[ that awful pressure on his neck makes it difficult to think, to stop him, and it's terrible because he wants to laugh. did he seduce him? apparently enough for him to be angry at it happening. so perhaps he succeeded. how awful. had he known he mattered ... no. it wouldn't have changed a thing. sylvain would've kept his distance still, because dimitri was his prince, and he was not meant to be a retainer like dedue. or an unsheathed blade for his use, like felix. he was not meant to be anything like that. a slut, maybe. that would've been a right designation for the gautier heir whom nobody expects much of, and fine by him. he despises the lot of them anyway. wolves in faerghus. wolves wearing human faces. wolves wearing a prince's face. wolves wearing a duplicitous, charming philanderer. a weakness to be exploited. will dimitri kill him? he just might. his fear and anger are both too much right now.
he finds himself attracted to it. this dimitri, the one that felix had known about all along, who had endeavoured to keep wearing a human face for as long as he could in the academy until the emperor broke him. how he fears him. he could die tonight, licking the blood from his mouth and wishing it was his instead. waiting for his face to turn the same colour as his coat. faerghus blue until he dies. faerghus blue with the rage of one eye glaring at him and calling him a whore. he feels blood on him, dimitri's injury still hurting and raw. and the boy himself, still aching, an open wound. did he seduce him? he'd argue it was mutual. he can't refuse someone aching to be loved. so lonely he longed to be alone to convince himself it was proper, the right thing to do. so lonely he would feel there was value in betrayal where love is concerned. (love?)
his will. his body. his wrath.
nobody but me controls my vices, he wants to tell him. and you are my greatest vice.
such an aggressive wanting that he would bow to. not even edelgard would give him such satisfaction! hubert, maybe. disdainful, sneering, he'd quarter his body to his magic and leave him crashing down with nothing. dorothea knows him too well, the way he lingers around her like a knife with no handle, waiting to shear off thorns. that's what he was, for both empire and kingdom alike: a blade with both ends sharpened. no handles. nothing but risk.
negligible, useless, but the prince can't (won't?) kill him just yet.
he feels manic in this knowledge. you are still that boy. doe-eyed. soft. hiding behind this wolf of yours. following after me. holding onto my hand, asking me when i'll come back from gautier. telling me you fought with felix. that ingrid left you after you decided you didn't want to share your toys. you are still - ]
... beautiful, [ he murmurs. might be the lack of oxygen that's getting to him as he says it. ] Beautiful. Even now.
[ have his neck. his awful smile. the blood that covers his mouth from his nose, iron in his mouth. his pathetic heart. sylvain's skin bruising against his hands, faerghus blue and black. goddess, why did he leave. if he had known he would remember, he would rage, he would want this much, why did he ever leave. unattainable: that's what he was supposed to be. and yet here he is. you seduced me. ] ... yes. I did.
I'm ... selfish. Wanted the best. Who would crush my heart if he could.
[ sylvain feels serene, oddly enough for him. has a look in his eyes that shouldn't be there. ] If.
no subject
he finds himself attracted to it. this dimitri, the one that felix had known about all along, who had endeavoured to keep wearing a human face for as long as he could in the academy until the emperor broke him. how he fears him. he could die tonight, licking the blood from his mouth and wishing it was his instead. waiting for his face to turn the same colour as his coat. faerghus blue until he dies. faerghus blue with the rage of one eye glaring at him and calling him a whore. he feels blood on him, dimitri's injury still hurting and raw. and the boy himself, still aching, an open wound. did he seduce him? he'd argue it was mutual. he can't refuse someone aching to be loved. so lonely he longed to be alone to convince himself it was proper, the right thing to do. so lonely he would feel there was value in betrayal where love is concerned. (love?)
his will. his body. his wrath.
nobody but me controls my vices, he wants to tell him. and you are my greatest vice.
such an aggressive wanting that he would bow to. not even edelgard would give him such satisfaction! hubert, maybe. disdainful, sneering, he'd quarter his body to his magic and leave him crashing down with nothing. dorothea knows him too well, the way he lingers around her like a knife with no handle, waiting to shear off thorns. that's what he was, for both empire and kingdom alike: a blade with both ends sharpened. no handles. nothing but risk.
negligible, useless, but the prince can't (won't?) kill him just yet.
he feels manic in this knowledge. you are still that boy. doe-eyed. soft. hiding behind this wolf of yours. following after me. holding onto my hand, asking me when i'll come back from gautier. telling me you fought with felix. that ingrid left you after you decided you didn't want to share your toys. you are still - ]
... beautiful, [ he murmurs. might be the lack of oxygen that's getting to him as he says it. ] Beautiful. Even now.
[ have his neck. his awful smile. the blood that covers his mouth from his nose, iron in his mouth. his pathetic heart. sylvain's skin bruising against his hands, faerghus blue and black. goddess, why did he leave. if he had known he would remember, he would rage, he would want this much, why did he ever leave. unattainable: that's what he was supposed to be. and yet here he is. you seduced me. ] ... yes. I did.
I'm ... selfish. Wanted the best. Who would crush my heart if he could.
[ sylvain feels serene, oddly enough for him. has a look in his eyes that shouldn't be there. ] If.