withintenfeet | Open Post

"Understood." What he actually means, judging by the glint in his eyes, is challenge accepted. Which is perhaps not the sentiment you ought to have, on your knees before the Prince of Hell, but we've established this man's survival instinct.

He pats Zerxus on the top of the head, then drags his fingers all the way through his hair, from forehead to back of his neck -- roughly. "I still think you're trying to die." You idiot.

He's all set to roll his eyes, and then - well, then his breath catches in his throat and they go dark and bright instead, startled and simmering.

"I think you just don't know what to do with someone who isn't afraid of you." That definitely came out more hoarsely breathless than he intended, and somehow this is what's making him anxious.

He slides his hand around from the nape of Zerxus' neck to grip his chin and pull it up, with a smirk. "I know exactly what to do with you." that is an outright, albeit dangerous, purr. "It doesn't convince me you're any less insane."

He doesn't really mind that part.

It also doesn't mean he knows what to do with someone who isn't intimidated by him, though. Just that this? Is easy. And fun. And hot.

His heart is pounding, adrenaline laced with fear but not dominated by it. No, he still doesn't look afraid, just stunned. His mouth has gone dry.

This shouldn't - he shouldn't be overwhelm this easily but he hasn't felt like this since -

"Do you." Raggedly defiant, except for how he hasn't resisted or in fact moved in any way. His hands feel leaden against the floorboards.

"Do you know what the most interesting part is." It isn't really a question, just still watching Zerxus' face with intensity that really isn't human. "I haven't given you a single order, and you've just... chosen to stay where you are."

He pulls his hand back then and very lightly, with just his index finger, tapes Zerxus on the nose.

It shouldn't be captivating, it really shouldn't, and that only adds to the cocktail of emotions churning in his chest. This is not why he's here, he should not be feeling any of this, maybe he really is insane -

Pouring wounded pride onto that ignites everything.

When he finally moves, it's to arch his head up and bite the tip of Bruce's finger.

It shouldn't be captivating, it shouldn't be interesting, and he definitely should not have a mortal trying to bite (?!?!?) him.

Not just trying, since Bruce stands there and watches it happen.

"You're going to end up in my bed, eventually. Did you want it to be now?"

It's more of a nip, really, and for just a second Zerxus seems wolfishly satisfied with himself. It makes him look downright young

Then realisation settles in and snuffs that playful passion like a candle. He immediately settles back on his heels before starting to push himself back to his feet.

"You're awfully sure of yourself."

Bruce lifts his eyebrows - both of them - in a way that's a bit unusually... human, and gestures down along his body and to the space Zerxus has only just now decided to vacate by standing.

Every ounce of his expression and body language is clearly saying, are you joking right now.

It's not even mean, just.

Come on now, man.

It's a distinct ability to blush grumpily and he has apparently mastered it.

"I'm very tired and you're very - " No, you know what, he's gonna keep that to a silent gesture too.

"I'll get over it."

He grins - sharp, sure, but the amusement is real and the threat to bite that comes with that many teeth isn't exactly a threat.

"No, you won't."

He's not going to let that happen.

His lips twitch; he is so, so clearly suppressing a return grin as he steps back and shakes his head.

"Let's go back to talking about your childhood."

"That's going to be a very short conversation; I don't remember my childhood. We can go back to finding you pajamas and a closet, though." What. It's an offer. He's also not even unwilling.

...and considers everything past Asmodeus adopting him not exactly childhood which is perhaps odd, given that he was seven.

Convenient for Asmodeus, that his heir can't remember his birth parents at all. Zerxus doubts he let Bruce find much out for himself, either - but he's got a whole year in this manor, in this city.

For now, he only nods.

"Lead the way."

He does lead the way - all the way down that hall to the back of the Manor, where there's a suit of rooms that was likely once his parents.

Meaning he's walked through the unused portions and past remnants of his human life without a second glance for... a very long time.

"I did investigate my parents," he says, casually. "There wasn't anything there to inspire any desire to know more." He sounds... disgusted.

Zerxus resists the urge to stop again, but he does his best to take mental notes so he can backtrack later. He's not Cerrit, but he's always been insightful and he's seen...so many scattered remnants of past lives, by now.

He doesn't expect to be led into an entire suite, and he expects Bruce to answer his silent question even less.

"...Investigated them how, exactly?" How sceptical does he sound? ...Very, probably, he was never good at masking that sort of thing.

It isn't, at least, a truly huge suite of rooms and is largely open in concept. A balcony off one set of double doors, walk in closet, a sitting space and bedroom that flow into one another.

...a bathroom that he absolutely does not use, that leaves him staring at the door wondering if he should bother giving Zerxus his own rooms or just put him there for the duration.

It's back to very gothic and opulent, but not quite as ostentatiously so as the more public areas. Heavy, dark, a lot of black with red and gold accents, heavy furniture, but less... gleaming features and better lighting.

He goes to the heavy dresser, and opens a top drawer. "I don't understand the nature of the question or skepticism. How does anyone investigate anything?"

Taking it all in - the details. the fact that if all goes well he'll be living here for the next year - is distracting enough that it takes him a moment to answer.

"Well. You're putting a puzzle together, and you're not going to find all the pieces so you need to make...assumptions." Shaped by how he grew up, guided by the devil. "I'm not saying they were wrong. I don't know exactly what you found. Just - "

He shrugs, a little. "None of us are perfect. If Elias happened to find evidence of my weakest moments, and only that..." Or even just - a difficult decision without the circumstances around it. He's so many people twisted into villains that way.

He doesn't look up from the drawer, or his task at finding a matching set of pajamas to answer. "I'm certain that any view of anyone found after their death would be at best skewed, one direction or the other."

He does straighten then, and tosses the pajamas onto the bed. "I'm also certain that, by virtue of it being after they're dead it doesn't particularly matter. Though if you manage to get killed here, I'll certainly be interested to see what Elias thinks of your decision to leave him for Gotham."

He ... might actually.

God this was going to end badly for someone if he falls too far into being interested in anything here but sex and opportunity.

He freezes midway into reaching the bed. Then he takes a breath, and keeps moving. When he speaks, his voice has regained that careful, brittle steadiness.

"Elias knows that there's a chance I won't come home every time I leave."

He doesn't look up, focusing instead on the silken fabric draping over his hands. He hasn't felt anything this fine and soft since Avalir - and even then he wasn't usually the one wearing it.

"I've not the first idea what it is you think 'knowing' there is a 'chance' you'll die has to do with his reaction should it actually happen. I don't even know why you believe you know how he feels about it, now."

He pauses at the dresser to say that, then goes to the closet to pull open the double doors, and starts sliding through options, gravitating towards the ones with more red accenting.

Frankly, he likes those least.

He is at least aiming for more day to day wear than more formal.

...and frankly he also likes those the least.

"Because we've argued about it a lot." His tone has gone softer still, ruefully understanding and wearily proud. "He's a teenager, now. I know most of his opinions."

Not everything, and he doesn't try to, but when it comes to him, what he does or doesn't do - they need to air that out, even if it hurts in the moment.

It occurs to him, distantly, that maybe he's trusting Bruce entirely too much with his wardrobe. Still doesn't look up, though.

"You've argued about it?"

What. The. Fuck. Who does that? Is that normal? The picture of their relationship he's getting was already odd, but that one has him turned away from the closet and just staring at Zerxus in utter bafflement.

Okay, that that him looking up, but his eyes only widen for a second because - well. Of course.

"...That's a thing most kids can do with their parents, Bruce." There's a strain to that, both sad and angry.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject