#nxblesavage

|| any AU’s you’d be interested in plotting out with me and Jay?

Send me “It’s just a dream” for my muses reaction to yours waking them up after having a nightmare.

She’d done it again. Gotten up in the middle of the night and wandered outside,into the snow, without any shoes to speak of. It was a wondershe hadn’t gotten frostbite yet. Or that she never woke up uponmaking contact with the wet slush beneath her feet. But theremust’ve been something out there she was looking for. Somethingthat would drive her outside again night after night. 

               She just couldn’t figure out what it was.                   Maybe she never would. Maybe all the reaching,                          and the running, and the exhaustion was for nothing. 

          She was lucky, she supposed, that for once          she hadn’t made it very far. He’d stopped her          before she could — god, she hoped she hadn’t          put up too much of a struggle. 

"Jay?" Blinking her confusion away,she reached a hand out to grasphis arm and steady herself. 

x. how am i doing with my character.

[ P r e s s u r e —- ] builds in his chest. “Tarzan please,” he begins, breath coming shorter as he takes a step closer. The jungle air his thick even in the safety of the treehouse. Hands are reached out between them as if in a valiant attempt to coax the other man close.

"I had no idea what her intentions were. You have to believe me, I thought Clayton wanted to help— I never— I never wanted your family to be hurt. I never thought she would go that far—”

James dares to take another step.

[ S t r e s s --- ] was something he wasn't often equipped to dealing with. Thank god for the little things. For the coping mechanisms he'd adapted whilst trapped here. Little things that hadn't existed before The Island. Like slim cigarettes and a decanter of scotch. Lucas had a slew of bad habits now that warred with the man he'd been before.

Staring at the pile of half-finished drawings, he lets out a frustrated sigh.

Send me ‘I want the K’ and I’ll generate a number1: Hot, Steamy kiss

[ T r u t h f u l l y —- ] he might blame his present giggling on the very large bottle of Scotch that rests half empty against his thigh atop the roof. Later, when he’s sober he won’t recall the way the night almost stings against his flushed cheeks. Or how good it felt telling someone about his father and how terribly he missed him even if the someone was Jay. Lucas was quite certain the words would be a mess of misunderstanding for the poor man who’d happened upon him not so long ago.

And honestly if he were telling the truth (which while inebriated can never be the case—or can it?) there is more troubling him. Like waking with a startled gasp caught in his throat when a dream deviates from a set path to once more twist into shadowy branches. But the nightmares are changing far more rapid than he’d thought. Instead he imagines The Island once more and imagines a ghost of a man hidden amongst the trees hunting him on one of his father’s expeditions.

Lucas says all this with a slur and a chortle, leaning heavily back against the curved arch of the roof. Suddenly though, the world narrows to dark eyes and warm breath. It’s a whisper of a promise that Jay began when he’d plucked the novel from his hands. Words lost upon soft lips and warm skin never to be retrieved as they landed — THUMP THUMP — to the ground.

Or was it his heart making that sound?

A hand is coaxing him now, making his chest tight and breath quiver. Lucas wonders at the strength above him and dares to reach thin fingers along the memory of animal’s claws. Jay makes a quiet sound against his lips as his hands push aside fabric with confidence inspired by the drink that rolls off to the side.

"Jay —"

All those words lost beneath the stars. Pressed out instead with shared breath and fumbling hands. Burned against skin with clammy hands and small bites. Lucas would recite the entirety of his heart’s secrets against the too warm skin pressed in so tightly against his own. He would give in to calloused fingertips as they dipped beneath the scraps of fabric and decency to trace the cut of a hip.

Yet sleep is a cruel mistress. She interrupts slowly, leaving Lucas aware of hot breath and taut muscle until the end. When he nods off, left docile and vulnerable he remembers only thinking one lone thought, one shred of clarity through the haze.

He’s as careful as he can be, running his hands over heaving ribs and long limbs, checking for the worst of the damage. He tries to hide his distress, his fury, but it’s boiling inside him, crackling like a fire. He’s not aware he’s rocking on his feet until he shifts to his knees.

He takes it slow, sliding an arm behind Lucas’s back and one under his knees. He meant it: it’s going to hurt, but he needs to get him home. So, carefully, he lifts him from his spot against the wall.

"Bed," he tells him, and then, softer, "I’ve got you."

[ R e a s s u r i n g --- ] as those hands are, it still hurts to draw breath, still hurts to move. Each breath is like swallowing down fire and he grimaces as a huff of bitter laughter nearly slips free. Lucas is just proud that he doesn't cry out when Jay finally hoists him up off the ground in the middle of the alley.

Heat stings the corner of his eyes. "Bed sounds lovely," he hears himself says in a trembling whisper. "J-Just a little nap." But there's something comforting when Jay speaks. Another pained breath and Lucas lets his head rest against the other man's shoulder.