[fic] Blind Leading the Blind
Title: Blind Leading the Blind
Author: fencer_x
Pairing: Nataraja/Pasupata
Rating: PG
Summary: Before they continue their journey, they need to get a few things straight.
Notes: I should've just made this one big fic and made these chapters, looking back :P Sequel to this.
Even muffled by the thick wood of the door to their (Nataraja's) room, it was difficult to miss the anger and annoyance being verbally flung at them by the inn's Master, anxious to see Nataraja and Pasupata on their way now that it was approaching their agreed upon hour of departure. "Right--we'll--I'll be down," Nataraja called out, eyes still squeezed shut against the bright morning light filtering in through the cracks and slits in the shuttered window, and added as an afterthought to himself, "...eventually..."
He took a deep breath of what he'd thought would be fresh morning air--but the dust which filled his nose and rank of the stables below reminded him that he had definitely not slumbered in his palace chambers the previous night. Despite whatever impression the body nestled snuggly in a pallet at his bedside might have left. "I thought we told them noon..." Pasupata grumbled, tone so uncharacteristically grumpy that it actually went a ways towards turning Nataraja's own mood around; that one man could run so hot and cold depending on the state of his stomach and his bedding...
"We did," Nataraja reminded him dourly, head lolling to the side as he glanced first at the sunlight streaming through the cracks in the shutters and then down at his bedside. "Apparently it's nearly that now."
Pasupata shot up immediately, casting about wildly. "I--what?!" He threw off the duvet he'd smuggled from his own room in a hustle, quickly rearranging his hair into a loose bun as he busied himself with clearing away his things. Nataraja watched him curiously, unmoved by the inn owner's call for them to make their leaving preparations at their earliest convenience. The duvet was shaken out and quickly rolled into a small bundle, tucked under Pasupata's arm, and he blew angrily at a few strands of hair that had worked their way free from the band, snatching up the small pillow and glaring at Nataraja (albeit more with annoyance than genuine anger) out of the corner of his eye. "Why didn't you wake me up?"
Nataraja shifted into a seated position, arms crossed at his knees, and shrugged ambivalently, smiling to himself at the flustered state his friend was already in so shortly after waking. "Because I was sleeping?" He was soundly hit in the face with the straw-filled pillow Pasupata had made use of, squawking in protest. "The servants usually wake us up! Do you see any servants around here?"
Pasupata snatched the pillow back from where it had dropped to the floor again. "I thought that was the idea--to get away from all of that?" Nataraja flushed, balking, and tossed the covers forward, swinging his long legs around to the side and slipping off the bed to waddle on creaky, unlimbered joints into the small, shuttered-off changing area where he'd stowed his pack and other essentials. He could feel Pasupata's gaze still at his back, but when he glanced backwards to confront him on his sour mood, all he was returned was Pasupata's retreating figure disappearing through the door and into the noisy hallway to his room next door.
He unlaced the straps on his pack, yanking it open with a grunt, and dug through for his bandana--the midday sun could be cruel to unprotected travelers. His leggings from the previous day had been draped across a chair; niceties like a laundry service or a hot bath to relax in with that floral-scented salt he was so fond of would be rarities (if not unobtainable) on this journey, though it was embarrassing enough he'd grown used to them at all.
The tie at his waist was being uncooperative, having somehow become knotted in the night, and he spent a few moments working to unravel it, a frown creasing his forehead. Noon. It had been barely a full day since the tall oaken doors at the castle checkpoint had shuddered closed at his and Pasupata's backs, quite effectively leaving them little choice but to set boot to dusty road and head for the nearest gate out of the metropolis. It would've not only been embarrassing to turn back, it would've defeated the purpose of leaving in the first place; still, Nataraja didn't doubt that it had been Pasupata's hand on his back pushing him forward more than any sort of strength of conviction that had kept him on this path, both literally and figuratively.
They really needed to talk. They did. Before they got back on the road--before they took one step out of this room, they needed to. Because--Nataraja honestly didn't know what would happen at the next inn, or the inn after that, and he hated not being sure, not being able to map out how things would go, having some stability, assurance. He liked knowing where people stood with him--and Pasupata was fucking that all up. Laying claim to any available floorspace in Nataraja's room at home and abroad as they were now, creeping into his personal space with his fingers and chest and lips and--
The wooden door flew open again as Pasupata laid into it with his shoulder, lugging his pack behind him with both hands. Nataraja blinked, swallowing, and glanced down; without realizing it, he'd managed to best the stubborn tie on his pants and had slid back into his traveling breeches. He hastily reached for a shirt and slipped it on while Pasupata grumbled in the main room. "There was some old woman in my room sweeping the floor. She gave me an earful about trying to slip off with the duvets and to never try and get a room at this inn again. I think we may need to find someplace new to bunk on the way back..." When Nataraja didn't reply, even to offer some biting remark about Pasupata's curious sleeping habits, he turned, ready to deliver another harrowing tale of how she'd run him out of his own room with her broom--except Nataraja was just standing there in the doorway, staring silently and looking so troubled, confused, it set Pasupata's nerves immediately on edge. He was uncomfortably reminded of the last time Nataraja had looked like that. "...What?"
A beat of silence, and then he blurted out, "I want to kiss you."
Pasupata's brows furrowed in confusion as soon as the words fell on his reddening ears, but he quickly schooled his features and willed his heart to stop beating so loudly. He swallowed. "...Okay."
"...But..." But? There was a but? "I don't really know why. Or...how, even."
Sometimes Pasupata really wanted to punch some sense into Nataraja. Not having to pretend anymore that he couldn't wind up his fist and aim properly, he mentally reflected he should act on these impulses at some point in the future. He ran a tongue over his teeth and crossed his arms over his chest. "...So what am I supposed to do about that?"
"Tell me why."
Pasupata coughed into a laugh. "How am I supposed to know what you want?"
Because you're my best friend, you know me better than anyone else--was what Nataraja wanted to say. Instead, he just swallowed and stepped forward, floorboards creaking with each step. "Then...do you want to kiss me?"
Pasupata flushed, annoyed at being put on the spot; this was hardly the conversation to be having five minutes before they were supposed to be out the door headed towards the next shanty town. "A little. Yeah."
Nataraja nodded, understanding the unspoken, But not here, not now. "So then...tell me why?"
"'Why'?" Pasupata repeated, but Nataraja just pursed his lips, and Pasupata shrank back, slipping down to sit on the edge of the bed. He blew a few stray strands of hair from his face; this was a conversation suited for a more relaxed atmosphere, maybe after dinner or just before bed, not now, when the inn's Master was likely already headed back up the stairs to route them from the room.
Except Nataraja really looked like he needed this, right this minute--it couldn't wait until nightfall, until the next bed-and-breakfast, until Pasupata was curled up on the floor again trying to time the rhythm of his breathing to Nataraja's and contemplating how much easier it would be if they were in the same bed. So he spoke.
"Because--it feels good. I came really really close to losing you back then, and...I didn't want it to happen again. I wanted to get as close to you as possible, even if it was only for a moment, I--" But he cut himself off, burying his face in his hands and running his fingers through his hair where it fell around his shoulders, because no matter what came out of his mouth, it wasn't what he wanted to say, and it wasn't doing anything to change Nataraja's expression. He didn't even know what to say anyways; how was he supposed to put into words the way he felt about his friend? It wasn't exactly romantic--at least, he didn't think so, not entirely--he just wanted that closeness, that comfort and security of knowing right where Nataraja was, of being there too, and of sharing something between them. Maybe because there'd always been the gulf of secrecy separating them, he was a little desperate to bridge it by any means possible now that the veil had been lifted. Truthfully, it frightened him a little, too, how even their distance now was tangible to Pasupata, and decidedly unwelcome.
He heard the creak of the wooden slats groaning under weight and glanced up, head jerking back a bit in surprise when he nearly brushed noses with Nataraja, who'd gotten down on his knees to bring them closer. "I'm sorry," Pasupata blurted out in apology. "I'm really horrible at explaining things."
Nataraja didn't smile, but his lips did quirk up a bit at the corners in an obvious repression. "You really are."
Pasupata frowned, frustrated. "I mean it, though. I wanted to, so I did it. I wanted to do it again, so I did it again. And I want to do it even more, so..."
Now Nataraja did laugh, a soft chuckle escaping. "I don't think there was ever any issue with wanting to do it. I just..." He sobered up again. "I don't know what we are."
Pasupata searched his face, confused; if he were honest with himself, he really didn't know what they were at the moment either. And yet somehow it didn't concern him half as much as it appeared to concern Nataraja. He let his gaze drop to the floor and took a breath, back rising with the deep inhalation. "...Before, I asked you...if you had ever wondered why you were the first one Niganda turned on when he possessed me."
Nataraja craned his neck to try and look Pasupata in the eye, fingers flitting up to hold him by the wrists. "...I remember."
Pasupata licked his lips. "When I felt...that presence in me, it was cold and angry and desperate and--nothing left of humanity, and I just...all I could think was that this was who you'd chosen to follow. That Shiva and I weren't good enough for you, could never make you feel like you belonged--and I got so angry--" He glanced up here, staring into Nataraja's eyes with a conviction he hadn't been able to express before, "blind" as he had been. "--I was furious that you could've just given yourself over like that, could've been so stupid, so...I told him that he couldn't have you. He could have me, but he couldn't have you--because he couldn't give you what you wanted, but I could at least try." He swallowed and glanced away off to the side, smiling wryly at himself. "And you may not think so, but I have been trying, since then. I just...haven't been very good at it." He pulled his hands from Nataraja's loose grip, crossing them over his lap primly. "Anyways...that's why. He didn't like being told what he could or couldn't have, so..." He shrugged. "Just, I thought you should know. That I really would've missed you. And I wouldn't have let you go without a fight."
Nataraja laced his fingers together, leaning against Pasupata's knees now, and cocked his head. "Then...thanks. For sticking up for me, even though I was being an asshole."
Pasupata affected a disinterested mien, picking at a piece of thread on the duvet. "It wasn't that big a deal--almost got you killed anyways..."
Nataraja's thin-lipped grin widened, and he shook his head, then sobered up again, pursing his lips. "...It still doesn't really answer my question, though." Pasupata locked eyes with him, confused as to just how much more he was supposed to open himself up. "It doesn't tell me what we are; why you want to kiss me...why I want to kiss you."
Pasupata, frowned--he really was getting frustrated with Nataraja's hang-up here. "Just--why do you have to understand it? What the hell does it matter? We're--us. We're the same people we've known each other as for fifteen years now; it's not like just because...we did that it's supposed to change anything or lead to some great revelation." He rubbed at his temples, feeling a headache coming on--which was not helped when Nataraja grabbed at his wrists again, pulling them back down and laughing dryly.
"Pasupata--god, shut up. You're babbling." Pasupata just frowned, testing the give around his wrists and getting a bit miffed that Nataraja wasn't letting him go like before, instead opting to try and soothe him with some distracting rubbing along his pulsepoint that seemed to draw everything in close. "Hey," he called again for attention, and Pasupata glanced up from his wrists, gaze flat and probing. "I didn't mean it like that."
"Like what?"
Nataraja licked his lips and chuckled self-deprecatingly. "...I didn't mean I needed to know what we were just because it was bugging me or anything. That--I'm trying too, you know. To stop worrying about the past, or station or...properly defining a relationship." Pasupata's brows lifted, impressed, and Nataraja gave him a look that said not to press it. "I only...it'd just really help if I had some idea...of what you think about this. What this is, because...because if I don't, if you don't tell me or give me some clue, then there's probably a good chance that some time in the next week I might...do something that--well, would've been prevented if I'd had some idea of what we are and aren't."
Pasupata's mouth formed a little "o" of understanding, and he nodded. "Oh. Right."
Nataraja continued, filling in blanks and explaining, "Just--I'm fine with this all, really. And whatever it is, just tell me, and that's what it'll be, because--hell, you started it. You seem to have a better grasp on the situation than I do, so I'm more than happy to go along with your...ideas."
Well that was quite a lot of pressure, Pasupata reflected. And what the hell did Nataraja mean something? Was he talking about--? Or--? Or, god--? He flushed, laughing nervously, and really wished Nataraja didn't have that death grip on his hands because he kind of just wanted to bury his face in them and groan loudly and in great frustration. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut--fuck.
"I know it's--weird," came a reassuring voice from the darkness beyond his eyelids, and he paused for a moment to indulge in the fantasy that this is who he would've been if he'd really been blind. This was who Nataraja had always known him as. "You don't have to say anything now. I just...wanted you to know. That all you have to do is say it, and I'll listen. I just don't want to fuck up again by doing things on my own." He squeezed Pasupata's wrists in assurance, and then loosened his grip, moving away to likely finish preparing their packs to leave--but before he pulled back, Pasupata grabbed with one hand onto the fabric of his glove, clutching and holding him in place.
"Then listen." He opened his eyes but kept his gaze trained on the floor, breath speeding up. He could feel Nataraja staring down at him now, likely bemused if not erring on the side of confused. He squeezed harder on the fabric, tugging just hard enough to pull Nataraja down towards him until he could feel the warmth of body heat as their faces drew near. He cocked his head just to the side, feeling their cheeks brush, and let their mouths slide together, pausing in the moment their lips brushed to hold his breath.
This was just what Pasupata wanted; a quiet moment between them when all his senses were filled with Nataraja--the gaudy purple silk of his gloved hand pulling free free from Pasupata's grip to cup the curve of his jaw, the lingering fragrance of familiar scented oils not yet overpowered by the dusty open road or stench of the inn's stables, the way his name fell from Nataraja's lips against his own like it was a secret best passed in this manner, the taste of Nataraja's lips--a flavor all its own and something Pasupata was already growing familiar with, and this sensation of closeness so amazing he couldn't fathom how he'd dealt without it for the past fifteen years; he could get drunk on Nataraja easily, he was coming to understand. And he was not a very good drunk.
"One room at the next inn. Please."
Nataraja smiled against his lips, intrigued. "Just the one? I'm still not letting you share my bed, no matter how nicely you ask."
Pasupata ran a tongue along his lips, amused at the little gasp of surprise this elicited. "Who says you get the bed? It's my turn, and I can share with whomever I choose."
"I guess I should be nicer to you, then, if I don't want to sleep on the floor."
Pasupata pulled back just a bit and lifted his eyes to find Nataraja already staring at him, as if willing him to look up. "Very nice."
Nataraja's smile made as if to widen, but then faltered in nervousness, and he licked his lips. "So--"
BAM BAM BAM
"Noon is noon, not three calls later!" came the bellowed call through their door, and the pair immediately sprang apart, Nataraja scrambling back over to the changing area and hastily stuffing the remainder of his belongings into his pack. The innkeeper's heavy footsteps faded as he lumbered back downstairs, and Pasupata let his shoulders slump in relief, having frozen in place at the interruption. He cast about for the pack he'd tossed to the floor, spotting it by the door, and jumped to his feet to retrieve it.
Nataraja sidled around behind him, casting one last glance back at the room to ensure nothing else had been left behind in their haste to avoid the innkeeper showing them just how he dealt with patrons who overstayed their check-out time. Apparently satisfied with the state of their affairs, he reached forward, one hand on the heavy iron handle, and pressed down on the latch--then paused, breath held. "So--this...is what we are?"
Pasupata glanced up, curious at the comment seemingly from out of nowhere, then registered the words in connection to their conversation. He straightened up and squared his features, then slung his pack over his shoulder, clutching at the strap. Placing his hand over Nataraja's and giving a hard yank to open the door, he brushed past him and out into the hall, tossing back only, "...Ask me again tomorrow morning."
Author: fencer_x
Pairing: Nataraja/Pasupata
Rating: PG
Summary: Before they continue their journey, they need to get a few things straight.
Notes: I should've just made this one big fic and made these chapters, looking back :P Sequel to this.
Even muffled by the thick wood of the door to their (Nataraja's) room, it was difficult to miss the anger and annoyance being verbally flung at them by the inn's Master, anxious to see Nataraja and Pasupata on their way now that it was approaching their agreed upon hour of departure. "Right--we'll--I'll be down," Nataraja called out, eyes still squeezed shut against the bright morning light filtering in through the cracks and slits in the shuttered window, and added as an afterthought to himself, "...eventually..."
He took a deep breath of what he'd thought would be fresh morning air--but the dust which filled his nose and rank of the stables below reminded him that he had definitely not slumbered in his palace chambers the previous night. Despite whatever impression the body nestled snuggly in a pallet at his bedside might have left. "I thought we told them noon..." Pasupata grumbled, tone so uncharacteristically grumpy that it actually went a ways towards turning Nataraja's own mood around; that one man could run so hot and cold depending on the state of his stomach and his bedding...
"We did," Nataraja reminded him dourly, head lolling to the side as he glanced first at the sunlight streaming through the cracks in the shutters and then down at his bedside. "Apparently it's nearly that now."
Pasupata shot up immediately, casting about wildly. "I--what?!" He threw off the duvet he'd smuggled from his own room in a hustle, quickly rearranging his hair into a loose bun as he busied himself with clearing away his things. Nataraja watched him curiously, unmoved by the inn owner's call for them to make their leaving preparations at their earliest convenience. The duvet was shaken out and quickly rolled into a small bundle, tucked under Pasupata's arm, and he blew angrily at a few strands of hair that had worked their way free from the band, snatching up the small pillow and glaring at Nataraja (albeit more with annoyance than genuine anger) out of the corner of his eye. "Why didn't you wake me up?"
Nataraja shifted into a seated position, arms crossed at his knees, and shrugged ambivalently, smiling to himself at the flustered state his friend was already in so shortly after waking. "Because I was sleeping?" He was soundly hit in the face with the straw-filled pillow Pasupata had made use of, squawking in protest. "The servants usually wake us up! Do you see any servants around here?"
Pasupata snatched the pillow back from where it had dropped to the floor again. "I thought that was the idea--to get away from all of that?" Nataraja flushed, balking, and tossed the covers forward, swinging his long legs around to the side and slipping off the bed to waddle on creaky, unlimbered joints into the small, shuttered-off changing area where he'd stowed his pack and other essentials. He could feel Pasupata's gaze still at his back, but when he glanced backwards to confront him on his sour mood, all he was returned was Pasupata's retreating figure disappearing through the door and into the noisy hallway to his room next door.
He unlaced the straps on his pack, yanking it open with a grunt, and dug through for his bandana--the midday sun could be cruel to unprotected travelers. His leggings from the previous day had been draped across a chair; niceties like a laundry service or a hot bath to relax in with that floral-scented salt he was so fond of would be rarities (if not unobtainable) on this journey, though it was embarrassing enough he'd grown used to them at all.
The tie at his waist was being uncooperative, having somehow become knotted in the night, and he spent a few moments working to unravel it, a frown creasing his forehead. Noon. It had been barely a full day since the tall oaken doors at the castle checkpoint had shuddered closed at his and Pasupata's backs, quite effectively leaving them little choice but to set boot to dusty road and head for the nearest gate out of the metropolis. It would've not only been embarrassing to turn back, it would've defeated the purpose of leaving in the first place; still, Nataraja didn't doubt that it had been Pasupata's hand on his back pushing him forward more than any sort of strength of conviction that had kept him on this path, both literally and figuratively.
They really needed to talk. They did. Before they got back on the road--before they took one step out of this room, they needed to. Because--Nataraja honestly didn't know what would happen at the next inn, or the inn after that, and he hated not being sure, not being able to map out how things would go, having some stability, assurance. He liked knowing where people stood with him--and Pasupata was fucking that all up. Laying claim to any available floorspace in Nataraja's room at home and abroad as they were now, creeping into his personal space with his fingers and chest and lips and--
The wooden door flew open again as Pasupata laid into it with his shoulder, lugging his pack behind him with both hands. Nataraja blinked, swallowing, and glanced down; without realizing it, he'd managed to best the stubborn tie on his pants and had slid back into his traveling breeches. He hastily reached for a shirt and slipped it on while Pasupata grumbled in the main room. "There was some old woman in my room sweeping the floor. She gave me an earful about trying to slip off with the duvets and to never try and get a room at this inn again. I think we may need to find someplace new to bunk on the way back..." When Nataraja didn't reply, even to offer some biting remark about Pasupata's curious sleeping habits, he turned, ready to deliver another harrowing tale of how she'd run him out of his own room with her broom--except Nataraja was just standing there in the doorway, staring silently and looking so troubled, confused, it set Pasupata's nerves immediately on edge. He was uncomfortably reminded of the last time Nataraja had looked like that. "...What?"
A beat of silence, and then he blurted out, "I want to kiss you."
Pasupata's brows furrowed in confusion as soon as the words fell on his reddening ears, but he quickly schooled his features and willed his heart to stop beating so loudly. He swallowed. "...Okay."
"...But..." But? There was a but? "I don't really know why. Or...how, even."
Sometimes Pasupata really wanted to punch some sense into Nataraja. Not having to pretend anymore that he couldn't wind up his fist and aim properly, he mentally reflected he should act on these impulses at some point in the future. He ran a tongue over his teeth and crossed his arms over his chest. "...So what am I supposed to do about that?"
"Tell me why."
Pasupata coughed into a laugh. "How am I supposed to know what you want?"
Because you're my best friend, you know me better than anyone else--was what Nataraja wanted to say. Instead, he just swallowed and stepped forward, floorboards creaking with each step. "Then...do you want to kiss me?"
Pasupata flushed, annoyed at being put on the spot; this was hardly the conversation to be having five minutes before they were supposed to be out the door headed towards the next shanty town. "A little. Yeah."
Nataraja nodded, understanding the unspoken, But not here, not now. "So then...tell me why?"
"'Why'?" Pasupata repeated, but Nataraja just pursed his lips, and Pasupata shrank back, slipping down to sit on the edge of the bed. He blew a few stray strands of hair from his face; this was a conversation suited for a more relaxed atmosphere, maybe after dinner or just before bed, not now, when the inn's Master was likely already headed back up the stairs to route them from the room.
Except Nataraja really looked like he needed this, right this minute--it couldn't wait until nightfall, until the next bed-and-breakfast, until Pasupata was curled up on the floor again trying to time the rhythm of his breathing to Nataraja's and contemplating how much easier it would be if they were in the same bed. So he spoke.
"Because--it feels good. I came really really close to losing you back then, and...I didn't want it to happen again. I wanted to get as close to you as possible, even if it was only for a moment, I--" But he cut himself off, burying his face in his hands and running his fingers through his hair where it fell around his shoulders, because no matter what came out of his mouth, it wasn't what he wanted to say, and it wasn't doing anything to change Nataraja's expression. He didn't even know what to say anyways; how was he supposed to put into words the way he felt about his friend? It wasn't exactly romantic--at least, he didn't think so, not entirely--he just wanted that closeness, that comfort and security of knowing right where Nataraja was, of being there too, and of sharing something between them. Maybe because there'd always been the gulf of secrecy separating them, he was a little desperate to bridge it by any means possible now that the veil had been lifted. Truthfully, it frightened him a little, too, how even their distance now was tangible to Pasupata, and decidedly unwelcome.
He heard the creak of the wooden slats groaning under weight and glanced up, head jerking back a bit in surprise when he nearly brushed noses with Nataraja, who'd gotten down on his knees to bring them closer. "I'm sorry," Pasupata blurted out in apology. "I'm really horrible at explaining things."
Nataraja didn't smile, but his lips did quirk up a bit at the corners in an obvious repression. "You really are."
Pasupata frowned, frustrated. "I mean it, though. I wanted to, so I did it. I wanted to do it again, so I did it again. And I want to do it even more, so..."
Now Nataraja did laugh, a soft chuckle escaping. "I don't think there was ever any issue with wanting to do it. I just..." He sobered up again. "I don't know what we are."
Pasupata searched his face, confused; if he were honest with himself, he really didn't know what they were at the moment either. And yet somehow it didn't concern him half as much as it appeared to concern Nataraja. He let his gaze drop to the floor and took a breath, back rising with the deep inhalation. "...Before, I asked you...if you had ever wondered why you were the first one Niganda turned on when he possessed me."
Nataraja craned his neck to try and look Pasupata in the eye, fingers flitting up to hold him by the wrists. "...I remember."
Pasupata licked his lips. "When I felt...that presence in me, it was cold and angry and desperate and--nothing left of humanity, and I just...all I could think was that this was who you'd chosen to follow. That Shiva and I weren't good enough for you, could never make you feel like you belonged--and I got so angry--" He glanced up here, staring into Nataraja's eyes with a conviction he hadn't been able to express before, "blind" as he had been. "--I was furious that you could've just given yourself over like that, could've been so stupid, so...I told him that he couldn't have you. He could have me, but he couldn't have you--because he couldn't give you what you wanted, but I could at least try." He swallowed and glanced away off to the side, smiling wryly at himself. "And you may not think so, but I have been trying, since then. I just...haven't been very good at it." He pulled his hands from Nataraja's loose grip, crossing them over his lap primly. "Anyways...that's why. He didn't like being told what he could or couldn't have, so..." He shrugged. "Just, I thought you should know. That I really would've missed you. And I wouldn't have let you go without a fight."
Nataraja laced his fingers together, leaning against Pasupata's knees now, and cocked his head. "Then...thanks. For sticking up for me, even though I was being an asshole."
Pasupata affected a disinterested mien, picking at a piece of thread on the duvet. "It wasn't that big a deal--almost got you killed anyways..."
Nataraja's thin-lipped grin widened, and he shook his head, then sobered up again, pursing his lips. "...It still doesn't really answer my question, though." Pasupata locked eyes with him, confused as to just how much more he was supposed to open himself up. "It doesn't tell me what we are; why you want to kiss me...why I want to kiss you."
Pasupata, frowned--he really was getting frustrated with Nataraja's hang-up here. "Just--why do you have to understand it? What the hell does it matter? We're--us. We're the same people we've known each other as for fifteen years now; it's not like just because...we did that it's supposed to change anything or lead to some great revelation." He rubbed at his temples, feeling a headache coming on--which was not helped when Nataraja grabbed at his wrists again, pulling them back down and laughing dryly.
"Pasupata--god, shut up. You're babbling." Pasupata just frowned, testing the give around his wrists and getting a bit miffed that Nataraja wasn't letting him go like before, instead opting to try and soothe him with some distracting rubbing along his pulsepoint that seemed to draw everything in close. "Hey," he called again for attention, and Pasupata glanced up from his wrists, gaze flat and probing. "I didn't mean it like that."
"Like what?"
Nataraja licked his lips and chuckled self-deprecatingly. "...I didn't mean I needed to know what we were just because it was bugging me or anything. That--I'm trying too, you know. To stop worrying about the past, or station or...properly defining a relationship." Pasupata's brows lifted, impressed, and Nataraja gave him a look that said not to press it. "I only...it'd just really help if I had some idea...of what you think about this. What this is, because...because if I don't, if you don't tell me or give me some clue, then there's probably a good chance that some time in the next week I might...do something that--well, would've been prevented if I'd had some idea of what we are and aren't."
Pasupata's mouth formed a little "o" of understanding, and he nodded. "Oh. Right."
Nataraja continued, filling in blanks and explaining, "Just--I'm fine with this all, really. And whatever it is, just tell me, and that's what it'll be, because--hell, you started it. You seem to have a better grasp on the situation than I do, so I'm more than happy to go along with your...ideas."
Well that was quite a lot of pressure, Pasupata reflected. And what the hell did Nataraja mean something? Was he talking about--? Or--? Or, god--? He flushed, laughing nervously, and really wished Nataraja didn't have that death grip on his hands because he kind of just wanted to bury his face in them and groan loudly and in great frustration. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut--fuck.
"I know it's--weird," came a reassuring voice from the darkness beyond his eyelids, and he paused for a moment to indulge in the fantasy that this is who he would've been if he'd really been blind. This was who Nataraja had always known him as. "You don't have to say anything now. I just...wanted you to know. That all you have to do is say it, and I'll listen. I just don't want to fuck up again by doing things on my own." He squeezed Pasupata's wrists in assurance, and then loosened his grip, moving away to likely finish preparing their packs to leave--but before he pulled back, Pasupata grabbed with one hand onto the fabric of his glove, clutching and holding him in place.
"Then listen." He opened his eyes but kept his gaze trained on the floor, breath speeding up. He could feel Nataraja staring down at him now, likely bemused if not erring on the side of confused. He squeezed harder on the fabric, tugging just hard enough to pull Nataraja down towards him until he could feel the warmth of body heat as their faces drew near. He cocked his head just to the side, feeling their cheeks brush, and let their mouths slide together, pausing in the moment their lips brushed to hold his breath.
This was just what Pasupata wanted; a quiet moment between them when all his senses were filled with Nataraja--the gaudy purple silk of his gloved hand pulling free free from Pasupata's grip to cup the curve of his jaw, the lingering fragrance of familiar scented oils not yet overpowered by the dusty open road or stench of the inn's stables, the way his name fell from Nataraja's lips against his own like it was a secret best passed in this manner, the taste of Nataraja's lips--a flavor all its own and something Pasupata was already growing familiar with, and this sensation of closeness so amazing he couldn't fathom how he'd dealt without it for the past fifteen years; he could get drunk on Nataraja easily, he was coming to understand. And he was not a very good drunk.
"One room at the next inn. Please."
Nataraja smiled against his lips, intrigued. "Just the one? I'm still not letting you share my bed, no matter how nicely you ask."
Pasupata ran a tongue along his lips, amused at the little gasp of surprise this elicited. "Who says you get the bed? It's my turn, and I can share with whomever I choose."
"I guess I should be nicer to you, then, if I don't want to sleep on the floor."
Pasupata pulled back just a bit and lifted his eyes to find Nataraja already staring at him, as if willing him to look up. "Very nice."
Nataraja's smile made as if to widen, but then faltered in nervousness, and he licked his lips. "So--"
BAM BAM BAM
"Noon is noon, not three calls later!" came the bellowed call through their door, and the pair immediately sprang apart, Nataraja scrambling back over to the changing area and hastily stuffing the remainder of his belongings into his pack. The innkeeper's heavy footsteps faded as he lumbered back downstairs, and Pasupata let his shoulders slump in relief, having frozen in place at the interruption. He cast about for the pack he'd tossed to the floor, spotting it by the door, and jumped to his feet to retrieve it.
Nataraja sidled around behind him, casting one last glance back at the room to ensure nothing else had been left behind in their haste to avoid the innkeeper showing them just how he dealt with patrons who overstayed their check-out time. Apparently satisfied with the state of their affairs, he reached forward, one hand on the heavy iron handle, and pressed down on the latch--then paused, breath held. "So--this...is what we are?"
Pasupata glanced up, curious at the comment seemingly from out of nowhere, then registered the words in connection to their conversation. He straightened up and squared his features, then slung his pack over his shoulder, clutching at the strap. Placing his hand over Nataraja's and giving a hard yank to open the door, he brushed past him and out into the hall, tossing back only, "...Ask me again tomorrow morning."