The dawn light gilded Tashir’s hair, and Vanyel watched drowsily as the strands shimmered in the sun. He found himself following the pattern of Tashir’s breathing, their chests rising and falling together. Even Tashir’s heartbeat, felt in the hand that rested gently by his throat, seemed to be in time with Vanyel’s own pulse.
It would soon be time to rise, and to figure out how to explain all of… this. Vanyel remembered how he’d resented the assumptions that had been made about him in regard to Medren, and realised sourly that this would only make them seem the more justified.
Perhaps they are, he thought suddenly, a sick sensation washing over him. He knew there was a difference between what Medren had offered him and what Tashir had, and what he’d felt for both of them, but he wasn’t sure, lying there with a young man barely more than half his age in his bed, if that difference was enough. And he was worried that the difference might be less in what Tashir was and more in what—in who—he looked like.
Vanyel sighed.
Beside him, in his sleep, so did Tashir.
An ugly, creeping feeling made its way up Vanyel’s spine.
Don’t get carried away, he told himself. It could be nothing. He didn’t really believe it. He thought for a moment, frowning, trying to ignore the way that Tashir’s heartbeat echoed his own, and came to a decision.
Watching Tashir carefully, Vanyel held his breath.
At first, nothing happened. Tashir didn’t even twitch. But on his next outward breath, the exhalation went on longer and longer, until his chest was empty, and he did not breathe in again.
Vanyel didn’t wait any longer, too afraid of accidentally suffocating Tashir. He stopped holding his breath, and Tashir inhaled with a gasp, waking.
“…Morning,” he said, blinking rapidly.
Vanyel made a noise of vague agreement, but he wasn’t paying attention. He was searching the boundaries of his shields, the ones he’d placed on both himself and Tashir, trying to find where he’d left the opening. Where had this magic slipped through?
And was it mine?
Tashir pushed himself up onto one elbow, looking at Vanyel. “Is something wrong?” he asked, his voice hesitant.
“No,” Vanyel said automatically. He tried a smile. “We should think about getting up, though.” He thought about asking Yfandes if she could find where he’d gone wrong, but the idea of telling her what he’d done didn’t exactly fill him with joy. If I can just find where I went wrong, I can fix this.
Tashir nodded. “We shouldn’t miss breakfast,” he said. He smiled back, and Vanyel felt sick. “You, especially.” He poked Vanyel in the ribs.
“That was uncalled for,” said Vanyel mildly, only half paying attention.
It was like he’d kicked a puppy. “I’m s-sorry, I didn’t mean—” Tashir began.
Vanyel shook his head as best he could while lying on his side. “It’s fine,” he said. He wondered if Tashir was picking up on Vanyel’s feelings of guilt, or if he was just that jumpy. Both seemed equally likely. He was trying to think of something to say to reassure him when—
There!
He’d opened up to try to reach Tashir with his Empathy, and Tashir had reached back. If it had been intentional, he’d have felt the attack, but done unconsciously it had seeped through his barriers like blood through a bandage. And with no control from Tashir, Vanyel’s own feelings had flowed back along the link, and were doing so still—he could sense Tashir’s mounting anxiety as he fought to manage his own.
How could I have been so selfish? If he’d only been paying attention, if he’d questioned what he’d picked up on from Tashir instead of trying to have something he’d lost years ago, he would have seen that it wasn’t right. Tashir had wanted him to say yes, but somewhere under a tangle of mutual confused emotions was why, and when Vanyel saw it for what it was he knew just how badly he’d acted.
It had been a cry for help, and he’d been too desperate to pretend that the boy was someone else, too intent on his own pathetic desires, to realise it.
Gods.
“Vanyel?”
And he was still putting his own feelings ahead of Tashir’s welfare.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Tashir looked confused. “What?” he said. “What are you sorry for?”
“This,” said Vanyel, and severed the link between them.
His vision went black for a moment as his breath and his heart froze for a moment. When he could see again, he was looking into Tashir’s bewildered face, and he was just in time to see confusion change to outright panic.
“What just happened?” Tashir said, voice weak and trembling.
Vanyel pulled away from him, trying to think of a way to explain that wouldn’t shatter the already fragile trust that Tashir had extended to him. It’s a little late to worry about that, you fool. You already ruined this. “Listen—” he began.
Tashir grabbed his shoulder. “Kiss me again,” he demanded. “Vanyel, I don’t—something’s wrong, I don’t feel—”
“Tashir, listen to me,” Vanyel said, hoping that he’d have come up something else to say by the time he’d finished saying it. “What happened last night was…” He sighed. Better to tell the truth, he thought. That’s the only way he’ll be able to deal with what I’ve done to him. “It’s common for someone with an uncontrolled Gift to exert a certain… influence on other people, completely unintentionally. I should have been watching for that, but I wasn’t doing my duty there.” He paused, trying to figure out what to say next.
“You mean I forced you,” Tashir said hollowly. The awful blank look that he wore when he thought about the night he’d been Chosen was starting to settle over his face now too, his eyes flat and lifeless. “Gods. I never meant… I’m so sorry.” He pulled away, made to stand up.
“No,” Vanyel said, more forcefully than he’d meant to. Tashir flinched, and stayed where he was. “You did nothing wrong, Tashir. I…” He sighed. “I tried to sense what you were feeling, and I left a path open for our emotions to mix because I wasn’t paying enough attention to realise it was there or that I’d have to close it. That’s what you just felt, me closing that path. Your feelings are your own now.” He glanced away, unwilling to look Tashir in the eye. “Not mine.”
“…But I don’t know what they are,” Tashir said, sounding desperate. “Last night I wanted you, it was good, it felt good!” He snatched at Vanyel’s hand, holding him so tightly that it hurt. “Can’t you make me feel like that again? I like you, I liked it, I felt—” He broke off. There were tears in his eyes. “I felt safe.”
Vanyel held Tashir’s hand, but didn’t move any closer. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I won’t lie to you like that.” Not again.
“Then what am I supposed to do now?” Tashir asked plaintively.
“Whatever you want,” Vanyel said. “Whatever you truly want.”
Tashir’s breathing was unsteady. It sounded like he was on the verge of sobbing outright. “I want to stay,” he whispered. “Can—can I stay? Like what happened last night was real?” His voice cracked. “Can we just pretend for a little while?”
Re: Vanyel/Tashir - Fill: "Unison", 2/2
It would soon be time to rise, and to figure out how to explain all of… this. Vanyel remembered how he’d resented the assumptions that had been made about him in regard to Medren, and realised sourly that this would only make them seem the more justified.
Perhaps they are, he thought suddenly, a sick sensation washing over him. He knew there was a difference between what Medren had offered him and what Tashir had, and what he’d felt for both of them, but he wasn’t sure, lying there with a young man barely more than half his age in his bed, if that difference was enough. And he was worried that the difference might be less in what Tashir was and more in what—in who—he looked like.
Vanyel sighed.
Beside him, in his sleep, so did Tashir.
An ugly, creeping feeling made its way up Vanyel’s spine.
Don’t get carried away, he told himself. It could be nothing. He didn’t really believe it. He thought for a moment, frowning, trying to ignore the way that Tashir’s heartbeat echoed his own, and came to a decision.
Watching Tashir carefully, Vanyel held his breath.
At first, nothing happened. Tashir didn’t even twitch. But on his next outward breath, the exhalation went on longer and longer, until his chest was empty, and he did not breathe in again.
Vanyel didn’t wait any longer, too afraid of accidentally suffocating Tashir. He stopped holding his breath, and Tashir inhaled with a gasp, waking.
“…Morning,” he said, blinking rapidly.
Vanyel made a noise of vague agreement, but he wasn’t paying attention. He was searching the boundaries of his shields, the ones he’d placed on both himself and Tashir, trying to find where he’d left the opening. Where had this magic slipped through?
And was it mine?
Tashir pushed himself up onto one elbow, looking at Vanyel. “Is something wrong?” he asked, his voice hesitant.
“No,” Vanyel said automatically. He tried a smile. “We should think about getting up, though.” He thought about asking Yfandes if she could find where he’d gone wrong, but the idea of telling her what he’d done didn’t exactly fill him with joy. If I can just find where I went wrong, I can fix this.
Tashir nodded. “We shouldn’t miss breakfast,” he said. He smiled back, and Vanyel felt sick. “You, especially.” He poked Vanyel in the ribs.
“That was uncalled for,” said Vanyel mildly, only half paying attention.
It was like he’d kicked a puppy. “I’m s-sorry, I didn’t mean—” Tashir began.
Vanyel shook his head as best he could while lying on his side. “It’s fine,” he said. He wondered if Tashir was picking up on Vanyel’s feelings of guilt, or if he was just that jumpy. Both seemed equally likely. He was trying to think of something to say to reassure him when—
There!
He’d opened up to try to reach Tashir with his Empathy, and Tashir had reached back. If it had been intentional, he’d have felt the attack, but done unconsciously it had seeped through his barriers like blood through a bandage. And with no control from Tashir, Vanyel’s own feelings had flowed back along the link, and were doing so still—he could sense Tashir’s mounting anxiety as he fought to manage his own.
How could I have been so selfish? If he’d only been paying attention, if he’d questioned what he’d picked up on from Tashir instead of trying to have something he’d lost years ago, he would have seen that it wasn’t right. Tashir had wanted him to say yes, but somewhere under a tangle of mutual confused emotions was why, and when Vanyel saw it for what it was he knew just how badly he’d acted.
It had been a cry for help, and he’d been too desperate to pretend that the boy was someone else, too intent on his own pathetic desires, to realise it.
Gods.
“Vanyel?”
And he was still putting his own feelings ahead of Tashir’s welfare.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Tashir looked confused. “What?” he said. “What are you sorry for?”
“This,” said Vanyel, and severed the link between them.
His vision went black for a moment as his breath and his heart froze for a moment. When he could see again, he was looking into Tashir’s bewildered face, and he was just in time to see confusion change to outright panic.
“What just happened?” Tashir said, voice weak and trembling.
Vanyel pulled away from him, trying to think of a way to explain that wouldn’t shatter the already fragile trust that Tashir had extended to him. It’s a little late to worry about that, you fool. You already ruined this. “Listen—” he began.
Tashir grabbed his shoulder. “Kiss me again,” he demanded. “Vanyel, I don’t—something’s wrong, I don’t feel—”
“Tashir, listen to me,” Vanyel said, hoping that he’d have come up something else to say by the time he’d finished saying it. “What happened last night was…” He sighed. Better to tell the truth, he thought. That’s the only way he’ll be able to deal with what I’ve done to him. “It’s common for someone with an uncontrolled Gift to exert a certain… influence on other people, completely unintentionally. I should have been watching for that, but I wasn’t doing my duty there.” He paused, trying to figure out what to say next.
“You mean I forced you,” Tashir said hollowly. The awful blank look that he wore when he thought about the night he’d been Chosen was starting to settle over his face now too, his eyes flat and lifeless. “Gods. I never meant… I’m so sorry.” He pulled away, made to stand up.
“No,” Vanyel said, more forcefully than he’d meant to. Tashir flinched, and stayed where he was. “You did nothing wrong, Tashir. I…” He sighed. “I tried to sense what you were feeling, and I left a path open for our emotions to mix because I wasn’t paying enough attention to realise it was there or that I’d have to close it. That’s what you just felt, me closing that path. Your feelings are your own now.” He glanced away, unwilling to look Tashir in the eye. “Not mine.”
“…But I don’t know what they are,” Tashir said, sounding desperate. “Last night I wanted you, it was good, it felt good!” He snatched at Vanyel’s hand, holding him so tightly that it hurt. “Can’t you make me feel like that again? I like you, I liked it, I felt—” He broke off. There were tears in his eyes. “I felt safe.”
Vanyel held Tashir’s hand, but didn’t move any closer. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I won’t lie to you like that.” Not again.
“Then what am I supposed to do now?” Tashir asked plaintively.
“Whatever you want,” Vanyel said. “Whatever you truly want.”
Tashir’s breathing was unsteady. It sounded like he was on the verge of sobbing outright. “I want to stay,” he whispered. “Can—can I stay? Like what happened last night was real?” His voice cracked. “Can we just pretend for a little while?”
No.
“Yes,” Vanyel said.