[closed] august catch-all!

[ua_duibhne]

Who: Diarmuid & Zelda, Diarmuid & Berserker
When: Throughout August.
Where: Around the city
What: Reluctant modelling during Lúnasa, failing to drink unexpected emotions away, and other good shit.
Warnings: N/A!

Comments

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ None of it escapes his notice. Not the tension and the silence, not the brief tinge of fear across their Bond. For once, it concerns him. This relationship of theirs moved far beyond the practical to whatever it was now. The fact that Diarmuid became so attached doesn't surprise him, he simply lacks the ability to know how to respond to it. Berserker has no need or want to spurn him, but he's unable to return such strong affection. The idea of loving someone is beyond him -- at least...for now. There's still a deep devotion and affection for his Bonded, for the man so willing to stand by his side and weather the chaos that is Berserker's existence.

He picks up the bottle of ale, forgotten before the impulsive flight, and hands it to Diarmuid. ]

Then drink more. [ He lets his hand linger, wanting to be close again but not wanting to push things right now. The vulnerability on display from the witch is a lot. ] But...feel as you wish. I can't control how you feel nor do I have the desire to. If that's what you feel for me, so be it...I won't push you away or tell you it's wrong.

[ua_duibhne]

[For a few moments, all Diarmuid does is stare at the bottle in his hand, unsure whether to be ashamed at himself for such a display or relieved by how well Berserker takes it. There's so much he wants to say but try as he might to pin down the words, they slip away at the like second like silvery fish disappearing into the depths of a lake at the sight of a shadow. The anxiety, though, has faded enough for him to act on at least one desire.

Quietly, then, the Lancer steps forward and wraps his arms around him, anchoring himself to him once more in a firm embrace. This time, it isn't their Bond he takes comfort in. Everything from the warmth of his skin to the drumming of his pulse and the rise and fall of his shoulders with each breath and even his scent is soothing.

A final, gentle kiss- so dangerously close to loving, but he'll let himself have that much- and he moves away.]

Drink more, hm? Sound advice if I've ever heard it.

[Bottoms up. The man can hold his booze, that much is obvious.]