#eidetic187

[storyborn]

@eidetic187 didn't ask but :)

[ SMS › SPENCER ] new museum!!! [ SMS › SPENCER ] we have to go!!!

[retriibutions]

Stop trying to get up. There is nothing on this earth that needs you upright right now. // @eidetic187

the hospital bed is too small. there's always a light on. he's never alone. the food is awful. all he wants to do is no longer be cramped in this bed. to get some fresh air. but his broken back and spencer keep him from attempting to walk out the door. ( he'd probably fall down the stairs anyway. )

"i'm sick of being here," it's only been a few days since the accident but colt's not used to being idle for so long. he wants to get up and move. his butt-cheeks fell asleep hours ago and now it's just uncomfortable. "i bet i could jump out the window," he murmurs.

the nurses called spencer in when it became apparent that their patient wasn't going to listen to his doctor and kept trying to get up and move. it was a good plan, because even though he's complaining, he hasn't tried it again. settling into the pillows as best as he can, he tries not to groan.

"my ass hurts. my back hurts. i want to sleep in our bed."

[retriibutions]

Stop pushing me away. I'm not leaving. // @eidetic187

he'd been the stunt coordinator on the movie. had checked and re-checked the wiring. had even done the stunt drop more than once, as per ryder's request. and each time it had been done safely, landing him back on his feet without any real harm.

but he made a mistake somewhere. allowing himself to be hung back up on the wires at the top of the hundred foot drop he was supposed to make. and then, like the many times before that he'd done the stunt, he dropped. the wires were supposed to keep him from actually hitting the ground and hurting himself. and they had slowed him down, almost stopping his fall - only to keep going. to plummet him down hard.

the air was knocked from his lungs. he'd heard screams but things had been hazy. consciousness flitting back and forth. turning minutes into seconds. he vaguely remembers someone calling his name. calling for an ambulance. a hand on his own. but then the next thing he'd known, he was waking up in a hospital to the news that he'd broken his back.

recovery was a long, hard journey. there was a creeping resentment rising in himself every day. how could he have been so stupid as to make that kind of mistake? he was lucky to be alive. to be relearning how to move. and sometimes the anger and guilt and shame at himself creeped out. and he found himself trying to scare spencer away. ( couldn't spencer see he deserved better than to be stuck helping colt re-learn to walk? )

he wasn't just lucky he was alive. he was lucky that spencer saw through his act and understood that colt's anger wasn't really directed towards him. rather, it was frustration at the situation.

sighs through his nose. scrubs his palms over his face. "you could be doing literally anything else right now," colt had been exercising with derek morgan, slowly getting back into shape, slowly strengthening muscles. all while dealing with the pain of a still healing back. ( pain that would never fully be gone. ) and here spencer was, patient with colt. helping where he could and in what ways. no doubt now the most knowledgeable person on earth when it comes to broken backs, spinal fractures, physical therapy. and colt doesn't deserve him for being so patient and understanding as the months have crepy by.

"you shouldn't be stuck with me, spencer. you should be with someone that hasn't needed to rely on you so much," the anger in his words are not directed at spencer, but still at himself. and colt looks anywhere but in his boyfriend's eyes.

[stillandsilentheart]

@eidetic187 gets a bonus lyric starter

"In retrospect, I wouldn't do it again."

[stillandsilentheart]

@eidetic187 liked for a lyric starter

"Never mind about the shape I'm in, I'll keep you safe tonight."

[savestcrs]

@eidetic187 || cont.

Life would probably be at least twelve times easier for both Grace and Spencer if the amount of sleep the typical human needed wasn’t ever addressed—or maybe if Grace had just lied from the start, gave him a span more equivalent to the inconsistency that existed in the Eridians’ cycles. Sure, Rocky’s no idiot; when his best friend started behaving like he’d lost half of his brain cells or was throwing hissy fits over mild inconveniences, he probably could have reached that conclusion himself. With a clear number, though, he has a clear reason to harp on both of them for not sleeping as much as they should.

And as Spencer starts fidgeting with that strip of fabric around his neck, Rocky can’t help thinking, Good. Feel guilty. None of that is healthy! (Ignoring, of course, that he’s not anywhere near perfect himself.)

“No.” He shuts it down. Because it’s ridiculous that Spencer believes he can get away with it! (No more than he can get away with those magic tricks . . . that he briefly got away with, but that doesn’t count.) “No adapt. Just ‘make peace.’ Just something you say. Makes it feel better, but never correct.”

He’s well-versed in this sort of talk. With two close human friends to compare, now, Rocky can’t help but wonder if the entirety of humanity is like this: if they dodge every problem with a wide grin and a none-too-convincing declaration that Everything’s fine. Coping mechanisms, he realizes. But it’s those exact mechanisms that require someone—namely, Rocky—to step in and fix things. 

It’s what he does best.

“You bed not comfortable, question? Can make adjustments. Can also change temperature, if Grace agree,” he begins listing off. Those are the easily fixable components, after all, and the Eridians were nothing short of accommodating to whatever the humans needed while on an otherwise uninhabitable planet. But it’s as he’s contemplating what sort of comforts Spencer might require that an entirely different idea crosses his mind.

And, with a visually annoyed slump of his carapace, he raises the question: “You and Grace up late again, question?”

[boldlogic]

❝ i can be charming. i charmed you, didn’t i? ❞

when the half-vulcan first turns to look at the engineer, both of his inclined brows are raised. however, one proves to lift more-so than the other, at this particular juncture. producing an air of dry amusement that is not necessarily uncommon to the science officer's typically unperturbed features

turning from his desk, his olive-toned fingers sweep from the button-pads associated with the desktop viewer within his quarters as he fully straightens. circling the surface that sits just past the partition screen that separates their bed from the 'living' portion of their quarters. of course, before spencer had effectively 'moved in' to his space, he hadn't quite understood the need to occupy this section, unless utilized for duty or, research purposes. mostly kept purely functional, as his meditations can effectively be carried out upon his mattress - or upon the ornate chair at the foot of his bed. similarly providing sufficient space to play his ka'athyra. the decor is no doubt meditative, draped in deep reds, and . . . quite deceptively minimalist. dense with trinkets, and statues. ones that serve as personal reminders, mostly pre-reform. and one could argue, ironic symbolism to keep him grounded in such logic as has carried his ancestors for centuries.

"yes . . ." he nods, a dual set of blinks resetting his features - but not the aforementioned quality of humour, as will be retained. perhaps, due to the near imperceptible quirk to the side of his mouth. his voice further portraying such, despite its low, gravelous quality.

one of his hands raises to lift a curled finger just under the doctor's jaw, in an understated, affectionate gesture. thumb brushing his chin, before the arm once again falls to his side. "certainly, spencer. no doubt every bit as 'charming' as doctor mccoy."

the cruel prince. @eidetic187.

[drwlf]

Don't make me beg.

Spencer says it like he's in any position to argue. He's not. He lost that right the second he ended up underneath me, wrists in my grip, his hips bracketed by my thighs as I sit right where I can feel every shift, every twitch, every change beneath me.

I'm sure he knows that.

"Or what, my love?"

I tighten the grip on his wrists, just enough to hold them pinned above his head with one hand as I bring the other up to his face, my thumb and index finger finding each cheek and pressing soft little indentations into them, his mouth pouting open between my fingers. I'm in every position to tease him. So I do.

"What are you going to do about it?"

RANDOM PROMPTS: INTIMACY EDITION