notrosecolored | Duplicity Contact Post

"I was constructed to fight," he says automatically. This isn't the first talk he's had with friends about his overbearing behavior.

"This city doesn't give me a lot of options for an outlet. Not like back home. I could spend all night busting heads, finding missing persons, putting my anger to productive use."

He twists around in Midnighter's arms to face him, but follows that motion through to push Mid onto his back. Comes up and on top of him, kneeling astride him. Knees on the mattress, hands on Mid's shoulders loosely.

"Do you know why 'Cyclops' and the X-men exist?" Do you even know what either of those are

Now this gets Midnighter's attention. It's probably why Scott did it in the first place.

"Because people need labels to feel less alone and afraid in the big scary world?" Obviously that's not the answer, but why give Scott the satisfaction on the first try.

Obviously?

Scott tilts his head slightly to the side and considers that answer as though it weren't delivered in a snarky tone. Weighs it and then snorts in faint amusement.

"Pretty much, except the people who needed those two labels to be less afraid and alone was me."

Oh. Foot-and-mouth disease strikes again. Midnighter doesn't pretend to look sheepish because he has no shame to speak of, but his hands settle on the sides of Scott's thighs, thumbs stroking back and forth over his skin.

"Well, you were a kid. That makes sense," he offers up with less obnoxious snark. Kids always need something bigger than them to guide them forward or protect them, whether it's a person or an ideal.

He's pretty bendy for a guy his size - and has a lot of legs. He tucks his feet back more, and under Midnighter's knees, while leaving his knees on the mattress.

"I was sixteen, but close enough. Either way, I'm an adult now and 'Cyclops' was still created and the team was built around me to give me a purpose to keep me from slitting my throat in the shower. This City's shit for finding purpose and an outlet, but if you pay attention you can find better opportunities than pushing every button Logan has to get him to abuse you. Or at least people more willing to take you apart without taking themselves apart in the process."

"Sixteen's still a kid." At least, Midnighter thinks so. The brain hasn't developed yet. Frankly, it's the worst time to be anyone during that chaos of hormones and physical changes—at least that's what it seems like. He doesn't remember his.

"Was this all setup for a shovel talk about Logan?" Midnighter asks while he props himself up on his elbows to stare up at the other man. Is he offended? Checking... No. Could Scott have simply cut to the chase? Checking... Actually, no. Midnighter would see it as a challenge, wouldn't he?

"You know anyone, then? Because the average Dom can't take me apart. Logan can, and he's good at it."

He lifts one hand off Mid and wobbles it back and forth in an indecisive gesture. "Some set up for a talk about Logan. Some actual empathy for feeling like you only exist as a weapon or inside a role, not knowing how to be a person and looking for an outlet."

He uses that hand he was being indecisive with to drag his thumb down the bridge of Midnighter's nose. "There's a guy named Grayson that might be worth talking to. Continuing to hit the parties, clubs, and maybe glory holes is probably worth it. The network is often very accommodating - you can get people when they're in the mood for that sort of thing. Hell, outright ask Logan for all I care. But keep trying to manipulating him into being a weapon for you, even to use against yourself, I'm going to have a problem. Then I'm going to be very, very nice to you." Is that last serious? Yes. It's also humor though because threats of violence here is clearly a bad idea.

He listens, doesn't add a word in edgewise, simply chases the touch Scott gives him on the bride of his nose, like a starving dog. He does know Grayson, and he was very professional when he strangled him and broke his nose at a public party. Maybe he'll have to lean a little harder on the guy.

What Midnighter ends up with may not be what Scott expects to hear, or an answer at all. But he heard.

"Kiss me." Propped up on his elbows he can't get any closer to Scott, he would if he could.

Scott doesn't expect any verbal acknowledgement, much less agreement. He does expect to be heard, and he's pretty clear on that.

Really is surprised by 'kiss me', though. He lifts his eyebrows for a moment, but just uses that same hand Mid was chasing to curl around Mid's jaw, leans down and slowly, thoroughly, and with a complete lack of violence (but not absence of demand) kisses him.

It's exactly what Midnighter wants. Both hands cup the man's face to keep him right where he wants him, taking pleasure in the unhurried press of Scott's lips. He licks into his mouth without expectation of further escalation, just this slow swap of touch, of care, and of words that don't have to be uttered. Midnighter may do better communicating like this, but it doesn't have to be sex. He just... needs to be close to people. Physically.

And when they naturally part for a fresh breath and a little space, he tells Scott, "You're a good friend."

Scott half expects Midnighter to try to escalate back to sex, just as an evasion tactic. That not happening is a surprise, but a pleasant one. Physicality isn't as great as telepathy for communication, but it is a damn sight better than Scott trying to use words.

"I tried to get him to kill me not long before I showed up here; I'm not a good friend; you've got two months to find your own contract. If you haven't, I'm adding you to my collection of self-destructive chaos machines." THere's... a smile there, though.

"Didn't say you were a perfect friend, or a great friend," Midnighter mumbles against Scott's cheek before he places a kiss at the corner of his nose, just above his mouth. Friendship for them shouldn't be defined the same way a gaggle of middle school kids would. Midnighter has stood in the way of many friends thinking he knew what was best. His own ex has tried to kill him before. It's different when you're different.

"What, you collect us like Pokemon? You Ash Ketchum? Or maybe Brock..." He considers it. "Brock."

Yeah. He's Brock.

"No."

He kisses Midnighter's temple and then sort of shoves him to lay back down again, and stretches out on top of Mid light some kind of (very warm) living blanket.

"And you're lucky I know what Pokemon are." Nevermind Brock. That one's beyond him.

Duplicity Contact Post

no subject

CW: Suicidal Ideation from here

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject