[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.
[ They're close, getting closer, and there's a familiar look on Dorian's face that he recognizes, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt in an effort to make some sense of whatever this is supposed to be. What had he gotten into when he'd left? Larus tries to glean what he can from Dorian's expression before settling a little beneath the weight of his body.
At least he's in a better mood now. ]
It isn't space I'm asking for. [ Clearly. ] I just want to know what it is you're thinking.
[ That's honest enough, and he'd like some clarity. Still, even as he says it, Larus gently tugs at Dorian to draw him forward, loosening his grip enough to slide his palm down his side and feel him. The warmth he's come to associate with him is wanted more than he can admit, especially after hours of being alone with his own thoughts and what might come of this thing they'd started together. ]
[Dorian considers ignoring that and continuing to come onto Larus (it's easier than trying to dig into what happened earlier), perhaps pushing him down into the seat cushions to press his mouth against the soft column of his throat. But it's an innocent enough question. It isn't as if he's asking him to answer for any of his behavior earlier. It's being let off easy-- although in the other man's case, it's always a possibility that he simply wasn't hurt enough by it to care, or that he just shrugged it off entirely. It's always difficult to tell with Larus.
Dorian sits up, giving himself just enough room to think, and pushes a handful of curls out of his face with the butt of a palm. A short exhale of breath, of the coiled-up energy inside, helps him redirect his thoughts.]
That I'm glad you're motivated to not to throw yourself into the void sooner than your time.
[A hand comes out to trail fingers down Larus' chest. It's an affectionate, if amorously-tinged, touch.]
I think there's something here between us. Something more than just the whole contracted partners arrangement. [He knows what it is on his side, but he'll be damned before he comes out with it so soon. It'd be too much all at once.] All I did while I was out is decide that I wanted to seize it while it's still there-- while you're still here.
[ With that lull between Larus' question and Dorian's response, he watches him. Some of the ways he moves reminds him of someone so young at times, sweet and innocent, and it certainly doesn't help that Dorian has an attractively youthful face. Not that Larus had been particularly moved by it at first; he'd been intrigued by the words, his actions. But now that they've spent more and more time together, it's grown on him. He's beautiful in ways that have nothing to do with his outward appearance, and even in the black stains that streak through him, the mystery and the moods, he's stunning.
It's that thought that catches him before Larus finally decides to digest what he says.
Something between them? Of course there is. As if he would ever give it a name, but the things he's said and what he's done for him, even if Dorian isn't entirely aware of it, says that to be true. He likes him, but there's more to it than that. Even if it's a mess, one Larus will struggle with because he doesn't want to be with Dorian and think of Casimir. Slowly, he unwinds it all and compartmentalizes those things, letting his fingers curl gently around the wrist of the hand at his chest. Just to hold on. ]
It's why I wanted to see you earlier, [ he admits slowly, having desired the closeness they've come to have between each other. ] Because something is there. Is this how you want it to be?
[ He means seizing it, making it theirs, but for once, Larus isn't even entirely sure what he means. ]
[Larus is always pushing him for honesty, and sometimes before he's willing or able to give it. Always pressing him to give up the enchantment, mystery, and artifice, and in ways the vampire may not even be aware of. It's as if the man doesn't have a concept of the idea that life imitates art, or that the illusions people maintain are part of what makes them worth any attention at all-- for the pleasure of witnessing their attempts at creation through living, or in the taking of all of that apart to find the raw and contradictory truths lying beneath. But Larus is blunt, always, and alive in a way that grates against the numbness in Dorian's heart.
In its own way, for that unwillingness to abide the mystery for long, this thing that's happening between them is something new. Something he might need. He doesn't know yet, but he's made up his mind to pursue and see what comes of it.
That sense makes Larus' question an easy one to answer. After all, he considered this while wandering the city. He wants what's been happening between them, and also doesn't have anything to lose. Not anymore.
And if it's all poised to get taken away at any moment, doesn't that just make it easier to give in?]
Yes. [The fingers against Larus' chest curl into the fabric there, gathering it up.]
Get entangled with whoever you want, and take as many or as few lovers as suits you. [He doesn't care. He's not the jealous type, and is more than likely prone to running wild in the city himself. To that end, he already has.] But at the end of it all, covered in blood and whatever else, we come back to each other.
[It's not much different than what they've already been doing already, but this sets it in stone. That this is the primary relationship either of them will have.]
It's a ridiculously romantic notion, one that settles heavy in his chest as it becomes more apparent that this is, in fact, something tender. Something to cherish and cultivate. In a place like this, it's probably impossible to stay monogamous, how everything is pushing everyone into situations that are different or uncomfortable, but in some ways, it's also a challenge to be present in what they make of their lives, how they revolve around the ones who are important enough to them to risk everything. Now, more than ever, Dorian is that person, and even if it's temporary, even if it's fleeting and likely to go unremembered, at least he would have had something in his time here.
Larus tilts his face to look at him, wanting the touch and his warmth and whatever else that comes with it. His secrets, his truths, his cruelty and his kindness. Because it will be tested, constantly and without fail. They will suffer more than the strains of a relationship only affected by normalcy, and it's something he's allowing himself to have even as he accepts that it might not be forever. ]
I've always come back to you, Dorian.
[ Soft words, gentle agreement. It's all he thinks that needs to be said right now, pushing up to close the gap he's created and taking a kiss of his own. There's no roughness to it, but he seeks the same sort of depth as Dorian had when he'd thrown himself at him without explanation the moment he'd returned. ]
[He's getting used to looking for meaning in both Larus' words and actions. His words in this case fall on Dorian's ears like "This has already been happening", and the kiss he presses to his lips is additional acknowledgement and acceptance. It's a searching for intimacy, and a deepening of feeling.
It's a depth Dorian's prepared to give, and that he needs to seize for himself, too. Now that they've come to an agreement, all there's left to do is push at this thing building between them and to take it as far as it'll go. To see what shakes out. Dorian parts his lips, leaning in and drawing Larus closer, his fingers slipping into the depths of the vampire's soft, thick hair, and bringing his body to press flush against the other man's.
There's nothing left to hide, and that notion alone is freeing. Thaws a fraction of the ice encasing his heart and soul both, and that had settled there after confirmation that everything left of Toby that could ever return to him again had burned away in a pit of Satanic flame.]
[ Many times, words are overrated. Larus finds that to be true about this moment as it is, grateful for the weight of Dorian against him as he sinks into the cushions beneath.
His mind flits to the first time they'd been in this exact same position. The first time they'd touched, the first time he'd been with someone else that didn't smell like incense or the sun on dark skin, and it's a little freeing to be so focused on Dorian rather than a memory of his life in a place on pause. There's the hint of whatever he'd had to drink, but it's dulled, a rush of breath against the mouth on his as his fingers slowly inch under Dorian's clothes to explore the familiar heat of his body. He'd like him close, even closer than this, and Larus shifts to part his legs, a knee bent to rest against the back of the sofa to accommodate him between his thighs.
Larus breaks the kiss and nudges his forehead against Dorian's. ] I want you.
[ In every way, as much as or as little as Dorian is willing to give. It's yet another confession, confirmation of whatever this is and his feelings. He won't speak of them yet, might not ever really admit to them, but like this, it's just a little easier to expose those thoughts to him. ]
[His tongue is trailing hotly along the edge of the inside of a chill mouth, when he feels Larus spread himself out for him. Open up to him. Yes, this is what he wants, and something that's necessary right now. Dorian accepts the invitation as offered without words, and better fits their hips together as he presses himself into the space that's been made. If he sits up slightly, puts any distance between them, it's only to start the process of getting the long line of buttons trailing down the length of his torso undone.]
Turn over. [It's more suggestion then command, coming off the tail end of the conversation they'd just been having. Dorian pulls at the fabric of his own shirt, shrugging his way out of it, discarding it onto the floor without a second thought.] It'll be easier that way on the couch.
[Because they're certainly not going anywhere if he can help it, and he also wants Larus to give himself up to him in this way. So he can watch the way the muscles of his back flex in the midst of pleasure. So he can grip at his hair and make him arch gorgeously for him when the throes of ecstasy hit.]
[ It's a quiet offering for more, and without weighing on it too heavily, he concedes. But he still does it on his own time, tilting his head just enough to press his mouth against the column of Dorian's throat. His pulse, a promise to keep it safe. And then, no longer hesitating, Larus moves.
He tugs his shirt over his head so that it joins Dorian's on the floor, opening his pants to help in any way that he can before he rolls over. It's the sort of connection he'd wanted the first time, lifting his hips just enough to push the material down to his thighs and bare himself to the other man. In that moment, he desires the warmth of him everywhere—behind him, around him, inside him. Larus feels it down to the marrow, lips pressing together with the anticipation of it as he settles into that all too familiar feeling until he's compelled to say something. ]
Please.
[ Said softly, politely. Not so much begging as it is accepting, though there's a slight edge to it that he knows Dorian would appreciate. He's not in the habit of asking, so he won't, but the amount of trust that he offers him is explicit and visceral, enough that he knows it'll eventually tear him apart all on its own. ]
[Dorian lays a single appreciative touch on the other man's back once he's turned over, and then parts from Larus briefly to shift off the couch and find his feet. He's gone for a moment, and when he returns it's with whatever lubricant he'd been able to find first. Replacing it seems to (of course) be part of the maid service that passes through the different rooms in the tower every so often. Right now, Dorian couldn't care less what kind it is or where it's from, simply that it's there in a moment where they need it.
He joins Larus on the couch again, shifting comfortably onto his knees, one hand working at the fastening of his pants. A grip at Larus' hip pulls him closer, and against the warm, and stiffing ridge of his cock. Dorian exhales softly at the feeling, his fingertips scraping bluntly over the pretty white flesh bared before him. Over everything that's going to be his again, and soon.
It's a stirring thought, one that makes him keen on not wasting much time in this.]
Ask me again. [He didn't get to enjoy hearing it the first time. The patience he has in this moment is limited, though, so it's not a tease. And as he asks, he's spreading a certain amount of lubricant over his fingers to make quick work of preparing the other man.]
[ Being left alone as he partially rests on his hands and knees on the couch feels oddly vulnerable. Exposed, maybe. But it's not as if Larus is shy about any of this, finding it a far more pointless quality in himself than others, and he presses back into the touch when he senses Dorian's return, dropping his head slightly to focus on the feel of his fingers. ]
Dorian –
[ The sound gets stuck in his throat, swallowing around it as Dorian stretches him. It's somewhere in the middle of it that Larus realizes the things he'd said had been a request, fingers curling against the cushion beneath him as he arches into the warmth behind him. ] Please. [ Still soft, not quite begging because he knows they both want this. ]
I can take it, [ he says after another few seconds, edging his knees apart to give them both more room. ] Just do it.
[ Because the lack of prep isn't going to hurt him that much, and really, all Larus wants is Dorian so close he can practically taste him, head filled with the ricochet of his heartbeat and relaxed enough beneath him he won't fight it. He isn't sure that he ever will. ]
[Far be it from him to not accommodate that request when it's something they both want and it's being asked for so attractively. Dorian takes a moment to drink in the sight stretched before him with his aesthete's eye, the delicate arching of Larus' back and the curl of his hair splaying over faultless skin, and feels the vision pull straight through him in a wave of desire, all of it amplified by the notion that this is what they'll be falling into those times when they shuck off the city and find each other again.
It's another sure sign that he's falling, plunging headfirst into wrapping himself and his immortal life around this man, and right now he couldn't care to spare a single thought more to that realization.
When Dorian takes his cock in hand and pushes inside Larus, it's in a steady and unrelenting slide that between them has become a form of rough-edged affection. Larus said that he could take it, and after the last time they'd had sex, Dorian knows that he doesn't have to hold back anything with him. It's ideal: He can cut loose and both of them will enjoy every moment of it. Dorian draws a sharp breath as he seats himself fully, the now familiar feeling of tight chill drawing him in pulling all of his attention and instantly igniting the need for more. His fingers bite into Larus' hips as he draws the softness of skin hard against him, needing to bury himself as deeply into the other man as his body will allow.
He doesn't seek out whether Larus is ready for more, knows it's a moot question between them, and simply gives himself over to chasing their pleasure without any warning. His first thrust is hard, bracing, and everything he's been craving from the moment he barged into their suite and dragged Larus to him for a kiss. Dorian pauses only to push his own pants further down his legs to prevent the fabric from dragging against Larus' skin and slowing him, before he starts fucking into his lover with precise abandon, his gaze following the flexing and subtle spasming of the taut musculature of the pretty plane of skin stretched out before him.
Beautiful, of course. But then he's always thought so from the moment they met.]
[ He likes the sound of his voice, he decides, in that moment. His accent, the sincerity of those words carving a place in his heart as he slides into him and settles. It's genuine, then. All of it, every moment they've shared and the ones Larus has yet to count. He can suffer at the hands of this city and whatever it does to him, but as long as he has this tucked safely away, it doesn't matter. He'll survive it, like he always does. It will become their new normal, no longer dancing around some unspoken thing they haven't addressed or given a name too.
It still has no name, but they're closer to it than before. That's enough.
Larus doesn't fight it when Dorian thrusts into him. He relaxes, doesn't make a sound as he pushes so deep that it's almost what he wants—to have him crawl so far inside him there's no ending or beginning to either of them. To share the same heartbeat, to share whatever else remains of himself that could be called human. It's an overwhelming impression that he makes an effort to bury as he leans into the hard rhythm that Dorian sets for them both. Good. He wants to feel it, wants to feel him, and it erases every other thought in his head as he rocks back against him each time they come together.
The pleasure is already sharp, but he doesn't reach down to touch himself, squeezing his eyes shut to center on everything about the man behind him. How he'd give him whatever he wanted, dangerous knowledge in the scheme of it all. But for now, this is all that he has to offer, and Larus urges him into a faster pace, needing nothing else and wanting no one else but him. ]
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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.
no subject
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.]
5/10 (technically lawl), action
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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At least he's in a better mood now. ]
It isn't space I'm asking for. [ Clearly. ] I just want to know what it is you're thinking.
[ That's honest enough, and he'd like some clarity. Still, even as he says it, Larus gently tugs at Dorian to draw him forward, loosening his grip enough to slide his palm down his side and feel him. The warmth he's come to associate with him is wanted more than he can admit, especially after hours of being alone with his own thoughts and what might come of this thing they'd started together. ]
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Dorian sits up, giving himself just enough room to think, and pushes a handful of curls out of his face with the butt of a palm. A short exhale of breath, of the coiled-up energy inside, helps him redirect his thoughts.]
That I'm glad you're motivated to not to throw yourself into the void sooner than your time.
[A hand comes out to trail fingers down Larus' chest. It's an affectionate, if amorously-tinged, touch.]
I think there's something here between us. Something more than just the whole contracted partners arrangement. [He knows what it is on his side, but he'll be damned before he comes out with it so soon. It'd be too much all at once.] All I did while I was out is decide that I wanted to seize it while it's still there-- while you're still here.
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It's that thought that catches him before Larus finally decides to digest what he says.
Something between them? Of course there is. As if he would ever give it a name, but the things he's said and what he's done for him, even if Dorian isn't entirely aware of it, says that to be true. He likes him, but there's more to it than that. Even if it's a mess, one Larus will struggle with because he doesn't want to be with Dorian and think of Casimir. Slowly, he unwinds it all and compartmentalizes those things, letting his fingers curl gently around the wrist of the hand at his chest. Just to hold on. ]
It's why I wanted to see you earlier, [ he admits slowly, having desired the closeness they've come to have between each other. ] Because something is there. Is this how you want it to be?
[ He means seizing it, making it theirs, but for once, Larus isn't even entirely sure what he means. ]
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In its own way, for that unwillingness to abide the mystery for long, this thing that's happening between them is something new. Something he might need. He doesn't know yet, but he's made up his mind to pursue and see what comes of it.
That sense makes Larus' question an easy one to answer. After all, he considered this while wandering the city. He wants what's been happening between them, and also doesn't have anything to lose. Not anymore.
And if it's all poised to get taken away at any moment, doesn't that just make it easier to give in?]
Yes. [The fingers against Larus' chest curl into the fabric there, gathering it up.]
Get entangled with whoever you want, and take as many or as few lovers as suits you. [He doesn't care. He's not the jealous type, and is more than likely prone to running wild in the city himself. To that end, he already has.] But at the end of it all, covered in blood and whatever else, we come back to each other.
[It's not much different than what they've already been doing already, but this sets it in stone. That this is the primary relationship either of them will have.]
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It's a ridiculously romantic notion, one that settles heavy in his chest as it becomes more apparent that this is, in fact, something tender. Something to cherish and cultivate. In a place like this, it's probably impossible to stay monogamous, how everything is pushing everyone into situations that are different or uncomfortable, but in some ways, it's also a challenge to be present in what they make of their lives, how they revolve around the ones who are important enough to them to risk everything. Now, more than ever, Dorian is that person, and even if it's temporary, even if it's fleeting and likely to go unremembered, at least he would have had something in his time here.
Larus tilts his face to look at him, wanting the touch and his warmth and whatever else that comes with it. His secrets, his truths, his cruelty and his kindness. Because it will be tested, constantly and without fail. They will suffer more than the strains of a relationship only affected by normalcy, and it's something he's allowing himself to have even as he accepts that it might not be forever. ]
I've always come back to you, Dorian.
[ Soft words, gentle agreement. It's all he thinks that needs to be said right now, pushing up to close the gap he's created and taking a kiss of his own. There's no roughness to it, but he seeks the same sort of depth as Dorian had when he'd thrown himself at him without explanation the moment he'd returned. ]
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It's a depth Dorian's prepared to give, and that he needs to seize for himself, too. Now that they've come to an agreement, all there's left to do is push at this thing building between them and to take it as far as it'll go. To see what shakes out. Dorian parts his lips, leaning in and drawing Larus closer, his fingers slipping into the depths of the vampire's soft, thick hair, and bringing his body to press flush against the other man's.
There's nothing left to hide, and that notion alone is freeing. Thaws a fraction of the ice encasing his heart and soul both, and that had settled there after confirmation that everything left of Toby that could ever return to him again had burned away in a pit of Satanic flame.]
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His mind flits to the first time they'd been in this exact same position. The first time they'd touched, the first time he'd been with someone else that didn't smell like incense or the sun on dark skin, and it's a little freeing to be so focused on Dorian rather than a memory of his life in a place on pause. There's the hint of whatever he'd had to drink, but it's dulled, a rush of breath against the mouth on his as his fingers slowly inch under Dorian's clothes to explore the familiar heat of his body. He'd like him close, even closer than this, and Larus shifts to part his legs, a knee bent to rest against the back of the sofa to accommodate him between his thighs.
Larus breaks the kiss and nudges his forehead against Dorian's. ] I want you.
[ In every way, as much as or as little as Dorian is willing to give. It's yet another confession, confirmation of whatever this is and his feelings. He won't speak of them yet, might not ever really admit to them, but like this, it's just a little easier to expose those thoughts to him. ]
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Turn over. [It's more suggestion then command, coming off the tail end of the conversation they'd just been having. Dorian pulls at the fabric of his own shirt, shrugging his way out of it, discarding it onto the floor without a second thought.] It'll be easier that way on the couch.
[Because they're certainly not going anywhere if he can help it, and he also wants Larus to give himself up to him in this way. So he can watch the way the muscles of his back flex in the midst of pleasure. So he can grip at his hair and make him arch gorgeously for him when the throes of ecstasy hit.]
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He tugs his shirt over his head so that it joins Dorian's on the floor, opening his pants to help in any way that he can before he rolls over. It's the sort of connection he'd wanted the first time, lifting his hips just enough to push the material down to his thighs and bare himself to the other man. In that moment, he desires the warmth of him everywhere—behind him, around him, inside him. Larus feels it down to the marrow, lips pressing together with the anticipation of it as he settles into that all too familiar feeling until he's compelled to say something. ]
Please.
[ Said softly, politely. Not so much begging as it is accepting, though there's a slight edge to it that he knows Dorian would appreciate. He's not in the habit of asking, so he won't, but the amount of trust that he offers him is explicit and visceral, enough that he knows it'll eventually tear him apart all on its own. ]
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He joins Larus on the couch again, shifting comfortably onto his knees, one hand working at the fastening of his pants. A grip at Larus' hip pulls him closer, and against the warm, and stiffing ridge of his cock. Dorian exhales softly at the feeling, his fingertips scraping bluntly over the pretty white flesh bared before him. Over everything that's going to be his again, and soon.
It's a stirring thought, one that makes him keen on not wasting much time in this.]
Ask me again. [He didn't get to enjoy hearing it the first time. The patience he has in this moment is limited, though, so it's not a tease. And as he asks, he's spreading a certain amount of lubricant over his fingers to make quick work of preparing the other man.]
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Dorian –
[ The sound gets stuck in his throat, swallowing around it as Dorian stretches him. It's somewhere in the middle of it that Larus realizes the things he'd said had been a request, fingers curling against the cushion beneath him as he arches into the warmth behind him. ] Please. [ Still soft, not quite begging because he knows they both want this. ]
I can take it, [ he says after another few seconds, edging his knees apart to give them both more room. ] Just do it.
[ Because the lack of prep isn't going to hurt him that much, and really, all Larus wants is Dorian so close he can practically taste him, head filled with the ricochet of his heartbeat and relaxed enough beneath him he won't fight it. He isn't sure that he ever will. ]
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[Far be it from him to not accommodate that request when it's something they both want and it's being asked for so attractively. Dorian takes a moment to drink in the sight stretched before him with his aesthete's eye, the delicate arching of Larus' back and the curl of his hair splaying over faultless skin, and feels the vision pull straight through him in a wave of desire, all of it amplified by the notion that this is what they'll be falling into those times when they shuck off the city and find each other again.
It's another sure sign that he's falling, plunging headfirst into wrapping himself and his immortal life around this man, and right now he couldn't care to spare a single thought more to that realization.
When Dorian takes his cock in hand and pushes inside Larus, it's in a steady and unrelenting slide that between them has become a form of rough-edged affection. Larus said that he could take it, and after the last time they'd had sex, Dorian knows that he doesn't have to hold back anything with him. It's ideal: He can cut loose and both of them will enjoy every moment of it. Dorian draws a sharp breath as he seats himself fully, the now familiar feeling of tight chill drawing him in pulling all of his attention and instantly igniting the need for more. His fingers bite into Larus' hips as he draws the softness of skin hard against him, needing to bury himself as deeply into the other man as his body will allow.
He doesn't seek out whether Larus is ready for more, knows it's a moot question between them, and simply gives himself over to chasing their pleasure without any warning. His first thrust is hard, bracing, and everything he's been craving from the moment he barged into their suite and dragged Larus to him for a kiss. Dorian pauses only to push his own pants further down his legs to prevent the fabric from dragging against Larus' skin and slowing him, before he starts fucking into his lover with precise abandon, his gaze following the flexing and subtle spasming of the taut musculature of the pretty plane of skin stretched out before him.
Beautiful, of course. But then he's always thought so from the moment they met.]
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It still has no name, but they're closer to it than before. That's enough.
Larus doesn't fight it when Dorian thrusts into him. He relaxes, doesn't make a sound as he pushes so deep that it's almost what he wants—to have him crawl so far inside him there's no ending or beginning to either of them. To share the same heartbeat, to share whatever else remains of himself that could be called human. It's an overwhelming impression that he makes an effort to bury as he leans into the hard rhythm that Dorian sets for them both. Good. He wants to feel it, wants to feel him, and it erases every other thought in his head as he rocks back against him each time they come together.
The pleasure is already sharp, but he doesn't reach down to touch himself, squeezing his eyes shut to center on everything about the man behind him. How he'd give him whatever he wanted, dangerous knowledge in the scheme of it all. But for now, this is all that he has to offer, and Larus urges him into a faster pace, needing nothing else and wanting no one else but him. ]
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