[ Unprepared for the request, it takes Armand a moment to refocus. Does he have any places like that, places of safety, untouched by everything else? Places he can show someone he cares about, who has yet to see all the splintered facets of his history? He thinks about the cold, smoke-greased walls of the catacombs. The dusty velvet of the theatre in all its decaying glory. A house in Sausalito.
The words are small on the screen. The desire to show everything, to bare every part of himself, sits in his chest. Like flinging oneself off a high place, into nothingness. Terrifying. Yes, he want to say. Yes, you can see it all.
A step forward. A reeling back. No, it will be the truth, but contained. ]
[ oblivious to an extent, when he couldn’t know how his request affects armand. but not as much he plays at, when he knew he had to save this ask for the right moment. the privacy of distance, when armand hadn’t necessarily offered the world he knew to bob in the attic by choice but by memory. by feeling. ]
there’s something else i want to ask you you can say no i know you’re busy
[ the only person i trust. A gift handed over without pause. Immense, precious. It stops Armand in his tracks for a few long moments before he can reply.
i don't think there's precedent for training a guy like me the last time i did it was with the people who made me what i am, so they had an idea of what they wanted me to do for them lotta clipboards and ipads
probably bucky kicking my ass, or me kicking bucky's ass last time we fought it wasn't close, but i was pretty out of it. i guess i don't really know how i do when i'm me? i mean, i cleared the pound last month, so maybe there's a point i reach where i stop being me me when i do it, or it's still me except sometimes i blackout sorry i know that's a lot
If the darkness rises within you, what would you like me to do? I could restrain your body, or your mind. Perhaps attempt to take you back from that place. Return you to the attic.
[ wondering, briefly, whether he has ever been anyone’s priority. it feels — alien. flattering. terrifying. like something he hasn’t earned and couldn’t possibly be worthy of. ]
okay you can make me the priority but if you care about me, they’re part of the deal i wouldn’t be here without them
[ If he can even stop it from happening -- he hadn't been able to, last time. But he can tell himself that those had been different circumstances. Now, he knows this shadow, and the sun behind it. ]
[ a promise that can't, shouldn't be given, but he likes to hear it all the same. in the next pause, he doesn't type, just reads the words again and again. ]
thank you it means a lot to me that you'll help i was serious before though when i said i don't want you hurt either
[ in case armand doesn't count himself in that anyone. ]
i want to protect you
[ from this, from everything that would try to use or harm him. that's what he was made for. and what he still can't get right. ]
[ Instinctive, to refuse it, to say it's unnecessary. That it's centuries too late, the wounds already too deep, the scars on his body for eternity. But --
It's too much for a text message. He reaches out instead, finding Bob's mind among the many, standing on the threshold like a late night visitor. A smaller figure, backlit shadow, closer to the boy he should have been, if he'd only been left alone. ]
Bobby.
[ The part unsaid, but felt, communicated without communicating: sympathy, gratitude. Determination to do better, sorrow that it's necessary at all. ]
[ it both surprises him and doesn’t, that armand seeks him out. he doubts many people view armand as being in need of protection, however much he’d been guarded in the games. by people who would allow him to be controlled for longer, or give into cruelty, in the aftermath. not like what yelena did for him. or what he did for her and bucky.
and capable of fear, of humanity, because bob has seen it in his person. glimpsed it through the cracks in his mind, their first night shrouded in shadow, but the shape of it —
bob finds him there, at the threshold, reaching across the unreal space to comfort him. a phantom hand in his thick curls. fingertips fanning over the apple of his cheek. ]
C’mon, hey, don’t feel bad about it. [ affection answers his uncertainty, his sorrow. the flare of his protective instinct, burning bright. his mother tried to snuff it out, but it just kept sparking. the same drive to pick the pointless or losing battle with those who have harmed his friends. even if it makes things worse (even if he was too small to help, way back then). ] It’s okay. You protected me, too.
[ There was a time, five centuries ago, when Armand might have been capable of remembering being touched like this. A father's hand steadying him after a fall, a mother's arms embracing him to keep away a nightmare. Love and protection given without condition or expectation of receiving anything back in kind.
But those memories are lost to him, even with the invasive magic of the house working in his mind; he has long since grown used to receiving only when he can provide, when he can be of use, of service. Posed and beautiful and sexually available, or on his knees in devotion. Terrible in his authority and vampire powers. The lamb who takes the knife. The wolf who kills on command. Safe and secure, as long as the structures are maintained. He must always, always, be useful.
Here, now in the mindstate somewhere between the layers of thought and dreaming, Bob reaches for him. Wanting only to help, to comfort, even after being so grievously hurt himself. The simple act rings inside Armand's being like a struck bell; for a moment he freezes, terrified of what this means, not knowing what to do. Then he finds himself leaning into it, overwhelmed and unable to stop himself, something fundamental cracked and leaking within him.
The shadow boy, Armand small and stripped away, leans into the thought-memory of the hand on his cheek. Tears roll down from his eyes as he closes them, his own hands reaching for Bob, remembering the warm solid feeling of his chest, clutching his broad shoulders. ]
You don't understand. I can't -- [ Be vulnerable and survive. Be worthy of protection and survive. ]
[ he feels armand resist, his very form flickering, and wonders if he’s done wrong, a misstep in this moment or prior to it, caused by his attempts to keep pace with this charged entanglement. but armand is still reaching for him, clinging through the tidal wave of overwhelm that crashes over them both. the door he leaves open for armand allows it inside, lapping at his ankles, but bob’s stability, rare and surer for it, acts as a counterweight. all that he remembers of the void — of shadowed rooms and endless corridors — has prepared him for this. acceptance of the thought-memory-unreality that armand has the capacity to inhabit. understanding of its strange rules.
and of the pain that lives there, when it has nowhere else to go.
it means something, for armand to allow himself to be vulnerable like this. an often calm and untouchable creature, at least to people who aren’t paying attention (who think they’re easy; who see dark of bob’s eyes and fail to see the blue). ]
You can. [ which isn’t the best advice, is it? foolhardy belief is no more effective a salve than bottling up sentiment until you shatter. so bob holds what he can of the boy, of armand, and corrects himself: ] If you can’t, I’ll help.
[ an errant thought, of walker and yelena helping him out of the vault. it’s okay to be carried. ]
[ Such a simple thing to be offered; there's no reason why it should make him feel such grief, except it does. Armand curls into Bob's arms, into his embrace and the safety he offers, mind and heart expanding, connecting -- the attic, light slanting in through wooden boards, glowing in a window, lights shining in his eyes during the tests look up down testing for brain damage, light and dark, light and dark --
He finds the edges again. Grasping for something real. ]
Come to me. [ Not the vampire command, this time. The plea of a boy who has woken from a nightmare and finds himself alone. ] Bobby. I need to feel you.
[ another moment that feels significant. bob’s wanting and armand’s asking in alignment. before armand spoke up, bob had begun to map the short walk down the hall and stairs to armand’s room. wanting to offer more comfort than he can manage like this — to feel armand tremble, if it comes to that, and steady him through it — and stand as proof that he isn’t alone here, even after everything. ]
Won’t keep you waiting.
[ and he doesn’t, not when it’s a privilege to be wanted, needed, asked. long strides carry him there quick, thoughts reaching across the narrowing gap between them all the while. no more dishevelled than usual, on arrival (that is to say: somewhat unkept, with the mess of his hair and lopsided roll of his jumper sleeves). unwinded, when nothing could tire him now, but there’s an urgency in his searching gaze and seeking hands. ]
[ The door opens ahead of him as he walks down the hall; the oncoming thoughts join like a wave that sweeps down a ditch between two rivers, connecting, swelling with the contact, mingling together.
Armand is there in the doorway when Bob arrives, as if unable to wait even long enough to allow him to step into the room. He reaches for him, wraps his arms around Bob's middle, fisting his hands in his clothes, and buries his face against him -- not to feed, for once, but to tremble and gasp and soak his tears into his jumper. ]
Bobby.. [ Soft, almost as hoarse as he'd been that morning, when they'd first properly discovered each other. ] Bobby.
[ bob sweeps armand into his arms on sight, a palm anchored at the small of his back, pressing him close. his other arm loops around his shoulders, enveloping armand to the best of his ability, as if bob’s efforts might hold all his shaking pieces together. happy for armand to settle at the hollow of his throat, nosing into his hairline in turn. ]
Easy, hey. [ words drawn from deep in his chest, sure as the sweep of his hand up and down armand’s back. ] Didn’t mean to upset you.
[ the twin thoughts that drove his earlier declaration recur. i wanted to help and i wanted you to know — what, exactly? that he’s worth protecting, the same as his companions from home. that bob doesn’t view him as a means to better understanding his miserable lot, and armand’s capacity for aiding with such things — touching the void, as it were — are secondary to the intimacy they’ve found, which bob would very much like to preserve. kept apart from the pain, as armand kept him for days after his last journey into the dark. ]
[ The arms around him are warm and strong, the body he's draped against a stalwart place to bury himself in, to press against and unravel a little. He trembles, pulls in hitching breaths, as surprised by his own reaction as Bob is, taken unawares by the intensity of his own response -- and not for the first time.
After a little while, he grows still, if not calm, soothed by the hand on his back and the steady beat of Bob's heart. He stays curved into Bob, face hidden against his shoulder, hands kneading fitfully at the fabric of his jumper. Breathes his useless, pointless breaths. ]
I don't -- [ He starts. Stops. Starts again. ] It's been a very long time since anyone said that to me. And meant it, without condition. A very long time. Even Louis..
[ He trails off, plucking nervously at the warp of Bob's sweater. ]
[ anyone who has seen bob with adrian will recognise him as the patient kind. for all he finds his own moods frustrating, he rarely feels anything but sympathy for the peaks and dips of others. as long as armand snuffles and shudders, bob will tend him. caring little and less for his sweater, except for how it might help settle armand.
(parallel threads with nowhere to go, dangling loose: valentina as the first to believe he could be more and her subsequent dismissal of him, the moment he questioned her. tony and stephen as the first people in any position of apparent authority to try to look after him — and their betrayal of that so soon after, leaving him sorer than he’d feel otherwise. things he put on them all, probably. his own fault, like always. irrelevant to armand’s hurt. or rather, the opposite, moved by bob’s words, the kind of goodpain that nicks old wounds.) ]
I do mean it.
[ assured even though armand knows this, the truth of bob’s thoughts evident on his face as well as in his thoughts. briefly, he tries and fails to place louis in the crowd. one of the vampires, he knows, because of caroline’s notes. it’s not difficult to assume an intimate relationship of one kind or another from there. so much more to armand than he’s learned in the weeks since he awoke beside him.
bob loosens his grip on armand’s shoulders to drag blunt nails up the nape of his neck. ]
Even Louis? [ softer, then. ] You don’t have to tell me now.
[ He could stay there for hours, days -- forever, maybe, feeling the gentle scratch of Bob's nails over his skin, back and forth over the place where a precise strike could kill him if he were mortal. Half longing for those fingers to find his hair and pull, wanting the physical pain to match the emotional turmoil storming back and forth through the harbour of his body. Pull it out and make it hurt, to lose himself in sensation.
Armand hums softly in the affirmative. He straightens up to look at Bob properly, a little pink in the corners of his eyes from blood-tinged tears, his expression softened and tired, but deeply fond. ]
We were together for seventy years. But I couldn't be what he needed.
[ He lets go of a breath, raising a hand to touch Bob's face, as if he's trying to make sure he's real. ]
But not now. [ As in together, and as in choosing to explain it later, selfishly wanting a little more time before Bob discovers what's lurking in his own dark rooms, the skeletons and the piles of ash. ]
[ at seventy years, bob blows out a breath. longer than he’s been alive, obviously, and longer still than his scant connections, which might have gone on for days or weeks at a time, and were never, ever so steadfast as what he has now.
he nods through the rest, searching armand’s face for any signs of injury. displeased by the red mark of tears — by the thought of someone having armand for so long and never guarding him — quick to thumb them away. carefully, gently, for one with his power. ]
Shit, yeah. [ an immediate answer, when no secret’s safe for more than a second. his mouth quirks. ] Good thing I’m already there.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
The words are small on the screen. The desire to show everything, to bare every part of himself, sits in his chest. Like flinging oneself off a high place, into nothingness. Terrifying. Yes, he want to say. Yes, you can see it all.
A step forward. A reeling back. No, it will be the truth, but contained. ]
Very well. If you win.
no subject
[ oblivious to an extent, when he couldn’t know how his request affects armand. but not as much he plays at, when he knew he had to save this ask for the right moment. the privacy of distance, when armand hadn’t necessarily offered the world he knew to bob in the attic by choice but by memory. by feeling. ]
there’s something else i want to ask you
you can say no
i know you’re busy
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What do you need?
no subject
bucky and yelena are going to train me
wanda too, once i ask
but i think
i think you’re the only person who can see it
the stuff in my head
the only person i trust who can, i mean
would you come? and keep an eye on me?
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Trust. He must be worthy of it. ]
Of course. What does the training involve?
1/2
thanks, armand
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the last time i did it was with the people who made me what i am, so they had an idea of what they wanted me to do for them
lotta clipboards and ipads
probably bucky kicking my ass, or me kicking bucky's ass
last time we fought it wasn't close, but i was pretty out of it. i guess i don't really know how i do when i'm me? i mean, i cleared the pound last month, so maybe there's a point i reach where i stop being me me when i do it, or it's still me except sometimes i blackout
sorry i know that's a lot
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If the darkness rises within you, what would you like me to do? I could restrain your body, or your mind. Perhaps attempt to take you back from that place. Return you to the attic.
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i don’t know
maybe just listen to yelena
[ yes he’s attempting to abdicate any responsibility for decisions involving his person ]
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Very well. But my priority is you. Nobody else.
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okay
you can make me the priority
but if you care about me, they’re part of the deal
i wouldn’t be here without them
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[ If he can even stop it from happening -- he hadn't been able to, last time. But he can tell himself that those had been different circumstances. Now, he knows this shadow, and the sun behind it. ]
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thank you
it means a lot to me that you'll help
i was serious before though
when i said i don't want you hurt either
[ in case armand doesn't count himself in that anyone. ]
i want to protect you
[ from this, from everything that would try to use or harm him. that's what he was made for. and what he still can't get right. ]
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It's too much for a text message. He reaches out instead, finding Bob's mind among the many, standing on the threshold like a late night visitor. A smaller figure, backlit shadow, closer to the boy he should have been, if he'd only been left alone. ]
Bobby.
[ The part unsaid, but felt, communicated without communicating: sympathy, gratitude. Determination to do better, sorrow that it's necessary at all. ]
no subject
and capable of fear, of humanity, because bob has seen it in his person. glimpsed it through the cracks in his mind, their first night shrouded in shadow, but the shape of it —
bob finds him there, at the threshold, reaching across the unreal space to comfort him. a phantom hand in his thick curls. fingertips fanning over the apple of his cheek. ]
C’mon, hey, don’t feel bad about it. [ affection answers his uncertainty, his sorrow. the flare of his protective instinct, burning bright. his mother tried to snuff it out, but it just kept sparking. the same drive to pick the pointless or losing battle with those who have harmed his friends. even if it makes things worse (even if he was too small to help, way back then). ] It’s okay. You protected me, too.
[ when he awoke in armand’s room. ]
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But those memories are lost to him, even with the invasive magic of the house working in his mind; he has long since grown used to receiving only when he can provide, when he can be of use, of service. Posed and beautiful and sexually available, or on his knees in devotion. Terrible in his authority and vampire powers. The lamb who takes the knife. The wolf who kills on command. Safe and secure, as long as the structures are maintained. He must always, always, be useful.
Here, now in the mindstate somewhere between the layers of thought and dreaming, Bob reaches for him. Wanting only to help, to comfort, even after being so grievously hurt himself. The simple act rings inside Armand's being like a struck bell; for a moment he freezes, terrified of what this means, not knowing what to do. Then he finds himself leaning into it, overwhelmed and unable to stop himself, something fundamental cracked and leaking within him.
The shadow boy, Armand small and stripped away, leans into the thought-memory of the hand on his cheek. Tears roll down from his eyes as he closes them, his own hands reaching for Bob, remembering the warm solid feeling of his chest, clutching his broad shoulders. ]
You don't understand. I can't -- [ Be vulnerable and survive. Be worthy of protection and survive. ]
no subject
and of the pain that lives there, when it has nowhere else to go.
it means something, for armand to allow himself to be vulnerable like this. an often calm and untouchable creature, at least to people who aren’t paying attention (who think they’re easy; who see dark of bob’s eyes and fail to see the blue). ]
You can. [ which isn’t the best advice, is it? foolhardy belief is no more effective a salve than bottling up sentiment until you shatter. so bob holds what he can of the boy, of armand, and corrects himself: ] If you can’t, I’ll help.
[ an errant thought, of walker and yelena helping him out of the vault. it’s okay to be carried. ]
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He finds the edges again. Grasping for something real. ]
Come to me. [ Not the vampire command, this time. The plea of a boy who has woken from a nightmare and finds himself alone. ] Bobby. I need to feel you.
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[ another moment that feels significant. bob’s wanting and armand’s asking in alignment. before armand spoke up, bob had begun to map the short walk down the hall and stairs to armand’s room. wanting to offer more comfort than he can manage like this — to feel armand tremble, if it comes to that, and steady him through it — and stand as proof that he isn’t alone here, even after everything. ]
Won’t keep you waiting.
[ and he doesn’t, not when it’s a privilege to be wanted, needed, asked. long strides carry him there quick, thoughts reaching across the narrowing gap between them all the while. no more dishevelled than usual, on arrival (that is to say: somewhat unkept, with the mess of his hair and lopsided roll of his jumper sleeves). unwinded, when nothing could tire him now, but there’s an urgency in his searching gaze and seeking hands. ]
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Armand is there in the doorway when Bob arrives, as if unable to wait even long enough to allow him to step into the room. He reaches for him, wraps his arms around Bob's middle, fisting his hands in his clothes, and buries his face against him -- not to feed, for once, but to tremble and gasp and soak his tears into his jumper. ]
Bobby.. [ Soft, almost as hoarse as he'd been that morning, when they'd first properly discovered each other. ] Bobby.
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Easy, hey. [ words drawn from deep in his chest, sure as the sweep of his hand up and down armand’s back. ] Didn’t mean to upset you.
[ the twin thoughts that drove his earlier declaration recur. i wanted to help and i wanted you to know — what, exactly? that he’s worth protecting, the same as his companions from home. that bob doesn’t view him as a means to better understanding his miserable lot, and armand’s capacity for aiding with such things — touching the void, as it were — are secondary to the intimacy they’ve found, which bob would very much like to preserve. kept apart from the pain, as armand kept him for days after his last journey into the dark. ]
no subject
After a little while, he grows still, if not calm, soothed by the hand on his back and the steady beat of Bob's heart. He stays curved into Bob, face hidden against his shoulder, hands kneading fitfully at the fabric of his jumper. Breathes his useless, pointless breaths. ]
I don't -- [ He starts. Stops. Starts again. ] It's been a very long time since anyone said that to me. And meant it, without condition. A very long time. Even Louis..
[ He trails off, plucking nervously at the warp of Bob's sweater. ]
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(parallel threads with nowhere to go, dangling loose: valentina as the first to believe he could be more and her subsequent dismissal of him, the moment he questioned her. tony and stephen as the first people in any position of apparent authority to try to look after him — and their betrayal of that so soon after, leaving him sorer than he’d feel otherwise. things he put on them all, probably. his own fault, like always. irrelevant to armand’s hurt. or rather, the opposite, moved by bob’s words, the kind of goodpain that nicks old wounds.) ]
I do mean it.
[ assured even though armand knows this, the truth of bob’s thoughts evident on his face as well as in his thoughts. briefly, he tries and fails to place louis in the crowd. one of the vampires, he knows, because of caroline’s notes. it’s not difficult to assume an intimate relationship of one kind or another from there. so much more to armand than he’s learned in the weeks since he awoke beside him.
bob loosens his grip on armand’s shoulders to drag blunt nails up the nape of his neck. ]
Even Louis? [ softer, then. ] You don’t have to tell me now.
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Armand hums softly in the affirmative. He straightens up to look at Bob properly, a little pink in the corners of his eyes from blood-tinged tears, his expression softened and tired, but deeply fond. ]
We were together for seventy years. But I couldn't be what he needed.
[ He lets go of a breath, raising a hand to touch Bob's face, as if he's trying to make sure he's real. ]
But not now. [ As in together, and as in choosing to explain it later, selfishly wanting a little more time before Bob discovers what's lurking in his own dark rooms, the skeletons and the piles of ash. ]
Do you have somewhere to be tonight?
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he nods through the rest, searching armand’s face for any signs of injury. displeased by the red mark of tears — by the thought of someone having armand for so long and never guarding him — quick to thumb them away. carefully, gently, for one with his power. ]
Shit, yeah. [ an immediate answer, when no secret’s safe for more than a second. his mouth quirks. ] Good thing I’m already there.
[ the prelude to a kiss, sweet and sure. ]