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Standing right before the first step of a stairwell down to Floor of Religion, Roland finally admits to himself that he's nervous. What exactly is he expecting? A thin paper is crumpled up in his hand, almost grinded to dust already, with a cryptic yet simple message asking him to come see Hokma in the meantime. The short sheepish assistant who brought the note swore it to be written by his Patron Librarian himself; though as time passed, Roland began doubting it. Hokma, calling for him to come down? Why. The assistant didn't know either. It was never a good sign to be explicitly called to upper floors of the Library; the higher a floor was, the harder it seemed to converse as equals.
Hokma never called upon others for his own sake. For Roland, it was either short rants about sorting particular book topics or, in one strange case, a conversation over Angela's slight body changes over time. Supposedly, after the Light erupted for the second time and a few months have passed, she began experiencing the same phenomenon albeit a lot slower. And of course she didn’t talk of that out loud, only surveillance does the trick. Roland felt like an idiot through that conversation because… well, he didn't notice anything weird in Angela and Hokma sounded more and more like a lunatic seeing things he hoped to see. So once again, they've parted in slightly frustrated feelings back then.
Roland isn't really sure if he wants to experience all that again, no matter the topic this time. Nevertheless, he takes a deep breath and steps down onto the stairwell. And just a minute later, illuminated by the soft light of golden pocket watches hanging around the railings, he comes out to the Floor of Religion. It is, as usual, sterile and cold; he can't even see a single person around here who'd prove this place to be inhabited at least. Yet seemingly, all it takes is to grab a chair and sit at the massive grey table in the hall, and Roland begins to hear quiet determined footsteps behind his back.
“So the note had found you well and awake. Good,” a calm, somewhat flat voice echoes around Roland as the floor's Patron circles the table and takes his own spot as well. So much for a warm greeting.
“Yeah, nice to see you too,” the younger man mutters and crosses his arms. “What's so damn important that you didn't, for example, come up to General Works? It's just one flight of stairs and your knees ain't gonna bust from that, you know.”
“My knees,” Hokma huffs, “are not affected by the aged appearance of my face. Along with the rest of my body. These jokes of yours are getting old.”
Roland suppresses a snort as the last sentence and tries to become serious in the face of unknown. “Alright, fine. Spill the milk.”
Yet Hokma doesn't seem to hurry and delve deep into explanations. On the contrary: he opens a table locker and extracts an object Roland never expected to see here on this floor, moreover in Hokma's own possession. A cigarette case.
“You smoke, I have heard. Take one.” It sounds both like an order and a request. A silent question of trust, maybe even Hokma's own reassurance. Perhaps he's got it all wrong. He's never himself seen Roland smoke, only occasionally heard it in other Patrons' words. Snippets of conversations, ones he wasn't fenced off from but also very rarely participated in. Perhaps a gesture of good will won't be read by Roland as such but instead as an attempt of poking one’s nose into his personal life.
Then, painful silence is broken by a short chuckle. “That's new. From you, I mean. Fine, gimme that. You got a light?”
Hokma quietly flicks the lighter under his cigarette, and another few minutes pass in silence. Off to a good start, perhaps, but what's to follow? Roland tries to figure out the peculiar aftertaste of this particular cigarette brand, unknown to him, and Hokma simply... watches. How the other man holds the thin tobacco-filled paper and lazily puffs smoke in the air; the small gestures he unconsciously makes while doing so, those only visible if the object of surveillance is or used to be a chain smoker. Hokma on his part has never been one, only using cigarettes as extremely rare stress relief, so he doesn't even join the younger librarian in this process.
Lost in the thin veil of smoke, Roland realizes the silence has become awkward only after a full ten minutes or so. He clears his throat and extinguishes the stub of his cigarette on a small flat dish Hokma also extracted from the table locker - for ash. “Did you call for me to just sit and observe?” he asks, his voice both defiant and unsure. “You could come down to Geb and watch her. She's mostly quiet when she smokes and thinks over all kinds of stuff, you know. And I can only smoke so much, less than her for sure.”
“No,” Hokma makes a very faint smile, “smoking is not the primary reason. Although watching you is an entertaining process on its own. From my circle of contacts, only Kali used to smoke so senselessly, and…”
He falls silent, realizing it's pointless to dance around this subject while he has another under his heart. “No, indeed, I needed you here and not Gebura and that is why I asked you to come.”
“Yeah, I wonder why. Are you feeling lonely or something?” Roland huffs and, even though his tone is supposed to be somewhat sneering, he doesn't see Hokma become any angrier. Which is how Roland deduces he's correct. “Wait, are you really–”
“After thousands of years of almost total solitude, having only occasionally been visited by someone other than my agents, a whole Library busy with life is not something I'm... accustomed to. Much less being a part of it. To accommodate is a daunting task, and perhaps today I am making the first steps.”
It makes Roland freeze in place as he reaches for another cigarette. Hokma's language is so flowery, it's like he intentionally tries to speak the truth in a way that won't be blunt and thus more embarrassing.
“You're lonely. You're lonely and you can't get closer to others, even though you'd like to. Is that right?”
“More or less, you've got the gist of it correctly.” It's like Hokma doesn't notice slight irritation in Roland's voice.
“You can start by speaking in simpler terms, old man. It's… well, easier to hold a conversation when you understand your friend right away, not after you wrap your head around their words and then you're like 'oooh'... Get it?”
“Yes, I 'get it', Roland.” Now miniscule irritation seeps into Hokma's tone as well. “And I don't think it's just that.”
“Ooh? Care to share?”
The younger librarian finally takes the cig, lights it up, inhales the smoke and exhales a small cloud. His posture relaxes a bit.
“...It is related to the way my brain works.”
“Don't tell me you're too smart to be close to people,” Roland grins.
“Would you please let me finish? It is due to a prolonged period of functioning inside a machine rather than a body of human flesh. The simulation Angela uses as humanlike bodies for us... it is close to what we've once had, in terms of most functions. Emotions as well. Encased as a Sephirah, I could use the casing's programmed abilities to limit my brain's contact with the outside world. To narrow it down to most used functions and throw away the rest.”
“Wait, you're saying that… when you've been a robo-thing, you could just, what, discard emotions? Completely?”
“Not completely. Most of them have disappeared off the spectrum.”
Hokma watches his colleague intently. The reaction Roland has can't be described as shocked or confused, rather… expectant? Among the lines of 'oh sure this old dude had disabled his ability to make connections and behave like a sympathetic person'. It's expected from him and from the impression he's already given off. Roland doesn't voice any of that though, taking a drag of his cigarette instead.
“So now you can't wake them up again, I see,” he begins but Hokma cuts in.
“On the opposite. They are awakening on their own after the lock of ten thousand years has been lifted.” Roland suppresses an 'ooh…' at his words and listens further. “I was so engrossed in the Library's tasks that I failed to notice how my temper began to slowly mutate. Fate has it that devotion had always been my strongest suit; the rest I could live without, being a brain in a metal box. Now…”
Hokma looks over his hands and sighs. “It has become a challenge to function accordingly.”
“Gosh, man. Stop talking like you're a machine that needs to do one particular thing!” Roland laughs nervously as he speaks, his emotions mixed. “Function accordingly… Just say you're having a tough time talking to people 'cause you've been away from most of them for, how long now?”
“Ten thousand years.”
“Yes, that period.” For a moment, the younger librarian stops and shudders inwardly at that number. It never fails to freeze him when Angela mentions the same thing about herself, too. “Like… it's okay to feel this way. You're still human even after being a brain in a box, right? The brain is human.”
“The brain is human, yes…”
Hokma repeats his words like a spell, falling silent for a while. Roland manages to finish his second cigarette and keeps himself from another one. It's enough for one short meeting.
“Still, I don't quite get it. You just wanted someone to confide in? To listen to your worries.”
“Perhaps. A side benefit it is, no doubt.” Roland grimaces at his manner of speech again, and Hokma continues. “No, it's your magnetism to other humans that drew me in. However ironic that sounds.”
“Oh, so you want me to teach you to be magnetic too," Roland chuckles spitelessly. “I don't think I can. It's natural, maybe developed over the course of my life. This ain't something you specifically learn to do.”
“No, no… I wasn't going to ask you for any teachings. Merely taking part in conversations is already a great influence.”
“Hokma,” he finally can't take his speech and stands up, but not to leave. Rather to gesture over the older man's left hand. “If I had a permanent marking pen here, I'd write 'Talk Simple' in your palm as a constant reminder. This is one big influence you must understand, and it doesn't even require talking to me all that much.”
“No, I believe it does. You are conversing with me right now, after all.”
Roland snorts and looks away for a moment. “Alright. Well, there's the lesson from our first afterschool class.”
“Come, come. And take your grumpy old chap with you, alright?”
His eyes go slightly round at the words of 'his' old chap, but Roland manages to wave a goodbye and leave the floor. Gebura's assistants behave quite different from her at times, he muses on the way up to Religion. Things are going smoothly enough today.
Not quite smooth though is Hokma's own reaction at the invitation. “I'm afraid it is of no need,” he begins and shakes his head. Talk Simple, right. “It's a party as you say. A party of assistant librarians and two Patrons who know each other well enough without the sulking old man in a corner of a room.”
“Exactly, but they don't know you and you don't know them. How are you supposed to build better relationships if you, as you say, keep sulking in a corner?”
He doesn't seem convinced. “I would not contribute anything to the scene. You are going to indulge tirelessly in drinks and games, and I barely touch either of those areas.”
"Then it's a chance to touch them more, no? If you don't know the rules, we'll gladly teach you. If you do, well, then show us what you're made of.”
Seeing that Hokma still hasn't set his mind, Roland sighs and leans a bit closer to him over the table. “Alright, I'll change the language. Maybe you'll understand better that way. Hokma, I invite you to a party as my guest.”
“A guest.”
“Yes, a guest. You don't have to… go out of your way to make friends with everyone or something. All you need is to bring your sorry ass there tomorrow evening. I’m asking.”
Something clicks in Hokma's mind at this rhetoric, surprisingly. He's still unsure and quiet, but at least he stops complaining about his unpleasant nature. His face, as he nods to Roland's suggestion, is deadly solemn. And, as the day morphs into evening and slowly the gears of entertainment begin to stir, Roland finds his colleague in the same solemn mood in the far corner of the meeting room. Laughter, both drunken and sober, is heard from the room adjacent to this one; there's another couple of assistants, one from General Works and one from Linguistics, leaning over each other half-asleep. They seem to be the less alcohol-resilient ones; Roland throws them a sympathetic look before approaching Hokma.
“You're bored here,” he announces. Hokma only looks up at him when he's directly in front, covering his vision.
“No, I am absorbing the atmosphere. I am feeling well enough while exposed in this manner.”
Roland doesn't even groan at his speech; he's now quite drunk himself and feels a little more lighthearted than usual. “Yeah, sitting in a room next to the one where games are held. I'm not hauling your ass over there 'cuz I reckoned you'd come yourself when you become… accustomed, I dunno. And turns out you're simply a house cat.”
“This is the first time someone compares me to this particular animal,” Hokma mutters, not without amusement. “Explain?”
“You're comfortable at your own place and you hide when there's a commotion happening. Especially when that commotion wants to come pet you on the head, haha.”
“Excuse me?..”
“No, no, they won't do that - not just yet, at least. I mean… they're all excited to see you among them. To have you join the fun.”
“Cats do come out of their shelter when they feel comfortable enough to at least watch the commotion,” Hokma sighs, swinging the drink in his hand lazily. The glass still isn't empty even though it was the very first drink all guests have received from Gebura. And the drink itself isn't anything bad, it's just… Perhaps Hokma knows he'll need to go see others when he finishes the drink and he prefers to drink less instead. Not that he's a big fan of inebriation at all.
Roland chuckles and pats Hokma's shoulder in the meantime. “Alright, you scaredy cat. Let me at least bring you another cocktail, you've got yours an hour ago and there's many others to try, you know? Maybe you'd like something specific?”
Hokma shrugs. “Not too bitter, if you please. Anything citrus is usually a good touch.”
“Hmm. Why don't I pour whiskey into your tea once in a while?” Before Hokma can respond, Roland giggles again and quickly leaves to deliver what’s promised. He returns with a tall thin glass of something both orange and sky-blue and triumphantly places it down in Hokma's hands. “Here. The Clean Waters at Sunset.”
“Is that the name of this cocktail?” Hokma asks, sort of questioning Roland's choice, but accepts the drink anyway. It smells better than it looks; reassured by that, he takes a swig. Tastes good enough.
“Well, yeah, there's not many names that can be applied to curaçao. The skies, the waters, the… whatever. The sunset's everything else added. Fruit juices and some rum I suppose…”
“…It tastes nice, despite the uncharacteristically romantic name such a strong drink possesses.”
“Oh? You think it's inappropriate?”
“Usually in my practice such flowery words were used to describe lighter drinks. Up to ten percent alcohol, at best. This one, if you say it's curaçao and rum…”
“...yeah, it's… a stronger one. I'm just surprised you're aware of how drinks are being named…” Roland giggles under his breath. “Maybe you've got a favorite yourself?”
Hokma doesn't think long. “I do. It is a bitter mix at first glance, though as time passes the sensations become… more vivid, I should say. At the end it is quite delicious. Though some may find it bitter throughout the whole process of tasting.”
He looks back at Roland with a meaningful stare, and after a while the younger man snorts a laugh and punches him lightly in the shoulder. “Gosh, where did you learn this?”
“You've mentioned how I am supposed to adopt a simpler style of talking. That includes jokes, does it not?”
“No, I just didn't expect… ahh, forget it. That was funny enough.”
He watches Hokma slowly sip on the cocktail while they exchange a few more words, and overall Roland is satisfied with how the other's faring. It's not easy to become a sociable person in just a few months; it's not like he requires that at all. Progress is made. It does discourage him a little though as he returns fifteen minutes later and doesn't find Hokma in the same chair, and Audrey - one of his floor's assistants - suggests that he might've left for a bathroom due to feeling unwell. Due to how bathrooms functioned in the Library, they were rather a place to get one's head back in order, with water or simple isolation. Walking towards the nearest room of such purpose, Roland scrolls through possible reasons in his mind. Too much alcohol? Not really, Hokma's only had two drinks. Maybe the cocktail was too much, rum and liquor together aren't quite light in terms of alcohol ingestion… Maybe he's just feeling unwell from noises around - he's used to sitting in almost complete silence, could it be that he's overwhelmed by a dozen people talking at once? But he never spoke of disliking a crowd, he just speculated he wouldn’t fit in…
Roland pulls on the door. Locked from the inside. He knocks on it several times. No response, though someone is heard behind the door breathing quite hard.
“It's me,” he says calmly, hoping his emergence would ease the situation. It doesn't. “Are you alright there? I've been told you've left 'cause you felt unwell.”
No response; however, this time a quiet rustle of clothes can be heard too. Perhaps a sound of rolling up shirt sleeves. Roland frowns and knocks again.
“Hokma? Are you even there?” he asks, already doubting his assertion. What if he's getting on someone else's nerves there… But a quiet voice replies, “I am”, making the young librarian flinch. It sounds… helpless. Weak. Not really something an alcohol overdose can induce to the point of going to a bathroom, it should usually happen due to intoxication… right?
“You don't sound good,” Roland chuckles from behind the door, hoping for a snarky reply. He doesn't get one. At first he imagines Hokma to stare at the door reproachfully, like he usually does when Roland speaks nonsense, and it's somewhat calming. But the sound of his breath, fast and pained… it's unsettling. “Do you need help?” he tries again.
The thing is, even though he's correct in worrying about his colleague Patron, the situation is too far gone for the latter to allow anyone inside. He must take care of himself even though he's not sure what's going on. Not that it's something he's experiencing for the first time; a lot of his past was enduring what has been unexpected. But now, as Hokma stands in front of a sink and looks into a mirror above it, he's not sure he can actually handle this.
The drink. It's the drink, he thinks. Did Roland add something there on purpose? Is that why he was so smug in announcing its properties? Hokma doesn't even recall the other's way of presenting the cocktail. Skies deep into sunset? No, not skies… the sea. God, why does it feel so overbearingly hot. The lights in this small bathroom are red and purple, probably to fit the adjacent hall's atmosphere of a meeting room. A place of entertainment, of pleasant times. Hokma stares at his reflection and understands clearly that his face is so red due to something other than peculiar lighting. He presses his palms against his cheeks again; it's not helping anymore. He needs to press his face against a whole cold wall at this rate.
He glances at the door as Roland starts knocking, and he knows he can't respond in a way that won't shatter his dignity. His breath is hurting his lungs; if he tries to speak anything coherent at all, he'll probably sound like a fragile woman dying from tuberculosis. Red circles begin swarming before his eyes and he has to grip the edge of the sink to stay upright. Is it alcohol intoxication? Unlikely. He's been exposed to alcohol only a few times in his neverending sentence of a sentinel, and even then it wasn't turning him into a pathetic squirming mess. No… this has to be something in the cocktail. He curses at Roland inwardly, though he doesn't even know who's the one responsible for possibly drugging the drink. Roland doesn't like him all that much even though they've melted the ice a little bit; if he has a chance to pull a prank on the older librarian, he might take it. Then again… really? It sounded too severe.
Knocking resumes, and Hokma lets out an annoyed sound which through his impaired hearing sounds like a plea to enter and end his suffering. He can't discern words, it's all clouded with blood pounding in his ears and temples and a growing, pulling sensation deep down in his stomach. It's making his knees weak. Damn it, he's too human for all this now. Being sheltered from everything unwanted and meddling, he's made himself so vulnerable to simple feelings of yearning and desire that it physically hurts at the moment. It hurts to be drawn to someone, anyone at all. Not because it's a bad thing, most likely, but because those sensations are too raw for him to feel.
“What the hell did you do to me?” Hokma tries to ask the man behind the door and, whatever the latter responds with, he can't understand. Too bad. He can't even hold a conversation with the current state of his senses. The damn giant hook pulling down his insides becomes unbearable, and to alleviate this sinking feeling Hokma decides to finally loosen up. The next few seconds he's taking all his willpower to stay on his feet - that's just how much a single touch to his groin had affected him. A single touch of his own hand. And what if he lets that young idiot in…
No, no, please, not like this. This is humiliating. This isn't how it's supposed to happen… Hokma almost wants to cry at how painful this yearning feels and how close the solution actually resides. It's too unlike him, too vulnerable, too human, too… close. Too open, like a heart surgery. He feels like his whole being is beating like that heart, on the operating table. He can't think anymore. It's useless.
Roland is earnestly ready to break down the door (if that's even possible) when it creaks silently and opens inwards, revealing the man inside. He's sitting on the floor next to the sink, his tie and shirt undone partially for better air circulation, and he's breathing very heavily even for someone intoxicated. His eyes are closed. He's all clean though, dry and well, Roland notes to himself; so he's not here due to intoxication. He heard Hokma ask what the hell did he, Roland, do to him, and he was stunned in the moment but now… he kind of realizes why that was asked.
“Hey,” he tries to make contact, kneeling next to the half-conscious librarian. “You… you let me in. Thank you. Let me help…”
He begins looking over Hokma's body to assess his condition and, as his hands reach the belt, Hokma immediately grabs his wrist into a painful grip. His own hand is trembling.
“Don't,” he whispers frantically. “I... I shouldn't…”
“You shouldn't what? Are you hurt?” Roland frowns and tries to use his other hand which is instantly stopped as well. He exhales. “You're not letting me examine you. Something's wrong and you can be in danger.”
“I'm not in danger of anything but my own body and mind,” Hokma responds hoarsely. He cannot keep Roland away though as his grip weakens and drops completely. “I shouldn't… drag you into all this.”
“Wait, wait, stop with that sacrificial bullshit. Tell me how you're feeling.”
“Hot all over my sinful being. Blood is pumping in my ears. Not… sure… what caused this condition.” It takes him a few painful seconds to add something else. “I believe it is… physical arousal.”
Oh. So that's why he was so adamantly against Roland's hands near that area. Well, they're all humanlike here in the Library, aren't they? Anything that can happen to a human brain shall happen to them one way or another: inebriation, sleep deprivation, intoxication of any kind… arousal, too. But it's not supposed to be accompanied by symptoms Hokma had listed to him. Unless…
Roland thinks back to the evening. Could Hokma have ingested anything other than the two drinks he's had? Unlikely. Assistants are too shy or unwilling to approach him yet, and the only drinks were either distributed by Geb or given by Roland himself. And that's when he recalls a conversation of librarians from Language. “The Devyat roulette is on, baby! - Where did you put it? - As usual. You'll see the outcome when someone starts getting into another's pants! - Man, that's embarrassing… - Not yet. Wait for it!”
Devyat roulette… a process of altering one instance in a set for any sort of purpose. While Roland recalls the details, he fails to notice how Hokma's gaze becomes less coherent and his breath speeds up. The bathroom is small and yet it's not stuffy inside, so it's not lack of air… positively. Deep in thought, Roland flinches when Hokma grabs his arm in a clenching grip.
“You're more accustomed to this, aren't you,” he begins whispering. “What's going to happen? Shall this unnatural hotness leave me? How… how long is this…”
“H-hey, hey, I know just as much as you,” Roland chuckles nervously, amazed at the strength of that grip. Like holding on for dear life. “It… well… passes over time if you're distracted, or if dealt with… the physical way. Please don't make me spell it out for you… you're a big boy, aren't you?”
“This isn't funny,” he hisses in response. “I am well aware of what follows when someone is aroused physically. I inquire about… whatever the hell is going on with my body right now. It's unnatural. You know it's unnatural, do you?”
“I've guessed,” Roland sighs and tries to free his wrist from the grip. No such luck. “Look, I… might have an idea what's happening. You're not gonna like it.” Not that any of the two is enjoying this at the moment, too. Roland is confused and drunk, and Hokma is… well, drunk as well, to some degree, but his own description also sounded like something unpleasant. Except for the arousal part, perhaps. It's hard to speak for the other in this case.
“Please… please, my face is burning up…”
“Someone slipped a drug into your cocktail. I've brought you that cocktail without knowing, and now you're… well, this. Suffering the consequences.”
A small pause follows; it seems that Hokma's having trouble understanding his words. In such condition, no wonder. Then he lets out a long breath and stares at Roland with a defeated gaze. “So you're not… you didn't plan this to play a joke on me.”
“Of course I didn't… do you think so lowly of me?” Roland huffs, feigning irritation. It does somewhat hurt him too, though. He's been a chill guy for a while now and this is how he's repaid?
“I'm… sorry. I'm sorry you have to listen to this,” a response comes immediately. In a voice that makes Roland's insides shrivel up.
The grip on Roland's arm tightens to the point of slowly pulling him closer in; he has to slap his palm against the cold wall surface to keep himself sitting and not outright fall into Hokma's arms. This doesn’t help for long though; despite his compromised state of body and mind, Hokma is still pretty damn strong. Perhaps even stronger with less inhibitions. Roland’s face hits the warm white surface of a dress shirt, and in his inebriated state he doesn’t tear himself off Hokma right away. Feels quite like a comfortable pillow, if not for the circumstances.
“You want a hug?” His suggestion is a joke, but he doesn’t hear any bitter response from the other and realizes there’s no room for jokes anymore in this situation. He swallows as he feels Hokma’s arms wrap around and lock in a grip on his back. Well… a response on its own. “H-hey,” he tries, lightly patting the shoulder he leans on, and all he receives is immense warmth and slight tremble of the body he’s pressed against.
“I’m sorry,” Hokma repeats and buries his face in the other’s neck. The temperature becomes unbearable even for a sober man, and Roland whines in the embrace.
“You can keep saying that as much as you like but it won’t change your state,” he mutters, trying to break free from the hug. “Simple hugs won’t cure the fact you’re hard as heck and poking my leg, you know?”
“I’ve guessed… but… I’m taking chances while I can. Perhaps this will be enough. Perhaps this will heal the lack of touch I have been induced with… and the consequences I’m experiencing now.”
With how coherent his speech becomes, Roland is almost convinced that body to body contact actually does induce some relief to Hokma, on a level. In the drunk haze of his own mind, the thought does not hold but still leaves a weird taste; if Hokma is indeed soothed so effectively by mere physical contact, how much does said contact mean to him in normal situations? Does he keep away from others simply because staying close affects him so much? Has he ever been this close to anyone at all?..
“I didn’t mean to make fun of your state, you know…” Roland suddenly says in a low, almost ashamed voice. “I… just… people usually deal with this in a different way.”
“…No, no, you didn’t mean this, I’m aware. You are… a very good friend.”
A couple minutes later, though, a change occurs - for the worse. Just when Roland almost starts to drift away in the comfortable warmth, he is suddenly pushed away with quite the vigor and Hokma pulls his knees to his chest like a scared child. “Doesn’t work,” he mumbles, gritting his teeth. “It’s only getting worse. Why did I even… a-ah…”
It takes Roland a good minute to adjust his vision to the lighting again and to glance over the shriveled figure in front of him. The drink he’s ingested right before setting off to check on Hokma is seeping into his blood as well, not so slow and merciful, and images blur before his eyes. Ah heck, no, no, he’s the more capable one in this situation! Alcohol intoxication isn’t as cruel as being drugged to beg for contact…
“I can’t,” he sees Hokma whimper right in front of him, but his voice sounds infinitely far and muffled. “I can’t… control this… please, just leave me to weather it…”
“Leave you?..” Roland speaks incredulously. “You’re in no condition to ask for this. You need help, damn it…”
“Help. Maybe. Maybe if I pass out, this will stop affecting me so severely…”
His self-control isn’t enough anymore; it hasn’t been enough since the very start of this shitshow and Hokma has been too prideful to admit this to himself. Now his hands tremble with yearning of touch, and he hides his face in them. Roland watches him without words, though some certainly do come up in his mind; he bites his tongue to let the older man retain the last slip of decency which rapidly fades away.
“Help,” his voice breaks at the quiet word, “help… I don’t… I don’t know if…”
Roland closes his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose. He knows a way to help, per se. He’s just unsure if the embarrassment of that sort of assistance shall be overcome by the relief it brings. And this cold, restrained man in front of him, now reduced to the most human of all conditions… won’t he restrain himself even further after all this mess? Surely he will even without administering this sort of help, he’s probably never going to accept any party invitations from now on. Not from Roland, at least.
He shakes his head and takes a prominent first step in his plan - he throws his hand forward to grab Hokma’s knee. This at least does catch his attention and makes him freeze for a moment. “We’re still near people,” Roland mutters in a hollow voice, “so do me a favor and cover your mouth. For your own sake.”
“What do you–”
Roland doesn’t listen further, sliding his hand on Hokma’s knee down to the inner thigh area and pushing to the side. This position is already quite obscene, but in the current situation it doesn’t make things that much worse; Hokma gasps and does as he’s told, clasping both hands over his mouth. He’s much more compliant under the influence, Roland makes an inner note and smirks to himself. Then he immediately shakes his head. What is he even thinking? This is about helping out a friend, not… ah, damn it.
Hokma’s lucky to have him here, he thinks as his fingers undo the zipper even without clear vision. Force of habit. He’s an experienced man, at least, not someone who squirms under so much a subtle touch to his body. Though, he admits to himself, it would be nice to be taken care of once in a while. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s been pleasured at all. Not that this right here doesn’t bring him some semblance of pleasure as well… different things, still.
As he wraps his lips around the hot throbbing head, he estimates roughly that it’s not going to take long. Which is probably good. The less this embarrassment lasts for Hokma, the better. The latter, by the way, is doing a great job covering his mouth as Roland barely hears any sounds from him - but he does feel vibration coming through the body he intakes, the sticky feeling of yearning and thousand years loneliness unwrapping and finally letting the older librarian feel something. Just something good, even if it’s for such a lewd reason. It’s not his fault.
Bobbing his head up and down carefully, Roland flinches at a feeling of something running through his hair. Then he realizes: a hand, of course. It constricts and tugs on the dark locks, and he hisses with his mouth occupied yet this doesn’t make him stop moving. On the contrary, he adds tongue to the action and hears Hokma’s moans finally break through the grip of his remaining palm over his mouth. Which does bring some twisted satisfaction to him as well. Oh, look at him, so efficient at breaking that quiet and reserved man apart, even with the help of a drug he did not administer… Then Hokma starts buckling his hips and Roland almost chokes but doesn’t pull away. This only means the end is near, doesn’t it?
In a fit of something resembling a wish to connect, Roland puts one of his hands on Hokma’s arm, the one holding his hair, and is surprised to feel it move and wrap around his palm. It’s hot and sweaty and Roland automatically intertwines fingers with him; the grip trembles and tightens immediately. Ah, he thinks, holding hands while orgasming. How cute. The rest of his thoughts are blown away by the bitter liquid shooting up the roof of his mouth and then down his throat; he coughs but stays in place, swallowing diligently. It doesn’t taste much more bitter than alcohol which he’s had plenty tonight, anyway.
The first thought to occur in Roland’s mind after that is that his mouth is finally not fully occupied and he can move his tongue freely again. Then, a realization that his jaw’s probably going to be sore for a while from all this… exercising. Then… then… a surprising thought that he enjoyed it to a degree, despite the circumstances and inevitable embarrassment that shall follow. He glances up at the man in front of him and is kind of relieved to see him still reeling from the act, not talking or even looking back. If Hokma’s nature had still been closer to Angela than a simple human being, Roland would’ve joked about sending him to a blue screen of death. Slowly, careful to not induce additional overstimulation, he pulls the half-flaccid cock out of his mouth and looks over the area of work. All things considered, still pretty clean. He hums contentedly and tucks Hokma back in, only stopping at the button of his pants due to an obstruction. Namely Hokma’s own hand gripping his wrist again.
“Yes?” Roland asks nonchalantly, looking up at him. “Going to leave feedback for the service?”
“You… you… have no shame,” the older librarian barely manages to utter, his voice a bit hoarse from previous… vocal exercise. “How did you even… why…”
“Oh, relax. You’re feeling better now, aren’tcha? Does anything else matter at the moment?”
The grip on his wrist tightens, borderline painful. “I do, but… no, Roland, how can you treat this in such a carefree way?! You’re drunk, and it’s not your fault that this happened to me, and– this is body violation, what I’ve allowed you to do, this shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have opened the door to you. This was selfish of me.”
“You’re worried too much over this,” Roland shrugs. “If it was selfish, then let it be. And… no, no-no, don’t you talk me into believing it’s all your fault, alright? You asked for help.”
“I asked you to leave me to endure this…”
“And after that you’ve immediately begged for help. I may be drunk but my hearing’s alright.”
A few moments pass in silence, both sides having stated the facts. Then Roland tilts his head and chuckles quietly. “Selfish, you say… so you wanted me to do that,” he sneers as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I do not wish to discuss what has transpired, at least right now.” Hokma responds immediately and is, to be fair, completely right in his position. He finally releases Roland’s wrist and looks away, not willing to watch the other’s blushing face or the red marks his grip left on the scarred skin. In all honesty, he would rather disappear off the face of the Library or at least have Angela’s wonderful teleportation feature to escape the scene. None of those opportunities are present, though Roland offers him a third one.
“I should probably lead you back to your quarters,” he mutters while looking away as well. A late sense of light shame enters his mind. “I doubt you’d wanna… stay here any longer.”
His deduction is correct. In his supporting arms, Hokma only relaxes a little bit when he steps into the room he spends nights in, and the rest Roland is unable to feel as the other politely hints that he wishes to remain alone. No wonder, though. If his mind has cleared enough, he must be going through a difficult time right now. Roland leaves after a quiet goodbye and sweet dreams; for a moment he’s unsure if he’s heard Hokma asking him to stay a little longer, or if that’s his drunk mind playing tricks on him. The second, he decides, had a much higher chance to occur.
For once, Hokma was grateful for his inebriation because without it he would unlikely have fallen asleep that night. The drug Roland referenced might have played its part too; still, no matter the forces at hand, in the morning Hokma forces himself to get up at usual hour, all crumpled and dehydrated and wishing he’d just stayed here last night instead of agreeing to visit anything at all. He kind of envies Roland’s condition for the younger man had probably not even registered what he’s done behind the large dose of alcohol he’s consumed. Hokma’s mind was and is a lot clearer than that, and he remembers everything just fine. And he both does and does not wish he didn’t remember.
Contact felt good, it felt heavenly, that’s what his drugged mind conjured up and held onto. Not just sexual stimulation but everything all at once. The drug’s influence is gone now and the feeling is still there, looming over the areas of his body where Roland’s hands and mouth worked their magic; he tries really hard to keep that mental image away at least for the time being. Not in the morning, damn it, he still has to attend to his duties! With less lewd images though, he’s more lenient to allow them into his brain. He’d give a lot for a simple hug, really, but he has a hunch that he’s not going to see Roland again in a long time. For no particular reason - just a hunch. People tended to leave very soon after getting closer to him, back in a human life, so he just waited until it would inevitably happen again.
For one thing, he was correct - Roland did not come to see him the next morning. Maybe, Hokma thinks, it’s due to a severe hangover but he’d seen the younger librarian work in conditions worse than this. Which fuels the doubts eating him up inside as usual; the first sign of life he sees is in the form of a small energetic coat-wearing figure, carrying a stack of books of all kinds of color. Usually Roland did this, returning books that had been discarded back to General Works, sometimes it was his assistants, but right now it’s a completely different person.
“Good… morning, Malkuth,” Hokma forces a friendly tone over something akin to genuine concern. “What brings you here, all the way up from your safe haven?”
“Morning, Hokma! Today’s a change of plans, I’ve been asked to stay at Roland’s floor and handle some of his immediate worries. Oh, on the subject of that…”
Her face darkens for a moment and Hokma cannot read the exact reason right away. “Yes?..”
“Gebura told me to pass the news… well, Roland seems to have gotten into a fight last night. At a party they’ve organized together. If only I’ve been there to attend! I’d see that there’s no conflict! But I was busy with this stupid shelf covering the entrance to western wing and–”
“A fight, you say?” Hokma stops her mid-sentence before she spirals into details not applicable to the situation. Malkuth opens her mouth, then closes it and nods.
“Something happened, yeah. She hasn’t told me the rest, just that I should reassure you that he’s alright and he will come down sometime in the evening… and that’s why I’m replacing him at the moment. Take the books, will you?”
She lists what belongs to the Religion floor, and Hokma nods absentmindedly at each entry as she puts the stack of greyish-white books to the side. A fight. So serious that he has to skip at least a day of work. Injuries healed up fast enough on the librarians, even without asking Angela for help the passive rate of ‘flesh’ regeneration was quite high and a few bruises would have healed overnight. Which means something worse. And he has no idea where that young daredevil is hiding at the moment, or where he is kept if his condition is that serious. Malkuth is gone and he doesn’t even register saying goodbye and sinking back into his chair with a new stack of books in front of him.
How did this happen to him? How… did he fail to notice it sooner? This painful warmth inside him feels like enveloping a burning candle with one’s own palm and watching it melt, wax melding with the fingers holding it. Hokma sighs and covers his face with his hands. Sometime in the evening… fine. He can handle this.
Gebura does not lie in her promises. That’s one reassuring thing to hang on to, and it proves to be true when she enters the Floor of Religion in a calm, steady pace and heads for the table in its main hall to greet the Patron Librarian. Behind her, another librarian trots not so happily, his hands in pants pockets and gaze constantly darting to the sides. Hokma sees them from a long distance: he’s spent almost a whole day here glued to the spot in hopes that evening comes earlier than he anticipates. It did not, but seeing Gebura and her companion brings some sort of reassurance. Then agitation and worry add up as they both approach at a talking distance.
“Dragged this hotheaded hero here to see you again,” Gebura sighs and nods towards the man she brought. “Roland, say hello.”
Silence. Hokma stares at him with both relief and growing anger; the redhead glances at them both and steps away from the line of fire - that is, leaving for good. “Do me a favor and don’t add to what’s already there, alright?”
Hokma nods at her request and watches her leave in the same calm pace she arrived with. Roland stays in place, his posture still reserved. It does indeed look like Gebura dragged him up here by force, which is even more unusual in context of his injuries. Considering the aforementioned healing rate, he must have healed most of what he’s been inflicted with; the ones most visible are the bandage on his left wrist, the right side of his jaw and his right eye. Hokma looks over his shape, still silent and unsure of what he should even start with. What the hell? What have you done to yourself? How did you even get into a fight in the first place?..
He takes a deep breath and gestures for Roland to sit down at a chair nearby, but the younger man shakes his head.
“How did this happen?” Hokma finally asks, combining all questions in his head into a single one.
“...I’ve gotten into a fight over what happened to you last night.” Roland doesn’t sound proud or even having accomplished anything. He’s just tired.
Hokma winces at the reminder. “I do not hold any grudges towards those people who happened to drug my drink. It’s… fine. It is my own fault that it affected me in the way it did.”
“W… what? Are you serious right now?” Roland starts to raise his voice, and even in his remaining eye the disbelief is too clear. “No one was supposed to drug the drinks, damn it. This isn’t how normal parties are held! These idiots have their own little stupid roulettes but it’s not supposed to affect those outside of their idiot circle!”
“...And you’ve found it out during the fight.”
“Before the fight. I… sigh…”
He pulls up the chair Hokma pointed at earlier and finally sits down. “After I’ve helped you to your floor, I returned to have a talk with those idiots. Gebura isn’t someone to drug cocktails, my lads aren’t as well. So it must’ve been her assistants. I’ve asked specifically, before the party, to drop all the shit they would usually pull on a party they’re used to. I’ve asked multiple times! That this was supposed to be a normal civil evening, damn it!”
Because my friend’s going to attend it and he’s most certainly not a fan of your shit, Roland speaks in his head but not out loud for some reason. It’s not hard to understand the flow of his words though and Hokma huffs quietly, crossing his arms at his chest.
“Fine. That might have been a noble reason to converse, but you came out with bruises and bandages, did you not?”
“I did. Because one of them couldn’t hold his fucking tongue.”
Hokma frowns at the wording. “You mean to say that you’ve beaten up someone due to what he said?..”
“Oh, don’t lecture me on what to do and not to do, alright?” His voice heats up at this point of the story. “I don’t really like hearing degrading shit about my friends. Especially when it’s hints about how you of all people need to loosen up and that aphrodisiacs are probably the only thing to help you with this, since you’re so high above everyone in your head. And how,” he hisses through his teeth, “it would be such a gem to see and handle you in such a condition.”
Hokma doesn’t get to input a word about his own repulsion when Roland growls, recalling the events. “And being the man who handled you, I would not recommend anyone to end up in my place. Not… damn it… not violating a friend because it’s the easiest way to dampen his condition!”
“You did not violate me,” Hokma protests weakly but is not heard.
“I was really tempted to punch that idiot in the face right then and there, after this brilliant idea of having his way with you under the influence. But then he went even further with his words and I couldn’t hold it back any longer.”
“So you’ve hit him for something he said. About me.”
“Damn right I did.”
“You’re a fool,” Hokma mutters in a tired voice. “I’m not hurt by that man’s words and this whole drug thing will not repeat. A single incident is not enough to induce violence.”
“You’re so calm here and now, sitting here and speculating with all outside influence gone,” Roland laughs bitterly, “and imagine me back there, fifteen minutes after I’ve left you. Sure thing, I was drunk. I was angry at the shitheads having their dumbfuck contests of chance. You think I was in any condition to think clearly?!”
“Don’t raise your voice at me. You had a choice and you’ve made it. Don’t cover it with attempts to bring justice to the cause.”
“Shit, Hokma! I just didn’t want to hear these things about someone I care for! How can’t you understand?!”
“I can say the same thing about you, damn it! Do you think I take great pleasure in seeing you hurt and bandaged? Do you think I shall praise you as a hero, protecting the damsel’s interests?”
“I don’t, I–”
“I would praise you without that, already. How can’t you see?” Hokma’s voice breaks at this point, but he flares up again before Roland can approach. “I don’t want to see the man I admire suffer in the name of something pointless!”
Silence hangs for a few tense minutes, their voices still echoing off the walls of an empty hall. Both think over the words they’ve just said and heard, and both kind of fail to fully believe what’s been uttered. It’s only when the silence turns awkward enough that Roland dares to ask for something.
“…Care to repeat what you’ve said about me?”
“The whole speech about how pointless your bravado has been?” Hokma hisses but his voice lacks anger now. It’s something akin to late remorse and awkwardness.
“No,” Roland smiles faintly. “The part about admiring me.”
“Oh. I admire you, if that is what you want to hear.”
“That’s… you do realize how sudden it sounds? From you, to me?”
“I do. Your words about caring for me have been sudden enough as well.”
A few more seconds of silence. Of awaiting; of wordless mutual disbelief, after which Hokma continues quietly. “Although hearing them has granted me some semblance of courage to voice my own feelings in the matter.”
“You and your fancy words… you are insufferable,” Roland sighs and the smile doesn’t leave his face since. “I think I’m used to it by now, though. Maybe I kind of wait every day to experience a bit of that.”
“The feeling is mutual,” Hokma nods, his gaze still averted. Another round of coming up with words, not so successful on both sides; Roland battles a wish to keep apologizing for drunk actions and in the end gives in to that urge again.
“Look, I… really, this shouldn’t have happened like this. This shouldn’t have happened at all.”
“Yes, it shouldn’t have happened in the condition we have both been in,” Hokma nods softly, then speaks after a small pause. “Is that a final decision though?”
“What… do you mean.”
“Are you apologizing out of guilt or also repulsion to the act?”
Oh. So he’s inquiring whether Roland hated the whole thing itself. Which is a valid concern since technically it was his body being violated. The younger man feels his fingertips go cold.
“I was drunk,” he laments.
“Do you have that little self-control over your sexual preferences?..”
Hokma asks this in such a condescending tone that Roland’s face scrunches up. “No, I wouldn’t put a dick in my mouth if I was dead against it,” he mutters, looking away. “But that doesn’t change the fact this should’ve happened in a sober condition.”
“So you would not mind trying again.”
“I…”
This statement makes Roland turn his gaze back. It’s not even a question, it’s an outright conclusion Hokma makes. Seeing his reaction, the older man sighs and, for the first time in the history of their (sober) friendship, he initiates contact: he reaches out and places a palm over Roland’s hand on the desk.
“I did not mean right here and now, you know. Your expression suggests that course of action and I assure you, there is no rush.”
“N-no, I… I wasn’t thinking…” No, it’s pointless to deny. The first thought was indeed if the other librarian asks for another round right away. And Roland’s mind wandered in the direction of orchestrating all this right here at the main hall, and the shocked faces of someone happening to pass by, and those nimble fingers clutching his hair again, and–
Hokma nods and smiles at his reaction, which is also something quite rare to see for Roland and it erases all thoughts from his mind, lewd or not. He just… nods in return and stares down at his own hand, covered by the other’s palm. Then, with an awkward chuckle, he retracts that hand.
“I should make you a normal cocktail first. Just a thought.” Seeing Hokma raising his eyebrows, he hurries to explain. “To erase bitter memories of what transpired, as you would’ve put it poetically. And, well, I’m not going to drug you. I don’t think I need to prove or promise that… right?”
The drug you carry has already been administered, Hokma muses to himself but decides to keep that unsaid, instead nodding again. “No, of course you don’t.”