That...did not figure. It simply did not add correctly. The sheer, openmouthed disbelief: I can't, with no small quaver--was he--yeah, Frank was frightened--of him? Of his code-brother, maybe?
Of something. Something that was very--not wrong, exactly, but--orthogonal to Clu's mental map. Definite data mismatch. Did not compute.
The guy was, really scared.
...Holy shit. Was there a vengeful boyfriend waiting in the wings somewhere?
Clu stood there for a second, two, realized he'd frozen. He kept smiling and gently, gently, caressed the other man's hip. Did not let go. Couldn't make himself step back from--from all of that, curled protective posture, big dark eyes, lithe frame that was starting to, radiate, something strong and sweet and a little hellish.
And Frank wasn't pushing him away.
"Sorry?" Clu tried, with a question mark, because it was definitely a question. "Um..." and seized on the clearest available data: "Two yea--Frank, buddy," slowly, blowing out a tuneless whistle for the math of it, "that's--I'm not a doctor, but..." he cleared his throat. "Look. It is too late for you to take any more of those, okay?"
He'd wondered if Frank was planning to kill himself, with that many, with the jittery, furtive outlook. Only then they'd gotten to talking--sort of--and it had seemed like something else. Accidental, a little embarrassing--risky in a building stuffed to the rafters with beta arrogance and alpha sprinkles for dessert--
But not like something they couldn't do, something that had those pretty eyes turning the size of dinner plates at him.
Like it would be wrong, for Clu to help him. Or maybe, just, regular? Wrong? Insufficient data.
"Hey," softly, "this is a natural thing. It just happens, sometimes." He skipped right by it's not your fault because it sounded like an after school movie even to him, the weird 'empowering' ones that were mostly omega-shaming, and landed on, "My mate can take care of himself!" Big, friendly grin: "You, um, you let me deal with him."
"I can help you." He leaned in, murmured on his ear. "Would you like that?"
no subject
Of something. Something that was very--not wrong, exactly, but--orthogonal to Clu's mental map. Definite data mismatch. Did not compute.
The guy was, really scared.
...Holy shit. Was there a vengeful boyfriend waiting in the wings somewhere?
Clu stood there for a second, two, realized he'd frozen. He kept smiling and gently, gently, caressed the other man's hip. Did not let go. Couldn't make himself step back from--from all of that, curled protective posture, big dark eyes, lithe frame that was starting to, radiate, something strong and sweet and a little hellish.
And Frank wasn't pushing him away.
"Sorry?" Clu tried, with a question mark, because it was definitely a question. "Um..." and seized on the clearest available data: "Two yea--Frank, buddy," slowly, blowing out a tuneless whistle for the math of it, "that's--I'm not a doctor, but..." he cleared his throat. "Look. It is too late for you to take any more of those, okay?"
He'd wondered if Frank was planning to kill himself, with that many, with the jittery, furtive outlook. Only then they'd gotten to talking--sort of--and it had seemed like something else. Accidental, a little embarrassing--risky in a building stuffed to the rafters with beta arrogance and alpha sprinkles for dessert--
But not like something they couldn't do, something that had those pretty eyes turning the size of dinner plates at him.
Like it would be wrong, for Clu to help him. Or maybe, just, regular? Wrong? Insufficient data.
"Hey," softly, "this is a natural thing. It just happens, sometimes." He skipped right by it's not your fault because it sounded like an after school movie even to him, the weird 'empowering' ones that were mostly omega-shaming, and landed on, "My mate can take care of himself!" Big, friendly grin: "You, um, you let me deal with him."
"I can help you." He leaned in, murmured on his ear. "Would you like that?"