napoleonriot

[napoleonriot]

"Oh right, your art thing." Eleanor had a good eye; Napoleon knew that much, and that taste was one of those things a person couldn't buy. Eleanor was born with it. Their mother was fond of letting people know they either had it or didn't. "Well, don't be shy, invite me to your opening - you know I wouldn't miss it for the world. I'll bring some friends, well-behaved ones, obviously." Napoleon didn't have any friends like that, except maybe Matteo, but then again, he and the mulling twink weren't exactly friends. Napoleon just liked to see how far he could push the kid.

Exciting to Eleanor would be if they fought to the death, not simply because their egos warranted a brawl that would end when one was pulled from the other. A fight was nothing more than proving a minimal amount of strength. But one did not understand what they were capable of until their life was placed upon the line. What would happen if the prize was their own life, and not simply a soggy waffle? "Of course you do," she teased, affectionately, of course. "Yes, I'll be staying for a while. I've already begun to set up a new gallery, so I'll have to oversee that for some time, at least." Until she was confident that those she hired were capable of performing their duties when she finally left.

[napoleonriot]

"I think it's exciting." Napoleon leaned against the edge of the counter as he spoke, his jaw propped up on his hand as he looked toward his big sister. There was so much nonsense to it all; Napoleon didn't consider himself a violent person; violence suggested something out of the norm. The Valters hunted people every month for sport because it was a fun game - that wasn't violent. That was just entertainment. "I love it here," Napoleon admitted; the Waffle House was like an endless running cinema, and the people here were so amazingly common. Weak, but Napoleon couldn't hold that against them. He leaned in further, "Tell me you're staying a while."

Was that tidbit of knowledge supposed to change her mind of it? Though, if any of them were to stake ownership upon a place such as this, Napoleon would indeed be the one. "How pleasant," she noted as she eyed the restaurant further. The smell of lycan seemed to be upon everything, and not simply the usual smell of them. Eleanor imagined there was not enough disinfectant in the world to make this place right. But she would hold her tongue further, refrain from damaging the responsibility that Napoleon had taken upon himself. "Darling, if I am up at three in the morning, it is not to watch some drunken lycans duke it out in a restaurant," she cooed, while a hand reached up to rest against her brother's cheek. "Have you been settling in fine?"

[napoleonriot]

And I hold you every night That's a feeling I wanna get used to But there's no man as terrified As the man who stands to lose you

w. @carmineverga & w. @xjonasx

[napoleonriot]

Slow, languid strokes brought Napoleon's open-mouthed and toothy grin inches from Carmine's as he breathed in the moan that the volatile passed from his lips. Drawn up through hot air and threaded desire, Napoleon tucked it away within his ribcage to be tasted and dissolved later on. Sequestered away with his undying appetite, Napoleon savored the taste of Carmine's resolve, smoothed across the tarmac of his tongue. He pulled with greater intention and tandem, friction the second most prominent source of warmth between them, the first being the steady thrum of the volatile's broiled heart.

In the warm, tepid air of the blanketed windows, the air had grown stifling. Lust drew a scent of its own and it permeated the space around them as the late afternoon sun did nothing to hide the breadth of their sins. Napoleon preferred to let it linger, he liked the thought that so much finery could still reek of sin, and that whether from debauchery or hedonism, every inch of this estate had been claimed by the Valter.

"Again." Napoleon urged, his teeth bumped against Carmine's as he knocked their foreheads together. The sheen of sweat that had blanketed his back had dried now to a cool air, cast adrift along the plains of his spine, the divets of his back and the blonde small hairs that bristled at the nape of his neck. He'd hear that devotion over and over again from Napoleon's blown-out lips and ravaged mouth. Until there was nothing between them but skin, seed, and the electricity that pulsed under the fascia that decorated the violent wolves wrestling underneath.

A sigh fell from the Malice as hips instinctively rolled forth into the feeling of Napoleon's grip around him. A parallel voracity met in the middle, spliced between two volatiles, as green eyes bore into Carmine's; an instinctual recognition found within the grins painted upon each others lips. Napoleon was everything to him, it was as simple and devastating as that. The Riot pulled at the length of Carmine and it was as though each stroke wrought the culmination of such confession to bleed from his mouth again and again. What was everything to a creature who had nothing? His life had been splintered and pulled apart, each ounce of love and care scoured away from it until Carmine was left with the scathing loneliness only a monster could nurture. It was what he'd become, a monstrosity, something hellbent on destruction and it was under the very rampage of such deliberate destruction that he'd met Napoleon, fell to the mercy of him.

Carmine had been cracked open before, a child who was unprepared to have everything he'd ever known be destroyed; it hurt to become and yet somehow, as Napoleon cracked the other open again and again, Carmine found a sense of comfort deep within such confines. Napoleon was a mirror, sure, but he was also a violent legacy, a palpable influence upon this world; he'd set fire to it all to see Carmine smile and it was in that that the other volatile had become everything to him. "Everything," uttered uncharacteristically soft, the words were wedged between them, exhaled within a breadth of a moan. "You're everything."

[napoleonriot]

END

"As if I'd let you have all the fun." Whatever flimsy material was passing as a shirt was quickly discarded, the rest was dropped with ease. There was nothing more degrading than a lycan in pants or, worse, a stretched-out pair of underwear that was still clinging around their waist. Napoleon let it all hang free, bare as the morning after he'd been born. All flushed skin that tingled at the sudden wash of the cool, winter air, he kicked his clothes towards Matteo as Napoleon's neck craned back. A noise between a sigh and a growl fluttered from the base of his neck as the lycan's neck elongated unnaturally. With it came the audible pop of a bone, his throat bulged, and a grin spread to unnatural lengths over the candor of his wolfish lips as his cheeks split to accommodate. The pink flesh of Napoleon's lips pulled back to reveal rows of mortal teeth that suddenly grew as they sharpened into points.

Newly turned wolves had to suffer through painful transitions, Napoleon had heard how difficult it was for the freshly bitten because for a human man to turn into a lycan, just about every natural law had to be defied. That was what it meant to be cursed by a God and any lycan worth a damn knew that story. The fabled King who'd dined on his son's own flesh was doomed to spread this affliction across the world. A fate that trickled down to the illustrious Valter line. Eventually, lycans could turn on a dime; they gave in to the curse and let it rip through them quickly and violently.

Pampered, devoted, and conceited, Napoleon lavished in the sensations, and while it was easy to shift without much thought, he took great pleasure in embracing every single moment. Fluidity and languidity, especially in something so violent.

There was no audible snap of bones, that which characterized the shift of so many other lycans, instead the sound that came from Napoleon's body was more of a grind. Bone upon bone as Napoleon's shins grew into his haunches, a jaw that broke smoothly and pushed forward as beneath the pale glint of glowing, gray eyes. Gums and nails as black as obsidian, the latter sharp enough to tear through steel. A volatile's strength, and a Valter-born lycan's boundless control. He stood before Matteo now under the glow of the partial moon, strong and empowered with a coat of fur like a pale sheen of pressed ash.

Napoleon got close again, then barked before something guttural bellowed from his chest: laughter. It was all as if to say, be strong, be wild, be free.

[napoleonriot]

Napoleon's hand slipped over the other as he ran his thumb over the crown, grip affirmed as he leaned a languid frame across Carmine's body. The lycan's green eyes twinkled faintly in the low light that filtered from the fading late afternoon sun. His grin was wolfish and bright, Napoleon's lips passed over Carmine's as his grip tightened, and he reveled in the warm feeling of the volatile's body beneath him. Napolone had always been wild and liberated, there never felt like there was anything holding him back. He'd been doted on because he was strong, careless, and ruthlessly devoted to his ego and sense of self. To be a Valter meant the world revolved around you, volatile blood pumped through his veins and his heart ran as rampant as the tepid strokes of his grip.

"Say it again." Napoleon insisted, his legs threaded through the other's, still clothed as he folded the fingers of his free hand through Carmine's hair and brushed their noses together. It wasn't a point of being worshipped, no, that was for hired help and servants. Carmine wanted him, and Napoleon was the other's everything: that wasn't just enough, that was everything to him.

Something spliced with both affection and possessiveness, the Riot pulled Carmine flush against his limber frame, swollen lips breaking into that casual smile the Malice so often expressed. "You're everything to me," vulnerable words fell from him, and perhaps it was the haze of having his face utterly crackled and blown, eyes still teary, but the smile broke open a little wider at the confession, Carmine hardly hesitating at the request. His hands fell as the volatile slipped his aching cock from the confines of his pants, one hand rolling over the base of it in a quick stroke as though it would quell his wanton and impatience for even a moment. Once a toy for the Valter, even here pliant beneath him, Carmine never felt so powerful; heady and drunk off the idea that with Napoleon there was nothing they couldn't quite conquer.

[napoleonriot]

The whine borders below masculinity as Jonas's teeth sink into his skin. There will be a mark there in the thick skin of the young man's hide, lavished as it is shortly after by Jonas' lips. The juxtaposition between the sharpness of the bite and the praise of the draegloth's tongue sent a chill down his spine. Napoleon's fingers curled possessively around the daemon's biceps as the other held him in an unshakeable vice. He isn't used to this, and any onlooker would know that this was painfully obvious; the volatile was at the summit of the lycan food chain; he'd never been made to feel powerless to under, anyone. The Valter surname was synonymous with strength; was this some other cause? Then Napoleon would've made a show of sinking his teeth into this chest beneath him and tearing out that vital, beating organ. Hot-blooded and still pumping, he'd chew it between his maw and laugh at the carcass the visceral beast would leave behind. Jonas was a different breed, a lover and a temptation, someone with the power he held over him that Napoleon also intrinsically possessed. Even this was all by design. So instead when Napoleon bit, it was in time with Jonas' grip across his backside, his teeth sank into the other's collar as his nails bit hard enough to break the upper layer of dermis. Napoleon was still new to this, but this torture was unbearable, so when his bite found Jonas's jaw, he muttered something completely pitiful. "Please?"

ψæψ

Power and control fit Napoleon like a glove. He was simply born better. At least that's how Jonas saw things. The draegloth was utterly seduced, almost drunk off the other in a way. His attachment to the smiling faces who found him clawing at his own skin was staggering even in retrospect. He was not someone who could be possessed, yet Jonas craved him regardless. "Yes. I. Do," Jonas responds, his voice half snarl half growl. That's the most important thing he's learned from Napoleon, that he has the right to live how he wants and take what he desires from the world. Within the bounds of this heated space they shared, Jonas didn't have to shirk from who he was. At that moment, he was a man who needed the one on top of him vocalizing his desperation. "Pick me apart like you always do. Hone in on the parts of me you want, then ask. Boss me around and I'll deny you." And just to make his offer that much more appealing, Jonas cranes his neck past Napoleon's wolfish sneer to bite him at the crook of his neck. A growl emanated soon after, leading the delicate kisses around the marked area. Determined to force their position, he chuckled as he felt Napoleon struggle against the hold. "The more you fight, the more I'll make you beg before giving you what you want," Jonas rumbles as he boldly slips his hand down the volatile's jeans. There's a cocky quality to his grin as he guides Napoleon by his ass to move, making their hardened crotches rub against one another. "I'm patient. You're not. Beg or you'll suffer."

[napoleonriot]

"As if I'd let you have all the fun." Whatever flimsy material was passing as a shirt was quickly discarded, the rest was dropped with ease. There was nothing more degrading than a lycan in pants or, worse, a stretched-out pair of underwear that was still clinging around their waist. Napoleon let it all hang free, bare as the morning after he'd been born. All flushed skin that tingled at the sudden wash of the cool, winter air, he kicked his clothes towards Matteo as Napoleon's neck craned back. A noise between a sigh and a growl fluttered from the base of his neck as the lycan's neck elongated unnaturally. With it came the audible pop of a bone, his throat bulged, and a grin spread to unnatural lengths over the candor of his wolfish lips as his cheeks split to accommodate. The pink flesh of Napoleon's lips pulled back to reveal rows of mortal teeth that suddenly grew as they sharpened into points.

Newly turned wolves had to suffer through painful transitions, Napoleon had heard how difficult it was for the freshly bitten because for a human man to turn into a lycan, just about every natural law had to be defied. That was what it meant to be cursed by a God and any lycan worth a damn knew that story. The fabled King who'd dined on his son's own flesh was doomed to spread this affliction across the world. A fate that trickled down to the illustrious Valter line. Eventually, lycans could turn on a dime; they gave in to the curse and let it rip through them quickly and violently.

Pampered, devoted, and conceited, Napoleon lavished in the sensations, and while it was easy to shift without much thought, he took great pleasure in embracing every single moment. Fluidity and languidity, especially in something so violent.

There was no audible snap of bones, that which characterized the shift of so many other lycans, instead the sound that came from Napoleon's body was more of a grind. Bone upon bone as Napoleon's shins grew into his haunches, a jaw that broke smoothly and pushed forward as beneath the pale glint of glowing, gray eyes. Gums and nails as black as obsidian, the latter sharp enough to tear through steel. A volatile's strength, and a Valter-born lycan's boundless control. He stood before Matteo now under the glow of the partial moon, strong and empowered with a coat of fur like a pale sheen of pressed ash.

Napoleon got close again, then barked before something guttural bellowed from his chest: laughter. It was all as if to say, be strong, be wild, be free.

"You too then." It's the only defense he really has in the moment. Matteo hadn't necessarily been bullied as a kid, he'd avoided peer pressure for the most part and now it was coming back to bite him in the ass. "Waffle House bonding moment." It's with a bit of sarcasm and exasperation that he steps back again and pulls his shirt off over his head. What was a quick run through the woods anyways? It's not like he doesn't like it and Napoleon has his teeth sank into the subject and was going to shake him until he tired himself out, surely.

[napoleonriot]

Eleanor was here, which could only mean Lucien wasn't far behind. He was okay with his siblings cropping up, but if his mother decided to check out Lupercal for herself, then the party would officially be over. "I swear it smelled like this when I got here." Napoleon smiled as he leaned over the counter towards his sister; clothes and everything could be replaced. "It's just so..." He looked around and tried to find the word for it as he thought about the people who came here. "Common. It's fun; you should see what this place is like at three in the morning." A fucking bloodbath, that was always exciting.

where. waffle house who. @napoleonriot

The place reeked of only God knows what, and the very consideration to leave it far behind nestled itself within her thoughts. But this was the establishment that her baby brother had taken ownership of, and it would only be right that she gave it a modicum of attention. That is until another lycan got too close, or likely spilled something on her rather expensive clothing. Oh, but even the coffee smelled revolting. "Was there a particular reason you chose this establishment, darling?"

[napoleonriot]

Napoleon liked to have fun with people; he was insatiable and always had been. He did what he wanted, and when other people said no, he had no problem tapping his foot and egging them on until they finally relented. It was all part of his spoiled charm. "C'mon, do it." Napoleon had too much lycan in him to let anything go. In games of tug-o-war he always won. Matteo might have stepped back, but Napoleon just stepped forward; he grinned and showed his canines. Gray eyes glinted just below pink hair as his chest bumped against Matteo's scrawnier one. "I just wanna see, what, are you scared? This is a city of lycans; we all shift, just show me."

Matteo had always been one of those people who'd been made very aware of peer pressure at a young age. It wasn't even that he was some kind of prude or anything, he usually declined shenanigans because he wasn't interested. The thing is, being a lycan seemed to guarantee shenanigans to a degree. Except he thinks he'd rather be being goaded into smoking weed like at university instead of being pressured to shift. "You're not gonna let it go, are you?" He takes half a step back when Napoleon pushes at him, more exasperated than nervous. It's a rhetorical question, they both know the answer.

[napoleonriot]

Carmine's tongue tasted like Napoleon's violent seed, washed together, the volatiles's tongues tangled together as Napoleon pulled the other flush against him. "I love waking up to you," Napoleon said as he ran his fingers through Carmine's hair, a firm hand at the side of the lycan's head as he looked at the man's dark eyes with his own. There was so much violence in them, and so much hatred. Carmine had all this passion and all this anger, Napoleon just thought it was delicious. Something that he could distil from the other and somehow take in for himself, he wanted Carmine to get everything he ever wanted: vengeance, blood, money, whatever it was Napoleon didn't care. He just wanted to ensure that they were standing on the mountain together when Carmine reached the summit. "Take your pants off."

A shiver ran down his spine as Carmine's dark eyes peered up at the Riot quivering above him, it was all the Malice could do as Napoleon's orgasm was rode and blown into his mouth, the ache of his jaw resounding bluntly with each twitch and quiver of Napoleon hovering above him. A breath indicative of a response was slowly huffed out, the makings of a mild grin as canines pressed gently, unavoidably, into the blown knot that nearly cracked his jaw. A creature prompted from darkness configured pain as a sickened comfort, and Carmine relished in the praise of a spoiled rich boy, the way his fingers raked through Carmine's unruly hair and how his cock affixed perfectly into his stretched throat. The Malice swallowed greedily as Napoleon's seed pooled within his throat, his chest rising and falling as they both awaited the inevitable come down. His mouth was a cavern blown wide as Napoleon slipped carefully from it's wet confines but the Riot still yanked Carmine upwards to taste the remnants of himself, the Malice's lacquered tongue slipping eagerly into Napoleon's mouth. Ruined but hardly spent as he grinned into the kiss.

[napoleonriot]

Napoleon was so many things: hedonistic, debaucherous, spoiled, violent, impulsive, and more. Powerless was not one of them, though. The volatile was a wild, free thing. Where every other lycan was a person who turned into a wolf, Napoleon had come yelping into this world under the light of the full moon. He was a wolf who turned into a boy and as Jonas seemed to almost effortlessly pin his wrists behind him, Napoleon's green eyes flickered to a pale gray as his brow furrowed. Reflex and habit had him struggling, his cock already hard as Jonas held him in place. "I let you into my home, into my life," Napoleon growled; the air between their mouths warmed as the two breathed into the space between them. Jonas was a furnace that burned beneath him, half lycan, half hellfire, and yet neither of those things. "you expect me to beg?" Napoleon showed his teeth, bright whites, and sharp canines that caught the shafts of afternoon light that streamed through the large windows. His smile was unnatural, like a wolf grinning under broad daylight. "I don't think I even know how." Another challenge that was lined with a definitive truth, what Napoleon didn't just take, he only had to ask for. Never more than twice. "Teach me."

ψæψ

Jonas was helpless, forced to feel valued because Napoleon's expression told him that he had something to give. Slammed back to earth, he actually had the wind knocked out of him. Jonas was stunned for a moment, looking dazed up at Napoleon as he grew harder in his pants with each pound of his racing heart. Have more feel more Mind reeling, Jonas gently ran his hands up the volatiles searing hot forearms. "I want you, so I'll take you. And even though you can't stop me, you'll beg for it, won't you?" His grin stretches wide as he harshly grips Napoleon's wrists, yanking them away so his spoiled packmate slams down into his chest first. The impact makes him groan, but in the pursuit of Napoleon's body any contact is good contact. Jonas' arm veins pop as he pushes both wrists slowly together at the small of Napoleon's back, gripping them in one hand. His grin was wide and his eyes glowed red, but what he really wanted more than to enjoy breathing the same air as Napoleon with their faces so close was the sensation of his trapped hardon baked between their immense body heats. "Start now. You'll stay right on top of me until you do it right," Jonas growls, rolling his hips as his free hand runs tenderly around Napoleon's neck.

[napoleonriot]

Napoleon's tongue tangled with Jonas's as the draegloth united their mouths. From his perch on the bar, the volatile had to bend towards Jonas, though the kiss was more of a smile than any torrid exchange. Napoleon grinned almost ear to ear before the shots were slid along the bar towards them. "One for you," Napoleon said as he passed one off to Jonas, "one for me." Napoleon downed it without much of a second thought; the third was predictable. "One for the good sport." His hand closed on Carmine's shoulder, his grip a bit tight but still playful as he pulled him in and turned the lycan around so he could face Jonas. Napoleon's green eyes sparkled under the torrent of the neons, his forearm moved across Carmine's chest, and the shot came to the other volatile's lips. Napoleon just looked at Jonas, though; mischief oozed off of him; this was what the lycan lived for. Carmine sandwiched between them; this was how it should always be. Shots emptied on the bar, Napoleon kept his hands on Carmine, one across his chest, the other over his abdomen. Affectionate and possessive all at once. "What's that make? Three? That's not enough, is it?" Words were spoken against the curve of Carmine's neck, though he had kept his green eyes fixed on Jonas until now. Now they clicked towards the edge of Carmine's jaw, "Especially since it's Christmas."

@carmineverga

Carmine understood the game, had once bested the game when venturing into Valter territory but it was only because he'd engaged the Riot's attention; something not many could stake a claim on. The Malice found himself testing and pressing upon boundaries often, trivial games that resounded in impish consequences; Carmine never minded playing with fire where Napoleon and Jonas were concerned. Peppered between their violence and bloodshed, there was this mutual resonance that each would kill for each other. Carmine's caged between the draegloth's arms, grinning as though he were the predator and not the prey, "Sometimes I get lucky." As it was uttered, Napoleon made himself raucously known, slipping between them and slinging his arms around Jonas and the Malice. "I see that the punishment is letting Jonas choose," a teasing bite resonated in his tone as Carmine looked between draegloth and volatile, curious as to what the Dominated could concoct.

@xjonasx

[napoleonriot]

[napoleonriot]

Stretched, sensitive, and shaking. Napoleon's cock was fixed in Carmine's throat as the Riot looked down at the malicious devil between his thighs. This was his favorite way to wake up, and the image of the other in this particular position would never get old. "Looks good in you." Napoleon praised as his fingers moved affectionately through Carmine's dark nest of hair at the top of his head. He tensed at the pressure of teeth and skin around the sensitive base of the blown knot; more of his seed slipped out as Napoleon did his best not to rip the other's jaw clean apart. He'd collected Carmine because the volatile was like him in so many ways; he found him exciting and funny because he was always far too serious. Their shared deviant nature was just a bonus.

With some measure of patience, Carmine felt himself at ease down to the point where he could pull out from the other's mouth. A ruin of spit, cum, and lips so stretched out that tasting them was Napoleon's recourse as the Riot pulled the other towards him.

His mouth filled with spit, fuck-blown lips curving perfectly around the base of Napoleon's cock as it was repeatedly buried into the confines of Carmine's throat. The Riot's grip upon hiss unruly hair tightened with each brutal thrust of his hips, Carmine's own nails gripping into the tender flesh of Napoleon's outer thighs as spittle fell to the sides of his mouth, down his chin; a clear ruination that Carmine ran towards. A small whine rumbled in his throat, spliced with gargled moans, before Napoleon tensed and quivered above him, Carmine's name half-falling from the other volatile's lips as a sordid warning. Hot seed fell down his throat as Napoleon buried himself into the Malice's stretched throat and a low growl rumbled from Carmine, a stamp of dark approval as his fingernails pricked at Napoleon's quivering thigh and the iron scent of blood pricked his senses. His hands fell, slipped down the others legs but that familiar tear-stricken gaze peered up at Napoleon, blown and destroyed as seed and spittle fell around the knot which bloomed within his mouth.

[napoleonriot]

"Ohhh shit, this was your party?" This guy was a God; Napoleon usually only got on his knees for Jonas, and even then, the volatile did a very half ass job with it as a sign of protest. Dramatic and youthful, Napoleon got on his knees in front of the other and let his forehead touch the grass as he lifted his arms before he stood up again. "Bro, I bow down to you; last night went crazy." Napoleon looked around again as he stumbled over the trash, still bewildered and disoriented. "Yeah, I'll go, but when's the next one?" This was the place to be; if nothing else, the volatile needed to ensure he was scoring an invite to the next one, too.

Lycans were the last thing Hakan preferred to keep company with. Honestly, he barely thought of them enough to warrant their presence in his life. Still, Ezekiel had wanted the entirety of Rome at that party and that meant every lesser supernatural being that inhabited the place. He should have known that there would be stragglers. He had not intended to be up at this time. The Count was usually a creature of the night which meant daytime was for sleeping. Still, here he was awake because there were people cleaning and there were bodies still on the floors. Some were very much alive. Others were not so lucky. This lycan needed to get the fuck out though. "It is the next day after a party. Do people not know of the rule that you do not have to go home, but you have to leave here? Or is it just you?"

[napoleonriot]

"Alone?" What a weird little guy, the bitten ones were always so nervous, as if this was something that they should be ashamed of. "No way my guy," Napoleon got closer, at over six feet tall he looked down at most people and Matteo was no different as he grinned and kept pressing forward even as he bumped into the other lycan. "show me." Once again antagonizing the other just a bit, he pushed lightly against Matteo's shoulder, "C'mon, show me." Napoleon was always relentless when it came to getting the things that he wanted, Carmine and Jonas could attest that the spoiled brat always got his way. "I wanna see."

"Hey, hey, easy on the praise unless you're buying me dinner." It's not nearly as abrasive as it could be on account of it's all kind of nice. Sometimes he sits there behind the counter at the Waffle House and he sees all the roughhousing and the casual affection and there is a sense of being on the outside looking in. That's kind of something he's grown accustomed to over the years though, being the person reading in the corner at parties he'd been dragged to. This feels like being invited though and maybe he'd gotten the encounter all wrong. It'd felt like a test, jump or be ridiculed but maybe that's not it at all. "I can, I just kinda....Do it alone." Which sounds weirder out loud than it does in his head. "Feels like it's kind of a 'the moon and me' deal."