ArchivedLogs:Donor

Donor
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Steve	2016-01-14 "{Does kissing mean something different now than. Before.}" (Content warning: no kissing occurs in this log.)
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Game Room - Lower East Side
Together with the dining room, this is the largest room in the common building, a plentiful expanse of gathering space for people to come and socialize. There is typically a brightly-coloured array of whimsical artwork hanging on the walls, and its wide windows overlook the grounds. Tall cabinets along one wall hold a wide library of board and card games -- there's a sign-out sheet for the use of these clipped to the front of the cabinet doors. The room provides plenty of place to /play/ games in, as well, with several separate wide tables -- three ringed by straight-backed chairs, two nestled amid more casual clusters of couch-and-armchairs -- scattered throughout the room. In the back of the room there's a ping-pong table; over near the windows on the right, an air hockey table, while a pool table stands to the back of it. Doors to either side of the room lead off to the media room and the children's playroom. Clack-clack. Clack-clack. It's late, the Commonhaus mostly quiet. Mostly. There's still a light on in the game room, though, one single figure in here currently leaned over the pool table, practicing. Dusk is barefoot, in faded corduroys that drag scuffed and long over his heels. Though shirtless he's plenty colourful, each wing a continuous conflagration that flickers and shifts as the angle of the light changes on the velvety fur that covers them. Quiet, subtle blue lines the bottom edges, brightening to a band of jagged white, which fades to yellow and orange and, finally, a few flickers of red along the length of the bones that frame them. His wings are half-mantled behind him, shifting out for balance as he leans in to line up his shot. On the edge of the pool table a pair of tiny black and yellow mantid-like robots are perched. A holographic computer display -- presumably from his laptop, sitting on a nearby chair -- is spread out nearby, though he's currently ignoring its terminals in favour of sinking the six ball into a side pocket. There had been soft footfalls descending the steps earlier, and now coming back up, they pad slowly down the hallway outside. Steve comes to rest against the doorframe, dressed in a white a-shirt and black sweatpants, barefoot. His right forearm is neatly wrapped in gauze, and much more extensive bandaging is visible through his shirt. He carries a black mug in his hand, decorated with a graphic of his iconic shield. His short blonde hair is uncharacteristically touseled -- he looks like he just rolled out of bed. Stares at Dusk's wings for a moment, but doesn't wave until after the other man takes his shot. Then he enters, comes near enough to watch but not to get in the way. A low rumble thrums in Dusk's chest as Steve enters, very soft. It deepens as Steve draws nearer, Dusk's eyes lifting briefly from the table. He straightens, frowning over at his display and swiping one window away. Typing a few lines quickly into another as his wing stretches outward, wrapping around Steve's shoulders to drape there in a veeery gentle-careful squeeze. He draws back in, circling closer to Steve -- and to where his cueball has ended up -- to eye the table for his next shot. "{Someone roughed /you/ up good.}" Even when he talks, the soft rumble hasn't left, growling quiet and deep underneath his speaking voice. Steve's pulse speeds up when Dusk growls -- as always, though he's certainly had time to get used to it, and seem put off by it in the least. He brushes the back of his hand (the knuckles covered with small scrapes and cuts, nearly healed) against the inside of the wing that drapes over him. "B," is his explanation, one corner of his mouth hooking upward. "{I heal pretty fast, though. Should be fine by next week.}" "{Yeah, she's /something/, isn't she?}" Dusk shivers as Steve's hand brushes against him, wing pressing back into it to rub lightly against the touch. It stays draped over Steve, his growl lowering into more of a quiet purr. His teeth sink down against his lower lip as he takes his next shot -- juuust a little too hard, the ball glancing off the corner and rolling back a few inches from the pocket. "{A /week/?}" Dusk straightens, leaning slightly against his cue stick as he looks Steve over, brows hiked up. "{Aren't you working an /actual/ job? The kind where you have to -- /use/ that?}" One of his thumbclaws twitches towards Steve's body. "{If I rest, heal faster. But...}" Steve watches the balls ricochet across the table, then looks back up at Dusk. "{I can work -- just hurts.}" He shrugs (the motion a bit shallower than usual, his expression tightening momentarily, his pulse accelerating just a fraction). "{Not too bad.}" "{If you rest. But construction for ten hours a day doesn't /really/ sound like fucking /rest/, man.}" Dusk draws in a sharper breath, setting aside the pool stick as his shoulders tighten. "{Doesn't that -- suck?}" His wing draws slowly down against Steve's back, a gentle-light trace of touch as it falls away. One long fingerbone presses lightly up under Steve's forearm, careful of the bandaged injury as he lifts the arm. "{I --}" For a moment he is hesitant, looking down at Steve's arm then glancing up at the man's face instead. "{... could help that.}" Steve's brows wrinkle slightly. "{Suck?}" he echoes, and it isn't clear whether he's failing to understand the word or the concept. "{But no, work -- that's why I think it'll take a week. For this to heal. It not /feel/ good, but, need to make money.}" A shiver runs through him when Dusk's wing brushes down his back, and he yields his injured arm without resistance. The bandage holds several sheets of gauze pads in place, clean but still smelling of blood. Now he looks even more perplexed. "{Help -- how?}" "{Like it's really shitty,}" Dusk explains. There's a faint tremble that runs through the wing that touches Steve's arm, his breathing slowing. A flush blooms in his pale cheeks, eyes lowering. "{I mean, not sure if you'd /want/ -- but slogging through hard labor injured is /rough/, and I -- heal people.}" His other wing hitches up in a small shrug. "{Well, not me. My blood does. Among -- other things.}" "Oh. {Yes, it is really...not good.}" Steve curls his fingers around the long bone of Dusk's wing under his hand, as if he could still the shaking that way. "{If you can, make it better? I would like that. But your /blood/? Don't you need uh...} transfusions? {Not have enough yourself?}" "Transfusions?" Dusk looks confused, for a moment, but then laughs, quick and bright -- it comes in tandem with a rich deepening of the low rumble of purr as he leans back against the pool table. "{What, no. I'm not /sick/, I don't take people's blood because I need --}" The colour in his cheeks is deepening, though his grin is broad, fierce and warm. "{I /drink/ it.}" Steve had been lifting his mug to his lips, but stops mid-motion to blink at Dusk. "You drink --" Slowly set the mug back down. Considers this for several long seconds. "{You drink blood. And /your/ blood...heals people.}" His intonation isn't exactly questioning. "{Do you just...bleed /on/ someone and they...}" But he doesn't finish the thought. His eyebrows lift. "{Or do you feed them your blood?}" "{I drink blood,}" Dusk confirms, laughter fading but his smile and the low thrum of purr both remaining. "{/That's/ why I take it. It's just part of my diet. But I'll starve without it.}" He shakes his head briefly at the unfinished question. One wing folds in behind his back, the other rubbing gently at Steve's shoulder but then pulling -- not quite /away/. Curling up mantled in a very colourful canopy around the other man without quite touching, now. "{If I feed people my blood,}" this explanation comes more quietly, a slight tension tightening the muscles in his arms as his hands drop back to rest on the pool table, "{they -- get more like me. And /I/ heal fast. So they heal fast.}" Though here his smile slants slightly crooked: "{Don't worry, though, it won't make you start craving blood or develop a sudden sensitivity to sunlight.}" "{Won't grow wings, get really good with computers...}" Steve smiles, brushing the fingers of his uninjured arm over the velvety wing mantled around him. "{Is it something you not like to do?}" He studies the other man's posture, the tightness in his arms. "You're tense." "{You'll get stronger.}" Dusk says this kind of thoughtfully, eyes sweeping over Steve's muscular form. "{And if you develop a sudden talent for basketball, I take full credit if you kick Flicker's ass on the court.}" He shivers, tongue pressing up against his upper lip at the brush of Steve's fingers. "{No. I don't mind it. I mean, I like it. It's --}" He breathes out, lets the clench of his muscles ease. "{Sorry. Not the /doing/ that makes me tense. Just not a /part/ of my shit I let everyone know about, you know? And it's weird with you especially --}" Though he cuts himself off here, cheeks darkening again. One hand lifts to rub at the back of his neck. "{Sorry.} No. It usually bothers other people hella more than me. I'm /used/ to the vampire thing." "{I'm not /bad/ at basketball,}" Steve says, only the slightest bit defensive and not at all serious, "{considering I only played it for the first time last month. But I have a hard time imagining anyone beating Flicker at any sport he's /ever/ practiced.}" He cants his head to one side, considering. "{To think about it, is...strange, but you are not a --}" Suddenly cuts himself off. "{Well, no. You /are/ a vampire. That would probably bother me,}" he admits, looking down at the floor between them, "{if you were not already my friend. But it is not so different, from needing} transfusions. {You need the blood; it does not really matter /how/ you need it.}" He leans against the pool table beside Dusk, not bothering to disguise his weariness anymore. "{Thank you, to trust me with that,}" quietly, as he rests his head lightly on the other man's shoulder. "{I don't need it any more than anyone else does,}" Dusk says with a shake of his head. "{I mean, it's no different than donating blood? I need /other/ people's blood the way I need food. My /own/ blood, I need the same way you need yours. Won't hurt me to lose some anymore than it'd hurt you to. Less, with how fast I get over it.}" His wing slides around Steve's shoulders when the other man rests up against him, curling Steve in closer to him. "I don't figure," he says, a little wryly, "you're exactly going to be first in line to /abuse/ the fact that my blood turns people into..." He doesn't actually finish this sentence. His wing does tighten, slightly, around Steve. His hand lifts from the table, fingers tracing up against Steve's arm to brush lightly against the bandaging. Then turning over, wrist turning upwards as his eyebrows lift in questioning offer. "{I promised someone,}" Steve says softly, "{before...I was like this. Promised I wouldn't abuse this strength. Don't plan to change my mind just because I get more stronger.}" He leans gratefully into Dusk's wing, though he eyes Dusk's wrist with a touch of doubt. "{I would like to. Do you need a /knife/ or something, I'm not going to /bite/ you.}" Though he kind of clicks his teeth gently at Dusk anyway. Dusk's eyes cant sidelong to Steve, a thoughtful hum in his throat, at this. His wing rubs gently at the other man's shoulder. The question, though, just draws a low chuckle from him. His smile just flashes wider -- sharper, /fangier/. The wing folds in, his other one pulling up as well to wrap Steve in, pulling the other man in front of him. He lifts his hand, wrist pressing to his own mouth; there's a quick catch of breath, a very brief shiver that runs through him. Leaning up, he tilts his face up towards the taller man, wing pressing in to draw Steve down nearer him -- for a moment, close enough their lips nearly meet. Close enough to slide his wrist away from his own mouth to Steve's, now, with a minimum of mess, blood welling thick and dark from the fresh deep punctures there. As used to the casual touch of Dusk's wings as Steve must be by now, his pulse still races when both of them wrap around him. He doesn't fight it, though, tipping his head down watching Dusk wide-eyed and a little shivery himself. /Probably/ this isn't all fear or nervousness. Presses his lips to Dusk's wrist, a quick wave of tension snapping through his body, then gone. Closes his eyes. Settles his left hand on Dusk's arm as if unsure of his footing (as if Dusk's wings weren't wrapped tight around him). Breathes out, slow and relaxed now, tongue swiping gently over the wounds on the other man's wrist. Dusk's eyes widen faintly, pupils dilating as Steve's pulse races. His own is speeding, too, more easily felt as close as their bodies are pressed. More easily felt, too, the deep purr of growl rumbling through him. His breath catches, fingers curling up to cup the side of Steve's face, tracing along the other man's jaw. There's a slow slight squeeze of wings, rubbing at Steve's back as his head tips in, face buried now against Steve's neck. Steve leans against Dusk, not so wearily now but excited, nuzzling gently into the touch of his fingers. His left hand slides up to the other man's shoulder, then around to the base of his wings, pressing fingertips into the muscles there. His right hand goes to Dusk's hip, trembling faintly. A soft noise rises in his throat, low and muffled and needy. The knead of fingers into hard muscles deepens Dusk's growl, more intense in its low vibration through Steve. The scruff of his beard brushes rough against Steve's neck as lifts his head, lips brushing light up against the other man's throat. Just a faint skim of touch; his mouth hovers just over Steve's collarbone afterwards, the shaky breath he exhales at that quiet noise warm against skin. "-- oh." The brief small tightening of his fingers hooks in against the back of Steve's jaw, pressing the other man briefly firmer against his wrist. Only briefly, though; his hold releases momentarily, fingers slackening to splay fingertips back, loosely cupping Steve's face. Tilting it towards his own as he draws back, just slightly, wings easing their grip though his posture remains firmly supportive against Steve's. His eyes tip up to meet the other man's, the rumbling growl tapering off to nothing. Soft and undemanding: "{May I kiss you? Please -- tell me if it's not okay.}" The pounding of Steve's heart is easily seen and felt even if Dusk had no especial attunement to it. His skin flushes pink, suddenly and noticeably warmer, at the faint touch of lips against his throat. The fingers of his left hand continue exploring the very inhuman arrangement of muscle and tendons supporting Dusk's wings. His right hand clutches the other man's waistband -- not to pull him closer or push him away, but only to hold on. He finally pulls away from Dusk's wrist with one last swipe of his tongue. His pupils are dilated and a little unfocused as he looks down at Dusk. Blinks several times, slow and without urgency. "{No. I -- want, but I am...}" Not doing very well at Spanish, he falls back on English here. "I'm seeing someone. I think." Dusk's fingers trail down, slowly, brushing against the side of Steven's neck as his hand falls to rest on the other man's shoulder. He nods, once, his own shoulders relaxing slowly under the kneading. "You think?" Curious, rather than disappointed; he settles his weight just slightly back against the pool table. The flex of his fingers comes with a faint wince. His wings shift, sliding against Steve's back into a looser hold; the movement flexes the muscles of his shoulders against Steve's fingers. His lips quirk up into a crooked grin, quick and bright. "So'm /I/." Steve's eyes slide shut again at the brush of Dusk's fingers along his neck, and he lets out a long, shivering breath. "He has a complicated life. We haven't really sorted out...where exactly I fit in it." Feeling Dusk wince, he opens his eyes. "{You are all right? Can clean this, and wrap it.}" His right hand comes up to touch the back of Dusk's arm -- the injured one. His left hand keeps rubbing, though, more confident now he isn't causing discomfort. "{You -- Isra, does not mind? Or does kissing mean something different now than. Before}" He doesn't seem very /flustered/ about this at the moment, content to nestle in Dusk's wings. "He?" There's a brief moment where a touch of surprise shows, in the widening of Dusk's eyes, the slight cant of his head -- but this clears up in pretty much the next instant with a dip of head, a soft exhaled laugh. "{Complicated. He. Oh, good. Of course. Man, /Jax/ isn't going to care if --}" Though here he cuts himself off /quick/, cheeks darkening and a hard swallow pushed down his throat, more visible than most with the bob of his overly promiment adam's apple. He lifts his wrist back to his mouth, a quick swipe of tongue up his forearm cleaning off the long streak of blood that had been dripping there now. "{Nah, pretty sure kissing means the same. Isra doesn't mind. She and I --}" His smile is warm, voice soft. "{I love her. She knows that. Kissing other people doesn't make me have any /less/ love to give her. How am I ever going to run out of that?}" Steve blinks, some of the fuzziness clearing from his eyes. "{Maybe he wouldn't, but...we haven't talked about it. We haven't talked about much, and I get the feeling there's a /lot./ To say.}" He watches Dusk lick the blood from his arm, fascinated, pulse quickening again. "{You don't...run out of love, no. But I...}" He shakes his head. "I clearly do not have a good handle on modern romance.../any/ romance. {So you...have other lovers, then?}" Dusk shivers, fingers curling into a fist. "{You got plenty of time to figure it out,}" he says, his other hand squeezing gently at Steve's side. "{Jax /and/ modern romance both. Probably with some overlap.}" His eyes lift, locking for a moment on the other man's face. His wings squeeze in against Steve once more, then fall away. Straightening, he bumps his shoulder lightly against Steve's, wing trailing against the taller man's side as he pulls away to pick up his pool cue once more. Lick at his wrist again, a quick catlike swipe of tongue. "{Yeah. My lovers know I do. Sex just isn't --}" Though here he hesitates, brows knitting as he skirts around the table to examine where the balls have landed. Switching back to English, thoughtful: "... I don't want to say it isn't a big deal. That probably has a different connotation that I mean. It /is/ important to me, but obviously not in the one-partner-you're-married-to-forever kind of way, you know?" Cheeks puffing out, he leans down against the table, finger hooking around his cue. "{Why? What's romance like to you?}" Steve hisses out a quiet breath when Dusk's hand squeezes down at his side -- there's a lot of bandaging there and it's pretty hard to tell where the worst of the damage is, though he doesn't react much beyond that. He's looking a little lost, perhaps. "{I hope you're right. I still feel like I'm just muddling through all the new things, half-faking it just so I don't annoy everyone around me.}" His hand brushes down along the outside of Dusk's wing as he steps back to give the other man room to maneuver around the pool table. Watches him line up his shot. "{Are your lovers...mostly your friends, also?}" Steve's hand smooths over the fabric over top of the bandaging on his side, absently. "{I haven't really...had any. Romance.} I have been /taught/ ideas about it, but...well, the only people I've ever /wanted/ have all turned those ideas on their heads." His shrug is still shallow and tight with pain. "So I'm left with this longing to build a life with someone who shares my passions, but I don't really know how to go about the specifics." "{Pretty sure everyone's muddling through faking it,}" Dusk answers, shooting a broad grin across the table. "{Not sure I've met a person yet who knows how life works.}" He quiets for a moment, a quick small jab of his cue leading to a satisfying /clack/ of balls. The five sinks neatly into is pocket, this time. "Fuck /taught/. The specifics should really only matter to you and your lovers, right? You all should make your own ideas. I know it /seems/ kind of daunting but I don't think it really is. So long as you're /talking/ to people honestly about what you both want and need -- romance isn't /more/ complicated than people are in general." Though here one eye scrunches up slighty. "{... maybe not reassuring.}" One of his wings hitches up in a small shrug. "{And my lovers are all my friends. I mean --}" He straightens, again, head dipping with a small chuckle. "... not that /all/ my friends are my lovers. {But I don't fuck people I'm not friends with. Sex is something to share with people I /care/ about.}" "That's.../kind/ of reassuring, actually." Steve leans against the back of a couch, crossing his arms, smiling a crooked smile. "{People are complicated, but at least I've got plenty of experience working with them.}" He studies the remaining balls on the table, then looks back up at Dusk. "{Same with the...blood-drinking? Speaking of that -- do you /bite/ your...}donors?" "{I guess you'd have to, huh? I'm pretty sure you'll be fine, anyway. People draw /weird/ lines between romance and friendship and I don't really understand it, entirely. But it's not like talking to your lovers is any different than talking to your friends and I /know/ you handle that just fine.}" Dusk glances down to his arm -- there's still blood leaking from the punctures, but the flow is already slowing. He licks the trail of blood clean again, and then shakes his head. "{Not most of them. Depends. Most people I take it with a needle. Usually we only go with biting if I'm /really/ needing to eat in an emergency and I don't have a kit available, or,}" another upward hitch of wings, "{a couple people who /want/ to be bitten.}" "{I want to build a life with friends who share my passions, too,}" Steve muses softly. "The role of a /partner/ in that life is pretty involved but...{that just takes /more/ talking, I guess, not necessarily a different kind.}" He nods, slowly. "Well, the offer of my blood stands open -- by fang or by needle. I know I can lose a /lot/ of it, pretty regularly, without lasting harm." "Most people opt for the needle. Biting is -- messy. And painful. And my bite kind of drugs you. I mean, some people really like that." Dusk grins, broad and sharp. "The high /and/ the pain both. But it /can/ be a lot more intimate an experience than some people are into if we're not already, you know. Intimate." He taps the pool cue absently against the edge of the table, lips pursing as he considers the balls. Then gestures with the end of his stick towards the rack on the wall where spare cues are hanging, brows raising in invitation. "{Kind of what we were going for when we built this place. Had it's ups and downs, but so far it's working out alright.}" "{I've noticed that. About biting.}" Steve chuckles and looks down at the arms crossed over his chest. "{The pain, the mess, I don't mind that much. Drugs...maybe wouldn't affect me as much. But still better to use a needle, then.}" He wanders over to the rack, running his fingers over the cues and then selecting one. /This/ game, at least, he knows. Turning back to Dusk, he lapses into a gentle and sincere smile, "{Yeah, it seems to be working pretty great.}"