maskormenacelogs | closed | you were a bright light

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closed | you were a bright light

WHO: Apollo & Midnighter
WHERE: Nonah 001
WHEN: The early hours, early in August
WHAT: The “oh shit, we’re actually dating, aren’t we” talk
WARNINGS: none

The peculiar meteorite rain seems to have brought with it an upswing in stupid native villain bullshit, like April showers and May flowers. It keeps Apollo happily busy, filling his nights with idiots trying to use their new-found powers make a desperate grab for money, or weapons, or drugs, or whatever it is they fancied on any given night. And it’s a good excuse to spend time with Midnighter (not that he needs an excuse) - a shared propensity for creative violence seems to be a staple for Midnighters and Apollos across the multiverse, and Apollo loves how M elevates it to an artform. And Apollo would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it; not the violence necessarily, but just the sheer animal vitality of fighting alongside someone who Apollo trusts so absolutely as M. Working with Midnighter is like humming an old tune, remembered perfectly even after years and years and years of trying to remember the refrain in solitary silence. The bone-deep rightness of it all is so strangely natural, even with the yawning gap of universes between them, that it catches Apollo at odd moments, leaving him breathless with wonder as he watches Midnighter work out of the corner of his eye.

It’s in the early hours of the morning - Apollo, low on sunlight, Midnighter, his fists bloody - that Apollo finds himself watching the other man with a sidelong glance. Mereorite-enhanced natives (six, an even share of three each) lie in groaning heaps in the 4am moonlight, as Apollo absently folds the villains’ assault rifles into easy thirds. He watches Midnighter thoughtfully and discards the wreckage with a clatter of finality.

“Let’s call it a night...”

They’ve done more than enough and Apollo’s starting to feel that warm, weary, oh-so-human tiredness that comes in the dark hours of the morning. There’s a momentary pause then, seemingly out of nowhere, he suggests:

“Come home with me?”

Four little words for such a significant milestone. Apollo has been meaning to properly show Midnighter around Nonah 001 (M sneaking in with the tickets didn’t count) but there had been something, some strange wooden feeling in the pit of his stomach, that had always stopped him from voicing that invitation out loud. Apollo tries to pretend that he isn’t intensely aware that this is a Development with a capital D as he grins sheepishly in the half-light.

“You’re probably overdue a visit.”

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[ He carefully sets the print on his desk, leaning it back against the wall with a final admiring look. At M's question he glances back over his shoulder with a wicked grin; he hadn't planned on asking M to close his eyes but now that he mentions it... ]

Well of course.

[ Why not take advantage of the offer? Apollo waits until M has dutifully closed his eyes before quietly retrieving the perfectly giftwrapped black book of Kylo Ren's finest work. He folds M's hands around it, squeezing them lightly, before stepping back. ]

There you go. Turns out I did buy something at FanPort after all.

[True to his word--and Apollo's prediction, he does indeed dutifully close his eyes and allows Apollo to do what he wants with his hands. As soon as they're closed around the item, even without the computer he can tell it's a book. Curious, he opens his eyes, and is surprised by what he sees.]

It's like the book is made of shadow.

[He flips the book over in his hands, admiring the cover. He's never seen an object this black before.]

Something to do with how absorbent that shade of black is, I think, [ Apollo replies distantly, with the air of someone who Googled it but didn't actually understand it. 'Stubbornly, ludicrously black' is all he took from that Wikipedia article. With a smile of anticipation Apollo watches as Midnighter turns it over in his hands admiringly. Pleased at the fact that he seems to like it, he resumes his place on the edge of the pristine bed; the mattress dips under his weight and a smudge of brown blood, still determined to linger on his spandex, leaves a smudged smear on the sheets. ]

It's poetry. [ Then, before Midnighter has a chance to react, Apollo quickly adds: ] I've no idea if it's any good. I thought we could read it together.

[Upon learning the topic inside the book, he halts his examination and tilts his head towards Apollo. It isn't that he doesn't like poetry, but it isn't something he'd ever even attempted to look at before. He has no idea whether or not it would be a topic he'd enjoy reading... or even if it would be something he'd understand. From what he knows of poetry, it goes against his very logical core.

But then Apollo continues.]

I've never read poetry before. I don't really know anything about it.

[He decides to come clean, lessons learned from Lucas Trent and his mistakes from his relationship with Andrew fresh in his mind.]

Good. Neither do I.

[ There's no room for self pity in Apollo's matter of fact reply; superheroes built by mad scientists to change the world don't normally have an in-built, innate understanding of the fine arts. But, like all things in Apollo's world, it's something he wants to share with Midnighter. Who knows, maybe they'll hate it. Maybe they'll disagree entirely over it. But it's something they'll figure out together.

Apollo's lip twitches upwards in amusement as he adds reflectively: ]

Well, I suppose some people do call Dolly Parton a poet of her generation but I don't think this is going to be on same level, somehow...

[ Seeing as how the imPort who wrote it seemed to be the complete antithesis of everything Dolly. ]

[There's something completely refreshing about building a relationship with openness, even if he can't help feel a few pangs of guilt of that 20-20 hindsight, finally understanding why Andrew had felt as betrayed as he had. But with Apollo... Apollo understands him in a way that no one else had, in a way that makes it easier to open up to.]

I'll add her to the list of people that I have no idea who you're talking about, but just assume she's friends with Elton Sinatra.

[He leans harder up against the older man, still staring at the book.]

Are we really going to read this together?

Sure. I can't promise we'll understand it all, but let's give it a go anyway.

[ Apollo's the more confident of the two when it comes to these vague attempts at normalcy. He may not be able to eat ice cream or remember what a headache feels like, nor can he remember what it's like to breathe or choke or cough, but things like this? Things like this could be fun. He doesn't do it out of some misplaced desire to be human or normal, but simply because it's something to do. Something to share. He slips an arm around Midnighter's back, sliding a warm palm up his spine, combing the short hair at his nape with strong fingers thoughtfully. ]

...You're going to have to turn the pages though.

[M slides his left hand across Apollo's back before stopping to rest at Apollo's waist. They fit in ways that M knows he shouldn't think about, but that instinct kept pulling him towards.]

I think I can handle that.

[Flipping the book open with his spare hand, he opens to the first poem.]

Oh! No, don't start yet. [ He unwraps his arm from M's back and leaps to his feet with surprising grace for someone built the way Apollo is. ] Let me change first.

[ Because if they're going to stay here for the night, Apollo wants to get out of this bloodied uniform first. Not because there's anything wrong with cuddling up with M, covered in blood, but he'd just like to be a little bit more comfortable. ]

[M had forgotten that he was the only one to change, utilizing one of his quick bursts of super speed to dress in civvies and grab Apollo's gift before stepping through the Door to Apollo's place. He flips the book to the cover page, memorizing that and its inscription to keep from even accidentally reading ahead.

This was an activity for the two of them, and he was going to honor that. Honor this gift.

The urge to ignore the book altogether and watch Apollo change inspires him to memorize the acknowledgements page harder, his hand balling into a fist in concentration. He and Apollo might be something, but he wasn't sure if they were at the "peeking is allowed" stage of that... something.]

[ 'Change' was probably a misnomer. All Apollo wanted to do was get rid of his uniform and strip down into the thin boxer briefs that sit so seamlessly beneath his uniform, all the better for lounging around in bed with. He turns away, expertly finding the carefully constructed hidden zipper at the back of his neck and peeling it away. He knows there are fresh tatters and blood stains in this uniform, the kind that will need repairing, and he makes a mental note to sort that out tomorrow as he strips down to his waist and --

He glances back at M, purely accidentally, and realises just how intently the other man is studying the first page. Apollo pauses, bare-chested with his suit hanging limply around his waist. ]

Hey, [ He calls softly, just to attract his attention. To see whether M will look up or not. ]

[After a moment's hestitation, M looks up, shameless in his appreciation of the view. If there was any misunderstanding, he'd deal with it later, but for now, he takes in the unencumbered ridges of Apollo's chest.

It's truly a sight.]

Yes?

[ It's okay, is what Apollo had planned to say. You can look.

But then he realised. It wasn't really Apollo's place to tell Midnighter that it was okay. That he could look. Because somewhere, out there, there was an Andrew who would be heartbroken. Furious, probably. The same way that Apollo would be, if he'd learned that his Midnighter - his soulmate, the other half of Bendix's cut-cloth - felt the way he feels about this Midnighter. A Midnighter who looks at him the way he does, despite the fact that Andrew was so painfully present in all the little things he had enshrined in his apartment.

Apollo's shoulders sag, momentarily defeated. The words that come next seem to come from somewhere far away, a part of him that he very rarely lets himself visit, and Apollo surprises even himself when he admits out loud: ]

Sometimes I wonder what the hell we're doing.

[ His words are slow and cautious. Bearing his soul, laying himself open, feeling vulnerable and eaily hurt - these are things that don't come easily to him. He frowns, eyes moving restlessly around the room as if trying to process what it is he's saying out loud, like the words came from someone else. ]

And other times... I love it too much to care.

[M knows he made the wrong call a millisecond before Apollo's shoulders begin to sag. Admittedly, the fight computer did give him a heads up, but he didn't need it to know what the problem was... a fact which was only confirmed the moment the other man opened his mouth.

He doesn't know what to say to that, to this ghost that's existed between them from the beginning, from before whatever it is they became at the musical. He'd been trying so hard to follow the advice of his friends, following Apollo's lead, of just acting as if it isn't there that, if he's being honest with himself, the ghost has only grown in size since.

It isn't an issue he can punch away, and doesn't know what to do.]

I don't know. I don't know what we are or what we're doing, or why we're doing it. [A pause.] It feels so fucking right in so many ways... but we both know it's not that simple.

[ Oh, Apollo knows why. 'Why' is probably the only thing he does know. The foundation for all of this, all that they've done and said and felt for each other, is laid in the empty, hollow pit in his stomach that's so sick and tired of being lonely. Tired of reaching out to a man who doesn't answer for three long, horrible years. Tired of missing half a soul, half his heart, and finding that there's nothing in the world that can fill that space... Apart from M. M, who reminds Apollo of those first five precious years when Midnighter had been raw and feral, and they were both half-mad with how much they loved each other. A time when nothing had really made sense except each other, and even then they still had no idea what they were doing. That's what it had been like then, and that's what it was like now - except Apollo is too tired, too hurt, to admit any of that out loud.

It's not that simple, M says, and Apollo nods pensively. He turns away, stripping off the second half of the bloodied, tattered uniform that hangs limply around his waist. He sighs, dumping the costume in the corner of the room, and pads back towards the bed in just his briefs. ]

It's not that simple, [ He agrees in a murmur, reaching out to run a hand through that rough red hair that feels so familiar now beneath his hands. Apollo doesn't sit, but he reaches down to press a kiss against M's crown. Apologetic, reverent, sad. Because he's about to ask an awkward question. ]

If Andrew came back tomorrow, how would you explain this? Us?

[M leans his forehead against Apollo's hip when the other man doesn't immediately sit down, drawn to the older man like a siren's song, as the waves of emotion crash over him. He knows being with Apollo fills a void he didn't know he had, felt so absolutely right despite his conscience telling him that it was anything but.

And then comes the question that M should have seen coming, given the way the conversation had veered, but didn't. And not just because the fight computer was offline as far as their... whatever this was was concerned].

I'd tell him the truth. Everything that I told the Andrew that was here... only that I met you before I could reconcile with him. [He fights the urge to remind him that Andrew wouldn't be coming back tomorrow, that it seemed only one version of a person could be here at a time, because he knows that's not the point of the question.] I love Andrew, but back home... we're never getting back together again. I burned that bridge too thoroughly. And most people who show up here a second time--they don't remember their first time here. He'd remember nothing about us getting back together, only the fact I betrayed his trust in an attempt to hide my shame in not knowing who I was as a person.

[ With M's forehead pressed warmly against his hip Apollo continues to thread his fingers through his cropped mohawk, running thoughtfully through it with slow, gentle, firm strokes. He hears those sacred little words - I love Andrew - and his heart breaks all over again for the other Apollo, accompanied with a fresh wave of guilt. ]

But you fixed it, [ Apollo points out gently. ] That burned bridge - you fixed it here, in this world. You could do it at home too. He forgave you once, of course he'd forgive you again...

[ The reasons not to do this are mounting up. Apollo would hate himself if he didn't voice them here and now. ]

[M knows the words Apollo's speaking, but more importantly, he knows the words that the other man isn't. He knows because he has similar unspoken words beneath the surface, words he's afraid to speak out loud.]

I made a conscious choice to break up with Andrew and see other men. Even if--through some miracle--we do get back together, we aren't together now.

And though I regret hurting Andrew the way I did... I don't regret dating anyone else. [Even Prometheus, in his own fucked up way, helped define who M was as a person.]

I'm free to see other people.

[He stares intently at the floor, words unspoken on his end coming dangerously close to the surface.]

[ Apollo sighs distantly; this isn't really how he'd wanted this night to go but he knows it's better that they talk about this now, sooner rather than later. The hand running through M's hair stills as Apollo sinks gently back down on the mattress with a wordless hum of thought. It would all be so easy if he could just take M's words and leave it at that, safe in the knowledge that M had a clean (ish) break from Andrew and he's free to see other people. But Apollo has been there - he's lived the other side of that. And he knows that he would be impossibly, monstrously jealous if he were in Andrew's place, broken up or not. ]

I hope he feels the same way. [ He gives M a wry, humourless smile. ] That you're free to see other people.

[ Apollo gets the feeling that if Andrew really is a version of him then he probably doesn't. ]

["I was left with an empty apartment and a broken heart because you decided you knew better than me what I want. You turned our relationship into a lie. And then you punished me for it so you could go off and find yourself!" Andrew's words from FanPort two years ago still ring clearly in his mind, the expression on his face as he learned of Cisco's existence from fan comics still etched in his memory.]

No, he doesn't. [He admits, staring off at the far wall.] But I can't change the fact the damage is done, no matter who I'm seeing, whether it's him, you, or anyone else.

[ Mm. Apollo didn't think he does. He sees unseeingly past M, trying and failing to imagine how he would feel in Andrew's shoes. ]

I'm not sure if dating another Apollo would make it hurt more or less, [ He confesses quietly. Apollo shakes his head after a moment, reluctantly returning to the problem at hand as his searching, solemn gaze seeks out Midnighter's own. ]

Do you think it's enough of a reason for us not to do this?

[ Not 'do you think he'd be okay with it' because they both know he wouldn't, but 'do you think it's bad enough for us not to'. A whole other kind of question. One he desperately wants the answer to be no. As if either of them could give the other permission to make this transgression. ]

[M takes a deep breath, finally looking in Apollo's direction again.]

It isn't Andrew that makes me hesitate.

[As he said, he's single. Regardless of how pissed Andrew may or may not (though definitely would) be should he improbably arrive tomorrow, that didn't change the fact that they were definitively broken up. M wasn't the one with vows and a ring.]

Three years, M. [ Apollo reminds him. ] Midnighter has had three years to try and be a part of my life. He's made it painfully clear that he doesn't want to be...

[ Mad or sad? Apollo never knows which way he's going to go over it, every time he thinks about the cavernous gap in his (and Jenny's) life that Midnighter left behind. Some days he could cry, but most days he just feels coldly angry about it all - not the hot, furious snap of rage that Apollo knows he's most guilty of, but an altogether different kind of anger. Freezing, wintery. The very thing he's weakest against. Apollo shakes his head, admitting: ]

I gave up expecting him to come back to me long ago.

[ With that admission he moves, clambering wearily across the mattress to sprawl on top of the covers. He's tired, he's tired of thinking about the missing half of him. The grief is exhausting. He feels grey, inside and out, as he gestures for M to join him. ]

[It kills him a bit inside every time Apollo says that. There has to be more to the story... there's no way that anyone would ever willingly give up someone as special as Apollo. But as much as M wants it to be true... a part of him is willing to stop thinking too hard about it... to let himself be caught up in the moment...

The moment where Apollo is saying yes.

He strips off his shirt and lays down beside the older man, curling up against his chest.]

I'm sorry. For him.

Me too.

[ Because even after all the anger and all the grief of the past three years, Apollo feels sorry for his husband. The man he once thought he knew is completely lost to him now, and Apollo knows he needs to take some responsibility for whatever it is that pushed him away.

And with M curled up close against his chest it's an automatic reaction for Apollo to wrap him up in his arms, to turn towards him and hold him close, to seek out that skin on skin contact. With the space in his heart that Midnighter used to own now empty, it's all to easy to want M to take that place. He closes his eyes, pressing a heartfelt kiss of something - forgiveness, reassurance, pleading - against M's hair. It feels right, on all levels except the one where he thinks too closely about Andrew. The other other half. But Apollo's shamefully hungry for M's affection, greedy and guilty in equal parts. All he wants is this, the smell and warmth and weight of Midnighter pressed against him, without the burden of another Apollo's furious, fiery judgment bearing down upon them. ]

I think we both need this, [ He murmurs quietly after a moment, his words muffled by M's hair. What he really means is, I think I need you. ]

[Ever since Andrew got ported out, M's thought about how he'd have to apologize for his actions over and over again, if he ever got the chance. It was frankly more than a little daunting, being a Sisyphus of his own design. With that threat hanging over him, he was afraid to branch out, was afraid he couldn't, shouldn't branch out and date again.

Whenever M was with Apollo, those thoughts mostly disappeared. Having the older man's arms wrapped around him while he listens to his heartbeat feels so right, like it's where he belonged. He reaches out and runs a free arm through his long silver hair and smiles.]

I'd say we've both already made our decision. [Because frankly, he needs him too.]

[ Apollo can't see that smile but he can feel it in Midnighter's voice. And it's contagious; Apollo can't help but grin softly to himself as he buries his face in M's hair, closing his eyes in silent, suppressed joy. His pulse leaps. ]

So we're doing this, [ He whispers incredulously, savouring the feeling of M's hand in his hair. ] We're really doing this.

[M places a soft kiss on Apollo's chest.]

We're doing this.

[Even if things go to hell, he's still willing to take that chance.]

[ Unbearably lovely as it is, that kiss on his chest so close to his heart isn't enough. With a surge of overwhelming adoration for the man in his arms, Apollo knows that nothing will really ever be enough but that won't stop him from chasing the impossible anyway. ]

Come here.

[ The words are a gentle murmur but there's a hint of an order to it. As if he ever needs to order M to do anything. With warm hands he coaxes M to creep higher, to shimmy gently up Apollo's body so that Apollo can seek out what he really wants - a kiss, desperate to convey all the heartache of their terrible situation through the hungry press of his lips against Midnighter's. ]

[When it comes from Apollo, M doesn't mind the occasional order. It might even be... interesting. Heeding his words, he indeed shimmies up so that the older man can kiss him, waiting only a moment before slipping his hands into his hair and returning the kiss in earnest, tangling his legs in Apollo's.

This felt right. It had to be right.]

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closed | you were a bright light

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