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Frankie and Claud wake up a few days after Christmas, suffering the effects of their activities. Not adult RP.

Initial Setting:

Frankie's Apartment.

Timeline:

Preceded by Christmas With Frankie and Claud and Drugs

Followed by What the Cat Dragged In


Edit

  • Claud woke to the glaring noon-sun shining into his room. He fumbled around in confusion and finally found his phone. After far too many seconds of thinking he finally worked out that he'd slept for nearly a day and a half after... Christmas. He lays back on the bed as most everything that had happened in just those short few hours comes rushing back to him. It was definitely the most, ah, memorable of Christmasses he'd ever had. And maybe that was preferable to spending the holiday depressed and high and/or drunk. He barely remembered cleaning up the food and stumbling into his own bed; he was so tired but couldn't let good food spoil. He wondered if Frankie was awake, or here, or okay—he felt/okay before Claud passed out—and reached out with his vibe to check. He's not sure how to process what he senses there, like a black hole where a person should be.
  • The first thing he'd noticed when he woke was that he couldn't sense the pulse of the city. The first thing he'd done when he'd woke was burst into tears with disappointment that he was still breathing. That seems to last for most of the day, if the light on the wall is any indication. But eventually it just gets old. There's no point in crying. He's sad. Crying wasn't making that stop. As the light dims against the wall, Frankie will himself up. It's a battle he's fought many times, one of the only he can manage at this point, but there's no denying the use. He stares across the room at the bottle, willing it to his hand. Two hours later, Frankie gets up. Roughly grabs the bottle, then hides back in his bed.
  • The next day, he wakes up with knives in his skull and an empty bottle jabbing in his side. He debates moving, or just vomiting here to spare the effort... He'd made preparations, but now he doesn't care... Poppy pulls him up and helps him lean over the glorified bucket just in time. Back in bed. He stares at her. She stares at him. She rolls over, turning her back to him. Frankie stares at it, watches her unbreathing corpse for a few more hours. His phone rings. He continues to ignore it.
  • Claud realizes with a bit of worry that he's not sure if who he's sensing is Frankie at all. There was an aura of 'Frankiness' around the other person, and really who else could it be, but there was so much that had been gutted from the man, the difference was it was startling. <Mr. Valentine? Is that you?> and then, almost forgetting, <Can I get you anything?>
  • Frankie winces at the 'sound' of Claud. He pulls the heavy silk blanket over his head and ignores Claud just as he ignored his phone. If he pretends to sleep, the boy will undoubtedly leave. He's polite like that. God, he wishes he had another bottle though. Then he could really be asleep, and wouldn't have to feel the guilt and shame of hiding. Or being alive in general.
  • Claud doesn't receive a direct answer, but he does get the gist of what Frankie's feeling, and from that can suss out what happened. He sighs, sits up and stretches, joints popping and cracking. Should he just let Frankie be? Or should he at least insist on him drinking some water to help with the hangover, and keep him from a dangerous dehydrated state? Frankie hadn't let Claud alone when he found him homeless, again, and maybe Claud should return the favor. He wanders to the kitchen, downs a large glass of water and decides to give Frankie some space for now, and he'll try again after a shower. Stripping in the bathroom he buzzes with confused pleasure at the memory of his list of ten, and the effect it had had on Frankie. He ponders this and many other things as he stands under the water, unsure and unaware of how much Frankie might be paying attention to his thoughts.
  • Always bursting with his own intense emotions, he'd never actually realized how much he received from Claud. Now, when so obviously the only thing that is his is the deep black pit in his chest, he can easily examine the foreign feelings. If he cared to. Which he doesn't. He watches her body, puts a hand on her icy shoulder. Innocent, bewildered pleasure. Claud's. There is nothing pleasurable about this. Very lightly, the corpse speaks. Forbidding him to die. Hopeless, desperate frustration. Frankie's.
  • Claud pauses, mid sudsing in the shower. Very gently, as 'quietly' as he can, he reaches out to Frankie again, sends him an image of himself bringing Frankie a bottle of electrolytes, <To help with the hangover.> He steps out of the shower, towels off, and preps a shave.

Frankie groans at the words in his head. He can't even keep the kid out, with his vibe like it is. Frankie buries his head in a pillow at the nonverbal conversation. "Go away", he mumbles inaudibly into it. He doesn't want blue crap or anything, he want to be left here till he dies of natural causes so Poppy won't be disappointed... Hm. Wait. Frankie sends the image back, but rather than the health drink, Claud is carrying an armload of sloshing, glistening liquor bottles.

  • Claud pouts at his reflection as he shaves, now the other man was just being obstinate. <Probably not a good idea. There's the flavorless kind, or water? At least?> It might help now, but would certainly make the hangover worse later.
  • Frankie closes his eyes and ignores Claud again when the square declines his request. What else was there to discuss? If only he could sleep... He shifts in the tangle of expensive sheets, over to Poppy to embrace her lifeless husk. Without his vibe, he can almost pretend to himself that his inability to sense her pulse was just like everyone else's. When his vibe came back, so would her heartbeat. It's almost convincing.
  • Claud sighs and finishes shaving, rinsing off his face and cleaning up the bathroom. He pads back to his room and changes into a fresh set of clothes. Almost as if he wasn't sure it was a dream, he cautiously pokes his head into the living-room, half expecting there to be nothing there. Heart beating fast he sees them, the presents, still there--so it wasn't a dream after all. He just sits and admires them for a while, ignoring his body's need for food, much more enthralled with holding the guitar, getting a feel for its dimensions, gently tuning it with the built in tuner. If he couldn't have human companionship then at least he had this.
  • The love for the guitar tugs at his thoughts, more than the anything else from Claud had managed. But it just reminds him what he doesn't have, what he can't do. As he slides out of waking darkness into black unconsciousness, a little flash, drawn to his good mood, sends his dreams to the day he'd finally tried singing again. He cries out softly in sleeping terror.
  • The sudden terror makes Claud's body go rigid, and his fingers jolt to a stop on the strings, strumming louder than he'd intended. He takes deep breaths, tries to calm his shaking body, tries to turn away from the dream; he shouldn't be seeing that, it's private after all. But the other option was to turn himself over to the sea of minds out in the city around him--no, the other other option was to take a hit of jive. He dismisses this idea, he needed to keep monitoring Frankie's condition, make sure he didn't get any worse than he already was should he, god forbid, actively try to harm himself. Guilt warred with the desire to play and sing, something he knew Frankie couldn't do without some kind of dire consequence, it seemed too cruel. He opts for some breakfast instead.
  • Everywhere he turns, they are trying to turn him off, through vibe, physical violence, even their words- he gasps as the shard of metal bursts through his side-! Frankie wakes to his own screams. He gasps in pain, but his hand meets only the whole, unmangled skin and muscle of his heaving ribs. The terror filled man leans over again to use the bucket before curling up in a shivering, sobbing fetal mess.
  • Claud hears the scream about the same time he's hit with a staggering wave of nausea. He leans against the counter over the sink, and breathes deep. Once the feeling passes he grabs a bottle of flavorless pedialyte and rushes to Frankie's room. He opens the door softly, not bothering to knock, knowing he'd get rebuked either way, crosses the room quickly and sits on the edge of the bed nearest the man. Setting the bottle on the nightstand he takes out his handkerchief and wipes at the man's face, brushes hair out of his eyes, love and vibe pouring off of him--most of it was Frankie's anyway, absorbed during the long hours of exposure to Frankie's fonked up vibe. With the more concrete physical connection Claud shares in Frankie's depression as well, it hits him hard in the chest and settles in his heart, but it also fills him with a grim resolve. He doesn't say 'it'll be okay' because he knows that promise is not his to keep, but he will stay by his side for as long as he needs.
  • Frankie recoils from the shuffle of what he prays is Claud. Without a pulse, it could be another corpse, or a ghost, for all he knows. The hand- he prepares himself to die, he's been cheating death too long anyhow- his hair is brushed away, the gentle hands brush painfully against his overly-sensitive skin. He remains curled, too ashamed to even look at the intruding bastard- but a sudden burning in his limbs- he twitches as if connected to a live wire. His eyes glow a weak purple as he stares up at Claud. The return of his emotion is too much, after the blackness. He looks up at Claud, completely infatuated.
  • Claud isn't sure what to make of that look, but it wasn't fear or loathing so he was more relieved than confused.

< I don't mean to be rude,> he thinks gently, still sending vibe to Frankie, < But I must insist you drink something. I can't carry you to a vendy by myself.> He hadn't ever encountered vibelessness to this extent, it was totally unfamiliar to him, but it should have been expected after the man singlehandedly fueled a thunderstorm for a few hours the other night. The loss of the excess vibe is something of a relief and he can feel his connection to the faraway strangers fade, although the feedback of sensation from Frankie was exquisitely bright.

  • Frankie clutches his chest in pain. Too much too hold. But he's in love. He could tolerate anything, with this. Even keep living. Frankie nods at Claud's order. He sits up, twitching and wincing as he slowly readjusts to his vibe. "I...  donno if I can keep it down, love, but for you I'll t-try anythin," he murmurs affectionately as he reaches weakly for the bottle.
  • Love? Maybe he thought Claud was someone else, it wouldn't be the first time. He removes his hand, and lets Frankie sit up. Too much vibe on an empty soul, like too much food on an empty stomach, might be hard to deal with. "Just a tiny sip, let your stomach re-adjust. We been sleepin fer nearly two days." He helps Frankie take the cap off and break the seal on the bottle.
  • He gasps in pain as his skin pricks, electricity eagerly leaps to his lips, into his mouth, down his throat. He sets the bottle aside at his stomach's immediate stabbing protest. For Claud, he keeps it down forcefully.  Minute or two of stinging nausea, the feeling spreads throughout his body, making everything just a bit less intense. As a reward to himself, he lies his hand against his beloved's arm. "Two days...? Sposse all that beautifyin' rest 'splains why ya look so lovely right now," he flirts in a hoarse croak.
  • "Flatterer." he chides affectionately, taking Frankie's hand in his. He blushes all the same. He thinks vaguely of things he should say or do, but decides against it, just sitting here in comfortable silence was enough. His vibe rushes towards Frankie at the touch and Claud fights it down to a small trickle, not wanting to overwhelm the man.
  • Frankie tingles all over. It's odd, he was shocked very rarely these days. He can only attribute it to the thrilling feeling of being near Claud. Frankie shifts closer, still trying to hide himself in his bed, but much of the depression is forced to take a backseat now that Frankie wants something. "Ain't flattery, kiddo. It's the honest ta goodness, Sunday School truth." He makes it to the end of the bed, where he presses against Claud... Still no pulse. His eyes grow dull again.
  • Claud holds his hand, can't stop himself from running his fingers through that wonderfully tousled hair. < I'm here,> he reassures when Frankie's spirit dampens. He couldn't make any promises beyond that, but he was here now.
  • It was strange, lying against the body he's enraptured with. The controlled creep of power back to him isn't like any charge he's ever experienced... Not like plugging into the wall and losing himself to the quick burn.. It feels.. Gentle. Lasting? He wraps an arm around the square when he plays with Frankie's embarrassingly uncombed hair. "Y-you are.. Aren't ya.." Claud wouldn't lie. He's too perfect to do that. Frankie sighs with pleasure.
  • Claud senses the things Frankie is feeling and thinking about him, but chooses not to make comment. He wasn't perfect, he never would be, but to disagree with the man was not necessary at this moment. He continues combing his fingers through Frankie's hair, gently massaging the scalp. His eyes burn a little as he suddenly wonders if Frankie would feel this way about him after he'd had his fill of vibe. Claud takes a deep breath, he would just have to be okay with that. The feeling passes as he focuses on his gratitude to the man now curled beside him.
  • Something crackles in Frankie's chest, and he slides away from Claud with a start as the vibe gift fails to be absorbed, just dances unbearably on him. "Nnnhh- can't hold no more..." He confides honestly, knowing that he can trust the man with the information. "'S impressive you can. Hold so much," he smiles at Claud. "We never figured jus how much vibe you could hold, but it's a lovely thing regardless~"
  • He pulls back the excess vibe but remains sitting at the foot of the bed. "It's what I was built to do, I think," he muses, "So I'm not so sure I'd like to find out my limit, could get, mm, uncomfortable." He had visions of connecting up with the whole city, with all that vibe he could be anybody, he could be lost in the collective mind of the island forever. It unnerved him, like looking down into deep water unnerved him.
  • Frankie slides back to Claud when the feeling subsides. It's all he can do to stop himself rubbing against the caring man like a cat. "Well don’t you Greg about that, no reason that should happen. Flares are over, god help us." With the decrease in vibe transfer, the intense emotions seem to fall back too... Enough, at least, that Frankie doesn't start kissing the Square up and down.
  • Claud feels the moment pass and he almost sighs in disappointment. He smiles instead, "Indeed." He laces his fingers together, wanting so badly to be held, to go back to where they were just a moment ago, with his hands in Frankie's hair. "How do you feel about some breakfast?" he offers, even though it was probably after noon.
  • The fade of Claud's emotions leave him back where he'd started, or at least tries to. A little vibe wouldn't protect him from this. Else he'd be a very different person. Frankie returns to his previous scheduled half-hearted spooning. "Breakfast?? Hah. No. Maybe more'a that drink though." Or something from his cabinet. As long as he doesn't have to get up...
  • His heart jumps a bit as Frankie curls around him again, a little worried that Frankie had 'heard' him. But, well, he wasn't protesting so... Claud leans forward and grabs the bottle, holding it on his lap, and hesitantly reaches out a hand to brush through Frankie's hair again. He remembers back to when Frankie was more cat than human and smiles at the thought.
  • Maybe he heard him. Maybe he just wanted to cling to the last of the affection, like twilight... It doesn't really matter anymore though. Terrified or in foolish idiot love, it's all the same, in the long run. Frankie watches the hand. It felt nice, he thinks detachedly. If only he could be sure the man was alive... But while he can't feel much, the drink does call to him... He rolls over, closer to the square... He'll just lie here for a moment. Get to it eventually.
  • Claud is willing to sit here for as long as Frankie needs. Longer, probably. His eyes travel over Frankie's care-worn face. He looked so much older than 26. In reality, Claud had really escaped a lot of heartbreak, he didn't bear the deep emotional scars others did. To think that he could even try to help or understand others... it was pretty naive of him. To just be there when someone needed him, that should be enough, it would have to be. It was all he could do.
  • There... Just- there. He'd felt it. The smallest of surges beneath Claud's skin. The relief does nothing to fill the pit in his stomach, but... It's distracting, to say the least. "Ya know... ya know. This can't be good for ya. You can go. Find a party or somet'in ta have a ball at, 'right?  No reason for me ta bring ya down." He wraps his arm around Claud's reassuring bulk more tightly, unable to avoid the contrasting behavior simply because he can't be bothered.
  • Claud smiles at the motion and doesn't go anywhere. "Nah, ain't no harm done, you ain't bringin me down." He doesn't elaborate about how he's felt down for the past month, month and a half, how he felt relief at the notion that maybe it couldn't get any worse, how it was a small reassurance to be in the dark with someone else.
  • He wants to make it better for the kid. Dance with him or something... but the idea is abhorrent. He sits in silence for a long while, listening for a pulse. He knows he heard it. It's not in his head. It's not- "There." He breathes out with relief... Gratitude jabs at the depression. Guilt tries to consume it. Just... another pulse, and it will all be alright... The silence drags... /So... what would ya say ta grabbin me'a whiskey..?/
  • "Hm?" he inquires at the seemingly nonsequitur exclamation. < I would say that's probably a bad idea, but I'll do it anyway cuz I'm a pushover,> he smiles. <Jus' try ta drink some more of the electrolytes, it'll stave off the worst of the hangover,> he holds the bottle up.
  • Oh... He hadn't expected the square to go with it. <Absolutely,> he agrees, up for anything that will make Claud more willing to help him end this. Frankie takes the bottle slowly. It buzzes under his hand. Gulps down half of it, writhes as his vibe reacts. His mouth waters as it tries to come back up immediately. <There. Ok?>
  • Claud takes the bottle from him, panicking a little with how quickly Frankie'd downed it, feeling the creeping nausea a bit himself. <Are you alright?> he wanted to know, but he was also stalling. Drinking on a hangover, and in the depths of depression... it just didn't look like it'd end well.
  • Frankie is silent while he focuses on not throwing up. It was not meant to be, and he scrambles away from the Square, over the side again. It's more painful going the wrong way, leeching much of his vibe away with it. The light dies away. Frankie remains lying on his belly, turned away from Claud. <Whiskey, please.>
  • Claud fights down very real empathetic nausea and when Frankie makes his request, he doesn't argue. He takes the bottle with him and leaves the room. Well he'd really bunged that attempt of being a good helper. He selects a bottle from the liquor cabinet, leaves the electrolytes behind, and returns with the whiskey. He hands it to Frankie and then takes the bucket to the bathroom to empty and rinse out. God, Claud, stupid, stupid.
  • Frankie can't move. Either physically or mentally, he can't get off his belly... He could ask Claud to do that thing again, but he's already just asked the poor boy for something. The bottle lies limply in his hand... If he could just sleep, never have to wake up again... He feels Claud berate himself. <Go out Claud. Do somethin nice fer yerself.>
  • <What, and depress an entire club?> he smiles, but it never quite reaches his eyes. He flushes the toilet and returns with the cleaned bucket. <This is... nice. In it's own right.> he sits gently next to Frankie and runs his fingers through his hair again, letting go of more vibe. < I don't think my vibe'll behave around a bunch of people anyway. Don't think I can behave around a bunch of people.>
  • <Ah, you'd dance fabulously and be right as rain.> Even internally, he sounds exhausted. But... Claud returns. Like the sun, beautiful, radiating a in him a happy joy he hadn't thought possible. He raises a hand up to Claud's hand, gently holding it while he's stroked in such a loving manner that tears are brought to his eyes. <Really nice.... I bet... I bet you'd be fine... but...> he sends Claud the slow bloom of joy that is filling him as he once again looks at the other man with eyes full of love.
  • Claud smiles back, tired but happy. <This is much more rewarding. Plus I never got to thank you proper fer the lovely gifts you gave me. So. Thank you.>
  • Oh- oh he can feel Claud's pulse, fleetingly, but stronger than before- Frankie shuffles under the blanket, back against to Claud... he sits up. Hungover, not drunk, so he has there wherewithal not to simply hug the gorgeous man. <Kiddo... you made me dinner, din't you??> And there was something else... His heart does a flip at a whisp memory.. <You said some.. nice things too.> He's a bit hazy, but he prays Claud will find it in his compassionate heart to forgive him.
  • Claud sees that bit of embarrassment and just smiles, <Yeah that was a lot of, um, fun.> No harm done. Except for Frankie's drug-induced low today, but he was trying to mitigate that. <Look, I might be overreactin a bit but, gosh, dinner and some goofin around don't seem like enough ta repay ya fer what you did fer me.>
  • Frankie's heart melts at that smile... "W-was it??" he asks breathlessly, heart pounding in his throat. Though he's still feeling drained, a single sparkle flies off into the air between them. "Uhm." Wow he's not used to being quite so flustered by attractiveness- Not while sober anyways- "I.. it wasn't much, ya know? And really... I had the best time," he mutters with embarrassment... And realizes why he's so nervous. This classy, beautiful man is seeing him in his two day old... boxers, he didn't even change?? And his hair's a mess and god he must smell- "! I-I need ta use the restroom!!" Frankie drags his uncooperative limbs out of the sheets, trying to hide himself.
  • Claud's smile only widens as Frankie admits that he had a good time. He was glad. So glad it had turned out okay in the end. He tries not to laugh as Frankie scoots off to the bathroom, worrying about all the things that didn't matter. <You look beautiful as you are you vain man,> he scolded with affection. He looks down at the silk sheets, runs a hand along them. Silk always felt so cold. Without thinking he laid back on the bed, pressed his face against the sheets--he springs off the bed as if something had bitten him. What was he doing? He stands in the bed room, Frankie's bedroom, for a few seconds longer, feeling out of place and a little awkward, unsure what to do. He should go, the man probably wanted to shower in peace. But he didn't want to leave, which was ridiculous, this was someone else's room.
  • A few more sparkles appear at that... Name calling coupled with compliments. He stumbles into a wall. He tells himself it's just exhaustion, not his knees going weak or something stupid like that. Frankie really hopes Claud doesn't feel his attraction and adoration right now... but at the same time... Maybe if he does just a little... He shakes himself, trying to focus. Looking in the mirror... 'corpse-like visage' springs to mind. God. No one should see him like this... He berates himself as he showers and cleans. By the time he's done, he's shaking with fatigue, but it's worth it, because ... why? Why does he still bother with this bullshit?? Frankie returns to his room, lightly dressed, smelling of soap, dragging like a zombie. He falls into his bed without ceremony, passing Claud without acknowledgement. He closes his eyes... the good feelings and vibe brush against him...
  • All of these feelings swirled around in Claud's head, so many mixed messages. He was so stuck in indecision that Frankie had returned before he'd actually made a choice. He remains standing where he is for a few seconds longer. Well, Frankie hadn't told him to leave, so... He sits on the edge of the bed again and resumes playing with Frankie's now damp hair. < I should probably let you rest...> he doesn't want to leave.
  • Frankie is ready to wave him off. It's about time he left and did something healthy, rather than allow himself to be dragged down... <Ah... if you must... M' not exactly tired though...> that's a shameless lie, and Frankie smiles up a bit mischievously at Claud as he plays with his hair, feeling rather more confident now that he doesn't taste, feel, and reek of sick.
  • He technically didn't have to ask, he could feel Frankie's exhaustion through their connection, but that mischievous look of confidence is both confusing and alluring, and maybe even a little hope inspiring. The fact that he hadn't been pushed away during this whole ordeal was very reassuring. <Okay,> he says simply and continues playing with Frankie's hair, wanting to touch so much more but only allowing himself to look down Frankie's back, the shirt he was wearing doing nothing to hide what was underneath.
  • Frankie feels better, knowing Claud is going to stay here with him. He has the sudden urge to gaze at the gorgeous boy, but needs to hold himself back... He mirrors Claud's reaction, looking over the square's body with unveiled pleasure. "Hmmm~" No harm in looking... and well... He sits up, bones creaking. No harm in leaning against Claud either. Frankie slides his arm over his shoulder too... His fingers needed to play with something, and they coincidentally choose Claud's alluring red hair...
  • Claud doesn't know what's happening until it's happened, and Frankie's holding him in a half embrace, running his fingers through his hair. Goosbumps raise the hairs on his arms and on his scalp, unseen under his sweater. He can't hide the tiny shivers though, which shake him intermittently. He takes a deep breath and relaxes against Frankie, breathing in the scent of him. His eyes droop in pleasure, sedated by hair pets.
  • He too relaxes as he stokes Claud, not into miserable apathy, but happy contentment. "I dunno if this is yer vibe, or that fancy water stuff ya gave me really is some kinda miracle cure... But damn if I ain't feelin' a hellov'a lot better," he murmurs, laughing richly. He's about to lean his head on the other man's shoulder, but his hair is still damp... He settles for brushing his lips against the warm, soft cheek...
  • "I'm, mmm, glad," he whispers back, voice thick. His eyes are closed, was he dreaming? Sure this wasn't actually happening. He opens his eyes partially, and Frankie's still there. He holds still, closes his eyes again, not wanting to ruin this perfectly quiet moment, but also wanting so much more beyond it.
  • Frankie's mind drifts for a moment when he brushes against Claud... Didn't expect that. He laughs softly in confusion, breaking the silence. When he looks to Claud, his devastatingly lovely eyes are focused on him... Making him feel important... Frankie grins, his own half lidded, tired eyes still rather seductive. "See somethin' ya like?"
  • Claud studies Frankie's face with tiny movements of his eyes. "Very much so." He dares not move, he dares not breathe, dares not take a chance and find out he was horribly wrong, but how could he misinterpret what was going on here? Could it be any more blatant? Or was it just really really wishful thinking?
  • His sultry look is just a little strained. Frankie suddenly, desperately wishes he wasn't so damn tired. He raises an eyebrow when Claud stops breathing. "Hehe... don't worry kiddo, take a deep breath, I won't blow away," he laughs lightly, brushing again against Claud's cheek. The slow, gentle touch trembles with exhaustion as he traces down to the square's lips.
  • Claud suddenly feels Frankie's fatigue and would almost feel bad for keeping him awake if not for how amazing this was. He obeys and takes in a deep breath, exhaling it over Frankie's fingers. He felt drugged. He felt so good. He felt Frankie's need to rest and it finally won out. <You need to sleep,> he states, placing the gentlest of kisses on the tip of Frankie's finger.
  • Frankie smiles as Claud's warm breath brushes against him... Oh. That's just delicious. Frankie leans against the square, not as heavily as he'd intended, but still enough to press his weight against the squares chest. There it was. What he'd needed. <My house, my rules kid,> he smirks. Close enough to bask in the heat, the sheer energy coming from the square. This feeling was plenty enough to ignore the exhaustion.
  • He tries to think of a clever comeback. He can't, so he simply agrees, <Okay.> His heart flutters like a small caged animal with the firm weight of another body pressed against him. A feeling of finality comes from Frankie though, and Claud's not sure what had changed, or been accomplished. Fearing he's missed the moment he makes a bold move, and trembling leans forward enough to kiss Frankie's cheek.
  • Frankie smiles as he feels Claud's pulse against his own chest. Even without his vibe, the reassurance pours through him. The smile breaks into affectionate laughter when he's kissed so innocently on the cheek. He turns his face to meet the square's lips, feeling suddenly confident--The emotion tugs a soft rain of light out of him, and Frankie slumps against Claud, eyes closing.
  • Frankie laughs at him and he feels immediately silly, he should have been a little more bold, shouldn't have chickened out--but then Frankie's kissing him and those thoughts are cut off. He falls under the weight of him, holds him close, heavy fatigue and hot arousal battling to win out over the other. If Frankie couldn't feel his pulse before, he certainly could now, hammering away within his ribcage.
  • Just... gonna catch his breath... He lies against the square. The heart beat, after the dead silence- Frankie continues emitting a steady, barely noticeable stream of vibe. A fleck of light at a time. He wants to take Claud right here and now, no more stupid waiting and guilt, because who cares, if he loves him??? But as he imagines doing quite inappropriate things to the square, he feels himself drifting off...
  • Claud can feel himself slipping into unconsciousness with Frankie, his kisses becoming slower, more spaced out until he's taking deep breaths with his face pressed against Frankie's neck. He tries to hug him tight, but his arms just won't comply. He nestles under the man, glad at least to be this close, to  have come this far, but he's so frustrated he could cry, if he weren't so happy.
  • Claud's kisses against his neck, radiant and warm, just managing to keep his mind out of the smothering dark. His breath escapes in a delighted, ragged gasp when Claud leans against him, feeling so deliciously comfortable in his weariness. If only he could just kiss the other man... He pictures himself raising his hand to grip the square's lovely hips, kissing him full in his sweet mouth, trying to will himself to move- but all the preparation serves to do is send a thin mist of glitter into the air to gently caress Claud's cheek.
  • All of Frankie's plans play out in his mind, tantalizing, just out of reach. < I can't keep my eyes open,> he admits, tired, happy, a little scared. As if Frankie would be gone when he woke up. As if this were all a dream and he'd wake alone in his own bed. The flow of vibe from Claud to Frankie is waning; he was running out, and perceived fatigue was becoming very real.
  • Frankie's floating above Lightning Street when Claud's voice drifts to him from a DJ Bot... < S'ok... yer still gorgeous... n we can dance a bit, away from the crowd, if that suits... m..>.... The street grows darker and darker as the angry dancers crowd it, but Claud's with him, and he knows it'll be ok.... Frankie shifts slightly, his skin brushing lightly against the square's neck. But his eyes remain closed, his breathing slows, and except for the occasional flicker of gold, it's clear the man is completely out.
  • Like a drowning man helpless to the waves, Claud slipped under into unconsciousness with Frankie. But at least he wouldn't be alone.

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