June 27, 2004.06.27.04 - ties that bind [tristan][riverfront]
(tristan)
At the garage. All the Eagles know where it is, as well as how to get ahold of him, and after the brief visit earlier, it’s not really surprising that he’s stayed close to home since then. After a bit of cleaning, he stretched out on the bed, the television playing some fuzzy story or another, while the pretty boy dozed.That was hours ago.
Now, he’s stepping out of the shower, toweling off, cursing the fact that the pattern of bruises down his back did not make his shower a very pleasant experience – nor the contortions one normally goes through while toweling off. The bruised rib isn’t helping either. Swears there is a big. bright. red. bullseye on his torso that says “oh! hit me HERE!”
Dustin is still sleeping, and after a brief kiss, he steps into his jeans, and pulls on a t-shirt, before stepping outside to settle on the stoop. 3am and the riverfront is relatively quiet. Pack and lighter materialize, and he lights a cigarette, exhaling slow, easily, while generally enjoying the coolness of the night air, vs. the earlier sweltering heat.
(james)
3am and the Riverfront is relatively quiet
that's what makes the soft query crack like a sudden gunshot"Gotta ligh'?"
words spill past lips in nothing more than a murmur, really
but this far removed from Chicago's more populated streets
they're ringing clear as a bell in the moist chill of early morning
unmarred by the constant background of civilization's whitenoise cacophany
out here? here that's only a distant hum of engines and neon
granting one raggedyman Bone Gnawer the chance to relax, if only for a few, rare momentsstucco'd grains bite into the curved muscle of arm pillowing his lean
dreads spilling haphazardly across the yoke of his shoulders
the garage walls did little to cover the sound of pipes channeling water within
so given the time..... James bided his until someone made an appearance
rather than disturb sleep (.... more like interrupt) with knuckles hammering on the doornot everybody lives on Eagle Pack time, after all
(tristan)
Yeah, he jumps a little (...ow.) before the voice actually filters through and is recognized. Sometimes the gift of Totemphone would be nice, but as always, the pull of brotherhood is tighter then anything else.Well then. There’s an easy grin as he chuckles. “Don’t I always?” and hands over the lighter, letting the neon pink (strippa pink!) lighter rest in fingertips outstretched by long arm toward his bro. “How long ya been waitin?” also known as, how much did you hear [and why didn’t you just join in......]? There are few reasons for taking a shower at 3am in the morning other then simply because one is awake and rank, after all.
And Tristan, he still lives on Eagle time. Always has. Maybe it’s the Eagles that live on fagboy time. Wouldn’t Decker find that amusing.... nah. probably not.
(james)
it probably wasn't Tristan's beauty sleep that stayed knocking hand
instead, perchance the thought such a shower was probably highly necessary
given the aftermath of the last time the Ahroun knew Dustin was around"Noh long." a pause, filled with ficked bic, well, flicked to set spark at the tip of Camel already clipped between straight lines of white teeth.... lengthened by the ambience wrought in exhaled smoke mixing with the hour's decorative sulferous streetlamp just down yonder way "Tha' rough, 'uh?"
brow cocks curiously towards mop-resembling mane
he saw that wince, allright(tristan)
He runs his fingers through curls, and settles to some reasonable amount of comfortable slouch as he contemplates how exactly to answer that. The last thing he needs is to give James a reason to go at Decker again, and be the cause of some riff there. Sober now, the reflections of last nights folly are a bit clearer. And while he doesn’t regret a damn thing he said – he’s rather certain James won’t take likely to Decker manhandling his kin.Could go the easy way out and simply say yes. And in fact, that’s what he does. As long as the bruises aren’t seen, he may not get caught in the untruth. “Pretty much. But worth it.” Though that – is the exact way to word it to be true for both situations.
fielded that ball – let’s see where the next volley heads.
(james)
surprisingly, the return volley doesn't really head anywhere
chin dipping as the Ahroun nods acceptance of the rather... vague.... explanation
doubting there would have been any fallacy from the kinsman in the first place
there's little reason for James to push the issue into detailed accounts of the last twenty-four hour's exploits
content instead to blow smoke rings at a fairly clear spot of curb just over there
seeming to do nothing more than simply enjoying a quiet moment in good company
the way the moon's swelling in the sky above.... these peaceful moments won't be so easy to find all too soon"Fig'red I'd stop by... s'on th' way back a th' fac'ry a work." doubted you'd be asleep the unsaid portion "See if y'r settlin' in 'gain allrigh'."
strangely idle conversation
which is, also, the unadulterated truth
but deep in earthen umber eyes - it shows
James got too comfortable and familiar with Family being so near
even if he hasn't been the most common of faces around the old building
and it takes a certain period of adjustment once these things change
happens when you're the only Gnawer in a pack full of Fenrir(tristan)
He knows the feeling. Though he loves being this close to Dustin, to having his own place, it takes a certain period of adjustment to realize you can’t simply yell across the room to pull you’re family member over and show them some strange little thing, or relate some tale, or just thump them on the shoulders for being your brother. No other reason ever really needed.He well remembers just –how- much time the kin spent at the Condo after first moving into his own little apartment. And how often James was a fixture in said apartment. Periods of adjustment always necessary. He looks up and meets that gaze, and it’s all writ in the soft little grin that plays over his lips. He knows. He understands.
“So, pull up a piece of cement and let me get you a beer. I –think- we might have a slice or three of pizza left too if your hungry...” only left over because they’d already eaten their way through one and a half pies themselves. “Settling in alright – even got us a real bed this time around. T-bone, he’s discussin with Dustin our renting the whole building. Not very big, but fits just fine for us, and rooms for the kids.” grinned, playfully.
(james)
"Alrea'y plannin' a more kids, 'uh?"an amazing amount of levity in his tone for how close the Full is
(working off steam slinging freight and feed around for several hours helps, too)
cock-eyed smile speading easy tease above rugged jawline
one brow lifted for good, method acting measure before weight shifts
pulling the lanky Garou of the wall towards the stoop's more comfortable reclinetwo steps down from his brother, James leans back to triangulate his weight on elbows
stretching out the kinks physical labor stiffened around long spine
BDUs extending ankles to cross lazily quarter way across the walk"Beer'd be d'vine." frown appears, staining this oddly wax of poetic phrase, and torso twists so a hand can reach to brush away smear of beige dust shadowing thigh somehow missed in shift-end cleanup.... though given the patterning of sweat-glued grime across tanned and inked flesh of hovering arm, the attention is not particularly successful if making a difference in tusseled appearance "Though.... hard press a b'lieve two Gnawers'd leave pizza sittin' 'roun' all d'fenseless...."
(tristan)
He chuckles, and watches as his brother sits down, and shakes his head. “Well, Dustin did say if I keep bringing home strays I’d best get a real job. Gonna break the garage into two rooms, Kemps, and one for Rumor too. Take the rest of the building for ourselves, and the kids have their own entrance, and don’t feel like I’m ‘Mom’ing them too much.”He takes a final drag off his cigarette, and flicks it off into the gutter, nodding as he agrees to the beer, and then outright laughing at the last, hand sliding to press against skin above sore rib, behind the gaze of James, especially as he plucks some bit of grime from BDUs.
A moment, a wicked little grin, as he leans down, and murmurs... “My mouth was full.” as reason for there still being some pizza left. He chuckles, and pushes to a stand with a small grunt of effort, before slipping inside to retrieve beer, and what’s left of the (2nd, mind you. When Kemp’s home, they order three full ones, sometimes four.) pizza on the table.
A few moments, and he’s back again, settling down, chill of beer well iced in cooler inside resting against his brother’s shoulder to take before handing over the poor defenseless pizza too.
(james)
and even though animal senses clearly note the door swinging back open behind him
and even though James should clearly know better
the Ahroun just about comes. out. of. his. SKIN when the iced bottle hits warm flesh
lingering heat of exertion in muscles beneath suddenly twisting protest's offense
wifebeater exposed tan and ashen scars literally craaaaaawling in situpsquirm to get away"Hey." outright snarled as the Fostern outright snatches offered, defenseless, pizza... and just as quickly the mood shifts again, snappish outburst tempered into that familiarly easy and lopsided grin "Thank'."
note the deliberate lack of comment to the current versions of explanation
(tristan)
Oh. So noted.He just laughs, because truly, James knew it was coming, or at least should have, as the taller, lankier kin slides back to reoccupy his step, opening his own beer as he just.... grins, and lifts his beer in mischivious toasting gesture that matches that dancing look in dark gaze.
“Welcome. I lied though.”
Oh! True confessions of the Pretty boy Kin!
What is it now? The truth of the past 24 hours?
Some long lost love come back to haunt him?
What is behind the lazy gaze that slides over the resettling form of his brother?No... it is something far more terrifying, far more heartbreaking!
it is...
“There’s only two pieces left, not three.”
(james)
shoulders flex and roll the chill's offending memory from surface flesh
a scowl that should appear getting lost somewhere in the translation
the wonderful affect of food that.... disappears.....
the two slices sandwhiched together for ease of consumption in all of about six biteslo, the Ahroun does not chew, instead he simply inhales and swallows in true Bone Gnawer style
then cracks open the beer
(tristan)
He chuckles and shakes his head, tipping the bottle back and swallowing several times. At least by now he’s lost hangover’s edge, and is able to laugh and relax. Unlike earlier visit to the factory.“Shoulda seen Kemp earlier. All decked out – found himself a kiddy pool and lawn chair. All decked out for sunbathing, ghetto style, complete with drink in hand, styrophone cup with a little umbrella and everything. Kept trying to get Imogen to join him...”
Casual the conversation. Easy shift of telling all to telling nothing, to telling all again. Brotherhood is like that.
“Decker did instead. Was rather amusing in a somewhat disturbing kind of way...” wry chuckle.
(james)
instead of coming out of his skin at the latest turn of convesational events
James practically chokes on the mouthful of beer
coughing his interpretation of a laugh"Jus' somewha'?" reaching to wipe away drops of amber with the back of his hand, gloriously ignoring the transferrance of dusty grime leaving smeared trail slashing across the lower half of features, simply because at this point - it doesn't make a fucking difference, now does it, just as desperate for his own shower if for an entirely different reason... and procrastinating grandly by allowing the hand to continue it's journey and raise bottle in victory's cheer "Th' South sh'll rise 'gain.... 'n this time w'th a grea' tan!"
(tristan)
He can’t help but crack up, thumping his bro helpfully on the shoulders as he near chokes, grinning as arm wraps around belly, hand pressed across spread of back, so as to minimize the ache from continued mirth. He leans over bent knees, beer dangling from outstretched arm, the other pressed between chest and thighs as thin white cotton stretches over back and shoulders.“Here, here!” Beer lifts in salute, still laughing. “It was somethin, alright. Justified by the fact the Modi was in the somewhat suspiciously murky water legs stretched out under Kemp and the chair he’d sat on. Either way, it was quite.... frightening. I think even Imogen managed something of an amused grin once or twice.”
Justified, because heaven forbid the modi be that close to another man, even a kid, without some sort of explanation. He doesn’t mention the continued grime trailed over James’ face, because it just doesn’t matter. Unless he could get him into the shower..... behave pretty boy. Behave.
(james)
and for a moment James just staaaaares
in part, morbidly curious about the frightening amusement of the situation
in part, divinely thankful he was otherwise detained in the Stockyard's warehouse
it's one of those times you just don't know about
and as much as you want to find out more to appease the rising curiosity
logic and self preservation prevails to merrily continue the conversation on it's way
(carry on folks, nothing to see here, just move it along....)
head shaking the remnants of his laughter
lubricated by a few healthy (....?) swallows from the bottleif his eyes stray in glance that notices the protective posture or dark shadows beneath thin white cotton
he doesn't outwardly betray the observation or whatever thoughts it may subsequently induce
not until he's drained anouther inch and a half of liquid gold from sweating glass"Need me a bine it?"
chin lifting in gesture towards oh so protected ribs should his brother look over
(tristan)
He laughs, shaking his head as James Stares. “I’da given anything for a camera man. It was really priceless... and then Decker started plucking at the duct tape holding the whole contraption together, and Kemp was scolding him in a very mom like way, and he jerked his hand back as if he was caught in the cookie jar.... I’m telling ya, I’d make millions on Funniest home videos if I’d just had a cam...”nothing to see here, at all. he’s tipping his bottle back, and drinking down several healthy swallows, as it’s still on the healthy level and not where he was last night. Surprised Kemp didn’t lecture him on drunkeness. again. heh.
Then it’s noted, and part of him considers just ignoring anything was said at all, and another was wondering how long it would take, and partly he’s been concocting a story that would keep his brother from going after his packmate. But mostly he’s remembering Kemp in his shorts flopping around happily in the murky water of a kiddy pool.
Finally, as he glances over, he just nods. “Would ya? Trying not to worry Dustin much – and he can’t quite get em taped tight enough.” chuckles. “too afraid to hurt me.”
(james)
appreciation lingers in the wayward curve of remaining smile
but attention shifts gears to concentrate on the injury obviously more than originally surmised
lanky guttermutt stretching to stand, so that he can offer a hand down to his brother
nodding a curt acceptance of the task, even if such cut and dry response is flavored with the shades of devious smirk"See.... dunn go' tha' pro'l'm." in fact, that might even be a leer "'cuase I know ya like 't when I rough ya up."
payback for that mouthful comment a bitch, isn't it
(tristan)
He takes the offered hand, and then growls somewhat convincingly, even as he’s chuckling and shaking his head, gaze lowered as he grits his teeth through that lift upwards, flex of jaw hidden behind slide of corkscrew curls. “Tease. A fuckin tease, that’s all you are....”Like he’s any better, of course. Upright, he lifts his gaze and grins, before heading to the door. “Don’t worry bout waking him up. He’s exhausted and sleeps through near anything anyway. Got a kit in the bathroom.”
He opens the door and moves inside. Same old garage, with beat up lumpy (comfortable) couch, the mural they’d worked on still on the back wall, including the bottom left hand corner obsene contribution by Kemp, bed in the far corner with a lump of blankets that is, presumably, Dustin. “S’more beer in the cooler by the couch...” offered, easily, as he goes to the bathroom for the medkit. No Kin in his right mind would be without one, after all. Inside some rather.. expensive.. things in there too... pays to have another Kin with access to actual medical supplies. How else would he have his own stitch kit? But it’s the tape he paws through and finds, before returning to the ‘living room’ and his bro.
(james)
another series of nods follows the kinsman inside
James responsibly locking the garage door behind him
(Paranoid are ya, Elderman?)
by the time Tristan's coming back out with the taping supplies
the Ahroun's waving him back towards the bathroom with two beers in hand"S'better ligh'." excused with yet another playful smirk "'n common, you 'spect me not a tease when gift'd th' perfec' opp'rtunity a getcha in th' bathroom 'n barkin' orders a strip?" one slightly longer step forward and the Full Moon's acting as if reaching out with one hand to feel the prettybio's forehead "You runnin' a fev'r there too, Tris?" chide concluded when wrist twists to instead offer the new bottle
(tristan)
.....blink. and flush. Yes, he managed to get the pretty boy to blush as he leans into what would be a touch across his forhead, before reaching up to snag the beer and just shakes his head. “you’ve been hanging with me too long. Stealing all my best moves.”Grins. “gonna kneel before me in the shower too? I’m told that’s one of my best moves.....”
And he turns and makes his way right back toward that bathroom, and he doesn’t even start to strip until that order comes. Only when it does (...ooooooooh like the forceful command stuff...) does he finally peel off that shirt while facing James. Prolonging the sight of his back, perhaps, though there’s the mirror right behind him. He hooks a thumb against the button of his jeans and arches a brow. “Want I should take these off too?”
(james)
the prettyboi flushes
the guttermutt..... smirks
as for sure, he knew... he. KNEW.... what the response would be
probably just as Tristan could have expected the sudden silence responding instead of the readying quipJames..... just didn't have an answer for that one.... not even a word
saved by the bell, or at least the substituting strip at which he can get away with grinned commentary
beer cracked open during this verbal spar intermission
which has his head tilting back down from swallow at juuuuust about the right time to see bruised reflection over Tristan's shoulder
brows furrow, frown begins replacing that grinned commentary at the latter parts of slow swallow, arm lowers to set bottle on the counter
fingers still chilled by clinging condensation slide over the top of his brother's shoulder
for all the strength the Ahroun has beneath his human mask - the touch is light enough to suggest a turn without adding further insult to existing injurymedical practitioner James is not, however even he can tell these bruises do not come from previously assumed activities
and having been in more than his fair share of brawls
the raggedyman is pretty damned sure what did cause them, if not who
(..... rage flares....)
switchstance demeanor clicking into gear again so that he can devise a response for this round
highlighting it with scythe slash of that forever crooked grin"Depen'...." the touch of calloused fingers against Tristan's flank completing the turn which puts his back beneath the best of available lighting so that the Fostern can properly summise what he's about to deal with, just as pointed misdirection of sight from the hardening lines of his jaw or the flickering storm brewing in dark earthen eyes.... though... there is that mirror ".... 'e try a break y'r hips, too?"
(tristan)
Rage. flares. And he knew it would. Part of him cheers the fact, but it is mostly overshadowed by the flicker of worry in his own dark gaze though the slide of chilled hand, caress of fingers over shoulder that beckons, amazingly gently, a turn to better see under the brightness of bathroom’s lighting.He knows there is a tightening of jaw, he knows that he’s being pointedly directed away so as not to see it, or the brewing storm, even through the little quip at the end. There’s a chuckle. “depends.” answered in kind... “which answer will have you getting into my pants....”
A fair share of brawls leads to the knowledge of what would cause such bruising, just not the knowledge of who. dark gaze lifts to meet umber in mirror, to watch the blossoming cloud that threatens to take over earthen tones, and there is a clink of glass as his bottle is set on the sink, and he completes the turn, a full 360 degrees to face James again. He slides his hands up, until fingers caress across mismatched jaw, head dropping, tipping, as if he might break through all teases and kiss him, though it stops with his forehead resting lightly against James’... “...don’t. Just... don’t.”
For a moment, that’s all he says.. and then it’s very soft... “I’ll fess up the whole story if you want me too, but you have to swear, swear not to go after him about it first. It was my fault.”
After all. It is always the Kin who are blamed....
A pause, as thumb, callused from years of playing and pulling music softly from wood and strong slides lightly over James’ lips (this close – this close it is a burning agony of sudden need...) before he manages to pull away, and meet his gaze evenly, and turn back around, finding safety in reflections gaze, rather then the burning heat of facing it dead on.
(james)
don't.... just.... don't
(please)
and for the moment, the beast stands silent beneath kinsman's halting touch: as if whatever burned primally subdermal within them communicated through the thin barriers of skull and flesh remaining between their minds and words, so clumsily vulgar, were no longer necessary to illustrate the complexities of animalistic impression
ancestor's body language transcends the limitations of defined, modern phrasesoft stroke across the Warrior's mouth quelling sideblast avalanche of need
it would be seen as nothing more than one shushing away the other's livid nightmares
even if it is the nightmare itself that lurks behind the surface of steadily returned gaze
shortened distance warmed by the controlling exhale spilling humid breath cascade crash onto musician's knuckles instead of venomous demands
affection accepted, request granted, invisable energy crackling fiercely against the silence
molecular war brewing storm in the silence that raises hairs bravely guarding exposed, damaged skin
limitless the possibilities of what would break right. now. should the distance close by pushing aside playful tease for the sake of fatal temptation
the human closes his eyes as the wolf rumbles sighing protest by swallowing instead urges fueled by wrath
fingertips that should bear claws dragging lucid trails through bodyheat's change in escaping turn
for the moment..... he will not"Think it'd be th' firs' thing we brawl' ov'r....." rhetorical question escaping through stating sigh, James not needing the second and third guesses to narrow down the possibilities of who possessed the strength to cause the damage, as well as the position to warrant terms of oath regardless of what motivated the assault - Tristan doesn't have to worry about finding the courage to meet James' burning gaze, it's cast downwards to follow explorative trails of fingertips across darkly swollen skin "Maybe I shoul'n' know."
(tristan)
battle won for the moment, for now, he will not.Eyes close, however, as rhetorical question escapes, lashes falling over darkened gaze that no longer tries to meet that in the mirror, whispered kiss across cheeks as they seem to lead head to fall forward, to sag, to hang. Perhaps in shame, though it’s unlikely. No matter what has happened, no matter what he’s done, he’s rarely, if ever, been shamed by it. Unless it involved not standing up for what he felt was right – or he’d hurt Momma Grace.
This doesn’t fall into either category.
It also doesn’t stop the soft sigh as words filter through, and even softer moan as fingers explore over the details writ in swollen skin... the skin is warm, heated, though next to rage warmed fingertips it may not seem so.... and the shiver that slides through lean frame is countered by tightening of fingers against the edge of counter... though it does nothing to stop the subtle shift of weight into the touch either.
left broken or not, he’d still risk that temptation, the satiation of burning need that sizzles under skin, screams through flesh under the softness of wondering fingers...
he finally finds a voice. Still that achingly soft murmur, laced with continued soft moans bought by trailing fingertips... answering first. “Likely not...” be the first... “but I won’t let it be the last.... not if I can help it.” there’s a little sound, amusement now, as head lifts again, and seeks the soft umber of the warrior’s gaze in the mirror again. Soft, the barest hints given of what went on.... “Maybe, but I’d rather you not decide to ask him.”
Only when that gaze lifts and meets his own, does he continue with the shortest possible version. “Was drunk. we had some words regarding my reclining against Dustin, as well as his pimping out packmates and kin. Then we had some more about my pushing his buttons, intentionally or not.” And he pushed once too far. Twice, really. “That’s all.” And then, even now, he can’t help the sudden slide of that grin, even now he can’t resist the tease.. “You know damn well how loose my lips can be while under the influence...”
(james)
there are many types of silences
some are peaceful, remaining much as the first moments the two Gnawers spent together on the stoop
some are frightening, filled by the sub-audial crescendo of an Ahroun's mounting Rage
some are contemplative, as touch suffices to narrate the phrases for which vocabulary fails
some are expectant, merely placeholding anticipation's measure building the bridge connecting once more the abstract and concrete realms
reluctantly, the raggedyman draws his gaze away from the mottled patterns of tender flesh
wandering touch stilling, rough palms flattening warmly just below the furthest reaches of temper's stain
agitation drawing them away far too soon only to settle in loose coil encircling the kinsman's shoulders
but here they remain, basking in temporary comfort of peaceand still, his silence reigns
jaw flexing against the currents of rambling thought straining to evolve to word
balance sought between the explosion of instinct and intellect
chin drops in a nod that shakes ropey dreads affirming some subconscious decision"Wou'd'n' get far ask'n' 'm." wryly bitter humor tainting chuffed breath, stretching to finally reach for the tape, crackling presence of what heats his own skin rising as the meager distance between reduces to half "Wou'd'n' un'erstan' why I'm so mad a him bruisin' you when I' leavin' marks 'n Im'gen."
the distance expands to facilitate a shrug
and eye for an eye and a bruise for a bruise
dark gaze falls away, excused by the requirement judging length of tape stripped free(tristan)
So many silences. So many ways to say what’s running rampant behind dark eyes, locked under skin, under the slide of fingertips. So many ways to not say anything at all. The easiest, of course, is through touch.A tough he desires. wants. needs. dreams of. craves. He could fuck a thousand men, and never feel what he does when fingers spread, so lightly, palms flattening just below tenderized skin, and it’s written in the way lip is bitten in attempt to hold back that moan that escapes anyway. it’s written in the way his own hands free the counter from tightened grip to lift and slide over loosely coiled circle of his shoulders.
Fleeting, and temporary, the peace gained, but it is with a slight lessoning of tension that reluctant nod brings, affirming the decision that results in crackling of heat intensifying through the reducing distance, only to have it reversed, and a blink lifting gaze to study his brother when that gaze falls away.
It takes all of half a minute, perhaps even less, to put it together. Defenses. “Ah.” and he can’t help the softness of the chuckle as he nods. It would certainly be something that wouldn’t be understood – for several reasons.
This time, when hands return to the edge of counter, it is to brace for what is about to come, for the rip of tape, for the wrap that will likely steal his breath away again.
(james)
"'n you' seen how far we get tryin' a discuss things." idle commentary negotiating the time passed while tearing several more strips of tape, tacked within easy reach to dangle freely from the edge of the counter "Seems only time we get 'long when 'r mouths 'r too busy wi' food a piss each oth'r off, r claws too fulla the Wyrm a have time a turn 'n each oth'r."while the roll of shoulders into another shrug was supposed to be as idle as the previous commentary
it isn't hard to notice that such a fractious existance with his packmate troubles the Ahroun
there are certain things a Bone Gnawer has to accept when willing packing with Fenrir
(men are from mars, women are from Venus, Gnawers are from Pluto, and Get hailed from another galaxy entirely)
but that still doesn't dismiss the man's existance behind the Warrior's fury
made all the worse considering the Modi is perhaps the oldest friend (were they ever friends beyond packmates?) James currently has"Think we las' longer in th' ring dukin' it out th'n tryin a hol' a decen' conv'rsat'n." a wry grin flickers hesitatnt appearance in his reflection, finally looking back to the mirror and at his brother.... curve slowly and slyly widening as it dawns upon the Fostern just exactly what he gets to say next: "Brace y'rsel', boi."
playfulness marginally returning in a wiggle of brow
before the taping begins without any other warning
James plays doctor in the same way he was taught to defend himself on the streets of Albany
finishing the job fast and hard before he has change to steal more than that first breath(tristan)
He chuckles, softly. Often wondered how James ended up packed with the fenrir, as many who meet him do. It’s easily to learn why James is the PR for the group, but not so easy to see why, exactly. But he knows just how deeply that loyalty to pack goes, far beyond the trouble that brews in burnt umber. The oldest friend, is not necessarily the best, of course, but still, the loyalty is there.A nod, understanding, before he looks up to meet that grin brow lifting at the slyly widening smile before he says...
oh, gonna be like that, hm?
But of course, before there’s any chance to reply beyond the parting of lips on the pretty boy, breath is stolen with the down and dirty efforts of the Ahroun playing doctor.... (somehow, playing doctor was supposed to be a much more fulfilling experience...) He could very well be a graduate of the Imogen Slaughter Course of Medicine 101. Do it fast, do it dirty, and be done with it.
Hand lifts from counter, slapping against the mirror with a grunted cry, fingers curling into a fist as he’s finally let go and can bend forward to rest his forehead against cool glass while the other fingers maintain the tightest hold on rim of counter near hip. finally, a wry twist to lips as he lifts his head, and takes a careful breath. “So. was it good for you?”
(james)
Tristan nearly collapses against the counter
quite understandably taking a few moments to refamiliarize himself with breathing
the Ahroun can't help quiet chuckle during the step to the side
comfortably leaning his weight against the remaining free space
by the time the prettyboi's able to look back up
James is holding out a lit cigarette in true post co.... event.... fashion
the practically silly grin what he, thus, does not
relying on the so-called cigarette-worthyness to say it all(tristan)
He can’t help the laughter that escapes, as he lifts his fingers to slide over James’ hand, grasping the cigarette as he leans closer, again, closing that distance, as if he might go all the way, before pausing, and with a wink. “Thank you.”Standing upright, he tests the taping job with an easy slide of fingers and very careful breath. a nod, as he brings the cigarette to lips and inhaling deeply. a nice slow exhale, as he turns to lean against the counter as well. The small bathroom doesn’t afford much space, and others would flee from the press of rage in such close quarters, but Tristan isn’t like the others. He accepts it all, him, completely. “You do know, th’next time you say t’me... it won’t be t’use tape...”
Oh, so confident, that chuckle...
(james)
"T'be hones'...."following admission paused in the roll of softly growling chuckle
James doesn't have to stretch far to steal the smoke back
he doesn't even shift his weight from where gravity kept it against the counter
simply extending an arm in the small, enclosed space
illustrating the comment with absent wave before inhale"Nev'r 'spected a say it th' firs' time 'bout tape."
whether he ever expected to say it at all....
(tristan)
Well then. “ah, so you admit there will be another time...” teased, just as easily as breath, watching the absent gesture that is followed by exhalations plume, body curved in easy slouch afforded now by ribs additional support. A hand drops between them, to rest against the counter, of course, though the tightness of the space gives just enough additional heat against hip to signify the contact, and the touch, is quite deliberate.“It’s tempting....”
to say the least – though he doesn’t exactly clarify what is so tempting at first. But after a moment, his hand slides across to trail down grime covered bdu, fingertips tugging at the fabric before he finishes his thought... “To demand you strip...”Pause. of course. He is a showman – timing is everything.
“so I could at least get you into the shower, and into something clean...”
[and supremely evil fade by wolf, heh]
Posted by james at June 27, 2004 12:00 AM