Elijah Poirot
[did i survive last night?]
Dice: 4 d10 TN7 (3, 4, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )
Elijah
There had been an imperative to find somewhere good to eat.
Now,
elijah had some very specific instructions there, and it would be
awfully telling to be able to see what kind of place Elijah thought fit
the criteria of good and cajun food. he had started by texting Ian one
address to a place called lucille's, followed by another reply saying never mind, lunch only.
Which was unfortunate, because it looked like it had something remotely
close to what he was accustomed to eating, even if it did boast mardi
gras beads. Pappadeaux on the other hand did not say that its decor had
mardi gras beads involved and it had decent enough reviews.
that was the second address he texted Ian, stating that it was more cajun-ish food than anything else.
the
restaurant was nice enough to have wait staff who were attentive and
not wearing a uniform beyond black pants and a black shirt, but
commercial enough that the menu was easy to find and what they
considered to be spicy was only mildly warm by Elijah's standards. not
that he really cared; elijah ate anything. Everything. he was not a
discerning young man and he was still filling in. the lighting was dark
and the restaurant had a nice enough ambiance without being kitschy.
There wasn't a wait to be seated, which was also a mark in its favor.
the two were no doubt led through the labyrinth of tables and seated
somewhere that was no doubt going to be visited by a pleasant, but
perhaps too present, waitress.
"So, as it turns out, cajun food is hard to come by in Denver," he said. A small lament.
Ian
Elijah
had two things working in his favor that night. One: Ian had been in
rehearsal all day and was both too tired and too hungry to really put up
much of a resistance regarding their chosen meeting location. Two: he'd
actually never heard of Pappadeaux before, so he didn't know that he
was about to have dinner in a chain restaurant.
There may have been a nagging suspicion when Elijah texted him a description that said cajun-ish. But see, he showed up. So that was something.
As
the hostess seated them at their table, Ian looked around the place -
taking in the decor and the selection of other clientele, and rolled his
tongue against the inside of his cheek in a manner that suggested he
was possibly maybe rendering some sort of internal judgment. But
whatever he was thinking, he didn't vocalize it. And after their
waitress came and went, he glanced across the table at Elijah and
smirked.
"I'm not surprised."
Ian smelled like he'd
taken a shower before coming here. There was still a lingering scent
from his shampoo and shower gel that had notes of lemongrass and
something a little more earthy. He was wearing dark selvage jeans, black
harness boots and a burgundy collared shirt with rolled sleeves. The
top two buttons were left open to show off the line of his collar bones.
"One of the things I miss about New York. You could pretty much find anything there."
One of the many, many things he missed about New York.
Ian
glanced at the menu. He was quiet for a while, eyebrows stitched
together in thought. When he finally put it down, he asked, "Did you
come out here for school?"
Elijah
You could
find damned near anything in New York, and for that Elijah could not
help but be the tiniest bit jealous. A cornucopia of food and sensation
to explore. He liked food, but he wasn't particularly particular about
it. Such was the nature of being not-yet-twenty (so close, though!)
Elijah mused over this while he looked over the menu.
Elijah's
attire was not terribly different than what he normally wore. Jeans
that were well worn and sat comfortably his hips. A button down shirt. A
vest with a pocket watch- because pocket watch. He inhaled, took
in the scent of the other man and his eyes carefully traced the line of
his collarbone before he finally looked back at the menu.
Did he come here for school?
"Yeah,
kind of? I had one of those wanderlust moments and I decided to apply
out at DU. I'm a French major," he replied, "what took you out of New
York and to Denver?"
Ian
"Well, to be
fair I still spend a lot of time there. I get a lot of work in New York
and my agency is based there. But I usually don't have much time to
actually enjoy it. As for how I ended up here, I had a job offer. I used
to be with the Colorado ballet, but I moved to a different company when
my contract ran out."
Before Elijah had a chance to ask for
clarification, Ian added, "I work as both a model and a dancer. The
former, probably not for much longer." There was a lift of amusement in
his tone when he said, "Isn't it kind of cheating to major in French
when you already speak it fluently?"
[Are you checking me out? Per+Alertness+Acute Senses]
Dice: 6 d10 TN4 (3, 3, 4, 7, 7, 7) ( success x 4 )
Elijah
"You dance profesionally?"
Elijah couldn't hide his surprise, his wonder, the way it crept on his
features. The way it lingered there and the way his eyes light up in the
dim light. "When do you perform?"
There was something
unspoken there, that he would have liked to see Ian dance, but then
again he had already established that he took joy in taking his frame
in, but to see raw athleticism. To see movement, to see art? But to
take it in? His attention is direct, and the young man does not seem
distracted, for once, when speaking with his current companion.
As for cheating as a french major?
"You
know, it's funny, because I ask the same thing of English majors? At
some point, we're getting into French lit, which is when I'll be screwed
because the extent of French literature I know is limited to children's
books and Descartes, and only that because once upon a time I
decided I was going to try and be cool and read Meditations
Metaphysiques. Turns out it was originally written in Latin so I just
succeeded in spending twenty bucks on shipping and not reading it in the
original language to avoid translation errors." At that juncture,
Elijah seemed to realize that he just ranted for a little bit about
Descartes and translation errors. There is a certain way that he says
the title of the book. Casual, yes, but so comfortable with switching
between his first language and the language he uses most frequently that
it is seamless. That it is the beginnings of poetry. He made Descarte
sound like something people wanted to read instead of something
philosophy majors were required to read.
Ian
There
was a slight hesitance to the way Ian responded to Elijah's question.
Not shyness, surely (Ian didn't strike one as the shy type.) But there
was a pause - this small delay of consideration. Maybe it was more that
he, like Kalen, had a habit of compartmentalizing.
This was not a part of his life that Ian had shared much with the Awakened community.
"We've got a show coming up in October. I can probably get you a ticket if you're really interested."
Elijah
talked about Descartes and the Meditations Metaphysiques, and Ian
seemed to take some amusement from the story, leaning an elbow on the
table so that he could rest a hand against his mouth. The edge of his
thumb traced over his bottom lip thoughtfully.
"I never took any philosophy courses. Maybe I should have."
Ian
spotted the waitress over Elijah's shoulder and straightened his
posture, offering the girl a flicker of a smile that didn't quite manage
warmth. He ordered the swordfish, because it was one of the lighter
things on the menu - albeit not precisely Cajun. And when she was gone he turned to Elijah and asked, "How long have you known Kalen?"
Elijah
"I'd
like that," he replied, genuine because he seems to not know any other
way to be. (Lies, that, because Elijah knows precisely how to be
deceptive should the need arise, and this was not one of those times.)
"I'm not sure what the appropriate decorum for a ballet is, but I
presume no air horns and no jeans." He had to grin, because the
expression was his constant companion.
Ian never took an
philosophy courses, contemplates whether or not he should have, "were
you a dance major?" he presumes the answer is yes.
When the
waitress comes, Elijah orders crawfish touff e, because it sounds
delicious and it is the closest thing to Cajun food he can find that he
can assume will not thoroughly disappoint him. Which, of course, is
saying something because he knew going in that this was not going to be
remotely close to what he normally could be accustomed to. He doesn't
trust the oysters in a landlocked state. though there was the question
of Kalen, and Elijah looked up and had to consider how long he has known
Kalen.
"Not long," he replies finally, "I've only been in
town a couple months and I met him here. When I first met him, I thought
he was flirting with me, which I am not going to complain about, but
then he did this thing with knowing what time it was… You're
gonna have to bear with me, I'm really new at this." It makes sense. Of
course Elijah would be new at magic, he seems like to sort who was not
precisely teeming with magical knowledge, especially if he was still
staying close to his current mentor of choice. Especially since they
were not that far along in their whole knowing of each other. He
dropped his voice, "he did this thing where you know precisely
what time it is, how much time has passed, without a watch or a clock or
anything and I thought… well, I thought I was the only person who kept
track of those kinds of things. It was a trip, seeing someone else do
it."
Ian
Elijah's question garnered a nod of
confirmation from Ian. (Yes, he was a dance major.) "It's contemporary
ballet. Jeans are fine. I wouldn't exactly dress down, though."
As
the topic of conversation veered toward less mundane matters, Elijah
dropped his voice. And although Ian did not actually need to lean in to
pick up on what Elijah was saying, he did it anyway - more as a gesture
of attentiveness than anything. He listened, and his gaze darted from
Elijah's eyes to his lips, then to his hands - watching the way they
moved; the spark of animation that lingered in Elijah's countenance.
Kalen and Elijah could both track time. It was not a skill that Ian
himself possessed.
"I think Kalen flirts with everyone. Not
that you aren't hot enough to warrant it especially." Ian's expression
curled into a wry smile. After a moment he asked, "What else can you do?
Besides keeping time?"
Elijah
[I'm totally being casual, manip+sub]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 6, 7, 7, 7) ( success x 4 )
Ian
[Per+Awarepathy]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (4, 6, 9, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 5 )
Elijah
"I kind of get that impression. And thank you, by the way. Given your general state of oh my god, yes please,
I consider you to be an authority on the topic," he replied
matter-of-factly. The sky was blue. The grass was green. Ian Lai was
made of absolute hotness.
Which was then back to the topic of magic, and what it was precisely that Elijah could do. What could he do?
"Aside
from feeling like that kid from the Sixth Sense all the time?" he
continued on, nonchalant, but there was a hitch there, a trepidation
that Ian could see in the hitch in the quirk of Elijah's mouth, in the
fact that his hands stopped briefly. It was an easy tell- Elijah talked
with his hands. Stillness did not suit him. Silence did not suit him. A
movement towards that seemed to indicate his trepidation.
"I can tell you when things break, how
they break. I'm not half bad as a lie detector… Kalen finally taught me
how to clear my thoughts and let me just say, that? That was a royal
pain. There's some in-between parallel places I've seen, too, and- Christ I wish I could draw, because I don't know if you've seen it, but the sky is beautiful from there."
And
that trepidation was gone again to go back to that state of quiet awe,
that understated joy that came with seeing something truly magnificent.
that hopelessness in finding the words to describe it, the worry that
someone would think he was crazy for talking about a parallel world
between their own, and then the finality in not caring if this guy
thought he was crazy because-
Because Elijah Poirot wasn't crazy.
Ian
Ian
didn't think that Elijah was crazy, although he'd never been gifted
with penumbral vision or a particular sensitivity to fate. And Ian could
be a difficult person to read, but nothing in his eyes registered as
pity or suspicion. He even smiled - just a little - when Elijah's
passion began to show through.
This wasn't the kind of
conversation one ought to be casual about. The things they saw; the
things they experienced - these were beautiful, amazing things.
Awe-inspiring.
"Maybe you can show me some time." (Just like
Sid had done, in that other world. Given him a taste of her sight.) Ian
wasn't quick to reveal his own talents. He usually kept these things
very close to chest. But he did offer this: "I can show you something
else. Not now." (This was not at all the right venue for it.) "But...
some time, maybe."
He picked up his glass of water and drank from it. When he was done, he ran his tongue between his lips.
"I'm not sure if I'm an authority
on much of anything." When he raised his eyes from the glass, he
glanced at the hollow of Elijah's throat (where his pulse was beating)
before meeting Elijah's gaze. "But I doubt anyone would disagree with
me."
(Was he flirting there? Oh, definitely.)
Elijah
[willpower!]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 3, 8) ( success x 1 )
Elijah
"Well,
I'm game for damned near anything, so if ever you feel like blowing my
mind go right ahead," he laughed, but the sound was breathless. his eyes
flickered downward to Ian's lips for a moment, at the way his mouth
moved when he talked and the subtle flicker of his tongue over his lips.
He could feel his pulse quicken, and his eyes flickered from Ian to
wherever that waitress was and how quickly his food was going to get
there because it gave him something else to focus on than the taste of
Ian's skin on his tongue. A memory, an echo, but a welcomed echo none
the less.
He wasn't sure he was an authority figure, but nobody was going to argue with Ian about whether or not Elijah was attractive.
"You're
gonna give me a complex," he warned Ian, though there was that damned
grin on his face, lopsided and playful and completely certain of the
idea that he didn't much care that he was going to be gutting something
of a complex. In true waitress timing, this was about the juncture that
they received their food.
Ian
Ian gave a quiet
laugh in response to Elijah's own. "You're making this too easy." His
smile broadened and lingered, and his tongue played over the edges of
his teeth.
And oh, it was so tempting to say
something there, but of course... that was when the waitress arrived.
And fuck if Ian wasn't hungry. Some of that wry, flirtatious edge
lingered in his voice when he thanked the server, and a hint of color
rose to her cheeks as she turned to leave, but Ian was already focused
on the food. He unrolled his napkin and draped it over his lap, then
grabbed a fork and dug into the fish on his plate, picking up bits of
crab and squash.
Judging by the fact that he kept eating it, one could assume that he at least found the plate tolerable.
"You should hang out with the Cultists. I bet you'd like them."
Elijah
"I thought we'd already established how easy I am," he replied with a grin.
Ian
"True. But it could be worse. You haven't tried to blow me under the table yet."
Judging
by Ian's tone of voice, he may have actually been speaking from
experience. He grabbed another bite of food and brushed the edge of his
lip with his thumb.
"Although that would make this place a lot more interesting."
Elijah
"See, and the thought did
cross my mind, but the tables are just a little too low for that," said
as though this might well have been something he had, in fact, done
before. There was a musing- Elijah had told the man that this wasn't his
first rodeo, "but the night is still young."
"I think a
better bet would be either getting this to go or ducking into a supply
closet somewhere. The only problem then is that they might clear the
table and it would have defeated the entire purpose of getting food,"
not that he minded. Oh lord, judging by the tone of his voice, Elijah
Poirot would not have minded in the slightest bit. His mind wandered and
he took another couple of bites of rice. he could have taken or left
the food, really.
Ian
Ian gave an amused huff of laughter, and although
he did not immediately offer to box their food and leave, it's possible
he may have considered it. Had they been at a nicer restaurant, Ian
would have eaten his food more slowly. Even so, there was a kind of
finicky delicateness to the manner in which he consumed his dinner:
taking very neat, very precise bites. That he did so with a certain
amount of efficiency tonight was the only real indicator that he wanted to leave.
"Tempting. But I actually need to eat. I was in rehearsal all day."
(Ian choosing mediocre food over sex. Mark that one down for the record, folks.)
"What made you want to join Kalen's Tradition, anyway?"
Ian didn't come out and say The Order of Hermes,
because they were in a public restaurant. But the question remained the
same. Why that one? Why not another? (Why any Tradition at all?)
Elijah
What made him want to join?
"I
think a lot of the interest came because… well… Kalen," as though Kalen
himself were an explanation, and a terrible reason to want to join a
tradition, "but a lot of it came with knowledge and words. He asked me
where I wanted to start learning, and what I wanted to learn first, and I
remember that I said everything and he actually had a response for that."
He
paused, and he had to think about it. He had to dissect it. What were
his reasons? What had he been looking for, what was the Order of Hermes
offering that no one else was? Truthfully, Elijah didn't seem the type.
Didn't seem the type to crusade, didn't seem the type to crave their
sort of structure, and he wasn't. Elijah could no more be structured
than he could stop time itself. Perhaps some day, but certainly not now.
"Kalen
said I didn't have to join anything unless I was really certain,
though. Everybody seems really hung ho about me joining something, and
I'm learning a lot of cool stuff but a lot of these people don't fit with what I think."
Ian
Ian
listened as he ate, neatly devouring the food on his plate while Elijah
spoke about Kalen and Traditions. Ian had never really spoken much with
Kalen about these things. There'd always been... something else. (More
immediate. More visceral.) There were so many things the two of them
didn't know about each other.
"People seem to be like that. If
they can't put you in a box, they don't know what to do with you. You
shouldn't join anything you don't personally believe in. Way too many
people do."
Elijah
"I don't know if you know
Dan, but he and Sera are cultists and we've had this talk before… Dan…
Dan's pretty cool. He said there wasn't anything wrong with going it
alone, but I don't think I want to go alone, but sometimes.. I don't
know. Sometimes, the process makes me wonder if it's self discovery or
indoctrination."
Ian
"It's like any other
ideology. You need to decide for yourself what's true and what isn't."
Ian paused for a moment, fixing Elijah with a veiled, steady gaze. "Some
people don't like to be alone. I never joined a Tradition. It isn't
something you have to do."
There was still about a third of a
piece of swordfish on Ian's plate, so he picked up his fork again and
cut into it, taking a few more bites.
"Feel like going anywhere after this? I could use some fresh air."
Elijah
He
looked back, and his gaze was steady and his attention was direct and
ti was strange for Elijah to be so focused because he seemed like he
would be anything but. He could not help himself, his imagination and
his attention span and his senses took in so much sensory input that
focusing on someone took effort. Staying in the moment was glory.
"Want
to go hit up a park? Somewhere with slides and swings and shit, or
somewhere with… you know… nature. Some kind of outdoorsy place," he
said.
Ian
"Sure. I'll get the waitress." Ian
lifted a hand as the woman walked past with another table's order. She
nodded in their direction, and a few moments later she re-appeared with a
bright smile, asking if there was anything she could get them. (Drinks?
A dessert maybe?) Ian asked if she could bring the checks and a box for
Elijah's food (if he wanted it.) By the time she returned, Ian had
finished eating and already had his wallet out. It wasn't much longer
before he and Elijah were back in the parking lot.
"Come on, I'll drive."
Unless
of course, Elijah had other ideas. But it would seem that he did not,
so the two of them wound up in Ian's car, listening to whatever band Ian
happened to have queued up on Spotify (today it was Chairlift) while
Ian drove them to Rosamond Park. It wasn't technically the closest park,
but it was one of the prettier ones. And it did, in fact, have a
swingset.
When Ian parked the car, he leaned forward and
glanced out the window, searching the area for signs of activity. The
park didn't appear to be very busy. Two other cars were parked in the
lot, but their owners were nowhere to be seen. Probably walking
somewhere down the trail.
Elijah
[Checking out the spirit world, don't mind me]
Dice: 1 d10 TN7 (2) ( success x 1 ) [WP]
Elijah
Elijah
was silently thankful that Ian was offering to drive, if only because
Elijah was becoming enamored of the man's car. He had a sports car. He
had a sports car that would no doubt go fast and his imagination
wandered off places that brought a grin to his face. Rosamund park
wasn't far away, and Elijah was keen on not making small talk and,
instead, looking out the window at the things that passed by.
The
park seemed to be relatively empty, and Elijah's thoughts had not
wandered terribly far from his initial conversation with Ian. Though,
admittedly, being out in the park had him looking about, had his eyes
fixed on the sky and for a moment the air felt charged and alive. For a
moment, there was that feeling that came with unrest, that highlighted
the passion and restlessness of man, the exuberance of nature.
The
young man didn't take his eyes off the sky, and with nothing but his
own will saw briefly what Rosamond Park looked like from the other side.
Moon bright, stars twinkling, all the tenuous superfluous pieces
stripped away until all that was there was the ghost of what was and the
soul of what is.
"… this place is gorgeous."
Ian
[Awareness - you're doing magic aren't you?]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 8, 9, 9) ( success x 3 )
Ian
"Have you been out to Red Rocks? That place is really gorgeous. But I suppose a city park will do in a pinch."
Denver
was one of the better places to live in that respect. One could hardly
walk without tripping over a park. If pressed, Ian might even say it was
one of the reasons he didn't mind being here. He glanced over at Elijah
for a moment, head canted in a curious expression. The threads of
Elijah's Will were dancing in the air around them, lively and
tumultuous, but whatever sight he was using, it wasn't one that Ian
could identify.
He didn't ask about it. Instead he opened the
door and stepped outside. The air was warm without being oppressive, and
a light breeze stirred the nearby trees. The park spread out before
them in a sea of verdant grass and rolling hills, with a trail leading
along the edge of a winding stream. Patches of wildflowers grew along
the banks, tall and purple and fragrant. In the distance, a swingset sat
quiet and empty alongside the rest of the park's elaborate playground.
This likely wouldn't be the first place that Ian's attention traveled,
but Elijah might take notice.
Once Elijah joined him, Ian
locked the car and pocketed his keys. Then he started to lead them down
the trail by the stream. He pulled out in front of Elijah and turned
around, walking backwards a few paces. A light smile played at the edges
of his mouth.
"Did you even really want to get dinner?"
Elijah
"City
parks count as nature when one really needs nature,but Colorado is so
full of nature that you really have to step up your game to compete… if,
you know, being a city park was a competition," which it might be.
Elijah wasn't too sure how municipal government worked in that regard.
AS
quickly as it came, the feeling went away, and Elijah was content to
get out of the car. The place was lovely, a sort of paradise that he
could really sink his mind into. There was a stream and wildflowers and
when he inhaled that played across his senses as freshness and the grass
rolled onward and he could practically feel the memory of a hundred
stains on his knees or his elbows from the countless people who no doubt
rolled down those hills in elation. Elijah liked hills. Hills and
flowers and that babbling, winding stream that gave them a nice backdrop
for sound. The rush of water, the trickle across stones.
Conceptually,
water was beautiful. In practice, he was not so sure. Ian could walk as
close to the stream as he pleased. Elijah knew to keep his distance,
knowing precisely how fickle that life giving substance could be.
As for dinner?
"It
was more of a flimsy pretense to see you," he replied, "you're not half
bad to hang out with when I'm not losing my shit on rooftops."
Ian
"Pretenses
aren't really necessary with me." As they walked, Ian reached up and
undid one of the buttons on his shirt. Somehow he managed not to trip or
look awkward, despite the fact that he couldn't see where he was going.
Maybe he'd been here before. Maybe he was just that obnoxiously
graceful. After a moment though, he turned around and fell in at
Elijah's side, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The wind
opened up the top part of his shirt, playing like a soft caress against
his skin.
He seemed almost at home here. More relaxed than
he'd been in the restaurant. Ian seemed to like the sound of the water,
and he drifted closer to it as they walked.
"If I'd known you were Kalen's apprentice I wouldn't have slept with you."
He
didn't say it as an admonishment. More of an observation. (Perhaps even
an apology.) Likely Elijah wouldn't see the need for it, but Ian said
it anyway.
Elijah
"Good," he replies, "because I hate coming up with them." Pretenses, that is.
He
looped his thumbs through his belt loops as he walked. his posture was
relaxed, his eyes were on Ian instead of the water. The sound was
relaxing, in some instances, but the sound was also a reminder of
something. He was content to let Ian be as close to the water as he
wanted, because it meant that Elijah was not going to have to be on the
side with the stream and dealing with something whose depth he couldn't
necessarily judge and whose presence he couldn't quite stomach.
Not yet, anyways.
The
next comes, and it doesn't make him slow, doesn't make him take his
eyes off of the man next to him. There as a lopsided grin on his face,
the ever-present one that seemed to be his default expression. "Are you
and Kalen that sort of close?" he asks.
Because he has to ask,
he doesn't seem to understand, didn't see the need for- what was it, an
apology? For, arguably, one of the best lays he's had since he get to
Denver, and that was without the assistance of MDMA. Though, there was a
bit of curiosity that came, "Are apprentices in his Tradition not
allowed to have sex or something? Because if they're not, I'm out."
Ian
"I
told you I met him the same way I met you. What did you think I meant
by that?" Ian's expression flickered with amusement, though Elijah could
have just as easily meant it as a question of their emotional
relationship. (After all, there was a vast difference between hooking up
and falling in love.)
"I'm pretty sure sex isn't a thing the
Hermetics bother putting restrictions on, but I'm not really an expert. I
just don't like when shit gets complicated."
And things with
Kalen had gotten very complicated. Whether this thing with Elijah would
impact that remained to be seen. But it had happened, and despite his
words, Ian didn't seem especially regretful. They were coming up on the
playground area, and Ian veered off the path away from the water,
walking with a relaxed stride through the grass.
"Not much point worrying about it now, though."
Elijah
"Good,
because I've noticed that I'm not being particularly thwarted by half
decent food or low lying tables right now," he said as he continued on
through the grass. He could follow Ian anywhere, his eyes fell on the
playground area, on the lone swing set and the climbing things and the
lush grass and it was self control that kept him from bouncing, or
perhaps an enjoyment of the company.
"And I'm not big on overly complicating things."
Would
things be complicated, though? Perhaps, Elijah as casual enough, calm
enough for now but there was that grin on his face and his eyes roamed
over Ian's collarbone up the line of his neck and his eyes flickered off
towards the swing set again, imagination getting the better of him.
Ian
"There's
a point in your favor." Ian shot Elijah a wicked smile and broke into a
jog. When he reached the playground, he sat down on the steps of the
jungle gym, leaning back to rest his elbows on the plastic-coated
flooring. Once upon a time, playgrounds had been made of wood. Then one
too many kids had gone home with splinters. Now they were all brightly
colored and cheap-looking. Ian didn't particularly care for the smell of
it, but the breeze made it tolerable. He tipped his head back to gaze
at the sky as it darkened into dusk on the horizon.
"Still want me to show you something?"
Elijah
These
things did have a smell to them, something plastic and forgettable.
Something that could stick to your senses, while the faintest scent of
cedar wood chips toyed with the senses. The air was sweet, though. The
breeze made a lot of things tolerable, and when Elijah caught up to Ian
he was more than content to take a seat a couple steps beneath him, far
enough that he had to look up ever so slightly to see the other man.
Did he still want Ian to show him something?
"Of course," he said. Why not? he said without saying.
Ian
[Life 1 (-1 diff because practiced)]
Dice: 2 d10 TN3 (6, 10) ( success x 2 )
Ian
[And one more to share? +1 diff, -1 for going slow]
Dice: 2 d10 TN3 (5, 6) ( success x 2 )
Ian
Ian undid the next button on his shirt, letting it fall open to expose the top part of his chest.
"Give
me your hand." He reached out to pull Elijah closer into his space,
wrapping his fingers lightly around Elijah's wrist, then pressed the
palm of Elijah's hand over his heart. The skin there was warm and soft
beneath Elijah's fingers, and Ian's heart beat a deep, steady rhythm.
Ian closed his eyes and listened to the beat of his own pulse, focusing
past it to Elijah's pattern... and then to the vast web of life that lay
around them.
Gradually it all came into focus. Like a chorus
of blood and breath and photosynthesis. The plants, they had a kind of
pulse to them too. It was different - less like a heart and more like
the earth. A steady verdant warmth, and the flow of water and sap. Ian
let these senses flow into Elijah so that he'd feel them too. The trees.
The grass. The flowers. Minnows. Insects. Birds. All of these sounds.
All of these tiny heartbeats. And Ian like a focal point at the center
of it, his body vibrant and alive.
Elijah
[Have a little decorum, Poirot!]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (7, 8, 9, 9) ( success x 4 )
Elijah
Elijah
Poirot courted death daily. He woke up to the sound of people talking,
the quiet insistence that the land of the living still need pay credence
to the denizens of the underworld. He was aware, and had been aware his
entire life, that there was something that happened when you held on
too tightly, when you had business to attend to. He took risks, he
skated too close to the edge, and sometimes he did fall over it and
pulled back more aware of his own heartbeat when he did.
This was different.
This was beautiful.
He
gave Ian his hand, and there was that steady rhythm of his heart.
Elijah didn't even know how to take a person's pulse, so that steady
rhythm was hard fought, and gradually, that beat became easier to feel.
Easier to focus on. He started by looking at Ian, looking past the man
and trying to focus on what was there. Gradually, ever so gradually, it
came to him. Life. Living, breathing, exquisite life. It played
on his senses, beat in his own chest and there was warmth on his skin
and his eyes widened, his own breath caught in his throat-
There
was that feeling, that primal elegance, that graceful cunning, that
feeling that was so incredibly Ian mingling on his senses with the whole
of creation and there was awe on his features. Something pure
and unadulterated, something that had his hand pressed against the man's
chest and pulled him forward to press his lips to Ian's in a sensation
that was nothing but green and golden gratefulness, overwhelmed but
still well within his mind because he had his hand on the man's chest as
an anchor and the whole overwhelming grace of the living world around
him, and he felt joy.
Yes, joy.
Ian
They
were in the middle of a city park, and it was not yet so late that they
could expect any degree of privacy. Other human patterns hovered just
at the edge of their shared senses: a man jogging around the park's
perimeter, and two older women walking together beneath the trees beyond
the crest of the next hill. Had Ian possessed the capability to extend
his senses further, they would likely find more.
And they did
not feel alone. How could they? With such keen awareness of the
multitude of living things around them. But it felt safe somehow. Like
the world existed for them to be alive in it.
Elijah
felt joy at that. Ian... felt something else. But it was no less
reverent. And he smiled against Elijah's lips when the younger mage
kissed him, opening his mouth to steal the air from Elijah's lungs. He
made a sound, soft and velvet, and put his hand up to slide his fingers
through Elijah's hair.
Elijah
It made sense
that Elijah would learn how things broke down before learning how they
were built up. Perhaps that was something telling about him, the things
Elijah learned at the very inception of his enlightenment. That time was
malleable, that the world was breaking down around him, that there were
places beyond what he could touch right now. But then there was this
sensation, that they were here to be alive and that life was here to be
lived. That there was a thrum and pulse and sensation and how it felt
like everything here was connected.
It wasn't so lonely, that.
The world felt more intimate, relatable. Perhaps that was what he was
looking for, and at that juncture had finally found a glimpse of how
where and when were irrelevant because everywhere was here and every
when was now and the world could be both infinite and singular. His lips
parted, and his lungs lost their breath and he sighed. Elijah didn't
break away, instead let his tongue explore the other man's mouth- hardly
a tentative thing- while his fingertips kept themselves from being idle
by toying with the buttons in Ian's shirt, coaxing them into yielding.
He pulled back a second to catch his breath, only pulling back just enough that he could, in fact, breathe, "C'est magnifique."
Ian
It
didn't take much effort to get the rest of Ian's shirt open (there were
only a few buttons left.) And then his chest lay bare and exposed in
the evening air, and the breeze danced delicately along his skin. Elijah
pulled back to breath those rapturous words, and Ian let their eyes
meet across the scant distance of space between them.
He could
feel Elijah's pulse. Elijah could feel his too (it was faster now.)
There was something about sharing a thing that made it new again.
"So
are you." The words were soft. Not tentative but... private. Ian's hand
found its way to Elijah's belt, hooking behind the buckle to give a
light tug. "You're wearing too many clothes."
Elijah
He
could feel his pulse, faster but still rhythmic, something that spurred
him on like the beat of a drum and the insistence in his ears. He had
never been one to argue with music, with rhythm and the beauty of it
all. There was that moment of sharing, of seeing it all new and exciting
for Elijah that had him wanting to explore the other man's body as
though this were the first time he'd seen it. Elijah pulled back just
enough to wrestle his vest off and carefully (yes, carefully) lay it on the ground.
The rest of his clothing did not ever receive such tender treatment, as though the vest held precious cargo.
you're wearing too many clothes, Ian tells him
"I'll stop that," Elijah replied with a grin.
Ian
With the vest off, Ian had more leeway to get his
hands beneath Elijah's t-shirt. There was a patient kind of insistence
to it, the way Ian pushed his hands beneath the fabric and slid the
shirt upward, craving the contours of Elijah's back and chest. He paused
to trace a path down the center of Elijah's stomach, pushing in with
the tips of his fingers to scratch lightly at the soft skin just above
the hem of Elijah's jeans. Then he pulled the shirt all the way off.
They were safe still. They could be this exposed without drawing unwanted attention.
Ian wet his lips. He traced his eyes from Elijah's chest to his face. "Tell me what you want."
(Because that worked out rather well for them the last time.)
Elijah
What did he want?
What
would he want and they could be safe and they could play it cool at
that juncture and there was only so much one could do without the risk
of being caught but that was part of the thrill, wasn't it? Elijah's
eyes seemed darker at dusk, pupils wide and his lips upturned and there
was an insistence, a yearning, a need at that juncture that was well
and truly a need. As much as he needed oxygen, as much as he craved
sensation, Elijah needed this.
what did he want? "Everything," he insists.
"I
want to taste every blessed fucking inch of you," he breathed, his
voice low and intended only for Ian, the playfulness still in his
expression, his breath caught in his throat and his mind blown by the
sheer magnitude of the universe around him. Alive, breathing, warm.
Ian
"Mm,
I don't think we'll manage that before someone catches us." Ian traced
the edge of a finger above the waistline of Elijah's jeans: this slow,
taunting gesture. But his lips were parted and his eyes were dark and
with their sharing of senses there was no mistaking him for detached. On
the contrary.
There was the earth and the water and the open air, and it was summer and the world was alive. They were alive. Ian's pulse jumped hard and quick when the wind touched his skin.
"But you're welcome to try."
Elijah
"Isn't
that part of the fun?" he asked. Rhetorical, yes, and his breath came
out in a shudder and his eyes closed for just a second, just long enough
that he could savor the sensation teasing tempting touching on his skin
and his lips part and there is elation, there is reverie in the moment
because it was such a glorious, glorious moment, he leaned forward,
pressed his lips to Ian's before he settled to a comfortable place on
his knees.
His hands trailed up the outside of Ian's thighs
before his attentions went to the toned inner portion. Ian was a dancer,
Ian had a body like someone who cared about what happened to them,
whose livelihood depended on being fit and being in tune with his
physicality. His eyes flickered up to the other man's face, mischief on
his expression.
He'd intended on taking his time, of course he
would, but his own lack of impulse control meant that he could not and
would not deny his own urges for terribly long before his hands found
the top button of Ian's jeans and with casual ease, Elijah freed that
first step. His hand traveled again, caressing teasing, touching
exploring and seeing what he could feel and what would provoke a
reaction from Ian's pattern.
Ian
That was
often the difference between men who went to the gym to look good and
men who were actual athletes (though Ian could have just as easily
fallen into both categories.) The strength distribution was more
practical. And in Ian's case, a lot of it was in his core and his lower
body. He did have nice legs (and a pretty great ass, for that matter.)
Elijah had already seen all of that, just as Ian had already seen every
part of him. But that didn't make it any less intoxicating to revisit
now: both the perfections and the imperfections. Everything that made
them human - or in some cases, animal.
Like the way that Ian
leaned back when Elijah's hands traced their way up his thighs. The way
he curved his spine and stretched out like a cat on those playground
stairs. His neck had an elegant shape in the silvery half-light, and his
blood pulsed against the delicate skin in the hollow of his throat.
Isn't that part of the fun?
Elijah said, and Ian just smiled in response. Because it was, but it
was also irrelevant. The mass of the jungle gym hid them from view of
the street, but anyone walking through the park might still catch sight
of them. Ian kept a small sliver of his attention on those women behind
the hill, but it wasn't the thrill of being caught that made his pulse
jump. Elijah pulled open the top button of Ian's jeans, leaving them
still mostly intact, and Ian closed his eyes and exhaled audibly. He
didn't try to push Elijah to go more quickly, although they probably did
not have much time.
Here's the thing: Ian loved being
touched. Not always. Not in the way of some people who craved constant
contact (his senses were too sharp to tolerate it casually,) but like
this - yes. His pattern was acutely reactive to it. It happened when
Elijah touched his legs, and more when he moved inward. This electric
warmth of sensitivity; a flush of blood to his skin. He was hard (yes,
very) and almost excruciatingly awake to every single nuance of
sensation.
Elijah
He was aware, he could tell
hat worked and what didn't and oh heavens, Elijah wanted to know every
bit of Ian's skin. he wanted to know every taste and every sensation
and, at that juncture, this would simply have to do. Elijah was not a
clumsy creature, if anything he was focused. Tonight there were worlds
upon worlds of sensory sensations and input for him to process and the
only thing he could focus on was carefully dragging the zipper down on
his jeans and pulling them back just enough to reach his trunks and do
the same with them.
He took the man's length into his hands,
his tongue tracing a deliberate circle across the tip. He waited for
sounds. he waited for that flutter of his pulse. He waited for any
number of things before telling his tongue explore down his shaft, over
the underside and taking in the finer details. He had been explicit. He
pulled back enough to purr, "Je suis un cochonne chanceux, oui?"
His lips upturned again, mischief in his expression before he moved back down to continue his rather thorough exploration.
Ian
Ian
had showered just before meeting Elijah for dinner, so he smelled and
tasted clean. He didn't moan when Elijah's tongue touched the head of
his cock (still distantly conscious of the need for discretion,) but his
breath gave this little stutter and one of his hands curled around a
metal pole in the playground structure's frame. There was something
altogether wrong about doing this in a place where children played, but
that thought could not have been further from Ian's mind at the moment.
When Elijah spoke, Ian licked his lips and laughed softly. "I have no idea what you just said, but it sounds sexy as hell."
To be fair, a lot of things sounded sexy in French.
And
then Elijah ducked back down, and this time Ian did not quite manage to
contain the moan that caught in his throat. He looked at Elijah with
this half-lidded gaze and wound his fingers into Elijah's hair - not
pushing (yet) but... perhaps wanting to.
Elijah
Arguably,
they could have picked a better location, but then again there were a
number of illicit things done on playground equipment, but we digress.
Of the things on Elijah's mind, the propriety of blowing a guy in a
playground was probably not on the highest on his list. He moved
downward again, not providing a translation for whatever it was that he
had just said… for now. His attention more on the man's cock in front of
him, more on taking him into hois mouth and letting his hand stroke the
other man's length in deliberate, timed bobs as he moved.
There
was a moment when Elijah lauded, when he relaxed his throat and moved
downward to take all of Ian into his mouth before he pulled back up for
air. His breathing was quick, his heart was pounding, and Elijah could
care less if there were people near a hill or cars in the parking lot or
any other person who came up on him, because frankly the only person
whose arrival Elijah was concerned about was Ian Lai's.
His
free hand moved to caress the inside of the other man's thigh, a moan
caught in his throat the moment the other man's hand ran through his
hair. Not pushing, not yet, but that would happen more than likely.
During those moments of breath, it would seem that Elijah took some time
to give the man a French lesson. "Je suis un cochonne chanceux, I'm one
lucky slut."
Ian
There were things people
discovered about each other in these moments, things Ian and Elijah
would already know if they'd been more familiar. Like when and how it
was okay to push. Ian was more careful here than he had been that first
night they'd been together, but some of that care was slipping. He
managed to keep still through most of Elijah's attention, letting him
control the speed and depth, but there was that point... when Elijah
swallowed him down and Ian rolled his hips and gripped Elijah's hair and
actually held him there for just a scant second, that his
willpower gave way to more instinctive urges. And he uttered another
small, contained moan.
"Fuck."
If Elijah
didn't like it, Ian wouldn't do it again. But if there was no indication
of discomfort, then Ian would let his fingers stay wrapped in Elijah's
hair, and there'd be some pressure on the back of Elijah's head whenever
he slid down the length of Ian's cock. Not forceful, but guiding. For
Ian it was all warm heat and wetness and the smooth slide of Elijah's
lips and tongue, and Elijah would sense every moment of it in Ian's
pattern. The way it made him come alive with heightened awareness and
arousal. The rapid, greedy pounding of his heart.
He laughed
again, this distant, breathy sound, when Elijah offered that
translation. It sounded like hunger and wry humor and bliss all at once.
"Jesus, you're fucking amazing."
(Funny, that. The way people could invoke the names of deities and religious figures they didn't even believe in.)
Elijah
[per+empathy- what am I supposed to do when we're done?]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 4, 5, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 3 )
Elijah
He
moved, his attentions on Ian. Ian held him there for a second, and for a
second he froze, but only a second. Only long enough to become
accustomed to the sensation before Ian could do it again. There was no
indication of discomfort, no trepidation, just commitment to what he was
doing. Focus in what he was doing, and his movement became faster, his
attentions direct, and he knew precisely what he wanted. He wanted to
make sure that Ian finished. After all, it was what Elijah said he was
going to do, what Elijah said he had wanted. His mind had not wandered,
his being present in that moment.
And there was something to
be said about being present, about savoring the feel of the man's length
on his tongue, about the deliberate strokes and the pressure there and
the sensation of his hand in Elijah's hair- he liked keeping it longer
for a reason and this? This was part of it. Feeling someone's fingers
tense there when he'd done well and feeling that guiding pressuree to
urge him on. A dare. A challenge, something he gladly accepted.
there
would be no trace the two had been there, sad for memories and the
slightest disturbance of wood chips beneath them. He was spurred on by
that compliment, that cry of jesus, you're fucking amazing, and
whatever retort he may have had was lost on the task at hand. He doesn't
stop until it's all done and over, taking pleasure in that moment of
release and taking his cues to keep things as streamlined and clean as
possible. Once he pulled back, his cheeks were flushed, he struggled for
air in a completely different fashion and he couldn't get the damned
smile off his face.
"C'est magnifique."
Ian
There
were things Ian wanted to do, half-formed drives and urges that lurked
in the back of his mind when he started to get close. Things that he
would not do to someone whose boundaries he didn't know. He always had a
hard time holding back at the end. Holding still. Not just...
He
rolled his hips and thrust into Elijah's mouth, guiding Elijah's head
down. The motion was slow and controlled, with an edge of restrained
aggression. Riding the edge of that beautiful fucking arc of pleasure
until it crashed.
Ian didn't cry out. Not here. Instead he
rolled his head back and opened his mouth in a sudden exhalation before
quickly clamping his teeth down on his lip. There was the taste of
copper and salt in his mouth (blood.) And he did moan, soft and reedy.
He
didn't really have the presence of mind to notice whether they were
making a mess or not. Later, he'd be grateful that they hadn't. But for
now...
Ian came down from his orgasm slowly, as the muscles
in his body uncoiled one by one. He felt light-headed, breathing hard as
he lay back against the stairs and closed his eyes. The hard ridges of
plastic were beginning to feel uncomfortable against his back.
And there was blood on his lip. He licked it slowly and sat up.
"We should get out of here." There was something in his tone that seemed to imply so we can finish. He managed to get himself presentable before another jogger came into view.
And then, if Elijah seemed amenable, they'd make their way back to Ian's car. And from there, likely, Elijah's apartment.
