#also idk if its clear but this takes place after arlo invited faustus to a ballet performance

[bosspigeon]

words were never so useful

HI HELLO i'm still alive!!! and here i am a week late with another silly scribble makin ocs kiss for @veeples's birthday! <3 Arlo and Faustus should kiss. Faustus deserves a big goth bitch to gently torment💕

title from "All This and Heaven Too" by Florence + The Machine (as covered by City in the Sea)

"You know," Faustus says slowly, smirking, "I thought Tina was exaggerating about the puppy eyes..."

Said puppy eyes very quickly narrow, and Faustus is on the receiving end of perhaps the sharpest glare he’s ever experienced.

It’s cute that Arlo thinks that’s going to do more than delight him. For a man who seems like such an impenetrable brick wall at first glance, he sure is easy to rile up.

He’s still untying his flats. The black ribbons (dramatic bastard) flow like dark water over his fingers, mimicking the ribbons of dark hair curling over his shoulders, half-hiding his face except for those piercing grey eyes, framed with sharp eyeliner and smoky shadow. Faustus still isn’t sure how to ask if he can play with his hair.

“You can just ask, you know,” he continues, since it seems like Arlo is content to give him the silent treatment while he fights with the ribbons laced up his calves. Faustus wiggles his fingers pointedly, the tips ghosting lightly against the line of the taller man’s thigh, warm through his snug tights.

His spine stiffens, before he hunches over further, and a dusting of pink touches the shell of his ears. Faustus smirks. Too easy.

“Or can you?” he leans forward, resting his elbow on his knee and his cheek on his fist to more effectively leer at Arlo. “It’s not too hard, is it?”

“Shut up,” Arlo grunts, finally freeing his other leg. He pushes his flats off at last, wiggling his toes (which also sport black-painted nails, because Arlo has no fucking clue how cute he is) and stretching his miles-long legs out across the floor. He leans back on his palms, arching his back, like he doesn’t notice Faustus’s eyes on him, watching his every move. He probably doesn’t, hilariously. Any other day, he’s hyper aware of anyone who might be watching him, antsy and rattling around in his skin, but any time Faustus is doing it, he suddenly has blinders on.

“I think next time you should perform in heels,” Faustus offers, apropos of nothing. “If you can walk in them, that is,” he adds like a challenge.

Naturally, Arlo takes the bait, cutting another glare at him. “Of course I can,” he snips. “It’s like dancing pointe, only with actual support.” He looks away again, rubbing at his tense thighs. Faustus would offer to do it for him, but he’s pretty sure he’d blush so hard he passed out of he did. “Besides, this wasn’t that kind of show.”

“I could take you to that kind of show,” Faustus drawls, letting his voice drop a bit. “It’d be fun.”

Arlo tenses again, peering through his hair again, hiding behind the safety of the curtain of black. Again, Faustus is almost overwhelmed by the urge to run his fingers through it, push it out of the way and make Arlo look at him head-on. He almost has to sit on his hands so he doesn’t give in to the urge.

Arlo’s eyes flicker down, to the tattoo on his bicep. The delicate pink slippers that marked Faustus as safe, after what felt like a lifetime of the big man walking on eggshells around him. He looks away quickly, like he’s fighting some urge of his own. Faustus wants to take him by the shoulders and shake him, yell at him that it's okay to give in.

Instead, he stretches oh-so innocently, and lets his knuckles skim Arlo’s thigh again. He tenses, but not so sharply this time, and there’s another timid glimpse of pale grey behind the inky curtain.

“I wanna see her in person,” Faustus says softly, “if she’s even half as fun to watch as you are, it’ll be well worth it.”

There’s a peek of red between the black, and Arlo makes a rough, growly little noise that sounds like it wants to be words but can’t quite figure out how to be, and Faustus finally decides to stop teasing him.

Well, mostly anyway. He has to tease him at least a little.

Because Arlo is still giving him that not-look, still shifting like he’s not sure what to do with his hands, taking a sharp, quiet little breath every now and again like he’s about to say something, but decides against it at the last minute. He can’t see the puppy eyes, hidden as they are, but he can feel them, the weight of them, and the want.

Faustus lays his hand on the smooth wood floor, tapping with his nails to subtly draw Arlo’s attention, and sighs theatrically, looking away from him with a dramatic toss of his head. Intentionally obvious, intentionally playful. “I wouldn’t mind holding your hand,” he says, like it’s some great burden. “I guess.”

Arlo makes another noise, but this time, it sounds more like a laugh, sharp and a little startled, but still a genuine laugh.

But Faustus is the victor in this weird little standoff, clearly, because it’s only a few second’s hesitation before long, graceful fingers are slipping between his, careful and shy, and squeezing almost hesitantly. He squeezes back, just to keep them from getting any sort of wrong idea and retreating.

“Puppy eyes,” he whispers, and when Arlo tries to pull away, he doesn’t let go. “Nuh-uh, not a chance, big man. This is mine now.” He drags the hand to his face, and presses a kiss to his knuckles, and has the singular delight of watching a man who is easily a head and half taller than him turn into a squirmy, blushing mess.

But Arlo stops trying to pull away, at least, and Faustus considers that another little victory.