paradisalogs | once i was a soldier in my castle strong

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once i was a soldier in my castle strong

Who: Brock and Molotov
What: more ~relationship drama~
When: 15/October, afternoon
Where: Room 509
Rating: PG.........?

It took a lot of time for Brock to work up the nerve to come home.

Not that he didn't want to. But it had certain implications, at least in his mind; he was crawling back to Molotov like he did so many times before. This situation was incredibly more tame than the times in the past, but it was still hard for him. He had to go back and humble himself, admit he was being a jerk, apologize -- he wasn't good at any of these things. It had been a lot easier to just hang out at his cabin for the past ten days and just work and not think.

Harmony had told him not to bring flowers the first time because it would be suspicious, like he was admitting guilt to something he didn't even know he'd done. Which, as it turns out, had been nothing. But this time he had actually done something to be guilty for, so he brought her flowers again. More roses, but only red this time.

Molotov wasn't in her office where he thought she'd be, so, panicking a little, he hoofed it back to the castle to see if she was at home. He didn't even bother knocking because it was his house too, just flung the door open.

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Molotov was, in fact, at home -- she was sitting on the sofa, curled in a blanket and reading a book. When the door shot open, she acted instinctively, grabbing a gun from under the couch cushion. In a single smooth motion, she spun to face the door and fired two warning shots into the moulding. She did all of this before even noticing who it was.

Nice going, Cocktease.

For his part, Brock was at least halfway expecting this to happen. As a spy, he was pretty much always halfway expecting everything to happen. Be ready for anything, after all.

So he didn't flip out and scream in terror or anything, but he also didn't dive to safety like he probably should have. Instead, he just sort of stood there.

"Hi," he said a little flatly, once the plaster settled.

She lowered her weapon, face peppered with both annoyance at the way he'd shocked her and relief that he hadn't caught a bullet with his face, and looked back at him.

"Hi. What the hell are you doing, bursting in like that?"

A brief look of embarrassment flashed across his face, but only for a second. "I don't know. You weren't in your office, so I thought maybe ..."

He trailed off and just kept standing in the doorway, glancing down at his feet. Obviously he could have just checked the name plate on the door to see if she'd gone home. He realized that now.

Molotov was quiet for a moment as his meaning sank in, and then her face went blank as she tossed her gun aside (it discharged once, into the leg of the coffee table) and rushed over to him. She took his face in her hands and stood on her toes, pressing her mouth to his over and over.

"Nyet," she murmured, too distracted by this concern to even deal with their other issues. "I will never leave, I promise I won't let the castle do that, nyet."

Brock glanced over at the gun when it fired, a little concerned that Molotov hadn't put the safety on. When she grabbed his face he instinctively put his hands on her waist, too distracted to worry about the gun anymore.

"Oh -- honey," he said, a little flustered, not sure what to do with the bouquet in his hand. "Don't promise that, it's okay. I just ... it would kill me if we were fighting and you left ..."

She hadn't thought to put it back on! She'd been firing shots at a potential attacker, she wasn't putting the safety back on when she was distracted with her husband.

"I am not leaving, I will never leave you," she said again, continuing to kiss him him repeatedly, her face marked with concern. "Never."

That is how people get killed, Molotov! Maybe she should stop using dumb guns, take a page out of her husband's book. You can't accidentally set a knife off!

"You can't promise that," he said quietly, but then just shut up and started kissing her in earnest, holding the side of her face.

There isn't anyone hiding under their coffee table, no one is going to die. Stop being a retard, I think that is the lesson here. Now shut up please.

She didn't answer when he kissed her, and instead wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, closing her eye. Molotov didn't care if she couldn't promise it -- she did, and she meant it.

No, you! You shut up. Right now.

And, well, Brock just didn't want her to make promises she had no way of keeping! She couldn't control if the castle sent her back. Which it probably would -- he couldn't think of anybody here who stayed longer than five years. In fact, a lot of the people who showed up around the same time he did were slowly leaving, too. First Sylvanas, then Kate ... he was starting to get nervous that he or Molotov would be next.

Brock kissed her for a little while, then gently pulled away, tucking her hair behind her ear and pressing his forehead to hers. "I brought you flowers," he said, voice a little hushed.

She could so, Molotov could control anything she set her mind to, and she was not about to let some dumb castle mess with her marriage! But no, she really was scared that he was going to be sent home and she was going to be left all alone and heartbroken.

"Thank you," she mumbled, locking eyes with him and refusing to look away. "They can go in a vase. Later."

Well, on the bright side, if that happened then at least she could seek comfort in Ezio's arms! By which I mean Ezio's penis. Which she truly, unequivocally wanted. Haha, no, that's what started this whole argument. Don't think about it, Brock!

"What about now?" he said, gently brushing her back with the roses. What should he do with these things! And also what did she want to do now, if not put the flowers away?

She didn't want his penis, she wanted Brock's penis! That was part of why they had this stupid fight, because Brock hadn't listened when she said it didn't mean anything. Grrr.

Molotov took the roses from him and sort of tossed them on a chair near the door before walking backward into the living room, not letting go of him.

Well, she very clearly had Brock's penis already! It was her genital property, pretty much. But no, he did need to listen more. He was just paranoid and jealous and had a hard time trusting her, that's all.

Brock made a soft noise when she tossed the flowers, because hey those were expensive, but let her walk them anyway, leaning down to kiss her neck as he followed.

Then their marriage was going to fail! It was going to fail if he was so jealous and untrusting that he put one drunken mistake over twenty-odd years of experience! Sigh.

The roses were fine, since it wasn't like she lobbed them at the wall or something, so Molotov wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to the sofa, letting herself fall backward over the arm of it.

Yes, and he realized this! He realized he needed to settle the hell down, but it was hard. He wasn't used to trusting her; it was going to take some practice. Plus he was just really threatened by Ezio anyway, he couldn't really put his finger on why.

Brock grunted softly when she pulled him down, moving his face away from her neck so he could see what he was doing as he scooted them further up the sofa. "I missed you," he mumbled, then grabbed her face and kissed her again.

Well, maybe Brock should work on deciphering his own psyche! Figure out why he was so threatened by Ezio, so that he could get over it and leave his wife alone.

Molotov had wanted to say she missed him too, but he was kissing her, so she didn't bother, and instead just wrapped herself around him. Probably they needed to actually talk, though.

But that involved thinking about feelings and stuff! No, that is asking too much.

And yeah, no, they really needed to talk. But he didn't want to -- all he really wanted to do right now was kiss on her, and so that's what he was doing. He might have been feeling her up a little bit as well, that too. He just missed her a lot; it had been a long time since he'd seen her, let alone touched her! If ever there was an incentive to calm the hell down and stop getting into these horrible arguments with his wife, it was the lonely fallout that resulted.

Well, yes, it had been a long time -- it'd had been over three weeks since they were actually together in some capacity that wasn't a screaming match. And kissing was fine, but it wasn't solving anything, and they had some shit that needed to be worked out! Part of their communication problem was that they never actually worked anything out, they just pushed it under the rug and made out. Not helpful, guys!

Yes, exactly! He missed her. He missed the shit out of her, even! But no, it was true that they never really talked about anything. Though to be fair, when they tried to talk about something the last time, they just sort of reached a consensus that ignoring it was their best bet. Because Molotov resented Brock for not marrying her in the real world, and he couldn't apologize for what he'd done. It wasn't helpful to just ignore it, no, but it seemed like they would just argue forever about it otherwise.

This was a little different though, because Brock knew he'd been in the wrong. He was just too distracted by kissing right now to say anything about it!

Eventually he had to come up for air, though, and he just buried his face into her chest, breathing her in and blinking slowly against her sternum.

Well, the last time, it was something that couldn't be resolved. But this was easily fixed, it had nothing to do with their real world and all their repressed issues. So it was fine.

Molotov wrapped her arms around him when he did that, closing her eye and sighing a little. It made her happier to lie like this, even if she knew their problems weren't fixed in any way yet.

It was fine, sure, but the point still remained -- they needed to talk about this shit! Instead of just making out for a bit and then cuddling. You guys, you can't even have make up sex if you don't actually talk and make up.

Brock sighed too, lying on top of her for a little bit. Eventually, he rolled his eyes a little and pushed up on his hands. They really needed to talk. For real. Stop giving in to your wife's hotness, Samson.

"Hey," he said softly, just watching her face.

"Hi," she answered quietly, reaching up to stroke his cheek. As much as she also knew they should talk, Molotov didn't really want to. It was easier to just pretend nothing happened.

Then I guess it's up to Brock to sack the hell up and start talking!

He didn't want to either, really. But still. They really had to.

Swallowing, he leaned into her hand a bit, eyelids lowering halfway as he continued watching her. "So I have to talk to you about last time we saw each other," he said slowly, voice low.

Frowning, she stretched her thumb over to trace his lower lip. "What about it?" she mumbled, clearly not at all keen to have this discussion with him.

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