capeandcowl | (no subject)

Entry tags:

† desire | n/a

(no subject)

Some people are so peculiar about wishes.

Make your dreams come true.

A dream is a wish the heart makes.

Be careful what you wish for.

If wishes were fishes beggars would eat.

A man is his own easiest dupe, for what he wishes to be true he generally believes to be true.

Wish for something, or not, fair City.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

closer.

Are you asking for my company?

Yes, I seem to be.

I'll agree.

Come. [His throat is dry, like a thirsting man's.]

[And then, there's Desire, close enough to almost touch but always a hairsbreath away.]

[He watches it, his fingers digging into Mitchell's desk. They were in his office.

His breathing is heavy.]

This is -- rather stronger. Than usual.

We've been apart for a while. You forgot how it feels.

[He looks at its arms, wanting to touch. But he knows that is a bad idea.]

And you're not pulling any punches.

[Desire's arms are bare - it's wearing a dress with thin straps, very fashionable, very in.]

Why should I? When I do, we fight.

Ah. When you allow me freedom -- [He moves closer, by fractions. His hand hovers over its bare arm.] -- we fight. Is what you're saying by not saying.

[Desire shifts, just so it's out of reach again]

Do you want to fight with me?

[What a funny question.]

I'm not interested in quarrels right now. [Even if they would be easier.]

I hope it isn't because you think you have bigger fish to fry.

Trick question. [Though he doesn't answer. He inches closer again, but keeps his hands pocketed.] What a lovely dress.

[Desire notices that, and stays still.]

Thank you.

[He walks around Desire, hands still pocketed, encircling. He stops behind it, his mouth nearing its ear.]

You're screwing with me. Right now.

Oh, no. I'm not.

[It's the truth]

If I was, this would be much, much worse. Your need to touch me? To possess me? To own me?

That's all you.

Then pardon me. [He whispers against its ear.] So rarely do you play the audience, when I'm conscious of the production.

[Desire turns, fingers brushing his wrist for a moment, but it's moved away from where he can touch it easily again]

No, I often play the audience.

When I'm conscious of the production. [He repeated, his eyes on the spot where Desire touched him. It was unnerving, to admit this, but the time called for it.]

I don't know when you're paying mind to me, explicit mind, but I can anticipate when you won't.

And when is that?

[Desire sits in a chair, and lights a cigarette.]

I'm not tipping my cards anymore, darling. [He smirks, leaning against the desk and folding his arms.]

But truly, if you're feeling bored, I can offer you a list of people who could use your attention.

I already have a list of playthings, Edward.

[A smoke ring surrounds his head, thick and strong.]

[He coughs, having inevitably breathed some of it in.]

And they all -- [Exhale.] Mean different things for you?