stilljustandrew | [ainmhianverse] same as it ever was

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[ainmhianverse] same as it ever was

Andrew isn't sure how long he's been here. There's no clock in the room, no watch on his wrist, no phone in his pocket. Nobody's come into the room, and that feels like a test, or like a trap. Someone's waiting to see what he'll do.

It takes what feels like hours, between deciding to try opening the door and putting out his hand to grip the knob, and almost as long again to try to turn it. It turns, smoothly, effortlessly, almost silently, and with a tiny whimper of fear he pulls his hand away as though burned and stumbles back several steps.

On the second attempt, he's able to ease the door open the tiniest amount, and then freezes to see what will happen. When nothing does, he opens the door a touch further, and further until there's an opening wide enough to step through.

He steps through.

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Oh, Max. Andrew doesn't have any pride to preserve.

But he's happy to have Max sit down with him, and he goes through the stretches and flexes with a good will, and comes out of them feeling slightly less drained.

"... Maybe a minute," he pants, somewhere between a sitting position and lying flat on his face, "yeah."

Oops. He's done the poor boy in. Max chuckles and soothes a hand over Andrew's back.

"It gets easier with time, I promise." Like many things.

He relaxes a little further at Max's touch, with an almost inaudible sigh, and the look on his face under the exhaustion is something like peace.

"I'll do my best," he whispers, and almost visibly swallows an added honorific.

"I have absolutely no doubt about it."

That look. Max should be happy to see Andrew at peace. If only it didn't disturb Max so much knowing the cause of it is the soothing touch of a Master. This discomfort is good, Max tells himself. So long as he doesn't get comfortable this way, he won't make the mistake of accepting the status quo. The goal is to get Andrew independent one day. He can't ever forget that. He can't let himself enjoy those looks, because it means Andrew isn't free yet.

"Think you can make it home, or should I carry you?" He's mostly joking. Not that he couldn't. Andrew doesn't look much heavier than Lucas.

"I, I can walk," he says, and starts to gather himself up. "Now?"

(And if there's a faintly wistful glance at the idea of Max carrying him, it's only for a moment, and he can push the thought aside with the ease of long practice.)

"If you're really ready to."

Andrew can push the thought aside, but Max is watching closely enough that he thinks he sees that reaction for what it is. He could also be projecting, he realizes, because he liked to be carried by his master too but...

"Do you? Want me to carry you, that is. You can tell me truthfully."

"I --"

He straightens a little more sharply, naked surprise on his face.

"... Yes? But, but wouldn't that be --" and he cuts himself off in confusion, afraid to go any further.

"What? Inappropriate? I get to decide that, don't I?" His smile is warm and tone gentle, so it won't sound like too harsh of an admonishment.

"I really liked to be held too. I still do, if I can find someone strong enough to do it. That's why I asked. I suspected it might be the same for you."

Andrew opens his mouth, finds he can't make a sound, closes it, and nods vigorously.

Because yes, it feels like something that could give away the nature of their relationship, something inappropriate for what they're pretending in public to be -- but yes, that's his master's to decide, not his, and he's deeply grateful for it.

And if Max puts him down as soon as they're within sight of anybody else, it will still be worth it, however brief.

"Good. And, hey, don't worry too much about it okay? It's not going to look as weird as you think. I have a habit of doing this for people. The worst anyone will think is that it's a fetish or something. I doubt anyone will care too much one way or the other."

And if they do happen upon anyone who wants to side-eye, they might get a reply from Max along the lines of "So what? Can't a man carry another man around in the land of fairy fucks?" It's the truth, after all.

And, with that being said, he will gracefully lift Andrew into a princess carry and start back. Consider this his weight lifting for the day. Not a bad substitute.

Any objection, any lingering worry he could possibly still have, it's erased in a moment by the feel of being gently lifted and held. Andrew lets his head fall against Max's shoulder and gives a near-silent sigh of bliss, yielding completely.

He watches the surroundings pass by like scenery, feeling cradled in his master's warmth and solidity. And equally cradled in the dreamy sense that for the moment, at least, nothing else matters.

(If Max needs him to open a door or anything, he may need to say so.)

Max can't help stroking his hand gently against Andrew's where he holds him, feeling something like fatherly affection for this man in his arms. This full grown man. Yet, there's such a vulnerable innocence in those dreamy eyes. A sense of trust and surrender.

It's not so bad, is it? To let him have this comfort now, in a world that is so new and frightening? No. It can't be wrong to let him have this. A war is not won in a single day.

He does, eventually, have to nudge Andrew back to attention when they reach the front of the castle. "Can you turn that knob for me? I don't want to accidentally drop you."

"Yes, Max," he says at once, his voice matching the dreamy look in his eyes, soft and almost dazed-sounding. He reaches for the knob without looking, misses it, and turns his head to get it right on the second pass.

Far from interrupting the feeling of well-being for him, the moment heightens it: an order from his master, simple to obey, successfully carried out.

"Not falling asleep on me, are you?" Max says, while internally alarms are going off again.

Damn. What should he do? Should he make Andrew snap out of it? He's the fool here for thinking this could all be so simple.

"We're almost at my room now," he adds absently, "get that for me too, please?"

It will be okay. It will be okay. They are almost there now.

"No, Max, I'm awake."

Just dropping, is all. Like a rock into water, slowly sinking into the old safe comforting headspace. The fact that he's physically tired just makes it easier.

"I will," he promises, and keeps his head turned to see where they're going, ready to get the door to Max's room as instructed.

Well. Shit.

Deep breaths, he reminds himself. He doesn't want Andrew to catch on to his discomfort. They make it through that last door and into the bedroom. There, Max sets the man down gently on top of the bedspread.

"There we go. Safe and sound. Now, uh. We only need to worry about getting cleaned up. I'm just going to start filling the tub. And grab a glass of water to drink. You can stay there."

He will do both those things, and it will give him a good excuse to turn his back and work on getting his composure while he's at it.

"Yes, Max," he murmurs, and shifts only slightly -- enough to put his legs over the edge of the bed and sit on its edge. Max did suggest that he wasn't to fall asleep, and lying down on the bed seems too high a risk of disobeying, as tired as he is.

Even sitting seems too prone to falling asleep, after a while.

When Max returns from starting the tub, he'll find Andrew kneeling on the floor at the side of the bed, hands resting loosely on his thighs, eyes open but unfocused. The position looks long-practiced, relaxed; like he could spend hours like this without noticing any physical discomfort. Like he has.

All that work Max did to get his expression under control goes right out the window the minute he turns around and sees Andrew on the floor like that.

"What are you doing?!" The words spring from his lips before he can think to hold them back.

"I --" He blinks up at Max in bewilderment, like an actor hearing the wrong cue, like a man startled out of a trance. "W-waiting for you?"

In the space of another blink his expression starts to shade to unease and then anxiety, as Max's dismay begins to register.

It's too late for Max to hide his reaction. And he can see anxiety etched into Andrew's expression now in response to it. Dammit. Damn. How does he walk this back?

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell. You surprised me. I didn't expect to see you...on the floor." Like a dog.

"W-why did you get off the bed?" He tries to make the question sound like he'd just curious, without it being a reprimand.

"I -- you didn't want me to fall asleep, I, I was afraid I might ..."

But he's shrinking in on himself, Max's tone notwithstanding, his face starting to crumple in guilt and fear. "I'm sorry, y-you said to stay there, I didn't think -- I'm sorry --"

No. No, no. He can't let Andrew shrink in on himself like that. He needs to correct this fast.

"It's okay. You were doing your best to follow my order. I understand now."

Max steps up to Andrew and combs his fingers through the man's hair in what he hopes will be a soothing gesture.

"I'm sorry for acting so startled. I'm not upset with you."

Andrew's relief is a palpable thing, every tense muscle sagging into relaxation, all the breath going out of him in a rush. He shuts his eyes and leans into Max's hand, breathes slowly, in and out.

He won't interrupt this moment of his own volition, not unless Max moves away or says something.

Max only wishes he could be so relaxed. He's sinking further and further into despair. Every little step he takes try try to build any independence in Andrew only makes his pet more miserable. Is there really no hope? Will Max have to come clean to everyone here, that he's simply going to have a... a slave from now on because that's what the slave wants? No. He can't accept that. He's not giving up so soon.

"Andrew?" he asks softly, "you wanted to tell me about something earlier at the dojo. What was it?"

It's funny: days ago, or from anyone else, he would probably have answered a question like that with a mumbled deflection, no matter how much he wanted to talk about it. It wasn't anything; it's not important; I don't remember. But this is his master, and obedience is unthinking and automatic.

"It was ... something that happened one time when I was with Lucifer. I, I don't remember what made me think of it." He hesitates. "Do you want to hear about it?"

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lol that icon is perfect

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