ph_logs | [OPEN] The world is spinning endlessly

[OPEN] The world is spinning endlessly

Who: Siebren and friends
What: October Shenanigans
When:...October? Possibly also November
Where: Siebren's home, the
Warning(s): Potential cannibalism mentions, unreality, mental unwellness, memory manipulation (self-inflicted), more in comment titles

1. This is the sound of energy [Gala Aftermath]
You can't believe how easy it is. You just have to go... a little crazy. And then, suddenly, it all makes sense, and everything you do turns to gold.
He calls into work the morning after the gala. And a couple more days beyond that. In that time, he is
~~metamorphosing~~
~~assimilating~~
~~unpacking~~
~~digesting~~ everything that occurred that night. He stays at home, alone, trying to avoid everyone and everything.

much. It's too
The fragments of past that he's avoided for their sharpness rotate in him mind, turning their points toward him, crystal shards of time that threaten him. And yet, some part of him reaches out with Pandoran curiosity, like Sleeping Beauty toward the spindle. What he pricks isn't a finger, but he feels the pain just as instantly. And yet, and yet...

too much. It's
There it is, the multiple choice past solidifying in fractals, like frost spidering across a windowpane. Siebren has no way of knowing whether this is a correct past, but it is now his, memories feeling more stable than they have in years. Some things are lost, others are fake, but the end result is more real than anything he's been able to grasp before.

For three days, anyone approaching Siebren's home for any reason may hear, even from outside the building, the sounds of someone having a Bad Time™, with pained screams or furniture being thrown against walls as his gravitational powers pulse and fluctuate. For three days, he struggles.

And then, there is silence.

Traveling through the galaxy [The Library; CW vertigo]
Siebren returns to work. Nothing is wrong. He is fine. Can't you see how fine he is?

Somewhere, a book falls off a table and he flinches. And then, to anyone within a certain distance of him, the floor seems to fall away, in a dizzying cloud of galactic light, just for a moment, before he regains control, glancing around to see if anyone noticed.

Into eternity [Stargazing Night]
A notice goes up on the bulletin board, and letters are issued to penpals with explicit invitations: Crane's Ridge, 9pm on a given night. Bring snacks, drinks, something to sit on. Siebren will have his telescope and star charts.

He's brought some cheese and crackers and apple butter himself, as well, and is floating beside his big brass telescope, dressed in a comfortable sweater. For the moment, he is completely at ease. For the moment, nothing could possibly bother him.

Right?

A One Note Symphony [Wildcard]
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“No—hey.”

It’s getting better, touching. Casual touches burn, but he feels less overwhelmed…other things are still a little much, but he doesn’t hesitate to pull Siebren into an embrace, holding on tight both to keep himself there and to make it clear he’s doing it because he wants to.

“You’re not dangerous. Not to me.” He breathes, shutting his eyes for a second. This is a double edged sword, getting through this whole thing—being touch starved. It’s taking time, it’s hard to let himself have it…

…and sometimes it’s hard not to just take and take and take, like now. He’s warm and solid and the burn of it feels good.

“And I’m not hurt.” He continues, drawing back to show Siebren his hand. He’s got a few splinters, but fortunately the wood isn’t anything he has to worry about like silver—and there’s no blood, thank God.

“See? Just need a pair of tweezers—honestly? That light show was…kinda neat. Maybe you can show it to me again sometime? When I’m sitting down—like a carnival ride.”

And Siebren melts into that embrace, allowing himself to take the comfort that's offered, selfishly. Because he knows that he is dangerous now, even more than he used to be.

But John is warm and kind and reassuring, and in this moment he doesn't have the strength to reject that when it's before him.

"I'm certain there's a first aid kit, at the circulation desk. It's likely to have tweezers." Just let him have a minute more of this closeness, before he disentangles to grab it.

Just for a second, the urge to kiss him is overwhelming. It kind of surprises John, but not in a bad way…

…but he didn’t come here for that, this whole concept is still too new, and given that he’s pretty sure Siebren is relatively serious about the woman he had at the gala as his date (and John has no idea if he even likes men), a conversation has to happen before he can let himself have more than this—and today isn’t the date for it.

So he lets the urge pass, and just curls a hand around his nape, pulling him back in again to linger as long as he wants with their arms still looped around each other.

“Take your time, man.” He replies, making no attempt to clarify if he means the tweezers or the hug. It’s both, it’s neither…

…okay, maybe Siebren is a little dangerous: he gives really good hugs…

“Careful, I might claim your whole afternoon, if you don’t stop me.” There’s wry humor there, a warning delivered with just a hint of truth behind it. He is more at peace in John’s arm than he’s been all day.

There’s another matter to return to, though. “You asked after me, here?”

Look, it touches a tender spot in his chest, to know he isn’t forgotten. To think he might be missed, when absent. That if anyone ever stowed him away again, someone might come looking.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” John shoots back with wry warmth—because hell if it isn’t a tempting fucking offer. Leaning against each other, up at the ranch, maybe Co nested in his lap and Bao burrowing into the crevice where their legs are pressed side by side…

When he asks that question, though, it’s a small dash of cold water on that cozy little fantasy. He sounds so surprised…

Drawing back just enough to look into his face, John nods with a small, shy smile.

“Well—yeah. I, uh…after the gala, I came looking for you. Everything went to shit so fast, and then I was—I couldn’t remember anything, but I…I wanted to see you and say how much—I really liked dancing with you.”

"Went to shit. An understatement. I still don't know how I made it home after...after." There's more to that thought that he bites off rather than verbalizing. "But I liked dancing with you, too. You're more delicate than you let on, when you want to be, John."

Broken chair notwithstanding.

Siebren begins to rock, slightly, within the hug as if attempting to coax John into another dance, devoid of music.

…yeah, John knows an evasion when he hears one. It was a hell of a night, though—pretty literally—so he raises a knowing eyebrow but doesn’t push it.

He opens his mouth to tell Siebren he can just say he doesn’t want to talk about it…but he’s swaying just barely, like he’s about to whisk John back into the air, and he’s complimenting John…

And John just ends up grinning, blushing, swaying with him as he ducks his head with a laugh.

“And you’re real charming when you’re trying to avoid something.” He replies—but he slides a hand down Siebren’s arm to thread their fingers together in a haphazard dance hold, silently assuring him that he’s okay with that for the moment.

“You’re real charming all the time, honestly—I mean you did literally sweep me off my feet.” He points out, looking back up at him again. “Like something out of a movie, y’know?”

Siebren yields the lead this time, as content to follow as John was at the gala. How wonderful, to be able to both give and take in a relationship. To be the strong backbone and to be the one supported.

"If this was a movie, I'd know what the next line in my script is." Amusement colors the words, as Siebren looks into John's eyes quietly, giving a tiny nod. Yes, he's aware he can't avoid the topic forever. Yes, they will talk.

The subject dropped, the remark made, idly swaying in an almost dance in the library…

It’s right there on his tongue. His chest feels tight, but he thinks of the night with Laios on the beach, asking him to be his date at the gala, and he finds some courage.

“…how ‘bout ‘yes’ when I ask if you wanna have a drink at the Oak & Iron after you get out of work here.”

Siebren's smile dims by a few watts. Not because he wants to give John a rejection, but...alcohol sounds like a bad idea.

"I'm not sure I should be drinking right now, but I want to spend time with you. Is there a way I could coax you to adjust those plans just a little? Please?"

John’s breath catches a little at that—I want to spend time with you. Warmth that has nothing to do with being touched and everything to do with that alien, wonderful feeling of being welcome in the company of better people spreads through his chest and makes him smile.

Until he registers what Siebren is saying—asking.

“Trust me, I shouldn’t be drinking either—it can be a literal drink, water I mean, or a bite to eat.” He assures him. “Hell, I’ll even try to see if I can manage a bite or two. I’d invite you back to my place, but I’m not sure if any of the kids are around tonight…but uh—I’m open to any ideas that end up with you and me…”

John isn’t sure how to finish that sentence, but the smile he fails to hide and color in his cheeks makes it clear that all of the options are considering are definitely in the field of together, bonus points for privacy.

"I, ah. Live alone. And, given how cold nights are getting, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that I have a wood-burning stove and some very warm quilts. We could get a meal on the way, and bring it home to share. If you wanted."

Now, he's a little nervous for a few reasons. He hasn't completely cleaned up from his meltdown; John will see the aftermath, at the least. But it's together, private, cozy.

John's so used to being in constant pain from the lack of contact, that this...this is new.

That bone deep ache in his marrow, that sudden chill--not his constant companion, but more intense, throbbing, screaming at him to reach for the thing that's being offered. It's not his body reminding him just how bad of shape he's in, it's his whole body howling the answer to Siebren's question, and it's yes.

"...I'm with someone."

He doesn't mean to say it, but it's out there now--and it makes the hesitation that tried to rise up in that instant melt away as John blushes and drops his gaze, without moving away from Siebren.

"I mean--I'm with someone, and he's with other people." he continues uncertainly. "And it's--we're both open. To it, to...multiple relationships. He's, uh--he's got his entourage, and if I feel it I have mine. I guess."

He glances up, the blush deepening with a sheepish smile.

"I'm--sorry, I'm just...the whole idea is still new, and I haven't really had to talk about it with anyone yet except Laios--my f--my boyfriend."

Pinks cheeks are turning to red.

"I just--I know how gone you are on your gal, so if you're...I wasn't sure before, and now I am that...yeah, I want. But this is all so new to me, and it seems like you need a lot of clear communication to make it work without hurting anyone--and you're the last person I ever wanna hurt. I uh...wanna make sure there's nothing in your relationship with Drelasa that would need to make you modify that invitation."

Red cheeks are in danger of turning crimson as John's hands search for and find Siebren's, meshing their fingers and holding on like he might bolt at any second before he makes himself look up into Siebren's eyes--his own shining with raw warmth and longing.

That first blurt, I'm with someone, startles Siebren, but as John continues speaking, there's a bit of warm, fond laughter.

"I never considered myself famous enough to have an entourage, but if that's the word for it in local customs..." His eyes twinkle with merry warm mischief.

"Drelasa and I may be in orbit around one another, but she doesn't own me, and nor do I her. She's aware of and supports my flirtations with others. She is the song to my dance; no one else will be that for me. But that doesn't make what I share with anyone else less meaningful. Less important."

He reaches out to touch one of those red, red cheeks, then pulls his fingers to his lips, an indirect kiss. His gaze lingers on John, drinking in his reaction to that gesture.

The song to my dance...John smiles at that, the way Siebren says it with such unabashed warmth of feeling. It makes his chest tight with a strange and absolutely wonderful sort of joy to see it in the other man, especially knowing the kind of fear he lives with.

"Good." he replies, open and sincere--until Siebren's fingers touch his cheek and his breath catches, eyes drifting shut for an instant. It burns burns burns...but in a different way, one that doesn't make his bones ache for anything else but more.

He opens his eyes just in time to see Siebren press his fingers to his lips, and that does make his bones ache--namely, his joints, his fingers, and he soothes it by reaching up to run the backs of his fingers over Siebren's cheek. He lets himself enjoy it, knowing he has permission...

...knowing he...has Siebren?...

"'S it chilly in here, or is it just me? Think I could use a heavy quilt." he jokes fondly, hand dropping from Siebren's cheek to his shoulder.

"There is nothing I'd like more." He chuckles. "Care to walk me home?"

Float him home, same difference. Even if he weren't free of gravity, he'd be walking on air right now.

"Yeah." John replies with a breathless smile that implies the answer is, in fact, fuck yeah.

"You, uh...you off now? Or you got more time? I'm good to hang out for a bit if you need..."

"I have about an hour left. I should stick it out--I've been out for a while, unwell."

This might be the best opportunity to ask what happened. Siebren is still nervy about it, though.

John can see the opening...but some things should be done in private, where a guy can fall apart a little if he needs to.

So John just, abruptly, pulls Siebren into another hug.

"You can tell me about it after work. If you want." he says quietly in his ear. "Under the quilt."

With one more squeeze, John lets him go, draws back just enough to look him in the eye...

...and when the stupid, crazy impulse rises up, he can't stop it: curling his hand around Siebren's nape, he pulls him in and presses his lips to his forehead, just above the bridge of his nose before releasing him with a shy smile and moving back so he can...go to another bookshelf.

Far enough away that he can resist the urge to wrap himself around the guy again and distract him from working.

"Oh." Siebren melts when kissed, and there's a moment when the world threatens to go topsy again. He reins in the worst before it hits John, but feels the backlash himself for a few seconds.

As he recovers, he blinks owlishly a few times.

"I'll find you when I'm done, then."

"You better."

He says it with an obvious wink, and he waits to make sure Siebren is steady before he walks off...

...and it's--not as long of an hour as he thinks it will be. John actually does find a couple books on chemistry and cooking that help with the mechanics of fermentation, and he's already reconsidering a couple things for his developing dandelion wine recipe the longer he sits, reading--and yes, sneaking peeks at Siebren's location when he thinks the guy isn't looking.

It's when he's actually patting himself down for a piece of paper to make a note and an impromptu bookmark, wholly absorbed in his reading, that he feels the prickle of awareness the military trained into him to let him know someone was coming up behind him. Fortunately, expecting Siebren, when he feels the hand on his shoulder, his hand goes up to rest on top of it first.

Feeling those familiar fingers, he squeezes it warmly before looking up at him.

He doesn't give the hand up, even when he's checking out his books, and keeps hold of it as Siebren leads the way to his place.

There may even be interlacing of fingers, the slow circling of a thumb against the back of a hand. However, as they approach the front door to Siebren's home, he seems to tense a little.

"I...should warn you, it's not tidy, inside."

“Hey, I may be military, but I also keep a fifteen year old girl around, and a nineteen year old boy. I mean—yeah, Radar is Army, too, but he’s still a kid.” John reassures him, squeezing his hand.

Fingers definitely interlaced, and occasional very firm squeezes when that rhythmic drag of Siebren’s thumb on skin either makes him shiver pleasantly or tips over into too much, and John chooses to cling instead of pull away until the overwhelm fades and leaves him feeling warmer, looser, maybe a little giddy.

“Trust me, Sieb. Not judging a little mess. Promise.”

Siebren huffs, quietly, and unlocks the door, opening it to show something akin to disaster recovery in progress. Some furniture is gone, because it was destroyed in the storm. Other pieces are in clear need of repairs. Stuff is stacked on the floor, papers in quick disorganized piles, dropped wherever it could be gathered in the aftermath. It's clear no one's taken the time to wash or even sweep the floor since...whatever-it-was...happened, and the curtains are askew.

Siebren's Mawile looks up from where she's nested, in a dog bed on the floor, and lets out a hiss at John.

The first reaction when he sees the mess is instinct: stepping ahead of Siebren to put himself between him and the danger, hand going to his knife, pulse quickening and eyes widening to prepare for a fight.

Then he sees the animal—like a feline version of Gandalf or Sauraman at home. When she hisses at him, and he realizes she’s just lounging, his hand leaves his knife. He felt what happened at the library, saw how Siebren reacted…

Two and two makes four, and he turns to pull Siebren into his arms again.

“Aw, Sieb…”

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