Ian
Kalen was tired when he left. It was early in the
day yet, somewhere around four in the afternoon, but it looked to Ian
as though the man hadn't slept in about a week. A better person (a less
selfish person) would have left him alone. Maybe told him to go home and
get some rest.
Ian wasn't that person.
He hadn't really
given Kalen an indication that he intended to follow his exit, partly
because he hadn't really decided until just now. But sure enough,
moments after the Hermetic stepped out into the late-afternoon sun, he'd
hear the door open behind him, and then... it was a feeling more than a
sound, really. Because Ian had unnervingly quiet footsteps, and
whatever sound he did make was covered by the ambient noise of the city.
But
Kalen knew his resonance by now. The way it curled at his senses all
controlled elegance (like a hunting cat.) Today there was a certain
intent to it.
(He might actually smell Ian before he heard him,
because he had on this cologne with a subtle edge of musk and sandalwood
and exotic spices. Depending, of course, on which way the wind was
blowing.)
"You seem like you need a distraction." Ian came up
around Kalen's side, falling in at a casual pace beside him as Kalen
walked. "Can I distract you?"
If Kalen looked his way, he'd see the faintest impression of a smile lingering at the corners of Ian's mouth.
Kalen Holliday
[Okay,
are we still all in our own heads and in mundane things, or are e
distracted as all hell by Resonance now that we're outside and doing new
threat assessments?]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 5, 5, 9) ( success x 1 )
Kalen Holliday
He
barely registers Ian's presence. There are things that are possibly
wrong with the whole situation in Denver and he hasn't gotten anything
like real sleep in approximately forever. He catches the scent of musk
and sandalwood, fleeting over the scents of cars and concrete and
someone grilling hot dogs in the park across the street. He doesn't
really connect Ian to a specific scent yet.
So he looks a little
startled when Ian says something. Not really alarmed, because as soon
as he registers the words and the tone and glances over to see who is
beside him he relaxes a little again. Ian is not an immediate threat.
Nothing overly dangerous here, at least for the moment.
The
question seems to amuse him, at least a little, but (so unlike the night
they met) he seems to have some kind of reservations about the
distractions right now. "Perhaps. What were you thinking?"
Ian
It
could perhaps be stated, with some accuracy, that if one were looking
to be distracted, then Ian was probably the right person to hang around
with. (Of course, if one wasn't looking for that...)
(probably better to run in the other direction.)
Ian
laughed at Kalen's question, a soft sound that never really left the
depth of his throat. He reached up to push the brim of his hat up a
little, so that the shadow of it didn't obscure his eyes in the slant of
the low sun. And there was this... look. Something like focus and
interest and wry humor and something else that was difficult to define.
He
pulled out in front of Kalen and turned around, walking backwards with
his hands tucked loosely into the pockets of his jeans, so that they
were face to face.
"I was thinking I'd like to fuck you, if you'd let me."
He let the statement hang there, like it didn't really need an explanation. (Maybe it didn't.)
Kalen Holliday
Kalen watches Ian start walking backward with a flicker of a smile.
One
of his eyebrows raises a little at that question and he laughs. "That
would definitely make it hard to concentrate on much else. Though," and
here that rich, amused purr finally creeps back into his tone. "I feel
I should warn you that I've had considerable meditative practice. I might manage it.
"Are you really that bored?"
Ian
"Maybe you're just that hot."
(Maybe
it was a little of both. Or maybe he didn't actually need a reason to
want to fuck someone. Kind of like no one really needed a reason to want
ice cream at two in the morning.)
He stopped walking. Kalen would have to stop too, if he didn't want them to bump into each other. Either that or go around.
"Guess I'll have to make sure to hold your attention then."
His
hands left his pockets. One of them reached out to grasp the front of
Kalen's shirt and tug him forward. The other settled itself on Kalen's
neck, thumb tracing a line up the curve of his throat. Ian stayed like
that for a moment, watching Kalen's reaction, giving them both time to
process what was happening (though he didn't really need it.) The hand
on Kalen's shirt let go so that he could pull off his hat (it was about
to get in the way,) and the breeze ruffled through his dark hair.
Then he leaned forward until their lips met, and whispered, "Wake up."
His
breath was warm on Kalen's mouth, and when he kissed him, it wasn't so
much a crush of energy as a controlled hunger, like Kalen had something
he needed. Like he could spend all fucking day just memorizing the taste
and feel of his mouth.
[Mind 2 / Life 2: (wake up) diff 5 -1 for practiced -1 for taking his time]
Dice: 2 d10 TN3 (1, 3) ( success x 2 ) [WP]
Ian
[Yeah we're going to extend that]
Dice: 2 d10 TN4 (7, 10) ( success x 2 )
Ian
This is what it felt like when the effect started to hit: it was less a specific sensation than it was a kind of clarity.
Like suddenly every nerve in Kalen's body was alive with awareness and
focus. Like it was all... heightened. Speed up, slow down, pause. Ian's
mouth tasted like tea and warmth and... Ian. The contact was
recognizable but the person was unique.
(Do you remember what it felt like to be that new?)
The clarity spread, then, washing from the kiss all over his skin like a wave - prickling and hot and electric.
Eventually the exhaustion would crash back in, but right now? Right now he felt very awake.
Kalen Holliday
Kalen laughs softly at that. "Oh, there was a time. It's n-"
He
is distracted by Ian pulling him forward. Off balance, but that isn't
difficult. He doesn't have much balance to begin with. Physical.
Mental. Pretty much any way you can define balanced, it isn't a thing
that describes Kalen.
Ian has this much going for him - willing to
be kissed definitely describes Kalen. Exceptionally willing to let
people use Mind magic on him...shockingly enough also describes Kalen.
He does not struggle against the kiss or the Effect but just falls into
both easily and completely.
Because why the Hell wouldn't anyone want to?
For
those first few seconds, before the Effect takes hold, he kisses back
softly. But then he is not exhausted and everything is suddenly
brighter and clearer and he is absolutely certain that Ian tastes like
transcendent bliss. No. Ian is like tea and chocolate and dark, dark
amber and smoke from autumn leaves on coals. Warm. Alive.
Maybe he purrs. Does he purr? Kalen suddenly needs. to. know.
And
so he kisses back more forcefully. He cannot, perhaps, be quite so
forceful as he once was. You need leverage for that. Balance.
Right
now he has Ian for that kind of balance. And, let us be clear, Kalen
cares not at all what anyone on the street thinks of this kiss. So he
leans into Ian, lets their bodies press together from the hip to the
chest, and lets the rest of the world vanish into some other place that
doesn't matter anymore.
Ian
Ian didn't purr,
because for all that he felt so very feline he was still very much a
human being. But he did make a sound, and it registered like a low hum
against Kalen's mouth. Reassuring, maybe. That he was human.
That he liked and wanted and lost himself enough to moan into a kiss
while complete strangers passed them on the sidewalk.
Ian didn't give a shit that they were there either, even though a few looked right at them. Stared, even.
Kalen would be able to feel his heart beating, as close as they were. Elevated but steady and very alive.
Ian
let his teeth scrape gently over Kalen's lip when he broke the kiss,
and his hand trailed down the front of Kalen's chest, fingertips digging
lightly into the softer flesh of his stomach, before hooking into the
waistline of his pants. And Ian gave a little grin, cocky and luring,
and tugged once, lightly, as he stepped away and let go.
"We can take my car."
To where, exactly?
Didn't matter.
He started walking towards a parking garage, keeping his pace slow enough for Kalen to follow.
Kalen Holliday
Not
five minutes before that Kalen had been trying to figure out why there
was a new influx of Magi into Denver. If they were all, like the last
Magi there, doomed to die. Cycles and circles and wheels. Autumn
harvests. Scarecrows of human skin and blood on wheat.
He's met Ian twice. Neither occasion has exactly led him to believe Ian was someone you trusted. Not really. Not entirely.
Conditionally, though....
"Your car is fine."
It is only Spring, after all. Rebirth and rabbits and Easter and those ridiculous yellow marshmallow chicks.
Ian
Despite
his casual air, there was a kind of calculation to the choices Ian
made. He led them to his car, an Audi TTS coupe with a shimmering black
paint job that reflected the sulfur glow of the parking garage lights
like it was just waiting for someone to take its picture. It was a nice
car. Not so nice that anyone would mistake him for some wealthy
millionaire, but nice enough that when Ian unlocked it and got inside,
the picture of him in the driver's seat seemed to fit. Like he belonged
in it.
Nice enough that the drive would be a smooth (and a fast) one.
They
took his car, because it was a nice car, and because it meant that he
had the power to leave whenever he wanted to. But they did not go to his
apartment.
Calculated choices.
In the car, he asked Kalen
where his house was. And while they drove, he avoided touching him,
because doing so would more than likely result in them not getting
anywhere at all. And also because there was a certain joy in the anticipation of things.
When
they got there, he shut off the ignition, unlocked his seatbelt and
leaned across like he was going to kiss Kalen again. Only he didn't. He
just stared enigmatically into kalen's green eyes and let their breath
mingle for a moment. And maybe Kalen finished the kiss for him, or maybe
he just let the moment pass. Either way, Ian put his hand on the inside
of Kalen's thigh and said, "I meant it, you know. You're beautiful."
It didn't sound like a pick-up line, the way he said it.
Then he got out of the car and let Kalen lead them inside.
Kalen Holliday
Kalen
gives directions to his house. It is a small house, easily enough
overlooked. It is stone, not just on the front, but all four walls.
There is a half-height stone wall with a wrought iron top. There is an
iron gate too, but it is standing open. The yard is neat. Raked with
grass just starting to grow into something other than a scraggly early
spring mess. There are newly planted hedges of rosemary. Daffodils and
lilies are planted along the rosemary hedge, but the rest of the yard
is completely unlandscaped.
Mages leave echoes of their presence in places they linger. There is no sense of Kalen here.
Ian
lets their breath mingle and Kalen barely refrains from finding some
mental connection. It is so perfect. Practically an invitation.
Except that the woman who uses that as an invitation knows his foci. Knows how intimate that gesture is to him.
Ian
is something entirely different. Kalen still goes for the shared
breaths, for the lingering eye contact. His breaths slow. Soften. His
blinking slows. Not exhaustion. Just...calm. This is what he wanted.
It was not, exactly, what he expected.
So he's open and
off-guard when Ian says that he's beautiful. He takes a measured
breath. "You haven't seen the scars yet," he says softly.
Inside,
there is more rosemary. Rosemary and heavily burned white candles
wrapped in gold and white ribbon. There is no accumulation of dust, any
more than there is the scent of recently burned candles. The living
room furniture is dark wood and paisley corduroy in browns and creams.
Where the hell you find that is anyone guess, but Kalen found it.
There is an antique globe with faded traces of real gold gilding on the
coffee table.
"Is this the kind of night where I offer you a
drink?" He asks as they step inside. "Because there is a reasonably
stocked bar here." Liquor and coffee, this place has plenty of. Liquor
and coffee and a whole drawer full of takeout menus. Also a very well
stocked first aid kit. It may be his, but it is not his home.
Ian
People might refer to what they were doing as casual.
It wasn't. And perhaps if Kalen had known Ian a little better, he
wouldn't have been surprised at his capacity for this sort of intimacy.
He didn't open his mind to Kalen - didn't offer any kind of connection
that could not be undone. They didn't know each other, and that wasn't
what he wanted here.
But there was an instinctive knowledge in him
(in his blood and his bones) of what it actually meant to be this close
to another person. Of the way the world narrowed down to a single point
of focus and everything else just stopped existing. Of the fact that
sex was a connection - even if it was fleeting, even if they kept some parts of themselves hidden.
He
took it seriously. For all that everything around it could become so
brittle and wasted. For all that they were both flawed and human.
But
he'd started this by saying that he wanted to fuck Kalen. It was as
clear and to the point as he ever got, and that didn't change when they
walked in the door of Kalen's house (the one he didn't really live in)
and Kalen offered Ian a drink. No misunderstandings here. This wasn't
about wanting to see what the inside of Kalen's house looked like.
Just
inside the door, Ian made a light remark. "You live like a Hermetic."
It wasn't meant as an insult so much as an observation. "You can offer
me a drink later."
And then, as though they were back in front of
the cafe and no time had passed at all, Ian's hand found its way back to
the front of Kalen's jeans, pulling him forward by the belt buckle
until their bodies were pressed flush and all he had to do was dip his
head to mouth a trail of slow, heady kisses along Kalen's throat. And
again, the scrape and pressure of teeth - not hard enough to be painful.
Just there, biting softly, like he couldn't quite help it (like Kalen
tasted too good not to.)
There was an edge of aggression to it.
"Where's your bedroom?" He murmured, pushing his fingers underneath Kalen's shirt until he felt bare skin.
When
he pulled away, he took Kalen's shirt with him, pulling it up and over
Kalen's head and dropping it on the floor as though he'd already
forgotten its existence. A second later, his own t-shirt joined it.
Kalen Holliday
Kalen
laughs at that, not seeming at all annoyed by the observation. "And to
think," he says, voice back to that relaxed, amused tone, "that I
didn't bring you to the fortified warehouse with the security system
designed by a Virtual Adept that's full of weapons and books." For all
that is playful...he's. not. even. joking.
He flows easily enough
into Ian's space with the tugging. For all he doesn't seem to be at all
shy, or reserved, Ian might get the impression that Kalen is used to
being with people who initiated things. He lets his head fall back with
an exhalation that is half sigh and half low moan.
Ian's fingers
find bare skin and ribs. There are still lingering traces of old
muscle, but Kalen hasn't really been able to do a proper workout for
awhile. There is a scar large enough to feel across the left side of
his ribs. He can see it when he pulls Kalen's shirt off, a long, clean
slice. There are other scars, smaller and less immediately
identifiable. Certainly none of these scars qualify as horrifying to
look at unless you imagine what felt like.
That kind of instinctive, overwhelming empathy probably won't bother Ian.
Kalen
doesn't give directions because oh god why words right now? He does
start to move backward, this time curling two fingers into the waistband
of Ian's and giving a light, playful tug.
The bedroom is used
less than the rest of the house. Cobalt blue comforter and sheets with a
ridiculously high thread count for someone who can't be bothered to
sleep on them. No real decorations. The small bookcase that matches
the bed and dresser and nightstand, all gorgeous antique cherry wood, is
empty.
Ian
The house - and especially the bedroom
- didn't have the feeling of being lived in the way that one would
expect of a proper home. This one felt more like it was meant for
display. Like maybe if Ian walked into the kitchen later he'd find a
bowl filled with plastic fruit.
It didn't actually matter. He
could have done this in the car. Up against a brick wall in a fucking
alley. The bed was just more convenient (and it gave them more time.)
It might not have even been Kalen's house. Ian didn't ask.
He
didn't ask about the scars either. They were a part of Kalen as much as
any memory, etched into his pattern as a permanent reminder of the
things he has survived. Ian didn't have any scars. None that you could
see, anyway. But he looked at them and touched them as though they
were... not unremarkable, but expected.
There was a billboard on a
building downtown (a Calvin Klein ad) that featured a handful of models
in various stages of undress. Ian was only one of them, and maybe Kalen
had seen it and maybe he hadn't (or maybe he'd seen it without really
recognizing one of the faces as Ian's.) But if he had, he'd already know
that Ian probably got to a gym pretty regularly. That he had the kind
of muscles in his torso that cut into soft but visible lines. And if he
hadn't known before, he knew now.
There were sayings about people who looked as consciously beautiful as he did. (That inside, they were empty.)
His skin had a soft tan. A remnant of the last trip he'd taken for work.
But
Ian didn't care about Kalen's scars, or the fact that he hadn't been
able to properly work out in a while. The look in his eyes - focused and
dark and hungry - was anything but disinterested. And he let Kalen tug
him toward the bedroom, moving with relaxed and graceful ease. He even
smiled a little as he ran his tongue between his lips.
But once
they were there, he pushed Kalen onto the bed, crowding into his space
like he couldn't stand to not be touching him, his hips pressing between
Kalen's thighs. And if Kalen didn't lie back, he put a hand on his
sternum and pushed again - not so forceful that he wouldn't stop if
Kalen actually wanted him to, but enough that it was pretty clear that
he wasn't really flirting anymore.
With that one hand still
pressed against Kalen's skin, he reached down and pulled off his boots
and socks (one by one, but quickly.) he had to break the contact to do
the same for Kalen, and there was a brush of contact as he trailed a
finger up the curve of Kalen's ankle.
Then he hopped onto the bed, pushing as he went, shoving Kalen backwards along the soft comforter.
"I want to find out what you sound like when you come."
This
time when he smiled, there was teeth, and he looked so much like a
predator it was somehow both sexy and unnerving (but not threatening -
not now, like this.)
"Think I'll manage it?"
Kalen Holliday
Kalen
responds to the crowding and contact as though he needs to be in
contact with someone like he needs oxygen. There is a brief, playful
struggle against the hand on his sternum, long enough for another kiss,
but then he stops fighting altogether. There is a sharp intake of
breath when Ian first pulls at the shoe on the side he favors, but that
is all. Just that breath.
He takes in that flash of teeth. The statement. The question.
"If not, I will have terribly misjudged you...." He purrs at Ian.
Ian
[Life 1 - diff 4 -1 because this is practiced like whoa]
Dice: 2 d10 TN3 (5, 9) ( success x 3 ) [WP]
Ian
The
smile lingered there for a moment at Kalen's response, twitching up a
bit at one corner like some kind of silent promise. Ian shifted on the
bed, sliding back on his knees until Kalen's bared stomach was within
easy reach of his mouth. He undid the belt and the top button of Kalen's
jeans with one hand, pulling them down just a little so that he could
kiss lower on Kalen's pelvis, tasting salt and the pulse of a vein
beneath the skin. For a few seconds he stayed there, eyes closed as he
focused his senses on Kalen's pattern. The warmth of his body heat. The
rhythm and flow of his blood. The mix of pheromones in his sweat.
He touched it. Tasted it. Breathed it in like Kalen was some kind of drug. (In a way, he was.)
Ian
didn't say anything, but the way he breathed - hot and stuttered
against Kalen's skin - almost felt like another way of saying you're beautiful.
Because he was. He was alive. There wasn't anything more beautiful than that.
Ian
kissed his way up Kalen's torso, parting his lips to feel the skin with
his tongue. He kissed the ridged scar tissue and the curve of Kalen's
ribs. Kissed one of his nipples and lingered there, sliding his tongue
over it (feeling the way it made the pattern of his blood change.) When
he kissed the pulse-point at the base of Kalen's throat, the skin there
jumped vulnerably beneath his teeth.
Kalen's leg was a ruined
mess. Ian could feel the places where the bone had been torn apart and
put back together like some kind of patchwork doll. Kalen probably
didn't like for people to draw attention to it, and Ian didn't stop what
he was doing to ask if it hurt (he could feel when it did) or to wonder
about how it had happened or why it hadn't healed properly. Maybe later
he'd wonder about that. For now, his acknowledgment was a simple,
silent thing. He kissed Kalen's mouth and breathed into it, and as he
did this his hand settled on that leg and trailed down the length of the
thigh - touching, but carefully. Maybe even a little reverently.
And
then he gave this slow, fluid roll of his hips, and Kalen would be able
to feel how hard Ian was under his jeans when they pressed together.
"I bet you have different sounds. Maybe I'll find more than one."
A beat (and a breath) later: "...You taste so fucking good."
It
didn't take long to get the rest of their clothes off, though Ian was
careful this time of Kalen's injured leg. And Kalen would find that the
lower half of Ian's body was in even better shape than the upper half,
and the muscle there wasn't the kind you'd get from a gym. (It was more
like what you'd see in a dancer.)
(Maybe he wasn't totally empty.)
And
Ian kept his promise. He found sounds with his tongue and his lips and
his teeth. Found them with his hands and the smooth, athletic motion of
his body. He found different sounds - beautiful sounds - when he was
inside of him.
Kalen found a lot of his too.
They left marks
on each other. Ian used his teeth a little more than he meant to and
left a set of sharp bruises at the place where Kalen's neck met his
shoulder. It happened the first time he came, when everything was urgent
and forceful and overwhelming.
Ian stayed a long time. Maybe
longer than Kalen expected. By the time he left, it was night and the
moon was out. Maybe they ate together, since neither of them had had
dinner. Maybe Kalen remembered to offer Ian that drink (which he'd
take.) Or maybe they just forgot about things like eating or drinking
because they were too wrapped up in each other.
Eventually though,
Ian did leave. And he didn't make any other promises. Didn't suggest to
Kalen that they have lunch together or see a movie or maybe talk about
why Kalen hadn't been sleeping lately. Because he might not have meant
it, and for all his flaws, Ian wasn't the type to mislead people about
what he wanted from them.
But still. When he left? It didn't feel like a goodbye.
