The Ocean's A Bitch (Théo/Karl)
Apr. 14th, 2005 09:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
horseboykarlÉomer:We spend the day relaxing, playing in the water, making love, enjoying the extra time we have been granted. Our bodies are salt-crusted and tired when we finally pack away our bedrolls and food, and reload the bikes. The journey back to Wellington is pleasant under the slowly fading sun. It is full dark when we enter the warehouse.
We linger, kissing and touching, reluctant as ever to part. But finally, I sit by myself on the couch and call Karl. Although I know it is for the best if you and Karl can come to some sort of understanding, I almost hope that he will refuse so that I can see you for a few more moments. But I close my eyes and reach out for him.
Karl . . .
I feel him stirring and hold him in my mind before he can take control. Wait, Karl . . . Théodred is here . . . he wants to talk to you.
His brow creases in a frown. Why?
I sigh at his suspicious tone. He wants to apologize to you for his actions when last you met. But it is your choice. If you do not wish it, I will ride to your house and you may shift there. I watch him consider it.
You've been straight with me since we had our talk. I'll do it for you, not him.
I suppose something is better than nothing. I only hope you can keep your temper even if he loses his. Goodbye then.
Théo: It always tears a little at my heart to watch you go, not knowing what it is you return to. Even though I have made a decision not to ask what our future has in store for us, it is the fact that you do not tell me that lets me know all cannot be well. I smile at you one last time and watch fascinated as you fade into him, this time from a distance as I lean against the tall fireplace. Then you are gone, and he sits watching me with guarded eyes.
“Karl.” I incline my head in a gesture of welcome.
Karl: I open my eyes to find myself sitting on the couch in Paris' warehouse and the first thing I see is you standing by the fireplace. I get to my feet, determined to meet you face to face. I'm not going to let you have any advantage over me.
"Théodred." I keep my tone as even as yours is, all the while wondering why the hell I agreed to this. I just hope that my pity for Éomer isn't going to land me in another mess.
Théo: I meet your steady gaze, and decide to get this over with. “I have come to an agreement with Paris, made my peace with him, and with Dave, and am pleased for both your sakes, that you have come to an agreement with my cousin.” You take a breath as if to speak, but I press on, wanting to say what I am here to say before we can get into any sort of argument.
“Those weeks we were denied passage to this world gave me time to think on this whole shifting process, and how I would feel if our positions were reversed. So I apologise for not taking your feelings into consideration when I encouraged Éomer to have the piercing done.”
Karl: I'm listening to your apology, trying to find something to criticize, and then I wonder why it is that I'm spoiling for a fight with you. That's not going to benefit anyone, except perhaps I'll get the satisfaction of pounding your face. But then Paris would be pissed, so I guess it's not worth it.
"All right, apology accepted."
I try to keep my tone as neutral as I can, but then the rest of what you said sinks in and gooses my sense of the ridiculous and I burst out laughing.
"Are you telling me that you've managed to piss off everybody you've run across? Dave and Paris and now me?" I'm snickering. And I remember the day I woke up bruised . . . surely Éomer was with you when he was in that fight. "God help the Rohirrim, you're not much of a diplomat, are you?"
Théo: I am glad you accept my apology, but my eyebrow rises as you begin to laugh. After a moment, I let a wry smile touch the corner of my mouth at your very correct assessment of my diplomatic skills.
“No, I am not. Perhaps you could tell my father that. It would save me sitting through any more endless meetings with his advisors when there are more immediate things that need to be dealt with, like killing Orcs, which is exactly what I feel like doing after days of butting heads with Gríma over every little detail. I cannot see why my father values his advice …”
I stop myself from ranting any further, and shrug with a smile. “It is not my favourite topic of conversation either.”
Karl: So . . . a prince who acknowledges his weaknesses, that's surprising. Not that I know any other princes, but I'll give you points for not busting on me for insulting your royal dignity. And for managing to laugh at yourself. I find that I don't want to punch you so much anymore. Perhaps I'll be able to respect you again some day.
"I had time to get over it while the shifts were cut off, but I appreciate that." I grin at you, my humor still with me.
But when you mention Gríma and meetings with your father, I hesitate, thinking frantically. If Théoden is still capable of having meetings and talking then you can't be from the same time that Éomer is. Shit. He didn't want to know the future and you haven't asked, so I'm not going to tell you. Fuck, I need to set up a time line to keep you people straight.
So I cover. "I've never spoken with your father, but his shift is one of my closest friends. He's a good man.”
Théo: “As is my father. I would be interested in meeting this man someday.” It comes as no surprise to find you know the man my father shifts into and it has been interesting to observe the similarities between those who shift and those who they shift into. You and Éomer share the same stubborn streak, Dave and Faramir both have quirky senses of humour, and Paris shares my adventurous spirit. Makes me wonder what my father’s “shift” is like.
Since I think it is now safe to assume we are not going to end up hitting each other, I walk over to the couch and sit down, stretching my legs out in front of me. Two days spent in the ocean and a couple of long bike rides have actually worn me out.
Then I remember something Éomer mentioned. “My cousin tells me that you were involved in reopening the links between our worlds, and I am curious. I know how much you hated the idea of us shifting in, so why help restore it?”
Karl: I shrug mentally, feeling slightly silly to be standing while you're relaxing and I take a seat on the other end of the couch. I'm not going to tell you exactly why I did what I did, but I can give you the overview.
"Just a cost-benefit thing . . . " I'm not sure if that term is used in Rohan, but you seem to know what I mean. "Moving the bowl stopped the shifts, which was good from my point of view. But there were side effects and they were nastier than the shifts. But when . . . " I stop, unwilling to tell you about Eric. "Anyway, I decided that there are some things worse than Éomer." I shudder at the memory of how much worse things could be.
Théo: Your reasoning makes sense, choosing the lesser of two evils as you see it, and I can tell by the way you shiver that the alternative must have been bad. You join me on the couch, and I let my head relax against the back of it while I listen to you, and find myself laughing warmly when you mention Éomer. The good mood I have been in these past two days is still lingering, and I am quite amused by your remark. “There are many things worse than Éomer, Karl.”
I take a sidelong glance at you. You have changed so much since I first found you in that dark alley way, angry and hurting. “You look well. Our arrangements for shifting are acceptable, I take it?”
Karl: "Look, I'm never going to be happy about the shifting, okay?. But . . . I owe him. He fought a battle that I started and he did it without asking any questions or making any demands. He just . . . jumped in when I called him." I have other reasons for wanting to help Éomer, but that's getting into dangerous territory.
"So I accept it as a necessity. I'm not going to beat my head in fighting something that's pointless. He and I have talked. It's enough."
I grin at you. I've had enough of this subject and I'm curious about what the horseboy thought of the ocean. "Paris said you were going to surprise him with a trip to the beach. How'd he like it?"
Théo: I nod on hearing how Mer selflessly assisted you in battle. I would have expected nothing less, it is simply who he is. And then my thoughts happily go back to the beach. On reflection, this was a good time for us to meet each other again. My body is relaxed and sated, and I feel very contented. I stretch before turning to face you, curling one of my legs up beneath me, resting my arm along the back of the couch.
“He enjoyed himself.” A lazy smile drifts over my face. “We spent most of our time in the water being tossed around by the waves. It is a remarkable experience, after spending your life riding over the vast open spaces of the plains, to stand on the shoreline for the first time and watch the ocean. Its vastness is almost overwhelming, and you can feel the incredible power it possesses, yet are drawn to throw yourself into it’s depths over and over …” I catch myself rambling again and grin. “And we both thought the sweet treats on sticks were very tasty. “
Karl: Judging by the look on your face, you both enjoyed yourselves, shagged each other silly by the sounds of your wandering sentences.
But . . . "The what?" And then it dawns on me what you must be talking about. "Oh those, my aunt used to fill them with all sorts of stuff on campouts, but cinnamon and sugar was always my favorite." I told him how to make biscuits, but where the hell did Éomer ever see me make those? I try to remember . . . must have been with Dom, but I don't remember losing time then. And Dom never mentioned horseboy showing up, surely he would have, unless the horny little bastard decided to screw us both . . . . Fuck, for all I know Dom shifts too. And I boggle slightly at the thought of Éomer with Merry, desperately trying to think of something else.
"Uh, if he liked the ocean so much, it's too bad I can't teach him to surf. I'm sure he'd be great at it, as strong and graceful as he is."
Théo: “Mer made them with sugar and cinnamon.” I watch you as you gather your clearly distracted thoughts, your hazel eyes serious as you concentrate on whatever is puzzling you until you shake it off and move on.
“Ah, surfing. Standing on a board and riding through the waves. Yes, I think he would be good at that.” You look surprised that I know what it is. “Dave told me of surfing when he took me to the ocean last week.” And if strength and grace are required for this sport, I can imagine you are good at it yourself. And then my imagination wanders and I think of what you would look like walking from the water, skin glistening, dark hair plastered over your neck …
My eyes flick over your body, down your long legs and back up to meet yours, trying my best to keep the predatory smile from my face. I said I would keep my temper, which I have, but I made no promises to repress my nature and cannot help leaning forward a little as I ask. “Do you go to the ocean to surf often?”
Karl: "I usually surf a lot during the summer, and still a little the rest of the year. Haven't had much time this year."
I can't think that Dave described surfing in such prosaic terms.
"And it's more than just riding the waves. You can't control the ocean like you can a horse, you just have to give yourself to it, to the wildness. . . You put your board on the edge and the only thing you have is your strength and your wits. You let it take you, knowing that you're one wrong weight shift away from disaster, but if you've got it, and everything comes together perfectly . . . there's nothing like it in the world."
You are looking at me oddly and I realize that I'm standing in a surfer's crouch. You must think I'm a lunatic. I sit down again, blushing. "Well . . . you get the idea."
Théo: I watch, fascinated, as you explain, so caught up in what you are saying you do not realise what you are doing as you get off the couch and crouch down in what I can only assume is the position for surfing. Your eyes are elsewhere as you talk, as if you can see the waves around you. When you sit, the colour rising on your face, I move closer, the slightest hint of your own long denied wildness drawing me.
“You speak of the ocean with passion, as if you know it intimately, know the danger that lurks beneath its surface and still you let it take you.” I meet your eyes, trying to gauge your mood. “We are more alike than you may care to think, you and I.”
Karl: Maybe you're right, much as I'd like to deny it. You clearly understand about the ocean, how you have to ride the fine edge of danger. But that's the last thing I'd ever admit to you. I drop my eyes, for I remember how perceptive you are.
"The ocean's a right old bitch and it demands all your passion, but it'll pay you back a hundredfold. If you don't give all you've got, you never get below the surface, never get to the heart of it, never see what it'll show you once it's taken everything from you. But if you thrust yourself to the very edge . . . it may take you for real, but if it doesn't and it lets you in. . . ."
I try to remember the last time I went surfing, it's clearly been far too long because I'm carrying on like some addled poet. Wonder if Dave's beach has any good breaks . . .
Théo: There are so many parallels that could be read into your words, all of them intriguing to think on and I have no doubt none of them intentional on your part, unless perhaps subconsciously. All your talk of demanding passion, the ocean taking everything from you, thrusting yourself to the edge … the memory of your hard body against mine, of tasting the wild side of you almost slams into me and I want to taste it again.
If you were one of my riders, I would have you flat on your back by now, or maybe shackled to the wall in my quarters. The only thing that holds me back is my promise to Mer that I would not cause trouble with you, although surely he would see how sorely you have provoked me?
As the argument rages in my head I notice that you seem to have gone into some kind of trance, so I lean forward, close enough to feel your breath on my face, my voice husky as I seek to bring you back to me. “Karl.”
Karl: The sound of my name on your lips drags me back from my daydreams about catching the perfect ride. I turn around to find your face right next to mine and my breath hitches. When did you move to this end of the couch? And why do I suddenly remember what your lips feel like?
I feel a blush rising again, and try to smile. "Uh . . . sorry. I guess if you've never surfed before, you've got no idea what I'm on about. Must sound like a nutter." And then I recall what I have been saying and now I know I must be bright red. Another surfer would have gotten it, but you . . . must think I'm coming on to you. You are absolutely the wrong person to be talking to about passion and taking and . . . Bloody hell! How do I get out of this without starting another fight? I press myself against the arm of the couch, trying to slow down my breathing, and debating whether I should just bolt, all the while desperately trying to ignore that small part of me that wants to find out if you really do understand.
Théo: We may be talking about the sea, but you remind me of a skittish colt trying to find a gap to escape through, and horses I know well. I stay close, my voice still low. “The ocean may be new to me, but I was born into a land where the unforgiving power of nature rules more than any king or prince ever could. It is respected, revered, embraced, knowing all the while that there is no way to control it, that it has you at its mercy every day of your life …”
As I speak, I move closer, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat of your body and I keep my rising desire in check, breathing steadily. “So I do not have to know how to surf to feel the pull of the ocean, to know the wild, unfettered spirit that lurks beneath it’s surface could crush the life from me in an instant without thought, without remorse, yet still there is that need to give myself up to it …”
My gaze holds yours, conflict showing in your eyes. “And I know that even though my heart will always belong to the wide open plains of my homeland, the ocean now holds me in it’s thrall, and I will never be completely free of it …” I let my lips graze across yours.
Karl: Maybe you do understand, then. And the temptation to take what you are offering is so strong, but I've got other things to think about, despite the insistent clamoring of my body and the ache in my groin. Maybe if I'm just honest with you, we can get out of this without trouble. I cup my hand around your jaw, feeling the stubble of your beard scrape my palm. "I want you, I'm not going to deny that. I wasn't talking about sex, or not on purpose anyway. Besides, I've never . . . " I've never surrendered myself to another person the way I have to the ocean, and I don't think I ever will. But suddenly I think I'm better off if you don't know that.
"Besides . . . I'm involved with someone else, who I like and care about. And he'd be hurt if this goes any farther." But I can't help rubbing my thumb over your firm bottom lip.
"I don't know if it's possible for us to be friends, we can't seem to find any middle ground. But for the sake of the people we share bodies with, maybe we should try."
Théo: I smile lazily at the acknowledgement of your desire for me and the feel of your hand on my face but your words confuse me. You have never what …? My eyebrow quirks and I remember you telling me that you could not let the wildness inside you out, but that was months ago, and you say you are with someone else that you care about. Can it be that you still hold it inside? Still keep that part of your nature locked away? The thought of setting it free sends my desire spiralling, even though I doubt it will be satisfied here today.
The idea of binding yourself to one person is a hard one for me to understand. When life is lived so close to danger everyday, physical pleasure and comfort are taken where they can be, and there is no offence meant or taken by sharing your body with someone other than your love. My heart has always belonged to my radiant cousin, but I would not expect him to abstain from taking pleasure with others, nor would he expect me to. But it would seem to be the way of this world.
At the feel of your thumb my tongue flicks out over the firm pad, and my lips close around the tip of it for a moment before murmuring against your skin. “Maybe we should try … for their sakes.”
Karl: I try to concentrate on something other than the sensations of your tongue on my thumb, but I can't think of anything other than how good it feels. And when you agree with me, I stare at you for a moment, dazed.
I pull my hand away. My friends don't suck on my thumb for starters. Well . . . sometimes, but I'm not shagging my friends anymore. Fuck, now what do I do with you? I go through the list of things I like to do . . . you don't seem patient enough for fishing, and golf really doesn't seem to be your style. You might like rock climbing. No drinking and carousing, I don't need you mixed up with alcohol. And despite your seeming agreement with me, I don't trust you. "Uh, you can come out and ride Smokey Joe, he's my horse, if you like. Or . . . I could teach you how to play pool. Or surfing! I could teach you that."
I flounder, my hands are still itching to touch you. This is such a bad idea. "What do you do for fun? Other than . . . "
Théo: “You can teach me to surf. I want to know more of the secrets of the ocean.” I reach forward and push a stray lock of silky black hair behind your ear, grinning at your question. “In between patrols, we hold horse races, or feats of strength between ourselves. Evenings are spent drinking, maybe arm wrestling, telling tales and singing songs, then later … My eyes spark with amusement. “We find many ways to entertain ourselves.”
Much as I would like to continue our discussion further, it is getting late, and I have an obligation to let Paris shift back, and rather than wait until you feel so uncomfortable you have to run, I will make it easy for you. As I stand, I stay close to you, leaving you in no doubt as to the effect you have on me. I do want to have a friendship with you, although I would prefer the sort of friendship we would share back in my world to the restricted one you wish to embark on. Maybe I will be able to change your mind. I cannot help thinking of the wildness beneath your surface, wonder what it would be like to take you to the edge before you let it out … and I give you another chance to change your mind.
“Sadly, I must take my leave of you, and let Paris return after I have showered the salt from my skin … unless I can tempt you to join me?” I hold out my hand towards you, my eyes holding nothing but honesty about my intentions.
Karl: You may not be a diplomat, but other leadership qualities, such as never giving up, you've got more than enough of. I stand up, relieved that you are not pushing, but asking. Your eyes tell me that you still want me, but you're giving me the choice, and I appreciate your honesty. Maybe this will work after all.
I chuckle and take your hands, twining your fingers with mine. I risk teasing you, keeping my voice light. "Oh, you can tempt me all right. Can't recall the last time I've been so tempted." Especially since I'm feeling pretty salt encrusted myself, and the thought of you scrubbing my back . . . I pull your hands up to my mouth and kiss your knuckles, and then I squeeze your fingers one last time and release you.
"But I can't . . . " My voice is regretful, and though what I really want to do is kiss you until neither of us can breathe, I step back, turning towards the door. "Tell Paris to ring me whenever you want to go."
Théo: As your lips touch my hands, I let out a long breath and for a moment I think I have you, but then you let them go. Ah well, I had no intention of forcing you into anything and there is definite regret in your voice as you decline my offer. As you turn away, I curb the urge to slip my fingers round your wrist pull you back to me and crush you against my chest … and instead watch you go, agreeing to speak to Paris as you slip out of the door, pulling on your jacket. We shall just have to see where this friendship takes us.
We linger, kissing and touching, reluctant as ever to part. But finally, I sit by myself on the couch and call Karl. Although I know it is for the best if you and Karl can come to some sort of understanding, I almost hope that he will refuse so that I can see you for a few more moments. But I close my eyes and reach out for him.
Karl . . .
I feel him stirring and hold him in my mind before he can take control. Wait, Karl . . . Théodred is here . . . he wants to talk to you.
His brow creases in a frown. Why?
I sigh at his suspicious tone. He wants to apologize to you for his actions when last you met. But it is your choice. If you do not wish it, I will ride to your house and you may shift there. I watch him consider it.
You've been straight with me since we had our talk. I'll do it for you, not him.
I suppose something is better than nothing. I only hope you can keep your temper even if he loses his. Goodbye then.
Théo: It always tears a little at my heart to watch you go, not knowing what it is you return to. Even though I have made a decision not to ask what our future has in store for us, it is the fact that you do not tell me that lets me know all cannot be well. I smile at you one last time and watch fascinated as you fade into him, this time from a distance as I lean against the tall fireplace. Then you are gone, and he sits watching me with guarded eyes.
“Karl.” I incline my head in a gesture of welcome.
Karl: I open my eyes to find myself sitting on the couch in Paris' warehouse and the first thing I see is you standing by the fireplace. I get to my feet, determined to meet you face to face. I'm not going to let you have any advantage over me.
"Théodred." I keep my tone as even as yours is, all the while wondering why the hell I agreed to this. I just hope that my pity for Éomer isn't going to land me in another mess.
Théo: I meet your steady gaze, and decide to get this over with. “I have come to an agreement with Paris, made my peace with him, and with Dave, and am pleased for both your sakes, that you have come to an agreement with my cousin.” You take a breath as if to speak, but I press on, wanting to say what I am here to say before we can get into any sort of argument.
“Those weeks we were denied passage to this world gave me time to think on this whole shifting process, and how I would feel if our positions were reversed. So I apologise for not taking your feelings into consideration when I encouraged Éomer to have the piercing done.”
Karl: I'm listening to your apology, trying to find something to criticize, and then I wonder why it is that I'm spoiling for a fight with you. That's not going to benefit anyone, except perhaps I'll get the satisfaction of pounding your face. But then Paris would be pissed, so I guess it's not worth it.
"All right, apology accepted."
I try to keep my tone as neutral as I can, but then the rest of what you said sinks in and gooses my sense of the ridiculous and I burst out laughing.
"Are you telling me that you've managed to piss off everybody you've run across? Dave and Paris and now me?" I'm snickering. And I remember the day I woke up bruised . . . surely Éomer was with you when he was in that fight. "God help the Rohirrim, you're not much of a diplomat, are you?"
Théo: I am glad you accept my apology, but my eyebrow rises as you begin to laugh. After a moment, I let a wry smile touch the corner of my mouth at your very correct assessment of my diplomatic skills.
“No, I am not. Perhaps you could tell my father that. It would save me sitting through any more endless meetings with his advisors when there are more immediate things that need to be dealt with, like killing Orcs, which is exactly what I feel like doing after days of butting heads with Gríma over every little detail. I cannot see why my father values his advice …”
I stop myself from ranting any further, and shrug with a smile. “It is not my favourite topic of conversation either.”
Karl: So . . . a prince who acknowledges his weaknesses, that's surprising. Not that I know any other princes, but I'll give you points for not busting on me for insulting your royal dignity. And for managing to laugh at yourself. I find that I don't want to punch you so much anymore. Perhaps I'll be able to respect you again some day.
"I had time to get over it while the shifts were cut off, but I appreciate that." I grin at you, my humor still with me.
But when you mention Gríma and meetings with your father, I hesitate, thinking frantically. If Théoden is still capable of having meetings and talking then you can't be from the same time that Éomer is. Shit. He didn't want to know the future and you haven't asked, so I'm not going to tell you. Fuck, I need to set up a time line to keep you people straight.
So I cover. "I've never spoken with your father, but his shift is one of my closest friends. He's a good man.”
Théo: “As is my father. I would be interested in meeting this man someday.” It comes as no surprise to find you know the man my father shifts into and it has been interesting to observe the similarities between those who shift and those who they shift into. You and Éomer share the same stubborn streak, Dave and Faramir both have quirky senses of humour, and Paris shares my adventurous spirit. Makes me wonder what my father’s “shift” is like.
Since I think it is now safe to assume we are not going to end up hitting each other, I walk over to the couch and sit down, stretching my legs out in front of me. Two days spent in the ocean and a couple of long bike rides have actually worn me out.
Then I remember something Éomer mentioned. “My cousin tells me that you were involved in reopening the links between our worlds, and I am curious. I know how much you hated the idea of us shifting in, so why help restore it?”
Karl: I shrug mentally, feeling slightly silly to be standing while you're relaxing and I take a seat on the other end of the couch. I'm not going to tell you exactly why I did what I did, but I can give you the overview.
"Just a cost-benefit thing . . . " I'm not sure if that term is used in Rohan, but you seem to know what I mean. "Moving the bowl stopped the shifts, which was good from my point of view. But there were side effects and they were nastier than the shifts. But when . . . " I stop, unwilling to tell you about Eric. "Anyway, I decided that there are some things worse than Éomer." I shudder at the memory of how much worse things could be.
Théo: Your reasoning makes sense, choosing the lesser of two evils as you see it, and I can tell by the way you shiver that the alternative must have been bad. You join me on the couch, and I let my head relax against the back of it while I listen to you, and find myself laughing warmly when you mention Éomer. The good mood I have been in these past two days is still lingering, and I am quite amused by your remark. “There are many things worse than Éomer, Karl.”
I take a sidelong glance at you. You have changed so much since I first found you in that dark alley way, angry and hurting. “You look well. Our arrangements for shifting are acceptable, I take it?”
Karl: "Look, I'm never going to be happy about the shifting, okay?. But . . . I owe him. He fought a battle that I started and he did it without asking any questions or making any demands. He just . . . jumped in when I called him." I have other reasons for wanting to help Éomer, but that's getting into dangerous territory.
"So I accept it as a necessity. I'm not going to beat my head in fighting something that's pointless. He and I have talked. It's enough."
I grin at you. I've had enough of this subject and I'm curious about what the horseboy thought of the ocean. "Paris said you were going to surprise him with a trip to the beach. How'd he like it?"
Théo: I nod on hearing how Mer selflessly assisted you in battle. I would have expected nothing less, it is simply who he is. And then my thoughts happily go back to the beach. On reflection, this was a good time for us to meet each other again. My body is relaxed and sated, and I feel very contented. I stretch before turning to face you, curling one of my legs up beneath me, resting my arm along the back of the couch.
“He enjoyed himself.” A lazy smile drifts over my face. “We spent most of our time in the water being tossed around by the waves. It is a remarkable experience, after spending your life riding over the vast open spaces of the plains, to stand on the shoreline for the first time and watch the ocean. Its vastness is almost overwhelming, and you can feel the incredible power it possesses, yet are drawn to throw yourself into it’s depths over and over …” I catch myself rambling again and grin. “And we both thought the sweet treats on sticks were very tasty. “
Karl: Judging by the look on your face, you both enjoyed yourselves, shagged each other silly by the sounds of your wandering sentences.
But . . . "The what?" And then it dawns on me what you must be talking about. "Oh those, my aunt used to fill them with all sorts of stuff on campouts, but cinnamon and sugar was always my favorite." I told him how to make biscuits, but where the hell did Éomer ever see me make those? I try to remember . . . must have been with Dom, but I don't remember losing time then. And Dom never mentioned horseboy showing up, surely he would have, unless the horny little bastard decided to screw us both . . . . Fuck, for all I know Dom shifts too. And I boggle slightly at the thought of Éomer with Merry, desperately trying to think of something else.
"Uh, if he liked the ocean so much, it's too bad I can't teach him to surf. I'm sure he'd be great at it, as strong and graceful as he is."
Théo: “Mer made them with sugar and cinnamon.” I watch you as you gather your clearly distracted thoughts, your hazel eyes serious as you concentrate on whatever is puzzling you until you shake it off and move on.
“Ah, surfing. Standing on a board and riding through the waves. Yes, I think he would be good at that.” You look surprised that I know what it is. “Dave told me of surfing when he took me to the ocean last week.” And if strength and grace are required for this sport, I can imagine you are good at it yourself. And then my imagination wanders and I think of what you would look like walking from the water, skin glistening, dark hair plastered over your neck …
My eyes flick over your body, down your long legs and back up to meet yours, trying my best to keep the predatory smile from my face. I said I would keep my temper, which I have, but I made no promises to repress my nature and cannot help leaning forward a little as I ask. “Do you go to the ocean to surf often?”
Karl: "I usually surf a lot during the summer, and still a little the rest of the year. Haven't had much time this year."
I can't think that Dave described surfing in such prosaic terms.
"And it's more than just riding the waves. You can't control the ocean like you can a horse, you just have to give yourself to it, to the wildness. . . You put your board on the edge and the only thing you have is your strength and your wits. You let it take you, knowing that you're one wrong weight shift away from disaster, but if you've got it, and everything comes together perfectly . . . there's nothing like it in the world."
You are looking at me oddly and I realize that I'm standing in a surfer's crouch. You must think I'm a lunatic. I sit down again, blushing. "Well . . . you get the idea."
Théo: I watch, fascinated, as you explain, so caught up in what you are saying you do not realise what you are doing as you get off the couch and crouch down in what I can only assume is the position for surfing. Your eyes are elsewhere as you talk, as if you can see the waves around you. When you sit, the colour rising on your face, I move closer, the slightest hint of your own long denied wildness drawing me.
“You speak of the ocean with passion, as if you know it intimately, know the danger that lurks beneath its surface and still you let it take you.” I meet your eyes, trying to gauge your mood. “We are more alike than you may care to think, you and I.”
Karl: Maybe you're right, much as I'd like to deny it. You clearly understand about the ocean, how you have to ride the fine edge of danger. But that's the last thing I'd ever admit to you. I drop my eyes, for I remember how perceptive you are.
"The ocean's a right old bitch and it demands all your passion, but it'll pay you back a hundredfold. If you don't give all you've got, you never get below the surface, never get to the heart of it, never see what it'll show you once it's taken everything from you. But if you thrust yourself to the very edge . . . it may take you for real, but if it doesn't and it lets you in. . . ."
I try to remember the last time I went surfing, it's clearly been far too long because I'm carrying on like some addled poet. Wonder if Dave's beach has any good breaks . . .
Théo: There are so many parallels that could be read into your words, all of them intriguing to think on and I have no doubt none of them intentional on your part, unless perhaps subconsciously. All your talk of demanding passion, the ocean taking everything from you, thrusting yourself to the edge … the memory of your hard body against mine, of tasting the wild side of you almost slams into me and I want to taste it again.
If you were one of my riders, I would have you flat on your back by now, or maybe shackled to the wall in my quarters. The only thing that holds me back is my promise to Mer that I would not cause trouble with you, although surely he would see how sorely you have provoked me?
As the argument rages in my head I notice that you seem to have gone into some kind of trance, so I lean forward, close enough to feel your breath on my face, my voice husky as I seek to bring you back to me. “Karl.”
Karl: The sound of my name on your lips drags me back from my daydreams about catching the perfect ride. I turn around to find your face right next to mine and my breath hitches. When did you move to this end of the couch? And why do I suddenly remember what your lips feel like?
I feel a blush rising again, and try to smile. "Uh . . . sorry. I guess if you've never surfed before, you've got no idea what I'm on about. Must sound like a nutter." And then I recall what I have been saying and now I know I must be bright red. Another surfer would have gotten it, but you . . . must think I'm coming on to you. You are absolutely the wrong person to be talking to about passion and taking and . . . Bloody hell! How do I get out of this without starting another fight? I press myself against the arm of the couch, trying to slow down my breathing, and debating whether I should just bolt, all the while desperately trying to ignore that small part of me that wants to find out if you really do understand.
Théo: We may be talking about the sea, but you remind me of a skittish colt trying to find a gap to escape through, and horses I know well. I stay close, my voice still low. “The ocean may be new to me, but I was born into a land where the unforgiving power of nature rules more than any king or prince ever could. It is respected, revered, embraced, knowing all the while that there is no way to control it, that it has you at its mercy every day of your life …”
As I speak, I move closer, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat of your body and I keep my rising desire in check, breathing steadily. “So I do not have to know how to surf to feel the pull of the ocean, to know the wild, unfettered spirit that lurks beneath it’s surface could crush the life from me in an instant without thought, without remorse, yet still there is that need to give myself up to it …”
My gaze holds yours, conflict showing in your eyes. “And I know that even though my heart will always belong to the wide open plains of my homeland, the ocean now holds me in it’s thrall, and I will never be completely free of it …” I let my lips graze across yours.
Karl: Maybe you do understand, then. And the temptation to take what you are offering is so strong, but I've got other things to think about, despite the insistent clamoring of my body and the ache in my groin. Maybe if I'm just honest with you, we can get out of this without trouble. I cup my hand around your jaw, feeling the stubble of your beard scrape my palm. "I want you, I'm not going to deny that. I wasn't talking about sex, or not on purpose anyway. Besides, I've never . . . " I've never surrendered myself to another person the way I have to the ocean, and I don't think I ever will. But suddenly I think I'm better off if you don't know that.
"Besides . . . I'm involved with someone else, who I like and care about. And he'd be hurt if this goes any farther." But I can't help rubbing my thumb over your firm bottom lip.
"I don't know if it's possible for us to be friends, we can't seem to find any middle ground. But for the sake of the people we share bodies with, maybe we should try."
Théo: I smile lazily at the acknowledgement of your desire for me and the feel of your hand on my face but your words confuse me. You have never what …? My eyebrow quirks and I remember you telling me that you could not let the wildness inside you out, but that was months ago, and you say you are with someone else that you care about. Can it be that you still hold it inside? Still keep that part of your nature locked away? The thought of setting it free sends my desire spiralling, even though I doubt it will be satisfied here today.
The idea of binding yourself to one person is a hard one for me to understand. When life is lived so close to danger everyday, physical pleasure and comfort are taken where they can be, and there is no offence meant or taken by sharing your body with someone other than your love. My heart has always belonged to my radiant cousin, but I would not expect him to abstain from taking pleasure with others, nor would he expect me to. But it would seem to be the way of this world.
At the feel of your thumb my tongue flicks out over the firm pad, and my lips close around the tip of it for a moment before murmuring against your skin. “Maybe we should try … for their sakes.”
Karl: I try to concentrate on something other than the sensations of your tongue on my thumb, but I can't think of anything other than how good it feels. And when you agree with me, I stare at you for a moment, dazed.
I pull my hand away. My friends don't suck on my thumb for starters. Well . . . sometimes, but I'm not shagging my friends anymore. Fuck, now what do I do with you? I go through the list of things I like to do . . . you don't seem patient enough for fishing, and golf really doesn't seem to be your style. You might like rock climbing. No drinking and carousing, I don't need you mixed up with alcohol. And despite your seeming agreement with me, I don't trust you. "Uh, you can come out and ride Smokey Joe, he's my horse, if you like. Or . . . I could teach you how to play pool. Or surfing! I could teach you that."
I flounder, my hands are still itching to touch you. This is such a bad idea. "What do you do for fun? Other than . . . "
Théo: “You can teach me to surf. I want to know more of the secrets of the ocean.” I reach forward and push a stray lock of silky black hair behind your ear, grinning at your question. “In between patrols, we hold horse races, or feats of strength between ourselves. Evenings are spent drinking, maybe arm wrestling, telling tales and singing songs, then later … My eyes spark with amusement. “We find many ways to entertain ourselves.”
Much as I would like to continue our discussion further, it is getting late, and I have an obligation to let Paris shift back, and rather than wait until you feel so uncomfortable you have to run, I will make it easy for you. As I stand, I stay close to you, leaving you in no doubt as to the effect you have on me. I do want to have a friendship with you, although I would prefer the sort of friendship we would share back in my world to the restricted one you wish to embark on. Maybe I will be able to change your mind. I cannot help thinking of the wildness beneath your surface, wonder what it would be like to take you to the edge before you let it out … and I give you another chance to change your mind.
“Sadly, I must take my leave of you, and let Paris return after I have showered the salt from my skin … unless I can tempt you to join me?” I hold out my hand towards you, my eyes holding nothing but honesty about my intentions.
Karl: You may not be a diplomat, but other leadership qualities, such as never giving up, you've got more than enough of. I stand up, relieved that you are not pushing, but asking. Your eyes tell me that you still want me, but you're giving me the choice, and I appreciate your honesty. Maybe this will work after all.
I chuckle and take your hands, twining your fingers with mine. I risk teasing you, keeping my voice light. "Oh, you can tempt me all right. Can't recall the last time I've been so tempted." Especially since I'm feeling pretty salt encrusted myself, and the thought of you scrubbing my back . . . I pull your hands up to my mouth and kiss your knuckles, and then I squeeze your fingers one last time and release you.
"But I can't . . . " My voice is regretful, and though what I really want to do is kiss you until neither of us can breathe, I step back, turning towards the door. "Tell Paris to ring me whenever you want to go."
Théo: As your lips touch my hands, I let out a long breath and for a moment I think I have you, but then you let them go. Ah well, I had no intention of forcing you into anything and there is definite regret in your voice as you decline my offer. As you turn away, I curb the urge to slip my fingers round your wrist pull you back to me and crush you against my chest … and instead watch you go, agreeing to speak to Paris as you slip out of the door, pulling on your jacket. We shall just have to see where this friendship takes us.
