Welcome to Gaia! ::

The working of weak muscle and churning organs had Malory pausing to assess the potential for ruinous splash damage. The trembling attempt to do something other than be a bathmat or mutinously kick at his seat merited still further observation. After a moment the bathroom was filled with a short, sharp smacking sound as Malory hit the boy’s a** in both you can handle this encouragement and don’t you ******** dare warning.

“Arms up.”

That had Malory pausing, smile frozen in place before remembering that a broken nose was a very far cry from being burned alive, one end to another, slowly cauterising along the way to make sure it lasted. Not that he’d ever worried about that sort of thing. Lately.

Starting with the hands, as it so often did between them, Malory worked from one end to the other, lathering along the way to make sure no Blue Ruin remained. He remained uncharacteristically gentle throughout the process, but also offered no teasing or playful touches as he went.

Realizing he’d been a little too quiet after the threat Malory finally replied, “Two ribs. You can break two ribs before I get really mad about it.”

“Because I’d cry and be very sad,” Malory offered mildly, which was likely more of an encouragement than anything. The threat of dropping his identity, disappearing beneath the city’s insistence of secrecy and glamour, was unvoiced.. He didn’t think it bore repeating, even thought that repetition would undermine its solemn reality. Because he knew, with certainty, that he would do so, without hesitation or much sentimentality for this life save for the dogs. And easy access to wealth. But there was also a part of him that was curious and wondering what it would be like. That had always wondered what it would be like and for far longer than he’d ever known it to be an option.

But he’d really rather not, morbid curiosities aside. He liked this life, and felt the feather of this love weigh a little more and more against the weight of his own comfort and caprice. Staring thoughtfully down into those eyes, soapy hands at ribs that felt more prominent than usual and even more fragile than his own, Malory’s expression finally warmed into what could be considered a sort of wry fondness.

“You always paint the prettiest pictures.”

“I’d rather have both,” Malory didn’t quite argue, because Eles wasn’t wrong in that the former was something he could look at and feel drawn to in different manners. While the latter he knew he’d take pleasantly for granted as something that inherently belonged to him.

Was this question the anticipated revenge? So soon?

He really shouldn’t underestimate Eles and his ability to get his own back in mildly horrible ways that Malory felt inclined to indulge. And so, moving the stool around until he faced the other boy straight on, he first said, “Lift your foot.”

And then Malory answered, “I like…my body. I adore the pleasure it gives me, or even just the simple ways it can exist. Passive but still weighing down on a chair or leaning against a wall. I like it. And I like my body when it’s in pain, too. Which is complicated as I don’t want it to be damaged in the process. At least not for too long.” It was both the truth and half the answer.

He held up two fingers and mouthed, Only two ribs.

“Do those anyway,” Malory sighed and allowed himself to imagine the ghost ache of a bruised jaw versus healing ribs versus that of his nasal bone versus that of his rabbit heart racing and dying for excitement and fear. Imagined the same for Eles because it was always so important to share.

From the tiny shell of little toe (he should have grabbed the clippers) to the smooth expanse of thigh that bore the fading marks of a hard impact of a fall (sad to have missed it), Malory continued to clean up his boy with attentive, gentle care until the point where he had to get up off of the stool and crouch across from Eles.

The Fallen Angel had taken a turn for The Evening Angel that would likely last only until Malory was reaching for the sprayer once more. Maybe he should finally lower the pressure as a treat. Or turn it up.

“Is it feeling more your own, now?” It was one thing to wake up with a body that happened to be your own, it’s something entirely different to make the choices, piece by piece and night by night, that make a body your own. “Is that why you’re going blonde?”

The dazed, admiring look had Malory lowering the pressure of the sprayer and staying where he was instead of removing himself back on high to the dignity of the shower stool. His own curiosity too. “Who’s Christie? What tips?!”

Malory was grinning and curiosity brightened his features as he scanned Eles’s own, as if he could solve the mystery in the set of the boy's jaw, at the butterfly tremble at the edges of his eyes. “What have you been up to?”

It was enough to make him suddenly far less distant and meticulous in finishing the task, fingers playfully tripping downward to tickle at Eles’s side. “A job? Waiting? Bartending?” What other jobs included tips? Parking attendant? He didn’t think Eles knew s**t about driving, but Malory couldn’t see that stopping him from trying.

“So that’s where the clothes have been coming from!” With every piece of the picture grudgingly set out, Malory felt a certain joy expanding in his chest. “You’re a stripper?” Amazement colored his tone but there wasn’t a trace of doubt or incredulity. Eles finding himself in a circumstance that led to him stripping in a soft sway of velvet and feather for the admiration of strangers and their wallets? Made a perfect, beautiful sense.

And that joy expanded to near bursting before condensing to something tight and sweet, like Eles had punched a fistful of honey into his chest cavity instead of keeping it to a discreet few ribs. “What? Really?” And here was the doubt and even confusion, that gave way to something infinitely softer. It took awhile to realize he’d been spraying the same scuffed kneecap the whole time while trying to process the soft shock of it.

It wouldn’t be just for him. Not that he wasn’t worth it, but he knew Eles was more pragmatic than that being the simple beginning, middle, and end of purpose. But even if just in part was aching and dangerous in a twist of warmth he hadn’t asked for, hadn’t braced himself to anticipate.

Putting the sprayer aside, he leaned forward to rest his head on the boy’s drawn up knees and idly hoped that Eles’s headache was still pounding in his ears for inflicting whatever the ******** was happening in Malory’s chest. He always responded to every I hate you, those both well-earned and not, with an I love you in turn, but found he couldn’t manage this time. The words too big for his mouth. They’d choke him, he’d break his teeth around their terrible mass.

“Do you have a stage name?”

“Each time I see something new in the closet, I try it on.” Malory admitted, then added in a sly tone, “I texted you some pictures.” Well, a lot of pictures. Only some of them in the new clothes. Or any clothes, really.

Lifting his chin under the shifting limbs he finally looked up to face the Not Suffering Enoughest Boy once more and sighed. “Ebon Aphelion. It has a nice cadence to it.” And a drama. The furthest from light, the deepest in shadow and unknowns. Extremely suiting.

“And how does Ebon Aphelion step out onto the stage?” Reaching out past Eles, Malory turned off the water.