BEAUTIFUL LIES [quinn]

[tarquin finley ellis]

Quinn can feel the shaking from Makism, and it mirrors the things that he's feeling inside that he can't -- won't -- show. He can feel the cold but it's not all from the Russian man. Part of it is him, too. He's cold in places that ice shouldn't be able to touch. It's not even physical. Quinn doesn't want to feel emotions, not pure or otherwise. He wants it all gone. HE wants nothing of those things, but he knows that once it's gone he will only be less human. Further away from what he wanted in the first place. Worse. It wasn't getting better. He couldn't see a light at the end of the tunnel. It was all pitch black. It was going to swallow him whole.

He does not move in these moments, but he does feel the lips at his palm. It doesn't make sense how Makism can be so gentle with him, even now. He can't understand it. Any of it. When the words come, Quinn looks a little sad, allowing just that hint of emotion shine through for a second or so before it's gone again. "I don't know. Maybe..." He looked away, eyes distant. "But he won't." And it's that part that Quinn is pretty sure about. He doesn't deserve to be saved. He knows that. No matter how hard he tries, he's still going to be a monster. He can't be forgiven. He can never be enough.

[makism vandik tarasov]

Makism can be so rough with Quinn. He knows where his limits are and where they can be. Hell, he knows where they should be and aren't. So many things can get twisted and screwed up when you live like they do. When they live like they do. The young man allows his free hand to rest on Quinn's shoulder blade, figuring it's a safe place. He just needs so badly to feel skin.

His words quiver ever so slightly. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to tell that Makism is close to tears, breath shaking and jaw twitching. "I'd try... just for you, I'd try." The man blinks hard once, fighting back what he knows he can't let come. He can't be weak. Not now.

[tarquin finley ellis]

Quinn doesn't even know how to be truly gentle. He tries to mimic, to get close to it but he's so broken that all the edges are rough and sharp and he can't help it. He's never tried so hard to be something he isn't before. He couldn't even last long doing it. He snapped. He wasn't meant for that kind of thing. He's too impatient, too messed up. What had possessed him to try in the first place? Why did he have to go and fuck with the very essence of who he was? How was that okay? It wasn't. None of this was.

He doesn't want Makism to stop touching him right now. It's wrong to even consider asking for anything of the man, but Quinn can't deal with this alone. He never could. But Quinn can see what's going on with Makism, he can see what's coming and he isn't ready. He'll never be ready. He pulls the man to him; not even sure why he feels the need to do so. But it's there regardless. "After everything... even when I keep trying to get you to be a monster with me so I won't be alone...." He sighed, stared off. "I know you would try. It won't be enough because you love me too much." And there's nothing worse then knowing that.

[makism vandik tarasov]

Ever so slowly, everything is falling apart. It had been a gradual process, something that was enough to make Makism sick. They had been so close, they had been... everything. It doesn't keep the Russian boy from feeling like nothing now. If not, he's feeling worse. His jaw trembles, body tense and clod.

He clings to Quinn still. "You aren't alone. I may be the one damn man left in this place that can keep up with you." The man pauses, bites his lip hard. "You're never alone." He's achingly in love. Makism reaches up, his palm cupping the man's cheek. So... so in love.

[tarquin finley ellis]

The kind of monster that he's trying to be; it doesn't feel love. It's not capable of that kind of emotion. Everything felt is faded, a pale ghost of what was and had been. Of course Quinn wanted to wipe all of that away if he could. There were days it was closer, easier then others. But then something seemed to come up, and... this was just hard to go through. He needed to cut all ties, and he knew that. But he hadn't been able to. He was still holding on, and that was what messed him up. It was holding him back.

There's nothing more he can really say to Makism right now. Everything's been said and done. Quinn knows he needs to take that final step, he does. But once he cuts those ties, that's it. Done. Right now he doesn't know if he can, if it's worth it. Part of him still aches for what he's doing to Makism. He can still feel that much, even if he won't show it. It bothers him that he doesn't feel the same. The words make him sigh, and he nods, eyes downcast. He knows. "It won't be like this forever...." And he needs to believe that for himself. More than anything, he has to hold onto that, even if it's for the worst.

[makism vandik tarasov]

Makism shivers violently, and it's not from the cold. He's slowly being eaten alive by all the things he feels and all the yhings he shouldn't. Pure and utter chaos. Violent chaos. Things that he knows he shouldn't feel any more...technically. There are things he'll always feel, and maybe those are greater and more terrible than they need to be.

He clings to the man. Makism can't do anything but. He was the one that mattered the most to the Russian boy. Some days he was the only thing that mattered at all. "I'm not going to stop loving you." The words are strained as he leans in, kissing Quinn's cheek. He needs to. The breathless brush of skin on skin is what's left to keep him sane.

[tarquin finley ellis]

There are a lot of things that Quinn gets to realize in these days. How very hard it is to cut away all the emotions to be as numb and cold as he wishes to be. It's happening, slowly but surely and he knows he doesn't feel actual love in the same way he once had. Yet there's still something that keeps him from pushing away altogether. He can't quite place what it is, nor does he want to. It's just there until it isn't, and Quinn has no clue how long that might take. He isn't counting the days. He's doing what he can with what he has.

And here Makism is, shivering and Quinn tries to warm the man up, but he's not sure how much it's going to take, how physically cold Makism even is. This emotional stress must be hard on the Russian man, but it's not Quinn's place to think on that too much. Not anymore. He simply lets Makism cling for now. It's starting to wear his nerves thin, but he doesn't say anything of it, not yet. He hears the words and is silent, fingers idly stroking over the man's skin. What could he say to that? What would make it better? Nothing his mind can come up with.

[makism vandik tarasov]

The man is warm, at least body heat wise. Makism holds to him softly, face against the creature's neck. Makism is a young man in love, and it's clear. What he can't get Orr is the idea that Quinn isn't his. Not right now. The possessive man won't give the idea heed. It's not worth it, it'll break him down too far. The feeling of fingertips against his skin is something that he can melt into. Ever so quietly he speaks, more to himself than to the pyro. "Fire and I've." it's soft, museful almost. All he needs to do right now is hold on.

[tarquin finley ellis]

He feels the urge to move, to shift away from Makism for space. The buzz is most assuredly gone, and has been for a bit now. He's feeling a bit trapt right now, and his body raged against it. Still, Quinn doesn't move away. Still he lets Makism stay close, suffocate him. Quinn tries not to think too much on it, tries to pretend that he's doing something, that there isn't anyone clinging to him just now. He doesn't want to feel that way, and yet he does and there isn't any real cure for it.

Quinn tries to deal with it. He's so very still against Makism, and at the words he closes his eyes. "It spells disaster." He murmurs, but he doesn't add to that. That says it all, in Quinn's opinion, and he's doing his best to stay put, but his muscles twitch every so often with the want to move away. He lets his mind clear, trying to let himself maybe try and sleep it off a little; that would be good enough, right? At least them Makism could hold to him for just a little longer...

[makism vandik tarasov]

Fire and ice always had been trouble. The icy man's fingers danced across Quinn's cheek, but he allows for there to be breathing room. He knows that the Irishman has a need to draw back, to breathe. It's strange that the change has been made... Makism clings. He's always been a clingy bitch, and usually it works. Things have changed. Things are different.

"It might be the only thing that hasn't changed." The creature shivers lightly, watching the man with gentle eyes. The Russian man isn't soft until he gets around Tarquin. He can't help it.

[tarquin finley ellis]

Fire and ice. It's not a great combination, but with time and patience it could work. There could be ways around all the things that clash. But Quinn doesn't have those things, doesn't have the want for it. He isn't even trying. It's trouble and he's okay with it staying that way. Quinn knows Makism wants this to work, wants them to be like they were, for them to deal with this and figure it out together. Quinn knows, but he can't bring himself to care. He doesn't want the same things. He can't feel it.

But he hasn't pushed away fully, hasn't been able to do that. It's a flaw he has, but with all the things he knows, he still doesn't want to be perfectly alone. It could get to that point. Maybe it should be there. Yet Quinn needs someone there. Even if it's not real, even if it's only for a little while at a time. Even if it's just use or company. It's wrong and he is aware of that. It's obvious. With Makism's touches and words, he just lays there, giving a dip of his head. "Feels good physically, though." He finally responds evenly.

[makism vandik tarasov]

The opposite diagnoses had been another thing to add to the list of different worlds. Quinn had been a child with a silver spoon, Makism was adopted. Granted, he wasn't in a bad spot, but with five kids running around his parents couldn't be at his every beck and call. It didn't matter. He'd had Quinn when he needed him the most... the thing was, he still needed the man. They had made it work, and now he needed it to still work. He wouldn't give up, he wouldn't lose hope, but things were starting to get murky. Makism carried a weight in his chest. He was sad.

"When has it not?" The Russian man strokes Quinn's chest, down to his hip. Cold fingers on hot skin, enough to make a chill shoot up his spine-- Makism had fallen again with one simple touch. It was grand, simply grand. Yet... so sad.

[tarquin finley ellis]

There may have been a silver spoon, because the Ellis clan was pretty much filthy rich, but that did not mean Quinn's parents were at anyone's beck and call. Certainly not his. Quinn loved his mother, yes. She was a sweet woman, considering all things. Amery more then not simply ignored Quinn, and he'd done the same. Of course Amery took out his frustration on Roman, and Quinn was left with cleaning that up at a young age. But yeah, Quinn got mostly what he wanted as a child aside from that, so he'd been well off when it came to material things. Maybe that's why he didn't much care for them now.

There is so much Quinn lacks that would have meant so much more then money or things that could be bought. Being homeschooled had quite a few drawbacks to it. Maybe if he had gone to public school he would have been able to have more healthy relationships. Maybe he wouldn't be so messed up now. Too late to think on any of that now. He was who he was by this point. There was a sigh; but Quinn forces a smile at Makism's words, nodding. "True enough." He responded, tone even. He has nothing left to say, and so he's silent, just keeping himself still and there. Keeping himself from getting up.

[makism vandik tarasov]

There were so many things that couldn't be changed now, and they were all hitting Makism full force in the gut. Tears that wanted so badly tof all wouldn't come, the screams he wanted to let gow ere too bottled up to say anything. Things had been rough as of late, to say the least. It was enough to drive the man nearly out of his skull.

He feels a restlessness rising up in his gut. "I need a shower..." He trails off, biting his lip for a moment. The words that come next aren't venomous, but come with a soft earnesty. "If you aren't sick of my face, you're welcome to join me."

[tarquin finley ellis]

Quinn doesn't want to think of what his life had been before. He doesn't want to think of the family he left behind and all that it had been. All that it had lacked. The things he could never be, could never have become anyway. It's tiresome and old; Quinn could never have the normal that he craved, he couldn't even get a pale mimic of it. He was here, stuck in this place and less then human now as it was. They had changed him, altered his very genetic code and there was no turning back. There was no getting back what he lost, no going forward to anything better. There was nothing better.

He wanted to make it fade away, all the feeling, all the hurt he'd endured. He wants to pretend that he can manage this, that he doesn't need anyone or anything. He strives for it. He's torn from his thoughts at Makism's words, and he peers at the man. A shower meant less cuddling, and Quinn had a way out from it, a way to go elsewhere for now. To be parted from the clinging Russian. Yet it's the second words that makes him pause; tilt his head. He reached out to trace over the face in question with a fingertip. "You have a lovely face, Makism. Of course I'm not sick of it." He responds, not saying yes or no if he would follow or not. He hasn't decided.