if you could!

[itsakiller]

Somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, he flipped the TV from the season finale of his cartoon to some celebrity talk show. That’s the first thing he sees when he cracks his eyes open: two ugly, made-up women clutching at each other, bawling their eyes out for reasons unknown.

And then he looks to his left. What he sees there is a much more welcome sight.

'You're late,' he agrees, taking the bag and digging through it immediately. He pulls out the two take-out boxes that his roommate's procured, setting them down separately on the coffee table before them. The plastic utensils come next, and, dubiously, he extracts the pamphlet-cum-menu the place included before finally setting the bag aside. 'Was it expensive?'

He doesn’t really care. It’s obvious in the way he puts everything aside to reach for the other first, framing his face with his hands and none-too-gently pulling him towards the couch.

'If you're going to get something, leave work earlier,' he advises— commands, basically. But his mouth quirks up in a lopsided smile, and he settles his arms around the other man in a show of thanks.

'So I don't have to wait.'

[sputtertricks]

The sweetest touch on earth doesn't have to be something you just hear about, it's great when people can get it down on text. He's tried, albeit delivered with steam he's never had, 

 But his face is steaming now. This he is sure of, and ever so cautiously his hands (similarly burning) float up to clasp over the hands that had made it to his face. 'Don't gotta ask about that.'

He reaches over to the remote and clicks at it furiously until it lands on something, tasteful? Not exactly, some kind of raunchy, low-threshold humor but it's better than that which was on. A mishap, he's sure, now that the one one holding down their flat, fort --- was looking alive. 

'I might, just.' He offers, 'Take you with me next time, if you're not caught up in something too important.' He nudges into one of the hands to push it out of the way. Not rudely, but it is in the way considering he bumps the bridges of their noses together. He makes one of his 'contact' noises to affirm it, 'D'you wait that long?

Anything on that was good? You have to fill me in, I have to know what happened to Beam boy and, .....' His face falls, briefly. Gathers up the to-go box and stacks the utensils for easy readiness, fixing it into the crook of his roomie's arm, reminding him it was there. Tapping at his knuckles, signaling I can wait, but this is going to get cold. 

 'My day was youless. It was very long. I don't know why I made it longer, but that blip of time between the last round of calls and filing everything into order. Ii got your texts from, ...' He checks, relying on his wrist rather rather than his phone that has the exact stored timestamp, 'Noon?' Super accurate. 

 'Gave me like one more wind before we wrapped up! That's my day. I very much missed you.' 

[sputtertricks]

'you ever get that feeling that you're not all sure a street will lead you but you'll go down it anyway? like it seems pardonable, or...' Shoes off and already he's chattering away, flicking the hallway light on. 

Well I did that tonight. For us. And I found us a new joint. really sweet, really quick, speedy, friendly service and I thought I heard someone mention a place that does their italian,-fusion right.' He eases in on one arm of the couch, pass-presses the takeout, still warm wrapped in a paper bag against the snoozing(?) He has the remote close to him, any way, partner sprawled out. 

 'Hey, hey. I'm later than I should be, but. I got you something. ' 

 'How are we doing?' He asks, taking him by his knee and, just for the occasion. As if to shake his favorite man awake. 

[sputtertricks]

 ' You think that's a fixall I need solved? Almost seems too trusting a remedy to be true, Mister, even if you invented that yourself. Too bad it's been bouncing around otherwise you wouldn't've picked up on the trend, 

it sells better with girls these days? Though. Tends to, if you're a trend picker,   Didn't get it the first time but were you taking just what you needed from a crowd, you've got ...an eye for that? 

 It's got to benefit you some way, right. You wouldn't do it any other way.' 

[itsakiller]

He shifts Avi in his lap again, drawing his knees up to give him something to lean against. It’s just for a moment that he pulls away, releasing his hold on the other’s arms and pushing away himself. He hauls a hand through the back of his hair, scouring his fingers upward— and then he reaches forward again, doing the same to his husband’s bangs.

He’s all out-of-sorts, but that’s no surprise.

'I was thinking,' he starts. Of course he's been thinking. And if he's doing his job right, then his spouse isn’t.

'That'd we go out for dinner or something. Nothing fancy,'—he scoffs at the idea—'but something kind of special, you know? Since you're all about “gestures” and “making things special.”' There's an overbearing note of condescension in his voice, like always… but there's affection there too, something tired and almost exasperated. 'But this.' He runs his hands up and down Avi's sides, grinning lopsidedly. 'I think this is better.'

They’ve been inside for a couple hours at this point, and it hasn’t been much else but this: having his spouse close, closing the gap between them and making something of it. There’s a low hum under his skin, an itch that protests against the four walls around them, but it’s silenced again when he pushes up with his hands and kisses Avi another time. He threads his hands through his hair and tilts his head just-so to make things easier.

He’s getting to that age where he can’t just call himself 20 and get people to believe him. Twenty-three, twenty-five, those are still safe bets, but… he’s getting older. Something else lurches in him at that, and he drags Avi that much closer, kisses him that much harder to make it go away. It doesn’t work, but it does distract him.

He pulls away when he’s almost entirely out of breath— which means his husband’s got to be in a lot worse of a place. He pats his shoulder consolingly when they part, hooking his arms around his neck next and leaving them there when he lies back against the couch. He has to strain to keep looking at him, but he doesn’t break eye contact.

'You know. We could just not make a big deal out of it, too.' He smirks hopefully, but there's no real push in his tone; he gave up on that battle years ago. His hands go to ruffle Avi's hair when “years" crosses his mind. ‘But I guess you’ve got your choice. We could do whatever you think is a good idea. We could do what I want, which is stay in and take this a little further…’ he trails off hopefully, and so do his hands, going to the kid’s left hand to fiddle with his ring finger.

'Or some third option. Wow me. What'll it be?'

[sputtertricks]

There’s so much more in here than He’ll allow (he doesn’t do clutter), than they’re given credit for. Avi’s not one for much reasoning but he believes, which is all he can do at times, that’s partially why they always escape the perimeter and never make it back until desperate hours and …why it’s not that great of a chore to get him out of the house. 

This constant seeking shelter goes rightly along with the sensation he’s soaking up right now, being adjusted and recompensed ‘for the wait’, no that’s never not the case. Something settles differently this time though, and he experience it beyond third-second hand, but it seems to weigh heavily on the man of most importance in front of him. 

I was going to start placing bets when you’d speak up. Are we good here?’ He starts in on, but tapers off, trying his best not to interrupt. Something or another, it should be glaringly obvious. 

Getting the man that could take anything within his reach something and making it …exclusive, tasteful, compatible to interests while simple. In tastes, is nervewracking to try to fill all that space. His mind is all over with how closely they’re pressed together, arms secured around the other’s neck and it’s hard to go-over anything when the source of his most stemming affection is going at it, 

forcing out what’s taken the best out of him. He’s thought this through, but not if as always the best of him is a couple steps ahead of him.  

It’s special because, when he lets it get into the physical, and confirmed it’s the sweetest he’s ever seen him …spur into action like this. It makes him feel like he has a hand in how things work up there, even if dictating something like that is against his better jurisdiction. It just means he can in fact, help.

But it doesn’t sound so bad, coming from him, this pitch. Being beaten to the punch would make him sorer before, but it’s all in good share if it’s theirs to take together. They’ve been in nothing but each others’ company for quite a while. It’s nice, he thinks if anybody could get ‘enough’ of it it’s this man here, but …that’s not his place to say. 

 ’We could go low-key if you wanted, don’t you rather that?’ Always for clarification. He’s bleary from the lack of air but he’s coming to, and that’s what’s important. ‘But we don’t do fancy often, and I’m here to,’ It’s a suggestion. ‘Make or have you fancy your day. Whatever that means.

What if we try something different? Today’s not an ordinary day.  You can have this and more after you let me act out. We could act out a little.’ 

[sputtertricks]

 'You're my guest of honor tonight, if you must know.

If you know what's good for them,' and you do know what's best for them, is the prime unstated lead but he's not bold enough for that.

Not yet at least, by a poor strike of serendipitous touch it just so happens that he barely knows the man. He could be a total risk, if it really ate at him that much then he could delve around to figure out where his whereabouts once were, and. Maybe, to some extent what he was running from. 

But that's not the type of advance he wishes to seek on the man, and that's why he's opened up his dinner table, his services, a standard hospitality that comes with all guests that blow through but this one see, is special. So special, he's not sure if he's ready to let him go that next morning. So sure, that if he doesn't keep an eye on him the boy and his father in all the bulk of his charm and darkness would off, that night. 

Without even saying goodbye. It had happened before, once he wasn't so keen on closing in on the man in question but it was heartsinking enough. That time, he'd discovered nothing could make him think straight for half a passing season sans, maybe his son. His beautiful, beautiful son. And that's the only thing that can snap him back to his senses.

It's the one thing that they hold in common, it seems. 

'since you're the boy's father after all.' he corrects himself. Emphasis on the word father, 'You'll let him live a bit. For all that it's worth, they're going no where outside these walls. Once they've been taken in by the perimeter, there's nothing out of your reach and certainly nothing that needs to be protected. I'd prescribe, if I might be held high enough for you to retain my advice for just the while. 

You can take the night off.' He reinstates

his way of thinking because it won't carry without the canting or the repetition. It's not a demand, because even if all four walls were built around everything he owned and learned to love, right here.  'If you know what's good for you, that is.' Enclosed in this space, he was no general. He wasn't anyone, for that matter the moment he took the other by the hand and led him gracelessly through the open halls.

It was shameless. And it was right, in every sense of the word because he didn't just get graced with visitors of this kind. As clammy as his hands were, he reached around to grasp the steadier ones and tugged them out into plain view. He just wanted a conversation that would last, be it that it had to tide him over that many seasons. Something, anything, 

that would make this meeting a little more surreal.

' Surely you can't be that much in a rush? 

I know you don't think I pay attention, but the way you just waltzed onto these grounds like just the other day.' It's because that's how he clearly remembers, the real risk was. Letting something like this dictate what he woke up to in the morning. 

 'You can't expect me to believe that it was

just? Fortune's hand that brought you here? No other intention?'

[itsakiller]

So, let’s get it straight: he’s a simple guy, with simple needs. He wants a l of things, sure! But the only things he needs are A) not a lot of homework; B) change for the vending machine, and C) time with his working guy. He’s not picky, either: he can do homework online, find change in the couch, and that time? He can take it anywhere, at home, school, work… anywhere’s good, as long as he can see him.

That means that by the time arms wrap around him, he’s already pretty much set for the day. He settles his hands around the ones pulled against him, and he puts on his best annoyed face, which isn’t very annoyed at all.

'Just so you know, I don't know any girl called “baby.”' he leans back for just a second, and then starts tugging his guy forward, making them into a weird hug-train inching its way towards the couch. They're only a couple of feet away, but the journey is long and arduous. 'And it might be just me, but I don't think it's a great idea to call your boyfriend some girl's name. I mean, that MIGHT just be me, but.'

And he can’t help it. He breaks out into a grin.

'If you're asking about me, you should use my name! I’ve got one, you know.’ As he says that, they complete their torturous journey. He frees himself of Mr. Working Man’s hands and sets in on him, turning him around and walking him into the couch. He crashes into the seat right beside him, making the sofa creak a little under their combined weight. They need to fix that. But, first: his guy. ‘If you’re really serious about this girl thing, though, we’re gonna have to have a long talk.’

 He pauses to reach over his boyfriend for the remote, switching the TV on before he tosses it to the floor. It’s on some talk show about weight loss, but he doesn’t really pay attention. ‘This guy - not girl - was doing homework all day. I mean LITERALLY all day. Math teacher ran us over 15 minutes because he wanted to do a pop quiz. Can you BELIEVE that?’ He sighs.

'So then my Sociology teacher got mad at me and like 3 other people for being late. And then I had to stay over to go to the library, right? I wanted to study — keywords, “wanted to” — but then some chick brought her kid and he threw a tantrum. So, then I came back HERE,’ and here he gestures to the coffee table, which is full of books, and then to the floor, which has a bunch of papers scattered all over it. ‘-and I’ve been busy ever since.

'What about you, tough guy?' he says smugly. He drags at the other's collar, trying to get his tie off. 'Did you make any executive business decisions today? Fire anybody? Become a millionaire so I never have to study again?

'If you did, now's the time to say.'

[sputtertricks]

You know what he was! A simple man, a real, real, simple type of guy. Top it off, minus the executive position that was only kind of there -- which right now, it was still up in the air. Free for grabs, to anyone, since he was still a starter. 

Anything could go wrong. Could go terribly, terribly wrong. But he rolled out of bed this morning! And he would, the next morning! Why could he guarantee that, man built on no promises at all because 

He got to come home to this. 

He could guarantee that much. He couldn't guarantee this hard working boy's interest, what he'd think of him in 5 years, maybe he wouldn't make enough. Maybe, just maybe, some stunning, beautiful vixen would swoop him out without a sound, take him in her claws, and whump, whump, whump off and away with him. Not without him putting up some type of resistance, he'd put up a fight, of course. 

But in that case, he could see it now. If something like that dropped out of the sky like some asteroid and hit their modest bunk, reality was he'd stand a zero flying chance. Then he'd be kind of at a loss. But not now, only under those amazing circumstances. 

So he was set and ready to go. Once they settle on the couch, he reaches over and tugs his guy all the way over so that he's wrapped around his waist. There we go. Better, now.

 'Nah, now, that's not a girl's name. Why would I wanna call you some girl's name. We're past that, you and I.' He presses his face briefly into Shinju nii's chest, muffling himself and the next part which was fairly unimportant. which it was, because he was now listening in for something much more important that Shinju nii had to say. 'Tough guy is reserved specially for stormtroopers like you, understand. They sound like they're really busting your ass out there.

Gotta show them some mean, fighting spirit.' He chortles just under his breath, nuzzling into his excellent, excellent guy's shoulder. 

'Oh you know. business would have to pick up, it'd have to be closer to payday for anything groundshaking like that to come up. 

[sputtertricks]

So it's about that time of night, isn't it. 

     Doesn't matter what happened earlier today, doesn't remember whatever happened earlier on that week. It's not that hard a concept to wrap your head around. 

 Ask him what he had for breakfast, shoot. Anything, anything. On a good day, he could probably remember that. 

 Today was not a good day. What ever had transpired, or so it seemed, to make him completely devoid of the events of that day, had been blocked out. 

That's what home was for. That's what crashing in with your next best man in line, favorite person ever, hands down, you've got that right. There's still 

one thing, that could turn this day around. Wasn't even a dealbreaker. No see, that's not it. What for sure he wasn't was a make or break dealmaker. 

But today undoubtedly could still be salvaged. Give it time, give it a good bath, don't tell anyone, if he hears you passed that on, the future will hold a dark one for you. 

Besides, it wouldn't be the end of the world if that story leaked anyway. Probably the only ones who knew were relatively harmless folk, you know. The type he really loved and, wanted to keep in his life. Aka his mom and his flatmate, muse, boycrush of the century. Don't try to convince him otherwise! All deals are off.

This guy right here, infallibly the best thing to happen to a scummy, crummy, could-be bummed out have-been, at least. That's what circled around the staff from time to time. 

 He never paid it too much mind, though. The favorite contribution to his day, after all, was right here. He can stress this no harder than he does on a daily basis so what he does, is wind his arms around his guy's waist, tug him in by the reel. 

'So, how's my baby, my baby one and only been doing today?' 

[itsakiller]

For once, it’s not late when he slides his fingers over his brother’s sides, pulling him back into a hug. This isn’t his 3 A.M. entry into bed — in fact, he’s (fairly) sure that they’re both wide awake, as it’s only just begun to encroach on the later hours.

He takes a seat behind his twin on the bed and fixes his glasses up against his head, pressing his face into the other’s back. He sighs. After a second, his eyes flick up, and he blindly tries to read the digital clock on their nightstand.

It looks like a “1,” but he’s not sure.

He sighs again, and then he tilts his brother back some, resting his chin on his shoulder instead and fixing his glasses back where they belong. Now that he can see, he can see that it’s just after 1. To their parents, they’ve already in bed. But he’s not ready to surrender to sleep just yet.

'Don't you ever get bored?' he asks conversationally, and he stops there for a second, leaving the question open-ended. Does his brother ever get bored with — life? being in plays? having a twin brother? It could be any of those things, until he opens his mouth again. 'With sleeping early. Being “good.”' And he doesn't hesitate at that, because his brother is definitely the good twin.

'Or just, you know, being admired.'

Again, he lets the statement hang, but not for long. He locks his arms in a hold around the other’s middle. ‘If it were me, I’d have been bored a long time ago. Aren’t you?’ he asks, like he should be bored. ‘If you ever are, I can help with that. We can get you parts in foreign plays, philosophical stuff… kids’ plays, if you’re up for it.’ He leans them to the side, even though they’re sitting.

'I'm not saying it doesn't suit you. But being a star probably gets old, right?’

[sputtertricks]

 He's not one to ask. He never questions, not his brother, not really, other than save for 'when are we getting there?'/'didn't they say that it'd take ____ __ give or take an hour ago?'/'do you know who's in charge? 

I'd like to talk to who's in charge. this is ridiculous. can't

be treating their members this way.' And all that set aside, the announced good twin used his set of talents for one thing, and that was complaining. He could complain a storm up for the both of them. 

   But right now, there's nobody else inconveniencing them. No one mixing the two up, asking them to differentiate their spots and go over their names one more time, because they've got it this time. The one who plods around, the quiet one's where it's at. He'd like to tell them, 

if it wouldn't anger his brother. But it always rubbed him the wrong way, and he'd learned this lesson before, one that he'd not repeat again if it meant his brother sitting tight and not bailing when they were out there. 

   Just the two. And that's how he'd preferred it, not immersed in back-to-back situation. 'sleep escaping you again? what is it that's messing up your schedule, cutting it a bit close don't you think? 

I could put something on real quiet.' he gestures noncommittally towards the stack of vinyls half-slipping out of their cases, and their player, their pride and joy even when they skipped. 'on second thought, I want to hear you talk. 

talk in a whisper.' he winds an arm around his brother's head, mutters into his hair. 'even if they're down,' he taps the floor beneath them with his foot, grinning ear to ear. 'there's no telling.' It won't carry sound, he's not looking to get them into trouble. it's just an example. 

 'you act like it's all one big fling, like we were divvied up into the beginning with our assigned 'roles'. they only do that in casting to feel out people's strongpoints, see if they can't pull off something out of their comfort zone. 

you're good. parents aren't ever as pleased with my report card when I make back with it, you're never putting on something unreal. 

I don't know why you insist in doing that either. You could have a line of admirers, just lining up, too,' It's an argument he's pitched a countless amount of times. 'I just don't see what you're doing with it.'

[itsakiller]

There’s lots of things he wants to do, but only so much room in his head, at least at the moment. He lets his husband get the words out, basically fighting to keep it together (honest! that’s how it sounds), and then he kisses him again, threading both his hands through his hair and tugging him up and forward. he tucks his thumbs behind his ears, and pries avi’s mouth open with his tongue.

It’s a long moment before he separates them, and when he does, he keeps the kisses up, pausing only to breathe. His hands ghost down, first to his spouse’s hands (which he entwines with his own, restoring intimacy for a moment before he guides them to his hips), and then back to the belt, which he gets open with minor trouble. He’s done this a lot — plenty of times — bt out here?

What about out here?

He thinks about it some. In the meantime, the clink of Avi’s belt rises above the noise of the city, followed by the subtler brush of his pants’ button being undone. His fingers flick over the zipper, and he plays with it, contemplative at the best of times. After a thoughtful moment, he speaks up, offering his conclusion: ‘Dunno.’ And then he gets back to kissing, pulling his husband’s ace up same as before, bracing his fingers under the sides of his jaw.

Do they have to plan this kind of thing out? He’s not a person of thinking — he’s more one of doing, especially when his thoughts start to skirt places he refuses to let them breach. Earlier was earlier. Brushing the kid off when he came to close felt right. And right now? Right now, what feels right is kissing him some more, especially knowing that right now, nobody really gives a shit about either of them.

He pushes Avi back and rucks up his shirt, pausing to start unbuttoning it. A belt he could do just fine, but with buttons? He wasn’t so great.

He gets about halfway down before he gives up and leans back in, kissing him again. Belt out of the way, he feels more confident about starting up a grind, rolling his hips into the kid experimentally. He doesn’t bother messing with his own belt.

'-How about we just see where it goes?' he suggests when he's finally pulled away, a little more composured, a little more relaxed. He offers him a smile.

'Pretty sure you don't care, right? Actually, I was pretty sure you were into this kind of thing.' It's him who's not into this sort of thing, but he doesn't think about that — he's moreso focused on the way Avi fits against him, on his encouraging reactions. 'So you tell me.

'You want to, or no?'

[sputtertricks]

He grapples at the wall for support, though he'd rely strictly on his husband to see to it that he didn't wear him down-- that'd kinda defeat the purpose, wouldn't it. But it's really not fair to let his husband do all the work. Tilting his head back he's made a little more pliable, hands flying up to his shoulders and tugging him in to deepen the kiss. 

He's panting as he's let go, but it doesn't seem that his spouse wants to let up and keeps them coming. All the better to keep him quiet, so he lets him have his way -- one thing he's so used to doing. It's not out of reluctance, rarely does he rise to anything he does with objecting, it's just something that goes without questioning. His husband takes.

It was like another law of the universe. But as breathless as he is now, how was he going to see anything he was doing? Was his husband going to let him do anything, more importantly. He wants to return the kiss in full, but it's a little hard to initiate when hands that know what they're doing are working down there -

and how could he, it just had to be a testament to how much experience he'd had. How skilled he was, that is. Because Avi could never pull this off. 

The loud clink is distractive and he hitches up his hips, making a noise when the answer that he gets back is less than decisive. Sure, he'd gotten the signs, come-ons all wrong before. But he'd gone out on a limb! He wouldn't have opened his mouth in the first place, and as far as he were concerned all green flags were 'go'. 

But he needed to squeeze it out of him, didn't he? 'The worst. You're what they call the worst.' But he's not upset. It makes the blush rise and his neck feels flush, but that's not the worst thing to happen. He dives back in and bites down on the other's lip, sucking thoughtfully as he conjures up an answer, which he'd thought he'd given, and grinds back, particularly forceful with his hips. 

 '--- That's, not fair. We both know that.' He pushes him back at the chest, just far enough that they have a gap in between them so that he can snag at the belt that'd given him difficulties earlier. Tugs it into shape and just hard enough that it'd escape the notch that keeps it intact. He'd no sooner like to put their hips back together and reel back, but it's not right that Shinju is the only one doing the servicing here. 

He wasn't sure what he wanted, but he'd made it clear that he'd first milk an answer out of him before he acted on anything. 'If you can't think of any place better in the next few moments, then I want you here. As in I'm fine with here.

Please,' His fingertips drift over his sharp cheekbones and applies a kiss to his jaw, 'please.' 

[itsakiller]

He’s got his partner backed into a wall, which is nothing special — revisited scene, they’ve all been there before. He’s pressed him into an alley just off one of the city’s busier streets, bright blue lights spilling onto and over them, spreading its fingers as far as it can reach. People pass by, but their din is overshadowed by the wail of cars, speeding to and fro. Nobody notices. That’s how it usually is.

They’ve done it all, but it’s not very normal. He’s not usually so public, especially when it’s not even midnight yet, the city still breathing an early nightlife. He’s got one hand pressed up above the space near Avi’s head, and the other’s sliding up his leg, in a subtle-not-subtle sort of way. He doesn’t really care.

'All things considered,' he starts, his voice riding a line that says he's strapped for air. That may be because they might've just been making out. They've been trading (he's been forcing) kisses for the last twenty minutes, so he's not all that sure. 'We haven't done much today, have we?' And he leans in for another kiss, just to make sure he can make sure. His hand keeps coasting the other's thigh, just to remind him he's there.

'Been kind of a,' he starts as he pulls back, leaning back some to appraise his spouse. A laugh leaves him, and he loses his train of thought. The height difference between them: it's ridiculous. And the way he still looks like he's 16: that's also pretty ridiculous. '—boring day, huh,' he finishes at length, fingers playing at the loops of Avi's jeans.

They’d only gone out to dinner, did some shopping, did some other shopping (stealing, for the less morality-minded), and so they’d been wandering around, until he’d had the urge to just slam the kid into a wall and go at it. He’s a little scattered, but he’s pretty sure they haven’t fucked.

And that makes for a pretty bland day.

'You wanna fix that?' he suggests, and he tugs the kid's shirt out, mussing up his appearance some more. No reason for tucking clothes in, anyway — not when it got in the way. 'Or are you,' and here finally comes his sarcasm, crisp where his other words are not. 'satisfied with how today's gone? You tell me.'

[sputtertricks]

He knew that his husband wasn't going to settle, which is a little hard on words considering at least one of them were wearing their wedding bands. But they'd had a fairly quiet evening, in a quiet town, with quiet people, and. ...if he could just, get back control of his own voice and stay quiet. 

Except he had no voice, not in this matter. Well he did, but with his heart racing and his head thumping. Light headed, was probably what he was experiencing, but it didn't commit to the fact that his cheeks were heated

-- And come to think of it? He hadn't taken anything for it all day. Was that not an improvement? If only they could spend a whole evening together like this, it was a known symptom soother. Like the only, cure that worked without compromise. Although throughout their day, they'd make lots, and lots of compromise. 

When he wasn't busy basking (and usually glowing) in the company of his husband while they were out, they had taken up to this game of keepaway. If you could call it that. When he started radiating this giggly, bubbly affection they'd no sooner turn into strangers and as he buzzed around following his ever step his spouse would pretend like he didn't know him. It was the little things that totaled up, and counted.

Seconds down, and they'd almost be like complete strangers. Just a very, persistent one. Tailing him, throughout the store, and helping him put down his items on the conveyor belt during line up.

It was just something that couldn't be helped, he couldn't keep it off his face that doing even the most mundane things with his favorite person in the whole wide world? And he was, he could lie about any-thing else. 

Anything at all, but. Why would he have to lie about that. 

What had been the last thing on his mind, anyway. ...Since their night out was, 'slowing down,' he'd liked to put it. Aside from the fact that when his spouse got antsy, suddenly declared to jump the gun at four in the morning, and was he jumping the gun now, it's really a task to not try and crumple up on the spot.

He can't remember, it couldn't have been that important, but he greets him with a kiss that could bruise, fingers splayed at the back of his head. What they've been at idly for the last half hour, but with newmet fervor combing through his hair in frantic and starts raking his nails down Shinju's front, toying with the zipper and tugging ruthlessly. 

He has to remember. To pull apart and catch his breath, above all things, but all thought of seems to be dashed from his mind when he tries to keep himself from keening, mouth falling open when his man starts leading the advances which don't make sense, with a conversational overtone and he's lost his touch, give him a few and he'd figure out if he'd lost his edge. 

 'I -I do.' He closes his eyes, groaning and lets his head hit the wall. Releasing the zipper he still hasn't figured out because fumbling in the dark isn't a forte of his, he's not a pro. Not like this guy. If he'd let him down, then maybe it'd be different. Being on his knees and earning scrapes in the process wasn't a new concept to him, but it'd be a while since they'd done this.

 He hadn't known what to expect, but he hadn't anticipated this. On second thought, he turns back to whip to him, thumbing at the sides of face, tracing up the defined edges. Screwing his face up, he purses his lips together, which have gotten puffy though they haven't done really much of anything. 

They're out in the open, didn't this bother him? This usually bothered him. He eyes him scrupulously, kind of squinting at him because his vision's seriously still blurry. 'H --here? Or are you just working me up.' He swallows hard, trying to recompose himself. 'I just need to know.'

'You sure you're alright with this.' Composure stays with him for about long as it takes to grate that out, flinching and as his face contorts he ducks his head into his husband's shoulder. He couldn't be pried off now. 

[itsakiller]

The closest thing he has to a sibling — dodges his question, as usual. All he focuses on are the labels (which are basically pretty important to him, no matter how he plays it off; trust him, he knows, sort of), and then throws a question back at him. Typical… guy. His guy. His buddy.

He looks at him a second, then ducks his head, issuing the kind-of-sigh that boys give when they’re not convinced.

'That's about as bogus as you not caring about your hair.' Which is? He almost decides to let it hang, let the other hang in suspense… but he doesn't. Because he's a good guy. 'Me being responsible, I mean. Did you see what I made on that last test?' He drags his fingers up and down the other's jacket, up and down his sides, in plain agitation. He almost got a C. An 82! Who gets that?

Frustration creeps into his voice for a brief second. ‘If there’s anybody you should be listening to, it’s that guy. You and me both, actually.’ He leans in conspiratorially, a lean that isn’t so much conspiring as it is intimate. ‘You know what that guy made in college? Do you know?’ And he backs out again, secret unleashed unto the world.

Kind of, sort of.

'But you know, me? Been just fine. Got that girlfriend I was telling you about. Oh, and I'm rich. My awesome grades got me a scholarship to that, uh, one school. You know — Harvard? I think that's the name.' His fingers drum against his fellow nephew's back. 'But I'm not sure if I wanna go for it. There's this other place that was asking for me right out of high school - NASA, or something. I dunno. And some Russian guy wanted to talk to me about secret service, or something. But you know. The usual.'

It doesn’t really work out, since he’s got a stupid grin on his face as he says all this, showing that he can’t even pull sarcasm off with a straight face. He still slaps the other anyway, jarring him forward a couple steps, in that roughhousing way he sometimes still treats him.

'What's that even supposed to mean, huh? You know how I've been. I've told you about basically all of it. And what I didn’t tell you, you were there for.’ he scoffs, and he suddenly gets it in his head to tug at the other’s hair, scoffing again at those freakishly long bangs. Guy needs a haircut, is what. ‘I’m not an exciting guy. Not like you are.

'But you — no cute girls or anything? No juvie records? C'mon.' he peers at him critically. 'Something's got to have happened. You’re you!’

[sputtertricks]

'I never figured you'd had a problem with the hair. You know if you shampoo too much, like you neat folk do. You'll ruin it. And with males their fate is inevitable, by 30 or so they'll start losing it all. Aren't you glad we're still young.' 

 This guy though, he could pull off just about anything. It's what he saw in him, despite the crud that he was spouting. Didn't know what half of it was, or he was trying to keep it dumbed down just for him. Either way, it was appreciated.

...And you know what was best about the whole ordeal. He couldn't keep a straight face worth for shit, but that was like a grand 80% majority of his innate charm.   The only part that really sticks to him is the very beginning, the bit that sounds most plausible and he can't keep the steeled expression off of his face. Because who couldn't he get in the school, he could get any girl. If he tried, and he did try alright. Half the time? Not even, most likely. 

More than he could ever vouch or put his name up for, the only motivation there was not to fall a year behind him, just so that until they went and parted both their merry ways he could run the chances of still being in the same classes as him. Class placement was hard, understand. 

But they could at least share notes. There was that, and camping out, and staying up -- mastering the many ways of lights-out so that they weren't stripped of tv, of gaming console privileges. Go-out privileges. 

Which didn't seem to be a problem, not really, the latter but you wouldn't want to be caught dead going out with your fellow-nephew. Wouldn't want to be caught going at their neck or open-mouthed kissing after they'd had one-too many shots from a daregame, but nobody asked about that. 

Nobody asked how many cousins you'd kissed, they just asked if you'd gotten lucky, or had you got laid, and the obvious answer was always the same. 

'She was coming onto me.'  And you'd get away with anything. 

 Just about, anyhow. 'What -what do you take me for?' He gives a hearty shove squarely to the other guy's chest. He scoffs, doing his best offended knockoff and is it convincing? Is this working out? He wants to ask a slew of other questions, but they're getting caught in the back of his throat. Another time, then. 

'I'll make what he makes once you get into an Ivy league school, don't you settle for less.' A subtle hammer of the fist to his ribcage, and they're back in business again. 'I'm always in trouble.

What's new? Are you spending the night?' He hopes he's not keening, but he can never tell. ' Come on, you've got to be spending the night. 

 So tell me, what's she like? Blonde? Brunette? Strawberry-blonde, full-blown redhead? She could take styling tips from me.' He's kidding, but it's all meant in good sport. 

Kinda. 

[itsakiller]

He wheels in from behind the other and takes rapport against his shoulder immediately, leaning against it like he’s just run a marathon and needs the support. He doesn’t, obviously. He slaps his hand against his fellow nephew’s jacket and wipes his fingers against it, almost like he’s trying to get rid of something inconspicuously. He’s not, obviously.

So what is obvious? Maybe the fact that he’s glad to see his brother-in-arms. He turns his head to him and throws a smile at him, clearing up any doubt that might’ve been left over.

'So,' he says, in that way that transcends all languages and creeds, that tone that, universally, conveys the same message: what’s up, buddy? ‘What’s with you lately? Breaking hearts? Doing the rocker thing?’ His hand slips forward, away from where it had been tucked into the other’s lower back, to gesture vaguely. ‘Or was it punk? —pop?’ He obviously doesn’t know what he’s talking about, and he obviously doesn’t give a shit.

His hand settles back where it belongs, a little too intimate for what they’re supposed to be, but look if he gives a shit. See if he even notices. And does he?

He doesn’t. Obviously.

He leans more against his favourite guy to kick up one of his feet, balancing it with just the toe of his shoe touching the ground. Super fancy, he is.

'What's been all up?'

[sputtertricks]

This was a regular occurrence, nothing to lose his head over. He saw this guy everyday. Almost every day. Familiar ground, something he knew for years on end and probably if you let him get away with it, his oldest friend known to date. 

Friend. This should be comfortable. So jumping the gun every time he walked up on you, wasn't an option. What was his fucking problem? 

'M -e? You're asking me. You know I'm tons less exciting than you,' He returns the gesture with a pat to the back and he wishes if he'd never done it because he's paying for it in heaps of embarrassment. Right now. This was a defining peak in their exchange that just honed in that he was the problem, no matter what the case. 

It's cute, actually. Watching him fumble, try to remember what he's into, pretend like he cares about the hype. He'd involve him more, but out of the two of them? He hoped that at least one of them succeed.

Not the way that he was going. If they were born any other way then he might've felt something like a boyfriend trying to remember remember his girlfriend's favorite color, her birthday. It's the hassle of being in a relationship, and from the getgo he's glad he hasn't got the nerves to say anything beyond that. 'Pop, punk, same thing. Depends on how you look at it.' 

Besides, it's a hobby, not a statement, not really, not his career. Ask him where he wants to go in ten years. He couldn't tell you. That's another problem, he's got many. 

'Don't fuss over it.' But for sure he'd like to be able to exchange less than substantial conversations like this with his guy, who --- give him props for this, it's a hard status, feat to achieve. Is oblivious out of his mind, or going through a phase,

Just like him. He has to remind himself that come a year or two, his worries will have died down and he won't even remember the last of this, whatever this was, but for now he was content to keep it that way. 

 'I don't know. I don't keep track. You tell me. Do you keep track? You'd be much ahead of your game than I am if you did.' He tries not to make such a big statement out of it, but he's taken to knocking the bangs out of his face so he can squint and get a better look. 

'How have you been keeping afloat this last few weeks? You're Mr. Responsible. I should take tips from you. As far as I know, I might still be repeating by the time you're out.' He bares all teeth at him, 

 'I'd know better then to listen to You-know-Who by then, wouldn't I?' He means the more stringent uncle, the one that actually lays down punishment. 'Wouldn't want to spend the rest of my days playing catchup to you.' And you know? If you took yourself a distance back, that's all it was. Playing catchup. 

[itsakiller]

There’s his boy. Smart? No. Strong? Never in the slightest. In any other position, those would be faults. But, in the situation they’ve found themselves in (the situation he cultivated, pressed onto his son’s shoulders like an old mantle not even before he could walk), other qualities take precedence — qualities like obedience, which the boy has in spades.

The boy he had expected was not the one beside him, but that hardly meant he was unwanted.

His son’s hesitance wins a smile out of him, quick as a flash, and he jostles him again, pushing him towards what appears to be the general merchant. Even in small boroughs such as this, no matter how many times they’ve gone through the routine — setting his own flesh and blood loose makes him feel like he’ll never see him again.

'Haggle. Don't settle.' he warns, advice duly needed from the last time they had approached a place like this. 'And nothing but the essentials.' No need to let him waste their money on sweets, after all. Things like that could be thieved, and very, very easily.

He steps away and towards what counts as a throng of people in this town. They’ve come on a good day — someone is holding entertainment in the centre, some woman and her minstrel, singing tales about heroes that never existed and scoundrels who were never bested. Enthralled as they are, no one seems to mind him reaching for their cords and belts, emptying their purses out into his own.

They’ve come on a good day. It’s almost never been easier.

He’s almost tempted back into his old habits, of trying to steal as much as he can in as little time as possible. On any other day, in any other place, he might; there was nothing quite like the thrill of taking a serf’s meagre lot for yourself. But, just like them, he has a generation of his own to take care of. And so he relents.

He snatches last a sweet from one of the children eagerly pushing to the front of the crowd. A few people notice, but not enough to cause a stir. He retreats and heads back for the shop, sticky fingers satisfied.

Even if his son has messed up, he won’t mind so much.

[sputtertricks]

It's hard to keep a straight face on but his father's got it down to a mastery of it, and though the ever-assuring smile reappears (what was so funny? Had he done something to be funny?) it's enough to push down the nervousness, keep that at bay. 

'Mm -Mm.' He thumbs over the small pouch and its drawstrings, nodding once that he heard him, nodding twice that he absolutely understood and under no circumstances was he to divert from the plan. 

He understands, because they could only afford just what they need and past that, well. Things might occasionally land in their lap, possibly from leading such an unquestionable lifestyle, what did anybody know? but they never surrendered anything, to suddenly turn serendipitous for them. Things did not just transpire that way.  

They weren't quite a cog much like everyone else, to keep the wheels turning on ...whatever it was that everybody was boarding. They earned what they took, and what they took they sometimes gave back.

That did matter, right? They weren't bad people. There was a certain crop of people that had no problem with take, and take, and take. They could still be set aside. Dad would make sure they never fell so low. 

He sucks in air quietly as he's sure they've separated, the flow of the crowd isn't as obscured as it was before. As far as anyone else is concerned, he hasn't set foot in town at all. 'Don't -don't settle.' He whispers just under his breath, and it's not that he doesn't like the people, but the more they frequent places like this (because they have to) and the more he's involved (because he needs to learn sometime or another), the more he gets why the less time they spend seen, in towns like these the better. 

'That much for two?' The purse is out of sight and for good reason, he looks worried thumbing through the number coins you can count at first glance. 'Mother only gave me this much and she said it would be enough to cover,' He fights down the urge to glance about just in case he'd already wrapped up, and could he be in earshot. ...That all depended on how quickly he finished up here, so he keeps straight-on eye contact with the seller, adamant not to back down. ' said not to come back or go to another, nicer vendor.

Just these. We're in a rush, so it can't wait.' ...Well it couldn't. His father hadn't raised a liar.

[itsakiller]

What they have isn’t a journey with a destination set out in front of them; what they have is just the journey itself, endless wandering with a destination that’s simply “don’t get caught.” It’s been a good so-many-years: they’ve yet to be ferreted out. But their progress has been half as many leagues as moons that have passed, and so who’s to say what the next leg of their journey will be like?

They have to go into town for supplies. He’s never been one for towns.

'You know what you have to do, right?' he asks the boy beside him, usual sardony replaced by something a little more acrid, more impatient. No one is eyeing them, but he knows just what it would take for them to start: almost nothing. He nudges his son surreptitiously, looking down at him just once. He looks about as happy as he sounds.

'I stay out here and look around,' - and maybe steal a thing or two - 'You go into whatever store you see and get food.' - with the real actual money they have, which is also essentially stolen. Hard to find work when you're essentially a vagrant.

He jostles the boy again, just to keep his attention. ‘You’ve got it?’

[sputtertricks]

Dad's in charge. You don't ask questions, he's a little too young for snide remarks, he hasn't thought a foul thought about the man, not once. All he has is his pristine regard for the man, which won't and can't be changed by the sidelooks that they earn for walking too close to the curb. It's like some type of currency, seems to be, fluid just as the people they'll probably never encounter again. 

But everybody keeps tabs. They don't know you, and while that can only come in as a benefit - for their kind, the two of them were a special kind. 

Otherwise people wouldn't treat them this way. They'd be able to spend more than a couple of nights in one place, they wouldn't have to acquire things (even if they paid for a fraction of them). 

They were fair people, they were good people. They just had to make a living, and the method they used it wasn't conventional, it was not always right. But to make up for it, ...not always did they make up for it. 

That was rare. '-- - I use this.' He unfolds his hand still obstructed from passerby's, to show palmup he still had the coinsack looped through a few fingers to make sure the important package didn't just happen to slip along travel. He feels he gets the instructions without having to ask for confirmation, but he doesn't want to mess this up. He can't mess this up, not when the sturdy adult is antsy to get out of this comfort hub.

What was resourceful and maybe something like an oasis to other travelers was anything but, to the only adult in his life to date. 'I'm, -I'm going. I've got it.' At least. He thinks he's got it.  

[itsakiller]

Now, normally, he’s not one for making an effort. He’s not the sort of person who lives his life making an effort. He’s got what he wants, what he needs. And that’s all he’s really interested in. While most people worry about college, or their job, or their love life, the most he gets worked up over is if his coloured pencils get swapped for crayons (again, again).

So: he doesn’t have big plans. He doesn’t have a lot to worry over. And he doesn’t make a lot of effort, especially when he can get away with it.

But this? Tonight? Tonight, he’s got to break that rule. Because tonight is special. And it’s not even about Crayongate.

His roommate is working late (again, again). Kids are out. It’s evening, past sunset and dusk, so everyone is basically asleep - even the indoor dogs have yet to yap. If he was one for big words, he’d probably call it “peaceful,” or something like that. But right now, it’s just quiet.

So what’s he doing? He’s getting ready, is what. Their dinky table (rickety because one of the legs is broken, and tiny as anything) is all set up, their fanciest bedsheet being used as a tablecloth. Plastic (rewashable) utensils are out, and so are paper plates, decorated in a fancy red-flower pattern. It’s a big step up from the sectioned plates he normally defaults to. It’s a special night.

What else? He’s got mood lighting going (some of the candles from deep within the linen closet, wicks singed from how long it took to light them), and he’s pushed the portable TV out of its usual position near the window, replaced instead by some flowers he grabbed from the park (probably weeds).

What else? Food’s cooking and/or has been diced up - carrots, his attempt at a salad, and what else? Macaroni. Hot dogs, too, but in the interest of his guy, he’s left those aside. There’s a bottle of wine (or really convincing apple cider, he’s not sure) rolling around on the table, ready to be uncorked whenever they’ve decided they want to struggle with something.

So, what now?

He leans against the special dining chair he’s also dragged out, drumming his fingers on it like other, more mature people do when they’re impatient. Other hasn’t called ahead, so he should be back any time. He’s late, but that’s fine. Even if he wants to go back to bed, even if he wants to eat and go drag the TV with him — he won’t.

Because tonight is special.

[sputtertricks]

He does not mean to be late. 

He clocked in, he checked out, all of his to-do's, even showed up with a crisp tie and was that a powdered shirt for once? Why yes it was, above all things today was the defining point of a weekend to be had and he was not, he was not. Going to be ran overtime, he'd done his share of workload earlier on that weekend to amend such a mishap, happening, perhaps. 

But they'd sent him on an errand. An out of-office, intern type of errand. He'd been with these people for five years now! At least show some allegiance! But as the fun boss (not), that he always is, (but it was Friday), they drew straws (which is absitively posalutely, no excuse). 

So how had he drawn the shortest straw? Over this particular errand. On a Friday. On an anti-glum and spirits high, high day. They had overcome the slump. They had climbed this whole mountain. 

Or had they? 

He was lost. On the construction site that they'd sent him to, they hadn't forwarded any extra direction, and he was very, very lost.

It was 5pm, just bordered along rush hour really if you weren't careful, and was he ever careful, so how was it that he had not already rounded up his day, hadn't made it back to the office. He hadn't even began to think about dinner, assuming he was the one who was supposed to cook -- were there even fresh ingredients at home? But it was Friday. It was the weekend and he could show a bit of leniency for making fun loving times with the only person he wanted to see in the world right now. 

What was even more concerning was that the last text he'd fired off was come around 1pm earlier that day, which meant that his stay at-home beau had only covered (maybe) his first meal of the day. By now, he could be suffering. Could be famished.

By the time the smalltalk and the mutual points and the shoulderslap exchange and the 'heeey,'

'that's my guy. this is my guy.' had wrapped up, and he'd packed up, came back to the facility (why had he headed back to the building) to clock out. Nobody at the office was there.

What a day to plod through, you know. 

So by the time he'd made it back to his lovely, beautiful and unique, one of a-kind clunker the first thing he was to do was jam in a 'be home in 15' to his first entry on speed dial. 

Make that 5, make that 8. Including the stair climb to the familiar apartment complex, and he'd have lost his shoes down the first flight of stairs if he'd kicked them off any sooner, but unlike anywhere else. 

Unlike anywhere else in the whole wide world, someone's home and you don't need a car, or a key, or to go through some shoddy intercom to grant you entry. He peeks in, double taking at the rearrangements and he has to rack his brain for a second, are they having guests over? Do they ever have guests over?

Not that he can recall. Leaving his briefcase at the door and with just socks across the wooden floor he stealthily makes his way to the kitchen because somebody has been busy, and is nowhere in immediate sight. 

 So careful, careful, and he's not the slickest mothertrucker on the block, but moving fast he wind arms around his waist and he glances over the stay at-home's shoulder, 'What's cooking, good looking?' 

[itsakiller]

It’s late. He’s tired. He doesn’t know the word for it, exactly, but what he does know is that right now, the flowers and even the trees are asleep, as well as all the other friends. Even those people who go to that place with him (the ones who all wear the same outfit) are probably asleep. So this isn’t a time to be awake. He knows that. But he’s up.

So is that one, too. He vainly tries to rub at his eyes through his mask, brushing over the translucent paint of the right eye with his hand. Now that he thinks about it, wearing this isn’t really smart, either. Being up right now isn’t smart. Neither is wearing his face, which makes it even harder to see in the dark. He knows that. But he’s up. And he’s wearing it. So he doesn’t know what to do.

—- —- right. That one. He’s up, too.

He forgets why, but they were probably supposed to be up together. He’s decided he knows that. And because he knows that, he also knows what to do, wrapping an arm around the younger boy and tugging him close once he’s close enough to do so. He stifles a yawn (but not really), pressing his palm now into the boy’s chest. He’s warm. It’s nice.

He knows that. But they still shouldn’t be up.

'Why aren't we over there?' he asks bluntly, moving his hand over his kouhai's chest, slightly to the left. That's his most expansive way of asking “why aren't we with him,” the tree, the one who they should be asleep with already. He doesn't know why. 'Were we playing a game?

'I forget.'

[sputtertricks]

 '--- Don't tell me you've blanked out already?' His shoulders shirk up and he doesn't really care to provide his elder an answer, but moving they can do. He looks restless, but not antsy enough in that way to go contrary of what he's signing off. 'You're so spacy.

Why don't we go over there?' He reaches up momentarily to let his fingers settle on the hand that landed, another one of his senpai's tics (probably... ) that he just didn't get. It's not like he super minded it, not at all! but to be a little on the fairer side, there was this thing, called a tradeoff? that made things sometimes more fun.

Could be, anywho, if it didn't end up upsetting the prized and sometimes sensitive party in question. He lets out a small sigh, shoulders sinking like he was comfortable. He was comfortable, and to be honest there was not gonna be any other place he wanted to be. That didn't quite seal the deal, though, and prying the hand from his chest he guides it to the mask in question and the thin smile on his face pulls only tauter. 

' Can I take this, then?' He lets the inquiry hang in the open, smile cracking open to reveal some teeth. 'It'll make for less bumbling as we join Him over there,' provided, he didn't need the excuse, but it wouldn't be like him at all if it was so straightforward and no bells and whistles included, isn't that sort of right?

 Unbudging with the hand he's relocated for the impressive guy in front of him, he sits up on his knees now, instead of that more or less reclined position he was in just moments before. Takes a bit of momentum to pull off what he started out to do, but he frames the other side of the mask and presses a kiss just in between the eyes.

'That and every body's got to take their armor off in the good company of people, and otherwise. Right? I'm sure He'll make sure you're not disturbed,' He brushes a thumbpad over a sharper corner of the mask, the only parts of it that are more defined. 

'Unless you don't want to. But why don't we. let's move? '

[sputtertricks]

 So, there were a couple of things that were keeping all these bad feelings at bay, and so also there was the luck if you hoarded things properly, and if you were a hoarder, you could not go back. 

Not regularly. 

Well, that's put lightly. She's wandered out at last and nevermind the confinements of the spaces that she's allowed to travel, oh, no, no. She's learning, and she's got all her cards shoved somewhere out of sight, out of mind. 

And she's a little out of words when she first sets eyes on him! Not because he's radiating anything like a threat, no she knows she's not really at a risk. Not the usual reaction that people would gauge from this guy, her guy, not at all. See, somebody like him. You spot on the street, and it's suddenly not at all about fun and games, and you want to back the fuck up -- want to turn right back down the avenue that sent you here. That's the kind of guy he is; lovely, unsteady, wonderful, and he's someone she holds really close to her. It's the familiarity that throws her, though, because she's not supposed to be spotted and not spotted period, throw in that word for size. 

But it's not going to slide, once in the vicinity of her baby brother leaving just as quietly as you'd come in - not so likely. But she could try.

Yeah, she could try.