[One must walk in the dark before they can see the sun rise once more. Carlisle smiles, liking that. He might not have believed such sentiments a year ago, a month ago, even a week ago; however, he can see Glacius has put a lot of thought and consideration into this, into saving him and keeping them together. Glacius had always insisted he would do all that was possible, and Carlisle never doubted that, but he knew he would pass eventually, and his partner would have to soldier on. He's young, after all, has many years ahead of him. Why would he want to be tied down to a sickly human?
But the icy warrior doesn't want to merely move on once Carlisle dies, no more than the clergyman wants to leave him to deal with the heartache of loss. He knows intimately that kind of horrible solitude, having struggled with it for years after his uncles disappeared, and would never wish it upon anyone, certainly not his partner. Yet, as much potential as it sounds like this idea of Glacius' has, Carlisle cannot help the trepidation that lingers in his gut. They cannot put this off any longer, lest the fragments of his soul drift further and they lose one another forever.]
Of all the times and all the worlds, all existences and iterations of people that could be spirited to this place and others like it, we were brought together. [He grins as the slightest chuckle escapes him.] Twice, even. Perhaps it is serendipitous circumstance... or perhaps I am meant to be beside you. Either it works, and we remain... or it fails, and we likely destroy our souls in the process, damning us both. But if I am damned, I would rather be damned with you than for either of us to be left in this existence alone, never knowing if we will ever cross paths again.
[He presses his forehead to his partner's in their realization of a kiss.]
Any time you claim to not be a romantic, I will remind you of your sentiments in this moment. [Glacius also cannot help but grin, albeit slightly nervously. He is not sure how he feels about this talk of mutual damnation... he knows it is a risk as much as condemnation from their respective people for dabbling in something like this is. Deep down, however, he truly does not think it will come to any of that... and what is he if not a being that sticks to his convictions?
Now is the time to follow them, then; no matter where they lead, it will be better than letting Carlisle face an eternity in that nightmarish land he's been lost to in his dreams. The ice alien nods when his partner agrees to go through with it, pulling the metal rings away from his chest. Holding it carefully, he uses one sturdy finger to gradually turn the innermost ring until it is perpendicular to the outer one; once that is done he closes his eyes and allows his Mote to manifest not in his palm, but in the space within that innermost ring. Eyes still closed, Glacius' brows furrow as he concentrates even harder, pouring more of himself into this artifact—to the point that a crystallized sphere of ice begins to form within that same ring, completely encasing the Mote.
Drawing a short gasp as his green eyes open, the ice alien takes a moment to regard the Siphon. It looks as he expected it to, if not more pure than what Kan-Ra had attempted to use against him. The framing rings of the sorcerer's make were rough black metal pulled from scorched pieces of the alien's ship; now they are the silvered steel of his pristine power cell. A chunk of strange crystal has been replaced with the sharp rays of his mote, and smooth, glimmering ice has been substitued for faceted glass that ones held it. It is now a thing of his own make... benevolent, ready to give, not dark and hungry.
He extends it towards Carlisle, holding it between them. A spark of apprehension hits him, as he has no idea what to expect from this deep of a transferrance, but he refuses to let fear win out now.] When you are ready, place your hands upon it and lace your fingers with mine. Then... well, I do not know exactly how it will go. But we must both focus on mending your soul with new life. I suspect this construct will do the rest.
[Carlisle watches as Glacius produces the result of his labors, and he finds himself taken aback. It's not as sinister as he would have imagined, but rather elegant in design, particularly in the way it unfolds, allowing it to encapsulate the Mote. And the silver of it is so pristine, far purer than expected for a construct designed int he spirit of a vile artifact. Has he seen such material in Hadriel before? Carlisle cannot place where...
He feels his mind wandering, thoughts drifting away as he tries to recall, only to delve so deeply into his memories that they become like a dense fog, swallowing him; he is brought back as Glacius addresses him again, life flickering back into his eyes as they affix themselves on his partner before him. Glacius' apprehension is matched by his own, but Carlisle cannot allow himself to falter now, not when his partner has worked so hard on a solution, and not when he has lost his grip on himself now three times today. It is getting worse, and they are out of time.
Carlisle steels himself as instructed, placing his hands upon Glacius' own, letting their fingers entwine. The Mote thrums within the Siphon, and Carlisle instinctively channels into it, allowing it to flow within his own aural canals—
And the construct, as Glacius suspected, does do the rest. As their energies connect through the Mote and Siphon simultaneously, the device comes to life, its silver frame resonating in tandem with the Mote. Carved lines along the Siphon's sides illuminate on one ring, then the other, then into the pair's hands; Carlisle feels his veins ignite with white-hot fire, the sensation cutting through the numbness of his limbs so sharply that he's sure they will shatter from the impact. His eyes, so bright already with the Mote's energies, are suddenly blazing, and he can see the room lit by them before the light blinds him completely.
Carlisle's body, so fragile and so emptied of his own essence, is an undeniably draining vessel to fill. The process seems to last for hours, for days -- he loses all sense of time amongst the agony, so sure it is never-ending. The cacophony of energy he hears is not just from the hum of the device, but ringing from within him, reverberating and echoing on both physical and metaphysical planes. His head feels as though it will explode, and he nearly lets go; however, it is Glacius' grip that keeps him there, their threaded fingers stitching them together, grounding him. There's a loud crack from the ice enveloping the Mote, then another, and a third as it fractures fully.
And finally, the hum dies down, as does the glow of Carlisle's eyes as the fumes of aural overload rise from them, steaming with energy. He remains motionless save for a tremor that runs through his spine, the entire room settling around them, falling into an unearthly silence. The stillness is broken by a gasp that pries its way from the clergyman's chest.]
Gla...
[His utterance goes unfinished as he goes completely slack, his body falling forward onto his partner and the Siphon. For a moment, it might seem as though it didn't work, the Siphon having drained the two of them and producing no results; however, Carlisle's chest rises and falls with the breaths of the living rather than the dry rattles of a Revenant, and among the colorless strands of his hair, there is a single strand of vivid, cinnamon hair.]
[As their hands interlace over its surface and the Siphon activates, Carlisle's world becomes one of roaring energy, flooding channels, blinding light and the pain of being reawakened. Glacius, meanwhile, experiences quite the opposite; it is as if the world drops out underneath him, plunging him into darkness as he feels himself getting... sucked into the device? It is a forceful pull, one he feels he could not hope to break way from now that he's initiated it, and so he instead tries to simply surrender himself to it fully.
At that point he does not feel much of anything at all; while the process seems to take days for Carlisle, it is over in the blink of an eye for Glacius—similar to coming around after being put under general anesthetic for an operation. He does feel a similar sense of grogginess and disorientation as well. It is not pleasant, but the alien had expected having his life force drained from him to be much more... excruciating, debiliating. Now that he thinks about it, perhaps the earliest uses of the Siphon will be the easiest, as his soul is still so strong and vigorous. It is likely that these sessions of transference will become harder and harder on him the less he has to give... which seems to be the exact opposite of what his partner is going through, if the way he has collapsed afterwards is any indication.
This unresponsiveness would normally because for great alarm if they were not metaphysically entwined. As it is, Glacius can feel not a lack of strength or spirit in his partner, but the embers of new life steadily burning away within his partner. This is nothing like the aural exsiccation Carlisle suffered months ago, when he passed out for days after spending too much of himself mending his partner's wounds; his body is simply taking the rest it so sorely needs, now that it has strength to draw on for recovery.
In other words, it seems as though their gambit worked, and Glacius cannot describe the relief he feels at that inkling. He pulls both of their hands away and returns the Siphon to its resting state, then brings his partner to his bed to rest as he has many times. The difference now is that it isn't due to terrible injury or exhaustion; that awful, heartbreaking cycle has finally been broken. This time, the ice alien can content himself to feeling that ember of life gradually start to burn brighter and stronger the longer Carlisle rests. This time, he knows his partner is coming back.]
[Carlisle is indeed coming back, and in more than one way. Unresponsive as he is during his hibernation, his body itself takes on a new life, color returning to it day by day. Soon enough, he looks about as he did before the incident with the cliff, his skin pale (but certainly not as colorless as it had been) and his hair a faded chestnut... save for that one strand of red hair hidden against his scalp. A day later, another appears, then another. Then several more. As it turns out, the Siphon did not merely replenish what was lost before he came to Hadriel, but much more.
The moment he is aware enough to realize he's alive, Carlisle awakens, sitting up as he buries his face in his hands, his head throbbing painfully. His stomach aches -- hunger -- and his head pounds -- thirst, likely -- but he is very much alive. He can feel the thrum of the Mote within him, resonating in tandem with his heartbeat; there is sharp pain in his forearms from where the energy seared his scars, making his fingers curl; against his feet, he can feel the softness of the sheets in a way he hasn't noticed before. It has been so long since he's had such acute sensation, months now as he's wandered through each day like the near-corpse he is destined to be. It all feels so... heightened. Incredible. Invigorating, like when he and Glacius are together, their energies cycling and colliding throughout—
GLACIUS
He pulls himself from the bed, his limbs unsteady; as he leans into the nightstand for support, he fumbles for his glasses, unable to find them. Have his pajamas always been this soft? And the floor so hard? A laugh trickles out of him as he seems -- feels -- the world anew. He doesn't want to experience such wonders alone, though -- he needs his partner. Glacius... is all right, isn't he? He didn't suffer from the device draining his life away, did he? He insisted he wouldn't, and Carlisle believed him.
The clergyman's euphoria dissipates in an instant as his natural inclination for worry takes over. Alive and renewed as he may be, he is ultimately still Carlisle Longinmouth, a man of many concerns. The Mote hums within his chest, more concentrated than before -- and he finds comfort in that, in knowing his partner must be okay. He even... feels closer somehow. More connected than he once was to both his partner and the Mote.
He can ponder the lasting effects of this Siphoning later, Carlisle decides.]
[If Carlisle is looking for his partner, his newly restored senses should point him in the right direction; there's a slight chilled depression in the bed next to him, and still-frosty footprints lead out the door, showing that Glacius had been with him mere minutes before and has only just recently left the room. Perhaps he sensed that his partner was beginning to come back around and went to prepare food and drink for him, if the scattered noises from the kitchen are any indication; however, they come to an abrupt halt the moment Carlisle comes to, his silent shout resounding across their link.
Glacius is already moving when his partner calls for him, setting aside plates and dishes and moving from the kitchen. By the time that second, gentler inquiry comes through he's already coming through the door... but he finds himself stopped up short by the sight that awaits despite himself. He's been aware of the color and vibrancy gradually seeping back into Carlisle's body as he slept, but to see the young cleric standing there now, healthy and whole... it brings him more joy than he can ever express, but the way his cheekbones lift high enough to push crinkles around his eyes in a warm and loving smile surely speaks volumes.]
Welcome back to the land of the living, my Bondmate. [Glacius purrs, clearly taking in the fruits of all their hardwork. The human's skin has a warm tone to it rather than the unsettling cold pallor that made him look more like a ghost, he can see blue in his eyes again, and... on top of his head sits not old grey hair, but vibrant cinnamon strands, still mussed from his long time asleep. Delighted surprise strikes the ice alien's face—he had not expected such striking color, but come to think of it, he does now remember such a thing from an old portrait Carlisle once showed him.] Are you feeling well? You do, ah, certainly look well. Perhaps you should find a mirror.
[Carlisle returns the smile Glacius gives him, though his is born more of relief than anything else. Though he could feel Glacius' presence through the Mote, its reverberations within him steady, he'd wondered if his partner might somehow appear different, worn from their shared ordeal, yet here he stands, as stalwart and strong as ever. He doesn't look as pale as Carlisle had, so colorless and devoid of life; he still shines as vibrantly as before, having enough energy to sustain them both, as promised. Carlisle cannot say how long that will be true -- and he isn't sure he wants to consider it just yet, certainly not when he is still processing the possibility that he isn't going to succumb to his own curse.
Glacius seems so optimistic about it, his adoration abundant as he purrs. Carlisle places a hand along Glacius' chest, his partner's cold armor a sharp contrast to the soft warmth of his tone.]
A mirror? Why would...
[And that's when he catches sight of his own hand, its color vivid -- healthy in a way it hasn't been in years, well over a decade. Though there is still the residue of ink under his nails and the seared scars of aural overload lining his wrists, the hue of his own skin has him in awe. His gaze flicks to Glacius before he takes off to the bathroom and the suggested mirror.
From down the hallway, Glacius might hear a chuckle... then another and another as they bubble in Carlisle's chest, making their way out of him; it's the laughter of uncertainty, but also raw disbelief. He's seen the old portrait of himself with its unfamiliar smile and depiction of his younger years; however, to see himself so restored, here and now, moves the clergyman to tears. His eyes grow bleary as he runs his hand over his reddened hair, his fingers sensitive enough to feel the individual strands.
Though not entirely as he was before -- his eyes still glow with the light of the Mote, and there will always be those bags under his eyes -- Carlisle cannot help but marvel at his new form as he murmurs to himself.]
I... I had forgotten what color my hair was. Who I might be were I not cursed. I- I can't believe it.
[Glacius gives Carlisle a moment to himself in the bathroom to fully take in the changes, but he ultimately ends up joining the young cleric—finally looking appropriately his age once more—so they can observe and revel in the effects of the Siphon together.]
To be honest, I had forgotten as well—I was shocked until I remembered that old portrait you showed me. The results of our soul-sharing are... greater than even I had expected, and it brings me endless joy to see as much.
[The ice alien exhales in a happy sigh, putting his hand on Carlisle's shoulder... but then, unable to resist, he drifts it up his partner's neck to his head, where he tousles those reddish-orange strands.] But we should be clear about one thing: you have always been the same person, curse or no. Now, you simply look it once again. I hope you feel it too, I know... I know that things got very discouraging for awhile, there.
[Carlisle leans into Glacius' hand as it trails up his neck, grinning wider as his partner ruffles his hair. Not too bothered by it, as his hair is already a mess from his long sleep. He has plenty to be happy about at the moment as it is.]
Discouraging, indeed. I had expected to feel better, if anything at all, but this! I never thought this possible -- any of this. And while I cannot say that I don't have... certain concerns regarding how this will work in what are hopefully years to come, I will save those for another day. Right now, I- I want to revel in this. I want to revel in us and cherish you in a way I could not before.
[He turns to face his partner, his eyes aglow, tears still brimming in them as he places his hand along Glacius' scar, guiding him so that their foreheads may meet. Unfortunately, as ready as he is to enjoy this newfound vivacity, his body isn't quite as ready as a loud grumble roars from his middle.
Willing to put aside your immediate concerns? You must be feeling better. [Glacius' voice is back to a purr as he allows his head to be down and forward, allowing Carlisle's forehead to meet his. He is similarly ready to celebrate all of this—the success of their efforts, his partner's renewed vigor, and lifted spirits—but it seems like there are more pressing needs that must be addressed before they can fully cater to their desires.
Even this, however, the ice alien finds charming. It is a strange and funny thing, how much lighter everything seems now that Carlisle's future is secured.] Ah, your face matches your hair now. [He cannot help but tease gently, giving Carlisle a fondly teasing smile before he pulls his head up and away entirely, leaving the cleric to take that for the moment. For his part, the ice alien starts walking towards the kitchen, waving for the human to follow him.] A couple of days, so it is no wonder you are hungry. Lucky for you, I was working on that while you slept. Come.
[Still as red as his hair -- and redder still as Glacius teases him, however gently -- Carlisle follows Glacius down the hallway, his steps measured as he struggles to find his footing.]
I'm sorry you were left to worry for so long, my partner. And alone! How much you have had to bear on my behalf...
[He keeps a hand along the wall for balance, his legs unsteady as he adjusts to being able to feel them again. He's been losing sensation in his limbs month by month -- and since the incident with the cliff, day by day. It has been some time since he had full use of his faculties, not having to fight the exhaustion and the stiffness that comes with both his affliction and his craft.
He's sure both of those will return later. Lively as he may be now, the maw within him still feeds. How long until they must use the constructed artifact again? Will the aural tear within him ever be filled, or will it continue to drain them both with every use?
His stomach growls again, drawing his mind from the fears gnawing at the back of his mind, and he continues into the kitchen.]
[It might be hard to see given how Glacius is currently leading the way, but Carlisle might be able to catch a hint of a beleaguered smile on the alien's face. It is tired, containing some traces of worry left over from the predicament they have just passed through... but it is at least a smile nonetheless.] Ah, well. It was harrowing at first, but.. I could feel you—feel the strength and life gradually ebbing back into your soul. It was nothing like the previous times I have lost you for days, so it could have been worse. I am just glad that all of that truly is the past now; I can say that it was worth it, to bear all of that in the end.
[The ice alien starts to walk again, but the second growl from his partner's stomach draw his attention. Swiveling his head to cast a glance over his shoulder, Glacius realizes that Carlisle is having to hold himself up as he moves, and falls back to be that support, offering his arm or the crook of his elbow—whatever is easiest. Despite how much healthier the clergyman looks, it is hard for the otherworldly being to not feel worry; after what they just went through, he'll probably still be on red alert for any signs of decline.] ... Are you alright? You seem a bit rickety, still.
I am a bit rickety. Forgive me, I am- I am still adjusting, I suppose. It has been some time since I could fully feel the ground beneath me. I can close my eyes, and... know the world is still truly there.
[When he says things like that, it's no wonder he had trouble discerning reality from nightmares. It's not that he doesn't want to continue to hold onto them as being the only thing that is truly real, of course -- that fact has grounded him for so long, held him to this world when even his own willpower could not. As with many joys he has found in his brief, but tragic existence, he is reluctant to let it go. However, there is comfort in the fact that Glacius undeniably feels the same.
And so he's happy to lean on his partner for support, his fingers tracing Glacius' forearm.] What's more is that I can feel you now. I- I could before, but it's stronger in some way. This bond between us -- I suppose it is because there is more to be bonded with... and what makes up me is also your own. Does that make sense? We are- we are more intertwined than we have ever been.
Alright, but that is—I mean, at least it is rickety in a better way than you have felt in the past. You are adjusting to life, not to approaching death; it is not instability because of fatigue or weakness, but because you are getting your feet back under you. [And that is... sort of endearing, if Glacius is being honest. It is almost like watching a young animal learning to take its first steps, given that life in general is probably a new feeling for Carlisle all over again.] Besides, some wobbliness is to be expected after waking up from a few days worth of sleep. You'll get better.
[This the alien assures his partner as he helps him get a grip on his arm, and then starts them both walking again. Thankfully the couch in the den is not far!] And yes, that does make sense... but what of me you have taken is now your own. Try not to think of it as some outside force pulling you along, some... other. It is your strength now. In time you will get used to calling on it again.
[Carlisle nods, allowing Glacius to support him as they make their way into the den, keeping his hand his partner's arm as he steadily finds his balance.]
I know I should be more concerned with the extended ramifications of this venture, but- but it's so strange now. I am a foreigner in my own skin. How novel it is to feel so alive when waking, something I have only felt recently when... er.
[He reddens just a pinch, knowing Glacius will understand. There were times when Carlisle would crave intimacy, desperate not only to be close with his partner, but also for the cycle of energy through himself, Glacius, and the Mote. The current was powerful enough to force the numbness from his limbs and the chill from his body; however, such a reprieve was temporary. It may be now, as well, but with his frame no longer an emptied, cavernous vessel, perhaps the effect will be even longer lasting. Perhaps even more euphoric than before, he considers.
And that thought makes him burn even worse, as does his impatience to find out. He will sooner accept this new life of his than he will his own appetence.]
[Glacius pauses, and though the words he speaks next might seem grim, he does not frown or seem ill at ease as he utters them. He knew the risks when he constructed the Siphon; he knew it was a sacrifice, and true to his word, it is one he is prepared to follow through on.] I think I can hazard a guess as to the ramifications; I will eventually dwindle as my life's essence is divided repeatedly between us, and when I have nothing left to give, then our times will come together. But that will not occur for some time—a great many years from now—and those years will be happier for our sharing. To give you the life that you deserve... a life where you can thrive, and not merely struggle to continue living... though it is natural to worry, I think that is worth any potential ramifications.
[And it truly speaks to Glacius' devotion, that he is able to talk about such a sacrifice so easily and simply. When most couples talk about giving all that they are for each other, they do not mean it so literally. Beyond possessions or a place to call home or emotional support—though he offers all of that as well—the alien has pledged the deep well of his very essence to his partner. His life is one lived in service now... and he only seems happier for it, given that it means he gets to keep his partner around.]
[Carlisle's blush fades as Glacius takes his mind away from their more intimate moments and to the reason they will be able to have any more in the first place. His partner puts so plainly, so matter-of-factly the long-term consequences of this venture: the maw within him will devour Glacius' energy through him, and eventually consume them both. A grisly end no matter what they did, and one that ends his partner's life as well as his own as his affliction curses them in tandem.
But Glacius doesn't seem bothered by this, and it speaks volumes of what his opinion is in the matter. He's absolutely right: they have years together now, surely more than he would have ever been afforded naturally. They are years the two of them will spend with one another, experiencing a life they could not have seen otherwise: one where Glacius keeps his partner, and one where Carlisle is alive. Moreover, Glacius chose this -- he chose to gift Carlisle his Mote, chose to build this Siphon, chose to surrender his energies bit by bit so that Carlisle could sustain himself on them. He may become a Revenant later, but for now, he exists as some kind of... aural vampire.
As much as Carlisle dislikes the comparison to any undead, figurative or not, he cannot help but be truly touched by his partner's dedication. Those years Glacius is giving up are ones he could have spent serving his people, making his mark upon the worlds with his life beyond his coupling with a mere human. And yet, when given a choice, agency in this awful place where it is so often stripped from them, he chose Carlisle.
The clergyman reddens again, but no longer from embarrassment as he fights back more tears in his eyes. One hand paws at them while the other seeks the comfort of his partner's touch, resting upon his broad, icy chest as they stop before the couch.]
What is it I have done with my life that has made me deserving of such a wonderful partner? Of someone as devoted to me as one may be to his goddess, or to his own people... or more?
[Glacius turns back towards Carlisle entirely now as he feels his partner reach for him; as he does, he sees the bleary-eyed expression that his partner is wearing, damp and flushed with emotion. The ice alien's face adopts a funny look in turn, as if he is surprised to see that much feeling, or perhaps confused that a human could feel such things for him. He simply did what he had always promised he would; he did what he feels would be expected of a good partner.
Glacius reaches out to ruffle those cinnamon locks, still mussy from long sleep, in a fond and reassuring way.] We have talked about this before, have we not? You have been a better friend and now partner than I could have ever hoped for; all the times I have needed you most, you have been right at my side. It is only fair that I return the favor—that I give you what you need, same as you have done for me.
[The otherworldly being pauses, then gives Carlisle one more pat before starting to walk them towards the den once more.] And that includes not letting you topple over due to malnourishment. Come, sit, and I will bring you some food and drink. Is there anything you want in particular?
[As inclined as Carlisle may be to argue over how he perceives himself as a partner -- as a work-in-progress, at best, and as someone who consistently needs to be shown his way around the ins and outs of companionship -- he lets it go. It's not that he's too tired for it, or even that he's too wrapped up in his new appearance, but rather that he just doesn't see the point in it at the moment. He has time, now. He can, for the first time, truly consider such things later rather than sooner. He is no longer shackled by the brevity of his lifespan, nor the drain of his affliction. He has years to ponder; his worries and insecurities can gorge themselves upon his nerves later.
It is so... unbelievably freeing, and he's not entirely sure how to handle it just yet. He turns his attention to Glacius' question as he takes a seat, hoping it will give him focus.]
Water. No, tea, please. Something mild to sate my stomach and keep it from turning inside-out. [He murmurs the rest quietly beneath his breath, his gaze resting on the curves of Glacius' abdomen.] And then, perhaps something else to ease the rest of me as I explore the limits of this renewed form.
Fortunately for you I already set the tea out; I need only to steep it. And... I think we should have some bread and preserves that I can dig out, though you really should try to eat something of more substance soon. A lean protein, perhaps...
[Glacius is muttering the last few bits of this as he wanders back into the kitchen, rubbing his tapering chin as he goes; he's so wrapped up in continually trying to provide for his partner that he misses whatever whispered musings Carlisle has to offer. Whatever respective desirous thought the ice alien might harbor are currently taking a back seat to making sure that needs are met, instead. He comes back one piercing kettle-whistle later, with a mug in one hand and a small plate of the promised toast in the other.]
If you'd please. [Glacius speaks calmly—more calmly than one might expect from a being of ice currently gripping hot ceramics—as he holds both dishes out to Carlisle. His eagerness and the tenseness in his hands, however, suggests he is bothered by the heat in some capacity.] These are rather warm.
[Carlisle takes the offered plate and mug, grateful to find he has the energy to do so -- his fingers remain a bit stiff and his hands a bit unsteady, but it's likely the effects of having only recently awakened from a long sleep rather than his body failing him. He sets the plate atop the coffee table, deciding he'd rather have a drink first. He's used to drinking just a bit greedily, the warmth slowly seeping into his limbs, if at all -- he finds almost immediately that, now that his senses are back to normal, he probably shouldn't do that anymore.
He pulls the mug from his lips quickly, wincing as he swallows.]
Desth, that burns!
[Despite that, he's... smiling.]
I'll- I'll have to adjust to that, as well, I see.
[Glacius' displays of surprise are minimal as always, though they are there: his mandible flares slightly and his shoulder hikes up as Carlisle exclaims while drinking down his tea in the same manner that he always has. Then it catches up to him just why that happened this time; with the restoration of the human's body also comes the full return of his senses and faculties. It makes sense... but the ice alien can't help the smile that tweaks at his features, cannot keep it from growing wider and winder until his cheekbones have lifted to push wrinkles around his eyes in that familiar way that happens when he is really, truly pleased by something.
Then the quiet laughter comes. Glacius is not sure why it is this one seemingly insignificant little show of change that has finally broken through the dam of his worried attentiveness, allowing his genuine relief and happiness to flow like a river he can do nothing to stem. Maybe the other changes were so shocking it has taken them some time to truly sink in, too good to be true as they had seemed; maybe it's just that a minor burn is currently the worst of his once dying partner's concerns now. Or maybe it is a lot of things, all falling away to afford them this singular moment of hope, of a life renewed.
Whatever the case is, Glacius finally flops heavily on the couch next to Carlisle, too relieved to keep himself upright anymore; his hands curl into fists at his knees to keep himself from slinging an arm around his partner while he's holding hot food and drink.] There's... going to be a lot to adjust to. [And he cannot help but chortle again; the heavy blinks of his eyes suggest that if he shed tears like a human, he'd have to be wiping them away now.] The biggest one being that I no longer have to worry about you being taken from me prematurely. I cannot believe... I mean... I am so happy, Carlisle. I cannot fully describe to you the joy I am feeling.
[He's given pause by Glacius' laughter; though no to kindness, outright laughter is not something often heard from the stoic warrior, a true rarity. As Glacius settles beside him, Carlisle finds himself grinning widely, watching as his partner's sizable hands curl atop his muscular legs, the dips and valleys of them more enticing than Carlisle would like to admit. Feeling his stomach grind again, he sets his mug aside, cramming toast into his mouth -- perhaps he should use more caution after the tea, but he wants to get it down quickly to sate his complaining abdomen. He has other pursuits in mind, more he wants to experience with his renewed vigor -- and with such indulgences, Carlisle has never had the best restraint, particularly when it comes to Glacius.
His life has been one largely of denial. He didn't deserve such things, he'd said so often; he was just asking for more misfortune for both himself and those around him. It was better to deny himself companionship than to tempt fate. Besides, he could not lose what he'd never had in the first place.
Things are different now -- so, so different. With his food and drink aside, he brushes some crumbs away and turns his full attention to his partner.]
Neither can I. Everything I feel is so... intense at the moment. Light and color and incredible sensation in what has been an increasingly numb existence. I- I could hardly feel myself these past few days. Not- not days while recovering, obviously, but before. I was keeping busy out of habit, merely moving due to routine rather than truly living. I was already a shell, hollow. It was only through fear that I felt alive, even with you.
[He never told Glacius, but deep down, he knows his partner knew. Carlisle knows he's been needy as of late, calling Glacius home, wanting him to stay in the mornings rather than go on patrol; however, no matter how tenaciously the clergyman clung to life, it still ebbed from his mortal frame day by day, what color he had in his hair and skin fading along with it.
It's all back now, but for how long? He doesn't know -- but he doesn't want to waste what time he has been given, either.]
It will take time to adjust, but now we take comfort in that we can. There is time now, and- and I want nothing more than to spend it with you.
[He places his hand on Glacius', his fingers curling across his icy knuckles. His voice is barely a whisper, despite them being alone.]
I want... I want to explore all of these things with you, Glacius. This joy, and this apprehension, hope and- and uncertainty about our future. But most of all, this hammering in my chest the closer I am to you. Has it always been like that? Have I always felt as though my heart would explode when I am near you? Have I just never noticed it before? Or had I simply forgotten what it felt like?
I think you have just managed to forget. [Glacius replies with a light chuckle, remembering a few times back when Carlisle had talked in a similar manner, back before... his condition had stolen away his feelings of hope and joy, replacing them only with fear as he has just described. Now, however, with the human's hand curling over his sturdy knuckles without so much as a tremble, it somehow feels like they've been transported back in time to the earliest days of their relationship; when everything was happier, new and exciting, with so many things waiting to be explored.
The ice alien lowers his head ever so slightly so that he can stare quietly into his partner's eyes. Then, letting the feelings of the moment guide him, he leans in for a gentle eskimo kiss, nuzzling the cold and glossy curve of his nasal cap against the bridge of Carlisle's nose. He is fairly certain he's reading an invitation there; in the choice of words, and in the subtle, stolen glances.] ... I could... likely make it beat a bit harder still... if that is what you desire. If you would allow me a moment to be terribly forward, I-I have to admit that my own hearts race to think what it might be like to experience such a thing now that you are restored.
[Carlisle turns his head in anticipation of Glacius' embrace, pushing his glasses aside, allowing the dip at his brow to be filled with the soft curve of his partner's nasal cap. It was indeed an invitation on Carlisle's end, one he is ready to make good on now that his stomach has stopped griping. He slides his hand onto Glacius' thigh, using the leverage it gives him to lean further -- more emphatically -- against his lover's face.]
You never need ask for a moment to be forward, Glacius. I would never dream of denying you — us — such a request... such desires.
[His arm trembles from holding him up; he holds onto his partner as he straddles Glacius' lap, not breaking contact with him for even a second. He's not sure he could even if he wanted to, the steady throbbing of his heart and the hum of the Mote within him fueling his curiosity and impulses in equal measure.]
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But the icy warrior doesn't want to merely move on once Carlisle dies, no more than the clergyman wants to leave him to deal with the heartache of loss. He knows intimately that kind of horrible solitude, having struggled with it for years after his uncles disappeared, and would never wish it upon anyone, certainly not his partner. Yet, as much potential as it sounds like this idea of Glacius' has, Carlisle cannot help the trepidation that lingers in his gut. They cannot put this off any longer, lest the fragments of his soul drift further and they lose one another forever.]
Of all the times and all the worlds, all existences and iterations of people that could be spirited to this place and others like it, we were brought together. [He grins as the slightest chuckle escapes him.] Twice, even. Perhaps it is serendipitous circumstance... or perhaps I am meant to be beside you. Either it works, and we remain... or it fails, and we likely destroy our souls in the process, damning us both. But if I am damned, I would rather be damned with you than for either of us to be left in this existence alone, never knowing if we will ever cross paths again.
[He presses his forehead to his partner's in their realization of a kiss.]
Let us see this through, here and now.
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Now is the time to follow them, then; no matter where they lead, it will be better than letting Carlisle face an eternity in that nightmarish land he's been lost to in his dreams. The ice alien nods when his partner agrees to go through with it, pulling the metal rings away from his chest. Holding it carefully, he uses one sturdy finger to gradually turn the innermost ring until it is perpendicular to the outer one; once that is done he closes his eyes and allows his Mote to manifest not in his palm, but in the space within that innermost ring. Eyes still closed, Glacius' brows furrow as he concentrates even harder, pouring more of himself into this artifact—to the point that a crystallized sphere of ice begins to form within that same ring, completely encasing the Mote.
Drawing a short gasp as his green eyes open, the ice alien takes a moment to regard the Siphon. It looks as he expected it to, if not more pure than what Kan-Ra had attempted to use against him. The framing rings of the sorcerer's make were rough black metal pulled from scorched pieces of the alien's ship; now they are the silvered steel of his pristine power cell. A chunk of strange crystal has been replaced with the sharp rays of his mote, and smooth, glimmering ice has been substitued for faceted glass that ones held it. It is now a thing of his own make... benevolent, ready to give, not dark and hungry.
He extends it towards Carlisle, holding it between them. A spark of apprehension hits him, as he has no idea what to expect from this deep of a transferrance, but he refuses to let fear win out now.] When you are ready, place your hands upon it and lace your fingers with mine. Then... well, I do not know exactly how it will go. But we must both focus on mending your soul with new life. I suspect this construct will do the rest.
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He feels his mind wandering, thoughts drifting away as he tries to recall, only to delve so deeply into his memories that they become like a dense fog, swallowing him; he is brought back as Glacius addresses him again, life flickering back into his eyes as they affix themselves on his partner before him. Glacius' apprehension is matched by his own, but Carlisle cannot allow himself to falter now, not when his partner has worked so hard on a solution, and not when he has lost his grip on himself now three times today. It is getting worse, and they are out of time.
Carlisle steels himself as instructed, placing his hands upon Glacius' own, letting their fingers entwine. The Mote thrums within the Siphon, and Carlisle instinctively channels into it, allowing it to flow within his own aural canals—
And the construct, as Glacius suspected, does do the rest. As their energies connect through the Mote and Siphon simultaneously, the device comes to life, its silver frame resonating in tandem with the Mote. Carved lines along the Siphon's sides illuminate on one ring, then the other, then into the pair's hands; Carlisle feels his veins ignite with white-hot fire, the sensation cutting through the numbness of his limbs so sharply that he's sure they will shatter from the impact. His eyes, so bright already with the Mote's energies, are suddenly blazing, and he can see the room lit by them before the light blinds him completely.
Carlisle's body, so fragile and so emptied of his own essence, is an undeniably draining vessel to fill. The process seems to last for hours, for days -- he loses all sense of time amongst the agony, so sure it is never-ending. The cacophony of energy he hears is not just from the hum of the device, but ringing from within him, reverberating and echoing on both physical and metaphysical planes. His head feels as though it will explode, and he nearly lets go; however, it is Glacius' grip that keeps him there, their threaded fingers stitching them together, grounding him. There's a loud crack from the ice enveloping the Mote, then another, and a third as it fractures fully.
And finally, the hum dies down, as does the glow of Carlisle's eyes as the fumes of aural overload rise from them, steaming with energy. He remains motionless save for a tremor that runs through his spine, the entire room settling around them, falling into an unearthly silence. The stillness is broken by a gasp that pries its way from the clergyman's chest.]
Gla...
[His utterance goes unfinished as he goes completely slack, his body falling forward onto his partner and the Siphon. For a moment, it might seem as though it didn't work, the Siphon having drained the two of them and producing no results; however, Carlisle's chest rises and falls with the breaths of the living rather than the dry rattles of a Revenant, and among the colorless strands of his hair, there is a single strand of vivid, cinnamon hair.]
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At that point he does not feel much of anything at all; while the process seems to take days for Carlisle, it is over in the blink of an eye for Glacius—similar to coming around after being put under general anesthetic for an operation. He does feel a similar sense of grogginess and disorientation as well. It is not pleasant, but the alien had expected having his life force drained from him to be much more... excruciating, debiliating. Now that he thinks about it, perhaps the earliest uses of the Siphon will be the easiest, as his soul is still so strong and vigorous. It is likely that these sessions of transference will become harder and harder on him the less he has to give... which seems to be the exact opposite of what his partner is going through, if the way he has collapsed afterwards is any indication.
This unresponsiveness would normally because for great alarm if they were not metaphysically entwined. As it is, Glacius can feel not a lack of strength or spirit in his partner, but the embers of new life steadily burning away within his partner. This is nothing like the aural exsiccation Carlisle suffered months ago, when he passed out for days after spending too much of himself mending his partner's wounds; his body is simply taking the rest it so sorely needs, now that it has strength to draw on for recovery.
In other words, it seems as though their gambit worked, and Glacius cannot describe the relief he feels at that inkling. He pulls both of their hands away and returns the Siphon to its resting state, then brings his partner to his bed to rest as he has many times. The difference now is that it isn't due to terrible injury or exhaustion; that awful, heartbreaking cycle has finally been broken. This time, the ice alien can content himself to feeling that ember of life gradually start to burn brighter and stronger the longer Carlisle rests. This time, he knows his partner is coming back.]
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The moment he is aware enough to realize he's alive, Carlisle awakens, sitting up as he buries his face in his hands, his head throbbing painfully. His stomach aches -- hunger -- and his head pounds -- thirst, likely -- but he is very much alive. He can feel the thrum of the Mote within him, resonating in tandem with his heartbeat; there is sharp pain in his forearms from where the energy seared his scars, making his fingers curl; against his feet, he can feel the softness of the sheets in a way he hasn't noticed before. It has been so long since he's had such acute sensation, months now as he's wandered through each day like the near-corpse he is destined to be. It all feels so... heightened. Incredible. Invigorating, like when he and Glacius are together, their energies cycling and colliding throughout—
GLACIUS
He pulls himself from the bed, his limbs unsteady; as he leans into the nightstand for support, he fumbles for his glasses, unable to find them. Have his pajamas always been this soft? And the floor so hard? A laugh trickles out of him as he seems -- feels -- the world anew. He doesn't want to experience such wonders alone, though -- he needs his partner. Glacius... is all right, isn't he? He didn't suffer from the device draining his life away, did he? He insisted he wouldn't, and Carlisle believed him.
The clergyman's euphoria dissipates in an instant as his natural inclination for worry takes over. Alive and renewed as he may be, he is ultimately still Carlisle Longinmouth, a man of many concerns. The Mote hums within his chest, more concentrated than before -- and he finds comfort in that, in knowing his partner must be okay. He even... feels closer somehow. More connected than he once was to both his partner and the Mote.
He can ponder the lasting effects of this Siphoning later, Carlisle decides.]
Glacius?
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Glacius is already moving when his partner calls for him, setting aside plates and dishes and moving from the kitchen. By the time that second, gentler inquiry comes through he's already coming through the door... but he finds himself stopped up short by the sight that awaits despite himself. He's been aware of the color and vibrancy gradually seeping back into Carlisle's body as he slept, but to see the young cleric standing there now, healthy and whole... it brings him more joy than he can ever express, but the way his cheekbones lift high enough to push crinkles around his eyes in a warm and loving smile surely speaks volumes.]
Welcome back to the land of the living, my Bondmate. [Glacius purrs, clearly taking in the fruits of all their hardwork. The human's skin has a warm tone to it rather than the unsettling cold pallor that made him look more like a ghost, he can see blue in his eyes again, and... on top of his head sits not old grey hair, but vibrant cinnamon strands, still mussed from his long time asleep. Delighted surprise strikes the ice alien's face—he had not expected such striking color, but come to think of it, he does now remember such a thing from an old portrait Carlisle once showed him.] Are you feeling well? You do, ah, certainly look well. Perhaps you should find a mirror.
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Glacius seems so optimistic about it, his adoration abundant as he purrs. Carlisle places a hand along Glacius' chest, his partner's cold armor a sharp contrast to the soft warmth of his tone.]
A mirror? Why would...
[And that's when he catches sight of his own hand, its color vivid -- healthy in a way it hasn't been in years, well over a decade. Though there is still the residue of ink under his nails and the seared scars of aural overload lining his wrists, the hue of his own skin has him in awe. His gaze flicks to Glacius before he takes off to the bathroom and the suggested mirror.
From down the hallway, Glacius might hear a chuckle... then another and another as they bubble in Carlisle's chest, making their way out of him; it's the laughter of uncertainty, but also raw disbelief. He's seen the old portrait of himself with its unfamiliar smile and depiction of his younger years; however, to see himself so restored, here and now, moves the clergyman to tears. His eyes grow bleary as he runs his hand over his reddened hair, his fingers sensitive enough to feel the individual strands.
Though not entirely as he was before -- his eyes still glow with the light of the Mote, and there will always be those bags under his eyes -- Carlisle cannot help but marvel at his new form as he murmurs to himself.]
I... I had forgotten what color my hair was. Who I might be were I not cursed. I- I can't believe it.
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To be honest, I had forgotten as well—I was shocked until I remembered that old portrait you showed me. The results of our soul-sharing are... greater than even I had expected, and it brings me endless joy to see as much.
[The ice alien exhales in a happy sigh, putting his hand on Carlisle's shoulder... but then, unable to resist, he drifts it up his partner's neck to his head, where he tousles those reddish-orange strands.] But we should be clear about one thing: you have always been the same person, curse or no. Now, you simply look it once again. I hope you feel it too, I know... I know that things got very discouraging for awhile, there.
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Discouraging, indeed. I had expected to feel better, if anything at all, but this! I never thought this possible -- any of this. And while I cannot say that I don't have... certain concerns regarding how this will work in what are hopefully years to come, I will save those for another day. Right now, I- I want to revel in this. I want to revel in us and cherish you in a way I could not before.
[He turns to face his partner, his eyes aglow, tears still brimming in them as he places his hand along Glacius' scar, guiding him so that their foreheads may meet. Unfortunately, as ready as he is to enjoy this newfound vivacity, his body isn't quite as ready as a loud grumble roars from his middle.
Carlisle reddens, thoroughly mortified.]
How... long have I been out?
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Even this, however, the ice alien finds charming. It is a strange and funny thing, how much lighter everything seems now that Carlisle's future is secured.] Ah, your face matches your hair now. [He cannot help but tease gently, giving Carlisle a fondly teasing smile before he pulls his head up and away entirely, leaving the cleric to take that for the moment. For his part, the ice alien starts walking towards the kitchen, waving for the human to follow him.] A couple of days, so it is no wonder you are hungry. Lucky for you, I was working on that while you slept. Come.
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I'm sorry you were left to worry for so long, my partner. And alone! How much you have had to bear on my behalf...
[He keeps a hand along the wall for balance, his legs unsteady as he adjusts to being able to feel them again. He's been losing sensation in his limbs month by month -- and since the incident with the cliff, day by day. It has been some time since he had full use of his faculties, not having to fight the exhaustion and the stiffness that comes with both his affliction and his craft.
He's sure both of those will return later. Lively as he may be now, the maw within him still feeds. How long until they must use the constructed artifact again? Will the aural tear within him ever be filled, or will it continue to drain them both with every use?
His stomach growls again, drawing his mind from the fears gnawing at the back of his mind, and he continues into the kitchen.]
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[The ice alien starts to walk again, but the second growl from his partner's stomach draw his attention. Swiveling his head to cast a glance over his shoulder, Glacius realizes that Carlisle is having to hold himself up as he moves, and falls back to be that support, offering his arm or the crook of his elbow—whatever is easiest. Despite how much healthier the clergyman looks, it is hard for the otherworldly being to not feel worry; after what they just went through, he'll probably still be on red alert for any signs of decline.] ... Are you alright? You seem a bit rickety, still.
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[When he says things like that, it's no wonder he had trouble discerning reality from nightmares. It's not that he doesn't want to continue to hold onto them as being the only thing that is truly real, of course -- that fact has grounded him for so long, held him to this world when even his own willpower could not. As with many joys he has found in his brief, but tragic existence, he is reluctant to let it go. However, there is comfort in the fact that Glacius undeniably feels the same.
And so he's happy to lean on his partner for support, his fingers tracing Glacius' forearm.] What's more is that I can feel you now. I- I could before, but it's stronger in some way. This bond between us -- I suppose it is because there is more to be bonded with... and what makes up me is also your own. Does that make sense? We are- we are more intertwined than we have ever been.
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[This the alien assures his partner as he helps him get a grip on his arm, and then starts them both walking again. Thankfully the couch in the den is not far!] And yes, that does make sense... but what of me you have taken is now your own. Try not to think of it as some outside force pulling you along, some... other. It is your strength now. In time you will get used to calling on it again.
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I know I should be more concerned with the extended ramifications of this venture, but- but it's so strange now. I am a foreigner in my own skin. How novel it is to feel so alive when waking, something I have only felt recently when... er.
[He reddens just a pinch, knowing Glacius will understand. There were times when Carlisle would crave intimacy, desperate not only to be close with his partner, but also for the cycle of energy through himself, Glacius, and the Mote. The current was powerful enough to force the numbness from his limbs and the chill from his body; however, such a reprieve was temporary. It may be now, as well, but with his frame no longer an emptied, cavernous vessel, perhaps the effect will be even longer lasting. Perhaps even more euphoric than before, he considers.
And that thought makes him burn even worse, as does his impatience to find out. He will sooner accept this new life of his than he will his own appetence.]
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[And it truly speaks to Glacius' devotion, that he is able to talk about such a sacrifice so easily and simply. When most couples talk about giving all that they are for each other, they do not mean it so literally. Beyond possessions or a place to call home or emotional support—though he offers all of that as well—the alien has pledged the deep well of his very essence to his partner. His life is one lived in service now... and he only seems happier for it, given that it means he gets to keep his partner around.]
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But Glacius doesn't seem bothered by this, and it speaks volumes of what his opinion is in the matter. He's absolutely right: they have years together now, surely more than he would have ever been afforded naturally. They are years the two of them will spend with one another, experiencing a life they could not have seen otherwise: one where Glacius keeps his partner, and one where Carlisle is alive. Moreover, Glacius chose this -- he chose to gift Carlisle his Mote, chose to build this Siphon, chose to surrender his energies bit by bit so that Carlisle could sustain himself on them. He may become a Revenant later, but for now, he exists as some kind of... aural vampire.
As much as Carlisle dislikes the comparison to any undead, figurative or not, he cannot help but be truly touched by his partner's dedication. Those years Glacius is giving up are ones he could have spent serving his people, making his mark upon the worlds with his life beyond his coupling with a mere human. And yet, when given a choice, agency in this awful place where it is so often stripped from them, he chose Carlisle.
The clergyman reddens again, but no longer from embarrassment as he fights back more tears in his eyes. One hand paws at them while the other seeks the comfort of his partner's touch, resting upon his broad, icy chest as they stop before the couch.]
What is it I have done with my life that has made me deserving of such a wonderful partner? Of someone as devoted to me as one may be to his goddess, or to his own people... or more?
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Glacius reaches out to ruffle those cinnamon locks, still mussy from long sleep, in a fond and reassuring way.] We have talked about this before, have we not? You have been a better friend and now partner than I could have ever hoped for; all the times I have needed you most, you have been right at my side. It is only fair that I return the favor—that I give you what you need, same as you have done for me.
[The otherworldly being pauses, then gives Carlisle one more pat before starting to walk them towards the den once more.] And that includes not letting you topple over due to malnourishment. Come, sit, and I will bring you some food and drink. Is there anything you want in particular?
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It is so... unbelievably freeing, and he's not entirely sure how to handle it just yet. He turns his attention to Glacius' question as he takes a seat, hoping it will give him focus.]
Water. No, tea, please. Something mild to sate my stomach and keep it from turning inside-out. [He murmurs the rest quietly beneath his breath, his gaze resting on the curves of Glacius' abdomen.] And then, perhaps something else to ease the rest of me as I explore the limits of this renewed form.
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[Glacius is muttering the last few bits of this as he wanders back into the kitchen, rubbing his tapering chin as he goes; he's so wrapped up in continually trying to provide for his partner that he misses whatever whispered musings Carlisle has to offer. Whatever respective desirous thought the ice alien might harbor are currently taking a back seat to making sure that needs are met, instead. He comes back one piercing kettle-whistle later, with a mug in one hand and a small plate of the promised toast in the other.]
If you'd please. [Glacius speaks calmly—more calmly than one might expect from a being of ice currently gripping hot ceramics—as he holds both dishes out to Carlisle. His eagerness and the tenseness in his hands, however, suggests he is bothered by the heat in some capacity.] These are rather warm.
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[Carlisle takes the offered plate and mug, grateful to find he has the energy to do so -- his fingers remain a bit stiff and his hands a bit unsteady, but it's likely the effects of having only recently awakened from a long sleep rather than his body failing him. He sets the plate atop the coffee table, deciding he'd rather have a drink first. He's used to drinking just a bit greedily, the warmth slowly seeping into his limbs, if at all -- he finds almost immediately that, now that his senses are back to normal, he probably shouldn't do that anymore.
He pulls the mug from his lips quickly, wincing as he swallows.]
Desth, that burns!
[Despite that, he's... smiling.]
I'll- I'll have to adjust to that, as well, I see.
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Then the quiet laughter comes. Glacius is not sure why it is this one seemingly insignificant little show of change that has finally broken through the dam of his worried attentiveness, allowing his genuine relief and happiness to flow like a river he can do nothing to stem. Maybe the other changes were so shocking it has taken them some time to truly sink in, too good to be true as they had seemed; maybe it's just that a minor burn is currently the worst of his once dying partner's concerns now. Or maybe it is a lot of things, all falling away to afford them this singular moment of hope, of a life renewed.
Whatever the case is, Glacius finally flops heavily on the couch next to Carlisle, too relieved to keep himself upright anymore; his hands curl into fists at his knees to keep himself from slinging an arm around his partner while he's holding hot food and drink.] There's... going to be a lot to adjust to. [And he cannot help but chortle again; the heavy blinks of his eyes suggest that if he shed tears like a human, he'd have to be wiping them away now.] The biggest one being that I no longer have to worry about you being taken from me prematurely. I cannot believe... I mean... I am so happy, Carlisle. I cannot fully describe to you the joy I am feeling.
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His life has been one largely of denial. He didn't deserve such things, he'd said so often; he was just asking for more misfortune for both himself and those around him. It was better to deny himself companionship than to tempt fate. Besides, he could not lose what he'd never had in the first place.
Things are different now -- so, so different. With his food and drink aside, he brushes some crumbs away and turns his full attention to his partner.]
Neither can I. Everything I feel is so... intense at the moment. Light and color and incredible sensation in what has been an increasingly numb existence. I- I could hardly feel myself these past few days. Not- not days while recovering, obviously, but before. I was keeping busy out of habit, merely moving due to routine rather than truly living. I was already a shell, hollow. It was only through fear that I felt alive, even with you.
[He never told Glacius, but deep down, he knows his partner knew. Carlisle knows he's been needy as of late, calling Glacius home, wanting him to stay in the mornings rather than go on patrol; however, no matter how tenaciously the clergyman clung to life, it still ebbed from his mortal frame day by day, what color he had in his hair and skin fading along with it.
It's all back now, but for how long? He doesn't know -- but he doesn't want to waste what time he has been given, either.]
It will take time to adjust, but now we take comfort in that we can. There is time now, and- and I want nothing more than to spend it with you.
[He places his hand on Glacius', his fingers curling across his icy knuckles. His voice is barely a whisper, despite them being alone.]
I want... I want to explore all of these things with you, Glacius. This joy, and this apprehension, hope and- and uncertainty about our future. But most of all, this hammering in my chest the closer I am to you. Has it always been like that? Have I always felt as though my heart would explode when I am near you? Have I just never noticed it before? Or had I simply forgotten what it felt like?
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The ice alien lowers his head ever so slightly so that he can stare quietly into his partner's eyes. Then, letting the feelings of the moment guide him, he leans in for a gentle eskimo kiss, nuzzling the cold and glossy curve of his nasal cap against the bridge of Carlisle's nose. He is fairly certain he's reading an invitation there; in the choice of words, and in the subtle, stolen glances.] ... I could... likely make it beat a bit harder still... if that is what you desire. If you would allow me a moment to be terribly forward, I-I have to admit that my own hearts race to think what it might be like to experience such a thing now that you are restored.
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You never need ask for a moment to be forward, Glacius. I would never dream of denying you — us — such a request... such desires.
[His arm trembles from holding him up; he holds onto his partner as he straddles Glacius' lap, not breaking contact with him for even a second. He's not sure he could even if he wanted to, the steady throbbing of his heart and the hum of the Mote within him fueling his curiosity and impulses in equal measure.]
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