[ Luckily, Will can't hear Griffon doing his level best to ruin the mood. It probably wouldn't help Will's post-demon-apocalypse blood pressure. ]
i appreciate the thought, but i'm just about back [ And toting two separate containers from the grocery store; one's a regular bag, the other is kept closer to Will's torso as he locks the ramshackle car and leaves it behind, padding over to the door.
He opens it and has about two solid, frozen seconds of adrenaline-spiked eye contact with V lounging back on the bed before he notices Griffon in the corner of the room. Who announces his presence with a rasping 'Oh hey, your booty call took longer than usual today!' Will jerks so hard he nearly drops the bag of soup cans to the floor. ] Shouldn't you be scouting for demons outside?
[ Will has helpfully retreated back out the door halfway, keeping it open for the large bird, and...he still hasn't revealed whatever he's got in the arm he's been keeping out of sight beyond the door. ]
( ever better — Will is nearly returned to them, and v thinks the time during his half-sleep must have been shorter than he realized. the surprise is a pleasant thing, difficult to come by in red grave's current climate, but v is nothing if not dedicated to finding what ways he can to enjoy himself, when possible.
he doesn't bother himself up out of bed in anticipation, which means he offers very little fanfare when the door finally opens after the little cues of sounds that precede the development — but what v doesn't provide in outward response to Will's return, he makes up for in an uncompromised attention when he locks eyes with Will when he comes in. the intensity is a shared thing, a bridge...one that Griffon seeks as a target.
v's wide mouth slips into a deeper, almost smarmy smile as Griffon is excused with all of the care he deserves: little. v is dressed down from his coat and shoes as he lays on the bed, though when Will moves to shut the door and the world outside away from them, he turns onto a bare shoulder to lift himself partway up. )
Looks like a decent haul today; anything good? ( the thing is, v's eyes aren't...on the groceries, actually. )
[ Will's halfway to stumbling through an answer, too, once he's done scowling through making sure Griffon actually leaves. (The only real benefit to V's familiar outside of combat is that he...actually usually does as told, outside of his commentary.) But then Will looks at V and sees that his gaze is on Will, on his own torso as if it's half as interesting as V's, who is, as usual, barely clothed. Will would probably look more in on the joke if he wasn't so visibly distracted again for a moment by the fact that V's shirtless. ]
--More gumbo. [ Will says, ever the romantic, gesturing with the swinging grocery bag. And then he has to turn fully back from closing the door, which means his other purchase is immediately brought out to be fully visible.
And it's a...well, it's not a proper bouquet. It's a single flower, in fact, although it's still held in the wrapping of a grocery store bouquet. ] And, um. This. [ Will's expression is neutral to curious, although his cheeks show the lie of it - a flush that's not just in spots that indicate embarrassment, but also creeps down the front of his throat like arousal sometimes does. ]
I-- think I'd planned on setting it up in some makeshift vase if you were gone, but then the concept of sending you outside while you stayed here just felt-- insane, so I...didn't. [ Will is...a big wordsmith while nervous, apparently.
Enjoy your rose, V. It's red and is a little bruised on the edges of its petals already, a fact that will become clearer as Will takes some halting steps towards the bed, not the room's big enough for far distances from any corners. ]
( v would have had quite a lengthy amusement at making a guessing game of what eventually comes to be revealed; some odd novelty, a bottle of liquor, perhaps some honest to god lube for once — his guesses could have been diverse in options and creativity. a monster's tusk, even — he would consider that closer within the realm of realistic than a new variety of soup.
but Will turns and reveals a...rose. a flower, a half-closed bud on a starkly-vertical stem, dark and thorny. nestled inside a wrapping of plastic that crinkles cheaply in Will's hand, nothing about what v discovers is a half-measure, or poorly executed.
v's face is still, upholding the half-neutrality in his expression while his mouth relaxes down into something thoughtful as he sits up the rest of the way. his attention is solely on it, the singular red transient bloom on its dangerous pedestal, like velvet and cutting obsidian. he reaches out for it — takes it, looking it over with fascination, feeling the cellophane fold and bunch inside his grip, keeping its thorns from meeting his palm.
he bends in and presses it to his face, breathing calmly in; bruised its petals may be, but its perfume is second to none on such rich color. )
O Rose, thou art sick: The invisible worm, That flies in the night In the howling storm, Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy; And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy.
( if there is concerning morbidity in v's recital, he might have missed the memo; though calmly, he smiles anew and tilts his head when his darkening eyes return to Will, approval clear in his expression. ) You're the first to indulge me in such a classic gesture of romance. I've never been given a flower before.
I think the only makeshift vase we can come by might be an empty soup can, unfortunately. ( v tilts the rose back up into his nose, taking in its scent again, lips bent in a charmed curl. he doesn't seem entirely worried about the logistics right now. )
[ Will probably doesn't need to be having a mild heart attack over presenting a six-dollar rose to a man he met three weeks ago. Especially considering that that man is notoriously stepping to the beat of his own (also presumably sandal-wearing) drummer. But here he is, feeling the slight tack of sweat against his lower back in a motel room, awaiting judgment...
Which is as soft as V ever is. Soft and considerate and yet commanding, V takes the rose with a pacing that's best described as somewhere between reverent and just...the constant never-rushing pace of a dedicated stoner.
The poem is alarming to register only for a moment, but V's sincerity in reciting it calms any nerves of Will's down immediately. Besides, they're both a bit-- odd in this respect. Will's said just as off-kilter things with less prompting, and maybe that's what calms him down enough to sit on the bed, joining V by facing him, not sitting directly next to him. ] In either life? [ They've discussed it, just barely, in a moment of genuine fear and then eclipsing acceptance from V; a cycle Will had followed with some difficulty.
Will swallows, expression twitching between grave and smiling. ] That's actually, uh. Very on the nose. [ Will laughs, but the laughter crackles away and just leaves the dry surface underneath it. Will is somber but not apologetic; only cautious as he continues. ] I got it because it's... [ a brief, allowing shrug, ] romantic. But also solitary. Beautiful but-- bruised. And... [ Will hesitates with a neutral conflict in his expression, trapped between the truth and the desire to cushion it. ] ...fated to be a temporary thing.
--Everyone is, though. [ Eyes on V's hands on the cheap cellophane. ] And unlike the rose, you're not-- actually alone.
( v has kept this fact so guarded from anyone, and for a chilling time, he wondered if letting Will know was a terrible mistake. the truth behind his identity could make or break his success in getting to the Qliphoth, with Dante and Nero grouped in by necessity; should one find out and put the logic together to realize v's plan, it could ruin everything. at this point, keeping Urizen from getting too over-powered is the most important part for the collective, too important to risk inspiring some distracting family drama.
but for v, it's a race against time that threatens to erase everything that he is from the face of the earth.
and Will carries that awareness with him, aligning himself to this cause he has no direct part in. his reasons appear selfless, but v sees the selfishness in them, and it flatters them both. one of those things v imagines he might call 'too good to be true.'
so perhaps it isn't quite so good, in the way good is meant by most people. v has given Will something that could be used as either a tool or weapon, and Will possesses the finesse for either; he elaborates his intent behind his gesture, the thought processes, the symbology before them — and in the wrong hands, these metaphors could be insulting.
but they're nothing except the truth that Will has interpreted, a motivation to make this one demonstration for them both in this narrowing window of time, a tribute that does not flatter by omission. a rose with withering edges, darkening like ash at those weak and outermost points, would be unappealing to many — to most. but not to one.
the quiet over them both is filled with the snapping crackle of the pliable material as v peels the rose open from its wrappings, pulling it free to the open air. its thorns rest eagerly against his skin.
v looks at Will with a mona lisa smile, his gaze purposeful. when he thinks of these thorns, he isn't thinking of himself. )
If I am this rose, I think you are the thorns: intending only harm to those that would harm itself, existing by nature but not necessarily a threat; with the correct approach...this preexisting defense is only an atypical texture.
One that I happen to enjoy. ( v glides a thumb pad over a rigid thorn, a triangular shape that bends ever so slightly, quite attractively. ) One that I've had to rely on.
(one that i've had to trust, v ultimately means, but such words are so dense as they are small that he doesn't know that he can enunciate them. not just yet.
v looks at Will with something a little more reverent...but he is far too past mourning and fear to fret for the dwindling time he has. it would be a waste of it — to sulk and weep for it, for the mistake he made that has afforded him perhaps...a far more profound experience than he expected. with such little time left, v intends to make what sense he can work for him. when he finds clarity, he will utilize it.
but being seen, every bruise and withering edge, memorialized — knowing it wasn't hidden away to be lost, knowing the full truth will be kept in the mind's eye that will survive it, is an unexpected thrill v reserves for moments of bloodshed and sulfur...not bedsheets and rose petal. )
[ V's silence speaks to his thoughtfulness, but it also suggests his acceptance; Will can read it in the genuine slack of his lips, the hardening and then loosening of his brow as he unwraps this symbolic, doomed gift. It's the sort of tragedy you don't usually get to know about in advance; a terminal illness that V was given at birth, which was barely a month prior. It's a secret Will has only carried for a fraction of that time, and it weighs on him, but it's a weight he's willing to carry...
...And one which he needs to articulate, to find symbols for. To share, in a sense. This isn't just a symbol over the misfortune of V, but Will's acceptance of it - and it's interpreted as-is, expertly, with the sort of softly-confidence intuition Will's used to wielding solo.
And V offers up his own interpretation, next, with Will raptly staring at him, clinging to every impression. Will's lips part, just barely in surprise, at the sight and explanation of V's finger carefully pressing against a thorn. It pinches the skin of his thumb without pricking it, and the anticipation for either outcome shouldn't send an electric flare down Will's spine, but it does. ]
But thorns can't protect the rose from everything. [ Will nods at the flower in V's hand. ] Someone's already cut this one and chosen its fate. [ Will swallows. He knew he was approaching with something deeper and more somber than typical romance, even while presenting his lover with a flower for one of the first times in his own life, but Will feels a shift in the energy. There's a heat to the room now, a silent pressure that Will brushes forward through as he leans on a hand closer towards V.
He touches the stem of the rose he's holding, first. Grips it gently right above V's hold on it, feels the thorns threatening his skin without breaking it. ] I can find somewhere to put this, if you want, and then-- [ Will leans in closer, enough to brush their lips in something more familiar and brief than an actual kiss. ] --I'd like to look at you, instead.
( they could probably do this for hours, much to the chagrin of possibly anyone nearby; Will remarks, for a final time, the doomed sense around v and the analogy of choice that they hold in unison, a thin rigid stem that hooks its teeth into their skin. it wouldn't be so direly poetic without a concluding clause to remember the concept originally presented. closure — will v be allowed that sort of luxury for himself?
but v huffs a small sound, lips lifting back with mirth, an immensely typical thing for him to do; the reference Will gives, 'someone's already cut this one,' and v thinks of the moment itself, sinking the yamato into his very core. too perfect an analogy, really...a punchline only v can appreciate.
he feels Will loom in closer; the bed saga beside him, sure, but he feels the heat on him. the fascinating thing about Will is how he permeates with his intensity, and v is becoming very acquainted to how his desire rolls off of him like a steam. v will sink into it, leaning sideways toward him, welcoming the lips that graze in a tantalizing manner against his mouth. he lets him — leaving his own mouth slack, eyes slipping shut for the brief encounter, carnal aside from the part where it's indulgently slumbersome.
it gives v the freedom to smile his widest, teeth flaring, cheeks pinching up. ) Curious to see what framing you think would fit this rose best. ( v is economical: meaningfully referential and flirtatious, all at once. he means the flower and himself simultaneously. )
[ V is a curiously content person; even when it's an act, it's a chosen and dedicated one. V was born to waste away and die, but V has chosen his own fate just as masterfully as his true self cursed this part of him to death - and V's done it with far more deliberate thought. V is always present and, even in surprise, he tends to run calm.
It's a soothing thing to feel, so close to his own face. Will's eyes fall closed too - although they open when he blinks in surprise, laughing briefly at the continued reference turned joke. ]
If I got to choose, it probably wouldn't be a waterlogged ceiling and soup cans, [ Will says, but while he keeps his hold on the rose they're both still holding, he doesn't move to take it from V. He also doesn't move to get off the bed. Something curious and warm is lapping at the base of Will's spine, something as intrigued as it is aroused.
Will presses his thumb in, just the finest bit of pressure more, and the thorn does the rest. It's a slight prick that doesn't even affect his expression, but when he shifts his thumb away from the stem, he can see the blood well up.
Will has no particular plan in mind, no verse composed that will favor this concept - of blood pacts, of ancient rites, of something more feral than Will usually admits to wanting to be - but he leans forward again and kisses V, this time with lips that lazily part.]
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i appreciate the thought, but i'm just about back [ And toting two separate containers from the grocery store; one's a regular bag, the other is kept closer to Will's torso as he locks the ramshackle car and leaves it behind, padding over to the door.
He opens it and has about two solid, frozen seconds of adrenaline-spiked eye contact with V lounging back on the bed before he notices Griffon in the corner of the room. Who announces his presence with a rasping 'Oh hey, your booty call took longer than usual today!' Will jerks so hard he nearly drops the bag of soup cans to the floor. ] Shouldn't you be scouting for demons outside?
[ Will has helpfully retreated back out the door halfway, keeping it open for the large bird, and...he still hasn't revealed whatever he's got in the arm he's been keeping out of sight beyond the door. ]
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he doesn't bother himself up out of bed in anticipation, which means he offers very little fanfare when the door finally opens after the little cues of sounds that precede the development — but what v doesn't provide in outward response to Will's return, he makes up for in an uncompromised attention when he locks eyes with Will when he comes in. the intensity is a shared thing, a bridge...one that Griffon seeks as a target.
v's wide mouth slips into a deeper, almost smarmy smile as Griffon is excused with all of the care he deserves: little. v is dressed down from his coat and shoes as he lays on the bed, though when Will moves to shut the door and the world outside away from them, he turns onto a bare shoulder to lift himself partway up. )
Looks like a decent haul today; anything good? ( the thing is, v's eyes aren't...on the groceries, actually. )
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--More gumbo. [ Will says, ever the romantic, gesturing with the swinging grocery bag. And then he has to turn fully back from closing the door, which means his other purchase is immediately brought out to be fully visible.
And it's a...well, it's not a proper bouquet. It's a single flower, in fact, although it's still held in the wrapping of a grocery store bouquet. ] And, um. This. [ Will's expression is neutral to curious, although his cheeks show the lie of it - a flush that's not just in spots that indicate embarrassment, but also creeps down the front of his throat like arousal sometimes does. ]
I-- think I'd planned on setting it up in some makeshift vase if you were gone, but then the concept of sending you outside while you stayed here just felt-- insane, so I...didn't. [ Will is...a big wordsmith while nervous, apparently.
Enjoy your rose, V. It's red and is a little bruised on the edges of its petals already, a fact that will become clearer as Will takes some halting steps towards the bed, not the room's big enough for far distances from any corners. ]
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but Will turns and reveals a...rose. a flower, a half-closed bud on a starkly-vertical stem, dark and thorny. nestled inside a wrapping of plastic that crinkles cheaply in Will's hand, nothing about what v discovers is a half-measure, or poorly executed.
v's face is still, upholding the half-neutrality in his expression while his mouth relaxes down into something thoughtful as he sits up the rest of the way. his attention is solely on it, the singular red transient bloom on its dangerous pedestal, like velvet and cutting obsidian. he reaches out for it — takes it, looking it over with fascination, feeling the cellophane fold and bunch inside his grip, keeping its thorns from meeting his palm.
he bends in and presses it to his face, breathing calmly in; bruised its petals may be, but its perfume is second to none on such rich color. )
O Rose, thou art sick:
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm,
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy;
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
( if there is concerning morbidity in v's recital, he might have missed the memo; though calmly, he smiles anew and tilts his head when his darkening eyes return to Will, approval clear in his expression. ) You're the first to indulge me in such a classic gesture of romance. I've never been given a flower before.
I think the only makeshift vase we can come by might be an empty soup can, unfortunately. ( v tilts the rose back up into his nose, taking in its scent again, lips bent in a charmed curl. he doesn't seem entirely worried about the logistics right now. )
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Which is as soft as V ever is. Soft and considerate and yet commanding, V takes the rose with a pacing that's best described as somewhere between reverent and just...the constant never-rushing pace of a dedicated stoner.
The poem is alarming to register only for a moment, but V's sincerity in reciting it calms any nerves of Will's down immediately. Besides, they're both a bit-- odd in this respect. Will's said just as off-kilter things with less prompting, and maybe that's what calms him down enough to sit on the bed, joining V by facing him, not sitting directly next to him. ] In either life? [ They've discussed it, just barely, in a moment of genuine fear and then eclipsing acceptance from V; a cycle Will had followed with some difficulty.
Will swallows, expression twitching between grave and smiling. ] That's actually, uh. Very on the nose. [ Will laughs, but the laughter crackles away and just leaves the dry surface underneath it. Will is somber but not apologetic; only cautious as he continues. ] I got it because it's... [ a brief, allowing shrug, ] romantic. But also solitary. Beautiful but-- bruised. And... [ Will hesitates with a neutral conflict in his expression, trapped between the truth and the desire to cushion it. ] ...fated to be a temporary thing.
--Everyone is, though. [ Eyes on V's hands on the cheap cellophane. ] And unlike the rose, you're not-- actually alone.
no subject
but for v, it's a race against time that threatens to erase everything that he is from the face of the earth.
and Will carries that awareness with him, aligning himself to this cause he has no direct part in. his reasons appear selfless, but v sees the selfishness in them, and it flatters them both. one of those things v imagines he might call 'too good to be true.'
so perhaps it isn't quite so good, in the way good is meant by most people. v has given Will something that could be used as either a tool or weapon, and Will possesses the finesse for either; he elaborates his intent behind his gesture, the thought processes, the symbology before them — and in the wrong hands, these metaphors could be insulting.
but they're nothing except the truth that Will has interpreted, a motivation to make this one demonstration for them both in this narrowing window of time, a tribute that does not flatter by omission. a rose with withering edges, darkening like ash at those weak and outermost points, would be unappealing to many — to most. but not to one.
the quiet over them both is filled with the snapping crackle of the pliable material as v peels the rose open from its wrappings, pulling it free to the open air. its thorns rest eagerly against his skin.
v looks at Will with a mona lisa smile, his gaze purposeful. when he thinks of these thorns, he isn't thinking of himself. )
If I am this rose, I think you are the thorns: intending only harm to those that would harm itself, existing by nature but not necessarily a threat; with the correct approach...this preexisting defense is only an atypical texture.
One that I happen to enjoy. ( v glides a thumb pad over a rigid thorn, a triangular shape that bends ever so slightly, quite attractively. ) One that I've had to rely on.
( one that i've had to trust, v ultimately means, but such words are so dense as they are small that he doesn't know that he can enunciate them. not just yet.
v looks at Will with something a little more reverent...but he is far too past mourning and fear to fret for the dwindling time he has. it would be a waste of it — to sulk and weep for it, for the mistake he made that has afforded him perhaps...a far more profound experience than he expected. with such little time left, v intends to make what sense he can work for him. when he finds clarity, he will utilize it.
but being seen, every bruise and withering edge, memorialized — knowing it wasn't hidden away to be lost, knowing the full truth will be kept in the mind's eye that will survive it, is an unexpected thrill v reserves for moments of bloodshed and sulfur...not bedsheets and rose petal. )
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...And one which he needs to articulate, to find symbols for. To share, in a sense. This isn't just a symbol over the misfortune of V, but Will's acceptance of it - and it's interpreted as-is, expertly, with the sort of softly-confidence intuition Will's used to wielding solo.
And V offers up his own interpretation, next, with Will raptly staring at him, clinging to every impression. Will's lips part, just barely in surprise, at the sight and explanation of V's finger carefully pressing against a thorn. It pinches the skin of his thumb without pricking it, and the anticipation for either outcome shouldn't send an electric flare down Will's spine, but it does. ]
But thorns can't protect the rose from everything. [ Will nods at the flower in V's hand. ] Someone's already cut this one and chosen its fate. [ Will swallows. He knew he was approaching with something deeper and more somber than typical romance, even while presenting his lover with a flower for one of the first times in his own life, but Will feels a shift in the energy. There's a heat to the room now, a silent pressure that Will brushes forward through as he leans on a hand closer towards V.
He touches the stem of the rose he's holding, first. Grips it gently right above V's hold on it, feels the thorns threatening his skin without breaking it. ] I can find somewhere to put this, if you want, and then-- [ Will leans in closer, enough to brush their lips in something more familiar and brief than an actual kiss. ] --I'd like to look at you, instead.
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but v huffs a small sound, lips lifting back with mirth, an immensely typical thing for him to do; the reference Will gives, 'someone's already cut this one,' and v thinks of the moment itself, sinking the yamato into his very core. too perfect an analogy, really...a punchline only v can appreciate.
he feels Will loom in closer; the bed saga beside him, sure, but he feels the heat on him. the fascinating thing about Will is how he permeates with his intensity, and v is becoming very acquainted to how his desire rolls off of him like a steam. v will sink into it, leaning sideways toward him, welcoming the lips that graze in a tantalizing manner against his mouth. he lets him — leaving his own mouth slack, eyes slipping shut for the brief encounter, carnal aside from the part where it's indulgently slumbersome.
it gives v the freedom to smile his widest, teeth flaring, cheeks pinching up. ) Curious to see what framing you think would fit this rose best. ( v is economical: meaningfully referential and flirtatious, all at once. he means the flower and himself simultaneously. )
no subject
It's a soothing thing to feel, so close to his own face. Will's eyes fall closed too - although they open when he blinks in surprise, laughing briefly at the continued reference turned joke. ]
If I got to choose, it probably wouldn't be a waterlogged ceiling and soup cans, [ Will says, but while he keeps his hold on the rose they're both still holding, he doesn't move to take it from V. He also doesn't move to get off the bed. Something curious and warm is lapping at the base of Will's spine, something as intrigued as it is aroused.
Will presses his thumb in, just the finest bit of pressure more, and the thorn does the rest. It's a slight prick that doesn't even affect his expression, but when he shifts his thumb away from the stem, he can see the blood well up.
Will has no particular plan in mind, no verse composed that will favor this concept - of blood pacts, of ancient rites, of something more feral than Will usually admits to wanting to be - but he leans forward again and kisses V, this time with lips that lazily part.]