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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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.

Brock gently took hold of her wrist and kissed her palm, eyes closing, then put her hand back at his face. He didn't really want to talk about this either, it was awkward as fuck, but they needed to do it. They couldn't just let it fester. So once again, he had to be the one to man up and do everything, grrr!! Brock, your life sucks.

"I acted like a jerk," he said quietly, absently stroking her hair. "And I'm sorry."

Molotov watched him, and stroked his cheek again before nodding a little. "Why don't you trust me?" she asked softly, her mouth turned down at the corners.

Brock just leaned into her hand and stopped screwing with her hair. Looking her in the eye was awkward, so he just focused on her mouth instead.

"It's not about that," he answered just as softly. "My life sucks, Molotov. So I just ... keep expecting it to continue sucking. I mean, you went for that Guido guy, so ..."

She frowned more deeply when Brock brought up Guido, and shrugged. "Guido was nice, and you did not want me," she murmured, brow knitting. "But we were not together then, and I do not want Ezio anyway. So why are you so convinced I do?"

He drew his thumb along the angle of her jaw, still looking at her mouth. His brow furrowed when she said that, because that implied she had wanted Guido, and he didn't like that. Even if they hadn't been together, she was still his at the time. She was always his.

"Because he's nice too," he said. Ezio was actually pretty backwards about a lot of stuff, but he seemed more ... chivalric? Than Brock. He treated her better. Brock was a dick all the time! "And you said you were attracted to him. So I just figure, if I wasn't here ..."

Molotov really just lacked the proper emotional vocabulary to explain herself -- she hadn't really wanted Guido so much as she'd enjoyed a brief, simple relationship where there was only easy flirting and laughs, instead of deep love tinged with hate and fighting. Even their best times, Brock and Molotov's, were heavier than anything else. That didn't mean she wasn't happy -- it just mean she'd wanted to try something else.

"He is handsome and charming, but so are plenty of men," Molotov said, vaguely defensive. "Ezio is also an idiot and immature and incapable of fidelity. If you had never been here at all, then maybe I would have tolerated him for a few months, romantically. But you are here, and I do not want him. I just want you. I love you."

He could understand that, really, even if it would break his heart regardless. It's why sleeping with whores and strippers had been so easy, easier than trying to start something with Molotov in the real world. It just made him fucking sick sometimes that they were so screwed up, that they couldn't even be happy properly. It was really draining sometimes.

Brock kept absently touching her face, watching his fingers as he traced her cheekbone and the corner of her mouth and her hairline. He was used to not seeing her for years at a time, but this time -- this time had felt like decades, even if it wasn't even two weeks.

"I'm those things too," he said, by which he meant Molotov thought he was these things. Brock thought he was relatively intelligent and mature as hell, and also knew for a fact he would never cheat on Molotov. "Would you have slept with him?"

Shaking her head, Molotov touched his mouth, frowning. "You aren't those things, not in the same way," she murmured, her brow furrowed with unhappiness. "And I do not know. I cannot say, because maybe my loss would have been different if you were never here with me. But you are here, and I would never want anyone else when I have you."

Brock absently kissed her fingers when she put them to his mouth, though he frowned unhappily at her response. She was supposed to say no! I mean, I guess it was nice that she was being truthful, even if it was upsetting. "So you would have married him," he said quietly. "If I leave, what'll you do?"

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