#rugini

First Kiss Meme

"Oh my darlin'-" Ron enthused, well-used to the visits of this specific bar gremlin; sweet and harmless despite how her questions sometimes veered into territory most private. Despite how this one most definitely had though, he turned from his work shining newly cleaned glasses and poured every ounce of charm and welcome into how he approached her - all open body language, smiling eyes and lips and the flash of teeth as he came near; leant his weight into the bar; made to confide--

"It was gorgeous--"

It was in the locker room of Baz's gym. They'd fallen into a routine after work, after training; Ron tending to Baz's wrists, hands and forearms; each joint salved with Tiger Balm; each tendon and muscle warmed, carefully stretched and massaged; wounds cleaned and dressed.

"--Soft-"

Not a word was spoke between them; between Ron and his aspiring champion. They didn't speak much by nature anyway - not either man. And they found in each other a kind of understanding that meant they didn't need to, to be understood. A look did it. A change in pressure where they touched - Ron sat as he was on a low stool between Baz's knees so he could best reach where he needed to reach.

"--Came natural-"

And it had. Come natural. It'd almost come natural more than once the last few days. Tiny moments spent gathering courage. Little testing leans in, little tilts of the head toward each other, little...chanced braveries that'd either been bottled or interrupted, but not this one. Not this time.

"--Took me breaf away-"

Not a superlative. After dancing round each other for as long as they had, feeling their way closer inch by inch, time by time-- When they found themselves alone at last, leant close as the work Ron was doing required, all it'd taken was a tilt of the head. Each of them had at once, though the synchronicity was accidental. Perhaps a thought had come on that needed words to express right. Perhaps they'd wanted a better look at each other. Perhaps, perhaps...It didn't matter. That first tilt, they both pulled up short; noses brushing, a hushed-

-Sorry-

-escaping one of them, though which...It didn't matter. The other shook his head, then tilted it purposefully to turn that just-gone brush into a nuzzle. They both smiled in millimetres, listed closer as if drawn by gravity. Between them, another word-

-Please-

-and that tore it. Their lips met, and all Ron knew then beyond Bastian's taste was the ecstatic weight of want-come-relief-come-affection that settled right the way through him. It--

"--It was..."

Ron caught the words he might've said, closing his eyes a moment and shaking his head. When he focused on his bar gremlin again, his expression was soft with the affection he felt for the man he'd been talking about.

Closed with @rugini. Continuation from This.

                                                     ~~~*~~~*~~

She thinks about the answer to his question. There were many things to choose from. Each one a little thing that would give away the fact that she has watched him so closely over the last two and a half months. That she’d learn things that most others would have glossed over. And her goal hadn’t been to make him uncomfortable. If that was what he was feeling. 

She had never been good at tuning into the emotions of others. Not with the ease of a few others she knew. As such, she considered her options. Ones from not so obvious, to complex yet abstract hints that belied the type of man she found company with. 

Was it the simple unspoken kinship with his personal guide that she admitted to seeing? A soft brush of an ear, or the silent near missable quirk of lips when at home that came with a searching cold nose. Was it the subtle confidence of his profession that she answered with. The ease of which she finds fascinating when he relied more on touch and sound versus his coworkers. Large hands all but willing the vehicles to smooth the settling of pieces that she wouldn’t know what to do with even  if it came with an illustrated manual. 

Or perhaps the was the way his mouth formed to make the words he spoke. The soft accent which altered the consonants and vowels that stitched together. The unconscious choice of which parts of words were cut off and blended together. She could choose the safe route and say that it was the way he let small unruly strands of hair fall into his fair while he concentrated long enough to complete his task before he pushed them back into place. 

While she chewed on her answer, she scoured the bench for the item before bringing it to him. Making sure that her footfalls were loud enough for him to hear, but not be a distraction. The last thing she wanted was for him to get hurt. Less out of concern for being banned from loitering and more out of a want to keep him safe. A ridiculous notion if she ever heard one. But he was a good man and had been dealt a hand that was both common and unfortunate. Anything she could do to lessen that she would to her full ability.

“Here you go.” She took his hand, not realising that they instantly sought to caress for just the briefest of moments before she set the requested can into his wanting palm. She released him at the same time as she took a set back to slide her hands into her back pockets. 

Off through the new day's mist I run Off from the new day's mist I have come I hunt therefore I am

Michael’s sword had cut deep, across his arm, through his wing, cracking bond and slicing through metallic like feathers all the same. He’d expected his existence to end there, knowing he’d have put the sword to Michael just the same were the positions reversed, and he was stunned to hear had been said next. Being spared, he took flight on ruined wins, fled the area. He couldn’t go back to heaven. Not after failing so. So he fled northward, roughly.

He went as far as he could, dropping blood and loose, razor sharp feathers, until he could support himself no longer. He went down, and he went down hard, landing somewhere in north California, coming down through the trees. Crashing through limb and leaves as he descended, he tore through them like nothing, bringing down multiple trees in the process. The sound it made was awful, like cars crunching together almost. His arm broke in the fall; so did his uninjured wing, and his damaged one was ruined up further still.

He was out cold by the time he came to a stop, half hung in a tree by his wing, head dropped to the side. When someone approached him, he barely twitched in his unconscious state.

Welp...it has been a while since I have been on here regularly so welcome one and all to my thread tracker post.

THIS IS NOT A CALL OUT POST.  I don’t do these posts to call out my partners passive aggressively so that they reply.  

I try to do these once a month to help myself and partners stay up to date on threads.  If you follow the link below, you will see all the threads I currently have active.

As of May 2019, I am going to archive all of my 2018 threads, unless I have talked with the partner.  

(Archived doesn’t mean the thread is dropped, I would be fine with continuing it in the future if the partner would like to do that.)  Partners can also IM me if they want to drop current threads or archived threads.  (this is a great time to do it, I won’t be mad)

Also if you have changed your blog name and I didn’t notice, or missed your reply because of that, please IM me so I know.  I don’t always get to look through my dash

Continued from

@rugini

“Things happen.”

She shrugs lightly. Natasha was of the mind it was better she got hurt than Clint and she was never going to forgive herself for the times he got hurt and she wasn’t there to take it for him. She owed the archer a great deal, it entwined her to him in ways that only made sense to them, though it was purely platonic.

“There’s been… scrapes here and there. SHIELD has a pretty good body shop.”

But now she doesn’t bother, she sticks with the guy currently present, there’s a deeper level of trust with Baz and she likes watching him work. It’s more of an art than a job for him, in her opinion and observances.

The comparison he gives is surprising and she wonders if he’s speaking from absolute experience or by way of his abilities. She wants to ask, the need is there but instead she becomes caught up in his explanation and trying to wrap her mind around it.

And then her expression shifts, a sort of skepticism crossing her sharp features causing green eyes to narrow a degree and her lips to twist somewhat as well as press together while one eye brow lifts and the other goes downward, though her the corner of her lips do angle upwards and a slight snort of a laugh leaves her over the whole Susan thing.  

“Uh huh…”

Does she believe him? Perhaps, but it seems odd and she wonders about the whys and hows of course, curiosity filling her again, but this time not so specifically on Baz alone.

“How exactly do you tell this?”

A million questions really sparked from his correcting her pronoun usage for her car.  

“Do the parts feel more masculine or feminine? Or both?”

And then she’s laughing a bit, her brain going places with her own question, shaking her head a little.

I am twelve years old.

Natasha thought to herself, and wondered if he was going to ask what she found so funny or if she ought to just tell him, see how he reacted…

Maybe his ears would turn red again.