taras_oleksei (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
taras_oleksei) wrote2009-05-03 08:25 pm
taras_oleksei) wrote2009-05-03 08:25 pm
Entry tags:
Obed
Paper rustled against the crook of his arm as Taras unlocked the door to his room. He adjusted the heft of the bag he carried carefully, pausing before stepping inside.
It was dim, the way he'd left it. He could see Lasha in the bed, stirring.
"Lasha?"
Taras set down lunch on the narrow side table near the door. He was hungry, mildly ravenous. Lunch and a nap sounded perfect, after he made sure Lasha was all right.
Ilarion lay back in the bed like an ailing tsar, somehow still regal in spite of his illness. He was like that. Even when Lasha had been dead drunk after the Winter Ball, he had still managed a little poise. At least until he'd passed out.
"I brought you something to eat."
It had been a few hours. A little longer than he'd intended, though maybe not, if he was honest about it.
It bothered him that what he had done with Liadov did not bother him too much.
Taras sat down next to Lasha.
"You feeling any better?"
It was dim, the way he'd left it. He could see Lasha in the bed, stirring.
"Lasha?"
Taras set down lunch on the narrow side table near the door. He was hungry, mildly ravenous. Lunch and a nap sounded perfect, after he made sure Lasha was all right.
Ilarion lay back in the bed like an ailing tsar, somehow still regal in spite of his illness. He was like that. Even when Lasha had been dead drunk after the Winter Ball, he had still managed a little poise. At least until he'd passed out.
"I brought you something to eat."
It had been a few hours. A little longer than he'd intended, though maybe not, if he was honest about it.
It bothered him that what he had done with Liadov did not bother him too much.
Taras sat down next to Lasha.
"You feeling any better?"
no subject
"Is that all he said."
The words were weak and bitter, and he hated them for passing his lips.
His body ached, and his brow burned like leaves. The laurel crown on fire.
Oleksei's broad hand was smooth and felt like milk against his skin, restoring the sensory temperance of its ivory color.
"Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's," he whispered. "Is that what he said, in so many words? Leave him to it?"
He closed his eyes, laying his other hand over Oleksei's, pressing it against his forehead, reinforcing it.
"But not you, Brutus. You're right here at my side."