Deadly Fever (Closed)

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[attr="class","vgroup"] [attr="class","vogue"] [attr="class","mainv"]WARLOCK [attr="class","vlyrics"] Deadly fever, please don't ever break Be my reliever 'cause I don't self medicate And it burns like a gin and I like it Put your lips on my skin and you might ignite it [attr="class","vcred"]Joan Amador

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[attr="class","vpostbg"]The shuffling of living arrangements had been clever. The reason had been ostensibly to place Dorian closer to his charge in the case of the need for immediate action if Joan lost control during one of the quiet hours of the night. And, while that was far from untrue, it wasn't the entire truth. The Warlock played a dangerous and perilous game. The fact that he played it on someone else's behalf didn't mean he'd play more fair. So it had been for four nights that Dorian dwelt in a suite of the Institute that shared a wall with Joan's.

Thus far, the logic behind the close proximity seemed to be working. Dorian drew on any excess energy or radiation that festered in Joan's living quarters throughout the night, keeping it from bleeding outward, as one might draw breath. The Warlock couldn't let coincidence pile up around him and seed further doubt or disfavor in his charge. He had to bide his time. And he had. Four nights, Dorian judged, was enough. Enough to not arouse suspicion that was undermine his agendas.

Propped in a chair near the outer window/wall of his room wearing nothing but his undergarments, Dorian peered through his square spectacles at a book open on his knee. Thus far a dawn hadn't risen that spared Joan from some nightmare or another. The Warlock was confident that evening would be no different. And the boy didn't disappoint. Dorian smiled in his reading, feeling the emotions that he had sunk his psychic fangs into twitch, tremble, then dive downwards toward fear and despair.

The Warlock drank in the radiation that spiked symbiotically with Joan's terror, but only enough to keep it contained to his room. He sorted the strands of his powers, setting aside Joan's emotions utterly, pointedly not interfering or draining his excessive fear. Twenty minutes is what it took. Then Dorian's palate detected sharp changes in his feast's flavor. Joan was awake, but his fear was no less present. The Warlock cleverly lifted the chords of his abilities, splitting Joan's despair like a wound and let it bleed.

Two more minutes, fraught with uncertainty, anxiety, contradiction and then, finally: resolve. Dorian gently closed his book and placed it on the side table next to him. He felt Joan move through his room to the door that let onto the hall. Then into the hall itself. Then draw nearer, to his door, where he stopped and hovered for long, agonizing moments. Finally, a knock. So faint that Dorian knew its owner hoped it wouldn't be heard.

The Warlock stood, glanced down at his state of undress, and pondered momentarily. Delicious as it would be to see Joan blush and stutter were he to answer the summons just so, Dorian discarded the notion. Another step in the game. On his way to the door, the Warlock snatched a black, scarlet-edged robe and shrugged it on, binding it to his waist with the sash. He was just tightening the cincture when he opened the thing and feigned concern and fond, if not a bit indecent, surprise at who stood on the other side.

Something foreign, uncharacteristic and unwanted scraped against his heart, seeing Joan so visibly distressed. He shoved it aside. "Joan, is something the matter?" he asked, brows raised behind his glasses.

[attr="class","cred"]VEL OF PIXEL PERFECT

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[Joan Amador]

it comes in waves

i close my eyes

hold my breath & let it bury me

❧

It had actually taken Joan several hours the first night to process the fact that Dorian was housed in the room directly connected to his. Of course he'd made the mistake of admitting that to his siblings and had been on the receiving end of teasing since then.

He hadn't slept so close to another human being - not even back in Sydney with his siblings - since he'd gotten his powers. And he'd gotten those at roughly nine years old. Roughly twelve years of closing himself off, guarding himself, shutting himself in... All to protect other people.

He was practically in a constant state of nervousness, so close to tipping into fear. He knew what he could do if he lost control of his powers. He knew how many people he could kill. That sort of knowledge... Knowing that... To say it kept him up at night would have been an understatement.

His powers reacted to his emotions, especially his fear. Most often he would wake up, startled, from a nightmare and have to re-absorb the radiation his body had let off as he'd struggled in his dreams. But he'd noticed, over the course of the past four nights, the radiation had seemingly been contained to his room. There was less for him to re-absorb, less for him to worry about.

He had a feeling that was Dorian's doing. After all, he wasn't stupid.

He bolted awake this night, a sharp cry tearing from his throat, his body bolting up, hands clasped tightly onto blankets. His hands and eyes were glowing a radioactive green as radiation pooled off him. He didn't want to think about the nightmare - God, it'd felt more like a night-terror.

He did what he was trained to do. He took in deep breathes, trying to slow his breathing, trying to calm his heart. He needed to get his powers under control. It wasn't working. The sense of fear, of despair, wasn't leaving him. He resisted the urge to put his face in his pillow and scream in frustration. That most certainly wouldn't have helped.

He considered calling Ryan but the radiation made it too dangerous. He wasn't sure if Dorian was even awake - was he containing the radiation? Was there a limit to how much he could handle?

Dorian.

He could wake Dorian up. The man was there to make sure he didn't, well, to make sure he didn't turn the city into a nuclear wasteland. Certainly he could help with this. But he didn't want to ask for help. A part of him still felt like he risked hurting Dorian, and he'd trained himself to never put someone else in danger of his powers.

But the green glow was spreading up his arms now. He knew if his whole body started to glow, he'd never be able to get it under control.

He practically jumped out of bed, fear pushing him. He didn't bother to pull anything on, wearing simple black pajama pants already, though no shirt. He paused before leaving his room, frustratingly concentrating. He managed to get the glow to fade from his arms and hands but he could tell from the light cast on his door that it remained on his eyes.

He found himself in front of Dorian's door in a blur, his hand hovering mere inches from it before he managed to bring himself to knock. It was a faint knock. Despite the fact that he knew he needed help, part of him hoped Dorian wouldn't hear it--

His eyes, still glowing green, widened in clear surprise when Dorian did, in fact, answer the door. He briefly took in the fact that Dorian was wearing a robe and he had no clue whether he was wearing anything under that robe. But his fear overwhelmed him and he found it hard to focus on anything else.

"I uh - Can I come in?" he asked, fear stressing the words. "I - I can't control it."

667 ● @dorian ● n/a

[attr="class","cred"]MADE BY VEL OF WW + GS

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[attr="class","vgroup"] [attr="class","vogue"] [attr="class","mainv"]WARLOCK [attr="class","vlyrics"] Deadly fever, please don't ever break Be my reliever 'cause I don't self medicate And it burns like a gin and I like it Put your lips on my skin and you might ignite it [attr="class","vcred"]Joan Amador

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[attr="class","vpostbg"]For a moment, Dorian wondered if he had perhaps cleft wide Joan's fear too much. He'd never seen the younger man so overwhelmed by radioactive energies that his physical appearance was altered. Joan's eyes were brimming with a nauseous jade light that bled from the corners and rolled along his eyelashes. He spoke, and his voice was the faintest bit warped, more pale luminescence of the same hue nestled dull in his throat.

That annoying scrape ran a jagged finger down his chest again. Dorian ignored it, again. He had a role to play and a scene to execute. The next step to tread, and it was on a tightrope of half-truths and white lies shaded in cunning. Joan was distraught, which was what Dorian had planned, but his response to that dismay was a bit too unnervingly easy to configure. There was more truth in his risen brows and fretting frown than there ought to have been.

Once more, Dorian shouldered those things away. Whether to ignore entirely or sort through later didn't matter.

In the moment, the Warlock wasted no time. He reached out hand and clasped Joan's shoulder, steering him into the room while he shut the door behind them with the other. Joan may have tried to shrink further into the suite, but Dorian stopped him, landing his other palm on that other shoulder. He pulled Joan back to him, turning him and throwing off his balance so that Joan stumbled into Dorian's waiting embrace.

Dorian held Joan to himself, closed his eyes and breathed heavily onto where his neck met his shoulder. Behind his eyelids, Dorian's irises blazed crimson as he devoured the fear-stoked energy that boiled through the younger man's pores. The Warlock drank deeply, pulling on a bit of Joan's fear, too, to augment his presence as soothing, but leaving quite enough to keep Joan anxiously shackled to him, too.

When he was finished, Dorian allowed a few inches to widen between he and Joan, so that he panted against his temples. "I'm here for a reason, remember," he said, half-earnest, half-teasing. His eyes opened lazily and his lips fluttered in a smile just as content.

[attr="class","cred"]VEL OF PIXEL PERFECT

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[Joan Amador]

it comes in waves

i close my eyes

hold my breath & let it bury me

❧

It seemed to happen so fast - one minute, he was outside Dorian's room, wondering if he was about to start crying from the fear he felt and praying he wouldn't because that would have been embarrassing; the next, he was in the room and stumbling into Dorian's arms.

Every bone in his body told him that he needed to put distance between himself and the other man, that that was the only way to protect Dorian. He was still working on reminding himself that he didn't need to be afraid for Dorian's safety, at least not in regards to himself.

He could feel it - the moment the radiation started being drained, taken from him by Dorian. He found his hands gripping Dorian's robe, his forehead resting against the other man. His own eyes fluttered shut and he did what he was taught to do. He focused on his breathing, trying to calm himself down.

By the time he opened his eyes, the glow was gone though some of the fear remained, keeping his hands on Dorian, fingers bunching the fabric of the robe. When Dorian pulled away just enough to put a few inches between them, he followed, crossing the small distance so he could rest his forehead back down against the other man.

"I don't want to be alone," he mumbled against him. He felt safer with Dorian there, less volatile, less likely to cause a mass extinction. He felt a little less like he needed to be on guard. He felt like he could almost let his walls down and let Dorian in.

"I don't want to be alone," he repeated, this time not mumbled, in hopes that the other man would hear him. His face felt hot and he was hoping that if he kept his forehead against Dorian, he'd keep his blush hidden.

But he felt safer with Dorian, and that wasn't something he wanted to let go of.

"Can I... Can I stay the night?" his voice was timider than he would've liked but he found a part of him was afraid the other man would say no.

355 ● @dorian ● OTP \O_O/

[attr="class","cred"]MADE BY VEL OF WW + GS

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[attr="class","vgroup"] [attr="class","vogue"] [attr="class","mainv"]WARLOCK [attr="class","vlyrics"] Deadly fever, please don't ever break Be my reliever 'cause I don't self medicate And it burns like a gin and I like it Put your lips on my skin and you might ignite it [attr="class","vcred"]Joan Amador

[attr="class","vpostb"]

[attr="class","vpostbg"]He couldn't see straight at first. He only remained on his feet through every last shred of his willpower. Sampling tastes of Joan's power and emotions that he'd had up until that point had been delicacies - strangely, inexplicably. This was the first time that Dorian had had a full meal out of him. The power coursing through his veins was like nothing he'd experienced before. His heavy breathing and almost possessive grip on Joan weren't entirely part of the playacting.

The Warlock was momentarily taken aback when, upon drawing away from Joan, the younger man closed it again, pressing his burning forehead against the bit of Dorian's bare chest that peeked out of his robe. His breathing hitched and snagged. Joan murmured something, the warmth of his words making Dorian's skin threaten to catch fire. He thought he'd misheard him, at first, because it couldn't have been developing that perfectly. Then Joan repeated himself, more clearly, stubbornly, almost spiting himself with the enunciation.

Dorian's irises shimmered a dull scarlet. His lips spread in the most devilish scarlet. He lanced his self-control and restraint through his satisfaction. This was going splendidly, but he had to not step over the line. Everything could fall apart at the slightest misstep. Dorian overcame his surprise and rested his jaw on Joan's mussed hair, exhaling in a pensive, "Hmm." One of his hands snaked up Joan's back, the nape of his neck, then slipped into his hair, where his fingers ran soothing lines.

Not wanting to be alone was one thing. What Joan said next? Dorian couldn't have anticipated in his most ambitious dreams. He wanted to stay the night. And while the request was one thing, the emotions he could taste curling through Joan was another perfectly laid piece of the puzzle. He was terrified that Dorian would decline. Rather than any kind of verbal response, Dorian's grip on Joan switched again. He was small and light and nearly weightless to the Warlock on a normal day, let alone after ingesting so much raw energy.

Suddenly, Joan had been lifted off of the floor bridal-style. Dorian walked across the room to the chair he'd just vacated and settled down in it effortlessly, arranging Joan on his lap. He reached over and plucked up his book, opening it to the marked spot. "Just a few pages left in this chapter, if you'll indulge me," he said softly, not quite fending off the smug curl to the corners of his lips.

[attr="class","cred"]VEL OF PIXEL PERFECT

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[Joan Amador]

it comes in waves

i close my eyes

hold my breath & let it bury me

❧

He didn't notice the possessiveness to Dorian's grip. His entire focus was on trying to calm down, trying to get a sense of safety. It was what kept him latched onto Dorian, one of the few people he'd been told his powers couldn't kill. He hadn't been this physically close to someone without needing his powers to be nullified in a long time.

His eyes fluttered close and he sighed contently when Dorian ran his fingers through his hair. It felt comforting and he leaned into the touch. He was tired from lack of sleep, tired from losing control of his powers, tired from having his energy drained.

He was starting to think Dorian was done with him, that his answer would be no, that he'd be told to go back to his room - when he was suddenly scooped up into the other man's arms. The radiation in the room spiked briefly, reacting to his surprise and he instinctively put his arms around Dorian's neck in a silly attempt to make sure he wouldn't be dropped.

He was pretty sure his face was as red as a tomato. He expected to be plopped down on the bed so he could go to sleep. Instead he found himself on Dorian's lap. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel like a child - Was he supposed to protest and get up?

But he didn't really have the energy to do much. And he was assuming based on how close Dorian had held him, that the closer they were, the easier it was to absorb any radiation. So instead he curled up, resting his head against Dorian's shoulder.

"What are you reading?" he asked, his voice clearly trying to get back to the trained calm he'd worked on almost all his life. Part of him wanted to apologize for being so clingy. He doubted Dorian had signed up for that when he joined the Cabal. He couldn't help wondering if he was going to become a burden for Dorian.

"I didn't mean to interrupt you... I'm sorry."

347 ● @dorian ● Figured this thread being nominated twice for OTMs means it deserves a new post in it. 😜

[attr="class","cred"]MADE BY VEL OF WW + GS

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[attr="class","vgroup"] [attr="class","vogue"] [attr="class","mainv"]WARLOCK [attr="class","vlyrics"] Deadly fever, please don't ever break Be my reliever 'cause I don't self medicate And it burns like a gin and I like it Put your lips on my skin and you might ignite it [attr="class","vcred"]Joan Amador

[attr="class","vpostb"]

[attr="class","vpostbg"]Anxieties festered and crawled through Joan's emotional spectrum like an infestation. Dorian kept stock of them, as a merchant tallied available wares, but made no move to act on the knowledge. Joan had no idea the empathic facet of his powers, and the Warlock planned on keeping it that way. He had to pick and choose his cards wisely, or else Joan might catch on. Timid, self-loathing and meek as the boy was, Dorian knew his mind was alarmingly sharp and keen.

Besides. Those insecurities only helped to plough the field of Dorian's conquests for him. Why interfere?

Dorian didn't react physically at all to the next question asked. His eyes were fixated on the pages in front of him as he answered, somewhat distractedly. "Solenoid by Mircea Cărtărescu," the words dripped off his tongue, emphasizing his accent. Were Joan to chance a look at the pages, in fact, he would find that they were distinctly not in English. Then came an apology - reflexive, habitual, chronic, compulsive, as they always were.

The Warlock tensed. His former lazy half grin pursed in scorn. Dorian reached over with his spare hand and turned Joan's chin firmly toward him, so that there was hardly more than an inch of space between their faces as his brown eyes glared into the younger man's. "What have I said about apologizing?" he asked, rhetorically.  His glare turned more pensive as his thumb traced the edge of Joan's bottom lip.

Dorian released his grip, but readjusted in such a way that the stubble lining his jaw scraped Joan's temple and cheekbone while he continued to read. "It is about a man," he said, turning conversation back to the book as though his reprimand hadn't happened, "who hates his life. He dreams of escaping the confines of his existence to find refuge in the fourth dimension."

(OOC: Fun fact! Solenoid is a real novel by a real Romanian author! The premise Dorian describes is accurate, too!)

[attr="class","cred"]VEL OF PIXEL PERFECT

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[Joan Amador]

it comes in waves

i close my eyes

hold my breath & let it bury me

❧

He glanced at the pages of the book when Dorian read off the title and author. He was fairly certain it was in Romanian - While he couldn't speak or read the language, he was still able to recognize it for the most part. He was too busy looking at the pages, idly wondering what they held, what their words meant, that he'd forgotten about his apology despite just giving it.

He felt Dorian tense, being close to his body since he was still perched on his lap, but his mind didn't register it. His mind was still fogged and clouded with a mixture of fear and exhaustion - exhaustion from lack of sleep and from losing control just moments earlier.

He was snapped back to reality when his chin was firmly grabbed and turned. His eyes focused in on Dorian, his mind realized just how close they were, his cheeks darkened, and then he noticed the scorn. He was used to that look coming from others. His fear rose at that look, as did the radiation returning to the room.

"Sorry," he said quickly, not catching the rhetorical nature of the question or the fact that he'd just apologized once again. He only relaxed, visibly so, when Dorian's glare shifted and he felt his thumb move against his bottom lip.

He wondered if Dorian wanted to kiss him - If he found him attractive. He quickly pushed those thoughts down. Now wasn't the time. He was too tired.

Joan sort of shrank into himself when his chin was released but he was very much aware of the physical contact that remained between them. The heat in his cheeks, spreading to the rest of his face and his ears, made sure he remembered.

He allowed himself to relax against Dorian, leaning his temple into the touch of his chin. There was still comfort he found in contact he hadn't been able to have with someone else in a long time.

He pondered the book's description. He wondered if Dorian was reading a book about his life.

"He wants to stop existing?" he asked, a sad edge creeping its way into his tone. He hesitated before quietly adding a soft but clearly sad, "Me too."

374 ● @dorian ● Whelp this got sad LOL.

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[attr="class","vgroup"] [attr="class","vogue"] [attr="class","mainv"]WARLOCK [attr="class","vlyrics"] Deadly fever, please don't ever break Be my reliever 'cause I don't self medicate And it burns like a gin and I like it Put your lips on my skin and you might ignite it [attr="class","vcred"]Joan Amador

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[attr="class","vpostbg"]The words that fell, quiet and hollow, from Joan's mouth did something the Warlock had not expected: they stung. This - everything, all of it - was a grand masquerade to keep Joan in parameters set out by his employer. The book he held was a calculated choice, as almost all of them had been since meeting the boy. Dorian had hoped to use its premise as a threshing floor to knock aside Joan's closed-off chaff and get deeper.

The Warlock hadn't anticipated the dark dive that it would bring out in Joan. That alone gave him pause, stopped his breathing. What brought Dorian up even shorter was the welts hearing them left on what passed for his heart. He suddenly found he wished he'd never selected that particular book - he wanted to set fire to it at once. Dorian arrested all of his frustrating impulses, though, and forced himself to look as he always did - at the big picture.

If the time tables or scales were stacked differently, Dorian may have used the tortured admittance as a springboard into a very heated, sensitive encounter. But Joan was in a place more vulnerable than usual. And Dorian was expected to remain his retainer for the foreseeable future. He couldn't take advantage, couldn't risk the dust settling from the night - no matter how deeply satisfying in the moment - and leave awkwardness or regret between them.

Thoughts, realizations, denial; so many emotions raced through him like a spark. The book fell unceremoniously to the floor, and Dorian was standing, holding Joan again. He took three wide steps and laid Joan down in the middle of the bed, kneeling over him so his eyes could bore into his. "You are perfect as you are," he emphasized, almost angry in his demeanor, almost snarling in his words.

The Warlock left the nonnegotiable rigidity of his statement sink in, daring Joan to protest or disagree. "And in need of rest." Dorian reached back with a hand to snag the plush throw cast over the foot of the bed. He drew it up over the both of them and lowered down beside Joan, gathering him up against him, winding his arms possessively around him. "Sleep," he breathed into Joan's hair, just as commanding and unbending as ever. But, in that word lurked a tenderness.

[attr="class","cred"]VEL OF PIXEL PERFECT

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[Joan Amador]

it comes in waves

i close my eyes

hold my breath & let it bury me

❧

Joan was already halfway toward being asleep by the time Dorian stood up, cradled again in his arms. He didn't know why he'd admitted what he had. Perhaps it was because Dorian somehow made him feel safe. Perhaps it was because he was too tired to hold the words back.

He wasn't sure what he'd think about this when he awoke the next morning. Maybe he'd regret being so open, being so vulnerable in front of someone else. Or maybe he'd be glad he'd finally let someone in. Maybe he'd be glad he finally had someone he didn't have to put on a smile in front of; someone he didn't need to pretend to be happy when he wasn't when he was around them.

He didn't know what to expect with Dorian holding him again. He registered he was placed in a bed but it took him a second to also register that this was most definitely not his bed. He turned his head to look at the bed before his eyes found Dorian again, meeting his gaze.

He was startled at the other man's words, at how close to anger they seemed to be teetering. Joan would've wondered what had left him so upset but his words left little to the imagination. It was obvious that he was replying to what Joan had admitted.

Joan opened his mouth partially, a protest forming on his lips but never quite completing. Instead he closed his mouth, lips pursing in a sort of childlike surrender, and then relaxed his body against the bed.

He wasn't used to being taken care of so much - at least not in years and not without being sick - but he found, unsurprisingly, he had no energy to even reach and grab the blankets by himself.

And he was just starting to wonder where Dorian was going to sleep when weight was added to the bed and he found him lying right there, right next to him - so close that he could reach out and touch him. And right when he was thinking he wanted that closeness he'd had mere seconds ago back, Dorian was right there, his arms around him.

He shifted so that he was lying on his side, his back against Dorian. His eyes easily fluttered close and a soft sigh escaped his lips. Yeah, he thought Dorian had the right idea. He needed sleep.

403 ● @dorian ● n/a

[attr="class","cred"]MADE BY VEL OF WW + GS

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