#fsquared

"Wow, you’re hot. I want to marry you.” George tipped his head back over the arm of the sofa to look up at Owen upside down.

Owen regarded him, fond and amused. “Oh my God, you’re drunk!”

“Yes. So? It’s not the first time, Owen.” George tried to be defensive, but gave up, rolling his eyes and lolling his head loose. “Doesn’t change the fact that you’re hot and I want to marry you.” George smiled up at him dopily. Owen was helpless but to smile back, reaching out to card a hand gently through George’s hair. George’s eyes fluttered shut and he nudged back into Owen’s hand, wordless demanding more petting when Owen’s fingers paused.

Owen glanced around the lounge, their teammates draped about in various states of inebriation and varying configurations of conversations. No one was paying them any attention. He sank to his knees at George’s head, and dropped quick kisses, first to his forehead and then to his lips. George giggled quietly before flipping himself over to look at Owen properly. He reached out to clumsily trace Owen’s cheekbone, Owen capturing his hand and keeping it against his face as he turned his head to press a kiss to George’s palm. “Want to know a secret?”

George could feel his smile as Owen moved to kiss the tender inside of his wrist. “What?” he breathed, shifting further over the arm to be closer to him.

Owen’s smile widened as he sat back on heels, keeping George’s hand tapped in his own and their faces close together. “I’m drunk too.”

George rolled his eyes, “that’s not a …”

“-and,” Owen interrupted, “I want to marry you too.”

George’s eyes went soft and he surged forward, kissing him urgently. Owen kissed back just as insistently, a marked change from their previous softness.

“Really?” George pulled back just enough to check the other man’s face, eyes searching.

“Really really.” Owen confirmed, pressing in close again, the kiss hampered by the smiles threatening to break both their faces.

fsquared (Faolan Crowe/Ferdinand Andres) [ X ]

It takes some wheedling, but Ferdinand consents to taking his hand at last. A few spins around the room and a song later, he lays his head against Faolan's chest, cheek pressed against the roughness of the taller man's coat.

Faolan sings softly, his voice cracking with disuse at first but warming up to a familiar smoothness. This—the broken tiles and darkened ceilings—is a poor stage for him, when he once performed in grander halls for bigger audiences. But none of that lasts, and none of it matters now. His fingers are shot, nerves dead and dying from months spent frozen. The audience is dead or crazy.

The only thing left is Ferdinand.

cajuncranium (Vestor Ashford/Alice Lamont) [ X ]

The record is not something Vestor would have chosen, an admittedly-catchy tune with a man crooning about ruling the world, but under Alice's insistence, he set the needle down on the player. And here they are, the office door thankfully locked and bolted—he made sure of that after last time—as they step around the room, a quick waltz to the lively piano.

"See? It's not so bad, mon cher." Alice grins mid-spin, and Vestor only rolls his eyes with something he'd never admit to being fondness, when the younger man spins back to press up close against him.

science lesbians (Vera Singh/Sonja Calloway) [ X ]

The speakers overhead are faintly crackling with the strains of music. Not her doing, Sonja thinks, but it could hardly be any more fitting given the circumstances. Arm in arm with Vera, their heels clicking smartly against the tile floor. All that's missing is most of the lighting in this section of Rapture, but it's sort of thematic, she supposes.

A kiss, pressed to her companion's cheek. "Isn't this wonderful?"

"It was better when one could take a walk without the added distraction of splicers." Vera's gaze grows softer for a moment. "But a moment to share with you is wonderful."

heartburn (Annabel Clarke/Jin Lee) [ X ]

She's motioning for him to come up and join her, and he has to look away to stop the heat from rising to his cheeks when her skirt kicks up. There's no persuading her when she's there and he's here, but that doesn't mean he should stop trying to appeal to reason.

Reason is something that her presence seems to leave him lacking, though. He's climbing up to join her even as he says, "Annie, I don't think this is safe."

"Jin, I think this is perfectly fine." She imitates him, and laughs from across the short distance that separates them. "I come here all the time. Have you ever noticed how pretty it looks from here?"

He glances down, the city at his feet and twinkling lights below, and looks back to her. "Yeah," he says softly, looking away when her fingertips touch against his bandaged hand, "It's pretty."

fire and brimstone (Allegany Beckett/Isaiah Hall) [ X ]

They've agreed, implicitly, not to discuss that which divides them. His radio transmissions from yesterday that she—and the rest of Rapture with a working shortwave radio—has no doubt heard him make, the way she refrains from sharing her point of view on the situation in the city. Allegiances are what separates them more than anything else.

That's the reason for this. This, being the walks down the hallways while they trip through memory lane, and the shared recollection of songs that remind them of better times. Of times, far away from here.

"You remember songs of heaven which you sang with childish voice," she sings, mezzo-soprano voice clear and sweet. She looks to him, eyebrow raised in a question as she continues, "Do you love the hymns they taught you?"