@incnspcuous cnt’d from x
“Fucking finally.”
Octane’s words rasp heavy on his lips, bloodied from Jamison’s assault. His ears ring, his vision whirls, his pulse throbs in his head. He lies where he’s been thrown and stares, unfocused, at the whirling ceiling, trying to catch the wind that’s been knocked out of him. Jamie is deceptively strong, all tendon and bone whose quick impacts leave him reeling in shock. Octane tries to move at all, but it’s not over-- he’s pinned to cold ground, struck again. His head whips to the side from the impact, dotting the concrete astride with red, and for a moment he works on hazy autopilot; his body arching upward, feet kicking sluggishly to find purchase in instinctive self-preservation. He’s so dizzy he thinks he might pass out. He doesn’t. The world lurches around him mercilessly, a ship lost at turbulent sea, until he finds harbor in the brilliant amber eyes above that drag him back into reality. Octavio remembers the story of Icarus - an Old World tale, one he’s surprised still jogs his memory. He’d never understood the lesson intoned. He’d thought well, at least Icarus had witnessed the glory of the sun at all. A life lived boldly and bravely came with a price. As he holds Jamie’s gaze, enamored with the gilded, glorious fury and violence burning within like that goddamn sun, Octavio thinks he sees what Icarus saw. This is the Jamie he knows, fierce and wild and unforgiving, who has no idea how beautiful he is like this, whose dangerous splendor threatens to clip Octavio’s feathers for good. The daredevil laughs, heart aflutter. There is nothing he wants more to be stuck in this moment of time forever, coexisting with an entity whose purpose renounces his very existence. “You know how long--” he swallows blood, wincing, “--you know how long I’ve been waiting for this? For you to cut the bullshit and get real?” He grins, manic, as Jamie’s knife finds its way to his throat. Octavio’s trembling hands land on the wrist that wrenches him upward, his own touch gentle compared to the force he’s handled with. He feels muscles tighten beneath his fingers. The blade presses further to his skin. He shakes, fear and excitement entwined in chaos setting his body ablaze. They’re not in the ring. It’s not a bluff, not even a whisper of an idle threat; Jamie has snapped, and there’s little stopping him from running Octane through and ending everything in one messy, exhilarating gush of blood. It’s terrifying. It’s incredible. His lips part; he’s light-headed from the pressure against his carotid, a force of reckon that worsens his delirium. He tilts his head back, invites demise to take his life, switchblade dark against pale throat. “Did you think it would never come to this? Órale, cabrón,” he growls low, entreating. “Show me the truth.”
