ArchivedLogs:Hug Therapy

Hug Therapy
Dramatis Personae Peter, Shane, Sebastian	2013-07-24 (Part of Thunderdome.)
Location <NYC> 305 {Teenhaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a small living room. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom. Furnishings are more in line with broke students than established adults. Cast-off couches and chairs provide places to sit, and the walls have been decorated in a frequently-changed street art style that combines bright, layered colors with exaggerated proportions and abstract shapes. Peter is already in Teenhaus; he is busily /investigating/ his ‘uniform’ -- the unusual red outfit he’s been trying out -- laid out on the living room table, currently attacking one of the black metal plates on its shoulder with a screwdriver and his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth. He’s clad in nothing except his old ZOMBIE BATMAN T-shirt and a pair of short cut-off-blue jeans; his toes are bare, squeezing and scrunching beneath the chair he’s sitting on top of. PREPPING for MORLOCK RUN, no doubt. The twins have also /totally/ been busily prepping for MORLOCK RUN, in that -- they’ve gone shopping! For the /essentials/, totally. A lot of candy. Chips. Soda. Staples of teenage life. They are arriving /back/ at Teenhaus, now, dressed definitely not-for-sewers, yet -- Shane has pale pinstriped linen slacks, a nice vest, dress shirt, bowtie; Sebastian is in denim skirt and Fluttershy t-shirt. They don’t really look particularly /happy/ as they drop bags by the door and -- both kind of /beeline/ to Peter. Sebastian scoots up behind Peter’s chair, arms curling down around him in a sudden /fierce/ hug; Shane drops to kneel in front of it, resting his cheek against Peter’s knees. No greeting. Just /sudden love/. “Oh hey guys I--” Peter starts, but suddenly! He is getting swarmed with LOVESHARKS. His eyebrows dart up as he sets the tiny screwdriver down; there is a little bit of violet flush up his throat and cheeks, but probably less than there would have been months or even weeks ago. He leans back into Sebastian’s hug, a hand descending for Shane’s hair. To pet-pet. Mouth twisting into a small, concerned frown: “--is. Everything okay?” Shane’s arm snakes up to curl around Peter’s knees. “No,” he answers bluntly, and immediately on the heels of this, “-- {I love you.} Like. A whole fucking lot.” “S’fine,” Sebastian is saying directly over top of this, though he still squeezes Peter tight, his face tipping down to press for a moment against the back of Peter’s neck. And then in ragged exhale, “{Fuck.} How’s your. Suit doing?” At Shane’s statement, Peter’s nose wrinkles, even though he’s suddenly smiling; the hand in his hair drifts down to cup a cheek, fingers seeking out the familiar edge of a jaw -- sliding along its surface, cupping, a thumb moving to press along the ear-ridge. “{Love you,}” is Peter’s response, in turn -- though he is /learning/ Vietnamese (very slowly!), his accent is still. /Horrible/. Pronunciation seems to be something he’s not very good with. Peter reaches back for Sebastian, too! A little more awkwardly, but he reaches behind him to drop a hand against the back of Sebastian’s head as he exhales; eyes briefly closing, head leaning back into the pressure -- before his eyes slooowly open in response to the curse. A little more thoughtful: “...did someone. Give you a hard time? Today?” he asks, tentatively, before adding: “--oh, it’s coming -- fine I just wanted to make sure... the tubes get kinked -- kind of easy. Going to replace them with a new type.” Sebastian’s eyes close. He shifts his head slightly over, chin propping instead against Peter’s shoulder and his grip loosening, though not dropping away entirely. “No. Not really. It was fine, we just.” Shane turns his face in against Peter’s knee, /squeezes/ his arm tighter against Peter’s leg. He brushes a small kiss there before tipping his head /up/, chin propped against Peter’s knee so he can have /two/. Pairs of sharkstares. Pincer-staring. “We ran into --” His fingers press down a little more firmly against Peter’s leg. “-- Ran into that creepy-ass motherfucker. From the cages. With the muzzle, the one --” He doesn’t really explicate /further/ than this. Sebastian turns his head, to press a kiss to Peter’s hair. Then rest chin against his shoulder once more. Peter’s own grip on the back of Sebastian’s head loosens as he slinks up to his shoulder; it too stays, though, just kind-of-gripping with slack -- almost lazily -- as he hums at the pressure. The kisses against his leg and knee get him to flush a little more, but also cause that concerned look to fade around the edges; Peter huffs out a quick breath and seems about to smile! Until Shane mentions ‘muzzle’. His mouth tenses a little, then; straightening into a sharp line -- and his posture shifts, going from lazy-relaxed to something -- notably more /tense/. “O-/oh/,” Peter says, as if he had just now remembered something. “Oh, um--” His head lifts a little under Sebastian’s kiss; the violet flush remains, though he seems more agitated, now; his fingers slip away from Shane’s jaw and move back to the table, now -- creeping toward the suit’s plate. “--you didn’t, uh, bite him, right?” he asks, nervously half-grinning. “Sorry --” This comes from both twins in unison, when Peter tenses. Shane sits up, when Peter’s fingers slip away, sitting cross-legged on the floor facing him but not touching, anymore. Sebastian’s arm unwinds from Peter’s shoulders, his gaze dipping towards the ground as he slinks around to sit on the edge of the table, on the other side of the suit from where Peter’s fingers are reaching. “We didn’t touch him,” Sebastian says, very quietly. “It was kind of public,” Shane says with a frown, but follows this with an uncomfortable: “-- and anyway I don’t /want/ to --” “-- I do,” Sebastian is still looking down at the ground, “but it wouldn’t /help/.” “He screamed about how we were liars and he’d shut my -- mouth for me.” Shane fidgets, awkward, where he sits; one hand starts to reach for Peter’s knee but then drops down to rest on his own. “We -- weren’t --” “-- /imagining/ that, right? Everything that happened in there, I --” “-- sometimes I’m never really sure what’s --” Sebastian exhales a quick-sharp-irritable sound. “He wouldn’t have gotten so /furious/ if we’d made it up, though. -- I’m sorry,” he says to Peter, uncomfortably, “this isn’t --” “-- good. To. Bring up.” “--wait,” Peter says; as the twins draw back in concern, Peter tenses a little more -- but it ratchets up in response to what Shane says, about liars -- and more in response to Sebastian’s question. A hand /darts/ out, instinctively, away from the plate and toward Shane’s cheek; he frowns, violet intensifying as he glances up from him toward Sebastian, and back down, and: “--he said you were -- lying? I -- don’t remember everything, but.” He sucks in a sharp breath, /kind/ of pulling his limbs inward, as if to tuck himself up into a ball atop of the chair; only his arm on Shane’s cheek remains extended. “--I remember. /That/ it’s.” Much more quietly, less to Shane and Sebastian and more to his feet. “--something I talk about at school, with the -- therapist. Sometimes.” “Well, there was -- someone else there,” Sebastian says, “he’d -- /probably/ not want them to /know/.” Shane turns his face in towards Peter’s hand, nuzzling against his palm; for a long stretch of silence that is /all/ he does, pressing his face firmly into hand. His eyes close. His breathing stills, the soft rustlewhisper of gills shifting beneath his dress shirt. “I’m sorry,” Sebastian says softly. “That whole thing, I --” “-- I saw him,” Shane is quieter, now, a little muffled against Peter’s hand. “Once before. Right near here. Just -- if you ever see him, Peter --” “If he touches either of you --” Sebastian doesn’t actually finish this; his voice sounds more shaky than /threatening/. His hands -- also shaking -- fold in his lap. “I’m -- glad. Though. That you’re -- you’ve been talking. To the therapist that was -- that was really fucked up. Really -- /really/ fucked up.” Shane’s hand lifts very /tentatively/ towards Peter’s arm, fingertips brushing against Peter’s wrist lightly before curling against the back of his hand, just holding Peter’s hand to his face. Peter grows considerably more quiet as Shane and Sebastian speak; when Shane nuzzles his face against Peter’s palm, his fingers begin to curl, tentatively pushing into the pressure -- Peter’s feet slide up from one of the chair’s lower rungs up to the seat itself, the knees poking up under his chin. He’s clearly struggling not to /frown/ as they talk, but he’s having a rough time of it; when Shane mentions having seen him once before, Peter makes a tiny, muffled noise -- and lowers his head down on his knees. “S’okay,” Peter says, breath suddenly hitched. “I’m. I mean. Nothing even /happened/ and you talked me...” Peter’s hand suddenly /presses/, a little more fiercely, against Shane’s face. “--I’m fine I talk about it and, I don’t have. Bad /dreams/ about it or anything anymore I just. Don’t talk about it with anyone else I’m sorry,” Peter says, head pushing down /harder/ against his knees, obscuring his face. “--that I’m. Getting all tense I, shouldn’t -- kind of thought. I mean I don’t. Talk to anyone about it except the counselor nobody else besides you two even /know/.” “No, I’m sorry that we. That we brought it up, I just.” Sebastian quiets, possibly less a conscious decision and more to do with the continued flutter of his gills. His hands fold together, tightly, in his lap, though this does little to stop their shaking. Shane keeps his hand over Peter’s, squeezing gently. When Peter’s hand presses more firmly, he reaches out his other -- lightly brushing fingers against the back of Peter’s downturned head. “No it’s -- it’s. The kind of thing -- it makes sense to. Be tense, I.” He quiets, too. “-- Pa knows,” Sebastian sounds half apologetic about this, speaking very softly. “I mean when we got out we told him. A lot of things. Everything. I don’t know.” “Mnngh,” Shane scrunches his eyes shut tight. “Would it make it better or worse if I hugged you right now?” “It’s okay,” Peter repeats, in response to Sebastian, voice muffled against his knees. “It’s not -- I thought. I was. I /am/ fine I just.” When Shane reaches out to touch the back of Peter’s head, he makes a sharp, sucking sound, his breath trembling; when Sebastian mentions Jax knowing, Peter just sucks in another sharp breath. But then: “I -- I -- s’okay, I just. I’m sorry could I--” At Shane’s question, Peter makes a weak, choked whimper. “/Please/. I need --” His other hand uncurls and just kind of makes. Weak grabby motions. Toward Shane. “Could you --?” Sebastian prompts gently. His hands unfold, but only to rest curled against his own knees. Shane doesn’t say anything at all. At that whimper, at those grabby motions, he just unfurls himself /quickly/, rising up onto his knees to wrap his arms /tight/ around Peter and squeeze him close. He presses kisses -- to Peter’s temple, to his cheek -- but then just holds him. Tight. “--touch,” Peter finishes the request, weakly, and then he’s just melting into Shane with a short, single sob, head slipping away from his knees and moving to shove roughly against a shoulder -- uncurling, /slowly/, knees slipping back down into the chair in front of him, his arms roughly slinging around Shane’s neck and arms. He /burrows/ his head against the side of Shane’s neck, cheeks wet. “--just. Want. Hold. Close. Stuff.” The words come out in a series of strangled, confused sounds as Peter /clasps/ Shane to him, clumsily and desperately. “--sorry.” “Nonono,” Shane whispers this in between more kisses, pressed fiercely to the side of Peter’s head. “No, you don’t. Have to be sorry. Don’t be sorry.” His hands rub against Peter’s back, and he -- does not let go. “-- I don’t think,” Sebastian is speaking now very slowly, quietly down to his hands, “that Anole had a. /Did/ he have -- someone. To talk to, he -- he was gone for -- a while, he might.” Shane presses his face to the side of Peter’s head. “-- I don’t think they have therapists down there.” The hitched gasps and tiny sounds emerging from Peter’s throat continue for a few seconds, unabated; after a few more kisses and the pressure of Shane’s face against his head, Peter seems to be calming down -- or, at least, no longer gasping for breath. “--okay,” Peter responds, very quietly, kind-of-whispery, to Shane. At the mention of Anole, Peter produces a quick, tiny-sniffle, and blinks his eyes open as he /squeezes/ Shane closer; he’s starting to lean back in the chair, now, slowly regaining control: “N-no, they wouldn’t -- when he starts school,” Peter says, kind-of-quick, “maybe -- it. Helped I think. I, uh.” A staggered breath, followed by a /squeeze/ around Shane. “--broke down. A few times. The first few times. But--” His head swivels slightly, moist eyes regarding Sebastian just past Shane’s head: “--we could. Talk to him. Maybe. I don’t know if...” And now, as if ONE SHARK WASN’T ENOUGH, one of Peter’s hands is making. Tiny, grabby motions toward Sebastian. “We should talk to him,” Shane agrees, “I don’t know if he’s really. Had anyone.” Sebastian is slower than Shane to respond to grabbyhands. He does respond, though, pushing slowly away from the table to move to the side of the chair and snake his arms a little ways below Shane’s, around Peter’s chest. His hands are -- still none too steady; he presses his forehead to Peter’s shoulder. “I still have bad dreams,” he admits, softly. “But they’re all --” He swallows, hard. “... I don’t want anyone to hurt you guys.” Peter /exhales/, slow but sure, as Sebastian wraps his arms around his chest; one hand is pressed behind Shane’s head, and the other -- is soon moving to grip /Sebastian’s/. Peter’s no longer trembling; his breath, while still a little ragged, is slow and even -- even as he brings his mouth down to kiss at Sebastian’s forehead, and... “{Love you,}” he murmurs, in his mangled Vietnamese, before adding -- squeezing both of their faces closer to him. “--won’t. We’ll be -- okay you know the stupid thing is,” Peter adds, head dropping down to try and manuever in-between them, “I am pretty sure. Any /one/ of us could -- beat the crap out of him I just. Don’t. Want to even /mess/ with him.” Peter breathily sighs against Shane’s temple, head tilting to kiss, before: “--did I tell you? I -- almost. I was really close. To trying to -- kill him. After you -- Bastian -- bit him. I’ve never felt that /angry/ before I couldn’t even /think/ I bent the bars in his cage and. I think I would have just. Done something really bad.” “He’s probably bigger than the three of us put together.” Sebastian doesn’t say this as /contradiction/ to Peter’s supposition; he says this with a sudden fierce /amusement/, mouth curling up into a grin against the side of Peter’s head. “I’m glad you didn’t.” In contrast to Sebastian’s amusement, Shane sounds deadly serious. “Fuck him /or/ kill him. I think you’d -- have a lot more bad dreams today, either way.” He nuzzles in against the /other/ side of Peter’s head, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Probably,” Sebastian agrees, more soberly. “You don’t really -- forget. Killing people.” Another hard swallow. “C’mon. We should -- go give some hugs to Anole. Before we use up /all/ the hugs.” “Pfft,” Shane scoffs at this, “my hugging arms have been getting a /workout/ the past couple months I am in /top hugging form/.” “--I do not think,” Peter admits, with a /maybe/ sly grin, “we are suffering from a hug famine here I think as far as hugs go we might have -- a /surplus/.” The hands gripping Shane / Sebastian heads slip down, then, to grip shoulders instead -- and /squeeze/. “--but yes, let’s go give Anole some hugs. All the hugs.” “S’only a surplus if you can’t /use/ them all,” Shane points out. He presses a last kiss to the top of Peter’s head, then straightens. “Yeah, I feel like we pretty much /find/ places for all the hugs we stumble across.” Sebastian does the same. He’s smiling now, at least, even if his gills intermittently flutter. “But you’re probably at least right we’re in no danger of running /dry/.”