To Feel Breathless with Love (Csaba/Moses, 1/1)
Title: To Feel Breathless with Love
Characters/Pairings: Moses/Csaba, references to past Jay/Moses
Summary: Moses, Csaba, and something that totally isn't a rebound.
Notes: With a whole lot of gratitude to Fer and to Sarah, both of whom have put up with a whole lot of whining about stories-that-were-largely-not-yet-written, not just on this project but on many others.
This fic is part of the Like You Really Mean It universe.
Moses never says anything to the boys, and they must know by now, but they don't treat him any different. Mostly they let him keep to himself. He comes back late most nights (wandering around the woods, running, running, chasing down something), but no one comments on it. He's grateful for that, more than he'd ever say. And then one day, without warning, Csaba pulls him aside, a bottle of too-nice whiskey in his hand, and tells him they're going down to the Vista, all matter-of-fact, in that tone that says "Don't argue with me."
And, well, Csaba doesn't take that tone with him all that much, so Moses is caught off guard enough that he's agreeing before he even knows what to. Not that he minds. Sometimes he thinks Csaba knows him better than he knows himself.
They walk in silence. Csaba bumps his shoulder a couple times, and Moses grins over at him. It takes about an hour to get to the Vista, where the flowers are already beginning to bloom and the air smells like wet earth and spring. Csaba motions for him to sit down before taking a seat across from Moses, uncorking the bottle, and pulling out two shot glasses.
Moses wrinkles his nose, but Csaba shrugs apologetically. "This stuff is way too nice to drink out of the bottle," he says. He's as good a bandit as there ever was, but sometimes Moses thinks that if not for him, Csaba would have a nice apartment with clean white walls in some mainland city, and go out to the bar with the fellas every Tuesday wearing a nice starched shirt and bowtie. And he'd like it, too.
"Don't be turnin' into a snob on me, Csaba," is all he says, though. Csaba's loyal. That's the most important thing.
Csaba just snorts and pours. "To freedom," he says, which is just vague enough that Moses can pretend it doesn't mean what it does. He doesn't exactly know why he's been brought out here, but he can guess at it pretty well, and it's not--that ain't something up for discussion, to put it plainly.
Getting blind drunk, though? He can do that.
They talk, or Csaba listens and he talks--about the weather, about the new shops opening in Werites Beacon and the movements of the monster packs, about the boys and how sometimes it feels like they've almost settled in too well. He complains about Will, who never forgot that they used to make their living stealing from respectable ordinary people just trying to get by; he laughs about Senel and Shirl, who haven't set a wedding date yet but they all know it's only a matter of time, and Norma, who keeps saying she's going to leave the Legacy one of these days, only she never quite gets around to it. He wonders aloud about Chloe, who left for the mainland a year ago. He hopes she'll be back soon, to stay.
Csaba just sits back and lets him ramble. He loses himself in the words, and, well, if in his head he sees long dark hair and a smirk and you know that what you don't say is as important as what you do, right, bandit? It's not a big deal. Must be the wind or something.
He runs out of things to talk about around the third or fourth glass. Csaba pours him another; he tips it back and says, not really to anyone, "He fuckin' turned his back on me. I was gonna--whatever he wanted--he was the one who wouldn' look at me."
Csaba gives him a long look. "You deserve so much better," he says, quiet but the words are almost running over each other. Moses hasn't seen him this angry in a while.
He snorts. "Hell, don't I know it." He tries to pour another shot, but his grip isn't so steady anymore.
"Here--" And Csaba puts his hand on Moses', holding the bottle still. "There's not a lot of problems that can't be solved with some good whiskey." He grins. His hands stay where they are even after Moses puts the bottle down. It's kind of nice.
Another couple drinks and somehow that leads to Moses laying with his head in Csaba's lap, staring up at the stars. They're nice stars. Real pretty. "M'glad I've got you," he murmurs. "You're my second, right?"
"Always," says Csaba softly. "You're too much, Moses."
"M'not. 'M exactly the righ' amoun' fer me."
"Yeah. Okay." Csaba's got this strange look on his face, a little pained, as he brushes back Moses' hair and reaches for the whiskey bottle, tipping it back into his mouth.
***
Csaba tastes like whiskey, but then again, so does everything right now.
"This isn't--this isn't a good idea," Csaba murmurs, when Moses tries to unbutton Csaba's vest clumsily to get at his throat, fails, finally just noses at him and puts his mouth on the underside of Csaba's jaw. "I know you're upset and--" But his hands find Moses' hair, catching in it and almost pulling. There's this sad expression on his face, which is wrong, because Csaba shouldn't be sad. Moses wants him to not be sad.
Moses wants to touch. He's touching Csaba over the vest, because he can't get it off. They tumble together onto the soft grass. "Take it off," he says, against Csaba's cheek.
"Will you regret doing this tomorrow?" Csaba isn't looking at him. His hands come down, skating over the back of Moses' neck and down his spine.
Moses kisses his jaw, the corner of his mouth. "A man never regrets anythin'."
Csaba's laugh is low and sweet. "Of course," he says, and surges up to kiss Moses back.
***
He wakes up to blinding light and wet grass against his cheek. There's this unpleasant bitter taste in his mouth. "Shit," he groans. He pulls himself up and puts his head between his knees. Maybe sleeping out here wasn't the best of ideas.
"Hey." Moses looks up to see Csaba sitting two feet away, legs pulled up to his chest, watching. He looks really tired. "We probably should have just gone out to the bar, huh?"
"Maybe," Moses allows cautiously, wondering where this is going. Does Csaba even remember? Because Moses does, or he remembers enough, at least.
Csaba runs his hands through his hair, which is down. "Look, Moses," he says softly, "I just--we don't--" He stops, closes his eyes. "I'll always be your second, okay?"
Moses blinks. "Huh?"
"I'm just saying--" Csaba isn't looking at him. He winds a strand of grass around his finger. "This doesn't have to mean anything, okay? We can just forget about it, if you want. It's not a big deal."
And--and no, that's wrong. "I'm not about to forget this, Csaba."
Csaba looks up then, and there's such a longing in his eyes, Moses is helpless--he can't do anything but lean forward and try to kiss that sadness away, every drop. Because it's Csaba, who stood by him when no one else would, who had his back every time he didn't even know he needed the help, no hesitation and no questions asked, who gave and gave and gave for three years without ever complaining or acting like running around the woods with Moses was ever anything other than the greatest gift. And all that time--and Moses never knew--
"How long?" He pulls away just enough to ask; his lips brush against Csaba's as he speaks.
Csaba smiles. It's bittersweet, wondering. "I don't even know. Moses, are you--"
"Yeah," Moses says, and then he repeats himself, so that Csaba will believe him. "It's my turn to take care of you, okay?"
Csaba rests his head on Moses' shoulder and Moses puts his arms around him and savors that, savors the feeling of holding someone you know will never try to pull away.
***
They walk back to Werites Beacon together, heads close. (They don't quite hold hands, even though Moses is tempted.) "I'm pretty sure you ruined my pants," Csaba murmurs, his voice thick, still sleep-heavy.
"Yeah, well," Moses says, rubbing his arms, "I'm pretty sure you banged me up, so I think it about evens out."
He could get used to seeing Csaba smile like that, he thinks.
Thankfully it's early enough that no one sees them sneaking back towards camp. Csaba stops at the entrance to his tent. "Should we, you know...." He trails off.
Moses knows what he means, though. He shakes his head. "Hell, they'll figure it out in time."
"Probably," Csaba says softly. There's this look on his face, tender and fierce and everything that Moses feels when he looks at Csaba. His second, his best friend. He reaches out to brush Csaba's hair back again; Csaba bats his hand away with fond exasperation. "Go change your clothes, Moses."
Moses snorts. "What are you, my mom?"
"I hope not." Csaba's smiling again. "Breakfast in about an hour, I think. Clothes first, then go do whatever it is that you do."
Whatever it is turns out to be pushing the buttons for the elevator that goes down to the Quiet Lands, because it's the, well, quietest place he can think of. Almost too quiet, in fact: the chamber is eerily silent, the only sound a faint hum and whir as the platform comes up to meet--oh, hell.
Moses knew today was too good to be true, because the person coming up in the elevator is exactly the last guy he wanted to see. "Oh," he says aloud.
Jay folds his arms and looks up at him. "Good morning, ban--Moses," he says. Moses kind of wants to shake him. He doesn't know this new Jay, the one who smiles and says things like how are you? and I hope you've been well and pointedly refuses to make cracks about Moses communing with beasts. What happened to the days when Jay'd call him stupid and he'd yell and everything would suddenly be all right?
"Hey, Jay." His voice is hoarse. He knows how he's got to look to Jay. He also knows it shouldn't matter.
Jay is looking straight ahead, probably right at the giant red mark on Moses' neck that's about at his eye level. Moses brings his hand up to cover it automatically. "Who is it?" Jay asks, still in that perfectly, awfully calm tone of voice. His expression doesn't change.
"Csaba," Moses croaks. "We--we kinda came to an understandin' yesterday. And, well, you know."
Jay's mouth works in wordless circles. "Is that so?" There's (finally) the tiniest crack on the word so. He looks stricken, and Moses is both gratified and angry to see it. If you were gonna be like that, he almost snaps, maybe you shouldn't have turned away when I tried to kiss you.
He's tired of always being the one to lash out, though.
"Yeah," he says instead. "It's so." And it doesn't feel like enough--there's no way it's enough--but what the hell do you say to the guy you love when he's stopped even trying to give a shit?
"Well, then." Jay's fists are clenched at his sides. Moses thinks for a minute that he's going to snap, actually say something, break the long, frigid silence that's stretching out between them. But of course he won't; he closes his eyes instead. "Congratulations. I'm sure--" and his voice is like a thin wire, like you could reach forward and pinch it and it would just break-- "I'm sure you'll be very happy together."
There's nothing angry about the words or the tone, but they feel like a slap in the face anyway. Jay rushes out of there before Moses can reply. (He was always faster than any of them.)
And then it's quiet, again, in that empty metal-lined chamber.
"You left me," Moses says aloud, even though Jay is long gone. He steps backwards into the elevator and lets it carry him down, down, down and away from there.
Crit is, as always, much appreciated.
Characters/Pairings: Moses/Csaba, references to past Jay/Moses
Summary: Moses, Csaba, and something that totally isn't a rebound.
Notes: With a whole lot of gratitude to Fer and to Sarah, both of whom have put up with a whole lot of whining about stories-that-were-largely-not-yet-written, not just on this project but on many others.
This fic is part of the Like You Really Mean It universe.
Moses never says anything to the boys, and they must know by now, but they don't treat him any different. Mostly they let him keep to himself. He comes back late most nights (wandering around the woods, running, running, chasing down something), but no one comments on it. He's grateful for that, more than he'd ever say. And then one day, without warning, Csaba pulls him aside, a bottle of too-nice whiskey in his hand, and tells him they're going down to the Vista, all matter-of-fact, in that tone that says "Don't argue with me."
And, well, Csaba doesn't take that tone with him all that much, so Moses is caught off guard enough that he's agreeing before he even knows what to. Not that he minds. Sometimes he thinks Csaba knows him better than he knows himself.
They walk in silence. Csaba bumps his shoulder a couple times, and Moses grins over at him. It takes about an hour to get to the Vista, where the flowers are already beginning to bloom and the air smells like wet earth and spring. Csaba motions for him to sit down before taking a seat across from Moses, uncorking the bottle, and pulling out two shot glasses.
Moses wrinkles his nose, but Csaba shrugs apologetically. "This stuff is way too nice to drink out of the bottle," he says. He's as good a bandit as there ever was, but sometimes Moses thinks that if not for him, Csaba would have a nice apartment with clean white walls in some mainland city, and go out to the bar with the fellas every Tuesday wearing a nice starched shirt and bowtie. And he'd like it, too.
"Don't be turnin' into a snob on me, Csaba," is all he says, though. Csaba's loyal. That's the most important thing.
Csaba just snorts and pours. "To freedom," he says, which is just vague enough that Moses can pretend it doesn't mean what it does. He doesn't exactly know why he's been brought out here, but he can guess at it pretty well, and it's not--that ain't something up for discussion, to put it plainly.
Getting blind drunk, though? He can do that.
They talk, or Csaba listens and he talks--about the weather, about the new shops opening in Werites Beacon and the movements of the monster packs, about the boys and how sometimes it feels like they've almost settled in too well. He complains about Will, who never forgot that they used to make their living stealing from respectable ordinary people just trying to get by; he laughs about Senel and Shirl, who haven't set a wedding date yet but they all know it's only a matter of time, and Norma, who keeps saying she's going to leave the Legacy one of these days, only she never quite gets around to it. He wonders aloud about Chloe, who left for the mainland a year ago. He hopes she'll be back soon, to stay.
Csaba just sits back and lets him ramble. He loses himself in the words, and, well, if in his head he sees long dark hair and a smirk and you know that what you don't say is as important as what you do, right, bandit? It's not a big deal. Must be the wind or something.
He runs out of things to talk about around the third or fourth glass. Csaba pours him another; he tips it back and says, not really to anyone, "He fuckin' turned his back on me. I was gonna--whatever he wanted--he was the one who wouldn' look at me."
Csaba gives him a long look. "You deserve so much better," he says, quiet but the words are almost running over each other. Moses hasn't seen him this angry in a while.
He snorts. "Hell, don't I know it." He tries to pour another shot, but his grip isn't so steady anymore.
"Here--" And Csaba puts his hand on Moses', holding the bottle still. "There's not a lot of problems that can't be solved with some good whiskey." He grins. His hands stay where they are even after Moses puts the bottle down. It's kind of nice.
Another couple drinks and somehow that leads to Moses laying with his head in Csaba's lap, staring up at the stars. They're nice stars. Real pretty. "M'glad I've got you," he murmurs. "You're my second, right?"
"Always," says Csaba softly. "You're too much, Moses."
"M'not. 'M exactly the righ' amoun' fer me."
"Yeah. Okay." Csaba's got this strange look on his face, a little pained, as he brushes back Moses' hair and reaches for the whiskey bottle, tipping it back into his mouth.
***
Csaba tastes like whiskey, but then again, so does everything right now.
"This isn't--this isn't a good idea," Csaba murmurs, when Moses tries to unbutton Csaba's vest clumsily to get at his throat, fails, finally just noses at him and puts his mouth on the underside of Csaba's jaw. "I know you're upset and--" But his hands find Moses' hair, catching in it and almost pulling. There's this sad expression on his face, which is wrong, because Csaba shouldn't be sad. Moses wants him to not be sad.
Moses wants to touch. He's touching Csaba over the vest, because he can't get it off. They tumble together onto the soft grass. "Take it off," he says, against Csaba's cheek.
"Will you regret doing this tomorrow?" Csaba isn't looking at him. His hands come down, skating over the back of Moses' neck and down his spine.
Moses kisses his jaw, the corner of his mouth. "A man never regrets anythin'."
Csaba's laugh is low and sweet. "Of course," he says, and surges up to kiss Moses back.
***
He wakes up to blinding light and wet grass against his cheek. There's this unpleasant bitter taste in his mouth. "Shit," he groans. He pulls himself up and puts his head between his knees. Maybe sleeping out here wasn't the best of ideas.
"Hey." Moses looks up to see Csaba sitting two feet away, legs pulled up to his chest, watching. He looks really tired. "We probably should have just gone out to the bar, huh?"
"Maybe," Moses allows cautiously, wondering where this is going. Does Csaba even remember? Because Moses does, or he remembers enough, at least.
Csaba runs his hands through his hair, which is down. "Look, Moses," he says softly, "I just--we don't--" He stops, closes his eyes. "I'll always be your second, okay?"
Moses blinks. "Huh?"
"I'm just saying--" Csaba isn't looking at him. He winds a strand of grass around his finger. "This doesn't have to mean anything, okay? We can just forget about it, if you want. It's not a big deal."
And--and no, that's wrong. "I'm not about to forget this, Csaba."
Csaba looks up then, and there's such a longing in his eyes, Moses is helpless--he can't do anything but lean forward and try to kiss that sadness away, every drop. Because it's Csaba, who stood by him when no one else would, who had his back every time he didn't even know he needed the help, no hesitation and no questions asked, who gave and gave and gave for three years without ever complaining or acting like running around the woods with Moses was ever anything other than the greatest gift. And all that time--and Moses never knew--
"How long?" He pulls away just enough to ask; his lips brush against Csaba's as he speaks.
Csaba smiles. It's bittersweet, wondering. "I don't even know. Moses, are you--"
"Yeah," Moses says, and then he repeats himself, so that Csaba will believe him. "It's my turn to take care of you, okay?"
Csaba rests his head on Moses' shoulder and Moses puts his arms around him and savors that, savors the feeling of holding someone you know will never try to pull away.
***
They walk back to Werites Beacon together, heads close. (They don't quite hold hands, even though Moses is tempted.) "I'm pretty sure you ruined my pants," Csaba murmurs, his voice thick, still sleep-heavy.
"Yeah, well," Moses says, rubbing his arms, "I'm pretty sure you banged me up, so I think it about evens out."
He could get used to seeing Csaba smile like that, he thinks.
Thankfully it's early enough that no one sees them sneaking back towards camp. Csaba stops at the entrance to his tent. "Should we, you know...." He trails off.
Moses knows what he means, though. He shakes his head. "Hell, they'll figure it out in time."
"Probably," Csaba says softly. There's this look on his face, tender and fierce and everything that Moses feels when he looks at Csaba. His second, his best friend. He reaches out to brush Csaba's hair back again; Csaba bats his hand away with fond exasperation. "Go change your clothes, Moses."
Moses snorts. "What are you, my mom?"
"I hope not." Csaba's smiling again. "Breakfast in about an hour, I think. Clothes first, then go do whatever it is that you do."
Whatever it is turns out to be pushing the buttons for the elevator that goes down to the Quiet Lands, because it's the, well, quietest place he can think of. Almost too quiet, in fact: the chamber is eerily silent, the only sound a faint hum and whir as the platform comes up to meet--oh, hell.
Moses knew today was too good to be true, because the person coming up in the elevator is exactly the last guy he wanted to see. "Oh," he says aloud.
Jay folds his arms and looks up at him. "Good morning, ban--Moses," he says. Moses kind of wants to shake him. He doesn't know this new Jay, the one who smiles and says things like how are you? and I hope you've been well and pointedly refuses to make cracks about Moses communing with beasts. What happened to the days when Jay'd call him stupid and he'd yell and everything would suddenly be all right?
"Hey, Jay." His voice is hoarse. He knows how he's got to look to Jay. He also knows it shouldn't matter.
Jay is looking straight ahead, probably right at the giant red mark on Moses' neck that's about at his eye level. Moses brings his hand up to cover it automatically. "Who is it?" Jay asks, still in that perfectly, awfully calm tone of voice. His expression doesn't change.
"Csaba," Moses croaks. "We--we kinda came to an understandin' yesterday. And, well, you know."
Jay's mouth works in wordless circles. "Is that so?" There's (finally) the tiniest crack on the word so. He looks stricken, and Moses is both gratified and angry to see it. If you were gonna be like that, he almost snaps, maybe you shouldn't have turned away when I tried to kiss you.
He's tired of always being the one to lash out, though.
"Yeah," he says instead. "It's so." And it doesn't feel like enough--there's no way it's enough--but what the hell do you say to the guy you love when he's stopped even trying to give a shit?
"Well, then." Jay's fists are clenched at his sides. Moses thinks for a minute that he's going to snap, actually say something, break the long, frigid silence that's stretching out between them. But of course he won't; he closes his eyes instead. "Congratulations. I'm sure--" and his voice is like a thin wire, like you could reach forward and pinch it and it would just break-- "I'm sure you'll be very happy together."
There's nothing angry about the words or the tone, but they feel like a slap in the face anyway. Jay rushes out of there before Moses can reply. (He was always faster than any of them.)
And then it's quiet, again, in that empty metal-lined chamber.
"You left me," Moses says aloud, even though Jay is long gone. He steps backwards into the elevator and lets it carry him down, down, down and away from there.
Crit is, as always, much appreciated.