Quique amavit, cras amet {{Mi&Arthur

[Mihai C. Eliade]

Mirror on the wall

Frame the picture

Reflect this kiss to wish us all

Goodnight

That particular day was a bright one, a bit on the warm side, but pleasantly so. Many might call it a good day, though Mihai found little use in taking the weather's temperament except, perhaps, as a reason not to go out on any specific occasion. It was rare that he got any sense of excitement from leaving his dismal little room anymore, though it was something they'd all wished for when they were younger, when they were cooped up in an even more dismal school with a group of exceptionally dismal people. That day, however, was quite the exception. As Mihai waited under the shade of a tree, his fingers were restlessly twisted together in nervousness and in excitement, and anyone who knew his purpose for waiting could not possibly blame him.

It was only by coincidence he'd found out so quickly about Arthur's contract. He didn't keep track of the comings and goings of the mutants in the Underground anymore, since Arthur had been so adamant about doing precisely the opposite of what had happened: getting a contract. Thus, Mihai had only heard of it in gossip, as gossip tended to travel when one high-level government official had decided, after a long interim of not doing such a thing, to buy a contract. However in Mihai's opinion, the arrangements could have been much better. Although he'd always attempted to sweet-talk Arthur into getting out of the Underground, but he wasn't certain if he liked the idea of his friend being contracted to a government official, much less Francis Bonnefoy. It was not so much that he disliked Bonnefoy, but was, rather, afraid of him for reasons that not even Arthur knew. His experiences with that man had been limited, but they'd left an impression on him that would be difficult to change. On a more rational level, however, Bonnefoy confused him—he could not easily tell what the official wanted nor intended, and that made him wary.

That was the only damper on this whole arrangement. He fully planned on voicing his doubts to Arthur sometime over the course of the day—to warn him that Bonnefoy wasn't all what he seemed, that a bit of caution must be taken. It was doubtful what he excuses he would provide for those suspicions specifically, since he hadn't himself worked out an opinion on Bonnefoy, but at the very least some sort of remark would be better than saying nothing at all. But the details were something that could be figured out later; for now, he just had to wait until Arthur showed up.

He knew he shouldn't be impatient. After all, the method he'd chosen to contact Arthur hadn't exactly been the most practical nor direct. He didn't want to risk coming face-to-face with the owner of the mansion, and so instead he'd snagged a maid on her way in that afternoon, passing onto her a couple of bills and a written note. He hoped she'd done as he'd asked and delivered the note to Arthur; however he couldn't be too certain. She very well could have gotten rid of the message at the nearest available trashcan, or even sought out her employer with the evidence in hand, but Mihai had not yet seen any sort of commotion that might indicate trouble. He'd chosen to situate himself someplace with a clear view of both ends of the street for a reason, with his back to a grove of trees for a quick escape. Nervously, he bit at his lip. It wasn't characteristic of him to place his trust in people—moreso to doubt them—but he had no other way of getting in contact with Arthur unless he planned to waltz up to the front door himself. If it came down to it, he might be desperate enough to do just that.

This was far from any ordinary rendezvous, and it was for that reason that he'd gone to such great lengths to make sure that he could see Arthur. This was Arthur's first contract in four years—meaning four years since he'd left the horrid, dank confines of the Underground, and even more since the last time he'd seen the city. Even then, the scant views he'd been shown were with the rest of the class on school field-trips, hence the places they knew were no more than the Underground, city hall, and the police station. What use was there in showing the mutant children the entire city anyway? It was not like they needed to know anyplace aside from the auction center and their owner's house. Mihai had gotten to know the city after graduation anyway, what with the amount of free-time and (in a limited sense) freedom he had in his hands. He wanted to show Arthur around. Of course, he had no idea whether Arthur had already been taken out, but nevertheless he hoped that Arthur would receive his message and come out to meet him.

He felt that he couldn't let this chance go. If he had to wait all day, if he even had to come back tomorrow and approach the house himself, he just couldn't let this chance go. If not, some intuition told him that he would have lost something, and he wasn't in the business of ignoring a sentiment like that. But more than anything, he just wanted to see Arthur. One day would be enough for him (no, that was a lie because nothing would ever be enough, but he had to make do with what was possible right now). He just wanted one day to reunite, to not have to hide, to be somewhere that wasn't deep beneath the public eye with his perpetual friend and sometimes-lover, to be out in the sun and the streets and feel almost-human. For all either of them knew, this could be their last and only chance, though Mihai preferred not to think of that possibility. Still, his fingers were crossed by his side and he could not help but pray to a god he did not believe in that they would be granted just one day of normalcy.

Word Count: 1022

Notes: Arthur W. Kirkland. sdlkfgh I'm so sorry this is awfully sappy

by worldie on iof

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

tag;; Mihai C. Eliade
words;; 1270
notes;; no apologies there. that was great~

As the days slowly crept past, Arthur grudgingly admitted that he was slowly adapting quite well to life that didn’t include concrete walls and constant surveillance, brief as he knew it would be. He didn’t want to; he didn’t want to desire something that he could never have. Such a longing would be torment the moment he was back behind the bars of his cell. Even staring at his small bit of breakfast, toast spread with a bit of marmalade, yet another pleasure that he was introduced to, he couldn’t bring himself to touch it. The sweetness on his tongue wouldn’t be there for long. As with other desires, he didn’t know if it would be better to leave them well enough alone if ever having them again was an uncertainty at best. His eyes were drawn to the back garden just outside the kitchen window, soaking in the sight as if hiding away the memory for a colder, lonelier day. Another sip of his black tea, yet another taste that he was going to miss, his fingers warming quickly against the hot porcelain, all of the little details he wanted to keep.

His mind drifted to other, far more complicated longings that lie in that same uncertainty given his situation, a dear friend and clandestine lover, of winkled sheets and stolen moments in unlikely spaces. It’s difficult to forget even the seemingly smallest details, such as the heavy scent, the shiver of pleasure, and beautiful sounds drawn from a reddened, and well-loved mouth. Already, Arthur could feel the small rise of heat to his cheeks and he tried to focus on something else, to ease his mind away from things he missed the most. Finally taking a bite, feeling the smooth texture of the marmalade against the roof of his mouth, one of the maids approached to rearrange a vase of wild flowers. He gave her little attention until he heard the light tap of folded paper against the table. She walked off before he could even offer anything more than a fleeting glance at the bewildering gift.

Carefully setting down his cup, he picked up the folded piece of paper. It was easy to tell that it had been previously read and folded based on the fresh creases over the older ones. He paused upon opening it, immediately recognising the ever-familiar handwriting. He stood so quickly from his chair that it nearly fell over, its legs grating loud against the floor, drawing the startled gaze of another kitchen maid. He had the decency to be slightly embarrassed for the reaction and pushed it back into its proper place before pocketing the note, his fingers already forming sweat marks over the abused paper. He could feel the stern eyes upon him as he left the kitchen; it’s not as if the servants would stop him, would they? Casting furtive glances once he reached the foyer, he knew that he would have to leave something behind for Francis, a small note perhaps, extremely vague and detailing that he would return. Anything would be better, lest he wanted the man to report a suspected runaway to the city guards. From what he’d seen of Francis so far, he didn’t think he would follow through with something like that. At the worst, he might get a harsh word for leaving when he shouldn’t. Old habits die hard.

After leaving the note where he hoped it would be found by Francis and none of the others by mistake, he slipped as quietly as he could from the back. The garden felt unusually still, as if holding its breath, as he maneuvered his way through the somewhat elaborate paths before finding the locked side gate. The lock was undone soon enough with the pressure of his fingers and a silent order, quickly dispersing the used entity as he rounded the corner of the street. A quick search of the area, and he spotted Mihai ahead, near a grove of trees, his posture looking rather tense, as if about to make a run for it. His heart felt like it was engaging in a ridiculous staccato, though he would never admit to such a thing, as he approached the lone figure. He felt somewhat improper in the simple change of clothes offered to him by Francis, as if he needed coat of wool at his back, despite it being agreeably warm and sunny.

Normalcy is something that they could never have; but it was something that they’ve pretended to catch hold of for a brief moment—for a series of nights. Again, he could feel that same distant ache from before, only it was now a vivid recollection as Mihai’s features became clearer. He couldn’t think of a proper hello—the usual ones seemed too formal and yet anything else didn’t quite feel sufficient for the time they’d been apart. Granted, Mihai’s visits to the Underground were usually monthly and they could only make up the difference with frenzied touches, frantic mouths, and fumbling grasps against the other’s clothes—that is, whenever their mouths weren’t otherwise occupied with heated disagreements regarding Arthur’s aversion for contracts. There was always a wonderful, adrenaline-pumping high that accompanied those moments.

For now, he focused on the warm familiarity in addition to that undefined ache. Moving close, entering Mihai’s line of sight, Arthur could feel the tug at the corners of his lips, threatening into a smile. Before it could, he took gentle hold of Mihai’s chin and moving just so before pressing his mouth against his, uncaring of the slight stickiness from his own lip from the marmalade. It was a mild enough kiss at first, a brush of heat, before he deepened it enough to taste that wet, warm familiarity, as if it had been far too long since he had last savoured it. His fingers against Mihai’s chin wandered, his thumb brushing briefly along the length of his jaw as he retreated, the corners of his now-warm mouth rising slightly. ”And here I thought you’d be standing beneath a balcony, attempting to draw me out with those attractive words of yours,” was his teasing reception, his voice lowered as if they shared an intimate space instead of standing out in public. There was a small, sharp exhale of breath from him that could be interpreted as a bit of a quiet laugh. In truth, Arthur hadn’t expected to see Mihai at all while he was under contract, so this was undoubtedly a pleasant surprise.

His fingers dragged lower, fingertips pressing against the texture of Mihai’s shirt. ”In truth, I didn’t think I’d see you,” his tone was lowered and evened, more conversational and less teasing than before. The softening of his features as he glanced over Mihai once more held traces of relief and perhaps even that ever-rare taste of happiness beneath the usual cynical hardness, even if their time together would be brief at best. Even the most indulgent evening would never be enough. Having a taste of something that he desired only caused Arthur to crave more; he was insatiable and greedy like that. One night, or even one day, would never be enough. ”So, you’ve managed to draw me from my temporary cage.” His fingers lowered enough to slip beneath the front of Mihai’s belt, giving a playfully demanding tug, drawing him a tad closer. ”What do you intend to do with me?” Mischief lightened the hard edges of his gaze as his attention wandered across Mihai’s expression. There was a certain eagerness behind his touches and he couldn’t help the feeling of contentment from descending, conditional as it would be for what little time they had.

MADE BY MEULK OF GS

[Mihai C. Eliade]

Mirror on the wall

Frame the picture

Reflect this kiss to wish us all

Goodnight

The bane of anyone's existence, he was quite sure, was waiting. There was nothing at all gratifying about tiring one's legs and staring blankly ahead, occasionally glancing at a timepiece to find out that less time had passed than it seemed. His misfortune was compounded by the uncertainty of the situation, as he wasn't sure if he even had a reason to be waiting, whether he should consider himself to be waiting for anyone at all. Impatient by nature and tardy by nurture, he liked to be humored by knowing whether his dates would show up and when in spite of his own chronic lateness. This occasion, however, had a different savour to it, not merely the annoyance of an interminable wait, but also the gnawing worry about whether someone would show up, and if so, who. Though he tried to keep a semblance of composure, those familiar with him would find the press of his mouth too tight, decipher nervousness from the way he worried the skin of his palm with his nails. He didn't like human neighborhoods, much less the rich ones. His presence there, once noted, would likely be met with disapproval, and upon his (forcible) removal, he would lose any chance of venturing back into the quarter. The thought made him sick, not only the confrontation—the police were never considerate, and 'gentle' would be an entirely other dimension—but the disapproval with which his actions would be met by his superiors. If that were to be the outcome of his little venture that day, he could only hope they would be merciful.

This was a risk he normally would not have taken—going places where he shouldn't, getting on the wrong side of the very people he was forced to rely on. After all, he usually valued his own well-being more than any passing whim, thus he could not say why he had undergone such an uncertain scheme for nothing more than a mere fancy. And to be prepared to go it again the next day, if today should fail. But who was he to go against his worse instincts? It was what he had always done, until they showed him that the momentary thrill of rebellion and shiver of gratification was nothing compared to the damage they could inflict. He wished that he had the capacity to feel exasperated with himself for being foolish, for doing everything he had told himself he should not, but all that was present was a swirl of nervousness and anticipation, settling like lead in his gut.

Movement from down the street caught his eye, and his gaze fixed on the cause with a certain degree of wariness as he tried to make out whether or not it was time to give up and leave. Yet, as the figure drew closer, he was able to discern the familiarity of that frame, posture, gait, the shock of blond hair, and suddenly the lead that had settled in his gut dispersed and was scattered to the wind as a smile blossomed on his lips. There were changes in the other that he could see—less thin, a bit more well-groomed (though that hair was still a godawful mess), the ghastly pallor of his skin livelier than in the Underground—and a spark of affection welled up inside him. The impulse to leave his post and to wrap his arms around Arthur was a strong one, but he had a certain amount of dignity to keep, and so he took a few steps towards Arthur before waiting for the other to reach him. Still, likely his expression was more than indication enough of the warm feeling that was building inside, so strong that it threatened to overflow.

Once Arthur was in earshot, he allowed his smile to grow a little wider. "Well, you certainly kept me waiting," he began, but his remark was cut short when he suddenly found Arthur's mouth pressed to his own. Reacting to the contact based off familiarity, he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Arthur's neck, pressing in close and responding to the heat of the other's body, his lips. He drank in each sensation, never ceasing to be fascinated by the way Arthur felt against him and the security, no matter how fleeting, he found within the other's embrace. His eyes fluttered open as Arthur pulled away, the smile returning to his lips before he ran his tongue over the skin, finding some sweet leftover taste, no doubt left by Arthur. Slightly curious, moreso craving another moment of intimacy, he pressed in again and left another kiss on Arthur's mouth, licking once at the other's lips and there finding that candied savour again. "I see the city has made you sweeter," he murmured, slightly teasing as he pulled back. "It's already doing miracles."

He laughed at Arthur's next words, allowing the other to pull away but not too far, as he chose not to relinquish his hold around Arthur's neck. Always the romantic, wasn't he? though the picture he painted would have been a funny sight. "Are you disappointed that I won't set foot into enemy territory to woo you properly, sweet Juliet?" Mihai teased, an amused smile tugging at his lips. Perhaps that was a stunt he could have pulled under more fortunate circumstances, if they were only children sneaking under the noses of adults—an easy romance—rather than the clandestine rendezvous' that they were compelled to share.

His gaze and smile softened as Arthur kept talking, relating his own doubts. "You didn't think I'd let an opportunity like this pass by, did you?" Mihai asked, voice quieter. A small shiver ran up his spine as Arthur's fingers traced downwards, but he did nothing to stop the other's gestures. "I'm disappointed," he said, but his tone was light. "You should know me better." Though he couldn't quite put his own finger on it, he'd wanted this, wanted to see Arthur out here like this, wanted it more than anything. Perhaps this was nothing more than a desperate grasp at a pale imitation of what their lives could have been, but—well, this was what they had, wasn't it? and his greed, his want, his uncontrollable desire made him grasp for each small drop of providence within his reach.

At the feeling of Arthur's fingers in his belt, the tug that pulled him closer, his smile grew more devious. "Well," he said casually. "I was thinking of taking you around the city. Has anyone been kind enough to show you around yet?" Though he quite fancied the idea of being the first one to take Arthur out, he wasn't sure if Bonnefoy would have already done so himself, or sent an employee. That Bonnefoy could have beat him to it did not leave a wholly agreeable taste in his mouth, as unreasonable as it were to get hung up over something so trivial. Nevertheless, he continued, "I didn't think so, but I'll take you out anyway—" He paused, and with a small, mischievous grin, pressed in yet further, so that only a breadth of space separated their bodies. "Wine and dine you a little. Then," he moved a hand moved down to Arthur's collar, playing with the top button until it came undone. His eyes flickered up to meet Arthur's, gaze sharp and inviting. "We can go somewhere more quiet, and perhaps I'll have my way with you, love." With that promise, he ducked in for a quick kiss before pulling away, retreating a few steps towards the city center and taking away the chance for any retribution. Glancing back at Arthur, he tilted his head with a provocative grin. "What say you we get out of this quarter first?"

Word Count: 1297

Notes: Arthur W. Kirkland. soRRY it took so long omfg,,,,

by worldie on iof

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

tag;; Mihai C. Eliade
words;; 1403
notes;; I had fun with this, fff

It was almost humorous how visible Mihai’s attempt to retain his dignity was as Arthur made the trek toward him, covering the most ground until he could touch him, press his mouth to his, and dig his fingertips into that familiar warmth. However, Mihai did risk the journey and suffered the uncertainty of waiting, so Arthur supposed that he could be forgiven. All musings ended with a half-humoured smile and a pulse that quickened ever so slightly with his frame pressed against him. Even his scent was familiar, a musk mixed with the other curiosities of the outside world. Mihai’s scent was one that cut through the others with startling clarity and it always left him wanting for more.

Feeling the pressure of Mihai’s arms against the back of his neck, he complied with moving his body close, the warmth permeating between them, his mouth responding against his. His hand pressed down Mihai’s spine, his fingers curling slightly when he made it to the indent of his lower back. Arthur made a sound in the back of his throat, soft and close to a groan, when he felt Mihai’s tongue against his lip. It took an embarrassing amount of self-control to not follow his mouth when it left his, always greedy for more. It seemed that he didn’t have to wait for long; however, for Mihai’s mouth was on his again, another kiss that tasted at the curious sweetness lingering on Arthur's lip. A small, cheeky grin formed at Mihai’s words. ”Funny. You seemed to like my bitter mouth from before just fine.” ‘Bitter’ taking on a double meaning, of course, synonymous with the taste of the Underground and their rushed, desperate moments of intimacy against the grime and cold as well as it being the home of those occasionally sharp, venomous words of his.

Arthur bit the edge of his lower lip when he felt a smile threatening at the corners. It was of little use, as he was soon unable to hold it back when Mihai laughed at his statement. It was a sound that he wasn’t quite used to hearing, but was more welcome because of its rarity. ”It would have left a grand impression, I have to admit,” he teased back. ”Little worry, though, gallant Romeo, you still have opportunities to entice your lover back into your capable hands.” His fingers traced up along Mihai’s arm, his hold still locked around his neck. He hadn’t honestly expected something as ridiculous as the image they were painting, but he had small doubt that they could afford to be a little more careless with their affections in public, as long as they were in crowded places where very few would recognise their faces. This stolen day would be their taste of what an easy romance could look like, best hidden in a sea of nameless faces.

”I didn’t know if you could afford the time,” Arthur answered honestly, his voice matching Mihai’s lowered tenor. ”You’re under government contract, so I assume that they’re just as miserly with you as they are with their other personal effects,” there was a great deal of bitterness regarding what he thought of the government underlying his quiet statement, but he kept his tone relatively light to keep it from delving any further into that particular area. He was still not completely sure what it was that the government used Mihai for specifically, as the other never talked about it and Arthur avoided using their few precious stolen minutes in the Underground to bring up such points of conversations, but he had some idea. And the thought alone warmed his blood in the worst way possible. ”But you’re right,” he answered, his voice dipping just a touch low, and his mischievous glance hinted at filthier suggestions behind his words. ”That’s never stopped you before.”

At Mihai’s proposal of taking him around the city, Arthur felt his expression soften. Technically, he had been out in the city since he’d been bought, but was unsure if those outings really constituted as the type of exploration that he craved. Part of him hadn’t thought to ask because his contract holder seemed like a relatively busy man, while the other part had yet to form a solid opinion of the man behind the contract. Arthur would be wont to admit that he still felt a touch sore about being bought like a prized piece of finery in the first place, even if his intentions didn’t seem to match the others prowling about, looking for purchases. Until then, he remained carefully uncertain until he was able to see more for himself. ”Not to the extent that I wished to see it,” he answered before Mihai pressed in closer, effectively stopping any further words from passing his lips. His breath seemed to slow in his lungs and Arthur could only watch with an odd sort of fascination as Mihai continued to speak, saying something about wining and dining, before reaching up to fiddle with the top button of his shirt until it came undone. His skin started feeling too warm and anticipation prickled deliciously across his skin. It had already been too long since their last hurried rendezvous in the Underground, and even those short meetings were hardly enough to give any real satisfaction to either of them.

Mihai’s next words hinted at something they hadn’t been able to share for the past four years since Weeds, a chance to take their time with each other, for their mouths and hands to explore further along every stretch of heated skin. What’s more, is that the way Mihai phrased his words hinted at something yet to be savoured, something that Arthur had been meaning to bring up with Mihai before they’d both been respectively ‘locked away’, a motion of trust that he felt was long overdue. Mihai gave him a quick kiss before pulling away, sealing Arthur’s words away for later.

Light warmth had gathered in his cheeks and there was a subtle shiver of desire, yearning, almost demanding for more. But of course, his dignity and the fact that they were still technically in 'enemy' territory among the neighbourhood of the wealthy and contemptible held him back. Neither would allow for such public indecencies, no matter how dreadfully appealing. ”Yes, of course, you god-awful tease,” he replied, his expression a mixture of amusement and impatience for a great many things, the first of which was to leave the area. The city wasn’t a long ways off, but the walk was nearly as much of a joy as it was to see Mihai. Four years of confinement, of never receiving a contract, of never seeing something as simple as the sky, and feeling the sun against his skin, and smelling scents that didn’t belong to the Underground was like experiencing release after a far-too-long, drawn out, torturous foreplay of torment. It felt undeniably good, but it was also the start of an undeniable addiction for more, for the things that reminded him of his own humanity.

Even as they were walking, making their way into the city, Arthur couldn’t help the occasional comments or the way his gaze would caress simple scenes, as if carefully soaking each second and saving it for later lonely moments, while confined once more to his cold cell. There was a nearly childlike curiosity and keenness to his gaze, as if discovering everything all over again. And, of course, the closer they drew to Central Park and the city, the more areas he would need to explore and the more oddities he’d need to try. ”So, you finally got your wish. I’m contracted out—fodder for any rich, old sod with an open pocketbook. Though I suppose the abused pride is worth seeing you out here.” His words were light and his mouth relaxed into a small smile with the last statement. ”—without a guard around every corner,” and to be perfectly honest, it was a little strange to accept that the sense of privacy was quite real, even though they had to sneak about their meeting to ensure it.

MADE BY MEULK OF GS

[Mihai C. Eliade]

Mirror on the wall

Frame the picture

Reflect this kiss to wish us all

Goodnight

He could not but relax when he felt Arthur's warmth pressed against him. There was such a degree of comfort in it—the familiarity of each hollow and angle of his body, of his scent and the way his hair felt under the tips of Mihai's fingers. But there was something foreign about the embrace this time too; the familiarity was coated under the smell of soaps and clean linen, always a rarity in the Underground. It made his heart ache, though he tried to ignore the feeling. There was an unspeakable relief in knowing that Arthur was being taken care of, and Mihai had to thank Francis for that, if nothing else. If only he didn't know that Arthur would have to return eventually, to damp cells and dull lighting and dreadful people… But if he could convince Arthur to seek contracts more often, that time could be reduced, maybe even done away with altogether. Maybe Arthur would be able to find a household that would feed and dress him well. Mihai knew he wouldn't take to the idea, but it was by far the better one. This was never about being happy, after all; it was about not suffering any more.

But he held his tongue. The convincing and coaxing and (maybe, but he hoped not) quarreling could come later. At that moment, he was content to have his arms around Arthur's neck and to keep quiet about the hollow in his chest, threatening to spill over. It's been so long since I've seen you well, he wanted to say. Instead, he drowned the thought in kisses, finding in them the comfort to wounds he could not yet articulate. He always relied so much on Arthur, it seemed—both back at Weeds, and now. A fixed point, a pillar of support and serenity, and he knew that it was unfair to Arthur and he would surely get sick of him one day if he kept wanting, needing him like this, but somehow the grin that drew across Arthur's lips convinced him that it didn't matter, that it could be an issue left for another day. Mihai could only return that smile, return the jest.

"Oh please," he said, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance. "I wish they'd serve mints with your meals." Not that the lack of had ever stopped him before—few things ever had—and the absence of his actual care for it was likely more than obvious in the heat of his kisses whenever they chanced to find themselves together. There was little he could afford to be picky about anyway; they all lived on the barest of means, and even then, he was somewhat better off.

Mihai's feelings of discomfort were vanishing as their conversation wore on, though he knew they would rear up again later. He had little mind for them now, however, when a smile threatened to curl Arthur's lips—then did. If he hadn't already spent so long peppering Arthur with kisses, he might have been tempted to do so again, but he simply responded with a smile of his own. It had always been much easier for him to play the kinder side of things: laughter, smile, and sweetness whether they were real or feigned, but when he was with Arthur, they were more often the former. So it was nothing short of satisfying to see that amusement on Arthur's mouth, knowing that he was always honest about his unhappiness and honest about his happiness.

He hummed in response to the teasing, not at all at a loss for response. "Entice?" he repeated, eyes narrowing slyly. "The way I see it, he's already here and it took no more than a little piece of paper." Not that either of them would have considered any other course of action; as sweet as it would be, house visits were very much shaky ground, and their communication would have to be as practical as possible for any rendezvous to work. It made the jokes about the alternative no less appealing, however, and choosing to ignore that brevity was their sole choice only served to return to them a small degree of humanity.

His expression softened as Arthur voiced his doubts, and Mihai decided not to correct him; in truth, his free time might be considered abundant. There was only one very specific use for which he served, and otherwise he was left to his own devices—both as a reward for obedience and a subtle coercion to encourage further cooperation. But he could not—did not—want to explain to Arthur what he did in his spare time (he wasn't sure he even had proper recollection himself), so the correction was left unspoken. Yet another little piece of truth buried under the nebulous sands of his evasions and non-words, but those were nothing new by now. He responded with another quip and slight pout, "Those were your suggestions, more often than not. I should be allowed my own indiscretions from time to time." Though it wasn't false to say he'd also agreed to Arthur's schemes more often than not, sometimes even eagerly. As though to emphasize his point, however, he pressed in closer and grinned, provocative, as Arthur's words stuttered to a stop. Maybe it was a little bit cruel for Mihai to be teasing him out here, but he found not much reason to resist his temptation to do so when it had been so very long since they'd spent proper time together, when Arthur saw it so fitting to bring their old escapades to mind. And, finally, Mihai could satisfy that simmering desire he'd had to kiss Arthur again.

It was with no small bit of delight when he pulled away to see the slight warmth tinting Arthur's cheeks, the impatience in his expression. Mihai grinned as he drew away from him, but hearing his response, he glanced back and, on a childish whim, deigned to stick his tongue out at Arthur. Sweet and easy, Mihai wished they could experience this more often, but wishing was a luxury they didn't have. But this was hardly the time to think back on cynical musings, and he fell into step with Arthur instead. It seemed that he had been shown the city before, at least to some degree. Maybe on an errand with Francis or something else? Mihai would show him whatever he wanted to see though; today, he was not limited by responsibilities, but that may not necessarily be true for Arthur. "We'll go wherever you want to," Mihai said as they drew away from the neighborhood. "How long have you got?" Hopefully, he thought, the entire day. Hopefully, forever.

It was not that, but it was enough to take a leisurely pace through the city. Those shop-lined streets were nothing Mihai usually found new or exciting, but it was almost like seeing them through new eyes with Arthur beside him. The colors were brighter, the smells more delicious and poignant; even the crowds that bustled along the larger streets didn't bother him as much as they usually did. But that was perhaps because it was Arthur he was watching: how the emotions flickered across his face, the shine of curiousity and keenness in his gaze. Mihai knew that once the contract had run out, Arthur would be missing these things again, and at that he couldn't help but to reach out and take Arthur's hand, and to wish he could give him something more, give him what he deserved.

A soft smile graced his own lips when Arthur spoke again, though a spot of confusion welled up inside him. Worth it? Was he, really? "There are plenty of other benefits to being out here," he insisted. You're well-fed, well-clothed… But he didn't know if Arthur wanted that pointed out. No—he probably already knew, but cared naught for it. He'd always much rather have sacrificed well-being over pride. "You should be more open to it," Mihai finished quietly. It was true that he reveled in seeing Arthur out here as much as the other—no restrictions and no prying eyes—but he thought he could give that up if it meant Arthur found safety and comfort elsewhere. Both, through fortune, just happened to coincide in this instance, but he shouldn't be the priority when the time came—if it ever would.

"For example," he pushed on, hoping to distract from his true feelings—whether to distract Arthur or himself or both of them he wasn't sure. He tightened his hold on Arthur's hand and dragged him into the park, not stopping until they reached a vendor's stall. He placed an order to the young woman working there (also a mutant—humans rarely took or were given low-paying service jobs these days, not when mutants could do the same work for free) and within a couple of minutes, turned back to Arthur. "Here," he said, holding out an ice cream cone. "It's been awhile, hasn't it?"

Word Count: 1504

Notes: Arthur W. Kirkland. Oop sort of winged the last part. Hope it
makes some sense fff

by worldie on iof

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

tag;; Mihai C. Eliade
words;; 1571
notes;; here, because we need more sweetness, clearly uvu

Seeing Mihai out in the open, under the false pretense of autonomy, and with Arthur himself clothed in something other than Underground garb (still rather simply, simply enough to perhaps be noticed for what he was) and cleaned as if he were no different than a citizen, was a very surreal experience. And being able to kiss Mihai and be on the receiving end of kisses while out in the open was invigorating. He only knew intimacy with Mihai in the confines of Weeds and later in the clammy Underground, in the shadows, and in the darkened corners of his cemented, iron-clad hell. Although his heart always managed to beat faster every time they stole a moment, and his chest would ache in the most painful, wonderful way. The thrill of his kiss was even more noticeable in this moment, mixed with his adrenaline, entwined with the feeling of temporary freedom—of feeling the sun against his skin and the breeze as it gently tugged at their clothes. This is what Arthur wanted to hold onto—this moment. But he knew that he still wouldn’t sacrifice himself, his pride for fragmented moments on the outside. If he did, then he wouldn’t be the same person. But, he didn’t want to argue about it with Mihai today, not when they had so little time to spend in each other’s presence unsupervised.

Arthur felt the rush of amusement with Mihai’s mock annoyed retort to him liking his bitter mouth. ”Either way, I’m sure you’re much more inclined now that I don’t taste like a prison.” Of course, he was dragging out the teasing just a little more, it was too tempting, and it had been too long since he’d been able to be so free with his words around Mi. Of course, it felt wonderful to feel his mouth against his, the brush of his lips and the hot breath against his skin. Arthur’s skin prickled and his breath caught just a little. His own pulse always hastened just a tad whenever he managed to spy that ever rarely genuine smile crossing Mihai’s expression. There was little for them to be smiling about these days, but Arthur always remembered those disjointed moments back at Weeds whenever he did manage to entice one from him.

Arthur laughed (what a strange sound that is) at Mihai’s response to his quip about needing to entice him. No one laughed in or around the Underground, especially a mutant who had absolutely nothing to laugh about, and as good as it felt, the sensation was still somewhat foreign. ”Yes, you did manage with a slip of paper. I imagine that you’ll need even less to lure him later.” Although Mihai had already talked about wining and dining him, he was open to whatever creative processes happened between now and then, or even the fumbling journey from the brief romancing (because surely, in his mind, it would be brief before impatience won out) to the nearest horizontal surface, preferably a bed.

And, of course, seeing Mihai give a slight pout and a response that caused his smile to shade over into something slightly more devious. He leaned close as they were walking, brushing his shoulder against his, his fingertips brushing close to Mihai’s wrist to caress the skin, leaning closer as if sharing a secret, his voice soft and lowered, the first statement teasing. ”You’re more than allowed. Be as indiscrete as you’d like.” He wet his lip, feeling the heat behind the suggestion before he could speak again, grinning, his tone more playful. ”You said it earlier, so I’m just reinforcing your indiscretion. Wine and dine me. Seduce me. Take me, so I won't be anyone else’s.” No one else’s. Make me no one else’s. Although the words were a teasing challenge, there was a certain note of soberness behind them. He was offering, and as idiotic as the suggestion sounded to him, he wanted to stoke whatever embers existed in Mihai beneath all the visible trauma that made Arthur want to save him, he wanted to see that fire as Mihai leaned over him tonight, held him down for the first time, and thoroughly ruined him for anyone else. The thought sent heat across his skin and the craving was ingrained.

Seeing Mihai stick his tongue out at him softened his own grin. As soon as they drew away from the neighbourhood, they drew more into the heart of the city. His heart fluttered ridiculously (and he felt rather embarrassed for the reaction) when Mihai told him that they could go wherever he wanted. How could he properly say without sounding like a complete dolt that anywhere would suit him as long as Mihai was there? The placement of words probably didn’t exist, so he didn’t say anything, just continued to take it all in: the smells, the colours, the sights, the feel of the open air, and the sound of people living life as it was meant to be lived. ”I have all night,” Arthur replied, colour dusting his cheeks, a mixture of less-innocent thoughts and a softer sort of affection. His face darkened even further when he felt Mihai reaching down to take his hand, his fingers curling against his, his thumb brushing softly along the side of Mihai’s hand.

When Mihai insisted that there were other benefits to being out on contract, Arthur could feel the brittle argument waiting to stain whatever spell had been weaved over the afternoon. The strain could be felt in his chest, wanting to argue his side, like they always did whenever this came up, but there was also a desire to avoid the argument in order to make the most of the precious little time they had together. Before he could respond to Mihai’s suggestion that he be more open to the process of contracting, Mihai encouraged them forward, toward a much welcomed distraction in that moment. They entered the park and approached one of the vendor stalls that sold ice cream. After waiting for the order and being presented with an ice cream cone, the corners of Arthur’s mouth curled as he gingerly accepted the offering. ”Thank you,” he murmured, still keeping it light, but his smile waned slightly when he legitimately tried to recall the last time he had ice cream. He certainly didn’t have memories of anything sweet at Weeds, unless he’d stolen it from the administrators, and he was so young when he was taken from his family, that it was an honest blur. ”I don’t have a proper memory of the last time I had this,” he answered a touch quieter than before.

As they wandered further into the park, Arthur took his first taste of the ice cream, the tip of his tongue briefly sliding across the rim to catch access drips before glancing over at Mihai. ”It’s tempting,” he smiled, calling back Mihai’s impromptu example. ”I still think my reason is far more enticing,” was the playful response, also reiterating what he had previously said about Mihai being one of the few motives he’d consider with confectrying to attract more contracts. Another dirty thought crossed his mind, something about having the chance to savour his real craving, but he kept it to himself while they explored the rest of the part. By the time they made it on the other side of the park, they had entered the heart of the busiest part of the city. Along each side of the streets were shops, restaurants, and boutiques.

Arthur’s eyes immediately were drawn to some of the window displays, some of them more extravagant than others, most of them displaying fineries that could never be theirs, and others displaying innocent intrigues, such as confectionery. It’s an odd thing, having an idea or belief weighing upon you since childhood and how much of an imprint those beliefs can still leave behind, no matter how resistant or how stubborn the person is to the process. Arthur’s eyes were drawn in particular to shop that displayed attractive menswear, his attention fixated on the coats. He’d always been rather fond of coats and thought they looked rather striking on the passing humans whenever he was held in an outside enclosure on display for the public. He wanted to try one on, even if he could never rightfully own one. The idea of pretending to own something as menial as a coat or as substantial as the freedom to make his own choices still felt so forbidden, thanks to cruel childhood conditioning, that it made his palms sweat. He didn’t have his mutant papers with him, so the thought of getting caught was still an ever-present, mild danger, mild because it was probably a gamble if anyone would actually ask to see them.

He glanced over at Mihai, somewhat intrigued with the prospect of briefly pretending, though of course, the deep-seated apprehension would never really leave him entirely free. ”Mind if I try some on?” More specifically, Arthur just wanted a chance to wear one of the pea coats on display. ”If the shopkeep makes a comment or asks, just pretend to be my contract holder,” there was a gleam of mischief in the curve of Arthur’s mouth and in the suggestion of his tone, and it felt so forbidden and wrong that the idea of even the implication of a ruse was tantalising in its own peculiar way.

MADE BY MEULK OF GS

[Mihai C. Eliade]

He could never object to Arthur's company. At Weeds, Arthur had not been a favorite of students nor administration alike—"rude," "subversive," "doesn't know his place." Mihai had heard all those words uttered between peer groups, whispered behind closed doors or denounced loudly in open classrooms. It was probably harsh, or hypocritical in some ways, but he didn't think they were wrong really. He knew very well the trouble Arthur had caused the authorities at Weeds (some of which Arthur had claimed were for his sake) and they'd come into conflict between themselves often enough for Mihai to know that he could be very, very difficult. And yet.

And yet, he relished the moments like these, when that habitual harshness was so far absent from Arthur's tongue, when all the tenderness in his eyes and softness of his words were directed towards him. He always wondered if it was egotistical in some way, to know and to love that Arthur looked like that with him and him alone. It was an intoxicating feeling, addicting, to be treated like the center of someone's world when as far as the world was concerned, he was nothing at all; just as long as Arthur could keep looking at him with those eyes, he could be happy. Still, those words remained deeply buried beneath his tongue, under his wish not to be a burden, under his desire for Arthur to be able to move onto something better, even if that something didn't include him. Seeing him outside, sunlight glinting off his hair, for the first time in years only reinforced that yearning. He couldn't wish for a miracle, so it was the next best thing he could ask for.

If such a moment ever did come, however, he would want the memory of this day to be ingrained deeply in his mind. ”Either way, I’m sure you’re much more inclined now that I don’t taste like a prison,” Arthur remarked, and he snorted in response, the corner of his lips curling slightly.

"Oh, I'm quite used to it by now," he conceded. "Though I suppose you're right; it's never stopped me." Not only had it not stopped him, he thought he could spend all day kissing Arthur now; soft, simple kisses for all of his quips, and deep, heated ones for the anticipation thrumming beneath his skin. Perhaps it was because he could do it all so freely in this moment, no tenseness from wondering who was watching, without the grimness that seemed to cling to him, suffocate him—all of them—in the Underground like dust.

His eyes brightened at the laugh he managed to coax from Arthur's lips. It was a rare gift, coming from him. He seemed to take more delight in being stern than otherwise, and each time they met, Mihai could count his laughter on his fingers. He supposed he couldn't blame Arthur—their condition didn't allow them the levity for laughter—but it still pleased him to hear those occasional moments of bliss. But the mood changed, a subtle shift in atmosphere, in way Arthur leaned in, and it was Mihai's turn to draw breath, a steady intake as he felt the brush of his fingertips against his wrist, the words whispered in his ear. A slight redness rose to his cheeks, perhaps at the suggestion, the implication behind that request, knowing what Arthur was offering him. Suddenly, his mouth felt too dry for words, and he probably hadn't blushed so much since he was a virgin. Still, he could not let the invitation to unanswered, so he stopped momentarily in his tracks, taking Arthur's sleeve, tilting his head to whisper back. "I hope that's a promise," he breathed, before lightly grazing his lips along Arthur's jawline. "I plan to make good on it, and I hope you'll indulge me fully."

Then, he pulled away, resuming his pace as he raised an arm and passed his sleeve over his mouth, hoping to draw some attention away from the color on his face, covering the small smile that had formed. There was an infantile, almost giddy feeling swirling around in his chest (he could count the number of times he'd felt like that since he was a kid) and the emotion only made his embarrassment grow. As they walked, it died the way of a fire, from a demanding pulse to embers that sent warmth to the tips of his fingers and made him long for another bit of contact. He pressed closer to Arthur, linking their hands together and feeling the slight pressure as Arthur returned the gesture.

All night, his mind echoed upon Arthur's answer. He didn't know if any permission had been granted, but he didn't ask, reluctant to be bogged down by the triflings of reality. It was better to trust that Arthur knew what he was doing (hopefully), and revel in the time they had together now, disregarding what might happen in the next day, or the next. All night, Arthur had said. It should have been enough for him, but it wasn't. It wasn't, because though they all said the night was young, the sky they beheld was a different one. His was an old and weary creature, rickety and worn from the nightmares that haunted it, dying each morning by a daylight that came too soon. It would never be young until the sun had burnt out its last rays—it would never be young enough for him. But it was what they had. A little piece of night that crumbled in their hands like old sand.

Yet, he resolved to make of it what he could. Glancing over, his lips curled into a grin at the sight of the flush on Arthur's skin. Somehow, he had always been more shy about acts of tenderness than whatever depravities crossed his mind; yet he never did seem to greatly mind whatever gestures Mihai cared to put forth. It was a great comfort to him, to have their fingers laced together as they walked the streets. But he couldn't stop a small frown when Arthur reasserted his reason, even if he bit his tongue to keep his protests buried, leading into a morose silence. His insecurities rose their ugly heads again, dripping loathing and venom. To be a reason—the reason?—for Arthur to accept a contract at all, when up here there was more freedom, better food, more tolerable people. He wondered why he should be at the top of that list, when he'd so unabashedly turned his back on, well, everything to survive slightly better, when he had nothing material to offer, no protection. How did it feel to be someone's reason? He probably didn't even deserve it, but each time those phrases were uttered he fell a little more hopelessly, craving the feeling of importance that came with them. His fingers pressed down a little more tightly, a little more desperately, against Arthur's hand, and he hoped it wasn't too obvious that he was clinging.

He didn't pull back until they stopped in front of a store. He'd passed this place too many times to pay any particular attention to the luxuries that lined the many windows—they were luxuries he couldn't afford anyhow, and the clerks would never serve a mutant. His eyes flickered up to Arthur, questioning, then followed his gaze to the display of coats lined up in the shop window. Feeling his apprehension creep up again, he bit down on his bottom lip in nervous reaction. He knew the expression on Arthur's face, a kind of quiet longing that was all-too familiar on the faces of those mutants who found something they coveted, something impossibly out of their grasp. They were the dispossessed—dispossessed of material belongings, their families, their respect, their pride—and they were always wanting something more, something of dignity. He never wanted for much, he thought. He was all right with being inconsequential, with having nothing of worth, having only one person he valued, but seeing that expression on Arthur always made something twist painfully inside him. Who cared what the world deserved? But the notion possessed him that Arthur deserved the world, and he was nothing but prepared to give it to him. If it had been in his power.

But the look Arthur turned on him was something different entirely, gleaming with the smallest bit of mischief. Mihai blinked, at first disconcerted by the request. "Uhm," was the first response that came from his mouth. Are you sure that's a good idea? he wanted to ask, returning to his childhood patterns of doubtfulness—even if he mostly ended up indulging Arthur's hare-brained schemes, and not necessarily without his own spark of delight. And he'd promised too, hadn't he? That they would do whatever it was Arthur wanted to. That included breaking a few rules as well, he supposed. Naturally. He sighed in defeat, leaning slightly into Arthur. "If you want to," he conceded with a small smile. He wasn't calm about it by any means; his gut was doing the same thing it did whenever they broke procedure at Weeds—a rolling feeling, as though he were on waves, but it wasn't a feeling that had wholly gone unmissed.

With the shoulder he had pressed against Arthur, he gave the other a small nudge and nodded to what was left of the ice cream. "You have to get rid of that first," he said matter-of-factly, before making the first move and pushed open the door of the store. He tried to be assured in his movements, the way he'd observed humans to be, quelling his nervous habit of fidgeting by shoving his hands in his pockets. He hoped no one would notice the heavy chain of his dog-tags around his neck, even though they were hardly visible beneath his sea-green button up and darker-colored scarf. He stuck close to Arthur as the other browsed through the clothing, painfully aware of his own posture. Was he slumping too much, or was his back too stiff? Was it really suspicious that he couldn't help glancing over at the clerk occasionally? Thankfully the man seemed occupied with other customers to notice two newcomers, and Mihai tried to do what he (mostly) did quite well: keeping attention off himself.

tags: Arthur W. Kirkland
notes: Sorry about the mopeyness fff-- Also got lazy with templates

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

tag;; Mihai C. Eliade
words;; 1059
notes;; uvu

Moments spent with Mihai sometimes felt like moments where he was pretending, pretending that the world outside them didn’t matter and that nothing from it could touch them. Mutants were supposed to be trained to be used to being violated, used like wares whenever the mood struck their human captors. Every kiss that he offered him felt like its own brand of defiance in that case, although that triumphant glow, no matter how dim it was, dulled in comparison to the real reason why Arthur wanted to be close to Mihai. It was a crime to love someone that he shouldn’t—it could perhaps be argued that it was a crime for a mutant to love anything at all, since nothing or no one could ever belong to them. And hearing Mihai admit to any sort of that form of ‘wrongdoing’, even if it was as simple as admitting that their circumstances never stopped him from kissing him, then that awakened enough satisfaction in Arthur for attempting to sway his friend from their cruel early conditioning.

Arthur wasn’t immune to Mihai’s reaction to him, the anticipation spreading warmly beneath his skin as the other responded to him in kind on his promise to indulge him. The blood rushed briefly to Arthur’s face as he felt the graze of Mihai’s lips along his jaw. ”Fully,” Arthur responded, in a near whisper, as if anyone could eavesdrop on their insolence at any moment. ”As often as we can.” He wet his lips briefly, his throat feeling dry at that moment as that same heat continued to linger beneath his skin.

Just like the moments they would hide away in their room at Weeds, pretending that reality was far removed from the safe place they’d created, it almost felt like they’d presently created that same bubble in the real world, for the briefest of moments... for a single night. A bubble that always met a gruesome end when they were forced to raise their eyes toward reality once more. The world was so dark by contrast, it cast such a grim shadow over what they did have. But Arthur didn’t want to think about that for the moment, not when their escape from it had just begun. He wanted the illusion to last as long as possible, even if he knew it would only be for a night. Pieces of a beautiful illusion, broken over the span of their miserable lives was worth the struggle to make it past the worst days.

Arthur felt the sudden tightness from Mihai’s hand and as he was completely unaware of the morose thoughts that came with it, he squeezed back in a far more affectionate manner. As they weaved their way through the crowds, Arthur’s eyes automatically lowered from the humans, an indication that his Weeds training hadn’t left him completely unscathed, but at other moments, he would fight to keep his gaze level as he browsed the windows. Either way, the humans around them didn’t seem to pay either of them much heed as they continued along their busy day. None of them noticed as his eyes travelled enviously along the beautiful coats on display. Perhaps Arthur had wanted for too much. He had always been a creature of desire, always famished for any sort of power or dignity. His Weeds instructors had always told him that he wanted for too much, even as a child. And he could tell, looking upon the faces of the other mutant children at school, that they didn’t seem to harbour that same fierce desire. Perhaps it had already been successfully whitewashed from their natural human curiosity and yearning.

Resting his eyes on Mihai after suggesting the rather mischievous idea, he could see that ever-familiar doubt lining his expression, just like when they were kids. He felt Mihai leaning slightly into him and he answered how he usually did, conceding to Arthur’s crazy idea. The nerves were a little contagious, no matter how confident he initially felt. Still, he so enjoyed pulling Mihai into his devious schemes. It had been far too long since their last stint. When he motioned toward his leftover ice cream, Arthur took a minute to finish what was left of it before dropping the remnants into the nearest bin. He followed Mihai through the door, making an effort to appear nonchalant, though he didn’t have as much of an issue with appearing self-assured. His instructors always did say that he carried around an air of arrogance that would be unseemly to future contract holders.

Hoping to ease Mihai’s discomfort with being in ‘restricted’ territory unsupervised by a contract holder, Arthur led him deeper into the shop, a little further away from the clerk who was busy with other customers. Everything about this store was an indulgence to a mutant fresh from the Underground, from the clean smell of expensive clothes to the bright windows and shining floors. He could almost breathe in the luxury, it was so thick in the air. Arthur’s attention; however, was soon held captive by a row of beautiful men’s coats. His fingers paused momentarily over the fabrics, as if his touch would soil them. Hardly seconds passed before he slid his fingers down one of the arms, the touch only adding fuel to his longing. Something sickening twisted in his chest and he could feel his own enthusiasm for the venture drain a little. He made the mistake of glancing over at Mihai before looking away just as quickly—he never wanted him to see those small hints of melancholy placed by their unchangeable lot in life.

Arthur took one of the coats he’d been eyeing from the rack along with one of the button ups next to it. ”Come on,” he murmured, his fingers flitting down along Mihai’s forearm to encourage him to follow him toward the dressing rooms. The cavities of the rooms were tall and white, brightly lit with heavy black drapery to give each room some semblance of privacy. Before entering, Arthur gave him a once over, this time his expression lining with that same devious intent from before. ”Will you be joining me?” He reached over to half close the curtain, his other hand already loosening the top buttons of his borrowed shirt, eyes warm and intent on Mihai.

MADE BY MEULK OF GS

[Mihai C. Eliade]

And suddenly, he was a kid again, standing knock-kneed at the entry of a darkened kitchen as Arthur goaded him on. It was always like this–Arthur urging him forward with an extended hand and promises that everything would be okay, and Mihai believed him (could believe anything when it was him), but still he peered over their shoulders into the hallways shrouded in shadow, searching for a monster (human) that would spring from its hiding place to drag him away, away. Yet, he always agreed. A part of him insisted that this was the him from before (before Weeds, before the Archadian government, before mutants were more than just a concept), back when he had the guts until they’d been knocked and strangled out of him. He imagined that he’d snuck past NO TRESPASSING signs and climbed trees too high and got a little childish thrill out of sneaking pieces of cake after bed, but he didn’t know anymore. It didn’t feel like him–the little child possessed by daring might as well have been another person altogether, and the reason he came back to life…

Was because Arthur wanted him to. When only one person’s approval mattered, what was to keep him from striving for it, always, again and again? Even the lingering sense of victory, kindled from the shared secret that they got one over their captors, didn’t compare to the relief and elation he felt when Arthur flashed him that (rare, so very rare) smile of delight. Every time he saw that smile after one of their little misdemeanors, he felt slightly more assured that he could hide the frightened child he was, that Arthur wouldn’t become unimpressed with him after all. Every time, a little probing voice interrogated him: In the end, do you only do it because you’re afraid? Afraid of him in a totally different way than you’re afraid of them, but afraid nonetheless?

He never paid those accusations any heed (why should he question the only good thing in this life?), but they still lingered in the back of his mind the same way that age-old hesitation lingered in his fingers, in the lead of his feet, even after all those years. But he wanted Arthur to be pleased today–not only with him, but with their little game of playing human too. Even if he could only momentarily make Arthur forget, ease the tension that always lined the corners of his eyes and lips, that would be good enough, he hoped. Good enough for today. That was all he could ask for when all they could steal were snippets of todays and yesterdays, tomorrows always barred from their reaching fingers, unpredictable, set to vanish at one mistake. Eternity was scarce for them, and making do with their numbered happy days was all they could do. He couldn’t spoil that precious illusory moment with his fears.

He kept them to himself as they wandered the store, thankfully far from the clerk, who was thankfully occupied with other clients. It didn’t stop him from trying to keep the worker present in his peripheral vision, simultaneously hyper-attentive for any indication that an alarm might have been sent out for their having been discovered somehow. The creeping dread and knotted tension distracted him from Arthur even as he followed him around the store, missing the wistful look sent in his direction. By the time he glanced over, Arthur was removing a coat and shirt from the racks, and Mihai threw him a curious, suspicious look of raised eyebrows to match the mischief rekindled in green eyes. Nothing was voiced between them, but he could place a guess soon enough when Arthur led them to the dressing room.

His first instinct was to balk at the idea. It was too risky; if someone found them–even if someone didn’t find them, it wasn’t like either of them could actually afford to buy anything, and surely an employee would question, would suspect—

The protests came bubbling to his lips, but he swallowed them like swallowing his own tongue and they settled uneasily into his gut as he stepped inside. He had a weakness for that look Arthur would cast him, full of intent and victorious glint at the prospect of getting away with something again. Mihai had always wanted to indulge that, keeping silent about is this really worth it? You know what they can do–not the worst of it, but you know–is it worth it for a moment of gratification that will disappear the next day? When it will be practically meaningless in a year? But it was no different for him, really. Was there meaning to clinging so desperately to Arthur, to their warm moments hidden away from the world, when the crystal ball showed nothing but the blank reflection of their future?

And yet, no amount of doubt could settle the fact that despite everything, he wanted it–selfishly, coveting, the only moments that belonged to him. Ones like this, for him to reach out for the buttons of Arthur’s shirt only to pull him closer, pressing their lips together brief but hard. If only the thick curtain and three walls of the fitting room could shield them from the world like it pretended to. “You have the most terrible ideas,” he murmured, keeping his voice low as his fingers overtook Arthur’s on the buttons. “I suppose if they find us, I’ll tell them it was all your fault, you seduced me in here against my better judgment.”

But the case was that he never had any judgment when it came to Arthur. He’d done bad things–awful things–with Arthur in mind, as much as he had done good things (he supposed they were good, if objectively evaluated), worthy of writing back to a hypothetical home about. As of recently, there was just one thing left to do; an agreement between him and a bespectacled blond, and perhaps then Arthur would be free to frequent as many boutiques as he wanted, try on and buy as many coats as he would care to have. That was fine, Mihai though. That was good. Fine clothing was becoming on Arthur.

---

Arthur W. Kirkland : this took forever and muse is just being mopey af. sorry about that