roseblooms | IC Inbox

Hmm. [Without an iota of self-consciousness this time, Therion pushes his head up into Kurama's hand.] It is a nice room.

[His eyes drift over to the window--'amenities' will always have a particular meaning, now--and then wander right back over to Kurama. Prettiest thing in the room.

Next to his new knife, of course.]

But you're probably right. Typically, what I take don't tend to be offers, so you've already found your way ahead of the pack.

I'll make sure you see it again, after this.

[His fingers hook behind the base of one of Therion's velvety ears, rubbing softly where they sink into his thick hair — touch purely for the sake of touch, purely because he can.]

Perhaps someday I'll see your house, in return. [...] From a distance, if you prefer.

[Hhhhh, yes. Probably a bad idea to let Kurama make suggestions like this, while Therion's eyes slip closed and he tilts his ears into his hand, while he rubs the heel of his hand down into the bedsheets and still fails to stop himself from kneading them.

It's getting harder and harder to say why that'd be so stupid, though, and not because of the petting. Not for the sex, either.

A knife lies on the bed in front of him, lovely as an April morning and balanced for his hand, and Heathcote waited faithfully through the seasons for Cordelia to return his trust. Since he's already leaning towards him, Therion scoots further into Kurama's space until he's insinuated himself fully along the line of his body, side to Kurama's front, hip to stomach, legs a tangle.]

...Suppose I could bring you by once we have it, since you're doing so much to help me pay my share.

[He pillows his head on his elbow, comfortably wry.]

One of them's curious about you already. Though that shouldn't come as a surprise, after the roses.

[If they're that close already, it seems a little silly not to just wind up spooning each other — but Kurama doesn't reach to try to attempt it. With someone else, he might've without hesitation. But he's already used up his one overstep for the day by taking Therion's knife without permission; he's not about to push his luck.

It's not as though he can't still cast an arm around him or nuzzle against his hair like this, anyway. He still can, and does. It's just a little bit trickier to pull it off, and that's no real issue when Therion is more than worth the extra effort.]

The flower I gave you is better, though. I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell her about the unfavorable comparison.

[He's teasing, of course; there's a wink right there in his tone.]

Course not. It's none of her business.

[What's important about lying like this, you see, is that they can enjoy the closeness, the contact, and the Chroma, and Therion can still easily admire both of them--the dagger and the fox. Therion peers up at Kurama from the odd position, completely not sorry about it. Already, he's toying with the hilt again, like he can hardly bear not to have his hands on it.]

She has her own fancy knife. This one's mine.

Oh? Don't tell me she's like you, and would rather have a knife than a flower.

[Idly, his wandering hand finds its way to the back of Therion's neck, brushing aside locks of his hair until he finds the skin beneath it at the nape, where he can pet his fingertips with silent affection.]

Is she a thief, too?

[He didn't mention one in the ugly tale of his redheaded friend, but still, one never knows.]

Mm. No.

[He sighs into the bed, close to purring again. Who knew just how criminal fingers can be?]

The group of us who were traveling together, we all had different backgrounds and skills. Different purposes.

[Not partners, not with such disparate goals and methods, but something good nonetheless. What he has here with Kurama, that's a different good something, too. His tail completes another loose metronome swing and comes to rest curled on Kurama's hip.]

Even if she tried to say something else, I think the flowers as they are will always mean more to her. ...Though, maybe-- [The tip of his tail rises and falls.] --I'm just conniving to keep this particular trick of yours to myself.

Those are the best kinds of groups, I think. Different people with different purposes, yet brought together beneath a common goal. I suppose one might even say that's a crucible for forging friendship.

[Unable to resist further, he catches Therion's tail in the palm of his hand, closing his fingers loosely around it to make a cage for it to bat around inside.]

It's been a long time since I used a blade as a weapon; lately other techniques have taken precedence, for me. You can rest assured I won't be sharing that one with anyone else. Not even for my own purposes.

[As though a startled wild creature of its own, Therion's tail bucks in Kurama's hand and lashes around for an exit, making him glance back and snort at himself. It calms after he sees what the heck is happening back there, but absolutely doesn't stay still. Up, down. Up, down. It continues to mark some kind of time, more deliberate in its movements now that it's been caught.]

Really.

[He half-believes it, even. Kurama's sometimes odd like this, making funny promises or flowery (heh!) claims of affection, but Therion has come to feel that it's because he can afford to. What's the temporary keeping of one application of his talents in a life that spans a millennium? What does it cost him to impress a boy scraped out of the gutters of the Southlands, a mere eye-blink of an encounter before they turn their separate ways? Nothing much. It isn't like they create and reinvent this game for themselves to be hard, or to make demands neither wants to answer.

So it's easy, probably, to assure him. Doesn't bother Therion to accept such a small, absurd assurance, either. Even if Kurama didn't keep his word, even if he gave it away to his partner, or to Primrose, or to everyone in Prismatica, Therion wouldn't lose anything--well, he wouldn't lose much. Even if a prize like this dagger weren't uniquely special to Therion anymore, it'd... still be special to Therion.

Fools are like that. He plays with the knife a moment longer, then tucks it carefully into his hand and curls closer into Kurama, head butting up gently under his chin.]

Then it's my responsibility to mind it, too. [If it's going to remain something between the two of them.] I have to water it or anything to keep it happy?

Edited 2020-09-07 14:28 (UTC)

[Hmmmm, isn't that awfully nice. Therion really is catlike, not just in the physical features but in the way he can't just be grabbed and drawn in, even when the end result is something pleasant and desirable. You have to just set it out for him, leave it open-ended, and wait patiently for him to creep up on the prospect of it on his own.

Funny, how it's always demons that he instinctively analogizes to wild animals, because the complexities of their function are more rudimentary and straightforward. Yet here lies Therion, thoroughly human, and sometimes it's just easier to anticipate his moods and desires by ruminating on wild things, himself.]

No. No water, no sunlight. There's also no need to sharpen it; it'll never lose its edge — which, I should caution you, will sever one of your fingers like it's butter.

[A fine thing to tell him after that little juggling act, but either he was prepared to prevent a serious injury in the moment or he just had that much confidence in Therion's skills — regardless, he hadn't seen a reason for concern.]

It'll slice bone. With enough leverage on your part, it'll do the same for iron or stone. It should stay that way so long as —

[...Oh. Hm. He falls silent a minute, biting off the thought while he considers whether he wants to finish it. But he's already in this deep; he might as well see it through.]

...Unless something happens to me. The dagger will hold its form; that much is already set. But that additional quality, keeping it sharp — that's my influence, so if I were somehow removed, I think that effect would be as well.

[Right. The way he says it, anywhere else, it'd be until he dies. Here, "if I were somehow removed" means until he goes home. Back to his human mother, no longer sick. Back to where he belongs, in a world without Therion in it.

Well. He's no stranger to that. And neither of them has any illusions about the nature of this world, or this arrangement, or the contingencies that may, and will, present themselves.]

I'll keep it anyway.

[Even when what it is, or one aspect of it, will stand for the memory of something good and gone. In the end, such bittersweet reminders are what Therion keeps most of all.]

It's beautiful. One of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

I didn't think you'd throw it away the instant it lost the magical properties you didn't even know it had in the first place.

[He chuckles faintly, ducking his head to press a kiss against Therion's hair, right where it's in easy reach beneath his chin.]

...I don't think you're the type to throw things away carelessly to begin with. So I wasn't worried.

[He only needs one hand to hold the knife. Therion slings the other around Kurama. Make it easier for him, if he's going to keep doing sweet things like that.]

I travel light.

[He searches for the right words, discards the ones that are too heavy, the ones that don't catch the right light.]

So I keep the good stuff with me.

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