[ 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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...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. )
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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.]