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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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.