empathicfault | IC Inbox

[ooc: Part of this player plot.]

Malcolm is returning to their cabin from his office on the second floor when something... blobby and... particularly disgusting to someone with a very sensitive sense of smell comes roiling down the hallway. He stumbles backwards and manages to avoid the worst of it by running for the nearest stairwell, but some of it gets on his boots.

By the time he's halfway down to the next level - the level the cabin is on - he's quite annoyed by that. Someone's stupid goo spilling all over and messing up people's very nice and expensive and perfectly innocent shoes. This ship is full of fuckers sometimes.

He pushes their door open harder than necessary, giving it a little extra push to help it slam shut before turning to shrug out of his jacket and hang it on a hook near the door. He doesn't take his boots off. He heads towards the bathroom to wipe them off, possibly tracking a bit of goo through the apartment, stopping near the kitchen island when he sees Will.

"Where did you go this morning?" he asks sharply. "I went to your office to bring you a coffee and you weren't there. So where the hell were you?"

Will blinks at the sheer force of the bad energy coming from the front door. ...no, it's definitely coming from Malcolm. It's practically unheard of, but it has to be true. He narrows his eyes, nose wrinkling. "I was going through emergency protocols with Thrawn. Remember, he's setting up a system for medical overflow?"

He comes around the island and now notices the tracked-in goo. "What is this stuff? Something left over from the fire?" Maybe something got barbecued that they didn't know about.

Edited (repeated word) 2025-10-08 20:13 (UTC)

"What?" He looks down. "I don't know. It's some kind of disgusting crap that exploded all over the hallway and messed up my shoes. What do you mean you were working on emergency protocols with Thrawn? I was on that project first. Why wasn't I invited to that?!"

Will's eyes narrow more, but his eyebrows shoot up. What is going on here? "Maybe because he's already talked with you about it? I was getting caught up on what I could help with. You know, after my month-long enforced nap?"

Will reaches up to cup Malcolm's cheek as he looks at him closely. He's watching for sweat, dilated pupils, anything to show why Malcolm's behavior has done a 180.

What he says doesn't convey that. Instead, it's "Did you really miss me that much?"

"Nobody missed you more than I did!" Malcolm insists. "Why do they get all your attention? That should be mine!"

He should be worried. This is so different from how Malcolm approaches anything. It's crossing the codependent border that they're constantly skirting across and going fully into unhealthy territory.

But all he wants is more of it. "My mistake. How about we make up for it this afternoon?Or we could take the ship and leave. All of it. Never look back. And I'll spoil you every single day, every moment."

He'd been leaning in towards Malcolm as he spoke. Now Will kisses him, holding Malcolm's chin in place.

Malcolm leans into it hungrily, but when it breaks, he watches Will's face - as close as it is - warily.

"We could just leave? Just like that? You'd come with me and leave them behind? What about Wiktor? I thought he was your bestie now because he can help you with your powers and I can't."

"You want me to tease you and tell you that I have so many ties here? Responsibilities? Hidden knowledge? I'd grind it all to dust for a single smile on your face."

It's true, but it wouldn't usually leave his lips. He pokes Malcolm in the chest, going even further. "You are the one wanting to do good here. Who wants to help the inmates, who wants to be accepted as a part of this little infighting society. That's you."

He doesn’t back up, but his expression becomes less suspicious, more watchful.

“I had to do something when I ran away that didn’t feel like running away. You have no idea how much that didn’t matter anymore after I had you. How much nothing did. Or maybe you do. I suck at playing it cool. But things don’t last forever just because I want them to. If I couldn’t belong here, where was I supposed to go if you left? You can go anywhere; people always like you. Everyone here likes you and you don’t even try! Do you think it didn’t occur to me back when everyone was trying to break us up that at least half of them just wanted to fuck you!” Malcolm retorts.

Will laughs in disbelief when told how people 'like' him- yeah, they like themselves mirrored back at them. No one likes him long term, not once they really know him. No one but Malcolm and one other.

But that's not where Malcolm goes with it. In response, Will's tone is more casual- almost cold, as he continues the thought. "And the other half wanted to fuck you, Malcolm. You don't even know, you don't see how people see you. Not when it's any good. But I do, and I know every moment I'm not by your side, someone will want to swoop in and take you away from me."

His hand is on Malcolm's shoulder now, but it's gripping perhaps a little too tightly. "Neal, Norton, John Rambo, they all know you're mine now. But how long until that fails? How long until someone doesn't realize that ring means they keep their dirty hands off you?" Does he need to stake a bigger claim?

He wants to argue, but the only real fight he had with Neal was because he was jealous.

Of Will.

"I don't want anyone else," he says in a course whisper, kind of wanting that too tight grip to be even tighter. "If I had to give up everything and everyone else to stay with you, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

"Good."

It feels like there's something else looking out his eyes. But it also feels like it's always been there.

"I've always wanted what's best for you. It's all I want. The idea of anyone getting closer with you..."

He takes a fistful of Malcolm's tie and tugs him close, using the position to lean down and whisper in Malcolm's ear. "I won't allow it."

He finally gets the smile that he wanted, if with a slightly wickeder bent than usual, initially directed at his chest.

Malcolm’s fingers fidget absently at the seam of Will’s waistband.

Malcolm looks up at him big-eyed and faux-innocent. “What are you going to do if they try?”

Oh. There's something that the faux-innocence tugs at in him. The question reminds him of their similarities, the way they'll both sail through any new locations they visit, unfettered. It feels like glory, like darkness wrapped in sunshine.

"I'll take them apart," he growls out. He pushes Malcolm backwards with a heavy shove- either Malcolm steps back or he falls. Either he backs up towards their bed or Will carries him.

Malcolm, the daily yoga practitioner, manages to stay on his feet - his grin a little wickeder - but part of him wants to fall, to let Will take him on the floor right there. Backing towards the bedroom, he takes a sudden turn towards the new door.

"I want to do it on our other bed, under the skylight," he says. He reaches behind him to fumble at the door handle, keeping his eyes on Will. "Or in the grass under the tree." On their ship. Behind the door nobody can open but them.

When Malcolm doesn't fall backwards, Will's jaw sets. "You're making a lot of assumptions there, sweetheart. First of all-"

Will stabs towards Malcolm's neck with the knife that's now in his right hand. He expects Malcolm will catch him- but regardless, he just wants a little cut. He'd hardly go for the carotid right now.

"You might not be in the best position for negotiations."

Malcolm smirks, deflecting his stab (this time... because he... kinda wants that mark, now that the idea is on the table) with a deft movement of his own hand.

"You're suggesting negotiations can only be made from a position of strength," he admonishes, finally fumbling the door open with his other hand and letting himself stumble backwards through it. "But that's not true." The corner of his lips twitches. "Maybe I only have to have something you want."

Will's cool expression turns amused at Malcolm's smirk. Now that they're both properly putting their full attention on each other, there's a lot less to be upset about.

"And you know you do." He makes a couple of lazy swipes with the knife, letting Malcolm's reactions determine which direction they go in. "But let's hear it. Why should I give you exactly what you want?"

He’s backing up at as leisurely a pace as Will’s knife swing goes, but he tugs his collar aside, on the side opposite his tattoo.

“What if I let you make it a ‘W’,” he says, tilting his head towards the blade. “Play your cards right and I might insist.”

Will lets out a deep chuckle, eyes shining in the lights that brighten up their ship, their one and only space for the two of them. "I'd ask how you know exactly what I want, but we both know you're excellent at your job."

He stops swinging just long enough to duck in for another kiss, all teeth and tongue while he holds Malcolm by the shoulders. "Let me make it what I like, and I'll make sure it hurts," he says against Malcolm's lips. "It should be art, on you. It should reflect your radiance."

He meets the kisses with equal hunger and equal ardour. When Will promises he'll make it hurt if he can make what he wants, Malcolm grins against his mouth.

"You're more of an artist than I am; I'll defer to your expertise," he says, hands sliding up Will's sides before slipping between them to look for buttons to fumble open.

"Of course you will," he murmurs, moving his kisses down to Malcolm's neck, where he catches the skin between his teeth. It might make it a little harder to see the buttons Malcolm is reaching for, but surely the sight isn't necessary?

He already wasn't looking at the buttons and Will's teeth on his neck make him more impatient for skin under his hands and he starts yanking the buttons open to the point that a couple pop off and skitter across the floor. He pushes the shirt off Will's shoulders and finds... t-shirt under there. He growls frustration at it and starts pulling it roughly out of Will's waistband.

As soon as Malcolm frees the undershirt from his waistband, Will pulls away. It's just enough so he pull the knife cleanly upward, through it. Hopefully Malcolm was paying close enough attention that he doesn't get caught in the upward swipe.

Regardless, Will is coming for Malcolm's shirt next. Their need to feel skin- and to mark it up- feels almost feral.

Malcolm dodges the blade, grinning wickedly as he sees what it’s up to. He doesn’t resist when the blade makes short work of his own shirt next, not even flinching when it just nicks his collarbone on its way out. He shrugs out of the remains of the fabric, coming for Will’s mouth with his own again with that same feral need, one hand threading into Will’s hair as he kisses him deeply, giving a handful a pull that is clearly not intended to pull his lips away from Malcolm’s.

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