cold when i wake [quinn]

[makism vandik tarasov]

Makism has tried so… so hard. He’s trying to keep from burning down from the inside out. He was already freezing nearly to death… three days. Three days ago he’d watched a man try to kill himself. Three days ago Quinn had carried him down to ICU, and he’d curled up to the man’s chest. His bones had been frozen, insides only warming as long as the man held him. Quinn… god, Quinn.

The Russian man couldn’t be alone. He couldn’t feel alone as he had in his room. Makism had gone to the room in the manipulation ward, not knocking… Quinn wouldn’t let him in if he knocked. No, he’d simply opened the door and walked in. The room was empty, hadn’t been touched in days. The green eyed boy didn’t think, couldn’t think. His Irishman could be anywhere… he couldn’t tell you where. The man’s chest tightened slightly as his eyes fell on the ring, sitting untouched on the man’s bedside table. That was best. He could do things properly now. Without thinking, Makism slipped the Saint Christopher medal from his neck and caught the delicate engagement ring on the chain. Only seconds later, the man slipped it back beneath his shirt, out of view. He wouldn’t fuck with that for now.

He can’t help it, Makism can’t. The Russian man is lonely and he’s still so cold. No permanent damage had been done. He wouldn’t do permanent damage, not here. Makism’s bones ache, sighing heavily. Without thinking so much, he grabs his favorite sweatshirt of Quinn’s from the floor, slips it over his head. The man simply drops into Quinn’s bed. He only wants to lay for a little while, to curl up, to feel safe surrounded by the man’s scent, the way he breaks in a bed, the way… everything. Makism takes the side closer to the wall, his back resting on it through the blanket. His head on the man’s pillow it’s all he can think of to be in a place, a perfect world, where his forehead would be against Quinn’s chest and everything would be okay. It's deja vu all over again.

click for clothes

[tarquin finley ellis]

Five days from the one where all hell had broken loose. Four if one counted Quinn's little breakdown fit where he'd lit up a room in flames and snapped the neck of the guy who'd ended up trapt in said room. Quinn said it was being merciful, that the man wouldn't have lived long anyway. Just putting him out of his misery. It wasn't really true. The guy could have, would have; lived. Not that he told the staff that, oh no. He would have been stuck in the restraint room for much longer, and he had figured that the minimum would be fine with him. He certainly didn't think it would be short of a time, but whatever. He'd been unwilling to stay longer once the days had drawn out. He'd been going a little stir-crazy from not doing anything except stretching, practice, exercising. Thinking. It got old after a few days of nothing else.

Yet it did give Quinn awhile to re-live what had happened. All the things that had happened to cause stress and the eventual breakdown. It was bound to happen, only a matter of time. But it changed things, changed him. There was no way around that fact. It wasn't yet as bad as it would get; things were just starting. There were a few more pushes over the edge to come, though Quinn doesn't know this yet, doesn't see any of it coming. But he's broken and it's not hard to see. The things he'd seen and lived through the past few weeks had driven him to this. It altered him, and there had been no interaction to see just how much it had actually affected him. That day had come. They had let Quinn out of the restraint area at early morning, and he had gone to his dorm-room first for a change of clothes. Possibly a shower.

Of course when he did arrive at his room, he wasn't expecting to find his bed occupied. Though he should have seen that coming, should have known that this might happen. Quinn stood there, just looking at the sleeping form of the Russian man and pondering what to do about this. His mind was quite blank to be honest. Though after a few minutes, he finally decided to just lay down and wake Makism up. Might as well, right? It had to happen, though Quinn still had no idea what he'd say or even do in the situation he'd found himself. And with Makism awake, no less. Oh well. It had to be gotten over and done with sometime, and he couldn't -- nor did he any longer care to -- hide out. So he stretched out beside the Russian man, and patted the side of Makism's face a bit to wake him up. And when those green eyes opened, Quinn would greet him with a low, blunt "Boo." Because that's the first thing that ran through his mind.

clothes

[makism vandik tarasov]

Hell had broken loose. The demons had escaped. Makism didn't know what to think of life as he knew it. He didn't know where to go or what was happening or really...anything any more. So he had laid down. So he had let the world stop spinning around him and just...he cuddled up in Quinn's bed. The Russian man was sick of time and space and everything that had been happening. He didn't want to lose the love of his life to it. 

The dream he'd been in the middle of was a long, warm, beautiful one. There was a farm with animals...so many animals. Anything Makism had wanted, an assortment of creatures and two little kids. A boy and a girl that called them both dad with shining eyes and wild hair. A beautiful dream it was. 

He wakes quickly, easily after being asleep for so long. He couldn't tell you how long. Makism had no idea. Still, seeing Quinn's face first thing in the morning was something that made his breath catch. It was all he could do to push away the urge to lean up and kiss the man's lips. He's missed this. Makism forgets to be sheepish about having let himself in. "Boo who?" there's question in his voice, reaching out to touch Quinn's face. Contact. He simply craves the touch and feeling of contact.

[tarquin finley ellis]

Sick of things that had been happening. Well, yes. Quinn could vote on the side of that too, for the most part. There had been good moments here and there, but they didn't last. None of it could last and maybe Quinn had known that even as those seconds were passing by. Things couldn't be simple, and wounds weren't going to just heal over. Yet he had chased the idea of warmth and comfort and unjudgemental company. It was a foolish thing to do, because deep down he had to know it couldn't stay that way. It was like teasing himself, just letting it happen at all. Life had quickly fixed that. Quinn wasn't pretending he could have those things now. Not in that way.

So he would make his own way, whatever that was, however he had to. He doesn't know how it'll be yet, doesn't have anything planned for the long term. He just wants. That's it, all there is. And he isn't asking anymore. He's not holding back, not going around on tip-toes. That part was gone, or nearly so. Quinn was back to being the big bad wolf and more. It was time to turn the world he knew upside down bit by bit. Quinn wasn't aware of all these things in the way they weren't meant yet. The idea was there, but implementing it, therein lay the differences that would be seen. He was curious as to how he might react to.... everything.

All was calm so far. There was less there, in his eyes and his voice, but it was evened out. He wasn't raging or quick to send Makism from his room or any of that. It just was, and Quinn was rolling with it. Doesn't even take long for Makism to wake, and Quinn just stares with that neutral expression on his face. The words make him shrug; he's got nothing, it was a change phrase and there hadn't been anything attached to it. The underlining question isn't missed, though. He can hear it, he knows. Quinn doesn't react to the touch at his face; no change at all. He accepts it, and that's enough. "You're in my bed." He points out. Yes, captian obvious. But that's not all there is to it. "Is that an invitation?" An inquiry, and he lifts the blanket to let his eyes flick over Makism. No usmc clothing to rip to shreds. Good.

[makism vandik tarasov]

Simplicity is the pair laying beside each other in bed. It's something that had been grown used to in time. Makism rarely trusted someone to be there after the fall. Someone to catch him at the bottom. He hadn't wanted someone to be there in the morning before Quinn. 

Now he knows he shouldn't have fallen asleep here, but it doesn't matter. It's what he's needed to keep himself from allowing the chill to keep over, from letting things get too out of hand. Nothing needed to be in hand with them, for each was far too dangerous to start with. Makism feels the chill that whisks away the body heat that had collected beneath the sheets. He shivers, curls closer to Quinn. 

At the words of the man a slight albeit wolffish smile slides across his lips. The Russian man leans in closer to the lanky creature, looking up into his face softly, lips pouted. "This is." it's a soft statement. He wants a kiss. 

He wants so much more.

[tarquin finley ellis]

There actually isn't anything simple about this moment. Not when it comes to Quinn. Not after the things that had occured over the last few weeks. No. Quinn doesn't get simple, not anymore. Not like that. He won't tell himself he can have what he can't. He can barely feel what is past. Ghosts of emotion, and it's all Quinn can do to cling to what he has left. He's been torn apart; he doesn't get to be put back together this soon. No matter how even mannered he is right now, that's still the truth. He's been broken, and it's not just going to go away. It wasn't that easy.

Quinn doesn't believe anyone will catch him when he falls. He's decided to not fall at all.

He doesn't move once Makism curls closer; he doesn't make any move further at all. He watches. The wolfish smile that comes to the Russian man's lips, the way Makism leans closer, looks up at him, pouts his lips. Then comes the response, and Quinn chuckles -- it's almost a giggle, almost -- but the sound isn't what one would call 'good'. It's short and cold, and Quinn's quick to place a finger at Makism's lips and quirk a rather sardonic eyebrow. "No." He pulls back after his adrupt reply, his gaze on the Russian man's face; contemplative.

His hand roams over Makism's side, gripping at the man's hip. "Not yet." He finally amends, his other hand moving to stroke lightly at Makism's face, trace along the features. But it's obvious by now if it hadn't been before; something's different. Something's wrong.

[makism vandik tarasov]

Makism had believed for so long that he would always be safe in the arms of love... safe with Quinn. There was something about their relationship now, though... he was scared. There was fear in his heart that he wouldn't have the things he needed to fall back on right there, waiting to catch him. He was scared because they were in trouble. He had tried to be so strong, tried to be the one that could bend without breaking... you can't not break when something you love so much is about to let go once and for all. He can't let go. It'd be too much.

And then there's the sound. He catches it, flinches backward, looks up with a cold, hurt gaze. He's shaking. Everything is quivering, shoulders hunching. It's like a green eyed puppy that's been kicked a couple too many times. This situation was kicking him over and over and over again.

His palm slips to the man's cheek, fingers fanning out over the skin. There's a quivering, a mad shaking, and he's starting to feel the cold seep back in. "What's wrong?"

[/blckquote]

[tarquin finley ellis]

It was smart to be scared, to realize that something wasn't right. Quinn had tried to be more, a better person. It had backfired on him, and he was always giving up pieces of himself only to find that it wasn't enough. And the moment he knows it's not enough, that's when the damage occurs. Quinn had made mistakes. Bad ones, and he was reaping the consequences from that. It's in there deep down, knowing that he should just walk away now. Maybe he would have made it that easy if only Makism hadn't been found in his bed. That was harder to ignore.

And Quinn wants. He doesn't wish to hold himself back from those wants anymore, he doesn't want to be caged and bound. It doesn't take long for Makism to catch on that this wasn't going to play out like all the other times. Quinn can see the hurt in the man's eyes, but he can't feel anything for it. That's broken, for one. The pain just draws him in -- one flaw in the system of bonding with someone you knows enjoys some level of pain -- when the barrier breaks, the type of pain no longer even matters. And Quinn can feed on that. All the types. It's not a game anymore.

Quinn regards Makism with hungry eyes, allowing the touches again. It doesn't bother him. The the words come, and his head tilts just so. "The fact that I cannot pretend nothing is, for you. That's what's wrong. Things don't get to go back to how they were just like that, Makism. You can't live in a fairytale." He replies. This is as real and soothing as it's going to get. It'll only go downhill from here; the spider is only starting to weave it's web. And Quinn can feel the growing cold, but it doesn't deter him. He's quick and fluid in movements, straddling the man and staring down. "You are so very beautiful." It's a murmur, and he brushes his knuckles over Makism's jawline; eyes thoughtful.

[makism vandik tarasov]

For Quinn, Makism was more than ready to give and give and give. He was okay with that. He was okay with working hard for the results he wanted...he was okay with fighting tooth and nail for love. More than anything he's terrified that he'll lose. It's only in losing that the end didn't justify the means. For Quinn he'd been through a lot. No regrets, the Russian man never had to remind himself. He always knew it. Always.

"Then let me pick up the pieces. I know things can't be put back the way they were but let me try to fix this." the man's voice quivers, English rapid and softly accented. The words he can't bring himself to say hang on his tongue. Let's just fall in love again. It's always been a question of souls for these two-- no. Not a question. It's the universe's response to one cropping up...the other. Two halves of the same, twisted whole.

And then Quinn is upon him, and he can't complain. It's here that Makism feels strong it's here that-- "You make me feel beautiful." yes. That. His words are soft, fingers trailing down the man's neck. The man wants to sink his teeth in then and there...his claim. His Quinn.

[tarquin finley ellis]

It was going to be difficult, working for those results. There were hard times ahead, and the outcome was never set in stone. This wasn't going to have a quick fix, and it was more a matter of holding on long enough through all of the bullshit to see if there was something left to build back on. It's not hopeless, but Quinn was very lost, very messed up. And the worst part of all that? He didn't want to find his way back. He didn't want to try, to fix this or figure any of it all out. There's a line to it, there really is. The first time the beast can be saved, wants to be saved. The second time... sometimes there's just nothing left to put back together. Sometimes you had to accept the broken bits and make it something else.

There is enough, for now, for him to accept Makism's attempting to pick up the pieces; to a point. So when the words had been spoken, Quinn's shoulders roll in a shrug. "You may attempt to pick up the pieces if you wish, but I can't promise they'll fit anymore." He responds simply. He doesn't give emotion to the outcome either way, he's almost curious to see what Makism finds, what the man comes to realize. Can things work, even with the missing pieces? It's possible, but it is a lot of sacrifice. It's more then Quinn even believes he's worth, so he doesn't pay it any mind.

Warmth rises within him as he looks down at Makism, and Quinn can't help a quirk of his lips at what the man responds with. Quinn shifts his hips, gaze roaming over Makism. "And look at you, all gift wrapped and everything..." His tone is amused as he peers over his shoulder at the stocking'ed legs. "I've been all heated up lately... you should help cool me down." Quinn's lips form a smirk, he does remember that fire and ice are involved in all of this, and he does want to know how that would go, what would win out if a challenge were to arise. Perhaps not today, or maybe so. Either way, Quinn was aiming for rough. Animalistic, even.

[makism vandik tarasov]

Makism needs Quinn. He burns deep down in his heart for the man, needs to touch and feel him. He needs the creature to hold him and put everything back together. The Russian man needs to learn, he needs to start picking things back.

There are things that have broken and snapped in each of them. Makism hides them better, he holds them back. He’s never been this controlled, but he needs to. The man still needs to feel, he still needs to know that he’s alive. The feelings are the only thing that makes sure that he isn’t dead, that he still means something, that he still has unfinished business.

There will be sacrifices made. They’d already sacrificed a lot for their love, and he’d do anything to keep it. Makism wanted the man to remain his… that’s what was always meant to be.

He quivers under the man’s gaze, fire and ice. His green eyes spark, crackle with energy. The words that find his lips are something that he can’t help. They’re in his own language, but the emotion is clear as day as they spill forward. ” Mne nuzhno, chtoby vlyubitʹsya v tebya snova.”… I just need to fall in love with you again. His lips quiver.

And there’s a devilish look to… well, really everything. His eyes, the way his fingers trail down the man’s bare chest. They’re icy, cold, and shaking just softly. The very closeness of the other man bringing a shake to his spine. Down the man’s chest they graze, then up to brush his thumb across the man’s lower lip. ”I’ll never get over the look in your eyes.”

[tarquin finley ellis]

His arms no longer itch to hold and comfort. He doesn't want to pick up the pieces, doesn't want to go back. Quinn doesn't want to feel anything at all if he can get away with it. Not yet there, but soon. There were lines to be crossed, damages to be made because he craves that it be so. And he wants to strike out at those who have hurt him. It boils down in his blood; he feels that he needs it. Yet today is not the day to be ripping things to shreds. He needs to take a moment from that, from having just gotten out of the restraint room to breathe.

Lucky for Makism that he's not in the mood to snarl and snap. Much. Control is seeping away as the time goes by, just like those pesky emotions. For now Quinn can still be cut into, but he's ready to defend that from happening, ready to recoil and keep away from such things. Fade into nothingness, that's what he wants to happen to all those feelings that had been the reason he's become this. Become broken in this way. He should have seen it coming, but he'd over-stepped. The road to hell was paved with good intentions.

Quinn wants to be his own now. He wants no one to bind him, because that seems to only cause more damage. And he doesn't want the strings, doesn't want to do all of those little things for someone. Quinn really doesn't want to give, anymore. He's already given so much, and it's done bad things right back at him. Or so he thinks. He'd been hurt and strung along and that needs to be over. It's why he can be here like this with Makism now; the problems are no longer touching him. He's pushed them away and they need to stay gone. He needs them to stay gone.

The Russian words don't effect him. There is understanding of what they probably mean, but Quinn isn't going to even attempt a response to it. It wasn't hard to see that Quinn wasn't following it. He wasn't even trying. Yet when the devilish look comes, it's all a different story. "Mmm..." He likes the feel of icy fingers down his chest. Quinn grins at what Makism says, biting at the thumb over his lower lip; his own look quite impish. "The look that says I'm going to fuck you senseless?" Curling, coiling words; and Quinn is interested at the idea of facing the cold.

[makism vandik tarasov]

Makism occasionally regrets that he's an unconditional lover when he's in too deep. With Quinn, in too deep happens to be in far too deep. It's something that happens to drive him up a wall... but he won't let it keep him from feeling. He can't push things away... he can't be numb again. Something broke when he was separated from Quinn, something that made him realize there was a strange dependent streak growing inside the creature. He likes a challenge, though, and he always has. That too drives him as his hips buck beneath those of the other man.

The air around the pair has made a shift. Things go from heartfelt and sad on Makism's end to allowing his body betray the most primal of urges. There's something dominant and feral that exists in each of their bellies, in the subconscious of each creature. "Make me scream." the words are breathless, icy fingers trailing up Quinn's thigh. They'd have their fun.

[tarquin finley ellis]

When Quinn is in too deep, he realizes that he's quite selfless in a lot of areas. Does things that he would normally do if he had his way about it, yet can't help but do for the happiness or pleasure of the other person. He can give so much. Maybe too much of himself, scattering some of his identity to do it. But that's not where this is now. Quinn doesn't feel those things anymore, and he doesn't want to. He wants to be himself, he wants to do things his own way without bothering with the feelings of anyone else. Maybe he'll do the bare minimum to keep someone hanging on. Maybe not. Time would tell if he even gave that much of a shit anymore.

Challenges will always be of interest to him. Not in all ways of course, but in many. That hasn't crumbled into the pile where so much else has. Nor has his dominate or possessive streaks. No, they were still there. And for all the lack of other things, they might even be much worse. If that was possible. Either way, his body quivers with anticipation at the way Makism bucks under him, and Quinn is more then thrilled at what the man says next. 'Make me scream.' Oh hell yes, Quinn was down for that. "Certainly." He purred, licking his lips and shifting enough to pull at the shorts Makism was wearing, grinning at what he saw.

[makism vandik tarasov]

He's been enthralled with this man for what feels like ages. They've been together for a very long time in Makism's mind, by his standards. He wasn't going to throw that away.


That didn't keep him from being what some might classify as a horny bastard. He finds himself grinding up against the man as his hands are put into place to remove the skimpy shorts. "Hey, those make my ass look cute." Makism growls softly, low in his throat as they're dragged away. He kicks free, then shimmies out of his shirt. It's a quick process, devoid of delicacy. Makism thirsts for rough, wants the edge of pain. He needs Quinn. [/bloclquote]