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Don't. It's not worth it. It'd never be worth it with the odds and ends of a burning bridge. One which should've been ashes ago. But the stubborn persistence of proving himself that this could work-- that newly endowed precipice of personality he gained while he wiled his way as night guard for the museum. While he gained honest to goodness friendship. The sort he shouldn't have let go. Instead, forgotten.
No.
Gave up.
Hands wring in the despair of rejuvenated allure to the glow and thrum of music echoing out onto the snow-ridden streets of Manhattan from the large building he once called home. Beads of sweat fall off a stern brow despite the obvious chill in the air, that shiver down the spine. Boots shuffle. Clothes ruffle. Blue eyes snap up now and again to watch in debatable silence to his personal volition.
Leave?
Or stay.
He wavers slightly, casting a longing look down the dank, cold stretch of pavement where he's fallen in step to night after night. Familiar. Prediction is a high 99% of home arrival and dinner in the micro. He casts dodging glances to the museum. An eight ball's 'It is certain' wouldn't even budge the uncertainty that this-- this could end all things.
Or rebuild them.
He closes his eyes against the rush of the upbeat tempo felt under his boots as the music practically shakes the ground. A car passes, and he can hear the way the tires crunch over the snow, the purr of the engine, the wind swept along with it. He opens his eyes and suddenly he needs to fight the urge to run as the breath is knocked out from his chest and his heart races.
A silhouette behind the bars of the gate moves to open it, the grating sound echoing in the quiet night. Bare feet step out into the freshly fallen plush of white just barely covered by a starking contrast of gold linen which drapes in royal wear over the figure. Larry staggers from where he stands, legs jelly- mind a conundrum of fight or flight.
The silhouette seemingly glides across the ground, gaining fast and faster as it finally emerges out from the shadows and steps out onto the street. He can't move to meet halfway. But he curses the universe for making the choice that should've been his to make. Fate can suck a big fat log, he thinks as Ahkmenrah stops just a foot in front of him. Green eyes flash under a dark fringe of curls. No crown. Lashes bat, but as cutely as they had been before, they're accusing. Brows furrowing. But it's only for a moment as the tanned young Pharaoh slowly, but surely, pulls his lips into a curve and his gaze softens it almost kills Larry to keep still.
"Guardian of Brooklyn," Ahkmenrah breathes, as if unsure. "Larry," soft and confident, sends a ray of hope through the professor's heart. "Why are you standing out here?"
He doesn't know how to answer, so he offers a shrug and a meek shake of his head. "U-uhm.. why am I standing out here? That-- that's a good question. I should probably ask you the same, Ahk."
Divert the attention elsewhere. Covert psychosis.
It doesn't work.
The Pharaoh steps closer until Larry can smell the musk of Egyptian herbs so strongly he needs to close his eyes for a second. Fight. Fight because that's what he's been doing all this time.
Being a professor. Being a tax-payer. Being alone in a one-bedroom apartment.
Being normal.
Warm, soft hands grip onto his arms and he cautiously open his eyes to a sight better than he's ever seen since the departure of it; eyes a garden haze under a persistent sun which kisses the skin and spreads a glow which filters through a smile so dazzling Larry feels himself sway on his feet. The hands support him. "I could feel your presence, Larry. I always could," the young Pharaoh confesses without falter and the steely green stare sends him spiraling into a world of dread. That doubles him into a cosmos of shame with the obvious understanding of what Ahk truly meant. All those mornings where he'd gaze beyond hours at the unmoving sarcophagus and quickly disappearing before the sun would set. The nights where he'd randomly within the guard shack just outside the museum to be filled in on recent events from Tilly. Or help establish a sense of control over the nocturnal inhabitants.
"Yes, Larry. I knew you came to visit us."
'Us.' He let's out a breath.
"Not us," he corrects aloud, becomes aware, and moves to step back but the grip on his arm only tightens. Ahk's eyes are flashing dangerously. Larry's heart falls into his stomach.
"I know."
"You do?"
"I do."
"But-"
Larry's adrenaline spikes, his heart rises until it chokes him, his resolve combusts as Ahkmenrah crashes their lips together, clattering the front of their teeth as he pushes forward until his arms are circling possessively around the professor's waist and yanking him. There's no thought to it as Larry's impulse takes over, his hands are shoving through the Pharaoh's hair, gripping, tangling through the dark curls. He tilts their heads to better angle their mouths and slides a tongue over plush lips which garners him a beautiful stuttering moan. Bordering desperation. The hold on his waist tightens, pulling him tighter against a strong body and he's worrying for a split moment what the Pharaoh might feel; the way this unexpected (though highly anticipated) turn of events into a roaring passion he's kept hidden.
Ahk's mouth opens to let him in and Larry groans with renewing fervor; the goddamn Pharaoh is intoxicating. He tastes like the berries of spring ripened by age like fine wine. Larry's drunk, tongue traversing over Ahk's own who battles not for dominance, but to taste just the same and drink what he can. Never sated.
"Ahk-" Larry finally breathes when they break apart, hesitant as he pushes their foreheads together and locks a sedating look on Ahkmenrah. He thumbs over the jaunting smooth jawline trying to calm his breathing one second at a time. "Ahk, I-"
"I've been waiting such a very long time for this moment, Larry," his baritone voice thrums over the skin of his throat as the Pharaoh boldy presses his mouth against the flesh there. Somehow a hand had gotten behind Larry's head and arched it where his mind had fogged away the memory of how or when that happened.
Fuck, this is so bad.
He feels teeth and bites down a moan which hums in vibration instead against Ahk's parted lips. Against the exploring tongue.
"A-Ah-Ahk, Ahk wait we're- Ah!" A hand quickly covers down the cry he makes as he's marked in the middle of the night on the empty stretch of winter roads. The hand still holding him at the lower placement of his back fists into a ball, crumpling his suit and drawing him flush until he swears he can feel the Pharaoh's body buzz beneath their meshing clothes, a heart which shouldn't exist racing with his. The teeth worry over the skin, the tongue a healing agent- lapping sensually against the bruising which sends goosebumps across his arms, makes the hair on the back of his neck stand. Makes him whimper behind the warm hand.
This is really, really bad.
It takes more than effort and strong will to finally push the unpredictably feisty Pharaoh away. Arms' length to be exact. A good foot needed. Five would be nice but he's not made of rubber. He struggles to calm his enthusiasm. The fiery look in Ahk's eyes does nothing to quell his own thirst. He needs to.
They stand in the middle of the walkway, each arm on the other's, hands clasped at each shoulder in a vice grip; Larry to keep a distance, Ahk wanting to close it. They stare at one another in opposition-- a silent war save for the rapid breaths filling the air between them.
"What-- what was that?"
"I want you Larry."
"Get with the times, buddy. Your title doesn't work these days. You can't have everything."
"To you it could."
Larry inhales sharply. "The hell does that mean?"
"I want you Larry," Ahk repeats, this time with a velvety drop in his tone. So low, so sultry it riles up another desire Larry never could have thought he'd ever witness.
"N-no. I mean. How long have you known? How long have you-"
He cuts himself off and Ahk replies with nothing. Sighing, Larry drops his hands to his sides as Ahk follows suit with hesitance. The cold stings a reminder of the skin abused. Where wetness stick and Larry unconsciously lifts up a collar to cover it.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"Why didn't you?"
"Touche."
Ahk somehow draws up a smile, however small, and reaches out a hand in front of Larry.
"You must be cold. Come. Let's go inside, Guardian of Brooklyn. It seems we have much to talk about."
The professor stares at the hand for a moment before dropping his bag in it, oblivious. It makes the smile wilt slightly on the expectant Pharaoh's lips. "Yeah. We most certainly do." He moves across the barren street, hands tucking themselves in pockets before turning around at the gate to watch Ahk step behind him. They share a look; it's tender and welcoming, but Larry knows there's a fire behind those greens he's sure to feel later on in the night. He lifts a hand and points accusingly at Ahk.
"I'm getting you back for this-" and jerks his finger to his neck. Ahk's eyes grow large and for that split moment the spark's lit, and Larry makes his way to the entrance of the museum before something else happens.
This is so very bad.
He opens the door to a sudden wash of light and the music which had been silenced by current endeavors floods his ears. He turns back to Ahk who remains at the bottom of the concrete stairs with Larry's bag slung over his shoulder.
"Larry, Guardian of Brooklyn. Promise me you'll never leave me again."
He doesn't answer, only smiles and gestures with a jerk of his head.
"Come on, Master DJ. The party needs you."