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Bone and Berries [Lalli/Emil]
Title: Bone and Berries
Fandom: Stand Still, Stay Silent
Characters/Pairing: Lalli/Emil
Rating: 18+
Length: 1.6k
Summary: Sometimes, Lalli wishes that Emil could enter his space, step into his mind. This is one of those times.
Other: For my dear Starfallz. :)
Olga has done a Russian translation of this fic! (Thank you! <3 ) You can read it at Ficbook over here
Bone and Berries
In his space, Lalli stays curled up with his eyes shut tight, not wanting to wake into his dream. He has moved from the floating boards to solid ground, felt rocks slippery under his bark-clad feet. Sought out a corner where to curl up and think.
He would rather have an ordinary dream, a normal dream. There have been some, now and then. Recently. He remembers them when he wakes.
He likes remembering those dreams. He likes thinking of them. And Lalli knows that what he wants is to have one now, right now.
Those dreams bring him something that he can't have. Not because of a lack of wanting. It's only because of where they are. What they're doing. People, always people around them. In Keuruu, Lalli has the privacy of his own space, that small room where he can go to keep himself to himself. This wouldn't be a problem in Keuruu.
And that's the problem with all of this, Lalli thinks. He and Emil can't be alone.
Lalli chews at his lower lip. Turns the thought over. Not for the first time, he wishes that Emil could do what he can do himself, could see what he can see. Could have his own dream-space, like he does. It would be easy, then. They'd still have to find time, and that would be hard.
But it wouldn't be impossible.
If Emil was like that, it would be different. If they slept close together, Lalli thinks, with their hands slightly touching, their heads next to each other, it would be easy. If Emil could step into his dream, then Lalli could take him into it. Take his hand and walk with him along the boards, lead him down into the cool spaces like the one where he rests now. Where the trees curve in, where the rocks rise, where there are shady hollows with trickling water and soft moss, where everything smells fresh and damp and green.
They could hide themselves away. Could take their time with one another. Could listen in case anyone stepped in without being invited. They'd hear the invasive footfalls. Probably.
Lalli likes that thought, likes that idea. But as he thinks about it, he knows that if Emil could do it, it wouldn't go like that. He remembers how it was when Reynir stepped through his swamp. He pictures Emil trying to do that, and getting up to his knees in muck.
He bites his tongue to stop himself from smiling.
That isn't the image that he wants to think about right now.
Lalli shifts in his rest, curls against the foundation of his dream. Thinks, instead, only about taking Emil into the cool, quiet shadows of his mind. It doesn't matter how he got there. What matters is that he is there.
The quiet words that Emil mutters are ones that he would be able to understand in here. Lalli knows that. The image that rises in his head is good – but he doesn't linger on the words, because he can't imagine what Emil might actually say. It doesn't come to mind. It's more important that there are words, and that Emil is speaking, and that Lalli understands the things that Emil says as he tilts his head and speaks softly by his ear,
Emil's words are a flutter of breath, a barely-there nothing that makes Lalli close his eyes, and close his eyes again.
Bare hands. Their hands would have to be bare in a situation like this, Lalli thinks. He imagines cupping the soft, round curve of Emil's face, of kissing him hard, lingering on it, biting at his mouth. Nothing like the kisses they have managed to sneak so far. Those kisses are always rushed, too fast. They have to sneak them, a quick press of lips before Lalli runs out the door, a graze against a cheek when nobody is looking.
It would be nice to take their time. To look at each other. For Lalli to be able to slide his fingers through Emil's hair, feel how silky it is.
It would be nice, Lalli thinks, to brush his thumb along Emil's mouth, exploring the shape of it. His lips are soft, and Lalli knows this from the quick kisses they steal in the dark. But he would like to touch him with his hands, feel out the flush of Emil's cheeks under his fingertips. The shape of his face. The curve of his lower lip, reddened like berries from the biting.
Lalli thinks about it, about gently guiding his mouth open. Sliding a finger between his lips. Pressing along his teeth. Touching each of them, one after another. All of them perfect, straight, whole, bone-white.
Lalli knows that Emil would just be confused if he tried this. If he did this. If he somehow asked this of him. But Emil would do it. He'd go through with it.
Probably.
But he'd be confused. Lalli knows enough about Emil to know that he wouldn't understand.
The Emil in his mind doesn't question what Lalli wants to do. Doesn't think it's weird. Doesn't ask him why. Doesn't ask questions that Lalli can't answer. Won't answer. Doesn't want to answer. Emil is pliant under Lalli's touch, his eyes half-shut, cheeks rosy, letting Lalli caress the bright ridges in his warm mouth.
Maybe, Lalli thinks, it would go like that. He doesn't know for sure. He could ask. Somehow. He wouldn't even need to find the words for it. With Emil, there are ways to ask for things without speaking. Ways to be understood without saying anything at all.
Even if Emil thought it was weird, he wouldn't mind, Lalli tells himself.
But they'd have to be alone. They'd have to find time.
All he has is the dream, then.
Lalli runs his tongue over his dry lips and thinks about Emil's mouth. He is blushing, he knows this. Can feel that he is. His clothes are uncomfortable, confining. It's good that he's in his dream, alone. Though he wishes he didn't have to be alone. If Emil was here, Lalli thinks, if Emil could be here, it would be different.
Slowly, Lalli slides his hand down. Slips buckles open, dips his hand beneath fabric. He breathes in deeply the scent of cold fresh water and greenery while he imagines Emil's lips, his tongue, the way he might look as he wraps his mouth around Lalli's fingers. Hinting at something. Or asking permission. Both, maybe.
All it takes is one touch. A brush of Lalli's slick fingers against Emil's warm cheek. Then Emil dips his head down, down, his eyes falling shut. Down, careful hands brushing Lalli's clothing aside. Down, parting his lips, taking him in. Down, ducking his head. His mouth is soft and warm and wet and Lalli slides his fingers through that golden hair, brushing it out of Emil's face so he can watch him, so he can see him.
He gets himself off to the thought of Emil between his knees. Emil's broad palms at his hips. Emil's breath heavy as his lips and tongue do the work that Lalli's hand does now: moving him, drawing him, bringing him close, closer, over.
They can't have this, Lalli thinks, drawing in a long and frustrated breath when he's finished, resting with his head against the roughness of the stone he has coiled himself against. He opens his eyes and stares at nothing, takes in the dream around him, the familiar rocks and water and swamp.
Emil is not there.
Lalli is alone.
They can't do this. They can't. It isn't because Emil wouldn't want to. Lalli knows that he would. He can tell from the way Emil looks at him. From the way his fingertips trail when he touches him. From the way he clings when they kiss, drawing out every second of it as long as he possibly can.
Lalli knows this because of the way Emil tried to steal a moment like the one in his mind, once. In the tank's storage room, when no one else was around, he tried it. Nudged Lalli against the wall – but gently. Kissed him hard, flushing. Nervous hands at Lalli's waistband, a rushed question against his mouth. Lalli didn't understand the words, but he didn't have to.
They were interrupted. The sound of voices just outside. They had to pretend nothing was going on. Later, Emil looked apologetic about it. Whispered a quiet Sorry to him in Finnish as Lalli was getting ready to head out for the night. At least, that was what it sounded like. It was hard to tell. He didn't get it quite right. But that was what it sounded like.
Lalli ached for him later, when the night was over, when he had a moment to think and sleep and dream. He dreamed of Emil's hands, and his mouth, and his tongue, and his teeth. He wanted him then as he wants him now, even now as the thoughts fade and leave only vague mellowness and a feeling that isn't satisfaction, not really.
Knowing this leaves Lalli with no questions. Only ideas. Only half-formed thoughts slipping away as he moves from where he rests curled up in his own mind. As he dips his hands, cleans them off. Adjusts his clothing. Aches, knowing he is alone. Wishing that he wasn't. Wishing Emil could be there.
He knows that Emil would do it.
He knows that all it would take is a word, a touch, and time.
Some day, Lalli thinks, we will have this.
End
Fandom: Stand Still, Stay Silent
Characters/Pairing: Lalli/Emil
Rating: 18+
Length: 1.6k
Summary: Sometimes, Lalli wishes that Emil could enter his space, step into his mind. This is one of those times.
Other: For my dear Starfallz. :)
Olga has done a Russian translation of this fic! (Thank you! <3 ) You can read it at Ficbook over here
Bone and Berries
In his space, Lalli stays curled up with his eyes shut tight, not wanting to wake into his dream. He has moved from the floating boards to solid ground, felt rocks slippery under his bark-clad feet. Sought out a corner where to curl up and think.
He would rather have an ordinary dream, a normal dream. There have been some, now and then. Recently. He remembers them when he wakes.
He likes remembering those dreams. He likes thinking of them. And Lalli knows that what he wants is to have one now, right now.
Those dreams bring him something that he can't have. Not because of a lack of wanting. It's only because of where they are. What they're doing. People, always people around them. In Keuruu, Lalli has the privacy of his own space, that small room where he can go to keep himself to himself. This wouldn't be a problem in Keuruu.
And that's the problem with all of this, Lalli thinks. He and Emil can't be alone.
Lalli chews at his lower lip. Turns the thought over. Not for the first time, he wishes that Emil could do what he can do himself, could see what he can see. Could have his own dream-space, like he does. It would be easy, then. They'd still have to find time, and that would be hard.
But it wouldn't be impossible.
If Emil was like that, it would be different. If they slept close together, Lalli thinks, with their hands slightly touching, their heads next to each other, it would be easy. If Emil could step into his dream, then Lalli could take him into it. Take his hand and walk with him along the boards, lead him down into the cool spaces like the one where he rests now. Where the trees curve in, where the rocks rise, where there are shady hollows with trickling water and soft moss, where everything smells fresh and damp and green.
They could hide themselves away. Could take their time with one another. Could listen in case anyone stepped in without being invited. They'd hear the invasive footfalls. Probably.
Lalli likes that thought, likes that idea. But as he thinks about it, he knows that if Emil could do it, it wouldn't go like that. He remembers how it was when Reynir stepped through his swamp. He pictures Emil trying to do that, and getting up to his knees in muck.
He bites his tongue to stop himself from smiling.
That isn't the image that he wants to think about right now.
Lalli shifts in his rest, curls against the foundation of his dream. Thinks, instead, only about taking Emil into the cool, quiet shadows of his mind. It doesn't matter how he got there. What matters is that he is there.
The quiet words that Emil mutters are ones that he would be able to understand in here. Lalli knows that. The image that rises in his head is good – but he doesn't linger on the words, because he can't imagine what Emil might actually say. It doesn't come to mind. It's more important that there are words, and that Emil is speaking, and that Lalli understands the things that Emil says as he tilts his head and speaks softly by his ear,
Emil's words are a flutter of breath, a barely-there nothing that makes Lalli close his eyes, and close his eyes again.
Bare hands. Their hands would have to be bare in a situation like this, Lalli thinks. He imagines cupping the soft, round curve of Emil's face, of kissing him hard, lingering on it, biting at his mouth. Nothing like the kisses they have managed to sneak so far. Those kisses are always rushed, too fast. They have to sneak them, a quick press of lips before Lalli runs out the door, a graze against a cheek when nobody is looking.
It would be nice to take their time. To look at each other. For Lalli to be able to slide his fingers through Emil's hair, feel how silky it is.
It would be nice, Lalli thinks, to brush his thumb along Emil's mouth, exploring the shape of it. His lips are soft, and Lalli knows this from the quick kisses they steal in the dark. But he would like to touch him with his hands, feel out the flush of Emil's cheeks under his fingertips. The shape of his face. The curve of his lower lip, reddened like berries from the biting.
Lalli thinks about it, about gently guiding his mouth open. Sliding a finger between his lips. Pressing along his teeth. Touching each of them, one after another. All of them perfect, straight, whole, bone-white.
Lalli knows that Emil would just be confused if he tried this. If he did this. If he somehow asked this of him. But Emil would do it. He'd go through with it.
Probably.
But he'd be confused. Lalli knows enough about Emil to know that he wouldn't understand.
The Emil in his mind doesn't question what Lalli wants to do. Doesn't think it's weird. Doesn't ask him why. Doesn't ask questions that Lalli can't answer. Won't answer. Doesn't want to answer. Emil is pliant under Lalli's touch, his eyes half-shut, cheeks rosy, letting Lalli caress the bright ridges in his warm mouth.
Maybe, Lalli thinks, it would go like that. He doesn't know for sure. He could ask. Somehow. He wouldn't even need to find the words for it. With Emil, there are ways to ask for things without speaking. Ways to be understood without saying anything at all.
Even if Emil thought it was weird, he wouldn't mind, Lalli tells himself.
But they'd have to be alone. They'd have to find time.
All he has is the dream, then.
Lalli runs his tongue over his dry lips and thinks about Emil's mouth. He is blushing, he knows this. Can feel that he is. His clothes are uncomfortable, confining. It's good that he's in his dream, alone. Though he wishes he didn't have to be alone. If Emil was here, Lalli thinks, if Emil could be here, it would be different.
Slowly, Lalli slides his hand down. Slips buckles open, dips his hand beneath fabric. He breathes in deeply the scent of cold fresh water and greenery while he imagines Emil's lips, his tongue, the way he might look as he wraps his mouth around Lalli's fingers. Hinting at something. Or asking permission. Both, maybe.
All it takes is one touch. A brush of Lalli's slick fingers against Emil's warm cheek. Then Emil dips his head down, down, his eyes falling shut. Down, careful hands brushing Lalli's clothing aside. Down, parting his lips, taking him in. Down, ducking his head. His mouth is soft and warm and wet and Lalli slides his fingers through that golden hair, brushing it out of Emil's face so he can watch him, so he can see him.
He gets himself off to the thought of Emil between his knees. Emil's broad palms at his hips. Emil's breath heavy as his lips and tongue do the work that Lalli's hand does now: moving him, drawing him, bringing him close, closer, over.
They can't have this, Lalli thinks, drawing in a long and frustrated breath when he's finished, resting with his head against the roughness of the stone he has coiled himself against. He opens his eyes and stares at nothing, takes in the dream around him, the familiar rocks and water and swamp.
Emil is not there.
Lalli is alone.
They can't do this. They can't. It isn't because Emil wouldn't want to. Lalli knows that he would. He can tell from the way Emil looks at him. From the way his fingertips trail when he touches him. From the way he clings when they kiss, drawing out every second of it as long as he possibly can.
Lalli knows this because of the way Emil tried to steal a moment like the one in his mind, once. In the tank's storage room, when no one else was around, he tried it. Nudged Lalli against the wall – but gently. Kissed him hard, flushing. Nervous hands at Lalli's waistband, a rushed question against his mouth. Lalli didn't understand the words, but he didn't have to.
They were interrupted. The sound of voices just outside. They had to pretend nothing was going on. Later, Emil looked apologetic about it. Whispered a quiet Sorry to him in Finnish as Lalli was getting ready to head out for the night. At least, that was what it sounded like. It was hard to tell. He didn't get it quite right. But that was what it sounded like.
Lalli ached for him later, when the night was over, when he had a moment to think and sleep and dream. He dreamed of Emil's hands, and his mouth, and his tongue, and his teeth. He wanted him then as he wants him now, even now as the thoughts fade and leave only vague mellowness and a feeling that isn't satisfaction, not really.
Knowing this leaves Lalli with no questions. Only ideas. Only half-formed thoughts slipping away as he moves from where he rests curled up in his own mind. As he dips his hands, cleans them off. Adjusts his clothing. Aches, knowing he is alone. Wishing that he wasn't. Wishing Emil could be there.
He knows that Emil would do it.
He knows that all it would take is a word, a touch, and time.
Some day, Lalli thinks, we will have this.
End