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Bitten Lip || September, 2018 || Bretanor

Bo: Bo bites his lip and nods.

Conor: Oh. Damn. Conor blinked. What was that expression?

...

He slowly... moved to... uh... hesitantly... his shirt met the floor. Bo had seen him shirtless and dripping wet the first day they reunited, but this felt different.

Bo: Bo took another make-believe photo. He leaned back in his seat, brought his book closer with raised knees, and began to write while he admired. What a beautiful flame he was.

Conor: Fingers flexed by his thighs and he tilted his head. Hair now blond fell over his eyes. 'What are you writing?'

Bo: "About you, and how you look today. How your hair brightens your eyes and accentuates your skin tone. How taut and perfect your body is, wrapped in cool-feeling silk skin. I wish I had the artistic skills necessary to sculp your image."

Conor: That was most likely the most intimate thing anyone has ever said to him. Especially while his chest was bare.

He had no response, could only stare.

Bo: Bo stared back, allowing his pen to fall onto the pages.

"Right now there's nothing more I want than to...touch your skin to feel if I'm correct."

Conor: The hybrid looked down at the floor. He could posses a body. He could heal a broken bone with bare hands. He could enter dreams. He could move a truck without touching it. He could do so much that humans haven't even managed to imagine yet, and still... he was the weak one.

'Come.' he signed without looking at him.

Bo: The aged journal was closed and set aside. He wouldn't remove his gaze for any reason. He approached in the same manner he knew Brett had for himself in the past. Cautiously brave. Half an arm's length away, yet somehow he felt Conor's warmth. Something in his nearness captured his breath. Suffocated by the inexplicable. He reached for the hybrid's chest, placed soft pampered fingers over his heart. Down they traveled towards his ribs where they began the memorization of each one.

Conor: Conor's skin pulled tight back against his body, only if Bo were to grab would he find any part of his flesh limp and weighty. As fingertips explored him in a way nobody ever has before, the human would find goosebumps. He didn't know how to react to such... attention.

Slowly, his gaze rose. Bright eyes search for his Flower's equally beautiful - no - more beautiful ones. Far more beautiful.

It would be no difficult task, distinguishing one rib from another, even without touching him, as they were outlined. Bones pushed against his skin, Out, they cried. They did not want the responsibility of having to protect this heart. They wanted to escape. What had once been an easy task was now proving impossible. How could he possibly be protected from this?

Bo: How, he wondered, could anyone ever blemish this skin? How could anyone have been at peace jostling this beautiful creature? Brett Parker had felt apologetic, kissed his hand a hundred times with sympathetic lips. Bo...felt anger. How dare anyone ever consider laying a hand on his flame. He wanted them crushed slowly under justice. They were already dead. He hoped they suffered greatly.

Oh, he forgot to breathe.

"May I kiss you?"

Conor: Tattoos moved with lungs. Unlike the human, he had been breathing more than necessary.

'Where?' he asked.

Bo: His fingers would say what his words would not, reaching his heart once more.

"You tell me where you're comfortable."

Conor: 'Tell me where your... desire is directing you to.'

Bo: "Right now," fingers traced his chest, outlined his beating organ.

Conor: He nodded, although it was more like his head moved, tilted a fraction against the will of rusty chains.

Bo: To do so would be sacred, as every kiss had ever been since the beginning. His fingers flattened against his chest in an attempt to steady his racing thoughts and tingling skin. Lips finally pressed against skin and it was every bit as lovely as he had imagined. His eyes closed. The kiss faded into an equally intimate gesture; he ligered, breathed him in, rested his cheek against Conor's shoulder.

Conor: The kiss made him exhale, his entire body attempted to retract, but whatever was left of his soul refused. As Bo found a comfortable position against him, Conor rose a hand into his hair and kissed his forehead.

Bo: His gray-green eyes remained closed as he received affection of his own. Speaking would break the spell of gorgeous silence. He would hold out and enjoy their nearness.

Conor: His free hand settled for moving back and forth over Bo's cheek, caressing and adoring. Surely, they should be relaxing on a bed for this.

Bo: "... When you kiss Brett, it is the only act you wish in that moment, isn't it?"

Conor: 'What do you mean?' hands retreated to sign this before returning to their rightful places.

Bo: "You want him to kiss you. You...desire it wholeheartedly. I want to kiss you as you do him, but..."

Conor: Slowly, he eased back. Not because he didn't want to hold Bo anymore, it was just for the sake of conversation. A heavy one.

'Have I been... making you feel left out?'

Bo: 'No.' He took a breath. "I..." shouldn't lie. "I don't want you to do it because of a ratio. I want to kiss more than your chest, hands, and cheek, and I will when you're ready."

Conor: He blinked, feminine eyelashes that seemed to be an Archer trademark. 'I have been waiting. For something. More.'

Bo: "I'm not as... passionate as Brett can be. When he gives affection it is...so different. It's as though he's always known everything. I don't have that. I still battle with the idea of touching either of you."

Conor: 'All the more reason to wait. There will be a time, a right time.'

Bo: "Know that I want to...everytime I look at you. What you give me I treasure. I write your every detail and... There aren't enough words in any language." He'd said too much. It felt as though he has kissed him with his words. No, far too much. He began to lean away.

Conor: Lips parted to form some sort of facial expression, but he didn't know what he felt, so he was clueless as to what he should be portraying.

'Can you explain it to me? What it feels like to want to kiss me when you look at me?'

Bo: Bo reclaimed his seat before debating his answer. He closed his eyes to try and dig the feeling from the somewhere south of his heart and north to the logic. Every emotion came from his mind, he knew, but he felt their presence everywhere. At times it was quite annoying.

His eyes opened. He admired again.

'Butterflies,' he signed. "It feels surreal, sometimes. I know what you feel like, what you smell like, but I imagine it would be nothing the same with our mouths together. Suddenly you'll be hot to the touch. Your scent will amplify and overwhelm me. You'll take my breath away. Other times, I escape my thoughts to logic. I imagine it will be as every kiss before it. It will be valued, I will love you the same, and we will be content. I look forward to knowing someday."

Conor: As Bo sat, Conor picked up his clothing again. He fiddled with it before putting it on, just in case his Flower objected - in which case he'd drop it again.

Such a response caused stillness from the hybrid for quite some time.

'What if we're building up anticipation for something that will disappoint you?'

Bo: As much as he enjoyed the view, if Conor was ready to dress then he would not object. Not today. He would be replaying the image when alone anyway.

"Impossible," he shook his head.

Conor: 'What if when we kiss you simply feel skin against your own, and that is all?'

Bo: "I thought when Brett first kissed me that I would feel absolutely nothing. I wanted to feel nothing. I was still healing and resentful. You two... It does not matter what happens to me. The two of you will always be under my skin. There is no way I will feel nothing."

Conor: But now he was concerned. He had talked (signed) himself off a cliff.

'You don't know that.'

Bo: "I bet you I do," he smirked.

Conor: 'What do you bet?' and what is that smile?

Bo: "Another kiss."

Conor: Eyes roll but he can't keep away the twitch at the corners of his mouth.

Bo: "Want to sit with me?"

Conor: Conor would take steps forward and then hesitate. He'd look around curiously. 'How would you like me to sit with you?' on your lap? At your feet?

Bo: The human blinked, taken aback by the question. An image of Conor in Brett's lap came to mind.

This was an opportunity.

"Right here," he touched beside himself. "And I would like my head in your lap," said with his signature confident tone.

Conor: He smiled somewhat mischievously. 'It would no longer be sitting if I put my head in your lap.'

Bo: "Your head? We can't both have each o - no. Fine. Come here." He patted his lap.

Conor: 'I meant -' so maybe he was a little flustered... 'where?'

Bo: "If you don't want any head in any lap, sit here." Here being his right leg. "And you'll read with me."

Conor: 'I'd probably crush you.'

Bo: "No, you won't."

Conor: Hm. He edged closer, until he was within reach, and stopped. 'Are you sure?'

Bo: Enough. His book was placed on the arm rest long enough to take Conor by the hip and waist, gently bringing him the rest of the way forward.

Conor: Were Conor human, he'd have stumbled out of sheer surprise. A hand goes to Bo's shoulder as the other places on his chest to steady himself. He slips into Bo's lap and is suddenly worried he feels uncomfortable for the human. Is his body alright for this?

Bo: More than alright. The hand on his hip had traveled upwards, slipped underneath his shirt accidentally. He wasn't paying attention to much else from Conor's expression. He needed to understand every nuance.

"Do you want to be here?"

Conor: The touch had him bunching up the material by Bo's neck. He didn't want to let go to reply, and so just nodded.

Bo: He could get lost in those eyes, and for a moment he had.

"Well," he sighed, "let's turn you around." Back to chest felt more appropriate. For now. At least this way he could wrap his arms around Conor's waist and, for another moment, rest his cheek against his back, bask in the experience.

Conor: After adjusting, he slipped his fingers between Bo's. No... no, he didn't prefer this. He got no pleasure out of staring at the floor or carpet. His hold was used to peel Bo away, working to straddle his lap facing him. This is far better. The view is far more beautiful in this direction.

Bo: "So this way?" he smiled, scoffed. "We can't read together this way." But did it really matter? In no way was this meant to cause aggravation. If Conor was bothered he would have said something.

So, he reached for his companion's face to hold in both hands. He felt trusted enough to study him, to...kiss...the side of his mouth.

"I love you."

Conor: Conor shrugged. They could find a way, surely. He'd simply have to read upside down, or Bo would have to read aloud to him. He smiled as he was held, but that expression was soon fading.

'Why?'

Bo: "I think you ask me that every time I say it."

Conor: The smile returned.

Bo: His hands slowly fell down Conor's body to rest in his lap.

"And you love me?" he asked his thighs.

Conor: An index beneath a chin, a kiss to a nose.

'And I love you.'

Bo: He couldn't hear his voice. He could not recall Conor ever telling him the same in their dreams. Wonder returned as Conor held his chin; wonder if this was forever. Conor still lived with his own curse, unlike his own cancerous hell. Black magic affected everyone. They were without just as every day Brett had to live with watching Bo deteriorate.

Eyes returned their focus. The side of Conor's mouth was kissed again, tenderly, slowly. Sharp jawline and slender neck were given equal attention.

Conor: Such soft affection warranted a soft smile. Where was Brett? He was all that was missing from this.

Arm looped around Bo's neck, an attempt to hold steady, to encourage.

Bo: Always there was a part of Bo's logic whispering that this was unnecessary. His mouth slowed exploration at Conor's clavicle. Clearly his body wasn't listening. His men were the exception to his absolute distaste of touch. Despite his trust, his body began to warm.

Conor: He head tilted, craned so he may offer some in return. Lips press to the top of hie human's head and whatever part of his face or ear or neck he could reach. The hybrid leaned closer, causing him to shift over Botan's lap, making him all the more aware of how his thighs were pressed against his partner's.

Bo: He had to look between them. Even sleeping together they had never been so close. He felt bold enough to place his hands underneath Conor's shirt and close his eyes. All gratification was forced to tactile and auditory. He felt those ribs again, listened to the pace of his breathing.

His own skin felt as though he'd been standing underneath sunshine.

Conor: With closed eyes Conor could not communicate even if he wanted to, so he took to letting his hands portray how he felt. They ran over shoulders and back to his neck. Fingers slid under collar to feel bare skin.

Bo: Breath caught in his chest at the sudden feeling of fingers underneath his own clothing. His eyes forced open.

"Do you want to see me?"

Conor: What? Instead of bringing his hands away, he furrowed his eyebrows.

Bo: He pinched his white sweater between three fingers.

Conor: Oh. Fingers retreat. 'Yes.'

Bo: Conor was gently pushed back enough to remove the barrier between them. It was placed over his forgotten book. The man was incredibly pale with warm undertone complementing his sunflower blond hair. Ribs competed for visual dominance with muscle. A swimmer and jogger's physique.

He would not demand the same from Conor; he had already exposed himself.

His eyes eventually found his hybrid's.

Conor: Conor observed, as if he has never seen him shirtless before. This flesh was to be respected, admired, adored. Such skin was to be caressed by tattooed fingers which truly knew its value.

'You're beautiful.' he confessed.

Bo would not demand the same, but fair is fair. He did the same, stripped and placed his clothing atop the other's.

Bo: The strip made Bo smile, one which so few had ever witnessed. All that was missing was their ghoul.

"As are you." A dancer's body, he thought, and quietly laughed at reality.

"I want you to dance with me someday."

Conor: Automatic cringe.

Bo: Which made him roll his eyes. "Just keep your eyes on me. A waltz?"

Conor: 'Never. I won't even be dancing at my brother's wedding.'

Bo: "What is it about dancing that renders you frozen?"

Conor: 'Moving.'

Bo: "You move with me all of the time."

Conor: 'Exactly. I have to move to speak. I'm constantly doing something with my arms. Let me be still.'

Bo: "What about watching me dance with Brett?"

Conor: 'I would be jealous.' he smiled crookedly.

Bo: "We'll share custody of him," he chuckled.

Conor: He shook his head. 'Where is he? I miss him.'

Bo: "Training again." He suddenly bit his lip. "Want to... eavesdrop?"

Conor: 'No, I want to be here with you. Like this. Is that bad?'

Bo: The human blinked. "No..." He expected such bold statements from Brett. Obvious to himself, he was still learning the man in his lap.

"I would like to look in on him someday. I want to see if there is more than he tells us."

But for now, his hands climbed back to Conor's waist. Now he wanted to feel the texture around each and every visible tattoo.

Conor: He started to shrug but as Bo touched him he had forgotten all about that action. It was replaced with a bright smile, one with a tongue slightly between his teeth. He moved a fingertip down the middle of Bo's chest.

Bo: His finger rose and fell with every breath. "Which is your most recent? How do they not fade?"

Conor: Conor hesitated. Um. Um. He lifted to be kneeling and slowly pushed down his trousers slightly at his side. No reason for Bo nor Brett to have noticed the new silver tattoo with a black outline on his hip. He never really exposed this area of skin.

The colour, reflective of his hair when he had first kissed Brett. The image, a simple '3'. The question, ignored until Bo reacted.

Bo: Bo's reaction was as soon as the tattoo was revealed. He reached as he had previous, caressing the beds of his fingers over the mark. When? Where? Which artist had been allowed to touch him? Why hadn't he told them?

The outline of the image was traced. The tip of his index migrated from one side of his hip to the other...just because he could.

Conor: Oh, wow! Okay. He took a sharp breath because he doesn't think he's been touched there... ever? Maybe once. Perhaps when he was still a child in Italy. He pulled his trousers up once again. And reseated himself.

Bo: Bo looked up to those eyes to understand if he had crossed a line. His hands rested at his sides, safely away should Conor need it.

Conor: That... felt... tingly. It had been just a little too low down on his body, just a little too much, just a little too lingering.

'I'm not there yet.'

Bo: 'It's fine. I understand.' The strength required to verbally express was momentarily absent.

Conor: He looked away. 'I'm sorry, I ruined the moment.' he licked his lips. 'You asked about how I get the tattoos to stay. I do it like a curse. I do them all myself. Apart from the ones in unreachable places, of course.'

Bo: It took a moment, but he managed to find his voice again.

"Here I was becoming jealous of some human artist."

Conor: Oh? Eyebrows briefly raise. 'Jealous of what, Flower?'

Bo: "Someone touching you that you don't love...shouldn't be touching you."

Conor: Interesting.

He leaned in to rest his forehead against Bo's. Hands run along arms to find hands, and fingers are intertwined. There was no telling where one ended and another began. It didn't matter. It was inconsequential.

Bo: At least Conor felt comfortable enough to return to him. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the moment for what it was. Brett should have been with then to experience the moment. They would have to catch him up.

"I love you," he mouthed.

Conor: Since he had his eyes shut, Conor will assume he doesn't want a response. Instead, he allowed his hands to smooth over Bo's back, feel his skin, pull him closer.

Bo: Closer was fine, but he was reluctant to give affection after the reaction Conor had to his tease. What seemed safe enough was to again rest his cheek against his chest and breathe him in. He would keep his hands in his lover's.

Conor: Conor moved to kiss Bo's face. No hiding from me. Never hide from me. His lips ran along his temple, his cheek, his jaw, his chin. A kiss was planted crooked between his mouth and nose. He hoped he had never been kissed there before.

Bo: Oh no. So many kisses he didn't know what to do with. There again was that heat. That same sensation felt when Brett exposed his naked body for his delectation, burning with blush from nose to shoulder.

"I'm getting warm."

Conor: A hand rose to fan his partner's face while he continued to kiss his sweet skin.

Bo: "That -" he couldn't help but laugh. Not at all the reaction he expected.

Conor: After a while his wrist got bored, so he allowed his palm to rest on Bo's cheek. Into his face the hybrid nuzzled.

Bo: That wasn't helping either, but nevertheless he leaned into the affection. He turned into Conor's face too swiftly. Lips grazed over the hybrid's and he gasped.

Conor: Eyes that had instinctively closed open at the sound of air escaping Bo's mouth. His heart was making his chest hurt. His thoughts were making his head hurt.

'What was that for?'

Bo: "I'm sorry." Not a frequent statement from the human. "I got too close."

Conor: Botan was studied.

'It was an accident?'

Bo: "My self-control got away from me."

Conor: 'What does that mean? You... I don't -' he was at a loss. He was defending himself with that? His explanation for almost, practically, kissing him was... that? When else could he expect Botan to be unable to control himself?

Bo: Gently, Conor was moved to the other side of the couch.

"I wanted to kiss the side of your mouth. We were...There is no excuse." His human slowly straightened, separated their clothes and began to dress. "I've never been so comfortable and I...I'm..." Why this was so vastly different from Brett baffled him. He didn't care what people thought. He walked naked in this house on a day-to-day basis. If he wanted a kiss from the ghoul he took it. With Conor...suddenly he was aware of his body and his place in the house.

Conor: As Conor was discarded he looked away. There was no clear way of knowing what he was focusing on, and for a while he just sat there with his hands holding onto the edge of the couch.

Eventually he did the same as the human and redressed, slowly, a haze over his eyes.

He stood. 'I'm sorry I'm not what you hoped I would be. I'm sorry I have disappointed you and have seemingly gone further with Brett. I... thought you would understand. I think you do. Most people have their first kiss with their partner and have a lot of other things to look forward to, they have... touching and exploring and sex to come. I don't. I have kisses, only. I don't want anything more than that, which is why I haven't tried to kiss you. I don't like you less than Brett or find you less appealing. You're one of the most beautiful people I've ever seen. I've been waiting for the right moment. Brett and I kissed before I realised what was happening, that's not what I want with us. If you're unhappy with that then maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe you misunderstood your feelings for me. Which would be fine. Emotions are complex so I wouldn't hold it against you.'

Bo: Bo listened with absolute attention. Just as he watched Conor's hands he observed his expression, doing his best to pair an imaginary tone of voice with those beautiful slender hands. He could almost hear that voice from his dreams...but it was wrong. It was the voice he had imagined long ago on the bus. The deep rasp man from one too many cigarettes. That wasn't his Conor.

"I'm not unhappy with you," he both said and signed. The conversation demanded both to prevent any misunderstanding. "I know what you've been through. I've been through the same but not. It's not...completely the same." His hands fell but rose a moment later. "I don't know how else to explain so I'll empty my head. I...physically, don't require more than your lips to mine, or anywhere on my face, hands...what we were doing. I'm happy with that. I don't see sex as necessary. But I'm also comfortable with my body. I know at any point I can take Brett by the shirt and kiss him. I've never questioned whether or not I'm allowed. I don't feel that way with you. For a moment, and again, forgive me, I was comfortable enough to forget what had happened, and that it would be safe. I don't want to do that to you, to make you relive your horrors."

Conor: Conor licks his lips as he watches Bo explain. Being comfortable with him shouldn't be a problem. But it is. And that's Conor's fault.

'I do not relive anything. I am repulsed by it, not triggered. It makes my skin crawl, the same way watching maggots live inside a corpse would to the average person. That being said, when we are at the stage where we kiss, I'd never prevent you from taking hold of me and kissing me. I thought you'd be my true first kiss. It was Petal instead. I can't offer my first to you, but I can offer something memorable. That's all I want.'

Bo: "You're memorable enough to penetrate a memory curse. Every kiss has been memorable, Flame. Every time I touch you I feel...blessed. You're one of the only people I care about. You and Brett are...my life."

He felt as though he was experiencing an out of body episode with his words.

Conor: Never have such words been said to him, and the irony was that after such a confession he'd adore kissing Botan. But he couldn't like this. It felt like kissing him now would mean... doing so just because. To appease Botan. To make them even. To... he didn't know. It would feel wrong, somehow.

'I'm asking you to wait for me. Can you do that?' so afraid he was of his flower's answer, that one might argue there was a watery gleam in his eyes.

Bo: "If you don't want me to touch you at all, then you tell me that, Conor, and I will. You tell me that all I'm allowed to do is admire you from arm's length and I would do just that." This was not a tease, and this was not some romantic throw-away asseveration. His somber expression and locked gaze was a sincere offered pledge.

Conor: 'I was more than content on your lap. I only don't want us to kiss yet. That's all.' he was sure he wasn't making any sense. He just... felt this way. As simple as that.

Bo: "Then I have to ask you something else. I don't want a mistake."

Conor: A hand was offered from where Conor stood. Take it and ask me.

Bo: As much as he wanted to, the subject was too serious and he needed Conor's hands to be ready. Instead, he would feather his fingertips over his love's palms.

"Brett and I have seen our bodies. The first night I came here I was too tired to care what he saw. I still don't. However, if our bodies will revolt you, I'd like to know now."

Conor: ... The way he put it made it seem like a choice. Like he chose to look at them and find them disgusting. That hurt. More than he ever thought his sexuality would hurt him.

He didn't find them ugly, and it killed Conor to think they might believe he did.

What could he say? What response could he possibly have to that which didn't confuse things and didn't make it seem like he genuinely was turned off by them? Nothing that he could think of.

Bo: The silence was enough to steel his perspective. He shook his head. "I will make a habit of using a towel. After everything you've done for us, keeping my clothes on is the very least I can do." This would also mean putting an end to his voyeurism. He would have to explain to Brett, if he was not already aware.

Conor: Eyebrows raise. 'After everything I have done for you?'

Bo: "Yes." He blinked. "You do so much for us and what do I have to give you but love and respect? I should do more."

Conor: 'So your love is simply to return the favour?'

Bo: "You know it's not. You and Brett...are able to do so much more than me. That's all I mean."

Parker: Brett pulled into the driveway one handed, practically inhaling a giant bottle of water with the other. He doubted there was enough water in the world to cool him down at the moment.

"September is trying to kill me," he said as he opened the door, still drinking water and toweling as much of himself off as he could. He was pouring sweat.

Conor: The sound of the door opening had Conor looking away. Would Brett be able to feel the weird energy that Conor was feeling? He took a step backwards.

Bo: "Afternoon," Bo greeted, eyes still on the backwards walking hybrid.

Parker: He couldn't put his finger on what it was but Brett could definitely feel something.

".....Is everything okay?"

Conor: Turning towards the ghoul he kissed his cheek. 'Are you hungry? I'll make us something.'

Bo: Bo watched their exchange and lowered his eyes. Back to the couch, where he would situated close to the lamp and reopened his book. As with every significant moment in his life, their conversation was documented.

Parker: Redirection in lieu of a proper answer from one of them and nothing but a greeting from the other meant no. Something here was not okay.

But now was not the time to ask. Or rather, now was not the time that asking would guarantee him an answer.

Instead he simply smiled and said, "I am. Training kicked my ass today. Need a shower first though, I'm all sweaty. Also I realized my pants don't fit anymore."

Conor: He nodded. 'I'll be in the kitchen, then.' and off he went to start making them all something to eat.

Bo: "Don't pile your sweat heaps on the bed again. Strip down and I'll take them to wash."

Parker: "I'll strip in the bathroom. I apologize in advance for how bad they are today."

Bo: After finishing his written sentence, the book was closed with his pen as bookmark. It was left on the couch as always until bedtime. He gestured to the hall. "I'll get laundry started. I miss my housekeeper in Oslo and I never got to use her."

Parker: He chuckled. "I liked her, too. She shares my pet naming philosophy."

Bo: Off to the bathroom, then, where he would watch Brett strip and gather his clothes in his arms. He would ask what training the vampire had demanded of him, what he thought of his training. Nothing of what had transpired between the two of them in his absence.

Parker: Brett had finally reached the point where he was no longer self-conscious about undressing in front of Bo. It was practically second nature now.

"I need to go shopping," he said, frowning at his pants.

Bo: "No. Not you. You'll go to that Walmart outside of town and look like the locals."

Parker: He laughed. "I have never bought pants at Walmart. I'll go to Macy's."

Bo: His companion squinted. Hmm. "Fine. You need new scarves, too. They look like you bought them in 1991."

Parker: "I probably did buy them in 1991. It's still too hot for scarves though. Just thinking about them makes me sweat more."

Bo: Speaking of. "Why is there dirt on and in your ear?"

Parker: "Aw man, it got in my ear?" He reached up and felt it. "Sit-ups."

Bo: "In the mud?"

Parker: "There was some mud, yeah. Tried to keep my body on the grass so I wouldn't ruin all my clothes but the rest of me still got some."

Bo: "What does he have planned for you? Just seems he wants you filthy every other day."

Parker: Brett shrugged. "I don't know for sure, but I think he wants me to get stronger. Physically and in regards to my abilities. I never actively used them until I started training."

Bo: "And then what is he going to use you for?"

Parker: Another shrug. "Maybe he just wants a ghoul who's reached their full potential. I kind of think part of it is also him making a point."

Bo: "That you belong to him."

Parker: "That was obvious long before now. I think it's more along the lines of 'you weren't really a ghoul before but you're one now'." He turned on the shower.

Bo: "And you're still at peace with that notion?"

Parker: Brett nodded as he stepped inside. "It's either that or be the same weak, broken man I was for so long. You and Conor deserve more from me than that."

Bo: Bo couldn't help his smile, subtle though it was. "I like the sound of that."

Parker: He poked his head out of the shower to give Botan a kiss. "Me, too."

Bo: Eyes fell after the kiss. "You have to wear a towel when he's home."

Parker: That was an interesting segue. "I usually do. Why?"

Bo: "It's not the same. He can't ignore our nudity."

Parker: Brett nodded. "Okay. Towel it is."

Bo: That was that. Sweaty clothes in his arms, Bo made his escape from the steam and to the laundry room.

Parker: He indulged himself with a nice long shower, even taking the opportunity to neaten up his beard. By the time he came out of the bathroom he was fresh as a daisy.

Bo: Bo meandered his way to the kitchen. For a minute Conor was watched. He was then approached.

"I love you," he said softly. Treading carefully, he continued. "I care about no one but you and Brett. I want you to be comfortable. I feel... strange with you sometimes. As though I'm learning affection for the first time."

Conor: Conor slowly straightened, placing the hot tray of cooked food down as he carefully examined the other. The oven glove was removed. He was about to respond with a simple "I love you too" when he was taken off guard.

'You feel strange with me?' that wasn't... that... that's not... good...

Bo: Bo remained steady. "I've never loved before. No one that I can remember. I fell into love with Brett. We missed our chance, and then somehow we are here. When I said it's the least I could do ... I felt I should explain myself. Now I'm talking too much." An act which he disdained.

Conor: Deep breath. 'It was silly and immature of me to react that way. I overthink everything you and Brett say to me. I apologise.'

Bo: Now, that was an unexpected - was it really? His demon-hybrid with such confidence in his abilities. Yes.

"Do you think...this is a whim?"

Conor: 'A whim? Which part?'

Bo: "Our love for you."

Conor: He blinked. Oh. 'I hope not.'

Bo: "...Come here."

Conor: Forward he went.

Bo: Hope? What nonsense. No one was going anywhere. There was only certainty. He held Conor's face in both hands and began to assault, lovingly, with kisses. Everywhere but where had been deemed inappropriate.

Conor: Wait, wait, Conor pulled from the admiration. He took Bo's hand and started to head for his flower's bedroom.

Bo: The human followed behind without verbal question, curious what his love had in mind.

Conor: Bo was guided to sit on the edge of his bed, then he went away and returned with a box. Without looking at Bo again he started to tug on wire, bringing it out.

Bo: Bo sat with hands on either side on the mattress, watching as Conor went away and returned. What was that? Rather than ask he waited.

Conor: Moving at this rate was too slow... and too embarrassing. 'Close your eyes.' he'd wait until Bo did as commanded to move faster, it was wrapped around the bed, stuck up the wall and ceiling and trailed along the floor around them as much as possible. The light was off. Curtains were closed. A button was pressed. Out came his phone, a playlist compiled of songs he thought Botan would like. Dvořák, and anyone similar.

The hybrid knelt down in front of the human, raising a gentle hand to his jaw. Open your eyes now.

Bo: What was that noise around the bed? Curioser and curioser. He was so tempted to open his eyes. Not being nosey was a chore.

"Dvořák?" he smiled. "Are we going to war with something?" His smile faded at the touch. Eyes opened.

"Oh." He looked around, but only in Conor's immediate area. It seemed Brett was not the only romantic.

He wanted to say, "May I go back to kissing you?" but instead took initiative to lean forward and take for himself, placing his lips between Conor's eyes.

Conor: He smiled softly. Going war. Funny, that's kind of what it felt like. The smile remained for the kiss, eyes closing and body relaxing. His hand fell from the other's face to his knee, gently placed, holding himself steady.

The only light would be the fairy lights, strung around them in, each bulb the shape of a butterfly. They were in the midst of a beautiful swarm, all searching for one another, all looking for a way home.

'I wanted something like... us on a boat at sunset. These lights beneath our feet. The moon above us. I wanted something similar to the books I'm sure you've read. I wanted to write us a story the most innovative writers would feel disheartened by, knowing they didn't come up with it. I haven't been ready to kiss you, not because my heart isn't there yet, but because the world isn't. If you don't like the music I can turn it off.' his smile grew. 'I wanted to show you that being silent gives me a lot of time to listen. My point may have been made by now, and I don't think anything would be less perfect.'

Bo: Bo attempted an image of Conor's description. Surreal indeed. Too beautiful to imagine in full spectrum. That was what Conor had in mind for them. Their first kiss meant so much. Perhaps they were hyping it to an extent of unobtainable beauty. No. Not paired with what followed.

Brett would see this. He would hear the music and see the lights and witness Conor's speech, should he stand at just the right angle. He would witness Bo's eyes shift, looking around the entire room, finally. He would see how Bo took hold of those hands and kissed each individual finger, the same way the ghoul had many times before. He wanted this man so much.

Parker: Brett had never, ever been happier that he'd learned sign language than he was at this very moment.

The speech, the lights, the music, the /feeling/ behind it all just...there were tears in his eyes. He could feel his heart overflowing with love for these two men and it was almost painful but he didn't care. It was beautiful. This was beautiful.

Conor: The extra heartbeat had Conor turning. Such a strange expression. He didn't understand whatever emotion was behind that. After kissing Bo's forehead and gently pulling free, over he went. He reached for Brett's hand to lead him into the room. He didn't have to be here if it made Bo uncomfortable, but he doubted it did.

'It isn't what I was waiting for. But it's us. Together. So, Flower, may I kiss you?'

Bo: Brett and his tears, his emotions. He wore them so easily on his sleeve. A fact which hadn't always been. Conor accepted them and took his hand and led him in and they were whole once more.

Bo sat straighter with his return. The words barely registered. He was being asked. How, he wondered, was this his life?

His answer would be non-verbal. He took Conor's face as he so often did, and closed the gap between them. Their noses brushed, and their lips pressed gently. His mouth was impossibly warm for someone so pale. He wondered what Conor tasted like, but refrained from using his tongue to investigate.

Parker: There were so many emotions, Brett couldn't understand them himself. All he knew was that when Conor took his hand, his heart seemed to grow in his chest, and that love along with it.

He took a deep breath as he sat on the bed, watching as they finally had their moment. A more perfect, beautiful, romantic scene could not be asked for, and he'd remember it always.

Conor: At the feeling of Bo's nose against his own, he smiled; although Conor's joyful expression faded when he felt the human draw nearer, he was still smiling in his chest. Hands placed gently on Bo's sides, holding him on place with a calm need.

He returned Bo's kiss. He offered his lips and wordless admiration. He was hyperaware of Brett's presence, his gaze, and he loved it. It made this feel... whole. Something rose off of Conor's chest. Something tremendous was happening, but he didn't feel the weight of the pressure, he didn't feel anxiety nor fear about what was to come. He only felt peace. He only felt accomplishment. He only felt love.

Bo: Bo felt a swell in his own chest like an ache. Conor's hands were welcome but nearly unbearably warm. Touch was so sacred, and this kiss...this kiss made him wonder about the ones to come. Would they feel the same; would their last feel the same? Their last...

Arms wrapped around Conor's neck. Their human sighed into the embrace, nuzzled into colorful hair.

Conor: Conor lowered from his tiptoes to be flat on the ground, allowing arms to slip around his waist and hold him tightly. His face is buried into Bo's chest, breathing in the beautiful human.

Bo: "Jeg elsker deg. Jeg elsker dere begge," he whispered.

Parker: "Jeg elsker deg," Brett managed, wiping his face. The swell of emotion in his heart had finally spilled over.

Conor: Conor grinned, pushing Bo back onto the bed beside Brett. 'You're both crazy.'

Bo: Another smile from their human. If only they understood the rarity around others. Perhaps they did.

"I suppose we are."

Parker: "For you, and for each other," Brett agreed, wiping his face again before reaching for Conor. He was too far away from them.

#bitten lip

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