beyondedenton

[beyondedenton]

Zdzislaw Beksinski - Untitled (Expectancy) 1972

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Zdzislaw Beksinski 

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He would say no word about sport. Certainly plenty of that to be had on any given day without having to involve his husband. His hand came out, falling back on his husband. Some other day, perhaps.

"Now, that I want to see. You'll be bored to tears."

Charles hardly needed the reminder. His head tilted into that touch before settling back against a strong shoulder and finally taking a sip from his mug.

"I don't doubt your ability to kill a deer, if you manage to find one. But there's no way that the two of us could finish it alone. Seems a waste of a life, just for sport. We'll have stew. And perhaps I'll try to catch a fish tomorrow morning."

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Me when I finish a multi-para response:

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Monsters that growl when they kiss, a sound so deep and low that you can feel the vibrations against your lips.

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What color does your love feel like?

Character: Mason Atlas Request from @askprofessorx

Result: dark stormy blue

Sinking ships, raging seas and tumultuous hearts, love isn't easy for you. It's a struggle, a constant inner fight of should I? Can I? Do I? Feelings are hard and they rumble inside you in a dissatisfied mess that begs to be let out. Your heart screams and cries inside you and you... You can't, you won't. You're scared. And love is scary, it's hard and sometimes it just doesn't work out. People leave, people hurt, people change their minds. And you and your cold stormy heart yearn for the calmness, for the distance, to be allowed and able to simply not feel. And yet, you do. It rages, it fights and storms inside you and you try to keep it down, keep it quiet, to feel pretending not to. It's the burn of childhood friends growing apart, of parents that aren't quite there, of relationships that burn out. So you snuff it down with water, cold and calming and blue, blue, blue. But being loved by you is blue too, just not in that way. It's the soothing, embracing feeling of floating, the moment when you sink down bellow the waves and become one with the water, with everything. It's the balance, the dramatic yet calming sound of waves that crash against a rocky shore. You're the good and the bad, the violence of the storm and the watery peace right after. You're the blue, blue feeling and loving you is watery tears, yelled confessions that no one will hear and burying your feelings in a deep watery grave never to be found out about. Your love is dark stormy blue, it's vast and deep and all encompassing, it's safety in the surface of danger, it's trusting the unruly abyss and yet I'd gladly risk drowning just to feel what it's like being loved by you.

Mason had totally different responses than Rune and still got this. Interesting.

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The Atchison Champion, Kansas, March 25, 1897

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Women ice dancing together, 1927

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"I hunt contracts," he reminded. "People runnin' stupid in the woods." Fingertips stroked across Charles' jawline. "Deer? Not a day in my life." He doubted very seriously he would find one this far up north.

"Hm. First time for anything. Warm up the beef stew, just in case." That is, unless that would be too many hours away from Charles' sight.

He settled back with the same ease as always, forever unconcerned with his husband's ability to bear his full weight.

The question had his eyebrows lifting. "Hunting? Are you going to hunt, clean, and cook game right here? Right now? Rosie made some sort of beef stew with rice for us to reheat, but now I'm curious."

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Nothing a little telekinesis couldn't handle. He would be damned if their only creature comforts were to break in the middle of nowhere. Charles would be fine, because of course he would be.

His arms made a seatbelt around his husband's waist.

"Canned goods, or am I huntin'?"

"That witch," he repeated. He didn't remind his husband that the witch had a name. An old argument not worth rehashing.

He dug through the bag for one of the metal cups they'd packed and poured the steaming liquid. He bypassed his own chair to claim Mason's lap, willing to risk it not being able to hold their combined weight.

"Ready for dinner?"

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So long as Charles' mind was within reach, nothing else mattered. Therapy came from every second out of sight. Charles had no hope of relearning himself under his constant vigil. Moments like this, hours in Edenton with the witch, hours of his absence during collections, visits with Bronwyn, every minute was crucial.

So he said nothing. Didn't stretch his neck looking for Charles silhouette. He was there, just behind the trees. Invisible fingers stroking his cheek as he collected firewood.

Charles was fine.

"That witch's tea." His frown held only a singular context, meaningless.

He made his way down to the edge of the water, glancing back once he'd made it for the reassurance of the fire's distant glow. Being out of his husband's reach was easier than it had once been, but he doubted he'd ever be the man he was before.

Perched on an icy boulder, he admired the slowly freezing lake until a deeper chill set in. With a sigh, he stood, and disappeared into a copse of trees.

It was several long minutes before he returned fireside with an armload of dry branches, dropping them unceremoniously to the ground. "Oh? Did you make tea?"

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James McAvoy as Nicholas Garrigan

The Last King of Scotland (2006)

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Charles wouldn't hear a word in regards to that image, but an arched brow high in the heavens, hidden behind dark hair said more than enough. Of that he was certain. He would have that man naked and delightfully miserable in the tent in no time. The bitter chill would have nothing on his heat.

"Mm."

In the meantime, he would finish setting their chairs, bedding in the tent, and the kettle pot by the fire.

He snorted softly, not yet willing to move from that encompassing heat. "As though I'd ever deprive you, Mr. Atlas. You'll have more than enough of my image. Likely before nightfall."

A kiss would hold them, in the meantime. One brimming with promise of the night to come. With a final squeeze, he turned toward the lake, still quite visible from this distance.

"I won't be long."

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The Addams Family (1991) dir. Barry Sonnenfeld

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