[People keep appearing in the penthouse. First, it was only he, Noah, and Lortel. After that, it was Ivan, and then Sunny started staying in his room. It's the middle of the night when he ventures out into the shared living space, dark aside from the moonlight seeping in through the windows.
[How did he get here? He doesn't quite remember. He feels half-awake, unsettled and uncertain. He sees an unfamiliar shape with an unfamiliar face.
[In the waking hours, Sunny had been warned of Till's arrival, but now, in this dreamlike darkness, he startles.
[With a faint glow, Till sits by the embers of the dying fire. It's no longer as warm as it had been, but now that he's here, he has some extra blankets to snuggle beneath. It isn't entirely dark, though. In contrast to the darkness that cloaks the room beneath its dark covers, Till glows faintly. Like a warm, inner light shines from within, he can see in the immediate vicinity around him.
. . . Of course, he looks a little worn thin. He's lost weight, and the bags beneath his eyes seem to suggest he hasn't slept much in a while, just as the wrapping around his neck suggests an injury.
Till is quiet as he works, the sound of pencil against paper faintly sounding as his hands glide over the creation he doodles. It's of a small tuft of flowers- especially detailed for a pencil drawing.]
[He's glowing... It's so strange. Sunny's seen so many bizarre things since coming here, but never someone glowing... The sound of pencil on paper is familiar, and Sunny feels a weak pang of longing for it. He inches closer through the darkness, unsure of how to announce his presence without startling the other boy. He tries to thud his socked feet a little more solidly against the wooden floor, even though his approach is slow. He won't get too close...]
[The soft announcement works. The scratch of graphite stops, and he glances up from his drawing. He's met everyone who lives here. Everyone except for...
'Sunny'.
That's what he thinks the name was. That's right. It's dark, but his eyes have adjusted to the room, and he cannot help but see an uncanny familiarity to... Ivan. He reminds him of Ivan when he was younger.
Till doesn't want to surprise him in turn, so he scribbles in his notebook again, before lifting it up. Hopefully, the kid can see it in the dim light. Or read in general.]
Hey.
Are you Sonny?
[He doesn't know which way he spells it, but he assumes it's close enough.]
[It's a common enough mix-up. Sunny won't bother correcting. He points to the page and nods his head. It's rare to "talk" with someone who also doesn't actually talk, but it's almost a comfort. The pad of paper will help. Sunny gestures toward the boy, hoping the message is clear enough - and you?]
[Exactly who Sunny suspected then - Till, a friend of Ivan's. The fact they're from the same world surprises him, though he can't be sure why. Maybe it's the idea of other "worlds" existing at all. Even after a month in this place, Sunny still assumes most of what's happening must just be part of his own never-ending nightmare. Till and Ivan could just as soon have been conjured from Sunny's own mind...
[Sunny's eyes flicker back to where 'Ivan' is now written on the page, and he hesitates for a few long seconds...
[Then, he offers Till his hand for a shake, a 'nice to meet you'. Till is being friendly, so...there's no reason not to be friendly too.]
[He stares at the hand for a moment, not too familiar with it. Certainly, no one has ever wanted to shake HIS hand, before. But he does recall his guardian having done it with others over deals and business.
This isn't supposed to be a transaction, though, he doesn't think. After a moment, he holds out a hand to shake.
[The hesitation makes things...a bit awkward, but...only for a second or two (or so Sunny hopes...)! He shakes Till's hand, and it's the most pitiful, wet napkin of a handshake this or any world has ever seen. It's a wonder this kid can pick up a pencil with his grip strength.
[He inclines his head, polite, then lets go. A glance at the page Till had been scribbling on catches his eye again ("Ivan"). He points to the drawing, not the writing ("Ivan"). Then he looks at Till with slightly raised eyebrows. Maybe he'll show him more.]
[The picture? Oh- maybe he wants to see it? Or perhaps something more? Pulling the notebook back to him, he flips through some of the pages to a sketch of children. A short-haired girl, another one with glasses, one that looks surprisingly like Sunny, in all honesty, and of Till. They're all in plain clothes, but look happy.
He hands the notebook to Sunny, before drawing another out of his bag to write with. He is PREPARED.]
[Sunny views the drawing, somehow quieter than usual. His fingers hover right above it, but he doesn't dare touch the paper, lest he smudge the happy image. They children here all look like friends. One of them looks like Till, and...another...
[Sunny points to Ivan on the page, then looks at Till - This one?]
[He nods, and points out Ivan himself. Then, he points to another and at himself. 'This one is me'.]
Ivan didn't use to look like he does now.
I'm super pissed at whatever's responsible for fucking with him. He was probably so scared going through such a weird change.
[Anyone would have been. Even now it boils his blood. He shows Sunny the note, before jotting a bit more down.]
Ivan always wears that stupid smile like he's okay or something. There's a lot of pain inside, beneath it, though.
[. . . Till's feeling it for the first time, and he wishes there was an easy method of just soothing it over. After years of pain, no one heals overnight, though.]
[That confession, silent as it is, conspicuously written down on paper, makes Sunny feel lightheaded.
[He already knew, didn't he, that Ivan didn't always look that way? Till is right. Anyone would be terrified, going through something like that. All Sunny offered him was his own fear. If only Ivan knew Sunny was a monster too, maybe he'd also be afraid...
[Sunny isn't sure what to say. He hasn't been lovely to Ivan. He avoids him like the plague. He...
[Felt so much like his prey. Ivan had insisted he'd only been trying to help...
[When Sunny nods his head, he looks guilty. He feels it. He isn't a good friend, a worse enemy. He feels anxious, like their many-legged roommate might come into the room at any moment...
[Maybe...they should talk about something else.
[Sunny points again to the piece of paper, this time to one of the little girls next to Till and Ivan. She's wearing glasses.]
[He smiles a bit when he moves to Mizi... a little sad but fond.]
The girl with the glasses is Mizi. She's probably the prettiest, kindest person you could ever meet. She's like an angel.
[The last time he saw her, for those split seconds before the gunshot dropped him, he can recall she looked a little different, though. She had short hair.
His finger shifts to the final remaining child in the picture after he holds up the note for Sunny, and then scribbles out another message.]
And the other girl is Sua. She was kinda scary, but she was important to Mizi. She wasn't a bad person, either. A lot of kids really admired her.
[Just... a little awkward to be around if left alone with her.]
[Mizi. Ivan's classmate, Sunny thinks he called her. She did look pretty, and she did look kind; pink-haired, still sweet. Sunny's eyes shift to Sua. Till only speaks about her in the past tense.
[He doesn't want to ask what happened, and of course, he wouldn't (he wouldn't ask anything). He could use the pencil just as easily as Till does, but he doesn't. He just admires the picture as if it were a photo...
[Ivan had been so baffled by his polaroid.
[Sunny's eyes meet Till's again, and he nods toward the paper, giving the other boy a thumbs up, just slightly trembling (because Sunny is always just slightly trembling).
[He studies Sunny for a moment. He seems kinda frail. Not that Till can talk right now. He's lost weight and looks like shit. Sunny just looks delicate to him. He can't really place how old or young he is, either.
He scribbles in his notebook and gives Sunny a dry expression.]
[Sunny's eyebrows shoot up, and he raises both his hands, shaking his head. No, no, no. No falling in love here. He doesn't even know Mizi (Is she here too?), he shouldn't be thinking of Aubrey, and Lortel is probably just over in the next room (whatever that means).
[There's a little sigh of relief when Till doesn't continue to needle him. At his offer, Sunny carefully pulls the sketchbook into his lap and begins flipping through. Scrawled up on the pages are memory after memory, or so Sunny assumes. Really, it's such a special thing that Till let him in to see it...
[Once he's done, he holds his hand out for Till's pencil, brows slightly raised. Is it okay? Can he write something too?]
[ Is their tether defective? Is he? As he always suspected, are his emotions so shallow they can't ripple to the other side? He's stricken for a moment by what's been said, wishing he could be so much more than this impassive thing, because Till deserves to feel dazzling, like heaven, and so much more. He deserves to feel divine to someone whose reverence could cause a shockwave, rather than divine to an ant.
Till's recklessness is stupid. It's foolish, but it shows he's willing to do what most aren't. That makes him stronger than the rest of them. Ivan is impressed. He's caught up remembering how Till would sniffle and cry yet still get up to fight again. He knows that even if all hell breaks loose in this tunnel, as long as he makes it out alive, he'll want to do the next crazy thing to save someone in this place, and the next, and the next.
Ivan isn't sure what he means to Till. But he knows what Till means to him, and he intends to be there. ]
[Oh. Shoot. Till realizes, a moment too late, that he has stumbled and said something wrong. He can feel it as it passes between their bond, and he wants to swallow it back down. Ivan's self-loathing has risen a touch, along with uncertainty.]
Ah- hey. I didn't mean it about now.
[Sure, sometimes Ivan can be confusing even despite things, but their tether has helped so much. The difference is like night and day.]
I just meant... before, when we were kids, you know? None of the things that worked with Mizi and Sua worked when I tried them...
[He understands so much better now. Still, he stumbles a little. Mostly, because he's never been all that good at confronting emotions of THIS kind head-on. It's different from fighting or being defiant. Emotions of the heart are the one emotion he was way too scared to confront in the past. He's promised himself he won't do that anymore.
He's just... not used to feeling this. He has to be honest. He doesn't want Ivan to doubt himself on account of screwing up and saying the wrong thing.]
. . . There's only one other person who existed in this whole damn universe who made me feel like they... like they genuinely gave a crap about me.
[And he can't even properly remember her face. What he remembers the most is her warmth, her love, and the profound and traumatic loss he felt when dragged from her warmth before being shoved inside a box and being shipped off for sale.
God damn it. He's feeling a little emotional all over again. He draws a shaky breath.]
It's hard for me. I... spent my whole stupid life being scared and hating myself. I know I always made a big show of things, and I always said it didn't matter what those fuckers said or did, but- of course, it still got to me sometimes.
[Unwanted. Good for nothing. His voice was his only redeeming quality. No one would ever give him a second glance if not for his singing ability and composition.]
You know, whenever I was with that bastard, he always made it a point to remind me that I was nothing more than a bargain bin pet sold at discount because who in the world would have wanted ME? The only thing I was good for was my voice and affinity for music.
[Ha ha.... the laugh through the tether is bitter.]
And look at me now? I can't even talk right.
[ Ha.
. . . ]
You... You make me feel so stupidly special, and wanted, and needed, Ivan. You don't... know what that means to me.
[He swallows thickly.]
And it's also so damn scary, too. Because I don't know why you see anything at all. I hate myself so much, and I'm terrified you'll disappear again.
[Either because he wisened up, or because this place could steal his life and he would vanish.]
I can't forgive myself. And I don't feel like I deserve the feelings you share with me through the tether. Even though I... I want to hold onto them.
When did his heart last stop in his chest only to pound so, so loudly in his ears. Why do those lovely words that make him feel light-headed somehow sound so familiar.
On the sleepy morning they tethered, Till did have something to say to him. Such a special thing it seems like a dream — and maybe it was? He can't be sure. This place makes his mind bend. And too much happens in dreams he doesn't trust. Still, it feels like a crime not to be sure. I love you, and what else? That whole memory is steeped in love. Is it really okay... to have that?
It's strange to hear that Till is asking himself the very same thing. ]
They're not for anyone else, just you, so you might as well take them. I don't care if you never sing another note. I like talking like this, too. I like that it's just for us.
[ Nothing else in life makes him feel this way. It's only, always been Till. "Hard to impress" he said, and maybe that was true about him then. He had been little more than a walking paresthesia.
What Till had gradually given him was more wonderful than just awe. Day by day, his nerves woke up from that numbness. Lines from his pencil turned into curiosity. Listening to him shout became amusement. And that first punch to his face was like an explosion.
He actually cared that his pulse was racing, he'd realized. And it felt good.
Ivan doesn't know how to articulate that at all. ]
If you're really fine with it—
Then I want to make you feel loved. And stop you from thinking those other things.
[It feels as though his heart is up in his throat. It beats so quickly that he can hear his blood rush as it pounds in his ears, coloring his cheeks. Those are words he never would have imagined someone would use for him. Even with the tether, can he feel the way it makes his chest swell?
Sitting on the mattress, he drags a pillow up to cover his face, as though it will somehow suppress the fluttering sensation or the way his words simultaneously make him want to cry.]
It means he doesn't have to ask if he can... or should. It's not like Ivan usually asks before invading Till's personal space, but recently he's felt a new need to tread a little lighter.
Coming home is the only thing he thinks can cure the on-edge feeling he's had since he overhead Till communicate that he means to go down into the dark. He carries the butterflies with him as well. When they start in one of them, at that point they're just infectious.
The ground floor of the Blue Note is a creative space. A work-in-progress still, too. The tables either taken out or entirely rearranged, it no longer looks like a venue for many. Instead, it has some touches of belonging to just a small few. Upstairs is where there's space to sleep. The abandoned beds and baths and old sofas. Ivan can sense Till through anything that separates them, so he goes straight to him. ]
[The only light in the room is Till himself, and he is plenty bright for himself- and hopefully not anything that will bother or affect Ivan's eyes. He really has done a lot better around it recently, though.
Till's hair is pulled up into a ponytail in the back, but otherwise he's simply in comfortable clothes- an oversized sweatshirt and equally baggy sweats.
The butterflies certainly don't dissipate when Ivan appears in the door, the soft clicking of his many legs having given him away, as he hadn't been trying to conceal his presence to begin with.
. . . Beyond that, he could sense him through the tether as he neared.
His voice is still a little strained, but he does use his genuine one. He glances away, sitting on his knees, before patting the place beside him to beckon him over.]
It's the imperfection of it that lets him know the sound of Till's voice is coming from the room, not his head. The way his lips fall open looks curiously like a smile.
This is like the early days, hm? The encompassing dark. Till stowing away in the room, his light truly a rarity. Till's ill-fitting cloths don't reveal whether he's filled back out to a healthy weight, but Ivan imagines he has to've.
He allows his upper body to flop onto the bed, curled up facing the other. His legs likewise curl up underneath of his coils to show he's taken the cue to get comfortable from head to toe. ]
Haha... yes, this way it feels like no one can listen in. We were getting a good bit off topic.
Yeah. Though I don't really care about that. If it bothers them so much, they can tune out.
[Or something. He says that, though if someone chimed in and they were being embarrassing, that would set him sputtering. But he means it in the moment. As Ivan curls up close, Till reaches out to cup either side of his face.
He swallows past a lump in his throat, his cheeks glowing. Every muscle, like usual, tells him to run. His grip tightens just a little on Ivan to force himself to continue.
Because he really REALLY wants him to understand this.]
. . . Ivan. I don't want to beat around the bush. I don't want you ever to sit there again, wondering what you might mean to me.
[His eyes glance back and forth between Ivan's, the red of his irises reflected in his own.]
You are, and always have been, the most important person to me in the universe.
[Putting aside his childish, silly crush. Of course he cares about Mizi. That's a given. She had always been a source of hope to him. But Ivan...]
There's never been a time when you didn't occupy some part of my heart and mind. You were the only person always there by my side. You tried to free me, for fuck's sake.
[Ivan. The most outwardly obedient student at Ankat. The child whom all of the segyein loved and doted over. When he was hurt, Ivan was always quietly nearby. When he cried, he stayed until he was done. Maybe he upset him sometimes, but then maybe Ivan didn't have the right words or know what to say or do either.
How are any of them supposed to know? It's not like anyone ever taught them how to deal with these kinds of feelings and emotions.
Till's brows crease.]
I'm not good at this. That should be really obvious by now. [The fact that Ivan died without realizing how much he meant to him is the most glaring example of all.]
But I want to get better, because I can't imagine a world without you in mine. I don't want to experience that again. I love you. I love you, Ivan.
[He shakes his head, gaze watery by now.]
I don't know what that means for us, or what that makes us, or... how we're supposed to be.
[How should he? Men weren't even supposed to like LIKE each other. One hand lowers from his cheek to press it firmly against Ivan's chest.]
But please tell me that you can feel it right there. I'm a coward, but having you here, with me, in my life, even if I get scared or guilty sometimes... I feel like I'm overflowing in the warmth of your gentle tenderness. You have to feel how that makes my own well up, too.
[ Cobalt blue begins to creep across his cheeks. Despite his almost frostbitten appearance, Ivan's face is warm and getting warmer by the second. For someone claiming not to be good at this, everything Till is saying is having exactly the right effect on him. Though the speech has paralyzed him and his neck couldn't be stiffer, he slowly nods up at the one waiting for his answer.
It's elating just to be touched voluntarily by Till. He hasn't been able to hide that since it became routine. Saying these things aloud, though... he's aware now that it's important to Till. And he's realizing that it's important to him, too.
He brushes his fingers over the back of Till's hands, then up his arms. When he reaches his shoulders, he wears an intense look of study. One second he's adjusting his own posture, rolling so he's directly belly-up. The next, he's pulling Till on top of him, his eyes never leaving his as he does it, great determination within them. ]
I love you, Till.
[ Ivan says it to his face, right up close. It's not just an echo of what Till had the nerve to repeat twice. He's declaring it himself with the certainty of a thousand longing glances. With a bent knuckle he smooths away the fine, wispy hairs that start near one of Till's ears. ]
Would you like to know what I call you? My Paradise. Because you're where I want to be. Because wherever you are — is perfect.
[ The petting continues, fingers slipping through Till's hair until they meet the resistance of the band holding it all together. Till would probably hate to lose track of it now that he needs it, but Ivan pulls it out without a thought anyway. He treats the nape of his neck to some soft stroking as well, and the little bit of his upper back he can reach by sticking one of his hands inside the hoodie's neckline. The more he focuses on Till's body, the bolder he becomes. It's a little funny that it works that way. ]
It's just something I came up with that fit... we should just be able to do that, don't you think? Just make up what we want? I know I used to always follow the rules, but now that we're away from that place I can freely say that I think they're stupid.
[ He's not going to run off and mate with a female just because it's what he's "supposed" to do. He has no interest in that. ]
Give me any name, Till. What am I?
[ Slow-beading tears sparkle like crystals in the corners of his eyes, though the cant of his head is playful. If he's to erase "parasite" what will he put in place of it? ]
[The ease with which Ivan pulls him atop his body is a testament to his new strength. Till doesn't fight it at all, and simply adjusts so that he's straddling him properly. His heart beats so fast and strongly that he can feel it in his throat. The heat in his cheeks rises further as Ivan's fingers trail across his skin, leaving fire in their wake.
This time, it is Till's turn to use his thumb and tenderly wipe at the tears that form at the corners of Ivan's lashes. He never cries, unlike Till. Through the tether, he can feel the happiness and warmth that spur them on, though. He isn't sad.
Ivan is crying from happiness.
Iridiscent, Till's eyes shine as he studies the familiar crimson gaze that stares back at him.
. . . They're so beautiful. They remind him of the fiery sky they both ran into one night so long ago now. For so many years, he felt guilt when he looked into his gaze, and rue blooms in his heart even now when the darkness of various memories rears its head. But more than the sorrow that grew, hope and the desperate desire to keep him near now trumps it.
Paradise. To think someone could use such a beautiful term for him. Cupping Ivan cheeks, Till leans forward with a watery smile, and rests his forehead to his. For now, he switches back to the tether. His throat feels a little raw, and he thinks he can cover the emotion in his voice a little better this way.
He's wrong.]
How can I define you with just a word?
[Because there isn't any one single word that does him justice. Ivan can be quirky and strange and hard to understand. And he's also his savior- the one who rescued him, multiple times. He's the one who occupies his thoughts endlessly and burrows deep inside his heart. He's the reason he continues to breathe- doesn't that make him his air and oxygen?
But he deserves something- because Ivan is so incredibly important to him. He closses his eyes.]
You're everything that is essential to life.
[How can he possibly narrow it down? Till was so lost when he thought Ivan was gone forever, that he had needed to conjure him up inside his mind just to cope.
The smile that returns is soft.]
But, I guess there is something I've always associated you with.
[The image of stars shooting across the sky enters his mind's eye through the tether- a beautiful, dazzling scene.]
You're my Star.
[ . . . He doesn't want him to think of that as some small, little thing. Eyes opening again, he meets his gaze.]
You've always been there, like a star, you know... shining softly and consistently. I heard that humans used to use the stars as a guidepost. They could find their way by finding a particular star in the sky. They'd never be lost, as long as they could find that star.
[Like a roadmap that would never fail them.]
That's what you are like to me. You're my light. Up close, a star's powerful and life-giving and full of warmth; from a distance, it offers security and comfort. You're... all of that to me, though.
[A presence that looms larger than life within his mind's eye while also being soft and steady.]
Life can't exist at all without its very own star.
[ . . .]
I... might be the one to glow like a stupid lightbulb. Literally. But that's... it's because my light is born from you.
If you weren't here, I wouldn't be able to see at all. I'd be a black hole all over again.
[ They are musicians. They know the agony of searching for the perfect words. They've both put hours into choosing them. It's not random at all. Ivans knows this inherently, but he can also clearly see the thought crease Till's face, so close to his own. Crisp, the course of his mind as it draws a straight line to something beautiful and so beyond anything he ever imagined Till might say about him that he simply can't breathe afterward. Then Till decides he hasn't even finished with his task. "You're everything that is essential to life" isn't his final answer, just a stop along the way.
Ivan's chest has stilled entirely. His hands have ceased their caress, too stunned to move. No iota of him can focus on anything but the anticipation. When he finally hears it, his whole body shakes violently. Tears are still in his surprised eyes, and he's shaking, shaking, shaking...
Before erupting into joyous laughter. ]
I'm your Star, you say?
[ Producing a shockingly bright baritone, his chest continues to heave, not hindered by Till's weight atop it whatsoever. The other boy can be bounced off the bed by his sudden fit, he doesn't care ( ...except he very much does secure him with a tight hug around his waist... ) He's never felt so happy. Not even in dreams, not during that perfect, hypnotic trance beneath the banquet was his happiness this pure, this outrageous. And never did he ever expect it to strike him like a seismic event. ]
Yes—then that's what I'll be! You truly have a creative mind to think of me in such a way, but I'll try my best to grant your every wish. Whatever it is, I'll be here to answer it. [ Ivan regains enough control over himself to adoringly pet Till's temple. Right there, behind his parietal bone, he now resides always. This tether that is theirs makes it possible. ] With you, whether I can be seen... or not.
[ Stars are born in the void. Out of cold, black nothingness, they begin.
It surprisingly fits. ]
May I suggest something now, Till?
[ His restraint has seemingly returned in a snap. The evidence of his outburst is far from gone, however. Flushed in his face, Ivan lies there, attempting to look easygoing while the most momentous excitement prickles under his skin. He leaves a stretch of quiet so the air can clear before what he has to say next. ]
As your guiding Star, here is where I think you should go next.
[For a heartbeat, Till wonders if he’s said something wrong. Ivan shakes so fiercely that Till might have bounced right off if not for Ivan’s arms holding him close. Inexplicably, Ivan bursts into laughter a moment later, and Till’s head reels as he tries to keep pace with the rapid shifts in emotion.
The Tether is a godsend. Ivan’s elated; Till releases a relieved breath. Everything feels unreal. Never in a million years did he believe he could be this happy. Sure, there's fear—a fear of losing what he never dreamed he'd have. Till can't imagine losing this happiness now. But the warmth in his chest softens his expression.
. . . Until his guardian star's guidance.]
. . .
[Rolling his eyes, Till simply smirks. Sure, a bit of heat dusts his cheeks, but his skin is already flushed with the warmth they share.
This sounds exactly like something Ivan would have said in the past. The difference is that now, Till knows he isn’t the butt of a joke. Ivan is still devious, though.
He leans close enough that he can feel Ivan's breath against his lips.]
What? Here?
[A finger brushes against Ivan's mouth and Till tilts his head to the side playfully as though thinking.]
[ Red eyes study Till's expression for any sign of insincerity. It's so far from the one he gave him the first time he ever asked about the strange trend sweeping the garden — "Touching lips." He remembers how his entire face twisted to show how he felt about the idea. His lips had peeled all the way back from his teeth. He'd stuck his tongue out, too. None of that had exactly stopped Ivan from thinking he'd still like to go through with putting his mouth on that stupid face anyway, but then Till gave him an interesting answer.
"I'll consider it for your birthday."
The gifts that the other children received never made Ivan jealous that they had birthdays while he did not, as Unsha gave him the things he asked for all the time. But what Till said that day. That had. ]
It might be. [ Breathily ] I don't know when I was born.
[ The passage of Till's fingers brings his mouth agape, making his top teeth peek out. He doesn't fix it back into any neat line. Now is not the time to shut things away to seem unmoved. Their tether aside, after coming all this way Till should see once and for all how he really makes him feel. ]
To have any chance of celebrating it, we'll have to treat every day like my birthday.
[ He can say any sly thing, but the truth is he wants what Till promised back then. For it not to be a joke. For it, too, to be his choice and not something Ivan thrusts upon him, or the hypnotism of a god that wishes for them to worship it with their skin and sweat. ]
[Ivan was born on the streets, and as far as Till can tell, lost his provider at a tender age. It is no wonder that the exact date of his birthday is a mystery. Till, on the other hand, was born into a Mill, where everyone was documented and tagged, so his birthdate followed forward with him through his life.
Amusement continues to light Till's eyes. Ivan jokingly suggests they ought to celebrate every day. If he's honest, Till has thought about 'touching lips' more than once since their time beneath the banquet hall. Those memories burn warmly in his heart, though uncertainty lingers—he hopes Ivan didn't feel pressured to 'help' that night.
Tracing Ivan's lips, Till studies them in the dim light, then lifts his gaze to Ivan's eyes. The intensity there is familiar—no one knows that look better than he does. For a moment, he feels almost seen through, and he doesn't mind. Not if it's Ivan. The tether already connects them.
Slowly, his fingers slide into Ivan’s hair as he cups his cheek, drawing nearer.]
Is that so?
[Nervous anticipation lights his eye, and there is a beat of charged silence. Smiling against him, Till brushes his lips breathlessly over Ivan’s.]
Well—
[His words are whisper soft into his mouth and he hums.]
If every day's your birthday, guess we'd better start celebrating.
[ Till's movements apply addictive pressure. He thought he might not be able to resist helping himself to more right away, but it turns out that he likes things moving this slowly. Nothing is happening so fast that he can't savor it. Waiting is second nature to him now, besides. He's patient. Ivan's lips suckle on Till's lightly, catch-and-release, obeying whatever pace he sets. A shallow flick of tongue pulls back so quickly it seems truly accidental.
He's still a little worried about what he might taste like. He's still conscious of the venomous black mouthparts that frame his face, holding them far out to the sides so that Till can pass between them smoothly, without touching. They shake imperceptibly from the strain of overextension.
How interested Till is in him like this... Ivan will leave that up to Till to show him. ]
Are you committed to that? It's not polite to tease me, Till.
[ His own taunt rings out sweetly across their tether, so as not to disturb anything in the process of happening in the physical world. ]
[Till is a lot of things, but once he truly commits to something, he gives it his whole mind, his whole body, and every last stray thought. Nothing sways him once he’s set on a course.
Including this—getting to know the strange landscape of Ivan’s new body.
Beneath the banquet hall where they’d lost themselves to flesh and pleasure, Ivan had been soft and warm. This body isn’t cold, but it doesn’t radiate heat in the same way, and it isn’t entirely soft. By now, though, it’s familiar territory. Maybe not explored in every detail, not yet, but they sleep pressed together almost every night. Ivan is no stranger in his arms.
Even so, Till has never really let himself map out all the intricacies of him. Some of it is shyness, maybe. Some of it is that Ivan has never seemed entirely at ease in his own shell.
But maybe, if Till is honest and open with his desire, Ivan won’t be so nervous anymore.
The flick of his star’s tongue inside his mouth is new, and it sends a bright thrill through him. He realizes how far he’s come since that time he’d flushed scarlet at the mere idea of touching lips.
Now, he wants so much more.]
Hey.
[His hand slips down over the armor of Ivan’s chest, tracing the hard lines before gliding lightly to his abdomen, where the narrow red slit that runs the length of his body begins. He glances back up, catching Ivan’s eyes.]
How does your body work…? Does it… feel good, when my hands touch you like this?
[ The point of armor is that it keeps one from feeling physically exposed. Till's downwards maneuver melts through it right away. Ivan cranes his head to watch his progress, something that right here and right now reminds him that's he's very naked, technically, as he has been since turning. If he still had pores, there would be goosebumps trailing just behind the tips of those luminous fingers.
What will feel good to an insectoid body is just as much of a mystery to the one currently inhabiting one. He's fed it, cleaned it, tended to wounds, only the things necessary to survive; he certainly hasn't tried to pleasure himself like this. The thought makes him swallow a lump of embarrassment, and he tells the undomesticated, underdeveloped part of his brain not to get ahead of itself no matter what his friend's intentions look like they might be.
As is, his nerves send tingling feedback to his spinal cord. And to their tether, proving that he can be teased in this way. It intensifies when Till focuses on his abdomen, a place all wild things naturally want to keep safe from predators, all senses around it heightened. ]
I can feel how soft they are compared to me, and warm — I like it a lot.
[ There is one thing his is aware of from grooming in the area, which for him is an in depth process involving his saliva, mouth, and mandibles. ]
Where my segments come together, the grooves there are quite sensitive. That one especially.
[ Ivan's eyes are glued to that red line dividing up his lower belly, and the proximity of Till's hands to it. ]
[The shiver of pleasure that courses through their converged tether tells Till exactly what he needs to know. The sensation of his own hands on Ivan's body feels good and even welcomed. The awareness that he can do this, that he can draw such a response with nothing but touch, sparks a little thrill in him. His slender fingers alone wield this much power over Ivan’s body. Ivan may tower over him, his strength far beyond Till’s, but a simple, careful caress is all it takes to unravel him.
A mischievous grin unfurls across his face.]
Is that so...?
[He lets his fingers wander, feather-light, until they find that little groove. With a slow, deliberate motion, he strokes along the slim red line.
Ivan is self‑conscious about his body. He’s never said as much aloud, but Till can feel it in the marrow of their tether, clear as day. Maybe, if he can show Ivan that he isn’t repulsed or disgusted by this new form, Ivan will be able to accept himself—if only a little. Of course Till wants him back as he was. That isn’t because he hates what Ivan has become; it’s because he hates that someone else carved this change into him without consent.
That's hardly his only reason for wanting to explore him right now, though.
The truth is, Till can’t help the heat curling low in his own body in answer to the rising, anticipatory pulse in Ivan. Maybe he wants to see him come undone. Maybe he wants to taste again the edge of the ecstasy they shared that night, when flesh met flesh and they both went senseless with pleasure. Ivan was the one who bared that intimate memory of thinking of Till alone in a bathroom stall while he touched himself. Those desires haven’t gone anywhere. Right...?
He studies Ivan’s face intently, hungry for every flicker of reaction.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
early august
[How did he get here? He doesn't quite remember. He feels half-awake, unsettled and uncertain. He sees an unfamiliar shape with an unfamiliar face.
[In the waking hours, Sunny had been warned of Till's arrival, but now, in this dreamlike darkness, he startles.
[But he doesn't make a sound.]
Re: early august
. . . Of course, he looks a little worn thin. He's lost weight, and the bags beneath his eyes seem to suggest he hasn't slept much in a while, just as the wrapping around his neck suggests an injury.
Till is quiet as he works, the sound of pencil against paper faintly sounding as his hands glide over the creation he doodles. It's of a small tuft of flowers- especially detailed for a pencil drawing.]
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'Sunny'.
That's what he thinks the name was. That's right. It's dark, but his eyes have adjusted to the room, and he cannot help but see an uncanny familiarity to... Ivan. He reminds him of Ivan when he was younger.
Till doesn't want to surprise him in turn, so he scribbles in his notebook again, before lifting it up. Hopefully, the kid can see it in the dim light. Or read in general.]
Hey.
Are you Sonny?
[He doesn't know which way he spells it, but he assumes it's close enough.]
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Pulling the notebook back to himself, he answers.]
Till.
[Simply. Before pulling it back to write another message quickly.]
I'm friends with Ivan from the same world.
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[Sunny's eyes flicker back to where 'Ivan' is now written on the page, and he hesitates for a few long seconds...
[Then, he offers Till his hand for a shake, a 'nice to meet you'. Till is being friendly, so...there's no reason not to be friendly too.]
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This isn't supposed to be a transaction, though, he doesn't think. After a moment, he holds out a hand to shake.
Maybe this is a common custom on other plants?]
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[He inclines his head, polite, then lets go. A glance at the page Till had been scribbling on catches his eye again ("Ivan"). He points to the drawing, not the writing ("Ivan"). Then he looks at Till with slightly raised eyebrows. Maybe he'll show him more.]
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He hands the notebook to Sunny, before drawing another out of his bag to write with. He is PREPARED.]
You look kind of like Ivan when he was younger.
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[Sunny points to Ivan on the page, then looks at Till - This one?]
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Ivan didn't use to look like he does now.
I'm super pissed at whatever's responsible for fucking with him. He was probably so scared going through such a weird change.
[Anyone would have been. Even now it boils his blood. He shows Sunny the note, before jotting a bit more down.]
Ivan always wears that stupid smile like he's okay or something. There's a lot of pain inside, beneath it, though.
[. . . Till's feeling it for the first time, and he wishes there was an easy method of just soothing it over. After years of pain, no one heals overnight, though.]
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[He already knew, didn't he, that Ivan didn't always look that way? Till is right. Anyone would be terrified, going through something like that. All Sunny offered him was his own fear. If only Ivan knew Sunny was a monster too, maybe he'd also be afraid...
[Sunny isn't sure what to say. He hasn't been lovely to Ivan. He avoids him like the plague. He...
[Felt so much like his prey. Ivan had insisted he'd only been trying to help...
[When Sunny nods his head, he looks guilty. He feels it. He isn't a good friend, a worse enemy. He feels anxious, like their many-legged roommate might come into the room at any moment...
[Maybe...they should talk about something else.
[Sunny points again to the piece of paper, this time to one of the little girls next to Till and Ivan. She's wearing glasses.]
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The girl with the glasses is Mizi. She's probably the prettiest, kindest person you could ever meet. She's like an angel.
[The last time he saw her, for those split seconds before the gunshot dropped him, he can recall she looked a little different, though. She had short hair.
His finger shifts to the final remaining child in the picture after he holds up the note for Sunny, and then scribbles out another message.]
And the other girl is Sua. She was kinda scary, but she was important to Mizi. She wasn't a bad person, either. A lot of kids really admired her.
[Just... a little awkward to be around if left alone with her.]
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[He doesn't want to ask what happened, and of course, he wouldn't (he wouldn't ask anything). He could use the pencil just as easily as Till does, but he doesn't. He just admires the picture as if it were a photo...
[Ivan had been so baffled by his polaroid.
[Sunny's eyes meet Till's again, and he nods toward the paper, giving the other boy a thumbs up, just slightly trembling (because Sunny is always just slightly trembling).
[It's good work. Good job.]
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He scribbles in his notebook and gives Sunny a dry expression.]
No falling in love with her or anything.
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[Oh, man...]
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I'll believe you this time.
[Hee hee. Till at least looks cheerful and amused.]
You can flip through the pages if you like.
[The notebook is full of drawings. There's lots of Mizi, some of Ivan, and plenty of flowers or trees from around the area.]
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[Once he's done, he holds his hand out for Till's pencil, brows slightly raised. Is it okay? Can he write something too?]
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we can move toward a lil wrap if u wanna
[He writes:]
thank you
Works for me!
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[ Is their tether defective? Is he? As he always suspected, are his emotions so shallow they can't ripple to the other side? He's stricken for a moment by what's been said, wishing he could be so much more than this impassive thing, because Till deserves to feel dazzling, like heaven, and so much more. He deserves to feel divine to someone whose reverence could cause a shockwave, rather than divine to an ant.
Till's recklessness is stupid. It's foolish, but it shows he's willing to do what most aren't. That makes him stronger than the rest of them. Ivan is impressed. He's caught up remembering how Till would sniffle and cry yet still get up to fight again. He knows that even if all hell breaks loose in this tunnel, as long as he makes it out alive, he'll want to do the next crazy thing to save someone in this place, and the next, and the next.
Ivan isn't sure what he means to Till. But he knows what Till means to him, and he intends to be there. ]
What do you feel when I look at you?
[ Palpitations. His chest constricts. ]
[ Why did he have to ask? ]
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Ah- hey. I didn't mean it about now.
[Sure, sometimes Ivan can be confusing even despite things, but their tether has helped so much. The difference is like night and day.]
I just meant... before, when we were kids, you know? None of the things that worked with Mizi and Sua worked when I tried them...
[He understands so much better now. Still, he stumbles a little. Mostly, because he's never been all that good at confronting emotions of THIS kind head-on. It's different from fighting or being defiant. Emotions of the heart are the one emotion he was way too scared to confront in the past. He's promised himself he won't do that anymore.
He's just... not used to feeling this. He has to be honest. He doesn't want Ivan to doubt himself on account of screwing up and saying the wrong thing.]
. . . There's only one other person who existed in this whole damn universe who made me feel like they... like they genuinely gave a crap about me.
[And he can't even properly remember her face. What he remembers the most is her warmth, her love, and the profound and traumatic loss he felt when dragged from her warmth before being shoved inside a box and being shipped off for sale.
God damn it. He's feeling a little emotional all over again. He draws a shaky breath.]
It's hard for me. I... spent my whole stupid life being scared and hating myself. I know I always made a big show of things, and I always said it didn't matter what those fuckers said or did, but- of course, it still got to me sometimes.
[Unwanted. Good for nothing. His voice was his only redeeming quality. No one would ever give him a second glance if not for his singing ability and composition.]
You know, whenever I was with that bastard, he always made it a point to remind me that I was nothing more than a bargain bin pet sold at discount because who in the world would have wanted ME? The only thing I was good for was my voice and affinity for music.
[Ha ha.... the laugh through the tether is bitter.]
And look at me now? I can't even talk right.
[ Ha.
. . . ]
You... You make me feel so stupidly special, and wanted, and needed, Ivan. You don't... know what that means to me.
[He swallows thickly.]
And it's also so damn scary, too. Because I don't know why you see anything at all. I hate myself so much, and I'm terrified you'll disappear again.
[Either because he wisened up, or because this place could steal his life and he would vanish.]
I can't forgive myself. And I don't feel like I deserve the feelings you share with me through the tether. Even though I... I want to hold onto them.
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When did his heart last stop in his chest only to pound so, so loudly in his ears. Why do those lovely words that make him feel light-headed somehow sound so familiar.
On the sleepy morning they tethered, Till did have something to say to him. Such a special thing it seems like a dream — and maybe it was? He can't be sure. This place makes his mind bend. And too much happens in dreams he doesn't trust. Still, it feels like a crime not to be sure. I love you, and what else? That whole memory is steeped in love. Is it really okay... to have that?
It's strange to hear that Till is asking himself the very same thing. ]
They're not for anyone else, just you, so you might as well take them. I don't care if you never sing another note. I like talking like this, too. I like that it's just for us.
[ Nothing else in life makes him feel this way. It's only, always been Till. "Hard to impress" he said, and maybe that was true about him then. He had been little more than a walking paresthesia.
What Till had gradually given him was more wonderful than just awe. Day by day, his nerves woke up from that numbness. Lines from his pencil turned into curiosity. Listening to him shout became amusement. And that first punch to his face was like an explosion.
He actually cared that his pulse was racing, he'd realized. And it felt good.
Ivan doesn't know how to articulate that at all. ]
If you're really fine with it—
Then I want to make you feel loved. And stop you from thinking those other things.
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Sitting on the mattress, he drags a pillow up to cover his face, as though it will somehow suppress the fluttering sensation or the way his words simultaneously make him want to cry.]
. . . Will you come home?
[Back to the Blue Note.]
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[ He's glad for the request.
It means he doesn't have to ask if he can... or should. It's not like Ivan usually asks before invading Till's personal space, but recently he's felt a new need to tread a little lighter.
Coming home is the only thing he thinks can cure the on-edge feeling he's had since he overhead Till communicate that he means to go down into the dark. He carries the butterflies with him as well. When they start in one of them, at that point they're just infectious.
The ground floor of the Blue Note is a creative space. A work-in-progress still, too. The tables either taken out or entirely rearranged, it no longer looks like a venue for many. Instead, it has some touches of belonging to just a small few. Upstairs is where there's space to sleep. The abandoned beds and baths and old sofas. Ivan can sense Till through anything that separates them, so he goes straight to him. ]
Till?
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[The only light in the room is Till himself, and he is plenty bright for himself- and hopefully not anything that will bother or affect Ivan's eyes. He really has done a lot better around it recently, though.
Till's hair is pulled up into a ponytail in the back, but otherwise he's simply in comfortable clothes- an oversized sweatshirt and equally baggy sweats.
The butterflies certainly don't dissipate when Ivan appears in the door, the soft clicking of his many legs having given him away, as he hadn't been trying to conceal his presence to begin with.
. . . Beyond that, he could sense him through the tether as he neared.
His voice is still a little strained, but he does use his genuine one. He glances away, sitting on his knees, before patting the place beside him to beckon him over.]
I... thought we should 'talk' in person.
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It's the imperfection of it that lets him know the sound of Till's voice is coming from the room, not his head. The way his lips fall open looks curiously like a smile.
This is like the early days, hm? The encompassing dark. Till stowing away in the room, his light truly a rarity. Till's ill-fitting cloths don't reveal whether he's filled back out to a healthy weight, but Ivan imagines he has to've.
He allows his upper body to flop onto the bed, curled up facing the other. His legs likewise curl up underneath of his coils to show he's taken the cue to get comfortable from head to toe. ]
Haha... yes, this way it feels like no one can listen in. We were getting a good bit off topic.
[ Sorry, Ash... ]
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[Or something. He says that, though if someone chimed in and they were being embarrassing, that would set him sputtering. But he means it in the moment. As Ivan curls up close, Till reaches out to cup either side of his face.
He swallows past a lump in his throat, his cheeks glowing. Every muscle, like usual, tells him to run. His grip tightens just a little on Ivan to force himself to continue.
Because he really REALLY wants him to understand this.]
. . . Ivan. I don't want to beat around the bush. I don't want you ever to sit there again, wondering what you might mean to me.
[His eyes glance back and forth between Ivan's, the red of his irises reflected in his own.]
You are, and always have been, the most important person to me in the universe.
[Putting aside his childish, silly crush. Of course he cares about Mizi. That's a given. She had always been a source of hope to him. But Ivan...]
There's never been a time when you didn't occupy some part of my heart and mind. You were the only person always there by my side. You tried to free me, for fuck's sake.
[Ivan. The most outwardly obedient student at Ankat. The child whom all of the segyein loved and doted over. When he was hurt, Ivan was always quietly nearby. When he cried, he stayed until he was done. Maybe he upset him sometimes, but then maybe Ivan didn't have the right words or know what to say or do either.
How are any of them supposed to know? It's not like anyone ever taught them how to deal with these kinds of feelings and emotions.
Till's brows crease.]
I'm not good at this. That should be really obvious by now. [The fact that Ivan died without realizing how much he meant to him is the most glaring example of all.]
But I want to get better, because I can't imagine a world without you in mine. I don't want to experience that again. I love you. I love you, Ivan.
[He shakes his head, gaze watery by now.]
I don't know what that means for us, or what that makes us, or... how we're supposed to be.
[How should he? Men weren't even supposed to like LIKE each other. One hand lowers from his cheek to press it firmly against Ivan's chest.]
But please tell me that you can feel it right there. I'm a coward, but having you here, with me, in my life, even if I get scared or guilty sometimes... I feel like I'm overflowing in the warmth of your gentle tenderness. You have to feel how that makes my own well up, too.
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It's elating just to be touched voluntarily by Till. He hasn't been able to hide that since it became routine. Saying these things aloud, though... he's aware now that it's important to Till. And he's realizing that it's important to him, too.
He brushes his fingers over the back of Till's hands, then up his arms. When he reaches his shoulders, he wears an intense look of study. One second he's adjusting his own posture, rolling so he's directly belly-up. The next, he's pulling Till on top of him, his eyes never leaving his as he does it, great determination within them. ]
I love you, Till.
[ Ivan says it to his face, right up close. It's not just an echo of what Till had the nerve to repeat twice. He's declaring it himself with the certainty of a thousand longing glances. With a bent knuckle he smooths away the fine, wispy hairs that start near one of Till's ears. ]
Would you like to know what I call you? My Paradise. Because you're where I want to be. Because wherever you are — is perfect.
[ The petting continues, fingers slipping through Till's hair until they meet the resistance of the band holding it all together. Till would probably hate to lose track of it now that he needs it, but Ivan pulls it out without a thought anyway. He treats the nape of his neck to some soft stroking as well, and the little bit of his upper back he can reach by sticking one of his hands inside the hoodie's neckline. The more he focuses on Till's body, the bolder he becomes. It's a little funny that it works that way. ]
It's just something I came up with that fit... we should just be able to do that, don't you think? Just make up what we want? I know I used to always follow the rules, but now that we're away from that place I can freely say that I think they're stupid.
[ He's not going to run off and mate with a female just because it's what he's "supposed" to do. He has no interest in that. ]
Give me any name, Till. What am I?
[ Slow-beading tears sparkle like crystals in the corners of his eyes, though the cant of his head is playful. If he's to erase "parasite" what will he put in place of it? ]
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This time, it is Till's turn to use his thumb and tenderly wipe at the tears that form at the corners of Ivan's lashes. He never cries, unlike Till. Through the tether, he can feel the happiness and warmth that spur them on, though. He isn't sad.
Ivan is crying from happiness.
Iridiscent, Till's eyes shine as he studies the familiar crimson gaze that stares back at him.
. . . They're so beautiful. They remind him of the fiery sky they both ran into one night so long ago now. For so many years, he felt guilt when he looked into his gaze, and rue blooms in his heart even now when the darkness of various memories rears its head. But more than the sorrow that grew, hope and the desperate desire to keep him near now trumps it.
Paradise. To think someone could use such a beautiful term for him. Cupping Ivan cheeks, Till leans forward with a watery smile, and rests his forehead to his. For now, he switches back to the tether. His throat feels a little raw, and he thinks he can cover the emotion in his voice a little better this way.
He's wrong.]
How can I define you with just a word?
[Because there isn't any one single word that does him justice. Ivan can be quirky and strange and hard to understand. And he's also his savior- the one who rescued him, multiple times. He's the one who occupies his thoughts endlessly and burrows deep inside his heart. He's the reason he continues to breathe- doesn't that make him his air and oxygen?
But he deserves something- because Ivan is so incredibly important to him. He closses his eyes.]
You're everything that is essential to life.
[How can he possibly narrow it down? Till was so lost when he thought Ivan was gone forever, that he had needed to conjure him up inside his mind just to cope.
The smile that returns is soft.]
But, I guess there is something I've always associated you with.
[The image of stars shooting across the sky enters his mind's eye through the tether- a beautiful, dazzling scene.]
You're my Star.
[ . . . He doesn't want him to think of that as some small, little thing. Eyes opening again, he meets his gaze.]
You've always been there, like a star, you know... shining softly and consistently. I heard that humans used to use the stars as a guidepost. They could find their way by finding a particular star in the sky. They'd never be lost, as long as they could find that star.
[Like a roadmap that would never fail them.]
That's what you are like to me. You're my light. Up close, a star's powerful and life-giving and full of warmth; from a distance, it offers security and comfort. You're... all of that to me, though.
[A presence that looms larger than life within his mind's eye while also being soft and steady.]
Life can't exist at all without its very own star.
[ . . .]
I... might be the one to glow like a stupid lightbulb. Literally. But that's... it's because my light is born from you.
If you weren't here, I wouldn't be able to see at all. I'd be a black hole all over again.
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Ivan's chest has stilled entirely. His hands have ceased their caress, too stunned to move. No iota of him can focus on anything but the anticipation. When he finally hears it, his whole body shakes violently. Tears are still in his surprised eyes, and he's shaking, shaking, shaking...
Before erupting into joyous laughter. ]
I'm your Star, you say?
[ Producing a shockingly bright baritone, his chest continues to heave, not hindered by Till's weight atop it whatsoever. The other boy can be bounced off the bed by his sudden fit, he doesn't care ( ...except he very much does secure him with a tight hug around his waist... ) He's never felt so happy. Not even in dreams, not during that perfect, hypnotic trance beneath the banquet was his happiness this pure, this outrageous. And never did he ever expect it to strike him like a seismic event. ]
Yes—then that's what I'll be! You truly have a creative mind to think of me in such a way, but I'll try my best to grant your every wish. Whatever it is, I'll be here to answer it. [ Ivan regains enough control over himself to adoringly pet Till's temple. Right there, behind his parietal bone, he now resides always. This tether that is theirs makes it possible. ] With you, whether I can be seen... or not.
[ Stars are born in the void. Out of cold, black nothingness, they begin.
It surprisingly fits. ]
May I suggest something now, Till?
[ His restraint has seemingly returned in a snap. The evidence of his outburst is far from gone, however. Flushed in his face, Ivan lies there, attempting to look easygoing while the most momentous excitement prickles under his skin. He leaves a stretch of quiet so the air can clear before what he has to say next. ]
As your guiding Star, here is where I think you should go next.
[ ...
...
...
He points to his mouth. ]
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The Tether is a godsend. Ivan’s elated; Till releases a relieved breath. Everything feels unreal. Never in a million years did he believe he could be this happy. Sure, there's fear—a fear of losing what he never dreamed he'd have. Till can't imagine losing this happiness now. But the warmth in his chest softens his expression.
. . . Until his guardian star's guidance.]
. . .
[Rolling his eyes, Till simply smirks. Sure, a bit of heat dusts his cheeks, but his skin is already flushed with the warmth they share.
This sounds exactly like something Ivan would have said in the past. The difference is that now, Till knows he isn’t the butt of a joke. Ivan is still devious, though.
He leans close enough that he can feel Ivan's breath against his lips.]
What? Here?
[A finger brushes against Ivan's mouth and Till tilts his head to the side playfully as though thinking.]
Is it your birthday?
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"I'll consider it for your birthday."
The gifts that the other children received never made Ivan jealous that they had birthdays while he did not, as Unsha gave him the things he asked for all the time. But what Till said that day. That had. ]
It might be. [ Breathily ] I don't know when I was born.
[ The passage of Till's fingers brings his mouth agape, making his top teeth peek out. He doesn't fix it back into any neat line. Now is not the time to shut things away to seem unmoved. Their tether aside, after coming all this way Till should see once and for all how he really makes him feel. ]
To have any chance of celebrating it, we'll have to treat every day like my birthday.
[ He can say any sly thing, but the truth is he wants what Till promised back then. For it not to be a joke. For it, too, to be his choice and not something Ivan thrusts upon him, or the hypnotism of a god that wishes for them to worship it with their skin and sweat. ]
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Amusement continues to light Till's eyes. Ivan jokingly suggests they ought to celebrate every day. If he's honest, Till has thought about 'touching lips' more than once since their time beneath the banquet hall. Those memories burn warmly in his heart, though uncertainty lingers—he hopes Ivan didn't feel pressured to 'help' that night.
Tracing Ivan's lips, Till studies them in the dim light, then lifts his gaze to Ivan's eyes. The intensity there is familiar—no one knows that look better than he does. For a moment, he feels almost seen through, and he doesn't mind. Not if it's Ivan. The tether already connects them.
Slowly, his fingers slide into Ivan’s hair as he cups his cheek, drawing nearer.]
Is that so?
[Nervous anticipation lights his eye, and there is a beat of charged silence. Smiling against him, Till brushes his lips breathlessly over Ivan’s.]
Well—
[His words are whisper soft into his mouth and he hums.]
If every day's your birthday, guess we'd better start celebrating.
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He's still a little worried about what he might taste like. He's still conscious of the venomous black mouthparts that frame his face, holding them far out to the sides so that Till can pass between them smoothly, without touching. They shake imperceptibly from the strain of overextension.
How interested Till is in him like this... Ivan will leave that up to Till to show him. ]
Are you committed to that? It's not polite to tease me, Till.
[ His own taunt rings out sweetly across their tether, so as not to disturb anything in the process of happening in the physical world. ]
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[Till is a lot of things, but once he truly commits to something, he gives it his whole mind, his whole body, and every last stray thought. Nothing sways him once he’s set on a course.
Including this—getting to know the strange landscape of Ivan’s new body.
Beneath the banquet hall where they’d lost themselves to flesh and pleasure, Ivan had been soft and warm. This body isn’t cold, but it doesn’t radiate heat in the same way, and it isn’t entirely soft. By now, though, it’s familiar territory. Maybe not explored in every detail, not yet, but they sleep pressed together almost every night. Ivan is no stranger in his arms.
Even so, Till has never really let himself map out all the intricacies of him. Some of it is shyness, maybe. Some of it is that Ivan has never seemed entirely at ease in his own shell.
But maybe, if Till is honest and open with his desire, Ivan won’t be so nervous anymore.
The flick of his star’s tongue inside his mouth is new, and it sends a bright thrill through him. He realizes how far he’s come since that time he’d flushed scarlet at the mere idea of touching lips.
Now, he wants so much more.]
Hey.
[His hand slips down over the armor of Ivan’s chest, tracing the hard lines before gliding lightly to his abdomen, where the narrow red slit that runs the length of his body begins. He glances back up, catching Ivan’s eyes.]
How does your body work…? Does it… feel good, when my hands touch you like this?
no subject
What will feel good to an insectoid body is just as much of a mystery to the one currently inhabiting one. He's fed it, cleaned it, tended to wounds, only the things necessary to survive; he certainly hasn't tried to pleasure himself like this. The thought makes him swallow a lump of embarrassment, and he tells the undomesticated, underdeveloped part of his brain not to get ahead of itself no matter what his friend's intentions look like they might be.
As is, his nerves send tingling feedback to his spinal cord. And to their tether, proving that he can be teased in this way. It intensifies when Till focuses on his abdomen, a place all wild things naturally want to keep safe from predators, all senses around it heightened. ]
I can feel how soft they are compared to me, and warm — I like it a lot.
[ There is one thing his is aware of from grooming in the area, which for him is an in depth process involving his saliva, mouth, and mandibles. ]
Where my segments come together, the grooves there are quite sensitive. That one especially.
[ Ivan's eyes are glued to that red line dividing up his lower belly, and the proximity of Till's hands to it. ]
no subject
A mischievous grin unfurls across his face.]
Is that so...?
[He lets his fingers wander, feather-light, until they find that little groove. With a slow, deliberate motion, he strokes along the slim red line.
Ivan is self‑conscious about his body. He’s never said as much aloud, but Till can feel it in the marrow of their tether, clear as day. Maybe, if he can show Ivan that he isn’t repulsed or disgusted by this new form, Ivan will be able to accept himself—if only a little. Of course Till wants him back as he was. That isn’t because he hates what Ivan has become; it’s because he hates that someone else carved this change into him without consent.
That's hardly his only reason for wanting to explore him right now, though.
The truth is, Till can’t help the heat curling low in his own body in answer to the rising, anticipatory pulse in Ivan. Maybe he wants to see him come undone. Maybe he wants to taste again the edge of the ecstasy they shared that night, when flesh met flesh and they both went senseless with pleasure. Ivan was the one who bared that intimate memory of thinking of Till alone in a bathroom stall while he touched himself. Those desires haven’t gone anywhere. Right...?
He studies Ivan’s face intently, hungry for every flicker of reaction.]
How about now?