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jackals-ships · 8 months

Text

hey baby (kiss the goat)

contains: alternating second person pov, pale flirting, two idiots who are both in love and don't realize the other is too, who knew face painting could be so intimate, mild angst on dogs pov and kurlz being. a little violent in his pale leanings. as a treat

You weren't raised faithful. Hell you were raised the exact opposite, raised "Keep away from the freaky murder clown church for the love of all that's holy." You were raised knowing full well you were several leagues below them in the food chain and to keep your fucking head down if you were fond of it being attached to you.

And yet. Here you are. Trying to put on the paint everyone else in the Church wears and oh yeah; you're awful at it.

The kind of awful that makes you want to go out bare faced but doing that will cause a scene. A fact you only know cuz you already tried it. Had the Highblood about losing his entire mind yelling, explaining why it's important you don't wander around like that. Something about it being like wandering around with your ass out. But worse? Cuz blasphemy?

Whole lotta something's you didn't catch because you were a little preoccupied.

Sure there was the terror of being yelled at by a highblood/very much your superior. (especially when his psionics slipped out a little. fear wrapped its cold fingers round your throat and squeezed til you couldn't breathe. came as quick as it went luckily or you'd never have lived down your panicked whimpers.)

But mostly? You were getting an eye full of fangs. canines the size of your forearms at the very least. Looking at em made your mouth dry and your stomach do a flip that you're not entirely sure was dread. (you don't wanna admit what it was even to yourself. don't wanna confront the things you can't have.)

So. Yeah. In the best interest of both your sanity and making sure you don't find out how easily fangs like that could rip through a human you need to get this paint right.

The problem is, the problem fucking is, you've wiped it all off a grand total of six times now to restart and you're getting no closer to acceptable.

It's this fact that finally makes you snap.

The stupid tins of the stupid paint crack against the wall while you throw your stupid little hissy fit. It shouldn't bother you so much, the whole concept is ridiculous anyways and you're not even faithful. You should be laughing at the fact your life is this much of a clusterfuck.

Instead you're white knuckling the counters so you don't start breaking things (again) as your breaths come out ragged. You're near vibrating out your skin with a rage you can't seem to wrangle back under control.

It's stupid, it's stupid, all of it, every single little bit of it. (you just. you just want to do something right.)

(you just wanna do something that gets the highblood to look at you like you're closer than you are. to get him to put one of those huge cold hands on your cheek and.)

Your palmhusk makes a noise, a chirp that makes you want to throw it out the window so you can return to your furious spiral. (hate it when you're like this, when you get so mad that the anger starts to feel good. starts to feel like it's all you're gonna feel ever again so fucking lean into it.)

And then it chirps again. And then you really do almost lose it and launch the thing as hard as possible. Only thing that stops you is catching sight of the name on the screen.

It's the Grand Highblood. Kurloz. Because that's how he put himself in the thing, when he presented it to you that first day. He made sure he was the first contact in it, made sure you knew you could call him by name and call him any time.

You don't, of course, not either of those things. You know he just says it to be more approachable an if you tried it you'd be rebuked. (still. sometimes you roll his name around in your mouth. you get a feel for the taste of it, the way the syllables play together. kur-loz. kurrloz.)

It's the third chirp that finally makes you tap the notifications. You're still vibrating with anger and something else. Some formless sort of hurt you can't put a finger on. So you plan to be snappish in a way that doesn't bode well for your lifespan.

But you. But he.

kurloz: HEY, LITTLE WARM BLOODED MIRACLE BRO. WHERE YOU AT?

kurloz: morning sermons bout to start in a couple minutes and i don't see you, shit ain't like you

kurloz: LIL BUDDY? YOU OKAY? YOU AINT COMIN DOWN WITH SOME WEIRD HUMAN DISEASE RIGHT? :O(

The emoticon mocks you. The way he pretends at worry, the way it gets up under your skin and works at softening you. A little traitor part of you whispers the worry is genuine maybe, maybe you could be so lucky.

(another part chimes in that if he is it's the worry for a pet project. seeing as that's how you are. and really you should put some emphasis on the pet because you're no better than an animal. some wild thing that would gnaw its own leg off to get out of a trap and instead he took in to see if he could tame it. but he can't and.)

You have to breathe, nice and deep. Much as you'd like to snap and push your luck you really, truthfully, don't feel like dying today.

So you pen a response. And delete it. And repeat the process several times before settling on something halfway alright.

jackal: oh hell did i ?? im so sorry sir im just having some trouble with my paint. guess i need more practice !

kurloz: hey i told you to knock it off with the sir nonsense >:o/ we're all bros here

kurloz: BUT SHIT YEAH THAT'S FINE, TAKE ALL THE TIME YOU NEED

kurloz: remind me to show you some of my first attempts at my own paint later, it's an absolute riot how bad it was :o)

Something possesses you in that moment. Some lingering need to push and push. And your fingers move without your full consent.

jackal: do you think you could come help me with it?

jackal: i know it's an imposition because of the sermons and ofc i can ask someone else i just don't want to be late to anything else is all!

kurloz: NO

kurloz: no i mean. yeah. i can help you with your paint :o) show you some wicked tips i picked up. one of the sisters can handle sermons today

That. Hm. Well. Fuck?

—

It's only sheer force of will that keeps you from crushing your palmhusk. And even then it creaks worryingly under your fingers while you direct one of the other older faithful to handle things.

They're giving you a look you refuse to acknowledge before you stalk off. You're too busy replaying the messages in your head. Little miracle blooded brother asking you to help them with their paint (do they know? do they understand what they're asking?) before up and backtracking. Like you're gonna what? Say no?

As if you ever could. As if you could deny Jackal anything. Little brother could ask you for your heart and you'd carve it out your own chest, just to see them smile while you bleed out. Hells if they wanted to do it themself you'd lay yourself down sweet as a lamb to slaughter so they could reach easier.

Fuck. Fuck and hell and damn you're in too deep. The right an proper thing to do would be to turn yourself round, have one of the younger disciples do it. Someone a little less up the chain of command.

But you don't. You can't. (does the lil motherfucker even know what they've done to you? made a collar out of your heart strings and they've got your leash in a chokehold.)

Too quick and not quick enough you're outside their door, hands moving on autopilot to knock. You can hear faintly the sounds of them stumbling cross their block. (you aren't entertaining ideas of helping em clean up. you ain't. no matter how much you wanna set em in their coon and purr to em that you're gonna handle every little thing.)

Now the thing about your little bro, little candy red blooded miracle they are, is they somehow always catch you off guard with how the pity wants to bowl you horns over heels. Now is certainly no exception.

They're looking up at ya with big brown dog eyes, smudges of paint decorating their face. You hope your laugh comes off casual, a bit of friendly teasing. You hope the swipe of a thumb across their cheekbone is even more casual. "Been having fun little buddy?"

They're so warm, like they're burning up from the inside out, an it only gets worse when they blush. That sweet red spreads all across their cheeks and nose, makes you have to clamp down every instinctual crooning purr you wanna let out.

"Yeah sure fun is the word I would use. It's so fun that Im so god awful at this. Just the best, having a grand old fuckin time in here."

They're bein sarcastic but there's…something in their tone you don't like. Makes you tap your thumb against their cheek in something you can play off as not being a pap. No siree it's totally up an platonic here. "Well shit if that's being the case I can always go back and take over my sermons-"

You can't even make yourself finish on account of the way they're looking at you now. Something between affronted and like a kicked pup. Like they think you actually would. "Ah fuck lil bro I'm just jesting. Come on, scootch. Let a motherfucker in and I'll help you get fixed up alright?"

There's still something of affront in their demeanor but they let you in, traipsing over scattered clothes, books, weapons as they wave a hand. "Just uh, sit down wherever I guess? Lemme get my paints."

They've scurried off before you can respond, and you really really shouldn't be poking around. On the other hand. On the other hand their block is so fucking messy how do they live like this.

They come back to you making a pile of their clothes, the normal kind, not the shoosh-pap-them-til-they're-soft-and-sweet-and-gentle-for-you kind. (even if the thought did cross your mind. and you had to consciously stop yourself from stealing one of their shirts to sleep next to like a pervert.) And once more there's something about em you can't read before they're smoothing it away, throwing the tins of paint at your horns.

"Thought you were gonna help me out Highblood, not play lusus."

"Kurloz. And I was just trying to clear myself a place to sit, you ever fuckin clean?"

"Nah." They flop themself down on the pile of clothes you made, stretching out in an entirely shameless display that makes your fins try to flare. "Busy with shit. Keepin up with the rest of you assholes mostly."

You're sittin now, in front of the not-Pile-pile, like a civilized troll. "Yeah? Having an alright time with that?"

They shrug in a way that's too smooth to be actually casual, eyes flicking from your face to the wall and back again. "Mm. Yeah, I can handle it. 'S all good in Jackal town and shit." They stretch out a leg, kicking at your foot. "Don't wanna talk bout that shit right now though. Said you had tips for me."

"Impatient lil fuck huh." It's fond, too fond, so you busy yourself with your hands. The tins for em are smaller than yours but you manage. You beckon em closer, their shorter stature meaning you gotta lean down as they sit up straighter. Makes it feel sorta like you're looming over them predator like.

You don't swallow as they close their eyes. As they show off the way they trust you ain't gonna snap their frail little neck or rip em in half. (could do it so easy too. humans are so soft. skin thin enough you can see the gentle rush of dark blood in their veins if you look hard enough. your mouth aches with desire. you wanna know the exact shade of red that runs through em.)

You breathe slow and deep as you swipe the brush across their cheeks. Nice long strokes, like you've done a million and one times on yourself. "Sounds real counterintuitive but it's easier if ya start with the grey. Use that as a base." It's a struggle to keep your voice teacher like, but you manage somehow.

You're just a couple of guys being bros after all. Just a dude helping out his friend.

Just a dude who's having entirely normal thoughts about the way they lean into the brush. Like they're looking for your touch. So it's fine, you can justify pressing your fingers so gently to their jaw. It's just to keep em steady after all.

And if your fingers dip a little, if they touch the gentle expanse of Jackals throat then. Then it's just on account of your hands being too big that's all. Not cuz you're barely restraining the urge to wrap em round their neck, feel the thump of their pulse under your fingertips. Feel the way their heart beats so much faster than yours, makes em always seem like they're frightened.

(you hope they're not. you don't wanna see them scared, least of all of you.)

You pull your hand away as you finish up that first coat, watching just a little too intent as they automatically try and follow before settling in again.

Thing that really catches your attention however is the fact their eyes are still closed. A troll woulda opened em by now, trusting for a little while but not that long. Not them. They just keep sitting all sweet and polite.

You're thankful for it when your tail starts lashing behind you. look at me look at me I'm so big I can protect you so well. Fuckin preening like a wriggler.

"like i, I said. Seems counterintuitive but now it's easier to go in with the white. Block stuff out." Your fingers are back on their jaw-not-throat. Don't even gotta ask what paint they wear because you know, picked it out for em in a totally not at all vaguely creepy display of platonic affection.

They're leaning into your touch again, making a noise that might be agreement might be a pleased sigh. You don't know which you hope it is.

It's one of the only sounds in the room as you loop the white across their face. That and the gentle sound of the two of you breathing, syncing up unconsciously. You're slowing yours down to match the steady rise and fall of their chest, sure if you had a mirror you'd see your pupils swallowing up the purple of your iris.

Your voice lowers unbidden, turning from teacher to something softer. Pity pale and sugary sweet. "There we go…looks so good on you…doin so well too. Sitting for me so nicely…." You catch it when their pulse jumps, beating even faster as they let out a shaky exhale.

You can't help it. You push your luck. Adding in a little subvocal croon while you murmur. "Always doing so good, so wonderful little brother. An so fuckin trusting, doing so well trusting me. Don't say it often enough do I, that you're doing good. Doing amazing, beautiful, wonderful."

They're shivering now, the fine hairs on their arms standing up as they swallow. You want, you want, so badly. You want to drag them into a pile, turn their vicious bites into something gentle and sweet for you. Get em to let you peel back all their layers, spill their guts and strip em to their bones. Til you know every single dark and awful thing they've never let another soul know.

You're shivering yourself with the want of it.

And that's your cue to pull back. You've long since finished with their paint, just been stroking at em in a way that you're not sure you can play off as platonic. They make it all the worse when they blink up at you, dark brown eyes gone even darker in an almost daze like you had dragged em to pile.

It takes a few more blinks before they seem to come back to their body. Their eyes dart from you again, mouth opening and closing. You can see em lick at their canines, if you can even call those blunt things such, in a nervous tic. "You uh. Should show me a few more times? So I can make sure I know what I'm doing, Highblood."

You've gotten greedy in your wanting, that's the only explanation for your words. "Call me Kurloz, an we got a deal."

Their inhale is sharp through their teeth, gaze flicking to your face and away again and again. Thinking. Considering in the way a cornered animal might. Before their mouth opens and your heart skips a beat.

"Kurloz."

Greedy, greedy terrible thing you are, you give in and crowd your little brother. Tail lashing as you lay fangs gently to their jaw. Threat and a promise all wrapped up into one. "Again. Say it again for me brother."

"Kurloz, Kurloz."

Your name in their voice rings like scripture, like the sermon the two of you are missing. (you prefer this one. prefer the way your name comes out sweet, comes out shaky as you nuzzle into their throat.)

#jackals barks #okay 2 rb #ship: palest diamonds <>#self ship fic #can you hear the jingle jangle of my little jesters hat #anyways kurlz immediately after realizes what he did goes 'OH FUCK-' and dog goes 'OH FUCK' and then they dont talk about it for a month #bc theyre stupid <>

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