(no subject)
And the last of my drabble requests is now done :D
Treize/Zechs conversation for giriaana *snugs her* (this was supposed to be flirting but it just didn't work out that way ^^;;)
Zechs only vaguely heard the gentle crackle of the fire burning in the hearth as he read the book Treize had recommended to him. While he didn’t always agree with or understand the older man’s political ambitions Zechs had to admit that Treize could be considered a genius with a well-rounded literary repetoire that just bordered on the eccentric. He approved most of the time.
“It might be easier to read if you took that absurd mask off Milliardo,” a smooth voice commented from the doorway.
Zechs turned his head to see Treize leaning against the dark wood of one bookcase. He twirled the stem of a wine goblet between his thumb and forefinger slowly, the red of the wine a sharp contrast to the deep blue dressing gown he was wearing; silk if Zechs wasn’t mistaken. The pose appeared casual, negligent, but Zechs knew better. Treize never did anything without a motive. Never.
“You know that I don’t like to be called by that name,” Zechs replied finally, turning back to the text in his hands.
“I know.”
Zechs could hear the smile in Treize’s voice without even turning around to see the gentle curl of the man’s lips. The delicate whisper of cloth let him know when Treize moved to stand directly behind him. He smelled faintly of roses.
“You’re reading the book I lent you.”
The intonation was calm, the words an innocuous statement of the obvious, but just below the surface lurked a trace of amusement and self-satisfaction. Zechs narrowed his eyes slightly.
“Yes. It’s proving to be quite informative. Thank you.” The book was a history text about the Sank Kingdom, written by one of the country’s greatest philosophers long before either Treize or Zechs had been born. Zechs was certain that Treize found the entire situation a fascinating source of entertainment.
Treize leaned down until his face was only a breath away from Zech’s ear. “I was hoping that you would enjoy it,” he murmured. The fingers of his free hand rested on the back of the couch, just barely touching the long, pale strands of Zech’s hair that fell against his shoulder. “It’s important to know where we come from so that we can use that information to show us where we stand. Our past becomes our future.”
Zechs held perfectly still. “I thought that we made our own destinies,” he argued.
Treize laughed and it was ripple of sound that sent shivers running down Zechs’ spine.
“And what if both are true Milliardo?” he asked in a frustratingly reasonable voice. “What if we shape our destiny out of strings created from our past?”
“I will not repeat the mistakes that were made by my father,” Zechs growled through clenched teeth, the book held so tightly in his hand that his knuckles were turning white.
Treize stood and walked around the edge of the couch. He set the wine goblet on the small round table beside Zechs with a crystalline click, the wine sparkling in the fire light.
“Of course you won’t,” he said calmly as he walked away, the dressing gown swishing behind him as he moved.
You’ll make new ones.
Treize/Zechs conversation for giriaana *snugs her* (this was supposed to be flirting but it just didn't work out that way ^^;;)
Zechs only vaguely heard the gentle crackle of the fire burning in the hearth as he read the book Treize had recommended to him. While he didn’t always agree with or understand the older man’s political ambitions Zechs had to admit that Treize could be considered a genius with a well-rounded literary repetoire that just bordered on the eccentric. He approved most of the time.
“It might be easier to read if you took that absurd mask off Milliardo,” a smooth voice commented from the doorway.
Zechs turned his head to see Treize leaning against the dark wood of one bookcase. He twirled the stem of a wine goblet between his thumb and forefinger slowly, the red of the wine a sharp contrast to the deep blue dressing gown he was wearing; silk if Zechs wasn’t mistaken. The pose appeared casual, negligent, but Zechs knew better. Treize never did anything without a motive. Never.
“You know that I don’t like to be called by that name,” Zechs replied finally, turning back to the text in his hands.
“I know.”
Zechs could hear the smile in Treize’s voice without even turning around to see the gentle curl of the man’s lips. The delicate whisper of cloth let him know when Treize moved to stand directly behind him. He smelled faintly of roses.
“You’re reading the book I lent you.”
The intonation was calm, the words an innocuous statement of the obvious, but just below the surface lurked a trace of amusement and self-satisfaction. Zechs narrowed his eyes slightly.
“Yes. It’s proving to be quite informative. Thank you.” The book was a history text about the Sank Kingdom, written by one of the country’s greatest philosophers long before either Treize or Zechs had been born. Zechs was certain that Treize found the entire situation a fascinating source of entertainment.
Treize leaned down until his face was only a breath away from Zech’s ear. “I was hoping that you would enjoy it,” he murmured. The fingers of his free hand rested on the back of the couch, just barely touching the long, pale strands of Zech’s hair that fell against his shoulder. “It’s important to know where we come from so that we can use that information to show us where we stand. Our past becomes our future.”
Zechs held perfectly still. “I thought that we made our own destinies,” he argued.
Treize laughed and it was ripple of sound that sent shivers running down Zechs’ spine.
“And what if both are true Milliardo?” he asked in a frustratingly reasonable voice. “What if we shape our destiny out of strings created from our past?”
“I will not repeat the mistakes that were made by my father,” Zechs growled through clenched teeth, the book held so tightly in his hand that his knuckles were turning white.
Treize stood and walked around the edge of the couch. He set the wine goblet on the small round table beside Zechs with a crystalline click, the wine sparkling in the fire light.
“Of course you won’t,” he said calmly as he walked away, the dressing gown swishing behind him as he moved.
You’ll make new ones.