Agape (VICTOR, CASUAL)

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

James twisted around excitedly, his eyes wide, "What, that's a brilliant idea Victor!"

Victor said quietly, "Well, I'm brilliant," jealous of his idea taking the credit, and positioned himself so that he was more on top of James, so he wasn't teetering on the edge of the man's leg dangerously. This was much more comfortable, now; he pulled James' arms around his middle, moving from James' hair to play with his fingers. Funny thing, fingers. They were so useful, and yet they seemed so odd at the same time. And some of the things people used them for!

"Though I don't think I'd have the slightest idea what to have, but then I assume you'll be helping in deciding that, won't you?"

It felt good to be counsel. "I don't know, but we'll think of something,"[/b] Victor said. "Though I shan't be watching this, I can't stand thinking about all those needles."[/b] He shuddered in disgust. It was strange of him to say this, yes, considering he had, on a very, very drunk night in London, gotten his own - facing his own fears, something his therapist had suggested and he'd taken it very literally - but in his defense, he had thrown up afterwards, realizing what he'd done. Well, maybe that was from the hangover, but the idea of needles still disgusted him.

[JAMES WINDSOR]

"Well, I'm brilliant,"
James grinned, nuzzling his face further into Victor's shoulder as the other man shifted on his knee. Victor's attention shifted, as it tended to do, from his hair to his fingers. Again, James didn't mind in the slightest. It was almost therapeutic, in a way.

"I don't know, but we'll think of something. Though I shan't be watching this, I can't stand thinking about all those needles."
The dancer giggled again (he really must stop that), and withdrew one of his hands from Victor's grasp in order to trace the man's tattoo on his inner forearm. He could still recall the aftermath of the other man realising he had gotten a tattoo (he had been tremendously drunk at the time, which made the idea of Victor actually having allowed such thing to happen slightly more feasible), and so he doubted that the man would likely be sticking around whilst he was actually getting a tattoo. But it didn't mean that he couldn't help James to decide what to get, after all.
He rather thinked Victor would appreciate being asked to help with the decision.

"We'll thank you, Victor, for this and every previous birthday I have shared with you. You do always manage to make them something memorable. Figuratively speaking of course, as I never really remember them, do I?" He chuckled into the material of Victor's shirt, tightening his arms around the other man.
"Well then, do you think you're drunk enough to cope with getting me a tattoo?"

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

James giggled, but Victor really hadn't been kidding - needles were vile things! But he could find some amusement in irony, or at least, he had in the past, when things were less cloudy and odd, so he made no offended comment, even if it was at the tip of his tongue. He continued to play with his drunken friend's fingers - they were so long and thing, elegant, and he had soft hands. Victor's were rougher from forgetting to use lotion.

"We'll thank you, Victor, for this and every previous birthday I have shared with you. You do always manage to make them something memorable. Figuratively speaking of course, as I never really remember them, do I?" James arms grew tighter round his middle.

"No. It'd be nice if you did though,"[/b] Victor said a little sourly. He was occasionally bitter about James' drinking. Victor was the one who drank more, being perfectly honest, but when James drank, it was never in moderation. And there seemed to be something wrong about that, that he couldn't put a word to.

"Well then, do you think you're drunk enough to cope with getting me a tattoo?"

Victor shook his head, "Never. Let's go,"[/b] He hopped off his friends lap and held a hand out - a gesture of such chivalry that Victor himself was surprised - to haul James up. He had thoroughly done an internet search of the best, safest (but fast) place to get a tattoo done, had settled on a small but successful business downtown. It was simply a matter of walking a few blocks, but Victor had no idea if James would comply in his drunken gait. Perhaps they ought to take a taxi. Oh, well, when in doubt, ask James. "Taxi?"[/b]

[JAMES WINDSOR]

"No. It'd be nice if you did though,"
Victor's response to the dancer's jest cut through the slight haze of his brain. James lifted his head to look up at the other man's face, nudging his shoulder affectionately with his chin.
"I wasn't aware you didn't like it so much. I'm sorry, I think I won't drink so much next time." James just hoped he hadn't said that before, though he was fairly certain that he hadn't. The man was never one to allow a promise to be broken, and when he himself made one he would make sure to stand by it. Especially if he was promising something to Victor.

"Never. Let's go,"
Victor removed himself from James' knee, and the dancer immediately made a noise of complaint at the loss of warmth. The other man offered his hand to assist James in standing up - which he accepted with a quirk of his head and a surprised smile. Of course, he knew that Victor could be polite and helpful (especially for him), but the man was also frequently unpredictable, though James was hardly going to complain about that. After all, it was probably one of the reasons he loved him so much.
Not that he was going to admit that.

"Taxi?"
Victor asked his opinion, and though James was probably not in a fit state to determine the best answer, he decided to agree with the other man anyway. Though still, he wasn't particularly opposed to walking.
"Okay, maybe if we have the windows open it might help to clear my head a little."
James linked his arm through Victor's, and started walking toward the stairs.

((OOC: by the by, this sucks because I had already written a post, then my ipad decided to hate me and deleted it. So angry right now))

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

"I wasn't aware you didn't like it so much. I'm sorry, I think I won't drink so much next time." James previous words resonated in his head and made him shy, but also glad, and he smiled a little as he held James' hand down the stairs. They were both wobbly with drink already, but James far more so than he. But maybe that could be different next year. He'd bought all that alcohol because it was what they did. He never thought that maybe if he just told James no, or didn't get it in the first place, he could prevent it. Huh, what a curious thought. For the first time in a very long time, Victor remember what planning ahead was. It was a piece of him that had drifted in his sickness, but now pieces of confidence were floating back; NYC was doing him good, he supposed.

"We can open windows," Victor replied, and they reached the first floor. He grabbed his wallet off the table in the hallway - it was where he always kept it, otherwise he'd lose it constantly - and pocketed it. He hoped he had enough cash. But if he didn't, he always had that undepletable thing called a credit card..

A taki, luckily, came incredible quickly. Victor called the address, and they set off. He was lucky it was dark and New Year's Eve - no one saw nor cared about drunkenness tonight. While they drove, Victor leaned against James' shoulder. In this moment of clarity, despite the alcohol, three words lingered on his tongue dangerously. He said them a lot, but never seriously. They would never take them seriously, of course not. But he said them anyways, quietly, "I love you,"[/b] and did not look at James for the reaction. They were only friends, after all.

The windows raced dark, the promised open one spilling in cool air. It smelled of lost snow, gasoline. The city never sleeps, but it had long since fallen dark. People everywhere were shouting, and suddenly Victor realized it was the countdown.

"Five, four, three, two..." He closed his eyes. He didn't need to see the New Year if he was with James. James and his twenty-six-year-old body was all he needed to know.

[JAMES WINDSOR]

James cheered up considerably at Victor's promise of open windows (promises, it seemed, were regarded with clear importance when made with each other, and where James would never dare of breaking one, he assumed Victor felt the same), and didn't stop grasping the other man's hand even whilst they were seated in the back of the cab. It wouldn't do to ever let Victor suddenly disappear, after all.

The sharpness of the city in its inherent shouts and scents of urban life were far more concentrated this nearer to the ground, and the harsh wave of this created by the open window did manage to help in straightening James' head. Thankfully, as, after Victor's comment, the dull haze of drink felt rather uncomfortable.
For the most part, Victor paid little attention to him during the journey - something that he wasn't particularly fond of, but certainly expected.

That is, James was altogether quite certain that the man wasn't paying attention to him, until he heard a mumbled comment of:
"I love you,"
The dancer's hand tightened in the other's, and his response was spoken in clarity, sobriety, and was so automatic and natural that he needn't even think of what he said.
"I love you, too, Victor."

And then he realised that the countdown had started, and they hadn't stayed on the roof to see it. But that didn't matter, because James and Victor always managed to create their own little bit of importance in an event.
"... Three, two...
James shifted in his seat,
"... One."
As completely naturally as he replied to Victor's words, the dancer leaned in to the other man, took his face gently in his hands and kissed him.

"Happy New Year,"
The shouts and screams of the city outside an open window were in blatant contrast to the inside of the car - which was, for a moment quite silent in its stillness.

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

Victor felt James' hand curl more tightly around his. "I love you, too, Victor." Victor took a deep breath out, savoring the words. The only good thing about these new years, was what always came in James' drunkenness; his openness. They might just be friends, but even Victor was inferential enough to recognize: this was something more than friendship, too.

People shouted "ONE! and fireworks went off, screams, noisemakers. The only thing more deafening was the way it was blocked into a strange surrogate silence within the walls of the taxi, their momentary corner of the world...

James gently held his face and kissed him. Victor said nothing. It wasn't long, but it meant more than he could really put into words. When James finally pulled back, Victor received a quiet, "Happy New Year," and he smiled. Or maybe it was an expression of relief. He didn't have a card for this expression. But his mouth was still open and he was breathing deeply, but silently, and his eyes were sharp with a clarity he rarely possessed.

"Thank you," he said clearly, though slightly breathily back, and he sat back in his seat, his mouth closing in a proper and small smile. He felt calm. His fingers stayed tightly between James'. His expression of gratitude had hardly touched one topic and they both knew it. Thank you for everything. The congratulation, the kiss, the night, the home, the city, this life. He owed it all to James, and he would never forget that.

...

It took longer than it would have, to reach the parlor, with all the riot. It was busier than usual - people drunk of their asses getting tattooed up for the New Year, no doubt. Victor steered well clear from them, held onto James' hand tightly, leading him through the crowd to the man he knew well and making sure he never let go out of some partially irrational fear that he would loose the man. He reached the guy in the back he'd found his way to that one night when he, for some reason, had happily subjected himself to needles. He looked away form the tray, where he could see the man sterilizing new ones.

"Jamison,"[/b] Victor acknowleged him. The man looked up silently, smiled at seeing Victor, and shook both of their hands. "This is Jamison. This is James. Nice to meet each other. James wants a tattoo."[/b] Victor knew Jamison from going out to lunch with him for no reason except boredom one day, and he quite liked the man. He was quiet, compliant, but had a hidden, wicked brain behind the wall of silence.

"Hmm. What're you thinking then?" Jamison asked James with an air of natural impatience, but he was smiling; it was just his way.

OOC: I hope this is ok... if you want me to go back and get rid of the second part with the parlor that's totally fine, email me or somethin in the morning :3

[JAMES WINDSOR]

"Thank you,"
The two words were all Victor said, and even they were unnecessary. Because James knew. James always understood Victor, and Victor always understood James. They never really needed words to know that.

The entirety of James' concentration was then on his hand in Victor's, and he found himself not minding at all when he thought of practically nothing else the entire remainder of the journey. In fact, he only came back into present awareness when somebody began shaking his hand.
"This is Jamison. This is James. Nice to meet each other. James wants a tattoo."
Oh good, Victor was still there. As long as Victor was still there he knew that he was ok.

Then the stranger was asking what James wanted for a tattoo. He immediately looked to Victor, as the man was supposed to be helping with this decision anyway. Though as he did, a variety of choices presented themselves in the forefront of his mind. And there was once thing he considered that seemed to be right.
But he still wanted Victor's opinion.

James slowly slid his hand from the other man's, unwilling for as long as possible to let go just in case he decided to disappear. It didn't take long to find a scrap of paper and a writing utensil (he couldn't quite tell whether it was a pen or a pencil, modern stationery was quite ridiculous), and soon he had drawn out a fragment of Persian the dancer recalled having taken note of and committed to memory.

He showed Victor.

"I'm sure it's one of those Greek words. Eros, Philia, Storge, and Agape. The last one, that is." He spoke in French, because some things were better kept between the two of them, and not shared with a room full of drunk strangers.

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

James seemed quite drunk, and confused. Huh, maybe it wasn't a great idea to do this today. But he'd be patient for James to catch up. They simply stood in the middle of the shop for a minute hand in hand.

"Give us a minute, Jamison?"

Jamison nodded and went back to cleaning his utensils. He stayed still, quietly observing the others until James finally withdrew his hand (it had been getting a little uncomfortably sweaty, Victor thought as he wiped his hand on his trousers). He watched carefully as James somehow found a pen and paper to draw on; James had always been a somewhat visual thinker, and he was a good artist too.

He looked at the paper when it was help up to him: Persian. Huh. James did have an interest in world languages. "I'm sure it's one of those Greek words," he explained, "Eros, Philia, Storge, and Agape. The last one, that is."

Victor liked that James switched to French; it was, of course, quicker to understand, but also, it made whatever he was saying somewhat personal. French was by no means a hidden language, especially in NYC, but it was a bit of a quiet code. "Oui. That's nice. That's very nice."

He motioned for Jamison to come back over, meanwhile putting his arm around James protectively. There was a slightly shady bunch over in the corner, and it made Victor a little nervous. Usually he'd hide behind James, but James was drunk, and that equaled defenseless, sometimes. He showed Jamison the paper - "He wants this."

"Sure," the tattoo artist nodded, and told James to sit down in one of the chairs, and he'd be over in a minute.

"Why agape?" Victor asked. He felt like he already knew, but he wanted to hear it. And anyways, his thoughts could be wrong; sometimes he was wrong. He was wrong a lot, when it came to James. Or maybe it was just that James was the only one who corrected him - an interesting thought, Victor smiled at.

[JAMES WINDSOR]

"Oui. That's nice. That's very nice."
James smiled openly at Victor's approval.
"Good," he replied, still in French, "Because if you didn't think so we'd have to choose another, and I have no idea how long that would have taken."
He chuckled lightly. He was definitely pleased that Victor agreed with the choice. The tattoo would mean nothing if he didn't, after all.

Victor put his arm around him, for protection. And the dancer found himself unsurprisingly shifting closer into the contact. Oh yes, he now remembered why he liked to get drunk so much. The alcohol didn't give him confidence, it gave it to Victor. And that was much more pleasant than a more outgoing version of 'James', he thought.

Victor gave the paper to the tattoo artist, and James took a seat as he was told, holding on to the other man's arm as he did so. He didn't really want to let go any time soon, though he doubted Victor would mind.

"Why agape?"
James gave him his best smile. The lopsided one that was always reserved just-for-Victor.
"You know why,"
Because we both know there is absolutely no word in the English-speaking language that better describes - or even begins to accurately describe us, and what you are to me. Because you're wonderful, because you're vital, because you're-
"You."
He didn't need to say the rest. Victor knew. Victor always knew.

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

"Good, because if you didn't think so we'd have to choose another, and I have no idea how long that would have taken." Victor smiled to himself at that. He liked being able to have a certain level of control over James. Their roles reversed when they drank, and Victor had to admit - sometimes, he liked it.

"You know why - You."

"Yes," Victor agreed quietly. There was nothing else to say. Agape: the unconditional, limitless affections that was, no doubt, them.

Jamison came over with a box that held needles upright. Victor made a face and looked away, but held on to James' hand lightly. "You can, um, do that." He stared intently at his feet; at least he was staying in the room, though.

[JAMES WINDSOR]

James squeezed Victor's hand as he turned away from the sight of the needles. It would figure, that Victor be more scared at the though of James getting a tattoo than he was himself. The dancer didn't mind in the slightest, and the fact that he was even determined to stay with him despite the fact he probably thought tattooing horrific was touching enough to work its way through the haze drink had created of his mind.

He continued to hold onto Victor, and before long the tattoo was completed and the needles removed from sight - the fragment of persian he had sketched out what seemed moments before now embedded beautifully onto the inner side of his upper arm. He let go of Victor's hand, and touched him lightly on the shoulder as an indication to look.
"Je t'aime."
The words seemed to form as naturally as crystal, and seemed perfect and elegant in such a way that it seemed as though he had been saying the same to Victor throughout the duration of their lives. The sensation of the tattoo had sobered him, though he found himself able to tell Victor what he wanted to. And this time, he didn't hide it beneath dancing. No matter how much what he had just said terrified him.

[VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN]

It seemed like a long time before the tattoo was done. There were nerves in his throat and ice crystals in his lungs and - no, shut up, he needed to be present for James, even if he really didn't like what was actually happening in said present.

Finally, it was finished. Jamison walked away and Victor barely felt James loosen his grip on Victor's hand until James got his attention with a gentle touch to the shoulder. Victor swallowed and forced himself to look; oh, god. It made the tingling in his chest tighter, all red and ink bleeding all over James' beautiful skin. He knew it would clear up soon, as tattoos did, but - gross.

"Je t'aime."

Victor looked up suddenly, and James was... seemed significantly less drunk than Victor knew he was. The words rang clarity and he wanted badly to believe him. If only he could be with James for the rest of his life, that was the only way he knew it would be okay.

"Je t'aime,"[/color] Victor said in a low voice, returning the expression in the language that, here, was special to them. He retook James' hand and squeezed. "I love you to the ends of the Earth and much more. You're like the color that falls into breezes, and crushed ice, beautiful and sharp, and everything I need to live. Makes all else extraneous." He hadn't expected those words to come out of his mouth, but he liked them, and smiled. "That was the real speech," he said, "I hope you remember that if nothing else tonight."