[It takes a while to send the message he needs to send. It helps that it's easier to stay busy when they're all on the move — steady travel across a desert landscape making demands of physical fitness and mental acuity that serve as sufficient distraction to... everything else. His personal problems. His frantic thoughts and worries. Sleep is challenging, but he finds it helps when his body is exhausted enough to collapse onto sandy earth, sleeping bag optional, so he tries to keep himself busy with Security work. Even if it has been mostly unnecessary; nothing has threatened them since the barren-racers.
Noctis beat him up pretty well. His face is still bruised and his ribs tender, limiting the amount of movement he can achieve without pain, but he was able to pick up some medical supplies without prompting too many questions and that helps. It's no worse than anything he dealt with on the Sleipnir, even if Noctis hits a lot harder than the punk Fighters he had to contend with back there.
Fuck. He needs to stop putting this off. Finally, late one evening—]
[ For the past few days, a man he's avoided at every turn has been an omnipresent force in his life.
Memories of their fight are beaten into his muscles and marked on his skin, though the aches are easier to ignore than his own reflection. The color worked into his throat hasn't faded, and each glimpse caught of it is a reminder of how a warm wet mouth felt against his body in the cold desert air. The same frigidity he'd left alone in, abandoning a temptation – and a friend – to choose the same controlled denial he's practiced his whole life. But self-control has limits.
During the day it's easier. He can pretend any Russian lingo from Reze is being shared out of some kind of academic interest. He can be reminded of the ships they'd left behind, like Ангелика, and distract himself with thoughts of Dean's resin coating and a reminder to check in with him. Other members of the Security detail? Just comrades. The familiar scent of whiskey and cigarettes when Ladon talks too close? Coincidental.
At night, those distractions vanish.
At night, camping alone, there's just the occasional slip of that chilled night breeze into his tent and his mind races to recreate a memory with a different ending. Eyes close and a firm body presses to his, so much more real than past fantasies which had scrambled to falsify details he no longer has to imagine. He knows what warm breath feels like against his ear when whispers encourage him not to think, and he knows how his body responds to leather against his lower back. Trying to wait out the memories is too agonizing, and he learns that early. The shame from spitting on his hand and tugging his cock free from tight briefs, giving himself the direct attention he hadn't allowed himself to receive from Cain, is somehow more bearable. Working himself over with hard jerks and shuddering thighs becomes a necessary nightly routine, and while he gets more practiced at keeping himself quiet with soft pants against a rough pillowcase, he wonders if that mouth against his wouldn't do a better job. Cain's kiss, which had been rough at first but quickly turned firm, corrective, and passionate.
Perhaps the worst part is that when he tries to force himself to think of someone else, someone acceptable, he can't even manage a woman anymore. Instead he sees a warm smile, imagines a teasing bite to his ear, and the hand between his legs is Jonas's. ]
[ Ordinarily there'd be some fight in that. Pushback, annoyance that Cain is putting it back on him instead of explaining himself. But it feels like he's past that now. ]
Maybe at first. But I filled Jonas in on the parts you left out
[The parts he left out? Cain doesn't know for sure what he could mean, but — it happened after his own conversation with Jonas. The uncertainty of that roils in his stomach.]
[ Waiting feels like torture as much as time passing feels like a waltz towards some impending doom... but one he handles worse than the usual. Fighting a catoblepas by himself would be less intimidating than talking to Cain is right now.
Still, well after the sun sets, he sends his message.
A pin, this one leading not to his tent after all, but to a small ridge above one of the pools in the oasis. The heater he's brought there is small but powerful, and whenever Cain arrives he'll find not one but two metal canisters of water. A symbol of some good will, at least. ]
[It takes a while for Noctis to reach out to him, but maybe that's for the best, when night falls and the caravan natives begin to gather around campfires and heat generators for warmth — they'll have privacy out by the oasis, which is where he realizes Noctis has directed him. Making the trek in the dark with the aid of a flashlight, Cain finds his way, wondering if Noctis is camping out here or if he's planning to kick his ass again in a remote location. Either way, he's committed himself to seeing this through.
When he ascends that ridge, there's only a brief glance at the pale water below — a little furtive, but hopefully missed in favor of the conversation they need to have now upon them. In some returned gesture of that good will, Cain moves to take a seat on the ground to prove he's not about to start throwing punches. He's dressed in a dark zip-up jacket with a hood, black pants, black boots; he might as well be invisible in the shadow except for the flicker of the flashlight before he turns it off. Closer, Noctis will be able to see that he's still sporting some signs of injury from their fight, although the bruises have begun to fade to paler yellows and browns.
... Water? It's a nice gesture, although with how fucking hungry he's been all day, he almost wishes it was something more substantial than that. But he's not about to complain.]
[ His approach is quiet, heralded by the light more than anything else. And yet Noctis is glad when it turns off.
Up here they just have the faint blue of that heater to keep the space between them lit and he prefers it, some semblance of privacy managing to be found even in a public space. Cain sits, and he slides that water towards him definitively before leaning back on his palms. ]
I changed my mind. [ He wonders if Cain has taken the time to see this yet.
Where they're sitting now they have a perfect view of the deepest part of that pool, one that sits serenely but for the occasional ripple caused by a darting fish. ]
[Ugh, fine, he'll drink your stupid water — even if it does nothing to kill his appetite, Cain accepts the canister because he recognizes it for the peace offering it is, and knocks it back.]
... Sore as fuck. [As if the topic guides the action as a reminder, one of his hands drops, arm bracing around his torso.] Could be worse. Think they're just bruised, so they'll heal. Was a bitch walking the last few days though.
[It feels like small talk, but he'll take that over what they should be discussing.]
[ The grunt is noncommittal, though his gaze does slide sidelong as if he might be able to catch some sign of discomfort on his face. No. The bruising will have to do.
He's prepared with a lie already. A simple "I wanted some air", because he has enough wiggle room to avoid deep questioning right now if he wants to. But that's a game he's getting tired of. ]
I thought this was a better view. It's pretty blue, anyway.
[It's hard not to look at the water. Peering over the ridge, he can gaze down into the pool below, catching glimpses of quick shadows beneath the surface in a suggestion of movement and life. Fish. He's never seen fish before, just like he's never seen water in a natural environment — both such wondrous new experiences for a moment he forgets what he's supposed to be doing.
There's something tentative about the way he's looking, like he doesn't want that curiosity to show on his face.]
[ He wonders for a moment if Cain will engage in that memory with him. From those almost furtive glances down, he assumes the answer is no, no matter how quietly rewarding it is to get to share the moment with him. But then– ]
Nah.
It's just a start, but maybe it'll tide you over.
[ He doesn't rush into the conversation, not when this matters. And not, perhaps more importantly, when it was Cain that asked him for the chance to speak in the first place. He's done enough pushing and pulling on his own terms. Maybe he should let him say exactly what he wants to instead. ]
[It's helpful that Noctis doesn't push. That he waits, allowing a manageable quiet to open up between them; it isn't awkward, or at least Cain doesn't feel that way. It feels tense but with a foundation of calmer expectation. There's no pursuit of adrenaline, no chase toward feverish conflict, only the warmth of the heater creating a protective bubble from the cold, dark outside world. It reminds him of when they sat together during the storm — but even then there was blood between them, a teeth-clenched discomfort from the denied freedom to walk away.
Here, he could. But he stays seated, legs criss-crossed, the half-empty water canister in his hands. They haven't spent a lot of time alone in each other's company, so this is unknown territory. There's no real way out but through.]
Look... I'm sorry. [Cain hasn't prepared what he was going to say, so maybe it's natural that the core purpose of this conversation would come out first, blunt as a fist.] I shouldn't have done that to you.
I'm not stupid. I know it was wrong. I didn't need Jonas to tell me that — but he still did, and I guess I had to hear it anyway. I just wanted to win. I'm used to doing everything I fucking can to win, you already saw with the knife, and I knew it'd mess with you.
[It was an act no one would really bat an eye at in the world he knows. Happened every day, even to him. He's lost count of the number of times he's been grabbed, and in that environment it's necessary to learn how to protect yourself. Cain hadn't thought much deeper into it than that; he accepted reality. It was only coming here, being around people like Jonas and Noctis, where he was forced to consider another perspective. He still remembers how gentle Jonas was in questioning such a status quo, and how puzzled Cain was to be asked how he felt about it.
Not that it's an excuse.]
I saw the way you looked at him, so... [A small, tight shrug.] I just knew it could work, even if I was wrong about you and him.
[He's grateful for the shadows, now, so at least there's some privacy in his own expression as he avoids Noctis's eyes. He doesn't ask for forgiveness. He also says nothing about what happened shortly after, against the side of his own ship, which is a deliberate gap in the apology.]
It's not gonna happen again, okay? I'll leave you alone. I mean it.
[ The desert is quiet, and a lack of ambient noise to focus on outside of the persistent hum of that heater makes it impossible for him to miss a single word. Knowing Jonas spoke to him and hearing snippets of what the conversation was should make it clear that the apology is coming, and yet even still hearing it forces his head to turn. Forcing it to turn back requires more conscious effort, sparing Cain the extra burden of seeking eyes against the side of his face.
It's uncomfortable. Even with things laid bare it's uncomfortable, and when Cain's explanation ends without acknowledgement of the most inconvenient portion of their shared experience, he knows why. They aren't finished. Not like that, with some offhanded comment about Jonas that he knows he'll internalize long after this conversation, or with a brief apology and reasoning that he doesn't fully believe. ]
... "mess with me"? [ Finally, after what feels like a full minute of silence. ]
You're underestimating how much you pissed me off. I wanted to break your legs. [ ... ] Not anymore. Still pissed, sure, but it feels like we always end up like that with each other. Someone always fucks up.
You know why? Ah... maybe not the fucked up parts. I dunno that either. But why I was so pissed at you.
[Noctis can always tell where to push. He has some innate sense of Cain's hidden weaknesses, his concealed corners of psyche — that's why this keeps happening. That's why they keep pissing each other off, isn't it? There's nothing deeper. Noctis wants to know too much and Cain doesn't want to be known.
There's a soft snort at that casual confession of violence, not any worse than he deserves, really.]
Why you wanna kick my ass? I thought it was obvious. You don't like me.
[The way he is, rough and crude and unfamiliar. He doesn't know how to be gentle and accepting the way Jonas is; it doesn't come to him naturally.]
We tried and it didn't work. [He stares hard at a distant point of light, back in the direction of camp.] We're too... I don't know. Different.
[Even if, for a moment of that fight, it hadn't felt that way at all.]
[ He isn't sure what to expect. Something about Cain's purposeful goading of him in that moment, maybe. Another mention of Jonas, at a stretch.
But what he gets is so simplistic and so, so fundamentally incorrect that he can't keep his face pointed forward any longer. His head snaps to look at him with an initially bemused expression on that normally placid face, staring at him for a quiet few seconds before it breaks. The huff of breath deepens into an actual laugh, head shaking when his hand raises to press against his forehead. ]
Geeze...
You are such an idiot. [ There's no actual malice in the toothless insult, words shaky with the effort it takes to suppress his newfound amusement. It's just... funny. How much time they've wasted arguing from separate viewpoints, when it's becoming so vividly apparent that they didn't understand each other at all. ]
[That causes his own gaze to whip back, catching the bemusement of Noctis's expression as it turns into humor. He's almost shocked by that, brows lifting briefly before returning to their usual dark furrow.]
What the hell are you laughing about?
[He seems... more embarrassed than actually upset, though, given the subject matter at hand. Except for the general levity of their hangout together on Jonas's ship, he doesn't think he's ever seen or heard Noctis like this before.]
[ A shake of his head calms him, that laugh diminishing to a small smile that he wears in spite of himself. They're both idiots. ]
I was just thinking... how wrong we are about each other. And how obvious it is right now.
... I was pissed off at you because I thought you were doing everything you could to mock me. Not just fuck with me... or win some fight. You picked something that would matter to me and didn't mean anything to you. Rubbed my face in it. That's what it felt like.
[ Arms fold over his knees as all traces of amusement vanish, eyes again fixed on the pool below. ]
But you don't know me very well, huh. I figured you wanted to fuck with my head just to do it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
un: reliant, fights for co-ownership of this inbox
Noctis beat him up pretty well. His face is still bruised and his ribs tender, limiting the amount of movement he can achieve without pain, but he was able to pick up some medical supplies without prompting too many questions and that helps. It's no worse than anything he dealt with on the Sleipnir, even if Noctis hits a lot harder than the punk Fighters he had to contend with back there.
Fuck. He needs to stop putting this off. Finally, late one evening—]
hey
[Shocking that he still isn't blocked.]
let's talk. when you feel like it.
1/2 cw: sexual frustration everywhere
Memories of their fight are beaten into his muscles and marked on his skin, though the aches are easier to ignore than his own reflection. The color worked into his throat hasn't faded, and each glimpse caught of it is a reminder of how a warm wet mouth felt against his body in the cold desert air. The same frigidity he'd left alone in, abandoning a temptation – and a friend – to choose the same controlled denial he's practiced his whole life. But self-control has limits.
During the day it's easier. He can pretend any Russian lingo from Reze is being shared out of some kind of academic interest. He can be reminded of the ships they'd left behind, like Ангелика, and distract himself with thoughts of Dean's resin coating and a reminder to check in with him. Other members of the Security detail? Just comrades. The familiar scent of whiskey and cigarettes when Ladon talks too close? Coincidental.
At night, those distractions vanish.
At night, camping alone, there's just the occasional slip of that chilled night breeze into his tent and his mind races to recreate a memory with a different ending. Eyes close and a firm body presses to his, so much more real than past fantasies which had scrambled to falsify details he no longer has to imagine. He knows what warm breath feels like against his ear when whispers encourage him not to think, and he knows how his body responds to leather against his lower back. Trying to wait out the memories is too agonizing, and he learns that early. The shame from spitting on his hand and tugging his cock free from tight briefs, giving himself the direct attention he hadn't allowed himself to receive from Cain, is somehow more bearable. Working himself over with hard jerks and shuddering thighs becomes a necessary nightly routine, and while he gets more practiced at keeping himself quiet with soft pants against a rough pillowcase, he wonders if that mouth against his wouldn't do a better job. Cain's kiss, which had been rough at first but quickly turned firm, corrective, and passionate.
Perhaps the worst part is that when he tries to force himself to think of someone else, someone acceptable, he can't even manage a woman anymore. Instead he sees a warm smile, imagines a teasing bite to his ear, and the hand between his legs is Jonas's. ]
2/2 this one's safe
The message immediately sets him on edge, and he tries to keep that from pushing him to anger. ]
I didn't think you were gonna say anything
no subject
[It's the most immediate connection he makes.]
i had to.
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You could've ignored it
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that what you want?
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[ Ordinarily there'd be some fight in that. Pushback, annoyance that Cain is putting it back on him instead of explaining himself. But it feels like he's past that now. ]
Maybe at first. But I filled Jonas in on the parts you left out
You're right. We should talk
no subject
your terms this time
when/where
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But tell me smth first
[ Because he's heard Jonas's version, but he wants to hear it from Cain himself. ]
Why did you tell him? Did you think I'd say it first?
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it wasn't about you
i mean it was, but not like you're thinking
not because i was trying to beat you to it or something
i just had to
i can't lie to him.
[He can't lose Jonas. Isn't that what he said?]
there's another reason too, but i don't want to get into it over text.
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He looks at those words, and he feels... tense. Uncomfortable. ]
Okay
I'll message you tonight.
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[That's it, then. Now is the waiting game.]
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Still, well after the sun sets, he sends his message.
A pin, this one leading not to his tent after all, but to a small ridge above one of the pools in the oasis. The heater he's brought there is small but powerful, and whenever Cain arrives he'll find not one but two metal canisters of water. A symbol of some good will, at least. ]
Lmk if you're free. I'm here whenever
no subject
When he ascends that ridge, there's only a brief glance at the pale water below — a little furtive, but hopefully missed in favor of the conversation they need to have now upon them. In some returned gesture of that good will, Cain moves to take a seat on the ground to prove he's not about to start throwing punches. He's dressed in a dark zip-up jacket with a hood, black pants, black boots; he might as well be invisible in the shadow except for the flicker of the flashlight before he turns it off. Closer, Noctis will be able to see that he's still sporting some signs of injury from their fight, although the bruises have begun to fade to paler yellows and browns.
... Water? It's a nice gesture, although with how fucking hungry he's been all day, he almost wishes it was something more substantial than that. But he's not about to complain.]
What are you doing all the way out here?
no subject
Up here they just have the faint blue of that heater to keep the space between them lit and he prefers it, some semblance of privacy managing to be found even in a public space. Cain sits, and he slides that water towards him definitively before leaning back on his palms. ]
I changed my mind. [ He wonders if Cain has taken the time to see this yet.
Where they're sitting now they have a perfect view of the deepest part of that pool, one that sits serenely but for the occasional ripple caused by a darting fish. ]
How are your ribs?
no subject
... Sore as fuck. [As if the topic guides the action as a reminder, one of his hands drops, arm bracing around his torso.] Could be worse. Think they're just bruised, so they'll heal. Was a bitch walking the last few days though.
[It feels like small talk, but he'll take that over what they should be discussing.]
Why'd you change your mind?
no subject
[ The grunt is noncommittal, though his gaze does slide sidelong as if he might be able to catch some sign of discomfort on his face. No. The bruising will have to do.
He's prepared with a lie already. A simple "I wanted some air", because he has enough wiggle room to avoid deep questioning right now if he wants to. But that's a game he's getting tired of. ]
I thought this was a better view. It's pretty blue, anyway.
no subject
There's something tentative about the way he's looking, like he doesn't want that curiosity to show on his face.]
Bluer than the ocean?
no subject
Nah.
It's just a start, but maybe it'll tide you over.
[ He doesn't rush into the conversation, not when this matters. And not, perhaps more importantly, when it was Cain that asked him for the chance to speak in the first place. He's done enough pushing and pulling on his own terms. Maybe he should let him say exactly what he wants to instead. ]
cw: mentions of sa
Here, he could. But he stays seated, legs criss-crossed, the half-empty water canister in his hands. They haven't spent a lot of time alone in each other's company, so this is unknown territory. There's no real way out but through.]
Look... I'm sorry. [Cain hasn't prepared what he was going to say, so maybe it's natural that the core purpose of this conversation would come out first, blunt as a fist.] I shouldn't have done that to you.
I'm not stupid. I know it was wrong. I didn't need Jonas to tell me that — but he still did, and I guess I had to hear it anyway. I just wanted to win. I'm used to doing everything I fucking can to win, you already saw with the knife, and I knew it'd mess with you.
[It was an act no one would really bat an eye at in the world he knows. Happened every day, even to him. He's lost count of the number of times he's been grabbed, and in that environment it's necessary to learn how to protect yourself. Cain hadn't thought much deeper into it than that; he accepted reality. It was only coming here, being around people like Jonas and Noctis, where he was forced to consider another perspective. He still remembers how gentle Jonas was in questioning such a status quo, and how puzzled Cain was to be asked how he felt about it.
Not that it's an excuse.]
I saw the way you looked at him, so... [A small, tight shrug.] I just knew it could work, even if I was wrong about you and him.
[He's grateful for the shadows, now, so at least there's some privacy in his own expression as he avoids Noctis's eyes. He doesn't ask for forgiveness. He also says nothing about what happened shortly after, against the side of his own ship, which is a deliberate gap in the apology.]
It's not gonna happen again, okay? I'll leave you alone. I mean it.
no subject
It's uncomfortable. Even with things laid bare it's uncomfortable, and when Cain's explanation ends without acknowledgement of the most inconvenient portion of their shared experience, he knows why. They aren't finished. Not like that, with some offhanded comment about Jonas that he knows he'll internalize long after this conversation, or with a brief apology and reasoning that he doesn't fully believe. ]
... "mess with me"? [ Finally, after what feels like a full minute of silence. ]
You're underestimating how much you pissed me off. I wanted to break your legs. [ ... ] Not anymore. Still pissed, sure, but it feels like we always end up like that with each other. Someone always fucks up.
You know why? Ah... maybe not the fucked up parts. I dunno that either. But why I was so pissed at you.
no subject
There's a soft snort at that casual confession of violence, not any worse than he deserves, really.]
Why you wanna kick my ass? I thought it was obvious. You don't like me.
[The way he is, rough and crude and unfamiliar. He doesn't know how to be gentle and accepting the way Jonas is; it doesn't come to him naturally.]
We tried and it didn't work. [He stares hard at a distant point of light, back in the direction of camp.] We're too... I don't know. Different.
[Even if, for a moment of that fight, it hadn't felt that way at all.]
no subject
But what he gets is so simplistic and so, so fundamentally incorrect that he can't keep his face pointed forward any longer. His head snaps to look at him with an initially bemused expression on that normally placid face, staring at him for a quiet few seconds before it breaks. The huff of breath deepens into an actual laugh, head shaking when his hand raises to press against his forehead. ]
Geeze...
You are such an idiot. [ There's no actual malice in the toothless insult, words shaky with the effort it takes to suppress his newfound amusement. It's just... funny. How much time they've wasted arguing from separate viewpoints, when it's becoming so vividly apparent that they didn't understand each other at all. ]
no subject
What the hell are you laughing about?
[He seems... more embarrassed than actually upset, though, given the subject matter at hand. Except for the general levity of their hangout together on Jonas's ship, he doesn't think he's ever seen or heard Noctis like this before.]
We're having a serious conversation right now!
no subject
[ A shake of his head calms him, that laugh diminishing to a small smile that he wears in spite of himself. They're both idiots. ]
I was just thinking... how wrong we are about each other. And how obvious it is right now.
... I was pissed off at you because I thought you were doing everything you could to mock me. Not just fuck with me... or win some fight. You picked something that would matter to me and didn't mean anything to you. Rubbed my face in it. That's what it felt like.
[ Arms fold over his knees as all traces of amusement vanish, eyes again fixed on the pool below. ]
But you don't know me very well, huh. I figured you wanted to fuck with my head just to do it.
And you think I don't like you.
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🚨🚨🚨
WEE WOO WEE WOO
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