SUNWARD I'VE CLIMBED

  { To catch them if they fall. }  

[philtatvs]

There is nothing as pure as the sound of his sweetheart's laughter, spilling so carelessly with their reunion. Joy consumes them both, and out here in the desert there are no judging eyes but the Gods' and they dim for no one. Luc is free to be kissed within an inch of his life, all of which he soaks and revels in like the starved man he is. He glows bright pink too, flustered from all the affection but wholly forgetful of the insecurities that gripped him just seconds ago. This is where he belongs. Here, in the perch of Al's arms, love pouring out his ears.

For some reason he is still shy about returning Al's 'I love you's in front of Matt, like that particular exchange was too intimate to be witnessed. Really, as if they hadn't known each other all these long years. He waits, then, until the twin has disappeared into the hangar and Luc has wrestled out of his own shirt to knot it around his waist, and only so does he tug his darling closer to kiss him sweetly on the lips, "I love you."

His head's a blur. He has half a mind to notice Al taking him in, vision which he feeds in his sleeveless grey top, his own tan made richer by all the running he'd been doing in the morning sun. Later, he'll pin that for later. Still grinning from his boyfriend's gleeful chuckle, he allows himself to be roped in like some pretty thing, wrapping his own arm around Al's back so they remain glued at the hip. Confusion hits him for a split second when Al tries to give him the aviators, a look he's absolutely sure he can't pull but it amuses him anyway.

"I... don't know, sorry." He smiles sheepishly, squeezing Al's side. "I was reading Stoner and then slept for most of it." In hindsight, he shouldn't have packed a book he was almost finished with, but he doubted he'd miss reading for the next few days with Al around. There is a little skip to his step (a single one, uncontained) as they approach the entrance of the hangar, excitement getting the best of him even though he didn't know what exactly would be waiting on the other side. "Thank you for bringing me here."

[wherenevereagleflew]

There is something so greedy about the way he revels in their privacy, how Luc wouldn't even let Alfred's own twin overhear the sacred spell of his spoken love. He's crazy about that, actually. Wouldn't dream of hiding the fact either, not in the way he buries his face in against Luc's own, smiles against his sun-blushed cheek and meets those chestnut red lips with his own. Their little secret, even when the whole world was watching them.

"Whaaat? Nothing with the Cruise man? And after I called you telling you about how I was just hanging out with him..." He's joking around and his wide grin tells the whole story for him, massaging Luc's shoulder as he turned to the fore and picked up on that book name. John Williams, what a star in that field— still no wonder his sweetheart had picked him up with such interest, guy was a wordsmith. Glad he was finally getting his flowers this century.

"Okay, falling asleep while reading Stoner is an even worse crime." Alfred extends the joke with a grin as they cross into the shade of the hangar, revealing the true expanse of the space defined by its centerpiece: a massive aircraft-shaped silhouette draped in a hanging beige tarp, surrounded at right wing, tail and nose by three separate step ladders, each in turn flanked by closed wooden crates and crowned with toolboxes of varying size.

Beyond this set-up lay a long, sweeping arrangement of desks lined up flush against one another so as to create an extended countertop for work to be done across them. Several monitors flickered with incoming weather data, flight traffic information and avian wildlife sightings over the last 24 hours, while the breeze from the rotating desktop fan occasionally rustled the top pages of several stacks of printed paper along with a half-rolled set of blueprints for some kind of aircraft at a glance.

"It was a long time coming, I didn't wanna drag you out for no reason, but I finally got just the thing to make all those travel hours worth it." Alfred slipped his hand to Luc's waist and gave him an enthusiastic squeeze, planting another insatiable kiss to his curl-topped crown. Somewhere over to their far left, Matt disappears through a side door that seems to lead to a more conventional part of the building complex; low ceilings just about visible through a conjoined set of windows that lines the wall parting them from him.

"You thirsty? Hungry?"

[philtatvs]

He thinks Matt says something, presumably to wake him up, and immediately jerks his head up to the road, eyes wide. The hangar comes quickly into view and beside them a cloud of rolling dust lifts into the air as they slow on approach. "Huh?" He blearily asks, apologetic for falling asleep even though he'd been encouraged to rest. "Oh." Yeah, he doesn't need an answer. A figure cuts into the horizon – the unmistakable silhouette of his starbound sweetheart in a very unforgiving white top and looking like he'd walked straight out the Top Gun shooting set. Resplendent.

Right away his heart is racing.

Racing. Running for the hills. It's a combination of having just freshly woken up and the pure, twisted nerves that grip him whenever he catches Al looking particularly out of his league. "Gods." Shakily, Luc reaches for his water bottle and chugs a good third of it before the car can come to a halt. He wipes his mouth on the back of his wrist and anxiously glances at Matt, wondering if he was as transparent as he felt. Alright, breathe. He tells himself it's just excitement. No, no, really, he's honestly a little terrified.

Yet at the sound of the ignition being switched off the brunet is flying out of the truck into the desert heat and trotting over to his boyfriend, launching himself into his arms and catching him in the iron grip of his thighs. He makes a pained sound on the exhale, his face buried in the flank of Al's tanned neck, mumbling a jumble of 'I missed you' and 'so much' and 'you smell good'. He can't bring himself to smile so carelessly just yet. Instead, his face twists into something between a timid smile and a petulant frown, and his heart's still racing, and god he just can't get the words out.

Feet returned to the earth, Luc reels back to look up at the hangar, neck craned, squinting in the sun. He'd left his sunglasses in the cupholder. He briefly assesses the building then charges forward again to playfully shove Al using both of his hands. This time, he can't help but grin. A reckless, dimpled grin. "Whoever she is, she better be worth it." Worth all the weeks they'd spent apart, and all the pining, wondering when his man was coming back.

[wherenevereagleflew]

It's a scene one would expect from a pair separated by the weight of years as opposed to months, felt with the force of every morning hour spent pining at the sight of the sun slowly cresting the eastbound horizon. Without the beat of his heart, his love, his Luc at his side. Placated only in the knowledge of what this was all for, what everything he'd built with Matt over the last handful of years had been leading to. All of it for this day, these next twelve hours ahead of them.

From that swell of culminating emotion Alfred gathers Luc up into his arms with vigorous ease, hefting him up onto his hip and wrapping his arms around him tightly from seat to crown— fingers clasping at those dark umber curls with the preciousness of wool in wintertime, as though he might grow cold and wither without him. He laughs for the joy of holding him. He laughs and he laughs, so much that his chest hurts and he thinks he might cry for the happiness of seeing him again.

With vehemence does he press his lips to those bronze cheeks, one and then the other: over and over as though compulsion has driven him to consume Luc whole once more, breathless between his own streams 'I love you' and 'god you're so gorgeous'. From where he is buried within the crook of his honey's sweat-dappled neck can hear the sound of the Ford's purring engine slowing to a cease, the clink of car keys and the slow drag of something heavy being drawn from the trunk. Had to be Luc's things.

An impulse in him compels him to raise his head in preparation to spare an arm to take them off Matt's hands however his other better half has already slung the bag over his own broad shoulder, moving past them with a sly smile and - as he heads towards the hangar beyond - a brief dipping joke.

"I'll take my tip in cash."

Another chuckle is prompted within Alfred's chest as he briefly casts his head in his direction, shooting back a "Yeah that trade deal's yours!" quip of his own to a thrown up peace sign from his continuing brother before returning his focus to his darling wholesale. With another smush of his lips against Luc's clay-carved cheekbone he takes a moment to draw back and just look at him, really look at him: blue eyes dancing from above the slipped frame of his aviators.

"Look at you. Desert explorer." He grins brightly as he lets Luc slide back down to earth once more, reticent though he is to keep his hands from wandering over the sculpt of his face, down the length of his spine. He takes the shove with an ugly bout of laughter, boyish and buoyant in equal measure: "All or nothing, you know how it is babe."

Slinging his arm around Luc's waist, he gives him another tight squeeze and begins guiding him likewise towards the hangar— it takes a matter of seconds for Alfred to notice the lack of shades on his lover, to then pluck the aviators from his own face and promptly, playfully and with overflowing affection, push them up to the bridge of Luc's nose. "How was the flight? Any good movies?"

[philtatvs]

His face heats up from Matt's remark and he laughs to conceal it, hands shoved into his pockets, making sure to stay close behind as he followed his friend towards the parking lot. He wished the other would elaborate on those cosmic metaphors, a tiny bit desperate for reassurance that came from someone other than Al, someone who knew Al extremely well. Only because those weeks apart had been silently weighing him down, causing him to lose a little perspective and worry about things his boyfriend most certainly never had to worry about. Still, the fact that he'd been called all the way out here was positive, something to be excited about.

"Ah." Yes, he figured that's where they were heading. This mythical place that to him had existed only in Al's reality and where he would withdraw into from time to time. And Avi, yes, a picture slowly forming. He understands now why someone trustworthy had to come pick him up as opposed to letting him find his way over to this secret hideout that likely wouldn't even be listed on a map. Hell, maybe even jam coordinates and make your radio all weird.

Luc briefly examines the car and the contents of the trunk. That selection of supplies made sense given the remote location of said 'tree house', but the camping gear spiked his curiosity. He doesn't mention anything, only thanking Matt for carrying his bag and reaching to retrieve his own water bottle from the side pocket before climbing into the passenger seat and strapping in. "California?"

****

Headed for the state border, Luc spends most of their journey wide awake and engaged. He wanted to know all about Matt's latest ventures and share a few of his own too, mostly surrendering control of the radio in favour of watching the sun-baked hills rolling by. Such a harsh landscape, beaten by the heat and threaded only by highways and lesser roads, a world away from the blue-cast East shore. It is only towards the very end of their journey (unbeknownst to him), when the conversation has dwindled and the warm purr of the car begins to coax his bones into languor, that he dozes off against the door with his arm folded into a pillow. Not long now. Not long at all.

[wherenevereagleflew]

---

"What does this all say to you? Like, from where you're sitting. Your opinion."

"I think it says... 'This is my world. And I want you to be a part of it.'"

"Forever and ever."

"Forever and ever."

---

Somewhere along the steel tabletop just off to Alfred's left a device beeps with the latest wind speed readings from the anemometer he'd gotten upgraded some years ago, a squeaking slide of wheels heralding his quick roll over to go check on them as they came through. Numbers good, tracking with predictions he'd been following with meticulous precision over the last month or so.

Light breeze, skies clear. It was a balmy summer afternoon out here on the eastern edge of California— quiet but for the constant hum of a tabletop fan wafting warm air into his right cheek on a five second rotation, rustling on each turn both the folds of his white tee and the loose collection of blond threads comprising his crown-sweeping curtain. With an easing sigh sent through his nose Alfred tilted his specs up onto his head and lent back in his blue mesh office chair, crossing his arms behind his head and rolling a biro around between his teeth by its rounded stem.

Yeah. Everything's in place.

He got the message in from Matt that they were on their way from airport a little over two hours ago, which meant they were gonna be here soon. Real soon. Fridge was stacked, cooler prepped; evening was set to be an even 62°F, dinner beneath the stars scattered across that indigo canopy... Alfred can feel himself starting to overthink it again, which means it's time to stop himself before he goes around checking all his numbers, measurements and figures for the third time today.

Exhaling heavily under the compulsion of the nerves in his stomach, he massages at the lids of his eyes with his fingertips before removing his glasses entirely and setting them down upon the desk next to his computer. Instead he sweeps up his aviators and slides them onto his nose, hefting himself up from his chair and shoving his hands into his pockets before wandering out towards the open gates of the vast, airy and spacious hangar he's been sheltering within.

Stepping out into the sweltering sunlight, Alfred scuffs the dusted soles of his off-white sneakers against the packed gravel comprising the taxiway and surveys the horizon-stretching desert landscape around him— specifically directing his line of vision out towards the main (and only) road leading up to this old contracted facility-turned-private residence. Lo and behold, the distant shimmer of a car's silvery roof and an accompanying stream of dust kicked up by a four by four's wheels. He can barely contain the break of his pearl white grin.

Like a modern horse-drawn carriage. Though he's pretty sure Arthur would have something to say about that comparison.

[philtatvs]

He puts up two solid seconds of resistance before Matt is taking his bag and he is left to fiddle the sleeves of his dusk blue cotton shirt. After a couple of apologetic 'you don't have to's, Luc defeatedly follows his friend out of the airport's bustle, ducking under a fan of purple plumes held by a lady advertising some show, stepping closely sideways and strictly in the other's shadow as he trusted him to be infinitely more at ease navigating such crowded environments. It's then that he notices the ponytail – and once he sees Francis he can't unsee him, which brings him quiet amusement.

But, hold that thought.

"He calls them that?" Luc timidly inquires from behind, almost bringing himself to his tippy toes as he tries to step within better earshot of this precious information. Absentmindedly, he brings one of his hands up to ruffle through said curls, which he had trimmed just a handful of days prior, likewise anticipating the arrival of warmer weather. While Al had never been secretive about how much he enjoyed that feature in him, it brought Luc a special kind of joy to hear others confirming this. "What else does he say...?" No one would have guessed how long they'd been together.

He's glad to be outside, though the dryness of the air surprises him. Warm gusts of arid wind foretell the heat they were to expect later when the afternoon peaked, against which (and the blinding brightness of the morning) Luc shields his eyes. He retrieves a pair of black-rimmed sunglasses from their perch on the collar of his cutout sleeveless t-shirt, sliding them carefully onto his nose. "Uh, a little. Any hint on where you're taking me?" He hadn't actually been informed on what the full plan was. He knew his love had been out here in the desert tinkering with birds of steel, but the details of this endeavour had been kept a secret. At this point, Luc was mostly excited to see Al again, and only a little terrified.

[wherenevereagleflew]

---

"... It's too much."

"No, it's not too much. You just want to hear me tell you it's an amazing idea again."

"It's too much. No-one out there actually does stuff like this."

"It's not too much— it's you."

---

"Oh yeah, he's big on the cosmic metaphors. You're always defying the laws of his physics in his mind somewhere." Matt had glanced back behind himself with a brow furrowed in humored recollection, as though his own had just been flooded with a dozen examples he could call on. Weaving them through an extended line of tourists waiting for cabs into the city, he gestures for Luc to follow him down through a shaded underpass; occasional suspended signs pointing them towards the airport's parking lot mark their path all the while.

To his friend's questioning as to what other ways his brother likes to sigh about him, Matt just chuckles sweet-naturedly. Listening to either of them talk about the other, anyone would think they were high school sweethearts still daydreaming in the library, instead of lived-in partners sharing the same house. This kind of love that was evergreen, ever young, suited them. He couldn't see that nature of it fading anytime soon, either. Call that maybe a kind of intuition.

"I call it his treehouse. I know he's called it his 'Fortress of Solitude' at least once." Matt answers only a little cheekily upon the more exact questioning of their destination. Luc's known about the place for a long time, just hasn't been out there yet— the place Al goes to 'clear his head' or 'get some stuff off his mind' whenever he happens to be in the Los Angeles-Vegas stretch. He's just out here trying to be careful over letting details slip about anything else.

He keeps talking even as he pulls his car keys from his denim pocket on the approach up to his rental: an aged but still very much able silver Ford Explorer that had already gathered dust up the base of its chassis from the drive up here.

"Just that desert retreat he goes to sometimes, where he sheltered AV-1 for a while too." That last fact told half the story about the place: a location secret and hidden to all but family and the closest of friends, off the grid, isolated from the public and prying eyes of the world around him. Matt pops the trunk open and slips Luc's bag down off his shoulder and into that vast space otherwise cluttered with packs of bottled water, dry groceries, tool kits and miscellaneous camping equipment.

"Way remote, but only a short drive to get to from here." He shuts the trunk again and begins to glide back around towards the driver's side, offering Luc an encouraging smile as he goes. "You can sleep on the way if you want, or we can trade catch-ups and fight California's radio. I'm game either way."

[philtatvs]

Long years of jetting back and forth across the Atlantic to either go visit his boyfriend or his family had knocked all the flight fright out of him, though it had yet to become an enjoyable activity. He tried to make the most of airborne time to catch up on reading or sleeping, even reluctantly letting Al get him business class seats so he could enjoy the extra leg room for a comfortable snooze. It wasn't uncommon for him to be interrupted by one of the attendants at some point with a complimentary drink or snack, 'Captain sends their regards'. Perks of dating someone who knew half a world.

Yet, however long his experience, he had yet to master the art of landing bright-eyed and full of beans, as flying was wholly unnatural for a creature that belonged so exclusively to the earth and the sea. He tries to wait out the crowd before making his way toward Arrivals, headphones firmly in place, observing the eclectic parade of tourists around him and the row of faces lined up behind the barrier. As he slows down in an attempt to read names on paper signs and spot a towering head of longish fawn hair, someone bumps into his duffel bag and accidentally shoves him forward. After a short, apologetic exchange where he excuses himself and finds the opposite wall to 'get out of the way', a frantic wave on his periphery picks up what his ears don't and his face cracks with visible relief.

Luc beelines his way out of the flock to meet his saviour halfway down a quieter spot, free from shoving passengers. "Hey, Matt. It's been a while." He throws himself into a friendly, welcoming embrace, clapping Matthew's plaid-clad back a couple of times. A warm smile creases the corners of russet brown eyes as he takes in the sight of his lover's twin, delighted to see him again.

"Still a walking GQ cover, I see."

[wherenevereagleflew]

---

"You're laughing."

"What? No I'm not—"

"You're doing that tiny secret smile, I can hear it. You're laughing"

"Hahah. I'm smiling over how much of a commitment this is, coming from you..."

---

"Hey, yeah. Too long." Matt agrees wholeheartedly as he reciprocates Luc's hug with a warm, enveloping squeeze of his own, clapping his brother's partner twice on the shoulder as they part and at once dropping his gaze to the visitor's dominant hand; identifying an overnight bag he can take from him. Poor guy had to be tired from the journey over, even just coast to coast it wasn't exactly a short one. There we go.

Hoisting its bulk over his own shoulder through a characteristically irresistible campaign of insistence to help, the younger twin chuckles with a halfway shy, self-deprecating shake of his head before finding it in himself to give himself a compliment by way of gesturing gently to the loose, short ponytail he had dragged the majority of his fawn waves into.

"I'm just trying to keep it off my neck in this heat. What's your excuse for coming off a plane with 'gravity-defying curls' as Al likes to call them?" The smile he gives him twinkles with the comfort of years in extended familiarity, as well as the hint of knowing something Luc has yet to be let in on. Something Matt is clearly inclined to keep to himself as he jerks a thumb over to the nearest exit, set on whisking this beleaguered traveler away to his scheduled carriage.

"C'mon, let's get you out of here." It takes only a few pointed Excuses me's, one or two accusatory Sorry's, and at least one hockey-turned shoulder to shepherd Luc out into the blistering brightness of the Nevada's morning sun. While the temperature was already climbing out in these desert airs, it already felt easier to breathe now that they were relieved of the crowds still milling around inside the doors behind them.

"You manage to sleep on the plane? "

[opponentcompel]

@wherenevereagleflew [ ᶳ ]

ㅤㅤHe doesn’t have the time to entertain guests, but there are some individuals that  Twig  Terry’s prepared to make an exception for, surprise giving way for relief to see a familiar face on a faraway beach within the tumult of the past few months - they haven’t entirely let bygones be bygones, but there are some grudges that need to be left behind, an overbearing inward disappointment hanging over the younger, one that commences to augment with the rapidly dwindling sands of time. Line of vision hasn’t stopped flicking towards the satellite phone within a firm grasp  (  expecting an incoming call at any moment  ),  but the man beckons the other aboard with a warm smile nonetheless, streams of sunlight cascading over lapping waves alongside a buffeting breeze.  “ Lemme guess… Need a ride home, Specs? ”

[wherenevereagleflew]

Sometimes it's a feeling. Just a feeling, somewhere in his gut telling him that someone's minute hand is going to strike twelve soon enough. Guess some would call it something like fate, others a word like intuition: he'd be the first to admit he's more of the latter camp than anything, but to him it's honestly more a kind of impulse. A wrong that needs to be made right, words left unsaid or long overdue to be spoken. Before that time is up. Before it's too late to mend that bridge.

They haven't talked in months. It feels like years, and looking back Alfred couldn't quite say where the time had gone. One minute he's looking into eyes as wide as a pale morning sky, glimmering from between cheeks mired with dirt as he's accused of abandoning all hope. The next he's staring into a fathomless glacier, a wall of ice encasing in crystal permanence the memories he held of the boy this man had once been. Preserved in his mind's eye, like a phantom after death. Or perhaps an echo calling his name from another age.

And here he now stands, compelled by a desire to speak to that boy again. To say goodbye. Bring him home one last time.

"That depends." Alfred calls high above the lulling gush of lapping waves, a gust of wind tousling his flaxen fringe as he turns his head and smiles up at the other man; dimples pinned firmly into his cheeks, a touch of sunlight glancing off the deep bronze glass of his aviators. He nods his head towards the vessel, sliding his hands into the pockets of his white shorts and waggling his toes within his Birkenstock sandals at the foot of the gangway. "Where's your destination otherwise?"

Going on adventure again. Always in style, ideally in opulence. The disappointment of more recent years threatens to rear in him again, but Alfred leaves it where it belongs today; resting at the foot of his thoughts, buried beneath the wood-planked bridge between them.

He cocks his head to the side, another flash of light shimmering off the surface of his shades as he deepens his wistful grin.

"Was kinda hoping you had room for one more."

[wherenevereagleflew]

Continued from here.

Years ago.

"Woah Al, this is serious. I mean..."

"Yeah, yeah I know— drop the slack-jawed wonder and pick up that wrench would you? Not gonna fix herself up."

"Sure. It's just..."

"Don't worry, I've got a feeling. It's time."

---

With a squeaking tilt of beige sneakers Matt shifts his weight up from the spotless airport lounge floor until he's balancing upon the balls of his feet, as though he somehow needed the extra inch to see over the sea of heads bobbing around between him and the arrivals gate.

Gathered family members crane their necks with eager stares while punch drunk friends chuckle between exchanged jokes, a patchwork audience waiting for their loved ones to dazzle and delight them from behind the risen curtain. So to speak. It's just security, but here in Vegas somehow everything managed to turn into a show.

Even the airport, Matt thought to himself wearily as yet another tee-wearing tourist barged in front of him from somewhere behind his right elbow; could people around here afford to be at least a little careful? Someone a little less tall and sturdy than him could've been knocked right over.

As he sighs through his nose with renewed consternation, he reminds himself of his responsibilities here and fixes his bespectacled gaze back upon the open gates to the arrivals area. Through these glass doors a trickle of incoming visitors had swelled into a steady flow of wandering gazes and rolling suitcases, he imagined he'd find Luc stuck somewhere in the middle of the pack—or trailing somewhere just behind where there was more space.

Getting a feeling that his passenger for the day was probably gonna appear any minute now, Matt made the futile attempt to ask the cap-wearing guy who'd just shifted right into his line of vision to maybe move back to the side. Given not so much as a tilt of that sunburned neck, Matt nudged his denim-wrapped knee forward and managed to poke out from behind his bulk just in time to spot Luc's wandering deer-like face amid those currently spilling out from the gate.

A drooping sleeve of red plaid promptly shoots into the air, waving vigorously over in his direction. Screw it, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

"Luc! Luc, over here—!"

[varldsormr]

[🐍text: ] Hm. It is as of yet indeterminate. [🐍text: ] There will be a devil, at least. But I do not know that I would rely on his fervent heat alone to keep him warm.

(he engrosses himself in considering his options, the best way to ensure the cabins - at least - might remain an acceptable temperature if the cold should grow elect to grow harsher. Perhaps he should have built a fireplace--)

[🐍text: ] I appreciate the oversight, boy. [🐍text: ] Alfred. [🐍text: ] Your suggestions have been enlightening.

(Perhaps it is alright to ask for aid, once in a moon. Or century.)

[🐍text: ] I suspect they may have individual preferences. [🐍text: ] But I regret to agree flight appears the most convenient. [🐍text: ] Though I do not have the funds to contribute to their passage. [🐍text: ] Lest the humans will take kelp.

[wherenevereagleflew]

[ 💫 text: ] ha. well, if you need more advice on that front i can send you a few links. there's some makeshift stuff you can do even with short notice

( He takes a break from typing to take a long, indulgent slurp of his soda while watching the big guy's subsequent messages come through. A brief chuckle sounds in his throat watching the name correction happen in real-time: always a good time getting a hat tip your way. )

[ 💫 text: ] what can i say i'm a happy camper

( ba dum tish. ) [ 💫 text: ] yeah you'll find some will go on ahead and make their own arrangements. as for the others... [ 💫 text: ] hmmm lemme get back to you on that [ 💫 text: ] gotta ask the hubs smth

[varldsormr]

(he makes no movement nor sound, but for a rolling, considering hum.)

[🐍text: ] The destination lies within the heart of an everlasting glacier. A hollow carved from ice and stone. [🐍text: ] It is chilly.

( ... )

[🐍text: ] I will get more furs.

(better safe. it may bar at least one from complaining of the cold--)

[🐍text: ] I believe there are some amongst the people here who bear proficiency in your tongue. Though I cannot speak for all. If there is need, I will translate. [🐍text: ] And that is quite the market list. (unsent) [🐍text: ] Which (unsent) [🐍text: ] What would Eu [🐍text: ] I will take it into mind.

(a span of minutes pass where the income of messages momentarily halt, he suspects, due some other engagement on the boy's end. He utilities this time by heading towards the reserves, with aim to take stock of what may prospectively be stored there beyond old crates of rum and brennivín already present. He is pondering a bottle when his phone chimes once again within the confines of his pocket.)

[🐍text: ] So I have noticed. [🐍text: ] We bid for Iceland. North of Höfn. I can lead them from the villages, if they can make it there. What do you suppose would be "comfortable"?

[wherenevereagleflew]

( ... hoo boy. )

[ 💫 text: ] dude. [ 💫 text: ] if YOU think it's "chilly" [ 💫 text: ] just checking, there aren't any humans coming to this are there? if so we gotta be Extra careful. [ 💫 text: ] i'd take some temp readings in those cabins of yours, especially at night.

( He's already thinking about how he could probably google some places Jormun would likely find the right equipment for that in Höfn, putting it on his mental to-do list for the afternoon. )

[ 💫 text: ] cool, cool. as long as someone can etc. [ 💫 text: ] maybe it's cause i'm eating lunch rn but that's all just stuff off the top of my head, going remote you always want too much over too little tho

( Iceland? Alright, some dots connecting here. )

[ 💫 text: ] mmk so basically everyone would be flying into Keflavik, which is on the other side of the island. it's about a six hour drive round the south side, i think? been a while. anyway it's a stretch, so either you carpool it or get them all on a short haul domestic flight. [ 💫 text: ] flight time would be circa an hour. probably the most comfortable option, but also the most expensive.

[varldsormr]

(he awaits, standing with a straight back and expectant eye cast upon the phone grasped firmly in hand. his gaze widens somewhat at the sheer amount and speed of the boy's response. it appears there is much to consider--)

[🐍text: ] Hm. [🐍text: ] There are cabins. Furs. If this is insufficient, I will ensure they can seek shelter in the city. The people there are tolerable. They can be trusted. [🐍text: ] I will procure supplies from them as well. [🐍text: ] They may prepare food about the fire at their own leisure. [🐍text: ] What would you suggest? [🐍text: ] Water is of no concern.

(there's a brief pause.)

[🐍text: ] You are correct in your presumption of location. [🐍text: ] I would offer to carry them through sea, but I suspect most would find this unpleasant. And deoxygenating. [🐍text: ] I may require further assistance on this matter.

[wherenevereagleflew]

( loud, thoughtful slurping sound from his soda— then more swift typing. )

[ 💫 text: ] cabins are good. assuming this place is cold, furs'll do the trick keeping people warm. make sure you have extra. [ 💫 text: ] civilization nearby also good. don't forget local languages - is English an option? if not, make sure at least one or two people know how to communicate there. [ 💫 text: ] fire works. most people we know are campers or have camped in some capacity. again assuming the place is cold you'll want to make sure protein and fats feature. butter, parmesan cheese, meats like chicken, beef and salmon. [ 💫 text: ] otherwise fiber. think oatmeal, whole grain rice and pasta sorts of stuff. snacks like salted crackers, dried fruit, chocolate with nuts can give a quick boost. i bring jerky sometimes when there's altitude.

( food break. )

[ 💫 text: ] yeah we're creatures of comfort gotta say. first of all where is this taking place exactly? will go a long way helping me route plan for your guest list.

[varldsormr]

[🐍text: ] No, it's

(the text sends before he is done typing. it takes him another moment before the rest of his request comes through. Reformulated.) [🐍text: ] I am in need of your advice on the matter of "hosting". [🐍text: ] I require little. [🐍text: ] I am aware mortals and your kin prefer more. [🐍text: ] What must I have to make them happy?

[wherenevereagleflew]

( The anticipation for the rest of this sentence is huge, actually. ) [ 💫 text: ] oh wow the whole package huh [ 💫 text: ] so the first thing is facilities. does the place you're hosting have hotels? hostels? rooms to rent? any kind of shelter? [ 💫 text: ] you need to make sure people have a place they can get a good night's sleep within reach. doesn't have to be fancy, just needs to protect them from the elements. [ 💫 text: ] they also need to have access to food, water, and medical care in case of injury. we bounce back alright, but it still hurts in the meantime y'know? [ 💫 text: ] i'm gonna take a wild guess and say this place is probably pretty remote, right? so like, access would also be a consideration. how're you getting people there? does anyone need transport?

[varldsormr]

[🐍text: ] The first one. [🐍text: ] Though your wings may yet be of use. [🐍text: ] These "gatherings" you and your kin have arranged. [🐍text: ] How is it done?

[wherenevereagleflew]

( Well now, there's something to chew on. )

[ 💫 text: ] by phone or email, usually the first a lot of these folks barely ever check their inboxes. [ 💫 text: ] so is it like the numbers you need or?

[varldsormr]

(unsent) [🐍text: ] ?

(he squints at the phone, brow furrowing as it pings again.)

[🐍text: ] I see.

(typing...)

[🐍text: ] You are good with people. [🐍text: ] I would have your assistance. [🐍text: ] If you are willing.

[wherenevereagleflew]

[ 💫 text: ] well color me intrigued and onboard. you hosting a get together or something? [ 💫 text: ] need some "Get Well Soon" cards sent? [ 💫 text: ] best wingman this side of the Atlantic?

[varldsormr]

@wherenevereagleflew // alfred & jormun - rustic hospitality.

[🐍text: ] You. [🐍text: ] American.

[wherenevereagleflew]

[ 💫 text: ] the less well-received sequel to I, Robot? [ 💫 text: ] my bad it's a reference. what's up.

[philtatvs]

How can he be anything but the humble Earth to Al's blazing Sun, locked into his orbit with enough devotion to set him on the path of forever? When his sweetheart takes his hand, kisses him in front of his mother. Luc notices the glimmer on the woman's eye as she leaves, and wonders briefly if he'd ever get to know the feeling: seeing your own receive the love they deserve by someone other than yourself. If there was a word for such a sentiment, he didn't know it. Consumes him, though. When those baby blues focus on him again, they find him red-cheeked and flustered, his insides like hot honey, almost incorporeal with happiness.

"You can wear my clothes, if you want." He predictably offers, right before diving in to sink his teeth into a corner of his sandwich, getting a proper, crunchy mouthful with all the fillings. All that walking and errand running in the morning had worked up an appetite in him, though he maintained a slight, simmering nervousness, wide-eyed and watchful. Al still had to meet his sisters, and see the farm, and he'd have to explain the air mattress, somehow. At least the lock on his door worked. The potential for something to go wrong was still immense and as delighted as he was to have his boyfriend over, he had been unprepared.

"She is." He timidly agrees, smiling with his cheeks full. It turns into an easy chuckle as he watches Al melt in real time after that first bite, lips glistening with cheesy grease and olive oil. What a guy. It never failed to amuse him how much the other revelled in the joys of food, and he was excited at the prospect of getting to show him all that was good and ripe around here. Alfred recalls Dafni's joke just before she left and the brunet can feel his ears burning as he laughs, bunched up napkin pressed to his mouth. It takes him a good minute to calm down, having to set down his food and clear his throat before he speaks again.

"Yeah... yeah, I'm sure she was." And then he bites his tongue. Was it too early to confess he had been thinking the same, only not as a joke? Crushed by the intensity of his affection, the respect and adoration he held for Al. The 'I love you's had come easily to him, held in a chokehold by the brutality of distance, but what about talks of a future? He's gonna spook himself out of finishing his food, at this rate. "She loves having a full house." Luc lightheartedly explains, fingers delicately picking up his sandwich once more, studying where to steal another bite.

"What is your mom like?"

[wherenevereagleflew]

"Sure, if you don't mind me stretchin' em." Alfred rattles off with boyish mischief, Hollywood-perfect teeth flashing with self-aware humor; he jokes as much but he's already come to know that his boyfriend favored loose-fitting clothes that could easily encompass his more-than-similar enough frame. Just throw him a couple of those hoodies, few undershirts and some old jeans and he could last another week or so easily. The real threat to his tenure would be a lurking fear of overstaying his welcome, taking up too much time or room at the table with his obnoxious American appetite. Last thing he wanted to do was cause this darling family any kind of trouble.

For now though, he pushed those worries aside in favor of the more immediate joys he was about to face: meeting the rest of Luc's household, seeing the farm he'd already heard so much about, having the chance to cradle this whole bottle of Greek sunshine in his arms again. His eyes were still in the habit of roaming his surroundings with ongoing delight, charmed and endeared by just about every unspoken story told in the furnishings of this kitchen. The homegrown herbs and vegetables lining the countertop in preparation for dinner, the overflowing spice rack near the sink, the scrapes worn into the floor by the chairs at this very table.

This was the house Luc had grown up in, and he's sure if he looked hard enough he could see the odyssey of his darling's life written on the body of this home. He'd cherish every minute he spent here, like he was walking sacred ground in a temple devoted to someone holy. Fed both by his own thoughts and the very material pleasures of his plate, Alfred's shoulders sagged with indulgent relaxation as he shook off the last of today's nerves and committed himself to making himself at home— how could he do anything but with the welcome Luc and Mrs. Savvas had given him?

"Huh, clearly I gotta make a habit of this." The boy muses with that same cheek to his smile right before he downs several gulps of orange juice— sheesh, nothing like the fresh stuff. Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he took a break from wolfing down his meal to lean back into the comfort of his chair and check in with how his sweetheart was doing meanwhile. Cheeks flushed with retained warmth as he studied his own 'wich, Luc looked the very picture of a precious fruit he wanted to pluck right out of the earth: take a bite out of, too. Hold your horses there, Jones— that's what the bedroom's for, still had the guest tour of the house to go.

"Now there's a question." In so many ways more than one, Alfred thinks to himself as he fields Luc's query with warm contemplation. Not to mention a deft-handed delaying tactic to allow himself to gather some thoughts on the matter: where does he even begin? Probably with choosing the right person to even begin talking about between the one who'd raised him, the one who'd taught him, and the one who now nurtured him. They'd met in a roundabout way through Val to begin with, would it be weird for Luc if he started talking about her being that figure in his life...?

On the other hand they'd already found out so much about each other's unorthodox lifestyles and... whole existences over the last month or two, he could hardly imagine putting on the brakes here. Better just go with the flow.

"Would it make sense if I said very different, but somehow exactly the same?" He starts with an encroaching, contemplative beam. Couldn't help but smile all the more brightly when thinking about the loving maternal guardian he'd grown so close to over this last half-century— and how differently she'd always behaved towards him compared to just about anyone else, he'd always been more than aware. "She's one of the most guarded women I've ever known, but for those of us lucky enough to be in her orbit her heart beats with a fierceness in love I think puts most poets to shame."

He'd seen the the same words written in Arthur's eyes every time the old man had looked her way, all these years.

[lostsovl]

Valerie pauses to gracefully collect her teacup between her fingers and lift it to parted lips, savouring the hot, spiced blend in concordance with the season. For a while she merely rests and observes as Alfred winds around the problem and comes to a solution with very little intervention on her behalf. It was endearing to see him this way, knowing he and Luc had years behind them already and the boys were still so nervous about wanting to do right by each other. To want so fervently for another to experience immeasurable joy, to be so completely protective of their happiness. The joke on settling down in a shack draws a smile on her face and she hums in total agreement.

"Is it scary because you wouldn't do the same?" Here's a thought to stir around the pot. Now, she does not doubt for one second that Al loved his Greek hero to the moon and back, but if the situation was reversed, could she imagine him dropping everything to go live in a farm somewhere in the rural Mediterranean landscape? With the promise of forever and a ring around his finger? Not just a Sicilian fling, a boy's tale of rivalry and lustful play.

A human commitment. Could be a year, could be sixty.

"He is sincere, darling. The kindest thing you can do for him is to believe him and let him follow you, if you do indeed wish to have him by your side." That much she could see, clear as spring water, that Alfred wanted to keep him all to himself. That it was a bottomless want, which was scary in itself when the object of your desire is infinitely more fragile than you.

"Ultimately, he has already made his decision, and he seems to be aware of its cost."

[wherenevereagleflew]

Like a precision-timed spark that jumpstarts a motorized engine, Val's question charges the cogs in his head with fervent dynamism. His thoughts are cast back through the long reel of his life, snippets of scenes playing in his head like a choppily cut movie in which the cast of characters is continuously changing yet the narrative remains constant. Matthew can't keep up with him. He outgrows Arthur's love faster than the latter is prepared for. Lavinio feels like he doesn't fit in his world anymore. Francis finally loses patience with his ideation. Ivan gets tired of their game and walks away first. It's all a pattern he can see clear as day.

"Because I've been alive for four hundred years and I still haven't got a clue what slowing down looks like." Alfred reflects in a slow, sobered trail of rumination; his clearwater gaze has fixed upon a non-descript point in the room, lost momentarily down the spiraling drain of his own memories. He's been hungry since the day he was born. Those like him saw him as unlike them, or he brought them discomfort because he seemed to encapsulate so much of what they dreaded in themselves. Calamity cloaked in a guise of flesh: devourer of futures at the altar of human ambition.

A part of him has always been scared that he might devour Luc's life, too.

In a roundabout way, he's gone and answered her question. It's just the same tale it's always been with him: he's cognizant of the fact that he moves too fast and too tirelessly for a lot of people, that he's often been told in both coded and blunt terms that he's just too much. But while the ebb of this tide threatens to pull him into that all too familiar undertow, he feels a surge of defiant conviction stem the attempt with practiced resilience— tired of letting it try and beat him down. Alfred flicks his gaze back to Val at this point, leaning over his elbows as he sets them upon the table, resting his jaw inside one of those broad palms as he lets loose a lopsided, easygoing smile.

"But at the same time, I know trust like this goes both ways. There won't be a day where I won't wanna protect him, but I know my man knows what he wants just as much as I ever do." Boy does he know that much, he considers with a strafe of humor pushing into his rose pink cheeks. Just a pair of indulgent critters, the both of them in so many ways. Val was right, as usual: the decision had already been made between the two of them, and here he was quibbling over his own worthiness like an anxious high schooler. He hoped Luc would enjoy the enduring youth he'd be bringing to their entanglement for years to come— evergreen, knee-knocking blushes and all.

"If he lets me keep makin' him smile that honeyed sunshine smile of his for the rest of his years, I'll be the luckiest guy on Earth."

[philtatvs]

&. chewing gum

high school AU nonsense for @wherenevereagleflew muse muse muse ( x )

The incessant hum of cicadas announces the nearness of summer break. There is restlessness in the halls. Finals nearing, holiday planning, flyers for every party imaginable being shoved into lockers like the end of the world nears too. 

Summers are spent at the farm. Winters too. Spring and Fall; nothing changes but the width of the river and the patchwork of colours around it. This is where he belongs, where he is expected to stay, and so when Michail tells him that the Jones’ brothers usually head North for school break, Luc feels the heaviness of his immobility begin to churn into something else. The desire to follow, maybe. Intrigue. What’s up North? Three months is too long. 

It’s pointless anyway. They have one more study session and the final on Thursday and then he has no other reason to hang out with him.

The problem is physics. It’s the shifting of Luc’s magnetic field whenever Alfred is around. As his feet tirelessly beat the tracks like a gazelle, he catches sight of him and feels the anchor dislodge in his middle. Those quarterback shoulders, the wind leafing through golden locks of hair. He knows the shampoo he uses by smell alone, two semesters sitting behind him, studying the arch of his ears, the odd bruise on his elbow this week, calf the next. The football team does warmups on the grassy field and Luc is out of breath, un-centred, doubling over when the whistle goes. 

“You're distracted.” Coach, give it a rest. There’s a meat fest out there and desire runs through him like lava.

Michail also adds, some time later, lips puckered around the blue straw of his milkshake. “Are you finally gonna make out with someone this summer?” 

“I’m what?”

“It’s that or priesthood.”

That’s a bit rude. It’s not that he doesn't want his first kiss, it’s that it's never the right person. When Glenda and him got the closet for a ‘7 Minutes in Heaven’ dare last spring, she was so nervous she could only hold his hand and tremble while he awkwardly sat there, staring at his shoes. They lied about it, but Michail knew the truth. Then there was Eugene. They don't talk about Eugene.

He tries not to dwell on it. Dating is dumb. 

“You used the wrong formula.” Alfred lightheartedly adds, an easy smile on his bright face, using the back of his pencil to erase what Luc had just scribbled. ‘Al Armstrong’ they jokingly call him, for many reasons and then some, but as Luc sits across from him on the plush navy rug of his bedroom he thinks, that’s the kind of person you’d send to the moon. He doesn’t belong here. In Hollywood, maybe, or a distant galaxy made of different stars. He’s been caught staring so many times. 

“Sorry.” His gaze drops to his notebook, embarrassed to still be making some of the same mistakes that had led Mrs Klimt to suggest they pair up a good number of weeks ahead of the exam. Luc is over every Tuesday. At school, he is pestered to share whether or not he’s seen the twins’ mother, and if she’s everything she is rumoured to be, and some other teenage dirtbag comments he skilfully ignores because he would never disrespect Al’s mom like that. She brings them lemonade if she’s home but they source their own snacks, sometimes from the fridge, sometimes grab sauce drenched burgers and sizzling hot fries at the diner in town before cycling back to Al’s, succumb to food coma and pretend to study. 

What else does he notice? The glow in the dark stars stuck to the ceiling that Alfred claims to have outgrown. Razors, toothbrushes, spray deodorant in the bathroom. That shampoo. Whose is whose? Matt sleeps right across the corridor. Luc thinks about pocketing something, but he’s terrified of getting the wrong brother. So he washes his hands and returns to the bedroom he’s supposed to be in, where Al greets him with a great big beam and tells him they should take a break, he’s got a new Nintendo game he wants them to play. 

“Hey, Luc.” He’s not invisible anymore. To be seen by the lover is to be validated in one’s existence. Al smiles at him in the halls, squeezes his shoulder. Everyone is interested in this strange new friendship they’ve got going on. 

What does he have to lose? Everything, yeah. His dad might actually kill him if he finds out. Alfred might never speak to him again. But maybe, just maybe, they could drown this over the summer, and nobody would have to know. Either way, he’s running out of time when he slides the folded piece of paper under Al’s arm from the desk behind him in Geometry, and his friend grabs his fingers by mistake. 

‘Back of gym after school? I wanna ask you something.’

The thing is he won’t smoke in front of Al. That’s embarrassing. Without it, though, he’s just a miserable mess of wet nerves, pulling weeds out the walls, kicking rocks, rummaging through his torn backpack for anything to keep him entertained. Oh, fuck. 

“Hey, Luc.”

He’s going to be sick. Chicken out. Actually abandon all corporeality. 

“Hey, Al.” 

They sit down side by side, backs to the concrete wall and facing the wilderness beyond the net fence in front of them. Alfred throws himself into easy conversation, as is always the case with him, and it’s nice, so nice Luc forgets that he was about to hightail out of there and live with the regret instead. Forgets it long enough to laugh along, and miss the fact that Al’s been watching him, and that he has that look on his face like Luc’s used the wrong formula again. He keeps forgetting to anchor his gravity and instead lets Al run with it, making him dizzy. 

“What did you want to ask me?” 

Red, red, red. Oxygen depletion in less than a second, pushing him to gasp pathetically as he does a little stiff turn to look his friend straight. Flushed with youth, eyes like gemstones, keen but kind, no malice behind them. Sun stroked cheeks, honey on his arms, shimmering against his white polo. Timidly, Luc’s focus drops to the other’s rosy mouth, then blinks excessively and looks away. Would he taste the way he looked? Ethereal? Delicate as jasmine, something like nectar? A pack of Twizzlers was more like it, or a blue slushy. Punch-sweet. 

“Would you let me kiss you?” Wait, why did he phrase it like that? His panic flares anew and he begins to stutter, hand flexing mid-air as he tries to explain beyond his words. 

Al looks… amused. Pink nosed. He’s sitting a little still now. “Are you asking if you can kiss me?”

Is he? “I-… I- I’m, I think, yes. If you want to.”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yeah.”

There goes gravity again, sucking him in. Luc nervously leans across the short distance between them, his heart a jungle drum, and almost too quickly does he press the softness of his mouth to Al’s, as if afraid he might change his mind. Once, then a gentler twice before withdrawing and looping his arms around his knees. There. All the secrets of the Universe to him revealed. Beside him, Al giggles, more to himself than anything else when Luc thanks him for letting him do that.

“My turn. Can I kiss you?”

Not jasmine, but peppermint chewing gum.