TLV: IC Contact

[sixfeetofdirt]

Careful; I bite.

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[weaponwithoutpurpose]

He nods against him, choosing to thank him with this rather than with words. "Think I can finish sleeping here?" he asks. "I will probably hit the first person I see if I try and go back."

[sixfeetofdirt]

"I insist," Astarion says firmly. "I'll also cast a vote for returning to bed, however."

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

He's shaky as he stands, feeling as if he had run the deck. All of his muscles are sore and twitchy, and it takes all he has to simply stand up and return to bed.

"I think I bruised my fucking back," he grumbles, but he's glad for it. Reminds him of where he is.

[sixfeetofdirt]

"...Rosita gave me a massage a little while ago, and it helped," Astarion says, as he more smoothly rises to his feet. "Would you like me to...?"

It's a heavy step back into touch and intimacy, but it feels much less loaded than anything explicitly sexual.

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

That sounds - phenomenal. Jacob hasn't had anything like that for as long as he can remember, but it's exactly the sort of touch that seems productive to him right now.

"Yeah, actually. That'd be great," he tells him, sliding onto his stomach on the bed. "What did it help for you?"

[sixfeetofdirt]

"It was relaxing," he recalls. "And it wasn't something I'd ever experienced before. It was just...a nice way to be touched."

No baggage, no expectation, no anxiety. Even while his body was going slack and loose, his mind could stay fully in that moment.

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

He settles his hands underneath his cheek, turning his head and closing his eyes. He's intrigued, of course, especially since he knows that touch is so difficult for Astarion sometimes.

"Sounds like you need a few more of 'em," he remarks.

[sixfeetofdirt]

Astarion finds some balm for his hands, and squeezes a little onto one palm. It's unscented.

"Rosita thought so too, I think. She wasn't wrong. My hands are rather cool, I'm afraid - I'll start with your shoulders."

Both warnings so that hopefully he won't tense up too badly when his hands settle down and start to slowly press at his skin and muscle.

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

Jacob is nothing but knots and scars and tense muscles, but he does try and relax under Astarion's touch. It's nice and firm, which he likes, and the thin t-shirt offers very little resistance between them.

"I don't mind," he tells him.

"Are you - doing better with the touch thing, then?" He doesn't know if this means that he is, or that he's hiding it better.

[sixfeetofdirt]

"I'm...trying to," he says. "Do better. I don't...I can't just shut myself away into a box for all eternity. I don't want that."

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"I don't want that, either." He breathes in, lets it out after a moment, then shifts as Astarion hits a sore spot. He doesn't tell him to stop, though.

"What happened?" he asks instead.

[sixfeetofdirt]

"I..."

He couldn't quite say it to Rosita. He talked around it and then let her make an inference which had become quite obvious. Here and now, he's afraid. He's actively touching Jacob. However he responds to the truth, Astarion will feel it.

But maybe he should feel that. Whatever shock and revulsion Jacob feels on learning what his lover is capable of. He deserves it.

"During the breach, I - forced myself, on someone else."

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

There's no shock. There's no revulsion. There's just Jacob, who turns his head a little to see him better over his shoulder. "Fuck." He says it in a whisper, feeling an ache in his chest. "I'm sorry. No wonder you've been all fucked up. That's - cruel. That you have to carry it when you - you're not like that."

[sixfeetofdirt]

The sympathy feels like a blade in his heart. Astarion has to force himself not to dig his nails into Jacob's skin, instead continuing to steadily rub and knead.

"...No. But perhaps I could be. When I'm - drunk on power. When I'm certain the world owes me whatever I want to take from it."

[deuceoftears]

"Of course." Jedao gives him a little bow - half playful, half thoughtless politeness, and steps into the boat after him, either in front or behind, depending on where Astarion left the space for him, and takes the pole to start scooting them slowly around the jagged little islets.

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

He can't imagine it, but, then again, he couldn't imagine his baby brother carving up people and displaying their skin on church walls. He couldn't imagine Joseph shooting people execution-style while they beg for their families.

He couldn't imagine himself locking people in cages and starving them to make brainwashed soldiers.

"Maybe. But that's not you. It does that to everyone. Power."

[sixfeetofdirt]

"Then I've been doing nothing but thirsting for poison since the moment I was freed from him. And I - I can't even say it's completely left me."

This is the thing he can barely even admit to himself.

"That hunger. It still - has so much promise."

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

He pushes himself up onto his elbows, then turns around to take Astarion's hands in his own.

"Promise for what?" he mutters.

[sixfeetofdirt]

Astarion frowns and looks away.

"Safety. Security. Freedom I can defend."

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"You can have that," he says, and its an argument they've had before. But not after he's had a taste.

"I already watched two people I love turn into someone they would have hated. The cost for what you want is huge."

[sixfeetofdirt]

"Were they happy?"

He doesn't even know why he's asking. If the answer is yes - and he sincerely doubts it will be - that won't persuade him either way.

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"I don't know," he admits. "But it didn't stop everything from crashing down around them. Joseph lost John, and me, and he will probably lose Faith. He worked - so fucking hard to bring us all together. That was the whole point. And he lost us."

Jacob swallows hard, the realization hitting him hard, saddling him with weight across his shoulders.

"So no. Even if he survived and kept the Project - he'd just be a shell."

[sixfeetofdirt]

A shell.

That's how he'd felt, walking away from Jedao when it was done. A steel shell, a gleaming suit of armour, powerful and untouchable. Protecting something vile and rotten - not just protecting it. Hiding it.

"I want more than that," he whispers. It feels so...naive, almost, to imagine there could even be more.

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"Yeah, me too," he says and then places his hands on Astarion's shoulders. "You can have it. Safe and secure and fucking happy," he tells him.

[sixfeetofdirt]

It's a nice idea. He really, truly wants to believe it. He would love to believe that he can have happiness and not poison it just by way of being who and what he is.

He doesn't answer. Just lowers his head and leans into Jacob's hands.