[ she likes his playful meanness. it's a sweet sort, makes her bite back a grin, the words and the brush of a kiss, humming thoughtfully. ]
I don't know if I want you to work your way up or down... [ there's pros to both.
she knows, because she's imagined them. ] How about you guess... where I might need it the most, and go from there? See how well you know me.
[ not that it's hard to think of. while malkuth's an active person by nature, there's definitely points of her body that undergo more wear than others. ]
[He hums at that. Guess where she needs it most? A sort of test. Vaguely. Maybe. He finds it somewhat amusing, though.]
Up or down. Decisions, decisions.
[He did massage her calf once, for her injury. It feels like a lifetime, ago, where something was born. A spark of sorts, deep and heated. He could revisit it now, but this time, he wants to try something different.]
[He reaches to pull one of her arms up to kiss the back of her hand, before turning it over in his grip.]
Let's see those busy hands. [Another light kiss to her palm.] Unless you'd like a different place.
[ her fantasies are between her and the sheets of her bed thanks
her arm, her wrist, are small in his grasp; this is a fact she doesn't seem to tire of, nor of how much she likes her hands (tired, soft but with points of wear incomparable to those with rougher lives) being kissed and held, and each light brush sears her better than any brand. her heart remains battering in her chest, longing to be kissed elsewhere all the same, and she curls her fingers slightly in offering.
but she ought to respond, his color flourishing down her shoulders. ]
No, that's a... a fine start, Vergilius. They've been aching from all the writing I've had to do lately, no matter how often I stretch.
You're so busy. It's good. You're so passionate. But you deserve to rest, too.
[His other hand moves to cup over hers, before pressing his fingers in to intertwine with hers, rocking it a bit as his other hand kneads and strokes down her arm. Solid, gentle, and yet meaningful.]
The red of your flush...the yellow of your dress. You're like a sunrise, there.
Edited (can i spell. time will tell) 2024-05-09 04:45 (UTC)
[ intentional more like, his words and his movements, just as her choice in dress was intentional. malkuth rests her head back and sighs, a small sound escaping with it, squeezing their joined hands in time.
could she be more spoiled, really. is it wrong to be. ]
[Now that gets him to release a little exhale with a sound not unlike the start of a laugh. She's warm. His hands tickle upward, brushing against the base of her neck.]
Of course. All they see is red eyes in the dark. So...you think they're like dusk? Most would say my gaze is like hell.
[ the fires of hell might be as warm, might be as dangerous and ready to light. malkuth shakes her head, straightening a little to catch more of his touch as she sighs. ]
I've been in hell before. [ ruled it in a way. ] I like the way you make me feel way more.
[ there was a kind of self-satisfaction in her work. yes, she was always on the cusp of falling, all it would take is a push to bring her over the edge, but it was that tightrope performance she enjoyed so much... right? knowing that if she succeeded despite the odds, she'd be praised and respected and loved... knowing that if she failed, she would be ridiculed and dismissed as unable to do her task.
maybe she would have been thrown aside like tiphereth a had always wanted for netzach.
the past is the past, but it still influences her some. she turns her head to lay her cheek on his arm best she can. ]
They just think it's hell because you won't let anyone come close enough to learn that your gaze can be heavenly.
It does. And you burn me, most pleasurably. Your warmth is like no other.
[And she has been in hell. He wanders through the Inferno, even now, even in this place. The way she compliments him makes his ears warm up, and its like she's holding her hands against them with the way it feels wonderfully smothering.]
[Your gaze can be heavenly, she says. But how can it be? So many lives. So many destruction.]
[If the angel instructs it, however, then maybe it is so. His hand stroke through her hair, the other coming to knead over the base of her neck.]
[It terrifies him, the strength of emotion in his chest.]
Even heaven can be a burden. [But he'll try to take the compliment.] But you, who have been through everything...I'd lay down a carpet of roses for you on the way there. I would.
[ even heaven asks for the destruction of the beneath, but that's more of hokma's realm. her own is mankind and the path they walk, by choice by circumstance by their own will and not. a smile flutters to her lips and a laugh out of them.
he writes her poetry in so many ways, she can never fully believe it's for her, about her. but who else is here? no one, so it's only logical that it's about her, that it's for her. leaves her warm and wanting for more, throat tightening the way her heart does.
at least the massage is nice and easy to focus on. malkuth hadn't realized how much stress she'd been carrying until he began to work it out. ]
[There's no one else. His gaze is turned for her and her alone right now, hungry and desperate and affectionate. She guides humankind in all its flaws, rolling in her own, and so does he in his own way. She puts her gaze on mortals like him, and he returns that attention tenfold. All for her. Anything for her.]
[The question is a little unexpected, and he muses on it as he rubs up to behind her ear.]
[It's a nice image. Thrilling, really. But something feels like it is sitting at the back of his throat, a lump that can't even dissolve. It sits there, as solid as a stone. He wishes it could go away. Instead, he knows he'll choke on it for the rest of his life.]
...Can I...tell you something? About...a garden of mine, I suppose.
[ the air weighs slightly, in a different way than the warmth that might be there when his hands are on her; malkuth notes the change with his slow words and turns her head slightly to catch his gaze. ]
Of course, Vergilius. [ she's talked enough about herself, she's been patient for him. ] I'm listening.
...Once, I had a garden. Of all sorts of flowers. I kept it well. I nourished the seedlings I....wanted color. At that time, I hoped to see it make the City better. Happier, I suppose.
[Maybe he should be more concrete, but it still feels like walking barefoot on hot coals to even bring the actual thing forward as bluntly as he does with everything else. So, metaphor for now.]
But one day, I came home, and that garden was....burnt by another. Plants and flowers alike, gone. Only a few survived. And the few I managed to cobble together were later....stolen by others for their own needs. In the end...nothing of that original garden was left.
[He shakes his head helplessly.]
So what good am I in...taking care of something like that, huh? I couldn't even...protect the one I had.
[ a garden of his own. her head rests back as she listens, the rumble of his voice against her back low and sorrowed in his reluctance. what good is he in taking care of something like that, when he couldn't even protect the one he had.
their lives are different in that way. this might be as unbridgeable as the many deaths kaito experiences every second, as the memories march has lost and can't recover. malkuth won't fool herself nor anyone else into thinking she could have a grain of understanding where she has none at all. a privileged life, protected then and after she'd left it, and continued to be sheltered until her final one... now, how she can tend her own gardens and wish to see them grow well. ]
... You know I can't give you an answer you'll be wholly satisfied with, and I know that too, so I won't. If you knew something was going to happen that day, would you have stayed? Do you think you could have changed something then? And if you couldn't, if it played out just the same, would it make you feel any better now about what happened to your garden having been there instead of away?
[ they're quiet questions, ones he can answer if he'd like, but the final one's is something she already knows.
no, it wouldn't make him feel better. maybe it would even make him feel worse. she takes one of his hands to play with, drawing lines over the scars. ]
I haven't lost anything like that. I know people who have. I hope I never do. But you did, and so you'll make sure it doesn't happen again. It shouldn't have in the first place -- that's something that can be said about anything -- but what's wrong with having faith in you, in yourself, that you'll do better the next?
....I would've felt like I...could've saved more of them.
[Is his answer. But then again, what good could that have done? So ten flowers would've been destroyed instead of twenty. But then that Ring would've had more fodder for their experiments. More children would be turned into monsters.]
[In the end, nothing....would've changed.]
[He lets his hand be played with, leaning toward to press his forehead a little against hers, nose nuzzling against the side of her head. An angel to listen to the troubles of an old ghost who's lost in hell.]
...I lost that faith, is the problem. How do you do it? See tomorrow with such bright eyes?
[ hmmm. it's a fair question, after all she's been through. she looks down at his hand, quiet as she turns it over in her mind, stomach turning over at the gentle affection vergilius offers her. it's always so cute the way he shows it; it's more of a distraction now, but she thinks
it's because he'd like to be close, the way a wounded animal might be, and trusts her to be someone he can do that with. it's nice. it's good. he should have others, too. for now, malkuth presses his hand to her cheek. ]
... It doesn't feel good to be right about disappointment, Vergilius. No one likes to hear "See? I told you so" even from themselves.
I decided a long, long time ago that I wouldn't see things in black and white the way everyone else around me did. That I would search for color, however faint or hidden it was, in every moment, in every part of scenery, in every person, and I still do that now. Because I'd rather see than assume, because I'd rather risk being hurt than missing out on happiness.
[ sure. it hasn't been good. most of the time, it's been bad. historically so.
... but if she hadn't continued to look for a brighter tomorrow, if she hadn't had faith things could be different, then she wouldn't be here now. in many ways. ]
[It seems as easy as anything by saying it. To act on something like that on his own is much, much harder. How can he do that when everyone's sins, his own sins, remind him every step of the way that he's in hell?]
[His hand cups her, calluses rough against smooth skin. Perhaps he is a wounded animal, but he has found no one else to nestle in with in this cruel world like her, who has seen it all for herself and understood it on her own.]
But...I don't want you to...be hurt, either. You've been through lifetimes of it. If...it is this guide's job to provide you happiness, to alleviate that hurt...I shall.
[ it's not his job to do anything, her heart aches to hear him say so, but she isn't sure how to say it without hurting him too. if it's what's helping him along... if it's what he can use to find his own happiness, even if she's simply an excuse or crutch for now, then she can accept that.
not forever, but for now. the kiss against her cheek is sweet, the hand holding hers large and warm, and malkuth presses her lips tight to keep the resigned sigh inside; she shakes her head and pecks his lips. ]
I know you will. So if you don't believe yourself, at least believe me. You can do that much, can't you?
[ soft and sweet, coaxing his belief. there's no harm in trying. it's something she's always held and will always hold onto, others be damned. ]
[He'll do his best. He feels akin to a stumbling baby deer, unsure how to find his footing. All of this is so new. To indulge is a strange concept. He leans on her to guide him as much as he attempts to guide her.]
[What a strange thing they have. Strange in the best of ways.]
[He smiles lightly into the kiss, his hand sliding to her ear.]
Now, then. Continue the massage? I hardly want you to be tense.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I don't know if I want you to work your way up or down... [ there's pros to both.
she knows, because she's imagined them. ] How about you guess... where I might need it the most, and go from there? See how well you know me.
[ not that it's hard to think of. while malkuth's an active person by nature, there's definitely points of her body that undergo more wear than others. ]
no subject
[He hums at that. Guess where she needs it most? A sort of test. Vaguely. Maybe. He finds it somewhat amusing, though.]
Up or down. Decisions, decisions.
[He did massage her calf once, for her injury. It feels like a lifetime, ago, where something was born. A spark of sorts, deep and heated. He could revisit it now, but this time, he wants to try something different.]
[He reaches to pull one of her arms up to kiss the back of her hand, before turning it over in his grip.]
Let's see those busy hands. [Another light kiss to her palm.] Unless you'd like a different place.
no subject
her arm, her wrist, are small in his grasp; this is a fact she doesn't seem to tire of, nor of how much she likes her hands (tired, soft but with points of wear incomparable to those with rougher lives) being kissed and held, and each light brush sears her better than any brand. her heart remains battering in her chest, longing to be kissed elsewhere all the same, and she curls her fingers slightly in offering.
but she ought to respond, his color flourishing down her shoulders. ]
No, that's a... a fine start, Vergilius. They've been aching from all the writing I've had to do lately, no matter how often I stretch.
no subject
[His other hand moves to cup over hers, before pressing his fingers in to intertwine with hers, rocking it a bit as his other hand kneads and strokes down her arm. Solid, gentle, and yet meaningful.]
The red of your flush...the yellow of your dress. You're like a sunrise, there.
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could she be more spoiled, really. is it wrong to be. ]
Do you like the sunrise? Or the sunset better?
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[For her, it's wrong for her to not be spoiled enough.]
[He hums, scarred fingers trailing up to that exposed shoulder to give it a squeeze.]
The sunrise. I like...thinking of the new day. Though I suppose most would consider me a sunset man.
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the fingers on her shoulder raise goosebumps to meet the pads of his hands, closing her eyes. ]
Because it leads to the night? Mister Dark and Gloomy. Or because of your eyes? They are a lovely dusky color.
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Of course. All they see is red eyes in the dark. So...you think they're like dusk? Most would say my gaze is like hell.
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[ the fires of hell might be as warm, might be as dangerous and ready to light. malkuth shakes her head, straightening a little to catch more of his touch as she sighs. ]
I've been in hell before. [ ruled it in a way. ] I like the way you make me feel way more.
[ there was a kind of self-satisfaction in her work. yes, she was always on the cusp of falling, all it would take is a push to bring her over the edge, but it was that tightrope performance she enjoyed so much... right? knowing that if she succeeded despite the odds, she'd be praised and respected and loved... knowing that if she failed, she would be ridiculed and dismissed as unable to do her task.
maybe she would have been thrown aside like tiphereth a had always wanted for netzach.
the past is the past, but it still influences her some. she turns her head to lay her cheek on his arm best she can. ]
They just think it's hell because you won't let anyone come close enough to learn that your gaze can be heavenly.
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[And she has been in hell. He wanders through the Inferno, even now, even in this place. The way she compliments him makes his ears warm up, and its like she's holding her hands against them with the way it feels wonderfully smothering.]
[Your gaze can be heavenly, she says. But how can it be? So many lives. So many destruction.]
[If the angel instructs it, however, then maybe it is so. His hand stroke through her hair, the other coming to knead over the base of her neck.]
[It terrifies him, the strength of emotion in his chest.]
Even heaven can be a burden. [But he'll try to take the compliment.] But you, who have been through everything...I'd lay down a carpet of roses for you on the way there. I would.
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he writes her poetry in so many ways, she can never fully believe it's for her, about her. but who else is here? no one, so it's only logical that it's about her, that it's for her. leaves her warm and wanting for more, throat tightening the way her heart does.
at least the massage is nice and easy to focus on. malkuth hadn't realized how much stress she'd been carrying until he began to work it out. ]
Have you ever thought about gardening?
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[The question is a little unexpected, and he muses on it as he rubs up to behind her ear.]
...I never thought about it, no.
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You should, [ she finally mumbles, ] I bet you'd grow some really pretty roses.
[ it'll be good for him too. nurturing small lives, able to see the life those scarred hands can bring. ]
If you grow some, take me for a tour. I love flowers.
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[It sombers him, now, thinking of it. To nurture something into life, coax it into beauty. But he tried that. And look where it went.]
[She wishes it, but isn't it asking too much of him?]
Do you think I could really do so?
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[ sincerely, too. he's kind to her. he's gentle and careful, considerate and ever-watchful -- if he could do that... he could raise a flowerbed. ]
Just treat them the way you do me and you'll see them unfurl their petals as easily as you unfurl mine.
[ in several meanings. ]
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[It's a nice image. Thrilling, really. But something feels like it is sitting at the back of his throat, a lump that can't even dissolve. It sits there, as solid as a stone. He wishes it could go away. Instead, he knows he'll choke on it for the rest of his life.]
...Can I...tell you something? About...a garden of mine, I suppose.
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Of course, Vergilius. [ she's talked enough about herself, she's been patient for him. ] I'm listening.
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[Maybe he should be more concrete, but it still feels like walking barefoot on hot coals to even bring the actual thing forward as bluntly as he does with everything else. So, metaphor for now.]
But one day, I came home, and that garden was....burnt by another. Plants and flowers alike, gone. Only a few survived. And the few I managed to cobble together were later....stolen by others for their own needs. In the end...nothing of that original garden was left.
[He shakes his head helplessly.]
So what good am I in...taking care of something like that, huh? I couldn't even...protect the one I had.
no subject
their lives are different in that way. this might be as unbridgeable as the many deaths kaito experiences every second, as the memories march has lost and can't recover. malkuth won't fool herself nor anyone else into thinking she could have a grain of understanding where she has none at all. a privileged life, protected then and after she'd left it, and continued to be sheltered until her final one... now, how she can tend her own gardens and wish to see them grow well. ]
... You know I can't give you an answer you'll be wholly satisfied with, and I know that too, so I won't. If you knew something was going to happen that day, would you have stayed? Do you think you could have changed something then? And if you couldn't, if it played out just the same, would it make you feel any better now about what happened to your garden having been there instead of away?
[ they're quiet questions, ones he can answer if he'd like, but the final one's is something she already knows.
no, it wouldn't make him feel better. maybe it would even make him feel worse. she takes one of his hands to play with, drawing lines over the scars. ]
I haven't lost anything like that. I know people who have. I hope I never do. But you did, and so you'll make sure it doesn't happen again. It shouldn't have in the first place -- that's something that can be said about anything -- but what's wrong with having faith in you, in yourself, that you'll do better the next?
no subject
[Is his answer. But then again, what good could that have done? So ten flowers would've been destroyed instead of twenty. But then that Ring would've had more fodder for their experiments. More children would be turned into monsters.]
[In the end, nothing....would've changed.]
[He lets his hand be played with, leaning toward to press his forehead a little against hers, nose nuzzling against the side of her head. An angel to listen to the troubles of an old ghost who's lost in hell.]
...I lost that faith, is the problem. How do you do it? See tomorrow with such bright eyes?
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it's because he'd like to be close, the way a wounded animal might be, and trusts her to be someone he can do that with. it's nice. it's good. he should have others, too. for now, malkuth presses his hand to her cheek. ]
... It doesn't feel good to be right about disappointment, Vergilius. No one likes to hear "See? I told you so" even from themselves.
I decided a long, long time ago that I wouldn't see things in black and white the way everyone else around me did. That I would search for color, however faint or hidden it was, in every moment, in every part of scenery, in every person, and I still do that now. Because I'd rather see than assume, because I'd rather risk being hurt than missing out on happiness.
[ sure. it hasn't been good. most of the time, it's been bad. historically so.
... but if she hadn't continued to look for a brighter tomorrow, if she hadn't had faith things could be different, then she wouldn't be here now. in many ways. ]
Does that make sense?
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[It seems as easy as anything by saying it. To act on something like that on his own is much, much harder. How can he do that when everyone's sins, his own sins, remind him every step of the way that he's in hell?]
[His hand cups her, calluses rough against smooth skin. Perhaps he is a wounded animal, but he has found no one else to nestle in with in this cruel world like her, who has seen it all for herself and understood it on her own.]
But...I don't want you to...be hurt, either. You've been through lifetimes of it. If...it is this guide's job to provide you happiness, to alleviate that hurt...I shall.
[He kisses her gently on the cheek.]
Maybe some day I will...see colors like you.
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not forever, but for now. the kiss against her cheek is sweet, the hand holding hers large and warm, and malkuth presses her lips tight to keep the resigned sigh inside; she shakes her head and pecks his lips. ]
I know you will. So if you don't believe yourself, at least believe me. You can do that much, can't you?
[ soft and sweet, coaxing his belief. there's no harm in trying. it's something she's always held and will always hold onto, others be damned. ]
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[He'll do his best. He feels akin to a stumbling baby deer, unsure how to find his footing. All of this is so new. To indulge is a strange concept. He leans on her to guide him as much as he attempts to guide her.]
[What a strange thing they have. Strange in the best of ways.]
[He smiles lightly into the kiss, his hand sliding to her ear.]
Now, then. Continue the massage? I hardly want you to be tense.
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The only tension I feel around you is anticipation. Care to add kisses to the mix?
[ be unprofessional. ]
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