ezra castillo

“They touched my hands a lot,” Luther shrugs, finally taking a sip from his drink. It’s lukewarm at this point, worse than trash. “I could hardly talk to any of them anyway, because of the—” he pauses. “Nevermind. We’re moving past that.” Instinctively, Luther touches the scarf that is hiding a perfectly healthy neck. 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” The question is a little disturbing and Luther starts to wonder if maybe he’s been forcing this. “Ezra, are you sure you want a relationship with me?” One of these days, Luther won’t feel like an idiot after spending some time with Ezra. But that day is clearly not today. 

Ezra is about to ask what Luther meant, but then when the younger man touched at his scarf, Ezra retracted the curiousity.   Right.  Ezra had marked him up good, and Luther couldn’t afford to have questions in the minds of others, even stupid pretty twinks.

Luther chuckles and pulls back, before they decide that’s a good idea and go for it. “Charmer. No wonder I can’t resist you.” But why is Ezra unable to resist Luther? Aside from the good looks (which are obviously the main prize). “A lot of people tried to put a move on me. It was all over the papers, almost every day. Were you jealous?”

“I tried not to be. But I was jealous....seeing you with all those pretty boys.  And you didn’t let even one of them touch you, hmm?  No matter how much they begged for it, I hope,”  Ezra said, because if there was one thing Ezra liked more than feeling a raging jealousy over those twinks, it was imagining how Luther rejected them and hopefully made them cry.  

Luther nods. The fleeing in his chest has to be relief, although he has no idea why it feels like it’s expanding and sort of– blooming. He notices Slutty Brent looking over, so naturally, Luther leans in and gets in Ezra’s face. “I have an inappropriate question. Is your…” Luther wiggles his eyebrows to indicate he means the penis,” you know, more man, or machine? I’m just asking, because I’ve never had sex that’s so good before. It makes a boy wonder.”

The question was...downright adorable.  Ezra wanted to kiss Luther so badly right now, even with the sunglasses and scarf.  Luther looks so apologetic right now.  No more mopey face, but back to the Luther who was confident and sure of himself.

It made Ezra’s heart ache to see him like this.  He never wanted to make Luther feel unsure again. It was like kicking a puppy who loved you.

Luther feels enormous guilt and wonders if that’s because Ezra is trying to manipulate him. It was one of the signs of an abusive relationship, Luther even wrote it down. He bites his lip, so not to accidentally apologize for something he isn’t guilty of. “All I know is,” he starts, using his thumb to stroke Ezra’s hand, “—that if you want to rebuild this, you have to earn my trust. God, you’ll have to earn Felix’ trust, because we won’t have a single moment alone until then.”

“Alright,”  Ezra said, looking down at Luther’s hand.  This was a reasonable request, and something Ezra could focus on.  And even the added bonus of North’s trust, because why not.  Might as well; Ezra had them pegged from the moment Felix North bled in his home )and fastidiously cleaned it all up).

“Maybe he thought he did. Just like I thought I knew you.” What a lie that was. And after the VR Luther is more fucked up than ever. Logically, he knows he has to put an end to this, but he can’t ignore how much he was programmed to love this man. He still remembers the vows the exchanged in that non-existent world — word by word. 

Luther chuckles. “It means it’s not healthy,” he says and the laughter ends on a sad note. 

But there’s a promise, a possibility maybe. “You would?” Could that help? “Wait, why do you wound so angry about it?”

“Luther, he doesn’t think anything of the sort.  I don’t go around professing my love to anyone. You make me feel so small when you dismiss me like this, honestly.” And the more Luther kept harping on this the more Ezra began to regret trying to express his feelings. Luther didn’t understand.  Maybe Luther couldn’t understand, and it was all Ezra’s fault for starting Luther on this train in the first place.  

Ezra felt slowly defeated. He sat back, wanting to go back home or to the Attic and just drink himself into blackness.

Okay, yeah this guy was as weird as he remembered him being at the hookah lounge. Weird with a touch of creepy. Which was saying a lot since he was the one who had trauma-induced psychopathy (granted he was technically cured of it thanks to his neurolace).

“Jesus.” And people thought he was fucked up, but he was a veteran and maybe this guy didn’t neural implants to force his brain to empathize like he did. “Must have been early models. Aren’t they sending a whole team of them to colonize Titan for an autonomous manufacturing colony?”

Freezing in space and imploding? That was a scary thought. He may not be an android but he was quickly turning into something very similar to one. At least he knew his implants were authorized for space travel, they had to be in order to re-enlist, considering rapid deployment involved a 136,000-foot dive from space. “Man, if my medical waiver to re-enlist ever gets approved, that better not happen to me during deployment. I’m practically half machine.”

“What’s the hold up?” Ezra asked curiously.  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but.  If you think you’re qualified and ready to re-enlist, then there are ways to make it happen.  Depending on your situation, of course.”  

It wasn’t like Ezra wanted to send unstable troops back out on any mission - and if his assumptions were correct, the type of missions that this Hart fellow went on required a certain height of mental acumen - but Ezra liked eager soldiers.  In this political climate, it was a rarity.

Luther snorts and glances at the counter. “Tell that to Brent.” Stupidest name in the history of ever. 

Speaking of stupid— Luther notices the red dot dancing on Ezra’s forehead and frowns at the rooftop he can barely see through the window. Felix thinks he’s either being funny, or reassuring. With a barely-there shake of the head, Luther orders his bodyguard to quit it. 

“I don’t know,” he sighs, returning to the conversation. “I want to believe you, but if you can’t promise me you’ll keep me safe then what’s the difference between us and a toxic relationship?” Luther watches their joined hands and he can’t hide it from himself, let alone Ezra, that he enjoys the contact. “I want to be with you. But I won’t be, until I can feel safe around you.”

“Brent knows my coffee order, darling, he doesn’t know me.”  Ezra never lay in bed with Brent for hours, or thought about him during meetings.  He sighs when he sees the glint of red, particularly when Ezra tilts slightly to confirm the bead on his forehead.  

Felix North.  Well,  Ezra wouldn’t expect anything less.  But the idea of a Secret Service man assassinating the Space Force officer in plain sight was a little amusing.  What a government.

“I don’t understand. What’s a toxic relationship?”  Ezra asked, thinking toxic = hazardous material waste.  Luther did make a good point though, even though he didn’t pull his hand away.  Ezra stroked it with his thumb.

“I could...”  Ezra exhaled, because truthfully he’d been avoiding this part of rehab for months.  Ugh.  But god - looking at Luther, maybe it was worth it.  “I could...see a therapist.”  He sounded embarrassed, grumbly at the idea.  

God, it’s hot to watch Ezra bully the weaker, poorer people. If the man held that tone with Slutty Barista, Luther might get on the table and beg for sex. He crosses his legs when Ezra comes back, just in case something decides to make an appearance and embarrass him. This is not the place for accidental boners. 

“Has it ever happened before?” he asks, once Ezra is done explaining. “This… mind mixture, the violence outbursts?” Or is Luther the only one who was irritating enough to make Ezra snap? 

It hurts to hear Ezra say he’s scared, because it means he has no control. He can’t promise it will never happen again. Luther stares at his coffee cup, all appetite lost. “That basically means we shouldn’t be together. That’s what you’re saying.” 

“No,”  Ezra replied moodily.  But that was only because he’d never let anyone get this close to him, not after the ship crash.  “I...don’t exactly have many people who know me.  Or like me, in a personal way.  So I don’t really feel much for anyone else, or vice versa.”

Ezra looked up at Luther, swaddled in his scarf and shades and everything else.  He wished he could hold Luther right now, lay in bed with the younger man and just spend...hours like that.  “Do...you want us to be together?  Luther...I thought you hated me. With good reason, I mean. I hurt you.”

“We had too little time together. We barely got to explore anything,” Luther says, sounding as sad as he feels over the fact. 

Sighing, Luther finally brings himself to look at Ezra. “That’s not what I asked. I just want to know why it happened. I need to hear the reason. Of course it won’t be an excuse, but I need these questions answered, or else I’ll go crazy. You can’t expect me to forgive if you don’t explain what went wrong.” Luther realizes they need to be closer, if they intend to continue the conversation, so he slides in and makes enough room for half of Ezra’s ass. “I can feel you’re holding back.”

Something about the way Luther said it, the lost promise of exploration together, makes Ezra’s spine tingle, his dick twitch.  Like he was mourning what could’ve been, what they could’ve done to and with each other.

he was glad when Luther offered the seat, but like hell Ezra Castillo was going to half-ass sitting on a booth.  He put his coffee down and went to some random fratboy.  

“You’re in my chair, son,” he told the kid, upended him off the chair and brought to back to sit perpendicular to Luther.  Close enough that their knees touched under the table.  

“I called the V Lounge Director after...the incident.  And after his million apologies - likely in the interest on not getting a lawsuit - he explained that - that sometimes the virtual reality programming can affect a traumatized mind.  Certain...neurons misfiring, memories mixing with reality. I don’t know the biology of it, but the long and short of it is that my brain is fucked-up.  The VR put it on the edge, and the disruption caused a misfire in my mind.  I thought I was under attack.  Even though I knew it was you, it also felt like I was having a nightmare.  And also like I was back in space, fighting on a fucking mining asteroid....all at once.”

Carefully, Ezra placed his hand on Luther’s.  “Even though I knew it was you, it wasn’t you I thought I was hurting.  I thought you were something...else. I don’t know how else to explain it.  Luther I’d never intentionally hurt you.”

Was that true though? Could Ezra guarantee that?  Christ, he needed a drink.  “But I’m so...fucking terrified of hurting you again.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Luther sticks by the order corner, as he makes Brent redo the order three times — one extra for seeing Ezra’s overused dick. It’s a miracle that thing hasn’t fallen off yet. 

When he finally gets the drink, Luther makes his way to the table and makes a show of sitting down without looking at Ezra. “Do you want me to pee on you?” Luther asks instead of giving a straight answer. He’s used to having people stand around him, so it doesn’t even occur to him to squeeze in and make room for the other. “So, you were saying that episode was some kind of PTSD?” 

Poor Brent. But also Ezra can’t bring it in himself to feel too sorry for the kid, if only because his attention was on admiring Luther’s pomposity.  

“Is that a kink of yours we haven’t yet explored?” Ezra asked, with all the casualness of someone who enjoyed engaging in many depraved and naughty things.  Well, not peeing; that was just a joke.

Ezra looked immediately cold when Luther brought up his situation so callously.  “I don’t like to make excuses for my actions. I don’t deserve your forgiveness or even acceptance, Luther.  Regardless of why I did it, what I did was wrong.” His brain was wrong. His mind was wrong and Ezra hated himself for it. Things weren’t like this before the crash.

Luther knows he’s in disguise, but never in his life has he been ignored so much by a barista. “Yes, I’ll—” No one’s listening. “I’ll have the– ” The twink’s eyes are on Ezra and Ezra only. Which isn’t usually a problem, but he obviously can’t look and listen to someone else at the same time. That little– “Hey.” Luther snaps his fingers in front of the kid and his voice turns mean. “He’s taken. Don’t make me pee on him. Now focus, because the order will be long.” And Luther already knows he will return it twice, before he relents. That’s how revenge works. 

Once the twink finally starts working on the order, Luther crosses his arms and turns to Ezra. “Friend of yours?” he asks, jealous despite himself.

“The usual, Brent,”  Ezra said, when the barista finally looked over at Luther.  Brent nodded and even had the gall to mouth to Ezra,  ‘Taken?’ in twinkie mock-shock, because he clearly didn’t believe Ezra could be taken with anyone, least of all the Joan Crawford wannabe that Ezra was with.

But before Brent could incur any more of Luther’s rage, Ezra steered the First Son to the waiting corner, paying for both their drinks.  

“I fucked him,” Ezra replied quietly.  Brent wasn’t that good either.  A little too eager; and Ezra preferred a bit of a challenge.  Their drinks were slid onto the counter and Ezra took his, finding them a quiet place to sit. 

But it was just one half of a booth, and the chair usually paired with the table was stolen and occupied by some other patron.  So Ezra stood, letting Luther sit if he wanted.  He would’ve just squeezed in with Luther, but he didn’t want to suffocate the kid...again.

 “I’m taken?” he asked, not caring how tentatively hopeful he sounded.

Ezra has the gall to look undeniably sexy. What an asshole. Luther risks a wrinkle and frowns, as if offended by his own body’s desire. His dick conveniently forgets what occurred between the two of them last time they met. “No way. The park is where people get raped. Or turn homeless.” It’s debatable which is worse.

Humphing, Luther starts walking towards a cafe, pulling his baseball cap lower to hide his face. Hopefully Felix is having an easy time following them around from the roofs with the rifle he packed on his way out. “So how’s it been?”

Ezra resists rolling his eyes because that would set them off to a bad start.  Also, because he felt suspicious of his own eye-rolling, because it should be exasperated but instead it would just be affectionate.  Like an ‘oh my god you’re so cute, I want to cuddle you’ affectionate.  

And that would just be so inappropriate right now.

So he concedes to the coffee shop, holding the door open for Luther.  The barista recognizes Ezra and smiles.  

“I’ve been working,” Ezra says.  “And when I’m not working...”  He was drinking himself into a stupor.  “I’ve been regretting my recent past actions.”

@ezracastillo

Getting up to Ezra’s place seems to be a miscalculated obstacle. The farthest Luther can take himself is in front of the building’s entrance. The poor doorman holds the door open for a good 10 minutes, before Luther finally rejects the idea and steps back. No close spaces. This has to be a public meeting. Funny enough his inner voice sounded a lot like Felix’s. If ever there was a sign that the two spend way too much time together, it’s this. Luther momentarily wonders if Felix hears Luther’s voice when he sees a well dressed celebrity.

‘Come downstairs.’ says the text Luther sends to Ezra. He pockets it and tightens the scarf around his neck, then tests the taser-ring on his hand. The light says it’s fully functional and ready to be used if needed. “This is the most morbid date in history,” Luther sighs.

Ezra doesn’t text back and just emerges from the apartment after about thirty seconds.  He zips up his woolen coat, the pauses when he realizes that Luther is alone.  And rather obviously dressed up as someone who didn’t want to be recognized.

Where was North?  Hopefully hiding up in a tree somewhere, listening to every word of their conversation, ready to leap down like a spider-monkey if Luther needed assistance.

Ezra looks at the scarf, and then looks away.  “I understand the need for a public meeting, but perhaps not this public.”  Ezra fretted, because with this new fucking experiment with defective robots running amok, who was to say one of them might not try to shoot Luther?

“There’s a park down the block, let’s sit there?” Ezra suggested hopefully, because he knew the park well, knew all its vantage points.

Luther: [Luther stays silent for a while, then gets up and grabs a coat] I'm going to come see you. Doing this over the phone is ridiculous.

Luther: You love me? [luther is visibly too sad for words] Then help me understand. What happened? Why?

Ezra: I....[clearly in shock that the word fell out of his mouth]. I'm a soldier, Luther. I survived a ship crash that killed everyone else on the crew, except myself and Jacob. The...the sight of people I worked with who depended on me, all of them burning or maimed or getting sucked out into space. It's nightmareish. I should never have done the VR. That was my first mistake.

Luther: Right, no. You just try to cut my air supply and then not call me for a week.