oh my god there was one bed.

[limbical]

[You know how it is. A new location opens up in the City, and then they're off to investigate despite all of the weird shit that's happened in the past. By now, not a lot surprises Daan; not to say he doesn't react to anything, but it's more with exasperation than anything else, and this isn't especially all that different.

The residential district that opened up felt off already. Most of the buildings uniform, some odd loft-like setting inside of them. More like a single room cottage than housing, but it's also the kind of place he wouldn't have minded staying as a kid. Not exactly saying much, but it's a sturdy roof over the head and, presumably, some clean furniture.

The problem is that the door has locked behind them, and there aren't windows, otherwise breaking out would be too easy. Because of fucking course.]

It's about that time that I wish I had any lockpicking skills at all. Then again, I doubt that'd do us much good here...

Anyway. If we go have anything like past patterns to go by, this should be temporary. So we've got that going for us.

[Probably.]

Comments

[immortalpoet]

It's like being in a mouse cage that likes toying with us, huh.

[He doesn't like it. Of COURSE he doesn't like it. He's told people many a time that he's a stubborn fool. To be kept in one place, forced to do things...it goes against everything he stands for.]

[So he paces a little here, frustrated, trying to see if there's any point on these walls he can maybe punch out. He wouldn't even hesitate.]

I wonder what it wants with us.

[limbical]

Eh, you could argue we've been in a cage all this time. This one just got way smaller.

[Slowly, Daan paces around the space, mostly to get a feel for it. Stone floor, so it's a pain in the ass to break into unless you have absurd strength. Stone walls. No windows. Fireplace, so maybe if they get desperate there's that? Unless that's seal off for some reason.]

Not sure. You think other people are locked up like this?

[immortalpoet]

[Stone is a problem. Maybe if he had his full strength, he'd simply make good on his promise to rip a door off and be done with it.]

[Now, it feels a little...helpless. He swivels on his heel at the corner, red eyes flickering a little in their annoyance.]

Possibly. I hope it's not for long. Not like we can survive like this. No food. No water.

[limbical]

I can understand the concern, but honestly whoever is in charge doesn't seem to want us dead. At least not yet. This would be a stupid and inefficient way to kill us.

[Daan hesitates, but then tentatively reaches out for Vergilius' elbow.]

I think the odds are in our favor. For now.

[immortalpoet]

...

[The touch to his elbow makes him still - the restless energy quiets some. He sighs.]

[Good to have a doctor here, he thinks. Good to have Daan.]

You're right. So...what to do? Wait?

[limbical]

Heh. A good question. I guess we pass the time. Be easier if we had drinks, huh?

[everything is easier with alcohol. He'd tolerate this situation way easier with that, too.

Not that minds Vergilius being the one he's trapped with, not at all -- but it does make it also infinitely that much harder to sit on things. screams internally.]

But I doubt they would've kept this place stocked, so chasing the time that way is out. [He pauses, then adds more softly:] Maybe we just sit for now. There's a bed, so we're not completely out of luck.

[immortalpoet]

Much easier. There's the true suffering of this situation.

[There absolutely could be worse people to share this with. Daan is....]

[He tries to find a word mentally, trips over it, backtracks.]

[Tolerable?]

[...Sure. Whatever.]

[He moves to the bed, testing it with a hand, before shifting to sit down on it.]

Then sit we shall. Not half a bad bed, actually. Come. Sit.

[limbical]

Isn't that the way.

[A helpless shrug, but it's probably objectively better they don't drink the night away. Probably.

Welp. Sometimes you're just stuck in a room with your crush and there's only one bed and that definitely isn't agonizing. Daan takes in a breath, easing himself down to settle next to Vergilius before crossing his legs out of habit.]

Still, we could do worse. [Wryly, he adds:]

Maybe we can actually talk about something that isn't depressing, huh?

[immortalpoet]

[There is a tension here he can't put a finger to. They've already been this close before. Held hands, even.]

[But even he feels a little more awkward than usual, what with the man sitting side by side. Perhaps he's simply used to sitting across from him. Here, the position change is...]

[...]

Mm. [Back to the conversation.] Sure. What topic do you recommend, doctor?

[limbical]

[There's a pause as he scratches absently at his leg, mostly to fuss with a loose thread. Unseemly, unseamly. Why didn't he notice it before? He doesn't like being out of sorts, he likes being more orderly, unshaken, but it does get hard in this place. Harder and harder, not unlike right now.

Doctor. He likes it more when Vergilius uses his name. Rather, the name he chooses to give, because multiple choice is aggravating and he had liked it, too, when Elise said Daan.]

Tell me something you're proud of. For a change of pace.

[immortalpoet]

[Something you're proud of.]

[He has half a mind to say "nothing at all". He's failed everyone. What has he wrought, exactly, that he can take pride in?]

[But even he feels like he can't bring himself to say it. His gaze turns to the floor, thoughtful, but its like he can't bear Daan to look at him.]

[Maybe I want to impress him. Somehow.]

...Back then, I...helped children. I was proud of that.

[limbical]

That so.

[There's a pause as he looks at Vergilius, even if their gazes do not meet. For a moment, he considers, then he cracks a faint smile.]

I could see that. You can be imposing, but... you care a lot, too.

[There's a pause, and his smile fades. He doesn't think much about it, but he reaches for Vergilius' cheek, trying to encourage the other man to look at him.]

But you care enough that you still bear a lot of guilt, too. ...Tell me if I'm wrong.

[immortalpoet]

[The touch is so soft as to feel like it's lingering on the skin. He can't help but turn toward it. Like a moth to flame, he's always been drawn to things like that, even as much as he has attempted to deny it.]

[His red gaze fixes on Daan, two eyes to one, and doesn't falter away this time.]

...I've done a lot wrong in my life. Nothing but wrong. [He swallows - it feels heavy in his throat.] So...I do.

[He won't admit he cares, but guilt? He'll admit to that over and over until he chokes on it.]

[limbical]

[Suddenly, powers are working again. Though perhaps too well for people.

There isn't any indication as to the trigger, albeit at this point Daan wouldn't be surprised if it was on purpose from whoever the mastermind is. Maybe a way to make everyone miserable for barely being able to control themselves. Whatever. Either way, it still leaves Daan in a precarious situation, and he can only hope people won't need medical care anytime soon because he can't stop the Sylvian magic he's projecting.]

clinic is closed until further notice do NOT come inside

[It's the only warning he can spare the other residents of this city before he feels consumed.

Loving Whispers doesn't stop it's hot touch, the runes fading in and out around him, prickling under his skin and making him feel too hot and itchy and unbearably turned on. That, along with his regrettable Pheromones ability, is a horrible combination; there's yellowish dust in the air, like something is continually pollinating and drifting.

And he can't get it to stop.

He's locked the door to his apartment and office combination, hoping that's enough to deter anyone worrying about him. He's not in danger of anything other than being miserable and desperately wanting sex.]

[immortalpoet]

[Unfortunately, its not enough to deter a certain someone from checking up on the good doctor.]

[There's a bang on the door. Another one. And then a crack - a muffled curse, as the knocker seems to realize he's used a little too much force, here.]

[Vergilius will not be dissuaded by a door, however, but he's willing to give Daan a chance. That notice is worrying. Is it a Pocketcat situation? Something worse? The man is self-sacrificial and stubborn as hell, and when he needs help is when he's the most likely to shut himself away.]

[Trouble is, Vergilius knows how it feels.]

[His ragged voice carries through the door.]

Daan? Are you there?

[limbical]

[Ugh. He should've expected this. Vergilius is a stubborn asshole, and he definitely threatened to rip off his door before -- something he continually mentions to rib at Vergilius about. But now is probably... the worst time for him to come by, concerned.

Even if there is that nasty part of the curse curling into him that, no, this is the perfect time. Hasn't he wanted Vergilius, after all? Hasn't he wanted to taste him, finally properly fuck him? Daan shudders and curls his lips, angry and frustrated with these sensations as he palms himself.]

Go away.

[Daan tries to sound stern, but all he successfully manages to do is speak with his voice trembling, almost pleading.

It's frankly embarrassing and a part of him debates leaping out the window to escape his humiliation.]

[immortalpoet]

...

[Well, that's not a tone he's ever heard from the man before. He pauses, considering, before he speaks again.]

Daan. Is it the cat again?

[Fucking cat.]

[limbical]

[GOD VERGILIUS PLEASE.

Daan grits his teeth, unable to hide the needy groan that escapes him and he shakes his head furiously. Fuck, fuck--]

No. He's-- not here.

It's-- Sylvian's magic. I can't stop it.

[That's all he can manage to get out.]

[immortalpoet]

[Oh.]

[Well.]

[There's a load of implications. He doesn't know what to do, now, a little flummoxed. That magic...in what sense? Its effect on others? Making him in love? He doesn't know.]

[But it sounds painful, in a sense. He thinks about it for a moment. Should he just leave him like this?]

Want me to knock you out?

[limbical]

Would that even work?

[No, wait-- even if he said yes, that meant dragging Vergilius in here. Which is... probably a bad idea? No, it's a good idea. No, bad. Fuck, this is annoying. He does want Vergilius in here, but he'd kick himself for getting him involved in this mess.

But he wants so badly.]

If you don't leave... I'm dragging you in here.

[It's hard to explain exactly how he's been affected, but would that threat even be enough? But it's about the last thread of his resilience, because it is taking everything to keep himself from opening the door and basically jumping the man.]

[immortalpoet]

[Dragging him in there...?]

[Just how powerful was this magic, even? He's never heard Daan say anything like that. He knows better than this. He should leave well enough alone.]

[He should.]

[He....should.]

[But......it's Daan, right? Daan could never hurt him. Besides, he's a Color. He's not some hapless idiot who can't protect himself.]

It might.

[His hand moves to the doorknob.]

I'm going to come in. Stand away from the door. Or don't. I'm not your babysitter.

[limbical]

[Well.

The last bit of that thread of willpower snaps finally. He shudders and starts to more aggressively stroke himself, everything in him aching. No, this is fine, this is perfect, he wants Vergilius in here.]

Come in, then.

[To his credit, Daan heckin' tried, man.]

[immortalpoet]

[It doesn't take much strength - locked, no lock, he's shoving the door forward - it cracks from the force, and then he's stepping inside just to see what kind of things have been brewing with the poor doctor.]

[The air is...thick.]

[The air feels...........very thick. He doesn't know why he thinks that twice. It's as if he's been suddenly woken up from a dream, his senses bleary. In front of him is...Daan, yes, that's Daan, no hide or hair of the cat. And between his leg he's holding...]

[Well.]

...Daan.

[He moves towards him, raising his hand as if he is planning to launch a fist at him, but a wave of something passes through him. He staggers, his hand finding the other's shoulder. He can't keep his eyes off the thick member grasped so solidly in the man's hand.]

[Fuck.]

What's...in the air...?

[limbical]

[At this point, Daan's hand doesn't stop moving, doesn't stop stroking. His shirt and vest are open, as if trying to find a way to relieve himself of the heat running through his body, but it's hardly accomplished a thing.

A part of him wonders if Vergilius is going to actually try to knock him out, with the way his hand is held up. He'd let him do it, Daan thinks. He'd let him do anything.

But instead, the hand falls to his shoulder. Heavy, warm, solid. He wants more.

With Daan's free hand, he's grabbing for the front of Vergilius' jacket, trying to tug him closer.]

Sylvian spell. Pheromones. Just what it sounds like.

[The doctor makes a frustrated grumble -- why the fuck is this man so tall? He tries to pull him down, trying to get Vergilius down a few inches so he can try to kiss him.]

[immortalpoet]

Pheromones?

[Like what, that of an insect? A plant? Daan has those?]

[The confidence in his own resistance to whatever Daan is dealing with is melting in an instant. If he was in his right mind, this wouldn't even be a question as to getting the man unconscious. But here, even as Daan's hand finds his jacket, he feels a cold sweat break over his skin, heart racing so hard it feels like his ears are thrumming.]

[He wants...this. He wants this. I want this. The logical part of his mind barely can be heard.]

[He's tugged down, and he kisses the man like its the most natural conclusion in the world.]

[As if he belongs here.]

[He needs him, after all.]

Ah- [He's going in for another one, panting a little against the man's lips.]