shatterverse | (no subject)

Apple! D'aww.

He won't mind if Imri cuddles up beside him and steals a bite, right?

Om nom delicious apple.

'Course not! Imriels are always welcome!

Snug snug kiss -- a silly and slightly apple-flavoured one to his cheek.

"Hey, you," he says in casual greeting, one arm coming to settle at Imri's waist.

"Mmm. Hey."

A bizarre kind of greeting from Imriel's lips, but then, Villiers is a strong influence on him.

Almost invariably for the better.

♥

Almost like how Imriel's odd poetic language has been absorbed in kind, then?

Villiers' head comes to rest lightly on Imriel's shoulder, and he smiles beatifically.

"Still deciding to stay with this rickety old man, then?" he asks, half teasing, half...something else.

For there are people here on this farm. People closer to Imriel's age, and people far prettier than himself. And before he starts driving himself insane with odd anxiety issues, Villiers wants to know where he stands.

~~Or, even better, where they stand. As a couple. Together.~~

His fingertips are tracing delicate pathways through Villiers' hair, an idle caress.

They stop.

"Don't," he says softly. There's not a trace of the blood of Kushiel in his voice-- just an earnest young man, too mature for his own good, not mature enough for his own liking.

"That's not how I see you."

Cupping Villiers' face in his palm, turning it gently towards his own-- without command, without anything but gentle affection: "I like you, Villiers. I--"

How to explain without putting him off? Imri knows the D'Angeline way of viewing matters of love is... not widely followed, here and now. He doesn't want to risk alienating someone of whom he's so fond by choosing the wrong words.

Slightly frustrated glance downwards, to where his free hand seems to have found Villiers' knee.

Eyes close, and Villiers moves into the touch naturally, without thought. While Imriel fears alienation, Villiers fears cradle-robbing -- mostly because when he was Imriel's age, he was off enjoying the prime of his youth, exploring new bounds and finding those odd niches once closed off to his younger self. And right now, Villiers is of the age where he wants to start settling, to nest a little, and a twenty-year-old shouldn't have to even think about that yet.

But then again, Imriel is d'Angeline, and has been through far more than Villiers' own twenty-first century life would allow.

Villiers, however, is also a romantic at heart. There's hope yet -- eyes open again and his hands reach down to cradle Imriel's hand in his own.

He's silent, but not of the brooding, ill-boding type. He's just...thoughtful, perhaps.

Imriel gives Villiers' hand a squeeze, closing his own eyes for a moment.

Eventually, with a hint of a smile: "Would it help if I said I would be disobeying divine command to leave you? The gods of Terre d'Ange tell us to follow where our hearts turn, and mine--" when did he manage to interlace their fingers like so? "--has led me here."

That's quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone's said to Villiers in his entire life. Sugar sweet. Like pure refined sugar without the health hazards.

It has Villiers smiling shyly, at least, looking up with care and only faint traces of hesitation.

"Despite the speed, despite the end of the world, despite my culture fighting that very idea, despite...everything, really," he says softly, eyes carefully averted, "I think my heart's found a home, if you'll take me."

It feels different, with those words hanging in the air. As if to distract himself, fingers tighten minutely as he fidgets subtly. Is he nervous, perhaps?

Perhaps the best answer Imriel can give is his lips brushing Villiers' cheek.

"I will," he says softly. And-- (love as thou wilt)-- embraces him, still with that careful gentleness.

It's a remarkable contrast from nights before, when Villiers has seen Imriel almost incapable of gentleness in the most delightful way possible. And yet, here he is, as soft and kind as any other.

Imriel gets himself pulled close, for that, and lips against his hair. Eyes closed. Simplicity, clean and pleasant.

Mmmm.

Leaning face on shoulder-- smiling into much-mended fabric.

Simplicity is the word, yes.

So's love.

Love. Simple little word, four letters, two vowels, two consonants. Hell of a lot of meaning.

And if Villiers is spoiling the mood just a little by attempting (and largely failing) to disguise a sudden bubble of amusement and giggling, it surely shouldn't be bothered with.

But you want to know, don't you?

Imri is going to raise his head and his eyebrows in that order, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Ye-es?

It's nothing! Really, it's nothing at all!

So claims the man hugging Imriel just a bit tighter and letting an amused smile of sorts show through.

"Well..." he starts, running idle fingers through Imriel's hair, "since we appear to be in a conversationally confessing mood today..."

It's well-meant and teasing, and maybe gets Imriel yet another kiss from a doting aide.

"Go on," Imriel prompts, snugging his arms around Villiers' waist and grinning.

"Weeeeell..."

Fidget. Fidget fidget. Snug kiss fidget.

Internal mental flail.

"Perhaps the sex needs talking over as well?"

Especially since they seem to be heading more and more into the kinky-fun areas of it all.

"...Perhaps."

Truth be told, Imriel kind of likes where they are now. He doesn't have to worry about losing control if he can just back off at the first hint of resistance.

Which means his smile has gone somewhat wry, and he's lowering his eyes to their hands intertwined in Villiers' lap.

Except that Villiers would like that freedom to resist, the ability to let go, to stop schooling his body's every move, and to enjoy it all.

It's just a small thing, though; and really, power exchange of any sort should be talked out anyways, in his opinion.

"Is that hesitation I sense?" he asks, quietly, settling his lips against Imriel's hair now, contemplative.

Because it's really not that big a deal. He's fine with keeping as is -- that care, that burgeoning love, it's more than he could have asked for. But he's also been detecting notes of unease here and there, and it's slightly worrisome.

Deep breath.

"Yes, but there shouldn't be."

How to explain...?

Ah, never mind. It'll come out naturally in the course of the discussion.

He snuggles up to Villiers again, wry smile directed towards their joined hands.

"Speak, then."

It's half a plea-- shouldn't Villiers know how to talk about these things? He has, one would imagine, more experience in the area than a single night with a very beautiful prostitute.

Oh, Villiers has. Not that he'd admit it to anyone, but he has.

That answer, though. It must be that past of his, that damnable past that Imriel doesn't speak about, but only edges carefully around.

It throws off his train of thought, at the very least, and after a moment's recovery, he speaks. Just a short, little thing though, an arm wrapped securely across Imriel's back as he addresses the air.

"In your mysterious land," he says, starting out teasing and dramatic, before settling into a more casual tone, "do they write up contracts, or at least discuss limitations and the like for those of...not quite standard taste?"

"Contracts, aye, in some cases."

Pls to not be reminding him of his foster mother at the moment kthx. Nor of the Shahrizai agreement with Valerian House.

"For the most part, the only essential thing is the establishment of a signale. A-- I believe the English translation is 'safeword'."

Don't ask him how he found that particular bit of vocabulary.

The wonderful thing is, Villiers is totally innocent. He knows not of these strange things that Imriel has had to deal with in his admittedly complicated life.

He meant contract in the totally innocent sense that some of the more formal people use, that's all.

Villiers raises an eyebrow, watching Imriel with interest. For one thing, some things are just universal in sex, and that's amusing. For another?

"And you're hesitant in the establishment of a safeword?" he says, curiosity piqued. "Usually, it seems to make people feel better, not uneasy."

...unless you're a rapist and/or abusive. But thankfully, Imriel is neither.

"Not exactly."

...he's hesitant in talking about it, it would seem.

"I--"

Name of Elua, is he blushing?

"--if we have no signale, I can just-- stop, if you resist."

Yes. Yes, he IS blushing.

"It's... easier, a little."

Because not having to deal with resistance, however false, means not having to remember things he'd rather forget. It makes it more of a game, and less of a reminder.

Awwww...that's actually almost Villiers-like, the blushing.

It'd be sweet, if the words he uttered didn't seem slightly odd. Then again, he had always made sure of consent, even from the very beginning. Maybe it's just his way, even though resistance is half the game?

But nonetheless, he'll nod, skimming over the embarrassment for Imriel's sake.

"Then, if that's how you prefer it," he says, nuzzling hair absently, "we'll just go on as we have."

He pauses, just for a brief moment. An odd little smirk of a smile.

"Although, don't hesitate. I can take more than my frail frame might suggest."

And even though their positions are reversed, with Villiers playing the part his age would suggest, holding Imriel close?

"And trust me, I like what you do."

Imri can't help smiling.

"No. It's not fair of me to limit you-- limit us both-- for the sake of a small convenience."

Which would be why he tilts his head up to give Villiers a kiss.

"Tell me, then, what is your signale?"

And by the tone of that smile, Imriel plain can't believe Villiers has never done this before.

And so Villiers returns that kiss with a smiling kind of nuzzle. Yes, he's done this before, although years ago. But it's not something one forgets.

But he smiles, wryly.

"You'll laugh -- it's apple."

It's totally not because there's an apple core sitting beside him that he'd been nibbling on for the past while.

...we're serious. He likes the word!

"I'm not laughing."

...he's grinning, though.

And kissing.

Definitely also kissing.

And there's a teasing edge to his smile when he pulls back, running his fingers through Villiers' hair.

Villiers smirks, using a hand to muss Imriel's hair.

"And you. I see your amusement," he teases, leaning down for another sweet little kiss.

It's like being a teen again, almost. Crazily adoring and adorable.

BAH HAIR-MUSSING.

Clearly this must be retaliated to! Vigorously!

With KISSES.

♥

♥♥♥

Villiers is kissed. Villiers clings.

Villiers is the happiest little aide in the Entire World.

:D

Kiss kiss kisskisskiss cuddle snuggle hold. ♥

...yeah, 'hold' is most definitely the word.

Really, really definitely the word.

Villiers is being held rather hard, in fact.

It's a good thing he doesn't mind force.

:D?

It's waaaarm.

That's gooood.

And it's an Imriel!

Even better!

...apparently the talking is over?

The talking is over.

Now it is time for cuddles.

And nuzzles.

And... biting?

Yeah, biting.

Okay, so it looks like that conversation had certain-- effects.

All is quite agreeable to a Villiers, especially as his hands edge their way closer to the hem of Imri's shirt.

Inspiration from talk of kink? Is Good. Villiers is indeed quite receptive to the idea.

And it also seems that it's his destiny to have an ever-changing pattern of bruising along his neck, shoulders, and anywhere else Imriel cares to reach. Not that he minds, of course.

Although the general public might.

The general public can go--

All right, no, y'know what?

Imri, grinning like the lovestruck fool he apparently is today, will just grab Villiers by the wrist and head off in the direction of their room (http://broodingbacchus.livejournal.com/1167.html).