|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Sat May 17, 2014 9:05 am
Harland's hand was heavy on his back, the other strong arm around his waist, and Alistaire felt slightly dizzy with the weight of it all, of being wrapped in Harland's embrace so much that the warmth was almost overpowering. His hands were trembling, and so were his shoulders, but he began mentally counting numbers, his gloved fingers curling into the fabric of Harland's shirt and gripping tightly.
He gave a soft snort that was muffled by the skin of Harland's neck. Alistaire closed his eyes.
"No," he said, and exhaled a breath. "Perhaps not."
His mouth found the pulse that beat in Harland's neck, Alistaire pressing his lips to it almost absently; and he leaned his body fully against Harland's, his lashes fluttering as he let himself be enveloped. He was still counting, and the panic and anxiety were beginning to settle low in his stomach.
"I'm worse."
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat May 17, 2014 9:14 am
Harland wished that he could stop the trembling just by holding Alistaire, could hold him all together and keep pieces from falling away. He knew that wasn't how people worked, but he still wished.
The kiss, and for that matter any contact Alistaire had on his bare skin, lit little fires in Harland's nerves, sending something that felt a lot like warning signals to his brain. Ones he'd ignore, because he wanted what they were warning him against. "No," Harland said, "I don't think that's the case at all." Harland said. He didn't sound like he was trying to argue a case, or establish anything as right versus wrong. He sounded more like they'd been talking about colours, and Alistaire had said I think fuschia is a shade of blue and Harland had replied, I think it's closer to purple.
Harland had yet to see anything that bad about Alistaire. A temper, a burning need to control his environment, a desire to lash out at things-- Harland didn't think most of those made Alistaire bad. They marked him as someone who'd been hurt, and found a way to cope with that pain. He couldn't hold that against Alistaire.
He wanted to try to mend even a tiny part of the damage. Even if Alistaire burned him out or got sick of him, he would do what he could, while he could. The cost of which was meaning every single thing he said and did. It was hard to keep his cool, all the time, when he was so invested in this outcome now.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat May 17, 2014 9:31 am
He didn't know - he couldn't know, because Alistaire had built walls around himself to prevent the pain, to keep out anything that might make things harder, make things worse than they already were. He'd put the barriers in place specifically to prevent anything from happening, and then they had happened and he was at a loss of how to control anything anymore.
Alistaire pressed another kiss to Harland's neck and then slanted his head upwards, experimentally trailing his lips along the underside of Harland's jaw where it slid into his throat. He closed his eyes, lingering there and breathing in his scent, his warmth, and the panic was there, the selfish, overwhelming desire to just control every aspect of his life, but it was growing more subdued the longer he forced it away.
"I told you," Alistaire mumbled, the words slightly muffled. He was still counting. "I'm not a nice person."
Then he bit down hard, teeth snapping together against Harland's neck.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat May 17, 2014 12:01 pm
Muscles tensed in Harland's jaw as he felt Alistaire's mouth trail across the underside of his jaw to his throat. Unconsciously, Harland tilted his head back, letting Alistaire have easier access to the skin. At least he shaved it into its typical shape religiously, so it shouldn't be stubbly. A low sound of enjoyment escaped his throat involuntarily.
Hard to think that a while ago, Alistaire hadn't even been able to touch hands. Harland listened to the sound of Alistaire's voice, his body entirely confused: he worried for him, he was turned on by him, he cared for him. It was weird to be pulled in all three directions at once.
"I--" Harland had started to protest, when Alistaire bit down hard on Harland's neck. He was glad his skin wasn't exactly lily soft, because the starburst of pain was enough for him even then. He gripped harder onto Alistaire, pulling his body tight against his as a snap reflex, before the pain cleared a little and he could ease up again. He was breathing heavily, and his eyes looked almost feverish.
He couldn't find his voice. Harland tried to slip one hand over to Alistaire's jaw, applying a slight pressure underneath it like a question: Tilt up, so I can kiss you?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat May 17, 2014 1:11 pm
He shouldn't have been doing this. He should have told Harland that his feelings were useless, that he was both not worthy of any sort of affection in the slightest, that he was tainted by whatever was hidden in his past; that he was not a nice person, that he was selfish and arrogant and took what he wanted and did what he wanted regardless of the consequences. He should have told him that Harland was merely someone who had walked into the crossroads and gotten fired on, tangled in the barbed wire. In fact, Alistaire had been intending to cut Harland off entirely from his life and move on once the lessons were completed.
Standing here, enveloped in Harland's arms, his warmth, he had to wonder if he actually could manage to do that. Harland had managed to break down some of his walls, had managed to remove some of the barriers of his aversion to physical touch (obviously not all of them, but enough for him to lean into Harland and not away), but who knew if it was because the lessons were working or if it was just Harland himself who had managed to get under his skin.
You're different, is what he'd told Harland, and now it was time to test that theory.
Harland's heavy hand touched his jaw, and Alistaire reached up, his gloved fingers moving it away again: a clear answer: No. But it wasn't a rejection. Alistaire lifted his gaze, his eyes tracing Harland's face, and he had leaned back, just a little, just enough so that there was space between them and he could breathe.
He counted to five. His fingers were still trembling.
At five, he stepped forward again. and his shaking fingers curled around the back of Harland's neck as he pulled Harland down. The previous night he'd been dizzied by the heady heat and the insistence and the passion of Harland's kisses, but as Alistaire pressed slightly parted lips against Harland's, it was slow, quiet; an exploration of Harland's mouth rather than an attempt at delving into a frenzy.
He'd been able to stomach the kisses before because he'd been caught up in the chaos, in the heat, and this was a test, an experiment. Nothing was touching except for Alistaire's hands on Harland's neck and his mouth against Harland's, Alistaire's eyes fluttering shut.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat May 17, 2014 7:01 pm
If Alistaire were to, suddenly, tell him he was just a tool, it would have come as no surprise to Harland. He didn't think that Alistaire could feel anything for him the way that he felt, not after all the hiding and the insisting that he wasn't a good person and all the related qualms. Harland knew that maybe they shouldn't be together. Maybe they were oil and water.
Harland didn't ever believe he could change someone. No, that would be inaccurate. Harland believed that there was good in everyone, the strength to be good even if you weren't naturally: it just took someone to show you that you had it in you. Someone who would believe in you, even when you were ready to give up. Harland could only hope and pray that Alistaire believed it, one day, or at least had the iron will to act as though he did no matter what circumstance. Harland honestly believed the iron will part was there, no problem; Alistaire was stubborn as hell, and he loved it.
Harland didn't mind as Alistaire moved his hand away, watched him lean back and eased up his arms so that Alistaire could move freely. Harland had no interest in pinning, caging or trapping Alistaire.
Harland leaned down into the kiss, and it was Harland's absolute favourite kiss so far: soft, and slow, and full of thought instead of passion. This was his kind of kiss, honestly. Harland didn't try to lean in, or to close the gap. He figured it was necessary. He just kissed Alistaire gently; it was easy: the way he felt about Alistaire, in a kiss.
It was hard to forget how he felt. It was impossible, even. The idea that he might lose it all broke his heart, and he picked up the pieces with positive thoughts every time, all within an instant of that kiss, over and over again.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat May 17, 2014 11:25 pm
Harland, to both his credit and Alistaire's surprise, did not move forward or try to bridge the gap between them. Instead, he allowed Alistaire to dictate everything; to have control over the severity of the kiss, the amount of space between the length, the pressure.
The only thing Alistaire couldn't control was his own thoughts and whatever Harland was thinking.
He kept it quiet, controlled. After a few moments, Alistaire tentatively deepened the kiss, though it was still slow and cautious. He slid his hands up to Harland's hair and curled his fingers in the red-blonde locks, exhaling a breath that was muffled against Harland's mouth. Alistaire tilted back, just slightly so that he could pull away, but he left his forehead against Harland's, his eyes closed.
"Why," he muttered, gloved fingers tightening a little in Harland's hair. "Why do you care so much? What good do you really see in me?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun May 18, 2014 3:14 pm
The nice thing about Harland having already decided he was happy with himself, happy with his life, was that he had very little to prove. He was afraid of some things, sure, but letting Alistaire take control didn't bother him. In fact, it was relieving; he didn't have as much responsibility for the course of events, if Alistaire was taking action himself. A lot harder to doubt motivation, then.
He just wished he wasn't already so invested in Alistaire and his wellbeing.
The kiss, quiet and controlled, was like heaven to Harland: like having all the time in the world, just to let them be together, to find out what that meant. The passion was unfamiliar; it took over his body, seemed to run it in heat and fire and urgency that was entirely contrary to his usual self. Alistaire was changing him.
He didn't mind the change.
"The strength it takes to want to change, despite the cost of doin' so... that is good, the purest good anyone can have, the only good I'm concerned with," he said, the sincerity with which he felt this seeping into his voice.
Harland slipped both hands around Alistaire for a second, his fingers gripping cloth but not pulling him any closer. "Bein' born 'good' is one thing, but it's not worth as much as you are. It's like... Nietszche said. 'Of all evil I deem you capable: Therefore I want good from you. Verily, I have often laughed at weaklings who thought themselves good because they had no claws.'" Harland could quote from memory, perfectly. One of his two gifts.
"Maybe you're not good all the time, Alistaire. It's possible. No one is good all the time. I'm not good all the time," Harland added, "but you're so strong, you're so intelligent... you can choose the right thing, when there are options. When those options mean a sacrifice on your part, when they hurt you, when they leave you weaker... you can choose an' that's beautiful," Harland said, shutting his eyes, brows furrowed.
"An' that's why it's you," he finished, "you... an' no one else," Harland whispered. He hoped Alistaire understood. You, and no one else.
It wasn't Ian.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun May 18, 2014 6:24 pm
He heard Harland's words as though from far away, Alistaire's eyes half-lidded as he studied the way the light played off of the piercing beneath Harland's lower lip. Strength was something that was objective, subjective; there were too many variables, too many definitions of a very broad term. He considered himself to be apt in certain regards, to be intelligent in others, and to be familiar with a great deal more, but whether or not that could be considered strength was an entirely different story.
But whether or not what Harland was saying was true was different. From the sound of it, he certainly believed it was true, but that didn't make it true; it didn't make it the right thing, even if Harland believed it did.
Harland's hands had slid around behind Alistaire and he gave a little hiss of surprise and panic, but Harland didn't try and force him closer, and after a few seconds the anxiety settled to a dull ache, Alistaire leaning his head away and sliding his hands experimentally down to rest on Harland's broad shoulders.
He didn't - couldn't - see the truth in what Harland was saying, and it made his chest ache, made his head throb painfully. Harland's positivity was one thing, but this was something else entirely, something frightening, something heavy about the weight of Harland's words.
How could anyone like this man exist? It was impossible for someone to be so strangely poetic without realizing it; a lyrical existence built on rhythms and music and musings that all seemed to fit together in a confusing puzzle that he had yet to put together.
But he did know one thing, at the very least - and that was that he wanted - he needed this man to accomplish his goals; and not only that, but he needed him not to be distracted by anything else; and if that meant going along with the flow, going along with what Harland wanted, then so be it.
Alistaire lowered his arms slowly until his hands were resting on Harland's hips. He took a single step forward, his heart in his throat, and then he was leaning the entirety of his body against Harland's, his breath quickening, his shaking fingers curling in the fabric of Harland's shirt.
"I'm telling you right now, Harland Leander Belle," he said, and pushed up, covering Harland's mouth in a searing kiss highly reminiscent of the one from the night before, all passion and frenzy and chaos, an edge of roughness. When he pulled back his eyes were glittering.
"You're mine."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun May 18, 2014 8:34 pm
Harland was glad he hadn't moved in, when his hands had gripped Alistaire's shirt; the reaction just from that alone confirmed his suspicion that now was not a getting close time.
Isolation was likely the answer to Alistaire's thought. How could anyone be like Harland? He'd been alone so much, he hadn't really had anyone's example to go by. He hadn't had anyone stable, really, just his mum: he'd grown up loving cowboy movies, and idealizing the sheriffs that kept the towns safe. He wanted to be like that.
He still did, even after all this time.
Still, if he knew that Alistaire was considering him as a means to an end, maybe it would be different. Maybe Harland could have armoured his heart, hidden away the more sincere parts of himself. Maybe. He wouldn't have, though; the reality was, Harland would still do what he was always going to do, even when he understood the stakes and the players and the odds.
That was why it was a weakness, not a strength, that he believed infallibly in the good in everyone.
"I am, yeah," Harland said, softly, as the kiss broke. His face was smiling, but the words felt more like something he'd see on a tombstone. You're mine. Not in the thrilling way, the way that meant we're for each other.
No, the way that Harland's wings'd be clipped, and he'd sing from the windowsill. A lonely cowboy, kept in the dark, till Alistaire didn't need music any more. Harland hoped he was wrong, but he couldn't shake a sense of uneasiness growing inside him, every day.
"Maybe... you should return to the training field," Harland said, with a lopsided smile, one hand groping the space behind him for the door handle.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun May 18, 2014 8:49 pm
He'd expected a return of the heat, of the passion. For Harland to lean into him, to pull him close and return the feverish kiss Alistaire had just given to him, to wrap his arms around him and hold him so tight he couldn't breathe, couldn't think.
Instead he got a slightly vague response and a not-so-vague rejection, Harland leaning away from him. The expression on Alistaire's face darkened, his gloved hands slipping away from Harland's waist to rest at his sides, and he couldn't stop the anxiety that spread up and down his spine, the strange tingling sensation.
"No," he said, stepping to press a hand against the door, keeping it shut. "No, not yet."
His head was throbbing painfully. He wanted to lie down, to run around, to shower, to wrap himself up fully in Harland's arms and bury himself in that warmth, and he wanted to sit outside in the cold and let it numb him to everything else. The conflicting emotions were terrible and confusing, a lack of control, of his own sense of self.
"What about what I said?" he asked, and lifted a gloved hand, running his fingers along Harland's lower lip. He couldn't feel his skin through the fabric, but he could feel the fullness of it, the warmth. "That you shouldn't kiss anyone but me. That I want you to want me."
His face flushed a little. Alistaire leaned closer, not quite touching Harland, but close enough that they were barely an inch away.
"I like it when you kiss me," he said, his cheeks red with the admission, but his expression was resolute, determined.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon May 19, 2014 5:02 am
Harland nodded his head, acknowledging not yet. It wasn't that he wanted to get away: he didn't. Which was why it was an important option. He didn't want to give in completely, until he couldn't remember why he'd ever been apprehensive, not just yet.
Harland's eyes shut when Alistaire ran his fingers along his lower lip, an actual smile blooming. He really did want to kiss Alistaire again, he always did. "I do want you, and I don't kiss anyone but you," he said, amused.
"I gave you my word, an' it stands."
Harland's eyes opened again. Alistaire liked it; hearing that cheered him up, at least a little. "I just don't ever want to make you more uncomfortable than you have to be," he tried to explain, "An' sometimes I worry that you'll get bored of me once you're... well, once you're better enough not to need me," Harland explained.
It had taken him an unusually long time to honestly say what he was afraid of; normally, that was Harland's first approach. Was it really that frightening, that he hadn't even been able to admit he was afraid?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon May 19, 2014 7:29 am
A slow, satisfied smile found its way across Alistaire's lips. He liked the smile, and he liked the fact that Harland wanted him, which was simultaneously annoying and frustrating and thrilling all at once, because it was something new, something different, something unexplored.
The smile faded a little at the rest of his sentence, however, sending warning bells ringing in Alistaire's head. He stared at Harland with wide eyes, his heart pounding, and tried to force away the sudden rush of anxiety that had shivered up and down his spine. Taking a small breath, he stepped back to Harland, sliding his arms around his waist and pressing his face against the crook of Harland's neck. His lips found the spot he'd bitten before, and he pressed a kiss, light and curious.
"I need you," he said, his voice muffled. "I want you to want me, and I want you to kiss me."
His fingers curled in the back of Harland's shirt as he leaned back enough to see Harland's face. Experimentally, Alistaire stretched his head up and pressed the lightest of kisses against Harland's lower lip, party against the piercing so that he could feel the cold metal against his mouth.
"I need you," he whispered as he drew back, licking his lips. "I need you, Harland."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon May 19, 2014 3:22 pm
What would have happened, if Alistaire had never asked for his help? What would have happened if Harland had the good sense to lock away the parts of himself he'd willingly exposed, instead of allowing Alistaire open access to them? Would he be here, in this place? Unlikely.
Or if he was, maybe it wouldn't be so important to him.
Harland watched the change in Alistaire's expression, thought he felt his heartbeat speed up, and as he watched Alistaire come closer he couldn't help the way his heart seemed to skip a beat.
I need you. It was not a good thing, not to Harland, not in this case. He needed him like a painter needed their brush, or a photographer their camera. That's how it felt. At least he got kissed, though, right?"I'll be with you as long as you need me, then," Harland said, hiding the sad weight of his expression in a half smile and their light kiss.
The second Alistaire was drawing back, licking his lips, Harland had very carefully wiped away all traces of his sadness. "Till you don't need me any more, just yours," he said, beaming.
Except he didn't really mean that smile, and that cut him; Harland hated lying, hated it even if his facial expression was the only lie he was telling. He couldn't do this. He could do this. Couldn't, could.
Would have to, because he promised. Didn't want to be in love, and couldn't help it. He just wanted to pull Alistaire into a crushing embrace, lean his forehead against his cheek and then whisper into his ear: Give me back my heart, it wasn't yours to take. Something about everything Alistaire said slipped right off Harland, like it didn't mean anything.
He couldn't hear any good in it, maybe that was why. He just heard the selfish requests, and perhaps that was what he'd realized: he loved Alistaire, and he could show it. Alistaire only wanted him, needed, and that was enough for Alistaire-- the end, simply a need that should be met. Harland needed to get out of this room, soon, or he felt like he was going to suffocate.
He never was a good liar.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed May 21, 2014 6:36 pm
The kiss was too light, the smile too forced. Alistaire stared at him, leaning back and looking at the bright way in which Harland was looking at him and wondering if he had imagined it; but something still seemed a little off, a little not quite right. And now Harland was leaning slightly away from him, as though he wanted to get out and Alistaire couldn't quite figure him out, his expression darkening.
"Do you mean that, though?" he asked, and his tone was flat, even. Slowly his hands slid away from Harland, fell to his sides. "Do you mean it, or are you just saying it to appease me? Your words say one thing, but your eyes say something else."
He was beginning to grow angry, and he didn't want to. Slowly Alistaire's fingers curled into fists at his sides.
"You act like this is a life sentence," he snapped, his heart pounding, the blood rushing in his ears. Nausea rose in his throat, but he forced it away, dragged back the calm that he was so used to having, that he had had before Harland but had long since been shattered by him. "I'm not making you do anything, Harland Leander Belle. I told you - I told you - " His face flushed pink. "I told you that I needed you, that's not a prison sentence."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
