{rping} I'll tell you why

[uncalendula]

WHO Ned (wordvomit) & Michael (what_he_needs)
WHERE Outskirts of Vega
CANON A Thrilling Dominion AU
SCENARIO

In the aftermath of what could arguably be considered a supernatural disaster, a friendly face might be the only balm one needs to soothe.

--------------------------------------------

[Ned Edwards (and yes, he realizes the irony of being named Edward Edwards) escaped work early this afternoon, having put in his morning hours and produced enough baked goods to satisfy the small army living in the Riesen household. Sometimes he can almost remember life before this - flickers here and there, his mother dying and his father leaving him - before the caste system relegated him to a lower rung where he had to claw his way into localized fame before the higher-ups came to satisfy their sweet-tooth.

He certainly can't complain about the ovens, state-of-the-art industrial grade and more baking pans than you could shake a stick at. Ned remained quiet, and careful, and never kicked up a fuss, which is probably why he's managed to maintain his position for so long.

They offered him a space in the household, but the rooms felt too cavernous. Too...nouveau riche.

Too lonely.

On the outer ring of the city there are fair apartments, decent housing for those in the middling range who don't mind the clamor of the lower class outside one's window. With a bag stuffed full of day-old goods from the kitchen that would, doubtless, be thrown away otherwise, Ned doles out bits and pieces until there is little left and he has to wonder how long some of these people's ration cards will last them.]

You're welcome,

[he nods to a little girl with a weary smile, an early riser and an early setter by default, feeling the exhaustion creep in again. From the mumble of the crowd he can tell something's happened closer to the main family buildings, but susurrous rumors and hearsay happen frequently enough around here for him not to consider it as genuine Vega "news."

After all, none of the monitors are flickering with any updates.]

Comments

[what_he_needs]

[Michael shifts, his movements subtle and methodical, watching Ned as he makes the tea. His eyes narrow in on the pie maker, quietly assessing the way he moves and works, and how efficiently he completes the task.

He can appreciate the silent confidence that Ned exudes in the kitchen, comfortable and practiced, obviously something he feels at home in; not specifically making tea, but using his hands to prepare food or drink.]

Thank you. [If his voice sounds strained, it's not because he's uncomfortable with Ned, but, rather, is due to not having quite coped with what he'd done. He doesn't even mind the closeness that sharing the same sofa has afforded them.

He nods once, but he doesn't drink the tea. Just holds it in his hands, the warmth seeping through the porcelain and into his fingers.]

I've..I. [Michael didn't know how to begin, where to start, or how to confess his sins to the pie maker. He wanted to, strangely enough, but he couldn't, so he opts for a more general statement.] I let my emotions get the better of me, it was unfortunate.

[His words were firm then, and he breathes out heavily afterwards.]

[wordvomit]

[Ned allows him a little space, knowing that stress can make one volatile, but stays within a friendly, caring proximity. His concern is that the archangel very rarely appears on the emotional spectrum outside of "Devoid Of," so this is an anomaly in the Pie Maker's time knowing Michael.]

I'm...not great with emotions,

[he admits in an effort to relate, taking another burning sip of tea. It helps ground him in the moment, reminding him that he is indeed entertaining an angel as a guest in his home.]

I usually let them bottle up, and- um, just sort of...simmer...which is bad, I think, but I've never known a better way of handling them, and sometimes it's- it's hard to talk about them, you know? I still haven't gotten the hang of it.

[He looks down into his cup then, chewing his lip.]

...what happened?

[what_he_needs]

[Michael doesn't feel like Ned's pressuring him, even though he had asked what had happened, but he realizes that he does want to tell him. It's unfamiliar territory, sitting here with the pie maker, and not feeling like he had to be whatever the other person expected, or give whatever the other wanted him to give.

Ned was... Ned didn't push. And he didn't expect or want anything from the archangel.]

She tortured him. My friend. In ways I can't begin to describe. And I. I snapped.

[He turns from Ned, looking down into his tea like it was the only thing in the room. The switch was quick, but needed, so he didn't hesitate.] But, enough. Let us talk about something else. About you.

[wordvomit]

[Coming from anyone else, "I snapped" could be anything from "I yelled at someone" to "I began to inflict bodily harm," and Ned has the discomfiting feeling that an angel losing control would result in manslaughter, at best.]

Oh.

[He feels sorry for asking in the first place, suddenly finding his tea incredibly fascinating as well. The Pie Maker braces himself to execute the awkward transition into another subject - while dwelling on that fact that he may or may not have invited a volatile angel into his humble abode - when Michael chooses a new subject.]

...me? [Laughing, it takes him a moment to realize that the archangel isn't pulling his leg.] ...you're not joking. Um. I'm not- I'm not that interesting, I, uh-

[Acutely aware of the spotlight turned on him, sitting and sweating under Michael's piercing blue gaze, Ned swallows.]

I- I- I'm twenty-nine, erm...I've...been baking for two decades. Like I said, I'm not that interesting.

[what_he_needs]

[The guilt was almost unbearable, but listening to Ned speak had him forgetting, even if only for a moment, the events that had occurred at House Thorn. And he was still deciding for himself how interesting the pie maker was or wasn't.]

You've been baking since you were nine. That is quite the accomplishment.

[Michael wasn't being disingenuous, on the contrary, his vast number of years spent living with the humans had given him insight into them. There were those that had a new hobby every week, the same for a career, and that Ned had been baking so long told Michael that the pie maker enjoyed his job, or at the very least, was not a quitter.

The lanky man sitting next to him has proven himself to be the distraction that Michael had needed, and he sits his tea aside, and turns to face him.]

I.. appreciate this. [Blue eyes rise, piercing the pie maker, willing him to know what he means.]

[wordvomit]

I wasn't great at sports, so I kinda had to bake a lot,

[he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. Any suggestion that he join a military unit was usually followed up with derisive laughter - as if shy, gangly Ned would get anywhere in those ranks. The room, board, and food appealed to his sensibilities, of course, but when one is horribly inept at physical altercations (and dislikes guns, as well), one finds alternatives.

His came in the form of a pie that Claire Riesen happened to have ordered at a small local shop closer to inner Vega. The rest was history.]

Oh. Um.

[Sensing a monumental shift in the conversation, Ned clears his throat and puts his cup down as well, folding his hands in his lap and smiling at the angel.]

It's...really no big deal? I was sort of already done with work for the day, and you looked like you needed...to sit down, I- I get the same way, sometimes.

[what_he_needs]

[Michael was listening attentively, head canted to the side, and then he realizes he doesn't want to listen anymore.

The archangel suffered from a one track mind, and he can't help but notice Ned sitting his cup down, or folding his hands in his lap, or smiling at him. Or that there seems to be a permanent flush to the pie makers cheeks. As his lips move, Michael's eyes drop, and his focus turns, alters, and shifts to something entirely more natural for him.]

Ned.

[It's low, his whispering the pie maker's name something to ground him in the moment. His movements are quick, though he doesn't want to startle, and he reaches out and grasps Ned by the collar and pulls him in against him, kissing him. Firm, closed, presses of his mouth.]

[wordvomit]

Wha-mmphf.

[What the Pie Maker is perhaps not expecting is the suddenness with which Michael changes the subject. While fully comprehending that the talk was dancing around whatever the archangel had done - which is fine, Ned doesn't have to know - he finds himself surprised to see the hand reaching for him, curling around his collar and jerking him forward.

His name, almost growled, deep and desirous, reaches into him and pulls out a gasp, which parts his lips against Michael's. The first kisses are innocent, he can tell, but hanging there connected by their mouths and the fingers twisted in his thrift store tee-shirt Ned makes a quiet, content sound at the back of his throat, reaching for Michael's coat.]

[what_he_needs]

[That sound, it pulls him in, a silent permission, and approval of what Michael is doing. And, he soaks it up, spurring the archangel into further action.

He parts his lips, the kisses slightly more heated, and he leans back against the couch, pulling Ned with him. Michael's strong, stronger than possibly the pie makers used to, and he easily holds him to his chest, his leg settling between Ned's. His hands slide down the other's waist, and he's pushing him inward, fingers moving to fast, wanting to feel as much as he can.]

Ned. [Michael parts their mouths, uttering his name, and which would normally be repetitive, could be, it wasn't for the fact that each time he said it, it held a different meaning. Michael wasn't talkative, but he altered his tone when he needed, and this time it was seeking, imploring.]

[wordvomit]

[Still utterly surprised by this development - not that he's complaining by any stretch of the imagination - Ned tries to adjust to the suddenness of his new position, half-sprawled on top of an archangel. A knee presses up between his legs and eager hands slide over his hips, across his torso. The Pie Maker has to prop himself with both hands braced on the sofa at Michael's sides, just because he's almost concerned about the proximity, about rubbing up against someone way out of his league.]

H-Hey-

[A little red in the face but too close to not stare distractedly at Michael's mouth, Ned swallows and tries to find his voice.]

I-I'm...a-are you sure you wanna-

[what_he_needs]

[Michael lets his head fall back against the couch, mouth opening as if to speak, and then closing softly as he considers the pie maker. He did want to, wouldn't have initiated if he hadn't wanted this, but maybe he was going too fast. Faster than what Ned liked.]

Of course I am sure, but I can stop if you want me to.

[But, his actions aren't equivalent to his words, because he didn't really want to stop.

He presses his hands firmly to Ned's back, shifts his leg up just enough for the angle to have his thigh rubbing against the pie maker's groin, and he leans in. Michael slides his cheek across Ned's, catching the faint scent of strawberries and... baked goods, and Michael drags his lips along his jaw. No, he really didn't want to stop.]

[wordvomit]

[Ned does not want to stop.

In fact, Ned can barely remember the last time he had anyone show him an iota of affection, let alone drag him into a mind-blowing kiss after going so long without contact that he feels like a desert getting its first rain in a long while.]

Um.

[Oh...oh God, the thigh coming up and giving him friction, something to grind against, skin over his cheek and a mouth on his jaw - Ned feels as though he's prickling all over, and he's- he's fine. More than fine. Perfectly, incandescently elated, so much so that he rubs up against Michael's leg and allows his chest to touch the archangel's and turns his head just enough to catch another kiss.

Yeah, he's fine, eyes sliding shut as he parts his lips over Michael's to beg for more.]

[what_he_needs]

[He could be obtuse, not catch on or interpret reactions and responses quickly, but he understood Ned's silent approval. Clear by the pressure against his thigh, mouth open and firm, flattening and warm. That's all the archangel needs. Michael pulls back, a swift and erratic movement.]

Ned.

[And his hands are shifting, and he's pulling the pie maker up to straddle his thighs, wanting all the lean lines of the other man over him, on him. Pressing in again, completely invading Ned's space, he tugs his shirt up and over his head.

This was good. Uncomplicated and unexpected.

Michael tosses the shirt aside, and his eyes are roaming, taking in each angle and curve of the pie makers long body. His hands are moving, resting at Ned's hips, and Michael's tilting his head up, seeking the pie maker's mouth, hands guiding said pie makers hips into a slow grind.]

[wordvomit]

[Uncomplicated is, for Ned, a word that does not exist - particularly living on the edges of Vega, seeing what life is like. The unexpected nature of this encounter is that it is, in its entirety, unexpected. No average citizen anticipates entertaining archangels in their humble abode, let alone having one pull you taut against them while they kiss you in a way that, briefly, makes you forget your own name.

Ned swallows his trepidation in favor of tossing his shirt to one side as prompted, certainly not as chiseled as His Holiness over there, but he tries not to let it be discouraging. Heavenly bodies are probably all attractive in the most ungodly of ways.

Dragged into the pleasing position of straddling Michael, Ned feels a substantial pressure beneath his own burgeoning arousal and grinds, tempering himself to a steady, rolling pace.

While simultaneously tugging insistently at the bottom of the archangel's shirt.]

Take this off, [he mumbles without thinking, kissing him again.]

[what_he_needs]

[He tips his chin up, movements unhurried, and draws at Ned's lower lip with his own, tugging the pink flesh with his teeth only to go back to kissing him fully again.

Michael could feel the hands at his shirt, hear the mumbled request, and he was going to oblige, only taking his time getting to it. He wanted to savor each touch and kiss, not rush any of this, and there was a want burning through him, sharp and heavy. A mix of past regrets and new found passions forming a need to have everything that was the pie maker right then. And nothing else.

Reluctant, and with all the yearning to continue to kiss Ned clear on his face, he drops back and tugs his shirt up; it's quickly over his head, disheveling his hair, and tossed somewhere nearby. Then he's pulling him back, hands gripping his hips to keep that teasing pace the pie maker's set going, and he's kissing Ned again, tasting something sweet on his lips - ] honey [ - surprised that he'd spoken out loud, the word washing out warm across Ned's lips, he leans back again, mouth slightly ajar.

Michael impatiently flicks his head to the side, realizing that he'd let things get out of control, and then a moment later, knows that he didn't mind. He wanted that, needed it even.

With a little more fervor than before, his hands shoot up and grip the back of Ned's neck, twisting in his hair, and Michael's kissing him until he could no longer think clearly.]

[wordvomit]

[With Michael licking into his mouth, enjoying all the carnal pleasures that Ned isn’t sure angels should really enjoy, the baker whimpers petulantly, unbidden, when Michael pulls away. It is fortunately for a brief moment, at worst, and a moment in which the archangel pulls free his shirt and Ned is left staring while he feels his mouth go dry. He’s almost irritatingly flawless, carved from goddamn marble and lean and perfect. Unsure of his worthiness but unwilling to question it with the angel’s thumbs rubbing over his hips, Ned laughs at the sudden observation.

Honey.]

I do bammphf,

[he attempts to explain, running his hands over Michael’s chest and resting them on his belt, the brief exploration distracted by the mouth on his. Ned, who has spent very little time in the company of others and is starved for contact, soaks in every precious second in which Michael gives him attention. What he would much prefer is feeling that mouth elsewhere, or doing the same in return - eager to please, Ned’s fingers fumble Michael’s belt buckle open, breathing heavy and trying to keep up with the archangel’s appetite.]

[what_he_needs]

[Releasing his hold on the pie maker's neck and hair, Michael leans back, dazed. It was easy to become wrapped up in all of the kissing and touching and grinding, hands moving down his chest, and with fingers opening his belt buckle, indicating to Michael that he wasn't pushing things along fast enough.

He'd been trying to be careful, to go as slow as he could, no matter how difficult that was. But, Ned wasn't delicate and easily broken, and Michael shouldn't treat him as if he were.]

Here.

[Michael would have removed his own belt, and the rest of his clothing, and Ned's, but he kind of likes the way the pie maker's fingers feel at the band of his pants. Working them open, skin just barely brushing over skin as he moves.

So, he just leans back, angling his hips just enough to give Ned more room.]

[wordvomit]

Thanks,

[he manages breathlessly, hardly intimidated on a physical level outside of a self-consciousness about how soft he must seem by comparison. Ned's emotional brokenness is a subject for another day, a time when someone isn't painting such an enticing picture on his shabby couch in his shabby apartment. This contact he wants, starved for it on most other occasions and willing to give up a little of himself just to feel whole.

His fingers trip over the belt buckle and he pulls the long strip of leather free, practically throwing it over his shoulder as soon as he's removed it.]

I'm, uh- [Eyes half-lidded, rumpled and unkempt for a respectable baker, Ned looks up at the archangel apologetically.] -it's been a while, so if I'm-

[-not that good, he doesn't finish, deciding to bite the bullet before palming the bulge in Michael's trousers over the fabric.]