Finding Our Way Back, Part II
Aug. 26th, 2018 08:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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last_herald_mageThe second (and maybe last, for a while) part of this Tylendel lives AU fic. I might come back to it later, if I have time, but I will not be monopolizing the posts anymore, seeing as I'm back at work.
I will catch him. I will. Where despair had failed to win him anything but a blinding circle of self-loathing, hope buoyed his spirits in a more dangerous manner. I know I will find him one of these days. The thoughts distracted him during the final parry, and Joshe, the surprisingly talented Seneschal’s Herald, disarmed him with a cry of triumph.
Every morning, before even the birds began to break the morning calm with raucous cheer, Tylendel and Joshe sparred. And I am not a morning person, he thought grumpily, picking up his sword and wishing Joshe a good day.
A week earlier, after a painstaking fortnight of attempting to corner Vanyel in Court, or after Council meetings, or simply anywhere at all, Yfandes had finally divulged to a desperate Gala that Vanyel spent his mornings sparring with Tantras at sunrise. Hence my pathetic ploy to finish as he starts. I thought I could tempt him…
And that was as much of a plan as he had now. Vanyel had proven exceedingly difficult to distract or stop at any time; he seemed to engage in no pleasurable pastimes at all and to be purposefully walking from one place to another at every single moment of the day. That Court mask and stuck-up prig attitude are hearteningly familiar, though. I broke through them once. I can do it again.
The thing was, Vanyel had come to him the first time. Now…I have to actually find a moment when seduction is remotely possible.
Tylendel racked his sword, then stripped off his sweaty shirt and threw it into his pack with more force than necessary. Stretching his arms behind his back, he heard a soft gasp of surprise behind him. Victory!
He spun, well aware of how the sweat glistened on his tanned, muscular torso. Vanyel didn’t drop his eyes quickly enough, and that little slip was enough to solidify Tylendel’s suspicions. He does want me.
“Vanyel?” His surprise didn’t sound too feigned, he hoped.
“Ah, yes, good morning. Tylendel.” Vanyel was still intently studying the ground. “It’s very early,” and narrowed eyes rose to meet his.
“Well, you know, Heraldic schedules!” Tylendel replied with mock good cheer. “Joshe is the only one I could find to spar with me, and he claims he has to leave enough time to get ready for morning council. That must be why you’re here.”
Vanyel didn’t seem convinced. “The only one?”
The coldness in his tone was belied by the way his eyes followed Tylendel, who bent down slowly and rifled through his pack for a clean shirt. He turned to face Vanyel again, pulling it over his head and throwing his pack over his shoulder. “Maybe I enjoy mornings too now,” he replied with an easy smile.
Beat him down with kindness. Gala’s advice sounded futile in his mind, but hey. Nothing else seemed to be working.
“Interesting.” Vanyel's tone was anything but interested as he set his own light armor down on the bench. “You were leaving?”
“I was,” and Tylendel brushed by Vanyel closely, far more so than necessary. A sudden pulse of heat traveled through his Empathic channel, and he bent his head to hide his smile. Looking back briefly as he left, he spied Vanyel, beet-red and undeniably flustered, buckling his armor with shaking hands.
:I think that worked.:
Gala sounded very, very tired of the subject. :It had some effect, at any rate.:
:Progress.:
Her only response was a long sigh.
***************************************************************
Vanyel pulled two wine glasses off of a passing tray and handed one to Tantras.
“To long weeks,” the other Herald toasted, favoring him with a tired smile.
“I’m just glad the delegation from Hardorn was so open to a potential alliance. With the Karsite Border calmed down, we could be looking at our first years of peace.”
“Sorely needed,” Tantras replied, shooting Vanyel a concerned look. “You were worn to nothing when they brought you back the last time. I’m glad you’ve had a few months to recover.”
“I’m hoping Randi will send me out again, actually.” Vanyel drank from his glass and looked out toward the brightly dressed dancers stepping out on the floor. “I don’t like being at Haven too long. I start feeling useless.”
“Vanyel.” Tantras’ voice was incredulous. “You were instrumental in brokering that treaty. I can’t believe you would feel that way.”
Vanyel made a noncommittal sound in response, eyes locked on the doorway. Of course he would be here.
The party was for all of the Court and Circle, but Randale, in a fit of good spirits, had also invited any Herald who had served on the Border. He wanted to thank them, and rightfully so. It’s just…
:You won’t be able to avoid him, you know.: Yfandes’ voice held no hint of rebuke. :He’s covered your Border spots for you when you were on leave. Half the Heralds you worked with, he did too. It’s inevitable.:
:Thanks.: He thought back at her sourly, then regretted it. :I’m sorry.:
She didn’t seem perturbed. :Vanyel, I don’t mean to intrude, but…what do you want to do? It’s obvious what he wants. Avoiding him clearly won’t work.:
:I…: His thought was broken by Tantras’ laughter. “Tempting, Tylendel.”
Oh, my. He’s very close. That clean smell of soap and linens—I remember it so well. “What’s tempting?” His voice sounded stiff even to his ears. “Hello, Herald Tylendel.”
“Oh, nothing.” Tylendel winked at Tantras. “I’ll be off, then. Wouldn’t do to linger.”
Mystified, Vanyel stared after his retreating back, before turning a curious look on Tantras.
“That was odd.”
“Only because you missed the part where he asked me to dance.”
Vanyel spat out his wine. “What?”
“Surely you know Tylendel’s shaych, Van. He’s a hopeless flirt.” Tantras clapped his shoulder. “Unlike you, who’d barely offer me a shared blanket on circuit duty and the reluctant admission that I would normally be to your liking.” He smiled. “Very flattering, that last, from the Ice Mage.”
Vanyel rolled his eyes. “It’s not as if you’re actually shaych. You just don’t like being cold at night.” He paused. “And I did know he was shaych, thank you very much.”
“Do you know each other?”
“We do,” Vanyel replied shortly. “Or we did. A long time ago.”
Tantras knew better than to press. “Well, at any rate, I don’t think he acts on it. I’ve never heard a whiff of a rumor.” He eyed Vanyel speculatively. “You’d make a good match.”
Hands shaking, Vanyel set his wineglass on the table. “I’m sorry. I must still be tired, Tran. Make my excuses?”
I can’t do this. I can’t. I need to leave Haven.
Tantras was looking at him oddly, but Vanyel just shook his head and exited as quickly as he could.
*************************************************************
Tylendel watched Vanyel leave hurriedly, the crowd parting before his striking figure. In his brief time back at Court, he’d realized that Vanyel was known, even beyond that, famous, both for his more-than-pretty face and his disturbing powers. They talk about him. Not just the Court gossips, but the Heralds too. Half of them want to sleep with him and the other half are petrified he’ll level Haven. He can’t like that… all he ever wanted was to hide behind his lute somewhere.
In a way, that knowledge was reassuring; it seemed hardly anyone knew the true Vanyel. Except maybe King Randale and Shavri. He’d been thrown by that; the King’s daughter playing happily with Vanyel, of all people. The least paternal- maternal?- person I could imagine. But apparently there are many, many sides to him I never took the time to understand. It’d been odd, when they’d both looked up at him, how he’d almost thought they even looked alike.
Anyways. That’s neither here nor there. :Should I follow him?: He asked Gala’s advice oftener than usual these days; it seemed his instincts were far from accurate with this even-more-subdued version of Vanyel.
:I think so. If you never chase him, you won’t get anywhere.: When she broke the contact, Tylendel sighed, downed his third drink, and left the party much more discreetly. Easy enough, as few non-Heralds even know my name. The Circle and Randale would rather not everyone make the connection between the Herald-Mage serving the crown and the Trainee Tylendel who almost destroyed a noble household.
It felt pathetic, running around after him like this. It was always him chasing me before. I never thought…but the truth was, pride bedamned, he couldn’t stand it anymore. Being apart from him in this close proximity is a spectacular brand of torture. I’ve never, ever wanted anyone like I want him. I would have thought he’d feel the same.
At least he knew which rooms were Vanyel’s. He realized now just how distant and hidden they were from most of the others. I wonder how many unwanted visitors he used to receive. His feet stuttered as he approached; it was more than likely he’d be turned away at the door. All those years trying to Mindtouch him. I’d have had an easier time establishing contact with the Ice Wall.
Funny how accurate the title Ice Mage was. But I should know better. It has to be an act, just like that one he put on when he came with Savil. I remember… and the broken fragments he could recall of Vanyel’s warm smile, of his nude body bent before him, were barely enough sustenance for his aching heart. It’s been so, so many years.
Drawing in his breath, he lifted his hand to knock. Before he could so much as brush the wood, the door opened, Vanyel standing in the shadows behind it. “Come in, then, Tylendel,” he said quietly, face downturned. That unforgettable voice…
“Thank you,” Tylendel replied, not knowing quite what else to say as he slipped inside. Then, as the silence persisted, “I saw you leaving.”
Vanyel lifted his face to meet Tylendel’s eyes with slightly bloodshot ones. Oh, Havens, he’s been crying. I could always tell. “I don’t really like parties.” He turned and walked to face the large window. “As you know.”
I feel like I’m always speaking to his back. “I remember,” he said quietly. Can I touch him? Dear Gods, I want to touch him. He moved closer, hesitating before laying a hand on his shoulder. Vanyel flinched slightly, but didn’t move away. “Vanyel… I don’t know if I was clear enough when we last spoke.” Steeling himself for inevitable rejection, he went on. “I really, really miss you. So much it’s like a seeping wound tormenting me, burning me… I would give anything, everything to just try again, to just even know you again. Is there any way, any single thing I could do to make that happen?”
Still facing away from him, Vanyel’s breath hitched slightly and his shoulder stiffened under Tylendel’s hand. “I…I do miss you, ‘Lendel.” When he turned, his eyes were damp and his Court mask was slipping. “I just don’t know. We’re not the same people anymore. I…” and he paused, looking down at the ground. “I’m not sure I’d be fit company for anyone, in that way.”
Sensing an opening, however brief, Tylendel moved in closer, swiftly taking Vanyel into his arms. No objections, oh Havens, it feels so damned good to hold him. Vanyel would always be slighter and shorter than him, his delicate build folding easily into Tylendel’s chest. “I can be patient,” he murmured.
Vanyel drew in one shaking breath against Tylendel, then another, and when he looked up, his face was naked in its pain. There was nothing for Tylendel to do except kiss him, gently pressing his lips against his—at least, he’d intended for it to be gentle, but Vanyel gasped quietly, and opened his mouth, and it was—like a fire, oh fuck, I can’t…. his hands slipped down Vanyel’s body, his tongue slipping against his, lifting at his shirt, pulling it up and over his head—
And Vanyel pulled back, abruptly, with a sharp spike of distress passing even his shields-- :Careful, Tylendel.: Gala’s Mindvoice warned, an unexpected and unusual interruption. Careful of what?
Vanyel was staring from him to the discarded shirt, face flushed, eyes wide, and as Tylendel looked at him—oh, fuck. Oh, no, no, no. His sculpted body was a maze of deep, patterned scars, marked from the base of his neck down to his waist and clearly descending further; mixed with them were other scattered relics of burn and stab wounds, but the difference was glaringly obvious. Krebain branded him.
Turning away to the window again, clear fear on his face, Vanyel bent his head silently. Tylendel attempted to stifle his shock at the mirror of the front—he must have been cutting him to pieces every fucking day, holy Havens, I’ve seen plenty, but nothing like that…Vanyel’s skin was wrecked, and unbidden rose the memory of their first night, his smooth and lean teenage body spread perfect on the bed—
This is my fault. This is all my fault…his hands clenched in fists and a sob escaped his throat despite his best efforts at restraint.
“Tylendel—“ Vanyel’s voice sounded as broken as his body. Then, in Mindspeech, :Do you understand now? Why?:
:Oh, no, Van, Vanyel-ashke, I don’t….I can’t…: Nothing seemed to come out right. He tried again, against the avalanche of guilt pressing his heart into his feet. :I can’t imagine why you would think this would change anything. About how I feel.: He paused. :I love you. I do. I always will, no matter what you say or what your body looks like.:
:There’s worse.: Resignation and sadness in his Mindvoice. :And I believe you feel that way, Tylendel, but the wounds aren’t just…physical.:
Oh. Oh, Gods. No… The implications of that finally rang through. That’s what Savil was trying to tell me…he thought back to all those years ago, the shy delight Vanyel had expressed at discovering sex with Tylendel… at realizing all his body could do…the rage threatened to envelop him. Krebain, whatever twisted hell you’re in, I’d like to find you and rip you to shreds a thousand times over.
Vanyel made no moves to pick up his shirt, just stood there facing the window, his shoulders rising and falling slowly with his breath.
:Do you want to try?: Tylendel finally asked. :I know I do.:
“I suppose the kiss wasn’t half bad,” Vanyel replied after a moment, to Tylendel’s utter shock, turning to face him with half of a smile on his face.
I will catch him. I will. Where despair had failed to win him anything but a blinding circle of self-loathing, hope buoyed his spirits in a more dangerous manner. I know I will find him one of these days. The thoughts distracted him during the final parry, and Joshe, the surprisingly talented Seneschal’s Herald, disarmed him with a cry of triumph.
Every morning, before even the birds began to break the morning calm with raucous cheer, Tylendel and Joshe sparred. And I am not a morning person, he thought grumpily, picking up his sword and wishing Joshe a good day.
A week earlier, after a painstaking fortnight of attempting to corner Vanyel in Court, or after Council meetings, or simply anywhere at all, Yfandes had finally divulged to a desperate Gala that Vanyel spent his mornings sparring with Tantras at sunrise. Hence my pathetic ploy to finish as he starts. I thought I could tempt him…
And that was as much of a plan as he had now. Vanyel had proven exceedingly difficult to distract or stop at any time; he seemed to engage in no pleasurable pastimes at all and to be purposefully walking from one place to another at every single moment of the day. That Court mask and stuck-up prig attitude are hearteningly familiar, though. I broke through them once. I can do it again.
The thing was, Vanyel had come to him the first time. Now…I have to actually find a moment when seduction is remotely possible.
Tylendel racked his sword, then stripped off his sweaty shirt and threw it into his pack with more force than necessary. Stretching his arms behind his back, he heard a soft gasp of surprise behind him. Victory!
He spun, well aware of how the sweat glistened on his tanned, muscular torso. Vanyel didn’t drop his eyes quickly enough, and that little slip was enough to solidify Tylendel’s suspicions. He does want me.
“Vanyel?” His surprise didn’t sound too feigned, he hoped.
“Ah, yes, good morning. Tylendel.” Vanyel was still intently studying the ground. “It’s very early,” and narrowed eyes rose to meet his.
“Well, you know, Heraldic schedules!” Tylendel replied with mock good cheer. “Joshe is the only one I could find to spar with me, and he claims he has to leave enough time to get ready for morning council. That must be why you’re here.”
Vanyel didn’t seem convinced. “The only one?”
The coldness in his tone was belied by the way his eyes followed Tylendel, who bent down slowly and rifled through his pack for a clean shirt. He turned to face Vanyel again, pulling it over his head and throwing his pack over his shoulder. “Maybe I enjoy mornings too now,” he replied with an easy smile.
Beat him down with kindness. Gala’s advice sounded futile in his mind, but hey. Nothing else seemed to be working.
“Interesting.” Vanyel's tone was anything but interested as he set his own light armor down on the bench. “You were leaving?”
“I was,” and Tylendel brushed by Vanyel closely, far more so than necessary. A sudden pulse of heat traveled through his Empathic channel, and he bent his head to hide his smile. Looking back briefly as he left, he spied Vanyel, beet-red and undeniably flustered, buckling his armor with shaking hands.
:I think that worked.:
Gala sounded very, very tired of the subject. :It had some effect, at any rate.:
:Progress.:
Her only response was a long sigh.
***************************************************************
Vanyel pulled two wine glasses off of a passing tray and handed one to Tantras.
“To long weeks,” the other Herald toasted, favoring him with a tired smile.
“I’m just glad the delegation from Hardorn was so open to a potential alliance. With the Karsite Border calmed down, we could be looking at our first years of peace.”
“Sorely needed,” Tantras replied, shooting Vanyel a concerned look. “You were worn to nothing when they brought you back the last time. I’m glad you’ve had a few months to recover.”
“I’m hoping Randi will send me out again, actually.” Vanyel drank from his glass and looked out toward the brightly dressed dancers stepping out on the floor. “I don’t like being at Haven too long. I start feeling useless.”
“Vanyel.” Tantras’ voice was incredulous. “You were instrumental in brokering that treaty. I can’t believe you would feel that way.”
Vanyel made a noncommittal sound in response, eyes locked on the doorway. Of course he would be here.
The party was for all of the Court and Circle, but Randale, in a fit of good spirits, had also invited any Herald who had served on the Border. He wanted to thank them, and rightfully so. It’s just…
:You won’t be able to avoid him, you know.: Yfandes’ voice held no hint of rebuke. :He’s covered your Border spots for you when you were on leave. Half the Heralds you worked with, he did too. It’s inevitable.:
:Thanks.: He thought back at her sourly, then regretted it. :I’m sorry.:
She didn’t seem perturbed. :Vanyel, I don’t mean to intrude, but…what do you want to do? It’s obvious what he wants. Avoiding him clearly won’t work.:
:I…: His thought was broken by Tantras’ laughter. “Tempting, Tylendel.”
Oh, my. He’s very close. That clean smell of soap and linens—I remember it so well. “What’s tempting?” His voice sounded stiff even to his ears. “Hello, Herald Tylendel.”
“Oh, nothing.” Tylendel winked at Tantras. “I’ll be off, then. Wouldn’t do to linger.”
Mystified, Vanyel stared after his retreating back, before turning a curious look on Tantras.
“That was odd.”
“Only because you missed the part where he asked me to dance.”
Vanyel spat out his wine. “What?”
“Surely you know Tylendel’s shaych, Van. He’s a hopeless flirt.” Tantras clapped his shoulder. “Unlike you, who’d barely offer me a shared blanket on circuit duty and the reluctant admission that I would normally be to your liking.” He smiled. “Very flattering, that last, from the Ice Mage.”
Vanyel rolled his eyes. “It’s not as if you’re actually shaych. You just don’t like being cold at night.” He paused. “And I did know he was shaych, thank you very much.”
“Do you know each other?”
“We do,” Vanyel replied shortly. “Or we did. A long time ago.”
Tantras knew better than to press. “Well, at any rate, I don’t think he acts on it. I’ve never heard a whiff of a rumor.” He eyed Vanyel speculatively. “You’d make a good match.”
Hands shaking, Vanyel set his wineglass on the table. “I’m sorry. I must still be tired, Tran. Make my excuses?”
I can’t do this. I can’t. I need to leave Haven.
Tantras was looking at him oddly, but Vanyel just shook his head and exited as quickly as he could.
*************************************************************
Tylendel watched Vanyel leave hurriedly, the crowd parting before his striking figure. In his brief time back at Court, he’d realized that Vanyel was known, even beyond that, famous, both for his more-than-pretty face and his disturbing powers. They talk about him. Not just the Court gossips, but the Heralds too. Half of them want to sleep with him and the other half are petrified he’ll level Haven. He can’t like that… all he ever wanted was to hide behind his lute somewhere.
In a way, that knowledge was reassuring; it seemed hardly anyone knew the true Vanyel. Except maybe King Randale and Shavri. He’d been thrown by that; the King’s daughter playing happily with Vanyel, of all people. The least paternal- maternal?- person I could imagine. But apparently there are many, many sides to him I never took the time to understand. It’d been odd, when they’d both looked up at him, how he’d almost thought they even looked alike.
Anyways. That’s neither here nor there. :Should I follow him?: He asked Gala’s advice oftener than usual these days; it seemed his instincts were far from accurate with this even-more-subdued version of Vanyel.
:I think so. If you never chase him, you won’t get anywhere.: When she broke the contact, Tylendel sighed, downed his third drink, and left the party much more discreetly. Easy enough, as few non-Heralds even know my name. The Circle and Randale would rather not everyone make the connection between the Herald-Mage serving the crown and the Trainee Tylendel who almost destroyed a noble household.
It felt pathetic, running around after him like this. It was always him chasing me before. I never thought…but the truth was, pride bedamned, he couldn’t stand it anymore. Being apart from him in this close proximity is a spectacular brand of torture. I’ve never, ever wanted anyone like I want him. I would have thought he’d feel the same.
At least he knew which rooms were Vanyel’s. He realized now just how distant and hidden they were from most of the others. I wonder how many unwanted visitors he used to receive. His feet stuttered as he approached; it was more than likely he’d be turned away at the door. All those years trying to Mindtouch him. I’d have had an easier time establishing contact with the Ice Wall.
Funny how accurate the title Ice Mage was. But I should know better. It has to be an act, just like that one he put on when he came with Savil. I remember… and the broken fragments he could recall of Vanyel’s warm smile, of his nude body bent before him, were barely enough sustenance for his aching heart. It’s been so, so many years.
Drawing in his breath, he lifted his hand to knock. Before he could so much as brush the wood, the door opened, Vanyel standing in the shadows behind it. “Come in, then, Tylendel,” he said quietly, face downturned. That unforgettable voice…
“Thank you,” Tylendel replied, not knowing quite what else to say as he slipped inside. Then, as the silence persisted, “I saw you leaving.”
Vanyel lifted his face to meet Tylendel’s eyes with slightly bloodshot ones. Oh, Havens, he’s been crying. I could always tell. “I don’t really like parties.” He turned and walked to face the large window. “As you know.”
I feel like I’m always speaking to his back. “I remember,” he said quietly. Can I touch him? Dear Gods, I want to touch him. He moved closer, hesitating before laying a hand on his shoulder. Vanyel flinched slightly, but didn’t move away. “Vanyel… I don’t know if I was clear enough when we last spoke.” Steeling himself for inevitable rejection, he went on. “I really, really miss you. So much it’s like a seeping wound tormenting me, burning me… I would give anything, everything to just try again, to just even know you again. Is there any way, any single thing I could do to make that happen?”
Still facing away from him, Vanyel’s breath hitched slightly and his shoulder stiffened under Tylendel’s hand. “I…I do miss you, ‘Lendel.” When he turned, his eyes were damp and his Court mask was slipping. “I just don’t know. We’re not the same people anymore. I…” and he paused, looking down at the ground. “I’m not sure I’d be fit company for anyone, in that way.”
Sensing an opening, however brief, Tylendel moved in closer, swiftly taking Vanyel into his arms. No objections, oh Havens, it feels so damned good to hold him. Vanyel would always be slighter and shorter than him, his delicate build folding easily into Tylendel’s chest. “I can be patient,” he murmured.
Vanyel drew in one shaking breath against Tylendel, then another, and when he looked up, his face was naked in its pain. There was nothing for Tylendel to do except kiss him, gently pressing his lips against his—at least, he’d intended for it to be gentle, but Vanyel gasped quietly, and opened his mouth, and it was—like a fire, oh fuck, I can’t…. his hands slipped down Vanyel’s body, his tongue slipping against his, lifting at his shirt, pulling it up and over his head—
And Vanyel pulled back, abruptly, with a sharp spike of distress passing even his shields-- :Careful, Tylendel.: Gala’s Mindvoice warned, an unexpected and unusual interruption. Careful of what?
Vanyel was staring from him to the discarded shirt, face flushed, eyes wide, and as Tylendel looked at him—oh, fuck. Oh, no, no, no. His sculpted body was a maze of deep, patterned scars, marked from the base of his neck down to his waist and clearly descending further; mixed with them were other scattered relics of burn and stab wounds, but the difference was glaringly obvious. Krebain branded him.
Turning away to the window again, clear fear on his face, Vanyel bent his head silently. Tylendel attempted to stifle his shock at the mirror of the front—he must have been cutting him to pieces every fucking day, holy Havens, I’ve seen plenty, but nothing like that…Vanyel’s skin was wrecked, and unbidden rose the memory of their first night, his smooth and lean teenage body spread perfect on the bed—
This is my fault. This is all my fault…his hands clenched in fists and a sob escaped his throat despite his best efforts at restraint.
“Tylendel—“ Vanyel’s voice sounded as broken as his body. Then, in Mindspeech, :Do you understand now? Why?:
:Oh, no, Van, Vanyel-ashke, I don’t….I can’t…: Nothing seemed to come out right. He tried again, against the avalanche of guilt pressing his heart into his feet. :I can’t imagine why you would think this would change anything. About how I feel.: He paused. :I love you. I do. I always will, no matter what you say or what your body looks like.:
:There’s worse.: Resignation and sadness in his Mindvoice. :And I believe you feel that way, Tylendel, but the wounds aren’t just…physical.:
Oh. Oh, Gods. No… The implications of that finally rang through. That’s what Savil was trying to tell me…he thought back to all those years ago, the shy delight Vanyel had expressed at discovering sex with Tylendel… at realizing all his body could do…the rage threatened to envelop him. Krebain, whatever twisted hell you’re in, I’d like to find you and rip you to shreds a thousand times over.
Vanyel made no moves to pick up his shirt, just stood there facing the window, his shoulders rising and falling slowly with his breath.
:Do you want to try?: Tylendel finally asked. :I know I do.:
“I suppose the kiss wasn’t half bad,” Vanyel replied after a moment, to Tylendel’s utter shock, turning to face him with half of a smile on his face.
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Date: 2018-08-28 03:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-08-29 04:18 pm (UTC)