krempuff | (no subject)

Krem did not often, nor did he enjoy, feeling hypocritical. He knew this was a human condition, and he was far from perfect in any way. But there was something about hypocrisy in general that smacked around in his chest, over-hot and miserable. He had no right to it, especially not in matters of heart and bed; being a hypocrite about those things just sang of a possessiveness of other people that he had no right to. Yet, here he was: embittered and hurt over something as simple as two people enjoying a moment together.

He was trying to get it out of his system. If he could, then things would be set to straights again. He had not asked Gannicus to give his key back, nor had he handed over his; this was not a break, just a pause. A moment for Krem to get his bearings in what this all meant and why it hurt so badly when it did not hurt to know that any one of his lovers might take someone else to bed.

His feet found a liquor store. His hands found bottles. And then he found himself standing outside Hild's complex. He paused, frowning at himself. He knew why he was here, but this felt hypocritical as well, and cruel in too many ways. He should not saddle Hild with the burdens of his stupid heart ache.

Someone came out, and so Krem went in. He went up to Hild's floor and, in front of her door, tried to think about what he might say.

There were no words. Not really. Except the truth of what had happened, and knowing he was acting like a spoilt brat about the whole thing. So, Krem cradled the bag with the liquor bottles he'd purchased in one arm, and wrapped on Hild's door. All he could do was hope she was in.

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Krem wrapped Hild in his arms, and let her wrap him in hers, until they were a tangle, a knot, of some remark. Her feeling and the scent of her skin were familiar and reassuring. Her affection and closeness were tings that had borne him out of some of his darkest moments.

He sniffled again, head on her shoulder, fingers working gently at the small of her back.

"I shouldn't...foist this on you," he murmured. But who else could he talk to about this? He was staid about his relationships with Dorian and purposefully withholding with Bull; he might drink with Balthier, but they were not a pair that talked about their lives much outside of what they did with each other; and Thomas was too reserved and easily flustered to bring up these things.

"Thank you," he said next, just as soft. "For letting me in."

"Foist?" she echoed. It was a strange term and even stranger in this context. There was nothing being thrown on her, no task she was being forced to. Krem was no burden and she was no oxen yoked to bear him. She had a choice in this and she chose to be with Krem.

"You make yourself sound like a bag of wheat and I must catch you or be hit." Hild turned her head to brush a kiss to his brow. She linked her fingers together, securing him in her arms, and let her hands rest at his side.

"You are always welcome here. Because I say so. You can always confide in me. Because I say so. These things are mine to give." Just as you are mine, she thought, but did not say. "I give them to you because I love you, not because I have to."

He was prepared to explain the word, until he realized--both through he expression and her concerned word--that she just disliked the word he'd used. He felt a bit like a bag of wheat. But, also, to be held like this felt an awful lot like being caught, and he was alright with that.

And then those words, her love, sat in his chest, it settled everything else out. It hurt, in the way that love always did, filling him up too full. But when had she given cause to doubt? Never. Once, months ago--over a year now, honestly--they had spoken of his growing affection for Noah and his worry that it would end a second chance with her. She had always been there, a constant with him, through everything he and suffered.

He pressed his face against her shoulder, nose pressed to her collarbone, and in Tevene--close enough to the Latin she spoke, close enough that they were mutually intelligible to each other--he murmured, "I love you."

She echoed him, in the Latin, and nuzzled her cheek into his hair and let it stay there.

She had never said those words, she thought, ever. She had said words of a like, words that carried greater meaning than their forms would imply. She had felt such things, so deeply, written on her very bones, but she had never put them to tongue, to lips, to sound and form and words.

She remembered how the queen, how Onnen had warned her. She didn't speak enough. She stared too much, too silent, too knowing, too otherwordly. They all knew she was thinking but none of them knew what. Speak more often, they had warned her, or people will speak for you, make guesses at your thoughts.

"I love you," Hild said again, and tightened the circle of her arms around him gently. She would not have him ever doubt and have those doubts speak for her.

Krem found Hild's hand and laced their fingers together. The weight of the ring he'd given her pressed into his skin, warm and soothing as her fingers between his, as her body pressed against his own, as her breath.

Today could be a better day. As with so many things, Hild was there for him, a constant, unrelenting support that he likely had not earned but that he appreciated nonetheless. The past year had been a hectic whirlwind of emotional and romantic ups and downs, but Hild had been there, whenever he needed her.

He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

"He seemed contrite, at least," he said, turning her hand over to nuzzle her palm. "When I told him who she was. I think I just need to be angry about it for a moment. It still feels stupid."

She squeezed his hand, then rubbed her thumb against his skin, slow and soothing in its repetitiveness. Gannicus would have to be contrite. He would never purposefully hurt Krem, of that Hild was sure. But worried over the exact words that needed to be said, the expression of feeling to smooth this over and fix it. Her words were not enough, at times, to carry a prophecy. It needed the tone, the setting, the dressing up to make it mean something.

"You can be angry," Hild said in an agreeable tone. Her lips moved into a slight smirk, her cheek twitching against the top of his head. "We can wrestle," she volunteered. "As in fight club."

Krem laughed softly. It brightened him, the gentleness of her words, the tenderness, the knowing that he was allowed to be angry about so petty a thing. It didn't feel petty right now. Just stung.

Honestly, and he wasn't sure if it was right to say so right now, he would rather wrestle like they had after Magnus's party. That hadn't been wrestling, but it had been close and intimate and reassuring of his worth.

"How about," he said, and stretched from the circle of her arms just enough to grab the bottle once more. "We drink, and then we can see about the wrestling part?"

He shifted and Hild took the opportunity to shift herself into something slightly more comfortable. By the time he had settled back against the couch, and her, bottle in hand, she had pulled her legs out from under her. One remained crooked on the sofa, but the other she wove between his, barefoot under his thigh, knee bent only so high that he could use it as a place to rest the bottle. Her skirt shifted in the movement, but this was more comfortable, too. The slide of fabric from knee to thigh was a subtle invitation, should he wish, should they get that far, should there be another sort of wrestling in mind.

"We drink," she agreed, smiling a soft, warm smile, of fondness and gentle care. "Deeply. And then we spend the evening however you like, even being angry." Though she hoped that that would not be the fullness of their time tonight.