#bairgan

[fatewoven]

❛ fine. you were right, and i was wrong. happy now? ❜ / @bairgan

Time flies on squall-filled days, wind rushing clock hands as the sea batters the docks. Eight in the evening, still too early for a Baldurian's standard; albeit never too early for the streets to run murky, rusty, and terribly common red. Blood mixes with the filth, the rainwater that barely cleans the city and rather pushes the waste into the lower districts, and everything drains into the sewers as viscera continues to build the foundation of the city. A populace of murderers, sailors, and would-be-tyrants. How quaint. How homely. It's a place Enver adores and despises in equal parts, his mood toward it fickle as any coin flip. Some days he sees hope in the squalor and grime; a glimmer of greatness that begs for the right hand to guide it. On others... perhaps (oh so graciously) allowing the Bhaalists free run of it would solve the problem. There are, after all, numerous cities across the Sword Coast that could be better used and improved upon. And yet, reshaping the Gate has become a point of pride for him. A challenge for one with a blackened heart.

Eight in the evening, and Enver writes at his desk. A servant brings up a tray of tea and two cups, her slight trembling duly noted as she scurries off. She's the second new hire this month as — much to his chagrin — the frail ones develop a rather dull habit of disappearing. Gone, like nothing ever happened, dragged to Father's altar by an overzealous daughter.

His quill etches against the thick parchment, handwriting confident while the ink dries. Nothing smears, even when a Bhaalspawn appears as a guest. At least this one has the manners to keep blood off the floor. At least this one has sense enough to speak plainly rather than in maddened ravings.

Rather than reply to Kyreth, barely acknowledging the Bhaalspawn's presence, Enver rises and stands before his grand clock, hands folded behind him — posture casual as one can be with a profane murderer at his back. "Nine minutes past eight, on a rainy spring day. Mark the time of your deference, for it will be a far more common occurrence." His profile turns, a teasing grin in view, gilded like the heaviest gold coin pieces. Jeweled fingers gesture to the cooling tea as he continues, voice steady as the rumble of the storm. "Better, isn't it? To let a hunt draw out. To kill without notice. Homicides are usual as cloudy days in the Gate, my dear friend." An exercise in patience for both of them, it seems.

Enver turns to his large windows, eyes tracking the sleet drowning the city. He wouldn't be surprised if by tomorrow's meeting, besides the death of another counselor, there would be reports of weather-related deaths. A good opportunity as any to present his plans for improved security for the city, provided he's given the funds for such a noble cause by other, worthless politicians. "You're not from Baldur's Gate, correct? I hated it whenever it rained during my youth. Now, I have the luxury to enjoy it. How time changes one's perspective on the world."

[fiixer]

“All right, all right, it’s not that big a deal.“ / from aiden.

Just business - that is all it was.

So long as two people exist in the world, someone will want someone else wiped out of existence, promising some twisted form of job security for those dealing in death.  Human life comes with a price tag, and with the zeros promised on the Vigilante's tag, it was a matter of fortune that Jordi had gotten to it first.  By rumor alone it had caught attention.  Someone undoubtedly blabbed where they shouldn't have, started a rumor and forced it down the grapevine.  By the time Jordi had made the warning call, that rumor had already gained traction, and a few frequent flyers within his circle claimed they'd found The Fox's trail, but Jordi knew they were merely blowing smoke.  That trail was long gone.  He had seen to that personally, as he had sealed the official deal.  The contract was his. The Fox was his mark to find, and Jordi always got his mark.  When the crosshairs closed on his target, they no longer had a face, a name, a connection.  They were, plain and simple, just another paycheck to collect.  And as far as anyone would know, Aiden Pearce had become nothing more than cash in his pocket.

The pouring rain had been a fitting backdrop for the storm raging unseen to the rest of the world as he stood atop that lighthouse.  It was a scene he had played countless times before with the difference lying only in the face staring back at him, teetering on the border of incredulous as those green eyes settled on the muzzle of his gun.  In the end, by technicality, Jordi had fulfilled his contract; pulled the trigger resting heavily against his finger, and the infamous Vigilante fell to the grates beneath their feet.  If this had been a normal job, or if Jordi's aim was worse, the fulfillment would have rang true and neither would have returned to the safe house.  Aiden would've been left to rot, and Jordi would've been riding pretty somewhere exotic.  Alas, here they are now, after Jordi had hauled the six-foot-two sack of rocks out of the elements and into some semblance of security, an unnecessary effort by all accounts though even that thought was not enough to sway the decision.

An actual sack of rocks would have been better, he thinks. Rocks don't talk. Rocks don't spew dumb crap that literally no one bought into, nor do they brush off necessary aid. In that respect, a rock might have been smarter, but them's the breaks.

"Huh, you're right!  I mean, what's one extra hole, right? "  The bed is suited for the cramped space it occupies, allowing barely the room required for two as Jordi chose a perch near the edge.  He pauses only to roll his sleeves up his forearms, safely out of range in case blood began to flow again.  His jacket, now draped haphazardly over a rail, already suffered that fate, and he's unwilling to allow for a repeat performance while he shoulders the monumental task of caring for the wound he'd caused.  And a monumental task it was.  Does he need to?  In theory, the answer is a resounding no, yet still he has no intention of returning to his own haven that night, or those to follow.  Jordi gives little thought as to the reason why, but it's set in mind that when Aiden recovered further, here he would stay. 

Jordi Chin is a number of things, of which gentle is not, yet the same hands that pulled the trigger smooth over bare skin, flit along the jagged outline.  The bullet itself was out, though neither have the resources available to check for splintered pieces, and now it is all management.  Again his traitorous mind returns to wondering why that management was on his plate.  In the quiet before Aiden woke, and even on the trek to that particular container, Jordi had wrestled with the thought, done his damnedest to shove it to the furthest recesses, and still it surfaced with a vengeance.  Why was he staying?  Why had he bothered?  Why had he risked his professional reputation for this man?  At the forefront of the questions list, those three were tied, and the answer he tried to conjure became little more that static.  It felt so close, too, as if it were right at the tip of his tongue, waiting for him the right prompt to drag it out into the light for him to properly analyze.  However, there's a part of him that, despite the lack of familiarity, has adamantly decided that it's better he leave it alone.  It's better if he just does this, what he feels he needs to, and moves on.  And, as always, he's inclined to believe he's correct on that matter.

"Ooooh, but it looks like you've got two; one in front, one in back. Entry and exit - remember how that works? Yeah, you remember, and I'm sure you know that that could be a teensy bit of a problem you can't handle by yourself." A single lackluster cleaning could mean infection which meant bigger issues than he could help solve, especially now with everything so fresh and Aiden's body fumbling into recovery mode. " I swear, sometimes it's like you've got one fuckin' brain cell floatin' around up there."

The turmoil burning in his own head adds a touch of venom he hadn't intended but could do little about now that the words left his lips.  He doesn't look to Aiden's face, focused instead on the exit wound, on the trail creeping over skin before the gauze in Jordi's hand catches it.  Truthfully, he's willing to bet Aiden's commentary is nothing but a ruse of sorts.  Jordi's face is likely the last one he wanted to see after everything that happened.  Too bad, so sad.  As luck would have it, his was the only one willing to stick around and help. When he speaks again, it's calmer, the edge smoothed as his focus shifts from his own annoyance to cleaning the wound itself with all the care he shouldn't show.  "Do us both a favor, shut up, sit still, and let me do this. I'll make it quick."

@bairgan // Supernatural — Pilot  {Sentence Starters}

[seeasunset]

" don't you worry about me. " / from theo.

To be roped in

❖

❝And I say otherwise. I have every right to worry about someone like yourself. You'll do the same to me if the roles are reversed.❞

With the amount of time the two had spent around each other, there is no denying it. Vasco would worry himself to death over Theo as Theo would do the same. It'll be unfair if it is one sided. While both didn't need to be cuddle like some kid nor as if they are some fragile piece, ready to break, it doesn't mean there shouldn't be some type of concern.

Despite the impenetrable - and calm expression - he put up - there is a small hint of how concerned he is. His tone or the way he carefully moved to examine the wound.

[enypneon]

℻ @bairgan ••• (the five senses ─ accepting!)

⊵ [ 𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐄 ] + [ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋 ] sender and receiver lock eyes across the room + sender greets receiver in formal partywear.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 the venue, his manager arranging gigs, while throwing the occasional warning glare at slavoj, who is scanning the crowd for a conspicuous face. someone with another tag to their name than 'criminal overlord'. » aha, « finally, a silver lining. » who do i spot with my humble eyes ─ if it isn't night city's most tenacious troublemaker. «

even death could not stop v, if only she knew she found a fan in slavoj from the day the rumours were confirmed to the rockerboy by eurodyne.

all these belligerent whispers in between the music, people tilting their heads from view, only here can slavoj feel like an upstanding citizen. he leans against the railing waiting for v to approach as he looks down at dogtown. » the district has a certain ... charm. do you think they'll let us perform at heavy hearts? « it would do just great on his resumée when not many can even claim to have entered and left dogtown alive. although the latter is yet to be secured.

[inflictswounds]

@bairgan / liked.

" i'm a retired bard, if you missed the memo. " she is quick to remind him, annoyed tone and all. even though lorelei is pretty sure she's been mentioning her complicated relationship status with her own instruments since the start of their journey, she doesn't shy away from repeating it once more so that it can stick in their infested brains. " i don't play or sing on request anymore. " it hurts no matter how many times that sentence leaves her lips. her fingers twitch, longing to strum the strings of her lyre ━ but her stubborness won't allow it still. " ... well, unless there's a really good reason to. do you happen to have a really good reason to offer me, kyreth? " sarcastic she may sound, but a part of her does wish to hear an excuse; any excuse to find joy in her beloved past-time again.

[loyalborn]

@bairgan sent: ❛ maybe we should kiss just to break the tension. ❜ / from Kyreth to Haarlep.

Eyebrows shot up and Haarlep took a moment to study the little tiefling. They knew they were attractive, knew that they were almost overwhelming to poor, little mortals. The pheromones that naturally clung to their skin tended to convince weaker minded beings that there was genuine interest there. And sometimes it made them think they were in love.

"You're cute," they said with a little, huffy laugh. "My dear, if you want to kiss me, then kiss me; you don't need to make up excuses." With a smirk on their lips, they leaned in close. "And if you want to fuck me, then fuck me."

[survivoirs]

send 🙌 to grab my muse by the throat || memes always accepting @bairgan

There were a number of ways an attack on John could play out from one of their members. Generally it did not go over well and the punishment could be severe. However, Max had such a soft spot in John Seed's black heart that the hands around his throat, pinning him to the wall brought about a strained grinned from the Baptist. John grunted softly, shifting his neck and placing his hands overtop Max's with a glint in his eyes. John was certainly one to poke and prod and all the right buttons and perhaps a part of him likely had been trying to get Max worked up enough to put his hands on him like this.

"If you're going to choke me, do it properly, Silvan," he instructed softly, darkly, tattooed fingers adjusting the man's grip on his throat until it cut off the blood flow slightly. He could feel the way the other man faltered, hesitated, like he wasn't quite sure of what was going through John's mind. Murderous intentions or -- well --- by the way the Baptist's eyes darkened -- desire. A little more pressure from Max and he could have John's brain shutting off in the best of ways and putty in his hands -- yet. Annoyance flared up in John and with a quick and hard pinch of a painful pressure point in the other man's shoulder, he wretched himself free.

"No -- no - no. Harder. Like this," he hissed, slipping under and around Max's arm to shove the man up against the very wall he'd just been pressed against to place the man in the same position. Left hand locked around Max's throat, fingers placed just so, so his breathing was unobstructed but the blood flow cut off. He ignored any initial struggling, knee pressing between the other man's legs and right hand gripping his hip to give himself leverage with their height difference. After a moment of their eyes being locked, John loosened his grip to instead brush his thumb along Max's bottom lip, hand now caressing the side of the man's face fondly. "Now -- how shall I make you atone for that little outburst of yours?"

[fiixer]

“   good to see you made it back safe .   ” / from Aiden.

" ...right. "

There is nothing in that single word beyond the bare hint of acknowledgement. Far more pressing is the task of gathering what few belongings he had left behind the last time they shared this particular safe-house; the essentials for a success on a job already gone awry. He'd felt it slipping between his fingers long before pins flew and explosions rocked the warehouse. That all merely cemented the fact that, in that moment, he'd bitten off more than he could chew, though it was not a complete failure. A little birdie was kind enough to drop a location - after enough of his blood stained Jordi's suit, of course - and now time is of the essence. Jordi knows where, but he doesn't know how long. The sooner he made it, the better, meaning he didn't have the time for or interest in whatever sentiments Aiden had going on here.

Maybe it should be touching. Things had gotten hairy, and he has no doubt that if the resulting chaos wasn't felt, it certainly was heard, which might raise a question of whether or not anyone was getting out of there in less than two pieces. Any other employer wouldn't care, since no money had been exchanged quite yet. Then again, it could have easily been veiled sarcasm, a little dig at the fact he'd been the only thing that returned when, in theory, he should have either a corpse in his wake, a laptop in hand, or a list of names to investigate at a later time. Or, he could be overthinking the whole thing when he should be moving his ass. Needless to say, Option C is the one he's choosing. Maybe later he'd care to analyze the details.

"Are you done?" A fresh clip clicks into place, its host tucked into the usual point at Jordi's waist. Already he'd hidden weaponry of a more personal variety - those with a blade instead of bullets - on his person, just in case the situation called for such measures, though even if it didn't, he may just indulge as repayment for the wild goose chase. " 'Cause, uh, I'd kinda like to get this shit over with. Today. "

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝟑𝟓𝟖/𝟐 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 ( 𝟏.𝟓 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐗 )   (   𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟑   )    [   𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂    ] // @bairgan

[fiixer]

are you busy? i could use your help. / from aiden.

The engine's growl dulls to a rumbling purr when rolls to a halt, effectively drowning the grind of gears shifting into park.   Above the noise comes a swirl of voices; a group passing between his car and the next, chattering amongst themselves and laughing as they made their way inside the bar, which would have been one of the very last places he'd prefer to stop if given a choice.  Too many people wandered around in the parking lot, even in the early evening, all emboldened by whatever they'd been drinking and all too willing to insert themselves where they didn't belong, or pick a fight they couldn't win.  The latter was entertaining, at least, but it's also a headache he'd prefer to avoid.  Alas, when choices are limited, one can only make do, hence his claim on a space at the far side of the lot.  He leans back in his seat, free hand draped at the top of the steering wheel.  " I'm always busy - I'm a busy guy. Am I too busy, is the real question, and that depends entirely on what you need help with. "

A grain of truth lies in that.  Discretion is one of the many perks his job offers.  There is next to no obligation to take anything he doesn't want, and he is anything but shy about exercising that discretion.  With anyone else.  If it was anyone else on the phone, there may have been a question of whether or not he'd actually agree to lend a hand, but when his phone lit up a few moments ago, it was Aiden's name that flashed on the screen.  And when Aiden's name pops up along with a request, Jordi knows exactly what he'll be doing next.  It wasn't always that way, of course, as once upon a time, Pearce was just another name on his client list.  Technically, he still is, but time - quality time has a way of tweaking things, and God knows they've had their fair share of quality time together "So, what's up?  Need a ride?  A place to lay low?"  All the standard stuff that did not make for a particularly exciting evening, but they're right at his fingertips.  "Did your old lady harem finally rise up against you?  What kinda 'help' are we talking here?"

THE MANDALORIAN SEASON 1 (accepting) / @bairgan

[seeasunset]

i hope it won’t offend you if i carry you in my heart. / from theo.

Lost at sea

❖

❝Why would that offend me at all that you'll do that? I'll consider it as an honor you would do that. For my sake. Call it romantic if you must.❞

The usual calm expression that settled onto Vasco's tattooed's face has softened. Almost amusing but for the sake of the last sentence he spoken out loud. The amusement quickly left his face as quickly as it came, though keeping the softness he wire. The only expression he wore, which is quite special for Theo. The softness that is worn when you wake up the morning, feeling cozy and at home. To know you're doing the right thing. The warmth to know you finally found something worth fighting for. More that is. He couldn't deny that the Nauts or his friends are worth fighting for as well but this hit different.

Even then, Vasco settled down into the nearest chair. A wooden chair that creaked slightly under his weight. His gloved hands moving to smooth out the wrinkles in his outfit. His gaze settling onto the familiar face before him. The same face he studied every time they were alone. The angles, the special features no one else may not notice until they look closely, the way the expression change and he came to know.

❝If you don't mind, I'll do the same right back. The way you will remain as true as my beating heart. As true as how the moon pulls the waves or the waves carrying us safely to our destinations.❞

[seeasunset]

Theo on her way to give Vasco hugs and smooches on the cheek.

The hugs and the smooches dotting his tattooed cheeks is a welcome sight and feeling. One certainly from a long day at work. While he may been anchored, it didn't mean there isn't work to be done. Paperwork to go through, cargos to count and take in, these kind of stuff.

Despite the light color of red filling up his cheeks at the thoughtful gestures, Vasco had returned it right back. Probably a little more.

[fiixer]

They had just done a mission, one where Jordi sniped for him, and it made Aiden realize how much easier it was to get to where he needed to be. Would he say it out loud to the fixer? Perhaps not, Jordi already had a big enough ego and Aiden just wanted to lay low for a while. Before that, however, he figured fueling up would be best for the both of them, “I’m going to assume you’re hungry and since you helped me, let me buy dinner. Gonna have to take it to go though, to a safe house.” He paused to clear his throat then kicked a pebble with the toe of his shoe while shoving his hands in his jean pockets, “We make a good team.”

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa - is that.. appreciation I'm hearing?". A pause follows as though he's waiting for objection or clarification on the intent, and then a hand settles over his chest, pantomiming a shock-induced heart attack.  Defense has a funny way of manifesting sometimes, and for Jordi, that often comes as smartassery as a shield against the ever-dreaded emotion, particularly the warm and fuzzy bullshit that threatened to raise its head in response here.  Aiden wasn't wrong.  They do make a great team.  For all their bickering and verbal shots fired between them, one would be hard pressed to find a duo more efficient, precise, and skilled than the two of them.  There was a reason - apart from the money - that he rarely turned Aiden down when he asked for help; when things went smoothly, the job was ten times more enjoyable, and that was so much easier with the right partner.  And the right partner goes a little deeper than each simply knowing what they're doing.  Jordi had realized that a while ago.  In a way, it's nice to see Aiden having that epiphany, as well.

His theatrics are short-lived, quickly returning to tossing their collective prize into the backseat of Aiden's car.  If nothing else, it serves as just the distraction he needs.  Watching Aiden's, dare he say, shy display had those goddamn fuzzy feelings threatening to rise yet again, and there is no room for that in the aftermath of a job.  Jordi is purposely taking his time setting the cash bag on the floor, wedging it between the seats to give the appearance of nothing but junk in the back of a car; a needless endeavor, as he has no intention of just leaving it without one of them around, but he's biding time for those gross little emotion flare-ups to calm the fuck down so they could continue on.  In the wake of those, maybe he should say no to dinner …. But the day Jordi turns down the promise of food is the day the world can consider him dead.  

Their prize safe, he slams the door, purposely keeping his eyes trained away from Aiden.  Despite his better efforts, that thread of…affection - ugh, now that's just gross, goddamn it Aiden - was proving harder to unravel than he'd anticipated.  He couldn't even squash it down as he'd hoped, thus the next best option is doing everything in his power to ignore it.  Much easier when he didn't have to look into those lovely green eyes, or watch the way Aiden pointedly shied away from directly stating what they're both seeing.  They are a good team, aren't they.  He'll admit that much, but there's something about hearing it aloud that catches somewhere nice to hear and unnerving.  " Yeah, sure, food sounds good. "  It seems a proper way to end a successful night, doesn't it?  Basking in the light of their success together, like a good team is meant to do?  Jordi wouldn't consider it with literally anyone else in the world, but…well, actually, he's going to stop that thought in its tracks before it gets too far out of hand.  " - but I'm picking the place.  If you drag me through McDonald's again, I'm leaving you in the river. "

i found this in my drafts omg // @bairgan

[fiixer]

“   i hope we get another vacation soon .   ” / from Aiden.

" We? "

Hiding out for a week in the ass end of nowhere wasn't exactly what he'd consider a vacation, but at this point, beggars can't be choosers. Seven days without bullets flying and blood splattering pales in comparison to relaxing on a beach somewhere, or kicking back in a luxury hotel with an ocean view, but it still counts for something at least. And, loathe though he is to admit it, the company had been ... nice. Stupid on both their parts, as one person alone has an easier time hiding than two together, but it was nice nonetheless. But, even so, he's not exactly looking for a repeat. " I dunno who the hell you think we is supposed to be - there is no we. You are on your own. "

And, now that most of the heat died down, he too would go his own way. It's simpler, and safer that way. That is anything but a mystery to either one of them, as both had been in this particular line of work long enough to know. From here, they'll go their separate ways. And, hell, maybe Jordi will head off and take an actual vacation somewhere not cold, rainy, and gross. With the way things often work, that was likely nothing more than a pipe dream, but it's certainly a nice thought.

another meme I lost somewhow // @bairgan

[inflictswounds]

@bairgan asked: torture, bloodsport? or perhaps just a good old-fashioned walloping? / to astarion, from kyreth. / prompts tag.

" oh, you sweet talker. you sure know how to spend a fun evening. " a.starion waves his hand, delivering the compliment right after one of his high pitched giggles. the more he ponders on kyreth's mere suggestion , the more he can feel his mouth watering in anticipation of what could become his next snack. cull or be culled; the tiefling sure did understand how the world worked and knew how to turn it into an amusing experience.

" if it was up to me, however, i would pick the good, old and reliable beheading. it's efficient and quick━ one powerful slash and poof! everything goes black. " a lover of the dramatics, the spawn is more than glad to reneact his own vision of how the pair should get rid off of their little ... problem.

[inflictswounds]

@bairgan asked: i can't tell if you're being silly or serious. / to lorelei, from kyreth. / prompts tag.

" i suppose i really don't make it easy with all the sarcasm, heh ... " narrowing her eyes, lorelei's red lips curl into an awkward smile. between complaints and uncalled jabs, it's a miracle these people haven't revolted against her yet. despite her best effort to keep them at a safe distance, it's hard not to get attached to this bunch of lovely fools. so the fellow bard steps closer ━ close enough to reveal her actual intentions in a whisper.

" i'm being serious. about helping you, i mean. i realized i've been idling by for far too long, so if someone like me can make a difference, no matter how small, count me in, ky. " her tone becomes unusually warm, a cadence befitting of the reassurance she's meaning to share. it's been a while since lorelei has felt this vulnerable, yet she isn't hating the experience as much as she thought.

[fiixer]

cozy. there aren't enough seats open; you pull the sender onto your lap with a grin. / from Aiden, except they’re alone.

"I was starting to think they'd never leave."

Excited voices fade to dull mumbles as their hosts head upstairs, sparked by the prospect of a night on the town; a single night to unwind for a while after a string of hard-earned successes.  Good on them, they deserved it.  Since his arrival, he hadn't seen them venture out without a job in mind, so it's plenty overdue.  It also came with an invitation extended to the two of them, as well.  Once upon a time, he would have jumped on the opportunity, but kicking back and celebrating in his younger days meant something different than it did now.  The urge to get stupid had dulled considerably, especially if it involved hitting up a public place with music and dozens of bodies crammed against each other.  Sure, it still sounds like a good time, but in a smaller dose, thus he'd chosen to hang back for a while with Aiden.  Later they could catch up.  It'd certainly be a different method for spending time together, one of a long list of things they'd never done in each other's company,, but for now, he's enjoying the quiet that settles upon the hideout.  Upon him and Aiden, now left alone to their own devices.

For a while, he basks in it, breathing a sigh as though the resulting peace was the biggest relief of the week.  In a way, it is.   All he had seen since his arrival was everyone running themselves ragged – rather, the one he'd really paid attention to was Aiden running himself ragged, and damn if Jordi isn't going to make sure he takes this opportunity to sit back and breathe for a while, to reap the benefits he'd fought so hard for.  It's part of his job now, after all, right?  Officially?  That would take some getting used to.  Not that it's so unheard of that he'd keep an eye on Aiden.  Jordi has done that for years now, but in recent days, it had risen to a whole new level.  So as the others' voices fade entirely, he's fixated on Aiden standing across from him, on the tired lines around his eyes, and with this time alone comes an idea to benefit both of them.  

"C'mere."  As he speaks, he reaches to close fingers around Aiden's wrist.  What he could do was drag Aiden to one of the many chairs scattered around the room, or perhaps a bed; make him sit there a while, take a load off, relax, all the good stuff.  The issue was, that didn't quite fit into the plan forming in Jordi's mind, as they were all out in the open, in plain sight of anyone who might say, come back to retrieve a forgotten possession or something.  However, short of spending time rearranging things, there isn't another option available, so he'll roll with what they've got.  It's risky, but he's banking on the fact that one of them would hear, should anyone return.  Neither of them had survived this long by letting little things like that slip by unnoticed, after all.   

Truly comfortable chairs are severely lacking - he'd complained about that plenty upon first arrival - but without others to contend with, the few that qualified were up for grabs.  Jordi picks one off to the side, as out of sight as possible from the entrance so they'd still have their privacy, to bring Aiden to, only to promptly claim the seat for his own, shifting to make himself comfortable, and leave plenty of room.  He does intend to share, after all.  Jordi may have the best seat in the hideout, but he's willing to give Aiden what he considers the second, tugging while his free hand rests at Aiden's waist to draw him in with some measure of care. He wanted Aiden to sit down, not fall down, after all, but the ultimate goal is merely urging him down into Jordi's lap.

That's normal, right?  That's the sort of thing normal couples do?  Of course it is, and yet in a way, it almost feels as though he's doing it wrong, like his hands were not meant for such tender things.  Like he was not meant for them.  Were he a younger man, he would have agreed.  It's a new and frankly strange situation he's struggling to grasp, holding someone so intimately without any manner of ulterior motive.  Even now, the notion as a whole is up for debate, though he cannot deny the fact that…that Aiden does feel good in his arms.  Aiden's weight settling in his lap is almost a comfort, one he clings to with an arm wrapped around his middle to keep him there.  For that privilege - and that is exactly what it is, a privilege - he'll figure things out, find a way to get used to this sort of thing, preferably sooner rather than later considering the amount of time they've wasted already.  

Ha, look at that.  Three days of being official and he's already going soft.  It's all Aiden's fault, obviously.

A hand wanders along Aiden's thigh, pausing only to squeeze lightly above his knee and then continuing on its repeating path, while he's all but nuzzling the crook of Aiden's neck, humming low with the scratch of beard against his skin.  Once upon the same time as before, he could and would have been an absolute menace when presented with such an opportunity -- oh, who is he kidding? He still intends to be as his attention climbs higher, settling just beneath Aiden's ear.  Jordi's voice drops low, quiet, barely above a whisper.  "There we go.  Just the two of us, now."

meme I can't remember // @bairgan