robopriest | PC WITH ANAXAGORAS

[The light hits. It should be like the glance of God Himself, divine in its brightness, but instead it brings something far more surreal.]

[He feels like he's chained - reined to something past him, behind him, and he's pulling. He has to. The road is ahead, the horizon rising up into those upside down trees. Hansa feels delirious, but then, as his mind feels like its drifting away -]

[He hears him.]

[And he runs, even as it feels like armor weights down his limbs.]

Anaxagoras-

[He wants to reach him. He wants to reach him so badly.]

[ There is no sound of a clock ticking as Hansa approaches, though to Anaxagoras it feels as if that stopped hand defiantly moves forward nonetheless. Perhaps it is because he hears the call of his name in the disjointed madness, the chaotic interwoven land that meets one another head on.

It's disorienting, Anaxagoras feels too disconnected - too helpless? The sensation is foreign, yet overwhelming.

No, he's felt this before. When he was sitting down on the ground, and glass shattered all around him; when his teacher passed...when his sister passed, as well. When - ah, he lets out a laugh once more, choked this time. ]

...Hansa. Where are you?

[ His voice is pitched over his lack of ability to perceive himself in his own body. It's hard to grasp a hold of anything.

But he wants to reach out to Hansa nonetheless. ]

I'm here. I'm coming.

[But it's so hard. Every step he makes feels like he's going through sand. There are horse's neighs ringing in his ears, his steps almost like a hiccuping gallop.]

[But he has to. He has to reach him.]

[He can't give up now.]

[Hansa struggles - his hands reach out, trying to get closer, and closer. This realm, whatever it is, won't weigh him down if he can help it.]

Reach out to me! Anaxagoras! Towards my voice!

[ It's too late. It's always too late.

There is a resignation that burns deep within his soul. Shaken out once into the open when it is only himself at stake.

This is a reminder of a fact that can't be denied. The roots that reach out like chains; and the nooses a premonition of death. But, then he hears Hansa call out again.

Through a blurred vision of incomprehensible feelings, it's cutting through the weight of it all like a sharpened weapon. ]

To your voice...

[ Anaxagoras' own words sound distant to him. The sound of Hansa's voice - of course. Even if he can't see anything, even if he can't imagine anything, and even if he can't even perceive properly hardly much at all, he can still tell where he is by that.

Within this very moment, nothing else matters. He reaches blindly out, feeling the warmth of something else. A strange feeling of latent desperation. ]

I'm right here. I'm reaching out - can you see me? Can you see my hand?

[ What logic or reason is in his voice? His fingertips are outstretched towards Hansa's - towards wherever he is. But perhaps among desperation is that hope again. One of the many feelings that arises within him whenever he is around that man. ]

[If only this body worked the way it always did. He could stretch out his arm three meters, grab him here and now. But he can't. He has to keep going. Like Anaxagoras is a sun to burn himself on.]

[The other man calls out to him, stretches out his hand. Hansa strains, almost feeling a headache coming on. The shrill whine of the horses is almost deafening. If he can't reach him, it's over. Everything must rely on this.]

[Their fingertips meet.]

[He makes the final step, letting their fingers intersect so he can hold onto that hand like an anchor.]

I got you. I-I got you.

[ Anaxagoras feels it. Despite the disjointedness, the disconnection that makes it difficult to perceive, he can feel this. This mutual anchor, which allows him to wrap his fingers tightly around Hansa's, to give even a light tug.

There's a heavy weight in his soul, but his lips curl upwards, a bit shaky. ]

...So you do.

[ Surprisingly, Anaxagoras' voice comes out clear. Steady.

(The mob clamors for himself to be suspended, helpless.) He holds tight and firm. (They call out for him to be hung.) He reaches out again in defiance.

With another hand, he manages to take Hansa's singular one in both of his, faint smile spreading a bit more wide, and he lets out a laugh that is both strangely maddened, yet happily delighted. The branches unfurl, leaves growing a bit more as some leave to cascade below - the uneven, unpredictable of a dream persisting all the while, but remaining steady in its application.

Just as someone wreathed in heavy armor may anchor someone else from drifting away, a tree's roots can hold steadfast in their foundations, keeping that person grounded in turn. ]

I have you as well. Come closer to me.

[Anaxagoras is laughing. It sounds like bells, chiming in the midst of his dizzying spectacle.]

[He had his Quartet, and he relied on them to do their holy duties. They backed him up in all missions. But here, this feels like a different reliance. A more vulnerable one, to simply fall forward, to trust.]

[Like a faith in God, but something tighter, more complicated, more terrifying, more elating.]

[The trees are growing. He steps forward, unwilling to pull away. The armor that weighs him down feels less heavy.]

I'm here, Anaxagoras. You won't float away. Not here. Not now.

[ Fragility having been exposed, in ways that are beyond words, tangled up in a psyche beyond expressions which he simultaneously can and can sometimes barely fathom, it feels as if the shadows are wiggling under the mere sight. It's uncontrollable, but like being brought anew, the seedling of a potential change unburdened by the weight held down inside of the heart.

But, here is Hansa, brighter than anything before him, as he always is. Everything becomes clearer - he feels that distorted disconnection ebb further away. Despite it's a dream, the clarity hits harder, and he takes in a breath of fresh air. ]

...This is no mere illusion...

[ Those fingers tight around his are clear, present. And he then moves one hand, bare fingers searching for that one shoulder. Before his gaze, any hardened armor is almost nonexistent. He sees Hansa, and Hansa sees him.

The feeling of elation is indescribable despite his own amazement. He can't help it. He can't help the fact that he draws even closer so that there's hardly much distance between them. He feels light, like as if in the air, like the wind - but because of that, he moves without resistance, trying to bring his face even closer to the other man's. ]

I believe you. You and I - we're connected together; with one another. In the here and now. As long as you are here, as long as you have me, I will hold onto you - and never let go.

...So, will you indulge with me a bit more, Hansa?

[It feels too good to be an illusion. Anaxagoras is here. He shouldn't keep running forward, into the undefined horizon. There's nothing else he should focus on. The man touches him, grasping him, pulls him close.]

[Their surroundings seem to melt away in his perspective. It doesn't feel like something is latching onto his neck, guiding him where to go. Even as he's reined in closer, it doesn't feel rough. He simply is where he needs to be.]

Indulge?

[A dangerous word. Akin to temptation. His lips open, then close - he's nervous. But he wants to be secure. A funny thing, to want. He wants a lot of things. It's not technically right in the Biblical sense to want a lot of things. He should resist.]

[He lets out a fluttery breath, his free hand slipping to grasp over the other's side, lightly.]

...I will. I trust you, you know.

[ Anaxagoras remembers too shortly the idea that the word is as perhaps an anti-thesis of something normally pleasant to a priest of all people.

But, maybe it is for the best as well. It does not always mean something with foul connotations; it is something that a man like Hansa can embrace freely. So when he questions it, when he shows such nervousness, he waits.

Then, there is something that blooms with something unexplainable from even that welcome touch which feels like a spark - and those words. A little smile that comes too. ]

Good. I was hoping you'd say so.

Then...let us bask in this moment beyond reason, while sharing in this mutual trust between the both of us.

[ His words are spoken softly, and even though nervousness runs through him briefly, he dares to lean further. To test this, to see if Hansa will be receptive to him bringing a brush of his lips closer, to his own. Gentle, as if asking.

But with an undoubted expression of a multitude of wholesome and layered sentiment. ]

[A moment beyond reason. What an apt description. Everything is upside down. Even this...this mutual trust? Is that really it? Even he knows its more than that.]

[A Blasphemer is pulling him in - what irony. A Blasphemer so gentle that it makes his heart ache. If a snake on the apple tree whispered in such a way, maybe even his heart would have been moved. But this can't be sin, can't it? How sweet it is.]

[His lips are so close.]

[He might as well.]

[Mutual trust.]

[He crosses it, and captures it, and offers a kiss, his eye closing as he sinks in.]

[ It is more than mutual trust.

Though, to him, that is what this seedling had begun with. That is what this deep emotion is a part of, yet not a sum of it in its totality.

After all, it is clear now what it is:

The love that has taken root, has bloomed.

When their lips meet, flowers open on the upside down branches, letting petals fall in an array of colors of various kinds.

Even Anaxagoras' eye closes. One hand on that shoulder reaches to gently rest against one side of Hansa's cheek, the sweet affection traded by the soft connected between them feeling to him, ironically, divine.

A word a person such as him would scoff at it in use, even as he, a Blasphemer has the miracle of a priest against him. ]

[It really is softer than he imagines. They way their mouths fit against each other so dearly. It's both a fretful feeling and a viciously victorious one at the same time. He always did imagine this, in the back of his mind, taking glances at his face, his lips-]

[He murmurs at the hand to his cheek. His own hands tuck him closer, unwilling to let this moment go. It really can only be a moment. Everything is against them. This place, Anaxagora's fate, his faith-]

[Hansa sighs, petals dusting into his hair.]

[He doesn't want to let this kiss go.]

[ What is he saying, Anaxagoras wonders? A stray that emerges from their current intertwined, suspended state of being, as the two only remained ever so engaged with one another. In a place where unreality feels realer than any fantasy, temptations easily to sink in even a little bit, like the ropes that are intertwined now with snakes.

Chains then fall, landing in uncomfortable silence.

The petals linger in their hair, their person - is it christening them in their embrace? Or is it evidence of condemned indulgence?

The sky forest splits open, revealing a hole, and where they stand, the ground rises to it elevate itself, bringing them deeper into the forest, up through the hole. Within the forest are littered pieces of buildings, here or there, as if suspended just the same, even if all upside-down.

...One eye opens, staring into Hansa's undoubtedly similarly peaceful face, pressed close against him. Fingers spread to run through strands of hair resting near that side he had caressed, greedy and indulgent. He wants these feelings to continue to empty into him, wants to hold onto for as long as he can.

Before it may slip through his grasp.

Feelings caught up within him, he refuses to pull back. Not quite yet. ]

Edited 2025-11-26 19:54 (UTC)

[He's floating. It's the best thing he's ever felt. Something so pure, warm, and golden. Their landscape changes, buildings falling - or rising - from the sky. He doesn't recognize them. He won't spare a glance to them. Even as his eye opens, its deep violet is on this man, and this man alone.]

[A choir sounds in the distant, singing hymns. Even here, he's reminded of crossing the line. The steps he's taking are none he's ever taken before.]

[He pulls away, but only for a moment, to catch his breath. Golden sparkles are falling alongside the petals. His hands grasp the man's face, and he feels his breath is hot. He's lost. He's found.]

That's...you're so good.

[Another kiss while he's at it, feeling more and more weakness. He can't help itself. Temptation never looked and tasted so beautiful.]

[ Despite everything, it is a stark surprise feeling the intense attention upon his person. Anaxagoras feels himself become a bit lost in the beautiful violet color within that singular eye posed upon his person.

Him, just him - it conjures a little shiver through him. One of delight, even as the sound of choirs resound through even his soul. His own necessary intake of breath is sharp in the small break, and he is amazed for a moment - how bright Hansa looks when sprinkled with sparkles of gold. Like a sun's radiance, but not so searing that he would look away.

Instead, he wishes to subsume himself continuously - eye slipping almost closed again from the feel of those fingers against his now reddened face. ]

Hansa...

[ His words are swallowed up in another kiss; it isn't like he had any plans to say much. It even feels more all encompassing, and his fingers are now caught up in the man's shirt as he presses and sinks into the moment, return of the kiss easy as breathing.

As they rise, above the forest, it feels like a piece of a place beyond perfection. ]

[He's never kissed like this. Honestly, he doesn't even remember the last time he kissed at all. Likely years before he went through the transformation of his body. Now, as he is, he feels like he's set on fire. Anaxagoras seems like match to his rock, always willing to add to it.]

[His shirt is grabbed. Hansa's hands tuck more in his lower back. The golden sparkles almost make the man look somewhat divine. Makes sense. He is a demigod, with golden blood.]

[And here, he is but a humble man. The sky feels like a rotating wheel. Finally, he has to take a breath - and as he does so, he feels his body shaking. Like nervous energy, built up within him that needs an outlet.]

....Wow.

[Is all he can say before he takes a big breath, eyelid fluttering from his exertion.]

You are so beautiful.

[ A humble man. But, to him who appears greater than any Titan or Aeon or any sort of higher being he has ever heard of.

The "platform" they are on halts when they are settled above the upside-down forest. Above them lay dots of light hanging like strange lights without any proper celestial body in sight. Roots of trees otherwise surround them.

But, his attention is fully on the man in front of him, his heart pounding, his heart racing like he had just ran a marathon. He feels sensations welled up within him that are more intense than he imagined. The earnest compliment making him let out a startled breath. ]

You...no one has said that to me before.

[ Anaxagoras is almost breathless, feeling like he might become weak enough to fall to his knees. Ridiculous. ]

Whenever I look at you, it's difficult to focus. Stunning to the point of incomprehensibility.

[ He swallows thickly, saying this, and feeling overwhelmed, but embarrassed, quickly steals another kiss. ]

No one?

[It seems so surprising. Surely there must have been one. Someone who also understood his beauty. It's a terrifying beauty. It's the type of thing that makes him want to shed reason like a second skin.]

[He can practically hear the man's heart in his ears - or is it his own? The compliment in return makes his face turn brilliant crimson. He is so used to giving. Not to receiving.]

[Attention. Compliments. Kisses.]

[The Professor kisses him again, like he's drowning and needs him to give him life. And he wouldn't ever abandon such a necessary duty. Hansa sighs, even as he's now sucking a little on his lower lip for added friction.]

[ There is still time for people to make their remarks in a certain manner - but compliments towards his person were rather rare before he arrived here. Even rarer still on his physical appearance.

So, he probably had a nod in there somewhere when the other man questioned it.

...It's also why even if he has an ear for ones that are not stated with any true sentiment, he can tell when they are true. Which has a habit of deeply reaching him just the same, engrained within him whenever he happened to hear of such words professed thoughtfully.

Much the same as the reaction he can get in return...the redness apparent and true on Hansa's face makes him even more brilliant. It kindles more within him, committing to memory what he can get when the other man receives in return. He desperately wants to give as much as he receives...such that he shivers again, feeling the pressure on his lower lip.

It encourages them to part, just a little, to turn his head - and deepen the kiss slightly as his hands move from the front of Hansa's shirt to grasp at his back, a touch more eager. All the while feeling like he has been granted more and more sips of an elixir that makes him feel more alive. ]

Edited 2025-11-28 12:56 (UTC)

[He's being grasped now, pulled in - like the man is a black hole with him in tow. He has fought vampires and walking corpses. This man feels more powerful than that. More intense than that. He can't bring himself to stop.]

[Anaxagoras, never told how beautiful he is, has given him this sensation to sink into. Hansa sighs into the kiss - and he knows he has never kissed anyone like this before. This man has done something to him. A permanent stain.]

[He has to catch his breath eventually, though, and so he presses forehead against forehead, breath quick and hot. He has to get a handle on himself. He doesn't feel like he can.]

[His hands slide up and down the other's spine, lightly.]

Have you ever...kissed like that before? Should I be jealous?

[ Anaxagoras likes to believe that in a multitude of cases he is a very rational man, but he knows that ultimately he can't always be so; he is the type of individual who feels deeply. While at the same time, having ached and yearned for the pursuit of truth that for his eccentricities, he neglected his own self.

The bottomless chasm, that emptiness, the side of himself insatiable and wanting, always existed, ready to overpower reason. But, it felt like giving into that, into so many emotional currents, was as easy as breathing; even if it overflowed without warning.

Like an unrestrained tempest. He comes back into himself properly when the other male's head is pressed against his, his own breath heavy and quick, cheeks flushed red. He feels himself even relax into the touch...completely distracted.

He wants to steal another kiss...

...Oh.

He barely realizes Hansa asked him a question, clearing his throat. ]

...I've...hmm.

I can't remember the last time I kissed anyone. [ ... ] If ever.

The only person you'd therefore be jealous of would be someone like - or rather - simply yourself. Though, you would be ridiculous enough to manage that, wouldn't you?

[ He says that fondly despite his current state of being a bit dazed. That said, if he turns his head slightly, he thinks he can nuzzle Hansa's cheek like this... ]

[If ever, he says. Anaxagoras, never kissed. A Blasphemer, now in the arms of a priest, and this rite of passage has been claimed by him.]

[Hansa audibly swallows, trying to calm his restless heart. He wants to kiss him more. He wants to practice moderation. Greed is a sin, too. He always toes the line, but this is egregious, isn't it?]

[The man nuzzles against him, and he does the same in return after a short little pause.]

Haha. Maybe looking at this from the outside, I should be jealous of being able to have this from such a brilliant man.

[This feels so real. This feels like staring at the sun. He pecks the side of the man's cheek, before rubbing against it to simply sink into the sensation.]

[What has this man done with him?]

[Love, probably.]

[ If asked, Anaxagoras could never have stated anything like expressing love was ever a sin. Even if, that would essentially be such biased words and an ironic source from a Blasphemer, of all people. Because who is he to talk to a priest on such things? But, the audacity would be much like him.

Feeling the movement against him, he feels a surge of pleasant emotion, smirking slightly like a satisfied kitten.

...Yet, Hansa's words incite a laugh - soft, but contradictorily sharp, radiating loud through the area. When he speaks, though, his words are full of not only mirth, but absolute affection, warm satisfaction radiating through him like the embraces that have left them both comfortable in each other's space. ]

Now you sound even more ridiculous than usual. You know that, right?

[ But, he has often enjoyed that side of him. Hansa's ridiculousness, hell...Hansa's everything. What is there not to appreciate? To sink into? To love? It sends a joyful emotion that makes him feel alive. ]

...Even if I will not deny my intelligence. Never can.

I know I do.

[He is ridiculous. He always is. A frivolous soul who doesn't fit the mold of a priest to begin with. This is ridiculous, to encourage this. But he keeps hearing that beautiful sharp laugh, and it feels like butterfly wings sliding into his chest. A wound he is too ecstatic over.]

No, you're a smart cookie. [And he's pulling him up, twirling him in place.] My smart cookie.

[His.]

[And his expression is more bashful.]

...Can I call you mine? Am I allowed? I almost feel like my hand is in that smart cookie jar.

[He might be joking, but...there's a hint of wanting reassurance, too.]

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anaxagoreia - 2025-11-30 22:36 (UTC) - Expand