[ storm ] CHARACTER A sees the awful weather conditions outside and insists CHARACTER B stay the night and ride it out
[ too late ] CHARACTER A notices how late it is and suggests CHARACTER B sleeps over rather than travel the long distance home
[ sleepover ] CHARACTER A and CHARACTER B have been planning this sleepover situation for a while now, and tonight's the night it finally happens!
[ one bed ] CHARACTER A and CHARACTER B are forced to share the same room and the single bed within it
[ accident ] while traveling with CHARACTER B, CHARACTER A accidentally books a room with one bed, and the place is too crowded to find another option
[ sick ] CHARACTER A tends to a sick CHARACTER B at their home and stays the night to watch over them
[ injured ] CHARACTER A brings an injured CHARACTER B home and refuses to leave their side overnight
[ couch ] while CHARACTER B sleeps on the couch, CHARACTER A leaves their bedroom to snuggle with them instead
[ sneak ] while CHARACTER B sleeps in their bed, CHARACTER A abandons their place on the couch and climbs into bed with them
[ awkward ] CHARACTER A and CHARACTER B, laying in the same bed, establish some distance between their bodies before falling asleep. when they wake up, they realize they're cuddling
[ movie ] while watching a movie together, CHARACTER A and CHARACTER B fall asleep on the couch and end up staying there all night
[ car ] with no hotel or place to stay in sight, CHARACTER A and CHARACTER B fall asleep in their car together
[ fort ] CHARACTER A and CHARACTER B build a pillow fort and fall asleep inside it
[ read ] CHARACTER A reads to CHARACTER B to help them fall asleep
[ work ] forced to pull an all-nighter, CHARACTER A and CHARACTER B work tirelessly side by side through the night
[ tent ] there's only one tent on this camping trip/adventure, so CHARACTER A and CHARACTER B are forced to snuggle down in cramped quarters and make it work
[ outdoors ] CHARACTER A and CHARACTER B construct a temporary shelter to get through the night outdoors, huddling together for warmth
[ pretend ] CHARACTER A and CHARACTER B are fake-dating/fake-married and have to be seen staying the same room together to fully sell the relationship
[ intimacy ] CHARACTER A and CHARACTER B wake up in the same bed and, in the haze of a beautiful morning, kiss for the very first time
[ whisper ] while CHARACTER B sleeps (or pretends to sleep) beside them, CHARACTER A whispers affectionate, reassuring things to them thinking they can't hear
[ caress ] while CHARACTER B sleeps (or pretends to be asleep) beside them, CHARACTER A admires how wonderful they look and gently caresses their arm
[ innocent ] before the two of them fall asleep, CHARACTER A leans in and presses an innocent kiss to CHARACTER B's forehead
[ kiss ] CHARACTER A and CHARACTER B share a tender kiss before they cuddle and fall asleep in each other's arms
[ spoon ] CHARACTER A snuggles up behind CHARACTER B in bed and spoons them as they sleep
[ snore ] CHARACTER A wakes up in the middle of the night and realizes CHARACTER B's snoring woke them up
[ hair ] CHARACTER A gently strokes CHARACTER B's hair until they fall asleep
[ locked up ] locked away in the same cell/compartment, CHARACTER A and CHARACTER B try and sleep side by side for comfort and warmth
[ cave ] out of options, CHARACTER A and CHARACTER B are forced to spend the night together in a cave
So, several years ago you were familiar with the Outer Ring, hm?
[ Lighter muses as he assembles two sandwiches and even cuts them in half, in case Hugo really has so little appetite. Only then he slips his shades off and tucks them in the front of his shirt, eyes finally showing. The dog tags hanging at his neck tinkle against the golden frames as he walks to Hugo, setting the plate of sandwiches and several tissues on the nightstand, so the other can eat when he feels like it. ]
I am indeed the current undefeated Champion. [ He admits now, crossing his arms against his chest. Even just in his short-sleeved tee, he has scars everywhere, on his arms and around his neck and peeking from the slits of his shirt. ]
Do you want painkillers? We don't have many supplies, but I can spare a couple of those. Or some ice, if you don't want meds because I could attack you as you get drowsy. [ He teases the other's overcautious nature with a twitch of his lips. He has obviously realized how the other is trying to bite his tongue on remarks ever since Lighter's outburst and that's more effort than he anticipated, enough to make him a little mellower. ]
Listen, your stuff is safe and Caesar even asked the most skilled granny in town to mend the bullet hole in your coat. You can believe we're naive idiots, I don't care, but mind your tongue when you talk to the others in the morning. [ His protectiveness surges through again, a glint in his eyes all too noticeable now without the shield of sunglasses. ]
If you need to call someone to reassure them you're fine... [ He fishes his phone out of his pocket and settles it on the nightstand next to the sandwiches, before he steals one and sits right next to Hugo, biting into it. ]
I suppose it must sound like a strange thing, hm? You're free to label this one a lie as well, if you'd like. Some soft and pampered peacock of the inner city--knowing anything of a place like the Outer Ring? [The self-proclaimed soft and pampered peacock of the inner city--as plenty have labeled him, as he encourages for a label himself, highly convenient act that it is--takes a sip of the soda as if to whet the dry humor of the remark, studying Lighter across the way for any particular reaction.] We weren't situated quite this far out...
[--Ah. Not actually what he meant to say aloud, like that, and there's an uncharacteristic pause. Hugo masks it with another sip, after a moment, and shifts his attention to the window.]
...But perhaps I had a mentor who knew the area better still, and perhaps he had many a tale to tell.
[Hard to say if Jack hailed from Blazewood specifically; he never would directly divulge such details of his past, not even to his proteges. Though in the instructions he left behind, at the end of his tenure, he'd even requested to be buried near...
Well. Anyway. Lighter now has his due of some details, sparing as they might be, and with any luck it can be left at that. Plenty of other diversions in the meantime, after all, like the fact that the sandwiches have been assembled. And the fact that he's coming back over. ...And the fact he's even deigning to sit on the same bedside, now, as if Hugo's earlier restraint against further biting remarks has actually been noted and somewhat accepted. (Hold on, hold on, that's almost a bit too easy...surely that wasn't all it took? Just a bit less sarcasm and a bit of history divulged? This...sure is a very straightforward sort of person, almost disconcertingly so.)
It's slightly easier to muse dubiously on this than to muse (dis)respectfully on those muscled arms and the myriad scarring, close enough now for detailed inspection. Certainly seems the title of Champion is a hard-fought one indeed...but then Lighter's prodding about certain paranoias, and Hugo is given yet another reason to scoff in so many minutes.]
Speak for yourself. Alas, we cannot all be Champions undefeated, fearless of the underhanded in the shadows. Even if an attack from you in particular might be unlikely. [Unlikely--but not impossible. ....And if not Lighter, then who else? Excellent question. Hugo is not elaborating.] ...The pain is not intolerable, anyway. Ice ought to suffice.
[He shifts his attention to the phone set down in offering, yet another unexpected concession. He'd already resigned himself to figuring contingencies, where contacting Vivian would be concerned--Hugo had anticipated it would almost have to be sometime tomorrow at the earliest--but now, with an available line so readily provided...declining would be frankly foolish. Even if it's still...really, just too easy. After a pause, he swaps the soda for the phone, arching an eyebrow.]
You know, most people would be a bit more cautious of simply passing their devices to someone they hardly know. There can be a wealth of compromising information in these things. [...Checking...is the phone even locked....] Or maybe, about here, you're about to tell me that you've got nothing to hide anyway? That would be bold. ...But there is one person I ought to touch base with...
[She won't know the number. But Mockingbird also has a process for this. A certain sort of text should be sent first...
They're even going out of their way to mend his coat, though, really? Tailors are another dime a dozen sort of thing...surely one look at him would have told them that would be unnecessary....Hugo frowns slightly at this news of Ceasar's pains taken, though it's more of a consternation than scorn. That they're doing all this and still have the audacity to insist he owes nothing--]
Settle down, sir--you're free to name my habits condescending, but I'm not a brute. I'd really quite prefer to bring as little trouble as possible to this outfit here, because I do appreciate the efforts being taken. That goes to you too; perhaps that's been unclear. But you're all going to make me have to come up with other ways to express gratitude, apparently. I suppose I'll think of something by morning...
[It's just, a very stupid sort of annoying--good samaritans are so difficult to deal with--no compensation, no favors at all? What's he supposed to do, then, just say "thank you"??]
[ He listens intently, honestly surprised when Hugo does share something about himself. He hums thoughtfully. ] Maybe one day we'll share tales. [ Or maybe they won't meet again. Whichever Hugo prefers, the Champion won't insist.
Lighter can't help a scoff himself. ] You are a peacock, but soft and pampered just isn't you. [ That much is obvious to someone like the biker, someone who houses trauma too and who can read the signs of it even on a handsome, polished man who wears fancy clothes and likes to speak difficult. A soft and pampered peacock wouldn't brace himself for hurt or nearly flinch at the faintest approach of physical contact, nor wouldn't be so cynical about the ways of the world. ]
You're more of a goose, really. You honk a lot and try to peck at any given occasion. [ He sighs dramatically, like God may only know his traumatic experiences with geese before, as he woefully finishes the quarter of sandwich he stole (but is it stealing when he made it himself?).
There's another snort and an amused look when Hugo acknowledges that being attacked by Lighter seems unlikely. Better late than never, uh? ]
You caught me, there's so much compromising information there... all the dogs and cats pictures I took. Blackmail material for the rest of my life. [ It's his turn to use sarcasm while he flops down on the short side of the bed, his spine realigning as he stretches his arms above his head. His shirt rides up and he idly scratches his stomach, like someone who's ready to fall asleep. It's late and he's a little tired. The dog tags around his neck pool between his collar bones, while his frame gives off undiluted heat.
And no, the phone isn't locked. There's really nothing noteworthy on it, as flabbergasting as it might be to Hugo. ]
You know, there are those two words that people generally use to express gratitude... [ He hints with a shrug, gaze resting on the other's back and that unfairly narrow waist that shouldn't even be possible. He can't help himself, the way he stretches his arm and splays his fingers, resting them against it to measure if it fits into a span, palm searing hot against the fine fabric of that shirt. ]
Do you think I haven't noticed the way you look at me? [ He suddenly muses, deep voice low and warm. He doesn't seem bothered by it. ] Are you curious about the scars or something else? [ With the way he doesn't care to tug his tee down, it's obvious he doesn't mind showing the result of his past bad choices, maybe in return for the personal bits Hugo shared. ]
["Maybe one day", spoken as if another day might yet arrive in the future, where they'd be meeting again in any other capacity that isn't some odd combination of strange luck and begrudging necessity. And furthermore, as if it's not a prospect Lighter would even half-mind. ...Unexpected. Hugo might not respond to that thought, but it's being filed away anyhow. For later consideration.
Being reduced from peacock to honking and pecking goose hardly warrants a response either, no matter how surprisingly correct Lighter might be about the 'soft and pampered' facade. Which is apparently less of a facade than it should have been here--hmm, he's been off his game this night, bad footing from the start. This is a more vulnerable position than Hugo would ever allow any stranger to find him in normally, but still. That obvious, is it? muses one thought. Are there even enough geese out here to be throwing around analogies like that? muses another thought, slightly more exasperated. There's that saying about protesting something a little too much, though...
The phone actually is unlocked. Remarkable. Hugo doesn't bother to confirm for himself whether Lighter's being serious or not, about his apparent wealth of dog and cat pictures; he does scan over the contacts list and more recent texting logs as he navigates through those menus with perfunctory scrolls, deeply ingrained habit ever inclined to gleaning information from the most unlikely places...though perhaps no names or snippets of conversation really particularly stand out. (Not even a certain Proxy's contact, even if it's there; this scene is before that business, and so Hugo's yet unfamiliar with it, though it'll be an interesting thing to realize later.) --He wonders if Lighter truly understands just how rare it is for anyone to be this genuinely unassuming. While the Outer Ring might be less of a human pressure cooker than the city's inner political works, it's no harder to fall into business less than savory or habits less than noble. And yet, the front the man has been presenting all this time so far...seems truly genuine. Hm.]
Certainly, I suppose there are two very classic words, for those who don't mind being completely derivative... [And he does very much mind being derivative! Moreso than most! Even if there's not actually much of an edge in this muttered retort, practically half a sigh.
The mattress being what it is, he can practically feel the careless abandon with which Lighter eventually lays back across the end of the bed, alongside the pretty obvious motion in the periphery of his vision. The rustle of that top being drawn up and the stretch of tanned-scarred skin carelessly revealed...also, settle in periphery. Hugo's trying to concentrate his focus on the phone's screen in this moment, entering a new number and preparing Vivian's message. The ferryman waits so long as he needs; the raven eventually returns. It cared not, in the end, for the treasure in the Gatekeeper's left hand. But it did find a wealth of success, in--
A hot palm settles on his waist, fingertips curling, and Hugo's typing halts.
(It must be noted, that Hugo's pointed lack of softness extends just as much to his body as his nature; it's hardly stone under Lighter's palm, but not exactly plush either. The narrowness of that waist is, apparently, all lean muscle painstakingly maintained--the kind an athlete demands. Or perhaps a fighter. Doubtless that was probably evident while the ribs were being bandaged too...but this point of contact now has decidedly nothing to do with injuries at all, now does it?)
There isn't a flinch this time, necessarily, nor a bracing anticipating pain either. Circumstances have finally shifted just slightly enough...or maybe it's the fact that Lighter couldn't be more obviously relaxed down there if he tried, this time around. Hugo's frame might tense slightly where he sits...but he doesn't move, nor reach for that hand just yet. It's permitted to stay there--if just for the moment--soaking heat right through the thin silken fabric of the shirt, into his skin. It could probably properly close over his waist just about effortlessly, some part of him idly notes. Let's not examine the briefest flicker of feeling accompanying that thought, right now.
That bluntness Lighter seems so effortlessly inclined to really shouldn't continue being this surprising.]
Hmm. ...When there are good aesthetics to appraise, it's a waste not to. And you haven't exactly been coming off as a shy sort. [If we're just bluntly coming forth all around now. Honestly. Lounging around like that...really...Hugo turns his head to look at Lighter properly now. Expression perfectly schooled, but his sharp off-color glance bearing no pretense in raking up and down the handsome frame splayed out over there. Yes, his gallery might be a shell front, but he still knows how to appreciate good art. Even if...ha. Aren't going to demand any pay for this service, then? A perpetually petty part of him wants to call out the earlier jab, but it's restrained for the moment. ...For the moment. Lighter seems to respond so very disarmingly well to civility, after all...] Anyone knows that scars are never without stories. But what might qualify as an acceptable "something else", I wonder?
De-ri-va-ti-ve. [ Lighter repeats the word slowly with an amused look. Once again Hugo using that annoying lexicon of his. He doesn't think he's ever heard that, but it must mean he doesn't want to copy others: definitely a peacock. He doesn't comment on it just because he fears the other will go and outdo himself with a variety of words that haven't been used in the last two decades just to spite him.
He stores away quietly how Hugo hasn't flinched this time, nor has swatted at his arm. He honestly didn't know what he expected, but for his looks to be praised wasn't part of it. There's nothing good about them and his scars must look disgusting. And yet Hugo doesn't seem to be lying right now... which makes it all the more embarrassing.
He removes his hand from the other's frame to scratch at the bridge of his nose, regretting he isn't wearing his glasses because he would love to push them up. He shifts slightly, trying to hide at least one eye under his messy bangs and he clears his throat. ]
So now you try to flatter me? We've come a long way. [ He tries to deflect the weight of that gaze on him with humour, but now that Hugo isn't making a mystery of it anymore, he feels warmth increasing and tingling under his skin. He needs to try and distract him before it becomes even more apparent that he doesn't do well with compliments. ]
These scars aren't the result of me being the Champion, at least not the vast majority of them. They're from earlier. Underground fights mostly. But I can't say I was... in control enough to remember how I got each. [ It's all a blur, like drowning in a nightmare and being too tired to being able to open your eyes again.
He returns the amount of information he was entrusted with apparent nonchalance, like his previous cautiousness is all but gone, laying there, offering tender spots. The truth is that he's steeped too long in violence and his body reacts before his mind does; he trusts Hugo won't bring pain over himself just to prove the point he can attack him, but if he were to, Lighter's instinct would kick in. And then the biker would instantly regret it, the way he always does.
He shrugs, tucking both hands under his head as if to prevent himself from touching further. He doesn't want to give the wrong impression he's looking for something in return for patching him up, in a show of hypocrisy. ] Here in the Outer Ring "acceptable" has a very wide definition. But you're the one who's looking. You should be telling me if there's something else. Or I'll just accept it's professional appraisal.
[A wise move on Lighter's part to decline commenting on vocabulary; Hugo absolutely wouldn't have any shame at all in flexing that lexicon a bit more. It's not even like he has to try very hard...he genuinely just talks like this all the time....and when it grates on some people's nerves a bit, it tends to be a bonus. Efforts to not unveil every weak spot you might have are always worthwhile, around someone like Hugo.
--Case in point. Hmhm, what's this now? That hand retreating of its own volition, now, and...the eyes suddenly averting? That very slight flush coming on? Here Hugo had been, taking Lighter's remark on looking to its seemingly natural conclusion, but now...hold on, could it have actually not been something particularly salacious? For that matter--is Lighter actually growing a bit embarrassed, now?
The shades probably would have hidden it better, yes, and something vaguely attentive in the back of thought suddenly wonders if that's why the man apparently usually wears them even at night. They aren't on now, though, and Lighter's hair can only hide so much. Despite the humored words that try to brush off the moment, the little withdrawing fidgets in body language speak volumes all on their own; something in Hugo's attention promptly sharpens just a bit more in observing them, almost a bit uncannily like a predator catching glimpse of something vulnerable. (Or maybe it's the fangs that prompt the impression, a little glimpse of them appearing once more in the amused smile that crosses his features.)]
Oh? My my...could it be that you're not a shy sort until compliments enter the stage, then? Perhaps I spoke too soon! [Ah, he's been so very good about biting back jabs all this time...far more so than usual, in Hugo's personal opinion! But in the end it's just impossible to not let that one out. To wonder if it might make Lighter squirm just a little bit more. There's, that sort of impulse, stemmed in bad habits--the vindication of finally piercing past a fruit's particularly tough peel, the itch of wanting to really tear in there, prize it open to reveal something delicious inside--but. Prudence. Let's settle that down. After letting the moment hang just a second longer than strictly necessary, eyes lingering half-lidded on Lighter's flustered features...Hugo looks away with a chuckle, and a slight shrug of his shoulders.] Sometimes flattery can also be an objective fact. I know a thing or two about appealing things, both made by hand and found about the world. Any progress of this last half hour has little to do with that--but you can still assume whatever you'd like...
[...So the scars are from a different era altogether. The nonchalant explanation that eventually comes forth is intriguing even in its brevity, a pause falling afterwards as it's mulled over. Underground fights, is it...no, such things are not quite so bright and unsullied as a Champion's status. It would seem Lighter in fact clawed up to this point from a considerably darker place. ...Not completely so unassuming after all...which makes his seemingly cleaner slate in the current day all the more mildly impressive, actually.]
You phrase that as if such fights were a routine eventually blending together. ...Memory works in odd ways. Some painful things are dropped surprisingly easily. [He can hardly remember his sister's face these days.] But you know, it's also said that any one scar is a little death avoided--however one might choose to define that. To have evaded such numerous little deaths all the same...it wouldn't be gauche to take slightly more pride in such marks.
[He doesn't think they're ugly in the least, really. Not like Hugo could talk anyhow. ...Slowly, his focus drops back down to Lighter's phone.]
Professional appraisal is high enough praise all on its own, you should know. Whether there's something else...ha, I'll not overdraft. You've already clarified your scars, so that's enough to learn about. --Not exactly as if this is a time to pursue anything else anyway.
[Pursue what? .....Isn't that the question. (He really doesn't take indulgences very much. It's been awhile. Certainly doesn't need to be now, the way his side still smarts. --Besides, isn't this all just a situation in passing anyhow? Until morning. He's getting a little too distracted all around, honestly.)
But it did find a wealth of success, in the right hand. Finally finishing the message at last, he hits send. Now, to wait and see if Vivian's even awake this hour...]
Shy? I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not shy. [ Says Lighter while still looking away and now scratching his forehead. It seems being embarrassed brings with it an unbearable amount of itchiness. He clicks his tongue. ] Stop being so proud of yourself. [ He grumbles, and honestly it's quite closer to him sulking, a sudden hint of immaturity in an otherwise perfectly polished facade. He set himself up for it, he can't really blame anyone else --and that's what makes it all the more frustrating. Can his ears stop being so warm now, please and thanks?
He only hums at Hugo's words, chancing a glance now. He doesn't like to assume, especially when it's someone like this man, who has too many secrets and too many layers of armor on top of his true self.
He can't help scoffing when evading death is mentioned and for once it's not taunting, nor amused, it's self-deprecating at best. ]
See? I'm worth so little that even death doesn't want to take me. [ It slips out before he even realizes, pure habit. The problem is exactly that, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't even get a fighter's sweet rest. It's his burden to keep dragging himself day after day. Suddenly the tags he wears around his neck weigh so much they threaten to crush his lungs just by resting on his chest. ]
I don't know... maybe not remembering it in detail is worse. It's like living in darkness, and suddenly there are hands emerging from it and trying to pull you down when you unwittingly remember a glimpse or a feeling. Sometimes I wish I could remember it all, sometimes I wish I'd forgotten everything. It's a funny thing, hm?
[ There's so little that's funny about it and it shows in the way his lips don't even twitch and the only thing that floats in his eyes is a deep, unsettling nothingness. No matter how long he stays in the sun of the Outer Ring, can light still reach him?
Lighter pushes himself up from the mattress and moves to the nightstand, opening a drawer and rummaging through the first aid supplies that were left after patching Hugo up. He finally finds an ice pack and starts shaking it to activate it, before he wraps it in a towel.
He fluffs up the pillows against the headboard, then he reaches for Hugo's calves with no warning, cautiously lifting them up and shifting his legs so they lay on the bed instead and the man is propped against the pillows. He takes his phone back to put it on the nightstand, replacing it in Hugo's hands with the plate of sandwiches. He then sits on the edge of the bed again and rests the ice pack against the other's ribs, on his side, under the silk of his shirt. He's quite a headstrong nurse. ]
Eat. You look paler by the minute. I don't want to find those fangs in my neck. [ Listen, he doesn't even know what Hugo's diet is but those canines are difficult to ignore, especially when they crushed his lollipop so easily earlier. ]
[Oh, sure, he'll believe there's no shyness at all happening right now. And he'll stop being so proud of himself straight away, definitely hopping right on that. --Ha. Hugo might not outright laugh aloud at Lighter's protests on this front, but it's a very very near thing. Sulking like that, a first little hint at some actual immaturity despite the calmly tough shell...it's terribly amusing. Terribly cute. Also terribly bad news for Lighter, unfortunately, because thoroughly charming Hugo with something like this only means he's basically never forgetting about it now. Oh, the myriad ways he might be able to tease and exploit a weakness like this in any future...
He might have teased on it more right now, even, except that a change in tone follows that's...rather too grim for any such further levity, abruptly. The hollow way in which Lighter lets that slip isn't missed--to say nothing of the words in themselves. Amusement fades, in favor of a slight pause on Hugo's part.
Because the sentiment sounds just a little too familiar, now doesn't it?]
That would only be defined as worthlessness if being taken by death...is something considered worthwhile. [Noted slowly, with a certain neutrality that's a rare deviation from Hugo's more deliberate turns of tone up to this point. Neither condemnation nor approval--simply a thing pointed out, its conclusion left unstated aloud. Tapping his way out of the texting window, Hugo clicks the phone to sleep with a slight sigh.] ...You know, I must say, that might be the least funny thing you've said all evening. [Granted, Lighter very clearly finds no amusement in it either.] But there's not a lot else to do with a darkness like that blotting the past, is there? Ever clinging, never entirely gone--always showing back up just when you think it's well behind you. One finds a good sun, with good enough fortune, and most days that's just about enough...but so long as a person remains too tangible for that light to pass through? Even on the most cloudless day, a shadow still has to be cast.
[...It's really. Really. Just too familiar.
And so it truly is a relief, when Lighter's the one to break the moment and shift back to moving around. Leaving Hugo to study the phone's darkened screen in a briefly pensive silence as the latter fetches something that crinkles from the nightstand, fluffs up the pillow at the headboard, and then--
--Ah, this again?! The phone being unceremoniously plucked from his hands was already going to prompt a mildly exasperated protest, but then Lighter's going for his legs right after that, an entirely new and unexpected angle of--apparently--forcing some bedrest...] You--honestly, do you manhandle all your patients like this? A little warning would really go a long way. Or better yet, a polite request to lay down, so I at least do it of my own volition?
[A little stream of protests even as, in the end, Hugo's slowly and gingerly acquiescing to the adjustment anyway. (Don't listen to him, he'd have put off laying down of his own volition forever given half a chance.) On a more physically whole sort of day he might have put up more of a resistance--there's a pretty good amount of strength in these legs, if he does say so himself!--but compromised ribs will make such a thing very difficult without a lot of pain, currently, alongside a begrudging conclusion that Lighter's far more agreeable company with just a bit more compliance. Equivalent exchange, and all that. If all it takes is laying down and at least holding a sandwich...well. Very well. Sure...
...He'd almost forgotten about the ice pack, until it's being applied. A handful of sandwich means Hugo can't actually reflexively push away those hands before they're under his shirt and the ice is on his side, pressing out a soft hiss of breath on Hugo's part before he can entirely smother it. The chill contrasts very interestingly against the inherent heat of Lighter's fingertips just brushing the edges--to say nothing of how this new position is pretty interestingly intimate in general--but the slight shiver that jolts up his spine is getting blamed on the pack, either way. Hugo huffs an aggrieved sigh as if it'll be enough to entirely mask everything.]
Settle down, I was going to eat. [No he wasn't...he'd just about forgotten the sandwich too.....anyway, he's leveling Lighter a look before finally taking a small bite.] You know, I certainly hope you don't believe everything you see in movies and tales...a man can't have some fangs as his simple lot in life without such baseless accusations as these, now? Could you imagine how tiresome it'd be, if only human blood could truly sustain me?
[The only reason his fangs would be in that neck is--hmm. It would be a pretty satisfying bite, just in all the wrong ways. (Would the man consider it unpleasant? Or would it be an exhilarating sort of pain? Some people go limp and boneless like prey animals with the sweetest sounds; others engage it more like a fight, something to pay back in turn or at least make very difficult to earn. Where might Lighter fall...) Well, alright, intrusive thoughts. This is just getting ridiculous. ...Maybe he really ought to actually eat something, to get his head back in order the way the lollipop and soda clearly haven't quite yet...]
[ Oh? So he did say something tonight that was considered funny by Hugo? That's good news, but Lighter avoids to point it out because the timing would surely be ill, considering the shift of the tone he himself caused.
He listens in religious silence to the other's voice filling the room and he muses that indeed, as he suspected, they might have more in common than it appeared at first. Hugo carries a type of suffering that clings to him tirelessly, the same way it does with Lighter; tar that sticks and can never be washed away. ]
We can only hope that shadow doesn't get cast on others as well, hm? Keeping a safe distance from them for their own good. [ He muses in a murmur, before his actions have Hugo complain once again and, he must say, it's quite funny. It'd be lying saying he didn't do it on purpose this time, just to have him whine. It shows in the twitch of his lips and how a smirk settles for longer than just a second. ]
What exactly makes you think I've ever had other patients before you? [ He asks pointedly, since he doesn't remember ever telling him that. ] And stop lying to me. Were I to give you any choice, you'd never rest. [ They haven't known each other for that long and yet he's entirely certain of that.
The hiss from Hugo has him cast a glance at him, expression neutral. ] Are you already regretting picking ice over painkillers? [ He teases, staring pointedly at the other until he sees him actually nibbling at the sandwich in between all that dramatic act he has going on. He finds himself feeling relieved he's eating, finally.
He hums at the other's explanations, while shifting the ice pack so it can cool down a slightly lower area, still resting on top of the tight bandages. He's unexpectedly gentle, never exerting pressure. ]
Well, with those pretty eyes of yours, I don't see how charming anyone into being your meal would be difficult. [ He comments earnestly. They're clear and fascinating in their mismatched colors, nearly cat-like in their shape and Lighter adores cats --it probably explains why he puts up so easily with all this hissing. It doesn't even remotely dawn on him anyone might find them unsettling. ] But I agree having to deal with people every time you're hungry would be tiresome. Not to mention repulsive. [ He scrunches his nose up. If he were to look for someone every time he had to feed... yeah, no, there's a reason why he's living out here, in the Outer Ring, far from most of the civilization. ]
But you're staring again. Are we sure you won't bite? I run really hot, my skin and blood could scald you. [ He jokes, unaware of the train of the other's thoughts nearly derailing. ]
[...Lighter using "we" in that murmured musing hits an odd little chord, even if maybe it shouldn't. Here Hugo had tried to use phrasing just ambiguous enough that he might not have been talking about himself...yet in the end, it was probably still a little too obvious that a parallel had been found. ...Yes, the hope is that such a shadow is never cast on anyone else, if it can be helped at all. Sometimes they utterly refuse to actually keep that distance themselves, a thought remarks dryly, but it feels like an obligation to try maintaining all the same, doesn't it? When you'd never wish the same thing on anyone else, not even an enemy. Easier to think than say aloud, though...and in the end, other diversions manage to set the topic to one side. Which is a mild relief.]
Hmm, are you meaning to imply that I might be able to charm you into being a meal too, with these pretty eyes of mine? [Instead, here, a much easier sort of banter in turn. For once, Hugo might actually sound just ever so slightly pleased about his eyes being described in this way. (Since most people don't, no. But the striking color difference is a point of mild pride for him nowadays--as a bit of spite, maybe, against the painful rejection they brought him in his earliest years...) Called out for staring once more, Hugo lightly shrugs off the allegation with a slight laugh...though it's hard to suppress a sigh, at the way Lighter's unwittingly(?) rather close to the mark on Hugo's actual not-very-pious thoughts just there. Really. How does a person manage to keep unintentionally flirting like this, it's very rude? He's just got to sit here and power through it?? More of an ordeal than the ribs, at this rate--!] Perhaps you should be careful, saying things like that...creatures of the cold night might just find such a warm prospect all the more appealing.
[As if anyone's never at least thought about reaching to grasp at a flame for its bright heat, despite the natural risk. Oh, Lighter probably would be running even hotter still, with just a few nibbles here and there--
--But for now we settle with biting the sandwich. We settle with biting the sandwich, and cease with these very unproductive thought tangents, which are hardly about to amount to anything anyway. Not for the first time, Hugo's rather glad that maintaining an idle facial expression entirely divorced from events in his head is practically second nature to him at this point. Between the words they're exchanging, and the surprisingly gentle pressure of the ice pack's coolness shifting further along his side...]
At any rate, to be sure, the vast majority of people in this world are not half so interesting to deal with, so I'll take the small blessing of being mundane in at least that aspect. [Implying Lighter has in fact turned out very interesting to deal with? Maybe. Swiftly moving on before that gets a chance to sink in too much!] ...The ice pack is adequate, thanks. Just, a sensation, as ice generally is.
[You know. A sensation.]
Have you not actually had any patients before now? Could have fooled me, with your clear commitment to caretaking...even if your bedside manner could still use a little work. [You're pretty insistent, sir, as nurses go...] If that's actually the case, you'll have to pardon me assuming. I suppose it can be just as true, anyhow, that anyone well-versed in fighting is obligated to be fairly versed in addressing injuries too...and perhaps it's usually just your own?
[ He can't help a snorting laugh, the kind that's a little too sincere and Lighter fully believes makes him look and sound like a fool, but he forgets to be self-conscious about it, too caught by Hugo's endearingly dramatic warning. ]
I think even the "creatures of the cold night" know to steer far from the Outer Ring. They might just find more appealing looking for warmth in places where you don't find desert sand all over. [ He jokes with a smile, perfectly aware that he's avoided to answer the other's pointed question about being willing to be his meal. Lighter's not keeping a distance, a rare instance, which might just speak for itself.
He cocks an eyebrow when Hugo's wording gives the impression he's calling Lighter interesting, but of course the topic gets easily shifted to the ice instead. ] Just a sensation, of course. [ He taunts him and he can't quite hold himself back, even if all his nerves are asking him to stop, to wear his armor again: his free hand cups the side of Hugo's small face, calloused hot fingers cradling the pale skin, tingling under the graze of his blonde locks. ]
When we pulled you out of the wreckage, you were so cold. It hasn't improved much. [ Difficult to say if it's really so severe, still, or if it's just because Lighter nearly runs a fever, having gotten accustomed even to the flames his gauntlet spouts directly onto his arm, in such an already blistering weather. ] While I bandaged you, you unwittingly inched closer to my presence probably because of my warm hands. Suspiciously much alike a creature of the cold night. [ He jokes, smiling around that last sentence. He should ask the Managers if they have some tape about a vampire stranded in the desert. Now that'd be funny.
Saying he's acting innocently would be a lie though, as his thumb absent-mindedly brushes against Hugo's cheek, as if to bring some rosy, more lively shade to it. ]
Yeah, I've been my very own nurse. It must be quite obvious because I don't think anybody else could've done such an equally poor job at it. As long as it stenched the bleeding and kept my pieces together, anything worked. [ Was he capable of doing better? Certainly. But keeping himself alive just enough to continue fighting, but not enough to live was also part of the punishment for himself.
His hand feels rough yet is nothing but gentle as it now lands against the side of Hugo's neck, pads rubbing into his nape as if to provide comfort against the twinge of ice on his ribs. ] You're lucky it's only my bedside manner that's lacking these days, and I haven't tried to disinfect your wounds with gasoline. [ He jokes, his ears having grown warm. He can only hope his hair cover them enough. ]
[Lighter might consider it an unflatteringly foolish sort of laugh, but he'd be mistaken; there's a surprisingly charming quality to it, the little glimpse that it offers underneath the reserved surface that's starting to be a clearer sort of front by the minute. Honestly, it suits the man better than his subdued alternatives...and Hugo finds himself taking note of it, labeling it a possible rarity worth coaxing out in future opportunities. ...As if there will be future opportunities. As if he might welcome future opportunities.
...]
Is it really so very odd they'd be out here? Nights in a desert can sometimes run just as cold as anywhere. While sand is a trouble dealt with like anything else, and--hm--
[There's that hand on his cheek again. Terribly warm to be sure, near-feverish in a way that Hugo is certainly not, the contrast distinct. If Lighter's one to run hotter than most, then Hugo's one to run cooler in turn--the ice in his favored weapon doubtless helps matters little, but then there's the more literal matter of his poor blood sugar too, alongside the fact he frequents the dark corners of the city more often than not...and so, in result. Someone not terribly hot-blooded at all. Someone paler than most. Lighter's thumb alone might not be quite enough to bring out that rosiness he might be seeking, but...
The words he says alongside that touch?
Hugo briefly falls silent as his earlier words trail off, stilling under the contact. Something unreadable settling over the previous amusement of his expression, as his attention shifts fully to Lighter. It's a little funny, probably, how things have already shifted since Lighter's first attempt at a touch--in the way Hugo doesn't recoil, or grab at his wrist this time. Just...lets one moment of it sink in. Two. Even his breaths softening a moment, as the tension bubbles up in his frame again, habitual, inevitable--
--then melts, just slightly, under the way that warm and gently rough palm slips down. Brushes along his neck. Rubs into his nape. ...Far more soothing than it has frankly any right to be.]
...Pretty bold allegations you're raising there. A body wants what it wants, left to its own devices...surely a fact that can apply just as much to any human. [If indeed what Lighter claims is true, that he sought warmth even being bandaged. ...And Lighter seems to have no penchant at all for lying, in the end, so perhaps that's so. (Especially if it felt anything like this.) The words are a low murmur, a shift in Hugo's tone that Lighter could surely imagine a few reasons for. His glance flicks a moment to the scars along Lighter's arms, the number all the more unsurprising if his claims to the bare minimum of past self-care are true.] That aside...it sounds like you'd rather extend more effort to others than you would to yourself, where care's concerned. And it seems I'm witnessing your method of that care here. Or am I...something of an exception?
[It truly does feel nice. (When was the last time anyone's hand was near like this?) It's pleasant, too pleasant, and he should be more concerned about that. (Doubtless the man would have enough of a grip to easily crush his windpipe, if he were so inclined, right now.) Old survival habits chew a dull anxiety in the back of thought; common sense at the forefront knows that the actual chances of Lighter being anything but genuine about this gesture in this moment are exceedingly low. As the muscles in his frame seem to war between properly tensing and truly relaxing--also rather reminiscent, funnily, to a cat still deciding whether the petting is acceptable or not--Hugo's glance falls half-lidded as it slips back up to studying the Lighter's features, the hints of that blush at his ears under his hair. The man might be trying valiantly to hide behind humor, but really.]
That's not wrong. I'd rather look after others than myself. But, even so... [ He hesitates for a moment, daring to let his eyes linger on Hugo's features, those endearing beauty marks under his eye, those pretty eyelashes, and then his gaze slides along the thin outline of his lips, before the biker manages to catch himself. He looks away, like a child caught red-handed. ]
You're entirely an exception. [ He murmurs, self-conscious. He doesn't know what's gotten into him, he never gets this close to anyone, not even the people he's known for a while. He's friendly enough, polite enough, but there's always a distance he must keep for everyone to be safe from him. And yet with Hugo he forgets himself. He's never this... forward. Maybe it's because he sees some of the pain he knows so intimately in Hugo, he can feel the cold and darkness of it, and he yearns to make it melt away, even if just for a moment.
The man seems torn between accepting his touch and being wary of it, much like a cat indeed. Hugo needs to relax, that's the only way for his injury to get better and hurt less, but, even if he's not digging his fingers in Lighter's wrist now, it seems he's not entirely at ease either. Lighter observes his shifting expression, stands his ground even while those mismatched eyes follow the lines of his body and his scars, nearly making him squirm. They make his nerves tingle. ]
Mhm, trying to warm you up. Is it unpleasant?[ He asks softly, his deep voice so warm and low it's like a purr. He sets the ice pack aside and it's nearly a wonder how his hand recovers its heat again in a matter of seconds, the time it takes for Lighter to gently hold the other's wrist. He brings Hugo's cold hand to his mouth, brushes his lips and his searing breath against his knuckles, before he so very cautiously turns it to press a kiss to the heel of it. ]
I have done ugly things and maybe there's not much of my conscience left. But I'm not insincere. Do you believe that? [ He wonders softly, mouth grazing against palm lines before stopping against pads, nearly reverent. Only then his eyes look for Hugo's again as he leads that hand to his own neck, framed by some of his deepest scars. He splays those long, pale fingers across his throat. He doesn't have any devious plan set in motion, no ulterior motives, nor killing intent: is that gesture enough to convey it? Hugo could even choke him now and it's a power upon the Champion that he himself granted. Is that enough, for the tension to leave Hugo? Lighter tilts his head back a little, baring his throat like a dog, allowing more space for that hand. Or, maybe, allowing room for fangs. ]
[The look in Lighter's eyes as they linger on his features. The earnest words spoken, plain and yet heartfelt. ...The lips that press so softly to his wrist and palm, at length.
Hold on, a vague thought realizes, comically belated, am I being outright seduced right now?
It wouldn't be the first time. Plenty of people try, for all manner of reasons on a sliding scale of motives. Hugo is well aware of his appealing figure, his striking eyes and pretty face, alongside all the little tricks of emphasizing and weaponizing these traits--the ways these things can be just as much a bargaining chip as anything else. Years of mingling among the affluent as if he were one of them, navigating transactions and favors and desires all alike--and you think you've seen it all, after awhile. That surely no gesture could truly be a surprise at this point.
Yet here he is, utterly surprised anyway. In this humble little town, in this humble little room, from a man almost humble to his detriment--as much of a contrast as it is against his abundance of exceptional traits. Charismatic, handsomely strong, the perfect image of an Outer Ring native's ideal...and the last sort of person to fall for some fancy bird of the city--or so one would think, at the very least. ...But then again, it's grown gradually more clear, that they do actually seem to have more in common than not. Unfortunate as the commonalities might be. Still, something about a pain shared, a familiarity spotted in another...
Lighter guides his hand to his own throat, and all further doubt pretty much has to be dispelled. Yes, it would seem, he's being seduced. And it's working--almost alarmingly so, in a way those hungry favors of attempts past couldn't possibly hope to match. An open display of vulnerability that most wouldn't dare to reveal, around someone like Hugo.
It'd truly be lying, to claim he isn't enjoying the show.]
Hmm. It's not unpleasant in the least. In fact, it's so pleasant it's a bit concerning...such nice things are rarely so very freely given.
[Soft remark for a soft remark; Hugo might not be able to quite match the sheer low heat of Lighter's purr down to the tone, but he has his own sort of lilt for these things, a warmly dark sort of amusement. As he's being practically invited to do so, his fingertips curl at Lighter's neck--not to choke, but to feel and trace. The remarkable heat of his skin, the rough scars that frame it. Then, cupping along his jaw, a thumb pressing ever so lightly over that pulse point right there at the jugular, fluttering with vitality.]
Yet, I think...that I must believe that, at this point. Doing such sincere things as this. My, look at you... [An appreciative purr all its own. A vampire he might not be, yet Hugo still finds himself suddenly so terribly curious--how it'd feel, how it'd taste, that utterly perfect spot for lips and fangs and tongue. Lighter seems to be practically asking for it, baring that throat the way he does, a sinfully perfect portrait in this moment. It's all soaked in through careful touch, with a visibly intent fascination bordering on predatory again; those thin lips curve into that particular sort of smile just so, canines pricking ever so slightly at the corners. And yet, and yet...] How terribly unfair--don't you think so? Offering something like this, when I can hardly move to take it.
[When he'd have to lean over, to follow through on these biting thoughts. When that's the one thing he can't quite do right now, more's the utter pity. He's...certainly relaxing in one sense, now, finally. If only to find himself a little frustrated in an entirely different sense instead, ironically.]
[ He tilts his head, leans into Hugo's cool touch like a puppy eager for affection when his jaw is cupped, allowing those fingers to rest on his pulse, displaying more softness and openness that he's ever done in years. This kind of touch, he hasn't allowed himself to experience it for a long time. It's probably a mistake, that familiar voice in the back of his head keeps yelling it, and yet he dares not to listen for a moment, shedding the weight of his armor just for a minute.
And then he feels Hugo not shifting at all, merely his words filling the little space between them. He doesn't ask him to get closer either. Simply, there's a distance between them that, albeit minimal at this moment where he sits right next to him on the bed, seems insurmountable. Lighter smiles, but the curve of his lips is a little hollow now. ]
You were ready to leave on your own two legs no matter the pain of carrying around those broken ribs for miles, but you can't lean towards me nor pull me closer... Maybe I'm not the unfair one. [ A flash of teeth and then it's his own hand wrapping around the other's wrist now, fingertips sinking uncomfortably in the skin.
He can't help feeling like this is a rejection. And, like with every defeat, there is only one person to blame: himself. He got carried away and this is the price to pay, though he wishes there were wounds to account for it, bleeding and tender. Instead there's only a hole in his chest growing larger.
He pries Hugo's hand away from him and lets go of his nape as well, until all physical contact is cut. ]
...you should apply the ice and rest. Come morning, the others will come and then you'll be free to leave.
[ It sounds barely matter-of-fact as he pushes himself to stand up, like they hadn't been discussing anything important prior to this. ]
[It's nearly unfairly puppy-like, yes, the way Lighter leans into his touch--like it's something novel, something enjoyed. Something he hasn't, in potentially quite awhile. Which tells several things, all on its own. Here is a vulnerability openly displayed...
Perhaps too much so.
If it had been surprising to find Lighter reaching out moments earlier, it's more surprising still when he starts pulling away. Though his words soon after explain a great deal. And objectively there's something a little funny about this--in how the tables have turned so, here. In how it's now Lighter who takes a wrist to pry it away, who shies from contact drawn a bit too close, knee-jerk reservations evidently kicking in against the appeal. Finding too little open reciprocation, and promptly assuming the worst. --Isn't that a bit like looking in a mirror?
Certainly, there's a part of Hugo's pride that's stung by this, that finds he's being told he's lacking. Failing to match a sincerity given, for leaving the initiative entirely in Lighter's hands--which he had meant to do, in not yet closing the distance himself, or making a plain request. Was it truly still not clear enough? So says one thought, offended. Half-tempted to let the man set that distance again if he so pleases, if he's going to be this particular--
But is that really so particular at all? The other thought sets in, around the same moment that the soothing heat of that hand leaves his nape, and that sweet pulse shies from his palm, the chill of the ice pack all that remains. There you go again, as always. Demanding others show you trust when you never show it yourself--
Seems he's forgotten where he is, and what sort of person he's talking to. Subtle dealings and hinted requests won't do. But, intentional or not on Lighter's part...something's already been stoked. Hugo rarely lets beautiful things slip from his hold too easily, once they've fallen within his grasp--or placed themselves in it, no matter how briefly.]
Where do you think you're going?
[Somewhat of an exasperation, but also more a demand. Lighter makes to stand up, but he'll find a forearm being grabbed before he entirely does. And if he's still going to try rising to his feet, well. Maybe Hugo ought to do the same, sandwich set aside, ice pack slipping off. Despite the pang in his side, yes, and despite the tightness it brings to breath, the same way he'd brought himself to the door earlier. If Lighter's going to call it out like that--]
Honestly, what an odd read you are...tell me to rest, after a display like that? A man's going to think he's being strung along. But it's not even that, is it? [There's a decent amount of wiry strength in this lean frame of his, even handicapped. Lighter could still likely overpower him, about now--but will he? If Hugo follows him to his feet--if Hugo's setting another hand on his shoulder, half for support but also half to turn him around?] I suppose I'm indeed the one being unfair--for not pulling you closer like this?
[Like the way Hugo leans in, breath painting into the crook of Lighter's neck, drawing their bodies together despite the twinge of pain it prompts. When he raises his head to meet Lighter's eyes, his own are half-lidded, darkened in matching intensity to the expression on his face. Like this, his words can be murmured over Lighter's lips, a breath away.]
You'll have to forgive me...I've forgotten. Out here it's actions over words. But you'll still need to tell me plainly what else you want.
[ Lighter fully expects to be allowed to leave and put a distance between them; after all, Hugo didn't seem to have any intention to return his openness. He will probably complain about the ice pack or find something trivial to comment upon and the tension between them will dissipate like it's never been there in the first place.
Yet, Hugo speaks again and it's a tone he hasn't used before tonight, enough to catch Lighter's attention, together with that hand that grabs him so tightly. He still pushes himself up on his feet because the movement was half-way and he finds Hugo in his space shortly after, surprising him. He wouldn't simply lean forward, yet now he even stands? That hurts even more and Lighter's lips press together in a thin line, expression tightened into concern. He simply wanted his honesty returned, he didn't mean harm.
Lighter's hands hover around his waist without really touching him, truthfully afraid to bring more pain. He's not used to gentleness and he's not used to physical contact that doesn't involve fighting; it's only been his fists into his enemies' flesh and his gloves when it's anything else. He finds himself awkwardly standing with tingling fingers, like a teenager that doesn't know where to put his hands during a dance with his crush.
His whole body tightens when Hugo's warm breath tickles his neck, a pulled string, his shaky exhale giving away how terribly difficult it is to behave right now. It gets worse when Hugo actually pulls them closer and Lighter tries to swallow around the tightness in his throat, fingers twitching. He can't help the hum in his throat when the other looks up at him with half-lidded, dark eyes, and he finds his mouth parched. There's heat rolling in his stomach, behind his tense abdomen.
It's with hesitation that his palm lands just below the other's scapulas, large and warm enough to support his back hopefully without causing pain. His skin has turned feverish and his ears are probably giving him away again. Why is Hugo even more beautiful from up close? It makes it even more obvious he's out of his league, like a gold nugget accidentally found under worthless sand. But maybe right because of that, he wants him even more. ]
Actions over words. You talk too fucking much. [ He mumbles, voice strained and nearly husky.
At once, he grabs the other's nape again and has their lips crash together, eager and unrestrained as he tastes them, impatient in the way his hot exhale and tongue bossily push the blonde man's apart to get a taste of his mouth, deep and hungry. There's little finesse and no teasing in it, just earnest desire and searing hunger. In another situation, if he could have his way, bruises would probably bloom on Hugo's skin not from broken ribs but possessive touch and genuine voracity, and all that talk would be replaced by sweeter sounds. ]
[Well, this is certainly one way to get him to stop talking.
Because there's no time whatsoever for a retort to that, before Hugo's being swept up into that terribly hungry kiss...and, for once, he hardly has anything to object about it. What a sudden thing it is, like a dam finally giving way, breaking past the tension that had seized Lighter's entire body moments before when distance finally closed. The contrast is really entirely too charming--those little bursts of boyish shyness, the obvious tells of fluster on Lighter's ears and in his voice...and yet, as soon as that hesitation is overcome and he's pushed over the edge--
No, there's nothing shy or hesitant at all about the hand heavy once more on the nape of Hugo's neck, the heat exploring his mouth. Lighter's welcomed in easily, and perhaps there's even the slight beginnings of a laugh at the eagerness, for all that it's promptly smothered. Hugo meets the kiss evenly with a hunger of his own to match, their tongues promptly tangling as he fights for a taste in turn; sharp canines scrape on teeth, nip into Lighter's lower lip just shy of drawing blood. The pleased sound that hums from his own throat may well count as the first sweet one.
--It's already so warm. Lighter's entire body seems to run unreasonably hot, and it's tantalizing, intoxicating enough to easily overrule the ache in Hugo's side. Infectious, too, the way the heat's already making his blood leap in turn--the kiss and the contact finally drawing the slightest flush into Hugo's pale cheeks. It'd be entirely too easy to get addicted to this sort of feverishness, the way it so promptly melts any other lingering reservations...
The kiss stretches until Hugo has practically no breath left; tempting as it is to drown in it, he shifts his head to break away at length if only to pant for a bit of air, flushed lips curving into a smirk.]
[But granted, he's still far too distracted for anything too extensively sardonic just yet. One of Hugo's hands drags down from Lighter's shoulder and over that broad chest, lower, clever cool fingertips slipping underneath that top to trace back up skin, along scars and abs. His other grasp at Lighter's arm loosens to slip around his wrist, guiding the latter's free hand to close on that unfairly slender waist of his.]
There...how's it feel, hmm? [He still well remembers Lighter placing a hand there earlier. Though the question might refer to a couple of different things, actually, the way he dips his head to ghost his lips along Lighter's jaw--down to his throat, down to that jugular once more, where that pulse doubtless thrums even more sweetly than before. It's only natural to press a kiss there, and...
If Lighter has any concerns about marks too distinct, he'd better speak up soon. Otherwise, fangs will be pricking there too as he bites down. Probably sucking a hickey and not actually blood there, at least. ...Probably--?]
[ The scrape of those fangs is dangerous, leaving behind a tail of heat that promptly dives into his stomach, has his breathing stutter. The velvet of Hugo's tongue paired with it makes Lighter all the more eager, fingertips pressing roughly into that soft nape without him even realizing. By the time they have to part for breath, Lighter's gaze is muddled as he observes Hugo, lingering unreservedly upon those pink cheeks and red lips. Wicked thoughts of where else that pale skin could blush so prettily and where marks would turn crimson bubble up before he even realizes.
He snaps out of it only when he feels cold fingers exploring his abdomen and his muscles tense unconsciously. His scars are oversensitive and he can't help a shudder that gives it away. He scoffs. Of course Hugo would talk about being quiet. ]
As expected of you, even your hands are cheeky. [ He comments in a puff of hot breath, while his hand is brought to the other's waist. The temptation to squeeze is strong, to feel the narrow lines of his sides and the whole width of his waist under his palm and fingertips, but he stops before he can do it, afraid to hurt him. His touch is unexpectedly gentle there, simply supporting. ]
This only gives me bad ideas... [ He mumbles. He didn't know exactly where he wanted this to go when he kissed Hugo, but certainly not very far considering the other's broken ribs. And yet the feel of that tantalizingly small waist only gives way to unholy thought of holding it in both hands while the blonde man sits in his lap and--
God. It only gets more difficult to try and make sense while that mouth wanders down his neck and Lighter bares his throat like a domesticated pup, giving permission for Hugo to go as far as he wants before he even registers the motion. The sudden bite has him moaning out loud, a hoarse, broken noise, while his fingers rise from his nape and tangle in his hair, tugging at it unkindly. ]
Fuck-- [ Heat rushes between his legs all too quickly, his weakness for this type of sweet pain made obvious as he pants softly. ]
Don't, ha-- don't do this... [ He pleads and yet his tone is tinged with lust, body growing feverish as he feels the wetness of a couple drops of blood blooming from the pricks of fangs. His whole frame is tight as he tries to fight arousal like it's poison. He hasn't had pleasure in a long time and he doesn't know how he'll behave once it courses in his veins. He just risked to bury his fingers in the other's skin and add to Hugo's bruises and pain, his instinctive roughness reigned in at the very last moment. His lack of foresight in wanting to pursue this feeling is making him suffer, but the fault is all his own. ]
[Oh, this is dangerous. This is getting terribly dangerous, actually. --And not even in the way it probably ought to be, because the state of his ribs is still the farthest thing from Hugo's immediate thoughts about now. How could it be anything but, after all, when Lighter's already making such lovely sounds under even these most teasing ministrations? Hugo's tongue laps at the bite he's planted a time or two until the traces of crimson are stemmed, as if he can't get enough of the taste, as if blood might yet actually do anything for him. And it doesn't, of course...but the noises, the reactions--oh, those are endlessly delicious, every time. (How long has it been, since the last time?) Seems Lighter's indeed the sort to yield to this kind of sweet pain...
So tense, too. So clearly struggling against himself even now...the way those ridiculously toned muscles stiffen under his touch, the way the hand at his waist remains such a chaste support even with the subtle invitation to squeeze, to grab and possess. The stoked heat of Lighter's body only seems to be growing. The shift of that heavy hand at Hugo's nape to a rough tugging on his hair is the largest slip...and it's an enjoyable thing to be sure, if the low hum of breath on Hugo's part even as his chin's tipped up us anything to go by. --Like this he can hold eye contact with Lighter once more. Smirking anew, as one hand slips higher up his chest to flatten a palm over Lighter's beating heart. The other hand lifting to tip up Lighter's chin in turn, nearly bring their lips together again. Nearly, but not quite. After all...]
Goodness, seems we've gotten ourselves in a difficult position here. [Purred words; their breaths mingle.] Look at you, all frozen up. You really don't want to hurt me, do you? Terribly sweet of you...yet, it must be terribly painful too.
[Dangerous. There's really far, far too many ways for something like this to be taken advantage of. There's a certain bad habit, the sadist that savors the heady power of overwhelming conquest, that hears the sweet lust in Lighter's tone with greed--that would love nothing more than to play on that agony of restraint, bring this Champion to heel, get him on his knees with enough cruel coaxing and teasing--
But it would be quite cruel, after all. Considering...]
I could tell you that you should let loose anyhow. That I could take the pain. [And it wouldn't even be a lie, because it's true. At least this time it'd be under pleasurable hands...but all the same.] ...You still wouldn't, though, would you? I'd bet yours isn't a will so commonly broken. Mm, but that does mean things are trickier now...
[Those cold fingertips slide from Lighter's chest and down his side, curve and tease at the hem of his pants.] I could pleasure you, at least, even if you cannot do much more to me like this currently. Or perhaps...would you truly be willing to wait? Until all wounds are mended. Until I return to you here. [Return, for a matter that wouldn't be simply clandestine business or accident. Something intentional. Something committed, in a way Hugo rarely is. (But oh, for the sort of rarity that Lighter has become...there can always be exceptions. Deviations in the script.)]
Remember, you'll have to be clear. Tell me what you want.
[Well. Tell him in a moment, anyway. It's just too difficult to entirely resist the addictive heat of that mouth in the end, and Hugo can't help but press in for another kiss all the same. Languid, hungry, searching for another taste.]
[ His pads press deeper into Hugo's scalp, golden locks tightened around fingers, when he gets kissed again and a growl rolls in his throat. He licks at the other's tongue eagerly, sucks on it and nips at thin lips like he wants to absorb as much of his taste as possible, like he doesn't want to forget it anytime soon.
By the time he pulls back he's dazed and breathless, his heart hammering in his ears. He can't restrain a scoff, before both hands land on Hugo's sides and with gentle determination he coaxes that thin frame to sit on the bed again. The spot on his neck that was bitten still throbs. He'll have to remember to wear his scarf before morning comes and the girls see him and realize how unprofessional he was.
Just by the way he looks at Hugo, mirth twirling in his eyes, it's clear he doesn't believe any of his words: returning for him sounds all too naive and wishful. Why would someone like Hugo still yearn for this boxer of the Outer Ring, when he clearly could have anyone he set his eyes on? Lighter has always been realistic. ]
I won't hurt you, nor do I need selfish pleasure. You need to recover, no matter how long that takes with that hard head of yours that surely will make it more difficult. I'll still be here in Blazewood even after your ribs have healed. [ He doesn't mention waiting, nor returning, as if Hugo could step back into Blazewood simply out of coincidence. It's clear he doesn't expect anything. A moment of weakness, a shared desire, a bleeding mark that won't fade too soon: that is all more than enough. This was already an exception.
Rough fingers smooth out the strands of hair around the other's face, before he leans forward to kiss the ends. ]
[It's intoxicating. It's sinfully good, that roughly strong grip in Hugo's hair that could pull his head back and expose his throat effortlessly if it so chose--that growl in Lighter's throat, before the man's consuming the kiss as if it were a final meal, a flavor he just can't get enough of. Ah, the abundant hints here, that this is a person who could probably actually manage to truly devour him given the freedom...Hugo could hardly deny the thrill of it, nor how rare said thrill actually is for him to experience. Lighter ever rates himself far too low; even this little taste they've mutually given each other is a far brighter and more fascinating sample, than the shallow lays Hugo could net--easily enough, sure--from the majority of New Eridu's more refined circles. This one's definitely quite a lot more than a mere boxer of the Outer Ring, both in terms of the physical and also the less material...the charmingly honest personality attached, the surprisingly familiar shadows of a past that seem to weigh him down.
Hugo finds he wants to learn more. In multiple aspects. But for now...well, for now. Clearly, patience will have to be the name of the game here. Tempting as it might briefly be to drag the man back in for more of his mouth anyway...tempting as it is, too, to resist the impressively steady hands coaxing him back onto the bed. Still, a boundary is being set and Hugo can respect it. So long as it means this exception remains uncompromised for the both of them...so long as there's still the potential, for more to someday follow...
He's waited longer for far less appealing things, really.]
Ha--I'll have you know, my constitution is quite impressive. I've been known to heal up beyond expectations in times past...who knows, perhaps this injury will be another such occasion, hm?
[A bit breathless himself, too, but already leaning back into his more typical sort of lilt as the kiss is broken and he's sat back onto the bedside. Shirt still open, color still high in his cheeks, hair somewhat messied...goodness, just a few kisses and touches and he's already feeling a little pleasantly debauched. Only a little, yes, but very pleasantly. Hugo licks his lips, a last captured taste, and then languidly wipes at a corner of his mouth--mildly abused to crimson, amusement curling on it at the way Lighter's already reaching to try and somewhat sort out his hair all the same. Kissing at the ends, too...really...who'd expect a man of the Outer Ring to have even such sweet habits as this...as if their tongues hadn't already been doing rather lewd things literal moments ago--]
...So long as you're still in Blazewood by then, either way. [He really did mean what he said. Even if Lighter doesn't seem to quite believe it...but that's fine. It'll only be something to prove later on, now won't it? If Hugo's tilting his head a bit into Lighter's touch, finally, well...maybe he's not noticing his own inclinations right this moment. More preoccupied instead with admiring the nice handiwork he's done, as his eyes fall on the bite mark now blooming distinct on Lighter's neck.] Until then...feel free to use any excuse you'd like about that, by the way. If you don't conceal it, or it ends up getting revealed anyhow. You could very well claim you were attacked by a vampire, you know--
[Fortunately, before this joke can get any worse, the Lighter's phone on the bedside table starts ringing. From an unknown number...in fact, the one that Hugo had sent a message to a bit earlier. (Or a thousand years earlier, as it perhaps might feel...)]
I like to think you'll feel motivated to heal up fast, hm? [ Lighter teases in a murmur that's tinged with amusement, finding that even talking is entirely too distracting when Hugo's sweet taste still lingers on his tongue. He wants more, so much more that, if he really will be accorded another chance, he's afraid of how ravenous he'll turn.
But that's a thought for another time: he's one who solely lives in the moment now, that is the only way he manages to survive. And in this moment he allows himself to truly admire the sight before him, the way color has crept up finally to Hugo's mouth and cheeks, even dusted his neck. He commits every detail to mind with the desperate determination of someone who doesn't know if he'll ever see something so beautiful again and then he smiles. ]
You'll find me. [ He promises with ease, because he's not one to avoid or run away. His gaze softens upon seeing the absentminded way Hugo leans into his warmth without noticing, much like a cat. It's yet another frame he tucks into his chest.
He breathes out a laugh as he touches his neck lightly, feeling around the bite. ] There are such bloodthirsty bats in the Outer Ring. [ It's obvious he doesn't care about excuses; he'll just come up with something if the girls ask. Or he could just say the truth.
His gaze turns to his phone and he hums, taking a step back from the bed. ] I'll leave you some privacy. [ He offers, before he grabs his jacket and scarf and leaves the room, halting in the very same spot he was when he first met Hugo trying to escape. Instead of hours, it feels like it's been days. Ah, he really needs a smoke —but that's no option and he doesn't want to erase the other's taste with sugar, so he doesn't even resort to an emergency lollipop.
Dawn is starting to outline the edge of the desert with orange. Soon Lucy and Big Daddy will come to ask for information, Hugo will give them a likely story that involves a mysterious wealthy friend and shaking off pursuers in a mad drive and Lighter will wear his sunglasses and pretend he believes it all. Even when their eyes meet and Hugo's seem to glisten with cheekiness; the mark on Lighter will keep tingling for a long time.
He finds himself wondering if the bruise will still be there by the time they meet again; because a part of him wants to believe Hugo. And so he scratches at the bite mark until it reddens. Maybe it'll stay a little longer, unlike the owner of those fangs. ]
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bakerstreet2025-04-12 07:26 am
no subject
[ Lighter muses as he assembles two sandwiches and even cuts them in half, in case Hugo really has so little appetite. Only then he slips his shades off and tucks them in the front of his shirt, eyes finally showing. The dog tags hanging at his neck tinkle against the golden frames as he walks to Hugo, setting the plate of sandwiches and several tissues on the nightstand, so the other can eat when he feels like it. ]
I am indeed the current undefeated Champion. [ He admits now, crossing his arms against his chest. Even just in his short-sleeved tee, he has scars everywhere, on his arms and around his neck and peeking from the slits of his shirt. ]
Do you want painkillers? We don't have many supplies, but I can spare a couple of those. Or some ice, if you don't want meds because I could attack you as you get drowsy. [ He teases the other's overcautious nature with a twitch of his lips. He has obviously realized how the other is trying to bite his tongue on remarks ever since Lighter's outburst and that's more effort than he anticipated, enough to make him a little mellower. ]
Listen, your stuff is safe and Caesar even asked the most skilled granny in town to mend the bullet hole in your coat. You can believe we're naive idiots, I don't care, but mind your tongue when you talk to the others in the morning. [ His protectiveness surges through again, a glint in his eyes all too noticeable now without the shield of sunglasses. ]
If you need to call someone to reassure them you're fine... [ He fishes his phone out of his pocket and settles it on the nightstand next to the sandwiches, before he steals one and sits right next to Hugo, biting into it. ]
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[--Ah. Not actually what he meant to say aloud, like that, and there's an uncharacteristic pause. Hugo masks it with another sip, after a moment, and shifts his attention to the window.]
...But perhaps I had a mentor who knew the area better still, and perhaps he had many a tale to tell.
[Hard to say if Jack hailed from Blazewood specifically; he never would directly divulge such details of his past, not even to his proteges. Though in the instructions he left behind, at the end of his tenure, he'd even requested to be buried near...
Well. Anyway. Lighter now has his due of some details, sparing as they might be, and with any luck it can be left at that. Plenty of other diversions in the meantime, after all, like the fact that the sandwiches have been assembled. And the fact that he's coming back over. ...And the fact he's even deigning to sit on the same bedside, now, as if Hugo's earlier restraint against further biting remarks has actually been noted and somewhat accepted. (Hold on, hold on, that's almost a bit too easy...surely that wasn't all it took? Just a bit less sarcasm and a bit of history divulged? This...sure is a very straightforward sort of person, almost disconcertingly so.)
It's slightly easier to muse dubiously on this than to muse (dis)respectfully on those muscled arms and the myriad scarring, close enough now for detailed inspection. Certainly seems the title of Champion is a hard-fought one indeed...but then Lighter's prodding about certain paranoias, and Hugo is given yet another reason to scoff in so many minutes.]
Speak for yourself. Alas, we cannot all be Champions undefeated, fearless of the underhanded in the shadows. Even if an attack from you in particular might be unlikely. [Unlikely--but not impossible. ....And if not Lighter, then who else? Excellent question. Hugo is not elaborating.] ...The pain is not intolerable, anyway. Ice ought to suffice.
[He shifts his attention to the phone set down in offering, yet another unexpected concession. He'd already resigned himself to figuring contingencies, where contacting Vivian would be concerned--Hugo had anticipated it would almost have to be sometime tomorrow at the earliest--but now, with an available line so readily provided...declining would be frankly foolish. Even if it's still...really, just too easy. After a pause, he swaps the soda for the phone, arching an eyebrow.]
You know, most people would be a bit more cautious of simply passing their devices to someone they hardly know. There can be a wealth of compromising information in these things. [...Checking...is the phone even locked....] Or maybe, about here, you're about to tell me that you've got nothing to hide anyway? That would be bold. ...But there is one person I ought to touch base with...
[She won't know the number. But Mockingbird also has a process for this. A certain sort of text should be sent first...
They're even going out of their way to mend his coat, though, really? Tailors are another dime a dozen sort of thing...surely one look at him would have told them that would be unnecessary....Hugo frowns slightly at this news of Ceasar's pains taken, though it's more of a consternation than scorn. That they're doing all this and still have the audacity to insist he owes nothing--]
Settle down, sir--you're free to name my habits condescending, but I'm not a brute. I'd really quite prefer to bring as little trouble as possible to this outfit here, because I do appreciate the efforts being taken. That goes to you too; perhaps that's been unclear. But you're all going to make me have to come up with other ways to express gratitude, apparently. I suppose I'll think of something by morning...
[It's just, a very stupid sort of annoying--good samaritans are so difficult to deal with--no compensation, no favors at all? What's he supposed to do, then, just say "thank you"??]
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Lighter can't help a scoff himself. ] You are a peacock, but soft and pampered just isn't you. [ That much is obvious to someone like the biker, someone who houses trauma too and who can read the signs of it even on a handsome, polished man who wears fancy clothes and likes to speak difficult. A soft and pampered peacock wouldn't brace himself for hurt or nearly flinch at the faintest approach of physical contact, nor wouldn't be so cynical about the ways of the world. ]
You're more of a goose, really. You honk a lot and try to peck at any given occasion. [ He sighs dramatically, like God may only know his traumatic experiences with geese before, as he woefully finishes the quarter of sandwich he stole (but is it stealing when he made it himself?).
There's another snort and an amused look when Hugo acknowledges that being attacked by Lighter seems unlikely. Better late than never, uh? ]
You caught me, there's so much compromising information there... all the dogs and cats pictures I took. Blackmail material for the rest of my life. [ It's his turn to use sarcasm while he flops down on the short side of the bed, his spine realigning as he stretches his arms above his head. His shirt rides up and he idly scratches his stomach, like someone who's ready to fall asleep. It's late and he's a little tired. The dog tags around his neck pool between his collar bones, while his frame gives off undiluted heat.
And no, the phone isn't locked. There's really nothing noteworthy on it, as flabbergasting as it might be to Hugo. ]
You know, there are those two words that people generally use to express gratitude... [ He hints with a shrug, gaze resting on the other's back and that unfairly narrow waist that shouldn't even be possible. He can't help himself, the way he stretches his arm and splays his fingers, resting them against it to measure if it fits into a span, palm searing hot against the fine fabric of that shirt. ]
Do you think I haven't noticed the way you look at me? [ He suddenly muses, deep voice low and warm. He doesn't seem bothered by it. ] Are you curious about the scars or something else? [ With the way he doesn't care to tug his tee down, it's obvious he doesn't mind showing the result of his past bad choices, maybe in return for the personal bits Hugo shared. ]
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Being reduced from peacock to honking and pecking goose hardly warrants a response either, no matter how surprisingly correct Lighter might be about the 'soft and pampered' facade. Which is apparently less of a facade than it should have been here--hmm, he's been off his game this night, bad footing from the start. This is a more vulnerable position than Hugo would ever allow any stranger to find him in normally, but still. That obvious, is it? muses one thought. Are there even enough geese out here to be throwing around analogies like that? muses another thought, slightly more exasperated. There's that saying about protesting something a little too much, though...
The phone actually is unlocked. Remarkable. Hugo doesn't bother to confirm for himself whether Lighter's being serious or not, about his apparent wealth of dog and cat pictures; he does scan over the contacts list and more recent texting logs as he navigates through those menus with perfunctory scrolls, deeply ingrained habit ever inclined to gleaning information from the most unlikely places...though perhaps no names or snippets of conversation really particularly stand out. (Not even a certain Proxy's contact, even if it's there; this scene is before that business, and so Hugo's yet unfamiliar with it, though it'll be an interesting thing to realize later.) --He wonders if Lighter truly understands just how rare it is for anyone to be this genuinely unassuming. While the Outer Ring might be less of a human pressure cooker than the city's inner political works, it's no harder to fall into business less than savory or habits less than noble. And yet, the front the man has been presenting all this time so far...seems truly genuine. Hm.]
Certainly, I suppose there are two very classic words, for those who don't mind being completely derivative... [And he does very much mind being derivative! Moreso than most! Even if there's not actually much of an edge in this muttered retort, practically half a sigh.
The mattress being what it is, he can practically feel the careless abandon with which Lighter eventually lays back across the end of the bed, alongside the pretty obvious motion in the periphery of his vision. The rustle of that top being drawn up and the stretch of tanned-scarred skin carelessly revealed...also, settle in periphery. Hugo's trying to concentrate his focus on the phone's screen in this moment, entering a new number and preparing Vivian's message. The ferryman waits so long as he needs; the raven eventually returns. It cared not, in the end, for the treasure in the Gatekeeper's left hand. But it did find a wealth of success, in--
A hot palm settles on his waist, fingertips curling, and Hugo's typing halts.
(It must be noted, that Hugo's pointed lack of softness extends just as much to his body as his nature; it's hardly stone under Lighter's palm, but not exactly plush either. The narrowness of that waist is, apparently, all lean muscle painstakingly maintained--the kind an athlete demands. Or perhaps a fighter. Doubtless that was probably evident while the ribs were being bandaged too...but this point of contact now has decidedly nothing to do with injuries at all, now does it?)
There isn't a flinch this time, necessarily, nor a bracing anticipating pain either. Circumstances have finally shifted just slightly enough...or maybe it's the fact that Lighter couldn't be more obviously relaxed down there if he tried, this time around. Hugo's frame might tense slightly where he sits...but he doesn't move, nor reach for that hand just yet. It's permitted to stay there--if just for the moment--soaking heat right through the thin silken fabric of the shirt, into his skin. It could probably properly close over his waist just about effortlessly, some part of him idly notes. Let's not examine the briefest flicker of feeling accompanying that thought, right now.
That bluntness Lighter seems so effortlessly inclined to really shouldn't continue being this surprising.]
Hmm. ...When there are good aesthetics to appraise, it's a waste not to. And you haven't exactly been coming off as a shy sort. [If we're just bluntly coming forth all around now. Honestly. Lounging around like that...really...Hugo turns his head to look at Lighter properly now. Expression perfectly schooled, but his sharp off-color glance bearing no pretense in raking up and down the handsome frame splayed out over there. Yes, his gallery might be a shell front, but he still knows how to appreciate good art. Even if...ha. Aren't going to demand any pay for this service, then? A perpetually petty part of him wants to call out the earlier jab, but it's restrained for the moment. ...For the moment. Lighter seems to respond so very disarmingly well to civility, after all...] Anyone knows that scars are never without stories. But what might qualify as an acceptable "something else", I wonder?
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He stores away quietly how Hugo hasn't flinched this time, nor has swatted at his arm. He honestly didn't know what he expected, but for his looks to be praised wasn't part of it. There's nothing good about them and his scars must look disgusting. And yet Hugo doesn't seem to be lying right now... which makes it all the more embarrassing.
He removes his hand from the other's frame to scratch at the bridge of his nose, regretting he isn't wearing his glasses because he would love to push them up. He shifts slightly, trying to hide at least one eye under his messy bangs and he clears his throat. ]
So now you try to flatter me? We've come a long way. [ He tries to deflect the weight of that gaze on him with humour, but now that Hugo isn't making a mystery of it anymore, he feels warmth increasing and tingling under his skin. He needs to try and distract him before it becomes even more apparent that he doesn't do well with compliments. ]
These scars aren't the result of me being the Champion, at least not the vast majority of them. They're from earlier. Underground fights mostly. But I can't say I was... in control enough to remember how I got each. [ It's all a blur, like drowning in a nightmare and being too tired to being able to open your eyes again.
He returns the amount of information he was entrusted with apparent nonchalance, like his previous cautiousness is all but gone, laying there, offering tender spots. The truth is that he's steeped too long in violence and his body reacts before his mind does; he trusts Hugo won't bring pain over himself just to prove the point he can attack him, but if he were to, Lighter's instinct would kick in. And then the biker would instantly regret it, the way he always does.
He shrugs, tucking both hands under his head as if to prevent himself from touching further. He doesn't want to give the wrong impression he's looking for something in return for patching him up, in a show of hypocrisy. ] Here in the Outer Ring "acceptable" has a very wide definition. But you're the one who's looking. You should be telling me if there's something else. Or I'll just accept it's professional appraisal.
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--Case in point. Hmhm, what's this now? That hand retreating of its own volition, now, and...the eyes suddenly averting? That very slight flush coming on? Here Hugo had been, taking Lighter's remark on looking to its seemingly natural conclusion, but now...hold on, could it have actually not been something particularly salacious? For that matter--is Lighter actually growing a bit embarrassed, now?
The shades probably would have hidden it better, yes, and something vaguely attentive in the back of thought suddenly wonders if that's why the man apparently usually wears them even at night. They aren't on now, though, and Lighter's hair can only hide so much. Despite the humored words that try to brush off the moment, the little withdrawing fidgets in body language speak volumes all on their own; something in Hugo's attention promptly sharpens just a bit more in observing them, almost a bit uncannily like a predator catching glimpse of something vulnerable. (Or maybe it's the fangs that prompt the impression, a little glimpse of them appearing once more in the amused smile that crosses his features.)]
Oh? My my...could it be that you're not a shy sort until compliments enter the stage, then? Perhaps I spoke too soon! [Ah, he's been so very good about biting back jabs all this time...far more so than usual, in Hugo's personal opinion! But in the end it's just impossible to not let that one out. To wonder if it might make Lighter squirm just a little bit more. There's, that sort of impulse, stemmed in bad habits--the vindication of finally piercing past a fruit's particularly tough peel, the itch of wanting to really tear in there, prize it open to reveal something delicious inside--but. Prudence. Let's settle that down. After letting the moment hang just a second longer than strictly necessary, eyes lingering half-lidded on Lighter's flustered features...Hugo looks away with a chuckle, and a slight shrug of his shoulders.] Sometimes flattery can also be an objective fact. I know a thing or two about appealing things, both made by hand and found about the world. Any progress of this last half hour has little to do with that--but you can still assume whatever you'd like...
[...So the scars are from a different era altogether. The nonchalant explanation that eventually comes forth is intriguing even in its brevity, a pause falling afterwards as it's mulled over. Underground fights, is it...no, such things are not quite so bright and unsullied as a Champion's status. It would seem Lighter in fact clawed up to this point from a considerably darker place. ...Not completely so unassuming after all...which makes his seemingly cleaner slate in the current day all the more mildly impressive, actually.]
You phrase that as if such fights were a routine eventually blending together. ...Memory works in odd ways. Some painful things are dropped surprisingly easily. [He can hardly remember his sister's face these days.] But you know, it's also said that any one scar is a little death avoided--however one might choose to define that. To have evaded such numerous little deaths all the same...it wouldn't be gauche to take slightly more pride in such marks.
[He doesn't think they're ugly in the least, really. Not like Hugo could talk anyhow. ...Slowly, his focus drops back down to Lighter's phone.]
Professional appraisal is high enough praise all on its own, you should know. Whether there's something else...ha, I'll not overdraft. You've already clarified your scars, so that's enough to learn about. --Not exactly as if this is a time to pursue anything else anyway.
[Pursue what? .....Isn't that the question. (He really doesn't take indulgences very much. It's been awhile. Certainly doesn't need to be now, the way his side still smarts. --Besides, isn't this all just a situation in passing anyhow? Until morning. He's getting a little too distracted all around, honestly.)
But it did find a wealth of success, in the right hand. Finally finishing the message at last, he hits send. Now, to wait and see if Vivian's even awake this hour...]
no subject
He only hums at Hugo's words, chancing a glance now. He doesn't like to assume, especially when it's someone like this man, who has too many secrets and too many layers of armor on top of his true self.
He can't help scoffing when evading death is mentioned and for once it's not taunting, nor amused, it's self-deprecating at best. ]
See? I'm worth so little that even death doesn't want to take me. [ It slips out before he even realizes, pure habit. The problem is exactly that, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't even get a fighter's sweet rest. It's his burden to keep dragging himself day after day. Suddenly the tags he wears around his neck weigh so much they threaten to crush his lungs just by resting on his chest. ]
I don't know... maybe not remembering it in detail is worse. It's like living in darkness, and suddenly there are hands emerging from it and trying to pull you down when you unwittingly remember a glimpse or a feeling. Sometimes I wish I could remember it all, sometimes I wish I'd forgotten everything. It's a funny thing, hm?
[ There's so little that's funny about it and it shows in the way his lips don't even twitch and the only thing that floats in his eyes is a deep, unsettling nothingness. No matter how long he stays in the sun of the Outer Ring, can light still reach him?
Lighter pushes himself up from the mattress and moves to the nightstand, opening a drawer and rummaging through the first aid supplies that were left after patching Hugo up. He finally finds an ice pack and starts shaking it to activate it, before he wraps it in a towel.
He fluffs up the pillows against the headboard, then he reaches for Hugo's calves with no warning, cautiously lifting them up and shifting his legs so they lay on the bed instead and the man is propped against the pillows. He takes his phone back to put it on the nightstand, replacing it in Hugo's hands with the plate of sandwiches. He then sits on the edge of the bed again and rests the ice pack against the other's ribs, on his side, under the silk of his shirt. He's quite a headstrong nurse. ]
Eat. You look paler by the minute. I don't want to find those fangs in my neck. [ Listen, he doesn't even know what Hugo's diet is but those canines are difficult to ignore, especially when they crushed his lollipop so easily earlier. ]
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He might have teased on it more right now, even, except that a change in tone follows that's...rather too grim for any such further levity, abruptly. The hollow way in which Lighter lets that slip isn't missed--to say nothing of the words in themselves. Amusement fades, in favor of a slight pause on Hugo's part.
Because the sentiment sounds just a little too familiar, now doesn't it?]
That would only be defined as worthlessness if being taken by death...is something considered worthwhile. [Noted slowly, with a certain neutrality that's a rare deviation from Hugo's more deliberate turns of tone up to this point. Neither condemnation nor approval--simply a thing pointed out, its conclusion left unstated aloud. Tapping his way out of the texting window, Hugo clicks the phone to sleep with a slight sigh.] ...You know, I must say, that might be the least funny thing you've said all evening. [Granted, Lighter very clearly finds no amusement in it either.] But there's not a lot else to do with a darkness like that blotting the past, is there? Ever clinging, never entirely gone--always showing back up just when you think it's well behind you. One finds a good sun, with good enough fortune, and most days that's just about enough...but so long as a person remains too tangible for that light to pass through? Even on the most cloudless day, a shadow still has to be cast.
[...It's really. Really. Just too familiar.
And so it truly is a relief, when Lighter's the one to break the moment and shift back to moving around. Leaving Hugo to study the phone's darkened screen in a briefly pensive silence as the latter fetches something that crinkles from the nightstand, fluffs up the pillow at the headboard, and then--
--Ah, this again?! The phone being unceremoniously plucked from his hands was already going to prompt a mildly exasperated protest, but then Lighter's going for his legs right after that, an entirely new and unexpected angle of--apparently--forcing some bedrest...] You--honestly, do you manhandle all your patients like this? A little warning would really go a long way. Or better yet, a polite request to lay down, so I at least do it of my own volition?
[A little stream of protests even as, in the end, Hugo's slowly and gingerly acquiescing to the adjustment anyway. (Don't listen to him, he'd have put off laying down of his own volition forever given half a chance.) On a more physically whole sort of day he might have put up more of a resistance--there's a pretty good amount of strength in these legs, if he does say so himself!--but compromised ribs will make such a thing very difficult without a lot of pain, currently, alongside a begrudging conclusion that Lighter's far more agreeable company with just a bit more compliance. Equivalent exchange, and all that. If all it takes is laying down and at least holding a sandwich...well. Very well. Sure...
...He'd almost forgotten about the ice pack, until it's being applied. A handful of sandwich means Hugo can't actually reflexively push away those hands before they're under his shirt and the ice is on his side, pressing out a soft hiss of breath on Hugo's part before he can entirely smother it. The chill contrasts very interestingly against the inherent heat of Lighter's fingertips just brushing the edges--to say nothing of how this new position is pretty interestingly intimate in general--but the slight shiver that jolts up his spine is getting blamed on the pack, either way. Hugo huffs an aggrieved sigh as if it'll be enough to entirely mask everything.]
Settle down, I was going to eat. [No he wasn't...he'd just about forgotten the sandwich too.....anyway, he's leveling Lighter a look before finally taking a small bite.] You know, I certainly hope you don't believe everything you see in movies and tales...a man can't have some fangs as his simple lot in life without such baseless accusations as these, now? Could you imagine how tiresome it'd be, if only human blood could truly sustain me?
[The only reason his fangs would be in that neck is--hmm. It would be a pretty satisfying bite, just in all the wrong ways. (Would the man consider it unpleasant? Or would it be an exhilarating sort of pain? Some people go limp and boneless like prey animals with the sweetest sounds; others engage it more like a fight, something to pay back in turn or at least make very difficult to earn. Where might Lighter fall...) Well, alright, intrusive thoughts. This is just getting ridiculous. ...Maybe he really ought to actually eat something, to get his head back in order the way the lollipop and soda clearly haven't quite yet...]
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He listens in religious silence to the other's voice filling the room and he muses that indeed, as he suspected, they might have more in common than it appeared at first. Hugo carries a type of suffering that clings to him tirelessly, the same way it does with Lighter; tar that sticks and can never be washed away. ]
We can only hope that shadow doesn't get cast on others as well, hm? Keeping a safe distance from them for their own good. [ He muses in a murmur, before his actions have Hugo complain once again and, he must say, it's quite funny. It'd be lying saying he didn't do it on purpose this time, just to have him whine. It shows in the twitch of his lips and how a smirk settles for longer than just a second. ]
What exactly makes you think I've ever had other patients before you? [ He asks pointedly, since he doesn't remember ever telling him that. ] And stop lying to me. Were I to give you any choice, you'd never rest. [ They haven't known each other for that long and yet he's entirely certain of that.
The hiss from Hugo has him cast a glance at him, expression neutral. ] Are you already regretting picking ice over painkillers? [ He teases, staring pointedly at the other until he sees him actually nibbling at the sandwich in between all that dramatic act he has going on. He finds himself feeling relieved he's eating, finally.
He hums at the other's explanations, while shifting the ice pack so it can cool down a slightly lower area, still resting on top of the tight bandages. He's unexpectedly gentle, never exerting pressure. ]
Well, with those pretty eyes of yours, I don't see how charming anyone into being your meal would be difficult. [ He comments earnestly. They're clear and fascinating in their mismatched colors, nearly cat-like in their shape and Lighter adores cats --it probably explains why he puts up so easily with all this hissing. It doesn't even remotely dawn on him anyone might find them unsettling. ] But I agree having to deal with people every time you're hungry would be tiresome. Not to mention repulsive. [ He scrunches his nose up. If he were to look for someone every time he had to feed... yeah, no, there's a reason why he's living out here, in the Outer Ring, far from most of the civilization. ]
But you're staring again. Are we sure you won't bite? I run really hot, my skin and blood could scald you. [ He jokes, unaware of the train of the other's thoughts nearly derailing. ]
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Hmm, are you meaning to imply that I might be able to charm you into being a meal too, with these pretty eyes of mine? [Instead, here, a much easier sort of banter in turn. For once, Hugo might actually sound just ever so slightly pleased about his eyes being described in this way. (Since most people don't, no. But the striking color difference is a point of mild pride for him nowadays--as a bit of spite, maybe, against the painful rejection they brought him in his earliest years...) Called out for staring once more, Hugo lightly shrugs off the allegation with a slight laugh...though it's hard to suppress a sigh, at the way Lighter's unwittingly(?) rather close to the mark on Hugo's actual not-very-pious thoughts just there. Really. How does a person manage to keep unintentionally flirting like this, it's very rude? He's just got to sit here and power through it?? More of an ordeal than the ribs, at this rate--!] Perhaps you should be careful, saying things like that...creatures of the cold night might just find such a warm prospect all the more appealing.
[As if anyone's never at least thought about reaching to grasp at a flame for its bright heat, despite the natural risk. Oh, Lighter probably would be running even hotter still, with just a few nibbles here and there--
--But for now we settle with biting the sandwich. We settle with biting the sandwich, and cease with these very unproductive thought tangents, which are hardly about to amount to anything anyway. Not for the first time, Hugo's rather glad that maintaining an idle facial expression entirely divorced from events in his head is practically second nature to him at this point. Between the words they're exchanging, and the surprisingly gentle pressure of the ice pack's coolness shifting further along his side...]
At any rate, to be sure, the vast majority of people in this world are not half so interesting to deal with, so I'll take the small blessing of being mundane in at least that aspect. [Implying Lighter has in fact turned out very interesting to deal with? Maybe. Swiftly moving on before that gets a chance to sink in too much!] ...The ice pack is adequate, thanks. Just, a sensation, as ice generally is.
[You know. A sensation.]
Have you not actually had any patients before now? Could have fooled me, with your clear commitment to caretaking...even if your bedside manner could still use a little work. [You're pretty insistent, sir, as nurses go...] If that's actually the case, you'll have to pardon me assuming. I suppose it can be just as true, anyhow, that anyone well-versed in fighting is obligated to be fairly versed in addressing injuries too...and perhaps it's usually just your own?
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I think even the "creatures of the cold night" know to steer far from the Outer Ring. They might just find more appealing looking for warmth in places where you don't find desert sand all over. [ He jokes with a smile, perfectly aware that he's avoided to answer the other's pointed question about being willing to be his meal. Lighter's not keeping a distance, a rare instance, which might just speak for itself.
He cocks an eyebrow when Hugo's wording gives the impression he's calling Lighter interesting, but of course the topic gets easily shifted to the ice instead. ] Just a sensation, of course. [ He taunts him and he can't quite hold himself back, even if all his nerves are asking him to stop, to wear his armor again: his free hand cups the side of Hugo's small face, calloused hot fingers cradling the pale skin, tingling under the graze of his blonde locks. ]
When we pulled you out of the wreckage, you were so cold. It hasn't improved much. [ Difficult to say if it's really so severe, still, or if it's just because Lighter nearly runs a fever, having gotten accustomed even to the flames his gauntlet spouts directly onto his arm, in such an already blistering weather. ] While I bandaged you, you unwittingly inched closer to my presence probably because of my warm hands. Suspiciously much alike a creature of the cold night. [ He jokes, smiling around that last sentence. He should ask the Managers if they have some tape about a vampire stranded in the desert. Now that'd be funny.
Saying he's acting innocently would be a lie though, as his thumb absent-mindedly brushes against Hugo's cheek, as if to bring some rosy, more lively shade to it. ]
Yeah, I've been my very own nurse. It must be quite obvious because I don't think anybody else could've done such an equally poor job at it. As long as it stenched the bleeding and kept my pieces together, anything worked. [ Was he capable of doing better? Certainly. But keeping himself alive just enough to continue fighting, but not enough to live was also part of the punishment for himself.
His hand feels rough yet is nothing but gentle as it now lands against the side of Hugo's neck, pads rubbing into his nape as if to provide comfort against the twinge of ice on his ribs. ] You're lucky it's only my bedside manner that's lacking these days, and I haven't tried to disinfect your wounds with gasoline. [ He jokes, his ears having grown warm. He can only hope his hair cover them enough. ]
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...]
Is it really so very odd they'd be out here? Nights in a desert can sometimes run just as cold as anywhere. While sand is a trouble dealt with like anything else, and--hm--
[There's that hand on his cheek again. Terribly warm to be sure, near-feverish in a way that Hugo is certainly not, the contrast distinct. If Lighter's one to run hotter than most, then Hugo's one to run cooler in turn--the ice in his favored weapon doubtless helps matters little, but then there's the more literal matter of his poor blood sugar too, alongside the fact he frequents the dark corners of the city more often than not...and so, in result. Someone not terribly hot-blooded at all. Someone paler than most. Lighter's thumb alone might not be quite enough to bring out that rosiness he might be seeking, but...
The words he says alongside that touch?
Hugo briefly falls silent as his earlier words trail off, stilling under the contact. Something unreadable settling over the previous amusement of his expression, as his attention shifts fully to Lighter. It's a little funny, probably, how things have already shifted since Lighter's first attempt at a touch--in the way Hugo doesn't recoil, or grab at his wrist this time. Just...lets one moment of it sink in. Two. Even his breaths softening a moment, as the tension bubbles up in his frame again, habitual, inevitable--
--then melts, just slightly, under the way that warm and gently rough palm slips down. Brushes along his neck. Rubs into his nape. ...Far more soothing than it has frankly any right to be.]
...Pretty bold allegations you're raising there. A body wants what it wants, left to its own devices...surely a fact that can apply just as much to any human. [If indeed what Lighter claims is true, that he sought warmth even being bandaged. ...And Lighter seems to have no penchant at all for lying, in the end, so perhaps that's so. (Especially if it felt anything like this.) The words are a low murmur, a shift in Hugo's tone that Lighter could surely imagine a few reasons for. His glance flicks a moment to the scars along Lighter's arms, the number all the more unsurprising if his claims to the bare minimum of past self-care are true.] That aside...it sounds like you'd rather extend more effort to others than you would to yourself, where care's concerned. And it seems I'm witnessing your method of that care here. Or am I...something of an exception?
[It truly does feel nice. (When was the last time anyone's hand was near like this?) It's pleasant, too pleasant, and he should be more concerned about that. (Doubtless the man would have enough of a grip to easily crush his windpipe, if he were so inclined, right now.) Old survival habits chew a dull anxiety in the back of thought; common sense at the forefront knows that the actual chances of Lighter being anything but genuine about this gesture in this moment are exceedingly low. As the muscles in his frame seem to war between properly tensing and truly relaxing--also rather reminiscent, funnily, to a cat still deciding whether the petting is acceptable or not--Hugo's glance falls half-lidded as it slips back up to studying the Lighter's features, the hints of that blush at his ears under his hair. The man might be trying valiantly to hide behind humor, but really.]
Trying to warm me up, are you?
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You're entirely an exception. [ He murmurs, self-conscious. He doesn't know what's gotten into him, he never gets this close to anyone, not even the people he's known for a while. He's friendly enough, polite enough, but there's always a distance he must keep for everyone to be safe from him. And yet with Hugo he forgets himself. He's never this... forward. Maybe it's because he sees some of the pain he knows so intimately in Hugo, he can feel the cold and darkness of it, and he yearns to make it melt away, even if just for a moment.
The man seems torn between accepting his touch and being wary of it, much like a cat indeed. Hugo needs to relax, that's the only way for his injury to get better and hurt less, but, even if he's not digging his fingers in Lighter's wrist now, it seems he's not entirely at ease either. Lighter observes his shifting expression, stands his ground even while those mismatched eyes follow the lines of his body and his scars, nearly making him squirm. They make his nerves tingle. ]
Mhm, trying to warm you up. Is it unpleasant?[ He asks softly, his deep voice so warm and low it's like a purr. He sets the ice pack aside and it's nearly a wonder how his hand recovers its heat again in a matter of seconds, the time it takes for Lighter to gently hold the other's wrist. He brings Hugo's cold hand to his mouth, brushes his lips and his searing breath against his knuckles, before he so very cautiously turns it to press a kiss to the heel of it. ]
I have done ugly things and maybe there's not much of my conscience left. But I'm not insincere. Do you believe that? [ He wonders softly, mouth grazing against palm lines before stopping against pads, nearly reverent. Only then his eyes look for Hugo's again as he leads that hand to his own neck, framed by some of his deepest scars. He splays those long, pale fingers across his throat. He doesn't have any devious plan set in motion, no ulterior motives, nor killing intent: is that gesture enough to convey it? Hugo could even choke him now and it's a power upon the Champion that he himself granted. Is that enough, for the tension to leave Hugo? Lighter tilts his head back a little, baring his throat like a dog, allowing more space for that hand. Or, maybe, allowing room for fangs. ]
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Hold on, a vague thought realizes, comically belated, am I being outright seduced right now?
It wouldn't be the first time. Plenty of people try, for all manner of reasons on a sliding scale of motives. Hugo is well aware of his appealing figure, his striking eyes and pretty face, alongside all the little tricks of emphasizing and weaponizing these traits--the ways these things can be just as much a bargaining chip as anything else. Years of mingling among the affluent as if he were one of them, navigating transactions and favors and desires all alike--and you think you've seen it all, after awhile. That surely no gesture could truly be a surprise at this point.
Yet here he is, utterly surprised anyway. In this humble little town, in this humble little room, from a man almost humble to his detriment--as much of a contrast as it is against his abundance of exceptional traits. Charismatic, handsomely strong, the perfect image of an Outer Ring native's ideal...and the last sort of person to fall for some fancy bird of the city--or so one would think, at the very least. ...But then again, it's grown gradually more clear, that they do actually seem to have more in common than not. Unfortunate as the commonalities might be. Still, something about a pain shared, a familiarity spotted in another...
Lighter guides his hand to his own throat, and all further doubt pretty much has to be dispelled. Yes, it would seem, he's being seduced. And it's working--almost alarmingly so, in a way those hungry favors of attempts past couldn't possibly hope to match. An open display of vulnerability that most wouldn't dare to reveal, around someone like Hugo.
It'd truly be lying, to claim he isn't enjoying the show.]
Hmm. It's not unpleasant in the least. In fact, it's so pleasant it's a bit concerning...such nice things are rarely so very freely given.
[Soft remark for a soft remark; Hugo might not be able to quite match the sheer low heat of Lighter's purr down to the tone, but he has his own sort of lilt for these things, a warmly dark sort of amusement. As he's being practically invited to do so, his fingertips curl at Lighter's neck--not to choke, but to feel and trace. The remarkable heat of his skin, the rough scars that frame it. Then, cupping along his jaw, a thumb pressing ever so lightly over that pulse point right there at the jugular, fluttering with vitality.]
Yet, I think...that I must believe that, at this point. Doing such sincere things as this. My, look at you... [An appreciative purr all its own. A vampire he might not be, yet Hugo still finds himself suddenly so terribly curious--how it'd feel, how it'd taste, that utterly perfect spot for lips and fangs and tongue. Lighter seems to be practically asking for it, baring that throat the way he does, a sinfully perfect portrait in this moment. It's all soaked in through careful touch, with a visibly intent fascination bordering on predatory again; those thin lips curve into that particular sort of smile just so, canines pricking ever so slightly at the corners. And yet, and yet...] How terribly unfair--don't you think so? Offering something like this, when I can hardly move to take it.
[When he'd have to lean over, to follow through on these biting thoughts. When that's the one thing he can't quite do right now, more's the utter pity. He's...certainly relaxing in one sense, now, finally. If only to find himself a little frustrated in an entirely different sense instead, ironically.]
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And then he feels Hugo not shifting at all, merely his words filling the little space between them. He doesn't ask him to get closer either. Simply, there's a distance between them that, albeit minimal at this moment where he sits right next to him on the bed, seems insurmountable. Lighter smiles, but the curve of his lips is a little hollow now. ]
You were ready to leave on your own two legs no matter the pain of carrying around those broken ribs for miles, but you can't lean towards me nor pull me closer... Maybe I'm not the unfair one. [ A flash of teeth and then it's his own hand wrapping around the other's wrist now, fingertips sinking uncomfortably in the skin.
He can't help feeling like this is a rejection. And, like with every defeat, there is only one person to blame: himself. He got carried away and this is the price to pay, though he wishes there were wounds to account for it, bleeding and tender. Instead there's only a hole in his chest growing larger.
He pries Hugo's hand away from him and lets go of his nape as well, until all physical contact is cut. ]
...you should apply the ice and rest. Come morning, the others will come and then you'll be free to leave.
[ It sounds barely matter-of-fact as he pushes himself to stand up, like they hadn't been discussing anything important prior to this. ]
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Perhaps too much so.
If it had been surprising to find Lighter reaching out moments earlier, it's more surprising still when he starts pulling away. Though his words soon after explain a great deal. And objectively there's something a little funny about this--in how the tables have turned so, here. In how it's now Lighter who takes a wrist to pry it away, who shies from contact drawn a bit too close, knee-jerk reservations evidently kicking in against the appeal. Finding too little open reciprocation, and promptly assuming the worst. --Isn't that a bit like looking in a mirror?
Certainly, there's a part of Hugo's pride that's stung by this, that finds he's being told he's lacking. Failing to match a sincerity given, for leaving the initiative entirely in Lighter's hands--which he had meant to do, in not yet closing the distance himself, or making a plain request. Was it truly still not clear enough? So says one thought, offended. Half-tempted to let the man set that distance again if he so pleases, if he's going to be this particular--
But is that really so particular at all? The other thought sets in, around the same moment that the soothing heat of that hand leaves his nape, and that sweet pulse shies from his palm, the chill of the ice pack all that remains. There you go again, as always. Demanding others show you trust when you never show it yourself--
Seems he's forgotten where he is, and what sort of person he's talking to. Subtle dealings and hinted requests won't do. But, intentional or not on Lighter's part...something's already been stoked. Hugo rarely lets beautiful things slip from his hold too easily, once they've fallen within his grasp--or placed themselves in it, no matter how briefly.]
Where do you think you're going?
[Somewhat of an exasperation, but also more a demand. Lighter makes to stand up, but he'll find a forearm being grabbed before he entirely does. And if he's still going to try rising to his feet, well. Maybe Hugo ought to do the same, sandwich set aside, ice pack slipping off. Despite the pang in his side, yes, and despite the tightness it brings to breath, the same way he'd brought himself to the door earlier. If Lighter's going to call it out like that--]
Honestly, what an odd read you are...tell me to rest, after a display like that? A man's going to think he's being strung along. But it's not even that, is it? [There's a decent amount of wiry strength in this lean frame of his, even handicapped. Lighter could still likely overpower him, about now--but will he? If Hugo follows him to his feet--if Hugo's setting another hand on his shoulder, half for support but also half to turn him around?] I suppose I'm indeed the one being unfair--for not pulling you closer like this?
[Like the way Hugo leans in, breath painting into the crook of Lighter's neck, drawing their bodies together despite the twinge of pain it prompts. When he raises his head to meet Lighter's eyes, his own are half-lidded, darkened in matching intensity to the expression on his face. Like this, his words can be murmured over Lighter's lips, a breath away.]
You'll have to forgive me...I've forgotten. Out here it's actions over words. But you'll still need to tell me plainly what else you want.
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Yet, Hugo speaks again and it's a tone he hasn't used before tonight, enough to catch Lighter's attention, together with that hand that grabs him so tightly. He still pushes himself up on his feet because the movement was half-way and he finds Hugo in his space shortly after, surprising him. He wouldn't simply lean forward, yet now he even stands? That hurts even more and Lighter's lips press together in a thin line, expression tightened into concern. He simply wanted his honesty returned, he didn't mean harm.
Lighter's hands hover around his waist without really touching him, truthfully afraid to bring more pain. He's not used to gentleness and he's not used to physical contact that doesn't involve fighting; it's only been his fists into his enemies' flesh and his gloves when it's anything else. He finds himself awkwardly standing with tingling fingers, like a teenager that doesn't know where to put his hands during a dance with his crush.
His whole body tightens when Hugo's warm breath tickles his neck, a pulled string, his shaky exhale giving away how terribly difficult it is to behave right now. It gets worse when Hugo actually pulls them closer and Lighter tries to swallow around the tightness in his throat, fingers twitching. He can't help the hum in his throat when the other looks up at him with half-lidded, dark eyes, and he finds his mouth parched. There's heat rolling in his stomach, behind his tense abdomen.
It's with hesitation that his palm lands just below the other's scapulas, large and warm enough to support his back hopefully without causing pain. His skin has turned feverish and his ears are probably giving him away again. Why is Hugo even more beautiful from up close? It makes it even more obvious he's out of his league, like a gold nugget accidentally found under worthless sand. But maybe right because of that, he wants him even more. ]
Actions over words. You talk too fucking much. [ He mumbles, voice strained and nearly husky.
At once, he grabs the other's nape again and has their lips crash together, eager and unrestrained as he tastes them, impatient in the way his hot exhale and tongue bossily push the blonde man's apart to get a taste of his mouth, deep and hungry. There's little finesse and no teasing in it, just earnest desire and searing hunger. In another situation, if he could have his way, bruises would probably bloom on Hugo's skin not from broken ribs but possessive touch and genuine voracity, and all that talk would be replaced by sweeter sounds. ]
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Because there's no time whatsoever for a retort to that, before Hugo's being swept up into that terribly hungry kiss...and, for once, he hardly has anything to object about it. What a sudden thing it is, like a dam finally giving way, breaking past the tension that had seized Lighter's entire body moments before when distance finally closed. The contrast is really entirely too charming--those little bursts of boyish shyness, the obvious tells of fluster on Lighter's ears and in his voice...and yet, as soon as that hesitation is overcome and he's pushed over the edge--
No, there's nothing shy or hesitant at all about the hand heavy once more on the nape of Hugo's neck, the heat exploring his mouth. Lighter's welcomed in easily, and perhaps there's even the slight beginnings of a laugh at the eagerness, for all that it's promptly smothered. Hugo meets the kiss evenly with a hunger of his own to match, their tongues promptly tangling as he fights for a taste in turn; sharp canines scrape on teeth, nip into Lighter's lower lip just shy of drawing blood. The pleased sound that hums from his own throat may well count as the first sweet one.
--It's already so warm. Lighter's entire body seems to run unreasonably hot, and it's tantalizing, intoxicating enough to easily overrule the ache in Hugo's side. Infectious, too, the way the heat's already making his blood leap in turn--the kiss and the contact finally drawing the slightest flush into Hugo's pale cheeks. It'd be entirely too easy to get addicted to this sort of feverishness, the way it so promptly melts any other lingering reservations...
The kiss stretches until Hugo has practically no breath left; tempting as it is to drown in it, he shifts his head to break away at length if only to pant for a bit of air, flushed lips curving into a smirk.]
Quiet enough now? [Hugo you're literally starting to talk again--] Mm...
[But granted, he's still far too distracted for anything too extensively sardonic just yet. One of Hugo's hands drags down from Lighter's shoulder and over that broad chest, lower, clever cool fingertips slipping underneath that top to trace back up skin, along scars and abs. His other grasp at Lighter's arm loosens to slip around his wrist, guiding the latter's free hand to close on that unfairly slender waist of his.]
There...how's it feel, hmm? [He still well remembers Lighter placing a hand there earlier. Though the question might refer to a couple of different things, actually, the way he dips his head to ghost his lips along Lighter's jaw--down to his throat, down to that jugular once more, where that pulse doubtless thrums even more sweetly than before. It's only natural to press a kiss there, and...
If Lighter has any concerns about marks too distinct, he'd better speak up soon. Otherwise, fangs will be pricking there too as he bites down. Probably sucking a hickey and not actually blood there, at least. ...Probably--?]
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He snaps out of it only when he feels cold fingers exploring his abdomen and his muscles tense unconsciously. His scars are oversensitive and he can't help a shudder that gives it away. He scoffs. Of course Hugo would talk about being quiet. ]
As expected of you, even your hands are cheeky. [ He comments in a puff of hot breath, while his hand is brought to the other's waist. The temptation to squeeze is strong, to feel the narrow lines of his sides and the whole width of his waist under his palm and fingertips, but he stops before he can do it, afraid to hurt him. His touch is unexpectedly gentle there, simply supporting. ]
This only gives me bad ideas... [ He mumbles. He didn't know exactly where he wanted this to go when he kissed Hugo, but certainly not very far considering the other's broken ribs. And yet the feel of that tantalizingly small waist only gives way to unholy thought of holding it in both hands while the blonde man sits in his lap and--
God. It only gets more difficult to try and make sense while that mouth wanders down his neck and Lighter bares his throat like a domesticated pup, giving permission for Hugo to go as far as he wants before he even registers the motion. The sudden bite has him moaning out loud, a hoarse, broken noise, while his fingers rise from his nape and tangle in his hair, tugging at it unkindly. ]
Fuck-- [ Heat rushes between his legs all too quickly, his weakness for this type of sweet pain made obvious as he pants softly. ]
Don't, ha-- don't do this... [ He pleads and yet his tone is tinged with lust, body growing feverish as he feels the wetness of a couple drops of blood blooming from the pricks of fangs. His whole frame is tight as he tries to fight arousal like it's poison. He hasn't had pleasure in a long time and he doesn't know how he'll behave once it courses in his veins. He just risked to bury his fingers in the other's skin and add to Hugo's bruises and pain, his instinctive roughness reigned in at the very last moment. His lack of foresight in wanting to pursue this feeling is making him suffer, but the fault is all his own. ]
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So tense, too. So clearly struggling against himself even now...the way those ridiculously toned muscles stiffen under his touch, the way the hand at his waist remains such a chaste support even with the subtle invitation to squeeze, to grab and possess. The stoked heat of Lighter's body only seems to be growing. The shift of that heavy hand at Hugo's nape to a rough tugging on his hair is the largest slip...and it's an enjoyable thing to be sure, if the low hum of breath on Hugo's part even as his chin's tipped up us anything to go by. --Like this he can hold eye contact with Lighter once more. Smirking anew, as one hand slips higher up his chest to flatten a palm over Lighter's beating heart. The other hand lifting to tip up Lighter's chin in turn, nearly bring their lips together again. Nearly, but not quite. After all...]
Goodness, seems we've gotten ourselves in a difficult position here. [Purred words; their breaths mingle.] Look at you, all frozen up. You really don't want to hurt me, do you? Terribly sweet of you...yet, it must be terribly painful too.
[Dangerous. There's really far, far too many ways for something like this to be taken advantage of. There's a certain bad habit, the sadist that savors the heady power of overwhelming conquest, that hears the sweet lust in Lighter's tone with greed--that would love nothing more than to play on that agony of restraint, bring this Champion to heel, get him on his knees with enough cruel coaxing and teasing--
But it would be quite cruel, after all. Considering...]
I could tell you that you should let loose anyhow. That I could take the pain. [And it wouldn't even be a lie, because it's true. At least this time it'd be under pleasurable hands...but all the same.] ...You still wouldn't, though, would you? I'd bet yours isn't a will so commonly broken. Mm, but that does mean things are trickier now...
[Those cold fingertips slide from Lighter's chest and down his side, curve and tease at the hem of his pants.] I could pleasure you, at least, even if you cannot do much more to me like this currently. Or perhaps...would you truly be willing to wait? Until all wounds are mended. Until I return to you here. [Return, for a matter that wouldn't be simply clandestine business or accident. Something intentional. Something committed, in a way Hugo rarely is. (But oh, for the sort of rarity that Lighter has become...there can always be exceptions. Deviations in the script.)]
Remember, you'll have to be clear. Tell me what you want.
[Well. Tell him in a moment, anyway. It's just too difficult to entirely resist the addictive heat of that mouth in the end, and Hugo can't help but press in for another kiss all the same. Languid, hungry, searching for another taste.]
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By the time he pulls back he's dazed and breathless, his heart hammering in his ears. He can't restrain a scoff, before both hands land on Hugo's sides and with gentle determination he coaxes that thin frame to sit on the bed again. The spot on his neck that was bitten still throbs. He'll have to remember to wear his scarf before morning comes and the girls see him and realize how unprofessional he was.
Just by the way he looks at Hugo, mirth twirling in his eyes, it's clear he doesn't believe any of his words: returning for him sounds all too naive and wishful. Why would someone like Hugo still yearn for this boxer of the Outer Ring, when he clearly could have anyone he set his eyes on? Lighter has always been realistic. ]
I won't hurt you, nor do I need selfish pleasure. You need to recover, no matter how long that takes with that hard head of yours that surely will make it more difficult. I'll still be here in Blazewood even after your ribs have healed. [ He doesn't mention waiting, nor returning, as if Hugo could step back into Blazewood simply out of coincidence. It's clear he doesn't expect anything. A moment of weakness, a shared desire, a bleeding mark that won't fade too soon: that is all more than enough. This was already an exception.
Rough fingers smooth out the strands of hair around the other's face, before he leans forward to kiss the ends. ]
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Hugo finds he wants to learn more. In multiple aspects. But for now...well, for now. Clearly, patience will have to be the name of the game here. Tempting as it might briefly be to drag the man back in for more of his mouth anyway...tempting as it is, too, to resist the impressively steady hands coaxing him back onto the bed. Still, a boundary is being set and Hugo can respect it. So long as it means this exception remains uncompromised for the both of them...so long as there's still the potential, for more to someday follow...
He's waited longer for far less appealing things, really.]
Ha--I'll have you know, my constitution is quite impressive. I've been known to heal up beyond expectations in times past...who knows, perhaps this injury will be another such occasion, hm?
[A bit breathless himself, too, but already leaning back into his more typical sort of lilt as the kiss is broken and he's sat back onto the bedside. Shirt still open, color still high in his cheeks, hair somewhat messied...goodness, just a few kisses and touches and he's already feeling a little pleasantly debauched. Only a little, yes, but very pleasantly. Hugo licks his lips, a last captured taste, and then languidly wipes at a corner of his mouth--mildly abused to crimson, amusement curling on it at the way Lighter's already reaching to try and somewhat sort out his hair all the same. Kissing at the ends, too...really...who'd expect a man of the Outer Ring to have even such sweet habits as this...as if their tongues hadn't already been doing rather lewd things literal moments ago--]
...So long as you're still in Blazewood by then, either way. [He really did mean what he said. Even if Lighter doesn't seem to quite believe it...but that's fine. It'll only be something to prove later on, now won't it? If Hugo's tilting his head a bit into Lighter's touch, finally, well...maybe he's not noticing his own inclinations right this moment. More preoccupied instead with admiring the nice handiwork he's done, as his eyes fall on the bite mark now blooming distinct on Lighter's neck.] Until then...feel free to use any excuse you'd like about that, by the way. If you don't conceal it, or it ends up getting revealed anyhow. You could very well claim you were attacked by a vampire, you know--
[Fortunately, before this joke can get any worse, the Lighter's phone on the bedside table starts ringing. From an unknown number...in fact, the one that Hugo had sent a message to a bit earlier. (Or a thousand years earlier, as it perhaps might feel...)]
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But that's a thought for another time: he's one who solely lives in the moment now, that is the only way he manages to survive. And in this moment he allows himself to truly admire the sight before him, the way color has crept up finally to Hugo's mouth and cheeks, even dusted his neck. He commits every detail to mind with the desperate determination of someone who doesn't know if he'll ever see something so beautiful again and then he smiles. ]
You'll find me. [ He promises with ease, because he's not one to avoid or run away. His gaze softens upon seeing the absentminded way Hugo leans into his warmth without noticing, much like a cat. It's yet another frame he tucks into his chest.
He breathes out a laugh as he touches his neck lightly, feeling around the bite. ] There are such bloodthirsty bats in the Outer Ring. [ It's obvious he doesn't care about excuses; he'll just come up with something if the girls ask. Or he could just say the truth.
His gaze turns to his phone and he hums, taking a step back from the bed. ] I'll leave you some privacy. [ He offers, before he grabs his jacket and scarf and leaves the room, halting in the very same spot he was when he first met Hugo trying to escape. Instead of hours, it feels like it's been days. Ah, he really needs a smoke —but that's no option and he doesn't want to erase the other's taste with sugar, so he doesn't even resort to an emergency lollipop.
Dawn is starting to outline the edge of the desert with orange. Soon Lucy and Big Daddy will come to ask for information, Hugo will give them a likely story that involves a mysterious wealthy friend and shaking off pursuers in a mad drive and Lighter will wear his sunglasses and pretend he believes it all. Even when their eyes meet and Hugo's seem to glisten with cheekiness; the mark on Lighter will keep tingling for a long time.
He finds himself wondering if the bruise will still be there by the time they meet again; because a part of him wants to believe Hugo. And so he scratches at the bite mark until it reddens. Maybe it'll stay a little longer, unlike the owner of those fangs. ]