There is a house on the coast of California, not far from Hollywood, that stands on the edge of the cliff. It does not ramble. It has been built to impress, not for comfort, and it's crisply white with a red adobe roof and bushes trimmed to look artistically wild all along the enormous driveway without ever actually flopping far enough out over the bricks to be wild. The roof is red, because Loki knows it's red, and everything else is in an indeterminate black and white of dreaming as he walks through the rooms of the house one by one looking for his dog.
     He has a leash in one hand, and he knows that the dog is nowhere to be found. It's that kind of dream. Have it a hundred times, and still go through the motions, and it hurts like hell every single time at the end, because that's what it's supposed to do.

     So this is where you live, where you keep your fragmented pain. Good to know...
     It's thought to himself, not shared with you as Gwilym Gwyn Garu steps into your dream. He is devoid of the trappings of the king, clad in jeans and t-shirt and nothing else at all, now. His hair still hangs over one eye, though it is sleepily mussed, and he moves to take a seat, flopping onto a sofa with an lazy sort of elegance to his sprawl.
     "Stop looking for what can't be found and come sit with me," Gwilym invites you, not bothering with small talk or lazy jokes this time. "You're at home, in your bed. I am never far when you need me - or at least, I try not to be."

     Loki stops in his tracks. In another room of the house, a dog barks, and he knows full well that when he goes to look there won't be anyone there. He sits down beside you on the sofa, wrapping the leash in circles around his hand, and stares at the floor.

     "Tell me what happened." His voice is gentle, and he looks less like a king of any sort now, and more like a rather tired young man. Gwilym sprawls back, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. "I know y' can talk, you know. I've heard y' before."
     Unless you prefer this way? His voice slips beneath your skin, heard but not with the ears. He makes no move on the sofa, though, staying where he is and giving you as much space as you've given yourself.

     Loki shrugs, and scrapes the coils of leash off his hand to let it drop on the clean white carpeting of this room. "I fucked up in entirely new ways. Maybe if I run through all the variations of screwing up, I can finish checking them off some kind of cosmological list and move on to doing things right."

     "You didn't fuck up. You had a bit of bad luck, but nobody is going to blame you for running into somebody dangerous. It's like being mugged - oes, there's things you can do to make it more likely it will happen, but it can happen even if you stay to well-lit areas and don't look prosperous." Gwilym says it patiently, as if he's used to saying things like this. He looks at the carpet, then at you. "Your da's a perfectionist, isn't he. I'm going to tell you something he probably didn't. It's not the end of the world when bad things happen or you make mistakes. It's not always your fault, either."
     He leans over, patting your knee. His hand is solid, not insubstantial, despite it being a dream, and he focuses his one visible eye upon you. "I'm not angry with y'. I was scared shiteless, if you want the duw's own truth."

     Loki kicks the leash away, and twitches at another bark from some distant room of the house. "I'm...not trying to make things harder than they have to be," he says. He finally looks sideways at you, with a ghost of a smile. "Doesn't seem to be making much of a difference, but for what that's worth."
     He slumps back on the couch, staring now at the enormous windows overlooking the patio. "Thanks. For getting me out of there. I've been mugged a few times before, but in the boring prosaic way. I gather this was on a different scale."

     "I am not someone who tends to pass moral judgment on others. Man hungers, so he eats." Just usually not quite like that. Gwilym twitches a faint smile in answer to yours. "I'm serious when I say y' had no way of knowing. The first time I met him m'self, I had no way of knowing. I only found out ... well, later. He is very charming. He has had a very long time in which to practice his charm and to seem human. The truth is, I am more human than he is, Loki. By far."
     That is probably not comforting. He sighs, sinking downwards and putting his feet up on the coffee table in blatant disregard for every rule your father may ever have made. He looks bone weary for a moment, though not the less beautiful for it. "Life is dangerous. Y' can't stop living it because y' might get hurt. But y' take reasonable precautions, where applicable, and for the rest, well... y' let it sort itself out. There isn't much else anyone can do, no matter who or what they are. And - for what it's worth, I'm sorry that y' had to find this out this way. I'd hoped for a... gentler introduction." One corner of his mouth tugs up in faint, obscure smile. "At least this way, I didn't lose y'."

     There are feet. On the coffee table. In his father's house. Loki waits a moment to find out if his mind intends to conjure up a figure of parental disapproval before curling up in the corner of the sofa with his feet on the upholstery. Scandalous. "The brain's a regular pattern-finding machine," he says. "So even if two data points barely make a line, it's easy to feel like there's a pattern there. I know that this kind of thing doesn't mean I should freeze up and stop trying anything. It just -- feels that way. And trying to logic my way past that gets harder when things I don't understand are sinking into every part of my life. Even parts I thought were separate."
     His curled up form in the corner of the sofa lists towards you, so slightly it might be accidental. "And he was charming. Sometimes, even I like to just...talk to people."

     "He is very charming, and if all he wanted to do was talk, I would not have interfered. I would have warned you, oes, but ... not as quickly. I would not have acted so precipitously. Believe or not, not everything I do is at breakneck pace."
     Gwilym grins slightly, and he takes your lean as invitation, draping an arm around your shoulders to pull you towards him. Not all the way; just to finish the lean so that his shoulder is there. His tone is serious as he speaks, however.
     "Aeron told me he invited you for coffee. Alone. And that is when I ... stepped in. I realize that it being for your own good is not necessarily the ideal excuse, no matter how reasonable. Understand that I want you to have a life of your own, to try new things, to meet new people. I ... just do not want you to get hurt beyond my ability to repair, and I do not wish to lose you."
     Do you understand? Can you understand? It may not be time yet. I do not know...

     Loki finishes the lean as invited, head resting on your shoulder. "No, it...makes sense. If you start pulling me away every time I meet someone new, then I'll start worrying." It's not a very good joke, but he's trying. "I don't like that I'm being watched that much, but under the circumstances, I can't exactly complain, can I?"
     A bark echoes out from a different part of the house than before. He twitches, and says briskly, "I see creepy police state interference with the right to privacy, you see reasonable methods of doing your job. I'm not sure at what point I'm going to get used to that, but I can live with it."

     "I'm the last to possibly invite police into my house or living room," Gwilym answers, chuckle low but genuinely amused. His one visible eye glints with dark humor, and he turns a bit, not dislodging you but so he can watching you the better. His free hand comes up to lift your chin. "I am a thief, and a king of thieves; I steal that which I want for myself, and I make it mine. Not unlike yourself, oes? Though you are more stubborn than some I have stolen."
     Carelessly, he drags the back of two fingers along your cheek before he allows his hand to fall. "I think in small part that is why Aeron is so wary of you. I don't know for sure yet; I am not sure that he knows yet, himself. He has gotten very accustomed to things being a certain way, and he does not want to share. The bonds I am forging with you are not purely sexual, and I suspect that troubles him." He grins furtively, and leans his head down towards yours to whisper in your ear. "Don't tell him I told y'. He'd be upset with me."

     Loki leans into the touch for a moment, and if it's a tentative sort of movement, it's one that doesn't have far to go. "Do you steal people this way all the time?" he asks, sitting back slightly. "In their lives and in their dreams. That it's unusual for him to dislike me, and not the others."

     "All the time? No." Gwilym's answer is amused again. "I rarely steal people at all. I won't deny that I have been around the block a time or two, or three," hundred, "but that is less thieving and more ... seduction. One doesn't steal what one doesn't intend to keep."
     He allows you to sit back, though his arm remains around your shoulders, in a loose, free grasp. He lets his head tip back against the cushions, closing his eyes. "Aeron is very close to me. He knows me better than most - perhaps better than anyone. I do not think that he wishes to share that, and he has seen that I am teaching you things that I have not taught to others. Even Romero I do not allow that close to me. But I am not teaching you to be another Romero. I have a Romero; I do not need two of him, and more importantly, he cannot do what I need you to be able to do. Although," his eyes slit open, and he smiles faintly, "I will confess to you that I did steal Romero. Although I did not realize at the time that I was doing so."

     "No idea how he slipped into your pocket on the way out the door?" Loki asks, and draws his knees up in front of him, arms laid over them. "If I can believe anyone could steal someone without even planning on it at the time, it'd be you."
     There's a cautious little lean in again. Nothing too forward, but your arm is there, and that must make it okay. "How old are you?"

     He laughs at that, eyes again closed. "Tricky question," Gwilym answers easily. "Older than I look. Younger than the man you almost had coffee with. Aeron is younger than I am, though he looks the same age or older; my twin brother, he looks and feels more than twice my age, now. I could give you an exact number, but it would not mean very much to you - time passes for me much faster than it does for you, except when I am in the material world, such as London. I don't age, not in mortal terms - only in experience do I age. It has been this way, I will tell you this much, since I turned twenty and decided to stop."
     His answers are confusing, but there is no intent to mislead there. He explains it as best he can, opening a lazy eye and grinning at you. "I told you that it was tricky. As for Romero, hm, how do I explain that? I will tell you, if you like." He ruffles your hair with his other hand. "But it is not a tale for the faint of heart. Are you feeling very faint-hearted, my little priest?"

     "Maybe." Loki shrugs, tilting more into you. "More that I'm wondering if I'm ever going to be able to understand enough. Forget generational differences, you're from a completely different paradigm. Discourse. Culture. Fuck, I don't know the word for it, even though it's the kind of thing my profs could've gone on about for hours back in lecture. Even when we're speaking the same language, I don't have the context to understand what you mean. I don't like the idea that I'm never going to understand any of this."

     "You will understand it," Gwilym answers confidently. "But it will take time. One of your difficulties is that you lack patience, Loki. Aeron does too," he adds with a sly grin to you, cocking up an eyebrow. "And that, I think, is why you two have gotten so off on the wrong foot, more than anything else. Neither of you has the patience to look to where the other is coming from. He was not pleased with me, you know, for leaving you two alone together. Not that there was anything he could do about it. My word is his law."
     He tucks a finger under your chin, turning your face up towards his. "You need to be open to me," Gwilym tells you quietly, "if you are going to understand. Your defenses are hurting you, now - if you truly wish to understand, you must set them aside with me, at least a little bit. I do not wish you harmed. I cannot promise I will always protect you from any and all harm. Life has sharp edges, and it plays rough. But by doing what I have done, I form a covenant with you; and I have lived up to that covenant thus far. Now, my little priest, it is your turn to give something back to me."

     Loki bites off his first response--probably self-deprecating, with the way he speaks--and says instead, more slowly, "I'll try. To be patient." His gaze drops briefly, before he can say, "Give back what?"

     "Patience is a good start," Gwilym answers with that slight grin. "Attention is good too. A relationship of any sort - between two beings, whether both fully human, fully mortal or not - has to go both ways, for it to be a healthy one. But it is all right to be a little needy, sometimes. And right now I think that you are in need. So... here."
     It is the only clue he gives as to what he intends. His arm slides further around you, his other arm bending to scoop under your knees as he lifts you easily to plant you in his lap. One arm stays securely around you at your waist while his other hand lifts to cradle your face. "You are afraid," Gwilym states. "Not just of these new revelations, but of the world, of life and what is in it. You are afraid of yourself, and of how others will see you. Oes, I know, and no, I did not go poking and prying in your mind, in your thoughts, to recognize it. I recognize it because I know something of such fears. I am telling you that it is all right now, Loki. You are, for this moment, if no other, safe."
     One corner of his mouth twitches up again, and there is the undeniable glint of humor in that one visible eye. "Well. As safe as it ever is, to be in the lap of the Holly King. I won't deny that your virtue might not be the safest thing."

     In another man's lap is still a sufficiently unfamiliar place for Loki to find himself that he startles at being moved there, and the nearest safe place to hold on is...you. Even in dreams he flushes when he realizes he's holding onto your shoulders. "So long as that's not part of work," he says, and draws his hands back. For the rest, he's willing to hold where he is for now, no matter how uncertain he looks about the situation.

     "No," Gwilym grins, "though I confess I don't quite get your objection to it as work. Romero's job does include a good deal of that, oes, and he has never complained. He enjoys it greatly, or so he has told me. I grew up surrounded by the nymphs and centaurs of my mother's court, though, so I concede my upbringing has probably been a tad different from yours."
     He is strong; very strong, though he is not built like a Conan. His is the agile strength of thieves and rangers, seemingly, but it is a very real strength all the same. His thumb slides against your bottom lip, then past it to your cheek. "I am generous with what I have. My bounty is a part of who I am; I give of it freely to those who follow me, and it shall not diminish. But I do not force it upon those who will not have it. Tell me, Loki, no man's son... what is it that you want?"

     "It's...different, where I come from," Loki says, and leaves his objection at that. I'm not supposed to mix sex and work relationships, either, but if my dad's never followed that rule, why should I?
     His lips part at the touch, and then it's a swallow before he can answer. "I want you. I'm not sure it's a good idea. My track record in that area isn't stellar. More...abysmal, really."

     "I want you, too." Gwilym grins slightly, drawing his hand away and letting it fall to the side of your neck. "I am not the poster child for conventional relationships. Many in your world would say my relationships are unhealthy. Some in my world may as well, but that has never stopped me. I do not say this as a warning; just that experiences vary, and we all must find our own way to happiness, Loki. When it comes to human relations, though, I will say this, oes? You will never be sure that it is a good idea."
     He cups your chin again, leaning forward so that his face is very close to yours, the one visible eye peering into your eyes, the other dimly glimpsed behind its curtaining wing of red-gold hair. "But you are sure of what you want," Gwilym remarks, "and that is a start. It is worthy of reward. Do you want me to kiss you?"

     It's the most terrifying part of the night yet, and it's been a long, uncertain night. "Yes?" Loki says, one hand resting uncertainly at your side, the other across his knee. "Fuck happiness, I'd settle for one instance of sex that didn't end the relationship. Some day."

     He smiles at that, but doesn't answer. He has his own demons that have been slain yet linger on. Instead, Gwilym tilts your chin up, leaning in to brush his lips against yours, his arm still snug around your waist. Once, twice, three times he passes against your lips with his own before settling in to increase pressure. In his kiss is the cool of winter, the sting and bite and suckle of juniper berries and mistletoe; behind it, the redolent promise of autumn and the harvest, apples and spice therein.
     He takes his time. He is going nowhere, after all, and if there is one thing the Holly King has, it is the luxury of Time. When he parts your lips with his own, it is with that assurance, his fingers sliding from your cheek to the nape of your neck.
     I am not going anywhere, little priest. And for now, neither are you.

     There are at least three things he could object to in what you said, there's still that vague worry in the back of his mind that his father's about to walk in (no matter that it's only a dream), and he can't figure out what to do with his hands--
     All of that's secondary as Loki opens up to your kiss, sinking in with a faint noise that isn't quite a whimper at the touch and taste. It isn't like anything or anyone else, but maybe it's appropriate that dreams should be so very unlike the real world.

     He squeezes the back of your neck gently, drawing back with no real haste and a gentle tugging at your lower lip with his teeth, leaving it throbbing and reddened. He grins at you, and it is the grin of every adolescent who knows that he is doing something for which Authority would want his skin.
     There are some perks, oes, to being my priest...
     Gwilym pats your hip with one hand, his other hand sliding to a light hold on the side of your neck. "I must go now," he tells you. "You will need to wake soon from this dream, it will change once I no longer hold it steady and solid. And even gods need their rest, at times, little priest. Sleep, and realize that even for all the troubles and sorrows you have taken upon yourself, this one sorrow has been answered. You are not alone."

     Loki runs his tongue along his lower lip, watching you now. "This one, I think I'll remember even without a pillow sacrificed to the cause."

     He smirks at that, closing his visible eye in a wink. "Next time, it might be a shirt instead of a pillow," Gwilym tells you with a ruthlessly casual smile. "I don't know, oes? But I like the idea of keeping you naked, from time to time..."
     He lifts you as easily as he had the first time, settling you on the cushions with a proprietary pat to your thigh before rising. As he does so, the dream begins to shift, the way dreams do, and he begins to fade from view. "I do not think you will forget."
     And with that, he is gone. Bastard.

Posted by rowan at April 12, 2009 03:47 PM