Machines and Weaknesses
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Um. This has been up on Tumblr for a while so I just figured I'd upload it here as well? I dunno ._.
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When Horuss finally allows himself to straighten up, he pushes back his goggles for what feels like the first time in weeks; if the skin around his eyes is raw and bluish in the evening air, he does not feel it. A swathe of hair flops down immediately, dripping sweat onto his face, obscuring his rare smile.
A pair of metal gloves on the table seems to return the sentiment.
The hands that run along their gleaming surface - cautious and oh so tentative - do not tremble. His smile has faded already, his face now set and grim; he will not let himself relax just yet, not when all he has done is tighten the last screw. There is much left to be done. There is testingto be done and the thought coils unpleasantly in his stomach.
It should go well. I've taken care of everything.
So it should, and so he has, but as a gentle finger taps out a value of 0.3 on the little screen attached to one of the wrists, he can swear that his heartbeat is leaking with its sheer force. This is foolishness. What am I going to achieve by being anxious?
His palms feel slippery in the gloves, sweat threading his arms as he raises one stiff hand to his face. For a moment everything is bated breath and faint nausea, and then he flexes one finger - just one - and the metallic casing pushes back with urgent immediacy.
Not yet…
All five fingers clench and unclench. Horuss does not need the pressure within the gloves to tell him that they are doing so with but a fraction of their usual strength.
A factor of 0.3, to be precise.
Slowly, as though in a dream, he grasps the handle of a screwdriver, then a wire stripper, then a single strand of copper.
He can feel it, see it.
It does work after all.
When he slumps forward onto the table, forehead resting wearily on the sweat-slicked wood, he is smiling again.
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"Can't say for sure, but… I'm guessing you've been up all day again?"
His goggles hang loosely around his neck, so he knows Rufioh can see the defiance in his sunken sideways glance - defiance that does not even belong there. He has no business feeling defiant when he shouldn't even feel answerable for his own actions, not before thisrustblood, and yet… "Yes. I was working on something and didn't really want to sleep until I finished it."
There's a tight little pause in which Horuss finds himself wondering what to do if said rustblood asks him. Then he wonders if Rufioh is even interested.
Little by little, his thoughts have stopped making sense.
"Sleep isn't really high on your list of priorities, is it", Rufioh murmurs, a reluctant chuckle bobbing beneath his words. "Just hoping you weren't working on that robot."
Horuss looks away as a tinge of heat spills into his cheeks. That robot…
"No, it was something else. I've been intending to get around to this for a long time, but it demanded more concentration than I've been able to afford of late."
"Oh?" Nothing could have prepared him for the hand that suddenly rests on top of his. His own hand is bare again, the gloves stowed safely away for the moment, so there is only a thin film of sweat between their interlaced heartbeats - sweat that, he realizes with a jolt, is not entirely his own. "What's got you so distracted, Horuss?"
He wants to sound irate when he replies. He really does. He wants to snap because it's ridiculous that Rufioh should be asking this with such earnest concern in his voice; ridiculous that, after months of laughing and hiding and breathless secrets behind a hundred trees, he should have to answer a question like this.
I really don't want to answer.
"You should know." You of all people…
Then a little twinkle does surface in the brown eyes as Rufioh whispers, "Well, I'll try and find out sometime", the laughter back in his breath. That breath swirls hotly against Horuss' ear and he stiffens; when did their faces get so close?
Don't… I'm tired, I…
"Horuss."
He has been awake for not one day but four, the voice so close to his ear is raspy yet smooth, and not letting his head fall onto his chest is becoming a challenge. I can't do this right now. There are many things he is still capable of doing, exhausted though he is, but staying aloof and seemingly detached from Rufioh Nitram at a time like this is not one of them.
Maybe just this once.
Just this once, I want to lean on you.
What happened to being strong?
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And yet, somehow it's not just this once... It's every single time. Somehow he always ends up like this, a tangle of serpentine thoughts and wild emotion and terrifyingly, wonderfully weakened heart, a second heart beating faster than usual against the back of his head and a hesitant pair of arms wrapped around him. Visited by that newly familiar sense of unconditional surrender that is as delightful as it is alarming.
Horuss lets his eyelids droop almost all the way down with some measure of relief, but swallows a yawn. This is no time to sleep.
"Horuss", Rufioh is saying softly. "Horuss, doll, listen."
"'Doll'?" the blueblood mumbles, hoping that he sounds at least somewhat petulant. The arms around him tighten briefly.
"Erm, yeah... I tend to call people that a lot, huh? Sorry."
I'm not sure what to do with that apology. "What was it you were going to say?"
He can feel the laughter rumbling in Rufioh's chest, and the hands that now cup either side of his face are warm. His head is tilted back until he can meet the other troll's eyes again; eyes that, like always, are laced with nervousness, mischief, and a smiling curiosity that Horuss never knows what to make of.
I just...
Don't...
"I was gonna say, next time... if it's not too much trouble for you, I mean... could I maybe have a look at what kept you up for so long?"
Oh.
He is genuinely unable to keep the surprise out of his voice as he asks, "Why, though?"
A shrug that, again, he feels more than sees. "I dunno", Rufioh mutters against the top of Horuss' head. Everything is warm and he absolutely cannot fall asleep. "Just curious, I guess. It's okay if you don't wanna show me though, of course... I just..."
You... Rufioh, you—
Horuss has little to no control over his rising hand. I've lost control of everything. Everything, he thinks tetchily, as it comes to a halt just inches from Rufioh's chin; and between his hesitation and mortification, before he can decide what he wants to do, the other troll leans into his hand and presses an equally hesitant, equally mortified pair of lips to it.
I don't even need those gloves, do I?
Horuss can feel the warmth of Rufioh's cheek, hot-blooded embarrassment only just catching up to what he's done, and he knows he should be displeased – impatient, annoyed, any reasonable reaction after months of courtship – but his own face feels distressingly blue as his head is tipped further back and his own lips are claimed in the quickest of close-mouthed kisses.
Don't—
"I'll need to leave soon, you know", breathes the voice in his ear. "Damara will be looking for me."
Don't... "That's alright. Take care."
...leave me feeling like I've lost control completely.
Nobody moves in the silence that follows. His hand is still pressed against a bony chin, exchanging erratic heartbeats.
The truth is... with you, I don't need to feel like I'm in control.
Then he whispers, "Next time, I'll show you what I was working on." And the lips on his forehead curve in a smile.