[ There's no movement for a long time, just that same fiercely calculating stare.
But then the wings fall away as easily as they'd bound him up in the first place, settling around Vash like some feathered Biblical thing.
You idiot.
It's lacking in heat -- of a kind, anyway; that burning flame is still there. He actually can't believe how much of an idiot Charon is. And resents himself for his reaction being a suddenly dry throat. ]
[there's a tinge of something complex as he's let go. not just those strange echoes of expectation and longing of a different sort, but something muted, grey, very close to grief as he watches Minuet's wings settle back. a little bit of scratchy irritation at himself, and directed out at that disbelief -- didn't I tell you outright, that you should know better?
but Minuet didn't actually manage to dispel what made Charon draw him in here in the first place, even if his heart's now pounding faster about it. he extends his hand again. not far. they're still standing in each others' space.]
[ Vash's eyes drop to the extended hand. He's conflicted, still; if he were truly the hero everyone makes him out to be, he'd slap it away and turn his back. Better for Charon. Better for himself, too, probably.
But he's not always that good a person. Reciprocated want certainly makes it even more difficult.
Regardless of which hand Charon holds out, it's the flesh-and-blood one that settles in his. ]
[he puts both hands around it anyway. draws him back in if he'll come, man and metal and scars and feathers, everything. he doesn't have the strength or leverage to yank and force him; he almost never dreams himself more powerful than he really is. Minuet must step forward.
inarticulate, but sure, half principle, half feeling: you don't always pick your allies because you know everything you're getting into with them. you don't always pick them for safety, or predictability, or camaraderie. sometimes you land in a strange place and happen to jump in the same pit, happen to meet each others' eyes. share a drink, share truth and stories, have common people, find a common goal. find other things you desire, or need.
they're already trying something new to the both of them. why not keep on trying?]
[ He's very weak to arguments like "why not keep on trying." They've propelled him through 150 years of hell and counting.
So he steps forward, acutely aware of the proximity it necessitates and deciding that's fine, actually. It's the same compulsion that drew him into the sea of feathers in the first place, but stronger now with clarity behind it.
His own wings shift as if to ensconce them, and the daring thumb that drags along the line of Charon's jaw moves much the same way it had when it was touching the feathers earlier. Testing the reaction. Half-mad but in too deep now to care. ]
[he turns his face into that touch like he did into the feathers, his lips parting a little. some of the ease has faded from his expression and thoughts, replaced by restrained avidity. the dream-wings are curling closer around them too, feathers on feathers on feathers. he does finally touch Minuet's face here in turn, palm light against his cheek.
there's something complex going on here, woken up all at once from under a shroud of disinterest. he's not used to being touched gently at all, or even to allowing the possibility; in many ways the burning bindings were a more familiar dynamic, and made him want to squirm less. he also feels drunk, to a point he never actually reached in the bartending ritual: genuinely unbalanced, internally tipped past some point of no return as he reaches for that fire. the offer made, and for once taken.]
Minuet.
[he leans up. if there's no retreat, he'll kiss him.]
[ There's no retreat, unfortunately. Fortunately? Unfortunately.
He leans in, pressing Charon deeper into the embrace of those wings. The kiss somehow thrums with the same electrical danger the rest of this has, but as they've both established now, that isn't a deterrent. His hand grips the nape of Charon's neck, thumb pressing pointedly into the pulse point at his throat. He wants to chase that heat and yank it out of Charon by the mouth, if he has to. Force him to embrace the unfamiliar. At the same time, there's something deep in him, hungry, rattling against its rusty time-worn chains.
Don't say you neither need or want things you've never had, not on his watch. At least let yourself feel them before choosing to forsake them. ]
[it's distantly funny, isn't it, how the tables turn between them. Minuet now the incipient threat, Charon made to face it down after inviting it in and catching its eye.
hard to find the humor when he's caught up in the pace, kiss hot and hungry and sparking nerves he thought himself devoid of before. all that slow and vital force to press back into, his body entirely human against Minuet's, still somehow welcoming. he's got an arm around him, a solid point in the feathers. his heartbeat's at a riptide pace. he wants to use his teeth--doesn't, yet. tightens his own fingers in the dark of Minuet's hair. drags him further down.
it's working. he's feeling it right along with him. it's getting very hard to think.]
[ Charon is so very fond of sowing; maybe it's finally time to reap. And, perhaps, take a break from thinking quite so damn much.
He's encouraged by that hammering pulse against his finger, even more so by the hands dragging him in closer. The kiss wasn't entirely chaste to begin with, but he can sense something of that hesitation, and responds in kind -- the press of his tongue into Charon's mouth suggesting he does know exactly how to do this, and simply hasn't. In a very very long time.
Where Plant feathers brush Charon's skin he'll feel the same heat from before, but recontexualized now, the burning something different altogether. ]
[that comes very close to shutting his thoughts down altogether for a moment, another haptic jolt in their minds. in its wake everything feels disarranged, overturned, charged; his own startled groan rings in his ears, the first noise he's made aloud here. he'll be offended by the moment of weakness--later.
right now he's answering his own greedy, seizing impulse. he's never backed down from a challenge in his life once he's initiated it, and the kiss stops being hesitant or slow on his end at all: deep, aching, urgent, almost rough. Minuet wants to force him to embrace the unfamiliar? joke's on him, when he's the one being wound up in Charon's arms, a leg bracing over his like a promise or a trap. that answering want roars up, as inarticulately powerful as his feelings on alliance: you want it? I'm here. I can take anything you want to give, give anything you want to take.
it's a lot of trust to thrust at him. that lack of reservation's the stuff of dreams, for sure, but there's nothing false about it, either.]
[ Anything is certainly too much to promise. But Vash has already called him an idiot, and there's no sense treading that ground all over again. Not when the unfamiliar ground is this rewarding, anyway.
His fingers bite just a little harder into Charon's skin at that sound, echoed through their shared dreamspace and then right to the core of Vash, it feels like. He exhales just a little too sharply, letting that selfish greed flow over him with relish. Good. Good. Less thinking. More feeling. Exactly what he's wanted for Charon since their shared drinks.
He presses forward as he's reeled in and trapped, bracing a forearm against the wall of wings, grateful for their improbable stability. He's too wired onto every reaction pulled from Charon, not unlike his pinning analysis earlier, but more primal now. Visceral. I'll tear you to shreds.
The teeth that pierce Charon's lower lip make good on that, just inhumanly sharp enough to be uncanny. And yet, all the same, the feathers that brush against his cheek are as tender as ever. ]
[some stubborn part of him fights all this anyway. the part that keeps thinking even when he's being thrown around and mauled, inviolate; the part that keeps thinking all the way up until he dies. it's fighting a more losing battle than it's used to, though, floundering at how to counter what's neither hurtful nor an enemy at all. unprecedented.
his hands are moving, exploring the planes of Minuet's torso, what he can feel of it through his clothes; sliding over wings with care but less gentleness, literal heavy petting. they tighten when he's bitten; the sting pulls a challenging tiny snarl out of him, a returned nip. the more he feels predator-pinned by Minuet the more he feels too hot for his skin and the less he can focus. the more the feathers burn without violence the more he feels like he's slowly losing his mind. he wants to turn them around and shove Minuet up against the wall in counterpoint. he wants this to keep going exactly as it is until he's fully given over, to see just how far Minuet will go.
[ They're having . . . some problems. This was not supposed to happen.
He senses that conflicted desire -- submission or rebellion, and either way, Vash is pretty sure it's a win for him. Dragging reactions out from under that perpetually cool, calculated exterior, forcing him to not just resign himself but embrace it.
Still. The hands on him send his hammering pulse straight to his throat, the beating loud in his ears, and he goes still. Conflicted, briefly, before swaying into the touch.
His gloved hand slides from Charon's neck, down across his throat, leather and callouses brushing the top ridge of his collarbone --
And then the touch is gone. His lips are gone, the wings that burn to the touch are gone, replaced by emptiness and feathers that drift like falling snow, glowing just a little too brightly.
at this point in the real world, Charon -- who was wide awake, doing barn chores, and doesn't register his own shared dreams until the moment that they're over -- drops a stack of plates with a crash.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
featherduster) wrote2023-06-15 02:30 pm
Re: [still in the coma 20s somewhere]
But then the wings fall away as easily as they'd bound him up in the first place, settling around Vash like some feathered Biblical thing.
You idiot.
It's lacking in heat -- of a kind, anyway; that burning flame is still there. He actually can't believe how much of an idiot Charon is. And resents himself for his reaction being a suddenly dry throat. ]
Re: [still in the coma 20s somewhere]
but Minuet didn't actually manage to dispel what made Charon draw him in here in the first place, even if his heart's now pounding faster about it. he extends his hand again. not far. they're still standing in each others' space.]
You hoped. I am here.
I would suggest...you grow used to it.
Re: [still in the coma 20s somewhere]
But he's not always that good a person. Reciprocated want certainly makes it even more difficult.
Regardless of which hand Charon holds out, it's the flesh-and-blood one that settles in his. ]
Re: [still in the coma 20s somewhere]
inarticulate, but sure, half principle, half feeling: you don't always pick your allies because you know everything you're getting into with them. you don't always pick them for safety, or predictability, or camaraderie. sometimes you land in a strange place and happen to jump in the same pit, happen to meet each others' eyes. share a drink, share truth and stories, have common people, find a common goal. find other things you desire, or need.
they're already trying something new to the both of them. why not keep on trying?]
Re: [still in the coma 20s somewhere]
So he steps forward, acutely aware of the proximity it necessitates and deciding that's fine, actually. It's the same compulsion that drew him into the sea of feathers in the first place, but stronger now with clarity behind it.
His own wings shift as if to ensconce them, and the daring thumb that drags along the line of Charon's jaw moves much the same way it had when it was touching the feathers earlier. Testing the reaction. Half-mad but in too deep now to care. ]
Re: [still in the coma 20s somewhere]
there's something complex going on here, woken up all at once from under a shroud of disinterest. he's not used to being touched gently at all, or even to allowing the possibility; in many ways the burning bindings were a more familiar dynamic, and made him want to squirm less. he also feels drunk, to a point he never actually reached in the bartending ritual: genuinely unbalanced, internally tipped past some point of no return as he reaches for that fire. the offer made, and for once taken.]
Minuet.
[he leans up. if there's no retreat, he'll kiss him.]
Re: [still in the coma 20s somewhere]
He leans in, pressing Charon deeper into the embrace of those wings. The kiss somehow thrums with the same electrical danger the rest of this has, but as they've both established now, that isn't a deterrent. His hand grips the nape of Charon's neck, thumb pressing pointedly into the pulse point at his throat. He wants to chase that heat and yank it out of Charon by the mouth, if he has to. Force him to embrace the unfamiliar. At the same time, there's something deep in him, hungry, rattling against its rusty time-worn chains.
Don't say you neither need or want things you've never had, not on his watch. At least let yourself feel them before choosing to forsake them. ]
Re: [still in the coma 20s somewhere]
hard to find the humor when he's caught up in the pace, kiss hot and hungry and sparking nerves he thought himself devoid of before. all that slow and vital force to press back into, his body entirely human against Minuet's, still somehow welcoming. he's got an arm around him, a solid point in the feathers. his heartbeat's at a riptide pace. he wants to use his teeth--doesn't, yet. tightens his own fingers in the dark of Minuet's hair. drags him further down.
it's working. he's feeling it right along with him. it's getting very hard to think.]
Re: [still in the coma 20s somewhere]
He's encouraged by that hammering pulse against his finger, even more so by the hands dragging him in closer. The kiss wasn't entirely chaste to begin with, but he can sense something of that hesitation, and responds in kind -- the press of his tongue into Charon's mouth suggesting he does know exactly how to do this, and simply hasn't. In a very very long time.
Where Plant feathers brush Charon's skin he'll feel the same heat from before, but recontexualized now, the burning something different altogether. ]
Re: [still in the coma 20s somewhere]
right now he's answering his own greedy, seizing impulse. he's never backed down from a challenge in his life once he's initiated it, and the kiss stops being hesitant or slow on his end at all: deep, aching, urgent, almost rough. Minuet wants to force him to embrace the unfamiliar? joke's on him, when he's the one being wound up in Charon's arms, a leg bracing over his like a promise or a trap. that answering want roars up, as inarticulately powerful as his feelings on alliance: you want it? I'm here. I can take anything you want to give, give anything you want to take.
it's a lot of trust to thrust at him. that lack of reservation's the stuff of dreams, for sure, but there's nothing false about it, either.]
Re: [still in the coma 20s somewhere]
His fingers bite just a little harder into Charon's skin at that sound, echoed through their shared dreamspace and then right to the core of Vash, it feels like. He exhales just a little too sharply, letting that selfish greed flow over him with relish. Good. Good. Less thinking. More feeling. Exactly what he's wanted for Charon since their shared drinks.
He presses forward as he's reeled in and trapped, bracing a forearm against the wall of wings, grateful for their improbable stability. He's too wired onto every reaction pulled from Charon, not unlike his pinning analysis earlier, but more primal now. Visceral. I'll tear you to shreds.
The teeth that pierce Charon's lower lip make good on that, just inhumanly sharp enough to be uncanny. And yet, all the same, the feathers that brush against his cheek are as tender as ever. ]
Re: [still in the coma 20s somewhere]
his hands are moving, exploring the planes of Minuet's torso, what he can feel of it through his clothes; sliding over wings with care but less gentleness, literal heavy petting. they tighten when he's bitten; the sting pulls a challenging tiny snarl out of him, a returned nip. the more he feels predator-pinned by Minuet the more he feels too hot for his skin and the less he can focus. the more the feathers burn without violence the more he feels like he's slowly losing his mind. he wants to turn them around and shove Minuet up against the wall in counterpoint. he wants this to keep going exactly as it is until he's fully given over, to see just how far Minuet will go.
THEY'RE HAVING SOME PROBLEMS]
Re: [still in the coma 20s somewhere]
He senses that conflicted desire -- submission or rebellion, and either way, Vash is pretty sure it's a win for him. Dragging reactions out from under that perpetually cool, calculated exterior, forcing him to not just resign himself but embrace it.
Still. The hands on him send his hammering pulse straight to his throat, the beating loud in his ears, and he goes still. Conflicted, briefly, before swaying into the touch.
His gloved hand slides from Charon's neck, down across his throat, leather and callouses brushing the top ridge of his collarbone --
And then the touch is gone. His lips are gone, the wings that burn to the touch are gone, replaced by emptiness and feathers that drift like falling snow, glowing just a little too brightly.
If Charon touches one, it's warm. ]
Re: [still in the coma 20s somewhere]
at this point in the real world, Charon -- who was wide awake, doing barn chores, and doesn't register his own shared dreams until the moment that they're over -- drops a stack of plates with a crash.]