he made andres smile. with his fucking presence, he made him sme. made him smile by assenting to stay the power trip was unreal. it was heady and dangerous-- even moreso than what had happened the club.

because a quickie in the dark corner of a skeezy nightclub was an entirely different sort of venom than this exhaustion posturing as domesticity. it was scary. it was nice. it was the kind of thing someone could get used to and the kind of thing they’d inevitably be destroyed by.

Andres must be reacting on muscle memory, from different times, with someone else. But Onyx goes willingly into destruction when the warm palm cups his cheek, goes willingly into destruction to press his lips against Andres', nuzzles into the apple of his cheek, before settling in, allowing himself the softness of wondering how things will naturally coalesce, who will spoon who, how their limbs will entwine.

Andres sleeps, real, genuine; Onyx doesn’t. Despite the exhaustion, he’s wired. He wants to soak up every tiny piece of this he can-- the warmth of Andres’ wrist on his neck, the way their ankles are slightly hooked, the quiet, cool bedroom, the peace of it-- before he does what he knows he has to do and cut the cord.

it’s early-- early-early, still dark.

onyx braces himself.

“andres.”

nothing. so he tries again, a little louder.

nothing but the quiet of andres’ breathing, the rise and fall of his chest.

onyx shifts, slowly, like a plant shoot unfurling after a long winter buried under leaves. he leans into andres and places his lips to the other man’s forehead, a barely-there contact that muffles the way his own breath catches.

then he disentangles himself from his lover nightly conquest and stands. he dresses quickly and leaves before he can have second thoughts, the heat slowly draining out of him until he’s cold as the night he walks into.

andres buenaventura
costume

☉

He wakes up late. A smidge hungover maybe. He swore he heard Onyx calling him, but maybe he had dreamed it. All of it. Every single part of it. The party, the skeeze club corner, Onyx. He almost wished he had. How would he face him now? But it's real. There's a small indent in the sheets and pillow next to him. Warm leeches out as soon as he sits up to check. [break][break]

Specks of glitter covers his arms and his hands. His body aches. He knew it was real when he felt parts of his neck and chest throbbing. That motherfucker had bitten him to leave a reminder. There's aspirin on the night table, a half drunk cup of alka seltzer. The lingering smell of sweat and cologne almost convinces him he's still here. His voice is weak, embarrassed almost. [break][break]

Andres should be used to this. He'd had tons of one night stands before. That's how this went. Gone by morning, or at the very least by the time he or his partner woke up. He's almost ok with it as he wandered into his living room and considered breakfast that wouldn't make him throw up. [break][break]

And then he sees it from his kitchen as he's zoning out. A hint of well worm denim, peaking out from the shadows under the couch. Andres pulls it out, gives it a shake. Vaguely, he gets an image of Onyx wearing it, of him putting it over his shoulders. It smells like him. Before he knows it he's pulled it up to his nose. [break][break]

He holds it like he's hugging him. Like he's still here, in bed, close and warm and tangled. "Shit." He's been awake for 20 minutes and he already missed him. There was nothing to miss. Nothing at all. Nothing- [break][break]

Nothing. [break][break]

He decides against breakfast. He goes back to bed. He curls up with Onyx's well worn, denim jacket. Now stolen. He buries his face in it, eyes closed, and tires to fall asleep remembering everything about the night before. Onyx's warm, his voice, his eyes. He needs 20 more minutes of that, not whatever confused, cold reality he's woken up to.

[break][break]

+ onyx straub | :elmorise: [break][break]

[attr="class","pokeclass"]