Big Book Of Parvill One Shots

Strife Tells Himself Stories In The Dark (S)

TW: Alien Biology, kinda sad, blood mentions

The blood altar worried Strife. He couldn't say why, precisely. Just the way it was always the same roiling cauldron of red. That shouldn't have worried him, but he knew Parv used it. And it was still always full.

He didn't ask Parv whose blood it was.

When he had caught Parv with a syringe, pressing red vials into himself, he had asked whose blood it was. Parv looked so surprised at the question.

"Does it matter?"

Strife shrugged. "It's part of someone. I wouldn't want to carry a stranger around inside me forever."

Parv laughed. "It's not forever. It fades, sooner or later. Everything does. Even you, Strifey." He flicked a glowing freckle, and it dimmed. "You think you're always the same inside? Nah. It comes and goes."

"I'm still me," said Strife. "Not somebody else."

"And the sky is always full of stars," said Parvis, looking at Strife's skin. "Who bothers counting them?"

Later that night, Strife watched Parv's back rise and fall. They were supposed to share the bed, but Parv believed in sharing a lot more than Strife did, and shared Strife's carefully delineated half of the bed. He'd have shared his own half too, of course, if Strife wanted it.

Strife's skin glowed in the darkness, a thousand tiny pinpricks in him letting the light out. He'd always found it hard to believe there was blood inside a person. Oh, he knew, he'd seen Parvis at work, he knew that the inside of a human was slippery and red and full of things that looked nothing like the outside of a person.

But he still found it so hard to believe. He moved his fingers in front of his face, watching the play of light, the dim shadow of bones shining through when he cupped one glowing hand over another. He didn't really know what was inside. Parts hurt sometimes, and he could map the aches into shapes under his skin. But he'd always figured he was just... himself on the inside. He thought of his body as a suit, and he was the person wearing it. He always figured he'd just be person-shaped if you took the body away, a green glow fitting the mould it was poured into.

Parv snored steadily, pressed into his side. He put a hand on Parv's back, felt the rise and fall of his ribs. It wasn't soft, of course. Parv was very bony. It felt like the ribs of a bellows, working open and shut. He wondered whose blood it was. If there was someone in there with Parvis. But Parvis himself wasn't there either. He was still all elbows and hair and pushiness, but he wasn't laughing at Strife, telling him not to take himself so goddamn seriously at three in the morning.

Strife felt unspeakably alone. He pressed his cheek to Parv's dark, messy hair, wrapped an arm around him and squeezed. It was childish. He knew it was. But he wanted Parv back. Wanted him to wake up and be annoyed at his clinginess and rub his stubble against Strife that way he hated.

Parv woke up, delighted at finding Strife so close in a moment of weakness, instead of just a stiff back pressed against his. "Oh, Strifey, that's adorable." He surged over Strife, pinching him as he yelped and kicked. "You're the one who wanted attention," said Parv to him, laughing and pinning him down as Strife struggled to keep Parv's wet finger out of his ear. "Come on, you like it." Strife pushed him away, a hand on his face, and - and.

It wasn't working. He didn't know what came next.

Parv was still asleep. Strife snorted, irritated at him for that stupid childish ear trick. He blew into Parv's hair, mussing it. He'd get him for it. And for stealing all the covers again. They were wadded up on his side of the bed, he wasn't even using them. It was so unfair.

But Parv needed his sleep. Strife would have worried more if he had been pale, but he was flushed with health, and the blood altar was full and dripping unpleasantly as always. Well, he would have worried the same amount, he always worried, but he would have had a proper reason, at least. But even if he didn't show it, he was running himself ragged. Strife knew he was.

"I think I've really got something," Parv had said quietly. It was so late at night, and Strife had both hands wrapped around a mug of tea. Not that he had any intention of drinking it, he never ate or drank in the blood altar room. But it was warm. Parv rubbed a hand over his face, smearing blood down his cheek. "I really think I'm onto something here. I could be -" he gestured expansively, and Strife flinched, but the blood splatters didn't touch him. He tapered off, staring into the distance, eyes soft.

"Lavaproof?" Strife ventured a suggestion.

Parv laughed, coming back from wherever he was. "You think too small, Strifeykins. This could be it."

Strife was never really certain what it was. It seemed to change, from day to day, and when Parv got close to it, it got further away. It was always about to happen, so Strife concluded that it was never going to actually happen. Still, it was nice to see Parv excited. This was the good part of it, between the sullen mopes of failure and the raw, red-eyed frustration of almost-success, Parv burned with something that didn't glow, didn't cast out heat, but was still there in a way Strife didn't really know how to measure. He hoped this stage would last longer, this time.

The tea grew cold, and they went to bed. The blood altar simmered. Strife had expected the blood to congeal once it was outside of people, but it never did. It stayed as warm as if the altar itself was a living heart and the castle was a body holding its heat in. Absurd, of course. The castle was made of nasty cold stone bricks and Parv had the damn blankets. Strife shifted, trying to burrow underneath Parv. If he had the blankets, it was only fair that he replaced the blankets.

Parv breathed steadily, limp on top of him. It was always hard to disturb him when he was busy. Strife wasn't entirely sure what was taking his attention, but Parv smacked his lips annoyingly close to his ear. Strife pushed his face away, and the smacking stopped. He was wasting time he could have used to sleep. And he was going to miss out on something more interesting than listening to Parv smack his - stop it, Parv. He jostled him, and Parv grunted. He was going to miss out on the delights of Parv's actual company during the day if he stayed up too late and gave himself a headache.

He sighed. What was it humans were supposed to do? Count - count something. Animals? No, humans didn't put those near where they slept. Stars? Bricks, maybe. One ugly brick. Two ugly bricks. So many ugly bricks Parv didn't care enough to replace. He said the window dressing didn't matter. Strife wasn't entirely sure what the difference between a dressed window and an undressed window was, but he figured that Parv had the undressed kind. Maybe he should dress them. Somehow. That would be the proper thing to do, probably, if Parv wasn't doing it.

He petted Parv. It wouldn't bother him, he wasn't going to notice now. He was big and warm like an animal. How many windows did Parv even have? Not a lot. Not enough. Maybe that was part of the dressing. He wasn't sure if he was close to being asleep. You couldn't really notice something like that, couldn't mark it down, think about it, because you were asleep when it happened. He listened to Parv's heartbeat. No point in counting it. It just kept going.

Credit to SummerAtLast on Ao3