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 Posted: Sat May 10, 2014 12:52 pm
"I wouldn't know what to do with myself," said Alistaire, shaking his head. "Perhaps one day I'll visit, but for now I will resign myself to the inevitable fate of fighting monsters under the bed until my death comes - which will probably be sooner rather than later, mind you, at least according to those in my wretched division - but until then I will do my duty and be a good and loyal solider."
He was rambling slightly, talking too fast; it was relatively obvious that his control had already started to slip, the alcohol loosening his tongue. Alistaire's cheeks were warmed, however; he seemed not to notice his slip up and shifted his legs so that one was folded on the bed, the other still on the floor as he faced Harland.
"Yes, yes, I know," he said, somewhat impatiently. "I'm not a child, Mr. Belle, I can do this."
Maybe, said a nagging, annoying voice in the back of his head. But probably not. You can't even touch someone's cheek, hold their hand without panicking; what makes you think you can do something like this?
Shut up shut up shut up -
You can't do it. You're too afraid.
Stop it stop it stop it -
Alistaire's face was a resolute one, his lips pressed together, his eyes not entirely as sharp as they had been before imbibing the alcohol; but they were at least filled with determination, a muscle tensing in his jaw.
"Go ahead," he said. "Try me."
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Posted: Sat May 10, 2014 12:58 pm
Harland paused a second too long, looking at the way that Alistaire pressed his lips together, seemed to fight his own demons as a muscle tensed. His gunmetal green eyes stared into Alistaire's, and a soft smile crept back onto his face. "Hmm?" Harland asked, his voice distant for a second, forgetting what they were doing.
He came to, shaking his head, laughing. "Got lost in a thought, my mind's like a labyrinth," he apologized. "Good thing you're not a child, or I'd stand no chance of winning. 'M somethin' awful at this game," he said. Well, he used to be.
Obviously it had been a long time since he'd played it.
He did, in fact, try. He brought his hands up and tried to tap Alistaire's lightly on the knuckles. Harland's focusing face was intense; his brows furrowed, he had nudged his boots off with one foot so that he could cross one leg and lean his foot up onto his knee. His hair fell down around his eyes.
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Posted: Sat May 10, 2014 1:28 pm
He shook his head a little too hard; it made him slightly dizzy, Alistaire dragging himself out of his own thoughts and focusing instead on the man in front of him. His hands were trembling slightly, and he flicked a gaze up at Harland, a curious expression in his eyes.
"I'd like to see into your mind," he said vaguely, his gaze holding Harland's for a beat longer and then he dropped it to stare resolutely at his hands, his stomach twisting. Harland's fingers were just beneath his, a fraction of an inch away, and he could feel the warmth radiating from them without having to touch them.
It was a strange sensation.
Alistaire licked his dry lips, and waited. Harland's hands moved, quicker than he'd thought, and it was only just barely that Alistaire managed to drag his hands away, feeling the brush of Harland's fingers against his. A look of consternation was on his face, Alistaire shifting to try and get a better position.
"Wait, try again," he instructed, his cheeks flushed. "I want to try again."
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Posted: Sat May 10, 2014 2:03 pm
Harland was at least relieved to see he wouldn't be the only one feeling warm, this time. And, in fact, his careful rationing meant he was only a little inebriated. A manageable level. He felt happier by now, than he had when he'd walked in and seen the clothes strewn on the floor. Harland, startled by Alistaire, raised his eyes to the man.
"Not much to see, 's like a blank slate," Harland said, quirking his mouth. "If I could, though... I'd let you," he added, quietly, face red.
Harland wished it wasn't so warm in here. He missed Alistaire, but barely, and grinned. It was probably the alcohol dulling his reflexes, he suspected. Harland felt clumsy and slow. He smiled as Alistaire shifted, and took the opportunity to unbutton his cuffs and roll his sleeves up over tanned, muscled arms. They were freckled, too, just like his face. "Gladly," Harland agreed, and slipped his hands under Alistaire's.
He moved too quickly, and brushed them along the underside of Alistaire's hands as he tried to steady himself. He apologized, put them in position, "Guess if I could lose, woulda just lost," he said, embarrassed at himself. He took a deep breath, shut his eyes and felt like the stars were spinning outside. He opened his eyes again and pretended to go for Alistaire's hands, but returned to the starting position. He faked it out three or four times, and finally went for the kill so to speak.
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Posted: Sat May 10, 2014 5:43 pm
Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just Harland and his strange warmth that seemed to radiate outwards from him, but either way, he was beginning to feel rather lightheaded, as though the room was not quite big enough for the two of them and all of Alistaire's emotional baggage combined.
He tried not to think about it too much, and shook his head, which was somewhat of a mistake because it made him dizzier, a faint smirk touching Alistaire's lips. "Oh, I'm sure that's not true," he said, and lifted his hand, reaching for Harland's forehead as though he were going to touch it; he drew away at the last moment, but his eyes remained on the freckles that were spread out over his tanned face. "You have a mind I can't figure out, and I figure out everybody."
His hands felt absurdly naked without the gloves. Alistaire tugged at his tie, loosening it a little so that he could breathe more easily, and then focused on Harland's hands again. He held his out, fingers shaking slightly, and gritted his teeth, waiting for the inevitable.
The first few times, Harland faked, and Alistaire jerked, but then the last time he tried and Alistaire's hands shot forward, grabbing onto Harland's and threading their fingers together to keep him from jerking them back so easily. He gave a triumphant hah and for the first time a smile spread across his face, not a smirk, but a smile as he turned to look at Harland.
"I did it," he said breathlessly.
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Posted: Sat May 10, 2014 6:02 pm
It felt a little like they should open a window, or go for a walk, or something -- the heat in the room was making Harland feel downright tropical. Just because he worshipped the ground Cowboys of old walked on, and he spent half his youth in Texas, did not mean he handled the heat well-- he was, after all, Irish-born and his heart was in that country. Full of rain and hills and heather and peat.
Still, he was entirely distracted by Alistaire, which helped a lot. He watched, surprised, as he thought Alistaire was about to actually touch his forehead. "You had me there," Harland admitted, shaking his head, the corner of his mouth quirked up. "Well, if you could figure me out, there'd be no reason left t' spend time with me," he said, "and that'd be a shame."
Harland was utterly focused, by that point, on the game they were playing. On winning it, on Alistaire's bare hands, on the warmth in the room and the way his skin felt like it should be glowing. He wondered if Alistaire was cool to the touch, or warm like him-- and suddenly, he knew exactly what it would feel like to touch him again, because Alistaire had threaded his fingers through his and Harland didn't even try to jerk away.
He just looked at Alistaire, speechless, and he couldn't even really move because he was sure if he did Alistaire would have to pull away again. "Yeah, you did," Harland said, blowing some of his hair out of his face, still shocked. He wrinkled his nose in a tiger smile, and whispered, "Told you that you could." His thumb brushed along the side of Alistaire's hand.
Harland, as if becoming acutely aware of himself, straightened up and tried to control the redness of his face.
Working? Not working?
That was a real smile on Alistaire's face, and Harland couldn't stop admiring it. If you'd asked him, back when they first met, if he thought Alistaire was even capable of a smile, he'd probably have muttered that the muscles had likely atrophied.
He would have been very wrong.
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Posted: Sat May 10, 2014 6:15 pm
Somewhere in the back of Alistaire's mind, he was perfectly aware that his inability to hold his liquor was downright pathetic; that after nearly two full glasses of whiskey, he was starting to feel pleasantly buzzed, little tingles running up and down his spine.
Not to mention the warmth. Alistaire was relatively certain now it was coming from Harland himself, from the heavy blush that had spread across his freckled cheeks. It was so interesting; all it took was a few words, a few key phrases, and that redness would appear, right on schedule. Were there really people in the world who showed their emotions as easily as this man did? People as open as Harland Leander Belle was?
Somehow Alistaire doubted it. Harland was, in his own way, one of a kind.
Their fingers were woven together, and whether it was the alcohol or Alistaire's slow but steady adaptation to learning his lessons was unclear; either way, he didn't pull away yet, his eyes fixed on Harland's. Dimly he was aware that Harland's thumb was gently brushing along his skin, and the panic rose for just a moment, the nausea right behind it -
- but then it settled back down, a dull throb in his stomach rather than an overwhelming ache, and Alistaire exhaled a long breath, his gaze not lowering.
"Why would you want to spend time with me anyway?" he whispered, and it was definitely the alcohol loosening his tongue now, because he felt horribly vulnerable and terribly exposed and hadn't yet managed to drag himself away. "I'm not worth anyone's time. All I do is make things worse for other people, and most of the time I enjoy it."
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Posted: Sat May 10, 2014 6:48 pm
He had always been easy to read. He never could lie, manipulate, scheme-- he always had to do what he thought was right, he always showed exactly what he meant and felt no matter how hard he could try to hide it. On top of that, whiskey was incredibly strong, so it really wasn't very surprising to Harland that Alistaire looked at least like he was starting to feel it.
He, for his part, had been very careful and slow-- so why did he feel like he was drunk? He wasn't, he couldn't be; he'd had what, like four sips since he poured his glass. He was still on his first, after all. But if you had asked him in that moment if he was drunk, he would have said he felt like it.
Harland was ready for the snap of pain as Alistaire pulled away, the instant he realized he had stroked the man's hand with his thumb, but the pain never came: Alistaire was still holding his hands. Harland looked like he had never been happier.
Harland thought about the question. Harland thought carefully about everything Alistaire said. "Because... you're sharp, you're strong-- it feels like you've been fightin' a long time, and I just..." Harland took a deep breath. "It'd be nice to have a place to go when the fightin' needs to stop," he said, and it wasn't clear whether he was referring to himself, or to Alistaire. Honestly, he was referring to both. Harland had started to see that Alistaire was so much more than he had seemed. Normally, Harland's blind faith was just that: blind, nothing more. A belief that surely one day things must work out for the best.
Harland didn't think it was such a long shot, any more.
"Wish there was a way we could stay like this," he mumbled, before he realized what he was saying aloud. He had nodded his head at their hands, his eyes lowered as he looked at their clasped fingers with eyes so bright they looked almost feverish. Harland swallowed hard.
No, no, no-- there was no way, was he really starting to-- He took a deep breath, trying to clear his head, but all his thoughts kept swimming.
"If by make things worse you mean arguin' now 'n then, or havin' to take to arms and settle a disagreement once and awhile, I guess maybe that'd be true," he teased. "But that's about as bad as I've seen you," he said. It was true: no matter what Alistaire had said to try to hurt him, for the most part back then it had just rolled off him like water anyway.
Alistaire didn't scare him.
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Posted: Sat May 10, 2014 7:06 pm
He was not drunk, but Alistaire's continual low tolerance to alcohol was starting to become a problem.
It was why, for the most part, he'd never gone out drinking with his "friends" (he hadn't ever considered them friends, not really; more like acquaintances that he had observed in social settings). He'd attended various parties (never out of his own free will, usually as a result of a requirement for a job), but had only ever drunk wine, and not even full glasses at that.
He'd always had a ridiculously low tolerance, but after that had happened, it seemed to have gotten even lower.
And despite all the walls that Alistaire had thrown up around himself; the barbed wire fences, the concrete barriers, it still seemed that somehow, in some strange and aggravating way, that Harland was able to see into his thoughts, read what he'd buried so deep he'd almost forgotten it was there.
Almost. He never quite forgot, never let himself.
"So what," said Alistaire breathlessly, his voice slightly hoarse. "You want me to stop fighting?"
He wasn't sure what the question was. His head was spinning, his gaze a little out of focus, but he was staring at Harland as though he'd never seen him before, his throat feeling dry. He could still feel Harland's hands in his, their fingers wound around each other (his own doing, he dimly remembered, but he couldn't remember why he'd done it in the first place anymore), and the warmth seeped into him, the trembling of his hands seemed minimal.
For the first time he could feel the weight of his own inabilities pressing down on him, suffocating him, and there was no light at the end of his tunnel, not for him.
Not after everything he'd done.
"What comes after," he said, and he still hadn't let go; a record for him, but he had a terrible, burning desire to understand, to find the end of the tunnel even without the light. "What comes after this lesson? What's the next lesson?"
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Posted: Sat May 10, 2014 7:22 pm
The question reminded Harland where he was, and who he was with. There was the pain he'd been bracing himself for; the snap in his heart that he'd assumed would come when Alistaire pulled his hands away. He hadn't, yet, but it felt as though he had.
Harland's throat hurt, and the light feeling now felt heavy instead. He didn't answer when Alistaire asked if he wanted him to stop fighting. Harland didn't know. None of his reading, none of the details in his photographic memory gave him the information he needed right now.
Of course he'd feel like this. He had been stupid to think he could give Alistaire this offer, open his heart to the man in the hopes of opening Alistaire's wounds to clean them out so they could heal. He hadn't realized what it would cost him, exactly.
He didn't regret it, but he didn't expect it, either.
"I don't know," Harland said, and it wasn't a lie. "I'm not sure what you... want me to be," Harland said, his voice low. Swallowing hurt. Breathing hurt. He didn't want to let go of Alistaire's hands, and that desire was making him feel sick to his stomach. He didn't want this to turn into something selfish; he didn't want it to be about what he wanted.
"I've been in this for you from the start, so the... the next lesson, it has to be whatever you want it to be," Harland said.
He always figured the last lesson would be when Alistaire went back to whoever it was he was curing himself for.
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Posted: Sat May 10, 2014 7:35 pm
It was a double edged sword, the question, because Alistaire had no idea what he wanted Harland to be either. His teacher (the word left a bad taste in his mouth), his assistant (better), his...he couldn't think of another word, couldn't even think properly because the alcohol was clouding his mind, but so was the warmth that had spread across him.
He'd never felt such a warmth before, not even -
Don't think don't over analyze don't think don't think
He'd always done what he wanted. It was a silly statement, Harland had offered to him. The next lesson, it has to be what you want it to be. A strange sentiment for a man who wore everything on his sleeve as openly as Harland did, and towards a man who was used to taking what he wanted, to doing whatever it was that he wanted, even at the expense of others.
He took what he wanted, always, and this was no different.
"I don't know," said Alistaire, and then, before he could stop it, before he could take it back,
"Kiss me."
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Posted: Sat May 10, 2014 7:50 pm
Nothing was making sense. He didn't know what to do, or say, not that that was new this night-- that'd been the drill pretty much since he arrived, and yet it just seemed to be getting more severe by the second. When Alistaire told him to kiss him.
Harland felt the pain again. This time it was the pain of feeling something he desperately wanted so near, but behind a wall: whatever the wall was, he wasn't sure, but it was definitely there. Just out of his reach. The pain of being that close and unable to seize it cut into the memories he turned away from every night.
Alistaire couldn't know that for Harland, this situation was mirroring the last time he'd felt like he could love anyone again-- couldn't know it was the last hope, the night that had ended everything. The last time he'd been alone with Ian in any meaningful way.
It had also involved whiskey, a dorm room, and one of these two cursed brothers-- and a kiss, but a lost one. Harland wouldn't repeat that. He leaned in, tentatively sliding his arm around Alistaire's waist-- he was afraid of pushing boundaries, of making Alistaire withdraw again in a panic, but just this once. Just for now.
Harland leaned in, inhaling deeply, and kissed Alistaire's cheek.
He held there for just a moment, pausing. His lips curled into a smile against the skin, and he pulled away, relinquishing his grip and shifting back on the bed to check if Alistaire was holding up okay. Harland sat with one leg crossed, the blush gone from his face.
When he did things, he meant them. And he was scared. What if Alistaire was too drunk to mean this, what if Harland was taking advantage of him?
What if Harland was just a lesson, and always would be? Something to use, and then forget. To use, and then discard. To use, and forget about.
To use, and be left in the dark again.
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Posted: Sat May 10, 2014 8:05 pm
He didn't know what the hell he'd just blurted out, or even why. All he knew was that Harland was very warm and very much there and he could feel that warmth from his fingers all the way up his arms and across his face, and it was something he wanted to test out, something he wanted to see more of. Where Maebe was all passion and violence and anger and insolence, Harland was a stark and obvious contrast; warmth and gentleness and caution, every gesture careful not to push too far.
He couldn't figure out what he wanted anymore. The room was spinning.
Harland's arm slid around him, and Alistaire's breath caught in his throat, his lips dry, a panic immediately seizing him because wait, he'd asked for this and yet he wasn't sure he could handle it, wasn't sure he could deal with someone being so close to him.
Hey, Ali, it's just me, it's -
Stop it.
Alistaire's fingers curled into his palms in an effort to stop the trembling. He squeezed his eyes shut, and then he felt warm (so warm so warm) lips against his cheek, a gentle pressure, and a low gasp escaped his throat, a half strangled sound.
And then it was gone. The warmth slowly seeped away from him, Harland shifting back and Alistaire blinked rapidly, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened, why a gust of cold air had suddenly come between them. He sat there beside Harland, a little dazed, and swayed where he sat as slowly a humiliated flush crept across his cheeks, stark patches of red clearly visible.
"What the hell was that?"
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Posted: Sat May 10, 2014 8:14 pm
"A kiss," Harland answered, his smile lopsided. At least Alistaire had it in him to sound irate. That was, somehow, reassuring.
And the dizzying, nauseating pressure had eased up off his chest. The hundreds of voices telling him he'd be forgotten again disappeared, silenced by Harland's inner compass. He knew better. It would be okay.
He knew it'd be okay.
"A kiss," Harland repeated himself, and then began to elaborate, "which is exactly what ye asked for." His grin spread. He looked a bit goofy. He ran a hand through his hair, and undid the top button on his shirt to let some of the heat out at least, before straightening. "Isn't it bedtime, mo chroi?" Harland asked, smiling beatifically. "Should get some water in you," he mused to himself, standing up and straightening his shirt and jeans.
He'd be lying if he said he didn't still want to kiss Alistaire. He wanted to kiss him fully even more than he had moments ago, pressed close, but he didn't want to rush things. It was important to him. Harland held out one hand, as if checking if Alistaire could stomach any more. "Let me go get you a glass of water, yeah?" he asked, with those soft eyes and that smile.
Harland wasn't the kind of person to do casual. When he meant it, he meant it. That was what was so terrifying to him, when he realized that somehow with Alistaire he'd mean it. Still smiling at Alistaire, he said plainly: "It'd be nice if I could hold you, one day." Simply, happily stated, as if he was saying he liked icecream or the sky was blue.
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Posted: Sat May 10, 2014 8:31 pm
The lightheadedness threatened to obscure his vision, Alistaire's head spinning as he tried to put the pieces to the puzzle together, tried to fit them where they belonged; but they kept slipping from his fingers, falling free and to the ground where he couldn't find them anymore.
It was a chaotic mess inside of his head, even more so than he'd had before, because now a confusing collection of thoughts about Harland Leander Belle were inside of his alcohol riddled mind.
Harland Leander Belle, who was a naive, simple Irish cowboy who wore his heart on his sleeve and his emotions on his face.
Harland Leander Belle, who was supposed to be teaching him how to touch because he was the only person in this terrible place who he had known wouldn't judge him.
Harland Leander Belle, who was still in love with his brother.
Harland Leander Belle who he couldn't figure out in spite of all of this.
Alistaire had asked for a kiss, and that was what he'd gotten, even if it wasn't what he'd expected. He couldn't admit to the fact that a part of him was grateful because he still had no idea how he would handle it, or if he could even stomach it, because every fiber of him screamed out at him like his body was on fire every time someone came too near to him.
"Ali."
But the other part of him, the less rational side, wanted to know if he could; if he could handle something as mundane as a kiss, Harland's warm lips pressed against his own dry ones.
His face was scarlet as Alistaire looked at the outstretched hand and then back up at Harland's face, his simple smile. The easy comment that rolled off of his tongue and set shivers running up and down the back of Alistaire's spine, his mouth suddenly very dry.
This is the man who's in love with my brother.
"Hey, Ali - "
No no no no no stop -
Alistaire lifted his hand, placing his trembling fingers on top of Harland's.
"I can't promise you anything," he whispered hoarsely. He felt as though he was going to pass out. "I can't even promise myself anything, not when I..."
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