[There's an implication there somewhere. Trevor hadn't been intending to slink off and leave Adrian alone all night, but he needs-- Something. A moment to breathe, possibly a second to think. Adrian drives out all sense and reason, and sometimes Trevor's fine with that, but other times -- like right now -- it's just...
He needs to breathe.]
As you wish, my liege.
[Trevor can't even bring himself to make Adrian suffer for his mood. Not after it's been sweet for what's possibly a record amount of time between them. Let it simmer a bit longer before Trevor turns bastard again.
It doesn't take long to get water, even a pitcher of it, with two glasses, which is what makes Trevor's lengthy disappearance somewhat worrying. The kitchen's a God-send of solitude, but the silence is deafening, and a damned drink might help quiet his mind, but they'd thoroughly polished off the last of the liquor last night. Had he thought to get more-- Had he thought, period--
Damn it all, what would Sypha do if she were home right now? Very probably smack Trevor around a bit and insist that he talk about his feelings, which has never been more out of the question, and the notion just irritates the FUCK out of him. Because all signs point to it, and he's never hated any idea more in his life.
In his life, and he there is no way he's being too dramatic about this.
Trevor's in a considerably darker mood when he returns to Adrian's room. He places a glass on Adrian's bedside table, fills it, then rounds to the other side of the bed. But he's abandoned the pitcher at the bedside table, and he's holding an empty glass in one hand. An empty glass he's still holding when he sprawls across the bedcovers, sighs, and then... Then starts glaring at it the moment he realizes it's still fucking empty.
If that's not the last goddamned straw...]
What are we doing with all this, anyway? [The tone's edging on snappy, but there's an undercurrent -- faint -- of something else. Anger, maybe. Fear?
no subject
He needs to breathe.]
As you wish, my liege.
[Trevor can't even bring himself to make Adrian suffer for his mood. Not after it's been sweet for what's possibly a record amount of time between them. Let it simmer a bit longer before Trevor turns bastard again.
It doesn't take long to get water, even a pitcher of it, with two glasses, which is what makes Trevor's lengthy disappearance somewhat worrying. The kitchen's a God-send of solitude, but the silence is deafening, and a damned drink might help quiet his mind, but they'd thoroughly polished off the last of the liquor last night. Had he thought to get more-- Had he thought, period--
Damn it all, what would Sypha do if she were home right now? Very probably smack Trevor around a bit and insist that he talk about his feelings, which has never been more out of the question, and the notion just irritates the FUCK out of him. Because all signs point to it, and he's never hated any idea more in his life.
In his life, and he there is no way he's being too dramatic about this.
Trevor's in a considerably darker mood when he returns to Adrian's room. He places a glass on Adrian's bedside table, fills it, then rounds to the other side of the bed. But he's abandoned the pitcher at the bedside table, and he's holding an empty glass in one hand. An empty glass he's still holding when he sprawls across the bedcovers, sighs, and then... Then starts glaring at it the moment he realizes it's still fucking empty.
If that's not the last goddamned straw...]
What are we doing with all this, anyway? [The tone's edging on snappy, but there's an undercurrent -- faint -- of something else. Anger, maybe. Fear?
Not that he'll ever admit.]