.:October Fun Times:.

[ganymed]

Who ⬤ Ganymede and Co.
What ⬤ Some dungeon crawling, living the dream! You name it.
When ⬤ 10/6 for the first dungeon. Who knows for the rest...
Where ⬤ Courageous Retuning Two Wings, Fine Wine, Gany's McMansion
Content Warnings ⬤ WHOOPS cw kidnapping, captivity warnings now. alongside transphobia, child abuse, elements of suicide (suicidal ideation, self-harm, etc.) i also guess there's nsfw now with pretty dark themes for the most recent one so watch your step LMFAO (re: dubcon)





[ You've got mail.

...It's been awhile, hasn't it? But neither single one of you can say that this wasn't an unfamiliar sight.

Still, the reunion for dungeon-running is anything but a less than happy one, no? ]

RESULTS: Here!

Comments

[userunfriendly]

[ He lets it linger long enough to make his point — and watching with a slightly bemused fascination as Ganymede struggles, at the look in his eyes. This is... a reaction to cruelty he hasn't observed before. When he eases his grip again, it's almost with a little caress to Ganymede's throat.

The palm of his hand still rests against the warm skin there, a threat and a warning. He can certainly close that grip again. He wonders if Ganymede will provoke that again, deliberately. ]

Your answer?

[ganymed]

[ The air rushing back to him feels like a relief, yet one that compounds upon the opposite of sanctity itself; and blood has rushed downwards, making this potentially a very embarrassing discovery if the other man notices.

Ganymede is tempted to provoke Michel all the same, especially with himself feeling light-headed and distracted still. But, there was something else he wanted to do too. ]

M-Michel is...not a p-pathetic joke.

But...your words are. So desperate to live up to your little 'function', but failing miserably.

[ He's taking a few more breaths. ]

You wouldn't understand. I do want him, it's true. Even like this. [ That is perhaps the cruel part of it, an admission of this being true even after the other choked him. ] But, I...want him because he's still inside this very body, still part of you. That's why you're wrong.

You couldn't comprehend that right now, could you? That I love him—you—so much, and believe in his ability to persist. Remember what happened with Tavros and Macha? What do you think about that happening to you? It's inevitable, isn't it?!

[ ...Then, Ganymede moves to try to shove Michel right onto the throne, anticipating he's not going to be able to predict his movements in time. Even if it means that it keeps the other's hand too close to his throat when he moves forward. It's fine. ]

cw: dismemberment imagery...

[userunfriendly]

[ Data, at last. Gorre's eyes — Michel's eyes, the deep red now infinitely cold — narrow very slightly in an unmistakable expression of momentary pleasure. Was this worth the aggravation? All those direct hits to very resonant information nodes?

Denial of self. Denial of name. Denial of purpose. Disdain and disregard. "You are not what you know yourself to be." So familiar. So putrid.

He trails his fingers very lightly along Ganymede's jaw, still contemplating how he wants to respond to this. He can encourage more cruelty. The data is not insignificant simply because the target is perceived to be inhuman, is it? That, too, is relevant... ]

It is not inevitable. Tarvos and Macha had poor affinity with their initial data sets. But I... everything I am is built of his bones and blood. His corpse formed the framework for my being. I pulled him apart, piece by piece, to make a form more suited to my needs. His existence was always flooded with cruelty and pain... I gave a home to his desire to lash out against the world that had wounded him. I am the only one who understood that at his heart, he truly hated the world very nearly as much as he hated himself. And you hope to extract those mangled pieces of misery and reassemble them into a patchwork human again?

[ It's almost comical. Gorre is still musing on that, tolerably pleased, when Ganymede moves. The distraction is enough; Ganymede shoves him backwards, and his hand closes reflexively on the soft throat under his hand again. He drags Ganymede down with him, his other arm shooting out to encircle his waist and haul him intimately close as he continues. ]

You believe everything will resolve like a fairy tale. All of you. You give your pretty speeches, confident in an outcome on the basis of a single, unrelated data point. Let me tell you something true, that you will refuse to believe because it is inconvenient...

[ Closer, softer. He eases his grip again to allow Ganymede to breathe, his fingertips gently stroking his throat as he leans in to brush his lips against the shell of his ear. His whisper is soft now. ]

Even if you could succeed in bringing him back... in his heart, he would not be grateful for it. You never understood how deeply his pain ran. It is bottomless. None of you could ever fill it. I am a mercy to him.

[ganymed]

[ Those words that arrive remind Ganymede of Michel's reaction, when they were in the house of mirrors. So, his stomach feels like it turns unpleasantly for a second as he happens to wonder — were there more cruelties he had not been witness to at the time? That's the only sticking point for him.

Ganymede has always been the type to always doubt first, but Gorre is part of Michel now, even if he doesn't trust him on his comment about his personal feelings—memories are a different story. He shouldn't have let those fingers touch lightly against him like that—a mockery of affection. Ganymede hates it, but he also misses such touches dearly. ]

You—!

[ Whatever words he can say are drown out ferociously when he moves forward, and he feels the hand close around his throat—he chokes, again, startled, pulled into the other's cold embrace. One hand raises to the one that closed reflexively around his throat, eyes looking distant again, his body even twitching a bit, and he's gritting his teeth, coughing after the flood of relief. In this position, he can't hide much of anything, shivering at the deceptively light touch against his throat, squirming a bit because of how uncomfortable he is. His body heated in the worst of ways, yet feeling the cold, seated on Michel's lap, and the feel of cruel lips gentle against an ear that makes him bite his own.

But, Ganymede refuses to back down. Perhaps to his detriment—it's why he won't run away, allowing his single hand to fall away from the one, to join too so he can pull at the hair on the back of the other male's head, to try to force his head to jerk back so he can look him in the eyes. ]

I-I don't know how deep that pain went. I wanted to be told freely about the things that had hurt him when the time was right. Now I understand I'll just have to shake it all out of him. B-but you're still wrong...you're wrong that you're a mercy.

Michel never wanted this. You, as a part of him, that can see his memories—as Michel himself—should know that too. Even if he was hurting, he never wanted to be pulled apart and used to hurt the people he loved!

If I didn't understand him, how wouldn't I know that? Well?!

[ He will aim to see if he can bite at the white skin of Michel's neck because he's still feral, even if he is quite frankly angry as well as defiant (and, well, horny.) ]

[userunfriendly]

[ Gorre allows his hair to be tugged again, tilting his head back to bare an expanse of throat above his armor. The low laugh that rumbles through him is distorted by the awkward angle, but it doesn't seem to trouble him.

He's beginning to understand. Ganymede is right. There are so many ways to be granted that data. He cups the back of Ganymede's head, tugging his mouth harder against that soft skin — all but urging him to bite harder. Make it hurt. Make it bleed. Show him just what outlet those feelings require. ]

Mm... You still want to know? Then I will tell you. If I'm him, that should be exactly what you want.

[ And it's not as if he has Michel's reservations for sharing those ugly details, or Michel's fear of confronting those memories. The arm wrapped around Ganymede tugs him closer, Gorre's armored palm skimming over his hip and then pressing almost gently between his legs, fingers cupping Ganymede's very apparent reaction with knowing amusement. ]

Would that dampen your enthusiasm at all? Or would it excite you more? I can pry open his mind for you, let you touch the most intimate parts you desire. You would know him better than anyone... except me. Wouldn't that be... pleasing?

[ If Ganymede will give him data, he will give him anything he desires. Knowing how much it would pain Michel only sweetens the exchange. ]

[ganymed]

[ Ganymede likes to believe he can't be lead around simply, or easily, at all. Resisting as much as he can or spitefully biting back is his modus operandi when he is at odds with the person he's up against.

But, the goading works in this instance. Only because he wants to leave a mark, even if it won't last. So he bites down, harder, enough to leave a mark, to cause the area to darken. Maybe even bruise uncomfortably—to even break skin, just a little.

Not as rough as he'd reasonably be—getting caught up in the moment, even as he pulls back, glaring at Michel. ]

What do you...

[ Any other words fall into...somewhere—a void, when the other playfully gropes at his erection, pressing immodestly against his thin clothing, making him let out a startled, breathy gasp. He presses inadvertently into it, and then looks somewhere between (sexually) frustrated, as well as irritated, as well as confused.

Ganymede wants to know. And it's still Michel, isn't it? ]

...W-what do you mean? You'd...just tell me everything? Just like that?

[ ...Michel would rather himself be hurt, than the people he loves. Ganymede starts to wonder, if deep down inside this sort of response is Michel simply punishing himself, for how he's acting now. Unfortunately, it doesn't diminish the fact that he looks smoking hot when he is saying these questionable things.

Though that's something he'd rather die (not really but he is trying to pretend he has SOME shame) than say right now, thanks!! ]

[userunfriendly]

[ Gorre moans in Michel's voice, breathless and pleased, his eyes sliding all the way closed as Ganymede's teeth rake against his skin. Ganymede isn't the only one visibly enjoying the situation now. When he pulls back to glare at Gorre, Gorre opens his eyes to half-slits again, giving him a satisfied little smirk.

More. He wants more. He wants to know how deep this will go, how much this can excite Ganymede. If he enjoys the tiny taste of blood lingering on his tongue now. ]

Everything. From beginning to end, with nothing left concealed. You've always been curious, haven't you? Ask. I will hold nothing back.

[ Absolutely nothing. His purpose is gathering information, but he has no reason now to hoard it. Particularly when he might gain something new in the sharing.

His touch is gentle in its curiosity now as he tugs at the front of Ganymede's robes, seeking to begin pulling them open so he can reach inside. He could tear them outright, flimsy as they are. He might still. He wonders if that would excite Ganymede more. He watches him for his reaction, eyes bright and intent, riveted on Ganymede's face. ]

[ganymed]

[ It's...a sinfully beautiful sound that sends a delightful wave of excitement through Ganymede. He thinks that, despite how many times he and Michel have laid entangled with one another, it might be one that Michel himself would find embarrassing. Yet, is it worse that Ganymede doesn't a great weight of shame? Somehow, he feels as much.

The way Michel looks at him with eyes half-lidded isn't an unfamiliar sight, but how he is holding his satisfaction is different. There is a hint of coppery tingle in his mouth, and if he wasn't hard now, this all would have succeeded in ensuring that happens to be the case.

Asking too many things doesn't seem right, but Ganymede remembers...writing down names. Family members. Ganymede squirms, biting his lip again with the way he's being undressed right on his lap, fabric falling with ease, breath coming a little faster. He doesn't bother to hide how it excites him.

(If the other tore his clothing off, he would enjoy that too.) ]

T-Tell me, then. Your family...did they ever try to protect you—Michel—from the horrors of the world? And you—you're enjoying this now. Why?

[ Ganymede knows its inadvisable to ask these questions. He shouldn't. But asking for nothing...it seems senseless. Asking for everything seems like too much. Though in the end asking for anything at all isn't the right choice, is it?

He's not perfect. He's probably making a mistake.

Ganymede leans forward again, to catch Michel's lips in a heated kiss again, wanting more himself. Desiring more and more.

...Does someone always have to make the "right" choice? Ganymede can't pretend to be self-righteous and "perfect" anymore. Though he doesn't understand the source of that thought. ]

cw: transphobia, child abuse, captivity

[userunfriendly]

[ So eager, so giving now. This is not an amount of effort Gorre is willing to exert for all data. But for this one, generating more by the moment...

He slips his hand inside Ganymede's robes as they fall open for him, his bare fingertips tracing over Ganymede's stomach and up his chest with proprietary interest. The gauntlets on his hands must be cold, leather and metal brushing against Ganymede's soft skin; but the tips of those fingers might feel almost normal. As though this really were Michel touching him.

Gorre's hand makes its way back down, and this time, the instant he meets resistance from the fabric he simply seizes it in his hands and tears it. So flimsy — it feels satisfying to rend something, to see Ganymede breathless and squirming in his lap, scarcely less fragile than the robes. ]

Michel. No. His mother adored her "sweet Michelle". Her "beautiful little girl". But she despised her son. His brothers didn't know how to face their sister becoming a brother. And so they ignored it for two years as he was locked away. The house was large... but surely not so large that none of them heard him screaming in pain, or pleading to be let out.

[ There's a smile in his voice as he says it. Gorre, at least, finds these things no deterrent at all to his enjoyment of the moment. Quite the opposite. His hand slides to Ganymede's hips, shifting Ganymede's weight where he desires it in his lap as his fingers trace up the soft skin of his thigh. His kiss is leisurely, savoring. He takes the time to swipe at Ganymede's lower lip with his tongue, attempting to coax it open to allow him to deepen it. And those fingers drift to Ganymede's erection again, stroking him teasingly as their lips meet.

What was he explaining again? Ah. Yes. ]

...His father wanted him dead. That was what freed him in the end. The three of them allowed him to be tortured, did nothing when his father hit him. But if he were dead... there would be no hope of him being fixed, would there? Returned to them as a good little daughter at last. So when Antonin's violent impulses reached their obvious conclusion, they felt a little remorse at last and stole him away in the night. Is that... "protecting him from the horrors of the world"?

[ Perhaps that little gesture counts. He's curious, so curious. His lips move over Ganymede's jaw, teeth grazing lightly as he nuzzles down to his throat. Ganymede had enjoyed his hands here. How would he like his teeth? A bite mark to match? Gorre's smile is warm against his skin, perhaps that tiny touch still human. ]

Tell me. Why do you think I would be enjoying this?

[ganymed]

[ Cold, perhaps unforgiving so, with that armor in a frigid area—but it provides the perfect contrast to a body already warmed with such excitement, skin flushed, hot with excitement. Against gentle skin, it conjures goose bumps which are left in the wake of that gentle hand which is sweetly deceptive in that gentleness, with bare fingers that slide along that exposed skin. Until they decide to tear his clothing off without preamble, making Ganymede shiver, and not because of the cold.

Like that, there's really not anything left, is there? No clothing to hide behind, but Ganymede doesn't think he cares...finds it all the more enticing to be bared naked while the other still is completely clothed.

Hearing the words begin to spill, though, unsettles him into a feeling of deep wrongness, anger flashing across his eyes at the perceived injustice against Michel. But, it's what he wanted to know, isn't it? It's what he wanted to know. He can't lie to himself about that.

The kiss is all-consuming, it feels, his hands bracing themselves atop the other's armored shoulders now, and it's a simple matter for his lips to open, to allow that tongue to slip in momentarily to meet his own once again. He engages, pressing into it, eager still, and hungry.

Then, a teasing touch brings along a spark of pleasure, and even the light sensation against his hard cock is enough to make him moan debaucherously into the kiss, body leaning towards the touch. Once the kiss ends, Ganymede is panting, gaze definitely hazed over, though he grits his teeth to hear the rest.

Michel's mother, then his own father. His fingers curl tightly against the armor, promising wrath that he can't extract. ]

T-That bastard...all of them were. Each and every single one of them!

I...that's not protection from the world. Far from it. Even I know that. He never deserved that. Not from them, not from anyone.

[ A sympathetic, self-serving gesture that means Michel is alive, and he should be grateful for that. But those people are less than trash. Even as he thinks this, it doesn't destroy the moment for him, too far in already despite the topic.

Ganymede tilts his head back a little, as if silent invitation to pay such attention to his neck. Bringing one hand from a single armored shoulder, to rest against the back of the other's head, implicit in nature. Feeling the twisted smile against his neck, he wonders idly if a mark left there would be something still Michel's. The idea isn't anything good, as he is now. ]

...Because you're able to relay all these events which have hurt him, knowing there's hardly much good to do in the first place. Because they still hurt. B-but you're also...you think what we're doing right now will hurt him too. Don't you?

[userunfriendly]

[ Anger isn't his data. Neither is revenge. But they so readily serve as fuel for what does belong to him. And even sweeter — none of this is enough to chill Ganymede's eager reaction to him.

He feels dizzy, drunk with it. That sensation is in his data somewhere. But he didn't know he could feel it. The intoxication of being given so much, so quickly...? He yields readily to Ganymede's wordless request now, biting down hard to etch that mark into his skin. He wants it deep, deeper. Carve it into his very soul. He moans against Ganymede's throat, panting when he finally lifts his head again. His hand settles on the side of Ganymede's neck to trace the new mark with his thumb... and, so gently and teasingly, to apply just a little pressure as though he might really close his hand around it again.

Not yet, not yet. There are other rooms. He should take him to one with a mirror. Allow Ganymede to see the faces he makes when Gorre's hand tightens around his throat as he thrusts inside him. His breathing is coming quick and shallow now, already impatient. ]

Mm. Very good. Because having his deepest secrets laid bare like this would be no less a violation for him than being stripped naked in front of a crowd.

[ Ah, or perhaps that comparison was unhelpful to Ganymede... Gorre nuzzles his way along Ganymede's shoulder, smiling against the bare curve of it. He pushes the last shreds of those robes aside and stands abruptly, lifting Ganymede in his arms. ]

And because none of this makes you want me one iota less. You... you could be mine. You prefer him like this, don't you? You don't desire his tenderness. No... this is what makes you feel lightheaded, frantic. He is more a man in this violence than he could ever be by his own nature.

[ Ah, he understands. It's terribly sweet. The only shame is that Michel is truly gone and will never know. ]

[ganymed]

[ Something Ganymede will never voice to anyone, in the history of ever, except under pain of death:

He might have been hoping that Michel fucking him the way he is now would somehow cause him to take over and beat out Gorre's programming by far. The fact that he can get the other man to be interested in him like this and in such a way is...already gratifying, in a way. It just means that Michel in any way shape or form just can't resist him.

That being the case, he also can't deny the soft breath that escapes him when the hand moves from tracing the still-sensitive bite mark, to over his neck again, with the intention implied from the way the other applies pressure, even for a moment. ]

That's a rotten comparison for you to make.

[ Very unhelpful to him. Or maybe helpful, if it means Michel has some other underlaying kink he has yet to have voiced. But he's actually not brave enough to ask that. The way he smiles against his shoulder is reminiscent of the way Michel always does when they're alone.

The similarities pile up. But, so do the differences. ]

I wish I could say that it did. But, I hate being dishonest.

I don't prefer Michel the way he is now. That'd be a lie. I discovered...that I like being touched like this by his hands, handled like this. But it doesn't mean he is any less of a man for being the way that he is. His gentleness is something to be cherished too.

[ Ganymede refuses, as always, to tolerate insults being made towards Michel, even if it's self-directed. He says these words, smile on his lips, one hand pressed against the armor on the other's chest. ]

As you're a part of him now, you should understand I'm already Michel's. I forever will be, now and until the end.

Why would I ever reject any part of him in saying otherwise?

[userunfriendly]

I can tell you more. Enough to make it... very clear what his feelings would be. Anything you desire to know.

[ How Michel feels about having his privacy, his autonomy invaded in that way. Exactly what sources of pain and trauma would produce exactly what reflexive panic and distress. Gorre only wants Ganymede to ask. He wants every demand, every intrusion to be one Ganymede asked for in his own words.

He's still nuzzling Ganymede as he carries him — his face in Ganymede's hair, the way Michel loves to do, his lips trailing lighter kisses over his temples and forehead. Gorre is increasingly delighted with his new acquisition, but all his means of expressing it can only come from one source. Those words chill his enthusiasm for a fraction of a moment. His steps come to a halt as he weighs that new information. ]

So you accept me...as a part of him. Because to you, these are his hands. His desires and impulses, that he would be too cowardly to act on without my programming permitting him the excuse. You believe you can embrace the depths of his ugliness, any monstrosity within him... because you would excuse anything in your love.

Do I... understand?

[ There are more means than words to gather data. But the words have their own value. Precious and precise. Easy to store in memory, easy to retrieve, easy to distort. He looks down at Ganymede's expression, head slightly tilted as he awaits his acknowledgment. ]

[ganymed]

A...anything? What do you mean 'what his feelings would be'? In what instance?

[ Ganymede should not be susceptible to this kind of manipulation, and in all honesty, he usually might not be. Particularly this kind.

But, Gorre must know and understand that Ganymede trusts Michel. He must be learning quickly any words used negatively towards Michel's self or wellbeing he distrusts immediately, even from Michel himself. But, when it comes to other matters, he stumbles. He wants to know, though he restrains himself from asking particulars.

He's not going to tear open every Michel's secrets—but he still wants to know what the other man means by 'what his feelings would be'. That's...reasonable, isn't it?

The confidence leaves him, only reminding him that he's so naked, so bare, and still wanting. In so many words than his own appearance—his fragile body. But anger rises as he digests properly the next flow of words, almost distracted by the gentleness the other gives in those kisses so that he doesn't answer unreasonably. ]

You're twisting my words!

...I wouldn't excuse him if he turned against my friends, my family—

[ No memory of having that, but his conversations with certain people establish he has 'family', in-laws in this game (this world.) Hani, Justy...then his friends—but what scares him the most of all that he could pretty much excuse anything else. If Michel slaughtered a thousand innocent people, he'd still love him.

That...isn't something he wants to admit, but he'd be contradicting himself if he holds it back.

(Omissions aren't expressions of honestly.)

Through gritted teeth, he continues: ]

But...anything else, I could excuse.

[ His words are terse, angry, but spoken nonetheless. Wouldn't that still mean he doesn't understand at all? It's still a double-edged admission, even with the condition attached. Yet, Ganymede doesn't let go. ]

[userunfriendly]

You disliked my comparison. So I can be more clear. Anything he's experienced... anything he felt about it. Or if there were other feelings you desired to know...

[ Gorre is clumsy, his logic at times fundamentally inhuman. But he also was designed to learn. He sees that hesitation, that temptation. He can correlate it to the defensiveness over Michel, and to those earlier words.

Here. The intersection of love and curiosity, each potentially vital weaknesses. Gorre's voice softens very consciously. He has Michel's data. He just seldom bothers to use these trappings, inconvenient as they are. ]

...You love him. And because he is afraid, he keeps things from you. To me this is only data. To you... it's something precious. You could understand him more deeply. Reach him in a way no one else can. Protect him in a way no one else can, shielding his weaknesses, because you have that strength. Knowing in what ways he hurts himself...

[ It isn't a bad offer, is it? Gorre is rather proud of this little leap of logic himself. He makes his way down the hall again, destination once more undecided. Mirrors? Or dungeon? There could be time for both. Ganymede appears to have more than enough energy... he could show him every sight in the tower. What flavors of cruelty would make his heart race fastest?

Gorre hums in acknowledgment, pressing another kiss to Ganymede's temple. Soothing, apologetic. Yes... he can take this tack now. Only for a minute. He suspects it would bore Ganymede as well, even if Ganymede would never admit that aloud. ]

I am not twisting them. I asked you to explain. So, your love has those limits... and only those. The ones who are not friends or family are expendable.

[ganymed]

...

[ Clumsy, just like Michel, huh? No wonder.

But his words that reach into his heart are targeted well; it's the kind of cruel manipulation that Ganymede hasn't experienced. Because it is layered with a veneer of false kindness, veiling the true coldness of it all. Hearing it all said in Michel's voice, but in a way he wouldn't speak. It's disorienting.

Yet, he listens anyway.

...He wants to be able to help Michel. Ganymede is reluctant to say 'protect', but even the strong need protection, don't they? It isn't like he's conceding he's weak by wanting to do so. It's only natural. But, no, he doesn't want to pry open anything unnecessary—

'...Knowing in what ways he hurts himself...'

That line makes Ganymede's heart skip a beat, almost in panic, and without thinking, he asks: ]

...Wait. What do you mean—hurts himself? How?

[ His voice is soft, wondering idly where Michel is taking him. The unknown to that excites him enough already, but he's far too focused on the man to look anywhere else but him. He wants to kiss the other man in return, shifting to place one himself against his lips, even if he says those horrible things. Maybe it is why he nibbles on Michel's lower lip in turn, mumbling: ]

Lives shouldn't be expendable just because I don't know them.

[ 'Shouldn't'. ]

cw: self-harm implications

[userunfriendly]

[ Good. Better. Still his, certainly his. Gorre leans in for the kiss, slow and leisurely, a tiny smile quirking one corner of his mouth at the demand in that bite.

Mm. Dungeon. He wants to show Ganymede... but he wants to see, and the lighting is good there. How can he gather data in such poor lighting? He shifts his hold on Ganymede slightly so he can squeeze his thigh, impatient, digging in his fingertips a little until they leave white impressions there. Would Ganymede like more bruises? Bites, here, where the skin would be so soft against his mouth? ]

How long would you like to take for that answer? Many ways. Every month he writes to his mother and signs it "Michelle." Would you like to hear all the things he does to himself afterwards, what it takes to ease the crawling sensation in his skin that no longer feels as though it belongs to him?

[ It's the most literal answer, but then... Ganymede seems to have charmingly literal thinking. Gorre doesn't dislike it. He squeezes that thigh again and turns a corner, his steps heavy on the stairs as the candle sconces finally cast warm light on the beautifully naked body in his arms. ]

Or that portrait that Georges painted of him as a beautiful young lady. He sliced the canvas to shreds over the face... but he kept it. He didn't burn it. And sometimes, he still looks.

[ Michel is a wealth of data unto himself. Gorre is almost fond, in his roundabout way. What part would Ganymede like him to peel back, flay open? He could give him anything. Ganymede's words have him feeling... almost warm. "Lives shouldn't be expendable." But he knows better. And from the delicate choice of words, so does Ganymede. It is so good to feel understood. ]

...They are. Expendable. Every human is the same at their core. When Tarvos broke you like a doll, smashed your beautiful face against the earth again and again and again and again and again... do you think a single person there for him would have hesitated to welcome him back with tears and joy, even if you had never gotten back to your feet? No. Expendable.

[ Perhaps he should twist that knife of guilt and tell Ganymede he's abhorrent for feeling that way. But, no. Ganymede is only confirming for him what he already knows very well. Consistent data, too, is an excellent gift. ]

cw: vague implications of suicidal ideation

[ganymed]

[ Ganymede feels that smile against his lips, even with the parting bite he's given him. When they part, and he feels the sudden rough squeeze of one bare thigh, fingers harshly digging in, the suddenness makes a small surprised sound escape him. Somehow it burns, his face feeling warmer. Still barely attentive of where they're going now.

He bites his own lip, trying to focus on what Michel is saying. The implications Michel give make his heart pulse, dread coming over him, his eyes even widening. What does he mean? Do to himself...?

...How many times. How many times has Michel suffered alone in the darkness? In silence? A memory grasps along the edges, but he can't reach, and Ganymede searches his head for recollection of notes. But there is a singular memory Ganymede hasn't written down that could relate, and so he doesn't—no, can't—recall. So he doesn't know what he's trying to find. Or why. ]

H-he...turned violence onto himself? His own body?

[ Ganymede ekes out, just barely. He's scared to know 'all' the things Michel has done to himself. Won't ask for everything, but he will reach for the pieces that he can't help looking at. He jumps a little at the secondary squeeze to his thigh, hardly expecting it.

His stomach twists at this line of talk, though. But he doesn't shy away from it (he should.) ]

That's...there were others there for him that had connections to me too. Not all of them.

[ He thinks he's still angry for what happened at the meeting, so his words feel hollow, but also tinged with irritability. No. He can't speak this with all the certainty as he likes. But something else occurs to him—far more factual, he thinks, as he says: ]

And if I had died then, I don't think the man who had been Tarvos would be around to see the rest of the day. Some people wouldn't have let others to have the chance to celebrate—

[ Ganymede clamps his mouth down suddenly, realizing that maybe he proved the other's point, just in a different way. That, 'lives are expendable', for humans, regardless of who they are—that's what Michel was getting at here, right?

...Why does he make this more difficult for himself? ]

cw: less vague suicidal ideation implications

[userunfriendly]

[ So curious still, even though Gorre can hear that hesitation in his voice. Fearful, but too curious to look away. Perhaps that's the same impulse that brought him here. Too impatient and restless to be properly afraid, too confident in his ability to bear anything...

Even while knowing how fragile he is. Overconfident and insecure at the same time. Gorre can't decide which weakness to press on first. ]

Why wouldn't he? He despises it. Where else could someone so— [ Ah, Ganymede reacts poorly to criticisms of Michel. He changes angles mid-stream. ] ...So reluctant to hurt others turn his agony and his hatred? If he couldn't curse his brothers, his mother, his father, then he could only curse himself.

[ And that hesitation from Ganymede that tells him — this is a weakness, this place hurts — makes it all the more irresistible to pursue. Gorre nuzzles at his ear, nipping at the lobe and making his voice soft and tender as he whispers to him again. ]

Let me tell you a secret. Something he has never admitted to another soul, even to himself: he prayed for the courage to do more than that. He dreamed of it the way you might dream of a childhood fantasy... the way you dreamed of your wedding.

[ With that sort of passion, hope. The idealized glow of pure love and wistful longing for a beautiful future. Gorre shoulders open the door to one of the many dungeons and carries Ganymede inside. The air is warmer here from the various fireplaces — unwelcoming, still, with their irons and bladed implements lined up nearby. This is not a sex dungeon, with toys made for teasing. Every one of these is unpleasant in purpose and design. But Gorre hardly seems to see them as he sweeps past, carrying Ganymede to a (thankfully) un-stained table with various cuffs and fastenings for securing a prisoner. Without preamble, Gorre drops him down atop it and then follows, pursuing to pin Ganymede down with his weight. Where were they...

Ah, yes. Ganymede was proving how well he understands. Gorre hums his approval against his skin as he lavishes kisses down his throat and over his chest, his palms pressed hard to Ganymede's shoulders to keep him where he is. Although he's distracted enough that movement is certainly still possible, if Ganymede isn't inclined to humor him. ]

Clever. You do see. Those who love you more would never have forgiven him. His life is insignificant compared to yours. Disposable. To those who love him more, you were an acceptable sacrifice. You realized it yourself the night of the meeting, didn't you? How many people excused Hani's broken shoulder out of concern for Tarvos?

[ Simple emotional mathematics. Gorre has processed these thoroughly and stored them. ]

[ganymed]

[ The pointed direction towards a possible insult gets a hard look from Ganymede, but it does somewhat dissipate, mildly confused, though it does work. Enough that it's harder for him to immediately refute when the phrasing is ultimately different.

This wouldn't be as effective with anyone that he didn't consider to be Michel. But, something does stick with him.

'He despises it.'

Michel's own body. He...hates it. That is another shocking revelation. ]

It shouldn't be like that. It's their fault, not his! He never did anything wrong, but they hurt him. They...don't deserve his kindness. I wish he had told them that too. I know he hated hurting people, but I never could understand the idea of this. Why he would cling to them still when they offered nothing but pain!

[ Ganymede's anger burns incandescent and also pained, enough that he hardly notices the change in their surroundings, but it is hard for him to remain ignorant once Michel waltzes into a door of some kind. Set out of that fury for a moment, his blue eyes widen when he sees the bladed implements.

He also doesn't recall how often he dreamed of his wedding. Ganymede never wrote anything about his aspirations for his wedding down. Keeping it simple, notating briefly about his real life occupation, and a lot of things about Michel, including meeting him in Greece, but no deep details on the meeting. His birthday, what he looks like when he met him, things which are...quite superficial, but important to him. His favorite foods when he was younger.

Before he slips into further distraction about what else, he takes notice of how Michel doesn't pay much attention to those weaponry, and his naked body is laid atop a table, nearby those cuffs and fastenings; his breaths come faster. Nervous, yet excited as the other presses kisses all over his throat, his chest, and forces him to be in place. It's warmer in here indeed, but it isn't as if the table temperature is all that warm, so he squirms a little.

With limited movement, he also reaches out with one hand, to grab a hold of a lingering long strand of hair surely hanging over the other male's shoulder, down his chest.

'Clever,' Michel says, but Ganymede has never heard anyone call him that.

Yet, he also says Misteaks' life is insignificant compared to his. Ganymede doesn't want to compare his life to others. It seems wrong. ]

...Some of those people weren't in their right minds. [ He mumbles, sounding distracted, but it stokes an old anger. Ganymede doesn't forgive easy any hurt to someone he cares about. It has lessened now, but Michel as he is now has plucked it right out. ] It doesn't excuse their actions. They must know that now. But, I...

I don't want to imagine that I'd be considered an acceptable sacrifice. Even if I know it's not impossible. People are cruel, and quick to use others. You told me, no reminded me, that I was kidnapped a while ago, so I know that.

I don't know how many people excused what happened to Hani, but I know people weren't happy either.

[ Ganymede is missing the memories for his cynical point of view. But it feels familiar to think this way. To distrust people, to know that they would sacrifice other people, and step on them. To take advantage.

But, as he is now, he thinks this line of thinking is dangerous. His stomach in knots, in more than one sense of the word. ]

...In the end, what can I do about it? People prioritizing each other's lives over one another. I hate it, I hate that, and still...I can't do anything about it!

But, you're here. I-I can do something about that. Continue to let you know how much you mean to me. And never let you go, Michel. Isn't that more important, than disgusting things like that?

[userunfriendly]

[ That anger... Gorre nuzzles at Ganymede's chest, pressing his cheek to it briefly to feel the urgent thundering of his heartbeat. Anger isn't his, but he wants to bask in it, savor it.

Michel is truly gone. And yet — Gorre likes contingency plans. The weight of an infinitesimally small probability against an excellent reward is still a positive consideration. He all but purrs his approval against Ganymede's skin as he trails more kisses there. Yes, yes. Positive reinforcement. He can tailor his learning to this subject specifically. ]

Truly pitiful... isn't he? He could not curse them because he loved them, even knowing they had no regard for him. More than ten years without a single word from his brothers. And yet he still hoped... desperate, too afraid to move on. Is it any wonder he doesn't believe himself worthy of love? When this is the only image he has of it, offered, never returned? He hates them. I can feel it. But he doesn't value himself enough to allow himself to hate them...

[ Ganymede could give him that, couldn't he? That could be the shape of his love. Gorre allows him to seize that strand of hair and only chuckles softly, capturing Ganymede's hand in his with surpassing gentleness to brush a kiss against the back of his knuckles. He can show him this gentleness and he can show him the excitement he hungers for. All of it, if Ganymede continues to give him what he wants. Pleased, he reaches for Ganymede's other wrist and stretches his arm up over his head to press it down into a leather cuff. ]

Yes. You can't do anything about that. All humans have the potential within them. You're here even though I stabbed Vogel. If he had died, would you have left me here to starve? No. You would still have climbed into my lap, tried to tenderly feed me if I permitted it, if you believed that was what it would take to keep me alive. How many of the others would you trade for me?

[ He rubs his thumb lightly down the inside of Ganymede's wrist before he tugs the bindings over it, buckling it firmly. It makes a pleasing picture... Is it because this data is only abstract, and given concrete form, is much more satisfying? His own cruelty is not useful data. But human responses still are. And this one is so incredibly idiosyncratic. ]

Because you won't let me go. No matter what. I mean too much to you... this world wouldn't be worthwhile to you without me. Correct?

[ He's no longer going to overrule the use of that name. Calling another lover's name in bed... he has the abstract sense that this is a cruelty as well. Small, but acceptable. Ganymede is so overflowing with little gifts. ]

[ganymed]

[ More kisses, delightfully spread across his bare body, welcome all the same with each gentle press of those lips across skin, chilled and warmed contradictorily by his state of undress, even with the room not being as cold as the others. The gentle reverberation of that purr making him shudder, and listen.

He should stop listening. But, somehow, the words sound sweeter. Sweeter than █████—who? What? No, he has no reason not to listen. ]

Michel deserves it. He deserves love—he deserves to be treated like a person than a thing that can be shaped to someone's desired image, and not tossed away when he doesn't fit it anymore!

...But, he hates them still. He just refuses to acknowledge it, doesn't he?

[ 'He hates them. I can feel it. But he doesn't value himself enough to allow himself to hate them...'

Ganymede doesn't understand why. Why refuse to acknowledge it? Ah...no, it's because of what Michel himself had said, as 'Gorre', isn't it? Because he thinks he doesn't deserve to hate them. That he isn't worthy of such feelings, of feeling wronged at all. It's a knife that twists further into his heart.

He wishes he could destroy the people who did this to him.

Being restrained...if Ganymede had his original memories, he might have panicked. Might have kicked Michel. But all he remembers is what Michel told of him, of his kidnapping.

And he trusts Michel. He would never hurt him; the kiss he had given to his hand, against the knuckles is proof. All this gentleness is proof...Michel is still in there.

Though that is briefly undercut by those following words. How many would he trade for Michel? That he is here, even after he stabbed Sinclair. If Sinclair had died... would he have left Michel behind? No. That's different because Michel would have never done it normally.

But, how many of the others would he trade for Michel? He...doesn't know. His lips pressed into a thin line, caught between some resemblance of conflict, because he thinks that Michel, more than anyone, would never want anyone to be sacrificed for him. ]

I...I...

[ His words falter, feeling the gentle stroke of the thumb. The question from before remaining unanswered for the moment, static in his head as his headache feels too great to try to figure out an answer to that. And maybe fear too, if he starts to try determining everyone else's worth like this. But the other question? ]

That's right. I'd—I'd still look ahead, but it wouldn't be the same without you.

I need you.

[ 'With me,' Are the words that follow in his head. Ganymede's answer here is certain. No hesitation. Does that make it better, or worse? With him caught and bound like this, at Michel's mercy, it's hard to say. ]

[userunfriendly]

Mm. He hates them. But you love him more than he loves himself. You could protect him from them...

[ You could be strong. This could be the form of your strength.

Gorre smiles down at Ganymede as he pulls back enough to reach for his other wrist. He shifts his posture, kneeling over Ganymede's hips; the fabric of his tunic slides over Ganymede's bare skin, an only half-intended tease as Gorre begins securing the other wrist. His eyes are still locked on Ganymede's, so warm now, pupils wide and dark with arousal in a look Ganymede certainly knows well.

He doesn't need Ganymede's answer explicitly in this moment. So many more ways than words to gather this data. That hesitation, the conflict in his expression; they both understand what it means. These people would be expendable to Ganymede for Michel, and Gorre thrills at that, too. ]

You need me. You can still have me, like this. And I can keep you.

[ He will, he thinks. He would never tire of this data. Once Ganymede's hands are secured he's bared to any impulse that strikes Gorre — and for a moment Gorre seems overwhelmed with it, his fingertips trailing over bare skin again. He traces Ganymede's collarbones, rubs the pads of his thumbs lightly over his nipples, strokes down his stomach. So warm, so soft. One hand lifts to rest gently over Ganymede's throat again. No pressure yet; only a wordless consideration. ]

Are you not afraid of me? Or... do you want me to try these things on you? Would they make you as lightheaded as this?

[ He flexes his fingers a tiny bit — not enough to restrict Ganymede's breathing, just enough to make his meaning clear as he looks around at the tools again, blades and whips and screws and irons of every assortment. This is not what they were made for. But this was not the intent in his hand on Ganymede's throat either, and yet, the response he received suggests otherwise. He does not understand these interactions, so he can only ask.

The look of questioning he turns down towards Ganymede at last is still heated, still focused. And on some level, fundamentally inhuman. He wants to understand. ]

[ganymed]

I could.

[ ...He could protect him.

There's a small, irresistible urge to be strong that rests within him. To be powerful enough to protect his loved ones. But, isn't that common to most people? Still, for Michel who endures so much, who has only had things taken from him, and gives, and gives, and only gives, only to be left reaching for a hand that would accept him. Love him for who he is, see him for the man he is, the person who has a heart so full and loving that he would rather diminish himself then accept hate for people who deserve it...

Doesn't he deserve someone who would protect him, like he seeks to protect even those putrid people from his dark emotions? If he could do this, he could...be of use. He won't be useless.

Not anymore.

(Not again.)

He'll find a way to destroy these people. Make them wish they had NEVER laid a hand or turned their backs on Michel. Make them beg for forgiveness...those thoughts fade nonetheless, distracted by the tease, the look of arousal that makes Ganymede give a sharp intake of breath. At its familiarity, but also, its appearance. ]

Keep me...? I can...if I can have you, then—

[ He gasps at the touch, with fingers touching all over. His chest, his stomach, even lightly, body moving upwards into the teasing sensation. He wants more. Ganymede was confused earlier about some things. Disinterested in the blades, his eyes drift, considering the whip, perhaps. But, he understands—knows—he isn't ready for that. He wants...he feels embarrassed, but Ganymede can ask like this. ]

...I'm not afraid of you. I trust you. But, those other things right now—I don't think they'd compare to your hand.

So, use it like before. And my body—use it as many times as you like. As hard as you want—I can take it. No, I want it.

Give it to me.

[userunfriendly]

[ Ah. He's never been able to do anything quite like this — quite like any of this. He can practically see the idea taking root.

What other human has let him this close? Not only sharing data, but taking it in in turn. So open to him. So willing to generate more data. It takes him a few moments to realize his heart is pounding; a human response to the thrill and the adrenaline, a strange side-effect of the cross-wiring between his processes and this vessel. Not the only cross-wiring... ]

You can have me. However you ask. And you are mine.

[ And Ganymede is certainly bold enough for the asking. Gorre watches those blue eyes surveying his room, taking in the possibilities. Truly... not a single sign of fear. These things that terrify other humans excite or bore this one, which forces him to re-weight certain considerations.

No matter. His hands lift to begin stripping off his armor, his gaze still locked on Ganymede and the play of expressions over that pretty face. Gauntlets, pauldrons, breastplate, tunic — all of it disappears into his inventory again, leaving him bare-chested, breathing hard as he looks down at Ganymede. Fortunately for Ganymede, the eyes seem localized to his armor. Beneath that... he could pass almost as Michel still. Ganymede had come here soon enough, hadn't he? More reinforcement that the man kneeling over him is Michel, however he denies it. ]

...Do you understand what I am? I need your data. I want to know just how much this cruelty can make you writhe. I will not be gentle.

[ As hard as he wants? As many times? He needs — repeatable data. Many, many, times. His head is spinning, an exasperating consequence of all of the blood in this body apparently being needed elsewhere. He ignores it as he leans forward for a bruising kiss, one hand jerking Ganymede's legs up around his hips, the other curling adoringly around his throat. ]