jigglephysics | (no subject)

(no subject)

Life had long since become cyclical for Tidus.

He wakes up. He eats. He mulls around the house. He goes for a long swim. He comes back in, showers, heads to practice. He comes home. He swims again or practices on his own on the deck of his home by the water. He tucks back into bed again and sleeps.

The only upheavals in his painfully predictable life alone in his home come from games, the occasional night out with his team or an adoring fan and Auron's visits. He looks forward to them, no matter the context, because they tear up the heavy, grey blanket that has long since settled over him and smothered him slowly under its weight. He wants change. He wants a life without sunrises and sunsets he has to count down. Tidus wants tomorrows that come too soon and yesterdays that leave too late. He wants adventure, excitement, something to break this mold he has been shoved into as he cycles through his life in a house of ghosts and silence.

Practice never brings fatigue and coming home in the dimming light of dusk brings little hope of sleep when he hasn't worn out his reserves of energy just yet. It's not that he wants to sleep, that's just boring, but it would at least be a change of pace to get truly worn out and knocked to the ground by his own muscle aches. Nothing in this common rotation brings challenge for him anymore. It's likely why he lives for the thrill of games and the adrenaline that runs through him right before he submerges himself.

He pushes the door open and greets the quiet, emptiness of his house with a loud 'I'm home!' that seems to echo off of nothing and greet him in return. He crinkles his nose and tosses his bag of wet clothes from his practice across the room towards his couch.

"I can't think of a single thing I want to do tonight... No one even wanted to go out this time. This sucks."

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"I don't think that will be necessary."

There's a lightness in his voice, but he wouldn't take that for granted. More surprising things have happened to him. That he's here at all is one of those things, although it's no surprise to him that he kept his promise to Jecht, or that he's making this promise to Tidus now. It seems the path his life has taken — or whatever this could be called — has become almost cyclical. There should be comfort in that. It's all too reminiscent of home.

It's been a long time.

When Tidus reaches for his shoulders, Auron places his gloved hand against his back. It seems the right thing to do. His skinny wrist is hot against his bare arm, and there's tension in his limbs, his hands. He can hear him breathing, see his shoulders rise and fall with it. Whatever this place is, really, it makes no difference.

"Better that you know the consequences."

As far as Tidus is concerned, at least.

He feels the hand settle between his shoulder blades, firm and keeping him close. It's surprising. Everyone else that has lived here... would have rejected him right off. But Auron is much more neutral. He cares neither here nor there, in the end. That lack of passion for life can grate him, sometimes, but it also keeps him grounded.

He squeezes his shoulders once, hard, before taking a deep breath in and out, feeling the weight of the hand on his back rise and fall as his lungs deflate. With a short push off his toes off the ground, he hops up - hup - and pulls himself so he can be on eye level with his guardian. He swings his legs and loops them around his middle, getting close.

"I'm holding you to it."

He repeats it again, quietly. Auron promised to stay. He promised... to pay attention to him. He will hold him to it.

Auron makes a sound of recognition, soft and under his breath. He makes another, similar sound — of surprise, this time — when Tidus vaults himself up into his arms, finding without a doubt the most creative way to put them eye-to-eye. His arms close around his waist without thought, to keep him from slipping and to preserve his own sense of balance. Thankfully, Tidus's weight is negligible. Something he probably wouldn't thank him to be told, but it's easy for him to keep from losing his grip, spine straight, arms hardly straining. His heels are digging into his back.

He raises a single dark eyebrow; the one over his good eye. This close, his glasses don't hide much.

"This included?"

He's held, not dropped. Held. Securely. Auron has his arms around his back and he's keeping him up that way. It's encouraging. It brings his hands forward to dip under Auron's collar and cup his face. His thumbs brush against his face and push the frame of his glasses.

"Yeah... this, too."

He's just a little hesitant.... nervous, but it's exciting. He's close and being held. Auron doesn't look too mad, either. Despite the pattering of his heart, he grins and leans to brush his lips against his temple.

"How about a little incentive?"

Auron's lips thin when he feels the pressure of fingers on the corners of his glasses, while he waits for them to be lifted away. When that doesn't happen, his grip shifts, that simple smile blurring past his vision at the same time as he feels warm breath against the skin at his temple, like he noticed before, when Tidus's questions seemed simpler. They were simple enough for him to answer, anyway. But nothing he'd agreed to, up until now, was any different than what brought him here. Not easy for Tidus, but easy for him.

He has a slight frame, and sharp elbows that are pressed against his collarbone.

"Incentive?"

His voice is sharp, but he hasn't dropped him yet.

Tidus turns his fingers and grasps each side of his glasses frame in his fingers, lifting them up and out of the way now instead. He smiles again, face close, breath still near his skin as he presses his lips against the scar tissue running down and over his eye. It's weird, thick and a little hard. He doesn't have scars. He's never touched Auron's or Jecht's. He never knew they'd feel like this.

"Yeah. You're an adult, Auron. You get it, don't you?"

To him, it's obvious. He's done this song and dance any number of times with strangers, teammates, numerous adoring fans and the like. His heart is on his sleeve and he knows it. His intention should be clear. He pushes his glasses so they rest on Auron's head then runs his fingers through tufts of salt and pepper hair.

"Unless you're gonna push me away."

"I..."

There's a gap in the sensation when he presses that kiss to his ruined eye, bisected by the dark, nerveless line running from his brow to his cheek. It seems strange that his body still follows these rules now that he's no longer truly flesh and blood, but perhaps those are the limits of the mind. His mind is wandering. On the edge of — Something.

His chest is tight, but not because of Tidus's weight. Auron shuts his eye just for long enough to breathe in and out once.

This was always meant to be his penance, but it was about more than the mistakes he made. If Jecht could see him now...

For some reason, he always pictures him laughing. He supposes he deserves it.

"Trust me. If I was, you would know.

Are you sure?"

Tidus curls his fingers and scratches lightly against Auron's scalp as he combs his fingers through. He forgets how long his hair is sometimes, that ponytail usually hidden in his large collar. If he's going to fight with a sword, it's probably for the best. It keeps it out of the way. Still, right now, he can see it and tell its there by the taut way his hair is pulled back by its wrapping. He moves on hand decisively to the base of his skull and slides his fingers around the binding of his hair.

"Do I look unsure to you?"

His smile flashes by again before he tilts and ducks his head, parting his mouth and scraping his teeth against Auron's jaw, shivering pleasantly as he feels the stubble on his chin pass over his lips. He peppers a few short kisses along his jawline before looking him in the eye again, wily, and nabbing his lower lip in his teeth with a squeeze of his legs around his middle.

He won't kiss him. He refuses. He'd rather egg him on and get him to initiate it. He's the older one here, right?

"Hmph."

Is all Auron has to say to that. It's harder than usual to reply with his lip trapped between two rows of teeth, cheeky smile too close to see. The impression is there all the same. When he closes his eye the second time it's to respond in kind — revenge, maybe — bumping teeth against teeth and lips against lips, not quite a proper kiss, as though any of this is approaching proper. If his younger self could see him now... That's where the trouble lies, but he never had any idea what he was doing, anyway.

He can't raise his hand to bat away the fingers curled around his ponytail, so his only means of retaliation is a sharp squeeze around around his center. It could be a warning. That'd be a safe bet, coming from him.

But even with his limited movement, he can still shake him off long enough to reclaim his mouth to speak.

"We should... Go inside."

Maybe he'll get lucky and Tidus will lose his nerve.

The retaliatory squeeze serves more as encouragement than a deterrent as Tidus feels his body jerked close by the flex of Auron's arms. He gasps against Auron's mouth, lips parted and quirked with amusement. He tries to tug himself a little closer.

He gives the bundle of hair in his hands a soft tug before relinquishing it for now, more interested in his mouth than his hair at the moment. He's kissing back - or trying, maybe - and despite his soured temperament, that drudges up a bit of glee.

"Embarrassed out here?"

He laughs a little and lets his legs bend and be loose.

"You're the one on the ground. Take me where you want me."

A sound rumbles in his throat in direct response to the pressure at the base of his skull. That's going to become a problem. Maybe he should have cut his hair when he had the chance, but he still prefers not to, despite the other changes to his appearance. He allows himself a few old familiarities, that's all, and now he's suffering for them. The familiarity he's allowing himself now is, well... He's suffering for that, too.

"What would your fans say?"

There might be some jealousy. On their part. Auron's seen the way those people grab at him like there's nothing else in the world that's so captivating. Zanarkand being Zanarkand, he can't help but understand. Maybe they have no choice. His reasoning is different than theirs, but why else is he here? If Jecht hadn't had a son, he would have never left Spira. He would have died there.

Sometimes, although it's a rare and precious occurrence, he's glad that he didn't.

Right now...

"... If you wish."

There's just the slightest ring of mocking to his tone, but he punctuates by rearranging his grip, an arm bending beneath Tidus's thighs so that he doesn't slip when he looses his legs from about his waist. His body is warm everywhere that he's pressed to him, thighs and hips and hands. With some steady maneuvering, he delivers them safely down the stairs to shoulder open the door. The hum of the ceiling fan adds to the white noise of the water sloshing upon the smooth hull.

Edited 2015-06-02 07:00 (UTC)

"How would they know?"

It's not like he cares. It'd be more attention, one way or another. Maybe not the best attention, but attention, and that's what he likes the most about being a sports star off the field. His focus right now, though, is Auron's attention which has been promised to him and that takes precedence over his hypothetical fans.

Any focus on them vanishes when he gets his way. Auron might be a little annoyed with him, but he's still complying, isn't he?

Auron shifts him in his arms and Tidus drapes his arms over his shoulders, holding onto him in a way that's more reminiscent of when he was small. He seems content, being carried... being warm and close, the center of Auron's world right now. He stays that way, humming the hymn he knows softly, and sways his feet, the picture of the cat that got the cream.

It's the creak of the door that brings him back to his wanton intentions and he straightens enough to lean, tuck Auron's collar down with his fingers, and kiss him by his ear.

Auron shuts the door by pressing Tidus back into it, drawn in by the the song he was humming and then the soft press of his mouth, the measure of his homesickness and what lies against it. His arms unwind from around his body slowly enough to give him time to process that he needs to get his feet on the floor before he really does drop him; once freed, Auron places his hands at his hips, thumbs resting against his belt. It's hardly a touch, but it's not without promise. So much for losing his nerve. At this rate, he's most likely to be the one to put a stop to this, but —

He isn't.

It's a better excuse not to speak when he dips down and puts his lips to tanned skin at the juncture between neck and shoulder, exchanging a kiss with another kiss before he bites down in the same place, following the line of muscle until his shirt gets in the way. He picks up his right hand to tug the brightly colored fabric aside, revealing another sliver of shoulder. Even if Tidus can't hear it, he must be able to feel it when he sighs, resigning himself to tugging his suspenders free, to leave them dangling uselessly over his arms.

He brushes the backs of his bare knuckles over a taut stomach. He meant to get further than this. Further than the door, at least.

Edited 2015-06-03 01:08 (UTC)

Tidus straightens when his back hits the door. He doesn't expect to be caught there, lowered to standing between it and Auron. He looks up at him, arms going slack around his shoulders as he tries to keep holding on despite their difference in height. He's... really going for it. Tidus expected to have to egg him on the whole way, but the hands on his hips seal it. Something in his chest flutters and he hears himself gasp just once in surprise.

Then, he's kissed, right on the neck and he feels himself grin from ear to ear. He really is getting his way, here. Auron really does want him. His excitement is palpable as he tips his head and angles his shoulder to give Auron more space to kiss and bite, shuddering every time his teeth sink in. He's learned to be responsive to everything, to drag his partner's attention closer. He lets his suspenders catch on his elbows and starts to pluck off his own gloves behind Auron's neck, baring them so he can really feel his nails drag against Auron's scalp as he returns his fingertips to his hair.

His fingers uncurl halfway to his chest before settling over the swell of the muscle there, fingers pressed parallel to his sternum. With the application of just a little of his weight, Tidus is pinned. There's no real reason for him to do it, except perhaps to give a secondary, belated warning that the hands in his hair stay clear of his ponytail this time. It's the only warning he's given. His mouth moves from the slope of his shoulder to the soft space below the crook of his jawline, then to his temple, mirroring the path he took in reverse. Tidus's hair smells, predictably, of the water that the Blitz sphere is filled with.

While his chin is still tilted up, Auron turns to kiss his smile. Then, before he can reciprocate, he says, "Downstairs.", lifts his restraining hand from his chest, and pulls himself free of his arms.

Without looking back, he makes to go ahead of him.

Tidus draws in a short, sharp breath when he feels his body pressed against the door, now stuck between Auron's large palm and the solid barrier behind his back. He like it a little more than he'd ever admit, having things turn out this way. He's too used to being in complete control and despite Auron's age, his expectations here were the same, given how reserved he always tends to be. Like some kind of reward, he sighs his name, hands being strangely obedient and avoiding his ponytail this time. He focuses on raking his hands through the hair on his scalp, mussing it on the way. A messy look suits Auron.

He tries to grasp him and lean into the kiss when their lips meet... but then, Auron parts with just a single word and Tidus ruffles. He frowns at him, reaching for a moment and missing.

"Huh? What? Hey!"

He follows, immediately, stomping his feet as he walks.

Not a little bit smug, Auron turns halfway to glance behind him, eyebrow raised this time in poorly concealed amusement. It almost makes him appear younger, hair a mess, glasses pushed up and away from his eyes; even the ugly scar claiming the right half of his face is hidden from where Tidus is standing now. He doesn't say anything in answer to the protests he receives. He doesn't say anything as he climbs down into the cabin and pushes open the door to the room he used to stay in, back when he had little choice about whether or not he should stay, and for that reason still had to maintain certain illusions.

It was no one's room before he came, previously commandeered for storage space, and later rearranged. There's a neatly made bed; a table beside the bed; old furniture, pushed aside; boxes of old clothes, neatly stacked; and boxes of trophies that don't belong to Tidus.

Auron sits on the side of the bed and plucks his glasses from his hair, folding them closed and placing them on the table. Then, he unhooks his collar, leaves it over a bedpost, and begins to pull off his boots.

He's pouting the whole way to Auron's room.... he hates coming down here, honestly. It's bad memories. He tends to stay upstairs, away from the cobwebs and the remnants of what was. When Auron isn't here, the whole floor is untouched.

When Auron sits, Tidus watches him, hands on his hips and exhibiting his peeved feelings towards having to move so many times. He's impatient but when is he not? At least Auron's starting to undress which means he might actually stay put this time.

His suspenders are still hung awkwardly over the bends in his elbows as he lifts his foot and starts tugging off his shoes. He supposes he'll be courteous in Auron's old bedroom. He keeps eyeing him as he does it, accusatory, daring him to try to move them yet again. He'll pounce on him the next time, he swears. He'll make him want to stay.

He's aware of Tidus's eyes on him. He doesn't have to look up to imagine the expression that's being leveled his way right now, but he continues without comment, pushing his boots out of the way beneath the bed and taking his fingers to the fastenings on his belt. One he's loosened it from around his waist, he looks up, pretending as though he doesn't notice the unrest he's caused.

"You can sit."

It isn't really his room. Nothing here belongs to him. And, so, there's no need for any courtesy. Perhaps if he actually used it these days he would decide differently; perhaps he'll come to feel that way once he's accustomed to lying in this bed on sleepless nights and listening to the breakers roll through the water outside. When he was younger, he used to try to close his eyes and imagine how far it must be from here to Spira's seas; how many days would it take to sail from Zanarkand's docks to Besaid's shore?

His belt joins his collar, hung over the back of the bed. Removing his gauntlet is a somewhat more invested affair, but once the belts are unfastened he tugs his glove off at the fingers, the big sleeve of his haori furling loose over his wrist.

"Oh, I can?"

It's a snarky response and he knows it but he wants Auron to know he's annoyed. He better be allowed to sit. They better be staying here this time!

He gets his second shoe off and crosses the room, crawling onto the bed. He gets behind him as Auron's haori sleeve slumps down, draping his arms over his shoulders to cross over his chest. He doesn't plan to let him go again, not until he's sure he'll stay put this time. He jumps right in, taking advantage of his collar-free neck and littering it with soft love bites. He pads his tongue over every remnant of teeth marks as he releases each bite and then moves onto the next. His fingers spread out over his chest, realizing quickly that Auron has an annoying amount of layers compared to himself.

It hasn't escaped Auron's notice, but he doesn't comment, his preference instead to watch Tidus's impatient advance, turning his head aside when he circles around to situate himself behind him. The bed creaks with their shared weight. The way he grabs at him with his hands tells him what he needs to know about why he continues to get upset with him, even as he acquiesces. His hand he lifts to touch the back of Tidus's wrist, still watching while he puts his mouth to his skin.

Tidus is no stranger to an audience.

And he does know why he keeps getting that look on his face, the one that makes him seem younger, even, than he already is. It's what motivates him to turn sideways in his arms, slipping his own arm between their bodies to bend around his side and hedge him in. He presses him close with his hand on his back, right below his shoulder blades and beneath the criss-cross of his loosened suspenders, bare skin under his fingertips.

Auron, for now, is staying still and it slowly placates him again. A part of him misses being shoved up against that door like he was something to possess, but he'll settle for this intimacy. Auron's chest is as firm as he expected, his neck scratchier the higher up he kisses. He's clean shaven pretty much everywhere out of necessity for his sport - he's not as familiar with the feel of stubble against his skin. In a way, he likes it.

Finally, a pleased sound comes back to his lips as Auron turns, not to leave, but to hold him. He sighs, relieved, through his nose and edges himself to settle where Auron can reach him without twisting himself too far. The hand on his bare back brings immediate heat, skin crawling, delighted by it. He dares to start inching his way into his lap to sit, mouth continuing to kiss at his throat, happiness returning.

His fingers press into the long tract of Tidus's spine and slide downward, wrinkling the fabric that bunches up under the weight of his hand, and then up, skin hotter where it's hidden beneath his clothes, not exposed to the air, not so quick to dry after he's been in the water. Auron sighs for himself, for the demanding mouth on his throat, for the skinnier chest straining against his with each inhale, for the shivering bend of the back beneath his fingers. What he did at the door had been the impatient answer to an even more insistent question; this is what happens after. It wasn't a plan. He wasn't thinking.

The hand that isn't holding Tidus to him, he slips between their bodies, turning his palm outward to wedge his fingers under the loop of his belt and pull it free from the silver buckle. After, he finds the cross-shaped pull with his fingers and tugs at the zipper until it's parted and his taut stomach his showing. The movement brings his hand low.

He still isn't thinking.

Auron's sword-calloused hand is just rough enough to add a little grit to the drag of his palm against Tidus's back. He sucks in a gasp against Auron's throat, liking that contrast against his smooth skin. He's worn smooth by the water, a stone lapped over thousands of times, washed free of edges. Auron is more wind-beaten, cracked and weathered down, but still sharp where it counts. That sharpness grinds gently like curled fingernails against his spine and makes him squeeze Auron in his arms.

The familiar and distinct song of a zipper running down brings his smile back to his mouth finally. He pulls back from his throat and reaches up, ghosting his lips over Auron's, the first time he's requested instead of demanded this evening. He wants him, fully bare and less reserved, showing that he wants him in return. Showing that Tidus is worth something to the last person he has left. His chest is fluttering with heartbeats and a desire to be needed intimately and beyond the moment.

Auron takes that too-soft touch for what it is, kissing him with the remembered sound of his gasping still fresh in his mind. Tidus's attention, his clutching arms, slices through the last depths of his always so far-away demeanor, the way he drifts from moment to moment as an unachored buoy, free and thus useless, tethering him to the last inch of solid ground he knows. The irony doesn't escape him. Neither does it stop him from scratching his blunt nails in a line along the furrow under his fingers, listening intently for another soft and breathless sound, a little wave cresting and collapsing. Tidus has always been here. He's never really been —

His abrupt thoughts — suddenly and annoyingly unwelcome — don't stop his other arm from finding its way around the body next to his and lifting him that infinitesimal distance so that he's sat on his legs, thighs spread-eagled and warm through the dark material of his pants. His haori is sagging, still half-on half-off his body, the one last physical manifestation of his hesitation. Sitting this way, they're about the same height.