The Buttflower.

Smell: he buries his nose deep in Niall’s neck, sometimes lower, dipping deeper towards his chest, other times nuzzling his jaw, close to the earlobe -and the back of the ear is notoriously a zone with a strong smell unless you keep it spotless-. For all we know he could be used as a hunting dog, Niall’s trail never too far off. How deeply does he know it? Can he feel the arousal in Niall’s scent and is it truly that different from the strong fear tainted acrid musk when he is struggling for breath because his life depends on it? I bet he knew the moment his nose was on the neck of his study robe that it could not have been anyone else but Niall. Had Mona not washed I dare not say what could’ve given their coupling away more than semen visibly dripping down her thighs.

Touch: when displaying violent and threatening behavior he grabs Niall moving him around effortlessly -when and where he most pleases-, like he’s made of a pinch of feathers and a dream to be slammed around; then it escalates to full punches, headlocks, foreheads all but slammed together, sexual violence, biting. There is however another type of touch among them, more private and gentler in nature; Ruben’s arm lending itself as a headrest to Niall after he had him dizzy and in a headlock, his other arm resting on Niall’s waist as they rest peacefully almost waist to waist and with Niall gently holding Ruben in their cozy shared space as much as Ruben is doing to him. A sweet open handed hair ruffle, enjoying the softness of Niall’s ridiculous bowl cut. A warm palm on his chest to keep him steady as he is guided through his very first time, the other hand around Bambi’s member feeling it grow and pulsate -heartbeat to match- to full mast coated with his own girlfriend’s slick. The sweet motions as he manages to always get his arms around Niall as if he could encircle him fully twice, holding him softly for a dance, steadily to lift him in the air, strong for his possessive hugs who are all encompassing. Ruben’s hands have by now traced a precise map of Niall’s skin, moles, patches of body hair, folds, the little muscle there is to be felt under his skin, his bones jutting out in places, the bumps of scars which he himself inflicted one way or another.

Touch is the leeway and substitute for taste, rightfully accompanied by smell and hearing. What Ruben cannot savor with his mouth he does with his hungry hands at the forefront, only having been able to taste Niall’s breath when they were panting, lips parted and dangerously close, into each other’s mouths like two young men starved and in a place where that was the only available oxygen source. Hunger always was a weak spot for Ruben, it surprises nobody how in the end that was one of the things that had him consumed, self cannibalizing for not being able to devour what he most desired how he pleased. His own blood and Niall’s mix so often inside of his mouth, on his tongue. How many times has he felt the salt from Niall’s tears, his dark enormous Bambi eyes glistening as he cried and spit back at Ruben, lapping at all he is given greedily as they are pulled so close he might break a rib.

Sight, because eyes are the windows/mirror to the soul and he is so incredibly good at reading those; where academically he fails, talking about Shakespearean prose and poetry as if it were a foreign language he has no way of understanding, no one can escape his gaze as it intrudes and prods, reading into the innermost parts of anyone he is unsure of. Niall’s honesty and intentions never fully being a secret to Ruben anytime his questioning gaze found him, yet his words sometimes offered grace, a respite for both from the knowledge such looks traitorously gave to him.

Hearing, just as keen as his eyesight, confirming Ruben’s spot as the apex predator of the dynamic; knowing Niall’s specific mood related sound cues: from the trembling of his voice, the drunken lisp of his tongue, a prolonged silence, wet licking of the lips -uncertain-, aroused and erratic breathing which is so tantalizingly close to his frightened hyperventilation and higher pitch -hitting his lowest once he’s been hit hard or freshly choked-. He knows which tones Niall modulates his voice into to appease, to soothe, to try and keep him at bay, never just a singular approach, just right for a man so multifaceted. The dripping venom from his words is so clearly there, even if only within Ruben’s mind, he’s heard Bambi’s heartbeat like a wolf hears that of a poor young stag before it is under its teeth.

Ruben trusts his senses, his gut is rarely entirely wrong; even deprived of one up to four of his senses there is ZERO doubt in my mind he would always find his way back to Niall. As Madeline Miller wrote in “the song of Achilles” he would know him blind from the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth… and Niall has most likely come to know him half as well the more they were around each other, his way of storing sensory input always neatly labeled for further developing and potential manipulation because he is known for not allowing himself to just open up and be.

A circle within another, heavy on his neck. Something he cannot be rid of, which he never touches or fidgets with for comfort; that is not a sentimental item but rather, as I interpret it, a prettier form of his sentence and what he is destined to carry, his own self fulfilling prophecy.

Sharing another cross-platform thought I had upon seeing this BTS photo of Stuart and Mitchell on set. (Still me just on twitter: @EtherDat if I am not mistaken).

I believe the green geometric wallpaper was a later addition to the room, something “rule adhering” Niall picked for his “big boy who goes to high school” renovation; he wears the school’s uniform, stripes follow him in his clothes and become rather suffocating at times with how little space is between them. We never see Ruben in uniform, his refusal to conform ever so apparent, his clothes more forgiving, never as suffocating, comfortably oversized to Niall whom of course loves to live in big brother’s shoes.