[closed] hear the engine revving all the demons they survive it

[3ofswords]

WHO: Kira Akiyama
WHERE: Tim's house, general places in the canyon
WHEN: After Kira and Sonny pick peaches, August 14
OPEN TO: Tim Gutterson
WARNINGS: NSFW content is always possible, nothing immediately planned though.

---

It's been a couple of days since he put himself in Tim's path, or let himself be at the house to answer any calls.  The orientation house provides a distraction, a place most people wouldn't know him to be, but much as he's avoided the village at large before, he's never avoided Tim.  They'd spent entire days together after the quake, caginess washed away in light of Kira's cold, and after that week--well, he wasn't about to get kicked out of bed to walk home in the dark.

But now his power is back in pieces.  But now Margaery had picked up one of them, and given him a vision to worry about.  

The house felt easier to deal with.  It was down to just him, putting it together, and if something was going to happen to him, he'd need to get it as far along as possible for the next person.  Infrastructure is important, beds for new people, maps, a dedicated face and voice to deliver the most current information available.  Far too important to set aside for visiting some guy he's been having a good time with, so long as everything stays neatly in its lines.

He's as guilty of blurring them as anyone, but even that would be fine, no way of knowing how Tim feels about it unless he says something, and they'd all get home to hell frozen over before that happened.  But walking with Sonny had reminded him--connections are important.  Routines, projects, but also the little things.  A person to share a bed, a face you like the day better for having seen.  If Sonny is starting to slip in a place like this, there's no telling how much better Tim might fare.

As if to press the point about everyone's sanity, the box he'd taken to fill with rumored peaches had shown up that morning, another bottle of Grey Goose and a box of tea.  Knocking on Tim's door in the waning afternoon, he has the cardboard box looped under one arm, the bottle peeking over the edge, the space around it piled with his half of the haul.

It's a beat before Kira stops waiting for Tim to break the days of silence he himself created, remembers who he is, and shoves the door open without waiting for an answer.  "Come on," he calls to the house at large, "I brought you something."

Comments

[comfortablyerect]

Kira's avoiding him.

Or, maybe Kira isn't avoiding him and he's just looking too far into this. That's probably it, because as far as he knows, nothing's happened that would make Kira avoid him. The last time they saw each other, everything was fine. Good, even. They teased and taunted and fucked, parting ways how they normally do. Still, it's unusual for them to go this long without running into each other, and he knows Kira hasn't suddenly disappeared because other people have seen him around, and--

Jesus Christ, this is why he doesn't make friends.

Tim's opted to ignore it. It's his favorite way of dealing with things, so for the past few days, he's continued about his business like thoughts of Kira aren't stewing in the back of his mind. He chops firewood and takes care of Kid, who he's been making sleep in the stables more and more often lately. He even makes trips into the woods to do some gathering. But it's later in the afternoon, and he's at home with all the windows open, rinsing some berries he'd collected that morning. He doesn't have to check to know who's at the door — with Cougar gone, Kira's the only one who knows where he lives.

Of course, he doesn't have to open the door for Kira to come in, either. He takes half a step out of the kitchen, eyeing Kira and the open door behind him, brows arched. "I've shot people for less," he points out.

[3ofswords]

"There are no guns here, and my knife's nicer than yours," Kira answers, like there's really a scenario in which Tim would shoot or stab him. They both know how sad he'd be to see Kira go, by his hand or otherwise. It's one of the things they never talk about. "Also, everything else that implies," he adds, carrying on into the room to set the box on the table.

As he stands up from settling it, he skirts his gaze once over and up along Tim's frame, gauging--distance, actual annoyance, his own unshakable wariness.

What is Tim going to feel like, when he inevitably crosses the room?

Tabling that, Kira drops his gaze back to the box, lifting a large, perfectly pink and yellow peach to set beside it. "Sonny and I hiked out to the other side, checked out the peach tree they found. I brought these and a bottle of vodka that had my name on it."

[comfortablyerect]

Tim's silent, loitering in the doorway of the kitchen with some amount of uncertainty. He's not chasing a fugitive through the back roads of Kentucky, and he's not testing the wind on some cliff side in Afghanistan. That is to say, this is not easy to navigate. He should probably be angry that Kira's avoided it for a few days, but instead he feels unsure. Where do they stand? Why should they stand anywhere, when they've just been fuck buddies up until this point?

That's not true. That hasn't been true for a little while, at least. Kira has slept in his bed through the night, they've laid together with no promise of sexual favors in the night or the morning after. Kira made sure Tim didn't kill himself with some infection, and Tim looked after Kira when the rain gave him a cold.

Things have changed, shifted beneath his feet. He's still standing now, but eventually it's going to knock him flat on his ass. He should take this as an opportunity to back out, start giving excuses.

Instead, he crosses the room. He stands beside Kira and finds himself not angry that the other was absent for awhile, but relieved that he's back now. From now on, he'll just make a point to not expect too much. That way, there's no way for him to end up disappointed if it happens again. Maybe things have changed, but Tim can still keep things at arms length with all the emotional bullshit.

"Glad you came bearin' gifts." He picks a peach from the box, biting into it in a messy, primal way. Juice leaks into his palm and drips down his chin, but he doesn't care.

[3ofswords]

That Tim eats like a child isn't news to anyone, least of all Kira. Usually, the messy way he uses his mouth is for Kira's benefit, and he turns to hold the edge of the table, closing himself in Tim's immediate space. "If I'm going to be busy, I might as well bring something to show for it."

Being busy of his own choosing is the part to leave out, and he gives it a beat before he adds, "Veronica left me with a few things to take care of."

Close enough to emotional to back them both off any kind of conversational ledge, he imagines. And it feels like standing on one, Tim coming up in his space and--it's not just the feelings, giving him a presence. Everything between them is the smell of peaches, the hard glass in Kira's hand, the way he might be able to lie and evade, but Tim might find he can't. Tim feels off-balance in a way he shouldn't know to feel, and Kira--doesn't like it. Doesn't like how Tim doesn't like it.

Leaning into the table, he hooks his foot around Tim's heel and ankle, tugging anyway. "How's your leg healing," he asks, like he didn't see it up close and personal a few days back.

[comfortablyerect]

Being busy sounds like some bullshit excuse, but Tim doesn't even breech it. He won't breech it. It's not like they're dating or anything, like either of them owe each other their time. They're friends, but they're living in a village that's pushing them to survive. Sometimes, they won't have time for each other. Sometimes, they might not see each other for a few days.

Tim's okay with that. Or, at the very least, he'll make himself okay with that. He doesn't know how he's supposed to feel about Kira's absence, but what he does know is that he's pleased Kira's returned at all.

Maybe one day he'll get tired of Tim's bullshit, but apparently, today isn't that day.

Veronica was gone. Someone Tim knew by face and name, even if he never spoke to her. A lot of people have up and disappeared lately. Who knows if they're being sucked back home, or if they're being swallowed by the woods, or even something much worse. It's shitty to dwell on, so Tim doesn't. He's a soldier — losing people isn't anything new to him.

"It's fine." He leans in, catching Kira's lips in a kiss, his own mouth still messy from the peach he'd bitten into. They won't talk about the emotional things, because they never do, and that's perfectly fine with Tim. But this is something they're good at.

[3ofswords]

Being kissed by someone irritated with him is nothing new. Being able to feel it buzz behind his teeth, in the sweet taste of peaches isn't new either, and he can appreciate the way it fizzes and goes flat, the fact that kissing Tim smooths over pretty much anything.

God, it had been nice though, feeling nothing at all. Being himself and only himself, in his own skin, completely sober.

That must be what the vodka is for: nothing here is ever really free, ever a sign of good will. Someone is pressing his buttons, and that isn't Tim's fault, so he opens his mouth under his and lets Tim make a mess of them both. "Hello to you too," he says, swaying back in once to press a second kiss to Tim's lips when he pulls back to breathe.

Whether or not they talk, these days, Kira can't escape the undercurrent of Tim's presence, questioning and reaffirming. "Let's go for a walk then." Still holding the bottle by the neck, he slips around Tim to head for the back of the house. "I don't feel like drinking indoors when the weather is this nice."

[comfortablyerect]

Truthfully, Tim wouldn't mind standing here and kissing Kira indefinitely. Maybe it's kind of childish, a teenager-esque thing to want to back a pretty boy against the kitchen table and kiss his face off, but Tim would be content with that. And for now, he is, because Kira's kissing him back and Tim can still taste peaches and something else that's unique to Kira's mouth.

They kiss a second time after the break apart, Tim drawing in half a breath before their lips meet again. He even leans in to steal a third, but Kira's slipping past him, walking towards the back door. Tim blinks, staring at the spot that Kira once occupied, and he smiles.

It's a little thing, but it's genuine. His smiles, few and far between as they are, are always real, and frequently hidden. Like this one -- it's gone by the time he turns around to follow Kira, snagging a peach from the box on his way past it.

"Where're we headin'?" he asks, clearly content to be along for whatever ride Kira's operating.

[3ofswords]

Once he gives in to the kiss, the world brightens. Tim doesn't care that he barged in, that he's been gone: there's only the fact of them both here, for however much longer, and a real happiness for the fact. That's harder to swallow than the annoyance. Loitering in the light spilling in the back door, Kira almost wants to swap the bottle to his other hand, take hold of Tim's, and see if the feeling lingers. See if it's something true.

If he doubts it, he doesn't have to do anything with it just yet.

"Back towards my place, I guess. The spring is past it, or we could go up to the pool and swim." The destination doesn't really matter: he just wants out of the houses, he wants to keep enjoying what he's able to about this place, and not just the parts that involve Tim putting him horizontal. He's far from tired of it, but he carries through the trees behind Tim's house, unscrewing the cap from the bottle as he goes.

There's something else he wants, today. He just needs to find the way to say it, when I think we should talk is such a nerve-wracking cliche. Tipping the bottle up, he figures the alcohol will either make it easier, or just make him go back to kissing Tim into things. Either way, problem solved. "I don't know, do you want to get drunk near hot water, or cold?"

[comfortablyerect]

It's a nice day to be outside. Not that it matters, since there's hardly ever things to do inside. All of Tim's days are spent outside, weather be damned. But the sun is high in the sky, the temperature mild enough, and the slightest breeze blows through to ruffle their hair. It's probably better that they take a walk and enjoy it rather than spend it upstairs tangling in the sheets.

Maybe he can talk Kira into fucking in the grass, anyway.

"Cold," he answers, falling into step on Kira's left. The hot spring is nice, but it's more preferable when there's a chill in the air. Right now, he prefers the idea of wading into crisp, cool water. He reaches for the bottle of vodka, slipping it from Kira's fingers without asking and tipping it back for a drink. It's not what he prefers, of course, but the alcohol burns his throat in a familiar, comforting way.

[3ofswords]

Kira likes vodka: usually with something else, but if all he has is a peach to bite into between sips, it'll do. Vodka is clear, sharp, and the good stuff is strong enough to do its job efficiently. Flor once tried to tease him about it--said he liked vodka because it was like him, absorbing whatever you put in it, but still sharp underneath.

Actually Flor, he'd said, a little scathing for how close she could get, I like vodka because I'm that queer. She'd rolled her eyes, and they both knew they were both right.

She wins all the arguments now, not here to hear any last words. Kira takes the bottle back when Tim drops his arm with it, and swigs again for the loss. "We can chill the bottle," he agrees. "If there's any left by the time we get there." If he can put away half a bottle, Tim could probably put it away in thirds, and they'll meet in some fraction that sends them sloppy and pawing at each other, most likely.

Tim's house isn't far from the river, and he doesn't think he'd mind a loop along it again today. He's just out to pass the time, get some public to buffer against Tim's wandering hands, and try to gather his thoughts. "What do you drink back home," he asks, as good a nudge in the right direction as any.

[comfortablyerect]

Tim would much rather be fucking Kira on his kitchen table right now, but that's probably the case at any given time. This isn't bad either, truthfully. This is very reminiscent of his teenage years, when he and his friends spent long summer days walking the fields of their little Kentucky town, sharing whatever liquor they could get away with stealing from their daddies. It was never vodka, but some amber-colored whiskey, burning their throats on the way down.

This is better, of course, because he's walking with a guy he gets to nail regularly, and he doesn't have to worry about going home to find out his father realized he stole the last of the bourbon. It's the little differences.

He sighs, taking a bite of the peach a little neater than he had earlier. He catches the juice with his tongue, reaching for the bottle to wash it down.

"Bourbon," he answers, handing the bottle back before Kira can grab it himself. "Kentucky makes the best."

[3ofswords]

"Oh," Kira asks, and if there's an arch to it, it's a soft one, "is that where your country-ass is from?" It's as direct a detail as he's ever gotten about Tim, but it's probably as direct a question he's ever asked. They don't talk a lot, and when they do, it's usually about their lives here. Firewood stores, what might be around to eat, everyday hurts and needs.

Kira isn't sure what's changed, to make him curious about the other side. Maybe the prediction that he's ever going to see it again. Maybe that's why his gifts are returning. Maybe some hold is slipping.

He takes another swig from the bottle, following it with a bite of his own peach. A difference between them maybe, chasing something sharp with something sweet, instead of the other way around. The sun is warm on his skin, booze warm in his belly, and Tim's certainly never cold at his side. He's surprisingly soft, really, in a way Kira already knew. Maybe he doesn't need to be so hesitant, dropping in on him these days. "Sorry to disappoint your rugged, Appalachia sensibilities. I've never left New York."