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Tongue Tied; [Roger]
Topic Started: Dec 22 2010, 06:01 PM (722 Views)
Toxin
Unregistered

November 10th
2:30 pm

It was a week since the healers have given him leave to go home with the firm order; rest. The one that had tended to him, apparently her powers worked through sending the patient's body into overdrive to repair itself. Dustin was left with pale, fresh scars, feeling weak and wobbly on his feet. He'd lost weight in the process, and he hadn't had much to spare to start with. The former SHIELD girl had been cleared and had situated herself in the apartment, taking the bedroom of a man that had died that Halloween... whom Dustin hadn't bothered getting to know even though they saw each other every day. The dead man's friend had moved; he hadn't bothered to ask where he was going. He probably hadn't showered since the battle. There was still the faint scent of blood hanging about. He was pretty sure the girl had brought him food from time to time since he wasn't hungry, he could remember her stopping in the room but he couldn't remember actually eating.

After a few days passed he straightened himself up, took a shower, cleaned up the apartment. He tried not to think about what had happened, and what had nearly happened. So of course that meant by now he'd gone over it all dozens of times in detail. He was simply worn out, physically, mentally, emotionally. He started working on getting fit again, and soon he no longer felt like a stiff wind would knock him over.

None of that really mattered.

It was one thing when someone was simply not speaking to him, but actively ignoring his presence was something he really couldn't deal with. He'd never been good with that. Particularly when... the person ignoring him was practically the only person he willingly spent time with, and had been for the past five months or so. However, he gave him some time, left him to his thoughts. Roger obviously needed some time to deal with whatever was bothering him. As the days stretched on, Dustin's nerves stretched a little thin. And then the redheaded assassin went out without so much a word. As tempting as it was, Dustin didn't follow after him. But apparently his restless pacing through the apartment had gotten to Cas, and he was left alone to think. Which wasn't really for the best, as he came to some rather... inaccurate conclusions as to why Roger was upset. Still. Even if he was the reason, he'd much rather he just say so, say what was wrong. This silence, waiting around for something, anything, was getting to him.

Pausing at the window, he caught a splash of red moving toward the building. His mind raced. Maybe he should let him have a few more days. But another day of this...

Dustin half-heartedly tried to straighten his disheveled clothes as he waited. Hearing footsteps, it was difficult not to move to open the door. Instead he waited by the window, looking outside, gloved hands resting on the frame. Digging into it a little. He didn't turn around until the door clicked shut, putting some effort into keeping his breathing steady. Everything he wanted to say got tangled in his throat and made it tighten. "Roger..." he said, hesitating, trailing off. Finally he made up his mind, and walked over to him, stopping a pace or two off, looking him straight in the eyes. "You- you're worrying the hell out of me. If somethings wrong, tell me, don't shut me out like this." He glanced at the ground between them. There. He said it. That would probably be the place to shut the hell up and hope, but his mouth opened again. "I do care about you, y'know."
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Manslaughter
Unregistered

His body limp from exertion, the assassin had shuffled the few blocks back from the training facilities, the wind tousling his damp hair into a cowlick. Roger's journey up the steps to the level of his flat was slow and thoughtful, his musings lingering on the aspirations of curling up into the piles of blankets on his bed and going to sleep. Yet, when his hand touched the curved handle of the door, he could feel some synapses at work just beyond the barrier, humming erratically like escaped electricity.

Roger found Dustin waiting in the common area when the door fell in, his student at the window with his back to him. Before Roger could shy to his room, Dustin turned, looking conflicted as he tried to speak, his words coming out in a rush, closing the space between them in just a few strides.

Emotions made Roger uncomfortable, not that they were a foreign concept to him, but that he did not see the necessity in their peculiar existence at times, even though he encountered some of his own. But Dustin was evidently expressing a myriad of them at once and the redhead was unable to speak for a few moments in turn, fingering the buckle that strapped his katana to his back. Roger wanted to slink away, but those words that came tumbling out of Dustin meant something to him, at least by the way they made him feel that he had done something wrong in his actions. Everyone had noticed the particular shine he had taken to his dark-haired apprentice and friend, and Roger couldn't trick himself into thinking there wasn't something he felt.

In the colorful twisting and turning of his mind, Roger managed to snatch a few coherent words, trying to summarize just what was making him act this way. He straightened slightly, tilting his head back to look up at Toxin. "My recognition.. fell with the defeat of Murderworld." He was being hard on himself, but Roger was stoic, full of pride.

"Injury is defeat."

Logically, Roger could not understand how Dustin would attribute the blame of this to himself, but in all his brilliance there were many things Manslaughter did not understand when it came to the human mind, despite his abilities to navigate its neural pathways as easily as a river.
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Toxin
Unregistered

Dustin lifted his gaze from the floor, gathering some reserves of composure. Nervous energy wound up as they stood there for a few moments in tense silence. As he waited some response - anything - he tried to search for something to say. His mind stilled when Roger shifted, straightened to look up at him. All that nervous energy condensing and forming a knot in his stomach.

After he spoke, Dustin lightly bit his bottom lip... taking care when he realized what he was doing not to bite down. Speaking now before thinking, he didn't know what would pass his lips. Still, it didn't seem quite right to him. He'd never thought someone to be blamed for getting injured in battle.

"I don't think so.." he said thoughtfully, not as relieved as he might have been that he wasn't so near the core of the problem as he'd first thought. How could he be anything but upset while Roger was beating himself up over it? And- he was not entirely blameless. Hell, if he had thought more in designing their uniforms, for adequate protection, surely he could figure something out that wouldn't restrict movement. But the thing was, this wasn't about him, even though he could have made it about him. As much as it was natural to react like it was. So he did what he could to set aside his own worries - and set his mind on the 'problem'.

"I'm not sure where you got that idea. From what I understand people who get injured in battle - are honored. At least in the normal scheme of things. From what I read.." he paused, then shook his head. He couldn't cite a specific source, but this wasn't a damn research paper. Continuing rather more firmly, he said, "Nevermind that. Rog, you were amazing out there. People get hurt in battles, more often than coming through unscathed. It isn't a defeat unless you let it be."

"So you're not- we're not- bulletproof. Its impossible to dodge every single bullet... lacking super speed or reflexes. I'm going to have to go back to work on our uniforms, I know there's some materials that should do the trick. Just haven't worked with them before.." he trailed off. Going into that right now wasn't necessary, it was just on his mind. Their injuries might have been preventable. He wouldn't forget seeing Roger shot, and not knowing.

Quietly, very quietly, he added something he hadn't intended on sharing, no way to know what would be thought of it. "The one that shot you. After you vanished. I ripped out his throat. With my teeth." When he had a perfectly good katana and no shortage of knives at his disposal. He'd just lost it. The man had been as good as dead anyway, with what was to come, but somehow that hadn't been enough. He had to do it himself, and - the blades weren't even considered.
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Manslaughter
Unregistered

For the second time that day, Roger was told his observations were incorrect. The first he had held in regard, to be sure, as Mystique bore some characteristics to a mother he had wished he'd had, but to hear it from his own student was a bit different. A fine line creased his brow and smoothed over again as Toxin commended his ability in the field, words he did not hear often, perhaps less often than his poisonous friend reminding him that he was breakable. It wasn't as though Roger had fooled himself into thinking he was as invulnerable as Cain, as fast as Spitfire, or as powerful as their revered Lord Magneto. 

But he had never thought he would have been reduced to a shrieking lump, filled with holes and bleeding his life out on the floor. 

Yet Toxin reassured Roger that he had not shamed himself, and nor had he shamed his student. In fact, he was surprised to find that Toxin had dealt equal retribution, and his mind spun with images of this faceless gunman meeting a grisly end. He was overwhelmed by--something--unsure of what it meant, and Roger found himself reaching for the arm of his brother in war, the delicate curves of his capable fingers cupping the dark-haired man's elbow. 

The pause between them held the gravity of a romantic interlude, the audience holding their breath as they waited for the two lovers to be lost in the throes of passion. There were some romantic words, some sweet response somewhere deep inside Roger's jumbled dictionary of a mind that could be said, and all he needed was to string them together. He was touched by Dustin's gesture, and his eyes darkened in mystified wonderment and malice. 

And out of all the words he could have possibly used, the trained assassin could express gratitude in the only way he knew how. 

"Did he suffer greatly?"
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Toxin
Unregistered

Roger reached for him. For a moment Dustin just looked at him, then smiled at the question. While he still felt like he was in knots, this was something entirely different than the stretched and frayed state he had been earlier. With the hand opposite of the one connected to the arm Roger held, Dustin lightly brushed the back of his clothed fingers across the redhead's cheek.

"I imagine he did," Dustin replied, thinking back. He'd immediately had to deal with a woman shooting at him, though he didn't realize the bullets found their marks until after he'd mauled her. The man wouldn't have survived long enough for the venom to kill him, though it would have made his demise even more unbearable. Despite his usual distaste for killing, he smirked slightly for a moment. There were times that he found it completely acceptable, though he wished he'd been more control of himself. "I can't be sure if he bled out before the explosion, or if he drowned in his own blood."

That sounded particularly morbid, saying that aloud. But of all the deaths caused by his existence, this was perhaps the only one that didn't cause the slightest tinge of guilt or regret. Well, none of them that day specifically mattered to him. There hadn't been a moment to breathe to give himself a guilt trip, there was kill or be killed. Causing chaos for the cause, as ordered. He didn't regret those deaths, someone had to do it and it might as well have been him as he already had blood on his hands. No, the difference here was that he had wanted to do it, needed to do it. And he'd do it again, even knowing Roger lived. The pain the man had caused, as well as the state he'd been since that day. No, there was no regret.

Dustin's light blue eyes focused, his attention returned to the blue-gray pair in the upturned face after focusing momentarily on past events. His hand belatedly fell from where it had stroked Roger's cheek. "Roger, I..." he searched for words. There were some very simple ones that could explain everything. There were very complicated ones that he remembered from various things he'd read over the years. Even the one that encompassed everything that he felt. But that was just it. Words were not enough on their own, they did not encompass the width or depth of feeling.

Instead, he leaned forward, catching Roger's lips with his own. Despite his nerves, his eyes light up as he pulled back. Just a few inches away, he paused, smiling broadly despite the possibility that this wasn't going so well as he hoped.

"I really like you. Love, even. I hope that's not a problem."
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Manslaughter
Unregistered

When Dustin's hand touched his face, it was powerful, like electricity, feeling a heartbeat against his cheek, quickening by the moment. The exchange of words shouldn't have matched up with the feelings of this complex altercation, but to know that Roger's pain had not only been avenged but transcended was what bore more sentiment than any other day he could ever remember.

Its was, quite possibly, aside from being rescued by Magneto from a life of petty thievery, the nicest thing anyone had done for him.

Killing, battle, slitting throats--those were the things Manslaughter had been trained to be prepared for. No one had told him what to do when someone that makes you feel something swoops in and kisses you. Roger had been kissed before, but it wasn't like this--nothing like this--and he looked genuinely shocked as Dustin drew back from pressing their lips together. Roger couldn't be sure if it was the contact itself or the toxins on his Dustin's skin, but his lips tingled.

I really like you. Love, even. I hope that's not a problem.

This entire day had a wealth of surprises, and Roger looked to Dustin, his jaw slack and unsure before he wrenched it shut. "No," he said at last,"...no problem." Another skill the assassin lacked was properly expressing how he felt; it was strange, unusual, and uncharted territory he had yet to venture into. But actions were something Roger could work with, and he learned behavior by watching, his eyes as sharp and cold as a hawk's. He could remember at least once seeing a young mutant couple pawing at each other, in public, no less, attached at the lips and paying no mind to anything else.

Roger had no words to explain why, but he wanted what they had, his fingers still grasping the curve of Dustin's elbow. His mind went to work, a weak, numb sensation shooting through the toxic mutant's kneecaps for only a moment, enough to send them crashing back into each other to finish what Dustin had started.
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Toxin
Unregistered

There was shock written clear across Roger's face. He had never seen him caught so off guard. It gave Dustin a moments pause, aware of little beside the man in front of him and the rapid beat of his pulse. He pressed his own lips together, licking them nervously while the redhead pulled himself together enough to respond. The action was done without thinking, not expecting to taste him on his lips.

"No?" he repeated softly, the single word containing enough hope to fill him up. Relief simply did not cover the extent to which that reassured him. He didn't know why Roger meant so much to him, but upsetting him was unthinkable. If he hadn't reacted well... he would have dealt... but well, he didn't have to worry about that now.

As he spoke, a sudden lack of sensation in his knees sent him tumbling into Roger, though the feeling quickly returned and he regained enough balance to prevent the collision from being too rough. For a moment he thought his legs had given out on him, when the answer was standing right in front of him. Right against him, held tightly as he'd flung his arms around when he thought his legs were giving out on him. Dustin's grip loosened slightly after he realized he wasn't going to be falling to the floor, but he didn't pull away.

His eyes searched Roger's face for a moment before he murmured, close enough that their breath mingled, "Aiming to make me weak in the knees, hm?" Although it was spoken as a question, it wasn't. There wasn't a hint of teasing in his voice, either. He was just... acknowledging what happened, pleased by this turn of events. He didn't wait for an answer, arms tightening again around Roger's waist.

My turn, he thought vaguely, elated. And kissed him again, focusing on one lip, then the other, barely able to believe that it was really happening.
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Manslaughter
Unregistered

Arms tightened around Roger's waist, and a barely restrained gasp escaped from his lungs. He had never expected this to happen, to be in the arms of his brother of war, his student that he had trained from a young fledgling to a deadly knife-wielding assassin. Clearly, for all intensive purposes of rank--Roger should have made the first move; should this bear repeating, the redheaded man might tell the tale a little differently.

Dustin was an experienced kisser as far as Roger could tell, and it was unlike anything he had encountered. Fighting for air, the assassin drew back panting, his face flushed and his pupils dilated. He was vulnerable, exposed, and he wasn't quite sure how he felt about it. Roger hadn't noticed his hands had tightened around Dustin's forearms, clutching to him as if his life depended on it. Since his day of abandonment, Roger had made great strides to become close to no one, to put stock in none other than Magneto, but this was something he could get used to.

Roger's mind opened, reaching out like a body of tendrils to feel for their third housemate, who could decide at any moment to return, or for any intruding bodies that could happen open them. It was not so much the threat of being caught in an intimate moment as it was having his back to the door. He pulled on Dustin's arms back towards the bedrooms. "This.. requires relocation," he murmured, the glazed look in his eyes still unable to reveal his intentions.
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