lestercraft | TLV: IC Inbox

He's still a little dazed from it, when John shelves the weight of his love back in his heart, but the soft press of a kiss helps him settle into his own body again with a soft purr of piano keys.

His grip loosens, lighter, but he doesn't let go. His toes are only just scraping the ground.

You might have to be more specific. But there's a warm fondness in his voice.

John is going to abandon breakfast for the moment to bring them back to Arthur's bed. The conversation pit would have been his usual destination but he'd spent his fair share of time laying with Arthur here too.

Remembering how you had to do everything alone. Seeing other people who had more support.

"Mmn." A thought and a soft hum, as he feels the world shift gently, the press of the bed frame against his ankles, and he releases to drop safely onto the bed.

"It did, at... those times, most keenly," he admits softly. "Being a boy, seeing some of the others get adopted, o-or, um. Or walking the streets, seeing others my age being spoiled by their parents." His smile turns tight, painful. "When Bella was pregnant, all of our friends- all of her friends, flocking to her side to congratulate her and offer to help. When..."

He swallows, and continues. "When Faroe was born, when it was... bad. I'd be jealous of... of other couples, that could- that had each other, had steady incomes despite the times. That didn't have to rely on anyone else."

Edited 2024-09-08 14:04 (UTC)

John won't let him just be on the bed. He's getting arms around him again in a soft cuddle soon enough.

"Faroe will have so many people to look after her when we get back to her," he says with quiet intensity. It's a side thought but one he had immediately in concern for her.

He's not sure where Justine will fit, but there was Parker, Sheehan, and himself very much settled.

Coming back-

"I didn't like feeling it at the party. I wanted to be completely happy for Edwin."

And he leans into the cuddle immediately, resting a hand on John's wrist in a loose, implacable grip.

"You don't have to, you know. Be happy all the time for him. I know- I know you love him, and want the best for him, but that's- those aren't mutually exclusive. And the more you try and force that happiness, the more the resentment grows."

He gives a soft chuckle. "You're allowed to love him and also want to give him a few solid whacks with a pillow when he's being daft. I've heard it's rather typical in your situation, actually."

Arthur will feel the conflicted feelings inside of John, some seemingly discordant notes that nonetheless make a coherent melody. Some wounds did not get addressed back when they had their tiff, and John's kept it to himself because Edwin and Arthur had had their own difficulties. But now that he's airing it-

"...I'm still kind of pissed at him. About how things went a while ago. Not-" ugh "not as much the big thing. The fact that he didn't trust me enough to talk to me. Again." There's a low rumble. "It's not technically related, it just..."

Edwin took something that made him so happy, a connection with Charlie, trust and building something with someone, and made it something that almost broke him. Edwin yelled at him about 'choosing' and got upset about it and then there was a big party about him being chosen.

He wants to be happy for him, is happy for him, but he can't get rid of the petty little part of him that-

"...makes it harder."

He knows he's being a sullen teenager about this, that he should be better, that he has to be better. It's just not happening. And if he's going to be ugly and stupid and small, he knows he can be that with with Arthur.

Arthur might yell at him, but he'll still be there.

Arthur doesn't doubt John's happiness, not one inch. But he doesn't talk about those darker, pettier urges as much, so they deserved some proper weight and respect when he did.

"You know," he hums, rubbing his thumb along the pulse point on John's wrist. "One of the very first stories, the very first chapter, even, in the Bible - it's of two brothers, the sons of Adam and Eve, God's first humans. Both of them offer up the products of their labour - Cain, the elder, he was a farmer, and offered God his wheat - Abel was a shepherd, and offered him a lamb. God chose Abel's offer, and Cain, in a fit of furious jealousy, killed his brother for it."

He rests his head on John's shoulder. "So, really, being mad at your sibling for something is one of the most normal, human things in the world."

The head on his shoulder and the hands on his wrist and hand are both so lovely, but he can't help that the story has him turning a little bit with a wry little twist of notes.

"...you're referencing the Bible? Shit."

But another little wave of fondness filters through right after, soft little notes in a flowing melody that's straightened out from before.

Then something else hits him.

"Wait. They're brothers?"

"Yeah, that's how you know it's bad," he chuckles at John's wry surprise.

The point stands, however. Even in one of the sources of Arthur's own pain, he can see the valid point occasionally being made, and pass on what little wisdom it has to offer.

John's surprise is interesting, though. "Yes, er- quite famously, actually, they're the original brothers. Nearly everyone who's from an Earth that has Christianity knows the story, even obliquely."

John's going to make a grumbly noise and curl up around Arthur like the man is his personal teddy bear. Yeah, yeah, he's the worst.

...at least he's not making it Edwin's problem. Or he's trying really hard not to. Okay, less petty, less petty! He can be less petty!

It's hard, but he can.

"As a note, the Cain and Abel on board are not brothers. Or brotherly. Just... in case it comes up."

He harumphs a little and burrows closer to Arthur.

"...I don't like being upset with Edwin. It seems like it'll just make things worse."

"Noted." Cain and Abel was only a sidebar, anyway - easy to put the topic aside and return to the point.

As he's snuggled like a teddy bear, half-pulled into John's lap, he shifts slightly to drape his legs over John's.

"It might if you act it to his face," Arthur admits softly, letting his free hand trace one of the tattoos on John's forearm. "But you can't push it down, John, or it'll explode in a way that hurts both of you even more. That's how this all started, you realise? Because Edwin did just that, in not telling you things."

"But I told him," is grumbled back. It's different! He said. He said! "And he can't handle me being mad at him. Not really." He looks to Arthur. "Not like... we are."

When John actually lets himself be mean. He hasn't let himself be mean in...

Yeah, it's been a while. Thankfully, on the flip side, it's been a while since he's really felt the urge to. Things have been good. Pretty good. Even this is-

Honestly, if they were being chased by something with a million teeth or dealing with Kayne, it wouldn't even register. But here, now, with the time and space for it, it can breathe enough for John to feel it on his neck uncomfortably.

He lets his head rest against Arthur's shoulder, content with his partner in his lap. He breathes in and out a couple of times himself, trying to find a way around the problem.

"I'm trying to process it. I'm trying... to work through it. Not push it down. Yesterday was just... fresh."

"Are you actually saying it to anyone?" he asks quietly, resting his hand on John's neck. Not quite toying with his hair, but his fingers comb through it to push it back and find his nape. "Or are you just letting it sit in your mind and fester? Sometimes it helps to just... get things out in the open. Let the wound, so to speak, get the infection out before it turns septic."

He rests his head on John's. "I'm certainly not going to tell him."

If Arthur wasn't combing through his hair, he'd get growled at a little. As it is, it's just a low level rumble, very much settled by his touch and the soft affection.

"I'm telling you. And... last night, I told Justine some of it." He hadn't wanted to tell Arthur then so that Arthur could enjoy the party and be 100% there for Edwin. "Not... all of it. Mostly just the part at the beginning." He breathes out. "I told Sheehan a little too. And I've gone to spend time with him while I'm working on it."

He looks up, golden eyes a little plainative.

"...I'm trying to be better about it, Arthur. It-" a little quieter, "you know it isn't easy."

John is telling him, sure. But it's still being gentle, trying to be kind when his own anger and frustration was still chewing him up on the inside.

Arthur gives his forehead a soft, warm kiss. "I know you are."

And then there's a soft huff, as he rests his head on John's again, and his voice turns more conversational, light and dry. "You know, I'm still annoyed about the fact Edwin killed me when he first arrived," he comments simply. "Out of all the ways he could have done it, he just- shoved me down the fucking stairs. Feels a bit anticlimactic, after everything else."

Arthur is spoiling him.

It's hard to feel all that frustration and hurt when he feels the fond affection well up in him and his hand settles in Arthur's hair to give him a soft scritch along the scalp.

"Hardly dashing... especially how you landed." Cough. "You deserved a rapier. A duel at dawn. Maybe some music in the background."

Edited 2024-09-09 03:30 (UTC)

He gives a soft chuckle as John plays along. "And that scar, from the glass. How I kept reopening it for the next few days because it was right along my beard line. I still had it when I got my fucking sight back."

It's gone now, already faint by the time Cazador killed him, but now his only remarkable scars are the lingering bite marks.

"Because heaven forbid you have facial hair for longer than a day," he says with deep sarcasm, already soothed by the laughter.

"I feel more dashing clean-shaved!" he protests toothlessly, jostling John lightly with his elbow.

"Even when you're opening your face up and use half the toilet paper roll," but he wobbles with the jostling so much more than he actually should.

That gets a full snort, and Arthur laughs, open and breathy.

"You don't even use the toilet, what the fuck are you protesting that for?!"

"Because there is nothing 'dashing' about half of the roll stuck to your face, Arthur! For fuck's sake, man."

But he's laughing.

Arthur has no articulate protest to that. Just another laugh, as he lets himself curl in and collapse against John with his giggles.

And John's response to that is just to wrap him in his arms and maybe a couple of stray tentacles that slipped out before he buries his face in Arthur's hair and smiles against it.

...I should finish up breakfast for you.

He almost asks him for a few minutes more, but then his stomach lets out a reedy grumble, and he laughs again instead, giving John a firm, playful pat on the wrist.

"Yes, we should sort that out sooner than later," he hums, and twists a little so he can press a kiss to John's jaw, before he goes to wriggle out of John's lap and back to his feet. "I suppose."

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