sleepytimejunction | oh my god there was one bed.

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.

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?

[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?

[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.

[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.

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.

[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.]

I'm not gonna sugarcoat anything you've done. And I don't know all of it, but I can imagine. Killing someone's sibling, spouse, or child -- they all had a home, all had lives. And I've got my own guilt I need to answer for.

[This isn't the smartest, and he knows it. It's fine, he's fine being a supportive friend, it's fine and he's still finding new things he likes and admires about Vergilius anyway.

He leans in, pressing his lips to the other man's brow, just enough self-control to not go for the complete plunge.]

That doesn't also undo the good you've done. Call it a bias, but that's what how I think.

...

[He lets out a gasp, despite himself. It's a small little thing, just a little sharp intake of breath.]

[The heaviness in his throat feels like it's been set on fire. He wants to swallow, to dash it down on the metaphorical rocks inside his chest, but it doesn't feel like it wants to go anywhere.]

[He can't speak for a moment.]

...Daan. [His voice is more hoarse now than ever as he finally manages to find words. It hurts. It really does. His hand reaches up to grasp over the other's wrist, but even as rough as his hand is, the grip is light as a feather.] I'm not good at all. You shouldn't...say something like that.

[There it is. Not "doctor". Just "Daan". It settles into his chest, a pleasant weight, and he presses his forehead against Vergilius'.]

You have a lot on your shoulders. But I don't think it's as simple as calling yourself good or bad. Though I'm sure just me saying that isn't gonna change your mind anytime soon, but... I mean it.

[He knows the feeling. Despite doing what you have to survive, despite the odds not really in your favorite, it's easy to blame yourself.

It's why Daan had been shocked anyone would do anything to help him.]

Are you gonna hate it if I kiss you? [This is probably not the most romantic moment in the world. Though he feels desperate to show how much he cares for someone who hates himself so much, he'd never forgive himself for doing something they'd both regret.]

[Of course this won't change anything. Daan can't erase the sea of blood that streams from his hands. he can't erase his sins. He can't return those parents to those orphans. This moment is just a moment. A dot, perhaps.]

[It feels like a moment that has always been hanging over his head. A perpetual guillotine. Perhaps he already knew it was there when he went to meet that cat in the garden. Perhaps he already was aware of it the day they met, and he took a sip of a drink made for him.]

[He's always been doomed, so to speak.]

[He doesn't want Daan to be the same way. He can't pull him down into his well of karma. He must survive, live, be happy.]

[But even with all these reasons to deny, the way the man asks that question makes him stare for a moment. Say yes. Just say yes. Pull away. Let him be. You need to be alone. Say yes.]

[How weak he is. He finds that he can't. Vergilius shifts his head, considering, before his lips find the other's, gentle. It's barely a kiss. It's like a light touch, hesitant.]

...No. I don't think I would. [...] Are you going to hate it if I don't?

[It's wild to him how much contact can fuck with his head. His childhood had been too full of it at the hands of Sylvian cultists, and then forcing himself to survive the only way he knew how. On the flip side, Elise liked her personal space. Contact would be initiated by her, and it felt strangely too rare. The manor felt cold in more ways than one, and slowly he's piecing together that, maybe, his married life hadn't been so divine.

That's the reasoning he has when he nearly shudders at the lightest touching against his lips. Vergilius is so careful and restrained, but he's charmed by it.]

Nah. Not at all.

[He's cautious, as if he could somehow scare off the other man.

Daan leans in, just adding a bit more pressure to the kiss. More than Vergilius provided, but still soft as he can be.]

[It feels like eternity since he last kissed someone. It was probably a meaningless thing at the time. A physical action to go through the motions. The body needed an outlet. His emotions were caged.]

[But here, with emotion beating wildly in his chest, a simple kiss feels like he's being held and immolated and torn apart and put back together again.]

[Warmth like this has always been his downfall.]

[Vergilius returns the kiss - the way he adds more pressure on his own end has an element of caution, like he can't trust himself. Like he's a bull in a china shop, and something is going to break eventually.]

[But he can't pull away, either.]

[His hand reaches up as he continues, resting against the side of the man's neck. If this be a moment, let it last for as long as it can, before he ruins it all.]

[It'd been forever since he's last properly kissed. He'd spent months in the battlefield, away from his wife. Not that Vergilius kisses anything like her; Elise was firm in her attentions, certain of what she wanted when she wanted. Beautifully intimidating in a lot of ways.

Vergilius, despite coming off as so detached, treats Daan like he's glass. He can't think of anyone who ever treated him like that, like he was something worth caring for.

Too strange, but he doesn't dislike it, even if he doesn't know how to process it yet.

He opens his mouth cautiously, just to run his tongue against Vergilius' lower lip gently.]

Mm.

[A little noise as he feels the tongue tip trace over his lips. A cool sensation that can barely douse the warmth - paradoxically, it adds to it.]

[In its own bizarre way, what Daan does almost feels like permission. You can do more. Perhaps there's a devil on his shoulder saying something like that. And yet, the devil speaks with a tone he can't resist.]

[He opens his mouth a little more, his own tongue pressing against the other's, before sliding alongside it to briefly enter the other's mouth. Vergilius starts to feel a little lightheaded - not from lack of air, but from all of this. From Daan. Yes, he thinks. If it was anyone else, perhaps he wouldn't be feeling this way at all.]

[Doctor, doctor, what is the prescription, here?]

[The new hint of boldness from Vergilius is welcomed with Daan's mouth opening, the doctor lightly humming in approval. He's content to keep holding the Fixer's cheek, his thumb slowly stroking over his skin.

Yes, this. He remembers this feeling intensely, falling deep into his heart and going in blindly. But he's more careful now, and he's made the mistake of placing Elise on a pedestal. More importantly, he wants to ensure that Vergilius feels cared for.

Daan's other hand reaches up, hesitating briefly before pressing his hand against the other man's chest, to find his heartbeat.]

[That terrible heart. It should have been crushed by the City. Cruelty should have been woven into him, made a part of his being.]

[And yet, as his heart quickens and betrays his feeling as that hand lays onto it, its more evident that never happened. Somehow, in the midst of hell, it continued to beat strongly.]

[Vergilius swallows, continuing along with the kiss - but a part of him needs a breather. He detaches for a moment, but his forehead rests against the other's. The connection can't be broken...yet.]

...Daan. [He says - and what he says next comes with a shiver. His fingertips trace up into the man's hair.] I may not...be able to resist more, you know.

[An admission of vulnerability, but also he knows Daan's background. He doesn't want to cross a line to ruin the man.]

[There's a comfort here as he feels Vergilius' heartbeat, how fast it feels. Maybe it's silly, but it makes him smile faintly against the mouth he's kissing.

The kiss parts, and he takes in a sigh, leaning against the taller man for a moment. His eye opens, giving Vergilius his attention.]

It's okay. [Daan kisses his forehead.] I trust you.

[And he has no qualms about being so wanted. Genuinely wanted.]

[Don't trust me. Would you trust a creature, a monster? A killer?]

[He should stop. This already has gone too far. The guilt rises, like bile at the back of his throat. He should have pushed away Daan every chance he could get. And he didn't. He made his bed.]

[He can't help but want, desperately want, to lie in it.]

[In the midst of conflicted, fretful feeling, he leans forward, captures his lips again. Fine. He'll topple over the cliff. Maybe that'll fix everything. It won't. Scratch the itch, be done with it. I won't be.]

[The permission he gives himself is enough. The kiss now isn't so hesitant, but filled with a growing desperate need. One kiss, another kiss, and he's shifting it to kiss the man's jawline now with a sigh. His other hand stutters, before sliding around the other's waist, hand splayed against his lower back.]

[Whatever dam was holding Vergilius back seems to have cracked enough to let him through, to allow him to finally take hold of something he wants and start to claim it. Daan manages to keep up with the first few kisses before Vergilius moves on, and he catches his breath. He tips his head back, pulling his necktie free and disposing of it to the floor so his throat is available if the other man wants.

For his part, Daan is also kicking off his shoes, taking more initiative for himself as he goes to just settle into the other man's lap. His knees press more onto the bed to put most of the weight there; not that he thinks Vergilius couldn't handle his weight, Daan doesn't weigh ~~more than a couple of grapes~~ much to begin with, but it's out of habit, old muscle memory.]

There you go.

[He slides a hand to the back of Vergilius' head, coaxing him to take whatever his heart or body desires.]

[It sort of surprises him and also doesn't surprise him on the fact that Daan doesn't feel like he weighs much. Vergilius himself is like a rock - all bioaugmentation and solid muscle.]

[A thought, another devil, slithers in as the man moves onto him. It would be so easy to break his bones.]

[...No. He won't think of such things. Not with this kind of warmth. To hurt Daan is out of the question. But if this goes on to a certain point, then they'll indulge in pain in a sense, won't they? He has to be careful. He doesn't want to be careful.]

[Damn it.]

[The hand on his back makes his attention flit back out of the well of his guilt. Solid. Comforting. He pauses, before he moves to tuck the man's body closer to him with strong hands, knees shifting as he takes in more of the man's neck. A few kisses. And then, his teeth come into play, giving a light try of a bite without breaking skin.]

Mm.

[The bite is so light, but he still likes the feeling, even if the pressure is almost negligible; teeth on skin, just pressing, testing. Even if Verglius was concerned about not being able to hold back, he's still exercising more caution than he can remember anyone ever having for him.

It's kind of sweet, honestly.

Daan sighs at the bite, gently brushing his fingers through the other man's hair.] Good. [He says by way of assurance, positive affirmation.

Yes, he still wants whatever Vergilius is willing to give him. He settles more of his weight, slight as it is, against him. With his free hand, he takes a bit more assertion, plucking at one of the buttons of Vergilius' shirt. Just undoing one to start with, patiently waiting to see his reaction.

The last thing he wants is to push for something the man is going to regret.]

[Sometimes assertion is all he needs. For such a violent man, when it comes to matters like this, he wants confirmation. Consent. He hates forcing himself on others - he's far too worried about what the other thinks and the other wants.]

[He pauses as he feels the flicking of fingers against his chest, glancing down as he sees the exposed neckline.]

[Ah.]

[He exhales, low and warm.]

Daan.

[He's not saying his name to make him stop. He's saying it to keep him going.]

[Feeling a little extra courage, his hand now shifts down, slips under fabric, and slides right up against the skin of Daan's back. Another bite, a little harder this time, and now he sucks at the skin to feel it warm up, ready to discolor.]

Mm. [Briefly, he goes still after the harder bite, the hot mouth working against his throat. It'll bruise nicely on his pale skin. If it was just about anyone else, he'd be annoyed about it, but it's more like a nice memento for the moment.

He takes his time, deft fingers working to unbutton more of Vergilius' clothing, revealing more of him, though Daan isn't entirely certain what he's expecting. Scars, maybe, for how many of them seem to cover the man's body already.

Well, he'll find out eventually.]

Let me... [He trails off, but starts to ease off his own silk vest, letting it join his necktie on the floor. He might regret that later, but right now he's more interested in getting as close to Vergilius as possible.]

[Daan finally gets his prize to see what's underneath as the clothing pulls away - and his initial guess is correct. This is like the ruins of a battlefield - there's numerous scars over Vergilius's chest, crisscrossing in a flurry of chaotic marks. Some small, some quite large. He's marred like nothing else, not unlike a whale that bears its blows from a history of doomed hunts.]

[Vergilius moves his hands back to himself if only to pull off his coat, then the unbuttoned shirt. He's more than happy to return the help from before - veined hands pluck, and then get a little impatient, pulling buttons through their holes to achieve the skin underneath.]

[He doesn't even hesitate when he sees it exposed. He dives forward, kissing over sternum, then chest, dots of them forming a line as he moves lower and lower with occasional noises from his throat. Like he wants to indulge in this, one kiss at a time.]

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