faderift | [Closed] And Fate is Pulling You

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[Closed] And Fate is Pulling You

WHO: Adasse Agassi and Sorrel Ashara (Guest Starring Beleth Ashara)
WHAT: Because you know what you need when everything else is Blue Flu and chaos? Your not-boyfriend getting kidnapped by a gang
WHEN: After this conversation.
WHERE: The Gallows/Darktown
NOTES: Violence, threats of mutilation, racist slurs of an ugly elven nature

The note had been simple enough - Sorrel wanted Adasse to meet him down in the kitchens. Which ... was good, right? It meant that Sorrel wanted to have further contact with him and Adasse could talk to him about this whole 'ma'nehrn' word and what that meant to Sorrel. Then Adasse could ... try to ... tell Sorrel what he meant to Adasse, but how he wasn't pressuring him and how he could pick his Clan. That he would say, with all due respect to said Clan, that he'd give anything to be worthy of Sorrel's affections, but then again, he wouldn't force Sorrel into anything at all and -

Maker, he should just give this whole mess up -

Something in his throat tightened when he entered the smaller side kitchen, but it wasn't nervousness. It was a jolt of fear. There was flour spread on the floor, and clear signs of a struggle. Mostly damning though, was the basket of jam pies, tipped over, with one or two pies crushed under the heel of a sharp boot. Sorrel was nowhere to be found, and Adasse immediately went looking around the place for any sign of him ... or who could have him.

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Sorrel stared at Adasse in a state of slowly-increasing desperation. No. No, no, no. No, this couldn't be happening. You see, it was all well and good and private and safe when it was all in his head. You could be as wrong and bad in your head and it didn't matter, because you were wrong, and because no one could see it! There was a safety in being just... as if you were made wrong, wrong by default, because you could imagine whatever you wanted and you wouldn't have to worry about trivial things like reality intruding, because you were safe and wrong.

Confronted with the terrifying reality that he might not be the only one imagining such a thing, such a frighteningly unknowable thing as Adasse reciprocating all of this... then what? Sorrel has no idea.

So he put his face into his hands. Take him back to Darktown, give him the poison again, he chooses death. Throw him into a dank pit with Carker, that's fine, it's all fine, this is fine.

It's fine! Really!

"How," He says, and doesn't know if he's asking how can Cyril be such an ass all the time or something more like how can you possible be waiting for me, "Why?"

For the first time in this conversation, it's Adasse who looks away. Adasse who feels the flush coming up his neck, to his ears. Pressing his hands to the side of the bed, he stares at the floor for a long moment.

"I. Well." Maker's breath, why had this been so much easier talking to Cyril about i? Perhaps because Cyril just understood trying to repress your feelings all the better than Adasse. He huffed out a breath, pushing his dark hair back away from his forehead.

Because. was a horrible answer and he was mortified that his mouth started to form the word. He shook his head, and cleared his throat, "...you're good. And kind. And when you look at me I don't feel ... dirty. I don't feel like I'm mud under your boot. You make me feel ... good things. So. Yeah. That's worth waiting for."

Somewhere in Adasse's stumbling, Sorrel put his hands down again. Not all at once, of course, but slowly, like a halla trying to decide if you were the kind of elf who brought sweetgrass and oats, or the kind that brought arrows and death. Faintly, in the part of him that always sounded a little bit like Beleth, he thought Oh Creators, he's as bad as I am.

And then he reached out, before his brain could catch up with the rest of him, and took Adasse's hand, pulled him closer, and took a breath. There was a sense, not quite of impending doom, but something unkind looming in the near future and Sorrel leapt ahead of it, hope like a shock in his chest, painful, exhilarating; no more hesitation.

"I love you," He said, and even as he heard it said aloud, it still sounded like someone else's voice, someone who wasn't afraid the way that Sorrel was, "I always have. But I don't know what to do, and no one's ever wanted me back. So, I--"

The strange courage seemed to run out all at once. So he did what he always did in these moments: he panicked, and the panic left him frozen, staring in mute terror, like a rabbit. It wasn't a graceful landing.

He hadn't looked up at Sorrel, not while he was finally emerging from his hands. Instead he looked down at his own long fingers. Clean, but calloused with dirt under the fingernails. He had commoner's hands, and Sorrel was pretty much elven royalty and -

It suddenly didn't matter, because Sorrel's hand was on his, and Sorrel was pulling him so he was looking at the other man. Closer now, on purpose, and he was locked on those remarkable eyes when Sorrel said 'I love you' , and broke Adasse's careful world of apathy all to shit.

His dark eyes widened, taking in Sorrel's now that he fell to silence, looking as terrified as Adasse was sure he himself felt. Yet ... yet. He couldn't just leave Sorrel there alone. Sorrel had been the brave one, now he had to meet him half-way. So he leaned closer, locking his eyes on Sorrel's.

"I love you too." Shot bang twing, arrow to the heart. He found himself breathing in deeply, as he leaned in once more. "I don't know what to, either, but ... I know that I am willing to try. Whatever it is I have to."

Right, he could do this. Sorrel would probably slap him or push him to the ground or freeze up more but. But.

He closed the distance and pressed his lips lightly against Sorrel's, then pulled back a few inches. Looking terrified and hopeful, as he added quietly, "Whatever we fumble through, with this ... at least we can do it together?"

He'd thought about this a hundred times. Stupid little fantasies, dreams for lesser desire demons to tease him about. Not always with Adasse, not even usually with any specific person. It was over so quickly, he hardly knew what to think, but it wasn't the action that left Sorrel blinking. Stories put all thought on lips and heaving passion, but for Sorrel it was more about the way Adasse's balance shifted over his hands, the shadow of his shoulders that fell over the blanket, the way the curve of his cheek overtook Sorrel's field of vision. He couldn't seem to help the way his eyes slid shut, even for so brief a thing, like some arcane reflex.

Together?

"Oh yes. Yes, please."

Sorrel took another deep breath, as if to clear his thoughts, and then put his hands up to frame Adasse's face. He pressed forward again, and if Adasse had only sat back properly, Sorrel might have been able to behave sensibly, but he was still so close, mere inches, and it seemed natural to just move in and give another kiss, perhaps a little longer, though he's not sure what exactly he'll do with the extra time. He's still a beginner, forgive him Adasse.

Unfortunately, while the internal world of Sorrel's emotions might have been turned on its head, physical reality stubbornly remained as it had always been: it was still just as terrible an idea to sit up suddenly as it had been a few minutes ago.

Edited 2018-01-30 18:49 (UTC)

Adasse's happiness lit him up from the inside, like a flame to a candlewick, inside a lantern. Glowing big and bright, and he couldn't hide it. Didn't try to. His smile was so big that he thought he might break his own lips smiling so wide.

Oh yes. Yes, please.

It resonated deep within, and he felt his own eyes closing for a moment when Sorrel's hands closed around his face, and he could feel Sorrel's breath against his cheek. His lips parted a little, and he sighed -

Just as Sorrel suddenly tilted backwards and dragged Adasse with him, so his head smacked against Sorrels and he's now half sprawled over Sorrel's lap. He puts his hands up so he doesn't jam his jaw down into Sorrel's collarbone.

Balancing there, he blinked stars from his gaze, and then let out a surprised laugh. "See? We're already doing things together. Including injuring ourselves. Ow."

It doesn't matter though, because he gently bumps their foreheads together again as he leans to kiss Sorrel again. Letting it linger longer, just warmth radiating off them both, the sharp feel of Sorrel's shoulder pressing against his. That, and the slight thunk to his head, made it all real.

It was real. No dream this.

"I was sabotaged," Sorrel complains, petulant but unrepentant, with both eyes squeezed shut to defend against the consequences of his hubris, "I wa--"

He shuts up when Adasse moves, touch silencing him as effectively as anything might. After a moment the dizzy headrush fades and finds that they're just... together. Sharing the warmth. It's only then that Adasse finally kisses him again, sweet and natural, and Sorrel responds automatically. If anything, he's surprised at how awkward it isn't, how simple it all seems, to hold on to Adasse with both hands, to press up into him, and forget to silence the pleased little sigh.

"...I think I really like teamwork," He whispers, when they've gone back to breathing, pressed close on the bed again, "And-- you're alright with, you know; my not having... done... much of anything. Before? I mean, I'm not... Of course you know what I mean."

It was sweet, this closeness. A kind of sweetness he'd never, ever had before. He'd had a lot of fast, dark and dirty. Quick fun times, or longer ones, but nothing like this. It made him more careful, made him pull back first, like kissing Sorrel was spun glass that he could break.

One corner of his mouth lifts, "It has a lot of benefits, yeah?" A glint flashes across his expression, "Sorrel Ashara, are you telling me that you are not some sort of seductive Dalish force of nature? Come to draw all hapless city elf men into your web of attraction?"

He let the teasing smile fade, before he leaned up to kiss Sorrel's brow. "I am all right, with anything you want to give. I just want to be with you."

"Ha," Sorrel can't seem to stop smiling, "No, I'm afraid that's strictly one per clan, and you've already met Cyril."

And oh, even as Adasse's smirk faded, Sorrel's heart clenched to see what replaced it, an expression so gentle and tender that it was nearly painful. Suddenly, all that anxious worry seemed a waste, particularly when Adasse kissed his head, a gesture of love that had nothing to do with sex, and everything to do with simple fondness, with wanting to protect him and see him done well by.

"Well good, now you're making me cry because you're so bloody sweet," That had been meant as a joke, but the slightly soggy tone belied the truth of it, "You'll stay then? I'm not all that tired or anything."

He lied, unconvincingly. Between the hostile tour of Darktown and all the less dangerous excitement, Sorrel would still be running weary even if he hadn't a near encounter with death to round it out.

"But Beleth'll probably want me to sleep this off anyways. And it'd be nice, if you stayed right here. You can't have been comfortable, in the chair."

"I am starting to think you snuck in an extra one." Adasse stated with that same smile as before. A smile that looked worried as Sorrel's tears started to form, and he reached into his pocket for a clean hanky, to dab at his eyes.

"Make sure to proclaim that loudly, so Beleth doesn't horribly murder me, please." Oh Sorrel, come on. Adasse can see the circles under your eyes. The weariness in that bright smile. He pushes himself up on the bed, so they're parallel. He opens his arms, so Sorrel can curl up within them.

"It is not comfortable, so I shall be happy to steal into this bed and cuddle you to sleep." He stated firmly, kissing Sorrel's cheek again. "C'mere. I wish to comfort you."

"Well, I can't say you're not a master thief now," He laughs, gone a little pink but with some effort turns himself into Adasse's reach, settling one arm around his middle so that there can be no mistaking the claim thereby made. Sorrel was not only willing, he was... marking his place. Mine.

"Thank you, ma'nehn," comes the murmur, pressed against Adasse through his shirt, "Goodnight."

"You should know that your ma'nehn is a brilliant master thief." He curls one arm around Sorrel's shoulders, pulling him all the way in so Sorrel could use him as a pillow. He stroked fingers through red hair, kissing his forehead again.

"Good night, sweetheart."

At that, Sorrel almost laughs, at himself as much at the situation. With nothing more than a word and a touch and one chaste kiss, Adasse has him wide-eyed and wondering whether this will always be so surprisingly, so utterly delightful. Even so, the warmth seeps in, with the blanket and the soothing sound of Adasse's breathing against his ear-- it's not long before Sorrel sleeps, heavy and deep, like an exhausted kitten.

And for once in the Gallows, his dreams do not trouble him.

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[Closed] And Fate is Pulling You

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oh my god they are both terrible at this

So. So terrible.

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