[ Called back down the hall, though he does have a perfectly good distraction sitting in his lap that doesn't warrant the petulant, too-young sigh that follows in a huff. But he still possesses enough maturity at least to not push it beyond that; he had, after all, shown up without warning. ]
[ Arthur finds himself laughing as he closes the bathroom door, surprisingly pleased despite how tired he feels. The shower isn't long but he makes sure to get clean and rinse any remains of dirt from the tub after he's finished.
He dries off and exits the bathroom to go to his bedroom, first. He goes back to Charles in a pair of sweat pants and hair still damp. He walks right over and leans down to give Charles the kiss he had wanted earlier but it's a brief thing. Sweet but brief. He's then pulling away and putting his hands on his hips. ]
[ The contact is much too brief, and it leaves Charles winded for a moment afterward in the buildup of that anticipation and wanting he's left in its wake. So much so that he has to clear his throat in the midst of his surprise at the question that follows. ]
[ He doesn't. His presence here attests to that. His appearance attests to that. His general mood even attests to it. The argument sounds petulant, however, even to his ears, but it's out now, and he can't take that back. ]
It was not my intention to put you out.
[ Which sounds like a solid enough excuse amidst that exhaustion. His own habits here are complicated, and it's not typically something he subjects anyone else to if he can help it. (He's frankly unprepared for and unsure what to do with this offer as it's given). ]
[ Arthur gently takes the book from Charles and sets it down on the nearest bit of furniture -- the recliner chair he had been in last time they drank together. Look back to Charles, he holds back a sigh. ]
I'm going to say this as lovingly as possible: you look like shit.
You look exhausted and worn out and I think it would do you good to just... relax. Do something for yourself.
[ Adding pointedly: ]
For once.
You're so busy taking care of everyone else; do you ever take time for yourself? That isn't coming over here to drink.
[ It cuts to the root of the problem so succinctly that Charles is left speechless for a moment. Truly speechless, rather than confused and slightly dumbfounded. He doesn't have words because he knows--knows--everything Arthur has just said is true.
He feels like shit. It shouldn't surprise him that he looks just as bad, and honestly, the presence of the beard is an immediate testament to it all on its own. And he had, if he were to be perfectly honest, come here as something of an escape. He's falling quickly, it seems, back into old patterns he'd been so sure he'd shaken years ago. But with every loss and hardship and scare: every fight with Erik, every trip to the medbay, every paranoid conversation he'd had about this place since arrival, he'd slipped a little farther and ended up right back here, scarcely noticing it.
When he is able to lift his gaze, it's pained. Sad and tired, and he looks like he's either not slept for days or cried for just as long, and his eyes burn the same. It's only then that he gives a defeated sigh and shakes his head. ]
No. What I need has never much mattered.
[ Or so he tells himself. He has a knowledge of basic psychology, he knows that self care is just as vital as anything external, or all of that validation he's aimlessly, fruitlessly searching for otherwise, but usually it's neglect is rarely this apparent, and the fact that someone else is taking the time to stop and notice it is a shock he's not really prepared to deal with.
All he can think is that this had been a bad idea. That this isn't a burden he needs to be laying on anyone else, but he can't take it back when it's been laid so bare before them both, and he's stuck at a crossroads as a result. Finally: ]
I'm sorry. [ He shouldn't have to do any of this. See any of this. ] I should-- [ And he thinks to say go, but what's done is done, isn't it? ] Fine.
[ Arthur's own expression gets softer, concern more visible and he lets Charles work through what he has to before finally agreeing. But he moves forward again, a hand going into the other man's hair, fingers gently rubbing the scalp as he leans down. He presses his forehead to Charles', looking in his eyes. ]
[ He can only meet Arthur's gaze for a moment before the guilt and trepidation win out, and his eyes avert. Any longer, and he'll no longer be simply on the verge of tears.
Here, now, he's faced with that acceptance he's always wanted. An acceptance given without caveat, without the weight of expectation of his caretaking or heightened responsibility. It's a role he hasn't attempted to play in a very long time. One he hadn't, frankly, felt worthy of, and still isn't quite sure he is now either. ]
Alright.
[ It's quiet, and slightly defeated, and more than a little awestruck. He reaches up to meet that hand and simply nods. ]
[ He leans forward to brush his nose with Charles' and then pulls away, giving the other's scalp another rub before doing so. He's backing up back in the direction of the bathroom, motioning for Charles to follow. ]
Don't worry. I'm not drunk this time so there's less a chance of dropping you.
If it makes you feel any better, I honestly don't remember how that felt.
[ He remembers details of that night, of course, but they're intermittent, fleeting things. Emotions, really, rather than a play-by-play, at least up until they'd both gained some relative lucidity. The hangover had been worth it.
Still, he smiles just so. Present, but still tired. He follows with little prompting, despite his earlier protestations. ]
And I'm still willing to write that off as a fluke. Maybe.
[ The laugh is interrupted by a soft sigh at the sudden jolt at the reality of Arthur's apartment being just too small, and doesn't really see that they have much of a choice, if the man is so determined to see this through. And thus, Charles nods and follows direction, wrapping his arms around Arthur's neck. ]
[ A hand pats on Charles' arms after they wrap around his neck and he leans back to hook an arm under each knee. He's then pushing himself back onto his feet, lifting Charles with him.
A moment before, ]
Yeah, I think this works better.
You want to sit on the counter to undress or the toilet?
[ The toilet was closer to the tub but the countertop for the sink higher. ]
[ He considers the options for only a short moment before settling on the one less cramped. Closer, perhaps, but the latter choice is also shorter on space. ]
Counter, please.
[ Once temporarily settled again, his sweater is easily shucked off, quickly and without comment. That is always the simplest part. And entirely sober--even if the exhaustion sometimes brings that lucidity into question--he's cognizant enough to fold it as he sets it aside. Like a nerd.
[ Arthur lets him get started on taking the sweater off, going over to get the tub started. He's feeling the water with one hand as he catches Charles folding the sweater. He barely manages to smother the smile that forms, concentrating on getting the water warm and then getting it plugged up.
He walks back over and starts to undo the other man's pants. ]
I imagine the lack of seeing the room spin helps, hm?
[ There's a laugh inherent in that response, easier now that they've pushed their way past the initial awkwardness of this whole affair. That doesn't stop Charles' unease completely: he still very much hates needing help in this regard or even asking for it, but it helps when it's approached with such casual disregard. (Or at least seeming disregard; they both know the reality check that necessitated this to begin with).
The sweater is set aside to free up his hands as they come to the actually awkward portion of actually getting his pants off. He braces against the edges of the counter to redistribute his weight. ]
[ Arthur has little experience with this sort of thing but he can also tell that Charles doesn't want to be treated with kid gloves. And so he never has. He is considerate of his needs but that's where it ends. It would be insulting to baby a grown man just because he's in a wheelchair. (Though Arthur can't help but wonder what it would be like if he could walk.) ]
It does. Too bad I can't put any mood music to this stripping.
What was it? George Michael with the saxophone?
[ But despite the joking, he's careful in getting the pants (and underwear) off, not wanting to pull Charles off the counter accidentally. Once those are off, he places them by the sweater and goes to check on the tub, leaving Charles to get his shirt off. ]
[ Charles just sort of scoffs. ] I'm not sure it's a show really worth all that.
[ Of course, this is still punctuated with his attention focused on the buttons of his shirt, which are at least much easier when his focus isn't caught in a drunken haze that makes the whole act of getting undressed a frustration. That too is folded and then set aside with the rest. ]
And that solo honestly necessitates one.
[ "Careless Whisper" is a seminal classic, goddamn it. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
specifications) wrote2017-06-22 08:26 am
no subject
Normally, yes, but is that still a valid excuse when you're not the only one?
[ He does at least have enough awareness for that. ]
no subject
But if I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine...
[ He gestures to Charles' whole person as he says it. ]
no subject
[ And with that, he motions Arthur over anyway. ]
no subject
[ He wags a finger at Charles, smirking still and turning to head to the bathroom. From down the hall, he calls, ]
I shall let lips do what hands do upon my return.
[ And yes, in his best English accent. ]
no subject
[ Called back down the hall, though he does have a perfectly good distraction sitting in his lap that doesn't warrant the petulant, too-young sigh that follows in a huff. But he still possesses enough maturity at least to not push it beyond that; he had, after all, shown up without warning. ]
no subject
He dries off and exits the bathroom to go to his bedroom, first. He goes back to Charles in a pair of sweat pants and hair still damp. He walks right over and leans down to give Charles the kiss he had wanted earlier but it's a brief thing. Sweet but brief. He's then pulling away and putting his hands on his hips. ]
Are you ready for your turn?
no subject
I'm sorry, what?
no subject
[ Yeah, he's smirking at that little pull back, Charles. ]
Not in the shower but, you know... A bath. It'll make you feel better.
no subject
[ He doesn't. His presence here attests to that. His appearance attests to that. His general mood even attests to it. The argument sounds petulant, however, even to his ears, but it's out now, and he can't take that back. ]
It was not my intention to put you out.
[ Which sounds like a solid enough excuse amidst that exhaustion. His own habits here are complicated, and it's not typically something he subjects anyone else to if he can help it. (He's frankly unprepared for and unsure what to do with this offer as it's given). ]
no subject
I'm going to say this as lovingly as possible: you look like shit.
You look exhausted and worn out and I think it would do you good to just... relax. Do something for yourself.
[ Adding pointedly: ]
For once.
You're so busy taking care of everyone else; do you ever take time for yourself? That isn't coming over here to drink.
no subject
He feels like shit. It shouldn't surprise him that he looks just as bad, and honestly, the presence of the beard is an immediate testament to it all on its own. And he had, if he were to be perfectly honest, come here as something of an escape. He's falling quickly, it seems, back into old patterns he'd been so sure he'd shaken years ago. But with every loss and hardship and scare: every fight with Erik, every trip to the medbay, every paranoid conversation he'd had about this place since arrival, he'd slipped a little farther and ended up right back here, scarcely noticing it.
When he is able to lift his gaze, it's pained. Sad and tired, and he looks like he's either not slept for days or cried for just as long, and his eyes burn the same. It's only then that he gives a defeated sigh and shakes his head. ]
No. What I need has never much mattered.
[ Or so he tells himself. He has a knowledge of basic psychology, he knows that self care is just as vital as anything external, or all of that validation he's aimlessly, fruitlessly searching for otherwise, but usually it's neglect is rarely this apparent, and the fact that someone else is taking the time to stop and notice it is a shock he's not really prepared to deal with.
All he can think is that this had been a bad idea. That this isn't a burden he needs to be laying on anyone else, but he can't take it back when it's been laid so bare before them both, and he's stuck at a crossroads as a result. Finally: ]
I'm sorry. [ He shouldn't have to do any of this. See any of this. ] I should-- [ And he thinks to say go, but what's done is done, isn't it? ] Fine.
no subject
It matters to me.
no subject
Here, now, he's faced with that acceptance he's always wanted. An acceptance given without caveat, without the weight of expectation of his caretaking or heightened responsibility. It's a role he hasn't attempted to play in a very long time. One he hadn't, frankly, felt worthy of, and still isn't quite sure he is now either. ]
Alright.
[ It's quiet, and slightly defeated, and more than a little awestruck. He reaches up to meet that hand and simply nods. ]
You're right, I know you're right.
no subject
Don't worry. I'm not drunk this time so there's less a chance of dropping you.
no subject
[ He remembers details of that night, of course, but they're intermittent, fleeting things. Emotions, really, rather than a play-by-play, at least up until they'd both gained some relative lucidity. The hangover had been worth it.
Still, he smiles just so. Present, but still tired. He follows with little prompting, despite his earlier protestations. ]
And I'm still willing to write that off as a fluke. Maybe.
no subject
Oh, so that's how it is, okay. I see.
[ But Charles' chair won't fit through the door so he has to walk forward and gives the other man his back before kneeling down in front of him. ]
Wrap your arms around my neck.
[ Let's try it this way and see how it goes. ]
no subject
[ The laugh is interrupted by a soft sigh at the sudden jolt at the reality of Arthur's apartment being just too small, and doesn't really see that they have much of a choice, if the man is so determined to see this through. And thus, Charles nods and follows direction, wrapping his arms around Arthur's neck. ]
no subject
A moment before, ]
Yeah, I think this works better.
You want to sit on the counter to undress or the toilet?
[ The toilet was closer to the tub but the countertop for the sink higher. ]
no subject
Counter, please.
[ Once temporarily settled again, his sweater is easily shucked off, quickly and without comment. That is always the simplest part. And entirely sober--even if the exhaustion sometimes brings that lucidity into question--he's cognizant enough to fold it as he sets it aside.
Like a nerd.It's the rest that gets more complicated. ]
no subject
He walks back over and starts to undo the other man's pants. ]
Not really as sexy as last time.
[ A beat. ]
Or as difficult.
no subject
[ There's a laugh inherent in that response, easier now that they've pushed their way past the initial awkwardness of this whole affair. That doesn't stop Charles' unease completely: he still very much hates needing help in this regard or even asking for it, but it helps when it's approached with such casual disregard. (Or at least seeming disregard; they both know the reality check that necessitated this to begin with).
The sweater is set aside to free up his hands as they come to the actually awkward portion of actually getting his pants off. He braces against the edges of the counter to redistribute his weight. ]
no subject
It does. Too bad I can't put any mood music to this stripping.
What was it? George Michael with the saxophone?
[ But despite the joking, he's careful in getting the pants (and underwear) off, not wanting to pull Charles off the counter accidentally. Once those are off, he places them by the sweater and goes to check on the tub, leaving Charles to get his shirt off. ]
no subject
[ Of course, this is still punctuated with his attention focused on the buttons of his shirt, which are at least much easier when his focus isn't caught in a drunken haze that makes the whole act of getting undressed a frustration. That too is folded and then set aside with the rest. ]
And that solo honestly necessitates one.
[ "Careless Whisper" is a seminal classic, goddamn it. ]
no subject
I don't know, I mean. You got the gun show going on there.
[ It's a good thing no one else was around to hear that. ]
no subject
That's still half a show at best.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)