(Hi. Tumblr is possessed. Hate it, love you.) Gabriel: Charleston, you said “I would have broken your heart if you had met me when I was like that,” "I liked pretty boys." First of all, rude. It's a well-known fact that my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. Secondly, I resisted from pointing out that if you really wanted everyone to know I am yours, you could, for instance, hold my hand in public. (1)
It was a good point, and afterwards I felt weak for allowing myself to be distracted from it. Many men won’t get the more subtle cues of us as mates, and those that show that initial interest in me shouldn’t be held accountable for that by either one of us. And even though I may not be interested, if a stranger smiles at me knowingly, says hello with that unique warmth, and lets his fingers linger at my wrist, I will instinctively receive a thrill from that, from his pride and willingness to let the room know that he finds me attractive. Also, there’s being private and then there is hiding. It seems like you’re protecting yourself more than you’re protecting me and the sanctity of our relationship, especially if I say that it hurts me that I’m never to be afforded any open affection from you. That shouldn’t be among the list of reasons on what makes us special. You’ve been alone for so long because you were afraid to repeat the mistakes of your youth, but consider that this same fear might have also taken some of the joy out of our future. Maybe this seems petty or unimportant to dwell on, but if I did dwell and if I wanted this to change, would this be a deal-breaker for you? (4)
The possession has been beat! Or at least the entity temporarily returned to sender. Now we can get to the good stuff.
Charleston starts to chuckle at the first part. “I was always looking for the next pretty boy to catch my eye,” he explains, leaning forward towards you. “And you are no mere boy, my love. I could never look away from you.”
He turns somber at the second part. “I hardly have to wrap my arms around you to let someone know you’re taken,” he says, deliberately slow.
“You are not accustomed to werewolf society. It is… it is not repressed as humans are when it comes to open displays, but yet at the same time we can pick up on cues that you might not even be aware you are giving.” He folds his hands together, looking down.
“Packs rarely value privacy. They want to know everything, and if you don’t tell them, they will often figure it out. My scent is all over you. My marks, all over you. Just as your scent is now part of me. The way I stand behind your shoulder, your constant protector. The way I can’t help but move closer to you if someone approaches, a clear sign of a jealous mate.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t need to scream it for humans to hear. If you listen, if you know how to look, it’s already clear to anyone that I would care to show it to. Anyone else–it’s none of their damn business.” Charleston growls the last sentence, head snapping up as he snarls.
“If you doubt my feelings, if you need constant reassurance in the face of others what we mean, then perhaps… perhaps I am not right for you. What we are shouldn’t have to be slapped in the faces of humans for it to matter. As I said, my pack knows, and the squad knows. They can see the signs because they know me.”
He stands, turning his back to you as he paces to the window. “If you need the affirmation of some stranger, I don’t know if I can give that to you. It was… manipulative, when I did such actions in my youth. It is not a state I wish to revisit, and frankly, I no longer find myself comfortable with such actions.”
“I can try, but I am not pleased about it, and that will be evident to anyone who is already examining us so closely. If you think my discomfort is worth it, then by all means. Let’s hold hands. Let’s go skipping through a meadow of flowers if that will appease your desire for public affection!”
He turns, and there’s a wild grief in his eyes, a raw wave of emotion. “I love you, but my nature has changed from who I was. I thought you would take me as I am now, but it seems I still cannot escape my past. I do not want to lose you, but you wish to change me, as if who I am now is not enough.”
His voice trembles. “Think on what you want from me, and be clear.” One hand goes into a pocket, and he fumbles out a dark box. “Because I know what I want, and if this isn’t enough of a warning for those ‘other men’ you speak of, then perhaps we aren’t right for each other.”
He tosses the box at you. “Feel free to sleep on the couch or go to your own home, but I’d prefer if you didn’t share my bed tonight.” With that, he walks behind the couch to the stairs, disappearing up them with a heavy tread.
