eschatological | [psl] post-mortem; closed to @destinymaker

[ Rau settles back against the sofa and laughs with incredulous surprise. Ah, that's good. Purifying the soul of completely unrepentant, quasi-patricidal, traitorous attempted mass-murderer. ]

An impossible task, whoever set it.

It would appear so.

[ Punishment, purify... Those aren't words that ever came to mind for Gil, not when it came to Rau. ]

Especially if 'purity' includes feeling repentant - even I have no intention of forcing that onto you.

[ What Rau did and wants is evil, but... that's his prerogative to want and feel, after all this world has put him through. They can agree on as much. ]

[ That's sweet. And sensible. To Rau's mind, his worst inclinations are as inherent to his existence as breathing -- perhaps more so, given that he no longer particularly needs to breathe. ]

You could not. Even in life, you never tried to change human nature, simply to constrain it.

Your impossible dreams have such interesting boundaries.

[ No tameness, no repentance. Really, truly, simply happiness, apparently. What an alien thought. ]

That's because I don't consider my dreams impossible, merely improbable.

[ Gil turns the black king that Rau tossed at him, and holds him up into the light. This king has fallen already, but he moved with purpose when he was still on the board. ]

I am working towards realization of my dreams and in doing so, I have to consider the parameters of possibility.

[ He sets the king piece on the table, a good distance from the white queen already standing here. ]

Though... in this case, it's maybe less a matter of probability than of preference.

Whose preference? [ he drawls, but there are teeth showing in his smile again. Surely Gil won't claim total altruism in this. ]

[ That tone of voice, that expression... Even if Gil had been inclined to lie about this in the first place, Rau would be making it very hard on him.

Fortunately, Gil's been nothing but honest since they came here. The outside world no longer exists, any concerns about social consequences are a far-off memory. The biggest concern he's having is whether or not he's cheating on his ex-girlfriend who may or may not be reunited with her own late husband right now, and that's just... That's so abstract it is laughable. They'll work it out. They have an approximation of 'forever' to do so.

Gil leans forward a little as he responds. ]

Mine.

[ Rau chuckles, warmly self-satisfied. He doesn't return the lean, but he tilts his head inquisitively, appraisingly. ]

You'll need a better plan than your last one.

[ But speaking of Talia, he isn't making personal swipes about her. It's a minute sign of increased tolerance. ]

A different caliber of plan, that's for sure. Proving something to a ghost is quite different from being ghosts together.

[ The Destiny Plan is still a bit of a touchy subject... Rey's rejection put a definitive end to it, more so than the mere thwarting of its implementation could have, but one does not let go of a life's work that easily. It's been ten years since Gil first sat awake at his desk late at night, scribbling down his first notes. Using pen and paper instead of a computer, because he felt it helped him think, because he wanted it to be raw and direct somehow. Ten years of deliberation and refinement... The Destiny Plan is a part of Gilbert Durandal by now. He can't cut it out so easily.

So Gil isn't going to dwell on the exact nature of plans for too long. Not when he has a different question to ask. ]

You dodged my question earlier. So you will remain to watch me struggle at your seemingly impossible quest?

[ As hollow as a victory that is, having Rau agree to stay with him when there is nowhere else to even go. And still, he'd like to hear it, some real words of commitment. ]

[ The answer is yes. Out of curiosity, out of amusement, out of general enjoyment of Gil's company, and, yes, because there is not particularly anything else to do.

The real question is how evasive Rau's next answer will be. It would be easy to pull away completely, and start on a winding denial of having dodged the original inquiry; it would be equally easy to simply point to the circumstances given that Gil has, very functionally, a captive audience. But both would only delay the inevitable, and they're a little too petty. On the other hand, it would be very strange to simply say yes -- life needs to struggle more than that, Rau needs to struggle more than that. ]

I'm here, [ he offers mildly, and nothing in his inflection suggests that he considers it anything less than a completely responsive answer... even though he's still being slightly difficult for the sake of being difficult. He's human, after all. ]

... you're so stubborn.

[ This is, of course, the pot calling the kettle black. Being annoyingly stubborn is how they endure each other, one must assume. They say hell is other people, but if this is their punishment then Gil doesn't feel particularly bothered by it.

"I'm here" is hardly an answer, but it's answer enough. Gil has no idea how he'll go about seeking to disprove Rau's nihilism this time. He'll have to test all boundaries of their little mind prison for that. But knowing that Rau will watch him try, this time, without disappearing to a realm that is deader than dead...

Well, it's more commitment than Gil would have asked for in life. And it's enough commitment that it fills his chest with something warm and comfortable.

He's leaning forward even more now - not in the same way as when he brought this foreheads together earlier, though. There is a different intent here, and it should not be particularly surprising after all that has transpired.

Gil won't ask for permission, but he gives Rau enough time to push him off if he really feels he needs to. If Rau doesn't do that, however... then he'll connect their lips in a kiss. ]

[ For a moment, it's like kissing a statute as Rau considers the gesture. It isn't unexpected or unpleasant or particularly unwelcome, but it's simply so mundane after one of them tried to end humanity and the other tried to rewrite its fate, after they've meandered through life and death and the nature of existence. And Rau has existed in an isolated world of words and weapons for so long that Gil resorting to physical affection almost feels like cheating. But as he himself noted earlier, if there are no rules, he can't really accuse Gil of playing dirty. Well. If they're putting words aside for the moment, so be it. Rau leans slightly forward and --

Bites Gil's lower lip sharply, hard enough to hurt though not hard enough to break skin. In part to test Gil's assertion that he doesn't want everything to be perfectly domestic, and partially to make a point that this isn't going to be easy.

But he does not push him away. ]

[ It's hard to tell just how long he's wanted this already. Their ideological bouts had always been satisfying, their relationship was not precisely lacking, but... Gil is a man of flesh and blood, in the end. Even when they were discussing something dry and theoretical, or maybe especially then, Gil couldn't help notice the way Rau's hair falls over his neck, the curve of his jaw, the way his lips curl when he's focused...

And it hadn't been important enough to act on it then, to complicate themselves even further, but it remained on his mind.

Kissing Rau is different from kissing Talia, or kissing the very few other women he's been with in the interim. Gil is used to people who melt into him and Rau is anything but that. Rau is stiff and closed off until he isn't, until there's sharp pain that briefly makes Gil flinch.

He pulls back, but only just a little. His eyes are endlessly fond. ]

So that's what you're into.

[ Rau isn't getting time to respond before he gets another brief kiss. Gil wraps an arm around his waist, too. Utterly shameless. ]

This is your preference.

[ The words are more thoughtful than anything, and again, there’s a fractional delay in Rau’s physical response while he assesses, takes his bearings.

Rau’s scheming meant that he was largely solitary for the last two years of his life. War itself had been isolating; the world narrowed to a single warship or operations center for weeks at a time, and, despite close confines, rank or politics kept him distant from most of ZAFT other than the unlamented Patrick Zala. While most of the armed forces discretely resolved the solitude of service in their downtime or shore leave, Rau had been rather busy with trading weapons and plans and weaknesses across enemy lines, which required secrecy constantly and physical affection only rarely. The mask and polite aloofness and general distaste for most of humanity did the rest. Fllay Allster’s clinging and fluttering had been, oddly enough, some of the closest and most prolonged human contact he had in the months leading up to his death. And then he had simply been dead.

He does not regret it, but remembering how to be close is like adjusting to gravity and solid ground underfoot after months drifting weightless. The stomach drops, the heart beats faster, blood pulses harder. So much more contact, so much more push and pull.

But but he has always handled the reversion to gravity well enough. It’s only ever a matter of taking the first few steps to regain steadiness and control.

He swings a leg over Gil, straddling him without settling in his lap; one arm rests lightly on Gil’s shoulder, and his gloved fingers tangle loosely in dark hair. ]

Your plan.

[ And there, the fluidity and note of challenge are back in place. ]

[ Calling it a plan seems rather generous. Gil has no illusions that Rau will simply become happy through a kiss as though he were a princess in a fairytale. This isn't a plan so much as it is an investment, a probing path forward to see where a plan might start taking shape.

It is also just... nice, really nice. Rau is suddenly back in control and Gil can't complain about it one bit when it means that Rau is also all over him. ]

My desire. [ he says and it is half an addition and half a correction. ] To have you as you are, even if it's playing with fire.

[ An ouroboros of preferences then, because for Gil to want the authentic violent and untamed Rau, Rau first needs to want to be violent and untamed.

Though maybe 'violent and untamed' is not the right words for the position they have settled into here. Rau may not have completed the movement of coming into Gil's lap, but he's given Gil an excellent vantage point to pull him exactly there.

They're both dead, these bodies are likely nothing but psychological manifestations of what they think should be happening physically, but his heartbeat still speeds up in a way that he finds genuinely a little embarrassing. Like a teenager all over again. Gross. ]

"Have"?

[ He echoes the word with a knife-edged smile, not yielding an iota. In this position, needling about a double-meaning is unnecessary, but Rau has a bad habit of playing with his food. And if Gilbert Durandal wants to win, Rau is going to make him fight for every step, every move. ]

[ This relationship is nothing but a competition as to who can be the most annoying man in the world. Rau is currently in the lead.]

In my afterlife, by my side, as my partner...

[ There are so many meanings to 'have' and he means every single one of then, next question.

Gil is smirking though, not at all deterred by Rau choosing to be difficult. ]

As as well as in my bed... or well, that'd be 'on my couch' presently?

[ Does his bedroom exist in this facsimile of Aprilius? Things to explore later. ]

In my lap, if we want to get very specific.

[ Rau’s brows knit behind the mask for a moment. It’s not that he’s weak to frankness, per se, but laying everything out fully and directly gives him very little leeway to poke and prod. That is annoying.

And that directness puts the matter of bodies squarely at the forefront. Not the matter of the body’s existence; he wraps his fingers experimentally in the hair at the base of Gil’s neck, gathering loose curls around each finger and letting them slide away before starting again -- not enough to hurt, this time, just brief, dull tugs. Even through fabric, he can feel the warmth of skin and the loose slip of hair. These bodies are real enough for present purposes. But Rau’s body has been, had been, destroying itself on the cellular level at an exponential rate. In life, that body was as fast and strong as Al da Flaga intended, which Rau had put to good use... but it had also been increasingly, agonizingly painful for his entire adult life. In death, there are no more invisible pieces to break. The nerves in his newly steady hands calmly report the warmth of body heat under his fingertips, rather than screaming over their own breakdown. Interesting.

This won’t be the worst use of a body that doesn’t protest every gesture, if.... ]

You haven’t explained how that’s supposed to make me happy, [ he rebukes, with the deliberate nonchalance of inviting a subordinate to redress an error.

This won’t be the worst use of a body that doesn’t protest every gesture, if the man beneath him can deliver on his implied promises. ]

Edited 2023-11-05 21:42 (UTC)

[ That's the tricky question. Though Gil's wish to hold Rau close is selfish in nature, he wouldn't be pursuing it if he didn't think at his core that Rau would also be getting something out of it. If he didn't think that Rau could... well, maybe Rau would never fall in love with him the way he fell in love, but he could find a contentment with this. Pleasure. Amusement. Companionship beyond what they already provided to each other.

At the same time... ]

I can't guarantee that it will.

[ Honesty has carried him this far, maybe he will grudgingly allow it to carry him a little further. A certain amount of calculated vulnerability has always done wonders for him, in life. ]

I would have to be quite naive to assume that simply this is enough.

[ It's an amusing thought though - all this, and the solution was getting laid? Maybe in movies. ]

But for just now... well, you don't need me to list the physiological benefits. So let me ask a question instead: why did you allow me this much, if it doesn't give you anything at all? You're not the type to humor me, and you don't owe me anything.

[ That gets a flicker of immediate reaction, a slight clench of Rau's jaw and a slight tightening of Rau's fingers in Gil's hair.

It's aggravating. It's getting to be really aggravating. He can answer deception with a whole beautiful web of lies, respond to every negative emotion with a smile while planning something even darker and wilder, but this earnestness (this fixation on a tomorrow that defies the past and cannot be guaranteed--) wants to get under the gloves, under the skin, under his sense of the world and himself with it. From this vantage point (from this close), it's tempting to retaliate by getting under Gil's skin in return, by biting down on the vulnerable, real-enough skin above the collar, but Gil would just smile self-assuredly and file the non-answer away and ask the same question twenty minutes later.

Lack of hate should be enough. Feeling relatively unguarded, knowing that he can close his eyes without anyone asking dangerous questions about the fact that he wakes up convulsing should be enough. Curiosity, amusement, and general enjoyment should be enough. He likes Gilbert Durandal as well as anything, and that should be enough. Any deeper examination would be calamitous. ]

You kept me alive.

[ He tilts his head and bares his throat fractionally as he says it. Gilbert Durandal has known what he is and what he wants for years, could have slipped him poison instead of medicine at any time for years. Could have revealed what he was doing, could have revealed what he was, could have hurt Rey. He held all of Rau's vulnerabilities for years and did nothing, and that that should be enough.

And even if it wasn't -- he had listened. And Rau will listen in return.

This is as far as he can keep his voice nonchalant. It’s been years since he was this close to anyone, and Gilbert Durandal has gotten under his skin. The rest cracks like a whip. ]

Look for compliments somewhere else.

[ It's a complicated feeling to see Rau getting aggravated, however subtle the signs.

Playing with people's minds is second nature to Gil, has been for a long time, but he always thinks of it as something done for a cause. White lies, leading somewhere better. Because Gilbert Durandal is, at his core, a good person - is he not? (A good person, just not good enough to let go of the devil in front of him.)

Gilbert Durandal likes winning, and for that he needs pawns to play, but Rau isn't a pawn.

There is no joy in stressing him out. At the same time, Gil is never going to change anything for Rau if he doesn't break through that barrier. Paradox over paradox over paradox.

'You kept me alive' is a very blunt descriptor of what they were to each other, and it makes Gil's assertion that Rau doesn't owe him feel disingenuous. Rau did owe him, for a long time. Did have good reason to humor him and his whims.

He knew that, at the start. When they first met, Rau just a teenager, Gil fresh out of college... He knew then that they were doctor and patient, that there was a dynamic here that is inherently unequal.

And then, somewhere along the road, he forgot. Rau was so much larger than life, more captivating than anyone. His chess partner, his equal, his match. The fact that Rau kept coming back for his medication, kept living on willingly, had been beautiful, inspiring. But in truth...

Gil lets go of Rau's waist and drops his arms limply at his own side. His expression is serious, but not sad. The last thing he wants is to seem like he is inviting pity. He does not drop eye contact. ]

I need neither compliments nor your love to want to give you pleasure - but if that holds no appeal, then let's stop. Even at my greediest, I have no interest in coercing you.

[ It is frustrating, though... How can Rau ask him to explain what he can do for him, if he won't allow himself to acknowledge to enjoy any of it at all? ]

[ Rau tsks with barely suppressed dissatisfaction. He's chased mutually assured destruction for so long that it's tempting to stand and walk away, even if that means a second end. It would be easier than breaking the sharply circumscribed limits of as well as anything.

He considers for several breaths, each one sharper and faster than he would like. He doesn't like easy, in the end. And the possibility of something undefined (tomorrow) really is under his skin now. There's another door to open.

His hand slips from the nape of Gil's neck to a pulse point. His thumb rests just over the artery without pressing down. ]

You have nothing to coerce me with. I would have killed you if you tried before, and I would find a way to kill you if you tried even here.

[ That's the easy part, the part he can say with understated certainty. Not a boast, barely a threat, just a fact. Gil has sent warships and assassins around the world, but Rau started killing as a child. The next part takes another few breaths, another few pulses. Want, want, want. ]

Whatever you want to show, [ the next words are almost opaque -- "I'll let you show" or "I'm willing to see" or "I'm here" -- but only and always, it comes back to want, ] I want to see.

[ And because Rau really will find a way to kill Gilbert Durandal a second time if the man carries on being sanctimonious and treating him like he's a candle at risk of guttering out instead of an unrepentant murderering schemer -- Rau's free hand catches Gil's wrist ungently, rough enough to bruise, and raises it to Rau's temple, to the clasps of the white mask.

Just in case he had the wrong idea and thought this "want" was only about fucking on an existentially-dubious couch. ]

[ Want.

Yes, that's a good word. Less pretentious than 'desire', it cuts right to the heart of the matter. Gil doesn't need love. How strange it would be for Rau to jump right to something like that - but want? Yes, Gil wants to be wanted. Even if that 'want' only consists of curiosity, or even of a malicious desire to tear everything that is offered down after the fact. All that Gil needs is the knowledge that Rau isn't being strung along like some passive observer. Rau doesn't need to kiss him back, as long as he bites his lips. Rau doesn't need to hold him as long as he digs his fingers into his skin like he does right now.

It hurts. Gil isn't accustomed to physical pain - he is neither a frontline fighter nor a masochist. It's only Rau who's allowed to manhandle him like this, without hearing even a word of complaint.

Without another word, Gil undoes the clasp of the mask and lets it drop haphazardly onto the cushions next to them. His hand couldn't move from Rau's face if he wanted it to - and he doesn't want that. He traces Rau's cheekbones with his fingers, just the ghost of a touch.

Rau really is beautiful. What an unfortunate sentiment, circumstances considered. ]

Then I'll give you everything.

[ He's not smiling this time. This declaration is plain as can be, with Gil's general tendency for fancy words. ]

[ What a strange feeling, letting the mask drop. Beneath it, Rau's brows are knit with the concentration of not standing up and walking away after all, the furrows foreshadowing where untimely wrinkles would have settled permanently after another year or two of life; his jaw is clenched tight under Gil's palm. His hand on Gil's wrist presses tighter, but it's also a shift from sharp pain to dull pain -- from a careful vice-grip to plain grasping. The fingers at Gil's neck dip down, just barely, and snarl in his collar instead.

It isn't a matter of Gil seeing this face; that happened often enough before Rau made himself indispensable enough to the National Defense Committee to get away with the oddity of wearing a mask at all times. The mask has always been for Rau. It really would have been easier to start by removing clothes.

It takes a minute of sharp breaths and deliberate intent to unclench. The fingers at Gil's collar loosen first, then the hand at his wrist, though Rau does not pull either hand away. Slowly, with an effort and after a moment where his teeth grind near-audibly, he closes his eyes and his features smooth. One more slow, deliberate exhale, and Rau opens his eyes to look down at Gilbert Durandal again.

And frowns. Not the tense scowl of a minute earlier, just reproachful -- although his expression and tone are both pricklier than Rau would really like, if the mask were still in place. ]

You really are too clever for your own good. You almost talked yourself out of this.

[ Gil watches in silence.

How Rau's chest rises and falls with each agitated breath. How his brows twitch slightly in their furrowed position. How his throat moves when he swallows. The barely notable flutter of his eyelids. And the way the grip on his wrist shifts slightly, a dull pain the whole time.

Words are meaningless in the face of this. Gil has built a career out of smooth talking, but he doesn't think he could find a verbal expression that could communicate what he's feeling right now as he's watching Rau struggle with himself. It's not the first time Gil has seen Rau vulnerable, but a fight with ones body is still quite different from a fight with the mind.

This is what it looks like to be chosen, isn't it? Gil has watched the people he loved walk away from him for the sake of their pre-existing convictions and desires, and he's let them. How could he not? He understands, respects having priorities. Instead of stopping them, he's built a shrine around his own hurt and locked it up inside.

But they came back to him - both of them. Talia, to offer him a death by her side. And Rau to spite the very notion he'd always represented: all things are born and die. That's it.

That should be it, but Rau is right here and looking at him with those clear blue eyes.

Gilbert Durandal has thought of his life as a mistaken path, and yet... how can he be this fortunate?

(Well, Rau might still try to double kill him if he lets him down. But it would at least be interesting to see him try.)

When Rau is finally ready to speak again, Gil meets his eyes warmly. His free arm finds its way back around Rau's waist in a loose hold. ]

I'm not certain 'clever' is the right word for that. Maybe I just talk too much.

[ He will not stop talking too much. ]

[ Rau tilts his cheek into Gil's hand with an evaluating hmmm. It takes a touch longer than normal for his face to relax into the the small, tight smile that usually portends some level of needling, though now it's possible to trace the expression to the tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes. ]

Is it too banal -- [ his voice is deliberately innocuous. Without breaking eye contact, he turns his head so that his curved lips skim over the palm of Gil's hand, stopping at the tip of his forefinger ] -- to suggest that you put your mouth to better use?

[ His lips close over the tip of Gil's finger, teeth just barely scraping against skin. By way of illustration, of course. ]

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