Marley&Reggae [Quinn]

[makism vandik tarasov]

The thing about a school was that there were cliques and sports and rivals. Even Manson had those… they had the mean girls and the bullies and the fags. They had drama and clubs and everything… everything. This place had nothing. This wasn’t a school. It was a prison.

Makism hadn’t known quite what this place would entail when he’d come after Quinn. The holding cells and the testing and the treatment… it had all scared the living hell out of him. He’d been scared out of his mind. The Russian man had been caught off guard. He was still without Quinn.

He was a wreck, Makism was. It was with that reason that he reclused himself to the school rooms… there were books in the school rooms. They were the farthest thing from school he’d ever seen, but his mind needed to be cleared. In a dusty corner he sat with his nose in an old copy of War and Peace, letting the words come through his head and embed themselves in his brain.

He needed to be blank for a little while, before continuing his search.

click for clothes

[tarquin finley ellis]

Manson had a lot of things. Of course Manson was more of what it stated to be, while this place... wasn't. By a long shot. Though he'd suppose that it did have a few different types of people regardless. Nothing quite like Manson, but back there Quinn had been happy. He's had Makism, the puppies, a place there that kept anyone from fucking with him. Not that many here would bother to try, but it had all been set into place at Manson. No one tried to do tests on them there, not like this. The doctors had actually tried to help. Sure, Manson had it's detentions, it's cells. Any asylum would, connected to a boarding school or no. But this place took the cake there. By a long shot.

Quinn couldn't say that he'd been scared when the testing occured. He was too... hopeless by then. There was nothing left to be afraid for. He didn't care if he died from it; he didn't care about anything after being taken from Makism and forced here. He couldn't escape, he would never get out. There was nothing left for him, and so he had given up. It took it all with a grain of salt. So far none of it had done anything to him that made any difference in his mind. He was a freak; so what else was new? It's not like he hadn't been one before, anyway. Different ways, and now it was just more. Whatever. There was no one to fight for anymore.

He did not normally go into the school rooms for much. There were classes here and there, but it was more likely that Quinn would skip more then half of them at any given time. He aced tests, so mostly he'd just come when they were due and say fuck it to the rest. Though there was another reason he went to the school rooms. He liked to hide his drugs there in certain places, just in case rooms were searched. It wasn't the only hiding spot, but it was one of them. And today he was itching for it, to feed his addiction. So that was where he went. Didn't take him long to find his stash and snort two lines quickly. He brushed off his nose, but not well enough to hide what he'd been doing. And why should he?

He started back out, glancing here and there as he went. Of course he'd passed by the room right before what he'd seen hit him fully. He froze, stepped backwards and peered into the room. He started to tremble at the sight. He was seeing things. Whatever they were throwing into his veins was reacting very badly to the cocaine, and he was hallucinating off his ass. Quite suddenly, he was angry about it. He was completely fine with them doing whatever -- or just about -- that they wanted, but causing him to see a mirage of the thing he wanted most? That was crossing a line. There was a choking sound rising in his throat, tears springing to his eyes.

[makism vandik tarasov]

Makism's powers didn't reach the mind. That wasn't possible, as far as he knew. He hadn't met a soul like that yet... no. But there was something when it came to Quinn. Something special, something different. There's a way all of the air gets sucked out of the room when the other is around. That's what happens when someone is, pure and simple, your soul mate. The other man was perfect in Makism's mind... they were perfect for each other.

He felt the very blood in his veins ran cold at the sound of a choking sob. He knew that sound. Before he could stop himself Makism was on his feet, rushing forward, the book cast aside and forgotten abruptly. His eyes fixed on a young an that looked very much the same than the last time they'd met.

Before anything goes any farther, he simply reaches out, a hand cast forward. He's rushing forward, broad palm already cupping the cheek of one Tarquin Finley Ellis. "You shouldn't be crying... makes me sad." The words are the first that come to mind... someone doesn't think before he speaks. Still, it's all he knows to feel that electric shiver up his spine. His Quinn.

[tarquin finley ellis]

He watched the others from time to time, and he had to figure for some, there were new abilities cast into certain minds here. Not that it mattered, but it was the most surprising thing about the place, seeing what they'd create next. One of the few sources of entertainment he had. It's sick, sure. But it's going to happen no matter what, and he might as well tune in. Nothing else to do but drug up and practise his martial arts. At least when it came to his own time. He's never been one for reading, and that's fine enough with him. He needs movement, action. Physically. It's hard enough keeping still for long.

Maybe Quinn is far too drugged up to feel all the little things nagging at him, telling him this is real, that Makism is really there. Whatever he feels, it's thrown in as just another side effect of the drugs, the injections they give him. His mind is playing a nasty trick on him, and it nearly enough to bash his own brains out. And yet... yet he doesn't want it to end, no matter how much it hurts him. Just to see Makism like this, so clear as if real, there before him. He could live in a dream world like this, just to see a vision of the creature that is everything to him. He'd trade the real world for that any day. Just so long as he never had to leave and wake up. But right now he feels that he will be pulled from this, and it'll only hurt him more when that happens.

Then the mirage was moving and he was stock-still, afraid it would go right through him, past him. His heart was hammering within his chest and he was dreading the moment Makism would vanish again. It was going to break him more. Glassy eyes were riveted, and unbidden he was already reaching out, unable to stop the movements of his arms. And then there was touch, sending sparks through his entire system. It's colder then he remembers but he doesn't care. He can feel it. Words, too. He doesn't think, his arms just wrap tightly around Makism; and that's when he realizes the man is solid. He clings for dear life, shaking, head ducked into the curve of Makism's neck. He can't even form words right now.

[makism vandik tarasov]

Perfect, perfect pairs. They had been grand and beautiful and whole. Never had Makism felt that way about anyone before, never would he again. To be so entirely perfect for another human being wasn't anything he'd ever felt possible. A perfect pair, a pair of aces... finally. Everything with beautiful finality and simple, pure sweetness.

He was getting mushy again. Makism didn't know those feelings were possible.

But his hand slides across Quinn's cheek and up into his hair. The red was more intense than it had been, one of the tattoos had been expanded down the man's arm, but he was very much the same as he had been. This was the same man. This was his Tarquin. This was the very center of his universe, back in his arms again. His lips press against the man's temple, the back of his hand fanning out across Quinn's neck.

"I've missed you... I've missed you so much." There isn't enough air in the room or in his lungs and everything is starting to make his head spin. The scent that clings to the man is still uniquely Quinn, and it's what he clings to. Love... grand, glorious love all laid out before him... back in his arms. Simple and pure and perfect. He has it.

[tarquin finley ellis]

Before Makism, Quinn never even pondered what it might be like to love someone with his entire being. To tear down all of the walls and like it. To want it, even. It didn't seem possible to him that he could want and like all the little things he never had before. It was always with reluctance that he cuddled, did anything actually and specifically loving with someone else. Just plain sexual, that was another matter. There were feelings, sure. But nothing like this. It could even touch it. Not even a little bit. There was no pain like the pain Quinn went through being pulled from Makism. No pain that could ever compare or come close.

So it wasn't anger that won over. Agony and hopelessness. Emptiness. It was like being slowly hollowed out, carved away. He lashed out, fought because it was one of the only things he could do anymore. At least then he could feel something, for a little while. Instead of this numb drug induced trance...

Mushy did not exist for him without Makism. It was the strangest of feelings to have, and yet when he had them, it seemed normal and right. Because it only happened with Makism, and almost everything to do with Makism was right and perfect and good. Quinn could be anywhere, doing anything and if he had Makism all was bright and well in his world. Not that he would be pleased that the love of his life had to endure all the hellish things that came with being here. That he did not want for Makism. It seemed selfish to want the Russian man here with him, knowing what these people did to, well, other people.

It's difficult to reign in the shaking, but it's not quite as bad now that he can feel Makism's hands on his cheek, in his hair, at the back of his neck. It's soothing, wonderful. The words are music to his ears, just the sound of the Russian man's voice. His tongue darts out to lick across the skin of Makism's neck; tongue-ring scraping along. Just a taste, it's just as he remembers. "I never though I'd see you again... Nothing's ever hurt so badly.." The words are strained, and his hands roam carefully, quickly, not staying in one place long. Quinn needed to feel the all too familiar surface of his lover's body. Innocent touches for now, but it's all he needs just now. Makism here. And everything is good.

[makism vandik tarasov]

Makism's friends and company and really everything had been the books. It was a sad, strange thing for him to be thinking or saying, but it was more than true. All he'd been doing was reading and driving, trying to track down the love of his life. Sure, he'd had help... there was a young man that he'd been with one upon a time that loved him... swore he loved Makism. Makism didn't want to hurt the man, but had been convinced to ask for his help. He was working in the United States Air Force intel department and Makism had called in a favor. Anything for Quinn... anything.

"I wish you could have been there for the sun and the rain and the long, hard hills. For the sound of a thousand conversations scattering along the road. For the people laughing and crying and remembering at the end. But mainly, I wish you could have been there." The man speaks the words gently, with his soft Russian accent playing at his words. It's even, floating directly into the ear of the beautiful young boyfriend. They aren't his words, they're that of another man, but they work out just the same.

[tarquin finley ellis]

If he knew the situation, Quinn might be compelled to ask just what Makism's once -- and even the mere idea of thinking the word lover would set Quinn's teeth on edge to describe the other man -- thought of Makism looking for someone who just happened to get sent to a place like this. If there were ways to track Quinn here, there must be some vague files in there that said he'd been in one asylum before he was sent here. What kind of reaction would come from knowing someone you loved was looking for a crazy and or violent person? Well, Quinn would not be happy to help if in those shoes. Just saying.

Yet if Quinn had the same connections, any way to find Makism, he'd take it too. Honestly, Quinn probably wouldn't care who he hurt in the process of finding the Russian man he loved with both heart and soul. He presses close to Makism if it's even possible to get any closer with the layers of clothing they happen to be wearing. The words are heard, the Russian accent that he adores so much. "Quite smooth, flowing words from a sharp tongued man..." He murmurs gently, a smile pressed into his lips. It doesn't matter where the words came from, he understands. Of course he does. "I love you, Blue." He adds just as sweetly as can be, leaning to kiss at the man's jawline, beelining for those lips he's missed.

[makism vandik tarasov]

"They've been borrowed... Story People is quite a lovely one." So much reading, so many books. He'd read anything he could find with the title of Hero... he didn't know why. He would seek it and search it out until he couldn't find any more.

As far as asylums went... he and Makism had been together. Two insanely violent young men with a propensity for danger and brilliance and everything gory and violent you could possibly pack in. Magnets... yet... the attraction of opposites. Flawless brilliance packed into two creatures that were terribly flawed-- however you wanted to put that shit.

"I love you too, my little Pyro." They had silly ways of calling each other, but it was simply beautiful. At the lips pressed to his jaw, he turns slightly, face angling. More than anything he needs to catch the man by the lips, feel the kiss up and down his spine-- electric. Every last bit of it filled him up, taking him by the gut and chilling him simply everywhere. Beautiful.

[tarquin finley ellis]

He chuckles; he knows it's borrowed words, though the meaning behind it is all Makism's. He gets it, he understands pretty words. "I'm not big on reading, but you know that." He replies, just another way of saying that he doesn't know the book or whatever, and it doesn't matter where it's really from. Would Quinn be faintly amused at Makism's little book title obsession? Yes. He'd ask why, as it was a oddly curious thing for someone like the Russian man to read. Seemed out of place, but then, maybe there was a lot about them that was out of place.

Whatever they were -- and yes, they were the violent time bombs that could go off if anyone pressed them -- they were better off together, and not just for themselves, but for anyone around them. At least this was very true in Quinn's case. He tended to get a bit derailed and more then a little unstable when parted from Makism. It had proven to be true once he got here, that much was true. More fights, less control or care if people actually got mortally hurt in them. Quinn had a line before, but once here, that line was blurred and then gone. Didn't even take long. None of it had mattered anymore.

He's warm and getting much warmer as the seconds ticked by. It was realized before it could get too uncomfortable, and he kept it in check at that point. The nickname had become something more true, more ironic. Whatever his interest in fire before, Quinn had been altered here. Maybe it was in his subconcious, he couldn't tell. But now he truely was a pyro through and through. Either way, the nickname is enough to melt him, even against the odd coolness that seemed to have seeped into Makism's skin. And then Quinn had found the Russian man's lips and everything was bright; setting his very veins on fire.

[makism vandik tarasov]

"You should let me read to you." The man speaks ever so gently, a chilly hand running down Quinn's cheek. There's something they've got to realize... the words bubble past his lips before he can stop them. "We're fire and ice... for real now." He knew about the fire... his friend had done him well. They'd found the exact file that said what had happened to his love-- it made him sick to think of. Makism knew the gory details right down to the last nail in the coffin.

The kiss... how beautiful. How breath taking. The very first night they'd spent together Quinn wouldn't kiss him... they weren't in love. The kiss they held now was warm and comfortable, filing up all the places that had frozen over, gone cold. His breath was simply taken away by the other man, catching himself up in Quinn's embrace. He's finally feeling like himself again.

[tarquin finley ellis]

His head tilts thoughtfully at the words, and he smiles, nods. "If you'd like." He responds, and another thought comes. "Bet you'll go all accented and then I'll have to pry the book away and fuck you..." He licked his lips at the thought. Mm, yes, that accent got to him. He leans into the hand; chilly or not it doesn't matter to him so long as he got to feel Makism's touch. Quinn could warm himself if he needed it, of course. What Makism said next made him blink. Oh. Well that made sense, didn't it? The cold... There's a soft sigh, sad. He knows how these things happen, what the Russian man must have already endured. It makes his insides twist up uncomfortably.

It even takes a few moments for him to find his voice. "That'll be interesting... for later." But there's still guilt in the pit of his stomach, knowing Makism had come here for him only to have those terrible things done. "I'm sorry you had to go through... what they did, what they do..." And he doesn't want to think of it. Set's his teeth on edge, but at least all that it brushed away when they kiss. Flawless. Quinn remembers the first night well, and he remembers other nights as well that holds so much meaning. For right now, though, Quinn is here in the moment with his Makism.

[makism vandik tarasov]

All Makism wanted to be was safe in Quinn’s arms. All he wanted to be was with the man that he loved and meant the world to him and pure and simple was his everything. The touch… the touch was beautiful. It took the breath from his lungs. Gently his palm meets the man’s face, elegant fingers stroking over Quinn’s lower lips, the studs there catching his fingers. He loves literally everything about this man. The feeling of warm skin and cold skin on each other. Quinn warms him, always warms him. Every last cold part fo his heart and soul has been one that Tarquin Finley Ellis has taken and made his own.

”I’ve never been able to keep my hands off you anyway.” his chuckle is warm, gentle. At the words of apology, though, the breath leaves his lungs. It’s a low sigh, a gentle and simple whoosh. ”Anything for you… I’ve always said anything for you. Every last word, I mean it.” His tone is gentle, in earnest. Everything will be okay for them, he can feel it.

[tarquin finley ellis]

He closes his eyes at the touch, perfectly content and at ease; he's not wary, not even a little bit. With Makism he can hand over all his trust to the Russian man and there was very little he could do that would shake that. There were bumps in the road ahead, but Quinn would deal with those as they came. He might not be sure how yet; there were complications. It would be okay though. He would hold to that thought, because right now he didn't know if he could survive thinking what he'd just gotten back would slip through his fingers. The thought sent a shudder right through him, caused him to pull Makism closer.

He quivers in an entirely different way at Makism's next words, pupils dilating, wanting. His entire body was screaming at the idea of unbridled, rough sex. Finally! Yet that very thought sobered him a little, inwardly cringing. Quinn was struggling with guilt and lust; with so many things. He needed to push it all to the back of his mind, focus on the fact that Makism was here and everything would be okay. Everything else won't matter. He leans, head canted to the side, exposing his neck. "Please.." He murmurs, needing to feel the teeth there, the rushing of blood to the surface of his skin.

[makism vandik tarasov]

Makism's fingers are cool, gentle. There's always a soft tough, a gentle feeling of skin on skin. They live for that, the pair does. They live to be in pure, sweet, simple love. You can't be in love without bumps and bruises, things going awry. Two possessive men with violent tempers...there will always be bumps.

They will always want. Makism will always want for Quinn's warm body curled up next to his, one mass of arms and legs... two hearts beating in perfect time. That's what love is to him. It's waking up and throwing on one of Quinn's t-shirts that he hardly wears anyway. It's Quinn wearing a pair of his boxers around their room. It's everything they can be and ever have been.

And the way he's already got Quinn begging. They've always been rough with eachother. Makism is one for marking his territory-- even since the first night they lay together. He's been missing the feeling of Quinn's tender flesh between his teeth for a long time, but his lean in is still torturesly slow. Makism's lips and teeth find the man's supple neck and dive in,ogling and biting and sucking away. He's pulled in tO the feel of it, grinning. "I love you, Tarquin." the words are soft against the mam's neck. Makism is as in love as ever.