tezcatl_ipoca: (crackemo)
[personal profile] tezcatl_ipoca
Can't get used to this at all. It's the weirdest fucking thing.

When I saw the kid first, in the hospital (and ignoring Thiess' present for all I was worth), I didn't feel any great rush of paternal feeling. It was a weird color and slimy and its head was the wrong shape, and they still expected me to hold it. Freaked me the fuck out.

And yet...keep finding myself calling her up, asking if it's okay for me to come over. Buying stupid crap for the kid. Getting used to holding her, too - amazing how much heavier a baby is than it looks - though it still makes me nervous. What if I break her or something? Danika doesn't seem to be worried about that, though. She's tired, but she looks happy. I stay over, sometimes - sleeping on the couch - to try and give her a break.

But there's always the knowledge that I'm going to leave, underneath it. Every time I hold the kid, I feel subtly guilty. Jesus. Every time Danika smiles while I talk to her in Spanish and call her Brígida rather than Brigit. I know Danika's going to be a good mother, and fucking Thiess seems to be settling right in, but...hell. She's mine. Once I leave with Al, am I even going to see her again? There's times I catch myself wondering, just a bit, what would've happened if me and Danika'd got hitched after all.

Not saying I'd go back. Not saying I'd change my mind. But it's bitter, sometimes.

[Open to Al]

Date: 2010-02-23 06:05 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
Well, that is done, then.

I've been here for a few hours. I have lost track of time slightly. I go to the bathroom, and my legs shake as I go, as if I am recovering from some long illness. I look at my eye in the mirror. The skin has begun to darken around it, and by tomorrow I think it will be swollen shut.

I call Tez. As soon as he speaks, I say abruptly:

"Can you come to the apartment? I need you."

I hang up before I hear his reply, because I don't think I can bear to speak any more. Not yet.

I feel very tired, suddenly. I lie down on the sofa, and I think I must fall asleep, because the next thing I am aware of is the sound of a key turning in the door. I don't get up.

Date: 2010-02-23 07:17 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
Feel sick with anxiety the whole time I'm driving over. What the fuck's happened to him? For all his talk about not going out in the field any more, it's not like his life's exactly risk-free.

Open the door half-expecting to find him bleeding to death or something. He's on the sofa, but he doesn't look up.

"Fuck, Al, what happened?" Kick the door shut and go across to his side. "Al?"

Date: 2010-02-23 07:26 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
Tez comes over to the sofa and crouches next to me. I turn my head, and I am sure the black eye is earning its name now.

"It's done," I say simply. "I told her I'm leaving."

Date: 2010-02-23 07:29 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
Someone's punched him, that's plain enough. Doesn't look like he's damaged anywhere else - not that I can see - but he's pale and his eyesocket's swelling purple-red.

"It's done. I told her I'm leaving."

Go very still next to him. It's done. Holy fuck.

"And she..." Reach out and don't-quite-touch the injury. "I don't need to ask you how she took it, then. And you should get some ice on that."

Date: 2010-02-23 07:39 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
"I don't need to ask you how she took it, then. And you should get some ice on that."

I snort, and persuade myself to sit up.

"I'm just lucky she didn't pull a gun on me. It would have been appropriate, since our relationship began at gun point." A laugh bubbles out of me, and I sniff hard. "Fuck." Some of the numbness is beginning to fade now Tez is here, and I wish I had a drink. "It was terrible," I say quietly. "I have rarely felt such a degree of self-loathing as I do now," I add reflectively. "I'm sorry if I worried you," I say, "calling like that."

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Date: 2010-02-24 12:00 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
Tez puts his arm around me, and I relax into his embrace. He sounds, however, unimpressed by the idea of Spain.

"It's just an idea," I say. "It's a five hour flight to New York from Mexico City; from New York it's a seven and a half hour flight to Madrid." I shrug. "The only really difference is the ocean." I put my hand on his thigh, stroke it idly, more for comfort than anything else. "I like Spain a great deal," I say quietly. "Away from the hideous tourist eyesores, that is. There's a wildness to the landscape that speaks to me. Arid plains and stark mountains, and unexpectedly green valleys." I smile a little. "I thought of it because of us both, I suppose," I say with a shrug. "The language, for one thing. I know enough Spanish to get by, and I thought for you it might be familiar enough to have a sense of ... home to it." I keep skimming my hand along his leg. "And it would be more tolerant of our relationship than either of our homelands," I note. "I would - like to be able to touch you in public, if I wanted." I know it is something with which he is not very comfortable, but perhaps in time, in a place we are not known, it will be alright.

Date: 2010-02-24 12:22 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
Seven and a half hours: it feels like a world away. But the way his voice softens when he talks about it.... "I thought of it because of us both, I suppose. The language, for one thing. I know enough Spanish to get by, and I thought for you it might be familiar enough to have a sense of...home to it."

He's stroking my leg, light and reassuring. He thought about that, about me. I don't know why it still surprises me when he does that.

"And it would be more tolerant of our relationship than either of our homelands." Snort a bit at that, because fucked if I'm going anywhere near Iran, given our relationship. "I would - like to be able to touch you in public, if I wanted."

"I..." It's a lot to think about. I'm so used to having to hide - us - that being able to be open about it.... "I don't know much about Spain," I offer. We'd be exiles together there, wouldn't we?

"I won't rule it out," I say to him, and smile. He's giving up more than me, really, after all. "It - we should be somewhere you can be - happy." Feel awkward and stupid saying it - sentimental.

Date: 2010-02-24 12:41 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
"I don't know much about Spain," he says hesitantly, and I smile.

"I'll buy you a guide book. I have some Spanish history," I say, gesturing vaguely toward my bookshelves. "I spent a couple of months over there years ago, and I have been back a few times since."

"It - we should be somewhere you can be - happy."

I kiss him, quite lightly.

"You would like Madrid, I think. What is it they say about the city? ¡Tiene mucha vida!" I smile. "I liked Andalucia best, however," I say. "The Sierra Nevada, snow capped even late into the spring, mountainsides brown leviathans. Cordoba, Granada... Cities that belonged to Allah when they were first great, not the Christ. The almost-familiar in the narrow twists of the streets in the Medina, the smell of shisha." I stroke his arm. "Yes," I say, "I think I could be happy there. But that does not mean anything to me if you would not be happy, too. That is the point of this whole venture, after all." I kiss him again, less lightly this time. "Did you have anywhere in mind yourself?"

Date: 2010-02-24 01:09 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
He's speaking poetry again in his descriptions, and I try to imagine it. My fathers' ancestors' homeland, and so I suppose mine, somewhere back in my blood.

"But that does not mean anything to me if you would not be happy, too. That is the point of this whole venture, after all."

He kisses me, and I slide my hand into his hair. Love, love. "Did you have anywhere in mind yourself?"

"I never thought I'd live anywhere but the Americas," I say, pulling back only a very little. "But - fuck, Al, I'll give it a try." It's a strangely exhilaration idea, to go so far away. I remember what I said to him, one time, about going where no one knew me....

Never thought it would happen in such a way.

I kiss him again, bite his lower lip gently. Mountainsides brown leviathans.... "With you."

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Date: 2010-02-24 10:27 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
"I like it when you hurt me. I want you to mark me. Make it show, that I'm yours."

I shudder at his words, at the rough heat in his voice, and a great part of me wants to push him back into the sofa and fuck him. But I remember something. "On. Your. Knees." The sense memory of that strikes me hard in the gut and prick, the way I felt when he complied. So I draw back and stand up. My face smooths out, and I get my breathing under control.

"Get upstairs," I say, voice cold and hard, my top lip curling up into a sneer. I watch him obey, watch him crossing the room and climbing the stairs, and it is only when he disappears from sight that I follow.

"Take off your clothes," I say, voice still hard and controlled. I watch him strip down, and I am painfully hard. I let him see me take off my watch and roll up my shirtsleeves in precise folds, movements slow and deliberate. When he is naked I just look at him for a long moment, and then I take off my belt.

Date: 2010-02-24 10:57 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
He pulls away from me and I look at him curiously. What...?

His face has changed, and I feel a cold stab in my gut. What's wrong? What did I say? I remember that expression, that icy sneer, from before I loved him.

"Get upstairs."

Thank fuck. One sort of tension relaxes, but another thrums tighter. Fuck. I'll kill anyone who tries, and his face still and cold.

I get up, not managing nonchalance. Look at him for a moment, decide I'd better not say anything, and head upstairs. Obediently, I suppose you'd call it.

Hear him come up after me. "Take off your clothes." The old voice in the back of my head says, Fuck you, Shairan. I shuck my clothes, kick them aside, and when I look up he's watching me, eyes giving nothing away. I feel exposed, more-than-naked, especially here in his room with the sky stretching out around us.

He takes off his watch, slow and deliberate, folds up his sleeves.

And takes off his belt.

A sudden hard jolt of panic, childhood memory. Not that my father ever thrashed us, but that was always his threat: You don't behave, I'll take my belt to you. I think I'm out of my depth here, and my breath is shallow and nervous. Force it slower, watch his hands warily. I'm a little bit afraid of him, now, and my cock is rigid against my stomach like a teenager's. Don't know how he does this to me.

Date: 2010-02-24 11:22 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
He looks a little afraid... and he is very, very hard. I won't let anyone hurt you, love, but I'm going to. You're fucking mine. My erection is pressing against my fly.

"Lie on your stomach on the bed," I say. "Now." I breathe in and out. "Put your hands above your head." I open the wardrobe and pull out a box from the bottom. I haven't taken these out in a long time. Inside is a pair of standard issue police cuffs. I approach the bed.

"I expect you know how these work," I say, dangling them in front of him. I slide the chain between the bars of the headboard and click the cuffs around his wrists. "I love you," I say, close to his ear. It sounds like a threat. "And I'm going to show you who you belong to."

I move back down the bed, and I pick up the belt.

Date: 2010-02-24 11:37 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
Feel the metal snap hard around my wrists. Fight the urge to pull against them - these things're no joking matter. Do my tendons some real damage if I fight against them too much.

"I love you." I can feel his breath against my ear. "And I'm going to show you who you belong to."

Yes. Oh, love, yes. But when he moves away, and I can't see him even from the corner of my eye, I start to feel afraid again. Feels like he's taking forever to do whatever he's going to do.

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Date: 2010-02-25 07:35 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
He touches my face, and I resist the urge to turn my face into his hand, kiss his palm. I just lie here with a little half smile, because I can tell it is annoying the fuck out of him.

And turning him on, of course. That's my boy.

He straddles me, and the feel of his weight settling on me makes me breathe in sharply. Love.

"Come on, then, boy. Open up."

I roll my eyes up and grin at him, and then I drop my jaw open obediently. It is difficult with him pressed up against me like this to use my hands... And so I do not. I put my slack, obedient mouth against his prick, and I wait for him to make me swallow it.

Date: 2010-02-25 02:17 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
You shit, Shairan. Smirking up at me like that... The feel of his mouth against my cock makes me shift on his check. Fuck.

Grip my cock and glare down at him, though I can feel the corner of my mouth trying to twitch. Slap it against his slack cheek, lightly; it leaves a smear of wetness. Then I lean forward, cup my other hand behind his head to hold him steady and push into his mouth.

Feel of his tongue against the underside makes my hips jerk, and I go deeper faster than I'd meant to, and then I can't stop myself, oh god, I can't, pushing right to the back of his throat. All I can think about right now is making him fucking take it.

Date: 2010-02-25 02:56 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
He glares at me. There is something strangely endearing about that. And then he puts his hand behind my head and guides himself into my mouth. Being passive like this is relaxing, somehow... And then his hips jerk and he is pushing himself as far in as I can take him. It is lucky I have some experience in deep throating, or I would be gagging, and as it is I am stretched to the limit, throat rippling as I make myself accommodate him. Yes, love. I'll take everything you want to give.

I shift my hands and put them on the back of his thighs to steady both of us. There's nothing except this very narrow space, his thighs and cock and my head against the pillows, and I make a low long sound of desire as I begin to lick and suck.

Date: 2010-02-25 04:12 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
Feel of this's almost like being drunk. My head's spinning a bit, and my body's not completely under my control. More like under his, somehow, in spite of our positions. The slide of his tongue against me, tight vibration of his throat as he moans around me...fuck. Fuck.

I'm moving, shifting restlessly. Trying to hold back from shoving too deep, from just grabbing his head and fucking his mouth til he chokes. It's sweet and torturous, and I'm taut with the effort of holding back. My hand tightens in his hair and I make a strangled sound of frustration, so close to the edge.

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Date: 2010-02-26 12:13 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
"Paint means there're going to be walls. Walls're good."

I snort at that, and then I laugh when he adds "Reckon there're things the whole of Spain doesn't need to see us do."

"Oh," I say, "and I thought you enjoyed the thrill of risking being caught." I think of the stall at the Grindhouse and grin, now the sting of that memory has been eased by what came after.

"I'm warning you now, by the way. I never put my socks in the laundry basket. Tend to leave the washing up to the next day. Don't often change my bedsheets...."

"I've seen your apartment," I point out. "No doubt I shall be driven to the brink of despair. You shall have to find ways to raise my spirits." I smirk at him. I sit back a little, rest my hand on his stomach. "You know," I say, more seriously, "when I leave, I won't be able to tell you beforehand. Plausible deniability." I don't want Tez to be tangled up in the various white collar crimes I will have to commit in order to start over. "And it may be a little time afterward before I can get in contact."

Date: 2010-02-26 01:23 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
"You know, when I leave, I won't be able to tell you beforehand. Plausible deniability. And it may be a little time afterward before I can get in contact."

My stomach lurches. Every time I see him now, am I going to be wondering if it's the last time, if he's going to suddenly vanish?

Calm myself a bit; it's going to be a while. He has to find the house first, for one thing. "Okay," I say, though not happily. Know we have to get through this, to have everything else, but it's going to be hell. "Are you...is anyone else going to know? You said Lily, before...Danika?"

Date: 2010-02-26 03:09 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
"Okay," he says, and I can tell he isn't pleased, but he doesn't argue. I know he understands it's the sensible thing to do, but I am glad to see he doesn't like the idea of it. "Are you...is anyone else going to know? You said Lily, before...Danika?"

I shake my head.

"No," I say. "I know you will think I am cruel, but I am not convinced that Danika would be able to fool the police, should they question her." Danika is a good actress in a limited sort of way - but we've both seen where the limits of that lie. I do not think I need to voice that. "After I am gone, you can tell her when you think it is the right time." I am sure he will thank me for that. Possibly with his middle finger. I sigh. "I do not like to do this," I say. "Leave without word. Fuck, Tez, I wish you could leave with me. It would do wonders for my peace of mind." I swing my leg off him, lie down next to him. "Interior design," I say dryly, "may be my only saviour in the attempt to stay rational in the time I'm there and you are here."

Date: 2010-02-26 05:03 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
"After I am gone, you can tell her when you think it is the right time."

Oh, thanks a fucking bunch, Al. Danika, honey, you know your dead Uncle Al? The one I was fucking? Well, he's alive, we're in love, and I'm moving to Spain to be with him. Um. Sorry? Yeah, that'll go down well.

"I do not like to do this. Leave without word. Fuck, Tez, I wish you could leave with me. It would do wonders for my peace of mind."

"Fucking wish I could." Sigh a bit. Going to be a bad few months, until I'm there. For both of us - that remark about his peace of mind has me worrying.

Doesn't exactly reassure me when he climbs off me and adds, "Interior design may be my only saviour in the attempt to stay rational in the time I'm there and you are here."

He says it like a joke, but - "You better fucking well stay rational," I growl. "If I get out there and find you've lost it, I'll fucking kick your ass." Relent a bit and put my arm round him: "And interior design, Al? Jesus."

Look around the place, and I have to laugh. "Suppose I should've expected it. 'S just that you...don't seem gay, in other ways." Catch the eyebrow start to go up, and add, "You know, except for the fucking men part."
Edited Date: 2010-02-26 07:45 pm (UTC)

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Date: 2010-02-27 12:17 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
"Never, Al. I promise."

His kiss over my heart is like a promise, too, and I breathe out, long shuddering sigh.

There's less urgency to my desire now I have come once, and so I can lie here as he kisses me very gently and feel a need that is more sweetness than pain. It speaks of trust too, does it not, to lie like this? More for me, I think, than all sorts of complicated sex games. Just to lie still and quiet, and to let myself be loved.

Date: 2010-02-27 12:47 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
He sighs almost like he's in pain, and I stroke him, soothe him. I want to touch every plane and angle of his body. I kiss the inside of his elbow, the crease of his groin, the strong tips of his fingers. Memorising it all, learning it again like my own.

My cock's throbbing, though, need and want and desire, and at last I reach for the lube and slick myself a bit. I crawl up over him, rest my weight on him, my cock sliding against his, against the fine hair of his stomach. My chest's against his, and I can feel his heart beating. I don't think I can speak, so I kiss him instead, open-mouthed but gentle, gentle. Stroke his face again, and flex my hips a little, feeling the sweet shift of my body against his.
Edited Date: 2010-02-27 12:48 pm (UTC)

Date: 2010-02-27 04:56 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
If I've been kissed like this before, it was long ago. I don't know quite how much time passes under his lips, his fingers. He moves on top of me at last, body pressed against mine, mouth open over my own, and as he strokes my face I feel warm wetness slide from the corner of my left eye down to my temple, but this time I am not ashamed. I put my arms around him, and I tip my hips up to meet his.

Date: 2010-02-27 07:26 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
Startles me a bit when I feel a tear run over my finger. Makes me feel so tender, too; I'll look after you, Al, if you let me. Kiss where the tear ran down, tasting faint salt, and then kiss his mouth again, bite his lip very gently.

He'd holding me against him, pressing up into me. His cock's hard against my stomach and I rock my hips into him, gentle pressure so that we're sliding against each other, hardness against hardness, between our two bodies.

Oh god, my love, my love. So close together, all the loneliness gone at last; just him, him. "Love." It's barely more than a breath. "Al. Aliyy." I always feel strangely shy using his full name, like I've no real right to it.

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