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Post by Matthias Walker on Nov 1, 2012 14:51:18 GMT -5
Matthias counts time in the passing of days since.
At first it is days since New York, and he remembers how he made a game of it for years, counting the months weeks days hours minutes since the last time he made Natalie laugh or the last time he played soccer with Gabe. Then it is days since the last hunt, since the last fight he picks in bars when he needs the burn of bruises more than sex and a place to sleep at night. Now—fitting—it is days since he has seen Silas or Nate; Matthias is tempted to leave and let the number climb into the tens and twenties and thirties and onward to infinity, find something new to count from, but he did promise that once, even if it is no longer his shoulder that merits concern.
Silas should be healed by now, but it is with some uncertainty that Matthias sidesteps the receptionist at the hospital and goes in search of the man, trying to remember the way he looks without blood and the stark row of stitches knotted on his shoulder. That he cannot is only a reminder of the reasons behind his leaving: There are hundreds of people in the world that will survive because of him, and only one that was near dying because of him, and regardless of how his favorites fall, Matthias is not selfish enough to be willfully blind to his priorities. He allows himself to be directed by a nurse to Silas’s office, and finds it unlocked but empty; presumably the man is actually with a patient, and with nowhere else to be Matthias settles himself into the chair behind the desk to wait.
There is no point in time at which he consciously decides to fall asleep there.
In fact, Matthias only realizes that he has fallen asleep when he jerks back awake at the click of the door opening and nearly hits himself in the face from where his cheek has dropped against his forearm. For a moment, disorientation has him blinking uncertainly at Silas, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, and then his expression falls open and he clears his throat, the crooked smile apologetic for more reasons than using Silas’s office as an impromptu bed. Still, he finds he is not so far gone in his personal feedback loop of guilt and justification that he cannot find some small amount of amusement in looking at Silas over his fancy desk, so he stays put, arranging a few pens into a question mark.
“I promised,” he says, in lieu of hello—a greeting feels too much like a lie when he knows it is going to be followed by, “I’m leaving Boston today, so I thought—I mean, you look better. Good, even.” And he does: Matthias is not jealous of the healing rates of the supernatural without reason. “But I thought I should come by, you know, for my shoulder and—” He shrugs, pushing pens into a frowny face with paper clip eyebrows. “Say goodbye. For now.” The amendment is half a question, Matthias’s fingers fumbling over the pen a little, “—if you still wanted to—Cyril and Methodius, or whatever. I’d come back for that.”
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Post by Zephyr on Nov 1, 2012 16:25:27 GMT -5
Getting back to work after having been gone for a week is a lot to get used to. Before this, the longest Silas had had to be off of work, was like a day. And most of those were very forced. Silas doesn’t like to take days off. He likes having something to do; likes distracting himself. With anything. This had more merit in his life when he actually had something to distract himself from. What he has with Nate, it’s good. And for the first time he really remembers, there are times when he doesn’t want to go to work. But he goes, if only because it’s out of obligation. It’s a routine, one that he has down to the last second.
Silas likes knowing what he’s going to do. Likes order in his life. The lack of order is enough to send the man into a tailspin. So even now, when he has something to come home to, he goes to work, because it’s what he’s used to.
Matthias is a chink in his carefully maintained order. He isn’t an entirely unwelcome one. Silas knows, by now, that he should probably dislike Matthias. The kid is everything that he’d been taught to hate since the moment he was turned. He’s a hunter, too goddamn nosy…he’s a fucking liability. Then again, Silas usually delights in doing exactly what the pack as a whole tells him to do. At his very core, he’s a fighter. In bed and in life. He bucks up against the conventions that others settle upon his shoulders, tries to find weaknesses in the armor wherever he can. He just doesn’t take something lying down.
But…that isn’t why he likes Matthias. He doesn’t know why he likes the kid so much. In fact, he has every reason to hate him. Matthias came into his life like a hurricane. He shook up Silas’ carefully made plans, made him feel the jealousy that he’d been so carefully burying within his chest, tucking it close under his ribs. Matthias had shot him. He still has the stitches on his back, right under his left shoulder blade. He still feels it if he shifts his arm the wrong way, but it’s healing…even though he’ll always carry the scar. Despite all that, Silas can’t find himself hating the damn kid.
He just likes him…maybe because the brat got under his skin and refused to leave. Now Silas realizes he doesn’t want to let him go.
At first, Matthias’ absence is welcome. He’s able to spend more time with Nate, and realize just how goddamn happy he can be if he lets himself be. It’s a revelation for the man…who can’t really remember being honestly happy in years and years. Though, he’d started to miss the brat, and that in and of itself was a revelation, because he hadn’t known how deep down the kid had dug. And even though Matthias is a hunter, the enemy, Silas misses having him around.
And he isn’t thinking about Matthias when he walks into his office, balancing a small mountain of paperwork and a coffee in one hand with his chin, when the kid jumps, Silas nearly has a heart attack and worse, he almost spills his coffee all over his suit! His eyes widen for a second while he settles his coffee and reorganizes his papers. “Shit.” He rumbles, flopping the papers down onto his desk, and the coffee securely down beside them. He levels a glare at Matthias, and even though he’s happy to see the kid, he just can’t help be who he is. “You’re in my goddamn chair.” Yeah. Saying hi probably would have been nicer, but Silas has never gotten the hang of being nice.
He grows quiet though, however much his brows draw together in bewilderment, and a mask of disgruntlement covers his face. He can’t help but blink when the kid says he’s leaving. Silas tries to ignore the lurch in his gut at this information. He takes the kid’s babbling in stride, falling silent as he takes a step towards him. He is silent as he regards the kid for a moment. “Shirt” He growls, leaving him little time for argument. Then Silas blinks after a second, realizing what is wrong with this picture. “You’re wearing my sweatshirt…”
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Post by Matthias Walker on Nov 1, 2012 18:26:35 GMT -5
Matthias straightens a little at Silas’s fumble, unable to stop the amused quirk of his lips at the doctor’s miniature seizure. It makes up for the guilt and something else he refuses to call loneliness twisting uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach a little bit, and his smile becomes a shade closer to genuine with the glare Silas shoots in his direction. He sweeps one hand over the pen frowny face, turning up the corners of its mouth into a smiley face instead, and then changes his mind and adds large ears to the top, ignoring Silas’s grumbling. Pointing out the obvious never deserves acknowledgment—surely Silas learned how to be more astute when he was in med school.
He fumbles a pen when Silas continues though, apparently undeterred by his lack of immediate response, and his gaze flashes up guiltily; he cannot deny that the hoodie is Silas’s. It’s not like Matthias has ever gone to Washington University, never mind Washington Medical. He can, though, deflect, and he does; his eyebrows pull together with genuine bewilderment after he realizes exactly what he had said and what Silas’s utterly inappropriate response had been, and Matthias crosses his arms over his chest, half-defensive and half-deliberate in order to hide the Washington Medical logo.
“Do you just,” he says, incredulous and on the verge of laughing out loud, “Always do this? Like, where you don’t like the words coming out of my mouth so you pretend they didn’t happen and you just say things in my general direction? Because wow, that was spectacularly observant, man, no wonder you’re a doctor. I totally got your number, dude. And yeah, also your hoodie.” The grin widens a little, and Matthias pushes himself up out of the chair, steps around Silas’s desk and past him to lock the door. When he moves back to Silas, it is with the faintest hint of uncertainty in his step, blue eyes focused searchingly on the doctor’s face for—something.
“My shoulder’s fine.” The statement is firm and brief. “I just came by to say good-bye. I thought I’d get you something to remember me by—commemorative snow-globe or decorative magnet or some T-shirt you’d never wear that says ‘I Heart Boston’ with the ‘Boston’ bit crossed out and replaced with ‘Matthias’—but I’m flat broke, so I thought—” He hesitates, then sinks to his knees with the ease and grace of practice, eyes still wide open and fixed on Silas’s; sex is and has always been the easiest way to break off ties and if he is leaving the chances that he will ever see Silas again, that the promises of returning or of calling will be fulfilled—they are miserably small, and this is the last thing he has left to give before he goes.
“Let me,” he says, and it comes out as more of a question than he intends it to, the uncertain knot growing in the pit of his stomach because he just doesn’t know anymore. It is easily covered by the flash of a confident smirk though, the casual flick of his tongue over his lips, “I never apologized either, so…”
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Post by Zephyr on Nov 1, 2012 22:02:57 GMT -5
For a long moment, Silas just stands there staring at Matthias. He doesn’t know what he’d expected from the kid. Actually. He does know. He expects the kid to shut the fuck up and do what Silas tells him to…because there isn’t anyone who argues with him. Or you know, there are people who argue with him, but he likes to deny their existence as unimportant because he is clearly right in all aspects of every argument. So, the fact that Matthias doesn’t immediately strip gets Silas’ eyebrows dragging together in disgruntled bewilderment.
He blinks as the kid babbles at him, and is half attempted to rip the shirt right off his back, hoodie or no. Because all he wants to do is make sure Matthias’ shoulder is alright. Thoughts of ripping the kid’s clothes off aside (because he’d like it way too much if he fucking knew), Silas is surprised when Matthias gets up and walks over to the door. He doesn’t make a move to stop Matthias, simply because he isn’t sure what the hell it is he’s doing. He gets the feeling Matthias didn’t come here for his shoulder at all…and there he is talking about leaving again and Silas has to finally acknowledge the swooping disappointment in his gut for what it is.
When Matthias goes to his knees, Silas is even more unsure. One would think that someone with a past like Silas’ will recognize a blowjob immediately for what it is, but he just stares at Matthias, getting lost in those blue eyes for a second before he moves his hands, burying his fingers into Matthias’ hair and raking them through for a moment. He seems to be considering Matthias’ offer, wavering there on the verge of lust and just a desire to make Matthias happy.
But no matter how his body wants Matthias’ mouth around him, and his head wants to do whatever it takes to make Matthias smile, because it just doesn’t seem right when he doesn’t. His fingers tighten in the kid’s hair for a second…but he just can’t. He doesn’t know if it’s because of Nate…because the bastard sleeps around enough that one little blow job seems tiny in comparison…but he can’t. Can’t do that to Nathan, and definitely can’t do that to Matthias.
“No.” He says roughly after a second, a growl rumbling through his chest as he forces his grip to loosen on Matthias’ hair and he falls to his knees, palms sliding down to settle on the kid’s shoulders. “No.” He says again, swallowing. “Why are you leaving?” Silas asks, his voice rough and dangerous. Matthias was supposed to be a constant. And sure, he knows Matthias is a hunter, and leaving is what he does. He alwaysknew Matthias would leave, since that very first night in the bar when he and Nate took the kid home he knew Matthias was leaving.
But Silas had grown attached to him, and his presence and all the little things and he just…“ I don’t want you to leave.” He says at last, his voice low and uncertain, because he doesn’t actually ever tell people what he wants like…ever.
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Post by Matthias Walker on Nov 1, 2012 22:58:51 GMT -5
Fingers slide and tighten in his hair, and this—the tug that is just this side of pain and the way his weight settles familiarly on his knees as he sways forward—is familiar. Matthias smiles to himself, dropping his eyes and shifting closer to Silas, reaches up to slide his thumbs into the man’s belt loops. It is easier now to imagine them anywhere but here in Silas’s office, think of Silas any number of men that came before and will come after, and when it is through, he thinks, leaving might be that much easier. Another notch in his bedpost but nothing near the steady beat of his pulse in his chest and in his wrists, and he can resume his anonymity for Silas, become any other pretty face in the world.
It is so simple, the plan matter-of-fact and easy.
And then Silas says no and the bottom of Matthias’s stomach just drops, and he snaps his gaze to Silas’s face as the man sinks down to his level. The shock has his expression contorting in confusion, eyes wide as he yields uncertainly to the pressure of Silas’s hands on his shoulders and sits down abruptly on the floor of his office. This is not status quo, this is not like anything he has ever done before and he can almost bring himself to hate it because it is balanced all wrong and askew, but he has never been asked why before, cannot find it in himself to bring out the easy lies.
He has never been asked to stay before. Not without the promise of sex and alcohol, not with what he’s done to Silas and what he is. Matthias drops his gaze, manages a smile that he knows is not going to cut it, and shrugs, helpless. “I don’t—this is how it’s always been.” Not always, but for years, and Matthias has become a creature of habit. “I don’t have anywhere to stay,” he tries, and then mechanically because he is so grateful for men greater than him providing him words, even if he edits, “And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat and snicker, and in short, I am afraid.”
The flash of his smile is rueful, and he reaches out to run his fingers through Silas’s hair, thumbing back the neat strands to create cowlicks. Something to remember him by, since Plan A went nowhere. “This is the way the world ends,” softly, with the lilting familiarity of memorization and repetition: These are the things Matthias lives by, the words that fill the empty spaces that hunting cannot reach. “Not with a bang but a whimper. C’mon, puppy, don’t you think I’ve fucked up your life enough already?” Fingers drop to Silas’s shoulder, slide just under the neck of his shirt to brush against the edge of stitches.
“Besides—” The laugh is humorless, Matthias dropping his hands into his lap again. “There are only so many people in Boston I can go home with, and it’s not like I can afford a place here. It’s easier to keep moving.” Besides, it is one more grand plan that Silas would disturb if anything else happened: Matthias has always expected to die alone, on the road or under the teeth and claws of the hunted turned hunter, and he is okay with that.
He is.
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Post by Zephyr on Nov 2, 2012 0:36:36 GMT -5
“Fuck the status quo.” Silas glowers at Matthias, clearly not satisfied with his answer. Just because something has always been a certain way doesn’t mean it always has to be that way. Silas knows this, it’s just difficult for him to express himself, has always been difficult for him. His words tug at something in Silas’ chest, and he works over the words, letting his tongue flicker over his lips for a moment as he thought about what he was going to say, the solution his mind was working over even know, on his knees on the floor of his new office with Matthias.
Then the kid keeps talking and Silas’ gaze flickers over his face. The doctor’s eyes widen as the meaning of the words hit him, and even though this should be a goddamn serious moment, he can’t keep his body from responding to the poetry. The glare on Silas’ face as he squirms and tries to arrange himself so that his erection isn’t noticeable is scalding. Goddamn poetry. He doesn’t even know why he likes it so much. He never had before…at least he doesn’t think he liked poetry like that before. He’s never had some beautiful, cheeky boy quoting at him before, and even though his reaction is completely inappropriate to the situation, he can’t help it.
He tries to ignore it though, focusing instead on Matthias’ hands in his hair and the way his fingers swipe over his stitches that makes him shiver lightly. “Yeah.” He growls at Matthias, fixing the brat with a glare that’s been known to kill lesser men. “I think you have fucked up my life. But if it was something I cared about, I wouldn’t be asking you to stay.” Silas doesn’t sugarcoat things. Matthias came into his life and screwed everything up…but Silas doesn’t want to be without him is he can help it. And sure, he knows it’s completely selfish to want Matthias around, because he can’t give the kid what he wants…what he deserves, with Nate a steady presence under his ribs…but he can’t help but want.
Even if he doesn’t want Matthias like he wants Nate, he does want him. Silas wants him close, wants to see him, wants to be around him, in the most innocent way possible. Silas’ definition of friend has always been a hopelessly skewed thing. He doesn’t make friends, and when he does…make a real friend, he falls hard, and it affects him…more than he’d ever admit.
“You could go home with me.” Silas says at last, snorting lightly, light it's half a joke. He lifts his hand to rake fingers absently through Matthias’ hair, like he had the night of the shooting. “You can stay with me.” Silas clarifies, dropping his hand from Matthias’ hair, gaze falling to study the floor carefully, because that is a bold offer. Silas is an extraordinarily private person. The only one who’s ever been in his apartment that’s meant anything to him is Nate. And he knows this has a change of screwing up what he has with the other werewolf, and it would kill him to lose him, but he cannot think of another solution, and the offer is so simple…it slips from his tongue so easily.
He can deal with the repercussions later.
“Stay with me.” Silas repeats, shifting his eyes to catch Matthias’ gaze and holding it…because he is sure. This is what he wants, but if Matthias feels like he has to leave, there is little Silas can do about it. He isn’t going to beg the kid to stay.
It isn’t like he’ll never see Matthias again, even if he does leave. Silas realizes this.
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Post by Matthias Walker on Nov 2, 2012 15:52:50 GMT -5
The way Silas glares is almost endearing, and Matthias is helpless to the swell of bewildered affection that quirks the corners of his mouth up in response. If nobody has ever asked him to stay, nobody has ever been so furious at his departure, either; Matthias cannot remember the last time he even tried to say a good-bye. (The last person worth saying good-bye to is five years gone and he hopes that she’s moved on—does not want to risk upsetting her life more with a proper farewell than he already did.) Still, it is with an apologetic submissiveness that Matthias averts his gaze; this may be something new but he can tell when he deserves the anger and this is not something that can be pushed away easy as breathing.
“Stay with you.” The words are tentative, still laced with confusion as Matthias looks up at him, leaning into the pressure of Silas’s fingers in his hair—comforting now, instead of the tugging and pushing he has come to associate with sex. “You want me to stay with you,” he repeats, the flicker of blue eyes startled and as shy as the tentative curve of his lips. “That’s—you would do that?” It is an unfamiliar generosity, this offer, and Matthias is at a loss; staying in Boston was never supposed to become an option. Staying anywhere is not supposed to be an option, and now that it is, the loneliness of wandering from city to city, state to state—the little appeal that it has in its freedom is vastly outweighed by what he could have here, in Boston, instead.
But there are people dying and he is supposed to be their protector, the hunter of shadows—
“I’ll have to go sometimes,” he says uncertainly, watching Silas carefully, “If something comes up, I mean, somewhere else—I know there are other hunters but I can’t just not go, you know? But if you’re okay with me staying, I’d—yes, yeah, I can do that.” The idea of staying is strange, like something out of a dream he cannot decide is good or bad, and Matthias has never been a fan of psychoanalyzing himself so he shoves it aside, lets the uncertainty of it slip away and out of his mind and cracks a genuine grin at Silas that slides automatically into a laugh as he drops his head against the doctor’s right shoulder.
He smells of antiseptic and aftershave and it is such a clean contrast to the loose intimacy of their positions that Matthias cannot help muffling his laughter against Silas’s scrubs, “Something you like, Doc? ’cause I’m guessing that’s not a scalpel you got in your pocket there.” The grin is something that stems only half from his amusement at the utter inappropriateness of it—the rest is simply because he is happy. Matthias has never stayed before, and he cannot imagine himself with a roommate—but it’s a better kind of new than he’s had for years. And it is easy, too, to tilt his head to one side, mouth pulled into an impish smile, “Need a couple minutes, old man? Don’t want you walking around the hospital like that, do we—”
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Post by Zephyr on Nov 3, 2012 0:05:23 GMT -5
At the moment, Silas is dangerously close to just yelling at Matthias. Patience has never been one of the man’s strong suits, and Silas doesn’t think that this cannot possibly be that difficult of a question. Uncertainty and vulnerable worry claw away at his gut, and he searches for something, anything that will keep him from rescinding the offer. Because he doesn’t regret making it, not one bit…but it’s still a strange thing, and not wanting to be rejected, even if it’s just a place to stay is causing his eye to twitch dramatically. His growl is a rough thing, all jagged edges and hard stone. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.”
He doesn’t know what will come off this. He isn’t regretting it, but he’s worried. Worried that Nate will get the wrong idea, worried that Matthias will look more into this than it is. The only thing on his mind is getting Matthias to stay, and he can deal with whatever comes after…after that.
He perks curiously when Matthias keeps talking. He almost sounds like he’s musing. Silas lets his tongue flicker over his lip thoughtfully for a moment. He will never pretend to know what does on with hunters. Before he was bitten, he didn’t know anything about the supernatural. He only vaguely knew about hunters because he’s been told to watch out for them, that they are the enemy. That they will kill you as soon as look at you, but that isn’t stopping him from offering one his couch.
It isn’t funny, but he can’t help but laugh a little, the sound breathless and bubbling from his chest. “It isn’t a prison, you know. I’m not going to lock you up or something. Sure you can leave if you want to.” The laughter dries up and Silas shrugs a little. “I just want you to know you have some place to come back to…if, you know…you want to” He passes it off as perfectly casual in his tone. If Matthias wants to stay, he can, if he doesn’t, Silas will hide the disappointment in his voice when he says goodbye.
But then he’s speaking again, and Silas can’t help the way his eyes widen. He didn’t think the brat would actually agree to it. Matthias seems like the type who doesn’t like making connection; forming attachments. He doesn’t know what ‘you can stay with me’ is if not an attachment…but he feels a weight lifting off of his shoulders all the same, and he laughs again, the sound morphing into a snort. “Good, then. That’s good. That’s fine.” And the after result is a little awkward, and he’s prepared to stand, prepared to pull Matthias to his feet with him when the kid’s head falls forward and he laughs. Silas lifts a hand to pat Matthias lightly, right before the kid speaks, and his hand becomes a crushing weight on the back of Matthias’ neck as he tenses.
“You little shit!” Silas snarls, sliding his hand down and shoving Matthias away from him a little roughly, unable to hide the blush blooming over his cheeks. “I can’t help it, okay?” Silas growls, his mood going from slightly tender to the temperament of a wounded wolverine in the span of a couple seconds. “I’ll be fine, you brat.” He growls, standing up and pulling Matthias to his feet with a hand wrapped around the kid’s bicep. “I just have more work to do.” He snorts, eager to change the topic so he can keep his mind off of other things. He glances to the clock. “I get off at seven. Come back then and I’ll show you where I live. You sleep on the damn couch.” He growls at Matthias, gaze completely intimidating and fierce and not at all sabotaged by the helpless blush still on his cheeks.
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Post by Matthias Walker on Nov 3, 2012 0:44:46 GMT -5
Silas laughs, and Matthias thinks, before he can catch himself, that that is brilliant. It is not the first time he has heard the man laugh—he is pretty sure that was when he showed up at the hospital with a dislocated shoulder and bruises all down his throat—but it is still remarkable in its rarity with the werewolf, and he likes it. But for all that Matthias cannot help the shy quirk to his grin as he looks at Silas, fascinated and marveling at the strangeness of the laugh, it is the way the man tenses at the tease and goes a shade of red that challenges tomatoes that has Matthias breaking into a bark of laughter as he drops back onto the floor. It should not be as funny as it is, but it is still therapeutic to tip his head back and just laugh anyway, snickering helplessly at Silas’s discomfort.
Still, if it helps Silas’s dignity to act as like he is not blatantly turned on, then Matthias can oblige. He yields to the pull of the doctor’s hand, scrambles to his feet and arranges his expression into mock solemnity, grins at the man’s orders. Seven. He can do that.
“Yes, sir,” he parrots, giddy with the newness of it all, and throws off a casual salute before he reaches out to slide his palm around the back of Silas’s neck and pull him in to plant a kiss against the other man’s temple, eyelashes brushing against his cheek as he pulls back; this time his smile is genuinely grateful and the murmur of “Thank you” is sincere. That it is promptly followed by Matthias reaching up to push Silas’s hair into a series of truly spectacular cowlicks does not, he feels, subtract from his gratitude—and nor does the raspberry he blows against Silas’s cheek before he slides out the door.
It is borne entirely of affection.
Really.
It is not until he gets all the way back out to his car that Matthias realizes he has hours ahead of him and nowhere to go—and the choice is hardly a difficult one. The library of any city is as good as a home to him; he supposes now it is a second home, that this roommate arrangement that Silas is offering will replace the library in terms of familiarity, but for now it is the perfect place to idle the hours away. And besides—he never did finish reading Utopia to Silas and now that he is staying, there is no reason he cannot finish it and move on to other books besides.
So it is that when Matthias settles himself down to wait for Silas at the entrance of the hospital, he is armed with a list of titles scribbled on his palm. Checking out books is not yet an option without the appropriate identification, and stealing them is simply not an option ever—he will get the money to buy them somehow, or get Silas to check them out from the library, or something: The mechanics are merely details, and unimportant. He dismisses thoughts of books entirely when the doors slide open to reveal his favorite grumpy werewolf, and the flash of his smile in greeting is just this side of anxious. There has been enough time for Silas to change his mind, after all, to recognize the commitment and the folly of offering up his apartment, and Matthias would not blame him for it—
“Hey,” he offers brightly, hands finding his pockets casually to still the fidgeting. “You good? People keep giving me weird looks, I think your coworkers are judging me.”
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Post by Zephyr on Nov 3, 2012 17:39:26 GMT -5
Before Matthias pulls him in, Silas gives him a second to wonder about the kid’s happiness. He doesn’t see himself as that much of a prize. Silas isn’t worth being this happy over. It throws the doctor for a loop, and he stares at Matthias in stunned silence for a moment before Matthias pulls him in for a sloppy kiss and all his wonder disappears in a growl that ripples through his body.
It’s much easier to believe that Matthias is happy at having a place to stay that doesn’t automatically mean having to have sex with a stranger. He doesn’t stop to think what Matthias’ life is like, if he’s happy doing what he does, happy sleeping with random people for a place to sleep and food and Silas just can’t see how anyone would be happy with that, or they delude themselves into thinking that they’re happy. Either way, he chooses to believe that this is what Matthias is happy over and not him…because it’s easier.
Silas starts to push back against Matthias, still blushing furiously, when he hears the guy’s thanks, and he can’t find it in him to push him off when he blows the raspberry…or do anything but stare in stunned silence even as Matthias slips from the room and Silas is left staring mutely at the door for a moment before he lets out a growl and tries to compose himself because he is a goddamn professional and he doesn’t get flustered over cheeky kids who are entirely too fucking handsy!
He doesn’t think about Matthias too much for the rest of the day because he has actual patients to see and he’s actually scheduling some surgeries for later in the week. His shoulder seems fine, and he’s decided to use his discretion as a medical professional to say that surgeries are alright. He should probably look into his shoulder a little more, but it isn’t like there’s anyone he can talk to about silver poisoning, okay.
Silas isn’t surprised when he comes out to see Matthias sitting outside the hospital, in fact, he’s more than a little relieved that the brat hasn’t changed his mind or something in the few hours since they’d spoke. Matthias’ words get a scowl from the doctor as he shifts his briefcase to his other hands and tugs at the collar of his jacket to ward off the worst of the chill. “Of course they’re judging you. Not every day a hobo sets up camp outside the hospital…you’re even writing on yourself.” Silas growls lightly, having caught sight of Matthias’ hand before the kid put them away. “Not-hobos don’t write on themselves.” He says decisively before inclining his head towards the parking lot. “My car’s out there, c’mon.” He says before leading the way.
Silas doesn’t live too far from the hospital, and he warned Matthias not to get hobo all over his car before they left. He’s pretty confident that his warning was taken totally seriously as they pull into his parking space and Silas walks towards the apartment, fumbling with his keys to let them in. “Make yourself at home.” Silas growls as he stomps in, dropping his shit by the door and peeling his coat off. “You can sleep on the couch if you want.” He didn’t really think the sleeping arrangements out too well. The couch would have to do. Silas eyes Matthias, gives him a nearly imperceptible smile before he disappears into the bedroom.
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Post by Matthias Walker on Nov 3, 2012 18:27:47 GMT -5
“I’m saving trees,” Matthias protests, cannot believe the rush of relief that floods through him at the familiarity of Silas’s scowl and growling. He slants a glance sideways at Silas, grinning as he falls into step beside him, tucking his chin down into the hoodie. “Paper’s overrated, you should look into handing out prescriptions by just writing them on people, they’d never lose ’em that way.” It is a mindless, easy goofiness masked in a perfectly solemn expression, the amusement only cracking into a grin when Silas is not looking, and bubbling into a laugh at the werewolf’s bitching about hobos, like homelessness and a lack of money is something contagious that operates on the transitive property.
A lack of money does not seem to be something Silas need worry about, though, based on the state of his apartment. Matthias is not a stranger to fancy apartments by any means—even if he would be content with a motel room, he allows himself the luxury of being choosy when it comes to partners because it is just a shade more dignified than not—but Silas’s is so clearly fitting of his status as a doctor that Matthias hesitates on the threshold a moment. Then he catches the faint upturn of the man’s smile and the remaining uncertainty fades into curiosity, an insatiable desire to turn over every inch to find out if Silas has books or albums of music or baby pictures—
It is appallingly empty.
Matthias frowns, blinks, waits for furniture and signs that a person lives there to materialize before his eyes. But it remains disappointingly unhelpful, and he prowls into the living room doubtfully, eyes the single couch with thoughtful consideration before he moves on to the other rooms and eventually winds up in the kitchen. With the abysmal lack of furniture in the other rooms it stands to reason that the kitchen with its built-in cabinets is the only place Silas can possibly keep anything short of the bedroom, but Matthias suspects that looking into Silas’s bedroom will only lead him to a closet full of suits and a bathroom full of hair gel, and that can wait.
The first cabinet he opens yields a generous number of bottles of bourbon, all of which are full save one and promise to be top quality. The next—
“Et tu, Brute?” he asks the cabinet, raising an eyebrow at the bourbon and feeling unaccountably disappointed by the absence of anything appropriately mortifying or amusing or new. At least Silas is nothing if not predictable in his predilection for expensive bourbon. The fridge yields bottles of ketchup and mustard and absolutely nothing else; the freezer contains ice cream—coffee, because there is apparently no meal that can not contain coffee for the doctor—and Matthias is half-expecting dust and air when he moves on to the next set of cabinets.
Instead he gets Cheetos.
Matthias blinks, tries to contemplate exactly how bourbon, coffee ice cream, Cheetos, and ketchup and mustard work together, and dismisses it for the sake of his own appetite. Surely there must be something else edible in the house, but unless Silas keeps it hoarded under his bed like a demented squirrel, Matthias is at an utter loss. He pokes doubtfully at one of the bags of Cheetos, and it shifts sideways just enough and his entire world turns from one of dark despair and impending starvation to utterly amazing.
“Oh my God,” he murmurs. “Oh my God.” The Cheshire smile spreads slowly across his face with his realization of the significance of his discovery, and it is with an air of unbearable smugness that Matthias straightens, bringing his prize with him, concealed behind his back as he pads barefoot to Silas’s bedroom, lets himself in and just looks at the man for a moment, unable to formulate fitting words to the phenomena. Then: “Silas,” he says gravely, barely manages to collect himself into the epitome of solemnity, and shakes his head in mock disappointment, “Silas, Silas, Silas. You should have said something. I had no idea.”
It is with perfect gravity that he leans in to the other man’s space, reaches up to cup his palm around the nape of his neck and hold him in place, and whispers, “I think you’re pretty without any makeup on. We can dance until we die, because you make me feel like I’m living a teenage dream. I’m gonna get your heart racing in my skin-tight jeans—”
And then he cannot contain the laughter any longer.
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Post by Zephyr on Nov 4, 2012 22:27:42 GMT -5
The bedroom is an escape for the doctor. Not like he actually has anything to escape from. He isn’t regretting telling Matthias he can stay, but he’s twitching; visibly, trying to keep himself from going to make sure Matthias isn’t messing any of his shit up. Silas has a very mild case of ocd, and no knowing what is going on in the rest of the house is killing him. He keeps himself from thinking about it by focusing on the task of undressing, mechanically working his hands on the buttons with his throat dry. He lets his shirt fall from his shoulders almost the same time Matthias comes in the bedroom.
Silas ignores him at first, laying his shirt over the bed and beginning to toe off his shoes. As the kid goes on, Silas flashes him a glare that’s mostly devoid of heat. “What the hell are you going on about?” He doesn’t move as Matthias approaches him. Only resists a little when he feels Matthias’ hand on the back of his neck.
All at once, the doctor’s stomach drops, and his eyes widen. A multitude of crazy expressions cross his face, all almost at the same time as he realizes the implications of Matthais’ words. Without even realizing it, his eyes flicker helplessly to the hand Matthias holds behind his back. “You little shit!” His face is a shade of red closely resembling a tomato and he’s shaking, looking very much like he’s trying to physically restrain himself from assaulting Matthias.
In the end, he just gives in. Silas has never been good at censoring himself, and while he’s learning that punching people isn’t the answer to all of his problems, violence seems pretty damn applicable at the moment. Silas growls, throwing himself at Matthias without another thought. “Give me the goddamn cds!” The doctors snarls, trying to reach behind Matthias to snatch at the cd case he knew the kid was clutching behind his back.
He isn’t sure what it is with terrible female pop singers, but Silas has a special fondness for one Katy Perry. He has all her cds in that slim black case Matthias found hiding behind the Cheetos. There are also some Ke$ha cds in there and some Taylor Swift…but it isn’t a part of himself that he’s eager to share with the whole entire world, so he’s been keeping them hidden up in the cabinet where he knows no one else will look.
Until now.
And he knows he shouldn’t be ashamed of his taste in music, because there are a lot worse things to be ashamed about than a few cd’s, but his face is beet red, and he’s snatching at Matthias’ back like a crazy person. The goddamn things were hidden for a reason, and sure, he probably should have picked a better hiding spot if he didn’t want them to be found, but the only thing that the doctor can think of is getting the damn things out of Matthias’ hands.
Because he's very rational okay?
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Post by Matthias Walker on Nov 4, 2012 23:36:54 GMT -5
He is not sure when it became appropriate to antagonize a werewolf, but it is not a thought that scares Matthias; instead the thought is followed by the dawning comprehension that Silas is absolutely amazing. Katy Perry—Jesus Christ, what Matthias would give to preserve this moment forever. The ferocity of Silas’s glare is swept aside by the wave of irrepressible laughter that has gone too long stoppered up in his throat, and Matthias is still laughing hysterically when Silas literally throws himself on top of him and they both tumble backwards. Matthias makes a sound like a startled cat through the sloppy guffaws, clutching at Silas’s bare shoulder with his free hand to ensure that if he goes down the other man comes with him.
They hit the bed and bounce, and Matthias scrambles for the upper hand instinctively, twists his hips to get his legs around Silas and roll them; he yields the CD case when Silas grabs. He has long learned that fighting is as close to dancing as he will ever get these days, a give and take, push and pull that may leave him bruised and bleeding but is worth it because what he wins is much greater than a few drops of blood. The case is not in and of itself important: It is merely a proof of knowledge he now possesses for good—whether it is in his hand or Silas’s is of little value to Matthias.
What is of value is the man he pins beneath him, panting with the laughter that sets his eyes as wild as his hair, knees pushed into the other man’s ribs and his weight thrown into the grip he has on Silas’s right shoulder and chest.
“Katy Perry,” he says, awed, grin going a shade softer at the corners as he looks down at Silas. “Jesus, puppy.” The teasing edge has faded, now, and the laughter that still lurks in blue eyes and a warm smile is borne more of affection than of hilarity; Matthias may be judgmental and prone to letting his mouth run away with him but Silas’s reaction is nothing short of endearing, and there is no way he can not lean down to press a kiss on the man’s temple, fingers sweeping through his hair. “You are something,” he murmurs, the words trembling on the edge of laughter as he leans back, still straddling the other man to keep him in place.
It is not until he catches his breath that he sighs, lets up on the pressure keeping Silas down, and rolls off of him to flop onto his back on the bed next to the werewolf. “Are you gonna strangle me and hide the body behind your Cheetos now?” he asks, the tone of the question neither insolent nor amused but simply content for the moment. “Because, I mean, c’mon, be creative, man, you gotta have a better hiding place than the cabinets. Do you even have a CD player?”
Silas does not, as it turns out, have a CD player; what he does have is a laptop, and that is plenty good enough for Matthias.
He spends the three hours before Silas turns in going through each of the CDs in turn, keeps the teasing to a minimum in favor of singing along when the repetition of the lyrics becomes familiar; if his attempts to get Silas to sing along—because Matthias is, after all, terrible in his consistent flubbing of the lyrics and a teacher would not be unappreciated—are entirely futile (more alcohol, Matthias thinks, is probably in order), at least his attempts to coax a smile out of the man are not.
Halfway through Taylor Swift waiting for Romeo to come and rescue her, though, Silas retires to bed and despite the early hour, Matthias is aware enough of proper roommate etiquette to power down the laptop and turn off the lights, too, and for lack of anything better to do—the appeal of going out to bar is nearly nonexistent with the necessity extinguished—he strips down to boxers and stretches himself out onto Silas’s couch. The setting may be foreign but Matthias has always been good at snatching sleep wherever he can get it, and he does not anticipate difficulties falling asleep.
As it turns out, he should.
An hour later, he stares up at the dark ceiling, rolls over again, squirming in a futile attempt to find a spot on the damn couch that is remotely comfortable.
Five minutes later, Matthias rolls himself off of the couch and discovers that the floor is debatably more comfortable than the couch, and so it is that he pulls the blanket over his bare shoulders like a cape and pads down to Silas’s bedroom. The other man is curled in his own sheets in his sleep, and while it is too dark to make out the angles and planes of his features in the room, Matthias holds his breath as he scrambles awkwardly into the unoccupied side of the bed, balances uncertainly on his hands and knees, blinking into the darkness.
Then he whispers, “Silas,” threading his fingers through the man’s hair lightly to wake him. “Silas,” louder, embarrassment creeping in a blush up his shoulders and neck, “Silas, c’mon, man—”
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Post by Zephyr on Nov 5, 2012 21:01:56 GMT -5
One wouldn’t think it, but it is extraordinarily difficult to shower with someone in the other room singing to the songs you’ve been hiding in your cabinet. After Matthias tackleshim onto the bed and relinquishes the cds, Silas gives them back without a fight. It doesn’t seem so important anymore, and Matthias isn’t teasing him anymore. Plus, showering is more important to him than protecting any sense of pride he has.
It doesn’t hurt that he won’t be able to hear Matthias’ singing when he’s in the shower.
Yeah. It’s that bad.
Silas has been known to take some long ass showers, he’s such a meticulous groomer. Fortunately though, this shower doesn’t last three hours and he’s out before too long. It’s a little awkward, he decides in short order, to have someone in his apartment like this. He doesn’t even think about letting Nate over anymore, he’s become so comfortable in the other man’s presence. Matthias however, he’s an enigma. Silas isn’t sure what it is that makes the kid tick, or how he’s supposed to act around him. So, after he pulls some boxers on, he hovers in the bedroom awkwardly for all of twenty minutes before he wanders into the living room to pull himself up onto the couch next to Matthias.
For the next hour or so, he sits and listens to Matthias. He doesn’t join in, no matter how had the kid tries to make him; Silas isn’t so confident in his singing abilities that he’s willing to let Matthias hear him, but he’s content, to just sit and listen to him. For some reason he can’t quite wrap his brain around, this is eacy…nice even, to sit here and listen to him sing. Even if Silas wishes he were singing something other than the music that Silas has been trying to keep such a secret, it becomes a comfortable thing, and before he knows it, he’s smiling at the brat. Amused at not only his continued attempts to try and get Silas to sing, and the way he is constantly fucking up the lyrics so badly, but at just how comfortable Matthias is sitting there singing.
Before too long though, he has to sleep, because he has to go back to work early tomorrow, so he gets some extra sheets and blankets out of the closet and gives them to Matthias, along with a pillow from his bed. Before he goes, he gives the kid a look that is clearly saying if you destroy my apartment in the few ours we’ll be sleeping, I am going to fuck you up.
Well, he tries to be clear…but he isn’t entirely sure that he doesn’t just look constipated or something.
Anyway, after he says goodnight, he goes and slips into his bed. It’s extraordinarily difficult to sleep by yourself when you’ve grown used to having a warm body next to you for an entire week. Somehow, Silas manages to slip into a restless sleep.
Next thing he knows, there’s a hand in his hair and someone says his name, and Silas just automatically puts Nate’s name to the voice, until he realizes that it can’t be Nate and he opens his eyes reluctantly, blinking over at Matthias’ face in the darkness. “Goddammit.” He groans, lifting himself up onto his elbow to blink at the kid a few times, a truly impressive look of complete disgruntlement on his face. “What the hell do you want?” He growls sleepily. “I was sleeping.”
Of course he was. Silas likes to point out the obvious things…because people always seem to miss them.
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Post by Matthias Walker on Nov 5, 2012 23:09:43 GMT -5
“What,” Matthias says, eyes wide, mouth apparently deciding that waking Silas up when he has work the next day is not enough of a douche move on its own, “No! Sleeping, really? Aw, man, and here I thought you were, God, hunting elephants or something, wow. That is really disappointing.” The crooked curve of his smile is still halfway to mortification nonetheless; falling back on sarcasm is as easy as breathing but when it comes down to it, he hates asking for things—it is easier to play the strings behind the scenes until he gets what he wants, but this is as open about it as Matthias gets. He does not…crawl into bed with people; they invite him to their beds, and he graciously accepts both the price he knows he is expected to pay and the offer, but this is not…a trade.
This is just him, asking, sitting back on his knees and blinking shyly at Silas, turning over the words in his mouth, quicksilver tongue stilled. Then, “Just—your couch,” he blurts awkwardly, feeling weirdly vulnerable (ridiculous—he still has his boxers on, the blanket Silas gave him is still tucked around his shoulders like a cape; there is no reason for the way he feels laid open on the spot) as he fidgets. “It’s just—I mean, God, man, I’ve slept on some really fucking sketchy beds before, you know? But your couch, I just—I cannot fall asleep, dude, I’ve been trying for an hour or something and—just.”
The babbling is unattractive.
He needs to stop.
Revelations in mind, Matthias does, takes a breath, and then peeks through his eyelashes at Silas. “Do you mind if I share with you?” he asks, softly, tugging the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “Just for the night, I can find somewhere else to sleep tomorrow,” it is easier to offer to leave Silas’s apartment, pretend it is his idea, than to wait for the inevitable ejection, “But it’s just—one night.” It should not be this difficult; it is not as if they have never shared a bed before or as if they are complete strangers, but Matthias still feels uncomfortably, distinctly off-balance, trying to pick out the expression on the other man’s face in the darkness.
“Please,” he says, simple because there is nothing left to say after that. There is nothing he can offer Silas as compensation for the favor; however the other man’s body reacts to him he had not wanted the offer earlier and it seems unlikely that that will have changed. Matthias just…does not have anything else, and when everything is a perpetual game of give and take, an endless number of trades to get him where he needs to be, the helplessness of just asking is an unwelcome lesson in humility.
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