[Eventually, the tide of anger slows and begins to drag, and the violence tapers off, leaving Sylvain bruised and bloody beneath his heavy weight. There's an errant temptation in his mind, like the whisper of a vengeful ghost in his ear—that if Sylvain will tell him nothing, what reason is there to keep him alive?
How easy would it be to lift his hands and bracelet them around Sylvain's throat, strangling the last breath from his body? Too easy. It is a brutality he was made for. It is what he is meant to do.
Yet those reassurances reach his ears instead, each one as gentle a caress as a hand on his face, through his hair, soothing something dark and hungry for bloodshed. Dimitri realizes he is shaking. In the silence that follows, he can hear himself gasp as his body lowers itself the rest of the way on top of Sylvain. A collapse of willpower. He's holding Sylvain hard against the stone; he can't move, even if he wished to.
The warmth of physical touch is overwhelming. He remembers how this felt once, years ago, when Sylvain came to him behind the closed doors of their dormitory rooms. It isn't the same now, but it's close enough that it hurts. How easily those sentiments can blur together.]
I hate you. [This is gritty, pressed to Sylvain's cheek where the blood smears against his mouth like lipstick.] I hate you.
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How easy would it be to lift his hands and bracelet them around Sylvain's throat, strangling the last breath from his body? Too easy. It is a brutality he was made for. It is what he is meant to do.
Yet those reassurances reach his ears instead, each one as gentle a caress as a hand on his face, through his hair, soothing something dark and hungry for bloodshed. Dimitri realizes he is shaking. In the silence that follows, he can hear himself gasp as his body lowers itself the rest of the way on top of Sylvain. A collapse of willpower. He's holding Sylvain hard against the stone; he can't move, even if he wished to.
The warmth of physical touch is overwhelming. He remembers how this felt once, years ago, when Sylvain came to him behind the closed doors of their dormitory rooms. It isn't the same now, but it's close enough that it hurts. How easily those sentiments can blur together.]
I hate you. [This is gritty, pressed to Sylvain's cheek where the blood smears against his mouth like lipstick.] I hate you.