[Oh, bodies that are used to pain and hardship - Steinbeck knows that intimately. Once upon a time, he told a young child (crying, pleading, asking "why is it me" when it came to a horrific ability that was ingrained to the core) a few very simple things.]
["The reason you suffer is because you were born as you".]
["Since you were born with this kind of ability, things can only end this way for you".]
["God exists, He just doesn't love you".]
[And of course, but of course, it was about him too. An ability that requires him to gouge out wounds and slash necks and arms and legs, to bury in grape seeds and let them take root in an atrocity of a body. Plants are lovely things, seeking life and warmth. In the end, this body is substrate for better things. Maybe one day, he should go down to the valley, slit his throat, and let himself be fertilizer for the barren land.]
[He's entertained the idea. Not seriously, but how nice it is, a twisted thought of letting a final act on earth be one that provides, instead of takes.]
[The laugh makes him twist up his mouth in a barely restrained grin of his own. He supposes this isn't on the same level as giving his body for greenery, but letting a smile grow in that soft face should be reward enough. The kiss to his palm makes a little stirring of heat move through his chest. He exhales, low, letting the sensation settle of gentle lips against hard skin. He aims a bashful smile at the man, before he shifts his body a little closer, leaning his head up to press a light kiss against the man's ear.]
Mm. [A murmur as he presses his nose against the man's cheek, chest heaving a little with a breathless chuckle.] It's like I'm holding a star.
cw: self harm and suicide mention
["The reason you suffer is because you were born as you".]
["Since you were born with this kind of ability, things can only end this way for you".]
["God exists, He just doesn't love you".]
[And of course, but of course, it was about him too. An ability that requires him to gouge out wounds and slash necks and arms and legs, to bury in grape seeds and let them take root in an atrocity of a body. Plants are lovely things, seeking life and warmth. In the end, this body is substrate for better things. Maybe one day, he should go down to the valley, slit his throat, and let himself be fertilizer for the barren land.]
[He's entertained the idea. Not seriously, but how nice it is, a twisted thought of letting a final act on earth be one that provides, instead of takes.]
[The laugh makes him twist up his mouth in a barely restrained grin of his own. He supposes this isn't on the same level as giving his body for greenery, but letting a smile grow in that soft face should be reward enough. The kiss to his palm makes a little stirring of heat move through his chest. He exhales, low, letting the sensation settle of gentle lips against hard skin. He aims a bashful smile at the man, before he shifts his body a little closer, leaning his head up to press a light kiss against the man's ear.]
Mm. [A murmur as he presses his nose against the man's cheek, chest heaving a little with a breathless chuckle.] It's like I'm holding a star.