Playing House

[Existentially Odd]

Owen felt a strange mixture of guilt and pride in meeting Vincent at the door of his new apartment; guilt because he hadn't escorted him to the door from the car park and pride because he was welcoming his sire into the first home he'd ever made for himself.  It was the first huge step towards stable independence he'd taken and though it had come mainly thanks to Vincent's funds and blessing, the principle of it thrilled him.  He was living alone, doing for himself, making his way... making those he cared about proud of him, he hoped.

"Come in!" he gushed when he spied Vincent, grabbing his hand and dragging him forward so that he could kiss his sire's cheek and usher him into the small foyer of his home.  "I hope you found the park alright," he grinned, having left one of the residents' carpark keycards with Vincent the night before so that he could park in the second bay allotted to his two bedroom apartment.  His Mustang was in the other and it should have given a clue as to where to go, no doubt.

"Wow, I'm really nervous," he cut in, not giving Vincent much time to respond to anything before he was talking again, wringing his hands before himself.  He was dressed nicely in a pair of loose, dark blue jeans, some lace-up black leather shoes, a white business shirt (top two buttons undone) with blue pinstripes running vertically through it and a black suit jacket.  The shirt was tucked in and the buckle of his black belt was gold, matching the wedding ring he wore on his left ring finger as well as the fine gold chain at his throat.  "I think I might just... get this over with, if you don't mind?" he enquired.

True to form, he didn't give Vincent a chance to reply before he led the way past the kitchen (it was still filled with a small mountain of cardboard, soft white sheets of padding, torn-up bubble wrap and strips of plastic binding cut loose after his hasty efforts the night before to get all his furniture organised before Vincent's visit tonight) into the lounge room.  He pointed out its few features and then took Vincent out to the balcony (the second floor view was not all that impressive, of course) before he hastened them back inside and into the spare bedroom he proclaimed as his study.  It was also a work in progress, though he pointed out the photo he had on the desk as one of his favourites, watching Vincent's reaction to its presence carefully.

His ensuite and wardrobe followed the study and the tour ended in the master bedroom, where Owen talked about getting some sort of print to hang over the bed - as he'd talked about needing for the space above the couch in the living room - but not having found something he was happy with just yet.  After a brief pause, he pulled an anxious face as he squared off in front of Vincent, rolling his ring around his finger habitually.  "What do you think?" he asked, obviously heavily-invested in the answer he was about to get.

[Trillian]

Vincent had knocked and waited outside the door for it to be opened.  He was dressed in an outfit a saleswoman had talked him into, her intentions genuine (for he'd scanned her mind for her honest opinion, unable to decipher if she was simply after a sale or thinking he truly was as handsome as she regaled).  The button-up shirt was black (a colour he usually preferred not to wear), with red buttons and highlighting diagonal stripes.  His jeans were dark blue with obvious stitching and a sheriff style belt buckle that would rival something from Owen's collection.  Beneath was a white and gray rugby shirt.  On his feet he couldn't bring himself to wear the navy sneakers he'd bought at the same time, and opted for black lace-up shoes instead.  It made him look a great deal more modern than he usually dressed, and more fashion conscious than he usually was.

Vincent also walked in carrying a small paper bag, which he'd set down on the kitchen counter immediately to his left, just so he could have his arms free to embrace his fledge.  He didn't get the chance to, however, as Owen seemed too enthused to show him around and dancing away because he was leading Vincent in.  With his desire for a hug set aside, Vincent replied in the positive about the carpark, but didn't say anything beyond the single: yes.  The keycard was in his wallet, though he didn't need it to leave the building - the boomgate that let out cars seemed to lift automatically, he'd observed while driving in.

At the declaration of nervousness, Vincent merely smiled encouragingly, but didn't say anything.  He didn't want to interrupt Owen's thoughts, but he was surprised at the phrasing of being shown around.  It sounded like he was embarrassed of the place he had, except the look on his face was nothing but excitement and pride.  Perhaps he was still torn about not coming home to Vincent?  It was better simply not to comment, lest the wrong thing be said.  Vincent broadened his smile and nodded, and then followed after Owen wherever he led.

He looked the place over, not commenting other than to make noises of acknowledgement for anything Owen said.  His eyes alighted on the photograph within Owen's study of the two of them, which summoned forth a tiny smile, barely noticeable thanks to the polite smile already on his features as he was shown about.

When asked for his opinion, he found it difficult to find the words that properly summoned the emotion this place pulled from him, likely because there was very little emotion at all.  It could've been anybody's apartment, save for the jewellery box and the photograph.  It simply didn't feel like Owen.

"I think you've been surprisingly reserved," he said, not wanting to say anything negative.  "It needs a bit more you in it," he said, thinking a couple of paintings wouldn't be enough.  "Perhaps after you've lived in it for a bit, added some more personal touches," he said, and couldn't stop himself from reaching over to stroke Owen's hair, fingering the curls at his nape.  "Then it'll be perfect."

[Existentially Odd]

A whole new academy of butterflies took flight in Owen's stomach when Vincent touched him so tenderly and it momentarily stalled his thinking completely.  To start it up again, he licked his lips and swallowed, his eyelashes fluttering a little at the way Vincen's touch communicated through the hairs at his neck and across his shoulders.  "I... didn't think you'd want me to get too settled here, considering... the goal is to not be here permanently?" he said breathily, finding it difficult to look away from Vincent's beautiful eyes.

[Trillian]

Vincent watched as Owen's expression intensified and then became something uncanny.  It was familiar in a way that reminded him of that singular moment in a bed in Turkey, the turning point in their relationship - not the first night where Owen's face mingled with confusion and uncertainty, but the next where he'd decided quite firmly that he wanted to be Vincent's lover.  Vincent would never forget that moment, that expression, for it had struck a deep chord in him.  He'd realised at that point the kind of love he held for Owen, and it looked like the same was happening to his protégé.  Now, here was that expression again.

"If you're going to think like that," Vincent murmured, "then why be here at all?" He removed his hand, straightened his shoulders and returned his tone to something more conversational, breaking eye contact so he could look around at the room they were in.  "The point is to explore your independance, and you can't do that half-heartedly."  He looked back at Owen because it was difficult to keep looking away, and pocketed his thumbs because it was difficult for him not to reach out to Owen again.

[Existentially Odd]

Owen frowned, watching Vincent look around his bedroom and then tell him he shouldn't be doing things half-heartedly.  For some reason, those words made him incredibly uneasy and rather confused.  It was likely a stupid interpretation, influenced by where they were standing and the lovely, breathtaking touch that had been retracted, but he had to be sure he wan't hearing Vincent say... that he should be doing everything with gusto.

"Okay, but not, like, sleeping with other people or anything, right?  We're still...

married
a couple
but we're apart
not together
dating
shit, what are we
what does he mean
what does he want
this is stupid!

exclusive, right?," he finished awkwardly.  Surely he was misinterpreting Vincent's message... but Ben's face materialising in his mind's eye suddenly didn't make telling himself he was being silly any easier.

[Trillian]

Vincent blinked and his expression sharpened when Owen confirmed that they weren't going to sleep with other people.  What had directed him there?  Was this the kind of independence he'd wanted for himself?  It wasn't as though Vincent needed any more time discovering what it was like being with other people, and Owen knew this, so he must've been seeking Vincent's acknowledgement for himself.  He'd asked the question in the negative, which implied he wanted an answer in the negative.

No, we're not sleeping with other people

But perhaps it was because he'd already slept with someone else, when they'd been apart and Owen had been very angry.  It was very possible he'd taken out his frustration or vented his anger in that way, using sex as a kind of release for pent up frustration and a bitter, spiteful way of getting back at Vincent.  Perhaps it had even been more recent than that, after they'd resumed talking.  Perhaps guilt had driven Owen back to him.

"I won't be sleeping with other people," he confirmed.  "I... did you want to?" he asked, wanting to get out of this room because he felt like it was the reason they were discussing such thing as intimacy in the first place.

[Existentially Odd]

"No!" Owen declared enthusiastically, his eyes widening in startlement and his hands coming up before him in a stop gesture, palms towards Vincent.  "No, I definitely don't, it was just... the way you said not to do things half-heartedly, I, it seemed...," his hands were describing unusual shapes in the air between them but they weren't helping his awkwardness abate; he was flustered and he knew he had to stop so he did, fisting his hands, scrunching his eyes closed and counting to five before he opened all of it again and looked sincerely at Vincent.

"Here's the thing," he said much more calmly, his hands held casually sideways, "being away from you and my mother, being here is a big enough deal already.  Filling this place with things that I like won't change my determination to get a handle on what I want from life and it won't make being here any easier.  When I'm away from you - every time I get undressed to sleep before dawn and the instant my eyes open at dusk - my thoughts are with you anyway, missing you, wishing you were here.  Having... stuff isn't going to make this endeavour any more worthwhile or any easier because... it's just a stage.  To get through, to get past," he shrugged, a little nonplussed and not entirely sure where he was going with this reassurance anyway.

"My end goal is to feel ready to be with you; you're my end goal, my prize.  When you said I shouldn't do this half-heartedly, to me that meant... cutting you out or something.  I can't do it.  I won't do it.  It's like... you're already the part of me that's complete, it's built up and it's perfect - why would I want to change that?  I'd be mad to!  No, what I need to do," he said, pressing his hands to his chest and smiling opely at Vincent, "is stay here so all the rest of me has a chance to... catch up, I guess.  I don't think that'll be done by filling this place with all the things I like, I think it'll be done by me finding some things that are my own and learning to do them on my own so I feel... balanced.  Does that make... any sense at all?" he laughed, tilting his head as he looked up at Vincent appealingly.

[Trillian]

"Yes, and no," Vincent admitted, before looking to the left and thinking of the years that had passed before he'd accepted Lorica's invitation to join him into eternity.  He'd had to wait, he felt, obligated to see his daughters settled into their lives before he could leave them.  Owen's mother already knew and accepted what he was, there were no other great influences in Owen's life other than Vincent, and of course Owen himself.  This was new territory, however, because as far back as Vincent had remained, stepping forward only to conjure a sense of familiarity and then a kind of shaping education as they'd travelled the world together - Vincent realised Owen must be hungering for a learning experience that didn't come from him.  "Yes," he said firmly.

There were more explanations to make, however, and he didn't want to break the conversational flow by leading Owen away from the bedroom.

"That's not what I meant by half-heartedly.  You can't discover what you want or need while grooming yourself to be ready for me."  How best to explain it? Vincent's hands went to Owen's shoulders, so they could look at one another squarely.  "One thing doesn't mean the exclusion of the other.  You have to understand what it is that makes you tick.  My version of you, my perception, will be different to your own.  We are many different people in one body, depending on where we are, who we are with, and when we are by ourselves.  If you can take ownership of the place you call home, it'll help your journey."  Vincent chuckled and lowered his hands before looking ashamed of himself.  "Is it meddling, controlling, to tell you to do these things?" he asked, suddenly not sure if his advice was merely advice or if he was trying to shape Owen once again.

He still struggled with the concept of his control.  Yes, he had played an instrumental part in shaping Owen's life, and he'd influenced him in his later years, but he'd stayed out of the way when Owen had been forming his own personality and relationship with his mother, with his friends, with his school.  He'd thought stepping back and doing little had been his way of not controlling everything - because he'd identified these were his past mistakes, but Owen had accused him of making his life a fairytale, making him a character on a stage.  A puppet.  Was this his way of pulling the strings?  He believed he would always doubt himself, until such time as Owen returned to him and agreed that no, he hadn't been a puppet, it had just been words said in anger.

[Existentially Odd]

Owen's expression had been intent as he stared back at Vincent, up until that last question, when he relaxed slightly and smiled.  "Probably, but what I'm learning is that you're also telling me to take it under advisement and decide for myself.  Which I will do.  I can't see, at this stage, how having control of this place will help me steer my life any better, though I definitely intend to bring all my favourite books and some stuff from my mother's place.  I'll take it into consideration.  I do take your point that I need to tweak my end goal away from grooming myself to be with you, though.  Maybe that's ultimately what I really need to work on... finding the bits of me that are nothing to do with you and seeing how I like them," he said quietly, becoming more serious as he reached up a hand to cup Vincent's cheek.

It was his cross to bear as well as the prison to break free from; Vincent's influence on him.  He needed to find himself as an entity not connected to his sire, even while he would be eternally connected to him and still need to see him frequently for training and just because he enjoyed his company.  Such a complicated dance intimidated him but perhaps Vincent was right; if he built up a strong embodiment of himself here, as his home, he'd have more of an identity with which to face the world, he'd know more of what he wanted and how he could make himself even happier.  After everything he'd been through after opening that safe, happiness was definitely not overrated, it frequently eluded him and it was another goal to strive towards.  He had to find it in places other than with Vincent, which seemed nigh on impossible, especially with him standing before him looking like that.

"Not tonight, though.  Tonight I want to be with you and you turning up looking this sexy just makes me glad to be here," he smiled, his hand lowering to trace the collar of the black shirt Vincent was wearing, his other hand coming up to mirror the smoothing motion alongside it before both hands dropped to press flat against Vincent's chest.  "I bought tickets for us to go see the art gallery's latest exhibit; you look so good I think they might want to put you on display," he quipped, grasping Vincent's hands off his shoulders and swinging them lightly between them as he made a point of looking his sire over.  "Is that a new shirt?  It's stunning on you," he complimented seriously, casually dropping one hand in order to lead them out of the bedroom and towards the front door.  He needed to get a drink on the walk to the art gallery and he didn't want to arrive there so late that they wouldn't be able to take their time appreciating the art on display.

[Trillian]

Vincent's head moved in negation only slightly as Owen gave him his interpretation of how to receive his advice.  He said nothing though, as Owen continued to speak, for his conversation was taking a very purposeful direction and Vincent thought best to listen and think on his words.  He nodded when Owen agreed not to groom himself for anything other than his own goals.

His hand immediately held Owen's in place once he touched his face.  It was a gentle touch, as softly as Owen was touching him, but he needed to feel that hand as much as possible, and he blinked slowly to savour the feel of it.  Once his eyes were upon his love again, Owen told him wonderful things.  He wanted to spend time with him, as they used to.  His lips twitched a smile at the compliment, and he felt compelled to explain himself and his clothing.

"Thank you.  The whole outfit's new," he said, resisting the urge to look down at himself in favour of watching Owen's gaze on him.  How he missed being the object of his love's attention/affection/desire.  He surprised himself how much he'd missed it, thinking himself above the physical need of Owen and thinking he was pining his company instead.  No, he wanted it all; each of his senses wanted to see, smell, hear, touch and taste Owen, as intimately as possible.  He felt electrified, revitalised into life by breathing in Owen's presence.  Instead of admitting all of these things to his fledge, he smiled warmly and followed Owen out of the door.

"Which art gallery were you taking me to?" he said, thinking of his favourite - the Qamar, but that was on the west side of the city and quite a drive away from here.  There were many gallerias in the city central, though.  It would be interesting to see somewhere entirely new, and to discover how Owen had come across his knowledge of it.  "Private collection?" he asked, recalling that Owen had mentioned getting tickets.

[Existentially Odd]

"I believe so," Owen agreed as he collected his keys and slid them into his back jeans pocket along with his wallet.  He then withdrew an envelope from his jacket pocket and checked the tickets that were inside of it.  "It's showing at the Y.D.M. Arts Studio, the artist is a guy named Twain Marks," he read, re-pocketing the envelope.

As he regathered Vincent's hand and let them out of the apartment, he continued giving a hint of what they had in store.  "He's showing a mixture of paint and photography - I'm more interested in the photography portion, but the whole show was advertised as having a 'supernatural theme' so I hope it's interesting.  I imagine we won't be the only, uh, supernaturals there, anyway," he winked, grinning naturally over at Vincent.

Despite receiving less than grand acclaim for the design of his apartment and still needing to continue to develop his home, his mood was buoyant and he was feeling successful anyway.  Perhaps it was just because he'd arranged this date and Vincent was willingly going along with him.  It was a heady thing, being the one making the choices, sharing the information, directing the night's activities.