Leave me things or request a starter ★ Slow Tagging ★ I'm bad at sexting ★ Picture Prompt Generators: m/m or f/m ★ kink list but tbh just ask ★ potential tw: underage, drugs, childhood trauma, mental illness, please warn in subject headers ★ in-game/AU continuity optional
[ Perhaps one of the worst things to come out of academia are staff meetings. Right up there with pointless hole punching of papers half the student body are just going to throw away anyway. Rose makes a commendable effort to pay attention to whatever it is Bob is talking on about - Sylwia, defenses being bolstered, the monthly lunch menu - but her mind starts to wander about half-way through. And naturally not to anywhere appropriate. It's really not her fault. All these men in suits is an unfair amount of hotness confined to one room; of course, she only really has eyes for one. They aren't sitting next to each other due to different houses, different positions but she can still make obvious her appreciation of his aesthetic from across the way all the same.
Once they're dismissed, she tries hard to get back on track. Focus on her responsibilities at the infirmary. It doesn't work. So she takes a break, leaving Kevon to look after things for a bit. She's thankful he doesn't question her grabbing the doctor's coat on the way out. Sometime shortly after, she can probably been seen not as subtly as she thinks sneaking her way into Nen's office wearing the aforementioned large, loose medical coat herself. ] Hey, [ she starts. Casually. So casual. Don't mind at all that she locks the door behind her. This is totally just a friendly hello from the resident nurse and not at all the set-up to a quiche amateur porno. ]
Do you have class soon? [ Whatever he's currently occupied with, it's not as important as her. Or at least that's the impression she gives as she saunters over towards his desk, though it probably looks more silly than sexy in her oversized choice of dress- Oh, no. Wait. There's the sexy as she easily shirks it off her shoulders, dropping it to the floor, and reveals the lingerie beneath. A lacy, studded number with little tassels on the hem that wiggle as she walks. It's open in the front, too, breasts brazenly on display though if she has any shame about it at all it doesn't show. Instead, she simply smiles. Cute. Coy. ] Because you might be late.
[ He will be, if she has any say in the matter. Excuse her as she easily hops into his lap where he sits, one hand gliding down to the waist of his still buttoned and belted pants - though that'll be changing soon - while the other tugs at his tie to bring him down for a kiss. ]
[when you've been alive for over a thousand years, your standards for relative discomfort get skewed. you remember what it is to be human, but you've never experienced the aches and decay of old age. you've had injury and heartbreak, you've seen war.
so it's paradoxical and perfectly ordinary, that being in a suit is simultaneously very irritating and of no consequence at all. one of those things that nen is accustomed to resenting, but vain enough to enjoy, and the best of all
when he's cornered in his lecture hall by the woman who pulls apart the panel of her overgarment to expose a smooth column of naked skin, black lace in between, like a waterfall parting to show a mermaid. his smile is automatic, unchoreographed, boyishly spontaneous. she touches him, and he touches her back, sliding a long, pale hand over her hip, in under the coat, deep, until the fabric starts to slide off her lovely shoulders.
he'd think they'd made her out of marzipan just for him to eat, but there's more genius than design to the silvery lines of her scars. he picks her up off her feet.]
[ Rose would be far from opposed to being eaten in all the best kind of ways. Being delectable is exactly the kind of image she's going for in this moment; she'd be happy to know it was working.
Her lips find the strong line of his jaw, pressing gentle kisses to it. Peppering his neck with them. She sighs contently, warm against his skin, at the hand that slides over her hip. He might feel the hint of a smile too once the kisses continue. They'll pause because 1) she needs a bit more concentration to work with one hand at unbuckling his belt (who invented belts anyway, they're so inconvenient) and 2) ]
Of course not, [ she has to answer. A peep of a laugh sounding as she's picked up. ] Where's the fun in that? [ Since this - what they have - is fun. Even for as tumultuous as it can seem at times, how difficult they both might otherwise be. She has fun with him in a way she never had before, never thought she could. Others might catch her fancy occasionally but she doesn't enjoy being with them the way she does Nen; she doesn't love them the way she does Nen. ]
[In the meantime, in Nen's universe, all of Rosie's rivals are dead--
— but also immortal because of it, high-gloss and glorified, preserved in a flattering skew of memories, divorced from their flaws as much as they are from the pleasures of flesh. In many ways, Nen and Rosie have the opposite problems when it comes to love and fidelity. Mired in different things. But it works out more times than it doesn't. It's working out today. If you want to know the truth, Nen loves her flaws as much as he loves the rest of her. The unpredictable agony of her disappearances reminds him he is not inured to loss.]
I would've liked to see Sir Bob's face if you said something about the spirit of cold sore at his door.
[But he leans in, wraps his hands around her hindquarters. Picks her up, tush first, easily despite his own narrow frame. He sets her on the heavy flat of his desk, a smile ghosting his mouth when he feels the metal part of his belt come loose. He skims his fingers over the circumference of her thighs, following the hem around into her groin-- and then he tucks a thumb into the seat of it, sliding past the smooth fabric and into the moisture of her body.]
[ He'll be the one immortalized this time. Long before she is, at any rate, which is something she doesn't like to think about. Dwell on. She knows their time is limited. It's always in the back of her mind, which is probably why she's more prone to spontaneous gestures such as this one. Why she's tried to be less flighty in recent times. It hasn't worked out quite as well as she's hoped, yet. Like they say: If it's meant to be, set it free. If it's meant to be it'll come back, you see.
And Rose always comes back to Nen. ] Almost everyone, [ she corrects, lightly. ] Sometimes I think we're a bit desensitized to disasters.
[ How many times now has the academy come back from the brink of uncertain demise?Too many to count. Too many to care about. All she seems to care about right now, honestly, is getting him out of his pants. Now that the belt is unbuckled, she works fast at unbuttoning the slacks. A hand sliding down smoothly once they're loose, fingers wiggling almost impatiently under the waistband of his underthings. Brushing just barely against the base of his cock lightly, almost teasing in a way. She does like to tease. ]
Kiss me, [ she suddenly demands, shuddering breath at the fingers that tease against sensitive skin growing gradually more slick. She wiggles on the hard wooden surface on his desk, eagerly awaiting the feel of his lips against hers. Eagerly awaiting a lot of things he no doubt has in store for her. ]
[ the best part of fucking in public is that cillian doesn't have to take his clothes off, or at least not more than's required for the job at hand. he's not got his dick out yet, though he's unzipped his trousers and rucked up his shirt, leaving visible the sparse hair on his pale belly and the swirl of tattoo over scar tissue that leads into his white briefs. he can feel the music of the club vibrating the bathroom's grotty tiles and up into his knees. ]
You locked the door, right?
[ throwing a glance over to the door to the men's as though he'd be able to tell. even if anyone else were in here still, or came in, he's probably just this side of not caring. it would be a reasonable assumption to think him drunk, or on something, with the desperate and clumsy way his hands pull at the other's belt, with the thickness of his out of place accent making his words seem slurry, with the carelessness for his own dignity that's brought them both here in the first place. but cillian doesn't drink.
his mouth gets involved too soon, metal of the zip pressing into his pouty lower lip, cloth dry on his tongue. he looks up, eyes bright, intent. ]
Fuck my mouth.
IF THIS IS TOO EMBARRASSING I CAN SWITCH CHARACTERS LOL
[janus nods. they had indeed locked the door, although it unsettles them for a moment that cillian had asked— makes their mind stutter back to the last time they tried something like this, like maybe they hadn't been supposed to lock the door, unless asked.
they'd had a beer. they're grateful for it now. third time's the charm, surely; you can only fail to get off in anonymous bathroom sex so many times before, surely, an orgasm is bound to hit you at some point.
and it's with this optimistic attitude that janus pulls their pants open. button fly through the hole, a tug of the zipper. briefs underneath— they're black, though, because they read about connotations and have little interest in being laughed at. killing's easier than getting anyone to like you, but maybe the healthier reframe is somewhere in between murder and like. janus' cock is hard and red already, lifting out of the elastic when they pull the waistband down.
they put a callused thumb on cillian's jaw, exerting a degree of force that falls between signaled intent and mechanical force, stretching the hinge open, the pale walls of cillian's cheeks. they should say something, they think.]
[ mouth pulled further open, cillian's tongue rests thick and relaxed and pink, just touching the smooth inner skin of his lower lip. pornstar, come-on-my-face kind of tongue. he knows well how blue his eyes are when he looks upwards like this. looking at janus' face instead of his cock.
but the picture he's painting gets ruined by the need for a response. his tone turns dismissive. ]
Not particularly.
[ he swallows without fully closing his mouth, a talent useful for blowjobs and dental work. ]
D'you want to tell me? I can say it, if you're into that.
No, [janus says, pretty quickly, but not so quickly as to suggest they didn't have to think about it. they did. but they realize that getting fucked in the mouth and repeating somebody's name are somewhat incompatible behaviors, and between the two options
well, cillian probably knows what he looks like. blue eyes and a mouth that looks like a puffy circle even when it's closed. i'm into this, they almost say, but they think-- better to show than tell. that's the rule. so they set their cock into the other man's bottom lip, a wet pink collision of wet pink parts, watching the stretch of cillian's mouth as a dick -- theirs -- pries it open. watching for teeth to, a little, even the concerns are not as acute as they are in our other thread, yikes.
besides
besides cillian's so thin, his cheeks so hollow that it's clear to see when the bulge is because of dick moving inside of them. it's nice. his eyes are also nice, even if he doesn't seem-- particularly.]
[ when there's finally a dick in his mouth cillian gives a relieved little exhale from his long nose, lashes fluttering for a moment as his jaw adjusts proper-like. he had begun to think they weren't actually going to get here after all.
his knees slide apart slightly, just shifting his weight even as his mouth goes all suction, sealed around the skin of their cock and working devotedly as they begin to move. dopamine or seratonin or some other shit he doesn't really understand hits fast and sweet, and groans happily, forces his eyes back open to look up ad watch. ]
[ Zeke had been fighting what felt like impossible odds. It wasn't Sylwia's army, but an entirely different enemy which had swarmed over the island like insects and threatened to tear everything and everyone apart. There was only so much an Incubus could take, even while immortal, without fresh sexual energy to regenerate him he was beginning to weaken. They could rend him limb-from-limb and he'd eventually put himself back together, but by then it'd be too late. All would be lost. Suddenly there was a familiar scream. Knox? Becks? Prissy? Someone took his hand and then everything went dark.
His eyelids felt heavy, as if there were weights attached to them, and they could barely open. He could see the sun, feel it on his skin, feel the waves lapping over his aching body- his wounds stinging from the salt. How did he get to the beach? He didn't know and he was too weak to move. A shadow of a figure blocked the light, hovered above him, and while Zeke couldn't make out who or what it was, instinct took over. He reached up, his fingers threading into the hair at the back of their neck as his faint powers attempted to work, then he pulled them down to kiss them.
It was similar to water slowly trickling into the mouth of a man dying of dehydration in the desert, he tasted the energy he needed in minimal measure and was in desperate need of more- he simply didn't have the power to take it. It would have to be given. ]
Oh, Ezekiel, [janus had said from across the beach, a little like a fainting damsel, except they weren't fainting. they ran. it's been eight years, but they recognize the leviathan shape of his brown shoulders, the distinct tattoo laddered over his shoulder, his shaven head. what's new is the wounds. a horror to look at, surprised flesh and sluggish bleeding.
kneeling at his side, they press a piece of gauze to his chest unthinkingly-- old-fashioned first aid. but when he pulls at them, they remember. of course, of course. an incubus can be sound of limb entirely, and die still. they kiss him. he tastes salty. it occurs to janus that this is dangerous, but their heart moves to think how weak his hand feels behind their head, and they aren't a child anymore if they ever were; they have faith in themself to stop, if and when they need to.] Hello Ezekiel, it's Janus here, [they whisper against his mouth.
then they kiss him again. the fistful of gauze falls into the water-- they brace themself above him with a fist in the beach, exhaling gently across his cheek, soothed by the familiarity of the motion and the smell of sun on his cheek, already straightening their legs beside him and reaching for the fastening of their trousers.]
[ The first hint that he should know the person he was kissing was the fact that the energy was a lot stronger than that of a stranger, unless the stranger just happened to be really into the sight of big beat-up brown bald guys. That was confirmed when he heard the whisper, soft enough where he couldn't recognize the voice either way but he trusted it based on taste.
Janus had come back to save Mythian and that made his aching heart leap with joy. It would have been too easy to label them a murderer and sweep them away from his thoughts, but they were so much more complicated than that. They were beautiful, someone that really ought to be doing good for the world, and here they were doing exactly that.
The more powerful Janus' kiss was the stronger Zeke became. Now he was able to move his arms, thank god, because the first thing he reached for was Janus' face. He smoothed his fingers over their well-defined jaw, one he thought he had memorized but it felt different for some reason. It didn't matter, he groaned in relief against their mouth. It was like coming home, but even more than that- Janus was saving him.
A moment later he lifted them up by their waist and set them on top of his lap. The more contact they had the better, it was practical but there was also another reason behind it, one he voiced in a whisper of his own: ]
[eight years after they met, lust is a familiar feeling to janus-- heat flushing down their groin, through their arms, tight in their back and their thighs.
confusion, though. they've had less of that since they were sixteen, since zeke taught them how to use their dick and their hands and their mouth for pleasure, since they spent time away learning what they liked and learning about what— who-- love had made them into. they've become accustomed to certainty in this, confidence in knowing themself and their lot. they managed to hold course through any amount of weird supernatural shit: losing their face, losing their world, being a member of an anti-enhanced mafia for ten days.
but zeke picks them up and puts them on his lap like they weigh no more than a kitten, and it flusters them beyond everything!! to realize that he isn't seeing them. that he doesn't-- know. does he?] Zeke-- [for the first time in years, they miss their old voice. embarrassed, they turn their face into the side of zeke's head, nuzzling his ear, tuck their face in his neck like they're hiding a secret there, or maybe an apology, punctuated with kisses.]
[ The way Janus said his name reminded the incubus that perhaps he should be more prudent- after all, he shouldn't be having sex with someone that he was in love with who couldn't love him back. But this wasn't a simple situation, he was damaged and unless he had some sexual healing he was going to be stuck on that beach until he died.
Still, he ought to give Janus the option: tell them that they could get someone else if they were uncomfortable, he'd be fine after those kisses. But those kisses were also the reason why he wasn't saying that, why he was being selfish and holding their body against his own. A body that was build for killing against one made to love. He refused to give into stereotypes or listen to reason, he missed them too much for that.
He sighed and tilted his head back, allowing himself just to feel those lips as they traversed his sensitive skin. He felt prickles and tingles throughout his body, he could even wiggle his toes again as the waves lapped at them. ]
Janus... [ Whispered reverently while his hands settled on their ass. They fit together, groin to groin, and Zeke weakly began to rock his hips up to create more friction between them. ] Please, Janus... I need you. [ More then they'll ever truly know, but this would have to do. ]
[ you're not supposed to start relationships with other patients. that's the rule. to prevent everything from unnecessary drama to the possibility that someone who swings abusive will take advantage of someone vulnerable. but josh thinks that's bullshit; they're not kids. being fucked up in the head doesn't suddenly make them incapable of making decisions for themselves.
it's about three in the morning when josh climbs into bed with kavinsky. it's the kind of bold he never would have been around any of his friends in his-- former life, but then, that repression obviously got a bunch of people killed, and he cares less about what people here think. he picked kavinsky for two reasons: one, he seems unlikely to worry about breaking the rules, considering if you want something in here, he's the guy to get it for you. two: he made a joke about josh's dick in group. that's it. those are his two reasons.
(or maybe also, he thinks kavinsky is kind of cute. or maybe also, like recognizes self-destructive like. or maybe also, he's hoping he's wildly wrong and kavinsky won the award for 'most likely to beat the shit out of him in a gay panic'.)
he puts a hand low on kavinsky's stomach, nuzzles his face close to his jaw, breathing in that clean sleep smell. ]
[there's a split-second electroshock jolt of tension through kavinsky's body, in that transition stage between dead and awake. it's not as pretty as peter pan makes it sound, but there are probably still enough connotations about deficits in maturity.]
Yo. Are you gonna rape me?
[his voice emerges scratchy and sleep-worn. a skinny hand spiders up the blanket, trying to locate josh's jaw in the semi-darkness. kavinsky handles himself like he's got money, and he always has, but still the pads of his fingers are weirdly rough as he pokes the small bones of josh's throat.] If you're the fattie from Meditation with the beard, I'm gonna put up more of a fight. You're gonna have to use your fat to hold me down.
[his grin glints serrated in the dim light, a sharp edge in the middle of the rubber donut of his too-full mouth. still slow, but quickening, when he turns his head to search out the other man's face.]
[ No, he's the guy with the frog mouth and the facial scarring, the one that looks like half of a Glasgow grin. Nearly everything else wendigo is gone: his color has returned, they filed his teeth down, and his darkvision faded when his eyes returned to their normal color. But the scars remained, and he cats into Kavinsky's touch so he can feel it. ]
It's Josh. We had trauma yoga.
[ He stared at Kavinsky's ass a lot instead of Being Aware Of His Body. But he's feeling pretty mindful now, of all the places he's crowding into personal space, of the weight of his hand and the unlikely angles of his bony body. ]
[the scar is weird. kavinsky had thought so under fluorescent light, and he thinks so now in the dark, too, his coarse fingers bumping and skimming over the ridge on josh's cheek, his eyes intent. he has a reading light that he doesn't use for reading. they can use that soon!]
Nah. Stay.
[kavinsky is touch-starved the way he's food-starved. he looks like he ought to be hungry for it all the time, rail-thin, but he's usually distracted enough not to feel it, right up until the moment he's caving in wanting ready to binge himself sick. he is developing a boner right now, groping around josh's shoulder, fumbly but more awake by the minute, his wrist getting stuck on the downward venture.] You wanna sixty nine? Or you don't mind wiping poo off your thing later?
[ josh giggles, a rattly skeleton sound, digs his fingernails into soft stomach and scrapes (it's not really anything, his nails bitten to stubs.) but it feels more appropriate than just feeling everything out. ]
Whatever.
[ he's had worse than shitdick and honestly? honestly? he doesn't really believe kavinsky is down to clown like that, not with no lube and no condoms. underestimating what he likes, maybe. ]
You trust me not to bite your dick off?
[ there's enough contained glee in his tone that it's hard to tell if he's joking. (he isn't.) ]
[ For the good of the city block, Kyle turns on his power dampener before arriving. No one likes their homes being burnt to a crisp for the sake of one boy's pleasure. But that means he's lost his usual black horns, his fangs, and his white-hot eyes. They're blue now, only adding to this wholesome package Kyle's got going on.
But this time he steers clear of the pastel blue button down shirt and khakis. He turns up instead at Kavinsky's door in jeans and a (still wholesome) cotton shirt. Baby steps, you know. Then he knocks on the guy's door like a good, polite one-night stand. ]
[the door swings open in a blink. kavinsky's home alone, free, unconcerned-- for once, for now— with the drama of ravenkru.
in the safety of his own home, kavinsky has no shoes, a few buttons loose on his plaid shirt. still wearing khakis, a neat silver stud fastened to one earlobe, slightly rumpled. in public, he usually grooms a little more fastidiously-- part of his rehabilitated image. he looks at kyle for a moment, and a smile twists his mouth. of course, his public image is that way specifically because his private life, unbeknownst to anyone !! has gotten exponentially worse since he let loose a nightmare plague across the import cities.]
C'mon in, sweetheart. [he opens the door.] Beer or wine?
[too pure. how fucking ridiculous. kavinsky watches him pass, then nods, pulling the door shut. he 'doesn't drink' anymore either, except of course-- in private.
but purity's fun sometimes. it can be a good game. kavinsky probably would be like, 90% less of a serial killer these days if he weren't at least somewhat interested in taking people down from the light. kyle's walking into the apartment, so he probably misses it when kavinsky watches him, thoughtful, calculating, an alligator watching a red bird.]
I got a new carpet by the coffee table, [he says.] Why don't you sit there and I'll get you a soda. Tell me what you think.
[ Kyle certainly doesn't. His worst habit is trusting people openly. That is, until he gets bit. ]
About the... carpet?
[ The soda? Oh God, he has no clue. Gotta be the carpet. Kyle does as he's told and makes his way past the entrance and into the living room. There he sits down by the edge of the coffee table. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
do i even need to say tbh
[ Perhaps one of the worst things to come out of academia are staff meetings. Right up there with pointless hole punching of papers half the student body are just going to throw away anyway. Rose makes a commendable effort to pay attention to whatever it is Bob is talking on about - Sylwia, defenses being bolstered, the monthly lunch menu - but her mind starts to wander about half-way through. And naturally not to anywhere appropriate. It's really not her fault. All these men in suits is an unfair amount of hotness confined to one room; of course, she only really has eyes for one. They aren't sitting next to each other due to different houses, different positions but she can still make obvious her appreciation of his aesthetic from across the way all the same.
Once they're dismissed, she tries hard to get back on track. Focus on her responsibilities at the infirmary. It doesn't work. So she takes a break, leaving Kevon to look after things for a bit. She's thankful he doesn't question her grabbing the doctor's coat on the way out. Sometime shortly after, she can probably been seen not as subtly as she thinks sneaking her way into Nen's office wearing the aforementioned large, loose medical coat herself. ] Hey, [ she starts. Casually. So casual. Don't mind at all that she locks the door behind her. This is totally just a friendly hello from the resident nurse and not at all the set-up to a quiche amateur porno. ]
Do you have class soon? [ Whatever he's currently occupied with, it's not as important as her. Or at least that's the impression she gives as she saunters over towards his desk, though it probably looks more silly than sexy in her oversized choice of dress- Oh, no. Wait. There's the sexy as she easily shirks it off her shoulders, dropping it to the floor, and reveals the lingerie beneath. A lacy, studded number with little tassels on the hem that wiggle as she walks. It's open in the front, too, breasts brazenly on display though if she has any shame about it at all it doesn't show. Instead, she simply smiles. Cute. Coy. ] Because you might be late.
[ He will be, if she has any say in the matter. Excuse her as she easily hops into his lap where he sits, one hand gliding down to the waist of his still buttoned and belted pants - though that'll be changing soon - while the other tugs at his tie to bring him down for a kiss. ]
yells!!
so it's paradoxical and perfectly ordinary, that being in a suit is simultaneously very irritating and of no consequence at all. one of those things that nen is accustomed to resenting, but vain enough to enjoy, and the best of all
when he's cornered in his lecture hall by the woman who pulls apart the panel of her overgarment to expose a smooth column of naked skin, black lace in between, like a waterfall parting to show a mermaid. his smile is automatic, unchoreographed, boyishly spontaneous. she touches him, and he touches her back, sliding a long, pale hand over her hip, in under the coat, deep, until the fabric starts to slide off her lovely shoulders.
he'd think they'd made her out of marzipan just for him to eat, but there's more genius than design to the silvery lines of her scars. he picks her up off her feet.]
You couldn'tve ended the meeting early instead.
no subject
Her lips find the strong line of his jaw, pressing gentle kisses to it. Peppering his neck with them. She sighs contently, warm against his skin, at the hand that slides over her hip. He might feel the hint of a smile too once the kisses continue. They'll pause because 1) she needs a bit more concentration to work with one hand at unbuckling his belt (who invented belts anyway, they're so inconvenient) and 2) ]
Of course not, [ she has to answer. A peep of a laugh sounding as she's picked up. ] Where's the fun in that? [ Since this - what they have - is fun. Even for as tumultuous as it can seem at times, how difficult they both might otherwise be. She has fun with him in a way she never had before, never thought she could. Others might catch her fancy occasionally but she doesn't enjoy being with them the way she does Nen; she doesn't love them the way she does Nen. ]
no subject
— but also immortal because of it, high-gloss and glorified, preserved in a flattering skew of memories, divorced from their flaws as much as they are from the pleasures of flesh. In many ways, Nen and Rosie have the opposite problems when it comes to love and fidelity. Mired in different things. But it works out more times than it doesn't. It's working out today. If you want to know the truth, Nen loves her flaws as much as he loves the rest of her. The unpredictable agony of her disappearances reminds him he is not inured to loss.]
I would've liked to see Sir Bob's face if you said something about the spirit of cold sore at his door.
[But he leans in, wraps his hands around her hindquarters. Picks her up, tush first, easily despite his own narrow frame. He sets her on the heavy flat of his desk, a smile ghosting his mouth when he feels the metal part of his belt come loose. He skims his fingers over the circumference of her thighs, following the hem around into her groin-- and then he tucks a thumb into the seat of it, sliding past the smooth fabric and into the moisture of her body.]
Everyone takes medical emergencies seriously.
no subject
And Rose always comes back to Nen. ] Almost everyone, [ she corrects, lightly. ] Sometimes I think we're a bit desensitized to disasters.
[ How many times now has the academy come back from the brink of uncertain demise?Too many to count. Too many to care about. All she seems to care about right now, honestly, is getting him out of his pants. Now that the belt is unbuckled, she works fast at unbuttoning the slacks. A hand sliding down smoothly once they're loose, fingers wiggling almost impatiently under the waistband of his underthings. Brushing just barely against the base of his cock lightly, almost teasing in a way. She does like to tease. ]
Kiss me, [ she suddenly demands, shuddering breath at the fingers that tease against sensitive skin growing gradually more slick. She wiggles on the hard wooden surface on his desk, eagerly awaiting the feel of his lips against hers. Eagerly awaiting a lot of things he no doubt has in store for her. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
bangity jane maybe? honestly you know who is more suited than i, surprise me.
You locked the door, right?
[ throwing a glance over to the door to the men's as though he'd be able to tell. even if anyone else were in here still, or came in, he's probably just this side of not caring. it would be a reasonable assumption to think him drunk, or on something, with the desperate and clumsy way his hands pull at the other's belt, with the thickness of his out of place accent making his words seem slurry, with the carelessness for his own dignity that's brought them both here in the first place. but cillian doesn't drink.
his mouth gets involved too soon, metal of the zip pressing into his pouty lower lip, cloth dry on his tongue. he looks up, eyes bright, intent. ]
Fuck my mouth.
IF THIS IS TOO EMBARRASSING I CAN SWITCH CHARACTERS LOL
they'd had a beer. they're grateful for it now. third time's the charm, surely; you can only fail to get off in anonymous bathroom sex so many times before, surely, an orgasm is bound to hit you at some point.
and it's with this optimistic attitude that janus pulls their pants open. button fly through the hole, a tug of the zipper. briefs underneath— they're black, though, because they read about connotations and have little interest in being laughed at. killing's easier than getting anyone to like you, but maybe the healthier reframe is somewhere in between murder and like. janus' cock is hard and red already, lifting out of the elastic when they pull the waistband down.
they put a callused thumb on cillian's jaw, exerting a degree of force that falls between signaled intent and mechanical force, stretching the hinge open, the pale walls of cillian's cheeks. they should say something, they think.]
Do you want to know my name?
[not that.]
it's fine /pats your face
but the picture he's painting gets ruined by the need for a response. his tone turns dismissive. ]
Not particularly.
[ he swallows without fully closing his mouth, a talent useful for blowjobs and dental work. ]
D'you want to tell me? I can say it, if you're into that.
no subject
well, cillian probably knows what he looks like. blue eyes and a mouth that looks like a puffy circle even when it's closed. i'm into this, they almost say, but they think-- better to show than tell. that's the rule. so they set their cock into the other man's bottom lip, a wet pink collision of wet pink parts, watching the stretch of cillian's mouth as a dick -- theirs -- pries it open. watching for teeth to, a little, even the concerns are not as acute as they are in our other thread, yikes.
besides
besides cillian's so thin, his cheeks so hollow that it's clear to see when the bulge is because of dick moving inside of them. it's nice. his eyes are also nice, even if he doesn't seem-- particularly.]
no subject
his knees slide apart slightly, just shifting his weight even as his mouth goes all suction, sealed around the skin of their cock and working devotedly as they begin to move. dopamine or seratonin or some other shit he doesn't really understand hits fast and sweet, and groans happily, forces his eyes back open to look up ad watch. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
older!Janus, Xist!AU, h/c, makeup sex, etc
[ Zeke had been fighting what felt like impossible odds. It wasn't Sylwia's army, but an entirely different enemy which had swarmed over the island like insects and threatened to tear everything and everyone apart. There was only so much an Incubus could take, even while immortal, without fresh sexual energy to regenerate him he was beginning to weaken. They could rend him limb-from-limb and he'd eventually put himself back together, but by then it'd be too late. All would be lost. Suddenly there was a familiar scream. Knox? Becks? Prissy? Someone took his hand and then everything went dark.
His eyelids felt heavy, as if there were weights attached to them, and they could barely open. He could see the sun, feel it on his skin, feel the waves lapping over his aching body- his wounds stinging from the salt. How did he get to the beach? He didn't know and he was too weak to move. A shadow of a figure blocked the light, hovered above him, and while Zeke couldn't make out who or what it was, instinct took over. He reached up, his fingers threading into the hair at the back of their neck as his faint powers attempted to work, then he pulled them down to kiss them.
It was similar to water slowly trickling into the mouth of a man dying of dehydration in the desert, he tasted the energy he needed in minimal measure and was in desperate need of more- he simply didn't have the power to take it. It would have to be given. ]
;wwwwww; baby zeke
kneeling at his side, they press a piece of gauze to his chest unthinkingly-- old-fashioned first aid. but when he pulls at them, they remember. of course, of course. an incubus can be sound of limb entirely, and die still. they kiss him. he tastes salty. it occurs to janus that this is dangerous, but their heart moves to think how weak his hand feels behind their head, and they aren't a child anymore if they ever were; they have faith in themself to stop, if and when they need to.] Hello Ezekiel, it's Janus here, [they whisper against his mouth.
then they kiss him again. the fistful of gauze falls into the water-- they brace themself above him with a fist in the beach, exhaling gently across his cheek, soothed by the familiarity of the motion and the smell of sun on his cheek, already straightening their legs beside him and reaching for the fastening of their trousers.]
Janus honey ;; <3
Janus had come back to save Mythian and that made his aching heart leap with joy. It would have been too easy to label them a murderer and sweep them away from his thoughts, but they were so much more complicated than that. They were beautiful, someone that really ought to be doing good for the world, and here they were doing exactly that.
The more powerful Janus' kiss was the stronger Zeke became. Now he was able to move his arms, thank god, because the first thing he reached for was Janus' face. He smoothed his fingers over their well-defined jaw, one he thought he had memorized but it felt different for some reason. It didn't matter, he groaned in relief against their mouth. It was like coming home, but even more than that- Janus was saving him.
A moment later he lifted them up by their waist and set them on top of his lap. The more contact they had the better, it was practical but there was also another reason behind it, one he voiced in a whisper of his own: ]
I missed you so much.
no subject
confusion, though. they've had less of that since they were sixteen, since zeke taught them how to use their dick and their hands and their mouth for pleasure, since they spent time away learning what they liked and learning about what— who-- love had made them into. they've become accustomed to certainty in this, confidence in knowing themself and their lot. they managed to hold course through any amount of weird supernatural shit: losing their face, losing their world, being a member of an anti-enhanced mafia for ten days.
but zeke picks them up and puts them on his lap like they weigh no more than a kitten, and it flusters them beyond everything!! to realize that he isn't seeing them. that he doesn't-- know. does he?] Zeke-- [for the first time in years, they miss their old voice. embarrassed, they turn their face into the side of zeke's head, nuzzling his ear, tuck their face in his neck like they're hiding a secret there, or maybe an apology, punctuated with kisses.]
no subject
Still, he ought to give Janus the option: tell them that they could get someone else if they were uncomfortable, he'd be fine after those kisses. But those kisses were also the reason why he wasn't saying that, why he was being selfish and holding their body against his own. A body that was build for killing against one made to love. He refused to give into stereotypes or listen to reason, he missed them too much for that.
He sighed and tilted his head back, allowing himself just to feel those lips as they traversed his sensitive skin. He felt prickles and tingles throughout his body, he could even wiggle his toes again as the waves lapped at them. ]
Janus... [ Whispered reverently while his hands settled on their ass. They fit together, groin to groin, and Zeke weakly began to rock his hips up to create more friction between them. ] Please, Janus... I need you. [ More then they'll ever truly know, but this would have to do. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
k-cakes
it's about three in the morning when josh climbs into bed with kavinsky. it's the kind of bold he never would have been around any of his friends in his-- former life, but then, that repression obviously got a bunch of people killed, and he cares less about what people here think. he picked kavinsky for two reasons: one, he seems unlikely to worry about breaking the rules, considering if you want something in here, he's the guy to get it for you. two: he made a joke about josh's dick in group. that's it. those are his two reasons.
(or maybe also, he thinks kavinsky is kind of cute. or maybe also, like recognizes self-destructive like. or maybe also, he's hoping he's wildly wrong and kavinsky won the award for 'most likely to beat the shit out of him in a gay panic'.)
he puts a hand low on kavinsky's stomach, nuzzles his face close to his jaw, breathing in that clean sleep smell. ]
Yo. Don't scream.
tw rape joke, cw fat-shaming, all the things;;
Yo. Are you gonna rape me?
[his voice emerges scratchy and sleep-worn. a skinny hand spiders up the blanket, trying to locate josh's jaw in the semi-darkness. kavinsky handles himself like he's got money, and he always has, but still the pads of his fingers are weirdly rough as he pokes the small bones of josh's throat.] If you're the fattie from Meditation with the beard, I'm gonna put up more of a fight. You're gonna have to use your fat to hold me down.
[his grin glints serrated in the dim light, a sharp edge in the middle of the rubber donut of his too-full mouth. still slow, but quickening, when he turns his head to search out the other man's face.]
no subject
It's Josh. We had trauma yoga.
[ He stared at Kavinsky's ass a lot instead of Being Aware Of His Body. But he's feeling pretty mindful now, of all the places he's crowding into personal space, of the weight of his hand and the unlikely angles of his bony body. ]
You want I can go.
[ A shrug of an offer in his low drawl. ]
no subject
Nah. Stay.
[kavinsky is touch-starved the way he's food-starved. he looks like he ought to be hungry for it all the time, rail-thin, but he's usually distracted enough not to feel it, right up until the moment he's caving in wanting ready to binge himself sick. he is developing a boner right now, groping around josh's shoulder, fumbly but more awake by the minute, his wrist getting stuck on the downward venture.] You wanna sixty nine? Or you don't mind wiping poo off your thing later?
no subject
Whatever.
[ he's had worse than shitdick and honestly? honestly? he doesn't really believe kavinsky is down to clown like that, not with no lube and no condoms. underestimating what he likes, maybe. ]
You trust me not to bite your dick off?
[ there's enough contained glee in his tone that it's hard to tell if he's joking. (he isn't.) ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
the graphics for this game are so uncanny valley (cw sexual vulgarity)
KNOCK KNOCK
But this time he steers clear of the pastel blue button down shirt and khakis. He turns up instead at Kavinsky's door in jeans and a (still wholesome) cotton shirt. Baby steps, you know. Then he knocks on the guy's door like a good, polite one-night stand. ]
no subject
in the safety of his own home, kavinsky has no shoes, a few buttons loose on his plaid shirt. still wearing khakis, a neat silver stud fastened to one earlobe, slightly rumpled. in public, he usually grooms a little more fastidiously-- part of his rehabilitated image. he looks at kyle for a moment, and a smile twists his mouth. of course, his public image is that way specifically because his private life, unbeknownst to anyone !! has gotten exponentially worse since he let loose a nightmare plague across the import cities.]
C'mon in, sweetheart. [he opens the door.] Beer or wine?
no subject
[ Yes, he's that pure. It's not a joke. ]
no subject
but purity's fun sometimes. it can be a good game. kavinsky probably would be like, 90% less of a serial killer these days if he weren't at least somewhat interested in taking people down from the light. kyle's walking into the apartment, so he probably misses it when kavinsky watches him, thoughtful, calculating, an alligator watching a red bird.]
I got a new carpet by the coffee table, [he says.] Why don't you sit there and I'll get you a soda. Tell me what you think.
no subject
About the... carpet?
[ The soda? Oh God, he has no clue. Gotta be the carpet. Kyle does as he's told and makes his way past the entrance and into the living room. There he sits down by the edge of the coffee table. ]
Uhm. It's nice?
powerpose lmk if not ok! i can edit
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
.... kyle is too good for this asshole
correctmundo
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)