Possibly? [This he looks more anxious about than the rest, but he does finally look up.] As I said. It's new. It happened when I was picking up a new jacket.
[Dorian takes a moment, idly drumming his fingers against Prior's chest.]
When it happens again, you should tell me about it. And any time after. And any time anything occurs, really— I know I was rather frightened before, but I know you're not mad. And I'd rather it not drive you mad for stewing on it.
[He has been stewing on it. Enough that he looks down to where Dorian's hand is and realises he's trade being self-conscious about his body for being self-conscious about his mind.]
As for not being mad... when two mannequins dressed in ballgowns begin to converse with the voices of your friends, one can rather feel it.
[It almost feels more intimate than anything gone before, for the added vulnerability of it. Prior winds his own arms around Dorian's waist to keep himself from stopping it.]
I try - I'll keep trying. You know how things are here, you think you're used to it, turn a corner and the world's suddenly crazier than you thought.
[He hums, watching Prior's expression while his hand drifts over the bruises. He doesn't know if it's too much, or if he shouldn't. He only knows he's not adverse to touching all of him like any other skin.]
I do know. However, I also know this world's a little less crazy with you here.
[There should be some quick response to that, a little self-dismissive quip or pithy pull quote from a movie Dorian's never seen. But Prior went and made the mistake of looking at him when he said it, and now there's no disguising an honest reaction that's too startled and - touched - to reach for words.
It's something he used to be. A stabilizing force. One cool, collected queen - until the sky fell in and his world started coming apart in too many awful, insane ways to keep track of. And he's hated it, feeling so un-anchored, so far at sea.
It's a long time since he hasn't suspected someone's care of being nothing more than displaced pity. But for a moment, he lets himself trust.
And his lip's trembling, that's no good.]
Really? [Oh, his voice, too. Well. Well - the shift is visible as he takes in a breath and draws up a new facade. When he speaks again his voice is stable - if channeling some monochrome screen siren, rather than himself.] Careful saying that, you could make a girl feel dull.
[Bold of him to try that around a man who knows the act all too well. Dorian knows, but he doesn't call him on it, instead settling his hand over his heart.]
The last thing that you are? I wouldn't dream of it. Perhaps in comparison to me, but... [He trails off, before he can carry on. There's some level of seriousness, some level of sincerity that he'd like to maintain before the moment passes.]
I only intend that you know this, Prior... You are a rock in the vast ocean that is the unknown. You are an oasis in a desert riddled with storms that threatens to bury us. You are a star, a little less showy than the, maybe, but one I wish on. Really. Nothing will change that.
All this sincerity is very unfair on someone spectacularly unused to earnest compliment. Flattery, yes, and but anything honest comes laced with sarcasm or a wry humor to make it easier to swallow. This - this is almost too much, really. Prior's very quiet for a moment, a lift of his eyebrows his first and, initially, only response.
Then a nod, curt.]
Well, I don't know who to be more furious with, you or me.
Mm, no, I think it's you. Talk about hiding things under a bushel, you just - I just -
[A hand is raised, one finger pointed in the air marking a deliberate halt. Nope. No, words won't do. If Dorian's curious about what it's like to be pinned down and kissed by someone who weighs approximately the same as a kitten, soaking wet, he's about to find out.
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[Dorian takes a moment, idly drumming his fingers against Prior's chest.]
When it happens again, you should tell me about it. And any time after. And any time anything occurs, really— I know I was rather frightened before, but I know you're not mad. And I'd rather it not drive you mad for stewing on it.
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[He has been stewing on it. Enough that he looks down to where Dorian's hand is and realises he's trade being self-conscious about his body for being self-conscious about his mind.]
As for not being mad... when two mannequins dressed in ballgowns begin to converse with the voices of your friends, one can rather feel it.
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Naturally. But it'll be easier, if you tell someone. Me, Byerly... [John's gone, now. He lets out a little sigh.] So long that you do.
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I try - I'll keep trying. You know how things are here, you think you're used to it, turn a corner and the world's suddenly crazier than you thought.
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I do know. However, I also know this world's a little less crazy with you here.
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It's something he used to be. A stabilizing force. One cool, collected queen - until the sky fell in and his world started coming apart in too many awful, insane ways to keep track of. And he's hated it, feeling so un-anchored, so far at sea.
It's a long time since he hasn't suspected someone's care of being nothing more than displaced pity. But for a moment, he lets himself trust.
And his lip's trembling, that's no good.]
Really? [Oh, his voice, too. Well. Well - the shift is visible as he takes in a breath and draws up a new facade. When he speaks again his voice is stable - if channeling some monochrome screen siren, rather than himself.] Careful saying that, you could make a girl feel dull.
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The last thing that you are? I wouldn't dream of it. Perhaps in comparison to me, but... [He trails off, before he can carry on. There's some level of seriousness, some level of sincerity that he'd like to maintain before the moment passes.]
I only intend that you know this, Prior... You are a rock in the vast ocean that is the unknown. You are an oasis in a desert riddled with storms that threatens to bury us. You are a star, a little less showy than the, maybe, but one I wish on. Really. Nothing will change that.
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All this sincerity is very unfair on someone spectacularly unused to earnest compliment. Flattery, yes, and but anything honest comes laced with sarcasm or a wry humor to make it easier to swallow. This - this is almost too much, really. Prior's very quiet for a moment, a lift of his eyebrows his first and, initially, only response.
Then a nod, curt.]
Well, I don't know who to be more furious with, you or me.
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Whatever you may be thinking, I already know the answer is not me. You've apparently been furious enough with me. I, innocent, who have done no wrong.
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[A hand is raised, one finger pointed in the air marking a deliberate halt. Nope. No, words won't do. If Dorian's curious about what it's like to be pinned down and kissed by someone who weighs approximately the same as a kitten, soaking wet, he's about to find out.
For the second time tonight.]