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

[ 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. ]

[ It's not strictly surprising that when Rau commits, he commits, but... Oh. Okay.

There is a visible record scratch in Gil's thought process, and then he's clearly here for it if the way his voice drops in pitch and volume is anything to go by. ]

It shall be forgiven. Some situations call for banal... or even crude.

[ If his finger is already on Rau's lip, he may as well brush over it... before freeing himself from Rau's grip, taking hold of his collar instead, and pulling him down. Now that Rau has given his explicit consent, there is nothing hesitant in the way Gil kisses him. It briefly occurs to him that Rau might find it funny to bite off his tongue, but that's not an important consideration anymore. ]

[ It would be funny, but it would also be messy, and it’s such a bitch to get large quantities of blood out of a white uniform.

Again, there's a split second before Rau responds, a split second of assessment and strategy and simply thinking back several years to how bodies are supposed to work when they aren't collapsing at a cellular level. These pauses are noticeable, but also getting noticeably shorter. And after that beat of consideration, Rau smiles self-satisfiedly and lets Gil draw him down to kiss without settling into his lap, so that Gil will have to keep craning his neck up for the moment if he wants that kiss. (Rau is just being vexatious on this point, waiting to see how long it takes Gil to act on “in my lap” specifically.) For now, he kisses back with languorous curiosity rather than real heat, and when he finally pulls away, his expression is loftily complacent -- brows raised, a thin smirk. ]

Better.

[ But.

There’s a touch of pink high on his cheekbones. The mask would usually hide this, alas. ]

[ A small part of Gil had been worried that the world of the physical had little in the way of enjoyment to offer for Rau. That part is evaporating at the sight of color coming to Rau's face. ]

Better, but not perfect. Yet.

[ Gil has never actually slept with a man before. This fact does not stop him from having boundless self-confidence about the act. (Idly, he wonders if Rau has any experience at all. Military academy dorms would at least have given him ample opportunity.)

The way Rau is keeping himself only barely within Gil's reach is irritating, but it's exactly that irritation that prevents Gil from doing the obvious and trying yet again to pull him down on top of him. Instead, he moves his hand from gripping Rau's collar to unhooking the clasps and start freeing bit after bit of skin on a man who is usually entirely covered up. ]

[ In contrast to the drama of dropping the mask, Rau is largely unfussed by undressing. Coordinators may be disproportionately hotties, but Rau has fantastic abs despite spending large amounts of time in zero-gravity -- he knows perfectly well that he’s really, really, really ridiculously good looking and, unlike his face, he doesn’t have any hangups about his body when it’s not painfully dying on him. Also this uniform has a crew-neck undershirt beneath the coat, so there’s still a long way to go before this particular exploration yields any more skin than some neck and a bit of collarbone.

So he leaves Gil free to make his way down the clasps running down the uniform collar and chest. (Even through uniform fabric, hands on his chest will be able to feel that his heartrate is up, undermining his veneer of smug indifference as much as the color in his cheeks.) Instead, he drapes his arms over Gil’s shoulders and kisses him. It’s light, brief, investigative. ]

“Yet,” [ he repeats thoughtfully.

And then he kisses him again -- this time, using his extra leverage to press their lips together with the tiniest bit more force, barely brushing his teeth over Gil’s lower lip. This kiss is a touch longer before Rau pulls back slightly. But then he presses down again. And again, and again, as many times as Rau can get away with before Gil gives some word or sign of wanting to interrupt the cycle. Each kiss is noticeably rougher than the last -- longer, deeper, more bruising force as Rau pushes down, more teeth scraping and pressing into soft skin; he’ll take anything that Gil throws back into the kisses and continue making each one a fraction wilder than one before. But there’s that same pause and withdrawal after every one: Rau is methodically, if ruthlessly, testing the limits of Gil’s tolerance and preference, and is waiting to see where Gil will tell him to knock it off.

Rau is largely unfussed by undressing, but Gil’s going to have to manage it by touch alone, and while Rau is being highly distracting. ]

Edited 2023-11-10 14:48 (UTC)

[ By the third kiss segment, Gil understands what Rau is doing and there is a short hint of amused laughter that is immediately cut short by another mashing of lips. Of all ways to go about this... It's charming, in its own odd way, and Gil gives in easily. Unlike Rau, he is not particularly invested in plausible deniability of his pleasure, so he allows himself to sigh and gasp - to even chase Rau's lips when he tries to take some of his methodical little segment breaks.

It's not long before all the clasps that Gil can comfortably reach are undone. Gil has the home field advantage here - ZAFT uniforms are unisex, and he's gotten quite a bit of practice undoing them in life. It doesn't matter if he's distracted by kisses or blindfolded, he knows his way around the garments with ease.

It's around then that Rau bites down on his lip in a way that comes dangerously close to drawing blood and Gil yelps a little. ]

-- you. If you want to turn me into a masochist, you'll have to work harder for it.

[ Without any warning, embraces Rau again and pulls him down onto his legs and into his arms - forcefully this time. Step one of 'work for it' is going to be 'not making your partner crane his neck uncomfortable for make-outs', Gil has decided.

With Rau properly in his grasp, he presses a kiss to his collarbone. ]

Is that what you want? Make me bleed?

[ Rau laughs briefly at the words and action both, the sound thrumming in his chest as he tilts his chin to give Gil better access. It isn’t about pain or blood, at least not for their own sake. But the abandonment of propriety and inhibition, a free hand to provoke and explore limits -- those are exhilaratingly, crudely human. Those, Rau wants; those drive the laughter at Gil finally pulling him down. And in any case --

Rau’s fingers dig into Gil’s shoulders, then scrape down sharply between his shoulder-blades. There’s too many layers of fabric in the way for it to hurt, this is just to make a point (offer?). ]

You’d bleed for me in a heartbeat.

[ Said with complete and utter confidence. And although there’s an undercurrent of laughter lingering in the words and a smile on Rau's lips, it’s not mocking or harsh, not a disparagement, not a threat; it’s simply an observation of a delightful, fascinating fact. Gilbert Durandal has already bled quite a lot for Rau, and at the end of a lovely demonstration of how far human longing will go.

And even if Rau were generally inclined to draw blood solely for the sake of drawing blood... just as the acceptance of the tendency toward destructiveness somewhat dulls the inclination to be destructive, the fact that Gil has already bled quite a lot for him rather dulls the inclination to draw blood solely for the sake of it. Rau simply doesn’t want to hold back any more than is strictly necessary. ]

[ It's hard to be offended. Both because Rau's laughter is a lovely sound, and because Gil knows he's correct. It's useless to pretend otherwise - if anything, making the attempt would just render him a hypocrite after all his big talk about taking Rau as he is. But who would he be if he were not stubbornly dedicated to proving a point?

Gil smiles, though he does not actually raise his head for Rau to see.]

Maybe so.

[ Between kisses and gently scraping of teeth, Gil moves his way up from Rau's collar to his jawline before pulling back a little so he can undo Rau's uniform belt and get this jacket out of the way once and for all. He slides it off Rau's shoulders and is struck by how undressed he looks in only an undershirt - even if that is basically still fully clothed. ]

But I might complain quite a bit.

[ Rau draws back for a moment and nonchalantly allows the coat and belt slip to the floor. But complaining, hm? One gloved hand (and he's vaguely amused that these stayed on longer than the jacket) dips under Gil's chin, the thumb ghosting over Gil's lower lip. ]

You really do talk too much.

[ But there's a temporary fix for that. Rau's mouth replaces the finger a beat later; he kisses with deliberate laziness this time, noticeably scaled back from the previous pressure. His hands drop to Gil's collar and the fastenings across the chest, making up for lack of familiarity with whatever-this-top-is with brisk efficiency, neither attempting to be particularly rough or delicate. Even if there aren't really rules, even if there isn't really fair or unfair, it's a touch annoying to be the only one starting to show skin. ]

[ Luckily for Rau, the outfit that Gil is wearing under his iconic coat is structured pretty similarly to the average ZAFT uniform. It shouldn't take too long to figure out.

Gil gives a pleased hum at the action, even if it yet again deprives him of the chance to finally bare Rau's hands. It would have been interesting to keep going as they had, focusing entirely on Rau while Gil remains almost untouched, but 'interesting' doesn't necessarily equate to 'satisfying' here. Not for something that Gil has wanted for far longer than is appropriate.

So while he's content to keep languidly kissing so Rau can get his own bit of undressing in, he's not actually willing to give up on his headstart. His hands slip under Rau's shirt to explore the warm skin and ironically, all Gil can think about it how alive Rau feels. Heated up, heart beating fast, breathing against his skin whenever they take short breaks in making out... To think the afterlife would gift them such a formidable illusion. How kind of it.

It's not too long before Gil pulls the shirt up properly and disrupts their kiss, prompting Rau to help him get rid of that final layer on his upper body. And if Rau complies, Gil will take hold of his hands right after. ]

Still so distant... Tsk Tsk.

[ He tuts in disapproval, even though it's obvious he's not actually displeased - but he does reach for the hem of the gloves, ready to pull them off and toss them aside as well. ]

[ Removing the shirt, Rau will allow. He tugs it off smoothly and casually, although when his hair settles back into place there are fair wisps starting to cling to the first faint perspiration at his temples.

But "distant" ... the gloves don't have any particular significance now that he doesn't have to hide painful trembling, but "distant" is just being ridiculous when Rau is the only one shirtless. He avoids Gil's reach easily, and settles his still-gloved hands at Gil's hips instead. His fingers dip beneath the hem of the undershirt, but then also, just a centimeter, below the waist of Gil's pants. ]

What's distant? [ he asks blandly, dipping his head so that his lips brush over Gil's ear with each word, and just daring him to say the ridiculous part out loud and complain about the gloves. ]

[ So difficult... is what Gil would like to think, but mostly he's incredibly distracted by the way Rau's presence overwhelms every other sensation. The sight of him so undressed, the heat of his breath... ]

Perhaps the coolness of glove fabric on my heated skin?

[ There, he said it. Make fun of him as you will.

His own very much ungloved hands travel up Rau's now bare back until he can lightly drag a fingernail over the base of his neck. Such precision in sensation that can be gained with bare fingers, see? ]

Let's do away with such barriers.

[ He'd also like to rid himself of his now two unbuttoned jackets, but the privilege of having the hottest man you've ever known in your lap comes with the disadvantage that your freedom of movement is strongly limited. When Gil draws his hands back so he can make good on his words and remove barriers indeed, it's a bit of an awkward shuffle to shrug out of his clothing without disturbing their position too much. ]

[ Rau cranes his neck fractionally into that fingertip touch, then watches evaluatingly while Gil handles the two jackets. But when it comes to the undershirt, Rau slips his hands under the bottom hem again, so that his still-gloved fingers slip along Gil's sides and arms as he pulls the layer up and off. One near-final hoorah for glove fabric on heated skin.

He catches Gil’s hands in his at the end of the gesture, intertwining their fingers as he leans back slightly; without the mask, there’s no hiding the way that Rau’s eyes sweep over Gil, openly appraising. They’re both habitually bundled up, Rau wants to look. And it doesn’t hurt to continue being mildly irksome about the gloves. ]

So impatient.

[ But the glint in Rau’s eyes and the flush and the faint perspiration and the heavy rise and fall of his chest rather undercut the rebuke. ]

[ The disadvantage of having an absolutely unreasonable amount of hair is that it's hard to tame, so after Gil's undershirt is pulled over his head it refuses to settle back into place quite as it is supposed to.

Gil's body is as pale as one might expect. A lifetime spent safely holed up in laboratories and offices have left his skin without even a hint of color and without any blemishes either. The gunshot wound that Rey inflicted on him had been the only major injury his body ever had to suffer and here, in the liminal space of the afterlife that injury has been reduced to nothing but a pale scar. Without any rigorous military training under his belt, Gil never had a use for building up significant muscle but he's kept fit enough for health benefits. Still, he's thin more than he's toned. The size of his coat does a bit of work to make his figure seem more imposing when clothed. ]

I've waited a decade. Cut me some slack.

[ In absence of another option to move, Gil runs his thumbs over Rau's still annoyingly gloved hands. He grins at Rau, entirely self-assured about his own attractiveness even as the less muscular man here. He is equally self-assured about looking at Rau in turn. He wants to tell him he is gorgeous, but commenting on appearance feels like walking into a minefield. It is safer to let his eyes and flushed cheeks do the talking for him. ]

[ George Glenn might've unleashed a lot of darkness and conflict, but he also unleashed Coordinator hottie genetics, so, good job everyone.

But slack, hm. A little leeway, yes, but slack. Rau pulls both his hands back and bites the tip of one middle finger lightly, catching fabric in his teeth and very deliberately the glove off with a twist of his head. (The indulgent cooperativeness may be setting off alarm bells--.) ]

No, [ he smiles.

Then he puts his other hand on Gil’s shoulder, and, unless Gil reacts very quickly, is going to very firmly push him down to lie flat on his back. He’ll be thoughtful enough to shift back into Gil’s lap, though. And to toss him the glove. ]

[ Rau may have verbally refused Gil's request, but absolutely none of what he does in response feels even remotely like a detriment. The teeth glove trick is incredibly sexy and then---

Well, it'd be a lie to say Gil isn't caught off guard. There is a distinct moment where his eyes widen at being suddenly manhandled like that and there might be a small ungraceful yelp involved as well. But then he's down on his back and Rau is straddling him and... Oh.

Oh, this is is an excellent position to be in. He hadn't really pictured himself as the one being pinned down before, but laying here and looking up at Rau's flushed face and bare chest Gil decides that he hadn't been dreaming big enough. ]

... I see how it is.

[ He'll reach up to brush his fingers through Rau's hair briefly, but then his hands pretty quickly wander lower and come to rest on.... well, if we're generous it's Rau's lower back, but it's a lot closer to his ass than anything else. ]

[ Rau continues to be noticeably less restrained with his body than with his face or voice. He arches slightly into that touch, then leans forward and settles the still-gloved hand next to Gil’s shoulder, so that he’s looking directly down at him. The fingers of his other hand brush Gil’s cheek for a moment, then explore lightly, unhurriedly down the jugular. ]

And how’s that?

[ He’s openly teasing, openly challenging again – but mostly, he’s just smug. Completely smug. (Smugger than anyone wearing no shirt and one remaining glove should be; it’s A Look, even for Rau.) He’s going to keep calling out every vague statement until it backfires hilariously. ]

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