I know he’s evil, but you should see him naked! [fictional crushes]
The casting call spectacle and following IM discussions on various characters has reminded me of the phenomenon of fictional crushes. I think everyone who hangs out in fandom is familiar with the idea; the character in a book or movie or even fanfic that you just love and want to know better (in the case of roleplayers, often want to play). I used
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"What time is it?" he murmurs.
"It doesn't matter."
A slight, languid smile. "That late, hm." Theo shifts and stretches like a cat, then resettles himself against Blaise once more. "I always sleep more, in the heat."
"I know." Blaise does not mind. Some of Theo's edges soften, when he is asleep.
Theo buries his face in the crook of Blaise's neck. "I'm not ready to move yet," he says, voice muffled, and Blaise curls his arms around Theo, holding him in place, and whispers, "Good."
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Did I tell you I always do Blaise wake-up scenes with sunlight or is that a lucky guess? ♥ Aren't they lovely. This is my favourite of the verses we have played.
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It is late afternoon, and the pair have retreated into the shade of one of the enormous trees at Blaise's insistence- Theo's cheeks are already pink from the sun, burned just enough that he looks to be blushing, but it will be less charming from both their perspectives if it gets burned any worse. They are sitting together, Blaise with his back against the tree and Theo with his back against Blaise's chest, head on his shoulder. Blaise has an arm around Theo's waist and the other hand resting on his shoulder, lightly. The warmth of Blaise's skin and the heavy, sunfilled heat of the air has left Theo feeling languidly content right where he is, utterly unwilling to be anywhere but here. One hand catches Blais's just above hs hip, fingers lacing together, and he feels just the slightest little catch in the steady rise-and-fall of Blaise's chest. Neither speaks.
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Beautiful, beautiful image. The catch in his breath is just, just right. Small gestures come to mean so much.
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Theo is outside when Blaise finds him, lying on his stomach just barely within the shade of the trees; the sunlight through the leaves paints curious, shifting shadows across his back. Dark on pale on dead white- it takes Blaise's eyes a moment to find the jagged lines of the scars. A familiar clench in his chest, and he pushes the feeling aside. Watches.
Theo is propped up on his elbows, one hand lifted, and crawling on it is one of the enormous scorpions native to this place, a large blue-black one nearly the size of Theo's palm. Theo seems entirely unruffled by this state of affairs, as calm and controlled as ever, and the scorpion doesn't appear to have any intention of striking.
"It won't sting me," Theo says, evidently sensing both Blaise's presence and his thoughts, "not unless provoked." A wry smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "After all," he adds, lower, "I am not prey."
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Blaise keeps still, feeling the dappled sunlight playing on his back, and watches the vaguely monstrous creature sidling across Theo's palm with a calm expression. Only the elusive tension that has settled into his shoulders betrays his unease, and Theo can't see him from where he is lying, nor currently turn around to look.
"Scorpions are unreliable and agressive," Blaise answers, quietly over the rustling sound of leaves. "But their venom, I can deal with. So long as you stay clear of the serpents."
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"I almost died when I was nine years old." he gestures towards the lush green next to the water. "There. One of the white serpents bit me."
Blaise turns his left arm over, exposing the thin skin of the underarm, and runs a finger along a scar there, faint dark against smooth skin.
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"I'm glad you didn't," he whispers against the skin.
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Though he remains motionless, Blaise's breath catches on a shiver at the touch, but it's the soft words that make him close his eyes and keep them closed. It's a while before he murmurs, quietly, "I dream of that sometimes." There is an odd, soft note in his voice.
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Theo makes no verbal reply; there is nothing to say, really. He lifts his head after a moment, and strokes his fingers lightly over the skin, along the length of Blaise's forearm. Up, down, up, down, softly, softly. The motion is in time with the rhythm of Blaise's breathing, and feather-light.
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"As ever," Blaise replies. Not really an answer; he is not ready yet to discuss with Theo the things Tami had to say. Theo doesn't press, though, just shifts, leans over and brushes a brief kiss across Blaise's cheek. "Good."
Blase catches his shoulders before Theo can quite pull away, holding him in place. A kiss on the lips, this time- still soft, but lingering, and when it ends, they rest their foreheads together, and neither pulls away.
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Apple, indeed. There are all kinds of metaphors abounding in that place, isn't there.
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