[ His turn for a little amused teasing, despite the seriousness of the subject, or perhaps it's just because he can't help but smile when he's around Bob for long enough, light bleeding out under the door, an infectious playfulness. Easy to forget, otherwise, that he's supposed to be the younger of the two of them. He raises his eyebrows. ]
It wouldn't scare me. [ He reaches up to tug lightly at the lapel of Bob's coat, smoothing his fingertips over the heavy wool. Gives him a look, under the inky fan of his eyelashes. ]
[ bob loosens his grip, shifting his hand to the nape of armand’s neck and turning to face him fully. his mouth goes crooked. ]
Uh-huh. [ the flowers rustle with a roll of his shoulders. his palm slides further, caressing armand’s throat, cupping his jaw. he gets that intent, focused look in his eyes once more. not considering whether armand believes those words to be true but whether they should be — whether they would be still, if he took too much of the power and let it loose. armand is almost too comfortable with his darkness; he knows that.
but the light isn’t a vampire’s friend. ]
Me, but more. [ teasing, again. ] You sure you can handle that? I’m already a handful.
[ The touch across his skin dredges through his soul the way it always does. Stirs the silt of fear and horror, the years of blood, darkness, huddled underground like rats. Armand doesn't pay attention to it; he's used to it. He focuses, instead, on the deep blue of Bob's eyes, the human sound of his heart beating. The warmth of him, like the spring sunlight lurking beyond the clouds. ]
I don't mind a handful.
[ Playful once more, a smile curving across his mouth. He plucks at Bob's lapel, then reaches for the bouquet of flowers, easing it gently out of his hand to place it on top of a nearby box hedge. That done, he moves into the cleared space between them, sliding his hands under the edges of Bob's coat, over his sweater, as if eager to prove his point.
[ he walked into that one, teeth dragging over his lower lip as the implications flash through him. attention lowering first to armand’s hands on him, then dragging back up to his mouth. once freed, his other hand finds its way to armand’s brow, fingertips lingering at his temple.
he clasps those little glasses, guiding them up to peak beneath. ]
[ fondly, ] Just the eyes, like you. [ a fragment of himself, reflected in another. the shadow in adam. the strength in bucky. a low rumble — ] Gold. [ a slight incline of his head, the air of gossip shared. ] Kinda on the nose, right.
[ like the dye-job val wanted for him.
it might have happened any number of times they’ve been together, light slipping through the cracks when he dips into that molten well to exert his strength (or when his emotions burn that bit brighter). ]
[ Flickers of gold in the dark. Light through the crack in a door, in a wall. Light glinting off a ring as a hand lifts, dust motes dancing in a sunbeam cast across the floor of a silent cathedral. Gold in his eyes as he moves above Armand, caught between the draped curls of his hair, as he rocks in deep and steady rhythm between his thighs, strong and sure and impossibly beautiful. Gold as he bends to kiss him. Gold, of course.
Armand takes a breath. Smiles. Not surprised. One hand slips along the edge of Bob's sweater, thumb finding a way underneath to touch warm skin. ]
A golden god. [ Echoes of the memories between them. Armand's expression grows more sober, firming with surety. ]
[ it’s what he read in every book before this place and after it. in the texts set transcribed for him. between the lines in the questions adam asks of him. dark and light, but still you. yes, all of it is. impossible, contradictory, unstable. ]
Careful, that’ll go to my head.
[ armand’s veneration, already intoxicating as any high. his acceptance, when few others can grasp what he is, let alone allow the fullness of it into their minds. maybe it’s a trick of the light, or maybe — it’s there, gleaming flecks in the deep sea of his eyes. ]
I’m not afraid of you either, for the record.
[ presented to the council without time for comment, when bob has needed to kiss armand for several minutes now and finally, finally gives in to the urge. ]
[ There might have been comment -- self-deprecation or denial, perhaps you should be the automatic response -- but Armand's mouth is captured before he can make it, the words dissolving into the helpless gladness and gratitude he feels over every moment spent with Bob, treasuring each kiss as a gift unearned. He leans into the kiss, eyes fluttering closed, lips parting to lick out a little, tongue soft and inviting. His hands tense beneath Bob's coat, catching hold of his sweater as if he needs to stop him from disappearing. ]
Unfair.
[ To have given him no chance to respond. The resonance in Bob's mind is amused and fond, the rest of him still trading warm kisses for as long as he's allowed, growing steadily more languid, like a cat being petted. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ His turn for a little amused teasing, despite the seriousness of the subject, or perhaps it's just because he can't help but smile when he's around Bob for long enough, light bleeding out under the door, an infectious playfulness. Easy to forget, otherwise, that he's supposed to be the younger of the two of them. He raises his eyebrows. ]
It wouldn't scare me. [ He reaches up to tug lightly at the lapel of Bob's coat, smoothing his fingertips over the heavy wool. Gives him a look, under the inky fan of his eyelashes. ]
You, but more.
no subject
Uh-huh. [ the flowers rustle with a roll of his shoulders. his palm slides further, caressing armand’s throat, cupping his jaw. he gets that intent, focused look in his eyes once more. not considering whether armand believes those words to be true but whether they should be — whether they would be still, if he took too much of the power and let it loose. armand is almost too comfortable with his darkness; he knows that.
but the light isn’t a vampire’s friend. ]
Me, but more. [ teasing, again. ] You sure you can handle that? I’m already a handful.
no subject
I don't mind a handful.
[ Playful once more, a smile curving across his mouth. He plucks at Bob's lapel, then reaches for the bouquet of flowers, easing it gently out of his hand to place it on top of a nearby box hedge. That done, he moves into the cleared space between them, sliding his hands under the edges of Bob's coat, over his sweater, as if eager to prove his point.
A thoughtful hum. ]
Do you change, physically?
no subject
he clasps those little glasses, guiding them up to peak beneath. ]
[ fondly, ] Just the eyes, like you. [ a fragment of himself, reflected in another. the shadow in adam. the strength in bucky. a low rumble — ] Gold. [ a slight incline of his head, the air of gossip shared. ] Kinda on the nose, right.
[ like the dye-job val wanted for him.
it might have happened any number of times they’ve been together, light slipping through the cracks when he dips into that molten well to exert his strength (or when his emotions burn that bit brighter). ]
no subject
Armand takes a breath. Smiles. Not surprised. One hand slips along the edge of Bob's sweater, thumb finding a way underneath to touch warm skin. ]
A golden god. [ Echoes of the memories between them. Armand's expression grows more sober, firming with surety. ]
But still you. Dark and light, but still you.
no subject
Careful, that’ll go to my head.
[ armand’s veneration, already intoxicating as any high. his acceptance, when few others can grasp what he is, let alone allow the fullness of it into their minds. maybe it’s a trick of the light, or maybe — it’s there, gleaming flecks in the deep sea of his eyes. ]
I’m not afraid of you either, for the record.
[ presented to the council without time for comment, when bob has needed to kiss armand for several minutes now and finally, finally gives in to the urge. ]
no subject
Unfair.
[ To have given him no chance to respond. The resonance in Bob's mind is amused and fond, the rest of him still trading warm kisses for as long as he's allowed, growing steadily more languid, like a cat being petted. ]