[open] channeling angels in a new age, now.

[priorly]

Who: Prior Walter (priorly) & you??
What: Catch all logs for October!
When: October!
Where: various
Warning(s): language, likely mention of terminal illness (AIDS). Adult themes?
Notes: Please PM me if you'd like a starter, or feel free to wildcard me anytime.

Comments

[priorly]

[Not before one hand sweeps down to indicate their proximity.]

This is already... [Something he's grateful for.] No need to make it a science project. [But he gives his hands over, locking the fingers of one with Byerly's.]

[vorrutyer]

I wouldn't even know where to start with that. Science was never something I attended to.

[ He tightens his fingers, gripping Prior's hand closer. He leans in, brushes his nose lightly against the side of Prior's neck. ]

[priorly]

Or anything born of pity-

[His free hand catches tight in the short clipped hair at the nape of Byerly's neck. Not quite a restraint: close.]

[vorrutyer]

The art of pity was never something I attended to, either. Vorrutyers don't go in for that.

[ A light kiss. ]

[priorly]

Now that I know isn't true.

[No. nope. He can't, not - not yet not like this not

He just can't. Not to desensitize. No. Prior shifts his whole body back, and presses forward again with his hands to Byerly's chest, laying him back where he was, laying against him. What's felt natural has been fine but this... feels like service.]

What I like best about myself: I don't know. That's the truth. Everything I think of, I realise I'm thinking of something I was, and who I am now is... still in flux. I'm sorry it's a poor answer. I keep going - I like that.

[vorrutyer]

[ By doesn't fight that push. He settles back, his lips quirking very slightly, without another push forward. He does wonder, deep down, if it's a lack of appeal on his part - because anyone, upon being rejected, would wonder if the problem was them. But - No. Look at Prior, and listen to him, speaking vulnerably about who he was. As if now he's less.

He can't help but feel a little bubble of frustration. Prior would feel a damned sight better after a good lay. Everyone feels better after a good lay. And yeah, maybe it's a little bit pitying, but pity sex is still sex, for god's sake.

With the slightest, softest sigh: ]

In flux because of these circumstances, or because of your illness?

[priorly]

[Pity sex, to someone accustomed to being wanted would be one certain way to make him feel less. And it's true, he does feel like a shadow of someone he used to be so - not for lack of appeal - he pushes back against any further fading.]

Oh, a little from column A and B. More columns than that, even. I'm a veritable spreadsheet.

[vorrutyer]

So should I feel destabilized?

[ He resists the obvious dirty jokes based on spreading and sheets. ]

[priorly]

[Shame, if anything the timing would make it more appreciated. Thank for god for jokes on awkward occasions. (he worries about causing offense - it's all him).]

You don't have to show it.

[vorrutyer]

But I do have to feel it.

[priorly]

[One eyebrow pulls a come on arch.]

If you did.

[vorrutyer]

Hm.

[ He presses a finger to the center of Prior's chest. ]

I simply think you might, perhaps, be overstating things. A bit. Crisis doesn't destroy who you are.

[priorly]

No. But it shifts somewhat. Perhaps I'm still trying to catch up to that sidestep.

[vorrutyer]

Shifts. So then you do know some truths about yourself, perhaps?

[priorly]

Which truths are you looking for, Byerly?

[At this point it seems easiest just to ask.]

[vorrutyer]

Oh, I don't know.

[ He relents slightly. ]

Just something true and wonderful about your heart.

[priorly]

Ah. [He makes a fist purely to bang against his chest.] Pure, untarnished crystal, writ through with cubic carbon virtue.

[Just a muscle, one left pumping polluted blood.

He dots the lightest kiss to Byerly's forehead.]

It still beats, which is all I can ask of it: a surprisingly tough little beast. And is, I hope, as good as yours.

[vorrutyer]

[ By presses a finger to his own chest. ]

Cheap tin, remember?

So what's a truth about your soul?

[priorly]

Well, you find all sorts of things in tins. And good god it's like having a conversation with the cryptic crossword.

[Frustrating in that it feels like there's a right answer somewhere - at least, a wanted answer, but these are the kind of existential questions Louis tortured himself with. Not Prior.]

I try to avoid twisting myself into knots of self analysis, it's so bad for the spine. If such a thing exists? [He sets his jaw, quiet a moment.]

It's lonely. And... maybe... not sick?

[Though hes scared, sometimes that the disease touches every part. But no, no.]

Clean. My soul is clean, if any part of me can be.

[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly is quiet a moment, looking at Prior, his expression altogether unreadable. Then he asks: ]

Do you think of yourself as dirty?

[priorly]

[Byerly, everybody does. Prior meets that unreadable gaze and tries to match it: let down by his mouth, lip dragged in against his teeth, jaw held too tight.

A breath.]

You've asked all the questions. Your turn. Something true of your soul.

[vorrutyer]

[ He's watchful a moment, wondering if he ought to push - but what's the point? That's confirmation enough. What a foul thing to be convinced of. That you're unclean.

He looks away, and tries to think of a good one - one that matches Prior's confession. He finally settles on: ]

It feels at times as though I've been given the wrong soul entirely. It never quite seems to be in harmony with either my head or my heart.

[priorly]

Where's the disconnect? [Prior settles his hands over where Byerly' had tapped his chest, and rests his chin there.] Are all three out of step?

[vorrutyer]

I think my head and my heart generally agree well enough. That the world - all worlds - are quite empty of good things. Cynical little creatures, they are.

[priorly]

And your soul?

[He almost asks a different question - draws breath for it - but saves it instead.]