open / gen.

[fitzrovia]

G E N E R A L . — pick a character of mine, drop a comment. alternatively, comment and don't pick a character if ya ain't particularly fussed. all formats welcome; prose, action, prompts, text, e-mail, whatever you want. — pls link images if they seem to be straying into nsfw territory of some sort (on a gen. post, i know).

Comments

sasha

[vesperal]

[sredniy]

[ they text a lot. it's inevitable, given that they are often mismatched, geographically speaking, and neck deep in troubling levels of affection for each other. whoever said that absence made the heart grow fonder was quite right in this respect, but had neglected to mention that it also caused a dull and continuous ache, the kind that thudded along diligently to every heartbeat. though sasha was neither a particularly social nor lonely individual, he had come to realise that once you established that you enjoyed having someone in your life, it became entirely more troubling not to have them around all the time.

at a casual glance, their correspondence might seem idle. vague chattering, exchanges of the things they each saw, in their own particular corners of the world (though jens was never the most forthcoming about his exact location, a matter sasha did not think to push or question). what a casual glance would not tell, however, was the ease with which they talked about anything and everything. there wasn't a thought that jens imparted that sasha didn't find interesting in some capacity. he hoped as much was true for jens; at least, it surely had to be. they wouldn't spend so much time still talking if it wasn't.

if you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?

wherever you are.

sasha agonises over sending the text for hours. it's probably the longest they go without speaking, time-zones permitting. he worries that it gives too much away. as if he doesn't give it all away each time they meet again, the way his entire body relaxes and his expression blooms, how pleased the flush of colour in his cheeks looks.

jens doesn't reply; he simply turns up.

on a reasonable level, sasha supposes most people would find it irritating, to have someone show up without so much as the slightest warning, whenever they can, but he doesn't. the surprise of it never ceases to delight him, catching him off guard in all the best ways. an oppressively humid autumn day in madrid slowly eases into evening rain as he trots idly back to his building, but the weight of the outside air seems to lift immediately when he spots the familiar face lingering outside. if anything is going to give him away, it's the way sasha flings his entire body forcibly at jens, the arms thrown around his neck, the ferociously quick but ardent press of their lips as he forgets for a moment about the rest of the world, his neighbours, everything. none of it particularly matters, not when something infinitely better than all of these things is right in front of him.

when the rain ends, sasha drags jens out onto his small, damp terrace. the air is lighter, heavy with the scent of water and bites a little at the skin in a way that sasha has been craving all day, waiting for the humidity to remove its oppressive self from the city. around them, the day's constant buzz has softened to a hum, but it never truly ends. there's always noise, cars drifting down the street, laughter, voices, distant and close, whispers of life that are not contained by waking hours or daylight. they stand side by side, hands on the wet railings, close — close enough to touch, but sasha resists. ]

How long can you stay?

[ it's always a question he tries to avoid, but one he has to eventually ask. it gnaws at him until he does, because he doesn't want to know the answer, but he does. because he'll count down the hours, but try to make the best of them that he can. he needs to know, so he can process the knowledge, slowly but surely, rather than it drop down on him like a tonne of bricks at the moment that jens leaving again has to become true. ]