altimit | [Closed] misteaks' mistakes

[The breath he takes is deep and shaking, a little more of his weight burying against Morgan. Is that where his anger was coming from? A place of care?

...

It feels almost like speaking to Booker. Booker, whose temper was vibrant and couldn't be argued against once stoked, not even by Barrett. He still wonders if Booker would ever forgive him.

He doesn't know how to help. He doesn't know if Morgan even wants help, or if asking would just make the anger worse. But... he'd promised Morgan honesty, something he's tried to do ever since he was finally allowed. Even if hesitation stuffs his heart to the brim, he wasn't going to help either of them by continuing to hide his heart.]

...

I think I feel scared. Because I don't know how to help, when you feel like this. I feel... trapped, when I can't. I worry that your anger is the only thing you might listen to. But... I know now that being angry is something that's complicated.

[The wrap of his arms grows stronger.]

Please... tell me what you're fighting. Tell me why you're trembling so hard.

( There may be a faint relief when the answer that comes is the privilege of Barrett's vulnerable heart, offered again, instead of rejection. Barrett... isn't like him. Mithrun parks where he is, stubborn, but Barrett - will tell him no, that's enough, sorry. Not easily, but he's proved he can. Mithrun doesn't live in fear of it, or anything. He'd rather Barrett know how to say no than not, even if that means saying no to him. But Macha's heartbreak is an echo still fresh in him, resonating.

He doesn't want Barrett to pull away from him. And knows that's selfish. )

... Why...

( What is he fighting? Why is he trembling? He doesn't know. But he knows the face behind his anger; he's always known it as the professor. When he turns the mirror on himself, he sees that man's figure there, a hand on his shoulder, a hand in his hair.

But what makes him so angry, about all that? Besides "everything he'd done to him" - what is it, that brings an emotion so carefully cultivated and curated for him, to this situation with Cubia, with Barrett?

What had the professor done, what had Cubia almost done? )

... I'm...

( ... He presses his cheek into Barrett's neck... )

... I came really close to losing you. So many times. You were hurt... you've been hurting, and I... ( A soft inhale. ) I don't— know how to help you either, when you're guilty, and he— they hurt you like this. I can only say a few phrases, but it doesn't help, does it? It just feels like you're going to shatter. I hate him, for hurting you. And I hate— that I can't...

( Or hates himself, because he can't. He can't do anything for him. Can he?

But... the way Barrett explains his own feelings is familiar, once he manages, stumbling, to get out something of his own. It - gives some shape to Barrett's anxiety, his own withdrawn reaction to Mithrun's anger. He didn't mean it like that. He wasn't trying to trap him. He just... )

... I feel like... your guilt's the only thing you listen to, too. And they're the ones who just make it worse. I hate them.

[It's familiar feelings in a different shape, presenting less of an epiphany and more of deep regret.]

...We've talked about this. [Quiet, tired.] My guilt is my burden, Morgan. Not yours. I don't think that's changed.

You can hate them. I'm... glad, that you don't want them to hurt me again. But I don't need you to fight my battles for me, because I won't learn anything that way. I don't need you to say anything smart or wise, because that won't take my problems away.

I just want to know you're here.

[He doesn't need steadiness. He needs safety

Because Mithrun is right. Barrett does feel like he might shatter at any second.]

Edited 2023-11-13 09:46 (UTC)

( Mm. Finally, he pulls away - to look Barrett in the eyes, proper, in a way he's been avoiding. His brows furrowed, his expression lost - struggling, hurt, but... trying to understand. )

... It's not as simple. It's not as simple as saying it's your problem. Even if these are things you have to do for yourself, ( his hands pull back, and he takes Barrett's face, firmly, ) I don't feel nothing when these things happen to you, when you blame yourself. Okay? That's... It comes with caring. That comes with being together. Doesn't it?

( Wishing... he could do more for Barrett, that these things didn't, wouldn't happen to him, isn't the sort of burden Barrett thinks it is - not to Mithrun. Not under normal circumstances. These circumstances just haven't been normal.

He swallows. )

... I'm not... going to go anywhere. Not as Macha, not as me. I won't— I'll get... better... with my anger.

Edited 2023-11-13 09:57 (UTC)

[...

Morgan forces that look, and Barrett finds that, at least to start, he can't meet it, eyes paining in understanding but still drifting off rather quickly, apology in his tone.]

I don't know what to tell you to do. I don't even know what to do, or how to change... I'm sorry. [But it's touching, in a way, to know Mithrun cares so deeply about it.]

I don't want you to stop being angry. I think... you get a lot of things accomplished when you feel things the way you do. I just...

[It's the knowing fear that's been eating at him ever since he learned about the professor, a fear that now digs deep here, a fear that keeps him from being able to give any more of himself...

...]

I'm worried that someday I really won't be enough, and you'll never come back.

That one day, you'll be so mad that no one will be able to say anything to stop you. I won't be able to hold you, and it won't matter what anyone tells you -- I'll just have to watch you walk away.

( Ah.

Though Barrett isn't looking, there's a ripple in Mithrun's expression as he seems to understand - he thinks, better. The other things Barrett said sort of slotting into place, the central pieces of the puzzle set down.

And it's not a point he could argue, either. Not when he knew he had to hold onto Barrett to stay pinned down. But maybe that's why it felt like - the things he was saying weren't really landing right, with Barrett, and hadn't been, even before they began becoming Phases. He thinks... he didn't understand the crux of his fear; or, at least, a portion of it.

He's had a lot of conversations since their fight ended. Enough to exhaust him. It's only been a day, and yet - there's a lot, there's a lot, he's been asked to consider, is trying to, by different people, some he cares about. And here is Barrett, saying something new, but not wholly unfamiliar.

He's quiet. He lets his hands fall quiet down along his neck, his chest, and come to rest there. )

... Can you trust me if I say I'll try to change? Or... did I lose that right?

[The silence stretches a a little further as Barrett lowers his forehead to rest against Morgan's.]

You never lost it. I still believe in you. If I didn't... I think it would be so much harder to tell you when things hurt.

[He would back away, like he's done before. Tell him that he can't cross that line.

He breaths steady underneath Morgan's fingertips, letting his own hands settle against Morgan's waist - less of an active pin and more a state of constant, moving touch, gentle and pressing against the delicate fabrics.]

...I want you to find a reason to change for yourself. Not for me. I can be here to help you, just like you want to help me. And I know you can do it. You've gotten up out of so many hospital beds and tried to keep going because you found reasons when no one else did. So I know you can, and I want to be alongside you. With you.

[His hands lift to mirror how Morgan's had been only a minute ago, cupping his face, though they don't force. It's touch, touch, to prove a point and anchor them together, to support how firm his words settle next, even if only for two syllables.]

With you. Okay?

Not on your pedestal, not in a safebox. I don't want to hide, and I don't want you to ever feel you have to hide me. I... want you to trust me more than that.

[Fingertips carefully trace against the longer locks of stray silvering hair as he keeps Morgan's face cupped in his palms.]

...Can you trust me to keep myself safe? Whether or not you're around?

( Mithrun exhales softly, his breathing quiet. His brow furrows slightly, though, as Barrett's fingers find their way along the hair framing his face. Just a subtle thing, easy to miss. )

... Okay.

( Does he? He isn't so sure about that. Not after everything that's happened to Barrett, that Barrett's let happen to him. But he understands it as a request; Barrett telling him that these things are important to him, that they're his terms for being with him. It's important to Barrett that Mithrun trust Barrett with himself, and it's important to him that they're ... separate in existence in some way.

Mithrun doesn't mind that. He is someone who will always stride a little out of step with everyone else, a little too independent. But finding a reason to persist in that broad, bigger world that doesn't mean on the people he knows, as if they were his carers, will take a little more time.

But... it makes him feel a kindling in his chest, that Barrett is so sure he can.

Still. )

... Taking responsibility for the things you've done... doesn't mean you should let it eat you, the way it does. I take responsibility for all the things I've done, and I... So - I'll trust you. Okay? I'll trust you. But... don't - hurt yourself so much. The more you do, the more... I get afraid for you.

( Trusting Barrett to handle himself is a decision he can make, and Barrett taking care of himself is a decision only Barrett can make, but one does influence the other. Barrett has torn himself down almost as much as Cubia has, and by nature he's too kind to lash out at new aggressors. Mithrun wants to trust him, but he wants Barrett to show him he can be trusted, too. It's hard to trust someone self-destructive, no matter how much you might want to.

Maybe they both just want the same thing from each other. )

But I know... you can. I don't know all the words to encourage it yet. But I know you're someone who can. And it'd be nice, if we... could get there, eventually. If we can shift, and change, and still be together... I'd like that.

[He notes the bare flinch against his fingers, unsure of the cause but letting his motions still. Watching, keeping a note of it for later.

But Morgan forces his way through disjointed thoughts, feelings that crack in their shape, and Barrett's eyes soften apologetically as he turns them over in his head. Trying to make sure he understands, that he's listened just as much as he wants Morgan to listen.]

You sound a lot like Booker. Have I ever told you that?

I don't want to get hurt anymore. And I... I don't want to drown myself. [A momentary touch back, an acknowledgement of Morgan's feelings form only minutes ago in the height of his rage.] I... know it's not easy for me. Not with some of my feelings.

But... Maybe I just need to learn a little more from you. If you can learn how to sit up when the waves come in... I can try, too.

[He lets the silence sit between them for a little longer, for breathing to try and calm and for his body to try to let Morgan stay at rest, rather than be restrained. One hand cups back against Morgan's head, a careful slide past sensitive ears to rest the warmth of his hand against the nape of Morgan's neck, disturbing the flow of the veil that still drapes across thin shoulders.

His smile, when it comes, is quiet and fond.]

I've never had someone so protective of me as you are, you know. It's different.

I like it sometimes. It makes me feel good when I know you care. It's why I know some anger will be okay. I can see this fierce side of you that way. [He pauses, thinking, before he leans in to press a chaste and glancing kiss to Morgan's forehead.] Just don't drown in it.

Edited 2023-11-14 04:03 (UTC)

... Mm.

( To the Booker comment. It's been - awhile, maybe since the carnival, or a little while after, but he remembers. But he thinks any time Barrett's said it it's been a slightly different way; first for his disability, then for his care, and this time... for all this, maybe.

But what releases so much tension from his shoulders is Barrett saying he'd try. That he was willing, that he wanted to. It's not a certain thing - so few are certain, he knows, as much as he prefers known quantities and outcomes - but it's a lot better than Barrett saying he can't, it's so much easier to swallow than Barrett hanging his head and running away.

Despite everything - despite all this - he softens into the brief kiss, and the gentle touch, and his words of affection.

Talking things out was - stressful. It's easier not saying anything, agreeing or disagreeing in his head and walking away, but he - cares about what Barrett has to say, every word, good or bad, and ... maybe it's worth it, it's worth all the hard parts, if it eventually ends softer like this. )

... I won't. Out on the shore is where you all are. Where you'll be.

( He says this as affirmation - that Barrett won't drown either. He won't... let him drown, if he can help it. But if Barrett wants to prove he can keep his head above water, he'll try to trust him, the way Barrett wants to trust Mithrun to manage, too.

He lets his hands brush up from Barrett's chest up along his neck. )

... My world was a lot more quiet before you. How much I feel is more than I know what to do with. But... I don't dislike it.

( One comes to rest at his jaw, cupping it, his face just that much closer. )

... Kiss me again?

( Why ask instead of just kiss him himself, or wait? Because he's never asked before. And he's curious, and he likes it - trying new things with Barrett. )

Edited 2023-11-14 05:50 (UTC)

[Morgan was asking.

He wasn't leaving up to Barrett's choice, to Barrett's wants, broad consent without desire. Is this the first time Morgan's requested something like this from him? Is this the first time he's fully expressed that he does still have his feelings deep within his bones?

It leaves the redhead a little stunned, wide-eyed and breathless under Morgan's fingers. His demeanor doesn't lose the ragged weight from the travels of their talk. But the creases that dot his eyes and mouth as he lights up at least color him back in a less anxious light.

He doesn't even falter on the request. With Morgan settled in his lap, Barrett leans in - a gentle press of his lips to his forehead again. Then to his cheekbone. Then to the bridge of his nose, to the tip of it - chaste peppering, tired and gentle affection, pausing close enough that their noses brush, close enough that he absolutely could just press their lips together. But he doesn't - he holds that small glimmer of playfulness like a ray from the sun.]

Like that? Maybe some more?

( Mithrun, as ever, is an ambiguous read; he lacks surprise or pride that much suggest that he's aware of his uncharacteristic ask, and so it is unclear if he's aware at all - and he is. He is, but he's coming to dwell on it less, because the time he spends muddling in his thoughts is a little less time he spends in the moment with Barrett, and, like reflex, he's come to prefer this affection over the featureless expanse of indifference the professor left him.

He didn't expect any kiss in any particular way, but here is where surprise colors his features, because he didn't expect playfulness volleyed back threefold.

Mithrun's tired, too. But he's always been one to ignore his exhaustion for the things he can't help but stride toward. Each place Barrett had left a gentle, silly kiss feels faintly warm, a small smile curling his lips; he thinks he can nearly feel Barrett's own smile, too. )

... Maybe... a few more. Or else I'll decide where I get to kiss you.

( A threat....................(!?) )

[Oh.

He goes silent, the stalling of his brain practically visible as his imagination goes a little wild. It's not that Morgan hadn't kissed him before. So why was the idea of him being so bold something that had his heart suddenly ticking his heart faster in his chest?

His eyes lid slightly, the hand at Morgan's nape tightening just a little, running fingers carefully down muscle and tendon. He wants to, he wants to, but something more delicious has been presented, and he can't help it.]

...What if I want both?

... You have a big appetite.

( His fingers curl under Barrett's chin and tips his face up, their lips so lightly brushing - but it's not a kiss; when he presses in, his lips press against the corner of Barrett's lips - a tease in turn.

Then he leans up, in, bracing his palms against Barrett's shoulders so he can press a kiss to the soft of his cheek, the edge of his eye, his temple... Not peppering like Barrett had him, but a path suggesting a destination, and he leans a little more against him as he travels up, pressing Barrett against the back of the couch.

His lips pause there, brushing at Barrett's temples. )

... You have to trade me. But... don't stop even if I keep going.

( More kisses for Mithrun if you want more kisses for Barrett!! )

[He nods obediently, swallowing thick with mouth slightly parted as he lets his weight press backward. Morgan's veil pools around them like a delicate curtain, like anything that isn't Morgan shouldn't dare to be in view - the illusion of privacy that frames bare, scarred shoulders and silver hair and the softest of smiled under a dark, deep gaze.

With Morgan kneeling up overtop him, it leaves his face and his hands at the easiest, barest point, letting his hands press into the open shapes of Morgan's shoulder blades as he presses his lips to the inside of Morgan's neck. But he halts, just for a second.]

Before... before I do...

You flinched earlier, when I brought my hands to your face. Is... there anywhere I shouldn't touch?

[The last time had been their avatars, after all - horns and wings and idealized bodies. This was bound to be a little different.]

( A beat, where Mithrun isn't sure what he means, his lips parting from Barrett's skin. Then - ah, that...

Mithrun's weight seems to sink, as if the question had tired out his strength just from the asking, and though he lingers where he is for a moment, he finally sinks back into Barrett's lap, still leaning his weight forward.

He looks a little troubled, a little puzzled - unhappy, being reminded of him in this moment. )

... Anywhere is fine.

( The standard answer. At least, he thinks so. Thought so.

... )

Can you try running your hands through my hair? Just lightly.

...

Hey... you don't need to say that if it ever stops being "fine". Okay? I won't be mad.

[But he takes the statement as intended and lifts a hand as requested, letting fingertips find the barest give in long locks of hair near a higher point of Morgan's head. The gesture stays gentle, cautious, following the flow of it down the frame of Morgan's face.]

... Mm.

( He doesn't say more, but the reassurance is easing. He hadn't thought Barrett would be upset with him, but having pause to express care - still feels nice. Nicer, still, since all of this still feels new to Mithrun.

The touch at his hair is gentle, but the reaction is more palpable with the prolonged touch - it's subtle, but the way his expression scrunches in, he looks a little like someone in slow recoil after being struck.

The professor never did have to raise a hand against him, though.

As Barrett's hand falls away, Mithrun looks peeved. He didn't think he'd mind it if anyone but that man touched his hair. His hair, at the length it'd been when he'd known him...

Muttering: )

... He'd touch my hair all the time. Especially when I was feeling sick, or hurt, or in pain...

[His motions slow as soon as he sees that subtle flinch again, withdrawing to instead let his touch rest back against Morgan's shoulder. It doesn't let go, even as Morgan's face turns to irritation at himself.]

Then we don't have to do anything with it. [Quiet, but firm.] He doesn't belong here. You do.

...

Could I tuck it behind your ears? Would that be okay for now? If you're not sure... then there's plenty of places I can touch to still show you I care.

Edited 2023-11-15 20:04 (UTC)

( "He doesn't belong here. You do."

Mithrun seems to soften, a little. )

... Not now, but... later... I don't know if I want to carry this part of him with me. I think it should go.

( It hadn't mattered all this time, but now - that it bothers Barrett, causes a stutter in a closer moment between them... he minds now, he thinks. What was the point of sticking around if he had to compromise on... these things that he might want, after taking so long to recognize that he might want them, that he could want at all?

But right now they were tired and it wasn't the time to reverse engineer exposure therapy or otherwise. Besides... )

... But, for now... behind my ear is fine. Touch me... as much as you want.

( He wants to feel it - all the ways Barrett can express he cares. )

[Barrett's far from a therapist, far from the kind of person that knows how to handle something delicate like this. All he knows is that the touch reminds Morgan of a horrible part of his life, and Barrett wasn't about to press that. He could draw a firm line if it meant Morgan could stay comfortable.

When his hands lift back up to cup Morgan's face against his fingers, he tries to keep it simple. The careful push of two fingers to each side to catch what strands of hair frames Morgan's face, pushing it back as he lets his touch trace his ears, the locket earrings getting a careful touch of curiosity as well before he moves back down to his jaw.]

I think I liked what we were doing before. And now I can see even more of you this way.

So... can I keep kissing you?

( The shift of topic comes with the shift of touch - carefully pushing back his hair to the more affectionate touch at his jaw.

He exhales, quiet but deep. Letting go of the memory, the past, if only for this moment, because... this is more important than that, he thinks. )

... Yes.

( Please, his tone almost seems to ask. )

[He doesn't need any further prompting, taking back the small distance between them to press their lips together. A light kiss, then a second, a third, before he nuzzles the heat of his face into Morgan's neck. Mouthing at one heated earlobe, the redhead quickly buries himself into a peppering line of kisses beyond the sheer coverage of the veil, hoping quantity would earn him a reward for his insistence.

His hands travel down to squarely rest at Mithrun's hips, eager to go further and find that warm pocket of exposed leg that he could feel against his own thighs. But he waits, content with tasting.]

[Closed] misteaks' mistakes - the sequel (catchall)

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