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 Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2016 4:44 pm
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Harland had a sketchbook open on his thigh, leg crossed at the ankle over his opposite thigh. He was scarcely moving, except to furiously re-tuck locks of hair as they uncurled and got in his way. Stacks of books on symbols and lore were open around him, and he fully intended to be copying the important ones-- but he wasn't.
A pencil sketch of Alistaire was in the works, and Harland was turning bright red as he sketched as fast as he could before Alistaire turned or realized what he was doing. It was possible, of course, he already knew and was being a good sport...
It was amazing how love continued to get in the way of important life-saving research, for Harland. It was his Achilles heel; something he'd never had, always dreamt of, and now would never let go of.
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Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2016 5:04 pm
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Alistaire, for his part, was finding it difficult to concentrate.
He was aware, of course, of Harland's presence; he was always aware of Harland's presence, more so now than ever, as though it was something hinging on the edge of his vision, just out of reach. A part of him longed to stretch out his fingers and touch, but the other part of him - the part that was staunchly still trying to make sense of all of this - carefully and meticulously negated that desire.
Besides, he was supposed to be working.
The papers strewn across the desk in Harland's room were neatly stacked in sets of threes as Alistaire went through them. It was simple duty work, nothing out of the ordinary; and yet his ears kept picking up the consistent scratching of a pencil somewhere behind him, where Harland was positioned possibly on the bed, or maybe the floor. They were both supposed to be working. Probably Harland was.
Alistaire wasn't.
"What are you working on, Mr. Belle?" he asked finally, without turning around, though his attention was not on the books in front of him. He'd read the same line three times without taking anything in. "Anything important?"
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Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2016 6:31 pm
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His heart, surely, shouldn't still skip a beat from the sound of that. Mr. Belle, Harland thought, and thought again of the secret box he had hidden. The one day hope, that he dare not think on too hard, lest he startle it away. The home he had always dreamed of, and even now either one of them could die in a second because of their work. This was what the studying was supposed to circumvent.
Harland's blush brightened as he cleared his throat to reply, Irish accent as thick as the day he'd arrived. "Nothin'- well, somethin'-- ah," he paused, fumbling for words. "The most important t' me, but not what I should be workin' on," he admitted, finally, sheepish. He gripped the sketchbook against his chest, briefly, as though it was a secret treasure. Finally, reluctant, he set the sketchbook down on top of his other open books: the barest outline, some detail, Alistaire.
"Jus' an Angel I saw once in a dream," he joked. He tried to play it off, but his eyes sparked for a moment in a way that made it seem too sincere. He ahem'd to himself and flipped the page of the sketchbook. "This sigil here's rumoured t' trap a devil or two," he added, as if that erased the embarrassment of being caught sketching the love of his life. "An' if ye wouldnae mind, I'd like it if ye'd stay in a similar position for maybe a heartbeat longer," he added, casually. He really would like to finish his sketch. Cameras were hard to get ahold of, but sketching... he could do that. With a sketch, he could remember how Alistaire looked, studying, for as long as he needed.
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Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2016 6:53 pm
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Harland's room had, essentially, become Alistaire's as well. He rarely went back to his own these days, spending most of his time when he was not on duty in...well, he couldn't exactly say what Harland was, still. Essential? He knew that, but it felt so much harder to put things into concrete terms that made sense to him.
Either way, there were now little things around the room that indicated a second person stayed there, however small the place was. A few vests hung up neatly in the closet, a shelf on the desk dedicated to a series of pristine looking books, a glasses case and a set of gloves on the bedside table. It felt more to Alistaire like a place he could possibly call home than even his childhood house, not that that had been anything great.
And Harland, as well - no, not as well. It was because of Harland that Alistaire felt so at ease in this place.
Green eyes moved to the sketchbook held protectively against Harland's chest, then back up to his face, tracing the line of his jaw. Alistaire just waited, and then, eventually, the sketchbook was lowered, and a vague, sketchy drawing of his own face appeared on the paper in front of him.
A pink flush suffused Alistaire's cheeks. For a second, he just stared, his mouth slightly ajar, and then he closed it, slowly, trying to calm the irregular heartbeat that always seemed to kick up whenever he was around Harland. Even after all this time, it did not feel real.
After a moment, Alistaire managed to unlock his jaw enough to say, a little stiffly, "Fine. I will remain as I am...for the time being."
The blush had deepened. Alistaire was trying hard not to stare.
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Posted: Mon Nov 28, 2016 7:10 pm
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It was true, Harland had been adding things even in the intent to make the room more comfortable for Alistaire. He'd never really had this much money, much less someone to spend it on, so he tended to go on sprees. At least if they were going to die, Alistaire would die as spoiled as Harland could manage.
Harland, for his part, still hadn't ever asked what they were. He knew what Alistaire was to him, how much he loved the man who insisted on using only his surname. Always speaking formally. Always so sharply handsome. Harland's face had grown bright red.
Without meaning to, Harland betrayed his true intentions behind the sketch, with a mumble: "Cameras seem ... hard t' use and come by, y' ken, so I thought I'd draw the moment so I never lose you."
It didn't take long; he'd already been half done by the time he admitted what he was up to. "Wan' tae see?" he asked, getting to his feet, stretching. He held the sketchbook in one hand, smoothed his free hand through his hair. Harland wondered, perhaps for the first time, if he should ask. Ask for a commitment, for an answer-- but he remembered, he knew how hard it had been for Alistaire to even touch him. Harland was always the type to wait for something to come to him; to be patient. He just hoped that maybe, one day, he could give Alistaire that ring... |
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Posted: Tue Nov 29, 2016 7:44 pm
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What Alistaire lacked in belongings, he made up for in funds that were never going to be fully utilized as it was. The only things he ever bought for himself were gloves and clothes, and practically nothing else; even the clothes were scarce and incredibly specific.
Or at least, they had used to be specific. Now they were slowly, slowly shifting; his wardrobe had at least expanded to include a few things that were not so meticulously formal and buttoned up, but usually it was only Harland who ever saw him when he was not entirely covered.
I thought I'd draw the moment so I never lose you.
Alistaire was finding it a little harder to maintain his posture, his own flushed cheeks betraying the fact that he found what Harland was saying to be getting to him more than he let on. It sent warmth and heat and pleasure and confusion twisting through him all at once, curling low in the pit of his stomach, so that all of his emotions were a tangle.
It was almost a relief to be able to move again; his pulse was still fluttering noisily in his ears, and Alistaire slowly twisted around in his seat to look at Harland, standing beside the bed with the sketch in his hand. He opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, and shut it once more.
Then, finally, he said, in as calm and collected a tone as he could muster,
"Yes. I would like to see it."
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Posted: Mon Dec 12, 2016 7:41 pm
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It'd been a while since he went shopping. Harland had never had money: not in his childhood, not in his adolescence, and certainly not in his adulthood. Working for Deus, with the threat of death over his head constantly, was the only time he made enough to buy anyone anything. Even if he'd had money, he didn't have someone to spend it on-- until now. Harland'd gone shopping with his old friend Molly for an entire outing, buying presents for people (mostly Alistaire). He'd picked everything out so meticulously, trying to make his room more comfortable for the one he loved. His love for Alistaire burned like a sun inside him, lighting the dark that once chilled him, burning away the shadows more by the day. Sure, he was petrified of losing Alistaire, or of dying, but Harland was exceptionally good at mentally humming over anything negative to see the positive side.
After all, he wasn't asleep on the floor of his office, broken window plastic-wrap'd shut again in winter because someone threw a brick through it.
☆≼Is this the part where I am supposed to shut my eyes?≽ Coyote asked, amused.
I'll just charge ye admission, Harland quipped back, busy.
The subtle changes in Alistaire only proved to Harland he should be hopeful; the new clothes now and then, the way he recoiled less and less... it was amazing to behold, and Harland saw no one but Alistaire, felt nothing for anyone but him. Nothing could tempt him, anymore, but this man that now sat in what Harland considered their room and looked over at him, mouth briefly agape. It did not escape Harland; he grinned broadly.
"Ta," he said, "I'll show ye... for a bargain of a kind, yeah?" Harland said, a glint in his eye as he stood, hiding the page. "I've got a story that needs sortin', ye see... someone with a sort of conundrum as'd do with yer help sortin' out," Harland said, trailing off. His dopey face had a sort of conspiratorial look, an impish delight to it.
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Posted: Mon Dec 12, 2016 8:07 pm
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Grimshaw was a thrumming noise inside of his head, a low growl that Alistaire had learned to tune out when he was displeased with the weapon. Or, in moments like this, when he just wanted to pay attention to Harland and not the second voice that was a constant presence, as much as he appreciated Grim.
He sat now in his seat, half turned to face Harland, the latter still standing by the bed, a wide grin on his face. Alistaire watched him move, his heart in his throat, and he wasn't entirely sure what Harland was asking him.
Or maybe he was. Or maybe he was overthinking things.
His mind felt more sluggish than usual, Alistaire clearing his throat, his normal, careful demeanor slipping slightly as he lifted a gloved hand, absently tugging at the black silk tie around his neck, smoothing it down in an idle gesture that was more just something to do with his hands.
"Oh?" he said lightly, though there was the faintest tremor to his voice, as calm as he was attempting to be. "And what sort of bargain or story needs my assistance, Mr. Belle?"
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Posted: Tue Dec 13, 2016 4:35 pm
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Harland took a few steps over to Alistaire where he sat facing him, and paused, looking Alistaire up and down. Appreciating him. How handsome he was, in his sharp way; the eyes Harland had once found cold and disapproving were now the light of his days. "Well now, keepin' in mind it's jus' a story," he said, "an' it's worth considerin' for a while, I figure." Harland took his sweet time arriving to any conclusion, which was probably why he was so patient otherwise.
"There's someone as is very dear to someone I know, an' it's gone a bit unspoken what their connection is," he began. "Mind my bein' so bold as t' tell this, but this person I know, they wantae ask their ah, special person... if that special person would mind it if they were official. An dTuigeann tú? Do ye get it?" Harland was rambling, in a slow sort of way, leaning in to be closer to Alistaire. He rested his cheek against the top of Alistaire's head, for a second, one broad hand following by sliding up into Alistaire's hair, gently massaging the back of his neck before falling away.
"Do ye think that someone I know oughta ask their special someone, if they'd allow an official title of coupling?" Harland summarized, before setting the sketchbook open in front of Alistaire, showing him the sketch.
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Posted: Tue Dec 13, 2016 8:14 pm
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Harland, Alistaire had come to discover over the course of time, enjoyed teasing. He must have had the patience of a saint, because there were times in which Harland seemed to draw things out purposefully, though a part of it seemed to be that Harland liked things slow simply because he wanted to thoroughly experience whatever it was.
Alistaire had come to rest an elbow on the desk, black gloved fingers curled against his palm, temple resting against them as he watched Harland come nearer. It was making his pulse do strange things, his chest feeling too tight to breathe, especially considering that the lilting, rolling sweetness of Harland's voice was wafting through him like liquid warmth.
There's someone as is very dear to me.
His lashes fluttered a little as Harland bent closer, cheek against the top of his head before he straightened again, drawing fingers deliberately through Alistaire's hair and along the back of his neck. It sent spangles of something through him, his lips parting slightly, his heart so loud it felt as though it was audible ten miles away.
He'd frozen where he sat, afraid to move, because if he moved, then what then? The moment between felt strong and fragile simultaneously, as though any wrong step could break it - but at the same time, it felt like this was all he'd ever known and all he'd ever wanted to know.
Alistaire's eyes flickered towards the sketch, feeling his throat constrict, his mouth dry, before they flickered back up to Harland's face. It was so familiar; so achingly familiar, so open and caring and adoring that sometimes Alistaire wondered why this was the way it was.
He cleared his throat, awkwardly, and tried to dispel the obstruction that felt like it was taking up too much space in his airway. After a moment, Alistaire said, very quietly, as calmly as he could manage,
"What sort of...title?"
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Posted: Tue Dec 13, 2016 8:47 pm
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This was all entirely strange to Harland. He'd had others in his life, before-- not a lot, but a couple or a few-- that he'd been with, but it was nothing like this. He had no idea what he was doing, except for fumbling around in the dark.
He took a step back from Alistaire, and picked up a second chair, setting it down gently and straddling it backwards to face Alistaire. What he was asking, he felt like it needed some distance. Too much: he was always afraid of being too much. He couldn't lose Alistaire. He hated moving forward, because every step could make the ground he so loved crumble.
"Ah, well, just--" Harland's eyes widened a moment as he worried suddenly that the official title notion could have been misconstrued, and he almost fell off his chair trying to compose himself. "Not the marryin' kind, if that's what we're talkin' about now!" he said, completely flustered, stumbling also over his words now and then. He cleared his throat, pressed the back of his hand to his forehead.
"Say a partner, or ah boyfriend, or, y' know, that kinda ... thing..." Harland trailed off, with a sort of small wave of his hand. He rested his chin on the top of the chair, looking down at the sketch book.
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Posted: Tue Dec 13, 2016 9:07 pm
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He wasn't sure whether he felt better or worse or more confused when Harland sat down to face him, Alistaire's careful composure slipping further and further with each second that passed. He was still leaning with his elbow on the desk and his head resting against his hand, though his expression was wide-eyed and startled, his pulse rocket fast in his throat.
Why was it so hard to do this? After all this time, it shouldn't have been so difficult; it was just a singular word, after all, a word Harland - and Alistaire both - could use to describe each other, though none of what Harland was suggesting seemed even remotely adequate. Alistaire wasn't even sure that there was a proper word, or whether he'd just have to make do.
Partner was...well, it wasn't bad. But it felt somehow colder, more distant than Alistaire would have liked. And boyfriend was - what it was, but neither one of them were children or teenagers anymore. Or maybe he was just making excuses, because the thought of something semi-permanent with Harland Leander Belle was terrifying and thrilling all at once.
Alistaire opened his mouth, shut it again, opened it once more, his eyes rising to meet Harland's. His voice was quiet, a question in them, soft and uncertain because he didn't know how to do this.
"...lover?"
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Posted: Tue Dec 13, 2016 9:39 pm
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Harland smiled at him. He was restless, thanks to the nature of the conversation. He stood up again, reaching for his sketchbook. "Lover, yeah-- I suspect as this person I know'd already consider that person dear to 'em a lover-- an' it does nae do much say in introductory situations. 'Hi, this's my lover, A--'" he caught himself, "--ahh, what a situation. Well, I'll tell that person I know anyway I s'pose," he said, with a sunny smile. As sunny as he'd ever give.
He stopped, with his hand on the sketchbook, his other hand resting on the corner of Alistaire's chair back. A lock of hair fell into his face. He stared at the sketch.
For a moment, Harland hoped he had not made a mistake, because he certainly felt like he had done something wrong. "Sorry for th' trouble, an' my thanks for the suggestion," he said, very quietly.
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Posted: Tue Dec 13, 2016 9:56 pm
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Harland's smiles were frequent, but there were degrees to them; some were sadder than others, some were bright, wide and cheerful. Others were bitter, though these were rare. If there was anything that Harland was, it was open and sensitive, though Alistaire had never seen these two traits as anything but a good thing.
His gaze followed Harland as he stood, Alistaire slowly lifting his head, letting his arm fall back to the desk. Something felt...off about Harland's reaction. He couldn't quite figure it out, Alistaire's heart clustering in his chest, so that it felt like he had no room to breathe at all.
A hand came out before he could stop it, gloved fingers curling around Harland's wrist where it lay on the back of his chair.
"Did I - " Alistaire swallowed hard, his voice not quite as steady as he would have liked. "Is that...a wrong answer..? Did you - was there something else you would rather - this person would rather - have them called instead?"
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