Uh-huh. No speaking, "bro". Ol' Sampo will take care of you.
[He really shouldn't be doing this - bridal carrying Elysium, specifically. He's kind of the worse for wear, here, too. But ah, what is pain? A momentary obstacle.]
[Besides, that flustered face makes up for everything here. That's a payment to satisfy some debt if he ever saw it.]
[He moves back to the entrance to the stairs, humming a little tune.]
[ Does he cover his face? Does he pinch Sampo's face until he relents? For a while, it'll look like he settled into some kind of begrudged acceptance, arm closest to Sampo freeing itself wind around Sampo's. It's a little much to look at Sampo directly other than to steal the occasional glance, but he has a perfect view of the bandages that litter the other's body like this, and the sensation of muscles tensing at his back.
Normally, it should feel comforting, right? Secure? That the carry is stable despite everything? No, because he wouldn't have done half of what he's done if he were the type of sane person to accept help at anyone's expense in the first place. So— ]
… Not unless you're prepared for returning fire, yourself.
[ —with that, as "bros" are wont to do, his arms are looping around Sampo's neck, bringing their faces closer. Unlike Sampo, he's nicer ("nicer") to provide additonal warning, in
a kiss to his jaw, to his cheek, and finally, lastly, to his mouth, pressing incessantly, eyes narrowed in determination.
… this, too, is a kind of pvp……
please
he can walk!!!!!!!!!!! (real)!!!
or fail in this exercise of shamelessness because his lungs really do kind of suck rn. tragic. in which he just as lamely tucks his head into his shoulder, after. (the truth behind the other kiss…) ]
Edited (don't write tags immediately after a nap) 2024-10-20 06:48 (UTC)
[Oh, he'll go there. He'll wade in and put his dirty hands all over the prstine white carpets just because he can. Because chaos asks for it. Elation asks for it.]
[He's humming, claiming victory, but then - a bird is coming very, VERY close and just. Uh. Well, he half expected a fight here, but there's one kiss, another, and now he's being kissed on the mouth. All very, very dizzying, but before he can react
Elysium is dropping back to nuzzle into his neck.]
[Sampo heaves a little sigh, more affectionate than he means it to be.]
Now, now, buddy. A few kisses won't make me drop ya. Besides, there will be plenty of time for that kinda thing later.
[Now he's really going to rub it in, giving a little comical kiss to the top of his head.]
I won't drop you. I said I'd be there for you, didn't I?
Shut uuuup… I liked you better when you were easier.
[ like when he'd startled at thoughtless gestures of affection, abrupt compliments of cute and beautiful. when it was all about a competition of who'd come out on top when it came to little adrenaline rushes and acts of indecency. much like how Sampo had the urge to flip him off the roof—
Elysium has half the mind to strangle him here and now.
… but there's this little thing. This little thing called trust. The trust everyone asks of him which he isn't sure he has or is even capable of. The trust that requires him to put his life to bat isn't really significant, in the grand scheme of things—he's done it countless times, both for people he knows and those he doesn't.
It's the trust that has him once again overriding his own instincts, the trust that has him squirming in Sampo's arms uncomfortably trying to figure out what would be comfortable before he concedes to himself that there isn't, any. While he still isn't sure if this trust of his has any intrinsic value, still isn't sure if it's worth it given the associated costs, more delicate than a life, the word 'comrade-in-arms' floats to the surface in attempt to define it. It sinks like an anchor, not enough, not quite, to characterise what it is that Elysium has clumsily pieced together into settling his head on Sampo's shoulder, forcing his eyes closed. ]
… But that's a lie, only because you're getting me to do some pretty uncharacteristic things. [ A press of a kiss cues the drop of something else in his chest. Still: slowly, slowly. His breath starts evening out. ] … So, just so you know… it's going to take more than what happened to make me leave.
[ A perch, a nest, an open cage—
in the end, it doesn't matter what it is; the bird will fly in willingly, tuck its wings in, and drift off into slumber. ]
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no subject
[He really shouldn't be doing this - bridal carrying Elysium, specifically. He's kind of the worse for wear, here, too. But ah, what is pain? A momentary obstacle.]
[Besides, that flustered face makes up for everything here. That's a payment to satisfy some debt if he ever saw it.]
[He moves back to the entrance to the stairs, humming a little tune.]
You're cute as a button, you know that?
no subject
[ Does he cover his face? Does he pinch Sampo's face until he relents? For a while, it'll look like he settled into some kind of begrudged acceptance, arm closest to Sampo freeing itself wind around Sampo's. It's a little much to look at Sampo directly other than to steal the occasional glance, but he has a perfect view of the bandages that litter the other's body like this, and the sensation of muscles tensing at his back.
Normally, it should feel comforting, right? Secure? That the carry is stable despite everything? No, because he wouldn't have done half of what he's done if he were the type of sane person to accept help at anyone's expense in the first place. So— ]
… Not unless you're prepared for returning fire, yourself.
[ —with that, as "bros" are wont to do, his arms are looping around Sampo's neck, bringing their faces closer. Unlike Sampo, he's nicer ("nicer") to provide additonal warning, in
a kiss to his jaw, to his cheek, and finally, lastly, to his mouth, pressing incessantly, eyes narrowed in determination.
… this, too, is a kind of pvp……
please
he can walk!!!!!!!!!!! (real)!!!
or fail in this exercise of shamelessness because his lungs really do kind of suck rn. tragic. in which he just as lamely tucks his head into his shoulder, after. (the truth behind the other kiss…) ]
no subject
[He's humming, claiming victory, but then - a bird is coming very, VERY close and just. Uh. Well, he half expected a fight here, but there's one kiss, another, and now he's being kissed on the mouth. All very, very dizzying, but before he can react
Elysium is dropping back to nuzzle into his neck.]
[Sampo heaves a little sigh, more affectionate than he means it to be.]
Now, now, buddy. A few kisses won't make me drop ya. Besides, there will be plenty of time for that kinda thing later.
[Now he's really going to rub it in, giving a little comical kiss to the top of his head.]
I won't drop you. I said I'd be there for you, didn't I?
no subject
[ like when he'd startled at thoughtless gestures of affection, abrupt compliments of cute and beautiful. when it was all about a competition of who'd come out on top when it came to little adrenaline rushes and acts of indecency. much like how Sampo had the urge to flip him off the roof—
Elysium has half the mind to strangle him here and now.
… but there's this little thing. This little thing called trust. The trust everyone asks of him which he isn't sure he has or is even capable of. The trust that requires him to put his life to bat isn't really significant, in the grand scheme of things—he's done it countless times, both for people he knows and those he doesn't.
It's the trust that has him once again overriding his own instincts, the trust that has him squirming in Sampo's arms uncomfortably trying to figure out what would be comfortable before he concedes to himself that there isn't, any. While he still isn't sure if this trust of his has any intrinsic value, still isn't sure if it's worth it given the associated costs, more delicate than a life, the word 'comrade-in-arms' floats to the surface in attempt to define it. It sinks like an anchor, not enough, not quite, to characterise what it is that Elysium has clumsily pieced together into settling his head on Sampo's shoulder, forcing his eyes closed. ]
… But that's a lie, only because you're getting me to do some pretty uncharacteristic things. [ A press of a kiss cues the drop of something else in his chest. Still: slowly, slowly. His breath starts evening out. ] … So, just so you know… it's going to take more than what happened to make me leave.
[ A perch, a nest, an open cage—
in the end, it doesn't matter what it is; the bird will fly in willingly, tuck its wings in, and drift off into slumber. ]