goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

There's a crease of confusion between his eyes, hand still out against now empty space. This dream seems wrong. He's not going with any flow, doesn't feel compelled. He's just...here. He's just here, and he's not sure where 'here' is.

Maybe this is actually happening? Hold on. No, that can't be. Can it? He takes a step back himself, blinking, slowly lowering his hand. This...needs figured out. Turns and starts to walk away. He can do that now. He can walk away. There's no flow of events here.

RIght at Carolina. Right THROUGH carolina if he lets him keep going and- jesus. He stalks after Mal, hooks an arm around his waist and starts dragging him back to his room. "We are gonna sit and drink coffee until you're sane again."

Maybe he'll feel less out of his own head then. Maybe he'll not crash so damn hard.

That feels more real. Like there's actual weight to the world, weight to York, and warmth. It catches his breath for a second, but he doesn't fight it. Doesn't let his feet drag, either. Fine, this way. Yes. He'll do that. It's direction. Something like comfort?

Back down the hall and to his room. He sits Mal down on the bed and starts working the plating off the test suit, working from his feet up, setting it in a very neat pile. He'll drop it off with a tech later. Coffee on drip, Mal down to his suit and he's- still floaty. Ish. "Talk to me Mal."

He can't trust his own voice. It's been everyone's voice at one point or another, her laugh, his scream. He opens his mouth, and nothing comes out on its own. Silent protagonist? He's not Carolina. He isn't York. Must be his own voice he should use.

Thinks the words. Thinks them and thinks they should be transferred directly into York's brain as before.

"We're out of the drift, Mal." He murmurs, hands on Malcolm's knees like being on skin with how damn thin the undersuit is. "You gotta use your words. Okay? This is real. I need to hear your voice. I need you to talk to me."

But it doesn't seem to be clicking. There's a disconnect going on here.

He hasn't spoken a single word since before the drift started. That fact only seems to start to register now; he hadn't even tried before. Hadn't seemed necessary. They were talking by thought, the speed of thought alone. Words, verbal words, are clunky, slow. He feels clunky and slow.

Malcolm's hands slide over York's, feeling the ridges where veins pop out, reveling in the warmth. That seems grounding. This might be reality after all.

"Mal-" He can't think of anything else to bring him out of it. Nothing but a weird impulse that Carolina- the traitor, encourages with a half chuckle.

Of course she'd like to watch.

It's a bad idea- but there's not a lick of hesitation with how he leans up and in, pressing his lips to Malcolm's. Something to ground him. To bring him back.

This is much, much better than the restless dreamemories he was having. It's like feeling starts to seep back into him, something not unlike consciousness. He makes a small noise at the back of his throat and leans into the kiss. Reaches again, sliding fingers into hair, back of the head.

He's a bad man. Mal's not all here but he- he wants this. Is pulling him in and it's one way to ground him. One way he doesn't mind doing. He keeps his hands on Malcolm's knees and leans in, pressing, breathing, tasting. Less chaste than the first kiss. Needing some kind of noise from Mal- good, bad, or anything in between.

His mind's on York and Carolina's bodies tangled up together in each other. Thinks of the way that first kiss felt on the floor of the practice room. That feeling of wanting to be part of York, part of another person. And he's also here. He's also here, kissing York, and the next noise is somewhat louder, more in the mouth than the throat, a pleasant hum-groan, short, a pant, huff, both hands in hair now, nails itching at scalp, fingers lightly tugging.

Okay this is- he should break this off. He should- he could- he needs to but there's hands in his hair and a mouth on his and Mal's kissing back and that noise just- hits him in the pit of his stomach in the best worst way. His hands scrabble up from Mal's knees to his hips to his shoulders, reaching for the back where there's the zipper that gets to skin. HE doesn't pull it open yet just- touches. Strokes the skin at the nape of Mal's neck.

This is real. Everything that had been muted and far away slides back into place, a jumble of signals ringing loud and clear. There's a pause, where kissing turns into nuzzling, where hands slide to shoulders and grip tight. His eyes regain focus, not distant, not drifting, but here.

His voice struggles to find itself, but that he has a voice at all is...progress. "I'm here with you."

He wants to lean after. To press Mal down to his bed and just- finish what they keep teasing at but they're both still so damn wound up from the Drift- and it wasn't even that long. Didn't even do a sim together. Pulling away enough to look him in the eye is painful, but he manages. "There you are- yeah. We're out. We did good."

"Was dreaming..." His voice is still rough, and he glances at a point over York's shoulder in thought, not in drifting. "Didn't think this was reality. Aftershocks. It'll get easier?" His eyes dart back, searching for confirmation of...everything.

"Dreamt till you woke up and followed me here, looking like you weren't all there." Carolina behind him and he doesn't need to look to know she's there. It's a weight in the air, a hallow ache in the back of his head. "Yeah. It'll get easier. You were agitated at the end, that probably didn't help. Shouldn't have sprung the sim on you, sorry."

"It's...so much to take in." He ducks his head, embarrassed. "Sorry. I must have looked like a fool. But we...did well." That's what York keeps on telling him, anyway. "Enough to make us a team?"

"It gets easier." He leans forward, bumping Mal's nose with his. "Damn right. We are gonna kick so much ass, Mal. So much ass."

And Mal leans the rest of the way to kiss again. Feels good. Feels real. "You okay? You're not." Pretty clearly not. But it's polite to ask.

"...Post drift crash." He shrugs. It's still there, lingering like a cloud. He'll be fine. "Should probably talk to my doctor about mood stabilizers or something. I dunno. Can't be like this if we're gonna be working together."

"Ended it pretty abruptly. If you need something for it, I might need, too. We'll see how it goes. Maybe it'll ease up with practice." A hand ghosts along York's cheek. "What can I do?"

On his blind side and he should twitch away but- it's Malcolm. He's seen in his head. Seen his life. Lived it with him for a little while. He'll be doing more of that soon and- if he can't trust Mal with his bad side, his blind side? Who can he trust?

"Shower. Shave." He does still have stubble from the night before the night before. "Food. Real food. Not gonna wanna spar for- awhile. A week? A month. Kind of just- 'm afraid I'll jump ya."

Hell he's all but vibrating from the need to do that NOW.

His grin is slow, a little lopsided, a bit of still trying to find normal in a post-drift world and a bit of York. "I've seen both sides of your rodeo, cowboy." He might still be sorting through the details, but he knows it's all there.

"..." Okay so there was that one drunk night after Casbah where he and Clair did- they couldn't NOT have 'holy shit we didn't die' sex after that drop so. Both sides.

And Lina had made a point to have him every which way in the three hours they spent in that cabana. So. Both sides.

Now that he flips back through his mental filter he's able to match that smirk with one of his own. "Seen your game too, Mr. Smooth Operator."

"Not bad for a couple of can't-be-tied-down, one-night-standers like us." Certainly a not insignificant number of people between them. "I think your fear's a little misplaced." Maybe not given their conversation last night, but...that was last night.

"Maybe...see where we're at when we're both normalized?" Rather than both of them being not quite all here. Here, yes, and with each other, yes, but still settling back into their bones and their own skin. But he's up for the suggestion of now, in this recovery time.

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