"My, my. Let us not jump to hasty conclusions. I had this conversation with Hades already. I had thought that perhaps he might have spoken with you, owing to our continued commingling."
He tilts his head slowly to the side and slowly shrugs.
"I believe I told you the same before as well. Yet this is frustrating merely alluding to our thoughts and conversations, is it not? Let us speak plain so that we may enjoy the warmth of the indoors sooner." He gives the mug a squeeze and smiles very slightly, noting that Dirk seems to enjoy the drink well enough.
"You allowed me to tangle myself in your relationship. This is something that I specifically sought not simply to gain access to Hades once more, but to enjoy each of you as friends and lovers. Do you regret allowing me this? How do you feel about me? I hope that it is obvious how I feel for you... Yet by this very interaction, I fear that it is not."
"I'd call your fears pretty founded," Dirk mutters into his mug, trying to decide which of these questions he even knows the answer to. Or rather, which answers are true in this moment, and which were true last night, and which he'd decided on before the conversation started.
The one part of this that is really throwing him off is how peaceful it is. Standing on the roof in the December cold, sipping something hot, staring at the horizon over a city like this, already hearing birds and seeing signs of life.
"....I haven't decided," he says finally. "How much I regret any of this."
The facts are what they are, but the truth on which he won't waver is itself a statement of uncertainty.
That's a problem.
"I trust Emet--Hades. But there's the issue of bias. I don't really have any proof that you mean what you say. I also don't have any proof that you understand what you mean. You follow?"
"Hm. I wonder what the shape of this proof might look like to you. My actions, words, and intents are clear to me, of course. Perhaps I've been going about this all wrong? I've driven the bulk of my time and my energies, creative and otherwise, into trying to understand you and give you that which may please you..."
He breathes out through his nose and looks out in the same direction as Dirk, hearing and seeing the same things that he was. Perhaps for the first time.
"If I could enable you into my mind for you to search through all that you wished, I would allow it. Though my words meander, my intent is always a straight path."
Hythlodaeus let his eyes lose focus in the way that he would when he wanted to look upon the aether, though this was in vain. He rests his head on a gloved hand and considers Dirk's words. They were insulting, sure. But he knew that he had a hand in the way Dirk's perceptions were shaped.
"Perhaps I've played with you too much, to give you this impression of me. You do know that I am of sound mind, right?"
"Bribery. What you're describing right there is called bribery." Dirk removes his right hand from his pocket and swaps the hot mug to it, pushing his left hand into its corresponding pocket instead. He glances at Hythlodaeus, but he's not looking for anything there.
Dirk's face and his voice are as flat as ever.
It was flattering, at the time. He'd known it for what it likely was, but it was still an enjoyable novelty, so he'd reciprocated, hoping for more. He's not too proud to admit that was probably stupid of him. But it was a choice he'd made with the full knowledge that it was just a game.
"Sound mind.... I don't know what that means any more. I don't think it means what you think it means. I know I'm of sound mind, or the 'Dirk' I am a couple weekends a year is."
He exhales, blowing white clouds into a stream of condensation in front of him.
"And I know that an awful lot of people disagree with that fact."
Not even the great Dirk Strider is immune to the temporary novelty of seeing his breath sometimes when it's cold out.
"But you're right, you've played a lot of games. Is that what you like? Games? I love to play games myself."
"... Does this mean you only like to play with yourself?"
He can't help a half smile from creeping onto his face. He chuckles into his curled fingers and sighs. Oh, the exuberant nonsense of youth.
"And for all that I've been praised for my observation, I have let precious many things slip from my grasp where you are concerned. I watched them go through my fingers and understood my mistakes as I made them, yet observing and understanding aren't quite enough."
He turns to Dirk now, placing a hand on his chest over the tattoo. He blinks slowly at the other as his lips part. "What would you do in my situation? To win you over properly?"
In a manner of speaking, Hythlodaeus would be correct. Just not the manner he's speaking of. And Dirk exerts a Herculean effort not to groan, instead answering through somewhat gritted teeth.
"--it's said I don't play well with others."
Dirk disagrees with that assessment (obviously), but he finds it funny that he's accused of recalcitrance and insufferability when he always turns out to be the last one still trying.
....okay, so it's bleak humour.
That's his problem now, and it hangs heavy over him. He's not exactly great at letting go. He knows this. In most situations, it's one of his STRONGest strongest attributes. How is he to judge when his commitment to this has already gone too far, if not by amputation?
All of this about observations and understandings is only making it worse. He doesn't believe that Hythlodaeus 'understands' him, not for a second. Not even a bit. Whatever Emet has told him.
"What are you talking about?"
The corners of his mouth pull down faintly, as a side effect of the tension carried in the set of his jaw. He can feel his pulse in his right hand. It's probably because of the cold, but it's so heavy and fast, he can't feel anything in his fingers but his heartbeat.
"If I just tell you an answer and you do that, it doesn't prove anything."
Maybe if it were a taller building, but--
No. Nevermind.
That wouldn't prove anything either. He has a beat of almost-disappointment. But behind his shades, his eyes narrow.
"No one likes to hear about himself in such a capacity, not really. Not even the most self-interested of us. It would only be repeating your own words back to you, at any rate. You merely need to search your memory for what you have told me about yourself."
What a short, albeit depressing list.
"Is that really true? I thought you liked controlling situations. I think it would prove quite a bit, coming from me."
If Dirk was clever, he'd understand. Well, perhaps that was the wrong line to attempt an assessment. If he could get out of his own head for a moment, that would do wonders. That would not be happening anytime soon, unfortunately. He would simply have to make do.
"...Yet, unless I am met with consistent, abject rejection, it will be rather difficult to be rid of me. Sooner or later, you will find comfort in my presence. In fact, I think you may have found a thread of it already, though perhaps you prefer me to be unconscious?"
"One time? I don't think so. Anyone can do a thing once, if they're sufficiently motivated."
And Hythlodaeus has already told Dirk what motivates him.
Dirk sighs, and the dry burn of cold down his airway and into his lungs is invigorating, if also inescapably painful.
"I don't know if comfort is the right word, bro. I'd say I'll know what I'm looking for when I see it, but if the problem isn't you, then it's definitely me."
Hythlodaeus shivers a little, noting the wet hair by his cheek had begun to freeze. This could go on for hours, and they would have nothing to show for it except for a little hypothermia.
"...What a convenient, abstract set of criteria. Thoughtfully constructed to damn either of us for any imperfection. Nothing, be it physical or conceptual, is forged whole and perfect. My people spent centuries tweaking the most minute details in their Creations, philosophies... and relationships. No two— or even three people are built for one another without time."
He sets his emptied mug into the snow and lifts his hands to slowly interlace his fingers as he speaks and gestures. "...Like fallen logs against the cliffs and river banks, we will only fit together after we have borne the wearing force of the rapids and the friction between us. It is neither random chance nor serendipitous luck that Hades and I know one another's souls so well. ...And to be known is to be loved."
"You've just described the problem perfectly." He pauses, grim. "That's why I can't trust you. Or me."
He hasn't finished his drink yet. But after saying that, he raises it to his lips and sips from it... and keeps doing so, in lieu of speaking any more. There's really nothing else to say. He's got a much clearer picture of things now.
Unfortunately, that picture looks like this.
A stalemate on a rooftop, his face red and ears raw from the freezing temperatures. He knows from experience that no matter how ill he feels, how bottomless a pit has opened in his stomach or below his heart or under him in entirety, he won't really look any different. Right now it's almost comforting.
With the information Dirk had broken to him, Emet had removed Hythlodaeus from the conversation himself. It had felt like a chance, a possibility of some kind. But then Dirk let Hythlodaeus back in, and he knows that Hythlodaeus speaks Emet's language. They speak each other's language--
Dirk speaks Emet's language, too, but in a different way. It's a different tongue. And he allowed Hythlodaeus to return, but he cannot take Hythlodaeus back out again.
Like fallen logs against the cliffs and river banks, we will only fit together after we have borne the wearing force of the rapids and the friction between us. It is neither random chance nor serendipitous luck that Hades and I know one another's souls so well.
He set the two of them back up together.
He sets the mug down in the snow next to Hylodaeus'.
Hythlodaeus' eyes narrow slightly as he tries to guess what must be going through his head. He watches him place his mug in the snow next to his. He takes his opportunity and reaches up, taking him by the upper arm.
"...Just stay."
He props up on one knee and pulls Dirk into his open coat, trying not to totally smash his glasses against his chest.
"I'll make you another. I'm not asking for you to trust me, just for you to stay and see. Oh, dear me. Your arms are nearly frozen solid..." He rubs Dirk's upper arms with his woolen gloves.
"Come now, the newborn ponyta are warming the bed. There's even another that has hatched with a cerulean mane. ...Let us make sure they haven't set the room ablaze in my absence. Hades would be cross."
Dirk is caught off guard in a way he usually isn't. Usually people let him leave; whether they agree with him or not, his personal autonomy--and the finality of his decisions--is rarely challenged.
The solid, tragic pane of his mental state cracks immediately; what was a peaceless kind of resolve is more turmoil than conviction. Obviously, he resists, first instinctively and then fully consciously, digging in his heels and trying to pull back and away--but the snow on the roof is soft and thick and slippery and he's quickly wrapped in Hythlodaeus' body heat, still struggling like a cat Hythlodaeus is trying to put a sweater on.
"It is much too cold for you to pull your cock out, don't you think? How else am I to express this to you? It seems you will simply have to settle for this."
Hythlodaeus holds fast to him, drawing him in closer and planting his weight as he feels Dirk's shoes slip against the snow. He places a hand securely on the back of his head as both reassurance and headlock.
Dirk is used to fighting opponents with a size advantage. Height, weight, the works. Normally, though, anything as big as Hythlodaeus was built and programmed by Dirk himself. Also, he's usually armed and dangerous--physically as well as emotionally. This? Not so much.
"We're on the roof--people will be leaving for work, you can't just suck me off up here to solve everything!"
His go-to strategy in situations like this--bracing off his opponent, leveraging to do a front flip and wrap his legs around their neck--is immediately foiled by Hythlodaeus' hand against the back of his skull. He grabs the 'shade' by the shoulder instead, trying to duck or at least squirm downwards out of his grasp.
Hythlodaeus plants a hand under his ass and lifts him up and over his shoulder, moving his other restraining hand to a trapping one. He takes a hold of the back of his pants as an extra measure of security. He might be able to get away like the slippery eel he was, but would he do it if it risked his pants?
He shuffles to the edge of the roof and steps down a level with a less than ninja-like thud just above a sleeping Hades.
In the interest of full disclosure: Dirk has been hefted in similar fashion before. Not often, no, but it's happened both in and out of the ringt. Until this precise moment, it has also been an indignity inflicted by only one infmaously-exuberant man: Jake English.
The association is realised with equal parts shock, mortification, and horror. And the fact that Hythlodaeus has also chosen to seize him by the waist of his pants is a little extra embarrassing, especially in combination with the disparity in physical scale. But there are no counters to this that aren't Strife-levels of damaging and/or painful to their target, and for all of his misgivings and mistrust, Dirk does not actually want to break Hythlodaeus' nose or threaten to rip out a fistful of long, white hair. Which is, by the way, spilling over Dirk's face, beneath his shades and in his mouth.
But Dirk is honestly not sure what to do, except hope this is over with quickly.
It is mercifully over pretty quick. Stepping down from the levels of the roof isn't that strenuous for him, and once they're in front of the door, he at least lets go of his waistband to let them in.
Peculiarly, he doesn't have to duck to do this. ...Did he change the door height? Did they even own this place? He sets him down at last, his hand sliding as he does so. He lets his hand linger on the back of his head as he looks down at him.
"Let's get you warmed up. Go settle in with the ponyta, I'll bring you another cup."
It occurs to Dirk, as he's being toted around like a toddler, that he could use the doorway to make Hythlodaeus' life harder. It also occurs to him that his hands are free--he has six Pokemon he could deploy at any time, and only two of those Pokemon are likely to harbour any bias in Hythlodaeus' favour.
In the end, though, he does the maths and decides it's not worth it--a decision validated moments later when Hythlodaeus lets him down, although not without one final, strangely affecting gesture. He's literally queasy after that. Which doesn't stop him from (and may, in fact, be a motivating factor in) digging in his heels and making a stand, both for his dignity and his decision.
He does not, in fact, go settle in with the Ponyta. He doesn't even move an inch from where Hythlodaeus delivered him.
"That it is," he falls to one knee to close their height difference. The nine-candled Rapidash candelabra lights Hythlodaeus' face as he places his hands on the zipper of Dirk's vest to pull it open. His expression is a little softer in his eyes.
"I'll hang your vest. Here, give me your shoes. I'll set them to dry," he holds out his hand expectantly. "Breakfast is in half an hour, could you check on Hades for me? Ask if he would like me to bring it into the bedroom."
Dirk's hand shoots out to catch Hythlodaeus by the wrist--the cold, mist-wet leather of his fingerless gloves is a contrast to the cold, tight grip of his fingers. He hands over neither shoes nor garment.
"What do I have to do," he starts, still flat, his drawl still clipped off at the ends for enunciation. "To make you listen to me."
He glances at his captured wrist, following his arm to his face to study his expression. He looks off for a moment in visible thought and plays back the last several exchanges in his head.
"... I can bring you into the showers if you would like me to go down on you. Yet I wonder if you forgot to say your words out loud. So perhaps, you need only speak them."
Dirk's thoughts collapse almost immediately into a morass of frustrated confusion; bewilderment crosses his face as a crooked angle to his mouth and a growing crease between his brows. He does not let go.
"What? No. That's not what I'm talking about." Try again.
Hythlodaeus looks back at that hand, then to Dirk.
"... Was picking you up really so upsetting?" He says facetiously. He knows that isn't the problem. He sighs as he places a hand on Dirk's shoulder as he tries to reverse engineer this problem against his interesting brand of logic. His thumb comes up against his neck and he strokes there for a moment.
"You act as if there is some manner of finality to this issue of trust and understanding. We have time, don't you see? I intend for this to work betwixt us, betwixt Hades. You had not struck me as a man so willing to give up. Well... I don't give in so easily. You may want this conversation to be over, but I have more than just words for you."
His fingers slip to his collar and tighten vice-like into the fabric as he tilts his head to press their lips together.
There's something about kissing, something about being kissed, that bypasses all of his higher faculties and goes straight to his dick.
It catches him by the heart, too.
But that intense throb in his cock is the loudest part of a hot-wired startup he can never prevent or turn off. He's wished he wasn't this way--still wishes that, wishes he had more control, more layers of insulating something, that he didn't run so hot and turn on so easy. Double meanings fully intended.
His thoughts skip briefly, like a CD.
(Not that he's ever owned a CD.)
Among the more useless ones: Hythlodaeus' lips are cold.
Among the more intelligent: Betwixt him and Emet... and him and Dirk?
It's so bewilderingly specific that he can't possibly misunderstand it, but it feels like a misunderstanding in its own right.
There's so much else going on inside his head right now that he can barely focus on that alone.
Which is a major reason (but not the only reason) Dirk doesn't fight Hythlodaeus off him so much as he takes the first quasi-natural opportunity to break away--though he does do that fairly quickly, hurrying to take a breath and speak before Hythlodaeus does anything else.
"I can give you what you want," agitation tints that confused frustration more strongly now. "Why me, too?"
He sighs as Dirk breaks the kiss to speak. What useless protestation to call the conversation finished. But as he hears those words that the other man places between them, a look of startled understanding crosses his features.
He furrows his brows for a moment, just staring into Dirk's eyes. "That is a fundamental misunderstanding of what I want. I should have understood sooner that we were not discussing a matter with the same terms. I do not simply want Hades to myself. I want both of you, together, with me. As for why—"
He glances at the hand on his wrist. He would prefer to make his point with the chalkboard, but he's confident that this matter is simple enough that Dirk should have little of it to twist.
"...If you were to build a tower, as tall and strong as you possibly could, how would you do it? Would you make it like a rungless ladder and gaze towards the heavens to watch it collapse? ...Or would you give it strength and balance by constructing it from triangles to redistribute weight and force? It is because we complete one another. This is why I made you take the stone of Azem, not to fill a seat for a Convocation of a dead society. The Sun, the Earth, and the Moon need one another. If you allowed us to love one another thus, we could forge such a bond."
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He tilts his head slowly to the side and slowly shrugs.
"I believe I told you the same before as well. Yet this is frustrating merely alluding to our thoughts and conversations, is it not? Let us speak plain so that we may enjoy the warmth of the indoors sooner." He gives the mug a squeeze and smiles very slightly, noting that Dirk seems to enjoy the drink well enough.
"You allowed me to tangle myself in your relationship. This is something that I specifically sought not simply to gain access to Hades once more, but to enjoy each of you as friends and lovers. Do you regret allowing me this? How do you feel about me? I hope that it is obvious how I feel for you... Yet by this very interaction, I fear that it is not."
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The one part of this that is really throwing him off is how peaceful it is. Standing on the roof in the December cold, sipping something hot, staring at the horizon over a city like this, already hearing birds and seeing signs of life.
"....I haven't decided," he says finally. "How much I regret any of this."
The facts are what they are, but the truth on which he won't waver is itself a statement of uncertainty.
That's a problem.
"I trust Emet--Hades. But there's the issue of bias. I don't really have any proof that you mean what you say. I also don't have any proof that you understand what you mean. You follow?"
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He breathes out through his nose and looks out in the same direction as Dirk, hearing and seeing the same things that he was. Perhaps for the first time.
"If I could enable you into my mind for you to search through all that you wished, I would allow it. Though my words meander, my intent is always a straight path."
Hythlodaeus let his eyes lose focus in the way that he would when he wanted to look upon the aether, though this was in vain. He rests his head on a gloved hand and considers Dirk's words. They were insulting, sure. But he knew that he had a hand in the way Dirk's perceptions were shaped.
"Perhaps I've played with you too much, to give you this impression of me. You do know that I am of sound mind, right?"
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Dirk's face and his voice are as flat as ever.
It was flattering, at the time. He'd known it for what it likely was, but it was still an enjoyable novelty, so he'd reciprocated, hoping for more. He's not too proud to admit that was probably stupid of him. But it was a choice he'd made with the full knowledge that it was just a game.
"Sound mind.... I don't know what that means any more. I don't think it means what you think it means. I know I'm of sound mind, or the 'Dirk' I am a couple weekends a year is."
He exhales, blowing white clouds into a stream of condensation in front of him.
"And I know that an awful lot of people disagree with that fact."
Not even the great Dirk Strider is immune to the temporary novelty of seeing his breath sometimes when it's cold out.
"But you're right, you've played a lot of games. Is that what you like? Games? I love to play games myself."
.....
"But I don't like being played with."
Fuck. Wait.
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He can't help a half smile from creeping onto his face. He chuckles into his curled fingers and sighs. Oh, the exuberant nonsense of youth.
"And for all that I've been praised for my observation, I have let precious many things slip from my grasp where you are concerned. I watched them go through my fingers and understood my mistakes as I made them, yet observing and understanding aren't quite enough."
He turns to Dirk now, placing a hand on his chest over the tattoo. He blinks slowly at the other as his lips part. "What would you do in my situation? To win you over properly?"
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"--it's said I don't play well with others."
Dirk disagrees with that assessment (obviously), but he finds it funny that he's accused of recalcitrance and insufferability when he always turns out to be the last one still trying.
....okay, so it's bleak humour.
That's his problem now, and it hangs heavy over him. He's not exactly great at letting go. He knows this. In most situations, it's one of his
STRONGeststrongest attributes. How is he to judge when his commitment to this has already gone too far, if not by amputation?All of this about observations and understandings is only making it worse. He doesn't believe that Hythlodaeus 'understands' him, not for a second. Not even a bit. Whatever Emet has told him.
"What are you talking about?"
The corners of his mouth pull down faintly, as a side effect of the tension carried in the set of his jaw. He can feel his pulse in his right hand. It's probably because of the cold, but it's so heavy and fast, he can't feel anything in his fingers but his heartbeat.
"If I just tell you an answer and you do that, it doesn't prove anything."
Maybe if it were a taller building, but--
No. Nevermind.
That wouldn't prove anything either. He has a beat of almost-disappointment. But behind his shades, his eyes narrow.
He doesn't want to lose, he realises.
This game.
Emet.
Anything.
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What a short, albeit depressing list.
"Is that really true? I thought you liked controlling situations. I think it would prove quite a bit, coming from me."
If Dirk was clever, he'd understand. Well, perhaps that was the wrong line to attempt an assessment. If he could get out of his own head for a moment, that would do wonders. That would not be happening anytime soon, unfortunately. He would simply have to make do.
"...Yet, unless I am met with consistent, abject rejection, it will be rather difficult to be rid of me. Sooner or later, you will find comfort in my presence. In fact, I think you may have found a thread of it already, though perhaps you prefer me to be unconscious?"
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And Hythlodaeus has already told Dirk what motivates him.
Dirk sighs, and the dry burn of cold down his airway and into his lungs is invigorating, if also inescapably painful.
"I don't know if comfort is the right word, bro. I'd say I'll know what I'm looking for when I see it, but if the problem isn't you, then it's definitely me."
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"...What a convenient, abstract set of criteria. Thoughtfully constructed to damn either of us for any imperfection. Nothing, be it physical or conceptual, is forged whole and perfect. My people spent centuries tweaking the most minute details in their Creations, philosophies... and relationships. No two— or even three people are built for one another without time."
He sets his emptied mug into the snow and lifts his hands to slowly interlace his fingers as he speaks and gestures. "...Like fallen logs against the cliffs and river banks, we will only fit together after we have borne the wearing force of the rapids and the friction between us. It is neither random chance nor serendipitous luck that Hades and I know one another's souls so well. ...And to be known is to be loved."
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He hasn't finished his drink yet. But after saying that, he raises it to his lips and sips from it... and keeps doing so, in lieu of speaking any more. There's really nothing else to say. He's got a much clearer picture of things now.
Unfortunately, that picture looks like this.
A stalemate on a rooftop, his face red and ears raw from the freezing temperatures. He knows from experience that no matter how ill he feels, how bottomless a pit has opened in his stomach or below his heart or under him in entirety, he won't really look any different. Right now it's almost comforting.
With the information Dirk had broken to him, Emet had removed Hythlodaeus from the conversation himself. It had felt like a chance, a possibility of some kind. But then Dirk let Hythlodaeus back in, and he knows that Hythlodaeus speaks Emet's language. They speak each other's language--
Dirk speaks Emet's language, too, but in a different way. It's a different tongue. And he allowed Hythlodaeus to return, but he cannot take Hythlodaeus back out again.
Like fallen logs against the cliffs and river banks, we will only fit together after we have borne the wearing force of the rapids and the friction between us. It is neither random chance nor serendipitous luck that Hades and I know one another's souls so well.
He set the two of them back up together.
He sets the mug down in the snow next to Hylodaeus'.
"Thanks for the drink."
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"...Just stay."
He props up on one knee and pulls Dirk into his open coat, trying not to totally smash his glasses against his chest.
"I'll make you another. I'm not asking for you to trust me, just for you to stay and see. Oh, dear me. Your arms are nearly frozen solid..." He rubs Dirk's upper arms with his woolen gloves.
"Come now, the newborn ponyta are warming the bed. There's even another that has hatched with a cerulean mane. ...Let us make sure they haven't set the room ablaze in my absence. Hades would be cross."
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The solid, tragic pane of his mental state cracks immediately; what was a peaceless kind of resolve is more turmoil than conviction. Obviously, he resists, first instinctively and then fully consciously, digging in his heels and trying to pull back and away--but the snow on the roof is soft and thick and slippery and he's quickly wrapped in Hythlodaeus' body heat, still struggling like a cat Hythlodaeus is trying to put a sweater on.
"What?! Stop--"
The rest is not actually real words. Probably.
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Hythlodaeus holds fast to him, drawing him in closer and planting his weight as he feels Dirk's shoes slip against the snow. He places a hand securely on the back of his head as both reassurance and headlock.
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"We're on the roof--people will be leaving for work, you can't just suck me off up here to solve everything!"
His go-to strategy in situations like this--bracing off his opponent, leveraging to do a front flip and wrap his legs around their neck--is immediately foiled by Hythlodaeus' hand against the back of his skull. He grabs the 'shade' by the shoulder instead, trying to duck or at least squirm downwards out of his grasp.
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He shuffles to the edge of the roof and steps down a level with a less than ninja-like thud just above a sleeping Hades.
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The association is realised with equal parts shock, mortification, and horror. And the fact that Hythlodaeus has also chosen to seize him by the waist of his pants is a little extra embarrassing, especially in combination with the disparity in physical scale. But there are no counters to this that aren't Strife-levels of damaging and/or painful to their target, and for all of his misgivings and mistrust, Dirk does not actually want to break Hythlodaeus' nose or threaten to rip out a fistful of long, white hair. Which is, by the way, spilling over Dirk's face, beneath his shades and in his mouth.
But Dirk is honestly not sure what to do, except hope this is over with quickly.
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Peculiarly, he doesn't have to duck to do this. ...Did he change the door height? Did they even own this place? He sets him down at last, his hand sliding as he does so. He lets his hand linger on the back of his head as he looks down at him.
"Let's get you warmed up. Go settle in with the ponyta, I'll bring you another cup."
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In the end, though, he does the maths and decides it's not worth it--a decision validated moments later when Hythlodaeus lets him down, although not without one final, strangely affecting gesture. He's literally queasy after that. Which doesn't stop him from (and may, in fact, be a motivating factor in) digging in his heels and making a stand, both for his dignity and his decision.
He does not, in fact, go settle in with the Ponyta. He doesn't even move an inch from where Hythlodaeus delivered him.
"This conversation is over."
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"I'll hang your vest. Here, give me your shoes. I'll set them to dry," he holds out his hand expectantly. "Breakfast is in half an hour, could you check on Hades for me? Ask if he would like me to bring it into the bedroom."
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Dirk's hand shoots out to catch Hythlodaeus by the wrist--the cold, mist-wet leather of his fingerless gloves is a contrast to the cold, tight grip of his fingers. He hands over neither shoes nor garment.
"What do I have to do," he starts, still flat, his drawl still clipped off at the ends for enunciation. "To make you listen to me."
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"... I can bring you into the showers if you would like me to go down on you. Yet I wonder if you forgot to say your words out loud. So perhaps, you need only speak them."
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"What? No. That's not what I'm talking about." Try again.
"What part of this has you fucking confused?"
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"... Was picking you up really so upsetting?" He says facetiously. He knows that isn't the problem. He sighs as he places a hand on Dirk's shoulder as he tries to reverse engineer this problem against his interesting brand of logic. His thumb comes up against his neck and he strokes there for a moment.
"You act as if there is some manner of finality to this issue of trust and understanding. We have time, don't you see? I intend for this to work betwixt us, betwixt Hades. You had not struck me as a man so willing to give up. Well... I don't give in so easily. You may want this conversation to be over, but I have more than just words for you."
His fingers slip to his collar and tighten vice-like into the fabric as he tilts his head to press their lips together.
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It catches him by the heart, too.
But that intense throb in his cock is the loudest part of a hot-wired startup he can never prevent or turn off. He's wished he wasn't this way--still wishes that, wishes he had more control, more layers of insulating something, that he didn't run so hot and turn on so easy. Double meanings fully intended.
His thoughts skip briefly, like a CD.
(Not that he's ever owned a CD.)
Among the more useless ones: Hythlodaeus' lips are cold.
Among the more intelligent: Betwixt him and Emet... and him and Dirk?
It's so bewilderingly specific that he can't possibly misunderstand it, but it feels like a misunderstanding in its own right.
There's so much else going on inside his head right now that he can barely focus on that alone.
Which is a major reason (but not the only reason) Dirk doesn't fight Hythlodaeus off him so much as he takes the first quasi-natural opportunity to break away--though he does do that fairly quickly, hurrying to take a breath and speak before Hythlodaeus does anything else.
"I can give you what you want," agitation tints that confused frustration more strongly now. "Why me, too?"
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He furrows his brows for a moment, just staring into Dirk's eyes. "That is a fundamental misunderstanding of what I want. I should have understood sooner that we were not discussing a matter with the same terms. I do not simply want Hades to myself. I want both of you, together, with me. As for why—"
He glances at the hand on his wrist. He would prefer to make his point with the chalkboard, but he's confident that this matter is simple enough that Dirk should have little of it to twist.
"...If you were to build a tower, as tall and strong as you possibly could, how would you do it? Would you make it like a rungless ladder and gaze towards the heavens to watch it collapse? ...Or would you give it strength and balance by constructing it from triangles to redistribute weight and force? It is because we complete one another. This is why I made you take the stone of Azem, not to fill a seat for a Convocation of a dead society. The Sun, the Earth, and the Moon need one another. If you allowed us to love one another thus, we could forge such a bond."
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Okay this is just pornographic now
They do that. NSFW all the way down probably
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