[ They’re so close like this. Carver takes a shuddering breath and presses his free hand flat against Larus’s stomach. Not to push him alway — never that, not now — but to trace out the feel of unbroken, uninjured skin. It’s always been the same place. Instinct, training, reflex. And every time, Larus survived it. He healed without a mark. Even with his gloves on, even over the fabric of Larus’s shirt, Carver can feel that. The lack of a crippling wound.
There’s something heady in that. ]
Maybe I’m yours.
[ Carver nuzzles against him, wanting the closeness. Maybe he needs it. Maybe they both do right now. ]
It hurts to drown. It feels like being torn apart. But there’s a moment when the body starts to die and it all just—stops. It doesn’t even hurt anymore. Everything is so quiet, Larus. Sometimes it even feels good.
[ He smooths his thumb along Larus’s wrist. Gentle. ]
It feels like that when you bite me. That quiet moment.
[ The last time it had felt this sweet had been weeks ago, curled around each other in a tent, and Larus has to force himself to take a breath, staggered by Carver's careful touches and finding that he simply wants to forget everything else for a while. Frost, the other vampires, the sounds of the dead... He doesn't need any of that, only this man in front of him, and he holds him closer, one of his hands sliding down so his fingers curl lightly in dark hair. ]
Nothing about this feels good, [ he confesses, after a moment. ] It hurts. You hurt me. And if you're my test, being here right now means I've failed.
[ Because why would anyone continue coming back to someone or something that only causes them pain? Why would he be doing this to himself? Why isn't he stepping back and leaving him there? Why can't he stop thinking about him?
Larus doesn't have an answer, and all he can do is squeeze his eyes shut. ]
It’s supposed to hurt, [ Carver murmurs, with great sincerity. He keeps his eyes closed, tracing his fingers against Larus’s stomach and then shifting to curl around his hip. ] It wouldn’t be much of a test if it was easy.
[ But part of him balks at the thought of hurting Larus more. It was one thing with the knife. That was deliberate. This —
He wasn’t trying to hurt Larus last time. He isn’t trying to now. That makes it worse, maybe. ]
[ Is that really how it goes? He's been close to others before, but it's never been like this. Never this intense push and pull, the emotion that settles raw inside him every time. It's like nothing he's ever had before, and that's terrifying in its own way, trying to ignore the way Carver's fingers against his belly causes him to shiver. ]
I know. [ And that's true, at least. He doesn't think Carver had meant to hurt him. ] But what does it say about me when I keep coming back to you? That I keep letting it happen?
[ Larus leans in, resting their foreheads together. ]
I don’t know, [ Carver admits quietly, unhappily. He’d felt better a moment ago, talking about the tests, about Pope. Falling back into the familiar. It was always a comfort to him — thinking about his family, about everything they survived together. Their strength. But this —
Carver sucks in a breath, grinding their foreheads together.
The ironic part is he’s never hurt Larus more than in the moments he isn’t trying to. ]
[ Larus is sitting right on the edge of emotional burnout, aware of that shift and how Carver pushes against him. He takes it and holds, curling his fingers deeper into Carver's hair as he leans into him. He doesn't know how to do any of this, but he wants to try. He thinks he really wants to try. ]
What do you mean?
[ How, he thinks to ask. But his voice is gentle, desperate to believe that they can come back from everything that's trying to tear them apart. ]
[ Larus holds steady to his hair - not pulling or trying to wrench his head back, just holding — and Carver melts into it. They’re so close now, holding each other. He’s not even thinking about watching their corners, or the enemies in the dark. There’s just —
This. ]
Nothing fits, [ Carver says softly. It’s not what he means, not all of it, but he doesn’t have the words for something that feels so goddamn big. ] Here, this place, without my family, nothing fits. I don’t fit.
[ Larus breathes, and their noses touch, an intimacy he craves and is so desperate to hang onto. ]
I don't think any of us really fit. [ It's just something that's happened to all of them. ] But it doesn't mean there's something wrong with you.
[ Even now, Larus feels displaced himself, unsure what to do and where to go. There are methods to follow and habits he cannot break, a sort of thinking he doesn't know if he'll ever escape. Yet, through all of that, there's been one startlingly present constant, and even if Carver did kill him, Larus doubts he'd stay away. That, in of itself, is far too dangerous to speak aloud. ]
You're not alone. I'm here. [ Whatever that's worth. ]
[ Maybe I’m crazy, Carver thinks unhappily. Maybe I’ve lost the thread completely. Maybe this is Hell. But Larus holds him, presses close, and that —
It feels real. You’re not alone, Larus says, I’m here, and Carver makes a punched out sound. Wounded and lost. And what is there to say, really? What words slot this into alignment?
He can’t think of a single one so he just presses forward and kisses Larus on the mouth. ]
[ The pressure in his chest eases when Carver kisses him, but it's still not enough, his hold on Carver's hair tightening as he presses closer. Even if this kills him, he doesn't want to give it up. His one solid connection in this place, fragile as it is. So, he clings to it, clings to him, and he only draws away when he thinks Carver probably needs to breathe, letting his mouth ghost over his jaw until it rests against his cheek. ]
I need you.
[ It's a quiet confession, so soft that it's as if he's barely spoken it at all. ]
[ It's strange to have this here, so soon after a fight - the adrenaline still singing through him, and he imagines through Larus too. He keeps his eyes closed as they kiss, as he goes dizzy from lack of oxygen.
Somehow, that feels fitting. His family needed him, Carver thinks, but Riley didn't. Not by the end, at least. Riley figured it out, came home. One war was enough for him. It wasn't written down in Riley's marrow the way it was for Carver, and has been ever since.
But it's not like that for Larus, either. Yet, they're still here. Holding each other. He can feel Larus's grip in his hair, that shivery pressure. Holding him steady. He likes it more than he should.
Carver shivers. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Even so, he doesn't pull away. ]
[ Whatever happens now, he thinks, he can't put distance between them. It had only made it worse, had set his thoughts askew, and even if he hadn't been able to handle every emotion flooding him then, it would have been better to stay for all those reasons. So, he doesn't move when Carver asks that of him, only turning his head enough so their noses touch and he can nudge their foreheads together. Gentle. Soft. ]
I'm sorry.
[ The words are genuine, if tight in his throat.
Leaving is always easier, in the end. It keeps him safe, keeps everyone at a distance when he's hurting too much to make sense of it all. But that night on the beach had wounded them both, and Larus doesn't know if they'll ever heal from it. He still can't forgive Frost, still can't forgive the choices Carver had made, but he could try to tolerate it enough to regain that equilibrium between them. It's something, maybe, and his hand flattens so he's cupping the back of Carver's head rather than pulling at his hair. ]
I said I wasn't going to hurt you, and I did anyway.
[ It’s gentle this time, steadying, and the first thought Carver has is that he could ruin all of it by going for a knife. Repeating that old, familiar pattern. And maybe that would be easier. Maybe that would be better. They know how to contend with violence, both of them, they know the score there and what it means to survive it.
He could ruin this. It wouldn’t even be hard. And he wonders what it says that his first impulse is to do just that.
Breathe, Carver thinks, his eyes closed tight, Larus’s hand cupping the back of his neck.
He squeezes Larus’s wrist. He breathes. ]
I did too, [ he says softly. What does it matter that he wasn’t trying to? ] I don’t — I don’t understand this place. All the rules are different. But you, I trust you.
[ He waits for it to even out, for things to turn sharply as they have before in the past, but everything continues forward, counting Carver's breaths even as he leans into those small touches. Whatever's going on around them doesn't seem to matter right now. None of it does. Maybe it never did. ]
I know. [ Larus feels the same way. ] You're all I have here. The only one.
[ Of course there are others, but they don't know the same things about him. They don't understand him in ways that Carver does, a connection forged first from violence and then something else. Something deeper. The pain might have been easier, and really, some part of him still expects Carver to continue stabbing him, to find himself coming back for it over and over until it finally becomes too much.
He just exhales and curls his other arm around him. ]
[ And what do you say to that? What are you supposed to say? Carver knows better than to promise nothing will happen to him. Safety isn't something you can promise. There's no guarantee of it. He thinks Frost had the better idea, when he promised Carver vengeance if something else happened - retribution, instead of protection. It fit then.
Not here, though. He doesn't know what this is, what words to apply. It just - is.
Carver squeezes Larus's wrist again. Not hard, just to hold onto him. A reminder, maybe. Something physical to keep the connection steady. ]
[ It's not quite what he thought Carver would say, and as reassuring as it's supposed to be, it just fills Larus with a deep sense of dread. A foreboding that he can't shake. He still thinks about killing Frost, in that moment, and maybe that, too, won't ever go away. He'll always want some kind of revenge, though it's more to satisfy his own pain than anything else.
Maybe he's always going to be that selfish.
Rather than speak, he nods and steps back to disengage. He's feeling vulnerable again, like anything else Carver says could wound him, and Larus tries to backtrack, stepping around the things he should be saying to him so he can remain quiet. He doesn't pull away completely, letting his wrist stay in Carver's hold, but he does turn his attention outward, wanting something else to focus on. ]
[ There's something tenuous about this moment, how they're circling each other. The give and take of it, balanced on a knife's edge. One false move and this thing could break. But Larus is right, in the end.
[ It is obvious, and for that reason, Larus says nothing.
He's quiet, turning the grip Carver has on his wrist so he can grasp his hand, and it's like this that they descend to the ground floor, Larus' senses immediately on high alert. They walk a few blocks before he thinks it might be better to break in somewhere (like always) rather than risk taking Carver back to Daphne's apartment. But there's also something lingering in the back of his mind as they walk, and Larus, honest as he always is, feels he needs to voice it. ]
You don't have to stay with me. If it gets too dangerous, you should go where you're safest.
[ Larus wants to argue that fact, but in truth, he doesn't know anything about what it is they're facing. ]
Usually. We still don't know what's happening though.
[ That isn't going to stop him from holding on to Carver and moving through the streets, tightening his grip just a little as they round a corner. The shadows are growing thicker again, but he doesn't hear anything unusual. Just Carver's pulse and a few of the people around them. So, all Larus does is look ahead. ]
[ Larus tightens his grip and with anyone else, Carver thinks he would have laughed and then swung vicious out of pure reflex. Here, he allows it without a word of complaint. Worse—far worse—he thinks he likes it.
These things happen. He keeps pace, watching the shadows. ]
Somewhere sturdy, with no windows. We need to get inside.
All Larus can think about is another basement, which has him abruptly turning them down a narrow alley in the direction of some of the slightly more trafficked areas. There's an outside cellar door he's aiming for, keeping note of their surroundings so they don't get blindsided by more shadows or vampires—whatever they are. All the noise is distracting, and he has to let go of Carver to break the lock once they get where they're going, dragging the heavy door up like it's nothing at all. ]
We should be good here.
[ A confined space, only so many exits to defend if they need to. Larus will follow Carver inside and slam the door shut before overthinking any of it. ]
[ If it were just him, or one of his brothers, Carver wouldn’t have thought so hard about it. But he’s seen Larus in the aftermath of burning and there was nothing glorious or godly about it. He thinks uncomfortably of how Bossie died and then immediately tucks that away into a box. It won’t happen again, none of it, so focus.
Focus.
He follows Larus inside without a word, scanning the space. Good enough for now. ]
They usually fight in groups? [ he asks finally. ] Back home, they do that?
[ It's a little dim and musty, but otherwise, it seems like it'll work for what they need. Larus moves through the dark easily, searching for a light, and when he flicks it on, it's only bright enough to keep them tripping over things in the dark. The area is half-finished, rugs piled up in a corner and a mattress on the floor on the opposite side of the room.
He isn't sure what this place is used for outside of storage, but he doesn't care. ]
Sometimes, [ Larus answers, sitting on the steps that lead up to another door. ] But usually if they're only planning to kill. They live together though. Nests of them in places where the sun can't get them.
[ Carver leans back against the wall, sticking close to Larus. It’s funny, he thinks, how easily they fit back into these patterns. They’ve fought together now. If they worked at it, if they practiced, they could get it seamless. Maybe they will one of these days. ]
The rotters do that, [ he says after a moment. ] They don’t sleep, don’t fight, not like that. But they move in groups. Don’t know why.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Cw for torture, cult bullshit
There’s something heady in that. ]
Maybe I’m yours.
[ Carver nuzzles against him, wanting the closeness. Maybe he needs it. Maybe they both do right now. ]
It hurts to drown. It feels like being torn apart. But there’s a moment when the body starts to die and it all just—stops. It doesn’t even hurt anymore. Everything is so quiet, Larus. Sometimes it even feels good.
[ He smooths his thumb along Larus’s wrist. Gentle. ]
It feels like that when you bite me. That quiet moment.
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Nothing about this feels good, [ he confesses, after a moment. ] It hurts. You hurt me. And if you're my test, being here right now means I've failed.
[ Because why would anyone continue coming back to someone or something that only causes them pain? Why would he be doing this to himself? Why isn't he stepping back and leaving him there? Why can't he stop thinking about him?
Larus doesn't have an answer, and all he can do is squeeze his eyes shut. ]
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[ But part of him balks at the thought of hurting Larus more. It was one thing with the knife. That was deliberate. This —
He wasn’t trying to hurt Larus last time. He isn’t trying to now. That makes it worse, maybe. ]
I don’t —
I’m not trying to hurt you.
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I know. [ And that's true, at least. He doesn't think Carver had meant to hurt him. ] But what does it say about me when I keep coming back to you? That I keep letting it happen?
[ Larus leans in, resting their foreheads together. ]
I don't know what to do anymore.
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Carver sucks in a breath, grinding their foreheads together.
The ironic part is he’s never hurt Larus more than in the moments he isn’t trying to. ]
I think something’s wrong with me, Larus.
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What do you mean?
[ How, he thinks to ask. But his voice is gentle, desperate to believe that they can come back from everything that's trying to tear them apart. ]
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This. ]
Nothing fits, [ Carver says softly. It’s not what he means, not all of it, but he doesn’t have the words for something that feels so goddamn big. ] Here, this place, without my family, nothing fits. I don’t fit.
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I don't think any of us really fit. [ It's just something that's happened to all of them. ] But it doesn't mean there's something wrong with you.
[ Even now, Larus feels displaced himself, unsure what to do and where to go. There are methods to follow and habits he cannot break, a sort of thinking he doesn't know if he'll ever escape. Yet, through all of that, there's been one startlingly present constant, and even if Carver did kill him, Larus doubts he'd stay away. That, in of itself, is far too dangerous to speak aloud. ]
You're not alone. I'm here. [ Whatever that's worth. ]
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It feels real. You’re not alone, Larus says, I’m here, and Carver makes a punched out sound. Wounded and lost. And what is there to say, really? What words slot this into alignment?
He can’t think of a single one so he just presses forward and kisses Larus on the mouth. ]
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I need you.
[ It's a quiet confession, so soft that it's as if he's barely spoken it at all. ]
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Somehow, that feels fitting. His family needed him, Carver thinks, but Riley didn't. Not by the end, at least. Riley figured it out, came home. One war was enough for him. It wasn't written down in Riley's marrow the way it was for Carver, and has been ever since.
But it's not like that for Larus, either. Yet, they're still here. Holding each other. He can feel Larus's grip in his hair, that shivery pressure. Holding him steady. He likes it more than he should.
Carver shivers. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Even so, he doesn't pull away. ]
Don't leave this time. Please.
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I'm sorry.
[ The words are genuine, if tight in his throat.
Leaving is always easier, in the end. It keeps him safe, keeps everyone at a distance when he's hurting too much to make sense of it all. But that night on the beach had wounded them both, and Larus doesn't know if they'll ever heal from it. He still can't forgive Frost, still can't forgive the choices Carver had made, but he could try to tolerate it enough to regain that equilibrium between them. It's something, maybe, and his hand flattens so he's cupping the back of Carver's head rather than pulling at his hair. ]
I said I wasn't going to hurt you, and I did anyway.
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He could ruin this. It wouldn’t even be hard. And he wonders what it says that his first impulse is to do just that.
Breathe, Carver thinks, his eyes closed tight, Larus’s hand cupping the back of his neck.
He squeezes Larus’s wrist. He breathes. ]
I did too, [ he says softly. What does it matter that he wasn’t trying to? ] I don’t — I don’t understand this place. All the rules are different. But you, I trust you.
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I know. [ Larus feels the same way. ] You're all I have here. The only one.
[ Of course there are others, but they don't know the same things about him. They don't understand him in ways that Carver does, a connection forged first from violence and then something else. Something deeper. The pain might have been easier, and really, some part of him still expects Carver to continue stabbing him, to find himself coming back for it over and over until it finally becomes too much.
He just exhales and curls his other arm around him. ]
I don't want anything to happen to you.
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Not here, though. He doesn't know what this is, what words to apply. It just - is.
Carver squeezes Larus's wrist again. Not hard, just to hold onto him. A reminder, maybe. Something physical to keep the connection steady. ]
I can take it. Whatever comes.
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Maybe he's always going to be that selfish.
Rather than speak, he nods and steps back to disengage. He's feeling vulnerable again, like anything else Carver says could wound him, and Larus tries to backtrack, stepping around the things he should be saying to him so he can remain quiet. He doesn't pull away completely, letting his wrist stay in Carver's hold, but he does turn his attention outward, wanting something else to focus on. ]
We should find somewhere safe to stay.
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They aren't safe here.
Carver exhales. ]
It wouldn't be safe for you where I'm staying.
[ He doesn't say why. It's obvious, he thinks. ]
C'mon. We'll find something.
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He's quiet, turning the grip Carver has on his wrist so he can grasp his hand, and it's like this that they descend to the ground floor, Larus' senses immediately on high alert. They walk a few blocks before he thinks it might be better to break in somewhere (like always) rather than risk taking Carver back to Daphne's apartment. But there's also something lingering in the back of his mind as they walk, and Larus, honest as he always is, feels he needs to voice it. ]
You don't have to stay with me. If it gets too dangerous, you should go where you're safest.
[ Even if that's with a man he wants to kill. ]
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[ That makes it simple, in the end. ]
I'll see it through with you. I've survived worse than this. It's better with a team. Yeah?
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Usually. We still don't know what's happening though.
[ That isn't going to stop him from holding on to Carver and moving through the streets, tightening his grip just a little as they round a corner. The shadows are growing thicker again, but he doesn't hear anything unusual. Just Carver's pulse and a few of the people around them. So, all Larus does is look ahead. ]
Where do you think we should go?
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These things happen. He keeps pace, watching the shadows. ]
Somewhere sturdy, with no windows. We need to get inside.
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All Larus can think about is another basement, which has him abruptly turning them down a narrow alley in the direction of some of the slightly more trafficked areas. There's an outside cellar door he's aiming for, keeping note of their surroundings so they don't get blindsided by more shadows or vampires—whatever they are. All the noise is distracting, and he has to let go of Carver to break the lock once they get where they're going, dragging the heavy door up like it's nothing at all. ]
We should be good here.
[ A confined space, only so many exits to defend if they need to. Larus will follow Carver inside and slam the door shut before overthinking any of it. ]
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Focus.
He follows Larus inside without a word, scanning the space. Good enough for now. ]
They usually fight in groups? [ he asks finally. ] Back home, they do that?
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He isn't sure what this place is used for outside of storage, but he doesn't care. ]
Sometimes, [ Larus answers, sitting on the steps that lead up to another door. ] But usually if they're only planning to kill. They live together though. Nests of them in places where the sun can't get them.
[ He's never bothered asking why. ]
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The rotters do that, [ he says after a moment. ] They don’t sleep, don’t fight, not like that. But they move in groups. Don’t know why.
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