eulvs
Sorrow runs through his veins much like the blood they share between them. Though right now it feels like his blood has run cold–he has eerie memories of how cold Zephyrus’ body had been when he had exited the caves and Eurus had been there to catch him; he doesn’t want to experience the same thing–he still responds to the touch from his brother. His brain feels fried, and a good part of it has difficulty functioning properly. (Shock, maybe?)
Yet, when Zephyrus’ touch warmed his skin the slightest bit, he would have thrown himself at the other, had he any strength in his body left. He felt weak, entirely too weak, thoughts and ideas switching back and forth like the unpredictable weather. The tears wouldn’t stop coming, and looking at the corpse reminded him of his crime. A wedding cake, Zephyrus had compared it with. Eurus wanted to cry.
And cry he did, weeping in silence as he soaked in the warmth his brother had to offer. The compliments were a reassurance, but how much of a reassurance could they remain? He had done a crime, and he was being praised for it. Part of it was horrible, disgusting, and he had fallen from the grace he had talked himself into having. If he had any pride to rebuild, it would have to start from scratch and build it up again. Who knew how long that could take? He didn’t.
His mind was blank, and his body felt numb, but despite those circumstances he felt how Zephyrus kissed him, praised him. Eurus had the nerve to feel loved, feel a bit better about the situation, dared to feel a spark of fire in his gut. He couldn’t reply to the promises, suggestions, reassurances spoken by his brother, couldn’t reply to what was said.
Not until he felt something inside of him stir–desire–at a time like this.
“W-Wait..” He argued, half-assed. It felt entirely too wrong and he could not stop crying. “Zephyrus, wait, not here..” He tried again, eyes focused on the body still in the process of being torn up. “The–The body..” He explained, though he didn’t need to. He knew his brother knew, and he knew his brother read him very well. He knew his defense was growing weak, the warmth so enticing, his lover’s words so soothing. He wanted to drown in everything Zephyrus gave him.
Even if this was not the time nor the place to do such a thing. Not under these circumstances.
The blade fell from his grip as he held his brother, his lover, but he did not mind. It was as figurative as it was literal, lowered weapons in a moment of peace despite the bloodied corpse lying on the ground. The dead man would not reach out and stab them to avenge his fate. Zephyrus had learned as much when none of his prayers had been answered.
“Baby, don’t cry...”
He did not actually mean that. He loved it when Eurus cried (as long as it was not his doing), expressing an emotion that Zephyrus failed to comprehend so openly. His tear stained cheeks were beautiful, as were his swollen eyes and trembling lips. He seemed so vulnerable and honest when he cried and if Zephyrus had not know better, he might have easily claimed to have fallen in love with his tears.
The rain on the other hand could get on his nerves at times, but only when it came unnoticed, like a secret clue that revealed the result without the cause. He was not one to play guessing games or mope in the rain, but somehow Eurus had always found a way to push his buttons with the downpours. Perhaps it was destiny, too.
“It’s done, but we’ll survive,” he told Eurus, brushing the pad of his thumb across his cheekbones again and again, feeling a warm tear trickle down his hand. “We will survive no matter what, one day at a time, together. Always together. You’ll never be alone again...”
Loneliness. Zephyrus had been alone in his cave, reaching the point of talking to the walls (and to the walls talking back) millions of times. Eurus had been alone in the outside world, replacing the talking walls with people, never growing attached, always miserable in his loneliness. They could not function flawlessly without one another. Zephyrus understood it now. There was no one else that could complete him like Eurus did, or vice versa.
“The body doesn’t care,” Zephyrus murmured against Eurus’s throat, sucking the skin between his teeth. “The soul is gone. He is a stone, a rotten meal, I don’t care.” A living human could not compete with what he felt for Eurus, let alone a dead one.
He tackled Eurus down on the wet floor, but he did not feel disgust for the blood under the palms of his hands. He hardly noticed, focused only on his lover, ignoring the grotesque scene or the weather or any weak attempts to deny him. It was always a no and then it was a yes and then it was a please, and what had first made him feel like a bad man would make him feel like the only man for Eurus.
“I want you.”
It was more than a simple desire for immediate pleasure. It was about distress and distraction, about colliding spirits and violent symbolism.
“I want you so much,” he muttered against his ear and his jaw, pushing a bloody hand up his stomach to dishevel his shirt and expose his body for his own.
