leaving the ones we've crossed

Shifting sands and a violent harmony from the raging tide did little to drown the discord deafening his senses. Like walking through endless fog, there was only one beacon guiding both his steps and his anger, which still thrummed throughout his body, narrowing his periphery to swaying haunches. Bastien’s growl hummed in his chest, reverberating off the flexing of his muscles as he followed further from the fallout but closer to calamity.

Was it only himself he had to blame? No. No, he couldn’t accept that.

Whether or not it was a foreseeable consequence of wanting to have his cake and eat it too, it wasn’t his intentional oversight that brought forth the reckoning. Whether or not it was a byproduct of the game he’d initiated, it wasn’t his recklessness that caused all these conflicting forces to prematurely collide. It wasn't him that crossed the line.

Despite the lingering sweetness on his tongue, the ashes of what could have been and what was were mingling in his mouth, souring the taste. Parting his jaws and letting the salty humidity settle on his tastebuds did little to flush it. Bitter words were all he had left, and they promised an equally unpleasant aftertaste once he spoke them aloud. It was an eventuality that Bastien was not avoiding as effectively as he was avoiding the conversation he’d have to have with Amoux later. Nicharion would not be spared this wrath. He only waited until they were far enough away that only the cliff could hear them over the howling wind – and so, should things trend south, one or both of them would end up plummeting over the edge.

“Have you got what you came for?" He didn't try to disguise what was writhing in his voice: Anguish, anger, and another, more uncomprehending question he didn't dare ask.

Was it worth what I had to lose?

Underneath all that outward fury, pointed like protective quills, ran a much deeper truth: That Bastien was hurt more than he was anything else. Hurt that the respect he held for his lover and the trust established between them only went one way, and that that foolish thinking may have cost him not just Amoux... but Nicharion, too.

Wasn't it ironic that the man that claimed he had nothing stood to lose the most?

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The cherry on top of this shit cake of a day was where they found themselves - by the sea, not far from the Seagull. Countless days he had spent here, and carried away as many memories, most of which he didn't care to remember. But they were flooding in now, like a catastrophic chain reaction, fueling the frustration that echoed in the stompy sound of his heavy steps. Vaguely, he was aware of Crow walking behind him, an arrangement that at any other time he would have taken full advantage of to tease his lover's attention. But not today. And that only annoyed him more.

Have you got what you came for?

Over their many encounters, he's come to almost take the black and white male's ability to say just the right things for granted. It was a jarring dissonance to experience the opposite, like the betrayal of trusty loaded dice suddenly losing every game of chance. Nicharion's steps came to a sudden halt and the growl welling up in his throat could no longer be contained. "If you got somethin' to say then fucking say it, asshole!" The last thing he had the patience for was chagrin put behind a mockingly thin veil. All this bullshit dancing around anything and everything concrete was what got them into this mess in the first place.

"What, you think I'm proud of myself or whatever?" He started to pace from left to right, trashing with volatile energy for every time he turned. His emotions refused to remain bottled any longer, but they were dispersing unfocused, like he wasn't sure if he was more angry at his companion or at himself... nonetheless, his snarls intensified for the brief second Crow entered his vision at every turn. "Well I'm fucking not. Especially when I thought this might happen, but I expected it wouldn't. After all, what are the chances you had me help you kill someone just so you could fuck a guy who's as ornery as a bitch in heat, eh? No, that's apparently not important enough to mention! And apparently he doesn't get to know you didn't do the job for him alone either, does he? No, I imagine he wouldn't like that." He scoffed and went out of his way just to step on the nearest seashell and crush it into tiny pieces. "Any other fuck buddies I can inadvertently piss off? And why the fuck can he just throw you out and it's me you got a problem with!? I had half a mind to rip his throat out right there for it..."

...but could I trust you not to take his side?

That thought hit him like a haymaker he didn't see coming. What else should he doubt? Crow had claimed to relate to his loneliness, yet here he was bending over backwards just to appease someone else... Anger fled him like air from a punctured balloon, and similarly he deflated, slouching over as he sat down, facing the sea. "I was.. thinkin' about you. Got greedy. It was a whim and I'm no good at waiting those out.. but neither are you, right? Thought that was obvious." He wasn't someone who could sit in a carefully sequestered section of someone's life, folded neatly and waiting for the opportune time. No, he was bound to walk all over it like he owned it sooner or later, but as he did so, he was willing to offer everything of his own.

"I won't apologize for doing it.. only for how it went down. Regardless, fuck that guy. I would have sided with you against anyone, even if it foiled all my plans." Nicharion wasn't one to think of another as his equal easily, but Crow had snuck his way to that spot. And even if Crow himself was fine with that sort of disrespect, it was making every fiber of the major's muscles tense up with revulsion.

But that wasn't important, not right now. He risked turning his head to look Crow's way, focusing on red eyes and red blood staining his neck. Ah.. despite the emotions pulling at his mind, part of him still wanted nothing more than to taste it and the skin it flowed from... but all his past was a string of allowing lust to pull him away from necessary choices. "...would you?"

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There it was. What he’d sensed prickling beneath the cool façade came to the surface in a blistering invitation for him to air out what was fueling his own fury, but before he could even say a word, Nicharion persevered with unyielding intent, come alive like Bastien had never seen before. He might have admired it, were someone else on the receiving end. Instead, he seethed underneath his quivering fur, glaring daggers at the prowling monster that had been unleashed.

Which only served as a defense for his building uncertainty, the foundation of his rage shaken by each circle made, like he’d built it upon the distant sand and just now realized the instability of it. One more crashing wave and it might come tumbling down…

And like that, there was nothing. All that rage and nothing to show for it, all that pain and nowhere to place it. Bastien couldn’t identify which was more maddening, more confusing, only that the combination was causing his head to hurt. He shook it helplessly, stopping only when it was entirely unbearable. Another outlet, then. His claws dug into his lover’s chest before either of them could register that Bastien had closed the distance, but even that was a vain grab for vindication.

“Damn you, Nicharion! Damn you!” Pushing away with sudden intensity, his paws crunched on the broken pieces of shell, which pricked one of his pads so a nasty cut would leave behind a smear of blood on the stone. Sweeping his tail along the rocky outcropping sent shards skittering over it and into the wicked sea. How he wished he could disappear as quickly. It would be a kinder death than the fiery one he was heading towards.

“Damn you,” he said again, but there was no force behind it. There wasn’t much of anything except sad sincerity. “Maybe I have outgrown this disguise.” His lover had proven capable of commanding his emotions like tides beholden to the moon, but fear was never among them. Admiration, astonishment, solace, and a desire so completely consuming it was absolute possession, but not fear; Bastien had never had to guess Nicharion’s intentions, not since they’d first met in front of the barracks. Only now did he wonder if it was Crow that he cared for or the man behind the mask. “Bastien. That's what my name is. I didn’t go to Maiden’s Braid because I knew you were there, though I can’t say it was an unfortunate coincidence. I was born there, grew up living off frogs ‘till I learned how to coax coin out of a purse. I only went back because it’s the last place I saw both my siblings together before I abandoned them to take up with the army. Suppose I needed to see if they were alright, what with everything going on, not that they’d care whatever happened to me. Not after everything I’ve done to them.”

He sighed and leaned his head back, pretending the black clouds were a starless sky and imagining he were someone else in another place. A useless daydream, he supposed, but an effective method of avoiding the disappointment he feared he would glimpse in the other’s expression now that the illusion was fissuring. “I figure you may as well know that much. It’s not… everything, but it’s more than… more than I’ve given anyone else. More than I’ve given him,” he added, and for a moment his thoughts did drift back to Amoux. Nicharion had unwittingly exposed the fragility in their relationship, though Bastien was struggling to process what that meant or how he felt about how easily it’d been for him to be brushed aside. It wasn’t something he particularly wanted to think about, not when the growing emptiness left him more susceptible to the cold sea-born breeze. Unconsciously, he did find himself leaning into the warmth of a sturdy shoulder, though even his body was hesitant to make contact without reciprocation.

"I only fault you for not asking... though I haven't made that easy, have I?" Still without looking, he offered a rare moment where he recognized his blunder and accepted it, opposing the greater desire to shrug off the weight of blame.

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A part of the red brute might have wanted for them to fight all throughout the night, to tear each other down with sharp words and sharper fangs; that part was surely let down and stifled by Crow's feeble attempt at retaliation. A push, maybe a scratch, he couldn't quite tell, and few words that quickly lost all their energy. A hollow victory that offered no satisfaction. Maybe it would have been easier to be in the wrong.. and he was never in the wrong. He toyed with what he could toy with and steered clear of all else... there was no one else he would have allowed to challenge his thoughts.

But that was not where they were headed. Instead, the other man offered something he seldom did - a piece of truth larger than a mere sliver. Nicharion was... more confused than anything else as he listened. Why now, of all times? Was it a scrap meant to placate him? He sighed, instantly realizing the falsehood of such suspicion. Crow.. no, Bastien was many things, but master manipulator he was not. Otherwise he never would have gotten in a feud with Savard, nor would he allow for his dark-furred friend to lose his temper so easily. He had never lied over anything substantial, as far as Nicharion could tell, nor used the truth to mislead. He merely offered precious little of it. So despite everything, his sincerity was not in doubt.

But was sincerity enough to make up for... what, exactly? The only thing Nicharion had truly been angry about was the attempt to put all blame on him. If the other already relented, was that enough? He was uncertain, perplexingly so.. for shouldn't something this important be obvious? He stared at the other man in search of an answer... but he seemed to be looking for answers of his own in the sky.

"Your past doesn't really matter to me, Cro.. Bastien." So used he was to the moniker they had agreed upon that addressing the other by a different name felt strange. And it would have been all too easy to detest Bastien for his past, if he so wished, when it represented everything Nicharion detested about his own family. But he never wanted to know in order to judge him for it. And by a fickle stroke of luck, the red brute found himself drawn in instead of repulsed. To understand the perspective of the other side, was it not something he had always wished for?

If Bastien would strive to keep his trust, if he would persist where so many had not.. would Nicharion find solace in that?

"It's only means with which I might better understand the wolf you are now. The man that I..." He faltered, uncertain what words would best describe the depth to which these feelings took root. Ironic that he had no method to measure it, when his previous line of work relied on taking advantage of irrational emotions in others. "...can't get enough of." he finally conceded, knowing it to be a half-truth as soon as the words left his mouth. If this was the least he could settle for while holding back, then perhaps it would take far greater missteps to truly burn him. Was it for better or worse, he couldn't tell.

"But your past is more than that to you. So as much as you withheld full answers, I made sure to measure my questions." Extortion was mundane, an everyday fare in lives such as theirs. Asking only for as much as would be given, the mutual respect that came with it.. he had savored every moment of it. The red brute let out a chuckle, tentatively breaking through the morose atmosphere. "Hah, in hindsight.. following you certainly wasn't any less intrusive. The games we play skew the perspective, I suppose." They have made light of so many things, from professional responsibilities to murder. Is an invasion of privacy a transgression or an excitingly unexpected gambit? Who can tell? In contrast, a question is honest and direct, leaving no room for doubt.

Slowly, Nicharion leaned closer to his lover, finally giving into the temptation that was unavoidable with their proximity. If Bastien didn't recoil, he would brush his tongue over the bites on his neck. The blood had already clotted by now, leaving but a faint metallic aftertaste, but Bastien's scent was more than enough to light a fire in him, a fire he desperately wanted to burn away the sickening cold ache that permeated him to the core. A fire that was only stoked hotter by possessive frustration, by the thought of that other man taking his place mere moments ago. Whatever he had to offer, Nicharion wanted to do the same and more. He grunted, his breath uneven against the thunderous beat of his heart, and reached out with a paw to further shift his weight; it brushed against the other male's chest and belly, before provocatively finding ground just inches shy of his body, between his hips. "Mhmm.. Bastien.." The second time he spoke the name, but the first he truly savored it, drinking from it like from a cup of finest wine. He shuddered in delight, eagerly anticipating how it might make the other feel to be called by what was truly his in this manner.

And yet, as suddenly as his advances have started, so too they were put on hold. His momentum halted, leaving him not pushing but clinging to the other male's body like his life depended on it. He couldn't repeat the mistake of withholding questions any longer. "I am asking now. Would you..?" He lifted his head from the other man's neck, just enough to be able to look into his crimson eyes. "Side with me against anyone, no matter the cost?" Absolute trust was no more likely than a fairy tale for the likes of them. Betrayal lurked at every turn, the side performing it sooner being the wiser. Maybe it was futile to think they could have something different. But even if it was doomed to fail, he'd be content to cherish a promise made with honest intention, for as long as it might last. Nicharion was weary. Too weary to keep doubting, sick of all the safe falsehoods, friends or lovers who ended where their bottom line began. He craved something he could believe... even if it killed him.

Only Bastien could give him that.

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Your past doesn’t really matter to me.

Bastien’s eyes tore from the sky harshly enough to tatter the dark veil, introducing a drizzle that would have been light were it not lashing about in the wild wind, then inexplicably softened. He should not be surprised.. but he is. The monochrome male expected revulsion—anything less was inconceivable. So, when instead he received acceptance unimpeded by judgment, and an advance that made his head lean back, he was shocked beyond words; all that he could muster was a pleasant hum, low in his throat and buzzing down through his chest, following the path that his lover’s paw was creating, reawakening past sensations that had faded in the light of his burning anger.

But, compared to what he saw blazing in Nicharion’s gaze, Bastien reckoned it’d never been greater than its glowing coals in the first place.

Hearing his name, like a breathless prayer, was the cherry on top. When last had someone he… someone he cherished said it? His face turned until his muzzle hovered close to the other’s, tasting a medley of breaths warm enough to burn the rain off his whiskers. It was driving him close to the brink of insanity—closer than he’d gotten even when Nicharion had ridden him damn near to the edge. A white paw came up to cradle the arm encircling him, his body starting to follow the direction that both head and heart were heading. But then he froze. A movement so infinitesimal that Bastien thought he imagined it gave him pause, and then he was looking back into eyes so familiar, they might have been his own.

Would you side with me, against anyone?

The question posed an interesting dilemma where the right answer and the correct one were separate entities. How easy it would be to string pretty words into a necklace his lover could wear to ensure his trust… but that would be a disservice to Nicharion, to that trust that they’d somehow established between them. No, this required careful consideration. Bastien sat back and adopted a thoughtful expression that somewhat smoothed his features. "For you?" He echoed not the words but their sentiment after a prolonged silence. Several faces had flashed through his mind during it, but there was only one that truly mattered in the end. "For you, there are no friends that I would not face as foes. There’s no one else, Nicharion, no one who I’d rather stand beside." A heavy admission, and completely earnest. Bastien had betrayed friends—hell, even his own family— for far less than this. For far less than… love.

When he spoke again, there was a new quality in his voice, shining through layers of uncertainty. "My turn to ask something." He fully faced his lover then, tilting his head to the side, as if to look at him anew. "Did you really opt against manslaughter on my behalf?" As openly amused in the answer to that question as Bastien seemed to be, he vibrated with an energy that was more anticipatory than it was anything else, like he stood on one side of the threshold to a new world and Nicharion stood on the other, waiting for him to take the step that would allow them to explore it—together. He looked uncharacteristically bashful at the prospect, busying himself by twirling a claw through a stray tuft of maroon fur, creating a loose knot with one motion that he would then untangle with the next. "If you had, well then, I m-might... I may just fuckin' love you for it." For what it means to me and represents for you was the unspoken but intended addition that Bastien didn't trust himself to articulate without stumbling more than he already had.

But then it was his turn to sigh, immediately relinquishing his confession to the windswept rain, allowing solemnity to take its place once more. How Nicharion received it would only delay or expedite an inevitable change in tone. Though they ultimately ended up more honest than they'd ever dared to be outside of their shared fantasies, clinging to one another mere meters from certain death, omitting vital information in favor of the brief bliss it provided would only land them back at the start. And Bastien was tired too, tired of taking the scenic routes to avoid difficult paths. He didn't want them to end up in another field of uncertain terms. "But there is someone else that I love, too." He hesitated just long enough to draw breath, and then:

"My daughter."

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