Logs:Safe Words

Safe Words
Dramatis Personae Flicker, Hive
In Absentia	2019-09-17 "Can we just start there." (The morning after Steve & Flicker's hookup/Hive living through it.)
Location <PRV> VL 403 {Geekhaus} - East Village
There's kind of a college-dorm feel to this place, chronically untidy and without much thought given to Decor. Entering the apartment finds visitors greeted by the chaos of the living room, a mismatched assortment of couches and chairs (and milk crates) surrounding the wide table in the center. The wall holds a range of posters; some political, some sporty, some from video games, and a string of white lights strung over the kitchen doorway might be a holdover from Christmas. A widescreen television stands against the wall opposite the couch, shelving beside it holding a host of video games from different consoles. More shelving beside the windows on the far wall carries stacks of board games, as well as sourcebooks from various RPGs. The kitchen adjacent is just as cluttered, its table unfit for eating due to its perpetual covering of books, papers, cereal boxes, projects; the fridge is usually sparsely populated. Ketchup. Beer. Not a lot of food. There are two bedrooms here and one bathroom situated between them, split between the three people who live here. It's still early Tuesday morning when the vivid chaotic swirl of Flicker's mind returns -- for once appearing not in staccato flash through Hive's awareness. Just there, first at the fringes of awareness and drawing nearer at a slow trudge of pace. There is at once a frenetic and deeply exhausted cast to his mind, thoughts heavy and dragging at their edges even as they spin in rapid orbit around each other. An anxious uncertainty about where to go from here crashes up a freefalling panic about if and how to return to his religious community after this choice. The collision takes place somewhere within the pervasive shroud of pain, deep and aching within him. Somehow not unpleasant despite the hurt, the throbbing soreness a recurring reminder of warm hands, soft words, the safety of Steve's presence in and around him. Flitting in sharper ping around these introspections, a familiar hyper-awareness of the building around him; the packages in the lobby, the new potted plant in the corner, the corners he can't quite see around. Strobing bright and painful in between all these, just a vast and yawning worry, heavily colored with guilt; it comes with no concrete words -- just the familiar shape of Hive in his mind, of their mind, jarred out of its usual harmony. He pauses outside the door; it takes a fumbling moment for him to get his keys, unlock the apartment door, drag himself inside. Still in the khakis and polo he'd worn yesterday -- considerably more rumpled, now. Now he's more deliberate in his thoughts, a quiet and tentative questioning pushed forefront as he looks to his bedroom door. It's quiet for Flicker as he approaches, his thoughts left to spin and resolve themselves as they will. That final questioning meets with reply, though; the ponderous heavy press of Hive's mind butting up against Flicker's. Wrapping itself around, hard and hungry and, for a moment, painful in its sharp intrusive dig. He pulls back just as quick though, leaving behind only a residual sense of apology. The door opens -- just a crack. Hive returns to his bed after opening it. He's sitting propped against the wall -- Cat has taken his pillow for a current bed -- in pajama pants, no shirt, knees up against his chest and his shoulders hunched as he curls an arm around his shins, a string of polished dark lotus seeds wrapped around his knuckles and nestled in his palm. Flicker tries to hold back the flood of relief that crashes over him at the psionic touch -- as well as the stab of need that comes with it. Only with marginal success. The worry is growing thicker -- more continuous, less distracting in its bright pinging flashes. He hastens into the bedroom, closing the door behind him but then just -- standing. His eyes sweep over Hive's hunched posture, over the mala. He's only slightly successful here, too, at keeping down the flash of feeling that bubbles up -- not just the somatic memory of a rough cruel body on his but the hollow wrongness left behind after. He swallows, gaze fixing on Hive's face. The weight of apology is forming in his mind before it makes it to his lips. "I'm --" "Don't." It comes out quiet and hoarse. Hive's mind presses up into Flicker's again -- once more pulls back sharp. His chin drops to rest on his knees. "Please don't. Last night was nothing like what he did to you, okay? Can we just." He swallows, now, blinking hard and turning his eyes up to the ceiling. "Can we just start there." This is met with an immediate flutter of doubt from Flicker, but he takes a breath, pushes the uncertainty aside. "Okay." He is slow to move from the door, crossing the room and sitting down kind of gingerly on the edge of his own bed. His hands rest on his knees, his teeth worrying at the inside of his cheek. "But I still hurt you." The inadequacy of the words bite at him; it takes a deliberate effort for him not to tumble into further elaboration, explanation, apology, to instead take Hive at his word that this situation -- is not that one. His eyes drop to his hands. "Didn't I?" Hive closes his eyes, his head dropping down to rest his forehead on his knees, now. Face hidden behind his thighs. "It hurts," he offers at length, slowly, once he looks up again. "But you -- you didn't hurt me. {We were there together.}" His fingers tighten hard against his shin, the transition into Thai coming with a tensing of his posture but an easier cadence to his words. "I could have left." This sounds almost -- almost defensive. "{We wanted to be there.}" "{We did.}" A spike of desire flares upward, an involuntary shiver passing through Flicker at the thought of Steve's hand slipping under his shirt, at that first warm brush of skin. Quieter in its wake, a slow examination of other moments in the evening -- of the edges of panic being soothed away by comforting warmth, of the nauseating nightmare-flashes of memory stabilizing within a calmer cocoon of love. "We did -- but you didn't. You stayed for me." "{You needed him.}" The words come simple and immediate. Hive is slower, less certain, when he continues. "{You needed me to help get you there. But you needed him.}" His thumb rolls at one of the seeds he's holding, pressing it harder against the side of his forefinger. Despite himself there's an unsteady crackling slipping into his voice. "{I just wasn't ready for that. I wish we could have talked about -- about --}" He squeezes his eyes shut again. "{Fuck.}" Flicker wraps his left hand around his right, squeezing down at the harder fingers. Focusing here on the smooth hard plastic against his skin. Feet pressing firmly to the floor. The drowsy whistling of Cat's slumbering breaths. Preoccupying himself with these tangibilities rather than the flood of guilt knocking insistently at his mind. He's acutely aware Hive will hear it, regardless; this awareness only increases his resolve not to let it flood out his other thoughts. "{Yeah. It was -- sudden. I'm just so used to --}" His mind fumbles, reaching for feelings rather than words. Hive's mind pressing in at his; the unspoken standing invitation that his friend has to claim him. The ease with which he relaxes into the mutual embrace -- the trust he gives that bond. The surrender -- comforting, dizzying, terrifying all at once -- when he lets go of his own volition, allows Hive the kind of control that's been necessary to steer him in and out of so many deadly missions. The complete lack of limits that has saved both their lives on many occasions. He unfolds his hands. Scrubs a palm against his eyes. "{I'm so used to what we've been. Just -- taking it for granted that we'll be on the same page, I.}" He shakes his head, looks up uncertainly at Hive. Hive's eyes are bright, wet, when he looks back up, a glaring contrast with his sudden laugh. "Shit." He stretches out a hand toward Flicker. Beckoning the other man over to join him on the bed. "After all these fucking years, I guess we finally need to talk about boundaries."