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 Posted: Sun Sep 21, 2014 1:09 pm
Upon returning from their mission, Harland had wanted nothing more than to shower for like a year but also stay close to Alistaire. Whether Harland had asked, or Alistaire had volunteered, or both, they'd found their way back to Harland's room for the night. Harland's hair was a mess of damp curls around his face, and he hadn't bothered to shave his facial hair back into its normal shape, yet, despite actually being pretty specific about his appearance. He was tangled up in his sheet, he'd pushed his pillow off the bed, and his face was contorted in pain.
"If you... drag me..." he was mumbling, quietly at first. In his sleep, he was reliving the time spent in the dark, and surrounded by infected. Something had grabbed his ankle and pulled him through the shadows. He had never seen what.
He thought he was going to die.
In his sleep, in his dreams, he felt his skin shredding against the rough ground, his fingertips dragging against any loose bits of the floor, trying to find purchase and halt it. Suddenly, a swinging bare bulb above him illuminated the thing dragging him. It was his mother, his ankle gripped tight in her bony hands. He had his memories back, Protection's seal broken, and he remembered when he had cut her heart out and she'd chased him down.
This was just like reliving that moment. Except this felt so real that he thought he was still awake, and he thought for a second time he was surely about to die. "Ta bron orm," he said, in the dream and aloud, tears rolling down his face.
That's not enough, she had said, you're going to be with me forever.
"I can't-- no, I need to stay in the light, no--" Harland was babbling even more loudly now, and as he said the word no he hit a crescendo and swiped off the bed, startling himself awake and discovering he'd tangled himself in the sheets as he fell off the side of the bed, and ended up on the floor, his palms pressed against his head, head bowed down, legs tangled in the sheets still.
He was crying, quietly, trying to free himself from the dream but unable, because the sheets around his legs reminded him of his mother dragging him into the dark. Alistaire had once said he wasn't responsible for her death, but seeing her again in his sleep had carved the wound back in. kuroopu a start that is okay I hope ; u; you can adjust events as you need xD <3
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Posted: Sun Sep 21, 2014 2:10 pm
He'd followed Harland back to his room without any mention of the reasoning behind it. Alistaire had little desire, let alone energy, to have to explain himself, and beside that, he didn't even feel the need to hide anything, the exhaustion dulling his senses. Ignoring everything else, he'd gone back to Harland's room and after forcing himself to shower (the intense desire to clean himself had overwhelmed the exhaustion just long enough), had all but collapsed onto Harland's bed, curled up beside him. The both of them had fallen asleep quickly, Harland half dressed, Alistaire wearing a pair of Harland's sweatpants and a too-big teeshirt (and his usual gloves).
He was awoken, however, a few hours later by a voice.
Still stuck in his own dark dreams, of blackness and darkness and a suffocating sense of nothing, it took Alistaire a few moments to drag himself awake. He blinked blearily, and there was hardly any light in the room; just a dim sort of silver from the moonlight that was blurred by the curtain across the window.
Harland's voice came again - sharp and pained, and Alistaire's eyes flew open, his breath catching in his throat. The blankets dragged abruptly, Alistaire yanked forward an inch or so, and then a loud thump as something - Harland himself - hit the floor.
Alistaire sat up immediately, panic rising in his throat, his heart pounding. "Harland?" he said, and slid off the bed, stumbling as his legs tangled in the blankets. He yanked himself free and staggered towards the prone figure on the ground, sinking to his knees beside the other.
"Harland," said Alistaire sharply, reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder. "Harland Leander Belle."
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Posted: Sun Sep 21, 2014 3:08 pm
It hadn't needed reasoning, exactly, and Harland would have been too exhausted to ask at all. The half-dressed sleep was more clothing than Harland had intended, but honestly he was too tired to undo his jeans, and way too tired to remove them, so that was how he'd slept again.
The moonlight didn't help Harland. He felt like he was still trapped under the bare, swinging bulb and the blankets around his ankles were making him whimper. He didn't answer Alistaire, couldn't answer, still half in the nightmare and still miserable. As if Alistaire touching his shoulder had broken whatever spell he was under, Harland's face raised at hearing his own full name from the voice of the person he loved.
The second he looked up, eyes red from crying and his face contorted with pain, a far off look in his eyes, he reached out for Alistaire and pulled him in, burying his head against him. He was crying again, silent racking sobs that shook his body.
Harland still couldn't find words for what was hurting him, and he was holding on to Alistaire like he'd die if he stopped. Slowly, Harland started to calm down, rocking gently back and forth, until he had stopped moving and was still. "I thought I was goin' t' die, an' no matter what I did, I was just bein' dragged into the dark," he finally managed to mumble, which set him off to his silent crying again.
He wasn't a pretty picture, and he couldn't help it in the least.
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Posted: Sun Sep 21, 2014 5:32 pm
Alistaire nearly jumped; Harland looked nothing like his usual self, his face contorted in pain, tears leaving streaks down his face - and then he'd grabbed him, yanked him down, and his face was buried against Alistaire's torso. He gave a little gasp of surprise and mingled fear, but Harland was crying -
- he was crying.
It was painful to watch, hard to bear. Alistaire felt as though the sobs that wracked Harland's body were also vibrating through himself, his fingers trembling violently as he laid a hand atop of Harland's shoulder. The broken voice, the terrible sobs, everything was terrifying and horrifying all at once.
What do I do?
I don't know how to do this.
I don't know anything.
Alistaire's fingers dug into Harland's shoulder, and he pushed Harland away from him, enough that he could see his face. His gloved hands clapped on either side of the other man's face, the expression in Alistaire's eyes one of sharp determination.
"Harland Leander Belle, you are not ******** going to die," Alistaire snapped, and then he surged forward, dragging Harland's face towards him and pressing his lips firmly against his in a hard, closed-mouth kiss. He pulled back, eyes glinting in the darkness, and maybe this wasn't the way to comfort someone, maybe this wasn't the way to help someone, but Alistaire had never really done that before, and was going about it the only way he knew how to.
"You won't die," he said, in a much quieter tone of voice, and then, his cheeks flushing slightly, "I won't let you."
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Posted: Sun Sep 21, 2014 6:01 pm
If Harland hadn't been mostly asleep when it started, if he hadn't been haunted by the psychological after-effects of their very recent mission, he would have kept it together. It wasn't that he needed to bottle it up, exactly, it was just that he didn't get bothered by very much for very long.
Somehow, being dragged away into the darkness had cut into him in a way that he'd felt only once before. When his mother had driven him from their home, scrawled hateful messages all over the house, banned him for life until her death.
Harland's heart felt like it stopped beating when Alistaire pushed him away. At first, the crying stopped because he was startled that Alistaire was pushing him away: not really because it had happened, but because he didn't remember grabbing him. It was as if another Harland had done it, the raw one that was afraid and hurt and the one who had been bearing the weight of Harland's whole feelings for Alistaire.
Something about the tone Alistaire used got Harland's eyes to focus, the crying to stop, and then as Alistaire's mouth pressed against Harland's, Harland eased into it. The harsh lines of his body, tangled in the sheets, relaxed. He eased into the kiss, just enough so that when Alistaire pulled back, Harland leaned forward a little automatically as if he could prevent the kiss from ending.
When Alistaire pulled away that time, Harland had, in fact, snapped out of it and woken up. "Ta bron orm," Harland said. I have sorrow upon me. He went to reply to Alistaire swearing he wouldn't let him die, and couldn't find his voice. His throat constricted. He thought he was going to cry again, but swallowed it back down.
Harland held out his arms, "As if we're trainin' again, just could ye find it in your heart to... let me hold you, for a minute?" he asked, quietly. "I know I'm not dyin' right now an' I know I'm in my room, but I don't feel it," he admitted. "I feel like the thing that dragged me into th' shadows in that room took a piece of me with it, an' I don't know how to get it back."
Harland was terrified. He was afraid, because now was the time that Alistaire could refuse him, could turn away and leave or go back to bed. Now that Harland wasn't unshakable, that he was real and afraid. That the dark had gotten into his heart and he needed to shake it, but he couldn't think of a way. Not on his own. He didn't know if Alistaire would stay, in that moment. In that moment, he also ached because he loved Alistaire and couldn't tell him, and the reason he so badly wanted to hold Alistaire was because if he could just hold onto him for a moment, he felt like the darkness would have to leave.
It would have to, because Alistaire reminded Harland of his strengths, not his weaknesses. It reminded Harland of the one brilliantly beautiful thing in his life, the light that Alistaire had brought into it, in his own twisted way. Lust was easy, Harland knew not for the first time, it was love that hurt.
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Posted: Sun Sep 21, 2014 7:45 pm
The kiss seemed to have done something; some of the tension eased from Harland's shoulders, and the terrible, wracking sobs seemed to ebb. The fear that had risen in Alistaire's chest lowered again, the knot in his stomach unraveling, just a little. His hands were still shaking where they were pressed against the sides of Harland's face, but the anxiety was beginning to dissipate.
"You are not in the shadows," Alistaire said quietly. "You are with me, Mr. Belle."
For a few seconds he just looked at Harland, his heart pounding, his breath quickening, because for the first time, strong, unshakable Harland Leander Belle was not unshakable and he was not strong. He was still trembling, his face etched with fear and pain, and it was a frightening sight.
What happens now?
He couldn't think about it, couldn't think, wasn't going to think about it -
Slowly, hesitantly, Alistaire's trembling, gloved hands moved to Harland's shoulders. They rested there for a moment and then slid carefully around so that they were around his neck, and then Alistaire had drawn Harland toward him, pressing them both together in a fumbling, messy attempt at an embrace. He pressed his face into Harland's hair and closed his eyes.
Breathe. Just breathe.
"You are not going anywhere, Mr. Belle."
Alistaire's body gave a little shudder, but he held on tightly, his grip becoming more secure around Harland.
Breathe.
"You are...right here with me."
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Posted: Sun Sep 21, 2014 8:37 pm
Harland's gunmetal green eyes softened, the redness only making them appear brighter in contrast. Alistaire's shaking hands on Harland's face were reassuring somehow. He nuzzled his rough face into Alistaire's hand. "I'm here with ye, Alistaire," Harland repeated, as if parroting those words made sense. "Not in the shadows, here with ye, an' where I belong-- belong? Belong to," he whispered, his damp face breaking into a tentative smile.
All Harland needed was this, just a hand to reach out and pull him back into the light. He wanted to pull himself up, he just needed this one gesture, and to wake up a little.
The emptiness and the ache of darkness inside him was stifling, no matter how he tried to dismiss it.
Was this how Alistaire felt, at times? Consumed by it? The terror, the overwhelming need to escape it. Alistaire drew them together, and pressed his face into Harland's hair, and Harland felt the terror melt from his body with the sheer bliss of being held onto by Alistaire. They had been at a crossroads: Alistaire could have left, run away; he could stay, and hold on, and help Harland stand back up again.
Alistaire had stayed. Harland breathed in deeply, Alistaire smelled so tempting-- and one of Harland's hands slid up to run through Alistaire's hair, his clean, square fingers massaging through his hair gently for a moment. "I am," he said, exhaling gently, holding on just as tightly. He was smiling, now, and completely awake.
"I'm yours, an' I'm here with you, an'..." Harland tilted his face so he could kiss the side of Alistaire's head, wherever. "Guess who just saved me from the dark?" he asked, quietly. Alistaire had been strong. Harland had been the patient one, the unyielding, kind one. Alistaire had been the sharp one, the scared one, the one asking for help. And Harland had always believed in Alistaire, since that first appeal in Harland's room with Alistaire's head on his shoulder.
"I..." Harland began. He hesitated, smiled gently, then thought better of it. If he was going to tell Alistaire how he felt, he'd do it a better time, surely.
Maybe he was just afraid.
"Sorry for crashin' out of bed an' wakin' ye, I know you were exhausted," Harland finished his sentence, instead.
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Posted: Sun Sep 21, 2014 9:10 pm
That's right, his mind said, though he couldn't say it aloud, couldn't form the words that were buried somewhere deep inside of his mind. You are mine. You belong to me, everything you are is mine, and everything you are is what I will bury myself in. I will wrap myself in your warmth and your sweetness until there is nothing else, until the blackness in my heart is gone.
Harland's hand smoothed through his hair, and Alistaire's breath caught in his throat, the gesture surprisingly simple, yet somehow strangely intimate as well. His hair was normally so carefully done, combed and brushed to perfection (along with everything else he wore), and having someone - Harland - mess that up wasn't terrifying, as he had thought it would be, but oddly warm and comforting.
Something was shifting; the air around them, the atmosphere, something was not the same, because Alistaire was on the ground with his arms around Harland Leander Belle, and maybe it was the mission with its bleak and dangerous outcome, or maybe it was because of all the time he had spent getting to know Harland. Or maybe it was because for the first time, Alistaire had been the one to comfort, not the other way around.
It was a strange, unfamiliar sensation; and yet...
His chest felt tight, his throat constricting. Alistaire leaned back, hands on Harland's shoulders and his heartbeat was pounding in his throat, loud enough that he could almost hear it in his ears.
A gloved hand slid around the back of Harland's neck, while the other touched Harland's chest; and then he was leaning forward, and his lips had pressed against Harland's, slow and surprisingly gentle. He tilted his head, slanted his face up a bit more, and continued the kiss, deepening it just a little more every few seconds. When he drew back, his eyes were closed, and his mouth was still against Harland's, so that the single word he spoke was breathed out softly, not possessively, not demandingly, but softly against Harland's mouth.
"Mine."
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Posted: Sun Sep 21, 2014 10:48 pm
Not for the first time, as Harland smoothed his hand through Alistaire's hair, he thought I wish I could call you my... What, though? What did he want to call him? He certainly didn't want to call him his boyfriend. That was for other people, not them. That was for couples who met over drinks and had normal jobs and went on dates at coffee shops at lunch and told each other they loved one another (maybe after sex, maybe for no reason at all).
Harland was tangled up in the sheets, on the floor of his dorm room on Deus' island where he was a Death Division hunter because he saw things he shouldn't and now he was there to help kill, study, and contain those things. Alistaire, the man he had fallen in love with quite by accident, was holding him close after he'd just had a terrifying nightmare that had woken him in tears.
This was their reality. It wasn't the reality of boyfriends and casual dating; of skype chats and movie nights; of fights over the remote, and of holding hands in public. Harland didn't need to be affectionate in front of others; and mostly though he liked the concept, picturing holding hands with Alistaire just casually seemed laughable. Something strange and important was happening, though, and even Harland could tell; he considered himself slow, mainly, and had little experience with emotional things like this.
The moment of weakness Harland had to go through had just served, he felt, to expose the strength in Alistaire. The strength, and the good in him that Alistaire swore could not exist. The beautiful part of him that Harland would literally die to protect; even more importantly, the part of Alistaire that Harland would live for. The reason Harland had tried so hard to get those antidotes.
He didn't want to make excuses for failure, he didn't want to say his goodbyes ever again.
Harland didn't understand the feeling, as Alistaire pulled away, and touched his chest gently. He didn't understand it as Alistaire's new, gentle kiss, deepening now and again, brought light back to his heart and made him feel drunk. The gentle, breathy word, Mine against Harland's mouth made it feel like his heart was breaking, but of relief? Of joy? And there, Harland felt, was the essence of his love for Alistaire: All the strength and sharpness of a blade's edge, but then that strength could be employed to protect. It was Alistaire who chose how he was wielded, and in that moment, Harland could not have been more proud. Nor, he felt, more in love.
"Yours," Harland said, almost relieved to say it so gently in return. "Can we... could we be together?" Harland asked, quietly, stroking his thumb gently and rhythmically against the back of Alistaire's neck. "Not so I can tell anyone, not so I can call ye..." Harland was bright red, and he got silent suddenly. "Y' know. That word is cheap, an' I don't want it. But... we just are, I think, aren't we?" Harland asked.
He was, unfortunately, ever interested in being polite and crossing no boundaries. "If ye want time t' think about it, I'm considerin' a nap on this floor," he said, jokingly starting to ease himself down, arms around Alistaire, as if he intended to sleep with Alistaire's head pillowed on his chest.
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Posted: Mon Sep 22, 2014 3:18 pm
Alistaire wasn't even sure what the word boyfriend was supposed to mean.
It was a juvenile term, a term used for giggling girls and arrogant boys, and it meant something like holding hands and going to the movies and generally being sickeningly, nauseatingly sappy and spending all of ones time engaging in much too much public displays of affection (which Alistaire abhorred). It was a term Ian used lovingly for his significant other, but which Alistaire found somewhat annoying and more than a little childish.
There was no real term for what Harland was. Partner implied a business transaction, and although Harland had been helping Alistaire out with his...problem...for quite some time now, it seemed ill fitting for their situation anymore. Lover...well, there were certainly all sorts of negative ramifications of that word, and while Harland could certainly be called a lover, Alistaire was immensely adverse to the word.
Which left him at an impasse, frozen in time.
His heartbeat seemed to quicken, his hands stilling where they lay, both resting on Harland's shoulders. He could feel every inch of him as though every nerve was on fire, on edge, and the room felt entirely still and quiet, as though the world had stopped around them.
Alistaire's mind flitted back to the letter; the one he had found left outside of his dorm room, the one he had read but had not mentioned to Harland, because he hadn't wanted him to know how he'd sat there in a sort of stunned silence, rereading every sentence a dozen times as he tried to comprehend it - and his chest felt so tight it was hard to breathe.
What exactly do I want?
For the first time in a very long time, he thought he might actually know the answer. Whether or not he was strong enough to act on that remained to be seen, but the answer was, at the very least, in the forefront of his mind, more blatant than he had ever seen before.
Don't think.
Harland had started to shift, but he hadn't gotten very far when Alistaire moved. Slowly, his eyes fixed on Harland's, he moved, sliding his hands against Harland's chest and pushing slightly until the other was leaning back against the side of the bed. And then, still moving slowly, deliberately, Alistaire eased a leg over Harland's, his face flushed, but determined, until he was sitting in Harland's lap, his legs on either side of him. One gloved hand lifted and his fingers were trembling so violently it was a miracle he could even move them. He held his gloved hand in front of Harland, and the look in his eyes was clearly scared, but at the same time, he stayed where he was, his intention obvious.
"Take it off," he said quietly, his voice shaking just slightly.
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Posted: Mon Sep 22, 2014 4:13 pm
Harland was exactly in the same place Alistaire was: boyfriend was juvenile, lover meant less and more than they had at the moment, and partner was so cold. They weren't cold, any more. Harland would have been delighted to report that. They were no longer business, and when Alistaire said the word mine so tenderly, it felt warm. Loving. Not at all like it had, once, though Harland still honestly appreciated the ferocity with which Alistaire could claim him.
He, after all, was always so steady and controlled and happy and calm. The intensity Alistaire brought to the table, or rather the confines of his room, was wonderful and thrilling. Harland tried to avoid thinking about it too much in public.
Harland had no short term goals beyond hold and kiss Alistaire as much as possible, stay alive. He was hardly thinking about what he wanted to do to and with Alistaire as more than a glancing picture in his imagination; after all, he was always so focused on making sure Alistaire wasn't rushed or pushed. He was there to undo the damage, not tear into him worse.
Still, as Alistaire stopped him and pushed him back against the bed, Harland watched him through half-lidded eyes, his face red, mouth parting to allow his tongue out, darting to wet his lower lip before he bit it, fascinated by Alistaire moving to sit in his lap. Harland's eyes widened in surprise, and he swallowed hard. He nodded.
He didn't ask if Alistaire was sure, because he knew that Alistaire would not have told him to take the glove off if he hadn't meant it. Harland reached up, and gently peeled the glove off. He equally gently slipped his hand around Alistaire's wrist, cradling it in his palm without closing his grip at all, just flat palm against the back of Alistaire's wrist. Harland leaned his face forward and pressed a kiss to Alistaire's wrist.
"Whatever you want," Harland said, quietly, his voice hoarse. He looked up at Alistaire with the same look he'd given him once, the one that said he accepted Alistaire into his whole life, and everything he was could be Alistaire's.
Everything, whatever Alistaire wanted, was his.
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Posted: Mon Sep 22, 2014 5:38 pm
The partnership, the business between them had dissolved so subtly and so gradually that Alistaire had not even noticed it was gone until this moment, until this night, when he had looked down at Harland's shaking form. Part of it had been realized while on the mission, when his heart had nearly stopped as Harland had disappeared, and the knowledge that Harland's life was as fragile here as it was had terrified him.
He couldn't lose Harland, no matter what he said, no matter what he tried to say. Somehow, in some impossible way, Harland Leander Belle had managed to delve beneath the icy exterior and warm his way into Alistaire's heart, and he couldn't quite decipher the meaning or the reasoning behind it. Not only that, but his problem, his messed up side, it wasn't entirely gone, it wasn't magically healed, but it was easier to bear when it was with Harland, easier to manage. His desire to be closer to Harland was starting to outweigh and overrule the anxiety, and it was a terrifying, liberating thought.
As he sat now in Harland's lap (straddling him, really, though that was a much more intimate word that made him blush redder), his breathing seemed to come out in short staccato gasps that he tried to hide behind clenched teeth. The anxiety pulsed in his throat as Harland's fingers slid the glove from his fingers, and then his fingers were bare, and Harland's warm lips had skimmed over his skin, and for a moment Alistaire actually stopped breathing altogether.
Whatever you want.
What do I want?
Alistaire slid his hand free from Harland, and with trembling fingers, pressed it to the side of Harland's face. For several long moments, he said nothing at all, just let the warmth of Harland's skin press into his own, his eyes fixed unblinkingly with Harland's. His other hand, still gloved, lifted, and rested against the other side of Harland's face, and Alistaire leaned forward, hesitated only a moment, and then pressed his mouth to Harland's, already parting his lips with his own in a kiss that was warm and slow and searching, edged with a peculiar shyness, a tentative tenderness that was entirely uncharacteristic.
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Posted: Mon Sep 22, 2014 6:11 pm
He knew that nothing could magically cure Alistaire, but over the past few days so much had happened that he also knew Alistaire had grown a lot as a person. From the man who could barely even occupy the same space in passing, to this man straddling his lap now. The one Harland had accepted death in order to save-- he could have held on for the rest of his life, or let go and let the thing drag him through the dark to his death.
He had let go, knowing that. Making that calculation. Hold on and drag Alistaire with him, or let go and give him a second chance. And here he was, being given his own second chance at life. In more ways than one. He hadn't died that day, but he also hadn't ever realized he could be so wholly happy.
With his memories of Auberon restored, he remembered Auberon jumping off the roof of his building, his fingers grazing Harland's own as he threw himself and Harland hadn't caught him. He remembered the pain, the misery. He remembered sleeping on the floor of his office with no heat, night after night. He spent a lot of that time sick.
Here he was, in his room at Deus, with Alistaire on top of him, Harland as red as Alistaire. At least they shared that trait; Harland was grateful not for the first time. His heart felt incredibly close to the surface of his chest, its beat thundering through his bones. He could hardly focus, every nerve firing.
What happened if Alistaire was the gentle one? Would Harland be the sharp one? He honestly didn't know, wasn't sure what else there was hiding behind his normal self. Alistaire already changed him in ways he didn't fully understand. As Alistaire slid his hand away, Harland scanned Alistaire's face, checking up on him. He himself was smiling faintly, almost blissfully, and rested his face happily into Alistaire's palm, tipping his face up to accept the kiss contentedly. He met Alistaire's kiss equally gently, slowly, at first; without meaning to, Harland's free hand slipped behind Alistaire's back and pressed against the small of it again, Harland's brows furrowing as he deepened the kiss gently.
Lovingly.
As he deepened the kiss, broke away for air briefly, and returned, Harland changed the kiss briefly with his tongue, as if he desperately wanted to bridge whatever space was between them, before he gently returned to the warm kisses that practically made him want to melt his body against Alistaire's. It was breaking his heart with joy: every time Alistaire touched him, now, Harland didn't feel the cold, nauseating fear he had once felt.
He felt, instead, like Alistaire was with him because there was no other natural conclusion, like they really had to be together. Like Alistaire felt the same about him as he did about Alistaire, finally. Or, he was maybe finally ready to come to terms with it. Harland was smiling faintly into their kiss.
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Posted: Mon Sep 22, 2014 6:47 pm
It would have been easier to brush this encounter aside; to pretend that he was just tired from the mission, needing a distraction, something to occupy his mind so that the nightmares wouldn't return, so that he would have something to fill his head with other than the sensation of things crawling up and down his skin. It would have been easier to just tell Harland he wanted what he always had, wanted no commitment, wanted none of the sappy, over exaggerated things that other couples did.
Easier, perhaps, but a lie. He wanted more than that, and maybe he always had, maybe he had just been waiting for a time when he would be able to admit it to himself that he wanted more than what had been given to him, more than he was capable of giving back just yet. It was selfish and demanding, but it was different; and that alone was a huge step.
For a moment, Alistaire almost drew back; the fear of rejection, of messing things up, of everything being different weighted in on him and he could hardly breathe. But then Harland was smiling at him, his expression utterly and completely adoring, and it was easier now, it was easier to lean against Harland, to hold his face in his hands (still one gloved and one bare, fingers trembling, but they never seemed to stop) and kiss him, slowly, gently, hesitantly.
They broke apart - Alistaire's face was flushed, and he opened his mouth to say something, but he didn't know what exactly, and then it was too late, because Harland had drawn him back in and Alistaire's eyes fluttered shut, his heart hammering against his chest. The kiss deepened, changed; Alistaire felt heat sweep over him in waves, and he pressed closer, his chest flush against Harland's, and his hands slid into the other's hair, trying to match the way that Harland was kissing him.
He felt dizzy and disoriented and so very warm and so very wanted. He ducked his head, kissed Harland's lower lip, then the stud beneath, then his mouth again, gently, briefly, before pulling away, his breathing erratic. Alistaire's eyes focused on Harland's, and then he'd reached and stripped the other glove off, so that both of his hands were bare; and he slid them through Harland's hair, traced lines down his neck, his jawline.
"Eleven minutes," Alistaire said quietly. "I want you to show me what you would do with me in those eleven minutes you earned."
A pause, and then he leaned forward, pressing his lips briefly against Harland's again, cradling his face in trembling fingers.
"I'm not afraid of you," he said, which was true; he wasn't afraid of Harland, but of everything else.
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Posted: Mon Sep 22, 2014 8:25 pm
Once, Harland spent energy and time bracing himself for the pain of losing Alistaire. For some reason, the past while, he'd completely let go of that pain and had started to move in the other direction, behaving in his eyes entirely recklessly. The trembling of Alistaire's fingertips reminded Harland constantly of how they had first met, and how Harland had promised he would always do his best.
How he had thought he wanted to be good, so that Alistaire could feel safe, and maybe find his way to that too. Not that there was any illusion about how they would interact in front of others: still probably quite cool, but Harland would always stand a little too close to Alistaire and be around him just a bit too often for it to get played off as nothing. Even if Harland never breathed a word of it.
He was pretty likely to mention the fact he wasn't interested in anyone else, though, especially when asked. Even if he wouldn't say It's because I love Alistaire, he would say he belonged to someone already. It was hard not to. He really did love being faithful, even when he hadn't been sure there was anything to be faithful to. The second Alistaire had said he was his, Harland had been, as far as he was concerned.
Probably before that, too.
Harland hummed briefly in enjoyment as Alistaire pressed their chests together, and ran his hand through his hair. It felt really, really good, even if Harland was the barechested one.
The second glove was off already, and Harland beamed at Alistaire with something indistinguishable between affection, love, pride-- Harland was, above all, so unspeakably proud of Alistaire. Everything he had ever believed was true and possible, there it was. This was the first time in Harland's life he ever had any reason to believe things worked out.
Once, Alistaire had told him he was like Ian. Harland had dismissed it, saying they were nothing alike, because he had no reason to believe his optimism was founded. Alistaire, straddling him, his gloves off, was the reason. Harland tipped his head back as Alistaire kissed his way down his neck and jawline. Harland's breathing was ragged and his skin felt like it was on fire. He listened, surprised but elated, as Alistaire told him he wanted to see what the eleven minutes would have been like.
Eleven minutes. Heaven.
The corner of Harland's mouth quirked up. He kissed Alistaire back, his brain firing all the possible combinations of proceedings for eleven minutes. He wanted as much time as he could, and he was feeling greedy but also too invested to check himself out of it. "Good, I'll never do anythin' t' harm ye," he swore, "on my life, Alistaire." Harland smiled at him, his whole heart and every ounce of trust etched onto his features.
A promise he meant with his whole body, his mind, every memory he had ever had. And the memories with Alistaire were all the ones that stood out best, that lit his way in a path he had thought was only dark. As ridiculous as that sentiment might be, what else could Harland possibly be about? Looking like he had walked out of a western, sheltering this ridiculous romantic hope in his heart.
Finding that hope rewarded, as he slowly and gently slid his hands up Alistaire's shirt, watching Alistaire's face for any sign that it was too much. He started to lift Alistaire's shirt up-- or, rather, the too-large tshirt of his that Alistaire had apparently fallen asleep in. He lifted slowly, by sliding his thumbs up against Alistaire's ribs, dragging the tshirt with him. He had leaned in, now, and was kissing Alistaire softly, but with increasing urgency.
The pace would hardly stay this way, but Harland was testing: seeing how far he could go, before it was too far for the night. Harland dipped his face down to bite at Alistaire's neck, and whisper against the skin: "Mo chroi, my heart... the second it's too much, stop me," Harland said, his voice rough.
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