altimit | [Closed] misteaks' mistakes

[He drops to a seat in silence near the edge of the grounds as Mithrun works through the combos. How long has he been at this, he wonders... who did he imagine, when that blade cut enemies to ribbons?

All of Barrett's armor has been unequipped, the skin of his palms and knuckles reddened where they cross over his knees. As Mithrun coasts to a stop, staring down at Barrett with a look that he can't even begin to understand, the redhead doesn't make a move to stand. Aware, complacent, submissive to the fact that he's done quite a lot of wrong in the last few hours.]

...I want to. [Quiet, but firm.] I can go, if you want to be alone. But... I feel like it was wrong of me. Leaving you.

...

How long have you been here?

( It's always difficult when Mithrun has to be the one to bridge the gap. His natural instinct is to leave matters be to decay, the way his instinct is to let himself drown. Even as his lips purse into a thin line seeing Barrett's red knuckles, he would drown, if let be.

But, like drowning, he can learn the mechanics of living, bit by bit, are by step, even if it doesn't feel natural to him, yet. )

... I don't know.

( An honest answer. So, probably too long.

He sheaths his weapon at his back where it dissipates, hidden, and he strides to Barrett. He stands before him, over him, and sees how small he seems to be - despite how great he normally feels when he stands beside him.

He sets a hand out on either side of Barrett, and he takes his face with his hands. Despite the sharp grip he'd employed with his claymore, this hold is careful, like he thinks Barrett might slip from his hands.

Maybe he shouldn't have let Barrett go off on his own. Maybe that passive instinct was wrong. But could he have even stopped him? Was there even anything he could do for him? )

... You didn't have to go. I didn't take it back.

( When he'd meant that Barrett should stay. )

...

[His eyes drift closed at the touch. Tender and raw in a way that makes him flinch.]

I know. You asked me to stay.

I...

[His mouth feels dry. Maybe he shouldn't bother. This feels like an excuse... but when there's so much he can't say to Morgan, the need for honesty and connection and some sort of comfort digs at the inside of his chest.]

...I was so scared.

Seeing you like that. Feeling the way I felt. I... was scared for you. And at myself.

I still feel that way. Like maybe I'm not going to be... safe, if I want to keep up...

Edited 2023-10-08 02:43 (UTC)

( His fingers curl in light against Barrett's skin, like he's trying for a better hold. Like he's trying for - comfort? Is that it? Or maybe it's that, the chest split open and the viscera clear, he's trying to understand how to keep it all together.

And he could walk away. He's done it before. And unlike others, Barrett won't cling. But he isn't sure he wants to set down this weight, yet. )

... I can find you and I can get you back if someone takes you away. I can't do anything if you go away from me.

( The touch slips, palms against neck; palms against collarbone; and then, palms slipping back, near where wings meet skin. )

I can decide whether you're safe for me or not. And I know where I stand. If you can't help but be scared... can't you at least be scared with me?

( He kneels on the ledge, and he looks at him, whether or not Barrett has his eyes open or not.

... )

Will you let me closer?

( To hold him, in clumsier terms - to ask if Barrett will let him in, in quieter words. )

[A shiver runs down his body as that wandering touch shapes him like a stream, moving over his shoulders to the small pocket of bare skin that exposes his wings with the tension of anticipation. Mithrun is so close knelt in front of him like this, eclipsing his vision even if he wanted to look away... and Barrett finds he's torn. Torn between wanting to drown himself in the ferocity before him, and the utter fear of remembering the feel of his hands against the bones of his throat.

Unsure, uneasy. Unable to meet Mithrun's gaze, but this time with a look that doesn't scream of guilt, but of fatigue and fear and want. Raw and reddened fingers raise to ghost the line of his chest, down to his waist. Fearful to grip.]

...I don't... want to hurt you.

[But he can't pull his touch away - a need in him chips and cracks, and his fingers slip through the sharpened gaps, cupping the small of Morgan's back. Leaning his weight in, with the curve of his shoulders rolling against Morgan's fingers.]

It scares me. Watching you do dangerous things. Pushing yourself.

I... [His grip tightens, pulls Mithrun in just slightly. He wants. He needs. But...] ...I can't hold you close to me if you're gone.

( Where Barrett meets him and then hesitates, Mithrun meets him in turn, with certainty; chest to chest, palms wrapping around his shoulders until his elbows press firm against his back. If he needs to shift into his lap to hold him he will - a little like when Mithrun sleeps against him, he'd rather Barrett be close enough that there isn't space between them.

Wishful thinking, maybe. Barrett is at fault with his secrets, but Mithrun is at fault, too, for his fixation on revenge. If he's gone... He's known he worries Barrett, but maybe it took Mithrun feeling so much frustration to start to understand the weight of how much. It's not that he worries him - he scares him. )

... I never knew nights could feel warm until I met you. ( His cheek presses up against Barrett's neck. ) ... But you're hurting yourself for other people. You're hurting yourself because you're scared of hurting me.

( He holds Barrett just... a little tighter. Barrett's scared of Mithrun hurting himself, but - Barrett does the same, too, in a different style. )

I won't... push myself. ( But he feels that isn't enough, it comes too late. ) What am I going to do if I have to know the cold again?

[Morgan meets his hesitance with boldness, and the cracks widen. His arms wrap tight in turn, a full handed press of Morgan's body into his own as his face buries against one of his shoulders. Hips against hips, chests flush, with Barrett's arms wrapped so firm that one nearly buckles Morgan against him across his shoulders, the other in the space of his lower back, hand gripped tight against what muscle and flesh sits at the meeting of hip and thigh.

Desperate.]

...I don't know what else to do.

[He's not sure what Morgan means, when he says he's hurting himself. But he feels that if he got a little hurt, if it helped keep his loved ones upright... he wouldn't mind. He'd do it, over and over, if it kept them alive.]

I want this. I... want to savor this. [His palms press in as his fingers flex and curl against fabric and flesh. I don't want to let this go.] But...

[All he wants is to dive into the closeness and warmth. But Morgan's words chill him, if only because he feels the same. The idea of losing this weight in his arms, the sound of the pulse, of his voice... and to be left once again with the cold space in a bed.]

I... don't think I'm strong enough to lose you again.

But I don't want to do that to you, either.

( He's so - frustrated. He can't think of what to say to convince him, but he doesn't think being honest is enough, either. He's upset at Barrett, but so many other things, too.

Maybe the word isn't frustrated. Maybe the word is helpless. )

... I feel safe with you.

( Honesty. Useless honesty. His nails curl into Barrett's skin - not hard. )

What you did because of your armor wasn't you. What your dad says you are isn't you.

Why will you believe anyone but me?

Edited 2023-10-08 13:47 (UTC)

[...

It's a sharp cut of a statement, one that tenses him under Morgan's hands, backing his face away enough to give the smaller man his full attention.]

...You think I don't believe you?

Why?

[He has a guess. But... his guesses haven't been great lately.]

( That Barrett pulls back surprises him - he'd expected Barrett would have some excuse for why he really was some awful danger Mithrun didn't get or something, but he sees... what he thinks is an attempt to understand.

Mithrun just has to try not to get tongue-tied. His arms lay limp at his shoulders. )

... Because... no matter what I say, it feels like I'm fighting against the weight of something someone else said first.

( His father, DV; his guilt, insecurity...

And things will keep happening when Mithrun's not there. )

You're not... going to do anything that makes me disappear. You're not going to do that to anyone. You never have. And you don't believe me, right? In your head you're arguing. So am I supposed to just watch you turn away until it kills you? I can't do that.

But... there isn't anything I can do but insist.

( He doesn't know what else to do, either. Maybe if he were someone else, someone more complete, he wouldn't be scraping the bottom of the pot, but - this is what he is. )

[...

The hand at Morgan's shoulder slips away to travel to his face instead. There's hurt and fear and frustration heavy in the air between them. But he doesn't want him to look away. He doesn't want to find himself looking away, either. Not now.

The firm desire to want to believe Morgan is still engraved deep in his bones, and having that challenged so directly feels sickening. But he lets the words have their space, not arguing against it. Trying to turn them over in his head, picking at those parts that felt familiar.

He's not entirely wrong. He hears Morgan, and he can't help but think, "But I almost did. I could again." But words burn into his mind after his short time away, halting the words that want to come.

He can use this blessing for good. He needs to be strong for himself, and everyone he cares about. Cowering at the danger of it, running away...

...

Well. Wasn't this proof enough of what that was doing?]

...

You told me I don't have anything to prove except to myself. Right?

[The last time they'd been here. When he'd been unable to share everything, and left Morgan frustrated.]

I think... maybe that's where I feel stuck. With myself. Even though you believe me. I know you do. You tell me over and over so much... I'd have to be stupid not to know.

[Knowing isn't the problem, and believing that comes naturally when it comes from Morgan. At least... as a concept. Why couldn't he just take it to heart enough to fight this fear of his?

His touch slides back to card into Morgan's hair, lips thinning into a frown as he tries to think.]

I told you that you were enough. You are. But... maybe when I act like this, I'm just showing you the opposite.

I don't want that.

Edited 2023-10-08 17:48 (UTC)

( In the smog of his coal-colored eye, there is the flickering unease of someone who hears how the house strains in the rain, and who isn't sure if it won't all come down, or when. He's used to losing things - what's one more?

But it isn't fair of him, is it? Some part of him grasps this. He has expressed how fixedly he will pursue the professor, no matter how many times Barrett has said he'd wished he would stay. But - right now, he finds his conviction a little less firm.

His lips purse as Barrett speaks, knowing it isn't simply as easy as telling Barrett to believe he's good and expecting Barrett to feel that way. But still - he isn't so good with ruddering in place.

He turns his face a little into Barrett's palm, his mouth still uncovered. )

... I don't... understand everything you've told me about myself, either. ( About being enough - about finding his passions again - about growing old... ) But... I'm trying to see if I can understand things, with you.

( Maybe some part of him wants Barrett, other people he cares for, to do the same - figure things out with him. He'd always phrased these things in the imperative: stay here with me, talk to me, don't go away from me, but he isn't sure it really means much. Barrett doesn't want to make him feel like he's not enough, but - if he were enough, wouldn't people rely on him, too? Maybe since Niamh, maybe even before her, they've seen him as a pillar too cracked to support themselves against. And maybe he really is, and maybe he would never be more than that.

This time, he doesn't use the imperative. He asks it as a question, so at least he'll know. )

... Do you want to lean on me?

( Not protect and be protected, switching off - but to support each other, as equals. )

[In this, at least, there's no hesitation. The thumb that rests at the base of Morgan's skull rubs firmly, even as Barrett's eyes soften.]

Of course I do. More than I've wanted from anyone.

I think... that's what's hardest, right now. How much I want to share with you, even though I... I don't think I can. [His expression tightens at the edges, apologetic but brief.] When I ran, I...

I hated seeing what I'd done to you. I didn't want to think about how to find a way around it... And I felt so out of control when that happened...

It scared me because I want to be around you, Morgan. And I want you to rely on me. And I thought being like this would... make me less reliable. That you'd resent me.

[On top of just the deep, guttural fear that he just didn't want to be responsible for a loved one's death again.

He knows better now - thankfully, his ears still work. But he feels Morgan deserves to at least hear what he just tried to shove down and run away with hours ago.]

( "I don't think I can." Maybe he should do in the source of all this after all, game be damned.

But what Barrett has to say matters more than his scarlet thoughts.

There is at first surprise - and then relief, that Barrett wants to pull into him; and then, frustration, again, that something else is stopping him from holding him in full. And then, just—

He doesn't know what this feeling in him is; thick like water, overflowing his chest, into his lungs, suffocating.

His hand lifts, brushing hair from Barrett's face, caressing his cheek. It's hard for him to imagine from his own perspective, but he can only imagine how scary it is to come out of a haze with blood on your hands. He hasn't forgotten everything that came with that memory of Lily. )

... I hate... that you won't ( Can't? ) tell me things. I hate it when you run away from me. But I don't... hate you. I won't blame you, or resent you. I...

( He gazes at Barrett, small and afraid and anxious as Barrett is right now, and though he's frustrated, he believes him - and he resents every choice that led them unable to join here. )

... I wasn't afraid, then. I think I just felt... that you wouldn't hurt me; not you. But I was angry with myself that I couldn't fix it. I was angry I'm not... someone that makes you feel steady around, not more than your guilt. I feel... steady with you.

( He doesn't know how to do the same for him. Being there - in this case - just proved to be a symbol for the thing Barrett was scared of facing. )

[Morgan believed in him that much...

He knows he'd said as much when it happened, but adrenaline had rushed the thought from his mind. To be reminded of it quiets him, and to hear how much blame Morgan was pushing inward because of it just reinforces the idea he'd had from earlier: maybe it was a bigger mistake than he imagined to have hidden away.]

...It's not your fault. I don't blame you either, so I don't think you should blame yourself.

I don't know if I need someone to feel steady around. Feeling uneasy is... strange, for me. My brothers say I come across as disinterested, but I just try not to worry about things that don't really matter. When there's a lot that matters... I want to be the one people rely on. And if I can't...

[Well, it's not something he needs to reiterate. They'd talked about this much at the hospital, something he's been able to conveniently ignore now that he's back to two working legs. Being reminded of it again just picks at the still-healing wound.]

I think... it's hard to tell where I can speak my mind safely. Even with my family, I... I'm not always sure.

[The touch he holds at Morgan's hair leaves, finds that hand caressing him to gently take it up in his own. Careful, delicate, lacing their fingers together as he swallows hard.]

But... I feel safe with you.

That maybe, if I didn't feel so strong some days... I want to think I could come to you, and you wouldn't think any differently of me.

( It's hard not to think that there was some emotional failure on his part sometimes, because, well - just look at him as he is; look at him as he used to be. He believed fully Barrett told himself Mithrun was enough, but, in practice - was he? That's where Mithrun's belief faltered; not in Barrett, but in himself. In this regard, they might be similar.

So it gives him pause to understand a little better why, maybe, Barrett considers him enough. Through his expression is pensive still, his brows are knit slightly in the way they do when he's trying to listen and understand, no matter how foreign the language. )

... I wouldn't. ( He squeezes his hand, maybe a little too tight. ) I saw your struggles from the start and I still thought you were enough. I've only become more sure of it over time.

( Even if he may get frustrated with him, may get angry. And the thing is, if he didn't get angry with him - it'd mean he doesn't care at all; frustrating as that, too, is.

A beat passes, as he gathers his thoughts. )

I don't like you going away. I really don't like it. So don't choose to go. Don't run away. ( He can't avoid imperatives forever, sorry. But: ) But, if you have to go... Promise you'll come back. And I'll promise I'll be there to harbor you.

( He'll always have somewhere safe with Mithrun. And if Barrett wants to argue that's unrealistic, or too much to promise - well, Mithrun seems keen to argue back.

All this, at least, until he kills DV for making Barrett his secret-keeping errand boy. Then there won't be any problems anymore. )

[That tight squeeze gets a jerk of surprise, a careful run of his thumb against Morgan's palm as an unspoken response. Easy does it, it says. I believe you, it says.]

...If I have to go, I'll tell you. As much as I can. And... I'll always try to come back. Always. I have too much to cherish to just leave it behind.

[His free hand travels from waist to chest, a gentle spread of warm fingers against the heart that beats underneath.]

I want to be brave for you. So I can be here to keep you steady.

[To be an anchor to return to, when Morgan grows unsure, in the turmoil of his head or emotions or the ever-changing chemistry of his identity. Barrett couldn't fulfill that role if he were to vanish.

There's a stretch in the silence, letting both his hands drop to rest against either side of Morgan's waist - keeping them close, not wanting to let the touch go.]

...It's late. I haven't eaten. I... imagine you haven't, either.

Would you come with me tonight?

( He doesn't feel certain, he doesn't feel settled; not yet, when no danger has passed, when he still doesn't know what vault of knowledge Barrett's been asked to stand vigil. But, Barrett's hand at his chest, hand at his waist, he feels - steadier. And he wonders if this feeling can stay. )

... And if there are times you can't... I'll be there, until you feel strong enough again.

( He says it, like he doesn't want Barrett to forget; like he wants Barrett to turn that maybe I could come to you into an I will. Because Mithrun will run himself raw trying to be more than what he is if what he is isn't enough.

But he doesn't force more as they sink into silence. His hands by now curled lightly into Barrett's chest, their breathing quiet. He feels muscle-sore, like he'd just cracked his chest open for someone to peer into - to see the things he hadn't even known were inside. He wonders if Barrett feels the same, too - or if there's more he hasn't seen yet, something else he's overlooked. )

... Okay.

( He guesses he'll only have to find out, however that knowledge comes. But, at least, right now, there's this. )

I still have food in my inventory. We can have that?

( They go wherever Barrett wants to go. It seems evident he has no strong preference; he's just partial to being with Barrett. )

Oh... the skewers. [His meat snack... damn, he'd never normally forget food like that. What was happening to him?

Still, it gets an immediate nod of approval.] Mn. We can start there. Those are pretty small.

[Thinking about eating, for once, is not on the forefront of his mind. He still has Morgan's weight under his fingers, breath and warmth and the heated tension that settled with their bodies so close. One hand lifts to trace knuckles against his jaw, leaning in just a little closer than he'd been before.]

...Can I?

[Can he break the distance here? For a moment or two?]

( Given everything else going on, that just happened, he can presume why Barrett's distracted, even if it's unlike him. But that thought doesn't linger much before Barrett distracts it with another.

Ah.

... His palms slide up, over the chest, and press light against either side of Barrett's neck, his fingers brushing light against the back of his neck, his hair.

And with his palms trailing up, he draws closer, too, noses nearly brushing. )

... Yes.

( Gentle thumps, deep in his chest. )

[It's all the prompting he needs to gently press himself forward, fingers taking just enough time to guide that jawline so he can immediately take Morgan's mouth against his own, lip and tongue and teeth and breath.

It's nowhere near the anxious pace as the ferris wheel, nor is it the careful and shy exploration from where they stood together in the ocean. This sits in the middle - a slow start, enough to try and catch Morgan's energy, before letting the closeness of their bodies fuel him to press further. A whetting of his appetite. A desire to express himself where words felt they were failing.

Let his affection be known, as well as his hunger. Let it add to the honesty Morgan desperately needed.]

( The second time he had kissed Barrett, he'd known Barrett had been gentle with him during their first. He doesn't expect a repeat of the second this time, nor does he expect the first again - he thinks that the two of them have shifted a little further on, and the way Barrett kisses him tells him the same.

Mithrun meets him with a desire to taste him, a desire to be tasted, too - maybe a little more than that - that small bloom grown some in their time since the ocean. His nails brush light at back of Barrett's head as he presses in, tongue and teeth met in kind, echoing a little deeper each time, as if to bait him hungrier. Without thought, his other hand finds slid down along his shoulder, his chest; and then along his shoulder blades as Mithrun presses for deeper at the lips - his fingers brushing light against where wings join skin.

At least this, he understands - the hunger Barrett feels for him, and the want Barrett grants him in turn. A need to be close - closer still - and maybe, even this doesn't feel like quite enough. )

Edited (making sense of the movement closes eyes) 2023-10-09 08:00 (UTC)

[Reciprocation in kind, and a far more aggressive type at that, has Barrett squirming with a heated exhale for a little more purchase... only to openly lock a quiet, heavy hum of noise between their lips at the touch against his back, wings twitching. The sensation shoots down him, like an electrical charge that leaves his limbs peppered with sensation and an odd warmth deep in his stomach.

He welcomes that deeper kiss like a drink of fresh water, hands travelling back up to tangle in Morgan's hair. Seated like this, he doesn't have much height over Morgan as if they were standing. But it's still substantial, and still something he uses to his advantage, tipping Morgan's head back to rest between the heat of his palm and the insistent press of his mouth, tongue searching. Just like the beach, tasting the start of a dish that was divine... only this time, he finds he doesn't want to stop.

His thumbs find the back of Morgan's ears as he cups him close. He remembers this. The breathy sounds when he spoke here. And in his fog, he tries to light those sounds again, a careful brush of touch against the tender cartilage, even as he pulls himself away for air, flushed and breathless and hungry.]

I... Come on. We shouldn't be out here.

[It's not a request to stop. Only a request to move.]

Edited 2023-10-09 11:07 (UTC)

( His ears are always the first to grow warmer, before his cheeks, and now they're hotter still. Barrett fairly wins the sound of his voice gasping into the kiss; it remains hot and low and soft as Barrett kisses him, dipped back like a feast, and his fingers curling into his hair, his wings, as if to hold tighter on.

He seems reluctant as Barrett pulls away, his teeth a light scrape as he goes - but the sight of Barrett flushed and hungry over him - ah, did he do that to him? - fills his vision, and for a moment it arrests him. )

... I don't mind here.

( The fatal flaw... letting Mithrun have a say. His want is localized here, to Barrett alone. He presses up, his lips pressing to the corner of Barrett's lips - not quite a kiss, but almost as if to speak into his lips with a murmur, like he wasn't going to share this with anything else in Fragment. )

... But... we can move if you want. I just don't want to let go.

( Not after Barrett had gone away so suddenly, not when he'd just returned. It's silly and childish but honest. It wouldn't be long from here to another place, but he doesn't have the desire to test it. )

[It's dangerous how enticing it's becoming. Every sensitive movement of their mouths, every shock down his frame when he feels Morgan's fingers start to tighten, the heat he feels cross his face and throat and stomach at the sound of his voice. He swallows it eagerly, still hot against Mithrun's lips even as he takes only to a corner of him, teeth grazing to barely catch the flesh of his lip in turn with a tight sound in the back of his throat - just shy of a growl, unsatisfied and wanting, a brief chase of sensation.

It's his stomach that interrupts, a low rumble that earns a press of his palm to his abdomen. Oof. Maybe the kissing wasn't the only thing leaving him a little lightheaded.

Breathlessly, he squirms his free arm to try and ease away the touch wrapped against his wings - a careful press of his palm against the crook of his elbow, guiding Morgan to take his hand.]

Then don't let go. [The smile he gives is a little lopsided, humored in its heat.] We can eat on the way back. Even if it's a little.

[His eyes glance down for a moment. The touch thats rested at his own stomach returns to Morgan - from waist, to hip, to a cautious touch against the line of his thigh that hesitantly knead, a resistance despite the desire to pull Morgan closer to him.]

...I want to savor you somewhere nicer. Somewhere just for us.

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