You’ve been drowsing these last few hours. The night has been long and dawn is staining the sky in pinks and greys, and it’s just irritating enough to keep you half awake. Your thoughts drift uninturrupted, flow from one thing to the next with little disturbance. You hum thoughtfully in your throat as you roll over, twitch when your erection grinds against the mattress.
Hey, Boss! Seems y're feelin' better, so I just wanted to check in. Welcome to the world 'f the livin' again.
Reports of my disappearance are greatly unfounded.
Good to see you again, Delly.
I didn’t believe ‘m anyway. Especially without Bawd’s input.
And, uh-not that it’s not nice t’ see you again, and shit, but-when you were callin’ me short?
You didn’t mean that, didja?
Nah, I was just ribbin’ ya.
You’re the perfect height for leaning on. An’ for punching people. The important things.
"Sorry—" you repeat. You were going to leave it at that, but you quickly realise how ridiculous it is to respond to an apology with your own, unnecessary, force-of-habit apology. "It was more than good, just, I can’t. Words."
You try to calm yourself down again, trying to assure yourself that if you were a terrible kisser, then Scoff would tell you, that you thought you’d be prepared for this but are instead undone, a blushing stammering mess. You start to fear that Scoff might get secondhand embarrassment from you, and that kills any chance of calming yourself down. Really, this is just one giant reminder that you’re not ready for this sort of thing, and it hurts.
"You don’t— Need to— Say sorry."
"Ah, piss. C’mere." You hug him unthinkingly. You are the worst hatefriend, it is you. You know Sleuth isn’t .. well, as comfortable as you are about certain things. You still see fit to push him, though, and it always leaves you kicking yourself.
You’re a colossal idiot.
"You’re fine, kid, everything’s fine."
You watch him for a moment, before it actually hits you that Scofflaw’s back, he’s back and he’s okay and he’s himself again, utterly. You sway some, and don’t so much come to bed as collapse onto it. Immediately you’re clinging to Scofflaw, hiding your face a little as hot tears burn at your eyes.
"I was so worried, Scoff." You say, and barely care the way your voice is choked up. "I thought you wouldn’t come back, or worse, you’d come back as something else. But then you did come back but it wasn’t you and it- It hurt to see you try to understand, and I wasn’t able to explain satisfactorily.” You rub at your eyes before giving up, too tired to fight the need to cry anymore. The tears are, thankfully, clear.
You take his hand and hold it tight, relieved to feel his reactions that are his own now, reactions that he’s making with the knowledge as to what they are.
You haven’t felt relief like this in years, and you feel like you’ve just been brought out of mourning.
You wrap her in your arms and sway gently, running a hand down her spine in an attempt to soothe her. There is a lump in your throat, fit to choke you with your guilt. You are the worst moirail, it is you.
"I’m sorry," you whisper, press a kiss to the crown of her head and hold her tighter. Sorry isn’t enough. You’d do things different, if you could, but the past is inviolate and you are stuck with your decisions.
"I’m sorry," you murmur again, feel her tears like white hot beads of your shame. You accept her grief, let it pour into you as you lay her down. You have to adjust the tight hug until you’re laying comfortably with her head against your shoulder. You breathe in the orchid-dusk scent of her, feel your breath hitch from the intensity of the pale emotions you’re feeling.
"I’m here. I promise."
You make a noise when he comes in to kiss you, and you don’t know where it came from. You manage to put off any embarrassment until it’s over, though, but the pleasure of being kissed is soured a little by a feeling of guilt. After all, even though you were reciprocating, you still feel as though Scoff is doing most of the work, and that doesn’t sit right with you.
You’re speechless for a moment after it’s over, really wishing that you were invisible or at least out his sight, but you don’t want to worry him at the same time, so you manage to piece together something to say while you try not to shed a tear over your own embarrassment. There’s not much else in the room that could serve as a distraction, and starting to feel nervous, as if Scoff’s were boring into you.
"Yeah— It was good."
You feel a little - something, at his embarrassment. Protective pride, maybe. Fierce exultation at the soft noise he gace. You could deal wwith more of that. You chuckle a little, at your own folly, press a kiss to his forehead. You give him space, then, draw back enough so you’re no longer invading his space so … dominantly. You kind of want to hug him, just a little, until he stops being embarrassed.
"You wound me, Sleuth." You make a display of mock hurt, clutching your heart and wincing. "Only good? I’m losing my touch." You continue the act for a few seconds, then drop it in favour of smiling softly at him.
“You’re the wreck.” You manage to mumble softly, untangling from him in small measures. For perhaps the first time, you’ve enjoyed his possessive need, and even with his leg between yours you find nothing strange about it. His bitemarks sting in the open air, and you leave with one last shiver before carefully pulling him away.
"You-Call me, when you’re feeling better." You put a hand on his shoulder, take it away. Slowly, somehow, you extract yourself from him. "I will always be available." For you, you’re tempted to add, but you aren’t quite able to confess to that level of infatuation. No reasoning against it-you are simply afraid.
"Ain’t that the fucking truth," you mumble at him as he draws away. You feel flushed with desire, and you can’t quite keep the predatory appreciation off you face as the two of you part.
"I will. The same goes for you. Just fucking sleep before you fall over on the street.” You want to kiss him again, but you sway away from him. A little distance gives you breathing room, lets you cool the fire in your veins as best you can. You lean against the wall as if you’re ready to collapse, but you manage to stay upright until he’s gone completely. You lock the door behind him, and escape, yourself.
You can - you can deal with all of this later. Right now you feel your mind trying to break apart again and agony lights your world up like a strobe light.
You smile at that, but it’s bitter and tired. You’re not even sure if you have it in you to actually punch him, now. Of course, as soon as you wonder that, the dark shape in the back of your mind cackles and you suddenly feel much, much more awake.
Son of a fuck.
"Alright." You says, straightening up and frowning deeply at him. There’s no other warning given before you rear back and sock him in the jaw.
It’s pretty obvious that you’ve been practicing. Instead of a gentle pap born from fear of breaking your hand, the punch actually has some power, and a whole lot of emotion, behind it. You think maybe something’s cracked, but also you are impossibly tired again, so you can’t be sure.
"That." You say, sagging finally back in utter exhaustion. You feel you may just cry. "Is for attempting what you attempted, you absolute idiotic disaster.”
Your head snaps to the side with the fore of her strike, and some part of you is stupidly pleased by that. You hiss with the pain of it, feel shadows slick against the bone of your jaw as it seeps into the fracture. It heals in seconds, leaving only the ghost of the pain behind. You touch your jaw, feel squirming things retreat from your touch.
You want to reach out to her, draw her into your arms and just hold her. You rock forward and then abort standing, press your hands against the edge of the bed and watch her with a pained expression.
"I know." I’m sorry curls weak and pathetic on your tongue, and it dies there. You regrets taste of ash. You’re still wary about another punch, but you figure it’s probably deserved anyway. You pat the bed beside you, feel the oozing presence of the Emissary croon into the shadows of the room.
"Come to bed."
To your eternal relief, he responds, pulling against you and holding tight as he returns your kisses. You can’t tell if his blood tastes any different after his adventure, but you appreciate the taste of it all the same. His fingers find your skin and you shudder, unable to stop yourself from pushing closer in a desperate attempt to somehow make this up to him.
He writes a symphony on your hands and lips, his own pain translated into movement and motion. You can do nothing but return the sentiment, wedging yourself against the angles and contours of his body. There are words you could say, various sentiments or sweet nothings you could whisper to him, but you don’t have the brainpower or the energy to keep up both lines of pitch flirtation.
He makes a noise somewhere, laughing not at you but at the world, and his next kiss overwhelms you with heat and pain. You release him, finding his shirt with both hands, and simply hold him for a very long time. With the speaking over, this method of communication is greatly preferred.
You shudder as he presses against you, draws you closer still with his hands in your shirt. You’re breathless with hate, feel desire course through you like trapped lightning. You press him against the door, slowly, like you’re afraid he’ll bolt again, straddle his thigh as you slide a knee between his legs.
You want him to never stop, but unfortunately you’re ready to fall apart in agony and he looks as if he’s been run over by a succession of buses. You ghost kisses down his jaw, press your teeth to his pulse and feel it for one long, glorious moment.
"Your vigil is at an end, solider. Go home and go the fuck to sleep, you miserable wreck."
There’s something about Scofflaw’s dark, mysterious, dangerous aura that is so fascinating to you. He’s no good for you and never would be, and although he’s been treating you better lately, you’re willing to bet that he’s still interested in your destruction. You’ve come to think of yourself as already destroyed, though. Already dead.
Even so, it irritates you, just a little bit, that you can’t help but be drawn in by his handsome face and can’t help but be charmed by his silver tongue, every single time. That feeling is just a drop in the ocean that is your barely-hidden lust for him, though.
"Well… I dunno, Scoff. The whole thing was your idea in the first place. Shouldn’t I be asking you?”
Barely hidden indeed, Sleuth. You see it as plain as day on his face, hesitance and lust both. You could do something really stupid, you think, ruin the relationship you already have with Sleuth by being - well, you.
You decide a kiss is fine, though. Just a kiss. You’re sure you could manage that just fine. Maybe he’d even enjoy it - you know you will. So you do.
It’s short, and sweet, nothing more than your lips against his. It’s still nice, though. You could stand to do it again, but you just hang close to him, breathing in the scent of him. Magic and feathers and the peculiar ozone of the Imaginary World, and it’s not so bad. Uniquely Sleuth, and enjoyable for it.
“There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
The wait for a response is nearly unbearable. Somehow, though, the fact that he actually responds, and just sounds so pathetic, is even worse. You steel yourself, though, determined not to be swayed so soon, and open the door.
Of course, you kind of knew what to expect. You’d been with him this whole time, after all. But still, since now he’s back to himself, seeing him just lying there is incredibly unsettling. You feel your resolve crack a little, and the urge to cuddle is certainly there. But instead, you cross your arms and set your face into a smooth mask, though you’re not sure how well that will work against Scofflaw.
It’s not that difficult, considering you’re still kind of furious at him. You try not to let that be too obvious yet, however.
"Hey, Scofflaw." You say, keeping your voice soft, because, well. He just looks so pitiful. It’s hard to make yourself sound as angry as you want to sound.
Your guilt is a living thing, chewing through your blood like a tide made of fangs. She seems wrecked, in a way you can understand viscerally. You ache to draw her into your bed and pap her until the lines smooth from her face and she falls alseep.
"Y’look like ass," you tell her bluntly. You can smell cigarettes on her, and your gut twists a little further. The hot tangle of shame and guilt is something you could live without, but here you are. You’ve made this bed, now you will fucking lay in it. You sit a little straighter, tilt your chin up imperiously.
"Lets get the hitting over with, please."
Gaaahhh I'm not sure if RP blogs can have fandoms but if so I am solidly in yours. Please send assistance for emotional overload.
Oh my GOD I am so
happy you like my Scofflaw.
Thank u so much frend this makes me very happy.
Also brace for more overload this ride doesn’t get any easier!