agoodyarn | When We Were Monsters (Magnus 359)

When We Were Monsters (Magnus 359)

[ Death is a funny thing.

For normal people, it's an end. For people like them, like him and Jacobi and others... it's a choice. It's a moment when you decide whether you want to rest... or if there's something stronger in you. A need, a drive that's stronger than what your body can't handle. Something that defies the End, sends you towards a different path.

A path with teeth.

A path with claws.

A path that has him experiencing the most agonizing pain he's ever known, that has him burning and freezing and screaming wordlessly into the empty vacuum of space. Even the burn of the whiskey down his throat is lost in it, in all of it, flavor and meaning and words and thoughts and everything, everything lost to the drive, the need

the Hunt.

It's agony. Agony as he reaches and holds. Agony as he floats and burns and dies and does not die. And when the Goddard follow up crew finds him, moves to recover his body, he gives one of their officers the scare of their life when he sits up on the table.

Not for long, though, because their throat is in his teeth before he can even think.

Suffice to say, things on board do not go... peacefully.

But that's not really the important part. That's just the inbetween. That's just the how. It's not the why. It's not the what.

The what comes months later.

The what comes in a knock on Jacobi's door from a man in sunglasses and a Goddard Futuristics uniform that most people wouldn't realize has blood on it, but the man behind the door? There's no way he'd miss it.]

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He wasn't, but is now, back in his arms and in his lap and against him, feeling every movement of muscle that Jacobi already had memorized. But now he can feel it.

He tries to push him away, but his movements are feeble, obvious grasps at control that he doesn't actually want.

"Then I definitely want in." Unlike Kepler, Jacobi had always liked getting dirty. Digging in. Hurting in every way he could. He just kept his discipline because he had to.

Warren will listen to him... when he means it. When he's pulling away just to make a token effort, he'll hold him close as he likes.

"You break. I... rip.". A smile that Jacobi will feel instead of see. "They? Bleed."

A shudder absolutely tears through him at those words and he can see it. He can imagine it. Tearing through each one of them like so much tissue paper.

And that anger towards him goes away. At least for the moment. Because there's no better way to show love for a person than Scorched. Fucking. Earth. In their absence.

His laugh is - a little cruel. "Remember how I said you'd have to try harder? This is exactly what I meant."

He digs fingers into his arm, wanting the pressure it gives.

Kepler had had a guiding principle, once upon a time. He'd had a goal and a dream. He'd had a different kind of hunt, a bigger, grander hunt.

But that's... That's done. And that's fine. Now, he just wants to sniff out his prey and tear them to pieces. And he wants to let Jacobi break them. And watch as he finishes the job.

Nothing could be sweeter. Nothing possible, anyway. Not with Jacobi's fingers digging in.

"...down. to. the. marrow."

Another laugh, just as cruel, and he takes a moment, just a moment, to marvel at how easy it was to fall into this. To let the floodgates open and embrace that part of himself that he always kept in check.

"You should have led with that," he tells him, raking nails up and underneath his shirt, along his back. "I've been so - well, like I was. When we first met. This is the second time you've brought me out of it."

There's a moment where he considers it, where he licks at his lips, at the newly-returned fangs in his mouth. Those eyes are just a little brighter as he speaks.

"I promised you. No more games. Not... with you. If I'd led with slaughter?" he nips at the corner of his jaw, just a tiny little nibble, "that? Would be cheating."

"No games. No - evasion." It's a difficult concept to wrap his mind around. Certainly more difficult than this part, the physical part. But he's not inclined to follow orders anymore and he's not living by Goddard's rules. He didn't, not at the end, not when he was angry, and not now.

No questions. No complaints. Those are harder habits to break.

The little nip gets a smile. "Did you really rip his throat out with those teeth?" he wonders, flicking his tongue once against Kepler's lips.

Which is... very Jacobi. And more than a little cute. He'll steal a kiss before he answers again.

"I did indeed. Tore his heart out with my claws. Ate it for strength while his assistant watched. I don't know which was tastier: the meat? or the fear."

He'd spent the next few days slowly hunting down the people on the recovery vessel. It had been a lot of fun, really. He's sad Jacobi couldn't have been watching him. Perhaps the appreciation and attention wouldn't have fed the Hunt, but it'd been nice for him.

"Yuck," he says with a smile on his face and no disgust in his tone. "What did you do to the assistant?"

He can't be afraid of Kepler or what he does. In fact, he can't think of a time when he was genuinely afraid of him. Afraid of consequences? Yes. Afraid of being yelled at because his bad mood makes the day drag on? Of course. But actually afraid of him. Never.

Even now, seeing those teeth and knowing those claws exist and feeling, on his own, the strength he possesses...there is no fear. He thinks, in a vague way, that there should be, but he can't force it.

The 'yuck' gets a laugh. Then he's leaning in to take another kiss before continuing. Jacobi is here, and that means he'll be stolen from. Just rob him blind of kisses over and over.

"He was a runner," he says with a huff and a laugh, "so I got a great chase out of him. I don't think he realized who I was. They hadn't found my tracker yet? So. He had no idea I'd know the ship layout. Thought he could hide in a blind turn."

That gets another chuckle and a shake of his head.

"Mmmm, I pretended I lost him. Had him going for almost a full minute before I had my hand through his chest. A full 'Temple of Doom'." He sighs. "Minus the still-beating. It was twitching? But... not full on beating. That's fiction."

"Good to know," he says with actual enthusiasm. "How did you get back?"

Because now he's just enjoying the sound of his voice. Hes enjoying asking questions and getting ateaight answers. Not sifting through an hour-long story just for scraps of information. His hands still press into his back and he dodges the last kiss in favor of pressing lips against his jaw instead. Taking a little initiative of his own. Keeping him talking so he can press against him.

For better or worse, the capacity for an hour long story is... significantly lower at this point. His patience just... isn't there. Oh, he could still sit on a stakeout for hours, days even. But that's a Hunt. Now, direct gives him what he wants, lets him stalk around and take kisses.

"Once the crew was dead, I had a ship. All to myself. What. the fuck. do I care about cleaning up Goddard's mess anymore? If nothing else, it'll give me ammunition."

He likes Jacobi's lips on his jaw. That's good too.

"Piloted myself down to that hidden landing pad in Wisconsin. Stopped by my stash to pick up money. A car. A laptop? And a new phone. Then... it was just a matter of finding you. And going where I needed to go."

He smiles a little.

"...I have other clothes in the car, baby. I wore this for you to... be as up. front. as possible."

"Did you call me baby?"

He sits back and stares at him. Because, yes, that's what he has chosen to comment on. Everything else is cut and dry. He had a ship. He got back. He found Jacobi. Clothes in the car. He has no follow up to that. Nothing that he wants to know.

"No one has ever called me that before. Not even - well, the others."

Warren looks back at him, eyes glittering teasingly, a smug smile on his lips.

"Because," he explains very easily, "you aren't. their. baby. Not their sunshine. Not their gorgeous. Or their honey. Definitely not their sweetheart."

He's never going to get used to that. The plain talking. The outright truth with not much underneath. All his feelings laid bare.

It occurs to him, only briefly, the amount of information that he's been forced to accept in a short amount of time, but, frankly, he's almost had worse.

"Definitely not that, no."

Again, another kiss pressed to his jaw, right under his ear and he lingers a while. "This is insane. You realize that, right?"

"By all rights," he says, his voice a little lower, a little more intimate, like two people sharing a secret even if they're the only ones in the room, "I have to be insane. I... wouldn't manage a psych eval."

He turns a little to catch Jacobi's eye.

"I was burning and freezing and having my lungs exploding over and over and over again until about... two months ago. Since I died the first time."

Just the tiniest adjustment to the angle.

"That a dealbreaker?"

He shivers for another reason and turns somber, the playfulness seared from his breath.

"No. But - I dreamed about you. About that. I had nightmares about you being alone out there, suffering."

And now he knows it wasn't just a nightmare, that it was real, it hurts. "But I never forgot you. So if you're a little insane, but you're still with me? Here? It's a small price to pay."

But it isn't burned out of him. There are ways he's learned to survive as he was taken apart and put back together again, over and over.

Before he ever went out the airlock.

And that method? Involved an overdeveloped sense of humor. One he knows can creep people out sometimes but... such is life. He is what he is. He certainly isn't going to get any better.

"That's all I? Needed to know. That? Makes it all worth it."

"You put a lot of faith in me," he scoffs, as if that hasn't been Kepler's purpose the entire time. But Jacobi has always risen to that challenge, so this shouldn't be any different. At least that's what he tells himself. It's a beautiful lie that has the potential for reality, as long as he puts work into it.

And that, combined with Kepler's continued nonchalance about the whole situation, helps restore his better mood after a temporary dip.

"Well, I'm all put of complaints. And excuses. For now." And so he fills that gap with a kiss, sliding his hands under his shirt.

"I put. exactly the right level of faith in you," he says with a crooked grin before he's taking another of those kisses from Jacobi and returning it right back to him. He makes a soft, happy growl at the hands under his shirt and there's definitely a bit of flexing going on for Jacobi's benefit.

"The fact that you could stab me straight in the heart? Only makes me love you more. The fact that you did? I know. it's because of how much you need me. And I need you."

And then he's lifting a hand to cup Jacobi's jaw to pull him in for a more extensive kiss.

It's odd to feel what his eyes have memorized. So many cumulative hours on watching and staring behind sunglasses or from under his hat or from across the room. So many pangs of jealousy when someone else's hands were on him.

Now they're Jacobi's deft fingers, and all he wants is to keep going, and take all of him in in at once.

Without saying anything, without needing to, he drags himself away from the kiss and off of the couch. He takes his hand and gives him a guiding tug.

And Kepler's moving like he's on a greased track, practically sliding to his feet as he lets Jacobi pull him.

"Let me say: I'm glad? You. Got a sturdy bed."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, " he mutters. "You might still get kicked to the floor. Mm, remember that tiny hotel in Reykjavík? We slept on the floor and it was so goddamn cold? That could be your life."

And he emphasizes that point with a poke to the chest before opening the door to his barren bedroom.

Which is when Jacobi is going to get scooped up, put over his shoulder, and he's going to carry him into the room before tossing him on the bed, exactly like he said he would. There's a kiss blown his way.

"End of the bed work for you?"

Calling your bluff, Jacobi.

He lands back on the bed with a whoosh of escaped air. "That was not necessary," he mutters. He sits up, meticulously emptying his pockets and setting everything on the nightstand.

His time away from Goddard had only made him more paranoid, so there's a significant number of small capsules.

"And you can go where you want, but you know, better than anyone, how fickle I can be."

And he gives him a grin.

When We Were Monsters (Magnus 359)

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