Daniel Ciin | Ares (thouros) wrote in paxletalelogs, @ 2017-09-05 19:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | ares, coyote |
I should've known better
Who: Daniel and Chris
What: Post-coital snooping digs up more than Daniel bargained for.
Where: Chris' apartment
When: late afternoon
"I'm just sayin' I can't go out like this, and I swear to God it's like you don't own tee shirts. Who doesn't own tee shirts, Chris?"
Daniel stood stark naked in the doorway of Chris' closet, staring inside like a man lost at sea. His own clothes were in a pile at the foot of Chris' bed, covered in sweat and less savory substances, mussed and discarded earlier without a thought as to their plans for the evening. The bulk of his outfit could be saved but there was nothing to be done for his shirt, and their theater reservation was fast approaching. Not for the first time Daniel found himself regretting his having bought the tickets in advance. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time.
"I mean not even one?"
"Don't start, Daniel," Chris chided from the bathroom, his voice echoing slightly off of tile. "Not everyone has to own twenty wardrobes like some I know."
Daniel moved deeper into the closet, haphazardly pushing at hanging suits and trousers. Finding nothing, he turned to the shelving at the back of the little room, rummaging through piles of clothes until his hands alighted on something decidedly not clothing. Daniel's brow knit. His black eyes narrowed as he withdrew the little bag. He knew too well the shape of what lay inside, though he wanted otherwise.
"Chris? Hey, what… uh…"
"The handcuffs were going to be a surprise, you nosey nelly," Chris replied, moving out of the bathroom as he leaned heavily on his cane, clad only in pants. As he saw just what had grabbed Daniel's attention, he froze in the bathroom doorway. His jaw worked for a moment, the easy, joking demeanor that had been present only a moment ago completely gone.
"Put it back."
"No." Daniel turned to face Chris, the black bag hanging from one tightly-clenched hand. "This looks new. Somethin' you wanna tell me?" His tone might have seemed harsh but for the hurt in his eyes. "I guess not, huh, since you had it basically buried back here. Still, I don't wanna jump to any conclusions here, so 'fess up. What's this about? Those critters showin' up in the building got you this spooked?"
Chris shook his head, closing his eyes as something in Spanish involving Kal's name flowed from his lips.
"No," he replied, starting to cross the room to take the weapon forcibly from Daniel's grasp. "It's not important. I just need you to trust me on this, that it's not, all right? Give it to me—" He reached forward, clumsily grabbing for what seemed just out of his reach.
And Daniel kept it firmly out of his reach, even as he chided himself for the juvenile move. Holding the bag over his own head, he tried to look as stern as he could manage given his current state.
"If it's not important, then you can tell me why you've got it stashed somewhere other than a biometric safe. Right?" He lifted the bag a bit higher. "It's kind of a nice bag, actually. Is this a present? Is it for me? Wait, why do you think I need a gun? Is this about that antifa thing, 'cause I told you I was just there to support them, I'm not actually joining yet or anything…"
"Jesuchristo, you're such an asshole sometimes," Chris muttered almost playfully, grabbing Daniel's naked side where he knew the man was most ticklish; there was anything but mischievousness. His eyes kept going from the gun bag to Daniel's face, a deep-seated worry written therein. Daniel saw none of this, caught up as he was in unwanted spasms of laughter. Once the bag descended enough, Chris grabbed it and pulled it free from the other man's grasp.
"It's not mine," he finally admitted, hoping that one small kernel of information would suffice in quieting his boyfriend, even when he knew it wouldn't.
"Sure." Daniel shook his head, rubbing a hand over his ribs. "And now I'm extra curious why you've got somebody else's gun stashed in the back of your closet." He tipped his chin toward the bag, now out of his hands and unlikely to get back into them without a further, unwanted tussle. "C'mon, man, just tell me. You said no more secrets, right? And no offense, but a hidden firearm definitely counts as a secret."
"Yeah, well, not everything is...is some nefarious plot, or whatever," Chris muttered back, tottering to the far side of the bed where he placed the bagged firearm into a nightstand drawer. He remained standing for a moment, the grip of his hand pulsing around the head of his cane as his discomfort with the scenario became more than clear. He glanced at the mussed bedspread, then to Daniel's face, wincing slightly.
"You can't, just, let this go? This once? I swear it's... It's nothing important, OK?" He looked like a puppy waiting for the boot, wondering if this would be the thing that broke them.
"Then why won't you just tell me?"
Daniel disappeared into the closet. He grabbed one of the few tee shirts he could find and tugged it over his head. It fit slightly snug, but not in a particularly unflattering way. He shuffled out and toward the foot of the bed, bending down to pick up his boxers. He watched Chris all the while as he dressed, fixing him with an unblinking gaze. "If it's not important and it's not a surprise there's really no reason not to tell me. But you're bein' real cagey right now and I don't like it. You know I'm not gonna call the cops on you, Chris. Just tell me what's goin' on. I can help. Or listen. Or whatever."
Chris sighed, his free hand coming up to rub over his face. Mentally, he was promising his kingdom to some unseen deity for one instance where something bizarre didn't interrupt a perfectly normal set of events. Finally, he undid his button and zipper, removing his pants to sit at the foot of the bed, where he was able to grab his brace and start latching it onto his form. It was a long, quiet few moments before he finally started speaking in a low tone.
"I got it in the mail, after... a phone call. The other day..." He stopped, puzzling out his words before he spoke. "My dad's dead. Shot, I guess, from what I've been told." His gaze remained fixed on the floor as his hands moved through the various straps binding his leg; the movement kept him busy while he waited to see how much Daniel needed to have spelled out for him, and preparing himself for whatever tongue lashing he knew was going to come next.
"Wait, what?"
Daniel did not sit beside Chris so much as crumple next to him. The bed sank beneath their combined weight. His jeans sagged low around his hips, the simple act of dressing forgotten as he stared, stunned, at Chris' face. He reached out. Drew away. Reached out again. Gently his hand curled around Chris' thigh. Chris didn't realize until that moment that he'd been tense; at Daniel's touch, he relaxed, his hands sliding away from the brace that now encompassed his right leg.
"God damn, Chris. I'm… I'm sorry. Why the fuck would someone… why send it to you? How fucked up...?" He raked a hand through his hair; still tousled and damp with sweat, one lock stuck up in a wild rooster tail. "Are you okay? Jesus, dude…"
Chris put his hand on top of Daniel's; lightly, still waiting for inevitable backlash. "I'm fine. It's just... sometimes it's part and parcel of the shit I've been involved in. I don't want you or anyone else involved in it, you know? It's just..." He shrugged. "Sometimes it's better that you don't know some things. It's safer for you."
"Don't." Daniel shook his head. His hand tightened on Chris' thigh, digging faint white marks into his skin. "Don't. We already talked about that. Keepin' me in the dark does not keep me safe, or did you forget that fuckin' shoot-out already?"
He drew away, still shaking his head, incredulous. The whole grim situation felt weightier and worse with every second he thought about it. "Chris your dad is dead and you weren't gonna tell me. Somebody's threatening you and you weren't gonna tell me. You've gotta see how fucked up that is. Right? How can I help you, or be any kinda partner in this, if you don't talk to me?"
"I didn't tell you, because I don't care." The words hung there, the admission surprising even Chris himself. He'd blurted it out in an effort to reel Daniel back in, afraid that if he didn't do something in that moment, he would lose him. Daniel only blinked, too stunned to respond.
"Not about you or.... Or telling you things," he quickly amended, eyes squeezing shut as he tried to make sense of himself. He squeezed the bridge of his nose; hands then descended palms down to his thighs. Words were scattering from his mind, preventing him from creating sentences of explanation. "I didn't tell you that my deadbeat father was shot because... It doesn't matter. He was the one who even pulled me into this shit, and now that he's gone..." He shrugged.
"That's insurance," he continued, motioning at the night stand. "I guess.... the gun. So if I don't play nice, they have something over me. So...how, exactly, were you going to help? Say I should get rid of it? Go to the police?" A desperate smile edged one side of his mouth. "The man's dead and he's still sucking me into this crap. If anything, I should thank him for my poor decision-making skills, because it's the only fucking thing he ever taught me."
"OK," Daniel said, trying and failing for a smirk, "maybe that part's true. But fuck yeah you should get rid of it. Don't go to the cops. Why the fuck would I tell you… you know what, nevermind. You're not thinkin' straight right now and I get that. But we can get rid of the gun. You don't need to keep it here for Chrissakes."
He reached out to Chris again, all but grasping at him. "I don't know how to make you get this, Chris, so I'll just keep sayin' it. You are not alone in this. OK? You've got me, you've got Kal, and you can't keep doin' this by yourself. So you don't care about your asshole dad. You still need to deal with what happened. Hell, maybe even talk to somebody about it. I mean what's your plan, just shove all that shit down til it comes out as cancer?"
A semi-mocking laugh came bubbling out of Chris's throat. "Maybe," he replied. "It'd cut short this piece of shit life I have going here." Morose lines darkened around his eyes and mouth; one hand went to Daniel's wrist, holding tight.
"Don't say—"
"Look, I'm fine, all right? You don't have to worry about me. I've been dealing with this shit for too long, so I've... I've got it under control." The hand on Daniel's wrist moved to his face, cupping first his chin and then his jaw. "You know, you'd look good with a pompadour," he tried, his voice cracking a little as his gaze moved up and over the careless hairdo Daniel had accidentally given himself, making a poor attempt at changing the subject.
"Shut up," Daniel said, half-hearted, pushing weakly at Chris' hand. A small smirk remained perched at the corner of his mouth, but the downward slope of his shoulders made clear how he really felt. One small, damning sentence danced at the end of his tongue, but Daniel would by no means let it slip. He bit his tongue until the urge passed.
"You don't have it under control, Chris. Hidin' a murder weapon in your nightstand does not count as 'under control.' And I do worry about you. If somebody threatens you they're threatenin' me, too. And that's true whether you like it or not. So stop tryin' to shut me out."
"I'm not," Chris protested, though the latter half of the statement didn't leave his lips. I'm protecting you, even if you don't believe me. His hand re-asserted its place, moving up to partially grasp the back of Daniel's head and pull his mouth down. He pressed a soft kiss to the other man's lips, their foreheads touching. "I'm not, OK? You're the one person, maybe aside from Kal, that I've told the most to, out of anyone. You're the one person who's given more of a fuck than anyone else." He kept his grip on Daniel tight, their bodies pressed flush together, his eyes meeting Daniel's levelly, even as they were forced to look up.
"I'm trying. I am, but this shit doesn't come easy to me. I'm trying and I'm sorry. Please believe me."
Daniel smiled softly, and kissed him again. He nodded, his lips still a breath away from his partner's. He was not entirely satisfied, that much was clear, but he felt better than he had before. He nodded. "I know. But keep tryin'," he said. "That's all I want. And we're gettin' rid of that gun, OK? Just give me a couple days to call some folks. We'll get it taken care of."
He kissed Chris again, then slowly rose, tugging at his fallen jeans all the while. "Now get up. We've got a movie to go to and then I'm takin' you to dinner. And that's fuckin' final."
Chris was hardpressed to keep his hands to himself, the gaze lowered along the lines Daniel was presenting heavily implying that he'd have no problem simply staying in.
"Yes, sir," he cheekily replied, climbing shakily to his own feet, slowly realizing that the tremors in his limbs were put there by relief. Relief born of Daniel knowing when to stop prying; knowing, or caring enough to hit the pause button and let Chris open up in his own time. A pang of guilt struck him, but he shoved it to the back of his mind as he made his own way to the closet to gather his own clothes. He swayed a little at the mouth of the closet, briefly remembering the huge, upside down head he'd seen in its depths a few weeks prior. He tried to offset his unease with a joke as he grabbed some dress slacks and an off-white button up shirt.
"Does all of this mean you expect me to put out at the end of our date?" Chris settled back onto the bed, pulling his pants on one leg at a time. "You're gonna at least get me some popcorn for the movie, right? Movies are always better when you have something to munch on." He bounced on the bed, pulling his pants up over his hips, eyes lingering around Daniel's face and easily-seen collarbone to suggest he was thinking about munching on something else.
Laughing, Daniel arched one dark brow. "If I'm payin' ten bucks for fuckin' heat lamp popcorn you'd better put out after," he teased. He leaned down to where Chris lay, pinching sharply at the line of his hip just before it disappeared beneath dark cloth. Then he straightened up, a serious expression briefly flitting over his face. But it was there and quickly gone, replaced by the boyish, quirked grin that seemed his trademark. "You can even get a little handsy in the theater if you really want. I won't tell anybody."
"Promises, promises," Chris replied, climbing back to his feet with the shirt clutched in one hand by the sleeve. He pulled it on, rolling his shoulders to pull it on completely. He would have been completely happy staying in and getting as handsy as he liked, but there was a certain kind of foreplay to their brief outings. And after what he'd just had to gently persuade Daniel away from, he knew he owed the other man one. But that didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy himself in the process; studying the lean line of Daniel's figure, Chris caught himself biting his own lip before he finally collected shoes and socks before following the other man out the door.