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 Posted: Thu Sep 29, 2016 10:50 pm
on a scale of one to ten
Thorne exhales and looks at Chris, eyes blown wide, galaxies shifting in his chest, a garden growing between his ribs. It splinters apart a bone, two, until it reaches his heart.
"No," he says, softly, "You were never like them."
He exhales sharply at the hands against his skin, the warmth that bleeds into him. He feels like a thief, a criminal, someone slipping beneath the boughs of a tree in the garden of eden, trying desperately not to get caught. He wants the impossible. He wants Chris, and that want is a longing that will always strike him hard and true, for however long he lives. A resonance in his bones, an echo shouting the words back at him: you love him. You love him.
"Am I?" He retorts, his voice deep and melodic, curious. "Oh, so you would protect the beast from the slayers of the world? Isn't that the opposite of what is meant to happen? I would trap you forever, if I could, feed you stories every night just to try and keep you close, make you stay."
He pauses, breathes sharply. "How would you rewrite it? What would you say?" He smiles, but it is dangerous, fanged. He is not over the edge, his alcohol tolerance leaving him with a heavy buzz, but the alcohol still loosens the edges. "You don't think I know how those stories are written? I am the villain of the story. You should know to run."
Thorne's eyes flicked up at Chris, wild, and something runs through him like a current, like electricity, brittle and terrifying. He feels rubbed raw by Chris's words. He wants to take him home and see if he is bluffing or not. He wants -
"Then prove me wrong," Thorne breathes, "show me what you can do."
His lips curve into a slight smile, a fanged thing. "No," he offers, "you can't."
And it is simple. It burns from his mouth like truth, like scripture, like reverence and salvation, hot and catching fire with every second he is allowed to do this. To taste something beyond his reach.
And then Chris pulls him in and kisses him, and Thorne can taste the soju, but more than that he can taste Chris. And everything in him burns, like a match dropping into an ocean of kerosene. His hand lifts, reactionary, and he lets his fingers tangle in Chris's hair, catches him closer, drags his mouth against his lips in a hungry, remembering gesture.
But he doesn't let it go deeper, let it go longer than a minute, his lips sliding up to kiss the corner of Chris's mouth, and then drag against his cheek to the cornerstone between his bottom lobe and his jaw. He thinks, this isn't real, because the soju and whiskey sour the air around them. He thinks, Oh. So this is what I can't have.
"I'd be yours if you asked me," Thorne says, "I'd be yours forever if you wanted, you impossible creature. Don't you realize that?"
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Posted: Thu Sep 29, 2016 11:20 pm
on a scale of one to ten
It's a sudden relief, a weight of his shoulders, when Chris hears that answer. Knows with absolute certainty that he didn't hurt Thorne, didn't cause any of the scars that he has. Something in him still doubts, still eats at him, still says something but for now the rest of him is calm and relieved.
He flicks his eyes towards Thorne, wishes that he could have his hands on him again. An excuse, anything, to feel his warmth and know that he's here. That even if he wants the impossible, at least half of it was still around. But instead he just curves his mouth into a smile, pretends he doesn't want. "Yes, but since when have we ever done what we were supposed to?" Chris asks, "If you could, you say, don't you know that you already have? I'm staying, god I'm staying. I would stay in any lifetime."
"How would I rewrite it?" Chris echos, drums his fingers on the bar. "Easy. You wouldn't be the villain, for one. You never are one to begin with, you're so much more. So much better."
I love you, lays unsaid on his tongue. Even with him being drunk, Chris knows better than to let that into the air. Knows better than to even let that thought stay, let it fester in him, dangerous. It was one thing to have a crush, Chris could deal with that. But love? Oh, no. Absolutely not.
"Take me home then," He whispers, breathy, pleased. He wants to do this. He wants.
He wants because Thorne is honest and he believes in Chris, easy as the words that fall from his mouth and sound like a truth. He says it like he means it and Chris feels alive.
So he kisses him and he's almost afraid at first, he won't reciprocate, but Thorne leans in himself and tastes like whisky. He tastes like whisky and hope and and absolute and utter possibility.
Chris is drunk and he loves this and when Thorne pulls away he makes a disappointed noise, but he doesn't move far. He lets himself rest against Thorne, lets himself wonder if he could have this.
And Thorne says and Chris is blindsided, sitting there shocked. "I-" He begins, but he doesn't know how to end it. I've wanted you for forever, I can't believe you're offering this to me, I like you, I lo-
Instead of any of that though, he ends up saying, "I don't feel well." Because the truth is the walls are starting to spin and things are starting to get weird and the last thing Chris does is, rather ungracefully, pass out.
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Posted: Fri Sep 30, 2016 11:51 pm
on a scale of one to ten
It is everything Thorne wants and more, and his heart twists at the feeling. He presses his lips together, tilts his head, part of him hating the alcohol now, the fact that they are drunk and blunted and fumbling around like kids in the dark. What kind of conversation would this be if they were sober? If Thorne was brave enough without the comforting buzz to say these things out loud?
"You sound so sure," Thorne breathes, because even if he is not the villain, he is no hero either. At best he might be a monster, a beast to be slain. The dragon - oh yes. The dragon that steals away the prince of summer and falls endlessly, helplessly in love. "I will," he adds, breathlessly, wanting, "I would, every night, if only you asked."
The kiss burns him, straight to his core. Leaves him wanting and ragged, a starved animal tasting again for the first time what it means to be full. Thorne thumbs a pattern against Chris's skin, his hand burning against the blonds neck. He wants and wants and wants. He wants and knows he is greedy. Oh, and that is why he has to stop. He knows they're both on the edge of drunk or falling over, and this could be bad.
It is bad.
Thorne doesn't manage to make out a reply before catching Chris as he passes out, his brain trying to go a million miles per second beneath the heady haze of alcohol, and thank god Coalsmoke isn't far. He isn't sure what to feel at first - there is a burst of something though, so great and all-consuming that it nearly makes him want to hurl, want to bend over and wish for it to stop.
This is what I can't have.
So he takes Chris home, calls a cab, pays off their drinks and worries away his buzz on the couch, sleepless, with Chris in the next room.
It isn't until the sun crests the very peak of the world, spilling the first hazy strings of dim orange against the low cloud line that Thorne coerces himself to crawl beneath the covers of the bed and try to pretend that he is alright.
That this, as with all things, does not hurt as much as it does.
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