[ The pressure thrums, rippling through the air, through Matt's body and all its constituent parts. Slightly too much, too tight in his chest and lungs, too. It gives Matt a bit of a pang, but he comforts himself that a meeting of the divine and the mundane always goes like this, at best: both ends have to reach out past their usual patterns. They have to be uncomfortable.
And in any case--
The kiss is gentle. Irresistible. The kind of perfect Matt can't keep housed within his body. He doesn't know much about the Christianity that the Spanish inflicted on the Mexica--everything he knows is gnostic, and stayed occluded until the twentieth century. But in his estimation, some of those guys had the right idea: For it is by a kiss that the perfect conceive and give birth. For this reason we also kiss one another. We receive conception from the grace which is in one another. Energy vibrates between them, power; Matt imagines if you looked at him from the outside right now, he'd register as some unknown spectrum of matter and light.
Tezcatlipoca breaks the kiss. Puts two fingers to Matt's lips. And Matt grins against his skin--a little wrung out, a bit goofy. ]
Kisses mean a lot to me, [ he murmurs. He's trying not to dislodge Tezcatlipoca's fingers, so the words come out muffled. But no less sincere for that. ]
[ His tone is a little coy, but he places a little bit of pressure on his fingers to gently direct Matt to bow his head. It’s just to make a better position for Tezcatlipoca to kiss him again, though it’s just at his hairline. This one feels more formal and religious, because it is. It might not be a faith Matt feels, but if Tezcatlipoca were to guess, he’s probably making him a little bit of a believer at the moment.
He only speaks a few words in Nahuatl, but they’re long, lilting words that carry the rhythm of poetry. Tlahuizcalteochitla oncuepontimani in ixochiquiyaopan in tloque in nahuaque, “The divine flowers of dawn blossom forth, the war flowers of the Cause of All.” They’re not his own words, just those he remembers from a flower song, but they’re picked with more meaning than he’s inclined to explain. It’s a blessing and a note of support, because what else could gentle words and gestures from him be?
…But it’s a war song. He may be able to accept that Matt isn’t a warrior in the traditional sense of weaponry and blood, but that doesn’t mean he’d relent on pushing him. Those that fight against impossible odds are those under his care. His care could just be a harsh thing, since how else would someone beat those odds? So, maybe it’s a warning (or an apology). He wouldn’t explain it either way.
He draws back, lips and hand both, then shrugs. The weight of the moment passes easily, at least for him, and he doesn’t seems particularly inclined to explain or comment on it. ]
—You’d best commit this to memory, though. If I end up donning this regalia again, it means things have gone badly. I'll be giving up more than a kidney for whatever kind of miracle we'd need then.
[ Matt bows his head, says a very soft huh. This kiss to his brow may be the cardinal opposite of loving sunshine: He thinks of the night outside pressing inward, of the long-fingered shadows stalking them down Highstorm's streets. Of smoke that obscures, smoke that allows one to transcend. In other words, he thinks about things getting worse, though the thoughts don't come with despair for the moment. Maybe he's too tired for that now; or maybe something in Tezcatlipoca's presence won't permit it.
Matt thinks he's been a believer for some time. Maybe he was born one and just didn't know it. But he does wish he knew more--about the universe, about these entities he loves, about the languages and histories and traditions that give their worship its shape. He doesn't catch all of Tezcatlipoca's words: they slip past his tired ears too quickly. Still, they sound like a prayer to him. Sacred. In tloque in nahuaque finds purchase in his brain, and he repeats the phrase to himself to make it last. ]
Noted, [ he says ruefully, stepping back in turn. ] Well, I won't have any problem remembering all this. [ He gestures with a flick of his wrist to encompass Tezcatlipoca from the top of his headdress down to his toes. ] But ... can you say that to me again sometime? Those lines.
[ Matt yawns. ] Not necessarily tonight. But I only got "in tloque in nahuaque."
[ He hums out a note of a laugh, but he’s not surprised. Language helps, certainly, but it isn’t necessary to enjoy flower songs. He guesses even less so for Matt, just because he’s the kind of guy that has an ear more attuned to the divine. ]
Wanting to become nicuicani?
[ And through context, it’s not hard to guess the meaning of the word, or at least close to it. “Poet” is probably what Matt assumes, and it’s not inaccurate, but Tezcatlipoca would be more likely to pick the word “singer”. Regardless, he nods. ]
Sure. I can recite it all for you, if you want. But, yes, later—
[ With another swirl of dark smoke, all the regalia, the spear, the makeup, it all disappears like it was always something ethereal in the first place. All that remains is the lingering marks on Matt’s skin as the pressure in the room resettles back to normal.
Tezcatlipoca’s hair whips around as if it were caught in a gust of wind, but he just reaches up to comb through it with his fingers with a slightly annoyed noise, since it does kind of get everywhere. He starts to tug off the last piece that had remained before his little transformation, his pants, and he’s back to “normal” like it’s all perfectly ordinary. Including the dark mark of a bruise on his side, which had been notably absent in the regalia (but there were other things to focus on, to be fair). ]
Man, I’m tired as fuck. Those lil’ pieces of Oblivion pack an annoying punch of their own.
[ oh, so much for speaking nicely too… farewell… ]
You got a shirt I can borrow? Wish Highstorm wasn’t so damn cold.
[ Matt lets out a breath, ease and exhaustion both settling into the line of his shoulders.
He notices the change in the air first, the change in Tezcatlipoca's appearance (duh) second, change in speech patterns third. No shift is preferable to what it replaces, to him; it only gives him a broader appreciation for who, and what, Tezcatlipoca is.
Besides, his more colloquial turns of phrase are pretty charming. ]
The part is a metaphor for the whole, I guess, [ Matt muses, crossing to his wardrobe. ] Or otherwise congruent. So no wonder they hit the way they do. I'm a little surprised our hair hasn't turned gray. [ There aren't many clothes in here. One of the items, perhaps incongruously, is a black silk robe, now delicate with age but fastidiously preserved. Matt pulls down a button-up that's virtually identical to the one he has on and crosses back to Tezca. With another yawn, he presses it gently into his hands. ] Here. Least I can do, after you loaned me your jacket.
[ With that, Matt returns to the bed, this time turning down the sheets and starting to cocoon himself properly. ]
I have a few herbs that help with pain. But Gavial's bringing some painkillers over--actual medical-grade stuff.
[ Tezcatlipoca kicks off the pants with a noise of agreement, since it makes sense to him. However. That little part that Matt adds is not something that Tezcatlipoca had considered even a little, since, well. He’s a god. Aging is a process that simply doesn’t occur to him.
…But he’s in a human body now.
There’s a moment where he looks shocked, maybe even stricken, and he does take a moment to comb his fingers through his hair as he looks at the golden strands. It could be missed, since it’s only a moment while Matt is grabbing him something, but. It still happens.
[ He responds a bit vaguely by the time Matt turns, but since he didn’t see any gray hairs… False alarm. Hopefully. He takes the shirt and unbuttons enough at the top to pull his head through as he heads over to the opposite side of the bed. ]
Oh, yeah? Well, no offense, then— [ He pauses as he pulls the shirt over his head ] But I’ll wait for the good stuff.
[ Which he’ll be deeply grateful for, since it’s the shifting in positions that sucks the most. He grunts again with a tight expression as he lowers himself into the bed, but otherwise sighs once he settles in on his back. Laying on either side would feel like shit, he figures. He tilts his head over to look at Matt and gives a little nod that’s a silent invitation to cuddle up if he wants, but it’s not insistent this time, at least. ]
Well, won’t wake ya when she gets here. You sleep.
[ As before, Matt is careful about sidling up to Tezcatlipoca. He steers well clear of any bruising, and is gentle about the placement of his hands. He ends up curled against Tezca's side, fingers resting lightly on his shoulder. ]
I'll stay up with you, [ he protests, sleepily. ] I don't mind.
[ Though his eyes start drooping closed as soon as his head lowers to the pillow. Must be some kind of classical conditioning. Matt tries to keep himself awake by repeating the phrase in tloque in nahuaque in his mind, as he might a mantra. But memorizing the words renders them less novel, lets them fall into a soothing, expected rhythm. He doesn't last fifteen minutes before succumbing to sleep.
There's a dream waiting for him there. Tezcatlipoca and Quetzalcoatl in a primordial sea, battling the enormous crocodile entity who will one day form the ground. They're mostly battling each other at first, to be fair; but eventually, they agree to work together. Tezcatlipoca agrees to be bait and lets the monster take his leg in her maw, the sacrifice splitting him at the seams. Quetzalcoatl plummets like a meteor. Strikes a killing blow. The seas roil; Tezcatlipoca's leg is gone.
Matt will wake up with tears in his eyes, but that won't be for some hours yet. For now, he sleeps like a rock. ]
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no subject
And in any case--
The kiss is gentle. Irresistible. The kind of perfect Matt can't keep housed within his body. He doesn't know much about the Christianity that the Spanish inflicted on the Mexica--everything he knows is gnostic, and stayed occluded until the twentieth century. But in his estimation, some of those guys had the right idea: For it is by a kiss that the perfect conceive and give birth. For this reason we also kiss one another. We receive conception from the grace which is in one another. Energy vibrates between them, power; Matt imagines if you looked at him from the outside right now, he'd register as some unknown spectrum of matter and light.
Tezcatlipoca breaks the kiss. Puts two fingers to Matt's lips. And Matt grins against his skin--a little wrung out, a bit goofy. ]
Kisses mean a lot to me, [ he murmurs. He's trying not to dislodge Tezcatlipoca's fingers, so the words come out muffled. But no less sincere for that. ]
no subject
[ His tone is a little coy, but he places a little bit of pressure on his fingers to gently direct Matt to bow his head. It’s just to make a better position for Tezcatlipoca to kiss him again, though it’s just at his hairline. This one feels more formal and religious, because it is. It might not be a faith Matt feels, but if Tezcatlipoca were to guess, he’s probably making him a little bit of a believer at the moment.
He only speaks a few words in Nahuatl, but they’re long, lilting words that carry the rhythm of poetry. Tlahuizcalteochitla oncuepontimani in ixochiquiyaopan in tloque in nahuaque, “The divine flowers of dawn blossom forth, the war flowers of the Cause of All.” They’re not his own words, just those he remembers from a flower song, but they’re picked with more meaning than he’s inclined to explain. It’s a blessing and a note of support, because what else could gentle words and gestures from him be?
…But it’s a war song. He may be able to accept that Matt isn’t a warrior in the traditional sense of weaponry and blood, but that doesn’t mean he’d relent on pushing him. Those that fight against impossible odds are those under his care. His care could just be a harsh thing, since how else would someone beat those odds? So, maybe it’s a warning (or an apology). He wouldn’t explain it either way.
He draws back, lips and hand both, then shrugs. The weight of the moment passes easily, at least for him, and he doesn’t seems particularly inclined to explain or comment on it. ]
—You’d best commit this to memory, though. If I end up donning this regalia again, it means things have gone badly. I'll be giving up more than a kidney for whatever kind of miracle we'd need then.
no subject
Matt thinks he's been a believer for some time. Maybe he was born one and just didn't know it. But he does wish he knew more--about the universe, about these entities he loves, about the languages and histories and traditions that give their worship its shape. He doesn't catch all of Tezcatlipoca's words: they slip past his tired ears too quickly. Still, they sound like a prayer to him. Sacred. In tloque in nahuaque finds purchase in his brain, and he repeats the phrase to himself to make it last. ]
Noted, [ he says ruefully, stepping back in turn. ] Well, I won't have any problem remembering all this. [ He gestures with a flick of his wrist to encompass Tezcatlipoca from the top of his headdress down to his toes. ] But ... can you say that to me again sometime? Those lines.
[ Matt yawns. ] Not necessarily tonight. But I only got "in tloque in nahuaque."
[ His pronunciation isn't bad. ]
1/2
Wanting to become nicuicani?
[ And through context, it’s not hard to guess the meaning of the word, or at least close to it. “Poet” is probably what Matt assumes, and it’s not inaccurate, but Tezcatlipoca would be more likely to pick the word “singer”. Regardless, he nods. ]
Sure. I can recite it all for you, if you want. But, yes, later—
no subject
Tezcatlipoca’s hair whips around as if it were caught in a gust of wind, but he just reaches up to comb through it with his fingers with a slightly annoyed noise, since it does kind of get everywhere. He starts to tug off the last piece that had remained before his little transformation, his pants, and he’s back to “normal” like it’s all perfectly ordinary. Including the dark mark of a bruise on his side, which had been notably absent in the regalia (but there were other things to focus on, to be fair). ]
Man, I’m tired as fuck. Those lil’ pieces of Oblivion pack an annoying punch of their own.
[ oh, so much for speaking nicely too… farewell… ]
You got a shirt I can borrow? Wish Highstorm wasn’t so damn cold.
no subject
He notices the change in the air first, the change in Tezcatlipoca's appearance (duh) second, change in speech patterns third. No shift is preferable to what it replaces, to him; it only gives him a broader appreciation for who, and what, Tezcatlipoca is.
Besides, his more colloquial turns of phrase are pretty charming. ]
The part is a metaphor for the whole, I guess, [ Matt muses, crossing to his wardrobe. ] Or otherwise congruent. So no wonder they hit the way they do. I'm a little surprised our hair hasn't turned gray. [ There aren't many clothes in here. One of the items, perhaps incongruously, is a black silk robe, now delicate with age but fastidiously preserved. Matt pulls down a button-up that's virtually identical to the one he has on and crosses back to Tezca. With another yawn, he presses it gently into his hands. ] Here. Least I can do, after you loaned me your jacket.
[ With that, Matt returns to the bed, this time turning down the sheets and starting to cocoon himself properly. ]
I have a few herbs that help with pain. But Gavial's bringing some painkillers over--actual medical-grade stuff.
1/2 again (but stupider this time)
…But he’s in a human body now.
There’s a moment where he looks shocked, maybe even stricken, and he does take a moment to comb his fingers through his hair as he looks at the golden strands. It could be missed, since it’s only a moment while Matt is grabbing him something, but. It still happens.
Is he that vain? Yes, of course. ]
no subject
[ He responds a bit vaguely by the time Matt turns, but since he didn’t see any gray hairs… False alarm. Hopefully. He takes the shirt and unbuttons enough at the top to pull his head through as he heads over to the opposite side of the bed. ]
Oh, yeah? Well, no offense, then— [ He pauses as he pulls the shirt over his head ] But I’ll wait for the good stuff.
[ Which he’ll be deeply grateful for, since it’s the shifting in positions that sucks the most. He grunts again with a tight expression as he lowers himself into the bed, but otherwise sighs once he settles in on his back. Laying on either side would feel like shit, he figures. He tilts his head over to look at Matt and gives a little nod that’s a silent invitation to cuddle up if he wants, but it’s not insistent this time, at least. ]
Well, won’t wake ya when she gets here. You sleep.
no subject
I'll stay up with you, [ he protests, sleepily. ] I don't mind.
[ Though his eyes start drooping closed as soon as his head lowers to the pillow. Must be some kind of classical conditioning. Matt tries to keep himself awake by repeating the phrase in tloque in nahuaque in his mind, as he might a mantra. But memorizing the words renders them less novel, lets them fall into a soothing, expected rhythm. He doesn't last fifteen minutes before succumbing to sleep.
There's a dream waiting for him there. Tezcatlipoca and Quetzalcoatl in a primordial sea, battling the enormous crocodile entity who will one day form the ground. They're mostly battling each other at first, to be fair; but eventually, they agree to work together. Tezcatlipoca agrees to be bait and lets the monster take his leg in her maw, the sacrifice splitting him at the seams. Quetzalcoatl plummets like a meteor. Strikes a killing blow. The seas roil; Tezcatlipoca's leg is gone.
Matt will wake up with tears in his eyes, but that won't be for some hours yet. For now, he sleeps like a rock. ]