That fake grin makes his own comforting smile fade into a pout. He's trying. The blond crawls up into a sit, hugging a knee to his chest. Those crystal blues examine the other, silently begging for him to crack a genuine grin just for him. That little treat of friendship. Again, Cameron offers his warm smile to Taega. "Aye, aye. We can work on those."
A finger picks at a plucked brow, chest rising and falling in a sigh. Think, think, think. The tip of the mans utopian nose nudges at the curve of his own knee, gently gliding along his silken skin in a moment of pondering occupation.
The routine was basic for him, made easy with many opportunities to correct oneself should it go flawed. With a drawn breath and the clearing of that slender throat, Cameron began his review...
They lived together for a while until Cameron had to be relocated for his job. Relocated next door. Father Cameron James worked with kids from the slums and occasionally offered shelter of the 'half-way home' that was his crappy two bedroom apartment next door. Mister Taega Grant worked in construction as an independent contractor, many times working with demolitions (because Taega liked to talk about blowing crap up on occasion. Heh. Who doesn't, right?) in the city.
Mister Grant and Father James have known each other for almost a year and are decent friends. The kind that occasionally head over next door to watch the hockey game ("I ruddy hate that fucking hack sport. Where's me bloody cricket team!?") or to borrow a cup of milk for cereal. Beyond that, they don't speak as much as they used to. ("This allows for us saying "No, officer. I was not with that man on suchnsuch date and time" and have an alibi when and if we need one.) The finer details of this plan are left to the individual, style it how they want.
Should a time come when one of them slips up (which Cameron would have pointed out that it just seems to be Taega, but that would merely make the mans mood worse) on having a life of crime, they should correct themselves and thus address any such speaking in past tense. A teenhood in a gang or being a fuck-up in life. Something that can have time to correct itself into a life of good morals and not putting bullets into people. Father Cameron seems to have been raised by an Irish gang of hooligans that occasionally tipped over a gas station or two ("But I, and I quote, 'felt really awful about stealing someone elses money'. *snort* The fuck ever. Gullible gits, the lot of them.") during his teen years.
Cameron pauses a moment, letting his steel studded tongue flick out like serpents. The odd quirks he has when no one but those he trusts are looking. "I'm forgettin' something. I know I am." Tnktnktnk goes the metal ball against the edges of his teeth. Hmmm.
Try as they might, the arctic lunar earn nothing more than they'd gotten before, more pathetic as Taega does his best to please. Being as simple as he is, the individual emotions cross his face before he can do anything to hide them. An unsure twitch at the corner of his mouth. A deceitful straying of the eyes. With a sigh, he wriggles lower into his seat.
His own two rough hands meet and lace over his toned abdomen, settling in the contours of his chiseled stomach and the hard creases his tight-stretched shirt makes. Oh yes, he's settling in for a long talk. Hopefully Cam was mindful of who it is he's talking when he embarked on this verbal journey.
Apparently not.
At the end, it's the chiming 'tnktnktnk' that regains his attention, eyes snapping to focus on his partner. "Yeah. Yeah, I got it."
That body droops in its seat, arms sliding down slender legs to dangle over the edge of the couch. Cameron sighs, groaning to his lost cause. Head forward, hair draping his feminine face, the man peeks up between a break in the bleached tresses to his seemingly uninterested partner. "Liar."
With a long inhale, the Irishman sits back up and combs thin digits through his orderly hay blond hair. His peeks puff out, pffpffpffing in thought. "Well, tell me what you want t'work on tonight. We need to get somewhere with this."
A pause. He shifts, looking at the man sitting across from him. Hmm.
For a while there's an uneasy silence between the two of them. The darker of the two find himself incapable of holding the other's gaze, turning his own eyes down at the dirty Converses on his feet. Leaning forward and propping his elbows against his knees, shoulders high and head hung low beneath a shaggy mess of hair.
"Sorry." He says lowly, not entirely sure what he's apologizing for, but that's rarely the case when he does. There's a dark eye peering out at the haloed counterpart. "I ain't feelin' so hot."
"T, I didn't ask you if-- augh. A'right. Alright. I understand you're upset. I know that I'm not always 'ere t'play with you an' take you out for walkies, but, baby, I 'ave t'get this 'eist up an' goin'or else our funds will bottom out." Cameron sighed, grunting in dull frustration to the sports bag at his feet and the jumbled contents within it. Shuffle shuffle. He makes a face at the discovery of one of Taega's rancid smelling socks in the bag. "A'right?"
They'd already had this discussion. It made him feel like such a hack to leave the big boy all cooped up in the house with nothing to do other than fry his brains on cartoons all damn day. The blond rose from his seat, making it to the back of the darker mans chair, arms draping over those broad shoulders before he leaned down to press a kiss to the mans temple.
He nuzzled, feeling guilt building inside his chest, twisting his organs until he could barely breath. "Hey, ladykiller. You wanna go to the park tomorrow? Just you an' me?" The fox grinned, pulling back to look at that face of scruff and sulk. "I'll let you push kids off of the slide?"
"You think that I can keep going like this? One after the next after the next?" Brandon sighed, turning around in a huff of frustration and repulsion. Cameron slowed to a halt behind him, a knowing expression sliding into place. So...this was it...
"I can't keep doing this, McAfree. I have a life I want to live. I have people I want to get to know. I have -- I have a life outside of 'the job'. You may not have one, but I do. You keep ignoring my needs to maintain that life...." Here they come. Those words he dreaded above any other... "And I'll leave you."
"We can take a break, you know? Put it on hold for a week or so." Slender digits cupped a cool cheek, thumb brushing the skin. "I want for you to be 'appy, baby. The job can wait." Clear panicked words dripped out of those features, worry and fear smoking off of his skin. He didn't want Taega to leave. He didn't want his wolf to wander and leave him to the mercy of the wild. He needed his friend. "Please? Tell me that you need a break. I'll put a 'old on everything for you, love. We 'ave to get through this little bump. I wanna go through it with you."
It's almost startling to see how reliant Taega is upon the blonde, head held low in a vague humility that comes from knowledge of that fact. He drinks in a sense of shame at being on so short a leash. More so at how helpless he feels once he's off it. The footsteps dishearten him from the moment they sound softly on the bare floor, causing his shoulders and the sharp blades protruding from his upper back to roll in the opposite direction and bring his submissive gaze away.
Like most of his feelings, it's derived from instinct. He's used to being set aside for work, and he can almost always deal with that. They are business partners, after all, but even the most loyal dog needs praise. It's a lachrymose sting at his collar brushed away by cool, affectionate hands. "Please?" The manners find him in a moment of innocence, just like the smile that follows the initial numbness. He shouldn't be all that surprised by it, but he is. Pleasantly. "It's that place we was at. I don't know, Cam." He says, a low whisper as he returns the nuzzle, almost kissing in a feverish rupture of that solemn exterior. The hole in his chest Cameron has always known about. Always known how to open up. A loose embrace shows Cameron the way down to the couch.
"I know, baby." A cool forehead graced the others warmed brow, the lithe form meeting the slightly boxier boy. Arms slid over bicep and cloth to bring the other closer. This is what made them more than human, less than perfect still. The need for the other being was great, like a cell of fuel to help the other carry on. Cameron let gentle thumbs brush back unruly waves of raven black from Taega's face, better allowing blues to show his affection to those wild brown eyes.
Lips press to the mans brow, the smaller form wiggling to get a better spot. "We'll make it better. You'll see, love. We be right as rain in no time; you an' me."
It's a trusting, childish nod Taega gives, believing every word of it. Coming into this life, he hadn't had any plans. He'd needed an anchor and Cameron represented that in the shape of a prettyboy with potential. As time went on, he'd just assumed that they were working their way up to that big score. Maybe a casino or a museum. Something they could retire on. Then they'd head to Rio or Rome or the Riviera and get a place to relax and remember all the crazy shit they'd done.
It'd never once occurred to him that he might not live that long. Or that Cameron lives for the job and not the delirious boredom that follows it. Or that Cam might leave him. It never once crossed his mind that they might be separated until that night with Mathilda.
There has to be something more than this.
He frowns obligatorily at the kiss, regretting that he'd almost pressed his lips to those same a moment before. It doesn't stay to spoil the closeness, though, as Taega rolls over onto his back and lets the smaller form on top of him sink down into the crevice between the back of the couch and his own heavy body. "You and me." The three most intimate words he knows how to say. They inspire a smile of pure light, turning his wolfish features in a way that makes him handsome with humble beauty.
A finger picks at a plucked brow, chest rising and falling in a sigh. Think, think, think. The tip of the mans utopian nose nudges at the curve of his own knee, gently gliding along his silken skin in a moment of pondering occupation.
The routine was basic for him, made easy with many opportunities to correct oneself should it go flawed. With a drawn breath and the clearing of that slender throat, Cameron began his review...
They lived together for a while until Cameron had to be relocated for his job. Relocated next door. Father Cameron James worked with kids from the slums and occasionally offered shelter of the 'half-way home' that was his crappy two bedroom apartment next door. Mister Taega Grant worked in construction as an independent contractor, many times working with demolitions (because Taega liked to talk about blowing crap up on occasion. Heh. Who doesn't, right?) in the city.
Mister Grant and Father James have known each other for almost a year and are decent friends. The kind that occasionally head over next door to watch the hockey game ("I ruddy hate that fucking hack sport. Where's me bloody cricket team!?") or to borrow a cup of milk for cereal. Beyond that, they don't speak as much as they used to. ("This allows for us saying "No, officer. I was not with that man on suchnsuch date and time" and have an alibi when and if we need one.) The finer details of this plan are left to the individual, style it how they want.
Should a time come when one of them slips up (which Cameron would have pointed out that it just seems to be Taega, but that would merely make the mans mood worse) on having a life of crime, they should correct themselves and thus address any such speaking in past tense. A teenhood in a gang or being a fuck-up in life. Something that can have time to correct itself into a life of good morals and not putting bullets into people. Father Cameron seems to have been raised by an Irish gang of hooligans that occasionally tipped over a gas station or two ("But I, and I quote, 'felt really awful about stealing someone elses money'. *snort* The fuck ever. Gullible gits, the lot of them.") during his teen years.
Cameron pauses a moment, letting his steel studded tongue flick out like serpents. The odd quirks he has when no one but those he trusts are looking. "I'm forgettin' something. I know I am." Tnktnktnk goes the metal ball against the edges of his teeth. Hmmm.
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His own two rough hands meet and lace over his toned abdomen, settling in the contours of his chiseled stomach and the hard creases his tight-stretched shirt makes. Oh yes, he's settling in for a long talk. Hopefully Cam was mindful of who it is he's talking when he embarked on this verbal journey.
Apparently not.
At the end, it's the chiming 'tnktnktnk' that regains his attention, eyes snapping to focus on his partner. "Yeah. Yeah, I got it."
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With a long inhale, the Irishman sits back up and combs thin digits through his orderly hay blond hair. His peeks puff out, pffpffpffing in thought. "Well, tell me what you want t'work on tonight. We need to get somewhere with this."
A pause. He shifts, looking at the man sitting across from him. Hmm.
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"Sorry." He says lowly, not entirely sure what he's apologizing for, but that's rarely the case when he does. There's a dark eye peering out at the haloed counterpart. "I ain't feelin' so hot."
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They'd already had this discussion. It made him feel like such a hack to leave the big boy all cooped up in the house with nothing to do other than fry his brains on cartoons all damn day. The blond rose from his seat, making it to the back of the darker mans chair, arms draping over those broad shoulders before he leaned down to press a kiss to the mans temple.
He nuzzled, feeling guilt building inside his chest, twisting his organs until he could barely breath. "Hey, ladykiller. You wanna go to the park tomorrow? Just you an' me?" The fox grinned, pulling back to look at that face of scruff and sulk. "I'll let you push kids off of the slide?"
"You think that I can keep going like this? One after the next after the next?" Brandon sighed, turning around in a huff of frustration and repulsion. Cameron slowed to a halt behind him, a knowing expression sliding into place. So...this was it...
"I can't keep doing this, McAfree. I have a life I want to live. I have people I want to get to know. I have -- I have a life outside of 'the job'. You may not have one, but I do. You keep ignoring my needs to maintain that life...." Here they come. Those words he dreaded above any other... "And I'll leave you."
"We can take a break, you know? Put it on hold for a week or so." Slender digits cupped a cool cheek, thumb brushing the skin. "I want for you to be 'appy, baby. The job can wait." Clear panicked words dripped out of those features, worry and fear smoking off of his skin. He didn't want Taega to leave. He didn't want his wolf to wander and leave him to the mercy of the wild. He needed his friend. "Please? Tell me that you need a break. I'll put a 'old on everything for you, love. We 'ave to get through this little bump. I wanna go through it with you."
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Like most of his feelings, it's derived from instinct. He's used to being set aside for work, and he can almost always deal with that. They are business partners, after all, but even the most loyal dog needs praise. It's a lachrymose sting at his collar brushed away by cool, affectionate hands. "Please?" The manners find him in a moment of innocence, just like the smile that follows the initial numbness. He shouldn't be all that surprised by it, but he is. Pleasantly. "It's that place we was at. I don't know, Cam." He says, a low whisper as he returns the nuzzle, almost kissing in a feverish rupture of that solemn exterior. The hole in his chest Cameron has always known about. Always known how to open up. A loose embrace shows Cameron the way down to the couch.
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Lips press to the mans brow, the smaller form wiggling to get a better spot. "We'll make it better. You'll see, love. We be right as rain in no time; you an' me."
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It'd never once occurred to him that he might not live that long. Or that Cameron lives for the job and not the delirious boredom that follows it. Or that Cam might leave him. It never once crossed his mind that they might be separated until that night with Mathilda.
There has to be something more than this.
He frowns obligatorily at the kiss, regretting that he'd almost pressed his lips to those same a moment before. It doesn't stay to spoil the closeness, though, as Taega rolls over onto his back and lets the smaller form on top of him sink down into the crevice between the back of the couch and his own heavy body. "You and me." The three most intimate words he knows how to say. They inspire a smile of pure light, turning his wolfish features in a way that makes him handsome with humble beauty.
Reply
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