[That pulls a little more of his attention, his curiosity. He exhales a sweet cloud out the window of their suite, watching the curls of smoke spin and dissipate into the early evening air.
Curls of a triskelion of Air, carved in white, blossoming red.
He should call Grayson again, see if he can finally get him to pick up during the day. After this, maybe.]
[Normally that would have his ears pricking up and his impatience bristling at the vagueness of the reply growing in the face of some possible lurking danger, but right now he can’t muster the effort to care.
More trouble. Some danger. Maybe he’s done something. They’ve already come through it before.]
Fair enough. [He waves a hand airily, audibly exhales.] Stay out then.
I’ll see you whenever. [It’s offered in a neutral tone, but he does hang up on him.]
[ It's a little unexpected, but Larus doesn't do much besides frown at the way he responds before shoving his device into a pocket. Maybe it's not even that important, though he decides not to think about it. He'll let Dorian have his space, for whatever that might be worth, and he'll try to detach himself from the entire situation. From this place, from the taste of blood still lingering in his mouth.
He needs to get rid of that more than anything else.
Which seems to be easier than he'd have thought considering where they are, staring at the dark liquid in a bottle he's holding as he takes the elevator up to their shared suite. He's only been gone less than an hour since he'd spoken to Dorian, and more than wanting to protect him from his own mistakes, he just wants to see him. Spend some time with him.
Larus pushes the door open and steps inside, keeping his gaze from straying towards that room. He doesn't want to think about that either. ]
I decided it didn't make sense to stay out, [ he offers aloud, addressing Dorian without lingering to speak to him. He needs to change his clothes first because, once again, he's covered in bloodstains. ]
[When Larus enters, Dorian looks up, and then his gaze passes over the other man from where he's sitting on the windowsill, phone in hand. Blood. Someone else's, probably, not that that's a guarantee when he knows the vampire can heal himself.
His submissive can't help himself, it seems, not that Dorian can blame him entirely. There are temptations in this place, both violent and sexual. He's seen that firsthand now in a visceral way. What he told Larus' changed self the moment that creature entered this same suite is what Dorian truly believes-- that one day, Larus will give into his nature in a permanent sense, the way everyone, humans among them, eventually does. Vampires just have that much stronger of an impetus pushing them to it.
His caring for the other man's feelings, a rare thing for him, is what makes him try to do anything to not be another potential source of darkness pushing Larus further down that path otherwise. He could do it, easily he's sure, because the darkness is something the rotten corners of his soul craves, too. Those jagged pieces of flint cracking against each other never do anything but spark.
But there's a twitchiness, a tense and petulant frustration, about Dorian's presence now that has nothing to do with his roommate. He's not used to being ignored, discarded, but his daytime calls and texting aren't getting any traction with the sorcerer unnaturally stuck at the forefront of his mind. The timing is bad, and Larus is likely to bear the brunt of it--
--when he comes back, anyway.]
Subtle. [Dorian's in a bad mood, and can't help himself from needling the only person within his vicinity.] Just throw them away [he says of Larus' clothes, whether he's come back in with them or not] the laundry service isn't going to be able to do a thing with them.
[ It's easy to sense that something is off about all of this, even as he slips down the hallway to quickly change into something a little less filthy. The shower he takes is quick and efficient because he needs it to be, mostly for the sake of scrubbing his skin raw, and there's no tentativeness to anything that he does when he returns to Dorian in the main room until those words slam into him. He frowns somewhat, trying to decipher the tone of his voice and exactly what it means.
Rather than skirt the topic, he crosses the distance between them. ]
Say whatever it is you mean to say to me. That wasn't my fault.
[ His clothes, he means. It's complicated, and if asked, he'll try to avoid talking too intimately about it because he's still in desperate need of processing the last several hours. Larus had thought – somewhat foolishly now, he realizes – that being elsewhere and with someone he actually liked would have balanced the tumultuous storm brewing under the surface of his thoughts. But it's clearly an oversight, gently folding his arms over his chest to look Dorian over more closely for the first time since he'd stepped through the door.
Anything else on the tip of his tongue dissolves, his expression a bit more open. ] Did something happen?
Even if I wanted to explain, the only answer I'd have is 'the city'. [His annoyance, his thwarted persistence, Grayson, are not things he's interested in discussing right now. Not when there's a target right in front of him to displace his frustration with by digging into.]
But really, [He waves a hand, and then holds it out to indicate the length of Larus' form.] seeing you covered head to foot in blood again, I was just thinking that we're well-matched after all.
Here you are, the primal darkness, finding your way into violence again and again, and here I am, the person who craves such things.
[Dorian makes a darkly amused sound, as if appraising a private, unspoken joke.]
It's perfect, [he decides.] A dance with death waiting to happen.
[ Yes, the city is easy to blame. It clearly has nothing to do with their own vices or the burdens they carry in the dark, eyeing Dorian with less subtlety than before. He's certainly in some sort of mood, evident by the way he's speaking of things that haven't seemed to be an issue before, but maybe he's returned to him like this one too many times. Once again, he's reminded that he isn't Casimir, that he doesn't question why and only accepts it for what it is.
There has to be more, though, but Larus isn't going to dwell on it to the point of obsession. He simply closes the space between them and takes Dorian's hand, focusing almost too quickly on the steady thrum of his pulse. What he'd wanted, what he shouldn't think about. ]
I don't know what that means. [ Because he could interpret it a thousand different ways and not because he doesn't understand it. ] But if that's all you have to say to me, I can make this easy for you. I didn't have to come back.
[ And he might just leave since this had obviously been a poor idea, though he doesn't let go of him. ]
[That earns a flare of frustration, the feeling pushed further by the influence spiderwebbing through his veins. The portrait is leaching it away slowly, but not quickly enough that it isn’t taking its toll. Larus is reacting calmly, neutrally, and it’s not what he wants when he’s in the mood to pick a fight.]
Then leave. [Dorian flicks his hand away from where it’s being held, and into the air.] As if I care where you go and what you do with your time.
[Except that he usually does care. Does feel an overarching sense of protectiveness for the connection forged here, and the man standing in front of him.]
[ With that gesture, Larus can tell he wants to fight. Or, at the very least, antagonize him a little for reasons that more than likely have nothing to do with him. He isn't swayed, however, moving in even closer to take hold of his wrist again. This time, he squeezes it in a way that conveys he means to hold onto him. ]
I'm finding it difficult to believe you, Dorian. [ Does someone who doesn't care draw the line at instigating more violence after he'd nearly died? He pulls Dorian towards him. ] We agreed on the truth between us.
Because you aren’t ever intentionally vague about any of what you’ve been doing.
[If Larus isn’t going to let him go, he’s going to reach out and grab him instead, to try and hold onto control. Dorian’s jaw pulls tighter as he grips hard, awkwardly at the back of Larus’ jaw, his thumb pushing sharply into a cheekbone, enforcing some space.]
Let go, [he warns, deep voice grinding down into a growl.]
[ There's a slight harshness to his tone, though it's brushed aside as soon as Dorian digs into his face. Larus doesn't flinch, pulling Dorian's hand away with his free one so that he's now got him by both wrists. His thoughts scatter, a momentary disconnect, but he forces it away to bring Dorian's face into focus.
He looks him right in the eyes. ] I'm not going to do that.
[Is it what it’s about? Now that Larus is grabbing him and he’s being made to deal with him physically, vampiric influence sloughs away, slowly reducing down to a simmering footnote. He’s drawn to the visceral, attuned to his senses, and a man gripping him with strength that’s only a fraction of what he knows a vampire is capable of is something that sharpens his focus down to a pinpoint.
So yes, that is what this is about now. This is about them, and his own feelings.
Something like what's been happening in slow (and sometimes much too fast) motion between them isn't real, can't be, and he doesn't want it. He's done with emotions approaching connection, real connection, and affection ever since having his world ripped from him, the Earth from beneath his feet, for a second time. Everything good, everything alive in any sense, gets taken away. He knew that before, has known it for over a century, but now it's carved in stone. There's no reason there should be any upset to that balance, regardless of where he is or who he's with. Dorian’s eyes narrow.]
You're just so unaffected. [It curls out his mouth in an unpleasant and sardonic purr. The unwillingness to rise to the emotional bait he's dropping into the water only annoys Dorian more.
He’s not a fighter, more drawn to using the blades of his wit and cunning to do damage. There isn't much of that available to him now, with the vitae pushing through his veins.]
Why should I care, then? Tell me that, when it's clear that you don't. [Dorian pulls back on one of the grips on his wrist, gritting his teeth.] Or perhaps it's like I said, and you can't help but throw yourself at the scent of blood. [The next words he winds up deliberately, seeking to find some chink in that familiar stoicism, to cause pain, if he can.] You're just a monster, and little else can be expected from you.
[He'll come back to the suite every so often to wash the crimson out of his clothes, or call Dorian to come scrape him off the ground. Things will happen where he'll end up needing to save Larus from himself. He would, he will, and part of him is bitterly angry about that right now.
Perhaps those words are the thoughts of someone who hides them well enough for different reasons, Larus' face scrunching slightly as it just pours out of Dorian with the same eloquence as always. But the things he says ache with familiarity, things he's told himself and has been told by others. By Sun, mostly, which is hilariously ironic given the nature of his maker. Still, he's heard it before, and as always, his only weapon to fight back with is his honesty. He doesn't have much else when it comes to something like this; of anyone in this city, it's Dorian he wants to hurt the least. ]
I care, [ he admits lightly, parsing through it even as he holds him there with Dorian's hands between them. ] Why do you think I go out there? I don't enjoy it. There's no peace; at least the Dusk made more sense that way.
[ But Duplicity is sprawling, and its control is everywhere. He has a literal reminder of it tattooed permanently on his skin, and he'd given some of his own autonomy to the man now questioning his, what? Morals? His feelings? They've only ever briefly touched on the subject of something like that, and even with the sex that had followed...
Larus frowns, his expression twisting. ]
You're careless when it comes to other people, Dorian, and I'm trying to protect you from that. [ He only knows of Grayson Frost and not even to the full extent. It's hard to say what other dealings he's made without mentioning them. ] So call me whatever it is you want. I know I'm a monster. That's something I never asked for, but it doesn't mean I'm heartless.
[ Larus leans closer, close enough to feel Dorian's breath on his skin. ]
If I didn't care [ he swallows around the words about you and pushes on, ] I wouldn't be here.
[Dorian almost lets out a derisive laugh, short and hollow, at the notion that Larus is being cagey with him to protect him. But that's what each of them has been doing all along for the other, isn't it? That's crystal clear to him now. So rather than laugh, the words register with a little stab of dread, something only reinforced by Larus telling him he cares, which smooths quickly into the heaviness of resignation. This is happening, then. It's real, and there's no taking it back.
He's falling.
Time and time again, isn't it? After Lucifer, wearing Toby's face, held him suspended by his neck over the cliff side at Whitby, he would have sworn this would never happen again. Heart of stone, but a sensitive soul. Other people just keep slipping into his endless, immortal life and catching him by surprise. A shiver runs up his spine as his gaze crawls all over the face of the man standing before him. Comes to fix on deep blue, soulful eyes.
In a last bid of resistance to his own feelings, his own thoughts, Dorian pushes against the hold on one of his wrists, reaching out to wrap fingers around Larus' throat-- partially over the mark that ties them together. He squeezes, but it's a warning and bid to hold him off, rather than an attempt to hurt. (Not this again. Anything but this.)]
You'd be better off if you were heartless. [It would make things so much easier between them. For himself. He'd hardly care if Larus truly was something more like him-- just some other monster. Driven by the darkness and unrepentant of the leaving of it in his wake.
[ Something in that looks almost breaks him, letting Dorian's hand rest against his throat. It's trust, Larus convinces himself, because who else does he have that he can really believe in while he's in this place? It's not the people he's brushed up against. It certainly isn't the encounter he's just come from that leaves a bitter weight in his chest and the distant reminder of being stabbed in the gut. He'd very well let Dorian have it all and not think twice about it, an abrupt realization that nearly has him pulling away to protect himself.
But no. He'd asked for this. Unknowingly, he'd let it happen.
With one of his hands now free, Larus shifts to rest it against the one at his neck. A light hold, nothing more. With nothing but his own strength, Dorian couldn't hurt him like this, and it's really not what he's terrified of anyhow, returning that look with something akin to affection. Heartbreak, if he's being honest, but when has Larus ever truly been honest with himself? ]
Then I'd be just like everyone else. [ Like every other monster out there. ] I can't do that – and I won't. Even if it hurts.
[ Because such pain tells him that he isn't entirely lost to it all. ]
[Those words, and the way the smooth-featured, usually stoic, face before him melts into a heartfelt expression, hits Dorian at his core. It's catnip, and one of the things that's been dragging him closer to this man all along. Body carved from monstrous stone, but a soft heart. The gentle, fond words rolling through his thoughts make him want to drag Larus closer and tighten his grip on his throat all at once.
Rejecting his feelings is easier, and the reflexive choice. Dorian jumps at it. For a moment he tightens his grip, digging fingers into soft, chill flesh. And then, overwhelmed with feeling and the need to get away and think, he simply lets go completely.]
Then you're doing to die. [Something he thought one of the first times they met, during a conversation much like this. But that was back when he didn't feel so wholly involved with Larus, and what's happening between them.] And soon.
[ If he wants to run, he's going to have to do it when Larus decides to let him go. Even then, the obvious choice is to chase him, to follow him for answers that just don't make sense on their own. It's an equation that fits nowhere in his life, curling his fingers around Dorian's as soon as he releases him. He knows this tactic all too well, and while he'd usually prefer the distance, everything that's happened to him in the last several hours craves the exact opposite of that.
His expression evens out along with his voice. ]
I know. [ One way or another, he will. It's just going to be his choice. ] But I died once already. It's not death that I'm afraid of.
[ Perhaps that's why he shakes it off so easily, how he can pretend it never happened when he's come so close to that edge so many times before. This place is no different when it comes to that; the only distinction are the people in his life, the ones that slip through and tangle themselves around his heart. ]
There are things I need to do, and people I want to see. The pain just makes existing bearable enough to see that through.
[Dorian’s ire is again immediately inflamed by what he’s come to recognize as typical for the other man: the overarching disinterest in his own existence continuing. Dorian grits his teeth, heart knocking hard with the pain of the way that knowledge hits, briefly resisting the hold on him again. When he speaks again, Dorian's tone is sharp, bitter, and biting.]
And I suppose they hardly matter? The people you’ve impacted and are going to leave behind? [Distantly, the words coming out of his mouth are funny. Ridiculous. Him? Going after someone for being selfish? The irony is profound, and something that will occur to him later once he’s escaped from all of this. He’ll laugh. For now he’s just angry.]
I have a perfect memory, [he spits out. It's eidetic, and unflinchingly so. He remembers the faces of every person he’s ever interacted with, discarded, adored. Larus will be a streak on his portrait as much as he'll remain permanently fixed in his memory.] Normal people will pass without notice to the void and your traces will go with them, but I’d remember. [His expression pulls into a sharp look. If Larus has the temerity to inflict feelings upon him, he’s going to lash out at him with them without hesitation.] Eternally.
[ Dorian's pulse ruptures like a bomb, and it suddenly makes sense to him. All of it. His moods, the fighting, the words that try to pierce him in the soft spots he guards so fiercely. He's been here before, only once, but the aftermath of it had been brutal; and this pulls at him in ways that are completely different from the experience he'd shared that night so long ago with Casimir. It's difficult to love something as fleeting as a mortal, especially one intent on sacrificing his life over the injustice of others, and somehow, Dorian believes that's exactly what he wants to do? Because of one moment in an alley and the few times he's come back covered in blood?
No, that's not quite it. But he understands.
It's enough to fight him, to steady his grip and draw back so that Dorian's forced to come closer into Larus' embrace. He settles a hand at his side and then around him, effectively trapping Dorian there until he decides to release him. He doesn't think he will, not until they've reached some sort of agreement. ]
There's no one outside this room that matters to me, [ he corrects slowly, pointedly. ] And I never said I wanted to die. Not here. Not where it matters.
[ Back home is different because... it just is. He'll destroy Sun, even if it means destroying himself, and it's not like he'll have anyone to return to if he somehow managed to survive it. Casimir is a martyr, and Egil, at least, would have Jericho. He wouldn't be alone, and that's all he can ask for in that world of his. This one is something entirely separate, releasing Dorian's wrist because he knows he can't escape the hold he has on him and using that hand to turn his face towards him. ]
I'm not letting go until you give me a reason to. [ And he doesn't just mean physically. ]
[He can't seem to hold onto any control of this situation, with the physical being the least impactful instance of that. A bitten-off breath leaves him as Larus denies his anger and pulls him in against him, an arm sliding around his waist, trapping him. He can't escape from this, isn't going to be allowed to, and isn't that just always the way when he finds himself plunged headfirst into caring about someone else?
No holds barred, unavoidable. These things just happen to him when he's around people for long enough. Someone compelling comes along and finds him. But that someone is rarely a person as immortal as he is.
The words Larus has for him do mollify him though. So he's saying he's not completely, uncaringly reckless? That there is some care for the notion that he doesn't want him to die? His emotions are heightened and he's suspicious of what he's hearing, but it does help. Dorian sinks down from his hackles, even as his expression stays pulled into a tight frown.
The kind of confirmation he's getting now comes with its own attendant emotions, though, and they're too much. Larus feels something for him, too. He can't just lean into that and the embrace around him right now, even if he wants to. There's control and composure he needs to scrape back for himself. Feelings for the man wrapped around him that he needs to get a handle on.]
How about this, then? I want you to [Obviously.] and you care about my wants. [If that's what he's hearing. It sounds like it.] You don't have any right to do anything otherwise.
[He just needs to get Larus away from him for a short time so he can breathe.]
[ If Larus lets himself feel this, wholly and without pause, it could break him. Dorian would be a weakness, and as much as he already is, that alone would be enough to paint a target on him. It's not what Larus wants, which is why he'd been adamant about drawing lines, about keeping things as impersonal as they can be in a city ruled by dark desires and sex. He can sense it unraveling though, grip loosening ever so slightly before he decides that reason alone isn't good enough for him. His fingers dig into Dorian's clothes, the thumb against his face stroking over warm, pretty skin. ]
I think you're forgetting where we are. Between the two of us, you have more rights than I do at any moment.
[ But it's not because of those things that he doesn't let go. When they're alone, there's only equality. When they're alone, it's them facing whatever comes at them together, and lately, it hasn't been that at all. Larus with his agenda and Dorian with his, secrets twisted into something that feigns propriety on the surface.
His own selfishness shines brightly enough and long enough that he merely leans in against him, temple to temple. ]
I'm not going to let you run away simply because you want to.
[The immediate response earned by that is a bristling indignation. Dorian shivers as cold fingers dust over his cheek, and he pays the gentle, very much desired in a certain sense, touch back with a curling of Larus' shirt into a crumpled bundle in his fist. The composure he still has starts to buckle, his limited will to resist their intimacy so he can put up a wall around it peeling away.]
And what if I need some space? [The words are edged, but there's something else in them, too. A note of desperation. This closeness they've opened up is so new but it's already all-consuming.] To breathe? Will you allow me to have that?
[ Had he really insisted on it, Dorian could escape. Larus doesn't hold him so tightly that it's impossible to move, evidence given by the way his fingers latch onto him rather than flatten to push. He notes it in that touch, in the way he responds, and all Larus does is press into him a little harder, grounding himself as they stand intertwined and cheek to cheek. It's intimate and devastating all in one breath. ]
If you want it so badly, take it. But I'm still not letting you go.
[ Because he's done it before, backed off and moved in like a piece played across a board, and for it, every time they come together, their connection is volatile and distinct in its anticipation. So, since he's lost his mind once already, Larus turns his head slightly and kisses at the high point of Dorian's cheekbone. ]
[The hold on him is looser now, and it's a returning of the control he lost so quickly in the midst of all this. His emotions and heart rate are still a battering gale inside him, certainly not helped by the vitae's pressing hold, but everything settles somewhat as he's given the ability to search out his composure. Dorian breathes out, shoulders relaxing, some of his usual swaggering confidence settling back into place-- halfway. He's shaken, and that's going to linger.
Rather than bat Larus' hands off him the way he had earlier, if the gesture is allowed without pursuit, Dorian takes them off him more gently. It hits him again how close they are as he does. That gentle pressing of lips against his face. It's a little thing, and yet it feels thousands of times more intimate, more vital, than the first time they'd had sex.]
I'm leaving, [he announces. His tone is one of an enforced unaffectedness that's closer to the way he usually speaks, but it's only somewhat successful.] I'll be back... sometime later.
[He doesn't know when, which is why he falters in the offering of anything definite. But he just needs all of this to settle some before he dives back in again.]
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Curls of a triskelion of Air, carved in white, blossoming red.
He should call Grayson again, see if he can finally get him to pick up during the day. After this, maybe.]
Okay, why?
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It might not be safe. [ But he could be overthinking it. ] I'll give it a few hours.
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More trouble. Some danger. Maybe he’s done something. They’ve already come through it before.]
Fair enough. [He waves a hand airily, audibly exhales.] Stay out then.
I’ll see you whenever. [It’s offered in a neutral tone, but he does hang up on him.]
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He needs to get rid of that more than anything else.
Which seems to be easier than he'd have thought considering where they are, staring at the dark liquid in a bottle he's holding as he takes the elevator up to their shared suite. He's only been gone less than an hour since he'd spoken to Dorian, and more than wanting to protect him from his own mistakes, he just wants to see him. Spend some time with him.
Larus pushes the door open and steps inside, keeping his gaze from straying towards that room. He doesn't want to think about that either. ]
I decided it didn't make sense to stay out, [ he offers aloud, addressing Dorian without lingering to speak to him. He needs to change his clothes first because, once again, he's covered in bloodstains. ]
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His submissive can't help himself, it seems, not that Dorian can blame him entirely. There are temptations in this place, both violent and sexual. He's seen that firsthand now in a visceral way. What he told Larus' changed self the moment that creature entered this same suite is what Dorian truly believes-- that one day, Larus will give into his nature in a permanent sense, the way everyone, humans among them, eventually does. Vampires just have that much stronger of an impetus pushing them to it.
His caring for the other man's feelings, a rare thing for him, is what makes him try to do anything to not be another potential source of darkness pushing Larus further down that path otherwise. He could do it, easily he's sure, because the darkness is something the rotten corners of his soul craves, too. Those jagged pieces of flint cracking against each other never do anything but spark.
But there's a twitchiness, a tense and petulant frustration, about Dorian's presence now that has nothing to do with his roommate. He's not used to being ignored, discarded, but his daytime calls and texting aren't getting any traction with the sorcerer unnaturally stuck at the forefront of his mind. The timing is bad, and Larus is likely to bear the brunt of it--
--when he comes back, anyway.]
Subtle. [Dorian's in a bad mood, and can't help himself from needling the only person within his vicinity.] Just throw them away [he says of Larus' clothes, whether he's come back in with them or not] the laundry service isn't going to be able to do a thing with them.
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Rather than skirt the topic, he crosses the distance between them. ]
Say whatever it is you mean to say to me. That wasn't my fault.
[ His clothes, he means. It's complicated, and if asked, he'll try to avoid talking too intimately about it because he's still in desperate need of processing the last several hours. Larus had thought – somewhat foolishly now, he realizes – that being elsewhere and with someone he actually liked would have balanced the tumultuous storm brewing under the surface of his thoughts. But it's clearly an oversight, gently folding his arms over his chest to look Dorian over more closely for the first time since he'd stepped through the door.
Anything else on the tip of his tongue dissolves, his expression a bit more open. ] Did something happen?
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But really, [He waves a hand, and then holds it out to indicate the length of Larus' form.] seeing you covered head to foot in blood again, I was just thinking that we're well-matched after all.
Here you are, the primal darkness, finding your way into violence again and again, and here I am, the person who craves such things.
[Dorian makes a darkly amused sound, as if appraising a private, unspoken joke.]
It's perfect, [he decides.] A dance with death waiting to happen.
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There has to be more, though, but Larus isn't going to dwell on it to the point of obsession. He simply closes the space between them and takes Dorian's hand, focusing almost too quickly on the steady thrum of his pulse. What he'd wanted, what he shouldn't think about. ]
I don't know what that means. [ Because he could interpret it a thousand different ways and not because he doesn't understand it. ] But if that's all you have to say to me, I can make this easy for you. I didn't have to come back.
[ And he might just leave since this had obviously been a poor idea, though he doesn't let go of him. ]
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Then leave. [Dorian flicks his hand away from where it’s being held, and into the air.] As if I care where you go and what you do with your time.
[Except that he usually does care. Does feel an overarching sense of protectiveness for the connection forged here, and the man standing in front of him.]
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I'm finding it difficult to believe you, Dorian. [ Does someone who doesn't care draw the line at instigating more violence after he'd nearly died? He pulls Dorian towards him. ] We agreed on the truth between us.
[ And this doesn't feel like that. ]
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[If Larus isn’t going to let him go, he’s going to reach out and grab him instead, to try and hold onto control. Dorian’s jaw pulls tighter as he grips hard, awkwardly at the back of Larus’ jaw, his thumb pushing sharply into a cheekbone, enforcing some space.]
Let go, [he warns, deep voice grinding down into a growl.]
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[ There's a slight harshness to his tone, though it's brushed aside as soon as Dorian digs into his face. Larus doesn't flinch, pulling Dorian's hand away with his free one so that he's now got him by both wrists. His thoughts scatter, a momentary disconnect, but he forces it away to bring Dorian's face into focus.
He looks him right in the eyes. ] I'm not going to do that.
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So yes, that is what this is about now. This is about them, and his own feelings.
Something like what's been happening in slow (and sometimes much too fast) motion between them isn't real, can't be, and he doesn't want it. He's done with emotions approaching connection, real connection, and affection ever since having his world ripped from him, the Earth from beneath his feet, for a second time. Everything good, everything alive in any sense, gets taken away. He knew that before, has known it for over a century, but now it's carved in stone. There's no reason there should be any upset to that balance, regardless of where he is or who he's with. Dorian’s eyes narrow.]
You're just so unaffected. [It curls out his mouth in an unpleasant and sardonic purr. The unwillingness to rise to the emotional bait he's dropping into the water only annoys Dorian more.
He’s not a fighter, more drawn to using the blades of his wit and cunning to do damage. There isn't much of that available to him now, with the vitae pushing through his veins.]
Why should I care, then? Tell me that, when it's clear that you don't. [Dorian pulls back on one of the grips on his wrist, gritting his teeth.] Or perhaps it's like I said, and you can't help but throw yourself at the scent of blood. [The next words he winds up deliberately, seeking to find some chink in that familiar stoicism, to cause pain, if he can.] You're just a monster, and little else can be expected from you.
[He'll come back to the suite every so often to wash the crimson out of his clothes, or call Dorian to come scrape him off the ground. Things will happen where he'll end up needing to save Larus from himself. He would, he will, and part of him is bitterly angry about that right now.
It's Larus' fault, of course, that he cares.]
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Perhaps those words are the thoughts of someone who hides them well enough for different reasons, Larus' face scrunching slightly as it just pours out of Dorian with the same eloquence as always. But the things he says ache with familiarity, things he's told himself and has been told by others. By Sun, mostly, which is hilariously ironic given the nature of his maker. Still, he's heard it before, and as always, his only weapon to fight back with is his honesty. He doesn't have much else when it comes to something like this; of anyone in this city, it's Dorian he wants to hurt the least. ]
I care, [ he admits lightly, parsing through it even as he holds him there with Dorian's hands between them. ] Why do you think I go out there? I don't enjoy it. There's no peace; at least the Dusk made more sense that way.
[ But Duplicity is sprawling, and its control is everywhere. He has a literal reminder of it tattooed permanently on his skin, and he'd given some of his own autonomy to the man now questioning his, what? Morals? His feelings? They've only ever briefly touched on the subject of something like that, and even with the sex that had followed...
Larus frowns, his expression twisting. ]
You're careless when it comes to other people, Dorian, and I'm trying to protect you from that. [ He only knows of Grayson Frost and not even to the full extent. It's hard to say what other dealings he's made without mentioning them. ] So call me whatever it is you want. I know I'm a monster. That's something I never asked for, but it doesn't mean I'm heartless.
[ Larus leans closer, close enough to feel Dorian's breath on his skin. ]
If I didn't care [ he swallows around the words about you and pushes on, ] I wouldn't be here.
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He's falling.
Time and time again, isn't it? After Lucifer, wearing Toby's face, held him suspended by his neck over the cliff side at Whitby, he would have sworn this would never happen again. Heart of stone, but a sensitive soul. Other people just keep slipping into his endless, immortal life and catching him by surprise. A shiver runs up his spine as his gaze crawls all over the face of the man standing before him. Comes to fix on deep blue, soulful eyes.
In a last bid of resistance to his own feelings, his own thoughts, Dorian pushes against the hold on one of his wrists, reaching out to wrap fingers around Larus' throat-- partially over the mark that ties them together. He squeezes, but it's a warning and bid to hold him off, rather than an attempt to hurt. (Not this again. Anything but this.)]
You'd be better off if you were heartless. [It would make things so much easier between them. For himself. He'd hardly care if Larus truly was something more like him-- just some other monster. Driven by the darkness and unrepentant of the leaving of it in his wake.
Instead, he's compelled.]
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But no. He'd asked for this. Unknowingly, he'd let it happen.
With one of his hands now free, Larus shifts to rest it against the one at his neck. A light hold, nothing more. With nothing but his own strength, Dorian couldn't hurt him like this, and it's really not what he's terrified of anyhow, returning that look with something akin to affection. Heartbreak, if he's being honest, but when has Larus ever truly been honest with himself? ]
Then I'd be just like everyone else. [ Like every other monster out there. ] I can't do that – and I won't. Even if it hurts.
[ Because such pain tells him that he isn't entirely lost to it all. ]
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Rejecting his feelings is easier, and the reflexive choice. Dorian jumps at it. For a moment he tightens his grip, digging fingers into soft, chill flesh. And then, overwhelmed with feeling and the need to get away and think, he simply lets go completely.]
Then you're doing to die. [Something he thought one of the first times they met, during a conversation much like this. But that was back when he didn't feel so wholly involved with Larus, and what's happening between them.] And soon.
[He doesn't want it. God help him, he doesn't.]
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His expression evens out along with his voice. ]
I know. [ One way or another, he will. It's just going to be his choice. ] But I died once already. It's not death that I'm afraid of.
[ Perhaps that's why he shakes it off so easily, how he can pretend it never happened when he's come so close to that edge so many times before. This place is no different when it comes to that; the only distinction are the people in his life, the ones that slip through and tangle themselves around his heart. ]
There are things I need to do, and people I want to see. The pain just makes existing bearable enough to see that through.
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And I suppose they hardly matter? The people you’ve impacted and are going to leave behind? [Distantly, the words coming out of his mouth are funny. Ridiculous. Him? Going after someone for being selfish? The irony is profound, and something that will occur to him later once he’s escaped from all of this. He’ll laugh. For now he’s just angry.]
I have a perfect memory, [he spits out. It's eidetic, and unflinchingly so. He remembers the faces of every person he’s ever interacted with, discarded, adored. Larus will be a streak on his portrait as much as he'll remain permanently fixed in his memory.] Normal people will pass without notice to the void and your traces will go with them, but I’d remember. [His expression pulls into a sharp look. If Larus has the temerity to inflict feelings upon him, he’s going to lash out at him with them without hesitation.] Eternally.
[He pulls harder at the hold on him.]
Let go.
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No, that's not quite it. But he understands.
It's enough to fight him, to steady his grip and draw back so that Dorian's forced to come closer into Larus' embrace. He settles a hand at his side and then around him, effectively trapping Dorian there until he decides to release him. He doesn't think he will, not until they've reached some sort of agreement. ]
There's no one outside this room that matters to me, [ he corrects slowly, pointedly. ] And I never said I wanted to die. Not here. Not where it matters.
[ Back home is different because... it just is. He'll destroy Sun, even if it means destroying himself, and it's not like he'll have anyone to return to if he somehow managed to survive it. Casimir is a martyr, and Egil, at least, would have Jericho. He wouldn't be alone, and that's all he can ask for in that world of his. This one is something entirely separate, releasing Dorian's wrist because he knows he can't escape the hold he has on him and using that hand to turn his face towards him. ]
I'm not letting go until you give me a reason to. [ And he doesn't just mean physically. ]
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No holds barred, unavoidable. These things just happen to him when he's around people for long enough. Someone compelling comes along and finds him. But that someone is rarely a person as immortal as he is.
The words Larus has for him do mollify him though. So he's saying he's not completely, uncaringly reckless? That there is some care for the notion that he doesn't want him to die? His emotions are heightened and he's suspicious of what he's hearing, but it does help. Dorian sinks down from his hackles, even as his expression stays pulled into a tight frown.
The kind of confirmation he's getting now comes with its own attendant emotions, though, and they're too much. Larus feels something for him, too. He can't just lean into that and the embrace around him right now, even if he wants to. There's control and composure he needs to scrape back for himself. Feelings for the man wrapped around him that he needs to get a handle on.]
How about this, then? I want you to [Obviously.] and you care about my wants. [If that's what he's hearing. It sounds like it.] You don't have any right to do anything otherwise.
[He just needs to get Larus away from him for a short time so he can breathe.]
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I think you're forgetting where we are. Between the two of us, you have more rights than I do at any moment.
[ But it's not because of those things that he doesn't let go. When they're alone, there's only equality. When they're alone, it's them facing whatever comes at them together, and lately, it hasn't been that at all. Larus with his agenda and Dorian with his, secrets twisted into something that feigns propriety on the surface.
His own selfishness shines brightly enough and long enough that he merely leans in against him, temple to temple. ]
I'm not going to let you run away simply because you want to.
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And what if I need some space? [The words are edged, but there's something else in them, too. A note of desperation. This closeness they've opened up is so new but it's already all-consuming.] To breathe? Will you allow me to have that?
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If you want it so badly, take it. But I'm still not letting you go.
[ Because he's done it before, backed off and moved in like a piece played across a board, and for it, every time they come together, their connection is volatile and distinct in its anticipation. So, since he's lost his mind once already, Larus turns his head slightly and kisses at the high point of Dorian's cheekbone. ]
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Rather than bat Larus' hands off him the way he had earlier, if the gesture is allowed without pursuit, Dorian takes them off him more gently. It hits him again how close they are as he does. That gentle pressing of lips against his face. It's a little thing, and yet it feels thousands of times more intimate, more vital, than the first time they'd had sex.]
I'm leaving, [he announces. His tone is one of an enforced unaffectedness that's closer to the way he usually speaks, but it's only somewhat successful.] I'll be back... sometime later.
[He doesn't know when, which is why he falters in the offering of anything definite. But he just needs all of this to settle some before he dives back in again.]
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5/10 (technically lawl), action
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