mislay | ( ic inbox )

[ Larus doesn't know why he bothers with any of this. If there's anything he's learned, it's that this city is just the same as Duplicity. Perhaps a little different in terms of what they can and cannot do, exactly, but there's no freedom in it. They're given their roles and told to play them out, placated by drugs and drink and any other known vice. He's not infallible either, is the thing. He's tempted just as much, stalking through various places until he winds up in one where he has to put on a mask—like it'll hide his face. Larus obliges and continues moving, ignoring the hands groping at his sides and someone who makes a pull for his hair. He nearly breaks their wrist until they laugh it off and move on.

All the smells, the sounds. The echo of every heartbeat in that place just as loud as the music, and it's only one that he somehow, immediately, picks out.

Carver. Carver's there.

Someone shoves a drink into his hand as he tries to narrow it down, encouraging him to take a taste, and Larus gags a little on its contents, his body already protesting anything that isn't blood. He's not starving, but it's a fine line he walks, dropping the glass on the floor and sliding through the grinding, fucking bodies around him to chase after what he wants. The heat that slowly begins to creep up the back of his neck doesn't mean anything.

He stares at Carver when he's finally within reach. ]

I could ask you the same thing.

[ His eyes sweep over him, trying to take in what he can. Something's not quite right, but too much is going on for Larus to really pinpoint exactly what it is right now. ]

[ Somehow, he hadn't expected to find Larus here. Hadn't expected to find anyone he knows here - isn't that the whole point, turning everyone into strangers for the night? Carver laughs softly, the sound nearly lost in the rush. There are too many people here, bodies pressing against each other, couples fucking right out in the open. And here's Larus in the middle of it, staring at him.

Carver tips his head back. His clothes are mussed, hair falling over his face in a loose tangle. There's a red mark on his throat where someone bit him. It didn't hurt. He liked it, maybe. ]

Nothing wrong with having some fun.

[ He reaches out to take Larus by the wrist, tugging him closer.

Yeah?

[ He's a little more amicable than usual, Larus thinks. It's such an odd word to associate with Carver. Amicable. Maybe it's the laugh that tips him off, but Carver's touch is the first he hasn't really balked at since he walked through the door, suddenly remembering that, out of everyone in this room, he's of the minority still wearing their masks.

Does this mean anything? They hadn't gotten the chance to speak since he'd nearly died, and now might not be such a good time. ]

I didn't know you thought this was fun.

[ But he doesn't fight the touch, moving in closer. Maybe he crowds Carver back against the wall he's standing next to so he can hear him better. ]

[ Sometimes the crowd grates on him, grinding against his soul. Sometimes it's just noise in the background, something he can shunt aside. Right now it's the latter and Carver laughs as Larus backs him into the wall, as they press in close. Carver reaches up to trail his fingers along the line of Larus's mask. It doesn't suit him, but that's all right. ]

I contain multitudes.

[ He's also wasted, but that's a detail. Carver leans in kiss Larus, dragging his teeth. He's loose and languid on the surface, though one hand lingers close to the knife at his belt. Instinctive. ]

[ Larus frowns at the comment, uncertain about it, but then, Carver kisses him and he presses into it, suddenly (and almost viciously) hungry for the contact. He can immediately taste the alcohol, letting his teeth scrape gently over his tongue. If Larus notices the hand at his belt, he doesn't say anything about it. ]

I'm sure you do, [ he says, pushing their foreheads together. Has he ever heard Carver laugh before this? He doesn't think so. ] Tell me what else you contain.

[ He wants to hear it. ]

[ It's been years since he did shots and he made up for it tonight. Did shots until they stopped burning and then he let strangers put their hands on him. Put his hands on them, too. Sometimes he flinched and he thinks he hit someone earlier, a stranger, but that's a distant thought. Right here, right now, it just feels good to have Larus pressed against him. Kissing him back. Pressing their foreheads together.

Carver laughs again, nuzzling against him. Wanting this, even as he keeps a hand close to his knife. Just in case. But the arm he loops around Larus's waist is more casual, warm against his back. Tonight, for the first time in a very long time, Carver isn't wearing gloves. ]

Mhmm. Maybe you.

[ Cheeky. He leans in and kisses Larus again, dragging it out. ]

[ All he can think is that it's odd. Carver is never this loose, this free. There are no grimaces, no gloves. He's laughing, and it's such a good sound, sending a shiver down Larus' spine that has absolutely nothing to do with the arm at his back. Carver's warm, this entire place is warm. He focuses on his mouth, biting at his lower lip, and Larus' fingers slip between them, palms resting against Carver's chest. ]

I don't like the idea of having all these people watch. [ It's murmured quietly, kissing his chin, his cheek. ] Or is that something else you forgot to tell me?

[ He's trying to piece all of this together, ignoring the sudden heaviness of the mask against his skin and how much he wants Carver to touch him. As if anyone would actually notice them where they are anyway, tucked against one another in a corner. ]

[ Larus presses against him, touching him everywhere, and Carver just huffs, nuzzling against him. Wanting the mask off, maybe, but not bothered enough to prod at it. Not when he can kiss Larus back, pull him close, a hand pressed against the small of Larus's back. Forgot to tell him? What?

It doesn't matter. It's all good, and easy, and -

And someone reaches out to run their fingers along Carver's shoulder, brushing against his hair, and Carver goes rigid. ]

[ He feels it, the shift in the air so sharp and sudden. Larus glances to the side, watching as another couple fumble together, clearly more interested in one another than the absent touch that had jostled Carver, and he reaches up to grip his chin, nudging forward to kiss him. A nip at his lower lip, trying to get him to relax. ]

Focus on me. It's just us.

[ That feels more normal, more of what he's come to expect from being with Carver. Larus thinks they should get out of there, but he doesn't want to move, weighed down and warm and not all that pressed to do so. ]

[ His hand is on the hilt of his knife, ready to draw. Ready to move. But Larus has a hand on his chin, pressing him into another kiss, and Carver twitches and doesn't draw the blade. It's easy to get lost in the churn of his thoughts but Larus is solid and real, and that helps. A little. ]

I don't...

[ He shakes himself. The thought fades out. Carver presses his forehead to Larus's, closing his eyes. Trying to center himself. But it's so easy to get caught up in the noise, the press of other people, and so Carver takes a shuddering breath and runs his hand up Larus's back and then under his shirt. Wanting to feel bare skin, to feel him. To focus on something recognizable. ]

[ Larus doesn't kiss him after a while, letting Carver touch him and draw him even closer. Here, in this place, they're not two submissives together. They can just be them, no labels, and that's what Larus tries to focus on despite how overheated he's starting to become, gently knocking their foreheads together to give Carver more sensation, more points of contact.

If there's a fight, if there's a problem... He might be too slow to do much of anything. ]

Do you want another drink?

[ It's not the best idea, but if Carver's drunk enough, he'll eventually not be able to go anywhere. Then, at least, Larus could keep him in line better. ]

[ Part of Carver knows he's drunk already. That he's been knocking back shots like they're going out of style and now it's hitting him like a train. Twisting him up. Bringing him calm and quiet and then snapping away at a moment's notice. But it's hard to focus. Things feel good and then they don't.

He shifts to cup a hand to Larus's neck, keeping him close. Needing that, maybe. ]

Want you.

[ It's mumbled against Larus's cheek. They're so close like his. And Carver's drunk, and so he's honest. ]

Do shots with me.

[ He's not certain that Larus can, with regular alcohol, but they should test that. ]

[ Larus would have made a face at the request, but he's still sort of hung up on the way Carver says that. Want you. Like it's normal, like it's just something they say to each other now. He sinks into it for a moment, leaning against him, and before he can talk either of them out of it, all Larus does is nod. ]

I can try.

[ Whatever he'd swallowed before hadn't been all that good. Experiences with alcohol come and go, needing more blood than booze to be palatable. He wonders if this place caters to those types of things. Probably. He isn't the only vampire lurking around, so he grasps Carver's hand, threading their fingers together, and draws him through the crowd.

He feels the sweat rolling down the back of his neck by the time they get to the bar and urges Carver to order. ]

[ They're holding hands, of all things, and Carver laughs at the absurdity of it all. But he doesn't pull away. Doesn't do a damn thing except go for it and wave for drinks, and knock one back once they arrive. He barely tastes it.

Shit's green, for some reason. ]

Fuck, that's nasty.

[ He takes another. ]

[ Larus already has doubts, staring at the glass the bartender simply sets in front of him without a word. There are several more like it, not quite as green as whatever Carver's drinking. He's too warm anyway, lifting it up to try to smell the contents of whatever it is.

Nothing. It's just – there.

He swallows it in one mouthful and immediately grimaces, unsure if he's going to spit it right back up or if he wants more. ]

How many of these have you had? [ Larus doesn't think he should, and he probably won't, but he reaches for another out of reflex. ]

Dunno.

[ Carver just grins at the look on Larus's face, shifting to lean against him. Sometimes he wants the closeness and sometimes he wants to bolt from this place and all its goddamn noise. The moments changeable like that. ]

Lots.

[ He stares at him, not really interested in drinking or the people who crowd up against the bar with them. Hand still on his next shot, Larus tips closer to him, words right against his ear so he doesn't have to shout it. ]

I think you taste better.

[ Not that he's implying anything. Or maybe he is. His inhibitions are still mostly intact, taking his time to lick along Carver's jaw. There's sweat and just the natural flavor of him under it, following it along until he can nip at his mouth. ]

[ Normally, Carver isn't the type to just make out with people in a crowd. Not his scene, not with all the noise and people pressed close. Threats in proximity, all of them. Yet here he just grins and puts his arm around Larus's waist, pulling him close and pressing a kiss to his mouth.

He's drunk. The moment keeps swinging on him. ]

That's cute, [ he announces cheerfully. ]

[ He doesn't know what to do with that comment, so all Larus does is look at him. This isn't normal. He knows that with certainty, gaze shifting to the opposite side of Carver as someone makes a move to reach out and touch him but then thinks better of it in lieu of all the free alcohol spread across the bar.

A moment passes, and Larus cups both sides of Carver's face in his hands. ]

You're drunk. [ Like he wouldn't know that. But it's punctuated with an even deeper kiss the second he leans forward. ]

[ Oh, that feels nice. Carver hums and just presses into it, curling his hand around Larus’s hip. And when Larus pulls back, when Carver has a chance to breathe, he just presses their foreheads together. It’s intimate, even in a place like this. ]

I’m drunk, [ he agrees happily. ] ‘s against the rules.

[ It's strange how it doesn't matter that they're crowded together in a room full of too much noise and too many people. Larus' focus is singular, holding onto him and leaning even closer. That warmth from before just seems to magnify as he feels his breath against his mouth. ]

There aren't any rules here. [ Though he doubts that's what Carver means. ] It's just you and me.

Yeah?

[ Distantly, Carver knows that isn't quite right - that there are always rules. That these things have a tendency to spiral out if you aren't careful. If you lose control, even for a moment, then you're finished. But aren't they both already dead?

Carver closes his eyes. Someone brushes against him again, a hand trailing over his back, and he flinches. Reaching for his knife again before he remembers and takes a shuddering breath.

Drunk. Yeah. ]

Yes.

[ It's an easy agreement to make, feeling the way he tenses up again, and keeping their foreheads pressed together, Larus drops his hands to go for Carver's wrists. He drags them up, leaning into the contact as he purposely places Carver's hands on his body.

He doesn't really care about drinking anymore. ]

Keep your focus on me. I'm right here. [ And if anyone gets too close, Larus will deal with them. ]

[ Larus takes his hands and Carver lets him. Keeps his eyes closed and lets Larus guide his hands, holding onto him. That's solid and real, easier to focus on.

It helps. Carver takes a breath, then lets it go. ]

Wanna get out of here?

[ He has no real idea where they'd go, not in this city, but Larus nods, nudging his nose against Carver's before pulling away. This time, when he takes his hand, there's more purpose in it. They can ignore all of these people and how they grind together, sex and sweat and alcohol filling the air and dulling his senses. It's heady, gripping tight to Carver as he threads them through the sea of bodies towards the outside.

When the air hits, Larus purposely draws it in. Just once, an exhale, and he turns to Carver, looping an arm around his neck to kiss him without an active audience trying to interrupt them. ]

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