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Dreams are just a reality away from memories.
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I see you like stalking too eh? Just know that while you're reading this, I'm reading all your posts from 5 months ago and silently judging your taste. Ha Ha. Or not.
Ganth Ganth read over the letter one more time, leaning toward the fading glow of the candle to illuminate the delicate words on white parchment. Lorrimor’s passing did come as a surprise for him. The man was hardly in his prime, but he was also seemingly healthy the last time they met. That made him wonder what sort of unfortunate events that befell the man. All things died, yes, but for a man of such talent, Ganth mourned, regardless. His time had yet to come.
However, what strange about the letter was that his daughter had mentioned Ganth as one of the beneficiary in Lorrimor’s will. He didn’t know why the professor would choose him, of all people. The man knew he was not very interested in material wealth; coins could be used to fuel his crusades, but that was that. The service of his Lady was its own reward for him. Furthermore, their relationship had been strictly professional; the professor would sometimes assist the inquisitors on their quests, offering advices, knowledge and even trinkets to help ward off the threats of undeath. Lorrimor had brought up questions about his linege before, Aasimars appeared to be a subject of great interest to the scholar. Ganth had always deflect the queries, as his part was not a subject he enjoyed delving into. The reason was both sentimental and practical; his sire would not appreciate stories circulating, and he did not wish revisit much of his trouble youth.
But regardless, he would be there. Lorrimor had been a prominient supporter of his brothers and sisters, and he would not honor the invitation. That meant he would be at the gate before dawn, waving down the first carriage that headed to Ravengro. And that also meant he had a lot of preparing to do. Ganth set the letter down on the table and left to get ready.
Tall and broad shouldered, this warrior has the impressive physique of someone who is fluent in the art of war. Scars from past battles marred his features, but the distinctive features unique to Aasimar remain, showing most clearly in the metallic shine of his gold hair and steely grey eyes.
Personality
A stalwart warrior of his order, Ganth has vowed to devote his life to the service of Pharasma. Assertive and diplomatic, Ganth wouldn’t use violence as the first option, but he can also be ruthless and thorough when it comes to dealing with the enemies of Pharasma. There was little doubt in his heart considering the heresy of the necromancers, but sometimes, Ganth catches himself thinking about what his life would have turned out had he not been given up to the order at birth.
Backstory
Recently, rumors of heretics wielding dark magic and disturbing the eternal circle drew Ganth to Ustalav. Professor Lorrimor has assisted him as well as many of his sisters and brothers in their quest.
It all started with an alarm. Sander and Christmas had been sleeping up until that point, and when sounds and lights began to flare, Sander was up immediately, tugging Christmas with him and throwing clothes onto the boy. By the time they made it down to the basement, the sounds had subdued, but Sander could still tell the distinct scent of blood in the air. Without blood though, his power was useless, so there wasn’t much he could do. He probably wouldn’t be able to protect Christmas, if it all came down to combat.
And it probably would.
Christmas was panicked and shaking, eyes wide as he looked around the basement, waiting for the worst and hoping for the best. He held on to Sander's arm, afraid to lose the taller boy in the rush of movement and then continued clutching at Sander for the duration of their wait, heart hammering in his chest.
So when the order was given, Sander didn’t give it much thought. He complied, moving toward the passage quietly with Christmas beside him.
Having gone into the passage first, Hazel turned towards the two before continuing walking forwards, clutching the outfit close to her. There was still the flare of anger and resentment whenever she looked at Sander, but oddly enough, it wasn't as intense as before. Was she getting stronger? There was that odd foreboding feeling, but she pushed it away, focusing on the now as always.
Noticing Hazel walking before him, Sander narrowed his eyes. She was going to join them on the ferry too, huh? Then he needed to have a word with her. Tapping on Christmas' grip around his arm, he prompted the blond boy to let go before jogging a few steps to catch up to Hazel.
"Hey." -He tapped lightly on her shoulder, scrunching his nose at the off scent of drugs -"Can I have a word?"
She froze for a moment when someone touched her shoulders, muscles tensing. Hazel relaxed as he spoke, resuming her walk towards the end of the passage.
"What is it?"
"Do you mind if I ask...what are the drugs for?"
Hazel stopped walking, silent as she stared straight ahead. A moment after she continued walking. "It suppresses my destructive urges."
There was no point in her keeping silent about those; it wasn't any sort of secret after all. But still, why that question, and why now of all times?
"Are you worried?"
"Yeah." -Sander admitted easily -"I think you're very dangerous."
Seemingly unfazed by that remark, she stayed silent. There was no need for her to refute or acknowledge that comment, it was a simple fact, and a truth that she had already accepted. She was dangerous, that was why she was a weapon. But they were dangerous as well, that was why they were here with her.
But being unable to find the correct words to reply with, Hazel simply stayed silent.
"I wish you weren't." -There was another beat of silence, and Sander had a look on his face that was probably regret -"But you are."
"I'm dangerous, too. And I don't have the pills."
"I see. Then, could you not ask for some?"
She had nothing on save for her collar and cuffs, carrying only the outfit, so Hazel had nothing to offer him. There was still that feeling inside her whenever he spoke to her. A raspy feeling that made her head go strange and filled it with the urge to scream, or maybe slap him. An improvement from wanting to gut him certainly, but she still had no desire to stay near him for long.
"Doesn't work that way for me." -Sander shook his head, memories of syringes and pills surfaced. None of those ever worked for him then, and he doubted they would start working now.
Then again, those pills didn't appear to be very effective, considering what happened between him and Hazel in the woods the other night.
"You hurt Christmas once, Hazel. I won't let you do it again."
At the mention of his name, the healer tensed, still steps away from the conversation because it seemed like he had nothing to do with it. Nothing to say. He swallowed, feeling the panic drying out his mouth until his tongue felt like cotton.
"It's--s'okay," he mumbled, afraid to commit to the conversation.
"Is that so?"
Once again, Hazel remained silent as she continued walking. So, even he had someone he wanted to protect, someone he liked. Did she have any such things? No, she simply did not need any. It would just be a hindrance to her if there was someone like that. Perhaps if she was ordered to protect someone.
"Then, I'll leave it to you if I should try again next time."
"I don't want to kill you." -Sander's steps slowed, and there was a bit of distance between him and Hazel before he finally called out -"Good luck."
He watched with blank eyes as Hazel’s back slowly grew further away. He had seen that look in her eyes. A look no normal human should wear, and yet also one that adorned his own face every so often. Clear, just like the mark on his throat, to tell him what he was. What he will remain.
A damn animal.
As if on cue, the world fell away into a sea of darkness. He saw the riptide, again, but this time, he was suspended above it, looking down into a swirling sea of black rage. What was holding him back? He turned, but he couldn’t look. Couldn’t take his eyes away from the void below. It drew him, and it called to him, even now.
The light protected, but did he really need it? Its grasp was so taut. So close to snapping.
The blood mage blinked back into reality with a stagger, suddenly leaning onto the wall. Christmas ran to him, the boy shaking as he placed a hand on Sander’s arm, mouth open to voice concern, but instead he stared at Sander, worried and anxious.
“I’m fine.” -Sander said quickly, feeling another spark of power collected in his chest. It gave and kept on giving. Why? It was never like this before, even back when he would beg and plead.
Letting out a shaky breath to calm himself, he leaned onto Christmas, wrapping one arm around the blond boy’s shoulder, then just let the silence stretch between them for as long as he dared. Eventually though, it was him who broke it.
“I would kill for you.” -He admitted, tugging Christmas’ into a slow stroll next to him -”I would die for you.”
Devotion of that caliber terrified Christmas as much as it flattered him. He didn’t know what to do with feelings that weren’t his own—and he could hardly manage the riptide of his own fears and thoughts most of the time. But he took heart in Sander’s wish to hear more of his wants, because it was permission to want and permission to express, two things he had never realized he desperately craved until they had been given to him.
”Don’t die,” he whispered back, shaking hands holding fast to Sander’s forearm.
“Can’t be with you if I do. So I won’t.” -The blood mage squeezed Christmas’ shoulders for a few seconds -”But for you, anything.”
”…M-Me, too.”
“Then do it for me too? Don’t die.”
He didn’t know if he could promise it because Christmas at least understood one thing about himself: he was weak, in so many ways. But for Sander he had promised to try to he leaned against the taller boy as they walked, a slow nod the only agreement he could muster. And yet, it was more than he had managed in a long while.
Tall and broad shouldered, this warrior has the impressive physique of someone who is fluent in the art of war. Scars from past battles marred his features, but the distinctive features unique to Aasimar remain, showing most clearly in the metallic shine of his gold hair and steely grey eyes.
Personality
A stalwart warrior of his order, Ganth has vowed to devote his life to the service of Pharasma. Assertive and diplomatic, Ganth wouldn’t use violence as the first option, but he can also be ruthless and thorough when it comes to dealing with the enemies of Pharasma. There was little doubt in his heart considering the heresy of the necromancers, but sometimes, Ganth catches himself thinking about what his life would have turned out had he not been given up to the order at birth.
Backstory
Recently, rumors of heretics wielding dark magic and disturbing the eternal circle drew Ganth to Ustalav. Professor Lorrimor has assisted him as well as many of his sisters and brothers in their quest.
Christmas felt sore on waking up, the bruises and needle pricks that Sander had clutched around his waist and hips flaring to life before even his mind could. And slightly lower, there was a minor discomfort—the raw feeling of flesh that had been rubbed constantly. It was a pleasant reminder and a present bother.
But none of those sensations compared to the warm weight settled over him in place of the blanket that had been pulled down to his waist sometime in their sleep. He opened his eyes slowly, wanting already to fall back asleep—at least until he finally registered the quiet breaths against his cheek and saw the clean line of Sander’s jaw where the morning sun caught the curve just right, framing a section of hair and cheekbone as well in a thin rim light.
Breathtaking, like living artwork.
He wished the aches and pains had melted away at the sight, but they persisted, albeit with a silver lining: they had worsened because he and Sander had found another way for their bodies to fit together. It wasn’t a bad thing—not when viewed in that light shining on that sleeping face.
He reached out with a bandaged arm, fingers shaking from morning weakness but steady enough to follow the line of light across Sander’s face, ending near the base of the ear.
Sander shifted slight, unconsciously pressing himself toward the touch. Catching the response, Christmas let his hand rest on Sander’s cheek, trying to hold all that warmth for himself while he replayed in his mind the memory that Sander was his boyfriend. Had confirmed it. No misunderstandings. No fears that Sander was simply being nice.
His boyfriend.
”…Are you really…?” Christmas whispered to himself.
The light touch was enough to rouse Sander from his sleep then. The blood mage blinked blearily, stretching languidly and shifting to accommodate the smaller body beneath him. Consciousness slowly dawned though, and Sander looked at Christmas with sleepy eyes, still half-draped over the boy.
“Hi.” -He couldn’t hold back a smile then.
And neither could the timid healer, who found the smile contagious.
”G-good morning.”
As Sander woke up more, memories of last night activities were also slowly coming back. –“Wow.” -He mumbled sheepishly, the smile slowly stretching into a grin –“How are you feeling?”
The blood mage rolled off Christmas then, but he reached over afterward and grabbed the hem of Christmas’ sweater, looking at the boy meaningfully.
”Um…s-sore but…but it feels nice. A-A good sore?” Christmas’s hand now rested on Sander’s bare shoulder and only when Sander moved off did he finally realize his—the word still had to fight for acceptance—boyfriend was entirely naked. A quick rise of heat to his cheeks followed and Christmas shuffled forward, hiding his sightline against Sander’s shoulder. ”…Really good,” he murmured into the skin there.
Sander understood ‘good sore’ as the ache in his muscles after every vigorous working out session, so he figured it wasn’t anything serious. It took some weight off his chest, especially when he had recalled how rough he was last night.
“Thank you.” -He mumbled into Christmas’ hair -”You’re the…best thing that had happened to me in a long while.” -The confession felt stiff on his tongue, like he wasn’t entirely sure Christmas was really his to begin with, but he was grateful anyway, for whatever the blond boy would give.
“Thank you.”
”I…” The words failed him. Christmas didn’t know what it was to be someone’s “best thing.” It made so little sense for him when the feeling was mutual. Sander was his “best thing.” He had expected to be just one more in a series of middling people in Sander’s life—the type that didn’t stand out from every other faceless encounter. That was the role he had accepted in the social pecking order throughout his entire meager existence, and it had taken the shift to USARILN East for him to realize the world was so much more than high school lunch tables and stratified cliques. More than locked doors and barred windows because his mother sometimes feared—irrationally so—that something would take her son away. Or perhaps she was some measure of clairvoyant, because in the end he had taken himself away from that place.
The morning thoughts slipped along tangents he didn’t want to explore, not with Sander so close to him. He breathed in the scent of Sander’s faint cologne instead, surprised that of the many salvaged items the cologne bottle had somehow survived.
That he had somehow survived.
”Y-you’re…my best thing. E-ever,” he tried to explain, but the past stories withered on his tongue and he rested beside Sander silent, preferring instead the moment and wishing for a future that he now dared to want.
And that still puzzled Sander. He couldn’t understand how someone like him could be even likable. He was dangerous. A black mark. He had killed enough people to get several hundred life sentences, and he was killing, here. Just because he could. Just because it was all he really could do. If they had just locked him up, he wouldn’t have minded the slightest. Wasn’t that where beasts were kept? In their cages?
Yet in USARILN, everything was different from his expectation. He was free. Chained, but they let him roam. They let him see Christmas. And the blond boy stayed, despite having been on the receiving end of Sander’s power multiple times. That was too much, and Sander didn’t understand why. But he strove to repay the kindness, nonetheless. He would do everything to make Christmas happy, even when the boy wouldn’t want to be.
So he leaned in and kissed Christmas. The motion was gentle and after a small huff of surprised breath, the blond relaxed into the kiss, giving way to Sander’s whims eagerly. Eventually, though, he needed to sit up, raising himself up on an elbow only to lay back down slowly, wincing at his lower body’s protest.
Sander broke the kiss immediately at the sound of distress, alerted.
“You’re alright?” -He lifted himself off the bed, hovering over Christmas. Lifting a corner of the blond boy’s sweaters revealed the bruises and puncture marks around his waist, agitated by their activities last night. Sander placed a gentle hand over them, as if covering the marks would heal them, somehow.
Christmas only nodded, waiting to move again.
”B-bathroom,” he mumbled, embarrassed.
“Oh.” -Sander mumbled dumbly, before his eyes widened and he lifted his hand -”O-Okay.”
“Do you need help?” -He offered tentatively, sitting up straight.
”I-I can…just…a second,” he winced, lifting himself up properly this time. After testing his legs and finding that only his hips were sore, Christmas hobbled gingerly to the bedroom door, recalling the general instructions Sander had relayed to him yesterday about the bathrooms. ”U-um…b-back soon,” he said, turning around like he thought he couldn’t leave without the notice.
By the time Christmas came stumbling back into the bedroom, Sander had already put on a pair of boxers and a loose shirt, though his hair was still uncharacteristically unkempt. He was lounging on the sofa then, wolfing down on a sandwich that staff had packed into their untouched picnic basket. Noticing Christmas’ presence, the blood mage looked up with a fond smile and a streak of mustard on his cheek, gesturing to the empty spot next to him. Christmas obliged, sitting down slowly and now more comfortable with the idea of casually repeating the motions: sitting close, laying close, always by Sander’s side.
The smile caught him off-guard again and he leaned forward, bolder after the night before. His body still ached gently, but the pain was slow and steady now, so he could ease himself around it one way or another. Now he simply raised himself just enough to kiss Sander’s cheek, licking the bit of mustard away as well. With an embarrassed, but elated smile, he ducked his head and hid beside Sander’s arm, hugging the limb and keeping his small joys to himself. It felt weird to be so happy over being able to do that, but he thought—guessed, probably, maybe—Sander wouldn’t mind.
“Food?” -Sander swallowed another mouthful, patting Christmas’ knee with his free hand. There was several more sandwiches on the table, along with a few small cartons of juice.
With another nod, Christmas picked up the nearest sandwich and bit into it, hungrier than he realized.
As the boy ate, Sander kept running his hand up and down his thigh, watching. Eventually though, his gaze stopped on the patch of bandage. The parts that he fixed the other day was still holding, but there were several loose patches that he would have to rewrap later. He didn’t like seeing wounds on Christmas, Sander had noticed. Red did not fit the boy.
“It’s not fair, you know, when you can heal others and not yourself. You should be able to.”
”I…I don’t mind,” Christmas answered after a bite, the words automatic and without conviction.
“It hurts, doesn’t it?”
A pause, then the healer nodded, sandwich half-eaten in his hands.
“Then why don’t you mind?”
”Because…because I…I deserve it…? E-Even…even the power is the same.”
“…You don’t deserve pain, Christmas.” -Sander leaned over slightly, pressing their shoulders together -”How could someone like you deserve that? I don’t believe it.”
”But I’m…not nice,” he whispered, not looking up.
“You are.”
Christmas shook his head. ”Not nice. Just…always selfish.”
“That’s hardly wrong. It’s not wrong to…want.”
”…I…I want to have, too…a-all for myself.”
“Then have it. You deserve it.”
The words made his eyes water, the pressure of tears building. What did he deserve? He wanted to be a good person. Wanted to not want—because good people were happy with what they had. They didn’t want more. If he wanted—if he wanted, would he be a bad person?
”What if…I have it and…and I’m…even worse? More selfish and—and want more?”
"Nothing wrong with that."
”…Really?” Because he trusted Sander. More than the world that had told him he was wrong all his life.
"Yeah." -The confirmation came quick and easy.
He took some time to process it, the fact that Sander thought it was okay. The sandwich was growing cold in his hands and he resumed eating automatically, not wanting to waste the toasted warmth. The process was mechanical. Just following the motions of eating, chewing, and swallowing while his mind waged its private war against the beliefs he had internalized because he knew no other way to make sense of himself.
It was a hard fought battle, but Sander beside him carried him through.
By the time he finished the sandwich, he at least had found one small conviction, though the rest remained deadlocked.
”…I want to…heal myself, too.”
Even saying it made his moral compass panic, but he leaned against Sander and closed his eyes, trying not to apologize for wanting, because this at least, he wanted to believe was okay.
The field stretched as far as the eye could see, waves of sun-bleached summer grass brushing against his hips as he stood and waited for—for someone. Something. He couldn’t quite understand how he knew, but the empty swing beside him was now occupied by a figure wearing a red ribbon around its left wrist. Featureless and translucent, it stared at him, the pale imitation of Sander’s form fading at the outlines, like it couldn’t stand to be corporeal.
The wind from before had died down now and thin shafts of light stitched the clouds in golden orange lines. One ray of light hung like a sparkling thread of sun, its vertical line touching down into grass and dirt in the far distance.
The figure looked towards the line of shimmering gold. Christmas did, too.
He blinked, feeling Sander’s arm beside his temple, the smell of grass and soil fading as suddenly as the vision had come.
And he knew something was different from the small tingling throughout his body and that pure instinct with knowledge accessed from somewhere or something beyond him. His body was healing itself. Slowly, glacially. But it was healing.
He looked up at Sander, eyes wide.
Sander blinked, returning the wide-eyed gaze with a confused look.
Christmas sat up straight, pulling up his sweater sleeve and unwrapping the bandages on his left arm, knowing already what he would see.
The lighter bruises and puncture marks had faded to simply reddened skin. Deeper piercings from the needles were no longer throbbing and within the hour he knew those, too, would be gone. He looked to Sander again, still the same gaze, eyes near circles in surprise.
Sander took the unwrapped hand in his, holding the smaller hand close as he frowned down at it, unable to believe his eyes.
“W-What?” -He gaped, unhelpfully, thumb brushing the reddened skin where a puncture mark once was -”Why? Are you…?”
Powers didn’t work like that. Dreamcatchers didn’t work like that. They didn’t just give power just because you asked nicely. It just…didn’t work like that. But beneath all that confusion, Sander was grateful, if anything. Christmas healed. Christmas was well, and he was not in pain. Maybe the how and the why didn’t matter that much.
He lifted the hand to his lips, pressing kisses onto the tender skin. Yeah, maybe it didn’t really matter at all.
Christmas didn’t understand it either, because he had wanted to heal himself before and yet nothing had been so generous then. But before he could ask himself “Why?” that tiny haven where he was collected and aware and here had already supplied the answer, one he knew but never admitted to. Wanting to want, and then wanting to have, regardless of the “wrong”s and “right”s he had grown up with. One small step, and Sander had led him there.
He moved the hand away from Sander’s mouth, instead lacing their fingers together.
”Thank you,” he whispered to the clasped hands, tucking himself back into place beside Sander. ”Thank you.”
“You did it.” -Sander smiled, mimicking the words that Christmas had given him before -”I didn’t do anything.”
”N-no…you did everything,” the blond replied, still clinging tight to Sander’s arm. He found the words carefully, like examining the edges of puzzle pieces. ”It was for you.”
Sander gave a light laugh at that, the sound so soft and content and happy he had a hard time believing it was his. Without another word, he threw one hand over Christmas’ shoulders and pulled the blond boy close, relishing in the warmth against his chest. Safe in Sander’s arms, Christmas wondered if he could find the strength to want more and the lack of selfishness in that surprised him. Want to want and want to have, but not for himself. For Sander. In a far corner of his mind, he thought something sparked to life, like he could dare to be better than himself. It was far in the distance, but so bright. Against Sander’s chest, Christmas’ hand clutched the shirt a bit tighter.
Christmas held a knife in one hand and a roll of paper towels in another, sitting cross-legged on a patch of fallen leaves and twigs in the forest that surrounded the mansion’s clearing. He wore clothes he wouldn’t miss, though the feeling applied to most of his wardrobe; a simple blue sweater and long, dark pants, the sleeves and legs of which had been rolled up to elbows and knees.
Sander had left early in the morning for a jog, which left Christmas to his own devices after waking up naked once more. After the first time together, Sander had admitted to enjoying the activity and so they had established something of a new habit. Unsure of how long it would last, Christmas had resolved to make the most of the newfound passion, even if he still worried that Sander would eventually find him an irredeemable bore.
But that wasn’t what worried him at the moment. With the discomfort of uneven ground under him, Christmas was reminded that he had snuck off to the woods with a knife because he wanted to know exactly how long it took his newfound power to heal him. The needle pricks had entirely disappeared now, and he had been far too distracted with certain events to think about them.
Now, he breathed in deep, trying to calm himself as he inched the knife’s edge towards the back of his hand, remembering Sander’s words to cut on the outside so it would hurt less.
A tiny nick made his eyes water, but he stared at the thin line of red that appeared, then disappeared within minutes.
It was morbidly fascinating and the pain didn’t linger long either.
Again he tried it, watching red appear and disappear within minutes leaving nothing but the fading sting of tears behind.
He steeled himself again, cutting a bit longer and deeper now, swiping quickly with the red-rimmed edge before he could wimp out. He dropped the knife in the flash of pain that followed afterwards, whimpering and clutching the open gash to his stomach as he doubled over and waited for the heal to come.
It took too long for him, even for something as light as that cut. Five minutes felt like 30 and by the time the wound had fully healed he was sniffling from the tears, excitement over his power already gone. The magic would heal, but its progress was painfully slow. Droplets of blood stained his sweater and pants, with more dripping to the ground below and Christmas decided that would be enough experimentation for the day. He wasn’t sure he could try anything more serious than a light cut anyway.
Sander returned to an empty room after his morning jog. For the longest time, he stood at the threshold of their room, sniffing the air like a needy dog for Christmas’ scent, only to be disappointed. Christmas was gone. Mild panic broke out, twisting his guts, so he left and went looking for the blond boy. Scents after scents floated past him, and Sander did not stop running until he found the right one.
It didn’t take long for him to locate Christmas afterward, following the coffee aroma into the woods and catching sight of the healer’s blonde hair. The healer had flinched at the approach, but relaxed when he realized it was Sander, though his expression also looked a bit like a child caught doing something naughty.
Sighing in relief, Sander plopped down next to Christmas on the ground, eyes narrowing at the remnants of blood on the ground and the healer’s shirt. Old, though. No wound.
“…Are you testing it?”
Christmas nodded, rubbing at a red smear on the back of his hand where a cut had been.
”I thought…it would be okay.”
“Was it okay?” -Sander reached out for Christmas’ hand, touching the red smear tentatively.
”It’s…slow. Like me.”
“I don’t mind.” -With blood out in the open and so close, Sander didn’t dare to do what he wanted. Instead, he just held Christmas’ hand in his, rubbing at the flakes of drying blood -”Did you…do it on the back of your hand?”
”D-did you want some?” was the response, the healer guessing more or less correctly at the reason behind the way Sander’s eyes trailed after the patches of blood on his sweater and hand.
“No.” -That was a lie. The only one Sander would ever say to Christmas, but he felt that it was justified. The blond boy would always give too much, and think too little about it. Sander couldn’t let him do that to himself -”I’m fine.”
But Christmas didn’t miss the way the Adam’s apple bobbed as Sander swallowed, the way the mage’s eyes jittered between the bloodstains and his face. It wasn’t the Sander who had looked haggard and starved in the hospital, but the vestige was there.
”I don’t mind.”
“I do.” -Sander sighed, repeating the words as if on cue. It felt like an old argument between them, where both would give and neither would take.
”Why?”
“This…is addiction.” -Sander gestured at the mark on his throat, breaking eye contact -”I don’t want to feed it.”
”Does that mean…if you like something a lot…you—you won’t…take it?” Christmas looked guarded, shoulders tense like he had already heard a bad answer.
“…In moderation.” -Sander mumbled his answer. He couldn’t bring himself to lie this time.
”…If…if you like me a lot…would you…mind that, too?” The question was quiet, and Christmas looked down at the ground, arms limp and shoulders sagging.
“You’re different. Not…like the blood. I like you because I just…do. Not because the mark told me to.”
His hand squeezed Sander’s and Christmas sighed, relaxing briefly.
”Because I like you…I-I don’t mind if you want to…take…in moderation,” he repeated the qualifier, thumbing the back of Sander’s hand as he spoke, the motion sliding skin against skin in what was quickly becoming a soothing remedy for his fears.
“Thank you. That means…a lot.” -Sander relaxed as well, letting the tension bleed out from his shoulders -”But…it’s hard to hold back…when I’m with you.”
“So I don’t really mind if you think I’m…too much.”
”You can—you can have as much as you like. Don’t…don’t need to ask me if it’s you.”
“That’s dangerous.” -Sander grimaced, but he leaned his head on Christmas’ shoulder, their difference in height making the gesture awkward -”I’m dangerous.”
”I know.” But Christmas wrapped his arms around Sander’s neck anyway, pressing his cheek to Sander’s temple. ”I don’t mind.”
"Too good for me."
”Y-you’re the one who’s too good…” Christmas sighed into the soft strands of Sander’s hair, unable to reconcile what was so good about him with the version in Sander’s mind, but he set the comment aside for another time. ”It’s okay if—if you don’t worry so much about…taking blood. I, um, I trust you. You…can trust yourself, too, maybe?”
"I…will try." -Sander pressed his lips together in a thin line -"Didn't work before."
Old words came to mind, seeping back from a day when Christmas had been scolded by the karate instructor for failing to successfully grasp any of the fundamentals despite a month of biweekly classes. They were Alan’s words, but he had taken them to heart, even if they had both known then that Christmas would never be proficient in martial arts to any appreciable degree.
” ‘Sometimes…it’s okay to fail,’ ” he murmured in repetition of a wiser person’s advice. ” ‘And then you can…choose: keep trying or…stop. One can still—still succeed. The other…the other ends.’ “
His arms around Sander’s shoulders tightened.
”…S-Someone told me that. I…I’ll keep trying too. F-for you,” he said, voice petering off as he leaned lightly into Sander, so that they both rested on one another’s shoulders. His thoughts were swerving onto tangents and worries and nostalgia and he wanted in the midst of it the security of Sander’s feelings for him. And, most of all, Sander himself.
”I think I…I could say I’m ‘addicted’ to you, if…if that makes sense.”
“I’m a bad thing to be addicted to.”
”I don’t mind.” Christmas shifted his cheek against Sander’s, the gentle friction of skin against skin tingling pleasantly. ”I’m…not—not sure about ‘bad’ and ‘good.’ I just…w-want to stay with you.”
“Even if…you don’t really know me?”
”I trust you.”
Sander opened his mouth like he was going to say something else, but eventually, he let his jaws click shut. There was no point. Christmas’ trust was unconditional, terrible as it was in a situation like this, and Sander couldn’t really do anything to change that.
It scared him, when someone put so much trust on him like this, because he didn’t really think he could meet their expectations. Didn’t really think he could trust himself. He got better, yes, but what if? His power lurked, still, and he could still lose everything so easily.
“I don’t trust me.” -He admitted.
”Th-then…even if something happened…I—I wouldn’t hold it against you. N-never. Promise.”
“It’s…” -Sander breathed, as if steeling himself -”It’s not always the power.”
“Sometimes I…killed because I…could.” -He turned his head sharply to the side, hiding his face -”I killed a lot. Much more than you think.”
Christmas had heard a portion of the confession before—had already understood what it meant. He was a coward and a fool, but this much he didn’t need help comprehending. It was true that the world at large was too violent for anyone like him to survive long, and the thought that Sander had killed for the sake of it seemed to align too well with what television wanted the public to think of Aberrations. Rightly, he should have been appalled at the notion of murder.
But he remembered the pressure of a warm body against his palms and the shove that had come too easily to him.
He should have been appalled, but he didn’t think he minded so much. He had seen it, the horrors of Washington on the news. The callous disregard for the actual people and the insane fervor that the internet had taken to just to name the new spectacles.
One way or another, he was a monster with the rest of them. So he didn’t think he minded as much as he wanted to.
”Okay,” he replied, the acceptance simple. His hold on Sander didn’t relax and he pressed his face again to the turned jaw. ”I don’t mind.”
“I’ll kill again.” -Sander’s voice was suddenly shaky, the complete honesty in Christmas’ answer rubbed him raw. He expected fear and disgust; he would have been fine with it. Acceptance was just….too much. He didn’t know what to do with it -”I did. At Wisford.”
”Okay.” Because Christmas didn’t protest it. Didn’t question the inevitability of it, even if the future scared him with how vast its possibilities spread. Death was always a guarantee. He nodded, then repeated, ”Okay.”
This was awful, Sander thought, and he went ahead and said it too -”This is awful.” -Because Christmas shouldn’t have to be okay with this. Maybe it would have been better if he just…didn’t leave the Facility at all. Stayed where he belonged.
The words tightened knots in Christmas’s shoulders. ”A-Awful?” He let go, looking like he had been scolded. ”S-sorry. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. -Sander explained quickly, reaching out for Christmas again because the loss of warmth was more than he could take -”You shouldn’t have to be okay with it. Shouldn’t have to stay with someone like me.”
“But you are, anyway. And I can’t really let you go.”
”You—you said it was…my choice. I…I’m choosing.” The healer tried to explain a comment made too long ago and too far removed from the circumstances. But he had taken it to heart. He rested his hands on Sander’s arms, leaning into the heat of the taller boy’s chest. Compassion and ruthlessness all in one—but deep down he supposed he had always known from his first meeting with blue eyes, then the terror of red against moonlight. ”I’m here.”
“You are.” -Sander gave the healer’s shoulders a squeeze, sighing as he finally decided to drop the topic and move onto to something else -”Did it hurt a lot?”
“Huh?”
“Your hand.”
”A-A little bit…a lot…” Christmas mumbled, unsure if the sudden change in topic meant anything serious.
“Just…do it on the outside. Maybe your forearm? It hurts less on the forearm.”
”H-have you tried it?” The healer blinked up at Sander, already expecting a morbid answer.
“I…My power doesn’t heal that way.” -Sander quirked an eyebrow, confused by the wording of the question -”No…I never cut myself.”
”Oh…then—then how do you know?”
“They cut me.”
”…They…?”
“The people at the…facilities.” -Sander kept his face blank as a host of unpleasant memories assaulted his conscious. But that was a long time ago. He deserved it anyway.
”Wh-Why?”
“I don’t know.” -Sander shrugged -”To see what I can do, I guess.”
Christmas opened, then closed his mouth, the slow realization seeping into his thoughts. Atrocities. It was different from mentally pardoning Sander, because this was agony inflicted upon the blood mage. He didn’t like it, the mere thought of “people at the facilities” cutting Sander open and apart. He held the arms tight, panic coating his face.
”I’m-I’m sorry,” he stammered, watching Sander’s expression darken at the topic.
“What for?” -Sander just ruffled golden hair, a tight smile lightning up his features, but it was more for Christmas’ sake if anything -”You didn’t put me there. I put me there.”
”H-huh?”
“What I did. I had to stay there.”
”What you did…?”
“I killed people.” -But that answer was insufficient, and Sander knew it. Christmas deserved the truth. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. At least, not the ones he wanted to -”I…I’ll tell some day.”- He mumbled, shamed. Because he wasn’t brave enough.
”Okay,” Christmas breathed, relieved that the moment had passed without incident. He moved into a tighter hug, breathing in the tartness of Sander’s green apple shampoo and hoping against hope that he’d keep surviving whatever was to come.
“You’re wonderful.”
”N-not really. You—you are, though.”
“I’d argue with you on that.” -Sander’s tone was suddenly light and playful.
”But it’s true,” the blond protested, voicing his disagreement into Sander’s chest.
“Not true.”
”True.”
With a sudden lurch forward, Sander pushed both himself and Christmas onto the dry leaves and twigs below, the blood mage’s arms cradled protectively around the smaller boy’s body. Just like that, Sander hovered above the blond boy, blue eyes bright from the fond smile on his lips.
“Not true.”
The impact knocked a bit of the wind from Christmas, even with Sander cradling him, and the boy gasped for breath for a moment before moving his hands to Sander’s face, cradling taller boy’s jaw.
”…True,” he repeated.
“Not true.” -Sander grimaced, before trying one more time -”Please?”
”You’re wonderful,” the blond repeated with a small laugh that he quickly banished with a quick clear of his throat.
With no option left, Sander leaned down and pulled Christmas into a kiss. It was passionate, open-mouthed and dirty with the full intention to tease a reaction out of the healer. As if feeling that just the kiss wasn’t enough, Sander pressed the full length of his body onto Christmas, pinning both of the healer’s arms above his head.
Christmas squirmed, finding it incredibly unfair for Sander to win the argument that way, but the motions were half-hearted. He enjoyed it, the surprise of it all, and when the initial fluttering of his heart had finally calmed down, he was warm underneath Sander’s body. As heat crept up the smaller boy’s shoulders, Sander got what he wanted—Christmas, flushed and panting as the kiss ended, lips reddened from where Sander had pressed his own repeatedly against them.
”S-See?” the small boy stammered in a rare moment of audacity, ”Wonderful.”
"You should see yourself right now. -Sander mumbled, lost -My best thing...”
At that Christmas laughed, the sounds soft and quiet, but he didn’t cough it away. Out of habit, his hands wanted to cover his mouth, but he ended up no match for Sander’s strength.
”I don’t…really understand it,” he admitted, ”why you…why you think that so much but…I think that you’re—you’re my best thing, t-too.”
"We both don't get it, huh?"
”…I don’t mind that.”
“This is awful.” -Sander complained, but the bright smile on his face betrayed his happiness -”But I guess I don’t mind, too.”
As the words left him, he leaned down, pressing another kiss onto Christmas’ lips.
A text from Emma earlier that day invited him to a beach party, and Sander had to admit that he really wanted to go. Before the Facility, his family never travelled, mostly due to the threats of monsters and subnaturals outside the cities. And after, there was really no point. But now, he was allowed to and he didn’t really want to miss the chance. Especially when he could go with Christmas.
That morning, after returning from his jog in the woods, Sander immediately went for the kitchen where he could grab some breakfast. As usual, he took some coffee or milk for himself, while bringing back breakfast for Christmas. However, he decided to ask for some swimwear too, since the staff had been nothing but accommodating toward his requests the past weeks.
When Sander arrived at the kitchen, he simply began rummaging through the fridge for a drink. Knowing his schedule well, the staff would often leave food on the counter for him. However, Sander didn’t just take the food and leave, but instead approached one of the maids working in the kitchen at that time.
“Excuse me.”
The redhead turned around, one hand trying to tame her messy curls back into the bun on her head.
”Yes, sir?” she asked, giving up on her hair and clasping her hands politely in front of her.
“Can I…get something to wear for the beach?”
”Certainly! What would you like?” the girl sighed, glad it was a simple request. She hadn’t been there long and the last thing she needed was for Aldrich to scold her again.
“Uh.” -Sander narrowed his eyes, trying to recall what Christmas said he wanted to wear -”Beach clothes. The ones that are…frilly and pretty.”
She raised an eyebrow, having known—as did the rest of the staff—who roomed with whom and the clothing sizes of the various guests. He didn’t seem to be asking for himself, either. ”For you as well?”
Sander looked slightly alarmed at the suggestion, because Christmas had only ever mentioned what sort of dresses he liked, not who he wanted to see in them. Sander wouldn’t mind either way, but it did make getting them harder, as he and Christmas did have vastly different body types.
“I’m…not sure.” -He mumbled, before venturing -”Yeah?”
The maid stared, then nodded. ”Okay, I’ll bring back a variety in both your sizes. Please wait here.”
True to her word, the maid was back in little over ten minutes carrying two small baskets of what looked like folded laundry at first glance, but was actually a large selection of male and female swimwear in varying colors and styles. She placed both baskets on a nearby counter and curtsied to Sander.
”Is there anything else you’d like, sir?”
“…No. Thank you.” -Sander stared a bit, slightly taken aback by the large selection of clothing. He walked over and picked up one of the basket, testing its weight. However, a thought occurred, and he looked back to the maid –“Can I…get one of your uniforms too?”
“It’s…frilly and pretty too.” -He smiled, suddenly looking apologetic, trying to explain his difficult request.
”…A-Absolutely, sir. I’ll fetch that right away.”
She returned quickly with two uniforms, one in Sander’s size and another in Christmas’s, face blank as paper to hide her confusion at the request. Still, she had learned not to question things by now. As long as they were harmless enough activities, she’d stay well out of their way.
“Thank you.” -Sander put both outfits inside one of the baskets, along with some breakfast for Christmas, before picking them up. He shifted his shoulders slightly to accommodate the weight, giving the maid another ‘thank you’, then quickly walked back to his room.
Christmas had been worrying all morning about the beach party ever since Sander had informed him earlier. He thought it would be fine if he arrived in his normal clothing, since he didn’t particularly want to swim in the water. On top of that, he didn’t know anyone in class too well outside of Sander, Lily—and even her only partially, and Ernie. The last name made him grimace and he almost missed the awkward tapping on the door of Sander’s room, where he had spent most of his time.
He opened it carefully, then quickly when he realized it was Sander carrying two baskets of clothes and another bundle of items. He grabbed one of the baskets that looked like it was ready to fall, setting it down and then sitting down beside it, staring at the colorful, decorated swimwear within.
Sander left the boy to his own device, occupying himself with a carton of chocolate milk. However, he did interrupt Christmas bit to press a sandwich wrapped in tinfoil into his hands.
The boy mumbled a “thank you” before looking up at Sander.
”What—what is this?”
“Swim clothes.”
”F-for…who?”
“Us.” -Sander settled down on the floor next to Christmas -”We are going together, right?”
He picked up a set of blue swimwear—a frilled tube top and a matching skirt with shorts beneath—staring at the pieces in his hand like he had been given gold ingots.
”…I can wear this?” he asked softly.
“Yeah.” -Sander sipped from his milk carton, watching Christmas closely. However, the content look on the boy’s face told him he had nothing to worry about -”I can wear it too?” -He offered, glancing at the frilly apparel. Clothes were just clothes to him; he wore what he wore from a force of habit. He figured he didn’t mind changing that much, if it were for Christmas.
”Do you…do you want to?” The question was genuine confusion. ”Th-these suit you more?” Christmas replied, picking up a pair of black board shorts hemmed with red accents.
“I don’t mind either.” -Sander reach out for the pair of shorts in Christmas’ hands -”Do you prefer me in these?”
The blonde took a moment to picture Sander in the shorts, standing in the ocean surf and looking back at him. A cough later and the heat was creeping towards his neck again, so he busied himself picking out more of the swimwear, pretending he hadn’t already found one he liked.
Sander just sat next to Christmas in silent, letting the boy poking around among the clothes for as long as he liked.
“I think you would look good in anything.” -He said eventually, leaning toward Christmas.
”…I believe you. Th-that you think that…I-I mean.”
“I also think you would look good wearing nothing at all.”
Christmas had been slack-jawed until then, mesmerized by the sight of girlish clothing he was allowed to wear. At the comment, he froze, teeth clicking together as his jaw abruptly tightened. The heat rushed full force to his face now, the words sending him careening back to memories of passion under a setting sun and the cool ocean breeze across his bare body. He hugged the selected pair of swimwear to his chest, trying to remain calm when Sander had practically hummed the line into his ear.
The better part of him found some words in response, dredging them through the fever of desire.
”N-naked…you—you look better.”
“I wasn’t looking at myself.” -The scent of coffee suddenly flared, and Sander couldn’t help but turn his face into the crook of Christmas’ neck and inhale. A shiver passed through the smaller boy’s body at the motion and Sander thoroughly enjoyed the effect he had on Christmas, the palpable reactions sating the part of him that wanted to think only he could make the blond boy tremble in anticipation at a single touch. Emboldened, Sander leaned in and placed a wet kiss against the side of Christmas’ neck, tongue wetting the skin just above the pulse point. He got the reaction he wanted—a quiet gasp and a stronger shudder along Christmas’s shoulders.
Sander was tempting himself as well as the blond boy. He kept his nose buried in the heat at the nape of Christmas’ neck for as long as he dared, savoring the delicious aroma that lurked just beneath pale skin. It wouldn’t take much to create a scratch, just deep enough for the red to ooze. And it wouldn’t hurt Christmas a lot now that the boy could heal himself, the addict in him coaxed.
Sander broke the contact in one quick motion, lifting his head off Christmas’ shoulder. He remained close though, going back to finish the carton of milk in his hands.
“You know, if you ever want me to stop…If I ever do anything you don’t like…Just say it. I’ll stop.”
”Can…can I say…’don’t stop’?” Christmas replied, a longing gaze on his face as he looked up tentatively.
Sander’s eyes went wide, but a smile easily broke across his face -”I think that defeats the purpose of making me stop.”
Christmas opened, then closed his mouth. After a moment, though, he had his final decision. ”…Don’t stop. I-I can…it heals now. You don’t have to…stop.”
“You spoil me.”
”I want to.”
“Then please let me return the favor sometimes.”
”You don’t…um…don’t have to. I just—I like doing what—what you want.”
“What if I want to do what you want?” -Sander tried one more time, throwing one arm around Christmas’ shoulder, the motion had grown casual, like a habit -”Please?”
Christmas didn’t know how to resist Sander’s “please,” and even the instinctive anxiety that came with memories of being held by the shoulder faded quickly just moments later, the reminder of more visceral acts with Sander far more recent and vivid than older fears. He nodded instead, trying to escape the question of what he wanted.
“Well…Tell me. What do you like to do? We always do things I want.”
Unsuccessful and a small part of him didn’t mind, though it fretted all the same over what he did and didn’t deserve. Embarrassed even in Sander’s company, he scooted a bit closer and leaned to whisper in Sander’s ear like he was afraid the bed or the walls would judge him.
”I want to…to go on a…a date. And then…afterwards f-from—from be-behind…” He ducked his head into the bundle of clothes in his arms, turning away to hide after the confession and panicking at the thought that it was too forward, even for Sander.
“From behind?”
Christmas just shook his head, the little burst of courage gone now and replaced with his usual worries.
”S-Sorry.”
“Tell me next time then? After the date?”
Slow nods answered Sander, but Christmas avoided looking up, not ready to own up to admitting what he liked.
“We should get ready for the beach.” -Sander finally abandoned that particular topic, instead focusing on the more pressing one at hand -”So which one do you want me to wear?”
The healer pushed the black and red board trunks at Sander before collecting the pieces of blue swimwear.
”You—you think it’ll be okay…if—if I wear this?” he asked, looking at the two-piece in his hands.
“I think you would look beautiful.” -The answer came naturally, with no hesitation. Then Sander’s smile took a wicked turn, though the evident blush on his cheeks contrasted his confidence -”Then maybe you can…wear them for later too. When it’s just us.”
Christmas gulped, the thought of “later” mirroring Sander’s blush on his neck and shoulders, too. He nodded again, snatching at sandals and hurrying off to the bathroom to change, emerging minutes later in a frilled tube top and matching ruffled skirt that exposed the meager amount of muscles he had built up doing beginner exercises months ago, when he had thought to try and better himself for someone else with something as unfitting as martial arts.
He kept his ribbon on, not expecting to actually swim, and crossed his arms across his stomach like he was trying to hold himself together.
”Is…is it okay?”
Sander had already change into his swimwear, but he kept his t-shirt on, planning to take them off when they arrived at the beach. Once Christmas emerged from the bathroom though, Sander paused, eyes instantly drew to the expanses of exposed white skin.
“Wow.” -He mumbled, taking a few steps toward. It was silly, he knew. He had seen Christmas naked before, in various settings. Yet, there was something alluring about partial, skimpy clothing. Like it was tempting him to take the rest off.
”N-not okay?” the blond asked, already wringing at his hands and unsure what “Wow” meant other than surprise. Surprise as a reaction had rarely been good for him, but he wanted to hope.
“No. No. It’s--” -Sander began, catching Christmas’ hands in his and smoothing out the restless fingers -”It’s…nice. You look nice.”
At that the smaller boy looked up, worry on his face as he checked for sincerity on Sander’s. After a moment, though, the furrows on his brow relaxed and he managed a small smile.
”Thank you.”
“Let’s go then.” -Sander tugged on Christmas’ hands then, eager to head to the beach. The blond boy complied easily, and soon enough, they were on their way.
Sander let out a breath eventually, tension slowly bleeding out of his shoulders as he finally turned back to the bed. Christmas was still where he was, half-buried underneath the mound of blanket, so Sander stood at their bedside, waiting, expression remorseful. The healer peeked out eventually, looking up at Sander.
”S-sorry.”
The blood mage didn’t respond, simply reaching out to his roommate with an upturned hand. Christmas took the hand automatically, wincing as several of the open needle pricks reminded him of their presences. He had tried to move minimally to avoid the deep pains from badly positioned syringes, but that hadn’t helped as much as he had thought. He sniffled involuntarily, a few of the sharper stings welling tears up in his eyes.
Sander held on to the hand in his just as he sat down onto the edge of the mattress. The bandages from the other day had been undone, the loose end hung limply, so Sander reached out for that with his free hand, quickly wrapping it back into place.
“I should have been more insistent.” -He mumbled, eyes glued to the leaking dots on Christmas’ arm -”She doesn’t need healing at all.”
”It’s—it’s okay. I don’t…mind…” the healer trailed off, remembering the last time he had said so. “Sorry…”
“I would never leave you, you know?” -Sander tucked the gauze in more tightly this time, smoothing out the edges. It looked slightly better than his last attempt. Still, he did not let go of Christmas’ hand, instead holding it in both of his -”You won’t have to go to her. Ever.”
Promises were not something he made often, just because he knew he could never keep them. This one, however, he would like to. Even if…
“I will be here with you. Or I won’t be anywhere at all.”
Christmas held onto Sander’s hand as well, clutching it tighter at the implication of death. ”If…you’re gone…I’d…be, too…” The reality of that statement surprised him. ”D-don’t go a-anywhere I can’t…can’t follow…please.”
“I’m staying.” -The words were firm, and Sander pressed a kiss against the white gauze –“With you.”
He sighed then, because he knew how unpredictable the future could be. There were instances where even his fire couldn’t save him. But he didn’t voice that concern. He knew how distressed Christmas was, and he just wanted the healer to relax.
“Are you still tired?”
The blond shook his head, scooting out from under the blankets to rest against Sander.
”I…” he trailed off, hugging Sander’s arm instead.
“Yeah?”
”I…w-want to sit in your—your lap again…if…if it’s okay.” He mumbled the request into the sheets, trying not to be heard.
But Sander heard him anyway, so he reached for the PS Vita discarded nearby and patted a spot on his lap, the corner of his lips quirking up into a smile.
“Let’s finish that game then.”
Happy to have his request obliged, Christmas tucked himself into Sander’s lap again, adjusting himself to avoid resting the worst spots of needle marks again Sander’s chest. He sighed once he had become comfortable.
”Th-thank you.”
“I wish…you would tell me what you want all the time.” -Sander looped an arm around Christmas’ waist, sighing into the nape of his neck -”I would like to know them.”
“I would like to know you.”
”I…um…like hearing y-yours more.” Christmas stared at the paused game screen as he spoke, trying to avoid giving in to the soft touch and warm breath on his neck.
“That’s not really fair.” -Sander reached over and pressed the start button for him, leaning his chin on Christmas’ shoulder -”Please?”
Christmas gave in easily. He couldn’t hold against Sander’s “please,” after all.
”Wh-What should I say?”
“What do you like?”
”Y-you.” It was an easy answer and he was glad that was it for the question.
“And?” -Sander exhaled, amused.
”H-huh?”
“There must be other things.”
”…R-ribbons. And…and dresses…” He seemed to shrink into a tighter ball in Sander’s lap. ”S-sorry…”
As Christmas curled in on himself, Sander only kept his touches firm and steady, started caressing motions on the back of the healer’s hand.
“Yes. Those. I would like to know about those.” -He kissed the shell of Christmas’ ear –“Anything else?”
”Wh-what about you?” the smaller boy replied, trying to steer his thoughts out of more explicit territory when Sander kissed his ear.
“I’m simple. I like running. I like drinking.” -Flashes of what happened at the bar the other day almost changed that, which was exactly why he had been avoiding the place -”And I like you.”
“I think it’s your turn, again.”
”What—what kind of drinks?”
“Sweet.” -Sander smiled, then followed up -”What kind of dress?”
Christmas turned his face to hide in Sander’s shirt, realizing he had never once told anyone what kinds of dresses he always stared at in the women’s section of the large department stores his parents used to shop in. ”L-lace…and—and l-lots of decorations…” Most of the dresses he had seen were stitched together with the chests of women in mind and while he had entertained small daydreams about wearing them, the sight of the dress’s sagging torso, even in his thoughts, was just one more thing wrong with him. He didn’t want to be a girl—the thought had never crossed his mind as a desire, though certainly as a curiosity—but he wanted what they were allowed to wear.
“I think…you’d look pretty in one.”
Christmas clutched at the shirt under his hand, breath catching in his throat at the comment. He looked up at Sander, eyes wide like he was expecting a punch line to the joke—perhaps a “Just kidding” or that old “Psyche!” But Sander was serious and he smiling and it all felt so perfect. The healer didn’t realize how long he stared until almost a minute had passed. With a shaky breath he nodded, leaning into Sander while gratitude broke the words on his tongue.
”Th-thank you…” He sniffled again, but not from the little pains this time.
Sander’s hand went up to press against Christmas’ cheek immediately, already trying to wipe away any wet traces of tears.
“Don’t cry. Please.” -He mumbled hastily, trying to change the topic -”What about other things? Your favorite places? Do you like animals?”
The sniffling didn’t subside for several more minutes, but by then Christmas had calmed enough to release his clutch on Sander’s shirt, absentmindedly rubbing his cheek in small, slow motions against the palm pressed to his face.
”I like…s-sunset. Like in the…the photos of big fields. And…s-stuffed animals.”
He blinked, realizing he had been enjoying Sander’s palm a bit much and stopping.
”Wh-what about you?”
“I…didn’t get out much.” -Sander shrugged, trying to keep his voice light -”I think I saw a field on the way here.”
“Do you want to go see the sunset then? Later?”
Christmas nodded, pulling Sander’s hand near his face towards his mouth and pressing the knuckles against his lips. He remembered the half conversation at the hospital. The last five years for Sander had been “not nice.” He wanted to and didn’t want to ask—it felt like something Sander would tell him if he trusted him enough and asking seemed like cheating. So he kissed the hand and leaned into the embrace, game forgotten.
Around two hours later, Sander came back to their room with a giant picnic basket in hand and backpack filled with essentials for a night out under the stars with his boyfriend. Or so he was told. The staff was kind enough to pack everything for him, so he didn’t really have an opportunity to check what exactly these bags contained. As far as he knew, there was at least a small container of blood in there. They must have figured its connection with his power. Though he doubted he would need it tonight.
Once the door clicked shut behind him, Sander put everything into a neat pile on the floor before walking off toward Christmas who was dozing on the bed, blue-striped sweater askew on his shoulders and handheld console laying beside him playing what sounded like general scene music on repeat. They had snacked on fries and burgers earlier, prepared by request when Christmas seemed intimidated by the display of food in the dining hall and a maid had asked him if there was anything he had wanted. Sander had needed to relay the question before the healer would answer, but by the end of it they had procured freshly prepared fast food—though “gourmet” was likely the closer term for what the maid had returned with on a silver platter. Christmas had eaten his entire meal set, so it was no surprise that by now he was sleeping off the food.
Wordlessly, Sander crawled into bed beside him, throwing one arm around Christmas’ waist and rubbing a spot on his stomach, the touch light but insistent. Christmas stirred, soft breaths increasing in pace as he blearily opened his eyes. He turned to look at Sander, smiling in his half-dreams before trying to fall back asleep.
“Wake up, dreamy.”
A quiet noise answered him, but Christmas was having a hard time stirring from the feeling of eating well.
Sander couldn’t help but lean forward to place a kiss on Christmas’ eyelids. That finally woke the sleeping blond and he blinked up as Sander withdrew.
”S-sorry…I thought…I heard you say something.”
“Nothing.” -Sander smiled -”Just thought I’d wake you up. Almost sunset.”
Silence passed for seconds before sleep finally gave way enough for Christmas to remember that he wanted to see the sunset with Sander. He sat up, groggy but eager, pulling the loose sweater back onto his shoulder where it had slid off to one side in his sleep. He looked at Sander expectantly, like he was waiting for permission to be excited.
“I got everything.” -Sander’s smile widened into a grin as he pushed himself up and gestured at the bag and basket on the floor -”Cmon. It’ll be a…date.” -He used one of those forgotten words that he had only read about and saw in movies, but it was the only one he found appropriate, now. After all, Christmas was his boyfriend. Several silver squares tucked into the outside mesh pocket of the bag along with a tube that looked similar to toothpaste, but was very much not drew Christmas’ attention and by the time he fully realized what they were, his neck and shoulders felt like they were on fire.
”P-prepare…?” he ventured, eyes still glued to the items.
“Uh…” -Sander looked dumbfounded for a few seconds -”I…yeah. I got…stuffs.”
Misinterpreting the answer, Christmas nodded, scampering off the bed and snatching up the tube from the bag’s outer pocket, then disappearing into the bathroom.
Sander remained puzzled, but he left the blond boy to his own devices. Christmas actually didn’t emerge until half an hour later, face flushed and breath short, which only served to confuse Sander even more, especially when the scent of coffee flooded every corner of their shared room.
“Are you…okay?” -Sander was at Christmas’ side in an instant, pressing a hand against the boy’s forehead -”If you’re feeling sick, we can go…another time?”
There was a quick shake of his head, and Christmas clutched Sander’s arm. ”Want to—to go.”
“…Okay.” -When Christmas asked like that and looked like that, Sander couldn’t really say no.
He ended up letting the blond boy lean on him like the other day, the healer’s legs were again strangely uncooperative. Regardless, they pressed on, arriving at their destination just a few minutes before sunset. It was a large clearing on a nearby hilltop that overlooked an edge of the island, probably a field of sort before, now abandoned and occupied by overgrowth. Nearby, there was a small shed, emptied long ago but most of the structures were still intact. When he asked about a good place to see the sun set, one of the staff had suggested this place. Sander was glad he had asked, because the view in this place was amazing. Enough of the original trees hemming the clearing had been removed to allow for a breathtaking view of both the beach and the sunset glancing in orange and gold off the waters.
Christmas’s gaze was fixated on the twilight sun, the image so similar and so much more than what he had seen through pictures. It was different from watching the sun set behind the rooftops of houses, or disappearing behind mountains. But the single most important change was that Sander stood beside him. He breathed out eventually, remembering that he had held his breath for the past few seconds of silent gazing.
”…It’s beautiful,” he murmured, watching the rays of light filter around distant clouds.
Sander had been looking at Christmas for the past few moments, and when he heard the blond boy’s comment, he smiled like it was the most natural thing, and said -”Yeah. It is. You are.”
It took a few moments for the comment to process, but when it finally did Christmas turned sharply, surprise on his face and something of a half-smile he was trying to suppress. ”N-no…but—uh—I…th-thank you…I…y-you are, too. H-handsome, I-I mean.” He slipped and slid all over his words, looking down instead and clutching at the hem of his sweater. ”H-happy to be with you,” he finished, trying to put his giddy feelings back into place.
Sander opened his mouth, trying to come up with a reply before he decided against it and just leaned in, pressing his lips against Christmas’s, who would have cried out in surprise if his voice wasn’t muffled through the rush of lips and tongue. Instead Christmas whimpered quietly at the initial shock before holding on to Sander’s shoulders and leaning into the kiss. He liked it, he was ashamed to say. Liked being pampered. Liked being spoiled with affection. He didn’t deserve an iota of it, but Sander gave it all anyway and with every gentle moment he thought he’d give in at last—decide to be horrible and think it was fine to be happy even if he shouldn’t be.
Terrible.
And he was afraid Sander would change his mind.
Despite the fact that he initiated the kiss, Sander looked rather dazed and a bit surprised when he pulled back, eyes glassy and lips still slightly parted. He was quiet for the longest of time, just staring at Christmas, hands pressing warmth against the blond boy’s cheeks, the setting sun forgotten.
“I wish you would smile more.” -He breathed, a thumb reached out to brush Christmas’ lower lip -”I really like it when you do that.”
At that Christmas couldn’t help the small smile spreading on his face. It was so easy to feel happy around Sander and being alone for those days ringed by people who only saw him as an easy way to help others had broken something down—he couldn’t name it, but it was easier now to tell himself he really wanted Sander beside him especially after thinking he had been left alone.
“It fits you.”
The smile trembled a bit, threatening to turn into happy tears, but Christmas fixed that with a forward shove, wrapping his arms around Sander’s torso and squeezing his eyes together, because handling emotions had never been his strong suit and Sander brought out so many of them—all of them good, even the lurking fear of red eyes; they were aspects he had associated with Sander by now and with Sander, even the bad was good.
“You’re missing the sunset.” -Sander said, rubbing Christmas’ hair gently.
”You’re—you’re better than the sunset,” a muffled voice spoke into Sander’s shirt.
Sander just laughed softly at that, the sound low in his chest. He indulged the blond boy, letting Christmas holding onto him as long as he wanted. Then again, it felt nice too, having another constant warmth by his side. He hadn’t even realized he missed that until Christmas.
After a few moment though, his wandering gaze caught sight of the picnic basket lying to the side. Reminded of food, he started rubbing small circles on Christmas’ back, patting him -”Hungry? I brought snacks.”
The small boy nodded, but didn’t move, face still hidden in the hug.
“I can…feed you. If you want.”
That made Christmas look up and his face was that strange mix of panic and anticipation again. His tongue still tied, the blond only nodded instead, relaxing his hold on Sander and stepping away.
Sander turned to the basket then and returned with a bag of chips and the sleeping bag. He laid the latter out on the ground, spreading it wide so they could both fit on it before lying down, leaning his back against the plump backpack. He patted the space next to him, smiling at Christmas. The healer smiled back, sitting down beside Sander and snuggling into the allotted space. When Sander had made sure Christmas was comfortable, he brought a chip to the blond’s lips, urging him to eat. Mumbling a shaky “thank you,” Christmas did, nibbling away at the piece until it was gone, only to have Sander’s fingers trace his lips in the aftermath, wiping away crumbs. He tried not to focus too much on that sensation, but his mind rarely listened to him and before long the heat was creeping onto his neck and shoulders once more.
Christmas had woken up to the feeling of pins and needles. His first thought was that his legs and arms had fallen asleep, but when he finally opened his eyes the reality terrified him more than any nightmares. IV stands stood like sentries to his right—four, five, six of them taped to his right arm while his left arm was dotted uniformly with red pricks, two to three in a batch and some batches had been covered in gauze while others freshly pierced. The air seemed fuzzy and bright. White—like he was in the center of a glittering cloud, and a tingling current was running lightly through him. His power, but why—
He started to panic, started to move. And the nails in the coffin were the straps holding his torso and legs down to the bed, the handcuffs locking him to the bedframe. He thought he made a mumbling noise or a weak scream, but a doctor leaned over him, something like pity and fear in the aging man’s blue eyes before he inserted a syringe into the boy’s arm, ignoring the small whimper that reflexively came from the battered healer.
”Don’t move,” was the order that sounded like a blaring foghorn in Christmas’s mind. He thought he was starting to cry. Felt the shuddering of his chest as the sobs came hand-in-hand with the panic. But that’s when he heard the others.
Crying. Sobbing. Wailing. Screaming. People surrounded him on their own beds, bloody and broken, and he could feel his power streaming around them.
The room was cavernous and when he finally found the nerve to turn his head, he could barely see the far end of it. So many people, and every so often a healed patient would be wheeled out to be replaced by another. But none of them were the students from his class. Not even a vaguely familiar face. Especially not Sander. Wherever he was, he was alone.
He felt himself breathing faster, the coiling in his guts tightening to a sheer horror. It felt like he had missed an apocalypse and the world he knew was gone. The doctor had just taken out the syringe, but the man said something Christmas couldn’t hear. His small frame pushed against the heavy leather straps holding him down and more doctors rushed to his side. One brought a syringe of clear liquid that he remembered seeing the night of his capture—it felt like years ago.
He woke up again to the sound of gravel rolling beneath tires and the steady rumbling of a car, body too weak to protest anymore. Bandages wrapped around his arms and legs like clothes, the aftermath of healing so many at once. There was no Sander to comfort him. There was no one else in the truck that he knew, period. Just soldiers watching his bed, guns at the ready, and not even these soldiers were any he had seen at the Institute.
Stress built into tears and tears into the only thought he could manage. He pulled the sheets of the hospital bed over his head, the motion slow and unsteady. It was an old childhood habit whenever he no longer wanted to face doors locked from the outside and barred windows. Whenever he no longer wanted to face his mother. One of the many children’s books she illustrated had taught the younger Christmas the lesson that he could hide from monsters under the sheets. With a thin blanket over his head and soldiers surrounding him, it took Christmas only seconds to realize he couldn’t hide if the monster was him.
They had placed him in a wheelchair when he proved too unsteady to walk, the handicap aide folded up in the corner like someone had expected the problem. Beach sand and forest dirt rolled beneath the wheels now, and Christmas had resigned himself to whatever fate they had in store. Underneath the constant panic that had become familiar now, he felt small and—most of all—alone.
The feeling brought with it how terribly he missed Sander, but no one seemed to notice when he started sniffling in his chair.
Sander noticed the scent first. It was late enough that he would be out and about, but not yet hungry enough for lunch, so he was in his room, drying his hair idly with a towel. A hand reached for the blooming bruise on his cheek, fingers testing the tender spot. It still ached, though the black splotch had faded to an ugly yellow.
He frowned at the sight of him in the mirror. Bruised and tired and obviously sleep-deprived. But at least his Stigma was quiet, and his face didn’t hurt anymore. The soldiers had already said Christmas would be here soon, but Sander had been waiting for two full days. ‘Soon’ is not enough. He needed to ask again.
Then the coffee scent prickled his senses. He turned his head, eyes wide.
He was here.
Sander only had enough mind to grab the nearby shirt and throw it on, fingers fumbling to do the buttons as he raced down the stairs, hair still damp from the shower. He made it all the way into the courtyard, where Christmas was being wheeled in by several soldiers. Uncaring of the sharp prickles of gravel underneath his feet, Sander ran toward the entourage, a tentative smile lighting up his features.
Rapid footsteps caught the healer’s attention and he looked up, a rush of emotion started crashing into him at the sight of Sander, disheveled, bruised, and fresh from a shower running up to meet the procession of guards. He didn’t realize it, but he was already pushing himself out of the chair, stumbling forward on weak, unsteady legs to reach Sander because he was here as long as Sander was.
Before Christmas’ legs could give out, Sander was already there, pulling the blond boy into his arms. The scent of coffee was too thick, still tempting, but Sander found that it meant more than just fuel for his power. Far more. It meant life. It meant something between him and Christmas that neither had defined. And he was surprisingly fine with that.
“I miss you.” -Sander mumbled, breathing the shaky words onto the crown of Christmas’ head.
The smaller boy was trembling, too many words and emotions he couldn’t sift through in time, but he felt the same. Breaths hitched in his throat, so Christmas held onto Sander instead, hands clinging desperately to the back of Sander’s shirt. He pressed his face against the unbuttoned collar, feeling the tears well up at the familiar warmth of Sander’s body.
One of the nearby soldiers scoffed with a short breath out of his nose, but he turned and left after confirming the location once more, the remainder of the group following suit now that they had delivered the healer to the designated drop-off point.
With barely a care to his surroundings, Sander just focused on the person in his arms, squeezing the smaller body against his chest until Christmas whimpered quietly, the pricks of countless needles aggravated by the affection. Several newer extractions on his arms bled in tiny droplets again, coloring the patches of gauze in red stippling.
Sander recoiled immediately, lifting his head from Christmas’ hair, though he still kept a loose grip the blond boy’s waist.
“Shit.” -The blood mage swore loudly, uncaring of the curse word this time as his eyes glued onto the red patches along Christmas’ arms –“S-Sorry. I’ll…bring you to the infirmary?”
Christmas shook his head, words still failing him. Instead he held onto Sander again, rubbing a tear-streaked face against the taller boy’s damp clothes. Small noises came and went until finally he managed to form a reply.
”Missed—missed you a-a lot.”
Sander just let Christmas hold on to him while he ran his fingers through the boy’s blond hair. Minutes passed, and only then did Sander realize the cool air around them. His wet shirt clinging close to his skin definite wasn’t helping, either.
“I’ll take you to our room.” -He said softly, rubbing the back of Christmas’ neck to get his attention –“Can you walk?”
Christmas shook his head, the act of standing barely passable. He would have fallen by now were it not for Sander. ”Sor-sorry…”
“Lean on me?” -Sander offered, carefully peel back Christmas’ arms so he could wrap an arm around Christmas’ back and move to stand at the blond boy’s left side –“Alright?” -He turned to look at the healer, narrowing his eyes at the red splotches.
Once the emotional firestorm of being near Sander had calmed to the steady heat of the blood mage’s presence, Christmas nodded slowly, taking testing steps and deciding leaning against Sander was enough.
”M-missed you,” he repeated in lieu of certain other words.
And just like that, they walked back. It was slow, slower when there were stairs, but Sander was patient. He had waited for days. He could wait a bit longer. And he was sure DC was a far scarier place.
The door to their room was still wide-open, just as he left it. As they shuffled inside, Sander kicked it close with his heel, then led Christmas straight to the queen-sized bed, easing the blond boy down into a seat on the soft mattress.
“Do you want anything? Water? Food? Are you hungry?” -The Aberration asked, reaching fingers out to carefully wipe at the traces of tears on Christmas’ cheeks.
More shakes of the head and Christmas clung on to Sander’s arm instead, holding fast like he was afraid Sander would disappear once he let go.
Sander looked surprised, eyes going wide before he willed himself to relax again. Eventually, he relaxed into Christmas’ hold, leaning down to crawl into bed with the healer. There was a damp patch on his pillow and bits of dirt dragged in from the driveway, but Sander didn’t care enough then. All he could really focus on was Christmas, and the blond boy was so close.
“Hey.” -He leaned in, close enough to share the shuddering air that Christmas breathed –“What do you want?” -He asked again, this time with a lopsided smile at the end.
With Sander’s face so close, Christmas could finally see the splotch of bruising on the other boy’s face. Question forgotten, he stared at the injury in horror, one hand reaching up to barely touch it.
”Are you—wh-what happened? D-do you want, um…” he looked down at the specks of red underneath the gauze on his arm, the offer obvious.
“It’s nothing. I just…fell.” -Sander answered quickly, turning his face to press his nose into Christmas’ palm, inhaling as the blond’s other hand touched against the tip of his ear.
”…Do you—do you s-still…” Christmas pulled his hands back briefly, peeling away at a patch of bandage to reveal the dot of red below where a fresh needle puncture had reopened.
The coffee scent was suddenly too strong. Too heady. Christmas was too close, and Sander found that his heart was beating too fast. He gasped, before biting back the sound and forcing himself to neither lean in or flinch away.
The dot of red was mesmerizing on Christmas’ pale skin, and for a moment, Sander felt silly, like a cat chasing laser pointers.
“You’re…sure?” -He gulped, tearing his gaze away from his roommate’s arm.
”Y-you can al-always t-take from me,” Christmas replied, moving his arm closer and leaning a fraction closer.
“You’re too nice.” -Sander sighed, as if he were lamenting. But he leaned in nonetheless, meeting Christmas’ arm halfway. Slowly, carefully, he licked at the wound, the tangy taste of blood torturous on his tongue. But he held fast, refusing to let his power ruin the only good thing in his life at the moment.
Christmas scooted closer as Sander’s eyes shone a pale red the moment tongue met blood. It wasn’t anywhere close to the full force of the vampire’s strength, but he could feel his roommate’s body temperature rising as well.
”I—I don’t mind if you…if you take more,” the healer stammered, too-fresh memories of being alone and feeling lost still haunting his thoughts as he offered solace in exchange for solace. A wish of “please don’t leave.” Instead he whispered, ”Please take more.”
With his heart hammering in his chest and the rush of blood loud in his ears, it was amazing that Sander was still holding onto a resemblance of control. He kept running his tongue along the expanse of skin, his teeth scraping but never caught. The fire in his chest was pitiful slivers of what it could be, but he held back, stopping as soon as the urge to bite got too strong. However, instead of leaning back, Sander leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Christmas’ shoulder. The self-restraint didn’t go unnoticed when they were that close to one another and Christmas brought the unwrapped forearm closer to Sander’s face once more.
”You can—al-always,” he whispered, feeling the tension along Sander’s jaw pressed against his collar bone.
“Too nice.” -Sander said with a grimace, and in one quick motion, he had tipped Christmas flat onto the bed, hovering above the healer on his hands and knees. The bruise had already faded back into the pale of his skin, its remnants were buried under the flush of Sander’s cheeks –“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t stay with you…after. I should have.”
The surprise of Sander’s form now entirely eclipsing the soft lighting rendered Christmas momentarily speechless and he stared into the faint glow of red eyes, the natural tremors of visual tracking entirely focused on him.
”It-it’s okay,” he heard himself answer automatically, because his mind was preoccupied with the heat, the position, the bed—then a tangent about the location—and back again to the thought of Sander braced above him like this. He stared back, eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar, at a loss for what to do as heat rose to his neck and shoulders and the spot on his nape that Sander had caressed seemed to burn.
“I will try harder, next time.”- Sander promised, solemn –“I won’t let them hurt you. Ever.”
The words registered partially, because Christmas’s eyes were tracing the lines of Sander’s lips and the curve of his cheekbones. He nodded, because it felt like the right thing to do in response, but before he could stop himself, the temptation to reach up and wrap his arms around Sander’s neck had won out. Days alone and without his roommate had defined for him how much he wanted to be near Sander, and now much of his inhibitions had been waylaid by both fatigue and the strange excitement coursing through him.
Sander blinked, looking a little bit surprised before he finally surrendered to the pull of Christmas’ arms and leaned down to press a kiss against the blond boy’s lips. It was a slower kiss this time, still chaste, still soft, but instead of pulling away, Sander lingered.
Christmas hadn’t realized how much he had wanted this particular course of action until their lips met, and he felt emboldened by the lasting kiss, so he held on a bit tighter, trying to ask Sander for more without the words at the ready.
Sander held onto the kiss as long as he dared, but then the need for air forced him to end it. Looking down at Christmas, he was breathless, eyes glazed and lips slightly part, still trying to process everything.
“I…” -He began, then trailed off, licking his lips and looking lost as if he wasn’t sure what to say.
Embarrassment colored his cheeks ruddy, but Christmas continued staring upwards, still searching for something in the curves and arches of Sander’s face—something he wasn’t even sure he should have. It was hard to tell himself Sander was like this to everyone. Even harder to convince himself there was nothing of import between them. But he didn’t know if he could step beyond the line he had set for himself, because he couldn’t bear to lose what they already had if what he wanted was a mistake in the end.
He settled for embracing Sander’s shoulders, afraid to offer anything further. Blood was easier. It was something he was almost always sure Sander wanted. But the feelings between them were far less certain for him, especially when he tried to guess and second guess Sander’s thoughts. It didn’t work and he didn’t want to risk it.
Sander breathed out, slowly, then buried his face in the crook of Christmas’ neck, drowning himself in the scent. His jaws worked a few times, but no words formed. Still trying to ask but not quite sure what he was asking for.
The touch of lips against the now-sensitive skin of his neck made Christmas breathe in sharply.
”S-Sander?” he asked, trembling.
“Hmm?”
”A-are you…um…wh-what do you…w-want to do?”
“I just…want you close.” -Sander answered, the close proximity with Christmas’ thrumming pulse made him want. Before he could think better, Sander leaned in and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the side of the healer’s neck, right above the pulse point.
Christmas swallowed, another inhale following the action. Sander was doing this on purpose, right? This wasn’t just his misconceptions threatening to cloud rational thought? He felt teeth and tongue against his neck and thought his heartbeats doubled in pace. Sander was strange—had always been—but this wasn’t a mistake, right? Sander knew what he was doing, right?
”I-I can…can…I’ll do wh-what you want if—if you w-want,” he offered hesitantly, the words overlapping and unsteady.
"What do you mean?"
A flutter of panic set in when Sander seemed entirely unaware of what he was suggesting.
”N-nothing—nothing—I’m sorry,” the blond hastily replied, hugging Sander tight against his neck as if to assure that this was all he meant.
“I can't…Tell me. Can you tell me?"
”T-tell what?”
"What…what I want."
It was absurd. Christmas didn’t even know what he, himself, wanted half the time, let alone know what someone important to him wanted. He breathed in, trying to find a middle ground.
”If—if it’s just…being near—I—this is f-fine, right?”
"No…" -Sander began hastily, then shifted above Christmas, suddenly uncomfortable as the heat coiled low in his stomach-"I want to…do more." -He offered hesitantly.
”M-more? Like—um…th-that kind of m-more?” Christmas’s eyes were saucers, unsure if he was hearing it right or if this was a terrible fever dream after all. As if in confirmation that this was reality, Sander lowered himself onto Christmas for another nip at his neck, pressing a distantly familiar sensation against Christmas’s thigh.
He knew it as he felt it, that characteristic tent of fabric pushed up by swelling flesh beneath. It scared him that he knew what he wanted as well in that moment and he let his breaths run as they please, scattered and frantic while he tried to assure himself that everything was okay. But it wasn’t, and the insistent pressure against his legs as Sander began biting his neck finally wore down his flimsy self-denial.
”I-I can…h-help with…with the…p-pants,” he stuttered through rapid breaths, arousal and panic mixing into something akin to exhilaration laced with the dread of making permanent mistakes.
Sander swallowed drily, staring at the white expanse of skin just below Christmas' collar. Before he could stop himself, he pressed on.
Warm sheets and soft fabric were the first sensations Christmas felt when he woke up, though his eyes refused to open. Instead he lay in the gentle divot of the memory foam mattress, feeling more rested than he had ever felt in his life. Moments of silence passed with only the ambient noise of the mansion to fill them and eventually his sluggish thoughts recalled a dream he had the night before, one where he had been bold enough to offer more than just blood to Sander.
It was shameful, really, thinking about his roommate like that, but the memory felt disturbingly vivid, as if it had actually happened. He turned over with a long breath and the motion woke him further.
It had happened.
His eyes snapped open, wide from the jolt of anxiety. It had happened.
And Sander had liked it.
The painful thundering in his chest slowed at the memory that it was okay. It was fine. Sander hadn’t been disgusted with him. Fear still knotted in his chest, but he replayed Sander’s reassurances over and over in his head, telling himself it was fine because Sander had said so—he had said so, right? The thoughts weren’t a dream mixed with reality? He fell back down into the bed, the surge of panic having depleted the meager store of morning energy.
Bright sunlight shone through the white lace curtains.
Not morning anymore.
Sander chose that exact moment to walk in with a tray of food on one arm and a first-aid kit in the other. Blue eyes lit up at the sight of Christmas up and about, and the blood mage quickly deposited everything on the nearby desk before walking to the bed.
“You’re awake.” -Sander smiled, standing at the bedside and hovering over Christmas who looked up in surprise. The expression melted into something like worry and want all tangled together and the healer’s eyes seemed to trace the edges of Sander’s face where the muted light illuminated his temple and jaw.
”Sander,” the response was quiet, but it was both greeting and a reply. ”Good—um—good morning…?” He sat up slowly, still shaky from the brief moment of panic on waking up, but relieved at the sight of Sander’s smile. Persistent pinpricks of pain reminded him of what had started the snowball of events yesterday, and he was both grateful for them and scared of the memories where he laid alone in a room full of those who saw him as nothing more than a convenient trick to make their pains disappear.
“It’s noon, actually.” -Sander took a few more moments to observe the healer, just to make sure he wasn’t distressed or in pain, before moving back to the table to retrieve the food -”You have been sleeping for a while.”
”S-sorry,” Christmas replied automatically.
“It’s fine.” -Sander shrugged, offered Christmas the tray of food. There were three breakfast burritos and one bowl of Fruit Loops cereal on it, along with a spoon wrapped in several paper napkins–“Got you some food.”
”W-will you eat with me?”
It was a bold question, one he had only found the nerve to ask after the events of last night.
“Okay.” -The answer came easily for Sander, who simply placed the tray on the bed then sat down next to it, waiting on Christmas.
It came easily, the urge to take more and more. It was true what the adage about humans often repeated: give an inch and people would take a mile. But Christmas toed that line anyway, because he had gone further, so surely leaning against Sander now wouldn’t be wrong, right?
He shuffled towards the taller boy, hugging the arm Sander was bracing against the bed and pressing his cheek to a bicep, food an afterthought in his mind.
”Um…I…y-you don’t mind?”
The physical contact was new, but Sander had always wanted it. And after last night, it would take a lot to make him mind.
“I don’t.”
Tension slid off Christmas’s shoulders like water and the blond boy sighed into a heavier lean against Sander’s arm. ”…I’m sorry,” he mumbled against toned skin, ”I…um…I’ll try not to bo-bother you t-too much.” He didn’t even know what he meant by that, because more than anything he wanted to be able to hug and cling onto Sander at any moment. He had known it was a bad idea, to let himself indulge last night in things he wanted. He always wanted more, because he pretended to be nice, but wasn’t. ”Sorry…” he repeated, as if afraid Sander could hear his thoughts.
“Don’t have to.” -Sander reminded gently, nudging Christmas slightly to turn his attention toward the breakfast tray -”You should eat.”
”Y-you first.”
“I’m not really hungry.”
”B-but…” The question of why Sander had brought food when he wasn’t hungry died on Christmas’s tongue. Obviously, there was an intended recipient. He shifted uncomfortably, still holding on to Sander’s arm. ”Doing things for me is…bad…” he concluded, ”b-because I’m…not nice.”
“But you are nice.” -Sander shifted slightly, turning to press a kiss against Christmas’ hair -”Thanks.”
”O-only you think that, y-you know?” He breathed in as Sander kissed his hair, willing himself to stay calm. His heartbeat ran amok anyway. ”I…I like that, too,” he whispered, blinking at Sander’s fingers pressed into the down comforter.
“You should eat.”
Christmas relented, hunger finally waking along with him. He prodded the burrito with a finger, curious about the contents. When the smell of eggs and sausage wafted out of the aluminum wrapper, he picked it up and peeled off the covering, biting into tortilla shell and filling slowly, not used to the kind of care Sander gave him.
”Th-thank you,” he mumbled after the first bite, staring at the food sadly.
Sander sat quietly, watching intently until Christmas finally dug into his food. Satisfied, the blood mage stood, walking toward the table to grab the first-aid kit and quickly returning. He sat back down, bringing a hand to Christmas’ arm, the touch probing.
“Are you still hurting?”
”I’m—I’m okay,” was the instant reply. Christmas nibbled again on the burrito, trying not to feel guilty about accepting kindness.
“Your arm…from last night. I can look at it.” -Sander offered, the touch gentle but insistent -”I also brought…pills.”
The reminder of the last time he had taken strong painkillers made Christmas’s hands shake. He swallowed the latest bite of food and placed the burrito back onto the tray, holding on to Sander’s arm again. ”I’m okay,” he said again, looking at his own arm that Sander had licked last night. ”It’s fine.” A thought occurred to even out the weight of guilt for daring to be happy. ”D-do you want more?”
“No.” -The blood mage said hastily, eyes wide at the sudden offer. Did Christmas think he just wanted…more? Was he afraid? –“I’m not…I don—I’m fine. Please.” -He reassured quickly, shifting away from the blond boy.
“I’m just gonna help with the bandages.” -He pleaded -”You…trust me, right?”
Christmas nodded, but held out his arm anyway. ”I…I-like when you…take from me. F-feels like I matter. Don’t mind if you—if you always take more.”
“You matter to me anyway. Not just because of the…blood.” -Sander admitted, just as he began to roll the sleeve of Christmas’ sweater up. However, the bandages climbed all the above the blond boy’s elbow. Sander looked confused for a few moments, before he finally suggested.
“Maybe it would be better if you take your sweater off.”
There was a brief second of hesitation, because Christmas vaguely recalled being jostled about by a particular group of people demanding to be healed first before soldiers had to step in and push them away. But he obeyed, pulling his arms into the sleeves of the sweater and slipping them down and out, tugging the blue-and-white striped sweater over his head to reveal a light smattering of bruises across his torso and more bandages along his other arm as well. Small patches of band-aids rested near his waist and hips where less concerned nurses had drawn blood outside of designated locations on his body. He shivered a bit when the warmth of the sweater was removed and he looked at Sander nervously, hands working one another in his lap while he tried to gauge if it was too much trouble after all.
”S-sorry.”
The blood mage’s brows knitted together as he examined the patches of white and smatterings of red across Christmas’ torso. So this was what their ‘protection’ looked like. He, of all people, should have known.
“I…So I will just remove the old ones?” -He lifted the loose end of a bandage on Christmas’ arm, where the blond boy had offered him blood last night.
Another automatic “I’m okay” almost sounded, but Christmas held his tongue and nodded instead. ”Th-thank you.”
Permissioned granted, Sander began reaching for the bandages on Christmas’ left arm, unwinding them slowly to expose the bruises and needle wounds. Once the healer’s arm was completely bare, he reached into the kit, retrieving a roll of white bandage.
“Hang on. Do I have to put something on those?” -Sander paused, glancing at the various bottles within the kit.
”M-maybe just, um, the rubbing alcohol?” As soon as he suggested it, Christmas regretted it, realizing it would sting up and down the entirety of his arm. ”O-or not, m-maybe. Th-the arm already got c-cleaned earlier. J-just rewrapping?”
“Alright.” -Sander nodded, leaning closer to carefully wrap the strips of bandage around the puncture marks. His breaths slowed, and his eyes narrowed in focus, trying to align the strips perfectly. Still, he had never done this sort of thing before, and it showed. By the time he finished and leaned back to observe his work, Christmas’ arm looked like the blond boy was trying to cosplay as a mummy. Certain strips were lopsided, while others are either too tight or too loose, and Sander ended up holding a loose end in his hand, not quite sure what sort of knot he was supposed to tie.
“Uh…I’m sorry.” -He mumbled, angry with himself. He could have at least researched this beforehand –“I’m just…I have never…” -The blood mage cut himself off, trying to tuck the loose strand into one of the loops.
“I can take you to the infirmary?”
A shake of his head in response, Christmas having had enough of infirmaries for a while. He withdrew the arm, worried about how much work it would be for Sander to replace everything. ”It—it’s fine. S-sorry for the t-trouble.”
Sander sighed, seemingly had given up on the sorry attempt at fixing Christmas’ bandages. He hooked an arm around the healer’s waist, scooting closer while his other hand reached out to grab Christmas his half-eaten burrito.
“It’s no trouble, really.” -Sander titled his head, leaning into Christmas’ warmth –“I like doing things for you. You were always so nice to me. Even when I don’t really…deserve it.”
“I’ll do all the things you like.”
He looked up then, meeting eyes with Sander’s and they were so close with Sander’s arm around his waist and face so near. There were plenty of things he wanted to do with Sander beyond just the explicit. Corny, saccharine things that television had always satirized or made light of, but to him sounded like heaven—long hours of quiet company on the couch, sweet walks along a shoreline where they would talk carelessly of days past, silly theme park rides where no one minded who and what they were, starry nights spent together on a blanket they’d have to wash later. But he couldn’t voice any of it, because there was so much more and words weren’t enough so he grabbed Sander’s hand and held it tight instead because in every instance of daydream wishes, he still held that hand.
”M-me, too,” he agreed.
Sander indulged the motion, threading their fingers together. However, Christmas still didn’t take the burrito from him, so Sander just held it in front of the blond boy’s mouth, feeding it to him. There was surprise on the smaller boy’s childishly soft face with its lack of well-defined jaw and gentle lines.
Christmas eventually bit into the food, taking it from Sander’s hand and leaving the loosely tied gauze dangling from his wrist, mess temporarily forgotten as he continued eating.
“So I looked up sex earlier.”
Christmas choked on the bite of eggs, sausage, and tortilla, coughing it down eventually before looking back up at Sander, panic on his face again.
“I just…wanted to know more. I wanted to make it good for you.” -Misunderstanding the blond boy’s startled look as disapproval, Sander quickly clarified, a crimson flush highlighted his cheeks –“I have never done it before.”
”Y-you…want to h-have s-se-sex…? W-with…with m-me?” Christmas knew his face looked strange now, stuck between maximum concern and something like anticipation. ”I-I’m…I…d-didn’t know if you…” The last part of Sander’s statement finally registered and he blinked. ”W-wait. You h-haven’t?”
“I mean…we had…oral sex, r-right? And you said you like it.” -Sander was just confused now, racking his mind to see where he had gone wrong –“And yeah. I never…I can’t…” -He tapped the X on his throat instead finishing his sentence.
Christmas blinked, nodding but not sure how to answer. He did want it. But would it seem too much to agree? Especially when Sander was a virgin?
”I—um…I don’t—w-want to seem…s-selfish. But I did…I did like it…always if it’s…if it’s you…” His lips trembled, trying to quell embarrassment and shame all at once. Sander deserved better, really.
“Then I’ll make it better. There are…videos I can watch. I’ll learn.” -Sander said, the blush still stained his cheeks but his voice was firm, determined –“How do you like it?”
Christmas just breathed shakily, feeling Sander’s hand, their fingers locked together.
“A-anything you like.”
“That’s a bit vague.”
Christmas gulped, doing his best to think about something other than Sander’s offer because what he wanted was…not right. Wrong. Everything about him was wrong. A boy who liked girly things. A boy who liked other boys. His entire existence seemed like one huge mistake—or a joke on the universe’s part. He was too reliant on anyone who gave him the time of day, and especially Sander who gave and kept giving.
”Anything you want,” he repeated, hugging the steady chest in front of him and pressing his cheek against the heartbeat. ”If…if you like something you…um…watched…I’ll do it.”
“I saw them…put it in.” -Sander suggested tentatively, his free hand went up to caress the short hair at Christmas’ neck -”In the videos, I mean.”
Christmas sighed when he felt warm fingers touch his neck and it took him a moment to realize what Sander had said. He blinked rapidly, trying to make sure he had heard right.
”D-do you—do you w-want to?”
“Do you?”
”I…I like…that…kind of…stuff—w-when it’s…when it’s i-in me…” he answered slowly, burying his face in Sander’s shirt to hide his embarrassment. His hold grew tighter and he kept his face firmly hidden, heat rising to his neck and shoulders and he knew Sander would be able to feel it.
“I’ll do it then.”The caressing hand began to slid down to Christmas’ bare shoulders, running along the pale skin. The scent of coffee was slightly heightened, too. –“Anything you like.”
”Don’t—don’t have to if you don’t—if you don’t like it,” he mumbled, trembling at the touch.
“I want it.” -The hand crept lower, stopping at the waist of Christmas’ pants -”I think…I’ll like it.”
Christmas sucked in a breath when the hand trailed lower, hands balling the fabric of Sander’s shirt. ”B-but…what if you don’t?”
“Why shouldn’t I? I like you.”
”But o-only as a friend…r-right? Y-you don’t r-really understand, r-right?” The words came out before he could stop them, his defenses so easily down around Sander. He stiffened as his voice trailed off, panic and fear familiar on his nerves again.
Sander was quite for a few moments, thoughts tumbling back and forth in his head. He did care. He did like Christmas as a friend. But there was also more. Something he felt deep inside the space of his chest. Something he did not understand nor did he dare to explore, fearing that it would turn out to be just another trick of his fire.
But in this rare moment of clarity, he wanted. He dared to believe.
He placed a hand Christmas’ shoulder, gently nudging the boy’s shoulder back so he could stare into cornflower blue eyes, the shade suddenly captivating.
“I wouldn’t…do this with a friend.” -Just as the words formed, he leaned down to press a deep kiss against Christmas’ lips.
It worried him—everything always did—when he was happy. When things went right. Because this was going too right. A misunderstanding or something. It was absurd that Sander would feel something for him. Would hold him and know what it meant to be more than friends.
But he held on to the kiss anyway, tilting his head into it and letting the pressure of skin and lips defy his anxious heart. When Sander finally moved away, his lips and face were flushed once more, shaded red as the blood rose to his head.
”Have to—have to clean up f-first,” he mumbled, dazed. ”And—and…st-stuff for…d-doing it…” He leaned forward, back into Sander’s chest and tried to stay steady, too much excitement and expectations rioting in his mind and he wasn’t prepared—not physically, not mentally.
”You like me…” he repeated into Sander’s chest, the words different now. ”W-we’re…we’re a…y-you’re my…?” He stopped, unable to finish the sentence, that last acknowledgement horrifying if he was wrong.
“Your what?”
The next words were so quiet Sander almost missed them.
”…Are you my…my boyfriend?”
The question elicited a flutter in Sander’s chest, and he was suddenly grateful Christmas was hiding his face instead of looking up. Sander must look pretty stupid right now, expression torn between confusion and amazement and probably with a stupid smile too.
“Yeah.” -He said quickly –If you would have me. Yeah.”
Four years ago, an elderly woman who managed a small clothing store near his high school had asked Christmas if he had wanted the blue ribbon he kept staring at every time he passed her store. It hadn’t been a separate item, more of a mannequin’s accessory that seemed oddly out of place with its drab attire in brown and gray. He had passed by one day, and she had been closing up the store, curly gray hair unruly from the humidity.
His eyes had glued themselves to the little blue ribbon again, but this time he had reason to stop, because the owner had stepped in front of him, the eyes kindly despite what the local neighbors knew of him and his oddities.
”Do you want it, dear?” she had asked, turning back to unlock the door.
It had felt like the smallest and largest of blessings then, that someone for once allowed him to like. To want. And to have.
He remembered nodding quickly, repeatedly, eyes open so far he feared they would never close.
He nodded now, just like that—liking, wanting, and having all within his reach where everything had been kept away before, like he watched it all from behind a glass wall. It was different from Alvin, who spun control and fear around him coated in a thin veneer of affection, and even then Christmas had held onto every scrap he could get, because there were so few things in this world he could reach like that. A ribbon. A stuffed animal. A handheld console. Material substitutes for what he wasn’t allowed to be.
But Sander was everything he had tried to replicate before—and more. More than him and his small problems.
So he kept nodding, feeling the tears well up until they overflowed, but with his face still pressed against Sander the feelings had a place to go. Someone to hold dear.
A tell-tale patch of dampness began to spread on the front of his shirt, and Sander noticed that Christmas was crying. His hand immediately went back up to the nape of the healer’s neck, rubbing soothing circles.
“Don’t cry. Please.” -He pressed frantic kisses against blond hair, trying everything he knew to stop the distress –“Why are you crying?”
”…Happy…” came the response through muffled sniffling.
“That’s a silly thing to cry about.” -Sander commented, but not without affection in his tone. He pressed a few more kisses onto the blond boy’s hair, then patiently sat with him until the sobbing subsided. There was a large wet patch on the front of his shirt by then, but Sander didn’t really mind, instead just insisted the healer finish his breakfast. When the blond boy finally complied, Sander remained nearby, one arm wrapping loosely around Christmas’ waist, enjoying the quiet comfort of simply being near.
I see you like stalking too eh? Just know that while you're reading this, I'm reading all your posts from 5 months ago and silently judging your taste. Ha Ha. Or not.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">I see you like stalking too eh? Just know that while you're reading this, I'm reading all your posts from 5 months ago and silently judging your taste. Ha Ha. Or not.</div>
Mixtape Ghost N
