Isander

If today was your last day ...

He wraps arms tighter around the sleepy human. Dowling shifts a bit, and drools over Isander's chestplating, mumbling softly as one of his dreams tries to elbow its way into Isander's mind. He catches a glimpse of it, and smiles. Dowling has the naughtiest mind, sometimes ...

"If today is our last day," he whispers, softly. "Then I'm not going to regret a thing. Not one thing." His hand creeps up to brush over his beloved's temple, metal to skin, tangling a little in pale hair. Dowling wriggles, grumping dazedly, and one finger slips into the crease of Isander's neck, between metal edges worn smooth to accommodate him. Isander nearly laughs, and kisses the top of his head. "No," he muses quietly. "Not one thing."

And then the smile hardens, chills, and he hugs his fragile beloved tight as he stares out beyond the walls to whatever lurks there, whatever enemy waits. Even as Dowling comes half-awake, bleary bewilderment, Isander just smiles coldly. "And I certainly don't regret that whoever comes for us won't live long past killing us." He looks down at the man he's seen die five times before, twice because of murder, the man he loves.

"No. I don't regret that at all."

Well, technically I don't grow. At all. But ignoring the organic bias, there ... I think after 300 odd years, I've matured about as much as I'm going to, and my beloved ... well, that's probably a lost cause. If six bodies, two deaths, the loss of a planet, institutionalisation, and the complete rearrangement of his psychic structures haven't managed it, I sincerely doubt a silly little thing like time is going to. *smiles*

However, going on the basis of something I would like to be/do, that I haven't yet ... I had a lot of fun helping design and build our home here. Especially the gardens. I wouldn't mind, say to supplement our income or something, designing some more. Gardens. I'm ... quite fond of plants. Most of them are attractive, they don't move around too much, aren't generally likely to attack you, and very, very rarely try to kill you unannounced. In comparison to a lot of my life, they are very, very restful. So. I like them. *folds arms belligerently, daring anyone to laugh*
 

"I am, as I am; whether hideous, or handsome, depends on who is made judge." -- Herman Melville

As my beloved appears to be telling everyone I've snapped at over the last while (my apologies), old pain is riding close to the surface with me recently. *smiles wryly* I fear I've been rapidly eroding my reputation as the calm one in this relationship. *laughs* But I am, generally. The difference is, you see, Dowling is all flash and bang, rapid anger. He couldn't hold a grudge if you paid him, and has always managed to somehow let all the hate in the universe roll off him.

Me? I hold grudges. Long and cold and slow. *dark little smile* People who judge us ... well. Let me show you. I believe my beloved has even mentioned the incident to you. In passing.