(Untitled)
So.
In addition to a buggy computer, I have also...sliced up my hand. Naturally.The upside is that the damage is minimal (though explaining the blood stains to my roomies was--great) and I will not be bleeding out at work or welding a hook onto my wrist. The downside is that now when I have the tech to type, I still lack the working equipment. ( Read more... )
In addition to a buggy computer, I have also...sliced up my hand. Naturally.The upside is that the damage is minimal (though explaining the blood stains to my roomies was--great) and I will not be bleeding out at work or welding a hook onto my wrist. The downside is that now when I have the tech to type, I still lack the working equipment. ( Read more... )
Adam turns his head away pointedly. Kris tries and fails not to take it personally.
"Okay, still in the 'wallowing alone' phase. Noted."
Kris sighs heavily and settles in, leaning back against the damp grass, his knees brushing Adam's flank, radiating heat. The air smells like happiness.
"He's totally not worth it, man."
Adam lifts his great, shaggy head, and Kris knows enough to recognize the no shit, really? in his eyes.
"Well, isn't that what I'm supposed to say here?" Kris says defensively. "It's not like you're all that helpful right now, Mr. Conversation."
Adam snorts, readjusting primly, resting his chin against his folded paws. Kris kind of wants to roll over on top of him, bury his face in the thick fur, let Adam lick him all over until they smell the same. And he'd lean his head back, let Adam fit his teeth around his neck, pushing just hard enough for him to feel the pressure, and then he'd shift and Adam would chase him through the woods and Kris would pretend to be tired so Adam would catch up really quick so they could tumble around together in the underbrush.
Or something. Not like Kris has thought about it a lot, or anything.
"Everyone's worried," Kris comments, deliberately dragging his eyes back up to the night sky. Behind them, the music changes, a slower, lazier beat. He can feel the air changing, too, less restrained, more purposeful. People are starting to shift, break off into packs, moving through into the woods. Adam whines slightly next to him, the hair standing up straight on his back. Kris runs a calming hand down his side. "C'mon, Adam. I can't talk to you like this."
Adam shuffles closer, nudging at Kris's hand with his muzzle. Kris scratches behind his ears obligingly.
"Fine," he says in resignation. "Be stubborn. I'm just trying to help."
Adam looks up at him, eyes narrowed.
"What?" Kris says. "You want me to leave you alone?"
Adam licks his arm once, pushing insistently at his hand. Kris starts scratching again, rolling his eyes.
"I don't know why you're paying attention to those jerks anyway," he mutters. Adam whines noncommittally. "You know as well as I do that they'll move on soon. And the label's suing that mouthy boyfriend of yours for every penny he's got, so you don't have to worry about him, either."
Adam snarls softly, shaking his head, rolling over onto his side and pushing his forehead into the side of Kris's thigh. Kris moves to his stomach, brushing his palm against muscle and fur.
"Ex-boyfriend, then. Sorry."
Adam twists happily under Kris's scratches, tail thumping, contorted ridiculously on the ground. Kris grins ruefully.
"You're such a goofball," he says fondly. Adam barks once, twice. The sound sends shivers down Kris's spine. "I have to shift soon. I can't wait much longer."
Adam nips at his fingers in response, what are you waiting for?
Kris shakes his head. It's a good fucking question.
Shifting, contrary to popular belief, isn't painful or even difficult, more like the flip of a light switch than any contorted, hellish process that CGI has ever created. The best description Kris has ever come up with is taking off a sweater in a warm room, but reporters and talk show hosts never seem all that impressed by it.
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Play, play, Adam says, with the nudge of his head, the flick of his tail. Run, now now.
Dork, Kris's snort replies. Adam barks and jumps joyfully, taking off into the trees, a streak of blue-black. Kris can sense him, a throbbing, exuberant presence, overpowering the lazy happy excited impatient hungry kind love of his pack, simmering faithfully at the edge of his consciousness. Kris takes a deep breath, wondering for the millionth time how Adam doesn't see, doesn't understand, can't maybe, sense the difference between them and everyone else, the bone-deep knowledge that Kris can't escape no matter how hard he tries.
Play play play play, barks Adam, somewhere in the woods, and Kris takes off after him, pushing the thought away. It doesn't matter right now, anyway.
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Can I add this to the Lupercalia master post? Can I, can I?
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oh fine, sure. :P
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