ncverdie

Doctor Strange & tea

Or Dick. He'd never live it down if it was Dick.

' Oh, I'm definitely keeping this. It's the rules. And that depends.....do YOU want to do this again sometime?' Turning his attention back to Lin, he absently reached to down wrangle the shirt the rest of the way on. S h i f t i n g on the bed to more fully look at the other man before glancing over the mattress.

' You wouldn't happen to know where my PANTS are? ' ~

"yeah, yeah," he mutters, "don't fuckin' thank me. you're making my suit wet."

he says it with his arms already closing around him. one hand slides around to splay between Waterboy's shoulder blades, the other curves around the back of his neck, careful of the chill-slick skin there; Flambae can feel the cold through the fabric, trying to bite into him, vicious and stubborn. it pisses him off. fuckin' ice rink. who the fuck steals from a fuckin' ice rink-- and more importantly, who the fuck looks at Waterboy, at that permanently damp nervous system who stumbles around like a haunted dehumidifier, and thinks yeah, send him where everything is frozen and full of screaming children with fuckin' knives on their feet.

heat blooms in Flambae's chest in a steady build, like coals breathing under skin, warmth spreading until the air between them turns thick and mineral, steam uncurling where Waterboy's cold dampness meets him. everybody thinks pyrokinesis is all explosions and dramatic entrances and setting assholes on fire because they fuckin' deserve it, which, yeah, that too; but this kind of control is different - holding the line, making himself a furnace instead of a blaze, warming without scorching. keeping every degree of himself leashed because that damp noodle is pressed against him, shaking like a newborn, and Flambae would rather bite his own tongue off than admit it bothers him.

"there," he says gruffly, leaning in until his breath stirs the wet hair near Wetfartboy's temple. "just, uh. stay there a minute. don't go getting hypothermia or whatever the fuck."

thankfully Waterboy's face is mostly hidden, which is probably for the best because eye contact right now might put him in a fuckin' coffin.

"just bein' ... responsible here."

responsible looks a lot like him dragging the abandoned blanket off the bench with two fingers and hooking it around Waterboy's back anyway, dampness be damned. the fabric will not do much at this stage, fine, but it cuts the draft from the hallway and gives Flambae an excuse to keep him pinned close. it settles over them both in an ugly emergency-orange heap, and his thumb slides absent-mindedly over the knob of Waterboy's spine before he catches himself and stills it.

fuck.

they have been training together, and paired on missions for weeks now. early mornings and evenings in the SDN gym and the training room, Waterbitch flinching at Flambae's sparks and Flambae swearing when a blast of water hits his face hard enough to put him out and ruin his hair, which is basically attempted fuckin' murder.

they had started as a live demonstration of why opposites should remain fuckin' theoretical; disaster pairing, fire and water. fuckin' slapstick comedy waiting to happen.

--except lately the jokes have been dwindling. lately, Waterboy ducks when Flambae moves, before he has to bark it at him; lately, Flambae feels the shift of moisture in the air and knows where Waterboy is without looking. lately, steam rolls between them on missions like cover, like smoke, like something they made together on purpose, and it hides civilians from gunfire, blinds and scalds assholes with weapons, wraps the field in a hot white curtain while Flambae moves through it grinning like a fuckin' fire demon. lately, when Waterboy stumbles, Flambae's hand is already there. lately, when Flambae burns too bright, there is water hissing at his flank before the flame gets too greedy.

even tonight - the call had sounded simple enough when Robert sent them in: city rink, some assholes with stolen cryo-tech freezing the exits shut and trap a couple dozen civilians inside while they cracked the safe in the office. instead, it had turned into twenty minutes of Flambae sliding around on rented skates like an enraged fuckin' giraffe to avoid melting the ice floor into slush, while Waterboy tried to keep burst pipes from flooding the ice. except somewhere between Flambae melting the emergency doors without turning the civilians into barbecue and Waterboy pulling a wall of freezing spray away from a group of them, it had worked. steam had filled the rink and blinded the cryo-tech pricks, and the pair had stopped crashing into each other and started covering each other instead. so yeah, lately, it fuckin' works.

and that ... is confusing. because working together means noticing things, it means knowing Wetfartboy hates the cold, it means knowing the nervous little pauses are not weakness, just traffic in an insecure brain trying to cross a multi-lane road with no fuckin' lights. it means knowing he is braver than half the shiny cape-wearing pricks who talk louder than him and do far less.

it means Flambae is standing in a hallway after a miserable fuckin' mission, steaming gently under an emergency blanket with Waterboy tucked against his chest, and the worst part is that he does not want to let go yet. so he scowls uselessly at the wall like it's ruining his life.

The words were MUMBLED and strung together through an awareness that was greatly halved by the slowly growing warmth radiating against him. AROUND him. INTO him. An awareness growing thinner as Waterboy's body seemed to deflated slightly by itself. Long limbs and stiff shoulders relaxing against Flambae's offered heat. The energy draining out of him in a sigh.

It felt....better. Good. SO GOOD. His teeth no longer chattering so hard it made his jaw ACHE. Skin growing warmer and no longer painful beneath the bodysuit that was still STUCK to him like a suffocating latex second skin.

Maybe it was the exhaustion of the mission. Maybe it was the cold still numbing his brain and MANNERS and...well...self preservation. But the idea of moving AWAY from Flambae seemed like a HORRIBLE idea.

And well... Flambae had pulled HIM close, right? So it....it was OKAY that he stay. Not to mention the other Z-Teamer would have no concerns SHOWING if he wanted Herman to move and then..er.. MAKING it happen, right? Right. Totally right. A-absolutely.

They were better together now though, anyway! Much better! Good even! Helped each other, worked WITH each other instead of...well...NOT.

Maybe this was why instead of pulling away with a shy gushing STUTTERING of thank you's, Herman felt himself melt CLOSER with another sigh. All the energy seeping out of his muscles. Tall lanky body curled awkwardly to press against the fire wielder in a way that was almost boneless. WATERBOY'S pale cheek smooshed against Flambae's obnoxiously coloured outfit as a blanket was pulled over his back.

' Nice....y-our....it's nice.'

Pressed close like this, his face and nose p u s h e d into the broader mans chest and shoulder, he was mutely aware of the scent of Flambae's skin.

A heated smell....like a steadily burning hearth....or FLAMES licking over dried wood. Wild and comforting at once. Mingling in and lacing with whatever was left of the expensive cologne the other man had spritzed across his skin earlier that day.

It was...a nice smell.

A good smell.

WATERBOY had often wondered if he had a smell....not that water, er, had smells. It tended to be...scent-LESS. Lacking in scent. Maybe he didn't either? Did he smell blank or did he smell like a...a swimming pool?? Chemically and sharp and off-putting like chlorine? He didn't like Chlorine. Maybe blank was better.

That train of thought was lost to him him however. Slipping through his rapidly decreasing concentrating as he began to slowly warm and dry. Hair starting to lighten in color as the perpetual dampness was driven away. A few errant strands beginning to CURL at the edges even though the shivering hadn't QUITE stopped yet. Waterboy's arm lifting automatically to curl around Flambae's waist and back beneath the blanket. ~

Thunderer did not interrupt with words, nor did he fracture the quiet with another needless sound.

It was painfully familiar to him, the weight of being the wall others stand behind, the knowledge that if you falter, even slightly, it is not only your own fall that follows.

Arms folded loosely across the god's chest, expression allowed to settle into something contemplative, something akin to warm reassurance emerging in the deep voice.

' But no leader is ever granted certainty. Only choices... and the will to stand by them when the ground becomes unstable.'

Here the Asgardian allows gaze to drift outward to the students outside, small lives living and orbiting in still unscathed paths. Summers count not afford to fail them, and neither could Thor, when he wore a mantle much similar to the human's.

Golden head tilts a fraction, something thoughtful emerging in the bright eyes.

' If it is some assurance you seek, then do no rely on words alone.'

A small offering, given with a minute wave of open hand, given with no incentive or pressure behind the words.

Scott's words are FIRM on his tongue. Absolute in a way that comes from the belief in the words themselves......the painful lessons learned and the PRIDE interwoven together inside them. Spoken from a h e a r t that had experienced that truth far too keenly that those such lessons had left a permanent scar.

There was a terrible loneliness in being a child who knew no one but your own would come when you fall. There was also a terrible STRENGTH it gave somewhere inside.

But it was a strength that Scott hated the innocents inside these walls had to learn. Hated that those painful lessons were ones so MANY here had to go through.

He worried too, in a quiet part of himself he only visited in the dark...that his own harsh lessons made him push his SCARS onto them.

It was a hard line to balance....allowing HOPE and trust to grow, while making sure your fences stayed strong.

A soft sigh left the mutant's throat. Head turning, quartz shielded gaze finding Thor's face with a small nod. The whispers of a smile at the edges of his lips. ' Though it would be NICE for a change, not to stand alone when the darkness comes for us. '

Allowing the silence between them to linger for a moment, Scott cleared his throat slightly. Lifting a hand to clap against the god's shoulder. ' You should stay, if you'd like to of course...we have spare rooms and more food then we could possibly get through thanks to Logans bottomless appetite. We could....talk less formally perhaps. ' ~

'Unless you're suddenly bashful about that subject matter of course....my love. ' ~

Alan Scott

Tony is honestly not sure where Stephen came from, he was sure he was alone so the little flinch he has when the other male speaks up is a tension in his shoulders that will remain. The genius sighed. Of all people, the one he would not weasel his way from had found his current state. He was tired, that was sure, but at this point, everything that came with sleep was worse.

"Oh I've tried, ... also tried the IV idea ...bad idea." Sometimes he gave the internet too much credit. He would not go into that one just yet. "At least it's not booze, am I right" he tried to joke, but that joke either landed or caused more dramatic pauses given his history. One had to joke one way or another about his own self-destruction right? Stark did not oppose any resistance when the mug was pulled from his grasp. He was not drinking that black ichor for pleasure but really to not fall asleep.

He let the other man pull the chair and turn it towards him. In his state of exhaustion he jut tared at that face. Such a pretty face. "Kinda...hard to ...get up,,, when you lock me in my chair like that, and stare me down...with those pretty blue eyes. " Tony pointed out.

Despite the unwavering, rigid stare he pinned Stark with, Stephen took the moment to take in the man's rumbled demeanor. A tautness to him. A line of stress HIDDEN in the engineer's shoulders that had nothing to do with the exhaustion clearly clawing at him. Something they would need to address later......when Stark wasn't about to collapse into his own computer.

Without waiting for a response, STRANGE bent down. Guiding Tony into a more forward position with one hand before sliding his free arm behind the man's back. Standing slightly to the side. The angle AWKWARD but he managed. Hooking his arm under one of Stark's own, curling his hand beneath the opposite one.

' Right. Time to get up.....one, two, three- ' With a single motion the Sorcerer hoisted the other man to his feet. The action fluid and practiced in a way that spoke of time lifting unconscious, UNHELPFUL patients to and from their beds. Throwing one of Tony's arms around his own shoulders CAREFULLY as he drew him closer against his side. ' Do you think you can walk the rest of the way, or am I going to have to embarrass us both by carrying you bridal style to the bedroom?' ~

A KISS is pressed against the back of Robert's head. Then another. Alan's head angling to press the next against the back of the Dispatcher's bare shoulder. Blonde beard scratching lightly against the soft skin. The action slow and sleepy and entirely purposeful. The LANTERN keeping his own movements minimal - and restricting Robert's at the same time.

' Maybe I enjoy feeling you squirm. '

Arm still holding Robert firmly in place, Alan allowed his fingertips to WANDER slowly. Gently. Finger stroking in a gentle motion. Trailing small sections of raised scarring. Thumb brushing against a dusky NIPPLE. A hum in Alan's throat. Blue eyes remaining closed.

' Besides... I rarely get to RELAX in bed. ' ~

How did people do it? How do people just SHOW what's beneath the mask without the constant worry of judgement? Of being...well....a let down. Of being not quite what someone expected. There had to be a built up image, right? Had to be an assumption. A hope of what was going to be under there. How do people NOT worry about that?

Way to not over think literally EVERYTHING, RAYNER. Super cool.

As if the universe decided to end his inner turmoil, Robert spoke and Kyle felt himself relax a fraction. Shoulder lowering as a soft breath escaped. Kyle smiling. Something soft and more than a tad grateful toward the DISPATCHER . Green eyes bright as he walked around the locker room bench in a few long strides. One hand venturing out from his pocket to run through his hair. Attempting to sweep unruly strands back from his face. LANTERN ring glinting subtly in his finger.

' Yeah. I'm ready to go. Lead the way! ' ~