operator's manual tells me what to find and how to make adjustments when you tamper with my mindtreadingdawnSeptember 5 2009, 08:05:58 UTC
A day of endless night isn't new to this place called the City. A day of endless night under a full moon isn't very peculiar for this world either. What is strange is the amount of animals turning on their stewards and as rumor has it people trading bodies with other. It's not the most outrageous sort of thing to happen here but it is stranger than usual. Too bad Caspian X has missed most of this by spending his time away from the network, away from his loyal steed the destrier named Destrier who, by the way, isn't under the influence of silver light. A little time to himself doesn't hurt anyone. Furthermore a little time to himself makes his current whereabouts unpredictable...he can attack from any corner. Only last night did he make an ambiguous promise (or threat) to Peter Pevensie, and Caspian is a man of his word. He intends to make good on that promise, whether the blond sees it coming or not. Preferably the latter because doesn't everyone like surprises?
It's just his luck that on his way to one of the few places he knows he might find Peter, Caspian spots the now taller man on the street. Perfect. He won't have to lure his friend out of the public eye, a simple grab and pull from this alley way will do. Seeing Peter wearing his older face, the Telmarine thinks he is not only keeping his word but also collecting on a bet. He knew this day would grant the Pevensies extra hours. Very nice indeed. Like an ambush predator, Caspian X waits.
operator's manual tells me what to find and how to make adjustments when you tamper with my mindworksmartSeptember 5 2009, 09:46:15 UTC
As usual on a curse day, the clinic has been busier than normal. Feeding into the ER and a revolving selection of prepped operating rooms, Chase has spent his shift stemming a bloody tide, the results of living with a werewolf or waking up to find a loyal dog turned hellhound. The last case before a well earned break saw him sending the victim of a kitten mauling in for surgical repair.
This is why he won't let his roommate have a pet.
Still, that's all usual within the routine of the place. For Chase, the part proving strangest, or at least most annoying, is the way the half-light seems to be screwing with everyone's coordination. He can't count the number of times he's been knocked into just crossing the square, at one point being slammed several paces to the side without warning. With talk of feral beasts on the prowl the City's occupants have decided to live by the old adage of safety in numbers, clustering together in its central thoroughfare. It could be that the theory works, or merely that the wild things would always choose less brightly lit hunting grounds than these urban streets, where shoplights and streetlights cast glowing pools across the sidewalk even on sunless days.
He's keeping to the edges, himself. After that last unsettling jolt, and with a collection of bruises likely forming in dapples over his ribcage, this seems to be the path of least resistance. He may not be the most agile gazelle among the herd -- though his leg is thankfully improved to the point of tenderness rather than pain -- but he suspects there are weaker prospects to be picked off, if anyone should be.
In fact, he can barely feel the tug of the new formed scar at the back of his leg at all, today. He tests his knee carefully, turning onto a quieter street with less chance of being jostled or harried. Further away from the sanctuary of a crowd, though this thought informs his direction less than the prospect of an easy shortcut. What are the chances of being attacked while still within the urban sprawl really? Slim, he thinks, and walks on to darker places.
operator's manual tells me what to find and how to make adjustments when you tamper with my mindtreadingdawnSeptember 5 2009, 17:58:40 UTC
That's good, because Caspian doesn't really find much enjoyment in a hunt that involves prey with a gimpy leg. Where's the challenge in that? Of course disadvantages hardly occur to his mind. Peter Pevensie was in typically very good health the last time he saw him, so why should now be any different. It's preferred that he be in better than average condition tonight too as excuses like I'm tired or I have a headache are completely unacceptable...but understandable when genuine. Fff. Well again, an unsuspecting Caspian X is unsuspecting, and probably just as unsuspecting as one Robert Chase now gained several inches due to a mysterious change. Several inches in height, in height, thank you. However that doesn't make him any more alert and Caspian has long since learned the ways of ambushing a High King. It was how they met in the woods, swords clashing. Sometimes it is fun to let history repeat itself.
The second Chase's moonlit silhouette darkens the edge of the alley way, a tanned hand whips out to snatch him by the elbow, drawing him deeper into the shadows where his back ought to find itself pinned to the wall.
"Hello," Caspian greets in his telltale Telmarine accent. He presses against the blond man, not at all aware that he is an aussie in a pom's skin. "Let's finish what we started," he insists, mouth parting to silence any words Chase might have to say when their lips meet.
operator's manual tells me what to find and how to make adjustments when you tamper with my mindworksmartSeptember 5 2009, 20:15:01 UTC
Chase has quite a few words to say, if he can only find them within the sudden swirling abyss of panic sucking in all sentient thought. That cry as he was dragged into the alley reverberated off the narrow walls with a timbre he's unused to, largely because he tries not to make a habit of yelping like a girl. Had he pulled a full sentence from some far reaches of coherency he might now know that his words were pitched a little deeper, the accent of his upbringing fighting with a larynx unused to tilting the end of every sentence upwards. There aren't any words, though. To begin with there aren't even thoughts, other than the sudden clear knowledge that he's about to be mauled by a ravening beast.
...Is that Caspian? Embarrassingly enough there are other means than the accent to tell the body pressing his into the wall. Beyond the almond scent of sunscreen he knows, vaguely, how the younger man smells (it's a habit of sense memory, although overfamiliarity means he remains unaware that his own signature, iodine and aftershave, is notably missing), holding him straight on the board means he has an idea of how he moves, and feels.
Is that Caspian's tongue? This at least is something completely unfamiliar, and it's more than time enough for the guessing games to be done with. Well beyond time. His fists drawn up between them, he pushes the boy away with a force not quite a punch but enough of a thump to be decisive. It's embarrassing that he's breathless, with surprise rather than passion. "What? What did we start?"
He's addressing the questions to someone whose own dark tones melt almost seamlessly into the shadows, the whites of his eyes and perhaps a certain gleam to his hair all that catches the moonlight. Chase, pale as all hell and recently frightened two shades paler keeps his own wide eyes on this small focus point. How to deal with an underage boy with a crush.
operator's manual tells me what to find and how to make adjustments when you tamper with my mindtreadingdawnSeptember 6 2009, 00:07:00 UTC
Yes, it's Caspian. Can't you tell by the featherlight tips of wavy brown hair?
Iodine and aftershave would smell very distinct to him too but because it is lacking here there's really no other way to tell something is Not Right about his friend. The cry was sort of curious but who wouldn't yelp for being dragged into an alley? Surprise was sort of the point, hehehe. It's only when Chase pushes him off that the Telmarine arches a brow. Even in the dark his face clearly expresses some mild amount of displeasure, you know, the narrowing of eyes and the thinning of lips when someone feels offended. Fff. Shoving him so abruptly was not at all polite or necessary. Honestly.
Oh and yes, it was Caspian's tongue. Chase should feel so fortunate that it wasn't someone else's in addition to Caspian's pinning. You never know with this City.
"It is dark out. You don't have to be rude," he huffs softly, arms folding across his chest. As for his question...Caspian has to arch a brow. Again. Truly, he asks himself in disbelief. He could not have forgotten so soon, but then again this is Peter Pevensie, a bit uptight and quite careful about displays bordering public. Well, it was Peter Pevensie. "Rough, on the other hand, I will accept," he smiles, crossed arms coming loose in prepation for another attack.
operator's manual tells me what to find and how to make adjustments when you tamper with my mindworksmartSeptember 6 2009, 00:46:18 UTC
Chase will remember to be thankful that it wasn't group molestation at some point in the very, very distant future. At present he's swiping his tongue across his teeth in an urgent attempt to scrape the taste away, and wondering just how offended Caspian would be if he wiped his mouth. He tries the move as subtly as possible, pressing a shirtsleeve it's too dark to tell apart from his own against his mouth disguised as a means of stifling a cough. If he'd had any sign of this, anything, then he'd have been more careful with the kid's feelings.
Were Narnians even supposed to kiss? He's damn sure the sons of Adam never made out with the sons of Steve, though with weddings and heirs it's to be supposed that something went on between the two dimensions of storybook pages. That was always a good thing. On one level it was reassuring to see teenagers getting as little action as he did at that age, and still managing to have fun.
This kind of fun, and with him, would more likely have C.S. Lewis basting on a graveyard set rotisserie. Chase couldn't even be sure who he was sinning against with this taste in his mouth. The Lord Almighty or Aslan the Great. Was it ethic or aesthetic preferences that left that queasy feeling to settle in his stomach?
This would go far easier if Caspian were someone he could punch in the jaw without regret. As it is, a looming sense of responsibility licks at his conscience, something about letting him down easy. Talking about his choices. Asking if he's looked at some of the teenage girls here lately, because they're a league apart from any thirty year old doctor. He should know, it's something he's had to tell himself more than once. What the hell is going on tonight? Caspian accusing him of rudeness before turning the barb into a come-on with a casual ease that makes Chase suspect every story he's ever heard of madness at the full moon.
His fists, yet to unclench, settle at his sides. Nothing is getting solved here by lashing out. "I'm not interested in being rough with you," he clarifies, every effort going in to keeping his tone steady at least, "I'd rather we took this off the streets and talked things through. How does that sound?"
operator's manual tells me what to find and how to make adjustments when you tamper with my mindtreadingdawnSeptember 6 2009, 00:54:57 UTC
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Now Caspian notices something isn't just off but very off about his friend's demeanor. It's enough for him to quirk a brow, reach out, and maybe press his hand to Chase's forehead. If he'll let him that is, but it doesn't stop Caspian from posing an honest question.
"Peter. Are you feeling unwell," he asks, this time with genuine concern.
operator's manual tells me what to find and how to make adjustments when you tamper with my mindworksmartSeptember 6 2009, 01:12:59 UTC
What with recent events leaving him at the mercy of overly concerned friends, this has to be the fifth time in the last couple of weeks Chase has had his temperature taken in this overly familiar, awkwardly maternal way that he hates. It is, however, the first time someone has called out the wrong name while doing it, and that turns out to feel strangely discomfiting whatever the situation. It's also the only thing sparing Caspian the lecture on his primitive method of divining a fever, more likely to spread infection than diagnose it.
First, he looks around for the other boy, momentarily concerned that this is an organised ambush, that the attack he's being subjected to is about to become double pronged. That would be stranger still, considering who the Pevensie boy looks like on certain curse days and at curious times of the month.
Considering who he looks like...
Then several things happen at once. Chase realises that, despite close proximity, he's looking almost at a level eyeline with Caspian. If anything, the angle of his viewpoint is downwards, rather than up. His shirt, while not too dissimilar to the style he might wear, nonetheless isn't his, and where he was wearing a tie, that's no longer the case. His voice, though strained, wasn't quite his own. And the two of them are quite alone in the alley.
He catches Caspian's wrist, bringing his hand gently back down and releasing it. "I'm-- Caspian, I'm not Peter."
That notion about the sons of Adam and Steve? Scratch it.
operator's manual tells me what to find and how to make adjustments when you tamper with my mindtreadingdawnSeptember 6 2009, 01:26:34 UTC
If he were wearing a tie Caspian would surely ask what the special occasion is, why he wasn't invited, and why is he wearing his tie with his jeans. While he concedes denim is quite comfortable, even they know the difference between casual clothing and finery. Suits and ties are a far cry from the tunics, jerkins, brocades, and leathers Caspian is used to but he has learned what qualifies as formal in their London, the Upper East Side for others, and beyond. Ties worn with jeans are not it, anyway that's neither here nor there. Chase must be fortunate he doesn't have a strip of silk under his collar anyway as that would have been used to reel him in further.
"That isn't a very good joke," says the younger of the two. Much younger. Probably younger than is comfortable. Although, Caspian isn't nine anymore. His own hand falls to his side and he wonders if he has truly somehow approached Peter inappropriately or simply at the wrong time. It isn't common that he makes a mistake but mistakes can happen. If his friend prefers to talk about it which is also a rarity, well, they can. That doesn't make it any less confusing. "Is something wrong," he asks again, knowing there are times when Peter will keep his own counsel but it never hurts to inquire. He gestures for the blond to lead the way too as it was his suggestion to take this conversation elsewhere.
operator's manual tells me what to find and how to make adjustments when you tamper with my mindworksmartSeptember 6 2009, 01:54:06 UTC
Chase wears ties and suit jackets with jeans and chucks on a near daily basis, thank you Narnian Eye for the Straight Guy. He's perfectly in style, and there is no way in which, wherever he is now, Peter should be grateful that darkness washes out bright colours. Clashing fabric or no clashing fabric, the doctor is unlikely to take sartorial advice from anyone whose idea of formal wear involves brocade.
Now that Caspian is more subdued, less likely to pounce, the need to flee for more brightly lit areas diminishes somewhat. Nonetheless, Chase takes them back to the mouth of the alley, scene of his kidnap. It's a mighty crock of bullshit that walking helps you think. Under the artificial orange flood of the first streetlight they come to, he turns back, the illumination only proving that every detail of his features belongs not to one Robert Chase but to Peter Pevensie. Each subtle difference, of the kind found between twins identical to all but their mothers, are marked out plainly for the finding. It's not helping his claim.
"I'm not Peter Pevensie," a pause, he checks the level of his voice to a volume not to be overheard, "It's Chase. Not Peter. So yeah, I'd say something's pretty damn wrong."
But it's not your fault, he doesn't say, though there's no anger in his voice to imply it.
operator's manual tells me what to find and how to make adjustments when you tamper with my mindtreadingdawnSeptember 6 2009, 02:09:42 UTC
Don't start with the fabrics of finery now. Caspian has his own tailor and seamstress not to mention a looming and hand dying operation based right outside his own castle. Of course that's there and not here but details, details.
He follows the man he thinks is his friend who is more than a friend to the ring of warm orange light. Here he can see Chase's expression, troubled for reasons Caspian still doesn't understand. Their features are identical, down to the way sunny blond hair falls over a smooth brow, but Peter is taller and bears a mole on his neck. He can see the former from here and the latter just peeking out from under a shirt collar. Peter speaks with this accent, though usually with confidence and without the hint of uncertainty he detects in Chase's. In addition to that, he isn't acting like Peter Pevensie at all. What he says and what he has done so far is completely foreign to Caspian, meaning whatever the trouble is it must be serious. He is unprepared for just how serious the situation really is. Well, others might call it humorous, comical, a mark of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and no one is really getting hurt, however they have kept a solid steel lid on this secret of theirs. Peter's concern has always been stronger than Caspian's, with good reason, and he has respected that for months, will continue to honor it until his friend changes his mind. This...well, this has blown that lid clear off.
His realization rushes past the wide-eyed stage to settle deep within panic and he thinks if this is an elaborate joke it will be Caspian who throws a solid fist at Peter's jaw. At this point it's no longer funny, but he is taking Chase's word for it. He is also taking a step back.
operator's manual tells me what to find and how to make adjustments when you tamper with my mindworksmartSeptember 6 2009, 02:28:20 UTC
Caspian is a priss, but details details.
Choose almost any other random subject of the City and they might not understand why a secret like the one Peter and Caspian have shared is as big a deal as they make it in what is a remarkably tolerant and forward thinking place, considering the disparate peoples represented in it. Perhaps it is the differences that render it such, but even so, a few months of learning not to judge people for their green skin or devil horns makes homosexuality the least obtrusive of the minorities. They'd urge two young boys from backwards times or places to accept themselves and let others accept them, as they most likely would. This could be the one place they'd have that chance.
Chase, he's more familiar with keeping secrets. Unnecessary ones, ones that might even earn him more sympathy or friendship than the facade he so often puts up. They're secrets kept for propriety, and because they're some of the few things personal to him. He doesn't want to share. Some of them are secrets because he's ashamed.
So he takes a step after Caspian, only half closing the distance he's established between them. "No, you don't." He could, and it occurrs to Chase to simply let him without protest, it would be far far easier for his part. He'd really, really like to give less of a shit than he does.
"I'm not pissed at you. I'm not about to tell anyone," and, the thought that would be foremost in his decidedly ignoble head in this situation, "you don't even need to tell Peter. He's your boyfriend, isn't he?"
operator's manual tells me what to find and how to make adjustments when you tamper with my mindtreadingdawnSeptember 6 2009, 02:57:34 UTC
The hypocrisy in what he'd told Neil not too long ago and his actual practice is glaringly obvious. But what he didn't tell his friend were the complications that have little to do with boys liking boys and everything to do with duty, a duty to his kingdom, the responsibilities that come with a crown earned by election, by conquest, and by the gift of Aslan. There are luxuries afforded to royalty, true, a freedom to indulge as long as it doesn't put throne and kingdom at risk. What this means for one Caspian X is that all indulgences are temporary should they come in the way of making heirs and Caspian will not follow through with that responsibility without marriage and he will not marry a woman he does not love. Neither would he call what he shares with the High King of Narnia something so casual as a temporary affair. He would never. Their friendship is much stronger, their fealty indisputable, but they have yet to give what they share with each other a name at all.
This aside, one other difference he feels he can never tell Neil or anyone, however obvious it may be, is the one difference that causes the harshest sting. They do not come from the same world, not anymore, and the two eldest Pevensies will not be returning. It's as Chase thinks, whatever they have exists only here, because only here is it allowed to flourish. That awareness is far too personal to share with anyone so easily.
Please don't tell anyone, Caspian begs in his mind and it's just as clear in the way his brow furrows.
"It isn't like that," he counters quickly, cheeks flushed, because they do not do things together the same way Claire or Blair has defined as dating. But they do many other things together and those are undeniable. "It's...it's," Caspian falters. Although they are not in a garden and he is not a child under interrogation by Lord Protector, he has not felt so close to that moment in his life again until now. "I am very sorry," he insists, gaze averting with another step back.
operator's manual tells me what to find and how to make adjustments when you tamper with my mindworksmartSeptember 7 2009, 00:20:05 UTC
The different worlds problem is one of this world's peculiar difficulties, something to even out the peculiar benefits its selective society can offer those from more restricted times. Chase wouldn't doubt it's a common enough obstacle in the various relationships he's encountered here, there isn't a week without someone posting their loss up on the network. Most recently it was Claire, with that kid, Zach, one of the strange duplicates from his life back home. The question came up for him personally whenever he entertained thoughts of some deeper intimacy with Angela. The same get-out clause allowing his personal ethics to justify sleeping with a woman on the verge of matrimony is the one stopping him even trying for more. Different worlds. Real or imaginary, they leave here and forget. He'd feel a fool for letting himself care about something guaranteed to be fleeting. There are only so many times old patterns can be reinforced.
And Caspian is from a work of fiction, his path well and truly planned out for him in advance. Then again, the Caspian here is not necessarily one Chase recognises from those stories, who could say their outcomes wouldn't differ. The really, truly insane aspect of this is offering courage to a figment of a dead englishman's imagination. For now, though, Chase has learned to take the crazy as it comes. These people are his peers, now. Part of his own story, even if that's just the tale of this one whacked out fever dream he had that time.
"What exactly are you sorry about?" Oh this next phrase stutters on his tongue, but he manages to throw out the words like they're no big deal, "Kissing me, or only kissing me because you thought I was someone else? Believe me, in the latter case I'm relieved."
He offered the term boyfriend because lover assumed too much, and sounded too creepy when given the mental once over. He doesn't know their situation, but given Caspian's suggestion that he'd take it rough, there are several safe guesses as to the intent. Maybe Chase shouldn't have felt so reassured by those innocent, sexless teenagers after all.
"Whatever it is, I'm sure you're not doing anything that hasn't been done before," he tries, an eyebrow raised suggesting he's used this line before, though he won't be mentioning how often it comes up when he takes the STD clinic, "Nothing to be ashamed of."
operator's manual tells me what to find and how to make adjustments when you tamper with my mindtreadingdawnSeptember 7 2009, 00:49:40 UTC
What he's truly sorry about, Caspian can't bring himself to say even though it's important Chase never speak a word about this. He will of course do his Australian friend the same favor by keeping tight lipped about their encounter. His room mate will never hear it, his...lady friends won't hear of it either, and Gregory House absolutely will not hear it from Caspian until the end of his days. It's nice to know their emphasis on secrecy is mutual.
It isn't just that.
Although he's thankful Chase is relieved over something, he doesn't put words to voice because the very face he looks at is the one he knows will be glowering when he finds out. The one person he can't not tell is Peter Pevensie for reasons maybe Chase can put together without Caspian having to actually say it. It's their secret, he deserves to know, he won't feel like an honest friend who is more than a friend if he doesn't tell him. Again he averts his gaze as teeth chew on his bottom lip. And if their kiss didn't already color his tanned face that remark certainly does. A sexless teenager Caspian isn't, not anymore, and hasn't been for nearly a year, but that is a private matter. That is something you just don't talk about with other people except the person you're involved with. That's just the way it is and that's part of what makes this even worse. The boy's own manner and remarks and transparency have already implied there is more to their friendship than an attraction. It's been consummated.
"I am not ashamed," he says sharply, sounding defensive because it's the truth, because he doesn't believe anyone could doubt his pride, and well because it's a decent distraction from that other part, though being defensive at all may undermine his honesty. Just as quickly as his temper flares it dissipates and Caspian is turning his back to Chase so his friend can't see the sharp expression crumble into panic. Again.
"I need to talk to him. I will have to see you later," preferably when you are not looking like this. The Telmarine starts to walk, his pace falling into a stride as quickly as possible.
operator's manual tells me what to find and how to make adjustments when you tamper with my mindworksmartSeptember 7 2009, 01:31:20 UTC
Chase might know the reasons Caspian will be sharing this encounter with the boy for whom it's-not-like-that, whatever it is. He might even know the reasons why he should, honesty having once been indoctrinated into him as a virtue, before he realised honestly was nothing but a bloody ridiculous way of living your life. Lying is easy, keeps everyone happy. That saying has never been quite right -- it is the ignorance of others that can be blissful. People are pigs, and none of them would be healthier for knowing everything about each other, romantic a notion as it is.
This view isn't one he's inclined to share, and nor is he tempted to follow Caspian and try for appeasement, not after a look like that. Not when he's hardly the one at fault given the incidents of the evening, and not when he'd rather go back to the hospital and hit the pharmacy for their strongest bottle of mouthwash.
It won't stop him talking to Caspian, later, when an awkward situation has become an awkward recollection. There are a few things that boys from backward lands should know before they start screwing with boys from backwards times, and if they didn't know before then afterwards will do. Beyond that, it's a friendship he doesn't want to lose, though he may sit up tonight and wonder at the motives of its beginnings. He's been grateful for it often enough to let that go.
Right now he watches the boy stride deeper into the dark before rolling his eyes heavenward to an empty sky that has never once given him any answers. Maybe he'd have preferred the feral beasts.
It's just his luck that on his way to one of the few places he knows he might find Peter, Caspian spots the now taller man on the street. Perfect. He won't have to lure his friend out of the public eye, a simple grab and pull from this alley way will do. Seeing Peter wearing his older face, the Telmarine thinks he is not only keeping his word but also collecting on a bet. He knew this day would grant the Pevensies extra hours. Very nice indeed. Like an ambush predator, Caspian X waits.
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This is why he won't let his roommate have a pet.
Still, that's all usual within the routine of the place. For Chase, the part proving strangest, or at least most annoying, is the way the half-light seems to be screwing with everyone's coordination. He can't count the number of times he's been knocked into just crossing the square, at one point being slammed several paces to the side without warning. With talk of feral beasts on the prowl the City's occupants have decided to live by the old adage of safety in numbers, clustering together in its central thoroughfare. It could be that the theory works, or merely that the wild things would always choose less brightly lit hunting grounds than these urban streets, where shoplights and streetlights cast glowing pools across the sidewalk even on sunless days.
He's keeping to the edges, himself. After that last unsettling jolt, and with a collection of bruises likely forming in dapples over his ribcage, this seems to be the path of least resistance. He may not be the most agile gazelle among the herd -- though his leg is thankfully improved to the point of tenderness rather than pain -- but he suspects there are weaker prospects to be picked off, if anyone should be.
In fact, he can barely feel the tug of the new formed scar at the back of his leg at all, today. He tests his knee carefully, turning onto a quieter street with less chance of being jostled or harried. Further away from the sanctuary of a crowd, though this thought informs his direction less than the prospect of an easy shortcut. What are the chances of being attacked while still within the urban sprawl really? Slim, he thinks, and walks on to darker places.
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The second Chase's moonlit silhouette darkens the edge of the alley way, a tanned hand whips out to snatch him by the elbow, drawing him deeper into the shadows where his back ought to find itself pinned to the wall.
"Hello," Caspian greets in his telltale Telmarine accent. He presses against the blond man, not at all aware that he is an aussie in a pom's skin. "Let's finish what we started," he insists, mouth parting to silence any words Chase might have to say when their lips meet.
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...Is that Caspian? Embarrassingly enough there are other means than the accent to tell the body pressing his into the wall. Beyond the almond scent of sunscreen he knows, vaguely, how the younger man smells (it's a habit of sense memory, although overfamiliarity means he remains unaware that his own signature, iodine and aftershave, is notably missing), holding him straight on the board means he has an idea of how he moves, and feels.
Is that Caspian's tongue? This at least is something completely unfamiliar, and it's more than time enough for the guessing games to be done with. Well beyond time. His fists drawn up between them, he pushes the boy away with a force not quite a punch but enough of a thump to be decisive. It's embarrassing that he's breathless, with surprise rather than passion. "What? What did we start?"
He's addressing the questions to someone whose own dark tones melt almost seamlessly into the shadows, the whites of his eyes and perhaps a certain gleam to his hair all that catches the moonlight. Chase, pale as all hell and recently frightened two shades paler keeps his own wide eyes on this small focus point. How to deal with an underage boy with a crush.
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Iodine and aftershave would smell very distinct to him too but because it is lacking here there's really no other way to tell something is Not Right about his friend. The cry was sort of curious but who wouldn't yelp for being dragged into an alley? Surprise was sort of the point, hehehe. It's only when Chase pushes him off that the Telmarine arches a brow. Even in the dark his face clearly expresses some mild amount of displeasure, you know, the narrowing of eyes and the thinning of lips when someone feels offended. Fff. Shoving him so abruptly was not at all polite or necessary. Honestly.
Oh and yes, it was Caspian's tongue. Chase should feel so fortunate that it wasn't someone else's in addition to Caspian's pinning. You never know with this City.
"It is dark out. You don't have to be rude," he huffs softly, arms folding across his chest. As for his question...Caspian has to arch a brow. Again. Truly, he asks himself in disbelief. He could not have forgotten so soon, but then again this is Peter Pevensie, a bit uptight and quite careful about displays bordering public. Well, it was Peter Pevensie. "Rough, on the other hand, I will accept," he smiles, crossed arms coming loose in prepation for another attack.
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Were Narnians even supposed to kiss? He's damn sure the sons of Adam never made out with the sons of Steve, though with weddings and heirs it's to be supposed that something went on between the two dimensions of storybook pages. That was always a good thing. On one level it was reassuring to see teenagers getting as little action as he did at that age, and still managing to have fun.
This kind of fun, and with him, would more likely have C.S. Lewis basting on a graveyard set rotisserie. Chase couldn't even be sure who he was sinning against with this taste in his mouth. The Lord Almighty or Aslan the Great. Was it ethic or aesthetic preferences that left that queasy feeling to settle in his stomach?
This would go far easier if Caspian were someone he could punch in the jaw without regret. As it is, a looming sense of responsibility licks at his conscience, something about letting him down easy. Talking about his choices. Asking if he's looked at some of the teenage girls here lately, because they're a league apart from any thirty year old doctor. He should know, it's something he's had to tell himself more than once. What the hell is going on tonight? Caspian accusing him of rudeness before turning the barb into a come-on with a casual ease that makes Chase suspect every story he's ever heard of madness at the full moon.
His fists, yet to unclench, settle at his sides. Nothing is getting solved here by lashing out. "I'm not interested in being rough with you," he clarifies, every effort going in to keeping his tone steady at least, "I'd rather we took this off the streets and talked things through. How does that sound?"
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Now Caspian notices something isn't just off but very off about his friend's demeanor. It's enough for him to quirk a brow, reach out, and maybe press his hand to Chase's forehead. If he'll let him that is, but it doesn't stop Caspian from posing an honest question.
"Peter. Are you feeling unwell," he asks, this time with genuine concern.
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First, he looks around for the other boy, momentarily concerned that this is an organised ambush, that the attack he's being subjected to is about to become double pronged. That would be stranger still, considering who the Pevensie boy looks like on certain curse days and at curious times of the month.
Considering who he looks like...
Then several things happen at once. Chase realises that, despite close proximity, he's looking almost at a level eyeline with Caspian. If anything, the angle of his viewpoint is downwards, rather than up. His shirt, while not too dissimilar to the style he might wear, nonetheless isn't his, and where he was wearing a tie, that's no longer the case. His voice, though strained, wasn't quite his own. And the two of them are quite alone in the alley.
He catches Caspian's wrist, bringing his hand gently back down and releasing it. "I'm-- Caspian, I'm not Peter."
That notion about the sons of Adam and Steve? Scratch it.
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"That isn't a very good joke," says the younger of the two. Much younger. Probably younger than is comfortable. Although, Caspian isn't nine anymore. His own hand falls to his side and he wonders if he has truly somehow approached Peter inappropriately or simply at the wrong time. It isn't common that he makes a mistake but mistakes can happen. If his friend prefers to talk about it which is also a rarity, well, they can. That doesn't make it any less confusing. "Is something wrong," he asks again, knowing there are times when Peter will keep his own counsel but it never hurts to inquire. He gestures for the blond to lead the way too as it was his suggestion to take this conversation elsewhere.
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Now that Caspian is more subdued, less likely to pounce, the need to flee for more brightly lit areas diminishes somewhat. Nonetheless, Chase takes them back to the mouth of the alley, scene of his kidnap. It's a mighty crock of bullshit that walking helps you think. Under the artificial orange flood of the first streetlight they come to, he turns back, the illumination only proving that every detail of his features belongs not to one Robert Chase but to Peter Pevensie. Each subtle difference, of the kind found between twins identical to all but their mothers, are marked out plainly for the finding. It's not helping his claim.
"I'm not Peter Pevensie," a pause, he checks the level of his voice to a volume not to be overheard, "It's Chase. Not Peter. So yeah, I'd say something's pretty damn wrong."
But it's not your fault, he doesn't say, though there's no anger in his voice to imply it.
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He follows the man he thinks is his friend who is more than a friend to the ring of warm orange light. Here he can see Chase's expression, troubled for reasons Caspian still doesn't understand. Their features are identical, down to the way sunny blond hair falls over a smooth brow, but Peter is taller and bears a mole on his neck. He can see the former from here and the latter just peeking out from under a shirt collar. Peter speaks with this accent, though usually with confidence and without the hint of uncertainty he detects in Chase's. In addition to that, he isn't acting like Peter Pevensie at all. What he says and what he has done so far is completely foreign to Caspian, meaning whatever the trouble is it must be serious. He is unprepared for just how serious the situation really is. Well, others might call it humorous, comical, a mark of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and no one is really getting hurt, however they have kept a solid steel lid on this secret of theirs. Peter's concern has always been stronger than Caspian's, with good reason, and he has respected that for months, will continue to honor it until his friend changes his mind. This...well, this has blown that lid clear off.
His realization rushes past the wide-eyed stage to settle deep within panic and he thinks if this is an elaborate joke it will be Caspian who throws a solid fist at Peter's jaw. At this point it's no longer funny, but he is taking Chase's word for it. He is also taking a step back.
"I have to leave now."
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Choose almost any other random subject of the City and they might not understand why a secret like the one Peter and Caspian have shared is as big a deal as they make it in what is a remarkably tolerant and forward thinking place, considering the disparate peoples represented in it. Perhaps it is the differences that render it such, but even so, a few months of learning not to judge people for their green skin or devil horns makes homosexuality the least obtrusive of the minorities. They'd urge two young boys from backwards times or places to accept themselves and let others accept them, as they most likely would. This could be the one place they'd have that chance.
Chase, he's more familiar with keeping secrets. Unnecessary ones, ones that might even earn him more sympathy or friendship than the facade he so often puts up. They're secrets kept for propriety, and because they're some of the few things personal to him. He doesn't want to share. Some of them are secrets because he's ashamed.
So he takes a step after Caspian, only half closing the distance he's established between them. "No, you don't." He could, and it occurrs to Chase to simply let him without protest, it would be far far easier for his part. He'd really, really like to give less of a shit than he does.
"I'm not pissed at you. I'm not about to tell anyone," and, the thought that would be foremost in his decidedly ignoble head in this situation, "you don't even need to tell Peter. He's your boyfriend, isn't he?"
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This aside, one other difference he feels he can never tell Neil or anyone, however obvious it may be, is the one difference that causes the harshest sting. They do not come from the same world, not anymore, and the two eldest Pevensies will not be returning. It's as Chase thinks, whatever they have exists only here, because only here is it allowed to flourish. That awareness is far too personal to share with anyone so easily.
Please don't tell anyone, Caspian begs in his mind and it's just as clear in the way his brow furrows.
"It isn't like that," he counters quickly, cheeks flushed, because they do not do things together the same way Claire or Blair has defined as dating. But they do many other things together and those are undeniable. "It's...it's," Caspian falters. Although they are not in a garden and he is not a child under interrogation by Lord Protector, he has not felt so close to that moment in his life again until now. "I am very sorry," he insists, gaze averting with another step back.
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And Caspian is from a work of fiction, his path well and truly planned out for him in advance. Then again, the Caspian here is not necessarily one Chase recognises from those stories, who could say their outcomes wouldn't differ. The really, truly insane aspect of this is offering courage to a figment of a dead englishman's imagination. For now, though, Chase has learned to take the crazy as it comes. These people are his peers, now. Part of his own story, even if that's just the tale of this one whacked out fever dream he had that time.
"What exactly are you sorry about?" Oh this next phrase stutters on his tongue, but he manages to throw out the words like they're no big deal, "Kissing me, or only kissing me because you thought I was someone else? Believe me, in the latter case I'm relieved."
He offered the term boyfriend because lover assumed too much, and sounded too creepy when given the mental once over. He doesn't know their situation, but given Caspian's suggestion that he'd take it rough, there are several safe guesses as to the intent. Maybe Chase shouldn't have felt so reassured by those innocent, sexless teenagers after all.
"Whatever it is, I'm sure you're not doing anything that hasn't been done before," he tries, an eyebrow raised suggesting he's used this line before, though he won't be mentioning how often it comes up when he takes the STD clinic, "Nothing to be ashamed of."
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It isn't just that.
Although he's thankful Chase is relieved over something, he doesn't put words to voice because the very face he looks at is the one he knows will be glowering when he finds out. The one person he can't not tell is Peter Pevensie for reasons maybe Chase can put together without Caspian having to actually say it. It's their secret, he deserves to know, he won't feel like an honest friend who is more than a friend if he doesn't tell him. Again he averts his gaze as teeth chew on his bottom lip. And if their kiss didn't already color his tanned face that remark certainly does. A sexless teenager Caspian isn't, not anymore, and hasn't been for nearly a year, but that is a private matter. That is something you just don't talk about with other people except the person you're involved with. That's just the way it is and that's part of what makes this even worse. The boy's own manner and remarks and transparency have already implied there is more to their friendship than an attraction. It's been consummated.
"I am not ashamed," he says sharply, sounding defensive because it's the truth, because he doesn't believe anyone could doubt his pride, and well because it's a decent distraction from that other part, though being defensive at all may undermine his honesty. Just as quickly as his temper flares it dissipates and Caspian is turning his back to Chase so his friend can't see the sharp expression crumble into panic. Again.
"I need to talk to him. I will have to see you later," preferably when you are not looking like this. The Telmarine starts to walk, his pace falling into a stride as quickly as possible.
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This view isn't one he's inclined to share, and nor is he tempted to follow Caspian and try for appeasement, not after a look like that. Not when he's hardly the one at fault given the incidents of the evening, and not when he'd rather go back to the hospital and hit the pharmacy for their strongest bottle of mouthwash.
It won't stop him talking to Caspian, later, when an awkward situation has become an awkward recollection. There are a few things that boys from backward lands should know before they start screwing with boys from backwards times, and if they didn't know before then afterwards will do. Beyond that, it's a friendship he doesn't want to lose, though he may sit up tonight and wonder at the motives of its beginnings. He's been grateful for it often enough to let that go.
Right now he watches the boy stride deeper into the dark before rolling his eyes heavenward to an empty sky that has never once given him any answers. Maybe he'd have preferred the feral beasts.
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