It wasn't a statement, nor was it a question. A soft repeating, as if to grasp the words in his hand like elusive cotton.
Once grasped, he wasn't sure what to do with it, so he turned it over in his fingers, felt the surprising, fleecy softness and the unexpected small, hard seeds of possibility within that softness.
Aleksandr didn't want to pull at something so ephemeral, so delicate, lest he tear it apart, a casualty of his mercenary curiosity, his drive to possess and to know, his drive to control.
There had already been one such casualty of late, and everything else in his life now paled beside it.
So he merely bowed his head for a moment, and let that be what it would, and what it was was Cheslav Oleksei's thick hand reassuringly carding through the length of his damp, disheveled hair.
Was he attempting to reconstruct him, to push everything back into alignment by sheer force of will? Or was he merely absently exploring the tangible novelty as he tried to soothe Aleksandr's psychic pain?
"It's good," he said, almost surprised at his own words, even as they left his lips, quiet and steady. "It's good that you came. It's right that it should be you."
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2010-03-01 05:35 am (UTC)It wasn't a statement, nor was it a question. A soft repeating, as if to grasp the words in his hand like elusive cotton.
Once grasped, he wasn't sure what to do with it, so he turned it over in his fingers, felt the surprising, fleecy softness and the unexpected small, hard seeds of possibility within that softness.
Aleksandr didn't want to pull at something so ephemeral, so delicate, lest he tear it apart, a casualty of his mercenary curiosity, his drive to possess and to know, his drive to control.
There had already been one such casualty of late, and everything else in his life now paled beside it.
So he merely bowed his head for a moment, and let that be what it would, and what it was was Cheslav Oleksei's thick hand reassuringly carding through the length of his damp, disheveled hair.
Was he attempting to reconstruct him, to push everything back into alignment by sheer force of will? Or was he merely absently exploring the tangible novelty as he tried to soothe Aleksandr's psychic pain?
"It's good," he said, almost surprised at his own words, even as they left his lips, quiet and steady. "It's good that you came. It's right that it should be you."
He breathed out, slowly, then in again.
"...Slava."