forthedog | (no subject)

Entry tags:

darrow,
neil

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He could wear gloves but he never does, and he's up to his wrists in cool, damp soil, well-tilled and rich. It's early days yet, but there are things that can go into the ground early, and he has a lot of work to do. The part that will be for the vegetables is blocked off. He has a place for a cherry tree, something that'll bloom tiny explosions of delicate pink.

Even on the island it wasn't quite like this. His land. His and Neil's, in a way that nothing on the island really belonged to anyone. It's a fierce kind of thing, he thinks, rocking back on his heels. What it means to have something like this. What it does to your life. He's always rented. Always moved around. Never put down roots anywhere, never.

So it's long past time.

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It's a long, awkward drive, but it was necessary. For me, because Veronica's my friend, and maybe I don't owe Logan a fuckin' thing, but Vee's a different story. When I get home, I'm wary, but okay, and I park the car in the garage, walking through the house and out the french doors into the back.

"Hey, Farmer Joe," I call, careful not to traipse through and of the flower beds he's tilled off.

"How's it goin'?"

He looks up, rolls his eyes, gestures with his trowel to a patch of ground closer to the big oak tree. "Thinking about putting the bodies over there. What do you think?"

"Long as you bury 'em deep enough. Last thing we need is the fuckin' dog to dig 'em up," I say, dropping into a crouch beside him.

"So, guess who I saw today?" Might as well jump right in, huh?

"Awkward," he grunts, turning his attention back to pulling up a thick and particularly uncooperative root. He doesn't even know exactly what it's connected to, just that he's been trying for about ten minutes and the last of it isn't budging.

"Who?"

"Lieutenant Logan Echolls," I say, lips scrunching up against a helpless grin. "Apparently, if you leave him in Neptune, instead of becoming wife to a space captain, he gets his shit together and joins the Navy."

He coughs out a startled laugh and turns, his hands still in the dirt up to his wrists. There are words, he heard them, and separately he knows what they mean, but together in that particular order they seem to be losing all their sense.

"What?"

"He was in dress whites. It was fuckin' surreal," I say, choking on a laugh of my own. "I drove him to Veronica's. Left him on her doorstep, like a puppy. He'd never seen me in his fuckin' life."

"Okay, wait." He lifts his hands and absently starts to dust them off, though the soil is a bit damp and there's only so much that'll do. He faces Neil more fully. "Let's wind this fucker back a second. He doesn't know you?" He cocks his head - this is interesting, if nothing else. "Does he remember anything? Any of the island at all?"

Edited 2014-04-12 04:52 (UTC)

"Not a fuckin' thing. I mean, I guess he might remember later, I dunno," I shrug, "I don't fuckin' care. I hope he doesn't. I... I can't even explain it. He looked at me like a stranger and it was like... this huge fuckin' relief."

It's not that I want to erase everything that happened between me and Logan, but having the slate wiped clean, at least where he's concerned? Not having to deal with the hurt and the bullshit and fuckin' disappointment? It's not a bad feeling.

"He probably thinks I'm some kind of lunatic. I nearly threw a box of dildos at him. It was... seriously fucked up."

He bursts out laughing, rocking back on his heels with his hands between his knees. It's a perfect image. Every part of it is perfect. He might once have felt a certain amount of resentment for Logan Echolls, but that was gone a while ago, and if this is some other version...

"I guess that's good, then."

"God, it was fuckin' weird. He was like... mature and shit. I mean, for Logan," I say, fighting against my own laughter.

"I'm pretty sure he and Veronica are back together. I kinda caught a glimpse of her fuckin' octopussing herself around him, outside her apartment."

That also sounds good. Not that he'd worry, but it feels like a good thing to have that area at least sort of settled.

He starts to reach for Neil, then stops, freshly conscious of his dirty hands. "So you're okay with everything?"

"Yeah, I'm... I'm good," I say, realizing that maybe I should be surprised by how good I really am with all this. Years ago, it would've really fucked me up, seeing him again. Back when the wounds were still fresh. Back when there was a small part of me that still missed him.

"It was... I dunno, it's kinda nice, seein' him with his shit together. Or, you know, he at least seemed like he had his shit together."

Mike stops just short of reaching for me, so I meet him halfway, gripping his wrist and tugging him closer.

"He looked kinda hot in that uniform."

"Asshole." Not that he's jealous - something else that he no longer seems to have the ability to feel, at least not the way he used to. Possessive, sure, sometimes violently so, but this... Nothing about it is presenting an issue.

He takes the cue and curls a hand around the back of Neil's neck, grinning. Whatever, they can shower. "You think I should get one? Been a while."

"I don't think I've ever actually seen you in one..." I realize, shuffling closer, but careful not to disturb whatever it was he was doin' in the dirt, before I got here. "I can't say I'd hate it."

"Could maybe make that happen, then." He leans in and ghosts his lips across the scarred side of Neil's face, cheekbone to jaw. Almost casual. "God, that'd be so weird, though. I don't even know when I last wore one."

He's not a soldier anymore. Not for a long time. Every now and then it really hits him. The field had been the end of it, one way or another.

That's not so bad.

"I could wear one instead," I tease, grinning against his jaw. "Shave my head, again, to round out the look. I been thinkin' 'bout cutting it."

He lets out a breath, partly a laugh and partly something else, and slides a hand into Neil's hair, tugging. "I like it like this." A quick bite just where below jaw meets ear. "But I'd like that too."

"Maybe I'd let you shave it," I decide, letting out a little bit of a gasp when he slides his fingers into my hair and pulls.

"I dunno... I do kinda like it like this."

"Kinky." He grins against Neil's throat and pulls harder, and at the same moment he's shoving him down into the dirt, heedless of the rest of it, aware of only the sun and the warmth of the skin under his hands and mouth.

His hand pushes up under Neil's shirt, running his nails lightly across the plane of his stomach. "I like having something to grab."

Edited 2014-05-01 02:29 (UTC)

Laughing when my back hits the ground, I say, "Yeah, I fuckin' noticed."

My own hands are groping at the back of his shirt, yanking it from his waistband, realizing how long it's been since we've been able to fuck around out in the open like this. I'd kinda missed it.

He breathes out his own laugh, squirming slightly, his hand now fumbling at Neil's fly as he kisses a slow line down his throat. It's clumsy, rough and a little awkward, but it also feels a little like the island, like what they could do there. By the waterfall, in among the ferns, right out on the beach.

"We got some time," he murmurs.

"Start the fuckin' clock, then," I say, grinning, my eyes shut against the sun and my hands blindly tugging at his fly. I get a hand inside his jeans, palm sliding over his dick, and there's a rock digging into my shoulder blade, but somehow, they feels a little bit like home.

"And this is not 'cause you just met your ex-husband." He tries to say it deadpan and pretty much fails completely, his breath hitching as he rolls himself into Neil's hand. He can feel part of himself getting eager, a little frantic, because that's always part of this, but slow down.

His hands are still a bit dirty, dark soil packed under his nails, but he knows neither of them care as he curls his fingers around Neil's cock and gives him a single, slow stroke.

"Shut up about him. Jesus," I laugh helplessly, mouth falling open on a strangled gasp and one leg hitching itself around his hip.

"God, okay," I say, about nothing at all, and I tuck my face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in.

"That's no fun." He's still moving against Neil's side, his hip, grinding slowly, but the majority of his attention is focused in his own hand and the hot, soft skin under it, the way it hardens still more as his hand moves faster.

"You're gonna come out here," he murmurs, "and then I'm gonna fuck you in the shower."

"Oh yeah?" I say, like I'm actually skeptical, which is pretty hilarious, when I'm already thrusting into his hand and swallowing down a strangled moan.

"I dunno, man... I'm not... convinced. Fuck."

"God, you're so full of shit." He bares his teeth against the side of Neil's throat, bites down gently as his hand tightens. Just because he doesn't have fangs anymore doesn't mean this simple thing doesn't still have a new kind of thrill attached to it, and he shivers slightly as his grip tightens.

"I never had to work hard with you."

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