[ The Stellaron's movements are fascinating. Luocha wasn't wrong, in a way: setting Caelus's nerves aflutter did disturb the fragile balance between the Stellaron and its host, sent them spinning in different directions. What's fascinating about the current situation is that it's the Stellaron pulling Caelus back into sync, and not the other way around. It is telling him what to do; it is soothing him. Those long slow pulses of its astral core seem to be stabilizing his racing pulse. The Cancer of All Worlds is normally a disease which has no cure, and then here is this young man, using it as a shield for his own fragile heart.
Is the host himself aware of this? Not particularly, and that's fascinating, too. He can hear its voice sometimes, when it decides to speak to him — but in the moment, what it wants is indistinguishable from his own impulses. He looks at Luocha; he takes a breath. The man's lashes are so very long, his lovely green gaze so very soft and gentle and understanding. The touch to his chest is so patient, even though it could rip his heart out. And even if it's all a lie, even if this is only one of a thousand sour lessons he'll need to learn to swallow...
The Stellaron sings in his blood, rejoicing. Exultant in its purpose. Yes. Good. Desire — covet — claim. I will grant you what you wish. ]
...I want to kiss you.
[ Yes. Yes, that's right, isn't it? That's what he's wanted, this whole time. It feels so much better to have said it. So much better, even though the color in his face is heating his cheeks, and his blood feels like it's surging through every part of his body. It's on the table now, and he can't take it back. He's spoken it out loud. He's never felt more alive.
His face is tipped upward in humble supplication, like that of a parishioner at worship, but even so, Caelus reaches out. With the sort of hubris that would strike him down if he were the hero of a fable in which his foolishness rouses the gods, he places his other hand on the back of Luocha's knee, pulling him — gently, it won't work if the man refuses to budge — into his lap where he sits in the armchair. The cushion he was holding tumbles to the ground. ]
I want to touch you. [ Breathed like a prayer into the night, the low rasp of Caelus's voice hot against the shell of his ear. ] I think — I might want too much.
[ ...It occurs to the Trailblazer, much too late, that as pretty as Luocha is, and as coarse and thick and common as Caelus thinks himself — the man has a good few inches on him, both in terms of height and general physical build. The realization that Luocha is much heavier than he was actually braced for sends a jolt of irrational arousal going straight between his legs.
You know, I don't think I'm going to win, he thinks vaguely to himself, if this comes down to a fight — and this is a terribly funny thing to think, after begging for a kiss. ]
i don't want to admit what's in my search history now...
Is the host himself aware of this? Not particularly, and that's fascinating, too. He can hear its voice sometimes, when it decides to speak to him — but in the moment, what it wants is indistinguishable from his own impulses. He looks at Luocha; he takes a breath. The man's lashes are so very long, his lovely green gaze so very soft and gentle and understanding. The touch to his chest is so patient, even though it could rip his heart out. And even if it's all a lie, even if this is only one of a thousand sour lessons he'll need to learn to swallow...
The Stellaron sings in his blood, rejoicing. Exultant in its purpose. Yes. Good. Desire — covet — claim. I will grant you what you wish. ]
...I want to kiss you.
[ Yes. Yes, that's right, isn't it? That's what he's wanted, this whole time. It feels so much better to have said it. So much better, even though the color in his face is heating his cheeks, and his blood feels like it's surging through every part of his body. It's on the table now, and he can't take it back. He's spoken it out loud. He's never felt more alive.
His face is tipped upward in humble supplication, like that of a parishioner at worship, but even so, Caelus reaches out. With the sort of hubris that would strike him down if he were the hero of a fable in which his foolishness rouses the gods, he places his other hand on the back of Luocha's knee, pulling him — gently, it won't work if the man refuses to budge — into his lap where he sits in the armchair. The cushion he was holding tumbles to the ground. ]
I want to touch you. [ Breathed like a prayer into the night, the low rasp of Caelus's voice hot against the shell of his ear. ] I think — I might want too much.
[ ...It occurs to the Trailblazer, much too late, that as pretty as Luocha is, and as coarse and thick and common as Caelus thinks himself — the man has a good few inches on him, both in terms of height and general physical build. The realization that Luocha is much heavier than he was actually braced for sends a jolt of irrational arousal going straight between his legs.
You know, I don't think I'm going to win, he thinks vaguely to himself, if this comes down to a fight — and this is a terribly funny thing to think, after begging for a kiss. ]