America (Gilded Age) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
monopolies) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entranceway2014-03-01 04:54 pm
monopolies) wrote in entranceway2014-03-01 04:54 pm
( video )
[ He wakes up and he's back in Wonderland, and all those foggy memories snap into place. They still stick together like pages of a book that's had soda spilled on it, so it's impossible to separate them chronologically after so long away. But the things he remembers are sharp and clear.
Except he notices that Wonderland is sorta fragmented into pieces. He thinks something catastrophic has happened and, now more than ever, he desperately wishes that his friends are somewhere, happy, that they've escaped what's happened here. They can't still be around after so long. Then again, who knows how long it's been with this place?
The last time he was here, he probably would've sat down and spent an hour freaking out somewhere behind a bush. This time he does the exact same thing, except he doesn't feel ashamed or embarrassed about it. Fuck it he is a global economic power he'll do what he wants.
After a while of rocking and shaking behind a tree, he gets up, dusts himself off, and decides to reintroduce himself.
Somehow he's found his phone again, with everything on it and the chipped in the corner. Just the way he'd left it. Maybe he should take this as a sign that he hasn't been away so long, at least in Wonderland time, but he doesn't. Too busy preparing his reintroduction.
Normal people would probably just turn their device on, say their hellos and see who is around and who is new. If you are expecting normal behavior from America I don't know what to tell you. Except "lower your expectations because this asshole is still a crazy motherfucker."
He'd found himself on a lone piece of forest, which is not the ideal location for his reentry. In the distance looms the lone, floating entrance hall. After a few seconds of debating the value of his life, he realizes he's immortal and abandons the last fuck he could possibly give before making a running start to leap to the next floating island. A manic grin and one thought propel him to his destiny:
Do it for the vine. ]
[ Finally everything is set up just the way he wants it. Camera placed just behind the closed doors of the entrance wall, it's propped up to frame the hall in such a way that it looks like just any normal day in Wonderland. The real trick is turning it on at just the right moment. He decides to turn it on from behind so the video doesn't capture his initial appearance. Slipping away as quietly as possible, the video just captures a few silent seconds of the doors.
Which then BURST OPEN IN AN EXPLOSION OF SHRAPNEL AND FIRE. USA USA USA.
The smoke clears and, surprise surprise, guess who's standing at the center with arms cross and cocky grin in place? No Crowley, that's for fucking sure, like he'd be capable of anything this epic. For those who knew him the changes are small and subtle, probably nothing to catch amidst the chaos. A taller stature, unhindered by painful wounds, a face that's still young but no longer burdened by self-consciousness and undercurrents of fear.
In the split-second he opens his mouth, just before he speaks you might be expecting something like YOUR HERO HAS RETURNED. But no. ]
WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY RAPTORS?
[ Good news: he's even more of a selfish shithead than before. Bad news: that was the good news.
God help you all.
and now a million years later do I add an obligatory nsfw warning?? don't read my threads if you value your time and integrity ]
Except he notices that Wonderland is sorta fragmented into pieces. He thinks something catastrophic has happened and, now more than ever, he desperately wishes that his friends are somewhere, happy, that they've escaped what's happened here. They can't still be around after so long. Then again, who knows how long it's been with this place?
The last time he was here, he probably would've sat down and spent an hour freaking out somewhere behind a bush. This time he does the exact same thing, except he doesn't feel ashamed or embarrassed about it. Fuck it he is a global economic power he'll do what he wants.
After a while of rocking and shaking behind a tree, he gets up, dusts himself off, and decides to reintroduce himself.
Somehow he's found his phone again, with everything on it and the chipped in the corner. Just the way he'd left it. Maybe he should take this as a sign that he hasn't been away so long, at least in Wonderland time, but he doesn't. Too busy preparing his reintroduction.
Normal people would probably just turn their device on, say their hellos and see who is around and who is new. If you are expecting normal behavior from America I don't know what to tell you. Except "lower your expectations because this asshole is still a crazy motherfucker."
He'd found himself on a lone piece of forest, which is not the ideal location for his reentry. In the distance looms the lone, floating entrance hall. After a few seconds of debating the value of his life, he realizes he's immortal and abandons the last fuck he could possibly give before making a running start to leap to the next floating island. A manic grin and one thought propel him to his destiny:
Do it for the vine. ]
[ Finally everything is set up just the way he wants it. Camera placed just behind the closed doors of the entrance wall, it's propped up to frame the hall in such a way that it looks like just any normal day in Wonderland. The real trick is turning it on at just the right moment. He decides to turn it on from behind so the video doesn't capture his initial appearance. Slipping away as quietly as possible, the video just captures a few silent seconds of the doors.
Which then BURST OPEN IN AN EXPLOSION OF SHRAPNEL AND FIRE. USA USA USA.
The smoke clears and, surprise surprise, guess who's standing at the center with arms cross and cocky grin in place? No Crowley, that's for fucking sure, like he'd be capable of anything this epic. For those who knew him the changes are small and subtle, probably nothing to catch amidst the chaos. A taller stature, unhindered by painful wounds, a face that's still young but no longer burdened by self-consciousness and undercurrents of fear.
In the split-second he opens his mouth, just before he speaks you might be expecting something like YOUR HERO HAS RETURNED. But no. ]
WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY RAPTORS?
[ Good news: he's even more of a selfish shithead than before. Bad news: that was the good news.
God help you all.
and now a million years later do I add an obligatory nsfw warning?? don't read my threads if you value your time and integrity ]
action
He doesn't know about fellas, but he'll let America steal a horse. If he's good.]
Me too.
[Is all he has to say after that speech, but his smile has grown wider with every word uttered.
He doesn't know what’s more than sex (they can't exactly buy a house or start a family) but he definitely wants to find out.]
It’s only been a few days since you were writing letters saying you loved me.
[Arriving at his room gives him an excuse to pull away and disguise the tension he feels.
His room is still the same. Neon lights are less impressive in the open sunshine filtering down on them, but the walls are mostly intact and crammed full of the usual rubbish Luke likes to pin up. Pages torn from library books, photos of friends, and America's valentine. Stiff and wrinkly and a mess of smudged ink and rusty brown splatters, but it holds pride of place over his computer.
He waves a hand, indicating America should make himself at home while Luke grabs some kebabs and chips.]
And now you’ve moved on and seen loads of other people and done all this stuff...
[The closet gives him a plethora of mystery styrofoam take-away boxes. Luke drops them on the bed, sits down, then immediately jumps up to make America some coffee. Anything to not have to look at him while he talks through his feelings.]
I know you've changed, but it feels like you never left at all.
action
Spotting the window, he's suddenly hit with the memory of their first kiss and how it ended with the most embarrassing reaction to an erection he has ever had. That's something he hasn't forgotten. The embarrassing things always manage to stick around, lurking just below the surface of consciousness waiting for the opportunity to jump back up and remind him just so he can feel embarrassed all over again. It's like mental herpes. ]
Hah! I remember that! [ He's still slowly exploring the room, touching every neon light in reach. ] Took me ages to figure out what I wanted to say. Sorting through feelings, makin' 'em tangible words, never been my strongest suit. And after all that I can't even remember what I'd said. I guess if it's a choice between remembering that or what your smile looked like, I'd choose the latter any day, but I put effort into that! After all-- oh, wait, here they are.
[ Once he spots the Frankenstein mishmash of crinkled paper and bloodied lace, his steps quicken in apparent eagerness to read it. As his eyes skim the smudged words, his excited demeanor sinks bit by bit into quiet thoughtfulness. The usual hum of energy he exhibits in his movements--all the exuberance and twitching and shuffling that's as hard to ignore as the din of cicadas in the fall--slows and trickles to a calm. He stares until a sort of wonder seeps into his expression.
Living so long, even the most intense and magnificent feelings tend to dull and gather dust once they're stored away. It just takes a fresh gaze to reignite them.
America's eyes skim over the word temporary several times before glancing to Luke. The sudden rush of emotions reminds him of the Northern Lights: so familiar that after a while it became visual white noise, but then the wonder strikes all over again and he feels the same amazement as the first time he saw them. He looks like he's gazing upon something impossible and pretty and way beyond his comprehension.
It's probably the sort of look that would freak out a long lost partner. Not surprisingly, America doesn't know this nor does he care. He keeps on gawking like a fucking weirdo.
Finally he snaps out of it with a few blinks and a sudden waft from the delicious-yet-questionable boxes. He goes right ahead and makes himself at home, flopping onto the bed and splaying himself out as he grabs for the food. Dirt and horse smell and probably some parasites are now burrowing into Luke's sheets along with the grimy cowboy. ]
Ah ha ha, dunno if that's good or not. I moved on and changed, just... hope it's in the ways that matter. Or maybe the ones that don't matter. I mean between us, the ones that wouldn't change us, I mean that's not... hmm.
[ He hums as he chews on the the end of a kebab, more contemplative than anxious. Then he reaches an acceptable conclusion and cocks a grin in Luke direction. ]
Guess if that's the case, I'd have to make ya fall in love with me all over again! Shouldn't be too hard. Same fella, same America, still Alfred, just further down that path [ gestures toward the valentine full of convoluted metaphors ] at a new intersection! Y'know what I mean? Gosh I hope, 'cause I barely know what the hell's comin' outta my mouth half the time!
[ He grins around a burnt piece of chicken. And yet he's probably not joking. ]
All I know is, this beats the fuck outta eating charred rattlesnake! [ Closet kebabs: not as gross as dinner snake. ]
action
There are no actual squealing noises, of course, because Luke is the very opposite of the roaring and bawling and rustling of dark grasses. Already withdrawn, he reacts to disasters letting them sink into him like a stone in a deep well. After the trauma of Valentines day his muteness fell on him and drained up into his kisses. It kept him from saying simple words like I Love You, until it was easier to say nothing at all and lie next to America, hoping he understood the sentiment behind tender touches and thoughtful actions and fucking taping his guts back together.
Not the grossest thing Luke’s ever done with a body, but it’s up there.]
Guess a bit of you was still here with me.
[His mouth twists at his own dark joke. It’s not like he was comforted by falling asleep and catching a glimpse of America’s painstaking thoughts, stained with blood and viscera and flecks of things Luke can’t identify. Except he was, in a gruesome way. Luke’s used to people dying and leaving nothing behind. No body, no burial. Nothing but memories. In some ways it was nice, keeping some small part of him close by, tended to like a well-kept gravestone. Except it was a keen reminder that America hadn’t faded into nothingness. Somewhere, he was alive and happy. Going along his own path.
And he did know. Luke didn’t have to spend a week hating himself because America did know Luke loved him, and he wants Luke to keep loving him and Luke thinks he might do just that.
He wishes he was younger, so the words he wants to say wouldn’t stick in his throat, clogged up behind shame and self-awareness. But if he was younger, he wouldn’t care so much about being in love. He wouldn't like America for being like him, and he wouldn't find joy in being attracted to someone, or in America's flattering and uncertain feelings.]
I never know what you mean.
[And now they’re two sappy teenagers engaged in a disturbing staring contest, looking at something beautiful that they don’t understand. America pours all his passion and joy and life into his movements, and his words are free and light when Luke obsesses over crafting perfect polished sentiments, as if he can make the world right and sensible if he finds the right thing to say. But it’s okay. If neither of them comprehend the other all that well, love isn’t lessened by it.
Not caring (or rather, not realising) that America’s going to give him ringworm, Luke waits for him to take his shitty instant coffee before settling down on the opposite end of the bed, leg tucked under him as he starts on his vinegary chips with extra vinegar.]
Barbecue snake? How d’you get into a situation where you have to seriously consider eating a snake? That doesn't sound like the high life.
[Those people he’s dating can’t have been treating him right. Luke is clearly the superior provider, even if this chicken will give them salmonella.]
action
But Luke kissed over bandaged wounds America thought were hideous reminders of how fucked up he was inside and out. He stared at him with starry-eyed admiration, and even if it got a little unsettling when Luke's face froze in that expression for unnaturally long durations, America soaked it up eagerly. He forgave America for threatening his Mirror with forced surgery and reminding him of his traumatic past; he'd asked America to stay, and even more remarkably, Luke still wanted him after America had revealed his disturbing view of the universe, the system of sheep and dogs and wolves, and still wanted him after America (again) threatened Luke's torturers. He gave so many squishy smiles and small touches to an immortal being meant to personify a country that wasn't even his, someone and something that, by all accounts, Luke should have hated. Instead he'd eased America's mind and given him a constant friendship that had evolved into something beyond.
If that isn't love, America doesn't know what is. (Then again what the fuck does he know, Luke was the first person to love him back and all of his relationships, romantic or otherwise, are utter disasters. Sadly he does not take this into consideration. The sappiness continues on unchecked.)
There isn't an easy way to convey everything he thinks and feels in a comprehensible manner. A sweet smile and happily sipping the shitty instant coffee until he burns his tongue will have to do.
He feels comfortable. Almost like he's home again, connected and okay. ]
Hey, you get out in the desert, get into dire circumstances, you don't got room to be picky! Even if snakes do have such cute little faces. Don't tell Crowley I said that. [ Though learning that America's eaten snakes might make him throw a sizable fit. Tempting. ] I get my fill of the high life, don't you worry! After a while it just gets so boring. Cut throat business is only exciting when ya get to be part of it, otherwise it's just depressing hard work. Then I finally get a chance to go to parties and it's all the same stuffy uptight crap.
[ He parties with both the robber barons and their workers. It gets awkward. And, apparently, he's not all about business exploits and kissing ass. He finishes his kebab with a roll of his eyes as he says the words uptight crap around a mouthful of food. ]
Funner in the West, even if I gotta eat rattlesnake now and then!
action
Can’t help it. I’m always worrying about you.
[Turns out that when you start to really care about a nation that acts like a deranged teenage boy, the list of things you have to worry about expands exponentially until you eventually just have to say fuck it, this isn’t my department. It’s someone else’s department. Possibly a federal executive department, and Luke is a maths nerd, goddammit. His moral action relies heavily on ‘do what the good people say and don’t do what the bad people say’.
He is so unequipped to deal with what the future will bring.]
'Cos you do mad stuff like walk into the desert to face dire circumstances.
[That's the bit that sounds like depressing hard work, but what does Luke know?
On impulse, he pushes onto his knees, planting one hand between the styrofoam boxes and crossing the gap between them to plant a kiss on America's cheek. It's an action that involves far more awkward wobbling than it really should.
Then, mouth pressed against America's skin, under threat of over-balancing and getting chilli sauce everywhere, he decides the most perfectly alluring thing to whisper is]
Why would Crowley care?
[A topic that's perfect for the mood he's trying to create. But anyway, the guy said he liked reptiles. Surely he can’t take so much issue with America that he’d disagree about snakes for the sake of disagreeing.
Unless he likes snakes for reasons other than cuteness, which is strange because Luke was under the impression that was why most people liked animals. Okay, maybe a snake isn’t cute, but Luke doesn’t think cats are cute either, so he’s not the best judge of what other people are likely to be thinking (see: his misapprehensions over every relationship).
To conclude, Luke is going to repeat America's exact words to Crowley, just to see how he reacts. That’s what you get for dating a scientist.]
action
He keeps on smiling until Luke slinks closer to him with the grace of a newborn giraffe, at which point his heartbeat starts wobbling just as awkwardly as Luke. It's only a kiss, not even the first Luke has given him since his return and it's not even on the lips, but it feels like it's theirs again. Imperfect but wonderful. No desperation of reuniting, no trepidation wondering if one has outgrown the other. America went ahead and stared right down the deep well of Luke's heart, fished out all the leaves and dead things that had fallen in, and then gotten to work fixing up the little house he'd built beside it that had dilapidated after thirty years and is overgrown with kudzu because people in 1876 didn't understand its true power.
Also America hasn't gotten any action in several years so he can't help it if simple gestures make him shiver. Even though the follow-up question is like a bucket of ice water to his libido. How to kill any potential for a boner: change the topic to Crowley.
Then again, the demon's origins are kinda interesting, and it looks like Luke isn't privy to them. America glances to him curiously. Couples share secrets even if those secrets aren't theirs. He's completely unaware that Luke is going to spread this shit like America spreads fleas. ]
'Cause he was the snake at the Garden of Eden. You know, the famous one? Tempted Eve with the apple. Downfall of mankind, got cast outta the Garden. He told me all about them too! Weird how I remember everything about that conversation but not a bunch of other stuff 'bout Wonderland. But yeah, you've seen his eyes right? That's why they're all yellow and he wears those dark glasses like a tool. Which don't make sense 'cause they look more like fox eyes, but that's Crowley for ya.
[ Rolling his eyes as though it's all Crowley's fault that he doesn't have eyes like a python. ]
action
Feigning casualness, he slides his hand over America's thigh and clicks his thumbnail over the rigid seam of his pants. While a week is pretty much Luke's equivalent to America's years of celibacy, he's not actually staring at America's crotch, but at the gun holstered on his hip. If he gets any closer to it, it might flip out and kill them all.
He's both buoyed and depressed by the detail in which America remembers Wonderland. The question of whether he recalls enough to smoothly pick up where they left off weighs heavy on him. It's on the tip of his tongue, but he decides he doesn't want to know the answer just yet.]
Is Eden in Cornwall?
[Too old to attend compulsory religious education lessons, Luke stares up at America's face like an innocent lost at sea. So dehydrated he doesn't even realise they're not speaking the same language.
The offended noise returns at the idea that humanity has fallen anywhere. Mankind is a bright, sparkling star in a universe of horrors, and Luke's not going to let anyone slander their name. Not some alien, demon whatever. Not even their own religious texts.]
There's nothing disgraceful about being human, anyway. Mister Crowley's cool, but he's not good enough to ruin an entire species.
[Frowning in incredibly earnest anger, he gives America's leg a squeeze to emphasise his point. His point might be that humans can orchestrate their own downfall just fine, and Luke is living proof of that sentiment.
Crowley being a snake, however, is something he accepts unquestionably.]
Probably needs those glasses to see, if his eyes are yellow. The people who made me had eyes like that. Really messed with their vision in the daytime. Guess they had superior shapeshifting technology, 'cos they always changed the colour.
action
The Garden Eden is in Jackson County, Missouri.Ignoring the way Luke eyes his revolver when he has a much more friendly piece he could be eying, America stares at him like he'd just asked what flavor of Gatorade is the best. Everyone, even people in the 1890s, know that blue is the best. He can't comprehend how Luke couldn't know about Eden. Even if he's not a Christian how do you not know you live on Pasty White Protestant Island. The look he gives Luke is a cocktail of bewilderment and vague condescending pity peppered with terms of endearment that can double as insults below the Mason Dixon line. ]
The Garden of Eden? Hon, it's. It's in the Bible. [ Which is a place. Meaning that no idea where the fuck it is. Maybe some mystical alternate dimension like Wonderland? Where the hell is Jerusalem anyway he didn't see no Jesus when he went to visit Egypt's pyramids. ] Not that I disagree with ya. Bein' human is something to hold pride in. Just that in Genesis--you know the story, don't ya? The snake, Crowley, he tempts Eve with eating from the tree of knowledge, the one thing God told 'em not to do. Apparently she gave him a hard time of it, played a whole thing of twenty questions before makin' her mind up.
[ He smiles at that. Part of the reason why the conversation stuck with him is how utterly human Crowley made them sound. Not even his drunkenness at the time or thirty years and a dimension later can dull the excitement of imagining Adam and Eve as people, not mythical character in a fairy tale. ]
But... free will. Crowley definitely isn't cool enough to ruin something as remarkable as humans.
[ His grin widens, thinking about the strange horrible loveliness of humans. He's almost about to teeter into some wistful gushing about humanity, but this might be the first he's heard of Luke's makers. If he's said anything before other than his childhood trauma, America has forgotten it. ]
Yeah? Don't think I've heard that one before. But I'm gonna have to try that out, the day time thing, lob a bowl at the snake's head or something. [ The turtle will have his vengeance. ] So your... the people who made you, they demons too? British?
action
Far too used to bafflement and pity for it to make a serious dent, he decides the pet name is the result of thirty years of maturity, and not a piece of condescending psychological warfare. Luke doesn’t hold back the smile that washes over his face. To top it off, all this talk of how humans are fantastic pacifies him like a familiar fairy tale that soothes his troubled heart.]
Never read that book. Didn’t know Crowley was a fictional character.
[He tries to respect religious beliefs. He does. Someone, somehow managed to beat that much into his head, so at least he’s not reacting with the obvious dripping disdain he reserves for magic.]
So he’s supposed to have given us knowledge of the universe? So… he’s the good guy? You make him sound like the Doctor.
[Because there’s something better than Jesus on this version of pasty Protestant island.
Before he can continue on with salient theological questions like “Do Crowley and Eve get together?” America gets an odd look.]
No. Neither of those things. They were giant one-eyed squids. The Mother was… [He looks up at the ceiling thoughtfully, as if he’s looking at memories playing out across the years] four? Five times bigger than this room? The rest were just big enough to swallow a person whole.
[He contorts in his arms in front of him, like tentacles squeezing the life out of some poor bastard before they’re devoured head first. Having performed that mime with the loving relish of a child recalling a story about the monster under his bed, he grabs one of the kebabs and tips it thoughtfully at America.]
You they’d have to rip in half.
[He grins flirtatiously, because that was indeed intended to be flirtation, and tears off a hunk of meat with his teeth. But, as it always does when you’re made to think about the circumstances of your existence, it all falls into solemn reflection and cringing please-don’t-be-mad-at-me smiles.]
They weren’t into free will. Or anything “British”. They don’t like that stuff? Y’know, like… emotion or culture or individuality.
action 1/2
Those are the words this immense frowning is trying to convey. ]
action 2/2
You were made by a fuckin' Kraken? [ snort ] Sounds to me more like giant calamari!
[ America isn't afraid of The Mother eating him. The Mother should be afraid of America eat her.
Grabbing some of his own vinegar-soaked fries, he waves away Luke's cringing like it's a wisp of smoke. ]
Well don't matter what they want. They might be your creator, but when ya make a human, you gotta realize that free will comes with the package. Don't matter now that you've got your other mom, does it?
[ A question that's only half-rhetorical, because who knows what sort of influence having space squids in the family does to a person. ]
no subject
No, there's nothing left in him but dry, sardonic disappointment, and it's levelled at America for a good five seconds. Until he sniffs, and sets his jaw, and redirects his stare to a spot on his wall, so America can squirm under the full weight of his silent, passive-aggressive dismissal.
America's blatant annoyance at religious belligerence is nothing compared to this. How dare he question Luke's grasp of self-determination, or imply Luke has any family other than the small, fragmented one he's claimed for himself. How fucking dare he.
Nose in the air, he bites out curt words.]
Guess I'll never know if they matter. There was an explosion. They all died.
[Saying it makes him feel better. So much better. That's a memory he relishes. Not because he got off on killing a shit-load of aliens. It was the first time he felt happiness. The first moment freedom sang in his blood. The first time he knew what it was like to be safe.]
I'm free. [A brighter, more honest smile cuts across his face. He decides America must earn his forgiveness by sacrificing half his chips to Luke's grabby hands. Even though he blatantly still has a full box of his own.] You ever felt the need to stop being free? 'Cos I haven't.
[The only conclusion that can be drawn from this reaction is having space squids in the family does terrible, terrible things to you and is not recommended.]
no subject
He doesn't balk at the explanation or the tone it's delivered in. Distantly he wonders if Luke was the cause of that explosion, but really, the way he immediately perks up says it all. Not that America really cares. Space-squids aren't in his department. He has enough massacres to give a shit about, he doesn't need to add the murder of Luke's creators to the list.
Wavering or not on whether to continue his unwarranted sulking, America decides to go ahead and roll with the better mood. Plus, freedom. Always a topic to brighten his spirits. He can't help but grin right back at Luke with shining eyes an an inner glow that could probably summon bald eagles like a beacon if he dared to smile any wider. ]
Never.
[ A single word that he tries to decorate with a core ideology, the very fabric of his existence, until that one word weighs more than a brown dwarf. A single word that sounds like a bell ringing in his voice, clear and sharp, until it falls into dark brackish waters that beat wooden crates against the sides of English ships.
FREEDOM MOTHERFUCKER. America is so obviously enthralled with Luke's appreciation for freedom that he doesn't even mind that his fry supply has been depleted. It's better for his diet, anyway. ]
no subject
It can be easy to forget that Luke, looked at with complete neutrality, is also mad as an eel.
At least his madness is perfectly primed to respond to America’s intense sort of madness. This is what drives the buzzing obsession that underpins their cozy relationship. This is the difference between pining after a cute, funny bloke named Alfred, and being as strangely clingy as treacle on a walrus.
Yes, he’s undeniably attractive. America is blond, which is a terrible shame, but he’s still a beauty to set you aching. Clear, expressive blue eyes (not the chilling blue of photoshopped models, which makes every issue of Cosmo feel like it’s been populated by escapees from the Village of the Damned, but the same sort of blue as, say, some types of loo cleaner), and a smile that could burn three layers of skin off the faces of all onlookers.
But under all that, he brims and fizzes with the stuff humanity dreams of. So Luke dreams of it too.]
I haven't been able to sleep. Thinking of all the stuff I never got to say to you. Thought about writing you a letter, but I didn’t think you’d ever read it. Martha and Mister Crowley said you’d come back, but I didn’t believe them.
[He frowns briefly, thinking about some of the less-than-faithful things he got up to while America was away. He doesn’t know what’s going on in D’Artagnan’s head. Whether it was a one time miracle, or if he’s not expecting something more.
Swallowing thickly, his hands search out America’s.]
You know you were saying we should go as fast or slow as the mood strikes?
[He slouches lower, hands balancing in the crook of America’s knee. Although he twists their fingers together nervously, he looks up at America with a beam of delight.]
Think the mood is saying we should go really fast right now.
no subject
Already dizzy from the sudden mood whiplash, the declarations of freedom from an oppressive empire (of alien squids) leaves America feeling drunk on excitement and a deep-set pride. It's the same feeling he gets when people and countries alike congratulate him on his birthday.
His heart melts and he doesn't know whether to smile sweetly or drop his pants. Luke says, "I'm free" but America hears "You will never be more attracted to me now than you are in this moment." Correct.
If this were a romance movie starring competent people, America would take this as a cue to dramatically sweep the leftover food off the bed and give in to passion. Instead he springs up a little too suddenly, kneeling in some soggy fries as he stares over the rim of his dirty glasses. ]
Tell me now. Tell me everything, and I'll do the same, 'til we don't need words no more.
[ He squeezes Luke's hand, gentle as he was the first time they were in his room together, but he lurches toward Luke's lips with the reckless abandon of someone who looks at a mountain and spontaneously decides "I'm gonna climb that shit." It's more like he's trying to claim territory by mashing his face into it than a purposeful kiss, raw and unapologetic of the power he puts into his movements.
Apparently he expects Luke to say everything directly into America's mouth. Flawless plan. ]
no subject
Bloody Victorian boys and their sentimental openness.
Yet it seems America knows Luke well, because he does actually try muffling words into the overpowering kiss, before bodily moving him away with a palm flat against his forehead.]
Lunatic.
[What, were you expecting something sappy?
Except beneath the veil of exasperated humour, Luke sounds like he very well might cry at this emotional collapse. Maybe America was expected sappiness, and Luke feels the burden that expectation.
It’s still a second of weighty silence before he can say it.]
I love you.
[An admission apparently so difficult, he has to avert his gaze. Or maybe it’s because most of his introspection was trying to come to terms with his desperation to be a good human, but dating someone whose very nature of existence meant he couldn’t live up to that ideal. Because Luke believes himself to be an inherently bad person, and thinks America’s the nicest guy he’s ever met, and every attempt to sort it out only resulted in the suffocating paradoxes of their existence.
Because America is a gordian knot, and Luke was put on this earth not to cut through it, but to to fix him down into a series of smaller, neater knots, and probably order them by size too.
Bringing all that up seems kind of a downer.]
It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s good. That we had some time apart, I mean. I could actually think about you without getting distracted by wanting to gnaw on your lip.
[He waddles through a barrier of shitty takeout until he has to give up and collapse forward, attempting to wrap his arms around America’s shoulders without actually letting go of his hands.]
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[ Is his rebuttal as his head his pushed away, pulling a word and its meaning out of the future just to shape it into a playful laugh. Such a nerd, with his logic and science and complexities. A big infinity of weirdness and humanity that America probably won't ever understand, but will inherently be drawn to.
He can bear the weight of Luke's silence even if he has no idea what will come next. As it turns out, everything Luke wants to say is only three words, but they're as fantastic and powerful as four elephants upholding a flat world as they ride on the back of a massive space turtle. Three words that manage to condense the vastness of America's being into a boy, the strangeness in his head, and an excited smile for the person who says them. Something that might be like feeling human.
A pleasant warmth spreads through America with each thump of his heart and a grin spreads over his face like a sunrise. ]
I love you too. But you already knew that!
[ It comes with much more ease than Luke's admission, but that's just how he is: wearing emotions on his sleeve and keeping memories in a chest. It makes sharing a whole lot easier.
Except there's always that little flicker of guilt, far away and getting steadily more manageable, but always present nonetheless. Because people shouldn't be falling in love with him when they have such short lives and so many fantastic ways to navigate it. Because he isn't human, and even if he has emotions and a body and dreams, he's still woven together with land and politics and the souls of millions of people and far, far too much blood than any normal person could bear.
But little of that matters here, he reminds himself as he throws a metaphorical blanket over the guilt like it's a bird cage with a bitchy songbird inside. Luke isn't normal; hell, most of the people who say those words to America aren't "normal," even the ones born from a biological family. They're soldiers and outlaws and rebelling daughters of elites and hard-headed working class girls and cartographers--cartographers and historians really have a thing for him, as it were--but they're all strange in some sense of the word. He loves it.
Settling into a dreamy comfort, he untangles one of his hands from Luke's clutches so he can wrap the arm around his waist, pull him closer so he can lean against America's chest now that it's finally free of pain. ]
I could've worn a sack over my head, but then ya would've been distracted by my fantastic body. Just ain't no winnin' when you're this handsome! [ he says with a snort as though he's joking, but we all know that there is some genuine arrogance imbedded in there ] But. Yeah. Me too, in a way. By now I figured you would've, I dunno, moved on. Forgotten. And I got okay with that, so now I'm prepared for when it happens.
[ Because it always happens. Inevitably, people leave. They forget or they die, and after the past few decades, America decisively prefers the former category. ]
But for now I'm... this is better than any fantasy I cooked up. Well, mostly. On boring train rides sometimes I'd daydream about cool adventures with you, usually in space, and we'd go to all these weird planets and save the day! One time we even teamed up with Sherlock Holmes!
[ Because he's totally one of those insane fanboys that will join the masses in flipping their shit over "The Final Problem." ]
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[He says with warmth and affection, plastering himself to America’s broad, healthy chest and kissing his collar bone, running his finger over and under his vest like he’s wanted to for so long. Wherever America wants him to be is fine by Luke, even if he smells like he’s spent a month sleeping in a stable. Underneath that he’s America, so Luke will deal.
It’s a moment of pure happiness that drops into quiet solemnity. His fingers still, pressed against the relentless thump of America’s heart, and he sinks down until he can tip his head back and prop it on a steady shoulder. His voice drops to a quiet, croaky tone, barely above a whisper.]
But don’t talk like we’re already over.
[Because that hurts. Even when he knows why America’s developed this defense mechanism, it still pains him to hear America talk like he’s already on his death bed.
As much as he sympathises and wants to assuage the hurts and miseries of all his immortal friends, people he loves like family, he has even less of a grasp on this issue than most average people. He doesn’t have that many memories. And he won’t, ever. Not even as many as normal humans, because his life was cut short by a decade and a half before he ever opened his eyes. He’ll be in his fifties when he looks seventy, when he’ll die, and that’s if no one kills him before that. He’s okay with his lot.
But there’s a pit of coiled resentment and fear that squirms in his stomach. Luke’s so fundamentally terrified of death that he’ll do anything to avoid it. Anything to buy himself a bit longer to cling to the Earth and stay alive. Sometimes he wants to shake all those self-pitying immortals, shout at them for complaining about something he wants desperately. More time. Any time at all.
But he’s too British to voice any of his internal conflicts. With forced airiness, he refuses to address the issue at all.]
A Smith is never in one place long enough to lick a stamp, but I’ve got a freaky alien brain, remember? [He arches his back, in an awkward crab bend that’s mostly flailing limbs, just so he can tap his forehead while grinning at America’s ear.] I never forget anything.
[Maybe he will, one day. He thought he would forget Wonderland once he left it. That’s what everyone said would happen. America didn’t. Luke probably will. But it doesn’t hurt to talk about fantasies where they get to stay together, does it?]
Future’s not set. Who knows what we could do! Maybe we won’t move on. Maybe we’ll go planet hopping one day. Probably not with Sherlock Holmes, you giant nerd.
[He turns the laughter back on America with breezy joy, because secretly, he thinks that sounds like the coolest thing ever.]
Maybe we’ll go see the diamond spiders and the singing plants on Karfel, and fight Daleks… You’ll have to defend me if the space police catch us, ‘cos I’m sort’ve… not allowed off-planet?
[What an awkward admission for someone who’s trying to build the reputation of being a worldly adventurer. He hums thoughtfully, playing with America’s fingers, and then decides to try and appeal to his interests so he won’t ask too many questions about what Luke did to earn his space ASBO.]
I hope a shoot out with a bunch of giant talking rhinos is on your bucket list. They’re very… execute first, ask questions later sorta guys.
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Admittedly the fantasies of something brighter are much more appealing. Even if they're just that: fantasies. But then again, who knows? With the way America's world works he could see Luke in some place between afterlife and a parallel reality. Like Estonia's visions of another world dominated by female countries. Anything is possible in a world where the Abrahamic God can be bound and gagged by the ghost of Ancient Rome just so he can go visit his grandsons and interrogate Germany about his virginity.
Best to stay positive then. So he nods slowly, not quite an apology, but an acknowledgement. The future isn't set. The smile he forces in place relaxes with each suggestion until it's a full out grin, and he can't suppress the bark of laughter at the sheepish mention of space police. ]
The hell did you do to piss off the fuzz! [ He can't stop sniggering. The thought of Luke doing anything seriously, grossly terrible doesn't really enter his mind; he's thinking something along the lines of joyriding in one of their cruisers. Maybe some morally explicable murder. You know, the usual shit. ] And here I was thinkin' my outlaw days were over. Don't worry, I've made it outta a fair share of shootouts. Never against a talking rhino, but they wouldn't be the first big game to see the end of my gun. Or the first lawmen.
[ The way his smirk sharpens is either exciting or worrying. He's definitely excited by the possibility of taking on aggressive rhino cops. ]
Don't you worry, I'll keep ya safe! [ He says while refusing to think of the last boy he said that to. ] Singing plants and sparkly spiders sound right up my alley. You sure know how to charm a guy! Any planets that're fulla bunnies? 'Cause if ya take me to one like that I'll let ya dress me up however ya want!
[ America wriggles excitedly at the prospect. Years in the future, long after the end of its horrific role in WWII, America will be an enthusiastic visitor to Okunoshima and its massive population of semi-tame rabbits. He will smother himself in bunnies. ]
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So it ain’t over til it’s over. There’s plenty of time to be miserable in the future. There’s plenty of lost friends to be sad about now. But the universe will always have an adventure for you in the meanwhile. Luke’s not ready to mourn someone whose heart thuds so heavily under his hand, almost unnaturally, given how unused Luke is to holding America this close.
But most importantly, America promises to protect him, and Luke starts dissolving into warm, fuzzy, emotionally compromised feelings. He’s made his decision about His eyes squeeze shut, his fingers push into America’s spine and the kiss he presses to America’s throat is mostly teeth, from how wide he’s smiling.]
What, didn’t you know? I’m hard. Really bad. I thought that was, like, the reason you fancied the pants off me.
[He pulls away so America can get the full effect of his dopey smile. There are many ways to react to the admission that the police have you on a shoot-on-sight policy, but laughter is one of the best. Even if America’s admission that he’s killed a police officer sends a frission of ’oh shit’ down his spine (and big game, but Luke is less morally interested in ill-advised Victorian safaris than he is dead humans).]
What did you do to piss them off?
[Somehow, his vision of America’s Wild West outlaw adventures had an hilarious theme park sheen to them. He hasn’t yet cottoned on to the cold, hard reality.
Probably because America shines all his brutality with fluffy fuzzy wubwubs.]
Sooo… [He drawls the word, which sounds rather childish in an accent not designed for drawling.] My dangerous outlaw wants to go play with bunnies, huh? [That’s adorable. Somehow, with the way he handles his dinos and sheep dogs, Luke never pictured him as a cuddly rabbit type. Once again, America turns on a dime from kinda frightening to total cutie.]
On Dagomere, they have giant ones. Thirty-six feet tall. One of ‘em’s the delegate for the Intergalactic Peace Corp.
[He clutches America as he squirms, like he can drink in every movement.]
Why won’t you let me dress you up now? I’d get you looking all cool.
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I hung out with rough crowds. [ With a melodramatic sigh, he pulls Luke flush against his body, arms draped over him in a smothering bear hug. The effect is completely ruined by America's hand dipping down to cop a feel on Luke's ass with the subtlety of a train wreck. ] I guess I just got a thing for bad boys! Good thing I don't have parents or my antics would damn near break their hearts! Luckily for your ma, you get to bring home the embodiment of liberty.
[ Just try to pick out which parts of that were a joke and which parts were blatant preening. It's impossible.
Little has changed in that even his ego can be pushed aside in favor of excitement over fluffy animals. Disney is trying desperately to get the rights to make him the next princess, but each time the President (every president) sorta just shakes their head and whispers, "Don't make it a musical he'll never stop singing and not even the oval office is soundproofed enough to escape that." ]
A giant bunny in charge of intergalactic peace?! [ Can you see the stars light up in his eyes? Galaxies of joy and memories and bunnies. ] That's gotta be our first stop on our grand adventure! Can you even imagine?! Just think how fluffy its tail will be! No wonder they work for peace, who could possibly resist a big ol' bun-bun askin' 'em to be nice?!
[ Not America. Luke has inadvertently discovered the key to peace on Earth, or at least a much calmer tide from Western shores. ]
Can't dress me up now 'cause I already look cool. And 'cause I need somethin' to entice you with. It's my only bargaining chip!
[ He nudges the side of Luke's head with his nose like an affectionate horse. Already smells like one. ]
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The only concession to dignity he makes is to remind America that he currently doesn’t have a roof and this is technically a step over the PDA.]
I don’t think liberty means you can feel me up where anyone could see!
[A sentiment ruined by the happy noise in the back of his throat.
But any mention of his mother is enough to turn stir up his melancholy. At least now he can assuage it by reaching over and tapping the photograph that’s been carefully taped to his wall. The only decent thing to come out of the mansion’s flirtation with the Christmas spirit.]
My mum might have a heart attack. But you’d like her.
[A phrase that somehow never comes out as “Mum would like you”. Sarah Jane doesn’t just like people. If Luke actually brought America to meet Sarah Jane, it would lead to the biggest “Don’t repeat your parent’s mistakes” bust up since Robb Stark showed mercy to Roose Bolton.
But right now excitement bubbles in his chest, building to airy laughter at how easy things feel, how America feels imperceptibly, impossibly bolder now than he ever did before, and it’s almost like nothing’s changed between them at all.]
It isn’t your only chip.
[He rasps as his hand glides over the front of America’s kinda cool, but also kinda ridiculous pants. Just a glancing movement before settling on his hip, where it hovers inches shy from that gun with all the anxious curiosity of a kid who keeps thinking about poking a poisonous snake, just to see what it’ll do.]
I'm looking for excuses to undress you! Like a shower, if I you're not going to be corrupted into wearing hoodies. I don't think the pipes are connected right now, but... I don't actually think the pipes connect to anything in the first place, so maybe it doesn't matter.
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Don't tell me you're shy now! Let anyone see; ain't like anyone's forcin' 'em to look into your room. [ Still, he withdraws his hand obediently even if the crooning sends a shiver down his spine.
Plus it's a little weird to clumsily grope someone under a picture of the mom and friends they've been separated from. Almost as awkward as making out with someone's mom and friends. America leans toward the picture, mouth open to form questions that would only dredge up more melancholy. Later. There will be time later to share the sweet things of their lives outside of Wonderland. ]
Bet I would. [ Is all he offers because his expression is melting into pure bliss at the mention of indoor plumbing. ] But you can tell me all about her and the other people in that picture after a shower! Oh man, you don't even need to use that as an excuse. You know how long it's been since I've had one proper? Got me one of those fancy bathtubs since I can finally afford it now, but on the move, out on the plains and deserts, ain't exactly a lot of options.
[ The explanation sounds antiqued. Not even his most impressive innovations or displays of industrial power can compare to the electric lights and robotics of Luke's present. To compensate, he tries to polish it into something that sounds mighty. With a sense of pride he doesn't have to feign, he slaps on a lopsided grin. His drawling travels up the Eastern coastline until his accent skirts around the boroughs of New York City, the twang getting ground down into something that underscores his already nasally voice. ]
'Course if Wonderland took me couple months ago, you would've seen me at my finest. All dressed up and fine for the Manhattan Music Hall, hair combed back and fancy.
[ He's trying to paint a picture of splendor when the truth is that no amount of cleaning up could wash away his personality. He greeted Russia and his famous composer with a sidewalk hot dog hanging out of his mouth and, despite his best efforts, fell asleep on Russia's shoulder halfway through the performance. Needless to say, Carnegie Hall has not invited him back. ]
We could always give the showers a shot. Unless you're afraid of someone seein'.
[ The grin turns playful and he takes the opportunity to prod Luke in the side. The vicious cycle will never end. ]
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With all the relish of someone who’s been waiting a long time for this moment, he shoves America back until he’s crushed into the corner of the bed and the wall, propping himself up with hands splayed over America’s chest.]
Prat.
[Which is when he slides down until their lips are parted by mere centimetres and he can feel America’s breath on his chin… and runs his fingers through the roots of that stupid cowlick that will not be tamed by mere physics.]
I didn’t even know it was possible for you to comb your hair back. Sounded like a rumour, like yeti’s and sewer men.
[Thinking about history as a progressive series of innovations is as boring as reading an ikea catalogue, anyway. Much more interesting to see people being wonderful, doing wonderful things and taking steps forward on their journey to universal acceptance. It’s exotic and different and exciting, and that’s something that really gets him stirred up, voice going all hoarse as he stares dreamily into America’s eyes.]
I’m not afraid if you’re not.
[He pushes up, settling on America’s thighs as he tugs his shirt over his head. A move he miraculously manages to make look sexy, and by look sexy I mean he pulls it off without breaking his elbow or getting his head stuck in a sleeve. Buoyed by this triumph, he follows it up with trying to strip America out of his vest.]
I like this better than a suit. You look… [He pauses, plucking at America’s buttons before spluttering out] really, really gay.
[He cracks up. Cowboys might be rugged and manly, but Luke’s main associations are still YMCA and Brokeback Mountain. Fearing another jab to his ribs in retribution, he pelts to his feet, trips over his own toes and crashes out onto the floor, legs in the air because they’re still caught between America’s knees.]
Oww—
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He missed this so much. He missed Luke and his squishy cheeks and hazel eyes and his awkward attempts at seduction that somehow work on him.
The moment eases into something more comfortable with Luke's laughter. The last time he was in Wonderland, the declaration might have made America self-conscious, worried that if people can see that much, they might see more. Now he just snickers along with him, too preoccupied with eying Luke's chest and the smooth plain of his abdomen. Thirty years and he still thinks it's fascinating. Adorable in a weird way. ]
Um, I think ya mean I look smokin' hot! But I guess this means I can complete my ensemble with your dick in my mouth--
[ Whatever further boasting he's about to make is cut short by his own sharp laughter as Luke trips over his own two feet trying to escape America's grasp. ]
Oh no ya don't! You might be able to slip by the space police, but I've been both outlaw and marshal so I know how both sides think. Ain't no way you can get by me!
[ Grinning like the child he is, he scrambles off the bed to scoop Luke up by his hips and drape his body over America's shoulder like he's a sack of potatoes. With his other hand propped on his hip to further flaunt his gay cowboy look, he casually scans the fragmented room before sauntering toward a door he estimates is the bathroom. ]
Sorry, Luke, but I gotta throw ya in Wonderland Jail for the crime of bein' too cute. You've been judged by a jury of your peers--well, peer--and I sentence you to one whole shower with me! Show ya just how nice my hair can look once it's cleaned up.
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