[ Following the kiss to those fingers, he draws Gen's hand along and tucks it up-underneath the golden collar that he wears high around his throat. Just under the edge of it, hidden behind metal and the tumble of red hair — sits his shard, rough and unpolished, without defined geometry or lovely quality. A rough stone, red and marbled like meat, that appears to the eye like an endless, unhealing wound over his heart; he aligns Gen's hand there, as he feeds Zenith into him, thumbing soft over the pulse in his wrist as he takes care of this young man in the only way he can.
There is a tragic beauty in it, being the one to witness the last moments of someone's dying hopes. As someone kills their hope, or yields themself to their demons. There is also a timeless quality to it, being the one to shepherd souls to the place they feel they need to be — because, he values choices. He will fight them, he will not yield to them, but he will accept them. He is not as warm, nor as kind, as Quetzalcoatl who looks upon everyone and finds love in them; no, Set finds them painful, ugly, stupid little things at his worst moments and loathes them for what they do to him at his best.
( He needs to stay Meridian, he realizes. To keep the promise with his child, and to truly safeguard whatever these people have found in him. Is it love? Friendship? Acceptance? Something to hate, to battle? Whatever it is, if he can be that for them, he will. He will. ) ]
I really hope you do not, Gen. You have a such handsome new arm, and so much to do with the rest of your time here.
[ Daringly, though Meridian now sings stronger within him and Zenith finally takes root, permanent and lasting, to Harmonize within the young man he had found reason to give his body willingly to — he leans in to kiss the center of his brow. To align his mouth there, nearly as scalding-hot as the desert sands Gen had buried himself in, as a summer afternoon spent lounging in the street with a bottle of pop and a battered slingshot, of holding a sweat-slick hand tight in his own, running up a hill while the grasses bit and flicked and stuck to bare legs, of bodies entwined in a way that does not hurt the way it ought to.
The listlessness of Gen's eyes. The loyalty and devotion in them, he does not look away from. If they are at all meant for him, he will meet this hungry young man without flinching from him. He thumbs further at the corner of that boyish smile, and his own mouth echoes it — smiling genuine and daring at him. Already seeking to meet him, straining to greet him. ]
You will find I am capable of many things, mdwj m ḫnms. If even by chance, I fail as both a man and a god to die alongside you — I will carry you with me, and treat you preciously as someone new in our next life. You can rest here, now, if you wish. I will keep you safe until you go.
warning: intense gay
There is a tragic beauty in it, being the one to witness the last moments of someone's dying hopes. As someone kills their hope, or yields themself to their demons. There is also a timeless quality to it, being the one to shepherd souls to the place they feel they need to be — because, he values choices. He will fight them, he will not yield to them, but he will accept them. He is not as warm, nor as kind, as Quetzalcoatl who looks upon everyone and finds love in them; no, Set finds them painful, ugly, stupid little things at his worst moments and loathes them for what they do to him at his best.
( He needs to stay Meridian, he realizes. To keep the promise with his child, and to truly safeguard whatever these people have found in him. Is it love? Friendship? Acceptance? Something to hate, to battle? Whatever it is, if he can be that for them, he will. He will. ) ]
I really hope you do not, Gen. You have a such handsome new arm, and so much to do with the rest of your time here.
[ Daringly, though Meridian now sings stronger within him and Zenith finally takes root, permanent and lasting, to Harmonize within the young man he had found reason to give his body willingly to — he leans in to kiss the center of his brow. To align his mouth there, nearly as scalding-hot as the desert sands Gen had buried himself in, as a summer afternoon spent lounging in the street with a bottle of pop and a battered slingshot, of holding a sweat-slick hand tight in his own, running up a hill while the grasses bit and flicked and stuck to bare legs, of bodies entwined in a way that does not hurt the way it ought to.
The listlessness of Gen's eyes. The loyalty and devotion in them, he does not look away from. If they are at all meant for him, he will meet this hungry young man without flinching from him. He thumbs further at the corner of that boyish smile, and his own mouth echoes it — smiling genuine and daring at him. Already seeking to meet him, straining to greet him. ]
You will find I am capable of many things, mdwj m ḫnms. If even by chance, I fail as both a man and a god to die alongside you — I will carry you with me, and treat you preciously as someone new in our next life. You can rest here, now, if you wish. I will keep you safe until you go.