Reconnecting

[Trillian]

Vincent had been thoroughly confused by the peculiar emotion thrumming along their blood line once he'd sat down.  It was muted, protected by Owen's block, but there was a strong blood connection between them that couldn't be resisted.  Sire and fledgling, forever together regardless of any separation Owen wanted to make.  That emotion though, it wasn't a good one, but Vincent couldn't identify it.  All he could perceive was that it wasn't directed at him, so as Owen focussed on the buttons with an intensity that Vincent could almost feel, he dismissed it as being frustration at thinking himself unable to perform a task Vincent had set for him.

It didn't take long before a button flew into the bin, as though Owen had thrown it with gusto.  With chagrin, Vincent recognised the absurd style of it, and realised he better put in some practise of his own if he was doing things akin to his fledgling.  He had six hundred years on him!  Of course Owen could likely not move things he couldn't see, but this was one hell of a good start!

"Yes, you did," Vincent said conversationally in response to Owen's surprised tone.  Vincent was grinning broadly at Owen and laughed when he stood up to yell out his delight.  Vincent stood also, thinking that he likely would capitalise with an embrace - at the very least it would be appropriate to pat his fledge on the back, but he received the tight hold that he was really after.  There was more joyous laughter as he was spun and jumped around with, feeling silly but happy, catching Owen's enthusiasm and meeting the kiss with the same kind of passionate glee.

Finally, he had Owen in his arms again, kissing him like he was welcoming him home.  It was wonderful and he was filled with gratitude and love and trying to translate all of that into his kiss, wanting it to last and change things back to the way they'd been, like it was some true love magical fairytale.

[Existentially Odd]

Owen was not feeling it to be a fairytale, for him it was a very real, very heated kiss.  He hadn't consciously thought about it, he'd just been astounded he'd made the button move and it had been a natural thing to kiss Vincent but the sensation of it overtook him quickly.  He clutched suddenly at his lover, squeezing his face and forcing his head to tilt so that their noses didn't clash and he could get as close as possible, his tongue thrusting hungrily into Vincent's mouth to taste him, to suck on his tongue, to devour as much as he could in the time he was given.

The need in him was insistent and voracious and he'd contemplated how it might confuse things but he couldn't think clearly while he was tasting his lover, pressed up against him after so long.  His hands dropped and roved restlessly over Vincent's back, sneaking under his clothing to touch his skin, to knead it and exult in it.  He was hard almost instantly, rubbing shamelessly against his sire's crotch as he cupped his ass and rocked against him, needing to be touched and pinned down and taken.

Where Vincent was all feelings and light, Owen was all lust and desperation, his desires purely physical.  In the space of two minutes, he went from angry to throbbing with want, ready to fuck Vincent on the spot, if he could.

[Trillian]

Vincent felt the passion, the heated desire in Owen.  The kiss had turned into something that was forceful and needy, and he answered it with the same emotion.  It hurt, to be separated from Owen for any length of time, especially not knowing if he would ever return, not knowing if he would ever be allowed to touch him again, to hold his hand, to kiss him, even to look at him.  Now he was in the middle of this, feeling Owen's ardour for him.

He was wise enough to know it was likely just Owen missing him that was driving this act.  He was selfish enough not to care about the repercussions.  He desired Owen too, wanted to feel that touch, that want.  He was wise enough to know that there would be fallout from this, for at least one of them.  Probably for himself.  That was alright, if that was the case, because he would learn to cope with that.  Anything was worth going through, if only for this one, sacred moment.

His fingers worked of their own accord, removing Owen's shirt from his body, wanting to press more of his own flesh against him.  He could feel Owen's erection between them, pressing and grinding and easily summoning forth one of his own.  It wasn't long before he was on his knees - but not alone, for he'd dragged Owen down to his knees along with him.  This wouldn't be giving or taking, this would be an exercise in sharing, and in one horrified corner ofhis mind, he realised there was no lube in the house - just in the basement, and taking Owen down there might be a splash of cold water to his face.

[Existentially Odd]

Vincent's shirt quickly followed his and he clutched at his sire's body, loving its familiarity and its beauty.  No-one was as handsome or desirable in Owen's eyes, he couldn't possibly have looked anywhere else and found this level of desire and passion for anyone.  He tried to keep his heart out of it but, unfortunately, he felt Vincent to be his true love, his soulmate.  Everything about him fit... except for their beginning.

Now wasn't the time for that, though and he squashed the thoughts swiftly.  "Should we... go... downstairs?" he suggested in between kisses, his eyes closed and his hands still moving.  He was grabbing at Vincent's pants now, undoing them and reaching eagerly inside, desperate to touch and rekindle.  He didn't care where or how he got the release he craved, but he knew where the lube was and he was starving for everything, to be branded by Vincent, to be imprinted with his body and his scent, to celebrate what was easy and could still be good about them.

[Trillian]

He was pleasantly surprised that Owen was just as keen to return to their bed as he'd been to rekindle their sexual flame.  It had ignited a heat between both of them that Vincent hadn't wanted doused, and so he agreed readily, caught between leading Owen to the other end of the house and continuing where they were because he didn't want to stop.  Somehow, he managed to lead his fledge there, with some heated and awkward exchanges in the middle of walking/stopping/kissing/fondling.

Then they were in bed and things progressed so smoothly and familiarly that there was no need to think about the meaning behind such a thing.  There was only enjoyment and passion and satisfaction.  He'd claimed Owen's body as surely as Owen had claimed his heart, and as he lay spent on the bed beside his lover, staring up at the ceiling, he marvelled at how easily they'd come together.  They could work together at mending now, he thought.

[Existentially Odd]

Owen had deliberately kept his eyes closed throughout most of it, not wanting to be taken by thoughts of the past or have his pleasure in the moment stolen by worrying about the future.  He exulted in being able to put aside everything broken in order to enjoy what wasn't, but when it was done the mourning set in far more quickly than he'd have liked.  The anger came back, too, because he knew he couldn't stay here, and he wanted to.  Opening his eyes and turning his head to look at Vincent just confirmed it.

"So much for training," Owen joked awkwardly, imagining walking back through the house and collecting his clothes as he went, in order to dress and return to the Chambers.  Maybe he could shower here; he missed this shower, because it was what he was used to.  "Would you mind if I showered here?" he asked, automatically separating this place from the one in which he currently resided.  That was the reason he chose to be polite and ask, rather than assume.

[Trillian]

Owen's comment made him chuckle softly.  Yes, training had taken a turn towards distraction, and he hadn't had to let it, but they were both grown-ups here.  They'd both chosen to be irresponsible, but the result had been grand.  Now Owen was back in his bed, with Vincent, like he should be, and they could work towards healing.  Then came Owen's question and Vincent's house of cards fell apart.  Such a menial question, but it implied so many things.  It told Vincent that Owen didn't consider himself as coming home.  It told him that Owen would shower and then leave.  It also told Vincent that all of this intimacy had meant more to him than it had to his love.

"Feel free," Vincent said, his voice not betraying how hurt and upset he was, before he added, "this is your house, too."

[Existentially Odd]

He didn't hear Vincent's pain but perhaps he felt it, because once Owen got in the shower, he found himself with his hands braced against the tiles, head down beneath the spray and tears of sadness drowning at his feet with all the rest of the water.  His heart was squeezing agonisingly in his chest, all the familiar scents and feels around him making him homesick even while he was surrounded by them.

'This is your house too', Vincent had said and Owen felt it to be so, but he also felt apart from it.  He didn't fit, he didn't want to belong in something manufactured, a construct inserted into an open place, designed to fill a role he'd been ignorant to his whole life.  He wanted to know that it was real and he still didn't feel sure - though everything had had a beautiful clarity in Vincent's arms.  They had to be more than the sum of their physical parts though, didn't they, if they wanted to survive eternity together?

Maybe, but for now it was all they had.  He didn't know if it was a start or a nail in the coffin, though and it was hard to think straight about everything when all he could actually think about was crawling back into bed with Vincent and curling up next to him until it all made sense.  He hated being a jigsaw piece with all the wrong edges, though; eventually they'd grate against Vincent until they were worn into being unusable and he couldn't risk finding solace without answers.  He didn't never want to be happy again.

He washed Vincent off him and out of him, rinsed and shut off the water.  He was cheered up by the fact that his towel was still in the same position, but he was too deep inside the misery for it to change the way he was feeling too much.  He dried off briskly, applied some of Vincent's deodorant and walked out of the bathroom naked, finger combing his hair.  He went and sat on his side of the bed, his right leg hooked up on it and turned slightly towards Vincent.

"Did I... just make things worse?" he asked quietly, frowning and trying to numb himself against the despair.  It felt like it had the night he'd left, yet he'd walked into the house feeling so much better about everything.  How could this act have made everything go wrong again?  Was it just him feeling this?

[Trillian]

Vincent had listened to Owen showering and had thought about getting up and having his own shower, or at the very least not dwelling on the fact Owen had just come by for training, had ended up spending that time in Vincent's bed instead, and wasn't staying.  He couldn't bring himself to do either of these things and so he simply sat and stared into space, thinking about what had just happened and all of the things he'd said and could've said instead of what he had said.  It was a waste of time but his mind kept turning it over and over, like Owen was somehow one of those books written in the second person, where the reader chose their own outcome.  Perhaps Owen was feeling a little like a character in those books, too, being moved around by forces not his own.  Forces that belonged to Vincent, per se.

When Owen came out of the shower, Vincent watched him intently, trying to glean from body language and expression exactly how Owen was feeling, because details didn't thrum along their bloodline, and details were what Vincent needed.  To his question,  Vincent shook his head.

"No," he said softly.  "Things are already mixed up between us.  Reminding ourselves that we can still love one another is a good thing," he said, nodding.  He was explaining to himself as much as he was explaining it to Owen.  This was the conclusion all of his thinking had made.

[Existentially Odd]

"I guess," Owen agreed in a similar tone of voice, liking Vincent's explanation though feeling what they'd done had been more about sex than love.  He fell quiet, staring at the sheet spaced out between their bodies now, hating the idea of laying on this mattress because it reminded him of his ignorance.  A small part of him was beyond caring, though.  The rest of him was wary of that part.

"If you had the chance again, with me, would you do anything differently?" he suddenly wanted to know, giving his lover a speculative look.  "Knowing what you know now," he clarified.

[Trillian]

Vincent frowned darkly and a shaking hand rose to brush over his face.  When it came away, the frown was a little softer, and his hands were balled into fists on his lap.

"Yes," he said, the word sounding a little choked so he cleared his throat and tried again.  "Yes."  He needed a moment before continuing, so took in a long breath of air and let it out again, like he was doing relaxation exercises.  "But I can't undo it, now."

He hoped Owen wouldn't ask what those changes would be (though he knew he would), because he wasn't going to tell him.

[Existentially Odd]

Owen watched Vincent's dramatic reaction and couldn't help but wonder what thoughts would prompt such a thing.  "What? he asked.  "What would you do differently?" But Vincent merely shook his head.  Not quite believing that was all that was going to come, Owen frowned at his sire, the anger churning in him rising hard and fast.  "So... what?  I don't get to hear you admit it?  I don't get to hear you say you think I deserved something different?" he challenged disbelievingly.  "Or would you just not go ahead with me at all, is that it?  Are you that sorry?" he demanded, getting up off the bed because he needed to stand as his temper got the best of him.

[Trillian]

Vincent had been trying to contain his emotions, but to be attacked vehemently all over again was too much.  It was simply too much.

"Did you deserve something different, Owen?" he asked tiredly, leaning back against the headboard and looking over at his fledge.  "Didn't you want a loving mother, or the best education we could give you?  Would you prefer not to have seen the world, and had life experiences and tastes of culture beyond your own?  Would you preferred that I remain entirely in the shadows as you'd grown up, instead of my brief visits?  Maybe I should've not interfered at all and let you be adopted by someone else and we would never have been."

His voice was rough and emotional by the last sentence, but he managed to say it even though it had sounded gravelly.  He looked away from Owen after that because it hurt too much to look at him.

"It is already done," he whispered, knowing Owen would hear it and hopefully accept it instead of lamenting the possibilities of his Choose Your Own Adventure life.

[Existentially Odd]

Owen simply stared, knowing he had nothing to refute that and feeling stupid for even asking 'what if'.  There was no point, Vincent was right, but maybe there'd have been something said that might've brought him comfort or relief... or more anger.  Frowning, he started looking down at the floor, searching for his clothing and putting it on as he found it (though he could not find one of his socks for the life of him).  If Vincent didn't say anything else that might delay him, he'd get to the sitting room and pull his shirt on and withdraw his keys from his jeans pocket, finger combing his hair back into place.

He hadn't been followed.  Pulling his shoes on (one foot naked felt weird but he didn't want to get down on his hands and knees and crawl around the bedroom and look for that sock), he sat there and stared at the buttons, debating whether he should farewell Vincent or not.  Eventually, he went back to the top of the basement stairs, travelling down far enough that he could clearly see his lover.  "I guess I'll go, then," he announced awkwardly, playing with his keys.  "Thanks for... everything," he fumbled out, internally cringeing.

[Trillian]

Vincent couldn't look up at him on the stairs.  He started to, but he was still hurting from Owen's words and actions, so he simply moved his head halfway to looking at him, then made a short nod and looked back at his sheet-covered feet.

"Okay," he said, and waited for Owen to go.  Once his fledge was out of the house and driving away in his car, Vincent sighed and rubbed his face vigorously with both hands, trying to clear his head.  He got out of bed and showered before putting on his clothes, grabbing his phone and going for a walk, doing his best not to think about Owen and all of the different ways it could've played out - but instead he began daydreaming all the different scenarios where they ended up together - all of them with Owen apologising and returning to him.