[chaos knew it would be an impossible request. he had known it to be impossible when he was still sitting there, before he said anything at all, with Wilhelm's hands on his naked shoulders and his own fingers curled over the beautiful stone at his throat. he was being faced with a precipice that he couldn't climb. there were tears in his eyes, and he found it hard and harder to breathe, no matter the unneeded breath. thinking back on it, it would have been so much easier, so much simpler, if he had leaned back and allowed himself to be carried higher on the unspoken promises of the night. but he leaned away from salvation, and his spine might have cracked, doing that, and he asked Wihelm if he would be willing to meet him at the dip of the valley instead. he didn't beg for it. he wasn't pleading per se. but it's what he was asking for, and he knew it was impossible long before he asked for it.
tonight, all that he's asked for couldn't be more unremarkable in comparison. in his time away, he was forced back under the crushing weight of loneliness; he wants that weight to be lifted, and for his back to straighten out again. he couldn't have been sure that Wilhelm was going to forgive him for everything he said, everything he did, until this very moment. even someone as magnanimous as Wilhelm has to have a point of no return, where he finds a person irredeemable, a total waste of his time. the question didn't do enough to make Wilhelm angry, but it did do something to him, something not so good, something that chaos didn't want to face head-on, and that's why he went away for nine hundred and twenty-five days. he's always running away from the consequences of his own existence. he ran pretty far away this last time, starting all over again with a series of odd jobs, none of them fulfilling, all of them a valuable distraction. he'd work all day, and nearly all night, and then fall asleep in his bed with his fingers curled at his throat.
in all that time, he never once took off his gloves if he could help it.
the anxiety of losing a buckler is there in his eyes when Wilhelm touches his glove so decisively. there might be relief, too, but it's really a lot of anxiety; a thickening of blood and saliva. as Wilhelm becomes acquainted with the valves and fasteners, chaos' pulse is making itself known in his ears and his throat. the glove is formed of thick techtron cloth, another innovation by vector industries, prized for both its sterility and its insulation... chaos can't believe the sensitivity of his own skin, buried as it is. the slightest shift of fabric has him shifting in his seat, neither closer nor father away, just more so unsettled. he's allowing Wilhelm's measured words to wash over him as the glove gets removed with all the care of an old dressing over a hopefully healed wound.
then he says, still looking up at Wilhelm,] I wanted to go far away from everything. [five thin and fragrant fingers, let loose for the first time in ages, carefully fold together and meet at the center of his palm. hardly anyone would believe that they're capable of unspeakable things.] And it was my own fault. It wasn't any fault of yours, Wilhelm. If anything, you're... [no matter how far away chaos might get, he can't seem to outrun any of it. the truth will catch back up to him sooner or later, and it's always painful, and then he wonders why he didn't stay in the one place where pain can be tempered with pleasure. there's an unbelievable amount of pleasure in laying his bare hand over Wilhelm's, as he does now. he can't hide the trembling of his fingers. he can't even hide the parting of his lips, or the stirrings of euphoria, either. no one else would agree to touch chaos like this for this much time already. more than the heat of him, there's a sharp current under his skin that threatens to disrupt matter. he radiates. he's radiating power. though a broken husk of himself, he's still one of the most powerful things in the known universe.]
If anything...
[he shouldn't be asking for more than a cup of tea, he reminds himself.
even so,]
If I asked you to undress me, would you do that for me?
[it's too frank, too inappropriate, to be seen as temptation or seduction. he's a man in a straitjacket who would give anything for another chance to be free.]
no subject
tonight, all that he's asked for couldn't be more unremarkable in comparison. in his time away, he was forced back under the crushing weight of loneliness; he wants that weight to be lifted, and for his back to straighten out again. he couldn't have been sure that Wilhelm was going to forgive him for everything he said, everything he did, until this very moment. even someone as magnanimous as Wilhelm has to have a point of no return, where he finds a person irredeemable, a total waste of his time. the question didn't do enough to make Wilhelm angry, but it did do something to him, something not so good, something that chaos didn't want to face head-on, and that's why he went away for nine hundred and twenty-five days. he's always running away from the consequences of his own existence. he ran pretty far away this last time, starting all over again with a series of odd jobs, none of them fulfilling, all of them a valuable distraction. he'd work all day, and nearly all night, and then fall asleep in his bed with his fingers curled at his throat.
in all that time, he never once took off his gloves if he could help it.
the anxiety of losing a buckler is there in his eyes when Wilhelm touches his glove so decisively. there might be relief, too, but it's really a lot of anxiety; a thickening of blood and saliva. as Wilhelm becomes acquainted with the valves and fasteners, chaos' pulse is making itself known in his ears and his throat. the glove is formed of thick techtron cloth, another innovation by vector industries, prized for both its sterility and its insulation... chaos can't believe the sensitivity of his own skin, buried as it is. the slightest shift of fabric has him shifting in his seat, neither closer nor father away, just more so unsettled. he's allowing Wilhelm's measured words to wash over him as the glove gets removed with all the care of an old dressing over a hopefully healed wound.
then he says, still looking up at Wilhelm,] I wanted to go far away from everything. [five thin and fragrant fingers, let loose for the first time in ages, carefully fold together and meet at the center of his palm. hardly anyone would believe that they're capable of unspeakable things.] And it was my own fault. It wasn't any fault of yours, Wilhelm. If anything, you're... [no matter how far away chaos might get, he can't seem to outrun any of it. the truth will catch back up to him sooner or later, and it's always painful, and then he wonders why he didn't stay in the one place where pain can be tempered with pleasure. there's an unbelievable amount of pleasure in laying his bare hand over Wilhelm's, as he does now. he can't hide the trembling of his fingers. he can't even hide the parting of his lips, or the stirrings of euphoria, either. no one else would agree to touch chaos like this for this much time already. more than the heat of him, there's a sharp current under his skin that threatens to disrupt matter. he radiates. he's radiating power. though a broken husk of himself, he's still one of the most powerful things in the known universe.]
If anything...
[he shouldn't be asking for more than a cup of tea, he reminds himself.
even so,]
If I asked you to undress me, would you do that for me?
[it's too frank, too inappropriate, to be seen as temptation or seduction. he's a man in a straitjacket who would give anything for another chance to be free.]