[His chin tipped down so he could watch Richard touch the round jagged scar on his chest. He knew the younger man had been curious of the old wounds, and he had always been vague about them and the nature of his acquiring them. He supposed they would make more sense now that they had undertaken training with firearms, though he would always prefer a knife.
He expected questions to pull back the veil further on the situation which lead to his own demise at the hands of his daughter. It was an accident in a way, the chaos of the situation driving rational thought from the scene at the click of a firearm which might mean she was under attack. Jinx had never been his target. She reacted on instinct, and he had paid the price for trying to help her by silencing the source of her mental breakdown.
Yet, there were no questions, and he stepped in as that arm wound around him and pulled him in. He didn't resist and pressed Richard against the tiles to feel the warmth and comfort that he found with his lover's body. His fingers stroked down the younger man's side, only to pause when Richard replied with a secret of his own.
He listened, drinking in the information, and mismatched eyes moved to the burnt scarred flesh. He moved his mouth to kiss the top of the scarred shoulder; it seemed that family had given them both many scars. No wonder they found comfort in one another.] Family is never perfect. [He added another kiss the scarred skin.] It doesn't sound like she wanted to kill you herself; she manufactured circumstances in hopes that they might eliminate you but couldn't bring herself to murder her own child. It sounds like you were her thorn as much as she was yours.
[He lifted his head to rest it against Richard's forehead again, peering into those mismatched eyes. A part of this reminded him of Vander, of the failed attempt to murder him and then the other man letting him live once he escaped.] Perhaps the failed attempts by those we cared about are simply us being their shame. Our living on forces them to face a part of themselves they despise... and yet, I expect a part of us still cares for them....
no subject
He expected questions to pull back the veil further on the situation which lead to his own demise at the hands of his daughter. It was an accident in a way, the chaos of the situation driving rational thought from the scene at the click of a firearm which might mean she was under attack. Jinx had never been his target. She reacted on instinct, and he had paid the price for trying to help her by silencing the source of her mental breakdown.
Yet, there were no questions, and he stepped in as that arm wound around him and pulled him in. He didn't resist and pressed Richard against the tiles to feel the warmth and comfort that he found with his lover's body. His fingers stroked down the younger man's side, only to pause when Richard replied with a secret of his own.
He listened, drinking in the information, and mismatched eyes moved to the burnt scarred flesh. He moved his mouth to kiss the top of the scarred shoulder; it seemed that family had given them both many scars. No wonder they found comfort in one another.] Family is never perfect. [He added another kiss the scarred skin.] It doesn't sound like she wanted to kill you herself; she manufactured circumstances in hopes that they might eliminate you but couldn't bring herself to murder her own child. It sounds like you were her thorn as much as she was yours.
[He lifted his head to rest it against Richard's forehead again, peering into those mismatched eyes. A part of this reminded him of Vander, of the failed attempt to murder him and then the other man letting him live once he escaped.] Perhaps the failed attempts by those we cared about are simply us being their shame. Our living on forces them to face a part of themselves they despise... and yet, I expect a part of us still cares for them....