[ He puts up some half-hearted fight against the way Set shifts his body -- muscles straining against days of exhaustion and close to no food, the compounding exhaustion weighing on him like shackles -- but his resistance is paltry in the end. Gen gives a stifled groan as he allows himself to be held close against that heated skin, where the inexplicable smell of sand and the sun force him to stay focused on the conversation at hand.
Even if he doesn't particularly want to. ]
Shut up. [ It's a bleary mumble as he raises his head to allow the brush of fingers through the tangle of his hair. Set's palm is cool from the flow of tree sap and Zenith in his veins, and that spot of chill eases some of the ache in his head -- it's the only reason he permits himself to close his eyes in relief for a moment, he tells himself. Even when that means he can't quite muster the appropriate vitriol for what he's saying. ] Like you actually know anything about me.
[ But Set should know enough. More than enough. Wordless as it might have been, the terrible pang of empathy and understanding that had ripped through the connection when Set said those words -- I am rotten -- should have been answer aplenty.
(Set is right. Gen knows himself. Everything inside him's rotten, deep down inside. Down to the roots.)
-- he desperately didn't want to think about this, and Gen ducks his head aside once more, his next breath catching in his throat. Scrabbling for some sort of distraction from that unpleasant truth is his most natural reflex, and Gen doesn't even think before muttering, ]
... some god you are, going and getting a big head just 'cause I fucked you once. [ He knows that's not why Set is saying what he's saying. But also, he doesn't care. Gen says whatever he knows is most incendiary, glancing up past the shadow of his mussed-up hair to meet Set's eyes; the shitty grin he wears is forced and entirely fake, and obviously so. ] How desperate are you, acting like you want me around just 'cause you need a fuck-buddy? And you're asking why I wanna leave? Are you really asking me something that stupid?
no subject
Even if he doesn't particularly want to. ]
Shut up. [ It's a bleary mumble as he raises his head to allow the brush of fingers through the tangle of his hair. Set's palm is cool from the flow of tree sap and Zenith in his veins, and that spot of chill eases some of the ache in his head -- it's the only reason he permits himself to close his eyes in relief for a moment, he tells himself. Even when that means he can't quite muster the appropriate vitriol for what he's saying. ] Like you actually know anything about me.
[ But Set should know enough. More than enough. Wordless as it might have been, the terrible pang of empathy and understanding that had ripped through the connection when Set said those words -- I am rotten -- should have been answer aplenty.
(Set is right. Gen knows himself. Everything inside him's rotten, deep down inside. Down to the roots.)
-- he desperately didn't want to think about this, and Gen ducks his head aside once more, his next breath catching in his throat. Scrabbling for some sort of distraction from that unpleasant truth is his most natural reflex, and Gen doesn't even think before muttering, ]
... some god you are, going and getting a big head just 'cause I fucked you once. [ He knows that's not why Set is saying what he's saying. But also, he doesn't care. Gen says whatever he knows is most incendiary, glancing up past the shadow of his mussed-up hair to meet Set's eyes; the shitty grin he wears is forced and entirely fake, and obviously so. ] How desperate are you, acting like you want me around just 'cause you need a fuck-buddy? And you're asking why I wanna leave? Are you really asking me something that stupid?