averagemedium | [Off-Comm Threads]

[As soon as Ryan opens the door, Henry recognizes him- he was different, but so familiar it hurt; distantly, he wondered if this was what it was like to see ghosts. Or at least the ghost of someone loved.

Henry didn't blame Ryan for leaving, and he shakes his head at the words, somehow managing to stand. He didn't really blame anyone, despite his incidental murder spree; disappearance in Asgard was as good as death anywhere else. It happened, whatever anyone did. It was inevitable, a part of life.

He doesn't run towards him; if anything, his steps are hesitant, barely aware of taking them until he's right there, standing in front of Ryan- and from there, he can barely make himself reach up to touch his face (a little rougher around the edges, a little older, the lines settled, but still so uncomfortably familiar).]

It is you... isn't it?

[It's soft, so soft it's barely audible, as if saying anything would dispel the moment, and when he looks up to him, it's more than a little desperate, unstable.]

It is. It's me, I promise.

[The desperation in that look makes him ache, feelings that still seem almost new to him now immediately welling up; he just wants to pull Henry close and hold him, soothe him, fix it, and he doesn't realize that he is until his arms are already wrapped around him tightly, face buried in Henry's hair, eyes watering as he breathes in the scent of him.]

It's me and I remember all of it, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I forgot--

[He cuts off there with a shake of his head and a shakier gasp of breath.]

[He shakes his head again, just clinging to him, unable to reply immediately. It wasn't okay, but it also wasn't Ryan's fault. He knew he wouldn't leave him of his own choice.

The tightness of his grip, the warmth of the face in his hair, the feeling of his breath and body- only then does he start to give into hope, relief flooding through him with a force that nearly suffocates. Henry hadn't wanted to consider the vague possibility that Ryan could return; worrying about his memories on top of that- it was too much.

Only holding him now did he realize what it could've been like, that he could've seen Ryan returned to the world and not remember him at all.]

You remember now--

[He can't finish it, his next breath turning into crying, as he burrows himself against Ryan, body trembling.]

--no, no, don't--

[There's an edge of distress in his voice as he holds him closer, squeezing him gently before he reaches a hand up to try to tilt Henry's chin upward. His lips press repeatedly to the side of his face, his cheek, kissing at the tears with soft brushes of his lips and tongue; it simply feels right to do, and it's only after he's started that he remembers similar gestures in the past.]

I'm here, love, I'm here. It's all right.

[His own voice is choked, tear-tracks marking his own cheeks even as he continues trying to soothe away Henry's. He'd been alone himself, sure, and without the memory of someone left behind. But Henry- he'd been left alone here without that same small mercy.]

[The touches were soothing, familiar, and Henry presses into them with a low noise; it ached, the idea that this- that it could've been over, that he wouldn't feel it again.

But the crying eventually switches to a sort of laughter, and if it's a little hysterical, it's nonetheless genuine. The past few days had been a shock, there'd been no time to even try adjusting- and now Ryan was back, he hadn't lost everything.

From trailing over his face, his lips finally find his, deepening the kiss, as his hand shifts to touch his face, wanting to reassure, and be reassured. His fingers brush at the dampness on his cheeks, his murmur muffled by the kiss but unwilling to break it.

It was alright. Everything was alright now.]

[Ryan returns that kiss eagerly, almost desperately; it's a little ungainly, those few years spent alone and without practice taking a bit of the usual ease out of it, but it's no less fervent for the lack of technique. And the more Ryan kisses him, the easier it is to slip back into the memories of being here before that keep returning to him, tongue twining against his with more of the easy familiarity he'd been used to.

His hands settle on either side of Henry's face, fingers brushing into his hair and holding him there, pleased sounds stifled into Henry's mouth.]

[It was strange, the brief feeling of having more experience- or at least, a more recent familiarity. But technique was the last thing to occur to him, not when he had the taste of him at his lips, tongue lapping eagerly against his, encouraging more of the same.

He'd be breathing him in if he was remembering to breathe; the growing dizziness is the only realization that he wasn't. Even then, he can't leave his mouth entirely, hand slipping into Ryan's hair and holding on, as if trying to kiss himself unconscious from sheer intent.]

[Ryan's at a similar point, lightheaded with the lack of air but reluctant to let their mouths separate; he wants all of the contact he can get, wants that reassurance he's not alone, wants the comfort of it after all the events of the last years. He'd kiss himself unconscious if his body would let him, but he eventually can't help jerking back slightly with a desperate gasp for breath, chest heaving slightly as that first breath leads to several more quick ones.

He does his best not to go far, though, immediately leaning close again and resting his head on Henry's shoulder as he regains his breath, fingers twining tightly into his hair and idly tugging at it.]

[There would be a protesting sound if he had the air to make one, but he settles for just pressing tighter, breath shallow and fast as he's finally forced to resume it.

His arms wrap tightly around Ryan's waist then, as he feels the fingers in his hair, the weight on his shoulder. Even with the added space to breathe, he remains a little lightheaded from the relief of his presence, no less needy for having him there again. A minute later he manages to murmur.]

--How long has it been?

...few years.

[It's a quiet murmur, the admission a reluctant one. This isn't what he wants to think about. He just wants to keep holding on, keep kissing him, give in to distraction before he has to sit down and start getting his head sorted out.

Ryan clings back just as tightly, still resting against him, fingertips starting to rub slow circles on Henry's scalp.]

[Years. Henry kisses the side of his neck instead of replying, a slow nuzzle along the length of it, reaffirming his presence by degrees.

And he doesn't push for more of an explanation, pulling Ryan instead, back towards the couch. His hands slip underneath his shirt in the process, pulling at it until he can slide his arms underneath, up against skin. Later he'd be curious about what had happened to him; for now, it was enough to have Ryan there, where he could touch him and be touched.]

[Ryan reluctantly lets go long enough to pull off his vest and shirt-- the attention is good, but better-fitting tops restrict it more than he'd like. He wants the feel of those hands against his skin, the warmth of him pressed there.

Without clothing in the way, it's immediately obvious that aging a little hasn't been the only change; his wrist tattoos now curl up to cover more space in an unfamiliar script, lines of it wrapping around each forearm, and on the opposite arm from the Tower there's now a matching Death card. There are more on his back as well, even if Henry can't see them just yet- a line of what look to be runic symbols in blood red ink trail down his back, directly over the spine, and the white raven is now standing on a black book. It has a counterpart as well, a black raven perched on a white skull now occupying his other shoulderblade.

Most noticeably, though, there's another mark on his chest that doesn't seem to be ink. It's centered on roughly the same level as his heart, an irregular black spot perhaps a couple inches across. If there weren't solid skin there, it might look like a hole, and each vein that touches that spot is visibly colored black up to a couple inches away from its edge.

He isn't thinking about the fact that he looks different, now, and there's no pause after discarding his shirt to let Henry see. That's the furthest thing from his mind, when he could be clinging to him once more instead.]

[It's only grudgingly that he lets go long enough to let him remove those clothes, and though he was about to follow suit himself, Henry's distracted by the different sight of Ryan's chest. It was only a brief glimpse, but when Ryan moves against him again, he hesitates, curious- even a little concerned. He wasn't acting hurt, yet...

Henry pushes back then, to look more closely, hands tracing from his shoulders, down his chest to his waist, and back up again to that black spot, wanting to touch it.

When his eyes flicker back up to Ryan's face, there's a question in it, but he doesn't say anything.]

[He leaves his hands on Henry while he's busy exploring his chest, resting them on his partner's waist and then shifting them out of the way when those hands on him stray lower. It's hard to relinquish that contact when he just wants to stay close, but Ryan doesn't discourage him, standing patiently for now.

That silent, questioning look gets a nod from him, though, an attempt at a reassuring smile; Ryan doesn't quite manage, the corners of his mouth only turning up slightly, but there's at least no real tension in his expression.]

Go ahead. [It's a soft murmur, eyes still on Henry's face rather than his hands.] It's not gonna hurt.

What is it?

[It certainly didn't look like any scar he'd encountered, or even an injury exactly, and he rubs his thumb over the area before leaning in, brushing his lips over it.

It wasn't as though Henry minded at all; Ryan could've come back horribly scarred and his only thought would be a desire to hurt anyone who'd done it.]

[The touch makes him shiver, mostly out of the expectation it'll still feel just as strange-- the sensation of normal, firm skin being touched does feel a bit odd, but a better sort of weird than it was at home. Ryan sighs quietly at the brush of lips against it, fingers combing through Henry's hair.]

...a hole. Was one, anyway, I... guess coming here fixed it. [He shrugs one shoulder, a little confusion slipping into his tone. Sure, the place straightens a lot of things out, but it was still unexpected.]

Did someone gouge out a thing?

[It's mumbled against the skin, though Henry uses the chance to nuzzle upward, pausing to run his tongue along his collarbone.

His hands find Ryan's sides again, scratching lightly down to his waist and holding on.]

No. More like-- something got out.

[His fingers tangle more tightly into Henry's hair, other arm wrapping around his shoulders; it's all comforting, the nearness and affection make it a little easier to think about home.]

...long story short, it turns out I can do more than I thought, and-- that other things can do more with me. I'm sort of like a door. A point of crossover for them.

[He hesitates, letting out a slow breath before he adds, quieter:] And something finally noticed. Forced its way through.

Forced?

[And he leans slightly back again- not enough to dislodge him, just so he can take another look at that not-wound.

His hands dig harder into his waist for a moment, before pushing him more determinedly back towards the couch. The idea of Ryan being run over by ghosts travelling back and forth was- well. It made him want to kill a few ghosts.

Somehow.]

--Must've been a pretty small thing, to get through there. Did you crush it once it showed up?

[He's content to just let the pushing happen, keeping his hold on Henry as the backs of his legs bump up against the couch and he flops carelessly backward, settling easily into place there. The motion's all memory, the returned familiarity of being in another place he calls home; in his mind it had felt a little more distant, but on some level he still knows this apartment intimately.]

It wasn't that small, that's just... it's sort of what was left over from it getting through. I can't deal with it yet, I've been trying to, but it's-- it's not really like any other spirit I've dealt with.

[He shrugs one shoulder, a little uncomfortably. Ryan knows Henry isn't going to like the rest of this explanation.]

It killed me, when it came through. Turns out I don't stay very dead at home either.

[Though he's about to follow him down on the couch, when Henry hears the last of that explanation, he stops, stares at him with little expression.

'Killed' and 'Ryan' were not thoughts that were meant to occur together, even when they were followed by the consolation of not staying that way. But he's at a loss at what to say. It should have been straightforward, it shouldn't have mattered; he was alive now, he was going to stay that way, Henry hadn't even seen it, there was no reason to be bothered. If it had been anyone else he would've eagerly pressed for details, indifferent of what it would be like to speak of.

But it was harder than that, somehow.]

...ah.

[Is the most he manages at first. With slow deliberation, Henry climbs down into his lap, settling there, resting his head against Ryan's shoulder. He's quiet, running the palm of his hand down his bare arm. So quiet that there's little warning when he suddenly bites down at the juncture of neck and shoulder, clinging to Ryan in a different way, but with no less desperation.

It wasn't out of any actual desire to bite him, much less hurt him. But it was better than crying again.]

[The look Henry gets while he stares is faintly worried; he'd known it wouldn't be taken well, but for a moment he's concerned about just how poorly it seems to have gone over. Ryan's just about to ask if he's alright, try to pull him onto the couch, when Henry finally settles on him and rests there; he breathes out a relieved sigh, arms wrapping around to hold him tight.

And then he abruptly feels teeth sink into his shoulder. The sensation's unexpected enough to startle a gasp out of him, but he quickly relaxes, holding tighter to Henry with a soft, low murmur.]

It's alright, love, I'm alright. It was a couple years ago.

[It was another thing to take in, to push back and accept.

Letting go- with his teeth, at least- he shakes his head wordlessly, shifting to nudge his head underneath Ryan's chin, burying his face against his neck.

He really didn't want to think about him dying again, no matter how many years ago it was to him.]

[Ryan tucks his chin on top of Henry's head, his own tilting slightly to be able to nuzzle there. The lack of words is an expected thing, and he's silent as well in his comforting; one hand shifts up to rub firmly at Henry's back in a steady, repetitive motion, and as Ryan holds him close he rocks slightly, a similarly steady and gentle movement meant to soothe as much as he can.

The only sound he bothers making isn't to say anything-- instead he's simply humming something under his breath, a tune he's always personally found calming. They don't need to talk about it, but he still can't stand when Henry's obviously uncomfortable.]

[He breaths slowly, gradually relaxing properly. Henry hadn't slept since he'd found Ryan gone. But he lets himself focus on nothing but his voice- for now, nothing else mattered, Ryan was there, and intact. He was alive now.

Under these conditions, it won't be long at all before Henry passes out, reassured by the sound, warmth, the familiar scent. But he fumbles for one of Ryan's hands first, pulling the ring off his own finger, where he'd kept it in his absence- and pressing it back in place.]

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averagemedium - 2014-04-19 01:47 (UTC) - Expand