moritat | Victorian weenie au

Theirs is the most romantic scene. Fresh bodies lying here and there, some whole and others less so. Glass lodged in her feet. A missing person's skirt moonlighting as a shirt for Paloma. Him with a possible concussion.

She quiets. Desires so badly for that to be true; her face shows everything going on in her head, especially a mire of doubt and hopelessness. They block elation's path.

"I do not know how you could." Or, hey, anybody could. "I am frightened of how badly I want to stay by you, stand by you."

Looks like she's afraid to come out and say love, too.

"I swear to you that it's true. Although I understand your fear too well. I want nothing more than to have you here with me, and your visits, no matter the circumstances, make me feel like a child. Excited over much, positively giddy." Even speaking of it, he starts to get himself worked up, smiling wide, lighting up despite the flush in his cheeks. And it does make him look more childlike - at least, more innocent. Almost too innocent, especially with their surroundings, and what transpired only recently. Surely not someone capable of it at all, he is young, sweet and pure, if his face is to be believed. "How could I not, when you are not only beautiful but too kind to me. I feel at one more vulnerable and exposed, yet secure with you."

Edited 2016-01-04 10:07 (UTC)

In striving to understand how to root out her fear, Paloma hears herself in what he says. She hears what she felt for Carlos in the weeks before he grew impatient and bored with her, until the Embrace broke what feeling left. She'd thought it was love.

I am not Carlos, she resolves, bowing over their hands to press against the pale back of his. I will not be like him. This will not be like before.

"But, Harry, I am not too kind. You opened cuts I gave to you, smiling at me so." To Hell with crying, now it's just excessive. Repeating that over and over doesn't stem the tide. "It is uncommon that I believe I have claim to, to beauty, to a thing that is good. In your home it is so easy for me. I am afraid for that ease, and for you."

"You are. You have seen unspeakable things from me, and yet always accept them - even claim they are not so bad at all! I was infatuated when first we met, and it becomes more true every day, it seems." He bends to kiss her head, burying his nose in her hair. It isn't just that he seems young, rather, he finally seems his own age. Rather than the way he normally carries himself at what must seem an age twice his own, playing the part of a mature gentleman when it wasn't so long ago that he reached adulthood. If asked, he would likely say it's for having lost his parents young, the need to 'grow up' fast. But it isn't. "There is no reason to be afraid, certainly not for me. I am the greatest danger to myself."

His youth restores a bit of hers. Like losing one's parents young does to some, the death of the girl Paloma was started with a man's teeth in her neck. And she had every right to believe that girl was six feet under; but little by little, the dirt in that grave churns, and she shakes loose more filth. Here they are, one kiss closer to a real revival.

"Not in these nights, mi amor." Gingerly, Paloma turns to curl her arms behind his head and pull him to her throat. "We have done unforgivable sin, and I cannot-- reject you and then pretend I do no crime. Murder, stealing, enjoying it so with the blood inside me. You are... more home to me than mine."

Edited 2016-01-05 00:58 (UTC)

"My home is always open to you. Or myself." He's glad to rest against her, to tangle his fingers in her hair. "Still, even if you are so able to graciously accept all the sin I show to you, even if ours overlap, I wish that I could be a good man, worthy of you."

"Graciously!" A watery giggle for that. "You must know I am rather selfish. And I think that you will try."

And needy. She plants a kiss to the outer shell of his ear with none of the licentiousness Hyde boasted. If he hadn't torn out the flowers on her crown, she'd share one with him.

"I can help you to wash."

Edited 2016-01-05 07:16 (UTC)

Though about to reply to what she says first, to deny that she's selfish, he's cut off before he can begin. Because what she says next is too much. He positively sputters with the idea of Paloma bathing him! "Th-that is quite unnecessary...!"

Failing a hot blush at her own audacity, she squirms out of their embrace and flattens her palms against the ruin of his shirt.

"It is only that I worry for what I have done to you!! Not ...!!" Like yeah she's filthy-minded but not at present. Father, forgive this 'Loma for she has sinned, gravely.

Well he hadn't thought she meant it in a lewd way, but he's filthy enough that he wouldn't be able to keep himself from experiencing it that way!! "No, no, I understand! It's perfectly fine!! However I am quite capable of attending to myself!"

"I hit you very hard on the head," she says, but that's the last of her argument. Paloma won't bully him into nudity around her unless there are real and life-threatening factors involved. If he seems okay ...

She stands very suddenly, unable to sit still. "After you, I would like to bathe also?"

"A proper host should allow his guest to be first." After all, he needs to have a good wank and cry. He chooses not to comment on his head. That doesn't have anything to do with this, he thinks. He can still manage to bathe himself even if he has a concussion! Which he doesn't!!! (he probably does)

'A proper host,' he says. She mutely surveys the macabre scene inside his laboratory.

Two of her fingers swipe fallen hair behind Jekyll's ear. Sympathy, tenderness.

"Will you let me help you after we are clean?"

What's that about his lab being the scene of several murders? If he ignores it, it'll go away, right?

"Help me? With what?"

And a blush for that small, intimate gesture.

The smell of them is more vivid to her than he can ever realize, but out of misplaced politeness she's chosen not to say a word about it. But her nose does wrinkle inconspicuously now and then.

She traces the curve of his cheek, that redness. "Any wound not seen. I would not care if you pretend to have others."

The colour rises, deepens, his eyes dart away again. "It wouldn't be very good of me to lie of nonexistent wounds, how could anything be done for them, you would be left searching for nothing. Moreover, I can't see how you might help even one that cannot be seen and yet exists." Hastily, he adds, "Of course, I appreciate the thought!"

Well, he's won, the dipshit. Completely blown any chance of getting coddled or given extra special doting attention. She'd rather hoped he would let her dote and tries not to seem disappointed.

Her hand drops away and lets him be. "Alright. I shall ... go to the bath." With a last, long, injury-assessing glance, Paloma scurries away too rapidly to be natural.

DUMMY

Did she expect anything less of him? It's either all or nothing, either he fully commits himself to his sin, or runs away from anything even remotely improper, keeps overly polite even if something is not necessarily improper.

No sooner has she disappeared than his head falls into his hands. And no sooner has he breathed a great sigh of relief and shame than he opens his pants - he can hardly even start without crying, either. It's the least disturbing thing in the room at the moment by far, and yet... Of course, that part might influence it too. That ain't normal.

In an amazing stroke of luck that spares him the humiliation of Paloma knowing what he's up to, running water clogs her hearing. He can cry and wank himself off in relative peace with only the company of blood- and jizz-stained cadavers.

And when the water isn't running, she sings to distract herself from heavy thinking. The bathroom's acoustics make her voice sound better and deeper than she believes it to be.

Joy of joys! Today there's a towel to use, and she uses enthusiastically. Paloma pokes her head out of a crack in the door and calls to him: "Harry! I am a fool and forgot a change in clothes again!!"

"A-ah - I shall fetch something immediately!" Which requires scrambling to his feet and tucking his dick back in his pants. But it's something to distract himself with, which is very useful, therefore he does hurry off immediately, and comes back with a blue gown about ten minutes later. It's out of date, but the height of fashion in its day.

When he returns, he knocks on the door, hoping his face doesn't betray his activities.

Everything kind of stank like semen and other disgusting things before he whipped his dick out, so Jekyll is well in the clear. Good for him.

Paloma reaches for his gift, opening her mouth to give gratitude-- and tilts her head in question. "Were you running?"

"-Running? No, why do you ask?" Ah- wait, maybe he should have lied and said he was, does something look off, can she tell he was crying? Or is it sweat - would she be able to tell he'd masturbated by that?

The notion that he'd start stroking himself under these circumstances is just so improbable that it cannot occur to her. He earns a baffled smile as she takes the dress and slips it through the cracked door.

"There was no need to ... try yourself." He's got to be careful in case of any major internal injuries, after all.

The horrid phrasing misses Paloma.

Paloma clearly underestimates just how nasty he is. That he'd be aroused by everything that happened, or by the memory of the murders, or even for shame of that. He's a complicated man, to say the least.

But that phrasing of hers. She does know. He's too horrified even to panic. "I was- no, rather, I - I have no excuses or explanation to make."

What?

She ends up opening the door further, sticking her entire head out, as well as a bare shoulder. Her brow knits.

"What explanation could you give? You flatter me with your effort!"

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