[ 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.
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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. ]
no subject
(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.
no subject
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?
no subject
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. ]