veinilla | open rp post

Francis removes his spectacles and sets them aside as if to encourage Ethan's approach. His eyes are remarkably green, emerald even, and ringed with gold. Pale skin with a light dusting of freckles. He and Ethan aren't that dissimilar in their coloring though Francis' brown hair is a shade or two mousier. His bone structure classical and thin with high cheek bones. French, maybe English in origin. Easy enough to imagine in a tunic and tabard as he is in modern clothes.

"It is, my love. Everything in life is cyclical. Souls and bonds included. It is only the body that dies."

They're pretty. Up close like this, away from the harsh light of the courthouse, in the flickering fire, he can actually see them. Francis is a good looking man. Ethan could have it a lot worse.

"Souls and bonds, huh?" He dips his gaze briefly to where he thinks his husbands heart would be, then back up. "What, like soulmate stuff?" He laughs. It's clearly not something he bought into before.

"That as well."

There are, after all, many kinds of bond.

Francis studies his husband. Skin deep he is very pleasing but deeper still he can tell Ethan is the same on the inside. What a kind, gentle soul. Yes, he couldn't have done much worse as well.

Marcus had said Ethan was a sweet kid. He was correct. And honestly there was no way Francis was going to entangle himself with Marcus himself. What a mess of a man. Hearing about Ethan caught some string inside Francis' heart. Like he almost.. needed to have him, if only to save him from whatever trouble Marcus would inevitably drag him into.

"It's such a romantic concept, isn't it. An inspiration of so many beautiful words."

And yet in reality it is so very, very, utterly, completely painful when you are a lesser one of many and live long enough to feel the pain of rejection and breakdown over and over again.

No...Marcus was a fucking mess. Francis would have eaten him quickly. Ethan is just a genuinely good person. He doesn't have that twisted, dark sickness that always eats Raleigh up from the inside out. He doesn't have a soulmate on the other side of the world, clawing to get to him. Ethan comes with no drama, beyond some questionable circumstances regarding his chance and his sires death, but that in comparison to the shit Francis has dealt with is minimal.

Ethan probably would have eventually ended up dead not long after Marcus. With Francis in his circle, it'll be a rare thing indeed if someone messes with him. They'd have to be very, very stupid - or incredibly dangerous.

"I guess. But it sounds lonely, kinda. You said you're super old, if your soulmate isn't, then you just...watch them die." It's why he started to assume he'd never marry.

could have done much worse** lmao

"Mm." soft. The smallest nod.

"Yes. You would." There's a weight to his words. Francis is just so old that he's experienced most things.

"More complicated still when you have several. Sometimes bonds end up split and twisted. Your soulmate may have another with a stronger bond. And so you could be pulled to them only to find them taken with another. It is more trouble than it's worth."

A thin smile.

Because knowing all this, having lived all this, despite all his bitter resentment and jaded exhaustion, there's still a little part of him that thinks maybe Ethan would be his like Raleigh is to Chuck. That maybe they might fall madly in love and choose to tether their souls. That maybe it wouldn't hurt so damn much and maybe- just maybe this love won't destroy him.

"Nothing you have to worry about. Your soul feels young."

"Several?" He twists his face up, because that sounds heartbreaking and that sounds...sad. Just sad and lonely and achingly painful. "That sounds terrible. I'm sure it's nice in the moment but if they have several and they meet them..." He trails off.

"You don't think I have a soulmate?" He looks down, like he's expecting to see something, and plucks absently at his shirt. "I don't know how I feel about that."

Francis reaches to take Ethan's hand.

"Not at all. I know you do."

Fingers playing against his. That isn't what he meant.

"I don't think that you haven't met them yet. Or carry the weight of a soul bond."

He lets Francis take his hand, fingers cool against his husbands. He's always cold, and he idly wonders if that bothers Francis at all.

"Oh," he says, because that's a little better. Relief, worry, several things coupled together race through him, because Francis doesn't make it sound like a super great thing. Romantic in idea only, in reality it sounds a bit like torment.

"I always felt like an old soul growing up. I was happy in my own company, reading history books or playing my Nintendo. I didn't really have a whole lot of friends, and my mom always said it was because I had an old soul. But.." He plays his fingers lightly over Francis's, tracing over his skin, enjoying the heat under his fingers. "I dunno. I don't feel...heavy. If that makes sense." He doesn't feel like there's any kind of weight in his heart, beyond normal people emotions.

"It does," gently.

"That's a good thing."

He turns Ethan's hand over in his own, studying the lines of his palm. The elegance of his fingers.

"And there's nothing wrong with being solitary. I quite enjoy it."

Placing his thumb in the middle of Ethan's hand, Francis wraps his fingers around the back of it and holds him, looking back up to meet eyes.

"Perhaps you were merely waiting for the right friend to share your time with."

There's a little flicker of...

something low in Ethan's belly. He can't quite place it just yet, and everything is glowing a bit from the wine so he doesn't quite have the wits to even try to place it, but it is there all the same.

Desire, hope. Want, a desperate need to be wanted in return. His husbands hand is warm on his, and he can't look away from those green eyes, not even if he wanted to - which he most certainly does not.

"Like you?"

Well.. yes. like him. But saying it aloud brings on a sudden rise of bashfulness. An unfamiliar feeling. Oh dear.

Cheeks flooding with color, lips thinning as he tries (and fails) to suppress a smile.

"Are you accepting applications?"

He laughs, tipping his head back as the room swims pleasantly around them, the candlelight dancing out of the corner of his eyes.

"Just yours," he says, shifting his hand to lace their fingers, testing the waters, liking how it feels, how it fits. "It's accepted, by the way. You're hired."

"Oh good," with some relief, and he allows himself the smile he'd been trying to hold back.

"Maybe it's been you I've been waiting for all this time."

His cheeks burn with stolen blood, flooding with color. That's...that's something else. It makes his smile brighten.

"Yeah? You think that's the case?"

"It's very possible. It feels possible."

Is he drifting closer? Sure feels like it. Maybe they're just drunk and flushed from the fire.

"I could see myself falling madly in love with you, Ethan."

Maybe. Or maybe they are leaning into each other, just a little.

"I--really?" He clears his throat, wetting his lips. That just...does so many things to him, makes his little dead heart that doesn't beat squeeze in his chest, hope bubbling up, slow and sure.

"Yeah I could...see it going that way. For sure."

What a beautiful hurt hope summons in his chest. Maybe this time with every beat. Not a shared soulmate. Not a demon found in self destruction. A beautiful, pure soul to focus his love and spoil absolutely rotten. Someone to nurture and protect and grow with.

He may the the one breathing but he has been so numb for so long now... this is almost a threat to feel alive again. And he wants it. So badly.

Gently, gently, not too fast. Don't spook him, Francis.

"I would very much like that."

Someone sweet and kind, who has no baggage, no drama, no darkness. All Ethan has is himself and his little corner of the world to offer -- and an exceptionally long life. He can give you so, so much, if you open your heart to him and let him in.

He scoots a little closer, eyes fixed on those green eyes, gently squeezing the hand he holds in his own.

"I would, too. A lot."

Is he.. is he gonna..

Their eyes locked as they drift closer. Words near meaningless now, soft and muted under the air so thick between them.

"I would give you everything, Ethan Crowne."

Francis closes the space between them, lips brushing softly. Chaste but inviting. Testing.

Magic swirls around them, thick but soft, hanging in the air like a lovers perfume. It's not pressing and all consuming, like Raleigh's, no -- Ethan's is light and sweet, like a summers breeze.

"I'd let you," he says honestly, before their lips touch, gentle, warm. He isn't sure how Francis feels about what he'll inevitably taste on Ethan's lips, but he figures the man knows what he's in for with the kiss, so he leans into it, groping to set his glass down in favor of gently cupping Francis's face, the kiss still gentle, chaste - but definitely returned.

He'd let you, Francis. When did Raleigh ever cave in and let you truly spoil him?

Never.

In all those many lives. In all those many decades. There was always a shim between them. Always another heart. Another want. and Raleigh's stubborn, infuriating inability to accept any grand showering of affection.

Well you know what. He doesn't need the posthumous approval or acceptance or love. He has someone new. Someone wonderful.

Who's kiss is just for him, he hopes. Who's willing and open and shows such promise. Raleigh was just... too... powerful. Too big. Too full of darkness. It was toxic. It always is.

Maybe it's finally time for Francis to stop punishing himself.

The kiss is tinged with blood but he doesn't mind. It can be nice, but he doesn't find the idea of drinking glasses of it alluring. As a part of his meal? Fine. On the lips of his husband? Nothing new. Given the choice between blood and wine he chooses wine. It's simply that.

Given the choice between bloody kisses and longing looks, he chooses the kiss. Then once more, then once more again. Strangers getting to know each other. Breathing in each other's scent. Tasting each other's tongues. Oh Ethan, what he can do with his tongue.

"Do you mean that?" Breathy between kisses, wine set aside to slide his free hand up into the other's short hair.

His kisses are all for you. Everything he is, all of it can be for you, Francis. You are old and all consuming, overbearing, needy, desperate - and the man on the couch with you will easily succumb and happily give you everything that he is.

"Uh huh," he says, letting Francis breathe, because Ethan doesn't need to. He could kiss Francis to death, taste him every second as he gasped for air. He scoots in a little closer, brushing his thumb over his husbands cheek.

"'s long as you let me give you the same."

He's all of those things, it is true, but he can also be an unending wealth of love. Fierce protector. Blindly loyal companion. A hopeless romantic under all his jaded armor.

"Please," also breathy. Foreheads touching. That's all he could really ever hope for. To be loved with the same fullness in which he loves. With complete focus. Just him, no sharing.

He's so easy, really. Say a few nice things to him. Listen to him. Kiss him. And he lets you right under his scales. It is a miracle that Francis is still alive.

Lucky for Francis, he's found himself an equally hopeless romantic, another fiercely loyal partner. Ethan loves and he loves hard and he will be so, so good to you.

"You got it," Ethan murmurs, smoothing his hand over Francis's cheek, slowly moving in, shifting to carefully slide into his lap. He doesn't need anything more than this - he doesn't want either of them to spook, but he wants contact and touch so badly it hurts.

He slides his hands right into soft hair and pulls him in again for another kiss, tracing his tongue over plush lips, teasing his way back into his mouth.

Its wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. When Ethan moves to his lap Francis shifts a bit to make it more comfortable for the both of them, pressing his back flat into the back of the sofa.

One hand stays in Ethan's hair, the other skimming down his husband's arm and then side before finally finding it's home on his hip where he squeezes ever so gently. Maybe a daring move but it is their wedding night after all. And he is so very grateful that they've recovered from what was an unpleasant but needed conversation.

Ethan will find that Francis doesn't talk simply to spin a tale and wind him up, there's a purpose to everything he says. Sometimes misguided but mostly an attempt to connect or help or impart knowledge. Raleigh found it terribly overbearing. It's just how he is.

Desperately lonely and touch starved, curling together like the new lovers they are and kissing like eager teenagers. It makes Francis feel young again, it really does. Pulse quick, pheromones thick, lips lapping and his tongue- goodness you might think it were forked the way he moves it.

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