Welcome to Gaia! ::

“A warm up then. One we’ve certainly the time to grow,” and Syrus wasn’t going to bore Matt just then with a lengthy litany of litigation surrounding the concept of ‘common law’ and peoples rights when placed under the microscope of cohabitation and drawn out over varying lengths of time. Senshi were eternal, time was a liquid mess of endless futures, and he and Matt did not currently live together—

He didn’t even know where Matt lived, should that have bothered him? Was it going to? Maybe a week from now he’d revisit that thought and tentatively nudge Matt about things more personal than his favorite types of cuisine, or whether or not he preferred his drinks chilled.

The fact that he could take him out to any known rooftop and chill such drinks personally was a treat! But – not now – not tonight – because tonight was for fanciful possibilities, rather than realities harsh rays. Tonight was for imagining a wedding that wasn’t currently happening, wouldn’t be, anytime soon. Not that it wasn’t the height of fun to imagine such a possibility: there’d be white roses, hydrangeas, some type of lily?

“Our concepts of dating – all the entailments – the dressage, our guest lists? For the wedding, not the dating, but?” and it wasn’t possible to keep a straight face, to look into Matt’s eyes with anything but a bright grin scrunched full of mirth. It was a good time. “But-but-but—Babe..I like that. It’s sweet. Paramoure, though? How fancy of you. You know I’ve never dated a man that’s used a thesaurus before – that didn’t believe it was some carnivorous beast from the Cambrian…” or any period because he’d never dated anyone before! What was he doing!? Rambling, that’s what he was doing, rambling while roving his hands and eyes and settling himself quite happily in what he knew was his chosen seat for the night. Certainly Matt made a lovely seat. All firm lines, and small yet notable scars that spoke of adventuring. ********, what was he? A maiden in the romance aisle at safeway? Maybe…possibly…

Syrus purred some soft sentimental pleasure of a noise while trying to grasp sense out of his own inebriated fog. He would’ve rather traipsed back to saying ‘yes’ on a knee, and designing Matt’s suit; would’ve found pearl inlays for cufflinks, water-lily accents. Easy as that was because it was all wrapped up in the future rather than the *now*, where Matt was hinting at the fact that he was most certainly kissing other people already.

“...You do know about Waru, yes? Say yes, the way I want to say ‘yes’ to you,” on his knees a year from now, in the bed they’d shared for more than just the one night that he hoped to share on future nights with increasing intimacy. Syrus suddenly felt a need to be clear though, at least about this thing. It was going to be tricky, to what? Mention every crush, or flash of blush he felt when someone gave him attention, or – but that wasn’t what Matt was asking for just then, was it? “He’s all glass panes and faberge’ that one, all those colors. Then – in the fairness of openness – you can tell me about you? Who you-ah, the number of lips I’ve to worry about you kissing that aren’t mine. You’ve only the one of mine currently – pair – that mans…” a flight of fingers and flip of gold hair as Syrus did finally find a place for his hands to settle, they twined nicely behind Matts neck, and he’d always been fascinated with the way the man's hair was so different powered down than up.

No, it couldn’t be? Syrus felt an eyebrow tick up incrementally, a new tilt to his smile. It was impossible. Matt was far too cute to be alone, had this warm, easygoing, nature. The banter he’d encountered when working with the man had always seemed like surface snark, easily appreciated, easily enjoyed.

Maybe it was that they spoke the same language with only a varying of accents to show any divide. Syrus had never taken any true offense to it. Matt’s quiet, his bark, his bite. The way he wanted to flow towards the man had always made such sense— but to hear Matt had been drifting alone for any amount of time? That was mind boggling, but also in the same ways it was a shock it also was a delight!

“You know darling, in many ways you’re my first too,” and maybe not in the ways Matt thought he would be, but for Syrus? Who else did he spend this sort of quality time with where he was being genuine? He could think of two others that he enjoyed orbiting around on the regular. Could even stretch that number out to three or four — but certainly no more than five — and none of those people lived in a space in his mind where they wore white, wore his ring! He and Waru would never and Aramis' antics were so playfully platonic no matter how intimate they looked; like a lace, leather, steel quilt stitched poorly together on a dare. A skit stolen from Dante. A tragedy of comedies like Three Men and a Baby; if one of those men was a woman and the ‘baby’ was also an overly emotional and violence inclined man-child.

Even with all of that? None of those people were allowed to use his stove to make curry on. That act might’ve been reserved for Matt and Matt alone, Syrus thought. Built an entire new room for himself out of that thought. Made A cube for Matt. A cube for Waru and Aramis; an archway into a hallway that allowed their most immediate partners, but only the closest two he could name. Anyone beyond that would need new boxes to dwell in while their team lived in rings. Like Saturn or maybe like how one divided support systems between the paid and unpaid? The inner and outer. The rest of the world beyond that had earned no space at all. He really couldn't have been bothered to care beyond the whole of the world could he — that was overly expansive and far too much!

So for now?

“I find I mind that not at all—“ the chance to poke fun at Warus tendency to hand his heart out like free samples at a grocery store was right there. Let it pass instead, enjoying the relief of easy acceptance in Matt’s tone. Instead he plucked on the brighter baited hook, the one containing an actual hobby. A new piece of information to set his teeth against while gently tracing his nails over available skin; aimless wanderings while he settled into the warmth of arms.

“Not nearly as much as I mind you not telling me you’re a writer! I always thought — gardening? As a job, right! Though everyone has a side hustle or two these days, don’t they?” asked casually, with looks cast beneath heavy lashes that reflected intrigue edged by the sort of night that would’ve had him sleeping in well past any alarm — if ever he found it within himself to sleep tonight.

“You’re impressively deep,” Matt was, and having it all out loud and in the open made it easier to accept that they were indeed dating! “And we’ve ‘mutually’ a few things—-“ softly slurred, an edge of warm giddy that sat in his heart. Crawled up into his throat. He couldn’t blame the alcohol for this warmth. Knowing that people would ask and he could say the words and have them mean something close to the definition of the word.

‘Yes, Fulgurite and I are dating.’ Or ‘this is Matt and we’re together —‘

He and Waru — together as they were during the times they shared — Syrus would never say they were ‘dating’.

He knew that Waru wouldn’t either.

No, and that was fine. Time had taught Syrus to be accepting of what he truly couldn’t change, to be malleable in those ways that would preserve his rigidity in others.

His and Matt’s relationship could be a different thing and still be enjoyable; it had doors that weren’t swung wide on their hinges, so much as they were cracked. They’d check the peep holes before allowing just any random stranger entry. They’d have a conversation about it all. Syrus could live with that easily — it was both simpler and more complex than his situation was with Albite in new and exciting ways because there were no real conversations with that tsunami of a man, hard headed and hungry as he was. It meant Syrus never had to ask ‘who are you seeing now’? He simply assumed there was a tree, a deer, a bonfire and ten other fishers of any given gender variety who’d caught Albites heart with barbed hooks; accidentally, purposefully, long term, for the span of only one hour of a night or an eternity. Trying to do anything other than listen with an accepting sigh would’ve been like trying to dam up the sea.

He would’ve drowned.

Matt, though? He wasn’t nearly so large and fathomless with his appetites. That was how a spring worked, wasn’t it? A pure body that welled up under immense pressure, nutrient rich, gentle, clear…

Springs fed people until they were satisfied. Oceans made for an unquenchable thirst, an insatiable drive. There was no bottom to be seen in Waru: he was all or nothing with no inbetweens. Then there was Matt, cool enough to wade in, soft shallows with a gradual incline. Syrus was appreciative, of the differences, the dichotomy, the everything—-he wanted to chase that new and then to taste it for his own self repetitively!

Found the slightest bit of pause whenever Matt’s induction was brought up, because even sloshed he didn’t sound happy about it. Never really enthused. Sounded heartbroken, really, as if the thing that had brought them together was the sort of monster that could only take and never give. Syrus knew that fear, only differently, knew it in regards to the world, wanting to be an enigma to it. Enjoying his peace and solitude and little hidden drawers full of personality.

He couldn’t fault Matt in this, wanting to keep his side hustle a secret, he’d be too much a hypocrite for it.

“It’s alright to keep your heart close,” secrets for the sake of safety, for the sake of sanity, keeping the most coveted pieces held within velvet lined boxes, beneath heavily padded locks. Syrus didn’t fault Matt these things, how could he have? “I think we’ve much in common in that regard.”

“If you're asking me to keep a secret though? It’s going to cost you—“ the words offered up playfully from underneath thick lashes, everything an equal exchange, everything a trade. If he was keeping secrets then he wanted some surety. The proper amount of compensation. ”—I’ll need at least one more kiss.”

Kinned for sure, a pair of introverts dragged into the thick of things by all the gung-ho extroverts around them. Syrus realized he owed Waru more a few ‘thank yous’ for this — owed Faustite some as well — never would he have sought this on his own, these sorts of people to group up and build connections with, with Fulgurite himself — Matt — a man who seemed all background noise and unnoticeable glances until s**t was going down.

If not for the blight? For every joint mission before, during, after?

“I wouldn’t’ve ignored it if it were serious…” and the level of severity it would’ve taken? He was not beck and call, not a fighter, he was a twiggy little mind on stilts and he knew the things he was most useful for. Occasionally that included drama, but most of the time? He would’ve rather stayed out beyond it—- or at least not directly under the too hot spotlight that the feelings of being embroiled in it all caused.

Feelings could be a little much, this? This was all a little much, but he felt like he was floating on the surface instead of treading the depths of it and Syrus was sure the alcohol had helped enormously.

“But I’m glad I did that time, glad every other time I didn’t? Since — well —“ a glance between acknowledging the obvious before he found himself meeting Matt’s eyes at a new angle, parting his lips and feeding more buttery soft kisses over the ledge of a softer smile, a seal of exchange and payment he sought more of in the aftermath of just the one. Oh yes, he’d need more, several in fact, but the first few were a good start— and he could tell Matt what to do with it!! Would, in fact, once he figured out which way was up and why his face felt so perfectly warm, and why Matt felt so deliciously right seated beneath him.

“You could keep going…” and he wasn’t about to lose the micrometers of space he’d claimed, not even to catch a breath, he wanted all his breaths shared, owned, impossible to distinguish from one another’s, “Even if, ah, the initial payment is sufficient. You never know, interest could build up…and I didn’t say stop…certainly we don’t have to stop…”

Maybe tomorrow he’d ask Matt what he wrote about, or where he liked to get breakfast from, or about other small intimacies. Like shining pin-lights into the surprisingly deep spring he’d stumbled upon; pulling more and more intricate and wonderful secrets to the surface that he alone could covet. Maybe he could share some secrets of his own. Have those barbed conversations that only looked sharp on the surface, pointy teasing that was done out of fondness.

Right now though? All Syrus could think about was getting just one more kiss—-