no, you can't. i hope you don't take my musical stylings for granted.
[ to be fair, zetes' will probably never reach a point in his life when he will break from his sporadic habit of humming random bars or singing his favorite lyrics no matter what, but he'd like it if sebastian could take some enjoyment out of it, too.
he'll throw the hotel clerk a wave and an everything's fine nod in the hopes of discouraging any more concerned inquiries about blood as he passes through the foyer. best cast scenario, zetes cleans up the mess and the staff conveniently forgets it was ever there. worst case, they say they broke a wine glass and pay a small fee.
zetes presses his key card to the door of their room and then bustles in with his bags, nudging the door closed again the toe of his shoe. ]
Honey, I'm home. [ it's appropriately sing-songy, though the overall effect is undercut somewhat by the shake in his voice, the symptom of an unsurprising worry. some of the dread mercifully bleeds out of him once he steps further into the room and can lock eyes with sebastian, smile soft and a little sad but nothing like pitying. he spends a moment just looking, taking comfort in that, before: ] I've got an order of kisses. Also, actual medical supplies on the off chance anyone wants to question the healing power of love.
[pshhh, that's just nonsense. everyone knows love is nature's
penicillin. .... aside from how, you know, penicillin is nature's
penicillin. the point is sebastian immediately abandons what he was doing
- watching the news from one of the beds, hurt hand curled in his lap - and
lopes over to become an enormously tall beacon of reassurance, which is to
say divesting zetes of his bag of medical supplies immediately and
depositing it on top of the minifridge, so they can hug. he's warm and
noteably more tactile than usual, or at least the hug is harder than it
might be for a simple hello, chin pressed tight to the top of zetes' head.
sebastian hates making him worry, but lingering spasms of self-loathing
don't help either of them, he tries to remind his brain. it ... sort of
works, enough that he manages to stop thinking about himself and
concentrate on how zetes for some reason continues to choose existing in
the same room with him. ]
Hi, honey. Sorry your slippers and martini aren't ready, I left 'em in my
other pearl necklace.
[ because "honey i'm home" 50s housewife joke and filthy pearl
necklace joke at the same time, get it? of course. he takes absolutely
no steps back but manages to separate them just enough that he can tilt
zetes' chin up to look at him, hazel eyes heavy with a number of
conflicting feelings, and picks up one of his hands to hold the back of it
to his cheek. ]
I'm okay. Promise.
[ despite evidence to the contrary, i.e. one set of knuckles
spangled with bruises and what dried blood he hadn't managed to clean off
on his own.
[ zetes doesn't make any kind of fuss about having the medical supplies put aside for a moment, choosing instead to sink into the warmth of sebastian's embrace, arms wrapping around his back. he inhales long and slow once he's been tucked under sebastian's chin, breathing in the familiar scent of him and letting it spark a sense of calm. ]
And I was so looking forward to that martini. [ a bout of humor that mostly gets muffled against sebastian's chest as zetes is reluctant to pull so much as an inch, but at least sebastian can enjoy the press of lips and heat against his collar. zetes would have happily accepted a martini if it weren't for his more immediate duty of making sure the love of his life's injuries are properly doctored, so on the whole it's probably better that sebastian is not a 50s housewife. point in fact, zetes would much rather he just be sebastian anyway.
his eyes find sebastian's, his smile somehow conveying a ten minute speech's worth of forgiveness in its subtle curve. he squeezes sebastian's fingers and lets the back of his hand stroke over soft cheek and stubble, taking sebastian's gesture of reassurance and giving it back in turn. ]
Okay. [ he says, stretching up enough to kiss sebastian's chin. ] But I'm gonna fix you up, anyway.
[ this with a meaningful look at the bag next to them. ]
[ sebastian makes a vaguely acknowledging noise without actually following zetes' line of sight; yes yes, the bag is there, yes, he will submit to these healing ministrations without protest ( even if pre-zetes his instinct was to kind of just like .......suffer, since it's not like he didn't cause his own injury ), but first--
first. it's further reassurance for himself as much for zetes, to wrap both arms around his back and draw him all the closer left between them til he'd swear he can feel their heartbeats in the same ribcage, and pull him up on his toes for a proper kiss. softer than probably literally anything else he does with his mouth. he never knows how to say thank you for loving me in circumstances like this, thoughts and voice a Gordian knot of guilt and embarrassment even as he tries to accept forgiveness. he's grateful for that too, but it's a struggle to work past how he's made zetes need to forgive him in the first place, afuckingain.
but at the same time zetes is, has always been the one thing capable of just slicing that tangle in two, and sebastian is doing his damnedest to let him. so. ]
Okay, Florence Nightingale, I'm all yours. Just had to get that in before I forgot.
[ this is funny because as if he would ever forget how important kisses are!! speaking of, he stops blocking zetes' access to his bag of supplies as well as his hand, stepping back to hold it up between them. ]
[ there's no push back from zetes as sebastian banishes the last inches of space left between them, draws him up so his heels no longer touch the ground. he goes willing into that warm hold of apology, letting the press of sebastian's mouth convey what this means in a way easier than words. zetes himself has found comfort in his voice after pushing past the old instincts that would convince him to keep anything more dangerous than open friendliness in check, but he knows long conversations and bouts of blunt honesty aren't the answer to everything. especially not with sebastian, when he can feel it all with the same kind of clarity. he knows there are some shames that are better left crushed under teeth or between tongues. the air around them is clearer without words now.
zetes hums a soft, agreeable note as they break apart, smiling as his eyes open again. ]
I wouldn't let you forget. [ this a reassuring mumble before he drags his attention away from the shape of sebastian's mouth and finds the bag of supplies again. he grabs for it with one hand. ]
I should have bought a bonnet. Bet I'd look good in a bonnet. [ y'know, for the full florence nightingale effect.
more important than that though is the hand now held between them, torn and flecked in dried blood that would have made zetes' stomach turn when he was younger. he's become more accustomed to the sight of injuries now—all part of the job—but that doesn't mean he's grown any more comfortable with what marks and cuts and bruises mean. hurt of any kind doesn't get easier with time.
he takes sebastian's wrist delicately with one hand and starts to back him up towards the bed, aiming to sit him down on the edge so zetes doesn't have to actually reach up to do his healing. he's half tempted to say sebastian's mile long legs are a nuisance, but that feels like some form of blasphemy. maybe he'll just decide to take some satisfaction in sebastian's knees hitting the mattress instead. ]
Thanks for being a cooperative patient, sir. [ sincere if silly. it's possible he was a well-meaning nurse in another life. ]
[ as he backs up into the mattress and sits down, cooperatively, holding up his injured hand, cooperatively. the look he gives zetes is just shy of doe-eyed, effect increased by the unconscious tilt of his head. ]
And not at all like Laura Ingalls Wilder in drag.
[ maybe it's not the right place for a joke, at least not from him; sometimes he misjudges that, although usually not with zetes. he just wants to skip the part where they Talk about what was bothering him, because it's always something. it's always going to be something, unless someone invents a cure for psionic disorders. even then, despite all his yelling that he'd kick this out of his brain in a heartbeat, he doesn't really know if he would. it's part of him, and moreover it ties him and zetes together in a way nothing else would, and nobody else would understand.
he steers that train of thought directly off the tracks for the moment, reaching out deliberately for the shimmering edges of zetes' emotions, the murkier undercurrent of worry subsumed in the desire to care for him. it washes over him like - he can't help thinking this - sunlight breaking through clouds, and he lets his eyes close for a few seconds. apparently that's more important than whether or not his audience is receptive to his particular brand of humor.
like an echo of zetes' previous look, he smiles again when he opens his eyes. ]
Hey.
[ accompanying this with toeing zetes' ankle with a socked foot: ]
I love you. You know that, right?
[ this is i promise not to go anywhere in code, he's just. not going to say that out loud. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[it's raining bloooood ♫ ]
Counterargument: I have you to give exactly the same advice, and your voice doesn't make me want to put a chisel in my ear.
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i admit his voice is a little stiff but it's not that bad.
still, i'll take the compliment.
maybe i can do a concert for you when i get back.
[ which should be soon judging by the way he's just jogged his way out of the store and down the street with his newly purchased bag of goodies. ]
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i hope you don't take my musical stylings for granted.
[ to be fair, zetes' will probably never reach a point in his life when he will break from his sporadic habit of humming random bars or singing his favorite lyrics no matter what, but he'd like it if sebastian could take some enjoyment out of it, too.
he'll throw the hotel clerk a wave and an everything's fine nod in the hopes of discouraging any more concerned inquiries about blood as he passes through the foyer. best cast scenario, zetes cleans up the mess and the staff conveniently forgets it was ever there. worst case, they say they broke a wine glass and pay a small fee.
zetes presses his key card to the door of their room and then bustles in with his bags, nudging the door closed again the toe of his shoe. ]
Honey, I'm home. [ it's appropriately sing-songy, though the overall effect is undercut somewhat by the shake in his voice, the symptom of an unsurprising worry. some of the dread mercifully bleeds out of him once he steps further into the room and can lock eyes with sebastian, smile soft and a little sad but nothing like pitying. he spends a moment just looking, taking comfort in that, before: ] I've got an order of kisses. Also, actual medical supplies on the off chance anyone wants to question the healing power of love.
[ well. maybe to prevent infection, too. ]
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[pshhh, that's just nonsense. everyone knows love is nature's penicillin. .... aside from how, you know, penicillin is nature's penicillin. the point is sebastian immediately abandons what he was doing - watching the news from one of the beds, hurt hand curled in his lap - and lopes over to become an enormously tall beacon of reassurance, which is to say divesting zetes of his bag of medical supplies immediately and depositing it on top of the minifridge, so they can hug. he's warm and noteably more tactile than usual, or at least the hug is harder than it might be for a simple hello, chin pressed tight to the top of zetes' head. sebastian hates making him worry, but lingering spasms of self-loathing don't help either of them, he tries to remind his brain. it ... sort of works, enough that he manages to stop thinking about himself and concentrate on how zetes for some reason continues to choose existing in the same room with him. ]
Hi, honey. Sorry your slippers and martini aren't ready, I left 'em in my other pearl necklace.
[ because "honey i'm home" 50s housewife joke and filthy pearl necklace joke at the same time, get it? of course. he takes absolutely no steps back but manages to separate them just enough that he can tilt zetes' chin up to look at him, hazel eyes heavy with a number of conflicting feelings, and picks up one of his hands to hold the back of it to his cheek. ]
I'm okay. Promise.
[ despite evidence to the contrary, i.e. one set of knuckles spangled with bruises and what dried blood he hadn't managed to clean off on his own.
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And I was so looking forward to that martini. [ a bout of humor that mostly gets muffled against sebastian's chest as zetes is reluctant to pull so much as an inch, but at least sebastian can enjoy the press of lips and heat against his collar. zetes would have happily accepted a martini if it weren't for his more immediate duty of making sure the love of his life's injuries are properly doctored, so on the whole it's probably better that sebastian is not a 50s housewife. point in fact, zetes would much rather he just be sebastian anyway.
his eyes find sebastian's, his smile somehow conveying a ten minute speech's worth of forgiveness in its subtle curve. he squeezes sebastian's fingers and lets the back of his hand stroke over soft cheek and stubble, taking sebastian's gesture of reassurance and giving it back in turn. ]
Okay. [ he says, stretching up enough to kiss sebastian's chin. ] But I'm gonna fix you up, anyway.
[ this with a meaningful look at the bag next to them. ]
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first. it's further reassurance for himself as much for zetes, to wrap both arms around his back and draw him all the closer left between them til he'd swear he can feel their heartbeats in the same ribcage, and pull him up on his toes for a proper kiss. softer than probably literally anything else he does with his mouth. he never knows how to say thank you for loving me in circumstances like this, thoughts and voice a Gordian knot of guilt and embarrassment even as he tries to accept forgiveness. he's grateful for that too, but it's a struggle to work past how he's made zetes need to forgive him in the first place, afuckingain.
but at the same time zetes is, has always been the one thing capable of just slicing that tangle in two, and sebastian is doing his damnedest to let him. so. ]
Okay, Florence Nightingale, I'm all yours. Just had to get that in before I forgot.
[ this is funny because as if he would ever forget how important kisses are!! speaking of, he stops blocking zetes' access to his bag of supplies as well as his hand, stepping back to hold it up between them. ]
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zetes hums a soft, agreeable note as they break apart, smiling as his eyes open again. ]
I wouldn't let you forget. [ this a reassuring mumble before he drags his attention away from the shape of sebastian's mouth and finds the bag of supplies again. he grabs for it with one hand. ]
I should have bought a bonnet. Bet I'd look good in a bonnet. [ y'know, for the full florence nightingale effect.
more important than that though is the hand now held between them, torn and flecked in dried blood that would have made zetes' stomach turn when he was younger. he's become more accustomed to the sight of injuries now—all part of the job—but that doesn't mean he's grown any more comfortable with what marks and cuts and bruises mean. hurt of any kind doesn't get easier with time.
he takes sebastian's wrist delicately with one hand and starts to back him up towards the bed, aiming to sit him down on the edge so zetes doesn't have to actually reach up to do his healing. he's half tempted to say sebastian's mile long legs are a nuisance, but that feels like some form of blasphemy. maybe he'll just decide to take some satisfaction in sebastian's knees hitting the mattress instead. ]
Thanks for being a cooperative patient, sir. [ sincere if silly. it's possible he was a well-meaning nurse in another life. ]
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[ as he backs up into the mattress and sits down, cooperatively, holding up his injured hand, cooperatively. the look he gives zetes is just shy of doe-eyed, effect increased by the unconscious tilt of his head. ]
And not at all like Laura Ingalls Wilder in drag.
[ maybe it's not the right place for a joke, at least not from him; sometimes he misjudges that, although usually not with zetes. he just wants to skip the part where they Talk about what was bothering him, because it's always something. it's always going to be something, unless someone invents a cure for psionic disorders. even then, despite all his yelling that he'd kick this out of his brain in a heartbeat, he doesn't really know if he would. it's part of him, and moreover it ties him and zetes together in a way nothing else would, and nobody else would understand.
he steers that train of thought directly off the tracks for the moment, reaching out deliberately for the shimmering edges of zetes' emotions, the murkier undercurrent of worry subsumed in the desire to care for him. it washes over him like - he can't help thinking this - sunlight breaking through clouds, and he lets his eyes close for a few seconds. apparently that's more important than whether or not his audience is receptive to his particular brand of humor.
like an echo of zetes' previous look, he smiles again when he opens his eyes. ]
Hey.
[ accompanying this with toeing zetes' ankle with a socked foot: ]
I love you. You know that, right?
[ this is i promise not to go anywhere in code, he's just. not going to say that out loud. ]