sunlessea

[sunlessea]

#` ✞ aesthetica. ⁞ my religion‚ my confession. #` ✞ queue. ⁞ you are not the reckoning.

[sunlessea]

his kiss is every bit a lie as an adversion. it works, and this is something he is acutely aware he should be wary of : silas's fawning is reaching a point of concern, only in part because of his out of character it is for him to fall into such romantics so sweetly. sighs exhaled 'tween lips and fangs that draw some small amount of blood between them is all good and well ... but he's mooning, and winter himself would have to be well beyond blind not to see it. and if he sees it, so does the rest of london, in no small part represented by the curious glances that would turn to goss at the end of this day, no doubt. he keeps his composure far better, though that's nothing new. as silas falls back down to his feet from the tips of his toes, he straightens himself, releasing him in favor of reaching up to grab his wrists. it's an amicable gesture, but one taken out of nerve just as well as what the artisan could perceive to be affection, if he wished.

it's for the sake of publicity, of course. winter is always accommodating under these circumstances, but it's uncomfortable this time, this amount of yearning.

"oh, have you now? you better not let those sweet nothing's slip, artisan. the papers will have a field day tearing up your one-sided rivalry." his smile is sardonic, but true to his public persona, and something long lying in his heart forgotten, his demeanor itself remains soft. such romantics are only meant for lovers, he thinks. he'd given silas one rule when they'd zailed across the zee to salt's domain together. he wonders if he remembers what that was, and how he'd responded at the time. his tongue clicks, and he settles into his act which surely would have never charmed someone so heartless as silas. "i can imagine you knitting in the window. have you read many fairytales, chéri? some in london would consider you a prime protagonist. for the pauper-turned-princess, that is. an ice-hearted prince charming awaiting, would it be?" his eyes narrow, both in warning, but also some amusement. what a brave heart it would take to go after london's prince of ice, certainly. "ah, but you know better."

he readjusts them, content to take his arm through his own. it's familiar, and affectionate in theory, but still polite. no matter the circumstances, he'd not have london saying that chivalry is dead, nor that he is the one who killed it. "how did you even know i was coming? and why, pray tell, didn't you just ask me?" his eyebrow lifts, a silent inquiry as he glances at him, but he doesn't linger for long until he gestures to bring him with him, further from safety and closer to the turbulent zee. winter, of course, is steady as ever, digging through his pocket with his free hand in search of his cigarettes. in the end, he finds more of summer's, painted red at the end, with cherries on the box. he sighs, forlorn. "sorry to disappoint, but having my submari—ugh, my zubmarine, here would be a bit of a waste. i'm just boarding a normal top-side boat back to london." not like it's far. he gestures vaguely at the array of ships lined up, but one is rather notable. "mr zees', specifically, the fenrir. i'm here to threaten, excuse me, discuss with veils, spices and fires for two weeks. or until one of us kills each other."

" oh, don't act like that! i know you did—in some way, least... " because you love me, he thinks but does not speak : sainte is not the only one swallowing back his admissions, and the mooning artisan only lingers one more glance half-lidded to his lover's lips before he pulls away with a hum. not that he gets much time to lament. he misses it—the shock falling over winter's face, the brief build in tension; confused instead for a tender desire to seek him closer, by time he notices, he's pulled up from his hiding place 'gainst his neck, and he's barely even raised his head in his direction before he's melting into his kiss again. foolish, his heart; the ache of first love.

he doesn't get the hint. or rather, it's more apt to say he doesn't care for the kiss' true intent, had he been so keen to find it in the first place. the second kiss, he feels, is no less passionate than the first, with the way he practically wilts into him, hands kept snug 'gainst the line of his jaw where his lips part something eager, tease tugging at his lower lip with his teeth—all the good that does, he can't nip or bite quite so well as he can, but it's the thought, isn't it? the thought, and the sentiment; anything to keep him closer, to savor what little taste is offered 'fore he's forced to part again, but just like before, he doesn't stray far, breathing out quite the mournful sigh.

" i've been thinking of you. " it pains him to put into words, even murmured like this, fingertips trailing 'long his jaw, but it's true : he'd been so caught up in matters of the heart, hardly was it he could think of anything else. what a sorry wreck it'd made 'pon the rest of his life, how many potential partners he'd scorned where they caught him with distant, dreamy gaze, staring off into nothing where his thoughts, visions danced elsewhere. there are only so many times he could claim stupor 'fore he'd been forced into excuses more elaborate. his nose scrunches in sour thought, but any sullenness left 'pon his expression fades rather quick by time he meets his gaze again. subtle. " naturally. what else was i to do, wait at home like lovelorn paramour, pining from my seat window-side? please. " he scoffs, as if the idea itself was so wildly outlandish—certainly not as wild as the thoughts he does give voice to : his clear, unabashed affections only being one of them. honesty is so ill-befitting a man who's kept lie after lie 'pon his tongue long before he was ever a public figure, and the awkward feeling of emotions overflowing leave him giggling not unlike a lunatic. love was a form of madness, after all—he may be well expecting an invitation to the highest suites of the royal beth any day now, should his madness rise high enough.

his hands slip from his face regretfully, lip pushed out in a pout even with his arms still looped around his shoulders. they're close, but not close enough : nothing ever is anymore, where even the slightest hint of his heart's waning attention makes his chest hurt. " but what i've been up to doesn't matter, i'm here for you—! " he unravels himself just enough to push a finger to his chest, expression alight as if he hadn't just then but submersed in his own personal woe. the only time his smile drops, slips, is where he casts sideways glance to the open zee not far off. " mm, and us, but ... truthfully i'm not sure what to look out for, to get back to the docks. you're more skilled at this, aren't you? which one of these— " a vague wave to the array of vessels he catches zailors board. " —matters to us? "

#here u go michael #` ✞ winter. ⁞ you can’t love anyone‚ because that would mean you have a heart. #` ✞ silas & winter. ⁞ noyer dans un soupire‚ reste à mes cotés... jai pu sentir son cœur vibrer à cent à l'heure. #londonfallen

[sunlessea]

sketch dump of my finance's 30 minute art warmup exercises from recent days cuz they're p gay </3 @londonfallen

#gay vampires and werewolves and bats WROW #aerkjnemrkjn #` ✞ adrien. ⁞ all my life i’ve been so lonely‚ all in the name of being holy. #` ✞ elysium. ⁞ and if i only could‚ i’d make a deal with the gods. #` ✞ winter. ⁞ you can’t love anyone‚ because that would mean you have a heart. #` ✞ silas & winter. ⁞ noyer dans un soupire‚ reste à mes cotés... jai pu sentir son cœur vibrer à cent à l'heure. #` ✞ irons & elysium. ⁞ like a gift from the false stars‚ it was easy to tell‚ it was love from below that could save me from heaven. #` ✞ fires & adrien. ⁞ it’s blasphemous‚ but holy. i’m nervous and tripping over my words‚ you’re so pretty it hurts. #long post / #` ✞ portraiture. ⁞ the beguiling subjects of london times.

[sunlessea]

" — oh, i... i don't know very mu—much about art, you see." she's sheepish, and how very shy that makes her. she always finds herself missing the company of her fellow dancers, when she's certain she's making a fool of herself. "i like pretty, colorful works. b—but i don't think i'd make a very good model, wouldn't i..."

@londonfallen / silas

#i've beenn too depressed to write may this small offering hold u over until i'm back #` ✞ lottie. ⁞ my love‚ stay with me and break my heart. #londonfallen #ship tbt.

[sunlessea]

an oddly gracious host, mr fires. for all the ill he heard whispered of it in his ear once it'd started frequenting him in eve's garden after the day they'd met, it seems to have laid its claws rather cruelly on every part of london except his. its cute, even, i how it presents itself, though london would say he's the mad one to gaslight himself into believing so. the city would never think him capable of such wholesome opinion, and perhaps fires is very much the same. an evil overlord, indeed, as it rushes to and fro in search of ... he isn't even sure anymore. he'd just wanted the blankets to cover up his legs, though he'd long scrubbed off the usual marks of blood and scrape along them. suppose it's a blessing he is lucid enough to spare it any attention at all. it's hard not to, when it's interrupting his otherworldly reverie with its huffing and then trilling.

"no, no. my clients often spend a pretty portion of their pocket to dote on me. you can tell by looking at me, can't you?" his sarcasm is evident, but perhaps the humor is perhaps a bit too dark for most. it's just his way, though. if he didn't laugh about all of this, he'd probably hang himself from one of veilgarden's pretty art galleries. make a real statement out of it. "it isn't about being warm. i'm not cold." his nose scrunches, but he doesn't elaborate. he only shifts to sit up on the floor with blankets still tangling his legs so that he can sit with it properly. his head spins, and he ignores it. he'd already thrown everything up before it'd even come to fetch him, back at the club.

he takes the blood bag because he thinks it might jump out of its skin if he doesn't. he wishes it had a straw, less clinical. unlike it, he doesn't care about awkward, restless silence. he just sits there waiting to sober up, somberly swallowing blood in small sips from the tube of the bag. he's taken to staring intently at its floor, but every now and again, he'll spare it a glance. he knows it won't stay silent for long... and he's right.

"mm." he licks a stray drop of blood from his lip. "fair enough. that is my job, you just make it hard." he treats it differently because it refuses to let him do his job. what's left of him, when the sexuality is taken away from their interactions? a snarky puppet? no one ever buys his time to hear him talk, and so he flounders. this is so odd. he sighs, then rests his hand under his chin, propping it 'gainst his knee to stare directly at it. he doesn't flinch 'neath its claw 'round his cheek, but rather marvels privately at how soft it is with him. he must be something quite pathetic, compared to whatever the masters of the bazaar are. "is that what you want me to be, mr fires? a friend, a lover?" ah, semantics. "your lover, rather. or something more, entailing?"

it's strangely hospitable, all things considered. though it personally doesn't find its behavior anything out of sorts, it isn't necessarily surprised at his confusion. so little in fact it barely even bats an eye, busy shuffling itself to-and-fro among its living quarters, from one room to the next, the mess it keeps 'cross its tables clinking and clattering as its left searching for ... something. though its personal hunt hasn't kept it from idle conversation. it seems to rather enjoy the company. every now and then, it does look up with a worried glance, 'fore its nose scrunches and it returns to its shuffling. back and forth, round and 'round, until eventually, finally, it perks up—both in spirits and quite literally, standing upright with a soft, excited trilling sound reverberating 'gainst its chest.

blood bags—the labels are faded, source obscured, but it's kept them in cases of emergency. though given its status, it isn't difficult to guess that the quality is well above par. it so rarely uses them itself, favoring acting 'pon its usual instincts ... but one can never be too careful. it stuffs three in the crook of one arm, then strolls back to his side, kneeling next to him and dropping each into his lap.

" i presume that this is uncommon for you, then. well, " it huffs, though it's far from aggravated; its pouting is miniscule at best, fading quickly into its typical, self-satisfied smile as it lolls its head 'gainst its shoulder. " you've already taken to make yourself comfortable. by all means, warm yourself. "

it shifts slowly, awkward only to keeping personal company in its ... truthfully cluttered home. this isn't usual for it, either, but its attempts at playing good hostess are true enough. eventually, it settles with crossing its legs 'neath it, and its arms over its knees, enough to bow forward and rest as comfortably as possible—but even that doesn't last with its restlessness. it unravels itself soon enough not long after, reaching out to curl its claws 'round his cheek, thumb brushing over soft skin in its admiration. " you're what i wish so long as i pay for your time, yes? a friend, or a lover, or something more ... " it hums, its trilling softened with the stare it regards him with. perhaps this is unusual for them both, but it seems well satisfied, if not caught up in a dreamy daze of its own, eyes narrowing as its voice falls to murmur. " only mine. "

#i wish i'd waited to write i feel horrible today aaa #i don't like it but i don't wanna redo it so #ug #h #` ✞ lucius. ⁞ i was an angel‚ living in the garden of evil. #ship tbt. #londonfallen

[sunlessea]

kisses on the forehead while getting railed type love

#` ✞ irons & elysium. ⁞ a gift from the false stars‚ it was easy to tell‚ it was love from below that could save me from heaven. #` ✞ fires & adrien. ⁞ it’s blasphemous‚ but holy. i’m nervous and tripping over my words‚ you’re so pretty it hurts. #` ✞ queue. ⁞ you are not the reckoning. #suggestive — #` ✞ scandal. ⁞ right in front of my glory?

[sunlessea]

gestures that get me going

many of these are meant to be spicy (i've been on my horny bullshit lately LOL), but some can be used in any kind of interactions, be them fluffy, smutty, antagonistic, romantic, anything. feel free to combine prompts & change/add any pronouns/descriptor words/etc that may be useful! softer things are more towards the bottom. add '+↺' to reverse sender and receiver!

[ SHIELD ] — sender steps in front of receiver protectively [ HEADLOCK ] — sender puts receiver in a headlock from behind [ COLLAR ] — sender grabs receiver by the collar of their shirt to pull their faces close together [ TIE ] — sender grabs receiver by their tie to pull their faces close together [ HAIR ] — sender pulls receiver's head back by their hair from behind [ MOUTH ] — sender puts their palm over receiver's mouth from behind to keep them quiet [ BUCKLE ] — sender begins to undo receiver's belt buckle [ LOOP ] — sender threads their fingers into the belt loops on receiver's pants [ POCKET ] — sender sticks their fingers into the pockets of receiver's pants (bonus: specify if they're the front pockets or the back pockets) [ BUTTON ] — sender undoes the buttons of receiver's shirt [ THROAT ] — sender lightly grazes along receiver's throat from behind [ CHOKE ] — sender puts a light to moderate amount of pressure on receiver's throat from behind [ CHEST ] — sender lightly grazes along receiver's chest from behind [ SIT ] — sender gently squeezes receiver's ass when they sit on sender's lap [ TOUCH ] — sender feels up receiver's abs [ SMOOTH ] — sender gently rubs their palm along receiver's bare ass [ MASSAGE ] — sender gently rubs their palms along receiver's bare back [ RUB ] — sender gently rubs their palms along receiver's bare thighs [ FEEL ] — sender gently rubs their palm between receiver's legs [ LICK ] — sender gently licks along receiver's nipples [ EASE ] — sender encourages receiver's legs open [ PULL ] — sender pulls receiver's pants/undergarments down out of the way of their ass [ WORSHIP ] — sender kisses and licks along receiver's tattoo(s) (specify if receiver has multiple) [ RING ] — sender kisses and licks along receiver's piercing(s) (specify if receiver has multiple) [ NIBBLE ] — sender nibbles against the shell/lobe of receiver's ear [ BITE ] — sender gently bites down on receiver's lower lip as they kiss [ SMOOCH ] — sender presses gentle kisses down the back of receiver's neck [ KISS ] — sender presses a bunch of little kisses along receiver's face [ GRAB ] — sender playfully squeezes some stray pudge on receiver's belly [ PLAY ] — sender playfully squeezes some stray pudge on receiver's thigh [ POKE ] — sender grabs onto receiver's love handles [ LIE ] — sender rests their head on receiver's chest to hear their heartbeat [ LINK ] — sender hooks their pinkie with receiver's [ REST ] — sender rests their chin on receiver's shoulder from behind [ GAME ] — sender traces lines to connect receiver's moles/other body marks into a bigger shape [ COVER ] — sender covers receiver's eyes from behind before removing them to reveal a big surprise [ WRITE ] — sender writes 'i love you' with their finger on an exposed part of receiver's skin (bonus: specify where)

#suggestive ― #` ✞ scandal. ⁞ right in front of my glory? #` ✞ prompts. ⁞ they signed the letter‚ all yours.

[sunlessea]

he's the one who's surprised. it's not as if he's trying to antagonize it, despite how smarmy he may come off at times ... he really is shy, despite how far they've pushed one-another. it occurs to him that it truly believes in the mask he'd worn his entire time spent trying to woo it, especially in moments like this where it clearly expects him to back up his bark with his bite. what a terrible shock it would be in for, if it still hasn't realized the picture he'd painted hadn't been meant for any reason other than to convince himself that he could make it love him ... not the other way around. he isn't so secure in himself, but that doesn't mean he isn't just as eager. his ears stand straight the moment he feels its fist tangle in his hair, eyes blinking wide for the split second he is given to register that if he would not give, then it would take.

he would not hope for anything less.

it doesn't just kiss him so much as it steals his purity for a second time : its lips are not delicate, nor careful, but irons is romantic, for what little london expects of it. his body tenses only from the shock of the gesture, though he knows he shouldn't be caught off guard. even still, it only takes him a moment to relax, and then comply. he leans forward 'gainst its chest as its arm wraps 'round his waist, his own arms looping more securely at its shoulders, around its neck. while not confident, he is obedient. it's the first time he feels heat from its body just as well as his own, and that leaves his tail swaying anticipant behind him, his own lips parting for it at behest of its teeth, and then his tongue finds its.

where it growls, he whimpers into its kiss, ears pressing flat 'gainst his head as blush spreads over his cheeks. he's unbelievably submissive to it, more than even he'd expected to be as former heir to a pack, and yet he doesn't mind it. he craves it, if anything, fingers tangling in its own hair to push it deeper into their kiss. it still tastes like its namesake, blood on its fangs long gone and yet that's exactly what he still expects. vampyr from its taste to mannerisms. the heat of its tongue tasting him in ways more lascivious makes him tremble, a subtle shudder that makes the fur on his tail fluff up.

and yet, his body shivers where its claws explore his body, so unused to such intimate touch. it takes its time with him, enough to have him dizzingly lost in pressing his lips to its own, or each small adjustment required thereafter to keep chasing its tongue. he doesn't disparage the loss of his own ability to explore it like this, not when he's pressed so close to it, chest to chest, though he does miss its weight pressing down on him. he's only acutely aware of the fact its cock still brushes against his back when his hips are shifted in certain ways, too. he is shockingly patient, for someone so notably whiny. if he's a mind even spared for his own aching want, he doesn't seem to acknowledge it at all. he's lost in it, and every agonizingly beautiful scratch its claws leave against his own scarred skin... it's when it shifts its grip from hair to jaw that he realizes...

breathing. breathing! he has to breathe! it catches on before he does, and if that weren't enough to humiliate him on pretense the moment its lips part his to leave him panting for the air he's lost, then the debauched image irons makes of him would be enough to have him sprinting to church, if he'd seen. "—h...haah...ha..." he can still see it when it pulls away though, the lines of saliva that connect them and how it clings to irons' tongue just the same as his own. it has him all but forced into the image it wants him to be, too, jaw held, lips parted, tongue just past with the strength of his panting. they're both lewd, and the fluttering in his abdomen is heated both from embarrassment and what can only be lust. it's teasing him, too, as the string breaks under its ministrations 'pon licking its fang. he's going to die. heart attack, probably.

his heart is skipping a few beats. he'd blame the lack of air, if they were in a more ordinary position. instead, he thinks it's just his excitement.

it's quite a miracle he doesn't collapse against it, but he does curl in on himself as best he can whilst sitting on its lap so suggestively. his ears and tail are flat, his body flushed, and eager, and humiliating. it doesn't even stop touching him to give him a moment's relief — he's sensitive, and he hazards a guess that it knows that, the way its hands explore him still. he practically jumps under the way they trail, leaning his head against its shoulder so he can hide his face against its neck. his body is hot, maybe hotter than its own even with the lit candle. he's ... so close, even like this. his dick is, has been, hard throughout the entirety of this interaction but — it twitches as it squeezes his ass, the precum that trails onto irons' stomach further accentuated by the way he whines against it. he wouldn't have the time to be emotional over a love confession under these circumstances, at any rate! it's torturing him!

"you're so..." he starts to say something, his voice shaking, but he can't quite get it out. insult or fawning? suppose it would never know. it could call him a brat all it wanted, but he wouldn't believe it. he's the one practically melting into its arms, moaning for it each time it adjusts his body for him. there'd been so little space between them already, but the feeling of its cock pushing up against his ass had been missed, dearly. and again, he is the very pristine image of patience, where he only loosens his hold around its shoulders just enough to make it easier for it to grind up against his thighs, his spit caught on its neck where he returns to panting for air, more a sign of excitement this time rather than being out of any breath. he wants it, there's very little contest to that. the fact he doesn't rush it is either foreplay on his behalf, genuine desire for the romance of the intimacy between them ... or a sign of his submission, yet again. maybe it's all three.

it isn't the only one fighting off its instincts, however needlessly, in the ed. each nip it spares his neck has him whimpering, pleading without words for its bite more than its cock — he could be patient for one, draw it out and move his hips however shakily in tandem with its own. and he does just that, trying desperately to swallow each gasp when the tip of its erection pushes between his thighs, teases his entrance with something not unlike a promise. he's patient, but eager. "irons..." his voice sounds raw, in equal parts because of what it'd done to his throat shortly before, he's sure, but he's also yearning. how odd, to be yearning so terribly after it had told him that it loved him. he wants ... so much from it. everything. he wants everything from it.

his arms suddenly shift from where he'd been holding onto its shoulders this whole time, posture straightening in a way that makes him wince from the pleasure of it — it makes irons' cock push harder against him when it thrusts its hips up, and he whimpers for it. but eyes half-lidded, he takes its jaw into his own palms now, and tilts its head up, mourning the loss of its fangs against his neck ... yet. he doesn't say anything, just bows down to press his lips against what would be its pulse point, were it human. the blood that flows inside of it now isn't real, stolen from him in the moments shared before now. but he thinks that makes it more intimate, maybe even erotic.

he moves to press his lips in the indent at the bottom of its throat... then his lips parts, and he drags his tongue up the entirety of its neck, ears flicking on his head anxiously. he shifts back down after, back to its pulse point ... and bites down on its throat, until his own fangs break skin on both ends. a vampires worst nightmare, he supposes, to be stuck in the jaws of a werewolf. but he only bites hard enough to leave a small mark, nothing that wouldn't heal. it would be uncouth of him, right now.

he releases it, and sits up again, its blood on his lips delicate compared to what it usually came away from him with. his hands lower, now, rest against its chest whilst he swallows the moans of how it grinds up against him still... "y—you ca—can..." he falters, then reaches up at long last to pull his hair from the ponytail he'd managed to keep it in this entire time. he pulls all of his hair to one side as the ribbon falls beside them, over his shoulder. "i told you... you can—can feed as much as you want to. i'm fine, so..."

it isn't even surprised. and that's the worst part of it! no matter how its expression sours, or scrunches in a way that's a mote less than what any other might find attractive—or appealing, at best—it never really lingers ... every crease in its cheek or brow, no matter how deeply they furrow, relaxes in time, and that's true too for how he bows forward to make good on its deal and ... does exactly what it expects him to. its lips follow his—but miss entirely, the moment he speaks in his defense.

" was it not my responsibility to impress you? " the question that follows, despite the way it frowns, ears beginning to droop the moment he frees them, is genuine. it remembers their earlier conversation! it hadn't been quite so long ago it had expressed doubts, or worries about where he wished to lead ... and he'd puffed out his chest in pride, tail swaying a great deal more, and said as much in response to its praise! though it supposes it was a matter of context ... it can't be sure. it comes off as more of a tease than it intends : then again, it never was all that good at verbal flirtations ... hence making so many demands outright.

he may be delicate, and pure—but it is far from both. he needn't ask it to kiss him again, just as much as it wouldn't ask thrice ; its patience is plentiful, in matters more vital than this, but even its demands have its limits. the tease of a kiss is enough for it to jerk forward, arm wrapping around his shoulder to tangle his hair into its fist and pull him forward into it, stealing his lips in the process..

it is not gentle, but just the same, it is not unkind. as soon as their lips meet, its grip relaxes, its other arm looping further around his waist to pull him closer gradually as it pushes further. his lips are hot, always, and both of theirs have bruised ... but it takes so little encouragement to beg him part his lips for it, where its teeth tease his lip before its tongue. it's a little different now, with heat of its own to spare : the same tease of flicking its tongue into his mouth and over his is enough to prove that, and each growl turned to groan feels equal parts deeper and more erotic for it. there is no blood on its tongue, but he is still all it can taste, and all it craves for.

it's a shame there's little space to sprawl out further : a newfound fantasy where it pulls him closer, and pushes against him harder, demanding their kiss deepen. not that it hadn't had him lain out similarly already, but ... it imagines it differently, the fleeting thought of how his back might arch up into every increasingly brutal thrust of its hips, how he'd writhe against his wrists pinned below them, or what it might be like similar to this—to meet his gaze when left blushing and breathless : he's intoxicating, in all the best ways ; something it never could have imagined wanting so fervently, once upon. elysium is a lot of things, but it mostly finds him a brilliant surprise.

this is the closest it will ever come to fawning ; a sense of abject adoration, or a need for devotion—it is no better than the rest of their kin and their hoarding habits, but its treasures are rarely something tangible, and its beliefs anymore do not align with any sort of worship ... but it is undeniable, its obsession or its desire, when the hand left untangled from the mess of his hair traces the subtle curves of his body as if committing them each to memory. the slope from rib to hip, and the places where its fingers catch, where his scars have healed a little less neatly, but most importantly—the places that leave him shivering when it presses a little too much pressure in its need to stake a more muted claim. ( as if their numerous shared bites and scratches weren't enough for that already, let alone the rest more lascivious. )

when it parts, it is unwilling. stubborn in the hand that shifts from hair to jaw, gripping it tight to hold it open the moment it pulls away, a great deal more debauched. the candle's aid does a great deal for its false-life, long lines of spit follow, caught on its tongue connecting them still even as it settles back against the seat it's as breathless as he is : however much it knows it needn't be ... but the image of him like this, mouth agape and tongue slightly lolled out as he pants, seeking to catch the breath he, contrasting, does need is far more alluring than it probably should be. rude perhaps for any other—and especially for it!—but laying back as it does, drawing tongue 'cross its fangs in no small subtle show, the slight quirk of its lip is all that belies its amusement over its lusts. it can't stop staring ... he's captivating.

" after a great deal of insistence, " it huffs in kind, but its the smaller changes in its expression that suggest everything but annoyance proper. a flick of the ear, or the slightest squint ... but more than anything, it is its hands still drawing down his body that suggest the most. " i love you quite dearly, " at first, they settle on his hips again, and then a little further—

" —that does not change the fact that you are still a brat— " the force is purposeful : it reaches further over his hips, squeezing his ass where it starts to settle ... and then uses its grip to force him closer, bodies flush—and there was already so little space left to begin with. but more than that, it allows it opportunity to push its hips further up against him, allowing him feel again the full size of its length where it grinds its cock up against his ass, between his thighs. it is a pointedly cruel tease, where it knows he has been left without much stimulation of his own : it knows, as much as it can feel it ... the heat between them is only in part from sweat and skin; it can feel how hard he is just from the hint of friction. it isn't touching him on purpose.

though ... that doesn't mean it can't indulge in other ways, where it waits to catch each quip and plea. the space lost allows it plenty opportunity to nestle up into the crook of his neck again : and the draw of his pulse racing is irresistible. like, always ... " you remind me at every opportunity ... " its voice draws to a murmur to spare itself, though between each soft sigh, kiss, and nip left against his skin, it's clear just how much its indulging itself.

#i hate this reply it's not what i wanted it to be :( #` ✞ elysium. ⁞ and if i only could‚ i’d make a deal with the gods. #` ✞ irons & elysium. ⁞ a gift from the false stars‚ it was easy to tell‚ it was love from below that could save me from heaven. #londonfallen #suggestive ― #` ✞ scandal. ⁞ right in front of my glory? #sighs

[sunlessea]

he's in danger. it isn't from a master of the bazaar, despite the universe's varied attempts to weave his fate into something that'll kill him. mr irons doesn't know him well enough to catch it, despite how much it's pried into his personal life both as elysium and cassius, but ... the mask slips sometimes, when overcompensating isn't enough to carry him through something. its claw wrap 'round his waist to steady him and through natural course of the movement, he ends up a few odd steps closer to it that he was before — and he freezes. he stares up at it, wide-eyed and lips parted, heart racing like he's the rabbit caught in the jaws of a wolf. it's enough to see its face again, however shadowed, just enough, and finally he meets its eyes for the first time probably in a while.

despite how they ended up here, he tends to avoid eye contact for the most part. it's a little too personal for him when it's refused his every advance on the surface, and yet—

" ... " he doesn't even jump when its hold moves to his wrists, seemingly caught by its glare. where his confidence slips visibly, to everyone else, it probably just looks like he's blushing. and he is, of course, because they're so... close, at least comparatively to sitting across from one-another in the shop. his ears twitch. there's the excuse he knew it would whip up, too — and maybe it's lucky he's caught off guard, because he doesn't even really think to point out that the masters have practically never done due process for the average londoner, and the only reason they did it with him was because mr pages hadn't wanted a martyr— "you're beautiful."

its hold on his wrists hurts. he isn't a kindred, garou still being something closer to human than the monsters its kind are said to be. but it's touching him, so he doesn't dare point it out, no matter the bruises that would be left behind. kindred really are strong. he wonders if it even realizes it.

slowly, he starts to come back to senses. he blinks, tail unfreezing behind him as it slowly starts to sway again. his posture relaxes, lips upturning in a subtle show of smug superiority. and there it is! he puts his mask back on like a second skin. "responsibility, is it?" once it lets go of his wrists, he pulls his hands back, tugs the sleeves over his skin, and then laces his hands behind his back. makes it easier to lean towards it. "i don't have to do anything. you say plenty. as i said, luv, you're going to have to stop the world just to stop the feelings."

he doesn't learn his lesson. he keeps walking back. at least everyone else stays out of his way. they part for him like the red sea just to avoid being near irons.

"so is that your excuse? you're turning my excursion into a date so you can... investigate me? my. how very involved you masters suddenly are in the lives of your citizens. very unorthodox of you, mr irons."

he is truly one-of-a-kind, for more reasons than one. some ... less appealing than others, true, but his brighter qualities far outshine whatever has him creeping under its skin, leave it feeling uncomfortably tense with the way its chest constricts and scowl grows. it can hear the steady thrum of his heart, the life that has him—it presumes—ever so faintly flush in pure delight, but why is he so ... that? it can't comprehend it ; and worse still, it can't even be wholly certain anymore that it isn't in some part due to its company ... not that it has much to put up against. its knowledge is limited to what few interactions its stolen with its own claws after the show he put on, but he looks ... happy, watching it too, walking with it—even had he not intended to. he's confusing, more than anything. it doesn't understand him.

... that said, it still all but swipes its arm out to catch him the moment he stumbles. first, around his waist : a shadow-flash how swift its movements, but then once he's standing upright ... it draws its hands up to grasp his wrists instead.

" you make a public spectacle of yourself and expect less than a thorough process of investigation? " there's plenty excuse it could make, in defense of due process. but none that would be entirely truthful in their admission; instead, it's left bristling 'neath all its cloaks, its glowering growing all the more pointed the tighter its hold takes around his wrists. " it is something from nothing. i am not yours— " it's emphasis through gritted teeth ; though questionable still is its jaw kept taut from tension of the literal or metaphorical. " —you are just my responsibility. " and it already knows, the moment its words fall off its tongue, that he will weave poetics from them. it knows, and it shows! its expression sours almost instantly : not that its of any surprise to citizenry, nor even really itself, but it releases him the same moment realization strikes, both hands drawing up to only drag down its face, hunching over in its frustration. well, at least like this it's almost his height. its voice, though muffled, sounds nearly pained. " don't— "

it only has itself to blame, for curiosity. perhaps it's bats killed in metaphor.

#` ✞ elysium. ⁞ and if i only could‚ i’d make a deal with the gods. #` ✞ irons & elysium. ⁞ a gift from the false stars‚ it was easy to tell‚ it was love from below that could save me from heaven. #londonfallen

[sunlessea]

did you just expect me to keep my distance? — firesluci

i don't feel like formatting rn / @londonfallen

what an odd question. he stares at it vaguely unimpressed and wholly judgmental from where he lies wrapped with sheets 'round his legs, having pried his attention from the ceiling he'd been so blissfully entranced by. one would think the positioning rather scandalous ... but despite its bent ears and questionable company, it hadn't even touched him. strangely polite, for such a cruel force in london's structure. he'd asked for the blankets himself.

its lodgings are bright. blinding, even, at least compared to what he's used to in eve's garden. there are no gaslit, gaudy signs to sore his eye, just a good hundred candles burning bright. does it really not get it?

"i didn't expect you to bring me home," he clarifies, tearing his gaze back up to the softly glowing ceiling. what few shadows there are flicker way up there. he thinks he could drift out of his own mind and go somewhere far away just staring at it. daydream himself into a coma, until he forgot the world. it's probably the honey talking. "distance is kind of my specialty. you do know what you're supposed to be hiring me for, right? it's not to lay on your floor while you tend to my wounds." he blows a strand of hair out of his face. "i'm your whore, mr fires. not your lover."

#londonfallen #` ✞ lucius. ⁞ i was an angel‚ living in the garden of evil. #` ✞ fires & lucius. ⁞ with all the money in the world‚ you could never buy that boy. if love’s the gain‚ it will be tough. #slur tw / #? idk #drugs tw —

[sunlessea]

he really is made of more steel than he'd ever given himself credit for, reasons resounding far beyond just his skill or grit as a vampire hunter, or even as what was once a god. to stand up to a master like this and take humiliating hit after humiliating hit would really be enough to kill a man if not by any literal means ... then certainly from the social suicide scandal of it! he knows people are watching. he always knows, because london has been watching since the moment he embarrassed himself at its factories. it's not that he isn't anxious... he is. his heart is always thrumming in his throat, masked as excitement when he's with irons, but in truth, he feels so unbelievably shy. it would never know, the way he beams at it and huffs, taking his hands back to raise his fingers into form of a picture frame. he squints one eye and looks at it through the middle.

"am i delusional? tell me something, why did you come to see me again, mr irons? and why are you out here with me? you could've gone when i said i wasn't staying in the shop to play twenty questions with you today, but here you are, with me. are you curious where i'm going?" he'd apologized, of course. it wasn't that he wasn't willing, but, well ... he isn't a homebody like the masters are. he has more to do in his life than sit around sighing wistfully at fairytale novels as it tries to hide itself mooning at him from beneath its cloaks.

"you're already mine." he knows it will pull out an excuse regardless, but they both know. "you spend more time thinking about me than any master has ever spent thinking of anyone outside of their coalition maybe ever, maybe combined. i hate to say it, but i told you so." bold words for a man who trips up when he backs into one of london's stray cats, but oh well! he's fine.

where does he find the energy? let alone the mind to act so unabashedly brazen—it's exasperated, and looks every bit the part with how much its glowering—! whatever little is visible to his prying eye, at the very least. their public gawks, even if they pretend they aren't, it can tell from the glances cast out of half-hidden faces. they act about as poorly as he does : a consistency among kine and like, then. " what feelings? you are delusional. " even its voice, coarse and growling where its words scrape against its throat long-damaged, belies no small amount of exhaustion. but at the same time ... there's a hint of a lilt; a note of curiosity. it doesn't break eye contact with him. " i cannot be yours, " even had it want to be—the thought considered, mused, and swallowed. though its fang catches its lip, chewing broken skin 'fore it continues. it's too much a hassle to write and keep pace simultaneously. and besides, if it doesn't keep close eye on him, it thinks he might stumble back into something at the rate he sways. it could reach out to spare him humiliation ... the thought makes its claws twitch. " —i am not making excuses. "

#no one has ever gaslit gatekept girlbossed THEMSELVES more than ely does the entire pre-proposal half of this ship #he gaslit himself into success #he self fulfilled his own prophecy #` ✞ elysium. ⁞ and if i only could‚ i’d make a deal with the gods. #` ✞ irons & elysium. ⁞ a gift from the false stars‚ it was easy to tell‚ it was love from below that could save me from heaven. #londonfallen

[sunlessea]

he's not even dangling anything above its head. not metaphorically and certainly not literally, but he has taken no amount of fear onto himself approaching this particular master in public. the way he walks in front of it, backwards so he can face it, arms outstretched between them as he vies for it to just hold his hands, makes him come off exceedingly cocky. but that's what he's playing at, isn't it? a role, just like any other. "you know, you could predict a hundred tragedies in those notes of yours, shoot another shot at threatening me, try to stop our love story—" he's winning, or at least he's convinced himself he is. why else would it be so caught up in him, lately, every other day at his doorstep, and now around spite in his company, "you could say this is just the way you are, make a new excuse for a stupid reason." he might be reading it to filth, or setting himself up for heartbreak. either way, be it contempt or the new blossoms of love, it feels something for him. "good luck, babe! you'll have to stop the world just to stop your feelings."

@londonfallen / mr irons › still doing those late ass spotify playlist # starters lmao, good luck, babe!

#the fact they got this song even tho it was only recently added is #embarrassing #on my part #KJNENMRKJNM #I STILL HAVE SO MANY OF THESE WE'RE IN APRIL JENMRH #i tried to turn this into a cute rly early days vibe tho #` ✞ elysium. ⁞ and if i only could‚ i’d make a deal with the gods. #` ✞ irons & elysium. ⁞ a gift from the false stars‚ it was easy to tell‚ it was love from below that could save me from heaven. #londonfallen

[sunlessea]

#` ✞ irons & elysium. ⁞ a gift from the false stars‚ it was easy to tell‚ it was love from below that could save me from heaven. #WOLF ELYSIUM... #` ✞ queue. ⁞ you are not the reckoning.

[sunlessea]

he knew it'd be like this, no matter how much he'd tried to mitigate his own embarrassed by staring hard at the stars along the walls instead of looking up to it or the ones above. it recovers so quickly, where he is still left trying desperately to catch his breath, playing ignorant at the pleasant tickle across his skin in the places its cum still trails down, not to count even more that falls across his stomach how they're sitting now. he looks a mess, and if there's one thing he's certain of, it's that fires will be thrilled about it. that knowledge alone is humiliating, and if his cheeks weren't already so red, he'd be blushing up a storm.

he's not even surprised when it wraps around him, looms over him, and more or less takes away every bit of personal space he could've made a bid for by holding it close to its chest. its claws feel good on his hips, stinging from how it'd only barely torn them open. his blood is hot for thanks of the candle, but its fur feels cool against his skin, even though it's still lit for them both. he lets himself settle back against it, even though he can feel it looking over him in a way that is... extremely impolite. it's ... soft.

"shouldn't i be asking you that?" his voice is quiet and unintentionally husky, though that's to be expected after what it'd just put him through. it'd take him a second to recover, unlike it. its growl still makes him tense, though, shiver 'long his spine that he just knows it'll take to heart. "you started fantasizing about me the second i bought up the possibility. am i meant to think you were trying so hard to hide yourself for modesty's sake?" his scoff would be harsher if he weren't so occupied. of course, his bite dies with his bark any time it touches him : from the simple way its hands trail his sides, take his hips, to how it reaches around to catch the cum trailing still down the length of his cock. "everything about you feels good..." he swallows back a groan, but it still comes out as a wince ... and it certainly is not hurting him. the way it goes about it is so egregious, too, tongue 'long his shoulder. christ.

well, it might be making fun of him, but he wouldn't let it get off bullying him so easily. it knows it'll fluster him, but he's taking his own notes, and as it nuzzles itself against him, he reaches up one hand, tired as it is, to cup the opposing side of its face. he drags its muzzle closer to him and leans into it, peppering its fur with kisses, chaste all things considered. and that is the point, even while it's mocking him with such uncouth talk.

"are you lecturing me on semantics right now? did you borrow one of pages' prose books?" he hums, then leans up a little more so he can gently bite its cheek — a direct response to its own teeth teasing along his neck. he wouldn't mind if it bit him like this, he thinks. he's certain it would hurt more, and it would have to be careful ... but he thinks it would be, if he let it try. "did you want me to say it's hot instead? i think i've embarrassed myself enough, and you'll have to do better than that. though, to tell you the truth..." he trails off, stops pressing his fangs against it in favor of sparing kisses once more. now he's dragging its face in closer, interrupting its own teases to forcibly spread the kisses further : across its whiskers, then its nose, where he licks it too. he doesn't end up finishing the thought he'd started voicing, before he lets it go and falls back against it again, breath stolen where its cock obediently pushes up between his thighs.

he is shy, but he's watching how it moves to accommodate his flirtations, shifting along with him. there's an ache that builds in his abdomen again watching it adjust to that its length is pressed comfortably between his thighs, giving them both perfect positioning for it to thrust inside of them. he keeps them pressed together as much as he can without causing it discomfort, his face equally flushed as he is breathless. it's right, though he hadn't admitted it outright. he wants this, and nothing illustrates that more than how he tangles his fingers into its fur with the hand that had been holding its cheek already, once it starts to properly thrust its cock against him. he's holding it close again, this time for less wholesome purpose whilst he pushes down his own whining.

he doesn't question when it keeps adjusting, having a pretty good idea, honestly, what it's trying to accomplish. he lets it move however it wants, going so far as to part his thighs just long enough for it to reposition when necessary. but once it's settled, he lets his head fall back onto its shoulder, pressing his thighs back together with no intent of stopping again. "hh—neculai..." its name comes out as a half swallowed moan once it thrusts up again, and this time, he feels its cock against his own. he trembles when he feels it, too, breath caught in his throat as he tries to press his eyes shut. it's almost a mistake, though, because having it both growling and moaning in his ear doesn't do much to allow him any relief.

"i don't know... what you're talking about," he murmurs, but rather than denying it outright as he normally would, it's clear he's just fucking with it. "i'm the very picture of purity. a prude, if you will." there's sarcastic cheek in his voice when he says it, but it's hard to take him seriously when he's openly moaning each time its cock thrusts along his own. his eyes open half-lidded again, and his soft panting for breath, though less hurried than it had been earlier, is notably erotic. when he speaks again, he's more subdued, and genuine, "you can bite me, you know... i don't mind if you want to try. i can tell you do."

not that he needed an excuse to be any more blatantly lewd during all this, really, but he can't help how obviously his body shudders each time it thrusts into him. and it isn't just that, either : it's the intimacy of how close they are, and how he can feel every single part of it that's touching him. its claws at his hips, how it presses its muzzle into his neck, any time its tongue lulls out when it teases him, the way its body engulfs his own as result of the difference in their size, all of it, and then its cock slick between his thighs and along his length on top of it all. in what world would he not be turned on? the sensation is odd, as per the differences in their bodies... but he'd be lying if he tried to tell it he didn't feel good. as if to expose him for it, too, he groans when it praises him, head lulling to the side where he only pants in response, doesn't even try to say anything to it, spit catching on his lip.

it's different for them, compared to what they're usually like. it's not that they didn't do foreplay before... but they didn't do this kind of foreplay, wherein it's slower, not rushed past, and more intimate, romantic, aside. because that's what it is, when it slows down its own thrusts, and starts purring deeply in his ear. he lets it, too, with no complaint or even teasing related to it. his fingers stay loosely tangled in its fur, holding onto its face whilst the other takes one of its hands, and laces his fingers through its own. he pulls its hand from one of his hips and instead splays its palm across his abdomen and leaves it there, holding it still from the back of its claws.

"a little fun," he repeats quietly, finally looking up at it with narrowed but soft eyes, lips pressing together only for a moment. even before today, there's never an instance where he would've indulged it saying this to him without quite the fight. granted, nothing they're doing right now is anything he would've done without fighting with it. now, he not only indulges it, but takes notice that if it leaned over him a little more, it could probably actually kiss him while they're like this, it's so damn tall. " ... yes, sir." he uses his hand against its cheek to tug at its fur, indicate that it should lean down. they've settled into this gentle pace, now, and he wouldn't dare ruin it. there's not much he can do in this particular tease where it has power over him, but he still helps it, moves his thighs along its cock where he can as it grinds against him, pressing a little harder when it seems particularly excited. "ha..ah..." its dick is hardening again, and each time it slides against his, so it his own. how slow its moving is tantalizing. he realizes, too, the reason his thighs are so slick must be from where its spit had been trailing down his body. everything is really... hot. he feels heated, and it shows in how reactive his body is, nipples hard, red flushed from the tip of his ears, down. but he is hardly the only one, at the very least.

"so that brings us back to what i asked earlier..." he wets his lips as he watches it, head tilted back, thinking, "what do you want from me, neculai? what, exactly, do you want me to do to convince you?"

a myriad possibilities from the moment it was first whisked away : stolen from its factory floors before it could disappear from them of its own volition by its most peculiar choice of partner—and never was he quite this brazen as to ask it out himself, so while its compliance was of little surprise, the events that followed, led it here, most certainly are. it would have guessed almost anything 'neath the false-stars before it had ever considered the possibility of both it laying itself literally bare for him to see upon such romantic request, and every moment since.

though it'd be lying to say its compliance wasn't in part due to its own curiosity : they are equals only in matters of love and the questioning mind, and each place those two intertwine. it'd been hesitant, at first, but between the eagerness of when he first climbed atop it to their repositioning ... any lingering anxiety melted away with the false heat that somehow left it shivering. it'd been hesitant, truthfully, for his size : a matter which while undoubtedly alluring and still a matter of some lesser concern while in human guise, became all the more stark with the added foot attached. he's small in stature, even put up against those of similar height ; and his frame is ... well, rather small, and always had been no matter how well-fed he'd been kept. it had only really experimented with those like it—other curators, other masters; those few willing to present at kine-height or close to—but it had no means of being able to guess what it might be like to sleep with kine or kindred proper, without similar ease of flexibility. he appeared fragile, as was its primary concern : but his excitement thus had been greater—and aside from the ease of which he adjusts, that is only the start.

it takes so little to wrap around him entirely. erotic enough on its own, but more than that, is how easily he overwhelms it for the opposite. his body quivers like its own, with how easily its claws wrap around the entirety of his thigh, and how when its spare hand curls around his cock, how mindful it has to be of its strokes where its palm curls so wholly 'round his length that it can feel every subtle twitch that leaves precum leaking 'tween the spaces between its fingers. his hands are delicate, but in its heightened sensitivity, they turn it on even more—in contrast to itself, he can barely keep hold on it at all ... the slick-wet length of its own erection, and the increasingly lewd sounds of its own wet arousal that cling to his own fingers the deeper he thrusts them into its pussy, itself over-eager and overly desperate.

but what it favors most—and ultimately, it's certain, what overwhelms it—is the heat of his tongue, and his hollowed cheeks, every way it can feel his jaw strain in determination to swallow it deeper where its thrusts do not push further despite. part of what it goads it on in its own rough excitement is his own : the lines of drool that it knows hang in strings off his chin where his head suddenly jerks up with a gasp—and it knows they're there, can imagine the sight well enough to swallow down a muffled groan, because of how his spit falls onto its length—or the extra pressure he applies when he pulls off of it entirely in favor of drawing his tongue instead along its shaft, right 'bove where his hand strokes it in increasing intensity.

and it can't voice a thing!

rather, it would be stifled no matter how it tried, broken through moan or action in like. that doesn't mean it isn't reactive, though ... its name is beautiful gasped out on his tongue, and in response, its grip 'round his trembling thigh tightens, and its growl is temporarily smothered in favor of a much deeper purr rumbling 'gainst its chest. its rewarded in time just the same for it, where with every pointed lap of its tongue as the tip unfurls to curl against the sensitive bud against his walls over and over again, his body reacts in kind, squeezing tighter around the length of it and encouraging it push even further still. by then, its body is trembling so intensely that it is not surprised when the pleasure pooling tight in its abdomen bursts soon after.

how it manages to ride out both his and its own orgasms in time is a miracle in and of itself ; it's almost gracious in the strokes it spares him with its hand and tongue. and even 'pon his release it still thrusts its tongue as deep inside him as it can manage for the moment, though it ceases pumping him entirely in favor of curling both hands instead around his thighs to keep them parted, hold him steady where it thinks he might be trembling more than it. though even that doesn't last : his cum spills over its chest, but its falls over it as much as it does him, the second time it peaks. it doesn't expect it at all! its body convulses despite itself, and its the second thrilling high that has it finally part from him, head falling back with haggard gasp—its cries are broken with pleas of his name between, where it can bear it, and curses 'pon a burning tongue, in a language it knows he wouldn't understand.

it thinks its claws draw blood accidentally, how they slide down his own shaking thighs when it finally starts to unravel in full, and all it can think in its lust-muddled haze is how much it longs to taste him even deeper. it is only a brief bout of exhaustion as its chest constricts, lungs defunct begging for air they have never needed and it cannot provide no matter how much it tries, that keeps it from bowing forward and curling its tongue 'round supple skin. truthfully, it still considers it, when it finally has the energy to sit upright just in time to catch him in his collapse. it doesn't think he'd mind it, either! alas.

" is it anything like you imagined? " contrasting, keeps the subtle growling edge to its voice ; not for frustration, but for the sake of savoring the shiver it feels course through him, where it holds him snug, secure. even so, it's no more than a whisper at best, made all the more erotic with how little it has to bow forward, nose bumping 'gainst his ear, lip curled in its own smug satisfaction. " ...or better than? "

it has ulterior motives for pulling him wholly flush against it, more than just security, and far more than just for the purpose of suggestive murmur. he might be too dazed to keep eye contact with it, but it can take him in like this : with eyes half-lidded, ear flicking curiously, its gaze follows 'long his body. slowly, carefully, yet adoringly despite the sight it's met with. it has made quite the mess of him, hasn't it? from the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, his lips, his chest ... with the brief repositioning, even his stomach now where its cum trails in slow lines over his body. it's a ridiculously attractive sight, in its defense, but that doesn't mean it doesn't stare longer than it politely should. its focus shifts anyway, in the time its taken its hands to follow along his sides, attention turned to his own half-hard length, the slick lines of his own release still clinging to his shaft, and perhaps it's cruel of it to curl an arm around his waist for the purpose of drawing its finger 'cross the underside of his dick to swipe up what all remains, but it takes great delight in swiping it over its tongue lolled out over his shoulder, swallowing in an instant with a satisfied huff.

" interesting? is that how you'd put it ... " it's recovering unsurprisingly well, given the shock it felt with one intense orgasm into the next. but that still isn't enough to totally exhaust it : and all the better for it, it can nuzzle up to the crook of his neck and press kisses and tease its teeth 'gainst his tender, flushed skin the same as it starts to adjust to him. his hips move, and it, as is becoming a rather popular trend with it tonight, is all too compliant. " tell me, was it merely interest that encouraged you? merely interest that left you salivating? " there's a bit of a bite to its voice, this time, almost like a sharp quip—and only because as he settles, urges it push its cock further between his thighs, it wriggles its hips too, biting back a groan at the friction where it thrusts its length between them.

it doesn't take much effort to work it back up, and it doubts either one of them are necessarily surprised. though it's thrusts are sporadic, this time, instead of falling into a comfortable pattern. it tries to adjust, and eventually succeeds, so no matter how short, slow, or harshly it thrusts its dick up between his thighs, it spares him friction too—both obviously between the snug space he makes for it, but against his own cock too. " i think your curiosity, little light, might be a mask. you wanted this more than you let on, am i right? " it isn't the only one excited. though it's voice breaks on occasion in favor of either shallow moan or ghost of its teeth 'gainst the soft line of his shoulder, their position allows it notice every time his breath catches, its hold on his hips making it obvious each time his body tenses, " look at you ... " ...and relaxes in a delightful shudder. " there we go. that's a good boy ... "

there's no rhyme or reason for the swell of pure affection that builds 'gainst its chest, nor the titillating warmth that follows, encouraging its purr deepen with every murmured praise. it loves him so terribly, no matter how much it teases, so it sees no harm in savoring the moment for however long they can steal it—each roll of its hips start to steady now, a slow, careful pace. somehow, it feels even better like this. " why don't you help me again? enlighten me. sho—hhn...—show me how much you want this— let's have a little fun. "

#` ✞ adrien. ⁞ all my life i’ve been so lonely‚ all in the name of being holy. #` ✞ fires & adrien. ⁞ it’s blasphemous‚ but holy. i’m nervous and tripping over my words‚ you’re so pretty it hurts. #londonfallen #suggestive ― #` ✞ scandal. ⁞ right in front of my glory? #mid at the end bc i got SO ill #i love the doctor i'm sobbing #WHY #:((( am sad

[sunlessea]

“ Things would be better if you lot weren’t so afraid of your feelings. ” - candlespages

this is v sad, truly / @londonfallen

fear! he is one to speak of fear, all he has put london and its people through. the remorse it feels at what was done to his person back then is only stumped by its agitation for his lack of learning from his mistakes, that mistake, of course being love. here it lies at its bedside, practically making a bid to wrap itself 'round pages knees knelt before it, and it can't help but think it is almost macabre in how similar he must be to what it was like then, too. one curator traded for another : from veils to stained ink. it's disgusted, as much as it is sad. it is not a replacement for what candles has lost, and it would never wish to be. these vile creatures.

"i will not be your replacement heart," it hisses, because it can only speak for itself, not for the others. they are idiots, each one of them. mirrors and wines walked hand in claw, fires and irons each with their respective partners had bowed low 'neath lessers, and veils the most insulting of all ... had found the love of a kine, that pages had dreamed of. it wishes it could bury candles back into the well, but not alone, no! it would bury them all.

its throat and eyes sting. it hates them, truly. their tragedies would play out just as his had, when given enough time. adrien and elysium would end up dead, silas eaten perhaps, and of the beloved two curators — something worse, it's sure.

it raises its leg, and it would kick him to the floor with great strength, were he not already so tattered and bruised. instead, it presses its heel to his shoulder and gently knocks him away. then, pages falls over on its bed quite dramatically, and turns its back to him. begone! "look where your feelings got you. our kind are better off keeping to our own devoitiness."

#londonfallen #` ✞ mr pages. ⁞ looking down from above‚ i’m intrigued by their love. #ship tbt.

[sunlessea]

“ and what is alternate universe you doing right now? ” - ironegg ; its sulking!!

gonna beat its ass / @londonfallen

" — shoving his tongue down mr veils' throat?" he's hoping the bemused look he has when he startles back from it gets his sarcasm across, because if it takes him as face value, he might clock it! not that he'd ever, not really, but he will daydream about it and feel guilty later. he is no saint, and sometimes, just sometimes, it tap dances on the final good nerve he has left following the ashburnum fire that burned most of them away! he can't put up with this, it's humiliating. for it, more than himself. needless to say, he looks incredulous. "or perhaps chasing mr fires through the streets of london with hearts in his eyes? maybe your heart is growing three sizes as you fall in love with a loud-mouthed, red headed caitiff just one universe over. do you realize how stupid this sounds now that i've said it aloud?"

because really, why does it matter? in another universe, the watchman has probably killed him, if it wants his honest opinion. the most likely outcome of his personal belief regarding different threads of reality is that this is the only one where he doesn't die a horrible death.

"i could go in circles all day about the what-if's of an entirely different timeline! there's a reason there's a whole literary trope around this topic in novels, but my question is why it bothers you! do you dislike the me that you know? am i not enough for you, as i am?" his brows furrow, perturbed. "i could be marrying a rubbery man a world over for all it matters, or perhaps i died six million years ago and never even made it this far. does the possibility make you like me here any less, that you intend to go to those worlds to be free of me? you've taken such offense when i had only meant to call you, us, special. you're so... why do you do this?"

#londonfallen #` ✞ irons & elysium. ⁞ a gift from the false stars‚ it was easy to tell‚ it was love from below that could save me from heaven. #` ✞ elysium. ⁞ and if i only could‚ i’d make a deal with the gods.

[sunlessea]

peeks head in here for  a  cooperative  starter .

𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓂𝓅𝓉 ◟ accepting / @purewhiteprophet

" — you will come with me!" it's a declaration, not a question. he need be every bit thankful it is respectful towards the avian rat he bears his company with, for masters of the bazaar are hardly so kind to creatures much smaller than them. they barely tolerate humans, these cruel bats. but mr pages is different ... cruel, but still kinder than the others, where it reaches out and grips his arm. its grip is tight, but not painful. any other master would have broken him. "the stars, they call your name. do you hear them?" it trails off, eyes narrowed at him underneath its cloaks ... before they lift up, curiously, to the cave ceiling. "they're singing..." crying. "we necessiquire your aid."

#purewhiteprophet #the......... least mean bat sort of #cooperative... forced cooperation... it's all the same 2 the masters u know... #KJERNMH #` ✞ mr pages. ⁞ looking down from above‚ i’m intrigued by their love.