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 Posted: Sun May 11, 2014 2:33 pm
[[ Thanks captcha double post ]]
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2014 2:47 pm
The darkness was easier. The darkness was safer, because it was harder for Alistaire to see Harland's face and harder for Harland to see his, which was still flushed, still feverishly warm. He had curled up on his side beneath the blankets, which were pulled up to his shoulders in spite of the heat, and he felt childlike in his actions, ridiculous and exposed and embarrassed; but at the same time, there was something strangely reassuring about having someone else in the room with him, someone looking out for him.
He felt the opposite of numb, as though every nerve in his body was alight, the slightest movements sending ricochets of shivers and pins and needles up and down his spine. Harland's breath was slow and steady somewhere behind him. Alistaire turned his face into the pillow, inhaling a sharp breath and exhaling, trying to calm down.
"Talk to me," he said, his voice muffled. It came out sounding rough, his throat dry. "Tell me about yourself."
It was a selfish request, partly out of a need to try and relax, but also out of a strange and desperate desire to understand this man, figure out the emotions and the feelings and the passions behind the words and the actions. Alistaire needed to know, needed to understand because how else could he explain his own actions if he couldn't even understand them?
Or Harland's?
Alistaire stretched out a hand blindly behind himself, groping in the dark for Harland's hand. When he finally found it, he would drag it to his mouth, whisper the words against the skin of his palm before the anxiety overtook him and he let go again, curling himself away.
"Give me a part of you that no one else has seen."
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2014 3:37 pm
Harland was smiling, watching over Alistaire. In a way, it was nice for him, too; his features were softer than he'd like to admit they could get, and had more affection in them than they should. In the darkness, it was okay for Harland to admire Alistaire and he mentally filled out the space he was in, relaxing substantially more. He leaned back in the chair, tipping his head back. "Hmm," he said, to acknowledge Alistaire's request.
Harland wasn't paying attention as much when Alistaire found his hand and put it to close to his mouth, whispering against the skin. Harland lost his voice, the heat back to his skin, the feverish need to be close and the gratitude that he had the self-control to fight that urge.
And sit still, like the gentleman he would be. It wasn't hard for Harland to find pieces of himself that no one else had seen; for all that his expressions and emotions were an open book, he hardly ever bothered to tell anyone anything personal at all. It was rare he'd even tell someone his favourite colour.
For someone so open, he was a lot more guarded than one might expect. Maybe that was the real reason behind how self-assured he was; no one had anything he didn't give them voluntarily, and so he was never surprised. No one ever had leverage to hurt him. He ran his hand through his hair, as if trying to brush the voices away as well as compensate for the fact his hand felt so empty that it hurt.
So for now, be brave, my love; you'll be our hero, some day, he heard his mother say. A very long time ago. Harland's eyes welled up. He didn't even know how to explain to Alistaire, how to pull free one thread in a knot-- if he pulled one string, all his secrets might unravel.
"Mam kicked me out when I was fifteen, because she thought I was marked by the devil. She died five years later, and all that time, blamin' me for her illness," Harland said. "When I was a kid, she'd tell me I could be a hero," Harland said, smiling, his eyes tearing up and welling over silently. "By the time she was kickin' me out, she said..." Harland shut his eyes, grateful for the darkness. "'You're killing me, don't you care that you're killing me?'"
His throat shut on him, and he had to take ragged breaths, rub at his face so that he could calm himself down to finish the thought. "I loved my mam more than life itself, an' she couldn't stand the sight of me. Didn't see her again till her funeral, and she still couldn't stand the sight of me," he joked, before he got quiet again.
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2014 4:56 pm
His brow had beaded with sweat with the combination of too much heat from the blankets pulled up, his dress shirt plastered to his skin, as well as Harland's solid presence, the brief feel of his skin against Alistaire's lips as he'd spoken against his palm; though Alistaire refused to pull the blankets back down, hiding beneath them like a child would. He wished for the safety of his gloves, but they were far away, and getting them would mean going backwards anyway.
He couldn't go backwards, not now, not after everything that had happened.
Sometime during Harland speaking Alistaire felt the tension in his shoulders begin to ease; it was subtle at first, as though a heavy weight had slowly begun to lift, and after a few moments into it he had exhaled a breath, his chest not aching as badly as it had before. By now the effects of the alcohol had mostly worn off, and he felt back to his usual state of mind - though with the obvious exceptions.
Harland being one of them.
There was a sadness in his voice; terrible to hear, as though his heart was aching with every word that fell from his lips. It made Alistaire irrationally irritated, clenching his teeth, a soft hiss escaping.
You were just a child, weren't you? That's all.
Just a child.
He didn't remember turning over, but he had, Alistaire curled up facing Harland now. He could see the outline of his silhouette, framed against the thin slivers of moonlight peeking out from the curtains on the window, and though he couldn't see his face clearly, he could still hear the fractured part of his voice, the heavy bittersweet tinge.
Alistaire stretched out a hand, blind in the dark, and touched Harland's, barely able to reach them except for his fingertips brushing against his.
"I can stand the sight of you," he whispered, barely audible. "And you didn't kill her."
He strained to touch more of his hand, fighting the anxiety with every ragged breath that he took.
"You won't kill me either."
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2014 5:12 pm
Harland didn't know what the opposite of having your heart broken was, but he felt that, right then-- mending? As if the kiss had been Alistaire pushing a needle into his heart, and his words were the thread pulling the pieces together. He didn't even know there was a break to mend.
As Alistaire found his hand again in the dark, Harland smiled through his sadness; earlier, he'd wished so distinctly that when Alistaire was hurt or scared he could comfort him, hold him. And now here was Alistaire, comforting him with a brush of his hand. Harland's fingertips stroked at Alistaire's gently again. Always feather light.
He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't. He was frozen in the moment, the relief of those words crashing over him. You didn't kill her. "An' I'll keep tryin' to be a hero, every day," he said, the smile returning to his voice, the pain present but dulled by the comfort of Alistaire's voice.
"Hmm, I'm sure ye'd at least take me down with you," Harland teased. He leaned forward, just a little, scared of making Alistaire shift again. It was hot in the room, even for him. "Shall I open the window?" Harland asked, looking around. "It's hot enough to fry an egg in here," he said. As if his secrets were gone. He didn't move. He squeezed Alistaire's hand, one pulse, like a heart beat.
He didn't want to let go again. At that moment, he would have liked nothing more than to curl up next to Alistaire, rest his head against his neck, and sleep there-- but for now, even holding Alistaire's hand for the brief moments he was permitted was more than he could have hoped for.
And it was funny to think that when they had first met, Harland hadn't realized at all what kind of person Alistaire was underneath. Some kind of PI Harland was.
Though Harland suspected Alistaire was just extremely good at hiding it.
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2014 7:17 pm
He wasn't so sure what the proper definition of hero was, not anymore; but Harland's steady presence was something, something that he couldn't - or wouldn't - identify. It was one thing to be the one in control over everything, lording himself above everyone, and an entirely different thing to let go of that control.
He wasn't so sure he could do that.
Alistaire heard, rather than saw, Harland shift, and then he was leaning a little closer, more into the space that Alistaire occupied. He stiffened, his breath hitching in his throat, but he counted - one, two, three - beats, forcing his breathing to remain calm, forcing the mess down inside of his head.
Harland was kind, but Harland was also wrong.
No. No I wouldn't take you with me.
You're too good to drag down into this blackness.
Harland's fingers tightened around his briefly, and Alistaire's stomach twisted; whether from anxiety or pleasure or a mixture of both, he couldn't be certain, but either way, he pushed the panic, forcefully shoved it back to try and maintain his sanity.
"No," Alistaire mumbled faintly. "No. Don't move."
He was roasting, his face damp, but he didn't care. His eyes felt heavy, his lashes already starting to drop. He pulled Harland's hand towards him and his lips pressed lightly against the palm of his hand, lingering there. For a moment it seemed that he had fallen asleep in the midst of it, but then he spoke, the word ghosting across Harland's skin.
"Stay."
And then his breathing became deep and even and, still holding Harland's hand, Alistaire slipped off to sleep.
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2014 7:37 pm
Harland had only been joking that Alistaire would take him down too. He would have been thoroughly apologetic, had he known that Alistaire could even conceptualize that reality. He felt Alistaire's fingers tighten around his own, and stayed put, happily. He wanted so desperately to reach over and move Alistaire's hair away from his forehead, to brush a hand through it until Alistaire fell asleep.
In order to try to help Alistaire, Harland had basically opened a direct chanel into his heart. He'd done that so that Alistaire could trust him, hopefully; so that Alistaire could feel more comfortable, hopefully; so that, in the end, maybe he could come to terms with his fear and learn to work around it. Harland hadn't bargained on the effect it would have on him. He had paved the road that Alistaire had walked down, right into his heart and his mind.
A link created that Harland had no intention of breaking, but that he never would have predicted.
"I would be by your side as long as you would permit it," Harland whispered, as he felt Alistaire fall asleep, the skin where his lips had touched Harland's hand shivering with anticipation, longing, affection?
He smiled, as the even breathing betrayed that Alistaire was finally asleep.
Harland didn't move from that chair all night. He didn't move much in his sleep, he wouldn't take his hand out of Alistaire's unless Alistaire himself removed it. He probably fell asleep for an hour or two here or there, but mostly he was growing kind of numb in uncomfortable places.
He never moved.
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