shadows_have_offended | [Aug 15] The sun, the moon, and stars

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[Aug 15] The sun, the moon, and stars | for Caleb

He might be avoiding Caleb, just a little bit. Not quite. Still answering texts and everything, but since he woke up like this, a little shorter, a little different--well, it's a weird situation, and he already had to spend so much time convincing the director of the Shakespeare shows that they really didn't need to pull in the understudy, he could still do it just fine.

But then Caleb asks if Neil wants to come over, and Neil can't say no to that. He can't. There's no way to blow him off. It's after rehearsals and he has nothing else to do for two days, and he's come up with every other conceivable excuse up to this point.

So a weird thing happened and you can't freak out or laugh about it, okay? But I'll be over soon.

It takes him a little while to get there, coming from the park and walking, but he needs the walk to steel himself to the possibility that, even if he's warned Caleb, he might get a rude reception. He doesn't think he will--but you never know.

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Caleb feels him as he's reaching the floor. The longer they're together, the closer they get, the farther away Caleb can feel him from. So he feels the feelings, the nerves and the determination and even the slight fear, and he frowns, wondering what the hell happened.

When he opens the door, before Neil can even knock, he freezes.

Then he tucks his lips between his teeth. He steps back from the door and gestures for Neil to come in. He doesn't double-check that it's him: he knows it's him.

And it really is kind of hilarious.

"Shut up," Neil says, seeing Caleb's face, darting in like some sort of chastened, wet cat.

He doesn't mean that, and he knows that Caleb knows that. It's one good thing about dating an Empath, he supposes. He might not be able to hide little secrets and sneaky, happy plans, but he knows that Caleb knows when things are gentle and sarcastic, and can at least explain away when there's a miscommunication.

It's been good for him, he thinks.

But right now, he's a grumpy barely-over-five-foot, moderately busty waif, and Caleb is laughing at him.

"I told you, a weird thing happened. Stop laughing at me."

"I'm— totally not laughing," Caleb says, and coughs through a laugh to hide it as he closes the door. He clears his throat and snickers a little at the end of it. "Totally not— Dude, i-it's okay. This happened to me, fucking... back in January, or whatever." He has pictures to prove it, even. When Neil pouts harder, he caves. "Awww, honey," he coos, and wraps an arm around Neil's shoulders. It's much lower than normal, but it's so much easier to just rest his chin on top of Neil's head.

Neil knows that this happens to other people, he's known some of those people, but it's still silly when it's happened to him and he's a foot shorter than normal.

But to be pulled in close, to have Caleb speak to him in those same sweet, soft tones he always uses when Neil is frustrated about something, is pretty okay. Neil huffs and bumps against him, trying to tamp down on the size of his chest a little bit.

"I finally convinced the director that I can still do my roles," he says after a second.

"Well, duh, of course you can," he says. "You're still you. Wait." He blinks, looking down at him. "They could tell you were different?" That's not something Caleb's experienced. Everyone that was originally from Darrow seemed to think he'd always been a girl when he showed up looking like one.

Neil shrugs. He has no idea. All he knows is that he got the lecture of maybe since you're not feeling well, and no way he was giving up two lead roles just because, what, he was a foot shorter and slightly higher pitched? Bullshit.

"I don't know, and I don't care. I get to do it, and that's all that matters."

He wants a cigarette and a scotch, and he can't have either, so he just pouts grumpily for a moment.

"Come on," he says gently. "Couch, tea, shoulder rub, okay? I've got you." He guides Neil to the living room, and tips his face up to press a kiss to his lips. They're softer — plusher? Is that weird? — and there isn't any stubble, but he still tastes almost the same, still has that mole on his jaw, and Caleb kisses that, too, just like he would if this were any other day.

Neil sighs a little bit as Caleb kisses him because, honestly, this is why he came. There's solace in the tenderness.

"Coffee instead of tea?" he asks, almost a whine. "Or hot chocolate?"

He really wants something cold, but it will be good to hold something warm in his hands while they sit on the couch and Caleb puts those big, strong hands to good work.

"Hot chocolate I can do," he assures. He doesn't have coffee often — usually just for Neil, and it's the instant stuff, because he doesn't even have a coffee maker — but he likes hot chocolate, too, so he's fine making making that.

He kisses Neil's hair as he heads into the kitchen to get that started, and makes himself some tea while he's at it.

"So, have you been like this since you started avoiding me?" he asks, more casually than he expects it to come out.

"Oh my god, don't make it sound like that, I wasn't...avoiding you, you monster." Neil goes to the couch and crashes dramatically into it, sprawling across all the cushions like it was some kind of a fainting couch or something.

"I just--I felt silly and awkward and I wanted to feel less silly and awkward so you wouldn't get all up in it about it." Consideration. He's feeling better about it today, a couple days in, even if he's not comfortable.

Caleb snickers a little, watching him fondly. "Hey, hey, no, I didn't mean it like that," he assures. "I just, y'know. I could tell that you, like, wanted space, or whatever. You could've just told me, though, I mean. My ability doesn't work over the phone, Neilseph."

He stirs the cocoa into the mug, then drops in some cream and puts a dollop of whipped cream on top before bringing it over, along with is own tea.

"Besides, I really am able to handle, like, most feelings, now, especially from you."

"Yeah, but I couldn't handle my emotions the first bit, so I wouldn't want you to deal with that."

And that shows, he thinks, how much things have changed in the time he's been in Darrow. But he doesn't get to that. Instead, he sits up and reaches for the hot chocolate, smiling a little and blushing just a little because he's dolled it up neatly and sweetly, whipped cream and all.

"Okay, all kidding aside?" Caleb says, sitting down. "You really need to stop trying to protect me from your feelings. It's not 'dealing with them,' Neil. I can't turn off my ability, and I wouldn't want to, even if I could. I like feeling your feelings. All of them." He sips his tea, then sets it on the coffee table and watches Neil seriously.

"Yeah," Neil says, staring at his own drink rather than at Caleb for a moment. His stomach swoops a little. He can watch Caleb's face when he worries and reads him covering, and anything he can do to make things easier is what he should do.

"I don't like making things harder," he says after a moment. "And if I don't want to be around what I'm feeling myself, then I'm not going to subject you to trying to...parse through things."

He looks up, softer face made stern with fortification. "You're my boyfriend, not my shrink. I know you can feel what I feel. So when I can make things easier for you, I ought to."

"Or, or," Caleb says. He turns to Neil a little, hands up like he's pitching a novel new idea. "Hear me out. I'm your boyfriend... so I'm here... for you. Right? So, like, you should let me. We don't even have to talk about it. We can just sit, or lay, quietly, and just. Be together, so you're not alone."

He raises his eyebrows expectantly. This is a conversation they've had before, in some iteration or another, and it's a conversation Caleb has with... most of his friends who know about his ability. Everyone wants to protect him, which is sweet, but also, like, stop.

Neil gives Caleb a look, made someone even more exasperated by having a soft, girlish face. He sticks his tongue out and licks the whipped cream. He pointedly just thinks at Caleb, all his grumpy indignation at being told how to handle how he's handling this, so that Caleb can deal with that for a moment.

"Weren't you going to give me a shoulder rub?"

"Oh, don't give me that," Caleb says when he feels that indignation — because he can feel the amusement underneath, and he knows that the teasing got to him, too. He grins, though, when Neil mentions the shoulder rub, and he holds his hands up, this time in innocence.

"Okay, okay, turn around."

When Neil does, Caleb starts in. First, he just smooths the palms of his hands up and down his back. On the second or third pass, he lets his thumbs bear in gently, feeling for tension. Then he starts in earnest, gently but firmly working out whatever tension he finds.

Caleb has amazing hands, and it's not the first time that he's rubbed Neil's shoulders. But it's different, with slimmer shoulders, and so Neil appreciates the slow ease into the touch.

And he appreciates the ease of dropping the subject. It makes it easy to focus on this moment instead: being here, being touched, being taken care of. He likes all of this.

"Up in the neck," he says, quiet, almost a little breathless.

Caleb could make a cute quip about who is rubbing who, or that Neil should be less bossy, or that he knows, okay, this isn't his first rodeo. But he doesn't. He just hums softly and moves his hands up, sliding his fingers into Neil's hair while his thumbs continue their firm trek up the bands of the back of his neck.

Even if Caleb knows, it's worse today, and it's fun to be bossy, anyway. Maybe more fun when he's a foot shorter than Caleb and not just an inch. He sighs as Caleb works into his hair, at his neck, and starts to ease the tension there.

The sigh turns into a quiet little whine as Neil closes his eyes and leans back into the touch.

Caleb reaches out with his ability for any sense of displeasure. He doesn't find any — the opposite, in fact, so he keeps it up. He lets his blunt nails gently scratch Neil's scalp as he brings his hands down, then widens the track of his thumbs on the way back up.

He doesn't even realize he's half-hard until he goes to shift to get a little more comfortable, and he bites his lip and swallows hard.

Neil has his eyes closed and is so focused on the slow, deep track of Caleb's touch that he notices nothing else. He's needed this. The touch and the closeness and the comfort of it.

He sighs again, and the sigh turns into a bit of a groan, breathless and low in his throat.

"That's it."

The pleasure Neil feels isn't like sexual pleasure. It's still molten, but it doesn't settle low in his hips like arousal. It moves through his joints, making them feel loose and comfortable. It buoys his heart. Caleb isn't hard because Neil is getting aroused by this. He's hard because of Neil's reactions to this. The sounds he's making, the way he trusts Caleb's huge hands to take care of him, the happy, loose feeling slowly filling him, these are all contributing to his arousal.

It's fucking hot.

"Gl-glad I could help," he murmurs, voice a little on the rough side.

"You always help," Neil says, voice still low and aching with the relief of the massage as he leans into the attention of it, as he rolls his shoulders up to move Caleb's attention from his scalp and neck down onto his shoulders and back instead.

If he notices the slightly more gravelly tone in Caleb's voice, he doesn't let on. It's possible he's too focused on the contentment of the moment for anything like that right now to parse through.

"God, you're amazing."

Caleb smiles, massaging Neil's shoulders, his shoulder blades, down over his ribs and back up along his spine.

"I'm pretty awesome," he agrees, smiling. He smooths his hands down Neil's ribs again, to his waist. It's smaller, narrower, and Caleb adjusts his hands so he doesn't accidentally hurt him. He's so small>/I> like this.

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