@spectoral: things you said through your teeth.
ikaris’s mind has not a chink in it. it’s strong and bulky, an egomaniac’s; but unlike kingo’s, it doesn’t at all bend to the slightest suck-up. hoodwinking doesn’t work, either.
druig’s guts hook up in the free fall it takes to access ikaris at all. peeling at the first layer almost lifts at his skin.
he’s no need to announce what’s about to happen next to will it. he does it—
—because he can. so it stings. so ikaris can taste his place. but more immediately, it rids druig of his head-to-toe freeze-dry, the sleepiness of which he can only liken to the state of pre-being. before ajak’s voice. before the fleeting joy of ikaris not knowing how to speak.
this is the only time they’ve ever touched this long, because a mention of sersi from the wrong mouth apparently pushes the only button ikaris has been allowed to have.
druig’s bland distaste comes as ikaris’s physical threat goes.
“ eyes off, too. you don’t need those. ”
ikaris may find he’s being beyond literal. it’s what halving a boulder is to gilgamesh or a ruthless fit to thena.
or running to makkari. the bone-meltingly gold glare eases off of druig’s face, a collapsing star to a 12% battery. that’s not all. he starts draining ikaris’s vision as well.