ragnarsson | The Sphere Inbox

[Almost instinctively, a grin appears on his face for a second, revving up some clever remark at the mention of a leash. You're the one with the collar. But it disappears just as quickly, almost like one of his shifts between realities.

He almost feels like throwing up, but manages to hold back the urge.]

It's- I'm just... there's this guy, from my world, here, and he- we got in a fight and it was my fucking fault and I thought- I thought fucking Greyjoy up would fix it and it just- we're at the bottom of the fucking ocean, it's not like I can pack up and move if the council figures out who did it... Should have fucking killed him but he'd just come back and tell someone anyway...

[Ivar catches that flip-flop back and forth between Dodger's two emotions. It just shows how unstable the mutant is right now. The teenager lays a hand on top of Dodger's right one, index finger tracing over the tattoo there.]

You're such a child sometimes. You want things, and when you can't have them or they don't go the way you want them to, you lash out without thinking through about the consequences. So you end up in this self-destructive pattern again and again.

[He shivers a bit more from Ivar's touch, but he's starting to cool down a bit. Not much. Being chided really isn't helping anything, but having Ivar here with him is slowly starting to work its effects. It feels... right, to have someone else in control so Dodger doesn't have to think.

A shaky hand reaches up to grip Ivar's collar, pulling him closer in Dodger's best approximation of a request for a hug. If allowed, he'll be pressing sloppy kisses to his face as well. He just wants to avoid the situation, but getting attention is a bonus.]

[He's pulled closer towards Dodger, not resisting the plea for affection. He can feel the warmth of the mutant when he's this close, his temperature perhaps a little warmer then a normal human being would be. He finds himself showing Dodger a bit of grudging care, pressing himself close and wrapping his arms around him.

The kisses are tolerated at first, but eventually, he moves his head back a little so he can speak, the tone in his voice full of fondness.]

What am I going to do with you, hmmm? Sometimes, I think you have no idea of what you're doing half the time.

[He lets out a huff of laughter completely devoid of humor; it's almost like speaking to Augustine all over again. His boss never liked it when he got pathetic like this.]

Why think about it? [He shifts a bit to comfortably pull Ivar onto his lap, calmed by the touch and the smell of the Viking's skin.] I was fighting a war back home, I had a purpose. I was changing the world. Now I'm just... [He lets out a low growl.] Burning cocks off.

[There's a snort there that's one-part derision and one-part a cover up so that Dodger doesn't see him laughing. So now it comes out, what he'd done to start this whole clusterfuck in the first place. He traces some of Dodger's tattoos and old scars with his fingertips.]

Ah. Well, there's not much you can do about that. It's not like you can just tell someone you're sorry for something like that.

Usually can. [He takes a deep breath that ends in a long sigh, and occupies himself by fidgeting with the border of Ivar's shirt.] My uh... steady, we go way back. Six months or so. Jason's his name. We were fucking around when he got here and I- I don't know. I had a moment. Tried to burn his cock off, I don't know why. He was in tears and he was bleeding and I- just tossed him out, I didn't-

[He takes another breath.]

Just needed... something to take it out on and I could track down Greyjoy, so... so I did. And now...

[He just grimaces. Ivar can figure out the rest, and he doesn't want to talk about it anymore. His hands are wandering under Ivar's shirt now, as if that's going to save him from confronting his actions.]

You're a-- nngh-- [He groans as Dodger's fingers roam over his stomach and chest.] --a fucking mess, you know that? It's like you try to make the worst possible decisions and then see if anything will change for the better.

[Still, it's hard to chide Dodger when he's sitting in his lap and is this close to him. Ivar's getting a bit distracted.]

[He doesn't respond, but the sullen expression on his face really says it all. There's nothing to defend when Ivar is speaking nothing but the truth.

Instead he leans up to press a kiss to Ivar's lips, desperate in a way that Dodger always tries very hard not to be. He tugs at Ivar's shirt, silently demanding for him to take it off.]

[He supposes that's one way to avoid a discussion as Dodger kisses him. Well, Ivar's in no mood to argue. If this is what Dodger wants, he's glad to oblige, but it'll be done in his own way. He pulls his shirt off, though the teen shows no inclination to take off his pants, the usual anxiety about the way his legs look rising up.

Instead, he slips one hand around the back of Dodger's neck, while the other one starts pulling off the other man's own shirt.]

[Dodger isn't wearing his hoodie, so it's a little quicker to get his shirt off. He dislodges Ivar's hand just long enough to whip the shirt off before dragging him closer, biting at his lower lip and running his fingers freely over the Viking's chest.

One of his hands wanders down Ivar's back and suddenly grips him, keeping him in place as Dodger sits up and pins him down to the floor. It places Dodger neatly between Ivar's legs and his breath picks up with excitement, moving his hands down to Ivar's hips to grind against him harshly.]

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