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[He has just enough time to snap his teeth. The warm air trapped in his lungs fogs off the tips of them. Against the whipping wind, it only lasts for a second; its moment short-lived and quick. But it doesn't matter. Because as he feels his sunglasses press up his nose, the Sin leans forward. He knows he has only seconds (precious seconds), but he takes them for all their worth. And they are worth it. Worth it all, if only for - ]
Ah - ? [He barely manages to get out before a slosh of ice flattens between his horns. It catches him off guard, making his body second guess itself before the evitable plunge. The squares of his heels grind into the snow, dragging out parallel lines that wander and wave like the backend of a car, spinning in a fishtail. No, where Michael's landing is graceful and smooth, his? It's entirely the opposite. A showering wake of ice and snow fans along either side of him and as the Sin reaches out, he sinks his claws into the ground, pulling up a cake of stiff-cold mud.]
Ha AHAHAHAHA - ! I'd say that was a pretty cheap shot. [Greed tips back on his heels to pry his nails loose. Already, the ice stuck between them is beginning to melt; his oppressive heat turning it to a sloshy, sleety mix. He stands up, shaking his wrist to flick a splattering of half-frozen muck onto the snow.] As for that, I'm not worried about your face, Blues. Mine just - ah, doesn't matter. [Running his hands through his hair, he gives it a quick shake.] And there's nothing to tell that you wouldn't know already.
[He tilts his head to the side and a slop of snow splats along his boots. Shloop. Whatever style he had to his hair is gone by this point.] So, what? Are you saying you're impressed by me now? [He starts in as a single clump of snow slides down his face. Greed takes one step forward. All around the courtyard, there's signs of where he's been: the tracks of his boots leading up to the hotel, the small divots where he's retaliated in their friendly game of fire. And as light snow begins to gradually eat them away, the Sin lets his tail tunnel through a sizable mound.]
You might not be good with people, but you wouldn't be the first. [The spines at the tip of his tail scrape at the snow, breaking it apart into sizable, throwable chunks.] Outcasts, Michael. Here, before. They always come to me. Those that could never live a normal kind of life - [Trailing off, the Sin slides his eyes slyly to the side. Ah, and there's that look again. That terrible, awful look.] - that much hasn't changed. Might not think it, but I've always been a fan of the underdog.
[He takes his moment, then. With a whipping snap, the former homunculus yanks his tail from the snow, sending a curtain of ice out in front of him. It shoots into the air like a spray. One thick, whitening, and maybe, just maybe, disorienting enough that he won't see him coming. No one said he couldn't play dirty, after all. And as he slides forward, he crouches down, grabbing two more handfuls of snow.]
[One, he aims for Michael's face. But the other? He'll try to get down the front of shirt.]
Was it? I believe I remember someone telling me all is fair in love and war.
[ He watches the whole display, noting how quickly the ice melts. Well, at least someone is equipped to deal with this weather. Were he anyone else, he might have been a little jealous but the warm clothing, as long as it isn’t cumbersome, is not a huge imposition. Tedious maybe, but not to the degree of warranting the jealousy. ]
Impressed? Don’t be absurd, it will take more than fancy footwork and ingenuity to impress me, Greed, but you’re well on your way. Let’s take care of that pride now, before your head gets so large that you’re unable to fit in the elevator for the ride down.
[ His attention lingers on the chunks and he nearly grins. This may be all in good fun but (aside from the Purge) it has been a long time since he was able to move like this. He is both thankful and impressed. ]
No, I would never expect you to root for anyone but the underdog. The underdog has everything going against them, much like the outcasts that flock to him, but everything to gain. When one feels they have nothing to lose, that is when they feel the most alive.
[ Michael digs a heel into the snow-covered earth to give himself a better foothold when he snaps his wings in an attempt to thwart the oncoming distraction. It is somewhat successful but appears to leave him wide open to both snowballs.
Funny enough, he lets the first one strike him in the face and shakes his head to clear his vision. He snatches up the wrist of the hand going to dump the snow and tries to twist it, letting the snow flurry over the top of his head instead. He hasn’t even begun to get into this fight yet, snow is not the only weapon available to him.
But there is no pride in his eyes when he hooks his foot around Greed’s leg to try and knock him off balance — just enough to make him stumble forward a little so he is easier to reach. Why? Well, all six of his wings create a loose cocoon around them both as he leans up, catches him by the chin and locks their lips together. Soft and hesitant but lingering.
When he pulls back, he is still close enough to smell him, to taste the lingering hint of nicotine on his mouth. But is there victory in his eyes? No, he looks so incredibly torn. Finally, nonchalantly, he begins to withdraw. ]
I yield. [ With a snap of his fingers, the vest reappears on Greed. Now that is a cheap parting shot. ] I suppose that makes this your win.
[A slosh of ice slides down the side of his jaw, meeting his grin and splitting. This is a different side of Michael he rarely (if ever) gets to see. Where duty and paperwork have been brushed aside and the fight isn't one between righteousness and a perceived threat, but a way to let loose. To let loose, to unwind, and to be free for maybe the first time ever in his life.]
Love and war, huh? Didn't think it was that serious, Blue Eyes. [The thick cloud of fog hanging around his face thins and the Sin jerks his hips, shoving his heel deep into the snow. At first, he thinks he has the upper hand. Even when Michael grabs his wrist and twists it, the expression on his face is as wild as ever. No, this fight has barely begun, and it wouldn't be the Archangel he knows if he let him down so easy. It's been trained into him: how to maneuver and manipulate the situation to play the odds out in his favor.]
[But he's so focused on his face that he easily misses the next move. There's a foot around his leg, a tug of gravity, and the former homunculus (surprised, but not shocked) claps his jaws together, readying himself for a painful blow. Michael Morningstar may not look much to most. But ah, he's said it, hasn't he? How looks can be oh-so deceiving.]
[And he's ready for it. The 'Shield trembles up his neck, instinctually fingering at his chin in preparation, and the Sin goes solidly stiff.]
[What he isn't ready for is the gentle touch on his chin and the kiss that follows, as chaste and light as the snow all around them.]
[Greed blinks through the haze. He can taste Michael on his lips, the graze of him, the clean kind of sweetness (crisp, barely there like crystal-clear water) of him against the leftover tobacco sticking to his teeth. It's fresh is what it is. Fresh, feather-weight, yet painfully, painfully brief.]
[Which is why, for a second, he says nothing at all and just watches him; the look on his face, as dumbfounded as a man on the receiving end of a five-finger slap.] Tsk - [The former homunculus shoots his hand out, trying to snag any part of Michael that he can (be it his shirt, his collar, or anything else within his grabbing, gaping reach).]
[He doesn't even seem to care when the vest reappears on his back, bringing the comfortable fur of his collar pluming along his neck. No, oh no. He's got something else in mind. Something he's been waiting a long, long time for.]
[Greed skirts air between his teeth, wheezing it over their sharp, knifing points.] - oi, oi, oi. It wasn't about winning, Blues. [Another slip of melting snow trickles down the back of his neck and dives behind his vest.]
[He makes an effort to lean in, then; his whole body chasing after Michael's retreat like a shadow, stretching with sun. Greed bows his head and as his fingers loosen their grip, a faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.] Wouldn't have made a difference, y'know. If I won or not. That was never the point. [When he leans forward, he makes an effort to try to find Michael's forehead with his own; the touch of the jewel in his forehead warm despite the chill.] But I'll say one thing.
[Slowly, his eyes peel open and a shimmer of red teases behind them.]
[ War is always serious, no matter the species. This is why the offspring of animals partake in playful spars of their own to prepare them for a predestined life that favors the continuation of their bloodlines rather than love, a life wrought with danger. Love is something they cannot afford in their even shorter lives, it is kill or be killed.
Even so, love and war will always go hand in hand.
But as much as he might be dwelling too harshly on the words, he is finally letting go. He is doing what everyone here has asked him to, to stop living for people other than himself when those people are not here. As unfamiliar as it might be, it does feel nice.
The smile on his face is almost boyish and his attire, at least his shirt, is partially untucked and lightly wrinkled. His hair? Unkempt. But the way Greed stands there without a word has him thinking he has over-stepped his boundaries. A disadvantage in a battle would normally have him retreating to find a better vantage point, where he could take the time to assess and troubleshoot.
He does not have that here, not when he feels his escape halted by claws. Not to rip or tear, but just to encourage him to stay. If he had a heart, it would be rattling in his chest like a pinball. As it stands, a breath that is unnecessary to take catches in his throat to give away his anticipation. ]
Don’t take part in a battle with that kind of attitude, things can change quickly.
[ A reprimand, sure, but his tone is soft and somewhat fond, as his hand finds the hand that grabbed him. For a moment, all he does is gingerly stroke at the claws, still wrapping his mind around the fact that he did this at all. To be so impulsive is unlike him. ]
I don’t know if it was the right choice, but it was a choice. My choice. Does that count for anything? [ Michael never tries to avoid his gaze. In fact, he seems to be looking so intently, like he expects the answer to his unease will be there. Only when he finds nothing does he start to shy away a fraction.
What is done is done and now he is at a loss. What happens now? Is it wrong of him to think that seeing him the following day won’t be a problem? He did not do this for a guarantee, not for a taste of something forbidden or any other frivolous claim. A kiss is typically reserved for humans, and they are not human, to breed connection, but it also be a show of respect.
No, even he knows he didn’t do this for that reason.
Should he apologize? No, at least not after he feels himself easing forward so their foreheads can meet. The warmth, as big a contrast as the man himself, has Michael sinking against him, his wings drawing back to reveal the display. He does not care who sees, that alone startles him.
Before making contact and closing his eyes, blue meets red as he takes in the glow. Quietly, more to himself than to his company: ]
[The Sin's tail licks out behind him and with a flick, he sends another splintering of ice pelting to the ground, making small imprints in the snow. He lets a shallow breath slip between his teeth. No, he knows all about war. How it always costs more, how it never comes cheap. But this isn't a battleground, even if the tracks in the ice say otherwise. It's that other half of the equation. And while he doesn't know it, while he never quite will, wanting. Ah, is that a language he can understand.]
[Starting from the pinkie and moving up, Greed splays out his fingers. He keeps the hooks of his claws curled closer to the inside of his palm, leaving their soft edges open to the touch.] If we were really fighting, I don't think we'd be having this conversation, Blues. [His eyes sink heavy at the rims of his sunglasses. There's something almost unreadable about his look: the stillness as he follows after Michael's hand, the slight twitch in his gaze as the slits of his eyes widen, only to snap back to narrow, quaking points. The former homunculus flexes his toes in his boots. He can feel the chill biting at the leather, and it's enough to bring him back.]
[And bring him back, it does. The smile on his face is softer somehow. Kinder. Like the smooth side of steel, hiding its edge. A hum vibrates deafly in his chest.] Your choice, huh? [Greed catches Michael's stare. He thinks he can almost see those gears of his turning. Those endless thoughts racing against themselves, trying to justify every action on a set of scales that don't exist.]
[The Sin makes a sound in his nose.] Tch, does it count. That's a stupid question. [He tries to level the flat part of his thumb under Michael's chin as he feels his wings retreat. It's like the curtain is finally being pulled aside. And if someone happens to catch what's behind it? If someone gets a little peek? Well, it's not like he's ever been shy before.]
[Still, he makes an effort to pivot a bit. Michael's been as giving as he always is. It seems only fair that he returns the gesture. Greed twists his back, exposing it towards the windows of the hotel. It may not be a lot of privacy, but it's something.] Getting lost in that head of yours again, aren't you? [He slurs and as he tilts his chin, he lets the tip of his nose brush against Michael's.] I could tell you the same thing I always do. What's right and what's wrong never mattered to me, Blue Eyes. What matters is whether this is what you really want.
[Given how close he is, the Sin lets his words touch along Michael's lips. He's barely there and everywhere all at once; his presence more similar to steam, venting from a cold, iron grate. Greed peels his head away and as he tries to feel out the Archangel's lower lip with his thumb, the tip of his tail whisks at the snow, collecting up a small, powdery dusting.]
And you can't really call me virtuous. Besides, if it really bothers you, you can always blame it on that little problem of yours - [A sneer teases on his face. Of course, he's not being serious. Even if this whole thing had started as a way of distracting Michael, this? Whatever this is? He wouldn't change it for the world.]
[Doesn't mean he can't be a shit about it.]
[Greed nips at the corner of Michael's mouth before finally pulling away.] - now, before you get any more crazy ideas, think it's about time you head back upstairs, hmn? [Lifting his hand, the Sin slowly tries to push the Archangel's hair back. The man is a stickler for presentation, after all.] No point staying out here.
[ The ice chunks catch his attention, causing him to look away just long enough to trace their path. His amusement kicks back in when he finds himself wondering why Greed didn’t bother to use this blatant distraction to pick up another handful of snow and dump it on him. ]
On that you definitely know better, I’m an angel of many words. Even when I fight I try to minimize damage and talk my so-called enemies down. I might have limited what I said, but I would still talk to you openly like this.
[ The expression gives him pause because he has always been able to read him, much to the displeasure of the former homunculus. But here and now? He finds himself at a loss, as want isn’t typically something he deals with, not in this manner. If the circumstances were different, he might have teased him for the soft expression. For now, he quietly relishes in it. ] Yes, my choice. I have you to thank for that.
[ A laugh, a mere exhale through his nose, is all he gets about his bad habit while he tilts his head into the touch. Oh, his movements are a little awkward but he has the spirit. When they are nose to nose, he closes his eyes. ]
You could say that but you know it won’t do any good, and it is what I want. You’ll have to excuse the execution because, for once, I’m flying blind here. It’s strange, being close enough to smell and taste someone. A show of intimacy that I never thought I would take any part in.
[ Annd there he is, right back to the Sin he knows he is. The indignation is splashed across his face. ]
Ideas, he says. [ He scoffs at the insinuation, his feathers bristling behind him. There are no ideas in his head at the moment, just a vast, endless void of static and dial-up tones. Michael reaches up to touch the corner of his mouth where his teeth nipped, looking vaguely startled. ]
Banishing me to my room like a child, you’re very audacious, aren’t you? As it just so happens, I was planning on going back after I returned the vest. You should go back before Miss Kamora starts wondering where her prize is. I did text her to let her know you would be picking it up.
[ He closes his eyes, letting out a soft sigh at the fingers through his hair. Leave it to Greed to be mindful of his appearance for him, as well as try to protect his virtue. ]
Thank you for the distraction but, if I worried about someone seeing us, I wouldn’t have lowered my wings. Remember that. [ His voice drops to a whisper, his expression softening into something that almost comes off as tender. The small amount of embarrassment he will feel later is a problem for future Michael. ]
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Ah - ? [He barely manages to get out before a slosh of ice flattens between his horns. It catches him off guard, making his body second guess itself before the evitable plunge. The squares of his heels grind into the snow, dragging out parallel lines that wander and wave like the backend of a car, spinning in a fishtail. No, where Michael's landing is graceful and smooth, his? It's entirely the opposite. A showering wake of ice and snow fans along either side of him and as the Sin reaches out, he sinks his claws into the ground, pulling up a cake of stiff-cold mud.]
Ha AHAHAHAHA - ! I'd say that was a pretty cheap shot. [Greed tips back on his heels to pry his nails loose. Already, the ice stuck between them is beginning to melt; his oppressive heat turning it to a sloshy, sleety mix. He stands up, shaking his wrist to flick a splattering of half-frozen muck onto the snow.] As for that, I'm not worried about your face, Blues. Mine just - ah, doesn't matter. [Running his hands through his hair, he gives it a quick shake.] And there's nothing to tell that you wouldn't know already.
[He tilts his head to the side and a slop of snow splats along his boots. Shloop. Whatever style he had to his hair is gone by this point.] So, what? Are you saying you're impressed by me now? [He starts in as a single clump of snow slides down his face. Greed takes one step forward. All around the courtyard, there's signs of where he's been: the tracks of his boots leading up to the hotel, the small divots where he's retaliated in their friendly game of fire. And as light snow begins to gradually eat them away, the Sin lets his tail tunnel through a sizable mound.]
You might not be good with people, but you wouldn't be the first. [The spines at the tip of his tail scrape at the snow, breaking it apart into sizable, throwable chunks.] Outcasts, Michael. Here, before. They always come to me. Those that could never live a normal kind of life - [Trailing off, the Sin slides his eyes slyly to the side. Ah, and there's that look again. That terrible, awful look.] - that much hasn't changed. Might not think it, but I've always been a fan of the underdog.
[He takes his moment, then. With a whipping snap, the former homunculus yanks his tail from the snow, sending a curtain of ice out in front of him. It shoots into the air like a spray. One thick, whitening, and maybe, just maybe, disorienting enough that he won't see him coming. No one said he couldn't play dirty, after all. And as he slides forward, he crouches down, grabbing two more handfuls of snow.]
[One, he aims for Michael's face. But the other? He'll try to get down the front of shirt.]
no subject
[ He watches the whole display, noting how quickly the ice melts. Well, at least someone is equipped to deal with this weather. Were he anyone else, he might have been a little jealous but the warm clothing, as long as it isn’t cumbersome, is not a huge imposition. Tedious maybe, but not to the degree of warranting the jealousy. ]
Impressed? Don’t be absurd, it will take more than fancy footwork and ingenuity to impress me, Greed, but you’re well on your way. Let’s take care of that pride now, before your head gets so large that you’re unable to fit in the elevator for the ride down.
[ His attention lingers on the chunks and he nearly grins. This may be all in good fun but (aside from the Purge) it has been a long time since he was able to move like this. He is both thankful and impressed. ]
No, I would never expect you to root for anyone but the underdog. The underdog has everything going against them, much like the outcasts that flock to him, but everything to gain. When one feels they have nothing to lose, that is when they feel the most alive.
[ Michael digs a heel into the snow-covered earth to give himself a better foothold when he snaps his wings in an attempt to thwart the oncoming distraction. It is somewhat successful but appears to leave him wide open to both snowballs.
Funny enough, he lets the first one strike him in the face and shakes his head to clear his vision. He snatches up the wrist of the hand going to dump the snow and tries to twist it, letting the snow flurry over the top of his head instead. He hasn’t even begun to get into this fight yet, snow is not the only weapon available to him.
But there is no pride in his eyes when he hooks his foot around Greed’s leg to try and knock him off balance — just enough to make him stumble forward a little so he is easier to reach. Why? Well, all six of his wings create a loose cocoon around them both as he leans up, catches him by the chin and locks their lips together. Soft and hesitant but lingering.
When he pulls back, he is still close enough to smell him, to taste the lingering hint of nicotine on his mouth. But is there victory in his eyes? No, he looks so incredibly torn. Finally, nonchalantly, he begins to withdraw. ]
I yield. [ With a snap of his fingers, the vest reappears on Greed. Now that is a cheap parting shot. ] I suppose that makes this your win.
no subject
Love and war, huh? Didn't think it was that serious, Blue Eyes. [The thick cloud of fog hanging around his face thins and the Sin jerks his hips, shoving his heel deep into the snow. At first, he thinks he has the upper hand. Even when Michael grabs his wrist and twists it, the expression on his face is as wild as ever. No, this fight has barely begun, and it wouldn't be the Archangel he knows if he let him down so easy. It's been trained into him: how to maneuver and manipulate the situation to play the odds out in his favor.]
[But he's so focused on his face that he easily misses the next move. There's a foot around his leg, a tug of gravity, and the former homunculus (surprised, but not shocked) claps his jaws together, readying himself for a painful blow. Michael Morningstar may not look much to most. But ah, he's said it, hasn't he? How looks can be oh-so deceiving.]
[And he's ready for it. The 'Shield trembles up his neck, instinctually fingering at his chin in preparation, and the Sin goes solidly stiff.]
[What he isn't ready for is the gentle touch on his chin and the kiss that follows, as chaste and light as the snow all around them.]
[Greed blinks through the haze. He can taste Michael on his lips, the graze of him, the clean kind of sweetness (crisp, barely there like crystal-clear water) of him against the leftover tobacco sticking to his teeth. It's fresh is what it is. Fresh, feather-weight, yet painfully, painfully brief.]
[Which is why, for a second, he says nothing at all and just watches him; the look on his face, as dumbfounded as a man on the receiving end of a five-finger slap.] Tsk - [The former homunculus shoots his hand out, trying to snag any part of Michael that he can (be it his shirt, his collar, or anything else within his grabbing, gaping reach).]
[He doesn't even seem to care when the vest reappears on his back, bringing the comfortable fur of his collar pluming along his neck. No, oh no. He's got something else in mind. Something he's been waiting a long, long time for.]
[Greed skirts air between his teeth, wheezing it over their sharp, knifing points.] - oi, oi, oi. It wasn't about winning, Blues. [Another slip of melting snow trickles down the back of his neck and dives behind his vest.]
[He makes an effort to lean in, then; his whole body chasing after Michael's retreat like a shadow, stretching with sun. Greed bows his head and as his fingers loosen their grip, a faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.] Wouldn't have made a difference, y'know. If I won or not. That was never the point. [When he leans forward, he makes an effort to try to find Michael's forehead with his own; the touch of the jewel in his forehead warm despite the chill.] But I'll say one thing.
[Slowly, his eyes peel open and a shimmer of red teases behind them.]
It took you long enough.
no subject
Even so, love and war will always go hand in hand.
But as much as he might be dwelling too harshly on the words, he is finally letting go. He is doing what everyone here has asked him to, to stop living for people other than himself when those people are not here. As unfamiliar as it might be, it does feel nice.
The smile on his face is almost boyish and his attire, at least his shirt, is partially untucked and lightly wrinkled. His hair? Unkempt. But the way Greed stands there without a word has him thinking he has over-stepped his boundaries. A disadvantage in a battle would normally have him retreating to find a better vantage point, where he could take the time to assess and troubleshoot.
He does not have that here, not when he feels his escape halted by claws. Not to rip or tear, but just to encourage him to stay. If he had a heart, it would be rattling in his chest like a pinball. As it stands, a breath that is unnecessary to take catches in his throat to give away his anticipation. ]
Don’t take part in a battle with that kind of attitude, things can change quickly.
[ A reprimand, sure, but his tone is soft and somewhat fond, as his hand finds the hand that grabbed him. For a moment, all he does is gingerly stroke at the claws, still wrapping his mind around the fact that he did this at all. To be so impulsive is unlike him. ]
I don’t know if it was the right choice, but it was a choice. My choice. Does that count for anything? [ Michael never tries to avoid his gaze. In fact, he seems to be looking so intently, like he expects the answer to his unease will be there. Only when he finds nothing does he start to shy away a fraction.
What is done is done and now he is at a loss. What happens now? Is it wrong of him to think that seeing him the following day won’t be a problem? He did not do this for a guarantee, not for a taste of something forbidden or any other frivolous claim. A kiss is typically reserved for humans, and they are not human, to breed connection, but it also be a show of respect.
No, even he knows he didn’t do this for that reason.
Should he apologize? No, at least not after he feels himself easing forward so their foreheads can meet. The warmth, as big a contrast as the man himself, has Michael sinking against him, his wings drawing back to reveal the display. He does not care who sees, that alone startles him.
Before making contact and closing his eyes, blue meets red as he takes in the glow. Quietly, more to himself than to his company: ]
Patience is a virtue.
no subject
[Starting from the pinkie and moving up, Greed splays out his fingers. He keeps the hooks of his claws curled closer to the inside of his palm, leaving their soft edges open to the touch.] If we were really fighting, I don't think we'd be having this conversation, Blues. [His eyes sink heavy at the rims of his sunglasses. There's something almost unreadable about his look: the stillness as he follows after Michael's hand, the slight twitch in his gaze as the slits of his eyes widen, only to snap back to narrow, quaking points. The former homunculus flexes his toes in his boots. He can feel the chill biting at the leather, and it's enough to bring him back.]
[And bring him back, it does. The smile on his face is softer somehow. Kinder. Like the smooth side of steel, hiding its edge. A hum vibrates deafly in his chest.] Your choice, huh? [Greed catches Michael's stare. He thinks he can almost see those gears of his turning. Those endless thoughts racing against themselves, trying to justify every action on a set of scales that don't exist.]
[The Sin makes a sound in his nose.] Tch, does it count. That's a stupid question. [He tries to level the flat part of his thumb under Michael's chin as he feels his wings retreat. It's like the curtain is finally being pulled aside. And if someone happens to catch what's behind it? If someone gets a little peek? Well, it's not like he's ever been shy before.]
[Still, he makes an effort to pivot a bit. Michael's been as giving as he always is. It seems only fair that he returns the gesture. Greed twists his back, exposing it towards the windows of the hotel. It may not be a lot of privacy, but it's something.] Getting lost in that head of yours again, aren't you? [He slurs and as he tilts his chin, he lets the tip of his nose brush against Michael's.] I could tell you the same thing I always do. What's right and what's wrong never mattered to me, Blue Eyes. What matters is whether this is what you really want.
[Given how close he is, the Sin lets his words touch along Michael's lips. He's barely there and everywhere all at once; his presence more similar to steam, venting from a cold, iron grate. Greed peels his head away and as he tries to feel out the Archangel's lower lip with his thumb, the tip of his tail whisks at the snow, collecting up a small, powdery dusting.]
And you can't really call me virtuous. Besides, if it really bothers you, you can always blame it on that little problem of yours - [A sneer teases on his face. Of course, he's not being serious. Even if this whole thing had started as a way of distracting Michael, this? Whatever this is? He wouldn't change it for the world.]
[Doesn't mean he can't be a shit about it.]
[Greed nips at the corner of Michael's mouth before finally pulling away.] - now, before you get any more crazy ideas, think it's about time you head back upstairs, hmn? [Lifting his hand, the Sin slowly tries to push the Archangel's hair back. The man is a stickler for presentation, after all.] No point staying out here.
no subject
On that you definitely know better, I’m an angel of many words. Even when I fight I try to minimize damage and talk my so-called enemies down. I might have limited what I said, but I would still talk to you openly like this.
[ The expression gives him pause because he has always been able to read him, much to the displeasure of the former homunculus. But here and now? He finds himself at a loss, as want isn’t typically something he deals with, not in this manner. If the circumstances were different, he might have teased him for the soft expression. For now, he quietly relishes in it. ] Yes, my choice. I have you to thank for that.
[ A laugh, a mere exhale through his nose, is all he gets about his bad habit while he tilts his head into the touch. Oh, his movements are a little awkward but he has the spirit. When they are nose to nose, he closes his eyes. ]
You could say that but you know it won’t do any good, and it is what I want. You’ll have to excuse the execution because, for once, I’m flying blind here. It’s strange, being close enough to smell and taste someone. A show of intimacy that I never thought I would take any part in.
[ Annd there he is, right back to the Sin he knows he is. The indignation is splashed across his face. ]
Ideas, he says. [ He scoffs at the insinuation, his feathers bristling behind him. There are no ideas in his head at the moment, just a vast, endless void of static and dial-up tones. Michael reaches up to touch the corner of his mouth where his teeth nipped, looking vaguely startled. ]
Banishing me to my room like a child, you’re very audacious, aren’t you? As it just so happens, I was planning on going back after I returned the vest. You should go back before Miss Kamora starts wondering where her prize is. I did text her to let her know you would be picking it up.
[ He closes his eyes, letting out a soft sigh at the fingers through his hair. Leave it to Greed to be mindful of his appearance for him, as well as try to protect his virtue. ]
Thank you for the distraction but, if I worried about someone seeing us, I wouldn’t have lowered my wings. Remember that. [ His voice drops to a whisper, his expression softening into something that almost comes off as tender. The small amount of embarrassment he will feel later is a problem for future Michael. ]
Goodnight, Greed.