"I don't want to keep you from being hurt just to assure my own self-protection. I want it because I want it."
But it's probably not something he can have. Not any more than Dodger can help from twisting the knife. His head shakes.
"You can't. You could become the greatest man in the world. But you can't bring me home." Another shiver comes with that kiss, a lighter one. "Perhaps it's good this way, for you. You did say that, you know. You didn't really like me, you just like the... impossibility of it. I'm unattainable, and that's what you're after." Which makes those words of love turned back to him pretty hollow. "Let me turn around."
He wants to argue. That's been his goal, to push the resources he has together, to make a path home for everyone who wants it. For Hector. But the people he relied on most are starting to disappear, and the people left are probably losing momentum. He can't make any promises.
And he really hates how Hector is always right. About everything.
"Alright."
His instinct is to teleport in place, to flip Hector around himself. But instead he lets go, lets him move around on his own. Dodger feels like he's aged ten years in the worst way since this conversation started, and it's probably visible on his face.
If he were always right, he wouldn't find himself depending on this man like he does. And if Dodger opened the door to him, Dodger would still see his back turned and running, in the end.
Freed now, he turns. It's slow, mostly in an effort to not whack Dodger full in the face with his feathers. He misses the warmth in those few seconds but in seconds more he's moving back in. He settles on the bed and wraps his arms around Dodger. He presses just one kiss to his mouth.
"Thank you," He says. "And thank you for putting my head back on straight. You're surprisingly good at that time to time." A flicker of a smile shows then falls. "How about we do what you want now, I let you talk, and much, much later, once this is a less terrible evening, I can fuss about where you're staying. How's that?"
Without Hector, his arms feel distinctly empty. He tries not to think about it, but it weighs on him until they're curled up again, and he's being kissed, and everything is okay.
"I learned it from watching you." Hector probably won't get the joke, but it gets Dodger to smile, at least. It isn't exactly bitter, but it's tired. So very tired.
There's a moment of pause, and he reaches up to press his thumbs to Hector's lips, and gently force a smile onto him.
"You're all doom and gloom today. Do you need me to play you something?"
He doesn't get the joke. He sees the smile only and wants to take it as good, but that tiredness is still there. That's something he understands but Hell if he knows what to do about it.
That's about the moment Dodger goes squishing his bruised up face. He yelps slightly and gives Dodger a soft shove in his protest. But not a smile is held in place.
"No, no," He huffs. "I'm setting this right, this is supposed to be about making you feel better. I should be the one playing you songs." It's really, really unfair that Dodger knows so much more music.
He moves to lay his head on Dodger's shoulder.
"Or we could play one of your records. We could dance. I'm sure you've left at least one of them around here somewhere."
"I've got my phone, it's got some music on it." He doesn't move though, reaching instead to ruffle Hector's hair playfully. "You seem comfortable, though... maybe we should just lay here."
He pulls his phone out and searches through for a while before settling on a soft, crooning love song. It plays quietly, so that he can still speak over it.
"Playing music for you makes me happy, y'know. When I was a kid... I really loved music. And when you listen, it's... it's exactly what I wanted back then. Just someone that appreciates it."
He seems to argue with himself, mouth opening and closing as he decides whether or not he wants to lay down and rest his aching body or miss the chance for a dance. Then the song plays. Dancing or no, it casts a spell immediately.
The tension in him seems to unwind. All his weight rests on Dodger with a sigh. His eyes are closed to listen, both to what's spoken and the song that's sung.
"How could I not?" He asks. The song is beautiful. Most of them are. "Sometimes... sometimes I think no one down here really knows me. Not through any fault, just that... I'm only a piece of myself. The music plays and I've got some big part of me back. Sometimes I think, if I were to play, if my family were with me... no one would recognize me. I'd be whole again." And maybe they'd see he belongs there, the way he feels it.
"You're a musician first and a human second. I like that about you."
He sinks into the bed, idly petting Hector's hair and watching him with pure affection.
"I wish I could see that. You, playing music with your family and being whole. But I don't belong in that picture... I'm sure your wife would hate me, with good reason."
A pause.
"Kids don't seem to mind me, though. Wanna tell me about your daughter?"
He laughs, somewhere between warm and rueful. He doesn't deny it. It just also happened to be the problem with him, that being a musician means he never gets to be human at all. Or maybe it's that he wants to be a father first, musician second, and everyone else after that.
He moves with Dodger, curling closer, in so much as he can. He lets himself just enjoy the feeling.
He doesn't say that Dodger could fit in that picture. It would be a lie. As would suggesting Imelda would like Dodger. But he considers Coco, eyes opening.
"She wouldn't find you scary. Not the scars, not even the magic. She'd want to see it. It would scare me half to death trying to keep her from touching the flame. She'd show you her things, her doll, the garden, the bugs in the dirt. She'd ask if you danced and what kinds you liked. If she knew it, she'd try to dance it. If she didn't, she'd ask you to teach her. I would get terribly jealous of you and your bruised feet." He's already jealous of the vision, jealous of his own past. "She would heed her Mamá, for Coco listens in her way. But she would give you your fair due of chance. She's such a soft-hearted thing."
Aside from a quiet 'it's not magic', he just stays quiet and listens. It's so sweet, the way Hector lights up when he thinks about his daughter. He notices so many tiny things about her. It.. makes his heart ache a bit, knowing that he never had a father like this and he'll never manage to be one himself.
"It's always the adults that lose their shit about the scars, and the tattoos. I mean, it.. wasn't as bad, when I was a teenager. People saw a scrawny kid with scars on his face and figured something real bad happened to him, I got pitied all the time. Then I grew up, I got taller... and everyone started cowering when I looked at them. The way I look, even if I was human, I couldn't get a normal job if I tried."
He sighs softly, and closes his eyes.
"I've always liked the idea, though. Having a wife, some kids, some dogs. Living a quiet life, playing music and just... being okay. It's never gonna happen. But it's nice."
Dodger's right about that. And he can see it, the way people would respond to him, young and older. His mouth presses a little, because he doesn't see why this power should make Dodger less human, but he's sure it's not the time or place.
"Where I am, you wouldn't have people so quick to push you out. Lots of people have scars. Scars come from war and war happens whether anyone likes it or not."
But that, too, is a fantasy, for Dodger's not going back to his time and world and they've taken that idle dream apart before too. Just as that one of the wife, children, the quiet life. He reaches out a hand and brushes back Dodger's hair.
"What if you... adjusted it. The idea. You've got a dog. You've got lots of dogs. You can still look after them. You've still got music. We're in Hell, yes, but it's still quiet enough out here much of the time. The wife and kids... skip those parts. Don't go seeking them for the sake of having that. You've got to love the person for who they are, not what. But, in turn, you can give that care where you can. If you don't feel the urge to, that just goes to show it's not for you. But there's no reason you can't take care of people now if you really want to. Forget the daydream. What do you have already? What do you love right now? What would your today be at its best? Or tomorrow, just waking up. Describe it to me."
"Where I'm from, people don't like to see things that make them uncomfortable. Anything that's inconvenient, they brush it under the rug."
He takes a moment to think seriously about what Hector suggests. It's hard not to let fantasies bleed through, when he thinks about what he has. He knows what he wants from each person, but he doesn't know how much he can have.
"I've been sleeping with Hawke. Just... just to keep us both busy. His boyfriend went missing before Francis. I'll probably see him again tonight, and wake up in his bed. We'll feed all the dogs and take them for a run. And.. maybe Jason will be back, and I can invite him back the house. And we can talk. We haven't really... talked much, since he got here." He hesitates, wavers a moment before pushing forward. "I want to play music with you again. Maybe we can write something together, I could.. try and find some more instruments in the basement. I want to watch TV with Nekane, and I want to help Squalo cook dinner. And then, I guess... feed the dogs and try to get some real sleep."
He's barely been sleeping at all since Fran left. Even when he's in Garrett's bed, it feels wrong. He doesn't like sleeping with other people around, but he's not used to sleeping alone either.
"... I think that parts still true," He says sadly. "Just over different things."
But he doesn't want to think about that right now. That's not important. What's important is what Dodger describes. His ideal good day, one that he can have. And it's nice. It's simple. And it doesn't sound like anything Dodger can't do.
"That sounds really good," He says. He finds himself smiling. "A nice full day. And you don't have to stick to it. You can decide to do something else if you change your mind as you go. You could go to the club again for your job or just to enjoy yourself. Maybe the lot of us could all go out and find trouble. Go hunting. Everything in the garage here is still yours to take apart as far as I'm concerned. Or maybe I can convince you into some fútbol." He laughs softly. "It can be simple, just like you want. You can just be. And for the record, I'd bet Nekane would love to watch crappy movies with you. It would spare me too."
It doesn't occur to him that Hector probably means soccer. He isn't going to take him up on it either way; despite appearances, Dodger's too much of a nerd to get into sports.
He hesitates, and presses a bit closer to Hector.
"What about a date? Doesn't have to be tomorrow, just.. some time. When you're free. Would that be.. weird?"
His brain skitters and halts. A date. A date just after murdering Francis. A date with him. His mouth opens but nothing comes out.
Yes. Yes, it would be weird, he thinks. He's married, he's committed to going home. He's said it a million times and Dodger is in mourning and this is very sudden and it couldn't go anywhere. It couldn't even if he wanted it to, even if he didn't have family back home. Hell, it probably wouldn't work even if Dodger or he weren't both men, Dodger was Dodger and a ticking clock who has already killed him. Who has already hurt him in so many ways. They were supposed to be working on making a distance between them, getting back to being friends, just friends, if they had ever been so.
Maybe he's overthinking this. Maybe date means something else in the future. Maybe it's a date as in the literal picking of time. More importantly, it's Dodger trying to find normalcy and it might be a good thing. Is he really going to say no right now?
(And maybe some part of him doesn't want to say no.)
"No. I mean, yes. I mean." He frowns, feeling his face heat. "It's fine. I'd like to spend time with you. Some time."
He can see the way Hector's head seems to hit a record scratch, and it puts an affectionate grin on his face. He can't help brushing Hector's hair back, and pressing a kiss to his lips.
"Feel like I should be flattered I still have this kind of effect on you." He teases gently. "I want to grab something to eat, watch a movie, and... I still wanna see about that night of hedonism."
Something shifts behind his eyes, when the word hedonism passes his lips. A bit of that hunger, which had been strangely absent so far, seems to curl back into his gaze, changing that way it sweeps over Hector.
It's not bad. Aside from the hedonism, it sounds like any good time out. And even the hedonism is still something he more or less promised, something Dodger had already wanted.
He sees the hunger there, recognizes it, and finds himself faintly amused. It's a familiar thing and he'd wondered when it would show up again. It's never gone long.
"I have said I liked you," He defends weakly, embarrassed. He turns the whole thing over again in his mind. "How about I make you dinner then. I'll be able to eat it with you if I make it myself and you'll get to have something half-way decent. We can go to the theater or stay in. And then you can finally have your hedonism."
He sees some amusement in Hector's eyes, and in turn he gives the man a look of mild bemusement. It feels like there's a joke in the air he's not getting.
"Yeah. Dinner at my place, we can watch a movie while we eat. I don't think I've had your cooking yet. And..." He laughs softly, leaning in for a kiss, "...We can play with some of the toys I've got in my room. See what you like."
That just makes his smile turn wry. It makes it a secret joke for himself to indulge in-- because who else would find humor in Dodger's lust anyway? Who else was comfortable with both the absolute lack of attachment and its combination with that perpetual want? It was only funny for those who liked to ache in that very particular way.
"My cooking's not that amazing," He laughs. "I just know it's better than what you can do." A small bit of teasing he can share.
Dodger leans in for a kiss and he's already moving to meet it. He kisses soft. And then again, deeper. Is this worse than dancing on a stranger's grave? Probably. But that's not why he feels his stomach flip and flutter. One last sin. One last sin and it can be Dodger.
"What I like... and what you like of me," He breathes on Dodger's lips.
He can only behave himself for so long, and it goes out the window when Hector starts kissing him back. He feels entranced, reaching up to curl his fingers in Hector's hair as he eagerly meets his lips.
One of his hands finds Hector's thigh, pulling him as close as he can when they're already basically skin-to-skin. He has to break the kiss to catch his breath but chases it again, trying to take as much as he can before his right mind catches up to him.
It would seem the conversation is over. That, he should've known too. But there's something so bewildering with it, so powerful. For someone to look at him as though enchanted. He of all people. It made no sense, but he doesn't want it to stop right now.
He's kissing back and he's finding a hunger of his own. Especially when Dodger's pulling his leg up like that. There's heat and breathlessness and when Dodger parts he's trying to pull back again, gripping Dodger close.
Dodger makes him feel utterly worthless. Dodger makes him feel like the holy thing he sure as hell isn't, no matter what the almost-snap of spreading wings suggest. Dodger feels like self-inflicted punishment, like the scars he's gained for his redemption that he tells himself he's happy to have.
Dodger only manages to pull away properly when he runs out of breath, and only enough that he can pant quietly against Hector's lips. He presses their foreheads together, and the younger man feels almost cool against him as his own skin heats up with arousal.
"Are you okay?"
He asks it without thinking, and means a lot of things by it. He has to be sure, for his own sanity, that he isn't forcing anything. And that Hector isn't too badly hurt for wherever this is headed.
He stops and stills the moment that question falls. Part of him wishes that Dodger hadn't asked it. It doesn't sound like he's talking just of this. There's a lot of things he could say. He isn't sure what good he could pull out.
"I don't know," He says. "I don't want to think." That much is true. "There's too much and I just... don't want to. If I let myself I might scream." Too much honesty. "Can we say I'm okay? We've already put me back together today and I want you. I'm okay enough. Please."
That last word is a different tone, breathy, begging. He pulls the heat of Dodger closer to him.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"I don't want to keep you from being hurt just to assure my own self-protection. I want it because I want it."
But it's probably not something he can have. Not any more than Dodger can help from twisting the knife. His head shakes.
"You can't. You could become the greatest man in the world. But you can't bring me home." Another shiver comes with that kiss, a lighter one. "Perhaps it's good this way, for you. You did say that, you know. You didn't really like me, you just like the... impossibility of it. I'm unattainable, and that's what you're after." Which makes those words of love turned back to him pretty hollow. "Let me turn around."
no subject
And he really hates how Hector is always right. About everything.
"Alright."
His instinct is to teleport in place, to flip Hector around himself. But instead he lets go, lets him move around on his own. Dodger feels like he's aged ten years in the worst way since this conversation started, and it's probably visible on his face.
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Freed now, he turns. It's slow, mostly in an effort to not whack Dodger full in the face with his feathers. He misses the warmth in those few seconds but in seconds more he's moving back in. He settles on the bed and wraps his arms around Dodger. He presses just one kiss to his mouth.
"Thank you," He says. "And thank you for putting my head back on straight. You're surprisingly good at that time to time." A flicker of a smile shows then falls. "How about we do what you want now, I let you talk, and much, much later, once this is a less terrible evening, I can fuss about where you're staying. How's that?"
no subject
"I learned it from watching you." Hector probably won't get the joke, but it gets Dodger to smile, at least. It isn't exactly bitter, but it's tired. So very tired.
There's a moment of pause, and he reaches up to press his thumbs to Hector's lips, and gently force a smile onto him.
"You're all doom and gloom today. Do you need me to play you something?"
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That's about the moment Dodger goes squishing his bruised up face. He yelps slightly and gives Dodger a soft shove in his protest. But not a smile is held in place.
"No, no," He huffs. "I'm setting this right, this is supposed to be about making you feel better. I should be the one playing you songs." It's really, really unfair that Dodger knows so much more music.
He moves to lay his head on Dodger's shoulder.
"Or we could play one of your records. We could dance. I'm sure you've left at least one of them around here somewhere."
no subject
He pulls his phone out and searches through for a while before settling on a soft, crooning love song. It plays quietly, so that he can still speak over it.
"Playing music for you makes me happy, y'know. When I was a kid... I really loved music. And when you listen, it's... it's exactly what I wanted back then. Just someone that appreciates it."
no subject
The tension in him seems to unwind. All his weight rests on Dodger with a sigh. His eyes are closed to listen, both to what's spoken and the song that's sung.
"How could I not?" He asks. The song is beautiful. Most of them are. "Sometimes... sometimes I think no one down here really knows me. Not through any fault, just that... I'm only a piece of myself. The music plays and I've got some big part of me back. Sometimes I think, if I were to play, if my family were with me... no one would recognize me. I'd be whole again." And maybe they'd see he belongs there, the way he feels it.
no subject
He sinks into the bed, idly petting Hector's hair and watching him with pure affection.
"I wish I could see that. You, playing music with your family and being whole. But I don't belong in that picture... I'm sure your wife would hate me, with good reason."
A pause.
"Kids don't seem to mind me, though. Wanna tell me about your daughter?"
no subject
He moves with Dodger, curling closer, in so much as he can. He lets himself just enjoy the feeling.
He doesn't say that Dodger could fit in that picture. It would be a lie. As would suggesting Imelda would like Dodger. But he considers Coco, eyes opening.
"She wouldn't find you scary. Not the scars, not even the magic. She'd want to see it. It would scare me half to death trying to keep her from touching the flame. She'd show you her things, her doll, the garden, the bugs in the dirt. She'd ask if you danced and what kinds you liked. If she knew it, she'd try to dance it. If she didn't, she'd ask you to teach her. I would get terribly jealous of you and your bruised feet." He's already jealous of the vision, jealous of his own past. "She would heed her Mamá, for Coco listens in her way. But she would give you your fair due of chance. She's such a soft-hearted thing."
no subject
"It's always the adults that lose their shit about the scars, and the tattoos. I mean, it.. wasn't as bad, when I was a teenager. People saw a scrawny kid with scars on his face and figured something real bad happened to him, I got pitied all the time. Then I grew up, I got taller... and everyone started cowering when I looked at them. The way I look, even if I was human, I couldn't get a normal job if I tried."
He sighs softly, and closes his eyes.
"I've always liked the idea, though. Having a wife, some kids, some dogs. Living a quiet life, playing music and just... being okay. It's never gonna happen. But it's nice."
no subject
"Where I am, you wouldn't have people so quick to push you out. Lots of people have scars. Scars come from war and war happens whether anyone likes it or not."
But that, too, is a fantasy, for Dodger's not going back to his time and world and they've taken that idle dream apart before too. Just as that one of the wife, children, the quiet life. He reaches out a hand and brushes back Dodger's hair.
"What if you... adjusted it. The idea. You've got a dog. You've got lots of dogs. You can still look after them. You've still got music. We're in Hell, yes, but it's still quiet enough out here much of the time. The wife and kids... skip those parts. Don't go seeking them for the sake of having that. You've got to love the person for who they are, not what. But, in turn, you can give that care where you can. If you don't feel the urge to, that just goes to show it's not for you. But there's no reason you can't take care of people now if you really want to. Forget the daydream. What do you have already? What do you love right now? What would your today be at its best? Or tomorrow, just waking up. Describe it to me."
no subject
He takes a moment to think seriously about what Hector suggests. It's hard not to let fantasies bleed through, when he thinks about what he has. He knows what he wants from each person, but he doesn't know how much he can have.
"I've been sleeping with Hawke. Just... just to keep us both busy. His boyfriend went missing before Francis. I'll probably see him again tonight, and wake up in his bed. We'll feed all the dogs and take them for a run. And.. maybe Jason will be back, and I can invite him back the house. And we can talk. We haven't really... talked much, since he got here." He hesitates, wavers a moment before pushing forward. "I want to play music with you again. Maybe we can write something together, I could.. try and find some more instruments in the basement. I want to watch TV with Nekane, and I want to help Squalo cook dinner. And then, I guess... feed the dogs and try to get some real sleep."
He's barely been sleeping at all since Fran left. Even when he's in Garrett's bed, it feels wrong. He doesn't like sleeping with other people around, but he's not used to sleeping alone either.
no subject
But he doesn't want to think about that right now. That's not important. What's important is what Dodger describes. His ideal good day, one that he can have. And it's nice. It's simple. And it doesn't sound like anything Dodger can't do.
"That sounds really good," He says. He finds himself smiling. "A nice full day. And you don't have to stick to it. You can decide to do something else if you change your mind as you go. You could go to the club again for your job or just to enjoy yourself. Maybe the lot of us could all go out and find trouble. Go hunting. Everything in the garage here is still yours to take apart as far as I'm concerned. Or maybe I can convince you into some fútbol." He laughs softly. "It can be simple, just like you want. You can just be. And for the record, I'd bet Nekane would love to watch crappy movies with you. It would spare me too."
no subject
It doesn't occur to him that Hector probably means soccer. He isn't going to take him up on it either way; despite appearances, Dodger's too much of a nerd to get into sports.
He hesitates, and presses a bit closer to Hector.
"What about a date? Doesn't have to be tomorrow, just.. some time. When you're free. Would that be.. weird?"
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Yes. Yes, it would be weird, he thinks. He's married, he's committed to going home. He's said it a million times and Dodger is in mourning and this is very sudden and it couldn't go anywhere. It couldn't even if he wanted it to, even if he didn't have family back home. Hell, it probably wouldn't work even if Dodger or he weren't both men, Dodger was Dodger and a ticking clock who has already killed him. Who has already hurt him in so many ways. They were supposed to be working on making a distance between them, getting back to being friends, just friends, if they had ever been so.
Maybe he's overthinking this. Maybe date means something else in the future. Maybe it's a date as in the literal picking of time. More importantly, it's Dodger trying to find normalcy and it might be a good thing. Is he really going to say no right now?
(And maybe some part of him doesn't want to say no.)
"No. I mean, yes. I mean." He frowns, feeling his face heat. "It's fine. I'd like to spend time with you. Some time."
no subject
"Feel like I should be flattered I still have this kind of effect on you." He teases gently. "I want to grab something to eat, watch a movie, and... I still wanna see about that night of hedonism."
Something shifts behind his eyes, when the word hedonism passes his lips. A bit of that hunger, which had been strangely absent so far, seems to curl back into his gaze, changing that way it sweeps over Hector.
no subject
He sees the hunger there, recognizes it, and finds himself faintly amused. It's a familiar thing and he'd wondered when it would show up again. It's never gone long.
"I have said I liked you," He defends weakly, embarrassed. He turns the whole thing over again in his mind. "How about I make you dinner then. I'll be able to eat it with you if I make it myself and you'll get to have something half-way decent. We can go to the theater or stay in. And then you can finally have your hedonism."
HELLO IM BACK TO THIS
"Yeah. Dinner at my place, we can watch a movie while we eat. I don't think I've had your cooking yet. And..." He laughs softly, leaning in for a kiss, "...We can play with some of the toys I've got in my room. See what you like."
\o/
"My cooking's not that amazing," He laughs. "I just know it's better than what you can do." A small bit of teasing he can share.
Dodger leans in for a kiss and he's already moving to meet it. He kisses soft. And then again, deeper. Is this worse than dancing on a stranger's grave? Probably. But that's not why he feels his stomach flip and flutter. One last sin. One last sin and it can be Dodger.
"What I like... and what you like of me," He breathes on Dodger's lips.
no subject
One of his hands finds Hector's thigh, pulling him as close as he can when they're already basically skin-to-skin. He has to break the kiss to catch his breath but chases it again, trying to take as much as he can before his right mind catches up to him.
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He's kissing back and he's finding a hunger of his own. Especially when Dodger's pulling his leg up like that. There's heat and breathlessness and when Dodger parts he's trying to pull back again, gripping Dodger close.
Dodger makes him feel utterly worthless. Dodger makes him feel like the holy thing he sure as hell isn't, no matter what the almost-snap of spreading wings suggest. Dodger feels like self-inflicted punishment, like the scars he's gained for his redemption that he tells himself he's happy to have.
no subject
"Are you okay?"
He asks it without thinking, and means a lot of things by it. He has to be sure, for his own sanity, that he isn't forcing anything. And that Hector isn't too badly hurt for wherever this is headed.
no subject
"I don't know," He says. "I don't want to think." That much is true. "There's too much and I just... don't want to. If I let myself I might scream." Too much honesty. "Can we say I'm okay? We've already put me back together today and I want you. I'm okay enough. Please."
That last word is a different tone, breathy, begging. He pulls the heat of Dodger closer to him.