Life never started in a rising scale, just barely balancing on a point of chaos and order. If Cameron tried to step out from his fated position, the scale would tip and the people on the platform, Taega being one of them, would tumble off into whatever horrible life reality would punish him with. If the blonde ventured to far the other way, the lever would roll and everything he knew, everything he thought was real, would become off kilter, leaving him with a shattered hope for survival.
If he could somehow manage to get people to shift around him into the proper places, the scales would change in his favor, rewarding him with something he could share with those he cared about.
It just never really occurred to the man that that reward might mean stepping off of the scale and leaving it behind. Man is a creature of habit. Change was bad. One could adapt, but one could never truly change their true being.
There has to be something more than this.
"Aye, love. You," a finger circles idly over played muscle and cloth, brushing a gentle touch to the surface. "An' Me." That grin, that beautiful natural expression lights him up, expressing one of his own. The tip of that perfectly made nose, nuzzles the edge of Taega's chest before he pushes higher on the couch to put another kiss to that stubbly cheek.
Perhaps it was the most beautiful part of their friendship. Cameron strives to put them on that imaginary plane between where they are, where they can fall to, and where they want to be and Taega supports him, oblivious to all the variables. Unaware of the fact that if they fall, it's over. Prison. Mafia rule. There are worse, but he doesn't dwell on them. He doesn't pay any more mind to it than he does to his job, killing at the quicksilver whistle his partner sends.
Somehow, though, they manage to overlook the fact that they both could fall together, one hindered by the fear of abandonment and the other desponded by an intensified version of the same phobia. Loss had become their art. Losing names and faces and entire identities, but through it all they still knew eachother.
Taega knew that loving face, however stretched and plumped and rosied and altered by whatever other manner of correction of the vague imperfections it once contained. Knew the way it hovered beside him like the doting owner over the dog, petting and kissing. Just the same, hopefully, Cam knew that facet, dark by contrast, against his own, nuzzling and nipping. Taega's solid arms wriggle around Cameron's form, hesitantly drawing him closer so that he can bury his face against what little of the nape he can reach. His warm breath teases under Cameron's ears and against the soft-bristly bases of his hairs. "Thanks, Cam." He whispers, pressing one of the all-too-rare kisses to his neck. It's that closeness that illuminates that humanity which, like a flame, dwindled and deteriorates until there's this affection to restore it.
It's moments like these that make all the pain, all the stress and fatigue, all the building insanity of each job, each heist, completely worth it. It's not just for money. It's for them.
Cameron's arms wrap as best they can around the man his slender form bonds itself to, fingers holding the curve of a broader shoulder so he can give his friend, his wolf, a hug. Inside that tanned chest twists heartstrings as actual emotion fills him. For the kids and for the church, he acts as his own puppet, a mirror image of the man that holds the strings. For Taega, it was never like that. Ever.
The fox had left his hole for a bigger life, and had found himself a new forest full of problems. A wolf, lone and dark in his torrid world of shadow, was his only hope of surviving in this new world of thorns and predators. The wolf was his ticket to life. Even if it had started out as 'just business', Cameron McAfree and Taega King were the only two animals in the forest who'd willingly put their own lives at risk for the other. It's what family does, even for a family as dysfunctional as they.
The blond purrs to the kiss at his neck, skin stippling and tightening. His brother. His best friend. He loved Taega enough to stop playing the game. When that event would ever take place, one didn't know.
Thrall to this moment. To this animal. To this fragile body that he, like an animal all his own, protects to every end. Ironic that, in King being, he was subject to another golden crown. His very own misplaced heart, against instead of inside his chest, breathing slowly and humming the noteless song that belonged to him and him alone.
The wolf, bitten, bleeding, banished from the pack, stumbled on those clumsy paws into the self-indulgent embrace of that fox. The same who saught not friendship in their closeness, but fortitude beneath the powerful chest and between the clawed paws. The same who lay in that very place, then and there, not out of fear or faux affection, but a truer form of each. Fear of loss. Affection subdued and stored until times like these.
Taega rolls steeper onto his side and buries his face in the mess of hay-colored hair with his lips locked against that spot, joined by the end of his cool nose. If just for now, this was the only love in his life and, sparing as it is, he couldn't ask for more. Couldn't want more than to to breathe the other's scent or splay his fingers against the warm, sun-bronzed skin. There's a breath and rush of air against Cameron's neck, drawn in to be transmuted from leaden thought into the three, golden words he hadn't any idea just how to say. A sigh. Another soft kiss. A nuzzle.
The heat of breath and the closeness of cool skin eases his nerves that demand to be made known. The blonde stutters a mild gasp, lips barely slipping apart before a mint and honey flavored exhale slowly makes its way out of warmed lungs. If this were taking place at any other time, this moment would serve for much shifting of positions and a possible devious look from either end. A hand drops to the jean covered hip of the larger bloke, thumb edging over the tightness of skin laying over the mans pelvis.
"Baby?" He smiles, trying to abandon a giggle caused by feeling his toes curl and flex in a blissful calm. "You remember that old couple from the beach in Crete?" He didn't know where he was really going with this. Well, other than wondering if they'd ever be that happy with so little. How they bicker and laugh and live off of what they catch from the shore. The Simple Life. "You ever think that we could be like that? Just set up camp on some spec of sand an' eat fish an' fruit all damn day? Drink Margie's until the sun lets us sleep?"
Similarly, Taega finds in his truest affections the restraint to prevent mistaking Cameron for any of the other blonde gypsies he'd claimed at the same proximity. Not like the other morning where he'd, to his own disappointment, snarled the wordless order to put and end to the lascivious grace. This time, however, the feeling is accepted and even welcomed by the nudge of an eager knee to the soft, sculpted thigh and a lude wiggle.
"Yeah?" The pet name teases his lips wider, pink tongue darting across the straight line of teeth as he smiles and arches back to look down on his spoils. His dark, dogged appearance only deepens the value of his treasure, soiled hands cupping the golden lace. Brilliant emeralds set in more brilliant diamonds. From the gluttonous smirk to a loving smile, he leans forward and presses his forehead to the others'. "Naw. Naw, Cam. We'd need less." As always, the words trouble him. Pauses and tenses of the jaw show him for a lack of eloquence, but his eyes and the tremble of his lips fill the spaces. "We don't need all this. All this shit."
Right. Of course they didn't. They had their abilities to serve them. And, of course, each other. But, fear still ate at him. There were far too many 'what if's and 'how come's to stop his mind from accepting such a simple and wondrous answer. Those slender digits continued their roaming, gliding over taut skin like a soloist on the ice. Sapphires. Diamonds. That treasure trove of true blues followed the fingered legs of his skating hand, falling into the motion.
Metal seethed over smoothed ice dotted by flecks of white that fell from the sky. A lone man glided over the surface, his gaze cast down to the nothingness before him, face hidden behind a curtain of bleached blonde. A softened frown lay beneath a serpentine scarf of baby blue, wrapped around the nearly-feminine facial frame.
He felt so alone. He couldn't stand just being by himself. Humans were social creatures, and couldn't survive without interaction of their own kind. It was just fact.
Cameron made his way to the edge of the iced rink, plopping down on a bench beneath the awning to take off his skates. A noise drew his depression away, replacing it with curiosity. The fox's head rose, ears flicking forward to hear any sign of danger. The alleyway across the empty street opened up into the halogen light, revealing another lone creature. Its built frame huddled in on itself for warmth, arms wrapping around the chest. A lone wolf strode past the rink and the buildings surrounding it, oblivious to the interest of the one lone fox.
If it weren't for the bluntness of the black dog, it would be plain whether or not Cam truly felt the same. Clear whether or not he would abandon their routine for a life like this one, curled against eachother for no warmth aside from that in their hearts. It's that bluntness that saves him, though, from the pain of knowing Cameron's doubts.
As if it'd struck him like a blow, the lone delineation throws a brooding black gaze up at that retaliant light, scowling at the inanimate defiance. In the ravages of it's own paraplegic howl, it staggers straight on and, unknowingly, torward the singular subject of it's disinterest. The very same, resentful glare the recalcitrant lamp had gotten, so recieves the second light in passing, irradiating from the gorgeous young man.
Huff. A fog rises off his tongue to dull the hateful stare. Up close, there's a savage handsomeness to his features. Midnight black eyes. Heavy brows. A queer downturn of his lips. He continues past a short series of steps before halting, huffing quietly, one would suppose, in compensation of the laborious steps. In reality, it was in preparation of his next act that he was finding his exhastion.
'I ain't had a bite in a few days.' He says through gritted teeth, not turning to add insult to his injured pride. Reduced to a beggar. 'Spare a few bucks?'
Cold fingers pat down the expensive wool of the peacoat, the fibers mildly abrasive to the winter sensitive skin. A pocket jingles with the sound of car keys and few coins, another making a crinkle of plastic wrapping, probably to a snack bag. A smile, glossed by chapstick, curls into something playful as the blonde man struggles not to push a piece forward and ask the man to play the game with him. He's just a bloke down on his luck. Not a toy.
They're all toys in his mind. Same goes for the starving wolf who has his nose sniffing to the fox's pockets.
Two bills are folded between his index and middle finger and offered. Before the other can snag them, that hand retreats, pressing the bills to his own breast pocket. "If you can tell me your name, forty pounds are yours."
The ends of his rough, work-calloused fingers stray out along a path made from his chest to the angellic boy's hand, skewed and scorched through the air by serpentine distrust. A lull in the darker man's otherwise reticent nature brings his guard down, drawing a certain incision out of his gaze and manner; softening the black eyes with the unwilling humility that comes when pride is set aside for charity.
Perhaps stupid. Perhaps tactless. When reprieve for the forced meekness is snatched away from him, the wolf lunges to take the fox by the nape. Instead of art, nature. Instead of skill, instinct. A mass of synapses and lusts twined between muscle and stone weight. "I can beg like a dog or tear your throat out like one. Choose."
The advancing hand strikes at him quick, the blonde finding himself trapped against the back of the bench. It would have been easier to roll away and back then have to deal with the irritable wolf face to face. Cameron's breath hitches silently and his own hands situate themselves where he feels is necessary. This is with one hand gripping the mans wrist, skin against skin, and thumb and forefinger squeezing the tightened tendons, while his money'd hand dashes out and clutches the fabric of the mans elbow. Setting up for a possible bite and fleeing retreat.
The man is well aware that he is no physical match against this strange, and knows his limits in a conversation. This being said, those limits have not yet been reached. Sparkling blues, twinkling with the light of excitement and devilish glee accented by the glare of the halogen streetlamps, peer up along the hale build to station a half-lidded gaze to the other man. "Yeah? Best get on your hands and knees then, tootsie. These bills aren't going to earn themselves."
The next breath comes ragged through Taega's flared nostrils, coursing an adrenal hatred not only through his veins, but out into the air as if it were steam pouring off of him instead of out. The air hisses between his lips as he draws it in, chilled to the point of a general, numbing sting that neutralizes the other man's scent and much to the wolf's irritation. The hackles come up and whites are then bared out of a forward aggression and final resort; there's no more room to draw back and snarl. Helplessness inspired anger that starts in his eyes and moves through to his muscles. The shoulders, knotted and rising slightly with apprehension. The arms, wiry but swollen to steel.
His fingers are the last in line to submit the agression, curling in the fine cloth until it folds and bunches to match the knot in his clenched jaw. He jerks the boy forward and slams him back without clear thought, the extended knuckle over his ring finger finding purchase in a hollow spot in the boy's chest. A pressure point. One that should take the air as quickly from his lungs as it does the grip from his arms. One that should steal his composure as quickly as his money.
"Please." The anger froths his saliva, heavying his tongue to a sardonic slur. "At least I used to get paid for this shit."
If he could somehow manage to get people to shift around him into the proper places, the scales would change in his favor, rewarding him with something he could share with those he cared about.
It just never really occurred to the man that that reward might mean stepping off of the scale and leaving it behind. Man is a creature of habit. Change was bad. One could adapt, but one could never truly change their true being.
There has to be something more than this.
"Aye, love. You," a finger circles idly over played muscle and cloth, brushing a gentle touch to the surface. "An' Me." That grin, that beautiful natural expression lights him up, expressing one of his own. The tip of that perfectly made nose, nuzzles the edge of Taega's chest before he pushes higher on the couch to put another kiss to that stubbly cheek.
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Somehow, though, they manage to overlook the fact that they both could fall together, one hindered by the fear of abandonment and the other desponded by an intensified version of the same phobia. Loss had become their art. Losing names and faces and entire identities, but through it all they still knew eachother.
Taega knew that loving face, however stretched and plumped and rosied and altered by whatever other manner of correction of the vague imperfections it once contained. Knew the way it hovered beside him like the doting owner over the dog, petting and kissing. Just the same, hopefully, Cam knew that facet, dark by contrast, against his own, nuzzling and nipping. Taega's solid arms wriggle around Cameron's form, hesitantly drawing him closer so that he can bury his face against what little of the nape he can reach. His warm breath teases under Cameron's ears and against the soft-bristly bases of his hairs. "Thanks, Cam." He whispers, pressing one of the all-too-rare kisses to his neck. It's that closeness that illuminates that humanity which, like a flame, dwindled and deteriorates until there's this affection to restore it.
Reply
Cameron's arms wrap as best they can around the man his slender form bonds itself to, fingers holding the curve of a broader shoulder so he can give his friend, his wolf, a hug. Inside that tanned chest twists heartstrings as actual emotion fills him. For the kids and for the church, he acts as his own puppet, a mirror image of the man that holds the strings. For Taega, it was never like that. Ever.
The fox had left his hole for a bigger life, and had found himself a new forest full of problems. A wolf, lone and dark in his torrid world of shadow, was his only hope of surviving in this new world of thorns and predators. The wolf was his ticket to life. Even if it had started out as 'just business', Cameron McAfree and Taega King were the only two animals in the forest who'd willingly put their own lives at risk for the other. It's what family does, even for a family as dysfunctional as they.
The blond purrs to the kiss at his neck, skin stippling and tightening. His brother. His best friend. He loved Taega enough to stop playing the game. When that event would ever take place, one didn't know.
Reply
The wolf, bitten, bleeding, banished from the pack, stumbled on those clumsy paws into the self-indulgent embrace of that fox. The same who saught not friendship in their closeness, but fortitude beneath the powerful chest and between the clawed paws. The same who lay in that very place, then and there, not out of fear or faux affection, but a truer form of each. Fear of loss. Affection subdued and stored until times like these.
Taega rolls steeper onto his side and buries his face in the mess of hay-colored hair with his lips locked against that spot, joined by the end of his cool nose. If just for now, this was the only love in his life and, sparing as it is, he couldn't ask for more. Couldn't want more than to to breathe the other's scent or splay his fingers against the warm, sun-bronzed skin. There's a breath and rush of air against Cameron's neck, drawn in to be transmuted from leaden thought into the three, golden words he hadn't any idea just how to say. A sigh. Another soft kiss. A nuzzle.
Reply
"Baby?" He smiles, trying to abandon a giggle caused by feeling his toes curl and flex in a blissful calm. "You remember that old couple from the beach in Crete?" He didn't know where he was really going with this. Well, other than wondering if they'd ever be that happy with so little. How they bicker and laugh and live off of what they catch from the shore. The Simple Life. "You ever think that we could be like that? Just set up camp on some spec of sand an' eat fish an' fruit all damn day? Drink Margie's until the sun lets us sleep?"
Reply
"Yeah?" The pet name teases his lips wider, pink tongue darting across the straight line of teeth as he smiles and arches back to look down on his spoils. His dark, dogged appearance only deepens the value of his treasure, soiled hands cupping the golden lace. Brilliant emeralds set in more brilliant diamonds. From the gluttonous smirk to a loving smile, he leans forward and presses his forehead to the others'. "Naw. Naw, Cam. We'd need less." As always, the words trouble him. Pauses and tenses of the jaw show him for a lack of eloquence, but his eyes and the tremble of his lips fill the spaces. "We don't need all this. All this shit."
Reply
Metal seethed over smoothed ice dotted by flecks of white that fell from the sky. A lone man glided over the surface, his gaze cast down to the nothingness before him, face hidden behind a curtain of bleached blonde. A softened frown lay beneath a serpentine scarf of baby blue, wrapped around the nearly-feminine facial frame.
He felt so alone. He couldn't stand just being by himself. Humans were social creatures, and couldn't survive without interaction of their own kind. It was just fact.
Cameron made his way to the edge of the iced rink, plopping down on a bench beneath the awning to take off his skates. A noise drew his depression away, replacing it with curiosity. The fox's head rose, ears flicking forward to hear any sign of danger. The alleyway across the empty street opened up into the halogen light, revealing another lone creature. Its built frame huddled in on itself for warmth, arms wrapping around the chest. A lone wolf strode past the rink and the buildings surrounding it, oblivious to the interest of the one lone fox.
Reply
As if it'd struck him like a blow, the lone delineation throws a brooding black gaze up at that retaliant light, scowling at the inanimate defiance. In the ravages of it's own paraplegic howl, it staggers straight on and, unknowingly, torward the singular subject of it's disinterest. The very same, resentful glare the recalcitrant lamp had gotten, so recieves the second light in passing, irradiating from the gorgeous young man.
Huff. A fog rises off his tongue to dull the hateful stare. Up close, there's a savage handsomeness to his features. Midnight black eyes. Heavy brows. A queer downturn of his lips. He continues past a short series of steps before halting, huffing quietly, one would suppose, in compensation of the laborious steps. In reality, it was in preparation of his next act that he was finding his exhastion.
'I ain't had a bite in a few days.' He says through gritted teeth, not turning to add insult to his injured pride. Reduced to a beggar. 'Spare a few bucks?'
Reply
They're all toys in his mind. Same goes for the starving wolf who has his nose sniffing to the fox's pockets.
Two bills are folded between his index and middle finger and offered. Before the other can snag them, that hand retreats, pressing the bills to his own breast pocket. "If you can tell me your name, forty pounds are yours."
Reply
Perhaps stupid. Perhaps tactless. When reprieve for the forced meekness is snatched away from him, the wolf lunges to take the fox by the nape. Instead of art, nature. Instead of skill, instinct. A mass of synapses and lusts twined between muscle and stone weight. "I can beg like a dog or tear your throat out like one. Choose."
Reply
The man is well aware that he is no physical match against this strange, and knows his limits in a conversation. This being said, those limits have not yet been reached. Sparkling blues, twinkling with the light of excitement and devilish glee accented by the glare of the halogen streetlamps, peer up along the hale build to station a half-lidded gaze to the other man. "Yeah? Best get on your hands and knees then, tootsie. These bills aren't going to earn themselves."
Reply
His fingers are the last in line to submit the agression, curling in the fine cloth until it folds and bunches to match the knot in his clenched jaw. He jerks the boy forward and slams him back without clear thought, the extended knuckle over his ring finger finding purchase in a hollow spot in the boy's chest. A pressure point. One that should take the air as quickly from his lungs as it does the grip from his arms. One that should steal his composure as quickly as his money.
"Please." The anger froths his saliva, heavying his tongue to a sardonic slur. "At least I used to get paid for this shit."
Reply
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