Everything in Damon's life had gone to shit and it was his own fault. He'd been thr idiot standing too close to the explosion and thus the one who had gotten his own leg taken off when his bomb went off when it wasn't supposed to. The explosion itself hadn't actually been that big but he'd just been unlucky as fuck... perhaps karma coming to bite him in the ass. Or maybe it was just bound to happen. When you worker with explosives shit happened. Though usually he was a touch wiser than to stand so fucking close to one! Then again it hadn't been supposed to go off so he could maybe be forgiven his lapse in judgment.
Whatever force had conspired to make it happen it was done. Thr shrapnel had torn through his right leg from just above the knee down to his ankle, and a good portion of his right side. But the worst was the leg, which had been subsequently amputated at mid calf, leaving him down a rather important limb. He did have scarring down his right side too but that wasn't so bad. He wasn't vain enough to give two shits when he already had scars. But the leg? Yeah, that was a bit of a blow to his ego. He might not be a peacock strutting around like he was God's gift to this earth but he'd like to think himself handsome. Now? Well it was hard to fuck a leg down honestly. Even with a prosthetic it just wasn't easy to do. Or maybe he just hadn't gotten the hang of it. Not that he'd been doing a lot of fucking so far in his recovery but still! He was a guy and there were some attractive people around who he had chatted up... not that anything more than a bit of fumbling fun had come of it. No one wanted someone struggling with a new injury, PTSD, and addicted to their pain meds. Not that he was all that welcoming either, having so far kept people at arms length because he didn't want them finding out all that shit. He much preferred they see him as the jovial guy bouncing back and learning to walk all proper like again.
It had gotten bad enough that he was somewhat glad he was on medical leave from the military, allowing him to wallow to his hearts content. Or he would have if his friends hadn't shown up to pull him out of his own misery and forced him into the company of others. In particular the ever growing it seemed Quiller clan. He had grown up with them actually and had seen the next generation come about. And he'd been there in and out of their lives, even saving Eros from an gas line explosion once. But he'd been away more often, his work consuming him. So it seemed the older Quiller generation was taking this chance to get some time with an old friend and catch up on all the little events of life. Which was actually making him happier! Having something other than the pain and loss to focus on was good. And sitting at the familiar kitchen island was even better. It brought back a flood of good memories and had him smiling slightly as he chatted with the older Quiller generation.
He'd dressed casually for the visit, just a regular gray t-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts. He was still getting used to his prosthetic and found it easier to wear shorts over long pants. Though then people tended to stare but, well, six of one half dozen of the other. He leaned his elbows on the counter before him and laughed, wrapping fingers around a coffee mug. It was only midmorning but for the first time in a while he didn't feel tensed up or anxious, just honestly relaxed and sort of happy to be talking to his friends again.
Though he lived alone, on the edges of the Citadel, he visited his family often. It hadn't been like that when the youth first tasted freedom. He'd relished the independence, even as he was funded solely on the Quiller fortune. His parents were great, yes, but there were times he wished he didn't have to sneak about and lie on where he'd been that afternoon (most likely in places that he was not supposed to be). Ever since the explosion that took his arm off, nine years ago, his parents had been more doting than Eros ever remembered and it was almost suffocating. Even in his new home he'd receive them often, bestowing gifts and imploring on the success of his new business and how the latest update to his prosthetic was working out for him.
So, he'd struck an informal deal- he'd schedule a visit with them, they him, and they would not show up unexpectedly to his place. It was working out, so far, but he wondered how much that had to do by consciousness of Eros' personal space than their work situation.
It was not like he admonished being in the Quiller family home. Whereas his apartment was well-furnished, but small, theirs was an penthouse erected by old money and impressive, with more than enough rooms to fit the plethora of Quiller children and their childhood friends. There, Eros could sleep and reminisce in his old bedroom, which had since been relatively unchanged over the years. It was the same bedsheets, same carpeting, same charred scar in the blue wallpaper that had been a result of one of Eros' failed experiments with circuitry. The mass of junk he'd collected over his teenage years was present too and he'd often shuffle through to find useful tidbits of his past to incorporate into his current projects.
That morning promised productivity, as when Eros blinked his eyes open and stretched to yawn, the world was awakening around him to a soft and mild day. On his lap, Peecho stirred, most likely awakened by Eros' movements as he rose and his soft, in-tact hand that scratched between the raccoon's ears. Eros was hardly a morning person, and he made his way begrudgingly down the fanciful steps to the Quiller kitchen in little but a pair of gray sweatpants, the Military logo embroidered on the upper left side, and Peecho draped lazily over his narrow, pale shoulders.
He entered the kitchen with a huge yawn, stretching his arms, one flesh and one mechanical, over his head that jostled Peecho from his shoulders and clumsily onto the floor. The sleep not yet blinked from his eyes, he reached for the fuzzy form of a coffee mug, already set out ready for him, its heat radiating in the form of a slender trail of steam that curled above the chestnut colored liquid (as Eros hated his coffee black). Three figures sat at the kitchen island, and Eros greeted them sleepily as he rubbed the fatigue from his eyes, "Morning Pa, morning Ma, morning-"
Wait, was that? No- it couldn't be. Eros blinked, once, twice, unsure if it was still the sleep-induced fog. It wasn't. He felt his fingers instinctively go weak and the handle of the mug slip from his grasp and shatter on the ground beneath. It was only the intense heat of the liquid that had sprayed on his feet, and Peecho's sudden shriek, that grounded Eros back to reality and had him jumping back from the dots of burning pain on his skin.
Damon hadn’t been paying attention to the sounds of the house, absorbed as he was in talking with his friends. He just wanted to relax and drink his coffee! So he hadn’t really thought that anyone else was here, assuming that the grown children were likely off in their own homes doing their own things. So he had not expected to see any of them here. And certainly not Eros. One of the ones he’d, honestly, kept some tabs on if only because he felt guilty. Though no one was really all that aware of the guilt that often ate at him when he thought about Eros. They probably assumed that as the one who’d saved him he had some interest in seeing that Eros was happy. Well he did want him to be happy but he also couldn’t stop from feeling like he’d caused all this.
Either way he was not expecting the man to be here. More than that he was not expecting him to be shirtles, with a raccoon on his shoulders, and sporting a pair of gray sweatpants with teh Military logo of all things on them. And was it just him or had Eros grown since the last time he’d seen him? Because he would have sworn he had not remembered him looking quite that… adult. It was hard not to notice him now. Notice that while he was slim it wasn’t a stick skinny sort of slim. It was the slim of a young man who, while perhaps did not workout regularly, was certainly quite active.
He looked away as Eros stretched and scrubbed a hand over his face. Not the time to be looking! Nope! Very inappropriate Damon. Though he drew his gaze back up as Eros spoke, a sort of lopsided grin on his lips. He couldn’t help it, watching the sleepy confusion on his face was really damned adorable. Enough that he couldn’t stop the low chuckle that escaped his lips as he raised an eyebrow and waited for a proper morning and his name to pass those lips. Yet it seemed that his presence had short circuited Eros’s brain. And, worse, his grip on the coffee mug.
Damon was up and out of his seat in moments as he moved around towards Eros, only slightly stiff on the still a bit strange metal leg that had taken the place of his real one. ”Careful Eros, let me get the shards before you step on one.” He bent to pick the shards up, having found that it was easier to do than crouching or squating down these days. ”Didn’t mean to startle you so much. Just dropped by to see some old friends and catch up.” He straightened as he grabbed the final shard.
His smile was bright as he rested a hand on Eros’s bicep and gave it a gentle squeeze. ”It's good to see you to Eros, what’s it been… two years since I last saw you?”
The burning sensation against his foot could not have distracted him for when Damon rose. Instantly, a rush of heat dusted his nose and cheeks, embarrassed that his blunder had caused the man of his affections to rise from his seat.
"No, really, it's ok-" The words fell when Damon rounded the corner of the island and presented himself to Eros in full. He was just as robust as Eros remembered him, when he was but a child and Damon would hunker down in their kitchen, trading stories with his father and mother- that familiar, shapely press of muscles against his clothing. What was new, however, was the way his leg stopped midthigh, and flesh gave way to steel and wire- his gait, with all the confidence and strength of a Military man, complicated by the unsureness of this new instrument. Eros knew that feeling well, and he still struggled with maneuvering his metallic fingers at every new upgrade.
Damon spoke comforting words, and Eros stood still as requested, though not of obedience. Of shock, that Damon had been subjected to a fate like Eros. Eros had deserved his injury- he had been foolish, rebellious, a kid with this naive understanding of the world as he explored it like it was his own childish adventure. But Damon Argyris? The kindness, smartest, nicest guy Eros had ever known? He did not deserve that.
It was then that Eros' own belief in karma, in attracting the energy that one put out, was disturbed. He felt ill, then, and had to steady himself against a countertop behind him. It was lucky he did, for Damon reached forward and clasped his shoulder, and the touch sent shockwaves through his body.
Eros then stared into Damon's eyes. He looked dumfounded, speechless, his plush lips parted stupidly yet no words could come out. There was almost a shadow of guilt in his gaze and politeness faltered, as he stammered, "Damon, your- your leg...". It may have come across has rude if said by anyone else, but as Eros found purchase with his arm prosthetic, one could see it was not a question out of pity or unhinged curiosity, but pain and that quiet understanding of "I know what you have went through, what you have yet to go through, and I'm sorry".
Before anything else could be said, he heard the voice of his mother snap, "Eros! Now, don't be rude sweetie."
Damon truly didn’t mind helping Eros out, he’d been the cause of the kid’s dropping the mug in the first place. While he wasn’t exactly a stranger to the Quiller household he hadn’t been there in a while and he could understand how his rather sudden appearance would be startling to Eros. Though he was delighted to find that Eros was there at all! Logically he knew that Eros was at the age where living outside the family home was probably the norm but it was sometimes hard for him to not think of Eros as the kid and teenager he’d known pretty much his whole life. Or at least a good long portion of it.
So he utterly ignored the start of Eros telling him that it was okay for him not to help him out. A low chuckle escaped him at the fact that Eros seemed to cut himself off in shocked surprise. Honestly he wasn’t really that surprised by Eros’s surprise. He hadn’t told anyone really what had happened, just that he was on medical leave because he didn’t want to admit that he’d been dumb enough to blow his own leg off. Not to mention he was feeling the bite of karma, especially after seeing Eros again.
”Better I pick it up than you step on it by accident.” And he really didn’t mind helping out either, honestly he preferred it. Meant that Eros wasn’t going to get himself hurt and would give the man some time to adjust to the sight in front of him too. So far the older Quillers had been quite understanding of the fact that he wasn’t fully the man he used to be. Perhaps because of Eros they hadn’t really made much of a fuss about it which he preferred. Or maybe it was just that they were trying to be polite and not stare too much at the missing limb.
While Eros might have been seeing Damon was still much the man of his memories Damon was having slightly the opposite reaction. Eros had always been a cute child but a child in his memories. Even as a teenager when he’d been becoming a man he’d still been a slightly awkward teenager and Damon was more interested in those his own age. Now? Now he was admiring the fact that Eros was standing there shirtless. Eros was not like himself with the built muscular form of someone who was made to lift a lot of weight and move heavy objects. Rather Eros was slim but that didn’t mean he wasn’t strong, just lithe instead of muscular. And damn did it look good on the young man, yes young man because he was very much not a kid any more. Combine that with Eros’s nearly ethereal good looks in Damon’s eyes and he was having a hard time not staring. Something he should not be doing to his friend's child.
He shifted around Eros and dumped the shards in the tarsh, turning back to the kitchn in general as Eros seemed to find his words once more. He was already offering a slightly sad but both understanding and thankful smile to Eros, but his head came up as Eros’s mother snapped. ”It's quite alright. He isn’t being rude at all. I don’t mind and actually, would it be alright if we step out? I think Eros might be able to help me with issues I can’t really talk to anyone else about.” His gaze returned to Eros then, eyebrows raising. ”If you’re alright helping me out that is?”
Damon had always been a beacon in his life. When he looked back on his childhood, he could only remember kindness from the other man, someone to press band-aids over the cuts on his shins or to compliment his erratic inventions, no matter how dysfunctional or odd-looking they were. The man that shamelessly quickened his pulse, the object of his first adolescent fantasies.
Already, the shock of the revelation was dying to puerile nerves, as Eros looked into Damon's dark, gentle eyes and he was reassured once more. His eyes did not even flick to his mother when she scolded him from the island- they continued to fawn on Damon, star-struck like a god were presenting itself to him. The same strong, stubbled jaw, hawkish brows- age had weathered Damon well. Words were exchanged between Damon and his mother, yet he hardly heard- his mind could not keep from his racing heart and thoughts, circulating on feelings that were reawakening within him.
When Damon's gaze flickered back expectantly, questioning, Eros realized the Military officer was speaking to him. Eros felt his face grow hot, hot where he was certain it flared dashingly on his pale features.
"Oh, uh- yeah. Yes. Of course- to helping you." Eros swallowed as he recognized how dry his mouth had become. An element of moving out of his family home meant that he no longer looked to his parents for guidance- even though the Quiller patron and matron were never that strict to begin with. He nodded at Damon, indicating for him to follow, without so much as a peek to look for approval in his mother. It was equal parts subconscious as it was a desperate display to show how much of an adult Eros had become- that he was self-sufficient and needed no one's support, even as he was still financially dependent on his parents and still "chasing childhood fantasies", so many called it.
Eros led him a few rooms down into what seemed to be a cozy study- furnished with fine, white furniture and a small crystal chandelier, tinged with Quiller eccentricities. He had leant a hand to Damon as they walked, for him to accept or deny as he struggled with his newfound limb. When they'd entered, Eros indicated a spot for them to settle, a seated nook before a tall window that ended in a fan at the top. Through the thin, silky white curtains one could hear the noises of the Inner Citadel, that tranquil eeriness that sheltered the district from the rest of the dying world.
Eros settled beside Damon, a frown on his soft, youthful face. "I-I'm sorry about that. I just- didn't expect- thanks for helping me clean that mess up." His words were as jumbled and awkward as his thoughts.
Damon couldn’t deny that Eros was just as cute as he had been when he was a child… but he was also very obviously not a child any more. Not only was that very much an adult standing before him shirtless at the moment but it seemed he’d matured into a sort of confidence in his actions that one didn’t see from a child. Even a teenager would have likely looked to his parents for permission or at least some kind of confirmation that it was okay to take Damon away to chat. But not Eros, he just said that of course he’d help and lead Damon away from the kitchen.
It was making Damon see the man in a new light, and yes he meant man and not kid. Eros was very much an adult now and it was starnge to be awakened to that while following him presumably to his room to talk. Or, well, to a room that was not the kitchen and would contain only the two of them. Even the way that Eros offered him some aid and support to get there was very mature of him, and it was aid that Damon gratefully accepted. He was still getting used to the prosthetic leg and it was sometimes hard to keep his balance well. A fact that irritated him as he really missed being able to run quite so much as before.
The room that Eros led to him seemed to be a study, one that felt very much like the rest of the Quiller home. It was probably one he’d been in before but then he hadn’t been in every room of this large house. Still, it was a nice room and there was something comforting about the vibe of it. He was also damned glad for the chance to sit down and settle in the nook with a groan and a chuckle, pressing down on his upper thigh with the heel of his hand to rub some of the tension from his muscle. That was often the worst part of it, the muscles getting too tensed up.
He turned to face Eros with a soft chuckle and a bright smile. It seemed that Eros was still the somewhat scatterbrained young man he had known before and that was really quite gratifying to find out. ”It's quite alright. I know seeing my face around here again must have been a bit shocking… what’s it been? About two years since I last saw you? More than that since I was last here.” Truly he should have perhaps been around more… Yet he had a feeling that if he had been he wouldn’t really have noticed the subtle change of Eros the son of his friends to Eros the young man who really was a bit too captivating to look at. He should not be thinking such thoughts though and ruthlessly shoved them aside.
”And you know I’m always here to help you Eros…. always.” His voice was softer this time, so was the smile he favored the young man with.
Gentle, soft words rumbled from Damon's stubbled jaw and it was all Eros could do the still the rapid beating of his heart, the fear that he would fall in love with Damon all over again. Eros swallowed, ducked his head down, hiding behind the tumble of flaxen curls on his head. His dark eyes observed the stroking of his flesh fingers against his plastic ones, and unwittingly, that gaze shifted to Damon's leg. Where once had been a sturdy, strong thigh was the same synthetic material that hung to Eros' shoulder.
He had a decision, then. To ignore the plain, glaring similarity they now both shared, shift to something banal like how Damon's service was going, or comment on his own move from his parent's penthouse. But to do so felt wrong- like he were refusing that part of himself, the one that were plastic and metal alloy, something he swore he would not do since the first prototype was afixed to him. To do so would be deceitful, erroneous, pathetic. He would embrace his flaws, use it to his strength.
"Mr. Argy- Damon.." His flesh arm came up, fingers poised as if they would touch Damon's prosthetic, but shifted at the last moment to come up to his plastic bicep and stroke and scratch it, as if to replace that action. Eros always had a latent tendency to call Damon by his article and last name- it was what was taught to him to be respectful, another small and seemingly inconsequential act to blend into Upper Citadel society. No matter how many times Damon insisted on being addressed by his first name.
He turned his head, just so he could look Damon in the eyes as he asked, "M-may I ask what happened?"
Damon found himself watching Eros, his gaze lingering longer on that slim form than he would like to admit. He could not deny that Eros had grown into a handsome man, sharply angular features quite fetching with the combination of pale blue eyes and pale blonde hair. Then again the Quiller’s as a whole were quite handsome and beautiful people. He had always been drawn to that, even when he’d been younger. It had been part of why he’d started hanging out with some of the older Quiller’s to whom he still claimed friendship. He’d always been a bit of a magpie for pretty people, liking to be in their orbit for he’d never really classified himself as anything beyond passably handsome if only for the fact he had nothing he considered to be all that stunning feature wise. Not like the rather pretty blonde clan of Quiller’s that he’d found himself surrounded by.
But there was just something about Eros that madeh im pause now, letting his gaze linger longer and longer. Lithe build and pretty features certainly were distracting but it was more than that for a moment. I was seeing that Eros had grown into a fine young man, not hampered by the prosthetic arm that was Damon’s fault in the first place. Not that he’d ever admitted that to the Quiller Clan. To them he’d been the hero who saved Eros’s life and he hadn’t been able to bring himself to tarnish that reputation with them. Not that he’d exactly been allowed to admit the gas line explosion was an accident he’d caused anyway but it had been more than that. He’d rather liked being looked at that way.
He dragged his mind back and away from such thoughts as he heard Eros start to speak his last name so formally and corrected himself. It had him chuckling softly because it had taken forever for even that! Truly he didn’t like being called Mr. Argyris, the formality of it made him feel old and he hated feeling old. So he had insisted they all call him Damon, even the children now adults were to call him that. So he was glad for the correction.
While the question was not unexpected it still made him tensing for a moment. Most people didn’t ask or already knew. Or they approached it like it was something terrifying or horrible, quiet voiced and timid. While Eros was gentle about it he was also direct and honest in his question. And, well, coming from Eros it didn’t feel like it was coming from a desire to hear another’s misfortune to make oneself feel better. It was Eros honestly wanting to know and help.
He let his breath out in a slow and prolonged sigh, lifting a hand to run it through his hair before dropping it to brush fingers along the prosthetic leg. ”That’s a fair question.” He admitted, pausing for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. ”It was my own stupidity honestly…. I was on a job and I just wasn’t careful enough. I got myself caught in my own handiwork… suppose it’s a bit of karma.” He didn’t say what the karma was for, just shook his head and closed his mouth as if to cut off his own words.
The Quiller tilted his blonde head, curls shifting, as he gazed questionably, almost vapidly, at the other. Karma? How could he talk about karma, when it was him that rescued Eros from the explosion? The memory manifested itself, as Eros was subconsciously scratching his plastic arm, reminding himself of the incident- the awful, suffocating heat, and amidst it the cold fear of realization that his life were coming to an end.
It was long, so long ago, but how could Eros forget it, with the reminder screwed into the side of his shoulder? Prosthetics were not uncommon amidst Stronghold, but amongst non-military Inner Citadel citizens, they were rare. Almost frowned upon, as if it were a glaring symbol of ones need to labor or of their own stupidity- in Eros' case, it were the latter. The injury had torn his life asunder, and at times he wished he had died in the fire. But after reconciling with the preciousness of life, realizing he could problem solve and strategize to a routine with some form of normalcy (almost the same process as how he would build a machine), he could only look on Damon with admiration and indebtedness.
Eros frowned, and without thinking on it, took Damon's hand in his flesh one. It was rough-hewn and large compared to his, which while they were also scratched and bruised, wore the softness and delicacy required when working with sensitive wiring and circuitry, with the underlying strength of dependency.
"Don't say that," the Quiller whined, emotion glassy in his eyes, illuminated like a marble by the soft white light that streamed between translucent curtains. "An accident like that isn't 'karma'. Sometimes it just... happens."
His gaze shifted toward his plastic arm, as he reconciled with his own feelings towards the gas-line explosion. Without centering his eyes back on Damon, he sighed, "Sometimes, fate and consequences out of your control will not stop to show you mercy if you fall in its path."
He paused, then lifted his head once more to face Damon and a smile played at his lips, small and unsure and even a little teasing, "And even if it is karma- if it was your fault- well, you've the comfort of knowing an equally stupid person is sitting in front of you."
Lord but Eros was the sweetest thing! The way he reacted made Damon want to drag him close and hug him! It was just the kindness in the way that Eros looked at him, the assurances that he was not to blame nor that it was karma that had been the cause. Even if that kindness was so sweet it was also somewhat bitter, cutting into him because of course he didn’t know the truth. Damon couldn’t stop his eyes from dropping Eros’s prosthetic arm and he swallowed, flicking his eyes away as well. He didn’t want to think about that, not right now. Right now he just wanted to revel in that kindness, let it soothe some of the ragged edges inside him. Because while his body had healed his soul had not. He still struggled with the panic and pain, the ones that weren’t easily visible or explained away. The ones others wouldn’t understand. Because how could you understand if you had not experienced it yourself?
The smile that he gave to Eros was a little sad but also understanding and a need for that connection shown in it. It was obvious he was clinging to the fact that here was someone who did understand what it was like. That he’d been seeking that sort of connection because he didn’t know how to explain it well enough for those around him to understand.
It was the last bit, given with that unsure smile and light teasing, that finally made him crack. He felt like it was Eros reaching out to him in the same way that he was reaching out to the young man. As someone else who might understand the pain and new reality that no one else really could.
Without even really thinking about it he reached out towards Eros, wrapping his hands around that slim waist to lift Eros to his feet. He tugged Eros close by those hips too and wrapped his arms around him, pressing his forehead against Eros’s chest as he hugged the now standing young man in front of him. He’d just needed the physical contact and he’d done so without thinking about it, settling him between his legs and wrapping himself around Eros in a moment of weakness.
”Thank you.” He spoke the words softly, and given he was speaking sort of into Eros’s chest he might be a little hard to understand. So he cleared his throat and made himself speak a little louder. ”Thank you Eros.” He didn’t unwrap himself from the young man, still hugging him close because it just felt nice. And damned if Eros didn’t smell nice too and he really wasn’t letting himself think about this as anything other than one hurting soul reaching out to another for comfort over something they could both understand.
”Fate is an utter bitch and you’re not stupid. What happened to you awsn’t something you brought about with your own two hands.” No it had been Damon’s hands who had brought that explosion about to. ”I know it's selfish and… probably pretty shitty of me. But I’m glad I know someone who’s lost a limb too… someone who understands what its like and someone who I can talk to without trying to explain it or dealing with teir looks of pity and disgust.”
Suddenly, Damon pulled him in. Strong, calloused hands gripped Eros’ waist and tugged him forward, until the soldier’s face was buried into his narrow chest. The first thing apparent to Eros was his smell - rich, earthy, of oil and metal, freshly cut wood and frayed denim. Then, it was the feeling of his jaw against him, stubbled and square and tickling his skin as Damon murmured soft praise. It was then Eros realized his cheeks had become hot, his hands coming up, one milky and slender and soft, the other of copper wire and dark metal, to wrap around the back of Damon’s head and neck, bring him in closer, for comfort or for Eros’ own desire, he did not know.
”Of course… Damon,” Eros said, his voice light and gentle and barely above a whisper. All his life, he had looked on Damon as his savior - manly and brave, the hero that would star in old world comics, albeit rugged and stained with dirt and grease. Untouchable in his courage, infallible to fear and hurt and disease. But now, as he stared at the back of Damon’s head, rough curls scratching his untouched hand, he felt the tenderness he would feel for the hopeless and vulnerable, the stray kitten that curled up against your leg to ward against the winter’s chill.
For once, it was Eros saving Damon.
A smile broached Eros’ face, the dusting of pink that still fogged his pale cheeks. ”I can only feel compassion for you, Damon. If I felt any pity, or disgust, or shame, I would only be feeling the same about myself. And I- well, I can’t help but love myself!”
His hand, his human hand, teased the wiring of his bionic arm. It was a terrible habit, as it could compromise the delicate working of its electromagnetic composition and render it useless, but he found it hard to restrain himself from fidgeting with the mechanisms, the smooth metal sinewy that snaked up the artificial limb like a tangle of vines.
”Besides - now I have someone to talk to about the joys of maintaining a metal limb.”
Given their closeness, it was easy for Eros to reach forward and tap Damon’s hip, where metal met skin, circuitry and plates gave way to muscle and nerves. ”Be sure to use a lot of salves - your skin will get all red and inflamed for the first few months. I use this special kind my doctor gives me - not sure what's in it, but it smells like dandelions.”
The scent of ink and books filled his nose along with the more nebulous scent of sunshine, a sort of warmth that was more felt than scented but somehow still lingered there. It was like everything he wanted to bury himself into. Carrying hints of dandelions and sugar, he'd swear it was sugar on his life. And not just because Eros was so sweet. No, the man even smelled sweet! For a fleeting moment he wanted to move that shirt out of the way and taste Eros's skin to see if it tasted as sweet as he smelled, and as sweet as Eros was. It was a strong urge that had him nuzzling against that slim chest for a moment before he realized what he was doing.
He exhaled a sharp quick breath as he stilled himself again, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to wrestle his own thoughts and desires back into line. He had to keep reminding himself that this was the kid of one of his friends. Keep reminding himself that there was too many years between them. And worst a secret that might well rip them apart if he ever let it fall from his lips. He couldn't dare to let it fall, to let it be exposed to the light and see what came of it. But he knew he would have to do so... someday, someday far in the future when he wasn't so scared of losing Eros in his life.
He let that soft voice brush over him and sooth some of the sharp edges inside himself. He hadn't even been overly focus on what was being said, just the cadence of Eros's voice and the gentle nature of the words. That had been enough for him. Until he heard those fateful words. They lodged in his brain and he could not stop them from replaying over and over again. Was it even possible? While his brain was still whirling his mouth had already decided to move.
He tilted his chin up and looked up at Eros from where he was still wrapped around him, for once looking up at Eros since he was seated and Eros was standing. "Does that mean you love me too?" The words were out and in the open before he could stop himself, his gaze steady on that too adorable face with its slight blush. And the mere seconds after he spoke turned into lifetimes as his brain tried to understand what he had done. Had he just asked what he thought he had? Did he truly say that out loud? There was no way! He couldn't have possibly done so!
He cleared his throat and let go of Eros, shifting back in his seat with a slight flush on his own cheeks. He glanced away then, down towards Eros's metallic arm. He reached out and brushed Eros's fingers away from it. He knew that was a bad habit that Eros really shouldn't do, all the more so now for the fact that he had his own metal limb that he had to take care of.
Perhaps he could just skim over this little outburst of foolish thought by focusing on the rest of the conversation they were having. "Yes, it would be very nice to talk to you about such things. No doubt you have lots of good tips to share to make this easier for me." He tensed slightly as Eros touched his hip and tried to breath through it, his gaze sliding down to that touch now. It seemed to hold so much more meaning in the moments following his own ridiculous outburst. He swallowed and then cleared his throat, nodding as he looked back up at Eros. "I'll be sure to do that." Was it just him or had his voice dropped a bit? Become a bit huskier? Please say it wasn't so! He wasn't flirting with Eros right now!
His breath hitched.
His cheeks flared, the dainty smudge of pink no doubt a glaring and angry red.
Had he just said that?
Had he meant that?
He looked away, suddenly, his eyes finding something, anything, that was not the man in front of him, if only for a moment of lucidity.
Did he love Damon? Were those flutters in his stomach when he caught sight of the soldier around the Quiller estates, that anticipation as his eyes flicked to the front door every minute or so after Damon departed, wondering if he’d return soon, hoping that he had forgotten his cap or jacket so he could have Damon in his vision just once more - was that love?
Eros hated to admit it, but he was a kid. He liked to think of himself as grown - had his own place, his own business, his own life, separate from the sprawling penthouse of his wealthy family. But, in times like these, his youth was made apparent - a hindrance rather than a badge of pride. How juvenile he must have looked, too, compared to the man before him, stubbled and shadowed with experience.
”I’ll be sure to do that.”
His words grazed his ear like a pleasant scratch, an alluring rumble.
Eros dared to turn his head then. To look into Damon’s eyes, dark and rich and knowledgeable beyond compare. Youth may have been unpracticed, but it was also daring, even foolish. And he knew, when he was tilting his head forward, so that his temple met Damon’s and those eyes came into focus, sharper and sharper until they blurred, that he was being an irrevocable idiot right now.
”Damon.. I…” The words spilled suddenly from his lips, secrets that dripped out, then poured like rain. ”I worship you. I think about you, everyday. How you saved my life when I was younger - how every time you come over, you make my brothers laugh and cry and just shut up for once with your stories alone. When you take my hand in yours and pull it away because I’m playing with my wirings again.”
He frowned, genuine bemusement in the crest of his brow. ”... is that love? I mean, I don’t know if I’ve ever experienced it before. But, I guess if I were to describe this feeling, it’d be pretty damn close to it.”
Damon couldn’t have stopped hismelf from taking in every little bit of this moment if he had tried! And fuck trying to look away from Eros! He was utterly captivated by him in that singular moment, his eyes glued to every little hitched breath that Eros took. Every moment was an eternity as he both panicked and delighted in it all!
Eros was just… damn but the young man was just everything to him right then. The blushing and the seeming shock! It was like Christmas and his birthday all rolled into one! Getting every present that he wanted and more! But the fact that Eros had yet to say anything? Well tha twas making his heart race like he was as young as Eros was!
Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything… oh god he really shouldn’t have said anything. The longer that Eros didn’t say anything the more his panic rose. And then Eros was looking away from him! Like he hadn’t just put his heart out on the line! Fuck, fuck he shouldn’t have spoken! Of course Eros wouldn’t want him! He was the kid's parents friend for god's sake! He’d watched Eros grow up! He’d been there the entire time! No doubt Eros thought him strange or gross even for saying something so damned wrong.
He knew his mind was racing and that he was likely over indulging in his own panic but he couldn’t stop it. He could practically feel his heart breaking in his own chest. He wanted to take the words back, to unsay them so he could go back to just fantasizing about something he knew would never happen. Just to erase this moment from both their minds and never bring it up again.
He wanted to tell Eros to just forget the words, to never mind them. But even opening his mouth didn’t make the words come out. Apparently his traitorous tongue was not going to allow him to smooth this over or brush it aside! Dammit, why could he not control his own body?! Why did it do these things to him?
He tried not to show his heartbreak or panic when Eros did look back at him, tried to smooth it from his features and portray a cool and confident image. Or at least an unphased one. Something that didn’t make it obvious that he was hanging on Eros’s every word and action in that moment.
He looked up into Eros’s face, waiting for that axe to fall. The one that would finally shatter his heart. Only it didn’t come. Instead he found Eros leaning in until their foreheads touched. His eyes nearly going crosseyed just to keep the other in view. His breath stilled in his lungs and he didn’t even notice as he waited for whatever Eros was going to tell him. Surely it had to be at least somewhat okay, right? Eros wouldn’t be this close to him if it wasn’t!
The words brought both excitement and guilt to him, a tinge of pain that stabbed at his heart. But he couldn’t stop himself from feeling the sheer excitement that such words brought him and it overwhelmed anything and everything else. His mind didn’t work, it didn’t function beyond one singular thought that his body acted upon. He needed to kiss Eros and he needed to do it right now. His hands nearly shot up but they were soft as he cupped Eros’s cheeks and tilted his own head up to capture Eros’s lips with his. The first kiss was tentative, hesitant even. Still waiting for Eros to back away from him.
But it was only the first that was such. The next? Well he might have lost a bit of control over his own reactions on that one as he nearly devoured Eros’s mouth with his own in a seering and demanding kiss. Finally he managed to come up for air. ”I can work with that.” His voice was low and husky as he spoke, a chuckle following his words. ”I guess what I’m saying is… will you go out with me Eros?” God he sounded like a fucking teenager asking out his crush! But, well, he supposed you never quite overcame your awkward nature when it came to asking out your crush. Or, well, at least it seemed that he hadn’t and wasn’t going to any time soon.
An Old Face From The Past
Posted 09-22-2021, 03:11 PM
