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roetrolls · 1 year

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(This drabble was a full-blown collab between me and Chase @sasster!! Did it on a shared google doc and everything !!!)

Can You Hear the Thunder?

As much as Orfuse has been hoping to prolong the inevitable, the conversation he needs to have simply cannot be put off any longer. It’s unfair, isn't it? As comfortable as he has gotten bouncing from Aderae, to Lazali, to even Maelia’s hive over the last few weeks, he cannot avoid the truth forever. He’s made his beloved moirail wait for far too long, and it’s about time he made room in his new life for Harlan.

Orfuse stands in front of the church, heart in his throat and his free hand fiddling about with a loose thread from his sweater. Perhaps there was no new life, and he had instead been summoned to suffer some eternal torment. This feels nothing short of torture. Before him the church looms high; Cold, unyielding, uncaring. Unlike the troll that accompanies him, the one who doesn’t seem to mind the deathlike clutch with which Orfuse hangs onto his shirt.

Though the fuchsia looks bored with the circumstance, his body language suggests quite the opposite. He stands with an arm wrapped around the brownbloods shoulder and his tail hovering around his waist, a stance Orfuse would usually observe him taking with Lazali whenever he caught someone unfavorable staring a little too hard. The truth is, Maelia is entirely unlike anything that the oracle assumed of him, and nothing like what awaits him on the other side of that door

The thought tugs at his heart.

“Harly, uhm. He’d be beside himself if he saw us like this.” He mumbles, shrugging out from under the larger troll and closer to the church doors. “He wouldn’t like it.”

“‘Course he wouldn’t.” Maelia says seemingly unfazed, shrugging his own shoulders as he places a cigarette between his lips. “Hurry up in there. Laz is waiting.”

Orfuse nods once and turns to face the oversized entryway. There is a moment of hesitation before he pushes his way in, into the church he’d only seen in visions of his moirail at his worst.

Doubt starts to prick at his resolve almost immediately.

Maybe this was a mistake.

If the church’s facade was daunting, its interior is downright inhospitable. How much effort did it take, to drain this place so completely of warmth?

Orfuse hugs his arms to his chest, though it does little to dispel the chill that flitters up his spine.

I can’t imagine my Harly in a place like this.

It’s what he wants to think. But he can’t, not honestly. It is all too easy to picture Harlan traipsing through these halls, and that knowledge breaks his heart even more.

His fingers curl around the fabric of his sweater, grounding him as they poke through the gaps in the wool. He keeps his eyes trained on the floor, unwilling to view the chapel in its entirety. He cannot bring himself to see the throne. Does not have the will to gaze upon Harlan’s likeness, stern and severe in the looming towers of stained glass.

He is saving his resolve for the real thing.

Fortunately—or perhaps not—he is not made to wait long. For a man Harlan’s size, speed was never much of a concern. He could move quicker than most even at his most leisurely pace, and Orfuse had never known him to hurry.

Which is why it is so jarring to see him barreling into the church at a run, skidding to a halt just beyond the threshold to the compound as he enters the room.

For a moment Orfuse stays stuck in place, drinking in all of Harlan as he stands before him. This is unfair, it is cruel the way his heart begins thrumming in his chest. It’s him, it’s his Harly, kissed by age. What he wouldn’t give to let himself be wrapped up in his arms. To be enveloped by the behemoth before him. What was it Lazali called it?

Losing himself to Harlan. How easy would it be to lose himself again?

Harlan's mouth moves as he drinks in the sight of the oracle just the same with those haunting, pink accented eyes, but it seems that whatever he means to say is trapped within his throat.

Orfuse does not like the glow of his voodoos, they make his stomach turn and, by some twist of fate, help him patch the holes in his already crumbling resolve. He straightens up and gives his arms a squeeze for reassurance.

“Harly, you won’t be very happy with me.” He manages. The attempt to stick to his guns is weak at best, his voice small. Though, that couldn’t possibly be an issue with the way he holds all of the purple blood's attention.

Harlan is silent for a moment as he processes his words, perhaps taken by the sound of his dear moirail, the confirmation that this is all in fact real. Then, without warning, he moves forward to close the distance between them with two large, effortless strides, and just as quickly as he entered the room he is on his knees, cupping a hand around the smaller trolls face.

The scent of pine fills Orfuses nose. He feels at home.

“To think I could be anything but thrilled to hold you once again…”

The smoothness of his voice hits Orfuse the same way his smell did, and the oracle finds himself leaning into his touch. Would it be so bad to lose himself to Harlan again?

He shakes his head to expel the thought. It is a selfish one.

“I miss you so much, Harly…” He reaches up to cup what he can of Harlan’s hand. “But I can’t stay.”

Harlan nearly recoils, reacting to Orfuse’s words as if he has been slapped. He searches the smaller man’s face with incredulity, brows knitting together to spell his confusion and concern. With the smallest shake of the head, he takes Orfuse’s free hand in his, stroking his cheek with one tender thumb.

He opens his mouth to speak, then pauses, noticing for the first time how the lights of his eyes poison his beloved moirail’s face. He blinks, taking a deep breath into his lungs. Then, for the first time since losing Orfuse, the Dominion turns his powers off.

“My Orfuse…” He whispers, swallowing hard. “You can. You must.”

It is not an order, but a pained, desperate plea, and it compels Orfuse more than Harlan’s voodoos ever could.

Now staring into the eyes of his Harlan, without that insidious glow blocking his view, he softens. So too does his resolve.

Orfuse takes his hand from around Harlans and reaches to touch his face gingerly. How could he stand to hurt Harlan like this? Harlan never hurt him, for as long as they’ve known each other.

He swallows as he lets his thumb stroke the side of his face, lingering along the edge of the wrinkles that crown his eye.

“I want to, I really do.” Memories of the last time he denied Harlan start to dredge up, and already tears begin to sting at the corners of his eyes. “But I can’t. I… Harly. Your dominion. It’s not for me.”

His voice is low, barely above a whisper itself. Harlan must know how hard it is to deny him. Why, then, is he making it harder?

“Harly. It’s for the best..” Is it?

Harlan’s expression tightens almost imperceptibly as he studies his moirail’s face for an explanation. Because surely there is an explanation. So carefully he squeezes Orfuses hand in his, the desperation in his eyes masking whatever else he might be feeling in the moment.

“Best for whom?” This one is a demand, but it is so saturated in concern that Orfuse barely registers it as one.

“For me?” He does not sound as sure as he’d like to, having already lost himself in those eyes.

Harlan’s jaw hardens, but his touch remains gentle as ever. He sweeps a lock of hair from Orfuse’s face and stares at him with intent, focus flickering from freckle to freckle as if checking that each cluster is accounted for.

“Do you truly believe that?”

Orfuse doesn’t respond, certain that his silence is the only thing keeping his tears at bay. He drops his head to stare at his feet, though a light touch on his chin guides his gaze back to Harlan and those deep, purple eyes.

“Please,” the giant mutters, “reconsider.”

“You know I’ll always love you,” he offers weakly.

That grips Harlan, a spark of genuine worry flashing across his face. He is beginning to understand that this resistance is not just for show.

“Orfuse,” he tries again, desperation seeping into his voice.

“Harlan… It’s… This is already difficult.” Orfuse averts his eyes again, and this time Harlan allows it.

“Would you rather it be easy?” There is so much hurt in his voice. Orfuse can’t bear to look at him, wishing desperately that he could sink into the cold tiled floor beneath his feet.

“No… But I… Would like it if you weren’t committed to making it harder.”

“I can’t lose you.” He releases Orfuse’s hand to brush a knuckle across the smaller man’s cheek, the slightest tremor running through his weathered palms. “Not again…”

For a moment, Orfuse stops breathing as he once again reaches up to take Harlan’s hand into his. This time, he wraps them both around it, and as upsetting as it is to admit, the action turns out to be a very grounding one. Slowly he expels the breath that trapped itself in his lungs as he starts to stroke along the detail of the giant’s hand. Along every imperfection that reminds him what he was robbed of.

They were supposed to grow old together, that was the plan.

“I don’t want to lose you again either, Harlan.” He finally admits, tears flowing freely now. What is the point in hiding them? He never could with Harlan at any rate.

“You do not have to.” Harlan says, fingers curling around the smaller troll's hands in an effort to keep them still. It sounds so simple on his silver tongue. Smooth, effortless coercion. “Who says that you must?”

“I have to. There’s no…There’s no space for me here. It’s. Everything..” Suddenly Orfuse screws his eyes shut and his features shift into an unpleasant expression. He pulls a hand back to press the heel of the palm into his temple, an attempt to disperse the pool of visions his mind pulls forward from his memory. “Everything happened here. I can’t stay.”

Harlan does not release the other hand, he instead rubs his thumb over the back of it in small circles. Just as soothing as everything else about him, he reaps the benefits of a lifetime to learning how to ground the man.

“How could I explain my decision to stay to them?”

The ghost of something sinister passes over Harlan’s face. It is not often that his actions have consequences.

“Them,” he echoes, expression sour. “What need have you to explain yourself to them? Punishing me will not undo their suffering.”

“I’m not… Punishing you,” Orfuse warbles helplessly.

“There is space,” Harlan interjects, free hand moving to join the other in holding him. Kneeling in front of the oracle with his palms clasped together, it nearly looks like prayer. “There is space.”

Orfuse feels the corners of his mouth pull into a troubled frown, lips pressing themselves into a thin line. He starts to shake his head.

“There has always been space— In here, in me,” Harlan pleads, jabbing five curled fingers into his chest. “To have all this and you, my darling… It is all I have ever wanted.”

He sounds almost breathless, and Orfuse can’t quite swallow the lump growing in his throat.

Harlan’s jaw seems to grind slightly, tongue moving in his mouth as he grasps for what to say. There is a ferocity in his eyes, a terrible certainty that if he can only find the correct words to speak, then at last he will have everything.

His gaze softens. “If I had known that this was where you drew the line… If I had only had you here to temper me…” Gently, he squeezes the smaller man’s hands, his voice so smooth it makes Orfuse’s heart ache with longing. “I need you, beloved. Who else can stop me?”

Harlan’s words ring louder in his ears than the visions that his mind conjured, the larger than life hands around his own root him back to reality.

There’s a valid point. No one can take care of Harlan quite like him. And is the reverse not also true? For no one really knows what Orfuse needs better than Harlan.

He swallows around the lump in his throat, considerable effort going into getting it down. With his vision blurred by his tears, he searches Harlan’s face for any sign that there is remorse for his actions, that there is anything left of his beloved moirail.

Before him stands a behemoth, the vessel of his childhood love that, prior to this exact moment, was smugly satisfied with the terror he had wrought. Upset not because he has caused great harm, but because he is being made to answer for those crimes. Does he even care about the effects his actions have had on the oracle? Orfuse digs around for his voice again, and when he finds it it is pathetic and small. A cry dies in his throat. Instead, he steals a quick glance over his shoulder at the door he’d entered through, worry creasing his browline.

What happens if he stays? Maelia would not return empty handed. His love for Lazali, the care for his well being extended much further than even his own self preservation. How unfair is that? What is stopping Harlan from being that for him? They’ve known each other a fraction of the time.

When Orfuse’s attention drifts back to Harlan, there is a shift in the atmosphere. The air is heavy enough that it all but threatens to suffocate. Something dark dances behind those deep, purple eyes, as though in that brief second, he’d been able to make some connections.

Harlan watches Orfuse with a set jaw.

“You don’t want to be stopped,” the oracle finally breaks the silence that worked so hard to choke him out. “You never wanted to be stopped before.” “Who brought you here?” Another demand from the giant as he focuses his gaze on the door. The darkness that grew in his eyes evolves into an unreadable and dangerous expression that crosses his features. Once again his jaw seems to grind as he searches for the words to say. “Who is waiting on you?”

The implication is clear, anyone who knew the pair would be able to see that Orfuse could never willingly give up his Harlan. Someone got into his head, the only question that remains of that mystery is who.

“No one!” He doesn’t shout, the response is more like a high pitched squeal. A desperate squeak. “It doesn’t matter. I asked them to bring me.”

“It matters that they would subject you to this torture, my love.” There it is again. Effortless, smooth coercion. “It is unfair to you.”

Suddenly, indignance curls itself around Orfuse’s heart like a fist, and it’s his turn to recoil. For a split second, he feels anger. It flashes across his face.

“Is it so hard to believe that I could stand up on my own?” The anger that started hot in his chest starts to fizzle out, and he loses the steam needed to maintain it just as quickly as he’d collected it. Still, he presses on. “That I could operate based on my own morals just this once?” They both know the answer to that question. He would never choose to abandon him on his own accord.

Why would he?

Harlan watches him for a moment, eyes darting around his face to once again soak him in. He reaches to wipe the tears away.

Orfuse lets him.

“Don’t do this.”

“I have to…”

Harlan’s frown deepens. “You truly feel that you are better off without me?” The hurt in his voice nearly conceals his mounting frustration.

“No,” Orfuse whimpers. “I don’t. I’m not…”

“Then stay.”

“I can’t,” he cries, wrapping a hand around Harlan’s thumb.

“Why did you come here, love, if not to be persuaded?” He asks quietly, wrinkles highlighted by the furrow in his brow.

“To say goodbye.”

“To break my heart,” Harlan says forcefully, loath to be fighting a losing battle. He takes a deep breath, gathering back his composure, and speaks softly once more. “My dearest Orfuse… I beg you. Stay.”

Orfuse lets his gaze sweep across Harlan’s face, taking in as much of him as he possibly can while he struggles to get his legs working. This is it, after all, he came and said what needed to be said.

Now he just needs to leave.

Why can’t he leave?

He opens his mouth to speak, but before the words find their way out, Harlan shifts to wrap him up in both arms. All at once, he becomes the smaller troll’s entire world.

Becomes? No, this only serves as a reminder.

Harlan is his whole world. He always has been, he always will be.

When he speaks, his voice rumbles through him.

“My love, you must stay with me. What am I meant to do without you?”

Orfuse leans into him, selfishly drinking in every ounce of his beloved moirail that he can. His scent, his strength, the way the coldness of his skin permeates and lingers on his clothes, the sorrow concealing frustration in his voice.

“Harlan,” his shaky voice is muffled into the giant's chest. He sucks in a deep breath. “I love you so much more than my heart can take. But I have to. Please, Harly, please let me go.”

As he begs, he grips tightly onto the purple blood’s shirt with trembling hands.

“Please, let this departure be on good terms.” He would die otherwise. “Please.”

Harlan places a hand on the back of Orfuse’s head, pressing the smaller man into his body as if trying to absorb him.

“If you leave I will be furious,” he warns, voice low. “But not with you. Never with you.”

He draws back to gaze upon his lover once more, grasping his chin with a finger and thumb. His eyes are misty.

“Go, if you are set on it. Your place will be waiting for you.” Slowly, he brings his face close to Orfuse’s, all but devouring him with deep, tired eyes. “You know you are mine, my love. You know I will always be yours.”

Orfuse could not respond if he wanted to, but he does not get the chance to try before Harlan’s lips are on his, soft, cool, and intoxicating. He holds him there for a moment far too short, then pulls away and rises to his feet.

“Leave, then. Before it can be said I did not let you."

#HARFUSE REUNION COME N GET IT #writing #harlan mahkir #the dominion #guest star!#HEHEHEHE UMMM #collab!#let's see how much i use that tag going forward #tongues and teeth #also uhhh #the title is a song that felt very applicable #:)))#by animal sun!! same ppl as girl in blue hehe #harlan writing

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