citylogs | [ open ] kaveh's permanent catch-all

[ Midnight whines. A thin, soft, unhappy croon. ]

Your hand is still cold. And that's too far away to keep kissing you.

[ He also mutters something about getting a proper doctor to tell him the exact same thing, but Midnight sighs, gives Kaveh one more kiss, and then another, and as he clumsily gets up and slithers out of bed, he continues kissing Kaveh until he can no longer reach him. Sitting on the hard concrete, head still resting on the mattress, he looks at Kaveh, the half-lid of his eyes not at all hiding the plaintive look in them. Like a hound who isn't certain of anything except the possibility that he's done something wrong. (This is completely emotional manipulation, but Midnight's also not actually sitting by the wall, so the disobedience is present on too many fronts to be anything other than wilfully obtuse at this point.) ]

Miss Deepcolor's drawn me before. Netzach too. They both have to look at me to do that.

[ This doesn't actually solve anything, dummy! ]

[ like peeling a bandaid, or nudging aside a small, furred creature. kaveh's heart swells with affection and exasperation both for this utter fool. kaveh slips out of bed. his socked feet rest on concrete. his hand scrapes through midnight's hair in a gesture that manages to be both affectionate and entirely irreverent, a five-clawed thing that only just manages not to take midnight and shake him. ]

Didn't you know? There's looking at you, and there's looking at you. You look at different things, when you're trying to draw. [ though for a brief moment, kaveh smiles - he lets himself swim in a bit of that yearning - he'd liked to have seen what netzach drew, the shape of the midnight that netzach saw through the lens of his eyes. but an artist's portrait is a private thing. you revealed entirely too much of your heart through it. it could only ever be shared as a gift. ] And did I stutter, Midnight? You're as far away from the wall as you were a few seconds ago.

[ Midnight gazes up at Kaveh, eyes sad and pleading even while he leans into Kaveh's touch, relishing the stimulation at his scalp... then, with a much put upon pout, he puts his hand out to Kaveh, making a grabbing motion. ]

Give me your scarf, love. I want to smell you.

[ Midnight's goal was to fall asleep, but enjoying Kaveh is an ever present directive, here. And it seems like a completely fair exchange for him having to keep himself away from the only person with his heart in his vicinity. ]

[ kaveh looks. for one, he's asking a favour of midnight. for another, it's merely a scarf. at the last, it's a singular piece of cloth that acts as a symbolic barrier. but midnight is the one asking. ]

I ought to ask, really. What is a sense of smell like to a vampire? I suppose you can't tell me whether you're better or worse at smelling things.

[ kaveh unravels the scarf from his neck. it's a burning, sunset orange in his hands, all scars and chipped, red-painted nails. he hands it over to midnight. its dearth reveals the still-healing bruise from his neck, above where midnight once bit him. alhaitham had been less gentle. ]

For example, can you smell it? What's in my lipbalm.

[ kaveh can't. it had been an accident, really. it had been his mother's recipe. beeswax and coconut oil, more or less scentless because it got in the way of properly tasting food. but kaveh has spilt a little jasmine extract, and it had infused. ]

[ Midnight takes the scarf. He looks up again. While Kaveh speaks in his very Kaveh way, Midnight rolls onto a knee, straightens, and touches his neck where the skin stains purple. His fingers are very gentle, the instinctual raise of his blood pressure raises.

It was Netzach, Netzach wouldn't, then who, who would, with mine, with my with mine mine who with who my skin my blood mine— ]

Not sure. Beeswax, certainly, and coconut oil. Something else. Reminds me of tea. Herbal, floral.

[ Tea was never his forte, though, and neither were florals. He's an appreciator, not a connoisseur. Pink eyes do not move from where Midnight runs his fingers over Kaveh's neck. ]

Kiss me again and perhaps I'll have a better notion.

[ somewhere between scent and lipbalm, kaveh's lost midnight. he's just not certain how, or why, or where such a thing happened, but he feels the disconnect in the drift of midnight's fingers across his neck. the skin there is tender.

kaveh draws in breath. the breath is sharper than he remembers it to be. for a moment, his fingers slip over midnight's. it's not until his hand completes the motion before kaveh realises its existence. his fingers curl around midnight's in a gesture that kaveh can only read as possessive. he isn't certain if what he's possessive of is the touch of midnight's fingers, or the bruises beneath. ]

Jasmine. [ kaveh corrects. the red of his eyes searches midnight for a moment. upon reaching no real answer, kaveh cants his head. his lips part as he chooses to receive him, because kaveh suddenly thinks - midnight needs it. he simply isn't certain why. ] Come here, then, Midnight.

[ Midnight is in Kaveh's lap before he can tell himself to calm down, to focus, to think, to remind himself that Kaveh belongs entirely to himself and the idea that he might own him is a purely vampiric instinct telling him to eat before another claims him—

When he comes to, he's in the midst of a kiss so crushing that he can feel Kaveh's teeth behind his lips. He's seated himself on top of Kaveh's thigh; both his hands are gripped into blond hair, just a bit too tight, too close. Midnight's weight is fully on Kaveh. One tip, and Kaveh will fall back. His head will most certainly hit the wall behind him before hitting the cot. It really is far too small.

He draws back only to make enough space to lick his lips again. ]

Ah. [ It's a sigh. ] There's the jasmine.

[ midnight kisses kaveh. kaveh is drowned in it. day five has the world in scintillating motion. the very weight of midnight's body comes with it its own sound. it takes a moment for kaveh to place it: it's the sound of blood rushing through his veins, the pounding of his heart, the scrape of feet against concrete and the creak of a cot not meant for two. midnight is a scalding brand. frankly, kaveh thinks, it hurts. midnight's weight bears down on him. it's only the snap of kaveh's arm that prevents him from careening into the wall, from midnight careening into the wall (no headwounds, kaveh suddenly thinks. never. not again. no blood matted in hair, no concussive force-), and kaveh is the only thing that's holding up to the two of them. his thigh aches, his elbow aches -

his mouth and the taste of midnight. rough, the way a cat's tongue is rough. but for a moment kaveh tastes midnight's need, and that's all he needs to hold them steady in the moment as midnight's hands come for his hair.

in the aftermath, kaveh breathes. midnight is a curl of pink tongue in the dim, smoky lighting of a half-finished host bar, and kaveh - he opens his eyes. he remembers when he'd closed them. his hand, pressed into the bed, peels itself from the mattress to cover midnight's mouth. ]

Forget about the jasmine. [ kaveh says, breathless, kiss-bruised and aching, ] When was the last time you fed? You're hungry again, you fool.

[ Midnight sighs, presses his face to Kaveh's hand. Somewhat for the pleasure of pressure, somewhat in a silent plea for another kiss, even if the last one had been, colloquially speaking, rude as fuck. ]

Last week. [ ... ] Netzach asked. Doesn't have to be more than that, you know.

[ And timeline-wise, Midnight knows that Alhaitham will be around on the weekend to give him another dose. He's far more well set when it comes to blood than he used to be.

(Losing Welt Yang... Well, that was a bit of a shock. But there's nothing to be done there.)

He sighs out. No time but the present. He lays a very gentle kiss on Kaveh's fingers. Comical, as though he's forgotten that that possessive wave washed over him. (He has, or at least it's not in his thoughts. He's having very few thoughts.) ]

When did Netzach put this on you, then?

[ He lowers his hand, covers the bruise with his palm. He sighs. ]

Though I rather think this isn't quite like him.

And do you only feed when people ask, now? Do you ever ask yourself?

[ as if a puppet's strings have been snipped from their mooring. midnight presses his face into kaveh's hand, and kaveh takes the time to bring him close, to observe his pallor and the colour of his eyes. kaveh, in truth, has no idea what he's looking for. there aren't that many tells on a human being; kaveh has no baseline of what a vampire looks like when healthy, and he's fairly certain that never actually seen midnight healthy to begin with. there are no answers. there is no existing schema. kaveh is searching for something that is very much like nothing. he keeps searching anyway.

midnight's hand covers the curve of his shoulder. kaveh looks up. ]

Oh, no. [ kaveh says, and the bemusement is a beat late as it flits across his expression, ] No, Netzach wouldn't. [ kaveh reminds hi self - but netzach killed midnight. ] Well, he had no reason to. No, [ now the bitterness comes. kaveh's voice still. ] this was Alhaitham.

I was wondering what set you off. You are still hungry. Once a week is a terrible timeline to follow if it doesn't satisfy you, Midnight. Will you drink from me today?

No, I had certain arrangements.

[ ... Now that Welt's gone, Midnight's going to have to make some new arrangements. Preferably a few he won't be likely to miss later.

(Grim. Maybe best not to think about it like that.)

... Midnight then pulls away a bit, tucks around Kaveh's hand with the confidence of a man who certainly could have done that a few seconds ago, lifts his hand from Kaveh's neck and chucks him gently under the chin. ]

I have been a vampire longer than you've been alive, love. I've taken classes on the topic, if you'll believe me. Once a week is fine. More than, really.

[ Ideally speaking, he could maybe try taking something a bit closer to a pint per week, but as long as he's eating other food, it's not actually necessary. This is no longer the years of war leading up to the nth fall of Kazdel; there's no need to stock up. He can afford to be humane. He wants to be.

He settles on Kaveh's side, slipping off his thigh. The momentary pique is gone, now that he's gotten his explanation. Alhaitham, huh. ]

... If you tell me what happened with Alhaitham, I'll promise to be a little more transparent about last week.

[ With the haunted house, and just how often he was drawn back in there. Midnight doesn't mind trading a card for a card. ]

[ 'had' midnight said. kaveh has lived with the most infuriating haravatat known to mankind. it's a tense that kaveh knows well. but he doesn't do much more than note it, carefully shifting so that there's space for midnight on the cot. circulation returns to his thigh. netzach had been the weight of a small bird in hand, a duskbird in spring. midnight is the weight of a carved-edge sea. it's not necessarily his mass, so much as it's the weight of his being. kaveh thinks - the sword he'd made for midnight based on his best estimate of his weight was off by a margin. he'll have to go and shave it a little, have it properly balanced.

still: ]

Then you're a poor scholar. Age certainly hasn't done your self-preservation any good. The only thing you're my senior in is orneriness, and that's hardly anything to be proud of. [ midnight shifts. kaveh shifts with him. drawing plans, kaveh thinks, can be put on hold. he nudges midnight, then bears his weight down, slides him back onto the bed with a grimace. ]

Bribery. [ kaveh says, obfuscating, ] Or hostage-taking. One of the two. But there really isn't much to tell. The haunted house robbed him of his autonomy, as it did to many people. He bit me when he wasn't himself. [ kaveh stops. kaveh starts again. he's never been a particularly good liar. ] ... truth of the matter is, we're not on speaking terms right now.

I like to call it semi-transparent negotiations.

[ But Midnight listens, allows himself to be led down. Curls around him, arm around his waist, breathing in his warmth, the scarf still lightly folded between Midnight's fingers. ]

Was it because of that? Tell me what happened.

[ And because he did just promise, he does intend to be... well, honest enough in return. Now that he thinks about it, there are many things that happened last week that one might call rather significant, but Midnight is struggling to figure out which one won't lead to the unraveling of the rest. Which he's willing to give up, which he wants to keep close to himself. Which one will spare Kaveh of the helplessness of being in present and not in the past. Not with him. ]

Ah, haravatat.

[ kaveh says, and then falls silence. he studies the line of midnight's body. he is curled the way a cat would be, seeking out the last vestiges of a setting sun. there's an irony in that midnight is curled around kaveh, who only ever knows how to burn out - but he supposes body heat is body heat regardless of ironic connotations. still, kaveh's certain that this isn't enough. that this won't be enough. kaveh has known starvation. midnight seems more prone to it than anyone he has ever met.

slowly, kaveh's hand begins to move through midnight's hair. soothing strokes, contemplative strokes. midnight does not have to promise anything, kaveh thinks. kaveh has always been a poor negotiator. ]

Alhaitham and I had a fight. [ kaveh tells midnight. there's rue there as he cants his head, ] As we do. It's not as though it's our first fight or our last, and it's not as though it's the biggest one we've had. The biggest one... it tore us apart for years thereafter. This one will not, and cannot. But it was a fight nonetheless. You're going to think it's terribly silly - but remember, you asked.

[ kaveh mulls. then: ] The haunted house took away Alhaitham's autonomy. I thought it had taken it all. He bit me, over where you bruised me last. But perhaps Alhaitham had more control over it than I'd thought. He's done quite a bit for me over the years, you know. More than I know. More than I deserve. We argued. I asked him why - why me? [ kaveh draws breath. it's a seething thing. ] He said it was because it was me.

No, just an appreciator.

[ Midnight hums, sneaks in another kiss, because Kaveh's only half-right when it comes to his hunger, but settles in to listen, but mirrors the fingers in his hair with his own embrace, stroking down his spine with long, slow caresses. For the repetition of the motion, the soothing pressure of it.

(Kaveh leaves no warmth for himself. Midnight realizes he is warming ashes. He believes there is a coal in there, red and beating, and persists.) ]

And you find this unbelievable.

[ An observation like a mirror. If Midnight finds it silly, he finds reality itself silly, and Midnight tends to treat reality with the same sort of irreverence he does his past, the unremarkable parts of it. It's just a fact. Midnight is all right with a fact, so long as he's allowed to look at the whole of it. ]

[ kaveh's eyes close. midnight's fingers drag down the long line of spine. simultaneously it's touch underwater, twelve mattresses stacked in terrible, fairytale random, and it's scintillating overstimulation, too much at once. ]

Of course I do. That's because it is unbelievable. He knows what I'm like better than anyone else. Not-good, not-kind, not-decent. [ kaveh tweaks a lock of midnight's hair. he tucks behind a pointed ear. it's cartilage, kaveh realises, same as any other ear. kaveh's hand skims it, unbidden. he wonders if it pinks like any other ear when flushed. it's something to focus on as it comes: ] It was a deflection, Midnight. No more, and no less, and I was a fool for expecting otherwise. I won't forgive it.

[ ... With the way people are paying such close attention to his ears, he'll start reacting to touch there specifically in a Pavlovian manner, rather than any sort of sensitivity. Not that that's a bad thing... Kaveh's right in thinking that he doesn't think about himself in every way he should. Cultivating a liking for something is as much of a discovery as finding a taste fully grown, after all.

Which is to say that ear touch is followed by a soft hum, then a softer, gentle head shake as he simultaneously attempts to stay still, his fingers gripping into Kaveh's waist for stability. Tickly. Not bad. ]

Deflection... Hm. [ ... ] Has he said such things to you before, for the same reason?

He has deflected before. I would know.

[ kaveh smiles. it's a mere baring of teeth. his fingers run themselves over the shell of midnight's ears again. another thought: they must dissipate heat well. they must get cold in the winter. something knitted, perhaps. or would conventional ear mufflers work?

it's something to think about it as his hand drops. back into midnight's hair, back into familiar territory. ] He's quite good at it. Language doesn't only exist in word, it also exists in the absence of it. Well, you'd understand, however.

It does. I do.

[ But his understanding isn't perfect, which is the first step in understanding conversation in absentia. It's an art, but an art expresses the soul, and some letters aren't meant to be understood outside of those for whom they were written. ]

What was he deflecting from, then? A concern for his wellbeing, perhaps?

And how should I know what goes in the block of his head? If you ask me, who am I to ask? No, he's a confounding man with his own confounding logic, and it's enough for me to know that he doesn't intend to tell me.

[ kaveh's hand scrapes through midnight's hair, a little rougher now. a little more, because kaveh has suddenly found that he has more in him. to give, to express, to burn. ] It doesn't matter. He made a choice in deflecting. A choice, and I am capable of condemning that choice, just as I am powerless to force the issue.

There. We're not on speaking terms. And that's what the bruise is all about.

You never asked.

[ ... Oh, Alhaitham. Midnight realizes he understands and doesn't at the same time. Mostly, the feeling here is sympathy. Hurt and hurt again.

He chases after Kaveh's nails, his ire, pressing into his hand and closing his eyes, back arching a tiny bit in pleasure. As clever as Midnight can be about picking up patterns, he really is a simple man at heart. He likes the attention, biting as it is. He likes knowing Kaveh's there. ]

... What is that statistical fallacy... "Correlation does not equal causation?" Mmmn. Oh, Kaveh...

[ midnight arches into kaveh's nails. kaveh smiles, just so. he begins to carefully scritch midnight's scalp the way you would for a much loved dog, his fingers working his way across the crown of midnight's head, carding through the wild wind of his hair, and scraping its way across the nape of his neck. midnight enjoys it. if it's within kaveh's ability to give, of course he would. why would he not? it's midnight. midnight, who takes his gentleness and his ire both. kaveh does him an injustice. he really does.

still: ]

Don't quote that at me. You didn't go through years of being in the Akademiya; you didn't hear that fallacy being thrown around like the wind. Yes, correlation does not equal causation, but it's equally true that there must be a reason. Are you saying that this is a not a reverse causation? Or are you saying that I have it wrong?

Tell me, Midnight. Perhaps I've gone mad, but I suddenly want to hear it, what you have to say.

... I think there's nothing more to be said but more of the same thoughts I've always had, more of the same truths you are so very quick to dismiss out of hand.

[ Midnight says this quietly, thoughtlessly, craning toward Kaveh's touch. Still not rid of all thought here, even in his contentment. The tumble of his two truths: his yearning for a sense of naïvetè, his eyes irrevocably locked to reality.

Why hasn't he broken yet? What is he waiting for? ]

Tell me why he doesn't love you, Kaveh. Make me understand. It's the razor, you know. A simple answer for a simple question.

[ kaveh smiles. it's a weary thing. he drags his hand through midnight's hair again, lets it rest along the length of his neck. midnight runs warm, like a little sun. he draws circles with the pads of his fingers, and breathes out, long and slow. ]

You're right - the same cycle, the same words. You must be exhausted. I am exhausted. I exhaust myself, Midnight. That has always been the truth.

[ kaveh shakes his head. ] It doesn't matter, whether he loves me or not. Or rather, it matters too much. If he loves me, then he is making a mistake he should not. If he doesn't, it's because that is the way it ought to be. I cannot be loved. But you'll be the first to remind me - that the guilt I feel over the death of my father was one done by a child. And I'll be the first to remind you - that children can sin.

Should love hurt, Midnight?

[ Midnight hums a little, gathering a thought here, a word there. ]

Water in itself isn't wet. Nor does fire burn. They are elements that inflict those states of being on whatever they touch. Love is similar in that it simply is love. Love is not in and of itself hurt. The only way love can inflict pain is dependent entirely upon the nature of the heart surrounding it.

[ His eyelids flutter, eyes dusk pink between his lashes. ]

Love simply is. Sometimes, in spite of one's best intentions, it can damage the vessel that carries it. Such is the nature of an emotion so heavy, so prone to embedding itself into one's body.

[ open ] kaveh's permanent catch-all

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sorry it's backstory time again (tm)

takes out my crazy straw and slorpseslrplslpslrp

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why are they so fucking crazy (affectionate)