cape_kore | video; Day 101

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video; Day 101

[Hello, sweet cape dwellers. Did you miss this particularly obnoxious curly Italian gangster? No? Too bad, because here he is far too close to your screen, clutching his head like he has the hangover of a century. The footage is spotty, the audio coming in and out and the video often out of focus, but what's abundantly clear is that Charlie's back, and not entirely pleased about it.]

Fuckin-

Jesus, what the fucking hell is this-

will someone get me-

[At last the video clears enough to show Charlie, looking angry but unharmed, somewhere on the waterfront.]

Someone tell me what the -

going on?

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Well...

[He's a little distracted by trying not to laugh in a very undignified way.]

Half of that bottle, at least. There were a couple more from other sources, and those're definitely empty now.

[Empty and on the bedroom floor, as a matter of fact. He probably should have cleaned that up.]

Why you gotta be so irresponsible all the time, huh? Gonna have to start locking the liquor cabinet.

[He's pushed his shirt up high enough now to mouth along the outline of muscles on his chest, nipping a little with his teeth again.]

We'd have to have a liquor cabinet first.

[His tone is only lightly teasing, mostly because he's too distracted by those teeth to really put any effort into anything else. This is slowly starting to take his mind off of things. This is what they do -- the banter, the mockery, the jokes. This feels normal.]

[Banter, mockery, jokes, tracing the outside of Meyer's nipple with his tongue, all normal things.

In fact you can go back to touching his hair now if you please.]

[He's perfectly happy to return his hands to Charlie's hair; it's not like his fascination with those curls has gone unnoticed, and it's not like he's going to stop anytime soon. There's not the same desperation in his movements as there was before, because he's starting to settle in again, starting to feel like Charlie's here, at least for the moment.

Living in the moment has never come easy to him. He's always focusing on what's going to happen in the future, making contingency plans, worrying about things he can't control, or micromanaging the things he can. Charlie isn't like that, and he wishes he could absorb that ability, somehow. If there were a way to borrow Charlie's brain for a moment, he's absolutely certain he would -- he understands Charlie so well, but he's never been able to think like him.]

[He nudges at Meyer's arms, coaxing them up so he call pull his shirt off at last. He's fairly sure it's one of his favourite sights in the world, Meyer without his shirt on. Maybe only beat by Meyer completely naked.]

[He's content to lift his arms and let his shirt be removed; in these ridiculous clothes they're wearing, he'd felt almost undressed anyway. Besides, around Charlie, he feels more at ease, more comfortable in his own skin. Sure, they give each other hell most of the time -- it wouldn't be the same partnership if they didn't, it's basically tradition at this point -- but there's something about Charlie that makes him feel safe. It's not a feeling he takes for granted. Maybe that explains the little smile he's got, even as he tosses that ugly t-shirt aside.]

[He maps Meyer's skin with his hands, curling his long fingers around Meyer's ribs before running up to card through his chest hair.]

Can I fuck you right now?

[Meyer always gives him crap for asking, but maybe he just loves the way he blushes bright red every time he does.]

[If he rolls his eyes slightly, it's not necessarily in response to Charlie's question -- it's more in response to his own blush. He'd've thought that after knowing Charlie for twelve years, and knowing how he always tries to make him flustered, it would have stopped working by now. That's not the case. It's just another talent of Charlie's, and a pretty damn impressive one, at that. It still makes him tug on Charlie's hair a little, just because he can.]

Yeah, you can.

[He props himself up on one elbow to readjust his positions, trying to take some pressure off of his ribs. He hasn't been able to find a comfortable position sitting, standing, or lying down in weeks, but he's not going to let that get in the way of this.]

You alright?

[Don't think he doesn't know what that face means. Although it's still not going to stop him from starting to undo Meyer's fly for him.]

Sure, just sick of being injured.

[He knows from experience how long broken ribs can take to feel normal again. It feels like it's been months since he's been injured, but in actuality, not much time has passed at all. He's impatient, though, and he tugs Charlie up for another kiss.]

[Charlie's only too happy to oblige, pressing their chests flush together to kiss him back, maybe a little more frantic and dirty than before.]

[Frantic is fine by him. It reflects the way his thoughts have been racing for days. Charlie finally being here is at once calming to his overwhelming anxiety and also extremely exciting. He bites at Charlie's lip, trying not to bite too hard, still convinced, somehow, that Charlie's hurt in some invisible way that he doesn't want to exacerbate. There's still a certain care and precision in his movements, like he's concerned Charlie is breakable, even if he can see for himself that he's unhurt.]

[Charlie bites back, harder than Meyer had. Because hey, he made be treating him like fucking glass but he'd rather he didn't and nothing better than leading by example.

His hand finds his way inside his trousers and places a firm hard on top of his underwear.]

[Honestly, that's a pretty damn good way to spur him into being a little more aggressive in his movements. He's always been competitive, and he can't resist nipping back at Charlie, just a bit harder, grinning as he does so. Of course Charlie doesn't want to be treated like he's breakable -- who the hell would?]

Pretty certain this is my favourite ways of looking at yous.

[He trails a few more kisses down his chest before leaning up to shimmy his trousers off.]

Best view in the world, I thinks.

[Compliments have always be a surefire way to get him to turn a little red with embarrassment, and this is no exception, but he smiles anyway, pleased.]

I'm not exactly complaining about the view I have, either.

[He's always enjoyed looking at Charlie, even before there was necessarily anything like attraction attached to it. They're built so differently, and he really feels like he could stare at Charlie forever, noticing and appreciating all of those differences. Right now, though, staring isn't enough. Charlie's back, but there's no guarantee that he'll stay here, no guarantee that any of them will stay here, so he might as well make the best of it. That's why, even as Charlie's taking his trousers off, he's reaching up to touch whatever bare skin he can.]

[He can't help it - he's always been putty in Meyer's hands. He may have got his trousers off, but he's taking a break to bury his face in the crook of his shoulder, breathing him in hard.]

[He probably smells more like himself than he has in the last couple weeks here; since Charlie'd disappeared, he'd kind of given up on rationing the cigarettes, and very likely smells like smoke, as usual. For a moment, he's content to run his fingers through Charlie's hair, but then he winces a little as Charlie's face gets too close to the still-tender spot on his collarbone, and he shakes his head.]

We need to roll over or something, you're crushing me.

[Yes, blame it on Charlie being heavy rather than blaming it on the fact that he has broken ribs and not-so-minor injuries. He has his pride.]

Come on, I ain't even that heavy.

[Although its obvious from the way his face screws up in a wince that he feels bad about it. He sits up on his haunches, and combs his too-long hair back off his face.]

Bedroom?

You weigh more than I do.

[Barely. But grateful for the suggestion, he nods.]

Bedroom.

[And then remembers what a mess he'd left the bedroom. For all he'd done to clean up the front room, there're still liquor bottles all over the bedroom floor, and possibly in the bed. That encourages him to amend his statement.]

As long as you don't give me shit about the mess.

Since when I ever give you shit about nothing, Meyer? Come on, my feelings are hurt.

[He gives Meyer a hand up, trying to keep a sharp eye for any more of those little winces that tell him Meyer's in more pain than he's letting on.]

Yeah, you're right. You never give me shit.

[He hopes his laugh can disguise the way he cringes a little at moving from a lying down position to a standing one, but he's pretty sure Charlie'll be as observant as ever. He hasn't exactly taken care of himself while Charlie was gone -- he's still got those aching knuckles like he'd punched something, but he can't specifically remember it. Once he's up, though, he's able to move with more ease, heading back towards the bedroom.]

[He does notice, because of course he notices, Meyer can't hide shit from him. So he corners him about half way to the bedroom to kiss him again, making sure to only hold onto him lightly this time.]

[Standing up seems to work a hell of a lot better than lying down, and frankly, Charlie could hold him as tightly as he wanted, even if it hurts. He's just glad to have him back. That's why his responding kisses are almost frantic, like he wants to make up for lost time -- even if it had only been four days. It had felt much longer.]

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