Steve starts to say something about the number of ways, given what his life is and has become, that not having family is really the better option. Even if he's also the guy who points out he was going to need something if they were going to care about his soul.
Then Zerxus comes out with that and Steve stops stitching, stops working, pulls back stares. "I can't really argue, given that I didn't know the guy existed until now, but I feel like me sitting in your lap and blood loss are probably contributing to the impression."
Eternity is not long enough for the length of time it would take him to ask all the questions in his head right now. Not given he'd have to answer one for every one he asked, anyway.
"Are you?" The glint in his eyes makes it clear that he's still coherent enough to make jokes, at least; his hand even tightens on Steve's hip, a little.
"He was...a protector. Kind, brave, arrogant, stubborn." It's the lightest his voice has ever sounded.
The grip on his hip tightening makes Steve take a moment and a deep breath. Of all the inappropriate reactions....
That are mostly happening in response to stress, connection, and intimacy, rather than just touch and position.
He's just abruptly aware of both.
He makes a rough noise in the back of his throat. "I'm gonna dodge being the kind of dishonest arguing any of that would take, except maybe kind - and I think your judgement there might be clouded - and point out anybody who managed a marriage to your ass had to be stubborn. At that point it's just a survival skill."
Oh, even with half his blood on the floor he is not missing that. Fully in his right mind, anchored in the present instead of drifting into the past, it would probably scare him off.
Fortunately, he doesn't have to trust himself if he's half dead.
"Fair." He strokes that other hand down Steve's back, this time. It's not firm or steady, but there's no missing the intention. "Well. The second part."
It's fine. Steve's mind is fully anchored in the present, none of his blood is on the floor, and he's scaring himself off.
Except the part where he doesn't move, just takes a second, closes his eyes briefly in response to the hand sliding down his back and then a deep breath.
Then goes back to what he was doing. Which is... stitching a man up, who is probably bleeding to death on his way to a temporary death that will leave Steve alone in hell.
He's not much of a runner.
...He wants to arch back or lean in. At least someone here is half dead. Horrible safety net, but it does at least exist. Covered in blood should be enough, though. Sense should be enough.
"You aren't trying to tell me you have a functional standard of kind."
It really should be enough, and on some level Zerxus knows that it's a good thing that Steve is choosing to focus on stitching.
The problem is, pain and pleasure have gone hand in hand for a very long time now, and his body doesn't register any sort of dissonance. Far more urgent, right now, is how gentle Steve is being. Even with a clumsy jab here, a rough pull there - it's so easy for him to feel.
"Maybe not." His hand has settled on Steve's other hip, now, and he keeps it there. "Still don't think I'm wrong."
Steve is going to have a whole, if quiet, identity crisis at some point about the ways he's not actually sadistic, if the responses he keeps getting are like this. At least once he's able to untangle out what's driving his reactions -- and it's not pain or blood.
Now is not eventually on that one.
"You should give me an example of him being kind so I can compare." You should keep talking about your husband while Steve finishes getting a damn grip on himself. And/or finishes this clean up job.
He won't be insisting on distance or that Zerxus stop touching him though. He didn't work that hard to convince the man to do it for that.
He thinks he's leaving it with that remark. Means to. What comes out of him is a different train of thought coming in, without his permission. "This is my fault."
Steve makes no attempt to evade eye-contact, meaning that there is something of the thought translated into his expression and eyes. He doesn't verbally argue, though. The stronger grip helps that.
Because he's still not going to spell out what he sees as his options, or the deliberation and damn near math equations that determine which one is coming out on top at any given moment. A lot of the weight is very much coming from 'don't sacrifice your entire world for one person' - most of it - some of it is absolutely that he said that aloud and to Zerxus.
Doesn't mean he's not paying attention to what feels like the direct cost of protecting his soul, in the form of things like 'I need you to let me care' and 'don't pull away'.
"You should go back and tell me something about your husband while I finish trying to clean this up."
Edited (Just fixing a word, IGNORE THIS SAGE DAMN.) 2024-10-31 17:00 (UTC)
It takes an immense amount of will and focus to clench his hands harder, but Zerxus has quite a lot of both.
"The problem is..." His voice is still weak and rasping, but his eyes are blazing. "Now you're reminding me of myself. That - is the sort of thing that gets you..."
Well.
Just look at him, Captain.
"He told me you would be safe. I agreed. My choice, my cost. Mine." It matters, that Steve doesn't feel guilty for someone else's actions; it also matters that Zerxus can take full ownership of something decent. He would happily suffer so, so much more than this for that.
Steve exhales hard through his nose when Zerxus' hands tighten and tenses up against them. Not to get away or discomfort but more just a wave of... wanting more of it.
He uses the hand without the needle and swats Zerxus' gently on the forearm.
"Stop that. I don't need to untangle why a half-dead demon covered in blood in hell is turning me on." Well. At some point... Steve often breaks to uncomfortable honesty and truth. "What you did was stupid, but I'm not gonna argue with it - but only on the grounds that you got to make a decision for yourself and that probably was worth it."
It does not make him feel less like it was his fault, here. Leverage. Almost immediately. He hates it. He also can't do anything about it.
"Yeah, I know. Sadly for you and luckily for me, the body was given to me with the ability to survive falling out of buildings and the shield. Very thoughtful present, incredibly useful, but it doesn't have much to do with me."
He does finish doing what he can to clean up, though, and puts the needle and thread aside. "I'll grant you it's pretty attractive to most people, though it's probably better without the blood."
There's some humor in there. Some truth too, but mostly humor, related to the ease of brushing off the compliment but not being an arrogant dick. "Do you have a running water in here?"
Neither of them are in the bodies they were born with, and it hits him in a way that he doesn't quite process - not yet, not through the haze of pain and dizziness and desire and nostalgia.
It will hit him later. For now he just murmurs, "It's yours now. You've maintained it. That counts."
Then he has a question to answer coherently, which takes a moment, but then, "Yes. I can - I can probably - "
He absolutely cannot stand up and walk over there on his own.
"All right." He pushes back and off Zerxus' lap and stands. "I'm gonna assume you want to be upright and the illusion of not being carried to bed." Yeah, it'd be awkward, but he could.
Instead he lets the man have some pride, drags one of Zerxus' arms across his shoulders, holds it there and then pulls Zerxus to stand and moves him toward his bed. He doesn't need help with that, not even consciousness. He really does just figure that Zerxus would protest to a bridal carry, and slung over Steve's shoulder would hurt.
Once he's got Zerxus down, he goes looking for running water and soap to clean up with, and some kind of container, a cloth and a towel to take back with him to clean Zerxus up.
He staggers a bit on the way, but leaning heavily on Steve does get him there; he even stays put once he's laying down, which says a lot about just how wrung out he is.
It's not hard to find the water, in part because it starts running before Steve even gets there; he can just follow his ears, and find a sinfully decadent bathroom. There's a basin sitting right next to the faucet, a stack of washcloths, and glass jars of soap.
Steve washes up - his hands and face, anyway. He wholly forgets that his thighs are exposed and have blood on them, thanks to how... rattled? he is by the water turning on.
He is not a fan and he doesn't believe in coincidences.
He still gets the basin filled, turns the water very firmly off and grabs a towel, couple of wash cloths and a jar of soap before going back to the bed. Where he sets the towels on the bed up by Zerxus' head and then climbs back on top of him with the basin. Similar position as the chair, knees on either side of Zerxus' hips.
Then he puts the thing down, carefully in reach but out of the way of being spilled as long as someone uses some sense here.
"Your water turned on before I got to it," he says, mildly. "It was very helpful."
In a vague and floaty sort of way, Zerxus is extremely amused by a position Steve definitely does not need to be in anymore. He'd comment on it, too, except now he has to groan about his god's bullshit instead.
"He could clean this up with a snap of his fingers."
Asmodeus isn't being helpful, he's being manipulative. To what end, though, he really isn't sure.
"Mm," Steve... acknowledges. Not really more than a faint sound, while he gets the cloth wet and then soap onto it. He hadn't been delusional enough to think they weren't observed or listened to before - the devil's palace, in hell - and he isn't exactly afraid of that, now.
He is however acutely, consciously, aware of it. Something in the immediacy, probably. That makes him a little more physically tense and has him using way fewer words for the moment and more aware of what comes out of his mouth.
Overall, that's probably a good thing.
Meanwhile: "You're supposed to be telling me about your husband." He still wants to know. And even more wants Zerxus talking.
He can hear that new layer of caution, and it's a relief; it's hard to explain just how pervasive a god is in their own domain, even if he's allowed.
(Of course, how well this man, who Zerxus has already classified as a paladin in his head, will stick to that - )
"He was an eld - ri - dammit - " Turns out eldritch is fucking hard to enunciate when you're dizzy with blood loss. "Spellsword. Half wizard, half fighter."
Steve frowns slightly at the struggle and stumble over that single word, thinks about taking Zerxus' pulse and then realizes he doesn't know what his pulse would or should be, so that's useless information.
"That sounds like a heck of a combination - and a heck of a guy to pull it off." Powerful but it seems like something that would require someone be pretty... balanced. At least versatile.
He doesn't want to go back to questions, but he needs to. He's nearly finished clean up at least . "Do you know if you're still losing blood?"
He doesn't allow himself to dwell on these details, most days; it feels like something too precious to touch, when everything can so easily be taken from him. But his mind is still drifting, and he's staring up into eyes with no hatred in them at all. His voice is raw and tender, bleeding wistful pride and boundless affection.
"I don't - think so?" It doesn't feel like he's actively getting worse, anymore. "Just. Haven't felt this weak since..."
The Calamity, probably. Has it been a century, yet, since Exandria was shuttered to them? Since he lost the stars?
Steve can pretty readily sense the discomfort the topic of his husband, but hasn't forgotten that there was a comparison to him that prompted it being discussed.
Or, well, being a topic he latched onto as distraction.
He'll file that one, keep track of anything else that comes up, circle back. For now he's just relieved.
"Okay. Ask me what my middle name is." Get this balance zeroed out again. "Then I'll get this dumped out and you water and we can go to bed. If it's just blood loss both will help but it's gonna take some time for you." Apparently. Because trading healing for Steve's safety was a thing.
Even now, more relaxed than he's been in centuries, there's an urge to be contrary.Following orders has been engraved into his bone marrow; he's always reluctant to do it when he doesn't have to. Even in a case like this, coming from a place of compassion.
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What he means to say, after, is that Steve would have made a good partner.
What he actually says is, "You remind me of my husband."
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Then Zerxus comes out with that and Steve stops stitching, stops working, pulls back stares. "I can't really argue, given that I didn't know the guy existed until now, but I feel like me sitting in your lap and blood loss are probably contributing to the impression."
Eternity is not long enough for the length of time it would take him to ask all the questions in his head right now. Not given he'd have to answer one for every one he asked, anyway.
And he's still trying not to blurt out questions.
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"He was...a protector. Kind, brave, arrogant, stubborn." It's the lightest his voice has ever sounded.
"Wouldn't want him stuck here, either."
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That are mostly happening in response to stress, connection, and intimacy, rather than just touch and position.
He's just abruptly aware of both.
He makes a rough noise in the back of his throat. "I'm gonna dodge being the kind of dishonest arguing any of that would take, except maybe kind - and I think your judgement there might be clouded - and point out anybody who managed a marriage to your ass had to be stubborn. At that point it's just a survival skill."
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Fortunately, he doesn't have to trust himself if he's half dead.
"Fair." He strokes that other hand down Steve's back, this time. It's not firm or steady, but there's no missing the intention. "Well. The second part."
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Except the part where he doesn't move, just takes a second, closes his eyes briefly in response to the hand sliding down his back and then a deep breath.
Then goes back to what he was doing. Which is... stitching a man up, who is probably bleeding to death on his way to a temporary death that will leave Steve alone in hell.
He's not much of a runner.
...He wants to arch back or lean in. At least someone here is half dead. Horrible safety net, but it does at least exist. Covered in blood should be enough, though. Sense should be enough.
"You aren't trying to tell me you have a functional standard of kind."
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The problem is, pain and pleasure have gone hand in hand for a very long time now, and his body doesn't register any sort of dissonance. Far more urgent, right now, is how gentle Steve is being. Even with a clumsy jab here, a rough pull there - it's so easy for him to feel.
"Maybe not." His hand has settled on Steve's other hip, now, and he keeps it there. "Still don't think I'm wrong."
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Now is not eventually on that one.
"You should give me an example of him being kind so I can compare." You should keep talking about your husband while Steve finishes getting a damn grip on himself. And/or finishes this clean up job.
He won't be insisting on distance or that Zerxus stop touching him though. He didn't work that hard to convince the man to do it for that.
He thinks he's leaving it with that remark. Means to. What comes out of him is a different train of thought coming in, without his permission. "This is my fault."
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Then his gaze locks right back onto Steve's, and his hands tighten properly even though it must be costing him.
"Nothing he does is your fault. Nothing I do is your fault."
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Steve makes no attempt to evade eye-contact, meaning that there is something of the thought translated into his expression and eyes. He doesn't verbally argue, though. The stronger grip helps that.
Because he's still not going to spell out what he sees as his options, or the deliberation and damn near math equations that determine which one is coming out on top at any given moment. A lot of the weight is very much coming from 'don't sacrifice your entire world for one person' - most of it - some of it is absolutely that he said that aloud and to Zerxus.
Doesn't mean he's not paying attention to what feels like the direct cost of protecting his soul, in the form of things like 'I need you to let me care' and 'don't pull away'.
"You should go back and tell me something about your husband while I finish trying to clean this up."
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"The problem is..." His voice is still weak and rasping, but his eyes are blazing. "Now you're reminding me of myself. That - is the sort of thing that gets you..."
Well.
Just look at him, Captain.
"He told me you would be safe. I agreed. My choice, my cost. Mine." It matters, that Steve doesn't feel guilty for someone else's actions; it also matters that Zerxus can take full ownership of something decent. He would happily suffer so, so much more than this for that.
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He uses the hand without the needle and swats Zerxus' gently on the forearm.
"Stop that. I don't need to untangle why a half-dead demon covered in blood in hell is turning me on." Well. At some point... Steve often breaks to uncomfortable honesty and truth. "What you did was stupid, but I'm not gonna argue with it - but only on the grounds that you got to make a decision for yourself and that probably was worth it."
It does not make him feel less like it was his fault, here. Leverage. Almost immediately. He hates it. He also can't do anything about it.
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"Usually how my decisions go." Stupid but worth it. "If it helps, you're also very handsome covered in blood."
His grip does lighten, though he doesn't let go.
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He does finish doing what he can to clean up, though, and puts the needle and thread aside. "I'll grant you it's pretty attractive to most people, though it's probably better without the blood."
There's some humor in there. Some truth too, but mostly humor, related to the ease of brushing off the compliment but not being an arrogant dick. "Do you have a running water in here?"
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It will hit him later. For now he just murmurs, "It's yours now. You've maintained it. That counts."
Then he has a question to answer coherently, which takes a moment, but then, "Yes. I can - I can probably - "
He absolutely cannot stand up and walk over there on his own.
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Instead he lets the man have some pride, drags one of Zerxus' arms across his shoulders, holds it there and then pulls Zerxus to stand and moves him toward his bed. He doesn't need help with that, not even consciousness. He really does just figure that Zerxus would protest to a bridal carry, and slung over Steve's shoulder would hurt.
Once he's got Zerxus down, he goes looking for running water and soap to clean up with, and some kind of container, a cloth and a towel to take back with him to clean Zerxus up.
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It's not hard to find the water, in part because it starts running before Steve even gets there; he can just follow his ears, and find a sinfully decadent bathroom. There's a basin sitting right next to the faucet, a stack of washcloths, and glass jars of soap.
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He is not a fan and he doesn't believe in coincidences.
He still gets the basin filled, turns the water very firmly off and grabs a towel, couple of wash cloths and a jar of soap before going back to the bed. Where he sets the towels on the bed up by Zerxus' head and then climbs back on top of him with the basin. Similar position as the chair, knees on either side of Zerxus' hips.
Then he puts the thing down, carefully in reach but out of the way of being spilled as long as someone uses some sense here.
"Your water turned on before I got to it," he says, mildly. "It was very helpful."
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"He could clean this up with a snap of his fingers."
Asmodeus isn't being helpful, he's being manipulative. To what end, though, he really isn't sure.
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He is however acutely, consciously, aware of it. Something in the immediacy, probably. That makes him a little more physically tense and has him using way fewer words for the moment and more aware of what comes out of his mouth.
Overall, that's probably a good thing.
Meanwhile: "You're supposed to be telling me about your husband." He still wants to know. And even more wants Zerxus talking.
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(Of course, how well this man, who Zerxus has already classified as a paladin in his head, will stick to that - )
"He was an eld - ri - dammit - " Turns out eldritch is fucking hard to enunciate when you're dizzy with blood loss. "Spellsword. Half wizard, half fighter."
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"That sounds like a heck of a combination - and a heck of a guy to pull it off." Powerful but it seems like something that would require someone be pretty... balanced. At least versatile.
He doesn't want to go back to questions, but he needs to. He's nearly finished clean up at least . "Do you know if you're still losing blood?"
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He doesn't allow himself to dwell on these details, most days; it feels like something too precious to touch, when everything can so easily be taken from him. But his mind is still drifting, and he's staring up into eyes with no hatred in them at all. His voice is raw and tender, bleeding wistful pride and boundless affection.
"I don't - think so?" It doesn't feel like he's actively getting worse, anymore. "Just. Haven't felt this weak since..."
The Calamity, probably. Has it been a century, yet, since Exandria was shuttered to them? Since he lost the stars?
"A long time."
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Or, well, being a topic he latched onto as distraction.
He'll file that one, keep track of anything else that comes up, circle back. For now he's just relieved.
"Okay. Ask me what my middle name is." Get this balance zeroed out again. "Then I'll get this dumped out and you water and we can go to bed. If it's just blood loss both will help but it's gonna take some time for you." Apparently. Because trading healing for Steve's safety was a thing.
This fucking idiot.
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Well, he can stay within the spirit of things.
"What's your favourite color?"
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