( sometimes it takes a long time to find one another. sometimes he never finds them; he dies early, gets hit by a car, shot, burned to death before sylvain is even able to begin his search. sometimes he's lucky, and he's born close to emmet--enough that by the time they're able to walk, they're able to walk to each other. sometimes it isn't so simple.
this time, it's--twenty years before sylvain finds him, walking through the hallways of the college he's been enrolled in. he's wearing a stupid tie, talking to another student outside a classroom that has a little board outside of it with the title of some stupid class and his name clearly etched in under it. sylvain quirks up one corner of his lips and keeps walking.
makes note of his name, the subject he's teaching, when his class gets out. when his office hours are--and switches his schedule around a little. comes back around, when his breaks seem to mesh well with emmet's.
watches the door for a bit to make sure the rest of the students are gone, out of his way. carefully, quietly makes his way in through the door while emmet's turned away. reaches for his wrist, with the hand where those three little lines identical to emmet's have been becoming more prominent over the last couple hours--and jerks both their hands up, to show the marks to emmet. )
Naughty of you. Aren't teacher-student relationships frowned on?
[He'd tried to describe the feeling of the search many times, writing in journals anything that came to mind in trying to put into words. It was a force, like magnets struggling to pull together, an entire force that sent him out into the world searching sometimes before he even knew what he was looking for. Most of the time he remembered on account of his dreams because even if he never found Sylvie in the flesh, he would often find him in his dreams. Snippets of his life as it played out or how it would, wherever he was. He'd use those to try to navigate his way toward him, surrendering to the search as it often took over his life with insistence until he found him. Or until that pull stopped, telling Emmet that he never would.
They'd find each other somehow, eventually, and that feeling could also then subside. So when he feels awash with the loss of that magnetism today, writing his class plan on the board in quiet strokes, he falters. For half a second he can't tell which way things fall but he hears his voice and turns around, heart pressed against his sternum from the inside - a myriad of emotions going through him like a bullet in only half seconds. It culminates in a quiet stretch of a smile across his lips, and his hand reaching for Sylvain's. Physical touch. Warmth. Reunion.]
You're not one of mine, so fuck it. Not that I'd have stopped if you were.
[Not a thing he wouldn't do for him. They barely met in this life and all he wants to do is lean in and kiss him - but he holds out, barely, by threads of his own hesitancy. But he doesn't let go of Sylvie's hand - he strokes his thumb over the mark and makes a quiet hum, eyes flicking up to meet his gaze. Gravitating, even still, toward him. He can't hold back - so he leans further still.]
( there's a sickening sense of relief that settles into his gut as he touches em. as sylvain's fingers intertwine with his own. a sense of i'm home, finally that he both craves and meets with distaste; he hates that out of everyone in the world, he's only able to get that taste with this specific person. that he wastes so much time searching for this sensation. that he could be out there, figuring out how to end this for good and yet--from the moment he recalls who he is, the first thing on his mind is always emmet. this fucking bastard.
emmet leans in closer, head tipping at just the perfect angle for a kiss: their first kiss of this lifetime, in these bodies, but their millionth kiss they've shared over the eternities they've lived together. he knows how to move himself, how to press in close enough for sylvain to close the gap, to remind emmet who he belongs with. but he doesn't, he waits, and sylvain uses that to his advantage.
smiles soft as he leans up just a little higher, so their lips brush when he speaks, )
I've registered for your class at fifteen hundred hours.
[Said with a heavy dose of affection, and a final little push forward to capture Sylvain's lips with his own. It's a hungry kiss - passionate in ways that Emmet usually outwardly is not; it betrays the need in him, the want, the baser desires that he tries to suppress for the greater good. It's something he's always been obsessed with, a burden he made himself bear, but the outer shell sometimes cracks. And it's always because of his feelings for Sylvie. He half laughs in the breath he takes a moment later, because he doesn't even feel in control of himself - his hands are up and threading through Sylvie's hair, he's kissing across the corner of his lip toward his ear and pushing him back up against the desk.
He comes to his senses in a way after a moment, but doesn't relent his grip. Not after a lifetime of not having it. He smiles, quietly between the two of them and tries unsuccessfully to bottle back up the raging swell of emotion in his chest. He wants to take Sylvie home, wants to - touch him, make love to him, tease him, get mad at him, fight with him and run away from him just to have an excuse to feel this reunion again, albeit in a softer dose. But he can't ever run from him, even if he wanted to.]
( always so quick to break open for him. not that he can complain any regardless; em's temperament towards him is one of the many reasons why sylvain likes him. he likes watching him crack open, likes watching desperation take hold--in. innocent ways like this, at least. he's seen em crack in less fun ways, rarely by his own hands, and watching someone else break him fucking sucks.
that's his job.
the kiss is intense, hungry, pushy, and he allows it for the moment because he knows it's been a long time, knows em has been looking for him, waiting for this moment. remembers the last time they had parted--it had been sylvain first, death drawn out just long enough for it to leave a lasting impression on him. em is older this time, too--so not only has be spent longer waiting in this lifetime, but he may have had to wait in the last one longer to die to reach him, too. so this moment--sylvain's hip propped up on the desk, em's mouth pressing against his own, against his cheek, against his ear while fingers grip on hard into his hair--he'll allow it.
moans soft even, head tipping back and eyes closing while his own hand raises up to grip hard to short strands just above em's own ear. let's that question linger for a moment, before he's tipping his head in to whisper soft against emmet's ear, voice low and husky, )
Why don't you lock the door? Close the blinds, we'll see how well you can stick to your lesson plans around me.
( and if emmet loses his job for going a little too far inside his own classroom, well. they have more important things to focus on anyway. )
[It's the first time he says it aloud in this life and it feels both new to his lips and yet crashingly familiar; he's said it so many times before, ushered out in a soft exhale like this one, noses nudged and foreheads resting together. Emmet has always taken pride in how well he can conduct himself when he needs to - how he can be responsible and depended on. It's true, at least for the group of them but when it comes to outsiders, somehow he seems to fall short when tempted like this. When tempted by Sylvie. He ran away from his responsibilities in his first life and again and again he does it in these lives they live, that they're born into - the second he catches the scent of the others. He's run away from lives, from lovers, from so much and he would feel more guilty if he didn't just feel so complete like this.
He breathes in deep, kneading his hand against Sylvain's thigh as he leans into him again. He kisses his cheekbone, his temple, and then rests his chin against the crown of his head. He's trying to hold out but the way he's holding Sylvain is clear he won't get far. He'll crumble, dissolve into love and affection, but fuck. He should be better at this by now.]
I'm not letting you sleep your way up to a good grade. Just so we're clear.
( emmet's hand presses against his thigh, and sylvain laughs soft, shifts back so he's sitting on the desk and raises his leg up, leg wrapping around emmet's waist so he can press up and grind against him. the door is still cracked open, students are walking through college halls, there's someone sitting just outside fucking around on their laptop, but it's not as if he cares any. college might suspend him, but sylvain's smart; he's been around long enough to learn most the stupid crap they teach in schools. he could switch colleges. no big deal. )
Yes you are. ( murmured soft into the curve of emmet's neck, before he's nipping at the skin just below his adam's apple. ) You're going to blow me under your desk, let me fuck you on your desk, watch me while I sit at the back of the class and slowly unbutton my shirt while you try and talk to the rest of the students in the class. And you'll give me an A, even if I don't turn in jack shit.
[But the smile's in his voice, further betraying the sentiment, and his eyes are closed when he presses his cheek against Sylvain and feel's his lips already on his neck. He's so easily swayed it's ridiculous - at least at first, when he's so heady with allure that he doesn't let himself have any other thoughts. He's always been one to do the right thing - always comes around to harder choices and selflessness but... right now, he's being a little bit selfish. Reasonably selfish.
He would love to fuck Sylvie right now - let him climb over him, pin him down, take him home and - what, exactly? Thrill him with a one bedroom apartment the size of a shoebox because Emmet never cares about anything until he he needs to, and Sylvie deserves better. He turns his head in toward him and kisses his neck back, also aware of the door behind them and the danger it could bring. Classes will be filing in soon after break. People could come asking questions. The wrong person walking by a window could lead to a disaster. He leans back, hands still on Sylvain's thighs.]
I'm your mentor - your teacher. That'd be irresponsible, and against the rules... what would your peers think if they found out? Knew that you were using your beauty to get by, and it was... working so well? They'd say you have me wrapped around your finger. That's what they'd say.
[Another kiss to his neck, lingering. Amused, even still:]
( it's cute how he runs through everything. how sylvain can hear the smile in his voice, feel it pressed against his cheek as em moves around him to make himself comfortable. sighs soft, at the sensation of emmet's lips against his neck. it feels good, pleasant, especially after so long without him. but the door's still open, students are still out there, and emmet still hasn't given him what he wants. )
I do have you wrapped around my finger. ( hand shifting to slide his fingertips into the back of emmet's pants, just teasing at the idea of touching him more, but sylvain doesn't try that hard. he wants emmet to crack first. ) I haven't had sex with anyone else yet in this lifetime. I've been a little preoccupied; overbearing parents, a couple older sisters, searching for you and everyone else.
( head tipping up and thighs gripping onto emmet tighter, so he can tilt his hips up at just the right angle to grind hard against him. )
Imagine the story that'll erupt if you don't close that door, Em. Local college professor seduces new student, parents shocked 'cause their youngest never dated, he's too naive, clearly Mister Ramsey took advantage.
[He's laughing against Sylvain's neck, pressing close to it to kiss it - tempted just to bite down and leave a mark on that perfect stretch of skin just to throw it all away himself. But after a beat he slides his hand down Sylvain's arm to his wrist, pulling his hand out of his waistband but then lacing their fingers together rather than pushing off his advances entirely. He's still entangled just like the door is still cracked, but with another peck of a kiss to Sylvie's jaw he says:]
I have an office. It has a couch.
[Tempting as it may be to use this desk, there'll be other classes coming in soon. He's not so confident to be so bold just yet, not without a little more practice in vibrant indiscretion. He's leaning back to put a sliver of space between them, free hand cupping Sylvain's jaw, and he nudges their noses together again because if he keeps grinding his hips, he won't be able to say no at all.]
So come with me there, Mr. Laurent. For your after class needs.
( and here he was trying so hard to convince emmet to break the rules. it's been forever and a half, why not, it's not like any potential crimes he'll commit in this lifetime won't be forgotten by the time they reset again. he laughs, and sylvain can't hold back the little smile that curls up the corners of his lips. lets emmet pull his hand loose, and grips back just as tight. let's emmet pull away from him, although he's leaning forward to press their foreheads together when emmet's nose nudges against his own. drops his legs down, since he's already figured he's going to lose this battle. )
I missed you. And I'm still pissed at you, for what you did.
( the dramatic throwing himself in front of sylvain to take the blow so he died instead. sylvain had to live several years after that just fucking waiting to die again to get here again. )
[He knows it's not that simple but he's tugging Slyvie's hip to usher him down off the desk and onto his feet again, moving a foot away without letting go of their linked hands so he can grab his satchel. He was going to work on lesson plans, set something up for later - but none of that matters now. The second he saw Sylvain again, everything in this life ceased to be important. It's always like that, which can get to be a bit frustrating. Promotions and vacations are nothing but inconveniences now, things he used to want and look forward to... but nothing matters now but...]
( rude. but he's laughing again, getting himself off of the desk and holding onto emmet. the moment his feet hit the ground, he's taking off to walk in front of him. leading, but still gripping tight to emmet's hand. )
I'm in Apley Court. My roommate's a stoner. He likes it better when I'm not there; uses my bed to hold his chip bag while he watches true crime dramas on his laptop on the floor.
( he never intended to finish college. it was more a thing he had to go through, be led through, so he could find them. could get back to what they're really here for. and it worked out well, didn't it? here's emmet. so sylvain doesn't give a shit about missing the rest of his classes. )
[He gives himself a final answer, unable not to have a smile in the corners of his lips - even if nothing beyond them and the others really matters, Emmet still finds an unusual sense of joy in learning about Sylvain's lives. They're different, they're the same, elements fitting in and being swapped out like puzzle pieces each time. They don't shape him as he knows him, and knew him, and yet he likes to think they shape a part of him in the world they're in, and thus they're... fun to learn about. Sometimes it's fun to meet his parents. Other times less so. He's reserved now, after a couple lives too many where people sort of scorned them for their relationships.
Following Sylvain to the door he threads his hang over his shoulder and hesitates by the door, hands still holding to each other, and stops in his stride. It wouldn't be hard now to just... throw it all away and not care about the consequences, but they have work yet to do. Get the funds to find the others, a place to stay in the meanwhile... it means playing parts. If not just for a little while longer.]
You have to be my dirty little secret in the halls.
( money and power are important; they need it to travel freely, to get what they need, to find each other, to take down lucien. sylvain is often born into it: rich families with more money and time than they know what to do with. this time isn't that different, but there's no benefit to fucking over emmet shortterm aside from providing a little bit of amusement, so he just. snorts. lets go of emmet's hand without another word while he toes open the door with his foot and lets himself out of the classroom.
grabs hold of the bookbag he'd left right outside of it to throw it over a shoulder. )
Remember when you were my dirty little secret? ( or. well. the multiple times he was. sylvain recalls a few: when he'd been highborn, but emmet was living in the slums; another life, when men being with other men wasn't unheard of, but was heavily frowned upon. when sylvain had been older by several years, and had kept emmet with him as a cousin in his estate with willa. )
[He answers with a soft tilt of his head, door to the hallway opening as he steps back to let Sylvain out first. People still litter the outer hall and campus, but Emmet is more composed than he was a second ago when he was this close to just going at it on his desk with Sylvain, saying fuck it to everything. He follows Sylvie out a few steps, then gestures for him to follow him in the route back to his office. He keeps a steady pace, bag over one shoulder and his hands in his pockets. Comfortable and confident, still a bit authoritative with how he stays just out of perfect stride with Sylvain, slightly ahead. Yet close enough to talk intimately.]
The number of times I've had to hide in your bedroom. It was kind of exciting... maybe, just maybe, I'll let you work me up to that here too. Keeping you under my desk while I work, see if anybody notices.
[One last turn, and his name is on another plaque on the wall - and an adjacent door is quickly unlocked with keys from his lanyard. He pushes in the door this time, and gestures for Sylvain to enter first. He'll follow him in, close - too close - bumping up behind him while they move and putting his lips to the back of his neck the second they're over the threshold. Door behind only barely closing.]
( at least their physical changes aren't usually that noticeable; sylvain can almost always identify emmet with a glance, can almost always count on emmet having a height advantage he enjoys using against him. the feel of emmet against him rarely ever changes, and sylvain usually finds himself craving that familiarity.
like he craves the feeling of emmet pressed up against him, his lips in close, breath fanning out against his neck. the extra steps he had to take down the hallway, following behind emmet while he tried to look like a proper authority figure (while sylvain held back rolling his eyes at how stupid it was) and sliding in through the doorway while emmet closed it behind him were all worth it for this.
his hand reaches back, fingers moving to press against the nap of emmet's neck as sylvain tips his head to the side, rests the back of his skull against emmet's shoulder. )
I'll be sure to work hard to distract you from your work.
I'm going to plan an over night trip just to find a way to sneak you into my room.
[Wouldn't be that hard in reality, the college has more than enough funding right now for new initiatives; he could organize something a city or two away, studying art and design, infrastructure - hell, he could take all his students to a conference and still make it work. Few nights away, monitoring rooms just to know that he's breaking his own set rules by sneaking Sylvain into his bed for a night of debaucherous sex.
He's humming, pleased with himself already, lips to Sylvie's neck - travelling up toward his jaw, kissing the junction before playfully nipping at the lobe of his ear. His hands have made a direct line in how they've smoothed up his sides, gripping his waist and pushing him forward toward the leather couch. It's big and comfy but definitely old, half covered by a throw blanket. He's spent several nights on it (as noted by the stacks of books by its ends and lamp on an adjacent end table) while working on papers and research. Laid there thinking of Sylvie more often than not, so it seems about time to nudge him down onto it.]
emmet follows him lifetime after lifetime. he's (almost) always there, waiting for him, waiting for this and it's--addictive, even if sylvain can think of several lifetimes when he spent most of them just finding reasons to bitch at him. emmet pushes, and sylvain laughs; it's a soft sound, airy and gentle, before he's moving to turn around and sit himself down on the couch cushion that isn't covered with the throw. )
I love you too, Em. ( gentle still, as he raises his hands up to coax emmet to follow him down. kicks his shoes off while he's at it, they're only going to get in the way from here. ) Even if you're a nerd.
I don't think you get to talk, with how keen you are in getting into my class.
[Even if they've both just established how Sylvie will be doing hardly any work - his interest is still there, if not filtered more directly onto Emmet alone. He's grinning even still, putting his knee on the sofa next to Sylvie; his hands rake through his hair, smooth down his neck, and he leans to allow himself to be coaxed down, nudging Sylvain to let him hover over him. The couch isn't incredibly large but it fits two bodies on it well, and he wants to feel Sylvain beneath him, rekindling the physical memory he's experienced a hundred or thousand times before.
It always feels good - always feels the same. Maybe it's because Emmet tends to lead with the same motions, his hand sliding up Sylvain's thigh as he slinks between his legs, laying over him close enough to be belly to belly when he captures his mouth in a kiss. It's all very languid, slow, rekindling warm emotions doesn't need a burst of passion immediately. He could lay like this forever.]
( emmet touches him like he's something to be worshipped, and fuck if it doesn't get his stomach tied up in knots. it feels good, heart fluttering as he gives a soft sigh, a shuddering gasp following after he pulls in a sharp breath. spreads his legs to fit emmet in between them, one heel hooking over emmet's waist to keep him pressed in close. )
Much as I'm enjoying this education bullshit, an easy A's never a bad thing.
( a soft laugh, before sylvain's tipping his head back to rest the back of his head against the sofa, hands slipping under emmet's shirt to trace the line of his spine up to the middle of his back, then back down to shove their way under his pants, groping at his ass with a groan. )
Think we could just--cuddle, like this, for a few days? Weeks? I missed being able to feel you.
[The feel of Sylvie's legs spread for him, wrapped around him to hold him tight - so fucking familiar, the second he feels the heel in the dip of his back it's a brand new memory that feels like a thousand others. He grins, licking a warm stripe up the side of Sylvain's throat before nipping beneath the shell of his ear, kissing at his pulse point and down his throat while Slyvie gropes him, spurring on more affectionate kissing of tender flesh. When he speaks, it's murmured against it:]
We don't have to move. We don't have to do anything but this for as long as you want.
[Because he understands - he wants to feel as intoxicated by this as he can, for as long as he can. It's always been dangerous, meeting up with Sylvie, because it poses a soft threat to their current lives to be so enamored with one another immediately. One of them often looks like they're taking advantage of the other - that'd be the read here, too, but even still:]
I just want to be with you. Breathe you in. Drink you down.
[Be together, like one, tangled up like tree roots.]
Not sure how I'm going to let you go, when all I want to do is keep you.
( so. maybe not actually for forever, even if he wishes they could. emmet could call out sick, say he ate something sour so he can't teach the rest of his classes for the day. the week, maybe. sylvain can text his stupid roommate, tell him he went to stay with his parents because the pressure got to him. text his dorm head the same, and then text his parents and tell them he's off with his sister. some bullshit like that, he'd figure it out.
instead he's taking a hand off emmet so he can shove up his shirt, bunching fabric up below his chin before he's tangling fingers in emmet's hair to pull his head down, yanking to press his mouth against sylvain's chest. arches his back up, with a soft sound, )
I want you to leave marks, so everyone knows I'm yours. So I can't go to the shared showers on my floor without someone seeing, without them knowing you've laid claim. Enough that everyone'll see my mark and they'll--they'll know I found you. ( just under his shirt, where that shit's a little less noticeable and less likely to rub against the collar of his shirt and piss him off. )
[He remarks in reply, passive and not entirely moved by the fact - he could just so easily cancel it, it's true. He could steal more time away with Sylvie - he could steal Sylvie away - empty out his bank accounts, or take a sabbatical and move somewhere else just to spend time with him. All of it runs through his head as a possibility as he follows instruction, bowing down his head to mouth over the soft stretch of skin across Sylvain's chest. He pinches his teeth to it, drawing a circle around his nipple with his tongue before moving up toward his collarbone to start leaving a strawberry pink mark.
Elope, play house, the options will fork off in a choice they'll have to make when they leave this room. Emmet has always had a penchant for forcing himself to take the more respectable option, but Sylvie can entice him into anything. And there's not one shred of his own honor he wouldn't throw to the dirt for Sylvie to walk on if given the need. He'd die for him - and has, many, many times. Maybe it'll happen again in this life. Who knows.]
They'll know that you're mine.
[He says with a hum, words sitting on his tongue thick like honey. Emmet likes telling Sylvain that he belongs to him just like Sylvie belongs to him, they are each other's to have - they belong to each other without falter. There's not another person in existence, this world or elsewhere, that could replace Sylvie. Not another person who could come close to comparing. He bites gently to the skin beneath his lips, moving ever so slightly to leave a trail of gradually darkening lovebites between bouts of teasing his tongue over his chest, lavishing it around Sylvie's nipple and moving slowly but surely south down his abdomen.]
( getting caught in the office with his shirt shoved up, chest covered in little bites and lovemarks and emmet between his legs wouldn't be the best, but it wouldn't be the first time this has happened to them either, would it? he remembers before all of this happened, when he was young, new to the world--when he'd pull emmet through the castle, bitch down the hall towards his second eldest brother and laugh as they'd fall down onto the floor, grappling and groping at each other along the way. when his brother would make his way down the hall, armor over his chest and a steely look in his eye as he looked down at them, clothing in disarray and boots thrown haphazardly across the floor.
sylvain would laugh, then that steely look would falter and his brother would roll his eyes. tell them to at least clean up this time, before the clatter of metal down the hall signaled his departure. when things were complicated in a different way, but never this.
emmet knows his body even better than sylvain does and it--doesn't take much to have him gasping and moaning under him, writhing when emmet's tongue traces over a nipple, gasping soft with a low laugh when he bites down. emmet's soft, affectionate, and while he tends to do a lot of shit that irritates him and pisses him off, nothing ever sours these moments: when they're reunited after a long time apart, when emmet presses over him so delicately, when finds all the places that make sylvain feel even more infatuated with him than he already is. or it could just be his dick talking, who knows.
he's arching his back to press up against emmet, gripping tight onto his hair. pulls rough, before he's releasing it to reach up above emmet's head to reach for his watch. )
I'll set an alarm, ( voice teasing, sultry, ) so we're not late for class.
[He says with a smile to his words, his mouth around Sylvie's navel and moving farther down once he's gotten his hands to loosen his pants and pull them down to give him more skin to trail over. Another tug and they're down his thighs, baring flesh for him to run his tongue over, including the length of Sylvain's cock with a drag of the flat of his tongue from base to tip. He puts his hand to the base of it, and licks at the head, looking up to meet eyes with his lover before taking it into his mouth and shifting forward to push almost entirely flush before withdrawing, rinse repeat.
Emmet intends to take his time with this - disregarding the alarm if by then he doesn't feel they've had enough time for their moment. The first time they fuck in a life is always, by some merit, the most amazing. It's a rekindling of love and affection, like remembering a whole new part of themselves they didn't know they had forgotten until they'd been together again. He'd throw his life away - literally and metaphorically - for Sylvie. In an instant.]
( they had an hour between classes, when sylvain had first interrupted emmet trying to work on his next class. his mouth moves south, over his navel, and sylvain's--giving a soft laugh when lips trail over a ticklish area, switching his watch screen over to the timer to set it for thirty minutes. it's cutting it close, but sylvain doesn't really give a shit, especially when em's dragging his tongue over the length of his cock and it's twitching in response, a soft gasp escaping his lips.
because finding emmet is one of the few things he looks forward to in life. the routine of growing up with a family, moving out, finding new employment, finding ways to get across the country, it's all so repetitive. but nothing about emmet feels like he's having to repeat useless nonsense again ang again. even the first time they have contact like this: it always feels like magic. his eyes narrow, but stay focused on emmet's own while he takes his cock into his mouth. gives a soft, pleased moan before he's raising a leg up to try and hook it around emmet's shoulder. press his heel into his shoulder blade to give him a little more leverage. )
[The look Emmet shoots up toward Sylvain reeks of a desire to say 'good', lips almost in a smile around his cock as he pulls back just a little and resumes the rhythmic bobbing of his head to better wet the entire length of it with his tongue. Sylvie's leg is welcomed around his shoulder, one hand coming up to brace it by the outer thigh, encouraging a good grip and keeping it there while he settles back down to wet, lewd sucks and swivels of his head as he lavishes Sylvain's cock with his full and undivided attention.
Thirty minutes will be enough but it won't be enough, and come the sounding of that alarm he's not entirely sure he'll be able to pull away. Even just temporarily, the thought of separating from Sylvie for even a day's time feels like an unbearable torture. He has him now, literally in his grasp, and to relent that feels impossible. So he funnels that latent anxiety into what he's doing, hollowing his cheeks and fondling Sylvie's cock by the base whenever he pulls back, fingers toying over his balls and his breath coming in short, quick exhales through flared nostrils as he refuses to pull back any farther than necessary. Not until he feels him writhe under him will he take any pause.]
[The sound of glass falling like rain, the crunch of it under foot and tire. The smell of smoke thickly invading his nostrils, the distant sirens of aid coming from afar. Explosions of gunfire, the sickening thud of bodies hitting the dirt all around them in a time of war. A whistling noise overhead signalling an impending apocalypse - he's felt this a hundred thousand times before, the rise and fall of his heartbeat in his final moments. It's almost a sense he's heightened, being able to know when these moments are coming. To steel for the inevitable, or to fight it off for one more day and relish in the fact he was wrong.
He wasn't wrong when the rains made the battle field muddy, slick under the hoof of horses, weighing down the lines of men that were facing down the approach of their enemy. Grey skies darkened it all even before night was supposed to crawl over them, and no torches could be lit despite it all - which is why they had to act now, before true nightfall, or they'd be losing this war all on account of one battle. So when the cries went out, the horses charged - the archers took up stance and chaos ruled for the first half hour. Men fell from both sides, screaming in agony and put out of misery with steel and iron. They've been exhausted for the last two weeks in preparation and other morale crushing situations, so the arm was giving its all.
Emmet felt his heartbeat crashing in his ears, while the sting of tired muscles screamed at him with every blow of his sword against armor and flesh as time went on. It was too dark now to really see which side had a lead, if any, but blow after blow had started to stagger him. That was when he first felt that feeling again, approaching him like a droplet of water down the nape of his neck. He fought through it, but his ribs were breaking and he lost his footing to one knee. Something he scrambled to correct but couldn't - not before that last swing of-
He wakes up with a start, like he always does. When he is either remembering a past life, in bits and startling pieces for the first time in a new one or if he's only dreamed of it. If the latter, he never knows if it has happened already or is yet to come, and has to sit and dwell on it while thinking it over, again and again. Dream or memory? Dream or... He cups his hand to his neck, feeling over the now still intact vein, and looks to his side at the body in bed with him.
( sylvain often finds himself at the mercy of his dreams.
being reborn in cycles is never easy; he doesn't know whether he'll come to awareness as a young child, having to continue through childhood as if living multiples is an entirely normal thing to do. he doesn't know if the memories will return in bits and pieces, or if he'll remember them, believe they're fiction, and find emmet years later and know that all of it is true and real. sylvain doesn't know how many lives he'll relive in his sleep, how many memories will return to him in his nightmares.
he often dreams of drowning; of water filling his lungs as he sinks further and further away from a distant ship, knowing his powers are utterly useless down here. turning the water to ice will only fuck him up further, all he can do is let himself slowly die and wait until the next life. sometimes his dreams are of fire: of his body tied to a pyre, screams erupting from his lungs as every attempt to rid himself of the flames only encourages the villagers to add more wood to the flames. he dreams of death, of coming back from death, of the good memories in between. of his second life, where his mother had thought his prattling about his other lives had been a child's imagination, until she realized how well his details matched up to an old wive's tale. until she called an exorcist, and when that did nothing, burned him alive. of another time, when he and emmet had met as children and their bond had been seen as a blessing. when sylvain had married someone who was definitely not willa in that lifetime, and how the children she bore were very clearly not just sylvain's. how they died holding hands in that life, sylvain bleeding out from where his leg had been cut almost clean off, a deep wound in the side of his neck. emmet--he can't remember, he only remembers the feeling of him close, the soft whispers, his lips pressed against the bridge of sylvain's nose and his fingers gripping on tight as he faded.
it's always the death dreams that get him the hardest, but those ones always feel lighter. emmet's hand, emmet's lips, emmet's presence close by enough to offer one last little bit of comfort before sylvain startled into awareness in the next life.
but he's not waking up from a dream, this time. his sleep had been quiet, gentle, until he'd felt emmet startle himself awake next to him. sylvain's hand reaches out automatically, blindly reaching for emmet's hand while his eyes stay closed, )
[When your dreams are your one unique thing, it just makes it harder to distinguish the sight from the nightmares - what parts of his are recycled memories and what are things yet to come all swirl in his head as a barrage of questions he can't answer. Life, for a moment, feels - fake - and this time he's been lucky enough to come to consciousness next to Sylvain, not alone in his bed thinking he might be crazy. That's happened too many times, with Sylvie's face fixed to the forefront of his brain - haunting him day in and day out as a ghost of someone he thinks he must know until he inevitably does.
Lately, Emmet's started to feel ripped out of his own head with dreams like this. The borders of what his true reality are feel fuzzier, spawning beats of confusion and a fear in him that only seems to make it worse. If he'd only start to trust his visions, he'd realize how helpful they can be, even if they contain things he doesn't want to see. He needs to trust himself and not run from the ability, but - he's not there yet. He doesn't think he can ever be.]
I...
[He grips Sylvain's hand, tight and sound as he leans further forward and lets the sheets pool over his lap, pulled off of them both in the motion. He can still feel his pulse with the fingers of his other hand, and he's breathing harder than he thought he was. He doesn't know, in this moment, if Sylvain and he have just met or if they've been together long. He's still stuck in the world of war and chaos, dragging himself back to even breaths and a dangerous question he'd only ever ask Sylvie:]
( it's not a question he anticipates but not one that's--surprising, either. but it's heavy enough that it does get sylvain to open his eyes, squinting against the darkness as his hair falls over his face. his free hand presses down against the mattress as he pulls himself into a sitting position, just straight enough so he can scoot himself closer to emmet, drop his wrist, and wrap arms around his neck instead.
leans into him. tries to offer some physical comfort: he's here, he's alive, they're both breathing, nothing here hurts yet. they found each other and a few of the others; emmet found a comfortable job along with the great family he was born into, and was able to get them a nice place to live while they plan out next steps. sylvain was able to move in without it causing any issues. they're comfortable, they're working on a plan, no one is dying right now as far as they're aware. )
It was a war. ( there's usually some kind of war, isn't there. they've had lifetimes without, and lifetimes with nothing but war. at least right now, it's--quiet. ) With swords and lances, horses dressed in dark armor. Our colors were opposing, but I spotted you across a line of dead bodies. Started towards you, just in time to see another dig their sword straight through you.
( sometimes it just depends on where they're born. when. usually they're--close, but not always close in a good way. the last life had been entirely disappointing; sylvain still had willa, and willa is a beautiful, amazing woman, but she can't fill that space inside of him that's reserved only for emmet. the rest of it had just gone by in a blur. )
[Not uncommon for him - for any of them - but it's so hard to tear himself out of that state. Like a bad dream (that it was, or was not?) it will fade over time and he'll reestablish his link to reality... but he hates this limbo in between. His saving grace is Sylvain, the weight of his body and the softness of his words, both of which anchor Emmet. He slowly works his arm around Sylvain, squeezing him tight, and turns his head to press a kiss to his forehead. It's a motion that is, to him, now just second nature.
His eyelids flutter and he can see it, just barely, on the end of the film reel in his head. He can feel the blood running wildly down his throat, the crush of his lungs and the feeling of falling toward the wet earth and seeing one fuzzy figure so close and yet so far. Is he picturing Sylvie there because he's told he was? Or does he really remember him, just barely?
Emmet hates feeling shaky but this is what his dreams do to him, worse when it's something predictive; he feels cold and hollowed out, kissing Sylvie's brow a few more times as he lets himself return to this world, this present. He can start to remember the things around them, like the pile of his laundry folded on the night stand and feel of his favorite blanket across them. He breathes in deep and then lets it go.]
I'm starting to not be able to tell a past that was from something still yet to come. It all just... overlaps now. Maybe I'm losing control of it, like Fabian.
( his power isn't one that's based in what could be and what is, so while sylvain can sympathize, he can't--empathize. sometimes he runs a little colder than he means to, in fear causes something to freeze up without intending for it to happen. but that doesn't mean he can't offer some comfort here.
when sylvain speaks, his voice is soft, words pressed against the curve of emmet's jawline, ) Em, we're all a little older than we were meant to be.
( they've lived more lifetimes than anyone ever should. suffered more, had to live through it, die from it, then be reborn with it once more. the amount of trauma they've experienced is immeasurable, which is more than enough to cause them to crack. but that's not what he means to get at here; he doesn't want to worry emmet with legitimate concerns. doesn't want to breathe life into his worries, so he settles for something a little less, ) You've got enough memories stored up there that anyone would begin to get a little mixed up. Our lives are not. . linear like they're meant to be. We aren't. Your magic wasn't meant to sustain that.
( gentle still, while he tips his head down to press a kiss against his collarbone, then the center of his chest, )
You're tired. =It'll feel more clear when you've given yourself time to wake up.
If it's not my death I'm reliving, it's yours - watching you go, watching you leave me and be stolen...
[He breathes out a little sharp there, nostrils flaring as he presses yet another kiss to the crown of his lover's head. Sylvain grounds him and it works, he's more and more aware now and yet somehow that feels worse because the weight of reality settles on his shoulders like lead. Nobody's made to sustain what they do, again and again, brought together and torn apart. Not just him and Sylvie, but all of them. How many times is he going to see them picked off, or know that they'll witness the same thing happening to him?
His hand slides up Sylvie's back, feeling the curve and dip of his spine, fingers splaying and a moment of silence falling over him. He's stressed, more than he should be on account of it being true that they are in this moment in no hurry to live or die. They can exist, peacefully, for some time yet. And that's all he wants. The only thing he wants. And he pulls back to look at Sylvie, seeing only the lines of his features in the dark and a glimmer from his eyes but it's enough.]
... I want to be selfish, just once. Just a few times - I want to... just live with you, die with you, but naturally. I don't want to lose you like I've lost you. I know - I know we can't, but what if we did anyway... what if we just...
[Even as he says it, he knows it won't work - he can't be selfish, not after what he did to them all. What he's caused, he needs to throw himself back in the fire to repent for it without ever explaining why but that's why tears spark in his eyes of frustration. Because what if still comes pouring out of his mouth. What if they just live one life uninterrupted? Just one? Just a few?]
( he can feel the stress coming off of emmet. radiating off of him in waves, pouring over the edges and drowning him in it. he can't promise emmet the world, not like he once could have. blood means--nothing in this timeline. his natural-born title no longer holds any worth, even if sylvain has never let that stop him. emmet wraps around him, and sylvain moves to press himself over him. presses stomach-to-stomach, head tipping to kiss the curve of emmet's jawline, before sliding to his ear, then up into his hair. )
I would give you everything you wanted and more, if I could. I would tell the world to kneel at your feet, to listen to your words to obey. ( a breath in, sharp. before he lets it out slow. ) But the one time we stop is going to be the one time Lucien wins. And one win is all he needs, for all of this to be over.
( the world, everyone in it, everything they've worked so hard to save, it would all be over. their cycle would be, too, finished and done, they'd be over, which--god. the relief would be great, being done with it, but they can't give up. they started this vicious cycle, even if it hadn't been intentional. they'll have to be the ones who finish it, too. finish lucien once and for all, get rid of the book, stop all of this from ever happening again. )
Once this is over, we'll go find somewhere close to the old country, mm? A little cottage, far away from everything else. Get a few dogs maybe, and stay out there until we finally pass from old age. No knives, swords, no fire, just old creaky bones.
[Emmet knows he'd never be able to stray the path even if he wanted to, with guilt shackling him to it and too many feelings about the others that he's come to have after lifetime after lifetime of meeting up with them, living with them, loving them and losing them too. He wouldn't be able to turn his back just to stay with Sylvie, for he'd know what kind of betrayal that'd feel like. But even still, he yearns to try - bitterly wanting an escape from a sorrowful, relentless storm of misery.
He holds Sylvain, arms around him to tether him tight - nuzzling up against his face in turn, eyes lowlidded or closed depending on the moment and the weight of it against him. He kisses his throat in turn, feeling the sad burn of hope in his chest for a future he's not sure will ever come. It's the only thing he wants and it's the only thing keeping them going and yet...]
This'll never be over.
[He's quiet, whispering it like they often do in frustration or annoyance. But they always had hope, so it wasn't a statement, really. But to him it is because he's the only one that knows the truth. Maybe he's trying to self sabotage for once and let himself have the excuse to end it all with failure, but he finds himself finally bending. Beginning to break.]
( he's said the same thing, so many times. that it will never be over, that he's tired, that this is a shit idea, that they should just. stop, that the world doesn't deserve them constantly reliving trauma after trauma just to keep some asshole from destroying everything. they've watched generation after generation get to live already from their sacrifices. enough should have been enough, right? how long do they have to continue doing this for? until the end of time? until someone else comes around and destroys everything?
except that's not emmet, usually. usually. sylvain raises a hand, presses it to emmet's cheek. tips his head down to press a kiss to his cheekbone. )
Hey. Don't say shit like that, alright? We haven't fought this long just to give up. We'll finish it. Take him out, destroy the book. Get rid of it for good--and then we'll get the rest of that life to ourselves. To do whatever the hell we want.
( he's not great at hope, but he can bullshit it when needed. sylvain likes to be more practical. eventually it'll be over. eventually they'll be done. whether or not it'll end in their favor, he doesn't know. )
It'll end. And when it does, I'll give you whatever you want.
( might be best to take the time to re-center emmet, to distract him from whatever the hell he's getting stuck inside of. sylvain. takes a breath in, lowers his head, to nip just over emmet's adam's apple. )
[Emmet's carried the weight of his choices on his back through countless lives and he will keep carrying it - and he's not sure what he expects here, in trying to share it with Sylvain. He can't expect him to help carry the burden, and if he were him he would be - so furious. So that's what he expects, righteously so - and it's why he leans against Sylvie's touch and briefly tips up his chin to stretch the skin of his throat taut beneath Sylvie's lips.
He could let it go. Let himself be talked down into false hope, and keep sparing Sylvie the reality of it. Is he really helping, the longer he holds on to this? He loses either way, and he just doesn't know what to do to spare Sylvie from the worst of it. So after a beat, tempting as it might be, he decides he can't just... dwell on it later. He brings up his own hand to Sylvain's throat, fingers splayed and his thumb against his jaw to pull him away from his neck and back up to an even gaze. He stares into his eyes for the longest beat, and his voice is exceptionally thin when he says:]
I've never seen a future where we win. We lose, we'll always lose. There was never any other way, than to keep throwing ourselves... to keep trying. That is all we can do. I've seen it, just... cycle after cycle. It'll never change.
[Maybe he's wrong. Maybe he hasn't seen everything, but...]
It was this, or nothing. For everyone, everywhere.
( emmet's feelings are understandable. it's been centuries; long enough that sylvain has stopped counting each rebirth, has stopped keeping track of the extensive amount of time they've spent trying to finish it; trying to win. you would think with thirteen of them versus one of him, that it wouldn't be this difficult. that they would be able to come out victorious and end the cycle.
except that's clearly not how the world works; they're stuck in a never ending cycle that's trying to destroy them, without a way out. every time they get close, it restarts; they build up resources again, get ready for the fight, and then have to jump back to the beginning. emmet grabs hold of his chin, and sylvain looks into his eyes, watches him closely. lets those words seep through him for a moment, before he's taking a slow breath in and--letting it out. )
Then we'll have an eternity together. ( spoken soft, easy. ) Your abilities aren't all-encompassing, you can't see everything. It might be another several centuries, a few thousand years, a thousand cycles, but this can't last forever. One day, Lucien will win. Or we'll win. Or I'll shove a knife into that fucker's eye socket and keep him alive but useless, so we can have our time just in case killing him doesn't end it.
( good to take precautions just in case. sylvain's never successfully killed him but in case it does something, he wants to make sure he still gets to enjoy some stress-free time with emmet. )
[He says after a beat, head bowed until Sylvie is tilting his chin and making him look at him. He stares into the familiar eyes of his always lover, lifetime after lifetime, and he feels his words are shakier than he would've ever liked them to be. Sylvie isn't pushing him away, isn't reaming him for doing this the way Emmet feels he should be which feels good and bad. He wants the comfort, he wants to be accepted regardless in Sylvain's endless mercy and understanding but... he just doesn't feel he deserves it.
So many years, so many lives - he's carried the guilt of being the reason they're all stuck like this. Hoping tht one day he can believe there'll be an end like the others hope, wishing he could believe so wholeheartedly that it hurts. He leans to put their foreheads together, still half wishing that Sylvie would hate him. Would yell at him. Would tear him to shreds so he can stop feeling like he's getting away with ruining their lives.]
I love you but I shouldn't be the reason you suffer.
( because he knows it isn't. regardless of what abilities emmet has, none of them pertain to their curse, he didn't make the loop, even if he can't see the end to it. sylvain stays right where he is: weight pressed down on top of emmet, hand on his face, eyes staring straight into the other's own. firm, but not harsh. he needs emmet to understand. )
We've had more time together than others could even dream of. It always ends, it doesn't always end quick or painlessly, but we always come back, we usually find each other. I won't say death hasn't taken it's toll on me, but I would rather spend a thousand cycles beside you suffering from an early death than let it end and destroy everything.
[If he had to do any of this without Sylvie, he's not sure he'd have gotten even a fraction of the distance - knowingly or unknowingly. Sylvain's his other half, whether he remembers him or not, he never feels complete without him. He's the motivation Emmet has for getting out of bed in the morning, nevermind saving the world from a certain jackass. Everything is for Sylvie. Always will be. Even if he's still immersed in his own guilt.]
I've pulled you all to hell with me, time and time again, and yet you still love me. I don't deserve it, don't deserve you but... I love you more than anything. Love you so much.
( hearing emmet's feelings isn't anything surprising; they're not new to love, to loving each other, they have gone through this more times than sylvain can keep track of now. he remembers letters sent via post from across borders, remembers little notes attached to carrier pigeons and messenger boys running over others.
but he dislikes the circumstances behind these words; emmet's guilt, the nightmare that must have led him here, to this. sylvain purses his lips, before he's pressing a hand against emmet's shoulder and a kiss to his cheek. )
Up. I am already awake, we may as well use our time for something entertaining.
[Emmet, despite himself, hears the soft touch of humor to his question - because despite it all, Sylvain is here to comfort him. He still stays by his side and lets everything wash off him like rain, holding on only to the most important parts of it all. He looks to him, eyes affectionate, and sits forward into a hunch before he's touching a palm to Sylvie's cheek.]
( it's easy affection with an answer that should be quite clear.
but sylvain quirks up the corners of his lips, offers over a small smile as he leans into that hand on his cheek, before he's shoving against emmet and swinging his legs off the edge of the bed to pull himself up to his feet. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
this time, it's--twenty years before sylvain finds him, walking through the hallways of the college he's been enrolled in. he's wearing a stupid tie, talking to another student outside a classroom that has a little board outside of it with the title of some stupid class and his name clearly etched in under it. sylvain quirks up one corner of his lips and keeps walking.
makes note of his name, the subject he's teaching, when his class gets out. when his office hours are--and switches his schedule around a little. comes back around, when his breaks seem to mesh well with emmet's.
watches the door for a bit to make sure the rest of the students are gone, out of his way. carefully, quietly makes his way in through the door while emmet's turned away. reaches for his wrist, with the hand where those three little lines identical to emmet's have been becoming more prominent over the last couple hours--and jerks both their hands up, to show the marks to emmet. )
Naughty of you. Aren't teacher-student relationships frowned on?
no subject
They'd find each other somehow, eventually, and that feeling could also then subside. So when he feels awash with the loss of that magnetism today, writing his class plan on the board in quiet strokes, he falters. For half a second he can't tell which way things fall but he hears his voice and turns around, heart pressed against his sternum from the inside - a myriad of emotions going through him like a bullet in only half seconds. It culminates in a quiet stretch of a smile across his lips, and his hand reaching for Sylvain's. Physical touch. Warmth. Reunion.]
You're not one of mine, so fuck it. Not that I'd have stopped if you were.
[Not a thing he wouldn't do for him. They barely met in this life and all he wants to do is lean in and kiss him - but he holds out, barely, by threads of his own hesitancy. But he doesn't let go of Sylvie's hand - he strokes his thumb over the mark and makes a quiet hum, eyes flicking up to meet his gaze. Gravitating, even still, toward him. He can't hold back - so he leans further still.]
no subject
emmet leans in closer, head tipping at just the perfect angle for a kiss: their first kiss of this lifetime, in these bodies, but their millionth kiss they've shared over the eternities they've lived together. he knows how to move himself, how to press in close enough for sylvain to close the gap, to remind emmet who he belongs with. but he doesn't, he waits, and sylvain uses that to his advantage.
smiles soft as he leans up just a little higher, so their lips brush when he speaks, )
I've registered for your class at fifteen hundred hours.
no subject
[Said with a heavy dose of affection, and a final little push forward to capture Sylvain's lips with his own. It's a hungry kiss - passionate in ways that Emmet usually outwardly is not; it betrays the need in him, the want, the baser desires that he tries to suppress for the greater good. It's something he's always been obsessed with, a burden he made himself bear, but the outer shell sometimes cracks. And it's always because of his feelings for Sylvie. He half laughs in the breath he takes a moment later, because he doesn't even feel in control of himself - his hands are up and threading through Sylvie's hair, he's kissing across the corner of his lip toward his ear and pushing him back up against the desk.
He comes to his senses in a way after a moment, but doesn't relent his grip. Not after a lifetime of not having it. He smiles, quietly between the two of them and tries unsuccessfully to bottle back up the raging swell of emotion in his chest. He wants to take Sylvie home, wants to - touch him, make love to him, tease him, get mad at him, fight with him and run away from him just to have an excuse to feel this reunion again, albeit in a softer dose. But he can't ever run from him, even if he wanted to.]
How am I supposed to teach with you in the room?
no subject
that's his job.
the kiss is intense, hungry, pushy, and he allows it for the moment because he knows it's been a long time, knows em has been looking for him, waiting for this moment. remembers the last time they had parted--it had been sylvain first, death drawn out just long enough for it to leave a lasting impression on him. em is older this time, too--so not only has be spent longer waiting in this lifetime, but he may have had to wait in the last one longer to die to reach him, too. so this moment--sylvain's hip propped up on the desk, em's mouth pressing against his own, against his cheek, against his ear while fingers grip on hard into his hair--he'll allow it.
moans soft even, head tipping back and eyes closing while his own hand raises up to grip hard to short strands just above em's own ear. let's that question linger for a moment, before he's tipping his head in to whisper soft against emmet's ear, voice low and husky, )
Why don't you lock the door? Close the blinds, we'll see how well you can stick to your lesson plans around me.
( and if emmet loses his job for going a little too far inside his own classroom, well. they have more important things to focus on anyway. )
no subject
[It's the first time he says it aloud in this life and it feels both new to his lips and yet crashingly familiar; he's said it so many times before, ushered out in a soft exhale like this one, noses nudged and foreheads resting together. Emmet has always taken pride in how well he can conduct himself when he needs to - how he can be responsible and depended on. It's true, at least for the group of them but when it comes to outsiders, somehow he seems to fall short when tempted like this. When tempted by Sylvie. He ran away from his responsibilities in his first life and again and again he does it in these lives they live, that they're born into - the second he catches the scent of the others. He's run away from lives, from lovers, from so much and he would feel more guilty if he didn't just feel so complete like this.
He breathes in deep, kneading his hand against Sylvain's thigh as he leans into him again. He kisses his cheekbone, his temple, and then rests his chin against the crown of his head. He's trying to hold out but the way he's holding Sylvain is clear he won't get far. He'll crumble, dissolve into love and affection, but fuck. He should be better at this by now.]
I'm not letting you sleep your way up to a good grade. Just so we're clear.
no subject
Yes you are. ( murmured soft into the curve of emmet's neck, before he's nipping at the skin just below his adam's apple. ) You're going to blow me under your desk, let me fuck you on your desk, watch me while I sit at the back of the class and slowly unbutton my shirt while you try and talk to the rest of the students in the class. And you'll give me an A, even if I don't turn in jack shit.
no subject
[But the smile's in his voice, further betraying the sentiment, and his eyes are closed when he presses his cheek against Sylvain and feel's his lips already on his neck. He's so easily swayed it's ridiculous - at least at first, when he's so heady with allure that he doesn't let himself have any other thoughts. He's always been one to do the right thing - always comes around to harder choices and selflessness but... right now, he's being a little bit selfish. Reasonably selfish.
He would love to fuck Sylvie right now - let him climb over him, pin him down, take him home and - what, exactly? Thrill him with a one bedroom apartment the size of a shoebox because Emmet never cares about anything until he he needs to, and Sylvie deserves better. He turns his head in toward him and kisses his neck back, also aware of the door behind them and the danger it could bring. Classes will be filing in soon after break. People could come asking questions. The wrong person walking by a window could lead to a disaster. He leans back, hands still on Sylvain's thighs.]
I'm your mentor - your teacher. That'd be irresponsible, and against the rules... what would your peers think if they found out? Knew that you were using your beauty to get by, and it was... working so well? They'd say you have me wrapped around your finger. That's what they'd say.
[Another kiss to his neck, lingering. Amused, even still:]
It'd be terrible. So terrible.
no subject
I do have you wrapped around my finger. ( hand shifting to slide his fingertips into the back of emmet's pants, just teasing at the idea of touching him more, but sylvain doesn't try that hard. he wants emmet to crack first. ) I haven't had sex with anyone else yet in this lifetime. I've been a little preoccupied; overbearing parents, a couple older sisters, searching for you and everyone else.
( head tipping up and thighs gripping onto emmet tighter, so he can tilt his hips up at just the right angle to grind hard against him. )
Imagine the story that'll erupt if you don't close that door, Em. Local college professor seduces new student, parents shocked 'cause their youngest never dated, he's too naive, clearly Mister Ramsey took advantage.
no subject
[He's laughing against Sylvain's neck, pressing close to it to kiss it - tempted just to bite down and leave a mark on that perfect stretch of skin just to throw it all away himself. But after a beat he slides his hand down Sylvain's arm to his wrist, pulling his hand out of his waistband but then lacing their fingers together rather than pushing off his advances entirely. He's still entangled just like the door is still cracked, but with another peck of a kiss to Sylvie's jaw he says:]
I have an office. It has a couch.
[Tempting as it may be to use this desk, there'll be other classes coming in soon. He's not so confident to be so bold just yet, not without a little more practice in vibrant indiscretion. He's leaning back to put a sliver of space between them, free hand cupping Sylvain's jaw, and he nudges their noses together again because if he keeps grinding his hips, he won't be able to say no at all.]
So come with me there, Mr. Laurent. For your after class needs.
no subject
I missed you. And I'm still pissed at you, for what you did.
( the dramatic throwing himself in front of sylvain to take the blow so he died instead. sylvain had to live several years after that just fucking waiting to die again to get here again. )
no subject
[He knows it's not that simple but he's tugging Slyvie's hip to usher him down off the desk and onto his feet again, moving a foot away without letting go of their linked hands so he can grab his satchel. He was going to work on lesson plans, set something up for later - but none of that matters now. The second he saw Sylvain again, everything in this life ceased to be important. It's always like that, which can get to be a bit frustrating. Promotions and vacations are nothing but inconveniences now, things he used to want and look forward to... but nothing matters now but...]
All night or - until your curfew call.
[Teasing. But also not. He's amused by it.]
no subject
I'm in Apley Court. My roommate's a stoner. He likes it better when I'm not there; uses my bed to hold his chip bag while he watches true crime dramas on his laptop on the floor.
( he never intended to finish college. it was more a thing he had to go through, be led through, so he could find them. could get back to what they're really here for. and it worked out well, didn't it? here's emmet. so sylvain doesn't give a shit about missing the rest of his classes. )
no subject
[He gives himself a final answer, unable not to have a smile in the corners of his lips - even if nothing beyond them and the others really matters, Emmet still finds an unusual sense of joy in learning about Sylvain's lives. They're different, they're the same, elements fitting in and being swapped out like puzzle pieces each time. They don't shape him as he knows him, and knew him, and yet he likes to think they shape a part of him in the world they're in, and thus they're... fun to learn about. Sometimes it's fun to meet his parents. Other times less so. He's reserved now, after a couple lives too many where people sort of scorned them for their relationships.
Following Sylvain to the door he threads his hang over his shoulder and hesitates by the door, hands still holding to each other, and stops in his stride. It wouldn't be hard now to just... throw it all away and not care about the consequences, but they have work yet to do. Get the funds to find the others, a place to stay in the meanwhile... it means playing parts. If not just for a little while longer.]
You have to be my dirty little secret in the halls.
no subject
grabs hold of the bookbag he'd left right outside of it to throw it over a shoulder. )
Remember when you were my dirty little secret? ( or. well. the multiple times he was. sylvain recalls a few: when he'd been highborn, but emmet was living in the slums; another life, when men being with other men wasn't unheard of, but was heavily frowned upon. when sylvain had been older by several years, and had kept emmet with him as a cousin in his estate with willa. )
It usually works better that way.
no subject
[He answers with a soft tilt of his head, door to the hallway opening as he steps back to let Sylvain out first. People still litter the outer hall and campus, but Emmet is more composed than he was a second ago when he was this close to just going at it on his desk with Sylvain, saying fuck it to everything. He follows Sylvie out a few steps, then gestures for him to follow him in the route back to his office. He keeps a steady pace, bag over one shoulder and his hands in his pockets. Comfortable and confident, still a bit authoritative with how he stays just out of perfect stride with Sylvain, slightly ahead. Yet close enough to talk intimately.]
The number of times I've had to hide in your bedroom. It was kind of exciting... maybe, just maybe, I'll let you work me up to that here too. Keeping you under my desk while I work, see if anybody notices.
[One last turn, and his name is on another plaque on the wall - and an adjacent door is quickly unlocked with keys from his lanyard. He pushes in the door this time, and gestures for Sylvain to enter first. He'll follow him in, close - too close - bumping up behind him while they move and putting his lips to the back of his neck the second they're over the threshold. Door behind only barely closing.]
no subject
like he craves the feeling of emmet pressed up against him, his lips in close, breath fanning out against his neck. the extra steps he had to take down the hallway, following behind emmet while he tried to look like a proper authority figure (while sylvain held back rolling his eyes at how stupid it was) and sliding in through the doorway while emmet closed it behind him were all worth it for this.
his hand reaches back, fingers moving to press against the nap of emmet's neck as sylvain tips his head to the side, rests the back of his skull against emmet's shoulder. )
I'll be sure to work hard to distract you from your work.
no subject
[Wouldn't be that hard in reality, the college has more than enough funding right now for new initiatives; he could organize something a city or two away, studying art and design, infrastructure - hell, he could take all his students to a conference and still make it work. Few nights away, monitoring rooms just to know that he's breaking his own set rules by sneaking Sylvain into his bed for a night of debaucherous sex.
He's humming, pleased with himself already, lips to Sylvie's neck - travelling up toward his jaw, kissing the junction before playfully nipping at the lobe of his ear. His hands have made a direct line in how they've smoothed up his sides, gripping his waist and pushing him forward toward the leather couch. It's big and comfy but definitely old, half covered by a throw blanket. He's spent several nights on it (as noted by the stacks of books by its ends and lamp on an adjacent end table) while working on papers and research. Laid there thinking of Sylvie more often than not, so it seems about time to nudge him down onto it.]
I love you, Sylvie.
no subject
emmet follows him lifetime after lifetime. he's (almost) always there, waiting for him, waiting for this and it's--addictive, even if sylvain can think of several lifetimes when he spent most of them just finding reasons to bitch at him. emmet pushes, and sylvain laughs; it's a soft sound, airy and gentle, before he's moving to turn around and sit himself down on the couch cushion that isn't covered with the throw. )
I love you too, Em. ( gentle still, as he raises his hands up to coax emmet to follow him down. kicks his shoes off while he's at it, they're only going to get in the way from here. ) Even if you're a nerd.
no subject
[Even if they've both just established how Sylvie will be doing hardly any work - his interest is still there, if not filtered more directly onto Emmet alone. He's grinning even still, putting his knee on the sofa next to Sylvie; his hands rake through his hair, smooth down his neck, and he leans to allow himself to be coaxed down, nudging Sylvain to let him hover over him. The couch isn't incredibly large but it fits two bodies on it well, and he wants to feel Sylvain beneath him, rekindling the physical memory he's experienced a hundred or thousand times before.
It always feels good - always feels the same. Maybe it's because Emmet tends to lead with the same motions, his hand sliding up Sylvain's thigh as he slinks between his legs, laying over him close enough to be belly to belly when he captures his mouth in a kiss. It's all very languid, slow, rekindling warm emotions doesn't need a burst of passion immediately. He could lay like this forever.]
no subject
Much as I'm enjoying this education bullshit, an easy A's never a bad thing.
( a soft laugh, before sylvain's tipping his head back to rest the back of his head against the sofa, hands slipping under emmet's shirt to trace the line of his spine up to the middle of his back, then back down to shove their way under his pants, groping at his ass with a groan. )
Think we could just--cuddle, like this, for a few days? Weeks? I missed being able to feel you.
no subject
We don't have to move. We don't have to do anything but this for as long as you want.
[Because he understands - he wants to feel as intoxicated by this as he can, for as long as he can. It's always been dangerous, meeting up with Sylvie, because it poses a soft threat to their current lives to be so enamored with one another immediately. One of them often looks like they're taking advantage of the other - that'd be the read here, too, but even still:]
I just want to be with you. Breathe you in. Drink you down.
[Be together, like one, tangled up like tree roots.]
Not sure how I'm going to let you go, when all I want to do is keep you.
no subject
( so. maybe not actually for forever, even if he wishes they could. emmet could call out sick, say he ate something sour so he can't teach the rest of his classes for the day. the week, maybe. sylvain can text his stupid roommate, tell him he went to stay with his parents because the pressure got to him. text his dorm head the same, and then text his parents and tell them he's off with his sister. some bullshit like that, he'd figure it out.
instead he's taking a hand off emmet so he can shove up his shirt, bunching fabric up below his chin before he's tangling fingers in emmet's hair to pull his head down, yanking to press his mouth against sylvain's chest. arches his back up, with a soft sound, )
I want you to leave marks, so everyone knows I'm yours. So I can't go to the shared showers on my floor without someone seeing, without them knowing you've laid claim. Enough that everyone'll see my mark and they'll--they'll know I found you. ( just under his shirt, where that shit's a little less noticeable and less likely to rub against the collar of his shirt and piss him off. )
no subject
[He remarks in reply, passive and not entirely moved by the fact - he could just so easily cancel it, it's true. He could steal more time away with Sylvie - he could steal Sylvie away - empty out his bank accounts, or take a sabbatical and move somewhere else just to spend time with him. All of it runs through his head as a possibility as he follows instruction, bowing down his head to mouth over the soft stretch of skin across Sylvain's chest. He pinches his teeth to it, drawing a circle around his nipple with his tongue before moving up toward his collarbone to start leaving a strawberry pink mark.
Elope, play house, the options will fork off in a choice they'll have to make when they leave this room. Emmet has always had a penchant for forcing himself to take the more respectable option, but Sylvie can entice him into anything. And there's not one shred of his own honor he wouldn't throw to the dirt for Sylvie to walk on if given the need. He'd die for him - and has, many, many times. Maybe it'll happen again in this life. Who knows.]
They'll know that you're mine.
[He says with a hum, words sitting on his tongue thick like honey. Emmet likes telling Sylvain that he belongs to him just like Sylvie belongs to him, they are each other's to have - they belong to each other without falter. There's not another person in existence, this world or elsewhere, that could replace Sylvie. Not another person who could come close to comparing. He bites gently to the skin beneath his lips, moving ever so slightly to leave a trail of gradually darkening lovebites between bouts of teasing his tongue over his chest, lavishing it around Sylvie's nipple and moving slowly but surely south down his abdomen.]
no subject
sylvain would laugh, then that steely look would falter and his brother would roll his eyes. tell them to at least clean up this time, before the clatter of metal down the hall signaled his departure. when things were complicated in a different way, but never this.
emmet knows his body even better than sylvain does and it--doesn't take much to have him gasping and moaning under him, writhing when emmet's tongue traces over a nipple, gasping soft with a low laugh when he bites down. emmet's soft, affectionate, and while he tends to do a lot of shit that irritates him and pisses him off, nothing ever sours these moments: when they're reunited after a long time apart, when emmet presses over him so delicately, when finds all the places that make sylvain feel even more infatuated with him than he already is. or it could just be his dick talking, who knows.
he's arching his back to press up against emmet, gripping tight onto his hair. pulls rough, before he's releasing it to reach up above emmet's head to reach for his watch. )
I'll set an alarm, ( voice teasing, sultry, ) so we're not late for class.
no subject
[He says with a smile to his words, his mouth around Sylvie's navel and moving farther down once he's gotten his hands to loosen his pants and pull them down to give him more skin to trail over. Another tug and they're down his thighs, baring flesh for him to run his tongue over, including the length of Sylvain's cock with a drag of the flat of his tongue from base to tip. He puts his hand to the base of it, and licks at the head, looking up to meet eyes with his lover before taking it into his mouth and shifting forward to push almost entirely flush before withdrawing, rinse repeat.
Emmet intends to take his time with this - disregarding the alarm if by then he doesn't feel they've had enough time for their moment. The first time they fuck in a life is always, by some merit, the most amazing. It's a rekindling of love and affection, like remembering a whole new part of themselves they didn't know they had forgotten until they'd been together again. He'd throw his life away - literally and metaphorically - for Sylvie. In an instant.]
no subject
because finding emmet is one of the few things he looks forward to in life. the routine of growing up with a family, moving out, finding new employment, finding ways to get across the country, it's all so repetitive. but nothing about emmet feels like he's having to repeat useless nonsense again ang again. even the first time they have contact like this: it always feels like magic. his eyes narrow, but stay focused on emmet's own while he takes his cock into his mouth. gives a soft, pleased moan before he's raising a leg up to try and hook it around emmet's shoulder. press his heel into his shoulder blade to give him a little more leverage. )
I'll never tire of that mouth of yours.
no subject
Thirty minutes will be enough but it won't be enough, and come the sounding of that alarm he's not entirely sure he'll be able to pull away. Even just temporarily, the thought of separating from Sylvie for even a day's time feels like an unbearable torture. He has him now, literally in his grasp, and to relent that feels impossible. So he funnels that latent anxiety into what he's doing, hollowing his cheeks and fondling Sylvie's cock by the base whenever he pulls back, fingers toying over his balls and his breath coming in short, quick exhales through flared nostrils as he refuses to pull back any farther than necessary. Not until he feels him writhe under him will he take any pause.]
no subject
He wasn't wrong when the rains made the battle field muddy, slick under the hoof of horses, weighing down the lines of men that were facing down the approach of their enemy. Grey skies darkened it all even before night was supposed to crawl over them, and no torches could be lit despite it all - which is why they had to act now, before true nightfall, or they'd be losing this war all on account of one battle. So when the cries went out, the horses charged - the archers took up stance and chaos ruled for the first half hour. Men fell from both sides, screaming in agony and put out of misery with steel and iron. They've been exhausted for the last two weeks in preparation and other morale crushing situations, so the arm was giving its all.
Emmet felt his heartbeat crashing in his ears, while the sting of tired muscles screamed at him with every blow of his sword against armor and flesh as time went on. It was too dark now to really see which side had a lead, if any, but blow after blow had started to stagger him. That was when he first felt that feeling again, approaching him like a droplet of water down the nape of his neck. He fought through it, but his ribs were breaking and he lost his footing to one knee. Something he scrambled to correct but couldn't - not before that last swing of-
He wakes up with a start, like he always does. When he is either remembering a past life, in bits and startling pieces for the first time in a new one or if he's only dreamed of it. If the latter, he never knows if it has happened already or is yet to come, and has to sit and dwell on it while thinking it over, again and again. Dream or memory? Dream or... He cups his hand to his neck, feeling over the now still intact vein, and looks to his side at the body in bed with him.
Voice cracking, he needs to know:]
Sylvie?
no subject
being reborn in cycles is never easy; he doesn't know whether he'll come to awareness as a young child, having to continue through childhood as if living multiples is an entirely normal thing to do. he doesn't know if the memories will return in bits and pieces, or if he'll remember them, believe they're fiction, and find emmet years later and know that all of it is true and real. sylvain doesn't know how many lives he'll relive in his sleep, how many memories will return to him in his nightmares.
he often dreams of drowning; of water filling his lungs as he sinks further and further away from a distant ship, knowing his powers are utterly useless down here. turning the water to ice will only fuck him up further, all he can do is let himself slowly die and wait until the next life. sometimes his dreams are of fire: of his body tied to a pyre, screams erupting from his lungs as every attempt to rid himself of the flames only encourages the villagers to add more wood to the flames. he dreams of death, of coming back from death, of the good memories in between. of his second life, where his mother had thought his prattling about his other lives had been a child's imagination, until she realized how well his details matched up to an old wive's tale. until she called an exorcist, and when that did nothing, burned him alive. of another time, when he and emmet had met as children and their bond had been seen as a blessing. when sylvain had married someone who was definitely not willa in that lifetime, and how the children she bore were very clearly not just sylvain's. how they died holding hands in that life, sylvain bleeding out from where his leg had been cut almost clean off, a deep wound in the side of his neck. emmet--he can't remember, he only remembers the feeling of him close, the soft whispers, his lips pressed against the bridge of sylvain's nose and his fingers gripping on tight as he faded.
it's always the death dreams that get him the hardest, but those ones always feel lighter. emmet's hand, emmet's lips, emmet's presence close by enough to offer one last little bit of comfort before sylvain startled into awareness in the next life.
but he's not waking up from a dream, this time. his sleep had been quiet, gentle, until he'd felt emmet startle himself awake next to him. sylvain's hand reaches out automatically, blindly reaching for emmet's hand while his eyes stay closed, )
Mm?
no subject
Lately, Emmet's started to feel ripped out of his own head with dreams like this. The borders of what his true reality are feel fuzzier, spawning beats of confusion and a fear in him that only seems to make it worse. If he'd only start to trust his visions, he'd realize how helpful they can be, even if they contain things he doesn't want to see. He needs to trust himself and not run from the ability, but - he's not there yet. He doesn't think he can ever be.]
I...
[He grips Sylvain's hand, tight and sound as he leans further forward and lets the sheets pool over his lap, pulled off of them both in the motion. He can still feel his pulse with the fingers of his other hand, and he's breathing harder than he thought he was. He doesn't know, in this moment, if Sylvain and he have just met or if they've been together long. He's still stuck in the world of war and chaos, dragging himself back to even breaths and a dangerous question he'd only ever ask Sylvie:]
How did I last die?
no subject
leans into him. tries to offer some physical comfort: he's here, he's alive, they're both breathing, nothing here hurts yet. they found each other and a few of the others; emmet found a comfortable job along with the great family he was born into, and was able to get them a nice place to live while they plan out next steps. sylvain was able to move in without it causing any issues. they're comfortable, they're working on a plan, no one is dying right now as far as they're aware. )
It was a war. ( there's usually some kind of war, isn't there. they've had lifetimes without, and lifetimes with nothing but war. at least right now, it's--quiet. ) With swords and lances, horses dressed in dark armor. Our colors were opposing, but I spotted you across a line of dead bodies. Started towards you, just in time to see another dig their sword straight through you.
( sometimes it just depends on where they're born. when. usually they're--close, but not always close in a good way. the last life had been entirely disappointing; sylvain still had willa, and willa is a beautiful, amazing woman, but she can't fill that space inside of him that's reserved only for emmet. the rest of it had just gone by in a blur. )
You were gone before I could touch you.
no subject
[Not uncommon for him - for any of them - but it's so hard to tear himself out of that state. Like a bad dream (that it was, or was not?) it will fade over time and he'll reestablish his link to reality... but he hates this limbo in between. His saving grace is Sylvain, the weight of his body and the softness of his words, both of which anchor Emmet. He slowly works his arm around Sylvain, squeezing him tight, and turns his head to press a kiss to his forehead. It's a motion that is, to him, now just second nature.
His eyelids flutter and he can see it, just barely, on the end of the film reel in his head. He can feel the blood running wildly down his throat, the crush of his lungs and the feeling of falling toward the wet earth and seeing one fuzzy figure so close and yet so far. Is he picturing Sylvie there because he's told he was? Or does he really remember him, just barely?
Emmet hates feeling shaky but this is what his dreams do to him, worse when it's something predictive; he feels cold and hollowed out, kissing Sylvie's brow a few more times as he lets himself return to this world, this present. He can start to remember the things around them, like the pile of his laundry folded on the night stand and feel of his favorite blanket across them. He breathes in deep and then lets it go.]
I'm starting to not be able to tell a past that was from something still yet to come. It all just... overlaps now. Maybe I'm losing control of it, like Fabian.
no subject
when sylvain speaks, his voice is soft, words pressed against the curve of emmet's jawline, ) Em, we're all a little older than we were meant to be.
( they've lived more lifetimes than anyone ever should. suffered more, had to live through it, die from it, then be reborn with it once more. the amount of trauma they've experienced is immeasurable, which is more than enough to cause them to crack. but that's not what he means to get at here; he doesn't want to worry emmet with legitimate concerns. doesn't want to breathe life into his worries, so he settles for something a little less, ) You've got enough memories stored up there that anyone would begin to get a little mixed up. Our lives are not. . linear like they're meant to be. We aren't. Your magic wasn't meant to sustain that.
( gentle still, while he tips his head down to press a kiss against his collarbone, then the center of his chest, )
You're tired. =It'll feel more clear when you've given yourself time to wake up.
no subject
[He breathes out a little sharp there, nostrils flaring as he presses yet another kiss to the crown of his lover's head. Sylvain grounds him and it works, he's more and more aware now and yet somehow that feels worse because the weight of reality settles on his shoulders like lead. Nobody's made to sustain what they do, again and again, brought together and torn apart. Not just him and Sylvie, but all of them. How many times is he going to see them picked off, or know that they'll witness the same thing happening to him?
His hand slides up Sylvie's back, feeling the curve and dip of his spine, fingers splaying and a moment of silence falling over him. He's stressed, more than he should be on account of it being true that they are in this moment in no hurry to live or die. They can exist, peacefully, for some time yet. And that's all he wants. The only thing he wants. And he pulls back to look at Sylvie, seeing only the lines of his features in the dark and a glimmer from his eyes but it's enough.]
... I want to be selfish, just once. Just a few times - I want to... just live with you, die with you, but naturally. I don't want to lose you like I've lost you. I know - I know we can't, but what if we did anyway... what if we just...
[Even as he says it, he knows it won't work - he can't be selfish, not after what he did to them all. What he's caused, he needs to throw himself back in the fire to repent for it without ever explaining why but that's why tears spark in his eyes of frustration. Because what if still comes pouring out of his mouth. What if they just live one life uninterrupted? Just one? Just a few?]
I just want to be selfish.
no subject
( he can feel the stress coming off of emmet. radiating off of him in waves, pouring over the edges and drowning him in it. he can't promise emmet the world, not like he once could have. blood means--nothing in this timeline. his natural-born title no longer holds any worth, even if sylvain has never let that stop him. emmet wraps around him, and sylvain moves to press himself over him. presses stomach-to-stomach, head tipping to kiss the curve of emmet's jawline, before sliding to his ear, then up into his hair. )
I would give you everything you wanted and more, if I could. I would tell the world to kneel at your feet, to listen to your words to obey. ( a breath in, sharp. before he lets it out slow. ) But the one time we stop is going to be the one time Lucien wins. And one win is all he needs, for all of this to be over.
( the world, everyone in it, everything they've worked so hard to save, it would all be over. their cycle would be, too, finished and done, they'd be over, which--god. the relief would be great, being done with it, but they can't give up. they started this vicious cycle, even if it hadn't been intentional. they'll have to be the ones who finish it, too. finish lucien once and for all, get rid of the book, stop all of this from ever happening again. )
Once this is over, we'll go find somewhere close to the old country, mm? A little cottage, far away from everything else. Get a few dogs maybe, and stay out there until we finally pass from old age. No knives, swords, no fire, just old creaky bones.
no subject
He holds Sylvain, arms around him to tether him tight - nuzzling up against his face in turn, eyes lowlidded or closed depending on the moment and the weight of it against him. He kisses his throat in turn, feeling the sad burn of hope in his chest for a future he's not sure will ever come. It's the only thing he wants and it's the only thing keeping them going and yet...]
This'll never be over.
[He's quiet, whispering it like they often do in frustration or annoyance. But they always had hope, so it wasn't a statement, really. But to him it is because he's the only one that knows the truth. Maybe he's trying to self sabotage for once and let himself have the excuse to end it all with failure, but he finds himself finally bending. Beginning to break.]
It'll never be over, Sylvie. Never.
no subject
except that's not emmet, usually. usually. sylvain raises a hand, presses it to emmet's cheek. tips his head down to press a kiss to his cheekbone. )
Hey. Don't say shit like that, alright? We haven't fought this long just to give up. We'll finish it. Take him out, destroy the book. Get rid of it for good--and then we'll get the rest of that life to ourselves. To do whatever the hell we want.
( he's not great at hope, but he can bullshit it when needed. sylvain likes to be more practical. eventually it'll be over. eventually they'll be done. whether or not it'll end in their favor, he doesn't know. )
It'll end. And when it does, I'll give you whatever you want.
( might be best to take the time to re-center emmet, to distract him from whatever the hell he's getting stuck inside of. sylvain. takes a breath in, lowers his head, to nip just over emmet's adam's apple. )
no subject
[Emmet's carried the weight of his choices on his back through countless lives and he will keep carrying it - and he's not sure what he expects here, in trying to share it with Sylvain. He can't expect him to help carry the burden, and if he were him he would be - so furious. So that's what he expects, righteously so - and it's why he leans against Sylvie's touch and briefly tips up his chin to stretch the skin of his throat taut beneath Sylvie's lips.
He could let it go. Let himself be talked down into false hope, and keep sparing Sylvie the reality of it. Is he really helping, the longer he holds on to this? He loses either way, and he just doesn't know what to do to spare Sylvie from the worst of it. So after a beat, tempting as it might be, he decides he can't just... dwell on it later. He brings up his own hand to Sylvain's throat, fingers splayed and his thumb against his jaw to pull him away from his neck and back up to an even gaze. He stares into his eyes for the longest beat, and his voice is exceptionally thin when he says:]
I've never seen a future where we win. We lose, we'll always lose. There was never any other way, than to keep throwing ourselves... to keep trying. That is all we can do. I've seen it, just... cycle after cycle. It'll never change.
[Maybe he's wrong. Maybe he hasn't seen everything, but...]
It was this, or nothing. For everyone, everywhere.
no subject
except that's clearly not how the world works; they're stuck in a never ending cycle that's trying to destroy them, without a way out. every time they get close, it restarts; they build up resources again, get ready for the fight, and then have to jump back to the beginning. emmet grabs hold of his chin, and sylvain looks into his eyes, watches him closely. lets those words seep through him for a moment, before he's taking a slow breath in and--letting it out. )
Then we'll have an eternity together. ( spoken soft, easy. ) Your abilities aren't all-encompassing, you can't see everything. It might be another several centuries, a few thousand years, a thousand cycles, but this can't last forever. One day, Lucien will win. Or we'll win. Or I'll shove a knife into that fucker's eye socket and keep him alive but useless, so we can have our time just in case killing him doesn't end it.
( good to take precautions just in case. sylvain's never successfully killed him but in case it does something, he wants to make sure he still gets to enjoy some stress-free time with emmet. )
Okay? You don't need to worry.
no subject
[He says after a beat, head bowed until Sylvie is tilting his chin and making him look at him. He stares into the familiar eyes of his always lover, lifetime after lifetime, and he feels his words are shakier than he would've ever liked them to be. Sylvie isn't pushing him away, isn't reaming him for doing this the way Emmet feels he should be which feels good and bad. He wants the comfort, he wants to be accepted regardless in Sylvain's endless mercy and understanding but... he just doesn't feel he deserves it.
So many years, so many lives - he's carried the guilt of being the reason they're all stuck like this. Hoping tht one day he can believe there'll be an end like the others hope, wishing he could believe so wholeheartedly that it hurts. He leans to put their foreheads together, still half wishing that Sylvie would hate him. Would yell at him. Would tear him to shreds so he can stop feeling like he's getting away with ruining their lives.]
I love you but I shouldn't be the reason you suffer.
no subject
( because he knows it isn't. regardless of what abilities emmet has, none of them pertain to their curse, he didn't make the loop, even if he can't see the end to it. sylvain stays right where he is: weight pressed down on top of emmet, hand on his face, eyes staring straight into the other's own. firm, but not harsh. he needs emmet to understand. )
We've had more time together than others could even dream of. It always ends, it doesn't always end quick or painlessly, but we always come back, we usually find each other. I won't say death hasn't taken it's toll on me, but I would rather spend a thousand cycles beside you suffering from an early death than let it end and destroy everything.
no subject
[If he had to do any of this without Sylvie, he's not sure he'd have gotten even a fraction of the distance - knowingly or unknowingly. Sylvain's his other half, whether he remembers him or not, he never feels complete without him. He's the motivation Emmet has for getting out of bed in the morning, nevermind saving the world from a certain jackass. Everything is for Sylvie. Always will be. Even if he's still immersed in his own guilt.]
I've pulled you all to hell with me, time and time again, and yet you still love me. I don't deserve it, don't deserve you but... I love you more than anything. Love you so much.
no subject
but he dislikes the circumstances behind these words; emmet's guilt, the nightmare that must have led him here, to this. sylvain purses his lips, before he's pressing a hand against emmet's shoulder and a kiss to his cheek. )
Up. I am already awake, we may as well use our time for something entertaining.
no subject
[Emmet, despite himself, hears the soft touch of humor to his question - because despite it all, Sylvain is here to comfort him. He still stays by his side and lets everything wash off him like rain, holding on only to the most important parts of it all. He looks to him, eyes affectionate, and sits forward into a hunch before he's touching a palm to Sylvie's cheek.]
no subject
but sylvain quirks up the corners of his lips, offers over a small smile as he leans into that hand on his cheek, before he's shoving against emmet and swinging his legs off the edge of the bed to pull himself up to his feet. )
Chess.