A name with fancy and firmness. A name standing at the edge of outer wilds, daring a grin against the dark. A name that settles into sun’s light without shirking shadows.
Of course this is his name. Of course.
And Orev’s response is a stricken breath, near-sigh of the name. Simply (and never simply) (everything, everything in this man is layered, is lit by and from a thousand countless lights): “Gideon.”
(This name, a gift. Never mind the tease - adorable tease - of that smirk, the nod toward a name not given, and in any case, what would Orev do with his own name, he doesn’t wan (no, he’s— not yet ready for) his own name.
Far better to have this man’s. Far better to know his Puppy’s name, and so move closer, even just a little closer to better knowing this man in fullness.)
That kiss, radiant, and this name, equally so.
When has Orev ever been so lucky? (Never, he thinks. How could he have heard, have learned anything more vital?)
If his grasp on the chain, if the pressure of his hold has slacked some, it wasn’t intentional. He still holds the boy wrapped, of course, and still he stands above (Gideon!) his Puppy, but for a moment, Orev had been lost within this revelation. To this wonder.
He regains his grasp on the chain, though there’s no sharpness in the pull he gives. Only slow pressure; only, again, the reminder of nearness, of yieldless (keeping) hold. He’s drawn back just enough to meet Jack’s— Gideon’s eyes, and to regard his face in whole. And the claw of his thumb wisps light caress at the back of Jack’s head, down along his neck, as Orev speaks, voice firmer now upon this man’s name, lingering upon its speaking—
“My Gideon.”
And, pressing a kiss to Puppy’s forehead: “Thank you, Dearest. It’s perfect.”
<.>
He would nod, flickers of sorrow in his eyes, and agree: yes, he is Daddy's Gideon. Draža's. Orev's. Whatever chasms open between them, he belongs forever to this man, in wanting and by contract. (Not. That Orev needs to know that latter for certain.)
It's what Orev says last that holds Gideon stricken, however, spinning him into a breathless, staring silence.
It's what Draža would call him. Dearest, adoration, fondness - the words that don't and might never be "love", but were enough.
It came so easily to Orev's tongue, as though only natural. As though he remembered deep in his bones how this game was played.
Softly, he echoes, "Dearest," and feels the burn of that kiss to his forehead long after its end.
<.>
A glimpse from another world. His own life, lost until this moment.
A sky laden with starlight. Pinprick silver strewn before his view, and he, knowing the subtle damp of grass against his back, his arms around—
Gideon, yes.
(What did we have together? What have I missed?)
He’d been speaking. He must have been speaking in this memory, but what he knows now is the way his Puppy watched him. The way amber eyes seemed deepest gold, like honey, in the star’s light. The way the boy’s hair seemed pleasantly mussed, the way Gideon appeared half-drowsy, and wholly enthralled. And in Orev’s knowing, he sees his own hand clutched tight (for dear, for dearest life) against Gideon’s arm. And hears a word that seems to warm his Puppy further. Hears ‘Dearest’ interspersed, or as an anchor in the midst of Orev’s words again, again, again.
Something he returned to. Something this man may have, must have held onto.
Jack— Gideon. Was Orev’s Puppy.
He was Orev’s Dearest, as well.
(Whatever he may have done to this man, at least he’d given this title. At least he’d called Gideon this, some approximation of the wonder that he is. Some small measure of the way he thrums in Orev’s being.)
Another sounds from Orev, soft, nearly an ’Oh.’ And he draws closer, nearly gathers Gideon against him. Does settle his forehead to Gideon’s temple and nudge, and nuzzle, and remain, remain, keeping steady.
(Keeping steady as his eyes burn at the back.) (Keeping steady though his form threatens to shake, to tremble itself into pieces.)
And softly, voice certain and yet unable to maintain full firmness, wavered here and there with wayward jarrings: “You are.
“You were.
“Gideon, and Puppy. And Dearest.
“Oh, Puppy—“
Again, his eyes slip shut. (Can’t regard, he can’t possibly regard anything more, just for a moment.) (He’s been given the world, all the universe; how much more can he bear?) (Everything, anything. In a moment. In just a moment, after a breath. After breathing in this wonder.) And again he nudges Gideon’s temple, slowly, slowly, thumb drawing its caress, his palm resting against Gideon’s head, feeling the brush of soft, of golden hair.
“How fortunate I am.”
<.>
Whatever Orev does or doesn't remember, it hardly matters. Jack - Gideon - is lost in the moment, succumbed to the feeling of chains that have always been his and claws against the lump in his throat, the burn of a kiss lingering at his lips, and Daddy's hand against his hair.
This is where he belongs. It's where he has *always* belonged - something Draža made him confess again and again after the first time, something Draža delighted in hearing as much as Gideon delighted in speaking. *I belong here.*
(Somewhere deep within him, he feels a pang of yearning to chase that 'Oh' that Orev let slip. He wishes he could draw it from his captor, and along with it, he wishes he could draw all the things that 'Oh' might mean.)
He nudges back, then angles his head to see the blurry outline of Orev's features through a film of tears. When he feels one slip free and roll down his cheek, he wishes he could wipe it away - turn his face away, hide the shame of feeling his longings met after months of absence - but a shift of his arm reminds him again, again, that he remains at Orev's command. He breathes out shakily and whispers, "You are. You were. Dearest to me in every world."
<.>
An ache in his chest, at the base of his throat; a smile crooked, wrought with memories glimpsed and memory unknown, unknown, but waiting to break through (he’ll find it, he’ll find all of it again, he’ll know everything they were together) (what a tragedy, to have lost this man).
Softly: “Ah, Gideon…”
(A name he could speak in infinite repetitions, and never find lacking, never find the end of or grow weary in its speaking.) (A name that belongs on his tongue, in his breath.)
((A thought, dim awareness: When he learns the name he once held, the name now lost, he wants it from his Puppy’s breath.))
His breath’s stalled. His hand draws a brush along Gideon’s shoulder, and a kiss frees the boy’s cheek from the fallen tear. He hears himself speaking in hush, “It’s all right. Dearest, my Dearest, we are where we’re meant to be.”
(Does he believe it?) (Absolutely. With more certainty than he’s known in anything since waking to this name, this existence as Orev.)
And, with the hint of a smirk that doesn’t reach sharpness, deep as it nestles in ache and longing, “You are precisely where I want you.
“Here, at Daddy’s hands, kept safe within your chain.”
<.>
He moves, angling his chin so he nuzzles, brushes, rests his cheek to Orev's, his sighs a counterpoint to every spoken word. (How easily he loses himself to the will of this man. (How easily this man walked away from him.))
((Before. But now?))
It's a dream realized: hearing his name, hearing he's once again held dearest, hearing that he's meant to be here and held by Orev. Feeling his tears kissed away. (Almost as though the past nine months never happened. (But they did.))
It's when Orev calls himself Daddy that Gideon startles, stares without breathing. (He remembers. He does remember. (How much?!) (Enough?)) There's a thunderous silence, broken only when he begins to struggle against the chains. Unsettled sounds - little breaths and grunts - accompany his efforts, and then, finally, he cries, "Let me -"
Not 'go'. He doesn't want to go.
"Get these off me, I -"
He doesn't want that, either, precisely - but he wants reach up and pull Orev - Daddy, he remembers he's *Daddy* - to him, or himself to Daddy. He wants the use of his hands to catch hold and maybe, this time, keep Daddy from leaving him.
<.>
(Poor, poor Puppy.)
(Beautiful man, only reaching to hold.)
“Let you?” It’s little more than a whisper, a half-amused echo of Gideon’s words. Because he knows (he thinks he knows) (he does know, and he’s certain Gideon knows as well) that demands like this won’t go far between them. Not without Orev’s own will. Not without reason that builds like compulsion.
For a moment, he contemplates. Looking down at Gideon, talons brushing left, right, left-right along his skin,
There is in Orev’s mind a quiet query: Is Gideon attempting to flee? (Was it too much, this new word Orev had spoken ahead of knowing, never mind how perfectly it’d fit into speech?) Is Gideon attempting to fight, and is this a ploy to wrestle control from Orev’s hands, to pull himself away?
It’s possible, perhaps; it also doesn’t suit, doesn’t fit at all with the man (Jack, Puppy, Dearest, Gideon) in Orev’s witness.
So he doesn’t doubt. So he doesn’t let silence draw longer, doesn’t hesitate, and there’s a fluid-eliding series of motions to his wrists. First loosening the chain to slackness, to unwind from Gideon’s arms only to rebind against his chest, around his shoulders. No rescinding hold; only adjusting. Only allowing the boy use of his arms—
(He was struggling against something, or toward something, for something. What was it?
Well. Let Gideon show him. Let them both see what happens.)
“A mercy; is that better, Puppy?”
Then tightening the chain again, running his fingertips, drawing his palm along Gideon’s (beautiful, rare and incomparable, name) neck. Smirk now warm-sharp, eyes fixed on amber.
“It will have to do, Dearest. I’m afraid I can’t release you.”
no subject
Gideon.
A name with fancy and firmness. A name standing at the edge of outer wilds, daring a grin against the dark. A name that settles into sun’s light without shirking shadows.
Of course this is his name. Of course.
And Orev’s response is a stricken breath, near-sigh of the name. Simply (and never simply) (everything, everything in this man is layered, is lit by and from a thousand countless lights): “Gideon.”
(This name, a gift. Never mind the tease - adorable tease - of that smirk, the nod toward a name not given, and in any case, what would Orev do with his own name, he doesn’t wan (no, he’s— not yet ready for) his own name.
Far better to have this man’s. Far better to know his Puppy’s name, and so move closer, even just a little closer to better knowing this man in fullness.)
That kiss, radiant, and this name, equally so.
When has Orev ever been so lucky? (Never, he thinks. How could he have heard, have learned anything more vital?)
If his grasp on the chain, if the pressure of his hold has slacked some, it wasn’t intentional. He still holds the boy wrapped, of course, and still he stands above (Gideon!) his Puppy, but for a moment, Orev had been lost within this revelation. To this wonder.
He regains his grasp on the chain, though there’s no sharpness in the pull he gives. Only slow pressure; only, again, the reminder of nearness, of yieldless (keeping) hold. He’s drawn back just enough to meet Jack’s— Gideon’s eyes, and to regard his face in whole. And the claw of his thumb wisps light caress at the back of Jack’s head, down along his neck, as Orev speaks, voice firmer now upon this man’s name, lingering upon its speaking—
“My Gideon.”
And, pressing a kiss to Puppy’s forehead: “Thank you, Dearest. It’s perfect.”
<.>
He would nod, flickers of sorrow in his eyes, and agree: yes, he is Daddy's Gideon. Draža's. Orev's. Whatever chasms open between them, he belongs forever to this man, in wanting and by contract. (Not. That Orev needs to know that latter for certain.)
It's what Orev says last that holds Gideon stricken, however, spinning him into a breathless, staring silence.
It's what Draža would call him. Dearest, adoration, fondness - the words that don't and might never be "love", but were enough.
It came so easily to Orev's tongue, as though only natural. As though he remembered deep in his bones how this game was played.
Softly, he echoes, "Dearest," and feels the burn of that kiss to his forehead long after its end.
<.>
A glimpse from another world. His own life, lost until this moment.
A sky laden with starlight. Pinprick silver strewn before his view, and he, knowing the subtle damp of grass against his back, his arms around—
Gideon, yes.
(What did we have together? What have I missed?)
He’d been speaking. He must have been speaking in this memory, but what he knows now is the way his Puppy watched him. The way amber eyes seemed deepest gold, like honey, in the star’s light. The way the boy’s hair seemed pleasantly mussed, the way Gideon appeared half-drowsy, and wholly enthralled. And in Orev’s knowing, he sees his own hand clutched tight (for dear, for dearest life) against Gideon’s arm. And hears a word that seems to warm his Puppy further. Hears ‘Dearest’ interspersed, or as an anchor in the midst of Orev’s words again, again, again.
Something he returned to. Something this man may have, must have held onto.
Jack— Gideon. Was Orev’s Puppy.
He was Orev’s Dearest, as well.
(Whatever he may have done to this man, at least he’d given this title. At least he’d called Gideon this, some approximation of the wonder that he is. Some small measure of the way he thrums in Orev’s being.)
Another sounds from Orev, soft, nearly an ’Oh.’ And he draws closer, nearly gathers Gideon against him. Does settle his forehead to Gideon’s temple and nudge, and nuzzle, and remain, remain, keeping steady.
(Keeping steady as his eyes burn at the back.) (Keeping steady though his form threatens to shake, to tremble itself into pieces.)
And softly, voice certain and yet unable to maintain full firmness, wavered here and there with wayward jarrings: “You are.
“You were.
“Gideon, and Puppy. And Dearest.
“Oh, Puppy—“
Again, his eyes slip shut. (Can’t regard, he can’t possibly regard anything more, just for a moment.) (He’s been given the world, all the universe; how much more can he bear?) (Everything, anything. In a moment. In just a moment, after a breath. After breathing in this wonder.) And again he nudges Gideon’s temple, slowly, slowly, thumb drawing its caress, his palm resting against Gideon’s head, feeling the brush of soft, of golden hair.
“How fortunate I am.”
<.>
Whatever Orev does or doesn't remember, it hardly matters. Jack - Gideon - is lost in the moment, succumbed to the feeling of chains that have always been his and claws against the lump in his throat, the burn of a kiss lingering at his lips, and Daddy's hand against his hair.
This is where he belongs. It's where he has *always* belonged - something Draža made him confess again and again after the first time, something Draža delighted in hearing as much as Gideon delighted in speaking. *I belong here.*
(Somewhere deep within him, he feels a pang of yearning to chase that 'Oh' that Orev let slip. He wishes he could draw it from his captor, and along with it, he wishes he could draw all the things that 'Oh' might mean.)
He nudges back, then angles his head to see the blurry outline of Orev's features through a film of tears. When he feels one slip free and roll down his cheek, he wishes he could wipe it away - turn his face away, hide the shame of feeling his longings met after months of absence - but a shift of his arm reminds him again, again, that he remains at Orev's command. He breathes out shakily and whispers, "You are. You were. Dearest to me in every world."
<.>
An ache in his chest, at the base of his throat; a smile crooked, wrought with memories glimpsed and memory unknown, unknown, but waiting to break through (he’ll find it, he’ll find all of it again, he’ll know everything they were together) (what a tragedy, to have lost this man).
Softly: “Ah, Gideon…”
(A name he could speak in infinite repetitions, and never find lacking, never find the end of or grow weary in its speaking.) (A name that belongs on his tongue, in his breath.)
((A thought, dim awareness: When he learns the name he once held, the name now lost, he wants it from his Puppy’s breath.))
His breath’s stalled. His hand draws a brush along Gideon’s shoulder, and a kiss frees the boy’s cheek from the fallen tear. He hears himself speaking in hush, “It’s all right. Dearest, my Dearest, we are where we’re meant to be.”
(Does he believe it?) (Absolutely. With more certainty than he’s known in anything since waking to this name, this existence as Orev.)
And, with the hint of a smirk that doesn’t reach sharpness, deep as it nestles in ache and longing, “You are precisely where I want you.
“Here, at Daddy’s hands, kept safe within your chain.”
<.>
He moves, angling his chin so he nuzzles, brushes, rests his cheek to Orev's, his sighs a counterpoint to every spoken word. (How easily he loses himself to the will of this man. (How easily this man walked away from him.))
((Before. But now?))
It's a dream realized: hearing his name, hearing he's once again held dearest, hearing that he's meant to be here and held by Orev. Feeling his tears kissed away. (Almost as though the past nine months never happened. (But they did.))
It's when Orev calls himself Daddy that Gideon startles, stares without breathing. (He remembers. He does remember. (How much?!) (Enough?)) There's a thunderous silence, broken only when he begins to struggle against the chains. Unsettled sounds - little breaths and grunts - accompany his efforts, and then, finally, he cries, "Let me -"
Not 'go'. He doesn't want to go.
"Get these off me, I -"
He doesn't want that, either, precisely - but he wants reach up and pull Orev - Daddy, he remembers he's *Daddy* - to him, or himself to Daddy. He wants the use of his hands to catch hold and maybe, this time, keep Daddy from leaving him.
<.>
(Poor, poor Puppy.)
(Beautiful man, only reaching to hold.)
“Let you?” It’s little more than a whisper, a half-amused echo of Gideon’s words. Because he knows (he thinks he knows) (he does know, and he’s certain Gideon knows as well) that demands like this won’t go far between them. Not without Orev’s own will. Not without reason that builds like compulsion.
For a moment, he contemplates. Looking down at Gideon, talons brushing left, right, left-right along his skin,
There is in Orev’s mind a quiet query: Is Gideon attempting to flee? (Was it too much, this new word Orev had spoken ahead of knowing, never mind how perfectly it’d fit into speech?) Is Gideon attempting to fight, and is this a ploy to wrestle control from Orev’s hands, to pull himself away?
It’s possible, perhaps; it also doesn’t suit, doesn’t fit at all with the man (Jack, Puppy, Dearest, Gideon) in Orev’s witness.
So he doesn’t doubt. So he doesn’t let silence draw longer, doesn’t hesitate, and there’s a fluid-eliding series of motions to his wrists. First loosening the chain to slackness, to unwind from Gideon’s arms only to rebind against his chest, around his shoulders. No rescinding hold; only adjusting. Only allowing the boy use of his arms—
(He was struggling against something, or toward something, for something. What was it?
Well. Let Gideon show him. Let them both see what happens.)
“A mercy; is that better, Puppy?”
Then tightening the chain again, running his fingertips, drawing his palm along Gideon’s (beautiful, rare and incomparable, name) neck. Smirk now warm-sharp, eyes fixed on amber.
“It will have to do, Dearest. I’m afraid I can’t release you.”
(Yet.)
(Ever.)
(You are mine.)