up all night

[immortalized]

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tfln overflow; newtralize

[immortalized]

from here.


I apologize, I have been warned that I lay my heart out a little too graciously in the open... { it could have been perhaps something if a kindhearted jab, or a genuine compliment. unfortunately, it hadn't been, but it is simply one of those things Ambrose knows is impossible to change about himself now. dying really makes you fear missed opportunities and regrets, you know! }

But I would give a dishonest impression if I didn't admit that your humble way of reacting is a terrible enabler of this habit of mine. { it's almost cruel that they're interacting over a distance and not face to face, but Ambrose can genuinely imagine the nonverbal cues that give Newt away as they do. they're absolutely charming. }

I rather hoped.

Tell me, when can I cook for my kindhearted wizard? I am feeling much better, and I can't think of anything I would like to do more this evening.

This man is coming at Newt like a bullet train.

[newtralize]

No.

I mean

I didn't mean that as an insult or reason to apologize. Gracious, I'm making a mess of things. It's just very new to me. I can't I'm usually used to such forward remarks in such a fond manner. People usually find me rather annoying and not particularly charming.

Oh. I'm sorry. I don't mean to... [Now he's apologizing for his own actions even though he doesn't have a reason to apologize. What a hopeless foo.]

This evening?

I

Well

I'm not doing anything tonight, no.

tfln overflow; the dog husband

[immortalized]

{ from here. }


{ Ambrose isn't classically one who frets — not in the way a person imagines hysterics, frantic animations, and being grossly inconsolable. Ambrose is not immune to his feelings — have you met him? — but his fear is a very still, unmoving thing. what wrenches him deeper is the worry that he is being selfish. when selfishness creates a habitat for one's danger, it sends his heart plummeting through the depths of his gut.

but Will is still sensible as ever. equal risk. better outcome...

he can't help but marvel at the idea in the silent expanse of his apartment: he is worth that much? }

It's a strangely lovely thing, sometimes. Usually the nights are very quiet. { outside of the nights at the theatre, on the nights away from the noise-filled streets. New York never sleeps, isn't that right? but something about the night always feels suspended. }

As if I'm waiting to hear from you again. { even Ambrose's voice is tremblingly quiet as he sits on the floor in his living room, books across the polished hardwood slats, a wireless speaker not far away and still on from recent use, a notebook filled with a chaotic myriad of things written in penmanship that flows like water to preserve his inspirations.

all sitting still, left abandoned and silenced, as he looks at his phone, with Will on speaker. so that his voice can fill the space Ambrose dwells in. }

Tell me how you're doing?

will's actually just two dogs in a plaid trench coat

[wontgraham]

[ The sound is a bit weak. Will frowns and presses futilely on his own volume button before realizing it's because they've each put the other on speaker.

Will thinks of the echo of two voices in an empty room and feels his throat tighten. ]

Uh. [ He needs to make the sound to convince himself he can speak. Will swallows and keenly feels the empty seat next to him as he heads for the highway. ] Better.

Which isn't...an ideal measure for me right now. [ He swallows and takes closer stock of the truly important things - nausea, how he's perceiving temperature. How much he'd cracked his window when he first woke up, and how he rolls it up against the chill now. ]

But I'm not... I feel-- clear. J-just, um. Distracted. Sorry, I'm not--

[ His voice loses some of the little power it had collected. ] There's a reason I wanted to call someone.

tfln overflow; our favorite chaotic vampire boy

[immortalized]

{ from here.


I believe highly that experience puts upon a person a moral duty. To know a thing that another does not, can either help that person, or come to harm them. In the end, what tips the scale is one's selfishness with that knowledge.

I don't believe that deception is exclusive to an older sire. In fact, it would be impossible to be turned by anything other, unless we are speaking on the foundation maturity of human years before the death. { wherein, that is a different discussion, and at least Ambrose is self aware enough to not outwardly admit that the idea of a vampire being made so young is so troubling, that the idea of them being a sire sounds foolish in his ears.

but he loves Armand, from the deepest well in his heart, he would never forsake him. but has he never thought of this circumstance surrounding him? of course he has. }

I believe the purpose of siring is important...but easily squandered. I've met too many vampires conceived by sires unfit to make that decision, or who had chosen minds who were much vulnerable in mortality. Manipulation, selfishness, deceit...can grow in any climate.

{ Ambrose has never asked much, and when catching a glimpse of a detail, Armand has never been quick to elaborate. impenetrable, that mind. Ambrose has never forced it.

he may come to regret this, but... } You know my sire was all of these things. What was yours like?

[gradationsofevil]

You speak in circles. I can't be sure if it's to avoid offense, or to avoid misrepresenting your own opinion - of which you're unsure. [ Ambrose isn't at all like Armand's sire, and yet today the differences from his ancient Master don't feel so much like failings as they have in the past. Where Marius could be strict, Ambrose is merely curious and concerned - where Marius could be frightening, Ambrose will bend and question and learn.

But perhaps the starkest difference is that Ambrose is no intentional leader, and yet Armand finds himself wanting to follow him regardless. ]

How many vampires have you met, Ambrose? How many have you watched rot as a result of poorly-chosen masters?

[ And then just like that, Ambrose is bold. Armand isn't started into responding - but the startle helps with the decision to respond. ]

My sire was unlike all other men. He rescued me when I was too young to be given the blood. He kept me warm and entertained and educated - until it was time for me to join him. Did we both beg our sires for that gift? Did we both want nothing more than to stay with them forever, when we had only a mortal's concept of such a thing?

heyooo

[definitelynotmagic]

So is this thermos on the counter yours?

I'll just put it back in the fridge then? [ he says while handling BLOOD because there is BLOOD IN THIS THERMOS ]

[immortalized]

Oh, dear, did I leave that at home again?

Fortunate I had my fill before leaving tonight.

Thank you for being so considerate, Merlin. Imagine if you had mistaken it for something else. { if you think Ambrose is trying to be funny... he...he really isn't. he really is taking this all at face value. }

tfln; prohibitions

[immortalized]

{ from here. }


They were beautiful and I was mesmerized by their talents. I was helpless against my own heart. And perhaps a little more alarmed than most. I am shy to admit that I had spent a notable amount of my earlier life visiting such establishments with services of flesh and sensuality, but I was never there to engage, and the options provided at the time were not palatable for me. { can't say that he saw many men up in the brothels in early-Victorian England. Ambrose might have caught sight of more promiscuous men in the very backstage he resided in, than any club or bar. }

I cannot help the weakness I have for beauty, though. They were rather exquisite, life was flowing out of them in abundance.

However, the music was quite dreadful. { he can objectively appreciate any genre in the art form, but...choppy techno remixes of existing songs are just...a bane on his existence. }

[prohibitions]

If I knew I could make you absolutely besotted by me by undressing and sliding up sensually onto your lap, I would have done it ages ago. How did I not know this sooner? [It's terribly hard to probably tell if he's joking or being serious. It's probably a mix of both, actually.]

It's really hard to tease you about these kind of things when you're so bloody earnest about it. There's just no fun in it.

Honestly, strip clubs aren't really my thing. The music and atmosphere aren't really my thing. Call me old fashioned I suppose.

tfln overflow; definitelynotmagic

[immortalized]

{ from here. }


{ oh. oh no. yup, Merlin is very correct about this impression. }

Oh dear, I apologize. I was...saying that to someone else in confidence. Or, that was the intention. { and that worked out well, didn't it? the worst part is, Ambrose assumes it's so obviously about Merlin, so as an explanation, he provides: }

If it helps, I was being a little hyperbolic. { 'a little,' also which, explains absolutely nothing. }

[definitelynotmagic]

[ This is the nice thing about Ambrose, the thing that makes it not just worthwhile but rewarding to talk to him - he's honest. When he's caught in something, he doesn't lie. Merlin exhales a bit shakily, but it's from surprise and uncertainty, not a lack of trust. ]

Should that help?

What sort of 'breaking' are you talking about? [ Merlin isn't so chaste that he has no reasonable idea, but it's definitely not a concept he's going to be the first to type out as a guess, thanks very much. ]

tfln overflow; nymphic

[immortalized]

{ from here. }


This doesn't sound like a fantastic disaster waiting to happen or anything. { 'The Emperor's New Clothes' is contemporary to his original time, you know. oh, he seent it. }

[trouvaille]

It's totally fine as long as I'm concentrating.

( so, a disaster waiting to happen. )

h-hewwo? mistuh vampiwe?

[azfell]

[ This message is left on Ambrose's voice mail, ready for him when he wakes up to greet the day— or rather, the night. Does the creature leaving the voice mail know about this expected discrepancy? A better question might be: how could he not? ]

Hello, Mister Sinclair. This is the man— [ not a man, of course, but how many little white lies can he stack up on his heavenly scales? surely at least one more ] —who sold you The Prophecy of Dante, the original by Byron from 1821. Which was a lovely choice! Did I tell you how I came across it? I was just about to leave the Commoner, which was a wonderful restaurant on Thames Street that sold—

[ It's probably fortunate for both of them, unlimited voicemail length be forgotten, that Aziraphale ends up distracted by a knock at his office door and decides perhaps he ought to wrap this up a bit more quickly. ] Well, we can discuss that another time. What I'm calling you about, sir, is that if you're finding yourself in need of more texts of the, well. The decidedly— [ The voice in the message drops, almost too low to be heard except for the ethereally clear quality which makes sure no syllable can truly be lost: ] —demonic inspired, I do have others in my shop.

Just. Try to see to it that you keep your diet in check. [ There's a chuckle, muffled by the fact that his smile can't quite keep in place perfectly the entire time. A vampire, really, in his shop! Being so polite! Oh, but aren't they always, the poor damned things? Aziraphale has always had a bit of a soft spot for them, especially the readers. ]

Anyway, Mister Sinclair, have a lovely evening whenever you awake, and keep in mind that the shop does still close at 8pm.

you could say this voicemail was — heaven sent 😎

[immortalized]

{ charmed. literally charmed — and thoroughly unexpected. Ambrose had been bemused and enchanted from the moment he had stepped into the majestic shop of the curious but delightful Mister Fell, until the moment the vampire regretfully departed (because it had been half an hour since the shop had closed for the evening), and finding a voicemail waiting him from the pleasant warden of rare books this many weeks later is an exciting late-arriving bloom on the branch. no joke: Ambrose listens to the message twice, so amused and heartened by the lengths given by another avid literature enthusiast that he thinks he must hear the excessive offer a second time.

...however.

it's two minutes past eight, when Ambrose lifts his phone up to his ear, the dial tone cooing rhythmically its song of effort to connect two disparate people. Ambrose hopes that perhaps Mister Fell hasn't packed up and gone home just yet... please still be in your shop, and ideally, close enough to the phone to hear the call coming in for you. }

surprise

[gradationsofevil]

I saw her. I took a photograph with my phone. Would you like to see?

[ Who is 'her' and why is Armand prefacing this with a warning/entreaty for encouragement before just sending?

Well, that's just it — Armand isn't waiting for the final request after all, he's gone and sent it. It's just that technology only moves so fast. What loads up for Ambrose on his phone, then, turns out to be the object of his affectionate cajoling of and wailing at the television for the last few weeks—

Yes, it's a drag queen. Of course it is. Photographed from what appears to be the ceiling of wherever she's performing at. ]

!!!

[immortalized]

My God!

Armand, is it really her, Sasha Velour, in the very flesh? Where are you, my dear? { he is obsessed up to the shine on the bald of her head, he couldn't miss her recognition for any reason. }

tfln — cakeprince

[immortalized]

continued from here.

{ another club, a daring suggestion, made on the heels of sticky-sweet comments Ambrose finds too much charm in to let slip away unappreciated. it might be enough to lure him back out with Seunwoo into the dark and heady clusters of heartbeats and sound waves. honestly, the thought is nerve-wracking; the experience was overwhelming in its intensity, dozens of heartbeats climbing around him, surrounded by a storm Ambrose thought might fully swallow him whole. the last thing he wants to do is lose his resolve before a fond friend, loosening a deadly desire onto strangers, susceptible in the dark.

but to refuse his friend... }

Fortunate that I am so familiar with being put under a spotlight, or else I might feel what people say, called out. { Ambrose, on the other hand, is still soaking in the nuances of electronic culture...he forgets where the emoji keyboard is half of the time. }

If after determining what a terrible dancer I am, you're still asking me to venture away with you...I suppose you must be inviting me for some other reason. { Ambrose knows better than to over-fish, he has tact. } Where and when shall I meet you?

{ unfortunately, as Seunwoo has provably discovered, asking for appointment times is a fools errand for Ambrose; he couldn't be on time for anything to save his own life. }

[cakeprince]

We could always just dance in private, if you prefer. Then you have no one to try to impress.

(Seunwoo laughs again, somehow able to feel Ambrose's discomfort in the idea of being invited to the club. He could play this a little bit smoother, he was sure.)

I'd just like to spend time with you. Is that too much to ask? I don't particularly mind where we do that as long as you'd also like to spend time with me, hm?

(The Korean hasn't quite figured out what Ambrose is, yet, but he knows the other man is something unusual and he wants to learn more about him... Even if it means getting bitten himself in the process. A little pain for some gain, after all, right?)

Why don't I come to you, then? I'll even bring my cakes.

(He's noticed Ambrose doesn't eat, but... It's polite to at least offer the other man something. Koreans do say hello with food, after all...)

did someone order a cisunderstanding

[polnawrath]

[ This has been a stressful trip. But what else is new? Life's stressful and hectic and full of the sorts of twists that Polnareff is vaguely aware other people maybe don't have to deal with regularly. (Unless most people have been de-aged and chased by an axe-wielding maniac, and played a poker game for their soul. It's not impossible, right?)

But it means the very few evenings where nothing's on fire, trying to kill them, or otherwise decimate their group really stand out. The desert countries they keep passing through also all have one thing in common — plenty of places to go get ice cold drinks.

And in the evening, it's best if those drinks have a bit of alcohol in them. You know. For courage. To unwind. To amplify everything into a dizzying cloud of sensation.

And for the excuse to be loud in public with less staring as a result, maybe. (It's possible that that last reasoning is why Polnareff was abandoned at the bar by Avdol and Joseph, who are now in a quieter section of the restaurant together.)

Polnareff's cheeks have a slight flush to them by the time this particular person at the bar catches his eye. He thinks it's one of the people who was singing tonight — one of the women from earlier? Must be, since it can't be the baritone that was just blaring out from behind him for the past couple of minutes...

Her hair's in dark, wavy little coils that curl in towards her cheeks, and Polnareff's done for as soon as he notices the way she's politely smiling at the bartender, waving him off. ]

What, no money for a drink tonight? It's on me. [ Polnareff, thinking he's solved why this woman's being demure as she rests at the bar, scoots one stool closer with a smile. He fumbles only a little bit with his wallet while he fishes out the current currency— wait, no, that's yen, where's the— there it is— and turns his smile back on the woman as he slaps ten of whatever they use in this country on the bar. ]

Can't have someone as beautiful as you sitting alone without a drink.

[ And as is usually the case, Polnareff has...zero idea that he's chosen the most dangerous possible offer for who he's now sitting next to. ]

[immortalized]

{ once he had reawoken to the world, the earth above him pulled away and he, a shriveled set of remains to what he still was, elevated back up to the air and the open night sky, the realizations of a lost century and a half were shattering...only for a time, and a brief one. the processes of grief were fluid, nearly simultaneous.

what resulted — wanderlust.

Ambrose has always been prone to melancholy, but this new morose affect to him had him wanting to roam, as opposed to hide. he travelled to what seemed the most exotic — the glamorous and powerful United States, cities of daylight in the darkness, the land of opportunity, and of only he could count the ways in which opportunities presented themselves as night-blooming flowers before him.

eventually, it became hollow, but Ambrose had learned just how much he suited this new world in this new time. thus — he decided to keep roaming.

it's been over a year since he awoke in Italy, the blinding-bright white lab splattered in mournful red at his hand, in that branch of the Speedwagon Foundation. luckily, while they reserved the right to study him, they didn't have the right to keep him from leaving when his rehabilitation was over. and now, after it all, m after filling up an admirable chunk of a passport...

Ambrose is in the most exotic land he can think of.

has something been slowly calling him here? something in his daytime dreams, something that aches in his chest like a childhood memory of a soothing voice and kisses on his cheek, something like him, pale hair and deep voice in the darkness—

perhaps. perhaps it's something in the liminal space where the sun submerges below the horizon but leaves the night in a dying glow, or perhaps it's the madness that comes with this much isolation — Ambrose travels alone, wandering for something he doesn't know how to look for, or what he is looking for.

to satisfy, he still performs where he briefly settles, as he has tonight. the keeper of the restaurant is single and middle aged, and has a fondness for men in passing women's fashion to assuage a deeply-ingrained guilt. Ambrose is polite not to consider it too directly, because he thinks, sadly, how some things still haven't changed in one-hundred and fifty years.

and it's that 'kindness,' a kindness that looks better if one squints their eyes against it and blurs its image, that Ambrose takes advantage of as much as it takes advantage of him; he is happy to perform here a few nights here and there, feeling oddly entrenched here in Egypt, unwilling to roam on just yet.

people have approached him before, and early in his performance art, he used to be far more guarded. tonight, Ambrose is relaxed — if anything, he's in a pleasant place since his little number, and that pleasure seemed to extend through the eatery, if the dreamy smiles on the faces of tonight's patrons are any indicator.

this man that approaches him now, tall and designed with the musculature of many of the warrior-like statues and painting models from his favorite historical artworks, a man he doesn't quite recognize from the dining room... until he recalls having seen only the back of his head while seated at his table, talking exuberantly to his cohorts (all except a red-haired young man in a deep green suit of some kind, whose attention seemed almost entirely Ambrose's at the time.)

what Ambrose learns about this man before himself is a context from his words — specifically, the accent in which he speaks through. Ambrose has navigated this kind of encounter enough times now to no longer have a count for it. what changes his typical route through this kind of exchange is his intrigue...and a budding sense of amusement the Frenchman is already rousing in him. }

Merci beaucoup, but it is not for financial hardship that I abstain.

Otherwise, I would graciously take such a generous offer. { giving any kind of verbal response while dressed in a sapphire satin evening gown and full face of makeup is an instant and sudden left-turn to every subtle and preconceived notion to the stranger approaching, and most recoil with confusion and embarrassedly apologize before evacuating the scene. some who have been observant in his singing approach with nervous and almost wild-eyed fervor.

or worse.

Ambrose isn't nervous here where he sits, but the impending disappointment that follows the always-inevitable subtraction is easy to bleed into his cool skin. still, Ambrose is patient and smiling, presenting no qualities that don't exist outside of this dress and its carefully-chosen adornments. }

Does it count as a threesome still if 2 of them have stands who could theoretically join in

[polnawrath]

"Hmm?"

Kakyoin looked back over at Polnareff over the table. After a beat, when Polnareff didn't look away, Kakyoin's brows drew together. "What?"

"You just looked like you wanted to say something, Kakyoin..."

No one else at the dinner table was paying them much attention, except for Jotaro whose hat brim blocked his eyes and who could've been watching anything. Or nothing at all. Kakyoin's shoulders still went stiff and raised and he glanced at the others briefly, looking back at Polnareff with a final short huff of breath, like he'd just decided not to be bothered by it. Holy shit, what was going on? "No."

"You sure?" Polnareff's pretty loud. His teasing tone was enough to get a small glance from Avdol, even though he didn't stop speaking to Joseph. "Because you looked like you wanted to say something right about when that beautiful guy in the dress leaned in and kissed my ch—"

"You mean the one you harassed the other night? I was just surprised you got over yourself enough to play along." Huh. That's not the tone Polnareff was expecting to draw out — Kakyoin sounds almost angry, in a frayed way. Like broken glass. Polnareff frowns.

"I'm not playing along! He's really pretty." Maybe it's the light, but Kakyoin's cheeks look just a little more flushed than before. Polnareff leans an elbow on the table next to his drink. "And pretty good in bed," he adds with a wide grin.

Kakyoin makes a choked wheezing noise. Jotaro's shoulders round in, even if he doesn't look up. This time, it's Joseph that looks away from planning with Avdol though. "Polnareff, if you're going to chat up everyone in the bar, why don't you do it at the bar instead of in front of everyone here?"

"Fine, fine!" Polnareff gets up, tone put-upon, but his smile's quick to return. He winks at Kakyoin when the teenager still watches him as he gets up to leave. What's his problem tonight? Is he really worried that Polnareff's bothering to go harass someone? Not wanting to have the worst assumed of him, Polnareff makes a show of putting a friendly hand on Ambrose's shoulder when he catches up to him at the bar.

And when he goes in to kiss Ambrose on the mouth, he looks up and makes brief eye contact with a still-staring Kakyoin. That must be it, then. He's worried about the singer.

That's kinda sweet, actually.

***

Kakyoin gets to use the shower first that night in their shared room, mostly because he's the first one back in it. Polnareff's stretched across his bed when Kakyoin comes out of the bathroom, hair a few shades darker and plastered wetly to his forehead and neck.

"Finally back?" Kakyoin's voice is flatly teasing.

"What, waiting up for me? You're that worried about Ambrose, huh?" Kakyoin flinches minutely at the name, which is sort of interesting, because Polnareff sure as hell hasn't introduced them, and he'd never caught any announcements of singers' names before. Maybe Kakyoin's just more observant than he is.

"Considering Avdol had to pull you away from him when you first met—"

"Look, look, hey, I already apologized to him! Why've I got to apologize to you, too? I didn't call you a fa—"

Something about Kakyoin's stiffening shoulders, visible more in his pajamas than his school uniform, pings a primal instinct in Polnareff. Polnareff cuts himself off, and in the silence, Kakyoin only looks more coldly at him, a frown now firmly in place. "You didn't have to."

"...Oh."

Kakyoin moves on to towel-drying his hair, looking for all the world like he's successfully ignoring Polnareff. At least until Polnareff goes to walk past him to use the shower next and can see the slight gloss over his eyes. His expression doesn't even look like he's upset otherwise, how does he do that?

"Hey, you know I wasn't kidding about Ambrose being good in bed earlier, right?"

Kakyoin blinks the shine away and stares at Polnareff like he grew an extra head. A particularly ugly extra head. Polnareff scrambles to keep explaining himself, exasperated and concerned in equal measures. "Look, I was wrong, okay? There's nothing wrong with him being gay, or in a dress." Kakyoin's expression looks like it relaxes a bit. Maybe. Polnareff finds him hard to read when he does this -- goes all quiet and serious instead of being dryly engaging. With a smile to lighten the mood, Polnareff adds, "And we really are fucking, so you don't have to worry about being gay."

"I never said I was—"

"Nah, but you got all upset about that word, so—"

"It's not that simple. I don't just like men." This is more than Polnareff was expecting to hear admitted to him. The tension in the room went tangible again, but something in Polnareff's chest unwound despite it. After pinching in surprise, his relaxation into a smile was genuine. Kakyoin looked unbalanced by it.

"That's fine. Me neither. And I didn't know that til about a week ago, so don't worry about not having it figured out at seventeen—"

"I'm eighteen—"

"Whatever, you're fine. Okay?"

Kakyoin finally stopped arguing, fidgeting the towel between his hands until he seemed to notice and made an effort to stop. The sight was abruptly endearing, a warm fondness spreading across Polnareff's chest. "...Thank you, Polnareff."

"Yeah, yeah. This is weird, but at least we've got time to explore it a little between all the shit we've been through, right?" Polnareff turned to give Kakyoin one final smile before closing the bathroom door behind himself, but for the rest of his shower he couldn't quite forget the expression the teenager had had on his face when he did so: a soft, surprised look of being touched, and...

And a slight blush that brought his cheeks closer to the color of his hair. Jesus, maybe Polnareff was really getting too wrapped up in Ambrose's charm, if he was starting to see a similar attraction towards anyone else around him with a calm kindness.

He didn't bother taking a cold shower, though, just tried to focus on the idea of Ambrose's hands on him instead of slightly wider, confident palms.

***

Maybe it was supposed to lead here. Maybe that's what that conversation happened for — if Polnareff hadn't already know that Kakyoin liked guys, he might've hit the floor briefly when he walked into Ambrose's room and saw Kakyoin sitting on his bed next to the other man, smile soft and eyes attentive. They hadn't even been touching, but they were close, and Polnareff would like to think he can recognize nervous, verbal foreplay when he sees it.

"Oh." Is the first thing he can think of to say, in any language. Kakyoin startles so badly that the first thing out of his mouth isn't even in English, just a soft explanation that isn't even tailored to who he's giving it to.

Ambrose doesn't jump, but he does look over, and at least one of them is capable of coherency. 'Ton ami est très nerveux mais gentil, mon chevalier, nous sommes simplement en train de parler d—'

Now absolutely none of them are communicating in tandem for the others, and it's enough to startle a laugh out of Polnareff. "Look, the only reason I'm upset is because I wasn't invited." He means it to be reassuring, he's pretty sure, but Kakyoin bows his head.

"I should leave you two alone." His politeness sounds cold.

Polnareff frowns but Ambrose is quicker, one jeweled hand reaching out for Kakyoin's cheek to softly support him there. "Nonsense. There's room for conversations with both of you in my life. I have nothing but time."

"We don't, though." Kakyoin looks away from Ambrose with what appears to be great effort, staring at Polnareff instead. Polnareff feels the sudden draft that always hits him when he remembers their shared experience, their twin forehead scars from DIO's influence. "We don't have time. Not until we're finished."

'And I got here first, so he's trying to give this back to me.' Argumentative shame wells hot in Polnareff's gut. "Sounds like more reason to share."

That makes both of them look at him. Polnareff feels like he's in a Mexican standoff. "What?" He pushes past his slight nerves and smiles at both of them. "You think Ambrose came back to his room all dolled up just to get ignored by anyone?"

***

The reality is different from proposing it, though, and the unexpected additions keep taking Polnareff's breath away. Kakyoin and Ambrose have the most clothes left on after ten minutes of slow negotiating and figuring out how to all fit on Ambrose's full-size mattress; Polnareff is down to his briefs out of some desperate desire to let the others relax, but now that he's on Ambrose's left and looking over his seafoam-green dress, slit up one leg to just above his knee, he finds there's more than one reason to enjoy the others still being mostly-clothed.

Kakyoin, on Ambrose's other side, even has his damn school uniform still buttoned up there entire way, but Polnareff is more interested in watching what's actually happening — Ambrose tilting towards Kakyoin, a hand gentle on his cheek again, and guiding the younger man into a kiss. Polnareff watches and, as he watches, he sighs and leans forward. His front comes flush to Ambrose's other side, and he lets his mouth press against Ambrose's bare shoulder. He drags a few happy, exploring kisses across him until he's leaning so far forward across Ambrose's collarbone that his hair must tickle Kakyoin's nose, because the other pulls away with a soft noise of annoyance. Or laughter, sometimes it's hard to tell with Kakyoin.

"You're both alright with this?" He asks, and to his credit it's only the second time he's asking.

Polnareff still hasn't touched him more than lightly on his shoulder in encouragement earlier. Now, he dares to wrap an arm around Ambrose...and lets his fingers rest against Kakyoin's clothed arm. "Yeah." Which just leaves them both to look up at Ambrose from where they're respectively draped across him or leaning into him.

a jojorgy

[immortalized]

Ambrose hadn't known how to immediately respond when Kakyoin's question graced his ears. 'Are you two together — or is he just...?'

It isn't that there hasn't been time to ask; their affair has been short and swift to develop, but between the heart-quickening flirting and the easily-escalating kisses, the intent for commitment has never been addressed. Ambrose couldn't begin to guess what this is fated to become, and the idea that he hadn't become so desperately entrenched in the desire for something concrete in these past few nights was startling to realize. Perhaps it's been the blindness that comes with the sheer, unmoored happiness it brought him — and perhaps it was due to the environment they were all sharing. With such a tireless focus on their ominous target, there was so little room to think of anything else until the nights could finally fall for them, where even rest wasn't always assured.

And when found, has been grasped for without more thought than necessary.

'I...don't know. You might have to ask him.' Ambrose could fall for Polnareff with ease, if they could be given more time and space to take things at a different pace — as it is, he can't know if it couldn't truly work, if a man (a vampire, at that) is something he would truly want for the long haul. It might even be misleading to suggest that Ambrose hasn't been more guarded since they began, open to the pleasure in both company and in bed, but careful to let his heart move in large leaps.

'Shame that I can't ask you.'



Ambrose would have questioned that, had he the time. The irony is, despite the astounding trajectory Polnareff has allowed this to careen into, Ambrose isn't sure that it fully answers Kakyoin's question; he's never even been in such a situation like this, not in life or in the life that has come after. Ambrose isn't fully decided that he is anyone's to 'share' but himself, but he wouldn't dream of tarnishing Polnareff's heart a the selfish sort of desire was in bloom. Right now, seated between the two of them, hands pressed on Kakyoin while Polnareff's are on himself, he still isn't sure what is established...

Except, that isn't entirely true. Some things are certain.

"Yes," is all Ambrose can answer with, when Polnareff confirms his stance. He can't know or say why their silver-haired friend has supplied this opportunity for them, for Kakyoin, but Ambrose doesn't not share the openness to it. It's a cooperation on all sides.

And shared desire.

"Please trust me." And Polnareff, perhaps, but it isn't necessarily Polnareff's choice to make. Ambrose isn't his to give to anyone — Ambrose owns himself. He has time, all of it in the world if he plays his cards well, but neither of these other men will have as much freedom in that as he has.

This...is a blessing of cooperation and mutual interest. This is as astounding and fleeting as a cosmological event — not impossible to occur, only rare and but for a night at a time.

And having them both, both for their interest, their affection, their time, and their attention — is more than he could have anticipated.

"And Jean-Pierre." Ambrose is pleased time think that these two traveling companions are coming together in this way, one extending this offer to the younger. Considering what Kakyoin had come to talk to him about, what they discussed together, it's heartening that Polnareff is selfless enough to create this environment for all of their individual gains. Polnareff is a good person, under the crackling vibrato, and Kakyoin has seen more of that than Ambrose has.

Ambrose leans in to kiss Kakyoin again, on the edge of his jaw now; there is little temperature to his mouth as he plants kisses against the thinly-veiled bone, down the side of his throat...following the alluring beckoning of his pulse. He hasn't any intentions — not to say there is no awareness and, therefore, no desire for what lies there in this thrumming carotid — except you lift one of these jeweled hands to politely pluck at the tightly-fastened button of his uniform collar. His approach is slow, gentle...but not shy, as he pinches one button free just below where his mouth draws admiringly against warm skin.

pick your poison

[polnawrath]

a. I didn't say I was scared to go in alone!! I just said maybe it would be safer if we went together!

b. Did you know you can just start a tab and then you get to drink for free?

c. Where did you put it?!

d. I've been living in hotels for almost two months, cut me some slack if I drunk text you tonight okay?

e. [ Text him. ]

b for bolnareff

[immortalized]

Darling...that is most assuredly not how that works. { said amusedly.

but, after a moment's pause: } Are you there by yourself? { what sounds like genuine care is actually just a veiled 'is someone there to be your shackle?' }