#revenanthearts

[boundlss]

“ I don't recognize myself. ” (amsel for cyran hahaaaaa)

Sometimes I really wonder if we're that different.

Cyran doesn't voice his thought aloud, instead tucking his crossed knees closer to himself so he can wrap his arm around them and rest his head, only moderately uncomfortably, on the joints. From there, he has a sideways view of Amsel next to him, expression as closed-off as ever.

Amsel doesn't mean to be unreadable, Cyran thinks. No, he's sure of it---that Amsel doesn't often put forth the effort to hide from their little group anymore. Only it happens anyway.

"I don't think that's an uncommon problem," Cyran points out, only slightly muffled by his position. He shifts his head a little, but fails to find comfort, so lifts it up again. "But I don't know you from before now, so I can't exactly comment on how different you are."

Were he a wiser person, Cyran might have something a little wiser to say about it. But the watch parties for the night have stuck Amsel with a forgetful fool who doesn't have the mind to match his. Or come anywhere close, really. By all accounts, he's a poor choice for both sympathetic response and sympathetic silence.

"For most people, 'being something' is a choice. If you didn't know." Pointing something he considers obvious out rather crassly, Cyran frowns. "Granted, it's not exactly an easy choice, I would assume. Well, I don't really know, come to think about it. It's much easier to be whatever you like when you don't really remember who you were the day before! But---"

He turns his head away abruptly, burying the lower half of his face in the crook of his elbow again.

"--- ... If you get more blood on your hands or if you don't, I think I'd rather like you either way."

four words. / accepting.

[boundlss]

@revenanthearts ( amsel ) / plotted starter. ( cyran azerrad kapral ).

The door swings shut behind Amsel, and for a moment Cyran doesn't really know how to approach the situation.

It had been difficult, the day before. Hard conversations had left him feeling like a raw shell of himself, and he's not entirely sure it's back to normal this morning. The unnatural feeling had only gotten worse when Amsel had offered---before anyone else had even had the chance to speak---to supply Cyran with his breakfast.

That he hadn't expected it from Amsel was a complete understatement. Is a complete understatement, as he still doesn't quite believe that Amsel really intends to offer himself up like this. Cyran had pegged him for a private person, but the attack from ...

From ... ?

The attack hadn't helped Cyran's inward notion that he would probably never end up having a taste of Amsel's blood, and since part of him still believes even now that they'd probably part ways with him after the Higher Vampire is dealt with, he had made his peace with that reality.

So now, here, he doesn't know what to do.

"... You know you don't have to," Cyran reiterates, warily, as though he thinks Amsel will change his mind at Cyran's slightest misstep. "I'm sure Zehiri or Cam would be perfectly willing. You did just have an incredibly horrible experience under the fangs of a vampire."

[boundlss]

[ scars ] veltempest (revenanthearts)

Tempest never really expects the sort of appreciation that Vel shows to the way he looks.

He's not such a fool as to believe that Vel isn't attracted to the way he looks at all, naturally. It's only that nearly ever compliment Tempest recieves nowadays comes with the caveat of looking beautiful despite the ruined half of his face. Vel wouldn't mean it like that, but hearing is different than truly absorbing. Belief is best enforced through action.

Vel, naturally, is nothing but actionable. Tempest hadn't even made a comment in the moment about his scars, but that hadn't stopped Vel from acting on his feeling anyway.

(Not for the first time and likely not for the last, Tempest marvels at the way Vel can read him. He wonders if, even if he'd never said anything at all, Vel would somehow know and react accordingly. It shouldn't be such a mystery; after all, Vel has been transparent to him for a long while now.)

Tempest barely feels the lips against the boiled and scarred-over skin of his face, and the sensation even draws out a short chuckle---it wasn't exactly a soft kiss, but the lack of feeling means that it tickles. And the sound is all well and good, because it disguises the feeling of stinging at the corners of his eyes.

"At least do things like that where I can feel them, darling, honestly," he whines. He's only half-pretending to be bothered, though he'd meant to pretend just a little more. "It just tickles when you touch there."

kisses. / accepting ( @revenanthearts ).

[boundlss]

[ stolen ] rorveth lol

Roche only gets about a second of the relief that should come when he knows he and Iorveth are in the clear.

He'd already been in a good mood before even being certain of their safety; the operation had progressed unusually smoothly. Roche had actually been fairly certain no one knew either of them were there at all. The air of triumph, he'd thought, had been infectious.

It must be infectious. Because there's no other explanation for Iorveth's actions, in the back-alleys just far enough away from the grounds of the city estate not to look suspicious.

Iorveth kisses him.

It's so damned unbelievable that Roche doesn't actually process that it's happening until he's already stopped, and by that point he can only gape at Iorveth like he's trying to catch flies. Only for a moment, though---let it never be said that Roche isn't adaptable. His mouth snaps shut and brows furrow, though he doesn't quite manage the indignation that he'd been expecting from himself.

It was only a matter of time, some difficult part of his mind supplies. He tells it to piss off. Before Roche can demand an explanation, though, Iorveth mutters a quick goodbye. And the whoreson leaves.

(He's lucky Roche has the sense not to call out for or chase after him. He won't be so lucky the next time they meet.)

kisses. / accepting.

[boundlss]

[ scars ] // iorveth & cahir

It's rare to lay so quietly in the stolen spaces they temporarily call home. There is always so much to do and even more risk should they be caught doing it, Cahir sometimes feels as though they never will stop moving until suddenly they do, and suddenly he's absent of everything that is familiar about this life he's chosen for himself.

No, not everything. He lays with Iorveth, after all, who is more familiar to him now than anything else could ever be. More so now that he lays so exposed---in his face, not his body, though privately Cahir would not complain if the latter were also true.

He shifts slightly, lifting his head to look at Iorveth. The marred skin that greets him is as familiar as the rest of them; Cahir can recall many times before that he has traced the lines of that scar with the pads of his fingers.

(He's allowed Iorveth to do the same, of course, to the deep cuts he suffered at Stygga castle. He can feel those touches even now.)

Stirred by some gentle impulse, Cahir shifts slightly more, finding leverage from the weight of his arm so he can more easily lean down to press a light, small kiss to the corner of what was once Iorveth's right eye.

Then he lays down again, slotting himself back where he fits perfectly against Iorveth. Just for now, everything is alright.

kisses. / accepting.

[boundlss]

[ reunion ] // regis & cahir

Regis is barely inside Corvo Bianco before Cahir feels a tugging at his heart that draws him back towards his companion.

Seeing him at all feels somehow unreal, as though Cahir could wake any moment and be in his bed, victim to the fantasies of his dormant state. The only thing keeping Cahir from believing this may be a dream is that they are not often so pleasant. Regis's presence dredges a positive feeling from him that Cahir's dreams have lacked for a long, long while.

Is it so selfish to want more?

The thought is an echo from the past. Cahir remembers their time in Toussaint as clearly as he ever has. The moments he spent with Regis were always his most treasured, though he had resented his own desires for getting in the way.

It had been easy to fall in love with Regis. Cahir had never once shocked himself with the depths of his own feelings. Not when he'd privately wished to follow Regis back, or to invite Regis to follow him, after their nightly outings. Not when he'd caught himself behaving much like the girls he disliked following him, desperate for even another second to continue to win Regis's attention and grace.

He'd even thought Regis might have wanted him too. They'd said such weighted things to eachother in the week before departing Toussaint, and Cahir's most prominent regret regarding Regis had been that he'd shied away, that last night, and never worked up the nerve to ...

"I apologize," Cahir says, cutting off his own train of thought with a quiet sense of determination. "I-If you will allow me this one thing..."

He reaches out slowly, as though offering Regis a chance to back away. Regis doesn't. Somewhat startled by this alone, Cahir takes a step forward so as to properly hold Regis's face. He isn't free of hesitation even now, but he steels himself before he can flee like the last time he'd had the mind to do something like this.

Then he kisses Regis. A swift, gentle press of lips against lips that tries to communicate every relief Cahir feels with such limited time allowed.

kisses. / accepting.

[boundlss]

[ knuckles ] amsel & cyran AGAIN (revenanthearts)

Amsel's hand dwarfs his. It should be an ovbious conclusion, given the difference in general size between the two of them, but Cyran has really only paid attention to the difference now that Amsel is holding his hand. Now that he has the time and luxury to be paying that much attention.

When he moves it the short distance it needs to go to reach his lips, he's gentle. Impossibly gentle, and some part of Cyran wants to cry out, wrench his hand away from Amsel's grip in some mixture of fear and anger. Wants to ask Amsel why he even dares to treat Cyran that way.

He doesn't. In fact, Cyran remains completely still, though pliable to any of Amsel's machinations. His eyes sting in places he thinks tears would fall, were he capable of producing any. He can't even look away as Amsel, reverant, presses a kiss to the bare skin of Cyran's knuckles, which themselves are ridden with imperfection.

Just today, he'd beat someone's face in with those same hands. The day before, he'd bashed someone's head against the wall with them, feral and unrestrained with want for bloodshed. Amsel holds them---kisses them---as if they're delicate. As if they're some fine porcelain that needs special handling.

They just might be, under Amsel's care. Cyran knows he can feel them trembling.

kisses. / accepting ( @revenanthearts ).

[boundlss]

[ passionate ] calcharo & aalto (revenanthearts)

"Calchar---mmpf!!"

It's only a little less sudden than an attack would have been, and only a little less ferocious. Naturally, it catches Aalto completely off-guard. Long enough, anyway, for all thoughts to cease so Aalto can barely even process that he's reciprocating Calcharo's kiss. And he really, really doesn't even get to be conscious of much of that before Calcharo pulls away, expression tight and brows furrowed.

Aalto feels like his heart is beating out of his chest---every vein seems to pulsate as he fully takes in what just happened. What it means for it to have happened.

There are lines he just doesn't cross with people. Calcharo has always been the closest thing to an exception there is when it comes to that kind of love, but there had still been lines. Both of them had known that.

"Calcharo," he tries again, slower and more pronounced---and just a little breathless. The swelling of his heartbeat hasn't lessened, and the swirling of his thoughts makes Calcharo practically unreadable across from him. "I didn't get hit. I'm alright."

His mind wanders back to the battle---the falling fist of the Chasm Guardian a second away from hitting him. He'd even felt the jagged brush of the discordant flesh against his shoulder as he'd dissolved into mist. Then, inexplicable and ferocious as ever, Calcharo had been there.

Would it have been any different if it were Calcharo who'd just barely survived? Aalto finds himself disconcerted by the fact that he doesn't know the answer---that even if he wouldn't have done this, he'd have done something. He'd have crossed that same line.

(And he already misses it; Calcharo so close to him, kissing him like it's the only thing on earth he can imagine doing. In a better circumstance, Aalto doesn't startle, pulling him impossibly closer, reciprocating. In a better circumstance, he laughs and teases Calcharo afterwards for his overwhelming sense of initiative, but doesn't complain.)

(Sometimes Aalto wishes he was fully the showman he pretended to be.)

"... Let's get going. I have what I came here for." Aalto holds up the data chip, turning it once over in his hands. His eyes leave Calcharo's to look at it, but he can feel Calcharo's gaze boring into him. It would be easy to pretend it never happened, but he thinks it might just break whatever's been building between him and Calcharo.

It might just break Aalto, too.

"Come back to my hideout with me? If you've got time, we should talk."

kisses. / accepting.