Gambit has to (playforkeeps) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-06-06 21:08:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | fandral, gambit |
Who: Seven & Liam (Part II of II)
What: A cry for help
Where: A shitty motel > Seven's house
When: Backdated a month, after this.
Warnings/Rating: Language, some painful fluff.
Within the span of half a heartbeat, Seven had crossed the room and come to a hesitant stop in front of Liam. He wasn’t fooled by the lacklustre smile and the gritty words that escaped those lips, as desperate as he might have been to accept the lie. Not that it would have made the whole thing easy, not at all. None of this was easy. To watch this man he knew so well turn into some unrecognizable thing, a raw and open wound who more closely resembled the trembling husks of men that lined the gutters than the fair-skinned, blue-eyed beauty who’d turned Seven’s world upside down. And every stutter, every flash of panic that rippled across Liam’s face - each resulted in a pang in Seven’s stomach, and a deeper furrow in his brow. “Hey,” he murmured softly, biting at the flesh of his bottom lip. One hand reached out to hover over Liam’s shoulder, half-uncertain as to what was a good idea and what wasn’t. Fortunately he realized in the next moment that he didn’t give a shit about good ideas, and he reached out to gather the too-frail man in his arms once more. Seven still held him gently, but there was a frantic edge to the way that his rough fingers pressed against warm skin. “Hey. Shh, it’s okay. I’m sorry, Liam. I’m so sorry this happened. I’m sorry for everything.” Maybe he hadn’t been privy to the man’s breakdown moments earlier, but the evidence was written plain as day across Liam’s face. This house had been their sanctuary once upon a time, the place where nothing mattered but the two of them and what they shared. Now it was a tomb, just dark and full of pain. Seven pressed his cheek against Liam’s hair, breathing him in, rocking slightly on the spot. “God, I’m so fucking sorry.” It took nearly everything Liam had not to step back when Seven approached, hands curling into loose fists in his pockets, hidden away where they couldn't be seen. He kept his place with gritted teeth and a strained smile, pale blues flicking towards the hand that hovered near his shoulder, wondering and waiting what the next step would be. Part of him wanted Seven to go away, to give him some space to breathe, at least until that constriction in his chest eased, but the other part wanted him near, was afraid that if he left again, it would be the last time. When Seven made his decision, enveloping him in strong arms with that frantic touch, panic swelled, but only for a heartbeat. He was afraid to move, afraid to even breathe, chin pressed against Seven's shoulder, his hands still deep in his pockets. His heart was pounding furiously, a rhythm that left him light-headed and unsteady on his feet, but eventually things started to slow, and one hand came out, curling around Seven's back to pull them both a little closer together. Liam wanted to relieve Seven of responsibility, to tell him that it was fine, that they could be fine in time, but Liam wasn't stupid enough to believe the lie. Things weren't fine, and that was obvious to anyone who knew him, who knew them. A shuddering breath was released as Liam let his eyes close, slumping into the hold Seven had on him, a moment of trust against everything they were going through. "I'm sorry, too," he murmured, his voice thick and rough, full up with emotions that he couldn't stand to let go of. He was only human, and not quite as oblivious to emotions as others might believe. He noticed every ounce of agony and hesitation that filled Liam up from the inside out, noticed the way that he stiffened beneath Seven’s touch and shied away from the grasp of his arms. And of course, he wasn’t surprised. Seven understood that this perfect, fragile man couldn’t stand to bear his heavy-handed touch. Why should he? Who could he condemn to suffer the weight of Seven’s arms and his emotional burdens and the rough, tender kiss that he bestowed upon the other man’s neck? No one worthy, of that he was sure. “Stop,” he pleaded, his voice a gruff and quiet thing. “Don’t. You don’t have to apologize. Everything’s going to be okay, Liam.” It was not a promise he could hope to deliver, but it was one that he swore to stand by for as long as he could manage it. And he’d be goddamned if he didn’t mean it more than anything he’d ever promised to this man with the soft, swollen mouth and the long lashes that cast shadows upon his cheeks. Something coiled within his chest and he grimaced into the soft wisps of Liam’s hair against his jaw, loathing himself for one reason or another. And somewhere between the desperation of his embrace and the uneven twist of Liam’s mouth, Seven was transported to a place where there was no time to waste. One hand moved to cup the back of the raven-haired man’s head, and Seven lowered his mouth to Liam’s in a desperate, seeking kiss. Lips and teeth and tongue sought truth, and he felt pained from within. He was warmth and frenzy. He was truth and lies in one. He was nothing, to be sure. Nothing compared to this sweet, sad creature. As much as Liam wanted to believe that everything would be okay, that there was some truth in Seven's words, right then, it was difficult to see anything but the darkness of the tunnel they were traveling through. The light was too dim, too far away, and he couldn't see it for the shadows that enveloped them. But now was not the time to doubt the words that were uttered, so instead he simply gave a nod of his head, burying his head a little harder against Seven's shoulder, at least as long as he was allowed. But then there was a kiss, desperate and needy at its very core, and it left him existing purely in the here and now, the doubts and worries from only moments ago sliding away into a place he could deal with later. Seven always had the ability to do that to him, to kiss him until he was breathless and thoughtless, until he was a creature who only felt and needed and wanted in one heartbeat. And even though it had been months since they had last been together in any proper way, Liam's body remembered this dance, remembered this kiss, and he responded in turn. One hand came up to grip onto Seven's bicep, fierce in its strength, needy in the way he clutched. Somewhere in between breaths, his voice, a shuddery, tiny thing, Seven's name fell from his lips, a plea of sorts before again there was only silence, fingers holding bruisingly-tight where they touched upon the other's arm. Their relationship was a series of ups and downs, of peaks and valleys, and some days it was all he could do to hold on without sliding off into the nothingness that threatened to swallow him whole. It wasn't the wisest decision he had ever made, but he loved this man, no matter the harm it caused, no matter the way it drove him absolutely crazy. He loved him. It was a dangerous thing, that sort of kiss. Seven’s mouth softened against the curve of Liam’s fleshy lower lip and he let out a breath through his nose, slow and warm against the other’s cheek. Something about the way that Liam’s fingers found their way to his upper arm and clung tight - desperation and need in a singular grasp that threatened to leave marks against tanned skin even through the stiff leather of Seven’s jacket - something about that touch, it made his head spin. He needed this, needed Liam to need him. And then there was his own name slipping from man’s flushed lips, tumbling out into the still, cool air of his living room and sending goosebumps rising across the back of his neck. God, but he would never get over the sound of his name, whimpered into the ether on the slick caramel of Liam’s voice as if it were the only thing that mattered in the world. “Sloan,” he whispered as his lips dragged over the tender column of Liam’s throat, ghosting against the place where a pulse fluttered beneath pale skin. First his teeth closed over flesh, nipping in a surprise moment of playful, greedy exploration - and in the next, his tongue bathed over the reddened marks, soothing and healing. He was hungry for the man he loved, starving like a hollow shell of something ravenous. His voice was rough, and low. “My name is Sloan.” And then he was taking a backwards step, and another, shuffling steps that would have pulled them apart from their kisses and their embrace if he hadn’t tugged the other man along with him. Seven took a moment to shrug out of his motorcycle jacket, letting it fall to the floor without ceremony and kicking it aside so that neither would trip over it as he pulled them back, back - and abruptly down onto the couch, gently pulling Liam into his lap, broad hands finding their way to the other’s narrow hip, to the sunken curve of his cheek. Grasping, seeking, needing. Wanting every part of him. Sloan. The name echoed around in his thoughts, tumbling and turning this way and that, something special, Liam knew that much. The offer of the name was a gift, something rare and exquisite that few people were privy to, and Liam pulled it in close, tucking that gift away where no one could steal it from him. And just as that word tumbled around, so did his body as he was pulled forward, stumbling steps that might have seen him spilling to the floor had it not been for the grip he had on Seven - no, Sloan - and the grip that the other man had on him in turn. He went down hard in Seven's arms, rear landing on the comfort of thighs, breath rushing from him, and it was easy to fall back into the kiss, the nips, the want that he could feel spilling all over. Seven was someone he could get lost in, someone who could drown him in sensation and feeling, and it was hard to draw breath with the moments that came by. His skin was hot to the touch, paper thin but needy even in its fragility, and there came the whisper of the other man's name, strange on those Southern lips, long and drawn out. "Sloan," he breathed out, lips crashing once more against Seven's, want and desire and need so hot and hard that he felt like it could shatter him into a million little shards of self. And there it was. A moment that would be the end of him; his name, the name he had not heard in more than a decade, blooming forth from the reddened, kiss-bruised lips of the man that he cared more for than just about anything else in the world. And in the dark moments when Seven could believe himself alone, even more alone than he felt while surrounded by the thugs and the brutes in his employ - in those moments, he could almost bring himself to admit it. That he loved Liam. Here, now, with the warm, easy weight of this too-skinny man in his lap, pale flesh hot to the touch beneath his calloused fingertips... fuck, he could almost fool himself into believing that all of this shit was easy. That it might be easy to live with the weight of another in his heart. As half of a whole. No, more than that. Made a whole, by the one with blue eyes and a sweet, husky voice and a smile that could tear him to pieces. Sloan. And somehow, his name uttered on a soft, dangerous breath was enough to pull him out of the moment, the sweetness and the kiss, however briefly. He was brought back to the darkness of his house, of this room, of the solid couch beneath him and the warm, yielding flesh beneath his hands. Liam, and what he needed, and what Seven needed to do for him. As if he could have forgotten, with the sharp lines of bone pressed tight against the other man’s skin and threatening to slice open Seven’s palms until he bled all over the carpet. Thin, frail, fragile man with the fragile heart. And what was he to do? He, the monster who had hurt the man as much as any other. “Tomorrow,” he rumbled softly, turning away from the kiss and burying his lips in the fine, dark hair just behind Liam’s ear. Hands, slipping beneath the hem of the man’s shirt and fingertips pressing against the notches of his spine, as if it hurt him not to hold on tight. “Tomorrow, I am going to get you help. I promise. I’ll find a place. A good place, okay? A safe place. But tonight... will you stay? With me?” As he waited for the other’s reply, Seven considered their options. The bedroom was out, obviously. Too many memories, too much baggage and pressure. An empty bed with too many miles between them. He should really have taken Liam to a hotel, he supposed. A new place. Somewhere... safe. Safe was what Liam needed. But right now, with the stillness around them, Seven didn’t think he could bear to let go. Even for a second. And so they would stay. He would stay, if Liam would have him. “Please,” and the word was barely more than a ragged whisper, hardly enough to ruffle the soft hair that brushed his lips. Seven closed his eyes. |