[ What did he want out of it? Silence, faithfulness, and continued companionship. The blood too, of course, but certainly he's made that obvious enough already. He scoffs quietly, though the gesture is not unkind - more wry, as though he feels Emerick is giving him too much.
Camille settles back, leaning on one hand, content to leave the other in Emerick's grasp. ] I should ask you that, instead. [ He leans his cheek on his shoulder, white hair falling across one cheek. He watches Emerick still with those pale eyes, a soft smile lingering still tinged with that same wry amusement. ] What do you want out of a relationship with an ageless, blood-drinking monster, in this strange and empty city?
[ He might guess companionship, too. Maybe protection? Emerick has not seen him fight, but he has heard of it (how much he remembers, though...). Still, all stories and fairy tales seem to consider all vampires particularly strong, or at least particularly cunning. But Camille cannot imagine Emerick wants to stay any more than Camille does, so something deep, lasting? And with a vampire using him as a delivery meal, no less- certainly not. Though β Camille is still not convinced the City is not a glitch, a malfunction of the God Machine, that this is not his true reality and will continue to be. He wonders if Emerick thinks he will ever go back to his Night City. ]
You're not a monster. [ It was mumbled more than spoken as his gaze skittered down and to the right as it always did when he was embarrassed or particularly submissive. As he did so, a blush crept into his features, likely betraying his thoughts. In truth, he was caught a little off-guard by the reversal of the question. He wasn't accustomed to being asked what it was he wanted, or what he thought. He'd even gone so far as to make the conversation about Camille to specifically avoid having to talk of his expectations.
He wanted companionship, yes, of course. To be useful, to be wanted. To be loved. The last wasn't realistic and he knew better than to expect. The fact that he wanted it was a mistake too, he knew. It's not like this could go anywhere even if Camille wanted it as well. There was a chance that he would end up being sent back home to Night City (a fate he didn't want, actually) and then what? When he finally woke up from this dream he was going to be so disappointed. ]
I, um. How things have been is fine. I just know that sometimes I speak too much and I don't want to fuck up and make you regret all of this.
[ The fact that he still made the question about Camille must have really said something about how little he valued himself when the fact he was so smitten with the man was painted across his face. ]
[ A kind sentiment, but naive. He might say he shuddered to think of what Emerick would consider a monster, but... Camille thinks he knows, at least a little. He also thinks that, if Emerick knew him better, if he were not addled by the effects of the Kiss, Camille would fall into that category too.
Camille shifts on the bed then, moving slow to straddle Emerick's lap, a knee on either side of the other's hips and one hand pressing against the other man's chest to coax him back against the pillows again, a fond amusement lingering in his expression still. Suggestive as the position is, Camille is largely making sure he is directly and unavoidably in Emerick's field of view. ] Something... casual, then? Or are you afraid of asking for what you really want?
[ Emerick's gaze turned to Camille when he shifted, landing so he could only just barely see what Camille was doing. He trusted Camille implicitly at this point, but reflex and habit died hard. He didn't flinch away as Camille got close like he might have at one time, but his blush definitely intensified as the other straddled him and encouraged him back into the pillows. He was trapped in what would be perhaps one of the most wonderful of predicaments in any other context.
He knew he could really crane his neck to one side to avoid looking at Camille and to resume his usual avoidance behavior, but he knew that even if he did, Camille would likely not let him. He stared up at the other man's face, the fond amusement in his expression, the way he was looking down at him. He found comfort in the pale eyes that looked down at him, but he knew now he couldn't really trust what he felt. He knew that there was at least some part of what he felt that was false, but he had no way of knowing where that started and where that ended other than he knew what he liked to think of it all.
He had a feeling that regardless of what he said and admitted to, Camille would find it foolish. Camille likely would think that all of his feelings weren't genuine - and maybe they weren't - on top of the fact that Camille certainly didn't feel the same way. So what did it matter what Emerick really wanted? Wanting and getting were two different things, and he'd rather not entertain some flight of fancy.
He stared up at Camille for a little too long, clearly trying to decide if he wanted to be honest and speak up or keep in his tradition of deflection. ]
Does what I really want matter? You don't feel the same way for me as I feel about you. [ Not to mention he was waiting to be told his feelings weren't real, which he hated even having to seriously entertain. He wasn't going to mention it out loud. ] What I don't want is for you to just indulge me.
[ The back-and-forth is exasperating. In taking digs at his own self-worth, Emerick is digging at Camille, too, ignoring the things Camille has confessed, and confessed honestly. Camille can't parse whether Emerick is still - for whatever reason - angry with him, or if he's still misdirecting anger from something else he has yet to share despite already apologizing once for it.
There's a petty part of him that regrets this position, the inherent intimacy in it, when he wants little more right now than to - at the very least - turn his back on Emerick. The Beast prowls beneath his skin again, both feeding on and fueling the indignation, and it only puts Camille more on edge. ]
To not indulge you? [ Camille's voice is cool, but underlined with something so taut its ready to snap. ] Fine, then. First; if it didn't matter, I wouldn't care to ask. And I've just told you I care for you, so in you saying I don't feel the same, do you imagine I'm lying, or did you lie to me? Because thus far this evening your prickly attitude has suggested not that you love me, or at the very least you're quite angry with me. So if I agree to 'not indulge you,' I ask that you at least give me a straight answer in return.
[ Emerick could feel the tension in Camille's words and he could just about feel his patience fraying. Emerick pressed back into the pillows, tension building in his body. While he genuinely didn't think Camille was going to do anything to hurt him, the reaction was so hardwired into his being that he didn't even notice.
Emerick looked as if he were about to respond, but then he closed his mouth and his gaze shifted off of Camille's face as he thought through what Camille said and how he wanted to answer. He also took a moment to simply see how he felt and take stock of his emotions and it was the first time he really noticed the resentment and anger that sat in him like a stone in his gut, causing him to lash out. He could feel guilt building in him, along with his anxiety as he absently started to pull at (and pull out) the hair on his arm. ]
The thing I am assuming is that I hold far more feelings for you than you do for me. Where I love you, you only view me as a friend, or something similar. [ He glanced back to Camille's gaze, but his gaze darted away just as quickly. ] And I want to believe you when you say you do care for me, but... [ His mouth had grown dry and he needed a second to try to remedy it, though it was to no avail. ] There's this little voice in my head that sows doubt in everything that I do, or anything positive people say to me. I do my best to not listen to it but it's incessant and unyielding.
[ More quietly: ] I don't want you to act like you have more feelings for me than you do. That little voice in my head tells me you're just placating me so I stick around. [ Emerick fell quiet. He looked ashamed, the guilt on his face clear.
He wasn't done speaking but he needed another moment to figure out how to address the rest of what Camille said. ] I'm not angry with you specifically. This is the first conversation we've had where I've been sober. I've always kept myself on weed to numb a lot of my emotions and symptoms. When we got here I had about three month's worth of cartridges, and I've finally run out. It seems like without it dampening my emotions I apparently lash out.
It hasn't been fair to you, and I've been acting like a real bastard. Again, I'm sorry that I've been acting so crass. It's... Something I'm going to be working on. [ Not that he had much of a choice.
Nervously, Emerick's gaze finally met back with Camille's. He'd been able to see the other's reactions in his peripheral vision as he'd been speaking but he was finally trying to push past his anxiety and actively hold his gaze. ]
[ Camille is quiet while Emerick speaks. He makes no motion to interrupt, the only shift in him when he reaches to cover the other's hand with his own, a wordless redirect from his anxious pulling. His expression is calm, though as he often seems, impassive.
He's quiet after Emerick's apology too, at least for a moment. Then, he leans down, slow. Their noses brush, and he kisses Emerick. It too is a slow thing, neither deep nor quite chaste. He straightens, one hand returning to the other's chest. ]
It seems a little unfair, doesn't it? If I tell you I'm being truthful, you may not believe me, and if I try to show you, you might think I'm just acting. [ Camille reaches to run the pad of his thumb across Emerick's lip, an affectionate, if sensual gesture. ] I can only tell you I care for you, and that I'm not acting just to placate you. I enjoy your company- need it, strong as the word is. [ His voice is soft, gentle, but there's a raw truth in his words. He feels like he's losing his mind here sometimes, and Emerick's companionship eases that. ] I can't give you any more. I can't make you believe me, or prove myself somehow.
[ Emerick had no clue what to expect after he fell quiet. He wasn't sure if Camille would take it in stride or tell him to get the fuck out. The calm stoicism on his face made him impossible for Emerick to read - one of many reasons he was so on edge. The last thing he expected was for Camille to lean down and kiss him. It does the paradoxical thing of both bringing him peace while also making him that much more concerned with what what was next.
He's quiet while Camille speaks. His expression suggested that he was waiting for some type of admonishment at first, but it faded as Camille continued. He reached out and let one of his hands tentatively come to rest on Camille's thigh. ]
I know, and it's not your job to. [ His thumb started to gently stroke the other's thigh. There's a pensive expression on his face as his eyes lowered once again.
Emerick didn't need a voice stress analyzer installed to know that what Camille was saying was truth. His job was sifting through so much hearsay that he had to sift through what was real and what wasn't, and he was usually pretty decent at telling when someone was lying or not. He also knew that he could believe Camille right now, and on the walk back to his own place the irrational part of his head would start casting doubt over it all. It occurred to him that he would have to simply take Camille at his word and do his best to ignore whatever malformed thoughts he had if this was going to work, as hard as that was going to be. ]
It is unfair, and I wish more than anyone else that I wasn't this way. If I could just turn it off I would. [ Which is what he had done back home with his self medication, to a certain extent. It was unlucky that he couldn't keep it up here. ] All that I know to do right now is to take you at your word and trust you aren't lying to me. [ Hastily, meeting Camille's gaze again: ] Which I know that you aren't, but when I sit with myself for too long things get muddled.
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Date: 2023-11-05 03:38 am (UTC)Camille settles back, leaning on one hand, content to leave the other in Emerick's grasp. ] I should ask you that, instead. [ He leans his cheek on his shoulder, white hair falling across one cheek. He watches Emerick still with those pale eyes, a soft smile lingering still tinged with that same wry amusement. ] What do you want out of a relationship with an ageless, blood-drinking monster, in this strange and empty city?
[ He might guess companionship, too. Maybe protection? Emerick has not seen him fight, but he has heard of it (how much he remembers, though...). Still, all stories and fairy tales seem to consider all vampires particularly strong, or at least particularly cunning. But Camille cannot imagine Emerick wants to stay any more than Camille does, so something deep, lasting? And with a vampire using him as a delivery meal, no less- certainly not. Though β Camille is still not convinced the City is not a glitch, a malfunction of the God Machine, that this is not his true reality and will continue to be. He wonders if Emerick thinks he will ever go back to his Night City. ]
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Date: 2023-11-05 07:34 am (UTC)He wanted companionship, yes, of course. To be useful, to be wanted. To be loved. The last wasn't realistic and he knew better than to expect. The fact that he wanted it was a mistake too, he knew. It's not like this could go anywhere even if Camille wanted it as well. There was a chance that he would end up being sent back home to Night City (a fate he didn't want, actually) and then what? When he finally woke up from this dream he was going to be so disappointed. ]
I, um. How things have been is fine. I just know that sometimes I speak too much and I don't want to fuck up and make you regret all of this.
[ The fact that he still made the question about Camille must have really said something about how little he valued himself when the fact he was so smitten with the man was painted across his face. ]
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Date: 2023-11-06 03:14 am (UTC)Camille shifts on the bed then, moving slow to straddle Emerick's lap, a knee on either side of the other's hips and one hand pressing against the other man's chest to coax him back against the pillows again, a fond amusement lingering in his expression still. Suggestive as the position is, Camille is largely making sure he is directly and unavoidably in Emerick's field of view. ] Something... casual, then? Or are you afraid of asking for what you really want?
no subject
Date: 2023-11-06 04:27 am (UTC)He knew he could really crane his neck to one side to avoid looking at Camille and to resume his usual avoidance behavior, but he knew that even if he did, Camille would likely not let him. He stared up at the other man's face, the fond amusement in his expression, the way he was looking down at him. He found comfort in the pale eyes that looked down at him, but he knew now he couldn't really trust what he felt. He knew that there was at least some part of what he felt that was false, but he had no way of knowing where that started and where that ended other than he knew what he liked to think of it all.
He had a feeling that regardless of what he said and admitted to, Camille would find it foolish. Camille likely would think that all of his feelings weren't genuine - and maybe they weren't - on top of the fact that Camille certainly didn't feel the same way. So what did it matter what Emerick really wanted? Wanting and getting were two different things, and he'd rather not entertain some flight of fancy.
He stared up at Camille for a little too long, clearly trying to decide if he wanted to be honest and speak up or keep in his tradition of deflection. ]
Does what I really want matter? You don't feel the same way for me as I feel about you. [ Not to mention he was waiting to be told his feelings weren't real, which he hated even having to seriously entertain. He wasn't going to mention it out loud. ] What I don't want is for you to just indulge me.
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Date: 2023-11-06 04:32 pm (UTC)There's a petty part of him that regrets this position, the inherent intimacy in it, when he wants little more right now than to - at the very least - turn his back on Emerick. The Beast prowls beneath his skin again, both feeding on and fueling the indignation, and it only puts Camille more on edge. ]
To not indulge you? [ Camille's voice is cool, but underlined with something so taut its ready to snap. ] Fine, then. First; if it didn't matter, I wouldn't care to ask. And I've just told you I care for you, so in you saying I don't feel the same, do you imagine I'm lying, or did you lie to me? Because thus far this evening your prickly attitude has suggested not that you love me, or at the very least you're quite angry with me. So if I agree to 'not indulge you,' I ask that you at least give me a straight answer in return.
lmfao til incredibly chronic weed users literally have issues with agitated irritability when sober
Date: 2023-11-06 09:14 pm (UTC)Emerick looked as if he were about to respond, but then he closed his mouth and his gaze shifted off of Camille's face as he thought through what Camille said and how he wanted to answer. He also took a moment to simply see how he felt and take stock of his emotions and it was the first time he really noticed the resentment and anger that sat in him like a stone in his gut, causing him to lash out. He could feel guilt building in him, along with his anxiety as he absently started to pull at (and pull out) the hair on his arm. ]
The thing I am assuming is that I hold far more feelings for you than you do for me. Where I love you, you only view me as a friend, or something similar. [ He glanced back to Camille's gaze, but his gaze darted away just as quickly. ] And I want to believe you when you say you do care for me, but... [ His mouth had grown dry and he needed a second to try to remedy it, though it was to no avail. ] There's this little voice in my head that sows doubt in everything that I do, or anything positive people say to me. I do my best to not listen to it but it's incessant and unyielding.
[ More quietly: ] I don't want you to act like you have more feelings for me than you do. That little voice in my head tells me you're just placating me so I stick around. [ Emerick fell quiet. He looked ashamed, the guilt on his face clear.
He wasn't done speaking but he needed another moment to figure out how to address the rest of what Camille said. ] I'm not angry with you specifically. This is the first conversation we've had where I've been sober. I've always kept myself on weed to numb a lot of my emotions and symptoms. When we got here I had about three month's worth of cartridges, and I've finally run out. It seems like without it dampening my emotions I apparently lash out.
It hasn't been fair to you, and I've been acting like a real bastard. Again, I'm sorry that I've been acting so crass. It's... Something I'm going to be working on. [ Not that he had much of a choice.
Nervously, Emerick's gaze finally met back with Camille's. He'd been able to see the other's reactions in his peripheral vision as he'd been speaking but he was finally trying to push past his anxiety and actively hold his gaze. ]
lmao yeah that tracks
Date: 2023-11-07 04:30 am (UTC)He's quiet after Emerick's apology too, at least for a moment. Then, he leans down, slow. Their noses brush, and he kisses Emerick. It too is a slow thing, neither deep nor quite chaste. He straightens, one hand returning to the other's chest. ]
It seems a little unfair, doesn't it? If I tell you I'm being truthful, you may not believe me, and if I try to show you, you might think I'm just acting. [ Camille reaches to run the pad of his thumb across Emerick's lip, an affectionate, if sensual gesture. ] I can only tell you I care for you, and that I'm not acting just to placate you. I enjoy your company- need it, strong as the word is. [ His voice is soft, gentle, but there's a raw truth in his words. He feels like he's losing his mind here sometimes, and Emerick's companionship eases that. ] I can't give you any more. I can't make you believe me, or prove myself somehow.
no subject
Date: 2023-11-08 04:00 pm (UTC)He's quiet while Camille speaks. His expression suggested that he was waiting for some type of admonishment at first, but it faded as Camille continued. He reached out and let one of his hands tentatively come to rest on Camille's thigh. ]
I know, and it's not your job to. [ His thumb started to gently stroke the other's thigh. There's a pensive expression on his face as his eyes lowered once again.
Emerick didn't need a voice stress analyzer installed to know that what Camille was saying was truth. His job was sifting through so much hearsay that he had to sift through what was real and what wasn't, and he was usually pretty decent at telling when someone was lying or not. He also knew that he could believe Camille right now, and on the walk back to his own place the irrational part of his head would start casting doubt over it all. It occurred to him that he would have to simply take Camille at his word and do his best to ignore whatever malformed thoughts he had if this was going to work, as hard as that was going to be. ]
It is unfair, and I wish more than anyone else that I wasn't this way. If I could just turn it off I would. [ Which is what he had done back home with his self medication, to a certain extent. It was unlucky that he couldn't keep it up here. ] All that I know to do right now is to take you at your word and trust you aren't lying to me. [ Hastily, meeting Camille's gaze again: ] Which I know that you aren't, but when I sit with myself for too long things get muddled.