the same damn hunger
avgvstvs:
When Cygnus’ hand dropped from his shoulder, Augustus realized just how cold he’d been. It was as if, ever since the fire, he could no longer stay properly warm. But Cygnus still felt like a furnace. One Augustus wanted close, wanted the flames to lick across his skin. To hold him and chase the chill away from his bones, and the fear from his shaking fingers. But it wasn’t a desire he allowed himself to voice. He wanted to reach out a hand and run it underneath layers of fabric. Skin on skin. Fire and ice. Close in both their shared experience and in the shadows of the alleyway.
No. He pushed the thoughts away and buried them deep, choosing instead to lean back against the wall (solid, safe) and shrug his shoulder with its still-lingering heat, “Something out of this rain, of course. But I was sort of hoping you had a suggestion.” With his mind being pulled in a million different directions on a daily basis, it took a lot to come up with suitable distractions each time they met. And with torture being a little less than appealing now, Augustus kept circling around to thoughts better kept suppressed.
Reaching out, he almost grasped the front of the man’s coat before letting his hand fall back to his side, hopefully unnoticed in the shadows. Perhaps this meeting was a mistake. He needed to escape, but he needed things he knew he could never request of the elder Black. “I’m sorry. I just haven’t been myself since….” The alcohol in his blood certainly didn’t help him keep his mind straight. To distract himself, or perhaps them both, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, offering it to Cygnus once it had properly singed his lungs (an unwanted, but not exactly uncomfortable reminder of the night of the fire).
To say he didn’t feel their electricity would have been an outright lie. It surged through him solely on touch, raced through his veins, propelled him into actions he wouldn’t have previously taken. This sort of relationship was something he had never experienced before and, quite honestly, one that he utterly wished would end. But nothing would get him to stop seeing Rookwood in their nighttime alleyway meetings, the removal of their masks too delicate to throw away for something as silly as reluctance. And, yes, he was reluctant. Nervous to show weakness, hesitant to reach out and grasp for what he wanted. Truly wanted. Because if he did that, then where could he draw a line? How could they ever stop once they had begun?
That was not to say that he even knew if Augustus had the same dilemma, he just felt that connection. Felt the energy pass between them with every moment, with every second they grazed fingers or met eyes - things that had never seemed to matter before. He knew, without a doubt, that their tension needed eventual release. It was just a matter of how professional they would keep their relations, or who would dare to cross that boundary.
“I like the rain.” He finally admitted tilting his head back to demonstrate how refreshing the mist was. “But eventually it’ll become less fun when we’re drenched.” Thoughts came and went, all unspoken, all ideas of how to turn the night and where they would end up. He spotted the raising hand of his friend, watched it drop back down, wondered if he was also having second thoughts. They both should have left, he knew, but he couldn’t manage to turn away.
Augustus apologizing, losing himself for a moment, reminded Cygnus that they were allowed to be normal together. They could drop their guard. And because of that he closed the gap between them, reached out to wrap a hand tightly around the back of the other man’s neck, and rested his forehead against his friends’. A reminder that they were together in this. He ignored the offered cigarette, aware of just how badly he wanted a drag of it, and instead focused on the feeling of their closeness. It felt comfortable, natural. “I know.” He murmured, the softness of his voice almost foreign to him. “I know. I feel the same. I don’t think we’ll ever be okay again.”
