abstracts | the pier.

Entry tags:

fallout

the pier.

Let him just say it now--the kid had a lot of problems.

I mean, not really a surprise or anything--Alex had found him dried out in a desert, for crying out loud--but god damn.

Let’s recap.

Alex Seattle Geer found himself in love with a Vault brat from the Capital Wasteland with a daddy complex the size of Hoover Dam. Said kid loves him back--sometimes. Said kid would probably rather put ~~another~~ bullet between Alex’s eyes rather than spend time with him, and didn’t this just go to show it. Neil leaves to check up a rumor, said he’d be back shortly--shortly became two days and by then Dogmeat was back, meaning Neil took off somewhere he was worried the dog would get hurt at. Two days turn into two weeks and counting, and by then, Alex has tracked Neil’s steps, found the fucking pier, the fucking tool of a woman looking for her child, and all of the pieces are too easily placed.

Neil left for Point Lookout. And Alex, ED-E, and Dogmeat are left hanging in the wind.

Alex has been fucking camping on the dirty sand and shit next to that pier, waiting for that stupid kid to come back on that stupid ferry the woman told him about. Tobar the fucking Ferryman, and Alex feels like shooting the asshole just for submitting to Neil’s request. Probably not the guy’s fault, but-- Hell. Yeah. He didn’t traipse all over the goddamn country just to be left in the dust. Is the kid even coming back? Who fucking knows.

Alex will just.

Wait here.

Until Neil comes back.

Yeah, that’s not pathetic at all.

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Here, Alex finds balance. In Neil's gasping breaths and shaking form, Alex finds peace. As much as others may judge, this is his art form, and Neil is always his favorite (now only) partner in creating it.

Between sweat and fluids leaking, it's enough for Alex just to touch. When they turn to more, he'll have to grab for one of their bags, but for only fingers....

He presses inside, only a knuckle, and it's not a sound of pleasure that Neil makes.

Because, let's be honest, dubious consent or not, Alex has always perfected creating pleasure in his partners. Neil, more than any--maybe because he's neutral toward the act, or maybe because when he's finally pushed over the edge that it's so enthralling-- With Neil, Alex has spent more time with, finding the ways in which Neil personally takes pleasure. And even in the beginning, Alex had never done anything to cause pain.

Perhaps he was wrong. Maybe it's just discomfort, from a longer absence and lack of use. He moves inward more, and the sound repeats more clearly, Neil shifting slightly away from the penetration. The pain. If he was another, Alex would wonder if this was a rejection. But he's not. He's confident in this act, even when Neil had said no. And saying yes, wanting it, is a whole 'nother matter.

But honestly, that's neither here nor there. Because when Alex had pressed inward, he had felt differences in the body he knew best.

The small roughness of scabs beginning to form. In the places the tears were deeper, torn flesh can still be felt, texture he knew should not be here. He knows the feeling. Of course he does. Even Alex Seattle Geer had been a younger man once, entirely given over to self-pleasure rather than the pleasure that comes from his partner's body-- Hedonist that he is, he knows the difference. Both are self-satisfaction, of course. He wouldn't have it any other way. But the latter is pleasure from playing your partner's body like an instrument, and taking a higher pleasure from the reactions gained, the body beneath oneself writhing and trembling and tensing around you. The former is brute force, blunt strength, and mindless self-indulgence. There's no art, and once upon a time, Alex Seattle Geer had been that clumsy. That careless.

His partner had bled, torn and ripped, and the man Alex had slept with had been pushed to tears at the pain.

So yes. He knows this. He knows this well. And this... This here...

This is not of his doing.

It's too easy to put together the pieces. To slip the facts into place. Neil had been drugged, this is a fact; unconscious and likely bound. Violated and cut open. And someone--that someone (that psychopath)--seemed to take pleasure in those as lifeless as corpses. A clumsy attempt. A complete self-indulgent act. A ridiculous--

--Someone--not Alex--had been inside Neil Park. Had hurt him and torn him to the point of this, weeks later. And Alex had wondered at the reason why Neil was having nightmares.

Lust and loves mangles too easily to rage and hate. And it's extremely important that Alex does not show that at all to Neil.

He can't kiss him, not at this moment. The emotion would be too easily felt--he cannot reach for lies through lips at the moment. Instead his head dips lower, his mouth closing on a nipple and tracing the dark edge with his tongue as he sucked. As he does so, hoping for reactions--distractions--he retracts his finger slowly, moving at the same speed until he closes his hand around Neil again, holding firmly. These motions, a rhythm, are simple--easy. Something he can do at the moment. He shifts his lower body further back in an attempt to hide that any excitement he had held was gone--dispersed as fast as the realization had dropped. He licks and kisses back to Neil's collar, intending to bite--

And stops in that moment, laying a kiss there instead. No. No. He won't be adding to any pain.

The discrepancies start small, as they typically do. It begins as glass pieces embedded in flesh, grinding with each motion, each pressure tearing into his mind like static. Like white noise. There's pain in another barely moving inside him, enough to cause Neil to adjust, to shirk slightly away. He breathes, eyes blinking rapidly, and wonders for a beat.

But as stated, between everything else--between a rising fever, a previously open head, and missing grey matter--it's hardly worth anything. Something to note in the present moment, to pass along in the next.

Except that finger moves away.

Now, Neil would be the first to admit: sex is something new to him. He's had no lovers, no flings, no moments where he sought out gratification. His methods now typically consist of just taking it, and he couldn't really ever tell you the steps and the patterns. Removing a hand from a place can mean much and many; he honestly shouldn't care.

Neil, however, knows Alex. At least understands some of Alex's patterns, behaviors, rhymes, and reasons. Neil knows enough to say that things have always progressed (except that one outright rejection). Things have never stopped, never stagnated, never backpedaled into something else.

This, right now, is an abnormality. Is something entirely new, and despite the haze of illness and sex, the increasing pressure at the base of his torso, the ministrations along his collar and chest, Neil fully opens his eyes. He quiets, leaving only shallow breaths.

"Al...ex?"

The response to his name being spoken feels like pain, because of everything, and because Alex knows Neil will be asking questions. The response to his name being spoken is Alex's hand tightening, the rhythm speeding up, because Alex just wants the kid to fucking feel good after everything, because he wants Neil to get tired enough to rest without dreams.

It's the refocusing that allows him to shift back up. There's no anger present, not right now, but the edges of mourning trail around his eyes.

He moves to kiss Neil, as slow as his hand is fast. Murmurs only-- "...Just relax right now. Let me do something for you."

There is something-- A hint of something that catches in the light, but Alex quickens his pacing and closes in to kiss. Whatever was touching his mind disappears without a trace, and Neil allows it. Remembers trust in this man and keeps it close by.

He gently, quietly eases back in, his dark eyes closing.

Neil's eyes close, and in gratitude, Alex shifts to kiss each one. It's ridiculous, and something he hasn't done before, but at the moment, it feels right. He tucks his free hand under Neil's chin and kisses the bridge of his nose.

Because he can't kiss his forehead at the moment.

Rhythm unabating, he murmurs to Neil as they remain close, bare chests touching. A rumbled monologue of similar themes.

It's okay.

I got you.

Let me take care of you.

I love you.

Words to take the place of wounds.

There is something. Murmurs. Low words spoken in a kind of melody. In the dark, in the unknown space between emotions, they come as comforting. Warm. The pounding in his head subsides, and like a kindness, Neil feels more like something again. Something he will never get back again, but it's enough.

Just enough.

He exhales on a sound, his body tensing as he climaxes. It subsides, of course, as it always does, and Neil slowly settles into a boneless state, his eyelids remaining half-open.

His kid finishes, and Alex kisses him lightly. Holds him for a moment longer than leans down to the floor. Unwittingly, this likely would make it clear that Alex isn't physically interested in reciprocation.

He comes up with Neil's abandoned underwear, and uses the material to clean him up. It's another thing Alex has never done, but he does it nearly without thinking anyway. Neil wouldn't be comfortable if Alex left him as is, and this had become something for Neil, hadn't it? A selfless act of love instead of shared pleasure or self-satisfaction. It's unheard of--at least, from Alex.

He drops the cloth back down to the ground, and pulls the light sheet up as Alex, for the moment, settles back in his original position--on his side facing Neil. He kisses his shoulder. "...I missed you," he admits, something quiet in the confession.

Even in that twilight state, Neil feels that disconnect, the earlier discrepancy. There exists no interest in Alex, no need for gratification, and the fact stays with Neil. Clings to something delicate and damaged within him. He swallows, disquieted, unable to put words to the emotion.

The rest proves less destructive. There exists more care, but it still remains. The act is atypical for the man others refer to as the Courier. Impossible, even. Neil always had to take care of matters himself. He has to wonder what it means that the task is now taken up by Alex. Alex, who slips back to his original place on the bed.

I missed you.

Sorrow wells in Neil, flooding his head and chest without warning, evident only in his dark eyes. He watches the other man through the haze, idly wondering if he might actually be in a dream.

"Didn't mean to hurt you," he says quietly, his voice straining at the effort.

Edited 2016-07-12 06:56 (UTC)

The emotion shown, coupled with the words spoken--and the truth that Alex knows he'll have to share--makes something further cement in Alex's chest. Something he cannot yet put into words. These are not acts typical of Alex, yes--but neither is the way Neil is acting either. Two days ago, and Alex would have said the kid has been tolerating him--barely. Now it seems more....

Like love. Care reciprocated. With no coyness or pride involved at the moment.

He puts an arm around Neil, holding him tightly, as Alex shifts to kiss Neil's cheek. "It's fine," he replies, voice more rough than it normally is. "You're here now."

Neil observes Alex for a good minute, for a reaction that might give clues to what is going on underneath. There is nothing. Alex only offers affection, genuine and true, and the younger man begins to believe he might be losing his sanity.

His eyes, heavy with exhaustion and fever, finally pull away to rest on the ceiling, on the piping. Nothing in Neil wishes to sleep, but he feels he may soon have no choice in the matter.

"Yeah," he gives. "I'm here."

In fear of hurting Neil further, Alex drops his head back to the kid's shoulder, resting there. The hand around Neil's side draws pictures on his ribs. "...You tired? Did you want more meds or anything?"

He gives consideration to the questions posed, as his vision blurs from staring at the ceiling for too long. The hand tracing his side does not help matters. "I might sleep." Might go back to possibly touching Hell. "Really don't want to sleep."

Neil inhales sharply. He tries not to think on the reasons.

"I'll be here, though. And you need rest," Alex replies. "Especially after..."

The man grins from his position, his fingers splaying against Neil's ribs. "Exercise."

There existed discrepancies, however, and where he had let go moments prior, here Neil would comment. "That was different from the norm." His eyes shift to glance unabashedly at the head on his shoulder.

Justification is not lying: Alex would attest. He blinks up at Neil with his normal expression. "Hmm? Was I supposed to go at it when you've just had your head messed with? I didn't want to jumble up your brain with all the bouncing."

Well, okay. If there's anything Neil can work with, it's blatant logic. "Guess that wouldn't end well," he replies after pausing. "It'd probably put me in a coma. For the second time."

Well, there's a picture.

"...Yeaaaah, not looking to fuck you into a coma."

Neil can't help the laughter. The sound again is reminiscent of coughing. He shuts his eyes for a moment to quell the pinprick sensations on his nerves. "Why not? It'd be an achievement of a lifetime," he says, opening his eyes.

Another set of words follow, another subject, one more serious than the last. "You saw my brain. How did it look?"

Well, Neil Park, this is definitely the question to ask while ass-naked next to your boyfriend.

Alex retracts his hand from Neil's side, running it over his own face. "...Inflamed. It's why you're fighting a fever. I wasn't going to mess with trying to make it better and make things worse instead."

Like cause brain damage.

A descriptor he pretty much expected. Neil, however, can't help but mutter, "Wonder how many IQ points I lost." Having a piece of his brain removed.

This only reminds him. It pushes the man toward a recent imagery that clung to him as he slept. "I got a jar," he starts, tone flat. "Has what's missing in it." That piece of dead brain tissue.

"Well, that's morbid, baby," Alex drawls in a drawn-out dead-pan. "Did you keep it for a reason?"

There is Alex being Alex, but Neil suddenly can't retort with a quip. He only closes his expression, as if unwilling to give something away. "Not sure. Maybe. I should--" Be more than what he is now. "--stop talking."

Alex shifts to prop himself up, leaning on an elbow. He hovers over Neil, looking down. "Keep talking," he says quietly. "I'll shut up. I want to listen to what you're saying."

Faulty vision aside, Neil can feel that stare. Disquieted, he goes back to his safe point on the ceiling. "I was just rambling," he responds. There is nothing in him that wishes to continue along that line at the moment.

Mildly distracted, he immediately takes the steps to a previous topic. "Think it'd be better if I go to sleep?"

He stares, as if in acknowledgement that the subject is being shifted. Then blinks, letting it go. He places his other hand across Neil's chest, fingers splayed. "I believe I said you should rest. If you're honestly against sleep, you need to at least not move... relax... be in a stress-free environ...."

Alex raises his eyebrows, making a face. As if to doubt the likelihood of them in a place that's stress free.

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