[ 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.]
[ Larus doesn't say a word to that. He takes it in, letting the hold on him go stagnant before he draws back and away. It's a familiar feeling, opening up parts of himself to have them flayed unrecognizably, and he's... disappointed. A little upset, though it's spiraling through him like a typhoon and entirely out of control. Because he could have told Dorian exactly what had happened to crack him like this, his fingers twitching slightly at his side as if they want to reach up and press against the healed area where he'd been stabbed.
A trigger to all of this and absolutely none of this.
There's not any measuring of it on his face, looking at Dorian with faint displeasure before backtracking emotionally. He shouldn't have come to the suite. All of this could have been avoided, though the confusing part of it rests in the fact it isn't all that likely they'd have realistically skirted it for much longer. Not with how profound it seems. ]
Alright.
[ A breath, a soft ache of agreement, and Larus turns away from him, steady as he moves through the living area with all its signs of Dorian's tastes and into the hall. He takes to the spare room rather than the one they've come to share occasionally, shutting the door as soon as he's inside like a barrier. Dorian's space he wanted to have. ]
[Breathing room. That's what Dorian gets as Larus shuts the door and shuts him out. But right now, he's grateful for the space he's been afforded as his thoughts and emotions are are spinning, tumbling chaotically throughout him. Dorian inhales, lets the breath shakily out, and then after a moment, slowly brushes at his shirt to smooth away the wrinkles from those places where physical contact had left him disheveled. A hand through his hair restores normality there, soothes at the tumult inside, and he feels a little more like himself as his appearance settles back to what it always is.
It's a lie, though. And nothing compared to the aching tug in his chest. The feeling of having his innards laid bare. It's the feeling of a hand inside his chest, fingers wrapped around his heart.
Those fingers are probably cold, he thinks, with a touch of irony.
There's no choice in any of this, of course. There never is. The moment he spoke any of his feelings aloud, told Larus that he'd remember him, his fate was sealed. There is an odd sort of settling feeling in the notion, now that he's alone. His feelings simply are, and the only option left is to do is chase them as far as they'll go. To follow the arrow's trajectory recklessly, blindly, and see where it lands.
But it's a path for him to strike later, as Dorian grabs for his dark greatcoat and swings it over his shoulders.
He leaves a stark silence behind him as he makes his way out the door of the suite.]
[It's 2:30 AM when Dorian finally returns to the tower, tired and comfortably worn out, but invigorated. His only other contact that he feels anything approaching friendship for, Eloise, didn't pick up the phone in his selfish bid to find someone to talk to to distract himself. (It's a good thing, though, because he's only just started building that connection. With the mood he'd been in, it's purely a guess as to the kinds of things he might have said to her.) But Eloise not answering also means that Dorian spent most his time wandering, taking in two drinks at the Gray Room, and letting the early Spring cold seep beneath his skin. It had all given his thoughts time to settle. Allowed him to wonder at the strange and painful serendipity of finding someone new after he'd been so sure that Toby's death had taken away any and every inclination to this kind of connection. It had let him wrap his mind around the entire idea. To settle into the notion that this is happening.
The time away had brought him back to himself. His emotions had finally been able to stop churning, as the portrait unknowingly leached more of Grayson's vitae away and his senses cured the ache in his soul. All of it had allowed him to make up his mind.
So around 2:34 AM, the door to the suite opens with decisive vigor, and then Dorian's striding through. He shrugs his coat uncaringly from his shoulders and discards it onto the table by the door. And then turns to go find Larus. The vampire's helpfully settled on the couch, and Dorian diverts his path on a dime to close the distance between them.
He doesn't spare a single word. Joining Larus on the couch and bending over the other man. He meets his gaze for a flicker of a moment, and then reaches out to wrap an arm around the back of Larus' neck to drag the vampire into a hard, insistent kiss.
And it's a release, utterly and without restraint, a giving in to the feelings he'd resisted earlier, when their lips collide.]
[ He isn't cognizant of the time. Mostly because he can tell the sun isn't up and there's no real desire to travel anywhere else, eventually slipping out of the spare room an hour or so after Dorian leaves to settle on the couch. There's not much for him to do, not many people he wants to spend the effort of time on. So, he browses the network and reads a few of the more interesting pieces of literature out there before eventually growing bored with that.
Dorian's return is oddly specific, picking up his heartbeat as soon as he's on the same floor, and Larus considers going back to the other room. But no. He isn't a coward, so whatever transpires between them this time will be over and done with just as quickly. Except...
There are no words.
He leans in and drags him close, the hard press of his mouth there and sharp. Like a balm to the ache Dorian had left in his chest when he'd asked for space, and it's almost instinct by now to return the kiss, seeking out the heat of his lips and the warmth that comes from him naturally despite the slight coolness of the very early morning weather still clinging to parts of him. Larus kisses him automatically and then gets a hand between them, resting it against Dorian's chest to create enough of a gap that he can look at him. ]
Why? [ There's mostly confusion in the question, trying not to think about how much he still craves to lean into him again. ]
[Dorian indulges in their kiss for as long as it holds, keeping Larus close with the hand curved around the back of his neck. Feeling his senses sing from the feeling of the touch of lips and now familiar chill skin. When they part and a hand comes to rest against his chest to enforce distance, Dorian draws a breath and shifts up closer along the couch.
The question posed slides right off his back.]
You want space now? [The space that conversation creates, more so than the palm pressing against his chest. Nevermind that he's the one surprising Larus. One side of Dorian's lips tugs up, and the look in his eye is interested, engaged. After taking enough time to sit with the idea, he's simply decided, as he often does, to plunge in headlong.] You were keen enough to hold onto me earlier.
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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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A trigger to all of this and absolutely none of this.
There's not any measuring of it on his face, looking at Dorian with faint displeasure before backtracking emotionally. He shouldn't have come to the suite. All of this could have been avoided, though the confusing part of it rests in the fact it isn't all that likely they'd have realistically skirted it for much longer. Not with how profound it seems. ]
Alright.
[ A breath, a soft ache of agreement, and Larus turns away from him, steady as he moves through the living area with all its signs of Dorian's tastes and into the hall. He takes to the spare room rather than the one they've come to share occasionally, shutting the door as soon as he's inside like a barrier. Dorian's space he wanted to have. ]
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It's a lie, though. And nothing compared to the aching tug in his chest. The feeling of having his innards laid bare. It's the feeling of a hand inside his chest, fingers wrapped around his heart.
Those fingers are probably cold, he thinks, with a touch of irony.
There's no choice in any of this, of course. There never is. The moment he spoke any of his feelings aloud, told Larus that he'd remember him, his fate was sealed. There is an odd sort of settling feeling in the notion, now that he's alone. His feelings simply are, and the only option left is to do is chase them as far as they'll go. To follow the arrow's trajectory recklessly, blindly, and see where it lands.
But it's a path for him to strike later, as Dorian grabs for his dark greatcoat and swings it over his shoulders.
He leaves a stark silence behind him as he makes his way out the door of the suite.]
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The time away had brought him back to himself. His emotions had finally been able to stop churning, as the portrait unknowingly leached more of Grayson's vitae away and his senses cured the ache in his soul. All of it had allowed him to make up his mind.
So around 2:34 AM, the door to the suite opens with decisive vigor, and then Dorian's striding through. He shrugs his coat uncaringly from his shoulders and discards it onto the table by the door. And then turns to go find Larus. The vampire's helpfully settled on the couch, and Dorian diverts his path on a dime to close the distance between them.
He doesn't spare a single word. Joining Larus on the couch and bending over the other man. He meets his gaze for a flicker of a moment, and then reaches out to wrap an arm around the back of Larus' neck to drag the vampire into a hard, insistent kiss.
And it's a release, utterly and without restraint, a giving in to the feelings he'd resisted earlier, when their lips collide.]
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Dorian's return is oddly specific, picking up his heartbeat as soon as he's on the same floor, and Larus considers going back to the other room. But no. He isn't a coward, so whatever transpires between them this time will be over and done with just as quickly. Except...
There are no words.
He leans in and drags him close, the hard press of his mouth there and sharp. Like a balm to the ache Dorian had left in his chest when he'd asked for space, and it's almost instinct by now to return the kiss, seeking out the heat of his lips and the warmth that comes from him naturally despite the slight coolness of the very early morning weather still clinging to parts of him. Larus kisses him automatically and then gets a hand between them, resting it against Dorian's chest to create enough of a gap that he can look at him. ]
Why? [ There's mostly confusion in the question, trying not to think about how much he still craves to lean into him again. ]
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The question posed slides right off his back.]
You want space now? [The space that conversation creates, more so than the palm pressing against his chest. Nevermind that he's the one surprising Larus. One side of Dorian's lips tugs up, and the look in his eye is interested, engaged. After taking enough time to sit with the idea, he's simply decided, as he often does, to plunge in headlong.] You were keen enough to hold onto me earlier.
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