ArchivedLogs:Not Holding Back
| Not Holding Back | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2013-05-14 hitting (on) just a little bit harder (Part of Thunderdome.) |
| Location | |
It's a basement, somewhere, that much is clear from the slightly musty-cool feel, the lack of windows, the stark-bare cement decor. What purpose this place originally served is hard to discern; something industrial, judging by the heavy reinforced eyelet hooks still set into the ceiling, now devoid of any loads to bear. Of late the place has been repurposed, though. Around two parallel edges of the room, sturdy cells have been constructed, heavy reinforced metal segmenting off large cage-like cells. The enclosures are largely identical: two sets of bunk beds with pillows, thin sheets, identical grey wool blankets. A pair of large covered bedpans, a bucket usually filled with fresh-ish water. The center of the room is divided in two. One half is large and open, a spacious expanse of cement floor and emptiness. The other half holds long trestle-tables, long benches, both riveted into the cement floor. The ceiling -- of the room, of the cages -- hold very noticeable dark security-camera bubbles. There is one door leading out of here, heavy steel that is securely chained and barred from the outside. It is post-breakfast; meats have been gathered, distributed, and consumed. Peter - glossy black and chitinous, with a mop of greasy hair on his head and clad only in his still-surviving slacks - is standing in one of the more open areas of the basement. In the available light, he /gleams/; metallic blue is interrupted by swirling wedges of red, like a demented mood ring - or an oil slick caught beneath a layer of water after a fresh rain. He is, pacing. Agitatedly. Because today is the day he is supposed to learn how to /punch/ people. Specifically, two people. Two people he does not really /want/ to punch! But two people who have made very good cases for the punching. And are demanding that he /commence/ with punches. So, Peter will, indeed, punch them. But he will not be /thrilled/ about it. "You got darker." This is the first statement, quiet and kind of shy, that interrupts Peter's pacing. Anole's presence here is a muted thing, kind of subdued-fadey where he sits in a crouch against the lower bunk of one of the end cells. Faded grey shifts back to brighter green and the dingy dirty of his jeans and sweatshirt as he gets to his feet to creep out of the cage door. "Or -- well -- but lighter too. Colourful -- why are you pacing?" His head tilts to one side, watching Peter curiously. He moves a little slow, a little bruisey; he's had one fight since Peter and he lost it soundly. "I mean you don't look --" He stops himself before he even finishes this sentence, blushing deeper green. "No of course you're not happy." It takes a bit longer for Peter's company to arrive. They arrive in tandem, blue skin considerably cleaner than the night before; there's no more traces of blood lingering on their skin. Their /clothing/ is another matter; it's been rinsed out but this only went so far and the pale cloth of Shane's pinstriped pants and dress shirt and the pastel pink of Bastian's t-shirt are thoroughly stained dark with blood. Their clothes are damp, too, clinging to their still slightly cracked skin. Where clothing does not cling to them, skin is mottled darker blue-purple-black with bruising. They walk a little /stiffly/. Shane's bowtie is still tied neat. Bastian's fishnets are thoroughly torn up, though. "Jesus," Shane says, quiet and -- kind of maybe /awed/ when he stops by Peter. But he doesn't clarify this any more. His black eyes sweep over Peter, then shift towards Anole. "You in?" Sebastian is quiet. His smile is small-shy, tentative, eyes flicking from Anole to Peter. "It'll be okay. You should see us after we spar with -- our usual partner." "He takes out chunks of flesh," Shane says this with teeth bared; if it's a smile it looks both too-fierce and a little /pained/, possibly because of his next quiet-muttered: "Fuck, what do you think he's up to r--" "-- You should join." Sebastian cuts in, cuts Shane /off/, a little harder-edged as he breaks into this speculation. But the hard edge in his tone doesn't carry over to his still kind of soft-hesitant smile. "I mean. I don't /want/ to -- I wish we didn't /have/ to -- it's good to be able to -- you should join." "Anole--" Peter starts as soon as he sees the lizard-boy; in the next instant, Peter is UPON him. The hug is fast - lightning fast - and actually, a bit /gentle/, on account of all those bruises - but it is quick and fierce and over in an instant. Peter has learned that if he is /very/ fast about his hugs, he is less likely to get zzapped; then again, some guards probably don't zap for hugs at all. But Peter's given up on trying to figure it out. "I'm /fine/ you've got bruises though did you--" Oho, /twins/. Peter's both immensely cheered /and/ a little reluctant to see them; the mixture of emotions show up on his face as a sort of apprehensive excitement, a lot of bouncing from one foot to the other. He reaches - for Anole's wrist - grabbing it, giving it a tug-tug-tug toward the twins. "They're going to - we're going to spar. Learn how to fight. Yeah, you /should/ - join us. Anole, you don't --" Peter worries at his bottom lip a little. "You punched pretty hard last time but, you gotta get more /fierce/ you know, like do /headbutts/ and stuff, I mean you got a club on your noggin you should /use/ it," and - then Peter is knocking on one of Anole's headspikes! Gently, but still - rap, rap, rap. Anole squeaks at the abrupt hug, but there's a smile on his face, quick and bright. "But --" His brows furrow. "I mean, I could /hurt/ someone with these." The head-shell is very hard. Its spikes are pretty sharp. He eyes the twins with some nervousness, but returns Sebastian's small smile. His is equally hesitant, equally shy. "I guess you guys are -- better at this, I heard --" But then he stops, ducking his head slightly apologetically. He doesn't say what he heard. He looks at the twins' damp-bloody clothes, and swallows. "-- I'm not strong like you guys." "No. But you're fast as fucking hell and that'll do a lot for you," Shane says to Anole. Sebastian offers a slight nod of his head. "You /can/ hurt someone with it. That's the point. Take that. Use it." He steps closer, wincing slightly as he rolls one shoulder. The joint moves oddly, visible as it ripples beneath a half torn-off sleeve, ball popping clear out of its socket but fitting back in a moment later neatly. Pop. "Hit him." He is looking a Peter. Gesturing towards his brother. Shane scrunches his eyes closed for a moment, scrubbing a palm against his face. "Don't fuck with the tie," he warns, dropping into a lower crouch. "But, c'mon. I'm basically made of rubber, s'aright." "You can hurt someone," Peter agrees with Sebastian, though his tone is a little more - reluctant, probably. "And you'll have to - Anole - we're fighting for our lives, here. You might have to - you /will/ have to - be vicious." Eyes flick to the twins at this last word; again, his face and shoulders tint to a violet hue. "...even toward your friends. It's okay. Um." As if to lead by example, Peter gives a hard nod at Sebastian's words - a hesitant look to Anole - and then turns his focus on Shane. Rolling his shoulders, shaking out his arms, rotating his neck... all of it more or less just an attempt to delay the inevitable. But, the inevitable comes - Peter sucks in a long swallow of air, then - fist balled up - /swings/. Straight for Shane's sternum, /below/ the tie. Rasa gave Peter a brief lesson on punching. A few hours. Certainly not a lot of experience; and, at this point, it feels like a lifetime ago. Peter's already forgotten about not reeling back and /telegraphing/ his punches. But what he lacks in experience he makes up for in raw, flesh-pounding /force/ - at full strength, Peter hits like a sledge hammer. Anole dips his head, spiky carapace turned outwards towards the others as he studies his feet. But his eyes tip upwards as Peter draws that breath in, watching the punch with a slow tightening of his muscles. His shoulders curl inward and though his hands have balled into fists, they are tucking themselves into the crooks of his arms, arms wrapping tight across his chest. He /flinches/ at the swing. "Is that better?" he wants to know, and his voice here has dropped very quiet and uncertain. "I mean, the fights, that's okay, it'd be good to not -- be -- boring but. If they say it's a fight to the death, is it -- is it /worth/ it to --" He bites down on his lip. It's reflexive, instinctive; Bastian's muscles tense, his claws extend, when that punch flies out towards his brother. But he doesn't move, and the claws withdraw though the tension remains. Shane /does/ move, his hands coming up quickly. He doesn't dodge the punch, but he curls his body slightly around it, hands cupped to take the blow against his palms instead. Even here the pain that clamps his teeth shut is evident, and he stumble-staggers back with a sharp hiss. "Fffuuu," come immediately before, "/Good/," and both these things come /as/ his hands shift, moving to grab for Peter's wrist in an effort to twist it around, spin the other boy to hold it behind his back. Sebastian is lifting a hand, almost absently reaching for Anole's head to skim a palm along the carapace, press lightly at the tips of spikes with his webbed fingers. "That one," he says, after a delay, "I can't answer for you. I don't want any of you to die. What /you/ want might be different. Would it be easier to hit me if I hurt you?" This doesn't sound like a threat; it sounds like a genuine request for information. "Sometimes adrenaline kind of overrides. Um. Morals." "Nrghkt," Peter produces an unusual sound as his wrist is - clamped, twisted - he's /easy/ to subdue, really. Probably because he wasn't expecting it; probably because he's pretty much making everything up as he goes along. He wriggles, just for a moment - muscles hardening, /clenching/ underneath that pattern of chitin - a breathy little gulp as he feels the brief /tingle/ of Sebastian's instincts, like a tiny needle prick at the back of his brain - and then his eyebrows collapse into a single point. "If that happens," Peter gasps to Anole, voice suddenly a little tinier - "we'll figure it out /then/--" --and then Peter bends, /crouching/ toward the floor, attempting to roll Shane up on his back as he grips - and /jumps/, snapping straight like a rubber-band, aiming to /hit/ the ceiling with his back. Trying to use Shane as a buffer between him and the roof. Not as hard as he punches, but - still hard. "Are they going to hurt each other?" Anole is watching the other two with a measure of worry. His brows furrow in concern. "... I don't want to die," though this sounds pretty uncertain as he watches Peter and Shane. Unthinkingly his head butts upwards, a slow rubbing /nuzzle/ into the sharkboy's touch. "But I don't want --" Then, quiet. He's watching. Considering. Something in his expression shutters, closes down, his head bowing. He draws in a deep breath. "Yeah," he allows, to Sebastian. "It'd probably be easier." "Yes," Bastian answers Anole, honestly but without relish. "They probably are." "Ksssh," Shane hisses as he's rolled and he just /goes/ with it, keeping one arm gripped on Peter's wrist and hunkering down against Peter's back like a small toothy blue backpack. His other arm curls around, elbow hooking around Peter's neck to hold there, squeeze there, though this grip loosens abruptly at the sudden hard impact against the roof that slams against his bruises. "/Tch/. G-- ood," he hisses out through his teeth. Even as he adjusts his grip to squeeze back again around Peter's neck. Sebastian is watching this. At least all evidence points to his attention being on it, pupilless black eyes riveted there, teeth clenched as Peter slams his brother to the roof. It's sudden when he moves, a sharp snap of motion to reach for Anole's arm in a similar move as Shane, aiming to grab, twist, pin it up behind Anole's back, uncomfortable and perhaps even painful but not damaging. "Ngkrt," Peter manages to respond to Shane's compliment; it /sounds/ thankful, but it's probably hard to tell - it's also coupled with an unusual chittering noise that bubbles up from his throat - a series of rapid-fire clicks. His eyes are wide but also focused; he doesn't look afraid, just - shocked-but-intent. There's a hiss of pain - he keeps forgetting about those stitches in his stomach and hip, and when he twists, they stretch and pull - but as he drops, Shane still on his back, he reaches with both arms for the bicep around his throat. Fingers squeezing to try and get a grip. When Peter hits the floor, it's jarring - his legs crumple underneath him before /springing/ back up like a trampoline, hurling himself forward this time - and flipping. There's a rush of vertigo as he and Shane are tumbling through the air, just barely missing the ceiling, and Peter's pulling, trying to /sling/ Shane around his back, use the momentum of the flip - and that temporary rush of vertigo - to yank Shane's grip off his throat and /fling/ him across the room, at the wall in front of him. Like some sort of demented spinning yoyo that snaps at the crucial moment. "Ah-h-h," it's not a sharp noise of pain from Anole so much as a shaky one, teeth clenching with the sudden twisting pressure to his joints. At first he just goes with it, compliant, leaning down to relieve the pressure. His eyes are shifting, tracking Peter and Shane, though, and his brow furrows deeper. It's not sudden-swift like the twins, when this motion changes; it's pretty much visible the deliberate pause, the deeper frown as he reconsiders. The breath he takes to steel himself. And then, instead, he jerks up sharply, slamming his head with its hard plate of armor and sharp spikes back towards Sebastian's chest. "HHhhh --" Oddly, this time Shane's hissing breath sounds like a /laugh/, as he's grabbed, as he's flung, as he hits the wall hard and lands in a crouch. "/Now/ you're getting it." His snarl is almost gleeful as he /springs/ back into motion, launching himself towards Peter's midsection. His claws at least are retracted as far as they will go -- although that still leaves small sharp tips to the ends of his fingers. Sebastian's reaction is similar. A sharp gasp, his teeth baring (kind of /impotently/ behind his steel-and-leather muzzle), and a rasping gasp of laughter even as those headspikes rip a new hole in his bloody butterfly t-shirt. A new hole in his thick blue /skin/, a trickle of blood leaking out from where they scrape. He releases Anole, dancing a step or two backwards. "/Good/. Use that. If that hurts /me/ it's going to save you with other people." He lunges forward again, shoulder twisted to ram Anole at around chest-level. "Ohcrap," Peter /wheezes/ as he hits the ground in a crouch - while Shane's claws aren't /out/, those tips of his are still enough to send his danger sense tingling, a spiky little knot that blossoms at the base of his neck, spreading like extending quills. He /springs/ - up and back - an instant before Shane is, putting distance between himself and the sharp-clawed brawler - his hands held up high over his head. They soon SMACK against the ceiling, where they immediately stick - Peter's legs briefly dangling before he curls them up against his hip. He swings himself backward, away - then /forward/, launching himself at whatever point Shane's landed at - legs out and spread, trying to hit him somewhere around the waist or torso with his /pelvis/ - the goal to send him slamming into the ground with Peter's legs on either side of him, arms rushing down to try and pin his wrists. "Ohcrapohcrap," Peter whispers as he flings himself forward - struggling to not /close his eyes/ as he proceeds to throw himself /at/ the stack of claws, teeth, and sharp gill ridges. "Ohgodohgod," Anole's panicked squeak is not very fierce. He /is/ fast, though, and he twists sharply out of the way of Bastian's charge, sinking lower so that he can instead intercept it with a hard upward ram of his head towards Bastian's chest instead. "Ohgodyou'rebleeding." /His/ eyes are closed during this attempted headbutt. Bastian grins. It's bright and sharp behind his muzzle. "Yeah, I am." This doesn't seem to bother him much. He growls at the impact of hard-spiked-head to his torso, a pained snarling as he crumples in around the lizardboy. His elbows slam down hard towards Anole's back, not really as painful as it would be if his bones were bonier. Shane lands against the cement, tucking and rolling over onto his back. Just in time to be faced with a flying Peter, and he does not shy away from this attack. He hisses through his teeth at the impact, whumphing down harder against the floor. When Peter pins his wrists, though, his eyes widen and this time not in pain. His breath catches, gills flaring ineffectually beneath his collar and bowtie. For a moment his body shifts, lifting up /into/ the contact where Peter straddles him. "Good," is a little breathier this time, his eyes slipping over Peter's chest and up to his face. He moves abruptly, boneless-flexible as his legs curl up, around Peter's waist, tugging sharply down as he tries to reverse their positions. "OhmanI'mkindaawesomeatthi--" is all spoken in a single breathless /rush/ as Peter manages to pin Shane; the violet hues return - swelling down his head and shoulders briefly as his hands /squeeze/ at Shane's wrists - but temporarily relaxing, apparently thinking it's over. When Shane lifts up into Peter's straddle, the violet flush deepens; he's thrown off - both mentally and physically as those legs wrap around his waist and /pull/. He manages something mixed between a smothered yelp and chitter as Shane yanks him down, torso falling backward to the floor. "Oh god I'm /not/." Anole oofs quietly with the slam of elbows. He lifts his hands to grip Sebastian's arms. His own strength is pretty trivial, though he grips as hard as he /can/. He's quick to step back, though, /jerk/ back to turn and try to bash Sebastian against the wall, his head slamming back towards the other teenager's forehead. "Fff, you're not /bad/ at it you just need to ahhh." Now it's Sebastian's turn to yelp, sharp and pained as he's slammed against the wall, as those spikes crash into his head. Shane presses down, when Peter is flipped. Now he pins Peter's arms, his teeth bared and chest heaving, his grip a little shaky. "Good," he says again, and this time it's quieter, husky-whispered nearer Peter's face. It's probably unneccessary that his weight settles downward even as his grip slackens slightly, not so much pinning anymore as just pressing. "Keep that up. You can't fucking die here." Sebastian curls his arms around Anole, a little shaky as well from the repeated slamming of already-bruised flesh. But the squeeze turns into just a hug. His eyes close tiredly. "Hhhhuumph," Peter manages weakly beneath Shane, suddenly - /gulping/ for air. The violet in his face and shoulders darken and spread until his upper torso has nearly turned indigo; he gives a half-hearted attempt to lift his wrists that ends before it even begins. Despite Shane's relative lightness, the presence of his weight settling atop of him - combined with the proximity of his face - seems to leave him breathless and squirming. "I--nnyes. Yes. Won't," Peter half whispers, half-squeaks back. Licking his lips. Anole closes his eyes, too, exhaling heavily. His head wilts, his hands lifting to rest against Sebastian's arms. "Did I hurt you?" His voice is small. Apologetic. His cheeks flush when he opens his eyes, glancing over at Peter and Shane and then sharply away. He leans back into the hug for a moment, then slowly straightens. "Yes," Sebastian answers Anole, but he answers this with a brief additional squeeze and a quick smile. "Yeah. And you should keep it up. I'll heal." Even so, he is a little unsteady-limping as he takes a few steps to the side, then just sinks down against the wall to sit. He watches Peter and Shane, too, his expression thoughtful. Shane is quiet for a moment, looking down at Peter. Eventually his grip loosens altogether, fingers trailing against Peter's wrist to instead slip his hands into the other boy's. He's slow -- tentative, his eyes focused on Peter's as he leans in closer. He's watching, for pulling back, shying away, signs of discomfort; his breathing has stopped, his gills fluttering instead. But if there is none, he's dipping his head closer, to brush his lips very softly against Peter's. Peter makes a soft ssssing sound when Shane's wrist-grip turns into hand-holding; his chest archs off the ground - his toes clench. His breath grows slower - more laboured - and there's confusion in his eyes when Shane dips closer. He doesn't pull away - just watching, heart /slamming/ inside his chest. When Shane brushes across his lips, Peter's hands /squeeze/ - and he makes a tiny, strangled sound. Now, almost entirely coated in that metallic indigo, his head inclines - ever so slightly upward, into the kiss. "Wh-what," he exhales, barely audible. "...ohGod are people watching." Flicker of panic. Eyes, swooping around the room. But otherwise, not daring to move. Anole's cheeks flush darker -- people are /totally/ watching and he is one of them. He sinks against the wall, too, close to Sebastian but not touching him, his legs curling up towards his chest. His chin drops to rest on them. "Sorry," he says in a small voice, and then "-- or I guess not sorry. I. Thank you. I -- sorry." His nose wrinkles in some confusion. "For helping." He's still watching the other two, his neck and cheeks flushed deep dark green. "People are watching," Sebastian agrees quietly, "but do you really care? They watch us bathe and pee. They've watched people screw already." His eyes are closing, though. He's not watching, just tiredly hugging his knees tight against his chest. "They watch us /kill/ each other, that seems a lot more obscene. I'd take whatever bit of happy I could /get/." His eyes open, head tilting to look over at Anole. "Don't be sorry. Fight harder." Shane, though, flushes darker, near to purple as he releases Peter kind of abruptly and rocks back to sit on the floor beside him. His eyes are wide, his gills rapidly fluttering. "-- sorry," he says, quiet, looking away. "I -- shouldn't have -- I'm sorry. Please don't -- sorry." His webbed hand presses against his face, palm pushing hard against his eye. "We can -- practice more later. That was good. You're doing better. I'm sorry, I won't -- do that again." Peter /gasps/ as Shane slips his weight off of him, gulping up air as rapidly as he can catch it. He looks to Anole, then - and the heated shade of indigo remains - before flicking his eyes to Sebastian - if Peter could blush any /harder/, he would, but he's reached his limit. "I... um." When Shane starts apologizing, Peter /squirms/, pushing himself up with his arms - propped up behind him, shoulders lifting, still panting. "Sh-shane, it's -- I mean -- it's /okay/, I just -- don't think I'm -- I mean, I..." Wheeze. Almost hyperventilating. "...ohmyGod," Peter relents, and -- without much warning -- just /flings/ arms around Shane, dragging him toward him, just -- /shoving/ his face into Shane's throat and shoulder. /BITING/. Not hard, but. Just. Bite, bite. This is apparently the best way Peter can think of expressing himself. Though, a moment after the bite-bite, he starts nattering: "Does this mean I'm -- oh/God/ am I gay. I didn't think I -- was -- but -- I /liked/ that -- I'm /so/ confused right now." Anole doesn't stop flushing, although he's not really a part of this whole exchange. His brow furrows deeply, and eventually he pulls his eyes away from Shane and Peter, struggling instead to his feet. "Thank you," he says, very softly. "If we -- if we could do this again sometime, I'd -- thank you." That's all. He glances from Sebastian to Shane to Peter, and then, quickly, scurries away to disappear back into his cage. "Yeah. We'll definitely do it again." Sebastian glances up towards Anole, watching his retreat with a slightly worried frown. It doesn't ease much as he looks back at his brother. Shane is dragged easily, and his arms curl around Peter in return. He doesn't try to repeat the kiss or reciprocate the /biting/ but he does flush deeper, holding the other boy and letting his eyes flutter closed. One set of lids and then the second. "Oh --" It's a tiny whispered syllable, and he swallows hard at this biting. Bastian blushes here, too, dropping his eyes down to the floor. "-- Is it bad if you are?" he wants to know, and then, "you know, there's -- you can like it /without/ being gay there's, like, in-between." "... does it matter?" Shane hasn't opened his eyes. He doesn't seem to care, really, about the stares and whispers they attract. "If you like it you like it. But I'm -- I'm still sorry. I didn't -- wasn't thinking about -- this isn't really the /place/ to be --" He exhales, slowly. "... I liked it, too. I didn't mean to confuse you." Peter bites again - at the sound of the 'Oh' - harder, now, against that tough, sandpapery skin. Almost - /digging/ in. When he finally pulls back - so very reluctantly - his arms slip away from Shane's back, where his fingers were scraping, hands settling on his arms, instead - kneeling beside him. For a second, he doesn't even realize Anole is leaving; when he does, his eyes widen with a flicker of alarm and worry - but then Sebastian's question pulls his attention back. "Nnnyo..." is Peter's -- confused -- response to Sebastian. "I mean... I don't -- no I guess it -- isn't? I just." Violet and indigo swirl in confusion, one trying to win out against the other. "...never thought about... um." He's watching Shane's closed eyes. Apprehensive. Worrying at his lip. Peter is not good at this sort of thing. He is, in fact, very /terrible/ at it; nevertheless, he darts his head forward. Pecking at Shane's lips. Twice; the first time, very quickly - the second time, just a bit more slowly. Lingering for half a second longer. It is - almost bird-like, in its briefness. "This /is/ a terrible place to try and, um. I mean. Not-be-confused," Peter agrees, a little breathlessly. "But, um, I think, I would like -- I just have to be -- slow," he finishes, his voice dwindling until it's just a whisper. "M'sorry. This is -- really weird for me. But, um. I think I -- might want... this." Then, so quiet it's scarcely a murmur: "Even if I don't know what this is." The second bite makes Shane's arms tighten around Peter, not enough to hurt, just enough to /support/ him because his posture is going kind of /melty/-shivery. "-- oh," still soft, and this time it's breathier, shakier. He swallows. His eyes open, but he looks down at the floor, his usual rather /aggressively/ inappropriate bravado faded into something shyer and more hesitant. He returns the kisses, soft but not making any attempt to draw them out further than Peter's bird-quick pecking. Sebastian has returned to watching this. His claws pick at the ragged bloody edges of his skirt. "This /is/ a terrible place for it," he agrees, a little sadly. "But a good place to --" He hesitates. "-- be looking after each other." Shane's cheeks are still flushed. He nods, very slowy. "I don't think you have to know, really," he says at length. "What this is. I just. Um. I." His nose scrunches up, and his gills flutter. "You're really good, Peter, and I think I'm, um, kind of a -- terrible person?" Now his eyes scrunch shut, too. Just for a moment, then he opens them again. "I mean, I -- I want -- I like -- this is --" He is looking very steadily at Peter now and not at anyone else in the room. "Slow is good. I mean, don't feel like you -- I don't /want/ to -- push you into any -- mnngh." "If you want it," Sebastian helpfully translates from Shane to English, "then go with it. But don't rush. If you /still/ want it when we're out of here he'll still be there. Without the cages." This comes with a sharp zap. He tips his eyes up to the ceiling, ignoring it. "Yeah," Shane agrees, quietly. "Cuz this place is pretty much the shittiest shithole for having feelings in." Peter is having a hard time /not/ biting Shane; it's a new, unusual feeling - and somehow, the realization that it's making Shane melty and weak makes him want to do it even more. As Shane gets meeker, Peter seems to have more and more trouble restraining himself; it's like he wants to make up the difference. When Shane mentions Peter being /good/, indigo wins out over violet; the indigo starts to slip back when Shane continues to say he's terrible. And -- nnngh. Peter bites again. Shane's shoulder. /Hard/. As if Peter were punishing him. But an instant later and Peter pulls back. "You aren't -- nnrrrh you aren't terrible, people who put people in /cages/ are terrible. You are..." Brainsearching. Peter's whole face seems to scrunch as he struggles to work with a whole new vocabulary. "...pretty," he finally settles on. "And scary. Pretty scary. And /pretty/ scary. You're both... Nngh." Peter turns, listening to Sebastian as he translates for Shane, eyebrows furrowed. When the zap comes, Peter notices; the eyebrow scrunching gets even /tighter/. He turns back to Shane, and... "...okay. Um. Okay. I'm going to -- you aren't pushing me into -- nngh. We should. Go back to the cells. I, uh, I kind of want to. Biteyouinprivate," Peter admits, amidst much flustering - even though a quick glance toward the cameras confirms that, well, there really is no such /thing/ here. "If that is. If that is okay." All this makes Sebastian's lips curl upwards, his smile soft and warmer than it has been, in here, for a while. His eyes stay focused on the ceiling, though. He doesn't move from his spot by the wall. If Peter is punishing Shane it's an ineffectual sort; the hard bite draws another swallow, another shiver, and his face presses in against Peter's neck for a brief moment. Just a moment, and when he pulls back his lips brush lightly against the other boy's collarbone. And then he stands, offering a hand out towards Peter to do the same. "It's more than okay." See, Sebastian is still helpfully translating, even when Shane isn't talking. Still smiling, too. Peter is quick to take Shane's hand; there's a certain /rush/ to the way Peter gets to his feet - almost stumbling! - and begins, pulling, /tugging/ Shane toward the cell with Sebastian. As if he is at risk of just - trying to wrestle him to the floor right here and right now and start /biting/ indiscriminately. Which, uh, he actually just might do. Once they're /in/ the cell. | |
