Original: "Trust" Slash
Summary: Evan has due cause for nervousness. (Featuring the characters of Birthday, later that day).
Notes: Dedicated to the wonderful mintyfish, who wanted puns.
Sitting in an upscale restaurant that specialized in seafood (because Evan was far more considerate than he like to admit), Ciaran asked the question Evan had been dreading.
“So, what do you do?” Evan tried to restrain his wince, but he suspected Ciaran still saw it. Quick eyes, the merfolk. All the better to see your flaws with, pointed out the sarcastic part of Evan’s mind. This part was very small, but occasionally very loud. Sometimes it was even right. And Evan didn’t have a lot of practice with explaining that he didn’t do anything, not really. He just followed his gut.
His charming smile still in place despite his nervousness, Evan reached tentatively for Ciaran’s hand across the table. Ciaran seemed a little suspicious, but allowed it with a small twitch of his (lovely) lips. Gathering his courage Evan replied:
“Easier to show than tell, I think. How about a little walk?”
~
Which is how, after dinner, the two of them wound up back on the street. The air was cool, bracing, and still smelled faintly of rain. Evan turned his face to the breeze and inhaled. Then he turned back to Ciaran.
“I have a day job. I’m a paralegal, it pays the bills. But it’s not what I really do, just-well.” Evan sighed. “It gives me a cover for my more...unusual talents.” Ciaran’s eyes widened comically and Evan rushed, “No! No. Nothing illegal, or immoral. Just weird.”
Ciaran looked at him like he was a little slow. “Evan,” he said, “if it's not bad, how weird can it be?” Famous last words, muttered that traitorous part of Evan’s psyche.
“Do you trust me?” And then suddenly, there it was, that feeling in his abdomen. It was like someone had hit him and knocked the wind out of him, the whole world narrowed down to the sidewalk beneath his feet and the path ahead and, rather unexpectedly, Ciaran’s cool hand in his. Crazily he thought, my anchor, tethering me here.
“Did you just think of somewhere you needed to be?” Evan gasped out. Ciaran raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a no.”
Evan started walking south, all the while stumbling to explain himself to Ciaran. “So, right now. Right now. It’s like,” Evan floundered, searching for words. “It’s like a fishhook, through my navel, and somewhere someone is reeling in the line. It’s like I have to go. And I have no idea what I’ll find when I stop, or how far it will take me.” Evan could still hear Ciaran breathing, and felt his hand, but was afraid to turn glance over and see...something on his face, so he just stared straight ahead. He didn’t feel himself speeding up, but after a few minutes Evan noticed that Ciaran was nearly having to jog to keep up with Evan’s longer stride.
Faintly horrified, he whipped around, already apologizing, “God, Ciaran, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you stop me? I should have-“
“Whoa,” Ciaran cut him off, “hey. It’s okay, it happens.” At Evan’s faintly disbelieving look, Ciaran amended, “Well, to you. But it is really, really okay. I mean...is this like, magic?”
With his free hand Evan reached up to rub the bridge of his nose and smiled slightly. “You could say that.” Resisting the pull was beginning to give him a headache, but he would rather that than frighten Ciaran away. “A little further, love, stop me if I’m going too fast.”
They walked. Evan no longer recognized this part of the city, but Ciaran obviously did. His familiarity was in the way his fingers brushed along buildings, their sharp corners and columns. In puddles and in windows, he caught flashes of Ciaran’s pale hair, haloed by the damp and the streetlights. If this doesn't work, Evan thought, I will have to give him up. He is too lovely for me to hoard.
“Tell me a story, beautiful,” Evan said.
Ciaran laughed. “Once there was a man, handsome and rakish. He bumped into a stranger who was having an awful day. It was said stranger’s birthday. The stranger accidentally revealed his darkest secret, but the man seemed not at all surprised. Tell me, Evan, why was that?”
Ciaran was searching his face. Somewhere, Evan had stopped being so nervous about his reaction. Smirking, Evan replied, “I go whither my subconscious wills, which is to say, directly into your arms.”
Then, like a sudden inhale after too long holding his breath, the feeling of urgency was gone. He slowed to a stop, but Ciaran kept walking, tugging on his hand. It was only ten more steps to the door of what appeared to be a small flat. Oh.
Evan stood, a little dumbfounded, at the bottom of a small staircase while Ciaran strode up it and unlocked the garishly orange door. He extended a hand and smiled. Evan stepped up to him and leaned in. Ciaran’s mouth was a little fishy (probably the oysters he’d eaten) and a little salty (probably Ciaran himself).
Ciaran pulled away, saying, “Are you coming in?”
Evan hesitated. “I...”
“I trust you,” said Ciaran.
And really, what more could he ask for? Evan went.
Notes: Dedicated to the wonderful mintyfish, who wanted puns.
Sitting in an upscale restaurant that specialized in seafood (because Evan was far more considerate than he like to admit), Ciaran asked the question Evan had been dreading.
“So, what do you do?” Evan tried to restrain his wince, but he suspected Ciaran still saw it. Quick eyes, the merfolk. All the better to see your flaws with, pointed out the sarcastic part of Evan’s mind. This part was very small, but occasionally very loud. Sometimes it was even right. And Evan didn’t have a lot of practice with explaining that he didn’t do anything, not really. He just followed his gut.
His charming smile still in place despite his nervousness, Evan reached tentatively for Ciaran’s hand across the table. Ciaran seemed a little suspicious, but allowed it with a small twitch of his (lovely) lips. Gathering his courage Evan replied:
“Easier to show than tell, I think. How about a little walk?”
~
Which is how, after dinner, the two of them wound up back on the street. The air was cool, bracing, and still smelled faintly of rain. Evan turned his face to the breeze and inhaled. Then he turned back to Ciaran.
“I have a day job. I’m a paralegal, it pays the bills. But it’s not what I really do, just-well.” Evan sighed. “It gives me a cover for my more...unusual talents.” Ciaran’s eyes widened comically and Evan rushed, “No! No. Nothing illegal, or immoral. Just weird.”
Ciaran looked at him like he was a little slow. “Evan,” he said, “if it's not bad, how weird can it be?” Famous last words, muttered that traitorous part of Evan’s psyche.
“Do you trust me?” And then suddenly, there it was, that feeling in his abdomen. It was like someone had hit him and knocked the wind out of him, the whole world narrowed down to the sidewalk beneath his feet and the path ahead and, rather unexpectedly, Ciaran’s cool hand in his. Crazily he thought, my anchor, tethering me here.
“Did you just think of somewhere you needed to be?” Evan gasped out. Ciaran raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a no.”
Evan started walking south, all the while stumbling to explain himself to Ciaran. “So, right now. Right now. It’s like,” Evan floundered, searching for words. “It’s like a fishhook, through my navel, and somewhere someone is reeling in the line. It’s like I have to go. And I have no idea what I’ll find when I stop, or how far it will take me.” Evan could still hear Ciaran breathing, and felt his hand, but was afraid to turn glance over and see...something on his face, so he just stared straight ahead. He didn’t feel himself speeding up, but after a few minutes Evan noticed that Ciaran was nearly having to jog to keep up with Evan’s longer stride.
Faintly horrified, he whipped around, already apologizing, “God, Ciaran, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you stop me? I should have-“
“Whoa,” Ciaran cut him off, “hey. It’s okay, it happens.” At Evan’s faintly disbelieving look, Ciaran amended, “Well, to you. But it is really, really okay. I mean...is this like, magic?”
With his free hand Evan reached up to rub the bridge of his nose and smiled slightly. “You could say that.” Resisting the pull was beginning to give him a headache, but he would rather that than frighten Ciaran away. “A little further, love, stop me if I’m going too fast.”
They walked. Evan no longer recognized this part of the city, but Ciaran obviously did. His familiarity was in the way his fingers brushed along buildings, their sharp corners and columns. In puddles and in windows, he caught flashes of Ciaran’s pale hair, haloed by the damp and the streetlights. If this doesn't work, Evan thought, I will have to give him up. He is too lovely for me to hoard.
“Tell me a story, beautiful,” Evan said.
Ciaran laughed. “Once there was a man, handsome and rakish. He bumped into a stranger who was having an awful day. It was said stranger’s birthday. The stranger accidentally revealed his darkest secret, but the man seemed not at all surprised. Tell me, Evan, why was that?”
Ciaran was searching his face. Somewhere, Evan had stopped being so nervous about his reaction. Smirking, Evan replied, “I go whither my subconscious wills, which is to say, directly into your arms.”
Then, like a sudden inhale after too long holding his breath, the feeling of urgency was gone. He slowed to a stop, but Ciaran kept walking, tugging on his hand. It was only ten more steps to the door of what appeared to be a small flat. Oh.
Evan stood, a little dumbfounded, at the bottom of a small staircase while Ciaran strode up it and unlocked the garishly orange door. He extended a hand and smiled. Evan stepped up to him and leaned in. Ciaran’s mouth was a little fishy (probably the oysters he’d eaten) and a little salty (probably Ciaran himself).
Ciaran pulled away, saying, “Are you coming in?”
Evan hesitated. “I...”
“I trust you,” said Ciaran.
And really, what more could he ask for? Evan went.