specifications | | inbox

Yes, after--

[ He sounds almost thirty years older than he ought to as he punctuates that unfinished thought with a heavy sigh. There's little else to be said about it today. Nothing productive, at least.

He pushes against the mattress then, scooting up just a little closer; if Arthur truly wanted him gone, he would be. ]

I...I also wanted to apologize.

[ He watches Charles but he doesn't move or give any indication he wants the other man to leave. He shouldn't encourage... whatever this is. ]

For what?

For that last "conversation." [ Putting it mildly. ] I shouldn't have pushed so hard.

[ ~~Even if he still doesn't think he was wrong. Just wrong in execution.~~ ]

[ He gives a small shrug, eye moving away from Charles to looking up at the ceiling. ]

Doesn't matter.

...Can I ask you to elucidate on that?

[ It sounds like a carefully measured thought, given appropriate pause...when he questions whether he should even ask at all. ]

[ He sighs heavily through his nose and closes his eye, wondering if he should bother answering. He decides to if only to make where he stands clear: ]

We are either going to die here or we'll win... whatever this is supposed to be and be sent back where we came from.

[ So getting attached - much like how he views it in his own world - isn't something he really wants to do. ]

So this...doesn't matter? [ He gives a soft sigh. He wishes he could blame this on the concussion, but that can't be it. Not when everything they've said and done thus far makes more sense now that he's finally let something slip. Keeping his voice quiet and level: ]

Arthur, that's bullshit, if I'm allowed to be frank for a moment. Yes, presumably that's the point, sans perhaps the fatalism. But how do you even know when that's going to be? Tomorrow? A month from now? A year? [ And with a sharp inhale: ] Never?

[ Don't push. Don't-- ] If that's really what you want, fine. I'll leave and we'll consider it done.

But you could do with some friends, mate. Even the Titans have that.

[ He opens his eye again at the response, expecting as much. In many ways, Charles continues to feel like his opposite and it's surprisingly endearing. Even when he's trying to push the other man away. ]

And you're fine with us being just "friends"?

[ Because it doesn't sound like it to him. ]

[ No. His expression is, even in subtle restraint, very illustrative of the conflict that question poses. ]

If you're asking me to tell you I don't--have feelings for you, then no, Arthur, in honesty, I can't say as much.

[ He closes his eyes for a moment, as if he could push said feelings away in the doing, but all it does is make it feel that much keener. Eyes blinking back open, he purses his lips and gives a shrug. Anything has to be better than pretending there's nothing. ]

But it's a far sight better than whatever the fuck we've been doing for the last month.

[ He's silent for a long moment, still watching the other man before he sighs through his nose again. ]

No, it isn't. It'll hurt you more.

[ Because that's the kind of person he is and Arthur knows it as surely as he knows he's been prone to close himself off intentionally for many years. But his voice is softer than it has been in the past when this issue has been brought up. ]

You think I don't know that but I do. You have a bigger heart than I do.

[ There's a heavy pause. ]

...and I do love that about you, you know. It's a rare thing in my world. I wish I could see things the way you do but I can't. Just like I can't say I'm okay with doing this because that day can come sooner than we know and...

[ His throat constricts, a burning pressure building behind his eyes. ]

You're asking me to be willing to lose something I never thought I would have and I can't do that.

[ He's not sure he could survive a loss like that. ]

[ Charles raises a brow at that, and leans forward, placing his hand very deliberately next to Arthur's instead of taking it, as he might were he trying to placate. ]

And you don't have it at all if you push it away, do you? You can't blame that on the gods, or this--whatever the hell this situation is--that is on you.

And for the record: I don't have a bigger heart than you do. [ He's calling bullshit on that too, buddy. ] I'm just more comfortable with showing it. The fact that you consider any of this at all says quite a lot more than you give yourself credit for.

Only because you're a special case.

[ Don't even try that with him, Chuck. ]

And better not to have it than lose it.

I must be, if you flatter in one breath and contradict in the other.

[ No wonder he's confused. The signals are all...off. Wanted, but not. Admitted, but not. Denied, but not quite. ]

And what happens if we are here years? Longer than? If--god forbid--we don't...go home? Are you as determined to see it only for the loss that hasn't even happened?

[ It's been six months by his estimation already. And occasional threats aside, Charles has his suspicions that this won't be over any time soon.

If the Trojan War alone could take ten years for what should have effectively been a two-week operation...

He doesn't think these gods are as concerned with the time it takes as the mortals they've recruited. ]

[ He breathes out something like a laugh even if the amusement is fleeting, ]

You could find someone a lot better for you in that time, you know.

[ He's trying to see the dark humor in it yet the pain in his chest feels sharp and crushing at the thought. ]

Arthur, shut up. You have a concussion.

[ There's an eyeroll and a ghost of a laugh in it; it's astonishment more than actual amusement. What a ridiculous idea. ]

I don't even want to know what you think "better" looks like. I'm perfectly capable of understanding what I want [ ~~well, that sure is a slip~~ ], and "better" is not it.

[ He gives an indignant noise at being told to shut up - though god knows he needs to be told that more than a few times - but he ends up laughing in a more genuine way at that last part. ]

That makes literally no sense. I'm starting to think you didn't go to Oxford at all.

[ He is not dignifying that, Arthur. He knows what the fuck he's about. ]

Let me put it this way: I'm here with you. Not anywhere else. Not with anyone else. Not looking at anything else.

And while we're at it, "better" is relative to everyone and frankly quite the bullshit barometer.

[ And because he can't help himself (and also not a mindreader): ]

Why?

[ He looks taken aback by the question for a moment, and indeed he'd never actually considered it, he'd simply let it happen. Even if he wonders--moreso now that he doesn't have the advantage he's used to--the same thing about himself sometimes. It's strange, to have that staring him back in the face. ]

Feelings aren't a zero-sum game. Or they shouldn't be, at least, and I'd like to think I'm not a complete asshole. I don't go into every relationship I have with people considering what it benefits or how I can use it.

[ Of course, he has done that with people; telepathy makes the latter too easy. But he wouldn't call those relationships, platonic or otherwise. ]

But I want to know why you want a relationship with me at all.

And that's not the concussion talking.

[ Which he knows he probably does have. ]

[ Charles finally does place his hand on Arthur's. It's not a thing he often has a reason to put to words--for anyone--and he has so many thoughts that finding the right ones gives him pause. ]

Well--if you mean aside from your being capable, and resourceful and accommodating, and kinder than you want to apparently admit you are, or...attractive, which is not a thing I'm used to admitting aloud, mind--I suppose...

[ And here he takes another pause to inhale slowly. ]

I suppose it's...because all of these little things make up a man I admire but could not ever hope to be.

[ His vision blurs slowly as he listens, not realizing he's tearing him in the one eye he can open. He remains silent for a long time before turning his hand over under Charles', his fingers moving to grip the other. ]

No one should want to be me.

[ For as confident as he holds himself, he has had moments in his life where even he didn't want to be him. Not when everyone else seemed... so full of life and affection. Mal had been that way. And now Charles is sitting here listing off traits he rarely considers in himself. He's good at his job and that's all that's really mattered for the past few years. Everything else was arbitrary.

He swallows the lump in his throat and the wetness leaks out onto his cheek. He barely feels it. ]

Edited 2018-10-06 10:19 (UTC)

[ He holds Arthur's hand there for a moment, attentively letting the words settle and pass. ]

I think we all have moments of wanting to be someone else. No matter what we've done or what we're trying to achieve.

[ Even Charles had spent years struggling to come to terms with himself: his abilities, his tendency to use them, the loneliness and neglect. He imagines, based upon this reaction, that Arthur's childhood--life, maybe--looks even worse than this, and thus the pull to it must be stronger. But he thinks he understands. Little by little. ]

Regardless, when we're...like this. You--make me feel complete in a way I frankly don't know what to do with. You question, you make me think, you see the world in a way I've...never had to.

I don't have to want to be you to admire you, or empathize, or--. But to be with you? Yes. I very much still want that. Is that enough of a why?

[ Arthur continues to look at him as he says this, vision clearing and blurring again as he listens. It hurts. It makes his chest hurt and he isn't sure how to process it, let alone vocalize it. He's rarely had to -- or chose to before now.

Thus, he falls back on the one thing he knows he can do: to act.

He removes his hand from Charles' and moves it then to grab the front of his tunic and pull him in closer. Once he can manage it, he pushes himself up on one elbow and closes the distance by pressing his lips to the other man's. ]

Edited 2018-10-10 09:11 (UTC)

[ He doesn't manage to get out the expression of confusion, strangled as the noise is by lips pressing into his. His heart leaps into his throat in the same moment, and he's surprised, and warm, and confused, and thrilled all in the same, strained breath.

As he's learned to do with Arthur, he lets the moment come as it arrives; he doesn't know how long this is going to last, if it's going to last, or if it's going to come again. Here and now is all he cares about in the here and now. Charles presses into that contact once he regains his balance against the mattress, insistent and more than a little impatient. As he finally pulls away, he's breathless and gasping for air. ]

I'm taking that as a yes.

| inbox - fasti |

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

you're welcome, bitch

rude af

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)