#lonelyeyesweek

[lonelyeyesweek]

[ID: A digital picture of an open notebook on an orange background with an orange pen and paper airplane next to it. By context it's implied it belongs to Rosie Zampano.

On top of the page there is the Institute's logo with "The Magnus Institute of Paranormal Research" written next to it.

Underneath it on the left side there is an orange writing saying "TO DO LIST". The bullet points under it say:

- "Check Elias' budget report (as if it's even necessary)

- Schedule the appointments for next week

- Make reservation for Elias for that sushi place he likes on Wednesday

- Answer emails

- Make a reservation for Elias in that fancy restaurant (whatever it's called... something french?) on Friday

- go through mail

- Order flowers in Mr Lukas' name for Elias (Tell Tadeas to inform his boss that i am not his assistant either)

- Remind Elias I'm just his secretary!! Not his personal assistant (But first ask for a vacation!)"

There are some doodles scattered around the paper, most of them stars. There is also sticky note slapped at the bottom of the page. The writing on it says: "Tell Jon to stop coming in to ask about the Lukas'". Due to the color and handwriting it's implied Elias wrote it.

End of ID]

[trustworthy-liar]

You would do this in front of my salad?! (Dead ex)

[p1nkwitch]

Day two of @lonelyeyesweek

Mixed both dream and mythology.

When he was eight his Simon warned him about sirens, dangerous creatures that would lure sailors with their beautiful voices to force them to steer their ships towards cliffs just to crash and die, they could look both like a mermaid of sorts or there were those that looked like bird people. At that age he had been both fascinated and terrified of the tales, his mother was not pleased with Simon, chastising him and telling him to stop scaring him or giving him ideas. Simon simply laughed and ruffled his hair. He was a family friend, albeit Peter was never sure of who exactly, maybe uncle Nathaniel?

[jasperthecapser]

So I hustled my ass and wrote day 4s prompt so I’m no longer behind!

Here it is:

@lonelyeyesweek I finished!

[nonbinaryeye]

The Gentleman and The Beast

Written for @lonelyeyesweek

Day 3 - Fairytale

There is a castle with a rose garden the Beast has grown to despise. There is also the Gentleman who is not a Lady nor a Witch and he happens to stumble upon the place. Which is impossible, no one should be able to find it. Yet there he is, to the Beast's great displeasure. And he is offering to help

Read on AO3

...

The story starts innocently, as many stories for children start – there is enchanted castle and cursed garden and a terrifying creature living there. However, this is not your usual bedtime story for little kids. It can hardly be even called a fairytale. Let's not get ahead of ourselves though...

As has been said, the story starts with a castle in the woods. One could be tempted to call it a ruin as the building has seen better days, nature slowly claiming what once was hers. Weeds sprouting from the floors, bushes spreading all around, blocking doors, while wild ivy has taken upon itself to block the windows. Parts of the wall seem to be crumbling down altogether. But the Beast still thinks about the building as about the castle. Because they know it used to be one. Even though their memories of the better days of the building are fading as quickly as the plaster on those walls that are still standing, rotting away in their mind as surely as the wooden parquets are rotting under their feet.

You see, as it often is in fairytales, the Beast has not always been the Beast. The Beast does not clearly remember what or who they used to be. They do not remember how they turned to be the Beast, what exactly has happened - to them, to other possible residents of the place, to their memories, to the castle.

And frankly, they also do no care.

Here comes one of the few differences from the way fairytales usually go. The Beast does not suffer by solitude, nor are they bothered by their look nor their current existence in general. Their own past does not matter to the Beast. On the contrary, they are quite content. One might even say, they prefer their life like this! Afterall, they are left alone. Finally, no one annoys them. There is much less pressure on one when they look like a horrible monster from scary stories told to children to prevent them from wandering off too far in the woods.

The Beast is not sure how exactly they look – there is no mirror big enough to capture their entire frame. And even those few smaller ones in rusting frames are nto very helpful as they all seem to be broken. A brief glimpse of a jaw full of sharp teeth and pieces black fur here and grey scales there, that is all they can get from reflection in broken galls or still water. They do not mind though as they could not care less what they look like right now. Only thing they are interested in even less, is how they used to look when they were still human. If they ever really were human at all. As has been said, their memory, which probably was not the greatest to begin with, is starting to fail them a bit.

And so given all this informations, you might ask what this story is even supposed to be about? The Beast is perfectly happy as they are, are they not? There seems to be no issue that needs a resolution since the Beast is fine, happy even with their curse. (If they even really are cursed.)

And, well, that indeed would be the case.

If only it was not for the roses.

Those damned roses.

Yes, the Beast is not certain how exactly they have become the Beast. If one still assumes there used to be times, they were not the Beast… But no, there must have been some before because they remember the gardens. They used to be beautiful. Acres upon acres of beautiful flowery surrounding the castle. They were gorgeous and colourful and diverse. That is the only glimpse of the past they can remember clearly. (They assume it is because it is the only glimpse of the past they wanted to preserve.) But now? Now everything is consumed by roses. No one can tell there used to be any other flowers than in the past.

But they are just weak and fragile flowers, are they not? Yes, they have thorns but at the end of the day what are some colourful petals on a feeble stem against a powerful monster with sharp claws and teeth and thick fur and scales? The Beast is asking themselves every day the exact same question before they start to fight them. They should know better by now. It ends up every time exactly the same way. The roses are there taunting them by their full blossom and how hard it really can be to rip away at least one of them?

And so the Beast tries to tear them out and rip them apart and their efforts are in vain, as for every drop of their blood spilled, there seems to be a new one. Laughing at them with its existence. The Beast knows it is pointless battle and they keep failing again and again, and the fight has been lost countless times already but… but what if today is the day? What if…? They try again and again. The teeth sinking into the greenery, the claws attacking the ground trying to rip the plans out with its roots. And sometimes for a few seconds it almost seems like they can do it, that the stems of the flowers are about to break, that their roots cannot be that deep… And the Beast puts in more and more strength and nothing is still happening. And… are there more of them again? Have they always been so tall and their thorns so sharp?

Anyhow. As it surprises probably no one but the Beast – today is not that day. It is just another day they in defeat end up licking their wounds back at the ruins of the castle, bleeding from cuts from those damn roses. The gardens they remember have no roses in them. Why are the flowers there? What has happened to all the other flowers?

“Were you trying to rip out the roses again?”

Ah, do you still remember those statements about how the Beast is being left alone, in happy solitude, with no one annoying them? Well, that one might be not entirely true as well.

The Gentleman enters the room. His hair has the colour of forest in the autumn, his eyes are cold like cloudy sky and his skin is decorated with freckles as stars decorate the night horizon. The fact that he must be a proper Gentleman, can be easily deduced from the fancy and sumptuous clothing (from the little the Beast knows about clothing). Another secret that one could figure by the clothes is that the Gentleman must have been living there for a while. His green coat is a bit tattered, waistcoat and shirt wrinkled, the pants and boots are dirty and stocking has tears in them (not that the Beast has to be guessing this – they are painfully aware of the Gentleman’s presence.)

The Gentleman does not seem to fit in this story at all. Maybe only as a victim the Beast might have abducted. This assumption would be, of course, wrong. As it has already been said, the Beast very much enjoys their peaceful loneliness. They would wish for nothing more than to get the Gentleman as far from their castle as possible.

“Let me look at it.”

The Beast says nothing. They know how to speak. The man knows they know how to speak as well. They still prefer being silent most of the time. It is not as if their unwelcomed guest has actually needed an answer. He always acts as he pleases, disregarding wishes of the Beast. Wishes such as for him to leave, to leave their castle, to leave the Beast. Leave them alone in their happy solitude and never-ending fights with greenery.

The Gentleman steps closer to the Beast, to the new wounds in their skin form their pointless battle. Closer to their sharp claws and pointy teeth and rough fur and spiky scales. And why is he not afraid? It would be so easy for the Beast to crush the man. Tear him to pieces. He is not out of unbeatable flora like those rose bushes are, he is made out of soft flesh. They should do it just for his cocky confidence, daring to approach them like this!

“You should know it is futile by now, Peter. There is something wrong with them. They are cursed. You cannot just rip them out. How dense are you? Why are you still trying?”

He keeps calling them Peter. He claims it might be their name. He was giving them a lengthy explanation how he came to that conclusion involving some portraits and chronicles he found and destroyed rooms he examined. They could not care less. They have no need for a company nor a name.

“Wait here. I will get some water and bandages. I am really starting to run out of spare sheets, you know?”

No one asked him to tend to their wounds. Not now, not ever. The Beast is tempted to remind him that but then they would need to break their stubborn silence.

“I know you hate roses. Not that you have ever bothered to elaborate on why exactly… What crime have those flowers committed? Because I find it hard to believe, it is worth your reckless attempts to fight them. Especially since they seem to flourish more every day whereas you are the one left with bleeding wounds.”

The Beast knows this. They know that those roses grow more with every drop of their blood falling upon them. And they are not sure they mean it just figuratively. Bloodthirsty flowers driving them mad.

“Well? Nothing to say in your defence?”

The Beast knows how much the man hates the silence. How desperate he is to talk with them, to fill the silence with the sound of his own voice. They do not want to give him the desired conversation but the man seems to be way too happy to just argue with them on any given occasion anyways. They should stand their ground and not give him the satisfaction of response. However even more than the noise he makes, the Beast hates to be scolded and talked down to. The Gentleman needs to be reminded of his place. (It is all partly his fault anyway!)

“You promised you'd get rid of them. They are still there!“ they growl. And the Gentleman rolls his eyes and the Beast gets angry that they bothered to say anything. They always promise themselves not to speak another syllable to him unless they are planning for their words to be the last thing the Gentleman ever hears. They can never manage to keep the promise, annoying persistence of the Gentleman somehow always breaks them.

It would probably be appropriate to give you an explanation on how exactly the strange Gentleman came into the picture. However, as it was stated before, the Beast does not care about the Gentleman nor about his story. They do not really care how it happened that he has decided to disrupt his solitude and invite himself to his residence. They only care how to make him leave. Because they do not believe he can keep his promise to get rid of the roses anyway.

“I’ve already told you I could possibly destroy them in a few days if you allow me to use fire,” the Gentleman scoffs, approaching them with water and sheets.

“No fire!” The Beast howls mildly ashamed that they let a sign of fear creep in their voice.

“Then be patient.”

The Gentleman kneels next to him with a bucket of water and his improvised bandages made out of old bed sheets. He starts carefully washing the wound with a spare piece of cloth. His hands are soft. Fingers long, thin and moving skilfully. How small and fragile he looks next to them and yet he has no decency to be afraid. On the contrary when he raises his head and their eyes accidentally meet he gives them a scolding look. That is too much.

“You don’t need to do this. I was fine before,” they pull away, bumping into the bucket. A bit of water spills.

“I call it a small miracle to be honest,” the Gentleman seems unimpressed. He lets the wet cloth fall on the ground and picks up the sheets. “Let me just help you.”

“I don’t want you to!” The Beast snarls showing their teeth. They enjoy the sparkle of panic that appears on the Gentleman’s face. Instincts winning over his rational mind for a second. He gains his composure back quickly. Quicker than the Best would like.

“You don’t want me to? You don’t want me to what?” he steps closer, curling one hand on his chest. Bucket also gets into his way, but again somehow it gains stability, “To be here? To talk to you? To acknowledge you? To help you with those damned roses?”

“I could deal with them alone. Eventually. It is better than have you here disturbing my peace and-”

“Yes, yes, you don’t like me and you want to be left alone in your home. You’ve told me that plenty of times. And trust me, I would love to grant you your wish. I don’t like this ruin; I want to return back to society and to my friends. Neither of us is happy in this situation,” the Gentleman pauses when he realises how aggravated he has gotten. He takes a deep breath and there is a sparkle of something (excitement? ambition?) in his eyes, “ But! And here comes the important part – but we can both benefit from it in the long run. I need a place to stay for a bit and I need your books. And you need someone who will be more effective in disposing of the roses.”

The Gentleman looks at them in expectation. And the Beast knows and hates that he is right. They do hate those roses enough that they would be willing to let someone remain and stay here. But! But why does it take him so long? They are starting to doubt, despite his bold words and promises, that he will be able to do it. They turn away and growl. He looks annoyed, good. Mumbling something, he drops the sheets and turns around. Finally leaving them alone. Their eyes slide towards the bandages. Maybe they should let him wrap them around their wounds first…

No! No, enough with this nonsense. They are fine, they have always been fine! They angrily crush the bucket with one of their claws. The water spills on the decaying parquet floor. The weeds finding its way through them appreciate the sudden watering.

They might kill him. They have not made up their mind yet. Of course, they will do so only after he will get them rid of the roses. If he is even able to, of course… Yes, they might decide to kill him sooner if he keeps annoying them like this. It would be satisfying to finally successfully crush something and spilling other blood then their own. They find comfort in the thoughts of the Gentleman's demise as they lick their untended wounds.

…

Let's leave the Beast to be the Beast and look closer at the Gentleman. One might assume this story will seem more like a fairytale if it was told from his point of view. One would be wrong. Because his story is even less of a fairytale than the Beast’s one.

There is a castle in the woods. Well, not a castle exactly, it is a mansion at best. And it has fallen to ruins. However, the building itself nor the state of it were exactly the Gentleman’s greatest concerns at the moment he found it. At that point he was simply grateful for a shelter. (The complaints about it came later).

The Gentleman who is neither a Lady nor a Witch has happened to stumble upon it by accident when he was being chased away by a crowd of people who have not shared many of his worldview’s ideas or general opinion regarding lots of aspects of his life.

Ah, well, what can one expect from silly simple villagers whose minds and opinions are ruled by myths and stories instead of science and reason. Though as much as the Gentleman wishes to dismiss every witless thing they have ever said and believed, they might have been right about few of them after all. Not about him, what and who he should be, of course! But the story told to children about a mindless monstrous beast seeking people to feed on living deep inside the forest seems to be somewhat based on truth.

As it always is, they have gotten quite a few things wrong. First of all, even though the Gentleman would probably not consider the Beast to be his intellectual equal, he was still able to have much more pleasant conversation with him than with the majority of the people from his hometown. Which is really saying something of the character of the people from the place he has come from, considering the fact that the Beast is perpetually annoyed and unwilling conversational partner with a very limited amount of topics he is willing to converse with him about.

Second of all, the Beast is not really hunting down any people. On the contrary, he does his best to avoid any human interaction at all. Or, well, that is what the Gentleman choses to believe over the option that the Beast is choosing to avoid only him specifically.

And third of all, yes, the Beast could be quite terrifying in his rageful attacks. However so far he has witnessed them to be aimed only against rose bushes surrounding the mansion.

Overall, the reality of fairytales about the evil Beast in the dark forest are quite disappointing in regards of his danger and ruthlessness. 

Nevertheless, a much more interesting fairytale – often told with the first one – is about dark magic. Oh yes, as Gentleman has learnt upon examining every room in these ruins, magic indeed is real. And can be leant. The library is full of dark complicated books telling him so at least. As a man of academia, naturally, his first action upon learning so, is to break every seal to get to all the dark secrets the old dusty pages are hiding. He has not entirely gotten a grasp on how magic can exist and be possible. However, he is starting to get a grasp on how to perform it.

As the Gentleman made quite clear he certainly is not a Lady. And he will never be one. Neither is he a Witch. Not yet . But that might change really soon. He is working on it.

He will make them all regret. The people scroning at him and judging him and pitying him. And those who have never met him but would do so given the chance as well. He will make all of the world respect him and fear him. They were all so insistent that he is a witch? He will become one then. And show them that their action has consequences. (And really who could possibly be as stupid as to try to run off a witch with torches and pitchforks as any of those things could really stop a powerful being controlling magic.)

He will show them all!

But not to get ahead of himself. First, he has to properly learn magic. And after that, well… he supposes that after that he should get rid of those damn roses as he might have ambitiously promised and as his impatient host keeps demanding. It will be a good training of his newly gained skills. As soon as he gains those said skills of course. Who would have guessed one cannot master magic overnight?

Unlike the Beast he has a name. Or to be more exact, he used to have one. But he did not really like it. It did not really suit him as many things did not in the life he used to have, life he lived before he came to this place. And so it is not really important to state said name as it is not relevant anymore. He will figure out a new one. Better one, more fitting for him. It is not his priority right now as there is no one who would call him by said name anyway.

And talking about names, the Gentleman is certain the Beast used to have a name too. He might have even been a human in the past. An inhabitant of this house probably, as Beast keeps from time to time talking about a past where there were no roses, just beautiful gardens full of blooming flowers. The Gentleman could not care less about the flowers. The Beast on the other hand naturally piqued his interest. He must be old. No, not old. Stuck in time. He does not seem to be bothered by it. By either his current form, nor his inability to perform certain things due to it, nor by his seclusion here. The only thing bothering him are those roses and, well, since recently, the Gentleman’s presence as well. There must be some very interesting story behind his unwilling host and his appearance and the magic books lying in the library. He hopes he will learn it one day. Though it is quite unlikely that it will be any time soon.

The Gentleman is interrupted from his musing over books and his studies by sudden sound of gentle yet heavy steps on decrepit carpet. He turns around to see a tall shadow looming from behind bookshelves near the door. The Gentleman is sitting in a chair in a corner of the library, his favourite place here. The books and notes scattered everywhere around him, thoughts a bit unfocused and in a similar state of disarray, as he might have forgotten yet again he needs to sleep from time to time.

“You are surprisingly stealthy for a three metres tall monster, unfortunately you still are a three-metre-tall monster so I have noticed your presence.”

The Beast lets own quiet growl. He stares at him with his dark eye of a predator who shows no sign that an intelligent mind might be hiding behind them. It still unsettles the Gentleman but over the months staying here, he has gotten used to his strange behaviour and this is far from the most alarming of his habits. He suspects that he does it on purpose. He wants him to be unsettled which is the reason why he cannot give him such satisfaction.

At the end of the day many threats are spoken from the Beast's mouth regularly but none of them is ever acted upon.

“Is there something bothering you or have you just missed my company that much, Peter?” The Beast keeps measuring him silently. Honestly, he does not really know if that is really the name of the person that has become the Beast. But it always bothers him when he calls him that and so he keeps doing so. Maybe it is a bit unwise to tease a powerful scary creature when he is still so powerless and weak but what other joys has his life to offer right now?

His theory regarding the past identity of the Beast is based on the silliest things. Some rich family used to live here – even though the mansion is partly in ruin one might not be afraid to call it a castle. The rooms and remains of furniture and clothes says so much. There are even portraits and names underneath them as well as on entrance to certain rooms. The one which used to belong to someone named Peter seems to be especially in a state of destruction, not by time but by deliberate effort of someone or something. Same can be said about portraits barring said name…

Though it is perfectly possible that this was never the home of the Beast when they still used to be human. It is possible that the Beast never was a human. Whoever used to live here possessed magic. It might all be a spell gone wrong, it might have been a deliberate curse, it might have been summoning. But it is simply easier to hope and to pretend that the being whose home he decided to invade is somewhat humanlike inside and therefore giving it…? …them? …him? a name is a good start in enforcing the idea. 

“I see, just unnerving staring it is today. It is hard to work under your gaze, you know?”

The Beast still does not speak and it is no surprise, he likes to do that - giving him silent treatment. As if he hoped that the silence would draw him away. That if he will ignore him long enough, the Gentleman will leave him alone. It is just the Beast’s wishful thinking. The Gentleman has no place to go. If he had any other options he would not be here, he would not willingly choose the Beast as his cohabitant. It will take much more than a few threats and uncomfortable looks to get him to leave.

“Shall I read you something?”

What tragic life. Being surrounded by so many powerful books yet unable to read any. Peter does not seem to be bothered by it nor really interested in reading in general. Or so the Gentleman thought at first. And of course the Beast never really asked him to read him anything. But after one argument regarding the Beast’s origin and how curses and magic works in a desperate attempt to make a point and make him listen, the Gentleman brought him a book with a silly fairytale and read it to him. They did not really end up agreeing but at the moment he read to him aloud Peter got strangely peaceful, strangely captivated by what was just a silly children’s fairytale. (Of course, when Gentleman pointed that out he denied it and left.)

“I don't care. I do not need a reason to wander through my own home,” the Beast says with a surprisingly soft and quiet voice. He always speaks like that as if he is scared from hearing himself speak.

“As you wish then. Hope you will not mind too much if I happen to read some story out loud then.” The Gentleman reaches for the worn-out book of fairy tales he keeps close in case the Beast decides to interrupt his studies.

“I told you I don’t want that!” Peter growls. It is a scary sound coming right from his throat. It used to terrify him but he slowly grew accustomed to it as all Peter does is giving him empty threats.

“Do as you wish. I am intending to do so whether you will stay or not. No one is forcing you to listen to it.” Gentleman suppresses a smile and opens the book on the page he read last time before Beast fell asleep listening to him. And the Beast reluctantly stays and listens. He tries to pretend not to care but he soon forgets himself, clearly hanging on every word coming from the Gentleman’s mouth, curiosity filling his big dark monstrous eyes in such a human-like… child-like expression.

And yes, the Gentleman finds the Beast fascinating and of course he tries to stay on civil terms with him... However, it is important to note that Gentleman has no concrete fondness for his host. He might kill him. He has not made up his mind yet. Right now, he is useful.

One might have a dilemma over the fact that if the Beast used to be a person, killing him might equal to taking a human life. The Gentleman naturally does not have the dilemma as he is already planning to kill a lot of people once he masters the magic. Or maybe do something even worse. Completely excusable though, at least in his eyes. He refused to perform the part of a Lady they gave him but a Witch, that he can do. He will see. The point is that from all the humans he has met the Beast has been the one that treated him the most decently. And he is truly a miserable host.

So really he will have to give it some more consideration. If he will kill the Beast or not…

It should be said that this is not the beginning of the story of the Beast and the Gentleman. The story began a long time ago when the Beast might have been a human and when the Gentleman might have still been trying to play an unfitting role given to him by society. 

It should be said that this uncanny fairytale is nowhere near to its end. No, their story is far from over. It has just begun getting to the good part. There is a lot to happen before you might try to draw some conclusions, before you will be able to decide what kind of story it even is. 

Romance? 

Certainly not. 

Horror?

Possibly.

Tragedy? 

That might be it… How could it not, when they both are full of pride with only their own interest in their heart? It is unlikely they could ever become friends. Such things could only happen in fairytales. They could find their happy ending only in fairytale. And if it is not clear enough yet – this is not a fairytale..

[lasalebete]

I MANAGED to do a little something for the @lonelyeyesweek despite the various Happenings of my life. HOPEFULLY willl manage to do some more.

For day 1: Kiss!

[cnaaawd]

LonelyEyes week Day 2: Proposal

Collab with @eliasbouchardmalewife

i am literally only just realising that proposal probably referenced their marriage proposal, but elias proposing (BEGGING FOR) a raise is funnier

[ghostsboytoy]

@lonelyeyesweek

Day 2! wagers/proposal! 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34019962

short fic for today, let me know if you like it!

[creatrixanimi]

I drew an angsty thing for the last day of @lonelyeyesweek I like thinking about Elias being sad about Peter dying knowing full well he let it happen for his own benefit. And he would do it again. Also I couldn’t decide which colors I liked better.

[teeholding]

Quick contribution to @lonelyeyesweek because it’s been far too long since I’ve drawn my favorite ship captain. Yes, I did have fun looking up flower meanings. No, I did not bother checking if any of these would realistically be in a bouquet; you will simply have a deal with Elias being Like This. 

[IMAGE ID: A digital drawing of Elias Bouchard and Peter Lukas from The Magnus Archives. They are standing outside on a clear day, in a park. Peter is a tall pale man with short white-grey hair and a beard. He is wearing a teal sweater with a dark blue overcoat and a dark blue sea captain’s hat. His hands are in his pockets and he looks confused. Elias is a smaller man standing next to him with neat brown-grey hair, in a white and red shirt. He has one hand behind his back and is holding a bouquet of red, orange, and yellow flowers in the other. He appears pleased and is holding out the flowers towards Peter, as a gift. END ID]

[lonelyeyesweek]

[ID: Digital image with several pieces of crumbled papers and a pen lying on a light blue background around a note. The note is also slightly crumpled. The note is written in green text implying it was made by Elias.

The note itself says: "Don't you dare forget again Peter, or there will be consequences." There's a doodle of a heart at the end of the text. There's an insignia with the logo of the Magnus Institute of paranormal research on the bottom of the paper. There's also a doodle of an eye at the top of the paper. End of ID]

[trustworthy-liar]

Decades old promise

[p1nkwitch]

Day one of lonelyeyesweek: Letters. Dear Peter. I am writing this to you to let you know you must attend the next funding party at the institute. Not only because I asked you to, but because I had Nathaniel call me and tell me to let you know there is a wedding coming soon and he cannot get a hold of you by any other means. Apparently it's big enough of a deal for him to request my help and since you wont pick up your emergency phone or answer the emails you have been sent, it has fallen to me to write you a letter. Anyhow, you must return back to London by September, no exceptions. With love, your beloved Husband Elias Bouchard. Ps: If you tear this letter down and miss either the wedding or party, rest assured you will not be welcome to the flat or Mooreland.

[jasperthecapser]

I decided this year to participate in the LonelyEyes week!

So here’s day 1:

@lonelyeyesweek come get your meal!

[nonbinaryeye]

Regrets we make along the way

Written for @lonelyeyesweek

Day 4 - Regrets

Elias always brings one too many philosophical questions into their conversation. Peter to his own surprise sometimes does not completely hate talking to his fiancé. They also both have a cup of coffee.

Read on AO3

...

It is a lovely autumn afternoon in London. Sun is shining through colourful leaves that are slowly exchanging fresh summer green into warmer coulours. It is not fully cold yet and the nice weather is tempting people into leaving their jackets at home. Chilly breeze that appears out of nowhere from time to time makes those who give into temptation regret it.

There are two men sitting on a bench in Hyde Park. One is a bit taller with an untidy beard while the other looks like a model from some magazine cover. Maybe they might look a bit like an unlikely pair but one thing is certain. They are in love, there is no doubt about it. They stare into each dreamily, the smaller one says something to which the taller one laughs at and then he caresses the face of his lover before he pulls him into a slow and romantic kiss. What a lovely picture their young love paints, some people walking by them might think.

There is also an older man sitting alone just two benches away from them with a frown on his face. He has an awkward presence about himself and is dressed in a much warmer coat than the pleasant autumn weather would require. As if he were dressed to battle a cold morning at sea and not a sunny London afternoon. He has been staring at their vague direction for a while. Somehow, they did not notice his focused stare. Even people walking by him seem to pass him without notice, quickly making their way around without giving him a second look. Most of the people at least…

“Feeling all Lonely, admiring young love and dedicated partnership or looking for a new victim?” Elias Bouchard, a well dressed gentleman with a never fully genuine smile on his face sits on the bench next to the frowning man, Peter Lukas, and also looks at the young couple nearby. He seems to be in quite a cheerful mood which means his comapny will be quite insufferable. Not that Elias could ever have a mood that Peter would not describe as insufferable.

“You are late,” Peter says to his partner instead of a greeting. He has not checked the time but he knows that Elias must be late because he arrived as always – with half an hour delay. Unfortunately, his husband seemed to be prepared for it. No, not husband, fiancé. Probably. It is hard to keep track. But Peter is quite certain he has been talking a lot about their next wedding yesterday. Not even in any vague terms, he spent a lot of time comparing fonts to put on the invitations and colours of ribbons to tie wedding bouquets with.

“Stop staring, Peter, or they will think you are homophobic.”

“They cannot see me,” Peter shrugs. What a weird weather phenomena that on such a sunny day there appears to be a spot of fog in the middle of Hyde Park.

“I could have either been on time or I could bring you coffee,” Elias hands Peter his vanilla frappuccino with extra syrup and Peter hates how well his partner knows his order. “I planned to arrive on time. I usually do, as you of course cannot fully know and appreciate, as you apparently still haven’t fully grasped the concept of time or being on time. Anyway the waiting line there was awful. People and their complicated orders… Well, it could have been worse though, the line was even longer when I was leaving.” Elias takes a sip of coffee from his large cup filled to a brim with espresso shots. Peter wonders if he only pretends lack of awareness of being the culprit of holding the line or if he genuinely does not consider his order a bit unconventional. Of course Peter cannot be bothered to actually ask.

“Hmh…” he turns his sight towards his cup knowing very well that his husband-to-be does not really need him for a conversation.

 “They are not actually as happy as they seem. Quite the opposite.” Peter raises his head confused. It takes him a few seconds to realise Elias’ ever wandering mind and gaze that never stops watching has turnt back again to the couple from before.

“It would please me not to know anything about them the most.” Peter might have better chances at persuading the water to stop being wet than at persuading his partner to stop Knowing and sharing said knowledge when he puts his mind to it.

“You see the handsome one cuddling so lovingly to his amore? He was fired yesterday. And he was always bad with money so he does not really have much in savings. He will need quite some financial help from his partner. He is still trying to muster up courage to tell him that… I wonder what his lover’s answer will be. You see he’s been cheating on his boyfriend for a while and the guilt is eating him up. He wanted to stop the affair but his side piece started to threaten to expose the truth to everyone if he stopped seeing them. So, really they could not be further for an idyllic couple in love. Maybe you would even lift some ease from their shoulders if you made one of them disappear,” Elias smiles with satisfaction one tends to have after a filling meal and lifts the coffee to his lips again.

Peter sighs. All interest he had in strangers in love is lost now. There is no satisfaction now feeding them to the Forsaken when he knows so much about them. Tearing his eyes away he aims all his focus on his drink sweet enough to pierce the numbness of Lonely wrapped about his tastebuds as much as around every other aspect of him. Little indulgence.

They sit next to each other in silence for a while. Their meeting really has no deeper point. A date his partner demanded before Peter leaves. He cannot even recall if Elias won some bet or if Peter decided to agree to this just because. It does not really matter now anyway. Just finish the coffee and leave, that is his plan. When Peter dares to look into the direction of his companion he notices his eyes are closed. Something must have caught his attention, something far away to watch. Peter is blessed with a few minutes of peace where he could almost ignore his presence if it was not for the warmth of another person's body so close to him, he could almost call this moment pleasant.

“What do you regret the most in life?” Elias asks him out of the blue. Unprompted. It could not surprise Peter any less. He likes to get philosophical sometimes and he never bothers to explain where his new chain of thoughts came from. Which is good. Peter would hate to know.

“That I met you.”

Elias laughs. “You know, I think I might actually trust you.” Of course, that he would. Elias does not care whether Peter loves him or hates him. He just wants Peter to feel strongly about him. It is a satisfaction Peter hates giving him. And the worst thing is that even though Peter answered the first thing that came to his mind in hopes of annoying Elias, it might really rather be an honest answer.

What could be worse for a servant of the Lonely than to create a connection, no matter how fickle and shallow it is. That is why he hates reflecting on his life. He hates learning things about himself almost as much as he hates getting known. He furrows his brows and takes a rather large sip of his drink. Syrup and ice and whipped cream all slide to his throat without being tasted properly.

“I suppose there is no point waiting for you to ask ‘and what is your greatest regret?’, is there?” He does not need to look at Elias to know he looks smug right now. He loves annoying him.

“My second biggest regret is that this conversation seems to be continuing.”

“What do you think that I will claim to regret the most?” Despite all his flaws, Peter cannot help himself but finds the way Elias is able to completely and utterly ignore him quite lovely. He does not really need him to participate in the conversation. No one was able to do it like him… Peter is just a prob to him. He is allowed to say his lines but if he stayed silent nothing would change. Elias can converse all the same  with him as with that silly skull of his. (And claim it is a better conversational partner.)

“I do my best not to know anything about you. How should I know?”

“You are no fun. Just take a guess.”

“If you are feeling romantic, you might say ‘marrying me’.” Peter decides to indulge him. This conversation might be over quicker that way.

“Depends which marriage you mean,” smirk appears on his face. Peter is joking of course. He very well knows Elias enjoys their little game of domesticity and connection. Peter suppose there is some charm to it as well. Because it is all so empty and fake.

“So… how long do you plan to torture me…?”

“You cannot even be bothered to guess twice?” he sighs dramatically and Peter braces himself for his next physical monologue, because of course he will force him to listen to his self-reflection and he will also add some story from his past and… “Well, what can be done. I think I feel generous today and therefore I will not answer.”

That sounds uncharacteristically polite. He raises his eyebrows. “Oh and here I was afraid you will claim you do not regret anything. Or that you have too many regrets and you will start listing them alphabetically to me…”

A sleek well manicured fingers gently grab his beard and force him to turn toward his partner. He is watching him curiously. Old but still so very bright grey eyes somehow not fully fitting his face meeting his. It has been a while since Peter looked at him, actually fully looked at him. He does not like the stare, even though he can feel Elias is holding back the full power of his gaze. The gentle fog hanging around starts getting thicker.

“Do not tempt me, Peter, I could.” Elias gently brushes his facial hair and slides his palm on his cheek, caressing it in a similar gesture like the one performed by the lovers they were observing before. His palm is awfully warm.

“Go ahead then.” Peter covers Elias’ hand with his.

“Do you wish to know me, my love?” Elias leans closer and gone is the sunny afternoon, gone is the park. His look is intense and they are fully surrounded by fog. There is tension between them. And Peter hates being so close to someone, to be having conversations such as this, to have someone looking at him at all, let alone so intensely. And yet… Yet it is an indulgence same as the sugary drink. He feels something and he is not sure what but it is an intense feeling nonetheless. He knows it will be his death one day. This man, his greatest mistake he can never learn from.

“Unfortunately, I do know way too many things about you.” Peter pushes his hand away. Elias takes the clue and leans back. Remembers to blink. “And one of them is that you would never reveal such a weakness to me. Whatever answer you would give me, it would be a lie.” Elias chuckles and finally turns his gaze away. The layer of whiteness starts to disperse.

“Unless I would tell you the truth assuming you will consider it a lie…”

“No. I am not letting you drag me into any more of your word plays or imaginary scenarios.” Peter finishes his drink, chews the ice at the bottom of his cup. He indulged him enough. This date needs to continue no longer. He gets up and Elias follows.

“I am shocked. From time to time you can be surprisingly interesting conversation partner Peter.” Elias finishes his drink as well. Then he turns his cheek to him. It takes a few moments before Peter remembers the script and gives him a quick kiss. Their date is done and surprisingly with no victims except for a few bits of his sanity. He grins.

“Ah well… I am always happy to hear you say that you don’t know me that well after all.” 

[lasalebete]

FIRST @lonelyeyesweek DAY LESS GOOOOO

Read on AO3

(tags below the cut)

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas

Tags: Body Worship, Worship, (prompt obliges huh), Office Sex, Blow Jobs, Office Blow Jobs, I'm saying this but it's mainly just a conversation, Conversations, i don't fucking know how to tag this, Bittersweet, I Love You

-

Peter opens the door to Elias' office without any noise. Elias doesn't look up but he narrows his eyes in annoyance when a thin layer of fog enters the room along with his husband. Peter carefully closes the door. Then he walks to Elias' desk and, without saying anything, leans over to open a drawer. He takes out a key and goes back to the door to lock it. Elias gives him an unimpressed look and leans back in his chair as he crosses his arms.

“Would you be this upset if someone walked in? Come on, barely anyone ever comes here.”

Peter still doesn't speak a word. He walks back to the desk and tilts Elias' chin to kiss him firmly. Elias lets his head totally fall back. Peter's eyes are distant, foggy. It often happens when he stays at sea for a longer time than usual. Forsaken can draw a lot of, hah, “social energy”. And so, when he gets back, Pete needs to touch him. To feel his skin, his body, his warmth.

“Seven months and a half, hasn't it been, dear?” Elias says in a low voice when Peter pulls away before sliding his hands on Elias' neck and kissing the skin just next to his ear. 

He isn't expecting Peter to answer. He doesn't. Elias slowly raises a hand toward Peter's face, hesitant. Peter sometimes gets startled and reacts rather violently if he is touched without his permission after this long at sea. He doesn't withdraw and so Elias puts a warm hand on the side of his throat. Peter freezes for a moment and Elias gets ready to remove his hand but Peter places a hand on his own and presses it there. Elias' skin gets quickly cold. Peter takes his wrist and softly kisses it. Then, he puts Elias' hand on the armrest of the chair. Elias sighs but keeps his hand there, leaning his head back to give Peter full access to his throat, his chest— Well, his whole body, really. 

Peter presses kisses everywhere on his face. His cheeks, his lips, his forehead, his brows. He slides his hands under Elias' jacket and firmly holds his sides, crumpling his shirt. And then, before Elias can fully understand what’s happening, Peter sweeps him off his feet and he takes his place on the chair. Elias lets out a surprised gasp at the sudden swap of their position. Peter still doesn't talk but he shoots him a look that clearly means “come”. Elias obliges with a soft smile, he swings a leg over Peter's and sits on his lap. As soon as he settles, Peter drags him in a kiss. Elias steadies himself on the armrests, still carefully not touching Peter anywhere he doesn't want to -being hurled off the chair would still hurt, even if it isn't that high-. 

Peter harshly kisses his throat, pressing his hands on Elias' lower back. He slowly slides his hands to the front of Elias' pants and undoes the button before softly untucking the shirt. He grazes his back with his fingertips, his face buried in the crook of his neck.

Elias bites the inside of his cheek. It feels… Nice. To be wanted. To be— Not loved, of course, Peter doesn’t— Peter doesn’t love him. But desired . He hasn't been desired like this for a long time. He sighs happily as Peter strokes his shoulder blades. He sucks gently at his Adam's apple and kisses his way down his throat while unbuttoning his shirt. He bites down at his collarbone and Elias softly moans. He has to hold back from touching Peter, from tangling his hands in his hair and gripping. Instead, he grips the armrests and arches into Peter's touch. Peter kisses and licks his chest as if it were his salvation. God Elias loves it. Peter licks a line from his sternum to his throat, pulling him closer. Then he kisses back all his way down to his chest. When he reaches the point where he can't bend any lower, he eventually slides Elias' sleeves from his arms, softly. The shirt and jacket stays stuck at Elias' wrists, because he is still holding the armrests. Peter kisses all over his shoulders, sometimes hard, sometimes soft, and then starts to leave light kisses over all of the length of his left arm, at some point taking his wrist to be able to continue without bending down too much. At the same time, he takes advantage of this to fully remove the sleeve stuck there. He does the same thing with the other arm and Elias shivers, letting out a shaky breath when the shirt and jacket finally fall off. Peter kisses the junction at his throat and shoulder. He lets his face buried here as he hugs Elias tightly, squeezing him.

And then Elias takes in a sharp gasp when Peter pushes him away, forcing him to stand up and stumble back. He pushes him against the desk and makes him sit there, and then— And then he kneels. He kneels in front of Elias, who presses a hand over his mouth as he almost moans. His cheeks flush with excitement and he bites his lower lip when Peter starts to so carefully remove his shoes. Oh, he really loves that. Peter then reaches for Elias' waistband and this time Elias helps him to remove his slacks, breathing hard. Peter vaguely throws the trousers over his shoulder, which end on the chair. And when Peter places his hands on Elias' warm thighs, he seems to zone back in. He looks up at his husband and smiles softly.

“Good afternoon, dear,” he says gently, brushing Elias' thighs only with his fingertips.

“Hah— Hello to you too, Peter” he answers as he shivers.

Peter smiles and he kisses Elias' lower stomach, just below his belly button. And then he kisses his inner thighs all over, never quite touching his crotch. Elias moans. His boxer is starting to feel a bit tight. He chokes on thin air when Peter passes one of his legs over his shoulder and kisses it all the way from his inner thigh to his calf. He throws his head back and crumples a few files under his grip. It feels— It feels amazing to be wanted this much. To be desired, to be worshipped. Peter is worshipping him and it feels great . Peter reaches for his stomach, lightly brushing it with his fingertips. Elias looks down at him, biting down on one of his fingers, panting. He whines and hesitantly shifts the leg still thrown over Peter's shoulder to slide his foot to rest there instead. He can— Elias has the power to push him back if he wants to. He gasps sharply when Peter lets his foot here and strokes his legs. Elias pushes his fist against his mouth and swallows thickly.

“I'm— I'm guessing it must've been a draining trip, then,” Elias pants.

Peter hums softly. He straightens up a little and lightly bites Elias' thigh. Elias throws his head back and moans. Then he looks back at Peter, reaches for his face. Peter lets him. He places a hand under his chin, panting.

“Darling—” is all he can get out.

It is exquisite. He feels so good. He is in a total position of power. This thought goes directly to his crotch and he moans. Peter takes the hand from under his chin and gently kisses it. And then each of Eias' fingers and his palm. Elias inhales sharply and bites his lower lip when he tentatively pushes two of his fingers into Peter's mouth. Peter... Accepts. He softly sucks down and licks before pulling away, leaving Elias panting and flushed. Elias takes his hand to his throat and softly brushes his skin, getting it slightly wet. He whines and squeezes his thighs together as he looks down at Peter who is kissing, biting, licking, stroking every part of skin he can reach. Peter looks with amusement at his thighs pressed over his crotch. He reaches over and slowly spreads Elias' legs apart. Elias suppresses a cry when Peter slides his hands under his boxer and lightly brushes the skin there.

“Would you like a hand with that, dear?” Peter asks with a smile.

“Oh, God, yes —”

“But you'll have to move your foot, darling.”

Elias whines and bites his lip. He looks down at Peter, breathing hard, and presses his foot on his shoulder. He visibly hesitates for a few seconds. Peter slightly arches an eyebrow at his husband and ever so softly brushes the skin just above the waistband of his boxer.

“I can't really do much from there, you know.”

“Yes— Yes, I know, but— Hah—” He throws his head back when Peter lightly bites his thigh. “Alright— Alright, please come here—” His foot slips from Peter's shoulder.

Peter smiles softly and kisses Elias' inner thigh before getting up. Elias gasps and opens his legs widely when Peter buries his face in his neck. He slides his hands in his hair, messing it up, gripping as he kisses his throat. Elias grabs his face to kiss him and before sliding just his fingertips under the hem of his sweater. He rests their foreheads together when he pulls away.

“Want to…?”

Peter nods without a word and Elias helps him out of his sweater and shirt. He squeezes him against him as soon as his clothes fall on the floor. Elias shivers but he hugs him back, pulling him closer. And he gasps when Peter slides one of his hands to rub his cock.

“Peter— You don’t need to—”

Peter chuckles.

“Enjoying the cuddling, Mister Bouchard?”

“Enjoying the cuddling, Mister Lukas?”

Peter laughs before dropping to his knees again. He pulls down his boxers and doesn’t wait one second before taking him in his mouth. Elias lets out a surprised yelp and gasps with pleasure as he quickly starts to get him off. He slides a hand in his hair and Peter closes his eyes as he wraps a hand around his cock too. Elias allows himself to look at him with softness, only because his eyes are closed.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers.

Peter opens his eyes. Pale blue eyes, that could almost seem grey. Elias gasps. He rubs his thumb on his cheek, strokes his face, Peter leans into it, closing his eyes again. His forefinger traces the bags under his eyes. Elias wants to kiss him. Maybe later. For now he presses a kiss on two fingers and brushes them across Peter’s closed eyelids. He feels something warm pooling in his chest. 

“I love you.”

He doesn’t say it per se, he mouths the words. He smiles, slowly, gently brushing Peter’s skin, he wants to kiss him. He feels himself taking some distance from his body. He looks through some eyes in the room. He sees himself softly touching Peter, he sees Peter carefully trying to bring him over the edge. He is close, he thinks so, he recognizes the sensation but… It’s not really pleasure. He was excited at first, but now he just feels… Warm. He’s still going to come, Peter is indeed giving him enough stimulation. He thinks for a second as he takes his awareness back to his body, considering as he slides his hands in Peter’s hair. He doesn’t want pleasure. He wants something else. He’s not sure what. He wants something. Maybe Peter can give it to him, later. He hopes so. For now he comes down Peter’s throat with a moan, gripping his hair and throwing his head back. He soon lets go of his hair but Peter doesn’t move, doesn’t pull out, merely rests his cheek on his thigh, eyes closed, still lazily stroking him. Elias combs his hair over with his fingers. Maybe tonight Peter will let him brush his hair. He suddenly wants to brush his hair. He wants to get rid of the excessive dampness staining it. He wants— He wants… Something, for sure. He… Doesn’t know what. 

“Peter…”

He opens his eyes, barely, to look up at him. Elias opens his mouth but nothing comes out, because he doesn’t know what to say. So he doesn’t say anything and after a moment Peter closes his eyes again, doesn’t ask any questions and Elias gets that urge to tell him that he loves him again. It must be because he hasn’t seen him in a while. He gently passes his fingers through his hair. 

“Peter.”

He doesn’t have any point, and it must show because Peter doesn’t even open his eyes. 

“Peter,” he says softly.

He doesn’t want to call him, doesn’t have anything to say, he just wants to say his name, just wants to hear the syllables roll on his tongue. It doesn’t seem to bother Peter. He doesn’t really pay attention to him. 

“Peter,” he whispers.

He hums softly, playing with his hair. Peter eventually pulls out and tucks him back in his boxers. Elias, without thinking much about what he’s doing, slides off from the desk and onto the floor, kneeling next to Peter to pull him into a kiss. Peter lets out a little surprised noise but he kisses back. Elias adjusts his position on the thick carpet, grabbing onto Peter’s f    ace. Peter touches every part of skin that he can reach, his hands are finally starting to get warmer. 

“Elias.”

It’s just a statement. 

“Peter.”

A statement once again. Elias doesn’t understand where they’re going, he doesn’t think Peter does either. Though they do get up to go on the little couch. Elias lays there, head propped up on the armrest, and Peter goes to take his place between his legs, kissing his neck. He kisses his neck and strokes his arms, his sides, his cheeks, his hips. 

They’re not— The point isn’t to have sex. As unusual as it is for them, the point isn’t to have sex. Peter kisses his lips.

“Elias.”

He goes to kiss his chest. His lips are warm. 

“Do you love me?”

It’s Elias who asks. He doesn’t know why.

“Do you want me to?”

He thinks for a moment, not understanding any of what’s happening. As it’s always been, he witnesses and doesn’t understand. It apparently also applies to himself.

“I don’t know.”

It’s honest. It’s actually an honest answer.

“Do you love me?”

This time it’s Peter who asks.

“Why?”

“Because it’s only fair to ask too.”

“You didn’t reply.”

“Neither did you.”

Elias slides his hands on his back.

“I think you love me.”

“Why?”

“Because you told me so.”

“Was it the truth?”

Elias considers it.

“You told me. Multiple times.”

“Yes, but is it the truth?”

“I would like to think so.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

“For me.”

“Why?”

“Because that means you love me.”

Elias thinks about it.

“I didn’t say that.”

Peter hides his face in the crook of his neck, kissing his skin.

“Isn’t that what you just said?”

“It’s not.”

“Then why do you want me to love you?”

“Because…”

… He’s not sure.

“Because it would be interesting.”

“Why?”

“Because I haven’t had anyone loving me for a long time.”

There’s a silence. He feels raw. It feels like they’re both raw, today. He vaguely thinks it must be the Eye. He asks it why it’s doing this, he gets a negative answer. But he doesn’t see what else would affect them.

“Why?”

Peter’s question surprises him. It’s a personal question, and Peter doesn’t do personal.

“Because I’m not someone you fall in love with. Not anymore.”

“Then why do you think I love you?”

“I just want you to love me.”

“Because you love me.”

“That’s not— I… Want you to love me because it would make me powerful over you.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

“Because you love me.”

“Why would you think that?” 

Peter leaves a trail of kisses down his chest and stomach.

“Because you haven’t told me you don’t.”

Elias feels his heart throb.

“... I don’t love you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Jonah closes his eyes.

“Why?”

“Because… You’re you.” He takes one of his hands and kisses the inside of his wrist. “Jonah.”

Jonah opens his eyes.

“That’s not my name.”

Peter smiles. He cups his cheeks and leans close to him.

“I love you,” he whispers.

Jonah studies his face. Peter is a horrible liar, and he doesn’t look like he’s lying.

“I believe you.”

Peter’s smile turns… Predatory.

“I don’t love you.”

Jonah studies his face again, for longer.

“... I believe you.”

“Which one do you think is the truth?”

“I…”

He doesn’t know. So he goes for the one he would prefer to be the truth. 

“You love me.”

Peter chuckles. Jonah looks at him.

“So? Am I right?”

“Are you?”

“Don’t talk in riddles.”

“Look who’s talking.”

He goes back to kissing his throat.

“Jonah Magnus, do you love me?”

“That’s not my name. I don’t love you.”

“Do you want to marry me?”

“We’re still married.”

“But do you want to marry me?”

His eyes flutter closed and he covers them with his forearm.

“Not now.”

“... But will you marry me?”

“Yes.” He hopes the trembling of his voice is only in his head.

Peter squeezes his sides.

“Elias.”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to kiss me?”

Elias removes his arm from his face. Peter looks up at him. Jonah opens his eyes.

“I do. Do you?”

Peter goes to kiss him.

“Elias,” Peter whispers, “do you believe my words?”

“No.”

… He doesn’t. He doesn’t think so.

“Then why do you believe me when I tell you I love you?”

“Because…”

“That’s what you want to believe.”

“I want to drink.” He already feels dizzy anyway.

Peter gets up and Elias watches him open a cabinet and take out one of his bottles. Whiskey. He comes back without any glass. Elias doesn’t comment on it and takes a swing of the bottle given to him.

“I don’t love you,” he offers.

Peter sits next to him and Elias sits up to lean on him.

“I don’t love you either.”

Peter takes the bottle.

“Do we love each other?” Elias asks while looking in front of him.

Peter swings an arm over his shoulder, Elias accepts it.

“I think we just might.”

“I think you love me.”

“And I think you love me.”

“... Hm.”

Elias sighs and leans against him.

“What did you do to me.”

Peter squeezes him.

“I could ask the same thing.”

They stay in silence for a while. Elias takes a long swing of alcohol, he feels his eyes burn and he wants to believe it’s because of the liquid burning down his throat. He puts the bottle aside before kissing Peter’s cheek. 

“You should’ve stayed at sea.”

“I shouldn’t have come back to you.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

He pushes Peter to lay on his back and traces all of the lines of his exposed skin with his tongue. Peter holds one of his hands. 

“Peter,” Elias groans against his skin.

“Elias,” Peter states.

If it were other circonstances, Elias would bite him. He doesn’t. He runs his lips over each centimeters of his chest, belly and arms and when he has nothing more to possess, he tugs at the waistband of his pants. Peter complies. Elias goes to cover his thighs with kisses as he massages his calves, trying to put back some warmth into them. Someone knocks on the door, Peter jumps and quickly sits up. Elias doesn’t move.

“I’m busy.”

“Oh.” Rosie. “Sorry, Mister Bouchard, but I would really need—”

“Is it a life or death matter?”

“... Not really, but—”

“Is it going to become a life or death situation?”

He’s already been fooled once, that mistake won’t happen again.

“It shouldn’t.”

“Great. Give me… A few hours.”

“... Understood.”

Elias doesn’t wait more than that before going back to kissing and licking his thighs.

“Elias.”

“Peter.”

“I despise you.”

Elias chuckles against his skin.

“You clearly don’t.”

Peter buries a hand in his hair.

“And you don’t either, do you?” he whispers.

Elias doesn’t reply. He just focuses on making his lips touch every little bit of Peter’s skin. He takes his hands in his and kisses each of his knuckles. And then he kisses his face, Peter sighing comfortably under his ministrations. He finally kisses his lips before curling up around him and burying his face in the crook of his neck.

“I hate you.”

Peter wraps his arms around him and he’s finally at a normal temperature. He kisses the top of his head. He doesn’t even deign to reply. Elias sighs as he sees him close his eyes but he kisses his skin and closes his eyes too. All of this would be to take care of later.