original: "Tactile" slash
Title: Tactile
Author: sensitization
Rating: PG
Summary: More Barry and Tus -- Trashing Tus' place on an almost daily basis was the last thing Barry wanted to do, but sometimes the end justifies the means.
I had this particular scene floating around in the back of my mind for a couple of weeks now, but didn’t have the time to write it until now. Enjoy!
--
As they both found out, it actually was very easy for ghosts to manipulate and move things. The problem instead lies more in the ability to control it. It was the reason why there seemed to be so many poltergeists haunting abandoned houses when in reality many of the specters are typically mild-mannered, sick of having to listen to the leaky faucets or squeaky windows of the dilapidated houses they occupied and trying their hand at being amateur maintenance workers. Though it was admittedly fun to scare teenagers and tv crews on the occasion that they stumbled into their homes.
Which is why Barry was caught somewhere in between ‘mortified beyond belief’ and ‘wishing the floor was a black hole‘, standing in the middle of the living room that has all but been turned upside down as Tus opened the door to the carnage, returning home from the bank. The TV was askew (thankfully not broken this time), couch flipped on its back, his catci and African violets lying several feet away from their pots, and every single DVD that Tus had so painstakingly alphabetized and sorted by genre littered the floor, most of the discs popped out of their plastic cages and laid haphazardly all over the place. And Barry’s not really sure, but he supposed that the fire alarm blaring above their heads probably meant he set something on fire as well.
“Welcome home?”
--
It was unsettling to see Barry so lost.
Tus simply grinned up at his ghostly lover, before skirting towards the kitchen, covering his mouth to keep himself from breathing in the smoke, sidestepping the glass shards and water all over the floor to shut off the stove top burner and to throw the flaming dishrag into the sink, dousing the flames.
He knows Barry didn’t mean it, and he sympathized with the ghost, unable to interact with his surroundings and winding up having to ask Tus for help. It was crippling to his pride, something that Tus understood far too well. After feeling guilty over Tus having to flip through over a thousand pages a day for him, Barry tried to do it himself, only to keep ripping out half the book in his endeavor and causing Tus to use a sizable chunk of his weekly salary as a florist to pay for all of the damaged books. Tus decided to invest in a Kindle, figuring that pushing a button might be a hell of a lot easier than flipping pages, but after Barry managed to crack the screen after less than five minutes of toying around with it, the ghost had spiraled into a worrisome ennui for a few weeks, before reinvigorating himself to find a way to control his movements.
Which kind of lead to Tus’ studio apartment looking like a scene from 28 days later at least twice a week. Still, Tus never made a big deal out of it, going about his home righting all the furniture and picking up anything broken, while Barry hovered behind him all the while, wanting to help out but frustrated at not being able to. Tus doesn’t like it, Barry being tongue-tied and downtrodden. This was the same man who came into work with him everyday and huffed and rolled his eyes at every schmuck who came in starry-eyed, hoping to find the one bouquet that will seal the deal with whoever they’re trying to impress, came up with heartfelt poems and words for any occasion unrivaled by card companies, and even managed to curse some particularly wishy-washy yet uptight caterers for even looking at Tus the wrong way. Most of all, he bantered, argued, explained, and mildly flirted with Tus about everything, uninhibited by topic or difficulty, never dumbing anything down for Tus and treated him like an equal though he knew that the man had dropped out within the first semester of college. And with the way the ghost could off-handedly mention something profound and brilliant so often to be upset and uncertain of himself was a downright crime.
“I wanted to get you a beer from the kitchen,” Barry admitted softly, pointing at the can lying in the epicenter of the disaster, still unopened, and most likely not cold anymore. Tus picked it up, cracked it open, and took a long drink, sighing exaggeratedly loud as he winked and blew a kiss up at Barry.
“Thanks, man.”
Barry just shook his head, and floated off, dissipating into thin air. Tus frowns, looking at the drink in his hands before throwing it in the trash.
--
Within a week, he’s sick.
Luckily, it’s his day off, but as he coughs, and tries not to hack out bits of his lungs over his comforter, he’s wondering if he should already call in sick for tomorrow. Barry had done his whole hovering over deal earlier, before disappearing without a word, something that Tus couldn’t blame him for, being so out of it.
It must have been a couple of hours later, when he opens his eyes again, to a tray of orange juice hovering next to his bed. Tus flinches, scooting away from the floating tray before Barry materialized, holding the tray with both hands and gripping onto it tightly, his face zeroed in total concentration, staring at nothing else. The tray rattled quietly, with the juice rippling within the glass.
“Barry, you didn’t have t-“
“I wanted to.” Barry clipped. Tus fell silent.
“Here you go.” Barry made out, lowering the tray onto the nightstand, wincing as he dropped the tray in the remaining last inch though thankful that the glass didn’t tip over. Tus sat up slightly and took the cup, sipping at the juice, feeling it prickle in his mouth and down his throat. He sighs, as he puts the juice back onto the table and lays his head down with a ‘whump’, unable to stay conscious.
He feels a ghost of a kiss on his temple, and he sighs, too tired to open his eyes, but he breathes out a quiet, “Love ya.”
He can hear a soft chuckle, before being enveloped by warm arms. “Sleep. I’ll be here.”
And so he did.
Author: sensitization
Rating: PG
Summary: More Barry and Tus -- Trashing Tus' place on an almost daily basis was the last thing Barry wanted to do, but sometimes the end justifies the means.
I had this particular scene floating around in the back of my mind for a couple of weeks now, but didn’t have the time to write it until now. Enjoy!
--
As they both found out, it actually was very easy for ghosts to manipulate and move things. The problem instead lies more in the ability to control it. It was the reason why there seemed to be so many poltergeists haunting abandoned houses when in reality many of the specters are typically mild-mannered, sick of having to listen to the leaky faucets or squeaky windows of the dilapidated houses they occupied and trying their hand at being amateur maintenance workers. Though it was admittedly fun to scare teenagers and tv crews on the occasion that they stumbled into their homes.
Which is why Barry was caught somewhere in between ‘mortified beyond belief’ and ‘wishing the floor was a black hole‘, standing in the middle of the living room that has all but been turned upside down as Tus opened the door to the carnage, returning home from the bank. The TV was askew (thankfully not broken this time), couch flipped on its back, his catci and African violets lying several feet away from their pots, and every single DVD that Tus had so painstakingly alphabetized and sorted by genre littered the floor, most of the discs popped out of their plastic cages and laid haphazardly all over the place. And Barry’s not really sure, but he supposed that the fire alarm blaring above their heads probably meant he set something on fire as well.
“Welcome home?”
--
It was unsettling to see Barry so lost.
Tus simply grinned up at his ghostly lover, before skirting towards the kitchen, covering his mouth to keep himself from breathing in the smoke, sidestepping the glass shards and water all over the floor to shut off the stove top burner and to throw the flaming dishrag into the sink, dousing the flames.
He knows Barry didn’t mean it, and he sympathized with the ghost, unable to interact with his surroundings and winding up having to ask Tus for help. It was crippling to his pride, something that Tus understood far too well. After feeling guilty over Tus having to flip through over a thousand pages a day for him, Barry tried to do it himself, only to keep ripping out half the book in his endeavor and causing Tus to use a sizable chunk of his weekly salary as a florist to pay for all of the damaged books. Tus decided to invest in a Kindle, figuring that pushing a button might be a hell of a lot easier than flipping pages, but after Barry managed to crack the screen after less than five minutes of toying around with it, the ghost had spiraled into a worrisome ennui for a few weeks, before reinvigorating himself to find a way to control his movements.
Which kind of lead to Tus’ studio apartment looking like a scene from 28 days later at least twice a week. Still, Tus never made a big deal out of it, going about his home righting all the furniture and picking up anything broken, while Barry hovered behind him all the while, wanting to help out but frustrated at not being able to. Tus doesn’t like it, Barry being tongue-tied and downtrodden. This was the same man who came into work with him everyday and huffed and rolled his eyes at every schmuck who came in starry-eyed, hoping to find the one bouquet that will seal the deal with whoever they’re trying to impress, came up with heartfelt poems and words for any occasion unrivaled by card companies, and even managed to curse some particularly wishy-washy yet uptight caterers for even looking at Tus the wrong way. Most of all, he bantered, argued, explained, and mildly flirted with Tus about everything, uninhibited by topic or difficulty, never dumbing anything down for Tus and treated him like an equal though he knew that the man had dropped out within the first semester of college. And with the way the ghost could off-handedly mention something profound and brilliant so often to be upset and uncertain of himself was a downright crime.
“I wanted to get you a beer from the kitchen,” Barry admitted softly, pointing at the can lying in the epicenter of the disaster, still unopened, and most likely not cold anymore. Tus picked it up, cracked it open, and took a long drink, sighing exaggeratedly loud as he winked and blew a kiss up at Barry.
“Thanks, man.”
Barry just shook his head, and floated off, dissipating into thin air. Tus frowns, looking at the drink in his hands before throwing it in the trash.
--
Within a week, he’s sick.
Luckily, it’s his day off, but as he coughs, and tries not to hack out bits of his lungs over his comforter, he’s wondering if he should already call in sick for tomorrow. Barry had done his whole hovering over deal earlier, before disappearing without a word, something that Tus couldn’t blame him for, being so out of it.
It must have been a couple of hours later, when he opens his eyes again, to a tray of orange juice hovering next to his bed. Tus flinches, scooting away from the floating tray before Barry materialized, holding the tray with both hands and gripping onto it tightly, his face zeroed in total concentration, staring at nothing else. The tray rattled quietly, with the juice rippling within the glass.
“Barry, you didn’t have t-“
“I wanted to.” Barry clipped. Tus fell silent.
“Here you go.” Barry made out, lowering the tray onto the nightstand, wincing as he dropped the tray in the remaining last inch though thankful that the glass didn’t tip over. Tus sat up slightly and took the cup, sipping at the juice, feeling it prickle in his mouth and down his throat. He sighs, as he puts the juice back onto the table and lays his head down with a ‘whump’, unable to stay conscious.
He feels a ghost of a kiss on his temple, and he sighs, too tired to open his eyes, but he breathes out a quiet, “Love ya.”
He can hear a soft chuckle, before being enveloped by warm arms. “Sleep. I’ll be here.”
And so he did.