amicustenebris | Duplicity

[ Carver blinks, a little uncertain, but Gold's hand is gentle on his cheek and he presses into it without thinking. People don't touch him much. Why would they? ]

I'm not gonna break.

[ He doesn't flinch easily. He never has. And this feels good. ]

You don't have to be so careful.

[ Part of him wants that, though. The gentleness. But you don't ask for that. People start wondering, if you ask for that. ]

[ If Gold recognizes that in him, the way that he leans into that touch so quickly, that split-second of unbelieving that comes before it's there and it's held onto, it is only because he knows that feeling all too well himself. Even if he never had a word for it. And here in this space, he feels an immediate duty to not be the reason that his partner is without. ]

And you don't have to worry about that. Not here.

[ He moves his hand to shift the hold between them, laying his palm in his, adjusting his balance to guide him back toward the bed and sit.

At this point there isn't so much of a plan, just to follow what seems to feel right, and it has been a very long time since being this close felt like that. ]

[ Strange thing is, Carver believes him. People can't be trusted - will always swing over the line to enemies before the end - but he believes this man, in this moment. He swallows hard, then nods.

Just once.

He sits down on the edge of the bed without hesitation, just watching Gold. Waiting to see what he'll do next. ]

[ When he's seated, he's even more at ease, at less of a risk that he's going to put his weight on the wrong foot and drop. But it helps him to keep his focus where it needs to be, fingers trading the softer pad of his palm between the thumb and forefinger.

Another kiss, this time not pressing as far, more reminding himself to relax, where they are. When he withdraws enough to speak, the question is gentle as everything else, but deliberate and carefully worded.

It hasn't escaped his notice that Carver hasn't shed a single layer since he came in, even though doing so might have made getting around the kitchen less cumbersome. ]

Do you want to get any of this out of the way?

[ Been a lifetime since anyone treated him this carefully. Somehow, it doesn't feel condescending. Carver spares half a thought as to why as Gold pulls back, watching him in turn. Why this hasn't set his teeth on edge with its stillness when Carver tends to swing violently between bouts of manic tension whenever he's forced to slow down for more than a few minutes - pathologically incapable of settling within periods of idleness.

His mother got like that, he remembers. She had a tendency to disappear for days on end, even in the rare moments she was back from overseas.

He twitches. Stows that thought and tucks it back where it belongs, very far away. And then he begins unbuckling the straps that keep his hood in place. He sets it aside, not bothering to be coy about the knife he's hidden underneath.

Paranoia. Maybe. He embraces the world as it is, and begins shrugging out of his coat. Another, larger knife sheathed at his side. ]

You gonna take your clothes off?

[ An idle question. Not everyone does. Carver doesn't think he would have, unless they were in a bedroom. And it's been more than a lifetime since he's done that. ]

[ Gold would have worked around it if he said no. But he remembers what it was like when they were paired, how much give he seemed willing to provide and noting carefully what had remained in place.

He also knew that in their own ways, they were both endeavoring not to panic. That's what he doesn't want here.

That question, he wasn't exactly prepared for. His fingers stop on the buttons of his vest as he is just beginning to undo them. ]

...Some. As needed. Is that all right?

[ Notable that it's said with an air of almost-apology. Like it would be an intrusion. ]

[ Carver shrugs, the gesture more casual than he feels. Just is what it is. If they’d been doing this back home, they would have done it in some dark corner - a hurried, fumbling thing, in all likelihood, done quietly so no one would hear. So the dead wouldn’t come sniffing around, so the living wouldn’t wonder. Last time he was with anyone back there was the scavenger couple a few years back, and they’d both clamped a hand over his mouth the whole time - a move they must have practiced on each other before they used it on him. He let them, though. And then he let them do a lot more than that.

It’s different now. He doesn’t know whether that’s better or not. ]

It’s fine.

[ He gets his coat off, following it with his shirt. The little knife he kept under his hood goes on top of the growing pile. A small concession. He keeps the other, for now, and then leans back to watch Gold. Shirtless, and strangely calm under the circumstances.

Underneath all his layers, he’s got some bad scars. A star-shaped divot over his collarbone where the bone punched through the skin. A bullet wound over his hip, faded pale over the years. Several newer slashes across his ribs, healing in spidery lines. And a dappling of pocked scars over his stomach where he nearly got torn apart by shrapnel before the world ended.

Everyone’s got their marks. He carries them, like he carries the unit tattoo on his arm and worse scars on his back. He got lucky, on balance. Never took any marks to the face. All his scars landed where he can hide them.

Just how it goes.

He tips his head back, watching Gold. He keeps the pendant on. That’s his, and only his. ]

I’m flexible. You got anything you don’t want, tell me.

[ Something to be said of both of them in different ways: layers are a type of armor. Clothing makes Gold feel less small. He can hide something he thinks less of with something shaped well and by his own hand, that carries the veneer that he wants.

It is clear that Carver came away from wherever he was before, having his own troubles to wear on his skin, of the more obvious kind, perhaps.

But it's still hard for him to see it immediately that way. If anything, he is surprised that he revealed as much as he did.

All the more clear by the fact that what started as a simple bloom of crimson on his face has never really gone away and he is suddenly coughing back a little shiver in his voice when he remembers he has to say and do something. ]

You don't.

[ That was...not an answer to what Carver actually just said. God shuts his eyes and takes a breath. ]

Please ignore that I just said that.

[ Ah. That's certainly a reaction. Carver just watches Gold for a moment, taking in the red cast to his face. In a different moment, Carver thinks he'd pounce on that. Hammer at it like a pressure point, a fracture line, until something broke.

Here, he just motions with his hand. ]

C'mere.

[ It doesn't have to be complicated. It really, truly, doesn't. ]

I don't do sex and violence. You can pull my hair, but don't choke me. I got a thing about that.

[ It sparks too close to the real, to a fight. Instinct kicks in at that point. He says it all rather blandly, though. It just is what it is. ]

Yeah?

[ There need not be any discussions of pouncing or hammering while he is trying to concentrate, please and thank you.

After shrugging his vest away, Gold does take the invitation to draw closer for what it is, for a moment perhaps too aware of the warmth of the other man's body and drawing out a less than subtle second-glance. ]

...Likewise.

[ While he found himself imagining that he wouldn't hate a little more forcefulness than he definitely was employing right now, he was never fond of violence. He doesn't fully comprehend the notion of doing something that would otherwise be used to injure and then calling it sex. ]

And beyond that, if you need to stop, say so.

[ Not that he won't be probably frequently checking in anyhow. ]

[ Carver hums a little, leaning back on the bed. Braced easily on his hands. It's a casual gesture, much more casual than he feels. But this is happening, one choice following the next, and he likes the way that Gold looks at him. ]

Like I said. You won't force me.

[ That's not why he came here. He reaches out to catch Gold's wrist, pressing his thumb against the pulse-point. An easy hold to break, if it comes to that. But it feels good just to touch another person. ]

I'll tell you if I don't want something.

[ At least I have the impression I wouldn't have to. He almost says something, but at least this time, he has sense enough not to let it escape this time. Instead, he just draws near, slipping his free arm about his waist and capturing another kiss while he takes in the feel of the two of them in full contact. ]

[ Carver leans into it, slow and languid. How strange, to finally be able to slow down without feeling like he's going to lose his mind. But his heart rate is steady, and he likes how it feels when Gold presses against him. He leans into the kiss, deepening it with a hum, and rubs a slow circle against Gold's pulse point.

It's nice. He doesn't let people touch him like this very much. ]

You want me to touch you?

[ More than this, he means. ]

[ For the moment, Gold allows himself to savor, taking in what he already knows feels good, and right, and allowing that to give him some momentum to advance -- just as much to treat his partner with patience as it is to give himself room to get past his own uncertainty. Where one man's heart is beginning to steady, he feels his own beginning to rush. ]

...I do.

[ Thing is, Carver’s good at reading people. It’s something he worked at, something he was trained on. How to pick up cues, the sorts of body language that reveal pieces of the people around him. It’s just a matter of paying attention. And he’s paying close attention now.

He squeezes Gold’s wrist briefly, then shifts to trail his fingers up the other man’s arm. Just to see what it gets him. ]

Yeah?

[ Even over the folds of his shirt, it's very clear this is probably more contact than he's accustomed to having with other people. On his other hand his fingers mirror Carver's, tracing the lines of an arm quite unlike his own and following where the softest twitches of nerve and shapeliness of defined muscle carry him.

They're close in a way that he just wasn't around others, a way that he had not managed to feel out yet, not since getting here, and everything about it made it important to prolong a little. The warmth of him, the scent, just the very stable presence he created. And maybe part of him sensed there had been something very similar missing for Carver, too, a hole filled. ]

...Yes.

[ It’s slow, deliberate in a way that Carver isn’t certain he’d like under different circumstances. He’s set most - though not all - of his knives aside. Stripped off most of his layers, his armor. He doesn’t give a fuck about his scars one way or another, but it’s been a long time since another person’s laid eyes on them.

He wouldn’t be doing this back home. Would have no call for it. Yet it is happening, and in the calm moments - in this moment - it just feels good. He doubts the calm feeling will last - his moods tend to swing wide and wild these days - but for now, it’s nice. Right now, they aren’t enemies. Right now, it feels good to be touched. To have Gold’s fingers trailing up his arm. Light, and so very careful.

Carver shivers a little. He doesn’t flinch away, though. Just runs his fingers over Gold’s arm, steady and calm, and watches to see what it gets him when Caver gives his arm a small tug. Urging him closer. ]

Like I said. Not gonna flinch if you touch me.

[ He’s got a feeling he ought to be careful with Gold, though. ]

So I see.

[ And he doesn't retreat when drawn nearer, mostly chest to chest at this point, but any closer and he's going to be in the man's lap, which was not how he planned his approach here -- for as little planning as there was. The kiss this time doesn't linger for as long, an assurance, but then it trails, against the corner of his mouth, the line of his jaw.

Soft, fleeting little tastes.

Small ventures as he feels for every shift he can, hear every sound, be certain he is advancing in the right direction, and not with too much haste. ]

[ Carver hums, low and pleased, and leaves his hand on Gold’s arm for now. A loose hold, but an anchoring one. It feels easier than the last time, when there was a blade involved. When Carver bared his throat to a stranger and called it at least half a choice. That hadn’t been about trust - except for the pieces where it had been. But it happened, and Gold never once cut him.

Could have. Didn’t. These things happen.

He spreads his legs a little, so there’s more room. So Gold can settle there without climbing on top of him. Nice and easy, for now. Carver feels himself going loose, tension draining away. A rare thing, for him. He doubts it’ll last. But for the moment, he tips his head back - ignoring how it bares his throat and the hateful line tattooed there - and just lets himself feel.

It can be good. For a little while. He gives Gold’s arm another squeeze and then begins trailing his fingers again, ghosting over Gold’s chest. Light touches, for now. He figures there are boundaries. That’s all right. He knows how to pay attention. ]</small€

[ Gold's immediate reaction isn't one of alarm -- Carver has done well to feel around for boundaries rather than blunder carelessly over them, so when a hand brushes over his chest, his immediate realization is that he is feeling more constricted than he first thought; his free hand comes up to begin to loosen his tie.

But he doesn't allow that to distract him.

Once it's clear that Carver doesn't think he's going to tear his throat out or worse, he takes that as opening to move down further, his lips finding where his neck and his shoulder meet. ]

[ All right. Maybe Gold won't stay in his clothes the whole time. Carver's breath hitches a little as Gold moves in closer, trailing down, but he doesn't flinch. It's a light touch. Won't even leave a mark.

Carver hums a little, nodding. ]

Feels good.

[ It does, somewhat to his surprise. It's slow. He's calm. Novel things, in his life. ]

[ A short glance up, to try and read his expression. ]

That is the idea.

[ And he lingers there for a moment, taking a moment to appreciate the shape of him, but his hands do not venture anywhere that he hasn't already revealed. ]

Do you want me to go on?

[ Smartass. Carver’s mouth twitches a little, a faint smile ghosting across his face. He watches Gold, thoughtful.

It’s strange, to be this calm. There’s a part of him that wants to take advantage before it inevitably swings, because it always does before the end. But that would mean rushing, and he doesn’t want to. Not here, not with this man. ]

Yeah.

[ In this sort of mood, he doubts there’s much he wouldn’t let Gold do. Carver watches him for another moment, then leans forward to kiss him again. A little harder this time, dragging his teeth. ]

[ And he's suddenly drawn back up again, and there is a noise of mild surprise and pleasure. He brushes the backs of his fingers over Carver's cheek, something unplanned for, a spark of tenderness that rose with him. For the time being, he was simply in the moment, fully present, and something approaching content.

Nearer than he had been in a long time.

He drew back, just enough to speak, smiling against the other man's lips. ]

You are very distracting.

[ Oh, that's a nice sound. Carver leans into the touch thoughtlessly, chasing it. He doesn't do this anymore, this - slowness.

Except that he is, apparently.

He grins against Gold's mouth. ]

Yeah, I know. Gonna do something about it?

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