Reconnecting

[Existentially Odd]

He missed Vincent.  Righteous indignation was company enough for a while, but after four weeks, Owen was missing his sire.  He missed training with him, he missed waking up with him, he missed hugging and kissing him and falling asleep by his side.  He missed sex.  He wasn't tempted by any of the mortals he fed from or the willing residents of the Chambers, though he enjoyed having someone to cuddle as he fell asleep and when he woke up.  He just... missed his relationship and he resented the fact that Vincent had caused him to walk away from it.

If he'd felt he was changing or becoming more accustomed to his own skin, he likely wouldn't have felt so angry, but it didn't seem like anything was changing.  He was still doing the same things - avoiding the politics and incestuous relationships at the Chambers, feeding and hanging around the city - and feeling the same ways.  His life was on hold while he figured out how he fit inside it... and nothing fit.

One spot of difference had been a couple of weeks before, when he'd finally succumbed to the pressure of his mother calling him at the same time every night and gone to visit her.  He'd shown up without warning (for he still hadn't answered any of her phone calls), defensive and angry, but by the end of the visit he'd been wailing pitifully and clutching at her.  She was familiar and perhaps she hadn't committed as many sins against him as Vincent had, he'd decided in the end, for she'd simply gone along with his husband's plans, in order to find solace after her husband had died and she'd been left alone.  She'd loved him, she'd raised him and Vincent's words, asserting that she deserved no punishment rang in his head, convincing him, in the end.  Many parents didn't tell their children they were adopted; she apologised profusely and begged his forgiveness.  He'd done the same and everything had felt clearer by the end of the visit.  She had absolutely no knowledge of his birth parents though, and couldn't fathom how they'd start looking but he was resigned to that.

What did it matter where he'd come from, if this was where he'd ended up?  This was the question he was wrestling with as he pulled into Vincent's driveway, trying to find it in his heart to forgive so that they could move forward.  He was still an empty non-person though, floating along in a mediocre existence with nothing but a view-change to account for all the time he'd spent away from here.  He switched off the car and killed the lights, peering at the house through the windscreen.  It still felt like this was his home and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.  It made him feel sadder.  And angrier, that he'd known this place his whole life and never realised the dirty secret held beneath those floorboards.  The secret of his creation and arrangement as a person Vincent wanted to spend his life with.

He closed his eyes and tried to bury the negative feelings, knowing his sire was inside, feeling him like an extension of his soul within those walls.  It just wasn't fair that the person he was most connected to and loved more than anyone else in the world, was also the one he needed to find his way without.  After another minute of smoothing his feelings over, he got out of the car and locked it before approaching the front door.  He still had a key on the set in his hand but he didn't use it, opting to knock instead.  As much as it felt like his home, he'd turned his back on it and something in him was determined to stand by that.  Maybe it was his way of punishing Vincent that little bit longer.  Maybe it was his way of punishing himself.

When Vincent answered the door, Owen simply looked at him for a moment, thinking how unfair it was that just the sight of him had the power to make his body flutter and tingle in so many enticing ways.  He hooked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans (because he had an urge to hug that he was thinking he should fight) and summoned a small smile.  He was dressed simply, wearing sneakers and a decorative T-shirt he'd got back when he was working at the clothing shop besides his dark blue jeans - the shirt was a deep teal colour with white squiggles all over the right shoulder and sleeve, the rounded collar collecting a few splashes in places too.

"I... thought I should probably train, a little.  If you wouldn't mind?" he asked humbly.

[Trillian]

Vincent was on the phone with Ben when a car entered his driveway.  He'd been standing in the front room, speaking with the sire-less vampire who was limping around the topic of training.  Vincent was giving him time to get to the subject on his own, but suspected that asking for help wasn't in the youngling's nature.  He was smiling at the awkwardness of the other; not in a cruel derogatory way, but with indulgence and the wise knowledge of one who is much older watching the struggles of the new.  When headlights splashed into his room through the window, he knew it was Owen arriving.

He told Ben that someone was arriving at his house, but didn't say who, and immediately offered a date in a couple of night's time for training.  He recommended his own place, not wanting to be out for too long in case Owen dropped in unexpectedly like he had tonight.  Ben was silent for a moment on the other end of the line, and if Vincent hadn't heard the constant washing echo of the surf through the phone he might've believed he'd been disconnected.  He waited out the young vampire with an impatience that the other wouldn't see, and when Ben softly agreed that he would come by around midnight, Vincent thanked him and said he would see him then before excusing himself and hanging up with a quick goodbye.  When the knock came, he was only a few steps away from the door after pocketing his mobile, but he took a moment to close his eyes and wish that Owen had come back to him in order to work things out, so they could be together again.  Then he strode to the door and flicked the lock, sweeping it open and smiling at his fledge with an openness that betrayed his hope.

His heart didn't know whether to rise or fall at Owen's request.  With training, they could be together in a civil way, reclaim some of the time together that they were losing, and perhaps reconnect over time and finally come together.  With training, they could be friendly, but Vincent would be almost perfunctory as a sire, and unnecessary as a husband and lover.  Without realising it, his right hand stole to his left and he twisted the ring on his finger that Owen had given him the night he'd been sired.

"Of course," he said, releasing his left hand from the hold on his right in order to reach out towards Owen, but it didn't get far before he rethought himself and stepped back and away from the door instead, using his left hand now to gesture that Owen should step inside.  The obvious change in his maneouvre had him feeling ridiculous and aware that he was overly conscious of touching his fledge.  It reminded him absurdly of all the times he had touched Owen; intimately, lovingly, gently, flesh on flesh.

His thoughts were beginning to become highly inappropriate, and he was aware he'd never been so lustful with anyone like he was with Owen.  Even his sire, who'd accused him of being a boring lover, of wanting more and getting it from others, leaving Vincent with a combination of heartbreak, resentment and relief.  Owen had given him new energy, refreshed his desires and compounded them.  He had to restrain himself, and so it would be best if he just didn't touch at all.

It was peculiar how he was now offering to train with two young blonde vampires suddenly, one his fledge and another a sire-less fledge (though he sensed Ben had a number of years on Owen - perhaps ten or twenty).  He considered for the briefest of moments to train them together, but decided against it.  He wanted his time with Owen to himself.  Perhaps it was selfish, but if that was the case, then he was comfortable being selfish.  He didn't want to share his time with Owen, not when Owen was already sharing himself with the world without him.

He indicated Owen should move into the front room, and shut the door after him.

[Existentially Odd]

When Vincent made that move towards him - whether it was going to be a hug or a touch, he didn't know - he realised that he was hopeful and crushed when it was diverted into an awkward little sweep instead.  He blinked and turned, going to where Vincent had indicated on auto-pilot while his mind whirled.  A month ago, he hadn't wanted Vincent's hands anywhere near him, had literally run away from him when he'd got close because it had felt smothering, like Vincent was just trying to stuff him back inside the box of ignorance he'd grown up in.

Tonight, things were very different and that was made apparent in that moment when Vincent had got slightly closer to him and his heart had leapt with anticipation, then plummetted with disappointment.  He could certainly withstand his husband touching him tonight.  He no longer felt the need to deny him or rail at him, in fact.  He was... sort of numb about the whole argument, in fact, because he'd done nothing but turn it over and over in his head for the past many weeks.  He was at the stage now where he understood the events perfectly and he knew his place in them - and Vincent's and his mother's - but he was still sorting out the next step.  He hadn't forgiven his sire for orchestrating it all but he'd reached a certain level of acceptance.  He couldn't fight the past, after all, he could only hope to adjust his view of the future with this greater knowledge.

He sat on the couch when he reached the living room and hoped Vincent would sit near him, rather than in an armchair; he specifically sat between cushions, so that he wasn't at the end, wasn't in the middle and the slightly larger space would appeal to his lover.  "I went and saw my mother, did she tell you?" he said as he sat, surrendering this information first like a peace offering, hoping to appease by showing that he had conceded to Vincent's wishes.

[Trillian]

In order to not touch Owen, he would have to not sit near him.  How effortlessly he would be able to touch his fledge if he was seated next to him?  He could see it in his mind's eye; a lingering hand, a desire to stroke his back or shoulder or cheek or lips... better just to sit in an armchair and control that.  He so desperately wanted to be near Owen, but thought his presence and touch unwelcome.  Owen had flinched away from him too much recently, and it had pained his heart every time.  He didn't want to experience that any more than he had to, so he sat in the armchair adjacent, looking left at his fledge.

"Yes," Vincent said softly, pleased that Owen had done as asked and managed to find forgiveness for her.  Karen had done nothing wrong except to want a child to raise.  It wasn't right that she should get caught in the crossfire when she'd done nothing but the best for them both.  He fell silent with only a light smile of approval, expecting that Owen might offer more.

[Existentially Odd]

Again, his hopes were dashed when Vincent sat in the armchair, though he wasn't unprepared for it.  Boldly, he slid sideways to the other end of the couch, so that his knee was pressed against his sire's.  He sat forward also, his elbows resting on his thighs and his thumbs pressed together thoughtfully, fingertips tapping lightly against one another as he contemplated Vincent's face.

God, you have beautiful eyes.

He thought it and then blinked as he realised he'd communicated it but instead of looking embarrassed he simply grinned and gave a breathy little laugh that was meant to be something akin to an apology.  Oh, well.  He was here to train his mind... as far as warm up exercises went it wasn't anything taxing but it was still a forward step.  He'd been blocking Vincent since he'd left, consciously when he could see him and unconsciously when they were apart.  He hadn't wanted to have anything to do with him but now, touching his mind was like stepping into a warm, familiar bath.  It was intimate contact under an agreed-upon premise and that seemed legitimate to Owen.

Yes, this.  He could be comfortable with this.  Small steps, gentle contact, the ability to simply gaze at his lover and convince himself he wasn't a monster, nor was he the demi-God Owen had risen him up to being.  He was just a man who'd lived a long and winding life and made mistakes throughout it.  Only when he'd seen the truth of things gathered around him in piles of papers had Owen begun to realise just how long that life had truly been.  He was but a blink in that timeline.  Vincent couldn't see how his manipulations left Owen in despair, perhaps, because his goal had been simple; a companion.  Maybe he couldn't understand the importance of these things in a life that was only just beginning for he was too aged.  And maybe Owen was too young.  It was inconceivable that they'd have remained just companions, to the fledgling - who'd built a love and reverence for this man into his character makeup along with his love of ice cream and surfing - at least.

It was still so complicated.  Vincent was a part of him, in more ways than simply being his sire, though, and Owen was coming to accept that, as he sat there staring at him.  It was so hard to fight it and truthfully, he was weary of that.  So he simply sat and looked and appreciated, more than a little horny and hopeful that this training, this contact, would help him understand where they went next.  He knew he still had much to learn - so much that he couldn't even grasp the scope of what he didn't know - and he wanted to learn it from Vincent without thinking he'd been betrayed or deceived.  He wanted to focus on the good, not the devastating.  That was his goal for the evening.  Progress on as many levels as possible.

[Trillian]

When the compliment came he was unprepared for it.  Vincent had been steeling his heart as much as he could, not wanting to push things too far with Owen, bracing himself for possible rejection or maybe a sidelong argument once they started speaking to one another.  Even after Owen scooched over on the sofa, even after their knees brushed and he came so close that Vincent could easily smell the scent of unfamiliar soap on his skin and shampoo in his hair, even after the lovely expression on his face, Vincent hadn't been prepared for that comment.

He closed his 'beautiful' eyes to bathe in the warmth of reconnecting with his fledge's mind.  He shared Owen's view of it; that it was like slipping into a warm bath, cosy and enveloping, tender and accomodating, peaceful and so wonderful that it ached to recall the loss of it.  He relished it, like Owen had once relished the sun.

I miss you, Vincent sent back, opening his eyes and toning down the true thought that he'd wanted to return with.  He doubted Owen would want to hear about his love again.  He looked at his fledge, so innocent and unassuming, no longer looking angry and betrayed.  He looked like his Owen, like Vincent's Owen, not the stranger Owen who'd run away and shouted at him and taken off his ring.  Unable to help himself, Vincent looked at Owen's hands.

[Existentially Odd]

Owen's smile became a little more sentimental as he felt Vincent's mental feedback, was again bathed in the emotions his sire felt for him.  They were tempered somehow and he knew that was his fault; he'd severed their connection and he'd walked out, burning the bridge.  Now he was attempting to reconstruct it.  He didn't blame Vincent for being a bit tentative and it was also a relief because he wasn't ready to jump in feet first anyway.  They were both cautious but that felt okay.

I miss you too.  It's why I came tonight.  I just... needed to be close to you for a little while and see... see how things go, I guess.

As he replied, his full lips mooched and shifted around, showing that he was hesitant but hopeful.  He was wearing his ring on his right hand tonight but it had been on his left ever since he'd visited his mother.  Well, the night after, really.  His loneliness had been amplified that night, after reconnecting with her, and he'd also had another reason to assert to someone or other that he was married and not interested in doing anything to interfere with anyone's relationship (the Natalia and Jade thing came around to haunt him every now and then despite the fact that he'd made his peace with Jade).  He'd switched it back before he got in the car to come over though, not wanting to give Vincent any false hope.

Vincent got a good look at this as Owen's hands stole onto his thigh to give it a little squeeze of reassurance, to go with the smile he was attempting.

[Trillian]

Vincent watched and felt this maneouvre, feeling lost and overwhelmed by it.  It was like drowning in chocolate.  His hands went to Owen's own, even though he'd vowed not to touch him, even though he was supposed to be maintaining a healthy distance.  He knew he was doing the wrong thing by stroking those hands, his fingers tracing around Owen's hands, familiarising himself with his fledge's palm, thumb, fingers, nails.  His touch was soft and gentle and all-encompassing.  He was casting a spell over himself as he focussed on his touches, half expecting Owen to pull away and sensing that he might not.  He reached beneath Owen's left hand with his own, grasping it palm to palm and giving it a tiny tug, indicating he would like to pull Owen close except he didn't dare.  Owen didn't have to lose face rejecting him, because it was discreet enough to not have to be addressed if it didn't work well.  Vincent hoped it would work well.  He ached to hold his fledge close.

[Existentially Odd]

Owen watched their hands mingle, feeling electric impulses and urges that he'd been supressing because he wasn't with Vincent (though there'd been a night last week when he'd found some time alone and indulged his memories of being with his husband and relented to his hand).  Nobody made him feel desire like this, anyway; not with just a brush of his fingers.  His gaze lifted at the tug and though he liked to think he stared thoughtfully at his husband for at least a minute before he moved, he knew he was weaker than that.

With a flutter of his eyelashes he moved into Vincent's lap, sitting on his left thigh and curling against him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and leaning his left cheek against Vincent's head.  Part of him quailed at the contact (the part still standing by a burned bridge with a lit torch) but most of him was pleased with it.  Somehow, things seemed to make more sense when he was close to Vincent and he rubbed his cheek against his love's hair, closing his eyes and breathing his familiar scent in.  All the better to take away with him and think on it later, he supposed.

[Trillian]

Vincent welcomed him to his lap, grateful and feeling the tension in his shoulders melting away as soon as Owen was embracing him.  He loved him so much and so desperately that it was a struggle to keep his emotions bottled up and to himself.  Still, he didn't want to mess with this, he didn't want to upset the status quo.  If he gave Owen too much, he might pull away, and Vincent was nourishing his soul with Owen's presence.  He wasn't done with him yet, he needed to hold him, and hold him, and hold him some more.

[Existentially Odd]

Owen marvelled at how lovely it felt to have Vincent's arms around him, at the delightful tingles sparking in the shell of his ear as it brushed againt his love's with his tiny head movements.  He wished, for the first time, that he'd never noticed that crooked floorboard that night, that he'd never discovered the truth, so that this could be his reality, his every night.  Encircled by his lover's arms, loved and happy, enticed by simple touches and growing heat.

And oh, how it was growing.  Against his will and his better judgment, his body was quickening with the contact.  It had been a very long time since he'd been celibate a month and his body was making that very clear to him as he sat in Vincent's lap and cuddled into him.  He would just have to try to ignore it (even though it had been on his mind even before he'd walked through that door), he decided.

What should we work on?  I don't... um, I should probably go back to the couch, being here makes it hard to think.  Amusement travelled with the thought and a little embarrassment.

[Trillian]

"Yes," Vincent breathed, though the declaration made no sense to the question, rather it acknowledged the comment afterward.  Owen's feelings echoed in Vincent and reverberated within him like the striking of a huge bell.  It thrummed in Vincent, making him feel invigorated and energised, as though he was feeding off his fledge/lover/partner somehow, like a parasite.  He made himself let go, already grieving the loss of the hold, the sensation of his arms loosening around Owen like letting something precious fall into the ocean. It was dramatic, but that was how he felt - and well beyond.

Telekinesis, Vincent said finally, once Owen had extracted himself and sat upon the cushion of the sofa.  My hope for you is that you can control it better than me.  He gestured for Owen to pull on the drawer that made up the lower section of the coffee table in the middle of the room - there he would find the little bag of buttons that they'd practised on before their relationship had severed so suddenly.

[Existentially Odd]

Owen gave a good-natured groan and obediently extracted the buttons, sitting forward on the couch cushions, elbows resting on his thighs.  He'd never been able to move one, not even so much as a wobble.  Vincent reminding him of his hope didn't make it any easier.  The fact that his sire couldn't do it very well likely also undermined Owen's confidence in this area, because he doubted he could do better any time soon - Vincent was six hundred!  How was he going to compare with that?

Still, he gave it a try, tipping out four of the small discs, deciding to try and at least get them to click together.  His hands clasped together in between his legs, squeezing for extra strength.  He visualised it in his mind, saw it happening, decided he could see them moving... but nothing happened.

It might also have had something to do with the fact that all he could really think about (in amongst all his visualising) was climbing back into Vincent's lap and taking that hug a step further.  Getting their lips involved.  Would that be bad?  It would be very good to feel it but he doubted it'd stop there.  He glanced at Vincent, able to picture him naked without too much drama, wondering what would happen if he straddled his lover and pressed himself close.  Was there a chance Vincent would hold him off?  He doubted it very much.  Would it send the wrong message?  Probably.  But... God he wanted to.

He licked his lips, gazing at Vincent and suddenly became aware of what he was doing, blushing as he looked back at the buttons because he'd fed well before he came, knowing how taxing this would all be.  Buttons.  He had to make them move.  Not move himself into Vincent's lap, where he could be touched, kissed, fondled.  He had to keep his focus, recall that he was angry at his lover... it was so difficult though, when his body was thrumming with awareness.  He licked his lips again, preparing to speak because he didn't trust his mind to keep its urges to itself.

"I'm still no good at this," he laughed airily.  "Maybe we should work on something easier?"  Something easier would likely involve their minds touching, though... hrmm.

[Trillian]

"That's how I fell into this trap," Vincent said, gesturing at the buttons in front of Owen.  He was also thinking about the cuddle between them, the wonderful closeness of it, the familiar touch and smell.  It had been very easy to fantasise that nothing was broken between them, that they were whole and complete because they had each other.  "Maybe we should make a game of it?" he suggested, and visualised the plastic bin that he used for show just around the corner in the kitchen.  He could hear it vibrating on the tiles and then a bounce as it moved, smacking into one of the cupboards before hitting the doorway between the dining and living rooms, and then flying rapidly at Vincent's head.  He held out his hands and caught it, but instinctively flinched his head away even as it landed safely in his hands.

Smiling at Owen, he shifted off his armchair and took a big step forward to place the bucket past the coffee table where they could both see it.  Because he was standing now, he took the bag of buttons and upended all of them onto the coffee table.  They were buttons of varying size and colour that he'd collected over the years from shirts and jackets that had come with spares, or before he threw them away he would take all the buttons off it, in case he had to replace them on other shirts and so forth.  Right now they would make handy little projectiles, because they wouldn't break anything if they went flying around the room.

"We'll take turns sending buttons to the bin.  You go first," he said, sitting himself back down on the armchair and very aware of brushing Owen's knees with his own while he did so.

[Existentially Odd]

Owen had been more focussed on the way Vincent's ass looked when he bent over to put the bin down than anything else, wondering if he still had sole rights to that (and if he could exercise them right now or not).  The thought caused a twist in his gut that was unexpected as he envisioned Vincent sleeping with someone else.  He'd almost done it when they'd been happy, because Owen's focus had shifted towards training and learning to be a good little vampire.  What might he get up to now that they were separated?

He still wore his ring; Owen's gazed dropped to that as buttons tumbled onto the coffee table, the inside of his cheek being gnawed thoughtfully.  Surely that meant Vincent was faithful?  Still, he was a devastatingly handsome man, with a composed, alluring aura that people found hard to resist.  He looked approachable and wise, and charisma just oozed off him.  Owen knew just how enticing his husband was, how earnestly the mortals flocked to his side.

It wouldn't take much to slip, with them fighting and Vincent suffering emotionally from the damage Owen had caused; a bit of comfort here, a welcome bit of warmth there, and suddenly his sexy, highly-skilled lover was worshipping some other body, spilling into some unknown, slutty hole.  It infuriated Owen to contemplate and he was filled with a jealous rage he hadn't experienced in a very long time.  He heard Vincent tell him to go first and the look he received was likely startlingly filthy as Owen's imagination and insecurity got the better of him.

The situation was his own fault, though, because he'd snooped, he'd learned the secret truth and he'd moved out, right?  He turned his muted fury back towards the buttons, angry at them too, because they never fucking moved for him.  He balled his fists on his knees, wanting to punch the ghostly man Vincent had (likely not) been with, wanting to tear him limb from limb for being here when he wasn't, when he couldn't be, because everything was too hard and hurtful.  He glared at an unassuming brown button and imagined it was some pretty man's face, coming in to kiss Vincent and he was striking out at it... when suddenly the little metal disc flew off the coffee table and into the bin.

Just like that.  He had no idea how it happened, except that he'd released his anger in a sudden burst at the button, like a mental finger flicking it, and it had moved.  It had fallen into the bin, too, but he thought that was really more the convenient placement of the receptacle rather than any actual skill he possessed.  He turned to look at Vincent, whose expression looked as shocked as he felt.

"I did it," he said stupidly, wonder and elation quickly replacing the anger he'd been chewing on and rising far more rapidly, alighting on his face in a sunny smile.  "I fucking did it!" he suddenly yelled and leapt to his feet with a primal whoop of triumph, fists held aloft and face a montage of victory.  He turned to embrace Vincent, to yank him out of his armchair if he wasn't standing up already, to throw his arms around him and jump around in happiness with him, to grasp his face in his hands and share a victory kiss.