#keatonoleary

Ira wasn’t sure exactly when he lost all sense of self-respect, but...here he was, at Keaton’s door, bag on clothes in hand and legitimately thinking about spending the rest of his life with the man who had hurt him so badly that he had been crying over it for months on end. Still, Ira couldn’t deny that he had feelings for Keaton, as bizarre as it sounded, he did love him, in fact, though he would be hard-pressed to admit it. So he knocked on the door to Keaton’s suite, hoping that the doctor’s two claims had gone already.

"Get the fuck out of here, Sterling!" The bark of an order came from an agitated guard as the door to the bar opened and the man shoved the slender young blond several steps out of the bar. Reeking of liquor and smoke. "I don't give a shit who 'needs you alive'. Next time you so much as light a match in this place, I'm putting your ass in the basement."

The door slammed before Ashcroft could even finish his spat of 'Fuck you's." As he waved both middle fingers in the direction of the bar. Drunk as hell, and a little roughed up, with soot marred on his face, Ashcroft huffed and turned, blue eyes blearily glancing around for another place to light a flame and get even more drunk. Before he could get very far, however, Ash's shoulder bumped hard into a man walking the opposite direction, and his expression twisted, chin lifting haughtily.

"Excuse the fuck outta you." He muttered, even as one hand lifted and twisted in the other’s sleeve to steady himself.

@keatonoleary

While Keaton cried in a corner, Ira unzipped the bag, pulling out the rubbing alcohol and one of the cotton pads, wetting it in the dark with shaking fingers and slapping it onto his neck with a hiss of pain. He wasn’t sure how quickly the...the thing would set in, he couldn’t risk waiting for Keaton to stop having a breakdown to get his wound clean.

He handed Ezra back the protein bar, shaking his head. “We have food, I’ve got my pack, and-- and I doubt we’ll need a whole bunch of food if I turn. We’re only a little way away, it should be-- it should be okay.” Ira took the rest of the proffered supplies and put them into his pack, handing it to Keaton before carefully knotting the end of the rope on their makeshift leash around his neck, handing the handle to the doctor and smiling weakly, his free hand still holding the rubbing alcohol soaked pad against his neck. God, he was scared. 

[Text: Keaton]: No I'm not

Ira stared blankly at the screen for a moment, sniffling a little bit and wiping his eyes on the heel of his hand as he contemplated what to say next. God, Keaton had been making him cry a hell of a lot recently. Nothing new, but-- still, he had hoped that he would have been more over the other man by this point.

It was that stupid comment about meeting the parents, about baking him a birthday cake...the normalcy that Keaton was promising him, in a life away from this tower, a life the other man seemed to be offering him now. A life Ira knew he wanted-- he wanted his future to look like being barefoot in a kitchen with kids running around, a husband, a white picket fence, no bruising on his veins and no drug-induced sweats or withdrawal symptoms every other night. But Keaton-- with Keaton? Besides, it wasn’t like the doctor could actually give him all of that, no matter how hard he tried or how much he promised. He was a slave, that’s how it would be, likely for the rest of his life. He was probably going to die before he ever got to live in a real house with a yard and two kids and a golden retriever and a husband he loved, who loved him back. 

Ira pulled up facetime on his phone, reaching over and turning on the lamp on his nightstand (it was 3 AM after all-- he hadn't exactly been awake when Keaton had texted, and he hadn’t bothered turning on the lights) before calling the other man. 

Ira still had unblended sunscreen on his nose. A huge beach bag hung off of his shoulder, stuffed with sandwiches he made at the condo, towels, water bottles, everything they needed to spend a day out on the Hawaiian beach. Needless to say, Ira was ridiculously excited to be out of the tower for the first time in years, even more so to be spending it on a beach with his-- boyfriend? Yeah. Yeah, why not. Boyfriend. The thought of the word made him a little giddy inside.

Ira: [attached is a photo of Ira directly post-threesome; i.e. looking thoroughly debauched, two other sets of hands clearly visible in the photo]

Ira: hope ur happy with your new claim