Title: Love's Just A Four Letter Word - Truth Or Dare Part 1
"I’m not. I just…" he sighed, and curled up against Var again. "My mother used to tell me what a stupid little boy I was." He smiled softly. "So to make her stop, I pretended I was really clever. Even my home-tutor was fooled, because I’d read all this Socrates and Plato crap and learn it and then waffled bits off when they started telling me off. Normally they thought I had made it up myself and stopped lecturing." The youth nuzzled a little closer, and then rose, putting the lid back on the tub of ice cream and carrying it away, back to the freezer. "Would you like another cup of tea? I think the other one will have gone very, very cold by now."
Lysander was clearly confused, his blue eyes set into a frown, lips slightly parted as another kiss was pressed to his flesh, and then he shut his mouth. Sure, he had questions. A million and one of them, but non-of them seemed to find the way to his lips. "Casper… Kris… I don’t understand." He said softly, pulling Casper, Kris, whoever he was, closer, and holding him tightly. "I don’t understand at all." He was prompting to be told, to have reasons explained to him, to be told exactly why he could not have what he wanted, and then to use reason and logic to toss that out the window and have what he wanted anyway. His hands crept up about Kris’ back, rocking him slightly, aware of the snuffling, sad noises, and the way the last kiss had tasted faintly of blood. "Love… If you want it, and I want it, why not? Is there… someone else?"
He flicked the kettle on anyway, watching the tiny flames dance around the metal, before moving back to the sofa, and settling down again. "I just want you to be happy, Eddy. I want you to be with me and be happy. But I’m not letting my happiness out the window for you though." The youth stopped, curling up against his lover. "You need to be able to love me, 100%, Eddy. I’m willing to do that for you, but… I can’t live on half-measures. I won’t. I’ll willingly be yours forever, but if you can’t be mine…" he let the sentence hang in the air, unfinished between them, and let kissed the nearest bit of Edvard that he could reach. "Forget about it for now."
"I just… can’t understand." Zan repeated, gently stroking over Kris’ back. "Tell me love. And we’ll work it out. I’m not going to give up on you, not like that. I’m not going to give up before we begin but… if we don’t… have anything serious, I can’t go any further, Casper. I just… I can’t." his hands gently went to the other’s legs, holding onto the outside of Kris’ thighs, clinging to him. "I can’t do anything more with you unless… you know. We are… formal. Serious about it."
"I see." he chuckled, shaking his head slightly as the other got up, carrying the strawberry, frozen concoction back to freezer and making his way into the kitchen. "And yes, another cup of tea would be rather nice." Refolding his body on the couch, he understood; the words were not meant to scorn (even though they had) but to try and make Var realise that he was wrong in feeling how he had, sympathetic to himself. "I understand..." the eldest replied anyways, ignoring Tyn's last words. "And I will... forget what happened... and... not be like I was; for you, I can try and do anything."
Kris shook his head, eyes fluttering against the shirt-clad shoulder, everything from today building up, his hate, his jealousy, his utter disgust... And with an awful little whine, he voiced it, unable to keep from saying what he felt in such a safe embrace. "It's my life! I can't... can't let you get all tangled up in the clutter. You're too nice, too... special for that. If you get all mixed up with me, I think that maybe, maybe you won't be that way anymore, and it will be my fault... And I can't help but feel, feel that me being with you would deprive someone else more deserving of your affection... which isn't fair. I want, for once... to do the right thing." This ended with him biting the shirt to keep from crying, his voice cracking all the way through his words.
"I'm not what you need anyways... a slut like me... I can't, can't help it... I don't. Think. I should hurt you like that." feeling just vile for cracking like this on the second day, the second /date/, even made him feel less... less... It just made him feel something painful inside seem to break and he shook his head, gathering himself and lifting his face, kissing Lysander soundly once more, lip still bleeding faintly. "I... sorry." he smiled, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I.. usually don't get this way, I promise." he laughed off the tears the best he could, although weakly. No, Kris usually didn't do this, just under... immense strains.
Edvard smiled and wrapped one arm around Tyn's clothed shoulders, kissing his hair and sighing slowly, a deep exhale, a deeper inhale. "So. What can I do to start making up for my oh-so-terrible attitude?"
"Casper!" the word was shocked, gasped. "Don’t say things like that. It isn’t true. I would… that wouldn’t happen!" his arms wrapped even tightly around Kris’ shoulders, feeling the teeth close on his shirt, barely missing the skin, but for some reason being bitten by Casper didn’t worry him so much. "Look, Casper. I want to be with you. I want to give this a go. I really, really like you. Much more the I’ve liked any guy in a long, long time. So… give it a go, alright? And we’re going to try to make it work. We have to give it a try, Casper. No matter what you think, I’m not going to give up just like that over nothing." He said, pulling Kris’ head from his shoulder and kissing him back, hard, demanding, and with more passion and desire then he’d shown before. "I want you. But I can’t have you if all it means is a fuck. It needs to be special, Casper." His eyes were darkened, both in sadness and in lust, fingers tracing the shape of the singer’s jaw.
Tyn pondered, his eyes fixed on the flickering, changing screen, and then he began to unbutton his shirt, and slipped it down his shoulder in what could have been seen as a seductive gesture. Especially considering the coy, mock innocent way he turned his head to look at Var, blue bangs over his face and his mouth set into a pout. "Back rub" he said, in a small, sulky voice, the shirt exposing the pale, smooth skin down to just passed his shoulder blades. "You can handle that, can’t you?" he added, moving back against the other male again, his fingers curling in the bunched cloth at his elbows, searching around for something to talk about, other then this slump in their relationship. He wanted to get away from that topic as soon as he could, it made a shiver run down his spine and his stomach knot unpleasantly. So, seeing Var was going to be his (and Tyn was going to make sure Edvard was his, it was going to be his mission in life) he might as well know him, know his past as well as he knew their future.
"I’m never going to feel like this with anyone, Casper. You’re special, and… there is something about you. You’re addictive. I didn’t sleep when I got home, I couldn’t, and I couldn’t work today, either. I just wanted to see you again…" he paused, wondering if he was saying too much, if he sounded like some sort of stalker. Hopefully not. This wasn’t an obsession. Obsessions were dirty, evil, sinful things full of darkness and base instincts, and what Zan felt was pure, simple, childishly innocent almost. It was certainly nothing as black and as frightening as an obsession, but it had, in fact, Casper had, swallowed him down so, so quickly, and now Lysander was lost to it. "I want to be near you, with you always. I want to be able to hold you and watch you be you… I want the main role in this…" his arms left Casper’s sides, and gestured, searching for the right word, "in this drama around you. I want to be part of it, with you. Don’t you understand? Even if it’s only for a little while, I want to co-star with you, I don’t want a cameo part."
"Edvard, we’re going to play truth or dare. You know what that is, right? You pick to answer a question truthfully, or you do something nasty like… hang upside-down from the balcony." Tyn gave a soft smile, he’d played this game before as a child in the 1980s. He was an expert. "I’ll go easy on you until you get the hang of it. Truth or dare? I’ll tell you the question now, but I’m not really meant to. You have to tell me about your childhood, if you can, alright?"
Arms unfurling from their protective half-circle around Tyn's shoulders, Edvard couldn't help but smile with that little pout and small, demanding voice coming to him. With a too-wide grin for his thin face he gave one short nod, fangs daring to prickle at his lower lip. Throwing the remote away onto the coffee table, he rearranged himself so that his arms would stretch and be able to easily, comfortably loosen those tight muscles straining over the other's back. Fingers curling and knuckles cracking, he folded one leg beneath himself and then set to work; the lengthy digits ran over the achy shoulders and then came together, putting pressure beneath them and moving as two clones, both in the same motion, each with the same technique. Listening to the explanation of the game they were to play, his smile never faltered, but his eyebrows furrowed at the first question. "Truth or dare, hmm?" he leaned his face to the side, staring determinedly at the seventh vertebrate that protruded at the base of Tyn's neck. "It has been... many, many years since I have even thought of my childhood... or my parents..." the fingertips skipped a beat at this moment, but when directly back to what they were doing. "My childhood was... dull, if nothing else. We lived, if I remember correctly, somewhere along the German and French border... exactly where I am uncertain. I was the son of a serf on a rather large manner, I cannot remember the name of it for the death of me, but you know I think it was some rather kindly Frenchman's...." he seemed to ponder this a moment, eyes gone hazy with recollections, hands smoothing lower to Tyn's mid-back, hands stroking near the spine without thought to his actions. "Anyways, I was somewhat of a frail boy, you know... The other serf's sons didn't like me much, and the maids, they didn't fancy me either... I suppose," he began with a slight chuckle, "that it was because I was prettier than most of them... So, seeing as my father disapproved of all this nonsense, he had always vowed to get enough money from the surplus things he sold at market to buy our way past all the debts we had and then become a blacksmith or something... I can't remember what exactly his mind was setting on doing, really, it's been oh too long. Yet, I remember my mother falling ill and dragging my father down until she finally died. She was a magnificent lady, I do remember that.... Even though, I know it sounds horrid, I can't recall her name.... Nor my father's... But the point was, my Father was crushed. He lost all tastes for leaving the mannor we worked on, everything he had planned was nothing to him when she died... I do recall getting into a rather nasty dispute with him though, when I told him I was to leave. He said that it was a treacherous thing to do, leaving my father and all.... but you know how boys are; I had to get away from him, at all costs. He was killing me, ever-so slowly with his set, determined, mindless ways."
"You want to try it, even when... even after all that I have just told you? Even when it's clear to you what I'm like, what I've admitted?" the words slipped from the young singer's lips in a jumble, amazed and trembling from the kiss and that needy look he'd seen in Lysander's eyes. "You still want to be with me?" Kris murmured in undertones, eyebrows dipped in what looked to be disbelief, confusion. "Surely you've gone mad. I'm not... not what you expect, this has to be... have you been drinking? Shooting up, perhaps?" he asked with a small smile, one palm lifting and laying over the other man's forehead, checking for a temp. The mood lightened some, as Casper had tried to make happen, but it still hung in that last few minutes of despair, need, desire... All those things made the air thick, like their breath had been constricted and held against nature's will behind the willow branches and long, tapering limbs. Nuzzling his jaw with his upturned nose, Kris leaned back slightly on the branch, only to lean forwards again and cling to Lysander. He was too moody, too high-strung for Lysander-unless the man had developed patience and nerves of steel; this was possible, seeing as the air reverted back to the way it had been a moment before-thick-and he hadn't moved against its pressure. Kissing the man's jaw, wirey bit a beard brushing beneath his lips, he sighed.
The whistle on the kettle began to cry, and Var looked 'round, shocked, surprised at the interjection to his story. "I'll get it." he murmured, leaning to the side and carefully removing himself from behind Tyn. Walking to the kitchen, he stretched his arms above his head, shirt wrinkling from where it was draped between his shoulder blades. "Well, anyways," he called, the crying of the kettle dying slowly. "I ran away from my father, met up with the Lord of the manor one evening. I had been saving a bit of money to take to him in exchange for me leaving his service. Being a rather good fellow-oh! Would you like a cup of this too?" he stopped his sentence, as if just realising that he hadn't asked, head appearing around the doorframe too stare questioningly at the other. "Seeing as it has sugar, it should be rather good..."
"If you insist on trying, we can... I... feel that way for you, too, Lysander... I thought about you so often today, it was sort of funny, worried me... No one really sticks in my mind that often, it's usually just about 'mememe'... you know?" Kris asked, looking up from where his lips and fingertips had been dancing over the other's skin beneath his jaw over that masculine expanse of neck, sweet emerald eyes gazing up into those soft blue ones that reminded him of some circular throw pillows he had seen once in some store, and (strangely enough) not of the sky. And as he waited for a reply, his fingers, nails smoothed down with both emory board and buffer, drew a line down Lysander's jaw, his mouth moulding against the other set of lips... and then he broke it, moving just a fraction away from the skin he had just caressed, warm and wet. "Are you certain you wouldn't just rather see me for one more night then get caught in all my drama?"
"One night would never be enough, love." Lysander managed, voice somewhat husky as his fingers moved to the base of Kris’ spine, fingertips disappearing under the waistband of the dark trousers. "One night couldn’t possibly be enough, ever. Neither would a thousand nights…" he leant forwards, kissing over the singer’s cheek again in a short, tender line. Casper was beautiful, even in this dim midnight light while cast the world into shades of black and grey and silver, a patchwork landscape. It was like one of those 1920’s black and white, soundless films. The difference was that those stories were simplistic, the acting unrealistic, the people wooden and unfeeling. In this drama, to stick with the metaphor, nothing was simple, intangible, and both were perhaps too emotional.
Following his love into the kitchen, Tyn watched, head tilted to one side, his hands pulling the shirt closed over his chest again. "How long ago did all this happen, Eddy?" He asked softly, pulling two of the thin porcelain cups from the cupboard and setting them down, before he scrambled onto the counter on the other side of the stove and the sink, almost daintily closing one led over the other and arranging the shirt tails like a skirt. "I like the bit about you being prettier then the maids. I think you were. Maids are whores." He nodded, not even trying to back up his opinion. Why should he? Anyone who was anyone knew about the modern heterosexual male and the obsession with all things subservient, especially if it involved tall white socks, crisp clean aprons and short black dresses. You only had to walk passed any high-street sex shop to know it. Maid equalled whore.
"We can try, can’t we? I don’t… I don’t care what you do, I don’t as long… as long as… with me, it’s different. As long as it means something, when we’re together, nothing else matters..." it was clear from the way Zan spoke he did not fully understand what Casper was trying to tell him. But as he had said, perhaps this didn’t matter. Why should it matter? Nothing mattered, apart from Casper felt the same. Those few words had made Lysander’s heart pound heavily in his temples, in his chest. He was beginning to feel light-headed. "We try. If it doesn’t work… then it doesn’t work. But I’m going to try as hard as I can for us, Casper. I’m going to try and make you happy…" he leant forwards, pulling the other against him, his hands moving down over Casper’s thighs. "You’re so beautiful. You’re like…. The personification of what humans should be…" he fingers travelled up the flat stomach, over the chest, "…perfect."
Tyn sat for a moment in silence, letting the sound of tea-making, oddly soothing, wash over him. As he pulled out a spoon from the draw near his knees to use to shovel the sugar into the brown, watery substance, his eye moved over Var again, over his thin, no, slender frame. He was attractive, and Tyn was lucky, even more so now then he had been before, when they had… had become lovers. He blushed slightly at the memory. "It’s your turn, Eddy. You have to ask me if I want a truth, or a dare. But no streaking, I don’t like those kinda of dares…" he smiled, and slipped down from the workbench, taking his cup carefully, and swallowing down a small mouthful. Even with sugar, he didn’t much like tea. He was a coffee boy, or vodka. Not this early though, or even, this late. Tea would do, seeing he had volunteered himself for it.
"I'll take your word for it..." Edvard chuckled and leaned his face down, eyes watching his hands working to make the tea. He poured the cups full carefully, gracefully, and then turned, passing over a small, delicate tea-cup filled with steamy, watered-down brown. Finished sugaring his own, he pushed the small bowl he had filled with the crystals to Tyn, his body leaning back against the counter as he sighed into his container that was now lifted lightly against his lips. Golden orbs flickering to watch the boy pour mounds upon mounds of sweetener into the thin substance, he smiled, taking a short and yet satisfying sip. "Yes, I find that part quite amusing myself now a days... Silly thing is, it was terribly true. And when? Goodness me... it must have been a good bit over four hundred years ago. You know, I'm getting around to my fifth century... and I didn't turn a vampire until I was... twenty-three. But... I left home around fifteen. I guess that has about eight years unaccounted for...." he took another sip, relishing in the bittersweet of it and how it tingled warmly sliding down his throat. "Maybe we can save that for another truth, yes?" Leaning over, he took back the sugar bowl, replacing the lid. "You should drink more tea, you know, it really would be good for you, if you were alive...." that prompted a short laugh from the Victorian-looking vampire, who had once been the son of a poor man, the son of a woman who had died when he was ten... He was the son of hardships, beautiful and yet broken, never faltering even as he rushed headlong into his death with a willing mind and able body. How able did you have to be to die? If you had died like Edvard had, the answer was /very/.
"Never... enough?" he asked, looking in minor disbelief. No one had dared nor cared to speak to him like this before, it shook him. Thinking for just a moment that someone wouldn't want to use him for one night and then get back into the normal groove of their own the next morning when his place in their beds cold was... was... shocking. And those words Lysander spoke! Was he, really, the personification of human perfection? Surely not... It couldn't be true, could it? His body arching into the hand, eyes fluttering shut, he had to believe the words, if only for just a jiffy, just enough time to question himself again. Could this really be something besides a dream? Who would want to make him happy, and expect nothing but adoration in return? Of course, being loved must have been something, Kris supposed, people were doing it everywhere-like some not-so-new trend he had yet to catch on to. Little sounds of approval, pleasure greeted these touches, fingers running warmly over his thighs, his abdomen and higher. "Oh, you jest." he uttered, leaning his now hot face against Lysander's throat, feeling the Adam's apple bob when he shifted, nearly crawling into the man's lap, legs straddling his hips.
"So, now I ask you 'truth or dare', correct? I've never played this game... so... you might have to come up with your own dare." he grinned, not sure how at all to react to this. No one had ever really engaged in such behaviours as set games like this one with him. "So, err... Truth or dare, love?" Refilling his cup, he turned back to stare at Tyn, observing him in a new light after having Tyn's /wisdom/ shed onto him; he also thought, vaguely, of what to ask the other if he requested truth.
Cuddling as close as he dared into the pulsing heat of the embrace, Kris' lips formed the words, barely audible against Zan's skin. "What happens now? Now that we're... are we? Are we really?" he blinked as though he had just woken from some sort of rather pleasing dream, unsure if this was iron-clad... if it was completely decided.
Tyn knew when he had the right amount of sugar in his tea as soon as the crystals stopped dissolving and merely turned into thick, white sludge at the bottom of the cup. Even then he had to sip at it carefully to prevent it burning his mouth, or from choking him completely. Tea had never looked very healthy to him, like muddy water that had been sieved finely, but still contained enough dirt to make it that horrible colour. At least the Japanese had the right idea, making their tea a healthy, herbal looking green. Although to him that tasted just as bad. He hadn’t looked up as Edvard finished his tall, his mind focused on the swirling, spilling liquid in his cup. Four hundred, going on five hundred, eh? His lover was older then Tyn had guessed, although that didn’t matter too much. He wanted to finish learning all that he could, and if he had to be sneaky and play a game to do that, then sobeit. He didn’t mind, it was just going to be like a history lesson, and those were the lessons he’d loved most of all. At the risk of sounding cold, effectively that was what Tyn now had, his own personal, private source to learn from. It was wonderful.
He reached down, hands curling onto the highest part of Casper’s outer thighs, almost holding the other male’s backside, and pulled him even closer onto his own lap, their bodies pressed chest to chest, sharing breath as his hands moved a little more darlingly around, squeezing the rounded flesh of Casper’s ass, kissing him again. And as the kiss broke, he let his lips brush the soft cheek, turning the other’s head up to look at him, leaving the tip of Zan’s nose to press gently into that cheek, the ghostings of hot breath sliding over his neck, making the hairs prickle to attention. "I don’t joke about anything as serious as feelings, love…" he breathed, fingernails raking carefully over the fabric of Casper’s trousers, his body tingling with desire and heightened emotions he didn’t understand. Now felt so, so good, to hold and to be needed and to feel Kris’ chest hammer against his, to feel their breathing and hearts beating in time to one another. It was glorious, wonderful. How could it get better? It was going to, he knew. But tonight? Wasn’t that too soon? Far too soon. Casper would think the words were meant to charm him into bed, wouldn’t he? Would he? He didn’t know, but slower, slower, before he lost everything, like he had before…
"…Truth." Tyn muttered eventually, taking another swallow and trying not to twitch as the sugar-grain-full liquid slid, not flowed, down his throat to sit heavily in his stomach, and he set the cup down carefully, finger tracing the decorated rim, his eye fixed on it, lost to the present, to the now, and to the past too for that matter. He wasn’t thinking, he was just… being. Sitting and breathing and letting the dregs of blood swim about his veins, let things and lives and death and the universe be around him. It was one of these day-dream like states teenagers could slip into, just be and not care, not exist outside their own bodies. In his stone-cold existence losing himself for a few moments reassured him. He didn’t want to live if he was dead on the inside, and he needed to check, sometimes, that everything was still going. In other words, he was trying to listen for his soul. Sometimes he could feel it, feel something, anyway, and it comforted him. Other times, especially when he could still taste a stranger’s blood, or could still feel the heat of some unknown women’s body in his bed, then the feeling was muted, if it was there at all. But now it was strong, a fluttering, gentle feeling, as if some sort of humming bird, or moth, was trapped inside his body.
"What are we?" Lysander answered, still stroking, fingers moving up, under Casper’s jumper and running his fingertips over soft, hot skin. He seemed to need a minute to consider this, all the while his lips pressing sweeping, quick kisses over Casper’s lips. "I’m happy. I’m not sure about you but… happy. Although, if you want a name for it I suppose… oh, I don’t like… boyfriend sounds so childish… can I call you mine?" he smiled, kissing the other hard, easing his tongue over the sweet, painted lips, hands moving to hook his thumbs in the back of Casper’s trousers. "What do you want to do? I could stay like this forever… but you might not like that. How about…" he bit his lip for a moment, considering, "how about you come back to my house for tonight? Does that sound alright to you? You can stay over longer, if you want…"
Tyn looked up then, snapping out of the trance. "Truth. Yeah, that’ll be okay. I’m not sure I trust you and dares. Might make me drink more tea or something." He smiled, pulling the shirt back down from where it was creeping up his legs.
"I wouldn't trust me to dares, either." he replied with a smirk turning his placid features. With a thoughtful sigh, he leaned his head back, large hands encompassing the teacup rested against the plane of his chest, eyes turning to look to the ceiling. "Let's see... how about you tell me what life was like for you before you joined the vampiric race... Or, simply, the same question you asked me, save for I want you to go farther than your childhood..." there was another swig of tea left in the cup, but not for long. His head tilted back and he swilled it, turning his arm back to catch the teakettle and pour some more, thirsty like a horse that had gone for water all through a trail ride. He couldn't quite wait for this answer to greet him, make him more knowledgeable about his lover... perhaps that was all they were doing, just playing some silly game to learn more than they had tried to before, too consumed with just the physical chemistry instead of the real mental puzzle pieces. Did it really matter to Edvard? He pondered it a moment, lips pursing from a smirk into a thoughtful, pink line. No, it didn't. How could it? There wasn't any harm in being curious, especially something as tame as a lover's past life. Surely, that was entitled to Tyn, being signed on with the relationship? Why would Edvard care to keep it a secret? It wasn't all that interesting, at least to him, anyways.
Kris murmured, gasping against the lips as one hand slipped onto his backside and took hold there, lips pressing warmly, desperately to Lysander's just to stop the noises he produced. When he broke away again, kisses were being pressed, dandelion fluff sort of light across his cheek, he sighed, spine arching in against the fingertips, heartbeat playing like a set of hollowed gourds against his ribs. Maybe it was the bones that were hollow? Or could it have been the heartbeat? Probably the latter, the thought came bitterly and Casper drowned it in his growing, confused emotions. "You can call me yours." he replied, his turned up nose-tip pressing against Lysander's and moving side to side in an Eskimo's kiss. The sudden need to smile, even if it was faintly brushed over those sparkled, still glossed lips that had withstood all those meeting of lips and skin; his emerald eyes, fading of their blue and being replaced with a deep, forested green seemed to swim in and out of focus as they stared at Zan's mouth as they formed the invitation that was so very inviting.... Could he say no?
Edvard stepped towards Tyn and took his tea cup, moving it out of the way as his arms slipped around the young man's body, one beneath his legs, the other around his shoulders, sweeping him off the counter top. With the other held in his embrace, Var carried him back to the living room, wordless even as the curls fell into his eyes and obscured his vision momentarily. Placing Tyn onto the couch, he smiled, bending over him. "Would you like some tea? Or do you want me to find you something else to drink whilst I hear your truth?"
"I... I..." he looked confused even more than he had the whole time they had been sitting together on this branch. Most of all, he didn't want to disappoint Lysander, but he wasn't sure that going to the man's house was a great idea. If those whorish attitudes he had acquired shined through, would Lysander still think what he though of him at this moment? And... and would he be able to stay there? Plus, what would... he stopped that train of thought. Of course he could contain himself, he had, well, mostly, so far, hadn't he? Well... no... but that wasn't the point. "If I came... and then saw it better to go home for a while, would you get upset with me?" Casper asked in a small, slow voice, like warm honey.
When he was lifted from the worksurface, Tyn made a soft, childish squeal, almost in delight, arms folding about his lover’s neck, and then didn’t let go as he was let onto the sofa. "No. Stay?" he pouted, honey-clear eye big as it stared up at Edvard, and the white, although slightly pink-stained teeth nibbled at the lower lip. "Please?" Not even waiting for an answer, Tyn tugged the other down and then, for want of another word, bundled him, using his body weight to press Var down into the cushions. "Ah ha! Now you’re mine! All mine!" He said, smirking like a Cheshire cat, and righting himself to sit on the taller mans lap, facing him. "It’s a sneaky trick using a guy’s on question back on him, lazybones. But I suppose I will answer, seeing we didn’t set out any rules…" he paused, hips shuffling backwards over Var’s legs and his arms folding over Var’s chest, leaning on him at a 45 degree angle.
"If that is what you feel better doing, love, then that suits me just fine…" he glanced down, one side of them the way down blocked by the branches they had climbed up, the other side was bare. Although really, Lysander shouldn’t have needed to look, he’d fallen down that way when he was twelve and broken his arm, as he’d told Casper, and now he was older, taller, stronger, the distance wasn’t so big. Seven, maybe eight feet in all, not that big a jump. He turned his eyes back to Casper, who looked upset, worried. "I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything, not anything at all, love." He leant forwards, kissing Casper more tenderly this time, and scooping him up in his arms as one leg swung over the branch, and he… he didn’t jump, but allowed them to slip from the tree, down, his knees bending as they touched the dry ground, and letting Casper out of his arms, grin still in place. "Better then climbing" he explained.
"Well…" he began, wondering exactly what to say, and then shrugging. ‘Start at the start, work your way through the middle, then stop’ as his mother had said… "My parents, my human parents… gave me up when I was about three or four. I… I think… it was because… because I was difficult, and my mum… couldn’t cope with me. That’s what my Mother said. She… adopted me. When I was six. She was really pretty. English, and she had all this old stuff from England and used to tell me about it and how to talk properly, because how I spoke wasn’t right…" he smiled cheekily. "I swore a lot. She didn’t like that. But… she was really rich and nice and stuff, and so I got taught at home and spoilt and cra… I mean, stuff. When I got older… she would teach me herself, in this room that she called the drama hall, because it was all blacked up, painted black and the windows were all blocked up. But she used to tell me stories about… her. She never said it was her, but I guessed, eventually. She used to be one of the ladies at Hampton Court, and she danced with James the first and meet his son and things. She said Charlie, the king’s son, was a really spoilt little brat, and we would have been best of friends. But… when the war happened, you know England had this big civil war, don’t you? With the Cavaliers and the Roundheads and Oliver Cromwell? Well, because she had been friends with the Kings, she couldn’t stay, it was dangerous, so she packed up and moved to the colonies. That’s here." He gave a satisfied little nod.
Picking up the jacket he’d given to Casper, he pulled his own over his shoulders, wrapping one arm protectively, but not too tightly, about the other’s waist. "You don’t have to stay. Or do anything. Just come have something hot to drink, and sit down, get out of the cold for a little while." He said softly, pulling a packet of cigarette from his pocket and offering one to the other male. "You don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. You don’t even have to come if you don’t want to. I don’t mind. I can… come see you some time tomorrow at the club again. You know, we can date for a while longer yet, if you prefer. It’s up to you love, whatever makes you more comfortable."
Tyn paused, looking up at Var, then down, realising he’d prattled off the subject and had spoken for far too long as it was. "Sorry. I just… miss her. She was really nice to me. I loved her a lot…" he swallowed then, eye welling with tears, and flung himself into Var’s chest, half-sobbing, fingers cling as if his lover was the last life-raft and Tyn was a passenger on a doomed sail-boat.