Liquefaction

I tried to breathe in and exhale at the same time, and quite frankly it was a fucking mess. Nigel | 29 | Bartender "The soul crushing decision to give up."

[parker-kipling]

I mean – [He looks down at the smushed and battered and remembers that softness that he let crop up in the quiet moments when it was easy to close his eyes and let go and breathe. And maybe, just remember that he isn’t cheating on Maria for the fucking thrill. And anyone within a city block could tell that.

Easier to get calls in the middle of the night. Easier to sneak over when everyone’s sleeping. Easier to disappear for a week and tell no one that he’s one door over. To ghost his way through this than to admit any semblance of depth.

He shakes his head at it.] – I don’t really give a shit, but if it makes you feel less weird for bringing me fucking flowers.

[nigel-marvalli]

[The laugh he chokes out is nervous at best and he doesn’t even want to think about what it sounds like at worst.] I thought-- [No, it doesn’t matter what he thought. He tucks those words away for later, when they can both laugh about them with a little less at stake.]

I’m just-- Sorry. You know--

[He shakes his head and glances around; too used to having the privacy of his apartment to say whatever he wants aloud in.]

I shouldn’t say this here, but you know... what you mean to me. More than him. So much more. And I saw flowers, so--

[parker-kipling]

[It’s simpler to be angry – something Parker had learned quickly and early, in the most stereotypical father-to-son-trauma type of way that screams manpain and bleeds all over everyone he’s ever loved. Anger: all sympathetic and nerve-firing in that stunning way that doesn’t even bother to ache. Too perfect for the textbook self-destruction that comes too easy and lasts too long.

Nigel was never going to be an exception to that, and if he didn’t know it then he would soon learn. Because there were no exceptions. And no wide-eyed charm or naive-gestured sweetness had ever spun the clock back long enough to keep his emotions in check. Why should it matter now? Why should any of it?

It isn’t his fault if the breathy way his voice wavers only makes that fire build higher. Or his face, too eager when he opens the door. It wouldn’t matter if Parker’s mimicked it perfectly. Which, he might be. He can’t tell.

He looks down.] Did you just drop a bunch of fucking plants on the ground?

[nigel-marvalli]

[He contemplates for a moment kicking them away, as if he can cover them with some other part of the hallway carpet. Thankfully, that’s an urge he controls, and he does not indeed make himself look even dumber than he already has.]

Um. [But the answer is not so easily in reach.] I-- yes.

[’I didn’t meant to.’ He doesn’t say. Nor does he mutter quietly, ‘They were meant to be for you. He leaves it at yes, and clears his throat like that might make it well enough clear that he’d like to move on from it.]

Sorry.

[And he doesn’t even know if the sorry is meant to be for the flowers or for all of it -- if maybe his mouth leapt ahead of his mind and gave him away. He half expects Parker to shut the door in his face.] I’ll clean them up?

[nigel-marvalli]

[He hates when they fight. Well, Nigel hates any time he and Parker aren’t on solid footing, which is most always considering their circumstances. But it’s easy enough to say sorry -- to own up to maybe stepping out of bounds if it means they don’t have to walk on eggshells anymore.

He’d picked flowers. Which, in hindsight was probably a stupid move, but he’d walked home from work and thought -- hey, that’s usually -- Well, usually doesn’t matter. He should trash them, or hide them, because they won’t help here. Parker won’t care. He’s not his boyfriend, he’s the affair next door.

And he drops them two seconds after he knocks. Three before the door swings open, and Nigel does his best to look like he is not standing in a dusting of crumpled stems and petals. Nope. Not him. Not at all.]

Hey. Um, can we talk? [And he hates the way his voice sounds just too breathy and hopeful too. Still, Parker is a sight for sore eyes.]

[parker-kipling]

Because I haven’t given you any reason to stay.

[And it’s there, and it’s honest. Earnest in a way he hadn’t yet gotten used to being, but still manages to let slip out like it’s his last option.

Because there has been nothing in what he’s offered Nigel that would keep him here, if it were the other way around.

Fuck me. Be with me. Only me. Sit around while I go on dates with someone else and bring you to parties as my “friend”. Watch me get drunk and laugh with her and kiss her and not say anything about it to you that even resembles an apology. Just accept the next 48 hours of movies and sex and cuddling on the couch, no interruptions.

Parker knows better than to think that that’s anything like a good deal. Knows that what he wants is to fucking own Nigel and know that no one else can touch him. That he could go through his phone and see nothing but Parker, in text, in photos. Wants him to be his, fully, totally, without question.

And he can’t say if he wants more than that because more has strings. More means less elsewhere that he isn’t ready to cut off.

But he wants it, more.] I wouldn’t, if I were you.

[nigel-marvalli]

[Nigel lets out a breath, soft and resigned. It's freeing, sort of. Like all the weight on his shoulders has lifted, at once, for good. And he knows that it hasn't -- far from it -- but it's good enough. For him, for now, for them -- it's good enough.

Nigel's never going to outrun the paranoia, or the feeling that he isn't worth it. But maybe he doesn't need to. If he could bite back on all of the feelings he isn't supposed to have, and just let Parker take what he wanted, it could all still work.]

We both know I don't exactly go for what's good for me.

[And it's honest, though he doesn't particularly want to call Parker a bad choice. He is though, if Nigel is being totally straight. He should leave. He should tell Parker to leave, but he's never going to. What fun would that be?]

Besides, I've stuck around through worse.

I want this, Parker.

[That's perhaps the simple truth of it. He wants this, even if he shouldn't. Even if there's no reason to. Wanting isn't rational, and never has been with him. He's wanted drugs, and strangers, Allan, blood, a time machine, a simple end -- plenty of things. Now he wants Parker.

It's not so easily shaken, and for the moment there is no energy left in him to try.]

[t-ovva]

[onlyoneovaryohgress]

I need to balance all of today’s hotness with this.

[parker-kipling]

[It’s a shocking sort of feeling, seeing him like this. Still vulnerable and wanting, the way Parker had grown used to seeing him, but less soft. Harsher, like he has ground to stand on, even if he feels it wobbling beneath his feet. Even if Parker is the quake that could knock him down, if he only rattled hard enough.

Maybe it’s the control issues within him — the blatant need to wrap himself around any and all situations and claim dominance. The want to hold onto something and call it his own, whether he had right to stake a claim or not. Maybe that’s why he hates seeing him this way. Dejected, divisive, end-of-the-rope questioning that seeps into his pores and spills something awakening all over him.

Tired, alert. Monochrome, vivid. He’s blurs where there should be definition. Nothing where there should be everything. And everything where there should be nothing.

Like here — bare bones and eclipsed by the want that is Nigel. He wants to rake his hands down his face, pull the skin off and shed into someone new, someone easier. Better.

He just shakes his head, instead.] If it were about not wanting you, you really think I’d give two shits about you talking to fucking Allen?

I don’t like it. I don’t like it because I want you. I don’t fucking like it because you’re mine.

[nigel-marvalli]

Then why can't you believe that I'm yours too? [Nigel's voice isn't wavering. It isn't quiet, or cracking, or barely grasping the air. It's just soft; something not quite defeated, or resigned, but close. Open, honest, questioning, scared.

All the little things that have made Nigel as neurotic as he has always fucking been; manifested in a stream of sound.]

I know I can't ask you to be mine, but why would you doubt that I'm yours? For him, of all people.

I needed him once, and he left anyways, and he's not getting that back. Not how it used to be. Me, I'm yours now. It's for me to give, and I've given it. To you.

[And confidence of any sort seems to die there. Gone on the same breath that Nigel finishes with the words. All that comes past it feels hollow. Sounds it too, defeated, and reluctant, but willing.]

But you're right. ['Please don't leave.' Nigel doesn't say. 'Please, please don't leave. You'd leave, and I'd still want you until I didn't know how to want anymore.]

[parker-kipling]

Don’t guilt me like you didn’t know exactly what you were getting into. [He did. And they’d talked about it between fighting the urge to have their tongue’s in one another’s mouths. Talked about it quickly. Briefly. Violently, until Nigel knew that this wasn’t an exclusive thing. Until he knew that Maria was here, and a part of this, and important even if the love didn’t feel real. That she was a person and always was a person and probably would always be a person to him, even if they never touched again.

Even now, with his stomach turning like something sick stuck in it, he knows that wanting Nigel is never going to mean kicking Maria out completely. He couldn’t do that, wouldn’t do that.

And it’s just a matter of this: Parker wanting everything. Lying until he gets it. Wants the girl to be his high school sweetheart and the boy next door to never run his hands over anyone but him. Wants to rule and not be ruled. Wants to lazily give affection and only pay attention when it suits him. When things are going wrong.

He wanted to stay as far the hell away from Nigel as possible the first time he met him. Except, no, he really didn’t.]

I didn’t ask for this.

[nigel-marvalli]

[There's no point in saying 'You're right.' So the sentiment dies before it ever even reaches his tongue, and Nigel simply runs his hands down his cheeks instead of saying anything at all.

After all, what is there to say? Parker knows he's right. Nigel knows that he walked into this from day one, and where he has landed now is only where he has let himself fall.

The silence doesn't so much threaten to swallow him whole as it does to to simply erase him. Like he was never even there, rather than a point of absence. He wants to burrow into the cushions of the couch and never come out again. Or call Sadie and let her knows that all these years she'd been right too, while he was in the mood to state the obvious.

In the end, what he does say is not what he wants to. But they are the only words that come, and the only ones he wants an answer to. So In an essence, any other option would have only fallen flat anyways.]

What do you want from me, Parker?

I'm still here, with you. But if you don't want this, you have to tell me.

And if you do, you have to tell me that too.

[parker-kipling]

Fuck me for assuming. [It’s supposed to be a question, but comes out as more of a statement. Fuck me. Fuck you, Parker. Fuck you for being an active participant in this situation. For drawing him in. For allowing yourself to be drawn in. For getting to the fucking point that shitty conversations with people from his past are enough to allow you to think that everyone is just as awful as you.

And why shouldn’t he be? What would stop him, really, in the long run? Maria shares a home with the girl he fucked while she was still in Texas and no one has the heart to tell her. So what fucking stops anyone? Nothing at all. Especially not this. Not him, being possessive and indifferent all the same.] Nigel, what the fuck is supposed to be keeping you from doing shit with him? Me?

I hate to break it to you, but that doesn’t make any fucking sense. And I don’t buy it.

[nigel-marvalli]

[Nigel sucks in a breath, trying to let it flow out again smoothly. His hands curl tighter around his chest, and on an impulse, he tries to make himself as small as he can on the couch. Like taking up space is too bold for him right now, but leaving would be too.

It doesn't do any good anyhow for them both to be spitting venom. Even as it curls around his tongue, rises from the depths of him like a birthright, Nigel swallows it down.]

You got mad that I was still sleeping with other people months ago, and I stopped. I stopped with River too.

I told you that I'd stick around. I told you that I wanted to. I want to, still.

Allan called for my sister, and we got back in touch, but that doesn't mean that I'm interested in him. I've been exclusively interested in you for months now. And you can't even say the same.

You, and a shit ton of other things are keeping me from doing anything with him. The bad breakup, for one. The fact that he lives really fucking far away. The fact that I don't even want to, Parker.

You're the reason I do and don't do a lot of things nowadays.

[Nigel breaks himself off before he can say anything worse. He clamps down on everything left for him to say until he's taken another breath. Pressing his head into his hand, he just breathes.]

[parker-kipling]

[Maybe it’s the way that he says the words — like he knows exactly why Parker’s acting the way he his, but wants to hear it from his lips all the same. His fingers are warm and light at the back of his neck, and he all but jerks away from it as he pulls himself up from the man.

It’s quick, light, harsh. All the things he wants to feel but can’t manage with a stone sinking in his stomach.

Fighting with Maria is easy, so long as she doesn’t cry, which she’s gotten angry enough and hardened enough at the way they talk to one another that she hadn’t bothered to let herself in a long time. It’s easy because they know why they fight. Know where the wrong turns are and even though they’re fucking lost in the maze with no directions, they’re gonna yell it out until the walls fall down and there’s an exit sign up ahead.

But this isn’t a fight, isn’t a reality perched in front of them with clear-cut signs and tourist attractions.

It’s drunk driving in the desert, with no one around to kill but yourselves.] If you’re so sure you upset me, why don’t you fucking call Allan and talk to him about it.

Shoot him a text right now. Get his input. Here I’ll help. “Hey Allan, the guy I’ve been fucking for the last few months is in a pissy mood. So it must be about me, right Allan? ‘Cause everything is always about me. Also is your dick the same size? Could you send me a picture for reference?”

[nigel-marvalli]

[Maybe it's the way that hearing it feels like swallowing knives, or how the only response he can manage is bitten out with enough force it feel like it took his whole tongue with it. But Nigel braces himself in a way he hates ever having to, and then stands with it.

Because he's not a fighter, really. He's pissy, and stubborn, and childish at times, but it's not in his nature to really draw blood. Not like this, where the words are jagged and spoken raw.

And it's too fucking much at once. Too much claim the other's got no right to speak. Too much anger for one phone call gone well, or maybe wrong, in Parker's book. Too much for someone who wants to be like this in Nigel's own living room, but leave all discussion of actual emotion hanging.

Fuck that.

His tongue feels much too heavy in his mouth here.]

Well I guess if this is just fucking to you, it's easy to see where you'd assume I'm -- what? Cheating? I shouldn't have to fucking tell you that Allan isn't a threat to you, Parker. You should know that he isn't. I've already told you exactly where I am with this.

You've made it very clear in the past that we're not on the same page with this, but fuck you for assuming that of me.

[parker-kipling]

I’m not in the mood to go to a fucking party.

[And, genuinely, it isn’t because he isn’t happy to see the man. Content to feel him squirming closer to him on the couch — happy, adoring, affectionate all as usual. He’s just squeezed tightly between that feeling and the one of utter distaste at seeing Nigel’s face, warm and glowing at the tail end of what was probably a long conversation with his ex.

Someone that Parker’s never met. Someone that Parker has no right to feel anything towards on any level, but he does. All wound up discontent and puckered masculinity wringing him dry of most sane thought. Something he was made to get rid of, if only to absorb jealousy like moisture on dry skin.]

I don’t care what we do. Whatever. You choose. [Leaning over and burying his face into the other man’s neck — a familiar gesture they’d gotten used to over the past few months. It’s still a hiding spot for him to mope, all the same.]

[nigel-marvalli]

[Parker's words are acidic, but the gesture the follows is one too familiar for Nigel not to react so. He brings a hand up to rest at the back of the other's neck; fingers splaying through the baby hairs that reside there. It makes things feel somehow simultaneously lighter and heavier. Like the mood has shifted, but not away from the root of why Parker is upset.

Nigel hums soft, and presses his cheek closer.] Let's just stay in.

[The words taste bitter on his tongue, not because he would rather be somewhere else, but because of the nature of what they follow. Like acquiescing to non-resolution. Letting the tension ebb and rise instead of addressing it.

And Nigel has never been good at doing that. He chases his worries until they've wound completely through him, so tight he's got no choice but to obey them.] I've clearly upset you. I'd rather have this than fuck it up further.

[parker-kipling]

[Parker is annoyed pretty much the moment he walks into the room. Door left unlocked for him, like he was already anticipating not being free enough to come to it when Parker knocked. Like he hadn’t already wound himself up in conversation early enough to know that he’d wrap it up just in time for Parker to come through the door. Just in time to have him sitting around, knowing exactly who it is on the other line.

Maybe it wouldn’t be anything, if it hadn’t been like this every single night this week. If Parker hadn’t noticed Nigel checking his phone every ten minutes or so, tucking it away back in his pocket the way that Parker knows too well.

And Parker had taken to sitting on the couch with River, having quiet “What the fuck is up with this guy?” mouthing conversations with the spacey blonde who, no doubt, would reply with something Parker was not at all ready for. But even she spent a minute or two rolling her eyes at the mystery on the other end of the phone call. Not a mystery to her, apparently, but enough to pull her down to the ground and give her a solid, identifiably human emotion: annoyance.

He clears his throat as he walks in, takes unnecessarily heavy steps to make himself known. Maybe for Nigel. Maybe for the voice attached to his ear. And when he reaches for his hand, Parker can’t help but be reminded of the way he used to go after Ira’s, back in the day.]

Yeah. Too bad I came in and cut it so short. Now you’ll have to text him later. [The sarcasm drips heavy in the last sentence, soaked to the bone with false enthusiasm and salt.]

[nigel-marvalli]

[It's not what he expects to hear, and his expression crumbles for a moment, too soon for him to catch it. When Nigel does, he jaw is set; eyes scrunched into something not quite unhappy, but concerned. He's torn between gripping the other's hand tighter and dropping it entirely.

For once, or always, Nigel has no idea which course of action would be better. So he settles for neither, simply drawing his free hand closer to himself; tucking it at his waist where it feels safe.]

It wasn't important. [He says. And though he means it, it probably won't sound convincing.] We were just catching up.

[The glow from before is rapidly fading; embers now where once grew flames. Nigel feels less heady and more seasick; the flip-side of being drunk. His own emotional hangover, though he doesn't feel like he ought to have one.

It's not like they haven't said worse before.

So Nigel moves just closer on the couch, smiling small and with as much affection as he always feels when he says:] What do you want to do tonight? If we stay in, I could make dinner? Or we could go to a party?

[nigel-marvalli]

[Nigel hadn't really anticipated the conversation with Allan to go on as long as it had. What had started an early afternoon conversation about Sadie's previous call had stretch over the hours of the evening until it was threatening to breeze right through the plans he already had.

He wasn't going to say he hadn't enjoyed it. At around the same point they'd passed mentions of Sadie, he'd even started smiling. Pinned with the conversation, that grin hadn't faltered very much since it's initial appearance. They'd managed to make something almost nice in their mutual absence, perhaps. Or maybe it was simply the understanding that they'd had as teenagers coming back to life; dusting itself off after years of being buried beneath sexual tension and obligation.

Without all of the weight, Allan was almost the same glowing thing.

And if he's being perfectly honest, it's only Parker stepping through the door -- that, at this point he's taken to leaving unlocked just for the man. Has even thought of getting Parker a key for. -- that makes him start to wrap the conversation up.

Like Nigel could talk on for hours, uninhibited, aND he probably could. The catharsis that comes with clearing bad blood is almost as good as the highs he chases each night.]

Yeah, it was good talking. [He says, waving Parker over to the couch where he sits. Nigel's mood is in a rather lofty place now; warm, unreachable, and fond for everything -- especially Parker.] I missed this too. I'll text you later.

[Goodbyes cleared and call closed, Nigel reaches for his not-boyfriend. Reaches for the other man's hand, because he wants the closeness.]

Hey there. [He says, and his voice reflects the height of his contentment.] I didn't mean for the call to run so long, sorry.

[portraitdelajeunefilleenfeu]

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[sherryzizi]

[rivahhhh]

[Parties at the Marvalli-Blane residence always started out so simple. An early night before the flood arrives with just Verne and Liara tiptoeing their way into the room while River tries to make some semblance of an atmosphere. The three of them quietly talking in hushed whispers, spreading drinks around on tables for easier access. River slipping herself into the bed next to the sleeping beauty who wouldn’t wake up for hours if she hadn’t pulled him up out of the restful stupor. With promises of music and hazy lights and an even hazier night.

And yet, somewhere across the hurried bustle of the crowd and the way the liquid flowered itself on her tongue, she’d lost two of the three within the first hour.

There’d been Ed – like the hatter with his head turned upside down and his bag of goodies that Verne had fronted the money for gladly. Sharing the tiny pills on his tongue as a thank you on River’s part. Though she would have thanked him anyway, if she were being truthful.

And her pupils were already twice their normal size before she’d needed them that big to spot Nigel, across the crowd, puppy-dog looks asking why she’s so far away. And for the life of her she can’t think of a good reason. Can’t remember having done anything but decide to be near him – and then she is. Swaying foggily in front of him, her hand tangled in his. She’d be seven different people before the night was over. But right now, she’s this one. And this one she likes best.] Are you up on cloud nine too? I can get you there. Verne gave me extra.

[nigel-marvalli]

[He's not, not like she is. Nigel's head floats and spins, but he knows that she is still so far above him. And she could. He would trust her to get him there, but that's not quite what he wants.

Nigel laces his fingers tighter around hers; marveling in the way their flesh meets at the junctions. What he wants, is to draw her hand to his lips, to feel how softly it might rest there. What he wants, is to lay his head across her stomach, and drink down both the quiet of their own room, and the beer going warm on the table beside the couch. 

He wants -- Well, something too much a wisp of an idea to actually be brought into being.

Instead, he nods. Blearily, and happily; his lips pulling into a soft grin aimed only at her.]

Verne has too much on him for his own good. [And then.] Help me get there. I still feel like I'm standing on the ground.

[It's kindly, or at least as kindly as a drunk Nigel can manage, that he pushes the guy on the couch next to him off the edge of the cushion. It clears a space just large enough for her to sit, if she leans into him a bit. Or if she leans into whoever else is there, but Nigel can't see why she'd choose them over him.

He likes being close to her when he's high. ]

Stay with me?

[nigel-marvalli]

[The music is far too loud in his ears, and the base shakes his bones as it pumps through the small house. People are scattered here and there on nearly every piece of furniture in the place, and though he's been upstairs once tonight already, he's content for the moment not to be headed back up.

An hour ago, he'd been handed his fourth beer.

45 minutes ago, he'd taken Liara by the hand.

20 minutes ago, he'd been dragged out back to smoke.

Now he find himself tucked against unfamiliar bodies on a couch too small for the four occupying it. He's a large frame in a small space, and while he's not exactly comfortable, this i the closest he's felt to home in a while.

Nigel's eyes scan the crowd as best the can; a heavy daze in his head, and a default calm spread all through his nerves. They settle on only two of the heads he's trying to account for, but he trusts the third knows what he's up to, wherever he is. Nigel takes that empty space, and uses the energy to smile at his favorite pinked haired wonder. To reach out to her, as if she isn't halfway across the room, involved in her own habits.

It doesn't matter if she's willing to come over.]

[sebstandaily]

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