Making Ammends - Sort Of
Who: James Kirk (universal_charm ) and Spock Greyson (logical_truth )
When: Today-ish?
Where: Spock and Kirk's dorm room
What: Kirk finally decides he's tired of walking on eggshells and it's time to clear the air
Format: Prose/Action - whichever we feel like
Warnings: Kirk might get languagy
You know that feeling that gnaws in your belly? The one that sits there like a mass of butterflies squirming around and fighting off a pack of preying mantises as they try to consume a bunch of worms? It doesn't feel particularly good, and no amount of the magical pink liquid is going to make it go away. If it could do that, this whole thing might not be necessary because said feeling would not have been distracting him from class and making him want to run to the bathroom every hour to vomit something up. Luckily, he didn't, but the feeling and point remained.
Sighing, he glared at the door to his... their dorm room, running a hand through his hair as he mentally went over the little speech he'd prepared. His jaw and lip still ached from when Spock had slugged him, nothing more than bruises now really, but the pain and mark was still there, faintly. It sucked, looking at them in the mirror, though thank god the swelling was gone. But of course it was only made worse by being around Spock for the past few days. He'd escaped for a night, hanging at Thomas', but that hadn't been enough to avoid the alien. Brilliant.
Taking a deep breath, he grasped the handle and went in, hoping the other was actually there. He had to be. He had to be. He had to.... not be here. Damn it!
Growling, he threw his stuff on his bed and marched over to Spock's desk, glaring at the lack of a tall, pale, black haired body sitting in the chair. His gaze swept over the neatness of the desk despite how much Spock tinkered at it, eye twitching. That stupid Vulcan couldn't cooperate could he? Even when all he had to do was sit his body in a chair and just be somewhere! The wriggling in his belly returned three fold and he groaned, turning to flop onto the nearest bed - which happened to be Spock's - holding his stomach. He turned and pressed his face into the sheets, smelling fabric softener and... sand, like a dessert, but not Iowa dessert.
"Urgh, Spock, where are you?" he growled, starting to bang his head against the comforter.
When: Today-ish?
Where: Spock and Kirk's dorm room
What: Kirk finally decides he's tired of walking on eggshells and it's time to clear the air
Format: Prose/Action - whichever we feel like
Warnings: Kirk might get languagy
You know that feeling that gnaws in your belly? The one that sits there like a mass of butterflies squirming around and fighting off a pack of preying mantises as they try to consume a bunch of worms? It doesn't feel particularly good, and no amount of the magical pink liquid is going to make it go away. If it could do that, this whole thing might not be necessary because said feeling would not have been distracting him from class and making him want to run to the bathroom every hour to vomit something up. Luckily, he didn't, but the feeling and point remained.
Sighing, he glared at the door to his... their dorm room, running a hand through his hair as he mentally went over the little speech he'd prepared. His jaw and lip still ached from when Spock had slugged him, nothing more than bruises now really, but the pain and mark was still there, faintly. It sucked, looking at them in the mirror, though thank god the swelling was gone. But of course it was only made worse by being around Spock for the past few days. He'd escaped for a night, hanging at Thomas', but that hadn't been enough to avoid the alien. Brilliant.
Taking a deep breath, he grasped the handle and went in, hoping the other was actually there. He had to be. He had to be. He had to.... not be here. Damn it!
Growling, he threw his stuff on his bed and marched over to Spock's desk, glaring at the lack of a tall, pale, black haired body sitting in the chair. His gaze swept over the neatness of the desk despite how much Spock tinkered at it, eye twitching. That stupid Vulcan couldn't cooperate could he? Even when all he had to do was sit his body in a chair and just be somewhere! The wriggling in his belly returned three fold and he groaned, turning to flop onto the nearest bed - which happened to be Spock's - holding his stomach. He turned and pressed his face into the sheets, smelling fabric softener and... sand, like a dessert, but not Iowa dessert.
"Urgh, Spock, where are you?" he growled, starting to bang his head against the comforter.