Glowing in the Dark [Jem/Dan]

[pthalorarity]

[Jem Morgan]



I live my life inside a dream,
only waking when I sleep
If I could sell my sorry soul, I would have it all

Jem wasn’t exactly sure what he was waiting for as he sat on the rooftop of the training center. It was dark and quiet—peaceful even, lit only by the remaining light of the city that seemed to never sleep. The week of training had come to a close and all that remained for the tributes were the interviews before they would all be shipped off to whatever arena awaited. As the whole lot sat waiting their turn for their private training sessions, Jem had casually mentioned to Dan where he might be this evening should he feel like sharing those scars of his after all. Admittedly he’d flirted with well over half of the tributes in their brief time together, but none so much as his ally and rival. Bad boys were few and far between in the elite social circles of the Morgan family—even in the career gyms there was no one quite like Cowboy Dan—and the age-old appeal of the wild and untamed burned somewhere deep within the naïve playboy.

Of course, proud and haughty Jem was not self aware enough to grasp this notion. So caught up in his routine of using his body for power, it was easy for any warning signals of potential danger to pass him by.

Truthfully, he’d almost not come anyway and left his invitation as more of a test, but his unconscious led him up there before he could make any firm decisions. So now he waited, breathing in the open air and running over his training session in his mind, wondering what score he might receive the next day. It took a moment to hear over the wind but sure enough the footfalls of the District Two tribute arrived like clockwork. Jem turned with his glittering emerald eyes locking on him with the same sultry gaze he had been giving all week, though they were far more effective in the dimmer lighting of the rooftop.

“It’s about time you showed up,” Jem grinned, “I was about to decide I didn’t want to see those scars after all.”

[gm bourgeois decadence [aya]]

Cowboy Dan Johnwayne

what a mischief you would bring, young darling
when the onus is not all your own
when you're up for it before you've grown

With all the excitement over private training sessions, Dan almost managed to forget that he'd been invited up to the roof that evening. It wasn't that he hadn't been looking forward to seeing his biggest competition, and he was genuinely curious to what exactly Jem had in mind for the evening. He was running out of adventures in the Capitol, since they wouldn't allow the tributes to leave the training center, except while being escorted to their interviews or to the parade, and Dan could scarcely hunt for one particular peacekeeper in all of the Capitol when he wasn't allowed to see any of it. It was probably for the best that he couldn't finish the vengeance mission he'd told his sister he was taking up on the way to the Games.

Absentmindedly, he found himself climbing up flight after flight of stairs. He had grown up without elevators and didn't particularly trust the too-fast glass boxes suspended by wires. His feet would do fine, and he was in such great shape that the dozen floors he ascended didn't even make him lose his breath. Before he reached the top, he unbuttoned the soft white shirt his stylist had stuck him in for the evening. It was a calculated move to gain whatever advantage Dan could manage, hardly different from putting his back to the sun in a fight. And yet, at the same time, he'd found this trump card to be more fun to work for than simply learning the battlefield before he fought on it.

Jem Morgan was exactly where he promised he'd be, looking impatient. "It's about time you showed up. I was about to decide I didn't want to see those scars after all." Dan gave the District One boy a cheeky grin. "I very much doubt that," he said, buttoning up the cotton shirt he'd worn that evening, "but it's your loss, not mine." The cowboy stared, hard grey eyes fixed on the sultry green ones, giving Jem a moment to reconsider. He knew that the other boy would; in the full week of training, Dan had poked and prodded with long winks and inviting smiles enough to conclude that Jem Morgan's strength was his weakness, as well — and the cowboy liked nothing more than turning his opponent's weapons against them.

{though blades are so much sweeter}

[pthalorarity]

[Jem Morgan]



I live my life inside a dream,
only waking when I sleep
If I could sell my sorry soul, I would have it all

Jem’s eyes trailed along the cowboy’s torso under his open shirt as he approached. There were already traces of the promised battle wounds visible in the pale, glimmering light of the rooftop. The cocky smirk that always decorated Jem’s slender face faltered for just a moment, as Dan seemed to close himself off for the moment. This was not Jem Morgan’s first time at the rodeo however, and his grin lit up once again. All of his fooling around with the well to dos of his District and any visiting citizens of the Capitol made him well aware that Dan was playing his own game as well. Of course, the knowledge of the game’s existence hadn’t faltered Jem from dangerous courses before, and it wasn’t going to start now. Besides, there was something comforting in the bantering that almost reminded him of Kohl. Theirs was usually far more vicious though, and Jem couldn’t quite pinpoint the feeling, but a very similar type of longing was forming somewhere in the pit of his stomach for the boy before him.

“Oh please,” Jem rolled his eyes playfully, moving forward and grabbing Dan’s hands to stop him. “You know as well as I do that you’d love to show off your ‘battle scars’.” He pulled at the boy from District Two’s hand and led him closer to the edge of the roof where they could look out over the city. “And maybe if they are good enough, I’ll be willing to share mine.” He glanced sideways at Dan, peering at him through his lashes in an almost impish way. If he could play this just right, he was certain he would have his rival just where he wanted him. He could practically hear Glitz in his ear though, her crusade of truth pleading and warning of how this would end. Nevertheless, he hadn’t listened then, and he wasn’t going to now.

[gm bourgeois decadence [aya]]

Cowboy Dan Johnwayne

from the faun forever gone
in the towers of your honeycomb
i'd've tore your hair out just to climb back, darling

Dan allowed Jem's hands to keep him from fastening the buttons on his shirt while the District One teased that he'd love to show off his scars. "They're not 'battle scars,'" he insisted, feigning annoyance that Jem would so much as suggest that Dan hadn't come by them honestly, "they're battle scars." Well, except maybe the tiger stripes up his back from his public whipping, but that had been a trial in and of itself.

When Jem led him to the edge of the roof, Dan put up no resistance. A brief pang shot through him as he considered a fall from such a height, but then logic took over. Surely some lesser tribute would've tried to jump already, and that's a mistake the Capitol would make only once — if they'd made it the first time. Once he'd reassured himself, Dan was able to enjoy the beautiful cityscape stretched out before them.

If he'd ever been the type to bother with such nonsense, the cowboy would even classify it as romantic: the lights glittered and shone like torchlight falling across a whole field of gemstones. (That was a sight Dan remembered from the Games seven years prior, the ones his mentor had won; the ethereal beauty had not diminished through the tiny television set that sat in the corner of the Johnwayne residence — even though it took them a day usually to work out whether or not each arena was buffeted by constant blizzards from the way it displayed the images.)

He could feel Jem's eyes on him, as they always seemed to be. But when the other boy spoke, Dan could scarcely hear him. He was too wrapped up in the view, too busy drinking in the wind that threatened to rip his shirt off, too distracted for their usual flirty banter. "Oh, as if your carefully maintained body has so much as a scratch on it," he dismissed, not taking his eyes off of the twinkle of the Capitol. There was nothing in District Two that so much as compared, and Dan had a whole week to trifle with Jem.

"Where do you think they're going to put us?" he asked, finally shifting his steel grey gaze to his rival. With the city sights inspiring a sense of peace inside of him, the hard cliffs of his face had melted away into something much softer, and Dan suddenly become very aware that his hand was still in Jem's grip.

{who knew i could lose my focus so easily}

[pthalorarity]

[Jem Morgan]



I live my life inside a dream,
only waking when I sleep
If I could sell my sorry soul, I would have it all

Jem followed Dan’s gaze out into the cityscape that sparkled like his name. This had been a dream for so long, to be here, to be more than the mayor’s son of District One. He wanted true freedom and power, true glory, and for a child of the Districts, there was only one way to achieve that. ”Oh as if your carefully maintained body has so much as a scratch on it.” Jem continued to gaze at the city around them, considering for a moment all of the cuts and gashes and bruises he’d collected over time, each expertly touched up quite immediately. Every scar had been shaved away and polished to near perfection on his porcelain skin. If you looked closely enough they were there though, but most people exploring Jem Morgan’s body were not looking for any such thing when it came to the feel of his skin.

“I didn’t say they were on the surface,” Jem laughed turning back to Dan. The cowboy still peered out into the city while he studied the boy’s features—the powerful ridges of his cheekbone, the intensity of his jawline… The flirting and teasing had been naturally more prevalent with his rival than with the others, and as Jem surveyed him closely and quietly, it was almost clear why. Almost.

His green eyes remained steady as Dan’s strong steel eyes returned to him at last. Jem gently bit his lip out of habit as he mulled over the question. Of course he’d been thinking about it all week, and unfortunately was unable to pick up a single clue in the training center that would point him in any direction at all really. He shrugged, “Your guess is as good as mine. I just hope it isn’t cold.” He delicately shifted his hand so that his fingers could entwine with Dan’s. His eyes glittered as he pulled Dan’s free hand to his abdomen and pressed it against the soft cloth of his shirt. “It would be a shame for all of Panem if this had to be all bundled up.”

Despite feeling in control, he could feel his heart rate quicken at Dan’s touch. It had been quite some time since his nerves actually kicked in, but he chalked it up to the Games hysteria. His expression remained un-phased though as he kept his sultry eyes locked with the boy before him, urging him to give in to his will.

[gm bourgeois decadence [aya]]

Cowboy Dan Johnwayne

when you're filling out your only form
can you tell that it's just ceremon'
now you've added up to what you're from

Dan shared the same hope, but for more practical reasons. In a pinch, he was an expert at unarmed combat, particularly brawling, and with so many layers on, his punches would hardly be felt. And with the ground covered with snow and ice, it was nearly impossible to find any decent earth to fling in his opponents' faces as necessary. It wasn't the bone-chilling cold that he minded, as the winter months were always hard in the Johnwayne residence (it lacked a heater) but rather the prospect of spending nights shivering by a fire, trying to conserve heat rather than hunting down the lower districts that managed to escape his sword during the bloodbath.

He feared they might be in for some cold, however; after all, it had been eight years since a snow-covered arena – they were certainly due for one. The recent climates were not always a good indication of what was to come next, though. After all, the earlier part of the recent decade had favored barren wastelands, deserts, and even the sandy hourglass with dozens of small microcosms contained within. That had been followed up with a beach. And yet, they hadn't seen a major sandscape since. It really was anyone's guess.

When Jem steered the District Two's other hand to his stomach, Dan was struck for a moment. It was somehow reminiscent of that time the month prior, when Gracie had done the same thing, telling the cowboy that she was pregnant with his own bastard uncle. He shoved the thoughts from his mind, not eager to dredge up the memories of his occasional screw with his grandfather's young wife. Rather, he knocked on the abs that lay beneath the fabric.

"You smuggling rocks under there, Jem Morgan?" he teased. Playfully, he peeked under the hem of the shirt, revealing the District One's toned stomach. "Are they gonna let you take those into the arena? Seems like an unfair advantage, you having all that granite strapped to your stomach." For someone who had never been particularly friendly with anyone, Dan found it so effortless to fall into gentle teasing with the other boy. Perhaps he'd just never been presented with someone he viewd of as an equal.

{the real question: inside or outside?}

[pthalorarity]

[Jem Morgan]



I live my life inside a dream,
only waking when I sleep
If I could sell my sorry soul, I would have it all

For the first time all week Jem’s seductive smirk was taken over by his rarely seen natural smile. What’s more is that he laughed. It wasn’t his usual cocky huff, but a genuinely light laugh as Dan pulled at his shirt and teased him. It had come unexpectedly and easily with the cowboy’s playful tone. It took Jem a moment to recognize the unfamiliar muscles working within his cheeks, but once he had, he could feel his cheeks turning pink with blush. He had been caught off guard and lost his composure, even if it was in a subtle. He shrugged it off though and carried on.

“I’ve got no more than you do,” he grinned, more playfully than seductively as he poked at Dan’s own bare stomach. “Mine just happens to be in a prettier package.” Jem winked and leaned in to nudge Dan with his shoulder. Jem usually didn’t play this game with men or women of his own age, and though unaware of it, there was something disarming about flirting with someone who he was actually on the same page with. That was something he could never say for himself with Kohl. Regardless, it stripped this privileged Mayor’s son of his façade and left him to be what he had never gotten to be, and what in truth he still was: a kid. A lethal, sexually experienced kid, but a kid nonetheless.

“You should be more worried about these,” Jem smiled again, jokingly flexing his arms as he flashed his too perfectly white teeth. Dan may be a bit larger, but Jem’s physique was still nothing to sneeze at. He lightly tapped his rival’s jaw with his fist, still keeping his other hand laced within Dan Johnwayne’s fingers.