#convo: brandon&patrick

[arcanecovcn]

@demonicescort continued from here.

"No shit, Captain Obvious," Brandon grumbled, his voice dripping with the annoyance he felt nesting in his chest. Deep shit didn't begin to cover it, especially when he refused to ask other organizations ‐actual superhero organizations, that is- for help. "A drug that grants you powers can only cause chaos and while I'm not the most-- let's say, orderly guy there is, it could be bad for humanity as a whole."

If he looked at it from a certain angle, it wasn't his problem either. He could very well leave it be, let things run their course, and deal with the outcome but his upbringing -as well as his selfishness of not wanting to deal with it after the chaos ensued- forced him to take action early on.

There was, however, one tiny problem.

"I'm not sure whether or not Lebelle is behind this. I'm at least an eighty-percent sure he is, but I can't go off chopping heads based on that measly percentage. I need more proof."

He was stressed. The tension in his muscles, the sleepless nights, the constant what-ifs plaguing his mind... truth was, Brandon was letting this case consume him, almost as if he were a novice. Maybe he needed to lay back, rest for a bit instead of obsessing with a solution that was clearly not coming to him anytime soon.

"Sorry for being a snarky little bitch," he grumbled his apology, leaning back into Patrick's touch. "I am stressed and overthinking. Normally this doesn't happen."

[huvtao]

𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 !

¿ Recuerdan que dije que haría una lista con los drafts que debo ? Pues aquí estamos, prácticamente un mes más tarde (lol). Quería enlistar todo lo que tengo guardado para así asegurarme de que estuviera correcto antes de actualizar mi apartado de pendientes, así que bajo el read more lo encontrarán. Si echan algo en falta no duden en avisarme porque probablemente no me habrá llegado la notificación o me habré despistado, igual que pueden decirme con confianza si prefieren dejar alguna convo (sobre todo cuando me tomé un hiatus larguito y es comprensible que se pierda el hilo), incluso podemos pensar alguna nueva si hace falta 😊. ¡Gracias por su paciencia! 💗 💗💗💗

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

1 para @p3ach3snplums

𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬

📷 para @p3ach3snplums

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+ 9 asks pendientes.

𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐬

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[arcanecovcn]

@demonicescort continued from this starter.

So, based on Patrick's reaction, he looked worse than he initially thought. And okay, maybe he was playing it down in his mind so the adrenaline he felt wasn't replaced by panic or another emotion that would make him crash and burn into a tired, bloody mess... but it seemed like he'd gone too far with pretending he was okay. And if not okay, at least somewhat decent.

"Please don't yell," he begged, slumping a little further into the chair -that he ruined- and pressing a bloody hand to the most worrisome wound -that didn't stop bleeding. "I'm sorry for being such an imposition."

He did feel bad. Stumbling through his friend's window at an ungodly hour of the night was violating at least three state laws and the code of friendship he ruled himself by. 'Do not get your friends involved in your supernatural/vigilante-y activities' had been the number one rule... and now it was broken.

"I got trapped inside a warehouse packed with a stupidly large amount of guns. They all had guns, some of them had knives..." his words came out interrupted by heaving gasps. Even though he wasn't dying -technically-, everything hurt on at least six different levels, so even speaking -or breathing- was kind of a chore. "I made it out, but barely. Do you have-- hypoallergenic mycropore tape? That'll come in handy to help tape the wounds together--"

Had he done this before? Maybe. Had it been this bad? Not remotely. Did he have the scars to prove it? Yes, of course, he did, engraved in the skin of his thighs in the same manner Patrick's naked body was now engraved in his mind for the rest of eternity. Not a bad sight, not a bad sight at all...

"And- hydrogen peroxide can help clean the wound--"

[arcanecovcn]

Maybe his moral code was too strong. Maybe he was holding onto that boyish innocence he once showed off like a pride flag; maybe he clung to the image of his younger self, bloodied and bruised as he tried to look for any other option that didn't involve killing. Maybe Brandon clung to his younger self like a lifeline because he didn't want to lose his sense of self... but in a situation as tricky as this one was, he had to get a little creative, a little permissive.

If you were to ask his younger self what he thought about the situation, he'd smile and say that it was a matter of time before he found a solution. Maybe a week or so ago, Brandon would have agreed with his younger idealism... the issue was that time was running out, he couldn't wait until he found a non-violent solution. If the experimental phase of the drug -which had already claimed its fair share of victims- evolved into a full-fledged production/distribution phase, the city might as well be doomed. Chaos would ensue on the streets, gangs would fight over dominion and territory -more than they did already, anyway- and it could also have a hundred different scenarios he hadn't thought of.

Maybe Patrick was right. Maybe nipping it in the bud was the right thing to do.

Making that choice could wait. He could hold back that particularly nasty existential crisis, even if for a few hours, and stop himself from going crazy. That became an option when Patrick kissed him right on the neck, setting his heart ablaze on a complicated race that left him the tiniest bit dizzy. "And what are those suggestions?" Brandon's voice came in a rumbling whisper just as the knots in his shoulders came undone from the pressure Patrick was applying.

"As tempting as running a bath and soaking until it goes cold is, I might be open to other relaxation activities. What do you have in mind? And please, be detailed about it... you know how much I sway when there are details involved."

Patrick could pretend to understand. He had been tied to Brandon through mystical means for a while now – so he should be used to this sort of behavior. As a demon, he never truly understood the desire to do good. The need to stop things from spiraling and getting out of control. He thrived in chaos. The bigger the mess, the more fun he would have in the process. But Patrick could also see the larger – bigger picture. If the world went to shit, it would mess with his well crafted and controlled lifestyle. Sure, he didn’t go around murdering humans left, right and center in order to feed – but he had acquired quite a vast wealth and he was becoming increasingly more addicted to all the riches and pretty little things he could buy with the money others paid him. Messing with his meal tickets was not part of the plans. “Why not pay him a visit?” His fingers continued to massage Brandon’s shoulders, thumbs pressed between his shoulderblades in order to extricate the knots residing there. “What are a few questions? I’ll even tag along.” It was way easier for a demon to identify what predominant sin clouded someone’s heart – although he would be unable to pinpoint the origin. And if things got messy, they could just kill everyone and be done with it. Again – despite Brandon’s good heart and intentions… it was not their problem.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” The demon taunted his partner, leaning ever so close to press a teasing kiss against the warm skin of Brandon’s neck. Just above his pulse point. Just for enough time to feel whether or not his heart would race. “But as much as I enjoy you going crazy, you need to relax. I got a couple of very, very indecent suggestions if you’re in the mood… or you can just run a bath and try not to worry about a problem that is not yours to solve.” As if a goodie two-shoes would do that. “Your call, darling.”

[arcanecovcn]

It took a great deal of his concentration to stop himself from passing out. If you combine the amount of blood he'd lost and the crippling pain he felt in every single area of his body -except maybe his crotch- it was a heaping miracle the young hero hadn't passed out or succumbed to his tiredness a few blocks from the warehouse. In all fairness, passing out within a two-mile radius of said warehouse was a no-go; he had caused such a ruckus that he probably had goons looking everywhere for him... and while it was selfish to come barging into Patrick's place in such a state with a bunch of criminals chasing after his tail, he had no other place to go. This was his only option.

When he started this-- slightly righteous and chaotic journey of sweeping crime from his beloved city, he had promised himself to not let anyone involved. Dragging an innocent bystander, family, or friends into this mess was never an option he considered and so far, he'd managed to abide by that rule just fine. The only tiny problem was-- he'd underestimated his enemy, which was stupid all on its own. The first cardinal rule of vigilantism -or heroism, really- was to never underestimate your enemy, never be as naive or foolish as to think 'yeah, this seems easy enough' because more often than not, it wasn't that easy and situations like this tended to have a heavy undertones that could get you killed. This time, Brandon had gotten lucky.

"You- couldn't even if you t-tried--" me mumbled in a joking manner, the soft smile stretching his lips was a clear indicator that he didn't mean such words. Patrick probably could and would, but Brandon wanted to lighten the mood. A bit of an impossible task, but he wasn't one to shy away from doing things just because they seemed hard or impossible. "I'm-- I'm fin--- fuck, fuckfuckfuck, that stings--"

There was a high chance that the grinding of his teeth could be heard outside the recess of his mind, but it was better than screaming. His presence was an imposition, he didn't want to cause more trouble for Patrick but goddamn, did that sting like a motherfucker. "No, hospitals-- hospitals aren't an option," he grunted through gritted teeth, squeezing his fists tight on top of his thighs so he wouldn't squirm, just like his mind told him to. "There would be- questions and my operation would be busted and I-- I'm close to cl-closing the case--"

He would've continued, but there was another sting that threatened to rip his vocal cords from his throat, so Brandon pursed his lips and inhaled deeply to try and ignore the pain. His wounds hadn't hurt this badly before he stumbled through Patrick's window... but Brandon had to admit that a great part of that was that he buzzed with adrenaline. He was crashing down, that much was obvious.

"A-admit it, Pat--" he gasped in one last attempt to lighten the mood. He probably failed. "Me being a vigilante is k-kind of hot, isn't it? M-makes me mysterious..."

Patrick had half a mind to just stare at Brandon and yet again ask him what the bloody fuck had he gotten himself into – and the other half was genuinely concerned for his well being. This was such a new sensation for him. To be WORRIED for someone else’s safety instead of his own. He hated attachments because of this. Because the world was a fucked up place and one day or another, one of the people he was close to would get hurt and he would have to deal with the aftermath. And boy, did Patrick try to keep everyone away. It was easy being an escort because it did not require him to form emotional attachments to others. They had sex, he got paid and he was on his merry way. But somewhere along the bloody way, he had met Brandon and the two ended up becoming… well, friends. That meant caring for someone else other than himself. That meant breaking that one golden rule to never worry about someone else except his own well being. “If you weren’t looking like shit, I would beat your ass myself.” Patrick cussed under his breath as he knelt by the chair with the first aid kit. He had the basics there. Stuff to address wounds, needle and thread, bandages… there had been times in the past when he was younger where some clients had been particularly rough and brutal. He had learned his lesson. And while they lacked the physical strength to do it now – or wouldn’t simply because he was fucking perfect – those memories were still there. It wouldn’t hurt to be prepared for anything. And clearly having all those things in his first aid kit had proved to be the wise thing considering Brandon was bleeding into his goddamn chair.

“Just stay quiet. I know how to tend to wounds.” Maybe not as serious as those but he wasn’t completely in the dark as well. “Talking consumes a lot of energy and your voice is annoying me.” It was not but he needed to keep Brandon from talking. It would tire him up faster. “I’m assuming going to a hospital is an absolute no, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.” Patrick began to tend to the wounds as gently as he could. Such a rather display of kindness that was so unlike of him. But Brandon was a good egg. “This is going to burn a lot so try not to scream. I don’t want people banging on my door again.” It wouldn’t be the first time they would hear a man scream from his apartment but the circumstances were definitely NOT the same. “Jesus fuck, Brandon. If you weren’t looking so shitty, I would punch your face myself. And don’t think you’re getting away from explaining what the fuck were you doing in a warehouse filled with dudes with guns and knives. This is what people get playing the motherfucking hero. Stupid…”