[janus steps carefully out of their shoes, leaving the two grouped by the doorway. ellie i'm so tired, if i misgender them by accident you are allowed to laugh. but here they are, placing themself carefully in the space of the room, like a cat or a patch of sunshine bleeding through treeboughs. they walk over to the blanket spread out on the floor and sit down on it, next to arel but maybe one-and-a-half feet away. two feet seems rather cold, after the intimacy they had already shared; half a foot, touching him, seems intrusive, considering— everything else.]
That's okay. I don't need flowers. [janus had thrown away the ones that ezekiel gave them, actually. feeling guilty about it, like the gift was worthy of better treatment— and it was. they'd found an obscure trash can that the incubus probably wouldn't go rooting through (janus somehow thinks everybody has the potential to be as much of a creep as they are), not wanting arel to feel poorly. nobody assigns less intrinsic worth to janus' virginity than janus themself, but that doesn't mean they like the idea of hurting arel. but they knew they were just flowers.
they're always just flowers.
it's the men that give them to janus that count. their sensibilities, the hopes and memories that had inspired the gift. janus folds their hands on their knees.] You know what I'm going to say, [they tell him, a note of teasing stealing into their voice.] Right? You should be able to imagine. It's a useful gift you're showing me, and you know how I like useful things. You're not going to tell me our futures?
[they were brave enough to say our, but too nervous to leave out the s. they bend their head back to look up.]
[Arel huffs out an amused breath, out of his nose. Soft, as he looks up at the night sky and feels like he needs sunglasses, like it's all too much, too bright all of a sudden. He thinks back on Emily, sitting on his lap and telling him, anything you want, and I love you, like it's as natural as breathing. The two of them were Hunters. But they've always been something else, too.
Janus - they're a Hunter. Through and through, like nobody allowed them to be more than that. Like no one ever thought to tell them that, maybe, there was something else in the world that was worth looking at and didn't mean spilling blood. Like the stars. Like falling in love. Like eating a cheap curry at 3am when your sweat tastes like vodka and you've been laughing so much your throat and cheeks hurt.]
Do you want to know? [Arel's pretty sure he doesn't. He hasn't wanted to, in a long time. In four years, give or take. But he feels like he could tell Janus' future, without even looking at the stars.] Do you really want to live with that kind of pressure? Don't you have enough?
[it's a lovely spell. janus likes the way that it tells the truth about the sky, about what's beyond the opacity of blue light pollution and fantastical castles of vapor. in space, it's always night time and always day time. these are heights that no harpy will ever fly to, that the vast majority of myths are as ignorant of, or dependent on technology to see as any mundane human or the beasts that roam around their feet.
janus is less bothered by reminders of their mortality than most people. something to do with almost dying enough times, of having taken lives. with not quite having ever come close enough to death, or truly lost anything. not yet.]
It's harder for me not to know, [janus tells him. the food smells good even from here-- flying makes them hungry sometimes, but they're still watching the pinpoints of light drift slow through the field of darkness. nebulae spinning slowly through the space. it's so beautiful it hurts, but to be perfectly honest, arel is prettier for janus to look at, with janus' particular taste in picturesque views. they're pretending, a little; a small token dishonesty. janus tends to be forthright, but they're never really transparent.] It's the way I am. I always like to know.
But if you don't want to tell me, you don't have to. If it puts pressure on you to have me know. [janus quirks a smile, small but not insincere. looks at arel again, finally.]
[Arel can guess; it's always better to be prepared, to be aware of what's to come, to have a plan a to z for all contingencies and possibilities. The problem with divination is that it's rarely specific, often just as nebulous as the stars you've got to gaze into.
But Arel looks back up at the night sky, concentrates a little, around a question and Janus' name, possibilities and openings and the future. It's not plain and simple. It never is.]
There's a boat. It's a good time, I think - sun-drenched. You might be happy. A sword, planted in the earth. Tears. You're angry. [He frowns. He feels bad, for not being able to give Janus a lot more than that. Swallows, his throat moving under the tattoos, and looking harder.] There's a lot of energy, and it's making it difficult to read. Blurs things a little. You - you've got a lot of energy. [Obviously - it's not actually news, for either of them.] There's - something that looks like a crowd, for you to get lost in. It feels like a new beginning.
[Things get hazy after that. The stars are still there, just as bright, but it's Arel's own energy that flickers a little. He blinks, once, twice, and turns to Janus.] Don't think I'm going to get much more. I'm sorry, it's - not much.
[if janus knew anything about love, they'd know that when you look at somebody after seeing a mystical sky full of stars and that person is the more beautiful of the two, you're probably in it. but they don't know anything about love. so they nod at arel and think about what he says. he's right, of course. it's vague. but janus hadn't been expecting anything else. divination is what it is.] That's helpful, [they answer.] I know someone who has a boat. And the sword in the earth sounds like hunter rituals I've heard of. For reconnection and transformation. It's a little surprising, I don't usually take those kinds of risks, but--
[janus shrugs. let's be real! dying seems like the most imminent possibility out of all of those laid out. they assume, naturally, that the tears must belong to someone else.] Thank you, Arel. Thanks. You don't have to be sorry.
[impulsively, janus lies down. maybe that doesn't seem like a very impulsive thing to do, okay, but everything here is unfamiliar. they fold their hands on their stomach, thinking about the long, narrow band of white blanket separating them under the stars.] Now that you've told me about my future, if you want, I could tell you some things about my past. You, um. Don't have to-- I know you don't like talking about yours. I'm not demanding reciprocity, [janus says, as clearly as possible, in case anyone in this room is more confused about the transactional properties of friendship than janus is.] I'm just offering.
[Arel looks at Janus. Between them and the stars, they're definitely the most beautiful of the two, in Arel's eyes. There's a world, in Janus' irises, that Arel may never be able to read like he can read the stars, and he wants that. He wants something like a constant surprise. He wants to not know what future awaits him, and that's why he never divines for himself; forces himself far away from it, every time.
Janus is - unlike the stars - intriguing. Represents possibilities, a myriad of them, the likes Arel never thought he'd have access to. And yet here he is, lying down next to them, a puzzle box to unlock. Arel's fingers have always been clever.
He rolls to his side and props his head up on his hand when Janus offers their past. Arel's hand moves, brushes along his knuckles as he looks down at Janus.] I'm happy to listen. [Maybe it would help Arel make sense of Janus, in the grand scheme of who they are, as a human. So much more than energy encased in somebody else's skin. He's reminded of Jay's words, they got my fokken' ugly mug. Jay couldn't be more wrong; there's absolutely nothing ugly about either of them.]
[janus' hand tingles where the wizard touches them. they don't think about it too much. hm. adrenaline, maybe. the blanket feels oddly cool against janus' cheek as they let their eyes drift down the lotus on arel's throat. thinking about how to start. how do people talk about themselves?]
Jay was born on March first, and that's when the leyline made me. I have two mothers who adopted me when I was a baby. One of them has a daimon that's the oldest tree in a forest in Finland— like the fae, but rooted in this world and not the other. She's dying, because there's sickness in the soil. The groundwater there. The mining industry moved into Finland. My other mother is linked to Aztec forces-- one of their descendents. She's sad a lot, she's going to outlive us both. I think that was the worst part of finding out I was a harpy. I think they wanted a legacy.
[maybe janus is going for the whole tragic, romantic sympathy thing.
nah. they never have any idea what they're doing. is your boner dying, arel. is it wilting away with talk of parents.]
I was bad at fighting when I was small. I let my temper get the best of me all the time, and I tried to fight like centaurs and minotaurs. No adaptation. My favorite toy was a rattle that had lights spin in the middle. The first time I flew, I spun around in the air to make my vision streak the same way. I threw up and fell down and almost died. I like lime-flavored chips, they're my cheat food. [what is this debrief. the best debrief in the world, is what!] But I also like bowtie pastas because of the shape.
[a beat.]
I used to lie. All the time. My mothers had to do a lot of research. They hoped it meant I was smart. I used to cry, too. That was less useful.
Is there anything that can be done about the soil? Or is it too late?
[Parents dying. His parents should have outlived him, too, if they hadn't been burnt to a crisp by a man who looked exactly like Arel did. He wonders if they thought it was him.
It doesn't matter, does it.]
Well, Jay seems like a belligerent type. Could it be that you're taking after him? [He thinks maybe Jay would have fought with him, that time they had lunch. He looked like he wanted to, at moments in their conversation. But he'd been a little jagged, then, hurt by something Arel didn't really understand. Their conversation had been jagged, too.
He hopes they don't take after their daimons, when it comes to personality. That's an ugly, dark thing Arel doesn't want to face.]
Crisps are your only cheat food? No wonder you're skinny as fuck. [He smiles. His fingers drift down to Janus' ribs, but stay barely there, a ghost touch, whispering above Janus' shirt.]
Did you fight with Jay? [a grandmotherly note of concern enters janus' voice, but they don't press it. they're fairly certain that if jay or arel had gotten into anything serious, they would have heard about it. or possibly been there, watching icily from around a corner. they're a weird person.] Hm. It's possible. [for humans, personality and characteristics seem to be derived half from genetics and half from nurture, or something. it wouldn't surprise janus that mysticism worked similarly. they've certainly encountered the limits of harpy abilities, before.] I think I didn't like being weak. Jay doesn't, either.
[they definitely have that in common.
also the hots for arel, in case that wasn't clear. it's pretty obvious when janus' eyes move to follow the wizard's hand. they think about arching into it, but they don't because that's the sort of thing you don't think about, you just do. it's ok though, because then they sneak a hand out and touch their fingers on the skull-marked crease of arel's palm. tuck their thumb around his thumb. hold him carefully.] Because I hadn't learned to be by myself. And I was afraid to get hurt or die. I think it's common with young hunters.
Not exactly, no. We just had a really strange first meeting, in which he was pretty... combative. [Not physically. The only physical undertones to their conversation over burgers was Jay hitting on him and offering to suck his dick, a second after meeting him. And acting like it was completely normal and standard, at that.
The idea that they could be like their daimons, once again, strikes Arel, like a gut punch, like the worst idea possible. Not for Janus - Jay is, all in all, a good kid. But Edward... Arel could barely think of it, had to wonder if the violence that sometimes rummaged inside him was due to Edward, and that piece of his soul Arel carried around.]
But you're not weak, now. Does Jay think he is, still? [Arel looks down at their joined hands, his squeezing Janus' carefully. It feels tentative, maybe in a way it shouldn't be, considering what happened between them before, but Arel likes it. He wouldn't want to take Janus for granted.]
So you're not afraid of being hurt anymore? [Sounds familiar, indeed.]
[janus can tell that there's something wrong. but there is almost always something wrong, so they just make a note of it, the familiar sour note thrumming faintly in the background of arel's voice. they listen to it but forget to be afraid of his secrets.]
There's always fear and there's always pain. It's just a question of how little and what else we have. I think Jay's like me in that way without all the killing. [not helping, but janus doesn't know about edward and won't for awhile. they run a finger over the top of arel's knuckles and then squeeze a little in answer, their palm coarse from calluses and dry, despite their claims to feeling.] Once you know you can survive getting hurt, thats its own kind of strength. Jay's gotten hurt enough times. He knows. We're both still afraid.
I'm just better at hiding it. [there's a discreet fragment of a smile. smaller than most people could see in the artificial dark, but arel is secretly a spy so he likely catches it. along with the wink of mischief in their eye. they shuffle a few inches closer to arel, then lean up on their elbow. they're teasing.]
[Arel gets that. He's survived getting hurt, too, and yet he's still afraid as well. It's a very common, almost comforting thought, knowing that they're alike, in that way. But Arel knows that most people at this school have been hurt and are scared of being hurt more, of being hurt for the last time. It's a sad by-product of being a Myth.
His thoughts shift completely when Janus asks if Arel wants them to pretend to be Jay. He frowns, shakes his head immediately.]
No. Absolutely not. [He moves his hand from being tangled with Janus' to tracing up long their arm, to the point of their shoulder, their jaw, framing it gently, a barely-there touch.] I didn't ask Jay on this date now, did I? I don't want you to pretend to be anyone. I just want you to be yourself.
[janus very much likes this. what's happening right now. the way arel touches them. they think maybe they shouldn't— they learned their whole life to be proud of how competent and powerful and frightening they could be, to shape their identity around this small steel core. but arel touches them the way people handle ivory or lace or stones that are lovely, things that either break easy or that one prizes so much that the mere thought of it makes them careful.
they aren't sure what to do. touch arel back? touch his hands, but that might be like telling him to stop. lie still, but then maybe he'll think janus doesn't like it. but at least this time they remember to smile.] I don't know how many times i have to remind you, [they say, teasing a little,] I'll protect you. You don't have to be afraid. [janus touches a gentle thumb to the tip of arel's elbow, where the star holds its center.]
Okay. Maybe me and myself should eat this nice dinner you made for me, while you were thinking of me as myself. Good idea? Bad idea. [the stars are so pretty.]
[Arel chuckles, soft and genuinely amused at Janus' little barb. He knows it's a joke, which makes his laughter even warmer. He's not the best at humour, but neither is Janus, and it feels lie they're growing together into being able to do this, tease each other and laugh about it.
Here and now, the duvet warm under his hip, Janus' skin under his fingertips, the stars above their heads, Janus' words about their past hanging in Arel's mind, he swallows hard, before leaning into Janus' space, a little staccato, like he's constantly rethinking it, before he's fitting his lips against theirs, soft for a second before it turns properly into a kiss - still chaste. He pulls back, but doesn't go very far.]
[arel kisses janus, and something in the hunter's heart catches fire. burning fierce and bright and proud. it's as good as besting a shinigami in a duel, carrying the mark's severed head back to headquarters. receiving mission orders, paper to hand, in front of envious peers. except it's better than that, founded not on the contest with others but this strange and radiant feeling of being utterly alone with someone.
more foolish thoughts. if the world ended tomorrow. if i was going to die. if the building caught fire. if i could be something else, i'd want to be—]
Oh, [janus says, when the kiss ends somewhat sooner than expected. by now, janus should know better than to overthink it. one way in which sex and murder are, in fact, very similar.] Yes. One moment, I'm not making a very good showing. [they waddle their elbows a bit closer and place a tattooed hand on arel's broad cheek, his smoothly shaven chin. thumbing the sanguine lotus below, touching the hinge of his jaw, as if reassuring themself that all the necessary mechanics are here, that this will work. janus kisses arel this time. there is something deft about the shy trace of tongue to his lips, asking to be let in to his mouth like there is treasure chambered there.]
[If Arel was asked, he'd say Janus is making a very good showing, actually, but he isn't being asked. He's being kissed, and that makes him smile as he leans closer, as his hand reaches up, fingers skittering up along Janus' sternum, to their throat, to their jawbone, fingers pressing, wondering if he could feel the ink on Janus' neck, if it could transfer from one to the other. If, if they kept going, he could leave traces of himself on Janus, like a mark that would never be reflected on Jay. Janus' and Janus' alone.
He opens up for their tongue, all too willingly, letting out a noise, coming all the way down from his belly, rumbling up and up, gathering speed and strength. He doesn't know how long he's going to manage to maintain concentration on the stars, keep them bathing the room in a soft glow. But he's going to try, even as he settles closer to Janus on the blanket, tilting his head to deepen the kiss even further, no mistaking its intent.]
[janus sucks on the wizard's tongue and breathes in the wizard's breath, both of which are warm, only one of which is wet. they still remember the mass of ezekiel's body above them and the slender dish of ty's face in their hands, but somehow this is different in ways that have nothing to do with the breadth of arel's shoulders or the way his hair begins to deconstruct under janus' fingers and fall into his eyes. or perhaps it has everything to do with the breadth of arel's shoulders and the way his hair falls in his eyes.
this is just a long way of saying: at some point, janus opened his eyes and snuck peeks at arel's face while they were kissing, just to check what the wizard looks like. as expected, arel remains direly handsome.
their vision starts to swim at some point because they can't breathe, because arel is making them breathless and maybe at some point in a young hunter's life their tongue needs to go back in their own face for a couple seconds. janus breaks the kiss with a reluctant gasp. they have the resting heart rate of a hundred year-old tortoise, but their pulse is tripping parade music. high and bright and mighty.] Arel. [they inhale sharp and wander their mouth up arel's cheek, his ear. dragging their teeth gently around the velvety lobe, as if it's a piece of candy they'd rather melt than break with a bite.]
You make me think of growing old and staying young forever. It doesn't make sense. You make me very illogical.
[Arel closes his eyes when Janus speaks, feeling their lips, swollen by kisses, by Arel's mouth on them, on his ear, whispering into the shell of it. Under his fingers, Janus' heartbeat is fast and feels - happy, in a way, like Arel can tell. He can't, but he likes to think it is, happy and excited and comfortable. His index finger plays a rhythm in sync with it.]
Do you think it's a bad thing? To be a little illogical?
[Arel doesn't mind. He is pretty illogical himself and he knows it, guided by his emotions more often than not, letting them take over, even when they contradict themselves, from one moment to the other. It gives him the impression that he is being his best self, following his heart, instead of being led by his clan and their missions.]
I don't know. [janus' mouth slips away from the precious tidbit of ear they'd been worrying with their teeth. they duck their head slightly, nuzzle him instead. there are fewer nerves in one's nose than in one's lips, so it isn't pleasurable the same way, but it seems like a nice gesture to tell arel that they like him.
(so much.)
(their heart is beating so fast.)]
You need to be able to see clearer than an ordinary person to land hits. [they touch his hair very gently. smooth the short hairs down the nape of his neck.] A failure of deduction can lead to injury or worse. I think in some way, I was taught-- [a finger down the back of his shirt, fixing his tag.] To be illogical is to be weak. To be illogical and soft is even weaker.
[Arel closes his eyes, processes the words. Yes, he knows - everything but utmost precision, in actions and thoughts, is a weakness. Anything keeping your hand from being as steady as it should be is a weakness. Emotions, gut feelings, all of it - weaknesses.
Arel cannot subscribe to this philosophy anymore. He's never thought he made a great Hunter anyway, better at intelligence gathering than cold-blooded kills, but now that his clan is gone, he feels like the tenuous tether he had to the ideology has been entirely snapped. And now... hearing Janus' words, there's a part of him that wishes he could burn it all down to the ground, and free people like them.
He swallows hard. This isn't him.]
This - [He gestures between the two of them, then presses two fingers to Janus' chest again.] - this isn't about hits, and violence, and precision. This is messy, Janus. Not just the sex part, although that is definitely messy, but all of it is, too. You're not supposed to analyse your relationships with a clear eye and look at it as if it's another target. You're supposed to allow yourself to be blinkered by it, by what you're feeling. And it's - it's okay.
[He takes another deep breath.] You can separate the two. Be your analytical self when working, and allow yourself a small space for your feelings, and for messiness, when we're together. [He half-smiles, soft.]
It's not weakness. Not really. It's just - different.
[there's a day not too long from now when janus will look back on this moment and hate it. they'll be humiliated. they were accustomed to traps loaded with secret needles. poisons. traps built of wire and glass and illusory magic. they had not expected one with eloquent hands and long forelocks that carry a secret curl early in the morning and these silly rhetoric, that would persuade no one. one day, janus will remember the lopsided quirk of arel's smile and think themself an idiot. a harpy who fell for a trick no more complex than a scarecrow.
that day is not today.]
Maybe it would be less messy if you didn't put your blanket on the floor, and move around things you will have to clean up later. [their voice is light. janus tucks their elbows down on the floor, push themself up slightly. chest inclining under arel's touch, knees parting, opening around his hips. there's a smooth, almost serpentine flex of janus' narrow back against the floor. like a cobra striking in reverse, they roll the two of over on the spread blanket. in just as clean a single movement, they remove their shirt. one swift once-over of their arm.
they wonder if they can get his spell to flicker. just like arel, to miss his window into the future for the pleasure of the present.]
[ You aren't afraid? The question feels like a thunderclap through Arel's mind, and the spell does flicker, the stars blurry for a moment before he focuses, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth for a moment. Is he afraid to make mistakes?
Every single moment of his life. This, right now, is probably a mistake, all the things Arel can't tell Janus hanging heavily on his thoughts. Will Janus hate him if they ever learn the truth? That Arel's a liar, a coward, nothing as lovely as Janus like to build him up in their head. That Arel is a mess, hiding away what he really is to them.
Arel hates himself for it; he wouldn't begrudge Janus if they did, too. Janus - too good for him, probably, sitting above him without a clue, and it's unfair. Words clog up Arel's throat for a moment as he traces the incredible curve of Janus' waist with a reverent finger, trying to swallow it all down.]
I'm always afraid. Everybody makes mistakes, Janus. The harder part is forgiving - yourself, and others.
I'm a forgiving person, [janus says. it doesn't fully capture what they mean, but by now, they've come to realize that talk of their murder job is something of a buzzkill for most people— they decide to keep it to themself, the terrible crimes they have heard myths commit, the righteous anger that drove their blade, and the way they let go of it afterward. hunters are only naive in the most esoteric way.] I have a good compassion mantra. We can do it together, someday.
[they'll place a word to it, someday. this urge of theirs, to comfort arel when they sense his calm is disturbed, the turmoil inside of him rearing closer to the surface than normal. they think: there's no way he deserves it, whatever pain he's feeling. the way he touches them, you know he is innocent.
it moves their heart to protectiveness that would hurt, if they thought of it too closely. janus sets a kiss to arel on the tip of his chin, and drops their shirt aside. then they start to crawl backward over his body, knees and palm, moving with the same lithe coordination that they have when they're training out in the quad. in a moment, their lanky-limbed straddle is across their knees, and they're tugging at arel's fly, thumbing button through hole, dragging the tab of the zipper down through metal teeth. they know arel's body a little now, how his cock likes to make intimate friends with their tattooed fingers, their mouth, and they kiss him through the fine grain of his underwear.] Don't think of how you were, [janus tells him, their breath warm.] Think of what you like about yourself. Think about how I like those things too.
[Arel didn't expect Janus to move so quickly - graceful and effortless and it shouldn't surprise him, they are a Hunter, after all, but it does anyway. Arel never wants to stop being surprised by Janus and their sudden decisions, like they're spur of the moment when he knows oh so well that they've been weighing pros and cons, making sure that their hands are precise and their fingers aren't shaking.
Janus isn't about making mistakes.
Arel lets his eyes drift closed when Janus leans down, eyelashes fluttering as he exhales loudly, pleased, his dick giving a hearty lurch in his underwear, jumping from being mildly interested in Janus' weight on him to being fully interested in Janus' mouth on him.]
Tell me about the things you like. [Arel says, his voice rougher now, need transpiring in his tone and his words. It's not that being given compliments turns him on, but there's something about the way Janus voices things, so matter-of-factly and endlessly endearing that keeps on capturing Arel's attention, and Arel wants to hear more of it.]
nsfw, did we already mark this nsfw, it is definitely nsfw
[janus is silent for a little moment longer, consulting the secret horoscopes woven into arel's underwear, perhaps. it's hunter code. perhaps they're being foolish, but at least it's intended sweet when they lay their cheek briefly against the bulge of arel's cock and hum, thinking.] I like. How handsome you are when you aren't smiling. And then when you-- [they pick up their head and look up the tapestry's glut of ink swirling up his torso.] Your teeth are all even, not like a bunny. More like. A parrotfish, except your colors are prettier.
I like how your tattoos fade around your nipples, instead of stopping on a line. I like how you carry Emily here, [a slender hand on arel's stomach, sliding up the dorsal line, the groove between his abdominal muscles,] in your core, where your balance is centered, where your breath fills, where your strength begins, even though she also reaches your heart. I like-- your curly hair in the morning and your widows peak.
And just in case-- just in case you think, um, [oh,] that my affection is strictly physical, [janus clears their throat and wiggles slightly on their perch over his legs. adjust their hands down to arel's underwear, with a few pragmatic tugs.] I also like how kind you are to strangers. The children who drop their books or look unwell. And how much you worry. And how you grieve. No set time, no rosary, no loud anniversaries. But you hold it inside of you, like you're the shrine and the tragedy deserves to be commemorated.
It's very romantic, if you like that kind of thing. [janus apparently does. :) :) :) this comment, they punctuate with a kiss on arel's hipbone, tracing their mouth down the diagonal cut of muscle that connects it to his groin.]
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That's okay. I don't need flowers. [janus had thrown away the ones that ezekiel gave them, actually. feeling guilty about it, like the gift was worthy of better treatment— and it was. they'd found an obscure trash can that the incubus probably wouldn't go rooting through (janus somehow thinks everybody has the potential to be as much of a creep as they are), not wanting arel to feel poorly. nobody assigns less intrinsic worth to janus' virginity than janus themself, but that doesn't mean they like the idea of hurting arel. but they knew they were just flowers.
they're always just flowers.
it's the men that give them to janus that count. their sensibilities, the hopes and memories that had inspired the gift. janus folds their hands on their knees.] You know what I'm going to say, [they tell him, a note of teasing stealing into their voice.] Right? You should be able to imagine. It's a useful gift you're showing me, and you know how I like useful things. You're not going to tell me our futures?
[they were brave enough to say our, but too nervous to leave out the s. they bend their head back to look up.]
no subject
Janus - they're a Hunter. Through and through, like nobody allowed them to be more than that. Like no one ever thought to tell them that, maybe, there was something else in the world that was worth looking at and didn't mean spilling blood. Like the stars. Like falling in love. Like eating a cheap curry at 3am when your sweat tastes like vodka and you've been laughing so much your throat and cheeks hurt.]
Do you want to know? [Arel's pretty sure he doesn't. He hasn't wanted to, in a long time. In four years, give or take. But he feels like he could tell Janus' future, without even looking at the stars.] Do you really want to live with that kind of pressure? Don't you have enough?
no subject
janus is less bothered by reminders of their mortality than most people. something to do with almost dying enough times, of having taken lives. with not quite having ever come close enough to death, or truly lost anything. not yet.]
It's harder for me not to know, [janus tells him. the food smells good even from here-- flying makes them hungry sometimes, but they're still watching the pinpoints of light drift slow through the field of darkness. nebulae spinning slowly through the space. it's so beautiful it hurts, but to be perfectly honest, arel is prettier for janus to look at, with janus' particular taste in picturesque views. they're pretending, a little; a small token dishonesty. janus tends to be forthright, but they're never really transparent.] It's the way I am. I always like to know.
But if you don't want to tell me, you don't have to. If it puts pressure on you to have me know. [janus quirks a smile, small but not insincere. looks at arel again, finally.]
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But Arel looks back up at the night sky, concentrates a little, around a question and Janus' name, possibilities and openings and the future. It's not plain and simple. It never is.]
There's a boat. It's a good time, I think - sun-drenched. You might be happy. A sword, planted in the earth. Tears. You're angry. [He frowns. He feels bad, for not being able to give Janus a lot more than that. Swallows, his throat moving under the tattoos, and looking harder.] There's a lot of energy, and it's making it difficult to read. Blurs things a little. You - you've got a lot of energy. [Obviously - it's not actually news, for either of them.] There's - something that looks like a crowd, for you to get lost in. It feels like a new beginning.
[Things get hazy after that. The stars are still there, just as bright, but it's Arel's own energy that flickers a little. He blinks, once, twice, and turns to Janus.] Don't think I'm going to get much more. I'm sorry, it's - not much.
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[janus shrugs. let's be real! dying seems like the most imminent possibility out of all of those laid out. they assume, naturally, that the tears must belong to someone else.] Thank you, Arel. Thanks. You don't have to be sorry.
[impulsively, janus lies down. maybe that doesn't seem like a very impulsive thing to do, okay, but everything here is unfamiliar. they fold their hands on their stomach, thinking about the long, narrow band of white blanket separating them under the stars.] Now that you've told me about my future, if you want, I could tell you some things about my past. You, um. Don't have to-- I know you don't like talking about yours. I'm not demanding reciprocity, [janus says, as clearly as possible, in case anyone in this room is more confused about the transactional properties of friendship than janus is.] I'm just offering.
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Janus is - unlike the stars - intriguing. Represents possibilities, a myriad of them, the likes Arel never thought he'd have access to. And yet here he is, lying down next to them, a puzzle box to unlock. Arel's fingers have always been clever.
He rolls to his side and props his head up on his hand when Janus offers their past. Arel's hand moves, brushes along his knuckles as he looks down at Janus.] I'm happy to listen. [Maybe it would help Arel make sense of Janus, in the grand scheme of who they are, as a human. So much more than energy encased in somebody else's skin. He's reminded of Jay's words, they got my fokken' ugly mug. Jay couldn't be more wrong; there's absolutely nothing ugly about either of them.]
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Jay was born on March first, and that's when the leyline made me. I have two mothers who adopted me when I was a baby. One of them has a daimon that's the oldest tree in a forest in Finland— like the fae, but rooted in this world and not the other. She's dying, because there's sickness in the soil. The groundwater there. The mining industry moved into Finland. My other mother is linked to Aztec forces-- one of their descendents. She's sad a lot, she's going to outlive us both. I think that was the worst part of finding out I was a harpy. I think they wanted a legacy.
[maybe janus is going for the whole tragic, romantic sympathy thing.
nah. they never have any idea what they're doing. is your boner dying, arel. is it wilting away with talk of parents.]
I was bad at fighting when I was small. I let my temper get the best of me all the time, and I tried to fight like centaurs and minotaurs. No adaptation. My favorite toy was a rattle that had lights spin in the middle. The first time I flew, I spun around in the air to make my vision streak the same way. I threw up and fell down and almost died. I like lime-flavored chips, they're my cheat food. [what is this debrief. the best debrief in the world, is what!] But I also like bowtie pastas because of the shape.
[a beat.]
I used to lie. All the time. My mothers had to do a lot of research. They hoped it meant I was smart. I used to cry, too. That was less useful.
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[Parents dying. His parents should have outlived him, too, if they hadn't been burnt to a crisp by a man who looked exactly like Arel did. He wonders if they thought it was him.
It doesn't matter, does it.]
Well, Jay seems like a belligerent type. Could it be that you're taking after him? [He thinks maybe Jay would have fought with him, that time they had lunch. He looked like he wanted to, at moments in their conversation. But he'd been a little jagged, then, hurt by something Arel didn't really understand. Their conversation had been jagged, too.
He hopes they don't take after their daimons, when it comes to personality. That's an ugly, dark thing Arel doesn't want to face.]
Crisps are your only cheat food? No wonder you're skinny as fuck. [He smiles. His fingers drift down to Janus' ribs, but stay barely there, a ghost touch, whispering above Janus' shirt.]
Why did you cry? [His voice is soft.]
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[they definitely have that in common.
also the hots for arel, in case that wasn't clear. it's pretty obvious when janus' eyes move to follow the wizard's hand. they think about arching into it, but they don't because that's the sort of thing you don't think about, you just do. it's ok though, because then they sneak a hand out and touch their fingers on the skull-marked crease of arel's palm. tuck their thumb around his thumb. hold him carefully.] Because I hadn't learned to be by myself. And I was afraid to get hurt or die. I think it's common with young hunters.
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The idea that they could be like their daimons, once again, strikes Arel, like a gut punch, like the worst idea possible. Not for Janus - Jay is, all in all, a good kid. But Edward... Arel could barely think of it, had to wonder if the violence that sometimes rummaged inside him was due to Edward, and that piece of his soul Arel carried around.]
But you're not weak, now. Does Jay think he is, still? [Arel looks down at their joined hands, his squeezing Janus' carefully. It feels tentative, maybe in a way it shouldn't be, considering what happened between them before, but Arel likes it. He wouldn't want to take Janus for granted.]
So you're not afraid of being hurt anymore? [Sounds familiar, indeed.]
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There's always fear and there's always pain. It's just a question of how little and what else we have. I think Jay's like me in that way without all the killing. [not helping, but janus doesn't know about edward and won't for awhile. they run a finger over the top of arel's knuckles and then squeeze a little in answer, their palm coarse from calluses and dry, despite their claims to feeling.] Once you know you can survive getting hurt, thats its own kind of strength. Jay's gotten hurt enough times. He knows. We're both still afraid.
I'm just better at hiding it. [there's a discreet fragment of a smile. smaller than most people could see in the artificial dark, but arel is secretly a spy so he likely catches it. along with the wink of mischief in their eye. they shuffle a few inches closer to arel, then lean up on their elbow. they're teasing.]
Would you like me to pretend to be him?
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[Arel gets that. He's survived getting hurt, too, and yet he's still afraid as well. It's a very common, almost comforting thought, knowing that they're alike, in that way. But Arel knows that most people at this school have been hurt and are scared of being hurt more, of being hurt for the last time. It's a sad by-product of being a Myth.
His thoughts shift completely when Janus asks if Arel wants them to pretend to be Jay. He frowns, shakes his head immediately.]
No. Absolutely not. [He moves his hand from being tangled with Janus' to tracing up long their arm, to the point of their shoulder, their jaw, framing it gently, a barely-there touch.] I didn't ask Jay on this date now, did I? I don't want you to pretend to be anyone. I just want you to be yourself.
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they aren't sure what to do. touch arel back? touch his hands, but that might be like telling him to stop. lie still, but then maybe he'll think janus doesn't like it. but at least this time they remember to smile.] I don't know how many times i have to remind you, [they say, teasing a little,] I'll protect you. You don't have to be afraid. [janus touches a gentle thumb to the tip of arel's elbow, where the star holds its center.]
Okay. Maybe me and myself should eat this nice dinner you made for me, while you were thinking of me as myself. Good idea? Bad idea. [the stars are so pretty.]
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Here and now, the duvet warm under his hip, Janus' skin under his fingertips, the stars above their heads, Janus' words about their past hanging in Arel's mind, he swallows hard, before leaning into Janus' space, a little staccato, like he's constantly rethinking it, before he's fitting his lips against theirs, soft for a second before it turns properly into a kiss - still chaste. He pulls back, but doesn't go very far.]
You could. Or we could skip dinner - for now.
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more foolish thoughts. if the world ended tomorrow. if i was going to die. if the building caught fire. if i could be something else, i'd want to be—]
Oh, [janus says, when the kiss ends somewhat sooner than expected. by now, janus should know better than to overthink it. one way in which sex and murder are, in fact, very similar.] Yes. One moment, I'm not making a very good showing. [they waddle their elbows a bit closer and place a tattooed hand on arel's broad cheek, his smoothly shaven chin. thumbing the sanguine lotus below, touching the hinge of his jaw, as if reassuring themself that all the necessary mechanics are here, that this will work. janus kisses arel this time. there is something deft about the shy trace of tongue to his lips, asking to be let in to his mouth like there is treasure chambered there.]
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He opens up for their tongue, all too willingly, letting out a noise, coming all the way down from his belly, rumbling up and up, gathering speed and strength. He doesn't know how long he's going to manage to maintain concentration on the stars, keep them bathing the room in a soft glow. But he's going to try, even as he settles closer to Janus on the blanket, tilting his head to deepen the kiss even further, no mistaking its intent.]
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this is just a long way of saying: at some point, janus opened his eyes and snuck peeks at arel's face while they were kissing, just to check what the wizard looks like. as expected, arel remains direly handsome.
their vision starts to swim at some point because they can't breathe, because arel is making them breathless and maybe at some point in a young hunter's life their tongue needs to go back in their own face for a couple seconds. janus breaks the kiss with a reluctant gasp. they have the resting heart rate of a hundred year-old tortoise, but their pulse is tripping parade music. high and bright and mighty.] Arel. [they inhale sharp and wander their mouth up arel's cheek, his ear. dragging their teeth gently around the velvety lobe, as if it's a piece of candy they'd rather melt than break with a bite.]
You make me think of growing old and staying young forever. It doesn't make sense. You make me very illogical.
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Do you think it's a bad thing? To be a little illogical?
[Arel doesn't mind. He is pretty illogical himself and he knows it, guided by his emotions more often than not, letting them take over, even when they contradict themselves, from one moment to the other. It gives him the impression that he is being his best self, following his heart, instead of being led by his clan and their missions.]
I like it, myself. And it suits you.
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(so much.)
(their heart is beating so fast.)]
You need to be able to see clearer than an ordinary person to land hits. [they touch his hair very gently. smooth the short hairs down the nape of his neck.] A failure of deduction can lead to injury or worse. I think in some way, I was taught-- [a finger down the back of his shirt, fixing his tag.] To be illogical is to be weak. To be illogical and soft is even weaker.
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Arel cannot subscribe to this philosophy anymore. He's never thought he made a great Hunter anyway, better at intelligence gathering than cold-blooded kills, but now that his clan is gone, he feels like the tenuous tether he had to the ideology has been entirely snapped. And now... hearing Janus' words, there's a part of him that wishes he could burn it all down to the ground, and free people like them.
He swallows hard. This isn't him.]
This - [He gestures between the two of them, then presses two fingers to Janus' chest again.] - this isn't about hits, and violence, and precision. This is messy, Janus. Not just the sex part, although that is definitely messy, but all of it is, too. You're not supposed to analyse your relationships with a clear eye and look at it as if it's another target. You're supposed to allow yourself to be blinkered by it, by what you're feeling. And it's - it's okay.
[He takes another deep breath.] You can separate the two. Be your analytical self when working, and allow yourself a small space for your feelings, and for messiness, when we're together. [He half-smiles, soft.]
It's not weakness. Not really. It's just - different.
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that day is not today.]
Maybe it would be less messy if you didn't put your blanket on the floor, and move around things you will have to clean up later. [their voice is light. janus tucks their elbows down on the floor, push themself up slightly. chest inclining under arel's touch, knees parting, opening around his hips. there's a smooth, almost serpentine flex of janus' narrow back against the floor. like a cobra striking in reverse, they roll the two of over on the spread blanket. in just as clean a single movement, they remove their shirt. one swift once-over of their arm.
they wonder if they can get his spell to flicker. just like arel, to miss his window into the future for the pleasure of the present.]
You aren't afraid? Ever. Of making a mistake.
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Every single moment of his life. This, right now, is probably a mistake, all the things Arel can't tell Janus hanging heavily on his thoughts. Will Janus hate him if they ever learn the truth? That Arel's a liar, a coward, nothing as lovely as Janus like to build him up in their head. That Arel is a mess, hiding away what he really is to them.
Arel hates himself for it; he wouldn't begrudge Janus if they did, too. Janus - too good for him, probably, sitting above him without a clue, and it's unfair. Words clog up Arel's throat for a moment as he traces the incredible curve of Janus' waist with a reverent finger, trying to swallow it all down.]
I'm always afraid. Everybody makes mistakes, Janus. The harder part is forgiving - yourself, and others.
[Hypocrite.]
nsfw hella
[they'll place a word to it, someday. this urge of theirs, to comfort arel when they sense his calm is disturbed, the turmoil inside of him rearing closer to the surface than normal. they think: there's no way he deserves it, whatever pain he's feeling. the way he touches them, you know he is innocent.
it moves their heart to protectiveness that would hurt, if they thought of it too closely. janus sets a kiss to arel on the tip of his chin, and drops their shirt aside. then they start to crawl backward over his body, knees and palm, moving with the same lithe coordination that they have when they're training out in the quad. in a moment, their lanky-limbed straddle is across their knees, and they're tugging at arel's fly, thumbing button through hole, dragging the tab of the zipper down through metal teeth. they know arel's body a little now, how his cock likes to make intimate friends with their tattooed fingers, their mouth, and they kiss him through the fine grain of his underwear.] Don't think of how you were, [janus tells him, their breath warm.] Think of what you like about yourself. Think about how I like those things too.
[they probably
aren't just talking about his cock.]
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Janus isn't about making mistakes.
Arel lets his eyes drift closed when Janus leans down, eyelashes fluttering as he exhales loudly, pleased, his dick giving a hearty lurch in his underwear, jumping from being mildly interested in Janus' weight on him to being fully interested in Janus' mouth on him.]
Tell me about the things you like. [Arel says, his voice rougher now, need transpiring in his tone and his words. It's not that being given compliments turns him on, but there's something about the way Janus voices things, so matter-of-factly and endlessly endearing that keeps on capturing Arel's attention, and Arel wants to hear more of it.]
nsfw, did we already mark this nsfw, it is definitely nsfw
I like how your tattoos fade around your nipples, instead of stopping on a line. I like how you carry Emily here, [a slender hand on arel's stomach, sliding up the dorsal line, the groove between his abdominal muscles,] in your core, where your balance is centered, where your breath fills, where your strength begins, even though she also reaches your heart. I like-- your curly hair in the morning and your widows peak.
And just in case-- just in case you think, um, [oh,] that my affection is strictly physical, [janus clears their throat and wiggles slightly on their perch over his legs. adjust their hands down to arel's underwear, with a few pragmatic tugs.] I also like how kind you are to strangers. The children who drop their books or look unwell. And how much you worry. And how you grieve. No set time, no rosary, no loud anniversaries. But you hold it inside of you, like you're the shrine and the tragedy deserves to be commemorated.
It's very romantic, if you like that kind of thing. [janus apparently does. :) :) :) this comment, they punctuate with a kiss on arel's hipbone, tracing their mouth down the diagonal cut of muscle that connects it to his groin.]
yes we did
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