12-06-2018, 07:26 PM
On a normal day, he would have met Woolf’s eyes, a wicked grin on his face as iron clashed with fire, thrown down a snarky 2800 degrees, baby, you think you’re hot enough to melt me? and had a good old knock down, drag out fight. On a normal day, he would have acknowledged the other man at all. This was anything but a normal day.
And all he saw was Lacey.
Saw the way she clutched Woolf tighter, gripped his hip, took shelter behind him. Saw the way her face changed after she called Kirby the father of her children. Not her friend, not her anything, just...the father of her children. And shame washed over her face. He watched the pleasure fade from her as she curled in on herself, wrapped her arms around herself, watched her wilt at his presence, at his existence, at god, his role in her life at all.
Oh.
Silver eyes widened with dismay as he understood for the first time what lay beneath the barbs she sent his way. Not just prickly little thorns that made it more fun to play. He eyed the white-hot fire speculatively, wondering if it really could melt him. If it would do a damn bit of damage, or if he could just put himself right back together again. Maybe it would be worth finding out. Hell, maybe it’d do some good, let her protector take some retribution out on his shiny metal skin.
But not in front of his boy. Never in front of his boy.
Kharon blocked his view, coaxed him away with a gentle voice and a hand in his, and Kirby’s eyes focused on him. Saw the quiet sadness in silver eyes so like his own. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded slowly, the iron of his neck creaking protest at the motion. It took a moment to loosen the iron in his limb enough to follow, but he squeezed Kharon’s hand and breathed his way through, coaxing iron slowly into fluidity again. Don’t think. Just move. Just go with Kharon. Get a drink, have a chat, no big deal.
Without a word, he nodded again and let Kharon lead him away. Knew better now than to think he could be the one tilting her chin up and--didn’t matter. His fault, the way she’d crumpled and curled in on herself like she didn’t deserve the space she was taking up, like she didn’t deserve what Woolf was offering. His fault. It was long since time he started paying for it. He walked away, hand in Kharon’s, flowers left forgotten on the ground. She deserved better than such a small, useless gesture.
She deserved better than him.Bite my shiny metal ass.
And all he saw was Lacey.
Saw the way she clutched Woolf tighter, gripped his hip, took shelter behind him. Saw the way her face changed after she called Kirby the father of her children. Not her friend, not her anything, just...the father of her children. And shame washed over her face. He watched the pleasure fade from her as she curled in on herself, wrapped her arms around herself, watched her wilt at his presence, at his existence, at god, his role in her life at all.
Oh.
Silver eyes widened with dismay as he understood for the first time what lay beneath the barbs she sent his way. Not just prickly little thorns that made it more fun to play. He eyed the white-hot fire speculatively, wondering if it really could melt him. If it would do a damn bit of damage, or if he could just put himself right back together again. Maybe it would be worth finding out. Hell, maybe it’d do some good, let her protector take some retribution out on his shiny metal skin.
But not in front of his boy. Never in front of his boy.
Kharon blocked his view, coaxed him away with a gentle voice and a hand in his, and Kirby’s eyes focused on him. Saw the quiet sadness in silver eyes so like his own. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded slowly, the iron of his neck creaking protest at the motion. It took a moment to loosen the iron in his limb enough to follow, but he squeezed Kharon’s hand and breathed his way through, coaxing iron slowly into fluidity again. Don’t think. Just move. Just go with Kharon. Get a drink, have a chat, no big deal.
Without a word, he nodded again and let Kharon lead him away. Knew better now than to think he could be the one tilting her chin up and--didn’t matter. His fault, the way she’d crumpled and curled in on herself like she didn’t deserve the space she was taking up, like she didn’t deserve what Woolf was offering. His fault. It was long since time he started paying for it. He walked away, hand in Kharon’s, flowers left forgotten on the ground. She deserved better than such a small, useless gesture.
She deserved better than him.