OLD ROSE | MORNING
Elias opened his eyes to the sound of Xavier’s voice, lifting his head slightly to look towards the doorway, before letting it rest again. The wick had promised him clothing, and the door was unlocked, so there was no surprise at the taller Gioran’s presence initially.
“Hurte wouldn’t let that happen my lovely moonshard, no matter how much I might desire it.” He drawled lazily, looking up again with surprise as the unclothed being sauntered into the bathroom and towards the bath, making it clear they were going to get in. The Bastian watched without shame as pale limbs reached to move his legs out of the way to give the lanky Gioran room to squeeze into the small porcelain tub, a wet black curl of hair escaping its temporary home to curl over his forehead. Gold rimmed eyes skimmed over pale skin as long legs found a comfortable place against his person and the edges of the bath, lifting to watch as elegant faded pastel and white locks were released from their confinement.
“You are so very beautiful, Xavier. And I am so very undeserving.” The galdor muttered, shifting gently to cradle the unabashed creature between his own tanned legs and reaching for the toes that were curled so mischievously on his chest. Pressing with firm thumbs, Elias stroked the pad of the wick’s foot in slow movements, both washing the appendage and massaging away the chilled walk from the beach to the room. His lips curled into a half smirk, looking down at the toes that were drawn between his hands as they continued to talk, and slowly the smirk faded. He paused the movements, lifting bleary tired eyes to meet the violet hues of the musician’s, too tired of it all to even try and put on his mask again. Xavier saw him, they saw the cracks and the chips, the emptiness behind his manic laughter and debaucherous alcoholism.
They saw through it all.
“I tried Xav, I really did, but I feel like no matter what way the dice fall they are always against me. I’ve tried being happy, and it blew up in my face. Hurte has cursed me to live a long life, so I can face up to my mistakes every day. I’ve been running headfirst towards death, because I thought it would make things better and now I—” He lowered the other’s foot, pushing both hands through dripping hair and gripping dark curls.
“I never planned to survive my backlash, but I did and by Hurtes Whiskers it’s terrifying. It’s like I’ve lost an arm or a leg, and it hurts like a heart ache.” Snorting tipsily, Eli let his hands drag from his hair to rest on the quartz skin that almost glowed just under the water, gaze unable to help drifting across all that was far too familiar to forget and far to close to ignore.
“Haven’t they already won though? I don’t even have two coins to rub together anymore, all I have left of my life is a…a….an old harpiscord and a broken pair of glasses. What do you expect me to do Xavier? Fight? Call the Seventen? I’m basically a passive in their eyes, they wouldn’t help me. The mona hates me, avoids me like I’m poison.” Thumbs a little rougher than sober would expect brushed over the Gioran’s calves, the dark haired creature sitting forwards a bit and letting them roam further upwards, as though unable to stop himself from touching the delectable expanse before him.
“What would you do?” He asked quietly, broken field brushing against the whole glamour that pressed against him, rivulets of water escaping his hair to run down his cheek and off his chin. His gold and green gaze looked intently at the albino, as though staring long enough would wash all his aching away and release him from the Gods grasp.
“If you were me, what would you do Xavier?” The words were almost a whisper, eyes dropping to dusky violet lips and hands curving over thighs and hips, unable to deny the warmth that fill his senses when the musician had entered the bath. In all his seriousness and woe, Elias wanted the Gioran like some addiction. He craved the feeling, the sense of being wanted and understood. The closeness of not just physical comfort but something more, sharing a bond with the other man.
Shifting onto his knees, the hot water lapping around their naked forms, the last of the Mercucianno’s reached for damp faded locks. He ran wet fingers through the threads, letting it fall slowly like a cascading waterfall.
“You should wear your hair out more often, it’s so lovely.” His voice rumbled deep within his chest, tone huskier than before, reaching for the vague sense of contentment the pale instrumentalist had given him previously. Leaning forward further, the raven haired man almost brushed his lips against Xaviers they were so close, and with a catch of his breath Elias turned away to press a kiss to white locks instead.
"Why don't you run Xavier? I'm no good, ne...uh...hama? No. Ne hady." The galdor butchered two languages together, testing words he'd heard in the past and the present.