Ran has been waiting for days, keeping watch over the mansion. No movement. For days. A voice in the back of his mind keeps telling him Trevelyan has moved away, maybe even sold the mansion. Or maybe something happened, and Trevelyan needs him (why, though, should he need him - and yet, the strength in his hands, the warmth of his skin...).
And Ran is here, and doesn't know whether he should just go and break his knuckles on the door until it opens, pretend entrance, or just leave and never come back (until next time) or even try, with his uncertain, hard worn new skill, trace a few letters on that door, a message for Trevelyan, a question. he taught him, after all, what more could be done with pen and pencils and brushes, apart from stealing your heart and soul for the canvas.
In his own very strange world, the last few days have felt stranger still.
The house that always felt like a shell protecting him feels like it is hemming him in, keeping him from something that is lurking out there, something that might be - probably is - a threat but that calls to him in a way he cannot resist.
So he's been doing some lurking of his own in the shadows outside the house, discovering the way after a day of sun the earth gifts its warmth to the night, along with its scents of rosemary and dry grasses, chasing shadows that might be someone or be just shadows.
Suddenly, Ran's skin gets cold. The wind is just a breeze, enough to gently shake the trees' leaves, a rustle of sounds in the clouded night.
And yet.
Something is not right.
Regretting the strong red wine of the evening will not help Ran clearing his head, or his senses. Lights in the house? No, just shadows.
Shadows everywhere. Surrounding him. He shouldn't have come here, he should know the way in which Trevelyan always twists his insides, his head, doesn't make him think clearly, makes him angry. Yes, angry. With wine, and loss, and need. Fury in his veins, mounting, fury at the shadows.
The darkness is denser where the garden gives way to the cliffs, right under the windows of the living room. A solid darkness that is no shadow but a body.
Instead of feeling threatened Alec suddenly feels more alive than he has in a long time as he ghosts close and locks his arms from behind around the lurker's body, one at neck and one at hip.
The recognition is immediate and his breath gets caught in a lock of its own.
The fighter's instinct is what has kept Ranuccio alive all this time, and it's the first to react, even now. The muscles tense against the lock, seeking a weakness, a point to break the stronghold. The warm pressure of flesh on his neck, against his sides...is brain is frantic to catch up with the rest of him, stop him from trying to headbutt his assailant.
At the last moment, a struggle of istants, Ran freezes, cold and hard as stone. He's breathing fast, faster, tiger in a steel cage.
"You." He pants, whispers, mostly to himself. "You.." His cheeks are wet, and he struggles against that lock, wishing it'd never let go.
Alec's hold has loosened only marginally now that he knows. Not a threatening stranger. No, that's not right. After all this time he still knows fuck about Ranuccio. What he knows is how he makes him feel, alive, and that is threatening.
"Surprised to find me outside my own house?" he whispers against Ran's ear, breathing in the scent of his skin, letting the warmth of his earlobe brush his lip.
The whispered words go straight to Ran's loins, burning their path in his veins, pumping his blood faster. His body reacts all on its own, his neck turning towards that warm breath, those lips - maybe his skin is brushed by them, that's why it's burning - then straining to get away from it.
A snarl. A renewed struggle against that lock, with no result. The lock around his heart is just as impossible to really break. Ranuccio strains to turn his face from Trevelyan's, as much as possible. There's nowhere else to hide.
"You should join in the fighter's circuit, you fight as dirty as any of them."
"You think so?" Trevelyan relaxes his hold a fragment more, just enough to let Ranuccio shift around and face his unscarred side, but the arms still circle him, hold him, still absorbing by flesh contact the fact that he is real, no shadow, not just a memory.
"Fighting dirty is what keeps you alive. You should know. So, is this going to be a fight?" he inquires in his best casual voice. But the undertone is different, something in the way his voice carries tension. And hope. Hope that Ranuccio may have come back. For him. Not just chanced by.
Hand hovers at the scar at Ran's neck but doesn't touch him, just caresses the air above it.
Keep him safe, will you? For me.
Reply
And Ran is here, and doesn't know whether he should just go and break his knuckles on the door until it opens, pretend entrance, or just leave and never come back (until next time) or even try, with his uncertain, hard worn new skill, trace a few letters on that door, a message for Trevelyan, a question. he taught him, after all, what more could be done with pen and pencils and brushes, apart from stealing your heart and soul for the canvas.
Reply
The house that always felt like a shell protecting him feels like it is hemming him in, keeping him from something that is lurking out there, something that might be - probably is - a threat but that calls to him in a way he cannot resist.
So he's been doing some lurking of his own in the shadows outside the house, discovering the way after a day of sun the earth gifts its warmth to the night, along with its scents of rosemary and dry grasses, chasing shadows that might be someone or be just shadows.
bouncebouncebouncebounce
Reply
And yet.
Something is not right.
Regretting the strong red wine of the evening will not help Ran clearing his head, or his senses. Lights in the house?
No, just shadows.
Shadows everywhere. Surrounding him. He shouldn't have come here, he should know the way in which Trevelyan always twists his insides, his head, doesn't make him think clearly, makes him angry.
Yes, angry.
With wine, and loss, and need.
Fury in his veins, mounting, fury at the shadows.
Reply
Instead of feeling threatened Alec suddenly feels more alive than he has in a long time as he ghosts close and locks his arms from behind around the lurker's body, one at neck and one at hip.
The recognition is immediate and his breath gets caught in a lock of its own.
Reply
At the last moment, a struggle of istants, Ran freezes, cold and hard as stone. He's breathing fast, faster, tiger in a steel cage.
"You." He pants, whispers, mostly to himself. "You.." His cheeks are wet, and he struggles against that lock, wishing it'd never let go.
Reply
"Surprised to find me outside my own house?" he whispers against Ran's ear, breathing in the scent of his skin, letting the warmth of his earlobe brush his lip.
Reply
A snarl. A renewed struggle against that lock, with no result. The lock around his heart is just as impossible to really break. Ranuccio strains to turn his face from Trevelyan's, as much as possible. There's nowhere else to hide.
"You should join in the fighter's circuit, you fight as dirty as any of them."
Reply
"Fighting dirty is what keeps you alive. You should know. So, is this going to be a fight?" he inquires in his best casual voice. But the undertone is different, something in the way his voice carries tension. And hope. Hope that Ranuccio may have come back. For him. Not just chanced by.
Reply
Leave a comment