![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
when it's all said and done
Who: Ned and Daneel
What: The sun is down, the power is out.
Where: House 20
When: Day 100, twilight
The old adage about not knowing what you have until it's gone seems particularly relevant to Ned tonight. He'd thought things were bad enough with just the food shortage, just the lack of communication with the outside world, just the ignorance of where they are and who brought them here, just the occasional bout of horrific nightmares or monstrous transformations. Now, it would seem, they are going to have to learn to live without electricity, as well.
Perhaps, he thinks, walking back towards the house, it won't be permanent. Perhaps the power will be back in a few days and things will return to normal.
(But he'd heard stories from the older residents, about how the food used to be replenished. That had changed, and there were no signs of things going back to the way they used to be. So to hope for anything other than the worst possible scenario seems like foolish optimism, to him.)
Ned gets back a few minutes after the sun has set, as light is rapidly fading from the air. He lets himself inside and reaches for the light switch automatically, hand pausing halfway there to drop back down again. Under one of his arms is a bundle of wood, destined for the fireplace, if only he can manage to get it lit on his own. Ned can navigate easily enough - he has a good sense of the space and where things are that would get in his way - but once he's at the fireplace, he is at a bit of a loss. He has vague and distant memories of family camping trips when he was young, but it's been years and he doesn't remember much. How should he arrange the wood? How does he check that the chimney is open and he won't end up getting soot on everything?
There's a packet of matches in the hall, he remembers; perhaps it is best to start there.
What: The sun is down, the power is out.
Where: House 20
When: Day 100, twilight
The old adage about not knowing what you have until it's gone seems particularly relevant to Ned tonight. He'd thought things were bad enough with just the food shortage, just the lack of communication with the outside world, just the ignorance of where they are and who brought them here, just the occasional bout of horrific nightmares or monstrous transformations. Now, it would seem, they are going to have to learn to live without electricity, as well.
Perhaps, he thinks, walking back towards the house, it won't be permanent. Perhaps the power will be back in a few days and things will return to normal.
(But he'd heard stories from the older residents, about how the food used to be replenished. That had changed, and there were no signs of things going back to the way they used to be. So to hope for anything other than the worst possible scenario seems like foolish optimism, to him.)
Ned gets back a few minutes after the sun has set, as light is rapidly fading from the air. He lets himself inside and reaches for the light switch automatically, hand pausing halfway there to drop back down again. Under one of his arms is a bundle of wood, destined for the fireplace, if only he can manage to get it lit on his own. Ned can navigate easily enough - he has a good sense of the space and where things are that would get in his way - but once he's at the fireplace, he is at a bit of a loss. He has vague and distant memories of family camping trips when he was young, but it's been years and he doesn't remember much. How should he arrange the wood? How does he check that the chimney is open and he won't end up getting soot on everything?
There's a packet of matches in the hall, he remembers; perhaps it is best to start there.
no subject
It's simple in his mind, logical. Apparently he's wrong, too, so he's going to have to work out what he actually needs to do to accomplish what he means.
"If they are not meant to be taken as an example, then what is the purpose of them?" This is a valid question to him. Mere entertainment isn't a strange concept to him, but why should something be entertaining if it's so completely false?
Whatever his mistake is, though, at least it's somehow "sweet."
no subject
"Escapism," he declares, after a few moments to marshall his thoughts, "People want to be swept away on a fantasy. Some books are meant to give you examples of how to live your lives, but a lot of them are about imagining something completely different to your own life."
He runs a hand through his hair, knows he's explaining poorly. A logical, even sociological approach will probably be more comprehensible and useful to Daneel So he begins again, "So here's your problem. You're not really the target audience for those books. You said the traditional gender roles don't matter in our case, but you can't just take that out of the stories you read and still understand what they're for." Ned shakes his head. He's really not the one who ought to be explaining this kind of thing. He can only go on anecdotal evidence, "I know marriage is different on Aurora, but where and when those books were written, there are certain ideas about how women and men who are romantically involved ought to treat one another."
He sighs, eyes turning back to the fire as he explains, "This is a broad generalization, but I think a lot of time, the women who read lots of romance novels have got husbands or boyfriends who expect them to do all the care-taking. They're supposed to adore them and feed them and pamper them and put all their own needs and desires and interests on the back burner while they cater to the men in their lives. Which is why it's exciting to imagine the situation reversed. To imagine someone taking care of them for a change. Adoring them, looking out for them, solving all their problems, instead of vice-versa."
no subject
That just strikes Daneel as very sad, a regrettable situation. If this is the truth, though, then neither possibility (either the one in the books or the one Ned describes) is ideal.
"What is ideal, then? If men wish for women to care for them, and women wish for men to care for them, then ideally in a relationship both parties should take the role of caretaker in equal measure. Is this correct?"
That seems very reasonable, a very simple solution for a thorny problem, but to his point of view there remains one complication.
"I do not need providing for, Ned, though it does please me that I am the object of such emotions from you. I do not need feeding or pampering, nor for you put all your needs, desires, and interests aside for me. I do not want that, and it would grieve me greatly if you did. Does this present a problem?"
no subject
"I don't think it does." He leans against Daneel, tries to think of the most perfectly logical way to phrase what is, to him, intuitive, intangible, an obvious emotional truth. "There's a lot more to it than caretaking. I know that's what those books focused on, and what I was just talking about, but it's more than just that. No human's quite as self-sufficient as you are, maybe, but there are plenty of people who don't like being taken care of. In theory you could have two very independent types like that in a relationship and they could still be very happy together."
That's it; he needs to frame this in terms of happiness. "It's a lot simpler than you're making it out to be. There's no set pattern or single definition that everyone follows. It's up to the two of us to decide what we want, and what makes us happy." He sighs heavily, feels the need to add, "I'm not an expert on this stuff, Daneel. I never really had anyone around to teach me. I've dated people who wanted to take care of me, and I wasn't happy. I've dated people who wanted me to take care of them, and I wasn't happy. But being around you... hearing that I've pleased you, knowing that you'd go and try to research human relationships for my sake- it makes me happier than I've been in a long, long time. I don't see how there could possibly be a problem with that."
no subject
And experience often means making mistakes. These ones are of little import, but some could harm Ned, too.
"Thank you for being patient with me, Ned." Daneel gives a little a sigh, and leans over to give Ned a kiss. "I can see that I am making many mistakes, and for that I am sorry, but you are very important to me. I'm glad that I am able to make you happy. I am only trying to ensure that I remain able to keep you happy, but this is clearly not the way I should be going about this."
no subject
"No need to be sorry. It's pretty much what I did, when I was younger. Not quite so consciously, but I definitely tried to act like the people from movies and books, to say the things they said and want the things they wanted because I thought that was was what people expected from me. But it only ever made me miserable, the way those books made you feel like you weren't good enough for me." He huffs out a little scoff, a nonverbal as if. Daneel might not be perfect for him, but he's a hell of a lot closer than anyone else Ned's met.
He understands all too well that Daneel might be worried that there will come a time when he's no longer useful, or wanted. It might come in different packaging, and from a different source, but Ned knows all about planning to avert future abandonment, trying to see into the future to know how and when it will come and what he can do to stop it from happening.
"You're very important to me, too." It's the kind of thing he knows Daneel can sense, but he relishes saying it aloud, regardless. He's starting to warm up, finally, between the fire and Daneel's close proximity, and he feels more at peace than he has in a while. "Anything else from those books that gave you pause?" He wants to make sure there weren't any other notions that Daneel picked up that might be inaccurate.
no subject
Daneel considers the question for some moments, frowning faintly. A lot of the books seemed incomprehensible to him, in all honesty.
"I am not certain if this, too, is an artifact of the genre, but I find that there is a very large significance placed on being in a relationship and in the sex that occurs within it. For example, characters who are not in a relationship are questioned as to why they are not, and when they are, a major part of their relationship is how enjoyable sexual intercourse is."
He takes one of Ned's hands in his, holds it warmly.
"Do we have sex enough to satisfy you?"
no subject
"It's partly an artifact, partly not. Some people really do put that a lot of significance on their love lives, and other people don't." Which isn't an answer to Daneel's question, yet, but he's laying the groundwork, emphasizing the fact that humans come with all kinds of value systems that do not always match up. "I'm sure it's the same on Aurora, that some people are more, uh-" he struggles to find a good word, finds it a little absurd that even with an interlocutor as frank and nonjudgemental as Daneel, he has a difficult time making himself talk about sex in any kind of straightforward way, "-more interested than others. And you know that before you, I hadn't really- had all that much interest."
None of which is an answer. The truth is, even though the two of them worked out that Ned can ask Daneel for sex without exploiting or upsetting him, he's still adjusting to being the one to initiate things, still a little shy when it comes to asking. Which is why he feels his cheeks burning, why he speaks more quickly than usual when he says, "Is it contradictory if I answer yes but also take this moment to, ah- I've been meaning to bring up- maybe sometime we could try, um- something... new?"
no subject
He slides his hand around Ned's face, around his cheek, and leans in to kiss him, gentle and tender. He doesn't want Ned to be embarrassed, either, though it's harder to do anything about that. "If you wish more, then I will gladly do what I can."
That this would happen some time was almost inevitable. That Ned is comfortable with the amount of sex is fine, but if he wants to do other things, then anything in his power to please Ned must be done, in an entirely unselfish way.
"What would you like?"
no subject
He was fine with them conducting this conversation in one of the shared areas of the house up until this point, but when Daneel frankly asks him to explain things he would like to explore, sexually, Ned balks at answering. Part of that, he knows, is merely a holdover from the way he was raised. He's simply not used to talking about this kind of thing, much less in reference to himself. Still, though the house is emptier than it once was, Clint or - God help him - Riley might wander down the stairs or come in the front door, and he really would die of embarrassment if they heard him describing what he wanted Daneel to do to him in bed.
"How about I tell you a little later, when the fire's gone out?"
For the moment, he's more than happy just to bask in its glow, body settled against Daneel's comfortably. He's not thinking about any of the things that have gone wrong recently - the lack of power, Meyer's downward spiral, the disappearance of a dozen or so people he cares about. He's just content, bolstered by their continued success at talking through the tough patches, feeling grateful and happy that Daneel is just the way he is.
"You know, I think the two of us would make for quite an interesting romance novel, ourselves." He speaks quietly, with more than a hint of amusement in his voice. Adding an extra dose of cheesiness, he says, as if advertising an existing book, "The lonely piemaker who's always been unlucky in love and the humaniform robot who shows him it's never too late to fall. Or something like that."
no subject
"You can tell me later, in privacy, if that is what you prefer." Of course Ned can; anything that would make Ned happy is worth doing. In some ways, he orbits Ned, focusing on him, hovering around him and trying to please him. "You may tell me any time you feel comfortable doing so."
Daneel leans his head on Ned's shoulder. He remembers, still, the way Ned smelled, and he remembers it now.
no subject
Ned's always known, in some part of himself, that it would be like this, if he ever fell in love. That he would fall fast, fall completely, hopelessly, inescapably. Maybe that was why he had kept everyone at arm's length for so long. It's a dangerous thing, to love anyone this much. He knows it leaves him vulnerable, and there's a tiny sliver of fear buried with the other emotions. The other shoe is bound to drop, sooner or later. All the evidence of his previous life points towards it. If he is soaring this high on this much happiness, he's sure that having it taken away is going to shatter him.
Daneel's boldness does not go amiss; just as Ned is on the verge of thinking too much about possible consequences and what he'd do if he lost Daneel, he's distracted by Daneel kissing him, holding him in just the way he wants to be held. It's a relief and he sighs gratefully, reaching up and running his fingers through Daneel's hair. Ned doesn't think much as he's doing it; it's an automatic gesture of affection, smoothing his fingers through the strands, gently unknotting the occasional little tangle.
Perhaps he ought to leave it, ought not to say anything more on the subject. But as he's looking into the shifting light of fire, listening to its soft, comforting sound, he decides he ought to say it.
"You are, you know. Worthy of love." Then - and it's more of a struggle to him - he manages, in a quieter voice, "I think we both are."
Because Ned understands - in a different way, and for different reasons - where Daneel is coming from. The fact that he can say that now, and mean it, is a small victory that Daneel played a large role in bringing about. It might be in part because of his programming, and it might be complicated, but Daneel values him, unquestioningly, unconditionally. And the presence of that in his life is making it possible for Ned, slowly but surely, to begin valuing himself, too.
After all the chaos and confusion of the day, it's a relief to just sit here with Daneel, to be able to cherish a small amount of silence. Ned likes that about Daneel; that he doesn't get bored, doesn't insist that they have to spend every second doing something. He can occupy himself in his own thoughts - has a lot of practice doing so, while the rest of them sleep - and lets Ned have as much time as he needs with his own.
So the time slips past them, measured not in minutes or hours but in the size and intensity of the fire. When it begins to fade, slipping down into red embers, Ned breaks the silence, letting out a long sigh and easing himself out of Daneel's arms, stretching and then getting to his feet. It occurs to him how beautiful he thinks Daneel looks, in the dimness, how no matter what the scientists might try to do to his face, some corner of his brain and heart and soul must always remember the shape of his face.
He offers a hand to Daneel, smiling warmly and nodding his head in the direction of his bedroom.
no subject
Words seems peculiarly awkward, unnecessary, and he's silent as he walks the two of them down the hallway to the bedroom. Whatever else might be going on, they have each other -- perhaps a very unlikely couple indeed, but no less valid for that.
He waits for Ned to tell him what he has been thinking about, too patient to press the issue, but there's a curiosity in him, an expectation, and once they are shut away into Ned's room again, he bends to kiss him.
porn warning? porn warning
Somehow, everything seems more intimate, more completely private with the electricity gone. It's more complete than merely having the lights switched off. There is almost no illumination coming in through the window (it just figures all this would happen on a night with almost no moonlight). It is just Daneel and him in the darkness, and Ned is glad to have him here. Without him, it would seem much more sinister, more empty, more cold. But he has Daneel to hold onto, and so he does. He turns them around, walking his way backwards to the bed and sinking onto it when the backs of his legs bump against it.
"I was, ah-" Ned huffs a laugh, grinning in exasperation at himself, "It's funny, I was always so adamant that I wasn't a prude, but I'm really no good at talking about sex. Guess I'm not all that much bigger than silly puritanical taboos, after all."
All of which is, naturally, stalling. Ned kicks off his shoes and socks in the dark, stretches out his hands in Daneel's direction to untuck his shirt from his pants. "I was wondering if you would, um. For lack of a better term... if you'd fuck me." Ned can feel his face going hot with embarrassment, knows Daneel will be able to sense it in him, along with everything else. "Always kind of wondered what that's like."
porn warning :)
He slides his hand along the curve of Ned's back, and he answers first with a kiss. "I can do this for you, if you're certain. However, we will require lubrication of some variety."
It's an important point, from his perspective. His hand comes to rest on the back of Ned's neck, and he kisses him again, delicate and careful.
no subject
"I'm certain."
The matter-of-fact way in which Daneel announces the need for lubrication breaks through any last lingering trace of shame that is plaguing Ned, sends him into a brief fit of giggles that he stifles, head dropping to Daneel's shoulder. When he feels Daneel's hand on the back of his neck he lifts his head, kissing him again, grinning at first, though it disappears as Ned deepens the kiss.
He pulls away after a minute or so and says, now slightly breathless, "I, uh. I've got something we can use." Ned slips his hands under the hem of Daneel's shirt, runs them up and down the sides of his ribs. It's such a strange and delightful thing for him, touching Daneel. Being able to do it easily, confidently. He's not sure he'll ever properly get used to it.
Ned starts feeling his way towards the wardrobe, eyes open wide against the darkness, opening the top drawer and feeling around amongst the various socks. Eventually, with a little noise of triumph, he brandishes a small plastic bottle. "Planned ahead," he says, sounding rather pleased with himself.
no subject
Daneel is... faintly surprised. That Ned was likely to have been working up to this question isn't hard to believe, but he hadn't expected this degree of preparation. He takes the bottle, looking it over, and considers. It will work. This is more than sufficient.
But he welcomes Ned back into his arms with a deep and tender kiss. There's a sense of... power, perhaps, that comes of being able to affect Ned like this, or perhaps for Daneel, to whom power means nothing, it's more akin to art. There's something of the artist in how he can strike a reaction from Ned with such a very small action, drawing happiness out of him like music from an instrument. Whatever it is, it's... compelling.
He peels Ned out of his clothes, his touch gentle. "I want you to be happy, Ned. I will stop at once if I realise I'm harming you, but you must communicate with me. I cannot -- I cannot think of bringing you discomfort."
no subject
A grin spreads its way across his mouth; Ned tugs off his underwear and stretches out on the bed with more enthusiasm than grace, pulling Daneel along with him. "Besides, you know I, uh- tend to communicate plenty." Ned is referring, of course, to the fact that, the few times they've done anything like this, Ned's proved rather chatty. He can't seem to help it. Once his mind starts going fuzzy around the edges, the way it's starting to do now, things just start coming out of his mouth unchecked.
"C'mere," he says, a plaintive note in his voice, and when Daneel kisses him again he makes a wordless noise of appreciation, muffled between their mouths, hips lifting off the bed an inch or so of their own accord. "Don't know the best way to go about this," he admits, letting his head fall back, pulse coming a bit quicker now than it was before. "I mean, I've seen-" he breaks off with a little laugh, "-but taking cues from pornography makes even less sense than using romance novels for- oh, you know." He gives up on the sentence most of the way through; much more rewarding to kiss any bit of Daneel that he can reach rather than try to finish a coherent thought.
no subject
Daneel stretches out alongside Ned, around him. With his own clothes shed -- efficiently and unselfconsciously, if nothing else -- he's free to let the warmth of his skin press against Ned's body. To be kissed is pleasant; to return those kisses, to caress bare skin is even more rewarding, in a subtle and wonderful way.
There's time for exploration, though. The last thing he wants is to rush any part of this, not when neither he nor Ned is entirely sure of what they're doing. He slides his palm over Ned's stomach, knowing in memory the feel of every bone and muscle; he knows Ned's mind, the feel and sound of it, and will never forget those details. He's coming to know Ned's body in the same way, through different (and distinctly robotic) senses.
What Ned says it's true, he knows that, but he's not really comforted by it, either. Mistakes can be made. Daneel has been successful, up to this point, but he can't rely on past success alone.
"You are too important for me to risk," Daneel murmurs, sounding faintly confused himself at the confession, though that is the situation, as he sees it. The worst result would be for Ned to come to harm, or take offense. Daneel cannot have Ned forever, he knows that, but when they must part it must not be in anger and pain. Clarifying this aloud, though, is difficult. Instead, he tucks his head down against Ned's collarbone and kisses the skin there, while he slides against him, warming him against the chill of the evening.
no subject
But none of that is close to the surface of his mind, now. How could it be, with Daneel covering him up like that. It's extraordinary to Ned, how good he feels, how he seems to know just the amount of contact and weight and movement to leave him breathing fast and shallow. There's something quite nice about the way Daneel is so unhurried. Their few encounters up until this point have been very enjoyable, but somewhat brief, more urgency than art. So it is pleasant, feeling Daneel's mouth moving across his collarbones, marveling at his soft his lips are, how perfect his skin is, how subtly but noticeably different he feels.
"Daneel," Ned says, arching off the bed to press against him a little more insistently, "God, you always feel so good, how do you feel so good." It's not a question that require's an answer; Daneel would have little chance to give one, besides, because Ned is tugging him up and kissing him, passionately. His head is spinning and the arousal he feels is equal and intwined with the intense attachment he feels for Daneel. Ned kisses him and lets himself get lost in that feeling of love, without any worry for consequences or shame or embarrassment or fear that what he feels is too intense.
no subject
There's something about the way Ned arches into him that makes him conclude it's time to move on. Teasing would be... difficult. He can't withhold. If Ned is ready for more, then Daneel will give it to him. He pulls away from Ned's kisses, if only to rearrange himself briefly, and slides a hand down to take Ned carefully in his palm. Exploring gently with his fingers, Daneel returns to kissing Ned, watching for any sign that this was not the right decision.
How can everything Ned feels possibly be on his account?
no subject
He feels, beneath everything else, a sturdy and necessary foundation of safety. Trusting Daneel utterly means he can allow himself to get completely lost in it all. With Daneel touching him like that, kissing him with such earnest attention, he can let go of every shred of worry and every lingering scrap of uneasiness about his body and its capabilities. The only thing on his mind is Daneel: both the abstract idea and tactile reality of him. Ned shifts, pressing his hips up in encouragement, not quite managing to stifle a small whimper.
no subject
"Shhh." It's less an actual shushing and merely a reassurance, a wordless reminder than Daneel is here, that he will take care of Ned, that no harm will come to him. He utters the sound nearly into Ned's mouth, calming, reassuring. He is here.
That reassurance is important; Daneel is working to a goal, and he's kept the little bottle close by. With a soft murmur of warning beforehand, he lets his fingers wander lower, seeking entrance. He isn't certain about this at all; he knows that this is considered pleasurable to some, with the risk of pain ever present. He doesn't understand the why, but he does know this. If he has anything to do with it, there will be no pain, minimal discomfort -- but it's no less concerning.
"Is this all right?"
no subject
"Go ahead," he murmurs, confidently, half perplexed in the back of his mind that he's ended up in a situation where he is the demanding one, the bold one. There's a tension in his thighs and stomach that is almost all excitement with only the tiniest bit of nervousness. He isn't worried that Daneel will hurt him so much that he might get spooked, might decide the risk of causing momentary discomfort is insurmountable.
Ned chews on the inside of his lower lip, and when Daneel does push a finger inside him it is... peculiar. Not particularly pleasant or unpleasant, but mostly unusual. He finds himself laughing again, soft and a bit breathless, pressing his face against the curve of Daneel's neck and saying, "Oh, that's weird." But he doesn't want Daneel to get the wrong impression so he adds, with decision, "Don't stop, I'm just- it's strange." He laughs again, knows that Daneel with his habitual gravity probably won't understand why it's so funny to him. Ned shifts his hips against Daneel's hand, trying to encourage a bit of movement.
no subject
And perhaps laughter is better than many reactions. That in itself is almost fascinating, something he wants to understand, one more thing about Ned he must learn and know.
With the encouragement, thought, that silent request for more, he can only comply, deepening his movement, though he's still slow, still careful.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)