closed for @thesterlingmoran
it was an unusual arrangement, to say the least.
an unusual story to tell, one with jumps and cuts that don’t quite pick up where the other leaves off - boy bored and seeing a name he’s yet to trace mouth on skin among the courtesan, key pressed to palm and ties loosened, passage of god whispered and boy laughing, laughing, laughing.
(the book of revelation, he breathed, fingers stopping in their pull against collars. a fine choice. i’ve always wanted to be an apocalypse)
and church-going things they are, ties loosened and suit jackets thrown over chairs but buttons firmly clasped shut, lysander comfortable in the sheets without it needing to touch bare skin. he doesn’t expect the other to arrive for a few moments more, settling for lighting cigarettes by opened windows, breathing smoke like dragon-boys, devil-boys should. exhales it like a swarm of locusts, red embers burning black. crosses burn at skin but when one has been walking with their demons on leashes in their throat their whole lives, you get used to it.
the door opens and lysander doesn’t turn to their entrance, familiar rhythm of footsteps and closed doors a quiet hymnal he knows well from his time at moulin rouge.
“tea’s on the table for you. new shipment from shanghai. figured you’d need it.” lysander turns to face sterling at last, eyebrow raised and smoke between his teeth, nodding to the drink on the table next to them. “long night?”