[Beneath the covers, she runs her hand lightly down his side, following the lean lines of his torso to the curve of his hip and lingering there while she gauges his demeanor with quiet thoughtfulness. When they'd met, it was because he'd needed someone to take care of him; now, long afterward, some of that initial dynamic still remains. It's not a question of whether he's exhausted; she already knows he is. The question is how desperate is he to get to sleep, or is he more hungry for passion, and willing to push sleepiness aside awhile to satisfy that craving.
One good test, she's found, is to touch him a little, and see whether he pushes back into it, or accepts it more passively. So, as she lifts her face for more kisses, she traces idle circles against his hip, occasionally allowing her hand to slide a little lower to rest atop his thigh.]
[It's impossible for Alucard to not spend days worrying that he has put Sypha on too high a pedestal or forced her into a position of guardianship for himself that is unfair and unasked for, and all born of that inital dynamic. He works hard to make sure that all other things are prized, it shows most when there's time to research and experiment, but nights like this invite those thoughts back.
Those thoughts are why his emotions try to hide any additional need for attention. Much simpler to shower Sypha with a torrent of affection, every touch a way to make it clear how dear she is for all aspects of this relationship. Much easier to kiss her endlessly and let any additional leans into her touch be natural reactions.
The hand that is atop his thigh is soon met with his own. Holding on gently, not daring it to move down, not yet. His other hand slides down Sypha's back slowly, tracing over her spine wit the lightest touch.]
That same hand travels up Sypha's spine one final time. When it descends, it lingers at the waistline of her trousers. Fingers sliding under the fabric just enough to make the suggestion, but not dare ask out loud. Not yet, at any rate.]
[Her eyelids flutter, lashes long where they frame the blue of her eyes, and she's quiet a minute as she simply soaks in the sensation of the way he touches her.
There's something left to do, though, before she can let them fall into the pleasure of losing themselves in each other, and she tilts her gaze up to watch him softly.]
I need your words this time, my heart. I want to share with you the catharsis we both need, after tonight, but you need to let go of all the things you kept behind your mask all night, first.
Mmm. I'd be flat on the ground if you asked it of me.
[Which is Overly Sappy he knows, but no less a truth for it. Watching those eyes, seeing her so content in his arms, it's enough to chase every other thought away.
I would still rather the handful of reasons I know, than to be left guessing at the millions of ones I don't know. Do you really think I'm ever not worried about you?
[She moves her hand back up the length of his side, tracking aimlessly on its way toward his shoulder, just touching for the sake of the contact.]
We're in this together, my love. So let me do this with you, instead of just being at your side while you do.
I like to lie to myself that you're not sometimes.
[But he's already so undone from all of this that there's nothing gained from burying what's not been articulated yet. It's known that he doesn't want this. Hates this, because it's another horrible reminder of how this has all come to pass.
Her hands are so warm against him. It feels like pressing against soft earth warmed by the sun.]
Where shall I begin then? That this creates all new fears of someone fool enough to try and use us against each other? That this will be a lifetime appointment which carries all the attendant threats on my life and anyone who may so much as speak with me once? How this is a millstone, and that I fear dragging you along with me even if you are willing?
[It's not severe, but it is emphatic, as though now that he's shown her the first glimpse of the thoughts that are plaguing his mind, she's in a rush to hook them and reel them to her before he can think twice about it and draw them back inside him.]
Be afraid, while you know you are safe here with me. Despair, while I am here to guide you back to the path of hope. Be crushed by the weight of this, here, where the only weight is me, and you already know full well that I am not so very heavy.
[She surges up, kissing him adamantly.]
Talk to me. Even if I have to find your words myself and draw them out from you one by one.
[Well. That startles her, all right — enough so that she's stopped in her figurative tracks, blinking uncertainly and the curveball he's just thrown at her.]
[Alucard nudges Sypha's face up, he wants her eyes to meet his for what comes next.]
I live in two places. You should not pick one or the other if it feels wrong to you. I asked so much, you gave so freely, but...it shouldn't be the only thing to define you. Because if you choose that path, then how shall all the world see you?
[It's been a long time since she's even mentioned the Speakers. Maybe he's right; in retrospect, she'd buried that part of her life as much as she's been able to, hasn't she, since abandoning them on the train. Maybe it was so that she wouldn't miss them so much. Maybe it was so that she would never have to confront doubts about whether she'd made that decision in haste.
She doesn't regret being here, being with him, loving him. That part, she knows she was right about. But maybe she's avoided finding her own catharsis, herself, by keeping it pushed away rather than confronting it like she's insisting that he do, himself.]
Or to be individuals. We act for the needs of the community, the group. So long as the community continues, the stories continue...to lose one, it does not matter so very much.
[She smiles, softly, and it wobbles.]
That's why I knew they would not see it as a betrayal, that I left. Because the work can still continue without me. It is no more of a loss than...cutting your fingernails.
[He strokes her back as he listens. It's just for the sake of touch, of movement, of something to encourage thoughts just as she does to him so many times before. A fair exchange of how to abide all of the things that live inside them that they coax out of each other.
She gave up so much on the whim of a vampire didn't she? Alucard has always reminded himself of that. It's why he is how he is to her. Reassurances that she did not forsake her people for no good reason at all. But that means demanding a world built around this castle, and that is not right either.
That wobble in her smile breaks him.]
It may not matter in the longest run, but you are still loved and missed. You are family to more than myself. [SHIT. DID HE JUST SAY THAT?] There are months that you should go beyond this city. To that world again, because they need you too.
[There's a hitch in her breath now, too, but she's determined to be honest, whatever the cost. It's why she doesn't shy away from expressing the feeling that made her breath stutter; she has, perhaps, always had an easier time of committing to her emotions in that fashion than he has.
She laughs a little, and it's nervous, vulnerable.]
That feels like you're sending me away.
[He's not, but they're no less her feelings whether they're irrational or not.]
I would be gone for more than just fifteen minutes, and not a moment more, if I were to go find them.
I am aware. And we'd have new fears for it as well, I'm sure but...I cannot be this selfish and demanding.
[They're still perfectly fitted together like this, aren't they? Close and nearly clinging to each other to navigate everything that has been forced to the surface.]
[She ducks her head, pushing it beneath his chin as she buries her face in his chest — a silent demand to be held tighter than she's been, looking for grounding as much as for comfort.]
I want to stay here, with you, in the first house I've ever lived in, and the first room that was ever mine, and my little drawers and your heated floors and —
[Again, one of those shuddering breaths; it's muffled this time, but he might well feel it as much as he hears it.]
It's so much easier to be brave for you than for myself, is all.
[He can do that. He can pull Sypha as close as he can to his chest, bury his face in the top of her hair, entwine her legs with his so that there's only one way that they could be closer.
This was never the intention. To have Sypha like this is terrifying, but it is a reminder they both need. Their relationship cannot be built of a single lane road.]
You will always have me. I am yours, utterly. Which means that I am to be as brave and as kind and as much a comfort as you have been for me. I want that.
[She falls silent a minute, bumping her nose against his collarbone, close to where the scar juts across his chest but not quite, and draws in a slow breath of just the scent of him, leftover perspiration from the party and a hint of the weeds he'd worn in his lapel, a touch of incense and smoke and leather.
He smells like both homes she's known. Her people's campgrounds always smelled of heat and oil and firesmoke, too.]
It's foolish, I know. I just need to hear you say it, plainly. That if I go...I can come back. That this house is mine to come back to, too.
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[Beneath the covers, she runs her hand lightly down his side, following the lean lines of his torso to the curve of his hip and lingering there while she gauges his demeanor with quiet thoughtfulness. When they'd met, it was because he'd needed someone to take care of him; now, long afterward, some of that initial dynamic still remains. It's not a question of whether he's exhausted; she already knows he is. The question is how desperate is he to get to sleep, or is he more hungry for passion, and willing to push sleepiness aside awhile to satisfy that craving.
One good test, she's found, is to touch him a little, and see whether he pushes back into it, or accepts it more passively. So, as she lifts her face for more kisses, she traces idle circles against his hip, occasionally allowing her hand to slide a little lower to rest atop his thigh.]
That's better for you, too, isn't it?
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Those thoughts are why his emotions try to hide any additional need for attention. Much simpler to shower Sypha with a torrent of affection, every touch a way to make it clear how dear she is for all aspects of this relationship. Much easier to kiss her endlessly and let any additional leans into her touch be natural reactions.
The hand that is atop his thigh is soon met with his own. Holding on gently, not daring it to move down, not yet. His other hand slides down Sypha's back slowly, tracing over her spine wit the lightest touch.]
We fit best like this, I think.
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[She catches his mouth in a kiss, more fleeting than the others, but no less satisfying for it.]
And right where you want me.
[She rolls her shoulders back a little, arching beneath the touch of his fingertips on her spine.]
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[Being tall is a curse with her around.
That same hand travels up Sypha's spine one final time. When it descends, it lingers at the waistline of her trousers. Fingers sliding under the fabric just enough to make the suggestion, but not dare ask out loud. Not yet, at any rate.]
Mmm. There is also that.
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[Her eyelids flutter, lashes long where they frame the blue of her eyes, and she's quiet a minute as she simply soaks in the sensation of the way he touches her.
There's something left to do, though, before she can let them fall into the pleasure of losing themselves in each other, and she tilts her gaze up to watch him softly.]
I need your words this time, my heart. I want to share with you the catharsis we both need, after tonight, but you need to let go of all the things you kept behind your mask all night, first.
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[Which is Overly Sappy he knows, but no less a truth for it. Watching those eyes, seeing her so content in his arms, it's enough to chase every other thought away.
Until Sypha reverses that.]
You don't need more reasons to worry about me.
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[She moves her hand back up the length of his side, tracking aimlessly on its way toward his shoulder, just touching for the sake of the contact.]
We're in this together, my love. So let me do this with you, instead of just being at your side while you do.
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[But he's already so undone from all of this that there's nothing gained from burying what's not been articulated yet. It's known that he doesn't want this. Hates this, because it's another horrible reminder of how this has all come to pass.
Her hands are so warm against him. It feels like pressing against soft earth warmed by the sun.]
Where shall I begin then? That this creates all new fears of someone fool enough to try and use us against each other? That this will be a lifetime appointment which carries all the attendant threats on my life and anyone who may so much as speak with me once? How this is a millstone, and that I fear dragging you along with me even if you are willing?
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[It's not severe, but it is emphatic, as though now that he's shown her the first glimpse of the thoughts that are plaguing his mind, she's in a rush to hook them and reel them to her before he can think twice about it and draw them back inside him.]
Be afraid, while you know you are safe here with me. Despair, while I am here to guide you back to the path of hope. Be crushed by the weight of this, here, where the only weight is me, and you already know full well that I am not so very heavy.
[She surges up, kissing him adamantly.]
Talk to me. Even if I have to find your words myself and draw them out from you one by one.
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[He's cut off before he can say more. It's stupid to break a kiss like that to make a point, but here they sit.]
...You never return that. Not truly, not beyond matters with myself.
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...I what...?
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I can't be your world all the time.
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But...
[...Shit.]
I chose your world.
[It's not a protest; it's too fragile and fracturing for that. It's a wall she didn't even realize existed, starting to dissolve at the foundations.]
I don't have anything else but this.
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I live in two places. You should not pick one or the other if it feels wrong to you. I asked so much, you gave so freely, but...it shouldn't be the only thing to define you. Because if you choose that path, then how shall all the world see you?
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[It's been a long time since she's even mentioned the Speakers. Maybe he's right; in retrospect, she'd buried that part of her life as much as she's been able to, hasn't she, since abandoning them on the train. Maybe it was so that she wouldn't miss them so much. Maybe it was so that she would never have to confront doubts about whether she'd made that decision in haste.
She doesn't regret being here, being with him, loving him. That part, she knows she was right about. But maybe she's avoided finding her own catharsis, herself, by keeping it pushed away rather than confronting it like she's insisting that he do, himself.]
Or to be individuals. We act for the needs of the community, the group. So long as the community continues, the stories continue...to lose one, it does not matter so very much.
[She smiles, softly, and it wobbles.]
That's why I knew they would not see it as a betrayal, that I left. Because the work can still continue without me. It is no more of a loss than...cutting your fingernails.
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[He strokes her back as he listens. It's just for the sake of touch, of movement, of something to encourage thoughts just as she does to him so many times before. A fair exchange of how to abide all of the things that live inside them that they coax out of each other.
She gave up so much on the whim of a vampire didn't she? Alucard has always reminded himself of that. It's why he is how he is to her. Reassurances that she did not forsake her people for no good reason at all. But that means demanding a world built around this castle, and that is not right either.
That wobble in her smile breaks him.]
It may not matter in the longest run, but you are still loved and missed. You are family to more than myself. [SHIT. DID HE JUST SAY THAT?] There are months that you should go beyond this city. To that world again, because they need you too.
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She laughs a little, and it's nervous, vulnerable.]
That feels like you're sending me away.
[He's not, but they're no less her feelings whether they're irrational or not.]
I would be gone for more than just fifteen minutes, and not a moment more, if I were to go find them.
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[They're still perfectly fitted together like this, aren't they? Close and nearly clinging to each other to navigate everything that has been forced to the surface.]
I love you too much.
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[She knows how it works. It's not like she holds it against him. Sometimes she even approves of it on the merits, but —]
You wouldn't do that, would you? Send me away because you needed me to be gone?
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[The little things, the stupid shit, that's one thing.]
There's no equality if I'm forced to do something so foolish. No respect for the choices you've made if I try to trick you down that road.
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[She chews her lip, worrying the corner of it in her teeth.]
I would need help.
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[It's a promise. It's a vow. He knows the roads his city uses to move through America.]
Everything you need is yours. You know that.
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[She ducks her head, pushing it beneath his chin as she buries her face in his chest — a silent demand to be held tighter than she's been, looking for grounding as much as for comfort.]
I want to stay here, with you, in the first house I've ever lived in, and the first room that was ever mine, and my little drawers and your heated floors and —
[Again, one of those shuddering breaths; it's muffled this time, but he might well feel it as much as he hears it.]
It's so much easier to be brave for you than for myself, is all.
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This was never the intention. To have Sypha like this is terrifying, but it is a reminder they both need. Their relationship cannot be built of a single lane road.]
You will always have me. I am yours, utterly. Which means that I am to be as brave and as kind and as much a comfort as you have been for me. I want that.
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[She falls silent a minute, bumping her nose against his collarbone, close to where the scar juts across his chest but not quite, and draws in a slow breath of just the scent of him, leftover perspiration from the party and a hint of the weeds he'd worn in his lapel, a touch of incense and smoke and leather.
He smells like both homes she's known. Her people's campgrounds always smelled of heat and oil and firesmoke, too.]
It's foolish, I know. I just need to hear you say it, plainly. That if I go...I can come back. That this house is mine to come back to, too.
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