“Hands where I can see ‘em, circuit board,” Hancock orders, gesturing with the gun. The phrase is one of Nick’s, and the moniker is said in the same tone of voice one might say ‘old friend.’
He takes a few sure, measured steps closer, not hesitating. They are almost, but not quite, in arm’s distance of each other. He cocks the gun.
“You’re not answering my question. I think it’s because you don’t know what you’re doing.”
Nick feels something skip in him at the sound of the gun cocking, as if he’d had a heart that could beat. He doesn’t, of course. There’s not a drop of blood in him to spill, but he’s all the same alive, and completely defenseless to the gun in Hancock’s hand.
Still, he doesn’t withdraw his hands.
❝Maybe not,❞ he says carefully, ❝But hey. Maybe you can enlighten me.❞ Convince me that this is all a mistake, he doesn’t add.
" Is it just me, or did it just get really cold suddenly? " - Arthur, @radioroleplay
“Not just you,” Vivi said, and for once she wasn’t the cause of it. Training her flashlight in front of her she saw a trail of frost start to creep along the floor, snaking forward before turning a corner and vanishing. It was the first confirmation they had that something was definitely going on with this house and case, but it didn’t tell them much more than that. “Do you think we should follow that?”
“Wasn’t someone murdered in this house? Why are we here?” - Arthur, @radioroleplay { Hellbent! Thanks for reblogging my promo! }
“Uhhhhhhhh because of the potential for a ghost sighting? Duh!” Vivi shook her head. “Really, Kingsmen, you’d think we don’t do this every weekend. Yeah, murder victims are a new one, but it’s not like WE killed them. We’ll be fiiiiiiiiiiiine.”
Sal feels his cheeks get hot under the helmet he wears under the guise of protection, and on an instinct he dips his head slightly, deferentially. But he doesn’t look away, not even to lower his gaze in respect. In light of what he’s just been asked, it seems like it would be the wrong thing, anyway.
Seeing that look on the other’s face is making it difficult to argue.
“Yes, you did.”
Larry hums, followed by a click of the tongue and a very knowing look. He knows that his knight thinks he can weasel his way out of obedience, but he will be quick to prove him wrong.
❝So then, you obviously are entitled to be a little informal, correct?❞ he presses, getting closer still to the other man’s hidden face. He looks at him as if he could see into Sal’s helmet, through him, into all his darkest secrets. ❝If I ask you to be. After all, I am the one who decides that.❞
He touches Sal’s helmet lightly. ❝So, you can take this off,❞ he concludes, with a certain unmistakable pride.
@radioroleplay // send “five times __ed” and I’ll write a drabble of our characters doing that
1.
The way Alyx moves is like art. It seems at time like there are no obstacles for her, only props for her displays of strength and agility. What is there that she can’t climb, that she can’t leap gracefully over, or balance herself effortlessly atop? She crosses the ruins of civilization with such ease and poise that sometimes Gordon swears it’s like dancing, so beautiful that it takes his breath away.
He loves seeing her show off these skills, loves watching how her body moves, how her powerful legs propel her, fluid as water as she leaps off the ground and climbs to the top of a crumbling building as if there had been stairs, to stand on the roof with her back to the setting sun.
There is a halo in her wild black hair, and her body is outlined in gold. She looks like an angel. He feels as if he could reach out and take her into his arms, despite still being on the ground. He wants to. Instead he can only watch as she scurries across that room, squirrel-like, and ducks easily out of view again.
2.
He had the privilege of living a life before the fall of Earth. It was not a long one, but he reflects on it now with some broken gratitude; there are so many things that his peers in the Resistance don’t remember as he does.
One of these things is dancing. He learned to do it when he was young, and he thought it would impress girls. John teased him about it, but ultimately he’d shown him some moves. He remembers how excited he was, how John had laughed and given him the thumbs up when Gordon had shown him how well he’d learned.
“An excellent pupil,” John had said of his little brother. It’s a memory that sticks with Gordon even now, even haunts him at times, stuck on the back of his skull as a memento of happier times long lost.
He takes Alyx by the hands and leads her into a dance, back and forth, grinning. When was the last time he’d smiled like that, so open and bright?
“What are you doing, Gordon?” Alyx laughs, as she goes along with him, letting him twirl her and guide her through the dance. It’s fun and new, she seems excited by it.
He doesn’t answer, but lets his body and his feet speak for him, pleased as she reciprocates and follows him through the steps. Looks like John taught him pretty well, if his best pupil can still impress girls after all this time.
3.
Alyx puts her arms around Gordon’s neck and looks up at him with such adoration he could break down into tears. Does he warrant such admiration, such love?
The old record player plays a song from before the war, an anthem to a world that no longer exists. It’s soft and slow and steady, the kind of thing couples would slow dance to once upon a time. Now it’s the perfect backdrop to an impromptu dance in the workshop under a flickering light, no suit of armor to get in the way of their bodies pressed so close together they can feel each other’s heat.
It’s not dancing quite the way he’d learned it. It’s really just swaying, her arms about his neck, his hands resting daring on her hips. It’s perfection, a little piece of heaven, making Gordon’s heart swell and his chest feel tight and warm. He swears he can almost feel her heart beating in time with his own.
He can barely hear the music, but that isn’t the point of it, really. All he cares about is Alyx, expressed with his swaying, with his embrace, with finally leaning down to meet her lips with his own and feeling her grip tighten as she accepts him only gladly.
4.
It is so good to see some energy back in Alyx, to see her get so excited the way that she used to. There is so much to celebrate, on a day like this one. They made so much progress, they did so much good. She grabs Gordon’s hand and tugs him to herself, and laughs brightly because there is finally something to be happy about again.
He goes with the tug, but he’s surprised when she twirls him, and catches him with both her arms to hug him tightly. Sometimes it’s like he can barely keep up with her, but this sudden burst of life is so, so welcome.
He would kiss her, but he’s interrupted by clapping.
“Way to go, Gordon!” Barney teases, while Dr. Kleiner, beside him, clears his throat and looks off to the side as if he doesn’t want to be associated with the greying former security guard.
Alyx is the one to decide that it doesn’t matter, too high on victory and adrenaline to care, and kisses her captive forcefully on the mouth.
5.
Gordon makes a soft hushed sound as he sits next to Alyx on the old, uncovered mattress, a conversation already had, decisions made, his hand on her thigh and hers on his cheek. They stare into each other’s eyes what seems like a long time before slowly they sink together, twin ships upon a dark sea.
Then there comes the exploration and soft touches, the private dance to their old record player and that scratched vinyl singing its slow song for them alone. Theirs is a tender union, starting out slow and burning bright into a mighty flame. The passion they shared is a mighty and untamed thing, and once again Gordon is humbled by it.
He would get down on his knees to worship her, but this is not how he performs this dance, how he expresses to her the depth of all he feels for her. Her eyes look into his soul and find him worthy, though he’ll never know how. Her hands on him guide the dance now, and he follows murmuring, “I love you, I love you.”
The music plays on, but neither of them hear it now.
Sal doesn’t dignify the claim of being fine with a response, only rolling his eye and putting a hand on Larry’s shoulder. Gently but firmly, he pushes the other teen down to sit on his bed, a task which would be more difficult if Larry wasn’t so drained.
“You’re saying you don’t want me to?” He quips, taking his own seat opposite the bed. “Lay down.”
Larry huffs, but does as he’s told. Only because he’s tired, though, only because life has been kicking his ass. Not because he has to do as he’s told or anything like that. He just goes with the flow, as passive as a lazy riverbed.
He collapses onto his back across the bed, arms akimbo, staring up at the ceiling rather than looking at Sal. ❝Whatever,❞ he verbalizes his attitude, since it’s slightly better than saying nothing.
