15. for the writing prompt?
15. "No worry, you weren't that obvious."
They meant to have a quiet evening in the meeting room today, just Steban and Uli by themselves. Not even a proper reading group meeting, just dinner and some coffee, sitting together and studying, maybe talking over this week's coursework at most. But then there was a knock on the metal grille and a voice hissing the passphrase, and that strange cop who was here once already entered again with his friend in tow.
The gendarme in the disco clothes just wants to talk, brainstorm new thoughts he's internalized. The other one remains inscrutable, hanging back and only occasionally pitching in with some sarcastic comment, not precisely very constructive. Ulixes ponders the man and finds he doesn't trust him. Why did he even come back here with his friend, if he has nothing but disdain for Mazovian thought? Why the orange airman jacket, which seems almost like a mockery? Is he observing them, just waiting for a reason to take them in? For all his bravado, Ulixes isn't sure he actually wants to go to jail for the cause, at least not before he's had the chance to engage in some real action.
So Ulixes watches the airman jacket cop right back, and feels a growing, restless unease in his mind, like something poking at the tender meat of his brain. A tension headache is coming on, like a storm brewing.
Now, the disco cop and Steban are getting into a debate - or rather, the disco cop is trying to debate whether or not a police officer, indirectly employed by the Moralintern, could be a socialist revolutionary. He's citing the origins of the RCM, the way they still rely on the decomptage system. Surely that's something, right? Proof that the RCM can be whipped up into a bona-fide communism-building force? Ulixes leaves the talking to Steban, knowing he's more than capable of handling this topic by himself. Still, it only irritates him more. He begins to bounce his leg, work off the gathering nervous energy, until Steban puts a warm, calm hand on his knee. It soothes him, but only slightly. Storm clouds swirl.
Only a week ago, this cop and his colleagues dragged a communard holdover off one of the little islets in the bay and arrested him for the murder of a fascist mercenary. A grizzled old man, decrepit, delirious, barely alive. Ulixes wasn't there to personally see it, but Steban happened to be dropping off his laundry with the washerwoman in the fishing village when it happened. He told Ulixes all about it. He doesn't know, he said, if that old man was really a murderer, and it doesn't really matter one way or the other. What he does know is that the whole thing was a shameful display.
A communist cop. Sure.
Now the cop in the airman jacket makes another one of his dry little quips. Was he there when they hauled that old man off to die in a cell? It truly does not matter if the old man was a killer, or indeed a communard. He was a vagrant whom no one would miss, and the RCM needed results. Rumor is they extracted a confession on that islet. Is that true? No one can tell.
Ulixes shakes his head and refocuses on the conversation. Some comment has just been thrown Steban's way, some humorous barb (the humor is questionable) about how Steban is inexperienced, young, not worldly like these seasoned cops who've seen it all on Revachol' streets. Who've seen real action. It's patronizing. It's cloying. Worst, it makes Steban flush and quieten, hits him where he lives. Ulixes is seething.
How dare they make fun? Sure, Steban might not have done an awful lot of revolutionary praxis. But he's trying his best! He's not some naive child, he grew up poor in Revachol West too, he knows exactly how the world is, yet still he hopes! It is a hope that is hard-won! It is among the most respect-inducing things Ulixes knows. He's ready to pounce on those men from his perch, go for their jugulars, bite and tear and see a spray of arterial blood speckle the walls, splash all the way over here across Steban's pretty face...
Steban's hand on his knee squeezes once. He glances back at Uli, checking in, but also gently warning. "It's okay," he murmurs and turns back around.
Why is Steban still humoring these men? Why won't he just tell them to leave, go out and never come back? Is he afraid that there'll be consequences, that the nice, jovial officer with the Mazov-like mutton chops will stop being so nice the moment he's not getting what he wants out of them? Or does he really, actually see potential here? Ulixes takes a deep breath through his nose and reminds himself that successful revolutions tend to hinge on getting the military or, yes, police on-side. Maybe Steban is thinking in similar patterns here.
Steban can, in fact, recover. He regains control of the conversation, trades a mild jab back at the expense of the cops (something Uli doesn't quite get about growing up in Villalobos and knowing the RCM only as... something in someone's poppy fields). The disco cop seems a bit taken aback by the lack of enthusiasm for the revolutionary RCM that exists in his mind. His friend, Uli notices, is watching his reactions, eyes intent and hawkish behind those spectacles. A foot taps once, twice, thrice, and then is reined back in. For a second, one gloved hand drifts over to where a gun would be holstered, then is twitched away to ball into a fist at the man's side. He is watching, Uli realizes, for things to defend his partner from.
Self-recognition in the Other does not calm Ulixes down. It only tells him where his enemy is. He is facing a known constellation: a Sensitive Instrument and a self-styled protector thereof, it being known to them both that sensitive men require a line of defense against the harshness of a world they have no innate mental shields against. And Uli's going to defend his one better. He's going to win. He doesn't care that the other one has a gun. This is his primary target, and he's ready to maul.
He keeps his gaze fixed on said target, and almost misses the debate winding down.
"I suppose we've reached an impasse," Steban says not unkindly, folding his hands on his lap, and
"Yeah, well, much to think about," the disco cop relents.
"Detective..." his partner begins, at the same time Ulixes says, "Steban."
Steban tilts his head. The disco cop raises an eyebrow. Some unspoken communication passes between them, and then the disco cop says, "Yeah, me and Kim should probably head back home."
"Kim and I," Ulixes hears as the cops file out of the room, and he is alone with Steban at last.
Relief is slow to come. In the new quiet of the meeting room, Ulixes vibrates, wound so tight he feels near combustion. "I was going to kill that man," he gets out past clenched teeth. "I was going to kill that police officer."
"Yes, I know," Steban says, so casually that Ulixes is certain that indeed, he does know. "No worry, you weren't that obvious. I don't think they noticed."
A kind lie. A politeness.
Uli's breath is still coming quickly, his hands clenching and unclenching in powerless rage. He still trembles. Trying to suppress it is nearly painful, making him feel like he will surely shake apart. His jaw feels fused shut with the force with which he's grit his teeth.
Steban, of course, sees this. His hand settles back on Uli's knee, still just as warm and soothing. "Shh. It's okay, they're gone. Nothing happened. You can calm down."
The touch is nice, but not enough. "Steban... I, I might need..."
"Yes, I know." This isn't new. Steban knows what Uli needs when he gets in his own head like this, when the world is too much, too loud and too hot and too wrong, and he feels like boiling from the inside. Momentarily, he finds himself being eased down from his perch on the backrest and being made to lie down on the sofa proper. Steban unceremoniously sits on his legs and proffers a hand.
Ulixes grabs it in both of his, brings it up to his mouth and bites down.
Steban lets out a muffled little grunt as Uli's teeth sink into his flesh, but barely winces. He knows this feeling well already. He lets his index and middle finger rest on Uli's tongue, depressing it slightly, and keeps them there as Ulixes begins to furiously suck and gnaw upon them. That's good, for a moment, but he still needs something more.
He reaches for Steban and whines, and Steban removes his fingers, slick with saliva. "Yes? What is it?"
"I... can I...?" Ulixes pleads with his eyes, and grasps Steban's hips in both hands, tucking his thumbs into his belt loops.
"Of course, but give me a moment first," Steban says. "Not quite there yet."
'A moment' is taking too long. Ulixes strokes Steban through his pants, helps him along, and Steban tips his head back and sighs, pleasured, as Ulixes feels him firm up. At long last, he's permitted to tug Steban's pants and underwear down, watch his cock spring free, and immediately attach to it, swallow it down as deep as it will go.
The firm weight on his tongue is exactly what he needs. Indulging this need soothes and cools like nothing else, just something about having his mouth full, his one definitive goal to focus on... but not too much. He doesn't want to bring Steban off too quickly. Better yet to draw it out, feel Steban get hard in his mouth, feel him start to leak and finally spill himself over... not yet. Not yet time for that. For now he will be excellently well-used for Steban's pleasure, for now he'll lick and suckle and drool and not think. Lose himself in base fulfillment, hazily aware of the satiated little whimpers he's making as he inches downwards trying to take as much as he can. Above, Steban moans and huffs but he's far away. A surplus of spit runs into Ulixes' beard but that's okay.
His mouth busies. His mind empties. There is only sensation now which Ulixes must seek blindly. He closes his eyes and relaxes his throat and allows bliss to wash over him.
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school band/orchestra otp prompts
they're stand buddies and they both put their hand on the pencil on the stand at the same time
person A and B are in different sections and person A always misses their cues because they're staring at person B
person A and B insist they would never get together but the whole band/orchestra ships them and are trying to get them together (even the conductor is in on it)
rivals to lovers where both of them fight for head of section
person A and B play the same instrument but person A is better at it and teaches person B how to improve
they sit on either side of the band and randomly start playing duets to prank the band
they're always the last ones left after band practice
"thank you so much for helping me set up, i swear no-one ever does..." "wait really? ok, i'll make sure to always be here early to help, then."
person A is the model player and the conductor's favorite whereas person B is always being picked on
they play the same instrument and always fight over solos
alternatively, they play the same instrument and are always extremely considerate about solos
"you can play it." "no, no - i don't mind. you play it." "it's fine, you can do it." "no, but, i think you should..."
"so you're the ass who keeps putting their instrument in the storage room in my spot,"
person A has liked person B for ages but never mustered up the courage to talk to them. person B was away from band for a rehearsal and missed some sheet music being handed out and the conductor gets person A to find person B's part
person A and person B are both being punished by the conductor/volunteer to organize the sheet music cupboard
"dude, i'm sorry, but can you please play the right rhythm in bar 38? it's driving me nuts how you keep getting it wrong."
bonding at band camp
late night deep conversations/trauma dumping because they're in the same cabin at band camp
making fun of the conductor together
making fun of other sections together
making fun of just one section they decided they don't like
one plays strings and one is a band kid so they hate each other
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