SHUT UP AND KISS ME [tommy]

[castor endymion ghirlandaio]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: dddddd; border: #cccccc solid 8px; width: 420px; padding: 15 5 15 5px;] OH MY JUST PLEASE TRY TO SHUT UP AND KISS ME BABY The Words: 864 The Outfit: soon to comeThe Notes -smacks castor- Escaping wasn’t an option, it never had been and it never would be but there was nothing else Castor wanted to do more at the moment. It was… what… 3 pm? Something along those lines, and Castor was technically not supposed to be where he was: sitting in a hotel room’s bathroom, leaning against the elegant bathtub with a very long series of bottles extracted from the mini bar lined up next to him empty, and a bottle of pills on his hand. Least to say, he was drunk again. But why he wasn’t supposed to be here? The elegant yet simple black suit and matching tie he was dressed in would give people a tip. Castor was supposed to be at his brother’s funeral, mourning for his death at the church or maybe even burying him already but there he was, entertaining himself with a little game and tossing one of the pills at the nearby sink every now and then as if playing bullseye. How did he get to that though? Earlier that day Castor had arrived in a morning flight to Brindisi from Paris, and hadn’t stopped since then. His youngest brother had been there to pick him up and soon enough he was at home, being smothered by his crying mother and sad sisters. They were his family, but it didn’t mean Castor liked to be hugged and kissed constantly. His brother, Polllux, had been dead for six months already but his body hadn’t been found. Well… Castor felt he was dead. He had disappeared without a trace and neither his nor his father’s contacts were able to find him. Pollux wasn’t like Lexin, he was willing and eager to become the next head of the family so running away wasn’t a possibility. Castor’s family on the other hand still held the vague hope that he might be somewhere. Finding his corpse in a ditch in the countryside crushed those hopes of course, but at least his overly Catholic mother would have peace in giving him a proper burial. But that still didn’t explain what Castor was doing there… After greeting his family Castor excused himself and left the house. No one really asked why he wasn’t staying with them or why he felt the urge to disappear all of a sudden. If there was someone who knew Castor it was his mother and she knew of his son’s little ‘problem’ and of his need to steer clear from situations that would force him to have more contact with people than necessary. Castor didn’t bother to correct her and merely shrugged when she asked where he was going. He wasn’t leaving because of the crowded house, he was leaving because he had to pick Tommas at the train station. Train stations… he dreaded them almost as much as he hated airports. Much to his relief he didn’t have to wait for long and soon enough he was driving Tommas to a business-like hotel where he had booked a room for him. They weren’t in vacation after all, no need to pamper him with some luxurious accommodation. After practically ordering the other to stay there until he arrived later that night he was off again, back to the family chaos. Chaos, there was no better way to describe what his family was at the moment. It wasn’t until his arrival at the church that he saw his father again, stoically standing next to his mother as they greeted the various family members and friends. Castor’s mother slipped away to drag her son away by his arm which of course earned her a fine yet clear expression of disapproval from Castor. That was what brought Castor back to the hotel room, stomping angry and literally throwing a hissy fit that alarmed the hotel staff when they saw him enter the hotel and going into the elevator, pushing the top button to reach the room where Tom was supposed to be waiting. Well he wasn’t… and it didn’t help one bit with Castor’s mood. The urge to toss things around and kill something was only subdued by the reminder of the mess he’d have to clean afterwards. After screaming against a pillow for a few minutes and strangling as if it were his mother’s neck he opted for hitting the mini bar instead. The beautiful series of multi colored bottles filled with various types of liquors served to calm his anxiety for now, something the pills had been doing so far but not even pills could help him with this particular problem. So there he was now, sitting on the ample bathroom, tossing pills and swallowing the last of the bottles before neatly placing it by his side with the rest. The only thing that managed to distract him was the sound of the hotel room opening and closing. Lifting his gaze from the colored tiles his turned to eyes to the bathroom door. “I thought I told you not to wander around!” At least his voice wasn’t slurred like other times. The mini bar didn’t have enough alcohol to numb him as much as he wanted to, but at least it helped. created by ADE! Pb-ified by WILL

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[tommas ugo renda]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,10,true][atrb=style, width: 440px; background-image:url(http://i1081.photobucket.com/albums/j342/Rockiesaurus/black.png), bTable] TO SPITE AS A REASON TO CLOTHES OUT OF SEASON TO THOSE STUCK IN CASKETS AS NAILS HAMMER IN JUST KEEP SCREAMING OUT I'M STILL NOT DEAD Business was something that Tom didn't enjoy. Of course, it had a new meaning to him now that he'd received a new job from his family, but he still didn't like the bigger picture. It wasn't a pretty picture unless you were a sadist, being painted with the darkest of blacks and the messiest and most blood-like reds that you could find on earth. No, the mafia had never drawn a very pretty picture for themselves, but that was something that Tommas was learning how to deal with. Anyway, it wasn't like his new job required him to hurt too many people. He liked to think of himself as a peace keeper, though he knew that if he ever voiced that opinion on his job, he'd be kicked out of the position faster than you could say 'failure', and he didn't want that. Being one of the inter-mafia relations managers gave him a new view of things, for sure, and it was more suitable for him than some of the other jobs that someone born high up in the ranks like him would normally be given, but... those weren't his only reasons for requesting the job, though they were admittedly the most important. Another reason – and the one that he was never going to tell anyone – was that he would have an excuse to visit some of his friends. Minoru, Nikolai... Castor. Maybe Castor was the most important out of all his friends, and with Tom's new job, he could visit him under the excuse of business any time that he wanted. That thought brought a small smile to the Italian's face as he walked through a small marketplace, wandering around the city just as his most important friend had told him not to. Since when had he listened to anything that Castor said, anyway? Of course, taking into account who he was, why he was here, and who Castor's family was... he hadn't gone out completely unprepared. No, it wasn't like he'd brought any weapons with him, but he hadn't washed all the blue hair dye out of his hair from the last time that he'd gotten bored, and his long sleeves covered up his most recognizable tattoos. Tommas may not have liked hurting anyone, but when violence passed the point where self defense was necessary, he wasn't useless in any way. He didn't expect anyone to attack him, but it couldn't hurt to be prepared, right? And there must have been some reason that Castor had wanted him to stay in the hotel – which was half the reason that he'd left, just to irk the Apulian – other than his usual habit of demanding things from Tommas. He got bored of exploring soon enough, though. As it was a few hours after noon, it was probably time to return to the hotel, before Castor got back. He wasn't supposed to return to the hotel until tonight, and Tom didn't expect someone like his friend to ever be at all earlier or later than the time he had set, but it was still a good idea to get back soon. If he cut too close to the time that Castor was supposed to be coming back, Tommy wouldn't be able to pull off the 'bored out of my mind' look that he somehow always managed to find on his face after spending too much time in anywhere that wasn't eventful. Hotels weren't eventful unless there was some sort of terrorist bombing, and seeing as that would kill him, Tom preferred to wade through the boredom for a few hours until Castor got back from the funeral. For a while, he'd been planning to ask Castor if the funeral had been as boring as hanging around in the hotel had been, but that would be insensitive. Though it didn't seem like it often, Tom actually cared about other people's feelings. His friend was at his very own brother's funeral, and he didn't want to bring that back to his mind so soon after the event itself had happened. Nor did he want to try to get in Castor's pants as he usually did, though it was a little bit more difficult to stop himself from following through on that plan than it had been with the other one. To be honest, Tom had wanted to think about what to say to comfort his friend in the hours that he was going to be alone in the hotel, but it looked like that plan would have to be thrown out the window too, because he wasn't alone anymore. As he opened the door to the hotel room that Castor had booked for him, of course Castor's voice had to ring out from the bathroom. ”And I thought you were supposed to be at a funeral!” he groaned insensitively, giving up on the supposed effort to not remind Castor of said funeral and walking over to lean on the frame of the bathroom door. ”Will you try to drown yourself if I come and sit next to you?” Not waiting for an answer, Tom settled down next to Castor, giving the colorful bottles a quick glance before focusing on his friend again. There were no large bodies of water near for Castor to drown himself in unless he filled the tub or ran out of the hotel to throw himself into the nearby ocean, but Tom was pretty confident in his ability to stop Castor if he tried to do either of those. Which he probably wouldn't try in the first place, but whatever.”Why are you back so soon? Did everything go well?” he demanded, shifting slightly so he could see Castor's face without turning his head too much. ”And what about you? Are you okay?” Emotionally, and whatever else that could possibly be wrong with Castor. Tom wasn't completely oblivious to the fact that Castor was normally on time, though he didn't have a name for it other than what Castor himself had called it: those obsessive things. When his friend was back from something like a funeral hours before he said he was going to be, Tom had a right to worry. Maybe not so much of a right to put his hands on either side of Castor's face, but hey, he'd done that countless times before, and habits registered way too easily with the overly touchy 'Ndrangheta member. If Castor wanted Tom to stop touching him, he was welcome to do something about it, but Tommas was still going to be worried about his friend. At least, until he confirmed that everything was fine, and even then he still might worry a bit.

BY GABE IS A FWEAK AT CAUTION !

[castor endymion ghirlandaio]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: dddddd; border: #cccccc solid 8px; width: 420px; padding: 15 5 15 5px;] OH MY JUST PLEASE TRY TO SHUT UP AND KISS ME BABY The Words: 1060 The Outfit: soon to comeThe Notes -points at thread title- “i got kicked out.” Was the only reply Castor offered at the moment. His eyes had already gone down again by the time Tommy walked to the bathroom and he didn’t bother to lift his gaze one more time. Instead he tossed another pill at the sink, heard it hit against the polished marble and then fall into the drain along with the rest. The more Castor thought about things the more he wanted to throw another pill. Things, it was unnerving that he couldn’t even bring himself to give a word to whatever it was that happened between him and Tommy. They weren’t together, because… well because no. Technically, Tommy wasn’t sleeping with someone else and Castor wasn’t either but he never slept with people to begin with so that made the argument invalid in his head. Castor allowed Tommy to touch him and to cling to him and to get away with a lot of things that Castor wouldn’t allow in anyone else but… well he would find an explanation for that either but still didn’t mean shit. Castor had actually asked/demanded/whatever for Tommy to come with him to Brindisi but… yeah ok he was beginning to see a pattern there… he was beginning to get attached. The realization had hit him half an hour ago but still he merely shrugged when Tommy asked if he would attempt water-related suicide if he came close. Another pill went down the drain and Castor had Tommy sitting by his side. He didn’t give much of a reaction at his concerned questions besides a low scoff and a glance at the empty bottles. Castor wasn’t able to suppress a rather noticeable flinch when Tommy placed his hands on his face and even pulled back an inch before controlling his impulses and allowing the contact. Once again Castor’s gaze fell down, this time to focus on the almost empty bottle with his name typed down and the legend ‘SSRI’ on them. “You know how they say hate is a really strong word? Well I really, really hate pills. I mean… look at them…” He tilted the bottle, letting one of the pills fall on his palm and lifted it up for Tommy to look at it. “They’re anatomically designed to stick in your throat and choke you to death, and since people usually take pills while being alone it’s like asking for sure death.” He smiled rather ironically, giving the pill another good look before tossing it away, not even bothering to aim for the sink. “Every psychologist I’ve been to has said that everything in me could be fixed with a simple pill. Just like that, like magic.” Castor placed his hands on Tommy’s wrists, pulling them off his face and setting them down, his eyes were posted on the other but his expression was hard to read, perhaps due to the alcohol or perhaps because not even Castor knew what he was actually thinking about. “I tried it. That day when I left you to take care of chores, I had the prescription in my wallet and thought ‘why not… he said we could make it work so… why not?’ and got them. Started taking them and well… it did feel good. Like… I didn’t need to count the tiles of the bathroom every morning or wash my hands five times before breakfast or get rid of clothes I had used more than twice because all those funny thoughts were gone.” Castor actually chuckled this time, letting go of Tommy’s wrists and turning to the side where the neat line of bottles stood. Perhaps Castor’s cryptic and seemingly out of place speech would’ve had a lot more sense if he weren’t drunk, but he wasn’t done yet. He lifted a finger to place it on the nearest bottle’s neck, tilting it over as if trying to make it fall but couldn’t bring himself to do it. “She knows… my mother I mean. She sent her little army of lackeys to follow me to the station and saw me picking you up. Then she saw me dropping you off in here and she just had to add two and two and I was stupid enough to not notice someone following me.” Castor again scoffed, still playing with the bottle and looking at nothing in particular. “She pulled me away at the church and pretty much demanded an explanation. She said I would go to hell and can you believe this? She even recited the damned bible at me! Leviticus what the fuck ever… ‘do not lie with a man as one would with a woman whatever whatever I don’t care’” Castor laughed again, the drunken part of him kicking in as he straightened up and turned slightly to Tommy, as if he were a fifteen year old girl chatting with her bff. “I was pissed! I told her that I would obviously go to hell for sleeping with a man and not for all the people I've killed annnnd then she slapped me.” Castor turned his head all the way to the side to show Tommy the still visible mark; four fingers in a slightly red hue could be seen on his otherwise white skin. “Then she gave me this disappointed look and said ‘why you couldn’t be more like your brother?’ and then I replied ‘what do you mean, dead?’ annnd that earned me another slap.” Castor laughed again, shaking his head as if everything had been a very bad joke. “Then she practically kicked me out of the church.” He finished the story with a snap of his fingers and a look of fake sadness because in all honestly he couldn’t bring himself to be entirely miserable right now. Sighing deeply Castor tried to stand up only to find that perhaps he drank more than he thought and finding himself falling back the few inches he had managed to move. “So now I have to sit here because I can’t stand up, tossing these fucking expensive pills down the sink because I know no matter what we do… it’s not going to work.” He said finally, turning to Tommy with a pained expression, watching to reach for his hand or his face or something but not finding the strength or the courage to do it. created by ADE! Pb-ified by WILL

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[tommas ugo renda]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,10,true][atrb=style, width: 440px; background-image:url(http://i1081.photobucket.com/albums/j342/Rockiesaurus/black.png), bTable] TO SPITE AS A REASON TO CLOTHES OUT OF SEASON TO THOSE STUCK IN CASKETS AS NAILS HAMMER IN JUST KEEP SCREAMING OUT I'M STILL NOT DEAD ”You got kicked out,” he echoed, disbelief coloring his voice. How did someone get kicked out of a funeral? For that matter, how did someone like Castor get kicked out of anything? That was just... unrealistic. ”What did you do?” Tom touched practically everyone, called girls 'love' and gave out compliments like they were nothing. He normally didn't nose into someone's life as much as he nosed into Castor's, though. As he'd said before, Castor actually meant something to him. It was odd, but it was true. He wasn't sure what to label him as other than a friend, but it was possible that friendship was all it was. Unlikely, seeing as they slept together, but possible. They'd constantly argued before Wesley had died, and to be honest, they still argued most of the time. But there had been no real connection before Tom's boyfriend had killed himself, and then there had been. Under those circumstances, it would just seem weird for anything other than friendship to develop. Tom had needed someone to cry on, Castor had been there, and... yeah. Was there really anything else? Tom grew attached to people easily, so there was nothing surprising there. But Castor, in Tom's words, was an antisocial bitch. It was rare for him to actually like someone and allow them to do the things that Tom did, though Tom only knew that because he'd heard it from the man himself. He wasn't sure how his friend saw him, and honestly, Tom was still confused as to how he saw Castor. All in all, he didn't think that it could be called anything but a friendship with benefits. At least, not until they both figured out what the hell their minds were doing. Maybe Castor had already started working on that, but Tommy wasn't sure that he wanted to. This was happy and nice, and if thinking was going to change it, then he didn't really want to think about anything. It was the simple theory of blissful ignorance. That could be deadly, and he knew that, but he didn't care at the moment. The world that he was supposed to be living in involved planning, strategies, tricking other people and just plain hurting people that didn't always deserve it. He could forget about that around Castor, save for those times that his friend brought up the topic and Tommas had to pretend that he was annoyed. Maybe he needed a dictionary, just so he could look up the word love and prove that it didn't apply to he and Castor. Just as he opened his mouth to ask, though, Castor started talking about how hate was known as a strong word. Oh, the irony... Tom saw it. ”So they're just trying to kill everyone that needs pills?” he asked, making his voice girly and sweet. ”Oh Doctor, you shouldn't have!” It was typical of Tom to try and turn conversations like this into a joke, but he gave up after a while. There was just no way to make what Castor said next seem funny, so he stopped smiling, placing his hands in Castor's lap and watching him talk. There was a tiny frown on Tom's face when Castor was done talking, so before he could say anything else, the Calabrian cut in to say his side of things. ”Sei pazzo. I still think we can make it work. That hasn't changed at all, and it never will, capisci?” For now, with Tom still confused, that wad the closest thing to a blind confession that Castor was going to get. He took his hands out of Castor's lap before he followed through on the urge to touch something that he shouldn't, looking away from his fellow Italian. ”If the pills made you feel better, why are you throwing them away?” He looked back at Castor once he started talking again, but his little moment of seriousness was over and done with. Tom wasn't exactly sure what to say until Castor mentioned hell, which made him smirk slightly. ”By your mother's standards, heaven is going to be pretty empty. I think someone social like me would prefer to be in hell, thank you very much,” he joked, about to say something else about the afterlife until Castor showed him the mark on his face. ”... God,” he blurted out, even if he didn't believe in the man upstairs. ”She did that to you? Are you okay? Do you need something for it?” Once again, the joking version of Tom was gone, but this time he was replaced with the friend that was worried to an almost unhealthy point. It was just a slap, but still... ”How much did you drink?” he asked softly, once again glancing at the empty bottles to Castor's right. The 'Ndrangheta member stood up, searching around the bathroom for some sort of washcloth for Castor's face. He hadn't checked the marks too closely, so Tom didn't know if they'd broken the skin or not, but he still wanted to help. There was nothing to find, though, which frustrated Tommas until Castor distracted him by speaking again. ”It is going to work!” he said angrily, turning to Castor and narrowing his eyes. ”It has to!” Once again, the dancer sat in front of his friend, taking his face in his hands much more gently than the first time and giving him a brief kiss before hiding his face in Castor's neck. ”I don't want to live without you. I can't live without you. I'd fall apart, I swear I would.” Why didn't hotels provide dictionaries? Tom seriously needed one.

BY GABE IS A FWEAK AT CAUTION !

[castor endymion ghirlandaio]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: dddddd; border: #cccccc solid 8px; width: 420px; padding: 15 5 15 5px;] OH MY JUST PLEASE TRY TO SHUT UP AND KISS ME BABY The Words: 1150 The Outfit: soon to comeThe Notes SO DEMANDING omg xD Castor never felt comfortable about the fact that whatever it was that was happening between him and Tom started after Wesley died. It seemed weird to him, slightly out of place, as if someone’s death being the trigger for something that was supposed to be good was just wrong. Because… it was supposed to be good right? Castor knew many things and the answers to a lot of questions but this one he couldn’t put his finger on. How could he? So far, he tried his hardest to avoid any type of emotional connection with anyone outside of his family. Not because he didn’t want to, but because they simply didn’t catch his interest at all. Sure, he had slept with women before, a man even but it hadn’t meant anything. They had been ‘business’ per say, and even so he could count the people he had slept with before with a single hand. And then Tommy came. He wasn’t business. Castor didn’t have a use for him and to be honest his presence infuriated him at first. He was always so touchy feely and so emotional and so unnerving to someone like Castor who was used to things going his way. Just what were they anyway? Castor never quite considered Tommy as a friend before mostly because he didn’t keep friends. An ally? No, not that either because there wasn’t much Tommy could offer him that Castor might be interested in and it was probably the same way for the Calabrian. Something with benefits? Something with benefits that Castor refused to share with anyone else? Yeah because that didn’t sound messed up at all and certainly didn’t beat the whole ‘with benefits’ part of the deal which dealt with freedom. It had been that thought what got Castor to descend on a downward spiral and sit on the bathroom floor right now. He hadn’t been able to lie to his mother like had done in countless occasions. He couldn’t just go and say ‘you’re mad woman, we’re just doing business’ or ‘it’s not what you think’. He couldn’t, and instead he reacted with anger which just confirmed his mother’s suspicions. So far Castor had a few facts straight: he didn’t know what he and Tommy were exactly, but he knew he liked it. Of course he wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it aloud but he actually liked it. Secondly, it was a mess. It was a big fucking horrible mess of epic proportions that Castor knew was coming but refused to do something about it. And on top of that, Castor couldn’t shake the idea that Tommy clung to him because he simply needed someone to cling to now that Wesley was gone and Castor happened to be around. It was sad, but he simply couldn’t stop thinking about that. Tommy’s humor wasn’t exactly welcome by Castor, then again it never really was. This time he didn’t feel like giving the usual scoff and narrowed eyes though, he simply kept his mind focused on what he wanted to say until he finished saying it… well as focused as he could with all the alcohol fogging his mind. “It’s alright…” he managed to mumble when Tommy showed concern for the mark in his face. Indeed, his mother had hit him with all her strength but she merely managed to leave a scratch with one of her multiple rings. Castor didn’t even care about the still stinging skin as much as he cared for the fact that a person he felt so little for, his mother, had the chance to ruin the only decent thing that had happened to him in the past years. Ugh, and there it was again, the thought of Tommy being to him a lot more important than he should be. Castor didn’t flinch when Tommy sat in front of him and placed his hands on his face again and instead he leaned on the touch and the kiss. It felt good, it really did, but it also felt like one of those ‘too good to be true’ things. It was precisely this thought what made him pull back again and even push Tommy back a little to give him one of those ‘are you serious?’ looks. “Do you realize what you just said? You talk as if… as if I don’t know! As if I was the center of some fucked up universe and I’m not! You can’t live without me? That’s… I don’t even know!” Castor sounded as if he was venting frustration that he had been carefully bottling up for a while now, maybe since Wesley died and he and Tommy started growing close. “You can live without me. You will have to, I will have to live without you as well. We’ll deal with it, suck it up and everything will go back to the way it was.” Castor wanted to show resolve, he wanted to deal with this as soon as possible and everything would go back to the way it was just like he said. He’d go back to being a miserable bitter asshole, hating on the world and being picky about everything and Tommy would go back to sleeping around and being the drunk party animal Castor always saw him as. He wanted to say those words with as much resolve as he could but instead he found his hands on Tommy’s face looking at his eyes and showing he didn’t believe one word of what he had just said. “…I’m sorry…” He finally said, dropping both his gaze and his hands on his own lap. “I think I drank more than I thought.” He slowly and with difficulty adjusted his position, once again trying to stand up but only managing to get on his knees. Looking up at Tommy again he threw his arms around the other in an unceremonious way and hid his face on the other’s neck like Tommy had done many times before. “I’m tired. I don’t want to think anymore.” He whined, literally whined like he hadn’t done in ages. It wasn’t even a mocking whine like the ones he usually shot at Tommy, this one was really a very rare and slightly weird show of a childish nature that Castor had kept at bay until now. “I still can’t stand up. Carry me out.” He demanded, well at least that hadn’t changed even in this state. “…and I didn’t mean it.” He said, not quite bothering to clarify what the statement meant and tightening the grip around Tommy’s neck while saying it. He really didn’t mean what he just said, the going back to the way it was thing mostly because he knew it was impossible, and also mostly because he was tired of pretending he didn’t feel something he did feel. It was even more bothersome than trying to fix up this mess. created by ADE! Pb-ified by WILL

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[tommas ugo renda]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,10,true][atrb=style, width: 440px; background-image:url(http://i1081.photobucket.com/albums/j342/Rockiesaurus/black.png), bTable] TO SPITE AS A REASON TO CLOTHES OUT OF SEASON TO THOSE STUCK IN CASKETS AS NAILS HAMMER IN JUST KEEP SCREAMING OUT I'M STILL NOT DEAD Tom wasn't very sure of where he fit in his family hierarchy, though with his new job, it was getting a bit easier to put the pieces together. He was in one of the more powerful families, which was important, yet he hadn't been any use until now, which pushed him back down to the bottom. Now that he'd actually been assigned a job that he might actually be good at, his spot on the ladder was a little fuzzy. At least, until he either proved or disproved that he was worth all the fuss. There had been enough little tests by now, and honestly, Tommas had a feeling that this was the last one. What exactly would he do if he failed? Well, he wasn't going to see Castor again, that was for sure. If a simple blunder on the job itself didn't kill him, then his family would probably do it themselves. Sure, it was harsh to kill family, but the question was why not? Tommy hadn't shown himself to be good for anything so far, yet he had shown himself to be loud and easily noticed, which wasn't perfect for the life he led. And after the whole I-told-my-boyfriend-I-was-in-the-mafia-and-he-killed-himself thing with Wesley... well, Tom really hoped that he did well in his new job. It was his last chance. His last chance with Castor, too. Of course, his friend wasn't more important than his own life like Wesley had been, but he came in a close second after Tom's own sanity was taken into consideration. The things that were important to Tom probably went in an order close to this: Tom's sanity, Castor's attention, Tommy's family and their ability to kill him at the drop of a hat, his family in a family sense, and finally, Enrico's well being and the claws that would make their way under Tom's skin if the demon cat wasn't properly fed. Not like Tom had a low pain tolerance or anything – how could he, after the type of growing up he'd experienced? - but he'd rather avoid the nasty infections that came from Enrico's claws. Who knew where those little needles had been? They could have HIV or something, if cats were able to carry that! Which they weren't, but still. Tommas tended to avoid pain, because even if he was able to deal with it, what kind of person would actively seek it out? He wasn't a masochist, though it may have seemed like it when you looked at the type of relationship he had with Castor. Not physically painful or anything, but emotionally... this wasn't healthy. They both knew that. Yet Tommas was still clinging to Castor and refusing to let go, wasn't he? That meant something, though Tommy wasn't sure just what it meant. Tommas didn't really like being rejected, but it was something that he had grown used to over the years. In his family's eyes, he was a failure. In the eyes of most strangers, he was simply someone to avoid for his height and tattoos. In the eyes of the people that he slept with, well... he was someone that was gone by the next morning. Tommas had some friends like Anouk and Heloise, but he could never tell them everything about him. So he had grown accustomed to rejection, whether it was people he loved pushing him away or he holding himself away from people that he might get too close to. He didn't distance himself like Castor did, but Tom had his own way of doing it. Anything that Heloise did couldn't hurt him, and if Anouk told him to go die in a hole, he would just brush it off. Things with Wesley had gotten a little too personal, which was why Tommy had been so damned upset when the younger boy had died, but that was okay now. He had let himself get too close to someone, and he'd been hurt when they'd left. That was natural, but now it was just happening all over again, and he didn't want to stop it. That was why when Castor pushed him away, he wasn't offended. Nor was he surprised, because hey, Castor had been doing that for however long they'd known each other. That being said, Tom still didn't take his little rejection very seriously. Maybe it was his ego, but one of his common thoughts was that no matter how often his friend rejected him and pushed him to the side, he was still wanted. Castor just didn't show it very well, which went hand in hand with the fact that Castor showed barely anything. ”Okay, you aren't the center of my universe... that's me,” he admitted, pouting slightly. ”But you're super close to it, and even if I wouldn't kill myself or anything if you left, I still don't want you to! Per piacere?” No, it wouldn't be Tom killing himself... It would simply be Tommas lacking his normal ability to function for a while, and that would lead to someone else killing him. Not suicide, but homicide triggered by Castor's absence. Did Tom really rely on Castor that much, though? He had relied on Wesley to need him, but Castor had made it very clear that he didn't need Tommas in his life. Tom was still convinced that Castor wanted him around, but did he rely on his friend to get the needy little drug that he was oh so addicted to? No, he probably didn't, but he still wanted Castor to stick around. Tom would cry if he left, which wasn't that unusual to be honest, but he wouldn't be able to get over it as quickly as he got over other things. Like he'd cried when Wesley had died... and Tommy wasn't going to be able to find another crutch if that repeated itself, but with Castor instead of Wes. And that, of course, was implying that Castor was his current crutch, which meant that once again Tom was thinking in circles. Fuck that. ”Don't be sorry,” he said softly, putting his thumb over Castor's lips for a moment before taking his hands off the older male completely. He hadn't said that Castor didn't have anything to be sorry for, because he did, but it was downright weird to see Castor apologizing. If Tom had to cast Castor as one of the seven deadly sins in some messed up play, the choice would be almost instant. Apologizing contradicted pride, which just made it odd to see the words “I'm sorry” cross Castor's lips. It was almost dangerous, really. ”Well, that was predictable,” he said with a laugh as Castor theorized about how much he'd had to drink. A drinking problem... yeah, they both had one. ”Do you want to sleep?” he asked, following the orders that Castor had given. Yes, that sounded a little odd, but Tom was used to Castor's demands by now. They were ignored most of the time, but when what his friend wanted involved touching him, who was Tom to say no? That thought brought a little smirk to Tom's mouth and he looped an arm around Castor, lifting him up a bit off the floor with one hand just to make more room for him to hook his other arm under Castor's knees. It took a bit of effort to stand up with Castor in his arms, and he stumbled a few times before he reached the bed and dumped Castor on it. ”You're heavy!” he complained, rubbing his arms. How was he supposed to carry someone who was pretty much the same weight as him? Tom has managed it, but it hurt. He couldn't remain irritated with his fellow Italian for very long, though, and it didn't take him much time to flop on the bed next to Castor, wrapping an arm over his waist and stroking his cheek with the other. Tom? Touchy? No way! ”I don't hate you, you know?” he whispered into Castor's ear. Saying “I love you” seemed a little stupid at the moment, and he wasn't really sure that he did. But he knew for sure that he didn't hate Castor, at least.

BY GABE IS A FWEAK AT CAUTION !

[castor endymion ghirlandaio]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: dddddd; border: #cccccc solid 8px; width: 420px; padding: 15 5 15 5px;] OH MY JUST PLEASE TRY TO SHUT UP AND KISS ME BABY The Words: 1056 The Outfit: soon to comeThe Notes OMG TATTOO Sometimes Castor wondered just why he was the way he was. He would be the first to admit that he didn’t exactly classify as a normal person. Then again, his family was one of the, if not the most important ones in the Sacra Corona Unita. His father practically ruled over the Apulia region and Castor’s life had been influenced by that from the very beginning. For starters he couldn’t be like the other kids. He was raised to be the best, always the best and to give nothing but the best, and of course he grew to expect the best as well. Almost all of the pressure was always on his brother though, and Castor had to admit Pollux dealt with it like a pro. They were close, closer than anyone would expect from a couple of brothers that would most likely be fighting for the top position in the family. Pollux had been the only person Castor could work in tandem with; the complimented each other in a way that worked. Seeing the only person he trusted in dead had probably contributed to form what Castor ended up being right now: a drunken mess. Oh how he hated messes… did that mean he hated himself? Probably not, Castor’s survival instincts would never let him think that way but it still didn’t mean he was completely satisfied with everything that was happening. Tommy’s words still rang in his head, loud and annoyingly clear. ‘We’ll make this work out,’ as if it was the easiest thing in the world. It did sound easy. Tommy got the job he wanted and in a year or two Castor’s father would be forced to step down and he’d take the top spot. Then Castor would be able to do whatever the hell he wanted, including summoning Tommy for ‘business’ twice a week. Did he really want to do that though? Rely on a relationship that had massive destruction potential for he and for his family? His and Tommy’s families weren’t exactly in ‘happy’ terms. If anything Castor would classify them as uncomfortable neighbors, just barely dealing with each other because they had to and not because they liked to. Then again, he and Tommy could change that right? Maybe make their families grow stronger and with both in the positions they would end up in it wouldn’t be too hard. But did Castor really want to? It certainly sounded harder than just forget about everything, leave Tommy to find someone else to cling to, and get on his the life he was supposed to lead since he was born. But no… Castor didn’t want that… every time he thought of how things would turn out if he decided to turn around and leave Tommy sitting here in this hotel room the image of the other saying they could make it work flashed through his head and stopped him from moving. “You look stupid when you say per piacere…” Castor snorted, clearly influenced by the happy drinks. Making a little uncomfortable sound upon being lifted he tightened the grip he had around Tommy’s neck while resting his head against the other. “And calling someone you fuck on a regular basis fat won’t earn you anything good.” Castor frowned, lifting his head and directing a glare at Tommy. Who would’ve thought that a drunken Castor was concerned for his weight? After being flopped on the bed Castor had to take a few precious seconds to recover from the slight dizziness the short trip provoked. Covering his eyes with his palm he made another soft sound, pleased this time, when Tommy wrapped his arm around him and started stroking his cheek. “Hmmm don’t do that… it feels too good.” He said, leaning against Tommy’s hand while taking his own off his eyes and turning to look at him. “It shouldn’t feel good.” It was hard to tell if Castor was talking to himself or at Tommy by now but judging by just how drunk he was Castor was probably talking to no one in particular. Letting his hand travel down to his waist he placed it on top of Tommy’s and continued looking at him with a somewhat serious face. “I don’t hate you either…” Unlike Tommy who seemed to get along with pretty much everyone an ‘I don’t hate you’ confession from Castor meant a lot. “I just… strongly dislike you.” He snorted while holding onto the hand that was stroking his cheek and pulling it away from him. “Just look at you… your hair is all uneven and long, and you’re tattooed all over. What does this even mean anyway?” Castor frowned as he lifted Tommy’s hand and shook it slightly as if trying to emphasize the fact that he had no idea what the various letters and forms inked on his hands meant. “And this! this is annoying!” By now Castor was frowning; he held onto Tommy’s lower lip and pulled it down to take a look at the inner lip tattoo that Tommy had. “What’s up with that? And the ear expansions! They make me want to… tug at them or something!” he huffed annoyed, letting go of Tommy entirely and sitting up on the bed and hugging his legs against his chest. “And the way you make me feel it’s… it’s just… it’s like… che c'è che non va!?” He said, slipping back to his native tongue and finding it quite annoying that he couldn’t put words to the way Tommy made him feel despite him being a writing student. “You make me just… not want to leave even if everything else says I should.” He finally reached that conclusion, falling back on the bed defeated and tired. “And it’d be alright if you know… this was a fucking faerie tale.” His bitter laugh was accompanied by an uncharacteristic touchy feely move. It was Castor’s turn to wrap his arm around Tommy while resting his head on his chest, tightening the grip and even throwing a leg on top of Tommy’s in a slightly possessive fashion. “Why are you still talking? I told you I didn’t want to think anymore… why are you so annoying?” Castor’s questions obviously ignored the fact that it was he the one talking and the one thinking. Drunken train of thoughts ftw. created by ADE! Pb-ified by WILL

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[tommas ugo renda]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,10,true][atrb=style, width: 440px; background-image:url(http://i1081.photobucket.com/albums/j342/Rockiesaurus/black.png), bTable] TO SPITE AS A REASON TO CLOTHES OUT OF SEASON TO THOSE STUCK IN CASKETS AS NAILS HAMMER IN JUST KEEP SCREAMING OUT I'M STILL NOT DEAD If someone had to pick one word to describe Tommy, it would have to be optimistic. Of course, said someone would have to know Tom pretty well to pick that word, but it was pretty much the core of his entire being. If he couldn't see the bright side in everything, Tommy would have committed suicide a long time ago. Seeing as he was obviously still alive – or at least, he would be until his family decided to get rid of him, which he still hoped wouldn't happen! - it was a not-so-obvious jump to the fact that he was an optimist. That was probably why he was always telling Castor that things would work out, because in his mind, they would! Tom simply didn't allow himself to think that things would end badly for the two of them, and he was doing his best to make sure that Castor thought so too. And it had to be working, right? Castor hadn't left yet, and that was saying something, considering what Castor normally acted like. ”I look stupid all the time, don't I?” he asked, rolling his eyes and looking down at the man in his arms. Why did he have to be so addicted to someone who was constantly criticizing him? ”I didn't call you fat, I called you heavy. There's a difference!” His voice came out in a little whine of protest, even though he knew that there was no reasoning with Castor when he'd had a bit too much to drink. Tom himself was the same way, to be honest, though they were normally either both sober or both drunk, so it wasn't a problem that come up very often. ”It's all the muscle that makes you heavy, probably. You're not fat, because being fat isn't sexy.” Castor was undeniably attractive in Tommas' mind, so obviously, he couldn't be fat. That right there was the flawless logic of someone who might have been a tad too judgmental for his own good. He gave the man in front of him a small kiss, then pulled back again, simply listening to him rant about something or another. ”Why shouldn't it feel good?” he asked quietly, a small smirk forming at the corners of his mouth. Castor may have been pretty much untouchable when he was drunk and Tom was sober, but at least Tom could find some amusement from the various things that his... friend? Yeah, friend. Not boyfriend. Well, whatever Castor was, he was amusing when he was drunk. ”I guess strong dislike his better than hate?” he asked, spared from a response by Castor's sudden train of criticism. Well, maybe an answer to his question would have been better, because this was actually quite annoying. ”I don't have time to cut it, and they mean various things... Why is it annoying, it's just another tattoo!” His second sentence came out slightly garbled, having tried to talk while Castor was still holding on to his lip. Once Castor finally let go, Tom sat up a bit, resting most of his upper body weight on his arm. ”Tug on them?” he asked, raising an eyebrow and smiling a bit. ”I'm not saying that it wouldn't be sexy if you did that, but it would probably hurt me...” A slightly sad look crossed his face as Castor started speaking in Italian, but looking up at the older male, it passed pretty quickly. ”No, it's right,” he said stubbornly, pouting a bit. Things were right when he was with Castor, though he'd been aware for quite some time that Castor didn't think the same way that he himself did. ”I think that's called love,” he mumbled, his voice almost inaudible. If logic said that Castor should leave Tom in the dust, yet neither of them wanted it... Well, that was a perfect dictionary definition of love. Maybe he didn't want a dictionary after all. Tom honestly didn't care about what this was called, though. As Castor would say, it was a fucking mess, yet Tommas still couldn't bring himself to leave. It seemed like Castor couldn't either, which gave him even more hope that this could still work out. If they tried hard enough, they could do practically anything, couldn't they? It wasn't like either Castor or Tommy was lacking in resources. This could work out, and it was going to! There was just no way that it couldn't end happily, not in Tom's mind. He always found some way to make even the worst things end well for him, or at least fooled himself into thinking that they were good. There was a silver lining in everything, he just had to look for it, and it was a firm belief of Tom's that if he looked hard enough, it would be there. Like now, for instance. Sure, Castor was drunk off his ass and had just finished throwing a long line of insults at Tom, but now Tom had Castor in his arms, and god, Castor was so much more touchy when he was drunk! It was a shame that it would be third degree rape – or something like that – to do anything with Castor when he was in this state... really, such a shame. Cuddling wasn't outlawed though, so even if Castor was probably going to freak out and hit Tom with a pillow in the morning (again...), Tom did nothing but get himself as close to Castor as possible and close his eyes, staying quiet so Castor wouldn't have anything to complain about.

BY GABE IS A FWEAK AT CAUTION !

[castor endymion ghirlandaio]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: dddddd; border: #cccccc solid 8px; width: 420px; padding: 15 5 15 5px;] OH MY JUST PLEASE TRY TO SHUT UP AND KISS ME BABY The Words: 990 The Outfit: soon to comeThe Notes: castor u so in love D< Could he and Tommy be classified as opposites? If Castor wasn’t as wasted as he was he’d probably give the idea a deep thought and reach a conclusion based on various facts. That’s how Castor always worked: with hard facts and with careful thinking and planning. It was how he was raised to be, it was how he was supposed to be and it was like he liked being. There was no way to deny hard facts right? You could shove them at people’s faces and even the most stubborn of them would have to face reality, and if they didn’t then they could face Castor’s gun. It was simple and Castor liked simple things. Lately he had been having trouble with this simple way of thinking though. Every fact in his book said that he shouldn’t have allowed Tommy to cling to him in the first place. Castor wanted to think the various options he could’ve gone for before he and Tommy started growing close were absent at the beginning but it wasn’t the case. Castor thought of each and every option before but he simply didn’t put any of those ideas into action and simply sat on that couch at Tommy’s place and let the other lean against him like a crutch. He could’ve called Minoru and let him deal with Tommy. He could’ve ignored the other’s reasoning that Minoru was too Japanese and Niko was too much of a robot. He could’ve simply continued with how things were but he found himself unable. Castor, unable, it was like saying he suddenly turned into a good guy and didn’t hate the world. He wasn’t optimistic like Tommy was but he wasn’t a pessimist either. He simply clung to reality and to what he could discern from the hard facts. But this was too foggy for him to understand. Castor wasn’t used to feel something like this. In fact he wasn’t used to feel much at all. The closest thing he felt to affection was what he shared with his siblings and even all of them but Minerva were banned from touching him. Why did he give Tommy so much freedom then? Tommas was the epitome of the type of people Castor tried to avoid. He was friendly, touchy feely, clingy to a certain extent and all the scattered colors of the tattoos that covered his body were just as bad as a train wreck for his OCD. Then why he was lying here on the bed with an arm around him and his head nicely nested on his chest? Tommy offered a rather distressing possibility that made Castor’s eyes snap open as he lifted his head to sit up and look down at him. “Love?” He asked with a slightly panicked tone of voice as he attempted to climb off the bed but not getting too far. The dizziness was doing its job by keeping him where he was. “Are you sure? How can you tell? Isn’t love supposed to make you feel… stuff?” Alright, this was very pathetic for a writing major, he was way too drunk to remember the right words and the closest thing he could think of was ‘stuff’, very smooth Castor, very smooth. In his defense, Castor was very alien to the feeling of love. He knew he loved his parents (in a way) and his siblings (in another way) and he was much familiarized with the opposite feeling, seeing he hated the world and all. Love though… he could describe it in poetic ways and he could talk about it while declaiming a poem but it’s not like actually knew what it felt like. Castor had the ability to give people what they asked for, whether it was a smile they would believe was warm and gentle or an essay on how love could change lives but it didn’t mean he actually meant what he wrote or said. It made him fake and it made him some sort of hypocrite but in his line of work those were valuable traits. Never before he thought he’d be encountered with the idea of love in such a straightforward way and in such an unexpected way. Lying on a hotel room in your home town with a man after being kicked out of your brother’s funeral wasn’t a scenario that lingered in anyone’s mind. Turning to Tommy again he nudged the other’s side in an attempt to get his full attention. “You’ve been in love, is this is how it’s supposed to feel?” There it was again, the demanding streak that was so imprinted in Castor’s personality. Of course he was referring to Wesley. Castor wasn’t a naïve boy though, nor was he stupid or inexperienced. He was just too inebriated at the moment to think of love as something other than a disease with symptoms that he could attempt to cure somehow. “How do I make it go away? How do I stop… wanting to be with you!?” Castor’s questions came out with a tint of fear and painful realization. He reached forward to tug at Tommy’s hand, again demanding answers. “Tell me. I don’t think I could handle being in love for too long…” By now his tone had gone down again and his tugging had turned light and almost imperceptible. Castor again felt the urge to lie down, hiding his face on the pillow but still grasping a heavily tattooed hand which he felt the urge to pull up and hold against his chest. “I don’t want to…” Castor said with muffled voice from the pillow and whined before closing his eyes again. An exasperated groan came afterwards because let’s face it, his brain knew the truth; he was in love already but he was way too far from being ready to admit it. Oh Castor would have a blast remembering this in the morning… if he did remember anything at all. created by ADE! Pb-ified by WILL

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