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Knock on wood, things should be calmer now for a bit, [ he shrugs. ] You've got time now.

Hopefully. He still swerves into situations where our worst nightmares are shown on reflective surfaces far too often.

Maybe we'll get our greatest desires on reflective surfaces next time. I wouldn't mind staring at shirtless James Dean all day.

[ His greatest desire would be Toby the dead vampire boyfriend and they both know it. ]

I wonder if I'll be able to read a book off of the screen.

[ They both know his wouldn't be a book. But it's hard to say what it would be. Even Jon doesn't know. ]

Only if it's a small one. You'll ruin your eyes otherwise.

Thankfully, I have a lot of them.

Bullshit you do.

[ wait a moment ]

Is this a metaphor thing?

[ That's a snort. ]

Not even remotely.

I thought you knew?

Darling, I'm the poster child for narcissism and also a bit of an idiot. Generally speaking, it's safe to assume I don't know things.

You're not-

[ No, all right, he's not going to be that complimentary. He huffs a laugh before turning a wry smile on Dorian. ]

I suppose you'd like to-

Yes please.

[ show him the eyes!!! ]

[ Jon will nod, but he'll hold up a finger and gently reach over to tug Winifred away over to the den. He'll wait until she's circled around on the floor and one of the cats has wandered over before he turns back to Dorian.

And then it starts, the feeling, the sensation of eyes, so many eyes, like a crowd all around him, at every angle, watching and looking and drinking him in. Looking through him and past him, simultaneously focused on every feature and seeing past it to the man within.

Like the brush of eyelashes against his soul, so close there's almost no room to breathe, a dozen dozen eyes of all colors and shapes and intensities but all of them somehow Jon, in Jon, of Jon. And when he speaks, there's a certain depth to his voice, something gripping and thick like a syrup on the skin, that is at once thrilling and terrifying. ]

It's worse when I'm hungry.

Edited 2022-09-30 14:15 (UTC)

[ Oh.

Oh hell.

That's intoxicating.

Dorian blinks slightly looking at Jon as his eyes widen, as he takes in every detail of the man. The thing about Dorian is that he's a paradox. He's got terrible self-image and terrible self-esteem but at the same time, he absolutely adores being looked at and being adored. And this? Whatever Jon's got going on right now? It's making his narcissism go into full gear. ]

Oh I love this, [ Dorian murmurs, letting out a small little laugh as he just indulges in the feeling of being watched. It's enticing. He loves it. ] How deep can you see?

You shouldn't. [ But even the wry tone doesn't quite take away from the tactile nature of his words right now, the warning like a finger up his spine as delicate as a feather. ] And all the way down, of course. Farther than you'd ever want. And farther than that.

[ And in this moment Dorian suddenly gets ASMR. Because this sensation, the tingles on the back of his spine and down his neck...he can indulge in this forever. ]

I do a lot of things I shouldn't, [ he murmurs, absolutely enthralled by Jon in this current state. ] Go deeper.

[ His power wouldn't be quite so much trouble if it didn't ache to be used, want him to do just that, feel good when he invades someone's mind and heart and soul and learns more about them. There's a part of this that feels intensely sensual and then past that, almost invasively sexual, as he strips Dorian down: his skin, his bones, sensations and flesh and all the things that are none of those things, that only exist because of firings in the meat he keeps within his skull, peering into every crevice, every hollow, into the spaces between the fibers of his being. If it was the flutter of eyelashes before, now it is touch, slow and thorough and examining every inch of him, endlessly fascinated.

And the strange, predatory urge behind it that is Jon and is not Jon, that is Archivist and Gateway and terror, that is him and not him, that sees his fears and his hopes and his dreams, his weakness and his pain and every moment he spends overwhelmed and terrified and when Jon speaks again, there is the feeling that he could devour him, every bit of him, whole just like that. ]

I can't forget any of this, Dorian.

[ All he can do like this is take. ]

[ There's Dorian Gray at 10, a small shy child who's hearing that his mother is going to go away and trying not to cry. There's Dorian Gray the collection of atoms. There's Dorian Gray meeting Tobias Matthews for the first time, kissing him, watching his ashes vanish in the sunrise, placing a key into the palm of his hand, looking up as the man's hands wrap around his neck. There's Dorian Gray, the soulless being, the perfect simulacrum...until there's Dorian Gray with a soul, a shiny and unused thing. There's Dorian Gray kissing Francis Crozier, Oscar Wilde, Pagan Min, Natalie Isaacs, John Pruitt, the Archivist himself, a heady mix of encounters that have actually happened and those that Dorian could only dream about. There's Dorian Gray watching a man drown, approaching a woman with an axe, stepping into a burning building, wrapping his hands around John Seed's neck...

And there is so much terror. Dorian looking down a large fleshy thing, Dorian watching his flesh mottle with age, Dorian in a subway car filled with blood, Dorian seeing the faces of those he cares about as he climbs over the railing of a balcony. And at his core, there's Dorian Gray scared. Horrified. Dorian Gray who knows he's a monster, who knows he doesn't deserve to be loved, who hates himself so much that he can't believe a moment of true happiness when he finds it. Who knows he deserves to be left alone and who's petrified of it happening again.

It's at that point, when Jon touches something that's so innate to Dorian, that's at the core of his very being, that Dorian makes a small little gasp of acknowledgment. No words. Just a small, tiny little noise at Jon seeing something that he might not have wanted the man to see. ]

[ And when he sees that, oh, the Archivist drinks it in. But then there's Jon, there's Jon himself, Jonathan Sims, Jonathan 'I could do drugs' Sims, a rabid and half-mad alleycat who has been savaged by a baker's dozen and more horrors and somehow is still walking. And Jon is the one who says, in a voice that's utterly mundane, almost painfully mundane- ]

Oh, fuck that entirely.

[ Before he steps forward and leans in to give Dorian a soft kiss as his hands move to grip either arm. No, no, no. Whatever confusion Jon has, it is not whether he loves Dorian. Because he does. ]

Edited 2022-09-30 21:55 (UTC)

[ Oh. That is nice.

Dorian makes a moan of pleasure, kissing into Jon's mouth, as the worries, the fears, all those start to fall away in the face of sheer pleasure. Because this is pleasure. He enjoys the feel of Jon's lips against his, of the man's hands on his arms. He can get used to this.

Dorian closes his eyes as he softly kisses back, enjoying in the sheer pleasure of it. Jon's going to have to be the one to stop this because when Dorian moves back to breathe, he immediately goes in for round two. ]

[ Jon... has no intention of stopping it, not when it's so clear that Dorian needs it, that Dorian is diving for it and away from the sadness, the loneliness, of that truth from earlier. Jon will never forget it, which is why he grips just a little tight, pulls him closer, and keeps kissing him.

He doesn't think he needs to breathe. That's good to know. ]

[ Dorian continues kissing back, just as fierce, just as passionate as before. And as he does so, his hands reach down to try and get Jon's trousers unbuttoned.

Sorry, buddy. He's in the moment right now. ]

[ Jon can't help that that-

No, that way leads to a bad time for everyone. He knows very well that's the case. Which is why he's going to slide his hands between Dorian's and lift them carefully to his own. And start unbuttoning Dorian's trousers instead. ]

Let me?

[ Oh. Oh, yes. ]

Absolutely. If you want to, then do it.

[ Jon will nod, because yes, he- he would prefer that. But he's going to slide his fingers into the loops of his trousers. ]

Bedroom. If you please. Come along.

[ And he isn't letting go of him. ]

Happily.

[ Moving is...odd. Dorian's legs feel like jelly, like he's relearning each nerve ending in the legs to begin with. Is this what being with Jon is like? It's intoxicating. Dorian lets himself get dragged along, laughing slightly as he does so. ]

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