[He holds it up, palm out. The skin around the cut is swollen and red like all fresh wounds have a tendency to be; the cut itself is eking a little blood.]
Stings.
[He's had worse. The whole team's had worse. It's worth the minor meltdown.]
[Yes, he does. That word that wove through his mind during his little dip into Alec's past -- Mending. He imagines it's not a magic he particularly wants to focus on, at least not enough to put back together a cupboard full of broken glass.]
[ Alec does always deal. Perhaps not in the best or most healthy way. He's been doing it for decades, shoving all that nasty stuff beneath his mask of cutting sarcasm and engineered cockiness. It's what he does.
His gaze flicks over to Henry. ]
Temporary insanity, maybe? I really don't know. It just kind of felt like after all the stuff you told me, it was something you should see.
[ That gives Alec pause. Does he regret it? He always knew that if, for some anomalous reason, someone were to get close enough to learn the truth of his past and all the things he'd done, it would hurt. And this fucking hurts.
But it hurts in the same way it always has. The pain he felt yesterday was no different than the pain he'd felt years ago. There's nothing new here, apart from there being someone who's seen him for what he is and hasn't shied away from it. ]
[For what reason would Henry shy away? He is just as bad, done reprehensible things without even a mote of regret or guilt. To find someone else who’s cut from the same cloth is so, so rare — and he’s the opposite of repulsed. He is inherently drawn to it, the same way he would have been drawn to it twenty-seven years ago if he had ever found someone like him.
Well. Maybe not exactly the same way.
I don't think I do. That fixation’s flaring up fast and hot again, and Henry tilts his head, assessing that reply, turning those succinct words over and over in his mind. And, in a way strikingly similar to how he touched him in Alec’s memory, he reaches out again. Left hand, the one with the stinging cut still eking crimson. He places long fingers along the curve of man’s jawline, letting his hand slot slowly against the shape of his face.
Blood smears against skin. It's warm.]
It’s a shame you come from universes away. That you never resided in my world, that I never got to meet you years and years ago. [Red-blue eyes look at him like a curiosity. They nearly look through him.] I wonder how things might have turned out differently.
[ And just like that, something in the atmosphere shifts. Maybe it was some misguided sense of connection that allowed Alec to let a man like Henry into his head in the first place, let him see the darkest day of his life. Now that link hums between them, like a live wire. Electric.
This time when Henry's fingers brush against his face, he doesn't flinch. He's not young and broken like he was in that memory. Well, certainly still broken, but it's different now. Now he wields his broken edges like a weapon, much in the same way that Henry does. He's still under that touch, quiet, like he often is when just observing. Like he was moments before as Henry spit venom and crushed a glass with his bare hand.
Henry's palm is still bleeding, painting a red streak against his skin. Alec's hand comes up to curl around his wrist, though he simply holds it there, fingers on the other man's pulse. ]
Henry...
[ It's half warning, half... something else that Alec's not sure he could name if he tried. Those mismatched eyes bore a hole right into him, and Alec stares back, the low glow in his own eyes flickering. Lightning, trapped behind the storm clouds. What would things have been like, had they known each other a lifetime ago? Maybe they would have saved each other, slotted their broken pieces together into something a little more whole and acceptable. Or maybe they would have just sent each other spiraling faster, farther. There's no way to know. ]
[There’s no way to know. Maybe somewhere far, far from here, there is a version of Alec and Henry that are happier than they are, that resemble people more than they do the shattered pieces that once made up a person. Or perhaps it’s worse. Perhaps if they had met earlier, they would have obliterated each other in a collision course of resentment and bitterness.
None of that matters now, of course. Now, he stands before this other man, and the moment stills—like the seconds of a clock stuck in place—dangling on the cusp of a decision. His pulse ticks steadily under his touch. Henry is gauging something, the way he looks at him, watching the storm clouds in his eyes. There’s lightning there, wanting to spill out, and it reminds him of the angry storm of that hellscape plane when he was banished there, falling and falling, searing his skin upon entry, all ceaseless furor.
He could take that as a warning. The same could happen, and he’ll come away just as scarred and burned. Yet there’s something else in Alec’s tone, wrapped up in his name, and Henry wants to root it out, drag it kicking and screaming into the daylight, just to see if it’s there. Wouldn’t it be exhilarating if it was?
He leans in to kiss him, diving headfirst into that storm.]
[ It really is like time is stuck, seconds stretching on until they feel like minutes, like hours, the two of them trapped in one another's orbit. Watching, waiting for something to happen, for the sudden tension to finally snap.
Henry ultimately makes the first move, but Alec knows exactly where this is going the second he seeks to close the space between them. This is a bad idea, something in the back of his mind helpfully supplies. Most of Alec's life has been built on bad ideas, so what's one more? Letting Henry into his head had also been a bad fucking idea, and now Alec's got old ghosts clawing at the inside of his ribs, raking over old wounds until they're fresh again. He could use a distraction. An outlet.
Is Henry Creel the best option? In some ways, absolutely fucking not, but in others? Well, maybe.
It isn't pretty, the way Alec responds when Henry kisses him. It isn't gentle or sweet or fleeting. It's mean, and sharp, and hungry. Thunder rolls through the small space of the dorm's kitchen, setting the dishes rattling in their cupboards. His hand comes away from Henry's wrist only so he can curl both his fists into the front of his shirt instead, keeping him captive as their lips crash together.
And when the kiss finally breaks, so too does the storm in Alec's eyes, the glow gone bright and wild. ]
I don't think you understand what you're getting into, Henry Creel.
[After a day of biting anger, culminating in an outburst that earned him a cut across the palm, maybe an outlet isn’t so bad of an idea. Henry usually relies upon violent impulses to qualify, but there’s something surprisingly sharp, unrelenting, and greedy about Alec’s response that could possibly fill that void, instead. His lips are harsh (a kiss actually returned, not rebuffed, not rejected— oh, this was a risk worth taking) and there's nothing gentle about it. That's all well and good, because Henry has no care for delicacy, either.
He makes an impatient noise as Alec pulls away, nearly chasing him again, but he’s halted by the look in his eyes, shining and wild. The other man’s hands are fisted into his clothes, but Henry’s fingertips press a little harder into his jawline. Did thunder roll through the kitchen, clattering plates and glassware? He certainly didn’t notice.
He grins at that challenge. It’s a little sharp at the edges.]
No? [There’s a sense of hot impulse between them; but beyond that, someone’s hooks are deeply rooted in the other person, now, and it’s impossible to tell who’s pulling who.] Then why don’t you show me?
[ Oh, this is such a bad idea, but there's no backing out now. The claws of whatever this is have hooked into them both. Alec's honestly not sure if the thundering in his ears is his own heartbeat or an act of his possession. ]
Not in the fucking kitchen, I'm not.
[ He releases his grip on Henry with a small shove. Nothing major, just enough to buy some distance. ]
[Henry is far less concerned about whether this is a bad idea or not. He’s too busy being driven forward by possessive impulse and the promise of releasing his frustration, twisting it up into something far more indulgent. The livewire of something wound taut between them can’t be ignored now, or it’ll just muddy his thoughts for the rest of the day. For the next few days, a week— longer.
Pushed away, he catches himself on the backstep, eyes nearly delighted by Alec’s forcefulness.]
Fine. Yours.
[It doesn’t make any difference; both are barren, both offer more privacy than a kitchen. At least he’s visited Alec’s once before.
Henry schools his smile into something frustratingly calm, though the undercurrent of heat isn’t so easily smoothed down. It’s time to find sanctuary in his room, then.
He’ll take it upon himself to shut the door with his powers whenever they enter.]
[ Alec follows a pace or two behind Henry. He hasn't planned for this eventuality at all - in fact, it was the last thing on his mind - but he does have enough foresight now to stop and snatch something from the kitchen cabinet before they vacate.
And once he's in the room, the door swings shut behind him, seemingly of its own accord. He'd make a remark about it, but frankly he does not care. Privacy is privacy, and he's on Henry again a second, crashing their mouths together like it's the only thing keeping him fucking sane right now.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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How's your hand?
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Stings.
[He's had worse. The whole team's had worse. It's worth the minor meltdown.]
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[ A mild shrug. ]
Just maybe try not to break our shit next time. I don't know if the powers that be will give us extras.
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[Honestly, be glad he didn't level the whole cupboard.]
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Mending isn't exactly my strong suit. Any more than that and I probably can't fix it.
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[If he's casually sniping back and forth like this, at least it's a sign that Alec has reeled him back into vague normalcy again.]
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[ Alec shrugs. Henry might recall that this sort of magic was a specialty of Alec's dad. Useful as it is, it's probably a bit. Fraught.
And yay for him. He'll add "bringing Henry Creel back from the brink" to the list of talents he didn't know he had. ]
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We can't all be perfect.
[Right, Henry.
Speaking of trips down memory lane-]
How are you feeling, by the way?
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After the other day? Fine, I guess.
I really wasn't ready for how shitty that would make me feel.
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[The lilt of his tone implies that he really did not consider that; this only comes to him belatedly.]
I think you're taking it well, actually.
[Or he puts up a strong front. That's more likely.]
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Shit sucks, but I've had longer than most to deal, I guess. That was, what? Forty five years ago.
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But maybe that's a good segue into another question he never got a chance to ask.]
...Why did you let me do it? Visit one of your worst memories?
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His gaze flicks over to Henry. ]
Temporary insanity, maybe? I really don't know. It just kind of felt like after all the stuff you told me, it was something you should see.
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“Temporary insanity.” So you regret it? For how it’s made you feel?
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But it hurts in the same way it always has. The pain he felt yesterday was no different than the pain he'd felt years ago. There's nothing new here, apart from there being someone who's seen him for what he is and hasn't shied away from it. ]
... No. I don't think I do.
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Well. Maybe not exactly the same way.
I don't think I do. That fixation’s flaring up fast and hot again, and Henry tilts his head, assessing that reply, turning those succinct words over and over in his mind. And, in a way strikingly similar to how he touched him in Alec’s memory, he reaches out again. Left hand, the one with the stinging cut still eking crimson. He places long fingers along the curve of man’s jawline, letting his hand slot slowly against the shape of his face.
Blood smears against skin. It's warm.]
It’s a shame you come from universes away. That you never resided in my world, that I never got to meet you years and years ago. [Red-blue eyes look at him like a curiosity. They nearly look through him.] I wonder how things might have turned out differently.
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This time when Henry's fingers brush against his face, he doesn't flinch. He's not young and broken like he was in that memory. Well, certainly still broken, but it's different now. Now he wields his broken edges like a weapon, much in the same way that Henry does. He's still under that touch, quiet, like he often is when just observing. Like he was moments before as Henry spit venom and crushed a glass with his bare hand.
Henry's palm is still bleeding, painting a red streak against his skin. Alec's hand comes up to curl around his wrist, though he simply holds it there, fingers on the other man's pulse. ]
Henry...
[ It's half warning, half... something else that Alec's not sure he could name if he tried. Those mismatched eyes bore a hole right into him, and Alec stares back, the low glow in his own eyes flickering. Lightning, trapped behind the storm clouds. What would things have been like, had they known each other a lifetime ago? Maybe they would have saved each other, slotted their broken pieces together into something a little more whole and acceptable. Or maybe they would have just sent each other spiraling faster, farther. There's no way to know. ]
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None of that matters now, of course. Now, he stands before this other man, and the moment stills—like the seconds of a clock stuck in place—dangling on the cusp of a decision. His pulse ticks steadily under his touch. Henry is gauging something, the way he looks at him, watching the storm clouds in his eyes. There’s lightning there, wanting to spill out, and it reminds him of the angry storm of that hellscape plane when he was banished there, falling and falling, searing his skin upon entry, all ceaseless furor.
He could take that as a warning. The same could happen, and he’ll come away just as scarred and burned. Yet there’s something else in Alec’s tone, wrapped up in his name, and Henry wants to root it out, drag it kicking and screaming into the daylight, just to see if it’s there. Wouldn’t it be exhilarating if it was?
He leans in to kiss him, diving headfirst into that storm.]
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Henry ultimately makes the first move, but Alec knows exactly where this is going the second he seeks to close the space between them. This is a bad idea, something in the back of his mind helpfully supplies. Most of Alec's life has been built on bad ideas, so what's one more? Letting Henry into his head had also been a bad fucking idea, and now Alec's got old ghosts clawing at the inside of his ribs, raking over old wounds until they're fresh again. He could use a distraction. An outlet.
Is Henry Creel the best option? In some ways, absolutely fucking not, but in others? Well, maybe.
It isn't pretty, the way Alec responds when Henry kisses him. It isn't gentle or sweet or fleeting. It's mean, and sharp, and hungry. Thunder rolls through the small space of the dorm's kitchen, setting the dishes rattling in their cupboards. His hand comes away from Henry's wrist only so he can curl both his fists into the front of his shirt instead, keeping him captive as their lips crash together.
And when the kiss finally breaks, so too does the storm in Alec's eyes, the glow gone bright and wild. ]
I don't think you understand what you're getting into, Henry Creel.
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He makes an impatient noise as Alec pulls away, nearly chasing him again, but he’s halted by the look in his eyes, shining and wild. The other man’s hands are fisted into his clothes, but Henry’s fingertips press a little harder into his jawline. Did thunder roll through the kitchen, clattering plates and glassware? He certainly didn’t notice.
He grins at that challenge. It’s a little sharp at the edges.]
No? [There’s a sense of hot impulse between them; but beyond that, someone’s hooks are deeply rooted in the other person, now, and it’s impossible to tell who’s pulling who.] Then why don’t you show me?
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Not in the fucking kitchen, I'm not.
[ He releases his grip on Henry with a small shove. Nothing major, just enough to buy some distance. ]
Room. Now.
[ He does not care whose. ]
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Pushed away, he catches himself on the backstep, eyes nearly delighted by Alec’s forcefulness.]
Fine. Yours.
[It doesn’t make any difference; both are barren, both offer more privacy than a kitchen. At least he’s visited Alec’s once before.
Henry schools his smile into something frustratingly calm, though the undercurrent of heat isn’t so easily smoothed down. It’s time to find sanctuary in his room, then.
He’ll take it upon himself to shut the door with his powers whenever they enter.]
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And once he's in the room, the door swings shut behind him, seemingly of its own accord. He'd make a remark about it, but frankly he does not care. Privacy is privacy, and he's on Henry again a second, crashing their mouths together like it's the only thing keeping him fucking sane right now.
Isn't that a worrying thought? ]
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i guess we should put a nsfw warning on this thread huh
oh yeah PROBABLY. nobody look.
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finally a use for this icon
s i r
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