Oh, he went too far and wounded Dmitri with his godsdamned pride.
(And in wounding the man, Faolan has learned something he wish he never had cause to discover: he never wants to see that look on Dmitri's face again. He doesn't think he can bear it a second time.) (Only a few moments ago, he was cause for Dmitri's smiles. He was -)
He's becoming cruel. He was cruel.
His heart feels like a stone in his chest. He knows there's more to this than just his pride; the way Dmitri corrected himself there, chose a different 'in case' from what he initially wanted to say.
A moment passes. Then another. Then, softly, [ I'm sorry. ]
He swallows and tries both to look and not look at Dmitri. [ I am sorry. I - ]
What can he say? He looks around himself, lost and frowning. Searching the crowd of undead for the right thing to say in such a precarious situation.
Because he has no script, no knowledge of how to make amends when he has done the hurting, he lets instinct win out; he takes Dmitri's hand in both of his own. There aren't any words, but his hands warm until it seems flames ought to spring from them - then do. Harmless against Dmitri's palm, engulfing and speaking something -
(About wanting. About desire.) (About fondness.) (Things that can't be spoken.)
How he would rather keep Dmitri safe within his fire than burn him.
Holding Dmitri's gaze with imploring eyes, he finally speaks again. [ Please, forgive me. Please - please understand, and forgive me. ]
He thinks, but doesn't say, For all the wrongs I've yet to do.
Sen looks pleased solely by the embrace - pleased and honored - and strokes the backs of his fingers along one of Rin's horns. This lovely creature. (How he would like to call himself theirs!)
They speak of all that occurred while he was on his makeshift stage and he smiles, thinking he could listen to them and their meandering speech for centuries. Clever, pretty Rin.
Their 'speaking of!' and torturous pause earns an appropriate feigning of breathless interest that dissolves into an amused little laugh. Well, of course they may be his manager; he never has needed one before, but he finds just now that he's never needed anything more, and there's no one more appropriate.
"I was only just saying to myself, Sen, Old Boy, you need a manager. Someone to ensure you're paid fairly in ball bearings and gold, and not in boggy ale." Tapping the tip of Rin's nose, he goes on, "You're hired. Pay yourself fairly, Pretty Rin."
..Does he dare?
He feels daring after reciting an epic to a group of undead.
"A problem. You see, I -" He turns suddenly sober, gone from playful to soft wondering. "You needn't answer. You could even pretend I never asked, and so shall I. But I'd like it if you weren't only that. A small step in another direction, perhaps, where -"
He laughs at himself then. "All the words in the world and I can't find some clever way to say I'd like to kiss you sometime. Oh, not here,” he says in faint horror at their surroundings. "But if, some other night, you felt charitable and the weather was right for it. Would you let me?"
Half-fanciful and glancing off from them - only to be drawn back to them and their perfect nose, perfect horns, perfect little thiefling - Sen adds hopefully, "And if you don't find it unendurable, consider allowing it again?"
<.>
He didn't intend this: The ache in Faolan's voice - palpable even in Messaging - or the pain written in his eyes. The man has done nothing in error. Dmitri built the cause for his own pain; he knows this. And it's no fault of Faolan's that he's known far too much of dismissiveness and cruelty, likely (certainly) from people of Dmitri's class.
He wants to interrupt that apology. He wants to speak after that first 'I'm sorry,' feeling certain he never wants to hear those words from Faolan; wanting to assure him that all is... if not well, at least not harmed by Fae. But Faolan hasn't finished; Dima reads that much in his expression, and he thinks perhaps, perhaps he ought to let Faolan say his piece before butting in. He can give the man that much, at least.
What follows stalls the Market into silence and distant haze.
What follows strikes Faolan in brilliant light, and turns Dima's heart to amber warmth.
Faolan took his hand. Faolan's keeping hold of his hand, Faolan's watching Dmitri attentive, with intention, and Dima finds he can't quite swallow. Feels choked up, and blink, feels dizzy feels a velvet tingle through his nerves and feels close to the presence of peace, of ease.
He feels the flames; not painful, but offering a subtle, flickered warmth. (He thinks, distantly, that he could weep.) (He does feel a burn at the back of his eyes, though there are no tears, not now.) It's beautiful, it's—
Oh, it's a kind of poetry. This offering from Faolan. This apology that never needed to be given, but this sight will keep forever in Dima's knowing: how his hand looked held in Faolan's, bathed in protective flame.
He doesn't watch the flame for long. Faolan's eyes draw his, and again Dmitri feels shaken through his core. He'd smile, if Faolan didn't look so distressed; if Dima didn't hear such aching in Faolan's apology.
Dima shakes his head softly, not breaking their shared gaze, wanting never to look away. His free hand moves to settle on the back of Faolan's, unwary of the flames, wanting only to offer an encouraging, a reassuring touch. [ There isn't anything to forgive. ]
At the back of Faolan's hand, Dima's fingertips press, then draw a steady, light-pressured brush, back and forth. [ You have known— Faolan. I understand you've been treated wretchedly, and known treachery in many names.
That isn't any fault of yours. You've been given reason for mistrust, and I understand that my class and name alike speak poorly for me.
I count myself fortunate that you've sustained my company at all. And I hold every moment dear.
No more apologies, Faolan; please.
If you feel it would help, of course I forgive you. But truly, truly, you've done nothing to forgive. ]
Rin likes the way Sen brushes their horns; no one's ever done that. (Even if anyone did, even if anyone tried, it would likely turn Rin ireful, their horns being no one's to touch.
Until now, of course. Now is - Sen is - very different.)
They like the way he looks at them, and lets them sway back and forth just a little as they keep their arms around him. They like the way - the many ways! - he speaks, of course they do, and how very well he plays and joins in their own mischief. They like how he listens, how he understands their meaning even if they don't head straight for any point; they like that he talks in his own meanders. They even like his finger tapping on their nose; another gesture no one else could get away with (Rin's bitten people for precisely that; right through veins and nerves and all).
They like the thought of being his manager, for real and for true!
And they like very, very much the thought of kissing him, and receiving a kiss from him.
Rin laughs, pleased and light, and their smile tells their answer ahead of speaking. Playfully, happily, they tap their finger against Sen's chest. "I have a secret for you, just for you.
"While you were onstage, after you kept my kiss and gave it a perfect perch, a perfect place to stay, I thought how much I’d like to kiss your cheek.
"And then something more than your cheek. You see, it struck me as the very nicest idea, and it strikes me as the very nicest idea, and in fact I'd made up my mind that someday I ought to kiss you, but of course only if you also thought it might be nice."
They bite their lip briefly, smiling upward still at Sen, and settle their palm against Sen's chest. "So you see, what I mean to say is 'Yes, I will let you,' and 'Yes, I will require - even demand! - this kiss from you."
After a slight pause, as if deciding whether they can say this, they offer warmly, "A kiss from my Sen. And I think another, and another, and another after that."
<.>
That look. That one that Dmitri gives him when their hands join.
That's the one he wants, oh, for the rest of his life. Although he's recognized the look of desire in Dmitri's eyes, no one's ever looked at him this way, with so much...hope. So much joy in just a touch. (So much peace, as though he came home.)
He could sob from the strength of his longing, stoked further by the tender brush of fingers.
He wants to ask, Why couldn't you have come along sooner?
Or, Why did you have to find me? Why did you have to be nothing I expected and everything I wanted?
He wants to ask what will happen to that look when they reach somewhere that Dmitri is known, and if Dmitri knows how much it would destroy him if he had to see the loss of it.
Instead, something else takes his attention. He speaks carefully - always gently. (As soft as the answering caress of his own fingers.) [ Be careful, Dmitri.
Don't let fondness blind you to cruelty. A man who learns he can mistreat you because you have a tender heart will keep doing it - until your heart isn't tender anymore. ]
One of his hands releases, then raises to draw a fire-warm trail of fingertips down Dmitri's cheek. Then, with a sad smile, he eases away as gently as he can - and feels more lost now than a moment ago. (Feels so much colder, so much less sure of what he knows.)
(It felt right.)
(He tells himself it always feels right at first.)
Sen radiates pure joy - that they'll allow a kiss, and that they have an accord with him. An agreement of the wishful mind. Oh, he's found rare fortune, and he'll be sure that the kiss is as perfectly imperfect as can be.
(And every one after!)
But it's the 'my Sen' that devastates him. When has he ever wanted to be possessed by anyone at all, claimed like a ragdoll or a servant? But that's not what this is, no! This is (his?) (no, never!) Rin, claiming him as their fondness. Their playmate, their friend, and maybe. Maybe their lover. (Whatever form that last may take, it's all the same to him!)
"A kiss from -" He laughs, lost little sound, then smiles a lopsided flash of teeth. "Yes. Your Sen. In whatever way you'll allow. I'd like that very much."
Ah, but!
"Rin, business first, and then we'll have the last of the night to wander and talk and enjoy. You said 'Ghost alert', so I can only assume you've discovered where our friend Payl might be?"
<.>
He leans into the trail of Faolan’s touch, his eyes just slightly slipping shut. Thinking how well he'd like this touch to linger. Thinking how he'd like to return the touch in-kind.
When the man draws away, Dima begins to move with him, reluctant to release, wanting to hold tighter. He manages to halt himself; he manages to let Faolan move as he must, though he lets his fingertips drag along the departure of Fae's; though he moves not an inch after Faolan has drawn apart.
And watching the man, offering a soft, a sad smile of his own: [ Oh, Faolan, I’m well aware. ]
Didn’t Dmitri learn long ago? He'd never truly given his heart, granted. Dmitri learned to guard himself long before he stepped foot outside his family's home. Long before eyes began to trail him, interests began to speak his name. He'd been cautious with all of them, and even then, there had been damage. Even then, he'd closed in further on himself, until there was no one, there was nothing he'd let into his chest, save the image, the dream of a creature like a raven.
What's remarkable is that he's dropped his guard, softened his walls at all with anyone.
What's remarkable is how he feels no real unease in it. If pain follows from this - this resurgence of his heart; this knowledge, this wondrous fact of Faolan - he'll accept it as he must. However much it aches him; however much that ache may never leave.
He's lived too long within himself. And there are some things - some moments; one man - worth running risks for.
[ It’s a hard lesson to learn; it is a lesson you never ought to have suffered. ] It's a lesson Dima would like to bury beneath other, gentler lessons. (If he could have the chance.) (If he can find the chance, and bring Faolan toward its holding.)
Dima finds he's looking at his hand (absent now of Faolan's) (stark, all on its own, and aching for the warmth of fire), and looks up, seeks honeyed eyes again. [ I don’t mean to startle you. Or push ahead of what feels— Reasonable, comfortable, sustainable for you.
Only know that you are always welcome, Faolan.
And hard lessons needn't always stay; not forever. ]
Ah, Rin likes so well to see Sen radiant! (Is he so very pleased with them? That's— That's better than nice. That runs through their heart, a feeling giddy and sparking trills.) To see their Sen radiant, and there's another flipping of their heart to know that yes they can call him so, and yes he seems to like it, and they speak it again softly - smile briefly, briefly almost shy - wanting to feel its lightness on their tongue: "My Sen."
Thinking they'll find out how many ways - so many ways, they're certain, they feel and know it! - he'll be their Sen. Wondering how many ways they might be his Rin. Knowing whatever the answers may be, the world ahead seems suddenly more vivid, more dawn-brushed and lovely.
(And hopefully - probably! - filled with more of those charming smiles!)
Sen's correct, though; business first, that's very wise! Rin nods, gives a glance back toward the shop with many mirrors. "He's over there. In there, apparently; I guess we ought to move before he makes a change. I haven't seen him yet, but the— That elf with the name I can't remember, he seems to know this place pretty much through-and-through, and he said we'd find Payl in there.
"So!" Rin unwinds their arms from Sen with a laugh, then - because they aren't through with him, oh no! - they blow him another kiss, another wink. "Until we find the right time, yes?"
And, giving a tug to Sen's wrist. "To the mirrors!"
no subject
Oh, he went too far and wounded Dmitri with his godsdamned pride.
(And in wounding the man, Faolan has learned something he wish he never had cause to discover: he never wants to see that look on Dmitri's face again. He doesn't think he can bear it a second time.) (Only a few moments ago, he was cause for Dmitri's smiles. He was -)
He's becoming cruel. He was cruel.
His heart feels like a stone in his chest. He knows there's more to this than just his pride; the way Dmitri corrected himself there, chose a different 'in case' from what he initially wanted to say.
A moment passes. Then another. Then, softly, [ I'm sorry. ]
He swallows and tries both to look and not look at Dmitri. [ I am sorry. I - ]
What can he say? He looks around himself, lost and frowning. Searching the crowd of undead for the right thing to say in such a precarious situation.
Because he has no script, no knowledge of how to make amends when he has done the hurting, he lets instinct win out; he takes Dmitri's hand in both of his own. There aren't any words, but his hands warm until it seems flames ought to spring from them - then do. Harmless against Dmitri's palm, engulfing and speaking something -
(About wanting. About desire.) (About fondness.) (Things that can't be spoken.)
How he would rather keep Dmitri safe within his fire than burn him.
Holding Dmitri's gaze with imploring eyes, he finally speaks again. [ Please, forgive me. Please - please understand, and forgive me. ]
He thinks, but doesn't say, For all the wrongs I've yet to do.
Sen looks pleased solely by the embrace - pleased and honored - and strokes the backs of his fingers along one of Rin's horns. This lovely creature. (How he would like to call himself theirs!)
They speak of all that occurred while he was on his makeshift stage and he smiles, thinking he could listen to them and their meandering speech for centuries. Clever, pretty Rin.
Their 'speaking of!' and torturous pause earns an appropriate feigning of breathless interest that dissolves into an amused little laugh. Well, of course they may be his manager; he never has needed one before, but he finds just now that he's never needed anything more, and there's no one more appropriate.
"I was only just saying to myself, Sen, Old Boy, you need a manager. Someone to ensure you're paid fairly in ball bearings and gold, and not in boggy ale." Tapping the tip of Rin's nose, he goes on, "You're hired. Pay yourself fairly, Pretty Rin."
..Does he dare?
He feels daring after reciting an epic to a group of undead.
"A problem. You see, I -" He turns suddenly sober, gone from playful to soft wondering. "You needn't answer. You could even pretend I never asked, and so shall I. But I'd like it if you weren't only that. A small step in another direction, perhaps, where -"
He laughs at himself then. "All the words in the world and I can't find some clever way to say I'd like to kiss you sometime. Oh, not here,” he says in faint horror at their surroundings. "But if, some other night, you felt charitable and the weather was right for it. Would you let me?"
Half-fanciful and glancing off from them - only to be drawn back to them and their perfect nose, perfect horns, perfect little thiefling - Sen adds hopefully, "And if you don't find it unendurable, consider allowing it again?"
<.>
He didn't intend this: The ache in Faolan's voice - palpable even in Messaging - or the pain written in his eyes. The man has done nothing in error. Dmitri built the cause for his own pain; he knows this. And it's no fault of Faolan's that he's known far too much of dismissiveness and cruelty, likely (certainly) from people of Dmitri's class.
He wants to interrupt that apology. He wants to speak after that first 'I'm sorry,' feeling certain he never wants to hear those words from Faolan; wanting to assure him that all is... if not well, at least not harmed by Fae. But Faolan hasn't finished; Dima reads that much in his expression, and he thinks perhaps, perhaps he ought to let Faolan say his piece before butting in. He can give the man that much, at least.
What follows stalls the Market into silence and distant haze.
What follows strikes Faolan in brilliant light, and turns Dima's heart to amber warmth.
Faolan took his hand. Faolan's keeping hold of his hand, Faolan's watching Dmitri attentive, with intention, and Dima finds he can't quite swallow. Feels choked up, and blink, feels dizzy feels a velvet tingle through his nerves and feels close to the presence of peace, of ease.
He feels the flames; not painful, but offering a subtle, flickered warmth. (He thinks, distantly, that he could weep.) (He does feel a burn at the back of his eyes, though there are no tears, not now.) It's beautiful, it's—
Oh, it's a kind of poetry. This offering from Faolan. This apology that never needed to be given, but this sight will keep forever in Dima's knowing: how his hand looked held in Faolan's, bathed in protective flame.
He doesn't watch the flame for long. Faolan's eyes draw his, and again Dmitri feels shaken through his core. He'd smile, if Faolan didn't look so distressed; if Dima didn't hear such aching in Faolan's apology.
Dima shakes his head softly, not breaking their shared gaze, wanting never to look away. His free hand moves to settle on the back of Faolan's, unwary of the flames, wanting only to offer an encouraging, a reassuring touch. [ There isn't anything to forgive. ]
At the back of Faolan's hand, Dima's fingertips press, then draw a steady, light-pressured brush, back and forth. [ You have known— Faolan. I understand you've been treated wretchedly, and known treachery in many names.
That isn't any fault of yours. You've been given reason for mistrust, and I understand that my class and name alike speak poorly for me.
I count myself fortunate that you've sustained my company at all. And I hold every moment dear.
No more apologies, Faolan; please.
If you feel it would help, of course I forgive you. But truly, truly, you've done nothing to forgive. ]
Rin likes the way Sen brushes their horns; no one's ever done that. (Even if anyone did, even if anyone tried, it would likely turn Rin ireful, their horns being no one's to touch.
Until now, of course. Now is - Sen is - very different.)
They like the way he looks at them, and lets them sway back and forth just a little as they keep their arms around him. They like the way - the many ways! - he speaks, of course they do, and how very well he plays and joins in their own mischief. They like how he listens, how he understands their meaning even if they don't head straight for any point; they like that he talks in his own meanders. They even like his finger tapping on their nose; another gesture no one else could get away with (Rin's bitten people for precisely that; right through veins and nerves and all).
They like the thought of being his manager, for real and for true!
And they like very, very much the thought of kissing him, and receiving a kiss from him.
Rin laughs, pleased and light, and their smile tells their answer ahead of speaking. Playfully, happily, they tap their finger against Sen's chest. "I have a secret for you, just for you.
"While you were onstage, after you kept my kiss and gave it a perfect perch, a perfect place to stay, I thought how much I’d like to kiss your cheek.
"And then something more than your cheek. You see, it struck me as the very nicest idea, and it strikes me as the very nicest idea, and in fact I'd made up my mind that someday I ought to kiss you, but of course only if you also thought it might be nice."
They bite their lip briefly, smiling upward still at Sen, and settle their palm against Sen's chest. "So you see, what I mean to say is 'Yes, I will let you,' and 'Yes, I will require - even demand! - this kiss from you."
After a slight pause, as if deciding whether they can say this, they offer warmly, "A kiss from my Sen. And I think another, and another, and another after that."
<.>
That look. That one that Dmitri gives him when their hands join.
That's the one he wants, oh, for the rest of his life. Although he's recognized the look of desire in Dmitri's eyes, no one's ever looked at him this way, with so much...hope. So much joy in just a touch. (So much peace, as though he came home.)
He could sob from the strength of his longing, stoked further by the tender brush of fingers.
He wants to ask, Why couldn't you have come along sooner?
Or, Why did you have to find me? Why did you have to be nothing I expected and everything I wanted?
He wants to ask what will happen to that look when they reach somewhere that Dmitri is known, and if Dmitri knows how much it would destroy him if he had to see the loss of it.
Instead, something else takes his attention. He speaks carefully - always gently. (As soft as the answering caress of his own fingers.) [ Be careful, Dmitri.
Don't let fondness blind you to cruelty. A man who learns he can mistreat you because you have a tender heart will keep doing it - until your heart isn't tender anymore. ]
One of his hands releases, then raises to draw a fire-warm trail of fingertips down Dmitri's cheek. Then, with a sad smile, he eases away as gently as he can - and feels more lost now than a moment ago. (Feels so much colder, so much less sure of what he knows.)
(It felt right.)
(He tells himself it always feels right at first.)
Sen radiates pure joy - that they'll allow a kiss, and that they have an accord with him. An agreement of the wishful mind. Oh, he's found rare fortune, and he'll be sure that the kiss is as perfectly imperfect as can be.
(And every one after!)
But it's the 'my Sen' that devastates him. When has he ever wanted to be possessed by anyone at all, claimed like a ragdoll or a servant? But that's not what this is, no! This is (his?) (no, never!) Rin, claiming him as their fondness. Their playmate, their friend, and maybe. Maybe their lover. (Whatever form that last may take, it's all the same to him!)
"A kiss from -" He laughs, lost little sound, then smiles a lopsided flash of teeth. "Yes. Your Sen. In whatever way you'll allow. I'd like that very much."
Ah, but!
"Rin, business first, and then we'll have the last of the night to wander and talk and enjoy. You said 'Ghost alert', so I can only assume you've discovered where our friend Payl might be?"
<.>
He leans into the trail of Faolan’s touch, his eyes just slightly slipping shut. Thinking how well he'd like this touch to linger. Thinking how he'd like to return the touch in-kind.
When the man draws away, Dima begins to move with him, reluctant to release, wanting to hold tighter. He manages to halt himself; he manages to let Faolan move as he must, though he lets his fingertips drag along the departure of Fae's; though he moves not an inch after Faolan has drawn apart.
And watching the man, offering a soft, a sad smile of his own: [ Oh, Faolan, I’m well aware. ]
Didn’t Dmitri learn long ago? He'd never truly given his heart, granted. Dmitri learned to guard himself long before he stepped foot outside his family's home. Long before eyes began to trail him, interests began to speak his name. He'd been cautious with all of them, and even then, there had been damage. Even then, he'd closed in further on himself, until there was no one, there was nothing he'd let into his chest, save the image, the dream of a creature like a raven.
What's remarkable is that he's dropped his guard, softened his walls at all with anyone.
What's remarkable is how he feels no real unease in it. If pain follows from this - this resurgence of his heart; this knowledge, this wondrous fact of Faolan - he'll accept it as he must. However much it aches him; however much that ache may never leave.
He's lived too long within himself. And there are some things - some moments; one man - worth running risks for.
[ It’s a hard lesson to learn; it is a lesson you never ought to have suffered. ] It's a lesson Dima would like to bury beneath other, gentler lessons. (If he could have the chance.) (If he can find the chance, and bring Faolan toward its holding.)
Dima finds he's looking at his hand (absent now of Faolan's) (stark, all on its own, and aching for the warmth of fire), and looks up, seeks honeyed eyes again. [ I don’t mean to startle you. Or push ahead of what feels— Reasonable, comfortable, sustainable for you.
Only know that you are always welcome, Faolan.
And hard lessons needn't always stay; not forever. ]
Ah, Rin likes so well to see Sen radiant! (Is he so very pleased with them? That's— That's better than nice. That runs through their heart, a feeling giddy and sparking trills.) To see their Sen radiant, and there's another flipping of their heart to know that yes they can call him so, and yes he seems to like it, and they speak it again softly - smile briefly, briefly almost shy - wanting to feel its lightness on their tongue: "My Sen."
Thinking they'll find out how many ways - so many ways, they're certain, they feel and know it! - he'll be their Sen. Wondering how many ways they might be his Rin. Knowing whatever the answers may be, the world ahead seems suddenly more vivid, more dawn-brushed and lovely.
(And hopefully - probably! - filled with more of those charming smiles!)
Sen's correct, though; business first, that's very wise! Rin nods, gives a glance back toward the shop with many mirrors. "He's over there. In there, apparently; I guess we ought to move before he makes a change. I haven't seen him yet, but the— That elf with the name I can't remember, he seems to know this place pretty much through-and-through, and he said we'd find Payl in there.
"So!" Rin unwinds their arms from Sen with a laugh, then - because they aren't through with him, oh no! - they blow him another kiss, another wink. "Until we find the right time, yes?"
And, giving a tug to Sen's wrist. "To the mirrors!"
<.>