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xp_logsRictor and Shatterstar pump iron and exchange early Christmas gifts, like men do.
"Un poco más, ¡tú puedes!" Rictor encouraged Shatterstar from his position hovering over the other boy, spotting Star as he pressed what even to Rictor was an obscene weight. Rictor observed Star's muscles straining and bulging as he lifted the barbell over his chest, and Rictor was equal parts fascinated and envious. Of course, Shatterstar had the mutant physiology to lift so much that he lacked, but that knowledge did not make him feel any less uneasy about his own physique in comparison.
But envy aside, ay did Shatterstar look powerful right now. There was no way Rictor could not admire that.
He was so glad that Rictor had agreed to spot him. Shatterstar was glad to spend time with Rictor in any capacity. He hadn't been doing so as much he would like to lately, with the fall having flown by.
He was also just glad to have a spotter in general when he lifted just above normal human limits. Just because he could do it didn't mean it was hard.
And very very tiring. His hand began to slip a little.
Rictor's hands shot up to grab the bar before Shatterstar lost his grip, his fingers brushing Shatterstar's. Maybe it was a little overreaction, Shatterstar could surely adjust his grip with minimal support, but when the alternative was crushing his windpipe, Rictor took the super-careful option. He helped put the barbell back on its rack.
"Twenty reps is your limit, bueno. Are you okay?" He did not notice his hands were still on Shatterstar's on the bar.
Rictor may not have noticed their hands were still touching, but Shatterstar sure did. He was grateful that his face was already a little flushed from exertion. Hopefully that would mean Rictor wouldn't notice at all that he was blushing. Rictor's hand was so warm on his, the touch so steady. He was hesitant to pull his hand away.
He had to to sit up. "I'm okay. I should have realized I couldn't push it." He looked at Rictor carefully, trying to see if Rictor felt the same way about their hands on each other.
"I am still impressed," Rictor acknowledged, rubbing his now free hands together as if trying to preserve their warmth. Which, he did not acknowledge, was essentially what he was doing: struggling to hold onto the dissipating glow from that contact with Shatterstar. He hesitated a moment before stepping to the side to remove several of the plates from the barbell, to reduce it to a weight more manageable for himself. "But I bet you I can also do twenty at my top weight," he challenged, even though a standard set for him was never more than twelve.
"Don't hurt yourself," Shatterstar warned, not out of disbelief of Rictor's abilities but more out of worry for his friend. He didn't want Rictor to strain himself. Still he moved from the bench to stand to spot.
He did like to see Rictor's arms.
Which were on full display in the green drooped-sleeve tank top he wore. He settled onto the bench and gripped the bar and then, with Shatterstar's help, lifted it off the rack and began his set of presses.
His triceps and pectorals felt like they were going to explode, and his face was red by the eighth rep.
Triceps and pectorals that Shatterstar was certainly appreciating. But he worried Rictor was pressing himself too much. Did Rictor normally press this much? They didn't normally work out together with weights. His hands hovered slightly, ready to lift the weight back and keep it from falling on Rictor if he needed to.
"Remember to breathe," he reminded him.
The blood pounded in Rictor's ears so loudly that he almost did not hear Shatterstar. And when he lowered the bar for the ninth rep, he struggled to raise it again. His whole body was shaking now, the dim green glow of his gift illuminating his hands as he involuntarily tapped into them to get the weights off his chest.
Shatterstar moved to action as soon as he saw the hint of a glow, the slightest rumble in the air. He gripped the center of Rictor's weight and helped the other man guide the weight to the hooks. Their hands touched slightly, the sides of Shatterstar's fingers touching Rictor's, ready to take in the rumble and redirect it if need be.
He looked down at Rictor sternly. "I think you need to at least rest a moment." If not be done all together.
Rictor was this close to howling that he could do this all on his own, he was strong, he did not need help. Until a sudden calm flowed through him, starting at his fingers and cascading down his arms. He still had half a mind to chastise Shatterstar for his intervention, but at least he wasn't angry about it anymore, and the glow faded.
"I'm fine," he breathlessly insisted, though his entire body obviously betrayed that lie.
"You were going to shake the floor apart. I could feel you in my bones when our fingers touched."
"You are so dramatic. I struggle a little and you think the world is ending." Rictor reached over and reassuringly patted Shatterstar's hand. "Relájate."
How could he not worry about Rictor when he was his best friend? How could he not worry when Rictor's very touch sent shockwaves through him? That must be the effects of Rictor's powers, of course.
"I don't want you to get hurt."
Rictor stood up and folded his arms over his puffed-up chest, a sort of peacocking to retain his manhood over Shatterstar's babying apprehension. But it was tough to be all torn up when someone displayed that kind of urgent concern for him. "I would have been fine alone," he swore again, "But . . . thank you for being there, anyway."
Shatterstar knew that Rictor probably would have been fine, but it was easy to be overprotective of his friends, especially after the Cats' injuries earlier in the year and Match having left with no backup. And Rictor was his very best friend.
"I want to always be there for you."
Why did Shatterstar's words always make Rictor's chest feel tight? Star's earnestness took his breath away and he should have hated that kind of weakness, that unmanliness that would earn him the taunting of his peers anywhere else. Yet here he was, craving that concern even as he tried to dismiss it. "Aww, te quiero también, cabrón," he teased, lightly smacking Shatterstar's chest. Just like that.
Shatterstar's small smile was delayed as he translated the words in his head. But then he seemed to beam. After all, it felt like a sunbeam from where Rictor had smacked his chest outwards.
"I wanted to give you something before you go home."
Oh, Christmas presents, a perfect change of topic. "I have yours, too, in my room. I think you'll like it."
"I would like it because it's from you and I like you,' Shatterstar reminded him but was ready to follow Rictor upstairs.
Good thing Rictor was in the lead because his face was red like rhodonite. Which he was surely going to have to pray with tonight to cleanse him of the stress of this day.
His room was its usual mess, a veritable jungle of plants and dirty clothes that, if continued to be left alone, might develop sufficient sentience to migrate themselves to the hamper. Rictor did have the presence of mind to kick a pair of green briefs out of sight behind a monstera pot, at least.
A pot containing what looked like a tiny tree adorned with tear-shaped green leaves and pink flowers sat on the small kitchenette table, along with a rectangular wrapped package. "I wanted to give you something native to your home in Massachusetts," Rictor explained, pointing at the pot, "But native plants required, um, experience to care for. I didn't want to burden you with something you have to water a lot or move inside and out every season. So this is a desert rose, which does not need much attention, especially between autumn and spring. Just sunlight and rare watering. But I did use the arboretum soil you gave me last year to set this up, so at least there's something from your home in it."
Shatterstar had been in Rictor's room before, but it was rarely and the amount of plants had grown since the last time he was here.
It was his turn for his face to flush when Rictor gave him the little plant. There was so much thought given in the little gift, and he felt like he was going to explode. Rictor had given so much thought to him, and even to his deficiencies.
He was tongue tied as he held the pot, turning it in his hands.
He looked at Rictor and hoped he would see the gratefulness in his face. He couldn't trust himself to speak.
"Oh, and one more thing. Here." He passed the wrapped item to Shatterstar, too. Inside, a simple small wooden picture frame with a photo of the two of them, arms across each other's shoulders, one of a million selfies one or the other of them had taken over the last several months. Just one that, when searching through his gallery, Rictor looked at fondly.
"I'm sorry they are both so simple," he sighed regretfully, "But maybe next year I will have saved up enough to, I don't know, get you something to match Terry's sword. Something functional."
"No!" Shatterstar said loudly as he opened the gift and held it protectively to his chest, like Rictor may take it away from him and replace it with something more functional. "No. This is perfect. I like this."
He felt like he was ready to die on the spot.
He had never had friends to give him pictures of them together before coming here. If Shatterstar was someone else he may have started crying at the gesture.
He cradled the photograph to his chest. "This is perfect," he repeated.
Rictor swelled with pride and glory for nailing it. "Bueno, my turn now. What do I get?"
Shatterstar ducked out of Rictor's room to go place his new photograph on his bedside table and retrieve Rictor's gift. It felt paltry in comparison, but he had put some research into it. He presented Rictor with the shoddily wrapped box.
"It's not as nice as the photograph," he warned.
But it was practical. He had noticed, how couldn't he notice?, the way Rictor's hair was starting to grow out. He also knew that Rictor probably wasn't taking as good of care of it as he could. He's found the best shampoo and conditioner he could for Rictor's hair type, with a beautiful citrus smell. And the same type of brush and comb Shatterstar used for his own hair, his own vanity.
Rictor's first reaction was of mild confusion. Haircare products? Those were things he could purchase himself. But he quickly remembered that nothing Shatterstar did was without purpose. There was no frivolity in this gift. And Shatterstar never accepted poor quality items for his own maintenance whether it be his blades or his body. And to share those with someone else was surely a significant decision. So, the bewilderment fell away, replaced by bright eyes and a wide smile.
"Thank you, Star."
"I did research on your hair type," Star explained, embarrassed at the confused look on Rictor's face. "And the comb and brush are the same I use, but in green instead of black."
He ducked his head a little, the curtain of his hair falling. "I hope they are useful to you."
"I will be the prettiest man in the mansion," Rictor proudly declared before setting down the package and spreading his arms for a hug. "Gracias, coño. Feliz navidad."
You already are.
But 'Star would never be able to say that. He even hesitated at the hug, before giving Rictor and awkward one, like he wasn't quite sure how to initiate it.
But he was trying. For Rictor.
"Merry Christmas."
"Un poco más, ¡tú puedes!" Rictor encouraged Shatterstar from his position hovering over the other boy, spotting Star as he pressed what even to Rictor was an obscene weight. Rictor observed Star's muscles straining and bulging as he lifted the barbell over his chest, and Rictor was equal parts fascinated and envious. Of course, Shatterstar had the mutant physiology to lift so much that he lacked, but that knowledge did not make him feel any less uneasy about his own physique in comparison.
But envy aside, ay did Shatterstar look powerful right now. There was no way Rictor could not admire that.
He was so glad that Rictor had agreed to spot him. Shatterstar was glad to spend time with Rictor in any capacity. He hadn't been doing so as much he would like to lately, with the fall having flown by.
He was also just glad to have a spotter in general when he lifted just above normal human limits. Just because he could do it didn't mean it was hard.
And very very tiring. His hand began to slip a little.
Rictor's hands shot up to grab the bar before Shatterstar lost his grip, his fingers brushing Shatterstar's. Maybe it was a little overreaction, Shatterstar could surely adjust his grip with minimal support, but when the alternative was crushing his windpipe, Rictor took the super-careful option. He helped put the barbell back on its rack.
"Twenty reps is your limit, bueno. Are you okay?" He did not notice his hands were still on Shatterstar's on the bar.
Rictor may not have noticed their hands were still touching, but Shatterstar sure did. He was grateful that his face was already a little flushed from exertion. Hopefully that would mean Rictor wouldn't notice at all that he was blushing. Rictor's hand was so warm on his, the touch so steady. He was hesitant to pull his hand away.
He had to to sit up. "I'm okay. I should have realized I couldn't push it." He looked at Rictor carefully, trying to see if Rictor felt the same way about their hands on each other.
"I am still impressed," Rictor acknowledged, rubbing his now free hands together as if trying to preserve their warmth. Which, he did not acknowledge, was essentially what he was doing: struggling to hold onto the dissipating glow from that contact with Shatterstar. He hesitated a moment before stepping to the side to remove several of the plates from the barbell, to reduce it to a weight more manageable for himself. "But I bet you I can also do twenty at my top weight," he challenged, even though a standard set for him was never more than twelve.
"Don't hurt yourself," Shatterstar warned, not out of disbelief of Rictor's abilities but more out of worry for his friend. He didn't want Rictor to strain himself. Still he moved from the bench to stand to spot.
He did like to see Rictor's arms.
Which were on full display in the green drooped-sleeve tank top he wore. He settled onto the bench and gripped the bar and then, with Shatterstar's help, lifted it off the rack and began his set of presses.
His triceps and pectorals felt like they were going to explode, and his face was red by the eighth rep.
Triceps and pectorals that Shatterstar was certainly appreciating. But he worried Rictor was pressing himself too much. Did Rictor normally press this much? They didn't normally work out together with weights. His hands hovered slightly, ready to lift the weight back and keep it from falling on Rictor if he needed to.
"Remember to breathe," he reminded him.
The blood pounded in Rictor's ears so loudly that he almost did not hear Shatterstar. And when he lowered the bar for the ninth rep, he struggled to raise it again. His whole body was shaking now, the dim green glow of his gift illuminating his hands as he involuntarily tapped into them to get the weights off his chest.
Shatterstar moved to action as soon as he saw the hint of a glow, the slightest rumble in the air. He gripped the center of Rictor's weight and helped the other man guide the weight to the hooks. Their hands touched slightly, the sides of Shatterstar's fingers touching Rictor's, ready to take in the rumble and redirect it if need be.
He looked down at Rictor sternly. "I think you need to at least rest a moment." If not be done all together.
Rictor was this close to howling that he could do this all on his own, he was strong, he did not need help. Until a sudden calm flowed through him, starting at his fingers and cascading down his arms. He still had half a mind to chastise Shatterstar for his intervention, but at least he wasn't angry about it anymore, and the glow faded.
"I'm fine," he breathlessly insisted, though his entire body obviously betrayed that lie.
"You were going to shake the floor apart. I could feel you in my bones when our fingers touched."
"You are so dramatic. I struggle a little and you think the world is ending." Rictor reached over and reassuringly patted Shatterstar's hand. "Relájate."
How could he not worry about Rictor when he was his best friend? How could he not worry when Rictor's very touch sent shockwaves through him? That must be the effects of Rictor's powers, of course.
"I don't want you to get hurt."
Rictor stood up and folded his arms over his puffed-up chest, a sort of peacocking to retain his manhood over Shatterstar's babying apprehension. But it was tough to be all torn up when someone displayed that kind of urgent concern for him. "I would have been fine alone," he swore again, "But . . . thank you for being there, anyway."
Shatterstar knew that Rictor probably would have been fine, but it was easy to be overprotective of his friends, especially after the Cats' injuries earlier in the year and Match having left with no backup. And Rictor was his very best friend.
"I want to always be there for you."
Why did Shatterstar's words always make Rictor's chest feel tight? Star's earnestness took his breath away and he should have hated that kind of weakness, that unmanliness that would earn him the taunting of his peers anywhere else. Yet here he was, craving that concern even as he tried to dismiss it. "Aww, te quiero también, cabrón," he teased, lightly smacking Shatterstar's chest. Just like that.
Shatterstar's small smile was delayed as he translated the words in his head. But then he seemed to beam. After all, it felt like a sunbeam from where Rictor had smacked his chest outwards.
"I wanted to give you something before you go home."
Oh, Christmas presents, a perfect change of topic. "I have yours, too, in my room. I think you'll like it."
"I would like it because it's from you and I like you,' Shatterstar reminded him but was ready to follow Rictor upstairs.
Good thing Rictor was in the lead because his face was red like rhodonite. Which he was surely going to have to pray with tonight to cleanse him of the stress of this day.
His room was its usual mess, a veritable jungle of plants and dirty clothes that, if continued to be left alone, might develop sufficient sentience to migrate themselves to the hamper. Rictor did have the presence of mind to kick a pair of green briefs out of sight behind a monstera pot, at least.
A pot containing what looked like a tiny tree adorned with tear-shaped green leaves and pink flowers sat on the small kitchenette table, along with a rectangular wrapped package. "I wanted to give you something native to your home in Massachusetts," Rictor explained, pointing at the pot, "But native plants required, um, experience to care for. I didn't want to burden you with something you have to water a lot or move inside and out every season. So this is a desert rose, which does not need much attention, especially between autumn and spring. Just sunlight and rare watering. But I did use the arboretum soil you gave me last year to set this up, so at least there's something from your home in it."
Shatterstar had been in Rictor's room before, but it was rarely and the amount of plants had grown since the last time he was here.
It was his turn for his face to flush when Rictor gave him the little plant. There was so much thought given in the little gift, and he felt like he was going to explode. Rictor had given so much thought to him, and even to his deficiencies.
He was tongue tied as he held the pot, turning it in his hands.
He looked at Rictor and hoped he would see the gratefulness in his face. He couldn't trust himself to speak.
"Oh, and one more thing. Here." He passed the wrapped item to Shatterstar, too. Inside, a simple small wooden picture frame with a photo of the two of them, arms across each other's shoulders, one of a million selfies one or the other of them had taken over the last several months. Just one that, when searching through his gallery, Rictor looked at fondly.
"I'm sorry they are both so simple," he sighed regretfully, "But maybe next year I will have saved up enough to, I don't know, get you something to match Terry's sword. Something functional."
"No!" Shatterstar said loudly as he opened the gift and held it protectively to his chest, like Rictor may take it away from him and replace it with something more functional. "No. This is perfect. I like this."
He felt like he was ready to die on the spot.
He had never had friends to give him pictures of them together before coming here. If Shatterstar was someone else he may have started crying at the gesture.
He cradled the photograph to his chest. "This is perfect," he repeated.
Rictor swelled with pride and glory for nailing it. "Bueno, my turn now. What do I get?"
Shatterstar ducked out of Rictor's room to go place his new photograph on his bedside table and retrieve Rictor's gift. It felt paltry in comparison, but he had put some research into it. He presented Rictor with the shoddily wrapped box.
"It's not as nice as the photograph," he warned.
But it was practical. He had noticed, how couldn't he notice?, the way Rictor's hair was starting to grow out. He also knew that Rictor probably wasn't taking as good of care of it as he could. He's found the best shampoo and conditioner he could for Rictor's hair type, with a beautiful citrus smell. And the same type of brush and comb Shatterstar used for his own hair, his own vanity.
Rictor's first reaction was of mild confusion. Haircare products? Those were things he could purchase himself. But he quickly remembered that nothing Shatterstar did was without purpose. There was no frivolity in this gift. And Shatterstar never accepted poor quality items for his own maintenance whether it be his blades or his body. And to share those with someone else was surely a significant decision. So, the bewilderment fell away, replaced by bright eyes and a wide smile.
"Thank you, Star."
"I did research on your hair type," Star explained, embarrassed at the confused look on Rictor's face. "And the comb and brush are the same I use, but in green instead of black."
He ducked his head a little, the curtain of his hair falling. "I hope they are useful to you."
"I will be the prettiest man in the mansion," Rictor proudly declared before setting down the package and spreading his arms for a hug. "Gracias, coño. Feliz navidad."
You already are.
But 'Star would never be able to say that. He even hesitated at the hug, before giving Rictor and awkward one, like he wasn't quite sure how to initiate it.
But he was trying. For Rictor.
"Merry Christmas."
