He doesn't feel like himself, dolled up like this- all his obvious scars made all the more blatant with their stupid little gold makeup like he's some project and the jewelry they pretty him up in a mockery because he's more slave than royalty and they all know it. It's an indignity he could live with, however.
What actually grates him is how they doll up Schuldig. He'd never thought the idea of things matching would rile him so, never thought he'd give enough of a fuck of fashion to notice, but he does, now.
It's such a stupid thing to pay attention to, here in a cushy seat that feels like salt in the wound after they've had to survive in caves and plains and so many other things. He should be paying attention to the questions the interviewer is asking them in a tone so fake and excited. For once, they're allowed on stage together, him and Schuldig, all so that their kismesisistude can be prodded and peered at like it's some exotic animal.
His patience holds out until Question #6, and he feels it snap so cleanly. They want a fuckiing 2how, II'll giive them a fuckiing 2how and he's not sure if Schuldig is listening to that particular thought or if they're just on the same train when he twists in his seat to grab the telepath's hair only to find fingers going for one of his horns.
In the background noise of this stupid set, he can hear the interviewer laugh- a quip on how they can't keep their hands off one another, maybe, he thinks, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is how Schuldig's mouth feels like acid, scorching away all his spines and harshness away so that something more polished like a blade is left. It's sweet in the most horrible of ways, sweet berries that poison you and leave you for dead. He finds comfort in it.
The fact that at some point he's found himself on Schuldig's chair with a knee against his crotch in front of a camera on live television to millions of viewers is not something he's particularly concerned with.
...Or maybe something he should be concerned with but in a far different way, he thinks as he ignores the laughter that's become pointedly awkward behind him while he notes the firmness his knee is now pressing up against.
When his hands tear off Schuldig's belt, they both smile against one another as the interviewer yells for a commercial break at the top of his lungs.
Commercial Break
What actually grates him is how they doll up Schuldig. He'd never thought the idea of things matching would rile him so, never thought he'd give enough of a fuck of fashion to notice, but he does, now.
It's such a stupid thing to pay attention to, here in a cushy seat that feels like salt in the wound after they've had to survive in caves and plains and so many other things. He should be paying attention to the questions the interviewer is asking them in a tone so fake and excited. For once, they're allowed on stage together, him and Schuldig, all so that their kismesisistude can be prodded and peered at like it's some exotic animal.
His patience holds out until Question #6, and he feels it snap so cleanly. They want a fuckiing 2how, II'll giive them a fuckiing 2how and he's not sure if Schuldig is listening to that particular thought or if they're just on the same train when he twists in his seat to grab the telepath's hair only to find fingers going for one of his horns.
In the background noise of this stupid set, he can hear the interviewer laugh- a quip on how they can't keep their hands off one another, maybe, he thinks, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is how Schuldig's mouth feels like acid, scorching away all his spines and harshness away so that something more polished like a blade is left. It's sweet in the most horrible of ways, sweet berries that poison you and leave you for dead. He finds comfort in it.
The fact that at some point he's found himself on Schuldig's chair with a knee against his crotch in front of a camera on live television to millions of viewers is not something he's particularly concerned with.
...Or maybe something he should be concerned with but in a far different way, he thinks as he ignores the laughter that's become pointedly awkward behind him while he notes the firmness his knee is now pressing up against.
When his hands tear off Schuldig's belt, they both smile against one another as the interviewer yells for a commercial break at the top of his lungs.