shadowreigned:
although he’s still getting used to the adjustments that the change brings on, nixon doesn’t think that strength will ever be one that he can wrap his head around. he only notices that he’s tugged too hard when aspen winces in pain at the action, and his face briefly contorts into one of guilt, shame, as he looks up at his tiny little lover, his own pitied noise trapped in his throat. nixon’s green gaze searches his expression desperately while his fingers quickly massage at the bunched muscles of aspen’s shoulder, a quiet ‘i’m sorry’ passing through him. no, he muses, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to temporarily being stronger than aspen, when it was painfully obvious before that when human, aspen had been stronger than him.
perhaps, in more ways than one.
nixon doesn’t dwell on the negative thoughts that try to force their way into his mind, a metaphorical fortress of cement walls so high that it’s a wonder how any person can penetrate them. aspen is the exception. aspen is the only one who nixon swings the door wide open for, begging him inside with a look that screams i’m yours. he always has been. and he always will.
nixon groans with elation when aspen presses himself just as desperately into him, though he can feel the exhaustion nipping at both of them, the desire to stay until the last thing they have to do is pry apart. at the mention of bennie, nixon’s lips curl into a sardonic grin — he loves bennie immensely, but even he wouldn’t tolerate her splitting them apart. not unless she wanted to be on his good side. “i’d like to see her try.” nixon says with a bit of a growl, the noise rumbling dark in his throat. even the idea… it twists his gut in ways that he knows isn’t quite healthy, but who can blame him? years of disbelieving in everything aspen stands for… he’s not willing to give it up so easily.
and then aspen starts playing with the curls at the base of his neck, and whatever dark resolve nixon has started to let fester, eases just as quickly as it came. he’s found that lately, the beast inside of him is more than willing to rear its head at the first sign of tempers being raised, and he doesn’t know if it’s the versuch side of him or if it’s always been there. god only knew after the death of sebastian, nixon wasn’t the same. “that sounds like a fantastic idea.” nixon muses gently, angling his head up so he has access to aspen’s neck. he presses kisses along the column of his windpipe and only stops when he feels himself start to get carried away, nips turning harder, mouth lingering longer. for once, he just wants to unwind naturally — not by something he’s inherently caused. not when aspen sinks too easily into him.
“aspen—” he chokes on his name, always, and tightens his grip on whatever place of aspen he holds. nixon gets lost in the warmth of him, the perfect way he molds against him, and nudges his nose softly against the sharp cut of aspen’s jawline. “how often do you dream of me?” nixon knows the answer before aspen says it, but it’s not from heightened intelligence. the question is simple, but so much more: a rooting mechanism, one that pulls the other from their troubled thoughts, their growing hysteria, come-what-may. always. nixon’s been on the opposite end of the question a thousand times. it always works. “how often am i on your mind?”
just as quickly as it came, the pain in aspen’s shoulder subsides completely, nixon’s touch and his genetically accelerated healing both doing their part to ease the ache. he, too, forgets that his lover now far surpasses him in strength, and likely will for a few more months at the least. admittedly, it’s as unsettling as it is reassuring; while he takes comfort in the idea that nixon can defend himself better than ever before, he also doesn’t yet know his own power. that self-awareness will come with time but, for now, he’s like a fawn still finding footing on shaky legs — which means, on occasion, he still unintentionally jerks aspen’s arm out of its socket.
he supposes there are worse things.
“you’re right. she wouldn’t dare,” he giggles, slightly drunk off the feeling of nixon’s teeth on his neck. unconsciously, aspen rocks his hips side to side, desperate to readjust his weight so it isn’t settled so uncomfortably on his groin. nixon bites hard enough to sting and aspen inhales, sharp, toes curling in his boots. “no one would…” if he thought his family inexplicably respected him before, it was nothing compared to now. nixon’s towering presence is a constant, unspoken threat, punctuating aspen’s orders with a menacing glare. people listen to aspen when he talks — but nixon doesn’t have to say anything.
together, they’re quite a pair. bennie has said as much.
nixon’s voice drifts to him on a warm breath against his throat and aspen hums, a knowing smile working its way across his face as he shuts his eyes. it’s rare he remembers his dreams, and the ones he does are indistinct and lack a storyline, but they’re full of texture and contrast, nixon’s face, touch, taste, smell flashing across his mind’s eye. even if he wanted to, aspen could never keep him out of his mind. his dna is wired to crave nixon.
“not a single moment passes where you i don’t think of you,” he coos, burying his face further into nixon’s collarbone. he wishes they could get closer. if he could, aspen would melt into his fiancé, never be without him. everyone else, he could sacrifice. “you’re my everything.” despite his mumbling, aspen’s words carry weight. “my beginning and end. mio tutto cuore.” the truth has never fit so comfortably on his tongue. “can we go to bed? i wanna lay with you.”
