Who: Seven and Liam What: It's a party of revelations. Where: Liam's bedroom. When: A few hours after this. Warnings/Rating: Implied sex, BDSM-related injuries, and language.
Generally, Seven enjoyed birthdays - as long as they weren’t his own. Birthdays were not the most successful of traditions in the Morgan household, and he had been on the receiving end of far too many aborted attempts at normal birthday celebrations to be realistic about them - he knew that his own birthdays would inevitably involve tears, some sort of bloodshed, and possibly a trip to the hospital or a rehabilitation unit. So he got by on the enjoyment of others’ celebrations, while stalwartly holding on to the idea that it was better to avoid his own without ceremony. And so it was that he wound up on Liam’s doorstep just shy of midnight, dressed in dark jeans and a simple , fitted black t-shirt with his leather motorcycle jacket thrown over top. He had leaned on the doorbell with two fingers, scuffing the soles of his steel-toed boots over the surface of the welcome mat beneath them, and he’d waited for about two and a half seconds before he’d leaned on the bell again. Patience was not Seven’s greatest virtue, let it be said.
A couple hours later, Seven lay sprawled out in Liam’s bed with the other man resting beside him. His tall frame threatened to take over the entire bed, and so his arms found their way around Liam’s waist where his calloused fingertips played over the soft, naked flesh they found. With a quiet, satisfied hum he pulled Liam closer, one hand splayed against the other man’s chest.
“So, darling - how does it feel to be one year closer to the land of the frail and elderly?” His voice was little more than a purr, strong hands exploring and appreciating until Liam pulled away and started to search for his clothes.
It wasn’t that Seven’s attention was unwanted, or that he was eager to get away from the other man, but certain ‘events’ had left him a little wary of being nude in front of others, particularly with the marks that were still fading on pale skin, the clear impression of teeth that decorated one hip. Liam had just slid into his shorts, turning towards Seven as he buttoned them, the things hanging low on his narrow hips, revealing just the upper curve of the scar on his hip. “I’ll never be quite as close as you are, sweetheart,” Liam said with a grin curving up the corner of his lips, leaning over to the side to turn the lamp on, settling down on the edge of the bed beside Seven, still pleased and content after their playtime.
Being with Seven, as strange as that was, was almost comforting with everything that was going on with Tristan. They were both dangerous in their own way, but at least with Seven, Liam didn’t feel so afraid, worried. Concerned. “Thanks,” Liam said after a moment. “For coming over. The company was needed.” The night had been a disaster until Seven had showed up, pacing phone calls with Sam, a stomach that wouldn’t settle, and a constant worry that Tristan was going to show up at his door. It’s not like she didn’t know where he lived, after all, and in hindsight, it had probably been a bad idea to ever invite her over in the first place. But the past was the past, uncorrectable.
After leaning back on the bed in order to yank his jeans up, Seven settled into a reclined position with one hand tucked under his head. His smile was lazy and contented, and when he closed his eyes against the sudden assault of light in the darkened bedroom he looked very much like a cat who gotten into the cream. He shifted over a bit so that Liam would have more room to sit and relax on his own bed, stretching both arms above his head and rolling onto his side.
“Always happy to be of assistance. I’ll be sure to send you a bill for services rendered,” he said around his usual smirk, reaching out and placing a familiar hand against the curve of Liam’s hip. When his gaze drifted downward in order to appreciate the sights afforded him, he caught sight of the scar that peeked out over the waistband of Liam’s shorts. The smirk was still fixed in place, but a tiny crease appeared on his forehead for the briefest of moments as he tried to figure out what he was looking at. His fingertip traced the curve of the scar, ghosting over the little indentations.
“What is that, darling? Been acting as a buffet for vampires lately, have we?”
Liam had settled in on the bed beside Seven, stretched out, hands folded over his bare stomach as he let himself be appreciated by the other man. It was something he was still getting used to, this entire being looked at thing, and he was starting to find that the attention, at least when it came from Seven, was certainly appreciated. “I’ll have to ask you to settle up with my agent. He handles my expenses and bills, I’m afraid.” It was said with the slightest of smiles, but the amusement in those blue eyes was impossible to miss. It was as though the last weeks had never happened, all the trials and stresses, the things that had left him sleepless more often than not. With Seven, it was easy to forget about her, about the mark she was carving into his person.
And then that touch came, and everything came rushing back in a wave that left him breathless for a moment. His fingers reached out, closing over Seven’s own, pulling them away from the scar tissue on his hip. “Vampires could be interesting, but no. Nothing like that.” Just some murderess putting her mark on him, physically and emotionally. It was written on his face, with the way his jaw had tightened, tendons standing out against his neck.
While no one had ever accused Seven of being a sensitive or romantic bedroom partner, he was nothing if not observant. He was very much used to the way that Liam relaxed into soft, moldable putty in his own calloused hands, relaxed and warm with hardly a hesitant muscle in his whole body. Tonight, however, was decidedly different. Liam had been grateful when he showed up, and the sex was intense, but there was a detachment that lingered behind those eyes that worried him. If there was something going on that he couldn’t erase with his touch, even just for a few moments, he figured it had to be serious. If Liam had merely laughed away the scar on his hip or had he not flinched under the touch of a fingertip - that would be one thing. His reaction made it something... else.
He sat up, leaning on one elbow and frowning until the crease on his brow deepened into an actual wrinkle. He hooked his fingertips in the waistband of Liam’s shorts, tugging them down over the sharp slash of a hipbone and completely exposing the angry mark. He sat up then, his green eyes flashing in the lamplight.
“Liam,” he said softly. “What the hell is that, and why does it bother you so much?”
His lips thinned out as Seven’s attention was drawn fully to the bitemark, determined for a handful of moments to simply try and ignore it, but when that hand became determined to touch, to trace over the scar, Liam reached down to forcibly push the other man’s fingers away. “I believe it’s pretty obvious what it is,” Liam said quietly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, giving his bare back to Seven, fading bruises littering his skin. They were several days old, yellow and green echoes of something past. “And I really don’t want to talk about it. Whatever it is, it’s done now, and it’s nothing to worry about.”
Pushing himself up to his feet, Liam pushed a hand back through his hair, considering and thinking before he made his next move. He doubted that Seven would simply leave it be; the man was like a piranha with information. A scent of something interesting and he wouldn’t let it go again. “I’m going to grab something to drink. Would you like something? I’m afraid there’s no alcohol in the house, but I’ve tea, something carbonated as well, I’m sure.” Sidestep, procrastinate. Anything to keep the conversation off the source of that bite.
It had been dark by the time Seven had driven his bike over to Liam’s place, and darker still when he rung the doorbell. The interior of Liam’s townhouse was in shadows as the door swung open and Liam had welcomed him inside, and they hadn’t exactly stopped to chat or share a cup of tea before Seven had led the way into the master bedroom. While it wasn’t strictly business - Seven preferred to think of the visit as an excursion for pleasure - there was something almost perfunctory in the way that they kissed and touched and shed their clothes and tumbled onto the bed. There was a need, something dark and empty in Liam’s eyes that Seven knew was his job to fill with heat and desire.
So when Liam had bathed their half-naked bodies in the lamplight, Seven had gotten a good look at him for the first time. The angry bite mark at his hip, and the faded bruises on the pale expanse of his back. Seven’s brows both raised towards his hairline and he tilted his head in a curious, canine sort of way, lips pursed for a moment before he spoke.
“You’re right. Obviously that’s a pretty wicked bite mark you’re working, and from the state of your back I’d say that whoever was chewing on you was beating on you pretty hard while they were at it. What’s that, a cane? Whip?” Seven laughed, and it was a sound both short and humourless. He sat up the rest of the way on the bed, one leg swung over the side so that his foot was resting against the floor. He was the picture of carelessness, but there was something tense about the set of his jaw.
“Nothing wrong with a little hunger for pain. What I’m just wondering is why you seem so upset about it. So tell me, without bullshitting me, who the fuck has been beating on you without your consent? Cause I see no other explanation here, sweetheart.”
“A cane.” The words were said numbly, his brows knitting together as he turned to look back towards Seven. “And it was consensual. Mostly. I think.” It was the ‘I think’ that was the problem with the entire situation. He went to her willingly, yes, but once he was there, there was no way for him to back out, to remove himself from the situation, at least not until she said she was done. And that part was the grey area that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with, that he couldn’t come to terms with. “If I tell you who it was, you have to promise me you won’t do anything stupid. They’re... they’re dangerous, Seven. Bad.”
The thought of a drink went out the window as he sat back down on the edge of the bed, flopping backwards so that his head rested against Seven’s thigh, his eyes closed, one arm thrown over his forehead. “I feel all mixed up inside. I don’t like it. At all.”
I think.
Seven suppressed the urge to snort derisively, acutely aware of the fact that it might make Liam feel worse - and rather surprised to find that he actually cared. Regardless, he pondered silently on the fact that Liam was either the worst sort of masochist or a bit of an idiot if he didn’t realize that there was no uncertainty to be had when it came to giving consent. Newbies, he sighed inwardly and thought back to earlier in the day when a particularly unpleasant bitch had been plastering herself all over Liam’s journal entry. Yeah, he was pretty certain he already knew the name of the person who had left Liam shaking in his boots, with her ugly marks all over his porcelain skin.
“Tristan,” he enunciated the name carefully and crisply. “It was that crazy chick from earlier. So now, what - you told her you want to stop, and she’s harassing you?” His words were tossed in Liam’s direction with a deliberately casual air, carefully masking the fire that burned behind them. Then, caught by surprise when Liam’s head came to rest against his leg, he had a rare moment of hesitation where he wasn’t precisely sure what he should do. After a beat he settled for resting his hand against Liam’s chest, his palm wide and warm over the other’s heart.
Something flickered over Liam’s face at the sound of Tristan’s name, lasting for just a heartbeat before it faded away, but it was enough to cement for certain that Seven had the identity of the person pegged. His arm lowered, covering his closed eyes instead, not answering those flippant words, lips working into a thin line as he shook his head. Seven’s touch, settled squarely over his heart, was something that ground him easily to the world around them, something that Liam sorely needed in this time when he felt so adrift and uncertain as to where his patch was leading. His free hand came up. resting overtop Seven’s, a silence settling over the younger man.
Sure enough, the pained expression that flashed across Liam’s features was very telling. He made a mental note to warn Liam later against trying his hand at poker. Since he apparently wasn’t going to answer the question, Seven softened his voice another few notches and tried a different tactic.
“What did she do that has you so freaked, huh? I mean, besides the... bruises. What did she do to make you think she’s so dangerous? Dangerous enough to warn me.” Seven realized that since Liam hadn’t technically had to tell him Tristan’s name, he was under no obligation to promise that he wouldn’t go after her. For now, he was interested in finding out exactly what had Liam so spooked.
What had him so freaked out? Liam almost had to laugh, because it was ridiculous and frightening in the same breath. Drawing his arms away from his eyes, Liam glanced up towards him again, studying Seven’s face for a long moment before he thought about speaking again. “A friend of mine,” Liam began, deciding that honesty was the best idea in this situation, “believes she may have killed someone. That’s what has me so freaked out. Worried. Not wanting to piss her off, but it seems I can’t even keep from doing that.” Liam let out a long breath and scrubbed a hand down over his face, shaking his head in the negative.
Though he did little more than nod at first, Seven listened. After meeting Liam’s uncertain gaze and holding it, he then looked up at the ceiling and turned over Liam’s words in his mind. Knowing that Liam could probably avoid pissing her off any further by simply not responding to her attempts to contact him, he decided that this shouldn’t be the first thing out of his mouth - and certainly not if it was accompanied with a withering look and an insult to the man’s intelligence, as he was tempted.
“And what sort of proof does your friend have? That the crazy bitch whacked somebody? Because obviously she hasn’t gone to the pigs already, if you’re still this worked up about it. So that means she’s either too scared, or she doesn’t have any proof.”
Seven moved his hand from Liam’s chest and used it to push himself back up on the bed, sitting with the man’s head essentially in his lap and looking down at him through narrowed eyes. He was a pretty solid observer when it came to body language, but he didn’t want Liam hiding his face if he could help it. If Seven was going to figure out a way to deal with Liam’s situation, it wouldn’t do to let lies and half-truths slip by him.
Liam let out a ragged breath, averting his gaze when Seven’s own found the ceiling, his hand falling to his side, a gesture of defeat. “She thinks she has enough information to at least get them looking into her, said she was going to someone who could help her. So I don’t know. I’m just- If I had known then what I know now, I wouldn’t have gotten into this situation.” Liam made a face, shifting slightly when Seven moved to sit up, glancing up towards him for a moment, blue eyes sweeping over Seven’s face for a long moment before he looked away yet again. Fingers toyed with a bit of the blanket where his hand lay, worrying it between index finger and thumb.
With a short, frustrated sigh, Seven rubbed one hand against the three days’ worth of stubble on his chin and fell quiet for a few long moments. He agreed wholeheartedly with the sentiment that Liam should have found out a lot more information about a person with whom he was going to engage in that sort of play, but it seemed a lost cause to point that out now.
“Look,” he began, carefully pulling his leg out from underneath Liam’s head so that he could swing both legs off the side of the bed and push himself to his feet. “You need to talk to your friend and you need to find out exactly what she knows, and who she’s going to with the information. You can’t just bury your head in the sand and hide from it, as much as I’m sure you’d love to.”
He moved over to a side table where he’d placed his gun and its holster, which he’d removed while Liam had been in the bathroom. He’d placed his shirt overtop it in a casual effort to disguise its presence, though by now his thoughts were so preoccupied that he cared little whether Liam saw it and raised questions. With his back turned, Seven picked up the holster, removed the pistol before attaching the harness to his belt, and then returned the gun to its place where it sat at the small of his back. After that he pulled his shirt over his head and adjusted it so that the gun was concealed, all before he turned back and looked at Liam with an expectant raise of his eyebrows.
“As much as you’re sure I want to?” Liam gave Seven a sharp look when the other man swung his legs over the side of the bed and got up to his feet, pushing himself up to a sitting position, those blue eyes suddenly dark with annoyance. “I know what she knows, she’s laid that much out to me. As for who she’s going to with this? Her brother. I’m assuming he’s with law enforcement. I’m not the one with the proof, Seven, or even the assumption that she’s truly killed someone. I’m simply trying to keep myself safe from someone who’s displaying behaviour that worries me.” Liam got up to his own feet, grabbed his t-shirt from the floor, and pulled it over his head, turning back in the direction Seven had gone to just in time to see him pull his shirt down, hiding the unmistakable shape of a gun tucked beneath the waistband of his pants at the small of his back.
Being a boy from the South, one might have thought that Liam might not be a stranger to guns. His mama had friends who hunted, that was for sure, but that was nothing Liam had ever spent time around. Weapons around his house were more akin to a butcher knife or a hot curling iron, both of which dangerous in their own ways. But guns? That was not something he was familiar with, nor did he particularly want to be familiar with one. “You’ve got a gun,” Liam stated slowly, giving Seven a long look, not entirely comfortable with this fact. “You’ve got a gun, and you’ve brought it into my home without telling me first. Don’t you think that’s something you ought to tell someone?” With all the talk about people killing everyone, that he was doing something foolish or dangerous, he wasn’t the one walking around with a gun tucked into his pants, and somehow, that new bit of knowledge about the man he was only just starting to know was too much.
“I don’t want to know. I really do not want to know why you are carrying that,” Liam said, and every ounce of his behaviour spoke of irritation, panic, anxiety, things the usually level-headed writer had only been plagued with in the last weeks. “I-” Liam began, a hand that was shaking pushed back through his hair. “I need some air.”
He didn’t say anything more as he stalked through the bedroom, past Seven, and into the living room to the deck that was attached to one wall, the sliding glass door opened, letting in a burst of dry desert air which Liam soon stepped out into. He was breathing hard, both hands braced against the railing as he leaned out over it, the breeze pushing his hair away from his face. What happened to the life he had been leading before, predictable, safe, simple. He wrote, he went out for drinks once in a while, he had a thing for a good friend. They were things he could handle, that were predictable, normal, easy to deal with. And now that normalcy was gone, and Liam wanted it back more than anything at that moment.
His chest had grown tight, every breath harder to pull in, his fingers curled white-knuckle tight around the edge of the railing, the world swaying beneath him, vertigo sweeping over him and locking his knees.
Seven opened his mouth and watched with something that vaguely resembled astonishment as Liam stalked past him and onto the deck, for the moment at a loss for words. What - so now he was the bad guy for having a gun, while the crazy bitch who liked to leave scars on Liam’s body had gotten a free pass more than once? Right, that was all kinds of healthy and stable. Seven snorted and shook his head, grabbing his leather jacket off the back of a chair and sliding into it before he moved to join Liam on the deck.
His bare feet padded across the cool surface of the deck and the dry breeze that buffeted against the house whistled in his ears. Liam was there, leaning on the railing and looking every bit like a shivering, lonely leaf on a naked branch. Vulnerable, and ready to be knocked loose at any moment by a strong gust of wind. Seven stood there for a moment, one hand rubbing at the back of his head while he considered his friend’s shaking form.
“It’s not even loaded, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” he ventured quietly, squinting out at the empty road and then up into the star-brightened desert sky. It was the truth - the gun’s chamber was empty, and the magazine was in one of the zippered pockets on his leather coat. For all his recklessness, Seven couldn’t afford to be an idiot.
“It doesn’t have any bullets, Liam. I wouldn’t have brought a loaded weapon into your home without telling you. I’m not a complete asshole, okay? Not all the time,” this last part he muttered under his breath, making a face that no one could see because Liam’s back was still turned and, hell, sometimes it was in Seven’s job description to be an asshole.
With his lips pursed - a habit when he was feeling particularly thoughtful - he watched Liam’s back for a beat longer, taking in the way that his legs trembled and his knuckles contrasted white against the railing. Slowly, Seven closed the space between them and came up behind the other man, strong arms going around Liam’s shoulders as his hands moved to grip the rail on either side. He ducked his head until his breath warmed the other’s neck, trying to make his voice as soothing as possible as if trying not to spook a frightened animal.
“I have the gun because of my work, and it’s here because I came straight over at the end of my day, okay? I have it so that I can protect myself. Who do you think pays me all that money to build casinos? Huh? Cause I can tell you right now, they’re not usually fine, upstanding members of society. Most of my clients are mob, and sometimes they need favours. I’m not in the habit of doing favours for dangerous people without protecting my own hide.”
There was a moment where Liam was sure that Seven would simply see himself out, so a fair amount of surprise was felt when he heard the sound of the deck door opening once more, the other man’s presence one he couldn’t ignore at his back. He didn’t turn to greet him, to say a single word, which seemed wise when the other man took the conversation over. Liam listened - he was good at that, forever good at that, and he tried to reconcile this new bit of information in with the other bits and pieces that he had gathered up about Seven. There wasn’t much he knew about the man, and this fit in with the rest of it.
He closed his eyes as Seven settled his arms around him, tilting his head to the side as that warm breath brushed the side of his neck. “It’s just a lot to try and take in,” Liam finally said, his voice soft, pitched low. The man’s arms were warm where they met his own, and there was a shift of his bare feet, the weight going from one foot to the other before he settled again, tipping his head back so that it rested just slightly against Seven’s shoulder. “You just - seeing the gun. It took me by surprise. You don’t have to explain the why or anything like that, I just...” A pause as he drew in a breath, tried to relax some of the tension in his arms. “I wasn’t expecting it. That’s all.”
Seven was satisfied to feel some of the tension slipping out of Liam’s shoulders, and he leaned forward with his hands braced against the rail so that the smaller man could relax against his chest. For whatever it was worth, his attempts to patch up some of the ragged rips and tears in Liam’s composure seemed to be working. That in itself was a small miracle, because Seven was notoriously at a loss when it came to complicated shit like feelings. He was good with the simple. Guns, money, and power were well within his emotional capacity - empathy, and sensitivity, not so much. But he was trying, and that in itself should have said a lot.
“I know. Liam, you should trust me. I can help you. There’s no reason you should have to live in fear of a psycho bitch with a cute little whip and a razor, not while I’m your friend. I am your friend, right?” The question was little more than a murmur against Liam’s ear as Seven leaned his chin against the man’s shoulder, and he didn’t wait for an answer before he went on.
“So let me help you.”
Seven was solid behind him, warm, steady, a presence he felt he could count on. Rocking back slightly, Liam let his back settle against Seven’s chest, blue eyes falling shut with the long sigh that escaped him, just basking in what he could count on, on these things that weren’t so uncertain, that didn’t leave him sleepless at night with worry. He always considered himself a strong, stable person. He was used to being a voice of reason in the middle of chaos, but everything that was happening was leaving him doubting that, at least a little. And that doubt was like a crack, spreading through everything like wildfire, weakening everything about him.
“I’m not sure how you can help me on this,” Liam said after a moment of silence, his voice a quiet thing that barely breached the night air. “But I’ll let you know if anything else happens. Promise.”