Chapter Text
(There is a place where someone loves you both before and after they learn what you are)
The fact that it was destined fucked with his head the most. The image in the Temple haunted him; Boone constantly wanted to go back and look at it. The mural would have been enough to drive him insane if he didn’t start out that way. Sleep had always come difficult for Boone. Here, in the catacombs, sleep eluded him constantly. He knew it could become a problem; when he wasn’t sleeping his delusions and condition worsened. Now his feet were taking him towards the Temple even without thinking.
Boone was glad no one else was around – he didn’t want to admit how much the painting bothered him. Obsessed him, more like. It had to be some fucked up joke, but he didn’t get the punch line.
Staring at the mural didn’t help. Boone kept swaying between hysterical and annoyed. The image was like a smutty, cursed romance novel cover with him sprawled out in Peloquin’s arms like a damsel in distress. It was insane. Someone had painted that before he was even born! Boone refused to believe it. He was trapped in the kingdom of the cuckoo.
Unfortunately, as time went on Boone was starting to suspect that he wasn’t having a psychotic break, and for the first time ever it made him fill with dread. It was getting difficult to treat this as a joke – he had stopped waiting for clarity, couldn’t convince himself that if he just waited long enough, he would wake up in a hospital, wrists slit and so full of medication he couldn’t even remember his own name.
He stared, and shuddered.
Boone knew what he should believe and how little sense it all made… but the objective facts weren’t doing him any favors. He had dreamed about Midian for years, dreamed about him. Boone would never admit it to the monsters. (He was one of them now, his thinking was confused) It was better to let them all think Narcisse let it slip, Boone was in enough shit as it was. Midian blurred everything – this was the borderland between reality and surreality.
They had met in the graveyard, of all places. Boone had been desperate, pleading with him. Now his own words haunted him.
(I came to be with you—)
And Peloquin’s answer had been, ironically:
(No. Sorry—)
Oh how the tables have turned. Now Boone couldn’t get rid of him. Ever since the ‘Breed figured out who he was, after he turned… Peloquin wouldn't leave him be. The madman kept following him around like a lost puppy. The night Boone slept on the grave above Midian had been one of the worst ones in his life so far. And the next thing he knew he’s stuck in a cult, running around endless low-ceilinged corridors – avoiding Decker only trapped him with another lunatic.
If possible, the turnaround made Boone trust him even less. Peloquin did the fastest 180 he’d ever seen, and Boone had been around unstable people all his life. The voice that had echoed so monstrously in the dark kept murmuring his name, offering odd apologies and assurances. Smiling instead of sneering, acting like they’d known each other forever.
I thought he was a dog. A wounded dog; I went as far as to comfort him. Boone still cringed at the memory. Next he thought Peloquin to be a strange miracle; the way he breathed in his features, the mist around him darkening and flowing back and forth in a hypnotic manner. The way his eyes gleamed and fractured moonlight; the sight left him breathless. It was one of the most beautiful delusions his defective brain came up with so far… until it became very real, the lizard darted, ripped half of his chest off and tried to eat him.
Thank fuck Kinski had been there to pull them apart. According to the prophecy, of course he was. Just like Boone was, (lying over skulls) and Peloquin was, (pinning him to the cold ground) all little chess pieces placed perfectly on that moonlit night in the graveyard. There was no getting around destiny.
He was still pissed at Peloquin though. Did he really have to bite that hard? Boone only got angrier when Peloquin didn’t acknowledge any dichotomy between trying to eat someone and growling about undying love a few days later. Boone couldn’t decide what part scared him the most after he returned to Midian. Peloquin or how he could see it on everyone’s faces… the lizard was being completely serious. No introduction, no apology – straight to crooning crazy things Boone interpreted as threats before Narcisse started tittering about marriage.
Boone couldn't wrap his head around the prophecy even when he tried. Seemed a bit convoluted that he was supposed to help save people he knew absolutely nothing about from something they knew nothing about. Boone didn’t even want to touch on the part where he’s supposed to fall in love with the lizard. Boone held some aggressive council with Narcisse at first, acting like he could bargain away the reality.
(We are in an asylum, would you just admit it—)
(This is Midian!)
(Narcisse, listen, listen, listen to me very carefully, we can play Midian but just… please admit it, I need you to tell me I’m being psychotic, this isn’t real—)
(Forget the Flame, you already said no! We should go Below, I keep hearing voices and there are so many tunnels—)
Narcisse could afford to talk. A creepy fire-lizard wasn’t stalking him, how was he supposed to forget that—
“Boone,” a familiar gravelly voice purred.
He almost flinched. The man was like a demon, but worse – this was closer to ‘think of the Lizard and it shall appear’. Boone didn’t want to get caught here, (especially by Peloquin) staring at the stupid painting where he's all but swooning in his arms.
“Fuck off.”
Boone was angry with him, with the prophecy, with Decker, with himself. Peloquin’s constant presence reminded Boone of everything he’d lost. He didn’t want to think about Peloquin, or the bite, or anything else the goddamn pseudo-lizard might want from him.
“Awh. C’mon, I didn’t know who you were back then. How long are you going to stay mad for?” the beast all but whined.
“You tried to eat me, you bastard!”
“It wasn’t personal.”
Warmth was pouring off him in waves. Boone hated how nice it felt in the damp catacombs. He scoffed, conversation over, and went to glare at the Great Wheel. It was painted on the back wall, and Boone wished he understood enough to deny what the Tribes of the Moon were spinning.
“It wasn’t," he said in soft tones.
Boone believed him, and it was infuriating. The problem with Peloquin was that stupid aura of confidence. He was too genuine. All the time, with everything! He hated the adoring looks Peloquin gave him, the fact that he seemed to think the bite and the prophecy gave him some weird claim on him. It was a peculiar kind of anger. A story of some kind was telling itself in him, there was the sense of change, of melting – and Boone wanted none of it.
The murals were driving him mad, and he couldn’t focus with the Lizard staring at him. He wasn’t about to ask Peloquin to elaborate on anything. He couldn’t leave immediately either – it would be like admitting the lunatic was getting to him! Peloquin was leaning against the wall, unbothered; like he couldn’t pick up on the atmosphere. Boone pretended to do math, and the rumbling voice caught him off guard again.
“It’s not embarrassing.”
Boone never thought himself a violent person. And now he was about to start a fistfight. He turned to glare, and Peloquin was smiling.
“For you at least,” he purred, and winked.
“What is your issue!”
“No issue.” The grin dropped a little. “If you don’t believe it, why are you upset?”
If Peloquin asks him one more time—
“Are you shy? ‘Cause its fine if you are—”
Boone was growling. “Get out.”
“I don’t know!” Peloquin laughed, undeterred, and wouldn’t stop giving him heart-eyes. “You didn’t do anything; I’m the one who declared undying devotion… why are you upset? You should be flattered!”
“The prophecy is garbage, if you believe it that’s your embarrassment.”
“Exactly!” He grinned. “I’m not, though.”
No one can be that unbothered; Boone refused to believe it. The man baffled him, annoyed him, confused him… and the more they talked the angrier he got. Boone wanted to be angry. He was afraid the magnetic pull wasn’t all in his psychotic little head, afraid that he would be engulfed in that fever if he didn’t look out: that he would start to believe in another delusion if he listened to Peloquin’s cooing. Boone had proved himself to be stupidly trusting and naïve already.
Unlike Decker, Peloquin even looked like a monster, right off the bat.
“Do you want to see Baphomet?”
He didn’t answer. Boone tried to ignore him; act like Peloquin was a stubborn hallucination.
“There’s this secret passageway,” the gravelly voice continued. “I could show you. You don’t have to talk to Lylesburg, you know?”
There it was again. The way Peloquin could almost read his thoughts made Boone irrationally angry. The prophecy was bullshit, the warmth flowing through him a lie.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” he snapped.
And he didn’t feel bad about the wounded look on Peloquin’s face, he did not. It was ridiculous, it wasn't true. If anything, here’s the proof that Boone was being poisoned. Devotion is just a cover for domination. Boone wasn’t about to be tricked into anything ever again. Here was a nightmare, a real one, staring him in the face.
(To be smoke, to be a wolf, to live for ever: it's not so terrible—)
Boone didn’t want to listen to Lylesburg, he didn’t want to listen to Peloquin, he didn't want to listen to any of them.
(We are beasts, we feel no guilt—)
Boone didn’t want the things that made him human vanish, so he kept lingering on torment. It was a poor comfort. It didn’t matter he was too crazy, or that Lori became cold, or that she'd begun to distance herself even before Decker and the murders: the way he left Lori haunted him. She still had the power to squeeze his heart until it hurt.
She thought him a murderer. He wasn’t. He wasn’t supposed to be here, he didn’t belong in Midian, he didn’t belong anywhere. Peloquin told him the truth in Necropolis, and still Decker managed to kill Boone through his gory schemes.
“You ruined my life,” he muttered.
Peloquin gave him an odd look. “What, you’d rather be dead?”
Boone pretended not to listen. Anyone with working eyes can see the state of his arms. It was an answer in itself – he did, and he didn’t. Crazy people do crazy things, what else is new? Boone was frightened, and his mind wasn’t working right. He was quick to turn away. Sniffing, he gave his nose a quick rub.
“It hurts. It isn’t human here.”
The monster sounded bewildered. “It’s Midian.”
Boone wanted to feel revulsion for the place, but since he didn’t, he was trapped in paradoxical guilt. He didn’t know how he should be when he wasn’t being ostracized or made into an outsider. Worse, everyone just accepted mad behavior from him. No one was gloating about it. If he belonged with monsters, what did it say about him?
Boone kept waiting for him to storm off… only Peloquin wasn’t moving. Boone could see it from the corner of his eye – he looked abandoned standing there. Boone couldn’t do anything to mitigate that hurt, and it was difficult to remain angry when Peloquin seemed so genuinely confused about all of this. Boone was used to angry threats and screaming, and Peloquin remained annoyingly imperturbable.
“It will pass.”
It had already passed. He was a wretched person.
Boone stared at the mural, the stars and the shapes sitting in a tree. Promises of eternal love proved hollow in a matter of weeks, and Midian made promises that even death couldn’t break.
He was being a bit unreasonable by this point, blaming Peloquin for everything. In reality it was all Decker’s fault; the doctor sent him on a wild goose chase and got him shot. It all felt like a confused dream. Boone could still remember the sense of rightness, the fatalist way he'd been desperate to get to Midian. The excitement, almost unbearable tension… and then the crushing despair of finding a ghost town.
“I don’t believe any of this.”
Peloquin stepped closer to him; Boone could feel the feverish warmth he was radiating. He was so tired. And cold. He might have leaned closer subconsciously, but later he denied it. They were strangers and the sense of familiarity was black magic and psychosis. Boone didn’t want to look at his face; he was afraid of what he might find there. He was stubbornly stuck on Lori and he refused to entertain any kind of thoughts about the—
Two hands encircled his wrists; so warm it almost burned. Peloquin maneuvered him in a way that his back was literally against a wall, and pressed his hands above his head. Boone wished he was faster, aggressive (like in Necropolis) so this scene would have been easier to deny later. Peloquin wasn’t, so it was worse – how Boone just let it happen. He could feel the warm, ragged breath hitting his face, his neck; Boone was engulfed in fire. Their faces were so close, blue eyes flickered down to his mouth and Boone was still just staring! Boone felt dizzy; drunk.
The stone wall felt even colder in contrast when Peloquin pressed his lips onto his. The surprise still overruled common sense. Boone didn’t have time for anxiety; too many things were going on simultaneously. Simmering heat, fever (Peloquin) and Boone was too distracted with the warmth to pull himself together. It was soft, too soft and when Boone took a shuddering breath the Lizard lost it. It was almost a hallucinatory jump cut – arms slipped around him, bodies lined closer together. Peloquin was kissing him with desperation; like he was trying to prove something to both of them. His breath was unnaturally warm, like there was a constant fire inside him. After the cold catacombs it made Boone shudder, he felt his knees go weak.
The worst part was that Boone wasn’t doing anything about it – kissing him back. Peloquin pressed himself harder against him, releasing a steady, deep-throated growl. Boone was in a trance, the only thing holding him up was Peloquin. The bite mark in his chest convulsed, like it was trying to get closer to the man… it felt like his very blood was calling out to him. Peloquin was breathing the mist out, into him, and it felt good too – Boone was dizzy, his breath came in swift little gasps. He was rolling his hips, Peloquin growled deep from his chest and bent to kiss his neck, hard, like he meant to devour him. It sent a charge through his body, Boone couldn’t catch his breath and he was unraveling so fast—
Peloquin was licking him. (Gross! but…) Boone realized he might have done something as embarrassing as whine, and it would have been so easy to go with it, keep going – he recognized the impulse as madness when he felt a tightening in his stomach. This isn't happening.
“Get off me!”
Peloquin let him squirm away from him, but the look of absolute hurt was evident on his face.
Boone was enraged. At himself for letting Peloquin do this to him, forgetting all about Lori. He couldn't be this touch-starved and stupid. He was absolutely livid that the… the… Lizard managed to do something to him that Lori (or anyone really) couldn’t.
The antipsychotics have worn off, his dick wasn’t hard because of something as stupid as magic. Not from grinding against… Boone blocked the thought completely. No: from being groped by a pirate Lizard. The only thing getting grinded were his gears. This proved nothing. Nothing else than Boone being psychotic.
Boone was wiping his mouth, his hands were shaking. “Don’t… don’t ever again—“
He was supposed to love Lori, renounce the insane prophesies – and here he was, already giving himself up, with no fight at all. His face felt blazing hot.
“You felt it. Admit it,” Peloquin pleaded with him.
He would never.
“Leave me alone!” Boone hissed. “I never said anything! It doesn’t mean anything!”
He all but escaped the chamber, leaving confused looking Peloquin alone.
“Boone!” his voice boomed after him.
He didn’t answer, he couldn’t.