he shoves aside everything else, keeping only the warmth of a body, and the sound of blues from his phone, and the sunlight, and the smell of plants and weed and Treavor and himself, and the subtle sway of the hammock.
Just one more heartbeat of it, where the heart keeping time was in love, and he was smart enough to commit that to memory. ]
no subject
Treavor doesn’t know where the fade came from, or how to ease that smile back.
Or. Alice doesn’t want that ease right now. Alice is telling him something in that hum, in the way he’s taken Treavor’s hand. Not tearing away Treavor’s touch, but asking for a moment, a pause. A space to let in some unknown word or thought or subject, and if there’s anything Alice needs to address, Treavor won’t bar him. Will only watch quietly, making certain his eyes never waver, making certain Alice knows Treavor’s here no matter what.
He wants, he badly wants Alice to feel safeguarded and bolstered. Wants Alice to feel even a part of the security that Treavor feels when this guy holds him, brushes against him, heeds any word he says.
It means something that Treavor finds himself at a precipice, not knowing the shape of the could-be-trouble ahead and yet not flinching away, not trying to bat off the inevitable, not shrinking inside even a little. This is a wherewithal he rarely finds. A strength granted by the man who holds his hand with such care, who looks at if his heart’s been wrenched.
And Treavor wants to fix it.
And Treavor has to wait. Listen. (And if what Alice has to say is hard to hear, he’ll listen anyway, and register its every tone.)
So he keeps his quiet, expression carefully attentive, trying not to show worry (he can’t help a little bit of worry; Alice looks so stricken), doing his best not to impose or do more than curl his fingers just slightly, so slightly against Alice’s hand.
(And Alice calls him ’Bunny.’ Only ‘Bunny,’ and Treavor loves the sound of it, how he could be, how he is Alice’s bunny.
At the same time, Alice calls him ‘Bunny,’ and the word seems stark, alone; a correction with a note of sorrow, and again Treavor wants to reach out, hold his hand over Alice’s heart and offer healing.)
Hard not to melt into the drift of those fingers at his hair; impossible to wholly muffle a choked sound at Alice’s words: ’I’m the complication.’ Words fired with pains Treavor doesn’t know the outlines of. Words that ache to hear, because what Treavor reads in those words is blame, is a bearing down beneath some burden this man should never need to take alone.
Treavor tries to be still, but his hand moves to Alice’s cheek, offering quiet, quiet caresses in kind. (He can’t let Alice hang there without succor of some kind. He can’t watch Alice suffer distant. He won’t.) And he hears Alice’s words (and he hates the history they whisper, everything that’s conspired to leave Alice severed from so much, everything that means Alice has to hide (it’s his father, isn’t it? or his father’s part of it; Alice said something about, about wanting to break away, support himself, and maybe this is why, okay, okay, it sucks, fuck Alice’s dad if that’s what it is, but it’ll be okay, Treavor’ll help make sure Alice gets through things okay). His poor fucking guy. His poor fucking guy, who’s go so much shit at his shoulders.
Treavor wraps his arms around Alice, tight, tighter. Speaks softly— ]
It’s okay.
[ And then just holds Alice, nudging at his head, his hand stroking steady assurance at Alice’s neck.
This goddamn guy’s carrying too much. Treavor’s poor fuckin, beautiful goddamn guy. ]
Alice, hey. That’s not so bad. It’s not even that complicated. Not for me.
[ He traces a thumb from Alice’s temple to his cheek. Nudges the guy’s head again, hums a little lilting sound and places a light, light kiss against Alice’s hair. ]
I’d take a few years of complicated if you wanted it. Needed it.
[ Another kiss to the head. ]
There’s no rush, okay guy? As long as I’m here with you and you’re with me. You don’t have to worry.
[ Nudge, nudge. ]
Actually if you could tamp down the worry, that’d be pretty great. You’ve got enough shit to deal with without wondering if I… Hey. I’m not going anywhere. And I’ll take complicated with you over easy trails without you, you know? Any day of any month of any year.
That’s a Treavor Pendleton promise.
[ If Alice allows, he’ll take Alice’s hand carefully, almost deftly, and kiss the back of it once, then again, seeking Alice’s eyes after. ]
And I’m not gonna rush you. I don’t want to rush you.
I’ve got my Alice. That’s all that matters. Me and my beautiful guy.
A beautiful goddamn guy and his Bunny.