dreadinquisitor (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dreadinquisitor) wrote2016-01-01 08:08 am
dreadinquisitor) wrote2016-01-01 08:08 am
Entry tags:
Fade Rift IC: Inbox
Notes, crystals, or other bits of interest.
Notes, crystals, or other bits of interest.
Pel sees him and remembers his face, but doesn't approach him immediately. She shouldn't. She should let Gavin's affairs be his own. Except she already intruded, didn't she? Made him run away from this object of his affections to come comfort her.
It's hard to call what she feels jealousy, because that would imply she wanted Gavin back. It's more that seeing him with other people makes her horribly aware of her own deficiency, that someone else possesses some quality required to keep a loved one nearby. That isn't limited to Gavin, either. She just...doesn't have what it takes to keep people near her, somehow. That shouldn't mean Gavin can never be happy.
She finally approaches him when she's only half-convinced that the idea of approaching him can be considered a smart one. She hardly ever does anything impulsive in her life.
"'Neth ara," she mumbles. "I--"
This is a terrible idea. She has difficulty looking Max in the eye.
"Gavin...is absolutely terrible at talking. About anything."
There. Direct approach. Her gaze finally holds steady.
"I don't want you to think what happened is worse than it is. He can exaggerate, it's a way he has of punishing himself."
It's hard to call what she feels jealousy, because that would imply she wanted Gavin back. It's more that seeing him with other people makes her horribly aware of her own deficiency, that someone else possesses some quality required to keep a loved one nearby. That isn't limited to Gavin, either. She just...doesn't have what it takes to keep people near her, somehow. That shouldn't mean Gavin can never be happy.
She finally approaches him when she's only half-convinced that the idea of approaching him can be considered a smart one. She hardly ever does anything impulsive in her life.
"'Neth ara," she mumbles. "I--"
This is a terrible idea. She has difficulty looking Max in the eye.
"Gavin...is absolutely terrible at talking. About anything."
There. Direct approach. Her gaze finally holds steady.
"I don't want you to think what happened is worse than it is. He can exaggerate, it's a way he has of punishing himself."
He'd thought about her, of course. Had wondered if he should try to find her, try to apologize... but he hadn't been certain that wouldn't just make things worse. To have her find him was unexpected.
And something of a relief, as well as terrifying.
Digging in a herb bed, his hands full of earth and a smear of dirt on his cheek when she approached, he straightened to his knees tensely.
"...He tried," he replied, brushing his hands together slowly. "He told me you two were to be bonded and it -- didn't go well. Was that not true?"
And something of a relief, as well as terrifying.
Digging in a herb bed, his hands full of earth and a smear of dirt on his cheek when she approached, he straightened to his knees tensely.
"...He tried," he replied, brushing his hands together slowly. "He told me you two were to be bonded and it -- didn't go well. Was that not true?"
"It is." All right, there. Common frame of reference. Pel keeps eye contact as she sits on a bench, thereby directing him to do the same. She approves of a shem willing to dig in the earth and get dirt under his fingernails, at least. This one might be worthy of one of her clanmates. "Or, it went pretty well until he left. I honestly don't entirely understand what happened in his head because he's absolutely terrible at talking, but he did leave. No mistreatment or anything, just..."
Deep breath.
"What else did he say?"
Deep breath.
"What else did he say?"
"Admittedly, it gets more confusing after that," he said softly, blinking as he replayed the conversation over in his mind again (as if he'd stopped). He rubbed the back of his wrist against his cheek as he rolled up off his knees and onto his heels, rising from the bed to approach the bench. "But I think - I'm certain, he regrets what happened. And that he's deeply sorry that he hurt you."
"He is." She swallows. "He thinks he can punish himself into being a better person because he doesn't know how to just...make better choices. He could probably use your help there, if...that's what you want...to do?"
She peers up at him.
She peers up at him.
Maxwell paused, caught momentarily off guard by the question - namely because it came from her.
"I--" he blinked again, and his head tipped. "I'm not sure he wants anything from me, at the moment, but I will always be here for him, if he needs me."
"I--" he blinked again, and his head tipped. "I'm not sure he wants anything from me, at the moment, but I will always be here for him, if he needs me."
Okay, okay. They seem to be friends. Pretty good friends, maybe.
"That's good." Light touch, light touch. No meddling, this isn't really her affair. "Did you meet recently?"
"That's good." Light touch, light touch. No meddling, this isn't really her affair. "Did you meet recently?"
He shook his head, not surprised that Gavin's clan didn't know about him. Lest of all her, likely being the reason they'd met at all.
"It was several years ago. At the annual Tourney in the Free Marches."
"It was several years ago. At the annual Tourney in the Free Marches."
She nods faintly.
"Good." She's done here, really. This is all she needed to establish.
"I've work to do. Thank you for your time." She pushes to her feet.
"Good." She's done here, really. This is all she needed to establish.
"I've work to do. Thank you for your time." She pushes to her feet.
His eyebrows twitched, veeing slightly in surprise, but after a beat he merely ducked his head.
"Of course," he replied. "And, for what it's worth, I'm sorry."
"Of course," he replied. "And, for what it's worth, I'm sorry."
[Continuing from here.]
He had wanted those words, had waited for them -- they were a pleasure unto themselves, a knot low along Maxwell's spine squeezing, drawing a groan from deep within him, arching his body closer as his head dipped to take Gavin's mouth again.
Harder, hungrier. A question despite how he couldn't speak.
He had wanted those words, had waited for them -- they were a pleasure unto themselves, a knot low along Maxwell's spine squeezing, drawing a groan from deep within him, arching his body closer as his head dipped to take Gavin's mouth again.
Harder, hungrier. A question despite how he couldn't speak.
He gave into it completely willingly, moaning deeply as he let Maxwell overwhelm him, giving in as he let his body press close - the hard heat of his groin pressing forward, rolling his hips to seek Maxwell's, to seek more--
"--wanted you so much, for so long," he admitted in a heated whisper, groaned against Maxwell's lips, the first admission like opening a floodgate.
"--wanted you so much, for so long," he admitted in a heated whisper, groaned against Maxwell's lips, the first admission like opening a floodgate.
Blunt fingernails dragged against Gavin's stomach, Maxwell's fist curling in the fabric of his shirt. Pulling it upward.
More skin. Quickly. He needed to feel it against his, to taste it.
"You have me," he murmured against Gavin's mouth, the words muffled by kisses, but the press of his hips clear. "...Do... please...."
More skin. Quickly. He needed to feel it against his, to taste it.
"You have me," he murmured against Gavin's mouth, the words muffled by kisses, but the press of his hips clear. "...Do... please...."
Creators, but that voice went straight south, taking his blood right with it. It was a call to action, of sorts, for fingers than had been hesitating, but they did no longer. He gripped Maxwell tight and then immediately moved for his belt, his breath like a pant on his lips when he had any control over them at all, when they weren't completely consumed by Maxwell's lips, his mouth, his taste--
He'd imagined it, of course he had. Both before, and since. But none his daydreams, of the sweats that had roused him in the night, could compare. None could stand against the feel of Gavin moving against him, bodies already straining despite the barriers between them. Of the taste of his lips, the smell of him....
Of just - him. Real and warm, and there, wanting him back.
He jerked Gavin's shirt up, mouth pulling away just long enough to work it over his head before returning again and pressing hard.
"Sweet Maker...."
Of just - him. Real and warm, and there, wanting him back.
He jerked Gavin's shirt up, mouth pulling away just long enough to work it over his head before returning again and pressing hard.
"Sweet Maker...."
It didn't matter that the air had a snowy chill to it where it seeped into the tower through broken stones, beat back only by the flickering candles around them. Gavin's blood ran hot enough to be a furnace in its own right, his skin the same deep tan even under his shirt, proof that the colour was less the sun than it was simply him. His fingers fumbled, too excited, as he finally managed to pull Maxwell's belt free.
"Does he usually involve himself in these sorts of affairs?" Gavin asked breathlessly, almost laughing if he wasn't so incredibly, incredibly aroused.
His mouth was already moving, roaming along Gavin's jaw and working his way lower, wondering if the taste of him changed.... It took a moment for the joke to sink in.
"If he does, he can stay right out of this one," he chuckled roughly, lips warm and firm against Gavin's collarbone, breath a heated pant. "I'm not going anywhere."
"If he does, he can stay right out of this one," he chuckled roughly, lips warm and firm against Gavin's collarbone, breath a heated pant. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Good," he replied immediately, finally getting to the cord at Maxwell's groin and pulling the laces loose with deft, if nervous fingers. He didn't let them get all the way inside, however, pulling back to go for Maxwell's shirt instead, leaving his trousers half open as he tugged it up and over his head.
"Because I am pretty sure I would lose a fight with a god, but damn I would try--"
Gavin's touch moved away just as the pressure was lessening - just as it was increasing - and Maxwell groaned, hips following as far as they could, pressing hungrily against his thigh. The fabric of his shirt moved between them, cut them off and his lips were left bereft.
The groan melted into a rumble, something like a curse. What might have been a plea.
"Gavin-- you... a god's got nothing on you."
The groan melted into a rumble, something like a curse. What might have been a plea.
"Gavin-- you... a god's got nothing on you."
"Flattery will get you everywhere," Gavin teased happily, surging forward for a kiss as deep as he could make it, pressing himself hard against him - skin to skin.
A dragon could burst through the door, right now, and he wouldn't even notice.
His hands returned to their fumbling work on Maxwell's trousers, fingers edging under the waistband to tug it sharply down.
His fingertips bit into Gavin's hips, reaching for him even as Gavin was returning to his trousers.
"I hope so," he breathed, arching in pleasure, and to help, wanting those hands more than he could ever recall wanting anything. He nipped at Gavin's lower lip and his hands relaxed their grip enough to press between them, fumbling at the strings between Gavin's thighs. "Oh, I hope so."
"I hope so," he breathed, arching in pleasure, and to help, wanting those hands more than he could ever recall wanting anything. He nipped at Gavin's lower lip and his hands relaxed their grip enough to press between them, fumbling at the strings between Gavin's thighs. "Oh, I hope so."
Even that brushing touch was enough to make him moan with need - weeks of anticipation built so high that he felt like he was on a hair trigger. His breath came out in a breathy, shallow pant, his fingers finally pulling the trousers down to Maxwell's knees, before pulling up again to slip beneath underclothes, to tease hard heat as he sought it out - and then found it.
He cursed, lowly, kissing Maxwell hard. "-- been driving me absolutely crazy--"
He liked to think himself as a fairly well disciplined man; or a well versed one at least, but Gavin's fingers wrapped around his cock and he might have been a silly boy again, rolling about in his first uncertain tumble. All eagerness and passion if not technique.
His hips jerked. He gasped another fast plea to the Maker.
"Gavin." He lifted a hand, fisted it in the man's hair. "Give me... give me a moment..."
Just long enough - just enough spare blood for his brain - to rip through the knot holding Gavin's trousers closed. To push inside and mold his palm over the answering heat beyond the leather.
His hips jerked. He gasped another fast plea to the Maker.
"Gavin." He lifted a hand, fisted it in the man's hair. "Give me... give me a moment..."
Just long enough - just enough spare blood for his brain - to rip through the knot holding Gavin's trousers closed. To push inside and mold his palm over the answering heat beyond the leather.
He had half let go - the words making him back up immediately, convinced he'd done something wrong - and then Maxwell's hand found him and his whole body shuddered, curling in closer as his cock throbbed hotly in the man's fingers.
"Maxwell--" He panted, that word alone a plea, and he renewed his grip with fierce attention.
He cut him off with his lips, moving hungrily against his. Wanting the taste of him again, wanting the taste of his own name in that hard pant.
That might have been enough, that alone, if not for the curl and flex of Gavin's fingers, drawing a helpless roll of his hips in answer. Earning him a heated stroke, Maxwell's fist rubbing along the length of Gavin's cock.
That might have been enough, that alone, if not for the curl and flex of Gavin's fingers, drawing a helpless roll of his hips in answer. Earning him a heated stroke, Maxwell's fist rubbing along the length of Gavin's cock.
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