driftfleet | if you bed it, he will come

Entry tags:

if you bed it, he will come

Who: Sascha & ANYONE
Broadcast: N/A
Action: Everywhere beds lie
When: June

[ Sascha has Learned His Lesson.

One doesn't simply hop into someone's bed while their sleeping and/or naked, because the results in getting kicked in the face. And yelled at a whole lot. No...what one should do is knock first!

...And then hop into their bed while they're asleep.

Lesson. Totally. Learned.

But really let's face it, this guy is an idiot and he most certainly is going to meander around over the course of the month and find those nice, comfy warm beds of yours, Fleeters. SO TRY NOT TO SMACK HIM TOO HARD, he could become even more dumb if you do.

At least he does this with the best intentions right? ]

[ ooc; THIS IS FOR EVERYONE WHO WANTED SASCHA IN THEIR BEDS. Or anyone who wants him in their bed now. They can be awake, asleep, asleep not exactly in their room--anything! Tag in and he will be there. ]

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[ Incredibly. He worries for Kitty yes, but he also worries for the idiot in his arms right now. Sascha knows he's not the smartest in the world, he never had access to a formal education or another, more experienced vampire to show him the ropes of what he is and how to act. But even he can understand something like the end of a universe with someone he likes in it.

Sascha likes anyone who pays attention to him. But he also cares about them, and he's starting to form attachments for the first time in his life that he isn't in any way, shape, or form prepared to lose. He wants to see them grow old, not snuffed out before their time. ]

I'm sorry... I'm sorry.

[ Not for the hug, for the hurt or his own feelings. He's sorry for Kurt, because he had to die, because he doesn't have his life anymore; he's stuck here, with someone as worthless as Sascha and the knowledge that he can't ever go back to it. ]

[The soft apology sends the bottom of his stomach lurching. His face feels too hot as well, and for a moment Kurt's reminded of that doomed journey along the Infernal Gallop when he and the other passengers first realized the air was running out. But this isn't that rusted out old hulk of a ship, and the air on his tail is cool.

Sascha is reminding him of Kitty, the way she'd held him that first night they'd been face to face and whispered apologies as though it was her fault for dying (but why didn't she phase?) He'd broken her heart so many times that night, and here he is breaking another one that's so much more innocent. He really is his mother's son.]

Shh. Sascha, it's alright. I promise you it is. [His arms tighten around the young man, Kurt allowing himself that small comfort under the excuse that it will comfort Sascha. It hurts so badly to hear someone apologize for the fate of his world, and Kurt doesn't understand why. Then again, he doesn't understand why, in impossible situations against powers that far out-stripped his own, he's so often been the one to walk away. For God's sake, he's outlived his own universe.

The hitch in his breath is all Kurt needs to drag his thoughts off that track. He will not cry; tears never saved anyone. (Why does it feel like his nerves are on the outside?)]

No it's not, [ he mumbles, because it isn't. It's sad and unfair, and even though he disassociates himself from more mature emotions Sascha can still feel them. And right now he's allowing just enough of a bridge, a connection to draw Kurt closer protectively. No one should have to die before their time--he's seen to much of that with people he could never get to know, never have a hope of meeting. And he doesn't want that for Kurt or Kitty or anyone in the Fleet.

Even if he's alive now he's still dead. And so's his reality. There's mourning whether he wants to acknowledge it or not, and Sascha's heart bleeds for someone like Kurt, someone mortal who lives so brightly in those fleeting moments of his life that it hurts to know it's been snuffed out before it's time. That there's no place for him to return to.

Sascha understands that better than anyone. And that's why he mumbles another apology as holds Kurt close, like he's the one that needs the comfort. ]

[He is. As much as he'll try to deny it, Kurt Darkholme desperately aches for every scrap of comfort that's been offered him. He simply won't allow it in more than spurts because he's terrified too much will break him. It's all he's known for most of his life; happiness in short, frantic doses because tomorrow or even the next hour could leave him just another body on the ground. He had more once, with Linda, but there were still battles to be fought, war criminals to find.

Here there's nothing but vague threats that he can't fight and all the time in the world to do--what, exactly? Be held in the dark by a man who he's only known a short time, a solid presence whose skin is just chill enough to the touch that it reminds Kurt of Bobby. Maybe that's why he hasn't kicked Sascha out yet, or shoved him away by reflex. He misses Bobby so much.

Kurt shifts, ducking his head to properly rest it on Sascha's shoulder. Thinking of cool skin and wide grins is only making the hitch in his breathing more pronounced, making tears that he refuses to cry gather in the corners of his eyes. Bobby is dead because he killed him, Rogue dead because he wasn't there to protect her. His hands clench into fists around handfuls of Sascha's shirt, the fabric keeping his nails from digging into his own palms.]

[ Whether he's a replacement or a reminder, a friend or just someone he's spoken to a handful of times for Kurt, Sascha's okay with it. He doesn't mind if he's a stand-in or just a place to project whatever causes him the most pain. He's been a scapegoat for fear, anger, and hurt his whole life for people who'd lost someone, for people who hated those different than themselves; for people just too afraid to know any better.

And just like Sascha's liked all of them, he likes Kurt. He's a friend of Kitty's, he treats Sascha like a person and doesn't pay any mind to the fact that he's a vampire; he bridges the gap of personal space as he would anyone else on the Fleet, and for that he's quickly become both special and important to him.

Which is why he wants to be able to do this and be there for Kurt if he needs it. There's so little he properly understands and can do, but this? Giving someone even just a brief moment to properly grieve, maybe allow some of that weakness they keep bottled up inside to surface? This he can do, and this he's never going to abuse. ]

I won't go.

[ It's a quiet promise. A declaration. ]

You should. [The words come out soft, strained from choking through a tight throat. His tail rustles the bedsheets behind him, twisting in circles as he resists the urge to wrap the limb around Sascha's waist. The gesture reminds him far too much of Erik--his Erik, who kept him through his teenage years and taught him to be a soldier. Kurt's really not certain why, as Erik was neither the last nor the only person he's wound his tail around.

For a few minutes Kurt tries to concentrate on breathing and ignore the doubts that buzz around his head. The Erik here is not what he seems; can he be trusted? Can Charles, for whom his nephew was named and apparently bore a resemblance to? 'Stop. Breathe.' Can Raven be trusted, the one who calls Charles brother and the one who doesn't but reminds him so much of his own mother. 'Stop it.'

Kurt draws the next handful of breaths slowly, forcing himself to focus on the comfort of being held and the necessity of breathing steadily. He manages within a few minutes, the muscles in his back starting to relax minutely.] I killed the last man who held me like this.[Despite the inherent menace of his words, there's no anger or threat in the tone he uses or his body language. He simply sounds tired, too weary to be as resigned to the fact as he'd like to be. Bobby's only been dead a few months.]

[ Despite his warning, Sascha still finds himself smiling very faintly as he closes his eyes. Most of the time he phrases it differently or with a bit more vagueness, but for Kurt? Right now? He'll give the mutant another faint squeeze. ]

It's okay if you want to. [ He wouldn't hold it against Kurt if he did. Plenty of people have tried it, and I say "tried" because-- ] I can't die.

[ Lots of people have tried it. ]

I've heard that one before. [They used to say that about Dead Man Wade, before Kurt killed him. There had been rumors of the man showing up again during the last war, but who could say it was the Wade he'd killed and not another clone? Equal chance for either; the Wade he'd met in another world couldn't be killed as easily.

His arms tighten around Sascha in a squeeze, a silent thank you. Kurt lifts his head, turns to whisper right into the other man's ear.] I don't want to kill you, Sascha. I didn't want to kill him, but it was my job. I'm good at it. [And he feels incredibly guilty for being proud of that. The man his wife loved was better than that (but the one Damask loved was so much worse.)]

I don't mind. [ That his job is killing, he means. Hunters kill, Sascha technically kills when he goes hunting, Bigby's killed, humans kill each other all the time--so Kurt's just fine as he is with a job like that. Sascha doesn't bear a grudge or hold it against him.

Kurt is still Kurt. ]

Be a hypocrite if you did, wouldn't you? [Or not. Vampires kill to eat, and Kurt can easily think of a few objections one would have to being an executioner. He doesn't eat what he kills (and the thought makes him shudder involuntarily) and he's killed other mutants. Sometimes his nightmares involve those mutants he's killed, especially Bobby, but that's neither here nor there.

He needs to stop clinging like a child, and thinking about his dead friends will not facilitate that. Kurt takes a steadying breath, one with hardly a hitch in it, and reluctantly tries to straighten up.] Enough of this, Sascha.

[ Reluctantly. That's the big thing there mister. Sascha won't try to stop him, obviously, but he'll move one hand up to the top of his head as he lets go, not quite rubbing it but not ruffling it either. It's more just sort of a gentle, firm touch. ]

Sorry.

[ For this, for everything. ]

[And yet that does stop him, featureless eyes turned toward Sascha with a curious expression on his face. (For someone who's come from a post-Apocalyptic world, his hair's surprisingly smooth. Kurt's a vain man at heart.)

Then the question comes, and the quizzical expression turns to a wry smile. He has the strangest urge to brush a kiss along Sascha's temple, same as he would for Kitty--and represses it easy as breathing.] It's alright. [For this, and everything.]

Is it okay if I stay...? [ With him, just until daybreak. ]

[His first impulse is to refuse on the basis that they're both men. It isn't proper, and his first reaction at the thought of someone coming in and finding Sascha is a flare of panic that makes his pulse jump.

But he's been told that doesn't matter here, they wouldn't be doing anything untoward if it did (he's shared a bed with team mates multiple times back home.) Most of all, he doesn't particularly want to be alone right now.] ...I'll be sleeping.

I'll be quiet. [ As in, he doesn't mind. He just wants to be around Kurt, to reassure both him and Sascha himself as he lets his hands come to settle in his lap, folded together.

He doesn't have the same hang-ups and concerns as Kurt does when it comes to sleeping next to the same gender, but he'll keep to himself if Kurt wants him to. ]

[Kurt's shoulders slump, a precursor to the permission he knows he'll regret giving.] Might as well lay down if you're going to stay. I won't be able to sleep feeling you staring at me.

[And he wants to be held. Remembering how his body felt withering around him, the things he saw as his brain cells died and began to hallucinate vividly, he'll probably dream about all of it.

Kurt runs a hand through his hair before scooting away, turning in one fluid motion to stretch out on his side. His back's to Sascha in a silent display of trust, his tail draping itsself over his own leg because he doesn't trust Sascha enough to avoid pinning it under a knee. No one ever remembers to watch for the tail at first.]

[ It's true that Sascha isn't used to being conscious of such an appendage, so it's a good move. Still, he is slow and careful as he lowers himself down onto the bed and scooches closer; he remains fully clothed, because that's just how he sleeps even alongside Bigby. He doesn't mind if Kurt has on less. It just means there's more warm skin for him to huddle up to as he curls his arms towards his chest, and presses his forehead and nose between Kurt's shoulder blades. ]

...Is this okay? [ He should check, right? ]

[Kurt is warm; his fur is short enough that it doesn't hold in a lot of heat, especially given he lacks any undercoat to speak of. The shorts stay on, but because of said fur nothing else goes on.

He stays still while Sascha gets himself situated, the spade of his tail twitching idly. The press of forehead and nose between his shoulders is unexpected, but oddly not unwelcome.]

It's alright. [The answer comes just shy of a whisper as Kurt closes his eyes, cutting off the glow and thus any light in the room.]

[ Sascha would see all the better for it, but his own eyes are already closed and he's begun to sink into the comfort of Kurt's closeness. He hopes it brings the man some measure of peace as he settles rather than squirms around or try to embrace him, just enjoying things as they are and letting his breathing even out. ]

...'night Kurt.

Edited 2016-06-22 12:10 (UTC)

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if you bed it, he will come

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