It had taken him hours. Hours of drawing, and then some tape, and Harland had a passable illustration of a christmas tree, decorated and adhered to one wall of his room. Somehow, the holidays had crept up on him and it had been so difficult this year to get out, get gifts, spend time with friends... He had, nevertheless, a gift for Alistaire.
Sort of.
It also wasn't the tree, which was great.
☆≼Don't let yourself get sweaty palms,≽ Coyote mused, as Harland straightened up and brushed off his black jeans. He was dressed only half smartly: a green and red festive plaid, unbuttoned over a charcoal grey tank french tucked into his black jeans. His hair was tousled back in an orange, sunny wave because he'd been compulsively running one palm through it over and over again while getting the tree set up.
"Ah well, cheers for that," Harland muttered darkly, before straightening and looking at the one slender, sleek box wrapped in black paper. It was thin, rectangular, shirt-sized. There was one gold ribbon around it.
Harland felt like he'd hardly slept, but he very badly wanted to see Alistaire for Christmas. It used to be such a big, sad deal at home, but now... he'd been with Alistaire, against all the odds, for years. Years since their first date in Galway, since the aquarium, since the concert.
☆≼Today, you can be the sheriff,≽ Coyote said, almost with love. ☆≼But at midnight it all goes back to its rightful order,≽ Coyote added.
"Thanks twice over, feelin' generous today it seems," Harland said, with a smile. Although Christmas had traditionally be a time for Harland to remember all he'd lost (and this year was no exception) there was _more_ now, and had been ever since the unlikely alliance he'd made with Alistaire. They were inseparable, on a level only dreamt of in books and movies. Harland didn't stop being grateful for that for even a moment. Harland would quite literally die for, or even live for, this man. Now he just had to wait for Alistaire to arrive in his room, which was much easier than dying (he figured) and just a natural part of living.
kuropeco
Posted: Thu Dec 27, 2018 7:31 am
Time, it seemed to Alistaire, had gotten away from him.
He was not the sort of person to be sentimental and never had been. Years upon years of learning to reinvent himself - or rather, years of relearning who he was, had led him into opening himself up just a little further, piece by piece, until he had been able to say with almost certainty that he was a better man than he had once been.
Almost. It still took a bit of effort sometimes, but Harland's continued patience and his gentle guidance and tender affection made it that much easier and that much worth it. He would have done anything just for the look of joy in his lover's eyes whenever Alistaire saw him.
He was not a religious man, but Christmas was, well, Christmas, and so they were spending it together, as expected. Alistaire did not knock when he got to the room, mostly because it was fairly obvious he stayed here most nights as it was, even if he still maintained his own room out of necessity and a desire to sometimes have a bit of space. Alistaire let himself in on a quiet tread, dressed in a pair of black slacks, a black button down shirt, and a dark green vest that matched his eyes (or so Harland had mentioned once). A dark purple tie was around his neck, gloves ever present on his hands.
His gaze landed on Harland almost immediately, looking handsome and eager and his. Alistaire felt something like relief and happiness dawning irrepressibly in his chest, and he stepped over to Harland, reaching up to slide a hand around the back of his neck and draw him down for a kiss.
"Good morning," Alistaire murmured, lips curving slightly up in a smile against Harland's.
Face your demons
kuropeco
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Posted: Thu Dec 27, 2018 4:26 pm
As soon as Alistaire entered the room, Harland's entire expression changed. His face lit up, shoulders relaxed, and a blush crept up his neck and he looked almost sheepish as he strode over to Alistaire. It made sense, of course, that Alistaire came in whenever he wanted: Harland had rearranged the room long ago to accommodate the two of them being there, and purchased amenities to make their life there at least a little nicer. It had been a while since he'd made it off the island, however.
The second Alistaire slid a hand around his neck, Harland was obligingly leaning in, one broad hand slipping up to press gently against the small of Alistaire's back. "Mm," was all he managed to say, before trying to steal a second kiss. "Every morning is good when I see your face," he said.
Harland leaned back, cleared his throat, and made a show of looking Alistaire over. "As handsome as the day we met," he said, his voice low, quiet, gunmetal green eyes sparkling with laughter. "Just a bit less aggressive, though," he added, the corner of his mouth turning up into a smile. He tried to lace one hand through one of Alistaire's. "I thought it might be nice to go for a walk, maybe get a coffee, or food," Harland suggested. "Wanted you to see the tree I've cut and hauled into our home with my exceptional muscles," he joked, with a nod towards the tree.
And to the one gift, there, waiting. The slender black box. He wanted Alistaire to open the box very much, and he was honestly very beside himself with that overwhelming thought.
kuropeco
Posted: Fri Dec 28, 2018 9:48 am
There.
That was what made all the difference, made it all worthwhile. That look of glowing happiness that at first had overwhelmed and unsettled Alistaire, and now, while still a bit overwhelming, made him feel as though everything he did had more value than he believed it to.
It was such a warm and tender thing, that smile. Alistaire still felt sometimes he wasn't worthy of it, but he allowed himself to be drawn in for a second kiss, lingering a little this time, one hand coming up to rest on Harland's chest, gloved fingers pressing against his shirt front.
"You're hopeless,' Alistaire said softly, but it was said with an affection he couldn't hide. His cheeks were a little red, his heart doing that strange, jittery thing he couldn't quite control whenever he was around Harland, and absentmindedly, he smoothed his hand up and down his lover's chest, almost a soothing gesture.
And then, because it slipped out before he could stop it, "I thought you liked when I was aggressive," said with a brow arched, and a hint of teasing, just enough to be truly Alistaire in nature.
"A walk on the grounds sounds nice. As for the tree," he added dryly, glancing over at it with some amusement. "Well, yes, I can see how much effort..."
His voice trailed off. Alistaire had noticed the box, brows drawing together.
"What's that for? Is that..."
For me? Or did someone give you that?
Face your demons
kuropeco
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Posted: Mon Dec 31, 2018 6:28 am
Harland's grin, lopsided and honest, was his initial response to being told he was hopeless. "Hopeless for you, absolutely," he amended. He might be hopeless in general, come to think of it, but he'd always tried to meet his situation with as much optimism and hope as possible.
"Ah, well, I do-- it's a bit hot, isn't it," He said, making himself turn a bit redder at the prospect, looking Alistaire up and down again through half-lidded eyes that glinted as he thought of the major differences between the aggression now and the aggression the first time they'd met.
He laughed when Alistaire commented on the tree. There was the sharpness he adored. Harland gently stepped away from Alistaire, nudging him towards the present with one broad hand. "That," he said, "is a small attempt at a Christmas gift for the person I love most in this world", he explained. "Who is in this room, and who is not me."
If he said things like that, ones that weren't direct so they didn't need a response (no obligation; I love you was a sentence that demanded a commitment, a reply, whereas if he said it this way maybe he could present it without demands, just offer it to Alistaire to let him know how he felt.). "Open it? Before we go for a walk and admire the real trees," he said.
kuropeco
Posted: Thu Jan 03, 2019 8:04 pm
It was still beyond Alistaire how Harland could say these sorts of things with a straight face and be entirely, unfailingly truthful; but it wasn't as though Alistaire disliked it. In the beginning, it had confused and flustered him, but he had steadily grown to appreciate it. In time, it had become almost reassuring, in a way, though it was difficult to admit that.
Difficult to admit that, and difficult to say the one thing that Harland said to him back to him. In four years, Alistaire had not said it; he was better at actions than words, which were difficult for him, and in spite of his lack of verbalizing what had continuously grown inside of him, it was spoken in the touch of his hand against Harland's cheek, or the press of his lips against Harland's skin.
Words were hard. This feeling, in spite of everything, was not.
His cheeks were a little flushed, and so were Harland's. Alistaire glanced up at him as he stepped away, reaching out towards the box with a gloved hand. His fingers slid over the smooth paper and he picked it up, turning it over with a curious and slightly pleased eye, though it was subtle. Harland, who had been with him for all this time now, would recognize the small and quiet signs of Alistaire's pleasure.
"You didn't have to get me anything," he murmured, which of course was true, and because it was Alistaire and he couldn't not say it. "But..."
He reached for the ribbon and tugged at it, unfurling the silky strand.
Face your demons
kuropeco
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Posted: Mon Jan 07, 2019 2:26 pm
Harland didn't worry much about how Alistaire felt about him; the sentiment seemed clear, and Alistaire had after all become so much better at physical contact that Harland knew he was trying.
As he watched Alistaire reach towards the black box, pleased with its appearance, Harland's throat caught and his heart started to beat furiously. The box, when opened, would contain a gift which had no real physical value. It was just sheets of paper on which, meticulously in pen, Harland had copied their first texts' contents and the dates and who had written them.
The first of the texts at the top of the first sheet's page read:
From Harland
O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.
The gift was, by and large, a kind of decoy. Harland reached into his jeans' pocket, where a semi-conspicuous square lump had lived that day. Before that, the lump had been waiting in various places: under his pillow, under the mattress, in with his previous life's old effects. Generally anywhere he thought he could hide it from his significant other, because he was waiting. Patiently waiting to present it to Alistaire, day by day.
Until today. Harland pulled the square from his pocket and popped it open, doing his best to lower himself to one knee behind Alistaire while Alistaire was opening the gift, or perhaps occupied with its contents.
Harland waited like that, on one knee, the velvet box open to reveal the gold Claddagh ring he'd bought so long ago in Galway, with the emerald accented by small diamonds on its band glittering in the warm ambient light of the room. On their first date, to be precise. Harland had done his best to keep its existence a secret, especially back then. He, however, had been of a single mind their entire relationship: Alistaire wasn't broken, he was healing. He wasn't impossible, he was challenging. He wasn't picky, he was focused. Harland loved him for who he was, faults and all, and his hope was that together they could shelter one another. Not just in passing, but until they drew their last breaths, whenever that would be.
Naturally, as soon as Alistaire turned to see him, Harland would be ready with a sincere (if nervous): "Would you, perhaps, consider marrying me? Forgive me for being so forward." Harland was bright red, and nervous. In his mind, there was a very real possibility Alistaire might have to decline, or think about it. That would be okay, right? It was a risk he was taking, and he was willing to take it, fueled purely by hope.
kuropeco
Posted: Wed Feb 13, 2019 6:43 pm
He didn't know why he was nervous.
He should not have been nervous. He was a man of habit and a man of many issues, but the anxiety that had overtaken his life for so many years had started to be maintained, started to be controlled. It was not gone; it would never be gone so long as he was alive, but at the very least he had gotten to a point where it was manageable, with Harland's help. He could learn to live with it instead of letting it be the only thing defining him.
He had never been able to do that before, but now...
Nervousness was not anxiety. This was not that, but the edges of it felt almost the same; a sort of restless uncertainty that would inevitably lead to something else.
The box contained paper, which Alistaire unwrapped slowly. He was aware of Harland's presence beside him, aware of his unsteady breathing, and the strange urgency of the moment. His gloved fingers moved to unfold the first paper, eyes skimming over the words, and something inside of his chest twisted. He remembered these words. Remembered them flashing on his screen, remembered the feeling of amusement and curiosity and fascination that had already started to grow with Harland.
Alistaire turned, unsure of what he had been going to say - perhaps make some sort of softly amused comment, but whatever it was didn't matter anymore. The words died in his throat as, Alistaire's heart colliding painfully with his ribs, he took in the full impact of what he was seeing.
Harland. On his knee on the ground, a box in his hand, and in that box -
The paper that Alistaire had been holding slipped out of his fingers, floating gently to the floor. His eyes were fixed on the box; on the small gold and emerald ring nestled in black velvet, and then his gaze moved to Harland's face, the world shifting around him, tilting at an odd and unexpected angle so that he felt entirely off balance.
For once, he had no smart remark or entertained quip. He had no dry sarcasm or even his faint amusement, tinged with undeniable affection. It was all subsumed in the moment, of this moment, of Harland looking at him with those eyes; those eyes that had looked at him and not seen how ******** up he was, but had seen everything else layered beneath that.
One of Alistaire's hands moved back instinctively, clutching at the desk behind him until he found a handhold. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, a steady red flush beginning to make its way across his cheeks; unbidden and entirely, surprisingly innocent, as though he had never expected to have such a thing happen to him.
And he hadn't. Not ever. Not once.
He swallowed hard. It hurt his throat.
Soundlessly, wordlessly, Alistaire held out his free hand, still gloved towards Harland. It took effort, not because he didn't want to, but because the fear was always there, and he wanted - needed - Harland to understand that this was not a rejection, but an invitation. That he wanted Harland to be the one to take it off and to maybe - just maybe - put something else on instead.
His eyes met Harland's, lips pressing together. Silent, but waiting, his heart hammering.
face your demons
kuropeco
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Posted: Thu Feb 14, 2019 4:16 pm
kuropeco
A lot had flashed through his mind while he was waiting, heart pounding, breath quick and short. He tried to take one deep breath as Alistaire turned, finally, towards him. He automatically straightened quickly when Alistaire looked like he was going to fall. Alistaire braced himself on the desk, of course, and he didn't need to have risen so quickly-- he couldn't help it.
Harland was just as surprised that this moment had arisen in his life as Alistaire was: he had long thought himself too broken to be loved, just in a different way. He wore his heart on his sleeve, so to speak, and he'd lost everything and everyone he loved more than once. He'd never quite gotten over that. Now, here he was: with someone he'd loved for years, without hesitation. Someone he thought at first was probably evil.
He tried to read Alistaire's expression, gunmetal green eyes searching his partner's face. He'd hoped to surprise Alistaire, but maybe not like this. He felt bad, as though he'd betrayed him by startling him this way. Harland did what he was best at: waiting. For one heartbeat, for two, time slowing like cold syrup around him.
He saw Alistaire extend a gloved hand, wordlessly, towards him. Harland had absentmindedly taken the ring out of the box, and snapped the box shut, shoving it in his pocket. He was holding the ring in one hand, cool against his skin. His other hand slid under Alistaire's extended one, pressing just lightly on the underside of the offered hand. Just like the games they once played.
Harland tried to find his voice. "I would never make you do something you didn't want to do," Harland said, staring intently at Alistaire's handsome face. "It's yours if you want it," Harland said, "and only then, never until then."
Harland held the ring where Alistaire could surely see it, his other hand still lightly pressing against the bottom of the glove. "Is it yours, then?" Harland asked, still quietly, whispering. Harland couldn't take it for granted. He couldn't. "It'll always be alright," he said, as if reassuring himself at the same time.
Posted: Fri Mar 22, 2019 5:59 pm
The touch of Harland's hand on his made his heart stutter. It was just a simple touch, fingers barely touching, and it reminded him of what they had done when they had first met, and when Alistaire had first started to think that maybe, just maybe, there was something different about him. Maybe, just maybe, there was a sliver of hope.
Alistaire swallowed hard. His gaze flickered to the ring, simple but beautiful, and perfectly within the realm of both his tastes and Harland's preferences, somehow suiting both of them at the same time. A part of him wanted to reach out and touch it, but the other part of him was still trying to make his mind work properly, because it seemed to have failed him completely.
He was a man of words and right now he had none.
Alistaire's eyes moved back to Harland's face. They traced the lines of his jaw, the sweep of his cheekbones, the soft press of his lips, the way that his eyes were always so full of emotion, everything bared. His voice was as familiar as it always was, reassuring and warm, like honey or molasses; a gentle and soothing thing that Alistaire liked to fall asleep to.
He hadn't ever needed anything except for this. To be wanted as much as Harland wanted him. Alistaire felt a little unsteady. A lot unsteady, as though the floor beneath him had dropped away and he was stuck on the precipice, about to tumble over into nothingness.
No. Not nothingness. Because Harland was there, and Harland would be waiting for him, and Harland would catch him, as he had caught him a thousand times before today. Harland, who had given up so much of everything else in order to provide for all of Alistaire's issues. Harland, who hadn't pressed him, hadn't forced him into anything, hadn't done anything except to treat him with the same unerring, unhesitating affection and support for years now.
Harland, who loved him.
Alistaire felt his heart pressing against his ribcage. Slowly, his eyes met Harland's.
