#& kane . 𝑖𝑛 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑒

[clearwinged]

" that must be why she made herself so goddamn soft. " in response to @perfectstcrm

"except i see fire!" kane's teeth are sharp -- they look sharper still when he burns. there's sweat on his temples, a slow-growing bruise across the ring of his knuckles, and the usual blue of his eyes are curtained with furrowed brows. he knows of his temperament. how could he not, when evenings burrow themselves with copper on his tongue, and his lungs swim with bitters? he is a reckless case -- any safety protocol embedded now broken to fire. an automatic, some piece of scrap metal unsafe for any distance. sasha is still pretty when she bites at him. she doesn't look away from his gaze, and holds it with more intensity than he expects. the heat lingers on the underside of his tongue, but the fury -- the white hot annoyance sways, shifts on some alternate angle. she had left with him after all. he pinches the tension between his eyes, irritation almost itchy with its persistence. "just -- that -- happens sometimes. i didn't like it. so i did somethin' about it. that's -- that's how people act when they don't like somethin'." kane's babbling, rubbing his thumb now to the creases in the middle of his forehead. his breathing is loud and tight in his throat, eyes never sitting. he doesn't feel prepared to look her in the face. "-- the fire will go out -- i just. i just need a minute."

[clearwinged]

kane lets him lead the way -- though he jogs, and sprints in bursts of unshakeable energy. the streets are largely empty at this time of night, roads but playgrounds for the swing of their limbs, the hollering of their calls. it's thrilling. a jumpstart to the heart, a hammering familiar and tailed with adrenaline. erik seems to meet him toe to toe, grin to grin -- and through the amusement, kane appreciates him quietly too. he leans against the shop window, one knee propped up when they arrive. "what's this secret place of yours, huh?" his left palm cradles the neck of a cheap merlot, while his right pinches the handle of a 6-pack. it's a lot for a single night -- one shared with two in some hazy post-coital state -- but the more they sip, the more subjects they have to aim for. the more subjects they have, the longer erik keeps to his side. he's itching for another smoke, but he distracts himself with a pointed look, eyes draping across the other's profile. "somewhere private y' bring your lovers? -- or your own self?"

the cool in the air is just enough to keep him from turning the challenge down. he'd rather be outside anyway, and maybe this is a good idea to go an grab his bike, take out out, head off to the bluffs with kane. "i know a place. we'll have to stop by my shop. it's a quick walk from here." he nods as he follows after the once was stranger.

there's something in the air, something palpable that he doesn't have the vocabulary to vocalize, or the guts to either. pockets becoming memories, like the air is captured up and stored away to become the strongest, most vulnerable and sentimental moments in his life. something he'll chase for far too long after kane's left him in the dust.

erik tries to pretend he can't feel it, can't feel the melancholia that he knows he'll look back on this, drowning in the emotions he can't grab again. he pretends it's not a creature in the night, baring down on him as he collects his things and dresses himself once more.

[clearwinged]

" [ HAIR ] // Tara & Kane " for @rowan-revelry

it had been raining. he doesn't tend to mind -- drizzles, downpours -- it's the thunder that tends to leave his jaw numb with pressure. but when he arrives, hands cold to the touch, the ginger-brown of his head unkempt and dripping, he feels apologetic. tara is always exceptional, all darling eyes and ironed fabrics, all effortless grace. the distance, though presently figurative (as he stands, hovers within arms reach) seems to echo in moments like this. whatever performance he tends to pull in wealthier crowds, quells -- inevitably -- under tara's gaze. he wishes he could hold it better, keep his chin tipped up for longer, drag his shoulders back. but her hands, only gentle and kind, peel him apart. he folds into her, light lashes briefly falling to the scrape of it, until he's swallowing, gulping at the familiar heat. the warmth he gets in being under her scrutiny. "ran 'ere," kane mumbles, breathless for all the wrong reasons. "saw the sun dip, and ran 'ere." it'd be easier to argue the yearning to be a sense of loyalty, as if his experiences in the mud would explain away his protective tendencies. except he knows this to be selfish in nature. her thumb moves across his damp hair, and kane thinks -- there's safety in numbers. this is a known truth. (except tara feels bigger than this -- blinding and soft and like the presence of one hundred, one thousand, one million. they can't simply be two.)

[clearwinged]

" [ 01 ] a crowded masquerade party, on the dance floor // Tara & Kane " for @rowan-revelry

lieutenant michaels is a generous man. he's also a very social one - an active, extroverted participant in the world of the powerful and wealthy. he's heard stories in the bunks, whispers exchanged about the influence and subsequent embarrassment their lieutenant suffers through, for the sake of reputation. apparently, it's as valuable as coin. kane doesn't truly believe this (he's doubtful good standing alone would pay his rent, nevertheless peel him a glass of brandy) but when lieutenant michaels invites a good lot of them to a party - one with promised liquor - kane figures a soft attempt doesn't hurt. so he arrives, dressed in borrowed clothes. (benny harlan's a little scrawnier than he, but like lieutenant michaels, his family's well off enough to own a wardrobe.) they stretch at some corners, but otherwise kane, surprising as it is, fits in. there's a glass of champagne in his hand, but the sharp curve of his mask makes drinking in gulps, rather hard. so he nurses it slowly, interest waning for the past hour - the flick of repetitive violins near grating in their rhythm. 30 mins into this, there are gruff - familiar - hands on his shoulder. he gets a beat, maybe two, before kane's whisked to the polished floor by his lieutenant's guiding palm. somewhere in between the growing crowd, he finds his bearings - broad shoulders stiff and stretched as he squints into the far distance. he's in a sea of unknowns - each masked and lavish. the music spins up into a proper melody, and in a strangely fateful wave of limbs - kane finds himself almost colliding with another figure. he offers his hand, perhaps desperate for a knowing anchor, perhaps already bizarrely curious by the equally tall stranger. "sorry 'bout your luck - i've got two left feet."

[clearwinged]

priv. for @hecticromantic

kane spits, missing his left boot by an inch. he's grown tired of it all; bored of the grime, sick of chewing cheap tobacco, dreary from the lack of upkeep, from the bad communal habits. most afternoons run a similarly quiet gray after all - both in sky and skin - and it's only the promise of beer, chilled with sweat, that keeps kane present. (he'd rather be anxious, focused and attuned to the ring of battle, if only to combat the dragging days.) worse still, his knee refuses to set - right thigh jumping with each distant tick. "they're payin' us to sit 'round, you'd think. pop pins and needles with our feet. let 'em sit 'till we lose all feelin'." kane swipes a thumb against the corner of his lip, gathering wetness in between comments. "s'pose it sounds fine when you're lookin' down six rounds of jack later. think we should gather the boys tomorrow?" his shoulders slump forward, trigger finger recklessly loose when their eyes meet in the lavender evening. kane's features jump to grin something taunting. "or y'got a skirt to chase? two weeks down west is 'nough time to break a school of hearts."

[clearwinged]

" forget i said anything to you at all. ( teddy & kane .. ) " for @paramcur

there is an ocean of difference between them. this is what he sees most often -- the shade of their skin, the sharpness of their teeth, the subject of their needs. in fact, differences are just about all kane sees half the time. everyone's fucking insane, and he's fucking insane, and nobody makes sense. none of the men buying bouquets for their wives, then beating them for dropping ash on their pant legs. none of the brazen officers clicking metal around the ankles of a man hungry enough to gnaw out a finger. none of the absent parents drinking bitters like water, aching for love, gasping at their children for not holding enough weight. kane too, is singularly fucked. but what he stumbles into, in between teddy's mumbling bitterness -- is a familiarity. it isn't a particularly uncommon trait -- to be guarded, to deflect when responses come in jarring (or clipped, or anything but enthusiastic), but he's ungodly quick about it. it's irritating -- it's petty -- and it's something kane understands too fucking well. "don't be like that," he huffs, heavy, heavy, bolted (stiffened) arms -- coming up to brace teddy's. "you're not even givin' me a chance to talk. what if i hadn't heard ya huh? -- y' think i haven't had my eardrums blasted to shreds? ain't very kind of ya to assume my hearin' s'all good." kane dawdles for his own sake, and then some more for teddy's, before leaning his weight forward and shoving the vampire to a convenient seat. his fingers don't lift. instead, his lips curl into a twisted frown, and kane's brows come together in fervent thought. "say it again."

[clearwinged]

" a kiss while being reunited after a long time . ( kane & forrest ... exploratory non-het brothers in arms .. ) " for @hecticromantic

kane's place is shoddy at best. there's running water and electricity and a window to gaze out of - but most of the rooms are empty, un-lived in and without personality. energy drains from each expected crack in the wall - and so it's with relief and welcome, that forrest brings exactly that: energy. life. an air of something - a buzz - a heat that rarely lives under kane's roof.

and maybe it's the amber in their bottles, or the nostalgia that seems to blind the younger like a stumbling heart (all exposed organs and bloody memories) but the usual laughter trickles away to quiet. kane is generally used to quiet. he works well with both extremes - with the clink of shells and horns, to the pin-drop silence of a field at dusk. this in-between state, where the walls around them echo nothing, and the rush of being alive (being fucking nervous!) pumps into his ears, burns kane like summer. forrest's mouth is shiny with liquor. and two consecutive lurches to his throat interrupt his thoughts, and shove kane forward. he moves conflicted, gathering forrest's neck with one hand while pinning his chest down the couch with the other. similarly, he kisses with teeth - bites at plush skin and then lapping at it like salve.

[clearwinged]

teddy is mouthy the moment his lips are unoccupied, and for all his quippiness, kane can only respond to this realization with a breathless laugh. "hey - s' it that surprisin' to think i'm just a man on a mission?" he gestures lazily at the top half of his uniform, messy fingers now returning to the belt loops of his bottoms. loose, tired muscles plant kane onto the nearest seat, and he wrestles each foot into their respective pant legs. a convenient roll of toilet paper sits at a coffee table, and he wipes himself down with divided attention. the sight before him is a performance after all. he's thankfully satiated enough to avoid touching himself any longer - and instead, kane huffs, right brow arching high when teddy speaks again. "you're all bite in the first place. besides - i'm fuckin' winded. don't know what shit y' pulled earlier, but any longer and i might've pissed myself. and that wouldn't have been in any sorta - arguably hot - way." he babbles, limbs so pliant and weighty that the mere act of buttoning himself up takes a heave or two. and the gap between kane's state within a minute, is comical.

he moans weakly around him, eyes fluttering open in surprise when kane gasps as all noise being made by him is silenced aside from thick gulps as he swallows the warm release with little apprehension. teddy keeps his jaw relaxed, letting kane ride out the remaining high of his orgasm by thrusting into his mouth until it borders oversensitivity. if anything, he's charmed by the hedonism and greediness. teddy looks wrecked, hair mussed and pupils blown as he gazes up at kane, a whine escaping when a thumb traces his lips. a sharp-fanged grin takes shape on his lips, cheeks dusted pink. "yeah? and to think, this is the most verbose i've heard you yet. guess all you needed was one good orgasm to lower your inhibitions," teddy muses, teasing him just a little as he nibbles on his bottom lip and finally, unzips the fly of his pants to slide a hand in his underwear to wrap around his cock. he doesn't try to make a show of it, his cock throbbing with hardness for what felt like hours, a circle of fingers moving over himself relentlessly and drawing out shameless, pitchy moans. teddy's head droops downward, as if too spent to keep holding his head up, and then his cock is twitching in his hand, fucking up into his hand for several more seconds before spilling milky come all over his knuckles. he breathes, shaky, then looks back up at kane. "good enough to let me bite you again?" teddy's tone is cheeky, always willing to push his luck.

[clearwinged]

"yeah well -- pirates only have a charm to 'em when you're readin' 'bout 'em from afar. don't think they'd be friendly to anyone who rid 'em of an eye." he's almost scowling, lip curling up in a not-so-subtle sneer. she sounds teasing mostly, so he doesn't take the latter comment as a wholehearted threat -- but it bothers him anyway, tickles at the usual heat he houses, let's it flare. "why does a person like you need target practice in the first place huh? les' start there."

Her smile isn't a thing of daintiness but of a sharpness, deep toned lips curling in amusement as her eyes remain that lazy 'dead' eye look despite her smile.

"Hm, pirates have such charm about them though," Morticia purrs out looking at the other for a moment, up and down once. She tugs the arrow out of the wall with a strong yank. "No, I'd think not. However, target practice would be much more interesting with a moving target." she ponders for a moment, head tilting a bit in intrigue.

[clearwinged]

irritation builds in between kane's brows, a creased line drawing north like a cavernous crack. "how come y' have me thinkin' there ain't no right answer to start with, huh? this a trick question deal?" he's half tempted to steady his rifle - recklessness nearly giving way to wariness. (though an unnamed sense tells him there's no point in it.)

" — and is that your final answer? " he turns, faces them, and asks his final question. a smirk at his wittiness pulls the corners of his lips up, but he otherwise stays statuesque. // OPEN.

[clearwinged]

"if there's anythin' i'm gonna pick up - it's a drinkin' sentiment," kane explains, a twinkle in his eye. he watches, curious and expecting when sasha begins her response - animated limbs gesturing along with presumed passion. seems apropos that their life's work would be starkly opposing - her hands, one of healing and comfort, his stained with dirt, with ash, with blood. and though it's understandable, kane feels briefly - and uncharacteristically - self-conscious. he chews on the inside of his lip, navigates the self-made discomfort with a short pause, before he whistles low under his breath. "must smell like heaven huh? - goin' to a work sounds like an act of meditation." kane takes a well-needed sip. his free hand comes down to rest on the meat of his thigh - digits a little restless as they drum repetitive and low against his lap. he peels a smile from underneath the beat of stiffness. "but y' find time to drink with strangers at bars then?" @perfectstcrm

sasha's lilted laugh echoed as her drink appeared. he's more charming the more she got to know him. there's was apprehension in herself she couldn't quite read, but she chose to ignore it. "that's pretty good, actually." she teased, taking a sip of her drink, paloma. "it's very busy, but i find time to have a life on occasion. it's an apothecary. natural and handmade soaps, creams and the like." sasha explained, hands moving in front of her while she spoke, something she picked up from her eldest sister, she was certain.

[clearwinged]

a laugh cuts through kane's lopsided grin, his ever combative tendencies drawing close to each figurative swipe. working well under pressure and heavy intimidation isn't so much a skill as it is a necessity here - but forrest gives as well as he takes. kane appreciates that. (especially when the faces outside the barracks are ashen, stern and maudlin in comparison.) "who's to say i've been born with the right 'mount of marbles in the first place huh? who's to say that 'bout you? we're both grippin' winchesters at supper hour." (in retrospect, he doubts either of them would be going home to stovetop meals in the first place. forrest is a charmer, sure, but they're both chasing skeletons here. the salt on kane's tongue is sweet when the alarms blare - the jackrabbit under his ribs like good whiskey, and forrest would understand the attraction. he believes this like cons to prayer.) "so now the crazy in my eyes s' some kinda turn on?" here, the long evening picks up just the slightest, and kane's wily grin tugs metaphorical at forrest's unwavering attention. "look, i won't turn down a darin' girl, but i'm the one askin' for shots. not lookin' for trouble with the locals for once. where're you gonna be?" he prods, shoves his elbow back in return. an invitation sits proudly on the crease of his toothy smile. "takin' up my left then?"

forrest quirks a brow at the sound of the loogie being shot, fighting the urge to let his displeased expression show. he's equally as weary as his comrade, sore joints and muscles aching from excessive use. their last mission had him hit the ground running and stretched forrest too thinly -- so in comparison, he's fine with several dragging mundane days. he's learned that a predictable schedule is one of the few comforts he has, aside from forrest's more earthly pursuits. "you've lost your marbles, haven't 'cha? did all that gunfire give you tinnitus or something? i'm not so eager to see any more action," forrest says, lips tugging up into a cat-like smirk. at least, not of the combat variety. he lets out a longing sigh at kane's mention of whiskey, nodding in agreement. "mmm... six? should we go for twelve and put our livers through the ringer?" forrest jokes, cobalt blues scanning his friend's face before he shakes his head. "but if we do that, might not even remember the names -- much less faces, of the poor lasses we run into. either way, the boys have gotta blow off steam." he tilts his head to the side, leaning in to give kane a friendly and encouraging clap on the bicep with his palm. "and this boy especially, eh?"

[clearwinged]

she's gorgeously responsive - posture shifting, spine positively melting against him like necessary rest - like she needed this. and kane smiles into the kiss, knee twitching once, twice, when she makes her pleasure known (audible). it's a pretty sound - because of course it is - and it brands itself into his head, reminds him of all the precious opportunities they could have with this one delicious sound. of all the ways he could tweak it, entice it to the surface with bigger volume, bigger meaning. what kane doesn't know however, is the limits to sasha's present desire. he does worm a hand down to her waist, greedy fingers tracing the hem of her shirt, and he tests the pressure around her neck, drinks the bittersweet taste on her tongue, but then he stalls. kane pulls back eventually, heavy-lidded and positively grinning. there's some liquor in his system, but the hazy buzz he feels is unrelated. "there. don't hate me anymore - right?"

sasha’s ribs felt rickety as he held her chin, like they were held together by chicken wire and nothing else, chiming against the bones with each breath she takes. so wildly out of what she would normally be doing right now, how she would have and could have shut him out. left him alone. but instead she followed his instruction.

his lips captured her own and a flood of lust surges through her, the crowd around them unaware of how her blood pounds in her ears, how her heart aches for more in her chest, of all the dirty fantasies that race through her head as he parts her lips, nearly stealing her breath. she melts against him, a malleable putty in his hands in a way that she'd hate herself for later.

she didn't really think about it as she reached out for him, fingers grazing over the material of his shirt. she tasted him as his fingers danced across her skin, taking hold of her. it’s not aggressive, it's not a threat but it’s enough to remind her that they are in public, and he knows how much she is into him, as if the fact that his tongue is exploring her mouth, nearly drawing out noises that would give her away wouldn’t give it away. his thumb is hot against her throat and all she wants is him, logic and common sense melting away with a soft and quiet moan that he couldn't possibly miss.

[clearwinged]

there's probably an easy diagnosis for his temperament. not enough love, not enough attention, not enough affection, not enough of anything really - save for expectation, and an imposed independence. five years in the loony bin, and two bottles of moonshine oughta' fix him - he thinks. but kane has none of this under his belt, and the anger that builds in him (like a bull, prodded, gripped by the horns) manifests outward. "don't even pretend any of that matters to ya," he hisses, knuckles white with exertion. "sure - sure - take all the fuckin' comfort of bein' untouchable. 'every goddamn response is calculated' - my ass." kane knows there's a difference between actual domination and a mutually agreed upon one. but he prickles still - chest uncomfortably tight at the thought of a careful submission through the eyes of pity. he knows his situation is awful at best, he doesn't want - or need - anyone to put it into words (nevertheless someone as stiff and distant as teddy). he can't enunciate it either, the way in which their arrangement seems to place kane in open view - and suddenly the judgment he's already half expecting, crests through the surface. "y' don't get to do that either. pluck me for bein' pissed with ya, and then ask me to open up? and i'm the ravin' lunatic?"

teddy prickles in response, jaw setting with tension as if kane has pressed on a bruise that hadn't bloomed yet. a sore spot. it's not easy to tell which part of kane's needling struck a nerve, only that something managed to pierce through his prideful veneer and wipe the smirk off his lips. evidently, he's hit a sore spot too, watching kane with an assessing predators gaze, like a shark getting whiff of blood meters away. an arched brow raises, teddy crossing his arms against his chest to make himself look more imposing. "begging for attention? you only saw what i wanted to show you, but i do wonder why that would get on your nerves. do you feel like you've fallen through the cracks somewhere along the way? been forgotten about and neglected?" his gaze softens then, with something almost imperceptible twinkling in his eyes -- you could almost think it was empathy, if teddy's face didn't look so steely and cold. the light in his gaze flickers and then gets swallowed back up by darkness, rolling his eyes as teddy tries to smooth over the spat they just had. he's only willing to be the bigger person when it involves his survival, otherwise he has no interest. "look, we just have to play nice together in the sandbox for a little while, and then i'll be out of your hair. i can be polite if you can, big guy. but you're incredibly easy to get a rise out of. where are you from? must be somewhere culturally angry," teddy observes, defensive posture dropping as he strolls forward to take a seat and leans his chin into the palm of his hand. teddy expects kane to blow off his 'small talk' once again, but since he's technically being held hostage in his own home, perhaps he'll feel differently about talking. unless he enjoys miserable silence and the sound of the two thoughts he's got rolling around up there.

[clearwinged]

"all the more reason to challenge ya," kane suggests, teasing. "we'll make a bet of it. we'll take some drinks out -- chug 'em dry, use 'em as aiming practice." he says it matter-of-factly, then pushing back against the rail, retreating to the warm indoors. it's late out, quiet in a presumably safe neighbourhood, and kane's itching to make most of the company. this is a pit stop, a short-lived passing spark of chemistry, and as reckless as he knows this plan to be, he wants the night bolded, italicized, etched into his head. (scraped in long enough to withstand inevitable blows to the head.) "c'mon -- let's get dressed -- y' know where we could go yeah? somewhere secluded?" he's swerving to look erik's way, stumbling limbs nestling into discarded pants and shoulders shrugging over a loose long-sleeve. kane shoots him a knowing grin. "promise i won't try any funny business out there."

erik's eyes narrowed, searching kane best he could to discover his drive. he wasn't as easy to read as others could be, familiar, in ways that shouldn't matter but certainly did, but he couldn't see through him perfectly. "maybe i could." he hummed, fingers itching for his keys, but the bike was in the shop, so he didn't have much of a choice but to wait.

kane's shoe hits him lightly, playful, and erik finally breaks a smile, letting himself relax. "i don't know if i could come close to beating you. i'll remind you that dare's job involved the guns and mine's the baseball bat. we could take out mailboxes like shitty teenagers and i'd fair better than shooting." it wasn't entirely true, but erik tended to keep his hands off firearms if he could help it.

[clearwinged]

kane glances out into the purple expanse of the night. "maybe y' could start there. lil' trips. taste somethin' from hands that haven't already made ya." he doesn't mean it cruelly -- not at all sourced from a place of judgement (he'd be more of a hypocrite than he already was) but one of acknowledgement. there's freedom to be had, opportunities to be tested, roads to be cycled through. "how good of a shot are ya? huh? -- think y' could beat me? best outta' three?" kane kicks him then, light against bare ankle. a daring, competitive -- perhaps flirtatious -- smirk sets when he meets erik's eyes again.

erik clicked his tongue, leaned back against the rail and looked up at the sky. what was there out in the world that mattered? if he thought about it too hard, he'd have to admit there was no push or pull, to stay or to go was never a question he had explored. either side of it, like he was untethered but shielded from the wind. it didn't matter which way it blew because he didn't know what he wanted from his life. sometime he resented the fact that he'd even been born. that was too deep for the conversation though.

"most of my life was decided for me. i learned to fight because i was asked to, i learned to shoot because darius needed someone to go with him to the range." he thought he'd be more interesting by the time he met someone whose opinion seemed to matter to him. "i like driving, i don't know if there's anywhere specific i'd ever want to go, but i wouldn't mind just being on the road." he should take his motorcycle out more, or his truck. both were hardly used.