( he's about to tell quentin he knows he's not afraid of julian. he's got a decent amount of mental fortitude against telepaths, but quentin's - well. quentin. julian doesn't expect to be able to do jack shit against him if he really wanted to knock him down a level. except before julian gets a word out, he's gifted the joy of reliving the same fucked experiences quentin has been shoved through to get this fucked up. thanks, who wouldn't want to live(or, ha, die) through sabertooth eviscerating them?
julian tenses. just enough that it's noticeable, that same fuckshitcrapowfucknonononono- mirroring back as claws pierce straight through him, shredding julian's midsection, ripping into a lung, destroying his diaphragm, the burning sensation in his lower arms as nimrod just fucking - )
I know it's not me.
( quentin's smart. clever enough to read between the lines, to know julian's clever, strong, dangerous in his own way but never that same kind of dangerous the assholes who'd throw quentin to the wolves countless times are. he's got an edge to him, but he'll avoid the killing blow every damn time there's another way out. and the same thing that pisses julian off about quentin is the same damn problem summers had with julian: he doesn't listen. not out of a hatred for people telling him what to do, but because he doesn't trust most the older crew not to feed him through a meat grinder, or fuck off and abandon him the moment he's more of an inconvenience than anything else.
and he gets - this. the stress response. the one wrong movement, one wrong noise setting off every warning bell in his head, telling him to fight back, get out, leave before this turns worse despite knowing damn well he's not in any real danger. julian's voice softens, loses the edge. )
Just like I know you're not gonna let some asshole fuck you up by making you freak out every time someone pins you down.
( because, see, he's managing. somewhat. he considers intentionally tipping quentin closer to that edge, just to prove a point. ultimately decides that's a shit idea, except he also doesn't, you know, have the hands to manage this how he'd prefer to.
julian sucks in a deep breath through his nose, but doesn't give quentin the space he's asking for. stays close, even if the pressure is gone. he grabs for quentin's own hand with his tk, rather than using cold metal, so he can try to guide it up to the pulsepoint at the curve of his jaw. his own heart is racing, especially after that fun trip down memory lane. )
Count it.
( significantly less helpful than simply fucking off, but look, he's trying something else. julian takes a few deep breaths to steady himself, too, slowly calming himself down off of that panicked high. )
no subject
julian tenses. just enough that it's noticeable, that same fuckshitcrapowfucknonononono- mirroring back as claws pierce straight through him, shredding julian's midsection, ripping into a lung, destroying his diaphragm, the burning sensation in his lower arms as nimrod just fucking - )
I know it's not me.
( quentin's smart. clever enough to read between the lines, to know julian's clever, strong, dangerous in his own way but never that same kind of dangerous the assholes who'd throw quentin to the wolves countless times are. he's got an edge to him, but he'll avoid the killing blow every damn time there's another way out. and the same thing that pisses julian off about quentin is the same damn problem summers had with julian: he doesn't listen. not out of a hatred for people telling him what to do, but because he doesn't trust most the older crew not to feed him through a meat grinder, or fuck off and abandon him the moment he's more of an inconvenience than anything else.
and he gets - this. the stress response. the one wrong movement, one wrong noise setting off every warning bell in his head, telling him to fight back, get out, leave before this turns worse despite knowing damn well he's not in any real danger. julian's voice softens, loses the edge. )
Just like I know you're not gonna let some asshole fuck you up by making you freak out every time someone pins you down.
( because, see, he's managing. somewhat. he considers intentionally tipping quentin closer to that edge, just to prove a point. ultimately decides that's a shit idea, except he also doesn't, you know, have the hands to manage this how he'd prefer to.
julian sucks in a deep breath through his nose, but doesn't give quentin the space he's asking for. stays close, even if the pressure is gone. he grabs for quentin's own hand with his tk, rather than using cold metal, so he can try to guide it up to the pulsepoint at the curve of his jaw. his own heart is racing, especially after that fun trip down memory lane. )
Count it.
( significantly less helpful than simply fucking off, but look, he's trying something else. julian takes a few deep breaths to steady himself, too, slowly calming himself down off of that panicked high. )