This is fate; something more than, something deeper than chance.
This is where he’s meant to be. (Where he must have, he thinks, sought to return.) ((What he never should have left.) (What was the reason, there must have been a reason.)) This is where he ought to have been all along.
The way he breathes so evenly. Feels the moment settled around him, alive and alight with potential. Roots driven through the center of existence.
(It isn’t inconsequential, the way this boy makes him feel.)
(It’s dire beyond speech, the way Jack looks at him, speaks to him, breathes life in words of wanting, words of need.)
(It’s fate, and it’s necessity; how could this be anything besides?)
What Jack speaks could rend him. Does flay him, somewhere within, and Orev’s certain his breath catches once and again. Is certain his eyes reflect both longing and worry, regret for what he must have done and soundless joy for what he has before him now.
(There are worlds within this man, yes.) ((And.)) ((What worlds did Orev take away, what worlds did he burn for this man when he left?))
Don’t let him be alone.
Don’t stop.
(How precisely this man speaks to Orev’s own wishing.)
What he thinks is ’Never.’
(He’ll never stop. He’ll never be far. This distance, this connection bright with possibility and promise.) (How could he live without (Puppy) any part of this?)
(He’ll never leave. He can’t fathom how he’d sustain being distant from this man.)
((But how. How can he promise anything, after what he’s done, and the time, the self he can’t recall?))
What he thinks is, ’You’ll have this. Always.’
(This thought, too, bears a sting. What happened to ‘always,’ when Orev left this man, when nine months stretched vast, stretched hollow for the boy who melts so brilliantly beneath him?) (Had he promised the boy before? And. How can Orev keep from repeating whatever mistake cut them apart?)
What he thinks is, ’Oh, Lovely, I need you, too.’
(Yes. Yes. True.)
What he thinks is a rush of prickling heat and a settling through his soul, and opening through the world.
What he can say, does say: “Ah, Puppy—“ Smiling fond warmth, and with the slightest flash of teeth. With a sustained tug and holding of the chain, a shift of his foot just a little closer at Jack’s throat (he can feel the boy’s pulse, wild and assured, the thrum of blood, vitality, of want of need of rightness). “There is no other.
“No other I require.
“No other I wish.”
He’s bending low, now. Nearly brushing chest-to-chest with Jack. One hand wrapped with the chain, the other now trailing the line of Jack’s neck, now brushing along his chest. (Testing. Feeling. Learning. (Re)Claiming.)
(You should never be alone. A sin; it’d be a sin to leave you cold.) ((It was a sin, a crime against nature and against his own heart’s cry, to leave this man.))
Voice lowering, soft and yet licked with steel, with blood, “What am I, apart from you.
“The world is so dark, so vast. There is so little I know—
“And yet, you. You appear, and existence glows anew.
“Your eyes find mine, and I know myself again.
“There is you and I; what else amounts? Nothing else matters, or can dare to speak.”
And, eyes softening for a moment, the brush of his hand turned more careful still: “Beautiful man.”
A dip of his head, graceful bend of spine and shoulders while he draws a thumb along Jack’s lip. While the pressure of his foot relaxes subtly, subtly, then resumes. (Not cruel. Not painful. Only possessive. Only a reminder: Here, here, here with me is where you belong. Here, you are kept, secure. Safe. (Cherished.))
“My Puppy.”
His hand at Jack’s cheek, drawing gentle, unyielding caress. His eyes lost to depths drawn in amber. His heart gone unsteady, racing, and all the world is this man.
A breath, and he seeks the press of lips.
A breath, and he draws (his Puppy) Jack into a kiss. Taking and giving; claiming and offering.
<.>
He's dreaming, he decides. Orev is saying all the things he wanted Draža to say, doing everything just the way Gideon might have fantasized. Did, often, fantasize, first in the days between the nights Daddy came to him, and then later, when Draža never came back. It has to be a dream.
The promises, the threatening possession of the chain, the thumb along his lips, the grip at his throat: none of this can be real.
(But what if it is? What if Orev is really making these promises and someday remembers that other lover, his reason for leaving Gideon behind?
(He'll have to make sure he ends it all before Orev does. Before his heart can break again. That's the cost of this.)
(He could always find that other lover first. He could find them and kill them so Draža is left just as alone.)
For now, though -
Just for now, for a moment, for an hour, he can be this again. (The shame will rush in on him later, he knows.))
Each word summons a fresh welling of tears, each touch guiding him to renewed thrill. When Orev's lips press to his, he responds with a startled stillness, however, eyes wide open before they flutter closed. A wondering little sound settles in his throat. His own lips part, yielding (welcoming), warm with longing.
<.>
Light in approach, soft-seeking, and a catch at his throat when Jack’s eyes go wide, a star-crossed pulse of his heart as (his Puppy’s) his Puppy’s eyes slip shut, when the kiss is accepted.
(He has ever kissed this man, he must have kissed this man, strong as the impulse drove him. (But. And. He can’t be certain.) (But. And. It doesn’t matter just now whether he did, whether he can or can’t recall. Because this, he wiil know, will recall, will feel in resonance on his lips long, long after. This, he’ll have to keep.))
It begins with a brush, and another. Soft grace of lips to lips, then the subtlest taste - just a drift of his tongue’s tip - along Jack’s lip. Another brushing, and a soft-crooned, “Good boy.” Then pressing without release, without relinquishing. One talon of his foot now drawing light alone Jack’s sternum in its own caress, and Orev’s hand at the back of his Puppy’s head, drawing through hair and holding, holding his Puppy’s steady. There’s a sound in his throat, catch of something nearly strangling, catch of the edge of a pleased and wanting tone.
And yes, he ventures deeper, his own eyes now closed though the image of his Puppy burns bright, though still the knowledge of Jack’s being guides his being, guides his touch.
This man, this man, his Puppy.
((Oh Dearest, my Dearest, how I’ve missed you.
I’ve needed you so badly.))
<.>
It's as familiar as dancing with Draža, but without the demand, without the desperation that tinged each kiss. Orev seems to linger as though he has all the time in the world and Jack encourages it, meeting brush for brush, exploratory teasing of his tongue answering in kind. Then submitting, allowing Orev entry and possession - just as he always has, but it's different, isn't it? It's different, it's lovely (it's loving) to be kissed this way.
(He always knew Draža's mind was just a little unsettled at the best of times. Is this how he might have been, absent of madness?) (Is Orev absent of madness?)
(Does any of it matter, when he's missed this so much?)
He wishes he could wind his arms around Orev, but isn't it apt that he can't? That the chains keep his upper arms pinned to him, that he can't claim this man in an embrace? He was only ever meant to submit to Draža's will.
Not that he minded the submitting, but finding out what he couldn't keep had been a painful lesson: he had to hold on to each moment as it passed because he would be left only with memories.
(Something Orev didn't even keep.)
When it ends - inevitable, any ending - he sighs against Orev's lips. He hadn't meant to speak, or hadn't precisely planned it, but the words come as though drawn forth by a kiss alone, a surrender, an admission of defeat and wanting. "Gideon." Then a little smirk, followed by another stolen kiss and, "Mine, not yours."
no subject
This is where he’s meant to be. (Where he must have, he thinks, sought to return.) ((What he never should have left.) (What was the reason, there must have been a reason.)) This is where he ought to have been all along.
The way he breathes so evenly. Feels the moment settled around him, alive and alight with potential. Roots driven through the center of existence.
(It isn’t inconsequential, the way this boy makes him feel.)
(It’s dire beyond speech, the way Jack looks at him, speaks to him, breathes life in words of wanting, words of need.)
(It’s fate, and it’s necessity; how could this be anything besides?)
What Jack speaks could rend him. Does flay him, somewhere within, and Orev’s certain his breath catches once and again. Is certain his eyes reflect both longing and worry, regret for what he must have done and soundless joy for what he has before him now.
(There are worlds within this man, yes.) ((And.)) ((What worlds did Orev take away, what worlds did he burn for this man when he left?))
Don’t let him be alone.
Don’t stop.
(How precisely this man speaks to Orev’s own wishing.)
What he thinks is ’Never.’
(He’ll never stop. He’ll never be far. This distance, this connection bright with possibility and promise.) (How could he live without (Puppy) any part of this?)
(He’ll never leave. He can’t fathom how he’d sustain being distant from this man.)
((But how. How can he promise anything, after what he’s done, and the time, the self he can’t recall?))
What he thinks is, ’You’ll have this. Always.’
(This thought, too, bears a sting. What happened to ‘always,’ when Orev left this man, when nine months stretched vast, stretched hollow for the boy who melts so brilliantly beneath him?) (Had he promised the boy before? And. How can Orev keep from repeating whatever mistake cut them apart?)
What he thinks is, ’Oh, Lovely, I need you, too.’
(Yes. Yes. True.)
What he thinks is a rush of prickling heat and a settling through his soul, and opening through the world.
What he can say, does say: “Ah, Puppy—“ Smiling fond warmth, and with the slightest flash of teeth. With a sustained tug and holding of the chain, a shift of his foot just a little closer at Jack’s throat (he can feel the boy’s pulse, wild and assured, the thrum of blood, vitality, of want of need of rightness). “There is no other.
“No other I require.
“No other I wish.”
He’s bending low, now. Nearly brushing chest-to-chest with Jack. One hand wrapped with the chain, the other now trailing the line of Jack’s neck, now brushing along his chest. (Testing. Feeling. Learning. (Re)Claiming.)
(You should never be alone. A sin; it’d be a sin to leave you cold.) ((It was a sin, a crime against nature and against his own heart’s cry, to leave this man.))
Voice lowering, soft and yet licked with steel, with blood, “What am I, apart from you.
“The world is so dark, so vast. There is so little I know—
“And yet, you. You appear, and existence glows anew.
“Your eyes find mine, and I know myself again.
“There is you and I; what else amounts? Nothing else matters, or can dare to speak.”
And, eyes softening for a moment, the brush of his hand turned more careful still: “Beautiful man.”
A dip of his head, graceful bend of spine and shoulders while he draws a thumb along Jack’s lip. While the pressure of his foot relaxes subtly, subtly, then resumes. (Not cruel. Not painful. Only possessive. Only a reminder: Here, here, here with me is where you belong. Here, you are kept, secure. Safe. (Cherished.))
“My Puppy.”
His hand at Jack’s cheek, drawing gentle, unyielding caress. His eyes lost to depths drawn in amber. His heart gone unsteady, racing, and all the world is this man.
A breath, and he seeks the press of lips.
A breath, and he draws (his Puppy) Jack into a kiss. Taking and giving; claiming and offering.
<.>
He's dreaming, he decides. Orev is saying all the things he wanted Draža to say, doing everything just the way Gideon might have fantasized. Did, often, fantasize, first in the days between the nights Daddy came to him, and then later, when Draža never came back. It has to be a dream.
The promises, the threatening possession of the chain, the thumb along his lips, the grip at his throat: none of this can be real.
(But what if it is? What if Orev is really making these promises and someday remembers that other lover, his reason for leaving Gideon behind?
(He'll have to make sure he ends it all before Orev does. Before his heart can break again. That's the cost of this.)
(He could always find that other lover first. He could find them and kill them so Draža is left just as alone.)
For now, though -
Just for now, for a moment, for an hour, he can be this again. (The shame will rush in on him later, he knows.))
Each word summons a fresh welling of tears, each touch guiding him to renewed thrill. When Orev's lips press to his, he responds with a startled stillness, however, eyes wide open before they flutter closed. A wondering little sound settles in his throat. His own lips part, yielding (welcoming), warm with longing.
<.>
Light in approach, soft-seeking, and a catch at his throat when Jack’s eyes go wide, a star-crossed pulse of his heart as (his Puppy’s) his Puppy’s eyes slip shut, when the kiss is accepted.
(He has ever kissed this man, he must have kissed this man, strong as the impulse drove him. (But. And. He can’t be certain.) (But. And. It doesn’t matter just now whether he did, whether he can or can’t recall. Because this, he wiil know, will recall, will feel in resonance on his lips long, long after. This, he’ll have to keep.))
It begins with a brush, and another. Soft grace of lips to lips, then the subtlest taste - just a drift of his tongue’s tip - along Jack’s lip. Another brushing, and a soft-crooned, “Good boy.” Then pressing without release, without relinquishing. One talon of his foot now drawing light alone Jack’s sternum in its own caress, and Orev’s hand at the back of his Puppy’s head, drawing through hair and holding, holding his Puppy’s steady. There’s a sound in his throat, catch of something nearly strangling, catch of the edge of a pleased and wanting tone.
And yes, he ventures deeper, his own eyes now closed though the image of his Puppy burns bright, though still the knowledge of Jack’s being guides his being, guides his touch.
This man, this man, his Puppy.
((Oh Dearest, my Dearest, how I’ve missed you.
I’ve needed you so badly.))
<.>
It's as familiar as dancing with Draža, but without the demand, without the desperation that tinged each kiss. Orev seems to linger as though he has all the time in the world and Jack encourages it, meeting brush for brush, exploratory teasing of his tongue answering in kind. Then submitting, allowing Orev entry and possession - just as he always has, but it's different, isn't it? It's different, it's lovely (it's loving) to be kissed this way.
(He always knew Draža's mind was just a little unsettled at the best of times. Is this how he might have been, absent of madness?) (Is Orev absent of madness?)
(Does any of it matter, when he's missed this so much?)
He wishes he could wind his arms around Orev, but isn't it apt that he can't? That the chains keep his upper arms pinned to him, that he can't claim this man in an embrace? He was only ever meant to submit to Draža's will.
Not that he minded the submitting, but finding out what he couldn't keep had been a painful lesson: he had to hold on to each moment as it passed because he would be left only with memories.
(Something Orev didn't even keep.)
When it ends - inevitable, any ending - he sighs against Orev's lips. He hadn't meant to speak, or hadn't precisely planned it, but the words come as though drawn forth by a kiss alone, a surrender, an admission of defeat and wanting. "Gideon." Then a little smirk, followed by another stolen kiss and, "Mine, not yours."