taxonomites | System Glitch: In The City: Ship Ahoy! [location: Osten]

Josef snorted, giving Bagoas a look. "Stalking and close did not mean I had the intention of being quite so forward," he noted. "But then you know I didn't mean that, didn't you," he asked, smiling as he stayed close, an arm around him as he was allowed.

Now wasn't the time to worry about anything but their own care until they could explore and find out what may have changed while they were gone. If anything. For all he knew, life had gone on as usual without them.

It's Josef's own choice if he wants to use such choice phrases as 'I want to get you bathed and then into your bed', but Bagoas speaks no more of it.

~~And then Sofo went through 33 pages on the taxitecture tumblr with no luck in finding Bagoas' place, and therefore picked a new one~~.

They soon come up onto a quiet street not far from the borders of Speares and Wilde, having crossed the calm river not long ago. Not too far down the street, a house that had spoken to him from the very start, with its elaborate features and colour accents that reminded him of the royal palace of Babylon.

"Please," he says, unlocking the front door by a soft press of his hand to the reader. "Come in."

The entrance might be anything but polished, but there's a charm about it that Bagoas couldn't deny when he first came here. And that besides, the reception room goes above and beyond where comfort is concerned. He's made sure it does. It is the room with the most sun in the evening, in the back, with the large windows, and along one of its walls runs what might seem a peculiar blend of chaise lounge and divan: a low seamless row of upholstered furnishing that sit directly on the floor and is covered in vibrantly coloured pillows. Beside it, three low coffee tables. It is here that Bagoas first leads Josef. It is the finest room he owns, after all.

"The sun won't reach here until this afternoon. Sit, rest. Make yourself at home."

With Bagoas, Josef was learning he had to watch what he said carefully if he was to avoid sticking a foot in his mouth. Sadly that was almost against Josef’s anger, hence why he was walking himself into the corner time and again with his lack of thought.

The house was an exquisite and elegant place, exactly the very idea that Josef would have thought suited Bagoas, with its attention to detail and fine accents. Stepping inside, he didn’t even try to hide that he was looking around, peering at this and that as he was led into the living room. That room fit Bagoas to a tee. It is a place of beauty, just as Bagoas was a being of beauty inside and out.

Smiling, he settled himself easily on the divan, perching on the edge as he has yet to clean up or have a shower. He realized that in his shorts and tee he certainly did not fit the room itself and that juxtaposition made him laugh.

“I should have taken time to clean up before you had me in your home,” he pointed out, looking a bit chagrinned to not have his suits and linens in a time when he would have loved to have made a better impression than he feared he did.

Bagoas' feet ache just as much as the rest of him, as he comes to a stop beside one of the windows. It feels good to be home, and in more ways than one. He gives Josef a look of warmth, deciding then and there that practicality will just have to trump modesty.

"Then come," he says, holding out his hands for Josef. "Let fall the veil of modesty, shall we?"

His gaze follows Bagoas, just enjoying watching him as he moved. Yet when he reaches for Josef, a brow arches. Only pausing a moment before he moved to take Bagoas' hands in his.

"Are you certain? That wasn't me hinting," he promised, giving both hands a small squeeze.

"I know, and I am." He tugs softly on his friend's hands. "But neither one of us are comfortable like this, and I am not suggesting anything..."

He glances away, a flight of fancy coming over him in the form of a smile. "What I am suggesting is cleanliness, and company."

And what better time than the present for Josef to come to terms with certain matters?

"Will you join me?"

He moved with that tug, not resisting. Bagoas was a man who knew his mind and he wouldn't second guess it more than once. After that, he trusted Bagoas to do what he wanted.

"Cleanliness and company sound perfect," he said, moving another step closer. "And that would be my delight."

To just be near Bagoas, to finally be clean again after their unwanted trip. All of it together sounded positively heavenly.

He takes his friend back into the hallway, up the steps and to the left, to a small, tiled bathroom, with its bone white and blue and almost black mosaic on the walls, pale blue squares on the floor. There's an early 20th century tub in the corner, complete with the whimsy of leonine feet. The sink and other amenities follow in the same vein of understated fancy as that of the tub.

But, first on Bagoas' short but significant list of priorities is shutting the blinds on the window, for Josef's sake.

"There we are. The basket by the door, you may leave your clothes there. I'll have them washed for you, if you'd like."

He followed, his hand tightening around Bagoas. His gaze moved this way and that, looking over the hallway and then the room. He felt that it taught him as much about the other man as the letters had. Learning what he liked, the way he lived.

And then the way he treated Josef as he closed the blinds. Josef couldn't help but smile.

"You are good to me," he said, almost confused by it, the positive reaction of another towards him rather new to the older vampire. He tugged off the tee, tossing it aside and then worked on wriggling out of the shorts. "If I had something to wear home, I'd tell you to burn them. I may still and risk being seen."

Such an odd remark, to Bagoas' mind, that he makes due note of it. As though it is an oddity, to be treated with consideration for one's needs and particulars.

It makes Bagoas smile gently, as he sits lightly on the lip of the tub, turning the brass handles for water - another commodity he's grown accustomed to, and missed terribly in the time spent away.

He takes a bottle from the polished wooden footstool by the bath, drizzling the water with almond oil - and as for Josef disrobing, well, letting the veil of modesty fall where it will is not the same as shamelessly watching. So, for a modicum of modesty, or at the very least respect, Bagoas averts his eyes for the most part.

...it should be noted it takes some effort.

"You are a jester, friend," he notes; feeling Josef's eyes on him, begins to undo the fastenings at his shoulders. "Those who matter most to you have seen you in that outfit, and what would you care for the rest? Why should you?"

For Josef, aside from all that Mick had done for him, having someone treat him well and purely because they want to, was utterly and completely odd to him. He had never had anyone show him this kind of care and consideration in as long as he could remember.

The scent filled Josef's senses as he stood there a moment in his boxers. He stole a glance at Bagoas, eyes skimming over his form a moment before he took a breath and removed them too, dropping them in the basket. All tight lines and subtle musculature, with no scars left on smooth, pale skin.

"I don't care for the rest. I care for me. I just feel... comfortable in the costumes I've chosen." Though, if he was honest, those were affectations as well. Years of self programming at work.

"Comfort, I find to be severely underrated," Bagoas agrees, cutting his eyes Josef's way as he drapes this travesty of a shirt over his arm, on which one finds the only visible scar on him if decency enters into things. A small gash running vertically across his bicep just below his shoulder, well healed but of purple hue still. It is the only wound he ever took for Alexander, and one he wears proudly.

The long locks of hair, Josef is already familiar with, as well as the long neck and curve of his shoulders. As for the rest, he is as commonplace as any other unicum; a dancer's physique, a softness to his skin not even found on a woman, broad chest and a narrow waist, curves where man and boy alike would have none, but less so than a woman; barely a hair on him, save for that on his head.

He stands, bringing his garment with him, coming to a stop within arm's length of his friend. In all honesty, he would rather burn his own garb too. Nonetheless, the long-sleeved shirt goes into the basket, and then, eyes on Josef's face, he steps out of his dark, voluminous pants completely without shame. Anticipation, yes. Brazenness, definitely, and a slight hint of nerves, but no shame.

Fatigue or no fatigue, he will choose when to put himself on display, and when he does, he'll do it well.

"The suits are comfortable," he teased, though he could see why most in his own time and world wouldn't think so, nonetheless someone like Bagoas who wore such flowing and elegant pieces that Josef had never known. His manner today had no corsets or heels, none of the six layers of restrictive satin and lace and brocade so he was happy with them.

He took a step closer, his gaze barely wavering from Bagoas's face as he let his fingers hover over that mark. "May I ask where this came from," he asked, not quite touching it though the very ghost of his fingertips moved over the mark.

Despite himself his gaze slid down over that beautiful form, one that he had to admit he had actually daydreamed about on occasion. "You are truly exquisite," he said, knowing the value of being honest in compliments. "Everything I imagined and so much more."

In this as in so many other matters, Bagoas is banking on two things: that he is familiar enough neither to perplex nor intimidate, and that he is exotic enough that he isn't found wanting.

The query he expects, and his gaze lowers to his shoulder, though he can't quite see the scar from this angle; the compliment comes as a surprise: he expected it, as well he ought having known his own worth since the age of ten. And yet... And yet, the warmth of this sincere appraisal is like sighting a dear old friend. He knows it, and welcomes it, but knows better than to forget himself.

He takes Josef by the hand, gesturing with the other to the bath. "I shall tell all in a moment, but please, make yourself comfortable."

There were so many other words that came to mind though but he wouldn't say them until he was sure they were true. Like was Bagoas' skin as silken as it seemed? Did his hair twist around Josef's hand like the finest woven rope, the sort that held back thigh velvet curtains to allow the sunlight to pour in. So many things that only thing did he allow himself to imagine exploring.

Not now though, but sometime sooner than later, he expected. He wasn't looking at this plainly or through rose coloured glasses. They would share much though, he had no doubt of that.

"Whenever you wish to," he said, moving towards the bath. He kept hold of Bagoas' hand. "Only comfortable if you are as well," he said, moving to step into the bath.

Such an enigma, this Josef Kostan. Such youthful looks despite his age, and such seeming innocence for all that experience. It's alluring, intriguing enough to draw Bagoas in again and again.

He steps into the water, settling with his back to the rounded curve, facing his friend. Perhaps a snug fit for long legs to accommodate another, but he doesn't mind.

"Back home, I would use pumice stone to cleanse myself of the day, but here," he says, reaching for a fluffy sponge. "This will suffice. Perhaps soap as well? I don't care much for it, but I think it warranted after our extended excursions."

Ah, but what of the matter of the scar? He hands the loofah-esque sponge over, reaching next for another bottle beside the oil. "I have told you previously that I sat vigil at Alexander's side, towards the end. After his death, his most trusted men descended upon him like vultures. All of them wanting the body, to claim it for various ends, all of them wanting to take over what he had conquered and made his own.

"During one such event, someone threw a javelin at his dead body. I shielded him with my own."

Such bathing rituals were mostly unknown to Josef; one who would do what was needed to start his day and get up and hit the ground running as it were. This though, the very thought of it, left him feeling almost pampered in ways no one had ever done for him but himself.

Watching Bagoas sink into the water, his eyes unabashedly tracing over the lines of his body, the rich caramel skin that glistened with drops on it.

He smiled at the sponge, stepping into the tub and sliding into the warm water carefully. How many years had it been since he'd lain in a bath rather than standing under the pulsating spray of multiple showerheads?

"I'm sure we can get through with a bit of warm water and scrubbing, though the oil already feels better than it should," he admitted, just liking how it felt on his skin after the sun and water. It surprised him, after all the quick dips into the cooler deep waters that he still found this enjoyable. He didn't care why, just enjoying that he did.

The story didn't surprise him though it still stunned him a bit. It was a chance no one should have to ever take to protect the body of a loved one. "He was already gone and you still risked your life for him," he said, marveling at the concept, though he thought suddenly of the body of a woman lost to him, connected to machines and kept alive so that he wouldn't lose her, protecting her from death itself. At least in his own mind.

"Every time we talk, I find I have more respect for the man you are," he admitted, dipping his hand into the water and letting it drizzle onto his shoulder.

The oil soothes, the temperate water not causing undue irritation to his most recent scrapes and bruises. They are passing, and as such warrant no comment. He'll feel better without delay, and he has always healed well in the past. It feels...good, to share some rather more civilized time with his friend. A bit of pampering shall do them both good, no doubt.

But no matter: there are more intriguing topics of discussion at hand.

"I would have been remiss in my duties not to. Dead or not, he was still my King."

He averts his eyes to the bottle in his hands, pouring a dollop of fragrant soap (this particular one smelling of oranges and some spice he doesn't know the name of) into the palm of his hand, which he then starts to spread over his arms and chest and up. He'll feel better when clean. He always does.

"Remus made that mistake as well," he says conversationally, eyes dancing with mirth as he looks Josef over. "He too sees me as a man when I am clearly not."

Settling back against the curve of the tub, he watched Bagoas without any veil of attempting to be modest. They were alone and naked in a tub, and he would fault himself for not appreciating the view he was offered. Without clothing as he was for the first time, or as they had experienced in the past when he bore the clothing he preferred, it was a view that Josef enjoyed without a need to try and hide his attention. He suspected that now, more than ever, given the time they had spent together on boat and island.

"I never held such loyalty to my liege," he admitted. "In the end, I left his employ for that of another without him knowing, though he thought me dead with my ship so there was that."

It wasn't the most encouraging tale of heroism he might have but it was honest.

The scent of the soap made his nostrils flare and his hand twitched as his eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm tempted to ask if you need help though I'm not certain I would trust myself," he admitted, making it a joke. At least in part.

Sitting up a bit, he looked nowhere but Bagoas' face, attempting to meet his gaze. "I'm aware that there are physical changes that you've undergone in your life that lead to that comment. In this case it is a term meaning a respect for your actions and mannerisms and nothing more. As for your physical body and who are," he said, deadly serious in that moment. "What matters to me is the person I know. Someone intelligent and compassionate and sexier than people who try ten times as hard to accomplish half of what you have."

"Love, Josef. Not mere loyalty; I felt that toward King Darius. Duty would have compelled me to bestow upon him the same sacrifice, but for Alexander I acted out of love."

Obvious perhaps though the distinction may be, it is one he feels needs be made. The compliment gives him pause, as do Josef's earnest declarations: Bagoas meets his gaze levelly, calm though fatigued. So young indeed, this Josef Kostan: how sheltered a life he must have lead.

There's no condescension to Bagoas' musings, merely silent contemplation of how different their times must have been.

And oh, where to begin addressing all these trains of spoken thought?

"By 'sexier', I take you to mean 'more desirable', yes?" He gives Josef an amiably enigmatic smile. "And by physical changes, you mean of course the gelding. It is a horrid affair, which discussion is better left for a different time and place. But, I shall put it to you thusly:

"I have lived and died enough times that I feel as old as the stars, when the mood takes me. First when I was ten years old; I spent a full year more dead than living when twelve going on thirteen. It may sound preposterous to one such as yourself, but I lost count that year. One death, or a hundred deaths every quarter-month: I either lost count or my mind. Those lifetimes matter little to me now. What matters most to me is what I consider my last.

"King Darius, Alexander...and Taxon. Coming into King Darius' good graces was more a stepping stone than a life well lived. He was kind to me, generous once he recognized me as the boy whose father he once knew. My time in his Household lead me to Alexander, whom I would gladly have died for. And now I am here. Alive and relatively unmarred, the contented recipient of much praise."

He holds out his hand for the sponge, and the other offering Josef the bottle. "In short: I have not considered myself a man for far longer than you would like to imagine."

Josef found himself caught between his own thoughts and the words he spoke so easily before now. Where he spoke of himself as a man that could kill and had yet to be killed. Who had waged wars and taken down entire countries without lifting a physical weapon. None of it was false but it was, for a man of his years, in the time when he lived, as much a legend built as the years went by as it was the honest story of the life he'd led.

Yet it wasn't entirely what he wanted to share with Bagoas. Those masks, the legend, mattered little in Taxon. To Josef they mattered less as he sought to build something with a person who meant more to him than he might have imagined after the loss of Sarah.

"I didn't give enough for the only person I've loved but until I came here I had not given up on doing whatever I could to make right everything I wronged." And had anyone ever told him he could give his life, all those years of living that had happened and he faced in the future, and give them to Sarah that she might live, he had no doubt in his mind he would have done it without a second thought.

"I do mean desirable, yes," he said with a single nod of his head. "I feel it in the way you move when you walk, the cant of your head, the way I've heard your heart racing when we're close and sharing," he admitted, not hiding behind the facade of humanity he could wear. "I also find it in your words when I translate our letters, and the trust you put in me despite how I hurt you," he added, voice softer than, still cross with himself and his actions though Bagoas never once put it back on him, threw it in his face.

"Bagoas, I have known men a hundred times your age who haven't the guile, the intelligence or the age that you show," he said bluntly. "When you say you feel that old, I sometimes must remind myself that you aren't older than I am in years lived," he said, though he knew that in the grand scheme of history, he was so much older than Josef could comprehend, never having known anyone from that day and age from wence Bagoas came. "It doesn't sound preposterous. Not in the least. It makes more sense than most things I hear." Because it was the sort of torture and torment, at least to his mind, that he inflicted on others but rarely endured himself.

Taking the bottle and the sponge, he poured some of the spicy, citrus scent onto the puff. "Do you know why you're praised? Because of anyone I have ever met, you are one of the few that deserve it," he said, leaning in to run the sponge in slow, deliberate circles not over his own arm, but along Bagoas', reverent over that scar borne of love.

"By the standards of my own time, I was never truly a man," he noted with a shrug of one shoulder. "A boy became a man when he either went to war, or procreated. Preferably both. While I sailed for the crown, I avoided war, and I never produced an heir of either sex. Not even in the way my people do now," he said, knowing he was slipping into the speech patterns of his more youthful days.

"Though I know it isn't the same," he said, pausing in his minstrations. "And I don't know if I'm insulting you or not to tell you that it doesn't make me look at you any differently to know what happened to you, the changes made to make you who you are today. I know that I met a person with grace and poise who had a sharp enough tongue to honestly make me regret my own words. Enough to erase several hundred years of sarcasm and spite from the way I feel about the world. For me that means a lot."

One thing more than anything else pokes at Bagoas' core when listening wide-eyed to Josef's words. It is a silly little thought, but significant enough to him that he can't quite be rid of it: Josef finds the strangest things desirable. Trust, diction, the closeness they've shared. It is not just his body on display before hungry eyes, but his mind, his voice... It baffles the mind.

He sits dazed; when having expected to be handed the sponge, when planning to keep himself on display - scrub himself down, lift his legs to the side out of the water like some manner of alluring sprite - and instead finding himself serviced. The only ones to ever do something like this for him were other servants, other dancers and entertainers helping to rub each other down after performances or competitions. For someone like Josef to willingly lower himself so... It seems a pattern. It makes some kind of sense, these few precious months after they met for the first time: if Josef is willing to lower himself some ways towards Bagoas' status, that Bagoas should attempt to raise himself up.

Equality. Such a strange, scintillating concept. And if neither of them are men by the respective standards of their times, then perhaps they can both be something different here. Something of their own choosing.

Under Josef's caring ministrations, Bagoas' heart rate goes up despite itself. He feels like he did all those times the postman found him, with letter upon letter revealing such breathtaking things time and again.

"You...strip me of my years," he says softly, feeling the truth of it on his own hot cheeks.

As a man upon a ship, Josef had led men and killed those that disobeyed. As a vampire he had risen through the ranks through ruthlessness and cunning until there were few that could stand up to him, nonetheless any that would try and defeat him. He had reveled in his power, in the control he wielded. Yet to have someone before him whom he simply wanted to share and share with was such a marvel concept that he seemed to forget all of that.

So it was he ran the sponge over the scar, up along the curve of his shoulder and along the ridge of Bagoas' collarbone. Slow, rolling it in tiny circles against his skin. Yet the entire time, his eyes remain on the other man's face.

"You do the same for me," he admitted. "Four hundred years," he said softly, voice barely above a whisper as the sponge moved over his skin, nearly drowning out the words. "Just of this life I lead now. Not even my time before. Yet here I feel like the mere twenty four years I had before."

He glided the sponge down over Bagoas' breastbone to rest over his heart. "I can hear it," he admitted, still caught up in his own lifetimes of hidden secrets and the reality that Bagoas knew and accepted. Sharing even tiny tidbits of what he was became like shocking revelations to Josef's own mind. Revelations he enjoyed making to someone he cared about.

Bagoas sits silent as his skin prickles in the wake of Josef's touch, unaccustomed to being cared for like this, with what seems little to no pretense. Though the mind is willing, and the body not quite able, there's nonetheless no hiding the effect on him. He'll exert no effort towards it. Like Josef, he's resolved not to hide.

Four-hundred years, senses not of this world...and twenty-four years prior...

"You're no older than I am." He smiles, charmed by the notion, a touch baffled by it. "And you can hear my heartbeat, very probably smell my anticipation, rob me of my breath with a few choice words and little else..."

He moved the sponge in a slow circle over that spot before sliding it along to the other shoulder, fingertips brushing against his skin as well though not aggressive. Merely the touch of slick soaped skin to wet fingertips as he lavished care on someone that had become important to him.

No older than I am.

"You are a charmer," he whispered, leaning in a bit toward him. "And you leave me stunned every time. I like that. I like you make me feel that I am no older than you are," he admitted.

"I'm most happy to know I can steal your breath, because my words with you mean a lot to me." He smiled, a bit shy, ducking his head. "Why I end up sounding like my youth and not now." Not hardened by years of watching mankind do its worse.

System Glitch: In The City: Ship Ahoy! [location: Osten]

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