Matteo

It's tough to be a god

The Great Matteo. How teasing those words she offered him then in the wake of that singular touch off her hand to his arm in those moments in which his own thoughts had found themselves turned towards those far less....pleasant ideals. He had been oblivious, entirely, to how those very emotions had managed to circumnavigate that facade of delight he so often wore and expose, no matter how briefly, the very depth of feeling the matter of Risque so prompted within him. How many years had he followed in her wake, cleaning up after that veritable hurricane of destruction she had become? How many broken things had he tried to put back together? Perhaps he was a fool for continuing to try. To place his faith in a future he had seen in which the world was right again and yet how many paths that future had. Paths that were so often unclear and tangled and littered with devastation along the way all the same. Perhaps it was a matter of guilt that so inspired him, after all these years, to continue to try and help those unfortunate souls who fell into her path. After all, he had long since blamed himself for her very existence to begin with and yet it was surely more than that. He simply could not bring himself not to care.

How Isabella had often teased him for his 'tender heart' when she had lived! The world, she had said, was made to ruin people with such hearts as that and that he surely must be exhausted from the effort. How right she had been. How much he had resented his own nature over the years. His inability to simply not turn away and yet more than that- he had come to question his veritable existence time and time again. If fate was an entity, why had it chosen him to deliver its visions? What crime had he committed to be so cursed with a lifetime of seeing devastation after devastation with little true ability to prevent it or indeed- to pay a price for his interference? Surely Fate might have chosen someone more suitable for the role. Someone less inclined to feel and yet perhaps that was the ultimate irony. Perhaps he, the one who spoke for Fate itself- was its ultimate victim. The Great Matteo. How Ironic it seemed and yet that simper so found his lips all the same. That veritable facade pulled firmly back once more as he regarded the young woman before him. His impish demeanor wholly returned. Harley, like Tetradore, one being he was determined not to fail. We help each other. Ho very much those words meant, even if she hardly realised there true impact.

"I think, Mon Amie, you did."

He offered warmly. Harley so surely having won that veritable round and yet neither seemed inclined to mention it in that moment. How very innocent that young woman appeared then as she lifted her knees upward to embrace them to her chest, her arms wrapped about them in a girlish fashion. That very sight so flaring that near protective instinct within the Frenchman once more. He could not, would not, allow Risque to ruin another being. Not this one. Harley appearing near strikingly vulnerable in that moment, far more vulnerable, he suspected, then she had so intended and yet it was as if she had near read his thoughts. The woman appearing to steele herself in near that same moment. As if having come to some great decision within her own mind. Ah, but that fire would suit her well. How much she would need it in the months to come. He need only help her keep it alight. The near ancient Fae mostly assured off his ability to do just that and yet, here and now, that matter of sleep was perhaps a far more potent one. Sleep, after all, had a way of restoring far more than merely energy. Sleep having become Tetradore's own veritable refuge after all these years and yet he near suspected it had been....some time since Harley had truly slept.

How easy it was to embrace that affinity. Matteo disappearing from that couch only to reappear at the kitchen sink. The Frenchman nothing if not wholly domestic in that moment as he saw to cleaning up that kitchen and setting aside the newly washed plate before returning to the lounge. The young woman suddenly and effortlessly scooped up and into his arms. How very....petite she was. That dark-haired beauty fitting near perfectly agianst his chest. Her form decidedly light and easy to carry. Matteo quote unable to prevent those near teasing words all the same as he sought to return them to their usual game. That evening, after all, had been heavy enough for them both. Surely it was better to chase away those darker thoughts with that veritable ease the pair had found in conversation with one another and that teasing game they had all but mastered the play off. Harley, by far, the most adapt player he had come across in many years. How very refreshing it was. Such a bold woman a true rarity and yet one he enjoyed thoroughly. Matteo hardly anticipating that sudden insistence there was surely a 'daddy' joke to be had. The Frenchman outrightly scoffing in that moment. His silver eyes offering that gentle role.

"Believe me, Mon Cherie, I have heard most of them before. They are not my favourites to hear though, they are really creative."

How readily that amusement so laced his accented words all the same. Harley so seeming to...relax all the more in the wake of their return to that ready banter- just as he had so intended. Yet how very much he intended to up the stakes of that game tonight! Harley no sooner laid upon that bed then Matteo was near content to all but straddle her figure with teasing ease. That young woman nothing short of....utterly alluring beneath that moonlight and yet how readily he worked to conceal his own veritable...appreciation of that very fact. How delightful it was to prompt her heart to flutter and dance within her chest. Ah, but he need tell Alexander he surely still had it, after all these years! Each catch of the young woman's breath, each shift off her feminine figure beneath him nothing short of appealing and yet surely it was supposed to be he whom was leading this dance, was it not? A dance whose end he had contemplated more then once. The pair inevitably likely to fall only one of two ways and yet how they balanced so precariously upon that veritable edge all the same. He leaned but easily forward then, her breath wholly warm against this own lips as he uttered those words, that unintentional shift of Harley's figure so prompting her lips to brush unbidden agianst his own. That swift, supple softness terribly enticing then and for a precarious moment he very nearly considers simply....giving in to that game and taking her here and now. Ah, but surely he should not. Not when he had so little to give her beyond a singular night. Not when her life did not need the complication off his own. Was she not his own sons vector? How very much Aiden might...frown at him for that and yet....he could hardly deny those thoughts that danced with decided pleasure within his mind. Even as he rolled from her figure and that ready, warm laughter found that night air from the both of them.

How very...terrible he was to prompt such wakefulness within her when he had only moments ago declared it was surely time for her to sleep. That impish simper upon his lips still as he settled beside her all the same- that query for what she might request off him seeming to prompt a moment of consideration within her and once more it is almost as if they linger upon that very precipice once more- before Harley so insist that very question reminds her of another she was once asked. A soft chuckle rising within his throat again as his arms folded behind his head now. That bed unusually comfortable. How much he had doubted it based upon its appearance. She rolls upon her side then to face him. That moon content to illuminate them both. Harley insisting he already knew the answer to that question she posses. Matteo allowing that simper to find his lips again.

"My darling, I do not think I ever know what you are thinking, yet i quite enjoy that. You surprise me and the world has not surprised me in a very long time. But I think I might take pleasure in considering all the answers you might have given me. Wherever shall my mind take me."

One eye lifted just so. Matteo wholly content to tease at the woman still even as his own thoughts were near prompted to consider that ever fateful day they had met and the moment in which he had, once, compared her to the arctic. A description he was inclined to still find accurate. The Frenchman quick to attempt to cover that hitch in his breath with another soft chuckle as her fingers toyed at his shirt and the young woman decided to make herself comfortable atop him again. This, it seemed, her favoured place in the world and one he was not inclined to remove her from. Her warmth decidedly comfortable, in an odd fashion, a curiosity of sorts for just why he seemed to enjoy her company tugging at him and yet for now he allowed such thoughts to pass. Matteo, instead, offering her but a piece of that tale off his life he had promised her. That story starting at the very beginning. His arms shifted then, lifting from behind his head to wrap easily around her figure, pressing her down agianst him in that position he near knew she desired to be in even if she hardly dared ask for it, or admit it to herself. Matteo content to simply....be her comfort tonight. Because the world so surely owed her that. After all she had been through. Her question prompting that soft sound of inquiry from him then.

"My Mother? She was on a peacekeeping operation overseas in a very remote part of the world. I was woken up in the night by the vision of the bombing but my nearest teleport location to her own was was several miles away. I tried to get to her in time but I couldn't reach her. She was killed in the bombing."

How matter-of-factly he delivers those very words. Those barriers firmly in place once more and yet he could hardly deny he missed her. After all, she had been a presence in his life for well over 2000 years. Alexander, now, the only being left whom had shared most off his life- and how very much that other man meant to him. He was almost pleased for her insistence he was wicked to play this game with her. The frenchman inclined to agree with that promise he would surely cease, at least for tonight, and if only to allow her to finally find that sleep. The violet eyed woman seeming to settle more comfortably agianst him then, her head upon his chest, perhaps in search of that scent she seemed to delight in so much. Matte inclined to notice how very dark her hair truly was in the dark as she insisted he was bad for her health. That chuckle humming within his chest.

"I would believe that."

He offered simply. That offering of another story seeming to lull his companion into a further state of contentment. Matteo near assured that all she simply needed was....to be held. Even if she so refused to admit to to herself. Tetradore had needed it once. Alexander had needed it over the years. Dorian had received it from him too. There was no shame, he was sure, in Harley so deserving to feel safe enough to sleep. That a comfort well within his power to provide. Along with those added words in those accented tones. Matteo continuing with that story now. How long had it been since he had remembered that childhood home, back before it was France. Before it was Gaul. Back when they had been celtic and the world had seemed to stretch for miles in every direction and those fields had gone on and on. Harley assuring him what she pictured was beautiful- and how right she was. Her sudden query on that horse near heavy with sleep.

"Many times."

He uttered softly. After all, he had not always been The Great Matteo. He had, once, been a very small, barefooted farm boy, clinging to his father's shirt and asking to be lifted onto the horse so he could try to ride it again. That story halted once more by his name upon her lips. Harley querying suddenly after that very tattoo. That sleep, it seemed, finally beginning to tug at her.
"I enjoy having the world at my feet a very great deal. I think it suits me, Mon Cherie. You did very well. I still owe you for it."

She near nuzzled agianst him then. Matteo almost assured she was hardly listening any longer and yet- was not that the very point? The Frenchman content to continue with his story before she seemed to defy that sleep once more to ask after his favourite memory with his family. How unfortunate it was that she so missed that surprise upon his features! That a question he had never been asked. Yet- how little he had to think about it.

"I have two. The christmas the year before my Father was killed. It was the last time we were all together and this year- I had both my sons and my best friend together for thanksgiving. I have wanted that for so long. It meant the world to me, Mon Cherie."

How very personal those words and yet, perhaps, they were easier to speak to someone whom had perhaps not even heard them at all. How steady her breathing had become. Harley stilling agianst him as that sleep at last seemed to take hold. Matteo remaining wholly still in turn so as not to disturb her before she suddenly seemed to find one final moment of wakefulness. That final query prompting that near amused look. What a curious thing to ask. Such a curious woman.

"Sometimes I dream about my family, my children, people i know and sometimes I dream about utterly ridiculous things that make no sense. I had a dream about toasters once. So many toasters all throughout my house. Why did I buy so many toasters...."

That simper tugged at his lips then, his head angled slightly to assure himself the woman was asleep before he shifted just so as to lift one hand. That bottle of men's cologne summed to his hand then before being placed upon the bedside table, along with another of his near infamous notes, explaining its use for her to find in the morning. Matteo leaning that piece of paper agianst the bottle before settling back agianst the bed once more. A final flick off his hand summoning that book. The Frenchman content to keep both his arms around her as he turned to that page, neatly folded at the corner, to find that place he had last left off on. It was, after all, hardly late within France and indeed far to early for his own sleep. The man simply content to merely watch over her tonight. His gaze cast briefly downward to assure she was still fast asleep. Exhaustion, he suspected, long having taken over now. Those accented words leaving him quietly once more. Matteo content to read that book aloud in those soft, quiet tones even if she had long since ceased to listen.

"Main à main, c'est comme ça que ça va être, une bataille de vie ou de mort contre le démon, et celui que la mort enlève sera soumis au jugement du Seigneur."