last_herald_mage | Finding Our Way Back, Part III (Reply)

Um... sorry? This part is unhappy and unfinished and not very Christmas-y at all. I tried to bring Van and Tylendel back together, I really did, but maybe it's just the madness of my own life lately bleeding into this awful portion. I'm curious as to whether it even makes sense, frankly-- I have an idea of where to go from here.

Vanyel was confused. It was an unusual state for him, and one he’d worked very, very hard not to find himself in these past years, as his mind did not respond well to the unexpected. Half of him felt enflamed, so warm, willing to surrender all to Tylendel’s kiss, heedless of consequence. The other half remembered.

And Tylendel’s lifting up of his shirt brought both halves of him into agreement, the fear running clear and constant over any impulsive emotion. He’ll see…

But it was too late; he’d already seen, and the look on his face was anything but reassuring. He didn’t dare let down his shields, feel the inevitable pity that he’d carefully avoided by always remaining fully clothed—that first time I saw my body reflected back at me, I wept. He’d been at the Vale months before he even dared to try, and when Moondance had urged him to face and accept it, he’d been entirely incapable. I looked like a broken man.

Somehow he’d managed Mindspeech this time, though, and Tylendel was responding—telling him what?—he loves me?—the refrain was familiar, yet seemed more genuine, now, with Tylendel seeing the reality of what he’d become, his eyes no longer lost in adolescent fantasies. But he doesn’t really understand. His next words, he barely dared speak, sure he would flee in disgust—

And the warm balm of Moondance’s Healing banished that hopeless loop of thought with a reassuring mantra—it wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t your fault—which, coupled with Tylendel’s flickering emotions that included no disgust or pity at all, but rather overwhelming anger and guilt, both of which he could handle, led him to feel that maybe, just maybe, he could—

Because his body was still warm, his deep breaths calming him, and the closeness of ‘Lendel was unbearable to send away.

“I suppose the kiss wasn’t half bad,” he murmured in response to Tylendel, shocked by his own calm, his own willingness. Tylendel didn’t hesitate a moment longer, wrapping him in his arms again, undaunted by the weary wreck of his body; no, rather, he traced the intersections of scars with wondering fingers as their lips met, and he tingled from head to toe—I haven’t let anyone touch me that way; I always kept my shirt on, even with Shavri—but it felt right, somehow; more than right, it was washing his reason away with his tension.

He let his shields slip further down, hesitating at the block-- :Vanyel.: Tylendel’s Mindvoice was rich with want, with the same mad desire he was beginning to feel--:I don’t want to take this further than you want—to pressure you--:

It was enough to convince him into lowering the block between them, and his Sense of the other rushed in, that heady aura that warmed and soothed his so thoroughly. He could Feel how very badly Tylendel wanted him, still, how undeterred his attraction was, and he let his own hands drift further downward, feeling the firm muscle under the back of Tylendel’s breeches, moving to undo them and possibly pull them off—gods, am I really?

Tylendel was moaning now, and his echoed feelings had gone from hot want to desperation, his own hands roaming more freely, tracing the sides of Vanyel’s body; he paused to pull off his own shirt, and Vanyel tried not to despair at the sharp contrast of his barely-marred golden skin. Tylendel seemed to sense it, and murmured, “Shh, no, you’re perfect, Van.”

But I’m not, and his body’s strong reaction warred with the sudden hesitancy in his mind, the fear returning abruptly as ‘Lendel’s hands wandered into his own breeches. He pulled back again, breathing heavily, and Tylendel stilled.

“Too much?”

Vanyel nodded, not trusting himself to speak around the lump in his throat. I’m such a fool. I want him, but I can’t even stand to touch him—and he hated feeling this way. He hated being reminded of all of his failings, not when he’d worked so hard to become more than them. This is why I didn’t want to—

And the reflected concern in Tylendel’s face was too much for him; he’d fallen so easily back into his sixteen-year-old role of playing the besotted, submissive innocent—I don’t want him to be in charge of my feelings!

It wasn’t logical, the way his want was turning slowly to rage; too late, he slammed the block back up, and it was clear Tylendel knew why, his hands raising slowly, “Van…I didn’t mean to push you. I truly didn’t—”

He doesn’t understand. That was the problem. Tylendel was who he was; he would always try to take the lead, and some part of Vanyel wanted him to—but another part rebelled violently and angrily against ever giving himself up to this man who had betrayed him.

“I think you should leave,” he managed quietly.

Hurt flitting across his face, Tylendel nodded slowly, picking up his discarded shirt. “I’m sorry.”

Careful control in his voice, Vanyel replied, “I can’t, Tylendel. You should move on—you should find someone else. I’d rather you didn’t…wait for me. I don’t want that guilt.” He was almost surprised at how little the thought bothered him. I’d rather be cold and alone than… unmoored…

Tylendel’s face fell further; he lifted a shaking hand in farewell, and let himself out of the room, leaving Vanyel alone with the pain and the silence. It was comfortingly familiar.