who am i?

although he’s still getting used to the adjustments that the change brings on, nixon doesn’t think that strength will ever be one that he can wrap his head around. he only notices that he’s tugged too hard when aspen winces in pain at the action, and his face briefly contorts into one of guilt, shame, as he looks up at his tiny little lover, his own pitied noise trapped in his throat. nixon’s green gaze searches his expression desperately while his fingers quickly massage at the bunched muscles of aspen’s shoulder, a quiet ‘i’m sorry’ passing through him. no, he muses, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to temporarily being stronger than aspen, when it was painfully obvious before that when human, aspen had been stronger than him.

perhaps, in more ways than one.

nixon doesn’t dwell on the negative thoughts that try to force their way into his mind, a metaphorical fortress of cement walls so high that it’s a wonder how any person can penetrate them. aspen is the exception. aspen is the only one who nixon swings the door wide open for, begging him inside with a look that screams i’m yours. he always has been. and he always will.

nixon groans with elation when aspen presses himself just as desperately into him, though he can feel the exhaustion nipping at both of them, the desire to stay until the last thing they have to do is pry apart. at the mention of bennie, nixon’s lips curl into a sardonic grin — he loves bennie immensely, but even he wouldn’t tolerate her splitting them apart. not unless she wanted to be on his good side. “i’d like to see her try.” nixon says with a bit of a growl, the noise rumbling dark in his throat. even the idea… it twists his gut in ways that he knows isn’t quite healthy, but who can blame him? years of disbelieving in everything aspen stands for… he’s not willing to give it up so easily.

and then aspen starts playing with the curls at the base of his neck, and whatever dark resolve nixon has started to let fester, eases just as quickly as it came. he’s found that lately, the beast inside of him is more than willing to rear its head at the first sign of tempers being raised, and he doesn’t know if it’s the versuch side of him or if it’s always been there. god only knew after the death of sebastian, nixon wasn’t the same. “that sounds like a fantastic idea.” nixon muses gently, angling his head up so he has access to aspen’s neck. he presses kisses along the column of his windpipe and only stops when he feels himself start to get carried away, nips turning harder, mouth lingering longer. for once, he just wants to unwind naturally — not by something he’s inherently caused. not when aspen sinks too easily into him.

“aspen—” he chokes on his name, always, and tightens his grip on whatever place of aspen he holds. nixon gets lost in the warmth of him, the perfect way he molds against him, and nudges his nose softly against the sharp cut of aspen’s jawline. “how often do you dream of me?” nixon knows the answer before aspen says it, but it’s not from heightened intelligence. the question is simple, but so much more: a rooting mechanism, one that pulls the other from their troubled thoughts, their growing hysteria, come-what-may. always. nixon’s been on the opposite end of the question a thousand times. it always works. “how often am i on your mind?”

just as quickly as it came, the pain in aspen’s shoulder subsides completely, nixon’s touch and his genetically accelerated healing both doing their part to ease the ache. he, too, forgets that his lover now far surpasses him in strength, and likely will for a few more months at the least. admittedly, it’s as unsettling as it is reassuring; while he takes comfort in the idea that nixon can defend himself better than ever before, he also doesn’t yet know his own power. that self-awareness will come with time but, for now, he’s like a fawn still finding footing on shaky legs — which means, on occasion, he still unintentionally jerks aspen’s arm out of its socket.

he supposes there are worse things.

“you’re right. she wouldn’t dare,” he giggles, slightly drunk off the feeling of nixon’s teeth on his neck. unconsciously, aspen rocks his hips side to side, desperate to readjust his weight so it isn’t settled so uncomfortably on his groin. nixon bites hard enough to sting and aspen inhales, sharp, toes curling in his boots. “no one would…” if he thought his family inexplicably respected him before, it was nothing compared to now. nixon’s towering presence is a constant, unspoken threat, punctuating aspen’s orders with a menacing glare. people listen to aspen when he talks — but nixon doesn’t have to say anything. 

together, they’re quite a pair. bennie has said as much.

nixon’s voice drifts to him on a warm breath against his throat and aspen hums, a knowing smile working its way across his face as he shuts his eyes. it’s rare he remembers his dreams, and the ones he does are indistinct and lack a storyline, but they’re full of texture and contrast, nixon’s face, touch, taste, smell flashing across his mind’s eye. even if he wanted to, aspen could never keep him out of his mind. his dna is wired to crave nixon.

it’s here, in the safe confines of his luxury apartment with the love of his fucking life, that nixon can finally breathe. hours upon hours of meetings — important ones, no less, but meetings — have taken their toll on the youngest versuch, and he lets out a loud, albeit dramatic groan as he all but throws himself down onto their soft, exceedingly expensive couch. bundy meows gently at the arrival of his parents, and while nixon loves the stupid cat more than fucking light itself, aspen will always have his heart, his soul, his very essence of being.

and, aspen’s a lot warmer than bundy. so it’s a win-win.

nixon stretches his arms out for his pint-sized lover, digits curling around the other’s nimble wrist, before he yanks him down onto his lap unceremoniously. there. that, at least, is better than space separating them. before aspen has time to react, nixon buries his nose into the fabric of his shirt, arms already snaking around his waist, as if to keep him trapped there forever with intentions of never letting go — as if aspen would ever want to leave in the first place.

“it’s so good to be home,” nixon muses with a light air. the heat aspen radiates off is ten times hotter than it was when nixon was human, but months of dealing with the change, months of controlling urges and desires and the ability to be near aspen without wanting to tear every piece of clothing off one by one, have subsided. now, nixon is colder to the touch, dropped down to the same body temperature as windsor, but much more powerful. —too powerful. “do you think we can stay here until the end of forever?” nixon gazes up at his fiancé, awe and wonder and undeniable affection etched over every inch of his expression. when he stares at aspen, he doesn’t just see the world, he sees the entire universe. and then he grins. “if i have to spend one more fucking meeting without you in my lap, i think i’ll die.”  //  @bloodstaineds

it’s days like these that make aspen truly feel his age. though his back doesn’t hurt and his muscles don’t ache like they would if he was human, the full weight of his ninety years seems to rest on his shoulders, his normally impeccable posture traded for a weary slouch. he drags behind nixon as they enter their apartment, half-aware of his surroundings, his brain caught up in a fog of names and numbers and dates discussed throughout the day. it takes a while to pull himself out of that headspace once he leaves work, to let his icy facade thaw into the warm, soft demeanor nixon brings out in him. aspen at home and aspen on the job are two completely different people, although that fact is known to few.

he barely notices he’s trailed nixon all the way into the living room until his fiancé nearly dislocates his arm yanking him onto the couch. a quiet oof passes his lips when he lands heavily on nixon’s lap, an impossibly familiar pair of arms winding around his slight frame. immediately, aspen melts into his embrace, shoving his nose into the curve of his throat and inhaling a deep breath of his scent. “we could at least stay until bennie marches up here and pries us apart,” he mumbles, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the idea of someone separating them. without a doubt, they would be hard-pressed to do so.

“Maybe you shouldn’t hang out with me then. They have eyes and ears everywhere,” he muses, gaze fixed on the way his fingers dance across Aspen’s jawline. Somewhere he’s got a point. They’re not very far from the place where they’ve been held captive for so long. It’s very stupid to stay in this city. They’re much better off somewhere in Canada or Mexico or even further. Calus has been saying this from the very start. They toured around for a bit but soon came back here. However, now that he’s got his arms and legs wrapped around Aspen — he’s not too sure he still wants to leave.

“Yeah, I’m always ready to go,” he smiles back at him and leans in to kiss him one more time before they leave. How did Aspen get under his skin in such a short time? Maybe he’s gifted with more than just fire, Calus isn’t entirely sure. He scoots to the edge of the countertop, tightens his grip with his legs around Aspen’s hips. “Let’s go,” he whispers in Aspen’s neck, his arms tight around his neck. Is he really expecting to be carried to the door? Damn right he is. If he doesn’t need to be the only man in this… relationship, you can bet he’s going to take advantage of the situation.

Although his tone is light, Aspen assumes his words carry weight; without question, Calus has been running from something since they first met, something far bigger than both of them. His own family has been painstakingly careful about keeping themselves out of the limelight for almost a century, through countless events that should’ve exposed them to the outside world, and he can only assume that something less than the high-security measures they put in place is what failed Calus and his companions in the past. He doesn’t want to assume Calus will put his safety at risk — but sooner or later, it’ll become a liability that he’ll have to factor in.

Aspen wants to keep Calus safe. He also wants to protect the people he considers his blood.

“I’ll take care of it,” he says simply, admittedly (oddly) somewhat unsure of his own ability to do so. Though he likes to consider himself capable of tackling any complication thrown his way, Aspen can only influence so much. Certain things are out of his hands, even if he won’t acknowledge it. “You’re such a child,” he chuckles, wrapping his arms around Calus’ waist to lift him off the counter. If it weren’t for Aspen’s semi-enhanced strength, he might struggle but, as it is, he walks Calus to the foyer with ease, dropping him neatly by the door. A grin stretching across his face, Aspen pecks his jaw and gives his hand a squeeze. 

       It’s what Elwood is good at – what he understands – how to feign innocence and a little naivety to fool others into thinking he’s just that: a pretty boy with a prettier mouth, next to nothing else. It makes them easy to manipulate and control – to get exactly what he wants from them. Aspen, though… this one’s different. Elwood doesn’t seek control, but rather seeks to give it up. When the stranger’s thumb passes through his lips he moans, those pretty eyes momentarily giving way to the fanning of lashes, before they reopen with slight hesitance: the only sight better than the stars behind his eyelids is the one in front of him. Elwood is also good at shitty poetry.

       He pays little attention to those around them. There’s a commanding nature to this boy that Elwood doesn’t consider the possibility of their little dance facing interruption – he doesn’t think they’d dare. “ No more talking, perhaps… but please tell me I don’t have to keep quiet. ” There’s a very slight hint of a whine on ‘please’, though, in his current hazy state, it’s more of a beg. The tilt of his lips gives way to a cheeky grin, the apples of his cheeks cherry blossom pink: he’s cocky by nature, but this boyish charm is usually reserved. Aspen is a special one, indeed. Said boy steps closer, and Elwood damn near loses the slither of composure he’s managed to keep intact.

       “ What are we waiting for? ” Any other time, any other place, he’d be a little less bold in his desperation: as it stands, he simply doesn’t care. The fingers beneath his chin draw a faint gasp from him – such a small, simple gesture ( and yet one so dominant, so very much look at me ) has his knees shaking and his breathing laboured. He’s nothing if not responsive to a little manhandling. “ The sooner you’re out of those clothes, the sooner I’m a happy boy. ”

A finger beneath Elwood’s chin soon turns into a hand cupping his jaw, holding his face steady in Aspen’s grip. He doesn’t want Elwood to forget who’s the dominant between them, not for a second. “Being quiet is the last thing I want you to do, bambino,” Aspen purrs, flashing him a wolfish grin. His hold on Elwood’s face tightens by a fraction, fingers digging into the fleshy scraps of baby fat that still cling to his cheeks. If they were alone, his hand would be sliding down to wrap around Elwood’s throat, nails pressing crescent-shaped marks into his skin. He can feel the blood pounding through both their bodies, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife.

“You’re very eager to get fucked, aren’t you?” Aspen chuckles, his eyes raking up and down Elwood’s face. His cheeks have turned a delicious shade of pink that makes Aspen’s mouth water. “Eager for my cock.” Reluctantly, he glances around them to confirm that the majority of the crowd is caught up in the now-ongoing fight, their raucous cheering and heckling turning everything else into background noise. If anyone had been paying attention to the pair of them, they certainly aren’t anymore.

When Aspen walks through the kitchen door, Calus instantly thinks back to the moment they first met. He’s fairly certain it’s the exact same outfit, too. As he stands before him, Calus has to forcibly grip his hand to his side. The urge to run his fingers through his hair and remove all the product in it is too big. He hasn’t known Aspen long enough to really know all sides of him, but if you were to ask him if he prefers this — slick hair and well put together — over the Aspen he saw when he just woke up; sunlight across his face, hair in all directions, nothing but warmth in his eyes. Calus definitely prefers the latter.

He raises his hand and lets his thumb run over the other’s cheek. His feet have their own plan, yet again, and he wraps his legs around Aspen’s waist, ankles locking over one another behind him. “You’re funny,” he muses, a soft grin on his face. “You do know that me even existing is illegal, right?” Calus being anywhere but behind bars is illegal. What could he possibly have against delivering a few mystery presents?

“I’m glad you’re not one to follow the rules,” he thinks out loud, tilting his head to the side as his fingers go for the side of his hair, just behind his ear. There must be somewhere that doesn’t have any gel in it, somewhere where he can still put his fingers in. “It doesn’t suit you.”

When Calus reaches for his hair, Aspen dodges him unconsciously, his first instinct being to protect the careful styling. He catches Calus’ hand and presses a kiss against the heart of his palm instead, then moves his fingers to rest against Aspen’s cheek. “I’m sure if anyone of importance knew I existed, I’d be in the same boat,” he admits, giving Calus’ leg a gentle squeeze. It makes him cringe to imagine what would happen if the government stumbled upon him and his family. Only decades of meticulous gatekeeping has allowed them to remain in the shadows for so long.

“I’m not very good at following rules.” With Calus this close to him, Aspen can’t help himself — he leans in and pecks the edge of his jaw, resting his nose against Calus’ cheek. How is he meant to go out and do his job when he could be doing this all day instead? Something about Calus makes him think he could tune the entire world out without a second thought. “I find they don’t mesh very well with my lifestyle.”

         He wonders, for a moment, why he feels so safe when he’s surrounded by an environment and people that scream danger – but when the man’s hand wraps around his wrist, Elwood feels somewhat grounded. There’s a glint in his eyes that beams with curiosity, the wonder of what may happen should he press even closer, close the space between them completely. In the end, Elwood doesn’t need to wonder - the man answers his question for him and soon enough, the pretty pink of Elwood’s shirt is matching the stain on his cheeks. Innocent he may be, but do not mistake this for ignorance - curious or not, should the stranger not have found him, Elwood would have made a swift retreat. There’s no saying what the other men this place would do to someone like him, someone so obviously lost and out of place, but he would not have stuck around to find out.

          At the boy’s words, Elwood offers a momentarily blank stare. He’s trying to figure him out, you see - work out what his intentions are, what he wants from him, if there’s an ulterior motive to the kindness that seeps from the man’s body language, faux or not. As the man steps closer, Elwood doesn’t shift, but rather there’s a hint of a smile forming at his lips - and that’s something he didn’t expect. His gaze flickers up to the man’s bloody forehead, and he watches his wince in silence, only his eyes expressing his inherent sympathy that remains ever present when confronted with those in pain. He doesn’t know why he does it, and he’d never be able to tell you why, but hesitantly trembling fingers reach out - his thumb gingerly swiping at the blood escaping the wound. Elwood regards his thumb with mild curiosity for a moment, before his gaze flickers back to the man’s and, without breaking eye contact, he raises his thumb to his mouth – sucking the digit between pretty pink lips, swallowing down the metallic bite without so much as a wince. The taste isn’t particularly pleasant, but Elwood thinks it’ll be worth it.  ❛  … You gonna wince when I get my hands on it, too?  ❜

          Perhaps he’s working on autopilot, or maybe it’s a subconscious desire, but Elwood finds himself stepping further into the stranger’s space upon taking note of the thickening crowd. They’re almost chest to chest, the space between them minimal, and Elwood has never been one for crowds but he’s suddenly in no hurry to leave. His lips are bloody but the blood isn’t his own, staining once petal pink lips into a much darker crimson, the dim lights of the room reflecting against the shine. There’s a playful undertone to the smirk he offers because, confidence or not, Elwood makes no attempt to hide that he’s messing with something much bigger than him – still, he does not know what it is he’s getting himself caught up in, but with one look up at the man, he finds he simply doesn’t care.

          If there was any confusion that Elwood definitely doesn’t have the upper hand here the man quickly clears things up with his actions. His gaze tilts downward, watching fingers fiddle with his buttons, and when he registers the touch to his stomach Elwood sucks in a breath, sucking his tummy in instinctively. His blush darkens, his breathing shallows and he soon finds himself overwhelmed, sucking his lip between his teeth and this time he does wince at he bitter sting of metallic, nose scrunching almost cutely.  ❛  M’name’s Elwood…  ❜  It’s spoken on an exhale, the endearment having him squirming almost instantly. On an impulse, Elwood cranes his neck a little, pressing bloodied lips to the skin just shy of the other’s ear, his own fingers resting against his bare chest.   ❛  Are you sure talking is what you want to do right now?   ❜

Aspen is an extraordinarily — oftentimes unduly — confident person, but the moment Elwood slips a bloodied thumb between his own lips, his knees threaten to buckle. Lingering dashes of red outline his grin and Aspen wants nothing more than to suck them into his mouth, lick them off and savor the taste himself. With Elwood inches away from him, his breath hitting Aspen’s cheek on every exhale, his willpower is at an all-time low. Then their skin touches, velvety lips purring against his throat, and it very nearly breaks him. “You’re very perceptive, Elwood,” he rasps, almost shocked that his voice doesn’t crack when he speaks. He refuses to let his poker face waver. 

Aspen hooks a finger through one of Elwood’s belt loops and gives a gentle tug, pulling their hips near flush. His mind is running wild with thoughts of what he would do to Elwood if they were alone — what he’ll do when they’re alone if he manages to get that far. “My name is Aspen. But I think that’s about all the talking we need to do.” So casually it almost seems unintentional, he thumbs at the buttons holding Elwood’s shirt together and knocks the highest one loose from its clasp. His self-control is holding on by its last threads. It’s a miracle most of the club’s regulars recognize him and know better than to interrupt or comment, at the risk of incurring Aspen’s wrath.

“my highest ambition is to crawl out from under the ash and laugh at the things that thought that they could bury me.”

When yesterday he would have ran from any form of Aspen’s touch, today Calus welcomes it. He kisses him back, saddened when Aspen already pulls away, his own lips still parted and his eyes closed. After a second, he smiles and blinks them open, gazing over at Aspen. His expression usually so cold and judging, now when he looks at him — it’s soft and warm and full of something he can’t quite name just yet.

“Alright,” he murmurs. “I’ll be here.” And when Aspen walks out of the kitchen, so what if Calus checks out his behind? He’s a simple man, you can’t sue him for that. After a few seconds of waiting and already getting too impatient, Calus starts to rummage through several cabinets to look for food. He finds an unopened package of cookies and in the time that it takes Aspen to get dressed, it takes Calus to finish all of them. He’s still young, he needs a lot of food to grow. Or something. Ever since he’s gotten out, all he wants to do is eat. He’s just so hungry all the damn time, he doesn’t understand it one bit.

And so there he sits — on the counter ( the island this time ) with the plastic wrapping next to him and a few crumbles on his chest and a happy, full tummy — waiting for Aspen to return. “What kind of package are we going to get first? And do I get to unwrap it because I haven’t gotten a present in decades,” he wonders out loud when he sees the other.

Reluctantly, Aspen slips away and disappears through the door to his room, his heart in his throat. He doesn’t want to leave Calus alone for a minute — not for a second. The less space between them, the better. Even being one room over from him gets under Aspen’s skin. He forces himself to take his time picking out an outfit and dressing, determined not to let his lovesickness turn him careless. Over the years, he’s set a certain standard for himself in terms of how he presents himself while doing business. He prefers to look professional, regardless of how sleazy or seedy his job is.

Despite the suffocating heat and humidity hanging over the city, Aspen still slips a glossy leather jacket over his t-shirt and pulls it tight around his shoulders, the weight of it oddly comforting. He rakes a bit of gel through his hair to tame his bedhead and ducks into the bathroom to brush his teeth before finally rejoining Calus in the kitchen, feeling significantly more put together. 

His mind feels rather empty here, leaning against Aspen, feeling his skin tingle everywhere he’s being touched. It’s a blissful feeling, some kind of high. While Aspen speaks and Calus enjoys the sound of his accent, he takes another inhale of his cigarette. Soon it’s done, ready to burn his fingers when he sees what the other does with his. His eyes go wide for just a second before he’s eager to try it out himself. He has to intention of hurting him, he’s merely curious about the other’s body.

Calus takes Aspen’s hand in his own and turns it over, opening his palm. Carefully and very slowly, he brings in his still burning cigarette. He puts it out on Aspen’s palm, his thumb immediately stroking the spot right after. Discarding the cigarette into the bin, he now holds his hand with both of his own. There is no burn or scar, but Calus still kisses the exact spot, his eyelashes fluttering up at Aspen to see his reaction. It doesn’t seem to have hurt him. Interesting. There’s still so much to learn.

He clears his throat and lowers their hands, though doesn’t let go. “I don’t have a job or any purpose in life for that matter. I’m sure I can spend a day with you, Aspen,” he jokes with a grin and leans in to kiss the very tip of his nose.

His gaze is trained on Calus’ face rather than his own upturned palm, curious eyes following the minute changes in his expression as he experiments on Aspen’s hand. The cherry touching his skin doesn’t feel like much, just paper brushing against his palm, the temperature slightly warmer than his body’s but not uncomfortably so. Aspen only looks down when it begins to smoke and Calus attempts to soothe the burn, only to find there’s no burn to soothe. 

Calus’ lips against his hand spark the warm sensation that the flame should have, a gentle tingling taking over the places where Calus’ skin touches his. Even his nose, wrinkled beneath Calus’ lips, hums with energy when they meet. “Okay,” he murmurs, nodding slowly. He wants Calus to spend a lot more than a day with him, but he won’t push his luck when the morning already got off to a rocky start.