Avu
Weyrleader Ce'thian Rider A'emi Handler Sena Harper Matteo Weyrbrat Riaren
Posts: 2,439
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Post by Avu on May 16, 2012 18:46:05 GMT -5
It would be really nice if Vikenti would just get pissed at him or something. In a totally non-masochistic kind of way—at least if Vikenti was angry, he’d be easier to manipulate, and why did he have to be so goddamn calm. When he did start to speak, Matteo’s gaze flickered for a second before it turned defiant again, his lips thinning into a determined line. Screw him for thinking he got to decide if Matteo was broken or whatever—and screw him for bringing trust into it. Trust had nothing to do with this. This was him being allowed to have some privacy in his life.
“Judge me for something like what?” he demanded, like Vikenti wasn’t pretty much making him feel like crap. It wasn’t that simple, and it wasn’t that complicated; just because he kept one thing to himself—what, that suddenly made him mistrustful? Matteo swallowed again, swiping his tongue over dry lips, and hissed in frustration, since the alternative was some seriously unmanly sobbing or something. “You’re already—” Matteo cut himself off to inhale carefully, impotent fury catching at his throat for a second, before he regained control over the volume of his voice.
Sort of.
When he spoke, his voice was still a little strained, but decidedly calmer. And he’d totally been angling for ‘light’ or something, but it only really worked if Vikenti was wasted or deaf, neither of which were applicable, unfortunately. “I know that, okay? I know. But you can’t help because there’s nothing going on. It’s done, and I’m fine, so I’m asking you as your best friend to just drop it because I don’t want to talk about it.” There—that wasn’t an unreasonable request, was it? Matteo met Vikenti’s gaze squarely, trying to look, you know, generally sane and like someone Vikenti could trust to make rational decisions.
He’d find somewhere to mope later or something.
Because come on, ten years and it hadn’t come up, and Vikenti had the most inconvenient crushes ever. Seriously. Any other person on the face of Pern and Matteo could’ve been the awesome best friend turned wingman that got them together. Of-fucking-course the guy would have to go and fall in love with him when he had enough issues to feed a dragon for a year. That was practically its own form of masochism.
“It won’t happen again.” Firm. Like he’d been perfectly in control. (Matteo was laughing at himself on the inside, since bursting into hysterical laughter out loud wouldn’t have gone over well.) “Just forget about it.” [/blockquote]
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Zephyr
Shiny Hoarder
Rider K?ian Handler Kaius Rider Au?st Rider L?am Rider Saphor Rider Olivia Handler Tekivix Rider Vellani[/color
Posts: 515
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Post by Zephyr on May 16, 2012 19:38:10 GMT -5
It was like talking to a motherfucking brick wall. It didn’t matter how much he said or even what he said, nothing was getting through to him. The healer stared at the other man, incredulous rage rising in his eyes. He’d spent his entire life training to heal people. He had some training in the mindhealing arts, every healer had to know a little. Still. He’d spent his life training, not actually using the training practically. And it’s completely different trying to heal someone so close to you from the inside out. They had to admit that they had a problem first.
And obviously that was never going to happen.
For the first time he could actually remember, Vikenti had no idea what to do with this.
For now, he just stared at Matteo, letting him get the poison out. If he couldn’t help him heal, he could help him drain, even if what was really eating at him wasn’t getting out anytime soon…or ever. His expression was doing ten kinds of crazy by the time the harper finished, and he wanted to say more; didn’t want to drop this. At all. At the same time, he knew that pushing more right now was just going to cause the other man to shut down, and that’s the very last thing he wanted.
What finally came out of his mouth was soft. “Fine.” In a growl, but a tired one. He was absolutely exhausted, mentally and physically. Everything that had happened today just drained everything he had. “What the fuck ever.” He fell back on the couch, rubbing his face wearily with a hand. Usually he felt good when he was tired. It meant he’d most likely accomplished something. What’d he accomplished today? He kissed his best friend…twice, and tried to bring up repressed probably painful memories that he’d been hiding for over ten years in the process and had successfully alienated him in the process.
Great day.
“I wish we could just pretend like today had never happened.” He groaned quietly, mostly to himself. It was clear that he didn’t really want that. Well, he did…but now Matteo knew that he was in love with him. He didn’t know if things could ever be the same between them again. He honestly didn’t know what he wanted. Well, obviously, his ideal situation would be for the harper to get with the damn program and see how good they could be together. Unfortunately…that wasn’t going to happen. But he knew…and Vikenti didn’t know if it was better that he just ignore it or if he acknowledged it and just left because it made him uncomfortable…and obviously it did. He’d made that abundantly clear. Neither choice was particularly appealing, and he’d be miserable either way. Still…he could try to hide misery. It wouldn’t be too hard to disguise it as his usual grumpiness.
Even if he was dying inside.
Goddamn feelings! Of all the people on Pern, why did he have to fall in love with his best friend…his emotionally unavailable best friend. Still, even if Matteo chose to ignore it…what could he do? All those times Matteo would fling himself over Vikenti…he could control himself because it was Matteo, his best friend and he didn’t know…could never know. Now he knew…knew that every touch was torture.
“I don’t know what to do, man.” He admitted wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Obviously he should be doing something. Apologize for…something, but he didn’t know what and for the life of him he couldn’t figure it out. He opened his eyes and gazed at Matteo steadily, his eyes drained of emotion and energy. “What do you want me to do?”
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Avu
Weyrleader Ce'thian Rider A'emi Handler Sena Harper Matteo Weyrbrat Riaren
Posts: 2,439
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Post by Avu on May 18, 2012 19:33:13 GMT -5
The wave of relief was so acute that it was actually dizzying. Yeah, he wasn’t stupid; he could tell Vikenti was less than thrilled about being told to drop it, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, could they? Matteo watched quietly as Vikenti flopped back onto the couch, eyes still hooded warily. The Healer’s comment earned a half-grimace, half-smile, a loose expressionless shrug. He was tempted to leave—his nerves were pretty much all strung out and he could feel the skittish energy humming under his skin—but on the other hand, whenever life was shitty, he usually went to Vikenti. Which, you know, made this scenario a little bit weird.
Especially since Vikenti was also pretty obviously exhausted, so it wasn’t like they could just slap each other on the backs in manly geniality and forget about it. Matteo opened his mouth, closed it, and then stuttered into motion, dropping himself gracelessly onto the floor at Vikenti’s feet and turning to settle his head into the crook of his elbow on the couch. “These are the measure destined for her soul,” he offered wearily, watching the dark fan of Vikenti’s eyelashes across his skin. “Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued elations when the forests bloom. All pleasures and all pains. Just stay. Please.”
The request was jerky at best, but without the messy hitch that Matteo half-feared would interrupt. Good to know his training was good for something, at least.
His gaze flicked up at Vikenti mutely again before he closed his eyes, easing himself into relaxation—because it was just Vikenti and it was fine; this was something they’d done a million times before and this was nothing at all. And it mostly worked—the nervous energy had mostly faded when Matteo opened his eyes and tilted his head to peer at Vikenti again, not quite subdued.
“Can I draw you?”
The request was actually a request instead of an order for a change—Matteo was pretty sure he’d left the sketchbook back in the Dining Hall, but he had plenty. The one he reserved for Vikenti—loose fast rough sketches, rarely finished, raw to the nth degree—didn’t leave the room, and he trusted that the other one would find its way back to him. And he wasn’t terribly fussed about it—it didn’t have any of the quiet intimacy that came with using Vikenti as his permanent muse over the years.
(Matteo suspected that Vikenti didn’t even know how often he was Matteo’s muse; he asked for him to pose, sometimes, but there were a million other fast sketches of him—sleeping, in the Infirmary, talking with his hands—and yes, he accepted that it was creepy, and no, he totally didn’t plan on caring.) [/blockquote]
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