theirgoldenboy: (Four of us)
Tyler's suggestion on how to start that Christmas vacation off was literally snatching bliss from the jaws of disaster, and there weren't words enough for how grateful Caleb was that they were them and it worked out.
theirgoldenboy: (Pogue: Best friends)
It had been generally thought that Caleb's present for Pogue's eighteenth birthday was over the top. Maybe it was? But Caleb could afford it; and he thought it had been just right. For all the residual fear that it might happen again, Pogue without a bike just didn't feel right. And nothing other than what the blond had chosen for himself would do.

That had been three years ago. There had been no further accidents, and plenty enough people were glad about that. Not surprised, because it was Pogue, and while at times he could be a hothead, he also tended to know what he was doing well. Not in the least because he knew that taking care of himself was a very important part of taking care of the rest of them.

This year, as the two years previous, the day came while they were at Harvard. A day of classes, really, with more on the next day, so they couldn't exactly go to the all-out celebration that night... well, not unless it just happened that way. (There would be time together, the two of them or four of them at the very least, though. It was Pogue's day - he would decide how and what.)

That didn't mean that when he woke up, there wouldn't be a packet waiting for him. Not quite ribbon-wrapped, but it would be hard to mistake it for anything other than what it was.

Inside, there was a plush robe. And a watch. And, just because he knew exactly how little Pogue liked dressing up, a pair of cufflinks.

That would probably be good enough to keep him occupied until he got to see Reid in the apartment-common area and encounter his present...
theirgoldenboy: (Pogue: Mine. For  me.)
A/N: Companion piece to this. Set in the Pile o' Puppies 'verse. Written to an inspiration for a while and this picture prompt.

Fundraisers. They had all grown up with those, even though the people who mattered knew that the old Ipswich families did the bulk of their charity away from the public eye, quiet and very efficient. However, there were all kinds. For some people, the chance to mingle in certain manners was the way to stir their public conscience. Caleb knew the necessity of that. Also he didn't share quite the level of distaste he knew Pogue had for them. They were social functions learned as soon as he could be taught, it was almost reflexive.

Besides, it was a Tyler gig. No way were they going to fail in showing up to support him. Secondary factors like it being at school and such, it being at home generally, so everybody knew them and expected them to do things - they just didn't register the same way. One of them was doing something, they were all helping, however they could.

Caleb looked in to check how Pogue was doing, paused a moment at the door. Monkey suit or not, the damned thing looked stunning on the blond. (Of course, everything did, to, and so did nothing, but it was still... spectacular. Endearing, too, paired up with the fact that Pogue was not enjoying it too much.) Then he wrinkled his nose at the long fair strands getting slicked back, carefully and unnecessarily. He let it happen, anyway, because it took him a moment to step nearer and point out, softly so as not to startle him and close, because he didn't want not to be so, "you don't have to do that." The rich, slightly chapped lips stretched into a smile even before their eyes met in the mirror. "With the gel, I mean."

Pogue chuckled. "It falls out and gets in my face otherwise." Caleb knew that part; it was why the bandana while he was working, and why lips and fingers had even more reasons to taste the suntanned skin and blond hair in intimate moments. And now he couldn't help but reach to touch, nothing more than brushing down the suit coat smoother, first. Then his hands rose to caress over Pogue's shoulders, which wasn't quite like half an embrace, but it wasn't not, either - and his husband's eyes reflected that.

My husband. Made Caleb step closer, reach further down, cover his hands, and it felt like a single motion continued when Pogue twined their fingers together, lead their arms around his waist, moved back to meet him. When they moved, when they touched like that, it felt like anything was disjointed, short, stunted, not-right - this was how it should be. And it is.

Pogue was likely feeling it, too, as his head rolled slightly back against his shoulder and he remarked quietly, "we don't absolutely have to go..."

Which was true. Nobody could make them do anything that they did not want to do. But... "We promised Tyler we would," Caleb reminded gently, turning his head slightly to kiss his temple and then grimacing: the taste of hair gel hadn't improved significantly since the boys first discovered it in their early teens. Pogue's face fell slightly, and he added, "we don't have to stay that long. A couple hours, then we can come home."

Now that seemed good to hear, judging by the slight motion closer into the embrace, the easing of the face, the corners of the closed eyes. The slightly breathless tone to the next words. "Come home. W... I like the sound of that." We have a home. Our home. Yes, they'd had it for years... and it was still different.

Caleb raised their hands a little, shifted his hold. The feel of metal on metal was different from either skin on skin or metal on skin, a tiny little jolt, if one was paying sufficient attention. It felt still new, it looked still new... and yet, like the so many ways they fit together, so did the sight of their wedding bands touching. Infinity. Yours. Always. His eyes crept up to look at Pogue's face, and were met by the hazel ones, full to overflowing with the same love, lost and content with only each other.

He was tugging Pogue around because kissing over his shoulder didn't seem enough, didn't seem just for the moment; lips met lips, but that wasn't all of it: bodies melted against each other, and a warmth settled around him, deep down, bright and amazing. Caleb's head swam, time went away - it had that habit.

... an indeterminate time later, Pogue's voice nudged him out of that. "You sure we have to go?" The blond never whined, but there was definitely a quality to the tone that hinted at it. Which made it all the more teasing, and Caleb lips tugged into an appreciative smile without really moving away.

"Mm-hmm." No, neither of them wanted to move away. And yet they were going to... well. They would return to this in... "two hours."

"Two hours," Pogue repeated, and smiled, too, Caleb could see it in his eyes before another kiss closed them; and it was sweet and gentle, too. "I'll hold you to that."

"You'd better." Softly, and then he took a tiny step back. So he could look at his face again. Fingers moving down along the collar, the shoulders of the suit, the tie.

"I think that works better if you're actually looking at what you're straightening up..."

Caleb smiled again. "That's alright. You always get everything perfect the first try." Oh yes, he did say that because it was true and it would give that gleam to Pogue's eyes. Just so.
theirgoldenboy: (Pain and power and rain)
http://i39.tinypic.com/x1hmb7.jpg

He couldn't find Chase, among the flames.

It didn't matter. He could see Sarah. Sarah, whom Chase had come this close to killing. So close, really, that if Caleb didn't reach her and take her out now, he would succeed.

It was a balance. The flames were feeding his power and drying out his body, choking down his lungs. But he could heal himself enough to deal with that.

And then they were out in the rain, and she was alive, and it would be alright. The world was aglow, patterns and swirls and power lines all around him. The rain. The storm. Her beating heart. The houses he could not see; the towns that his mind knew were there. The people in them.

Power and rain. Exhilaration.

Pain. )
theirgoldenboy: (Sons of Ipswich)
The future is not set.
I've been told I said that once.
Many years from now.
It was a warning.
That I was going to hell.
But if I fought hard enough, I could escape.
I believed it for a lifetime. -John Connor



Cutting for length. And backstory; age 14. )

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Caleb Danvers

July 2011

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