no_sin_but | (no subject)

(no subject)

Marlowe had been intending on having a shower when he changed into a cat, and now things have changed.

He's in the bath. Thinking and soaking and oh, it feels good to be back.

Even if he will miss having two eyes.

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"Are you sure this is a good thing to do?"

How do you say no when you have someone you're half fallen for and who's handsome and intelligent and Christopher Fucking Marlowe hanging over you looking at you like that?

Well, waves of roiling anxiety help, for sure.

"As opposed to continuing the little dance we have where you continuely brushing against me, and I grit my teeth and try not to respond, which is all rather tiring, really."

Oh, he's been called on it. Oh, that's not good. He tenses up and practically bristles.

"I could stop."

He thinks. Probably.

Well, this is getting awkward, so Marlowe moves completely onto the bed. Easier to stay close to him.

"I do have another idea."

He gestures, uncertainly with his left hand and it reveals part of his absolute conviction that if this happens it will end in pain and yelling and loss of friendship. And he's already loathed by Shakespeare (or rather, Puck, who sort of represents all of the Shakespeare canon to Darren) and doesn't think he can deal with Marlowe too. It's just this stupid mess. He's not having sex. He's on romantic probation.

"It'll be messy."

"Probably," he agrees easily enough. "We are both prickily and well old enough to be royally fucked up beyond the dreams of any adolescent. But we've managed to live together without killing each other."

"Sex is different."

Staring at Marlowe, searchingly.

"I don't want to get fucked up right now."

And Kit is gotten in past the defense mechanisms and the things you do automatically to keep people at arms length. He's already there and if him wandering off with some blond for a week gets Darren this bent out of shape even without the sex...

Marlowe looks at him back, his black eye bright and sharp.

"Darren, do you really think sex at this point would change anything fundemental?"

"Lets take a look at my track record so far."

Last relationship he attempted ended with nearly being sold to Satan and the person in question still hasn't actually spoken to him.

His fingers tighten on Marlowe's shirt.

That cannot happen with him.

"Tell you what. You start being that stupidly dramatic, and this time I'll just knock you out, okay?"

"Haha."

He's glad Marlowe thinks it's funny.

He isn't actually joking.

"I won't jerk you around like Puck. I am not involved with Satan."

Just Mary Anne.

"Kit."

"Yes?"

Fuck. He's offering, and Darren knows it will go wrong, but he's warned him and said and now he just doesn't fucking care any more.

He kisses him, fierce and pulling him down and close. Abrupt, nervous, masking uncertainty.

That's more like it, really.

"I wondered where you were."

He'd just tell him not to, usually, but. And he kisses him again immediately, because he regrets asking.

"I'll try to give prior warning next time," he promises between that kiss and another.

"You fucking idiot," says Darren in agreeable Czech, the tone one might use to make a dirty suggestion, the tone he has used on Marlowe before, "this is going to go so badly."

If he Czech, he'd probably agree. As it is, the words just make him growl softly in the back of his throat, and kiss him again.

Darren gives in.

Completely.

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