kore_logs | when it's all said and done

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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.

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Ned kisses back, inexpressibly glad that Daneel isn't laughing at him. He never would; Ned knows that. Because he is a good person (Ned puts a faint emphasis on that classification, even when it's only in his mind). Because there's not a single shred of malice or cruelty in him.

"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.

"I see you did."

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."

"Hey," Ned says softly. He quite likes letting Daneel take his clothes off one by one, with his usual odd mix of efficiency and tenderness, but when he says that, Ned stills his hands. "You're not going to harm me, okay?" He cups Daneel's face in his hands, leaning in for an emphatic kiss. Daneel might insist that he's happy to do this kind of thing for Ned, but he realizes it is a lot to ask. That it is new territory for them both, and thus perhaps a bit daunting - even frightening - for Daneel. Ned is a touch nervous, too, but it's only a sliver of apprehension, accenting his overall feeling of security, of happiness, and of excitement.

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.

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.

"I know," Ned murmurs, not questioning or contradicting, because he understands. He too, for different reasons and in a different way, experiences that feeling of risk, the overwhelming desire not to hurt another person. For Daneel, it is a general abhorrence of doing any kind of damage, tangible or intangible. For Ned, it comes from the pervasive, mostly unconscious view he has of himself as someone dangerous, someone who harms the people closest to him without meaning to.

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.

Intense or not, Daneel drinks it in; it's a little overwhelming, to think he's the source of that, but on the other hand, he is the source of that. He has this effect on Ned, and... he hopes it is a good thing. How he can feel so good to Ned, as though this is something that only he is capable of, is a complete mystery to him. He doesn't know what this means.

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?

Judging by the way Ned tenses and gasps a breathless yes against Daneel's mouth, it was definitely the right decision. He can feel in the way Daneel handles him just how careful he's being, and for some people that might be a turn-off. Ned knows that someone else might mistake gentleness for weakness, that other people become impatient and exasperated when they are treated as if they are fragile. But for him, it is both comforting and quite arousing. The strange juxtaposition of Daneel's potential strength (and Ned knows it's much more than a human's would be) and his limitless tenderness makes his heart race.

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.

"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?"

When Daneel's finger brushes against Ned's entrance and he asks if it's alright, Ned gives a small nod, then actually giggles, eyes crinkling around the edges. "Tickles a bit." He shifts, spreading his legs wider and lifting his hips to make things a bit easier on Daneel, to coax him on. This is something he's been thinking about, been considering for a while now - how strange it always is, when something only imagined becomes something that is actually happening.

"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.

Humour is... not the reaction he expected, not at all, and for a moment he pauses. He's... honestly concerned, for a fraction of a second, but Ned... Ned is so quick to reassure him. Maybe the words themselves aren't necessary, but he's nevertheless reassured.

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.

Ned stretches under Daneel, inhaling deeply as his giggles peter out. He reaches his arms above his head and lazily runs his hands over the sheets, getting used to the feeling. Daneel is, of course, cautious, but Ned is glad that he picks up the pace a little when he sees that he's not hurting him. He keeps moving his hips to encourage Daneel, and the change in angle makes Daneel's fingertip brush against a spot inside him that is more sensitive than Ned had been expecting. He gasps, small and surprised, as the contact sends a jolt of sensation through him. Ned moves more deliberately, rocking against Daneel, trying to see if he can make it happen again. When he does, he lets out a muffled obscenity, eyes slipping shut and head falling back.

"You're not gonna hurt me," he repeats, swallowing and opening his eyes again to look at Daneel. His pupils are dilated and his face has grown flushed, "You can go a little faster."

That had been... interesting. It had been far more intense than Daneel had expected, and while yes he knows a thing or two about human anatomy, sometimes the reality is a little... surprising.

And, oh, he wants to do that again, to see Ned react like that again, to have him experience that sudden intensity of sensation all over again. The physical signs of arousal that he can see -- on their own, they're almost alarming, but here they're the sign that Daneel is doing something right, and that he shouldn't stop.

So he adds a second finger, increasing the tempo, striving to reach that sensitive spot again. How far can he take this? How far can he be successful? For Ned, he wants to try.

Ned had been worried for a second that Daneel might think he was being over-hasty, that he might not listen to his request that he pick up the pace. When he does, and adds a second finger, Ned lets out a choked cry, twisting his head to the side and biting down against the swell of his shoulder. At first it stings just a little, but he ignores it and his body quickly adjusts. The friction is incredible and every time Daneel's fingers brush against that particular spot he stifles a moan of appreciation.

He can hear himself, as if from a distance, telling Daneel to keep going, that it feels amazing, muttering Daneel's name over and over. As wonderful as it feels, though, he wants more. "C'mon," he mutters, reaching up to run his hands over Daneel's shoulders, them up and down the sides of his face and neck, through his hair, restless and affectionate.

"I'm ready," he gasps, hoping it's true. He certainly feels it. The edges of his thoughts are a happy blur, free from embarrassment or worry. He lifts his hips off the bed, toes curling tightly, and the flush has started to spread down his neck and across his chest.

Is Ned ready? This is a big step, one that carries a certain amount of risk, and it's this that has worried him. If he does this wrong, he could hurt Ned, badly. Ned trusts him; it would be a tragic thing for that trust to be misplaced in any way.

Daneel slides his hand through Ned's hair, kisses him deeply. The amount of lubrication he's used is sufficient, he's certain, but is Ned really ready? Does he really want this? They are past the point of no return. Daneel knows that. He wants, too, to bring Ned over the crest of orgasm into the hazy happiness that follows, to listen to every bubble of emotion in his mind in the process.

Daneel lets himself, then, grow hard and erect, a matter of will rather than arousal. He shifts, positioning himself behind Ned with his arms wrapped protectively around him, and slides inside -- slowly, slowly, so carefully.

Ned looks at Daneel through half-lidded eyes; he would perhaps find the process of his body simulating arousal fascinating (and more than a little humorous) if he weren't half out of his mind with desire, himself. At another time, he thinks, he is going to have to ask how it all works down there, since Daneel doesn't exactly have a cardiovascular system (Ned's gotten used to his lack of heartbeat). But now isn't the time for conversations. All Ned can manage, in terms of vocal output, particularly once Daneel pushes inside him, is a wordless (but nonetheless expressive) sound of appreciation.

There is no pain, though the feeling of fullness and pressure at first is not exactly what Ned would call comfortable. But Daneel is gentle and patient, giving him plenty of time to adjust. Ned holds onto him tightly, glad for the arms encircling him, glad for everything about Daneel. When he feels ready he shifts his hips, lets out a breathless half-laugh at the odd feeling. He rolls his hips once more, gasps rather loudly in undisguised enjoyment.

"Gentle," Daneel soothes, rubbing his fingers in gentle circles just below Ned's collarbone. He will go no faster than he can be assured of doing safely.

But Ned is encouraging him, rocking back against him, eager and ready and sexual. It's an alien thing, this sexuality, astonishing and brilliantly shining. It's so... uniquely human.

He presses his lips to the back of Ned's neck, moving slowly against Ned, into him, within him. Ned is reason, instrument, audience for the symphony of sensation Daneel is working to create. Every sound he's working on memorising every twitch of muscle -- it's an entirely organic process, as natural and necessary as eating or sleeping. It's all very human, something Daneel can listen to and observe but never quite touch.

His movements are slow, purposeful, deliberate, caution and affection all wrapped up together.

Daneel's caution and tenderness are helpful; Ned slows down, lets out a shaky breath and doesn't let his eagerness get the best of him. This is, after all, rather a big deal, for him. It's not the sort of thing he had ever thought he would do, would be capable of doing. He wants to enjoy it as fully as possible, to make it last. So he relishes it, the slow shift of Daneel's body against and within his, the warmth and texture of skin, the feel of his mouth, the sound of his voice.

"God, you're really good at this," Ned doesn't exactly have anything to compare it to, but he couldn't care less. He clings to Daneel tightly, hooking a leg around Daneel's back, drawing him in even closer. He knows, logically, that what he feels shifting underneath Daneel's skin isn't exactly muscles, but whatever it is, he likes the feel of it. There's a heat building in the pit of his stomach, gradual but insistent.

Along with the steady build of arousal, his shyness and habitual sense of restraint falls completely by the wayside. He doesn't care that there's more than a hint of desperation in his voice when he begs Daneel to go faster, when he presses his forehead and tightly-closed eyes against the curve of Daneel's neck and starts babbling all sorts of things about how much he loves him. Ned tilts his hips in a way that makes every thrust of Daneel's send a jolt through him, until the crescendo starts to become too much. Acting without thinking too much first, Ned takes one of Daneel's hands and sets it against his cock with a wordless sound of entreaty.

Faster, deeper, long slow strokes -- whatever Ned wants, Daneel is only too glad to try it. If he's good at it, perhaps that's only an artifact of a mentality entirely focused on his partner. What, after all, is his own pleasure in this but a reflection of Ned's? He listens, he tries, he adjusts.

Daneel wraps his hand around Ned's cock, and begins stroking in time with his thrusts. His touch is gentle, as always, but he judges what force he uses carefully: enough for pleasurable friction, not enough to hurt.

To ask Ned to orgasm, to ask him to rush over that crest with Daneel's guidance -- well, it's not something he can do. It's selfish, in a way, wanting this to happen, to drink in Ned's pleasure and remember it, always, to know he did this and can do this and that he is loved, even if he doesn't know what he can return of it.

"Please," he murmurs, not entirely sure himself what he's asking.

Daneel might not understand, logically, what it is he's asking for, but Ned's brain isn't operating on the level of logic at that moment. He's hardly thinking at all, merely responding to Daneel's increasingly precise movements. There's something so fundamentally different about being sexual with another person, about the way he can't quite anticipate what Daneel will do, about knowing that Daneel - in his own unique way - is enjoying himself, is present with him in this moment,

So when Daneel asks, Ned knows what it is he wants, because it's the only thing he is really capable of giving at the moment. He was poised on the edge of it, trying to hold it off as long as he could, to savor the moment. But then Daneel says that one word, and how could Ned possibly refuse him? It isn't just a matter of choice, though: the thought of Daneel asking him, wanting this from him, is the final grain that tips the scale. He lets go, whole body shaking with the force of it.

There's an echo in his ears of what he realizes was probably quite a loud shout, as bit by bit his mind comes back into focus. Every inch of him feels hot and sensitive and perfect, and he can't seem to remember how to move. For now, just breathing, feeling his heart pounding away in his chest, is as much as he can manage.

The entire experience has been surprisingly intense, even for Daneel, especially for Daneel, but it's he himself now who still has some semblance of rationality. He pulls out, and sets to rearranging Ned carefully, to make sure he's comfortable and will remain so.

Daneel curls himself around Ned, his arms protectively around him, after first drawing their mouths together to kiss him, lingering and delicate. What he feels for Ned is... complex, whatever name he can put to it. It isn't like what he's felt for anyone. It's hard to even have a context to compare.

He lets out a soft "shhh," calming, reassuring. He is here, and he has done something which he thinks is very good.

Ned lets himself be rearranged, heavy-limbed but beginning to catch his breath, finally. He's glad that Daneel stays close to him, kisses him back, muzzy and dazed and ardent. When he feels capable of speaking again he swallows, says softly, "Thank you."

The way he says it makes it clear, he hopes, that he doesn't just mean for the sex. He means for everything. For sitting with him by the fire. For doing research trying to figure out how to make him happier. For all the things - little and enormous - that Daneel has done for him. He is thanking Daneel for existing, for changing his mind about so many things, for expanding his horizons.

"Love you," he murmurs, and it's different, saying it now as opposed to in the heat of the moment, as it were. But he means it every bit as much.

There are many layers of meaning there, in that small expression of gratitude, and Daneel thinks he understands -- or at least, he hopes he does.

"Thank you," he repeats, threading their fingers together. He's thankful for many things: the experience, the trust, Ned's confession of love -- he wants very much to be able to say the same, to return it, but he's not sure it's accurate. He can't say it if it isn't true, not if he might harm Ned by being wrong, and affection is a far easier thing to claim than anything as profound as love. Is there even a difference? To him, it doesn't seem like there should be, but... someone human might feel differently. That's the problem.

So he tucks himself against Ned, warm and solid, and he hopes that's enough.

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