|Cristobal Rodriguez ♦ Coyote (coyoti) wrote in paxletalelogs,|
@ 2017-02-15 09:10:00
|Entry tags:||ares, coyote|
let me into your encryption
Who: Chris & Daniel.
What: Valentine's Day.
Where: Chris' apartment.
When: Following the Pax Valentine's Day Event.
Chris didn't do Valentine's Day. He didn't really do any holidays; now that he was far into his hermit-hood, the most he remembered to do was scrape up money to send his mother and his grandmother flowers. He knew he needed to do more than that, especially for his abuela who probably didn't even remember his face anymore. The thought depressed him, and he wallowed in the feeling. Dressed in pajama bottoms, braceless, he sprawled on his used couch and watched telenovelas all evening until someone knocked on his door.
He glanced at it, as if willing the person away; he knew he wasn't good company, not right then, but the memory of the vague plans he'd made with Daniel popped into his head. Truth be told, he hadn't actually believed the other man would carry through on his promise. Since Daniel had said he was going to the Valentine's Day event, Chris wondered if he was about to get a drunk social call. It was honestly the last thing he wanted to deal with in that moment, but when the knock became more insistent, he pushed himself up and off of the couch, grabbing his cane and walking toward the door. He pulled it wide, Daniel on the other side.
Arching a brow, Chris sighed. "Yeah?"
Daniel held up a massive black bag, its front emblazoned with a white circle and three arrows inside. The cloth bag only slightly muffled the sound coming from within: plastic on plastic, the jostling of numerous Tupperware containers. "Tamales," he said. "You promised." Chris had done no such thing, but Daniel was prepared, determined, and more than a little intoxicated. He used the bag to gesture toward the apartment's interior. "So can I come in, or do I have to haul all this shit back downstairs?"
His grumpy exterior cracked as a smile wended its way across his face, and he pulled the door wider so that Daniel could enter. "Promised, huh?" Closing the door snugly behind his guest, Chris followed at some length. His one-bedroom was neat and sparsely furnished; the main living area offered only a couch with the blanket he'd thrown off sprawled across it, a round woven rug spread on the floor beneath it, the wide, flat-screen TV across. One chair joined the couch, next to a TV tray that served as an end table between the two pieces of furniture. A few framed pictures of family and friends adorned the walls, and the small kitchen was pristine in its cleanliness. Only a tea kettle sat on the stove. A square, rustic red dining table with four chairs around it sat just to the right of the entry way, the fridge near it.
"You want some help?" Chris came up beside the dining table, putting one hand to the back of a chair.
"You could'a asked that before I started all this," Daniel chided, only half teasing. He paused briefly in front of one photograph, smiling to himself before moving on into the kitchen without comment. "You didn't tell me half this shit had to be prepared like hours in advance. I wasn't even sure I'd get it done in time to go to the thing."
Once inside the kitchen, he quickly began filling up the countertops with what he had brought. Numerous plastic containers appeared, each one full of some unique substance, each one wisely pre-measured. "So if this isn't perfect," he said, looking back to Chris over his shoulder, "I'm gonna blame you for not properly warnin' me. Just so you know. This is on you."
He placed his phone on the counter, a recipe already open on the screen. Then he set to opening cabinets and drawers, collecting all the utensils and dishes he thought he might need, plus a few extras just in case.
Chris only grinned wider, pulling the chair back so he could sit as he laughed softly under his breath.
"Not used to having to work for things, are you?" He leaned his cane against the table. Daniel waved him off, the gesture ending in what may have been a less than subtle motion with his middle finger. "You're the one who got yourself into this mess. Might as well see it the rest of the way through, huh?" His demeanor softened, watching Daniel move about his kitchen space as though it were his own. It was clear he enjoyed watching Daniel move, each action quick and decisive and sure.
"How was the event?" He wasn't entirely sure why he was asking. Chris assured himself it wasn't out of potential jealousy. He was just curious. Entirely and innocuously curious.
A displaced lid clattered to the countertop, and Daniel shrugged as he rolled out a scavenged tea towel. "It was…" He shrugged. "Open bar. That was cool. Pink Champagne, though, so be glad you didn't go. Can't have anyone seein' you with a drink like that, right?" He looked back to him again, winking, unable to refrain from teasing any chance he could. Chris gave him no more than a slight quirk from the side of his mouth. Then Daniel returned to his task, plucking damp corn husks from another container with a delicacy they did not entirely require. With equal care he began to fill them, alternating the contents of still two more boxes.
"They could'a been a little more strict with the guest list," Daniel added, "but I guess that's the down side of the whole building getting invited. Some of the bastards actually show up."
"I think that's the generally desired outcome," Chris replied, hands sprawled on the table before him. He felt almost like a small boy again, watching his mother putter in the kitchen, just moments before she'd tell him to take out the trash. It was a strange sense of hominess, and he admitted to himself that he felt more relaxed than he'd assumed he'd be in having another person in his private space. "Who was the lucky person to earn your ire this time around?"
"Doesn't matter," Daniel said. Then, just as quickly: "Fuckin' BB, always. Y'know she got me to agree to go to some convention with her? Apparently I'll make a passable Logan, or somethin'. And then Aurora was there, and just… of course..." He drew a short length of twine around one finished tamale with a sharper, more forceful motion than was truly necessary. "Whatever," he said, moving hastily on to the next.
He looked back to Chris as he finished the last of the bindings. "You got any tequila or something? I feel like that'd be nice with all this hard labor I'm doin' in here."
Chris' brows rose, jaw setting in a teasingly disbelieving manner. "You making assumptions about me, just because I requested tamales?" He didn't linger overly long in that arena, however, jerking his chin toward the cabinet across from where Daniel was standing. "Second shelf, probably behind the Jack."
He'd listened half-amused as Daniel listed his complaints about their fellow tenants; none of the names sounded familiar, something he found himself feeling grateful about. "And I don't know who either of those people are, but obviously if they got under your eternally patient skin, they must be something awful."
Daniel snorted. He poured himself one shot, then a second, and carried the glass over to Chris. "They're actually both pretty great in the right situations. They're also both unholy bitches in the wrong ones." He padded back into the kitchen, procuring a pot and setting the tamales, tightly bundled together, inside. He took a sip of tequila straight from the bottle. Then he took up another Tupperware container and poured broth into the pot, with far more care than might have been expected of him.
"BB's tryin' to fuck my ex, and she's probably gonna succeed, and then I'm gonna have to hear all about it. It's just annoying." He shrugged and covered the pot. "What can you do."
The shot was halfway poured into Chris' mouth when Daniel dropped that little bomb, and the other man choked. He used a fist to pound his chest, nearly slamming the glass back to the table.
"OK, that one is on me for asking," he muttered thickly, his throat still overcoming the difficulty of liquid down the wrong pipe. Once he'd finally cleared it and felt like he could breathe normally again, he shook his head. "I guess you're glad to not be there any longer, then? Even if that means you're slaving away in my kitchen instead." He paused, leaning back in his chair. "You know, you could've just gone home."
"Yeah, but you're not there," Daniel said. He fiddled with his phone for a moment, setting a timer, then turned around and took up the tequila bottle once more. Leaning back against the countertop, he tossed back another generous shot's worth of liquor. His tongue flicked over his lips, swiping away the last little drops. "Anyway, I have a bet to win." He jerked a thumb back toward the pot. "And we made plans. Unlike some assholes I won't name, Aurora, I keep the plans I make."
Chris smirked, shaking his head as he passed his empty shot glass between each hand. He pushed it out toward Daniel, half asking for more and half inviting him closer. Daniel pushed off from the counter, pouring Chris another shot.
"Sounds like there's an old bone to pick there," he replied congenially, interested mostly in what level of threat this Aurora might present. Daniel's continued nit picking of his ex was certainly setting the wrong kind of mood. Chris realized that to ask was only going to prolong this topic of conversation, but another part of him demanded answers, if only to better judge how much he should protect himself. "How long have you two known each other?"
Daniel shrugged. "Since college? We met freshman year. Should'a known better than to get involved with the drama crew, but…" He laughed, and stepped back to check on his timer. "I mean it's right there in the name, y'know? But I was always that kid who had to touch a stove just to be sure it was hot, so…"
With a slide of his thumb he blacked out his phone's screen again. "Once these boil they're supposed to take another hour or two," he said. "I mean you know that, but..." His grin was positively wolfish. "What are we gonna get up to in the meantime?"
Chris nodded toward the couch and the TV. "Can get your Netflix set up here, and we can finish your show about the girly guys in France. I think I've got an old copy of Monopoly around here too, or cards. Your choice." Daniel's meaning wasn't lost on him in the slightest, but the conversation made him less than pliable in the bedroom department. He reached forward, pulling back the shot, and downing it in one easy go.
Daniel rolled his eyes and held the bottle out again, filling the shot glass as soon as it was physically possible to do so. "Girly guys in France it is, then," he said. He set the bottle down, moving back in front of the stove to uncover the pot and lower the temperature. Already the kitchen smelled delicious, and intoxicated Daniel was visibly pleased with himself. "You swear after I leave you won't use my Netflix to watch a bunch of shitty, boring TV and fuck up my recommendations?"
Downing the shot with one hand, Chris raised his other palm up; the warm feeling of the alcohol combined with how cute he found Daniel to be, preening over his in-process food, helped sway him back to a better mood. "I do so solemnly swear, in regard to the fact that I know you'll come upstairs and break my door down in retaliation." He lifted himself from his chair, catching his weight with his cane, and slowly started to make his way across the room back to his couch. He dug around under the blanket for the remote, and offered it out to Daniel.
"I'll even cover my eyes while you put your password in."
"Aren't you a good host," Daniel said. His fingers brushed needlessly over Chris's as he took the remote from him. He keyed in his password, then made quite a show of navigating to Versailles, as though Chris could not be trusted to do so. He cut a sidelong glance to Chris, the teasing grin still firmly in place. "So did you watch more after the elevator, or should I just pick up where we left off?"
Chris met Daniel's gaze evenly, one corner of his mouth turning up. "Where we left off is fine," he replied, and he pulled the striped blanket over his legs, patting the empty spot next to him for Daniel to take a seat. Daniel wasted no time sliding in beside him, tugging at the blanket to pull a corner of it over himself. He wriggled about some more as he reached for his phone, setting a new timer and putting it beside him on the couch.
"I notice you didn't answer the question," he said, lightly elbowing Chris in the ribs. "You watched more, didn't you? Just can't stay away from Fabien, can you."
Shaking his head, Chris allowed his arm to stretch a long line across the back of the couch and just behind Daniel's shoulders. "Sorry to disappoint, but I don't have Netflix. If anything, that means I was waiting to watch it again with you. Promises, remember?" This was much like the elevator all over again, but at least this time he was more comfortably seated. He glanced at the TV, even his head tipping in Daniel's direction as if drawn by some unseen force.
"Mmhm…" Daniel could not curb his grin, but he made an impressive effort to watch the television instead of his companion. His thoughts wandered too much to their time trapped in the elevator, and from there, to how he might engineer such a thing a second time. Chris was close, but Daniel was uncertain just how much he could push before being chastised or worse, kicked out. But impatient as always, he nestled into the crook of Chris's arm, watching the screen only a moment more before looking back to his host.
"So," he said, "what do I get if these tamales are actually good?"
Chris' chest rose and fell in a light chuckle. "Beside my heartfelt thanks and the opportunity to cook for me again?" He surreptitiously curled his arm around Daniel's shoulder, pulling the man closer. It was far more of a domestic scene than he'd ever imagined for himself, but Chris wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He glanced down at Daniel, arching one brow. "Why, what do you want?" It was a ridiculous, rhetorical question, and he had a fair idea of what Daniel would say, but that didn't make his desire to hear it lessen at all.
"Elevator Part Two," Daniel said, utterly without hesitation. He laughed, but the look that crossed his face betrayed him with its intensity and want. "At least. You know how many hours I slaved over that Boston butt?" The answer was three, and if Daniel had been honest, he would have admitted that most of that was simply meat boiling in a pot. Daniel, of course, was not entirely honest.
"My butt deserves at least as much attention as that, I'm sure you agree. Or yours. Or both."
Chris laughed again, this time in partial embarrassment. "I don't remember anything happening to either of our butts in the elevator. It was more the facial area, but maybe we remember things differently." He almost mentioned the fact that he'd been in pain for most of the encounter, but that was unwarranted. "And if it was longer than three hours, I'd say you were doing it wrong." He fell quiet, studying Daniel's face for a moment. He didn't mind the other man's blatant honesty, even if it was a little curbed in a particular way, and he found his attention for the show completely hijacked.
"I'm not against having a little fun, though," he said, his voice much softer, his face already leaning into Daniel's in much the same way as it had in the car. He kissed the other man, gently and hesitantly, tasting the tequila and whatever else Daniel had had to drink that night, and beneath that, the iron tang that was so eerily familiar from not only the previous two instances, but from that damned dream that refused to release its grip on his thoughts.
Daniel needed no further encouragement. His left hand splayed on Chris's chest, as though he could not resist the urge to touch as much of him as possible. He parted Chris's lips with his tongue, drinking in that taste, that scent, that was still somehow new and familiar all at once. He sighed softly, and shifted on the couch, fitting himself closer still against his host. Short nails dragged over warm flesh, drawing shallow lines in their wake. The arm around Daniel's shoulders drew tighter, a noose to bring the taller man closer; though Chris's head was bent back to accommodate his partner's taller posture, Chris pressed harder into the kiss, owning and controlling it. He let his hand thread through Daniel's hair, nails raking lightly at his scalp as his fingers swirled through thick locks of black.
Remembering the dream, and smirking lightly to himself, he sucked hard on Daniel's tongue, encouraging the man forward as he felt spider-like touches on his torso. Gooseflesh erupted from the cool air mixed with Daniel's warm hand; Chris's form pressed into that touch, wanting more.
Daniel slid his tongue beneath Chris's, letting him take the lead as he so seemed to want. But greedy fingers slipped downward, pressing at the waistband of his pants. The pad of his thumb slipped over the top button, unfastening it with a quick motion borne of evident practice. He smiled against Chris's mouth, his hand sliding lower, fitted against the hard lines of his body through the thin layer of clothes that separated them.
He broke away from the kiss, but his mouth moved at once to the line of Chris's jaw. With teeth and tongue he traced over him, beginning at the soft hollow beneath his ear, nipping and kissing his way to his chin. Chris moaned, his breathing quickening as his mind spun from all the ways Daniel was inciting him to follow along. But his better sense rushed to the forefront, and he grabbed Daniel's errant hand by the wrist, pulling it back up to his chest.
"I think above the pants is better," he said, his voice labored. "For now." He hoped that would be enough to keep Daniel satisfied; he clenched his jaw, teeth worrying at his lips for a moment before he tried to continue their liplock, half worried that Daniel would reject him outright for having boundaries. Instead Daniel only growled a small complaint against Chris's lips, scraping over slick flesh with his teeth before kissing him again, hard and hungry.
His nails dug shallowly into Chris's chest, pulling him closer, holding him tight. Liquor and lust commingled on his tongue. He shifted again, his arousal pressing flush to Chris's thigh. Chris moved his hands to Daniel's shoulders, more than agreeable with the current trajectory of events. Hands slid down the other man's back, creeping beneath his shirt when he reached the edge, the smooth, warm feel of skin beneath his palms a heady thing. He thrust his tongue into Daniel's mouth, pushing the other man back and down against the couch cushions.
Daniel's low, soft moan was muffled against Chris's tongue, but his hands spoke well enough for him. As he lay back he hitched Chris's shirt up, eager for the touch of bare skin on his own. His hips rose, pressing his hard length against the body above him. Again his hands wandered downward, but they stopped at the sharp ridge of Chris's hip. Daniel smiled against his mouth, and kissed him deeply once more. Pleased at his partner's good behavior, Chris sat up on his knees for a moment to push Daniel's legs apart, easing into the valley of his still-clothed hips as he caught Daniel's mouth once more. In the background, French nobility squabbled over the king's obsession with architecture and assassination, but Chris's attention was solely on the man beneath him. His hips rocked into Daniel's, his groin pressing into the other man's hardening erection.
I should cook more, Daniel thought. All he gave voice to, though, was Chris's name, gasped between rough, fervent kisses. His fingers pressed into the soft hollows beneath Chris's shoulder blades, pulling him down against his splayed shape. Sliding his legs against his calves, he stretched himself out beneath Chris's smaller shape. He moved his mouth to his clavicle, to the hollow of his throat, nipping and sucking in turn, laving away each with small, suggestive flicks of his tongue. Chris writhed at the sensation, his hips thrusting forward over and over again as he groaned in response. He pulled his face back over to Daniel's, pressing it sidelong, his mouth nipping at the other man's lips.
"We're missing your show," he muttered teasingly, pulling his hips back for a moment.
"So?" Daniel caught the swell of Chris's lower lip in his teeth, drawing it in. "It'll keep." He trailed his tongue over the marks he had left behind. His nails dug into Chris's skin as he lifted his hips, closing the distance Chris had made between them. Then he grinned, a teasing glint lighting his black eyes. "Or we could make our own."
Chris caught his breath, a laugh welling in his throat as he sat up on his elbows. His brows climbed his forehead in unsurprised surprise. "So what part of above the pantline was unclear to you?"
"All of it," he answered. Had his voice been any less deep, it would have sounded like an outright whine. "Mostly the reasoning behind it." He was smiling when he leaned forward, pressing a peck of a kiss to the corner of Chris's mouth. "I'm not sayin' we have to fuck. But c'mon, good food and porny television go great with heavy petting." He was too intoxicated, too pleased with how the second half of his night was going. He nipped at his host's mouth, smiling still. He sighed. "And you really are just too hot for your own good."
Chris licked his lips, clearly considering Daniel's words. He didn't feel drunk enough to do more with less clothes; the three shots of tequila were muddying his brain, but they weren't making him completely senseless.
"OK," he replied. "So what doesn't count as fucking to you? Because a blow job or a hand job is more than I was thinking, right now. I just..." He peeled away from Daniel completely, slowly maneuvering his legs to the floor until he was seated back in the same spot where they'd started. He glanced back at Daniel still sprawled over the couch, one hand rising to slide fingers through his now-mussed hair. "I just want to take things slow. The last time I did something like this, I..." He stopped himself. "I just want to go slow, OK?"
Daniel watched him, but did not move to sit. Instead he shifted, pulling a little pillow from the side of the couch to rest under his head; his knees bent, his toes wiggling until they were resting under Chris's thigh. "Yeah," he said, "OK. Fair warning, I was raised Southern Baptist, and some of those girls didn't consider oral or anal real--"
Chris put up a hand, stopping Daniel mid-sentence. "Stop. Just... That's not helping, and thanks, I think? For saying that I'm not slutty enough? Or maybe I'm too prudish? I'm really not sure what to make of what you just said. I told you I don't want to do anything more, and I was clear about that, and if that's not..." He stopped taking a deep breath to calm himself. "I'm not doing the one-night stand or booty call or whatever you wanna call it anymore. I don't even know if I want a relationship, not that it matters since I haven't had anything for a couple of years. OK?" He looked back at the TV, the soft voices providing a strange backdrop for this little argument, and back to Daniel as he felt increasingly uncomfortable in his own apartment. "I would've been fine to just sit here and watch TV and eat food with you, but if you're just looking for someone to suck your dick, you can leave."
"Hey." Daniel pushed up from where he lay. The pillow tumbled to the floor as he sat up straight, his brow furrowed. "That's not… listen, I was just playin'. You don't wanna mess around? OK, we won't. I came over here to show off my bangin' tamales and maybe get a little more drunk and hang out with you. That's really it. Anything else... " He shrugged, searching for words that seemed to slip farther away each time he tried to reach for them. "I dunno. Anything else is cool, but it's not why I'm here."
He drew his long legs up beneath him, until he sat cross-legged atop the sofa. His hands fell to rest atop his thighs. "I don't know if I want a relationship either. But I like you, and I don't wanna fuck this up. So… what happened last time?"
Chris sighed, biting his lower lip for a moment. His eyes moved down over Daniel's face, clearly worried about the other man's response. "I...used to be into drugs. This," one hand rose up to rub the back of his neck. "This one time, things got out of hand. We were doing coke, some other stuff. Things got out of hand and I did something I'm not proud of. So now... I just don't trust myself. Been focusing on other things, trying to...get some distance." He knew that vague explanation likely wouldn't suffice, but for him, it was a start. Simply seeing Rafe at the neighbor event had been something of a step forward; now he was admitting things to himself, aloud, with someone else in the room.
After a moment Daniel nodded. He held his silence for a time, as though for once aware of the sudden gravity of the conversation. He shifted his weight on the sofa to move himself slightly closer to Chris. Then, true to form, he tried his best to break the tension.
"So, uh, when you say 'got out of hand'... you mean like latex porn, or furry stuff, or like… what, exactly."
Chris stared at Daniel for a moment, before bursting out in a raw laugh. Daniel quickly echoed it, more than a little relieved, himself. "God, do you take anything seriously?" Chris rubbed the palms of his hands on his pants, set a little more at ease. Daniel's attitude didn't fully dispel the anxiety he felt, but it was a start. "I...was a drug dealer. His dealer, to be specific, and I...bullied him into something I don't think he was fully aware of, much less consenting to. We both got high and I crossed a line." He didn't want to describe it more than that; there was a specific word that one could think of, but Chris didn't think things had gone that far. The chance that they could have was what scared the shit out of him. He kept glancing at Daniel, waiting for the breaking point to emerge.
"So, yeah. I just... I've been keeping to myself, and then I saw him the other night. He lives in this building. Told me that he got himself cleaned up, that he's doing a lot better. I'm glad that he did, but it doesn't make me feel much better about my part in it."
It was a lot to take in, and Daniel's face showed it. He searched Chris's expression for any sign of a lie or exaggeration, any clue he might be testing or morbidly teasing him. Finding none, he inched forward again, and brought his hands together in his lap.
"Small world, huh," he said. "Look, that's in the past, right? I'm not saying it's OK, because it's not, but… the guy's obviously forgiven you. And you're not that guy anymore, or it wouldn't have affected you like that. It wouldn't still affect you." He chewed the full swell of his lower lip, putting obvious care into the words he chose. "We've all done some bad shit, to varying degrees. But I'm all about second chances. This dude obviously wants to let you have one, so take it. Move on. Do better."
"That's what I'm trying to do," Chris replied with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck again. The fact that Daniel wasn't running for the door was a good sign; in fact, he was doing the exact opposite. "So I'm just saying, whatever we're doing here, dreams or no dreams, I want to go slow. If that doesn't sound appealing to you, then, I guess I'm sorry for all the work you put into those tamales." He was trying his best to see this with a silver lining; even if Daniel walked away, Chris had tried. He'd taken a few steps forward instead of turning to the blanket disregard of the problem as a whole.
"And sorry for how heavy this got, tonight. I know it's probably not what you were expecting."
Daniel shrugged. "Nah, but that's okay. That's why Valentine's Day is stupid. It never goes like anybody plans." He smiled softly, and reached out a hand to prod at Chris's thigh. "You wanna go slow, we'll go slow. Maybe in the meantime I'll get another slutty dream or two." He winked playfully. Then he leaned up and pressed a chaste, close-mouthed kiss on Chris's cheek. "I solemnly swear I will actually be good. Until you want me to be otherwise. How's that."
The grin on Chris' face was plenty of answer. "Good," he replied. "That sounds good. For now, I think I'd rather watch Philippe and Chevalier's drama, until the food's done?" He still craved the other man's close contact, and his positive response to the unveiling of the skeletons in Chris' closet made him feel a lot warmer toward the oversaturated idea of Valentine's Day. He sat back on the couch, leaning and stretching out, pulling the blanket back to invite Daniel to sit close to him. Daniel readily accepted, nuzzling in as close as he had before -- perhaps closer, now that Chris's bare skin was so near, and so comfortable against his own cheek.
"Another hour or so," Daniel said, his gaze returning at last to the television. "Impatient," he added, and laughed. He tugged the blanket over himself, covering a yawn with the back of one hand. He could not resist one more small, innuendo-laden tease. "I swear they'll be worth waitin' for."