Doesn't matter what I did to myself. [ He can feel the heat under Sasha's palms, a warning to not move, to remain in place. The monster in him buckles, an emotional thing that knows this heat, wants to turn to openly mouth the palm that's soothed him too many times. And what has he done but flooded what they had and let it rot in the aftermath. Ruined it, he says to the monster. We've ruined it.
Konstantin bows his head to the words, even further when a thumb smoothes over his cheek, touches skin and soft, feathery scale high on his cheekbone, luminescent only in the right light, rough to fingers that wander and touch thin, fine skin that isn't quite skin anymore. He makes words with his lips, but the words never leave truly.
He reaches up hands slowly, climbs the fabric of his shirt to clutch at the base of his neck, to dig fingers in possessively. ]
I made you a promise... and I broke it. I broke everything about us...
[ He's not yours, says a voice. You ruined that. You destroyed that. But he clutches anyways, he clings desperately as Sasha chokes the words out in the smallest space between them. Konstantin could kiss him here, could hold his face close and kiss him softly like they used to. But he's well enough aware that he doesn't deserve this, that he doesn't even deserve their bodies uncomfortably tangled on the beach, knowing nothing more than each other after so long.
Sorry doesn't fix the time he's ruined.
Apologies don't stitch back together gashes he's made, long, bloody furrows in the space between them.
He tips his head up softly, pressing their temples together as he closes his eyes and hums softly. He remembers warm, balmy nights early on, before the idea of forever, maybe when he'd lay his fingers on the smooth sides of his temples and soothe away the heat and the fever, the teeth and the fire for the night. He hums, and it's a song that is old, but just for Sasha, a lullaby crafted out of love, from notes that Konstantin had chosen night after night until they were perfect. ]
Yes, it does. [ it comes out forceful and ragged, and his hands very nearly claw at konstantin's cheeks, as if he's trying to drag him closer when there's no more closer to gain. their lips are so close, but just far enough away not to touch. not yet. he can't, not yet. ] It matters to me. It'll always matter to me. Your well-being matters to meet, your happiness, your —
[ the words end abruptly as a fresh sob fights its way up sasha's throat, and simultaneously spills from his mouth and his eyes. the pressure of konstantin's fingers on his neck makes him shiver and shudder, an old fire is set ablaze once again in his stomach but almost as quickly extinguished by all the tears that not only drip down his face, but down the outline of his soul. the battle between familiarity and pain is unusual, unstoppable, because both sides are fuelled by something that is bigger than both the two men tangled together in the sand.
he almost wants to laugh when konstantin starts to hum. a tune he knows so well, one that has always been their own. as comforting as a warm palm against his own, a kiss to the temple and fingers carding through his hair when he's gone a little too long between cuts, mussed and made amusingly taller. different sides of the emotional spectrum continue to claw at each other, but sasha is comforted. he can't help that, that all the burning thoughts simmer down upon hearing that beautiful little song.
when sasha speaks again, his voice is a hoarse whisper. calmer, but no less charged with jolts of sadness. ]
Why is it still so hard to make you understand? [ konstantin is wrong. apologies do start to mend the wounds that were made. they certainly won't heal them all — oh, the wounds are far too numerous for that — but it's foolish, in sasha's mind, to discount the help that a single stitch can do. one wound closed, many more to be seen to. but they can be seen to. ] Maybe... maybe I'm the one that doesn't understand. Do you not want my forgiveness? At all, ever? Do you want me to tell you, yes, you broke everything and ruined it. And then what?
[ the ragged trembles of his shoulders start to slow. although his vision remains blurred from the steady stream of water running from his eyes, the initial storm of feeling is starting to clear. ]
You did break the promise. You did. You had a reason, I'm sure of it, but that doesn't excuse it. It doesn't... fix anything, the reason. But you do. You're here. You wouldn't be here if you weren't at least hoping for something good to come out of this. I mean —
[ he makes a frustrated noise. ]
You're here to give me closure, to explain and lessen some of the hurt you caused me — but you keep talking like you've not picked up some of the broken pieces by coming here. You hold me like you have. Your hands beg for me to take back those pieces and start putting them together again. And I will, [ he breathes, barely audible but inescapably determined, ] if you stop talking like that.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2016-11-20 04:52 pm (UTC)Konstantin bows his head to the words, even further when a thumb smoothes over his cheek, touches skin and soft, feathery scale high on his cheekbone, luminescent only in the right light, rough to fingers that wander and touch thin, fine skin that isn't quite skin anymore. He makes words with his lips, but the words never leave truly.
He reaches up hands slowly, climbs the fabric of his shirt to clutch at the base of his neck, to dig fingers in possessively. ]
I made you a promise... and I broke it. I broke everything about us...
[ He's not yours, says a voice. You ruined that. You destroyed that. But he clutches anyways, he clings desperately as Sasha chokes the words out in the smallest space between them. Konstantin could kiss him here, could hold his face close and kiss him softly like they used to. But he's well enough aware that he doesn't deserve this, that he doesn't even deserve their bodies uncomfortably tangled on the beach, knowing nothing more than each other after so long.
Sorry doesn't fix the time he's ruined.
Apologies don't stitch back together gashes he's made, long, bloody furrows in the space between them.
He tips his head up softly, pressing their temples together as he closes his eyes and hums softly. He remembers warm, balmy nights early on, before the idea of forever, maybe when he'd lay his fingers on the smooth sides of his temples and soothe away the heat and the fever, the teeth and the fire for the night. He hums, and it's a song that is old, but just for Sasha, a lullaby crafted out of love, from notes that Konstantin had chosen night after night until they were perfect. ]
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Date: 2016-11-20 05:42 pm (UTC)[ the words end abruptly as a fresh sob fights its way up sasha's throat, and simultaneously spills from his mouth and his eyes. the pressure of konstantin's fingers on his neck makes him shiver and shudder, an old fire is set ablaze once again in his stomach but almost as quickly extinguished by all the tears that not only drip down his face, but down the outline of his soul. the battle between familiarity and pain is unusual, unstoppable, because both sides are fuelled by something that is bigger than both the two men tangled together in the sand.
he almost wants to laugh when konstantin starts to hum. a tune he knows so well, one that has always been their own. as comforting as a warm palm against his own, a kiss to the temple and fingers carding through his hair when he's gone a little too long between cuts, mussed and made amusingly taller. different sides of the emotional spectrum continue to claw at each other, but sasha is comforted. he can't help that, that all the burning thoughts simmer down upon hearing that beautiful little song.
when sasha speaks again, his voice is a hoarse whisper. calmer, but no less charged with jolts of sadness. ]
Why is it still so hard to make you understand? [ konstantin is wrong. apologies do start to mend the wounds that were made. they certainly won't heal them all — oh, the wounds are far too numerous for that — but it's foolish, in sasha's mind, to discount the help that a single stitch can do. one wound closed, many more to be seen to. but they can be seen to. ] Maybe... maybe I'm the one that doesn't understand. Do you not want my forgiveness? At all, ever? Do you want me to tell you, yes, you broke everything and ruined it. And then what?
[ the ragged trembles of his shoulders start to slow. although his vision remains blurred from the steady stream of water running from his eyes, the initial storm of feeling is starting to clear. ]
You did break the promise. You did. You had a reason, I'm sure of it, but that doesn't excuse it. It doesn't... fix anything, the reason. But you do. You're here. You wouldn't be here if you weren't at least hoping for something good to come out of this. I mean —
[ he makes a frustrated noise. ]
You're here to give me closure, to explain and lessen some of the hurt you caused me — but you keep talking like you've not picked up some of the broken pieces by coming here. You hold me like you have. Your hands beg for me to take back those pieces and start putting them together again. And I will, [ he breathes, barely audible but inescapably determined, ] if you stop talking like that.